The Siege of Carthage, 146 BC. Rome Annihilates an Entire Civilization. A General Shames Himself Before his Wife.

 Carthage... was annihilated. Its streets, once filled with merchants and soldiers, became killing grounds. Its walls, once impenetrable, were torn apart stone by stone. Its people, once masters of the sea, were either slaughtered in the ruins of their homes or marched away in chains. The war was over, but this was not a victory. It was an execution. The city that had defied Rome for over a century no longer existed, and with it, an entire civilization was erased. There would be no rebuilding, no resurgence, no legacy beyond the scorched earth where it once stood.

Carthage. 149 B.C. - 146 B.C.
 Roman Forces: 80,000 Infantry, 4,000 Cavalry.
Carthaginian Forces: City Forces: Unknown; Field Forces: ~25,000 - 30,000 Infantry.

Additional Reading and Episode Research:

• Dudley, D.R. Rome Against Carthage.
• Collon Translation: Picard, Gilbert. The Life and Death of Carthage.
• Abbott, Jacob. History of Hannibal of Carthage.

Other Pertinent Episodes:

• The Battle of Zama.
• The Battle of Metaurus River.

Transcript

 Thanks for tuning in to this episode of History's Greatest Battles. Season 2, where we explore History's Greatest Sieges. If you know anybody that enjoys this genre of history, please share the podcast with them, and leave a review. Stay tuned after the episode to descend into the killing fields of the comments section.

In the year 146 B.C., on the North African coast, one of the ancient world’s greatest cities was reduced to nothing. Its walls, once a symbol of power, were torn apart stone by stone. Its people, merchants, craftsmen, warriors, and children alike, were either slaughtered or enslaved. Its name, once spoken in fear and reverence, was stricken from maps. What remained was not merely a conquered city, but an eradicated civilization.

This was no ordinary war. It was the final confrontation between two empires that had fought for over a century to determine who would rule the western Mediterranean. One was a maritime power, built on commerce, wealth, and a professional army paid for by its vast trade network. The other was a rising republic, forged in the discipline of its citizen-soldiers, relentless in its pursuit of dominance. The war between them was not only a contest of arms but of ideology, economy, and national survival.

The outcome of this destruction reshaped history. In its wake, Rome became the uncontested master of the Mediterranean, a position that allowed it to expand unchallenged across three continents. The annihilation of its last true rival transformed Rome from a regional power into an empire in all but name. The wealth of the conquered lands fueled its expansion, the fertile fields of Africa became its granary, and the lessons learned from this campaign influenced how Rome would handle every future enemy, total victory, total submission.

The consequences of that decision did not end with Rome. The political and military strategies that emerged from this conflict defined European warfare and imperialism for centuries. The idea that an enemy must not only be defeated but erased became a guiding principle of conquest, repeated in later wars fought by Rome’s successors. The fall of this city determined the trajectory of Western civilization, ensuring that Roman law, culture, and governance, not its rival’s, would shape the foundation of the modern world.

This is the story of that war’s final act. A siege that lasted for years, where men fought with nothing left to lose, where a nation, once feared, made its last stand. In the end, Rome did not simply win. It made sure there would be no one left to challenge it again.

Let’s now experience, the Siege of Carthage.

 Welcome to History's Greatest Battles, Season Two, Episode 31: The Siege of Carthage. From one 49 Bee Sea, to one 46 Bee Sea.

Roman Forces: 80,000 Infantry and 4,000 Cavalry.

Carthaginian Forces: Those inside the city are unknown, those outside the city, between 25,000 and 30,000 infantry.

Carthage... was annihilated. Its streets, once filled with merchants and soldiers, became killing grounds. Its walls, once impenetrable, were torn apart stone by stone. Its people, once masters of the sea, were either slaughtered in the ruins of their homes or marched away in chains. The war was over, but this was not a victory. It was an execution. The city that had defied Rome for over a century no longer existed, and with it, an entire civilization was erased. There would be no rebuilding, no resurgence, no legacy beyond the scorched earth where it once stood.

For years, two titans loomed over the central Mediterranean, each growing in strength, each driven by unyielding ambition. One stood on the southern coast, ruling the sea with an empire of trade and warships. The other dominated the Italian Peninsula, forged in the discipline of its citizen-soldiers.

Carthage rose to power on the wealth of the sea. Her ships cut across the waves, carrying goods from Iberia to Egypt, from the Atlantic to the heart of the Levant. The city’s riches bought her an army of the world’s deadliest mercenaries, warriors hardened in the brutal skirmishes of Iberia and Africa.

Rome’s power came from its people, its iron-willed farmer-legionnaires who toiled in the fields by day and marched to war when called. These men, trained in the unforgiving discipline of the Republic, formed the backbone of Rome’s military machine.

For a time, these two powers shared the world without coming to blows. That peace shattered in 254 B.C. over a scrap of land in the middle of the Mediterranean, Sicily.

For twenty-four years, Rome and Carthage clawed at each other across the land and sea, their strength bled dry in an unrelenting contest of power. Rome, battered but unbroken, seized victory. Both sides staggered away from the battlefield, spent.

Peace followed. Another twenty-four years passed, but peace with an enemy is only a pause in the fight. War erupted again, this time over alliances in Spain.

Then came Hannibal. A force of nature. A mind unlike any the world had ever seen. He marched an army through the Alps, carved a path of destruction through Italy, and shattered Roman legions in battle after battle. For years, he ravaged the Republic’s lands, yet Rome refused to fall. The city stood. Hannibal, despite his genius, could never land the final blow.

Rome countered with the only strategy that could break him: strike his homeland. They invaded Carthaginian territory, forcing him to return. At Zama in 202 B.C., Rome crushed him. Carthage bent the knee, surrendered her fleet, and paid for her defeat in blood and silver.

Defeated but not broken, Carthage turned inward. She paid Rome’s indemnity far ahead of schedule. Without the burden of war, her merchants thrived.

The land she ruled, rich beyond measure, fed her people and fueled her resurgence.

Hannibal, now a statesman, restructured the city’s economy with the same precision he once used on the battlefield. But his enemies within Carthage conspired against him. Under political pressure, he fled into exile, hunted to the ends of the earth by Rome’s spies. He died a fugitive.

Yet Carthage held firm to the peace imposed upon her. She followed every term, honored every demand. But Rome never forgets a rival. Fifty-two years passed, but in the minds of Rome’s leaders, Carthage’s destruction was inevitable. They just needed the right excuse.

The man who gave Rome its excuse for war was not Roman, but a Numidian king. Masinissa. A warrior who had fought beside Rome in the last war. Now, with Rome’s silent approval, he pressed into Carthaginian land, reclaiming territory piece by piece.

With Rome as his shield, Masinissa moved without fear. He took back Numidian land, carving away at Carthage’s borders while Rome turned a blind eye.

By right, by history, Masinissa could have claimed everything. Carthage itself had risen on land once Numidian. If Rome had allowed it, he could have marched in and taken it all.

But Masinissa was no fool. He moved carefully, taking land in small, deliberate steps, knowing Rome’s gaze was fixed elsewhere, on Greece, on Spain, on the endless demands of empire.

Carthage sent envoys to Rome, demanding justice. The Senate gave them nothing.

In 152 B.C., Rome finally sent a delegation. Leading them was Cato, a man who lived and breathed war.

He walked through Carthage’s markets, saw the wealth, the power, the strength hiding beneath the surface. He returned to Rome with one conclusion. Carthage was dangerous. From that day forward, he ended every speech with the same words: Carthago delenda est. Carthage must be destroyed.

Inside Carthage, battle lines were drawn, not with swords, but with words. One side wanted peace. The other prepared for war.

By 151 B.C., the hardliners took control. The appeasers were cast out. The door to diplomacy slammed shut.

Carthage shouted for justice. Rome ignored them. Masinissa pressed his advantage, calling on Rome to back him.

Carthage struck first. Hasdrubal led an army against Numidia. It ended in disaster. Trapped, encircled, and starved, his men withered away.

Cato had his proof. Carthage had broken the treaty. Rome had its war.

Carthage tried to stop it. They turned on Hasdrubal, cast him out, and sent emissaries to Rome, willing to surrender unconditionally.

But Rome was already moving. An army had set sail. The Senate held absolute power over Carthage’s fate.

Rome’s terms were brutal. Carthage would surrender everything. Their land, their weapons, their children, 300 hostages, the best of their young men.

They had no choice. They agreed. A surrender in the full faith of Rome.

Rome promised them their lives. They could keep their laws, their land, their property. The city would remain.

Then the Roman army arrived. And the demands changed.

The city emptied its armories. Swords, shields, spears, enough for 200,000 men, were piled at Rome’s feet. Two thousand catapults, surrendered without a fight.

Then came the last demand. The death sentence. Carthage itself would be torn down. Its people driven from the coast, never to see the sea again.

Appian recorded the Romans’ reasoning: "Whenever you look on the sea, you remember the great fleets you once had, the spoils you captured, the harbors into which you brought them, to fill your dockyards and arsenals."

There was nothing left to discuss. Carthage chose war.

Carthage could not march on Rome. That was impossible. But she could make the Romans bleed, force them back, make the cost of conquest too high.

The city was a fortress. Twenty-one miles of towering walls, built for war. The sea still fed her, still connected her to the world beyond Rome’s reach.

Two districts formed the heart of Carthage. Megara to the north. Byrsa to the south. If Rome wanted the city, they would have to take both.

Carthage rearmed itself. Swords, spears, shields, whatever could be forged, was forged. The sound of hammers striking iron never stopped.

Even the women gave what they could. They cut their hair, twisting it into ropes for the city’s war machines.

Desperation changed everything. Hasdrubal, disgraced and cast out, was called back. He took command of 30,000 men in Byzacena, holding the southern roads.

Nepheris became his stronghold. If Carthage was to hold, that road had to remain open.

Rome came in force, 80,000 infantry, 4,000 cavalry. Utica, taken without resistance, became their base.

But they came unprepared. No siege engines. No way to breach the walls. Three times they attacked the western defenses. Three times they were repelled.

They needed wood. Roman troops crossed the Lake of Tunis to find it. Carthaginian cavalry struck them hard. But Rome pushed through, gathered what they needed, and built two siege rams.

Rome struck at the southern walls. A breach was made. Carthage rebuilt it overnight. Then they surged out, smashing the Roman siege engines before they could strike again.

Summer burned across Africa. Disease spread through the Roman camps, sweltering between the lagoons. They moved south, seeking better ground.

Carthage struck from the sea. Fire ships turned Roman supply vessels into floating pyres. Food, weapons, reinforcements, burned to ash.

Month after month, Rome threw itself at Carthage. By the end of the year, they had gained nothing.

In 148 B.C., Manilius shifted tactics. He moved north, abandoning his position to strike from a new angle.

He did not strike the city. Instead, he turned toward Nepheris. If he could break Hasdrubal, Carthage would starve.

Among his officers was Scipio Aemilianus. The adopted grandson of Scipio Africanus. The bloodline of Rome’s greatest commander.

Scipio warned him. The attack was a mistake. He was ignored.

Disaster struck. Manilius was caught in open ground, his men falling before Carthaginian cavalry. Scipio arrived in time to save them, covering the retreat.

But Scipio did more than save the army. He saved Rome’s alliances.

At the war’s start, Rome had pushed Masinissa aside. Now they needed him.

The old king summoned Scipio. A meeting that would change the course of the war.

But Masinissa was dead. His three sons stood before Scipio. Rome’s chosen general now had to decide who would rule Numidia.

Scipio divided the kingdom. One son took the throne. One took the role of diplomat. One took command of justice. Rome had secured Numidia.

Scipio returned to camp with Gulussa at his side. And behind them, Numidian cavalry.

The Numidian cavalry rode into Rome’s camp, and the balance shifted. Himilco Phameas, Carthage’s cavalry commander, saw the tide turning. He defected.

For Rome, it was the only real victory that year.

Manilius turned to raiding, sacking smaller cities, letting his men take what they could. A distraction.

It did little to break Carthage. They still had men to send to Hippo, still had gold to fund uprisings in Macedonia.

Rome needed a real commander. Scipio returned to the city, stood before the people, and took what was his. The name Scipio still held power. The people gave him command.

In the spring of 147 B.C., Scipio returned to Africa. This time, he was in charge.

He walked into chaos.

Manilius had made a push into Megara but now sat stranded. His men, beaten down and surrounded, were losing their nerve.

Scipio wasted no time. He drove out the useless. No more distractions. No more looting. No rewards without victory.

Carthage brought back Hasdrubal. He took full control of the city’s defenses. The mobile force went to Diogenes, a Greek mercenary with nothing to lose.

Scipio struck at Megara. At first, the Romans pushed through. But the Carthaginians fought like men with no future. Scipio pulled back.

Hasdrubal made his answer clear. He dragged Roman prisoners onto the walls, tortured them in full view of the legions outside.

It was meant to break Rome’s will. It did the opposite. Scipio’s men saw their comrades die screaming. They burned with vengeance.

Scipio saw through the distraction. Megara could wait. Byrsa was the key, the harbor, the last supply line. That was the real target.

Through the brutal heat of summer, Scipio built his own walls. Trenches lined with sharpened stakes. Towers to watch every move. A fortress encircling the city itself.

Now, no one got in. No one got out.

The land was cut off. Now, the sea.

He ordered a massive blockade, stone by stone, closing the harbor mouth.

Carthaginian engineers worked night and day, carving a new channel, forcing their way back to the sea.

Every scrap of wood, every last beam, turned into warships.

Then, Carthage’s fleet surged out. But they hesitated. The Roman ships sat before them, waiting. They did nothing.

By the time they struck, Rome had seen it coming. The Carthaginians were driven back, their new fleet in ruin.

The new channel betrayed them. Too narrow, too tight. Rome’s warships struck them down, one by one.

Scipio pressed forward. He brought up his siege weapons and drove into the outer harbor defenses.

Carthage struck back in the dead of night. The Roman siege engines burned. But Scipio rebuilt. He did not stop.

The walls broke. Carthage rebuilt them. Scipio shattered them again.

The walls were down, but Carthage fought on. Rome still could not force its way in.

Carthage still had allies. Scipio spent the rest of the year tearing them away. One by one, they fell. At Nepheris, Hasdrubal’s last field army held for twenty-two days. Then it was gone.

Carthage was alone. No reinforcements. No allies. No food.

Hasdrubal came crawling, looking for terms. But Scipio had only one offer: Carthage must die.

Spring came, and with it, the end. Scipio called upon Carthage’s gods, demanding they abandon their people. Then he struck.

The final attack crashed against the harbor defenses. This time, Carthage broke.

Hasdrubal torched the harbor, hoping to slow the advance. It did nothing. The Romans surged forward.

The real delay came when Roman soldiers reached the temple of Apollo. Gold lined its dome. They stopped to loot.

Once Scipio’s reinforcements arrived, the fight moved to Byrsa, Carthage’s final stronghold.

The city turned into a maze of death. Every street was a battlefield. Every home a fortress. For six days, men killed each other in the dark.

Scipio had seen enough. He ordered fire. The city burned, and those who had survived the sword now fell to the flames.

Carthage had nothing left. The war was over.

On the seventh day, the survivors walked out. 50,000 men, women, and children. They did not fight. They did not beg. They simply surrendered.

Only Hasdrubal remained, hiding in the temple of Esmun with 900 Roman deserters.

There was no last stand, no defiance. Hasdrubal crawled to Scipio, pleading for his life. Behind him, the Roman deserters chose death, setting the temple ablaze.

His wife watched in disgust. Her voice rang out over the fire and blood: "Wretch! Is this how you seek to save your own life while you sacrifice ours? I cannot reach you in your own person, but I kill you hereby in the persons of your children."

She took a dagger, killed her own children, and cast them into the fire. Then she followed.

Scipio’s men took what they wanted. The city was theirs.

When they had taken all they could carry, Scipio gave the final order. The fires raged for ten days.

Carthage, the empire, was gone. In its place, Rome named a province: Africa. A new city would rise there, built by Romans.

Scipio stood in the firelit ruins. And he wept.

Polybius stood beside him. "Is this not a splendid sight?"

Scipio did not answer at first. Then, quietly: "A splendid sight indeed, Polybius, and yet I am in fear, I know not why, that some day the same order will be given to destroy my own country."

The fields of Carthage became Rome’s breadbasket. For centuries, Africa fed the empire.

For centuries, the land that had once been Carthage fed the empire that destroyed it. The soil, soaked in the blood of its people, gave life to the very nation that had torn it apart. Rome reaped the harvests of a city it had burned to the ground, its fields plowed not by Carthaginians, but by the slaves who once called it home.

And yet, nothing lasts forever. When the Vandals came, Rome’s great granary was lost, slipping from the empire’s grasp like sand through open fingers.

But even ruin can be undone. A century later, the Eastern Romans came. Belisarius, the hammer of Justinian, marched into Africa. The land that had once been Carthage fell once more, this time, not to slaughter, but to conquest. The city, long dead, would never rise again, but its soil would feed empires anew.

Carthage did not fall in a single day. It fell in fire. It fell in blood. It fell in the screams of children ripped from their homes, in the cries of mothers watching their sons dragged away in chains. It fell in the agony of its last warriors, fighting street by street, knowing their wives and daughters burned behind them. It fell when its greatest general begged for mercy and his wife chose death instead. It fell when Rome, stone by stone, turned its walls to ash.

Carthage is gone. Its name survives only in the stories of those who destroyed it.

Carthago delenda est. And so it was.