(Trends in Classics. Supplementary Volumes 23) Nikos Miltsios - The Shaping of Narrative in Polybius (2013, Walter de Gruyter)

Nikos Miltsios
The Shaping of Narrative in Polybius

Trends in Classics –
Supplementary Volumes
Edited by
Franco Montanari and Antonios Rengakos
Scientific Committee
Alberto Bernabé · Margarethe Billerbeck
Claude Calame · Philip R. Hardie · Stephen J. Harrison
Stephen Hinds · Richard Hunter · Christina Kraus
Giuseppe Mastromarco · Gregory Nagy
Theodore D. Papanghelis · Giusto Picone
Kurt Raaflaub · Bernhard Zimmermann
Volume 23
Nikos Miltsios
The Shaping of
Narrative in
Polybius
DE GRUYTER
ISBN 978-3-11-033001-4
e-ISBN 978-3-11-033029-8
ISSN 1868-4785
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For my parents, Penelope and Christos Miltsios
Acknowledgments
This book is a revised version of a thesis completed at the Aristotle University of
Thessaloniki in March of 2010. My first debt is to my supervisor, Antonios Renga-
kos, for introducing me to this exciting research area, and for his unwavering
support over the years. I have benefited greatly from his commitment to my proj-
ect and his wise counsel. Dimitrios Christidis, Daniel Jacob, Theokritos Koureme-
nos, Aimilios Mavroudis, Christos Tsagalis and Yannis Tzifopoulos, my thesis ex-
aminers, made many thoughtful suggestions that I utilized. I am indebted as well
to Vassilis Fyntikoglou, Jonas Grethlein, Poulheria Kyriakou, Stephanos Mat-
thaios, Melina Tamiolaki and Chrysanthe Tsitsiou-Chelidoni for their invaluable
encouragement and advice. I also wish to express my sincere appreciation to the
Melina Merkouri Foundation, which funded my research with a generous schol-
arship.
Finally, my heartfelt gratitude goes to my friends and family for their love
and support, especially to my parents, Penelope and Christos Miltsios, to
whom this book is dedicated.
Contents
Introduction 1
 Well begun is half done 6

. The proem (1.1 – 5) 7
. The Romans’ first crossing into Sicily (1.6 – 12) 13
.. Where to begin 13
.. Rhegium and Messana: The issue of mercenaries 18
.. The intervention of Rome 21
 The narrative of the prokataskeue 30

. The First Punic War (1.13 – 63) 30
.. The theme of naval supremacy 32
.. Τhe story of Hannibal the ‘Rhodian’ (1.46 – 47) as Mise en
Abyme 37
.. Romans and Carthaginians 39
. The Roman Wars against the Illyrians (2.2 – 12) and the Gauls (2.14 –
35) 47
 Temporal strategies 58
. Synchronicity 58
. The interlace structure of book 3 64
.. Spain and Illyria (3.13 – 34) 65
... The Romans’ strategic error 65
... Hannibal 68
.. Hannibal’s march on Italy (3.35 – 3.57.1) 70
. Order 74
.. Analepses 74
.. Prolepses 79
 Focalization and interpretation 84

. The theatre of war 87
. The attribution of motives 92
. The Carthaginians in Italy (3.69 – 117) 99
. The Romans in Africa (14.1 – 15.9) 106
 The Polybian narrator 115

. The primary narrator 116
.. The narrator as writer 117
X Contents
.. The narrator as historian 120

.. The narrator as critic 125
. Polybius as a character 132
. Narratees 140
Conclusions 147
Bibliography 150
Index Locorum 159
General Index 169

Introduction
The study of ancient historiography has undergone significant change over the
last few decades. The texts are treated not just as repositories of valuable knowl-
edge and information about the ancient world but as literary creations with their
own structure and themes. In the wake of what has become known as the ‘lin-
guistic turn’, recent inquiries have developed new ways of looking at historical
narrative. Text-centered readings are not concerned so much with the issues
that have traditionally preoccupied scholarship with regard to the ancient histor-
ians, such as analyzing their reliability, identifying the sources that they used,
and determining the stages that they passed through in the process of preparing
their works. They focus, rather, on intratextual dialogue as a method for elucidat-
ing the potential meaning of historical narratives and they attempt to understand
the ways in which their rhetorical structure is central to their ability to confer in-
telligibility on past events.¹
This change in the interpretative approach to ancient historiography has not
influenced Polybian scholarship as quickly or to the same extent as in the case of
Herodotus and Thucydides. In discussing Polybius’ Histories, critics have, for the
most part, concentrated on the problems surrounding its composition, the polit-
ical and methodological views of the author, and its use as a source of informa-
tion for the history of Rome and her constitution.² Polybius’ narrative artistry and
the literary merits of his work have, in contrast, remained on the periphery of
research. In fact, only recently have critics begun to recognize the quality of
his writing.³ It is telling that so far there has been no book-length narratological
analysis of the Histories, while the application of narratology to the works of Her-
odotus and Thucydides has produced many fruitful results.⁴ Polybius may have
 The literary approach to ancient historiography was greeted with suspicion by scholars who
thought that its emphasis on the element of rhetorical construction overlooked the important
role played by the ancient historians’ inquiry into the past. Historians like Momigliano 1955 – 92,
vii. 49 – 59 and Fornara 1983, 116, 164– 65 defended the scientific character of ancient Greek
historiography, promoting the features that link it with its modern counterpart. The response
(see, e. g., Wiseman 1979, 1993; Woodman 1983, 1988) was to find arguments in certain ancient
historiographical practices (e. g. the composition of speeches, the use of fabricated details and
the drawing of motifs and topics from other genres such as epic and drama) that highlight the
divide between ancient and modern practitioners of history. For a summary of the debate see
Marincola 2001, 3 – 8. See also, more recently, Northwood 2008; Lendon 2009.
 For general overviews of scholarship on Polybius see Walbank 2002, 1– 27; Maier 2012a, 3 – 8.
 See, e. g., McGing 2010, 10 – 11.
 See, e. g., Hornblower 1994; Rood 1998; de Jong 1999; Rengakos 2005; 2006a; 2006b; Grethlein
2009; 2010, 196 – 202, 240 – 54.
2 Introduction
acquired universal reputation as a historian but he has not gained the same rec-
ognition or received the same attention as a writer.⁵
The relative lack of scholarly effort in this direction can be attributed to two
main reasons. The first and most obvious is the fragmentary character of the His-
tories. Of its original forty books only the first five survive complete, while for the
remaining thirty-five we rely on Byzantine excerpts and the use of the work by
later writers. The fragments of these books are often very substantial, but still,
with so much of the text missing, it is difficult to fully appreciate the literary
art that has created it. The second reason is related to a characteristic feature
of Polybius, namely, his unusually overt narratorial presence that can be felt
throughout the story due to his frequent commentary on the unfolding events.⁶
This feature of the Polybian narrator, which is much more prominent than in
other ancient Greek historians, has directed scholarly interest toward his argu-
mentative passages, with the result that the value of a comprehensive literary
analysis of his narrative has been overlooked.
And yet, Polybius’ work, in spite of its gaps, exhibits a narrative complexity
that would make it a good candidate for an analysis of this kind. His Histories,
composed in order to explain Rome’s rise to universal domination, is indeed a
prime example of an intricately structured narrative. In his attempt to portray
the growing interconnection of political events throughout the Mediterranean
area, Polybius uses an annalistic method which consists in treating the events
of the various geographical regions in a fixed order. He begins with the events
in Italy, and then recounts what happened within the same Olympiad year in Si-
cily, Spain, Africa, Greece and Macedonia, Asia, and Egypt.⁷ This sequence,
which from book 7 onwards constitutes the standard structural framework of
the Histories, enables Polybius to describe how the events of the oecumene
after Olympiad 140 start to become intermingled and to influence each other,
thus promoting the expansion of Roman rule. The impressive diligence with
which Polybius weaves together his multiple narrative threads into a coherent
whole indicates his interest in issues of structure and narrative form, suggesting
that the analysis of his work from a narratological perspective may be an avenue
of inquiry worth pursuing.
This book is a study of Polybius’ narrative. It examines the Histories as a nar-
rative text, focusing on the various techniques used by Polybius in shaping his
historical account. The shape of the narrative is the result of choices that Poly-
 See Foucault 1972, 201 for references to unfavourable assessments of Polybius’ prose.
 On the intrusiveness of the Polybian narrator see below, ch. 1 n. 15.
 See below, pp. 60 – 64.
Introduction 3
bius made in order to express his understanding of the course of history he re-
counts and to communicate it to his readers. These choices clearly play an impor-
tant role in the construction of the meaning of the text. They reveal what is cru-
cial to the historian’s analysis and suggest perspectives to readers, thereby assist-
ing them in their efforts to make sense of the narrated events. In describing the
compositional devices that give shape to the narrative, I intend to pay particular
attention to the ways in which they contribute to advancing its thematic con-
cerns. My aim is not only to present the Histories as the work of an author
who has taken pains to provide us with a carefully structured story, but also
to illustrate how interpretations of this story can be enriched by a sensitivity
to factors such as chronological displacements and variations of focalization.
The methodological approach I adopt in this study draws on the concepts of
the narratological models developed by Genette and Bal.⁸ Although originally
formulated for fictional literature, these models have also proved very useful
in elucidating the sophisticated narratives of ancient historians.⁹ This is hardly
surprising, since, as far as form is concerned, the boundaries between ancient
historiography and fiction are difficult to delineate. Indeed, ancient historical
texts employ discursive modes traditionally regarded as being typical of their
epic or novelistic counterparts. The use of focalization is probably the clearest
case in point.¹⁰ Unlike their modern colleagues, ancient historians, as a rule,
felt free to make use of internal focalization, that is, to enter the minds of
their characters in order to reveal their feelings and motives.¹¹ Of course, there
is no doubt that their analyses of motivation were sometimes based on informa-
tion obtained from participants in the events they narrate. But it is equally ob-
vious that, more often than not, they had to infer motives from actions or
from what they knew of an individual’s character.¹²
 Genette (1972) 1980; Bal (1985) 1997.

 For applications of narratology to ancient historical texts see above, n. 4.
 Cohn 1999, 117– 23 observes that internal focalization applies solely to the fictional domain:
‘This category, however, designates only what history cannot be or do: it cannot present past
events through the eyes of a historical figure present on the scene, but only through the eyes of
the (forever backward-looking) historian-narrator. In this sense we may say that the modal
system of historical (and other nonfictional) narration is “defective” when compared to the
virtual modalizations of fiction’ (119). Cf. Genette 1991, 65 – 67. Pausch 2011 rightly remarks that
‘[n]ach den von Genette und Cohn verwendeten Kriterien handelt es sich bei der Antiken Hi-
storiographie letztlich um fiktionale Literatur’ (10).
 Cf. Rengakos 2006b, 185.
 See Thompson 1969; Hunter 1973; Schneider 1974, esp. 127– 37; Baragwanath 2008, 3 – 4, 82–
83. On Polybius’ depiction of motivation see below (§4.2).
4 Introduction
This should not lead us to assume that ancient historians regarded their task
as a form of fiction making. Statements of autopsy and inquiry are frequently
found in their works, serving as one of the most important means of claiming
the authority to narrate historical events.¹³ There are also numerous occasions
where ancient historians criticize their predecessors for errors of fact.¹⁴ Yet, as
White reminds us, history writing includes the processes by which the results
of inquiry are organized into an integrated and rhetorically persuasive work.¹⁵
In their efforts to impose coherence and meaning on the events they describe,
even the most scrupulous historians engage in various kinds of distortions, omis-
sions and embellishments. The application of narratology to historical texts is
therefore valuable in helping us uncover their subtleties. In the course of this
book, I shall attempt to show that the insights of narratology can shed light
on the mechanisms of Polybian narrative, and in so doing can enhance our ap-
preciation of its sophistication. By looking at details of how Polybius’ narrative is
constructed, we are in a better position to understand dimensions of the story
that we otherwise might have missed.
This study is divided into two sections. The first (Chapters 1 and 2) analyzes
the two opening books of the Histories, while the second section (Chapters 3, 4
and 5) explores the organization of narrative time, the focalization techniques
used by Polybius in the presentation of his history, and the different types of in-
tervention he makes in the text, together with the way in which he interacts with
his narratees. More specifically, Chapter 1 aims to show the architectural merits
of the prokataskeue. It describes the intricate structural design of the first book
and attempts to illuminate the web of successive external analepses that pre-
cedes the narrative of the First Punic War. The discussion then focuses on the
ideas that are introduced by Polybius in this part of his work in order to help
his readers understand the character of, and the preconditions for, the expansion
of Roman rule, contesting the view that Rome’s expansionist drive is played
down in the prokataskeue. The next chapter examines the narrative of the First
Punic War and of the subsequent wars waged by the Romans against the Illyri-
ans and the Gauls. The analysis takes forward the conclusions of the first chapter
and casts further doubt on the contrast that has been suggested to run through
 For a detailed discussion see Marincola 1997, 63 – 85. On Polybius’ use of documents see now
Desideri 2007, with earlier bibliography.
 E.g. Polyb. 2.62– 63, 12.17– 22; Diod. 13.90.4– 5; Dion. Hal. AR 4.6.7.
 White 1973, 1987. White’s analysis played a major role in showing the points of contact that
exist between historiography and fiction. A summary of responses to his work is provided by
Clark 2004, 98 ff. On postmodernist philosophy of history see also Jenkins 1991; and Munslow
1997.
Introduction 5
the early books of the Histories between the defensive stance of the Romans and
the aggressive behaviour of their opponents.
The focus of study in Chapter 3 is Polybius’ handling of narrative time and,
in particular, his use of synchronicity and anachronies. Synchronicity is of inter-
est as an organizing principle of the work’s structure and also on account of its
application (and the differences in the interpretation of events that this entails)
in individual narrative segments. The examination of the anachronies employed
in the text concentrates on the ways in which they affect readers’ interpretation
and promote their understanding of the story. Chapter 4 deals with focalization
as a means of recording both visual impressions and mental processes, and
highlights the role it plays in the presentation of battles and the characters’ mo-
tives for acting. Finally, Chapter 5 attempts to draw some conclusions about the
image that the primary narrator cultivates for himself, for the character Polybius
and for his audience by analyzing his interventions in the text, his homodiegetic
narration, and the contact he establishes with his narratees.
1 Well begun is half done
‘Well begun is half done’ declares a famous adage, and many Greek historians
would probably be in entire agreement.¹ At least this is the impression one
gets from the well elaborated and lengthy prefatory accounts that precede the
narrative proper of their works. In fact, the whole of Herodotus’ first book has
been considered to form an introduction.² And while Thucydides’ readers also
have to wait until the second book before the narrative begins to provide
them with information about his main subject matter, the readers of Polybius’
Histories need to wait even longer since its introductory part extends over two
books (about two hundred pages in the Teubner text). The space devoted to
the prokataskeue may seem somewhat excessive yet it is in direct proportion
to the overall length of the work, which runs to a total of forty books, and, as
I shall attempt to show in this chapter, it is used to introduce certain ideas
that are essential to Polybius’ interpretation of the character of Roman expan-
sion.
 For the proverb see Walbank 1957, 562– 63. That Polybius shares this view can be seen very
clearly in 5.32.1– 5, where he develops the statement further by claiming that to make a good
beginning is to achieve not only half of an enterprise but almost all of it (for it is not possible to
begin an enterprise without first thinking about what direction it should take and where it will
end (3 – 4)), and he advises his fellow historians to attach the appropriate importance to the
beginnings of their works: ‘For the ancients, saying that the beginning is half of the whole,
advised that in all matters the greatest care should be taken to make a good beginning. And
although this dictum is thought to be exaggerated, in my own opinion it falls short of the truth.
One may indeed confidently affirm that the beginning is not merely half of the whole, but
reaches as far as the end. For how is it possible to begin a thing well without having present in
one’s mind the completion of one’s project, and without knowing its scope, its relation to other
things, and the object for which one undertakes it? And again how is it possible to sum up
events properly without referring to their beginnings, and understanding whence, how, and why
the final situation was brought about? So we should think that beginnings do not only reach half
way, but reach to the end, and both writers and readers of a general history should pay the
greatest attention to them. And this I shall endeavour to do’.
 Fornara 1971, 17– 19, who believes that the first book was written last, thinks that it sums up
Herodotus’ ‘philosophy of history’. In an enlightening discussion of the starting points of the
Herodotean work, Lateiner 1989, 35 – 43 also claims that the first book should be understood as
introductory, although, as he maintains, material that is essential to an understanding of the
Persian Wars is provided up until the Ionian Revolt in the fifth book, where the narrative of the
conflict between the Greeks and the barbarians begins.
1.1 The proem (1.1 – 5) 7
1.1 The proem (1.1 – 5)
In the preface to the prokataskeue, Polybius deviates from the regular practice of
the ‘fathers’ of historiography, who begin their works by announcing their sub-
ject matter and identity, and he chooses instead to begin with a discussion about
the genre he is cultivating.³ Thus, in his very first statement he says that it might
have been necessary to praise history in order to urge his readers to turn to the
study of historical works had previous historians not already exhausted the sub-
ject (1.1.1– 2).⁴ This is, however, a praeteritio that should not be taken literally,
not only because Polybius, despite his initial reservations, finally states (even
without saying so directly as ultimately he gets his fellow historians to declare
it) the benefits that can be obtained from the study of history, but also because
such laudatory opinions recur with great frequency in the main part of the His-
tories. ⁵ Here two reasons for studying history are emphasized: one is that a
knowledge of history is the best way to prepare for a life of political action,
and therefore concerns a specific public (statesmen or anyone aspiring to be-
come involved in politics); the other, which is perhaps of greater importance
as it holds true for all readers, is that remembering the misfortunes suffered
by others teaches us to endure the vicissitudes of fate with fortitude (1.1.2).
Polybius then justifies the exclusion of such a discussion from his preface by
arguing that it befits no one, and least of all himself (ἥκιστα δ᾽ ἡμῖν), to repeat
what has already been said by others (1.1.3). His commitment to the pursuit of
originality is unmistakable, for he admits that he would never have assumed
his present undertaking had certain others dealt with it before him (1.4.2) and
he urges historians to concern themselves with the narration of contemporary
events, ‘because there is always some novelty in them which demands novel
treatment’ (9.2.2– 4). Aspiring historians, he maintains, have no choice but to
turn to contemporary history, unless they prefer to labour in vain by merely re-
peating what has been transmitted by others and to deceive their readers by
 The proem consists of three sections: 1.1, which includes a general discussion of the didactic
value of history; 1.2.3 – 6, which emphasizes the uniqueness of the subject of the work, and
3.7– 5.5, which introduces readers to the first two books. Walbank 1957 ad loc. makes a different
division (into two parts: 1.1– 3.6 and 3.7– 5.5).
 The didactic value of history is a commonplace in ancient Greek literature. See, e. g.,
Thuc. 1.22, 2.48.3; Isoc. Ad Nic. 35, Arch. 59; Arist. Rhet. 1368a29.
 The usefulness of history is praised in a variety of different ways by Polybius, sometimes in
relation to the audience he is addressing (statesmen (e. g. 3.7.5 – 6; 7.11.2) and military men (e. g.
11.8)) and at other times independently (e. g. 5.75.6; 12.25g.2).
8 1 Well begun is half done
passing off other people’s words as their own, ‘a most disgraceful proceeding’ (ὃ
πάντων ἐστὶν αἴσχιστον, 9.2.2).
It appears, however, that what lies behind Polybius’ pretentious refusal to
eulogize history is not his concern for originality versus plagiarism; nor can
his attitude be interpreted as a display of modesty, as is usually the case
when writers stress their inability to capture the greatness of their subject in
words in order to gain the favour of their audience. It is, rather, Polybius’ interest
in promoting his work and attracting readers’ attention that shapes his stance at
this point. Polybius justifies his refusal to praise history on the ground that the
events he is going to describe are so incredible that they are themselves capable
of stimulating anyone to study them (1.1.4). He thus suggests that he does not
need to praise history in order to attract readers since he will in any case win
them over with the importance of his subject matter.
Making claims about the importance of one’s work is surely commonplace
among Greek historians, but it is meaningless unless one can prove them, and
this is why Polybius deploys three different arguments in order to do so. He ar-
gues, first of all, that his main theme–the global expansion of Roman rule–repre-
sents a unique phenomenon (πρότερον οὐχ εὑρίσκεται γεγονός, 1.1.5 – 6), because
never before in history had all the nations of the world come under the rule of a
single one, and within a period of less than fifty-three years at that (1.1.5). Ac-
cordingly, he wonders whether, among his readers, there can be anyone so
lazy or absorbed in some other activities (ἐκπαθὴς πρός τι τῶν ἄλλων θεαμάτων
ἢ μαθημάτων) as to remain uninterested to such events or regard those activities
as more important than their study (1.1.6). Of course, if the narration of the Ro-
mans’ achievements is so appealing in itself, it attracts attention for yet another
reason: it was natural to expect that the readers of the Histories, most of whom
were Greeks who had had first-hand experience of the eastward advance of the
Romans (with the occupation of the Hellenistic kingdoms, the dissolution of the
Leagues and the subjugation and annexation of their territories), would show a
keen interest in anything related to the new power, whether it were an investiga-
tion of the factors that contributed to the realization of its imperialistic plans of
world domination or the narration of its military operations.⁶
Building upon his fellow historians’ well-known practice of promoting their
subject by comparing it with those of their predecessors,⁷ Polybius goes on to in-
troduce his next argument by claiming that the unique spectacle offered by his
narrative becomes even more conspicuous when the Roman conquests are con-
 On Polybius’ readership see below (§5.3).

 For this tendency in Greek historiography see Marincola 1997, 34– 43.
1.1 The proem (1.1 – 5) 9
trasted with the attainments of the dynasties that have been dealt with by past
historians (1.2.1). Thus, the Romans are compared with the Persians, the Lacedae-
monians and the Macedonians in two respects–the limits of their geographical
expansion and the duration of their dominion–and are shown to be superior
in both:
The Persians for a certain period possessed a great rule and dominion, but so often as they
ventured to overstep the boundaries of Asia they imperilled not only the security of this
empire, but their own existence. The Lacedaemonians, after having for many years disputed
the hegemony of Greece, at length attained it but to hold it uncontested for scarce twelve
years. The Macedonian rule in Europe extended but from the Adriatic region to the Danube,
which would appear a quite insignificant portion of the continent. Subsequently, by over-
throwing the Persian empire they became supreme in Asia also. But though their empire
was now regarded as the greatest geographically and politically that had ever existed,
they left the larger part of the inhabited world as yet outside it. For they never even
made a single attempt to dispute possession of Sicily, Sardinia, or Libya, and the most war-
like nations of Western Europe were, to speak the simple truth, unknown to them. But the
Romans have subjected to their rule not portions, but nearly the whole of the world and
possess an empire which is not only immeasurably greater than any which preceded it,
but need not fear rivalry in the future (1.2.2– 8).
The mention of the Persians and Lacedaemonians calls to mind the historical
works of Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon, while behind the reference to
the Macedonians one might well recognize Theopompus,⁸ who–unlike the
other three–is also criticized in the main part of the work.⁹ Through making his-
torical comparisons, then, Polybius endeavours to draw a historiographical con-
clusion, namely that just as the achievements of the Romans are superior to
those of the empires that preceded them, so too is his treatise superior to the nar-
ratives that recorded the achievements of those empires.¹⁰
 Polybius’ argument may also be felt to allude to Demetrius of Phalerum, who, in his treatise
on Fortune, some one hundred and fifty years before the final dissolution of the Macedonian
monarchy, warned the Macedonians of the transience of human prosperity. Polybius cites the
passage in 29.21.3 – 6, immediately after his account of Perseus’ defeat, and he remarks that he
was impressed by the prophetic power of his words (ταῦτα μὲν οὖν Δημήτριος ὡσανεὶ θείῳ τινὶ
στόματι περὶ τοῦ μέλλοντος ἀποπεφοίβακεν, ‘Surely Demetrius, as if by the mouth of some god,
uttered those prophetic words’, 29.21.7), since in his own time, as an eye-witness himself, he saw
Demetrius’ prophecy prove true and history repeat itself as the Macedonian kingdom passed into
the hands of the Romans. For more on this see Walbank 1979 ad loc.
 Especially in 8.7– 11.7, for the way in which he presented Philip II and his decision to write a
person-centred history, and elsewhere (cf. 12.25f; 16.12). On the criticism of Theopompus see
Meister 1975, 56 – 65.
 On the theme of translatio imperii see the discussion and bibliography in Muccioli 2005.
The third and final argument is the most original, and so the most effective,
yet before he expounds it, and in order to make it more convincing, Polybius
mentions the 140th Olympiad (220 – 216) as being the official starting point of
his history and explains why he has chosen it. It was during this period that
three major conflicts had broken out almost simultaneously: in Greece, the so-
called Social War, or War of the Allies, in which the Achaeans had sided with
Philip V against the Aetolians; in the East, the conflict between Antiochus III
and Ptolemy IV over Coele-Syria; and in Italy and Libya the war between
Rome and Carthage. Up until that time the military campaigns that had taken
place around the world had not been connected with, or influenced by, each
other either in terms of their aims or results (1.3.1– 3). Since then, however, the
events in Italy and Libya had started to become interwoven (συμπλέκεσθαι)
with those in Asia and Greece (1.3.4), with the result that affairs in different coun-
tries had all become causally interdependent and interconnected on a global
level. In a word, since then history had started to become an ‘organic whole’
(σωματοειδής). As Polybius remarks in 1.4.1, the distinctiveness of his work lies
in that it embodies and reflects this unique historical development and conflu-
ence: ‘For what gives my work its peculiar quality, and what is most remarkable
in the present age, is this. Fortune has guided almost all the affairs of the world
in one direction and has forced them to incline towards one and the same end; a
historian should likewise bring before his readers under one synoptical view the
operations by which she has accomplished her general purpose’.¹¹
New historical developments, of course, need to be dealt with in a special
way. Technically and thematically, historical monographs are considered to be
inadequate and unsuitable for the task of recording the gradual unification of
the oecumene and do not contribute to the investigation of the causes and ori-
gins of this process (1.4.3). For this reason, historians who insist on dealing
with local wars and occasional incidents, either because they are indifferent to
‘the finest and most beneficent of the performances of Fortune’ (κάλλιστον ἅμα
κὠφελιμώτατον ἐπιτήδευμα τῆς τύχης, 1.4.4) or because they think this is the
way to understand universal history, are severely criticized by Polybius. In
1.4.6 they are compared to people who imagine that they have succeeded in
forming an overall view of the world by visiting a number of individual cities
one after the other or observing pictures of them. Polybius does not reject the
 Cf. Walbank 1972, 68: ‘Tyche and Polybius are shown as being in a sense complementary to
each other: each is a creative artist in the relevant field, the one producing the unified oecumene,
the other its counterpart in the unified work of history–σωματοειδῆ. In this way Polybius gives a
new meaning to universal history, in so far as he identifies it with the history of his own time
and no other’.
1.1 The proem (1.1 – 5) 11
possibility that some idea of a whole may be gained from viewing its parts but
the acquisition of a solid knowledge is a completely different matter and requires
one to compare and collate the individual elements of world history (1.4.9 – 11).
This necessity is also suggested by the comparison of the writers of historical
monographs with someone who fancies he can gain a proper idea of the beauty
of a living organism from seeing different parts of it scattered in different places
(1.4.7– 8): ‘For could anyone put the creature together on the spot, restoring its
form and the comeliness of life, and then show it to the same man, I think he
would quickly avow that he was formerly very far away from the truth and
more like one in a dream’.¹² Given the particularity of the era and the inability
of monographs to satisfy the methodological demands of universal history, the
decision to place individual events together in a unified composition to show
their interconnectedness and organic unity cannot be left to the discretion of
the historian; it is, rather, an imperative need, especially because none of Poly-
bius’ contemporaries has undertaken such a task (1.4.2). Here, then, Polybius ex-
tols both the subject matter of his work and the type of history he chooses. As he
claims, history becomes more effective and lucid when it is organized as a har-
monious combination of the most important elements of a particular period at a
global level, and not as a limited and exclusive focus on occasional and individ-
ual incidents.¹³
Now the interweaving of events (συμπλοκή) is a process that has a specific
beginning and a specific end, which is reached when the purpose it serves
has been fulfilled. This is probably why Polybius, when he decided to narrate
the events between 167 and 145 (which occupy the last ten books), noted that,
for him, it was like beginning a new work (3.4.13).¹⁴ Taking into account that
the συμπλοκή is a distinctive characteristic of the particular era he himself
 The comparison of a well-arranged discourse to a living organism is not unknown in Greek

thought. Cf. Plato Phaedr. 264c, Phileb. 64b, Pol. 277b; Arist. Poet. 1450b34– 6, 1459a20.
 Cf. 3.32.10: ‘I consider that my history differs to its advantage as much from the works on
particular episodes as learning does from hearing’. Writers of historical monographs are also
severely criticized in the main part of the work. Specifically, it is argued that the more limited the
scope of a historical work is, the more its author runs the risk of mentioning superfluous details
and thereby attributing too much importance to superficial matters (τὰ μικρὰ μεγάλα ποιεῖν,
7.7.6). For the advantages of universal history compared with monographs cf. 1.4.2; 3.1.4; 8.2; 9.44;
29.12. Polybius recognizes Ephorus as his only predecessor in the field of writing universal
history, since in 5.33.2 he extols him as ‘the first and only writer who really undertook a general
history’. Still, as Walbank (1975) 1985, 313 noted, this remark should not be allowed to create the
misconception that, in terms of form and method, Polybius’ history is similar to that of Ephorus,
who merely gathered together a large number of separate histories in a single work.
 Discussion in Pédech 1964, 508 and Walbank (1975) 1985, 324.
deals with, it is easy to gain the impression that Polybius seeks to contrast his
work, which reflects this unique procedure, not only with previous historical
works, just as his predecessors did, but also with future ones. Interpreted against
this background, his assumption that Rome will not fear for rivalry in the future
(1.2.7– 8) may well be considered equally applicable to his work itself, its value
thus being judged in terms of its subject matter, the deeds of its protagonists and
the particularity of the historical period that it records.
The space occupied by the discussion of the importance of the text’s subject,
in relation to the overall length of the proem, indicates Polybius’ desire to win
his readers’ confidence and to reassure them that it is well worth making the ef-
fort to read the forty books of the Histories. It also points to the forcefulness with
which Polybius intervenes in the text to discuss and justify his authorial choices
(perhaps in the hope of defending himself against possible attacks), as well as to
provide the necessary explanations (e. g., when his views of certain characters
appear to be contradictory, or when a long digression disturbs the narrative co-
hesion).¹⁵ As this tendency of the narrator is combined with an unusually strict–-
by the standards of ancient Greek historiography–editorial control over the his-
torical material,¹⁶ one might reasonably expect the proem to include, if not a de-
tailed presentation of the contents such as the one that exists in the so-called
‘second preface’ in the third book, at least a brief outline of the most important
events that will make up the narrative material in the Histories.
This, nevertheless, is postponed for the present because the narrator is more
concerned to provide a justification for the addition of the introductory books
that precede the main part of the work. He explicitly states that he designed
the two books of the prokataskeue with the needs of his readers in mind; if
they had had an adequate knowledge of the earlier history of the relations be-
tween Rome and Carthage, it would probably not have been necessary to men-
tion it (1.3.7). Since, however, most Greeks (τοῖς πολλοῖς τῶν Ἑλλήνων) are igno-
rant of these matters, he thought it advisable to write the first and second book
as an introduction so that it would be clear that the Romans conceived of and
realized the plan of universal dominion on a solid basis (1.3.10). Indeed, in
the first book the narrative begins with the Romans’ crossing into Sicily, which
is placed within the 129th Olympiad (264– 260), both because the history thereby
continues where Timaeus’ work left off ¹⁷ and also because it was at this point
that the Romans crossed by sea from Italy for the first time (1.5.1– 2). As for
 On the Polybian narrator and the different forms his interventions take see Rood 2004, 147–
64, esp. 149 – 57; see also below (§5.1).
 Cf. Rood 2004, 151– 52.
 On Timaeus see Brown 1958; Pearson 1987; Baron 2012.
1.2 The Romans’ first crossing into Sicily (1.6 – 12) 13
the presentation of the work’s contents, this is moved to a more suitable posi-
tion, in the preface to the third book, which also serves as a general introduction
to the main part of the narrative.
1.2 The Romans’ first crossing into Sicily (1.6 – 12)
1.2.1 Where to begin
Τhe addition of the preliminary section obviously raises the question of when
the narrative proper actually begins, there being two different answers to it, de-
pending on whether the events described in the prokataskeue are considered to
be an inseparable part of the story or external analepses.¹⁸ Strikingly, both an-
swers are provided by Polybius himself. To begin with, given that the 140th Olym-
piad (220 – 216) is referred to as the official starting point of the Histories (Ἄρξει
δὲ τῆς πραγματείας ἡμῖν τῶν μὲν χρόνων ὀλυμπιὰς ἑκατοστή τε καὶ τετταρακοστή,
‘The date from which I propose to begin my history is the 140th Olympiad’, 1.3.1),
it is plausible, on the basis of this statement, to assume that the first two books
mark not the beginning of the history proper but the start of a long external ana-
lepsis. In closing his account of the Romans’ first crossing into Sicily, Polybius
does in fact characterize this section as a type of analepsis (ἀναδραμόντες ἔτι
τοῖς χρόνοις, 1.12.6),¹⁹ and tells his readers not to be surprised if the narrative
goes backwards in time in order to present the earlier history of the most impor-
tant nations (ἐάν που προσανατρέχωμεν τοῖς χρόνοις, 1.12.8), for such an action is
vital to provide a clear understanding of the subsequent events. That the third
book marks the official beginning of the work is also indicated in another two
cases, on both occasions in connection with the historical event that is being
dealt with–the Second Punic War, which Polybius announces as ἀρχὴν τῆς ἑαυ-
τῶν συντάξεως in the first case (2.37.3) and as ἀρχὴν τῆς αὑτῶν ὑποθέσεως in the
second (3.5.9).
The distinction between the introductory books and the narrative proper of
Polybius’ work can be further highlighted by comparing their speeds. For the
narrative pace in the preliminary section, though not maintained at the same
rhythm in both books, is at any rate apparently faster than the speed at which
 On the distinction between external and internal analepses/prolepses see below, ch. 3 n. 32.
 It has been observed that ancient scholarship employs terms that are similar to those used
by modern narratologists for textual analysis. For discussion and examples see Nünlist 2009,
63 – 83.
events are recounted in the main part of his work.²⁰ Polybius explains that his
policy with regard to the arrangement of his material in the main narrative is
to assign two books to each Olympiad, so that, as a rule, each book deals
with the events occurring within a two-year period.²¹ Yet this narrative rhythm
is not constant; indeed, it could be said that it remains steady only in a few
cases since of the nineteen Olympiads covered by the work (if the introductory
part is excluded) only seven follow this model, whereas usually, depending on
the importance of the events and the amount of the available material, the
rhythm may either decrease or increase. So, it is not untypical of a book to cor-
respond to one year only, as do, for example, books 14 and 15, tracing develop-
ments in the years 204/3 and 203/2, that is, the climax and end of the Second
Punic War, or books 20 (192/1) and 29 (169/8), also narrating conflicts of vital sig-
nificance (against Antiochus III and Perseus, respectively). Conversely, when the
events are less momentous or far-reaching in their influence, the speed may in-
crease to the extent that a single book contains an entire Olympiad, as happens
with book 19 (Olympiad 146), book 22 (Olympiad 148), book 25 (Olympiad 150),
book 26 (Olympiad 151) and books 30 – 33 (Olympiads 153 – 156). However, the
rhythm of the first two books is even faster. The First Punic War (which lasted
twenty-three years) is covered in seventy-two pages in the Teubner text and
the Libyan War (which lasted three years and four months) in another thirty-
two, while the events narrated in the second book (extending over a period of
about eighteen years) are covered in eighty-eight pages. The summary form of
the preliminary section, then, may reasonably lead to its being regarded as an
external analepsis rather than as an integral part of the story proper.
 Polybius repeatedly stresses that the events in the introductory books will be presented in a
concise manner (see, e. g., 1.65.5 – 6 (about the Libyan War): ‘For several reasons I think it worth
my while to dwell on this war, and, according to the plan I stated at the outset, to give a
summary and brief (ἐπὶ κεφαλαίου δὲ καὶ διὰ βραχέων) narrative of it’; 2.1.4 (about the Romans’
wars against the Illyrians and the Gauls): ‘I will now attempt to give a summary view, according
to my original project (κεφαλαιωδῶς ἑκάστων ἐπιψαύοντες κατὰ τὴν ἐξ ἀρχῆς πρόθεσιν), of the
events immediately following’; 2.14.1 (about the earlier history of the Gauls): ‘I think it will be of
use to give some account of these peoples, which must be indeed but a summary one (κεφα-
λαιώδη), in order not to depart from the original plan of this work as defined in the preface’). All
three cases indicate Polybius’ desire to adhere faithfully to his original plan (τὴν ἐξ ἀρχῆς
πρόθεσιν), which foresaw that the events in the two introductory books, unlike those in the main
part of the Histories, which receive detailed narrative coverage (2.37.3: τῆς ἀποδεικτικῆς ἱστορίας
ἀρχώμεθα; 3.1.3: μετ᾽ ἀποδείξεως ἐξαγγέλλειν), would simply be set out in brief (see esp. 1.13.6 – 7:
‘Now to recount all these events in detail is neither incumbent on me nor would it be useful to
my readers; for it is not my purpose to write their history but to mention them summarily
(μνησθῆναι δὲ κεφαλαιωδῶς) as introductory to the events which are my real theme’).
 9.1.1; 14.1a.5.
On the other hand, the Romans’ crossing into Sicily is treated not only as the
beginning of the first book (Ὑποθησόμεθα δὲ ταύτης ἀρχὴν τῆς βύβλου τὴν πρώ-
την διάβασιν ἐξ Ἰταλίας Ῥωμαίων, ‘I shall adopt as the starting point of this book
the first occasion on which the Romans crossed the sea from Italy’, 1.5.1), but also
as the most suitable beginning for the entire work (οἰκειοτάτην κρίναντες ἀρχὴν
εἶναι τῆς ὅλης προθέσεως, ‘an event which I take to be the most natural starting
point of this whole work’, 1.12.6). Similarly, in the brief summary of contents pro-
vided in the epilogue (39.8), Polybius refers to the beginning of the third book as
a fresh start rather than as an official starting point (πάλιν ἀπὸ τούτων τῶν και-
ρῶν ἀρξάμενοι, 39.8.6). The two beginnings are further justified by the fact that
both conform with the genre convention, which requires that a historian should
pick up the thread of the narrative at the point where one of his predecessors left
off,²² since the Romans’ crossing into Sicily coincides with the ending of Ti-
maeus’ history (1.5.1; 39.8.4), while the military conflicts with which the narrative
proper begins after the first two books form the direct continuation of the last
events described in the history of Aratus of Sicyon (1.3.2). Besides, even the
terms prokataskeue and kataskeue, which may be thought to indicate–to the ex-
tent that they refer, respectively, to the introduction and the main part of the
work–that the story proper begins with the third book, cannot be relied upon
to do this since they are not used consistently: the latter term is employed indis-
criminately, sometimes to refer to the main part of the work (‘I must, before en-
tering on the main portion of my work (πρὸ τῆς κατασκευῆς), touch briefly on the
state of the principal and best known nations and countries of the world’, 2.37.5)
and sometimes to the introductory part (‘Contemporary with this the so-called
Cleomenic war was proceeding in Greece, and with this war I wind up my Intro-
duction as a whole (τὴν καταστροφὴν ἐποιησάμεθα τῆς ὅλης κατασκευῆς) and my
second book’, 1.13.5).
The problem of defining the start of the story becomes more complex once it
is realized that the same vagueness concerns not only the beginning of the main
part of the work but also the prokataskeue itself. Here too, although an event
 Thucydides’ continuators include Xenophon (Hell. 1.1), Cratippus (Dion. Hal. De Thuc. 16)
and Theopompus (Polyb. 8.11.3). Xenophon (Hell. 7.5.27) presumes that some later historian will
assume the duty of continuing his history from the point where he left off, while Polybius in
turn, who continues the works of Aratus (1.3.2– 3; 4.2.1) and Timaeus (1.5.1; 39.8.4), also has his
own continuators: Posidonius (FGrH 87 T 1: ἱστορία ἡ μετὰ Πολύβιον) and Strabo (FGrH 91 T 2: τὰ
μετὰ Πολύβιον). The same practice also occurs in Roman historiography where, for example,
Sallust continues Sisenna and Ammianus Tacitus. Detailed discussion in Canfora (1971) 1999,
61– 91 and Marincola 1997, 237– 57; see also ibid., 289 – 91 for genealogical tables of Greek and
Roman continuators.
lying within the 129th Olympiad (264 – 260) is chosen as the starting point (the
Romans’ first military expedition in Sicily), the narrative goes back a long way
in time with an analepsis recounting the Romans’ earlier history and the reason
for their crossing over to the island. Again, both the newly selected starting point
(Rome’s capture by the Gauls) and the previously selected one (the Romans’
crossing into Sicily) satisfy the requirements set by Polybius for the beginning
of a historical work, i. e. that it should be agreed upon and recognized by all:
the first is determined on the basis of events familiar to the Greeks of mainland
Greece (the sea-fight at Aegospotami, the battle at Leuctra and the Peace of Ant-
alcidas) as well as to those of southern Italy (the victory of Dionysius the Elder at
the Elleporus); while the second continuing the history of Timaeus. This time,
however, Polybius, being well aware how difficult, if not impossible, it would
be to discern the beginning of his work because of the repeated analepses, prom-
ises that he will present these events ‘without comment’ (ψιλῶς): ‘for if I were to
seek the cause of the cause and so on, my whole work would have no clear start-
ing point and principal’ (1.5.3.).
Polybius’ uncertainty in establishing a clear beginning for his narrative may
well be taken as reflecting the lack of steadiness of the foreign policy of Rome
during the early stages of her expansion, as displayed at the outbreak of the
First Punic War, most conspicuously in the debate over Messana, contrasting
with the unwaveringly confident narratorial control we find marking Rome’s
physical control of subsequent events. Be that as it may, the large number of ex-
ternal analepses in the introductory part of the prokataskeue is certainly the most
direct proof of Polybius’ concern with beginnings, allowing him to start his his-
tory with an event that cannot be disputed (1.5.5). It also enables him to thema-
tize the ideas he will employ to interpret the unique event that forms the central
focus of his history, the expansion of Roman rule. Thus, the Gauls’ capture of
Rome (387) is selected as his new starting point because it assists him in his at-
tempt to highlight certain qualities of the Romans that paved the way for their
future accomplishments, such as the vigilance they display in the face of difficult
circumstances and their ability to overcome even the most terrible adversities. As
a matter of fact, Polybius seems to confirm this by acknowledging that his pur-
pose in making the survey of earlier Roman history was to show how the Ro-
mans, despite having almost lost their own country, warded off the danger
and, once they had become masters of Italy, began to plan expeditions beyond
its borders (1.12.7). At that time, in the general havoc, with the Gauls under Bren-
nus having captured all of Rome itself except for the Capitol, the Romans did not
resign themselves to their fate but escaped ruin–we are not given details, at least
at this point, but are merely told that, once they had signed a treaty, they once
again beyond all expectation (ἀνελπίστως, 1.6.3) became masters of their own
country–and their recovery was so impressive that they not only consolidated
their rule but went on to extend it over almost the whole of Italy.²³
Another theme introduced here to explain Rome’s rise to world dominion is
the experience and battle-worthiness of her army. The Romans through their
bravery and their fortune in war (διά τε τὴν ἀνδρείαν καὶ τὴν ἐν ταῖς μάχαις ἐπι-
τυχίαν, 1.6.4)²⁴ emerged victorious from an endless series of conflicts. Thus hav-
ing gained considerable experience in the art of war (ἀθληταὶ γεγονότες ἀληθινοὶ
τῶν κατὰ τὸν πόλεμον ἔργων, 1.6.6), they repulsed Pyrrhus, driving him out of
Italy for good.²⁵ The succinct narration of these conflicts serves to replicate the
Romans’ unrestrained progress: their wars against the Etruscans, Celts and
Samnites are all mentioned together in a single sentence, and before the end
of the chapter their power appears to have spread over the whole of Italy (γενόμε-
νοι δὲ παραδόξως ἁπάντων ἐγκρατεῖς καὶ ποιησάμενοι τοὺς τὴν Ἰταλίαν οἰκοῦντας
ὑφ᾽ αὑτοὺς πλὴν Κελτῶν, 1.6.8). Polybius, then, at the very beginning of his nar-
rative, in recounting the Romans’ early accomplishments in Italy, reveals the var-
ious means by which they acquired their empire and at the same time gives his
readers some sense of what to expect.
Themes like those above, which are repeated and further developed in the
work, promote the coherence of the narrative by highlighting links and firm con-
nections between its different segments. They also convey the work’s key ideas,
reiterating them and helping readers assimilate them. Next, I will focus my at-
tention on the section that traces the capture of Rhegium and Messana (1.7–
12.5). Since a number of the work’s main ideas are introduced in this section,
such as the perils faced by a state relying on mercenaries and not on its own
 This is essentially a paralipsis since Polybius prefers to temporarily gloss over the reason for
which the Celts were forced to withdraw so that he can reveal it at a later, more suitable point
(2.18.3). See the relevant discussion below, pp. 50 – 51.
 Cf., however, 1.63.9 – 64.1, where Polybius categorically states that the Romans’ success was
not due to fortune but to the fighting experience they had gained through facing all kinds of
danger (‘This confirms the assertion I ventured to make at the outset that the progress of the
Romans was not due to chance and was not involuntary, as some among the Greeks choose to
think, but that by schooling themselves in such vast and perilous enterprises it was perfectly
natural that they not only gained the courage to aim at universal dominion, but executed their
purpose’), with the remarks of Walbank 1957 ad loc. On Polybius’ concept of fortune cf. Pédech
1964, 331– 54; Walbank 1972, 60 – 65; Roveri 1982; Hau 2011.
 Cf. 2.20.9 – 10: ἐξ ὧν πρός τε Πύρρον ἀθληταὶ τέλειοι γεγονότες τῶν κατὰ πόλεμον ἔργων
συγκατέστησαν, ‘owing to this, when they met Pyrrhus they had become perfectly trained ath-
letes in war’. Polybius very frequently likens the warring sides to athletes (e. g. runners (16.28.9),
boxers (1.57; 27.9.2; 39.1.8) or wrestlers (29.8.5, 8.9; 38.18.8 – 9)). The relevant passages are ga-
thered together in Wunderer 1909, 55 – 60 and de Foucault 1972, 229, 331. For further discussion
and bibliography see Davidson 1991, 14– 16.
strengths, and the priority that self-interest takes over morality in the exercise of
political power, its analysis provides a very good opportunity to demonstrate
how these recurrent themes work in practice. More specifically, I will show
how the theme of the mercenaries’ lawless activities serves to mark both the be-
ginning and end of the narrative proper in the first book, bringing it full circle,
and how this same section introduces some further elements that are of interest
to Polybius in his effort to explain to his readers the character and preconditions
of Roman expansion.
1.2.2 Rhegium and Messana: The issue of mercenaries
The capture of Rhegium and Messana is the first extensive narrative section in
the work. Messana had been seized by Agathocles’ dismissed mercenaries, Ital-
ians from Campania known as Mamertini, who coveted the area’s beauty and
wealth. The Mamertines found imitators in a Roman-Campanian force in Rhe-
gium, who had been invited in by the city’s own inhabitants. In both cases
the invaders are portrayed as treating the local residents in a cruel manner. In
relating the events in question, Polybius creates a complex narrative involving
several characters: apart from the Mamertines and the Roman mercenaries, an
active part in the action is also played by the Syracusans, who are irked by
the presence of the Campanians and seek to drive them out, and the Romans
who intervene both in Rhegium and Messana. And yet, the only figure that
stands out in the description of these events is Hiero, the tyrant of Syracuse
who also plays a role at the beginning of the First Punic War.²⁶
Meanwhile, Hiero’s dealings with his compatriots give way to an analepsis,
which provides information on his past actions. Thus, we see him successfully
confronting issues threatening social cohesion in Syracuse and thereby gaining
a reputation for being intelligent and magnanimous (1.8.3 – 9.2). Even though the
analeptic character of this information would normally oblige the narrator to
 Hiero makes a treaty with the Romans and provides them with important provisions, thus
strengthening them in their fight against the Carthaginians (cf. 1.16.4– 17.1 and 1.18.11, where it is
mentioned that the Romans would have raised the siege of Agrigentum if they had not had Hiero
on their side). Yet, as I suggest in what follows, another function of the digression on Hiero is to
enable Polybius to thematize a basic idea of the narrative which holds that the recruitment of
mercenaries usually promises nothing but problems and perils for those who trust them. This
theme reaches a climax in the concluding narrative section of book 1 with the account of the so-
called Truceless or Mercenary War (66 – 88). Thus, the analepsis is significant both thematically
and structurally.
keep it brief, he is in no hurry and focuses on an incident that stresses Hiero’s

leadership qualities. He specifically describes the way in which the Syracusan
leader dealt with the rebellious tendencies of certain disgruntled mercenaries
in his army, and, in particular, the trap that he set for them. In a battle against
the Mamertines, Hiero carefully kept back his cavalry and infantry, consisting of
citizens, and placed the mercenaries in the front line, though not, as one would
expect, in order to attack the enemy with the rest of his army from a different
direction but in order to abandon them so that they would be wiped out by
their rivals, as did indeed happen (1.9.4).
Polybius’ approval of this tactic does not so much corroborate his image as a
pragmatic thinker as confirm his denunciation of mercenaries in general.²⁷ His
stance towards Hiero should be considered in conjunction with the negative
role that mercenaries appear to play in the Histories as a whole and in the
first book in particular. The reasons for which Polybius thematizes the problem
of mercenaries so emphatically can be better understood if one bears in the mind
the fact that in his day the recruitment of mercenaries was a very widespread
practice²⁸ and that one of his purposes in writing history was to offer practical
advice to young men who were interested in pursuing a career as a military of-
ficer.²⁹ It is noteworthy that his views on this subject, whenever it recurs in the
narrative,³⁰ seem to be in perfect accord with the attitude he adopts in the first
book. Mercenaries are repeatedly shown to have certain characteristics in com-
mon with barbarians, features that are more like those of wild beasts than civi-
lized men, such as brutality, ferocity, greed, and ignorant savagery.³¹ They thus
constitute a rude, untamed force, one that is not only useful in battle but also
capable of wreaking havoc, and this is why military commanders should avoid
depending on their assistance when planning their campaigns.
The structure of the opening section has been carefully designed. The Hiero
episode, though it begins analeptically, concludes by bringing the situation at
Messana back to the fore; it thus eases the transition between the analeptic di-
gression and the main story, enabling Polybius to pick up the thread of his nar-
 Cf. Eckstein 1995, 90 – 91.

 For a detailed discussion of Polybius’ depiction of the role of the mercenaries at this period
see Eckstein 1985, 125 – 29, where also more literature.
 That Polybius, among others, addresses aspiring commanders is clear from many passages:
cf., e. g., 9.12– 20; 11.8.1– 3. On Polybius as a military writer see Marsden 1974, 269 – 301.
 Cf., e. g., 5.30.1; 13.6.3 – 4; 15.25.11; 16.37.5 – 7; 34.14.2– 3.
 Cf, e. g., 1.67.4– 7; 1.81.5 – 11.
ration from where he had left off.³² But its main contribution on the level of nar-
rative structure concerns the overall architecture of the first book and lies in the
way it serves as a taste of things to come. Indeed, both at the beginning (1.7– 12)
and the end (1.66 – 88) of the first book we follow stories in which mercenaries
are involved. The atrocities committed against the inhabitants of Messana by
the Mamertines may be considered as replicating in miniature the gruesome
deeds of the Carthaginians’ mercenaries in the so-called Truceless War. Like
Hiero, the Carthaginians experience problems with the mercenaries they recruit
in order to cover their needs in the First Punic War. Unlike Hiero, however, the
Carthaginians, who are weary of war, do not manage to prevent the revolt of
their mercenaries. So the situation spins out of control, divisions deepen and
spark off a new and fiercer war, during which various barbaric acts are commit-
ted by both sides. Despite the different turn taken by events, readers can discern
the analogies linking the end of the first book with its beginning. The outcome of
these adventures is comparable, too, as in the last story the revolt, for all the
major problems it causes, is eventually suppressed and the Carthaginians’ grip
on power is restored.
These similarities in theme show the balanced and symmetrical relationship
existing between the outset and the end of the narrative in the first book. The
book’s structural design could be described as a circle whose circumference is
formed by stories that revolve around the issue of the problems caused by the
employment of mercenaries, and at whose centre lies the great adventure that
led to the conflict between the Romans and the Carthaginians. The opening
and concluding narrative segments in the first book mark the boundaries of
this adventure, after which Rome starts to envisage the prospect of expanding
her rule over the entire Mediterranean world.³³ The opening episode serves as
a prologue to this adventure by introducing us to the Romans through their dou-
ble intervention, while the concluding episode serves as an epilogue by turning
our attention to their great rivals, the Carthaginians, who are hard hit by their
defeat in the First Punic War, though not irremediably so, since even before
the first book has ended, we see them emerge victorious from an even tougher
 Walbank 1957, 55: ‘The Syracusan attack of 8.2 is not to be distinguished from the situation in
10.1’.
 It cannot be said with certainty exactly when the Romans embraced the ambition to rule the
world (τῆς τῶν ὅλων ἐπιβολῆς, 3.2.6). The prevailing view is that this occurred at a very early
date, most likely after the First Punic War. See, e. g., Walbank 1972, 161, and cf. 1.3.6 – 7; 9.10.11;
15.9.5; and 15.10.2. See, however, the objections of Derow 1979, 2– 4, who argued that this plan,
regardless of when it was conceived, was only put into effect after the Romans’ victory in the
Hannibalic War.
ordeal. Thus, the narrative of the first book also prepares us for what is to follow
in the main part of the Histories: opposite Rome stands an equally powerful and
unyielding adversary, Carthage.
The theme of the dangers inherent in the recruitment of mercenaries lends a
useful sense of unity and cohesion to the first part of the prokataskeue, despite
the diversity of its subject matter and the eventfulness of its plot. It also helps
Polybius interpret both the result of the First Punic War and the final outcome
of the conflict between the two rivals by highlighting a profound weakness in
the Carthaginian military. The opposing sides in this conflict are shown to be ap-
proximately equal in power. Their most important difference lies in that the Car-
thaginians, unlike the Romans, employ mercenary forces and do not rely entirely
on their own strengths. Polybius’ comparison of the two states in his presenta-
tion of the Roman constitution makes this very clear (6.52.4– 5): ‘… the troops
they employ are foreign and mercenary, whereas those of the Romans are natives
of the soil and citizens (ἐγχωρίοις καὶ πολιτικαῖς). So that in this respect also we
must pronounce the political system of Rome to be superior to that of Carthage,
the Carthaginians continuing to depend for the maintenance of their freedom on
the courage of a mercenary force but the Romans on their own valour and on the
aid of their allies’.
1.2.3 The intervention of Rome
Although a considerable period elapsed between the coup at Messana (288) and
that at Rhegium (280),³⁴ the two events are introduced in the narrative as occur-
ring one after another. Polybius’ wording (παρὰ πόδας, 1.7.5) might be justified as
contributing to the dramatic impact of his narration.³⁵ Nonetheless, it also indi-
cates his intention to draw parallels between these two incidents in order to en-
courage a deeper understanding of their relationship through their juxtaposition.
For this reason, Polybius makes sure to emphasize at the outset of his account
that the two situations are comparable (Ἴδιον γάρ τι συνέβη καὶ παραπλήσιον ἑκα-
τέραις ταῖς περὶ τὸν πορθμὸν ἐκτισμέναις πόλεσιν, ‘For very much the same for-
tune had befallen the two cities on the Straits’, 1.7.1).
Indeed, the fortunes of Rhegium and Messana are shown to be connected to
each other in many different ways. First of all, both of them are seized by men
who covet their natural beauty and wealth (1.7.2, 7.8). Next, in both cases the cap-
 For the dates cf. Walbank 1957, 52; and Hoyos 1998, 37; 2011, 137– 38.
 Thus Hoyos 2011, 138.
ture of the city is accomplished by treacherous and deceitful means, since those
who take over Messana enter purportedly as friends (1.7.3), while those who oc-
cupy Rhegium do so at the request of the local residents in order to repulse the
threat of raids by Pyrrhus, who was then crossing over to Italy, and the Cartha-
ginians (1.7.6). Moreover, in both cases the Campanians play a role in the plan-
ning and realization of the venture. The mercenaries that seize Messana originate
from Campania, as does Decius, the leader of the Roman-Campanian force in-
vading Rhegium (1.7.7). We are also told that Decius’ men draw the inspiration
for their plan to take over Rhegium from the Mamertines and cooperate with
them in its implementation (1.7.8). And when they finally complete their mission
they treat the people of Rhegium just as cruelly as the Mamertines treated the
Messanians. We hear specifically of the inhabitants of both cities’ misfortunes,
including imprisonments, massacres and expulsions (1.7.3, 7.8).³⁶
Yet, along with the similarities, there seems to be a decisive difference in the
way the Romans respond to these two situations. Angered though they are at the
treacherous seizure of Rhegium, they are unable to take any action so long as
they are occupied with a series of wars in Italy (1.7.9). But as soon as they settle
their affairs, they turn their arms against their rebellious soldiers and lay siege to
the town. Despite the fierce defence offered by Decius’ men, they finally manage
to reduce Rhegium and restore it to the survivors of its former residents (1.7.13).
The mutineers are punished in an exemplary fashion: those who are captured
alive are sent back to Rome and there they are condemned to death by order
of the Roman people (1.7.12). The reduction of Rhegium precipitates another cri-
sis. For the Mamertines, deprived of the useful alliance of the Romans at Rhe-
gium, cannot hold out against Hiero. Thus, after being shattered at the Longa-
nus, they send an embassy to Rome with an appeal for help against the Syracu-
sans which eventually succeeds (1.10 – 11). The Romans’ decision to furnish aid to
 Yet, in 2.56.7– 10 Polybius launches an extended attack on Phylarchus for having presented
the pillage of Mantinea by Antigonus Doson, Aratus and the Achaeans in 223 in a manner
befitting a tragic poet rather than a historian. Specifically, he argues that Phylarchus merely
sought to give his readers some passing amusement by unfolding a number of heartrending
scenes before their eyes (2.56.8: ἀεὶ πρὸ ὀφθαλμῶν τιθέναι τὰ δεινά). It is worth mentioning that
this criticism, combined with a fragment from the third-century historian Duris of Samos (FGrH
76 F 1) and a passage in Diodorus (20.43.7) possibly drawn from Duris (see, e. g., Kebric 1977, 40),
formed the theoretical basis for the arguments, and to a large extent the conjectures, of the
critics who supported the existence of a school of ‘tragic history’ in the Hellenistic era. For
discussion and scholarship see Meister 1975, 109 – 26; Sacks 1981, 144– 70; and Fornara 1983,
124– 34; see also the remarks of Gray 1987, 467– 86. For other instances of Polybius’ succumbing
to sensational writing see Walbank 1972, 39 – 40; McGing 2010, 72– 73.
the Mamertines stands in surprising contrast to their preceding harsh punish-

ment of the coup-makers at Rhegium.
The account of these events is notable for its chronological compression.³⁷
Its six chapters cover a period of approximately 23 years. And the elasticity of
its time-terms (e. g. ‘very soon’ (παρὰ πόδας, 1.7.5); ‘not long before’ (χρόνοις οὐ
πολλοῖς πρότερον, 1.8.3)) enhances the obscurity stemming from its summary
form. Polybius’ vagueness about chronology may be attributed to his interest
in causality.³⁸ It has also been thought to conceal Rome’s delayed response to
the coup at Rhegium.³⁹ But rather than suggesting a quick reaction on the
part of the Romans, Polybius stresses instead the obstacles they had to overcome
before they could turn their attention to Rhegium (1.7.9). Although this may be
taken as providing some justification for their delay, it seems understated com-
pared with the way Dionysius of Halicarnassus presents (in a noticeably pro-
Roman vein) the rapidity of the Roman intervention in the version of the same
incident he reports in his Roman Antiquities: ‘The senate, upon learning from
those who had escaped destruction the calamity that had befallen the Rhegians,
did not delay for even a moment (οὐδὲ τὸν ἐλάχιστον ἀναμείνασα χρόνον), but
sent out the general in the city at the head of another army which had just
been enrolled’ (20.5.1) (trans. E. Cary).
Polybius’ version, unlike Dionysius’, does not present an untarnished image
of the Romans. It has been suggested that its emphasis on Campanian crimes is
intended to exonerate Rome from her responsibility for the behaviour of her
Campanian soldiers at Rhegium.⁴⁰ But Polybius does not emphasize that the mu-
tineers were Campanians, as he constantly refers to them as Romans (1.6.8: …
τοὺς τότε κατέχοντας τὸ Ῥήγιον Ῥωμαίους; 1.8.1: … συνεχρῶντο τῇ τῶν Ῥωμαίων
συμμαχίᾳ τῶν τὸ Ῥήγιον κατασχόντων).⁴¹ Besides, his revelation of the selfish
 See Champion 2004, 106: ‘There is a great deal of chronological compression here’; Hoyos
2011, 138: ‘The major problem with his account is compression to the edge of obscureness’.
 See Petzold 1969, 139 – 49.
 Cf. Champion 2004, 106: ‘Rome’s tardy response at Rhegium is camouflaged by the rapidity
of Polybius’s narrative’ and 107: ‘Of vital importance for Polybius’s representation of Roman
collective group character is the fact that his narrative glosses over the time lag between the
Campanians’ seizure of Rhegium and Rome’s punitive action against them. His narrative sug-
gests swift Roman retribution against transgressors of justice; the historical interval, of course,
compromises any such picture’.
 Champion 2004, 107: ‘Polybius rather emphasizes Campanian enormities at Rhegium and
Messana, thereby relieving Rome of any responsibility for the excesses of Campanian troops in
its service’.
 Cf. 1.10.4: ‘For they had just inflicted on their own fellow-citizens (τοὺς ἰδίους πολίτας) the
highest penalty for their treachery to the people of Rhegium …’. If Polybius had wanted to
motives of the Romans in punishing their soldiers undermines the positive im-
pression created by their reduction of Rhegium and lays bare their self-seeking
priorities. It thus sets forth the notion of Rome as a strong, highly ambitious
state concerned not so much with the preservation of law and order as with ad-
vancing its own interests. Indeed, so far from being moved by their commitment
to any noble idea of justice, the Romans are shown to act merely out of their de-
sire to regain the trust of their allies (1.7.12– 13).
Hints at the self-interestedness of Roman foreign policy are also felt in the
presentation of the debate over the Mamertines’ appeal for aid. The prospect
of approving it caused understandable uncertainty in the Senate. Helping the
Mamertines would be embarrassing for the Romans, especially in the light of
their recent harsh punishment of their Campanian mercenaries. Yet, there was
a common perception among them, Polybius says, that if the Carthaginians man-
aged to conquer Messana–something that would no doubt happen if the Mamer-
tines received no aid–they would very soon control the whole of Sicily turning it
into a stepping stone to Italy (1.10.7– 9).⁴² Carthage, who was already a power to
be reckoned with, if it added Sicily to its dominion over the other islands and its
possessions in Spain, might be expected to constitute a greater threat. The Ro-
mans, then, found themselves faced with the dilemma of either taking action
to assist those who were as culpable as the Rhegium’s occupiers or to stand
by and allow the Carthaginians to cross into Sicily and take it over. Again,
their initial indecision is resolved on a pragmatic basis:
The commons (οἱ δὲ πολλοί), however, worn out as they were by the recent wars and in need
of any and every kind of restorative, listened readily to the military commanders, who, be-
sides giving the reasons above stated for the general advantageousness of the war (περὶ τοῦ
κοινῇ συμφέρειν τὸν πόλεμον), pointed out the great benefit in the way of plunder which
each and every one would evidently derive from it (καὶ κατ᾽ ἰδίαν ἑκάστοις ὠφελείας προδή-
λους καὶ μεγάλας). They were therefore in favour of sending help (1.11.2– 3).
exempt Rome from her share of responsibility for the appalling behaviour of her mercenaries at
Rhegium, he probably would have emphasized their Campanian origin and refrained from
calling them Romans, as did Dionysius of Halicarnassus in his account of the same events in his
Roman Antiquities (20.4– 5). But the only hint of the mercenaries’ Campanian origin that we have
in the Polybian text is that their leader Decius was Campanian (1.7.8).
 This scenario has been considered extremely unlikely. Cf., e. g., Gelzer 1933, 151; and Hoyos
2011, 140: ‘a garrison in Messana probably under a thousand strong could hardly be viewed as
evidence of an imperialistic design on Italy’. Indeed, as I argue below (§4.2), the Romans here
seem to do no more than to project their own way of thinking onto their adversaries. For a full
discussion of the debate at Rome see Hoyos 1985, 47– 66.
Interestingly, their desire for profit is presented as a motivational force potent

enough to override all other concerns, including those related to the impact
the apparent inconsistency in their decision making may have on their allies.
In claiming that οἱ πολλοί eventually favoured the appeal, Polybius created
ample scope for scholarly disagreement. Several attempts have been made to
elucidate whether the phrase is used to denote ‘the many’ voting in a popular
assembly or a majority in the Senate. Their results are almost equally divided be-
tween the two options.⁴³ Champion argues that the imprecision of Polybius’ lan-
guage obscures the identity of those involved in the ratification of the aid, thus
leaving the ‘ultimate responsibility for the first Roman crossing overseas indeter-
minate’.⁴⁴ It, moreover, serves to uphold the ‘image of the Senate at the outbreak
of the war as a monolithic block exercising temperance and restraint, goaded
into action only by the threat of external aggression’ (109). However, it is clear
that the responsibility for this decision, regardless of whether it was taken by
the Senate or a popular assembly, is shown to rest with the Romans. Besides,
we cannot possibly know to what extent this ambiguity was actually intended
by Polybius or even perceived as such by his contemporary readers.
The notion that the account of these events stresses Carthaginian aggression
in order to present Rome’s decision as an act of ‘defensive imperialism’ is also
questionable. The threat from the enlargement of Punic territorial possessions
is focalized through the Romans. Polybius nowhere explicitly refers to Punic ex-
pansionist designs to Italy, nor does he recount any event which could have im-
pelled the Romans to take actions for their own defence.⁴⁵ Instead, his depiction
of the growth of the Romans’ ambitions after the fall of Agrigentum draws atten-
tion to their adopting the same sort of behaviour they attribute to their oppo-
nents:
When the news of what had occurred at Agrigentum reached the Roman Senate, in their joy
and elation they no longer confined themselves to their original designs and were no longer
 The background to this debate is recounted by Walbank 2002, 22. The problem, originally
posed by Develin 1973, 121– 22, was discussed in the proceedings of two seminars organized by
Professor Calderone in the University of Messina in 1976 and 1981. After initially disagreeing, the
participants eventually supported Calderone’s view that the phrase refers to a majority in the
Senate. This view was also endorsed by Eckstein 1980, 175 – 90; 1987, 315 – 17, 335 – 40. On the
other hand, objections were raised by Hoyos 1984, 88 – 93, who argued that the phrase refers to a
popular assembly. His objections were shared by Rich 1993, 56, 62 and Walbank 2002, 22.
 Champion 2004, 109
 Cf. Harris 1979, 187: ‘However Carthage took no overt action against Rome before the Roman
war-decision, and, more significantly, appears not to have raided the Italian coast until the
Romans had already laid siege to the main Carthaginian base in Sicily, Agrigentum’.
satisfied with having saved the Mamertines and with what they had gained in the war itself,
but, hoping that it would be possible to drive the Carthaginians entirely out of the island
and that if this were done their own power would be much augmented, they directed their
attention to this project and to plans that would serve their purpose (1.20.1– 3).
The rapidity with which the Romans are seen to redefine their aims leaves the
impression that their earlier reading of Carthage’s expansionist motives was in
fact affected by their own way of thinking.
Considering the expectations developed so far, the behaviour of the Romans
after their initial success is barely surprising. Their acquisitiveness has already
been hinted at in the account of the several wars they waged in Italy
(1.6.6 – 8). Their decision to undertake these wars in order to extend their rule
over the rest of Italy was explicitly related to their conviction that they were fight-
ing not for foreign but rather their own lands (Ῥωμαῖοι … ἐπὶ τὰ λοιπὰ μέρη τῆς
Ἰταλίας ὥρμησαν, οὐχ ὡς ὑπὲρ ὀθνείων, ἐπὶ δὲ τὸ πλεῖον ὡς ὑπὲρ ἰδίων ἤδη καὶ
καθηκόντων σφίσι πολεμήσοντες, 1.6.6).⁴⁶ The stark juxtaposition of the Rhegium
and Messana episodes has drawn readers further into assessing the self-seeking
character of the motives governing Roman behaviour. Polybius’ foregrounding of
the similarities of these two stories has the effect of making their differences
stand out more conspicuously. It thus encourages readers to reflect upon what
differentiates the development of the crisis of Messana from that of Rhegium,
and more specifically upon the way in which the pursuit of self-interest deter-
mines in each case the course of the events as well as the Romans’ reaction.
So far from relieving Rome from any moral responsibility, Polybius does not hes-
itate to forcefully emphasize the more shady aspects of her foreign policy.
The narration of these events is significant, even programmatic, in attuning
readers’ minds to the sort of motives affecting the behaviour of the Romans in
the later stages of the work. Indeed, allured by the prospect of gain, they are
seen on several occasions to flout, or turn a blind eye to, justice. In the conflict
between the Carthaginians and Massanissa, for example, they side with the lat-
ter not because they believe his cause to be just but because they consider it to
be in their best interest (αἰεὶ συνέβαινε τοὺς Καρχηδονίους ἐλαττοῦσθαι παρὰ τοῖς
Ῥωμαίοις, οὐ τοῖς δικαίοις, ἀλλὰ τῷ πεπεῖσθαι τοὺς κρίνοντας συμφέρειν σφίσι τὴν
τοιαύτην γνώμην, 31.21.6 – 7). On the same grounds they reject Demetrius’ just re-
quest to return to his kingdom and homeland because the presence of the young
and weak Antiochus V on the Syrian throne better serves their interests (οὐ διὰ τὸ
 Therefore, here, I disagree with Champion 2004, 106: ‘In Polybius’s account, Roman wars
against Latins, Etruscans, Celts, Samnites and Pyrrhus were defensive struggles for survival that
hardened the Romans into great warriors’.
μὴ λέγειν τὰ δίκαια τὸν Δημήτριον ἔκρινεν τὴν ἀρχὴν τῷ παιδὶ συνδιαφυλάττειν,

ἀλλὰ διὰ τὸ συμφέρειν τοῖς σφετέροις πράγμασιν, 31.11.11– 12). Surely, it may be
objected that the uncertainty they display in the debate over the Mamertines’ ap-
peal is an indication that their foreign policy at this stage does not present the
same degree of amorality that it does later. But it is clear that the crucial issue for
the Romans here is not the morality of their decision but the impact it will have
on their allies, especially after the sensitivity they displayed in the case of Rhe-
gium: ‘For they had just inflicted on their own fellow-citizens the highest penalty
for their treachery to the people of Rhegium, and now to try to help the Mamer-
tines, who had been guilty of like offence not only at Messana but at Rhegium
also, was a piece of injustice very difficult to excuse’ (1.10.4– 5).⁴⁷
The Romans’ concern about the effects that their actions might have on their
image can be discerned elsewhere too. As already noticed, it lies behind their de-
cision to put to death those of their mercenaries who were responsible for the
seizure of Rhegium (1.7.12– 13). It can also be detected in the specious way in
which they justify their decision to proclaim war against the Dalmatians, con-
cealing their true motives (32.13). Nowhere, however, is the importance that
the Romans attach to their public relations propaganda clearer to see than on
the eve of the Third Punic War. Although they had wanted for a long time to em-
bark on this war, they dawdled precisely because they were looking out for a
suitable opportunity and a decent pretext to justify them in the eyes of the
world (καιρὸν ἐζήτουν ἐπιτήδειον καὶ πρόφασιν εὐσχήμονα πρὸς τοὺς ἐκτός,
36.2.2).⁴⁸ Indeed, as earlier in the debate over Messana, foreign opinion was
such an important factor in the making of this decision, that they were divided
over the matter and almost ended up not going to war (διὸ καὶ τότε περὶ τῆς τῶν
ἐκτὸς διαλήψεως πρὸς ἀλλήλους διαφερόμενοι παρ’ ὀλίγον ἀπέστησαν τοῦ πολέμ-
ου, 36.2.4).
The account of Rome’s intervention in Rhegium and Messana, then, sets the
scene for readers’ understanding of the factors playing a part in the shaping of
her foreign policy. Indeed, from the outset of his narrative Polybius raises doubts
 Champion 2004, 107 insists on the moral dimension of the dilemma, thus overlooking this
point: ‘Yet apparently the questionable morality of Roman aid to the Mamertines prevented the
senators from reaching a final decision on the matter’. Harris 1979, 113 correctly points out the
role the individual and collective self-interest of the Romans played in their ultimate decision to
respond positively to the Mamertines’ appeal: ‘he (sc. Polybius) pays attention to the Roman
nervousness about the power of Carthage, but he attributes more importance in the actual
decision (made by the people, he says) to the collective and individual benefits that the Romans
could expect from helping the Mamertines’.
 On this point see Petzold 1969, 45 – 46; Walbank 1979 ad loc. For Polybius’ view of the role of
pretexts in the shaping of foreign policy see Baronowski 2011, 73 – 77.
in his readers’ minds as to her true priorities. And not only does he not conceal
the clash between the aspiring superpower’s actual behaviour and its desire to
be seen as a state founded upon ethical principles and values, but he takes
pains to highlight it. Polybius, of course, was obviously familiar with the idea
that any state seeking to expand its power has to obey the dictates of self-inter-
est,⁴⁹ even when these conflict with the code of justice and force it to compro-
mise on its moral principles. Whether he approved of, or at least had a lenient
attitude towards, this state of affairs is a question worth asking, but it will not
be discussed here. What needs to be underlined is that in the Histories Rome
does not appear to develop her expansionist designs after a particular turning-
point in her history,⁵⁰ but from a very early stage she is seen as being set on pur-
suing a self-interested and acquisitive policy.
***
To sum up, readers, however careful they are, are likely to find it difficult to com-
prehend the intricate architecture of the section that runs from the end of the
preface up to the beginning of the First Punic War. Even locating the exact start-
ing point of the narrative, on account of the successive analepses, is not an easy
matter. It is clear, though, that the effort put into reading these pages eventually
pays off. In this section are set forth several themes and patterns that prove ex-
tremely effective in their capacity to help readers understand the reasons for the
expansion of Roman rule. Some of these patterns, such as the value of relying on
one’s own strength and the dangers inherent in employing mercenaries, are used
to link the beginning of the first book with its end; yet others, such as the Ro-
mans’ vigilance in the face of adverse conditions, or the priority self-interest
takes over morality in their foreign policy making, recur throughout the work.
All of them, however, through the reader’s progressive familiarization with the
ideas they convey, make the account more convincing and also raise certain ex-
 Cf. Walbank 1972, 165.

 Modern historians usually locate it in the new balance of power that emerged in the East as a
result of the treaty of alliance contracted between Philip V of Macedon and Antiochus III of the
Seleucid Empire. This hypothesis was first put forward by Holleaux 1921 (see also Griffith 1935,
1– 6; Walbank 1940, 127– 28; Stier 1952, 101– 4; Albert 1980, 104– 6; Chamoux 2002, 114) and
more recently revived by Eckstein 2008, esp. 129 – 50. A contrary view was expressed by Harris
1979, who believed that the Romans from the outset were pursuing an expansionist policy in
keeping with their belligerent and aggressive character. The historians influenced by Harris’ view
include North 1981; Rowland 1983; Rawson 1986; Mandell 1989, 1991; Derow 1989, 1991, 2003;
Raaflaub 1996; Rosenstein 1999, 193 – 205; and Cambell 2002, 167– 69. The historicity of the pact
was challenged by Magie 1939, 32– 44; Errington 1971, 336 – 54; Habicht 1982, 146; Warrior 1996,
16 – 17.
pectations which, when they are finally realized, lend the narrative, even in its
present fragmentary form, a sense of fulfillment and completeness.
2 The narrative of the prokataskeue
The main part of the prokataskeue (1.13 – 2.71) recounts three basic stages in the
consolidation and expansion of Roman rule: the wars Rome waged against the
Carthaginians, the Illyrians and the Gauls. During the First Punic War the Ro-
mans constructed their navy, with which they fought worthily against the Cartha-
ginians, who were masters at sea, and defeated them in their natural element.
The examination of the beginnings of Roman naval activity provides Polybius
with an opportunity to reiterate and develop further the ideas that he thematized
in the introductory part of the prokataskeue. The endurance and vigilance of the
Romans are most clearly shown through their ability to deal with adversities at
sea. At the same time, Polybius’ even-handed presentation of the warring sides
and the comparisons he draws between them cast doubt on the view that in the
first few books of his work there is a contrast between the ways in which the Ro-
mans and their opponents are presented. The final section of this chapter, which
focuses on the account of the conflicts between the Romans and the Gauls, aims
to question this view further. In particular, it makes clear that Polybius, far from
exploiting the barbaric nature of the Gauls in order to play down the aggressive-
ness of the Romans, actually highlights the expansionist designs of the latter
against the former and does not hesitate to point to Rome’s share of responsibil-
ity for the events that occur.
2.1 The First Punic War (1.13 – 63)
In opening his account of the First Punic War, Polybius advertises it in a series of
imposing phrases. It would be difficult, he claims, to mention any war that last-
ed so long or involved such large-scale preparations, so many sustained efforts,
so many battles and so many sudden reversals of fortune (1.13.11).¹ The magnifi-
cation of the subject matter is a common practice among ancient historians, and
this is certainly not the only occasion in which Polybius draws readers’ attention
to the uniqueness of the events he is dealing with. We have already noticed this
tactic in the preface to the prokataskeue, which is precisely intended to empha-
size the importance of the Histories. Polybius makes claims about the greatness
of his subject elsewhere too. For example, at the end of his account of the First
 On the origins and progress of the First Punic War see Harris 1979, 63 – 64, 108, 113 – 14, 182–
90; Caven 1980, 5 – 66; Scullard 1989; Lazenby 1996; Hoyos 1998, 1– 115; and Goldsworthy 2000,
65 – 140.
2.1 The First Punic War (1.13 – 63) 31
Punic War, he repeats his opening assertion using a string of superlatives (πόλε-
μος ὧν ἡμεῖς ἴσμεν ἀκοῇ μαθόντες πολυχρονιώτατος καὶ συνεχέστατος καὶ
μέγιστος, ‘the longest, most unintermittent, and greatest war we know of’,
1.63.4), and reinforces it by claiming that one only had to compare the quantity
of ships that were employed at that time with the fleets of Antigonus, Ptolemy or
Demetrius, or with the type of ships used in the Persian and Peloponnesian
Wars, in order to understand the difference in the sizes of the forces
(1.63.7– 8).² The narrative of the Truceless War, i. e. the mercenaries’ revolt
against the Carthaginians, also ends with expressions of amplification (πόλεμον,
ὧν ἡμεῖς ἴσμεν ἀκοῇ μαθόντες, πολύ τι τοὺς ἄλλους ὠμότητι καὶ παρανομίᾳ
διενηνοχότα, ‘it far excelled all wars we know of in cruelty and defiance of prin-
ciple’, 1.88.7). And the importance of the Romans’ war against the Gauls, which
is related in the second book, is expressed in a similar way (κατὰ μὲν τὴν ἀπό-
νοιαν καὶ τόλμαν τῶν ἀγωνιζομένων ἀνδρῶν, ἔτι δὲ κατὰ τὰς μάχας καὶ τὸ πλῆθος
τῶν ἐν αὐταῖς ἀπολλυμένων καὶ παραταττομένων οὐδενὸς καταδεέστερος τῶν
ἱστορημένων, ‘a war which, if we look to the desperation and daring of the com-
batants and the numbers who took part and perished in the battles, is second to
no war in history’, 2.35.2).
These claims about the greatness of the deeds recall the way Herodotus and
Thucydides attempt to draw their readers’ attention to the events they relate.
Both of them emphasize the superiority of their subject matter, particularly in
comparison with that of their predecessors, and they try to demonstrate it by
using superlatives to describe the importance, duration and magnitude (of the
conflicts and even of the disasters).³ As we have seen, Polybius also conforms
to this tradition, yet at the same time he manages to recast it. Τhis is because
he uses the expressions employed by previous historians to exalt their overall
subject in relation to the events set out in his two introductory books, thereby
placing even greater emphasis on the uniqueness of the events that he treats
from the third book onwards, i. e. in the main part of his work.⁴
The account of the First Punic War lives up to the importance of the events
that it records. It is indeed an engaging account, one that is capable, through its
action-packed plot, of attracting readers’ attention. The events are narrated at a
fairly quick pace, with individual episodes following each other in almost con-
 Here too, as in the preface (1.2), we observe Polybius drawing historiographical conclusions
through making historical comparisons.
 On the development of amplification and its relation to epideictic see Buchheit 1960, 15 – 26.
For an illuminating analysis of the types of magnification used by Herodotus and Thucydides
see Marincola 1997, 32– 43.
 Cf. Rood 2007, 169.
32 2 The narrative of the prokataskeue
stant succession and authorial interventions–by the standards of Polybius–kept

at a fairly low level.⁵ It is, in other words, an account that displays all the char-
acteristics of an adventure story, namely a great deal of action, constant upsets,
and unexpected twists. It is also interesting because some of Polybius’ ideas on
the Roman character merely hinted at in the previous narrative meet and merge
with the central theme that runs through it, the adventures of the Romans at sea
up until the time they acquire a significant naval capacity and are able to defeat
their adversaries as a result of it. This theme and its function in the narrative of
the First Punic War will be dealt with in the next section.
2.1.1 The theme of naval supremacy
That thalassocracy constitutes an excellent source of hegemonic power and ma-

terial prosperity, and is consequently a fundamental precondition for any state
seeking to extend the limits of its power, is an idea that occurs as early as Thu-
cydides, who appears to have been the first to teach it to his readers.⁶ In his Ar-
chaeology, the brief review of the distant Greek past which precedes his account
of the Peloponnesian War, he closes the presentation of the greatest naval forces
in Greek history noting that ‘those who applied their energies to the sea obtained
a great accession of strength by the increase of their revenues and the extension
of their dominion’ (1.15.1) (trans. B. Jowett). The narrative of the first book high-
lights the difference between Sparta, who possesses well-trained fighting forces
that are dominant on land, and Athens, who, thanks to her navy, has the upper
hand at sea and is therefore (owing to the benefits it reaps thereof) more likely to
win. This difference between the two adversaries is prominent in Thucydides’
narrative and acts as a sign that gives readers a (misleading) indication of the
final outcome.⁷ Thus, obviously, a certain amount of tension is created between
the historian’s intimations of what is to come and readers’ retrospective knowl-
edge of what actually happened, yet this discrepancy, as Connor has argued,
 On the extremely overt narratorial style of Polybius see below (§5.1).

 For an outline of the history of the idea of thalassocracy in greek thought see Momigliano
1942, 53 – 64; 1944, 1– 7.
 Cf. Connor 1984: ‘The attitude in Archaeology … deemphasizes land power and stresses the
significance of dominating the sea … But at least the modern reader will not miss the thrust of
Thucydides’ argument: the early history of Greece shows the importance of naval and financial
power. It point to Athens, not to Sparta … Indeed, if Archaeology were our only evidence, we
might conclude that Athens should win the war with Sparta … The reader begins the account of
the war’s origin with an unanswered question in the back of his mind: What goes wrong? How
does Athens fail?’ (33 – 34).
forms part of the rhetoric of the text and the intellectual challenge Thucydides
addresses to his readers.⁸
The theme of naval supremacy also proves to be of crucial importance in the
narrative of the First Punic War. Polybius conveys this message to his readers
very clearly and at a very early stage when, after the first few engagements be-
tween the two opponents and the indisputable successes of the Romans, he
maintains that the war was essentially evenly balanced precisely because the
Carthaginians were dominant at sea (1.20.6)–an idea that is repeated later, this
time in embedded or secondary focalization (1.20.7).⁹ On the same grounds, to-
wards the end of the narrative it is emphasized that a decisive conclusion to the
war could only be achieved through a naval conflict, and this realization is twice
presented via secondary focalization (1.59.3 – 4, 59.11)–i. e. as a thought expressed
by the characters (again the Romans)–and on a third occasion it is suggested by
the narrator himself, who proleptically hastens to confirm the reliability of the
Romans’ calculations (1.59.5). Polybius uses the technique of multiple focaliza-
tion to increase the special significance of the message that he wishes to commu-
nicate, since it enables him to illuminate it from a number of different perspec-
tives. The employment of this type of focalization, together with the narratorial
statement that the account of the First Punic War takes up so much room in the
Histories because it allows one to trace the beginnings of Roman naval activity
(1.20.8), indicates the importance that Polybius attaches to the theme of thalas-
socracy both for the organization of his narrative and its reception by his readers.
It would be no exaggeration to say that the joints in the account of the First
Punic War are essentially constructed with material relating to the Romans’ ad-
ventures at sea. Gradually, from the beginning to the end, we follow the impres-
sive attempts of the Romans to tame the sea in order to neutralize the advantage
held by the Carthaginians, and when this finally happens it marks the end of the
war. Fortune, at the beginning at least, appears to favour them. At the naval Bat-
tle of Mylae, in their first confrontation at sea, they succeed in routing their ad-
versaries, and in their natural element at that, although this particular sea bat-
tle, because of the devices used by the Romans to grapple the enemy ships, was
actually more like a land battle (παραπλήσιον γὰρ πεζομαχίας συνέβαινε τὸν κίν-
δυνον ἀποτελεῖσθαι, 1.23.6).¹⁰ Yet, although it was achieved in this manner, this
highly unexpected success at sea redoubled their enthusiasm for the war (Οἱ δὲ
Ῥωμαῖοι παραδόξως ἀντιπεποιημένοι τῆς κατὰ θάλατταν ἐλπίδος, διπλασίως ἐπερ-
 Connor 1984, 32– 36. See, however, the reservations of Rood 1998, 22.
 The narrative here is focalized through the Romans. On the use of the term focalization see
below, pp. 86 – 87.
 For other examples of this topos see Pelling 1988, 283.
ρώσθησαν ταῖς ὁρμαῖς πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον, 1.24.1). Subsequent events are just as
favourable for the Romans. The outcome of the naval battle at Tyndaris is evenly
balanced (1.25.5) and once again they emerge as victors in the naval battle at Ec-
nomus (1.28.12– 13). Soon, however, their efforts at sea become a painful under-
taking since, apart from their own inexperience, they also have to contend with
the skill of the Carthaginians. Just as the Spartans and the Athenians in Thucy-
dides are renowned for their fighting capabilities on land and at sea, respective-
ly, so too in Polybius, at first, the two adversaries stand out for similar qualities:
the Romans for the effectiveness of their land forces and the Carthaginians, who
are characterized as undisputed masters of the sea (1.20.5, 20.12– 13), for their
naval supremacy, which lies in the special construction of their ships and the ex-
perience of their crews.
Indeed, thanks to their experience, as well as the speed and manoeuvrability
of their ships, the Carthaginians soon prove their technical superiority over the
Romans, who are sorely tried both by their rivals’ assaults in the naval battle at
Drepana (1.51.3 – 12) and also the series of natural disasters they suffer after their
victory at Ecnomus. In 255 their fleet, which has set out from Italy with the aim of
transferring all the Romans left in Libya to Sicily, runs into such a violent storm
near Cape Pachynus on its return journey that it is almost totally destroyed. In
order to emphasize the magnitude of the storm, Polybius states how difficult it
would be to give a full description (ὥστε μηδ᾽ ἂν εἰπεῖν ἀξίως δύνασθαι διὰ τὴν
ὑπερβολὴν τοῦ συμβάντος, 1.37.1). Instead, he prefers to mention the number of
ships affected–only 80 out of the 364 Roman ships survived–and he observes
that never before in history has there been a naval tragedy of such proportions
(ταύτης δὲ μείζω περιπέτειαν ἐν ἑνὶ καιρῷ κατὰ θάλατταν οὐδ᾽ ἱστορῆσθαι συμ-
βέβηκεν, 1.37.3). Two years later, in 253, while sailing from Panormus to Italy,
once again they run into a terrible storm and, as a result, this time lose over
150 ships (1.39.6). Yet the cycle of adversity plaguing the Romans does not
even end with this second wrecking of their fleet. In 249 they suffer yet another
naval catastrophe, when their fleet is sunk near Camarina and is ingloriously de-
stroyed for the third time (1.54.8).¹¹
So the Romans are at war with the Carthaginians, yet at the same time they
are at war with the sea. But while in most cases in which the Romans confront
other human forces they manage to succeed (σπανίως ἀποτυγχάνουσι, 1.37.8 – 9),
when they have to contend with the sea and the natural elements, often the out-
come is disastrous, precisely because of their passionate and impetuous nature:
 On Rome’s use of sea power at this period see Thiel 1954; cf. Rankov 1996.
The Romans, to speak generally, rely on force in all their enterprises, and think it is incum-
bent on them to carry out their projects is spite of all, and that nothing is impossible when
they have once decided on it. They owe their success in many cases to this spirit, but some-
times they conspicuously fail by reason of it and especially at sea. For on land they are at-
tacking men and the works of man and are usually successful, as there they are employing
force against forces of the same nature, although even here they have in some rare instan-
ces failed. But when they come to encounter the sea and the atmosphere and choose to
fight them by force they meet with signal defeats. It was so on this occasion and on
many others, and it will always continue to be so, until they correct this fault of daring
and violence which makes them think they can sail and travel where they will at no matter
what season (1.37.7– 10).
Polybius’ description of the Roman temperament reminds the way in which the
national characteristics of the Athenians are portrayed in the Thucydidean Tet-
ralogy (1.68 ff.).¹² The Romans resemble the Athenians especially in their bold,
venturesome spirit, their resourcefulness, and their pursuit of ambitions and ad-
venture activities. Like the Athenians, they are forceful, self-confident and ener-
getic. And their readiness to accomplish their goals at all costs (καὶ τὸ προτεθὲν
οἰόμενοι δεῖν κατ᾽ ἀνάγκην ἐπιτελεῖν καὶ μηδὲν ἀδύνατον εἶναι σφίσι τῶν ἅπαξ
δοξάντων, 1.37.7) recalls the Athenians’ daring and swiftness in conception and
execution of plans (καὶ ἐπινοῆσαι ὀξεῖς καὶ ἐπιτελέσαι ἔργῳ ἃ ἂν γνῶσιν, 1.70.2)
that sometimes exceed their capabilities (καὶ παρὰ δύναμιν τολμηταί, 1.70.3).
However, whereas in Thucydides the description of the Athenians is effected
through the voice of the Corinthians, i. e. as a form of secondary focalization em-
bedded in direct speech, in Polybius the primary narrator interrupts the account
in order to insert his comments, which, as they conclude with the remark that
they will continue to be borne out in practice so long as the Romans do not
change their mentality, assume a prophetic and, in a way, diachronic quality.
Paradoxically, what makes the Romans vulnerable is the same trait of their
character that so often secures them victory. Thanks to their impetuosity and bold-
ness, they very often manage to escape impending disaster and, what is more,
transform it into brilliant success. Nowhere is this virtue more vividly brought
out than in the Romans’ naval adventures. Their decision to construct ships in
order to bring about an end to the conflict, at a time when they fail to possess
 A comparative analysis of Thucydides and Polybius, despite the contrary view of Pédech
1969, xli – xlii, who did not discern any Thucydidean influence on Polybius, would be very
interesting. To my knowledge, however, this topic has until recently received relatively little
scholarly attention. For references see Rengakos 2011, 414 with n. 71. Several points of contact
between the two writers are discussed in Rood 2012. See also Longley 2012. In Miltsios 2013 I
attempt a comparative examination of their introductory books.
not only the necessary experience but also any suitable ships (1.20.12– 14) to serve
as a model for the new fleet (they eventually use for this purpose a Carthaginian
vessel they happen to capture (1.20.15 – 16)),¹³ is presented as a proof of their brav-
ery (ἐξ ὧν καὶ μάλιστα συνίδοι τις ἂν τὸ μεγαλόψυχον καὶ παράβολον τῆς Ῥωμαίων
αἱρέσεως, 1.20.11). Likewise, when in the shipwreck of 255 they lose almost the
whole of their fleet, they do not abandon their aim, despite the discontent caused
by the news when it reaches Rome (1.38.5), but recover and within the space of
three months manage to build 200 new ships–a stupendous and incredible feat
for the time (ὅπερ οὐδὲ πιστεῦσαι ῥᾴδιον, 1.38.6). Therefore, interestingly, Polybius’
presentation of the theme of naval supremacy links the account of the First Punic
War not only with Thucydides’ Archaeology (intertextuality) but also with the
opening narrative section of the prokataskeue (intratextuality), where, as we
have seen, the bravery and daring of the Romans are strongly highlighted, along
with their ability to overcome the most harsh adversities.¹⁴
Indeed, the more adventures the Romans have, the more losses they sustain,
and the more sorely tried they are by fate, the more obstinate they become and
the harder they struggle to achieve their aims. When, in 243/242, having become
exhausted by the long war and their previous failures, they decide to fight
against the Carthaginians once again at sea, without possessing a fleet or the fi-
nancial means to acquire one, the funds which the by now empty state treasury
cannot grant them are provided by the patriotism and generosity of the wealthier
citizens of Rome. They undertake to finance the construction of a completely
new Roman fleet and, at their own expense, have a fleet of 200 quinquiremes
built (1.59.4– 8)–and they are vindicated by their decision. One single battle,
the naval battle at Aegusa, finally determines both the outcome of the war
and the victor (1.61.5 – 8), thereby satisfying the expectation that had been culti-
vated since the beginning of the account that the final chapter of the confronta-
tion between the Romans and the Carthaginians would be written at sea.
The theme of naval supremacy is intended to serve as a cornerstone in the
plot of the first book of the Histories, and the reason for this is not far to seek:
the account of the beginnings of Roman naval activity, apart from the copious
information that it provides on this issue, can also be perceived as an attempt
on the part of Polybius to explain the phenomenon that he himself advertises
in the preface to the prokataskeue as a central theme in the work, the expansion
of Roman rule to the entire Mediterranean world (1.1.5). Of all the enterprises un-
 The belief that the Romans displayed a special ability to improve themselves by learning
from their opponents was commonly held in Greek and Latin literature of the Hellenistic and
Imperial periods. For more on this subject see Walbank 1957 ad loc.
 For further details see above, pp. 16 – 17.
dertaken in the First Punic War, those at sea are certainly the most suitable in
this respect as they show the endurance and alertness of the Romans in the
face of hardship and portray the traits of their character that played a decisive
role in the realization of this unique achievement.
2.1.2 Τhe story of Hannibal the ‘Rhodian’ (1.46 – 47) as Mise en Abyme
The foregoing has, I hope, made it clear what purposes the description of the Ro-
mans’ naval activity serves in the account of the First Punic War. However, Poly-
bius’ analysis of this theme is of particular interest for yet another reason: it is
worth tracing the way in which the Romans finally manage to offset their oppo-
nents’ advantage, with the result that their final endeavour at sea, unlike their
previous ones, is crowned with success. In what follows I shall attempt to dem-
onstrate that Polybius’ account of this event reflects and reproduces in miniature
the overall evolution of Roman naval operations.
Half-way through the war, while the Carthaginians are striving to find a
channel of communication with their compatriots who are being besieged by
the Romans at Lilybaeum in Sicily, the solution to the problem is provided by
a skilful seaman from Carthage itself. In 1.46.4– 47.10 we watch Hannibal the
so-called ‘Rhodian’ plan and, with the aid of his superbly constructed ship, suc-
ceed in breaking the Roman blockade and entering Lilybaeum in triumph, and
then return to Carthage, thus providing his country’s government with valuable
information and his besieged compatriots with a boost in morale. The Romans,
who are amazed by the daring and skill of the ‘Rhodian’, find themselves at an
extreme disadvantage since, although they deploy their ten fastest ships, he slips
between them and passes them as if they were rooted to the spot (οἷον ἑστῶτα
παραδραμὼν τὰ σκάφη τῶν ὑπεναντίων, 1.46.10). Their next efforts to obstruct
him, such as their attempt to block the mouth of the harbour with earth
(1.47.4), prove equally unsuccessful. Because the narration of Hannibal’s episode
is iterative (καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν ἤδη πλεονάκις ποιῶν ταὐτὸ τοῦτο μεγάλην χρείαν
παρείχετο, ‘After this he several times performed the same feat and was of
great service’, 1.46.13), we do not learn all the details of his activities. We are
only informed of what transpires between him and the Romans on the first
and last occasions that they confront him.
The episode ends with Hannibal falling into the ambush the Romans have
set for him (1.47.9 – 10). However, knowing Polybius’ regular tactic of justifying
his narratorial choices,¹⁵ we realize that he closes it in a somewhat sudden, if not

unusual, manner, that is to say, without providing any clarification of the rea-
sons why this episode receives such extensive narrative coverage, or of the
role or function it serves in the account of the First Punic War–all he does is
to remark that the ship which fell into the Romans’ hands was of superior
build (τῆς νεὼς εὖ κατεσκευασμένης, 1.47.10). Later, towards the end of the
First Punic War (1.59), when the Romans, following the series of disasters inflict-
ed on their navy, decide to pay for the construction of a completely new fleet out
of their own private funds and in this way put an end to the war, we learn that
the 200 new quinquiremes are constructed on the basis of the design of the cap-
tured ship (τῷ δὲ τοιούτῳ τρόπῳ ταχέως ἑτοιμασθέντων διακοσίων πλοίων πεντη-
ρικῶν, ὧν ἐποιήσαντο τὴν ναυπηγίαν πρὸς [παράδειγμα] τὴν τοῦ Ῥοδίου ναῦν,
1.59.8). This piece of information, which has a retrospective effect as it brings
back to the fore the episode involving Hannibal, is disclosed only at the point
where it is most relevant. It is a familiar narrative device to withhold certain cru-
cial details from the discussion of a topic with an important bearing on the story-
line so that they can be conveyed on a later occasion, at a more opportune mo-
ment.¹⁶
If Polybius, while recounting the way in which the ‘Rhodian’’s ship fell into
the hands of the Romans, had mentioned that this ship would later serve as the
model for the construction of a fleet that would secure Rome supremacy at sea
and consequent victory in the First Punic War, we would clearly have a typical
case of prolepsis. Although, of course, this is not the case, yet I believe that Han-
nibal’s episode has a proleptic orientation, which becomes apparent to readers
only retrospectively. The reference to the ‘Rhodian’’s ship and its superior
build functions as a ‘seed’: by this term–which, for understandable reasons, is
most frequently used in detective novels, where it is conventional for an appa-
rently unimportant piece of information to later reveal, in a highly decisive man-
ner, the perpetrator of the crime–narratologists mean any detail whose impor-
tance to the outcome of the story is revealed not at the moment it is presented
but retrospectively and through the subsequent development of the plot.¹⁷ A pro-
 On this aspect of Polybius’ narrative technique see Marincola 1997, 10 – 11; 2001, 125; cf. also
Rood 2004, 149 – 50.
 For a discussion of this device and of similar examples in Thucydides see Rengakos 2006a,
287– 88, where also more literature.
 ‘Seed’ is an English translation of the term ‘amorce’ that was used by Genette (1972) 1980,
76 – 77 to denote the literary device in question. On the use of the term cf. de Jong 1999, 243 and
Nünlist 2009, 68 with n. 15, who also presents two examples from the Homeric scholia which
show that the term σπέρμα (‘seed’) was employed with the same meaning by ancient critics too.
leptic interpretation of Hannibal’s story is, indeed, very likely. And it is made all
the more attractive by the fact that this particular episode seems to reflect and
reproduce all of the Romans’ naval adventures during the First Punic War. As
we have seen, when the Romans attempt to challenge Hannibal’s skill and the
agility of his vessel, being the inexperienced seamen that they are, they fail
and are humiliated. In the end, however, thanks to their persistence and re-
sourcefulness, they manage to acquire this agile vessel and lay the foundations
of their future triumph upon its design. This is exactly what happens in their
naval adventures as a whole. In a similar way, the sea, once a devastating threat,
eventually becomes a benevolent force and a basic precondition of world dom-
ination when they decide to reconstruct their navy on the basis of the ‘Rhodian’’s
ship and, this time better prepared, to fight the Carthaginians at Aegusa. Para-
doxically, Hannibal’s vessel, which humiliates the Romans and aids their adver-
saries, becomes the instrument which secures them victory. It is, perhaps, no ac-
cident that the Hannibal episode lies roughly in the middle of the account of the
First Punic War. Being a reflection of all the Romans’ efforts to gain supremacy at
sea, it functions as a mise en abyme,¹⁸ that is, a narrative which reproduces the
main story in miniature by mirroring the Romans’ past failures and also prepar-
ing readers for their future triumph.
2.1.3 Romans and Carthaginians
Episodes like that of Hannibal the ‘Rhodian’, which highlight the activity of a
particular character, are rare in the prokataskeue. Those that do exist concern
not so much military commanders or consuls (although the latter are usually
mentioned whenever they assume power) as ordinary people that intervene in
the action and decisively influence the course it takes. A striking case is that
of the Lacedaemonian Xanthippus, whose advice to the Carthaginian generals
boosts the fighting spirit of their men (1.32.8, 33.2– 4) just after they have sus-
tained two successive defeats (1.28 ff.) and helps them to win a great victory
(1.34). The episode of Xanthippus, with its well-planned insertion at this point
in the narrative, presents the Carthaginians as gaining a clear advantage over
their rivals, thus creating a twist in the plot which, though temporary, arouses
 Despite criticisms and revisions (see, e. g., Ron 1987, 421– 22), Dällenbach’s Le Récit spécu-
laire 1977 is still the definitive work on the theory of the mise en abyme and the basis for
subsequent discussion. Dällenbach (1977) 1989, 8 defines the mise en abyme in its broadest
sense as ‘any aspect enclosed within a work that shows a similarity with the work that contains
it’.
the reader’s interest. It also provides Polybius with an opportunity, in concluding

the story, to teach his readers that sometimes the advice of just one man is suf-
ficient to alter the course of history (1.35.4– 5). The structure of Xanthippus’ story
follows a pattern according to which events are presented in such a way that the
anticipated unfolding of the plot is altered drastically by the ‘decisive interven-
tion’ of a certain character.¹⁹ Yet, the Xanthippus episode represents only an ex-
ception for the prokataskeue. For here there are few stories relating to individual
characters, and even fewer relating to eminent figures.
This does not hold true for the main part of the work, in which great leading
figures do appear, most of which, like Hannibal, Scipio and Aemilius Paulus, in-
spire great admiration in the reader. In the prokataskeue, nevertheless, which
aims to familiarize the reader with the protagonists of the narrative, attention
is focused mainly on highlighting the characteristics of their collective identity
and not so much on providing character sketches of individual figures.²⁰ A
basic principle in Polybius’ presentation of the Romans is that it acquires its
full meaning when it is compared with his presentation of the Carthaginians. Ac-
cordingly, the qualities that characterize the Romans should be interpreted in
conjunction with those that characterize their adversaries. Extensive space is in-
deed devoted to the presentation of the Carthaginians and the reason for this is
clear. If the account of the Romans’ naval activity is a suitable way of highlight-
ing their boldness, persistence and firm adherence to the purposes they set
themselves, another way is to reveal the abilities of their opponents. The worthi-
ness of the defeated lends splendour to the triumph of the victor. Besides, as in
this particular case there is no irreversible victory, but the roles of victor and de-
feated alternate during the course of the narrative (the conflict between the two
rivals escalates in the Second and Third Punic Wars, with disastrous consequen-
ces for both sides), Polybius has yet another good reason to show that the Car-
thaginians do not lack the virtues that enable the Romans to gain the upper
hand: to make his readers feel that it is worth reading the main part of his
work in order to follow the attempts made by these worthy opponents to prevail
over each other.
The enthusiasm of the Carthaginians for the war, to begin with, is presented
as being on a par with the Romans’ impetuosity. Indeed, frequent mention is
made of the bravery and boldness that the Carthaginians show in repulsing
 On this see Gribble 2006, 450 – 51.

 In the first book of Thucydides, too, as Connor 1984, 24 observed, the emphasis is more on
presenting historical facts and their evolution and less on highlighting individual figures and
achievements.
the enemy threat (e. g. 1.23.3, 32.7, 33.5, 40.3),²¹ as well as the zeal with which they
prepare their troops for battle (1.17.3, 26.8, 38.1). Notably, this mood does not ap-
pear to desert them, even when the balance tilts in favour of the other side. Thus,
when they discuss the peace proposals of Marcus Atilius Regulus, having mean-
while been defeated both on land and at sea (and despite the fact that the ter-
ritorial integrity of their country is threatened by Numidian raids and the plun-
dering forays of the Romans), they refuse to accept the extremely humiliating
terms of the treaties and decide to continue the war: ‘The attitude of the Cartha-
ginian Senate on hearing the Roman general’s proposal was, although they had
almost abandoned all hope of safety, yet one of such manly dignity that rather
than submit to anything ignoble or unworthy of their past they were willing to
suffer anything and to face every exertion and every extremity’ (1.31.8). When,
later, they learn of the outcome of the naval battle at Aegusa, once again the
zeal they show for fighting remains undiminished: ‘Even on hearing of this un-
expected defeat the Carthaginians, had they let themselves be guided by passion
and ambition, would readily have continued the war, but when it came to a mat-
ter of cool calculation they were quite at a loss’ (1.62.1).
The great length of the conflict is another undeniable testament to the equal
worth of the two opposing sides engaged in it. Polybius uses two similes to con-
vey this message more efficiently. In the first (1.57.1– 7) he compares the combat-
ants with two evenly-matched boxers who, while fighting in the ring, exchange
such a constant hail of blows that neither the spectators nor even they them-
selves can keep count of them.²² In an analogous manner, in the conflict between
the Romans and the Carthaginians neither side can prevail over the other and
end the war precisely because the forces on both sides are evenly matched (αἵ
τε γὰρ δυνάμεις ἀμφοτέρων ἦσαν ἐφάμιλλοι, 1.57.6). The second simile expresses
even more vividly the state in which the opponents come to find themselves: ‘We
may compare the spirit displayed by both states to that of game cocks engaged in
a death-struggle. For we often see that when these birds have lost the use of their
wings from exhaustion, their courage remains as high as ever and they continue
to strike blow upon blow, until closing involuntarily they get a deadly hold of
each other, and as soon as this happens one or other of the two will soon fall
dead’ (1.58.7– 9).²³
However, it is not only the similes, images or comments of Polybius that
highlight the equality of the two opponents. The pace at which their successes
 Other examples (all from book 1): 45.11, 49.11, 50.11, 58.3.
 See above, ch. 1 n. 25.
 On the metaphor see Walbank 1957 ad loc.
follow their failures also confirms it. The twists in the plot are so frequent and so
sudden that it is not at all easy to determine, before learning of the final out-
come, which of the two sides stands the greatest chance of winning. The Romans
prevail at Agrigentum (1.19.9 – 15), the Carthaginians at Lipara (1.21.7– 8); the Ro-
mans win in the subsequent naval battle at Mylae (1.23.10 – 24.1), while the Car-
thaginians are victorious at Thermae (1.24.4). The Romans are victorious again in
Sardinia (1.24.6), while the conflict off Tyndaris proves to be evenly matched
(1.25.5). Later, although the Romans begin auspiciously with a double victory,
one at the naval battle at Ecnomus (1.28.13 – 14) and the other at the battle of
Adys (1.30.9 – 15), they are struck by the string of naval disasters mentioned
above (1.39.6, 51.11– 12, 54.8). Yet, they recover rapidly and their victory over
the Carthaginians at the naval battle of Aegusa marks the end of the war
(1.61.5 – 8).
We find, therefore, that the victories and defeats of the two rivals alternate in
such a way as to produce, if not an absolutely symmetrical pattern, at least a
steady pace and an even sequence. Polybius exploits this pattern in order to or-
chestrate a narrative whose structure reflects the equal strength of the two war-
ring sides. He thus enables readers to follow these events sometimes from the
standpoint of the Romans and at other times from that of their opponents. In-
deed, the focus does not remain constantly fixed on the Romans, as one
might expect it would in the case of the work’s main protagonists; on the con-
trary, it is constantly shifted, with the result that in some sections of the narrative
the action is filtered through the Romans (1.16 – 17.1, 20 – 21.5, 39.7– 15, 52.4– 8)
and in others through the Carthaginians (1.24.3 – 6, 30.1– 8, 36.1– 3, 46.1– 7,
62.1– 6). These shifts reach a climax and become more rapid, when the develop-
ment of a battle is described (1.34.1– 2, 45.11),²⁴ or when the same event is inter-
preted in a similar or even diametrically opposite manner by the warring sides
(1.25.5). In this way, the two opponents are ranked on the same level in terms
of the changes in focalization, a fact that promotes the sense of their being even-
ly matched, since with regard to their almost equal allocation of narrative space,
neither appears to have a significant advantage over the other.
Given Polybius’ tendency to draw comparisons and seek analogies,²⁵ it is no
surprise that the even-handed presentation of the Romans and Carthaginians
should lead him to observe similarities between the two in areas that exceed
the narrow sphere of their military performances. Already in the first phase of
 Cf. Marincola 2001, 126 with n. 60.

 On Polybius’ comparative method in general see Pédech 1964, 405 – 31 and, particularly from
the standpoint of comparing the Romans with the Achaeans, Petzold 1969, 34– 90.
the war the two adversaries are closely linked since they are shown to think and
act in the same way, such as when they decide to be more cautious–the Cartha-
ginians in their attacks and the Romans in their foraging for food (Μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα
συνέβη τοὺς μὲν Καρχηδονίους εὐλαβέστερον διακεῖσθαι πρὸς τὰς ἐπιθέσεις, τοὺς
δὲ Ῥωμαίους φυλακτικώτερον χρῆσθαι ταῖς προνομαῖς, 1.18.1)–or when both of
them comprehend the impact that the transfer of the theatre of operations to
Libya would have on the course of the war: ‘The plan of the Romans was to
sail to Libya and deflect the war to that country, so that the Carthaginians
might find no longer Sicily but themselves and their own territory in danger.
The Carthaginians were resolved on just the opposite course, for, aware as
they were that Africa is easily accessible, and that all the people in the country
would be easily subdued by anyone who had once invaded it, they were unable
to allow this’ (1.26.1– 2).
Later, the satisfaction the Romans feel on their victory at Panormus, thanks
to which they succeed in making up for their previous setbacks, is matched by
the joy that the Carthaginians feel on seeing Hannibal the ‘Rhodian’ break the
Roman blockade and land reinforcements at Lilybaeum. Just as the Romans’
gratification derives not so much from the outcome of the battle as from the con-
fidence they gain from capturing the elephants and neutralizing this great ad-
vantage of their rivals (Τοῦ δὲ προτερήματος τούτου προσπεσόντος εἰς τὴν
Ῥώμην, περιχαρεῖς ἦσαν οὐχ οὕτως ἐπὶ τῷ τοὺς πολεμίους ἠλαττῶσθαι τῶν θηρίων
ἐστερημένους, ὡς ἐπὶ τῷ τοὺς ἰδίους τεθαρρηκέναι τῶν ἐλεφάντων κεκρατηκότας,
1.41.1), so, too, the Carthaginians’ delight springs not so much from the aid that
arrives as from their awareness of the Romans’ inability to prevent Hannibal’s
vessel from entering the harbour (οἱ δ᾽ ἐν τῇ πόλει πάντες οὐχ οὕτως ἦσαν ἐπὶ
τῇ τῆς βοηθείας παρουσίᾳ περιχαρεῖς, καίπερ μεγάλην ἐλπίδα καὶ χεῖρα προσειλη-
φότες, ὡς ἐπὶ τῷ μὴ τετολμηκέναι τοὺς Ῥωμαίους κωλῦσαι τὸν ἐπίπλουν τῶν Καρ-
χηδονίων, 1.44.7). It is clear to see that in both cases the manner in which their
way of thinking is expressed is common. Of course, stylistic similarities should
not be viewed apart from the repertory of expressive means used by the repetitive
Polybian narrator.²⁶ Yet, considering the emphasis placed on presenting the Ro-
 The way in which the emotional states of the two warring rivals are expressed in this case
calls to mind the device de Jong (1987) 2004, 61 ff. has called ‘presentation through negation’.
This is a device that aims to promote interaction between the narrator and his narratees. Here,
specifically, it is as if Polybius is addressing his readers and telling them: ‘the Romans were
pleased with the way events turned out, but not so much, as you may probably think (and is, for
that matter, plausibly expected), because they defeated the Carthaginians, as because they
captured their elephants. Similarly, the Carthaginians were also pleased, though not so much for
the reason that one (therefore you the reader) would probably expect, namely because they
mans and Carthaginians in an even-handed manner, it seems reasonable to sug-

gest that these expressions may be selected and employed intentionally so that
comparisons are drawn between the two rivals through this way as well.
Similarly, if we compare the harsh criticisms that Polybius makes of the lead-
ers of the Carthaginians (1.31.1, 32.2) and the Romans (1.37.1– 6), we will again
find noticeable points of contact between them. The leaders of the two oppo-
nents are castigated for the miscalculations through which they exposed their
men to mortal dangers. The recklessness of the leaders, as a root cause of the
disasters suffered by their armies, is stated in an almost identical manner in
both cases. The Carthaginians, ‘having thus been twice defeated, shortly before
at sea and now on land, in both cases owing to no lack of bravery in their troops,
but owing to the incompetence of their commanders (οὐ διὰ τὴν τῶν πολλῶν
ἀνανδρίαν, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὴν τῶν ἡγουμένων ἀβουλίαν), had now fallen into a thor-
oughly difficult position’ (1.31.1). This was obviously because the locations
which the commanders selected for engaging in battle were most unsuitable
for the elephants and the cavalry, with the result that their troops, without the
aid of those forces that in other circumstances would have been able to secure
them victory, suffered defeat (αὐτοὺς δ’ ὑφ’ αὑτῶν ἡττᾶσθαι διὰ τὴν ἀπειρίαν
τῶν ἡγουμένων, 1.32.2). As far as the Romans are concerned, in a similar way
the cause of their naval wreck off Camarina is attributed not so much to fortune
as to their leaders (ἧς τὴν αἰτίαν οὐχ οὕτως εἰς τὴν τύχην ὡς εἰς τοὺς ἡγεμόνας
ἐπανοιστέον, 1.37.3).²⁷ Because of their overconfidence they paid no heed to the
warnings of experienced mariners and kept along the southern exposed coast
until they ran into a storm that almost completely destroyed their fleet. In
managed to obtain essential supplies, but because they realized that the Roman blockade of
Lilybaeum was not impenetrable’. Of course, it should not escape our attention that in both
cases Polybius is making use of a variation of the ‘presentation through negation’ technique. He
does not reject one interpretation in favour of another but simply states that the first (and more
expected) one is not so valid as the other (οὐχ οὕτως … ὡς). In this way he keeps both inter-
pretations at the fore while, at the same time, promoting that which is not so obvious at the first
reading. Thus, Polybius’ message to his readers in the passages in question could be decoded as
follows: such was the anxiety of the Romans about the elephants (and, similarly, the anxiety of
the Carthaginians about the blockade) that the satisfaction they experienced in managing to
overcome it eclipsed even the joy of their overall success. For the ‘presentation through negation’
technique in historiography and, especially, in Thucydides see Hornblower 1994, 152– 58.
 Cf. above, n. 26. In addition to an indirect apostrophization, the statement ‘Fortune was not
so much to blame as the commanders themselves’ may contain a veiled criticism of certain
historical accounts that presented the mass shipwreck at Camarina as the result of bad luck and
not poor seamanship. For the use of the ‘presentation through negation’ technique as a vehicle
of polemic in historiography see Hornblower 1994, 156.
their ignorance, ‘they exposed themselves to this great disaster, and were obliged
to acknowledge their lack of judgment’ (τότε τὴν αὑτῶν ἀβουλίαν ἔγνωσαν,
1.37.6). These striking correspondences in theme and language reinforce the con-
nection between the warring sides. Time and again, therefore, interest is focused
not on portraying contrasts between the Romans and the Carthaginians but on
establishing parallels between them.
The investigation of the parallels drawn between the opponents would not
be complete if we failed to mention that the Romans and Carthaginians are
also linked to each other in the narrative through the vigilance and endurance
they display in the face of adversity. And, if, of all the disasters that beset the
Romans, the most terrible are those at sea, in the Carthaginians’ case the
most intractable problems are created by the mercenaries they themselves re-
cruit in order to meet the needs of the war. As essential to the Carthaginians’ suc-
cess as naval activity is to the Romans, the mercenaries are rarely shown to fulfill
the aim for which they have been chosen. They, more often than not, prove to be
cowardly warriors and unreliable allies. Besides, many times, on account of their
tendency to betray their allies, they end up leading the men who trust them to
disaster. During the siege of Lilybaeum some of the most prominent leaders of
the mercenaries are said to enter into an agreement with the Roman consul to
surrender the town and all the Carthaginians in it. Indeed, the latter ‘very nar-
rowly escaped a complete disaster’ (παρὰ μικρὸν ἦλθον ἀπολέσαι τὰ πράγματα,
1.43.7) as a result of their mercenaries’ treachery. The ‘Beinahe’ of this episode,
which–reminding the well-known epic counterfactuals–hints at what would
have happened if the treason had not been discovered in time, shows the gravity
of the problem caused by the mercenaries.²⁸ However, the ‘decisive intervention’
by the Achaean Alexon (1.43.2) as well as the measures taken by the Carthagini-
an general when he is informed of the betrayal (1.43.3 – 4) avert the danger and
upset the mercenaries’ plans.
A more painful experience is that to which the Carthaginians are subjected
by their mercenaries during the so-called Libyan or Truceless War, following the
end of their conflict with Rome. The narrative of the Truceless War, which occu-
pies the closing section of the first book (65 – 88), is prefaced in a (by now) fa-
miliar manner. Again, emphasis is placed on drawing parallels and creating
links between the Romans and the Carthaginians (ἴδιόν τι καὶ παραπλήσιον ἀμφο-
 On Homeric counterfactuals see de Jong (1987) 2004, 68 – 81 (‘if not’-situations); Lang 1989;
and Nesselrath 1992, ch. 1, esp. pp. 8 – 9, extending de Jong’s analysis (‘Beinahe’-Episoden); see
also Morrison 1992. On counterfactuals in Thucydides see Flory 1988, comparing them with
counterfactual statements in Homer; and Dover 1988. For a thorough discussion of the use of
counterfactuals in Polybius see now Maier 2012a, 103 – 40.
τέροις συνέβη παθεῖν, 1.65.1). Both of them find themselves having to deal with
revolts on the part of their allies and, despite being worn out by the trials of
the earlier ordeal, are compelled to open up new fronts, the Romans against
the Faliscans and the Carthaginians against their mercenaries. Unlike the Ro-
mans, however, who quickly resolve this difficult situation to their own advant-
age (1.65.2), the Carthaginians do not manage to maintain control. The revolt thus
turns into a cruel war (1.65.3 – 4), during which many atrocities are committed.
Referring to the slaughter of thirty illustrious Carthaginians and the crucifixion
of their general Hannibal on the cross which the Carthaginians themselves
had used a little earlier to hang Spendius, the leader of the rebels, Polybius com-
ments: ‘Thus did Fortune, as if it were her design to compare them, give both the
belligerents in turn cause and opportunity for inflicting on each other the cruel-
lest punishments’ (1.86.7).²⁹
Nevertheless, it is the mercenaries who outdo their adversaries in terms of
atrocities. They represent a barbaric, almost primitive society, one that lies at
a far remove from the rules and standards of civilized human behaviour. Their
savagery is clearly expressed in the violation of agreements and oaths (1.68.8 –
10, 70.5 – 6) and their inability to communicate (1.67.3 – 12), in the ingratitude
with which they treat even their benefactors, such as the Carthaginian general
Gesco, whom they do not hesitate to torture and kill, despite the fact that they
had themselves chosen him as mediator owing to his integrity (1.68.13, 80.8,
80.12), and–in its most extreme manifestation–in the form of cannibalism
(1.84.9, 85.1). Polybius describes the dreadful state they had fallen into in the
darkest colours (1.81.5 – 9): ‘No one looking at this would have any hesitation
in saying that not only do men’s bodies and certain of the ulcers and tumours
afflicting them become so to speak savage and brutalized and quite incurable,
but that this is true in a much higher degree of their souls … Similarly such ma-
lignant lividities and pudrit ulcers often grow in the human soul, that no beast
becomes at the end more wicked or cruel than man. In the case of men in such a
state, if we treat the disease by pardon and kindness, they think we are scheming
to betray them or deceive them, and become more mistrustful and hostile to their
would-be benefactors, but if, on the contrary, we attempt to cure the evil by re-
taliation they work up their passions to outrival ours, until there is nothing so
abominable or so atrocious that they will not consent to do it, imagining all
the while that they are displaying a fine courage. Thus at the end they are utterly
 On the nature of the forces involved in the Libyan War, its progress and its presentation by
Polybius see Hoyos 2007.
2.2 The Roman Wars against the Illyrians (2.2 – 12) and the Gauls (2.14 – 35) 47
brutalized and no longer can be called human beings’.³⁰ Any man that does not
receive the right education from an early age is prone to display such behaviour
and may fall prey to it (1.81.10).
The narrative of this revolt reiterates the dangers of relying on mercenaries.
In stressing the difficulties the Carthaginians have in suppressing the revolt, it
may seem to destroy the balance of power created by the preceding account of
the First Punic War.³¹ However, the Carthaginians’ success in defeating the mer-
cenaries is impressive if one considers the problems they have to resolve. Not
only do they have no time to recover, as they were expecting to do after the
war with Rome, but their hopes are thwarted as they become embroiled in a
still more formidable war (μείζονος γὰρ ἐνίστατο πολέμου καταρχὴ καὶ φοβερω-
τέρου, 1.71.4), at the very moment when they find themselves without sufficient
supplies, ships or resources for constructing a navy, and without any allies to aid
them since everyone has sided with their adversaries (1.70.9 – 71.7). Worse still,
what is at stake in this new war is no longer the expansion of their rule but
the defence of the territorial integrity of their homeland itself (1.71.5, 73.7). By
showing the Carthaginians emerging victorious from such an ordeal, Polybius
brings out their endurance and conveys the message that their conflict against
Rome has only just begun. Thus, although the unsavory mercenaries are punish-
ed, the book does not close on an optimistic note. The gloomy dissection of
human nature that is prompted by the crimes committed during the Truceless
War casts a dark shadow over what is to follow.
2.2 The Roman Wars against the Illyrians (2.2 – 12) and
the Gauls (2.14 – 35)
The importance of the account of the First Illyrian War to forming a clear and
lucid understanding of the Histories and the nature of the expansion of
Roman rule is underlined from the outset by Polybius when he advises his read-
ers to pay careful attention to the events he is going to relate and not to view
them with indifference (ἅπερ οὐ παρέργως, ἀλλὰ μετ᾽ ἐπιστάσεως θεωρητέον
τοῖς βουλομένοις ἀληθινῶς τήν τε πρόθεσιν τὴν ἡμετέραν συνθεάσασθαι καὶ τὴν
 For a discussion of the metaphor and of parallels see Walbank 1957 ad loc.
 Cf. McGing 2010, 45 – 46: ‘Although evenly fought, the First Punic War did highlight a fun-
damental weakness in the Carthaginian military–their reliance on mercenaries. And the severe
difficulty they had in suppressing the revolt of their mercenaries was far from an impressive
display of power’.
αὔξησιν καὶ κατασκευὴν τῆς Ῥωμαίων δυναστείας, 2.2.2).³² The Illyrians are first
introduced through their conflict with the Aetolians over the latter’s siege of Me-
dion. The presence of the Aetolians at the beginning of the second book is jus-
tified: it reinforces the connection between its first and last sections. Just as in
the first book the beginning and end of the narrative are devoted to the presen-
tation of the Romans and the Carthaginians, respectively, so too in the second
book two other opponents, the Aetolians and the Achaeans, mark the bounda-
ries of the narrative, the Aetolians by occupying the first section and the
Achaeans the last. Thus, here too, just as in the first book, the beginning and
ending of the narrative are deliberately placed opposite each other so that read-
ers can draw comparisons this time not between the Carthaginians and the Ro-
mans but between the two Greek antagonists.
The first narrative episode in the second book, the siege of Medion by the
Aetolians (2.2– 4), clearly holds, both because of its inclusion at this point and
also, more importantly, because of its content, a symbolic position not only in
the main part of the prokataskeue but also in the Polybian narrative as a
whole. This is because this episode introduces a theme that is central throughout
the Histories, the divergence that often exists between the characters’ expecta-
tions and reality.³³ The Aetolians besiege the Medionians in order to force
them to join their league. Their tactic stands in direct contrast to Achaean polit-
ical behaviour, to which Polybius approvingly refers when, at the beginning of
his review of the earlier history of the Achaean League, he argues that its polit-
ical ideas found many willing supporters among the Peloponnesians, while
many others were persuaded to adopt them by argument (πολλοὺς δὲ πειθοῖ
καὶ λόγῳ προσηγάγετο, 2.38.7). Indeed, even those who at first opposed its
 Some scholars (e. g. Colin 1905, 24, 29, 49 and Derow 2003, 51– 53) believe that this war was
important to Polybius in that it brought the Romans into contact with the Greeks (2.12), while
others (e. g. Walbank (1975) 1985, 314 and Eckstein 2008, 32) think that its significance lies in the
fact that it constituted a first step towards the new, wider interconnection (συμπλοκή) of poli-
tical-military events. Of course, these two views are not mutually exclusive.
 This idea was deeply embedded in Greek thought and enjoyed wide currency in ancient
Greek literature. Stahl (1966) 2003 sees in the discrepancy between the planning of operations
and their realization a basic component of the tragic element in Thucydides. Grethlein 2006,
180 – 204 deals with the theme of frustrated expectations in Homer both at the level of the story
and of its reception by the reader. I discuss Polybius’ treatment of this theme in Miltsios 2009,
481– 506.
ideas later changed their minds and embraced them after becoming more famil-
iar with them (2.38.8 – 9).³⁴
The Aetolians, on the other hand, attempt to impose their policy on the Me-
dionians by force (καὶ περιστρατοπεδεύσαντες αὐτῶν τὴν πόλιν, κατὰ τὸ συνεχὲς
ἐπολιόρκουν, πᾶσαν βίαν προσφέροντες καὶ μηχανήν, 2.2.7). The case of Medion
shows not only their barbaric conduct but also their lack of judgement. They
take it for granted that they will succeed and are shown to engage in a totally
premature discussion about how they will deal with future developments.
They waver and disagree when the outgoing general insists that he should
have control over the allocation of the booty and the privilege of inscribing
his name on the shields set aside as votive offerings, instead of the general
that would be elected in the forthcoming elections (2.2.8 – 9). So it is decided
that both the old and the new generals should distribute the booty together
and have their names inscribed on the shields (2.2.11). However, at the crucial
moment the intervention of the Illyrians, who arrive at Medion as mercenaries
of Demetrius II to free the city from the blockade, wholly upsets their plans
(2.3.1– 3).
Relieved at their unexpected salvation, the Medionians, in order to ridicule
their opponents, decide to have their shields inscribed with the message that
they were won from the Aetolian general and the candidates for his office
(2.4.1– 2). The irony is not lost on Polybius: ‘It seemed as if what had befallen
this people was designed by Fortune to display her might to men in general.
For in so brief a space of time she put it in their power to do to the enemy the
very thing which they thought the enemy were just on the point of doing to them-
selves’ (2.4.3 – 4). In a similarly ironic vein, Polybius chooses not to name the Ae-
tolian general who was so anxious about his posthumous reputation, as if he
does not wish to grant him that which was denied him by fortune and circum-
stance. The message emerging from the Aetolians’ misfortune is clear. The
only thing that justifies Polubius’ decision to state it is his tendency to be explicit
and didactic: ‘The unlooked-for calamity of the Aetolians was a lesson to man-
kind never to discuss the future as if it were the present, or to have any confident
hope about things that may still turn out quite otherwise. We are but men, and
should in every matter assign its share to the unexpected, this being especially
true of war’ (2.4.5).³⁵
 Historical evidence, however, does not fully bear out the idealized picture of the Achaean
League portrayed by Polybius. See, e. g., the objections of Champion 2004, 127– 29, where also
more literature.
 This is a commonplace in Greek literature. For more examples see Walbank 1957 ad loc.
After their victory at Medion the Illyrians achieve another success by seizing
Phoenice in Epirus (2.5.3 – 8) and begin to indulge freely in piracy. Their piratic
raids bring about the diplomatic intervention of Rome. Their queen, Teuta, re-
jects the Roman ambassadors’ ultimatum (2.8.6 – 13) and Rome replies by dis-
patching a force of 20,000 infantry, 2,000 cavalry and 200 ships. The size of
the expeditionary force is disproportionate to its aim.³⁶ The next year Teuta is ob-
liged to sign a treaty that entails the dismemberment of her kingdom (2.12.3). By
routing the Illyrians, Polybius says, the Romans averted a danger that threatened
all the Greeks (οὐ γάρ τισιν, ἀλλὰ πᾶσι, τότε κοινοὺς ἐχθροὺς εἶναι συνέβαινε τοὺς
Ἰλλυριούς, 2.12.6).
In comparison with the rapid execution of the Illyrian War, the conflicts of
the Romans with the Gauls prove to be a difficult, though useful, experience. Pol-
ybius, repeating the comment he made in the first book (1.6.6 – 7), declares that
thanks to these conflicts the Romans were prepared both militarily and psycho-
logically to deal with Pyrrhus and then later Carthage (2.20.8 – 10), in the sense
that it was impossible for them to see anything more terrible than what they had
already experienced. The account of the Gallic Wars begins analeptically by pre-
senting the history of the Gauls and their conflict with the Romans from its very
beginning, when Brennus had captured Rome (390), and then, in a series of
chronological leaps, returns to the point where the narrative had been interrupt-
ed in order to conclude with the crushing defeat of 222/1. But although it goes
back to events that have been mentioned earlier (1.6.2– 3), this review of the ear-
lier history of the Gauls does not function as a repetitive but a completing ana-
lepsis, for it adds some important information to the narrative.³⁷ It is only now
that we learn that the sudden retreat of the Gauls, which had earlier been depict-
ed as an unexpected event (ἀνελπίστως, 1.6.3), has a specific explanation. When
the whole of Rome, with the exception of the Capitol, was occupied by the Gauls,
the Veneti invaded their territory and forced them to make peace with the Ro-
mans so that they could return to their homeland to confront the crisis
(2.18.3). The retreat, then, was due to a diversion.
The phenomenon of paralipsis, that is, the temporary suppression of certain
details that are essential to the subsequent development of the plot, is usually
viewed as a means of generating surprise through their revelation at a crucial
and more appropriate moment in the narrative.³⁸ However, in this particular
case, this interpretation does not suffice; it should be combined with a careful
 Cf. Harris 1979, 195.

 On the technique of completing analepsis see de Jong 2007, 6.
 Cf. de Jong 2007, 6.
assessment of the thematic aspects emphasized in both passages. In 2.18 – 20

Polybius seeks to present the earlier history of the Gauls, and therefore the con-
flict with the Veneti is fully incorporated at this point, whereas in 1.6.2– 3 the
focus of interest is immediately centred on the Romans and their ability to
emerge victorious in the face of the most terrible adversities. Hence, while in
the first case the detail about the Veneti helps to shape the whole, in the latter
it would probably succeed in undermining the purpose of the narrative. Thus,
Polybius prefers temporarily to suppress the fact that the Romans escaped disas-
ter at the last moment thanks to a twist of fate and not their own abilities; remov-
ing it from the Romans’ history, he sees fit to state it later, in a different context,
when there is no risk of marring the image of his protagonists he has cultivated
so diligently.
It has been argued that the accounts of the First Illyrian War and the Gallic
Wars highlight the contrast between the defensive and more passive attitude of
the Romans and the aggressive, barbaric behaviour of their opponents. The
Gauls, to be sure, display many of the characteristics typically associated with
ignorant savagery. They inhabit and represent a primitive, uncivilized world
that is hostile to scientific and technological progress (οὔτ’ ἐπιστήμης ἄλλης
οὔτε τέχνης παρ’ αὐτοῖς τὸ παράπαν γινωσκομένης, 2.17.10). We also read of loot-
ing and pillaging (2.17.3, 18.1), of their warlike spirit, which is motivated by greed
(2.19.1– 5, 22.2– 6), of their flagrant violation of inviolable codes of practice
(2.19.9 – 10), and the uselessness of talk in the face of their wild and unbridled
passions (2.21.2, 35.2– 4). The Gauls are barbarians and Polybius states this
fact plainly (2.7.12, 15.8 – 9, 35.6).³⁹ As for the Illyrians, although they are not ex-
plicitly called ‘barbarians’ like the Gauls, they too are shown to indulge in pred-
atory raids and piracy–i. e. in activities suggesting a primitive stage of social and
cultural development. Indeed, their raids are characterized as being unjust
(2.8.2) and unlawful (2.11.6).
We find, then, that Polybius is quite explicit in his criticism of the Illyrians
and the Gauls. But how clear is his intention to contrast the behaviour of the Ro-
mans with that of their adversaries in order to play down or camouflage their ag-
gressiveness? It has been argued that here two passages are especially relevant.
The first is to be found in 2.11.5 – 6, where Polybius mentions the fact that the
Corcyreans, believing that only the Romans were capable of saving them from
future raids by the Illyrians, surrendered the Illyrian garrison to them and en-
trusted themselves to their protection (σφᾶς ὁμοθυμαδὸν ἔδωκαν παρακληθέντες
 For Polybius’ attitude towards the Gauls see Eckstein 1995, 119 – 24, 142, 273, 287; Williams
2001, passim, esp. 79 – 99.
εἰς τὴν τῶν Ῥωμαίων πίστιν, μίαν ταύτην ὑπολαβόντες ἀσφάλειαν αὑτοῖς ὑπάρχειν
εἰς τὸν μέλλοντα χρόνον πρὸς τὴν Ἰλλυριῶν παρανομίαν). Champion points out
that in this passage a very bold contrast is drawn between the Roman fides
and the lawless behaviour of the Illyrians.⁴⁰ This interpretation implies that
the term πίστις is employed here as a mark of Roman benevolence and trustwor-
thiness, thereby denoting the confidence the Romans could inspire in their al-
lies. But the phrase ἔδωκαν σφᾶς εἰς τὴν τῶν Ῥωμαίων πίστιν merely refers to
the political act of deditio. ⁴¹ It states, in other words, that the Corcyreans commit-
ted themselves to the Romans’ protection so that they could deal with the Illyrian
raids more effectively.⁴² Later we also hear of others who entered into Rome’s
fides for the same or similar reasons (the Apollonians: ὁμοίως καὶ τούτων ἀποδε-
ξαμένων καὶ δόντων ἑαυτοὺς εἰς τὴν ἐπιτροπήν, 2.11.8; the Epidamnians: Ῥωμαῖοι
δὲ καὶ τοὺς Ἐπιδαμνίους παραλαβόντες εἰς τὴν πίστιν, 2.11.10); and the Issaeans:
προσεδέξαντο καὶ τοὺς Ἰσσαίους εἰς τὴν ἑαυτῶν πίστιν, 2.11.12). Such alliances
with the Romans could be of a voluntary nature, in which case they were dictat-
ed by the weak member’s desire and need for protection. Still, they could also be
imposed by the dominant member, who sought in this way to consolidate and
expand its power. In 2.31.9 – 10 it is mentioned that it was by way of a crushing
defeat that the Roman consuls Q. Fulvius Flaccus and T. Manlius Torquatus com-
pelled the Boii to place themselves in Roman fides (τοὺς μὲν Βοίους ἐξ ἐφόδου
καταπληξάμενοι συνηνάγκασαν εἰς τὴν Ῥωμαίων ἑαυτοὺς δοῦναι πίστιν).
Now, the pressure in such cases is not always exerted from without. Every
form of dependence brings with it the stigma of compulsion, whether it be direct-
ly imposed or due to the fear of the weaker party, which prefers to position itself
on the same side as and not opposite the powerful one. When we read in 2.11.11
 Champion 2004, 113: ‘In this passage the contrast between Roman fides and Illyrian law-
lessness could hardly be made more explicitly (11.5 – 6: Ῥωμαίων πίστιν … Ἰλλυριῶν
παρανομίαν)’.
 On deditio generally see Calderone 1964; Dahlheim 1968, 5 – 109; Freyburger 1982; Nörr 1989;
Ziegler 1991.
 Polybius clarifies the proper meaning of Roman fides as a result of its misinterpretation by
the Aetolians (20.9.10 – 12): ‘The Aetolians, after some further observations about the actual
situation, decided to refer the whole matter to Glabrio, committing themselves “to the faith” of
the Romans, not knowing the exact meaning of the phrase, but deceived by the word “faith” as if
they would thus obtain more complete pardon. But with the Romans to commit oneself to the
faith of a victor is equivalent to surrendering at discretion’. Polybius’ view on the subject is more
consistent than has generally been allowed. For criticism see, e. g., Gruen 1982, 50 – 68; Ferrary
1988, 72– 81. But, as it becomes evident from Polybius’ care to inform his readers of the precise
meaning of Roman fides, the episode in question is presented here as being the norm rather than
the exception. Cf. 36.4.1– 3 and 36.9.13 for the terms of the surrender of Carthage in 146.
that the Ardiaei, with the Roman army already advancing through their home-
land, send envoys to begin negotiating surrender terms (ἐπιτρέποντες τὰ καθ’ αὑ-
τούς), and that the Romans accept them as ‘friends’ (δεξάμενοι τούτους εἰς τὴν
φιλίαν), it is not difficult to understand what kind of amicitia is implied.⁴³ If we
were dealing with an alliance between partners of equal strength and standing,
we would be justified in speaking of trust and reciprocity. In this case, however,
we have two unequal sides, one that is in a position to give orders and another
that is obliged to obey them. This reading, which is reinforced by the etymolog-
ical link between the noun πίστις and the verb πείθομαι (which, apart from to
trust, also means to obey), harmonizes well with the view held by Derow, who
made the following comment on this issue: ‘It should by now be clear that
what the Romans sought, on Polybius’ account, was to be obeyed by everyone
with whom they dealt, and that they were prepared to threaten and even to go
to war to ensure this obedience’.⁴⁴ Yet Derow believed that this aspect of
Roman foreign policy manifested itself for the first time during the Second Mac-
edonian War for it was then that the Romans conceived of their plan to extend
their rule over the whole world. But as we remarked above (p. 28), Polybius high-
lights the expansionist designs of the aspiring world-ruler at a much earlier
point in his narrative. It should be noted, however, that our view does not differ
from that of Derow with regard to the broadening scope of Roman expansionism:
there is no doubt that, given their repeated successes in the military sphere, the
Romans gradually redefine the aims they have set themselves, and from a certain
point onwards strive to achieve universal dominion, and not merely to subjugate
individual nations. The difficulty with Derow’s interpretation lies in its assump-
tion that the shift in the overall goal of Roman foreign policy entails a certain
change in the way it is exercised. But if the scope of Roman imperialism does
indeed alter after the Second Macedonian War, this does not necessarily mean
that the character of this imperialism alters as well. What does change in the
course of time is the number and diversity of the nations that the Romans
come into contact with. Whether they are facing the Carthaginians and the Illyr-
ian tribes or the remotest Ptolemaic and Seleucid kingdoms, the Romans usually
behave in the same way and are shown to pursue a cold and acquisitive policy. It
therefore emerges that, when Polybius recounts that the Corcyreans offered
themselves to Roman fides in order to be able to deal with the Illyrian raids,
he is not contrasting the Romans’ trustworthiness with the lawless behaviour
 On amicitia in Roman international relations see Badian 1958; Burton 2011.

 Derow 1979, 6.
of their opponents, nor is he referring to an alliance on equal terms, but rather

he is implying a relationship of dependence.
The second passage which has been thought to reveal Polybius’ intention to
draw a strong contrast between the Romans and their barbaric adversaries oc-
curs in 2.35.2– 10. In concluding his presentation of the conflicts of the Gauls
with the Romans, Polybius justifies his decision to include it in his historical
work by arguing that the events he has described might help the Greeks to
gain self-confidence and therefore avoid being terrified by sudden barbarian
raids (2.35.6). He supports this view by emphasizing the great contribution
made at this direction by the historians who recorded the repulsion of the Per-
sian invasion of Greece and the invasion of Delphi by the Gauls (2.35.7). It has
been argued that Polybius is seeking here to present the Romans as ‘the civilized
element’ by aligning their victory over the barbaric Gauls with the triumph of the
Greeks over the Persians.⁴⁵ Yet it is telling that at this point the emphasis is
placed not on the distinction between Greeks and barbarians but on Polybius’
attempt to set himself up as the successor to the historians who have dealt
with their conflicts. Even when Polybius attributes the defeat of the Gauls to
their inability to act rationally (διὰ τὸ μὴ τὸ πλεῖον, ἀλλὰ συλλήβδην ἅπαν τὸ
γινόμενον ὑπὸ τῶν Γαλατῶν θυμῷ μᾶλλον ἢ λογισμῷ βραβεύεσθαι, ‘not most
steps but every single step that the Gauls took being commended to them rather
by the heat of passion than by cool calculation’, 2.35.3), he does not seem to re-
late their behaviour with their barbarity.⁴⁶ As I shall argue in chapter 4, Polybius
 Walbank 1957, 213: ‘… the Romans are clearly the civilized element repelling barbarism, not
barbarians themselves’; cf. Champion 2004, 177: ‘The Romans, as possessors of Hellenic lo-
gismos, triumphed over the irrational impulse of the barbarian Gauls. Here Polybius aligns the
Roman victory over the Gauls with the fifth-century Greek resistance against Persia and the
Greek repulse of the Gauls from Delphi in 279’.
 In 2.21.2– 3, too, the impetuosity of the Gauls is not attributed to their barbaric nature but to
their youthfulness (ἐπεγένοντο δὲ νέοι, θυμοῦ μὲν ἀλογίστου πλήρεις, ἄπειροι δὲ κἀόρατοι παντὸς
κακοῦ). Likewise, the criticism Polybius levels at the Celts who served as mercenaries for the
Carthaginians, Romans and Epirotes does not seem to concern their barbarity but their tem-
perament. These people were outcasts from their own homeland as they had not hesitated to
betray their own relatives (οἵ γε τὴν μὲν ἀρχὴν ἐξέπεσον ἐκ τῆς ἰδίας, συνδραμόντων ἐπ᾽ αὐτοὺς
τῶν ὁμοεθνῶν διὰ τὸ παρασπονδῆσαι τοὺς αὑτῶν οἰκείους καὶ συγγενεῖς, 2.7.6). Not even their own
compatriots could tolerate their behaviour, which was so repulsive that they were unable to
return to their homeland. In the same fashion, the actions of the Illyrian queen Teuta are not
attributed to her barbarity but to her female nature (χρωμένη δὲ λογισμοῖς γυναικείοις, 2.4.8;
γυναικοθύμως κἀλογίστως, 2.8.12). Consequently, even if we accept the assumption that certain
collective characteristics are brought together in the person of Teuta (see Champion 2004, 112–
14), these are not connected with her Illyrian nationality but with her sex. On Polybius’ (basi-
generally draws a distinction between the victors and the vanquished on the
basis of how effectively they think. While the victors stand out for their ability
to make a correct assessment of the situation and predict their adversaries’
next moves, the vanquished are depicted as being absorbed in themselves and
their passions. And indeed, in several cases the Romans are shown to behave
more recklessly than their opponents (§4.3).
The scepticism regarding the contrast that some critics believe is stressed in
the first few books of the Histories between the model of trustworthiness and
lawfulness represented by the Romans and the negative image projected of
their adversaries is reinforced by the emphasis that is placed on the Roman ex-
pansionist plans in northern Italy. Although Polybius mentions many instances
of lawless behaviour on the part of the Gauls (2.18 – 21), he perceives the war of
225 – 222 as stemming also from Roman pressure. C. Flaminius’ legislation, which
distributed ager Gallicus among the landless Roman citizens, is identified as its
cause (αἰτίαν δὲ καὶ τοῦ μετὰ ταῦτα πολέμου συστάντος αὐτοῖς πρὸς τοὺς προει-
ρημένους, 2.21.8). The Roman decision to drive the Senones out of their territory
naturally causes the other Gallic tribes nervousness. The Boii, seeing what their
neighbours have suffered, fear that they might suffer the same fate themselves
(μὴ πάθωσι τὸ παραπλήσιον, 2.20.1). They are well aware that the Romans are
not waging this war in order to subjugate them but in order to achieve ‘their
total expulsion and extermination’ (οὐχ ὑπὲρ ἡγεμονίας ἔτι καὶ δυναστείας Ῥωμαί-
ους τὸν πρὸς αὐτοὺς ποιήσασθαι πόλεμον, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὲρ ὁλοσχεροῦς ἐξαναστάσεως
καὶ καταφθορᾶς, 2.21.9). The shift in focalization (from primary to secondary) en-
ables the Polybian narrator to draw a more vivid and convincing picture of the
impact that the Romans’ expulsion of the Senones has on their fellow Gauls.
The focalization is changed in a similar way in 2.23.12– 13, except that here it
is not the perceptions of Rome’s enemies that are recorded but those of her al-
lies. The same sense of insecurity also prevails in this camp. The allies are in
such a state of fear and agitation that they believe the war is not being fought
in order to secure Roman rule but in order to protect their own homeland:
καταπεπληγμένοι γὰρ οἱ τὴν Ἰταλίαν οἰκοῦντες τὴν τῶν Γαλατῶν ἔφοδον οὐκέτι Ῥωμαίοις
ἡγοῦντο συμμαχεῖν οὐδὲ περὶ τῆς τούτων ἡγεμονίας γίνεσθαι τὸν πόλεμον, ἀλλὰ περὶ σφῶν
ἐνόμιζον ἕκαστοι καὶ τῆς ἰδίας πόλεως καὶ χώρας ἐπιφέρεσθαι τὸν κίνδυνον.
for the inhabitants of Italy, terror-struck by the invasion of the Gauls, no longer thought of
themselves as the allies of Rome or regarded this war as undertaken to establish Roman
cally) negative attitude towards women see Eckstein 2005, 150 – 7, with more literature. On
misogyny in ancient Greek culture see the relevant chapters in Slater 1968 and Pomeroy 1975.
supremacy, but every man considered that the peril was descending on himself and his own
city and country.
As Polybius’ train of thought is penetrated by the worries of Rome’s allies, an

overlapping of perspectives is created. By multiplying the number of channels
that he uses in order to convey his messages, Polybius succeeds in projecting
them more emphatically.
Interestingly, although it is the Gauls who are renowned for their greed, the
prospect of profit is also a significant motivating factor for the Romans (τὰ δ’ ὑπὸ
τῆς τοῦ λυσιτελοῦς ἐλπίδος ἀγόμενοι διπλασίως παρωξύνοντο πρὸς τὸν κίνδυνον,
‘but at the same time the prospect of winning such spoils made them twice as
keen for the fight’, 2.29.9). And in contrast to the Gauls, who at a critical juncture
manage to think clearly and restrain their passions (2.26.4– 7), the Romans do
not appear in the least inclined to curb their acquisitive and expansionist policy.
Their victory at Telamon generates hopes of expelling the Gauls entirely from the
Po valley (κατελπίσαντες Ῥωμαῖοι δυνήσεσθαι τοὺς Κελτοὺς ἐκ τῶν τόπων τῶν
περὶ τὸν Πάδον ὁλοσχερῶς ἐκβαλεῖν, 2.31.8).⁴⁷ Earlier the Romans’ plans were pre-
sented from their rivals’ standpoint. Now that they are focalized from their own
perspective, we realize that the Gauls’ fears were not unfounded. It is no accident
that the Romans refuse to grant a truce, even though the Gauls promise to do
whatever they are asked in order to obtain one (2.34). The richness of the plains
that the Gauls inhabited could not have failed to attract the attention of their ad-
versaries, who at this period were seeking to consolidate their rule and increase
their sphere of influence.
***
As the foregoing discussion has shown, the books of the prokataskeue play a
major role in helping readers comprehend the character and preconditions of
the expansion of Roman rule. The narrative of the Romans’ adventures at sea,
with its analysis of the qualities that enable them to overcome the adversities
they face there, foreshadows the ways in which they fulfill their plan of world
domination. What is more, no attempt is made to conceal their expansionist in-
tentions or their share of responsibility for the events that take place. In the ac-
count of the First Punic War the emphasis is placed not on the differences be-
tween the warring sides but on their similarities. And the barbaric character of
the Romans’ rivals in the First Illyrian War and the Gallic Wars does not become
 Cf. 1.17.3 for the same pattern: the capture of Agrigentum, as noted above (pp. 25 – 26), makes
them envisage the total expulsion of the Carthaginians from Sicily.
a vehicle for playing down Roman aggressiveness. On the contrary, from their in-
tervention at Rhegium and Messana to their conflicts with the Gauls, the Romans
appear set on pursuing a policy aimed at satisfying their own interests. This pat-
tern is surely a highly flexible one, partly because the factors which are respon-
sible for the increase in the Romans’ influence vary considerably (ranging from
battle-readiness and endurance of adversities on the one hand to diplomatic ma-
noeuvres on the other), and partly because the imposition of their rule assumes
very different forms (such as the subjugation of allies and the complete expul-
sion of opponents). Overall, it is a pattern that serves both as a potent tool to
promote narrative coherence, by tying together disparate threads and motifs,
and as a basis for contextualizing events within the broader sphere of human be-
haviour and action.
3 Temporal strategies
Narrative operates by combining two temporalities: that of the narrated story
and that of the discourse.¹ The interplay between the two makes possible all
the temporal distortions utilized by narrators in order to invest the events in
their stories with meaning and to distribute emphases in accordance with the ef-
fects they are seeking to produce. For this reason, the temporal organization of a
text can play a significant role in revealing the concerns and techniques of its
narrator. In the following I shall argue that Polybius’ handling of time not
only reflects his priorities in shaping his history, but also serves to deepen the
reader’s understanding. I shall first explore the ways in which synchronicity per-
meates the macrostructure of the Histories (3.1) and then focus on book 3 in order
to illustrate how its interlace structure is functional to its meaning (3.2). Finally, I
shall conclude my analysis by looking at the different categories into which the
anachronies in the Histories fall (3.3).
3.1 Synchronicity
The problem of how to convey in a narrative simultaneous courses of events,

which has so preoccupied modern literary theory,² was also a keen concern of
ancient writers. Thus Diodorus, in a well-known passage, remarks:
ταύτῃ δ᾽ ἄν τις καὶ τὴν ἱστορίαν καταμέμψαιτο, θεωρῶν ἐπὶ μὲν τοῦ βίου πολλὰς καὶ δια-
φόρους πράξεις συντελουμένας κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν καιρόν, τοῖς δ᾽ ἀναγράφουσιν ἀναγκαῖον
ὑπάρχον τὸ μεσολαβεῖν τὴν διήγησιν καὶ τοῖς ἅμα συντελουμένοις μερίζειν τοὺς χρόνους
παρὰ φύσιν, ὥστε τὴν μὲν ἀλήθειαν τῶν πεπραγμένων τὸ πάθος ἔχειν, τὴν δ᾽ ἀναγραφὴν ἐστε-
ρημένην τῆς ὁμοίας ἐξουσίας μιμεῖσθαι μὲν τὰ γεγενημένα, πολὺ δὲ λείπεσθαι τῆς ἀληθοῦς
διαθέσεως (20.43.7).
At this point one might censure the art of history, when he observes that in life many differ-
ent actions are consummated at the same time, but that it is necessary for those who record
them to interrupt the narrative and to parcel out different times to simultaneous events con-
trary to nature, with the result that, although the actual experience of the events contains
the truth, yet the written record, deprived of such power, while presenting copies of the
events, falls far short of arranging them as they really were (trans. R. M. Geer).
Diodorus comments on the artificiality of breaking up simultaneous groups of

events into sequential scenes. He thus touches on a subject which, as research
 Cf. Genette (1972) 1980, 35; Chatman 1978, 62– 63; Rimmon-Kenan (1983) 2002, 44– 45.
 See, e. g., Vogt (1972) 1998, 133 – 52; Schramke 1974, 131– 38; Bisanz 1976; Grubacic 1981.
3.1 Synchronicity 59
has shown, is as old as Homer.³ Attempts to convey the simultaneity of two or

more actions run up against the restrictions imposed by the linear form of nar-
rative. Both oral and written narratives unfold sequentially, and so, even if one
relates simultaneous events, one must establish a linear order in which to place
them.⁴
However, there are certain methods that enable writers to give their readers
the impression that they are in a position to keep track of and narrate a host of
simultaneous events. One such method is the regression in the narrated time, in
which the narrator describes an action A from beginning to end, and then goes
on to describe another action B, having previously emphasized (e. g. with expres-
sions of time that denote simultaneity) that action B unfolds at the same time as
action A. Another method is the so-called ‘interlace technique’, where the narra-
tor follows two or more simultaneous actions alternately, switching regularly be-
tween them.⁵ The rapid alternation of scenes manages to convey the simultaneity
of the parallel actions more vividly. Moreover, it permits the narrator to interrupt
the description at crucial moments and, by leaving plot threads hanging, to
heighten the narratees’ interest in their continuation. It is, therefore, no accident
that this technique has come to predominate both in the modern novel and the
cinema.
Of course, it goes without saying that the more narrative threads there are to
synchronize, the greater are the compositional skills that a narrator has to dis-
play in applying these techniques. Polybius’ Histories, which stands out not
for its chronological scope but the breadth of its geographical coverage, in the
course of thirty-seven books–if the two books of the introductory part and the
external analepses and prolepses are excluded–traces a multitude of historical
events that occurred in various parts of the world within a period of seventy-
five years (between 220 and 146). Given that many of these events unfolded at
the same time, their simultaneity obviously had to be emphasized. From the mo-
ment, however, that Polybius chose to divide up his history into Olympiad years,
he had to relate events that had occurred in Europe, Africa and Asia in the same
year, even if these events had not occurred exactly at the same time. The organ-
ization of such a vast body of historical material obviously required dexterous
handling and excellent architectural skill. To achieve this, Polybius made use
of both of the above described synchronization techniques.
 Zielinski 1899 – 1901. For recent discussions of the problem of presenting concurrent actions
in the Homeric epics see esp. Patzer 1990; Rengakos 1995; Nünlist 1998. Cf. also Scodel 2008.
 Cf. Rengakos 1995, 2 ff.
 De Jong 2001, 589 f.
60 3 Temporal strategies
Just how integral to Polybius’ work synchronicity is becomes immediately

apparent when one looks at its structural arrangement. Thus, in the two books
of the prokataskeue, the narrative deals first with the events of Roman history
down to 220 (1.6 – 2.36), such as the conflict with the Carthaginians over Sicily
and the wars waged against the Illyrians and the Gauls, and then (from 2.39 on-
wards) goes back in time in order to present the developments that took place in
Greece during the same period. This practice continues to be applied in the next
three books, as, in the third book, the narrative traces the events of the Second
Punic War that fall within the 140th Olympiad, and then goes on, in the fourth
and fifth books, to cover the same timespan once again (220 – 216) by presenting
the Social War in Greece, the Fourth Syrian War for Coele-Syria, and various
other wars like that of Rhodes against Byzantium and the attack by Mithridates
of Pontus on Sinope, which took place at the same time as Hannibal crossed into
Italy and conducted operations there.⁶
Synchronicity permeates also the rest of the Histories, where Polybius adopts
an annalistic method of presentation, with the events of each Olympiad year
treated by geographical regions. Strikingly enough, the sequence of regions in
the text seems deliberately designed to chart Rome’s progress towards world
domination. Polybius always begins with the events in Italy, continues with
the developments in Sicily, Spain, and Carthage, thus moving to the areas that
were the focus of Rome’s attention in the First and Second Punic Wars, and con-
cludes with the events that took place during the same Olympiad year in Greece,
Asia and Egypt, reflecting Rome’s eastward expansion. This sequence is repeated
in the same fashion for all the years covered by the Histories from the seventh
book onwards. The structure of the narrative, with its systematic adherence to
this fixed pattern, reproduces the steadfastness and decisiveness displayed by
the aspiring world ruler in its progress towards the realization of its aim.
Indeed, Polybius is reluctant to diverge from this ‘regular course’ (εἰθισμένη
τάξις) of his narrative. It is noteworthy, for example, that when, in recounting
Ariarathes’ departure from Italy and restoration in power to Cappadocia, he
passes directly from the affairs of Italy to those of Asia not only does he state
the fact explicitly but he hastens to justify this divergence by claiming that it
is necessary in order to avoid an interruption to the logical development of
the plot (32.11.2– 5): ‘Now having given this brief account of the restoration of
Ariarathes, I shall resume that regular course of my narrative which I follow
 In order to highlight the simultaneity of the events in books 3, 4 and 5, Polybius introduces
nine synchronisms into the last two of these (4.27.1– 28.1, 37.1– 7, 66.7– 67.1; 5.1.1– 4, 29.5 – 8, 101.3,
105.3, 108.9 – 10, 109.4– 6). For a full discussion see Walbank (1975) 1985, 298 – 312.
throughout the whole of this work. For in the present instance, passing over the
affairs of Greece (ὑπερβάντες τὰ κατὰ τὴν Ἑλλάδα), I appended those Asiatic af-
fairs which relate to Cappadocia, as I found no justifiable means of separating
the departure of Ariarathes from Italy from his return to power. I will, therefore,
now go back to the events that happened in Greece at the same date’.
Equally rare are the cases in which Polybius abandons the annalistic method
and recounts in the narrative of the same year events that unfolded over the
course of a number of years. Book 14, for example, included a lengthy section
of narrative that traced the whole of Ptolemy IV’s reign after his reconquest of
Coele-Syria.⁷ At 14.12.4– 5 Polybius notes that this deviation from his normal sys-
tem stems from the fact that Ptolemy during this particular period became in-
volved in a war ‘which, apart from the mutual savagery and lawlessness of the
combatants, contained nothing worthy of note, no pitched battle, no sea-fight,
no siege.’ And he adds, ‘It, therefore, struck me that my narrative would be eas-
ier both for me to write and for my readers to follow if I performed this part of my
task not by merely alluding every year to small events not worth serious atten-
tion, but by giving once for all a life-like picture so to speak of this king’s char-
acter’. A similar statement is made at 32.11.6 – 7, where Polybius announces his
intention to recount the relations between Oropus and Athens as a whole, ‘partly
recurring to the past and partly anticipating the future … For when the whole
seems scarcely worth close attention what chance is there of any student really
making it an object of study when it is told disjointedly under different dates?’.⁸
In the preceding examples, Polybius explicitly links the divergence from his
established practice with the quality of the historical material he is recording. It
may of course seem odd that he speaks so degradingly of the material that he
himself has selected to include in his work. But his main concern here is to jus-
tify the deviation from his conventional method of organizing his material and
not to underscore the importance of particular episodes. Yet, this stance ulti-
mately enables Polybius to promote his narrative, since by claiming that a
small portion of his material does not warrant a coverage on a year-by-year
basis he highlights the great historical value of the episodes that are presented
according to his usual method of ordering events. Such authorial comments are
highly indicative of the self-consciousness of the Polybian narrator, who, openly
 See Walbank 1972, 112– 13.

 Walbank 1979 ad loc. remarks: ‘Somewhat inconsistently P. rejects the argument advanced
here in xxxviii 5.3 – 4, where he defends his normal procedure against the Ephorean treatment
κατὰ γένος’. It is clear, nevertheless, that in 32.11.6 – 7 the method of switching from theatre to
theatre is not rejected as being totally unsuitable for historiography but only when the events
described are of little importance or not particularly worth studying.
declaring his presence, refers to his activity as writer to an extent, and in a man-
ner, unprecedented in ancient Greek historiography.
Polybius does not just take care to point out any deviations he makes from
the method he normally uses for organizing his material, he also mentions a par-
ticular drawback that stems from its implementation. The division of the events
of each Olympiad year under various regions sometimes compels him to narrate
the end of a sequence of events before what preceded. When, for example, he
recounts the sending of Rhodian ambassadors to Rome in the late winter or
early spring of 170/69, he mentions that their appeal to the Senate has already
been related (28.16.10 – 11): ‘As regards this matter it serves some purpose to re-
mind my readers frequently, as I indeed attempt to do, that I am often compelled
to report the interviews and proceedings of embassies before announcing the cir-
cumstances of their appointment and dispatch. For as, in narrating in their prop-
er order the events of each year, I attempt to comprise under a separate heading
the events that happened in each country in that year, it is evident that this must
sometimes occur in my work’. The same point is made in 15.25.19, where Polybius
reminds his readers that the negotiations between Ptolemy, the son of Sosibius,
and the king of Macedonia, Philip V, in 203/2 were mentioned before Ptolemy’s
departure from Alexandria precisely because the Greek events precede the affairs
of Egypt in the order in which he deals with his material. No other relevant ex-
amples occur in the extant part of the work.⁹ Judging, however, by Polybius’
statement that he was frequently (πολλάκις, 28.16.10) obliged to broach the
issue, it may be safely inferred that the phenomenon was much more common
than what the fragmentary textual tradition allows us to think.¹⁰
Nonetheless, this problem notwithstanding, Polybius does not seem to have
any doubts regarding the correctness of his decision to present his material by
systematically switching from theatre to theatre. Indeed, he even attempts to pre-
empt certain objections that might be raised against the effectiveness of his
method:
I am not unaware that some people will find fault with this work on the ground that my
narrative of events is imperfect and disconnected. For example, after undertaking to give
an account of the siege of Carthage I leave that in suspense and interrupting myself pass
to the affairs of Greece, and next to those of Macedonia, Syria and other countries, while
students desire continuous narrative and long to learn the issue of the matter I first set
 As Maas 1949, 443 – 46 convincingly demonstrated, 15.24a, which refers to the same problem,
should stand immediately after 15.25.19. Contra, Abel 1967, 81– 84. For a defense of Maas’ view
see Walbank 1972, 111 n. 75.
 For more on this point see Walbank (1975) 1985, 320 – 21.
my hand to; for thus, they say, those who desire to follow me with attention are both more
deeply interested in the story and derive greater benefit from it (38.5.1– 3).
Polybius clearly and categorically spells out his position in anticipation of the
impending objections: ἐμοὶ δ᾽ οὐχ οὕτως δοκεῖ, τὸ δ᾽ ἐναντίον, ‘My opinion is
just the reverse of this’, 38.5.4. In his work, he claims, he chooses to follow
the example of Nature, which constantly exposes men to an infinite number of
external stimuli. Just as the senses (he specifically mentions hearing, taste and
vision) suffer when subjected to monotony and respond joyfully to variety, so
is the mind rested by variations in the stimuli it receives (38.5.9). According to
Polybius (38.6.1– 3), the necessity for change had been well understood by ‘the
most thoughtful of ancient writers’, who took care to introduce all kinds of di-
gressions in their narratives, although they did so in an unsystematic and unor-
ganized way (ἀτάκτως). In contrast, the method that he himself applies, consist-
ing as it does in alternating scenes in a particular order (τεταγμένως), turns var-
iatio into a structural principle of the narrative, without affecting the cohesion of
the text or its reception by the reader (38.6.3 – 6).¹¹
No small part of what makes this method of narration useful to Polybius is
its effectiveness in presenting simultaneous actions. It might not entirely solve
the problem but it does create the impression of an omnipresent narrator who
is able to relate events that happen broadly at the same time in different parts
of the world. And it has the further advantage of enabling Polybius to convey
the process of συμπλοκή, that interweaving of geopolitical affairs throughout
the Mediterranean region which ultimately led to its domination by Rome.¹² Pol-
ybius explicitly links the method he normally uses for organizing his work with
the phenomenon of συμπλοκή in 4.28. What he specifically says is that he chose
to present Hannibal’s activities in Spain and the Social War in Greece separately
(καὶ τὴν ἐξήγησιν περὶ αὐτῶν ἐκρίναμεν ποιήσασθαι κατ᾽ ἰδίαν, 4.28.3) on the
grounds that these events were not interrelated in any way, but if they had
 It is usually thought that the historians targeted by Polybius at this point are Ephorus and
Theopompus, the former because of his decision to arrange his material κατὰ γένος and the
latter because of the way in which he inserted digressions into his narrative (see, e. g., Meister
1975, 63 – 65, 77– 80). Yet the fact that the target is not specified, combined with the way in which
the argument is phrased (38.6.1: ‘some of them employing digressions dealing with myth or story
and others digressions on matters of fact’; 38.6.3: ‘So that you will find that all historians have
resorted to this device’), clearly indicates that even if Polybius, when writing these lines, had
Ephorus and Theopompus in mind, as seems likely from the examples he lists in 38.6.2– 4, he
was not seeking to castigate these two historians in particular but certain quite widespread
authorial practices.
 Cf. Walbank (1975) 1985, 319 – 24.
been interconnected, he would have traced the developments on the various

fronts alternately (περὶ τούτων ἂν ἡμᾶς ἐναλλὰξ ἔδει καὶ κατὰ παράθεσιν τοῖς Ἰβη-
ρικοῖς πεποιῆσθαι τὴν ἐξήγησιν, 4.28.2), just as he does in the bulk of his work
(4.28.4– 5).
Besides serving as a means to properly represent the growing συμπλοκή of
events, Polybius’ arrangement of his material contributes to the realization of
the didactic purpose of his history. This is stressed in 3.32.1– 5, where Polybius
compares his narrative with separate monographs in terms of their usefulness
and didactic value. It is easier, he claims, to study his universal history, whose
forty books appear to be interwoven continuously (καθυπερανεὶ κατὰ μίτον ἐξυ-
φασμένας, 3.32.2), than to read individual historical monographs, which are as
numerous as the different views they record (διὰ τὸ τοὺς πλείστους μὴ ταὐτὰ
περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν γράφειν, 3.32.4). Furthermore, monographs deal with issues in
isolation, without taking into account or concerning themselves with ‘those con-
temporary events (τὰς καταλλήλους τῶν πράξεων παραλείπειν)¹³ by a comparative
review and estimation of which we can assign its true value to everything much
more surely than by judging from particulars’.
The comparative approach employed in world history, by contrast, suggests
links between the recounted events, which in turn promote the central themes of
the narrative, enabling readers to draw lessons from the recurrent patterns pro-
duced. This could only have been of benefit to Polybius, who sought in the main
part of his work to help readers gain a concrete idea of the way in which events
that were widely separated in space were interconnected and directed towards
the same aim. But, of course, the lessons that readers are called upon to draw
from the juxtaposition and correlation of the recounted events do not concern
only the specific contexts dealt with in the narrative. History, with its represen-
tation of situations and reactions that are likely to be repeated, points to wider
categories for analyzing human nature. In this respect, synchronicity helps to
contextualize events into meaningful patterns that familiarize readers with the
fundamental principles by which human behaviour is governed.
3.2 The interlace structure of book 3
So far I have described how synchronicity permeates, and becomes an organic

part of, the macrostructure of the Histories, and have pointed out its suitability
 Κατάλληλος is frequently used in the sense of ‘contemporary’; see, e. g., 3.5.6, 32.5; 4.66.10;
5.31.5; 14.12.1; 15.24a; 28.26.11; 39.8.6.
3.2 The interlace structure of book 3 65
for conveying the process of the universal συμπλοκή as well as for allowing the
narrator to accomplish his didactic goals. However, in order to gain a full under-
standing of this phenomenon, it is equally important to investigate the role it
serves in short and medium-length narrative sections. For this purpose I have se-
lected book 3, which, as it relates the parallel activities of the Romans and the
Carthaginians in the Second Punic War, provides a particularly fitting opportu-
nity to look at how the narrative technique of interlace works.
3.2.1 Spain and Illyria (3.13 – 34)
3.2.1.1 The Romans’ strategic error

The plot of the third book revolves around two central thematic axes, one of
which concerns Hannibal’s deeds and the other the reactions of the Romans.
It also ramifies further into minor branches that are directly connected with
the main branches and form various points of contact with them. Thus, from
3.15.1 to 3.20.1 the narrative focuses alternately on the activities of Hannibal,
who within a short space of time consolidated his control in Spain, and those
of Demetrius of Pharos, who at the same time was robbing and pillaging the Il-
lyrian subjects of Rome.¹⁴ These events, moreover, are connected not only as a
result of their contemporaneity, which Polybius takes care to emphasize by
using appropriate time adjuncts (συνέβαινε γὰρ κατ᾽ ἐκείνους τοὺς καιρούς, ‘it
so happened that at that time’, 3.16.2; κατὰ δὲ τοὺς αὐτοὺς καιρούς, ‘while this
was taking place’, 3.18.1), but also through another common denominator:
both prompted the intervention of Rome.
However, while, in the case of Demetrius of Pharos, the Romans decided to
remove him from power and thus restore the status quo in Illyria, in the case of
Hannibal, their intervention was initially aimed at resolving the situation by dip-
lomatic means. When the Roman envoys arrived in Spain, they asked the victo-
rious Carthaginian army commander to stay away from Saguntum as it was
under Roman protection and to observe the terms of the treaty that had been
contracted in Hasdrubal’s time (3.15.4– 6). Nonetheless, Hannibal refused to
alter his stance. On the contrary, he showed himself to be uncompromising
and reluctant to defuse the tension–indeed, he even invented excuses to stoke
it up further (3.15.7– 11).
 3.6.12: τὰς ὑπὸ Ῥωμαίους ταττομένας. The nature of early Roman relations on the Adriatic
coast is a highly controversial issue. For detailed discussion and an overview of the secondary
literature see Eckstein 2008, 42– 58.
It has been widely argued that Polybius presents the reception of the Roman
envoys at New Carthage in such a way as to portray Hannibal as the person prin-
cipally responsible for the war that soon ensued.¹⁵ The episode, however, merely
develops the theme of Hamilcar’s anger against the Romans (3.9.6 – 12). It is tell-
ing that the responsibility attributed to Hannibal in this case concerns his inabil-
ity to curb the hostility he inherited from his father (3.15.6 – 7: πάλαι δὲ παρωρμη-
μένος πρὸς τὴν κατὰ Ῥωμαίων ἔχθραν). His fierce rage prevents him from articu-
lating the true reasons for his dissatisfaction with the Romans (3.15.9 – 11). It
must also be noted that Polybius provides some excuses for his behaviour. Han-
nibal was, he says, young and intoxicated with success (νέος μὲν ὤν, πλήρης δὲ
πολεμικῆς ὁρμῆς, ἐπιτυχὴς δ᾽ ἐν ταῖς ἐπιβολαῖς, 3.15.6). And, above all, his dissat-
isfaction was fully in keeping with, and expressed, the sentiments of the Cartha-
ginians as a whole, who had every reason to feel aggrieved with the Romans over
their seizure of Sardinia and the tribute that had been unjustly imposed upon
them after the end of the First Punic War (3.10 – 11).¹⁶ This contrast between Han-
nibal, whose reckless behaviour creates the impression (ἐδόκει) that justice is
now less in his favour, and the Romans, who are shown, on the other hand, to
have perpetrated a real injustice on the Carthaginians (ἀδίκως παρ᾽ αὐτῶν ἔλα-
βον, 3.15.10), not only does not conceal the issue of Roman responsibility but
poses it in an emphatic manner.¹⁷
Although the Romans were far from satisfied with Hannibal’s stance, they
nevertheless thought it was better to concentrate first on the Illyrian crisis and
neutralize the threat posed by Demetrius (3.16.4). Thus, in the spring of 219
they dispatched a large expedition, commanded by both consuls of the year,
to the Adriatic coast. However, they had no doubts, particularly after the cold re-
ception given to their envoys in Spain (3.15), that their dispute with the Cartha-
ginians would be settled through force of arms. Indeed, they foresaw that the
war in which they were about to become embroiled would be a very difficult
one and that it would last a long time (μέγας ἔσται καὶ πολυχρόνιος, 3.16.1),
even if they believed that at least they would not have to wage it in Italy but
in Spain (οὐ μὴν ἐν Ἰταλίᾳ γε πολεμήσειν ἤλπισαν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν Ἰβηρίᾳ, 3.15.13), far
 See, e. g., Walbank 1957, 321– 22.

 More recent interpretations of this episode also do not recognize the mitigating factors that
the narrator takes care to provide for Hannibal. Eckstein 1995, 144 characteristically remarks:
‘Obviously, Polybius’s assessment of Hannibal’s behaviour in this crucial passage–which sets in
train the war that will be Polybius’s primary topic for the next twelve volumes–is a highly
negative one’. Cf. Champion 2004, 118.
 Cf. Baronowski 2011, 75.
away from their homeland (μακρὰν ἀπὸ τῆς οἰκείας, 3.16.1), using Saguntum as a
base of operations (3.15.13).
The reason why Polybius presents the Romans’ plans in such great detail is
because they proved groundless and were utterly overturned (διεψεύσθησαν δὲ
τοῖς λογισμοῖς, 3.16.5). Instead of their surprising Hannibal, as they had reckoned
would happen after the end of the campaign in Illyria, he forestalled them by
capturing Saguntum (κατετάχησε γὰρ αὐτοὺς Ἀννίβας, ἐξελὼν τὴν Ζακανθαίων
πόλιν, 3.16.5 – 6). The juxtaposition of the activities of the rivals, which is ach-
ieved through the familiar combination of the particles μέν and δέ (… Ῥωμαῖοι
μὲν ὑπὸ τὴν ὡραίαν Λεύκιον τὸν Αἰμίλιον ἐξαπέστειλαν μετὰ δυνάμεως ἐπὶ τὰς
κατὰ τὴν Ἰλλυρίδα πράξεις κατὰ τὸ πρῶτον ἔτος τῆς ἑκατοστῆς καὶ τετταρακοστῆς
ὀλυμπιάδος. Ἀννίβας δὲ μετὰ τῆς δυνάμεως ἀναζεύξας ἐκ τῆς Καινῆς πόλεως προ-
ῆγε, ποιούμενος τὴν πορείαν ἐπὶ τὴν Ζάκανθαν, ‘the Romans dispatched a force
under Lucius Aemilius just before summer in the first year of the 140th Olympiad
to operate in Illyria. Hannibal at the same time quitted New Carthage with his
army and advanced towards Saguntum’, 3.16.7– 17.2), underscores further the
strategic error committed by the Romans in sailing for Illyria and leaving the
field open to Hannibal.¹⁸
The Romans’ improvidence stands out more distinctly when it is contrasted
with the clear-sightedness of their adversaries. Indeed, whatever the Romans
failed to foresee in respect of Saguntum’s importance was recognized in good
time by the Carthaginians. The use of internal focalization enables us to gain ac-
cess to Hannibal’s reasoning. He thought that the capture of the city would de-
prive the Romans of a military base in Spain, that it would serve to terrorize all
the Iberian tribes and thus grant him the luxury of beginning the war without
leaving any foes of note in his rear, and that it would provide him with abundant
supplies for his campaign and enough booty to make his troops willing to fight
and secure the support of the Carthaginians back home (3.17.4– 8). The deliberate
parallelism drawn here is unmistakable. Both sides try to predict their next
moves, the difference being that Hannibal’s plans are crowned with success,
while those of the Romans utterly fail to correspond to actuality. This difference
is underlined by verbal similarities (διεψεύσθησαν δὲ τοῖς λογισμοῖς, 3.16.5; ταῦτα
δὲ πράξας οὐ διεψεύσθη τοῖς λογισμοῖς, οὐδ᾽ ἀπέτυχε τῆς ἐξ ἀρχῆς προθέσεως,
3.17.11). The emphasis on the error of the Romans suggests the idea that events
might have taken a different turn if they had directed their attention towards
 On Rome’s relations with Saguntum see Hoyos 1998, 175 – 95, where also more literature, to
which add Barceló 2004, 90 – 93, 101– 15; and Serrati 2006, 130 – 34.
Spain.¹⁹ Now, however, they had to face the consequences of their error. The last
thing that Polybius mentions about the reversal of the Romans’ expectations is
also the most painful: the war did not take place in Spain, as they had calculat-
ed, but close to Rome itself and throughout the whole of Italy (καὶ παρὰ τοῦτο
συνέβη τὸν πόλεμον οὐκ ἐν Ἰβηρίᾳ, πρὸς αὐτῇ δὲ τῇ Ῥώμῃ καὶ κατὰ πᾶσαν γεν-
έσθαι τὴν Ἰταλίαν, 3.16.6).
3.2.1.2 Hannibal
The account of Hannibal’s activities in Spain is clearly written with the aim of
focusing attention on his personality and military capabilities. Any attempt to
find references in this section to the collective behaviour of the Carthaginians
would be in vain; the emphasis is laid on Hannibal’s character. His vigilance
and efficiency stand out as soon as he assumes his duties, when he lays siege
to Althaea, the best fortified city of the Olcades. Polybius notes that the news
of the city’s fall so terrified the Olcades that they decided to surrender to their
opponents without a fight (3.13.5 – 7). The description of the siege of Saguntum
(3.17.4– 11) is recounted in the same vein. As we have seen above, the benefits
that the capture of the city would reap for the Carthaginians are stated from Han-
nibal’s perspective. Moreover, by depicting him as throwing himself into battle
and setting an example to his soldiers, Polybius makes it clear that it is Hannibal
who should be credited with the entire success of the venture. From very early on
Hannibal’s prudence also becomes apparent. It enables him, for example, to win
an utterly unexpected victory at the Tagus (3.14.4– 6). And it prompts him to cre-
ate bonds of mutual trust between the inhabitants of Spain and Africa by trans-
ferring troops from one to the other (πάνυ δ᾽ ἐμπείρως καὶ φρονίμως ἐκλογιζόμε-
νος, 3.33.8). Quite remarkable, too, is Hannibal’s skill in handling his troops. By
means of generous payments, promises and praise, he gains their favour and
trust (3.13.8, 17.10). The willingness with which the Carthaginians agree to follow
him to Italy is indeed impressive (3.34.9). Once again, however, the emphasis is
not so much on the way in which the troops react as on Hannibal’s ability to pro-
voke such a reaction (3.34.7– 9).
The aim of the third book obviously differs from that of the previous two. In
the latter Polybius was largely concerned to promote the characteristics of the
collective identities of the warring nations; here the narrative is deliberately de-
 In a similar way, Thucydides highlights the folly of the Athenians’ decision to concentrate
their efforts upon Boeotia while leaving Brasidas to operate freely in northern Greece (4.66 ff.).
For discussion and references see Rengakos 2006a, 289 – 90.
signed to highlight the abilities of a particular individual. Hannibal ‘has’ to at-

tract attention; his prominence is due to the role he is destined to play. He is
without doubt the key player in the impending war, the person who will deal
successive blows to the Romans and also manage to move the conflict close to
Rome and to drive its inhabitants to despair (3.86.6 – 7, 112.6 – 9). In this respect,
his success in Spain is meant as a prelude to the subsequent developments in
Italy. The fact that Rome does not appear to possess a leader of similar genius
at this time is not without significance. The emphatic way in which Hannibal
is projected as the incomparable model of a general downplays the role of his
Roman counterparts. It is noteworthy that, although both consuls had gone to
Illyria, only L. Aemilius Paullus is mentioned, while M. Livius Salinator is entire-
ly omitted from the narrative. This omission has been thought to stem from the
stance of the source that Polybius follows or his desire to flatter the family of his
patron.²⁰ However, despite the special treatment accorded to Aemilius, he cannot
match Hannibal or be projected as a rival worthy of equal respect. And whatever
spark of optimism his victorious campaign against Demetrius might have ignit-
ed, it is snuffed out straightaway as the celebration of his triumph is immediately
followed by the news of the capture of Saguntum (3.19.12– 20.1). The ominous
turn that Roman affairs are due to take is certainly prepared for with great assid-
uity.
On the other hand, readers are already well aware what the outcome of the
Second Punic War will be. However much the Romans suffer as a result of the
Carthaginian invasion, they will emerge victorious from the ensuing conflict.
At one level, therefore, the alternating presentation of the activities of the two
adversaries in Illyria and Spain serves as an indirect criticism of the Romans
for having devoted their whole energy to Illyria and also as a gloomy prelude
to future events, conveying the impression that the impending war is going to
be a terrible and mournful one for them.²¹ But at another level it acts as a
sign of their final victory. Indeed, the way in which they are shown to respond
to the revolt in Illyria suggests that they still possess those virtues that secured
to them victory when they fought against the Carthaginians for the first time over
control of Sicily. In the light of the outcome of the Second Punic War, the contrast
that is produced by the interweaving of the two narrative threads can be regard-
ed as being ironic. Yet, its irony does not lie so much in the eventual frustration
of Hannibal’s plans, as in what it reveals about man’s inability to escape his fate,
 Cf. Bung 1950, 191– 92; Walbank 1957, 327.

 For a different interpretation cf. Walbank 1957, 327, 332, who sees in the presentation of the
Romans’ campaign against Demetrius in Illyria an intentional, albeit unsuccessful, attempt on
the historian’s part to justify them for their inactivity over Saguntum.
even when he appears at first glance to act with prudence and foresight.²² De-
spite his obvious and undoubted abilities, Hannibal will follow a path to de-
struction. In contrast, the false calculations of the Romans will not prevent
them from emerging victorious from this ordeal as well. The constant switching
of the narrative between the expedition of the Romans in Illyria and Hannibal’s
activities in Spain, it emerges, forms such a complex web of inner relationships
between these two narrative strands that their contemporaneity represents only
the external manifestation of their connection.
3.2.2 Hannibal’s march on Italy (3.35 – 3.57.1)
The account of Hannibal’s march from New Carthage to the plains of the Po ex-
ploits the interlace technique to its full potential. The two narrative threads, that
dealing with the Carthaginians under Hannibal and that dealing with the Ro-
mans under P. Cornelius Scipio, every now and then interrupt each other until
they become interlocked when both opponents reach Italy. This time not only
is the simultaneity of the two sets of actions emphasized but the point where
they converge is also determined (3.57.1): Ἡμεῖς δ᾽ ἐπειδὴ καὶ τὴν διήγησιν καὶ
τοὺς ἡγεμόνας ἀμφοτέρων καὶ τὸν πόλεμον εἰς Ἰταλίαν ἠγάγομεν, πρὸ τοῦ τῶν
ἀγώνων ἄρξασθαι βραχέα βουλόμεθα περὶ τῶν ἁρμοζόντων τῇ πραγματείᾳ
διελθεῖν, ‘Now that I have brought my narrative and the war and the two generals
into Italy, I desire, before entering upon the struggle, to say a few words on what
I think proper to my method in this work’. It would be difficult not to notice the
satisfaction that is indirectly yet clearly expressed by Polybius at the successful
synchronization of the two narrative threads: his highly conspicuous presence at
the beginning of the phrase as the subject of ἠγάγομεν shows that he wishes to
be credited with this success.²³ Thanks to his compositional virtues, which ena-
 At 9.9.3 Polybius explicitly attributes Hannibal’s failure to capture Rome to the fickleness of
fortune (διὰ τὰς ἐκ ταὐτομάτου περιπετείας). Elsewhere, too, he claims that even the best-
conceived plans can fail. Cf., e. g., 8.21.10; 9.12.9 – 10. See further the discussion in Maier 2012a,
281– 84.
 The transgression of the boundaries between, or the violation of the hierarchy of, the level of
the narrator and the level of the characters that occurs with the intrusion of the former into the
universe of the latter is called metalepsis. While in postmodern fiction this device is usually
considered to disrupt the mimetic illusion (cf., e. g., McHale 1978; Wagner 2002), de Jong 2009,
87– 115 has convincingly shown that in early Greek literature it tends to increase the authority of
the narrator and the realism of his narrative. By drawing attention to his authority to make his
characters do what they do (τοὺς ἡγεμόνας … εἰς Ἰταλίαν ἠγάγομεν), Polybius creates an effect
that interestingly lies somewhere between these two possibilities.
bled him to calculate the duration of the two sets of actions and to arrange them
in such a way as to make them unfold in parallel, it was possible for the threads
of narrative to become synchronized and to converge.
Polybius’ skill in handling the technique of interlace is equally observable in
the variations in the amount of narrative space allocated to the two rivals. As
they approach each other, the size of the passages that focus on their actions de-
creases.²⁴ It is telling that shortly before the two threads converge (3.57.1) no more
than half a paragraph is devoted to the activity of the Carthaginians (3.56.1– 5)
and another half to that of the Romans (3.56.5 – 6), while the account of Hanni-
bal’s passage of the Alps (3.50 – 55) covers eight pages in the Teubner text. From
3.60.1 onwards the two narrative threads continue to be suspended and interwo-
ven, except that now the convergences, because of the successive battles, be-
come more frequent. Here too, as in the foregoing section, the closer the adver-
saries draw to each other, the more quickly does the narrative shifts between
them. And just before a battle is about to take place (and therefore a convergence
of the narrative threads), the alternation of scenes is particularly rapid. From
3.66.9 to 3.72.13, for instance, Polybius switches the focus of his narration from
the Roman to the Carthaginian side and vice versa no less than sixteen times,
until the rivals meet at the river Trebia and the conflict begins (3.73.1): ἤδη δὲ
σύνεγγυς ὄντων ἀλλήλοις, συνεπλέκησαν οἱ προκείμενοι τῶν δυνάμεων εὔζωνοι,
‘when they were nearly at close quarters, the light-armed troops in the van of
each army began the combat’.
The interlace technique enables Polybius not only to chart the movements of
the two opponents, but also to engage the reader in the narrative and to create
suspense. This is achieved through the use of suspenseful scene endings and the
insertion of authorial comments that make the reader all the more eager to hear
the continuation of the action. Thus, the episode of Hannibal’s departure for
Italy concludes with a reference to the effectiveness of his army (ἔχων οὐχ
οὕτως πολλὴν δύναμιν ὡς χρησίμην καὶ γεγυμνασμένην διαφερόντως ἐκ τῆς συνε-
χείας τῶν κατὰ τὴν Ἰβηρίαν ἀγώνων, ‘having now an army not so strong in num-
ber as serviceable and highly trained owing to the unbroken series of wars in
Spain’, 3.35.8). This piece of information, combined with the opposite picture
projected of the Roman soldiers as being untrained and inexperienced in battle
(ἀνασκήτοις καὶ νεοσυλλόγοις, 3.70.10), attracts the reader’s interest to the devel-
opment of the plot by foreshadowing the future successes of the Carthaginians in
Italy. In a similar vein, the presentation of the places through which Hannibal
 Siegman 1987, 135 ff. demonstrates how this technique is exploited in the Odyssey. For more
examples of its use in historiography see Rengakos 2006b, 188 – 190.
had to pass in order to reach the plains of the Po is rounded off with the remark
that, although he had already covered almost half of the distance, in terms of
difficulties most of the march still lay before him (τούτων δὴ τῶν τόπων κατὰ
μὲν τὸ μῆκος ἤδη σχεδὸν τοὺς ἡμίσεις διεληλύθει, κατὰ δὲ τὴν δυσχέρειαν τὸ
πλέον αὐτῷ μέρος ἀπελείπετο τῆς πορείας, 3.39.12).²⁵ Polybius, then, has the epi-
sode ending in a cliff-hanger to ensure that readers continue in order to discover
what these difficulties will be and how it will be possible to avert them. In this
manner, he draws readers in and compels them, while they are following one
course of action, to think about the other.
Another indication of Polybius’ skillful handling of the interlace technique is
that the narrative threads frequently alternate in such a way that the events de-
scribed are not merely juxtaposed but literally interwoven. To achieve this effect,
Polybius uses a form of masked transition between scenes, whereby the move-
ments of the characters and the dissemination of news from one side to the
other enable him to abandon the narrative thread he is following and turn to an-
other parallel theatre of action. An example that clearly shows how this camou-
flaged transition functions can be encountered in 3.45, where Polybius narrates
the Romans’ engagement against the Numidians sent by Hannibal on a recon-
naissance mission. Readers already know about this spying mission as in
3.44.3 – 4 it was mentioned that the news of the Romans’ arrival at the Rhone
prompted Hannibal to select 500 Numidian horsemen and dispatch them to ob-
serve the enemy. They also know that a similar action has been taken by the Ro-
mans, who, disturbed at the speed of the Carthaginians’ advance, have sent 300
horsemen to gather information (3.41.8 – 9). The next part of the narrative, how-
ever, is not immediately revealed, for these minor threads are abandoned for a
while and attention is focused on Hannibal’s deeds. What happened to the
 A similar expediency is served by the phrases at 3.50.1 (‘After a ten days’ march of eight
hundred stades along the bank of the Isère, Hannibal began the ascent of the Alps and now
found himself involved in very great difficulties (συνέβη μεγίστοις αὐτὸν περιπεσεῖν κινδύνοις)’)
and at 3.52.2 (‘For the following days he conducted the army in safety up to a certain point, but
on the fourth day he was again placed in great danger (εἰς κινδύνους παρεγένετο μεγάλους)’),
which, however, lie at the beginning of their respective scenes. In this way, they turn readers’
attention to what comes immediately next in the narrative, while at the same time showcasing
the genius of the Carthaginian general, whose foresight proves to be redemptive for his troops
(cf. 3.50.5 – 51.12 and 3.53.1– 3, where the ‘Beinahe’ of the situation described lends even greater
emphasis to his astuteness: ‘On this occasion Hannibal’s whole army would have been utterly
destroyed, had he not still been a little apprehensive and foreseeing such a contingency placed
the pack-train and cavalry at the head of the column and the heavy infantry in the rear. As the
latter now acted as a covering force, the disaster was less serious, the infantry meeting the brunt
of the attack’).
spies is thus described at a later point. In fact, we hear about it at the same time
as Hannibal does. We learn specifically that the Numidian horsemen met the Ro-
mans near the Carthaginian camp, where they clashed with them, and that the
Romans won and pursued them (3.45.2– 3). After having surveyed the enemy’s
camp, the Romans withdrew and rode off in order to report to Scipio the Cartha-
ginians’ arrival (3.45.3 – 4). At this point Polybius takes advantage of the depar-
ture of Scipio’s spies to move with them to the Roman camp. Thus the scene
changes again, and the chapter closes with Scipio’s reaction when he is informed
about the situation (3.45.4).
The alternation of scenes that is accomplished by the dissemination of news
often serves to highlight the swiftness and efficiency of the opponents. This is
most clearly evident in certain cases where one side is shown to be amazed at
the progress of the other. When, for example, Scipio learns of Hannibal’s arrival
at the Rhone, he is at first incredulous (ἀπιστῶν διὰ τὸ τάχος τῆς παρουσίας,
3.41.8). Later on, the news that Scipio has crossed the Po and is already in
Italy causes Hannibal, who did not expect it, wonder and surprise (ἐθαύμαζε
καὶ κατεπέπληκτο τὴν ὅλην ἐπιβολὴν καὶ τὴν πρᾶξιν τοῦ στρατηγοῦ, 3.61.4– 5).
A similar thing happens to Scipio (τὸ δὲ παραπλήσιον συνέβαινε πάσχειν καὶ
τὸν Πόπλιον, 3.61.5), who reckoned that his rival would not dare to cross the
Alps and that he would perish with his entire army if he finally attempted it.
So when he hears that Hannibal has not only survived but is also besieging
towns in Italy, he is stunned by the boldness of his adversary (κατεπέπληκτο
τὴν τόλμαν καὶ τὸ παράβολον τἀνδρός, 3.61.6 – 7). The citizens of Rome react in
the same way when this piece of news–and with it the narrative–is taken to
Rome itself (τὸ δ᾽ αὐτὸ συνέβαινεν καὶ τοῖς ἐν τῇ Ῥώμῃ πεπονθέναι περὶ τῶν προ-
σπιπτόντων, 3.61.7– 8). As they have only recently heard of the capture of Sagun-
tum, the news that Hannibal is already on Italian soil seems incredible and
comes as a great shock to them (3.61.9).²⁶
***
The interweaving of theatres of action is a powerful tool in Polybius’ arsenal of
narrative techniques. Its repeated use places us as readers in the position of con-
temporary spectators, who learn of developments at the same time as the histor-
ical agents. In this respect, it helps to convey a sense of lived experience and al-
lows us to understand the psychological effect of the narrated events to the char-
acters. But the alternation of narrative threads is not only a structural device
 Cf. Grethlein 2010, 248 – 52, elaborating on the ways in which Thucydides enables his readers
to experience the plot from the perspective of the characters.
merely employed for the sake of its emotive power but also a feature of crucial
importance to Polybius’ desire to confer intelligibility upon the course of history
he relates. By putting together actions which happen at broadly the same time in
such a way as to invite comparison, Polybius points to recurring patterns of
human behaviour and suggests parallels, which in turn encourage readers to
draw their own conclusions.
3.3 Order
Synchronicity is certainly a fruitful avenue for the study of time in a narrative,

though it is not the only one. Probably the most important parameter in the chro-
nological organization of a text, and that which has attracted the attention of
narratologists more than any other,²⁷ is order, i. e. the relationship between the
chronological sequence of events in the story and their arrangement in the nar-
rative. The differences between the temporal order of the narrative and the story
are called anachronies, and they are of two types, analepses (or flashbacks) and
prolepses (or flashforwards).
3.3.1 Analepses
Analepses are the commonest form of discordance between the order of time in
the story and of that in the narrative. Even texts that at first sight appear to adopt
an order that accords with the natural or logical sequence of events are not en-
tirely devoid of analepses. Although principally organized in annalistic form, the
Polybian narrative presents an abundance of analepses that vary in terms of
their scope, extent and functional role. In what follows I shall attempt to catego-
rize the analeptic material in the Histories and to analyze the contexts in which it
is introduced.²⁸
To begin with, a large number of analepses are intended to provide readers
with background information on the recounted events. This category includes
the accounts that are incorporated in the narrative to familiarize readers with
the earlier history of the nations that play a prominent role in the main part
of the Histories (Romans: 1.6 – 12.4 and, if the prokataskeue is viewed as an exter-
 See, e. g., Genette (1972) 1980, 33 – 85; Bal (1985) 1997, 80 – 98.
 My presentation of the forms and functions of the anachronies in the Histories owes a good
deal to the analysis in Rood 2007, 176 – 81.
3.3 Order 75
nal analepsis, 1.16 – 65.3; Carthaginians: 1.65.3 – 88.8; Achaeans and Macedoni-
ans: 2.37.7– 70; Ptolemies: 5.31.8 – 39; Seleucids: 5.40.4– 57.8). Interestingly, Poly-
bius himself characterizes these preliminary narrative sections as ‘regressions’
(e. g. 5.31.8: βραχὺ προσαναδραμόντες; 5.40.4: ἀναδραμόντες ἐπὶ τὴν παράληψιν
τῆς Ἀντιόχου δυναστείας) and explicitly stresses that without them the events de-
scribed in his work cannot be understood (3.10.2– 3): ὧν χωρὶς οὐχ οἷόν τ᾽ ἦν συμ-
περιενεχθῆναι δεόντως οὔτε τοῖς νῦν λεγομένοις οὔτε τοῖς μετὰ ταῦτα ῥηθησο-
μένοις ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν, ‘about this I have spoken in the preceding books, without a pe-
rusal of which it is impossible to follow properly what I am now saying and what
I am about to say’.²⁹
To the same category belong the analepses that serve to interpret characters’
reactions and behaviour. Concerned as they are with emphasizing causality,
these analepses hardly interrupt the main storyline, are usually brief, not that
elaborate, and of indeterminate scope. Thus, Polybius explains the willingness
with which the Acarnanians sided with Philip V by merely mentioning the fact
that in the past they had suffered greatly at the hands of the Aetolians (πολλὰ
γὰρ καὶ δεινὰ πεπονθότες ἐν τοῖς ἀνώτερον χρόνοις ὑπ᾽ Αἰτωλῶν, 5.6.1). In a sim-
ilarly succinct way, he notes that Molon, the satrap of Media who revolted
against Antiochus III, distrusted the populations of Susiana and Babylonia,
‘as his conquest of these provinces was so recent and sudden’ (διὰ τὸ προσφάτως
καὶ παραδόξως αὐτῶν ἐγκρατὴς γεγονέναι, 5.52.4).
Occasionally, however, these explanatory analepses occupy extensive space
in the narrative and interrupt its progression. A characteristic example occurs
when Polybius seeks to justify the tough stance adopted by Antigonus Doson
and Aratus towards the Mantineans during the destruction of their city in the
Cleomenic War (2.57– 58). An analeptic account extending over several pages
aims at informing the reader of the reasons for this toughness. The narrative is
taken back to a point four years before Antigonus’ arrival in the Peloponnese,
when Aratus captured Mantinea–it is perhaps worth noting that in this case Pol-
ybius determines the exact scope of the analepsis (ἔτει τετάρτῳ πρότερον τῆς
Ἀντιγόνου παρουσίας, 2.57.2). The conquerors, we are told, behaved with exem-
plary magnanimity towards the Mantineans. Aratus himself guaranteed their
safety so long as they agreed to become members of the Achaean League
(2.57.5). The Mantineans not only accepted his proposal but also asked for a gar-
rison to be appointed to their city as they feared the hostile designs of the Aeto-
lians and Lacedaemonians as well as the dangers from internal disputes (2.58.2).
In the end, however, civil war was not averted. The Mantineans, after calling in
 Cf. 5.32.4– 5.
the Lacedaemonians, surrendered the city to them and, in order to offer them
guarantees for their change of allegiance, slaughtered the Achaean garrison
(2.58.4). Their act of treachery is described by Polybius in the darkest colours
(cf., e. g., 2.58.4– 5: οὗ μεῖζον παρασπόνδημα καὶ δεινότερον οὐδ᾽ εἰπεῖν εὐμαρές,
‘it is not easy to name any greater or more atrocious act of treachery than
this’; 2.58.7– 8: τὸ μέγιστον ἀσέβημα κατὰ προαίρεσιν ἐπετέλεσαν, ‘[the Manti-
neans] deliberately committed the most heinous of crimes’). There can be little
doubt that Polybius’ pro-Achaean stance played a role in his decision to include
this analeptic material and give it so much space in the narrative.³⁰ On the other
hand, we must bear in mind that the account of the Mantineans’ unreliable be-
haviour forms part of the attack against Phylarchus for the way in which he had
presented the Cleomenic War, and so the attention to detail and accuracy of dat-
ing may well be due to Polybius’ intention to reinforce the reliability of his own
version compared with that of his fellow historian.
Analepses are especially common in Polybius’ polemic.³¹ These are usually
internal homodiegetic (such as the one relating to the destruction of Mantinea by
Aratus I have just discussed) and contest other accounts of the same events re-
corded by earlier historians.³² Nevertheless, polemic passages also include a cer-
tain number of external heterodiegetic analepses, which are separate from the
main story and serve only to substantiate Polybius’ arguments. This is the case
in 8.10, where Polybius seeks to expose the accusations that Theopompus had
made against Philip II and his companions as groundless by looking back to
their achievements. In book 12, too, which is entirely devoted to polemic, exter-
nal heterodiegetic analepses become a means of showing the inadequacy of Cal-
listhenes and Ephorus in describing battles (12.17– 22, 25f). There are also occa-
sions where Polybius presents analeptic material in order to propose more suit-
able subjects for narration to his fellow historians. Something of this kind hap-
pens, for example, at 7.7.8, where Polybius, having first expressed his annoyance
with the writers who chose to present the deeds of Hieronymus in a manner be-
fitting tragic poets rather than historians, turns readers’ attention to two other
Syracusan rules, Hiero and Gelo, whose stories, he argues, would have been
more instructive and worth telling (τοῖς φιληκόοις ἡδίων οὗτος καὶ τοῖς φιλομα-
 Cf. Rood’s 2007, 165 – 81 emphasis on how Polybius’ pro-Achaean bias manifests itself in his
handling of time.
 On the polemic waged by Polybius against his fellow historians see below (§5.1.3).
 Analepses and prolepses can be internal or external, depending on whether they fall within
the time span of the main narrative; and homo- or heterodiegetic, depending on whether they
carry information about the same characters, sequences of events or storylines that have been
the concern of the preceding narrative, or about some other characters or events.
3.3 Order 77
θοῦσι τῷ παντὶ χρησιμώτερος),³³ and goes on to demonstrate his claim by making

two short flashbacks to their reigns (7.8).³⁴
The didactic aspect of Polybius’ use of analepses is most prominent when it
comes to discussing the issues raised in the narrative. Indeed, many analepses
seem to be motivated by Polybius’ desire to instruct readers or convert them to
his own point of view. Although these sections are mostly argumentative, they
do also often have a narrative component. When, for example, at 9.12– 22 he de-
scribes some fundamental prerequisites for effective military leadership, Poly-
bius seeks to corroborate his views with a series of analepses that refer to four
commanders who failed through an inadequate knowledge of astronomy and
geometry (Aratus at Cynaetha (9.17); Cleomenes at Megalopolis (9.18.1– 4); Phi-
lip V at Melitaea (9.18.5 – 9), Nicias at Syracuse (9.19.1– 4)). Similarly, at 8.35 Pol-
ybius warns against being foolishly credulous, adducing as examples the Spar-
tan king Archidamus and the Theban Pelopidas, who fell into the hands of the
enemy as a result of carelessness. And at 9.23 he incorporates analeptic material
drawn from the earlier histories of the Sicilians, Athenians, Spartans and Mace-
donians to underline the influence of bad advisors on the formation of the pol-
icies of city-states and kings.
Polybius’ tendency to use analepses as demonstrative and didactic means is
based on his belief that the knowledge gained from the study of history helps
one to better understand the present and avoid the same mistakes others have
made.³⁵ In the examples mentioned above, Polybius makes the lessons to be ex-
tracted more explicit and accessible to readers by stringing together similar past
events. But analepses may also be used to draw contrasts, as happens, for in-
stance, in 5.9 – 10.8, where Philip V’s sacrilege at Thermum is contrasted with
the restrained behaviour displayed by three of his predecessors (Antigonus at
 Sacks 1981, 163 maintains that Polybius is not totally opposed to sensational writing on the
grounds that he describes Hiero’s accession to the throne as παραδοξότατον (7.8.3). Yet this is not
to say, as Sacks does, that Polybius considers Hiero as a suitable candidate ‘for recounting
paradoxologia’. In relating Hiero’s life (7.8.1– 8), Polybius constructs a narrative that is devoid of
absurd overtones–indeed, he explicitly claims that fortune had no share in his success. Hiero,
Polybius asserts in 7.8.1– 2, acquired the rule by his own merit, ‘having found ready provided for
him by fortune neither wealth, fame, nor anything else’ (οὐ πλοῦτον, οὐ δόξαν, οὐχ ἕτερον οὐδὲν
ἐκ τῆς τύχης ἕτοιμον παραλαβών). The superlative παραδοξότατον, therefore, far from denoting
the kind of sensational writing Polybius castigates in 7.7, is clearly used in the sense of ‘the most
remarkable’ to characterize the fact that Hiero made himself king unaided.
 Cf. 15.34– 35, where Polybius complains about sensational accounts of Agathocles’ downfall
and tries to show that the Sicilians Agathocles and Dionysius would have been better subjects
for historical treatment through the use of analepses referring to their achievements.
 1.1.2; 1.35.6 – 10. On this topic see Sacks 1981, 189 – 93; but cf., more recently, Maier 2012b.
Sparta, Philip II at Athens and Alexander at Thebes and in Persia). Sometimes

such contrasts are aimed at highlighting the historical dimension of the events
described. For example, at 38.2, Polybius magnifies the misfortunes that befell
the Greeks in 146 by comparing them to other disasters suffered in the past by
various Greek city-states (the sack of Athens by the Persians, the destruction
of Thebes by Alexander etc.).³⁶
Of course, there are also analepses that are used by Polybius without further
hermeneutic or ideological consequences. This category generally consists of het-
erodiegetic analepses that do not serve as any kind of contrast or analogy with
the main plotline, such as the short digressions that provide readers with mytho-
logical information about the places mentioned in the text. Thus, with regard to
Hieron in the Pontus, Polybius notes that it is the area ‘where they say that Jason
on his voyage back from Colchis first sacrificed to the twelve gods’ (4.39.6). Sim-
ilarly, he informs readers that Bosphorus is the place ‘where legend says that Io
first found a footing after crossing’ (4.43.6 – 7).³⁷ Analepses of this kind, which
seem equivalent to modern footnotes or endnotes and are introduced to enrich
readers’ encyclopedic knowledge, can be found in both earlier historiography
(e. g. Thucydides 4.25.4) and geographical texts (e. g. Ps.-Scylax 98;
Paus. 4.31.4– 5).
As for actorial analepsis, many arguments in speeches incorporate allusions
to the past. Like the primary narrator, therefore, the characters in the Histories
frequently recall past events in order to persuade their audience. In the speech
he delivers at Sparta in 210, for example, the Acarnanian ambassador Lyciscus
tries to prevent the Lacedaemonians from joining the Aetolians in an alliance
with Rome first by likening the Roman threat to a cloud appearing from the
West and gradually spreading over the whole country (9.37.10)³⁸ and then by fo-
cusing on three didactic incidents from their history. Thus, he reminds them of
the reply their forebears had given the Persians when they had asked for
‘earth and water’ (9.38.2), the sacrifice they had made at Thermopylae
(9.38.3 – 4) and their decision to punish the Thebans for their stance during
the Persian invasion (9.39.5). Since they refer to a past which lies outside the
boundaries of the main story, Lyciscus’ analepses are of the external type. How-
ever, there are also actorial analepses that look back to what has already been
recounted. Intriguingly, sometimes the interpretation of events by the partici-
pants differs significantly from the way in which they have been presented. By
 For a detailed discussion of such uses of analepses see Grethlein and Krebs 2012, 6 – 8.
 On Polybius’ use of mythical elements see Walbank (1993) 2002, 179 – 80.
 For the metaphor cf. 5.104.10; 38.16.3.
3.3 Order 79
far the most remarkable examples of this sort are to be found in the narrative of
the first few years of the Second Punic War in book 3. There the Romans are
shown to construct their own versions of events in order to dismiss the signifi-
cance of the Carthaginians’ successes (3.64.4– 9, 68.9, 75.1). The inconsistencies
between their claims and the narrator’s account indicate their erroneous assess-
ments of events–and in doing so foreshadow, or at least imply an increased
probability of, further setbacks.³⁹
3.3.2 Prolepses
Prolepses are the second kind of device used to alter the chronological order of
the story in a narrative text. We can distinguish between explicit prolepses,
which clearly announce what is going to follow, and implicit prolepses, which
simply give readers an idea of the turn that future events will take.⁴⁰ In the
case of implicit prolepses, we may think of embedded narratives that contain
hints at the subsequent development of the plot, seeds (the function of which
becomes apparent later), and motifs, typical scenes, or patterns, which acquire
their proleptic significance progressively as they become increasingly familiar
(foreshadowing by convention).⁴¹ The following discussion explores the ways
in which Polybius employs prolepsis, both in its explicit and implicit form, to en-
gage readers in the narrative and play with their expectations.
Explicit narratorial prolepsis in the Histories can have a structuring function
when it highlights connections between different parts of the text. This is most
evident in comments used by Polybius to show that he intends to revisit and ex-
plain something at a later point in the work. Strictly speaking, such cross-refer-
ences are not prolepses, since they look forward not to events but to the future of
the act of narration itself. Yet they, too, prepare the narratees for the further de-
velopment of the plot. When Polybius recounts the impious deeds committed by
Philip V at Thermum, for example, he promises that at the right moment he will
mention something which will make it clear that the king’s improper behaviour
was due to the advice given him by Demetrius of Pharos and not Aratus
(5.12.5 – 8).⁴²
 Cf. Davidson 1991, 13 – 14; Wiater 2010, 83 – 95.

 For the distinction cf. Genette (1972) 1980, 75; Bal (1985) 1997, 97.
 De Jong 1999, 242– 44 discusses various forms of implicit prolepsis.
 The right moment arrives at 7.13.4– 14.3, where Polybius assesses the characters of the two
men on the basis of the advice they give the king on the attitude he should adopt towards the
Messenians. It is worth noting that, before presenting his evidence, Polybius reminds readers of
Some prolepses are meant to arouse expectations about the future course of
events and thus induce the narratees to keep reading. At 24.10.8, for instance,
Polybius creates an atmosphere of foreboding by pointing out that Callicrates
was unaware that he had been the architect of great evils for all Greece, and
in particular for the Achaeans (μεγάλων κακῶν ἀρχηγὸς γέγονε πᾶσι μὲν τοῖς Ἕλ-
λησι, μάλιστα δὲ τοῖς Ἀχαιοῖς).⁴³ Elsewhere, similar hints are furnished in regard
to the fate of individual characters. These proleptic remarks frequently have a
moral tone, for example when they look forward to the punishment of characters
for the actions they have performed. A good illustration of this can be found at
15.20, where Polybius, in discussing the decision by Philip V and Antiochus III to
exploit the accession of the young Ptolemy V to the throne of Egypt in order to
conquer his dominions, refers to the subsequent subjugation of their kingdoms
by Rome as a just retribution for their conduct. His remark that fortune soon al-
lowed these two kings to suffer a fate similar to that which they themselves had
been planning to inflict on Ptolemy (15.20.6 – 8) expresses some sense of satisfac-
tion at their well-deserved punishment, making readers eager to hear more de-
tails.
A special case in the authorial announcements of upcoming events concerns
the future of Rome. Already in the preface to the prokataskeue Polybius reveals
the end result of his work by looking ahead to Rome’s dominion over almost the
whole known world (1.1.5). Similarly in book 3, while he is still setting out the
causes of the Second Punic War, and before he presents the way in which it
broke out, Polybius alludes to Rome’s victory, mentioning the fact that, after
his defeat, Hannibal took refuge at the court of Antiochus (3.11). The proleptic
reference to Rome’s ultimate victory in the Second Punic War recurs in a more
striking way at the end of book 3, when the Romans, having been defeated at
Cannae, are worried about the territorial integrity of their own homeland:
the promise he made at 5.12.5 – 8, thus rendering the connection between the two passages very
apparent (7.13.2– 5): ‘Now that actual facts have confirmed a statement I made in my fifth book,
which was there a mere unsupported pronouncement, I wish to recall it to the memory of those
who have followed this history, so as to leave none of my statements without proof or disputable
(ἀμφισβητουμένην καταλιπεῖν). When in describing the Aetolian war I reached that part of my
narrative in which I said that Philip was too savage in his destruction of the porticoes and other
votive offerings at Thermus, and that we should not owing to his youth at the time lay the blame
so much on the king himself as on the friends he associated with, I then stated that Aratus’
conduct throughout his life vindicated him from the suspicion of having acted so wickedly, but
that such conduct savoured of Demetrius of Pharos. I then promised to make this clear from
what I would afterwards relate, and I reserved the proof of the above assertion for this occasion’.
 For the (almost) proverbial phrase ἀρχὴ κακῶν cf. 11.5.9; 18.39.1; 22.18.1; 23.10.1.
3.3 Order 81
The Romans on their part owing to this defeat at once abandoned all hope of retaining their
supremacy in Italy, and were in the greatest fear (ἐν μεγάλοις φόβοις) about their own safety
and that of Rome, expecting Hannibal every moment to appear … Yet the Senate neglected
no means in its power, but exhorted and encouraged the populace, strengthened the defen-
ces of the city, and deliberated on the situation with manly coolness. And subsequent
events made this manifest. For though the Romans were now incontestably beaten and
their military reputation shattered, yet by the peculiar virtues of their constitution (τῇ
τοῦ πολιτεύματος ἰδιότητι) and by wise counsel they not only recovered their supremacy
in Italy and afterwards defeated the Carthaginians, but in a few years made themselves
masters of the whole world (3.118.5 – 9).
By choosing one of the most critical moments in the history of the Romans to
mention their victory in the Second Punic War and the future establishment of
their world rule, Polybius makes their achievements all the more remarkable.
At the same time, he excites readers’ curiosity about how things will develop
until they reach their known outcome. Indeed, it is impossible to overlook the
tension between the authorial prolepses at the beginning and end of the third
book and everything that happens in between, with the Carthaginians scoring
one success over the other (e. g. at the Trebia, Lake Trasimene, and Cannae). It
is a discrepancy that makes readers wonder, and desire to learn, how the Ro-
mans will manage to reverse the unfavourable situation and emerge victorious
from their ordeal.⁴⁴
Polybius’ remark that the capacities of their constitution, combined with the
correct decisions they made from this point onwards, enabled the Romans to re-
cover from Cannae and achieve what seemed impossible at that particular mo-
ment directs readers’ attention towards the forthcoming developments in the
Second Punic War and towards the sixth book, which presents the Roman con-
stitution and highlights the advantages that the Roman state derives from it. It
seems that the special character of the historical material dealt with in the
sixth book, as well as its digressive nature, prompted Polybius to emphasize
both its suitability for inclusion in the Histories and its interpretative value. It
is, however, impressive that this book, which is intended to illustrate how the
Roman constitution contributes to Rome’s endurance and success, contains a
proleptic statement about the superpower’s future which does not concern its tri-
umph but its decline. As Polybius explicitly notes in his discussion of the cyclic
theory of constitutions, a change for the worse will definitely take place at some
 As Duckworth 1933 has long ago shown, when the outcome of a story is known, there may be
still uncertainty regarding the manner of fulfillment. Moreover, readers of historical works are
not necessarily informed of all the details. Cf. de Jong 1999, 244– 45; Miltsios 2009, 484.
point and the Roman constitution will not avoid the natural decay that follows a
peak of development (6.9.12– 14).
The decline of Rome is also foreshadowed in an actorial prolepsis uttered by
P. Scipio Aemilianus. It is to be found in the famous episode that presents Scipio
weeping at the sight of burning Carthage:
Scipio, when he looked upon the city as it was utterly perishing and in the last throes of its
complete destruction, is said to have shed tears and wept openly for his enemies. After
being wrapped in thought for long, and realizing that all cities, nations, and authorities
must, like men, meet their doom; that this happened to Ilium, once a prosperous city, to
the empires of Assyria, Media, and Persia, the greatest of their time, and to Macedonia it-
self, the brilliance of which was so recent, either deliberately or the verses escaping him, he
said: ‘A day will come when sacred Troy shall perish, and Priam and his people shall be
slain’. And when Polybius speaking with freedom to him, for he was his teacher, asked
him what he meant by the words, they say that without any attempt at concealment he
named his own country, for which he feared when he reflected on the fate of all things
human (38.22.1– 3).
The narrator’s placement of the prediction of Rome’s decline after her brilliant
success enhances further its emotive power, as does his decision, by means of
the character Polybius’ question, to present it through the mouth of Scipio. By
making Scipio himself explain what he has said, and thus avoiding the need
to resort to an explanation of his own, Polybius reinforces the credibility of
his reporting and lends the prediction, which is expressed by a victorious
Roman general, greater impact.
A particularly intriguing form of prolepsis is the record of characters’ plans
and projects. Time and again Polybius’ characters are shown to plan for the fu-
ture and optimistically speculate about the fulfillment of their goals. It is a recur-
ring pattern in the narrative, however, that such actorial prolepses tend to be dis-
astrously erroneous.⁴⁵ Thus, Antiochus III forces a naval engagement at Myones-
sus, in the hope of preventing the Roman army from crossing into Asia, only to
meet with a heavy defeat (21.11.13). Similarly, but perhaps more strikingly,
Achaeus draws up ambitious plans for the future, totally oblivious to the plot
against him and to his approaching end (8.17.10 – 11). In such cases, the unwar-
ranted confidence of the characters in their plans and their ability to execute
them acts as a sign of their impending downfall. Yet it is important to bear in
mind that the foreshadowing is vague. It merely indicates a direction that the ac-
 For a discussion of this pattern see Miltsios 2009, esp. 485 – 98. See also Grethlein 2010, 196 –
202 on the various ways in which Herodotus’ use of anachronies throws into relief the tension
between expectation and experience.
3.3 Order 83
tion might take, without eliminating or diminishing the uncertainty that may
exist over the exact development of the plot.
***
It can be concluded that anachronies are one of the most powerful means by
which Polybius manipulates readers’ responses. The disruption of the story’s
chronological order guides and deepens readers’ understanding by endowing
the described events with new meanings which either confirm or negate their
previous assumptions. References to past and future events also contribute to
the cohesion of the Polybian work by highlighting links and interconnections be-
tween the various episodes that form it. They thus shed light from different per-
spectives on issues of central importance to Polybius’ analysis. Of course, it goes
without saying that the promotion of such issues is a major concern for the Poly-
bian narrator, who does not hesitate to make his own presence felt in order to
forcefully comment on them. In the foregoing discussion, however, I have
tried to show that the presentation of events often proves more eloquent than
the remarkably extrovert narrator who makes it. All in all, the temporal displace-
ments used in the Polybian narrative are consistent with, and related to, its the-
matic concerns. They serve to articulate important recurring themes and enable
readers, through the confrontation of past and future, to transcend the incidental
nature of events so that they can understand the wider patterns shaping human
behaviour.
4 Focalization and interpretation
In presenting the impact of the destruction of Carthage on Greece, Polybius re-
cords four different views. There were those who approved of the Romans’ con-
duct, claiming that they had acted with prudence and realism (φρονίμως καὶ
πραγματικῶς βουλεύσασθαι, 36.9.3 – 4), to the advantage of their own rule. Elim-
inating a formidable enemy that had already posed a frequent threat and that
could easily cause problems again in the future showed their prudence and
far-sightedness (νοῦν ἐχόντων εἶναι καὶ μακρὰν βλεπόντων ἀνθρώπων, 36.9.4).
Others disagreed with this opinion. In the ruthlessness of the Romans they per-
ceived a divergence from the principles and mentality (προαίρεσιν) that had char-
acterized their foreign policy. Previously, they had fought their rivals only for as
long as was necessary to convince them of the need to accept Roman rule and
carry out their orders (36.9.6 – 7). Now, however, as had been shown firstly in
the case of Perseus and the Macedonian dynasty, and later in their decision re-
garding the Carthaginians, who had been willing to satisfy all their demands, the
Romans had not stopped until they had exterminated their opponents (36.9.7– 8).
Their lust for power was likened to the ambitions of the Athenians and Lacedae-
monians, and it was argued that they would suffer the same fate (ἥξειν δ᾽ ἐπὶ
ταὐτὸ τέλος ἐκ τῶν προφαινομένων, 36.9.5).¹
Yet others dwelt not so much on the Romans’ decision to destroy Carthage as
on the means they used to accomplish their objective. They maintained that the
Romans, in spite of their traditional disapproval of the use of deceit and trickery
in war, had on this occasion not hesitated to resort to dishonourable practices in
the course of their negotiations with the Carthaginians, until they had driven
them to despair and left them no alternative (36.9.10 – 11). In their view, this con-
duct was more befitting to a tyrant and could only be described as a violation of
the treaties (36.9.11). The response to this, as was expressed by those who took
the side of the Romans, pointed to the Carthaginians’ share of blame and claim-
ed that in effect it was they, and not the Romans, who had broken the treaty
(36.9.16). Once they had chosen to place themselves in the hands of the Romans
through a formal act of deditio, they should have carried out their orders
(36.9.13).
 This sentence can be interpreted in two ways: either that the Romans will lose their power
(Hoffmann 1960, 311 ff.) or that they will end up behaving like tyrants (Walbank 1979, 665). I
think that the first interpretation is more likely to be correct. As we have seen (above, p. 82),
proleptic references to the end of Rome are found also elsewhere in the Histories. Besides, the
comparison with Athens and Sparta shows that Rome had already been equated with them.
4 Focalization and interpretation 85
The recording of four different opinions about the same event is in itself an
interesting moment in the work of any ancient Greek historian:² the fact that Pol-
ybius presents them here without taking sides makes it more intriguing. It is
hardly surprising, therefore, that the passage has sparked off a lively debate be-
tween the critics who have sought to decipher his own views on the issue. Pet-
zold, for example, has maintained that Polybius shares the criticism of the Ro-
mans, and has based his interpretation on passages in which the historian advis-
es the powerful to preserve their dominion by the same means that they used to
acquire it and not to be too harsh on the vanquished.³ Walbank, on the other
hand, invoking biographical data (the historian accompanied Scipio Aemilianus
on his mission and contributed to its success in a practical way) and textual
characteristics, such as the way in which the four viewpoints are arranged
(the pro-Roman arguments are placed at the beginning and end of the discus-
sion) and the amount of space they take up (more space is devoted to the pro-
Roman statements than to the anti-Roman ones), has suggested that Polybius
approved of Rome’s policy towards Carthage.⁴
It appears, however, that what concerns Polybius here is not to develop his
own perspective, in order to persuade his readers to adopt it, but to record the
divergence of opinion that the destruction of Carthage caused in Greece, in
order to encourage them to think about the matter. It is indeed noteworthy
that he does not comment on the four viewpoints but allows readers to draw
their own conclusions from the arguments deployed by the different sides.⁵
Thus, the passage in question may be used as a starting point for investigating
 In the Herodotean narrative there are over 125 occasions in which alternative versions are
recorded. Thucydides, on the other hand, even when he includes alternative versions, usually
prefers the one he thinks to be the likeliest (see, e. g., 8.87, where the possible motives behind
Tissaphernes’ conduct are set out). The technique is so closely connected with Herodotus that
the only passage in Thucydides where the typical disjunctive εἴτε … εἴτε occurs (5.65.3) has been
characterized as being Herodotean in style (cf. Rood 1998, 106 n. 100; Hornblower 2004, 300).
On Herodotus’ alternative versions generally cf. Flory 1987, 47– 79; and Lateiner 1989, 76 – 90,
including a list. The narrative functions of alternative accounts in Herodotus are explored by
Lang 1984, 73 – 79 and Gray 2003. On Herodotus’ presentation of alternative motivations see
Baragwanath 2008, 122 – 59.
 Petzold 1969, 62– 63.
 Walbank (1974) 1985, 286 – 88; (1977) 1985, 338 – 40. Interpretations that lie between these two
extremes have also been proposed. Ferrary 1988, 327– 43, followed by Baronowski 2011, 102– 6,
has argued that Polybius accepted the arguments favouring Rome but expressed reservations by
including the moral ones. Cf. Gabba 1977, 71– 73; Musti 1978, 54– 57.
 Champion 2004, 196 rightly notes that: ‘It is in the very nature of the passage that there can
never be a final answer to the question of what these Greek sentiments surrounding the Third
Romano-Carthaginian War reveal about Polybius’s own opinions’.
86 4 Focalization and interpretation
the ways in which focalization may promote the expression of diverse opinion in
the Histories, a text in which the narrator’s authority (such as is manifested in his
didacticism) and the intensity of his voice seem at first glance to exclude such a
possibility.
As writers who frequently had to base themselves on conflicting evidence in
order to reconstruct events, Polybius and his fellow historians were aware of the
relativity of perceptions as well as of their crucial importance in historical anal-
ysis and interpretation. Providing access to the expectations and fears of the his-
torical agents promotes the reader’s understanding of the choices that they
make. Perceptions matter not only because they reflect reality but mainly be-
cause of the ways they drive it by exerting their influence over the course of
events. One’s ability to understand reality and other people’s mindsets indeed
determines the way in which one acts and one’s consequent success or failure.
In the Histories, war is often thematized as a clash of contrasting assessments:
the victor is the one who manages to grasp the situation and predict his rival’s
next moves more quickly and effectively.
The technique through which the characters’ mental processes are presented
to readers is that of internal or embedded focalization. The term ‘focalization’,
which was introduced by Genette in order to replace the earlier models which
confused the categories of voice and point of view, precisely foregrounds the dis-
tinction between the narrator’s voice and the information that is conveyed from
the perspective from which the narrator projects the narrative.⁶ Genette further
distinguished three basic types of focalization, each corresponding to a selection
of narrative information: a) zero focalization, in which the narrator mentions
more than any of the characters knows (as, for example, in the case of the om-
niscient narrator); b) external focalization, in which the narrator says less than
what the characters know (a popular technique in detective novels, where the
narrator does not reveal everything s/he knows from the outset and the charac-
ters play out the drama before us without ever fully letting us into their thoughts
and ideas; c) internal focalization, where the narrator says only what a given
character knows. Internal focalization can be fixed, multiple and variable, de-
pending on whether the narrative perspective is determined by the viewpoint
of a single character, the viewpoints of several characters on the same event,
or the viewpoints of several characters in succession.
 See Genette (1972) 1980, 203 – 6. See also id., (1983) 1988 and Bal (1985) 1997 on the debate
about the utility of expanding the theory to include a category of the ‘focalized’ and levels or
degrees of focalization. For discussion and criticism of Bal’s concept of focalization see Nelles
1990 and, within classics, Rood 1998, 294– 96. On post-Genettean focalization theory see O’Neill
1992; Jahn 1996; Phelan 2001; Prince 2001; Shen 2001.
4.1 The theatre of war 87
Every single statement in a text falls into one of the above categories, but the
type of focalization may not necessarily remain steady throughout the whole nar-
rative. Polybius adopts a flexible framework that consists in the systematic alter-
nation between zero and the various modes of internal focalization. There are,
moreover, frequent momentary changes in focalization in the text, either when
the narrator provides more information than is authorized by the ruling code
of focalization in a certain narrative section (paralepsis) or when he gives less
(paralipsis). Next, I shall examine focalization as a means of recording both vis-
ual impressions and rational processes. I shall begin by investigating its useful-
ness in military descriptions, where the breadth of vision of each of the opposing
sides is shown to determine the outcome of its ventures (4.1). I shall also explore
the mental facet of focalization as a technique that permits access to the charac-
ters’ consciousness in order to reveal their motives (4.2). Finally, I shall attempt
to illustrate the ways focalization is employed to create suspense as well as to
record the variations in role between victor and vanquished that occur during
the Second Punic War (4.3, 4.4).
4.1 The theatre of war
Military operations (battles, sieges etc.) provide apt material for exploring the fo-
calizing techniques employed in their presentation. Their outcome depends to a
large extent on the ability of the leaders to forestall their opponents’ plans and
next moves as well as to control the expectations of their men. Davidson, in a
pioneering article on the role of the ‘gaze’ in Polybius, suggested that the char-
acters’ perceptions of themselves and their rivals influence drastically the result
of the battles they fight.⁷ If they believe that they are superior to their rivals, they
can defeat them more easily. And if they manage to persuade their adversaries
themselves of their inferiority their chances of prevailing are even greater. In
the Histories war is analyzed in psychological terms. Defeat is not catastrophic
unless it is regarded as such and creates a feeling of defeatism that leads to a
string of new defeats.⁸ Conversely, the importance of victory lies not only in
the material benefits that it brings but also in the effects it can have on the mo-
rale of the victor. Victory paves the way for further successes.
Davidson certainly identified a key characteristic of the Polybian narrative.
However, war is decided not only on the level of impressions. Success stems
 Davidson 1991, 10 – 24.

 Cf. Davidson 1991, 21: ‘Defeat is not so much a strategic or material affair as a state of mind’.
also from the effectiveness of the military manoeuvres that are carried out on the
battlefield and therefore requires sharpened powers of observation. What the ri-
vals can or cannot see shapes the result of the conflict. Fully aware of the role of
sight in establishing military superiority, the characters try to gain a visual ad-
vantage over the enemy either by occupying positions that will give them a better
overall view of the battlefield or by keeping their movements hidden from others’
scrutinizing gazes. Often a character’s failure is shown to spring merely from his
inability to see and, by extension, to comprehend what is happening around
him.
In the narrative of the capture of Sardis by the army of Antiochus III in 7.15 –
18, the triumph of Lagoras, who undertakes the enterprise, is presented as the
result of his gaining the upper hand in the battle of perceptions and his ability
to define his men’s field of view and that of his foes. The episode begins with the
presentation of the military operations that were taking place during the siege:
‘Round Sardis there was a constant succession of skirmishes and battles both by
night and day, the soldiers devising against each other every species of ambush,
counter-ambush, and attack’ (7.15.1). The iterative narration of the unsuccessful
attempts by Antiochus’ soldiers to capture the city has the effect of lending
even greater emphasis to Lagoras’ impending success. The event of central inter-
est–the conquest of Sardis–is thus made to outshine everything that had hap-
pened before.
Lagoras differs from his colleagues in that, unlike them, he is not daunted by
the general perception of Sardis’ impregnability: instead of regarding it as an ob-
stacle, he tries to turn it to his own advantage (7.15.4– 6). Thanks to his experi-
ence of war, he knows that fortified cities fall most easily as a result of a lack
of vigilance on the part of their inhabitants, who, in their complacency, place
all their hopes in their natural or artificial fortifications (7.15.2). For the same rea-
son these purportedly impregnable cities are usually captured ‘at their very
strongest points where the enemy are supposed to regard attack as hopeless’
(συμβαίνει τὰς ἁλώσεις γίνεσθαι κατὰ τοὺς ὀχυρωτάτους τόπους καὶ δοκοῦντας
ὑπὸ τῶν ἐναντίων ἀπηλπίσθαι, 7.15.3 – 4).⁹
The impression (δόξα) that Sardis’ inhabitants have of its fortifications is by
no means mistaken. Lagoras shares it too, although, unlike them, he can also
perceive the dangers that it conceals for the city’s defence. His superiority is
shown to lie precisely in his capacity to comprehend and exploit the way in
which things appear to others. It is not coincidental that Lagoras’ thinking is de-
 For more examples of cities seized despite or rather because of their alleged impregnability
see McGing 2010, 103 – 4.
scribed with two participles and an infinitive whose original meaning was relat-
ed to sight as a source of stimuli: συνεωρακώς (7.15.2), θεωρῶν (7.15.4) and
θεωρῆσαι (7.15.8). The choice of these words reflects the decisive role that sight
plays in this episode. If the conception of the plan requires insight, its realization
calls for keen powers of observation. Thus, from 7.15.6 to 7.15.10 the narrative con-
centrates on Lagoras’ gaze–the participle συνθεωρήσας (7.15.6, 15.9) is used in its
original sense–as it scans the walls and the guards in order to find the vulner-
able point that will allow him to enter the city. It is, indeed, a highly precipitous
place (τοῦ τόπου κρημνώδους ὑπάρχοντος διαφερόντως, 7.15.8).¹⁰
Just as the invaders’ careful observation of the city is crucial to the success of
the venture, so too is the concealment of their movements from the gaze of the
defenders. Before putting his plan into action, Lagoras takes all the necessary
precautions in order to escape detection. As a suitable time for the invasion
he chooses a moonless night just before daybreak (ἐτήρουν νύκτα τὸ περὶ τὴν
ἑωθινὴν μέρος ἔχουσαν ἀσέληνον, 7.16.3 – 4). The signal for the attack is given
to the invaders as soon as the moon disappears behind the clouds (ἅμα τῷ κρυ-
φθῆναι τὴν σελήνην, 7.17.1), and their main concern, when they approach the cliffs
with their scaling ladders, is to take cover beneath a rock.
Lagoras’ manoeuvres prove to be effective. Nobody from either of the two
camps is able to suspect (as they cannot see) what is going on (τὸ μὲν πρῶτον
ἀνύποπτον ἦν πᾶσι τὸ γενόμενον, 7.17.2). However, once the invaders begin to as-
cend the cliff-face, they are in full view of their colleagues who watch them with
excitement and joy. The narrative stresses the contrast between the soldiers of
Antiochus, who can now see their comrades’ feat (τοῖς δ᾽ ἐκ τοῦ στρατοπέδου
σύνοπτος ἦν ἡ τόλμα τῶν ἀναβαινόντων καὶ παραβαλλομένων, 7.17.4– 5), and
Achaeus, who, cooped up with his men, is unaware of what is taking place be-
cause the rock obstructs his view (τοῖς μὲν ἐκ τῆς πόλεως καὶ τοῖς περὶ τὸν Ἀχαιὸν
ἐκ τῆς ἄκρας ἀδήλους εἶναι τοὺς προσβαίνοντας διὰ τῆς προπεπτωκυίας ἐπὶ τὸν
κρημνὸν ὀφρύος, 7.17.4). Achaeus, even when he observes the enemy camp, hav-
ing been disturbed by the unusual amount of activity in it, looks in the wrong
direction as the cover that the rock provides to Lagoras’ party prevents him
 The very same thing happens in the capture of Sardis by Cyrus, recounted by Herodotus in
1.84. The similarities between the two episodes are especially striking. Like Antiochus, Cyrus
also tries to seize the city. A Mardian soldier extricates him from his difficulties by entering the
city through the only point that was not guarded because of its defensive strength (κατὰ τοῦτο
τῆς ἀκροπόλιος τῇ οὐδεὶς ἐτέτακτο φύλακος· οὐ γὰρ ἦν δεινὸν κατὰ τοῦτο μὴ ἁλῷ κοτε· ἀπότομός
τε γάρ ἐστι ταύτῃ ἡ ἀκρόπολις καὶ ἄμαχος, 1.84.3). This might have been the same point that
Lagoras found. For more on this see Walbank 1967, 63.
from seeing the approaching threat, and so he cannot realize what is happening
(7.17.7– 8).
The ability to observe one’s enemy is undoubtedly an advantage in battle, so
long as one is in a position where one can survey the most important points of
the terrain. The strategy employed by Lagoras both deprives Achaeus of this abil-
ity and also defines the breadth of his allies’ field of vision so as to render them
spectators of his endeavour. The whole scene is narrated in such a way that La-
goras and his men, who climb up the wall in the knowledge that they are being
watched, can be compared to actors who put on a play for the army, while Anti-
ochus’ soldiers, who from outside the city watch their comrades’ attempt full of
anxiety and expectation, act like spectators of a play (7.17.5 – 6). In keeping with
the quasi-theatrical presentation of the episode, the invaders are shown to occu-
py the theatre of Sardis, where they wait for reinforcements from the rest of the
army (οἱ μὲν περὶ τὸν Θεόδοτον καὶ Λαγόραν ἔμενον ἐπὶ τῶν κατὰ τὸ θέατρον
τόπων, νουνεχῶς καὶ πραγματικῶς ἐφεδρεύοντες τοῖς ὅλοις, 7.18.8).¹¹
Just how misleading, and therefore catastrophic, the partial view of an army
by its commander can be during a conflict becomes particularly evident in the
narrative of the battle waged at Cynoscephalae (197) between Philip V and T.
Quinctius Flamininus (18.19 – 27). The reader is already alerted to the key role
that sight will play in the ensuing battle by the depiction of its preliminaries,
which revolves precisely around the inability of the armies to see each other
(τῆς δ᾽ ἑκατέρων πορείας μεταξὺ κειμένων ὄχθων ὑψηλῶν, οὔθ᾽ οἱ Ῥωμαῖοι συνε-
ώρων τοὺς Μακεδόνας, ποῖ ποιοῦνται τὴν πορείαν, οὔθ᾽ οἱ Μακεδόνες τοὺς Ῥωμαί-
ους, 18.20.4– 5). For two days the opponents, separated by the hills, are ignorant
of each other’s movements (ἀγνοοῦντες ἀμφότεροι τὰς ἀλλήλων παρεμβολάς,
18.20.5 – 6; ἀκμὴν ἀγνοοῦντες ἀλλήλους, 18.20.6 – 7). Visibility is further restricted
on the third day because of fog, which prevents the soldiers from seeing even
those who are quite close to them (ὥστε διὰ τὸν ἐφεστῶτα ζόφον μηδὲ τοὺς ἐν
ποσὶ δύνασθαι βλέπειν, 18.20.7). Paradoxically, not only does the lack of visibility
 War is also portrayed in theatrical terms at 3.91.10, where the Carthaginians are shown to
stage a display of power and to manipulate sight in order to persuade the inhabitants of Italy
that they had acquired control over the countryside: ‘The Carthaginians, then, by quartering
themselves in this plain made of it a kind of theatre (ὥσπερ εἰς θέατρον), in which they were sure
to create a deep impression on all by their unexpected appearance, giving a spectacular exhi-
bition of the timidity of their enemy (ἐκθεατριεῖν δὲ τοὺς πολεμίους φυγομαχοῦντας) and
themselves demonstrating indisputably that they were in command of the country’. On war as a
public show of power in Polybius see Davidson 1991, 14– 18. Compare Greenwood’s illuminating
account on the ‘theatre of war’ in Thucydides 2006, 19 – 41 on how ‘the historical participants
themselves viewed the events in which they were involved as a quasi-theatrical arena in which
the visual was an all-important factor’ (23).
not avert the clash, but it also triggers it off when the Romans sent by Flamininus
to reconnoitre the area run into the Macedonian reserve διὰ τὸ δύσοπτον τῆς
ἡμέρας (18.21.3).
Despite the foggy weather, the two scout forces begin to skirmish and, when
reinforcements arrive, the fighting quickly turns into a general engagement. By
now the mist has cleared (τῆς ὀμίχλης ἤδη διαφαινούσης, 18.22.2), but the two
generals do not take advantage of the restoration of visibility in the same way.
Flamininus surveys the whole of his army (18.22.7, 23.1), while also taking care
to observe the situation prevailing on the enemy’s side (18.25.5). This enables
him to get a rapid and complete grasp of the problem caused by the disintegra-
tion of his left flank, which cannot withstand the pressure of the phalanx, and to
solve it by attacking with his powerful right the Macedonian left which, owing to
the uneven ground, is in marching order and not in battle formation (18.25.7).
Philip, by contrast, who has preferred to delegate command of the left wing
to Nicanor and to retain control only of the right, fails to notice his opponent’s
skilful manoeuvre. Going by the achievements of his own wing, he is strongly
convinced that he is gaining an overall victory (τεκμαιρόμενος ἐκ τοῦ καθ᾽
αὑτὸν μέρους ἐπέπειστο τελέως νικᾶν, 18.26.6 – 7). In his ignorance, he cannot
forestall the attack on the rear of the Macedonian phalanx charged by twenty
maniples of legionaries. Only when he sees his soldiers suddenly throw down
their weapons (συνθεασάμενος ἄφνω ῥιπτοῦντας τὰ ὅπλα τοὺς Μακεδόνας,
18.26.7)–ἄφνω reflects Philip’s perspective and not that of the narrator or the
reader, who can see the reason for the Macedonians’ reaction–and briefly with-
draws from the battle in order to gain an overall picture of the situation does he
realize what has actually happened (συνεθεώρει τὰ ὅλα, 18.26.7– 8). As earlier in
the capture of Sardis, the discrepancy in perspective between the rivals proves to
be decisive for the outcome of their conflict, except that in this case the field of
view of the defeated is not restricted by his adversary’s tactics but by his own
personal choices.
Internal focalization, when defined in strictly perceptual terms, concerns the
presentation of a character’s visual impressions. The descriptions of military op-
erations, in which sight plays such a decisive role, enable the narrator not only to
record the visual stimuli experienced by the rivals (and thus to apply internal fo-
calization in its narrow sense) but also to depict their emotions and expecta-
tions, thus covering all the facets that have come to be included in this catego-
ry.¹² The interdependence of these factors is self-evident. The emotions of the
 For an analysis expanding the concept of focalization beyond the purely visual to include all
characters are thoroughly relevant to what they notice; and, conversely, the way
they observe things is influenced by their emotional perspective. This intricate
link between visual perceptions and emotional or thought processes is clearly re-
flected in the ambivalence of the terms that are used to convey the perspectives
of the participants in the episodes discussed above: συνεωρακώς (7.15.2),
θεωρῆσαι (7.15.8), ἀνύποπτον (7.17.2), συνεθεώρει (18.26.8). In these terms the orig-
inal meaning (relating to sight) is extended to denote the mental process accom-
panying the visual stimulus. This aspect of internal focalization as a means of
providing access to a character’s mindset will be explored in the following sec-
tion.¹³
4.2 The attribution of motives
Ascriptions of motivation play a crucial role in the ancient historians’ research

into cause and explanation. Depicting what goes on in their characters’ minds
is central to their desire to reveal the reasons behind the actions. Especially
for Polybius, who firmly believes in the ability of the individual to determine
the course of historical events, the importance of articulating people’s thoughts
is decisive.¹⁴ He thus frequently tries to deduce motives and shows a concern to
draw the reader’s attention to his characters’ plans and expectations. But his
presentation of motivation generates a complex web of narrative possibilities
that extend far beyond the explanatory function of conferring intelligibility to
the individual deeds he recounts. It usually ties into the text’s wider patterns
aspects of thinking see Rimmon-Kenan (1983) 2002, 80 – 82, adapting the four planes of point of
view discussed by Uspensky (1970) 1973.
 On the connection between sight and insight see also 3.105.1, where the Romans, having
turned their attention to their comrades who are fighting the Carthaginians on the adjacent hill,
fail to detect Hannibal’s ambush: ‘The day was just dawning, and the minds and eyes of all (ταῖς
τε διανοίαις καὶ τοῖς ὄμμασι) were engrossed in the battle on the hill, so that no one suspected
(ἀνύποπτος ἦν) that the ambuscade had been posted’.
 Episodes such as those involving Xanthippus (εἷς γὰρ ἄνθρωπος καὶ μία γνώμη τὰ μὲν ἀήτ-
τητα πλήθη καὶ πραγματικὰ δοκοῦντ᾽ εἶναι καθεῖλεν, ‘For one man and one brain laid low that
host which seemed so invincible and efficient’, 1.35.5), Hannibal the ‘Rhodian’ (1.46), and Ar-
chimedes (μία ψυχὴ τῆς ἁπάσης ἐστὶ πολυχειρίας ἐν ἐνίοις καιροῖς ἀνυστικωτέρα, ‘in some cases
the genius of one man accomplishes much more than any number of hands’, 8.3.3; εἷς ἀνὴρ καὶ
μία ψυχὴ δεόντως ἡρμοσμένη πρὸς ἔνια τῶν πραγμάτων μέγα τι χρῆμα φαίνεται γίνεσθαι καὶ
θαυμάσιον, ‘Such a great and marvellous thing does the genius of one man show itself to be
when properly applied to certain matters’, 8.7.7) show the importance Polybius attaches to the
individual’s ability to play a decisive role in shaping the course of events. On the role of the
individual as a driving force of history see Pédech 1964, 204– 54; see also Labuske 1977.
4.2 The attribution of motives 93
of behaviour or themes, and thus serves to promote narrative coherence as well

as the reader’s understanding of the underlying human factors at work.
Presenting the motives behind his characters’ actions unavoidably raises the
thorny question of Polybius’ sources. How could he have known what moved a
particular character at a given moment of time? Conveying the characters’
thoughts and feelings creates more problems with regard to their authenticity
than (the already tricky task of) recounting their actions or speeches. It is
safer to narrate how past individuals handled events than to illustrate the man-
ner in which they perceived them. It is no surprise, then, that the frequency with
which characters’ thoughts are presented in ancient historiography provides
thοse who call attention to its differences from the modern practice of history
writing with a further argument to support their claims.¹⁵
It is often held that the main recourse of the ancient historians in attributing
motives to their agents was personal conjecture.¹⁶ Of course, they would have in-
vented or deduced motives on the basis of their knowledge of what actually hap-
pened (inferred motivation)¹⁷ or their views of the character of the historical par-
ticipants (character evidence).¹⁸ One should bear in mind, nevertheless, the value
that ancient historians placed in the oral examination of eyewitnesses as an im-
portant methodological tool; they certainly would not have failed to use any evi-
dence they had at their disposal.¹⁹
To be sure, none of the above practices is devoid of limitations. Even if it is
possible to examine the agents, which is not always the case, questions arise as
to their sincerity, for one cannot rule out the possibility that they are lying. Be-
sides, reasoning ex eventu is no less precarious. The same result might have been
produced in several different ways. In fact, it could be said that the more
smoothly the conception of a plan blends in with its execution, the more likely
it is that the narrator invented it afterwards. Finally, making inferences about
motives from what it is known of an individual’s character presupposes a con-
gruence between the individual’s character and its various manifestations. How-
 See above, Introduction n. 1.

 Cf. Lloyd 1975, 162– 63; Müller 1981, 307– 11; Thomas 2000, 168 – 90; Baragwanath 2008,
3 – 4, 82– 83.
 This topic has been studied mainly in Thucydides on account of the frequent convergence
that is observed between the characters’ thoughts and intentions and the resulting action. See
especially Thompson 1969; Hunter 1973; Schneider 1974. Stahl (1966) 2003, on the other hand,
has drawn attention to those cases in which the final outcome runs counter to the characters’
calculations.
 Pearson 1947.
 See, e.g, Westlake 1989; Hornblower 1987, 81; Rood 1998, 49.
ever, the human personality is way more intricate and complex than this practice
generally allows.
Polybius frequently draws his readers’ attention to the complexity of human
behaviour.²⁰ And yet, despite its diverse character, he does not abandon his at-
tempt to comprehend the fundamental principles that govern it. The choices of
his characters, like state policies, are usually dictated by certain rules. The pre-
sentation of motives, then, does not serve only to help interpret events but also
to contextualize them on the basis of the operation of these rules. Here one
might justifiably detect a tension between Polybius’ belief in the diversity of
human nature and his intention to render it comprehensible and, to some de-
gree, predictable by subjecting it to certain given models of behaviour. This con-
tradiction can be partly overcome if one takes into account the fact that the di-
versity of human reactions is interpreted by Polybius as being a result of the in-
fluence of external factors.²¹
 Usually because of the contradictions that he detects in the nature of both individuals (e. g.
Aratus (αἱ τῶν ἀνθρώπων φύσεις οὐ μόνον τοῖς σώμασιν ἔχουσί τι πολυειδές, ἔτι δὲ μᾶλλον ταῖς
ψυχαῖς, ‘So true is it that there is something multiform in the nature not only of men’s bodies,
but of their minds’, 4.8.7), Agathocles (9.23.2), Cleomenes (9.23.3) and Hannibal, in whose case
he warns the reader that his nature cannot be easily understood from his actions in Italy (ὥστε
καὶ λίαν … δυσθεώρητον εἶναι τὴν τοῦ προειρημένου φύσιν, 9.24.2– 3)) and entire communities
(9.23.6 – 7). On Polybius’ views on human nature see Longley 2012.
 External factors such as friends and the complexity of facts (ποτὲ μὲν διὰ τὰς τῶν φίλων
παραθέσεις, ποτὲ δὲ διὰ τὰς τῶν πραγμάτων ποκιλίας, 9.22.10). The counsels of friends can
influence the behaviour not only of individuals like Hannibal (9.26.1) but of whole cities (τὸ δ᾽
αὐτὸ καὶ διὰ τὰς τῶν φίλων παραθέσεις εἴωθε συμβαίνειν οὐ μόνον ἡγεμόσι καὶ δυνάσταις καὶ
βασιλεῦσιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ πόλεσιν, ‘And a like effect is usually produced by the suggestions of friends
not only on generals, princes, and kings but on cities’, 9.23.5). Polybius invokes these factors so
as to explain the contradictions that he detects in human nature, and which he himself finds
hard to comprehend (e. g. 9.23.4: καίτοι γ᾽ οὐκ εἰκὸς ἦν περὶ τὰς αὐτὰς φύσεις τὰς ἐναντιωτάτας
διαθέσεις ὑπάρχειν, ‘Now we can hardly suppose that dispositions so diametrically opposite
existed in the same natures’). In spite of the generalizations it contains about human nature,
Thucydides’ model also leaves some room for the influence of external factors. On this see
Hornblower 1987, 76 – 77: ‘The generalisations in narrative about human nature or the human
condition … imply that although human behaviour changes according to changes in attendant
circumstances, the “nature of men” can be made the basis for predictions. The assumption
behind all this is that the people are rational and act according to their own interests–a Socratic
view–so that outsiders can infer motive from action’; see also the remarks of Schneider 1974, 121:
‘Die Fähigkeit zur Voraussicht beruht auf dem Wissen, dass der Geist der Menschen abhängig ist
von den Bedingungen der äusseren Welt. Wenn dies Prinzip allgemein gilt, dann lässt sich aus
ihm auch der Satz begründen, dass gleiche oder ähnliche Verhältnisse gleiche oder ähnliche
Verhaltensweisen zur Folge haben’.
The interpretation of motive ascriptions independently of the wider patterns

of behaviour they reflect can be misleading. It has been argued, for example,
that the scenario that motivates the Romans to accept the Mamertines’ appeal,
i. e. the assumption that the Carthaginians, if they gained control of Messana,
would soon conquer the whole of Sicily and then threaten Italy itself
(1.10.5 – 9), derives from Fabius Pictor and Roman propaganda.²² But this escala-
tion of Carthaginian ambitions fits an emerging pattern in which success boosts
the morale of the victors and leads them to redefine their aims and envisage the
possibility of further conquests.²³ The Romans themselves are often shown to
react in this manner. As we have seen earlier (pp. 25 – 26), after their initial suc-
cess at Agrigentum they begin to plan the complete expulsion of the Carthagini-
ans from Sicily (1.20.2– 3). And their victory off Tyndaris feeds their ambitions to
such a degree, that they organize their fleet with the prospect of transferring the
theatre of war from Sicily to Africa (1.25.5 – 26.1).
The mechanism that is set into motion in these cases is clear. The characters’
successes influence the outcome of their subsequent ventures by reinforcing the
positive image they have of themselves and their own capabilities. This reaction
is so plausible that the participants themselves predict it and expect their rivals
to show it. Thus, the Carthaginians, after their defeat at Ecnomus, believe that
the Romans will have gained so much self-confidence from their recent success
that they will launch an attack to Carthage itself (1.29.4). On the same grounds,
the ambassadors sent by Aratus to Antigonus to inform him of the Aetolians’ al-
liance with Cleomenes point to the dangers this holds for the Macedonian dynas-
ty too.²⁴ If the Aetolians defeat the Achaeans, they will not be content with their
gains (2.49.2). Their greed would not even be satisfied by the conquest of the
whole of Greece (τήν τε γὰρ Αἰτωλῶν πλεονεξίαν οὐχ οἷον τοῖς Πελοποννησίων
ὅροις εὐδοκῆσαί ποτ᾽ ἂν περιληφθεῖσαν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ τοῖς τῆς Ἑλλάδος, 2.49.3 – 4).
As for Cleomenes, he may at present have only control of the Peloponnese in
his sights, yet once he acquires it, he will strive to rule over all of the Greeks
(2.49.4– 5). The fears expressed by Agelaus to Philip V and his allies at the Nau-
pactus conference regarding the expansionist designs of the Romans and Cartha-
ginians are of a similar kind. Whichever of the two opponents wins, they will not
remain contented with their rule over Italy and Sicily but will redefine and
broaden their goals (5.104.3 – 4). In this light, then, the way in which the Romans
 Cf. Gelzer 1933, 151; Harris 1979, 186.

 On this pattern, and generally on what follows, cf. Davidson 1991, 22– 23.
 On the negotiations between Antigonus Doson and Aratus see Bickerman 1943; and Gruen
1972. On the political crisis caused in Achaea by the war with Cleomenes see Urban 1979, 117–
201.
are shown to anticipate the extension of Punic aims in 1.10.5 – 9 is so familiar in

the Histories that makes it hard to believe that this passage does not reflect Pol-
ybius’ views but the biases of his sources.
The ability to diagnose the motives of one’s opponent is an unquestionable
advantage in war: success depends in large part on how good the opposing sides
are at doing this. Nevertheless, certain characters, such as the Romans in
1.10.5 – 9, in their attempt to predict their rivals’ next moves, judge them on
the basis of their own beliefs, and so they ascribe modes of behaviour to them
of which they themselves are guilty. It is instructive to see how the dark motives
they attribute to them often reflect the negative aspects of their own mindset. In
a speech delivered at Sparta, the Aetolians’ envoy Chlaeneas strives to turn his
audience against the Macedonians in an external analepsis recounting the
events in the reign of Philip II. So intense was the Macedonians’ hatred of the
Lacedaemonians at that time, he maintains, that they deprived them of their
lands in order to distribute them to other cities in the surrounding region, and
they did not hesitate to favour all other parties in a scandalous way, so long
as they harmed the Lacedaemonians (9.28.7– 8).²⁵ The answer to this charge is
given in the speech by Lyciscus, the ambassador of the Acarnanians, in which
he explains that Philip intervened against his own will and only because his
friends and allies in the Peloponnese asked him to do so, and that, instead of
exploiting their passionate desire to destroy the Lacedaemonians, he forced
the opposing sides to solve their differences by reaching a solution that would
be of benefit to all (9.33.11– 12). However, the argument of the Aetolians is also
undermined in a more subtle way. Their interpretation of Philip’s motivation re-
calls the way in which Polybius used focalization to present from Aratus’ view-
point–which he himself shared²⁶–the Aetolian motives on the eve of the Cleo-
menic War. In 2.46.3 – 4 we were told that their hatred led them to tolerate Cleo-
menes’ seizure of Tegea, Mantinea, and Orchomenus, provided that they could
turn him into a potent enemy of the Achaeans. The Aetolians, therefore, are por-
trayed in 9.28.7– 8 as attributing to Philip a passionate hatred that matches their
own and a tactic they themselves know and are the first to apply. The common
syntactic structure of the two passages (ἐφ᾽ ᾧ μόνον ὑμᾶς κακῶς ποιεῖν, 9.28.8; ἐφ᾽
ᾧ μόνον ἰδεῖν ἀξιόχρεων γενόμενον ἀνταγωνιστὴν Κλεομένη τοῖς Ἀχαιοῖς,
2.46.3 – 4) allows Polybius to emphasize the connection between them even
more forcefully.
 Cf. 18.14.7, where Polybius approves these territorial changes.

 See 2.56.2: Ἀράτῳ προῃρημένοις κατακολουθεῖν περὶ τῶν Κλεομενικῶν, ‘I have chosen to rely
on Aratus’ narrative on the history of the Cleomenic war’.
The same pattern can be found in the account of Apelles’ conspiracy against
Philip V and Aratus (4.84– 5.28).²⁷ Polybius’ presentation is largely concerned
with the theme of court intrigue. Apelles, who has acquired substantial power
as the king’s guardian, regards Aratus, who also enjoys a great influence with
Philip, as an obstacle to his plans and tries to supplant him by slandering
him. Exploiting the failure in the negotiations with the Eleans, he accuses Aratus
of being insincere as well as of deliberately sabotaging the agreement that Philip
so eagerly tried to accomplish (4.84.7– 8). When, however, the plot is revealed,
Apelles is shown to do precisely what he accused Aratus of doing–namely, to
form a conspiracy to upset Philip’s plans. He himself would go to Chalcis and
try to cut off military supplies, while his accomplices, Megaleas and Leontius,
were to stay close to Philip and hamper his efforts (5.2.8 – 9).
The conspirators’ strategy is crowned with success in the case of the siege of
Palus in Cephallenia (5.3 – 4). In spite of its thorough planning, the venture fails
when Leontius prevents the soldiers who have scaled the wall from capturing the
city, even though they could have easily defeated the enemy (5.5.12). The detail in
which the advantages of the island’s position are described–they are presented
through the king’s perspective in 5.3.7– 10 and summarized by the narrator in
5.4.1–highlights the strategic significance of the goal that cannot be accom-
plished because of the actions of the conspirators. Leontius attempts to check
Philip’s advance on two further occasions (5.5.10 – 11, 7.4– 6), though without
achieving similar success. The recurring references to the conspiracy remind
readers of the reason why Macedonian officers undermine their king’s operations
with such zeal.²⁸
As for the motives that lie behind the decision of the three men to conspire
against the king, these are expressly stated on two occasions: on the first from
Apelles’ perspective at the time the agreement is made–to be precise, mention
 Polybius’ partisan narrative of these events has been regarded as the result of the biases of
his sources. Walbank 1957, 536 maintained that he reproduced the Achaean version of events,
while Errington 1967 believed that he accepted the version in which Philip himself attempted to
justify the harshness of the punishment that he imposed on his courtiers after the discovery of
their conspiracy. Yet, Herman 1997 noted that if Polybius really did adopt Philip’s version, he did
not do it uncritically or because it was the only source he had, but because, on account of his
antipathy towards the courtiers, he agreed with the way in which they were presented: ‘Polybius
was too good a historian slavishly to accept an account just because there was no other. He must
have been predisposed to accept Philip’s version of the affair, and I believe that it is possible to
show why’ (220).
 E.g. 5.4.10: τηροῦντες τὰ πρὸς τὸν Ἀπελλῆν συγκείμενα; 5.5.5: οἱ δὲ περὶ τὸν Λεόντιον,
τηροῦντες τὴν αὑτῶν ὑπόθεσιν; 5.7.3: καὶ τηροῦντες τὴν ἑαυτῶν πρόθεσιν; 5.14.11– 12: ὡς ἂν
διατεταγμένοι μὲν πρὸς τὸν Ἀπελλῆν πάσαις ἐμποδιεῖν ταῖς ἐπιβολαῖς αὐτοῦ.
is made of the annoyance he feels at being sidelined and at being unable to con-
trol Philip (5.2.8)–and on the second from the joint perspective of Apelles and
Leontius when the turn taken by events appears to frustrate their original expect-
ations (5.16.9 – 10). On the second occasion light is shed not only on their plan
but also on the way in which Aratus was involved in it. They were trying to ter-
rorize him so that by isolating Philip they would be able to satisfy their own in-
terests (5.16.10). Their desire to achieve this aim is opposed by Aratus himself,
who succeeds not only in rebutting their charges against him (4.85 – 86) but
also in reducing their influence over Philip (5.5.8 – 11, 7.4– 5). Judging by the re-
sult, it can be said that the conspirators make a correct assessment of the dan-
gers that Aratus’ presence at Philip’s side pose to their plans (4.82.3). Yet the tac-
tic they follow in order to neutralize these dangers merely brings them face to
face with them much sooner by causing Aratus to appear more trustworthy in
the king’s eyes. Their assessment, then, functions as a kind of self-fulfilling
prophecy: they prompt what they want to avoid by taking the measures they de-
vise to prevent it. The same pattern is also developed in the episode recounting
the end of Leontius. When he is arrested, his men beg the king not to put him in
trial in their absence. Their action so enrages Philip that he has Leontius execut-
ed earlier than he intended (θᾶττον ἢ προέθετο διὰ τὴν τῶν πελταστῶν φιλοτι-
μίαν ἐπανείλετο, 5.27.8).²⁹
Ascriptions of motives that feed into the text’s wider patterns of behaviour
are significant in familiarizing readers with the sorts of reactions they should
be expecting to encounter elsewhere in the narrative. The furtherance of self-in-
terest as a driving force, for example, is a pervasive theme in the Histories. Indi-
vidual characters like the Iberian Abilyx, who betrays the Carthaginians’ trust in
order to gain the favour of the more powerful Romans (3.98 – 99), and indeed en-
tire nations are shown to act on the basis of their interests. Such is the attraction
exerted by the perspective of self-interest that the participants themselves invoke
it in order to elicit from others the desired response and to persuade them to a
certain course of action. Thus, the Roman envoys in Sicily try to convince the ty-
rant Hieronymus to remain faithful to the treaty that had been made with Rome
with the argument that such an action would not only be equitable but also ‘the
best thing for himself’ (καὶ συμφέρον αὐτῷ μάλιστ᾽ ἐκείνῳ, 7.3.4). Similarly, Han-
nibal persuades the Numidian Tychaeus to help him by pointing out the benefits
 This pattern also occurs in Herodotus–a notable example is that of Croesus, who causes the
death of his son Atys by entrusting Adrastus with his protection (1.34– 45)–and in Thucydides.
For discussion and literature see Rood 1998, 81– 82.
4.3 The Carthaginians in Italy (3.69 – 117) 99
that he would gain if the Carthaginians won and the dangers he would face if the
opposite happened (15.3.5 – 7).
And yet there are also cases where emotion prevails over reason. Anger can
drive one to act recklessly. The disastrous Syrian-Aetolian War, for example,
which results in the dissolution of the Aetolian League, is caused by the fierce
anger of the Aetolians, who believe that they were not adequately rewarded by
the Romans for their support against Philip in the Second Macedonian War
(3.7.2).³⁰ Teuta finalizes the break in her relation with Rome and precipitates
the First Illyrian War when she orders her men to kill the Roman ambassador
who has dared to answer her back (2.8.12). And Philip has Aratus poisoned
when he expresses his disapproval of the way he has handled the Messene affair,
thus depriving himself of his invaluable services (8.12.2– 3). Compared with be-
haviours that are motivated by self-seeking interests, the characters’ emotional
reactions are more difficult to predict. The previous examples show how exces-
sive, greatly out of proportion to the incidents that triggered them, and self-de-
structive in the long term these reactions can be.
4.3 The Carthaginians in Italy (3.69 – 117)
The interpretation of motives does not serve only to reveal the causes that lie be-
hind the events described and the laws governing human behaviour, but it is
also used in order to create a climate of suspense. By stating his characters’ mo-
tives, Polybius, almost reflexively, invites the reader to continue reading in order
to find out whether their expectations are finally realized or thwarted.³¹ As he
himself observes in 14.1a.3, ‘everyone naturally … still always longs to know
the end’ (φύσει γὰρ πάντες ἄνθρωποι … ἑκάστων τὸ τέλος ἱμείρουσι μαθεῖν).
Even when the events recounted are known, suspense is not lost but only trans-
formed and, instead of being understood as a sense of uncertainty over the even-
tual outcome of a narrative situation (suspense of uncertainty), it is experienced
as a sense of uncertainty over the way in which this outcome will be achieved
(suspense of anticipation).³² In the Polybian narrative, the historical agents are
frequently portrayed as indulging in false expectations about their ventures.
The greater the gap between their aspirations and the actual reality, the more
anxiously will the reader expect this to be bridged.
 For the view that the Aetolian complaints against the Romans were considered by Polybius
to be justified see Sacks 1975, 93 – 94; Derow 1979, 11– 12. But see Eckstein 1995, 212– 13.
 Cf. Pelling 2009, 517.
 Cf. above, ch. 3 n. 44.
In the narrative section recounting Hannibal’s deeds in Italy (3.69 – 117), the
Romans’ defeats are presented as stemming from their mistaken perceptions of
themselves and their ability to face the challenges posed by their rivals. The Ro-
mans are shown to be certain of victory. The numerical superiority of their le-
gions and their sporadic successes lead them to forget their defeats (at the Tici-
nus (3.65), the Trebia (3.73), and Lake Trasimene (3.84)) and recover confidence
in their powers. Thus, despite their previous defeat at the Ticinus (the cause of
which they attribute to the incompetence of their general and the Gauls’ defec-
tion), they are convinced that their presence alone will suffice to secure them vic-
tory (ἐξ ἐπιφανείας ἐδόξαζον κριθήσεσθαι τὴν μάχην, 3.68.12– 13; ὡς ἐξ ἐπιφανείας
κριθησομένων τῶν ὅλων, 3.72.2). Even after their third successive defeat at Lake
Trasimene, they are ready to embrace the optimism nurtured by M. Minucius
Rufus (μεγάλας ἐλπίδας ἔχων ὑπὲρ τοῦ μέλλοντος, 3.102.8) and to elect him dic-
tator, believing that he will bring about a quick end to the war (πεπεισμένοι τα-
χέως αὐτὸν τέλος ἐπιθήσειν τοῖς πράγμασι, 3.103.4). Nowhere, however, does the
discrepancy between their expectations and reality become more apparent than
in the optimism with which they face the impending conflict between C. Flami-
nius and Hannibal in Etruria. Indeed, the Roman consul raises such confident
hopes in the people that his men are followed by a greater number of rabble ex-
pecting to profit from pillaging (ὡς προδήλου τῆς νίκης αὐτοῖς ὑπαρχούσης· τηλι-
κοῦτον γὰρ προενεβεβλήκει κατελπισμὸν τοῖς ὄχλοις ὥστε πλείους εἶναι τῶν τὰ
ὅπλα φερόντων τοὺς ἐκτὸς παρεπομένους τῆς ὠφελείας χάριν, 3.82.8). Polybius’
observation after the description of the battle that Hannibal has acquired so
much booty that his men cannot carry it provides readers with an ironic slant
on the delusion of the Romans over their expected gains, which are eventually
reaped by their adversaries (3.86.10).
The sense of imminent doom generated by the Romans’ self-confidence and
expectations is further heightened by the reckless way in which their leaders are
seen to take risks in battle.³³ This pattern is repeated in an almost identical way
three times. The first occurs in the account of the events that lead to the Romans’
defeat at the Trebia. An isolated success for Ti. Sempronius Longus in a skirmish
near Hannibal’s camp (3.69.12– 14) fills him with the desire to fight a decisive bat-
tle as soon as possible (μετεωρισθεὶς καὶ περιχαρὴς γενόμενος ἐπὶ τῷ προτερήματι
φιλοτίμως εἶχε πρὸς τὸ τὴν ταχίστην κρῖναι τὰ ὅλα, 3.70.1– 2). P. Cornelius Scipio’s
injury enables him to deal with the situation as he himself sees fit, yet, in order
to obtain his opinion on the matter, he discusses it with him. Being unable to
 Cf. Wiater 2010, esp. 83 – 95, arguing that Polybius’ portrayal of the reckless behaviour of
these Romans highlights the dangers posed by the influence of rhetoric to leadership.
play an active part, Scipio assumes the role of the wise adviser and vainly en-
deavours to check the impulses of Sempronius.³⁴ He warns him that the present
situation favours their enemies and he asks him not to launch any attacks until
the winter has passed. In this way their newly-recruited legions, who will in the
meantime receive training, will be in better fighting condition, the Celts, due to
their fickleness, will not remain loyal to the Carthaginians,³⁵ and he himself will
have time to recover enough to be able to contribute to the common effort
(3.70.4– 6). Scipio’s arguments are sound.³⁶ Hannibal’s desire to hasten the
clash with the Romans for the very same reasons (which are this time mentioned
from the perspective of the Carthaginians) drastically proves their correctness (ὁ
δ᾽ Ἀννίβας παραπλησίους ἔχων ἐπινοίας Ποπλίῳ περὶ τῶν ἐνεστώτων κατὰ τοὐναν-
τίον ἔσπευδε συμβαλεῖν τοῖς πολεμίοις, 3.70.9 – 10). Polybius makes it clear that
Sempronius’ unwillingness to be persuaded by Scipio’s warnings and to curb
his impulsiveness is not due to his inability to understand their seriousness
but to his ambition and his unfounded self-confidence (ᾔδει μὲν ἕκαστα τούτων
ἀληθινῶς λεγόμενα καὶ δεόντως, ὑπὸ δὲ τῆς φιλοδοξίας ἐλαυνόμενος καὶ καταπι-
στεύων τοῖς πράγμασι παραλόγως, 3.70.7). He is anxious to fight, before Scipio
can play a part and before they are replaced by new consuls, so that he can
take all the credit for the victory (3.70.7). Hannibal is well aware of his oppo-
nent’s frame of mind and prepares accordingly (3.70.12). By explicitly mentioning
that Sempronius is bound to fail because he bases his strategy not on actual cir-
cumstances but on what he personally stands to gain (οὐ τὸν τῶν πραγμάτων και-
ρὸν ἐκλεγόμενος ἀλλὰ τὸν ἴδιον ἔμελλε τοῦ δέοντος σφαλήσεσθαι, 3.70.8 – 9), Pol-
ybius confirms the fallacy of his expectations and arouses the reader’s interest in
their impending frustration.
 On the motif of the ‘wise adviser’ see Bischoff 1932; Lattimore 1939; Pelling 1991.
 The treacherous behaviour and fickleness of the Celts is a commonplace in the Histories.
Cf. 2.32.8; 3.49.2, 52.3, 78.2; see also the analysis of the term ἀθεσία by Walbank 1957, 208.
 Given the imminent replacement of the two consuls, Walbank 1957, 404 notes that Scipio’s
argument that he will lend assistance after he has recovered from his injury cannot stand up
historically and he attributes Polybius’ negative presentation of Sempronius to the intention of
his sources to elevate Scipio at the expense of his fellow consul: ‘P., however, following a pro-
Scipionic tradition, makes Sempronius by contrast ambitious, full of false confidence, and
jealous of both his colleague and his successors’. But the emphasis here is not so much on
Scipio’s prudence as it is on Sempronius’ reckless behaviour and inability to grasp the reality of
the situation, so that the outcome of his conflict with Hannibal at the Trebia can be interpreted
in this light (3.73 – 74). The same pattern is repeated on another two occasions with Flaminius
(3.77– 82) and Minucius (3.87– 94) in order to interpret the course taken by the events in Etruria
and Apulia.
The second instance occurs in the presentation of the mindset and behav-
iour of the newly-elected consul C. Flaminius before the battle of Trasimene
(3.77– 82). His impetuosity recalls that of Sempronius. He is so convinced of
the prospect of victory that his sole concern is to launch into battle regardless
of time and place (οὐ καιρόν, οὐ τόπον προορώμενος, μόνον δὲ σπεύδων συμπε-
σεῖν τοῖς πολεμίοις, ὡς προδήλου τῆς νίκης αὐτοῖς ὑπαρχούσης, 3.82.7– 8). His
anger at the destruction of the countryside leads him to disregard the warnings
of the Roman officers who in this case assume the role of the wise adviser, trying
to persuade him to guard against his rival’s superior cavalry and to wait for his
fellow consul so that they can fight with all the legions under their command
(3.82.4). Again, Polybius makes use of internal focalization in order to convey
Flaminius’ thoughts and to show that his motives are no less egocentric than
those of Sempronius, except that in this case he presents them from his rival’s
perspective. Hannibal is informed of the disparity between the consul’s false
idea of his own abilities (καταπεπιστευκέναι τοῖς σφετέροις πράγμασιν,
3.80.3 – 4) and the harsh reality of his inadequacies (πρὸς ἀληθινῶν δὲ καὶ πολε-
μικῶν πραγμάτων χειρισμὸν οὐκ εὐφυῆ, 3.80.3), and is accurate in anticipating
his reaction (συνελογίζετο, 3.80.4; ὑπελάμβανε, 3.80.5). Only now does it become
evident that Flaminius is horrified not so much by the actual destruction that is
taking place as by the prospect of being derided by his soldiers if he proves in-
capable of preventing it (3.80.4). We also hear that he too, like Sempronius
(3.70.7), is willing to fight Hannibal before his fellow consul returns so that he
can claim the victory for himself (3.80.4– 5).
Hannibal’s knowledge of human nature indeed enables him to draw correct
conclusions about Flaminius’ mentality and behaviour. Polybius confirms his
findings (πάντα δ᾽ ἐμφρόνως ἐλογίζετο ταῦτα καὶ πραγματικῶς, ‘all this reasoning
on his part was very wise and sound’, 3.80.5), and goes on to clarify the strategic
importance of knowing the weaknesses of one’s opponent:
For there is no denying that he who thinks that there is anything more essential to a general
than the knowledge of his opponent’s principles and character, is both ignorant and fool-
ish. For as in combats between man and man and rank and rank, he who means to conquer
must observe how best to attain his aim, and what naked or unprotected part of the enemy
is visible, so he who is in command must try to see in the enemy’s general not what part of
his body is exposed, but what are the weak spots that can be discovered in his mind. For
there are many men, who owing to indolence and general inactivity, bring to utter ruin not
only the welfare of the state but their private fortunes as well; while there are many others
so fond of wine that they cannot even go to sleep without fuddling themselves with drink;
and some, owing to their abandonment to venery and the consequent derangement of their
minds, have not only ruined their countries and their fortunes but brought their lives to a
shameful end. But cowardice and stupidity are vices which, disgraceful as they are in pri-
vate to those who have them, are when found in a general the greatest of public calamities.
For not only do they render his army inefficient but often expose those who confide in him
to the greatest perils. Rashness on the other hand on his part and undue boldness and
blind anger, as well as vaingloriousness and conceit, are easy to be taken advantage of
by his enemy and are most dangerous to his friends; for such a general is the easy victim
of all manner of plots, ambushes, and cheatery. Therefore the leader who will soonest gain
a decisive victory, is he who is able to perceive the faults of others, and to choose that man-
ner and means of attacking the enemy which will take full advantage of the weaknesses of
their commander. For just as a ship if deprived of its pilot will fall with its whole crew into
the hands of the enemy, so the general who is his opponent’s master in strategy and rea-
soning may often capture his whole army (3.81).³⁷
The above discussion is occasioned by Hannibal’s penetrating assessment of

Flaminius’ intentions (3.80.5); in effect, however, it provides an overall picture
of the unfavourable situation in which the Romans find themselves during the
first stage of the Carthaginian army’s invasion of Italy, up until the battle of Can-
nae (3.69 – 117). Their constant defeats are due not only to their generals’ short-
comings but also to Hannibal’s ability to detect and exploit them.³⁸ The conclud-
ing statement that Hannibal was not mistaken in his calculations and predic-
tions regarding his rival’s future moves (ἃ δὴ καὶ τότε προϊδόμενος καὶ συλλογι-
σάμενος Ἀννίβας περὶ τοῦ τῶν ἐναντίων ἡγεμόνος οὐ διεσφάλη τῆς ἐπιβολῆς,
3.81.12) restores the connection with the narrative flow that was broken by the
digression and heightens the sense of imminent disaster created by Flaminius’
excessive self-confidence.
After the utter rout of the Romans in Etruria (3.84), the familiar pattern is de-
veloped for a third time in the case of M. Minucius Rufus (3.87.9 – 94, 100 – 105).
His impetuosity is already apparent at the beginning of his career when, as sec-
ond-in-command to the dictator Q. Fabius Maximus, he decries the latter as cow-
ardly and contrasts his unwillingness to engage in battle with his own eagerness
to venture upon a decisive engagement (τὸν μὲν Φάβιον κατελάλει πρὸς πάντας,
ὡς ἀγεννῶς χρώμενον τοῖς πράγμασιν καὶ νωθρῶς, αὐτὸς δὲ πρόθυμος ἦν παρα-
βάλλεσθαι καὶ διακινδυνεύειν, 3.90.6). Polybius, however, affords some indication
of what is to come in order to defend Fabius: whereas at first he was criticized
and regarded as a coward who lacked the courage to fight, in the course of
time he compelled everyone to admit that nobody else could have dealt with
the situation with such discretion and prudence (3.89.3 – 4). The proleptic men-
tion of Fabius’ foresight highlights by contrast Minucius’ imprudence and inca-
pacity to comprehend how inferior the Romans were to their rivals at that partic-
 The metaphor of the ungovernable ship occurs also in 10.33.5; cf. 6.44.3 – 8, where the people
of Athens are likened to ἀδεσπότοις σκάφεσι.
 Cf. Maier 2012a, 62.
ular moment (3.89.5 – 8).³⁹ Hence, when, after Fabius’ return to Rome, Minucius
takes over, readers can envisage what dangers this temporary change of leader-
ship holds for the Roman army.
Minucius’ elevation enables him to provoke the conflict that he desires. He
ignores the warning given by Fabius, who asks him to curb his aggressiveness
towards the enemy and to ensure that the Romans suffer no harm themselves
(3.94.9 – 10). Even as Fabius speaks, he pays no attention to what he says and
seeks only to risk an engagement (ὧν οὐδὲ μικρὸν ἐν νῷ τιθέμενος Μάρκος ἔτι
λέγοντος αὐτοῦ ταῦτα πρὸς τῷ παραβάλλεσθαι καὶ τῷ διακινδυνεύειν ὅλος καὶ
πᾶς ἦν, 3.94.10). Two consecutive successes in skirmishes boost his hopes for
the future (μεγάλας ἐλπίδας ἔχων ὑπὲρ τοῦ μέλλοντος, 3.102.8 – 9), which are
shared by his compatriots, who decide to elect him dictator as well
(3.103.1– 4). Public favour doubles his desire to risk all and attack the enemy
(… διπλασίως παρωρμήθη πρὸς τὸ παραβάλλεσθαι καὶ κατατολμᾶν τῶν πολεμίων,
3.103.5 – 6). Thus, when Fabius returns and realizes that Minucius is puffed up
with pride, inclined to oppose him in all things and wholly bent on fighting
(3.103.7), he proposes dividing the legions between them, with each of them com-
manding his own respective part of the Roman army in his own way (3.103.7– 8).
Minucius’ joyful acceptance of this proposal (τοῦ δὲ καὶ λίαν ἀσμένως δεξαμένου
τὸν μερισμόν, 3.103.8) reinforces the suspenseful feeling that his expectations are
likely to be soon overturned.
As earlier at the Trebia and at Trasimene, Hannibal outdoes the Roman gen-
erals because he is in a better position to notice and understand what is going on
in their camps. From the information he receives from prisoners and also from
the developments that he himself observes (τὰ μὲν ἀκούων τῶν ἁλισκομένων αἰχ-
μαλώτων, τὰ δὲ θεωρῶν ἐκ τῶν πραττομένων, 3.104.1), he gains a correct under-
standing of the rivalry between the two commanders and the ambition of Minu-
cius (ᾔδει τήν τε τῶν ἡγεμόνων πρὸς ἀλλήλους φιλοτιμίαν καὶ τὴν ὁρμὴν καὶ τὴν
φιλοδοξίαν τοῦ Μάρκου, 3.104.1– 2). Thus, the ambush that he springs on the Ro-
mans turns Minucius’ aggressiveness against him (3.104.2– 105.2). Very quickly
the initial skirmish between the light-armed troops on both sides becomes a gen-
eral engagement that threatens the Roman army as a whole (3.105.4– 5). At the
last moment, Fabius, who is following the situation and is afraid that all
might be lost (θεωρῶν τὸ γινόμενον καὶ διαγωνιάσας μὴ σφαλῶσι τοῖς ὅλοις,
3.105.5), hastens to intervene and manages to prevent the worst.
 Cf. Polybius’ next remark, which has a similar effect (3.89.4): ταχὺ δὲ καὶ τὰ πράγματα
προσεμαρτύρησε τοῖς λογισμοῖς αὐτοῦ, ‘Very soon indeed facts testified to the wisdom of his
conduct’.
This unanticipated turn of events surprises readers, who, judging from what
happened to Sempronius and Flaminius, expect the Romans to suffer a similar
misfortune. Polybius, however, had created another expectation when, at the
outset of his account, he had observed that Fabius would compel his critics to
recognize his worth (3.89.3). The fulfillment of this second expectation in the ref-
erence to the way in which the Romans regard Fabius after the events–they at-
tribute their salvation to his cautiousness, clearly understand the difference be-
tween the vanity and presumptuousness of a soldier and the prudence of a gen-
eral (τί διαφέρει στρατιωτικῆς προπετείας καὶ κενοδοξίας στρατηγικὴ πρόνοια καὶ
λογισμὸς ἑστὼς καὶ νουνεχής, 3.105.9), and henceforth pay attention to his orders
(3.105.10 – 11)–covers the paralipsis created by the earlier vague comment on Fa-
bius and links the end of the narrative to its beginning. The pattern that connects
the leaders’ impetuosity with failure in battle is also repeated in this episode: ‘…
all was lost (ἀπόλωλε τὰ ὅλα) by the rashness of Minucius’, says Polybius from
the perspective of those who had fought in the battle (3.105.8). In this case, how-
ever, the presence of Fabius, who manages to save both camps through his own
farsightedness, puts an end to the similarity and alters the result.
***
We conclude, therefore, that in the battles waged between the Carthaginians and
Romans in Italy the superiority of the former is attributed to the ability of Han-
nibal to gain insight into the plans and actions of his rivals and to exploit their
weaknesses to his own advantage, while the inferiority of the latter is viewed as
stemming in large part from the recklessness of their leaders. Time and again,
Polybius shows victory in war to be contingent upon the agents’ capacity for cor-
rect reasoning and judgement. The Roman leaders’ eagerness for battle, impa-
tience and impetuosity prove to be bad counsellors precisely because they pre-
vent them from dealing with the situation rationally, with the result that they suf-
fer one defeat after another. Like the visual stimuli that the combatants receive,
their rational processes are also critical in shaping battle outcomes and con-
structing successful courses of action.
This relationship between intellectual and physical control is reflected in the
variations in focalization. As has already become clear, internal focalization is
not used in the same way to present the inner processes of the characters who
succeed in their plans and those who fail. Ιn the case of the victors focalization
serves to highlight their ability to gauge situations correctly and predict their ad-
versaries’ next moves, while in the case of the vanquished it is used with the aim
of conveying the discrepancy between their views of the situation and reality.
The characters that are defeated are shown to be so absorbed in their ambitions
and the distorted image they have of their abilities that they cannot properly as-
sess the circumstances and the possibility of failure.
4.4 The Romans in Africa (14.1 – 15.9)
It is worth comparing the account of the first few operations of the Second Punic
War with the narrative section that deals with its end. This extends over two
books (14.1– 15.9), despite the fact that it covers a two-year period, since the im-
portance of the events it contains caused Polybius, as he himself states, to devi-
ate from his normal practice in order to devote to them the space that they merit
(14.1a.5). The situation presented in both accounts is quite similar, except that at
the end of the war the roles of its protagonists are reversed. The Romans under P.
Cornelius Scipio have shifted the centre of operations away from Italy to Africa.
Hannibal is still in Italy, but he cannot threaten his rivals in the same way and to
the same extent that he did in the first few years after his arrival in their home-
land.⁴⁰ As a result, those who are depicted as would-be conquerors now are the
Romans, while the Carthaginians find themselves in the difficult position of
fighting, not in order to conquer foreign territories, but in order to defend
their own country.
Faced with the perils posed by his stay in Africa, Scipio must use all his skill
and ability to ensure the survival of his soldiers and to increase their chances of
success. Like Hannibal in Italy, he concerns himself with learning about the
movements and intentions of his rivals (14.1.2– 5). The information that the
Roman envoys bring about the makeshift construction of the enemy camps of
the Carthaginians under Hasdrubal and the Numidians under Syphax allows
him to devise the plan (τὴν κατασκευήν, 14.1.8) of setting fire to their huts in
order to neutralize his adversaries’ main advantage, namely their numerical su-
periority (14.1.5 – 6). Again, internal focalization is extensively employed to con-
vey the thoughts of the historical agents. The narrative records the various phas-
es of the line of reasoning that Scipio follows between the conception and exe-
 This is made clear in the account presented by the Romans before the Carthaginian Senate
(15.1.10 – 12): ‘It seemed almost evident that they ventured to act thus relying on Hannibal and
the forces with him. In this confidence they were most ill-advised; for everyone knew quite well
that for the last two years Hannibal and his troops, after abandoning every part of Italy, had fled
to the Lacinian promontory, and that, shut in there and almost besieged, they only just suc-
ceeded in saving themselves and leaving for Africa’.
4.4 The Romans in Africa (14.1 – 15.9) 107
cution of his plan.⁴¹ It also presents the efforts he makes to deceive his adversa-
ries and conceal his real intentions. More specifically, while he cannot bear even
listening to Syphax’s conciliatory proposals, he makes him believe that his plan
is not entirely impossible so that, under the pretext of conducting negotiations,
he can send envoys more frequently to spy on the enemy camps (χάριν τοῦ τὰς
προσόδους καὶ τὰς εἰσόδους … ἐξερευνῆσαι καὶ κατοπτεῦσαι, 14.1.13). When, later
on, he is organizing his assault, he takes care to give his opponents the impres-
sion that the preparations are being made to lay siege to Utica (14.2.4). And, so as
not to raise suspicions, he tries to appear outwardly unconcerned, although he is
in fact carefully preparing for the attack (14.2.9).
The precautions which Scipio takes to ensure the success of the venture are
familiar to readers. His ruse of disguising soldiers as slaves and sending them
into the Numidian camp with the envoys in order to spy on Syphax (14.1.13) re-
calls the disguises that Hannibal assumed in Italy when he feared for his life
(3.78.1– 4), while his decision to reveal his intentions only to his most trusted
friends (14.3.5) accords perfectly with the way in which Polybius believes the
general should act.⁴² Scipio strives not only to prevent the disclosure of his pur-
pose, but also to avoid being criticized for breaching the truce. At the last mo-
ment, and while the Carthaginians have accepted the prospect of coming to
terms (14.2.10), he informs Syphax that the negotiations cannot succeed, purport-
edly because the members of his council disagree with him (14.2.11).
As soon as he learns of this diplomatic manoeuvre, Syphax realizes that his
hopes for peace were premature (διὰ τὸ προκατηλπικέναι, 14.3.1). Earlier he had
shown complete confidence in Scipio’s words and had neither wondered nor
questioned what his intentions were. It is noteworthy that the technique of inter-
nal focalization is used in his case to record not his thought processes but his
emotions. After his first contact with the Roman envoys, he casts aside his hesi-
tations and applies himself with even greater zeal to advancing his plan (συνέβη
 E.g. 14.1.5: ὢν δὲ περὶ πολλὰ τῇ διανοίᾳ; 14.2.1: τῷ δὲ Σκιπίωνι πάντα διηρεύνητο πρὸς τὴν
προειρημένην ἐπιβολήν; 14.3.7: συνέκρινε καὶ διηρεύνα τὰ λεγόμενα; 14.4.4– 5: ἦν δ᾽ αὐτῷ
συλλελογισμένον … οὗτος μὲν τοιαύτας ἔχων ἐπινοίας.
 He provides a detailed exposition of his views on this subject in 9.13.1– 5: ‘Therefore in such
enterprises commanders must be careful about every detail. The first and foremost requisite is to
keep silence, and never either from joy if some unexpected hope shall present itself, or from
fear, or from familiarity with or affection for certain persons, to reveal one’s design to anyone
unconcerned in it, but to communicate it only to those without whom it cannot be put in
execution, and even to these not earlier than when the need of their services renders it impe-
rative. And we must keep not only our tongues tied but even more so our minds. For many who
have kept their own counsel have revealed their projects either by the expression of their faces or
by their actions’.
τὸν Σόφακα κουφισθέντα πολλαπλασίως ἐπιρρωσθῆναι πρὸς τὴν ἐπιπλοκήν,

14.1.11– 12). He is so utterly absorbed in this that he fails even to provide for
the protection of his soldiers (14.2.8 – 9). Thus, when he obtains a positive
reply from the Carthaginians, he conveys it to the Romans with great joy (περι-
χαρὴς ὤν, 14.2.10). The way in which Polybius shows how Syphax is being ma-
nipulated by Scipio is remarkable. The latter, despite having already decided
to launch his attack, sends ambassadors to Syphax
πυνθανόμενος, ἐὰν συγχωρῇ τοῖς παρακαλουμένοις, εἰ καὶ τοῖς Καρχηδονίοις ἔσται ταῦτα
κατὰ νοῦν καὶ μὴ πάλιν ἐκεῖνοι φήσουσι βουλεύσεσθαι περὶ τῶν συγχωρουμένων. ἅμα δὲ τού-
τοις προσενετείλατο τοῖς πρεσβευταῖς μὴ πρότερον ὡς αὑτὸν ἀπιέναι πρὶν ἢ λαβεῖν ἀπόκρισιν
ὑπὲρ τούτων. ὧν ἀφικομένων διακούσας ὁ Νομὰς ἐπείσθη διότι πρὸς τὸ συντελεῖν ἐστι τὰς
διαλύσεις ὁ Σκιπίων, ἔκ τε τοῦ φάναι τοὺς πρέσβεις μὴ πρότερον ἀπαλλαγήσεσθαι πρὶν ἢ λα-
βεῖν παρ᾽ αὐτοῦ τὰς ἀποκρίσεις, ἔκ τε τοῦ διευλαβεῖσθαι τὴν τῶν Καρχηδονίων συγκατάθεσιν
(14.2.5 – 8).
to inquire, on the supposition that the proposed terms met with his own approval, if they
would also be agreeable to the Carthaginians and if they could be trusted not to say again
that they would further consider before accepting what he was ready to concede. He also
instructed his envoys not to return to him before receiving an answer to this question. When
they arrived and Syphax had received the message, he felt convinced that Scipio was deter-
mined to conclude the treaty, both because the envoys had told him they would not return
without an answer and because of the anxiety shown to make sure of the consent of the
Carthaginians.
The almost verbatim repetition of Scipio’s instructions may seem monotonous

and crude but it serves to indicate the persuasive power of his arguments and
their influence on the recipient. Paradoxically, on the one occasion that internal
focalization is not used to convey Syphax’s emotions but his line of reasoning, it
merely succeeds in throwing his irresolution into greater relief: his thoughts are
not his own but those of his adversary.
Up until the moment that Syphax learns of the failure of the peace process,
we never hear him question Scipio’s sincerity. Yet even when he realizes the sit-
uation and hastens to devise a plan to deal with it with Hasdrubal’s help, he has
no idea what is going to follow (πλεῖστον ἀπέχοντες ταῖς ἐννοίαις καὶ ταῖς ἐπιβο-
λαῖς τοῦ μέλλοντος, 14.3.2– 3). In effect, once again Scipio’s rivals are not think-
ing. They are gripped only by impetuous impulses and the desire to provoke an
open battle (πολλή τις ἦν αὐτῶν ὁρμὴ καὶ προθυμία, 14.3.3), and fail to take action
to protect their men and even to consider the possibility that they might come to
harm. Their impetuosity recalls the similar behaviour of the Roman leaders at the
beginning of the Second Punic War and portends their demise. Their desire to
engage in open battle, in contrast with Scipio’s organization of an ambush, fur-
ther reinforces the impression created at the end of the war of a reversal of the
Romans’ and Carthaginians’ roles (since in Italy it was Hannibal who had resort-
ed to ambushes and trickery in order to combat the numerical superiority of his
opponents⁴³).
Like the Roman leaders in Italy, the Carthaginians are shown to be defeated
because they are absorbed in their plans and pay no heed to their adversaries’
movements. One might object that the misjudgments of the Carthaginians and
their allies are not due to their indifference but to Scipio’s actions, through
which he succeeds in deceiving them. Yet the narrative does not mention any at-
tempts on their part to learn about or guess their adversaries’ reactions and what
is happening in their camp. On the contrary, it records their inability not only to
make a correct assessment of the situation but also to think clearly. On the only
occasion that we can listen in to their thoughts, we find, as we have seen, that
they adopt the opponent’s line of reasoning. Even when their camps are set
on fire, they do not grasp that it is an ambush and believe the fire to be an ac-
cident.⁴⁴ Thus, unsuspectingly (ἀνυπονοήτως, 14.4.9), they are destroyed by the
flames and their adversaries without even realizing what is happening to them
or what they are doing (οὔθ᾽ ὃ πάσχουσιν οὔθ᾽ ὃ ποιοῦσι γινώσκοντες διεφθεί-
ροντο, 14.4.10). The disorderly and spasmodic nature of their reactions contrasts
sharply with the behaviour of the Romans, who, following Scipio’s instructions,
move in accordance with an organized plan and manage to compensate for their
restricted visibility with their perspicacity and daring (καθ᾽ ὅσον ἐμποδίζει καὶ κω-
λύει τὰ τῆς ὁράσεως τὸ σκότος, κατὰ τοσοῦτον δεῖ συνεκπληροῦν τῇ διανοίᾳ καὶ
τῇ τόλμῃ τὰς νυκτερινὰς ἐπιβολάς, 14.4.3). Only when the fire has spread to the
Carthaginian camp, to the point where escape becomes difficult, do Hasdrubal
and his men comprehend that it is not an accident, as they thought (οὐκ αὐτο-
μάτως, καθάπερ ὑπέλαβον, 14.5.5), but an act of arson.
The enterprise is thus crowned with success. In closing his presentation of it,
Polybius describes it as ‘the most splendid and most adventurous’ of Scipio’s ex-
ploits (14.5.15). Nevertheless, despite this approbation, there is much that is ob-
jectionable in the means employed to achieve such an end.⁴⁵ The argument that
ambushes, the concealment of one’s real intentions, and duplicity are not unac-
ceptable methods in armed conflicts may be no different from the view we hold
 See, e. g., 3.83; 3.93 – 94.

 Cf. 14.4.8: ‘Absolutely none of the Numidians had any suspicion of the actual fact, not even
Syphax, but they all supposed that the camp had caught fire by accident’, 14.5.1: ‘Meanwhile the
Carthaginians, when they saw the strength of the fire and the volume of flame that rose to the
sky, thinking that the Numidian camp had caught fire by accident, rushed some of them to give
assistance …’.
 See Eckstein 1995, 86 – 87.
of war today (and which, to at least a certain extent, was also held by the ancient
Greeks), yet it did not permit the Romans to feel comfortable with the attitude
held by Scipio in this case.⁴⁶ And considering his declared disgust of victories
obtained by treachery and deceit (13.3), it is likely that Polybius felt the same
way. Although he recognizes the fact that deceit in war had by his time become
standard practice (in 13.3.6 he comments that ‘at the present they say it is a sign
of poor generalship to do anything openly in war’), he does not approve of it
(13.3.1). Indeed, he recalls the time when men did not want to beat their adver-
saries by deceitful means because they did not regard any victory in war as glo-
rious or secure unless it was achieved in open battle (13.3.3 – 4), and for this rea-
son they made sure they gave advance notice of the time and place at which a
battle was to be fought (13.3.5 – 6). He also finds that some traces of the old-fash-
ioned concept of war still linger among the Romans (13.3.7).
Scholars have noted the contradiction between the abovementioned remarks
and the way in which Polybius approves of Scipio’s triumph over Hasdrubal and
Syphax, and have tried to dispel it. His laudatory tone has been taken to reflect
the enthusiasm felt by Massanissa, who was an adviser and associate of Scipio
and probably Polybius’ informant on this episode.⁴⁷ But as we have already re-
marked, such hypotheses may involve certain risks. The simplicity with which
they often claim that Polybius adopts the views of his sources does not do justice
to his historical method and his skill as a writer, especially when his choices ap-
pear, as here, to reiterate themes set forth elsewhere in the text.
Indeed, the image that is projected of Scipio at the battle of the Camps is in
keeping with the way in which his personality is portrayed by the narrator in
book 10. The description of his exploits as a young man is intended precisely
to highlight his clarity of thought and ability to manipulate others in order to
achieve his aims–those features of his character that help him deal with the
problem of his adversary’s considerable numerical superiority during his stay
in Africa. Retrospectively reading the comments that praise the achievements
of his youth (his election to the office of aedile (10.4– 5) and the siege of New
Carthage (10.6 – 20)), one gains the impression that they also describe his later
behaviour in the most precise manner. In announcing his intention to narrate
the general’s early accomplishments, Polybius, as a matter of fact, comments
that it will become apparent from his account that all of Scipio’s actions were
based on calculation and foresight and succeeded in fulfilling his expectations
 According to Livy’s account (30.4.8), the peace negotiations fell through at the last moment
because of Syphax. See Scullard 1970, 121.
 For references see Walbank 1967, 430.
(ὅτι δ᾽ ἕκαστα μετὰ λογισμοῦ καὶ προνοίας ἔπραττε, καὶ διότι πάντα κατὰ λόγον ἐξ-
έβαινε τὰ τέλη τῶν πράξεων αὐτῷ, δῆλον ἔσται διὰ τῶν λέγεσθαι μελλόντων,
10.2.13). It is hardly surprising, therefore, that here, too, Scipio’s intellectual vir-
tues are presented in a very systematic way. His achievements, as is repeatedly
emphasized, were not due to luck or divine inspiration but to his sagacity and
foresight.⁴⁸
The parallels between 10.2– 20 and 14.2– 5 are telling. Scipio’s ability to de-
vise plans that surprise his enemies, which, as we have seen, proves so effective
at the battle of the Camps, is particularly on show in the account of the siege of
New Carthage. Again, the failure of his rivals to notice what is going on and thus
to anticipate his manoeuvre across the lagoon (… οὐδέποτε δ᾽ ἂν ἐλπισάντων ἐγγί-
σαι τῷ τείχει τοὺς πολεμίους κατὰ τὸν τῆς λίμνης τόπον … οὐ δυναμένων οὔτ᾽
ἀκούειν οὔτε συνορᾶν τῶν δεόντων οὐδέν, 10.14.14– 15) stands in stark contrast
with the thoroughness with which Scipio scrutinizes their deeds and the geostra-
tegic location of the city (πυνθανόμενος ἐπιμελῶς, 10.7.1; πυνθανόμενος … ηὕρισκε,
10.7.4; ἐπυνθάνετο, 10.7.5; πυνθανόμενος … ἐξητάκει, 10.8.1; ἀκούων, 10.8.2; ἐξη-
τάκει, 10.8.7). His careful gathering of information is the tactic that will enable
him to conceive of and organize his plan of burning the Numidian and Cartha-
ginian camps (14.1– 2.1). The manner in which he conceals his intention to lay the
siege and only announces it to his most trustworthy friends (10.6.8, 9.1) also hints
at the similar behaviour he later displays while preparing the night attack
(14.3.5). Finally, his capacity to persuade his troops by tailoring his arguments
to their psychology (10.11.8) is observable in his successful manipulation of Sy-
phax (14.1 ff.).⁴⁹
The identical way in which Scipio is shown to act at the beginning and at the
height of his career weakens the assumption that Polybius’ laudatory tone in his
account of the battle of the Camps reflects the influence of his sources. The por-
trayal of Scipio’s activities in Africa accords well with the opinion that the histor-
ian had formed of him from his earlier achievements. It is thus clear that Scipio
 Cf. 10.5.8: ‘… attribute to the gods and to fortune the causes of what is accomplished by
shrewdness and with calculation and foresight’; 10.6.12: ‘There was nothing in all this that was
not due to most close calculation (ἐκλογισμῶν τῶν ἀκριβεστάτων)’; 10.7.3 – 4: ‘… relying not on
chance but on inference from the facts (συλλογισμοῖς)’; 10.9.2– 3: ‘Although authors agree that he
made these calculations, yet when they come to the accomplishment of his plan, they attribute
for some unknown reason the success not to the man and his foresight (τὴν τούτου πρόνοιαν),
but to the gods and to chance’.
 Compare how he persuades his mother to allow him to run for the aedileship (10.4– 5). Cf.
Polybius’ remark at 10.14.10 – 11: καὶ γὰρ ἦν εὖ πεφυκώς, εἰ καὶ πρὸς ἄλλο τι, πρὸς τὸ θάρσος
ἐμβαλεῖν καὶ συμπαθεῖς ποιῆσαι τοὺς παρακαλουμένους, ‘He indeed possessed a particular talent
for inspiring confidence and sympathy in his troops when he called upon them’.
earns Polybius’ approval for the remarkable strategic and intellectual abilities
that enable him to conceive of and execute his daring plan. As for the complete
lack of any ethical appraisal of the event, there is, I believe, no need to invoke
the historian’s relationship with Scipio’s family in order to explain it. Polybius
probably believed that the impasse in which the Romans had found themselves
in Africa had forced their commander to summon up all his abilities and resour-
ces to overcome it. At any rate, the fact that he did not gloss over the ‘darker’
aspects of Scipio’s enterprise shows that he treated his material in a fair manner
and did not try, like the historians who attributed to Syphax the failure of the
peace process,⁵⁰ to distort it.
As is usually the case with success in war,⁵¹ Scipio’s victory paves the way for
another triumph at the battle of the Great Plains (14.8). The Carthaginians, dish-
eartened by the two successive defeats, begin to realize that the situation grows
increasingly dire. As earlier in Italy, the narrative shifts from the battle scenes to
the city of the defeated side in order to present the reactions of its inhabitants on
hearing the sad news:
The Carthaginians, now that the prospect of success in their original design had been re-
versed (παλιντρόπου τῆς ἐλπίδος αὐτοῖς ἀποβαινούσης πρὸς τὰς ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐπιβολάς), were
deeply dejected. For they had hoped to shut in the Romans on the cape adjacent to
Utica, which they made their winter quarters, besieging them by land with their armies
and by sea with their navy and had made all preparations for this purpose; so that now
when by a strange and unexpected disaster they had not only been obliged to abandon
to the enemy the command of the open country but expected that at any moment they
themselves and their city would be in imminent peril (τὸν περὶ σφῶν αὐτῶν καὶ τῆς πατρί-
δος ὅσον οὐκ ἤδη προσδοκᾶν κίνδυνον), they became thoroughly dismayed (ἐκπλαγεῖς) and
faint-hearted (περίφοβοι) (14.6.6 – 9).
In Carthage itself the disorder had been serious enough previously, but now the city was
still more deeply disturbed (ἔτι μείζω τότε συνέβαινε γίνεσθαι τὴν ταραχήν), and it seemed
that after this second heavy blow they had lost all confidence in themselves (14.9.6 – 7).
The feelings of anxiety and disappointment that the Carthaginians experience

when their hopes are dashed recall the similar mental state of the Romans on
the eve of the battle of Cannae:
When the news reached Rome that the armies were encamped opposite each other and that
engagements between the outposts occurred every day, there was the utmost excitement
and fear in the city (ὀρθὴ καὶ περίφοβος ἦν ἡ πόλις), as most people dreaded the result
 See Eckstein 1995, 87.

 Cf. above, pp. 95 – 96.
owing to their frequent previous reverses, and foresaw and anticipated in imagination the
consequences of total defeat (3.112.7– 8).
We see, then, that the story of the would-be victors who become the victims of
their numerically inferior opponents and find themselves in the unfavourable
position of being besieged in their own country is repeated at the end of the Sec-
ond Punic War. The thematic and verbal similarities connecting the two accounts
suggest that each is intended to shed light on the other.
The link between the beginning and the end of the war is brought out more
clearly in the episode in which Hannibal converses with Scipio (15.6.4– 8). The
historicity of their meeting has been disputed.⁵² Its functional role, however, is
obvious. The Carthaginian general introduces himself to his adversary:
I, then, am that Hannibal who after the battle of Cannae became master of almost the
whole of Italy, who not long afterwards advanced even up to Rome, and encamping at
forty stades from the walls deliberated with myself how I should treat you and your native
soil. And now here am I in Africa on the point of negotiating with you, a Roman, for the
safety of myself and my country (15.7.3 – 5).
At first sight Hannibal’s clarifications do not appear to be necessary. Yet they re-
mind readers of what they have read in book 3 and enable them to link the end
of the war with its beginning so that they can understand the reversal that has
taken place and the fickleness of fortune. The same lesson applies to Scipio as
well. Like Hannibal at the beginning of his career (ὁ δ᾽ Ἀννίβας, ἅτε νέος μὲν
ὤν, πλήρης δὲ πολεμικῆς ὁρμῆς, ἐπιτυχὴς δ᾽ ἐν ταῖς ἐπιβολαῖς, 3.15.6 – 7), he,
too, is still young and has not experienced any failures or radical reversals of for-
tune (διὰ τὸ νέον εἶναι κομιδῇ καὶ διὰ τὸ πάντα σοι κατὰ λόγον κεχωρηκέναι καὶ τὰ
κατὰ τὴν Ἰβηρίαν καὶ τὰ κατὰ τὴν Λιβύην καὶ μηδέπω μέχρι γε τοῦ νῦν εἰς τὴν τῆς
τύχης ἐμπεπτωκέναι παλιρρύμην, 15.7.1).
Experience, on the other hand, has taught Hannibal to be modest (15.7.5). In
order to save his homeland, however, he has to confront a rival who possesses
the dynamism that was the hallmark of his conduct in the early years of the
war. Foresight, intelligence, leadership skills and the ability to persuade their au-
diences by telling them what they want to hear (i. e. what Scipio does with Sy-
phax and Hannibal with the Celts when, in order to win them over to his side,
he tells them that he has not come to Italy in order to fight them but the Romans
for their sake (3.77.4), so that he can help them regain their freedom and recover
their cities, while in reality his actions are motivated by his hate for the Romans
 For discussion and references see Walbank 1967, 451.

(3.86.11)) are qualities that indeed characterize both leaders.⁵³ When they clash
at Zama, Hannibal is defeated, although he deals prudently with the situation
and does everything he can to win (15.16.5). There are times–says Polybius in
an attempt to provide an explanation for the outcome of the battle–when fortune
thwarts the enterprises of great men (15.16.4), and there are others again when
even a brave man may meet someone better than himself (15.16.6). Thus, in
his final comment, Polybius, instead of allowing the outcome of the conflict be-
tween Hannibal and Scipio to be interpreted on the basis of their conduct before
and during the battle, questions the possibility of applying such an interpreta-
tion in this case precisely because of the similarity between the capabilities of
the two men.
***
To sum up the foregoing discussion, we can conclude that focalization plays a
vital role in conferring shape and intelligibility on the recounted events. As a
means of facilitating access to the consciousness of the characters, it enables
Polybius to communicate not only what happened but also the background of
ideas and motives that inspired a particular course of action. Equally decisive
is its usefulness in his battle accounts. Polybius uses internal focalization
both to demonstrate how the visual stimuli that the adversaries receive deter-
mine the outcome of the conflict between them and to present their inner proc-
esses. However, there is an important difference in the way the mental processes
of the victors and the defeated are conveyed. In the case of the victors internal
focalization is used to highlight their perspicacity and their ability to predict
their rivals’ next moves, while in the case of the defeated it serves to reveal
how their self-absorbed behaviour prevents them from acknowledging the dan-
gers threatening them. The role that focalization plays in the presentation of the
battles is so pervasive that whenever their outcome cannot be interpreted with its
assistance it is attributed to the influence of external and imponderable factors.
 Cf. Eckstein 1995, 174. On the several parallels between Polybius’ portrayals of Hannibal,
Scipio and Philopoemen see Pédech 1964, 218 – 20, who points out that all three are presented as
distinguished by their rational powers. Cf. also Foulon 1993, 336 with n. 12, suggesting that
Polybius seeks to establish a parallel between Hannibal and Scipio. Polybius’ strong emphasis
on their exceptional rationality, I would argue, is not so much due to his desire to parallelize
them as to his usual manner of explaining defeat and victory in war.
5 The Polybian narrator
Like any act of communication, narration presupposes a subject (the narrator), a
message and someone to whom the message is addressed (the narratee). The
narrator is charged with transmitting the message, acting as an intermediary be-
tween the author and the audience. For most narratologists, the narrator’s pres-
ence is a necessary condition for characterizing a text as narrative.¹ It is a wide-
spread poetological axiom that the narrator is constructed by the author, and
cannot automatically be equated with him or her, even when they appear to
share the same identity.² This bipartite schema is often complicated by the pos-
tulation of the implied author, that is, the ideal picture of the author which the
reader constructs on the basis of the text taken as a whole.³ The response to this,
as has, I think, convincingly been expressed by Genette, is that there is no reason
why the responsibilities and competencies of the real author should be transfer-
red to a third agent.⁴
Since every narrative text has a narrator who recounts the story, what varies
is the extent to which this narrator makes his or her presence felt. Thus, some
narrators manifest themselves more overtly throughout the text, for example,
by commenting on the events they relate, by showing awareness that they are
presenting a story, or by explicitly reflecting on their role as narrators. Others be-
have more covertly, remain in the background, and narrate the story with a min-
imum amount of mediation.⁵ However, even if the narrator’s presence is covert, it
can still be detected by certain signs, such as changes in focalization, anachro-
nies, variations in rhythm, similes, suggestive juxtapositions etc. The indirect in-
dications of the presence of the Polybian narrator and the control he exerts over
the transmission of the story have been dealt with in the preceding chapters. I
shall now proceed to look at Polybius’ overt comments on the plot, the charac-
 Cf, e. g., Stanzel (1979) 1982, 15; Genette (1983) 1988, 14; Bal (1985) 1997, 16.
 Friedemann 1910, 21– 22; Genette (1972) 1980, 213 – 14; Stanzel (1979) 1982, 25 – 28.
 On the usefulness of the concept see, e. g., Booth (1961) 1983; Chatman 1978; 1990; Rimmon-
Kenan 1983 (2002); and Phelan 2005. Cf. also the observation of Scodel 2005: ‘Often, a primary
narrator is for practical purposes identical with the implied author, so that the discussion of the
narrator suffices. But where the primary narrator is unreliable, the reader must construct a
hypothetical source of accurate meaning, and I suspect that most of us would prefer not to
identify that construct with the historical author, since we can watch ourselves as readers in the
act of creating it’. Booth 2005 offers an illuminating account of his motivations for coining the
term.
 Genette (1983) 1988, 139 – 40. Cf. Bal (1985) 1997, 18. For a detailed overview of the reception of
the implied author concept see Kindt and Müller 2006, 63 – 120.
 On the distinction between overt and covert narration see Chatman 1978, 196 ff.
116 5 The Polybian narrator
ters, the structure of his narrative and the narrative process itself in order to find
out how these narratorial interventions contribute to shaping the special charac-
ter of the text he has produced.
5.1 The primary narrator
The Polybian narrator appears already in the preface of the first book, where he
exposes the benefits of history and the merits of his subject matter (1.1.5).⁶
Throughout the text, his presence is equally conspicuous, since in numerous in-
stances he interrupts the narrative to explain his authorial choices, offer his
point of view, or stress the importance of the narrated events. The abundance
of narratorial interjections is indeed a prominent feature of Polybius’ Histories
and much greater than in other historians of the ancient world.⁷ It would be
no exaggeration to say that the internal pace of the work is controlled by the al-
ternation between sections of narrative that recount events and sections that
comment on them. These narratorial comments, which may either be added to
the end of a narrative segment as an ἐπιμετρῶν λόγος (e. g. 8.35 – 36 (on man’s
inability to avoid destruction even when he takes appropriate measures to do
so)) or interjected into the narrative (e. g. 4.20 – 21 (on the educational value of
music) and 5.9.7– 12.4 (on the clemency that should be displayed by a leader)),
generally employ a rhetoric of authority and control.⁸ They are often used to cre-
ate an image of an honest narrator, one trustworthy enough to guarantee the re-
liability of what he recounts. They may also serve to guide the narratees’ under-
standing by communicating to them the narrator’s perception of events and per-
suading them to adopt it, as well as by drawing their attention to the themes he
attempts to highlight. In what follows I shall examine the various types of nar-
ratorial intervention in the text and categorize them according to the partially
overlapping manifestations of the Polybian narrator as a) writer, b) historian,
and c) critic.
 See above (§1.1).

 On Polybius’ obtrusiveness cf. Marincola 2001, 125; and McGing 2010, 19 ff. For a thorough
presentation of Polybius’ narratorial persona see Ibendorff 1930 and, most recently, Rood 2004,
149 – 57.
 Rood 2004, 152 notes that Polybius’ concern for narratorial control parallels his concern for
the maintenance of social order.
5.1 The primary narrator 117
5.1.1 The narrator as writer
Polybius’ presence as writer is primarily evident in the strict editorial control he

exerts over his narrative. At the beginning of each book he usually refers to the
events recounted in the previous one (e. g. 4.1.1– 3: ‘In the preceding book after
pointing out the causes of the second war between Rome and Carthage, I descri-
bed the invasion of Italy by Hannibal, and the engagements which took place
between the belligerents up to the battle on the river Aufidus at the town of Can-
nae’). He also often mentions in advance the events he intends to deal with and,
when he has finished presenting them, he recapitulates them, thus showing that
he has fulfilled his task (cf. 5.30.8: ‘Now that I have arrived at a place that is suit-
able both chronologically and historically, I will shift the scene to Asia, and turn-
ing to the doings there during this same Olympiad will again confine my narra-
tive to that field’; and 5.111.9 – 10: ‘I choose this date for interrupting my narra-
tive, having now described what took place in Asia and Greece during the
140th Olympiad’).
The same practice is also applied at the macroscopic level. In 1.13 and 3.2– 3
detailed presentations are given of the contents of the introductory books and
the main part of the work, respectively. In closing the second book, Polybius re-
fers once again to the themes that concerned him in the prokataskeue (2.71.7– 10),
while at the end of the work he presents the overall plan that he followed in writ-
ing his Histories,⁹ and then concludes by declaring that he has fulfilled his prom-
ise to narrate and explain the unprecedented phenomenon of Roman success:
And I, now I have reached the end of my whole work, wish, after recalling to my readers the
initial scheme that I laid before them as the foundation of the work, to give a summary of
the whole subject matter, establishing both in general and in particular the connection be-
tween the beginning and the end. I explained therefore at the beginning that I would com-
mence my introductory books from the point where Timaeus left off, and after a cursory
view of events in Italy, Sicily, and Africa–this author having dealt only with these parts
in his history–upon reaching the time when Hannibal was entrusted with the Carthaginian
forces, when Philip, son of Demetrius, succeeded to the throne of Macedon, when Cleo-
menes of Sparta was exiled from Greece and when Antiochus inherited the throne of
Syria and Ptolemy Philopator that of Egypt, I undertook to make a fresh beginning from
this date, i. e. the 139th Olympiad, and henceforth to deal with the general history of the
whole world, classing it under Olympiads, dividing those into years and taking a compara-
tive view of the succession of events until the capture of Carthage, the battle of the
 He nevertheless omits to mention the Achaean prokataskeue. See Walbank (1977) 1985, 326 –
29, with earlier bibliography, for a detailed analysis of the various interpretations that have been
offered of this omission, and of the way in which it has been exploited in the discussion about
the date of the work’s composition.
Achaeans and Romans at the Isthmus and the consequent settlement of Greece. As I said,
students by this treatment will attain the best and most salutary result, which is to know
how and by what system of polity the whole world was subjected to the single rule of Ro-
me–an event without any parallel in the past. Now that I have accomplished all this, noth-
ing remains for me but to indicate the dates included in the history, to give a list of the
number of books and an index of the whole work (39.3 – 8).
By showing how all of his programmatic statements are realized, the Polybian
narrator seeks to present an image of himself as a well-organized and reliable
writer who can win his readers’ confidence in the seriousness of his purpose.
Given the vast scope of Polybius’ Histories, it is no wonder that the insertion
of digressions and cross-references into the text is subject to the same rigorous
narratorial control. Polybius usually concludes his digressions by stating that he
is picking up the thread of the narrative at the point where he left it (e. g. 2.36.1:
‘This digression has led us away (ἀπὸ γὰρ τούτων παρεξέβημεν τῆς ἐξηγήσεως)
from the affairs of Spain, where Hasdrubal, after governing the country for
eight years, was assassinated at night …’; 5.33.8: ‘… I will now return to the sub-
ject I proposed to deal with (ἐπὶ δὲ τὴν ἀρχὴν ἐπάνειμι τῆς ἐμαυτοῦ προθέσεως)’).
Accuracy is also achieved through expressions that refer either to the book im-
mediately before (e. g. 4.37.4– 5: ‘As I narrated in the previous book …’) or that
immediately after (e. g. 5.111.10: ‘In the following book, after a brief recapitula-
tion of my introductory narrative, I will proceed according to my promise to
treat of the Roman Constitution’) or to any other book by stating its number
(e. g. 7.13.2: ‘Now that actual facts have confirmed a statement I made in my
fifth book (κατὰ τὴν πέμπτην βύβλον) … I wish to recall it to the memory of
those who have followed this history, so as to leave none of my statements with-
out proof or disputable’).
Polybius’ activity as writer concerns not only the ordering of the narrative,
but also the maintenance of communication with his audience. Thus, to begin
with, in numerous and often lengthy comments scattered through the work, Pol-
ybius seeks to explain and defend his authorial choices (e. g. 1.13.6 – 9: ‘Now to
recount all these events in detail is neither incumbent on me nor would it be use-
ful to my readers; for it is not my purpose to write their history but to mention
them summarily as introductory to the events which are my real theme. I shall
therefore attempt by such summary treatment of them in their proper order to
fit in the end of the Introduction to the beginning of the actual History. Thus
there will be no break in the narrative (συνεχοῦς γινομένης τῆς διηγήσεως) and
it will be seen that I have been justified in touching on events which have
been previously narrated by others, while this arrangement will render the ap-
proach to what follows intelligible and easy for students’). Such remarks usually
occur in narratorial interventions aiming to communicate the reasons that
prompted the insertion of digressions (e. g. 27.10.5: ‘I have been led to speak of
this matter at such length lest anyone, in ignorance of what is inherent in
human nature, may unjustly reproach the Greeks with ingratitude for being in
this state of mind at the time’).
The more extensive a digression (and the more critical the point at which it
interrupts the narrative), the greater is the need for an explanation of the role it
serves. Polybius already prepares the way for the sixth book, the whole of which
is a digression on the Roman constitution, in the last paragraph of the third one
(3.118.8 – 12). There he maintains that the Romans’ ability to recover after their
defeat at Cannae, to the extent that they would subsequently be able to pursue
a goal of world domination, was due to their specific type of constitution (τῇ τοῦ
πολιτεύματος ἰδιότητι), and he announces his intention, when a suitable oppor-
tunity comes, to exemplify the principles that govern it. When he finally begins
to expand this theme in the sixth book, he explains not only his decision to in-
clude it in his work but also his choice to insert it at this particular point in the
narrative: the constitution’s beneficial influence on the stability of the Roman
state is brought out more clearly, he argues, when it is presented at the most per-
ilous moment in its history, that is, after the defeat at Cannae (6.2.4– 7).¹⁰
Polybius’ interaction with his audience is also evident in the openness with
which he discusses the difficulties and dilemmas he faced in the composition of
his narrative. He admits, for instance, that, when he set out to write about the
negotiations between Perseus and Eumenes, he was at a loss as to how to pro-
ceed:
For to write in detail and with precision about matters which the kings managed between
themselves and secretly, seemed to me to be open to criticism and exceedingly hazardous;
but to pass over in complete silence matters which seem to have had more practical effect
than any others in the war, matters which enable us to detect the causes of much that was
afterwards difficult to explain, appeared to me to be decidedly indicative of indolence and
entire lack of enterprise. However, I persuaded myself to state in a summary fashion my
own opinion and the indications and probabilities which led me to form this opinion, living
as I did at the time and having been more impressed by everything that happened than any-
one else (29.5).¹¹
 On Polybius’ sixth book, his views on the Roman constitution, and the theory of anakyklosis
see Nicolet 1974, 209 – 65; Petzold 1977, 253 – 90; Trompf 1979, 4– 115; Alonso-Nuñez 1986, 17– 22;
Podes 1991, 382– 90; and Canfora 1993, 19 – 27.
 Cf. the similar discussions at 3.32 (about the length of the work); at 9.1– 2 (about its politico-
military focus); and at 36.1 (about the speeches).
Interestingly, for all that it destroys the illusion of his omniscience, Polybius’ ac-
knowledgment of his own limitations strengthens his authority rather than un-
dermines it. By pointing out the complexities of his task and the difficulties
he encountered in certain cases, he wins the sympathy and understanding of
his readers as well as their confidence in his handling of the bulk of his work.
Finally, an important aspect of the communication between the narrator and
his narratees resides in the numerous comments that help them make sense of
what might otherwise have remained vague or incomprehensible (e. g. 7.15.6: ‘Ob-
serving that the wall along the so-called Saw–which connects the citadel with
the town–was unguarded, he began to entertain schemes and hopes of availing
himself of this’). Such helpful statements may concern the narrator’s own words
(e. g. 6.56.7– 8: ‘I believe that it is the very thing which among other peoples is an
object of reproach, I mean superstition, which maintains the cohesion of the
Roman State’) or those uttered by the characters (e. g. 7.12.2– 4: ‘Demetrius
said on the spur of the moment: “If you have the mind of a diviner, it bids
you withdraw at once, but if you have the mind of a vigorous king it tells you
to keep it, so that you may not after losing this opportunity seek in vain for an-
other more favourable one. For it is only by holding both his horns that you can
keep the ox under,” meaning (αἰνιττόμενος) by the horns Mount Ithome and the
Acrocorinthus and by the ox the Peloponnese’). More often, however, they serve
to account for the various individual and collective behaviours recorded in the
narrative (e. g. 3.112.9: ‘For in seasons of danger the Romans are much given to
propitiating both gods and men, and there is nothing at such times in rites of
the kind that they regard as unbecoming or beneath their dignity’).
5.1.2 The narrator as historian
Polybius explicitly refers to his role as a historian in the comments with which he
seeks to reinforce the reliability of his narrative. At 3.33.17– 18, for example, he
mentions that he based his account of Hannibal’s preparations in Spain on in-
formation gleaned from an inscription that the Carthaginian general himself
had ordered to be carved:
No one need be surprised at the accuracy of the information I give here about Hannibal’s
arrangements in Spain, an accuracy which even the actual organizer of the details would
have some difficulty in attaining, and I need not be condemned off-hand under the idea
that I am acting like those authors who try to make their misstatements plausible. The
fact is that I found on the Lacinian promontory a bronze tablet on which Hannibal himself
had made out these lists during the time he was in Italy, and thinking this an absolutely
first-rate authority, decided to follow the document.
According to Polybius, then, the fact that a historical account is detailed does not
necessarily mean that it is reliable. It should be substantiated by external evi-
dence; otherwise the emphasis on detail might merely indicate the author’s in-
tention to tell lies in a convincing way. In the same vein, when he provides a de-
tailed exposition of the contents of the first treaty that was made between the
Romans and the Carthaginians, Polybius hastens to underline the pains he
took to translate it (3.22.3 – 4): ‘I give below as accurate a rendering as I can of
this treaty, but the ancient Roman language differs so much from the modern
that it can only be partially made out, and that after much application, by the
most intelligent men’. He thus reassures his readers about the source of his in-
formation: he has not based his account on what he has heard or what he can
remember but on what he has read in the text of the treaty.¹²
Polybius also brings his personal autopsy into play in order to deal with geo-
graphical matters and to correct the errors which he has located in the works of
other historians. His criticism of the Rhodian historian Zeno for displaying igno-
rance of the geography of the Peloponnese is quite famous (16.16 – 17). Polybius’
geographical knowledge, however, is not confined to facts about his homeland.
Having travelled extensively, he is in a position to talk about the geography of
many different areas. At 3.59.7– 9 he states that the main reason he undertook
all these perilous journeys was his desire to communicate to his readers all
the knowledge that he would derive from them: ‘… I underwent the perils of jour-
neys through Africa, Spain and Gaul, and of voyages on the seas that lie on the
farther side of these countries, mostly for this very purpose of correcting the er-
rors of former writers and making those parts of the world also known to the
Greeks’.
Geographical digressions occur frequently in the Histories. Polybius devotes
a whole book (34) to geographical issues. At 4.38 – 45, in dealing with the war
between the Byzantines and the Rhodians, he makes detailed reference to the
hydrography of the Pontus and the Bosphorus. And before commencing his de-
scription of Hannibal’s crossing of the Alps, he announces in a disarming aside
that he can discuss the subject with confidence because he himself has been to
these areas and crossed the Alps (3.48.12): ‘On these points I can speak with
some confidence as I have inquired about the circumstances from men present
on the occasion and have personally inspected the country and made the pas-
sage of the Alps to learn for myself and see’. And yet, notwithstanding the im-
portance which he attaches to geographical knowledge, he shows great tolerance
 For an analysis of the contents of the treaties and bibliography relevant to the discussion of
their authenticity see Walbank 1957, 337– 56.
of the geographical errors committed by earlier historians, who had neither the
means nor the possibilities that he and his contemporaries enjoyed under
Roman rule (3.59.1– 3): ‘As, therefore, it was almost impossible in old times to
give a true account of the regions I speak of, we should not find fault with the
writers for their omissions or mistakes, but should praise and admire them, con-
sidering the times they lived in, for having ascertained something on the subject
and advanced our knowledge’.¹³
For ancient Greek historians autopsy was of unquestionable value. Polybius
claims, quoting (or paraphrasing) Ephorus,¹⁴ that ‘if we could be personally
present at all transactions such knowledge would be far superior to any other’
(12.27.7– 8). Since, nevertheless, this is not feasible (παρεῖναι δὲ τὸν αὐτὸν ἐν πλεί-
οσι τόποις κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν καιρὸν ἀδύνατον, 12.4c.4), ‘the only thing left for an
historian is to inquire from as many people as possible, to believe those worthy
of belief (τοῖς ἀξίοις πίστεως) and to be an adequate critic (κριτὴν … μὴ κακόν) of
the reports that reach him’ (12.4c.5). His belief in the value of inquiry as a guiding
principle for historical research is evident when he states that a major reason
why he began the main part of his work after 220 was so that he could gather
information about the events he wanted to describe from people who had expe-
rienced them (παρὰ τῶν ἑωρακότων ἀκηκοέναι, 4.2.3). It is not surprising, there-
fore, that he strictly criticizes Timaeus for neglecting to fulfill this most crucial
duty of the historian (τὸ περὶ τὰς ἀνακρίσεις μέρος ἐπισέσυρται παρ᾽ αὐτῷ
τελέως· ὅπερ ἐστὶ κυριώτατον τῆς ἱστορίας, 12.4c.3 – 4).
In his desire to defend the reliability of his account, Polybius often claims to
have access to oral informants, even though he does not always reveal their iden-
tity. In most cases, the vagueness of his references to his sources is due to their
large number, such as when he maintains that he learned of Hannibal’s crossing
of the Alps ‘from men present on the occasion’ (παρ᾽ αὐτῶν ἱστορηκέναι τῶν
παρατετευχότων τοῖς καιροῖς, 3.48.12), or that he heard about his greed from
his compatriots themselves (ταύτην δὲ τὴν ἱστορίαν ἐγὼ παρέλαβον μὲν καὶ
παρ᾽ αὐτῶν Καρχηδονίων, 9.25.2– 4). Obviously, Polybius had no reason to men-
tion the names of all the people he asked about these matters. When the infor-
mation comes from an eminent source, though, he gives the name of the person
who provided it, but he does not do this systematically. At 9.25.5 – 6, for instance,
 Owing to the great difficulties that such an undertaking entailed, Polybius was particularly
suspicious and critical of Pytheas of Massalia’s claim to have travelled throughout the whole of
northern Europe (34.5.2– 9). For this criticism and the rivalry that presumably engendered it see
Walbank 1972, 126 – 27.
 Schepens 1970, 174– 75 takes the words as Ephorus’ own. See, however, Sacks 1981, 52 n. 68;
and Marincola 1997, 70 n. 34.
where he presents an example confirming what the Carthaginians had told him
about Hannibal, he states that he heard it from Massanissa. At 29.8.10, on the
other hand, while he reveals that he learned the details about Perseus’ failure
to reach an understanding with Eumenes from certain friends of the former,
he opts to preserve their anonymity.
Despite its obvious value, however, the investigation of eyewitnesses does
not always produce reliable conclusions, especially with regard to military oper-
ations. In order for them to be effective, examinations of this kind should be car-
ried out by historians with experience in military affairs:
For how is it possible to examine a person properly about a battle, a siege, or a sea-fight, or
to understand the details of his narrative, if one has no clear ideas about these matters? For
the inquirer contributes to the narrative as much as his informant, since the suggestions of
the person who follows the narrative guide the memory of the narrator to each incident,
and these are matters in which a man of no experience is neither competent to question
those who were present at an action, nor when present himself to understand what is
going on, but even if present he is in a sense not present (12.28a.8 – 10).
No other ancient historian discussed the process of investigating eyewitnesses

with greater insight than Polybius. For Thucydides, who likewise warned his au-
dience about the complexities involved in the undertaking, the problem lay
mainly in the prejudices and faulty memories of the informants (ἐπιπόνως δὲ
ηὑρίσκετο, διότι οἱ παρόντες τοῖς ἔργοις ἑκάστοις οὐ ταὐτὰ περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν ἔλε-
γον, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἑκατέρων τις εὐνοίας ἢ μνήμης ἔχοι, 1.22.3 – 4). Polybius, on the
other hand, highlights the vital role played by the inquirer in giving shape to
the oral reports.¹⁵ In his view, historians should be sufficiently acquainted
with the kinds of events about which they investigate so as to interview their in-
formants effectively. Even on-the-spot inspection cannot prevent them from
forming a mistaken view of what happened when they lack the experience to
know where to focus their gaze.
Polybius’ emphasis on the process of oral inquiry is indicative of the degree
of his engagement with methodological issues. Similar observations recur in the
text of the Histories with remarkable frequency: on the distinction between the
causes, pretexts and beginnings of wars (3.6 – 7); on the role of geographical in-
formation (3.36); on the priority that should be given to truth as opposed to pro-
viding amusement (2.56.10 – 13); on the composition of speeches (12.25i.5 – 9); on
 Cf. Marincola 1997, 73 – 74.

the exercise of criticism (16.20.7).¹⁶ These methodological observations, whether

occasioned by Polybius’ polemic against his fellow historians (e. g. at 3.6 – 7,
where the distinction between causes, pretexts and beginnings derives from
the confusion over the causes and beginnings of the Hannibalic War that he de-
tects in the works of other writers dealing with the subject) or generated by his
desire to justify various potentially objectionable choices that he makes (such as
when he explains the apparently contradictory opinions he expresses of certain
characters),¹⁷ are intended to reinforce the reliability of his narrative by showing
that it conforms to the fundamental principles of historiography.
Finally, Polybius calls attention to his role as a historian in the comments he
makes defending the literary tradition he represents. In terms of the beneficial
influence it can have on its readers, history, he argues, surpasses both drama
and philosophy. The purpose of the dramatic poet is to provide spectators
with transitory pleasure, while that of the historian is to provide readers with
something of lasting benefit (2.56.10 – 11). Moreover, the poet is not interested
in seeking the truth but rather only in ensuring that his words sound true and
convincing; in history, by contrast, the ascertainment of truth is the main goal
(2.56.12). As for philosophical discourse, apart from the fact that, due to its com-
plexity, it is addressed only to a small audience (6.52), it frequently deals with
strange and paradoxical themes, the discussion of which can offer young men
no practical benefit (12.25c). Polybius also presents the advantages of the type
of history he himself cultivates over those offered by the works currently in
vogue in Hellenistic historiography. Compared with narrow monographs, univer-
sal history is a more suitable means of conveying the complexity of the historical
developments occurring in his day.¹⁸ In addition, in order to fulfill its aim, his-
tory should refer to political and military deeds (πραγματική) and not to talk
that is more like the common gossip of a barber’s shop (3.20.5) or to repulsive
and distressing situations of the kind frequently encountered in the works of his-
torians who seek to impress their readers with devices employed by playwrights
in tragedy (e. g. 2.56; 7.7.1– 2).
 Cf. 3.47.6; 8.8.5 – 9; 10.21.8; 12.7.6, 12.3; 34.4; 38.4– 5 (on the pursuit of truth and impartiality);
12.25a.3 – 5, 25b.1; 36.1.7 (on speeches); 1.14.8; 6.11.7– 9; 12.14.4– 5 (on the exercise of criticism).
 Cf. his observation in 1.14.7– 8 (‘We should therefore not shrink from accusing our friends or
praising our enemies; nor need we be shy of sometimes praising and sometimes blaming the
same people, since it is neither possible that men in the actual business of life should always be
in the right, nor is it probable that they should be always mistaken’) with the way in which he
justifies the contradictory image he presents of Aratus in 4.8.
 On the superior merits of universal history see above, pp. 10 – 11 with n. 13.
5.1.3 The narrator as critic
In the foregoing analysis of Polybius’ remarks on historiography, we crossed into

the realm of his critical activity. This was inevitable since his observations on the
requirements for the proper writing of history are often accompanied by, and di-
rectly associated with, the criticisms he makes of historians that fail to meet
these requirements. The use of polemic against other writers is indeed one of
the most distinctive features of Polybius’ work. In the following I shall discuss
the remarks that express his assessments of his fellow historians, and also the
way in which his criticisms help further to reinforce the image that he wishes
to project of himself.¹⁹
Polybius’ comments on other historians are frequently intended to correct
factual errors that he has detected in their works. At 2.61– 62, for example, he
censures Phylarchus for baselessly estimating the value of the spoils taken by
the Lacedaemonians from Megalopolis at 6,000 talents when the total amount
could not have been more than 300. His most famous criticisms, however, con-
cern major issues of methodology: the use of the sensational and the dramatic
(e. g. 2.17.6, 56.6 – 10); the importance of explaining the causes behind the events
(e. g. 2.56.13 – 16); the superiority of universal history over monographs (e. g. 3.32;
7.7.6); the battle descriptions (e. g. 12.17– 22); the composition of speeches (e. g.
12.25a, 25i-26b); the necessity of political experience (e. g. 12.25f.1– 6); the parti-
ality of historians (e. g. 16.14– 15); and the insertion of digressions (e. g. 38.6). Un-
like many of his predecessors, Polybius usually names his object of criticism, but
not always. Thus, when he censures the tendency of contemporary writers of
monographs to embellish their accounts with tragic and paradoxical elements,
he refers in a general way to the historians of Hannibal (3.47.6 – 48), Hieronymus
(7.7.1– 2), Scipio (10.2.5 – 6) and Agathocles (15.34– 36) without naming them.
It has been claimed that Polybius avoids criticizing by name those historians
who deal with the same period as he does so as not to contribute to the wider
circulation of their works by calling attention to their existence.²⁰ But in terms
of numbers, of the historians that he attacks by name, eight are mentioned in
connection with the period between 264 and 146 (Philinus and Fabius Pictor,
Phylarchus, Chaereas, Sosylus, Zeno, Antisthenes and A. Postumius Albinus)
and five with that before 264 (Timaeus, Ephorus, Xenophon, Callisthenes and
Theopompus). In those cases where he makes general reference to the various
 There is an extensive bibliography on Polybius’ polemic. See Walbank (1962) 1985, 262– 79;
Lehmann 1974, 147– 200; Schepens 1974; 1975; 1990; Meister 1975; Boncquet 1982– 3; Vercruysse
1990; Marincola 1997, 229 – 33; Schepens and Bollansée 2005.
 Walbank (1962) 1985, 262.
practices of contemporary writers, usually of historical monographs, it seems

that he detects certain common features in the way they handle their material
and thus groups them together, without feeling the need to specify the object
of his criticism. It is not unlikely, too, that Polybius chooses which historians
to criticize by name and which not on the basis of their reputation. Indeed,
his criticisms are often addressed to historians whom he describes as enjoying
the reputation of being reliable authorities in their fields (e. g. Fabius and Phili-
nus (1.14.1); Phylarchus (2.56.1)).
The extent to which a writer’s reputation could prompt Polybius to include
that writer as a prominent, high-profile target in his polemic can best be seen in
Timaeus’ case.²¹ The historian from Tauromenium in Sicily had earned the ac-
ceptance and trust of a large readership. Polybius himself mentions that his ad-
mirers were so dazzled by his work (τοὺς μὲν πολλοὺς καταπέπληκται τοῖς λόγοις,
12.26d.1) that they would fiercely and obstinately dispute with anyone who at-
tempted to point out his inaccuracies (δυσέριδες γίνονται καὶ φιλόνεικοι καὶ
δυσμετάθετοι, 12.26d.4). He also wonders how a writer with so many shortcom-
ings could be regarded as a leading exponent of his genre (οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅπως ἐκφέρε-
ται δόξαν ὡς ἕλκων τὴν τοῦ συγγραφέως προστασίαν, 12.28.6) and he expresses
the hope that his remarks will be able to change the views of even those who
are very favourably disposed towards Timaeus (ἵνα δὲ καὶ τοὺς φιλοτιμότερον δια-
κειμένους μεταπείσωμεν, 12.25a.3) and who thoughtlessly believe what he says
(12.23.8).²²
Even if Polybius’ criticism of Timaeus actually springs from his intention to
push him aside in order to set himself up as the first historian of Rome,²³ the fact
is that he takes considerable care to hide such a self-serving agenda. His polemic
is centered on Timaeus’ methodological failings. He criticizes him for his tenden-
cy to fill his narrative with paradoxical and marvelous descriptions (12.24.5), for
his deliberate mendacity (12.25k.1), for his excessive fault-finding (12 passim), for
the way in which he composes his speeches (12.25a.3 ff.), for being biased
(12.26b.4) and for his decision to draw his material from books and not from
 The assessment of the motives behind Polybius’ polemic against Timaeus is a controversial
and thorny issue. Some scholars (e. g. Walbank (1962) 1985, 276 – 78; 1972, 48 – 55; Meister 1985,
49 – 63) attribute the cause to envious rivalry, while others (e. g. Levi 1963, 195 – 202; Sacks 1981,
66 – 78) to Polybius’ different approach to history writing. Lehmann 1974, 159 characterizes the
criticism on Timaeus as: ‘ein Problem eigener Art, dessen Lösung weder allein im persönlich-
emotionalen Bereich literarischer Eifersucht und Geltungstriebes, noch ausschliesslich in den
Motivationen einer rein sachlichen, methodisch-kritischen Kontroverse zu finden sein dürfte’.
 On Timaeus’ reputation and influence see Momigliano 1959, 529 – 56; Meister 1989 – 90, 55 –
65.
 Thus Walbank (1962) 1985, 276.
his own on-the-spot inspections or the inquiry of eyewitnesses (12.25d-28a). In

other words, he portrays him as embodying all those practices that should be
avoided by historians aspiring to produce works that will be of benefit to their
readers. He thus makes it clear that his harsh condemnation of Timaeus stems
primarily from a fundamental disagreement as to how history should be written.
Polybius also comments on the vehemence and acrimony with which Ti-
maeus himself launched his own attacks. He mentions some of the writers
who had had the misfortune of being targeted by him (such as Theopompus
(12.4a.2), Ephorus (12.4a.3) Aristotle (12.7– 8) and Callisthenes (12.12b)), and, in-
deed, not so much for their work as for their personal faults. In his view, Timaeus
as a critic is often carried away by his own malevolence (ἐπεσκοτημένος ὑπὸ τῆς
ἰδίας πικρίας, 12.15.10) and outsteps all bounds of propriety (τοῦ καθήκοντος
παρεκβαίνει, 12.7.1); he dwells on the defects of others and exaggerates them,
while passing over their virtues in silence (12.15.10 – 11). And he expresses his
opinions in such an authoritative manner that he creates the impression that
all other historians write while asleep and that he is the only one to subject
his material to critical scrutiny (ὥστε δοκεῖν τοὺς ἄλλους συγγραφέας ἅπαντας
συγκεκοιμῆσθαι τοῖς πράγμασι … αὐτὸν δὲ μόνον ἐξητακέναι τὴν ἀκρίβειαν καὶ
διευκρινηκέναι τὰς ἐν ἑκάστοις ἱστορίας, 12.26d.3). So Polybius indicates that in
Timaeus’ hands polemic degenerated into mere cavilling. His remarks, besides
serving to show ‘that the man in the dock deserves the treatment he is getting’,²⁴
are also a reminder of the proper aims of criticism.
Engaging in polemic against predecessors was an exceptionally widespread
practice in Greek literature. Its theoretical justification lay in the rationale of
‘negative examples’, according to which the proper way to do things could be
more effectively taught by showing what ought to be avoided.²⁵ However, its
wide distribution was due to the opportunity it offered writers to talk about
their own contributions in a covert manner.²⁶ Yet, like any form of self-praise,
even of an indirect kind, polemic may become distasteful. Polybius points out
that it is easier to find faults in others than to be irreproachable in one’s own
behaviour and that, at the end of the day, it is usually those who tend to over-
criticize others that are most prone to error (… καὶ σχεδὸν ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ἴδοι
τις ἂν τοὺς προχειρότατα τοῖς πέλας ἐπιτιμῶντας πλεῖστα περὶ τὸν ἴδιον βίον
ἁμαρτάνοντας, 12.25c.5).
 Marincola 1997, 232.

 Lucian devotes the entire first section of How to Write History (7– 32) to discussing the faults
to be avoided when writing history. Cf. also Plut. Demetr. 1.5 – 6 with Duff 1999, 46 – 47.
 On polemic’s origins and uses see Marincola 1997, 218 – 24.
Thus, in order to avoid giving further cause for censure concerning the tone
of their polemic, historians, according to Polybius, would do well to adhere to
certain principles.²⁷ When evaluating the work of others, they should restrain
their passionate and impetuous emotions. They should consider not so much
what their rivals deserve to hear as what is proper for themselves to say (οὐ τί
τοῖς ἐχθροῖς ἀκούειν ἁρμόζει, τοῦτο πρῶτον ἡγητέον, ἀλλὰ τί λέγειν ἡμῖν πρέπει,
τοῦτ᾽ ἀναγκαιότατον λογιστέον, 12.14.4– 5). Polybius points out that even in the
case of Timaeus, whose aggressive attitude would have justified harsher criti-
cism, he preferred to display moderation and not to mention any details that
would have made his fellow historian a hateful figure (12.15.12). As far as the pur-
pose of historical criticism is concerned, he sets equally high standards. At
16.20.6 he announces that criticism should be meant for general benefit (χάριν
τῆς κοινῆς ὠφελείας), and he advises his readers not to look upon the mistakes
of others as personal triumphs (καλὸν εἶναι τὸ μὴ τὰς τῶν πέλας ἁμαρτίας ἴδια
προτερήματα νομίζειν). This statement, which serves to explain his decision to
write to Zeno in person about his errors (16.20.5 – 7),²⁸ is probably the most the-
oretical of his pronouncements on the proper manner of criticism. In effect, for
most ancient Greek historians, including Polybius, the use of polemic constituted
an important means of self-definition.²⁹
Exposing the errors of other writers represents only one aspect of Polybius’
activity as critic. Another aspect manifests itself in the numerous comments
through which he intervenes in the text to assess the deeds of the characters.
The main function of these comments is to guide the narratees’ interpretation
of events.³⁰ But at the same time, they corroborate the narrator’s authority by
characterizing him as a morally integrated person whose voice many of his read-
ers would welcome as their own. His comments may refer to individuals (e. g. to
Teuta (2.4.8); Aratus (4.8.1– 6); Apelles (4.87.10 – 11); Hermeias (5.49.3 – 5); Philip
V (7.11.8 – 12); Hannibal (9.9.1– 5); Scopas (13.2– 3); Agathocles (15.34.6); L. Aemi-
lius Paullus (18.35.1– 5); Charops (32.5.7– 9); Prusias (36.15.1– 3); Diaeus and Cri-
tolaus (38.10.8)) or to ethnic and social groups (such as mercenaries (1.67.5 – 6);
the Celts (2.19.3 – 4); the Carthaginians (6.56.1– 5); the Aetolians (13.1.1– 3); the
Cretans (24.3; 28.14.1– 2); young people (31.25.4– 5); the Romans (31.26.9 – 10)).
In both cases behaviour is assessed on the basis of the same criteria. Fight-
ing ability and braveness, moral integrity, uprightness, the defence of honour
 On this topic see Boncquet 1982– 3, 277– 91.

 See Walbank 1972, 55 for a summary of different interpretations of this action.
 See Marincola 1997, 218 – 36.
 On Polybius’ didactic stance cf. Ibendorff 1930, 24 (‘schulmeisterliches Temperament’); and
Marincola 2001, 125 (‘… the teacher is never far from the scene’).
and dignity, the execution of duty and scorn of illicit gain–all earn Polybius’
praise and approval at both the individual and collective levels. On the other
hand, cowardice, baseness, dishonesty, greed, profiteering, inability to bridle
one’s passions, and lack of self-restraint and self-discipline are the most com-
mon defects against which he lifts his voice. Generally, he inveighs against
those whose lawless and irrational behaviour risks throwing society into disor-
der and chaos, while he praises those who can preserve social order through
their learning and the strength of their reasoning. The responsibility of imposing
order is primarily assigned to the adult male members of the political elite. These
are expected to restrain and control all forces of anarchy, whether they be uncivi-
lized barbarians and ignorant mercenaries or unruly young men and their wildly
passionate women.³¹
Given the abundance of evaluative observations in his work, it comes as no
surprise that Polybius explicitly discusses the problems that historians have to
deal with in apportioning praise and blame. Historians, he maintains, are not
bound by the social rule which holds that a noble man should love his friends
and his country (1.14.4). If necessary, they should lay blame on their friends and
praise their enemies in the highest terms (1.14.5). The only criterion they should
apply in making a moral assessment of their characters is their deeds. They
should, therefore, distance themselves emotionally from the figures they are
commenting upon and formulate judgments based on their actual conduct (ἀπο-
στάντας οὖν τῶν πραττόντων αὐτοῖς τοῖς πραττομένοις ἐφαρμοστέον τὰς πρεπού-
σας ἀποφάσεις καὶ διαλήψεις ἐν τοῖς ὑπομνήμασιν, 1.14.8 – 9). The same goes for
the criticism of persons in power. Polybius discerns a tendency among authors
when making remarks about kings either to bestow excessive praise in order
to flatter them (8.8.6 – 7) or to be unjustly harsh in their criticism in order to ap-
pear objective (8.11.2). In his view, kings ought to be judged in the same way as
everybody else, that is, according to their actions (8.8.8). He does, however,
admit that this is easier said than done because in many cases men are forced
by circumstances to give way, with the result that they do not record what
they observe (ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως τοῦτ᾽ εἰπεῖν μὲν εὐμαρές, πρᾶξαι δὲ καὶ λίαν δυσχερὲς
διὰ τὸ πολλὰς καὶ ποικίλας εἶναι διαθέσεις καὶ περιστάσεις, αἷς εἴκοντες ἄνθρωποι
κατὰ τὸν βίον οὔτε λέγειν οὔτε γράφειν δύνανται τὸ φαινόμενον, 8.8.8 – 9). Be-
sides, another difficulty with the evaluation of kings is that their decisions are
often not a result of their own political choices because of the interventions of
their advisers (4.24.1– 2).
 For a detailed discussion of these issues see Eckstein 1995, 118 – 60.
Problems may also arise due to the complexity of human character. Polybius
accounts for the apparently contradictory opinions he expresses of Aratus by
saying that human nature is so multifaceted that people behave in different
ways and can be less or more effective even in the same or similar situations:
So true is it that there is something multiform (πολυειδές) in the nature not only of men’s
bodies, but of their minds, so that not merely in pursuits of a different class the same man
has a talent for some and none for others, but often in the case of such pursuits as are sim-
ilar the same man may be most intelligent and most dull, or most audacious and most cow-
ardly. Nor is this a paradox, but a fact familiar to careful observers. For instance some men
are most bold in facing the charge of savage beasts in the chase but are poltroons when
they meet an armed enemy, and again in war itself some are expert and efficient in a single
combat, but inefficient when in a body and when standing in the ranks (4.8.7– 10).
Therefore, he concludes, readers should not be surprised at, or doubt, what he

says whenever he makes divergent assessments of the things accomplished by
the same characters in analogous undertakings (ταῦτα μὲν εἰρήσθω μοι χάριν
τοῦ μὴ διαπιστεῖν τοὺς ἀναγινώσκοντας τοῖς λεγομένοις, ἐάν που περὶ τῶν
αὐτῶν ἀνδρῶν ἐναντίας ἀποφάσεις ποιώμεθα περὶ τὰ παραπλήσια τῶν ἐπιτηδευ-
μάτων, 4.8.12). True historians should not hesitate to blame or praise the same
person; what is important, of course, is that they should substantiate their judg-
ments (10.21.8).
Despite all his good intentions, however, Polybius does not always succeed
in remaining objective and impartial. Often his political biases can be easily de-
tected in his judgments. Perhaps the most remarkable example concerns his par-
tisan treatment of the Achaean League and its allies. The Achaeans stand out for
their integrity and justice (2.39.10). As far as the organization of their League is
concerned, they offer its new members the equality and freedom of speech (ἰση-
γορίαν καὶ παρρησίαν) that they themselves enjoy (2.42.3). In the wars they wage
against their adversaries they prefer to be independent and to save themselves
by relying on their own strengths (2.47.2– 3). When they are compelled by circum-
stances to ask for help, they take care to select honorable and reliable allies
(2.47.5). Again, when they themselves assist others, they do not do so with the
intention of acquiring personal gain but rather in return for their aid all they de-
mand is the common freedom and unity (κοινὴν ὁμόνοιαν) of the Peloponnesians
(2.42.5 – 6).³²
The great devotion that Polybius shows to the Achaeans is matched by the
remorselessness of his attacks against their traditional rivals. The character of
the Aetolians is indeed portrayed in the blackest colours. In sharp contrast to
 See above, ch. 2 n. 34.

the Achaeans, they are by nature unjust and greedy (διὰ τὴν ἔμφυτον ἀδικίαν καὶ
πλεονεξίαν, 2.45.1). They have grown accustomed to living off the backs of others
(εἰθισμένοι μὲν ζῆν ἀπὸ τῶν πέλας, 4.3.1) and, since they need great wealth to sat-
isfy their natural ostentation (διὰ τὴν ἔμφυτον ἀλαζονείαν, 4.3.1), they lead rave-
nous and bestial lives (ἀεὶ πλεονεκτικὸν καὶ θηριώδη ζῶσι βίον, 4.3.1– 2), regard-
ing no one as a friend and everyone as an enemy (4.3.2). At the prospect of gain,
they have no hesitation in plundering even cities that are on friendly terms with
them (18.5.2– 3). Their insatiable greed cannot be contained by the boundaries of
Greece, let alone those of the Peloponnese (2.49.3 – 4). Yet if there is anything
greater than their greed, it is their hatred of the Achaeans. This induced them
to allow Cleomenes to annex the cities of Tegea, Mantinea, and Orchomenus,
‘which were not only allies of the Aetolians, but at the time members of their lea-
gue’, so that he would become a more powerful enemy of the Achaeans
(2.46.2– 4).³³
What is most striking about Polybius’ evaluative remarks is the forcefulness
with which he makes them. At 2.56 – 58, for example, he seeks to vindicate the
Achaeans for their brutality against the Mantineans in 223. The conclusion he
draws is that the Mantineans were themselves responsible for their sufferings
since through their sacrilegious treatment of the Achaeans they had violated
the common laws of war (2.58.7). They, therefore, deserved a worse fate than
the one they actually met (οὐκοῦν ὁλοσχερεστέρας τινὸς καὶ μείζονος τυχεῖν
ἦσαν ἄξιοι τιμωρίας, 2.58.10 – 11), for all that they endured was the loss of their
property and freedom (πλὴν τοῦ διαρπαγῆναι τοὺς βίους καὶ πραθῆναι τοὺς ἐλευ-
θέρους, 2.58.12). Similarly, although Aristomachus of Argos deserved for his be-
trayal toward his Achaean benefactors to be led around the Peloponnese and tor-
tured as a public spectacle until dead, ‘all the harm he suffered was to be
drowned in the sea (οὐδενὸς ἔτυχε δεινοῦ πλὴν τοῦ καταποντισθῆναι) by the of-
ficers in command at Cenchreae’ (2.60.8).
So Polybius can become very harsh while making his point. Political action
and participation in public affairs may well be indispensable qualifications for a
conscientious historian, yet they are perhaps not the most suitable means for
promoting objectivity. Polybius is well aware of the danger:
 Cf., however, Larsen 1966, 51– 55 for the relations of these cities with Aetolia. Interestingly,
as part of his argument that the Aetolian League was under no obligation to help these cities,
Larsen notes that their seizure constituted a more serious threat to Achaean than to Aetolian
interests (55), but this only reinforces Polybius’ interpretation of the Aetolian motivation. On
Polybius’ views of the Aetolians see Mendels 1984– 86; Lehmann 1989 – 90; and Champion 2007.
Now I would admit that authors should have a partiality (ῥοπάς) for their own country but
they should not make statements about it that are contrary to facts. Surely the mistakes of
which we writers are guilty and which it is difficult for us, being but human, to avoid are
quite sufficient; but if we make deliberate misstatements in the interest of our country or of
friends or for favour, what difference is there between us and those who gain their living by
their pens? For just as the latter, weighing everything by the standard of profit, make their
works unreliable, so politicians, biased by their dislikes and affections, often achieve the
same result. Therefore I would add that readers should carefully look out for this fault
and authors themselves be on their guard against it (16.14.6 – 10).
It appears, however, that the historian who hastens to warn his peers not to get
carried away by their rivalries and sympathies as politicians do–and who gener-
ally convinces readers of the sincerity of his intentions–does not always manage
to avoid running into this particular stumbling-block.
5.2 Polybius as a character
So far I have dealt with Polybius’ presence in the Histories as narrator. I have ex-
amined the functions that he serves and attempted to demonstrate that one of
the principal peculiarities of his work lies in the directness and remarkable fre-
quency with which his comments are inserted into the narrative. However, Poly-
bius also appears as a character in his work, for he had been a participant in
many of the narrated events. In fact, he mentions that his main reason for ex-
tending the Histories from its original limits was his personal involvement in
those events (3.4.13). It remains, then, to present the homodiegetic and the auto-
diegetic sections of narrative that occur in the work in order to gain some insight
into the way Polybius approaches the writing of his own deeds.
Unlike the primary narrator, the character Polybius only appears in the later
stages of the work.³⁴ His presence in the text was presumably more prevalent in
the last few books, which were largely centered around the events in which he
and his patron Scipio Aemilianus participated.³⁵ The account of the origins of
their friendship (31.23.7– 24) obviously serves as an intimation of their later,
joint action recounted in the last five books: ‘[A]fter this mutual explanation’,
we are informed at the end of the scene, ‘the young man (sc. Scipio) never
left his (sc. Polybius’) side, and preferred his society to anything else’
(31.24.12). It is probably because of the more personal orientation of the final sec-
 E.g. 24.6.3 – 7; 28.7.8 – 13, 12– 13; 29.23 – 25; 31.11– 15, 23.3 – 24; 32.3.14.
 See Walbank (1977) 1985, 328 – 43.
5.2 Polybius as a character 133
tion of his work that Polybius claims that he began to narrate the events it con-
tains ‘as if starting on a fresh work’ (οἷον ἀρχὴν ποιησάμενος ἄλλην, 3.4.13). Be
that as it may, the impact of this authorial choice on the reception of the work
does not leave Polybius unconcerned, as is evident from his lengthy comments
on the formal aspects of his self-presentation as a character:
It should cause no surprise if at times I use my proper name in speaking of myself (τῷ
κυρίῳ … ὀνόματι), and elsewhere use general expressions such ‘after I had said this’ or
again, ‘and when I agreed to this’. For as I was personally much involved in the events I
am now about to chronicle, I am compelled to change the phrases when alluding to myself,
so that I may neither offend by the frequent repetition of my name, nor again by constantly
saying ‘when I’ or ‘for me’ fall unintentionally into an ill-mannered habit of speech. What I
wish is by using these modes of expression alternately and in their proper place to avoid as
far as possible the offence that lies in speaking constantly about oneself (τὸ λίαν ἐπαχθὲς
τῆς περὶ αὑτῶν λαλιᾶς), as such personal references are naturally unwelcome, but are often
necessary when the matter cannot be stated clearly without them. Luckily I have been as-
sisted in this matter by the fortuitous fact that no one as far as I know, up to the time in
which I live at least, has received from his parents the same proper name as my own (36.12).
Polybius does not adopt this procedure for referring to himself merely for the
sake of stylistic variation. His choice clearly stems from his awareness of the dif-
ficulties inherent in speaking about oneself in a historical work.³⁶ Thus, by alter-
nating between the third person (the usual literary convention in history writing)
and the first person singular or plural (a practice typical of memoirs) when refer-
ring to himself, he attempts to moderate the irritation that might be created by
the emphasis laid on the presentation of his own actions in the last few books of
his work.³⁷
Polybius’ concern about the way in which his autodiegetic narrative will be
received is doubtless due not only to the abundance of his self-references but
also to their tone. Already in the earliest appearances in the text of Polybius
as a character and his father Lycortas it is possible to observe that they are
given an especially favoured treatment. The Achaean decision to send an embas-
sy to Ptolemy V is probably mentioned only because the two men were chosen to
participate in it (24.6). In fact, the embassy never left Achaea since Ptolemy died
before it could fulfill its goal (24.6.7). The remark that Polybius had not reached
the legal age for acting as an envoy (24.6.5) also seems to be meant as an allusion
to his worth, even if the reason for his choice is explicitly stated as being his fa-
ther’s successful involvement in an earlier mission which renewed the alliance
 On this point see Marincola 1997, 175 – 79.

 Cf. Marincola 1997, 189 – 92; Rood 2004, 154– 55.
between Ptolemy V and the Achaeans.³⁸ Lycortas’ participation in that mission

and the benefits it afforded to the Achaeans are referred to three times in all
(22.3.6, 9.2– 3; 24.6.3 – 5). Admittedly, the use of repeating narration, apart from
its main aim of highlighting the role that was entrusted to Lycortas by the
Achaean League, also serves to provide the reader with details that are not
made known in the first reference to the mission (22.3.6). What ultimately stands
out, however, is the way in which the narrator shapes his narrative (here on the
basis of the category of frequency) in order to lay greater emphasis on the ideas
he wishes to promote.
Polybius’ skills are more clearly on display in the account of the restoration
of certain Achaean honours to the Attalid king Eumenes II (28.7). Despite the in-
decision of the assembly, and unlike Eumenes’ critics, who were driven by base
motives such as personal grievances and resentment (28.7.5), Polybius managed
to please the Achaeans with his speech (28.7.14) and to persuade them to vote in
favour of restoring all honours to Eumenes–except those that were too extrava-
gant–by proving that the decision to revoke them had been unjust and illegal
(28.7.10 – 11). Polybius’ ability to influence his audience was also made evident
when his compatriots were divided over how to respond to the appeal of Ptole-
my VI and his brother Ptolemy VIII for the dispatch of military aid to Egypt
(29.24.9). The fact that his political rivals were compelled to resort to pretexts
(29.24.5 – 6) and stratagems (29.25.1– 2) to achieve their aims highlights by con-
trast his persuasive power.
The praise of Polybius is accompanied by a more apologetic tone in 28.12–
13. The episode is of particular importance because it concerns the relationship
between Polybius and Rome and, as we hear in 28.13.14, led to an accusation
against him being brought before Ap. Claudius Centho. Polybius’ account begins
by presenting the Achaeans’ decision to offer full military support to the Romans
in their invasion of Macedonia during the summer of 169 and thereby silence any
suspicions as to their loyalty to Rome (28.12.1– 2). The plan provided for a num-
ber of envoys (Polybius and others who are not named (καὶ κατέστησαν πρεσβευ-
τὰς παραχρῆμα Πολύβιον καὶ ἄλλους, 28.12.4)) to be sent ahead to Q. Marcius Phil-
ippus to inform him of the Achaean decision and, in the event of the consul ac-
cepting their offer, to receive orders (28.12.3 – 4). Polybius was to remain with the
consul to help procure supplies for the Roman army, while his fellow envoys
would return to inform the Achaeans of the decisions that had been taken
(28.12.4– 6).
 On Polybius’ rise to the leading ranks of the Achaean League see Eckstein 1992, 387– 406.
Polybius carried out his mission with great success. He informed Marcius of
the Achaeans’ favourable disposition and offer, whilst making sure to remind
him of the way in which, during the war against Perseus, the Achaean League
had eagerly done whatever the Romans had asked of it (28.13.4). Marcius was
gratified by the Achaeans’ offer, although he relieved them of the trouble and
expense of fighting because the situation did not yet call for the assistance of
allies (28.13.5 – 6).³⁹ So the other envoys returned to the Peloponnese, whereas
Polybius, in accordance with the original plan, stayed behind to help Marcius
(28.13.6). The latter, on learning that Ap. Claudius Centho was asking the
Achaeans to send him 5,000 men to Epirus, ordered Polybius to see to it that
the request was not granted (28.13.7– 8). When Polybius returned to Achaea,
he thought it expedient not to reveal Marcius’ wish, although he could not op-
pose Centho’s request without providing a pretext (28.13.10 – 11). He thus invoked
the Roman decree which stipulated that such requests of Roman commanders
could only be ratified by decisions of the Senate (28.13.11– 12). In this way, he
succeeded in getting the matter referred to Marcius, who finally relieved the
Achaeans of the obligation (28.13.13). Polybius’ stance in this matter strength-
ened the hand of those who wished to denounce him to Centho (28.13.14). The
presentation of the events, however, is meant to indicate that by doing what
he did he tried to abide by the consul’s wish and not to oppose Centho.
Again, the repeating narration of the meeting between Polybius and Marcius
(28.13.7– 8, 13.10; 29.24.2– 3, 24.7– 8) helps to ensure that the message is driven
home.
The most extensive surviving episode that presents the deeds of Polybius as
a character concerns the role he played in the escape from Rome of Demetrius I,
the future Seleucid king, who was being kept as a hostage for the behaviour of
his father, Seleucus IV (31.11– 14). Outwardly, the narrative revolves around the
 Lehmann 1967, 203 – 4 thinks that Polybius delayed meeting Marcius on purpose until there
was no need for the Achaeans to carry out their promises. In a similar vein, McGing 2010, 136
notes that Marcius does not appear to have been particularly impressed by the Achaean offer.
But Polybius attributes the cause for the delay to the military operations, which were keeping
Marcius occupied (τὴν μὲν ἔντευξιν ὑπερέθεντο διὰ τοὺς περιεστῶτας καιρούς, 28.13.2). He also
claims that Marcius was highly gratified by the offer (τὴν μὲν προαίρεσιν ἀποδεχομένου τὴν
Ἀχαιῶν μεγαλωστί, 28.13.5). Indeed, given that the Roman invasion was in progress and that the
decisive battle of the war had not yet been fought (cf. 29.23.11), it seems to me rather unlikely
that Polybius believed that a temporary delay in initiating diplomatic contacts could exempt the
Achaeans from fulfilling their promises. That Marcius’ response was unexpected, even sur-
prising, to Polybius himself is clearly shown by the way he comments on it (28.13.8): ‘It is
difficult to say whether he acted thus out of regard for the Achaeans, or from the wish to keep
Appius idle’.
fate of Demetrius, yet essentially it is Polybius who pulls the strings of the action.
Indeed, the emphasis lies not so much on the fact of the escape itself as on Pol-
ybius’ efforts to organize it. His contribution to both the conception and the re-
alization of the plan is repeatedly stressed. Not only did he suggest the idea of
escape to Demetrius (31.11.5 – 6), but he helped execute it by finding the most
suitable person to assist in the operation (31.12.8 – 13). Even when he was sick
and confined to bed, he was completely aware of what was happening as Menyl-
lus, the friend he had introduced to Demetrius to assist him, kept him informed
of all their movements (εἰδέναι δὲ πάντα τὰ πραττόμενα, 31.13.7– 8). And at a cru-
cial moment he intervened to prevent the breakdown of the plan with a coded
message urging Demetrius to set out on his journey (31.13.8 – 14).
The narrator seeks to emphasize that the Senate’s policy toward Demetrius
was unjust (παρὰ τὸ δίκαιον, 31.2.1). He provides three focalizations of this point,
each illuminating it from a slightly different angle. It is interesting to note that
these focalizations are made to reflect the specific concerns and personality of
the characters whose perspective they represent. Demetrius is thus shown to de-
fend his rights before the Senate, maintaining that he has a better claim to the
Seleucid throne than the son of Antiochus (καθήκειν γὰρ αὑτῷ μᾶλλον, 31.2.4).
Apollonius, whom the narrator characterizes as young and innocent (ἄκακος
ὢν καὶ κομιδῇ νέος, 31.11.7), later encourages Demetrius to approach the Senate
once more, on grounds of the obvious irrationality of the situation: the moment
the Romans unjustly (ἀλόγως) deprived him of his kingdom by entrusting it to
the son of Antiochus IV, Antiochus V, they should at least have set him free.
For it was totally unreasonable (ἄτοπον γὰρ εἶναι τελέως) that Demetrius should
be kept as a hostage for Antiochus’ son (31.11.7– 8). Yet the Romans, says the
(more incredulous and acquainted with their self-seeking priorities) narrator, de-
cided to help Antiochus V gain power not because Demetrius’ cause was unjust
but because such an action served their own interests (οὐ διὰ τὸ μὴ λέγειν τὰ δί-
καια τὸν Δημήτριον ἔκρινεν τὴν ἀρχὴν τῷ παιδὶ συνδιαφυλάττειν, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὸ συμ-
φέρειν τοῖς σφετέροις πράγμασιν, 31.11.11– 12).⁴⁰ The emphasis on the justness of
Demetrius’ claims helps the reader sympathize with him. At the same time, it jus-
 The reason behind their decision is mentioned in greater detail in 31.2.7: ‘The senate acted
thus, in my opinion, because they were suspicious of a king in the prime of life like Demetrius
and thought that the youth and incapacity of the boy who had succeeded to the throne would
serve their purpose better (συμφέρειν τοῖς σφετέροις πράγμασι)’. On Polybius’ awareness of the
self-interested character of Roman foreign policy see above (§1.2.3).
tifies Polybius’ decision to assist him in his attempt to escape against the will of
the Senate.⁴¹
In order to sustain the reader’s interest in the story, the narrator complicates
the plot and delays its resolution. Thus, while Demetrius appears initially to ac-
cept Polybius’ hint to rely on his own strengths (ἀλλ᾽ ἐν ἑαυτῷ τὰς ἐλπίδας ἔχειν,
31.11.5) to escape from Rome, he afterwards, influenced by Apollonius, changes
his mind and decides to make another appeal to the Senate (31.11.6 – 9). This sud-
den about-turn in the development of the plot may be brief–since the narrator
makes it clear that Demetrius’ appeal was not granted (31.11.10 – 12)–yet it suc-
ceeds in abruptly and effectively arousing the reader’s curiosity about how the
story is going to unfold. Demetrius’ retrospective recognition of the soundness
of Polybius’ advice (Πλὴν ὅ γε Δημήτριος μάτην ἐξᾴσας τὸ κύκνειον καὶ γνοὺς ὅτι
καλῶς αὐτῷ συνεβούλευεν ὁ Πολύβιος μὴ δὶς πρὸς τὸν αὐτὸν λίθον πταίειν …,
31.12.1– 2) serves both to highlight the foresight of the latter and to set the narrative
back on its expected course.
However, from this point onwards the rhythm of the narrative slows down
even more noticeably as between the conception of the escape plan and its ex-
ecution the following events intervene: Demetrius’ meeting with Diodorus,
who informs him of the current situation in Syria (31.12.2– 6); his meeting with
Polybius’ friend Menyllus, who undertakes to secure a ship for the escape and
to arrange all the technical details (31.12.9 – 13); Diodorus’ return to Syria in
order to learn of the developments there (31.13.1– 2); the announcement of the
plan to Apollonius’ brothers (31.13.2– 3); the banquet on the eve of the escape,
which almost proves disastrous, and which is probably mentioned because of
the role Polybius plays in assisting Demetrius to avoid being carried away by
his passion for drink (31.13.4– 14); the instructions given by Demetrius and his
friends to their servants in order to cover their tracks (31.14.2); and Menyllus’
agreement with the crew of the ship that was to take Demetrius away
(31.14.8 – 13). Paradoxically, the scene of the escape itself is not presented. In
31.15.1– 7 it is merely stated that the plan was so well organized that during
the whole of the next day no one in Rome realized what had happened and it
was not until the fourth day after the escape that the truth was suspected.
When the Senate finally met to consider the matter, Demetrius had already
passed the Straits of Messana (31.15.7– 8). The Patres decided not to pursue
him, partly because they understood that he was already a long distance away
 It is usually thought that Polybius acted in this case with the support of certain circles in the
Senate. Cf. Pédech 1964, 525 n. 59; Briscoe 1969, 60 – 61; Doria 1978, 127; Walbank 1979, 478; and
Reiter 1988, 144– 45. See, however, Gruen 1984, 2.664– 65; Eckstein 1995, 12.
and partly because they foresaw that they would be unable to hinder him even if
they tried (31.15.8 – 9). Polybius’ presentation invites one to ponder what might
have happened if the Senate had made a different decision, thereby heightening
the already intense suspense and ensuring the reader’s interest is maintained
until the end.
No other episodes of similar length presenting the actions of Polybius as a
character have survived in the last five books. Yet, despite their fragmentary na-
ture, it is quite permissible to assume that they were largely concerned with Pol-
ybius.⁴² Many pages were undoubtedly devoted to recounting the events in which
he was personally involved between 151 and 146. He travelled with Scipio Aemi-
lianus to Spain and Africa, where he met and interviewed the Numidian ruler
Massanissa, and crossed the Alps in Hannibal’s footsteps on his way back to
Italy. After being repatriated in 150, he went out again and joined Scipio in his
campaign in Africa. Even in its fragmentary form, it is evident that Polybius’
treatment of these events is intended to present Scipio in the most favourable
light. His decision to risk his life fighting in Spain instead of campaigning in
Macedonia in order to settle the disputes that had arisen there is applauded
as a remarkable act of courage (35.4). Scipio’s bravery stands out more clearly
as it is contrasted with the cowardice of the young Romans who, alarmed at
the reports of the Celtiberians’ valour, invented shameful excuses so as to
avoid being recruited into the army (35.4.6 – 7). His willingness helped to extri-
cate the Senate from this difficult situation by setting an example to others
(35.4.14).
Scipio is also praised in the well known episode that concludes the account
of the Third Punic War, although this time not so much for his bravery as for his
prudence (38.21– 22).⁴³ As he watched Carthage burning with Polybius at his
side, he confided to him his fear that Rome might one day suffer a similar dis-
aster (38.21.1– 2). Commenting upon his words, the narrator remarks that it
would be difficult for anyone to make a more realistic or sensible observation
(38.21.2– 3). To consider a possible reversal of fortune, he explains, while one
is at the height of one’s success and one’s enemy is at its lowest ebb, is the
mark of a complete human being and a man worthy to be remembered (ἀνδρός
ἐστι μεγάλου καὶ τελείου καὶ συλλήβδην ἀξίου μνήμης, 38.21.3). For the narrator,
therefore, Scipio represents the ideal reader of his Histories, one who has fully
absorbed the lesson that can be drawn from its study, i. e. that life is a constant
 See Walbank (1977) 1985, 341– 43; Marincola 1997, 192.

 On this episode cf. above, p. 82.
cycle of success and failure and that one should be able to face both situations
with dignity.⁴⁴
The praise of Scipio not only expresses appreciation and respect for the man
who honoured Polybius with his friendship and supported him throughout his
stay in Rome, but also highlights the important role that Polybius played in
the formation of the character of this great Roman. On hearing of Scipio’s read-
iness to engage in active service (35.4), readers might well recall the scene in
31.22 – 24, in which Scipio asked Polybius to be his mentor so as to help him
prove worthy of his family and ancestors. Polybius accepted Scipio’s proposal
with great eagerness (31.24.5 – 8): ‘I myself would be delighted (ἡδέως) to do
all in my power to help you to speak and act in a way worthy of your ancestors …
But as regards what you say now troubles you I don’t think you could find anyone
more efficient than myself to forward your effort and help you (δοκῶ μηδένα συνα-
γωνιστὴν καὶ συνεργὸν ἄλλον εὑρεῖν ἂν ἡμῶν ἐπιτηδειότερον)’. Polybius’ assistance
was indeed valuable. Scipio soon succeeded in receiving public recognition for
his prudence (31.25 ff.), but he was somewhat lacking in courage (31.29.1). By instil-
ling in him his love of hunting (προσλαβὼν τὸν τοῦ Πολυβίου πρὸς τοῦτο τὸ μέρος
ἐνθουσιασμόν, 31.29.8), Polybius helped him to distinguish himself in this sphere as
well (ἐξεφέρετο τὴν ἐπ᾽ ἀνδρείᾳ δόξαν πάνδημον, 31.29.11).
While Polybius was in the company of Scipio at Carthage, relations between
Rome and the Achaean League deteriorated palpably and led to a war between
them, which ended in a quick victory for the Romans (38.18.9 – 12).⁴⁵ When he
returned to Achaea, Polybius used his influence to act as a mediator between
the Romans and his subjugated compatriots. The incident involving the restora-
tion of the statues of Achaeus, Aratus and Philopoemen following his own rec-
ommendation indicates the confidence with which Polybius could speak to the
Romans (39.3). The ten senatorial commissioners who arrived in Greece after
the destruction of Corinth entrusted him with the task of visiting the cities
that had been lately conquered in order to regulate certain aspects of the new
settlement (39.5.2). In this way he helped people become acquainted with the
constitution imposed upon them and adjust to the new situation (ὃ δὴ καὶ
μετά τινα χρόνον ἐποίησε πρὸς λόγον τοὺς ἀνθρώπους στέρξαι τὴν δεδομένην
πολιτείαν, 39.5.3). Furthermore, through the laws that he himself drafted he con-
tributed to restoring normality and order in Greek society (39.5.5). His efforts
were recognized by his compatriots (39.5.4). Shortly before the end of the
 The mutability and fickleness of human fortune are thematized with great frequency in the
Histories. See, e. g., 2.4.3 (the events at Medion); 8.21.11 (the capture of Achaeus); 23.12.4– 6 (the
death of Philopoemen); 29.20.1– 4 (the downfall of Perseus); 38.20.1– 2 (the case of Hasdrubal).
 On the complicated politics of the period see Gruen 1976, 46 – 69.
work, Polybius mentions another trip he made to Rome, the results of which, as
he characteristically states, crowned his previous political activity (39.8.1).
5.3 Narratees
The counterpart of the narrator, the figure to whom s/he tells the story, is the
narratee. The narrative as an act of communication always includes an appeal
to an audience, even in the case of narrators who do not address anyone in par-
ticular. The narratee, then, is an integral part of the narrative process, and stands
by definition on the same level as the narrator. Thus, primary narrators have pri-
mary narratees, secondary narrators have secondary narratees, and so on.⁴⁶ In
what follows I shall analyze the various direct and indirect forms that the inter-
action between narrator and narratee assumes in the Histories in order to draw
some conclusions about the manner in which Polybius envisages and defines the
audience he is addressing.⁴⁷
The presence of the primary narratees, like that of the Polybian narrator, is
quite visible and overt. The narrator takes pains to give the impression that he
constantly has his narratees in mind. Indeed, frequently, in rounding off the sub-
jects that he deals with, he announces that he chose to present them for the ben-
efit of his narratees. This is especially the case when he attempts to justify the
length of a discussion. When, for example, he explains the reason why he con-
sidered it expedient to insert in his narrative an analysis of the distinction be-
tween the causes, pretexts and beginnings of wars, he remarks (3.7.4– 5): ‘In
speaking at such length on this matter (τὴν ἐπὶ πλεῖον διαστολὴν πεποίημαι
περὶ τούτων), my object has not been to censure previous writers (οὐχ ἕνεκα
τῆς τῶν συγγραφέων ἐπιτιμήσεως), but to rectify the ideas of students (χάριν
δὲ τῆς τῶν φιλομαθούντων ἐπανορθώσεως)’. In the same vein, at 30.9.20 – 21
he states that he has dwelt on the reckless deeds of Polyaratus and Deinon so
that anyone in a similar situation might learn how to handle it: ‘If I am asked
why I have dealt at length with the case of Polyaratus and Deinon, it was not
in order to exult over their misfortunes, which would be indeed outrageous,
but that I might by clearly exhibiting their lack of wisdom render such as find
themselves placed by circumstance in a similar situation better prepared to act
advisedly and wisely’.
 See Genette (1972) 1980, 259 – 62; Prince (1973) 1980, 7– 25.
 On Polybius’ readership see Walbank 1972, 3 – 6; Mohm 1977, 121– 229; Champion 2004, 96 –
98 and passim; Rood 2004, 157– 60; Maier 2012a, 277– 80.
5.3 Narratees 141
The most striking case of an appeal to the narratees is to be found at

16.20.8 – 9, where Polybius, in commenting upon his dispatch of a letter to the
Rhodian historian Zeno in order to point out (not in a critical spirit but for the
sake of historical truth) his errors concerning the geography of the Peloponnese,
asks his contemporary and future readers to treat him in the same way:⁴⁸
ὃ δὴ κἂν ἐγὼ παρακαλέσαιμι περὶ αὑτοῦ (τοὺς) καθ᾽ ἡμᾶς καὶ τοὺς ἐπιγινομένους, ἐὰν μὲν
κατὰ πρόθεσιν εὑρισκώμεθά που κατὰ τὴν πραγματείαν διαψευδόμενοι καὶ παρορῶντες τὴν
ἀλήθειαν, ἀπαραιτήτως ἐπιτιμᾶν, ἐὰν δὲ κατ᾽ ἄγνοιαν, συγγνώμην ἔχειν, καὶ μάλιστα πάντων
ἡμῖν διὰ τὸ μέγεθος τῆς συντάξεως καὶ διὰ τὴν καθόλου περιβολὴν τῶν πραγμάτων.
And I too will beg both my contemporaries and future generations in pronouncing on my
work, if they ever find me making misstatements or neglecting the truth intentionally to
censure me relentlessly, but if I merely err owing to ignorance to pardon me, especially
in view of the magnitude of the work and its comprehensive treatment of events.
The narrator’s communication with the narratees is not always so direct. Their
presence, nonetheless, is suggested in many different ways. The interventions
made by the narrator in connection with his authorial function (see above,
pp. 117– 120), whether they relate to the organization and structuring of the
text or to the recording of his authorial choices and clarification of dark and ab-
struse points, show the systematic way in which he maintains communication
with his narratees.
Polybius usually avoids the apostrophe to the narratee, possibly regarding it
as unsuitable for the official, solemn style of historiography. In the extant text
there are two cases in which he addresses the narratee directly, in the form of
the well-known ‘indefinite second-person’ device. In the first one, prompted by
the savagery of the Carthaginians’ mercenaries during the Libyan War, he
warns the narratee about the mentality of ignorant and fickle men in general
(1.81.8 – 9): ‘In the case of men in such a state, if we treat the disease by pardon
and kindness (οἷς ἐὰν μὲν συγγνώμην τινὰ προσάγῃς καὶ φιλανθρωπίαν), they
think we are scheming to betray them or deceive them, and become more mis-
trustful and hostile to their would-be benefactors, but, if, on the contrary, we at-
tempt to cure the evil by retaliation (ἐὰν δ᾽ ἀντιτιμωρῇ) they work up their pas-
sions to outrival ours … ’. In the second case, he tries to explain to the narratee
how much easier it is to approach Byzantium than Calchedon (4.44.2– 3): ‘… but
nevertheless it is not easy to reach Calchedon by sea, if one wishes, while to By-
zantium the current carries one whether one wishes or not (κἂν μὴ βούλῃ), as I
just said’.
 See above, n. 28.

Generally, however, Polybius adopts (as the most appropriate for his work)
an impersonal mode of expression. He often uses impersonal verbs and forms
such as ἡγητέον (e. g. 1.35.9; 2.38.9; 3.6.14; 6.2.9), νομιστέον (e. g. 1.62.6; 2.40.2;
3.10.6; 4.41.3; 18.13.5), (οὐ) χρή (1.12.8, 83.4; 2.61.8; 3.64.5; 15.35.1), and (οὐ) δεῖ
(1.14.4, 72.7; 9.32.5; 15.36.3; 27.20.1). Especially noteworthy is the phrase οὐ χρή
(or δεῖ) θαυμάζειν–it occurs a total of seven times in the text (1.12.8; 3.33.17,
57.6; 9.32.5; 36.8.6, 12.1; 38.4.1)–which he uses in order to explain his authorial
choices (as happens, for example, at 36.12.1– 2, where he refers to his decision
to alternate between first- and third-person forms when narrating his own ac-
tions: ‘It should cause no surprise if at times I use my proper name in speaking
of myself, and elsewhere use general expressions such as “after I had said this”
or again, “and when I agreed to this”’).
Frequently, too, Polybius introduces an anonymous interlocutor with whom
the narratee can identify. The views attributed to the anonymous interlocutor are
usually refuted in favour of those held by the narrator. At 2.58.9 – 11, for instance,
the ‘anonymous interlocutor’ device is used to provide a temporary answer
(which later proves insufficient) to the question of what punishment should
be meted out to the Mantineans for their deceitful behaviour towards the
Achaeans: ‘What should we consider to be an adequate punishment for them?
Someone might perhaps say (τυχὸν ἴσως εἴποι τις ἄν) that now when they
were crushed by armed force they should have been sold into slavery with
their wives and children’. The ‘anonymous interlocutor’ device may also serve
as a vehicle for presenting views that the narrator himself espouses and wishes
to communicate to his narratees. A good example of this can be seen at 5.12.5,
where Polybius, in his attempt to explain the impious actions of Philip V at Ther-
mum, turns the narratees’ attention to the influence the young king’s entourage
exerted upon him: ‘Possibly indeed we should not attach the whole blame to
Philip for what happened (Ἴσως μὲν οὖν οὐκ ἄν τις αὐτῷ Φιλίππῳ τῶν τότε γενο-
μένων πᾶσαν ἐπιφέροι τὴν αἰτίαν), taking his extreme youth into consideration,
but rather attribute it to the friends who associated and co-operated with him,
among whom were Aratus and Demetrius of Pharos’. The ‘anonymous interloc-
utor’ device is, therefore, particularly effective in creating a semblance of dia-
logue which enables the narrator to formulate and develop his arguments in a
distanced yet direct manner.⁴⁹
Another method of promoting contact with the narratees is the ‘anonymous
witness’ device, which is usually employed to help them visualize geographic in-
formation (e. g. 4.44.6 – 7: ‘For those sailing (ἄν τε γὰρ … τρέχῃ τις) with a south
 For examples from other authors see the index of de Jong, Nünlist, and Bowie 2004.
5.3 Narratees 143
wind from the Hellespont, or from the Pontus to the Hellespont with the Etesian
winds, find the course from Byzantium along the European coast to the com-
mencement of the narrows at Sestus and Abydus a straight and easy one, and
so is the return voyage to Byzantium’; 5.24.3 – 4: ‘For there is at the entrance of
the narrow passage I described above, as one approaches (ὅταν … ἐγγίζῃ τις) La-
cedaemon coming from Tegea or from any part of the interior, a certain site dis-
tant at the most two stades from the town and lying close to the river’). Τhe
‘anonymous witness’ device effectively overturns the impression of staticness
which may prevail in such cases and draws readers further into the narrative.⁵⁰
The contact between narrator and narratee is also maintained in other ways,
the most important of which are as follows:
a) Explanatory clauses that seem to answer questions that the narratees might
have (e. g. in 1.16.7– 8, where Polybius explains the readiness with which the
Roman generals accepted Hiero’s offers of peace and friendship as a result of
their concern to secure provisions: ‘for since the Carthaginians commanded
the sea (θαλαττοκρατούντων γὰρ τῶν Καρχηδονίων) they were apprehensive
lest they should be cut off on all sides from the necessities of life, in view of
the fact that the armies which had previously crossed to Sicily had run very
short of provisions’).
b) Rhetorical questions that are intended to arouse the narratees’ interest or to
persuade them to embrace the narrator’s point of view (e. g. in 4.27.2– 3,
where Polybius criticizes the Aetolians’ decision to elect Scopas as their gen-
eral: ‘… instead of punishing any of the guilty persons, to honour by electing
to their chief offices the directors of these proceedings seems to me the very
height of villainy; for how can we characterize otherwise such base con-
duct?’).⁵¹
c) The ‘presentation through negation’ device, which is used to anticipate and
contradict the narratees’ expectations (such as, for example, in 4.67.2– 3,
where the narrator reveals the reason for which the newly elected Aetolian
general, Dorimachus, invaded the highlands of Epirus: ‘for the measures
he took were all not so much meant to secure booty for himself as to inflict
damage on the Epirots’).⁵²
d) Similes and metaphors which serve to make familiar to the narratees what
otherwise might be difficult for them to conceive (e. g. in 1.58.7– 9, where
the fighting spirit of the Romans and the Carthaginians before the end of
 For a discussion of this device see de Jong 2009, 110.

 Rood 2004, 151 remarks that ‘[h]ere the question suggests some uneasiness about offering,
within a historical work, judgments in a heightened manner more redolent of the law courts’.
 On ‘presentation through negation’ see above, ch. 2 nn. 26, 27.
the First Punic War is highlighted by reference to an extra-textual experience

probably shared by Polybius and his readers: ‘We may compare the spirit
displayed by both states to that of game cocks engaged in a death-struggle.
For we often see that when these birds have lost the use of their wings from
exhaustion, their courage remains as high as ever and they continue to strike
blow upon blow, until closing involuntarily they get a deadly hold of each
other, and as soon as this happens one or other of the two will soon fall
dead’).
Polybius’ constant awareness of his narratees is, moreover, clearly shown by the
various ways he defines their identity. There are occasions, to begin with, where
he emphasizes the universal impact of his theme. At 1.1.4– 5 he claims that the
events he is about to describe are so interesting that people of all ages will be
stimulated to study them: ‘For the very element of unexpectedness in the events
I have chosen as my theme will be sufficient to challenge and incite everyone,
young and old alike, to peruse my systematic history’. And at 3.4.7– 9 he states
his conviction that the Histories will engage the attention of both current and fu-
ture generations: ‘For it is evident that contemporaries will thus be able to see
clearly whether the Roman rule is acceptable or the reverse, and future genera-
tions whether their government should be considered to have been worthy of
praise and admiration or rather of blame. And indeed it is just in this that the
chief usefulness of this work for the present and the future will lie’. Since, how-
ever, these remarks come from the first and second prefaces of the Histories re-
spectively, they can plausibly be interpreted as attempts on the part of the nar-
rator to advertise the strong points of the work by highlighting the wide range of
readers that it will attract, as well as its timeless value as an everlasting posses-
sion.
Elsewhere Polybius appears to acknowledge that his target audience will be
more narrow than the above triumphant proclamations make out, though the
limitations that he poses relate not so much to age or time as to quality. Thus,
while at 1.1.5 – 6 he excludes the possibility that anyone could be indifferent to
the events presented in his work, at 9.1.2– 5 he admits that he expects to attract
only a particular type of reader (‘I am not unaware that my work owing to the
uniformity of its composition has a certain severity, and will suit the taste and
gain the approval of only one class of reader’), and he justifies his opinion by
defining three kinds of history based on the themes they present and the sort
of audience to which they appeal: genealogy, which is attractive to the ‘casual
reader’ (τὸν φιλήκοον), accounts of colonies and city foundations, which are en-
joyed by ‘the curious and lovers of recondite lore’ (τὸν πολυπράγμονα καὶ περιτ-
τόν), and affairs of nations and rulers, which appeal to the ‘student of politics’
5.3 Narratees 145
(τὸν πολιτικόν). Many of his fellow historians, says Polybius, include all of this
heterogeneous material in their works in order to attract large numbers of read-
ers (οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἄλλοι συγγραφεῖς σχεδὸν ἅπαντες, εἰ δὲ μή γ᾽, οἱ πλείους, πᾶσι τοῖς
τῆς ἱστορίας μέρεσι χρώμενοι πολλοὺς ἐφέλκονται πρὸς ἔντευξιν τῶν ὑπομνη-
μάτων, 9.1.3 – 4). His own work, in contrast, focusing as it does on political
and military matters, is likely to seem boring to most readers (πρὸς ἓν μέν τι
γένος, ὡς προεῖπον, οἰκείως ἡρμόσμεθα, τῷ δὲ πλείονι μέρει τῶν ἀκροατῶν ἀψυ-
χαγώγητον παρεσκευάκαμεν τὴν ἀνάγνωσιν, 9.1.5 – 6) and to satisfy only the ex-
pectations and preferences of those concerned with or interested in politics.⁵³
The impression that his history is written for a particular audience is further
corroborated by the remarks the narrator makes about the type of benefit that
one can expect to gain by reading it. At 3.7.4– 7 he declares that his discussion
about the distinction between the causes, pretexts and beginnings of wars will
prove especially useful to men of action: ‘And of what use is a statesman (τί
δ᾽ ἀνδρὸς πραγματικοῦ) who cannot reckon how, why, and whence each event
has originated?’. Similarly, at 3.31.5 – 13 he argues that historical knowledge en-
ables one to recognize others’ intentions (ἀληθινῶς ἐμφαίνει τὰς ἑκάστων αἱρέ-
σεις καὶ διαλήψεις), and thereby secure the most reliable allies for oneself and
one’s country. And in 7.11.2 he mentions that the change in the behaviour of Phi-
lip V offers statesmen an example to avoid: ‘For this seems to me a very striking
example for such men of action as wish in however small a measure (τοῖς καὶ
κατὰ βραχὺ βουλομένοις τῶν πραγματικῶν ἀνδρῶν) to correct their standard of
conduct by the study of history’. Moreover, Polybius takes care to inform readers
of the knowledge and qualities that a general should possess (9.12– 20) and of
more specialized issues, such as the method of calculating the right length of
siege-ladders (9.19) and the system of fire-signalling (10.43 – 47).
Polybius’ emphasis on the usefulness of his history to political and military
men is not meant to discourage or exclude the general reader who might be in-
terested in topics such as the above. Already in the preface to the first book it is
stated that the study of history, apart from providing suitable preparation for po-
litical action, also constitutes a valuable lesson about how to endure the vicissi-
tudes of fortune by studying the misfortunes of others (1.1.2). Ordinary readers
are welcomed with the same warmth on other occasions as well. The presenta-
tion of the treaties between the Romans and Carthaginians in 3.22– 30, for exam-
ple, appeals both to politicians, who need to be accurately informed about the
 Walbank 1990, 262 argues that for Polybius the right sort of pleasure that history can offer
basically coincides with the benefit that can be derived from studying it: ‘thus the traditional
antithesis between τέρψις and ὠφέλεια is in effect dissolved by the identification of the two’. On
the role of pleasure in Polybius’ work cf. also Sacks 1981, 132– 38; d’Huys 1990, 267– 88.
matter so that they might not stray from the truth in critical debates (3.21.9 – 10),
and to the general reader (οἱ φιλομαθοῦντες). And the analysis of the Roman con-
stitution that is provided in the sixth book is aimed not only at statesmen but
also at a general audience (τοῖς φιλομαθοῦσι, 3.118.12). That the narrator fre-
quently claims that his narrative will be of benefit to men of action does not re-
duce the scope of its applicability but rather underscores its importance. In this
manner he seeks to enable the value and reliability of his work to be judged in
terms of the quality or identity of its target readership.⁵⁴ These specialized narr-
atees serve, furthermore, as figures with whom general readers can identify, flat-
tered to think of themselves as members of Polybius’ elite audience.
***
Like their more overt counterpart, the narratees in Polybius’ Histories play a sig-
nificant role in its interpretation and reception. The nature of the audience envis-
aged by Polybius contributes largely to the thematic of the narrative by influenc-
ing his choice of topics. If his narrative was not addressed to men of action, he
could obviously not have included all those details about military command in
order to satisfy their expectations and demands. The fact that he does commu-
nicate them highlights the benefits that his work can also bring to professional
politicians and military commanders. It is evident, therefore, that the way in
which the identity of the narratees is constructed in a text is a very effective
means of manipulating reader responses. Through the image that he projects
of his narratees, Polybius justifies his choice of themes, underlines the impor-
tance of his narrative, strengthens its reliability, and guides his readers’ interpre-
tation.
 Cf., e. g., 31.22.8 – 11, where the national identity of a section of the work’s target audience is
used to validate the accuracy of the account: ‘If this appears incredible to anyone, I beg him to
consider that the present writer is perfectly aware that this work will be perused by Romans
above all people (σαφῶς ὁ γράφων ᾔδει μάλιστα Ῥωμαίους ἀναληψομένους εἰς τὰς χεῖρας τὰ
βυβλία ταῦτα), containing as it does an account of their most splendid achievements, and that it
is impossible either that they should be ignorant of the facts or disposed to pardon any de-
parture from truth. So that no one would willingly expose himself thus to certain disbelief and
contempt. And this should be borne in mind through this whole work, whenever I seem to make
any startling statements about Romans’. Cf. Walbank 1972, 4; Rood 2004, 160.
Conclusions
The narrative artistry of Polybius has received little scholarly attention. Critics
have tended to discuss his views on the various political, military, moral, and
historiographical issues presented in his work or to use him as a source of val-
uable information about the historical period that he records. In this study,
which draws on narratology’s tools for analyzing texts, I have focused instead
on the narrative of the Histories, and have sought to understand the ways in
which Polybius shapes and organizes it. This does not mean, however, that I
have approached formalistic analysis as an end in itself. The technical aspects
of a text are closely related to its thematic concerns, and their examination
can be an effective method for uncovering its layers of meaning. Polybius’ use
of narrative techniques does not just guide readers’ responses, it also reveals
his own purposes and understanding.
Polybius opens his work with a series of consecutive analepses looking back
to an earlier period of the history of the Romans in order to locate a suitable,
widely known and accepted, starting point. As I hope to have shown, these ana-
lepses are particularly well integrated with the narrative that follows. Not only
do they connect the beginning and the end of the first book, but they also enable
Polybius to introduce themes that are crucial to his aim of interpreting Rome’s
rise to world domination, such as the resilience of her people in the face of ad-
verse experiences and the self-interested decision making that shapes her policy.
In this manner, they serve to promote narrative coherence, while at the same
time helping readers get familiarized with some of the main ideas of the text.
The narrative of the First Punic War, which occupies the largest part of the
first book of the Histories, is impressive both for its sophisticated structure
and its ability to arouse reader interest. The focalization does not remain
fixed, but it constantly switches back and forth between the Romans and Cartha-
ginians, allowing readers to follow events from both sides. These shifts in focal-
ization succeed in replicating the struggle between the evenly matched oppo-
nents for control of Sicily, which thus, interestingly enough, also becomes a
struggle for control of the narrative. Polybius’ even-handed treatment of the
two warring sides clearly calls into question the view that in the early books
of the Histories the Romans stand in polar opposition to their rivals. The account
of the Gallic Wars, which concludes the Roman part of the prokataskeue, and
which has been thought to especially indicate Polybius’ intention to contrast
the behaviour of the Romans with that of their opponents, conveys the same im-
pression. Here, too, as in the opening narrative section of the Histories, Polybius
does not seek to present an image of the Romans as flawless. Although he explic-
itly ascribes to the Gauls characteristics that are typically associated with barbar-
148 Conclusions
ism, he does not regard these as the sole cause of the conflicts that take place.
Instead, he also points to Rome’s share of responsibility, laying bare the aggres-
sive drive of her foreign policy.
Polybius’ compositional skills are especially evident in his handling of time.
In the main part of his history, as he enters the period in which the unification of
the oecumene begins, Polybius attempts to confront the problem of narrating si-
multaneous events by adopting an ordering method which consists in the sys-
tematic interweaving of theatres of action within the successive Olympiad
years. As I have argued, the alternation of narrative threads is employed not
merely as a structuring device or for its capacity to convey the simultaneity of
events but also as a means of conferring intelligibility and meaning upon the his-
torical material. Polybius’ use of the narrative technique of interlace creates sug-
gestive juxtapositions–as between the actions of the Carthaginians and the Ro-
mans in the preliminaries to the Second Punic War–which invite readers to re-
flect on what they have read and to make their own connections. A similar func-
tion is served by the various anachronies appearing in the text. By setting the
recounted events in a wider historical context, they, too, invest the action with
(new) meaning and suggest parallels which help readers’ understanding of is-
sues central to Polybius’ analysis.
Variations of focalization form an integral part of Polybius’ attempt to shape
his narrative. Due to its usefulness in conveying both visual impressions and
mental processes, focalization plays a crucial role in the narratives of battles
in the Histories. Success in war is shown to depend on the ability of the generals
involved to manipulate sight in ways that afford them tactical advantages and to
gain insight into their opponents’ planning and actions. The characters who win
are usually well aware of the significance of understanding the mentality of their
opponents. They seek to gather information about the enemy generals so that
they can use their weaknesses against them. In contrast, those who fail tend
to be so preoccupied with their own personal ambitions that they do not pay suf-
ficient attention to the actions of the enemy and cannot properly assess the grav-
ity of the dangers they face. The frequency with which this distinction recurs in
the Histories suggests that Polybius’ presentation of the combatants’ inner proc-
esses through focalization should be viewed as a narrative strategy informed by
hindsight and consciously employed to explain battle outcomes, and not merely,
or even primarily, as the result of his reliance on his sources.
Focalization is also of great use when it comes to presenting the motives that
lie behind the actions and decisions of the characters in the Histories. Polybius
shows an overwhelming interest in exploring the background of thoughts that
shaped the recounted events. He constantly tries to reconstruct the characters’
mindset, draws attention to their plans and aspirations, and generally is eager
Conclusions 149
to speculate about the causes of their actions. Motivation, however, is not only
Polybius’ prime technique for historical interpretation, but also a major aspect
of his narrative strategy. The presentation of motives can build up suspense by
making readers wonder whether an expectation will be realized and how far a
character will succeed in his or her plans. Indeed, Polybius often devotes a
great deal of narrative space to detailing the motives of characters who fail so
as to expose the futility of their aspirations and to invoke a sense of danger
and foreboding. His ascriptions of motivation may, moreover, reflect broader pat-
terns of human behaviour and thus serve to sensitize readers to the sort of mo-
tives they should be expecting to encounter elsewhere in the narrative, as well as
to deepen their knowledge of the human character and its ways.
Perhaps the most distinctive feature of Polybius’ Histories is the frequency of
authorial intrusions into the narrative. The Polybian narrator does not speak in the
first person only in the prefaces to the individual books. On numerous occasions
he interrupts the narrative to defend his authorial choices, comment on the events
and the characters, summarize what he has been saying, engage in polemic
against other historians, or deal with methodological issues. These metanarrative
remarks are usually employed to advance the narrator’s goals and to establish his
authority. They bolster readers’ trust in his competence to narrate the story by pre-
senting him as a conscientious and reliable writer who has taken great pains to
collect information about his topics and to make sure that the material in his
work is well-organized. At the same time, they are the most direct means by
which the narrator communicates his perspective on the events of the narrative
and maintains contact with the narratees. The dynamic relationship between Pol-
ybius and his narratees has its own implications for the construction of his author-
ity. The manner in which he envisages his target audience allows him to justify his
choice of themes and to highlight the value of his work.
Although Polybius’ narratorial persona is intended, in large part, to address or
refute potential objections, its forceful presence has often had the opposite effect,
giving rise to much criticism. Scholars have repeatedly emphasized the narrator’s
explicit didactic stance and his tendency to express his own point of view. Unlike
his great predecessors, Polybius is usually regarded as an author who seeks to
guide rather than invite responses and who leaves little room for interpretation
on the part of the reader. And yet, his account of Rome’s rise to world domination
has inspired some of the most heated debates in the field of ancient history. De-
spite their great frequency, the narrator’s comments cannot overshadow the com-
plexity and fascination of the narrative. For Polybius, the value of his work resides
in its potential to meet the needs of both present and future audiences. The various
techniques which he uses to shape his narrative contribute to enabling the Histor-
ies’ meaning to remain alive, always open to fresh interpretations.
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Index Locorum
Aristotle Plutarch
Poetics Demetrius
1450b34 – 6 11 n. 12 1.5 – 6 127 n. 25
1459a20 11 n. 12
Rhetoric Polybius
1368a29 7 n. 4 1.1.1 – 2 7
1.1.2 7, 77 n. 35, 145
Diodorus 1.1.3 7
20.43.7 22 n. 36, 58 1.1.4 8
1.1.4 – 5 144
Dionysius of Halicarnassus 1.1.5 8, 36, 80, 116
Antiquitates Romanae 1.1.5 – 6 8, 144
20.4 – 5 24 n. 41 1.1.6 8
20.5.1 23 1.2.1 9
De Thucydide 1.2.2 – 8 9
16 15 n. 22 1.2.7 – 8 12
1.3.1 13
Duris of Samos, FGrH 76 1.3.1 – 3 10
F1 22 n. 36 1.3.2 15
1.3.4 10
Herodotus 1.3.7 12
1.84 89 n. 10 1.3.10 12
1.84.3 89 n. 10 1.4.1 10
1.4.2 7, 11
Isocrates 1.4.3 10
Ad Nicoclem 1.4.4 10
35 7 n. 4 1.4.7 – 8 11
Archidamus 1.5.1 15
59 7 n. 4 1.5.1 – 2 12
1.5.3 16
Livy 1.5.5 16
30.4.8 110 n. 46 1.6.2 – 3 50 – 51
1.6.3 16, 50
Pausanias 1.6.4 17
4.31.4 – 5 78 1.6.6 17, 26
1.6.6 – 7 50
Plato 1.6.6 – 8 26
Phaedrus 1.6.8 17, 23
264c 11 n. 12 1.7.1 21
Philebus 1.7.2 21
64b 11 n. 12 1.7.3 22
Politicus 1.7.5 21, 23
277b 11 n. 12 1.7.6 22
1.7.7 22
160 Index Locorum
1.7.8 21 – 22, 24 n. 42 1.23.3 41

1.7.9 22 – 23 1.23.6 33
1.7.12 22 1.23.10 – 24.1 42
1.7.12 – 13 24, 27 1.24.1 34
1.7.13 22 1.24.3 – 6 42
1.8.1 23 1.24.4 42
1.8.3 23 1.24.6 42
1.8.3 – 9.2 18 1.25.5 34, 42
1.9.4 19 1.25.5 – 26.1 95
1.10 – 11 22 1.26.1 – 2 43
1.10.4 23 n. 41 1.26.8 41
1.10.4 – 5 27 1.28 ff. 39
1.10.5 – 9 95 – 96 1.28.12 – 13 34
1.10.7 – 9 24 1.28.13 – 14 42
1.11.2 – 3 24 1.29.4 95
1.12.6 13, 15 1.30.1 – 8 42
1.12.7 16 1.30.9 – 15 42
1.12.8 13, 142 1.31.1 44
1.13 117 1.31.8 41
1.13.5 15 1.32.2 44
1.13.6 – 7 14 n. 20 1.32.7 41
1.13.6 – 9 118 1.32.8 39
1.13.11 30 1.33.2 – 4 39
1.14.1 126 1.33.5 41
1.14.4 129, 142 1.34 39
1.14.5 129 1.34.1 – 2 42
1.14.7 – 8 124 n. 17 1.35.4 – 5 40
1.14.8 – 9 129 1.35.5 92 n. 14
1.16 – 17.1 42 1.35.6 – 10 77 n. 35
1.16.4 – 17.1 18 n. 26 1.35.9 142
1.16.7 – 8 143 1.36.1 – 3 42
1.17.3 41 1.37.1 34
1.18.1 43 1.37.1 – 6 44
1.18.11 18 n. 26 1.37.3 34, 44
1.19.9 – 15 42 1.37.6 45
1.20 – 21.5 42 1.37.7 35
1.20.1 – 3 26 1.37.7 – 10 35
1.20.2 – 3 95 1.37.8 – 9 34
1.20.5 34 1.38.1 41
1.20.6 33 1.38.5 36
1.20.7 33 1.38.6 36
1.20.8 33 1.39.6 34, 42
1.20.11 36 1.39.7 – 15 42
1.20.12 – 13 34 1.40.3 41
1.20.12 – 14 36 1.41.1 43
1.20.15 – 16 36 1.43.2 45
1.21.7 – 8 42 1.43.3 – 4 45
Index Locorum 161
1.43.7 45 1.81.5 – 9 46
1.44.7 43 1.81.8 – 9 141
1.45.11 42 1.81.10 47
1.46 92 n. 14 1.83.4 142
1.46.1 – 7 42 1.84.9 46
1.46.4 – 47.10 37 1.85.1 46
1.46.10 37 1.86.7 46
1.46.13 37 1.88.7 31
1.47.4 37 2.1.4 14 n. 20
1.47.9 – 10 37 2.2 – 4 48
1.47.10 38 2.2.2 48
1.51.3 – 12 34 2.2.7 49
1.51.11 – 12 42 2.2.8 – 9 49
1.52.4 – 8 42 2.2.11 49
1.54.8 34, 42 2.3.1 – 3 49
1.57 17 n. 25 2.4 – 5 51
1.57.1 – 7 41 2.4.1 – 2 49
1.57.6 41 2.4.3 139 n. 44
1.58.7 – 9 41, 143 2.4.3 – 4 49
1.59.3 – 4 33 2.4.5 49
1.59.4 – 8 36 2.4.8 54 n. 46, 128
1.59.5 33 2.5.3 – 8 50
1.59.8 38 2.7.6 54 n. 46
1.59.11 33 2.7.12 51
1.61.5 – 8 36, 42 2.8.2 51
1.62.1 41 2.8.6 – 13 50
1.62.1 – 6 42 2.8.12 54 n. 46, 99
1.62.6 142 2.11.5 – 6 51
1.63.4 31 2.11.6 51
1.63.7 – 8 31 2.11.8 52
1.63.9 – 64.1 17 n. 24 2.11.10 52
1.65.1 46 2.11.11 52
1.65.2 46 2.11.12 52
1.65.3 – 4 46 2.12.3 50
1.65.5 – 6 14 n. 20 2.12.6 50
1.67.3 – 12 46 2.14.1 14 n. 20
1.67.5 – 6 128 2.15.8 – 9 51
1.68.8 – 10 46 2.17.3 51
1.68.13 46 2.17.6 125
1.70.5 – 6 46 2.17.10 51
1.70.9 – 71.7 47 2.18 – 20 51
1.71.4 47 2.18 – 21 55
1.71.5 47 2.18.1 51
1.72.7 142 2.18.3 50
1.73.7 47 2.19.1 – 5 51
1.80.8 46 2.19.3 – 4 128
1.80.12 46 2.19.9 – 10 51
162 Index Locorum
2.20.1 55 2.56.13 – 16 125

2.20.8 – 10 50 2.57.2 75
2.20.9 – 10 17 n. 25 2.57.5 75
2.21.2 51 2.58.2 75
2.21.2 – 3 54 n. 46 2.58.4 76
2.21.8 55 2.58.4 – 5 76
2.21.9 55 2.58.7 131
2.22.2 – 6 51 2.58.7 – 8 76
2.23.12 – 13 55 2.58.9 – 11 142
2.26.4 – 7 56 2.58.10 – 11 131
2.29.9 56 2.58.12 131
2.31.8 56 2.60.8 131
2.31.9 – 10 52 2.61 – 62 125
2.34 56 2.61.8 142
2.35.2 31 2.71.7 – 10 117
2.35.2 – 4 51 3.1.3 14 n. 20
2.35.2 – 10 54 3.1.4 11 n. 13
2.35.3 54 3.2 – 3 117
2.35.6 51, 54 3.2.6 20 n. 33
2.35.7 54 3.4.7 – 9 144
2.36.1 118 3.4.13 11, 132 – 33
2.37.3 13, 14 n. 20 3.5.9 13
2.37.5 15 3.6 – 7 123 – 24
2.38.7 48 3.6.14 142
2.38.8 – 9 49 3.7.2 99
2.38.9 142 3.7.4 – 5 140
2.39.10 130 3.7.4 – 7 145
2.40.2 142 3.9.6 – 12 66
2.42.3 130 3.10 – 11 66
2.42.5 – 6 130 3.10.2 – 3 75
2.45.1 131 3.10.6 142
2.46.2 – 4 131 3.11 80
2.46.3 – 4 96 3.13.5 – 7 68
2.47.2 – 3 130 3.13.8 68
2.47.5 130 3.14.4 – 6 68
2.49.2 95 3.15 66
2.49.3 – 4 95, 131 3.15.4 – 6 65
2.49.4 – 5 95 3.15.6 66
2.56 124 3.15.6 – 7 66, 113
2.56.1 126 3.15.7 – 11 65
2.56.2 96 n. 26 3.15.9 – 11 66
2.56.6 – 10 125 3.15.10 66
2.56.7 – 10 22 n. 36 3.15.13 66 – 67
2.56.8 22 n. 36 3.16.1 66 – 67
2.56.10 – 11 124 3.16.2 65
2.56.10 – 13 123 3.16.4 66
2.56.12 124 3.16.5 67
Index Locorum 163
3.16.5 – 6 67 3.61.6 – 7 73
3.16.6 68 3.61.7 – 8 73
3.16.7 – 17.2 67 3.61.9 73
3.17.4 – 8 67 3.64.4 – 9 79
3.17.4 – 11 68 3.64.5 142
3.17.10 68 3.68.9 79
3.17.11 67 3.68.12 – 13 100
3.18.1 65 3.69.12 – 14 100
3.19.12 – 20.1 69 3.70.1 – 2 100
3.20.5 124 3.70.4 – 6 101
3.21.9 – 10 146 3.70.7 101 – 2
3.22.3 – 4 121 3.70.8 – 9 101
3.31.5 – 13 145 3.70.9 – 10 101
3.32 119 n. 11, 125 3.70.10 71
3.32.1 – 5 64 3.70.12 101
3.32.2 64 3.72.2 100
3.32.4 64 3.73.1 71
3.32.10 11 n. 13 3.75.1 79
3.33.8 68 3.77.4 113
3.33.17 142 3.78.1 – 4 107
3.33.17 – 18 120 3.80.3 102
3.34.7 – 9 68 3.80.3 – 4 102
3.34.9 68 3.80.4 102
3.35.8 71 3.80.4 – 5 102
3.36 123 3.80.5 102 – 3
3.39.12 72 3.81 102 – 3
3.41.8 73 3.81.12 103
3.41.8 – 9 72 3.82.4 102
3.44.3 – 4 72 3.82.7 – 8 102
3.45 72 3.82.8 100
3.45.2 – 3 73 3.86.6 – 7 69
3.45.3 – 4 73 3.86.10 100
3.45.4 73 3.86.11 114
3.47.6 – 48 125 3.89.3 105
3.48.12 121 – 22 3.89.3 – 4 103
3.50.1 72 n. 25 3.89.4 104 n. 39
3.50.5 – 51.12 72 n. 25 3.89.5 – 8 104
3.52.2 72 n. 25 3.90.6 103
3.53.1 – 3 72 n. 25 3.91.10 90 n. 11
3.56.1 – 5 71 3.94.9 – 10 104
3.56.5 – 6 71 3.94.10 104
3.57.1 70 – 71 3.102.8 100
3.57.6 142 3.102.8 – 9 104
3.59.1 – 3 122 3.103.1 – 4 104
3.59.7 – 9 121 3.103.4 100
3.61.4 – 5 73 3.103.5 – 6 104
3.61.5 73 3.103.7 104
164 Index Locorum
3.103.7 – 8 104 5.3.7 – 10 97

3.103.8 104 5.4.1 97
3.104.1 104 5.4.10 97 n. 28
3.104.1 – 2 104 5.5.5 97 n. 28
3.105.1 92 n. 13 5.5.8 – 11 98
3.105.4 – 5 104 5.5.10 – 11 97
3.105.5 104 5.5.12 97
3.105.8 105 5.6.1 75
3.105.9 105 5.7.3 97 n. 28
3.105.10 – 11 105 5.7.4 – 5 98
3.112.6 – 9 69 5.7.4 – 6 97
3.112.7 – 8 113 5.9 – 10.8 77
3.112.9 120 5.9.7 – 12.4 116
3.118.5 – 9 81 5.12.5 142
3.118.8 – 12 119 5.12.5 – 8 79, 80 n. 42
3.118.12 146 5.14.11 – 12 97 n. 28
4.1.1 – 3 117 5.16.9 – 10 98
4.2.3 122 5.16.10 98
4.3.1 131 5.24.3 – 4 143
4.3.1 – 2 131 5.27.8 98
4.3.2 131 5.30.8 117
4.8 124 n. 17 5.31.8 75
4.8.1 – 6 128 5.32.1 – 5 6 n. 1
4.8.7 94 n. 20 5.33.2 11 n. 13
4.8.7 – 10 130 5.33.8 118
4.8.12 130 5.40.4 75
4.20 – 21 116 5.49.3 – 5 128
4.24.1 – 2 129 5.52.4 75
4.27.2 – 3 143 5.104.3 – 4 95
4.28.2 64 5.111.9 – 10 117
4.28.3 63 5.111.10 118
4.28.4 – 5 64 6.2.4 – 7 119
4.37.4 – 5 118 6.2.9 142
4.39.6 78 6.9.12 – 14 82
4.41.3 142 6.44.3 – 8 103 n. 37
4.43.6 – 7 78 6.52 124
4.44.2 – 3 141 6.52.4 – 5 21
4.44.6 – 7 142 6.56.1 – 5 128
4.67.2 – 3 143 6.56.7 – 8 120
4.82.3 98 7.3.4 98
4.84.7 – 8 97 7.7 77 n. 33
4.85 98 7.7.1 – 2 124 – 25
4.86 98 7.7.6 125
4.87.10 – 11 128 7.7.8 76
5.2.8 98 7.8 77
5.2.8 – 9 97 7.8.1 – 2 77 n. 33
5.3 – 4 97 7.8.1 – 8 77 n. 33
Index Locorum 165
7.8.3 77 n. 33 9.9.3 70 n. 22
7.11.2 145 9.12 – 20 19 n. 29
7.11.8 – 12 128 9.12.9 – 10 70 n. 22
7.12.2 – 4 120 9.13.1 – 5 107 n. 42
7.13.2 118 9.17 77
7.13.2 – 5 80 n. 42 9.18.1 – 4 77
7.13.4 – 14.3 79 n. 42 9.18.5 – 9 77
7.15.1 88 9.19.1 – 4 77
7.15.2 88 – 89, 92 9.22.10 94 n. 21
7.15.3 – 4 88 9.23 77
7.15.4 89 9.23.2 94 n. 20
7.15.4 – 6 88 9.23.3 94 n. 20
7.15.6 89, 120 9.23.4 94 n. 21
7.15.8 89, 92 9.23.5 94 n. 21
7.15.9 89 9.23.6 – 7 94 n. 20
7.16.3 – 4 89 9.24.2 – 3 94 n. 20
7.17.1 89 9.25.2 – 4 122
7.17.2 89, 92 9.25.5 – 6 122
7.17.4 89 9.26.1 94 n. 21
7.17.4 – 5 89 9.28.7 – 8 96
7.17.5 – 6 90 9.28.8 96
7.17.7 – 8 90 9.32.5 142
7.18.8 90 9.33.11 – 12 96
8.2 11 n. 13 9.37.10 78
8.3.3 92 n. 14 9.38.2 78
8.7 – 11.7 9 n. 9 9.38.3 – 4 78
8.7.7 92 n. 14 9.39.5 78
8.8.6 – 7 129 9.44 11 n. 13
8.8.8 129 10.2.5 – 6 125
8.8.8 – 9 129 10.2.13 111
8.9 17 n. 25 10.4 – 5 111 n. 49
8.10 76 10.5.8 111 n. 48
8.11.2 129 10.6.8 111
8.11.3 15 n. 22 10.6.12 111 n. 48
8.12.2 – 3 99 10.7.1 111
8.17.10 – 11 82 10.7.3 – 4 111 n. 48
8.21.10 70 n. 22 10.7.4 111
8.21.11 139 n. 44 10.7.5 111
8.35 77 10.8.1 111
8.35 – 36 116 10.8.2 111
9.1 – 2 119 n. 11 10.8.7 111
9.1.2 – 5 144 10.9.1 111
9.1.3 – 4 145 10.9.2 – 3 111 n. 48
9.1.5 – 6 145 10.11.8 111
9.2.2 8 10.14.10 – 11 111 n. 49
9.2.2 – 4 7 10.14.14 – 15 111
9.9.1 – 5 128 10.21.8 130
166 Index Locorum
10.33.5 103 n. 37 14.1.5 – 6 106

11.8.1 – 3 19 n. 29 14.1.8 106
12.4a.2 127 14.1.11 – 12 108
12.4a.3 127 14.1.13 107
12.4c.3 – 4 122 14.2.1 107 n. 41
12.4c.4 122 14.2.4 107
12.4c.5 122 14.2.5 – 8 108
12.7 – 8 127 14.2.8 – 9 108
12.7.1 127 14.2.9 107
12.12b 127 14.2.10 107 – 8
12.14.4 – 5 128 14.2.11 107
12.15.10 127 14.3.1 107
12.15.10 – 11 127 14.3.2 – 3 108
12.15.12 128 14.3.3 108
12.17 – 22 76, 125 14.3.5 107, 111
12.23.8 126 14.3.7 107 n. 41
12.24.5 126 14.4.3 109
12.25a 125 14.4.4 – 5 107 n. 41
12.25a.3 126 14.4.8 109 n. 44
12.25a.3 ff. 126 14.4.9 109
12.25c 124 14.4.10 109
12.25c.5 127 14.5.1 109 n. 44
12.25d-28a 127 14.5.5 109
12.25f 9 n. 9, 76 14.5.15 109
12.25f.1 – 6 125 14.6.6 – 9 112
12.25i-26b 125 14.9.6 – 7 112
12.25i.5 – 9 123 14.12.4 – 5 61
12.25k.1 126 15.1.10 – 12 106 n. 40
12.26b.4 126 15.3.5 – 7 99
12.26d.1 126 15.6.4 – 8 113
12.26d.3 127 15.7.1 113
12.26d.4 126 15.7.3 – 5 113
12.27.7 – 8 122 15.7.5 113
12.28.6 126 15.16.4 114
12.28a.8 – 10 123 15.16.5 114
13.1.1 – 3 128 15.16.6 114
13.2 – 3 128 15.20 80
13.3 110 15.20.6 – 8 80
13.3.1 110 15.25.19 62
13.3.3 – 4 110 15.34 – 36 125
13.3.5 – 6 110 15.34.6 128
13.3.6 110 15.35.1 142
13.3.7 110 15.36.3 142
14.1a.3 99 16.14 – 15 125
14.1a.5 106 16.14.6 – 10 132
14.1.2 – 5 106 16.16 – 17 121
14.1.5 107 n. 41 16.20.5 – 7 128
Index Locorum 167
16.20.6 128 28.13.5 – 6 135

16.20.7 124 28.13.6 135
16.20.8 – 9 141 28.13.7 – 8 135
16.28.9 17 n. 25 28.13.8 135 n. 39
18.5.2 – 3 131 28.13.10 135
18.13.5 142 28.13.10 – 11 135
18.14.7 96 n. 25 28.13.11 – 12 135
18.20.4 – 5 90 28.13.13 135
18.20.5 – 6 90 28.13.14 134 – 35
18.20.6 – 7 90 28.14.1 – 2 128
18.20.7 90 28.16.10 – 11 62
18.21.3 91 29.5 119
18.22.2 91 29.8.5 17 n. 25
18.22.7 91 29.8.10 123
18.23.1 91 29.12 11 n. 13
18.25.5 91 29.20.1 – 4 139 n. 44
18.25.7 91 29.21.3 – 6 9 n. 8
18.26.6 – 7 91 29.21.7 9 n. 8
18.26.7 91 29.23.11 135 n. 39
18.26.7 – 8 91 29.24.2 – 3 135
18.26.8 92 29.24.5 – 6 134
18.35.1 – 5 128 29.24.7 – 8 135
20.9.10 – 12 52 n. 42 29.24.9 134
21.11.13 82 29.25.1 – 2 134
22.3.6 134 30.9.20 – 21 140
22.9.2 – 3 134 31.2.1 136
23.12.4 – 6 139 n. 44 31.2.4 136
24.3 128 31.2.7 136 n. 40
24.6 133 31.11.5 137
24.6.3 – 5 134 31.11.5 – 6 136
24.6.5 133 31.11.6 – 9 137
24.6.7 133 31.11.7 136
24.10.8 80 31.11.7 – 8 136
27.9.2 17 n. 25 31.11.10 – 12 137
27.10.5 119 31.11.11 – 12 27, 136
27.20.1 142 31.12.1 – 2 137
28.7 134 31.12.2 – 6 137
28.7.5 134 31.12.8 – 13 136
28.7.10 – 11 134 31.12.9 – 13 137
28.7.14 134 31.13.1 – 2 137
28.12.1 – 2 134 31.13.2 – 3 137
28.12.3 – 4 134 31.13.4 – 14 137
28.12.4 134 31.13.7 – 8 136
28.12.4 – 6 134 31.13.8 – 14 136
28.13.2 135 n. 39 31.14.2 137
28.13.4 135 31.14.8 – 13 137
28.13.5 135 n. 39 31.15.1 – 7 137
168 Index Locorum
31.15.7 – 8 137 38.6.3 – 6 63

31.15.8 – 9 138 38.10.8 128
31.21.6 – 7 26 38.18.8 – 9 17 n. 25
31.22.8 – 11 146 n. 54 38.18.9 – 12 139
31.23.7 – 24 132 38.20.1 – 2 139 n. 44
31.24.5 – 8 139 38.21.1 – 2 138
31.24.12 132 38.21.2 – 3 138
31.25.4 – 5 128 38.21.3 138
31.26.9 – 10 128 38.22.1 – 3 82
31.29.1 139 39.1.8 17 n. 25
31.29.8 139 39.3 139
31.29.11 139 39.3 – 8 117 – 18
32.5.7 – 9 128 39.5.2 139
32.11.2 – 5 60 39.5.3 139
32.11.6 – 7 61 39.5.4 139
32.13 27 39.5.5 139
34.5.2 – 9 122 n. 13 39.8 15
35.4 138 – 39 39.8.1 140
35.4.6 – 7 138 39.8.4 15
35.4.14 138 39.8.6 15
36.1 119 n. 11
36.2.2 27 Posidonius, FGrH 87
36.2.4 27 T1 15 n. 22
36.8.6 142 Pseudo-Scylax (see GGM I)
36.9.3 – 4 84 98 78
36.9.4 84
36.9.5 84 Strabo
36.9.6 – 7 84 Historiae, FGrH 91
36.9.7 – 8 84 T2 15 n. 22
36.9.10 – 11 84
Thucydides
36.9.11 84
1.15.1 32
36.9.13 84
1.22 7 n. 4
36.9.16 84
1.22.3 – 4 123
36.12 133
1.68 ff. 35
36.12.1 142
1.70.2 35
36.12.1 – 2 142
1.70.3 35
36.15.1 – 3 128
2.48.3 7 n. 4
38.2 78
4.25.4 78
38.4.1 142
4.66 ff. 68 n. 19
38.5.1 – 3 63
5.65.3 85 n. 2
38.5.4 63
8.87 85 n. 2
38.5.9 63
38.6 125 Xenophon
38.6.1 63 n. 11 Hellenica
38.6.1 – 3 63 1.1 15 n. 22
38.6.2 – 4 63 n. 11 7.5.27 15 n. 22
38.6.3 63 n. 11
General Index
Abilyx 98 Antiochus IV Epiphanes 136

Abydus 143 Antiochus V Eupator 26, 136
Acarnanians 75, 96 Antisthenes of Rhodes 125
Achaea 133, 135, 139 Apelles 97 – 98, 128
Achaean League 48, 75, 130, 134 – 35, 139 Apollonians 52
Achaeans 48, 75, 80, 95 – 96, 130 – 31, Apollonius 136 – 37
134 – 35, 142 Apulia 101 n. 36
Achaeus, Achaean eponymous hero 139 Aratus of Sicyon 15 n. 22, 22 n. 36, 75 – 77,
Achaeus, Syrian rebel 82, 89 – 90, 139 n. 44 79, 80 n. 42, 94 n. 20, 95 – 99, 124
Acilius Glabrio, M. 52 n. 42 n. 17, 128, 130, 139, 142
Acrocorinth 120 Archidamus 77
Adrastus 98 n. 29 Archimedes 92 n. 14
Adys, battle of 42 Ardiaei 53
Aegospotami, battle of 16 Ariarathes V 60 – 61
Aegusa, battle of 36, 41 – 42 Aristomachus of Argos 131
Aemilius Paullus, L. (cos. 219, 216) 67, 69 Aristotle 127
Aemilius Paullus, L. (cos. 182, 168) 128 Asia 2, 9 – 10, 59 – 60, 82, 117
Aetolia 131 n. 33 Assyria 82
Aetolian League 99, 131 Athenians 34 – 35, 68 n. 19, 77, 84
Aetolians 48 – 49, 75, 78, 95 – 96, 99, 128, Athens 32, 61, 78, 84 n. 1
130 – 31, 143 Atilius Regulus, M. 41
Africa 2, 59, 68, 95, 106, 110 – 13, 117, 121, Atys 98 n. 29
138 Aufidus, river 117
Agathocles, Alexandrian politician 77 n. 34,
125, 128 Babylonia 75
Agathocles of Syracuse 77 n. 34, 94 n. 20 Bal, M. 3
Agelaus 95 Boeotia 68 n. 19
Agrigentum 25, 42, 95 Boii 52, 55
Alexander the Great 78 Bosphorus 78, 121
Alexandria 62 Brasidas 68 n. 19
Alexon 45 Brennus 16, 50
Alps 71, 72 n. 25, 73, 121 – 22, 138 Byzantines 121
Althaea 68 Byzantium 60, 141, 143
amicitia 53
Ammianus Marcellinus 15 n. 22 Calchedon 141
analepsis 13, 16, 18, 28, 50, 147 and §3.3.1 Callicrates 80
passim Callisthenes 76, 125, 127
‘anonymous interlocutor’ device 142 Camarina 34, 44
‘anonymous witness’ device 142 – 43 Cannae, battle of 80 – 81, 103, 112 – 13, 119
Antalcidas, Peace of 16 Cappadocia 60
Antigonus I Monophthalmus 31 Carthage 10, 12, 21, 24, 25 n. 45, 26, 27
Antigonus III Doson 75, 77, 95 n. 47, 37, 50, 52 n. 42, 60, 62, 82, 84 –
Antiochus III the Great 10, 28 n. 50, 75, 80, 85, 95, 112, 117, 138 – 39
82, 88 – 90, 117 Carthaginians
170 General Index
– characteristics of 40 – 41 Diodorus of Sicily 22 n. 36, 58

– naval experience 33 – 34 Diodorus, tropheus of Demetrius I 137
– problems during Mercenary War 20, 45 – Dionysius of Halicarnassus 23, 24 n. 41
47 Dionysius the Elder 16, 77 n. 34
– reliance on mercenaries 21, 45 Dorimachus 143
Celtiberians 138 Drepana, battle of 34
Cephallenia 97 Duris of Samos 22 n. 36
Chalcis 97
Chaereas 125 Ecnomus, battle of 34, 42, 95
Champion, C. B. 25, 52 Egypt 2, 60, 62, 80, 117, 134
Charops 128 Eleans 97
Chlaeneas 96 Elleporus, battle of 16
Claudius Centho, Ap. 134 – 35 Ephorus 63 n. 11, 76, 122, 125, 127
Cleomenes III 77, 94 n. 20, 95 – 96, 117, 131 Epidamnians 52
Cleomenic War 75 – 76, 96 Epirots 143
Coele-Syria 10, 60 – 61 Epirus 50, 135, 143
Corcyreans 51 – 53 Etruria 100, 101 n. 36, 103
Corinth 139 Etruscans 17
Corinthians 35 Eumenes II 119, 123, 134
Cornelius Scipio, P. 70, 73, 100 – 1
Cornelius Scipio Africanus, P. 106 – 14, 125 Fabius Maximus, Q. 103 – 5
Cornelius Scipio Africanus Aemilianus, P. Fabius Pictor, Q. 95, 125 – 26
85, 132, 138 – 39 Faliscans 46
– predicting Rome’s decline 82 Flaminius, C. 55, 100, 101 n. 36, 102 – 3, 105
counterfactuals 45 focalization 3, 25, 33, 35, 42, 55 – 56, 67,
Cratippus 15 n. 22 115, 136, 147 – 48 and ch. 4 passim
Cretans 128 frequency 134
Critolaus 128 Fulvius Flaccus, Q. 52
Croesus 98 n. 29
Cynaetha 77 Gauls (Celts)
Cynoscephalae, battle of 90 – attack on Delphi 54
Cyrus 89 n. 10 – capture of Rome 16, 50
– characteristics of 51, 55 – 56, 101 n. 35,
Dalmatians 27 147 – 48
Davidson, J. 87 – wars against Rome 50 – 51, 54 – 57, 147
Decius 22, 24 n. 41 Gelo 76
deditio in fidem 52 – 53, 84 Genette, G. 3, 86, 115
Deinon 140 Gesco 46
Delphi 54 Great Plains, battle of 112
Demetrius I Poliorcetes 31 Greece 2, 9 – 10, 15 – 16, 32 n. 7, 54, 60 – 63,
Demetrius I Soter of Syria 26, 135 – 37 68 n. 19, 80, 84 – 85, 95, 117 – 18, 131,
Demetrius II of Macedon 49, 117 139
Demetrius of Phalerum 9 n. 8 Greeks 6 n. 2, 8, 12, 16, 17 n. 24, 48 n. 32,
Demetrius of Pharos 65 – 66, 69, 79, 80 50, 54, 78, 95, 110, 119, 121
n. 42, 120, 142
Derow, P. S. 53
Diaeus 128
General Index 171
Hamilcar Barca 66 Lagoras 88 – 90

Hannibal 60, 63, 65 – 67, 80, 92 n. 13, 94 Leontius 97 – 98
nn. 20 – 21, 98, 100 – 7, 109, 113 – 14, Leuctra, battle of 16
117, 120 – 23, 125, 128, 138 Libya 9 – 10, 34, 43
– crossing the Alps 70 – 73 Lilybaeum 37, 43, 45
– leadership qualities 68 – 70 Lipara 42
Hannibal, Carthaginian commander in Merc- Livius Salinator, M. 69
enary War 46 Livy 110 n. 46
Hannibal the ‘Rhodian’ 37 – 39, 43, 92 n. 14 Longanus, battle of 22
Hannibalic War, see Punic War, Second Lyciscus 78, 96
Hasdrubal, Carthaginian commander in Spain Lycortas 133 – 34
65, 118
Hasdrubal, Carthaginian commander in Third Macedonia 2, 62, 82, 134, 138
Punic War 139 n. 44 Macedonian War, Second 53, 99
Hasdrubal, son of Gisgo 106, 108 – 10 Macedonians 9, 75, 77, 91, 96
Hellespont 143 Mamertines 18 – 20, 22 – 24, 27, 95
Hermeias 128 Manlius Torquatus, T. 52
Herodotus 31, 85 n. 2, 89 n. 10, 98 n. 29 Mantinea 75 – 76, 96, 131
Hiero II of Syracuse 18 – 20, 22, 76, 77 Mantineans 75 – 76, 131, 142
n. 33, 143 Marcius Philippus, Q. 134 – 35
Hieronymus of Syracuse 76, 98, 125 Massanissa 26, 110, 123, 138
historical monographs 10 – 11, 11 n. 13, 64 Media 75
Homer 59 Medion 48 – 50, 139 n. 44
human nature/character 94, 130, 149 Medionians 48 – 49
Megaleas 97
Illyria 65, 67, 69 – 70 Megalopolis 77, 125
Illyrian War, First 50 – 51, 56, 99 Melitaea 77
Illyrian War, Second 66 – 67 Menyllus 136 – 37
Illyrians 48 – 52 mercenaries 18 – 21, 45 – 47, 128 – 29, 141
– characteristics of 51 Mercenary (Libyan, Truceless) War 14, 20,
implied author 115 31, 45 – 47, 141
‘indefinite second-person’ device 141 Messana 16, 18 – 22, 24, 26 – 27, 95, 137
interlace technique 59 and §3.2 passim Messene 99
intertextuality 36 Messenians 79 n. 42
intratextuality 36 metalepsis 70 n. 23
Isère, river 72 n. 25 Minucius Rufus, M. 100, 101 n. 36, 103 – 5
Issaeans 52 mise en abyme 37, 39
Isthmus 118 Mithridates II 60
Italy 2, 10, 12, 15 – 17, 22, 24 – 26, 34, 55, Molon 75
60 – 61, 66, 68 – 71, 73, 81, 90 n. 11, 94 motives
n. 20, 95, 99 – 100, 103, 105 – 7, 109, – and patterns of behaviour 92 – 93, 95, 149
112 – 13, 117, 120, 138 – ascription of 3, 148 – 49 and §4.2 passim
iterative narration 37, 88 – character readings of ch. 4 passim
Ithome, Mt. 120 – role of conjecture in 3, 93
Mylae, battle of 33, 42
Lacedaemonians 9, 75 – 76, 78, 84, 96, 125 Myonessus, battle of 82
Lacinian promontory 106 n. 40, 120
172 General Index
narrative patterns 79 – defining his starting point 13 – 17

– ‘Beinahe’-episodes 45, 72 n. 25 – proem 7 – 13
– ‘decisive intervention’ 40, 45 – promoting his work 8 – 12, 30 – 31
– erroneous expectations 82, 99 – 101, 104, – pursuit of originality 7 – 8
107 – temporal strategies of ch. 3 passim
narratology Pontus 78, 121, 143
– and history 3 – 4 Posidonius of Apamea 15 n. 22
Naupactus, conference at 95 Postumius Albinus, A. 125
New Carthage 66 – 67, 110 – 11 ‘presentation through negation’ device 43
Nicanor 91 n. 26, 44 n. 27, 143
Nicias 77 prolepsis 74, 76 n. 32 and §3.3.2 passim
Numidians 72, 106, 109 n. 44 Prusias II 128
Ptolemies 75
Olcades 68 Ptolemy I Soter 31
Orchomenus 96, 131 Ptolemy IV Philopator 10, 61, 117
Oropus 61 Ptolemy V Epiphanes 80, 133 – 34
Ptolemy VI Philometor 134
Pachynus, C. 34 Ptolemy VIII Euergetes II (Physcon) 134
Palus, siege of 97 Ptolemy, son of Sosibius 62
Panormus 34, 43 Punic War, First 4, 14, 16, 18, 20 – 21, 28,
paralepsis 87 30 – 33, 36 – 39, 47, 56, 60, 66, 144, 147
paralipsis 17 n. 23, 50, 87, 105 Punic War, Second 13 – 14, 20 n. 33, 40, 60,
Pelopidas 77 65, 69, 79 – 81, 87, 106, 108, 113, 124,
Peloponnese 75, 95 – 96, 120 – 21, 131, 135, 148
141 Punic War, Third 27, 40, 138
Peloponnesian War 31 Pyrrhus 17, 22, 50
Peloponnesians 48, 130 Pytheas of Massalia 122 n. 13
Perseus 84, 119, 123, 135, 139 n. 44
Persia 78 Quinctius Flamininus, T. 90 – 91
Persian Wars 31, 54
Persians 78 repeating narration 134 – 35
Petzold, K. E. 85 Rhegium 17 – 18, 21 – 24, 26 – 27
Philinus of Agrigentum 125 – 26 Rhodes 60
Philip II 9 n. 9, 76, 78, 96 Rhodians 121
Philip V 28 n. 50, 62, 75, 77, 79 – 80, 90 – Rhone, river 72 – 73
91, 95, 97 – 99, 117, 128, 142, 145 rhythm 13 – 14, 115, 137
Philopoemen 114 n. 53, 139 Romans
Phoenice 50 – and destruction of Carthage 84 – 85
Phylarchus 22 n. 36, 76, 125 – 26 – characteristics of 35 – 37
Po, river (Padus) 70, 72 – 73 – constitution 81 – 82, 119, 146
Po valley 56 – expansionist designs 26, 53, 55 – 56, 95
Polyaratus 140 – naval activity 32 – 39, 56
Polybius – praised by Polybius 9, 17, 36
– authorial presence of 12, 35, 61 – 62, 83, – self-interested behaviour 24 – 28, 56 – 57,
149 and ch. 5 passim 136, 147
– communication with narratees 140 – 46, Rome 2, 4, 10, 12, 16 – 17, 20 – 28, 30, 34
149 n. 11, 36, 38, 45, 47, 50, 52, 55 – 56, 60,
General Index 173
62 – 63, 65, 67 n. 18, 68 – 69, 70 n. 22, Tacitus 15 n. 22

73, 78, 80 – 82, 84 n. 1, 85, 98 – 99, 104, Tagus, battle of 68
112 – 13, 117 – 18, 126, 134 – 35, 137 – 40, Tegea 96, 131, 143
147 – 49 Telamon, battle of 56
Teuta 50, 54 n. 46, 99, 128
Saguntum 65, 67 – 69 thalassocracy 32 – 33
Sallust 15 n. 22 Thebans 78
Samnites 17 Thebes 78
Sardinia 9, 42, 66 Theopompus 9, 15 n. 22, 63 n. 11, 76, 125,
Sardis 88, 89 n. 10, 90 – 91 127
Scopas 128, 143 Thermae 42
seed 38, 79 Thermopylae 78
Seleucids 75 Thermum (Thermus) 77, 79, 80 n. 42, 142
Seleucus IV Philopator 135 Thucydides 31 – 33, 35, 68 n. 19, 73 n. 26,
Sempronius Longus, Ti. 100 – 2, 105 85 n. 2, 93 n. 17, 94 n. 21, 98 n. 29, 123
Senones 55 – Archaeology 32, 36
Sestus 143 Ticinus, battle of 100
Sicilians 77 Timaeus of Tauromenium 12, 15 n. 22, 16,
Sicily 2, 9, 12 – 13, 15 – 16, 24, 25 n. 45, 34, 117, 122, 125 – 28
37, 43, 56 n. 47, 60, 69, 95, 98, 117, 126, Tissaphernes 85 n. 2
143, 147 Trasimene, battle of 81, 100, 102, 104
Sinope 60 Trebia, battle of 71, 81, 100, 101 n. 36, 104
Sisenna 15 n. 22 Tychaeus 98
Social War 10, 60, 63 Tyndaris, battle of 34, 42, 95
Sosibius 62
Sosylus of Lacedaemon 125 universal history 11, 64, 124 – 25
Spain 2, 24, 60, 63, 65 – 71, 118, 120 – 21, Utica 107, 112
138
Sparta 32, 78, 84 n. 1, 96, 117 Veneti 50 – 51
Spartans 34, 77
Spendius 46 Walbank, F. W. 85
Strabo 15 n. 22 White, H. 4
Susiana 75 wise advisers 101 – 2
suspense 71, 99, 104, 138, 149
symploke 10 – 12, 48 n. 32, 63 – 65 Xanthippus 39 – 40, 92 n. 14
synchronicity 58 – 60 Xenophon 15 n. 22, 125
Syphax 106 – 8, 110 – 13
Syracuse 18, 77 Zama, battle of 114
Syria 62, 117, 137 Zeno of Rhodes 121, 125, 128, 141
Syrian War, Fourth 60
Syrian War 99

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(Trends in Classics. Supplementary Volumes 23) Nikos Miltsios - The Shaping of Narrative in Polybius (2013, Walter de Gruyter)

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Nikos Miltsios

The Shaping of Narrative in Polybius

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek

© 2013 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston

 Well begun is half done 6

 The narrative of the prokataskeue 30

 Focalization and interpretation 84

 The Polybian narrator 115

.. The narrator as historian 120

Index Locorum 159

General Index 169

 Genette (1972) 1980; Bal (1985) 1997.

1.1 The proem (1.1 – 5)

 On Polybius’ readership see below (§5.3).

 The comparison of a well-arranged discourse to a living organism is not unknown in Greek

1.2 The Romans’ first crossing into Sicily (1.6 – 12)

1.2.1 Where to begin

1.2.2 Rhegium and Messana: The issue of mercenaries

keep it brief, he is in no hurry and focuses on an incident that stresses Hiero’s

 Cf. Eckstein 1995, 90 – 91.

1.2.3 The intervention of Rome

the Mamertines stands in surprising contrast to their preceding harsh punish-

Interestingly, their desire for profit is presented as a motivational force potent

μὴ λέγειν τὰ δίκαια τὸν Δημήτριον ἔκρινεν τὴν ἀρχὴν τῷ παιδὶ συνδιαφυλάττειν,

 Cf. Walbank 1972, 165.

2.1 The First Punic War (1.13 – 63)

stant succession and authorial interventions–by the standards of Polybius–kept

2.1.1 The theme of naval supremacy

That thalassocracy constitutes an excellent source of hegemonic power and ma-

 On the extremely overt narratorial style of Polybius see below (§5.1).

his narratorial choices,¹⁵ we realize that he closes it in a somewhat sudden, if not

2.1.3 Romans and Carthaginians

the reader’s interest. It also provides Polybius with an opportunity, in concluding

 On this see Gribble 2006, 450 – 51.

 Cf. Marincola 2001, 126 with n. 60.

mans and Carthaginians in an even-handed manner, it seems reasonable to sug-

 Cf. Harris 1979, 195.

assessment of the thematic aspects emphasized in both passages. In 2.18 – 20

 On amicitia in Roman international relations see Badian 1958; Burton 2011.

of their opponents, nor is he referring to an alliance on equal terms, but rather

As Polybius’ train of thought is penetrated by the worries of Rome’s allies, an

The problem of how to convey in a narrative simultaneous courses of events,

Diodorus comments on the artificiality of breaking up simultaneous groups of

has shown, is as old as Homer.³ Attempts to convey the simultaneity of two or

Just how integral to Polybius’ work synchronicity is becomes immediately

 See Walbank 1972, 112– 13.

been interconnected, he would have traced the developments on the various

3.2 The interlace structure of book 3

So far I have described how synchronicity permeates, and becomes an organic

3.2.1 Spain and Illyria (3.13 – 34)

3.2.1.1 The Romans’ strategic error

 See, e. g., Walbank 1957, 321– 22.

signed to highlight the abilities of a particular individual. Hannibal ‘has’ to at-

 Cf. Bung 1950, 191– 92; Walbank 1957, 327.

3.2.2 Hannibal’s march on Italy (3.35 – 3.57.1)

Synchronicity is certainly a fruitful avenue for the study of time in a narrative,

θοῦσι τῷ παντὶ χρησιμώτερος),³³ and goes on to demonstrate his claim by making

Sparta, Philip II at Athens and Alexander at Thebes and in Persia). Sometimes

 Cf. Davidson 1991, 13 – 14; Wiater 2010, 83 – 95.

4.1 The theatre of war

 Davidson 1991, 10 – 24.

4.2 The attribution of motives