Roman generals admittedly never had access to reliable figures in the first place. Before a battle, scouts could only estimate the numerical strength of the enemy; nor did the chaos afterwards lend itself to the compilation of accurate body counts on either side.
To make matters worse, as one scholar has written," because Saul slew his thousands and David his tens of thousands, David was the better man".
Returning commanders, needed to impress a difficult audience in the senate, would enumerate their achievements at length and no doubt stretched the truth sometimes. Their goal was to make dignitas, otherwise a slippery concept, quantifiable.
That was how the system worked, and the fact that everyone knew it did nothing to stifle the impulse to exaggerate.
Often enough the bragging paid off and blatantly self-aggrandizing reports gained a measure of public sanction through triumphs celebrated in their honor.
By the same token statistics could illustrate failure as well success: critics often cited numbers to deflate puffed-up claims or to offset the tallies of enemy dead by focusing attention on Roman casualties instead.
Even today, the public welcomes news of victory with muted enthusiasm when it comes at too high price. Narratives marked by all these familiar patterns of distortion helped to shape collective memory and eventually filtered they way into historical record.