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Babylon, Persia, Alexander’s, and Rome. The core of the book consists of several hundred questions and answers concerning the things that are and are not permitted. “If a soldier has accepted wages for a year, may he put another man in his place during that period?” “Whether it is lawful to give battle on a feast day.” “Whether the holder of a safe-conduct may take with him a man of higher estate than himself.” “Whether clerics should pay
taillages
or impositions levied for the purposes of a war” (they should not). “If a baron is a vassal of two lords who are at war with each other, which should he help?” And—remember, this was a time of war between France and England—“whether an English student dwelling at Paris for purposes of study could be imprisoned?”
    To those who would understand the mentality of war in the Middle Ages Bonet’s work, like that of his self-professed disciple Christine de Pisan, is invaluable. Neither they nor the various chronicles constitute military theory, however. They are mentioned here only by way of an indication of the kind of writings which the period in question produced. Summing up the present chapter, one may perhaps conclude that such theory did not constitute a strong point either of the Latin Middle Ages or of the ancient world. Ignoring the differences that existed between their own feudal system and the Roman Imperial one, medieval people were content with a small number of Roman texts which had been handed down to them and of which they made use as best they could. The ancient world saw the writing of much superb military history; however, judging by what remains the theoretical treatises which it produced tended to be no more than sensible at best and pedestrian at worst. As to the Byzantine texts, they formed a world apart. Quite obviously they were written by persons who knew what they were talking about. But they exercised little influence outside a small circle of Imperial generals who may have wanted to know such things as (quoting the one on campaign organization) “how to avoid confusion inside the camp.” These generals may have carried them about and used them as the situation demanded.
    What is more, and as their arrangement suggests, even the best of the works discussed in the present chapter are little more than handbooks. They make suggestions and proffer advice which may be appropriate to this occasion or that. Taking the formations and armament of their own day more or less for granted, however, they seldom rise above the specifics of time and place. From time to time they go lower still, delving into such questions as the use of heated vinegar for splitting rocks and how to train archers to fire accurately. The fact that some of them were in actual use until 1700 and beyond shows how indebted early modern Europe felt itself to the ancient world—or, conversely, how slow the evolution of warfare was. Unlike the Chinese classics they do not provide a coherent philosophy of war. In the West, the only writer who met that demand was Clausewitz. Before we can examine Clausewitz, however, it is necessary to fill in the gap between about 1500 and the end of the Seven Years War.

3. 1500 to 1763
    Machiavelli’s place among the great political scientists of history is secure, and deservedly so. No one who has compared
The Prince
to, say, Erasmus’s
Ways of a Christian Prince
can but note the immense gap between them. Though separated by no more than two or three years, the latter is a treatise on morals, the former on power. Machiavelli’s insights into the nature of power have rarely been equaled, never surpassed. They remain as fresh today as they were when he put them down in 1513.
    In spite of the attempts, made by modern historians, to include Machiavelli among “makers of modern strategy,”
The Art of War
does not really amount to a first-class treatise on the subject. Written in 1523, the work is cast in the form of a conversation