PLAYING AROUND WITH PIKES AND PILA

In the final paragraph of a four-paragraph post made on February 11, 2020, to the ‘To Conform or Not To Conform’ discussion thread on The Society of Ancients site, admired and respected veteran member Simon Watson opined: 

I don’t believe that the Ancient sources really give us anything like enough 

        detail of ancient battles to say identify where a unit faced multiple opposing 

        ‘units’. I would suggest that it almost invariably happened (e.g. a sytagma [sic] 

        of pike against 2 Roman maniples) but then we get into the ‘what’s a unit’ 

        discussions in our games which are pretty sterile.

My attention was caught and my interest was piqued by his parenthetical example. What would happen, I wondered, if a syntagma of pike, let us say Later Macedonians, was confronted by two maniples of Roman legionaries, let us say Hastati? This question was followed by a few more. How could I wargame this on my tabletop? How should I wargame this? Why would I wargame this? What rules should I use? Would anyone be interested in reading an article that was produced as a result of this playing around? What in the world is a “syntagma”?! 

Manufacturing the Models

On pages 72-73 of my rather worn copy of Warfare in the Classical World, I found a veritable treasure trove of wargamer-friendly information about the syntagma courtesy of drawings, diagrams, and explanatory text. (Now I know what it is!) Unfortunately but not surprisingly, none of the rulebooks in my collection permitted me to deploy and “fight” with this particular formation. So, I took matters into my own, admittedly inexpert, hands. 

I started by establishing a working or approximate ground scale of 1 centimetre represented 3 feet. In conjunction with this, I established a figure scale where 1 “figure” represented 1 actual man or soldier. (The word “figure” is in quotes because I do not actually use traditional figures or miniatures.) My finished models (I fabricated a few of each type) were functional, inexpensive, and primitive, but they would serve their purpose. The basic building block of the larger phalanx or “battalion” measured 16 cm on each side and numbered 256 men or “figures.” For the shallower formations, my units measured 32 cm along their front and had a depth of 8 cm. To represent the formation when it was on the defensive, when the men had “locked shields,” I made counters that measured just 8 cm across their front but had the same depth as the square formation. 

Wargamer-friendly information about the Roman maniple was found on pages 111-112 of this much read and often referenced book. Using the same ground scale and figure scale, I fashioned several maniples of Hastati. Each maniple had the option of deploying its centuries in open order, as when the pila were going to be thrown, or in close order, as when shields were readied and short swords were drawn. The dimensions of each century were as follows: a frontage of 10 cm and a depth of 24 cm when in open order, and a frontage of 10 cm and a depth of 6 cm when in close order. 

Choosing the Rules

Actually, selecting which set of rules to use was not a very difficult process. My recently (within the last two years) acquired copy of Tactica II seemed the logical choice in that its missile and melee procedures were figure-based. However, as I was employing rather large units (there were 256 “figures” in just one syntagma, a 208-figure difference from the largest Tactica II unit), there would have to be some adjustments made to the rules as written. In fact, it would be fair to say that I relied upon Tactica II for missile, melee, and perhaps morale processes, but as for the rest of a typical game move sequence, well, I thought I would try something that might be best described as “mental” or “verbal kriegspiel.” In broad overview, I talked myself through the exercise. There were frequent stopping points, where I would pose questions and then try to figure out the answers. In many respects, what I planned and what would eventually transpire would not be a proper historical miniature wargame, as there were no official or recognizable armies involved. There were no auxiliaries, skirmishers, or cavalry present. For that matter, there was absolutely no terrain on my tabletop. This was simply an exercise, a test. This was just a trial run of Simon’s parenthetical suggestion. 

Conducting the Experiment

What happened, exactly, when two opposing bodies of heavy infantry met on an ancient battlefield? In Chapter 5 of his excellent (in my opinion) study, The Roman Army At War 100 BC—AD 200, Professor Adrian Goldsworthy considers such a question. What I should like to attempt is a model reconstruction of his analysis, description, and examination of such a meeting.  The accomplished academic and prolific author divides the contest into four phases or stages. These are: The Advance, The Pila Volley, The Charge, and The Collision. Using sections of the Tactica II rules and deploying four maniples against three syntagmata on a flat and featureless portion of my tabletop, I should like to play or “kriegspiel” those four stages and report on same.  

The Advance - 

Figure 1 shows the initial deployment and positions of the opposing formations. The phalanxes have the advantage of depth, numbers, and reach of melee weapon, but the Romans have the pila and are, for lack of a better description, more flexible with respect to unit or sub unit movement. As indicated in the text within the diagram, the opposing lines are approximately 150 yards (136.5 metres) apart. 

On page 194, Professor Goldsworthy surmises, “It seems that a slow, steady advance was difficult to achieve”. He continues, explaining, “The instinct, due to nerves and fear, to get the thing over with as soon as possible, encouraged most men to run towards the enemy.” This likelihood of disorder, I would contend, is not reflected in the majority of rule sets, where a measured and orderly advance (whether in inches, centimetres, or unit bases) is allowed each turn. On the previous page, the noted author provides examples of drill commands from the Strategikon, a fifth-century source. Though it is out of date as far as this specific exercise goes, I can still hear - or imagine that I do - the grizzled centurions of my pretend maniples uttering the following stern commands to the men in their respective formations: “Silentium” (Silence); “Non vos turbatis” (Do not get into disorder), and “Bando sequate” (Follow the standard). 

Even though the Romans were trained troops, I decided to roll a six-sided die for each maniple to see if they would traverse the short distance in proper order and formation. A result of 1 would require a second roll and would see the maniple suffer a consequence. If the Roman formation passed its roll, then its Macedonian counterpart (trained troops as well) would have to roll a six-sided die to see how it would react to the approaching enemy. 

Maniple III rolled a 1 and then rolled a 4, so its centuries were forced to stop and redress their ranks before proceeding. (I can just imagine the curses and oaths erupting from the mouth of its lead centurion!) As the dice would have it, the men in Syntagma B also failed their reaction roll. The consequence was the worst possible, with the men in the front ranks trying to shuffle back or to the side in order to avoid the oncoming Roman legionaries. For the eventual melee then, this formation would suffer a negative modifier due to the current state of its ranks and files. I just needed to decide how negative the modifier would be. 

As an alternative to the above, I considered drafting and employing rules for intimidation. At the bottom of page 194, Professor Goldsworthy states: “One of the most important aims of any advancing unit was to intimidate the enemy facing them both by its appearance and the noise that it made”. I wondered if giving each formation a six-sided die and then comparing the scores would provide some kind of groundwork for this intimidation variable. For example, let us say that Maniple I rolled a 2, while its Macedonian counterpart rolled a 5. The pikemen would have 3 more points than the legionaries, so the Hastati would be intimidated by the appearance and attitude of the pikemen. Perhaps the Macedonians were standing silently with sarissas leveled? Then again, perhaps they were shouting or chanting their war cry with that same hedgerow of pike points showing? Not wanting to complicate things any more than I may have already done so, I stayed with my initial idea of orderly advance or disorderly advance and the enemy responses. Without using a ruler or a grid system, I moved the Romans to within pila range of the waiting Macedonians. 

The Pila Volley - 

Figure 2 shows the four Roman maniples having advanced to within 20 yards (18 metres) of the waiting line or wall of syntagmata. This range is well within the maximum stated by Professor Goldsworthy on the bottom of page 198. The order “prepare to throw pila!” has been communicated, whether by voice or by instrument. This command will be followed, very shortly, by the order “throw pila!”. 

As is evident in the diagram, none of the Roman formations are exactly aligned with the Macedonian formations. As is also plainly evident, the posterior century of Maniple IV will not be participating in the one-sided missile exchange, as these men are too far to the right. As I understand it or figure it, there are three options for resolving this pila volley. The first option is identified by the white rectangles. Essentially, only the Macedonians directly to the front of any Roman troops will be subjected to a rain of pila. This restriction presumes that the Roman soldier could not or did not aim his pilum when throwing it. This restriction also leaves a large number of Hastati with no targets. The second option is marked by the angled red lines. Here, there is an arc of fire (somewhere between 30 and 45 degrees measured from the front corner of the attacking unit) which enables more Roman legionaries to identify and “shoot” at the enemy. In both of these options, the missile fire will be resolved separately for each syntagma. It is entirely possible, then, that one of the phalanxes may suffer more casualties than another. The third option is identified by the thin tan line. This “field of fire” extends almost all the way across the Roman formation. Again, however, the century furthest to the right is excluded. 

Now then, working backwards from the third option to the first, there would be approximately 420 pila flying through the air shortly after the command “throw pila!” was given. To be certain, if I am using a figure-based missile procedure, such as in Tactica II, then this represents an extraordinary number of dice to be thrown. Thankfully, Professor Goldsworthy saves me from a potential repetitive stress injury when he explains on page 200 that, “Even if the men were supposed to aim at the enemy, most under the stress of battle would not have done so, and indeed many would have missed the target altogether”. I believe this would apply even more to those men in the rear ranks of the century who had to throw over the heads of their friends. Later in the same paragraph, the professor estimates that, “no more than a quarter or a third of the pila actually struck the enemy”. If I were to take the smaller fraction and do simple math, then the impressive if also almost unmanageable 420 dice is reduced to just 105 six-sided cubes. If I were to divide this figure - as evenly as possible - across the three target formations, then that would give me exactly 35 dice per syntagma. This total is still more than twice the number of pikemen in the first rank of the Macedonian formation. Understanding that the pila volley could be both a physical shock as well as have an impact on unit morale, I decided to reduce this almost three dozen dice to 18 (still more than the number of figures in the front rank of each pike block), and conduct separate rolls for each syntagma. Every 6 rolled would result in an incapacitated Macedonian. The results were as follows: Syntagma A lost 2 “figures;”Syntagma B also lost 2 “figures,” and Syntagma C suffered 3 “kills.” Given this poor performance (certainly nothing to write Rome about), I was tempted to provide the Hastati with a few more chances; I was tempted to revise the number of dice to 35 against each block of pikemen. Then again, I recalled reading a translation of Polybius wherein the depth of the phalanx allowed the middle ranks to form a kind of “protective umbrella” of pikes over the heads of the forward ranks, so maybe, the minimal casualties inflicted by the pila volley were not that far off. 

Jumping forward a bit in Professor Goldsworthy’s examination, on page 222 he states,”When a man in the front rank was killed, he most likely fell backwards, making it difficult for the man behind to step immediately into his place.” The impact of a pilum must have been something. Even if the hit man was only wounded or if his equipment was fouled, this must have had some kind of effect on the men to his immediate left, right, and rear. What kind of impact would this have then, on the unit’s performance in the eventual melee? Jumping back to page 201, the university lecturer suggests: “Whatever missiles were striking the unit, its men almost certainly went into a crouch, heads bowed, as if walking into the wind, which seems to have been the timeless posture of the infantryman advancing under fire.” Here too, I paused and wondered what kind of modifier, if any, should be applied to a subsequent melee, if on one side of the combat, more than several of the participants were occupied with making themselves as small as target as possible; were in shock at seeing their neighbour(s) severely wounded by a pila, or were just not that keen on engaging an advancing enemy in a life or death struggle. 

The Charge - 

While unit integrity and order were primary concerns when advancing on an enemy, this same order was not possible during a charge. Professor Goldsworthy notes that immediately after the hurling of their pila, the Roman soldiers were, more often than not, “released to run and yell.” As  the legionaries would run at different speeds, either because of armour, the nature of the terrain, or their level of eagerness to actually cross swords with the enemy, the full weight of the century or maniple would not fall upon the enemy line in a single instant. Given this logical assessment, I wondered if I should add a negative modifier to the melee value of or number of dice permitted to a charging unit. This seemed especially relevant, as the Roman soldiers were running toward a veritable wall of pike points. I believe Polybius stated that each Roman infantryman would face at least five leveled pikes, if not more, when engaging a phalanx. I also wondered how or if I should factor in the effect of a charging group of troops, in this particular case, Roman Hastati, on a stationary enemy line. The professor stresses the probable devastating effect of the pila volley, suggesting that the enemy’s morale might well collapse and they would run away before the charge, however disordered, struck home. Given the depth of the syntagma, however, it seems well nigh impossible for a phalangite in the first, second, or even third rank, to make a clean and quick escape through all those supporting ranks. 

The Collision - 

Figure 3 shows the Roman line in contact with the enemy line. Forward motion has stopped. The uninvolved centuries on the right and left ends of the Roman line have not continued, have not wheeled and wrapped themselves around the exposed flanks of the vulnerable Macedonian units. Strict adherence to the Tactica II rules would see eight separate and distinct melee areas (identified by the different coloured bars). 

The total number of “figures” fighting on each side, in each melee area would be determined and depth bonus dice would be added to this number, if they were available. More specifically, the melee dice available to a unit would be evenly divided between all enemy formations, even if it appears that only a portion or a sliver of that particular unit is engaged, that is, physically touching the enemy formation. For example, in Figure 3, there are two centuries that are engaged with two enemy units. A portion of each century’s front does not have any enemy in contact. Per the rules, at least as I understand them, the 10 “figures” in the front rank of my century of Hastati would be divided into 5 “figures” for each melee area. Thus, in one melee area, the Roman player-general would get to roll 5 dice against the pikemen. Oddly enough, at least to me, the century of Hastati on the right of the line, the one that is only partially in contact with the enemy formation, gets to roll 10 dice, as there are 10 “figures” in its front rank. I find this strange, as it appears that a good portion of the century is fighting thin air. I also find it unusual, but can see how it might be necessary, to fight or resolve each melee area one at a time. As the Romans charged as a group, and as they hit the enemy line as a group, it makes more sense to me that the melees would take place simultaneously. Therefore, I tend to see this combat as one fairly large melee instead of eight different melees. 

On page 209, Professor Goldsworthy contends: “A combat between two units became inevitably a collection of fights between individual soldiers in the opposing front ranks”. If I accept this argument as plausible, then I will have to adjust my original math, my original calculation of the number of melee dice that each side will be able to roll. The Macedonians have 16 “figures” in the front rank of each formation, so, added together, they would have a total of 48 “figures” or dice in the first round of melee. However, we need to subtract the seven that were lost from the pila volley. This gives a new total of 41 “figures”. Recalling that the men in Syntagma B were disordered due to poor reaction rolls, it could be said that of the 14 “figures” that survived the pila volley, 2 more “shied away” from contact, so the true total of pikemen available to fight in the first round is 39 “figures”. The Roman count would be 48 “figures,” even though some of the Hastati, technically, are not face-to-face with a pike-wielding Macedonian. According to Section 7.11 of the Tactica II rules, a phalanx formation receives three bonus dice for every rank deeper it is than an opponent. Under my figure scale/unit scale, a syntagma is 16 ranks deep, while a Roman century is just 6 ranks deep. This yields a surplus of 30 dice to the Macedonian player-general. Therefore, if wargaming the situation with the rules-as-written, the pikemen would have 69 dice to roll against the 48 dice held by the Romans. This seemed rather lopsided to me. 

On page 223, Professor Goldsworthy explains that, “The men in the rear ranks were exposed to many of the same stresses and fears as the men fighting in the front rank, but, unlike them, were inactive, unable to do anything to counter their fears”. After re-reading this, it seemed to me that while depth might be beneficial, the men in most of the ranks would not actually or actively participate in the fighting. Consequently, I decided that the depth bonus should be capped at five or perhaps six ranks, so instead of having 30 additional dice to roll in the melee round, the Macedonians would have 15 or 18 more. This adjustment brought the totals to 54 or 57 for the pikemen and 48 for the Hastati. At the risk of complicating matters, I decided that for the initial melee round, the Romans would be at a disadvantage, as the leading rank of each century had to negotiate a veritable hedgerow of pike points. Therefore, I reduced their available dice by 25 percent. The final numbers of dice, after all these adjustments, were as follows: the combined phalanxes would get 54, and the centuries of Hastati would receive 36. 

Instead of using the specifications from the Macedonian (Philip-Alexander) army list for the fighting value and quality of the pikemen, I opted to use the specifications provided in the Pontic  (Early) army list. The syntagmata, then, contained pikemen or phalangites with a fighting value of 4-6 and a quality rating of veteran. This meant that any enemy formation would have to roll 4s, 5s, or 6s on their melee dice in order to score “kills”. Veteran units have a break point or percentage of 66%, so with 256 men or “figures” in each formation, the “battalion” of pikemen would have to suffer 169 casualties before it was required to take a Fates Test. For the Hastati, I used the specifications given on the Roman (2nd Punic War) army list. These professionals had a fighting value of 5-6. They were also rated as veteran troops. Anyway. 

In the first round of melee, both sides managed to inflict 18 “kills” on the other. To keep things simple, to avoid too much accounting, I simply divided the casualties across the number of units involved. The Roman centuries lost 3 “figures” each, while the Macedonian formations lost 6 “figures” each. Before proceeding to the second melee round, the centuries on either end of the Roman line of battle moved forward as well as wheeled a bit. They were not quite able to reach the vulnerable flanks of the pike blocks however, at least not yet. 

The second round of melee sees the front rank of the Macedonian formations reinforced, so 48 “figures” will be engaged in close combat. (The negative disorder for the men in Syntagma B was not applied for this round, as it seemed apparent that everyone would be fighting, and melees are not orderly affairs anyway.) As decided above, these men will be supported by five ranks of the deeper formation, so 15 additional dice will be added to the calculated total. The  veteran pikemen will roll 63 melee dice then. On the other side of the melee, the Romans will respond with 48 dice. This increase is due to the fact or assumption that the legionaries were able to hack their way through the forest of pike points and also because the 18 casualties in the first round were replaced by the “next man up”. The results of the second melee round were: 25 “dead” Macedonians versus 17 “dead” Romans. Though it was early in the struggle, it appeared that the sword skills of the Hastati were starting to make inroads against the deep formations of syntagmata. Once again, for sake of simplicity, the losses were divided as evenly as possible across the involved units. 

Figure 4 shows the state of my fictional field at the start of the third melee round. Two of the pike blocks have been attacked on the flank by centuries of Hastati. Without going through the actual process, one can imagine the impact, both physical and to morale, that a volley of pila followed almost immediately by a charge of shield and sword bearing legionaries would have on the densely packed phalangites. 

It seems reasonable to conclude or at least argue that the men in Syntagma A as well as Syntagma C would quickly lose heart and start thinking about how to escape a perilous situation. According to the Tactica II rules, units that are flanked by heavy infantry are automatically disordered. This results in a loss of half of their normal melee dice. Furthermore, deep units, such as these phalanxes, do not receive depth bonus dice when disordered. So, just off the top of my head, the previous number of 63 dice for the combined pike formations would be reduced to 47. Specifically, Syntagma A would fight with just 8 dice, as would Syntagma C. Syntagma B would remain very much in the melee, with 31 dice. Based on my quick sums, the Romans would get 36 dice against each flanked pike block (the century conducting the actual flank attack would have its melee dice doubled), and would have 16 dice, as per usual, against the syntagma in the centre of the struggle. Added together, the Romans would have 88 dice in this melee round versus 47 dice for the Macedonians. With nearly two times the number of dice, it seems fair to say that the Romans will come out on top in round three of the melee, perhaps by a wide margin. 

While working my way through this part of the exercise, I was reminded of ancient wargame reports penned by Charles Grant (Senior) in his excellent book Wargame Tactics, wherein, using his own rules or a commercial set modified to suit his interpretation of history, opposing units in melee were required to break off after a certain number of turns if no definitive result had been achieved. While working my way through this part of the exercise, I recalled reading the second full paragraph on page 224 of Professor Goldsworthy’s text. The gentleman scholar explains: “Hand-to-hand fighting can never have lasted very long, simply because the physical and emotional strain was enormous.” He goes on, offering time estimates from earlier historians like Clausewitz and Major General Fuller. Professor Goldsworthy concludes, suggesting that, “probably most melees actually took even less time . . . If neither side gained an advantage, then such lulls in the fighting with the two sides drawing breath, separated by only a short distance, must have been common”. 

Though some readers may be annoyed or disappointed that I have not finished what I started, that I have not completely resolved the imaginary melee, I think this is an excellent stopping point. I think that a sufficient enough reconstruction of Professor Goldsworthy’s four stages has been completed. It is time to turn a critical if also subjective eye on the experiment.  

Evaluating the Effort

On review, it appears that I have answered most of the questions I posed to myself at the beginning of this article. Though I did not wargame the scenario to its actual conclusion - when one side routs, it seems that when a few syntagmata of pikemen are challenged by several maniples of legionaries, the Romans will, or usually will, emerge victorious. They will be bloodied, to be sure, but victorious. I chose what I feel or would argue was a more authentic route than an aesthetically focused approach. I staged this scenario because my interest was sparked, as I mentioned, by the parenthetical example offered by the admired and respected Simon Watson. As explained, I employed the Tactica II rules, though I did not strictly adhere to the procedures contained within the spiral-bound manual. While I cannot answer the question about the interest of the reader, I certainly hope that a percentage of the regular subscribers to or casual purchasers of this bi-monthly journal take the time to peruse this submission. Indeed, I can only dream that a few might take the time to write a response for the Guardroom or a type shorter and simpler blurb to the dedicated forum. (This presumes, of course, that this piece will be accepted by our esteemed editor.) Finally, my understanding of the term “syntagma” has increased greatly, as I have already explained. 

In the engaging process of answering these various questions, others were raised during the course of my experiment, as I played around with pikes and pila. With the permission of the respected reader, I should like to attempt to answer these additional questions by looking at my effort through the lens of a few suggested categories, which sprang, fully formed, from the fertile and formidable mind of Anthony Clipsom in his initiating post for the discussion thread ‘River deep, mountain high - terrain thoughts.’ On August 23, 2019, the gentleman offered that we might look at or consider wargames terrain in terms of authenticity, aesthetics, and abstraction. I should like to examine, measure and or review my experiment, or at least make an attempt to do so, through those same categories. 

As for authenticity, well, I think my models, even though they were two-dimensional and rather crude in comparison to the traditional painted and based miniature figures, were a truer representation of the historical formations, so I think a mark can be made in the plus column of the rubric or score sheet. The ground scale and figure scale established allowed me to create, I would respectfully submit and argue, a more authentic or realistic model of both a syntagma and maniple than what is found, for example, in the pages, of Tactica II or Simon Miller’s innovative To The Strongest! In the former set of rules, the depiction of a Roman Republican Legion is an admitted abstraction. The much debated process of line relief is handled in a certain way. More to the point with regard to my model, however, were the numbers permitted for the Hastati of a standard or typical legion. Using the figure scale provided on page 1 of the rules, a Tactica II Republican legion contains between 480 and 720 Hastati. To be certain, I am no expert on the organization of the formation, but sources that I have read and studied indicate that there were 10 maniples of Hastati (along with 10 of Principes and 10 of Triarii), and that each maniple, except for the Triarii, had between 120 and 180 men in its ranks. This unit scale problem, or abstraction, is seen again in Simon Miller’s excellent addendum or brief on The Polybian Roman Army in To The Strongest! Here, it appears that the 10 maniples of Hastati as well as Principes are represented by two units, so it seems that each unit represents 5 maniples. 

Moving to the negative column for this category, unfortunately, the minuses outnumber the plusses. First of all, my exercise took place in a vacuum. There were no skirmishers present for either side, and there were no auxiliary troops in attendance. More disconcerting, perhaps, was the fact that the contest took place on a perfectly level and featureless plain, a soccer field or football pitch, if you will. This kind of arena is not authentic. However, for what it is worth, I did describe or explain the lack of these variables at the start of my “lab work.” Another mark in the negative column stems from the analysis provided by Polybius. According to his Histories (18.30, I believe), because of the advantage in numbers per frontage, “nothing could stand up to the frontal assault of the phalanx, as long as it retains it usual order and strength.” In my incomplete experiment, the three blocks of pikemen did not do any moving, did not build up any kind of momentum, but even so, for the legionaries to make any kind of impression on that hedgerow of pike points seems quite improbable.

The second category suggested by Anthony is aesthetics. Here, I do not believe that my experiment and or testing even qualifies to be judged. There was no aesthetic appeal to my two-dimensional, colour poster board models. The “units” on my tabletop cannot even begin to hold a candle to the miniature works of art presented to or staged for the large and admiring crowds by the likes of Keith McNelly, Simon MacDowall, Simon Miller, or Simon Watson. (Is there a pattern here, or is the run of wargamers named Simon merely a coincidence?) Admittedly, historical miniature wargaming is a visual hobby. Even when painted and based miniatures are not employed, player-generals are overlooking maps on which counters are arranged or perhaps tables and floors where large-scale models of ships or armoured-fighting vehicles are positioned. Some of the younger player-generals may be looking at a large and flat screen or even wearing a helmet/visor as they use buttons and joy-sticks to command and control their forces. Anyway. 

To state the obvious, aesthetic appeal comes at a cost. Out of curiosity, I did a quick search for 15 mm scale figures of the ancient period. Finding an appropriate blister pack of pikemen, I calculated approximately how much it would cost me to build a one-to-one scale model of a syntagma. The figure I arrived at, using the current exchange rates, was 175 USD. This cost did not include painting and basing. Having no experience in this part of the hobby, I simply doubled the initial cost, assuming that paints, undercoating sprays, brushes, various tools, a workbench or some suitable area, as well as magnifying glasses, powerful lights, and basing materials (including the flock to go on the finished stands) would be in the same range. 

The initial or overall expense of building an army can be reduced by adopting a certain figure or unit scale, but does not this approach “bump into” or interfere with authenticity? At the risk of getting ahead of myself here, my model of a syntagma could be called an abstraction, but I should think it was less of an abstraction than a 48-figure phalanx in a Tactica II wargame, or a deep phalanx worth three victory medals in a friendly To The Strongest! tournament. 

Along these same lines, while it is aesthetically pleasing as well as impressive to see rank after rank of 15 mm or 28 mm heavy infantry in neat and orderly formations, how authentic is this representation once the fighting begins? Did historical units maintain a perfectly straight front edge when grappling with an enemy formation? When men start to fall, whether wounded or dead, how are the aesthetics of this natural albeit awful progression of ancient combat addressed? 

This seems like a good place to reference a portion of Part 3 of ‘War, Games, and Wargames,” an excellent series written by the talented Richard Taylor. In Slingshot 295, while considering the complexities of combat, he also considered the representation of unit losses. On page 18 of the July/August 2014 issue, Richard explained: 

The obvious way to represent step losses would be to place markers on or 

        behind the affected units, but aesthetic considerations make this a not widely 

        popular solution. Using casualty figures (dead toy soldiers) would be better 

        aesthetically than counter or markers, but they then have to be moved around 

        with their parent units, which most games seem to consider too inelegant, or too 

        much trouble. 

Given my approach to the hobby, it is probably not my place to comment, but I wonder if a middle ground might be reached here. What if casualty figures were “deployed” at the locations of combat, whether missile or melee, thus providing a visual record of areas of heavy fighting and the losses to a given unit were represented by the removal of bases or elements? Re-reading Richard’s award-winning article reminded me of something I saw in Simon Miller’s To The Strongest! rules. On page 9 of the PDF version in my possession, this noted celebrity of the hobby offers:

Finally, there can be a tendency for battlefields to become increasing [sic] bare 

        as units are gradually lost and removed from it during the course of a battle. 

        Players with strong stomachs are encouraged to provide markers depicting dead 

        elephants, crashed scythed chariots and heaps of bodies.

Again, speaking as someone who does not employ traditional figures, I can easily see the attraction of this approach. From what I have read, it appears that actual battlefields (especially after the contest was concluded) were chaotic, messy, and nightmarish places. Accepting this, would it not be more authentic to employ the dead toy soldiers and elephants as Richard and Simon advise? Or would the addition of these splendidly painted and based dioramas or markers,  detract from the overall aesthetic appeal of the tabletop? 

To adapt a line from Anthony Clipsom’s original post: Abstraction is, rules wise, a key area of melee resolution. In “working” my way through this experiment, wherein several maniples faced off against a few syntagmata, I used six-sided dice to help me determine what happened. I used the writing of Professor Goldsworthy as a reference point, and I borrowed from my experience as a historical wargamer to “work” my way through the process. The engagement or experiment was conducted in the relative comfort of my basement office or work space. At no point during the experiment was I hungry, thirsty, anxious, scared, or threatened with bodily harm. At no point during the experiment were my senses assaulted by the “cacophony of combat” (a description used by Professor Victor Davis Hanson when writing about the battle of Delium, 424 BC). I should like to think that educated guesses were made about what might happen if X occurred or Y happened, and what might or would transpire as a result. But again, the entire interaction between my Macedonians and Romans was abstracted. At the risk of dwelling on a point, this abstraction was achieved using coloured poster board as opposed to superbly painted and based miniature figures. 

I will end with just a few more subjective questions and answers. First, was the project worthwhile? I believe it was. I certainly learned a few things. I certainly found it different and refreshing to focus on the smaller scale (perhaps too small?) of things as opposed to massive engagements. Second, did I have fun, was I engaged? If this question was posed in a court of law, I might respond: asked and answered. On a less legalistic note, yes, I did have fun. I was certainly engaged, if also a little frustrated, as this draft represents the seventh or eighth try at coming to grips with the topic. Finally, what’s next? Well, given the “success” of this latest experiment, I am tempted to try something a little larger in scale. (There I go again . . . ) If I reduce my established ground scale to 1 centimetre equals 12 feet, then it would be possible to model a single syntagma with a counter measuring 4 centimetres on a side. With this approach, I could come close to, I think, modeling the ideal phalanx, at least according to Asclepiodotus. With this approach, I could also come close to fielding a consular army on my tabletop. I have to wonder then, is there another Magnesia in my future?