Lucius Marcius, Legate of the Romans, sowed seeds of agreement in the war against Perseus, King of Macedonia. Needing time to put his army in order, he gained from the sleeping King a truce for a few days, providing him the time and opportunity to re-arm, bringing Perseus to his final demise.
And yet, elders of the Senate, standing by the customs of their fathers, condemned this tactic, which was contrary to the ancient style of fighting by virtue, not cunning. This style of warfare forbade surprise and night encounters; ambushes and unexpected reloads. War was to be waged only after denouncing it, and battles were often fought at an assigned time and place.
The Romans made good use of this military conscience, sending Pyrrhus his treacherous doctor back, and the Phalicians their wicked schoolmaster. These were truly Roman ways, different from Greek subtlety and Punic cunning, where victory by force is less glorious when tainted with deceit.
Deception has its moments, but a combatant only accepts defeat when he knows that he has been defeated by valor. This victory is felt troop by troop in a loyal and just war. It can also arrive by fate. It is clear from the language of these good people that they had not yet received this fine sentence:
Should anyone look for deceit or virtue in an enemy? (Virgil)
The Achaeans, says Polybius, detested any trickery in their wars, considering victory to be won only where the courage of the enemy is broken.
A holy and wise man will know that this is a true victory, which will be prepared with faith intact and dignity intact, says another. (Florus)
You may not wish for me to reign, or whatever fate brings, let us try our strength. (Ennius, quoted by Cicero)
In the kingdom of Ternate, among those [Pacific island] nations that we so readily call barbarians, their custom is to only wage declared wars, and to give an ample declaration of their capabilities: the size of their army, munitions at hand, offensive and defensive weapons to be deployed. But with this openness they also reject any accusation of treason, treachery or illegal tactics used to win. If enemies do not agree to terms, they will use every means to win.
The ancient Florentines gave their enemies a month’s warning before attack, not wanting to gain an advantage of surprise. Throughout the month, they would continually ring a bell called the Martinella. As for us [late Renaissance Frenchmen], we are less superstitious and claim to be both honorable and conscientious in war. We follow Lysander, who said that where the lion’s skin is not enough, a piece of the fox’s must be sewn on. The most common opportunities for surprise are derived from this practice: and there is no time more perilous than during cease fire and treaty discussions.
This is why we commonly believe that the governor of a besieged place should never go out himself to parley.
Our forefathers criticized of the lords of Montmord and of l’Assigni, defending Mouson against the count of Nansaut. But it is excusable to parley if security and advantage were assured, as Count Guy de Rangon did in the city of Regge (if we are to believe du Bellay, for Guicciardin says that it was he himself) when the Lord of l’Escut approached him to parley. He abandoned his fort so hastily that, when a disturbance broke out during the talks, not only did Monsieur de l’Escut and his close-by troops find themselves on the defensive, with the result that Alexandre Trivulce was killed, but he was forced to seek safety by following the Count. He threw himself on his faith and took shelter from shots inside the city.
Eumenes in the city of Nora heard the entreaties of Antigonus, who was laying siege to his city, to come out and speak to him. Several intermediaries told Eumenes that Antigonus had earned this honor, because he was greater and stronger than anyone in the city. Eumenes replied: I will never esteem any man greater than myself, as long as I have my sword in my power. He did not agree to meet Antigonus until he had left inside the city Ptolemy, his own nephew, as a hostage.
However, some have taken the words of their assailants. Henry de Vaux, knight of Champagne, was under English siege in the castle of Commercy. Barthelemy de Bonnes, commander of the siege, had already blown up most of the castle from the outside. A fire threatened to overwhelm the ruins that remained. So Barthelemy summoned Henry to parley for his profit on the fourth day, his ruin evident to all. Henry felt obliged to his enemy who then proceeded after surrender to fire the mine, cut down wooden supports and blow up the castle from top to bottom.
I happily trust in the faith of others. But I would not want others to believe I do so out of despair or lack of courage, rather out of honesty and faith in loyalty.