Herod and Augustus: Papers Presented at the IJS Conference, 21st-23rd June 2005 (Ijs Studies in Judaica)

Herod and Augustus

IJS STUDIES IN JUDAICA Conference Proceedings of the Institute of Jewish Studies, University College London

Series Editors

Markham J. Geller Ada Rapoport-Albert John Klier

VOLUME 6

Herod and Augustus Papers Presented at the IJS Conference, 21st–23rd June 2005

edited by

David M. Jacobson and Nikos Kokkinos

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2009

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Herod and Augustus : IJS conference, 21st–23rd June 2005 / edited by David Jacobson and Nikos Kokkinos. p. cm. — (IJS studies in Judaica ; v. 6) Includes index. ISBN 978-90-04-16546-5 (alk. paper) 1. Jews—History—168 B.C.–135 A.D.—Congresses. 2. Palestine—History— To 70 A.D.—Congresses. 3. Rome—History—Augustus, 30 B.C.–14 A.D.— Congresses. 4. Palestine—Antiquities, Roman—Congresses. 5. Herod I, King of Judea, 73–4 B.C.—Influence—Congresses. 6. Augustus, Emperor of Rome, 63 B.C.–14 A.D.—Influence—Congresses. 7. Architecture, Roman— Palestine—Congresses. I. Jacobson, David M. II. Kokkinos, Nikos, 1955– III. Title. IV. Series. DS122.3.H345 2008 933’.05—dc22

2008019713

ISSN 1570-1581 ISBN 978 90 04 16546 5 Copyright 2009 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS List of Abbreviations ..................................................................

ix

Introduction by the Editors ........................................................ David M. Jacobson and Nikos Kokkinos

1

AUGUSTAN AND HERODIAN IDEOLOGY Herod, Rome, and the Diaspora ................................................ Erich S. Gruen

13

The Augustan Programme of Cultural Renewal and Herod ... Karl Galinsky

29

Herod and Rome: Was Romanisation a Goal of the Building Policy of Herod? ..................................................................... Achim Lichtenberger

43

LITERARY AND DOCUMENTARY EVIDENCE Herod, Augustus, and Nicolaus of Damascus ........................... Mark Toher

65

Herod, Josephus, and Laqueur: A Reconsideration .................. Joseph Sievers

83

The Coins of Herod the Great in the Context of the Augustan Empire .................................................................... Donald T. Ariel Dating Documents in Herodian Judaea ..................................... David Goodblatt

113 127

vi

contents AUGUSTAN AND HERODIAN BUILDING PROGRAMMES

Rome and Jerusalem: Public Building and the Economy ......... Joseph Geiger

157

Palaces and the Planning of Complexes in Herod’s Realm ..... Ehud Netzer

171

Herodian Entertainment Structures ........................................... Joseph Patrich

181

INDIVIDUAL HERODIAN SITES Herod’s Caesarea on Sebastos: Urban Structures and Influences ................................................................................ Barbara Burrell The Architectural Origins of Herod’s Temple Mount ............. Dan Bahat

217 235

APPLIED ARTS IN THE HERODIAN KINGDOM Wall Paintings of the Hellenistic and Herodian Period in the Land of Israel ......................................................................... Silvia Rozenberg Herodian Pottery ........................................................................ Malka Hershkovitz

249 267

ADMINISTRATION AND CLIENT NETWORK Herod, Augustus, and the Special Relationship: The Significance of the Procuratorship ................................. Anthony A. Barrett Client Kings’ Armies under Augustus: The Case of Herod .... Denis B. Saddington

281 303

contents Nabataean Royal Propaganda: A Response to Herod and Augustus? ................................................................................ Stephan G. Schmid Herod’s Contemporaries in Britain and the West ..................... John Creighton

vii 325 361

RELIGION UNDER AUGUSTUS AND HEROD One Temple and Many Synagogues: On Religion and State in Herodian Judaea and Augustan Rome .............................. Daniel R. Schwartz

385

Index ........................................................................................... Plates ...........................................................................................

399 417

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS Abbreviations Used by Contributors for Publications, Documentary Sources, and Other Compilations Abbreviations are given of periodicals, book series, encyclopaedias, dictionaries and corpora of non-literary primary sources (papyri, inscriptions and coins) cited by the contributors to this volume. Where the publication is a monograph or a set of volumes that is less widely known to Classicists, bibliographic details are provided. Where different abbreviations are used by contributors for the same publication these are shown below. Abbreviations employed, where the contributor has also provided the full bibliographic details in their paper, are omitted from this list. AA AAAH Abh. DPV ADAJ AE AJA AK AMGR AncSoc AnnOrNap ANRW ANS AntAfr AntPl ARS ASNP

Archäologischer Anzeiger (Deutsches Archäologisches Institut) Acta ad archaeologiam et artium historiam pertinentia Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins Annals of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan L’Année épigraphique American Journal of Archaeology (Archaeological Institute of America) Antike Kunst Annuaire du Musée gréco-romain (Alexandria) Ancient Society (Louvain) Annali: Rivista del Dipartimento di studi asiatici e del Dipartimento di studi e ricerche su Africa e paesi arabi, Istituto universitario orientale di Napoli Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt (ed. H. Temporini and W. Haase, Berlin: W. De Gruyter, 1972–) American Numismatic Society Antiquités africaines Antike Plastik Ancient Roman Statutes, transl. etc. A. C. Johnson, P. R. ColemanNorton and F. C. Bourne (The Corpus of Roman Law, Vol. v. 2, Austin: University of Texas Press, 1961) Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, Cl. di Lettere e Filosofia

x ASOR AW BABesch BAIAS BAR BAR (IS) BAsInst BASOR BCH BdA BÉFAR BiA BICS BMCR CAH CHJ CIL CIRB

CIS = CISem Coll. Lat. = CollLatomus DJD DossArch EA EAD EAEHL EJ2

list of abbreviations American Society for Oriental Research Antike Welt Bulletin Antieke Beschaving—Annual Papers on Classical Archaeology (Leiden) Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society Biblical Archaeology Review British Archaeological Reports (International Series; Oxford) Bulletin of the Asia Institute Bulletin of the American Society for Oriental Research Bulletin de correspondance hellénique Bollettino d’Art (Rome/Ravenna) Bibliothèque des Écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome (Series Publication) Biblical Archaeologist (ASOR) Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies of the University of London Bryn Mawr Classical Review Cambridge Ancient History Cambridge History of Judaism Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum Corpus Inscriptionum Regni Bosporani: Album Imaginum, A. Gavrilov, N. Pavlichenko, D. Keyer and A. Karlin (St Petersburg: Biblioteca Classica Petropolitana and the St. Petersburg Institute of History of the Russian Academy of Sciences, 2004) Corpus Inscriptionum Semiticarum Collection Latomus Discoveries in the Judaean Desert (Oxford: Clarendon Press) Les Dossiers d’Archéologie Epigraphica Anatolica Exploration archéologique de Délos Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land (ed. M. Avi Yonah and E. Stern, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall 1975; 4 vols.) V. Ehrenberg and A. H. M. Jones, Documents Illustrating the Reigns of Augustus and Tiberius, 2nd edn. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976)

list of abbreviations ESI FastiCap. FGrH

xi

Excavations and Surveys in Israel Fasti Capitolini Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, F. Jacoby (Berlin: Weidmann, 1923–58) FIRA Fontes Iuris Romani Antejustiniani, S. Riccobono, ed. (Florence: S. a. G. Barbèra, 1940–43) Gallia Fouilles et monuments archéologiques en France Métropolitaine HABES Heidelberger Althistorische Beiträge und Epigraphische Studien HSPh Harvard Studies in Classical Philology HTR = HThR Harvard Theological Review IAA Israel Antiquities Authority IAAR Israel Antiquities Authority Reports IEJ Israel Exploration Journal IES Israel Exploration Society IFAPO Institut Français d’Archéologie du Proche-Orient IG Inscriptiones Graecae IGRR Inscriptiones Graecae ad res Romanas pertinentes IJNA International Journal of Nautical Archaeology ILS Inscriptiones latinae selectae, H. Dessau, ed. (1892–1916) JbAC Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JDAI Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JQR Jewish Quarterly Review JRA Journal of Roman Archaeology JRS Journal of Roman Studies JSJ Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period JSOPSS Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplement Series JTS Journal of Theological Studies LACTOR London Association of Classical Teachers—Original Records LIMC Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae LSJ Liddel, H. G., Scott, R., and Jones, H. S., A GreekEnglish Lexicon. Various editions, Oxford: Clarendon MAAR Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome Mas Texts from Masada Mavors Bulletin of the Institute of Ancient Military History MDAI(R) Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts (Römische Abteilung) MededRome Mededelingen van het Nederlands Instituut te Rome

xii MEFRA

list of abbreviations

Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire de l’École française de Rome, Antiquité MGWJ Monatsscrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums Mommsen, SR T. Mommsen, Römisches Staatsrecht (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1887–88) NC Numismatic Chronicle NEAEHL New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land (ed. E. Stern et al., Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 4 vols., 1993) OGIS Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae OLZ Orientalistische Literaturzeitung OUP Oxford University Press P Yadin The Documents from the Bar Kochba Period in the Cave of Letters: Greek Papyri, N. Lewis and Y. Yadin, eds. ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1989) PBSR Papers of the British School at Rome PEFQSt Palestine Exploration Fund Quarterly Statement PEQ Palestine Exploration Quarterly Pictores 1987 Pictores per provincias: Aventicum V., Actes du 3e Colloque International sur la peinture murale romaine (Cahiers d’archéologie romande 43, Avenches, Switzerland) Prosopographia Imperii Romani Saeculi (1st edn.) PIR1 Prosopographia Imperii Romani Saeculi (2nd edn.) PIR2 PLM (Baehrens) Poetae Latini Minores, E. Baehrens (Leipzig, 1879–83) PPM I 1990 Pompei, Pitture e Mosaici I (ed. Carratelli, G. P. and Baldassarre, I., Rome, 1990) PPM III 1992 Pompei, Pitture e Mosaici III: Regiones II–III.V (ed. Carratelli, G. P. and Baldassarre, I., Rome, 1992) Proc. Prehist. Soc. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society Qadmoniot Qadmoniot: Quarterly for the Antiquities of Eretz Israel and Biblical Lands RA Revue archéologique RB = RBi Revue Biblique RE Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft (ed. A. Pauly et al., Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler, 1893–) RIC Roman Imperial Coinage, H. Mattingley, E. A. Sydenham et al. (London: Spink, 1923–) RIL Rendiconti dell’Istituto Lombardo, Classe di Lettere, Scienze morali e Storiche RKP Routledge and Kegan Paul (publishers) RM = MDAI(R)

list of abbreviations SAN SCI SEG SR Tarbiz TSAJ VA WDSP ZDPV = ZPalV ZPE

xiii

Journal of the Society for Ancient Numismatics Scripta Classica Israelica: Yearbook of the Israel Society for the Promotion of Classical Studies Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum Römisches Staatsrecht, T. Mommsen (see under Mommsen, above) Tarbiz (A Quarterly for Jewish Studies) Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism (Tübingen) Van Arsdell, R. D., Celtic Coinage of Britain (London: Spink, 1989) Wadi Daliyeh Samaria Papyri Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik

Abbreviations Used for Ancient Literary Sources by Contributors Where different abbreviations are used for the same source in this volume, the alternatives are shown. AJ = Jos., Ant App., Bell. Civ. = B. Civ. = BC App., Illyr. Baba Bathra = b. B.B. BJ = Jos., Bell. BAlex bTaan b. Sukk. Caes., BC = B. Civ. = Civil War Caes., BG = B. Gall. [Cic.] AdHerr. Cic., Cic., Cic., Cic., Cic., Cic., Cic.,

Att. De Republica De Inv. = Inv. rhet. Deiot. Fam. Quinct. Sull.

Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae Appian, Bella Civilia Appian, Illyriké Babylonian Talmud, Baba Bathra Josephus, Bellum Judaicum Bellum Alexandrinum Babylonian Talmud, Taanith Babylonian Talmud, Sukkah Caesar, Bellum Civile Caesar, Bellum Gallicum [Cicero] Ad Herrenium (this work is not now regarded as by Cicero) Cicero, Epistulae ad Atticum Cicero, De Republica Cicero, De inventione rhetorica Cicero, Pro rege Deiotaro Cicero, Epistulae ad familiares Cicero, Pro Quinctio Cicero, Pro Sulla

xiv

list of abbreviations

Dio Diod. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Rom. Ant. Frontinus, Aq. Jos., Ant. Jos., Bell. = BJ = War Josephus, Vita = Life Julian, Ad Themist. Macc. Macrobius, Sat. Marc. Aurel., Med m. Baba Kamma m. Mid. m. Parah m. Suk. Philo, Leg. Philo, Spec. Leg. Pliny, N.H. Plutarch, Anton. Plut., Apothegm. Plut., CGr Plut., Cic. Sall., Jug. Seneca, Clem. Seneca, Cons. Marc. Sen., Dial. Seneca, Epp. Strabo, Geog. Suet., Aug. Suet., Gaius Suet., Iul. Suet., Tib. Tacitus, Ann. Tac., Hist. Suda t. Suk. Vell. Pat. Vitruvius, De Arch.

Dio Cassius Diodorus Siculus Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Antiquitates Romanae Frontinus, De aquae ductu urbis Romae Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae Josephus, Bellum Judaicum Julian, Epistula and Themistium Maccabees Macrobius, Saturnalia Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Mishnah, Baba Kamma Mishnah, Middoth Mishnah, Parah Mishnah, Sukkah Philo, Legatio ad Gaium Philo, De Specialibus Legibus Pliny, Naturalis historia Plutarch, Antony Plutarch, Apothegmata Plutarch, Caius Gracchus Plutarch, Cicero Sallust, Bellum Jugurthinum Seneca, de Clementia Seneca, Ad Marciam de consolatione Seneca, Dialogi Seneca, Epistulae Strabo, Geographia Suetonius, Divus Augustus Svetonius, Gaius Caligula Suetonius, Divus Iulius Suetonius, Tiberius Tacitus, Annales Tacitus, Historiae Suidas (the name of a Greek Lexicon) Tosefta, Sukkah Velleius Paterculus Vitruvius, De architectura

INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITORS David M. Jacobson and Nikos Kokkinos Leading experts in Herodian and Augustan studies from across the globe were brought together under the auspices of the Institute of Jewish Studies to present the results of their research and also to engage in a constructive encounter, during the three days of the ‘Herod and Augustus’ Conference held at University College London, from 21 to 23 June, 2005. The event was well attended and the lectures generated lively debate. This volume contains 19 contributions from the invited participants.1 This conference follows on the heels of an international conference at the British Museum on the theme of the ‘World of the Herods and the Nabataeans’ (17–19 April 2001), the first of its type ever held in the UK and published in two volumes (Stuttgart 2007) under the editorship of Nikos Kokkinos and Konstantinos Politis, respectively. The success of that conference encouraged the organising of the present conference four years later. Not only did both attract large audiences, but they provided useful forums for UK experts in Herodian studies to interact and share ideas with eminent colleagues in Israel, the USA, Europe and elsewhere. It is very much hoped that such initiatives can be repeated and further major conferences held on Herodian studies in London at four yearly intervals, like Herod’s prestigious quadrennial games. These events would considerably raise the profile of the UK in this important field of research. Through ongoing research efforts, fresh insights have been gained on developments in the cultural sphere that were fostered by the Principate of Augustus, and its reciprocal relationship with client monarchies, among which Herod’s Judaea occupies a prominent place. Herod’s kingdom is conspicuous due to both the industriousness of Herod himself, which has left its mark in the material remains of his impressive building

1 Only two of the conference speakers have refrained from contributing papers to the present collection. However, the subject matter of their lectures is largely covered in other publications (see in particular Foerster 1995; Gradel 2002).

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david m. jacobson and nikos kokkinos

programme, and also on account of the substantial written record of his reign left to us by Josephus. These themes received much attention at the conference, as is evident in this collected volume. It is recognised that the triumph of Octavian at Actium in 31 BCE was a defining moment in Roman history. It resulted in Octavian becoming the sole ruler of a vast Empire stretching over three continents. The title ‘Augustus’ (“the revered”), with its religious connotation and never used as a personal name before, was bestowed on Octavian, and solemnly voted by the Senate and People of Rome in 27 BCE. An unprecedented programme of reconstruction and revitalisation followed which affected all aspects of cultural and economic life. The constitution, economy, religion and the arts were radically reformed. Central to the initiative were ambitious building projects. The importance that Augustus attached to building, restoring and embellishing temples in Rome and the provinces is demonstrated by the prominence that he gave to it in his own account of his achievements (Res Gestae 19–21, 24). As Karl Galinsky emphasises, the Augustan revolution needs to be understood in a much wider perspective, encompassing the entire Mediterranean world where the unfolding social and cultural changes were also making an impact, and these in turn encouraged crossfertilisation that left their mark on Roman society. In this arena, Galinsky argues that Augustus provided a catalytic role, rather than acting as the prime mover for changes that were already in progress. He further points out that this fluid situation created opportunities for new talent, mostly trained professionals, to take charge of Roman cultural and administrative institutions, which had previously been the preserve of the old Roman aristocracy, and implement the reforms pursuant to the new order. One of the consistent features of the Augustan Principate was that it made good use of professional skills and talents. On the basis of information supplied by Josephus, Anthony Barrett suggests that Herod’s financial management skills were specifically recognised by the Emperor, who gave authority to Herod to oversee the financial administration of his private estates. Barrett has suggested that Herod may have acted as Augustus’ private agent outside his kingdom in Syria, an Imperial province, advising the procurators on how to manage it for the best financial return. As far as we know, such a position was unprecedented for a client king. John Creighton shows that the reach of the Augustan Revolution even went beyond the Imperial frontiers to the tribal principalities of Britain. Imagery on the contemporaneous coins of these principalities

introduction by the editors

3

shows quite convincingly that they adopted Augustan iconography. The process of cultural integration that was given impetus under the Augustan Principate is attested by other archaeological evidence cited by Creighton that links Britain, Noricum and Mauretania. This process percolated deep into provincial societies, as reflected in everyday items such as brooches and pottery. Pottery from Herodian Jerusalem analysed by Malka Hershkovitz is characterised by innovation and change. It is a period marked by substantial growth in importation of wares and foodstuffs from outside Judaea, from as far away as Italy. Noteworthy, too, is the impact made by imported vessels on local pottery production. Like other members of the network of client kings, Herod played an important role in promoting traditional Hellenistic institutions. Josephus describes Herod’s donation of temples, gymnasia, theatres and other public buildings, together with supporting endowments. Erich Gruen reminds us that Herod presented himself as a patron rather than as a client, projecting an assortment of regal qualities, most notably of splendour (tryphê) and magnaminity (for which Josephus uses the term megalopsychia, which also bears the connotation of greatness), which had been keenly cultivated by Hellenistic kings. At the same time, Herod could not be allowed to forget his subservience to Rome. He had to balance his own personal ambitions and aggrandisement with the need to actively serve Roman political and strategic objectives, by helping to strengthen Imperial authority in the East. Denis Saddington discusses the makeup of Herod’s army and the duties that it performed in support of Rome. He notes that Roman influence on Herod must be seen at the level of high policy and Imperial defence, rather than in the details of his army structure. Herod’s political and cultural policies come together in his foundation and building of Caesarea Maritima, with its enormous artificial harbour constructed of Roman hydraulic concrete, and the magnificent temple dedicated to Roma and Augustus that overlooked it. Following Hellenistic precedents, Herod erected a royal palace in Caesarea, and a theatre and hippodrome in close proximity. Augustus, similarly, built his Roman residence on the Palatine Hill, overlooking the Circus Maximus. Barbara Burrell explains the reason for situating the royal palace next to the centres of entertainment. Greek and Roman festivals involving drama, music and sporting contests were dedicated to pagan deities and organised and presided over by the monarch. So at Caesarea Herod established lavish games dedicated to the divine Augustus, and arranged

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that they be held every four years. Caesarea became Rome’s principal foothold in Judaea, and a century later was chosen as the provincial capital, in place of Jerusalem. Herod readily appreciated the importance of entertainment buildings in the diffusion of Graeco-Roman culture. From his excavation of Herod’s hippodrome at Caesarea, Joseph Patrich has managed to reconstruct its physical appearance and also the activities that it hosted. This structure had the conventional “U”-shape with a sloping sphendonê, such as we find at the Circus Maximus, but the details of its layout suggest that the racing held there was according to the Olympic style of Greece, which attest to the strength of Greek traditions in the eastern Mediterranean. However, it was a multipurpose structure that was not only used for horse and chariot races: it also accommodated Greekstyle athletic events and was an arena for Roman-style contests. True to Herod’s predilection for gargantuan constructions, his hippodrome was the largest of its type to be built in the Levant. This structure and the adjacent theatre were also the first stone-built examples in the entire region. Ehud Netzer offers a survey of Herod’s palaces and temples in his kingdom, as they have been revealed through archaeological excavations, several of which having been unearthed by that scholar. He shows that the earlier buildings of Herod’s reign derived their inspiration from the Hellenistic architectural repertoire and its Hasmonaean offshoot, but as his reign progressed Roman influences, both in terms of design and methods of construction, came to the fore, and connections are drawn to both late Republican and Augustan monuments. From Silvia Rozenberg’s lucid analysis of the surviving wall paintings from Herod’s Third Winter Palace at Jericho, we learn that these frescos belong to the transitional period between the Second and Third Pompeian styles, which appeared in Italy between 20 and 15 BCE. Pre-eminent examples have been found in palatial buildings in Rome connected with the Emperor and his entourage. The similar design schemes and high technical quality of the frescos from the Third Winter Palace in Jericho would suggest that they were executed by highly trained craftsmen brought from Rome.2

2 A similar deduction has been arrived at by Gideon Foerster (1995) in respect of Herod’s Northern Palace at Masada.

introduction by the editors

5

In most cases, Herod and his builders had a free hand in the layout and execution of their constructions, but there was an important exception. Dan Bahat points out that when Herod planned his rebuilding of the Temple on a grand scale, he was obliged to show respect to the pre-existing buildings and their disposition on the Temple Mount, which had an important cultic significance to Herod’s intended beneficiaries, the Jews. As a concession to their concerns, he assigned the construction of the inner part of the Temple to a thousand priests who he had trained as stonemasons and carpenters ( Jos., Ant. 15.390). An ossuary bearing the inscription “Simon, builder of the Temple Sanctuary (heikhal)” has been found in a Jerusalem tomb-cave of the Herodian period, which bears witness to this remarkable episode.3 It shows that Herod was willing to go some way to accommodate the religious sensibilities of his Jewish subjects if these stood in the way of his wider objectives. As the frescos from Herod’s Third Winter Palace seem to underline, and cogently argued by Achim Lichtenberger from other evidence— documentary and archaeological—in his ambitious building programme, Herod was operating in tandem with Augustus and his protégé Marcus Agrippa. Moreover, all three were following the example set by the great Hellenistic monarchs who had preceded them. With regard to Herod’s rebuilding of the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem, Augustus’ affirmative religious policies would appear to have a direct bearing on this issue. Augustus assumed the role of Pontifex Maximus at Rome in 12 BCE, and we know that that pietas featured prominently among the imperial virtues represented in the inscription on his golden shield, the clupeus virtutis, hung up in the Senate in Rome in 27 BCE (Res Gestae 34). Augustus was acclaimed as the “founder and restorer of all sanctuaries” (Livy 4.20.7), and his initiatives in building, restoring and embellishing temples in Rome and the provinces, feature prominently in accounts of his achievements. In announcing to the Jews of Jerusalem his undertaking to rebuild the Temple as an expression of piety ( Jos., Ant. 15.387), and as a pious undertaking (Ant. 15.384; cf. War 1.400), it is likely that Herod took his cue from Augustus.4 We know that Herod, like his imperial overlord, formally adopted the epithet eusebês = pius. This detail is recorded in three inscriptions—on a statue base

3 4

Naveh 1970; Tzaferis 1975. Jacobson 2007.

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from Athens (OGIS 427 = IG 2 II/III 3441), on a stone weight from Jerusalem (AE 1972, 672) and on a lead weight from Ashdod (Azotus).5 The attendance of Augustus’ deputy, Marcus Agrippa, at the celebration of the Feast of Tabernacles in the new Temple in 15 BCE, and his generosity towards the Temple cult, by paying for the sacrifice of a hundred oxen (a hecatomb) as well as other gifts to the sanctuary, surely demonstrate that this project enjoyed the support of the Emperor ( Jos., Ant. 16.14; Philo, Leg. 295–7). Imperial patronage of the Jewish Temple is confirmed by Philo of Alexandria, writing about a generation after the death of Augustus (Leg. 157, 309–19). Inter alia, Philo records that Augustus ordered daily whole-offering sacrifices in the Temple from his private purse, and that he and his wife, Livia, presented the Temple with golden vessels and other precious gifts, acts which are also attested by Josephus ( Jos., War 5.562–3).6 All the evidence seems to indicate that Herod’s rebuilding of the Temple was not only sanctioned by the Imperial court, but received its full blessing. And yet, ironically, the sanctuary in Jerusalem became “the focus and catalyst for anti-Roman ferment”, according to Daniel Schwartz, and in less than a century was to be the central bastion of the Jewish zealots in their desperate bid to shake off Imperial control. He points out that Herod’s Temple exacerbated the contradiction between the continued existence of that which the Bible and Jewish tradition considered to be “the palace of the true King of the Jews”, on the one hand, and Roman rule, on the other. Just as Barbara Burrell notes in the context of Herod’s construction of Caesarea, Joseph Geiger reminds us that there were also good economic justifications for Herod’s building programme, which likewise applied to those undertaken by Augustus and Marcus Agrippa. Herod’s rebuilding of the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem called for the employment of large numbers of craftsmen and labourers, and this is well documented in Josephus. The same is true of the building and restoration projects initiated by Augustus and Agrippa. By providing a considerable volume of employment, their building programmes would have enhanced the popular esteem of these rulers, and this aspect appears to have entered into their calculations.

5 6

Kushnir-Stein 1995. See also Kokkinos 1998, 307, n. 152. See Kokkinos 2002, 246 in reply to a review by Peter Herz.

introduction by the editors

7

Far less is known about other client monarchs, which do not have their Josephus, although enough relevant facts about Juba II can be scraped together to fill a volume on this Mauretanian king.7 Stephan Schmid considers the evidence from the Nabataean kingdom. In Herod’s generation, Nabataea still lay beyond the formal confines of the Roman Empire. However, this territory was an immediate neighbour of Judaea and in close relationship with it, including dynastic links forged between Herod and the Nabataean monarchy, so that cultural influences between the two were inevitable. This is borne out by the evidence from the monumental buildings of Petra, including stately pool-and-garden complexes, which parallel Herodian examples. The royal residence on the summit of Umm al-Biyara is offered as a Nabateaean response to Herod’s mountaintop palace-fortresses. There are also sufficient similarities between the interior decoration of some Nabataean and Herodian building complexes to suppose that they were the products of the same workshops. This particularly applies to the stucco decoration from the Nabataean mansion at az-Zantur with its rich egg-and-dart patterns that find close resonances with that in Herodian mansions and palaces, and also in the House of Augustus in Rome. Clearly, the archaeological investigation of sites connected with other client kings, such as the island palace of Archelaus of Cappadocia at Elaeussa-Sebaste (Aya‘),8 represents a promising area for future research. One wonders whether the distinctive Jerusalemite painted bowls decorated with stylised floral patterns, which make their appearance during Herod’s reign, represent a reciprocal Nabataean cultural influence at work in Judaea, as they so closely resemble characteristic ware produced in even greater numbers in the neighbouring kingdom. Several contributions in this volume focus on the literary sources of Herod’s reign, on which we depend so heavily for our knowledge of this monarch. Mark Toher re-examines the account of Herod’s reign left to us by Josephus, which that author largely based on the works written by Herod’s principal councillor and court historian, Nicolaus of Damascus. Toher reasons that Josephus may have found the inspiration and even the general approach for his narrative of Herod in Books 15–17 of the Antiquities, in Nicolaus’ autobiography written after the death of Herod in 4 BCE, or in a second edition of Nicolaus’ universal

7 8

See Roller 2003. Equini Schneider 1999.

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history circulating thereafter. There does not seem to be evidence that Nicolaus wrote a biography of Herod, as such. Additional content may have been provided by other sources (perhaps an anti-Herodian one), but Josephus’ own narrative technique looms large in the final product as we have it. Toher puts forward the intriguing proposition that this portrait of Herod had a didactic slant directed towards Augustus, who was then engaged on settling his dynastic succession at Rome, and wrestling with family rivalries similar to those that were brutally sorted by his Judaean client. Joseph Sievers ponders the differences between the images of Herod contained in Josephus’ War and Antiquities. Sievers accepts Richard Laqueur’s contention that different attitudes to Herod in the two accounts stem, at least in part, from Josephus’ own evolving views, which colour his narrative. It is noted that compared to Book 1 of the War, the more anti-Herodian tone is to be found in Josephus’ later writing in parts of Books 14–17 of the Antiquities. The historian’s own opinion seems to account best for some changes, though not all of them. According to Sievers, in some highly critical remarks on Herod, Josephus may have followed Nicolaus’ lead, since he relied on Nicolaus more closely in the Antiquities than in the War. David Goodblatt presents a useful survey of documentary material that can be ascribed to Herod’s reign, and endeavours to find among them evidence for Herod’s official titles within his kingdom and his date formulas. By skilful sifting of somewhat thin evidence, he concludes that Herod used a regnal dating, in the manner of earlier Hellenistic kings, but surprisingly that he did not style himself King of Judaea or of the Jews. Goodblatt puts Herod’s avoidance of a territorial appellation down to his known ambitions to play a role on a wider stage. Regarding the finds at Qumran (a collection of some 900 manuscripts), Goodblatt’s survey reveals that 300 out of the 716 which are dated palaeographically, thus almost 42% of the total, could have been written during the reign of Herod, while those more narrowly datable to the second half the last century BCE may reach 33% of the total (about 240 manuscripts). This statistical result now calls for a future assessment of the type of works, biblical or non-biblical, that were copied during the time of Herod, and the reasons for the relative popularity of the respective genres. Such an analysis would help to elucidate religiopolitical motivation before the turn of the era for such works. Ancient coins are a documentary source that is being fruitfully analysed by scholars as we can appreciate from John Creighton’s groundbreaking study of the numismatic evidence of ancient Britain. Donald

introduction by the editors

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Ariel examines two bronze coin series minted in Herod’s name, which he believes were used for official handouts, in the manner of Roman congiaria and donativa. In his analysis of Herod’s coins labelled “Year 3”, he puts forward a bold suggestion that they are dated to an era based on Octavian’s reconfirmation of Herod’s rule in 30 BCE, in which case they could have been struck to celebrate the refoundation of Samaria as Sebaste in 27 BCE. Whereas previous research has tended to focus on the life and deeds of Herod the Great as a separate phenomenon within the context of the history of the Holy Land, it is becoming increasingly clear that Herod’s ambitious building projects reflected those of Augustus, although specific relationships and regional influences are still to be worked out in detail. At the same time, much more attention needs to be given to a comparative study of the relationships involving political, economic, religious and legal issues. We believe that this lateral approach will benefit immensely both Augustan and Herodian studies, and at a deeper level should further elucidate the milieu that gave birth to Christianity. All the contributors to this volume are thanked for their papers and their very positive commitment to the conference and this publication. We particularly wish to take this opportunity to thank Professor Mark Geller of the Department of Hebrew and Jewish Studies at University College and Director of the Institute of Jewish Studies for making our conference possible, raising supporting funding and arranging for the publication of this volume. Sara Martin of the Institute of Jewish Studies is acknowledged for her sterling work in taking care of the detailed arrangements for a highly successful conference. Finally, we wish to express our deep appreciation to Ginny Mathias for her work on the copy-editing of the conference contributions and assisting in finalising the material for publication. Bibliography Equini Schneider, E., (ed.) 1999. Elaiussa Sebaste I: Campagne di scavo, 1995–1997 (Rome: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider). Foerster, G., 1995. Masada V: Art and Architecture ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society). Gradel, I., 2002. Emperor Worship and Roman Religion (Oxford: OUP). Jacobson, D. M., 2007. “The Jerusalem Temple of Herod the Great”, in N. Kokkinos (ed.), The World of the Herods and the Nabataeans; Vol. 1 of the International Conference ‘The World of the Herods and the Nabataeans’ held at the British Museum, 17–19 April 2001 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner), 145–176.

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Kokkinos, N., 1998. The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, JSOPSS volume 30). ——, 2002. Antonia Augusta: Portrait of a Great Roman Lady (2nd ed., London: Libri). ——, (ed.), 2007. The World of the Herods (Vol. 1 of the International Conference The World of the Herods and the Nabataeans held at the British Museum, 17–19 April 2001 (Oriens et Occidens, Vol. 14) (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag). Kushnir-Stein, A., 1995. “An Inscribed Lead Weight from Ashdod: A Reconsideration”, ZPE 105, 81–84. Naveh, J., 1970. “The ossuary inscriptions from Giv’at ha-Mivtar” IEJ 20, 33–34. Politis, K. D. (ed.), 2007. The World of the Nabataeans (Vol. 2 of the International Conference The World of the Herods and the Nabataeans held at the British Museum, 17–19 April 2001 (Oriens et Occidens, Vol. 15) (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag). Roller, D. R., 2003. The World of Juba II and Kleopatra Selene: Royal Scholarship on Rome’s African Frontier (New York/London: Routledge). Tzaferis, V., 1975. “The Burial of Simon the Temple Builder”, in Y. Yadin (ed.), Jerusalem Revealed: Archaeology in the Holy City 1968–74 ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society), 71–72.

AUGUSTAN AND HERODIAN IDEOLOGY

HEROD, ROME, AND THE DIASPORA Erich S. Gruen Abstract King Herod, so it is usually supposed, was an important benefactor of Diaspora Jews. However many failings this flawed figure may have had, he could at least take credit for protecting and advancing the interests of Jews who dwelled (as they did in large numbers) in the Greek cities of the Roman empire. This posture by Herod is best exemplified by a famous episode in which the king joined the Roman imperator M. Agrippa, close friend and son-in-law of the emperor Augustus, in Asia Minor in 14 BCE. Complaints arrived there to Agrippa from Ionian Jews who lamented the restrictions imposed upon them by Greek cities in the region, restraints on their contributions to the Temple, their religious observances, and their civic privileges. Herod intervened vigorously and effectively at this juncture, commissioning a speech by Nicolaus of Damascus to defend Jewish prerogatives. Agrippa was persuaded, and reaffirmed the rights and practices of Jews in Ionia. Herod could present himself as safeguarding the interests of Diaspora Jews. The king returned to Jerusalem to boast of the gains he had made on behalf of the Jews in Ionia, thereby earning plaudits and favour in Judaea itself. How far does this venture represent the ideological position of Herod—or indeed the image he sought to project? How representative, in fact, was it? Herod, as we know, was assiduous in the benefactions bestowed upon communities in various parts of the Mediterranean. His generous gifts included temples, gymnasia, theatres, public buildings, and endowments of all sorts for cities in Phoenicia and Syria, in Asia Minor, the Aegean, and mainland Greece. He certainly did not confine himself to the limits of his own realm in Judaea, Samaria, Galilee, Peraea, and Idumaea. An international presence was an integral part of Herod’s image. In this regard, it appears, he might be stepping into the shoes of Hyrcanus II. Hyrcanus had not only been named by Julius Caesar as High Priest and Ethnarch in Judaea but as leader of Jews generally, with implicit authority and responsibility for Jews in the Diaspora. Herod, it could be argued, carried on similar responsibilities with the endorsement and encouragement of Agrippa—and of Augustus behind him. Yet the proposition needs more scrutiny. Did Herod employ his Roman connections to obtain favours for the Jews scattered in the Hellenistic cities of the East? How many of the places upon which he showered his benefactions possessed substantial communities of Jews? The image and ideology of Herod may have had a different orientation. He was ruler of Judaea, Samaria, and adjoining principalities. He was also a proud friend and collaborative client of Rome. But he projected the posture, perhaps first and foremost, of a Hellenistic monarch.

The Roman Empire in the Near East at the time of Augustus was a patchwork rather than a system. It constituted not so much an organised structure as a circuitry of relationships and dependencies. The influence of Rome manifested itself most conspicuously in provinces

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and governors. But that was only part of the grid. An intricate set of associations was also held with what we conventionally term “client kings”. The institution was malleable and fluid, a matter of mutual interest. No formal duties, no uniform constitutional principles underpinned the responsibilities of the parties to such arrangements. Only conventional practices, still in process of evolution in the Augustan Age, linked a number of rulers, especially in the east, to Roman hegemony.1 In this nebulous network, Herod has served as chief exemplar. Modern reconstructions regularly depict him as the quintessential instance of the client king, a loyal and trustworthy satellite of empire.2 The assessment can benefit from further scrutiny. One item deserves notice before proceeding. The phrase “client king” is almost never employed by the Romans—let alone by the kings. Customary usage took a much more polite form: socius et amicus populi Romani (ally and friend of the Roman people).3 Some kings did refer to themselves as philorhomaioi. But this need signify nothing more than the reciprocal response to the label amicus populi Romani.4 The eastern rulers gained great advantage from association with the western power. But they did not normally represent themselves (nor consider themselves) as mere lackeys of Rome. Herod, the ruler of whom we know most, had numerous constituencies to take into account. Within Judaea alone sectarian divisions could complicate matters. Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes had their own agendas. The Hasmonaean legacy—and indeed the surviving members of the Hasmonaean dynasty—added further complications. And the wider Herod’s kingdom became, the more multi-ethnic were the communities that had a place in his realm. The king had to walk a fine

1 Some scholars have endeavoured to set “client kingship” into a constitutional frame, with common features and prescribed obligations; see, e.g., Schürer 1973, 316–7; Baumann 1983, 228–37; Schalit 2001, 155–67. Braund (1988, 69–78) properly advocates a more flexible understanding. The statements of Suetonius (Aug. 48, 60) delivered from the distant perspective of the High Empire under Hadrian, envision a tighter set of interconnections in the Augustan age than the evidence would support. 2 Grant 1971, 11, 94–7, 225–6; Schürer 1973, 316–20; Smallwood 1976, 82–90; Baumann 1983, 228–37; P. Richardson 1996, 226–34; Geiger 1997, 75–88; Schalit 2001, 154–67, 421–24, 554–62. Braund (1984, 136–44, 182–3) applies the Roman concept of tutela. See also Jacobson (2001, 22–7), who makes useful comparisons with Archelaus of Cappadocia and Juba of Mauretania. 3 Sands 1908, 10–40; Cimma 1976, 21–32; Braund 1984, 22–37. J. Richardson (1976, 13) wrongly states that the rulers were called client kings. 4 Cf. Braund 1984, 105–7.

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line. The goodwill and, occasionally, the material and military resources of Rome played a critical role in Herod’s acquisition and maintenance of authority. He could not and would not cross the western power. Yet to be perceived as a Roman puppet carried its own hazards. It might foster resentment and discord at home from subordinates for whom too tight an embrace by Rome was less than fully welcome. Contemporary circumstances suffice to remind us of that form of dilemma. A number of current rulers or leaders need to walk a comparable fine line between dependency upon American power on the one hand and reassurances to diverse constituencies on the other that they do not take orders from the U.S. Herod had his problems in this regard. One need refer only to the incident of the trophies. The theatre or amphitheatre built by Herod in Jerusalem contained a number of inscriptions honouring Augustus and trophies seized from various foes that attested to the princeps’ victories. This struck some of Herod’s subjects as undesirable, indeed intolerable. They convinced themselves—or at least claimed—that the trophies concealed images to be worshipped. The idea that some form of homage to the Emperor as divinity might be introduced into Jerusalem naturally provoked alarm. Herod’s attempts to set the minds of the objectors at rest proved unavailing. The king had to order the trophies stripped of decoration to show that they contained nothing but bare wood and could house no images. This appeased most of those who were angry and even provoked some laughter—perhaps at Herod’s expense. But a number of die-hards remained obdurate. Ten of them plotted to assassinate Herod, thwarted only by an informer. And, although the conspirators were executed by the government, the informer himself was torn limb from limb by private parties, in an act witnessed by numerous Judaeans who did not disapprove.5 Passions plainly ran high. Herod’s links to Roman power stirred fierce hostility in some quarters. Whatever Herod’s intent here, he obviously faced the ire of many in Jerusalem who found that his cozying up to the emperor had become unendurable and had violated traditional practices and principles. More dramatic still was the episode of the golden eagle on a gate of the Temple. How long it had sat on that site remains unknown. But near the end of Herod’s life, when illness had severely debilitated him,

5

Jos., Ant. 15.272–91. The precise date of this event is unknown.

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his foes used it to demonstrate against the weakened king. A group of young men, prodded by their learned teachers, pulled down the massive eagle and chopped it to bits. Herod, surprisingly, recovered from what had been thought to be his death-bed, sent out an armed force to disperse the crowd and arrest the perpetrators, and had them executed, some of them burned alive.6 The ferocity of the response points once again to deep-rooted bitterness among certain circles. Whether or not Herod had actually violated religious prohibitions, Jewish sensitivities clearly expressed themselves here.7 And it is no accident that the golden eagle was perceived as emblematic of Roman power.8 Perceptions mattered. Herod had to engage in some fancy footwork. He needed the backing of Augustus, to be sure, as he had that of Antonius before him. And he did not hesitate to advertise that backing. But it risked offence and diminishment to be judged simply as an instrument of Rome. Relationship with the Romans carried inherent complexities that resist reductionism. The patron-client concept is inadequate as a characterisation, and perhaps even misleading. Mutual manipulation comes closer to the mark. Herod strove to present himself as Rome’s collaborator, not its agent. He had a broader image to project: that of a ruler in command of his own realm—and a figure of genuinely international stature. Herod’s extraordinary building program in his own kingdom has received much attention and scrutiny.9 The plethora of palaces, fortresses, religious structures, theatres, amphitheaters, gymnasia, hippodromes, and even cities to Herod’s credit is quite staggering. They drew on a combination of influences: Hellenistic, Hasmonaean, Roman, and, indeed, Augustan.10 To what degree Herod’s subjects could actually discern these refined architectural distinctions and ascertain their political and cultural implications we may well question. The subtle messages detected by scholars may not always have reached the conJos., War 1.648–55; Ant. 17.149–67. P. Richardson 1996, 15–8, somewhat minimises this event; similarly, Schalit 2001, 638. 8 Smallwood 1976, 99. Cf. Schalit (2001, 734), who also finds Jewish connections for the eagle; and see now Fuks 2002, 241–2. 9 A convenient catalogue of the buildings can be found in P. Richardson 1996, 197–202. See further the studies of the building program by Roller (1998, 76–124) and Lichtenberger (1999, 17–175). 10 For the influences on Herod’s architectural works, see Roller 1998, 85–119, who stresses the impact of Roman forms and institutions. See also Geiger 1997, 80–5, with additional bibliography. 6 7

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sciousness of the inhabitants of Palestine. But they did not miss the import of names applied to the structures by Herod. The fortress that Herod reconstructed as protection for the Temple in Jerusalem was named Antonia, after M. Antonius ( Jos., War 1.401; Ant. 15.292, 15.409). The king also restored a Hasmonaean palace in Jericho, with the addition of new structures. He made a point of naming the two new buildings after Augustus and Agrippa (War 1.331, 407). In his own palace in Jerusalem, Herod erected two large and handsome structures also named for Augustus and Agrippa respectively (War 1.402; Ant. 15.318). Even more conspicuously, Herod rebuilt the ancient city of Samaria, transformed it as a new settlement, and renamed it Sebaste (War 1.403; Ant. 15.292, 296–8), in honour of Augustus (Sebastos). And, of course, at the site of Straton’s tower on the Mediterranean coast, Herod erected his magnificent city and harbour, now to be designated as Caesarea, echoing the name of Caesar Augustus ( Jos., War 1.156, 408–14; Ant. 14.76; 15.293; 15.331–2).11 The king went further still. He ordered the construction of temples to Roma and Augustus in his new foundations at Sebaste and Caesarea (War, 1.403, 414; Ant. 15.298, 339). And he added a third one near the sources of the Jordan in the region of the Paneion dedicated to the pagan deity Pan (War 1.404; Ant. 15.363–4).12 To what do we attribute this flurry of activity? Acts of homage, piety, and allegiance to his patrons in Rome?13 Perhaps so. But that misplaces the emphasis. How much notice was Augustus likely to pay to these moves by the ruler of a distant and minor principality? It is notorious that the princeps in his autobiographical memoir, the Res Gestae, while taking note of numerous cities, states, peoples, and monarchs, never once mentions Judaea, the Jews, or Herod. Augustus received divine homage abroad but had no policy of actively encouraging public worship or promoting what we call the “Imperial Cult” in the East.14 Hence, as a 11 According to Suetonius (Aug. 60), this was standard procedure among kings who were friends and allies of Rome. 12 See the valuable discussion of Wilson (2004, 9–16), who sees the temple as part of Herod’s effort to appeal to local non-Jewish populations in his kingdom. 13 Baumann 1983, 201–5; Geiger 1997, 79–80; Lichtenberger 1999, 91–2, 152–3, 186–7. 14 He could also place certain restraints upon divinisation and state cults where appropriate (Suet., Aug. 52; Dio 51.20.7–9); cf. Gradel 2002, 109–16. This did not, of course, prevent local and regional authorities, especially in the east, from conferring divine honours upon Augustus; cf. S. Price 1984, 54–62. See the lengthy catalogue of sites, with texts and discussion, by Hänlein-Schäfer 1985, 113–265.

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means of currying favour with the emperor, Herod’s actions would have had limited value. The fact that Herod renamed cities for Augustus was unlikely to have had much impact in Rome—not to mention buildings or parts of buildings carrying the names of Augustus or Agrippa.15 The impact came at home. The gleaming new cities, temples, and structures with the names of Roman leaders advertised to his subjects Herod’s links to the great colossus in the west. Internal turmoil, sectarian discontents, and widespread hostility to the regime motivated the king to exhibit those links. By parading his association with Roman authority and asserting the favour of Augustus and his family Herod shaped his message primarily for internal consumption. Herod projected himself less as client of Rome than as benefactor. The structures that rose in Jerusalem and elsewhere in his realm put on display the wealth and resources of the king, as well as his ties to the rulers of the Mediterranean who stood behind him. Similar purposes held for the other major building projects in the land. Herod, as is well known, produced a proliferation of palaces. They emerged in Jerusalem, Masada, Jericho, Herodion, Caesarea, and Sepphoris.16 It is improbable in the extreme that the king required all of these edifices for his own creature comforts or those of his family. He could not have had enough vacation time to make much use of all these facilities. But they certainly served to publicise his riches, grandeur, and authority, a means of overawing his restive subjects. One can say much the same about the fortresses that Herod installed in a variety of places in his dominions: at the Temple in Jerusalem, on the walls of the city, in Masada, and at Herodion, Sebaste, and Caesarea.17 As a means to ward off foreign foes in defence of the land, they would not have been mightily effective. And what foreign foes did Herod really have to worry about? The Parthian menace had faded after defeats

Agrippa, we are told, was mightily impressed by the Temple in Jerusalem and by structures built elsewhere in Palestine by Herod (Philo, Leg. 295; Jos. Ant. 16.12–15). But this came in the course of Agrippa’s trip to the region, a visit carefully scripted by Herod—see below. The one notice of Augustus’ interest occurs in Josephus’ report that he and Livia provided a handsome sum to help finance the games held to celebrate completion of work on Caesarea ( Jos., Ant. 16.138–9). This, of course, carried greater significance for Herod than for Augustus. 16 See the discussions of P. Richardson 1996, 179–183; Roller 1998, 140, 164–8, 171–3, 176, 187–9, 212–3; Lichtenberger 1999, 23–34, 56–68, 93–112, 122–124, 162; Schalit 2001, 344–58, 371–2, 397–403; Netzer 2001, 40–61, 117–22. 17 Roller 1998, 143, 166–7, 175–6, 179–81, 187–90; Lichtenberger 1999, 21–39, 80–92, 99–112, 131–42; Schalit 2001, 328–97; Netzer 2001, 79–116. 15

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by M. Antonius’s generals in the early 30s BCE, and certainly after Augustus’ recovery of the military standards in a peaceful exchange in 20 BCE.18 Relations with the Nabataeans, though strained, did not usually issue in hostilities and, when they did, Herod tended to be the aggressor.19 The fortresses were not needed to defend the land from external enemies. They served primarily to intimidate Herod’s internal adversaries. The exhibition of affluence and possessions could dismay potential rivals (cf. Jos., Ant. 15.330).20 Herod’s building projects, of course, provided employment for those who might otherwise be unhappy with the regime. The king kept his eye trained upon his own subjects. Herod preferred to be perceived as Rome’s partner in the Near East rather than its client. The stature afforded by displaying connections to Rome demonstrated that he was a player on the international stage. That aspect of Herod’s image deserves emphasis. How did it play out in the countless communities of Jews scattered in the Mediterranean Diaspora? They would seem to be obvious constituents before whom Herod could exhibit his largesse and liberality. For many scholars indeed, Herod’s stance as champion of Diaspora Jews exemplifies his posture as international figure.21 The proposition, however, needs serious re-examination. A connection among Rome, the Judaean ruler, and the Jews of the Diaspora is, on the face of it, logical and mutually beneficial. It goes back to the time of Julius Caesar. A series of decrees recorded by Josephus granted prestige and authority to Hyrcanus II, the Jewish High Priest who had aided the Caesarian cause in the wars of Alexandria and Asia Minor. Caesar’s edicts in 47 BCE confirmed Hyrcanus as High Priest and added the title of Ethnarch. More importantly, they named him and his future offspring as “Ethnarchs of the Jews” and “High Priests of the Jews” ( Jos., Ant. 14.194). The phraseology plainly indicates more than mere territorial dominion. Hyrcanus had authorisation to hold sway not simply in Judaea but over Jews in general. 18 On Rome and Parthia in this period, see Ziegler 1964, 45–57; Campbell 1993, 220–8. 19 On Herod’s relations with the Nabataeans, see Bowersock 1983, 39–44, 49–53; Retsö 2003, 372–5. 20 The sources of Herod’s wealth remain a matter of speculation; see Momigliano 1934, 41–52; Netzer 1981, 48–61; Gabba 1990, 160–8; Pastor 2003, 152–64. 21 Grant 1971, 175–82; Schürer 1973, 319; Smallwood 1976, 82; P. Richardson 1996, 264–6, 270–2; Levine 1998, 51–4; Schwartz 2001, 46.

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A subsequent senatus consultum reasserted his status. It ratified Caesar’s edict and declared that Hyrcanus and his children should rule over the ethnos of the Jews and serve as protector of Jews who suffered injustice (Ant. 14. 196). The measures evidently endorsed Hyrcanus’ ascendancy in the Diaspora.22 And Hyrcanus was not slow to act on this endorsement. He interceded with Roman authorities on behalf of Jews in the cities of Asia Minor to reaffirm their rights and privileges in the communities in which they dwelled (Ant. 14.223–4, 241–3). Caesar’s generosity, we may be sure, came not altogether out of gratitude or magnanimity. The Roman dictator, still engaged in a contest with the sons and followers of Pompey, would benefit from an ally who had responsibility for a people scattered through the eastern Mediterranean. The Judaean leader’s foothold in the Diaspora would be a source of support and stability. It could also supply a prototype for Herod. An episode of very high profile stands as the chief exhibit. In the year 15 BCE, M. Agrippa, son-in-law and chief confidante of Augustus, took a trip to the east to oversee affairs in that region. Herod immediately seized the opportunity to meet him en route and invite him to his kingdom. There Herod gave Agrippa the grand tour, showing off the recently founded cities and the spanking new buildings at Sebaste, Caesarea, and elsewhere. The highlight, of course, took place in Jerusalem itself where Herod paraded Agrippa before the assembled populace, dressed in his finery and greeted with great applause. The Roman leader concluded with a conspicuously magnanimous gesture: he sacrificed a hecatomb to the Jewish god and hosted a feast for the people of Jerusalem ( Jos., Ant. 16.12–5; Philo, Leg. 295). Careful orchestration had doubtless preceded this whole set of events. Agrippa’s endorsement of Herod shored up a ruler who could be a source of strength and security for the Near East. And Herod’s ostentatious pageant aimed to portray that collaborative relationship with Rome that could entrench and perpetuate his own power at home. Reciprocal benefits, not a patron-client relationship, held centre stage. The episode that came on the heels of this visit, though not as showy, carries even greater import. The account in Josephus this time suggests less orchestration than improvisation. Agrippa had sailed back to Ionia

22 Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, 49–50, 65–6, with bibliography; Gruen 2002, 88–9; cf. Jos., Ant. 14.199.

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before the onset of winter, 15/14 BCE, to prepare for an expedition to the Bosporus. When spring arrived in 14, Herod raced to catch up with Agrippa, finally reaching him in Pontus ( Jos., Ant. 16.16–26). The king made a point of accompanying Agrippa in work and in relaxation, regularly at his side and a conspicuous associate as they wended their way through Anatolia. Herod projected himself as a significant benefactor to the cities through which he passed, and prompted Agrippa to comparable generosity. There followed the most telling event, evidently unplanned. A large number of Jews arrived from Ionia to seek assistance from this beneficent duo. They complained of various indignities suffered and restraints imposed upon them by cities of Ionia in violation of Roman guarantees of their privileges. Herod swiftly took up their cause. Agrippa agreed to hold a hearing together with his consilium that included a number of kings and dynasts who happened to be present (Ant. 16. 27–30). Herod asked his counsellor and friend, Nicolaus of Damascus, to deliver a speech on behalf of the Ionian Jews, a speech obviously included in Nicolaus’ work and transmitted by Josephus. How closely it adhered to what was actually said we cannot know.23 The version we have, in any case, waxed eloquent on the virtues of the Jews, their unstinting loyalty and gratitude to Rome, their unjust victimisation, and the services performed for Rome by both Herod and his father Antipater before him (Ant. 16.30–57).24 Agrippa’s verdict was unequivocal. He granted everything that the Jewish petitioners and their spokesman requested. Moreover and more strikingly, he asserted that he did so because of Herod’s goodwill and friendship towards him. A final flourish then followed. Herod and Agrippa embraced publicly, and the Roman imperator did so in a fashion to suggest that the two of them were on an equal level (Ant. 16.60–1)—a most striking gesture. Herod then returned to Jerusalem in an exultant mood. He summoned all the inhabitants of the city, and a large number from the countryside joined them. He laid out the tale of the entire trip to them, noting in particular his role in protecting the prerogatives of the Jews in Asia Minor. And just to underscore his generosity, Herod announced a remission of one quarter of the citizens’ taxes for that year (Ant. 16.62–5.).

Many take the speech as a genuine reflection of Nicolaus’ words (Wacholder 1962, 28–9; Roddaz 1984, 458; Barclay 1996, 268–9). Proper skepticism in Stern 1976, I, 231–2. 24 On the ideological underpinnings here, see Schalit 2001, 424–50. 23

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This arresting sequence of events harmonizes nicely with the posturing of Herod that we have already seen elsewhere. The king underscored his association with the Roman regime. And he directed the message once again primarily to the inhabitants of his own realm. Equally significant, the representation took the form of a collaborative endeavour, not a patron-client relationship. Agrippa conspicuously embraced Herod as an equal. By claiming that his favourable verdict was due to Herod’s intervention, he gave the patronage honours essentially to the king of the Jews.25 The meaning of these gestures requires close analysis. Do they signify that Herod fostered the image not only of powerful ruler in Palestine, with international connections, but of patron, protector, and champion of Diaspora Jews everywhere? So it is often stated.26 Yet the evidence will not easily bear the weight of that conclusion. Where else do we have testimony to Herod’s solicitude for Diaspora Jews? The episode in Ionia stands out as exceptional rather than exemplary. It served Herod’s purpose, not as a signal to Jews dwelling in gentile communities outside the land of Palestine but as a mark of the king’s authority and connections in order to make a point to the folks at home. Herod, to be sure, was active and energetic in distributing benefits abroad. Indeed that activity constituted an elaborate advertisement of his resources and his magnanimity on the international stage. But the benefactions fell upon gentile communities and in the form of gentile institutions. One can cite examples large in number and extensive in geography. In Phoenicia and Syria Herod made ostentatious gifts to the cities of Antioch, Damascus, and Laodicea, to Tyre, Sidon, Beirut, Byblos, Tripolis, and Ptolemais ( Jos., War 1.422).27 To be sure, there were Jews living in all these cities. But the contributions provided by Herod were certainly not earmarked for them. They included gymnasia, temples, theatres and aqueducts. Antioch, we are told, received marble paving and colonnades for its main street, thus notably enhancing its appearance (War 1.425; Ant. 16.148). Undoubtedly the Jews of Antioch could enjoy strolling on that street. But it was hardly built with them On Roman motivations here, see Gruen 2002, 96–100. Grant 1971, 178–82; Smallwood 1976, 82, 140–1; P. Richardson 1996, 270–2. Schalit 2001, 424–8 sees Herod’s posture as buying into a broader Roman framework of patronage of the oikoumene. 27 Note also the significant benefactions to Ascalon mentioned here, which in the view of Kokkinos (1998, 112–28) underscore a close connection between that city and the family of Herod. 25 26

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primarily in mind. At Rhodes Herod paid out of his own pocket to restore the damaged temple of Apollo and rebuild it on a grander scale (War 1.424; Ant. 14.378; 16.147). At Elis in the Peloponnesus he made the grandiose gesture of a handsome endowment for the Olympic Games that had fallen into arrears. As a consequence he received the signal honour of being named as president of the games (War 1.426–7; Ant. 16.149). That gesture plainly spoke to the deepest traditions of the Hellenic world. If there were Jews of any number in the city of Elis we certainly do not know of them. Herod awarded gifts, endowments, or tax relief to a range of communities. These included places in Cilicia, Lycia, and every district of Ionia (War 1.425, 428; Ant. 16.24); also the great Hellenistic city of Pergamum, and the Aegean islands of Cos, Chios, and Samos.28 And Herod made sure to embellish celebrated Greek cities with the most glorious of pasts, Athens and Sparta (War 1.425). The wealth and generosity of Herod held high profile in all of this.29 But gymnasia, temples, porticoes, not to mention Olympic Games, carried only marginal appeal to most Diaspora Jews. Herod went further. He took on the task of constructing most of the public buildings at Nicopolis, the city founded to commemorate Augustus’ victory at Actium (War 1.425; Ant. 16.137). This gave broad publicity to Herod’s close link to the Augustan regime.30 But, equally important, it proclaimed the vast wealth and bounteous generosity of the Jewish king. There were, of course, no Diaspora Jews dwelling in Nicopolis. In addition to the evidence of Josephus, a number of fragmentary inscriptions attest to dedications by Herod or honours paid to him for his benefactions in Athens and Delos, even a statue of Herod dedicated at the Nabataean temple of Ba’al Shamim at Sia in southern Syria.31 The king had a tightrope to walk on this score as well. Lavish bounty outside his own dominions could dismay the denizens of Judaea. Josephus describes the dilemma. He has Herod explain himself to Jews at home by claiming the directives of Rome, while professing to the Romans that he preferred to honour them than to adhere to his own native traditions (Ant. 15.328–30). The protestations were disingenuous

28 Pergamum ( Jos., War 1.425); Cos, Chios and Samos ( Jos., War 1.423, 425; Ant. 16.18–9, 26). 29 See the discussion of Lichtenberger 1999, 168–175. 30 Cf. Braund 1984, 77. 31 OGIS, 414, 415, 427; SEG, 12.150.

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on both fronts. They illustrate the repeated need to present different faces to different constituencies. But Disapora Jews held little interest for the king. Herod’s action on behalf of the Jews of Ionia was altogether atypical. It can hardly count as a defining moment for Herodian policy. Herod may have been a great sponsor of pagan temples, theatres, amphitheatres, gymnasia, and civic structures. But we have no reference to him building, endowing, or furnishing a synagogue anywhere in the Diaspora. The episode in Ionia appears to have been an ad hoc event, unplanned and unprepared for. The Jews of Ionia brought their grievances to Agrippa, the emperor’s representative, not to Herod. The king simply happened to be there, taking the part of Agrippa’s companion and counsellor. Naturally he seized the occasion, urging Agrippa to give them a hearing, and he advocated their cause (Ant. 16.29–30).32 But one needs to bear in mind (what is generally overlooked) that Herod had been playing that sort of role all along on the trip with Agrippa. He not only showered benefactions upon various cities at which he stopped during that voyage. He also made a point of prodding Agrippa into hearing the petitions and granting the wishes of those who sought his favours (Ant. 16.24–5). So, for example, Herod smoothed relations between Agrippa and the people of Ilium with whom he had become angry, while he relieved the Chians by settling their debts and releasing them from tribute payments (Ant. 16.26). The Ionian Jews, in other words, did not receive special attention. And it is worth noting that the long speech of Nicolaus of Damascus, while it stresses the good deeds performed by Herod’s family for Rome and the house of Augustus, makes no mention of the king as champion of Diaspora Jews. Herod’s principal posture needs to be seen in a different light. He shunned the perception of a toady of Rome. That he was a friend of Augustus and supported by Roman power was, of course, vital. But Herod made sure to present himself more as patron than as client. Nor did he cast himself in the role of sponsor of Jewish interests abroad. Diaspora Jews had little to offer him—and they got little from him. Herod projected a different and far wider image. He strutted the international stage primarily in the mould of a Hellenistic king. Alexander the Great had dramatically expanded the horizons of the Greek world in the Near East. The monarchs who followed in his

32

Cf. Braund 1984, 82.

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wake had vaulting ambitions on a scale unmatched in the crabbed confines of mainland Greece. Power and authority rested only in part on the big battalions. Self-representation demanded at least as much attention. On that score, splendour and magnanimity held central place. Nothing better exemplifies this feature than the pattern of royal donations, endowments, and gifts to cities and communities not only within but well beyond the king’s own dominions. These could range from dedications in temples to the construction of buildings and even the foundation of cities. The monarch’s benefactions advertised his success—and his reach.33 The prevalence of this practice permeated the Hellenistic world.34 Insofar as Herod pursued an impact upon the Mediterranean community outside his own realm, Hellenistic monarchy supplied the logical and appropriate context.35 Two models spring most readily to mind. The Attalid rulers of Pergamum not only embellished their own capital with buildings of stunning magnificence. They also spread their wealth and enhanced their reputations widely in Hellas. The kings distributed their endowments to Greek cities like Athens, Delos, Delphi, and Thespiae to announce their magnanimity to the great shrines and centres of the Hellenic world generally.36 A second paradigm is still more striking—and replete with irony. Antiochus IV Epiphanes represents the very embodiment of villainy in Jewish tradition. Yet as a Hellenistic ruler he epitomised the magnanimous monarch who bestowed benefactions upon communities across the Greek world. Epigraphic evidence aplenty attests to that notorious Seleucid king’s favours to and bonds with states like Athens, Delos, Delphi, Argos, Rhodes, Byzantium, and others.37 Antiochus Epiphanes, however horrendous his actions in Jerusalem, cultivated a paternalistic image in Hellas as a whole. It does not follow, of course, that Herod modelled himself consciously upon Antiochus—nor even indeed upon the Attalids. But the Jewish See the valuable overview by Bringmann 1993, 7–24. The extensive testimonia, with translations and commentary, are gathered by Bringmann & von Steuben 1995; see further the analysis and historical interpretation of the material in two subsequent volumes by Bringmann 2000 and Schmitt-Dounas 2000. 35 Herod’s imitation of Hellenistic kings as founder and benefactor of cities was rightly noted by Jacobson (1988, 394–5; idem 2001, 30–3; see also Lichtenberger 1999, 181, 186). Kokkinos (1998, 112–28, 342–52), sees Herod’s actions as consonant with a background rooted in the Hellenised environment of Idumaea. 36 On Attalid policy, see Schalles 1985, 33–68, 104–43; Gruen 2000, 17–31. 37 On Antiochus’ benefactions, see Morkholm 1966, 51–63. 33

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ruler fitted into the Hellenistic framework. Eminence and splendour announced his international authority. He was a friend of Augustus and stood on a level with Agrippa. He was benefactor of the multiethnic peoples of Palestine. And he emblematised the magnificence and munificence of a Hellenistic monarch abroad.38 Bibliography Barclay, J. M. G. Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora from Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE–117 CE) (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1996). Baumann, U. Rom und die Juden (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1983). Bowersock, G. W. Roman Arabia (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1983). Braund, D. C. Rome and the Friendly King: The Character of Client Kingship (Beckenham, Kent: Croom Helm, 1984). ——. “Client Kings,” in D. C. Braund, ed. The Administration of the Roman Empire (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1988), 69–96. Bringmann, K. “The King as Benefactor: Some Remarks on Ideal Kingship in the Age of Hellenism,” in A. Bulloch, et al., eds. Images and Ideologies: Self-Definition in the Hellenistic World (Berkeley: University of California Press = Hellenistic Culture and Society, XII, 1993), 7–24. ——. Geben und Nehmen: Monarchische Wohltätigkeit und Selbstdarstellung im Zeitalter des Hellenismus, Teil II.1 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2000). Bringmann, K. and H. von Steuben, Schenkungen hellenistischer Herrscher an griechische Städte und Heiligtümer, Teil I (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1995). Campbell, B. “War and Diplomacy: Rome and Parthia, 31 BC–AD 235,” in J. Rich and G. Shipley, eds. War and Society in the Roman World (London: Routledge, 1993), 213–240. Cimma, M. R. Reges Socii et Amici Populi Romani (Milan: A. Giuffrè, 1976). Fuks, G. “Josephus on Herod’s Attitude towards Jewish Religion: The Darker Side,” Journal of Jewish Studies 53, (2002), 238–245. Gabba, E. “The Finances of King Herod,” in A. Kasher, U. Rappaport and G. Fuks, eds. Greece and Rome in Eretz Israel ( Jerusalem, 1990), 160–168. Geiger, J. “Herodes Philorhomaios,” Ancient Society, 28 (1997), 75–88. Gradel, I. Emperor Worship and Roman Religion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002). Grant, M. Herod the Great (New York: American Heritage Press, 1971). Gruen, E. S. “Culture as Policy: The Attalids of Pergamon,” in N. T. de Grummond and B. S. Ridgway, eds. From Pergamon to Sperlonga: Sculpture and Context (Berkeley: University of California Press = Hellenistic Culture and Society, XXXIV, 2000), 17–31. ——. Diaspora: Jews Amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2002). Hänlein-Schäfer, H. Veneratio Augusti: Eine Studie zu den Tempeln des ersten römischen Kaisers (Rome: Georgio Brettschneider, 1985). Jacobson, D. M. “King Herod’s ‘Heroic’ Public Image,” Revue Biblique 95 (1988), 386–403.

38 This paper has been markedly improved by the acute comments and suggestions of David Jacobson and Nikos Kokkinos—even if it has not altogether won their assent.

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——. “Three Roman Client Kings: Herod of Judaea, Archelaus of Cappadocia and Juba of Mauretania,” Palestine Exploration Quarterly, 133 (2001), 22–38. Kokkinos, N. The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998). Levine, L. Judaism and Hellenism in Antiquity (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1998). Lichtenberger, A. Die Baupolitik Herodes des Grossen (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz = Abhandlungen des deutschen Palästina-Vereins, 26, 1999). Momigliano, A. Giudea Romano (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1967, first published 1934). Morkholm, O. Antiochus IV of Syria (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1966). Netzer, E. “Herod’s Building Program: State Necessity or Personal Need?” Jerusalem Cathedra, 1 (1981), 484–61. ——. The Palaces of the Hasmoneans and Herod the Great ( Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press, 2001). Pastor, J. “Herod: King of Jews and Gentiles: Economic Policy as a Measure of Evenhandedness,” in M. Mor et al., eds. Jews and Gentiles in the Holy Land ( Jerusalem, Yad Ben-Zvi Press, 2003), 152–164. Price, S. Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984). Pucci Ben Zeev, M. Jewish Rights in the Roman World: The Greek and Roman Documents Quoted by Josephus Flavius (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998). Retsö, J. The Arabs in Antiquity: Their History from the Assyrians to the Umayyads London: Routledge, 2003). Richardson, J. Roman Provincial Administration, 227 BC to AD 117 (London: Macmillan, 1976). Richardson, P. Herod: King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans (Columbia, South Carolina: University of South Carolina Press, 1996). Roddaz, J.-M. Marcus Agrippa (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1984). Roller, D. W. The Building Program of Herod the Great (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). Sands, P. C. The Client Princes of the Roman Empire under the Republic (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1908). Schalit, A. König Herodes: der Mann und sein Werk (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2001, first published 1969). Schalles, H.-J. Untersuchungen zur Kulturpolitik der pergamenischen Herrscher im dritten Jahrhundert vor Christus (Tübingen: Ernst Warmuth = Istanbuler Forschungen, 36, 1985). Schmitt-Dounas, B. Geschenke erhalten die Freundschaft: Politik und Selbstdarstellung im Spiegel der Monumente, Teil II.2 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2000). Schürer, E. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, vol. I (rev. and ed. by G. Vermes and F. Millar, Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1973). Schwartz, S. Imperialism and Jewish Society, 200 BCE to 640 CE (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001). Smallwood, E. M. The Jews under Roman Rule (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1976). Stern, M. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, 2 vols. ( Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1976, 1980). Wacholder, B. Z. Nicolaus of Damascus (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1962). Wilson, J. F. Caesarea Philippi: Banias, the Lost City of Pan (London: I. B. Tauris, 2004). Ziegler, K.-H. Die Beziehungen zwischen Rom und dem Partherreich (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1964).

THE AUGUSTAN PROGRAMME OF CULTURAL RENEWAL AND HEROD Karl Galinsky Abstract My focus is the Augustan cultural context for Herod’s policies and activities. Specifically, I am providing an update of what we mean today when we speak of the Augustan “revolution” or “programme”. Both concepts have undergone considerable revision in recent years and are used to encompass more aspects than previously. For Syme, the Roman revolution was mostly a political power play, a bloody military coup engineered by Octavian against the old order. The cultural programme, for what is was worth, took its cue from there and amounted to “propaganda” in literature, art, and architecture. Syme’s emphasis, like that of Tacitus, was on Rome and Italy. Due to scholars like Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, Nicholas Purcell, and Greg Woolf (I am drawing greatly on their contributions to the Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus (Galinsky, ed. 2005) and, a little earlier, Paul Zanker and even myself, the perspective today is wider and there has been a shift from political to cultural phenomena. Some essential points are: 1. A recognition of the significance of the wider Mediterranean world, and not just Rome and Italy. It was the locus of momentous social change, the legacy of the Roman/Italian diaspora of the previous century (Purcell 2005). Here, as in many other areas, Augustus now is seen not as someone who is starting a trend, but as giving definition and direction to developments that were already well underway. His dealings with Herod can be considered a case in point. They exemplify the reciprocal relationships that were characteristic of Augustus’ interaction with this larger Mediterranean gallery that determined the political outcomes of the age. 2. Less relevant to Herod’s role in the Augustan scheme, power, following Foucault, is now increasingly defined as knowledge. In just about every major area of Roman cultural activity—religion, the determination of time and status by means of the calendar and fasti, public speaking, law, and control over language—power passed from the Roman aristocracy to professionals, who then are conscripted by Augustus. These again were ongoing developments that Augustus shaped rather than created, and it is the loss of that kind of power, and not just political power, that is behind the laments about the “decline” of the Republic. Augustus’ revolution was not only political in character but also cultural. 3. These developments offered new opportunities. While being completely dependent on Rome politically, Herod emerged as a major cultural force. His far-flung sponsorship of building activities beyond Judaea was second only to the Augustan family in the eastern Mediterranean. This was part of the multi-layered phenomenon of “Romanization” and the creation of an Alexandrian oikumene of the Roman nation. It proceeded differently in the east than in the west, and I am assessing Herod’s role in that context.

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Herod was a major figure in the Augustan reign, and probably the most dominant one in the east. More is involved than chronological coincidence; besides being a crafty and resourceful political player, he was thoroughly in tune with the cultural developments of the age and, in fact, contributed to them significantly. Ample testimony is his building programmes not only in Judaea, but in Greece and the Greco-Roman east in general.1 They are ably discussed by others in this volume. Hence, while I will of course refer to them, my focus will be on the Augustan context for Herod’s policies and activities. How does he fit into the overall picture of the Augustan world? Specifically, I would like to provide an update of what we mean today when we speak of the Augustan “revolution” or “programme”. Both concepts have undergone considerable revision in recent years and are used to encompass more aspects than they did previously. For Sir Ronald Syme, whose Roman Revolution (1939) is still an abiding classic, the Roman revolution was mostly a political power play, a bloody military coup engineered by Octavian against the old aristocratic order. The cultural programme, for what is was worth, took its cue from there and amounted to “propaganda”. Syme dealt only with Augustan literature from that perspective—the relevant chapter was entitled “The Organization of Opinion”—but the label quickly crept into discussions of Augustan art and architecture and came to be applied to coinage in particular. Syme’s overall emphasis was an intentional reflection of the political landscape of the 1930s which coincided, among many other things, with the first systematic publication of major numismatic collections such as the British Museum’s; hence the almost axiomatic association between Roman coins and propaganda. Moreover, Syme’s emphasis, like that of his model Tacitus, was on Rome and Italy.2 The perspective today is wider in many ways, due to work of scholars like Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, Nicholas Purcell, and Greg Woolf and, a little earlier, Paul Zanker and and even myself. Much of what follows, therefore, will be drawn from the most recent collection of essays on the subject, The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus (2005), which

Comprehensive listing, with brief discussion, of all of Herod’s buildings in Richardson 1996, 174–96, with tabulation on pages 197–202. 2 For an assessment of Syme from various perspectives see Giovannini 2000 and several of the essays in Raaflaub and Toher 1990. 1

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I edited.3 I will concentrate on three areas. They are of varying relevance to Herod, but all are lines of inquiry that I am confident will be pursued for several more years to come and give us a fuller picture of the Augustan reign. The first is of obvious relevance to an assessment of Herod, namely an extension of the horizon to the entire Mediterranean. The new emphasis is not so much on political history, because that aspect has always received sufficient coverage,4 as on cultural interaction and social change. An additional factor comes into play that applies to most aspects of the Augustan reign: things did not simply begin with Octavian/Augustus, let alone the battle of Actium (31 BCE). Instead, events were already in the making, significant developments were already underway, and we are looking at Augustus not as a creator ex nihilo, but as someone who was giving definition, shape, and direction to many of these trends. It is obvious that Herod and his activities, whether political or cultural, fit neatly into this context.5 But let me outline this framework for a moment without specific attention to Herod. In his article on Augustus in the third edition of the Oxford Classical Dictionary (1996, 218), Nicholas Purcell summarized the achievement of Augustus by saying that it “lay in the flexibility with which he and his advisers responded to a period of striking social change in the Mediterranean world, the legacy of the Roman/Italian diaspora of the previous century.” The underlying perspective is that while administratively and militarily the flow was from the centre, there was a plethora of interactions— cultural, religious, economic, and social—that were reciprocal, had their own dynamics, and increasingly originated outside of Rome and Italy. It is the continuation of a phenomenon that used to be similarly ignored by scholars because of traditional, Rome-centred approaches, i. e. developments that originated in Italy and were adopted in Rome only decades later; theatre/temple complexes are a good example.6

3 I have adapted a few segments of my Introduction for the present essay. Zanker’s book appeared in German in 1987 and in English in 1988. 4 Especially the issue of republic vs. monarchy, which started with Mommsen; one milestone was von Premerstein 1937; for a good summary and some new conclusions see now Eder 2005. Another similarly debated issue was Augustus’ succession; see Gruen 2005. 5 Cf. L. M. White 2005. 6 See Lomas 2004, 203, and Wallace-Hadrill, 2005, 79f. The major sites are Pietraveraino and Pietrabbondante. For the cultural impact of the Empire on the city of

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Who were the diaspora Romans? Needless to say, the term here does not connote a forced exit from the homeland. One trait these Romans shared is that they were entrepreneurial, taking advantage of the opportunities Rome’s expansion offered. They were a heterogeneous group, including Roman citizens who had emigrated and their descendants, freedmen (and their descendants), and locals who had been granted Roman citizenship. They were an important constituency—not necessarily the glue that held the Empire together, but clearly a binding link and vital connection between these lands and Rome. Their Roman-ness—and this brings me to the multi-layered phenomenon of Romanization, which has been much discussed of late—can be defined in various ways. Purcell, for one, sees their identity as depending “far more on their relationship to Roman power than on any cultural ties.”7 Their ethnicities and cultures reflected those of the entire Mediterranean; one of the things that made them “Roman” was their relation with the powers that were at Rome, which gave them privileged status. The presence of a monarch provided a much clearer focus for that relationship, and Augustus evolved into the patron of patrons. We are looking not at a tight administrative structure but at a dynamic system that is akin to what we would call networking today; again, Herod is a good example.8 And the case can be made that the true locus of action had shifted to the diaspora because “it was in that world that the political outcomes of the age were determined”; it was no accident that Caesar, Augustus, and Tiberius “spent formative years in the currents of the diaspora” and Hadrian later would outdo them all.9 This view by Purcell finds its complement in Greg Woolf ’s summation that, ultimately, “Roman civilization, having been taken on by the provinces, no longer belonged to the City of Rome.”10 Romanization, in other words, was a two-way street. This trend, like so many others, was to develop yet more fully after the Augustan age, but what was typical of the age is this: there was a vast expansion of opportunities in a multitude of areas (except for governance at the top). Far more Rome see Edwards and Woolf (2003), esp. these two scholars’ chapter on “Cosmopolis: Rome as a World City” on pp. 1–20. 7 Purcell 2005, 95. 8 Jacobson 2001, 27–30, well points out that networking among the client kings (Herod, Archelaus, and Juba) was a significant activity. 9 The citations are from Purcell 2005, 104. 10 Woolf 2005, 127; cf. the various perspectives developed in Keay and Terrenato 2001.

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people than before gained access to the system, including through the participatory avenues of culture and religion, with the concomitant diminution of the exclusiveness of traditional loci. I will turn to some other examples in the next sections of this paper. Besides the diaspora Romans, the main beneficiaries were the provincial élites; there is, of course, an overlap between the two. They took the initiative in becoming “Roman”, a notion that was not static but kept evolving, thus assuring the longevity of the Roman Empire; for good reasons, recent scholarship has focused on the stability of the Roman Empire that should be just as “obvious” (to cite Gibbon) as its eventual fall, however defined.11 As Woolf points out, it was relatively easy to achieve this identity as “habits of dress, speech, manners and conduct were more important than descent”12—a good example of “soft” power as defined, in contrast to military might and hardware, by modern analysts of national security.13 And in a recent article he goes on to suggest that what has been called ‘Romanization’ is another aspect of the ‘Roman Cultural Revolution’.14 To be sure, “real” or “hard” power was the other part of the equation, such as Augustus’ strong emphasis on the protection of private property in general and of the propertied classes in the provinces in particular. He systematically buttressed a system that had already evolved in the towns of Italy and in the successor states to Alexander in the Greek east. It is on such local and regional but widespread foundations that the Pax Augusta came to rest; like so many other developments, it did not begin simply after Antony’s and Cleopatra’s defeat but had longstanding antecedents. And it is in such a context that Herod operated. Augustus’ behaviour clearly indicates that he both recognized the importance of the Roman diaspora and could rely on a stability that was not located at, and emanated from, the centre alone: he was away from Rome for long stretches of time in the 20s and 10s BC, and not only for military campaigns. A second major emphasis in recent scholarship has less immediate relevance to Herod but shares in the trend to foreground cultural phenomena rather than power politics. That is the impact of Foucault’s

11 12 13 14

See especially Ando 2000. Woolf 2005, 122. The classic text now is Nye 2004. Woolf 2001.

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argument that power is an outcome of knowledge.15 Here is how it applies: in just about every major area of Roman cultural activity—religion, the determination of time and status by means of the calendar and fasti, public speaking, law, and control over language—power passed from the Roman aristocracy to professionals, who then are conscripted by Augustus. Again, these developments, which Andrew Wallace-Hadrill calls the ‘Roman cultural revolution’, had begun well before Octavian’s ascent. Let me illustrate the phenomenon with one or two specific examples before summarizing its extent under Augustus. One key area was control over the calendar. More is involved than a mere reckoning of time: the calendar determined the flow of public life and, through the annual fasti, marked identity by singling out individuals for the offices they held and their activities.16 There was a great deal of latitude for those who knew how to handle such matters or, at any rate, handled them.17 They were, of course, members of the nobility and they often proceeded at will. The calendar reform of Caesar marks the arrival of expert professionals. They bring their knowledge to regularizing a haphazard system, and they are employed and appropriated by the new leader of the state. The process continues under Augustus with the additional dimension that, like control over the calendar, fasti are not a privilege anymore that is limited to the aristocracy, but spring up all over for local festivals, magistrates, and functionaries, including freedmen and slaves. In Wallace-Hadrill’s succinct formulation: “In slipping from the nobility, Roman time becomes the property of all Romans.”18 Far from being isolated, this occurrence is part of a broader phenomenon to which I already have adverted: one of the defining aspects of the Augustan reign is precisely the opening up of formerly restricted opportunities to a much larger segment of the populace. Paradoxical as it may seem, a shift to autocratic government is accompanied by an authentic involvement of much wider strata of the population. Everyone, and not just the city of Rome and the consuls, gets to publish their fasti now, whether monthly calendars and annual list of functionaries, or in combination. We find them in towns like 15 Foucault 1971. For progressive applications of this concept to Rome and Augustus see Wallace-Hadrill 1989, 1997, and 2005; cf. Habinek and Schiesaro 1997. My summary is based on Wallace-Hadrill 2005 in particular. 16 Cf. Rüpke’s succinct definition: “Calendars belong to the most important instruments of a society’s temporal organization” (1995, 593). 17 See Rüpke 1995. 18 Wallace-Hadrill 2005, 61; cf Rüpke 1995, 369ff.

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Praeneste, for the officials (vicomagistri) of the 264 neighbourhoods in Rome who were freedmen, the slaves of the imperial villa at Antium, and many more.19 Knowledge was power and, as Wallace-Hadrill demonstrates in detail, professional experts had increasingly begun to replace Roman aristocrats as purveyors of knowledge. The development was well underway in vital areas of the Roman state in the late Republic. Religion (with an obvious connection to the calendar) is a prime example: the polymath Varro’s compendium on Human [i.e. Roman] and Divine Antiquities was a landmark and not by coincidence dedicated to the pontifex maximus Julius Caesar. Similarly, law and public speaking passed from the realm of the nobles to that of professionals at Cicero’s time, and the shift of authority over that all-controlling entity, language, began even sooner. It has an obvious bearing on those who wanted to “become Roman” (and we may safely include Herod): what was the proper and correct Latin to be spoken? The traditional authority of those who went by custom, consuetudo, was not enough: in the first century BCE, a flood of “outsiders” in Rome, not to mention the provinces, wanted to make the Latin language their own. They included not just servile immigrants, but members of the municipal élites like Cicero himself. Instead of learning at the feet of the aristocracy, they turned to Varro and the growing profession of grammarians to get clear rulings.20 The list does not end here, but one more of its facets deserves mention because one of the affinities between Herod and Augustus is their immense building activity. Others in this volume will explore the question to what extent Augustus provided a model, but there is another aspect to it that is embedded in the context I have described. Augustus’ construction and reorganization of the cityscape of Rome is one of the most dominant visual and, quite literally, monumental aspects of the period. It is familiar from the Emperor’s well-known dictum that “he left the city, which he found made of bricks, sheathed in marble” (Suetonius, Aug. 28). Characteristic of Augustan multiple meanings, the phrase follows upon Augustus’ claim to have built “the new state” on a secure foundation [ fundamenta]—architecture here is both reality and metaphor. In contrast to the earlier city, the new urban plan had

19 Complete list and discussion in Rüpke 1995, 95–164. For the vicomagistri, see, most recently, Lott 2004; for Antium (Tiberian), Wallace-Hadrill 2005, 61 with note 24. 20 Wallace-Hadrill 2005, 74.

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clear and orderly rationales.21 The Augustan organization of the city into 14 regiones and 264 known neighbourhoods (vici) was part of this concept, but it also had the effect to make the city more knowable. Again, professionals, such as surveyors and census-officials, did the work and, as Wallace-Hadrill points out, the result was a city that was under control because, in contrast to its late Republican predecessor, it was clearly known.22 There is a further connection. One of the defining building types was the theatre. Pompey had broken the barrier by building the first stone theatre in Rome (dedicated in 55 BCE) and, once again, there were social implications. The nobility in Rome had resisted such theatre/temple complexes, which, as I have already mentioned, came to exist in Italy by the second century BCE, because the theatre, as Cicero makes clear, was a venue for the true will of the Roman people at all levels of society. The rapid diffusion of the Theatre of Marcellus as a model in Italy and the western provinces in particular, therefore, has more than architectural and aesthetic reasons. It again carried the message of, literally, involving a larger audience. I would doubt, however, that this connotation was present in the east as, for example, in Herod’s theatre at Caesarea Maritima, even if it was of the Roman type (see J. Patrich in this volume). Similar form does not always imply similar content, and there are differences between the eastern and western provinces. In this case, the extensive tradition of Hellenistic theatres in the east seems primary. In this context of the transformation of power a useful distinction comes to mind that is currently employed by modern analysts of global power and security, including the so-called Pax Americana. They differentiate, and I briefly referred to this definition earlier, between the “hard power” of military dominance and the non-military “soft power” of culture in its various aspects.23 Augustus based his power on both. The professionalisation of major areas of cultural activity intensified during his reign and he appropriated its practitioners; it might be helpful to consider the Augustan writers in this larger context, too, rather than from the usual perspective of “patronage” and the like. The paradigm shift had been in the making; the loser was the former ruling class; and

21 22 23

Detailed treatment by Favro 1996 and 2005. Wallace-Hadrill 2005, 76–78. Nye 1990 and 2004.

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these developments, and not just the loss of political power, are behind the laments about the “decline” of the Republic. It is true that we are able to see the contours of all these changes more distinctly from the distance of our time. Still, these changes, and the opportunities they offered, were noticed by many of Augustus’ contemporaries also. It is in this context that we must situate Herod, too. He was not merely a political operator and another client king, but, as is clear from many contributions to this volume, he was a cultural force. In the concluding section, therefore I want to develop this context some more. I will start by addressing the definition of “the Augustan cultural renewal”, a title suggested to me by the organizers of the conference. This aspect, of course, does overlap and connect with the first two I discussed, and their convergence is a major reason for the dynamics of Augustan culture, including the creation of a Mediterranean oikumene to which Herod significantly contributed. Renewal certainly did not mean mere revival, with a thin modern veneer, of past art forms, architecture, and religious practices, to mention only a few. As has been sufficiently demonstrated, we are looking not at antiquarianism here but at an experimental and fluctuating blend of tradition and innovation.24 It was a cosmopolitan culture: the longstanding Roman tradition of integrating, adapting, and synthesizing Greek and Hellenistic elements experienced an unprecedented efflorescence under Augustus. By definition, the result was neither monolithic nor did it take hold because of sheer imposition from above. As Paul Zanker illustrates time and again in his book on the power of images,25 much of the initiative came from the bottom up: not because a servile populace was kowtowing to the Emperor, but because of massive internalization of these tastes at all levels of Roman society. And the parallel is striking with what we have begun to learn about Romanization in the past few years, particularly at the time of Augustus. Both in Italy and the provinces, we again are looking not at a single, unchanging entity or an encounter with a static culture, but at an ongoing process that had contributors from all quarters.26 That, in my opinion, was the real cultural renewal. Its material basis, to a large but no means only extent, was the socio-economic dynamics

24 25 26

I have dealt with these aspects in detail in Galinsky 1996. Zanker 1988. See in particular Woolf 1998; MacMullen 2000; Keay and Terrenato 2001.

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of the Roman diaspora. Its participatory freedom owed much to the end of the Roman aristocracy’s ability to control essential knowledge and to Augustus’ taking his place at the head of this parade and others, which were already marching, to give them yet more direction. The convergence of all the trends I have outlined produced an enormous degree of cultural transformation. Susan Treggiari has characterized it with the pithy observation that “the Roman world was opened up both physically and mentally.”27 It was a context that must have been immensely appealing to Herod. It was a congenial cultural setting that invited participation, and he made the most of it, becoming the biggest patron, second only to the imperial family, of building and other cultural activities in Greece, including substantial funding for Augustus’ new city of Nicopolis,28 and the Roman east. While there is no single matrix, Herod’s architecture, which again is discussed well in this volume, shares in the cosmopolitanism and the eclectic blending of traditions and aspects—Greek, Roman, native, and, sometimes, purely personal and idiosyncratic—that is typical, in various ways, both of Augustus’ buildings in Rome and the hybrid architecture of the provinces, although Herod seems to have been unique in his rapid utilization of Roman construction techniques. A related reason, if not necessarily the deeper reason, for this protean melding of traditions, is the ideological self-representation or, simply, the variety of roles of both Augustus and Herod on the political and historical stage: leaders, respectively, of Romans and Jews both at home and in the diaspora; respectful heirs to the previous regime, Hasmonaean in one case and Republican in the other and including, with great fanfare, the rebuilding of old temples; and both were quasi-Hellenistic monarchs with all the appropriate activities, including euergetism.29 They both thrived on this variety of roles that only modern scholarship, with its concern for tidy taxonomies, has seen as contradictory. Of course there were differences, too. I would like to conclude by noting one of these that relates to the issue of Romanization. As stated earlier, there is no universal schema; it is a work in constant progress and no region, let alone province, is like the other. But a basic pattern

Treggiari 1996, 902. Nicopolis (which commemorated the victory at Actium): Jos., War 1.425, Ant. 16.147. 29 Cf. Gruen in this volume, and Ameling 1998, 459: “Fortsetzer des hellenistischen Königtums,” both culturally and politically. Cf. Jacobson 2001, 30–3. 27

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we do find in many of these places is that the adoption of cultural markers of all sorts–“from life in urban domus to the use of specific varieties of tableware, from the monumentalisation of religious life to the social implications of wine”30—was due to local initiatives by many individuals, without the heavy hand of an imperial cultural policy; the Romans were military imperialists, but not cultural imperialists. There was no client king in Gaul, for instance, to oversee the process, and yet the speed with which Roman cultural markers, which then become class or status markers, are internalized there precisely in the reign of Augustus is astonishing.31 This internalization led to the survival, with all its transformations, and the long-lived embedding of Roman culture in these areas. The ultimate reason, as noted earlier, was that Romanization was participatory: it involved “the cultural competence necessary to take part in the process of deciding what Roman culture actually was.”32 Ultimately—not at Augustus’ time—this reached a point where, in the terms of Woolf that I cited earlier, Roman civilization was shaped more by the provinces than by the City of Rome. The contrast with the political sphere is telling: in 44 CE the Roman authorities dispersed a networking meeting at Tiberias that had been arranged by Herod’s grandson, Agrippa I, for five client rulers.33 Herod presents us with an alternative model of acculturation, working from the top down. He is in sync with the cultural trends of the time and he is a major figure in promoting the cosmopolitanism of the Alexandrian oikumene of the Roman nation. He is responsible for a dazzling array of buildings, many of them incorporating Roman features. How many of his subjects read them that way we do not know, the proverbial exception being the golden eagle on the Temple that did not require a higher knowledge of semiotics. As J. Patrich details in this volume, Roman spectacles caught on, gladiatorial games being a prime example; Josephus reports that Augustus (and Julia) even supplied his friend with equipment and men for the arena,34 while Herod returned the favour with a donation of 300 talents for games in Rome’s Circus Maximus on the occasion of Augustus assuming the office of

Kulikowski 1999. Details in Woolf 1998. 32 Kulikowski 1999. 33 Jos., Ant. 19.338–42; see Jacobson 2001, 34. 34 Ant. 16.136–41. Hellenistic monarchs had sponsored such games before, Antiochus IV the first leading the way (Livy 41.20); cf. MacMullen 2000, 16. 30 31

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pontifex maximus in 12 BCE. Gladiatorial games in Judaea continued till the Severan period, but we have no evidence that acculturation took on deeper roots. The power of buildings and, to return to Zanker, even images is limited unless it results in, or from, autonomous initiatives and interactions by a critical mass of the populace. In contrast to other areas of the Roman Empire, and certainly Augustan Rome, that did not happen in Herod’s kingdom. The reason for that is not just Herod. For he acted wisely: like the Romans themselves, he did not force Roman culture on his subjects. At the same time, he himself partook in the Augustan cultural renewal to the fullest possible extent. The gusto with which he did so went far beyond the requirements to show obeisance to the ruling power. It is another illustration that so many of the phenomena of Augustus’ time must be understood in cultural rather than purely political terms. It is because of such developments, and not just a better network of roads, that the Roman Empire under Augustus emerged as much more cohesive than a collection of sometimes randomly acquired territories.35 It was a matter of unifying rather than homogenizing factors. In the west, cultural assimilation to Rome proceeded differently than in the east. There it depended, because of the greater force of inherited traditions, on the initiative of leading individuals.36 Herod’s role and his farflung cultural activities were without equal and, without them, the East would have been much less Roman. And there is a final counterpoint, illustrating the variable dynamic of political and cultural power: while politically Herod remained completely subordinate to Rome and Augustus,37 there was no one in the Roman Empire, except for the imperial family, whose cultural reach was wider. It would be easy to characterize this disjunction with the usual, facile academic tropes of irony, paradox, and maybe overcompensation, but whatever Herod’s motives were, the Augustan cultural revolution would have been—and here I will resort to irony and paradox—more provincial without him.

35 Cf. Kienast 1999, 499–515 on “Das Werden der Reichseinheit” for a discussion of other factors. 36 Cf. Simon Price’s analysis of the imperial cult in the east (1984). 37 Cf. Gruen 1996, 156.

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Bibliography Ameling, W., 1998. “Herodes I der Grosse”, Der Neue Pauly 5, 458–60. Ando, C., 2000. Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Eder, W., 2005. “Augustus and the Power of Tradition”, in Galinsky 2005, 13–32. Edwards, C., and Woolf, G., eds., 2003. Rome the Cosmopolis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Favro, D., 1996. The Urban Image of Augustan Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——, 2005. “Making Rome a World City”, in Galinsky 2005, 234–63. Foucault, M., 1971. The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. New York: Vintage Books. Galinsky, K., 1996. Augustan Culture. An Interpretive Introduction. Princeton: Princeton University Press. ——, ed., 2005. The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Giovannini, A., ed. 2000. La Révolution romaine après Ronald Syme. Bilans et Perspectives. Vandoeuvres/Geneva: Entretiens Fondation Hardt 46. Gruen, E. S., 1996. “The expansion of the Empire under Augustus,” in The Cambridge Ancient History, X, 2nd ed., 147–97. ——, 2005. “Augustus and the Making of the Principate”, in Galinsky 2005, 33–51. Habinek, T., and Schiesaro, A., eds., 1997. The Roman Cultural Revolution. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Jacobson, D. M., 2001. “Three Roman Client Kings: Herod of Judaea, Archelaus of Cappadocia and Juba of Mauretania”, PEQ 133, 22–38. Keay, S., and Terrenato, N., eds. 2001. Italy and the West. Comparative Issues in Romanization. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kienast, D., 1999. Augustus: Prinzeps und Monarch, 3rd ed. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Kulikowski, M. 1999. Review of Woolf 1998. BMCR 1999.02.09. Lomas, K., 2004. “Italy during the Roman Republic, 338–31 BC”, in H. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Roman Republic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 199–224. Lott, J. B., 2004. The Neighbourhoods of Augustan Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. MacMullen, R., 2000. Romanization in the Time of Augustus. New Haven: Yale University Press. Nye, J., 1990. Bound to Lead: The Changing Nature of American Power. New York: Basic Books. ——, 2004. Soft Power: the Means to Success in World Politics. New York: Public Affairs. Premerstein, A. von, 1937. Vom Wesen und Werden des Prinzipats. Munich: Abhandlungen der Bayrischen Akademie der Wiussenschaften, Phil.-Hist. Abteilung, n.f. 15. Price, S. R. F., 1984. Rituals and Power. The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Purcell, N., 2005. “Romans in the Roman World”, in Galinsky 2005, 85–105. Raaflaub, K., and Toher, M., eds. 1990. Between Republic and Empire. Interpretations of Augustus and His Principate. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Richardson, P., 1996. Herod. King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press. Rüpke, J., 1995. Kalender und Öffentlichkeit. Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter. Syme, R., 1939. The Roman Revolution. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Treggiari, S., 1996. “Social status and social legislation”, in The Cambridge Ancient History, X, 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 873–904. Wallace-Hadrill, A., 1989. “Rome’s Cultural Revolution”, JRS 79, 157–64 (review of Zanker 1988). ——, 1997. “Mutatio Morum: the idea of a cultural revolution”, in Habinek and Schiesaro 1997, 3–22. ——, 2005. “Mutatas Formas: The Augustan Transformation of Roman Knowledge”, in Galinsky 2005, 55–84. White, L. M., 2005. “Herod and the Jewish Experience of Augustan Rule”, in Galinsky 2005, 361–87. Woolf, G. D., 1998. Becoming Roman. The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——, 2001. “The Roman Cultural Revolution in Gaul”, in Keay and Terrenato 2001, 173–86. ——, 2005. “Provincial Perspectives”, in Galinsky 2005, 106–29. Zanker, P., 1987, 1988. Augustus und die Macht der Bilder. Munich: C. H. Beck; Engl. transl. 1988 by A Shapiro, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

HEROD AND ROME: WAS ROMANISATION A GOAL OF THE BUILDING POLICY OF HEROD? Achim Lichtenberger Abstract King Herod the Great is famous for his buildings, which considerably contributed to an architectural Hellenisation and Romanisation of his kingdom. It has long been recognised that many of King Herod’s buildings were directly related to Augustus and to Rome. This can be seen on two levels: 1. Many of King Herod’s buildings and building enterprises are directly connected with the emperor or important men of Rome. For example we find emperor-cult temples for Augustus in Caesarea, Sebaste and in the Paneion. But we also encounter cities (Caesarea, Sebaste, Agrippias), buildings (the Drusus tower, Sebastos harbor, Antonia fortress) or parts of buildings (Caesareum, Agrippeum), which were named after important Romans. This naming has to be understood as an explicit homage to Augustus and Rome, and it can also be interpreted as a programmatic expression of submission, which meant that Herod integrated himself and his client kingdom into the Imperium Romanum. 2. On a second level we can find a more subtle relationship of Herod’s buildings to Rome. Thus, in some of Herod’s buildings, genuine Roman building methods or materials, such as opus reticulatum or pozzolana for hydraulic concrete, were applied. These typical Roman materials are very rare in the East of the Imperium Romanum and they can only be explained by conscious and expensive importation resulting from a close relationship with Rome. Some authors assume that this can also be interpreted as a kind of political submission to Rome. In this paper, three case studies on Roman building materials, mosaics and architectural influences are discussed, and it is argued that the monuments cannot be interpreted in such a programmatic way. The reason for the adoption of Roman material culture by Herod is not so much the material’s Roman character but rather its high quality, and especially its expense. His ability to aquire such luxuries has to be interpreted as expression of Herod’s royalty. Thus Romanisation in Herod’s kingdom was not a goal of Herodian policy, but the result of Herod’s claim to be a Hellenistic king.

I. Introduction The Roman client king Herod the Great is famous for his buildings.1 Although a considerable Hellenisation of the material culture of Palestine

1

Cf. Fittschen & Foerster (eds.) 1996; Richardson 1996, 174–202; Roller 1998;

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had taken place prior to him,2 Herod has to be regarded as a promoter of Hellenistic and Roman culture. He was a ruler who widely opened his kingdom to Hellenistic and Roman influences. As a major part of the population in Herod’s kingdom was Jewish,3 conflicts arose from this pagan acculturation. When Pompey conquered the Levant in 64/63 BC, because of the conflicts which were inherent in a Jewish-pagan relationship in the land of Israel, the territories that later constituted Herod’s kingdom did not come under direct Roman rule, but were handed over to loyal local client rulers.4 One of them was Herod who, under the protection of Mark Antony, was made King of Judaea in 40/37 BC. Apparently Rome was quite content with Herod, as it enlarged his kingdom in the years that followed. As a client king, Herod had duties and obligations towards Rome, the most important being loyalty and the establishment of security in that border region of the Imperium Romanum.5 It is a matter of debate whether the organisation of territories as client kingdoms was a preparation for their subsequent incorporation as Roman provinces as is sometimes assumed: “In a generation or two a king would have sufficiently civilized his regions so that they could then be incorporated as a Roman province without difficulty”.6 Or were client kingdoms only another form of Roman rule over foreign nations with no planned rationale for bringing them later under direct Roman rule, as the instructive study of E. Paltiel has suggested?7 Dependent on this is the question of what did Rome expect from the client kings. Did Rome Lichtenberger 1999; Japp 2000; Yat Tin Lee 2003. In these publications an up-to-date bibliography for Herodian buildings and places is generally given. In the following references not all older literature is quoted. On Herod in general cf. the monographs by Schalit 2001; Richardson 1996; Vogel 2002; Günther 2005. 2 Cf. e.g. the palaces of the Hasmonaeans: Netzer 1999. 3 But it has to be stressed that not the whole population of Herod’s kingdom was Jewish. On paganism in Palestine see Zangenberg 2005. 4 Cf. for that e.g. Smallwood 1981, 27–30; Baumann 1983, 37–42; Baltrusch 2002, 136–141. 5 On client kings see Hoben 1969; Luttwak 1976, 20–40; Braund 1984; Sullivan 1990; Paltiel 1991; Jacobson 2001; Weber 2003; Butcher 2003, 87–98; Coskun (ed.) 2005. 6 Cf. Bowersock 1965, 42 (cf. also p. 52). See also Luttwak 1976, 21; Smallwood 1981, 29; Baumann 1983, 207–209; Baltrusch 2002, 136; Weber 2003, 27; Butcher 2003, 89; Günther 2005, 214–215. 7 Paltiel 1991, 311: “In much modern writing client statehood is dismissed as a transitional stage on the road to imperial rule. That most tetrarchies and kingdoms ended their days as provinces is no discovery. However the zigzaggy process, the veers and turns in Roman policy cast serious doubt on the general theory.”

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want the client kings to prepare their kingdoms for a later annexation and transformation into a province? Most of the client kingdoms were less Hellenised and urbanised than regions which immediately became provinces after Roman conquest, and when they later became provinces they had often undergone a considerable process of Hellenisation and Romanisation.8 Thus preparation of these territiories—if later transformation into a province were a goal of Roman policy—would have been cultural Hellenisation and Romanisation. In the following sections, the question of how the dependency of Herod on Rome relates to Hellenisation, and especially Romanisation in Herod’s kingdom, will be discussed.9 For that we have to comment on the building policy of Herod in relation to Rome and Augustus. First we focus on buildings that are directly related to Rome. II. Herod’s Homage and Submission to Rome There are two categories of buildings or building enterprises which can be interpreted as unequivocal expression of a special relationship of Herod to Rome and both seem to be explicit statements of submission or at least homage to Rome.10 1. The foundation of cities, buildings or parts of buildings that were named after important men of Rome, and 2. The construction of temples for emperor worship and the construction of buildings that were made for games in honor of the emperor. The earliest Herodian building of the first category is the temple fortress Antonia in Jerusalem, which was dedicated before the battle at

8 See e.g. the situation in Syria. The heavily urbanised Tetrapolis in Northern Syria immediately became a Roman province, while regions like Ituraea, Trachonitis and Auranitis were only later transformed into a province. Cf. Butcher 2003, 108–121. 9 On phenomena of Romanisation cf. Millett 1990; 1990a, 1–8; Freeman 1993. 10 In the following see now also Wilker 2005, 204–207.

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Actium which took place in 31 BC.11 The Antonia was named after Mark Antony and the intention of this building probably was at least a double one: first, Herod honoured his patron with whose help he was installed as king, and second, Herod could show to his people and neighbouring nations whose mighty protection he enjoyed. After the battle at Actium and the victory of Octavian (the later Augustus) over Mark Antony, Herod went over to Octavian, but he apparently did not change the name of the Antonia. Now however, Herod also erected buildings which were named after his new masters. In his Jerusalem palace two reception rooms were named after Augustus and Agrippa (oikos Kaisareios and oikos Agrippeios).12 The naming probably has to be connected with the visit of Agrippa, the son-in-law and designated sucessor of Augustus, to Judaea in 15 BC, to which we have to return later. Herod also built cities which he named after Romans. In 27 or 25 BC Samaria was refounded as Sebaste,13 and in 22 BC he refounded Straton’s Tower as Caesarea.14 Both cities and a third one—Paneas15— also had temples for emperor worship. Herod apparently did not introduce such institutions to Jerusalem, but already in 28/27 BC he had tried to establish games there for the emperor, which were faced with resistance from traditional Jews.16 In general, however, Herod was quite cautious with religious sensibilities of the Jews. Being aware of the religious complexity of Judaea, the case of Herod can prove that the policy of Rome, to establish local rulers who were familiar with such traditions, to a certain degree was successful. Not only the city of Caesarea was named after Caesar Augustus, but also its harbour, Sebastos derived its name from Augustus.17 A tower of the harbour was named after Drusus and another probably after Tiberius.18

Cf. Roller 1998, 175–176; Netzer 1999, 115–117; Lichtenberger 1999, 35–39. Jos., Bell. 1.402. Cf. for the palace Roller 1998, 176; Netzer 1999, 117–120; Lichtenberger 1999, 93–98; Japp 2000, 130. 13 Cf. Roller 1998, 209–212; Lichtenberger 1999, 80–92; Japp 2000, 146–149. 14 Cf. Raban & Holum (eds.) 1996; Roller 1998, 133–144.; Lichtenberger 1999, 116–130; Japp 2000, 101–109. 15 Cf. Roller 1998, 190–192; Lichtenberger 1999, 150–153; Japp 2000, 144–146; Wilson 2004, 18–22. 16 Cf. Lämmer 1973; Lichtenberger 1999, 74–79; Patrich 2002. 17 Jos., Bell. 1.613; Ant. 17.87. 18 Jos., Bell. 1.412 (Drusium); Alföldy 1999; 2002 (Tiberieum). 11

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Drusus might have also been honoured by Herod with the foundation of the hardly explored Drusias in Western Judaea.19 Thus the naming of cities was not restricted to the emperor, as can be seen with Drusias and another place, Anthedon, which was refounded as Agrippias.20 A toponym derived from Marcus Agrippa is only known from Herod’s kingdom and from the Bosporan kingdom.21 It is conceivable that Herod’s Agrippias was the model for the Agrippeia on the Bosporus. We do not exactly know in which circumstance the two Bosporan cities of Panticapeion and Phanagoria were renamed as Caesarea and Agrippeia, but Josephus reports an expedition to the Bosporus which Agrippa undertook immediately after his visit to Herod’s Judaea and to which Herod escorted him. At the Bosporus Agrippa reinstalled another client king, Polemon.22 It is likely that the naming of Phanagoria as Agrippeia happened as a result of this episode.23 It should be no coincidence that Herod stayed at the Bosporus with Agrippa at that time, and that we find the only two examples of cities named after Agrippa at the Bosporus and in Herod’s kingdom. The sources do not tell us who first came upon the idea of naming a city after Agrippa. Both regions had old traditions of naming cities after persons.24 It might be a problem of the unbalanced source material available to us (we do not have a Josephus for the Bosporan kingdom) but, starting with the Antonia, we know of many namings of cities and buildings after Romans in Herod’s kingdom, so that it seems conceivable that the initiative came from Herod. Irrespective of who was first, the naming of the two cities testifies to a client-king network of ideas, and we have to assume that Herod’s naming either took place during Agrippa’s visit or, inspired by the Bosporan example, immediately after his return from the Bosporus.25

19

161.

Ptol. 5.16.6. Cf. for Drusias, see Roller 1998, 126–127; Lichtenberger 1999,

Roddaz 1984, 451–455; Lichtenberger 1999, 160–161; Japp 2000, 98. The evidence for the naming of the city on the Bosporus is the coinage of that city (cf. Burnett, Amandry & Ripollès 1992, 334; Podossinov 2000, 151; Frolova & Ireland 2002, 49–52) and inscriptions (cf. Podossinov 2000, 151–153). 22 On this episode, cf. also Parfenov 1996, 102–103. 23 Cf. also Burnett, Amandry & Ripollès 1992, 334; Podossinov 2000, 150, n. 4; Frolova & Ireland 2002, 6–7. 24 For the Bosporus, cf. Lichtenberger 2001. 25 See also Roddaz 1984, 466–467: contra Roller 1998, 129; Hohlfelder 2000, 247, n. 28 and Wilker 2005, 204, n. 18, who think that the naming of Agrippias took place after Agrippas visit (Wilker) or even after Agrippas death in 12 BC (Roller, Hohlfelder). 20 21

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It is probable that the naming of buildings after Romans not only has to be interpreted as homage to Rome but also as submission. Other Roman client kings also refounded cities and named them after Augustus, e.g. Juba of Mauretania or Archelaos of Cappadocia.26 Some client kings also showed their pro-Roman attitude by naming themselves philokaisar or philorhomaios, as did Herod.27 It is obvious that with all the buildings and cities mentioned, Herod honoured Rome and especially Augustus, while at the same time he formulated a relationship in which he demonstrated his political loyalty and submisson to Rome. III. Herod, the Helleniser and Romaniser We now have to proceed to a different group of evidence that is put forward to attest to Herod’s political submission to Rome. It is the Roman influences on the material culture of Herodian buildings. Without doubt, these Roman influences are evidence for the good relationship Herod had with Rome. Some scholars interpret the importing of Roman techniques and technologies as symbolising submission to Rome. This view seems to be illustrated by Josephus’ account of Agrippa’s visit to Judaea in 15 BC: . . . He (Herod) learned that Marcus Agrippa had again sailed from Italy to Asia, and so he hastened to meet him and asked him to come to his kingdom and receive the welcome that might be expected from a host and friend. Agrippa yielded to his earnest insistence, and came to Judaea. And Herod, omitting nothing that might please him, received him in his newly founded cities and, while showing him his buildings, diverted him and his friends with enjoyable food and luxury; this he did both in Sebaste and in Caesarea, at the harbour which had been constructed by him, and in the fortresses which he had built at great expense, Alexandreion, Herodeion and Hyrcania. He also brought him to the city of Jerusalem, where all the people met Agrippa in festival attire and welcomed him with acclamations. Then Agrippa sacrificed a hecatomb to God and feasted the populace, which was not less in number than any of those in the greatest (cities). But although for his own part, so far as pleasure was concerned, he would have remained several days more, he was pressed for time at that season, for with the coming on of winter he did not think

26 27

Cf. Braund 1984, 107–109; Jacobson 2001, 27–30. IG 2 II 3440–3441; Meshorer 1970, 97–98. Cf. Braund 1984, 105–108.

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it safe to make the return voyage to Ionia which he was again obliged to undertake.28

This is a remarkable report, as it suggests that buildings had direct political implications and, for example, a Herodian palace contained in its architecture a political message towards Rome. This is also important in view of a possible objection that the naming of buildings by Herod was aimed only at his own subjects, to show them that Herod was a friend of the Romans, the masters of the world.29 But this was not the only reason for the naming, and it was probably only a secondary reason. The most important rationale for naming the buildings was foreign policy aimed towards Rome. This can also be seen in Herod’s speech at the inauguration of the Jerusalem Temple in which he explicitly speaks about expectations: So far as the other things achieved during my reign are concerned, my countrymen, I consider it unneccessary to speak of them, although they were of such a kind that the prestige which comes from them to me is less than the security which they have brought to you.30

It is obvious that Herod alludes to his relations with the Graeco-Roman koine in general, but, as security is concerned, it probably especially includes the relationship to Rome and Augustus. During Agrippa’s visit, Herod showed him his buildings and this display has to be interpreted as a political act. However it is not only the cities of Caesarea and Sebaste, Herod showed to Agrippa, but also the Herodeion, Alexandreion and Hyrcania, which at first sight have nothing to do with Rome. As in many of the buildings visited by Agrippa, Roman influences on the material culture can be detected; this acculturation is interpreted by some scholars as symbolising submission to Rome. For example R. Förtsch wrote in 1996: “Herod’s attempts to bring Agrippa to see Judaea demonstrates that the architecture must have been an indicator of political reliability”.31 And J. Geiger in 1997 is even more explicit when he writes: “Many of the Roman influences cannot be attributed merely to practical considerations and must be laid at the door of an ideological decision as to the place of the client kingdom in the Augustan

28 29 30 31

Jos., Ant. 16.12–15. Cf. below n. 105. Jos., Ant. 15.382. Förtsch 1996, 73.

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Empire.”32 Similar statements of a programmatic cultural assimilation can be found in other studies on the building policy of Herod.33 In the material culture of the late Hellenistic/early Roman East it is in many cases impossible to distinguish between Hellenistic and Roman artefacts. But there are some unequivocal Roman elements in the Herodian material culture which can be discussed before the background of the buildings and naming mentioned above which express homage and/or submission to Rome.34 I want to discuss a possible programmatic value for three examples: 1. The use of typical Roman building materials such as opus reticulatum and pozzolana 2. Roman floor decorations such as black-and-white mosaics 3. One doubtful case of a so-called architectural quotation (1) At four places in the Herodian kingdom opus reticulatum was applied: in the palaces of Jericho (Fig. 1),35 in a circular structure in Jerusalem,36 in a building in Paneas37 and in a hitherto unpublished (but obviously) post-Herodian building in Caesarea.38 Opus reticulatum is a typical Italian construction method for walls that is hardly found outside Italy.39 In the Levant other buildings in opus reticulatum are encountered only in Samosata,40 Ancoz (north of Samosata),41 Emesa42 and Antioch43 and for all these buildings and places a close relationship of the builders to Rome can be observed (military, provincial administration). It can be Geiger 1997, 85. Richardson 1996, 194; Roller 1998, 48; Lichtenberger 1999, 182; Japp 2000, 43. 91–92; Vogel 2002, 184–185. 34 I am aware of the complexity of the term ‘Romanisation’ (cf. Millett 1990, 1). Here I want to discuss direct Roman influences on the material culture and not phenomena of transformation. Cf. also Freeman 1993, 443–444. 35 Cf. Spanu 1996, 926–927. 36 Cf. Spanu 1996, 927. 37 Cf. Wilson 2004, 16–17. 38 The opus reticulatum wall was found in the palace of the Roman governor and apparently dates to the first half of the 1st century CE. Personal communication from Y. Porath, Director of the IAA excavations at Caesarea. 39 Lugli 1957, 487–526; Adam 1994, 129–134. 40 Cf. Spanu 1996, 928–929. 41 In Ancoz opus reticulatum and opus caementium have been observed in 2007 in a hitherto unpublished building south of the modern village. Thanks to M. Blömer, Münster, for the information. 42 Cf. Spanu 1996, 931–932. 43 Cf. Spanu 1996, 928. 930–931. 32 33

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assumed that the construction workers for the opus reticulatum walls came directly from the West. In general however, opus reticulatum remained an alien Roman construction method that never became widespread in the Levant. Is it possible to deduce from the Roman character of the construction method a symbolic value for Herod in the sense that it denoted a programmatic assimilation and submission under Rome? Would a Roman standing in front of an opus reticulatum wall in e.g. Jericho have recognised an effort of Herod to integrate into the Imperium Romanum? This is hardly conceivable, as we have to be aware that the walls were plastered and the opus reticulatum was not visible. Although in Italy sometimes the walls seem to have been left unplastered,44 in Jericho we definitly find walls which have Herodian plaster decoration in situ (Fig. 2).45 Thus most people had no opportunity to discern the Roman construction method used in the walls. But there is more than a hint that such foreign construction methods might have been made public. When Herod built his artifical harbour in Caesarea he used large blocks of concrete for the moles. Geochemical analysis has proved that Herod imported pozzolana from Italy for this concrete.46 Pozzolana was especially suitable for hydraulic concrete and it was the best available technology at that time; a cheaper way of producing hydraulic concrete would have been mixing volcanic ash from elsewhere or crushed pottery with the mortar.47 Also pozzolana (as it was mixed into the concrete) was not openly visible to the people. But Josephus reports in his Antiquities about the construction of the harbour: But what was especially notable about this construction was that he (Herod) got no material suitable for so great a work from the place itself but completed it with materials brought from outside at great expense.48

44 Lugli 1957, 489–491. Cf. also the discussion by Adam 1994, 133; von Hesberg 2005, 25. 45 Netzer 2001, 243, Ill. 363–364; 247, Ill. 371; 249, Ill. 375; 250, Ill. 376; 251, Ill. 378–379; 253, Ill. 384; 258, Ill. 387; 259, Ill. 391; 260, Ill. 392; 266, Ill. 398–399; 273, Ill. 410; 274, Ill. 412. 46 Oleson & Branton 1992, 56–60. For pozzolana see Lugli 1957, 394–401. 47 Cf. Adam 1994, 74; Brandon 1996, 27–28. 48 Jos., Ant. 15.332. Cf. for that also Roller 1998, 138.

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This paragraph might show (and we have to be very careful with this interpretation as it might be an overinterpretation), that the importing of products and technologies such as pozzolana or opus reticulatum somehow was presented to the public and that the import had a programmaticpropaganda function. But relevant to this context is that Josephus does not stress that the technology was Roman but that it was expensive. (2) Now we have to discuss one example of black-and-white mosaics in Herodian palaces. In Herodian palaces we find different kinds of floor decoration: polychrome mosaics (Fig. 3) in Hellenistic tradition and opus sectile as well as black-and-white-mosaics (Fig. 4) in Roman tradition.49 Although opus sectile and black-and-white-mosaics are found in some places of the East such as in Delos,50 there are designs which are genuinely Roman and hardly found outside Italy. This is the case with the honeycomb-pattern of a mosaic from the Northern Palace at Masada.51 The honeycomb-pattern is very common in Italy, e.g. in Ostia and Pompeii.52 There is only one comparable example of this design in the East: in Peristylhaus II in Pergamon a similar (but very crude) honeycomb-pattern was found in a late Hellenistic/early Roman building phase (Fig. 5).53 It is generally assumed that the black-and-white-mosaics in Masada were made by Italian artisans.54 But can we deduce from this a programmatic decision in the sense of submission or homage to Rome? In the light of the Pergamene floor this is hardly conceivable, as we cannot assume that the (unknown) owner of the house in Pergamon had any interest in making such a pro-Roman statement. If a mosaic would have had such a symbolic political value, how would we have to interpret the polychrome mosaics in Masada, which stand in a Hellenistic tradition? Are they anti-Roman? This is absurd and shows that we have to be cautious to jump to such programmatic conclusions.55 In my opinion the black-and-white-mosaics are a statement of up-to-date luxury: a mighty king, Herod, could afford such things. The same would apply

49 On this topic, see especially Parlasca 1967, 547–548; Foerster 1995, 140–161; Dunbabin 1999, 187; Japp 2000, 85–86. 50 Cf. Bruneau 1972, passim. 51 Ovadiah & Ovadiah 1987, 109–110 Nr. 182–183. 52 Ostia: Becatti 1961, Tav. 5; 21; Pompeii, Imola and Aquileia: Blake 1930, 108–109. 53 Salzmann 1991, 445–446, Abb. 15. 54 Parlasca 1967, 547–548; Foerster 1995, 156. 55 Cf. also Freeman 1993, 444.

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to the use of pozzolana and opus reticulatum. No especially pro-Roman statement was made with these, but rather they were an expression of wealth, luxury and thus reflected the king’s power. (3) As a third case of a possible programmatic Romanisation, I want to discuss a detail of Herodian palace architecture. There can be no doubt that Herod adopted typical Roman architectural models (such as bath buildings).56 But not all Herod’s buildings can be traced back to Roman models and I suppose that the latter are more the exception than the rule. The models for Herodian palaces probably were—apart from those based on local traditions—mainly Hellenistic palaces, which were also the model for Roman villa architecture, which is what makes the entire issue so complicated.57 To find an unquestionable Roman influence in Herodian palace architecture, we must identify architectural elements which are absent from Hellenistic architecture. One such feature is the Italian atrium with impluvium. The atrium was the central part of the Italian house and it was connected with early Italian traditions such as the reception of clientela.58 The impluvium served to collect rainwater. It is notable that in Herodian palaces (where we have such features as Roman wall and floor decoration)59 the atrium seems to be absent. I say “seems” because there is one building that has been put forward as having an atrium.60 In the Upper Herodeion, Förtsch believes that he has identified an atrium.61 It is the T-shaped room west of the peristyle court (Fig. 6). Förtsch thinks that this was a Roman atrium, which he compares to the atrium of the villa at Settefinestre (Fig. 7).62 From this, Förtsch concludes, alluding to the visit of Marcus Agrippa: To Herod himself and his architects, and to a Roman like Agrippa, such an architectural quotation might signify a kind of submission;

56 57

84.

Hoss 2005, 45–49. Cf. e.g. McKay 1975, 40; Nielsen 1994, 164–180; Förtsch 1996a; Geiger 1997,

On the Roman atrium, cf. Evans 1980; Förtsch 1993, 30–41. On the wall decoration in Herodian palaces see especially Foerster 1995, 13–44; Rozenberg 1996; Fittschen 1996. 60 There is also a so-called atrium building in Samaria, which can be related to Herod. But the description of the building as atrium building is not correct, as the court is not an Italian atrium but a Greek peristyle. 61 Förtsch 1996, 78–79. Followed by Geiger 1997, 84; Yat Tin Lee 2003, 47–48. 62 Förtsch 1996, 103, Fig. 22. Cf. for the villa: Carandini (ed.) 1985. For a complete plan of the villa cf. Carandini (ed.) II 1985, 15. 58 59

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achim lichtenberger one may at least suggest that this was a possible rationale for Herodian architecture.63

Here again we encounter a symbolic interpretation of architectural elements, which I would hesitate to follow, especially when we look closer at Herodeion and realise that it is hardly likely that this was an atrium at all. Up till the present time, the area of the T-shaped room has been little excavated and an impluvium is missing.64 Thus we have no hard evidence for an atrium. Also, the position of the room cannot be compared to a Roman atrium because in a Roman villa the atrium is a room through which the house is entered and from which important rooms are accessible (cf. e.g. Fig. 7). This is not the case at Herodeion. The entrance is through the peristyle-court as in a Hellenistic palace65 and the so-called atrium leads to nowhere. Although, as Vitruvius reports, a villa suburbana has an reversed atrium-peristyle sequence, i.e. one entered the house through the peristyle and then reached the atrium, it is hardly conceivable that this type of villa was the model for the Herodeion, as in the villa suburbana the reversal of the atriumperistyle order was due to its farming functions and there are only few cases in which this arrangement can be definitely observed.66 In my opinion it is much more likely that, assuming the room was roofed,67 this room was a T-shaped reception room, such as we encounter in other Herodian palaces such as in Jericho (Fig. 8),68 Caesarea69 and probably also in Kallirrhoe.70 The overall plan of the Upper Herodeion is much more that of a Hellenistic palace and less that of a Roman villa.71 In this context it has to be stressed that the plan of the building has nothing to do with the mausoleum Augusti, but it is a tetrapyrgion, a prominent type of Hellenistic palace architecture, with a round plan.72 Förtsch 1996, 79. On the excavations in this part of the building cf. Corbo 1989, 52–53. 65 On peristyle courts and their position in the house cf. e.g. McKay 1975, 34–35; Walter-Karydi 1994, 12–31 esp. 27–31; Nielsen 1994, 60–62, 77–78, passim. 66 Vitr. 6.5.3. Cf. for that McKay 1975, 108–110; Evans 1980, 4; Förtsch 1993, 35. 67 Corbo 1989, 52–53 was of the opinion that the room was not covered but an open court (“cortile a croce”). 68 Netzer 2001, 260–261 (“Hall B57”). Cf. also Herod’s so-called first palace in Jericho (Lichtenberger 1999, 59). 69 Gleason 1996, Fig. 2 (“Triclinum?”). 70 Clamer 1997, Fig. 105 (“Bâtiment B”). 71 Jacobson 1985/6, 58–59. 72 Jacobson, 1985/86; Lichtenberger 2004 (with further literature). 63 64

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If we now summarize the first two parts of our analysis we can observe that on the one hand Herod had many important building projects in which he explicitly honoured the emperor and Rome, and that this homage probably also meant a programmatic submission to Rome. On the other hand Roman influences on Herodian material culture do not necessarily fit into the “submission-homage to Rome” pattern. But the buildings with Roman influences cannot have been l’art pour l’art and politically neutral, or only made to impress his own people, as Herod showed them to Marcus Agrippa. Thus we have to ask about Herod’s political intentions in receiving Agrippa in these buildings and showing him his works of architecture (and of course their decoration). IV. Herod the Hellenistic King To arrive at a more coherent picture of the building ideology of Herod in relation to Rome and Augustus, we have to return to the naming of cities and buildings after Romans. For apart from those named after Romans, there were some that took their name from other persons. The desert fortresses Alexandreion73 and Hyrcania74 were already named after Hasmonaeans,75 Cypros76 was named after Herod’s mother, the Herodeia even took their names from the king himself.77 These buildings have to be compared to the fortress Antonia. The same can be observed with the foundation of cities. Apart from the cities of Caesarea, Sebaste and Agrippias, there were places like Antipatris78 and Phasaelis,79 named after Herod’s father and brother. And we have to compare the oikos Kaisareios and the oikos Agrippeios in the Jerusalem palace as well as the towers in the harbor of Caesarea

Roller 1998, 129–131; Lichtenberger 1999, 17–20; Japp 2000, 96–98. Roller 1998, 170–171; Lichtenberger 1999, 51–54; Japp 2000, 119–120. 75 Cf. also a place named Aristobulias, which may have been another Hasmonaean foundation (Lichtenberger 1999, 159). 76 Roller 1998, 182–183; Lichtenberger 1999, 71–73; Japp 2000, 135–136; Netzer & Damati 2004. 77 Roller 1998, 164–169; Lichtenberger 1999, 99–115; 2004; Japp 2000, 114–118. 78 Roller 1998, 131–132; Lichtenberger 1999, 156–157; Japp 2000, 99. 79 Roller 1998, 192. 209; Lichtenberger 1999, 157–158; Japp 2000, 146. 73 74

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with towers in Jerusalem, which took their names from friends (Hippicus) and relatives (Phasael, Mariamme) of Herod.80 It is obvious that with these foundations and namings Herod followed the Hellenistic ideology of kingship in which the king as a ktistes (founder) had to found cities and name them after members of his dynasty.81 The Hellenistic pattern which usually was restricted to the king’s family now was extended to Rome.82 If we now change our perspective on Herod and emphasise more his Hellenistic kingship and less his dependency on Rome, then we can find other ways of interpreting the Roman influences on the material culture. In my opinion it was less their Roman qualities and more the expense and superior quality that made opus reticulatum and pozzolana desirable to Herod. By importing them he proved his wealth and power. As conspicious consumption and tryphe were important elements in the ideology of Hellenistic kingship, by emphasizing it Herod stressed his quality as king.83 The demonstration of Hellenistic kingship by Herod can also be observed on many other occasions.84 For in inscriptions and in the works of Josephus we often encounter formulations and phrases which describe actions by Herod and—as far as Josephus is concerned—they probably can be traced back to the histories of Herod’s court historian Nicolaos of Damascus or to the autobiography of Herod. The phrases are key-words of the ideology of Hellenistic kingship: Thus Herod is euergetes,85 soter,86 ktistes87 and philopator.88 He possesses arete,89 eunoia,90

Jos., Bell. 5.161–162. Jacobson 1988, 394–399. 82 Braund 1984, 111. 83 On Herod and tryphe or polyteleia cf. Lichtenberger 1999, 34, 185, with further literature. We cannot simply explain the Roman influences by presenting Herod as a „Vertreter der römischen Machtzentrale und Vollstrecker des augusteischen Programms“ (Wilker 2005, 207). The relationship of Herod to the pagan population in his kingdom also aimed at the expectations they had from a Hellenistic king. For Herod as a Hellenistic king cf. also Jacobson 1988; 2001; Günther 2005 (e.g. p. 13 where Günther calls Herod “letzten hellenistischen König”). 84 On Herod adopting the role of a Hellenistic monarch, see especially Jacobson 1988; 2001; Lichtenberger 1999; Günther 2005. 85 IG 2 II 3440–3441; Meshorer 1970. 86 Jos., Ant. 14.444. 87 Cf. Lichtenberger 1999, 232 (s.v. Ktistes). 88 Jos., Bell. 1,417. Cf. also Lichtenberger 1999, 71–73, 158. 89 IG 2 II 3441; Höghammar 1993, 123. 90 IG 2 II 3440; Höghammar 1993, 123. 80 81

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eusebeia,91 megalonoia,92 megalopsychia,93 philanthropia,94 philokaleia95 and philotimia.96 These terms often were used in the context of Josephus’ description of Herodian building enterprises and they demonstrate that Herod wanted to be recognised as a virtuous Hellenistic monarch. This can also be seen in Herodian insignia like the wearing of purple and a diadem,97 minting coins with the Greek title basileus,98 donating money to Greek cities and sanctuaries99 and of course building palaces in the tradition of Hellenistic kings. When Augustus passed through Syria in 30 BC, Herod went to meet him in Ptolemais and there he entertained him with all his “royal wealth”100 and “royal attendance”.101 Royalty was a quality that Herod had to demonstrate to his Roman masters. In this context it becomes clear why Herod brought Agrippa to Alexandreion, Hyrcania and to Herodeion. These fortified desert palaces were modelled on the tetrapyrgion-type of building that was typical for Hellenistic kings, as for example the ‘Anaktoron’ in Demetrias in Macedonia that was built by Philip V in the late 3rd/early 2nd century BC. It has been demonstrated by P. Marzolff that this type of fortified palace had the connotation of a building of a strong and mighty king.102 The tetrapyrgia had, as implied by their name, four towers, as at Upper Herodeion and the Antonia. That other Herodian fortresses probably had more or fewer towers does not mean anything. For Josephus even calls Masada a tetrapyrgion,103 although it had no prominent towers at all, but simply took the form of a heavily fortified palace. The Hasmoneans had built such palaces104 and Herod employed this building type for his own purposes.

91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99

2000.

IG2 II 3441; Jos., Bell. 1.400–401. Jos., Bell. 1.408; 5.238. Jos., Bell. 1.422; 5.161–162; Ant. 15.327; 16.140–141. Jos., Ant. 15.298; 15.327. Jos., Ant. 15.298. Jos., Bell. 1.403; 1.410; 4.532; 5.161–162; Ant. 15.296; 15.328. Lichtenberger 1999, 186, n. 946. Burnett, Amandry & Ripollès 1992, 678–679. Lichtenberger 1999, 168–175. For the phenomenon in general cf. Bringmann

Jos., Bell. 1.394. Jos., Ant. 15.199. 102 Marzolff 1976, 34–37. 103 Jos., Bell. 7.289–290. Cf. for the passage Foerster 1995, 193; Lichtenberger 1999, 33. 104 Netzer 1999. 100 101

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It is self-evident that Herod was completely dependend on Rome and that he had to show his loyalty and submission. But at the same time he presented himself to Rome as a self-confident Hellenistic monarch. Herod did this not because client kings were in theory equal to the emperor (rex socius et amicus populi Romani), but because Rome expected this Hellenistic kingship from Herod. Rome wanted a powerful king as a guarantee for the safety of its Eastern border. This can be seen in a story reported by Josephus in the context of the splendid inauguration festivals for the harbour of Caesarea. And they say that Caesar himself and Agrippa often remarked that the extent of Herod’s realm was not equal to his magnanimity (megalopsychia), for he deserved to be king of all Syria and of Egypt.105

The historicity of this traditon is not altogether relevant. What is important is that Josephus describes a mechanism: Rome measured the client kings according to their megalopsychia. The client kings had to play the role of Hellenistic monarchs, although they were not allowed to cross certain borders which could affect their loyalty to Rome. V. Conclusion If we want to interpret Herodian material culture, influenced by characteristic Roman materials and technologies in a programmatic way, the phenomenon cannot be understood as assimilation or submission, but as expression of wealth, prestige and therefore monarchic power. It is the claim to be a Hellenistic king. This claim is restricted by the dependency of Herod on Rome and it tried to find a balance, for example in the foundations which were named after Romans besides those named after members of the own dynasty. There can be no doubt that under Herod a Romanisation of his kingdom took place. But this Romanisation was not a goal of Herodian building policy but the result of the ambition of a king in the tradition of the Hellenistic monarchies. Herod’s interest was not the importation of Roman characteristics as such, but the expense and superior qualit y.106 In Herod’s time it was not exclusively ex oriente lux, the direction Jos., Ant. 16.141. This kind of Romanisation cannot therefore be compared to the situation in the west: “within society their [the élites’] social position was reinforced by its identi105

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of the light had changed—Roman material culture was attractive for the East. Possessing black-and-white mosaics and polychrome mosaics was a prestigous luxury, and using pozzolana for the construction of a harbour demonstrated that one had the means for this expensive import. It should be regarded as evidence for royal wealth and power. We cannot impute a programmatic Romanisation to Herod.107 Bibliography Adam, J.-P., 1994. Roman Building. Materials and Techniques, London: Batsford. Alföldy, G., 1999. “Pontius Pilatus und das Tiberieum von Caesarea Maritima”, SCI 18, 85–108. ——, 2002. “Nochmals: Pontius Pilatus und das Tiberieum von Caesarea Maritima”, SCI 21, 133–148. Baltrusch, E., 2002. Die Juden und das Römische Reich. Geschichte einer konfliktreichen Beziehung, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Baumann, U., 1983. Rom und die Juden. Die römisch-jüdischen Beziehungen von Pompeius bis zum Tode des Herodes (63v.Chr.–4v.Chr.), Frankfurt—Bern—New York: Lang. Becatti, G., 1961. Scavi di Ostia. Mosaici e pavimenti marmorei, Rome: Libreria dello Stato. Blake, M. E., 1930. “The Pavements of the Roman Buildings of the Republic and Early Empire”, MAAR 8, 17–159. Bowersock, G. W., 1965. Augustus and the Greek World, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Brandon, C., 1996. “Cements, Concrete, and Settling Barges at Sebastos: Comparisons with Other Roman Harbor Examples and the Descriptions of Vitruvius”, in Raban & Holum (eds.) 1996, 25–40. Braund, D., 1984. Rome and the Friendly King, New York: St. Martin’s Press. Bringmann, K., 2000. Geben und Nehmen. Monarchische Wohltätigkeit und Selbstdarstellung im Zeitalter des Hellenismus, Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Bruneau, P., 1972. Les mosaïques, Delos 29, Paris: de Boccard. Burnett, A., Amandry, M. & Ripollès, P. P., 1992. Roman Provincial Coinage, I. From the death of Caesar to the death of Vitellius (44 BC–AD 68), London: British Museum Press. Butcher, K., 2003. Roman Syria and the Near East, London: British Museum Press. Carandini, A. (ed.), 1985. Settefinestre. Una villa schiavistica nell’Etruria romana, I–III, Modena: Panini. Clamer, C., 1997. Fouilles archéologiques de Aïn es-Zâra/Callirhoé. Villégiature hérodienne, Beirut: Institut Français d’Archéologie du Proche-Orient. Corbo, V. C., 1989. Herodion I. Gli edifici della reggia-fortezza, Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press. Coskun, A. (ed.), 2005. Roms auswärtige Freunde in der späten Republik und im frühen Prinzipat, Göttingen: Duehrkohp & Radicke.

fication with the external power (and force) of Rome. [. . .] This enhanced the desire of the élites to use the symbols of Romanitas by emulating Roman material culture.” (Millett 1990, 38). 107 Thanks are due to A. Carandini, Rome, E. Netzer, Jerusalem, and D. Salzmann, Münster, for permission to reproduce the illustrations.

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Dunbabin, K. M. D., 1999. Mosaics of the Greek and Roman World, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Evans, E. M., 1980. The atrium complex in the houses of Pompeii, Birmingham: PhD Dissertation. Fittschen, K., 1996. “Wall Decorations in Herod’s Kingdom: Their Relationship with Wall Decorations in Greece and Italy”, in Fittschen & Foerster (eds.) 1996, 139–161. Fittschen, K. & Foerster, G. (eds.), 1996. Judaea and the Graeco-Roman World in the Time of Herod in the Light of Archaeological Evidence, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Foerster, G., 1995. Art and Architecture, Masada V, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Förtsch, R., 1993. Archäologischer Kommentar zu den Villenbriefen des jüngeren Plinius, Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. ——, 1996. “The Residences of King Herod and their Relation to Roman Villa Architecture”, in Fittschen & Foerster (eds.) 1996, 73–119. ——, 1996a. “Die Herstellung von Öffentlichkeit in der spätrepublikanischen Wohnarchitektur als Rezeption hellenistischer Basileia”, in W. Hoepfner & G. Brands (eds.), Basileia. Die Paläste der hellenistischen Könige. Internationales Symposion in Berlin vom 16.12.1992 bis 20.12.1992, Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 240–249. Freeman, P. W. M., 1993. “Romanisation’ and Roman material culture”, JRA 6, 438–445. Frolova, N. & Ireland, S., 2002. The Coinage of the Bosporan Kingdom. From the First Century BC to the Middle of the First Century AD, Oxford: Hadrian Books. Geiger, J., 1997. “Herodes Philorhomaios”, AncSoc 28, 75–88. Gleason, K., 1996. “Ruler and Spectacle: The Promontory Palace”, in Raban & Holum (eds.) 1996, 208–227. Günther, L.-M., 2005. Herodes der Große, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Hesberg, H. von, 2005. Römische Baukunst, Munich: Beck. Hoben, W., 1969. Untersuchungen zur Stellung kleinasiatischer Dynasten in den Machtkämpfen der ausgehenden römischen Republik, Mainz: Dr. phil. Disseration. Höghammar, K., 1993. Sculpture and Society. A Study of the Connection between the FreeStanding Sculpture and Society on Kos in the Hellenistic and Augustan Periods, Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Hohlfelder, R. L., 2000. “Beyond Coincidence? Marcus Agrippa and King Herod’s Harbor”, JNES 59, 241–253. Hoss, S., 2005. Baths and Bathing. The culture of bathing and the baths and thermae in Palestine from the Hasmoneans to the Moslem conquest, Oxford: Archaeopress. Jacobson, D. M., 1985/6, “Upper Herodium: A Fortress or a Chateau?” Bulletin of the Anglo-Israel Archaeological Society 5, 56–68 ——, 1988. “King Herod’s ‘Heroic’ Public Image”, Revue Biblique 95, 386–403. ——, 2001. “Three Roman Client Kings: Herod of Judaea, Archelaos of Cappadocia and Juba of Mauretania”, PEQ 133, 22–38. Japp, S., 2000. Die Baupolitik Herodes’ des Großen. Die Bedeutung der Architektur für die Herrschaftslegitimation eines römischen Klientelkönigs, Internationale Archäologie 64, Rahden: Marie Leidorf. Lämmer, M., 1973. “Griechische Wettkämpfe in Jerusalem und ihre politischen Hintergründe”, Jahrbuch der Deutschen Sporthochschule Köln, 182–227. Lichtenberger, A., 1999. Die Baupolitik Herodes des Großen; Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 26, Wiesbaden: Harassowitz. ——, 2001. “Philippoi oder Gorgippia—Zum Beginn der Benennung von Städten nach Herrschern in der griechischen Welt”, in H. Klinkott (ed.), Anatolien im Lichte kultureller Wechselwirkungen. Akkulturationsphänomene in Kleinasien und seinen Nachbarregionen während des 2. und 1. Jahrtausends v. Chr., Tübingen: Attempto, 167–180.

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——, 2004. “Palast, Grab oder Palastgrab. Wo im Herodeion befindet sich das Grab des Herodes?” in J. Gebauer et al. (eds), Bildergeschichte. Festschrift Klaus Stähler, Möhnesee: Bibliopolis, 295–310. Lugli, G., 1957. La tecnica edilizia romana con particolare riguardo a Roma e Lazio, Rome: Bardi. Luttwak, E. N., 1976. The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire. From the First Century AD to the Third, Baltimore & London: John Hopkins University Press. Marzolff, P., 1976. “Untersuchungen auf Höhe 33 (‘Anaktoron’-Hügel)”, in V. Milojcic & D. Theocharis (eds.), Demetrias I, Bonn: Habelt, 17–45. McKay, A. G., 1975. Houses, Villas and Palaces in the Roman World, London: Thames and Hudson. Meshorer, Y., 1970. “A Stone Weight from the Reign of Herod”, IEJ 20, 97–98. Millett, M., 1990. “Romanization: historical issues and archaeological interpretation”, in T. Blagg & M. Millett (eds.), The Early Roman Empire in the West, Oxford: Oxbow, 35–41. ——, 1990a. The Romanization of Britain. An Essay in Archaeological Interpretation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Netzer, E., 1991. Masada III. The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965. Final Reports. The Buildings. Stratigraphy and Architecture, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. ——, 1999. Die Paläste der Hasmonäer und Herodes’ des Großen, Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. ——, 2001. Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho. Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations. I. Stratigraphy and Architecture, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Netzer, E. & Damati, I., 2004. “Cypros”, in E. Netzer, Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho. Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations. II. Stratigraphy and Architecture, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 233–280. Nielsen, I., 1994. Hellenistic Palaces. Tradition and Renewal, Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Oleson, J. P. & Branton, G., 1992. “The technology of King Herod’s harbour”, in Caesarea Papers. Straton’s Tower, Herod’s Harbour, and Roman and Byzantine Caesarea, JRA Suppl. 5, 49–67. Ovadiah, R. & Ovadiah, A., 1987. Hellenistic, Roman and Early Byzantine Mosaic Pavements in Israel, Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Paltiel, E., 1991. Vassals and Rebels in the Roman Empire. Julio-Claudian Policies in Judaea and the Kingdoms of the East, Collection Latomus 212, Brussels: Latomus. Parfenov, V. N., 1996. “Dynamis, Agrippa und der Friedensaltar. Zur militärischen und politischen Geschichte des Bosporanischen Reiches nach Asandros”, Historia 45, 95–103. Parlasca, K., 1967. “Zur syrischen Kunst der frühen Kaiserzeit”, AA, 547–568. Patrich, J., 2002. “Herod’s Theatre in Jerusalem: A New Proposal”, IEJ 52, 231– 239. Podossinov, A. V., 2000. “Über die Namen der bosporanischen Städte Pantikapaion (Panticapaeum) und Phanagoria in den ersten nachchristlichen Jahrhunderten”, in A. Avram & M. Babes (eds.), Civilisation grecques et cultures antiques périphériques. Hommage à Petre Alexandrescu à son 70 e anniversaire, Bucarest: Editura Enciclopedica, 150–158. Raban, A. & Holum, K. G. (eds.), 1996. Caesarea Maritima. A Retrospective after two Millennia, Leiden & New York & Köln: Brill. Richardson, P., 1996. Herod: King of the Jews, Friend of the Romans, Edinburgh: T & T Clark. Roddaz, J.-M., 1984. Marcus Agrippa, Paris: de Boccard. Roller, D. W., 1998. The Building Program of Herod the Great, Berkeley & Los Angeles & London: University of California Press. Rozenberg, S., 1996. “The Wall Paintings of the Herodian Palace at Jericho”, in Fittschen & Foerster (eds.) 1996, 121–138.

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Salzmann, D., 1991. “Mosaiken und Pavimente in Pergamon. Vorbericht der Kampagnen 1989 und 1990”, AA, 433–456. Schalit, A., 2001. König Herodes. Der Mann und sein Werk, 2. Auflage, Berlin & New York: de Gruyter. Smallwood, E. M., 1981. The Jews under Roman rule. From Pompey to Diocletian. A study in political relations, 2nd edition, Leiden: Brill. Spanu, M., 1996. “L’opus reticulatum e mixtum nelle province asiatiche”, L’Africa Romana 11, 923–939. Sullivan, R. D., 1990. Near Eastern Royalty and Rome, 100–30 BC, Toronto & Buffalo & London: University of Toronto Press. Vogel, M., 2002. Herodes. König der Juden, Freund der Römer, Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt. Walter-Karydi, E., 1994. Die Nobilitierung des Wohnhauses. Lebensform und Architektur im spätklassischen Griechenland, Xenia 35, Konstanz: Universitätsverlag. Weber, F., 2003. Herodes—König von Roms Gnaden? Herodes als Modell eines römischen Klientelkönigs in spätrepublikanischer und augusteischer Zeit, Berlin: Logos Verlag. Wilker, J., 2005. “Herodes der Große. Herrschaftslegitimation zwischen jüdischer Identität und römischer Freundschaft”, in Coskun (ed.) 2005, 201–223. Wilson, J. F., 2004. Caesarea Philippi. Banias, the Lost City of Pan, London & New York: Tauris. Yat Tin Lee, R., 2003. Romanization in Palestine. A Study of Urban Development from Herod the Great to AD 70, Oxford: Archaeopress. Zangenberg, J., 2005. “Nichtjuden in Palästina”, in id. (ed.), Neues Testament und Antike Kultur. Bd. 3 Weltauffassung—Kult—Ethos, Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 53–58.

LITERARY AND DOCUMENTARY EVIDENCE

HEROD, AUGUSTUS, AND NICOLAUS OF DAMASCUS Mark Toher Abstract The extensive remains of his writings and the works of Josephus provide ample information about the career and literary works of Nicolaus, but this combination of evidence has yet to be exploited fully for what it can tell us about what Nicolaus did and how he represented his own career and his relationships with Herod and Augustus. This paper will analyse the evidence for Nicolaus’ career before and after his appearance in Josephus, will argue that Nicolaus’ account of the reign of Herod and the work that contained it have been misunderstood due to tendentious criticism by Josephus, and will suggest a new perspective for our analysis of Josephus’ account of Herod. The facts of Nicolaus’ career between 14 and 4 BCE as Herod’s close advisor and personal envoy to the Romans are well known. Beyond this, it is plausible, based on the evidence of a fragment from Nicolaus’ history and the evidence of Sophronius of Damascus, that Nicolaus came into the entourage of Herod by 30 BCE, gained the king’s confidence over time and emerged fifteen years later as one of Herod’s closest philoi and his most skilled diplomat. After the death of Herod in 4 BCE, Nicolaus travelled to Rome where he brokered the succession of Archelaus as ethnarch before Augustus. There is no evidence that he returned to Jerusalem, rather there is evidence that he spent some extensive time in Rome and it is safe to conclude that Nicolaus, having established a personal relationship with Augustus, retired to Rome after 4 BCE. Based on Josephus’ criticism of Nicolaus, scholars assume that Nicolaus included an apologetic account of the reign of Herod as part of his universal history. But Nicolaus explicitly says he completed his history long before the end of Herod’s reign, and it is much more likely that Josephus found Nicolaus’ account of Herod in Nicolaus’ autobiography written at Rome after the death of Herod. This can well explain Josephus’ depiction of the energetic and capable king gradually succumbing to passion, paranoia and manipulation even as Nicolaus attempted to save the king from his own worst instincts and protect him from the consequences of his actions through mediation with the highest authority at Rome. Writing in Rome after 4 BCE, Nicolaus’ account of his years with Herod would have found an interested reader. The manipulation of Herod in Josephus by the sons of Mariamme, Antipater and Salome are extreme examples of the kind of problems Augustus faced at the time as he promoted as successors his adopted sons Gaius and Lucius Caesar against the resistance of his stepson Tiberius and his mother (and Augustus’ wife) Livia. Josephus claims that Nicolaus wrote his account of Herod for that king; the evidence suggests that Josephus reflects an account of Herod written by and for Nicolaus, and possibly with another autocrat in mind.

In the long, complex story of Herod and Augustus, Nicolaus of Damascus plays a significant role as both an agent and an author. Nicolaus

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the agent exercised great influence as one of Herod’s closest advisors and his daily companion, was the king’s most important ambassador to Roman authority and eventually formed a close relationship with Augustus himself. By the end of Herod’s reign Nicolaus was deeply involved in the worst of the intrigue and murder that were the culmination of Herod’s domestic troubles. He warned against the execution of the sons of Mariamme I, in vain, and he succeeded in securing the conviction of Herod’s eldest son Antipater for conspiracy before a Roman council. After the king’s death in 4 BCE, it was Nicolaus who brokered the succession of Herod’s son Archelaus as ethnarch through his skillful advocacy before Augustus in Rome. Nicolaus the author was prolific, with a universal history in 144 books, an autobiography, a biography of Augustus, an ethnographical treatise and extensive summaries of the works of Aristotle all credited to him. And it is as an author that Nicolaus is crucial to the history of Herod and Augustus, since it is generally agreed that Nicolaus was a main source for Josephus’ account of Herod. It is also generally agreed that Nicolaus’ account of Herod was written for the king himself, could only have been adulatory in nature, and therefore cannot explain the tragic and hostile portrait of Herod that appears in Josephus. However, when considered within the full context of the evidence for Nicolaus’ career as an agent in historical events and an author of historical works, this consensus about the adulatory character of Nicolaus’ work is open to doubt, and as a result the purpose and nature of his account of Herod acquire new significance for our understanding of Herod and Augustus. The consensus that Nicolaus’ account of Herod was written for the king and so could only have been favourable to him rests on two statements in Josephus. Although he cites Nicolaus’ history with approval eight times, quotes from it four times and probably transcribed a speech or two from it,1 Josephus in the Herodian books of the Antiquities suddenly attacks the veracity of Nicolaus. At 14.8 Josephus asserts that Nicolaus falsified the lineage of Herod’s father Antipater in order to please his son, and at 16.183–6 there is a more general condemnation. In discussing Herod’s burglary of David’s tomb, Josephus dismisses Nicolaus’ exculpatory account of that incident and asserts that Nicolaus lived under Herod and so wrote to please him and serve him both by emphasising his glorious deeds and by transforming or simply omitting

1

Cf. Ant. 1.94–5, 108, 159–60; 7.101; 12.127; 13.250–2, 347; 14.104.

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his unjust acts.2 Based on these criticisms it has been universally assumed that Nicolaus presented a biased, adulatory account of Herod’s reign in his universal history. This assumption is based on a further assumption that Josephus is criticizing the same work of Nicolaus in Books 14 and 16. But both assumptions are open to question. While the charge in Book 14 may well be correct that Nicolaus was writing to please Herod in his account of the early part of the king’s career presented in his universal history, on the argument developed in this essay, it is very likely that Josephus found Nicolaus’ account of Herod’s reign after the capture of Jerusalem in another work written after Herod’s death, when Nicolaus’ narrative would no longer have been constricted by the king as his reader. Further, Josephus’ more devastating criticism of Nicolaus in Book 16 is open to doubt on a number of counts. It was a standard trope of ancient historians to criticise their predecessors, especially those they tended to use as sources. The purpose of such hypocritical attacks was to recommend the superiority of the critic’s own work, just as Josephus (Ant. 16.187) does immediately after he disparages the veracity of Nicolaus. More significant, however, is a second problem, and that is the fact that Nicolaus’ own description in his autobiography of how he came to write his universal history makes it clear that Nicolaus could not have written his account of Herod for Herod, as Josephus contends. Nicolaus says that, upon his recommendation to the king that the study of history would be of great use to a king, Herod assigned him the task of composing a history. Nicolaus proudly proclaims that he completed (ἐξετέλεσεν) his Herculean task of writing a universal history before he and the king traveled to Rome (ἐκ τούτου πλέων εἰς Ῥώμην . . .).3

2 ζῶν τε γὰρ ἐν τῇ βασιλείᾳ καὶ συνὼν αὐτῷ, κεχαρισμένως ἐκείνῳ καὶ καθ᾽ ὑπηρεσίαν ἔγραφεν, μόνων ἁπτόμενος τῶν πρὸς εὔκλειαν αὐτῷ φερόντων, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ τῶν ἐμφανῶς ἀδίκων ἀντικατασκευάζων καὶ μετὰ πάσης σπουδῆς ἐπικρυπτόμενος

(AJ 16.184). 3 Jacoby 1926a, F 135: αὖθις δ᾽ ἱστορίας αὐτὸν [i.e. Herod] ἔλαβεν <ἔρως> ἐπαινέσαντος Νικολάου τὸ πρᾶγμα καὶ πολιτικώτατον εἶναι λέγοντος, χρήσιμον δὲ καὶ βασιλεῖ, ὡς τὰ τῶν προτέρων ἔργα καὶ πράξεις ἱστοροίη. καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦτο ὁρμήσας προύτρεψε καὶ Νικόλαον πραγματευθῆναι τὰ περὶ ἱστορίαν. ὁ δὲ μειζόνως ἔτι ὥρμησεν ἐπὶ τὸ πρᾶγμα, πᾶσαν ἀθροίσας τὴν ἱστορίαν μέγαν τε πόνον ὑποστὰς καὶ οἷον οὐκ ἄλλος· ἐν πολλῷ δὲ χρόνῳ φιλοπονήσας ἐξετέλεσεν αὐτήν, ἔλεγέ τε ὡς τοῦτον τὸν ἆθλον Εὐρυσθεὺς εἰ προύτεινεν Ἡρακλεῖ, σφόδρα ἂν αὐτὸν ἀπέτρυσεν. ἐκ τούτου πλέων εἰς Ῥώμην ὡς Καίσαρα Ἡρώδης ἐπήγε<το> τὸν Νικόλαον ὁμοῦ ἐπὶ τῆς αὐτῆς νηός, καὶ κοινῇ ἐφιλοσόφουν. That πραγματευθῆναι τὰ περὶ ἱστορίαν here refers to the composition of a history see, for example, Polybius, 1.4.3 and 5.33.5; also Liddell-Scott-Jones 1996,

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Herod made three trips to Rome that we know of, in 40, 17/16, and 13/12 BCE. There may also have been a trip in 22/21 when his sons Alexander I and Aristobulus I were in Rome for an extended residence there (Ant. 15.342–3). Therefore, on the explicit statement of the author himself, Nicolaus’ universal history was completed at least a decade before the death of Herod.4 The evidence of the fragments of Nicolaus’ universal history also indicate that this work did not cover the reign of Herod. The last fragment of the universal history that deals with events that are not restricted to the affairs of Herod deals with the death of M. Brutus’ wife Porcia in 42 BCE (F 99). All fragments after this date deal only with the affairs of Herod, which would suggest that Nicolaus’ universal history either ended in or soon after the late 40s or ceased to be a universal history at that point.5 This conclusion is supported by Josephus’ narrative, where there is a distinct change in the depiction of Herod at the beginning of Book 15. Until this point in the Antiquities there is no hint of the violent and unstable character that dominates in ancient and modern accounts of Herod. To the end of Book 14 Herod is presented as a courageous, intelligent and inspiring leader, and that book concludes with his capture of Jerusalem and the effective establishment of his rule in Judaea. The 15th book of the Antiquities commences with a very different depiction of Herod. He is vengeful (2), greedy (5–7), hated by his people (8) and deceptive in his dealings with his former benefactor Hyrcanus and plotting his elimination (20–1). It is at this point in the Antiquities that there begins the hostile portrait of Herod that intensifies over the course of three books into the character that succumbed to jealousy, violence and paranoia. Herod’s capture of Jerusalem, it seems, formed an appropriate triumphal conclusion to a universal history written for that king, and the change in depiction of Herod in the Antiquities after that event might well be explained by

s.v. πραγματεύομαι II.3. Any fragment (F) or testimonium (T) cited without the name of the author refers to Nicolaus (no. 90) in Jacoby 1926a. 4 For a full discussion of Josephus’ criticism of Nicolaus and the evidence for the composition of Nicolaus’ universal history, cf. Toher 2003, 433–5, 446–7. On the veracity of such self-serving statements by ancient historians, see Avenarius 1956, 50–2 and Marincola 1997, 114–5, 160–74. On the dates of Herod’s journeys to Rome during the Augustan Principate, see Kokkinos 1998, 182, n. 22 and 367–75. The sequence of narrative in the fragments of Nicolaus’ autobiography indicate that the trip to Rome that Nicolaus refers to in F 135 would have been that of 13/12 BCE. 5 Wacholder 1962, 62.

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Josephus depending on a different account of Nicolaus for the reign of Herod. To maintain the generally accepted notion based on Josephus’ criticism of him that Nicolaus wrote his account of the reign of Herod for Herod, we must assume that Nicolaus’ own statement misrepresents how and why he wrote his universal history, although there is no reason to see why he would have done so. We must also assume that Nicolaus changed the nature of his history in a way that is unparalleled in historiographical genres in antiquity by switching from a universal history to a local history in the same work.6 And, finally, we must assume that if Nicolaus wrote his history for Herod, then he wrote contemporary history contemporaneously—again, something rarely, if ever, done by ancient historians.7 In fact, ancient historians tended to avoid writing contemporary history simply because they did leave themselves open to just the charge of bias and toadying that Josephus levels at Nicolaus (cf. Pliny, NH praef. 20). By the time Nicolaus came to write his universal history, one expert on prose genres specifically defined historia as the record of non-contemporary events (cf. Cic. De Inv. 1.27 and [Cic.] Ad Herr. 1.13). The tendentious statement of Josephus cannot stand against the weight of the rest of the evidence, all of which argues that Nicolaus did not and could not have written his account of the reign of Herod for Herod; which makes sense, since, as Nicolaus said (F 135; Stern 1974, no. 96), he wrote his history to instruct the king in statesmanship, and it is difficult to see what edification Herod might have derived from a chronicle of the events in which he was the main figure. The derivative conclusion, that Nicolaus could only have presented a biased, adulatory account of Herod, also falls away. The question then becomes, in what work did Josephus find Nicolaus’ account of Herod, and when and to what purpose did Nicolaus write it. The evidence allows reasonable conjecture as to when and where Nicolaus wrote his account of Herod. After the king’s death in 4 BCE, Nicolaus traveled to Rome in the entourage of Herod’s son Archelaus and by skillful advocacy before Augustus he secured the ethnarchy in

6 The only possible example of this may be the work of Velleius Paterculus, which in scope and structure can provide no parallel to the work of Nicolaus. On the peculiar generic character of Velleius’ work, cf. Starr 1981. 7 Thucydides (1.1.1) seems to make just such a claim for his history; for the problems it causes his commentators, see Woodman 1988, 50, n. 37.

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Judaea, Samaria and Idumaea for the king’s son (Ant. 17.219–49 and 299–320). With this episode, Nicolaus disappears from the historical record, but indirect evidence suggests that he remained in Rome after 4 BCE. The fact that there is no mention of Nicolaus during the troubled decade of Archelaus’ rule, and in particular during the procedure of his banishment (Ant. 17. 342–44), suggests that he did not return to Jerusalem after 4 BCE, for such a shrewd and experienced advisor would have been indispensable to the new ethnarch. There are good reasons why Nicolaus would have chosen to remain in Rome. Factions in Jerusalem had been calling for the punishment of those closest to Herod after his death (Ant. 17.207) and the unsettled and dangerous situation there would have held little allure for a man just turned sixty and one who was now on intimate terms with the Princeps himself.8 Nicolaus tells us that Augustus honoured him for his talents of negotiation, and it is well known that Augustus named a type of fruit after Nicolaus, since its colour and sweet taste reminded him of the complexion and disposition of his friend from the East.9 Furthermore, criticism of Nicolaus in Roman society for his devotion to philosophy suggests an extended stay in Rome (F 138). It is plausible to conclude that Nicolaus retired to Rome after 4 BCE,10 and it was there that Nicolaus composed his account of the reign of Herod. Josephus says that one could find in Books 123 and 124 of Nicolaus’ universal history an account of M. Agrippa affirming the rights of the

8 Under Herod there were purges of the king’s φίλοι ( Jos., Ant. 15.252–8; 16.236–43, 257–58; War 1.494–6) and there is no reason to think the atmosphere would have been more secure at the court of Archelaus. The danger for Nicolaus can be measured by the fact that it was Nicolaus himself who secured the conviction of Antipater when Herod could not continue his prosecution of that son (Ant. 17.99–133), and yet the imprisoned plotter, still alive five days before the mortally ill Herod succumbed, fully expected to gain the throne on the king’s death (Ant. 17.185). That the dying king ordered Antipater’s execution might plausibly be ascribed to the urging of an interested party. 9 F 136.11 καὶ Νικόλαον μὲν ἐτίμησεν ὁ Καῖσαρ; that it was a type of date that Augustus named after Nicolaus, see T10a–b and Pliny NH 13.45; later tradition applied the eponym to a flat cake, see TT1 and 13. 10 So Wacholder 1962, 108, n. 207 and Stern 1974, 228. Some members of Herod’s family also stayed in Rome (see Kokkinos 1998, 190–1). A late source, Sophronius of Damascus (T 2), mentions that there were generations of Nicolaus’ descendants, all named Nicolaus and all famed as philosophers, in Damascus. Possibly Nicolaus eventually returned to his native city, or these were the descendants of his “sons” who may be referred to (if not Herod’s sons) in Nicolaus’ autobiography (F 134; Stern 1974, no. 95).

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Ionian Jews in 14 BCE.11 This statement constitutes the only evidence that the reign of Herod was treated in Nicolaus’ universal history. It is possible that Nicolaus appended his account of the reign of Herod to a second edition of his history that he produced after the king’s death. There is at least one precedent for doing something like this in the Roman History of Cassius Dio, who seems to have added four more books of contemporary history to a second edition of his work.12 Nevertheless, it is possible that Nicolaus’ account of Herod appeared originally in another work. Nicolaus wrote an autobiography and the fragments of it (FF 131–9) are the earliest substantial evidence for this genre of Graeco-Roman historiography. There are four fragments of Nicolaus’ account of Herod that come down under Nicolaus’ name. Three of them are excerpted from Nicolaus’ autobiography (FF 134–6; Stern 1974, nos. 95–7) and preserved in a Byzantine encyclopaedia of the 10th century CE,13 and the fourth, preserved in the work of the geographer Strabo (15.1.73 [C 719]), is also very likely from the autobiography. Therefore all the direct evidence for Nicolaus’ treatment of Herod comes from his autobiography rather than his history, and we must consider the possibility that it was Nicolaus’ autobiography that Josephus relied on in composing his account of Herod in Books 15–17 of the Antiquities.14 Nicolaus appears in five different episodes as the advisor and advocate of Herod, and for three of these episodes there are parallel accounts in the fragments of Nicolaus’ autobiography. Therefore there is no doubt that in his autobiography Nicolaus gave an account of his career with Herod, and there is some evidence that Josephus used it. In retiring to Rome to escape the fractious atmosphere of Judaea and composing an autobiographical work that was then appended to his universal history (possibly with continuous book numbering, as the reference in

11 . . . καὶ δίκης περὶ τούτων συστάσης ἐνίκησαν οἱ Ἰουδαῖοι τοῖς αὑτῶν ἔθεσι χρῆσθαι . . . τὸ δ᾽ ἀκριβὲς εἴ τις βούλεται καταμαθεῖν, ἀναγνώτω τῶν Νικολάου ἱστοριῶν τὴν ἑκατοστὴν καὶ εἰκοστὴν καὶ τρίτην καὶ τετάρτην (AJ 12.126–27).

Swan 2004, 34–6. F 136 (Stern 1974, no. 96) is incorrectly designated as coming from the “history” of Nicolaus by superscription in the encyclopedia. The content and arrangement of the material in the encyclopaedia make it clear that this excerpt is from Nicolaus’ autobiography, see Jacoby 1926b, 290. 14 For the range of possible sources that have been suggested for Josephus’ account of Herod, see Toher 2003, 428–431 (where Jacoby’s suggestion of his use of Nicolaus’ autobiography is too readily dismissed). 12 13

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Ant. 12.126–7 indicates), Nicolaus only anticipates what Josephus would do nearly a century later.15 Use of Nicolaus’ autobiography by Josephus would explain the sudden change in the depiction of Herod that is evident at the beginning of Book 15 of the Antiquities, and it would explain why it is not until Book 16 that Josephus condemns the veracity of Nicolaus after citing his universal history with approval throughout the earlier books. Finally, Josephus’ dependence on Nicolaus’ autobiography for his account of Herod can explain an overlooked but important aspect of the Antiquities. It is a peculiar fact that despite his criticism of Nicolaus the author as a toady to the king, whenever Nicolaus the agent of Herod appears in Josephus it is always in an extremely favourable light. It is Nicolaus whose extended speech before Agrippa gains the Ionian Jews confirmation of their ancestral rights (16.31–57). It is Nicolaus who, when all others have failed, succeeds in restoring relations between Augustus and Herod after the Princeps broke off amicitia because of Herod’s unauthorised invasion of Arabia (16.335–52). It is Nicolaus who prudently advises Herod to refrain from executing his sons by Mariamme I (16.371–2 = F 136.2–4; Stern 1974, no. 97). It is Nicolaus who succeeds in the prosecution of Herod’s son Antipater before a Roman council when the king himself breaks down and cannot carry on (17.99–130 = F 136.5–7; Stern, op. cit.). And finally, when Herod is dead, it is Nicolaus who does Herod one last service by ensuring the succession of his appointed heir Archelaus through his representation before Augustus (17.240–9 and 315–20 = F 136.8–11; Stern, op. cit.). In the three instances where the same episodes in Nicolaus’ career are treated in both the Antiquities and in Nicolaus’ autobiography, the accounts in the two authors differ in no substantial ways, except that Josephus suppresses the explicit self-praise that appears in Nicolaus’ autobiography on the same episodes. So, for example, in his description of how he had warned Herod against executing the sons of Mariamme I, Nicolaus adds the observation that it was Herod’s failure to heed his advice that was the beginning of all of Herod’s domestic troubles (F 136.4; Stern, op. cit.). And again, in describing the adjudication of Archelaus’ succession, Nicolaus carefully notes that Augustus honoured him for his services in the matter (F 136.11; Stern, op. cit.).

15

Bowersock 2005, 57 calls Nicolaus at Rome a “prefiguration” of Josephus.

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The main characteristics of Hellenistic and Roman autobiography were self-defense and self-justification. Georg Misch in his history of autobiography described the Graeco-Roman genre as follows: [T]he outstanding element in the fragments is a genuine motive of memoirs in general—self-exculpation, on the pleas of necessity of force majeure, attribution of treachery or breach of faith to other persons, trumpeting of [one’s] own services, and malevolent abuse of [one’s] enemies; silence in regard to weak points, and explicit defence not only against calumnies but against justified attack.16

The primary purpose of ancient autobiography was not to present the life of the subject, but rather to defend the more controversial episodes in the subject’s life. After setting out the author’s ancestry and education, the bulk of the work served to ‘set the record straight’ about certain aspects of the author’s career and refute attacks or anticipated attacks on the reputation of a man involved in the high ranks of public affairs. As such, ancient autobiography could be very restricted in the amount of the life that it covered (over 90% of Josephus’ autobiography is devoted to the events of just one year in his life), and the essential character of ancient autobiography was apology. The remains of Nicolaus’ autobiography demonstrate that his work shared this apologetic aspect of the genre. As in the autobiography of Josephus, Nicolaus’ work opened with a glowing description of his ancestry and his own wide and successful paideia as a young man (FF 131–2). But like Josephus, Nicolaus quickly moved on to his main purpose of self-exculpation. Nicolaus was apparently very concerned about his reputation as it related to money. He claims he never exploited his education and talents for money, and he was liberal in his expenditure of money but not a spendthrift. Although he says that he was ambitious for fame, he adds the peculiar qualification that “of those things for which it was not necessary he never appeared to have done anything for the sake of money”. He assures us of his personal courage and that he could not be intimidated as an arbitrator even by those with power (F 137.1–2). Nicolaus also felt the need to defend his lifestyle in Rome, one which was devoted to intellectual pursuits rather than the social pleasures of the wealthy. For, he tells us, more reasonable men were to be found among the common classes (F 138). In just the few excerpts that we do have it is clear that Nicolaus addressed himself to 16

Misch 1950, 204–5.

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an audience a significant element of which was high Roman society and it was his purpose to answer criticisms or anticipated criticisms of the way he had conducted his life. In light of the very sensitive nature Nicolaus does exhibit in the extant fragments, it is reasonable to suppose that like Josephus he concentrated in his autobiography on the most controversial aspects of his career; that is to say, it was primarily a defense of his career at the court of Herod. Josephus’ criticisms of Nicolaus, although misleading in the claim that he wrote his account to please Herod, would have seemed plausible to an audience a century removed from the composition of Nicolaus’ writings, but likely to have been familiar with Nicolaus’ reputation as the chief agent and envoy of Herod. And Nicolaus probably did attempt to present Herod in a favourable light in some episodes, if for no other reason than that it would suit his own self-presentation. Nevertheless, the important point is that in writing his autobiography, Nicolaus was writing not to please Herod, rather he was writing to defend himself. It is generally agreed that Josephus’ presentation of Herod is singular in both his War and Antiquities. His extended depiction of a dynamic and even noble character eventually overcome by the forces of passion, jealousy and paranoia has little or no parallel elsewhere in Josephus.17 This manner of presenting Herod probably finds its inspiration and possibly its general form in the account of Herod provided by Nicolaus.18 Nicolaus claims to have written worthy tragedy in his youth (F 132.1), and his universal history presents a number of instances in which Nicolaus took a well known story from Near Eastern or Greek history and transformed it into a pathetic vignette. For instance, in his account of Croesus on his pyre, Nicolaus elaborates the famous story in Herodotus by re-introducing Croesus’ formerly mute son so that he and Croesus can engage in pathetic dialogue on fate and filial loyalty as the pyre is about to be ignited (F 68). Furthermore, Nicolaus was clearly interested in portraying the psychological effects of passion, stress and crisis on characters. In F 5, Nicolaus presents the Median general Stryangaios as driven to suicide by his unrequited love for the beautiful Zarinaia, queen of the Sacae. Stryangaios, lacking in confidence because of his passion, has to be encouraged by his eunuch to

17 Moehring 1957, 13–34, 83–131; Schalit 1969, 577–84; Villalba i Varneda 1986, 81–8, 230–2. 18 Stern 1974, 229.

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profess his love to Zarinaia, and Nicolaus carefully describes his change in skin tone, his silence and final desperate embrace as she rejects his profession of love. Before he commits suicide, Stryangaios then writes an ambiguous note of accusation in which he absolves Zarinaia if she has acted “justly”, but if unjustly he wishes upon her the same suffering he has experienced. He then instructs his eunuch not to deliver the note until after he is dead, so that the wording of the note and the timing of its delivery combined to induce the maximum amount of shock and stress in its addressee. There are other such vignettes of pathos and emotional suffering in the fragments of Nicolaus’ history, and the similarity to the presentation of Herod in Books 15–17 of the Antiquities is obvious. It is also possible to identify specific themes in Josephus’ Antiquities that are frequent in Nicolaus’ history and his biography of Augustus.19 Throughout his universal history good but unsuspecting characters often become the victims of more clever but unscrupulous rivals, men of action (δραστήριος is the adjective often used to describe them). The motif is used in Nicolaus’ life of Augustus to explain the assassination of Julius Caesar through the fact that Caesar was unsuspecting by nature and inexperienced in politics due to his long absence from Rome on military campaigns (F 130.67). Caesar fails so see clever, ambitious manipulators forming their plot against him. The same motif occurs throughout the Herodian books of the Antiquities. The high priest Hyrcanus II, a good man but of weak character, falls victim to the machinations of his brother Aristobulus II, who is described as δραστήριος (14.13). Indeed, Aristobulus even defends his seizure of power from Hyrcanus as due to his brother’s ineffectual character which invites contempt (14.44). In a similar way, the clever and energetic Syllaeus is able to manipulate the sluggish and ineffectual Nabataean king Obodas (16.220). By the last decade of his reign, Herod himself, due to his confusion and paranoia, has become the victim of manipulation and deception by such aggressive characters as his son Antipater II and the Spartan Eurycles. There is yet another echo of a theme found in Nicolaus that is also evident in Josephus on Herod. Nicolaus in his life of Augustus carefully contrasts Caesar’s external success as a commander with his domestic

19 For a full discussion of motifs common to Nicolaus and Josephus in the Antiquities, see Toher 2003, 437–43.

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failure in managing affairs in Rome. Ultimately, Nicolaus points out, the man who conquered all his enemies outside of Rome was slain in the city before the statue of Pompeius Magnus, his main antagonist in the civil war (F 130.95). In a similar way, Josephus (Ant. 15.218; 16.62–6, 76–7; War 1.431) repeatedly remarks on the contrast between the prosperity of Herod’s external affairs and the degeneration of his domestic situation. In addition to sharing the tragic, pathetic character of Nicolaus’ narrative technique and echoing some of his themes, the characterisation of Herod in Books 15–17 of the Antiquities would have served the purposes of Nicolaus in his autobiography. Josephus’ narrative is structured around a description of the steady degeneration of Herod from a dynamic leader and king into a vulnerable character who first falls victim to his own love and jealousy of Mariamme I and then becomes the victim of manipulation by those around him. Herod’s paranoia and defective character renders him progressively incapable of controlling his domestic situation. It has already been noted how Nicolaus the agent appears in the Antiquities consistently in a favourable light. By the last decade of Herod’s career, Nicolaus stands out among a cast of villains at the court of Herod as the one character who remained loyal to the king and attempted to protect him from both his enemies and Herod’s own mistakes in dealing with them. As noted above, given the nature of the genre, Nicolaus in his autobiography must have devoted much of his narrative to explaining his role at the court of Herod—and he would have had a good deal to explain as one of the closest friends to an autocrat who in the course of thirty years executed his grandfather-in-law, a mother-in-law, two brothers-in-law, an uncle, a wife and three sons. Nicolaus had been directly involved in the worst of it, during Herod’s last decade, when Nicolaus acted as advisor, co-prosecutor and co-conspirator with Herod against the king’s sons Alexander I, Aristobulus I, and Antipater II. The presentation of Herod after Book 14 in the Antiquities seems to reflect what must have been the narrative strategy of Nicolaus in his autobiography. Over the course of Herod’s last decade, Nicolaus, ever the loyal ‘friend’, emerges as a voice of reason in the increasingly irrational and paranoid atmosphere of Herod’s court, and is presented as one of the few individuals who attempt to deter Herod from his worst acts. Once the misconception concerning the supposed adulatory nature of Nicolaus’ account of Herod is removed, the evidence from Books

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15–17 of the Antiquities considered in conjunction with the evidence from the fragments of Nicolaus demonstrates that Josephus most likely depended on a self-serving account composed by Nicolaus after his retirement to Rome in 4 BCE. Whether Josephus used the autobiography of Nicolaus itself or he found some version of that account as part of a second edition of Nicolaus’ universal history, the tragic tone, the motifs and the characterisation of Herod in the Antiquities are all consistent with the technique and strategy Nicolaus would likely have employed in composing a self-serving narrative of his career at the court of Herod. With the time of composition and the general character of his account of Herod posited, it remains to consider what audience Nicolaus had in mind. F 138 of the autobiography demonstrates a concern with the author’s reputation at Rome, even to the point of Nicolaus denying that he neglected his social obligations to the great and wealthy of the city to pursue philosophy. This suggests that to a significant degree Nicolaus addressed his work to the readership of high Roman society. More intriguing might be the fact that Nicolaus’ memoirs of his time with Herod would likely have found a keen reader in the person of Augustus himself. Augustus and Herod went back a long way. Herod offered his loyalty to Octavian at Rhodes in 30 BCE, before the final demise of M. Antonius in Egypt (Ant. 15.187–201). He remained loyal to Augustus throughout the following quarter century, and, until the temporary break in their friendship caused by his invasion of Nabataea ca. 9 BCE, Herod was probably the client-king most trusted and favoured by Augustus. Josephus claims that after each other, Augustus and Agrippa considered Herod their closest friend (15.361) and that both used to say that the extent of Herod’s kingdom was not commensurate with his magnanimity; he ought to have had Syria and Egypt (16.141). Herod’s sons resided for years at the court of Augustus, Herod built sumptuous buildings and dedicated games in the name of Augustus, and even Augustus’ wife Livia had taken a personal interest in the domestic affairs of Herod. She persuaded Herod’s reluctant sister Salome I to a marriage the king had arranged for her, and Josephus says the headstrong Salome accepted Livia’s advice because on other occasions she had given her very helpful counsel (17.10). In his will, Herod left 5 million pieces of silver to Livia and twice that amount to Augustus (17.190). Finally, there can be little doubt that the Princeps, who once famously said that he

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would rather be Herod’s pig than his son,20 would have found time to peruse any informed account of just what went on at Herod’s court, and we can be confident that Nicolaus knew this too. But more than his long acquaintance with Herod might have caused Augustus to take interest in Nicolaus on Herod. As the dual accounts of Josephus in the War and in the Antiquities demonstrate, Herod and Augustus had somewhat similar careers. Both spent more than a decade in the struggle to establish and consolidate their authority. Then there followed a period of prosperity for both that resulted in munificence and cultural foundation and renewal marked by great building programs throughout the Mediterranean. But toward the end of their years of rule, both Herod and Augustus spent the better part of their seventh decades dealing with domestic tension and crisis that resulted from the issue of succession.21 If the narrative theme in Books 15–17 of the Antiquities is Herod’s degeneration, the context and mechanism of Herod’s decline are the intrigue and conspiracy which arise due to the question of the ageing king’s succession. This issue of Herod’s succession, as the root of his problems in Josephus, may also betray its origins in the circumstances in which Nicolaus composed his autobiography. When Nicolaus settled in Rome after 4 BCE and set about writing his autobiography, Augustus was well into a domestic crisis that had been evolving for a number of years. In 17 BCE he had adopted his two grandsons, Gaius and Lucius Caesar (Dio 54.18.1), the children of Agrippa and Augustus’ daughter Julia, but the consequences of those adoptions would take more than a decade to develop. And during this time the mature stepsons of Augustus, Tiberius Claudius Nero and Nero Claudius Drusus, the sons of his wife Livia by her first husband, gave faithful and indispensable service to the Princeps through their conduct of foreign policy north and east of the Alps. With the death of M. Agrippa in 12 BCE Tiberius was elevated to a position of assistant 20 Augustus’ comment is preserved in Latin in Macrobius, Sat. 2.4.11: melius est Herodis porcum esse quam filium; but the pun on pig (ὗς) and son (υἱός) suggests that the original statement was in Greek and probably addressed to a native speaker. Augustus’ comment presumably alludes to Herod’s abstinence from eating pork. 21 While Herod’s succession was a straightforward matter of appointing a successor subject to the approval of Augustus himself, Augustus faced a more complicated and subtle task of continuing as an institution a set of powers that had been conferred on him personally. Augustus’ solution was the gradual promotion of a “junior partner, in powers independent of magistracies and of Republican conventions” (Gruen 2005, 43). But even this more delicate and gradual process entailed domestic tension and intrigue, as the ancient sources show.

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(συνεργός) to Augustus. It was a move Augustus took only reluctantly, we are told, since his adopted sons were still boys and he had to forestall conspiracy (Dio 54.31.1). Hard fighting and dutiful service continued for the stepsons, with Drusus succumbing to illness beyond the Rhine in 9 BCE (Dio 55.1.2–4). By 6 BCE, Augustus’ own adopted sons were proving to be disappointments. A luxuriant lifestyle and premature honours combined to produce insolent adolescents. To bring Gaius and Lucius to their senses, Augustus bestowed the tribunicia potestas on Tiberius for five years in 6 BCE, a grant of power that elevated Tiberius to a status that only Agrippa had previously enjoyed. But Augustus’ move proved futile, for in that same year Tiberius suddenly and inexplicably retired from public life and sailed off into self-imposed exile on the island of Rhodes. Rumors spread that Tiberius had been banished for plotting the assassination of Augustus’ sons; it was said, in turn, that Tiberius feared the anger of Gaius and Lucius.22 The following years would see further elevation of Gaius and Lucius, first as principes iuventutis (Dio 55.9.9–10) and then to real assignments that proved beyond their years and character. After a minor wound from an engagement with the Parthians in Syria, Gaius lost all confidence and will. He renounced his public duties in order to retire to a private life in the East.23 Within a decade of Tiberius’ departure for Rhodes both Gaius and Lucius were dead, of natural causes it was said, but by the intrigue of Livia it was alleged (Tac., Ann. 1.3.3). As the Princeps said, atrox fortuna (Suet., Tib. 23) left him no choice but to adopt Livia’s son Tiberius in 4 CE and steadily elevate him to the highest power. Nicolaus arrived in Rome to plead the succession of Herod two years into what would become a decade of tension and problems that revolved around the succession of Augustus himself. Augustus’ domestic problems took on Herodian proportions in 2 BCE when his daughter Julia, the mother of his adopted sons but also the wife of their rival, Augustus’ retired stepson Tiberius, was herself sent into exile, supposedly for an immoral lifestyle, but a more sinister plot of conspiracy has been detected.24 Due to the failure of the text of Cassius Dio at crucial points for the years 6 BCE to 4 CE, few details beyond what is outlined above are

22 23 24

Suet., Tib. 10; Vell. Pat. 2.99; and Dio 55.9.1–8. Vell. Pat. 2.102.2–3; Sen., Dial. 11.15.4; and Dio 55.10.17–10a.8. Syme 1974, 18–26 (= 1984, 924–30).

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known of this decade of tension in the domestic policy of Augustus. But it seems clear that Nicolaus would have seen another autocrat enmeshed in the problems of succession and potential conspiracy, caught between the claims—and possibly the intrigue—of two younger sons on one side and an elder son supported by a powerful woman on the other. While the overall domestic problems of Herod and Augustus were similar the specific aspects were in contrast. Augustus had been careful to designate his heirs to the public and promote them as such, a stabilising procedure Herod never attained. (And therefore Herod’s succession was left to the adjudication of Augustus, and the advocacy of Nicolaus.) Livia’s son Tiberius was fortuitously out of sight, if not out of mind for much of the time, unlike Herod’s eldest son Antipater II, whom Herod had recalled into his house with such disastrous results. And, in contrast to the destructive passion of Herod’s marriage to Mariamme I, the marriage of Augustus and Livia was a pragmatic union that no passing domestic crisis could threaten. Indeed, in contrast to the destructive manipulation of Herod by his sister Salome I, later eras would represent Livia as the leavening influence on Augustus in dealing with conspiracy: clementia was a more effective deterrent than precipitous execution.25 These parallels and contrasts to Herod’s own struggle with succession could not have been lost on Nicolaus, especially as he set about explaining and justifying his role in the court at Jerusalem. While self-justification and apology were the motives for Nicolaus getting his account of the reign of Herod into circulation, the dramatic and sordid tale of the career of Herod would also have appealed to a writer who still prided himself on the quality of the tragedies he had written in his youth (F 132.1). Nicolaus also clearly prided himself on his role as a sage advisor to those who wielded the highest power. The need to compose an autobiography, its subject matter and the circumstances at Rome presented Nicolaus with yet another opportunity to speak truth to power, in the form of a cautionary tale for a Princeps engaged in the awkward invention of dynastic succession at Rome. 25 Dio (55.14–21) concludes his account of the year 4 CE and Augustus’ succession problems with a dialogue between the Princeps and Livia on how to deal with suspected conspirators. The origins of such a dialogue can be traced back to the work of the younger Seneca (Clem. 1.9.1–12). Although in each author the dialogue must be an invention, the core idea, that Augustus would have consulted Livia on the issue and received such advice, does not seem unhistorical—see Syme 1974, 19–20 (= 1984, 925).

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Bibliography Avenarius, G., 1956. Lukians Schrift zur Geschichtsschreibung, Meisenheim/Glan. Bowersock, G. W., 2005. “Foreign Elites at Rome” in J. Edmondson, S. Mason and J. Rives (eds.), Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome, Oxford, 53–62. Gruen, E., 2005. “Augustus and the Making of the Principate” in K. Galinsky (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus, Cambridge, 33–51. Jacoby, F., 1926a. Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker 2A: Universalgeschichte und Hellenica, Berlin. ——, 1926b. Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker 2C: Kommentar zu Nr. 64–105, Berlin. Kokkinos, N., 1998. The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse. Sheffield. Liddell, H. G., Scott, R. & Jones, H. S., 1940. A Greek-English Lexicon (9th ed.), Oxford. Marincola, J., 1997. Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography, Cambridge. Misch, G., 1950. A History of Autobiography in Antiquity 1, London. Moehring, H., 1957. Novelistic Elements in the Writings of Josephus (Diss. University of Chicago). Schalit, A., 1969. König Herodes. Der Mann und sein Werk, Berlin. Starr, R. J., 1981. “The Scope and Genre of Velleius’ History”, Classical Quarterly 31, 162–74. Stern, M., 1974. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, vol. I, Jerusalem. Swan, P. M., 2004. The Augustan Succession. An Historical Commentary on Cassius Dio’s Roman History Books 55–56 (9 BC–AD 14), Oxford. Syme, R., 1974. “The Crisis of 2 BC”, Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften. PhilosophischHistorische Klasse. Sitzungsberichte Jahrgang, Heft 7, 3–14 (= idem, Roman Papers 3, ed. A. Birley, Oxford 1984, 912–36). Toher, M., 2003. “Nicolaus and Herod in the Antiquitates Judaicae”, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 101, 427–47. Villalba i Varneda, P., 1986. The Historical Method of Flavius Josephus, Leiden. Wacholder, B. Z., 1962. Nicolaus of Damascus (University of California Publications in History 75), Berkeley-Los Angeles. Woodman, A. J., 1988. Rhetoric in Classical Historiography, London-Sydney.

HEROD, JOSEPHUS, AND LAQUEUR: A RECONSIDERATION Joseph Sievers Abstract Very few people who lived in antiquity have left as impressive an archaeological record as Herod has. Yet, besides the archaeological data, Josephus’ two detailed but highly problematic accounts remain the most important and indispensable sources for our knowledge concerning Herod. Without him, the archaeological record would often be hard or impossible to interpret. The question of the (real or perceived) differences between the images of Herod in Josephus’ War and Antiquities remains crucial in any assessment of Herod—and of Josephus. These differences have been studied by Richard Laqueur in his important monograph Der jüdische Historiker Flavius Josephus: ein biographischer Versuch auf neuer quellenkritischer Grundlage, first published in 1920. In it he dealt with Ant. 14 and its parallels in the War as a test case. One of Laqueur’s basic contentions was, against a then overwhelming majority of scholars, that Josephus did not slavishly follow one or more sources, but that many times he expressed his own assessments and opinions, and therefore had to be taken seriously as an author in his own right. It is now widely recognized that Laqueur’s was a correct insight. This essay examines samples of Laqueur’s findings in regard to Josephus’ contrasting image(s) of Herod in War 1 and in Ant. 14, as well as in the later books of the Antiquities. It also scrutinises Laqueur’s radical assertion that the Antiquities are worthless as a historical source in passages parallel to the War, unless new material is provided by secondary sources. Special attention is paid to accounts that involve Herod’s relations with Augustus.

Introduction In the context of a reappraisal of Herod and his relations to Augustus, the works of Josephus are our most extensive historiographical source. Yet, we do not have just one but two highly complex and sometimes contradictory accounts, the Bellum Judaicum (War) and the Antiquitates Judaicae (Ant.). Frequently they have been used as a quarry from which to extract information. Where there are inconsistencies, scholars such as Schürer and Schalit have attempted to harmonise the two accounts as far as possible. The problematic nature of such an operation has been recognised, especially since the path-breaking work of Richard Laqueur. This essay proposes to introduce the person and methods of Richard Laqueur—and then to test his conclusions as to the relations between

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Josephus’ two works, using a selection of passages. The primary aim will not be to find what is historically most accurate but, more modestly, to try to come closer to understanding the literary relationship between War and Antiquities, especially where Herod—and in a limited way his relation with Augustus—is concerned. We will thus concentrate on three enigmatic figures: Herod, Josephus, and Laqueur—with brief comments on Augustus. Flavius Josephus tried twice to write a biography of Herod, with questionable results. Richard Laqueur attempted a biography of Josephus, without being entirely successful. So let me begin with some incomplete biographical remarks about Laqueur, although they too will fail to do justice to this extraordinary person. Richard A. Laqueur Richard Albrecht Laqueur was born in 1881 in Strasbourg, where he grew up and began his academic career, earning a doctorate in 1904.1 In the same year he published a study of II Maccabees that signalled the beginning of his interest in the composition and development of ancient historiography.2 In the following years he travelled widely, but in 1907 completed his ‘Habilitation’ in Göttingen on the text of Diodorus Siculus, Books 1–5. This work was posthumously edited by Kai Brodersen 85 years later.3 After serving for several years as an Associate Professor in Strasbourg, he became a full Professor of Ancient History in Giessen in 1912, at the age of 31.4 The following year he published a study of Polybius, which attempted to reveal five layers of his work and correlated these different editions to developments in Polybius’ biography.5 In 1914 his academic activity was interrupted by World War I. Laqueur served as an officer in the German army throughout the war and was decorated several times for bravery. After the war he was able to return to the University of Giessen. His best-known monograph, his

Laqueur 1904b. Laqueur 1904a. 3 Laqueur 1992. 4 On his service at the university of Giessen as well as on the other phases of his life see Gundel, Moraw et al. 1982, 590–601. 5 Laqueur 1913. 1 2

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study on Josephus, was published shortly thereafter.6 It was in part based on a draft prepared before the war. He became Rector of the University of Giessen for the academic year 1923/4, at the age of 42.7 Later he briefly taught in Tübingen where he became the victim of threats and harassment by National-Socialist students.8 In 1932 he followed a call to the University of Halle, where he served as Professor of Ancient History, in the chair previously held by Eduard Meyer (1889–1902), Ulrich Wilcken (1903–1906), and Benediktus Niese (1906–1910). During these years, Laqueur wrote several books9 and numerous articles, including a large number for Pauly-Wissowa’s Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. The advent of the Nazi regime in January 1933 brought dramatic changes also for Laqueur personally. Due to his distinguished military service he was at first allowed to stay in his post, but on 31 December 1935, he was dismissed because of his Jewish origin.10 Yet he managed to continue with his research and publications.11 In 1939, after he was even denied access to the university library, he managed to emigrate to the United States, while his wife and daughter stayed behind in Germany. He found work first in the stock room of a wholesale bookseller in San Francisco, later in the Shakespeare Library in Washington,12 but

6 Laqueur 1920. The German text and an English translation by Caroline Disler, ed. by Steve Mason, were made available in 2005 at http://pace.cns.yorku.ca/York/ york/studies-ext.htm. 7 Akiva Posner (“Giessen,” EncJud 7.560) claims mistakenly that “[i]n 1933, under the Nazi regime, Richard *Laqueur, rector of the university, was dismissed from his office because he was Jewish.” There is no Encyclopaedia Judaica entry for Richard Laqueur, although its existence is suggested by the asterisk in front of his name. He is briefly mentioned in the EncJud 1974 Yearbook, 224. 8 Wildt 2002, 97; Kai Brodersen “Einführung” in Laqueur 1992, p. x, n. 17. 9 Laqueur 1927, 1929, in addition to the ones already mentioned. 10 Although Laqueur’s family was originally Jewish, he grew up in a liberal Protestant environment and in his dissertation professed fidei addictus sum evangelicae (Laqueur 1904b, 109). Significantly, as has been pointed out to me by Prof. Joseph Geiger, the preface of his work on Josephus is dated “Pfingsten [= Christian Pentecost] 1920.” 11 In these dramatic moments he published his only article with an entirely Greek title: Σύμβολα περί τοῦ μὴ ἀδικεῖν Hermes 71 (1936), 469–72. As Brodersen notes, such a title (“Contracts/treaties about not doing injustice”) was not chosen by chance (Laqueur 1992, p. X, n. 18). 12 See Gundel, Moraw et al. 1982; W. Calder III’s review of Christ 1991 (http://ccat. sas.upenn.edu/bmcr/1992/03.02.06.html). Laqueur’s last book was written during his exile and applied his composition-critical methods to Shakespeare (Laqueur 1955). The book is dedicated to his son, “Dr. Gert Ludwig Laqueur in Hiroshima [where he served as chief pathologist of the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission] im Gedenken an San Francisco 1939–1951.”

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was unable to secure an academic position. A book that he wrote in the evening hours during those years about ‘Science and Imagination’ remains unpublished. In 1952 he returned to Germany. Otto Eissfeldt, then Rector of the University of Halle tried to have him reinstated in his post. But resistance from some colleagues, in particular Franz Altheim who apparently accused him of being anti-communist, led the Soviet authorities to deny him entry.13 At last, in 1959, less than one month before his death on November 25 of that year, Laqueur was made a visiting professor (‘Honorarprofessor’) at the University of Hamburg. He is described as an inspiring and beloved teacher, a gifted speaker, an independent and profound thinker.14 During his academic career that was cut short at age 54 he directed over a dozen dissertations and one ‘Habilitation’.15 Even taking into account the malicious behaviour of some of his colleagues, Laqueur’s fate remains a puzzle.16 Why was such a gifted person unable to find his way back into academia, either in the U.S. or in Germany, so much so that the last two books of this previously well-established ancient historian had nothing to do directly with ancient history or classical philology?17 Surely, the two World Wars and especially the advent of Nazism had a devastating effect on Laqueur’s life, even though in many ways he was among the less unfortunate of the victims. It is an inestimable loss to scholarship that such a brilliant mind was unable to continue his scholarly pursuits after the Nazi takeover. This brief and incomplete sketch of his ‘Werdegang’ (his personal and professional development) may be of some assistance in contextualising his work on Josephus, as he had tried to contextualise Polybius and Josephus.18 It was clearly not the work of an academic outsider or even less of an autodidact. Although his theoretical constructs are at times infuriatingly complex or downright unacceptable, many of Laqueur’s insights concerning Josephus in general and his evaluation 13 Eberle 2002, 79, 477 n. 437; http://www.catalogus-professorum-halensis.de/ laqueurrichard.html 14 Brodersen, in Laqueur 1992, vii, based on the evaluation that led to his appointment in Giessen. 15 List compiled by Kai Brodersen, in Laqueur 1992, xix. 16 See William Calder III’s review of Christ 1991 (http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/bmcr/ 1992/03.02.06.html); Brodersen, in Laqueur 1992, viii. 17 See his bibliography of over 100 titles, compiled by Brodersen, in Laqueur 1992, xiv–xviii. 18 Laqueur 1920, 245–78. For brief biographical sketches see Gundel, Moraw et al. 1982, 590–601; Christ 1991, 71–3; Brodersen in Laqueur 1992, vii–xiii.

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of Herod have not lost their relevance. Some years ago, Louis Feldman suggested that “[t]he most original and most challenging book on Josephus remains that by Richard Laqueur.”19 This suggestion seems still valid even today, although Josephan studies in general have made enormous progress since then. It is supported by the fact that in 2005 both the German text and an English translation were made available in an electronic version.20 Laqueur and Josephus I will leave aside Laqueur’s controversial theories concerning relations between the War and the Life,21 concerning Josephus as the main culprit for the war against the Romans,22 and concerning his desperate move to insert the Testimonium Flavianum in order to make the Antiquities palatable to Christians.23 Where Laqueur’s theory on multiple editions of the Antiquities is concerned, I only want to emphasise that this does not depend entirely on a presumed double ending of the work.24 Instead, I would like to concentrate on those of his analyses that relate directly to Herod in Josephus. 1. The Antiquities and Its Sources Laqueur repeatedly asserts that Antiquities 14 represents a tendentious rewriting of the War and has no independent value as a source, except where additional material is provided by new sources.25 In other words, the Antiquities is not based directly on Nicolaus of Damascus but only on the War. If this assertion were even partially correct, it should have a profound impact on the way scholars utilise Josephus’s works. While Laqueur rightly suggests that Josephus could express his own opinions

Feldman & Hata 1989, 345. See n. 6 above. 21 Laqueur 1920, 56–128; Cohen 1979, 16–23. 22 Laqueur 1920, 252. 23 Laqueur 1920, 275. 24 Toher 2003, 431 n. 11, referring to Barish 1978, claims that “[t]he foundation of Laqueur’s theory of a second edition of the AJ was demolished by D. A. Barish”. However, the article cited has only made plausible that the Antiquities had no double ending. On other indications for a second edition of the Antiquities see Sievers 2001b. 25 Laqueur 1920, 133–4, 135, 136, 138, 139, 145, and passim. 19 20

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and change his mind, there are many elements that are best explained by presuming, as other scholars have done, that Josephus used the War as its main source (and other sources) when writing the Antiquities. Laqueur concentrates on Ant. 14 as a test case, but claims that his results would be valid for other books as well.26 However, as Thackeray noted, “it is not accidental that Laqueur selects just this fourteenth book for a detailed analysis and comparison of the different points of view presented. He could not have done the same for Book XV.”27 As is well known, the literary relationship between War 1.50–357 and Ant. 13.215–14.491 is very different from that of the sequels in War 1.358–673 and Ant. 15–17. Shaye Cohen, who helped revive the discussion of Laqueur’s work, succinctly states: “If AJ 14 is essentially a revision of BJ with occasional borrowings from the original source(s), AJ 15–16 may be a revision of the original source with occasional borrowings from BJ.”28 Laqueur’s apodictic assertion that the Antiquities is worthless as a historical source in passages parallel to the War, unless new material is provided by secondary sources, remains indefensible. His attempts to explain some passages in Ant. 14 as based entirely on the War remain unconvincing.29 In the case of the charges and countercharges between Syllaeus and Nicolaus of Damascus, mentioned ever so briefly in War 1.574, but fully developed in Ant. 16.271–99, 335–55, it is impossible that the Antiquities is based on the War. Since Nicolaus is personally involved in the affairs that are recounted, and his positive influence is stressed, probability suggests that he was the immediate source for the Antiquities.30 2. Laqueur on Josephus’ Herod One of Laqueur’s principal points in his assessment of the relations between War and Antiquities revolves around the image of Herod and his family in these works. The question of the (real or perceived) differences 26 “Im übrigen lassen sich die Ergebnisse leicht auf die andern Bücher übertragen” (Laqueur 1920, 134 n. 1). 27 Thackeray 1929, 107. 28 Cohen 1979, 57. 29 See the discussion of War 1.222 || Ant. 14.275 in Laqueur 1920, 216–7. His suggestion that the missing names of two towns are supplied from War 3.55 rather than from the source of War 1.221 (should be 222) is highly implausible. 30 Cohen 1979, 58; Wacholder 1989, 158.

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between the two presentations remains important in any assessment of Herod—and of Josephus. This is first of all a problem of literary relations, secondarily it is also a historical question. Although Laqueur’s monograph about Josephus has not found a very favourable reception31 it remains the most sustained attempt at literary analysis. The part of the work that is of main concern to us here is the long chapter which attempts to explain the differences between Ant. 14 and the earlier parallel account in War 1.32 Thus it deals directly with Herod, although only until his conquest of Jerusalem and installation as king in 37 BCE. Daniel Schwartz remarks that this chapter “constitutes the most ambitious attempt anywhere to analyse the import of parallel narratives in Josephus.”33 One of Laqueur’s basic contentions—in opposition to a then overwhelming majority of scholars—was that Josephus did not slavishly follow one or more sources, but that he often expressed his own assessments and opinions, and therefore has to be taken seriously as an author in his own right.34 It is now widely recognised that Laqueur was correct, at least as far as this insight is concerned. Laqueur often forced the evidence and ignored what was contrary to his point of view. In many instances he overstated his case, in others the situation is still not clear. But his view of Josephus as author has “swept the field.”35 Laqueur wanted to explain differences between Josephus’ image(s) of Herod in War 1 and in Ant. 14 on the basis of Josephus’ shift of opinion. However, many of the differences are so subtle that no solid theory can be based on them. On the whole, however, it has to be recognised that the image of Herod and his family is much more critical in the Antiquities than in the War. This begins with the presentation of Herod’s father, Antipater, when Ant. 14.9 criticises Nicolaus of Damascus for having fabricated a prominent Babylonian ancestry for Herod.36 Josephus in both War 1.123 and Ant. 14.8 claims that Antipater was Idumaean by

Helm 1921, esp. 507–13; Münzer 1921. Laqueur 1920, 128–221. 33 Schwartz 1994, 212. 34 “Josephus ist keine mechanische Abschreibemaschine, sondern ein Mensch, der sein Wollen und Fühlen in die Erzählung der Vergangenheit hineingetragen hat” (Laqueur 1920, 218). 35 Schwartz 1994, 213. In a similar direction, Plutarch’s role as author has been defended against the argument that he closely copied an “anonymous” (Gomme 1945, 81). 36 See Kokkinos 1998: 100–12. Nevertheless, a brief eulogy for Antipater is found in Ant. 14.283, as noted, against Laqueur’s silence, by Marcus (LCL) and D. R. Schwartz (1994: 213). 31 32

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birth.37 This information must have come from a source other than Nicolaus, and puts us on guard against assuming that the War simply abridges and restructures Nicolaus’ work. Here, it is not possible for us to make a systematic and complete comparison between the different images of Herod in the War and the Antiquities. Although the War is by no means uniformly favourable to Herod, it certainly lacks many of the outspokenly critical remarks about him found in the Antiquities.38 On the other hand, some favourable comments about Herod are included only in the latter work. Herod’s famine relief is praised (Ant. 15.305–16). Occasional tax exemptions by Herod are noted, but improvement of public relations is suggested as their primary purpose (Ant. 15.365). On the occasion of his return from a successful meeting with Agrippa in Asia Minor, Herod is said to have given a glowing report about the state of the nation, including an announcement of a much-appreciated partial tax exemption (Ant. 16.63–5).39 While there is much praise for Herod in different parts of War 1 (and to a much lesser extent in Ant. 14–17), I wish to concentrate here on a few passages in the middle of War 1 in order to test Laqueur’s hypothesis as regards differences based on Josephus’ changed outlook.

37 For a discussion of that claim, see Kokkinos 1998, 103–12. The validity of the claim is immaterial for our inquiry. 38 Passages of interest include the following: Ant. 15.174 (Herod’s memoirs are untrustworthy regarding the execution of Hyrcanus II—an editorial comment by Josephus); Ant. 15.266 (by killing the sons of Baba, Herod removes the last obstacle against his unlawful acts—information absent from the War); Ant. 15.267 (Herod introduces foreign customs, including quinquennial games, with deleterious effects. Schürer 1901, 1.366, n. 8 and Schürer, Vermes et al. 1973–87, 1.291 n. 9, consider Ant. 15.267–98 an insertion from a different source; see Marcus, LCL ad Ant. 15.267); Ant. 15.274–6 (gladiatorial combat and trophies cause anger); Ant. 16.1–5 (illegal punishment for robbery is evidence of tyrannical rule); Ant. 16.183–7 (criticism of alleged whitewash by Nicolaus of Damascus); Ant. 16.395–404 (final reflection about Herod’s cruelty to his sons Alexander and Aristobulus, who were perfect in body, hunting skills, military exercises, and intellectual gifts); Ant. 17.180–1 (criticism of his plan to have leaders shut up and killed in the hippodrome); Ant. 19.328–31 (Agrippa I compares favourably with Herod who had “an evil nature” ἐκείνῳ γὰρ πονηρὸν ἦν ῆθος [329]). 39 Nicolaus of Damascus had been asked by Herod to plead the cause of the Ionian Jews before Marcus Agrippa and should be considered the source of the information about Herod’s report in Jerusalem (see Nicolaus’ speech Ant. 16.31–57). These events of the year 12 BCE are said to have been described in Books 123 and 124 of his 144–book “Universal History” (Ant. 12.125–7; FGrH 90 F 81; Stern 1974–84, 1.238–9, no. 86).

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3. Hunting for Herod the Hunter One of the most relevant sections is certainly the encomium at War 1.429–30, which stands in a central position in the entire book. It comes after a concise account of Herod’s public career and at the end of the description of his building projects and of the benefits given to foreign cities and countries (War 1.401–28). It is followed by the narrative of Herod’s relentless domestic troubles that takes up almost the entire remaining part of the book, until the tragic events surrounding his death (War 1.431–673). This encomium reads as follows: [429] Ἐχρήσατο δὲ καὶ σώματι πρὸς τὴν ψυχὴν ἀναλόγῳ, κυνηγέτης μὲν ἄριστος ἀεὶ γενόμενος, ἐν ᾧ μάλιστα δι᾽ ἐμπειρίαν ἱππικῆς ἐπετύγχανεν· μιᾷ γοῦν ἡμέρᾳ ποτὲ τεσσαράκοντα θηρίων ἐκράτησεν· ἔστι δὲ καὶ συοτρόφος μὲν ἡ χώρα, τὸ πλέον δ᾽ ἐλάφων καὶ ὀνάγρων εὔπορος· πολεμιστὴς δ᾽ ἀνυπόστατος. [430] πολλοὶ γοῦν κἀν ταῖς γυμνασίαις αὐτὸν κατεπλάγησαν ἀκοντιστήν τε ἰθυβολώτατον καὶ τοξότην εὐστοχώτατον ἰδόντες. πρὸς δὲ τοῖς ψυχικοῖς καὶ τοῖς σωματικοῖς προτερήμασιν ἐχρήσατο καὶ δεξιᾷ τύχῃ· καὶ γὰρ σπάνιον ἔπταισεν ἐν πολέμῳ, καὶ τῶν πταισμάτων οὐκ αὐτὸς αἴτιος, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ προδοσίᾳ τινῶν ἢ προπετείᾳ στρατιωτῶν ἐγένετο.

429 (XXI.13) Endowed also with a physique that equalled his genius, he was always the best hunter,40 and was most especially adept in his skill in horsemanship. In fact, in a single day he once slew forty wild beasts. The land actually breeds wild boars41 and abounds in deer and wild asses even more so. He was also an irresistible fighter. [430] Indeed, many people were amazed at him even at practice, as they watched him throw the javelin with the greatest precision, and shoot with the bow with the utmost accuracy.42 But in addition to the advantages he had in mind and body, he also had good fortune. For indeed, seldom was he defeated in

40 κυνηγέτης is a hapax in Josephus, although it belongs already to Homeric terminology (Od. 9.120). The LXX uses the nearly synonymous term κυνηγός for Nimrod (Gen 10:9; 1 Chr 1:10). 41 συοτρόφος is a hapax in Josephus and rare in extant Greek literature. Its use here as an adjective seems to be unique. It is rather odd, but probably not intentionally ironic, that Judaea would be described as a country “feeding swine” (LSJ). Thackeray translates “(for the country) breeds wild boars” (LCL). This term suggests of course the opposite of what is intended in the famous remark attributed to Augustus melius est Herodis porcum esse quam filium (“it is better to be Herod’s pig than his son,” Macrobius, Sat. 2.4.11; Stern 1974–84, 2.665–6, no. 543). Josephus uses analogous hapaxes to refer to the abundance of wild beasts (θηριότροφος Ant. 2.247) or to the availability of nourishment for bees (μελιττοτρόφος War 4.469). 42 In Ant. 16.247 Herod’s son Alexander is said to have considered his accurate marksmanship (same adjective εὔστοχος as here) a liability, because it excited his father’s envy, so much so that he aimed besides the mark when in Herod’s presence (248).

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Here Herod’s physical and mental qualities are said to go hand-in-hand. In particular, his hunting skills are extolled. He always excelled in the hunt, due in particular to his superior horsemanship. Slaying forty wild beasts in a single day is a rather extraordinary achievement that strains belief, although it is not impossible, depending on the method employed for hunting. As Kokkinos has noted, such emphasis on the skills of the body was an integral part of proper Greek education44 and such descriptions are rather topical for a variety of heroes. Cognates of κυνηγέτης (“hunter”) are used in Josephus only in reference to Esau, the eponymous ancestor of Idumaea and to Herod the Idumaean.45 This may be pure coincidence, but given Josephus’ explicit attention to Esau’s Idumaean connection, there may be a plan behind such obvious parallelism.46 As a fitting corollary to his hunting skills, Herod also excelled in the arts of war: “he was an irresistible fighter”, and was admired as “a most precise javelin-man and a most accurate archer” (War 1.429). Whenever he was defeated it was, of course, someone else’s fault. This encomium was paraphrased by Schürer to introduce his readers to the ‘historical’ Herod: Endowed with strength and stamina, he accustomed himself from an early age to hardships of all sorts. He was an excellent horseman and a good hunter. In contests he was feared. His lance went home unfailingly, and his arrow seldom missed its mark. He was trained in war from his youth. . . . Success seldom eluded him when he himself directed a military enterprise.47

Herod the hunter and fighter, however, is a rather problematic figure. The question of how much he may be an invention of Josephus, or rather of Nicolaus of Damascus, may never find an entirely satisfactory answer. Mark Toher suggests that “There is no point in parsing the accounts of the AJ and the BJ in an attempt to apportion authorship

43 Draft translation by Anthony J. Forte and Joseph Sievers for the Brill Josephus Project. 44 Kokkinos 1998, 125. See Xenophon, Cyn. 1.18–2.1. 45 Esau: Gen 25:30; Ant. 1.268, 269, 275; 2.1–3; Herod: War 1.429, 496; Ant. 15.244; 16.248, 249, 315, 316. 46 Although he mentions Nimrod (Ant. 1.113, 115, 135), he never refers to his proverbial hunting skills (cf. Gen 10:9). 47 Schürer, Vermes et al. 1973–87, 1.294–5, following Schürer 1901, 1.375–6.

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of different parts to Josephus, Nicolaus or a third source.”48 Yet from the fragmentary evidence that is preserved outside of Josephus we learn of Nicolaus’ particular attention to hunting: for example, the weak Assyrian king Sardanapalus—who never touches a weapon or goes on a hunt—is the victim of a conspiracy by Arbaces, a man highly adept in both hunting and warfare (ἔμπειρος τετριμμένος τε ἐν κυηγεσίοις καὶ πολέμοις).49 A specific parallel to Herod’s hunting is found in a story in Nicolaus of Damascus about a certain Parsondes, who goes out and hunts exactly the same animals as appear in Herod’s encomium: boars, deer, and a wild ass (FGrH 90 F 4, p. 332.4–6).50 Therefore, we have good precedents in Nicolaus for Herod the hunter as he is presented in the War. We also have a further indication of non-Josephan authorship through the presence of four or five Josephan hapaxes in these few lines of text.51 There is hardly any doubt that the encomium is substantially based on Nicolaus of Damascus,52 although it incorporates topoi of earlier Greek literature.53 This encomium has a structural parallel in Ant. 16.150–9, a passage that provides a critical evaluation of Herod’s achievements. As its analogue in the War, it follows immediately after a description Toher 2003: 443 n. 31. FGrH 90 F 2 p. 329, 21–2, 28–9; see also the similar case of Parsondes’ conspiracy against Nanarus (FGrH 90 F 4) and Toher 2003, 440–2. 50 Biblical and rabbinic tradition counts the wild ass—along with the pig and the wild boar—among the unclean animals (EncJud 6.32; cf. Lev 11:2–8; Deut 14:4–8; b. Æullin 59a). Therefore, it may seem ironic to state that the country abounds in such animals and that Herod would go to hunt them. No such concerns seem to have bothered Nicolaus of Damascus. Similarly, Strabo relates that the Scythians hunt deer (ἔλαφος) and wild boars in the marshes, wild asses (ὄναγρος) and gazelles in the plains (Strabo, Geogr. 7.4.8). 51 κυνηγέτης, συοτρόφος, ὄναγρος [ὄνος ἄγριος LVRC], ἰθυβόλος [εὐθυβόλος PAMExc], προτέρημα. There are other passages in Josephus that abound in rare words although not based on external sources, such as his description of a mishap, when he injured himself falling off a horse (Life 403). Some of the vocabulary, however, is very specific to that particular situation, whereas an encomium often tends to use rather stereotyped language (see Ant. 14.283 on Antipater). 52 Parmentier-Morin 1998, 96–157; Parmentier-Morin 2001, 93; Cohen 1979, 55–6. It is surprising that Ilan seems to include the encomium in a passage (War 1.401–44) drawn from a source other than Nicolaus, a source she judges to be pro-Hasmonean and anti-Herodian. Whereas her arguments concerning a different source for the killing of Hyrcanus II and Aristobulus III and the stormy relations between Herod and Mariamme carry some weight, there do not seem to be any good reasons for assigning the encomium and the description of Herod’s building projects to an anti-Herodian source (Ilan 1999, 109). 53 Cf. Xenophon, Cyn. 12.1–9. Nicolaus was drawing heavily on the work of Ctesias for his account of Parsondes and for eastern history in general ( Jacoby, FGrH 2C.233 ad 90). 48 49

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of several building projects (16.136–45) and benefactions to Greek cities (16.146–9). In the Antiquities, Herod’s physical prowess is not even mentioned, but emphasis is placed on his desire for honour and glory that caused him to endear himself to foreigners but gave rise to severe problems with his subjects, who had to bear the cost of these honours. These detailed considerations are best explained as Josephus’ own interpretation of affairs, as Thackeray and others admit.54 This passage, however, is not the only parallel to the encomium in the War. Elsewhere the image of Herod the skillful hunter is almost systematically demolished. Shortly after having ordered the execution of his wife Mariamme, Herod fell ill and “under the pretext of hunting” (προφάσει κυνηγεσίων) went into hiding, afflicted not only by physical ailments but also by temporary insanity (Ant. 15.244–6). A little later, after he had put to death Mariamme’s mother, Alexandra, and when he was about to inflict the same penalty on some of his best friends, Josephus describes his situation as “afflicted in mind and body” (ψυχῇ καὶ σώματι κεκακωμένος Ant. 15.251), 55 exactly the opposite of what was asserted twice in the encomium in War 1.429–30. Herod’s specific hunting skills, too, are depicted in a much less favourable light in the Antiquities. Reportedly, Herod’s son Alexander during the hunt would aim his arrows besides the mark, in order not to irritate his father whose ambition required that he be the best (Ant. 16.248). Alexander is even said to have asked others to kill Herod during a hunt, claiming that he had fallen from his horse and been impaled on his own weapons—as had happened before (Ant. 16.315). The false accusation that Alexander plotted to kill Herod during a hunt is already exposed as baseless in War 1.496–7. But the image of the superb horseman and hunter Herod falling from his horse and being impaled on his own weapons seems rather tragicomic.56 It may be one of the uses of irony in Josephus, that has remained largely unrecognised by scholars.57 Thus we have a case of Josephus providing a more negative image of Herod in a number of related but discontinuous passages in the Thackeray 1929, 67; Cohen 1979, 55 n. 105. A similar expression is used of the Nabataean Arabs before they are defeated the second time by Herod (Ant. 15.158). 56 When Josephus describes his own injury from falling off his horse, he makes it clear that this was not due to his own fault or ineptitude, but attributes responsibility to a (malevolent) spirit and to the muddy terrain (Life 402–3). On Herod’s illness and accident, see Kokkinos 2002: 34. 57 Mason 2005. 54 55

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Antiquities, in contrast with their parallels in the War. Since they do not represent a new connected narrative, these changes cannot simply be attributed to a new source or sources, but do require at least an editorial intervention by Josephus. We may not be far off the mark when we attribute the rewriting to Josephus himself. In doing so, however, we have to suppose a rather complicated, skillful, and inventive editing procedure. An alternative, that Nicolaus wrote both the encomium and the passages critical of Herod’s hunting, is possible. It would require, however, that Josephus chose the former text as the basis for the War, the latter for the Antiquities. Such a selective procedure would again require a careful and complex editing process. Another alternative, that Josephus copied two different sources for his two accounts, simply moves the question to a different level without addressing it. One may add that even if in the Antiquities he used sources more hostile to Herod than in the War, this may be credited to his choice and not simply to their existence or discovery. Therefore, this limited issue tends to vindicate Laqueur’s position that a change of outlook on Josephus’ part influenced (some of ) the differences in his accounts of Herod, although this is not the only possible explanation. In the Antiquities, Josephus certainly felt a greater freedom of expressing personal views and opinions regarding Roman affairs. It is doubtful, however, that this was an important factor in his different account of Herod. 4. Nicolaus of Damascus, Antipater, Herod, and Hyrcanus II Toher is entirely correct in considering Nicolaus of Damascus willing and able to be at times critical of Herod, his patron.58 His suggestion that Nicolaus’ “Universal History” stopped some time before the events of 12 BCE, has some prima-facie merit.59 It may explain why Josephus’ accounts of Herod’s reign are so unevenly distributed between private and public affairs and involve such chronological difficulties. For the purposes of our investigation, however, it is sufficient to accept that for Herod’s reign Josephus relied primarily on a work by Nicolaus of Damascus. It is clear that Nicolaus completed his writings after Herod’s

58 Toher 2003, 434–5. An example can be seen in War 1.433–4, where Hyrcanus’ legitimacy and Herod’s usurpation are emphasized. Yet, this may not be intended as a critique of Herod by Nicolaus, who openly sided with “L’usurpateur vertueux” (Parmentier-Morin 2001). 59 Toher 2003, 446–7.

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death, perhaps in Rome, and was thus fairly free to assume a critical attitude toward his (late) patron. Whether this material was included in his “Universal History,” or in a supplement to it,60 or in another one of his works (his Autobiography or his Biography of Caesar [Augustus]), does not make an essential difference in this context. Thus Nicolaus’ authorship cannot automatically be denied for material critical of Herod. Yet where we have favourable assessments in the War replaced by critical ones in the Antiquities, it is not likely that Nicolaus was responsible for both. A clear and frequently cited example of this is the description of the role of Herod’s father, Antipater, in the Alexandrian War of 47 BCE. Here, War 1.187–92 offers a glowing picture of Antipater’s achievements and bravery, whereas Ant. 14.127–39, citing two passages of Strabo, gives much of the credit to Hyrcanus II. The account in the War opens with the name of Antipater. He is portrayed as the main actor in the events of the Alexandrian War, which pitted Julius Caesar and his allies under Mithridates of Pergamum against King Ptolemy XIII. Mithridates is pursued, but Antipater pursues his pursuers. Mithridates loses 800 of his troops, Antipater only 80 (War 1.192; according to Ant. 14.135 only 40 or 50). In these short paragraphs (War 1.187–94), Mithridates is mentioned 5 times, Antipater 6 times. To be sure, in the parallel account in Ant. 14.127–39, both names appear even more frequently: Mithridates 10 times, Antipater 13 times. The most striking fact, however, is the total absence of Hyrcanus in this section of the War, except for the assertion that it was thanks to Antipater that Caesar confirmed him in the office of high priest (War 1.194). The picture in the Antiquities is decidedly different. In the narrative there, Josephus asserts that Antipater assisted Caesar “by order of Hyrcanus” (ἐξ ἐντολῆς Ὑρκανοῦ Ant 14.127)61 and that the Egyptian Jews were persuaded to cooperate with Antipater because he showed them a letter from Hyrcanus, the high priest (Ant. 14.131–2). Josephus adds that according to many accounts, including Strabo’s based on the authority of Asinius [Pollio] and of Hypsicrates,

60 Toher suggests that “[t]he Herodian books could have been a supplement added after Herod’s death, or were a separate work that later came to be combined with the universal history” (Toher 2003, 447). He does not offer an explanation for the reference to Books 123 and 124, which are said to have described events of 12 BCE (Ant. 12.125–7; FGrH 90 F 81; Stern 1974–84, 1.238–9, no. 86). 61 Similarly, Ant. 14.276 states that Hyrcanus, through Antipater, provided 100 talents of his own money to pay the tribute imposed by Cassius, where War 1.222 merely says that “Antipater quickly appeased Cassius by paying him 100 talents” (see Laqueur 1920, 187).

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Hyrcanus himself was involved in the Egyptian campaign.62 A decree by Caesar, confirming Hyrcanus’ high priesthood for himself and his descendants, does not mention Antipater at all (Ant. 14.192–5).63 The high standing and importance of Hyrcanus’ family—and the much lower standing of Antipater and his son Herod—is suggested by the fact that, according to Ant. 14.386–387, Herod did not dare hope for kingship, and apparently proposed it for his wife’s brother, a grandson of Hyrcanus, even though it had earlier been promised to Herod by Cassius (War 1.225 || Ant. 14.279). The fact that nevertheless Herod obtained this unexpected grant for himself in only seven days (Ant. 14.387) is probably more connected to the special relationship between Antony and Herod than to other factors. According to War 1.282, that special relationship had to do with Herod’s aretê, for which Ant. 14.382 substitutes the money Herod promised to give. These data have often been used to show that Nicolaus of Damascus, and hence Josephus’ narrative especially in the War, was not forthright in describing the roles of Antipater and Hyrcanus.64 Evidently the change of outlook toward a less central role of Antipater is connected with the new sources cited by Josephus. This fact becomes even clearer when we examine the documents referred to or quoted by Josephus. In War 1.200, a document in honour of Antipater is mentioned, but not quoted: “Then, Caesar ordered that these honors be inscribed on the Capitol65 as a memorial of his own justice and of the valiant courage of the man66 [Antipater].” By contrast, the parallel passage in Ant. 14.144–55 not only mentions but quotes verbatim a Roman (and an Athenian) document in honour of Hyrcanus. Whereas most scholars have concentrated on the historical question of the authenticity and the date of the document (belonging to the time of Hyrcanus I?), the literary question has hardly ever been addressed:

Ant. 14.138–9; Stern 1974–84, 1.213–4 no. 76; 1.220–1 no. 79; 1.282–3 no. 107. How much Hyrcanus was physically present in Egypt remains doubtful (Richardson 1996, 107). 63 Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, 31–53, esp. 40. 64 See Laqueur 1920, 194; Schwartz 1994, 227–32; differently Kokkinos 1998, 98–99 n. 54. 65 The existence of such bronze tablets has sometimes been doubted, but it is attested not only by Josephus and other literary sources but also by inscriptions, some of them on bronze, such as that of Seleucus of Rhosus (Roussel 1934). For a discussion see Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, 381–7. 66 Here, “of the man” (τἀνδρός with crasis) seems to emphasize the heroic qualities of Antipater (see also War 1.193). 62

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why did Josephus insert this and other documents in Ant. 14, with frequent references to Hyrcanus, whereas Antipater and Herod the Great are not mentioned once? A partial answer may be connected with the limitations of the material available to Josephus,67 but his own criteria for selection should not be overlooked. In the above instances, the evidence from new—or newly appreciated—sources served to propose a different presentation of the roles of Herod and of his father Antipater, and consequently of the Hasmonaean high priest and ethnarch Hyrcanus II. But new sources do not explain many of the more subtle changes, some of which were noted by Laqueur. One such change is the designation of Jerusalem as the πατρίς with reference to Antipater and Herod. In Josephus (e.g. Life 235, 346, 349) as in ancient Greek literature, πατρίς regularly means “native city” or “home country” (of the previously mentioned person[s]) and therefore at War 1.199 it should refer to Antipater’s home town. Elsewhere, however, Josephus made it quite clear that Antipater’s family had its roots in Idumaea (War 1.123), not in Judaea. He accused Nicolaus of Damascus of having falsely asserted that Antipater was descended from a leading Judaean family that had returned from Babylon to Judaea (Ant. 14.9). Therefore it would be in line with the position attributed to Nicolaus to emphasise, misleadingly, that Jerusalem was Antipater’s native city. Such an assertion, however, was incompatible with Josephus’ stated view, and thus it is likely that in his reference to πατρίς in War 1.199 he is copying Nicolaus. In this passage, Antipater is given permission to rebuild the wall of the/his πατρίς, i.e. Jerusalem.68 In the parallel passage in Ant. 14.144, it is Hyrcanus whose native city is thus Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, 405–8. The possessive pronoun “his” native city is absent, but can safely be added, as in many cases where reference to the previously named person(s) is implied (see e.g. War 1.11, 356, 379, 434, 515 [Eurycles the Spartan]; Apion 2.29: Apion’s πατρίς is Oasis in Upper Egypt). The problem for a correct understanding is therefore not in the lack of the pronoun, but in the reference to the native city in connection with Antipater. Aware of the factual difficulty of Antipater’s origin, some translators omit reference to him and use less precise terminology “metropolis” (Thackeray), “sa capital” (Pelletier—“its [ Judaea’s] capital”). Ricciotti translates literally “patria”, noting the unusual formulation, whereas Michel-Bauernfeind add the possessive pronoun “seine[r] Vaterstadt.” The timing of this permission seems to be erroneous, since a fragmentary document, transmitted in Ant. 14.200, refers to a permission to rebuild the walls given by Julius Caesar early in 44 BCE (Baumann 1983, 77 n. 28; Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, 74–9). Rather than amending that date in order to make it fit the narrative, it seems preferable to take the document’s date seriously (Smallwood 1976, 41–3). The discrepancy may then be 67 68

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indicated. In the account of the rebuilding of the wall by Antipater (τὸ τεῖχος ἀνεδείματο τῆς πατρίδος = War 1.201), Ant. 14.156 omits reference to “the native city” altogether.69 Again, when Hyrcanus speaks (War 1.235 || Ant. 14.293), both accounts refer to the πατρίς, but when Herod exhorts a group of representatives of his opponents, reference to the πατρίς is made only in War 1.246 (cf. Ant. 14.329). Even more strikingly, in the report about Herod rescuing Jerusalem from the Roman soldiers plundering it, Ant. 14.486 follows War 1.356 word for word, but changes πατρίδα to πόλιν (“In this way he bought off what remained of the/his [native] city and kept his promises”).70 Even in Herod’s speech to his troops (War 1.373–9 || Ant. 15.127–46), πατρίς is used only in the much shorter War version.71 It seems reasonable to conclude that these small changes were made on purpose. They correct a factual error found several times in the War: The native city of Antipater and Herod was not Jerusalem, and their native country was not Judaea. As a consequence, it appears that the account in the War, following Nicolaus, emphasises Antipater’s intimate connection with Jerusalem, whereas the Antiquities plays it down. The importance of this fact is underlined in Antigonus’ accusation that Herod, being an Idumaean, was to be considered only a “half-Judaean” (ἡμιιουδαῖος), ineligible for kingship (Ant. 14.403, without parallel in the War; contrast, however, Ant. 20.173, in a polemical context). Therefore, the change may be seen as far more than a factual correction but rather as representing a different view of Herod and of his ancestry.72 This shift is expressed by Josephus himself, not just because of new information (he was aware of Herod’s Idumaean background when writing the War), but because of a changed appreciation of or attention

explained by the tendency of Nicolaus, partly followed by Josephus, to attribute Roman concessions to Antipater’s merits rather than to Hyrcanus II’s negotiating skills. 69 This omission was noted by Laqueur 1920, 171. 70 See Sievers 2001a, 333. 71 In another (indirect) speech, before a tribunal set up in Berytus (Beirut) to judge the case against his sons, Alexander and Aristobulus, Herod refers to his native land and his kingdom (Ant. 16.366), without any specific reference to Jerusalem or Judaea. The brief report about this speech in War 1.540 does not use such language. Both accounts, but especially the one in the Antiquities, are highly critical of Herod’s impetuosity and of his unproven accusations against his sons. 72 As far as I am aware, Josephus never explicitly acknowleges that he is correcting a mistake in an earlier work, although the differences between the War on the one hand and the Antiquities and the Life on the other are numerous and substantial. See Cohen 1979, 3–8, 50–65.

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to Antipater’s and Herod’s status. A partial analogue is found in the fact that Josephus insists that Apion’s real πατρίς was in Upper Egypt, despite his Alexandrian citizenship and his claim to be an Alexandrian (Ap. 2.29–34; Ant. 18.257). Practically the only time that the Antiquities provides a positive connection between πατρίς and Herod’s family is in a brief eulogy, after Antipater was poisoned, allegedly by Malichus. Although the tone is similar, the wording is quite different from the War parallel: “This was the manner in which Antipater [Herod’s father] died, a man distinguished for piety, justice, and devotion to his country”.73 Marcus noted that “[h]ere, if anywhere, one would expect a considerably less favourable estimate in Ant. if Laqueur’s theory of the anti-Herodian revision of B.J. in Ant. is correct” (LCL, ad loc.).74 While our expectations along these lines may be justified, we cannot pretend that Josephus must conform to them. Evidently he presents us with a highly stylised rendering of Antipater’s character and achievements. The combination between piety and justice seems to recur in the War only in the description of the Essenes,75 whereas in the Antiquities the twin virtues recur together more than thirty times, beginning with the proem (Ant. 1.21). They are mentioned in connection with persons as diverse as King Solomon (Ant. 7.356), the translators of the Septuagint (Ant. 12.56), and John the Baptist (Ant. 18.117). The terms also recur together in Roman documents (a letter of Mark Antony to Tyre—Ant. 14.315; Claudius’ letter regarding the high priestly vestments—Ant. 20.13). Thus their specific information value is limited.76 The juxtaposition of these virtues next to the problematic devotion to Antipater’s “native” country makes the

73 καὶ Ἀντίπατρος μὲν εὐσεβείᾳ τε καὶ δικαιοσύνῃ διενεγκὼν καὶ τῇ περὶ τὴν πατρίδα σπουδῇ, τοῦτον ἐτελεύτησε τὸν τρόπον (Ant. 14.283, transl. Marcus, LCL; cf. War 1.226). Antipater’s exceptional devotion to his πατρίς is evidently referred to Jerusalem and/or

Judaea, not to Idumaea, his place of birth. 74 Laqueur admits that at this point Josephus seems to have grown tired so that no consistent changes of outlook are found in a long section of fairly parallel material, not counting the addition of documents in the Antiquities (“im übrigen aber ist zu der Darstellung Arch. [Ant. 14.] 280–329 gegenüber der Quelle bell. [War 1] 225–47 nichts Bemerkenswertes zu erinnern” (Laqueur 1920, 189). 75 War 2.139; similarly Philo, Prob. 83. 76 The combination of piety and justice is fairly frequent in Greek literature. The concept of someone distinguishing himself by these two virtues is found in Diodorus Siculus 4.18.3; 6.8.1.

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brief encomium seem rather perfunctory. An ironic intent is not entirely to be excluded, but in this case is not self-evident for today’s reader.77 Whereas it does remain somewhat surprising that the Antiquities has such favourable words to say about Antipater, these expressions of sympathy find a rather precise counterweight in Josephus’ other affirmations (and omissions) about him. Besides the question of Antipater’s native city/country, we need to consider the evaluation of Hyrcanus’ fate, after an extensive summary of his life and death (Ant. 15.164–82): “That Antipater and Herod advanced so far was due to his mildness, and what he experienced at their hands in the end was neither just nor an act of piety” (οὔτε δίκαιον οὔτ᾽ εὐσεβές).78 This final evaluation of Hyrcanus, with negative reflections not only on Herod who killed him but also on Antipater, is part of an editorial summary that does seem to be attributable to Josephus himself. Whether he mindlessly copied the earlier eulogy for Antipater from Nicolaus or from another source is hard to decide. It is possible that these few favourable words were meant to counter-balance and bring closure to the otherwise much more negative portrayal. The situation is somewhat similar in the Antiquities’ extremely negative presentation of Queen Alexandra who was “one of those inordinately desirous of the power to rule,” had “no consideration for decency or justice,” and “caused the palace to be filled with misfortunes and disturbances which arose from the public measures taken during her lifetime.” Yet, the next and final sentence about her acknowledges that “in spite of reigning in this manner, she had kept the nation at peace.”79 Josephus’ final tribute to the Hasmonaeans constitutes a similar balancing act (Ant. 14.488–91).80

Mason 2005. Ant. 15.182, transl. Marcus, LCL. War 1.433–4 has a brief but sympathetic report about Hyrcanus’ return from exile and execution. According to Schwartz, in Josephus’ estimation the fate of Hyrcanus, although unjust and unfair “was something reasonable people should have expected”, because of Hyrcanus’ ineptitude (Schwartz 1994, 220). 79 Ant. 13.431–2, transl. Marcus, LCL (Niese Ant. 13.431–3). 80 An altruistic note is added to the otherwise very negative portrayal of Malichus, who was considered responsible for poisoning Antipater, when he is said to have “plotted against Antipater, thinking that his death would make for the security of Hyrcanus’ rule” (Ant. 14.277, transl. Marcus, LCL; cf. Laqueur 1920, 188). In the earlier account, Antipater had been depicted as the loyal protector of Hyrcanus (War 1.124, 207). There, Antipater’s murder was motivated by Malichus’ desire to get rid of the person who interfered with his criminal behavior (War 1.223). 77

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Thus Josephus tries to offer a nuanced and not too one-sided view, yet his presentation of Herod’s and Antipater’s background is almost consistently less flattering in the Antiquities than in the War. In the passages analysed above, Josephus’ changes in perspective are partly related to new sources, partly to an apparently conscious effort to avoid improper and ideologically loaded terminology. Laqueur’s explanation for many of the changes appears correct at least to the extent that they do reflect authorial intent on the part of Josephus and not merely the copying of new material. 5. Herod’s Trial One of the most intriguing episodes in Herod’s political career took place early in his life. Both in the War and the Antiquities Josephus reports that as governor of Galilee Herod captured a group of “brigands” under the command of a certain Ezekias, put many of them to death without a trial, earned the gratitude of the Syrians (not the Galileans), but was asked by the high priest and ethnarch Hyrcanus II to respond to charges of overstepping his authority (War 1.204–10 || Ant. 14.159–69). Proceedings against Herod were stopped after an intervention on his behalf by Sextus Caesar, the Roman governor of Syria. Instead of being reprimanded or punished, Herod was given a promotion to become “governor” (στρατηγός) of Coele-Syria (War 1.213 [plus Samaria] || Ant. 14.180). Here we are not concerned with the complex differences between War and Antiquities and the inconsistencies within each of these accounts, especially in the latter.81 Instead, the focus will be primarily on the role of Herod. First of all, only Ant. 14.159 tells us that the affair of the “brigands” gave Herod “an opportunity to show his prowess” (ἀφορμὴν . . . εἰς ἐπίδειξιν τῆς ἀρετῆς, transl. Marcus, LCL). The next

81 The extent of Hyrcanus’ jurisdiction and the involvement of a/the Synedrion, mentioned ten times in Ant. 14.167–80 but never in the War, does not concern us here directly. Other problematic issues include the questions whether Hyrcanus was ordered by Sextus Caesar to release Herod from the trial (so Gilboa 1979–80), or acquit him of capital charges (δίκη can have both meanings but is used by Josephus mostly in the former sense). Although the outcome is clear, namely, that Herod went free, Josephus offers contradictory scenarios: Hyrcanus acquitted Herod (War 1.211; Ant. 14.182), or had the trial adjourned (Ant. 14.177). The decision lay with Hyrcanus (War 1.211; Ant. 14.170) or with the Synedrion (Ant. 14.168, 174). For a brief overview of these complications see Marcus, LCL, n. a ad Ant. 14.170; Richardson 1996, 108–13.

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paragraph adds the reason why the Syrians were so grateful to Herod: he cleansed the country of brigandage. Both War and Antiquities add notes about the favourable popular response to Herod’s action, about the good government of Phasael, and about Antipater receiving royal honours yet maintaining his loyalty to Hyrcanus (War 1.205–7 || Ant. 14.160–2). At that point, however, the two accounts start to diverge substantially: In the War, envy precipitates events.82 Malicious courtiers cajole Hyrcanus into bringing Herod to trial: “Many slanderers at court, whom either the restraint of his sons or that of Antipater offended, were roused to anger” (War 1.208). They are classified as “wicked” ( πονηροί = War 1.212) and complain about the usurpation of royal powers by Antipater and his sons. In the Antiquities, instead, these complainers are replaced by “the foremost Judaeans”,83 and above all by the mothers of the men killed by Herod (Ant. 14.168). It is the latter who finally cause Hyrcanus to demand Herod’s appearance in court. In both accounts it is the intervention of the Roman governor Sextus Caesar, with the cooperation of Hyrcanus “who loved Herod”84 that leads to Herod’s going free. Such a characterisation of their relations is surprising in the War, where it has just been reported that Hyrcanus had become jealous of Herod’s and Phasael’s fame (War 1.208). It is even more surprising in the Antiquities, where the problems between Hyrcanus and Herod and his family are more openly acknowledged. The accusations against Herod are manifold. In the first place, in not seeking permission from Hyrcanus for the executions, he had overstepped his authority. Secondly, he had acted contrary to “Jewish (or ‘Judaean’) law” (παρὰ τὸν τῶν Ἰουδαίων νόμον), which is also defined as “ancestral laws” (πάτριοι νόμοι = War 1.209)85 or “our law” (τὸν

See War 1.210; success leading to dangerous envy is a recurring theme in Josephus (War 1.67; Ant. 2.10; 13.288; Life 122). 83 Laqueur correctly recognised a doublet in the repeated expressions οἱ δ’ ἐν τέλει τῶν Ἰουδαίων ὁρῶντες τὸν Ἀντίπατρον (Ant. 14.163) and οἱ πρῶτοι τῶν Ἰουδαίων ὁρῶντες τὸν Ἡρώδην (Ant. 14.165). His conclusion that the text between these expressions has to be deleted, is debatable (Laqueur 1920, 176). What is most striking, however, is the fact that in reaction to Herod’s questionable behavior the leading citizens accuse mainly Antipater (163–4), with only a brief word about Herod’s tyrannical aspirations (165) before reverting to the danger to Hyrcanus represented by Antipater (165b–166). Only thereafter the case of Ezekias is taken up again (167–84). 84 War 1.211; Ant. 14.170 has “he loved him as a son.” 85 Schröder 1996, 32–4. 82

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ἡμέτερον νόμον = Ant. 14.167).86 This law required a proper trial in all capital cases.87 The difference between Herod’s position in the War and the Antiquities lies not so much in the substance of the accusations as in the standing and the credibility of the accusers: disgruntled malicious courtiers in the former, leading citizens and distraught mothers in the latter. The Antiquities, however, adds charges that are fairly unrelated to the killing of Ezekias and his companions. In the speech of Samaias (Shammai or Shemaya or Simon?), Herod is accused of haughty and contemptuous behaviour before the court.88 Samaias also warns the judges that Herod is going to kill them all, and Hyrcanus as well. Later on, he and his teacher Pollio are said to have been spared persecution by Herod on several occasions because of their wise and moderating influence, in contrast to some unnamed colleagues. Aside from Hyrcanus II, however, who was killed at Herod’s order, no specific victims are named (Ant. 15.3–4, 370).89 Samaias thus appears as a severe critic of Herod, but also as someone who in part supports him—and accepts rewards for this from Herod. While the profile of Herod at the trial is changed in a negative direction in the Antiquities, more importantly, Ant. 14. 163–4 adds an unrelated charge against Antipater, namely, that he has misused funds

86 Laqueur perceptively noted the contradiction between the different sources of authority mentioned. Yet, his solution in this case—that the War passage was rewritten in light of the Antiquities parallel—is not convincing (Laqueur 1920, 180). I can see no reason why Josephus should replace “our law” with “Jewish law”. Instead, if his source (Nicolaus?) referred to Jewish law, a change to “our” law is quite understandable. Josephus used that expression only once in the War (6.101) in an address to the rebels that he pronounced during the final days of the siege of Jerusalem. In the Antiquities, instead, he adopted this terminology already in the proem (Ant. 1.10; cf. Ap. 2.45, 123) and identified himself much more with Jewish tradition. 87 Ant. 14.167 states that these cases have to be judged by the Synedrion. It is not sure whether such a single body existed at the time of these events in 47 BCE (McLaren 1991, 74–7; Richardson 1996, 111). The laws in question are not codified in the Pentateuch, where in some capital cases the testimony of witnesses is explicitly required (Num 35:30; Deut 17:2–8; 19:15–19). The proper treatment of capital cases is extensively discussed in m. Sanh. 4. A distant echo of Herod’s trial may be found in b. Sanh. 19a-b (Derenbourg 1867, 146–8; Feldman 1984, 289–90). 88 Ant. 14.172–4. This Samaias, whose identity remains elusive (Feldman 1984, 467–9), is elsewhere associated with Pollio, the Pharisee (Ant. 15.3, 370). At least once, a speech like that of Samaias is attributed to Pollio (Ant. 15.4), where however the name Samaias is preserved, perhaps correctly, in usually less reliable Latin MSS and in Greek excerpts (E). 89 Herod is said to have killed the forty-five leading men of Antigonus’ “party” (αἵρεσις, Ant. 15.6), but these cannot easily be identified with “all the members of the Synedrion.”

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that belonged to Hyrcanus. Later a similar accusation against Herod is added: he paid Sextus Caesar a bribe in order to get a governorship (Ant. 14.180). It is hard to judge the historical reliability of these assertions, which are completely absent from the War—in the latter case even replacing a statement that “he was formidable not only because of the favour he had with the nation but also because of his own power [or: ‘military force’].” Yet, the intent to portray an overreaching Herod is quite evident in the somewhat clumsy and sometimes contradictory combination of different snippets in the Antiquities. If the account in the Antiquities gives more credibility to the criticisms raised against Antipater and Herod, and in several ways is more critical of both of them, it also adds Samaias’ critique of the newly introduced Synedrion and intensifies criticism of Hyrcanus. War 1.212 merely states that Hyrcanus did not know what to do in this crisis, since he saw that his adversary was stronger than he. The Antiquities, instead, emphasises that “he was incompetent to do anything, because of his cowardice and folly.”90 Such a statement continues and intensifies frequent attacks on Hyrcanus’ inefficiency,91 whether historically justified or not.92 Thus, Josephus does not attribute all blame to Herod and Antipater. He certainly extends it to Hyrcanus, and even to the members of the Synedrion, if Samaias’ speech may be taken to reflect to some extent Josephus’ views. One key to the puzzle are perhaps the figures of the “brigands” with their leader Ezekias, who is called an “arch-brigand” (ἀρχιληστής) in both of Josephus’ accounts (War 1.204 || Ant. 14.159). Josephus uses these designations for a category of persons he absolutely despises. It is fairly clear that Ezekias and his men, whose mothers are said to have pleaded for justice every day in the temple precinct, were no ordinary robbers, but once the label was attached to them (by Nicolaus of Damascus or others in Herod’s circle?) it stuck to them. Josephus used that term as one of the most negative characterisations in his vocabulary, beginning with the proem of the War (1.11) and with Cain (Ant. 1.61, 66) and ending with the time of the great revolt (Ant. 20.160–86;

90 πράττειν δ᾽ οὐδὲν εἶχεν ὑπὸ ἀνανδρίας καὶ ἀνοίας, Ant. 14.179 transl. Marcus, LCL. 91 Schwartz 1994, 210, 226–8. Schwartz argues that this text comes from Josephus’, not Nicolaus’ pen. 92 McLaren 1991, 76–8, emphasises how throughout the proceedings against Herod it is Hyrcanus who remains the central decision maker, summoning Herod, acquitting or dismissing him, receiving a letter from Sextus Caesar and acting upon it.

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War 4–6 passim).93 Thus he does not show any sympathy for Ezekias and his followers, and would find it hard strongly to object to their elimination, although he recognised that Herod broke the law to do it. Ultimately, however, the unlawful character of Herod’s action does not seem to have bothered Josephus, or Nicolaus, for Herod did even worse in a later incident, when as an act of reprisal—evidently without trial—he killed the relatives of forty “arch-brigands” (Ant. 16.274–6). That action was deemed reprehensible neither by Nicolaus—who successfully defended Herod before Augustus on related charges—nor by Josephus.94 The latter’s negative attitude toward people classified as “brigands” may in part explain his rather confused accounts of Herod’s trial. Josephus may have become more critical of Herod’s accession to and use of his power, but he was not prepared to defend “brigands” against a legitimate though problematic ruler. As noted above, Laqueur saw correctly the tensions between insubordination against Hyrcanus or against “ancestral laws”, and between the authority of Hyrcanus and of the Synedrion. His suggestion, however, that Josephus introduced this judicial body in order to raise the standing of the “brigands” seems to be indefensible.95 6. Herod and Augustus Before coming to a close, I would like to use the portrayal of Herod’s relations with Augustus as a final test case for Laqueur’s theses. The War’s portrait of Herod’s relations with Augustus is concentrated primarily in War 1.386–400.96 Emphasis is placed on the friendship that

93 See also the very negative portrayal of Ezekias’ son Judas (War 2.56; Ant. 17.271–2). 94 The killing of Herod’s relatives is usually, though not consistently (see on Mariamme’s mother Alexandra Ant. 15.232–4, 250–1) condemned by Josephus, and at least some of these condemnations go back to Nicolaus ( Jonathan Aristobulus III: War 1.437; Ant. 15.49, 59–60; Hyrcanus II: War 1.433–4; Ant. 15.174–82; Mariamme War 1.444; Ant. 15.229–31, 237–9; Alexander and Aristobulus: War 1.539; Ant. 16.392–404; cf. FGrH 90 F 136; Stern 1974–84, 1.251, 257, no. 97 [Nicolaus thought that the two were unjustly accused]; contrast Ant. 16.185 = FGrH 90 F 102 = Stern 1974–84, 1.244–6 [Nicolaus brought false charges against Mariamme and her sons]). 95 “Das Hereinzerren des Synedrions in die Geschichte von Herodes und Hyrkan hat seinen wirklichen Grund in dem Wunsche, die Räuber zu heben und ihren jüdisch patriotischen Charakter zu betonen” (Laqueur 1920, 183). 96 Herod’s trip to Rome to accuse his son Alexander before Augustus for trying to poison him is briefly reported in War 1.452–4. Apparently the same trip is described in much greater detail in Ant. 16.90–129.

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bound them together since their first encounter on the island of Rhodes, shortly after the battle of Actium. These good relations resulted in territorial additions to Herod’s realm and in other exchanges of favours. Josephus adds: “But what was greater than all this in Herod’s eyes was that next after Agrippa, he enjoyed Caesar’s special favour, and next after Caesar, he enjoyed Agrippa’s” [special favour].97 Most of these expressions find parallels in the Antiquities, although only War 1.386 adds that “Caesar (Augustus) considered his victory (at Actium) to be incomplete so long as Herod remained Antony’s ally.” While the account in the Antiquities does not show a major shift in attitude, it is much more detailed. Some of these pluses are contained in entirely new blocks of material, but more specific information on episodes previously included in the War is quite common. The amenities provided to Augustus and his army on their way to and from Egypt are indicated in detail (Ant. 15.196, 199–201); Augustus refused to pardon a certain Alexas (War 1.393) “because of an oath” (Ant. 15.197); Herod accompanied Augustus on his return from Egypt all the way to Antioch (Ant. 15.218). Laqueur might have argued that Josephus simply invented these added details without recourse to a specific source.98 Yet, such a position is very difficult if not impossible to maintain when it comes to episodes connected with Nicolaus of Damascus. In one case, the Antiquities reports in great detail how Herod’s harsh dealings with so-called Arab brigands who were protected by Syllaeus, a Nabataean chief minister,99 led to a crisis in his relations with Augustus (Ant. 16.271–99). The Princeps is said to have downgraded Herod’s status from “friend”100 to “subject” and to have refused to receive an embassy from him (Ant. 16.290, 293). At last, Herod sent Nicolaus to Rome. His mission was successful in restoring good relations with Augustus (Ant. 16.299, 335–55). This affair is alluded to in War 1.574 in a brief retrospective remark. Because of the central role played by Nicolaus in resolving the problem, we have good reason to

97 Note the chiasmus: ὑπὸ μὲν Καίσαρος ἐφιλεῖτο μετ᾽ Ἀγρίππαν, ὑπ᾽ Ἀγρίππα δὲ μετὰ Καίσαρα. The expression in the parallel account in Ant. 15.361 is similar.

For examples of this type of argumentation, see Laqueur 1920, 202–3. He is titled ἐπίτροπος (“procurator”) in both Strabo, Geogr. 16.4.23 and War 1.487. 100 Concerning Herod’s status as “Caesar’s Friend” (Φιλόκαισαρ), see Schalit 1969, 422–3; Geiger 1997, 75. See also Ant. 13.273; Strabo, Geogr. 13.2.3; Caesar, BG 1.35.1 rex atque amicus a senatu appellatus; Mason, H. J. 1974, 97 s.v. φίλος Καίσαρος; Braund 1984. 98

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assume that the information was included in one of his works. One might still argue that the part of Nicolaus’ work containing the details of this story was not available to Josephus at the time he wrote the War.101 While this may be true, it cannot be proven and is not a useful explanation for all the sections of the Antiquities linked to Nicolaus that are absent in the War. It may be significant that the only serious conflict between Herod and Augustus is not mentioned at all in the War. When it is related in the Antiquities, the hero of the story is Nicolaus, Herod is vindicated, Augustus is criticised for not listening with sufficient attention (Ant. 16.289–90, 293, 297, 352), and the real villain is Syllaeus102—with whom Nicolaus as well as Herod had clashed after he attempted to marry Herod’s sister Salome.103 Tragically, the reconciliation between Herod and Augustus leads the latter to grant his permission for the punishment—and eventually the execution—of Herod’s sons by Mariamme (Ant. 16.333, 335, 356–8, 365; cf. War 1.535–8). Here the change from almost complete silence in the War to a detailed account in the Antiquities certainly does not mean a turning away from Nicolaus, who is a central figure in the story. He not only works, successfully, at a reconciliation between Herod and Augustus, but also tries, unsuccessfully, to prevent Herod from executing his sons (Ant. 16.370–2). Whether the Antiquities’ account of the temporary souring of relations between Augustus and Herod, as well as Nicolaus’ role in overcoming the crisis, can be trusted as historically accurate is a matter to be taken up elsewhere. It is certainly of interest that Josephus dares to be critical of the Princeps in ways that he had not been in the War. Conclusions The more anti-Herodian tone in many parts of Ant. 14–17 as compared to War 1 has been noted by many scholars. The question is not the existence of such a difference, but rather its origin and extent, its 101 We have a fragment of Nicolaus’ autobiography that covers this episode, though in much less detail than the Antiquities (FGrH 90 F 136 = Stern 1974–84, 1.250–60, no. 97). The former cannot have been the direct source of the latter. Therefore Nicolaus’ history of Herod, whether or not part of his “Universal History,” is the only plausible source. 102 For a more sympathetic portrayal of Syllaeus see Bowersock 1983, 47–53. 103 War 1.487, 534, 566; Ant. 16.275; 17.10, 139.

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limits—and possibly its motivations and purpose. Some scholars ascribe these changes entirely or primarily to new sources, be it an “Anonymous”104 or Strabo105 or another source.106 There is no doubt that the changed attitude is sometimes dependent on or at least connected with new sources that Josephus had not used in the War. Laqueur’s hypothesis that the changes were due to Josephus himself, was revolutionary at the time. As we have seen, it seems to account best for some changes, but not for all of them. Where does all this leave us? Laqueur was conscious that his attempted biography of Josephus contained lacunae but he hoped that future research could fill them.107 Perhaps more recent generations are less sanguine about the possibilities of scholarship. It is clear that his rigorous attempt to apply literary criticism to the works of Josephus has been only partially successful. His assertion that Ant. 14 can serve as a test case for the entire Herodian period has to be modified, if not entirely rejected. Yet, it is still worthwhile to pursue literary criticism further.108 As opposed to earlier scholars, Laqueur is clearly right in allowing for Josephus the author to have had a significant influence on the opinions voiced in his works. We have found some examples not only in the summary evaluations at the end of his account of important personalities or episodes, but also in smaller details, e.g. in the use or non-use of the term πατρίς with regard to Antipater and Herod. The origin of the debunking of Herod’s hunting skills is more difficult to determine, but with some hesitation one may assign it to Josephus’ rewriting as well. For other episodes, some of them highly critical of Herod, Josephus seems to have followed Nicolaus’ lead. In many instances, though not always, he relied on Nicolaus even more closely in the Antiquities than in the War. Thus, our findings coincide with Laqueur’s only to a limited extent. Yet, his work remains that of a path-breaking pioneer toward a properly grounded appreciation of Josephus as an author. Sometimes

Destinon 1882; Hölscher 1904; Otto 1913. See Schwartz 1994, 211–2, with reference to the 1902 dissertation by K. Albert. 106 Daniel R. Schwartz has found credible evidence for a source that was in strong opposition to Herod’s great-grandson Agrippa II (Schwartz 1982, 255–68). 107 “und wenn auch dieser erste Versuch noch lückenhaft bleiben wird, so ist doch zu hoffen, daß die weitere Forschung . . . die Lücken wird schließen können” (Laqueur 1920, 247). 108 Landau uses a narratological approach to Josephus’ accounts of Herod (Landau 2006). 104 105

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one would like to imagine how much else Laqueur could have contributed to classical scholarship in general and to Josephan studies in particular, had his career not been tragically cut short.109 Bibliography Barish, D. A., 1978. “The Autobiography of Josephus and the Hypothesis of a Second Edition of His Antiquities”, HThR 71, 61–75. Baumann, U., 1983. Rom und die Juden: die römisch-jüdischen Beziehungen von Pompeius bis zum Tode des Herodes (63 v. Chr.–4 v. Chr.), Frankfurt am Main; New York: Verlag P. Lang. Bowersock, G. W., 1983. Roman Arabia, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Braund, D., 1984. Rome and the Friendly King: The Character of the Client Kingship, London: Croom Helm. Calder III, W. Review of Christ 1991 (http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/bmcr/1992/03.02.06. html) Christ, K., 1991. Geschichte und Existenz, Berlin: Klaus Wagenbach. Cohen, S. J. D., 1979. Josephus in Galilee and Rome: His Vita and Development as a Historian, Leiden: Brill. Derenbourg, J., 1867. Essai sur l’histoire et la géographie de la Palestine, d’après les Thalmuds et les autres sources rabbiniques, Première partie: Histoire de la Palestine depuis Cyrus jusq’à Adrien, Paris: Imprimerie Impériale; repr. Gregg International Publishers Limited, 1971. Destinon, J. V., 1882. Die Quellen des Flavius Josephus. I. Die Quellen der Archäologie Buch XII–XVII = Jüd. Krieg Buch I, Kiel: Lipsius & Tischer. Eberle, H., 2002. Die Martin-Luther-Universität in der Zeit des Nationalsozialismus 1933–1945, Halle: Mitteldeutscher Verlag. Feldman, L. H., 1984. Josephus and Modern Scholarship (1937–1980), Berlin: de Gruyter. Feldman, L. H. and G. Hata, 1989. Josephus, the Bible, and History, Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Geiger, J., 1997. “Herodes Philorhomaios”, AncSoc 28, 75–88. Gilboa, A., 1979–80. “The Intervention of Sextus Julius Caesar, Governor of Syria, in the Affair of Herod’s Trial”, SCI 5, 185–94. Gomme, A. W., 1945. A Historical Commentary on Thucydides. Vol. 1. Oxford: Clarendon. Gundel, H. G., et al., 1982. Giessener Gelehrte in der ersten Hälfte des 20. Jahrhunderts, Marburg: N. G. Elwert. Helm, R., 1921. “Review of Laqueur 1920”, Philologische Wochenschrift 41, 481–93, 505–16. Hölscher, G., 1904. Die Quellen des Josephus für die Zeit vom Exil bis zum Jüdischen Kriege, Leipzig: Teubner. Ilan, T., 1999. Integrating Women into Second Temple History, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

109 Several colleagues have generously taken the time to read and comment on earlier versions of this paper, in particular Joseph Geiger, Jan Willem van Henten, Steve Mason, and Mark Toher. Katherine E. Wolff has offered a number of stylistic improvements. I am grateful for their valuable suggestions. In particular I am indebted to Nikos Kokkinos, who not only edited this paper but also provided helpful reflections. Responsibility for all remaining shortcomings rests of course with me.

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Kokkinos, N., 1998. The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. ——, 2002. “Herod’s Horrid Death”, Biblical Archaeology Review 28:2 (March/April 2002), 28–35, 62. Landau, T., 2006. Out-Heroding Herod: Josephus, Rhetoric and the Herod Narratives, Leiden: Brill. Laqueur, R. A., 1904a. Kritische Untersuchungen zum Zweiten Makkabäerbuch, Strassburg: Karl J. Trübner. ——, 1904b. Quaestiones epigraphicae et papyrologicae selectae, Strassburg: M. DumontSchauberg; repr. Roma: L’Erma, 1970. ——, 1913. Polybius, Leipzig: Teubner; repr. Aalen: Scientia-Verlag, 1974. ——, 1920. Der jüdische Historiker Flavius Josephus: ein biographischer Versuch auf neuer quellenkritischer Grundlage, Giessen: Münchow’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung; repr. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1970; Roma: L’Erma, 1970. ——, 1927. Epigraphische Untersuchungen zu den griechischen Volksbeschlüssen, Leipzig: B. G. Teubner. ——, 1929. Eusebius als Historiker seiner Zeit, Berlin; und Leipzig: W. de Gruyter & Co. ——, 1936. “Σύμβολα περὶ τοῦ μὴ ἀδικεῖν”, Hermes 71, 469–72. ——, 1955. Shakespeares dramatische Konzeption, Tübingen: M. Niemeyer. ——, 1992. Diodors Geschichtswerk: die Überlieferung von Buch I–V. Aus dem Nachlass herausgegeben von Kai Brodersen, Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Mason, H. J., 1974. Greek Terms for Roman Institutions: A Lexicon and Analysis, Toronto: Hakkert. Mason, S., 2005. Figured Speech and Irony in T. Flavius Josephus, in Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome. J. C. Edmondson, S. Mason, et al. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 243–88. McLaren, J. S., 1991. Power and Politics in Palestine: The Jews and the Governing of Their Land 100 BC–AD 70, Sheffield: Academic Press. Münzer, F., 1921. “Review of Laqueur 1920”, OLZ 24, 213–6. Otto, W., 1913. Herodes (14), in Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. A. F. v. Pauly, G. Wissowa, et al. Stuttgart, Metzler. Suppl. 2, cols. 1–158. Parmentier-Morin, E., 1998. L’oeuvre historique de Nicolas de Damas: La place de Nicolas de Damas dans l’oeuvre de Flavius Josèphe, Paris: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion. ——, 2001. “L’usurpateur vertueux: histoire et propagande dans l’oeuvre de Nicolas de Damas, historien d’Hérode”, in Images et représentations du pouvoir et de l’ordre social dans l’antiquité. M. Molin, J.-Y. Carrez-Maratray, et al. Paris, De Boccard, 91–9. Pucci Ben Zeev, M., 1998. Jewish Rights in the Roman World: The Greek and Roman Documents Quoted by Josephus Flavius, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Richardson, P., 1996. Herod: King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans, Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press. Roussel, P., 1934. “Un Syrien au service de Rome et d’Octave”, Syria 15, 33–74. Schalit, A., 1969. König Herodes: der Mann und sein Werk, Berlin: De Gruyter. Schröder, B., 1996. Die ‘väterlichen Gesetze’: Flavius Josephus als Vermittler von Halachah an Griechen und Römer, Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck). Schürer, E., 1901. Geschichte des jüdischen Volkes im Zeitalter Jesu Christi, Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Schürer, E., et al., 1973–87. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, Edinburgh: T & T Clark. Schwartz, D. R., 1982. “KATA TOYTON TON KAIPON: Josephus’ Source on Agrippa II”, JQR 72(4), 241–68. ——, 1992. Studies in the Jewish Background of Christianity, Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck). ——, 1994. Josephus on Hyrcanus II, in Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period: Essays in Memory of Morton Smith. F. Parente and J. Sievers. Leiden, Brill, 210–32.

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Sievers, J., 2001a. Synopsis of the Greek Sources for the Hasmonean Period: 1–2 Maccabees and Josephus, War 1 and Antiquities 12–14, Roma: Pontificio Istituto Biblico. ——, 2001b. “Josephus, First Maccabees, Sparta, the Three haireseis—and Cicero”, JSJ 32, 241–51. Smallwood, E. M., 1976. The Jews under Roman Rule: From Pompey to Diocletian, Leiden: Brill. Stern, M., 1974–84. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities. Thackeray, H. S. J., 1929. Josephus, the Man and the Historian, New York: Jewish Institute of Religion Press; repr. New York: KTAV, 1967. Toher, M., 2003. “Nicolaus and Herod in the Antiquitates Judaicae”, HSPh 101, 427–48. Wacholder, B. Z., 1989. Josephus and Nicolaus of Damascus, in Josephus, the Bible, and History. L. H. Feldman and G. Hata. Detroit, Wayne State University Press, 147–72. Wildt, M., 2002. Generation des Unbedingten: das Führungskorps des Reichssicherheitshauptamtes, Hamburg: Hamburger Edition.

THE COINS OF HEROD THE GREAT IN THE CONTEXT OF THE AUGUSTAN EMPIRE Donald T. Ariel Abstract Two of Herod’s bronze coin series are thought to relate to historical milestones in Herod’s relationship to Augustus. This paper concentrates on Herod’s large diadem/ table type, minted in Jerusalem, and his year-three coins, thought by many to have been minted in Samaria. Most of Herod’s coinage was struck for purely economic reasons, to make fractional currency available both for Herod’s standing army and for the labourers employed in his extensive building activities. I consider another function—perhaps new for Judea—for the minting of the abovementioned coins of Herod, as celebratory handouts, in the spirit of the Roman institutions of congiaria and donativa. Octavian himself embraced these practices, setting a pattern of munificence which was imitated by his successors, and in my opinion, by Herod as well. Herod’s large diadem/table coin, minted in 30 BCE (or soon thereafter) may have been a congiarium celebrating Octavian’s reconfirmation of Herod’s rule at Rhodes in the spring of that year, as well as a commemorative coin, celebrating his decennalia. Herod’s year-three coins may also have been minted for a congiarium. If they dated, as is generally accepted, to around 37 BCE, they celebrated Herod’s conquest of Jerusalem. However, some of the iconography on Herod’s year-three coins suggests Augustan connections, raising some doubt regarding the 37 BCE date for these coins. One hypothetical solution to this conundrum is considered. Calculated by a possible, otherwise undocumented, era fixed by Octavian’s 30 BCE reconfirmation of Herod’s rule, the Samaria-minted year-three coins may have been struck in order to celebrate Samaria’s refoundation as Sebaste, in spring/summer of 27 BCE.

In spite of Josephus’ detailed coverage of Herod’s reign, historical assessments of Herod vary in their judgments, suggesting that Herod was a complex figure, arousing opprobrium, respect and even sympathy. Herod’s coins are a valuable way to check one’s historical interpretation of his reign, and even to place that reign in the framework of the great developments occurring at the same time in the Roman sphere. In contrast to the larger-than-life person that Herod was, his coinage is quite unimpressive, continuing the earlier Hasmonean tradition of refraining from the otherwise common use of human depictions. The legends are monotonic, with only Herod’s name and title (ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΗΡΩ∆ΟΥ) appearing. Herod’s lacunose coins also uniquely counterbalance the impressive architectural remains from that time, and could

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restore a sense of rationality to a historical analysis of the period, and contribute to a retreat from the notion of the special and unique quality of the small region called Judaea. The basic division within Herod’s bronze coins is between the dated and undated coins. The dated coins—issued in four denominations—were all minted in the same year: year-three (Meshorer 2001, 61–65). Although this year three is generally placed in 38/37 BCE, there is still a lack of consensus on this date. The intense interest in the dated group has brought in its wake many suggestions to locate its mint in places other than Herod’s capital. Today, besides Jerusalem, Samaria is considered the only other serious candidate for the mint place for these coins. As noted, the dated group was struck in four denominations. The depictions on either side of these well-made coins include a tripod and helmet (Meshorer 2001, 221, No. 44; see Fig. 1), another type of helmet and a shield (Meshorer 2001, 221, No. 45; see Fig. 2), winged caduceus and poppy pod or pomegranate (Meshorer 2001, 221, No. 46; see Fig. 3), and aphlaston and palm branch (Meshorer 2001, 221, No. 47; see Fig. 4). Their possible association with a Samaria mint derives primarily from their disproportionate appearance at excavations there (Meshorer 2001, 62–63), and because the abovementioned types have often been associated with pagan symbolism ( Jacobson 1986; Kokkinos 1998, 122; Meshorer 2001, 63–65). The location of the mint of the undated group of bronze coins is universally ascribed to Jerusalem. Many of the coins are crudely designed and executed. The largest coin depicts a diadem with cross and three-legged table (Meshorer 2001, 221–222, Nos. 48–51; see Fig. 5). This type was apparently later copied in a number of smaller, degenerative variations: a type with the cross outside of the diadem (Meshorer 2001, 222, No. 52), with the cross missing (Meshorer 2001, 222, Nos. 53a–54), and with the diadem missing and letters scattered (Meshorer 2001, 222, No. 54b). Other rare small types replace the tripod with two crossed palmbranches, one palm-branch (Meshorer 2001, 222, No. 56) or what may be a vine branch (Meshorer 2001, 222, Nos. 55–58). Other types depict an anchor. The more common one bears the inscription on the obverse (Meshorer 2001, 223, Nos. 60–64), and a rarer one depicts a galley instead (Meshorer 2001, 223, No. 65). But by far the most common type of Herod coin depicts anchor and two cornucopias (Meshorer

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2001, 222–223, No. 59). In between the cornucopias is a caduceus. A final coin type of Herod depicts an eagle on the obverse and one cornucopia on the reverse (Meshorer 2001, 224, No. 66). In this paper my focus is on what intersections one may find between Herod’s coins and events relating to Augustus, or Augustan policy and iconography. Before presenting those intersections I believe to have validity, it is important to remember that earlier associations between Herod’s coins and Augustus have proven to be illusory. In part because of the close relationship between Herod and Rome, and presumably also Augustus, a few numismatic fantasies have developed over the years. The first was in 1923, when Harold Mattingly guessed that a certain rare imperial coin type with ‘candelabrum’ type (Mattingly 1923, 110–111, Nos. 683–685 = Sutherland 1984, 85, Nos. 539–540), struck in gold and silver, might have been minted in 20 BCE in Syria or Judaea. The coins, he explained, “had never been satisfactorily dated, attributed, or explained” (Mattingly 1923, cxxvi). While the suggestion was made with appropriate caution, no findspots were known from the East (Mattingly 1923, cxxvi–cxxvii) and no connection was implied between this onebranched ‘candelabrum’ and the seven-branched menorah, Mattingly found “something suggestive of Eastern workmanship”, and ascribed it to an uncertain mint in the East. Later, Sutherland rejected Mattingly’s suggestion, viewing the western find-spots as paramount in the coins’ ultimate mint attribution (Sutherland 1984, 38). A second fantasy was Meshorer’s proposal that after Augustus had penalised Tyre for civil disturbances in 20 BCE (Cassius Dio, 54.7.6), the emperor sanctioned the removal of the important Tyrian mint to Jerusalem, allowing Herod to mint his own silver coins imitating the autonomous series known as Tyrian sheqels (Meshorer 1984). While this proposal has since been rejected (Levy 1993; 1995), it haunts modern scholarship. Herod was a Roman client king, and minting gold and silver was certainly not part of his mandate. Today Herod is only credited with the minting of bronze coins. A third fantasy is Jodi Magness’s recent dating of the year-three coins to 20 BCE, based upon a reading of the tau-rho mintmark on these Greek-inscribed coins as the Latin letters T and P, which she claimed stood for the tribuncia potestas of Augustus in 23 BCE, or less likely, that of Marcus Agrippa in 18 BCE (Magness 2001, 168–169). In spite of the abovementioned numismatic fantasies, I am proposing here suggestions for two further intersections. The first may be found

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with one undated coin, the large diadem/table type (Fig. 5; Meshorer 2001, 221–222, Nos. 48–49), and the second with the year-three coins (Fig. 1–4; Meshorer 2001, 221–222, Nos. 44–47). The Large Diadem/Table Coin Type and Augustus I believe a historical intersection between Herod’s coins and Augustus does exist in one of the undated coins, the large diadem/table type (Meshorer 2001, 221–222, Nos. 48–51). One of the main goals of my earlier research into Herod’s coins has been to establish the undated coins’ internal chronology, “one of the most intractable subjects of Jewish numismatics” (Avi-Yonah 1968, 10). This chronology was needed not only as a tool for analysing Herod’s coins as archaeological finds, but also for a satisfactory interpretation of the coin types. I have developed a basic chronology for the undated coins (Ariel 2000–2002), but most aspects of the chronology less directly relate to Augustus. The large diadem/table type is, in our opinion, the earliest of the undated coins. Because of Herod’s meeting with Augustus in Rhodes in the spring of 30 BCE, and Herod’s improved status after that event, I believe that coin was minted upon Herod’s return from that meeting. This would date the beginning of the minting of Herod’s undated coins to ten years after his coronation. This is possible if we recall some of the operating principles relating to the coinage in the first century BCE. 1. Sporadic minting: In Herod’s day most mints operated on a sporadic (or occasional) basis. This is even true of the great mint of Rome, where there were frequent intervals of quite considerable length, in which no official bronze coinage seems to have been struck at all (Sutherland 1951, 189; Duncan-Jones 1994, 141; Wolters 2000–2001, 583–584). 2. The fallacy of concern for the prevention of coin scarcities: A corollary of the above is the fact that there is no firm evidence that contemporary rulers were disturbed by periodic shortages of small change for transactions in the local markets (Reece 1978, 645; Butcher 2004, 141). No coins were minted in Jerusalem for decades, and nevertheless one need not expect that as a consequence Herod would mint coins soon after gaining power. 3. The economic component to the minting of bronze coinage: In the first century BCE, as at many other times, having enough bronze coins on hand saved an administration from overpaying in its purchases. If Herod could produce his own fiduciary bronze coins he would be able to have as much fractional currency on hand as he needed (Harl 1997, 224).

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Two of the reasons why Herod would have minted coins were: having fractional currency available for Herod’s army, and for the labourers employed in his extensive building activities. A third function for Herod’s minting of bronze coinage would have been in the context of the Roman institutions of congiaria and donativa. Augustus set the pattern in the Roman Empire for open-handedness and munificence (liberalitas Augusti). Herod’s overall magnanimity may have been an imitation of Augustus’ own policy of open-handedness. The difference in scale is not merely in the quantity of the coins minted but, significantly, in the metal minted. According to this idea, Herod did not distribute gold or silver coins—the metal of the imperial congiaria—but rather imitated his Roman mentors with bronze coin handouts of significantly less value, on special occasions. There is evidence that donativa—in-service troop bonuses (Harl 1996, 220; Wolters 2000–2001, 580)—were given on the same occasions as the congiaria (Duncan-Jones 1994, 84) Herod once participated in one of Augustus’ handouts, perhaps even in person. In Rome in 12 BCE, after Herod’s reconciliation with his sons through the agency of Augustus, Herod and Augustus exchanged gifts. Herod gave 300 talents of silver to Augustus who, in Josephus’ words, “was providing spectacles and doles for the people of Rome . . .” ( Jos., Ant. 16.128). This was the congiarium which took place after the death of Augustus’ would-be successor (and Herod’s good friend) Marcus Agrippa (van Berchem 1939, 144). A variant reading of the verb used ( poioumenon) would have Herod himself participating in the distribution of the money and poor relief at the spectacles. At the least, Herod’s money helped finance the handout. One need not look further for a connection between Herod and the institution of congiaria. Because of the relatively large modules of the two groups of coins I am focusing on in this paper, I believe their rationale was this third function for Herod’s minting, for distribution as congiaria and donativa. I propose one of these congiaria/donativa dated to just after Herod’s realignment with Octavian, and associate with it Herod’s large diadem/ table coin. The diadem (or crown) was a symbol of kingship and in an associative way symbolic of Herod’s claim to legitimacy (Meshorer 2001, 65–66). During Herod’s all-important visit to Octavian on the island of Rhodes in the spring of 30 BCE (after the latter’s victory in the Battle of Actium), Herod boldly removed his own diadem out of deference to the conqueror with whom he now wished to align himself ( Jos., BJ 1.387; Jos., Ant. 15.187). Octavian returned the diadem to Herod’s head ( Jos., BJ 1.393) and reconfirmed Herod’s rule. That anecdote and the

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appearance of the diadem on an early type of Herod’s coins, suggests 30 BCE (or soon thereafter) as the beginning of the minting of the table/diadem type, the first of Herod’s undated coins. However, a note of caution must be sounded with regard to this suggestion. The value of this modest bronze piece was far inferior to that of the aurei and denarii handed out by Augustus on the occasions of his congiaria and donativa. Such parsimony by Herod would seem to be at variance with his reputation for generosity, including his contribution of 300 talents to Augustus’ congiarium in 12 BCE, mentioned above. It may also be that this diadem type was minted as a commemorative coin, celebrating the tenth anniversary of Herod’s accession (his decennalia), which also fell in 30 BCE, or even to mark Octavian’s passing by Herod’s kingdom in that same year ( Jos., BJ 1.396–397; Jos., Ant. 15.216–217). A possible, if far-fetched, indication that the diadem series was minted to commemorate Herod’s decennalia is the symbol × on that coin, which may (only possibly) be an esoteric reference to the Roman numeral for ten. I believe these coins were minted for a short time, and that the striking was discontinued by the time Herod suffered his nervous breakdown after Mariamme’s execution in late 30 or 29 BCE (Richardson 1996, 216–220). The famine and plague in Judea in 28 BCE, followed by the poor crop yield in 27/26 BCE ( Jos., Ant. 15.300), reduce further the likelihood that the minting of these coins was resumed. The Year-Three Coins and Augustus When and where did Herod mint the year-three coins? As noted, no consensus on these questions exists. Regarding the mint location, Meshorer’s view that the coins were minted in Samaria has often been accepted (Hoover 1995), or at least considered the most likely (KushnirStein 2007, 55). Regarding the date, Meshorer’s view that year three should be reckoned by Herod’s tetrarchy, yielding a date for the coin of 40 BCE (Meshorer 2001, 62), or, as a type immobilisé, from 40/39 BCE until the summer of 37 BCE (Meshorer 1982, 12), cannot be accepted (Richardson 1996, 212). The 40 BCE regnal era, or 38/37 BCE for year three, is the most commonly accepted alternative today. I will begin my consideration of these issues with a look at the iconography of these coins. This, too, is a subject that has been often discussed. Jacobson (1986) and Kokkinos (1998, 122) both considered the coins’ symbolism predominantly pagan in character. Meshorer

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went further, and maintained they imitated Roman coin prototypes. “By copying symbols appearing on Roman coins, [Herod] was able to express his gratitude to his Roman masters and perhaps even to flatter them for granting him his title and dominion” (Meshorer 2001, 63). Meshorer, however, sought to identify only Roman republican coin prototypes, in an effort to buttress his date for the dated coins between 40 and 37 BCE (Meshorer 2001, 63–65). A strong argument can be made for the identification of Roman symbols on Herod’s dated coins. Some of the symbols, however, are more closely aligned to Augustan imagery than Roman republican iconography. I will focus on the star upon the helmet of the largest dated coin, the tripod, shield, caduceus, and aphlaston. Stars appear often in Augustan iconography. Augustus legitimised his position, in the beginning vis-à-vis Antony, by stressing his relationship with Julius Caesar (as adopted son). In July 44, soon after Caesar’s assassination, Octavian staged the Ludi Victoriae Caesaris. A comet appeared just then, and was visible throughout Italy. This was viewed as a sign of Caesar’s apotheosis, and is called the sidus Iulium. On his coins Augustus depicts himself putting the sidus Iulium on Caesar’s head (Sutherland 1984, 74, No. 415). There may be a connection here to the star on Herod’s large helmet coin type. The tripod on Herod’s largest coin may also have an Augustan connection, as Augustus embraced Apollan cultic symbolism. As Zanker wrote, while Antony likened himself to Dionysus, Octavian “put all his faith in Apollo” (Zanker 1988, 49). In the Settlement of 27 BCE the Senate presented Augustus with an honorific golden shield, the clipeus virtutis, which was set up in the Curia Julia and which commemorated his “virtue, clemency, justice and piety.” While, in general, military symbolism was not stressed on Roman coinage during Augustus’ reign, it is even rarer on late republican coins (Evans 1992, 34, Table 1). The clipeus virtutis does not look similar to the Macedonian shield on one of Herod’s dated coin types. Nevertheless, there may be a conceptual connection between the two shields, as if Herod were saying, “your shield comes from the Senate; my shield derives from Alexander the Great”.1 1 A prototype was noted by Jacobson (1986, 160 note 56) for the helmet/shield coin (Meshorer 2001, 221, No. 45)—a Macedonian coin-type minted no less than one hundred and forty years earlier. Jacobson has explained to me that even though the prototype was no longer in circulation, it quite possibly was known to Herod ( Jacobson, pers. comm.). Macedonian bronzes had an extremely wide circulation and

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The caduceus, too, may have an Augustan connection. Jacobson has suggested the use of the caduceus symbol by Herod “may possibly be linked to the promotion of the cult of Mercury at Rome and the campaign to project the emperor Augustus as the living embodiment of the messenger god” ( Jacobson 1986, 161). Finally, the aphlaston. The aphlaston which appears on one of the year-three coins was known in the contemporaneous coins in the Levant (e.g., Burnett, Amandry and Ripollès 1992, 67, No. 4877). It, too, may also actually have had a Roman connection. Meshorer’s prototype for the aphlaston was an aureus struck in 43–42 in a travelling mint moving with Cassius and Brutus (Crawford 1974, 516, No. 505/1; Meshorer 1982, 20). But, according to Paul Zanker, after 31 BCE the aphlaston, which had already been a general emblem of naval victory, became a common symbol for Octavian’s naval victory at Actium over Antony and Cleopatra (Zanker 1988, 39). A similar argument—that otherwise unidentified client kings employed “clear, unambiguous classical imagery” on their coins, directly influenced by their contact with Augustus—was recently proposed by Creighton for the westernmost fringe of the empire, Britain (2000, 80). According to Creighton, not all Roman coin types (or iconography found elsewhere) were utilised, but rather specific images relating to Rome, and symbolism reflecting Augustus’ ascension and power (Creighton 2000, 87), were selected. While Augustan imagery may not easily be identified on all of Herod’s dated coin types, there are many points of contact. This is even clearer when we recognise that Herod was further restricted by a desire to avoid offending Jewish sensitivities, and thus depicted no human or mythological images. Being so restricted it could be argued that most of those Augustan images which Herod could adopt, he did adopt.

may even have continued to enjoy value as currency (Price 1991, I, 66). Moreover, from coin hoards Jacobson noted that pieces struck by Alexander were still in use two centuries later (Thompson, Mørkholm and Kraay 1973, passim). We accept that the shield on Herod’s coin would likely have retained its connection to the Macedonian military legacy. Herod may in fact have felt some affinity with Alexander the Great. He named his eldest son by his beloved Mariamme I, Alexander, and another he named Philip. In the light of the possibility that Herod’s dated coins bear Augustan symbols, one may also remark that Cicero compared Octavian to Alexander the Great (Philippics 5.xvii.48).

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For Britain, Creighton asked who would have understood this imagery. His answer was: “probably very few people” (Creighton 2000, 124). Creighton was not perturbed by this, relying instead on Zanker’s opinion (1988, 11) that at that time coin imagery was often ambiguous and obscure, and the common man need not have comprehended it on the same level as the elite. All of the abovementioned Augustan iconographic connections create a conundrum: why was Herod minting coins around 37 BCE which appear to have Augustan symbolism, when at that time he was uniquely aligned with Mark Antony, Octavian’s rival for most of the period? For example, it is difficult to imagine that in 37 BCE the depiction of a tripod on Herod’s coin would not have been—for Antony—symbolic of his antagonist Octavian, who in that same year placed a tripod on his Roman coins for the first time (Crawford 1974, 744). In 1989 Gary Gilbert claimed that as early as 37 BCE—through his coins—Herod was signalling some recognition of Octavian, even though his patron at the time was Antony (lecture to the Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting, 1989). Gilbert’s innovative but unlikely solution is exemplary of the fact that there is a problem in explaining the apparent existence of Octavianic iconography on Herod’s coins, if they are of such an early date. I do not have a definitive solution to this enigma, but I would like to share one intriguing idea that could point to such a solution. As noted, a Samaria mint location has been proffered for the year-three coin series. It may be that the new mint location for the coins is not the problem but the 38/37 BCE date is. Consequently my intriguing idea still locates the mint of the dated coins in Samaria, but reckons their date according to an era established by the reconfirmation of Herod’s reign by Octavian in 30. Methodologically, to make such a claim, one would require compelling evidence that the year-three coins could not have been minted according to Herod’s 40 BCE regnal era. That is not the case: a date for the year-three coins in 37 is plausible. However, sometimes the historical truth does not follow good methodology. Consequently, the idea of the 30 BCE era for the year-three coins minted in Samaria is raised here. Calculated by an Octavianic era of 30 BCE year-three would correspond to 28/27 BCE, the year of the refoundation of Samaria as Sebaste. The Acts of Settlement were passed by the Senate in January 27, proclaiming Octavian imperator caesar augustus. Soon thereafter, apparently in the spring/summer of that year (Stein 1990, 127), Herod

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founded Sebaste, the first city named in honour of Octavian, using the Greek word for his new status as Augustus. It may also be remembered that in January 27, Syria, the province adjoining Herod’s kingdom, became a “province of Caesar” under (somewhat) more direct control of the Princeps (Millar 1993, 31). This would have been another reason for Herod to stress his 30 BCE reconfirmation. It could even be argued that Herod chose to refer to the 30 BCE date as the era on these coins because the city in which the coins were minted was named after Augustus. Octavian took pains to have Herod’s reconfirmation approved by the Roman Senate ( Jos., Ant. 15.196). So, from Octavian’s perspective as well, it would appear that the reconfirmation of Herod’s royal status on the island of Rhodes was viewed to be as important as Herod’s original coronation in 40 BCE in Rome. Josephus was aware of two systems for reckoning Herod’s reign: the obvious 40 BCE coronation, and also a dating system which began with Herod’s conquest of Jerusalem ( Jos., BJ 1.665; Jos., Ant. 17.191). But Josephus gave no hint of a 30 BCE era. It may be noted in this context that for Herod’s rival, Cleopatra, two dating systems are also known, one for her reign in Egypt, and a second for her ‘Syrian era’ (Schürer 1973, 288, n. 5; Burnett, Amandry and Ripollès 1992, 583, 648), and that the second of these systems also appears on her coins. Therefore, there may even be some historical cogency to the idea that Herod employed an Octavianic era on some of his coins, especially if one accepts that they were minted in Sebaste. No doubt there should be a special reason for a ruler to institute a new era. For Cleopatra it was the acquisition of the Syrian territory. In Herod’s case, while it is not clear when the Samaritis region formally became his, no doubt a great deal of new territory came under his control in 30 BCE. Dan Barag has described Herod’s intensive reconstruction in Sebaste, and has dated the beginning of the construction work to soon after the 27 BCE founding (Barag 1993:16, n. 7). These year-three coins could have been a congiaria (and/or donativa) related to the refounding of the city. The large modules of the coins would support this alternative, over another possibility which would relate the issues to the small change needed for the efficient payment of the labourers employed in the reconstruction work. It may be that, in spite of the modern methodological problem, the philo-Roman Herod viewed his realignment with Octavian in 30 BCE as an important enough date to place it on his coins. From the

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historical data, there seems little doubt that the two periods of Herod’s reign—before 30, under Antony, and after 30, under Octavian—were as different in character as the two triumvirs themselves. The idea to locate the mint of the dated coins in Samaria, and date them according to an ‘Actian’ era was arrived at independently by Adam K. Marshak (2006). While each component was proposed separately, this combined idea has not been previously proposed in publication. Meshorer suggested identifying the mint in Samaria, and Reifenberg and Narkiss earlier proposed to date the year-three coins according to an era beginning in 30 BCE (Narkiss 1934, 10 and Reifenberg 1947, 18). It must be admitted that there is no other evidence of such an era, neither in literary, inscriptional or later numismatic evidence. The year-three coins of Herod would be the only evidence for this era. A significant issue militating against an ‘Actian’ era for the year-three coins is the exact calculation of the era itself. Were this intriguing idea for the coins’ date to be accepted, it would be necessary to determine whether the era was fixed by the battle of Actium (September 2, 31 BCE), by Octavian’s subjugation of Antony later in the autumn of 31 BCE, or by Herod’s realignment with Octavian, in the spring of 30 BCE. Considering the idea that the minting corresponded with the founding of Sebaste in the spring/summer of 27 BCE, an era of spring 30 BCE—with year four beginning in spring 27 BCE—is certainly to be preferred. This assumes a spring beginning for the calendar. An autumn calendar would place the spring/summer of 27 BCE well into year four. When Kushnir-Stein presented the case for Herod’s death in the winter of 4/3 BCE (Kushnir-Stein 1995:83–86), the matter of which calendar was used was opened. Both spring and autumn calendars are now considered as possible for Herodian chronology. The era of spring 30 BCE, therefore, while possible, is quite tight. Although the minting of a coin bearing a date could have extended beyond the year in question (Sutherland 1951, 182), it would be best if a new theory for the dating of Herod’s year-three coin series would not be hampered by such a complication. One is hard-pressed to explain why year three, and not year four, is found on such coins. Consequently, it must be recognised that the entire issue still awaits a more persuasive resolution. The two groups of coins discussed here do not exhibit continuity with Hasmonean coin iconography. Later, after the death of Mariamme I, Herod redoubled his efforts to legitimise his reign as the continuation

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of the Hasmonean dynasty. Just as Augustus who after Actium downplayed the fact that his rule was born of civil war, and strove to present his regime as a continuation of the Roman republic, Herod later returned—for the most part—to more conventional Hasmonean symbolism on his coins. From the long-term Roman perspective, Herod’s reign after Actium was an interlude. The ultimate goal was to incorporate Judea directly into the Roman world, closing the gap in the circuit of provinces along the southern and eastern shores of the Mediterranean, and this was achieved when Augustus disallowed Herod’s descendents to succeed him as king. Upon Herod’s death, the historical as well as numismatic evidence reflects the beginning of the completion of Judean amalgamation with Rome. Bibliography Ariel, D. T., 2000–2002. “The Jerusalem Mint of Herod the Great: A Relative Chronology”, Israel Numismatic Journal 14, 99–124. Avi-Yonah, M., 1968. “Foreward”, in J. Meyshan: Essays in Jewish Numismatics, (Numismatic Studies and Researches 6) (Tel Aviv: Israel Numismatic Society), 9–10. Barag, D., 1993. “King Herod’s Royal Castle at Samaria-Sebaste”, PEQ 125, 3–18. Burnett, A., Amandry, M. & Ripollès, P., 1992. Roman Provincial Coinage. Volume I. From the Death of Caesar to the Death of Vitellius (44 BC–AD 69) (London-Paris: The British Museum Press). Butcher, K., 2004. Coinage in Roman Syria. Northern Syria, 64 BC–AD 253 (Royal Numismatic Society Special Publications 34) (London: Royal Numismatic Society). Creighton, J., 2000. Coins and Power in Late Iron Age Britain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Crawford, M. H., 1974. Roman Republican Coinage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Dio’s Roman History, VI (Loeb Classical Library). Transl. E. Cary. (London-New York: Harvard University Press). Duncan-Jones, R., 1994. Money and Government in the Roman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Evans, J. D., 1992. The Art of Persuasion. Political Propaganda from Aeneas to Brutus (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press). Harl, K. W., 1996. Coinage in the Roman Economy, 300 BC to AD 700 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University). ——, 1997. “Greek Imperial Coins in the Economic Life of the Roman East”, in J. Nollé, B. Overbeck & P. Weiss (eds) Internationales Kolloquium zur kaiserzeitlichen Muenzpraegung Kleinasiens (1994: Munich, Germany). Internationales Kolloquium (Milan: Edizioni ennerre), 223–229. Hoover, O. D., 1995. “Preemptive Strike: The Image of Authority on the Dated Coins of Herod the Great”, The Picus 4, 8–29. Jacobson, D. M., 1986. “A New Interpretation of the Reverse of Herod’s Largest Coins”, American Numismatic Society Museum Notes 31, 145–165.

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Jos., Ant.: Josephus Jewish Antiquities (Loeb Classical Library 242, 326, 365, 410, 433, 489 and 490). Transl. H. St. J. Thackeray (Books I–III), H. St. J. Thackeray & R. Marcus (Books IV–VI), H. St. J. Thackeray & R. Marcus (Books V–VIII), R. Marcus (Books IX–XIII), R. Marcus & A. Wikgren (Books XIV–XVII) and L. H. Feldman (Books XVIII–XX) (London-New York: Harvard University Press) 1930–1965; B. Niese Flavii Josephi Opera. Antiquitatum Iudaicarum, vols. 1–4 (Berlin: Weidmann) 1887–1892. Jos., BJ: Josephus The Jewish War (Loeb Classical Library 203, 303 and 487). Transl. H. St. J. Thackeray. London-New York: Harvard University Press 1927–1928 (bound in three volumes in 1997); B. Niese Flavii Josephi Opera. Bellum Judaicum, vol. 6 (Berlin: Weidmann) 1894. Kokkinos, N., 1998. The Herodian Dynasty. Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse ( Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha, Supplement Series 30) (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press). (Kushnir-) Stein, A., 1990. Studies in Greek and Latin Inscriptions on the Palestinian Coinage under the Principate, unpublished doctoral thesis, Tel Aviv University. Kushnir-Stein, A., 1995. “Another Look at Josephus‚ Evidence for the Date of Herod’s Death”, Scripta Classica Israelica 14:73–86. ——, 2007. “Coins of the Herodian Dynasty: The State of Research”, in N. Kokkinos (ed), The World of the Herods I. International Conference. The World of the Herods and Nabataeans Held at the British Museum, 17–19 April 2001 (Oriens et Occidens 14). (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner), 55–60. Levy, B., 1993. “Tyrian Shekels and the First Jewish War”, in T. Hackens & G. Moucharte (eds), Proceedings of the XIth International Numismatic Congress: organized for the 150th anniversary of the Société royale de numismatique de Belgique: Brussels, September 8th–13th (1991) (Louvain-la-Neuve: Association Professeur Marcel Hoc), 267–274. ——, 1995. “Tyrian Shekels: The Myth of the Jerusalem Mint”, SAN. Journal of the Society for Ancient Numismatics 19/2, 33–35. Magness, J., 2001. “The Cults of Isis and Kore at Samaria-Sebaste in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods”, HThR 94, 159–175. Marshak, A. K., 2006. “The Dated Coins of Herod the Great: Towards a New Chronology”, Journal for the Study of Judaism 37, 212–240. Mattingly, H., 1923. The Coins of the Roman Empire in the British Museum I: Augustus to Vitellius (London: British Museum). Meshorer, Y., 1982. Ancient Jewish Coinage, 2. Herod the Great through Bar Cochba (Dix Hills, N.Y.: Amphora). ——, 1984. “One Hundred Ninety Years of Tyrian Shekels”, in A. Houghton, S. Hurter, P. E. Mottahedeh & H. A. Scott (eds), Studies in Honor of Leo Mildenberg: Numismatics, Art History and Archaeology (Wetteren: Cultura Press), 171–179. ——, 2001. A Treasury of Jewish Coins from the Persian Period to Bar Kokhba ( JerusalemNyack: Yad Ben-Zvi—Amphora). Millar, F. G. B., 1993. The Roman Near East. 31 BC–AD 337 (London-Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press). Narkiss, M., 1934. “Notes on the Coins of the Herodian Dynasty”, Bulletin of the Jewish Palestine Exploration Society 1/4, 8–14 (Hebrew). Price, M. J., 1991. The Coinage in the Name of Alexander the Great and Philip Arrhidaeus, 2 vols. (Zurich: Swiss Numismatic Society/London: British Museum). Reece, R., 1978. “Coins and Frontiers—Or Supply and Demand”, in J. Fitz (ed) International Congress of Roman Frontier Studies (11th: 1976: Székesfehérvár, Hungary). Limes: Akten des XI. Internationalen Limeskongresses (Székesfehérvár, 30/8–6/9/1976) (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó), 643–646. Reifenberg, A., 1947. Ancient Jewish Coins ( Jerusalem: Rubin Mass). Richardson, P., 1996. Herod: King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press).

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Schürer, E., 1973. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–135 A.D.), I, revised and edited by G. Vermes & F. Millar (Edinburgh: Clark). Sutherland, C. H. V., 1984. The Roman Imperial Coinage I. From 31 BC to AD 69 (London: British Museum). ——, 1951. Coinage in Roman Imperial Policy 31 BC–AD 68 (London: Methuen) Thompson, M., Mørkholm, O., and Kraay, C. M., (eds) 1973. An Inventory of Greek Coin Hoards (New York: ANS). van Berchem, D., 1939. Les distributions de blé et d’argent à la plèbe romaine sous l’Empire (Geneva: Georg Editeur). Wolters, R., 2000–2001. “Bronze, Silver or Gold? Coin Finds and the Stipendium of the Roman Army”, Zephyrus. Revista des Prehistorica y Arquelogía 53/54, 579–588. Zanker, P., 1988. The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus ( Jerome Lectures, sixteenth series), trans. A. Shapiro (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press).

DATING DOCUMENTS IN HERODIAN JUDAEA David Goodblatt Abstract The study of date formulas on ancient documents may yield results that go beyond diplomatics. The terminology used may shed light on governmental organization, political ideologies and group identities. With these possibilities in mind, we search for date formulas from Judaea during the reign of Herod “the Great”. Such a search is particularly timely after the nearly complete publication of the manuscripts from sites in the Judaean desert, especially Qumran and Nahal Hever. Texts on skin and papyrus as well as epigraphic remains attributable to the time of Herod are catalogued and surveyed. The results of these efforts are, surprisingly, quite limited. Herod reigned for over three decades over relatively extensive territories, and both archaeological remains and written material from his kingdom are abundant. Yet only three date formulas survive. They all display a regnal dating. In an attempt to make up for the dearth of explicit datings, additional material is adduced. Other inscriptions and literary data mentioning Herod are examined. So too are Judaean date formulas from other periods as well as some from contiguous territories. This material allows some speculation about what Herodian date formulas might have looked like, beyond the bare fact of using a regnal era. In particular, we ask whether the formula would have been likely to specify the territorial or ethnic/national entity over which Herod ruled. Such specification is attested in some date formulas of the Hasmonaeans, as well as those of the Judaean rebels of 66 and 132 and those of Herod’s neighbours and contemporaries the Nabataean kings. The extant Herodian materials suggest that Herod would not have followed suit. The reasons for an avoidance of such specification may have to do with Herod’s ambitions, rather than any Roman restrictions on ‘client kings’.

The title of this talk echoes that of a paper published several years ago on the topic “Dating Documents in provincia Iudaea.”1 I am grateful to the organisers of the conference for inviting me to participate and thereby encouraging me to examine date formulas from an earlier period. My interest in this topic goes beyond diplomatics. Such formulas and related material have the potential to shed light on political arrangements and collective identities as perceived both by official circles and by individuals. Thus for the author of I Maccabees 13:41–2, a sign that “the yoke of the Gentiles had been removed from Israel” was the fact that people began to date their documents with the formula “In

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the first year under [or of ] Simon high priest, commander and leader of the Judaeans.” On the other hand, that a date formula on a weight identifies Herod the Great as “King . . . Pious and Friend of Caesar” (AE 1972, 672) without mentioning Judaea or the Judaeans tells quite a different story. Certainly that story is less ethnocentric or particularistic than the one told by the dating on late first century Nabataean documents which use an era of “Rab’el the king, king of [the] NBTW who revived and saved his people.”2 Moving back into the Herodian era, however, entails a major problem. For the study of date formulas in the Roman province of Iudaea we can look at a corpus, a very small one to be sure, of formulas that survive from the time and place under consideration. When focusing on the Herodian era, by contrast, we have almost no data. The paucity of evidence made it tempting to look at the Herodian era in the broadest possible way. We could follow the palaeographers who speak of “Herodian scripts” in documents they date to the “Herodian period”. By this terminology they refer to an entire century from 30 BCE to 70 CE.3 This would allow us to include all the scions of the Herodian dynasty down to Agrippa II. However this conference focuses on Augustus and Herod. Consequently I decided not to use the broader chronology. By “Herodian” I shall refer only to the period when Herod the Great ruled the kingdom of Judaea. (Had it not been conventional, I would have preferred the name of “Judah” rather than the Hellenised/Latinised “Judaea” in order to emphasise the distinction between the subsequent Roman province and the earlier, nominally independent kingdom.) The reign of Herod extended from 40/37 to 4 BCE by the standard dating. Since Herod first appears on the scene as governor of Galilee a little after 50 BCE and since his death might be pushed a year later, I think we can broaden our frame a little to include the entire second half of

2 Compare the discussion in Goodblatt 1998. The passage from 1 Macc, the Herodian weight inscription and the Nabataean document will all be discussed below. 3 Cross 1961, 133–6. Cross discerns three main stages in the development of the Jewish scripts in Second Temple times: Archaic, Hasmonaean, and Herodian, with the last named spanning the period 30 BCE to 70 CE. This division was accepted by Avigad (1965, 59, 72), Yardeni (1991, 56 Hebrew; 1997a, 51 English), and Naveh (1992, 35 Hebrew). Yardeni (2000d, A,153) begins the period of the Herodian script in 37 rather than 30. On Avigad’s modification see next note. For a summary discussion of the variations in the names of the palaeographic eras, see Webster 2002, 356–360; and see also the list of texts dated by Carbon-14 to the time of Herod on 366 there.

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the last century BCE.4 And certainly when speaking of this period we can include all of “Greater Judaea”, i.e. the territories assembled by the Hasmonaean rulers through Alexander Jonathan and subsequently re-united under Herod. This is the Ioudaia described by Strabo, Geog. 16.2.21 as comprising “the interior above Phoenicia, as far as the Arabians, between Gaza and the Anti-Lebanon”.5 In sum, my survey will look at the evidence from all of Judaea during the second half of the last century BCE. The goal is to catalogue the data available and to see what conclusions, if any, might be drawn. Even without extending the chronological framework, we have in Herod a monarch who ruled for over three decades. And the territories under his control were extensive by local standards. So it is reasonable to assume that we should find a significant amount of written material dating to his reign. Reinforcing our expectations with regard to epigraphy is the fact that Herod engaged in a large number of building projects.6 We can expect some monumental inscriptions to survive from these constructions. I shall consider the inscriptions below. However, I shall begin with a search for written materials other than inscriptions. Here too the expectation is reasonable that some writing on more perishable materials survives from the domains of Herod. And in fact we have a considerable body of written material that is datable to the time of Herod. Unfortunately for our quest, this corpus is almost purely literary and does not contain any dating formulas. The largest part by far of the corpus consists of the manuscripts found at Qumran. Let us examine the evidence. With only about 25 exceptions, the 900 or so manuscripts from Qumran are literary in nature.7 Since the literary texts lack explicit 4 Note how Avigad (1965, 77) suggests we begin the Herodian phase around 50 BCE. On Herod’s appointment as governor of Galilee around 47 BCE see the summary in Schürer 1973, 275–6. For the view that Herod may have died as late as the winter of 4–3 BCE, see Kushnir-Stein 1995b, 73–86. For a discussion of the problem of dating Herod’s death, see Kokkinos 1998, 372–3. Kokkinos himself prefers an earlier date in 5. 5 Conveniently found in Stern 1974–84, I, 289–90. 6 See the “Catalogue of Herod’s Building Program” in Roller 1998, 125–238 (Chap. 8). For a summary listing, see “Appendix A, List of Herod’s Buildings” in Richardson 1996, 197–202. 7 The non-literary texts are 4Q342–361 and 6Q26 and possibly 6Q27–29, a total of 24. Of these, 21 are probably documentary in nature. Tov (2002, 209) lists 19 documentary texts: 4Q344–348, 351–361, and 6Q26 and 29. Despite the appearance of this list as a subgroup within the category “Papyrus Texts,” it includes at least one item written on skin: 4Q355. Not included is 4Q350, considered to come from

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dates, scholars rely on palaeographic dating. Brian Webster lists 716 Qumran texts (including documentary ones) that have been dated by this method. A glance at the tables produced by Webster immediately shows that the greatest concentration of palaeographic dates is in the Herodian era. Let us exclude the manuscripts assigned dates definitely after the demise of Herod, such as the “Late Herodian” texts dated 30–70 CE, and include only the texts whose palaeography allows a dating to the time of Herod the Great. We have the following:8 DATE 75–1 50–25 50–1 30 BCE–68 CE 30–1 30 BCE–30 CE TOTAL

NUMBER OF MANUSCRIPTS 5 68 37 66 101 22 300

Thus 300 of the 716 palaeographically dated manuscripts from Qumran, almost 42% of the total, could have been written during the reign of Herod. If we focus more narrowly on manuscripts dated to the second half of the last century BCE, we have the following. DATE (all BCE) 50–25 50–1 30–1 TOTAL

NUMBER 68 37 101 206

non-Jews by its editor; see Cotton 2000a, 294–5. To the 19 texts listed by Tov I would add 6Q27 and 28, each of which may contain numerical signs. In addition to these apparently documentary manuscripts we have the ostracon KhQ1. These will all be discussed below. 8 See Webster 2002, 370, Tab. 4b, for the total of 716; for the breakdown by dates, see 371–5, Tab. 5: “Chronological Synopsis of Qumran texts”.

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Thus almost 29% of dated Qumran manuscripts likely originate in the reign of Herod. If we add a third of the texts given the broad date of 30 BCE–68 CE, half of those dated 30 BCE–30 CE, and a few from the 75–1 group, those more narrowly datable to the second half the last century BCE can reach 33% (about 240) of all the palaeographically dated manuscripts from Qumran. The evidence from Masada is even more striking, although the sample is much smaller. A total of fifteen Hebrew manuscripts were discovered there, all of them literary texts. Paleographers dated the scripts of two of the manuscripts to the pre-Herodian period (Mas Unidentified Qumran-Type Fragment and Mas Ben Sira) and thirteen of them to the Herodian era in the broad sense. One of the 13 Herodian texts is late (MasShirShabb), and two could not be dated more precisely within this period (MasGen and Mas A Text of Samaritan Origin).9 Six of the texts are specifically assigned dates in the second half of the last century BCE. These are MasLeva, MasEzek, MasPsa, MasPsb, MasapocrGen, and Mas Unclassified (Aramaic?).10 Four more texts have scripts described as “Early Herodian” equating to “the end of the last century BCE or beginning of the first century CE.” These texts are MasLevb, MasDeut, MasapocrJosh, MasJub or MaspsJub.11 So between 6 and 12 of the fifteen texts could date to the time of Herod. Or let us try a more conservative approach. We ignore the two Herodian texts not dated more narrowly and assign only half of the “early Herodian” ones to the time of Herod. This still gives us 8 of 13 or 61% from the time of the king. In sum, anywhere from 40% to 80% of the Masada Hebrew manuscripts date from the time of Herod! The data summarised above can be explained by a variety of contingent factors, such as the periods of occupation of the Qumran site. But my point in adducing this evidence is to establish two conclusions. First, the time of Herod was one in which there was a considerable amount of scribal activity in Hebrew and Aramaic. The second point is that some texts written on perishable materials during the second half of the last century do survive into the present. In light of these 9 See Yadin 1999, 157 with n. 11 for the date of Mas Ben Sira. For the other 14 texts, see Talmon 1999. For the palaeographic dates in general see Talmon 1999, 20. For specifics on the palaeography of Mas Unidentified Qumran-Type Fragment, MasShirshabb, MasGen and Mas A Text of Samaritan Origin, see 134, 120, 32 and 20 respectively. Newsom (1998, 239) suggests a date around 50 CE for MasShirShabb. 10 See Talmon 1999, 37, 60, 79, 92, 101 and 136 respectively. 11 Talmon 1999, 40, 53, 106 and 117 respectively.

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conclusions, we could expect to find documents, the most promising source of date formulas, from the reign of Herod. Unfortunately these expectations are not fulfilled. I am not aware of any Judaean documents—from Qumran or elsewhere—that bear explicit dates to the time of Herod. Moreover, documentary (as opposed to literary) texts that could be assigned to Herodian Judaea on the basis of palaeography are fairly rare, and most of these are fragmentary without even partial date formulas preserved. Having disclosed the results in advance let me survey the disappointingly thin evidence that is available. The largest group of the non-literary manuscripts from Qumran comprises the 20 assigned sigla indicating that they come from Cave 4 (4Q342–349, 4Q351–361). Some of these texts clearly do not come from Qumran, but rather from Nahal Hever. How many of the documents with 4Q sigla actually originate elsewhere is debated.12 For our purposes here the find spots do not matter. Instead I am interested in the chronological provenance of the documents and whether any dating formulas are preserved. As already noted, none of these documents have complete dating formulas, nor do any mention Herod.13 Six of these twenty texts are assignable to the reign of Herod on the basis of palaeography. They are 4Q343, 345, 346, 346a, 351, and 360a. And of these six only one preserves anything at all from a dating formula. 4Q345 = 4Qdeed A ar or heb begins with a date, but only the name of the month (Elul) is preserved. The others are extremely fragmentary, two of them so much so that they are classified as “Unidentified.”14 12 See Yardeni 1997c, 283–284, and Cotton & Yardeni 1997, 322: Tab. III, “Documents Alleged to Be from Qumran Cave 4”. Compare the discussion with references in Lange & Mittmann-Richert 2002, 144. Lange and Mittmann-Richert assign fewer texts to a non-Qumran provenance. 4Q347 and 4Q359 almost certainly come from Nahal Hever. On the other hand, 4Q350 and 4Q355 are universally assigned to Qumran on the basis of texts written on the back of these documents; see Cotton 2000a, 294–295; and Yardeni 2000a, 296. Yardeni does not discuss the palaeography of this very fragmentary text, and so assigns it no date. 13 Earlier reports indicated that 4Q344 bears a “Herodian” date formula, Reed, Lundberg & Phelps 1994, 99. However, the document is now published and no such formula appears. Carbon-14 dating indicates a post-70 date, and the palaeography is compatible with such a date; see the comments of Yardeni in Cotton & Yardeni 1997, 289–91. Such a dating could allow attribution to the Herodian Agrippa II, but obviously not to Herod the Great. 14 For 4Q345, see Yardeni in Cotton & Yardeni 1997, 292–8. Note the discrepancy between the palaeographic date of the middle or late first century BCE for 4Q345 and the radiocarbon dating of 373–171 BCE! For the other five (4Q 343, 346, 346a, 351, and 360a, see Yardeni there, 286–8, 296–8, 299, 304 and 315–7. Yardeni, there, 305–13, does not list palaeographic dates for 4Q352–358. On 284 she states that most

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The poor state of preservation of these manuscripts typifies the situation of the other documentary texts from Qumran. The one probable instance of a documentary text from Cave 6 is 6Q26. The editors of the manuscript describe it as “Fragments de Compte ou de Contrat,” apparently because of the appearance of numerals in the text. Unfortunately so little remains that the editors declare, “L’écriture est difficile à dater.” Needless to say, nothing remains of a date formula. 6Q27–29 are even more fragmentary. Enough remains to say that these texts are written in a cursive script and either definitely (6Q29) or possibly (6Q27–28) contain numerical signs.15 Aside from the few fragments from Qumran just discussed, I am not aware of any other documentary texts assignable to the Judaea of Herod. Below I shall survey the Judaean manuscript evidence from other periods for purposes of comparison. At this point, though, let us look at the epigraphic data. As already noted, in view of Herod’s extensive building campaign, the survival of monumental inscriptions is likely. And some of those may include dating formulas. But here too we face disappointment. The surviving inscriptions mentioning Herod are fewer than one might expect, and many come from outside his own territories.16 More importantly, only a few give dating formulas. I begin with the non-monumental inscriptions, viz., those on coins. Most of Herod’s coins—98% according to Meshorer—do not bear dates, just the legend “of King Herod.” One group, however, does have in addition

of the documents in this section “belong to the Herodian period (late first century BCE to 70 CE).” So in theory some of these texts without a specific palaeographic dating could come from the time of Herod. But again, they are so fragmentary that they add nothing to our study of dating formulas. 15 For 6Q26–29, see Baillet, Milik, & de Vaux 1962, 138–40. The quotation about the difficulty of dating the script of 6Q26 is on 138. Cursive script in itself does not prove documentary content, as the apparently literary 6Q30 demonstrates (see 140). For the sake of completeness I mention the three papyri and four ostraca from Nahal Mishmar published in Bar-Adon 1980, 205–8. The texts preserve no dating formulas, are all extremely fragmentary, and none are given palaeographic dates by their editor. The single indication of date is the occurrence in Papyrus 3 of a patronymic identical to one that appears in P Yadin 7 = 5/6 Hev 7 from 120 CE. See also Sdeir 2, below n. 64. A few other documentary texts have not yet been published, such as those from Wadi Nar and Wadi Ghweir (see Tov 2002, 97). 16 For a collection of the inscriptions, see “Inscriptions and coins” in Richardson 1996, 203–15 (App. B); and add Jacobson 1993/4, 31–5. The inscriptions, in recent times, were first collected by J. Vardaman in his thesis (1974) and by N. Kokkinos in a monograph (1989), however both remain unpublished (see Kokkinos 1998, 137, n. 195, for a brief but more complete list). For criticism of Richardson’s attempt, see Kokkinos 2000b, 142.

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the date “Y[ear] 3” and a monogram “TR.” Both the era indicated and the meaning of the monogram are debated. What seems agreed is that the dated coins are from early in Herod’s reign and from a mint other than Jerusalem.17 For our purposes what matters is the evidence for use of a regnal era.18 Two Greek inscriptions found in Jerusalem also bear regnal date formulas. More precisely, one inscription definitely does, and another probably does. The definite case comes from late in Herod’s reign, forming a bracket with the dated coins from early in his reign. It is a stone weight bearing the inscription “Year 32 of King Herod Pious and Friend of Caesar/Inspector of markets/Three Minas”.19 KushnirStein suggests completing the first epithet as “Pious”, EU(SEBOUS) as opposed to EU(ERGETOU), on the basis of a lead weight from Ashdod. The inscription on the lead weight is read by her as “in the time of King Herod, Pious and Friend of Caesar”.20 Since the Ashdod weight lacks a regnal year, it is not a dating formula in the strictest sense. The other inscription from Jerusalem apparently has a year, but lacks explicit mention of the name “Herod”. It is a fragment of a monumental inscription commemorating the underwriting of a pavement, probably of some section within the Jerusalem temple complex. The preserved section reads:21

17 See a summary of the discussion in Richardson 1996, 211–5. See further the article of Donald Ariel elsewhere in this volume. For a more recent statement of Meshorer’s position, see Meshorer 2001, 61–5. He notes there, 62, that the only about 2% of the Herodian coins that survive are from the date bearing series. 18 Meshorer (2001, 62) suggests that the monogram “TR” stands for “Tetrarch [of Samaria]”, and that the year indicated is Herod’s third in this office to which Mark Antony had appointed him in 42 BCE. Why someone bearing the title of “king” would include a reference to a lesser title is not clear. (For other suggestions and criticism of Meshorer’s view, see Kokkinos 1998, 130–1.) But even if we accept Meshorer’s suggestion, we still have a dating system based on the years that a ruler (whatever his title) has been in power. Throughout this article I use the term “regnal” loosely to include any dating of this kind whether of an emperor, king, lesser ruler or high priest. 19 Meshorer 1970, 97–8. On use of the title philokaisar by “client kings”, see Braund 1984, 105–7. 20 Kushnir-Stein 1995a. She further suggests that an inscription from Athens mentioning King Herod with these two epithets should be assigned to Herod the Great, rather than to Herod of Chalcis as has usually been done (also pointed out in Kokkinos 1998, 307, n. 152). 21 Isaac 1983, 86–92, Plate 9B. Richardson (1996, 204) accepts the arguments about dating proposed by Isaac and summarised below.

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Year (L) 20 (K ) under the high priest (ep’archiereôs) ]Paris (son of ) Akeson (Akesônos) ]in Rhodes pa]vement d]rachmas

Isaac, who published the inscription, suggests that the 20th year is a regnal year of Herod. He argues that the formula is a much-attested one in Greek documents in which a regnal year is joined with a mention of the current (chief ) priest using the epi plus genitive construction. Accepting this, we need to find a king who ruled for at least 20 years and was not at the same time a high priest. The only possibility is Herod. Isaac does note the possible high priestly dating in 1 Macc 13:41, but he argues that this translation from a Hebrew original is not indicative of common epigraphic usage in Greek. We shall return below to the question of dating by high priests. Nevertheless Isaac is right to distinguish Greek usage from what might appear in Semitic language documents (whether in the original or in translation). So I follow Isaac (and Richardson) in taking this inscription to allude to the 20th year of King Herod. So far we have looked at Greek inscriptions. To my knowledge no Semitic language inscription contemporary with Herod definitely mentions him. There is one that might. Fragments of an inscription in Aramaic from Hyrcania appear to be from a funerary monument. The surviving text ends “before HR[. . . .” Naveh suggests that the tomb was that of an important person and dates the inscription on paleographic grounds to the first half of the last century BCE. The last two preserved letters could begin either the name Hyrcanus or Herod in Aramaic. On Naveh’s dating, one would prefer a reference to Hyrcanus, either John Hyrcanus (135–104) or Hyrcanus II (63–40). However, a slightly later date would allow us to insert the name of Herod, a possibility raised by Oren Gutfeld.22 But even if Herod turns out to the person named here, we still do not have a date formula. Other Semitic language inscriptions may come from the time of Herod the Great, but they do not mention his name or contain any dating formula. For example, Yardeni dates the Aramaic inscription marking the reburial of the bones of Uzziah

The inscription was published in Naveh 1974, 56–7 (Hebrew with English summary on *7). It can be found conveniently in Fitzmyer & Harrington 1978, 136–7, 209. For the possibility that Herod is mentioned, see Gutfeld 2003, 43–6 (Hebrew). 22

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King of Judah to the last century BCE. This could put it in the reign of Herod, but of course his name does not appear.23 Similarly, the Aramaic Giv’at Hamivtar inscription in paleo-Hebrew script could have a late last century, and hence Herodian, dating. But again, it would add nothing to the subject under discussion here.24 Thus none of the Semitic language inscriptions contribute anything to our quest for Herodian dating formulas. And the same is true for the remaining Greek inscriptions that might date to Herod’s reign. The famous inscriptions from the temple warning gentiles to proceed no further are an example. Here too no dating is mentioned.25 We are left then with the three formulas discussed earlier. The early coins and the inscriptions from the middle and towards the end of Herod’s reign all indicate the use of a regnal era for dating under Herod. So we can safely assume, I think, that documents from Herod’s reign would use a regnal era. Evidence in coins and documentary texts from Greater Judaea for Persian, Phoenician, Macedonian, Hasmonaean, Nabataean and Roman regnal eras support this conclusion. Some of this material will be discussed below as I move on to the next question. Assuming that Herodian documents bore regnal dates, what form would the reference to King Herod take? On the coins he is simply “King Herod”. On the stone weight the epithets “Pious” and “Friend of Caesar” follow the royal title and name. And on the one monumental inscription the relevant section is missing. Can this very limited body of evidence tell us how Herod would have appeared on documents? Would he have been called simply “King Herod” as in the surviving inscriptions? Or would titles such as “King of Judaea”, “King of the Judaeans”, or the like also have appeared? We can attempt to resolve these questions with indirect evidence regarding Herod and comparative material from other sites or other periods. I begin with a series of Latin inscriptions mentioning Herod that appear on wine amphorae found in Masada and dated (by reference to a Roman consul) to 19 BCE. The inscriptions read Regi Herodi Iudaic. Clearly the last word is an abbreviation, but of what? The editors of the texts, Cotton and Geiger, argue that we cannot resolve

23 Yardeni 1991, 58. (In the English version, Yardeni 1997a, 61, seems to retreat from this position.) Avigad (1965, 78) had dated it to the first century CE. 24 Conveniently found in Fitzmyer & Harrington 1978, 168–9, with bibliography on 222. Add Rosenthal 1969–74, 335–73 and Lieberman 1969–74, 375–80. 25 See the references in Isaac 1983, 91, n. 29.

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the abbreviation as Iudaic[orum, since the separation of the latter word from regi by a personal name would be unidiomatic and unparalleled. Hence they prefer to complete the word as Iudaic[o, and they interpret the combination of “king” with Iudaicus as having “the extended meaning of King of the Jews”.26 I am not clear on exactly how one extends the meaning of a singular adjective to get a plural substantive. Hence I prefer the alternative of interpreting Iudaicus as “Judaean”.27 The Greek equivalent, Ioudaikos, appears in a first century inscription from Pompeii. While some interpret the Greek word as a personal name, others interpret it as an adjective, “Judaean/Jewish”.28 And this presumably is what the Greek word means when Josephus refers to his work as tais peri tou Ioudaikou polemou biblois at Ant. 20.258 and Life 412, and to a specific passage as being en tê deutera biblô ioudaikou polemou at Ant. 18.11. That is, the phrase means “the Judaean War”. If we follow the latter alternative, then the Latin inscriptions could mean “for King Herod the Judaean”. One can compare Plutarch’s references to “Herod the Judaean”, Hêrôdês ho Ioudaios, at Anton., 61.3 and 71.1. However, a phrase like this does not appear in ancient Judaean documents to my knowledge. Rather it seems to reflect the view of outsiders, in this case Italian wine vendors. So I think it extremely unlikely that Herodian documents bore dates of the form “year such and such of King Herod the Judaean.”29 Further indirect evidence appears in literary sources. Among the earliest of the surviving data is the Gospel of Luke. Lk 1:5 refers to the days “of Herod King of Judaea,” Hêrôdou basileôs tês Ioudaias. We can compare to this Mt 2:22, which mentions that Archelaus “reigned over Judaea”—basileuei tês Ioudaias—in place of his father Herod.30 Since these authors wrote at least three-quarters of a century after the

Cotton & Geiger, 1989, 147. Compare Richardson (1996, 203): “King Herod the Jew . . . not ‘Herod King of the Jews’ ”. Also disagreeing with Cotton and Geiger is Bowersock (1991, 343) who translates “for Herod in (or of ) Judea.” Kokkinos 2000a, 82 follows Bowersock’s alternative, translating, “for King Herod of Judea”. 28 Noy 1993, 59–60, with references to literature. Frey and the revised Schürer take the word as a personal name, while Ferrua and Lifshitz take it as an adjective. 29 The coin struck at Rome in 55 BCE with the inscription “Bacchius Iudaeus”, whatever its precise reference, is another example of usage by outsiders. For a recent discussion with reference to literature, see Meshorer 2001, 28–9. 30 Admittedly, Mt 2:1 had the magoi from the East ask about the “King of the Judaeans”. But this can be part of the use of “Judaeans” in speeches by gentiles, while Jews use “Israel”. Cf. Mt 27:11, 29, 37 with 27:42. 26 27

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demise of Herod, their use of the geographical term “Judaea” is not necessarily decisive. It might reflect Roman administrative terminology, which since 6 CE had called the former territories of Archelaus, son of Herod, provincia Iudaea. The evidence in Josephus, a native informant who was broadly a contemporary of the authors of Luke and Matthew, is mixed. The Jewish historian refers to Herod as “king of the Judaeans” at Ant. 15.409: ho tôn Ioudaiôn basileus Hêrôdês. Similar usage appears at War 1.282, 388 (see variants); Ant. 14.9; 15.373; 16.291, 311. On the other hand, at War 1.225 || Ant. 14.280 Josephus writes how Cassius intended to appoint Herod Ioudaias basilea/basilea tês Ioudaias, “king of Judaea”.31 The use of the geographical term also appears at War 1.244, where Josephus recounts how M. Antonius entrusted Herod and Phasael with authority to administer “all of Judaea”. The role of Roman officials raises the possibility that these last two passages might reflect Roman perspectives and usages. Specifically, Josephus’ sources may reproduce the Roman view of Judaea more as a territory/provincia than as an ethnic state. Yet another contemporary of the gospel authors and Josephus, Plutarch, does not help. He does not explicitly mention over what or whom Herod ruled. As already noted, he simply refers to “Herod the Judaean”, Hêrôdês ho Ioudaios—at Anton. 61.3 and 71.1. From the first half of the second century, Appian of Alexandria may conform to the first usage of Josephus. Appian mentions the appointment of kings by M. Antonius, naming four of them. Among them was Herod, appointed king “of the Idumaeans and Samarians,” Idoumaiôn de kai Samareôn. The failure to mention “Judaeans” is puzzling and has been variously explained.32 If “Judaeans” originally appeared here, then the choice of a plural ethnonym rather than a geographical term might be significant. Appian does use geographical terms with other royal appointments he mentions here, e.g., Pontus and Cilicia. And Iudaea had been in use as the name of the Roman province for over a century by the time he wrote. So one

31 See Rengstorf 1973–83, vol. I, 298–313 s.v., basileus. This variation in Josephan usage, together with the evidence for Hasmonaean usage of “Judaeans”, makes it unlikely that the two titles have different connotations. Mendels (1992, 217, 284, 288) has argued that “king of the Jews” implies a claim to authority over Jews throughout the world while “king of Judaea” simply alludes to rule over the territory. See further Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, 49–50, 65. I find no basis for such a distinction. 32 Appian, Bell. Civ. 5.75/319. On the various suggestions concerning the absence of “Judaeans”, see the discussion of Stern 1974–84, vol. II, 189–90. Suggestions include the dropping of the term by haplography or its corruption into “Idumaeans”.

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might argue that Appian reflects the usage of the gentilic “Judaeans” to name Herod’s kingdom. However, the uncertainties over the correct reading in this passage prevent us from drawing any firm conclusions. In sum, the literary evidence is not unanimous in its testimony to the titulature of Herod. Moreover, none of it is contemporary with the rule of the king. Thus in the case of the late first- to early second-century evidence for “king of Judaea”, the literary usage could reflect the wellestablished name of the Roman province. Or, in the case of “king of Judaeans”, it could reflect simple ignorance. Admittedly, much of the material in Josephus is likely to go back to Nicolaus of Damascus, an associate of Herod. But since the usage of Josephus is not consistent, it is difficult to make any inferences about that of Nicolaus. The indirect evidence for the possible forms of Herodian dating formulas has not yielded any firm conclusions. Let us move on to the comparative evidence, beginning with Judaean documentary texts from other periods. Here too I shall start with the finds at Qumran. A Hebrew ostracon found at the latter site but apparently written in Jericho is designated KhQ1. The document begins with a date formula, but only the words “In year two of [?]” are preserved. The continuation where the era would appear is missing. Cross and Eshel characterize the script as “Late Herodian,” which translates into the period 30–68 CE. They suggest the era could be the independence era used during the revolt of 66–70, a regnal or tribunician year of a Roman emperor, a regnal year of Agrippa I or II, or the “regnal” year of a high priest.33 A dating by the high priest (of the Jerusalem temple) has also been suggested for 4Q348 = 4QDeed B heb. The reverse of the document contains an upper and lower text. The lower version begins with “]—WS high priest—[. . . .” Yardeni reports that the reading “high priest” is “almost certain,” but the rest of the line is illegible. While admitting that the first line of a deed usually contains a date, Yardeni concludes that “it is difficult to know” whether the mention of the high

33 See Cross & Eshel 2000, 497–507; for the suggestions regarding the era used, see 500–1. Cross and Eshel mark the lamed after “In year two” with a dot. Yardeni (1997b, 233–7) appears more certain of the lamed, for she does not put a dot over it in her transcription on 236. For what it is worth, the letter in question does not look to me like the lamed in the name Eleazar in line three of the inscription (see Pl. XXXIII in Pfann et al. 2000). Indeed, in their original publication of the text, Cross & Eshel (1997, 17–28) mark the lamed with a circle in the transcription on 18. In the discussion on 20, however, they mark it with a dot, as in the final publication.

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priest is in fact part of a dating formula.34 By contrast Hanan Eshel has no doubts that we have here a dating by a high priest. Based on the end of the (apparent) personal name before the title (“—WS”) and the palaeographic dating to the middle or late Herodian era, he suggests that the high priest in question is Joseph son of Commodius. This would yield a date of 46/47 CE.35 As Yardeni admitted, this is possible. However, in the absence of a full and legible text it remains unproven. And the textual tradition of the name of Joseph’s father at Ant. 20.16 and 103 is rather unclear, with something that could equate to “Commodius” being only one possibility.36 Earlier Reed, Lundberg and Phelps suggested a date to the reign of Tiberius.37 Apparently they restored the lacuna as “[Tiberi]us”, with the mention of the high priest added. This would be compatible with the palaeographic dating to the “Mid-Herodian” era of 1–30 CE. And we shall see below several instances of Semitic language documents dated to the years of Roman emperors. However, in those cases the title “Caesar” immediately follows the name of the emperor. So an imperial dating here seems unlikely. On either proposal the document provides another case of regnal dating, whether of emperor or high priest. But the lacunose nature of the text precludes any certain conclusions. Another document with a frustratingly partial date formula is from an uncertain location. Published by H. Misgav, the Aramaic text ends with the words “]of Av year eight”. Following the word “eight” is an empty space, and the fragmentary following line is in Greek. Misgav notes that the cursive script of the Aramaic is similar to that on Judaean Desert documents from the second century. He suggests that the era in question is that of provincia Arabia, yielding a date of 114 CE.38

Yardeni in Cotton & Yardeni 1997, 300–3. See Eshel 2000/1, 41–52 (Hebrew). This suggestion already appeared in Cross & Eshel 2000, 501. 36 At Ant. 20.16 nothing like “Commodius” appears in the manuscripts. This name or something like it does appear at 20:103, though here too the Latin has what it had at 20:16. See Niese 1955, 279 and 293. 37 See Reed, Lundberg, & Phelps 1994, 100. 38 See Misgav 2001, 223–4. See Plate LXIII there for the space after the word “eight”. Misgav suggests that the era was omitted because the date does not record when the document was executed. Rather it indicates the period over which payment was to be made. The era was required only when one wanted the document to have legal validity. I am not sure why the principals in this document would not want it to have such validity. On the phenomenon of not specifying the era, see the discussion in Goodblatt 1999 (not cited by Misgav). 34 35

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Datings by this era appear in several Greek and Aramaic documents involving Jewish principals.39 Additional cases of unspecified eras occur among the four Aramaic ostraca of uncertain provenance published by Yardeni. She dates these texts palaeographically to the first half of the first century CE. Two of them have dates, but these consist only of the word “year” followed by a numeral. The era, unfortunately, is not mentioned.40 Fuller date formulas appear on four of the twenty or so papyri found at Jericho. The Aramaic document designated Jericho 7 contains the date twice. At the beginning of the upper version on the reverse we have “On 20 and 5 of Tevet year 3 of [our] lord [ ]TS.” Fortunately the beginning of the lower version is more fully preserved. It reads “On twenty and five of Tevet yea[r] three of DMTS Cae[sar . . .” The script is similar to that of “post-Herodian” documents. i.e., after 70 CE. Thus the identification of the ruler as Domitian/Domitianus seems certain, and the year would be 84 CE.41 Jericho 9, in either Hebrew or Aramaic, has a less legible dating. Yardeni reads “ ]—and two of— [ ]—DP/MT—Caesar . . .” She admits that the second letter of the apparent name before “Caesar” looks most like a P. However, we expect the name of an emperor here. So she suggests “with reservations” to read M, with the letters after T possibly being YNWS. This would yield DMTYNWS or Domitianus. Misgav, by contrast, proposes to read on this line “four and twenty of our lord [A]grippa”. The 24th year of Agrippa II, the great grandson of Herod, was 84/85, the same year mentioned in Jericho 7. However, the reading QSR = “Caesar” appears fairly certain in the photograph. And given other examples of dating by emperors in documents from provincia Iudaea (see below) I think Yardeni’s suggestion is preferable. Granted, she herself emphasises that in view of the uncertain reading we should not draw any conclusions.42 Jericho 13, another Aramaic text, bears what seems to be the date “ ]and eight TRYYNWS Caesa[r . . . .” The hesitation comes from the absence of the

See the list in Goodblatt 1999, 255. Yardeni 1990, 130–57. The dates appear on Ostracon 1 and 2. She suggests the unnamed era may that of a Roman emperor. Beyer (1994, 197–9) suggests the emperor in question is Tiberius. 41 Eshel, Eshel & Misgav 2000, 55–61. 42 See Yardeni 2000b, 67–69. For a photograph see Pl. XIV and compare Fig. 22. For Misgav’s reading, see Eshel, Eshel, & Misgav 2000, 55, n. 1. It should be noted that if counting by Agrippa II’s era of ‘Neronias’, then the date should actually be 83/84—see table in Kokkinos 2003, 180. 39

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letter lamed, which has the force of “of,” before the name “Trajan”. If we accept Yardeni’s explanation of this anomaly and her restoration of “ten” in the lacuna preceding “and eight,” the document would date to the 18th year of Trajan = 116 CE. Finally, the Greek document Jericho 16 bears a consular dating of 128. It mentions the emperor Hadrian, but his name appears in the accusative case. This indicates the name was not part of a dating formula.43 Of the Semitic language documents surveyed above there is one certain case ( Jericho 7) and two probable cases ( Jericho 9 and 13) of dating by regnal years of Roman emperors. To these instances we can add P. Murabba’at 18 dated to “year two of Neron Caesar”. And we can also add two Greek documents written for Jews in provincia Iudaea. Both P. Murabba’at 115 from 124 CE and XHever/Se’elim 69 from 130 bear a consular date and one to a regnal year of Hadrian.44 The use of regnal years of foreign overlords in these first and second century CE documents continues a tradition with a long history in this region, as noted above. The three Wadi Daliyeh Samaria Papyri that preserve sufficiently full formulas are all dated by regnal years of Persian kings.45 Also from the fourth century BCE, ostraca from Idumaea, south of Judaea, have dates both explicitly and by implication to the regnal years of Persian, Phoenician and Macedonian kings.46 Thus use of regnal eras, including those of foreign overlords, by the indigenous populations of ancient Israel is well established. Our question here is whether anything was added to the personal name and title. In both the Samaria papyri and the Idumaean ostraca no epithet or further identification follows. This parallels the usage of the name of a Roman emperor followed by “Caesar” in the date formulas surveyed above. In contrast to the use of “X the king” or “Y Caesar” without any addition, another body of comparative evidence contains elaborations of the royal title. It comes from a kingdom contiguous with Hasmonaean-Herodian Judaea that also originated in the Hellenistic era, came within the Roman sphere of influence and eventually was absorbed See Yardeni 2000c, 79–80, and Cotton 2000b, 93–5. See Benoit, Milik, & de Vaux 1961, 100–4, 243–54; Cotton & Yardeni 1997, 250–74. 45 See WDSP 1:1, 2:12, and 7:19. The editor assumes this was the standard practice and restores regnal formulas in other documents. See the edition by Gropp in Gropp & Bernstein 2001. 46 See Naveh 1973, 79–82; Naveh 1979, 182–95; Eph’al & Naveh 1996; Lemaire 1996; Lemaire 2002. 43

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into the Roman Empire. I refer of course to the Nabataean kingdom. Let me begin in medias res with the coinage. The earliest Nabataean coins are attributed to a mint in Damascus during the years 85/4–71 BCE. They bear the Greek inscription “of King Aretas Philhellene”. This recalls the inscription on the stone weight that had “king Herod” followed by the epithets “Pious and Philocaesar”. In both cases there is no ethnic or geographical identification. Later Nabataean coins that have legends in Aramaic add precisely this element. Thus in coins issued beginning around 62 BCE Obadat/Obadas II (following Meshorer) is called “king of NBTW”. This term refers either to “the country/state of Nabataea” or is a collective singular ethnonym equivalent to “the Nabataeans”.47 The phrase “king of NBTW” goes back much earlier, as inscriptions on stone attest. Thus the Halusa inscription, dated by contemporary palaeographers to the middle of the second century BCE, mentions “Haretat (= Aretas) king of NBTW.”48 Examples of this phrase from last century BCE inscriptions, aside from the coins, include the mention of “Obadat king of NBTW son of Haretat king of NBTW year one” dated to 95 BCE and a mention of “Rab’el king of NBTW [son of Obada]t king of NBTW” dated to 65 BCE.49 From 9/8 BCE we have an inscription from al-‘Ula (CIS II 332) dated to “the month of Elul year 1 of Haretat king of NBTW”. And from the turn of the millennium there are two tomb inscriptions from Hejra/Mada’in Salih dated to “year nine of Haretat king of NBTW who loves his people” (CIS II, 197, 198).50 This is Aretas IV whose reign began just a few years before the death of Herod. The phrase also appears on the coins of Aretas IV’s predecessors, the contemporaries of Herod, Maliku/Malichus I

47 For references see Goodblatt 1998, 14–5. Add Schmitt-Korte 1990, 105–33, especially 125–6 for the assertion that that the earliest Nabataean coins are those of Aretas from around 84 BCE. 48 Cantineau 1932, 43–4 identifies the king as Aretas II, a contemporary of Alexander Jonathan (see Jos., Ant. 13.360). However, Cross (1955, 160, n. 25) points out that the inscription shows none of the distinctive features of the developed Nabataean script. So he identifies the king as Aretas I, the “Arab tyrannos” mentioned in 2 Macc 5:8 from around 168 BCE. This is the date adopted in Yardeni 2000d, vol. A, 306. 49 See Cantineau 1932, # II, pp. 2–3 and # I (=CIS II, 349), 1–2 respectively. For the dates see Yardeni 2000d, Vol. A, 306. 50 The al-‘Ula inscription (CIS II 332) is available in Healey 1993, 245. The Mada’in Salih inscriptions cited are CIS II 197 and 198, available in Healey 1993, 115–22 and 154–62 respectively.

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(60–30 BCE) and Obadat II/III (30–9 BCE).51 Finally, the country or ethnonym also appears in date formulas on the four Nabataean contracts we now have from before the Roman annexation. The contract first published by Starcky in 1954 bears a date to “year twenty” but the era is missing. However, the body of the contract appears to refer to another document dated to “[yea]r four of Maliku (= Malichus II, 40–70 CE) the King, king of Nabataea (NBTW).”52 The same form with additional epithet appears in the other three (pre-annexation) Nabataean documents extant. 5/6Hev 1 has the date “On the eighth of Elul, year twenty three of Rab’el (=Rabbel II, 70–106) the King, King of the Nabataeans (NBTW), who has brought life and deliverance to his people.” The same titulature appears in 5/6Hev 2 and 3, both from the 28th year of Rabbel II.53 Was the Nabataean style of elaborated regnal formulas, mentioning the state/territory or the ethnic/national group, used by Judaeans? A certain answer cannot be given since, as our survey above demonstrated, no documents (excluding coins) that originated in Hasmonaean-Herodian (pre-annexation) Judaea survive with date formulas intact. We do have a literary reference to early Hasmonaean datings, the one I cited at the beginning. Let us look at this passage in greater detail. 1 Macc 13:41–2 reports: In the year 170, the yoke of the gentiles was lifted from Israel, and the people began to write as the dating formula in bills and contracts, “In the first year, under (epi followed by the genitive) Simon (or, In the first year of Simon), high priest, commander, and chief of the Judaeans”.54

Scholars continue to debate whether the text intends an era of independence with mention of the incumbent high priest, as the Greek suggests, or whether a “regnal” era of Simon is meant.55 For our purposes here See Meshorer 1975, 26, 28–9. Conveniently found in Fitzmyer & Harrington 1978, 164–9, 217–8. The reference appears on recto, fragment 3, line 3, there, 166. 53 The texts appear in Yadin et al. 2002, 178, 208, 236. 54 Translation of Goldstein 1976, 472 modified by using “Judaeans” rather than “Jews” and by indicating the alternative translation. 55 Goldstein 1976, 479–80, supports the era of independence option. He notes that the Greek construction before us does not normally indicate years of a reign, and that Tyrians and Sidonians used eras of freedom from Seleucid rule. Further, Hellenistic date formulas often additionally mentioned the current priest, giving the name in the genitive case following the preposition epi. On the other hand, Rappaport 2004, 303 (Hebrew), prefers to understand the text as using an era of Simon’s high priesthood. He notes, inter alia, that one series of the coins of Alexander Jonathan (= Janneus/ 51 52

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what matters is the designation of the entity over which Simon exercised authority: the Judaeans. The naming of the ethnic or territorial group does not recur in the date at 1 Macc 14:27, but the text following the words “Simon the high priest” is obviously disturbed. Moreover, mention of “the Judaeans” at 1 Macc 14:47 reinforces the likelihood that the name did appear in the original text of the date formula cited at 14:27.56 Something similar may already appear in the titulature of Simon’s brother and predecessor as high priest, Jonathan. According to 1 Macc 12:6 a letter to the Spartans identified the senders as “Jonathan the high priest and the council of elders of the nation (gerousia tou ethnous) and the priests and the rest of the people (dêmos) of the Judaeans.” The address in the reply of the Spartans at 1 Macc 14:20 is similar. Here the term “the Judaeans” is not part of the title of Jonathan. However, the version of the letter in Jos., Ant. 13.166 rearranges things. It reads “Jonathan the high priest of the nation (ethnos) of the Judaeans and the council of elders (gerousia) and the community (koinon) of the priests”. We should probably prefer the version in 1 Macc though.57 Better evidence of use of “the Judaeans” in Hasmonaean titles comes from the period after Simon. One example appears in a quotation of Strabo at Jos., Ant. 14:36. Strabo reports seeing the golden vine given to Pompey on display in Rome. According to this report the gift bore the inscription “From Alexander King of the Judaeans”.58 Of course, this refers to Alexander Jonathan, high priest and king from 103–76 BCE. Given the uncertainties over the literal exactitude of this report, its value is unclear. This leaves the Hasmonaean coins, which begin under

Yannai) bears regnal dates. For Series L, from the 25th year of Alexander = 79/78, see most recently Meshorer 2001, 39–40. However, it is not certain that the practice of Alexander was already in use under Simon. Over sixty years and considerable constitutional development, above all adoption of the title “king”, separate the latter part of Alexander’s reign from the events of 1 Macc 13–14. For what it is worth, the paraphrase of 1 Macc 13:42 at Jos., Ant. 13:214 omits the preposition epi and has “the first year of Simon benefactor and ethnarch of the Judaeans”. However, Josephus’s use of a “regnal” era may be the result of sloppy copying or use of regnal eras by rulers closer to his time such as Herod or the Roman emperors. 56 On 1 Macc 14:27 see Goldstein 1976, 501–2 and Rappaport 2004, 315 (Hebrew). On 14:46–9 see the discussion in Rappaport 2004, 326–8. 57 On the entities mentioned in 1 Macc 12:6, see the comments of Rappaport 2004, 285. On the Ant. passage see the comments of Marcus 1943, 307, n. g. On the Judaean-Spartan connection, see Gruen 1996. 58 The Epitome reads “Aristobulus” while the Latin translation has “Aristobulus son of Alexander”. See the discussion in Stern 1974–84, 275. For our purposes it does not matter.

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John Hyrcanus the son and successor of Simon, as the best evidence. Unlike the date formula at 1 Macc 13:42, Josephus’s version of the salutation in the letter to the Spartans, and Strabo’s quotation of the dedication on the golden vine given Pompey, the coin inscriptions do not attach the phrase “of the Judaeans” to either the title “priest” or “king”. (Similarly, Herod and the other rulers of his dynasty inscribe only their names and titles on their coins, with no geographic or ethnic terms in the surviving material).59 On the other hand, the ethnonym does appear on many Hasmonaean coins in a different format. Eighteen series of Hasmonaean coins (involving all four of the dynastic names that appear on the coins: John, Judah, Jonathan and Mattahiah) mention “the hever (HBR) of the Judaeans”. In most cases this phrase appears after the words “X the high priest and”. In three series we have “Yohanan the high priest head of the hever of the Judaeans”. While the exact meaning of the technical term hever remains uncertain, what matters here is the appearance of the ethnic name.60 The evidence from Hasmonaean usage turns out to be equivocal. Some of it, like 1 Macc 13 and the hever formula on the coins, suggests that the Hasmonaean rulers would have added “of the Judaeans” after their title(s) in documents. Other evidence, however, suggests a different conclusion. Alexander Jonathan appears with the title “king” in Hebrew inscriptions on some of his coins and on a seal, as well as in Aramaic on other of his coins. Both he and Mattathias Antigonus also have Greek inscriptions with the royal title on their coins. In none of these cases is the title accompanied by any elaboration (see n. 59 above). Another piece of evidence is uncertain. I refer to the unanimous New Testament testimony concerning the titulus on Jesus’ cross that read (perhaps in part) “king of the Judaeans” (Mk 15:26||Mt 27:37||Lk 23:38||Jn 19:19). As scholars point out, if authentic this text would be the only thing written about Jesus in his lifetime. And at least some modern scholars consider the report authentic, noting its appearance in both the synoptic gospels and John.61 I am not aware of any discussion of the use of the plural ethnonym rather than the territorial term that

59 See Meshorer 1982, vol. II, 17, 33, 40–1, 52, 54–7, 60–1, 93–4; Meshorer 2001, 61–114, 221–40. 60 For details and references to scholarly literature see Goodblatt 1994, 99–103. 61 For a relatively recent treatment, see Brown 1994, 962–8. See further Geiger 1996.

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appears, for example, in the title of Pilate praefectus Iudaeae and in the Flavian Iudaea capta coins. Is the use of “Judaeans” significant? Does this tradition, if authentic, tell us anything about indigenous Judaean usage? Did older contemporaries of Jesus remember that Herod had used the title “king of the Judaeans”? Had Agrippa I used this title during his reign in Jerusalem a decade after the death of Jesus? And if he did, then was he continuing the practice of his grandfather? We are unable to answer these questions with any degree of certainty. The remaining comparative material comes from the Hebrew and Aramaic documents issued during the Judaean revolts of 66–70 and 132–135. The rebels of 66 used an era of independence, as was evident from the coins. The coins however did not name the era. On the other hand, the name of the era is specified on documents from the first revolt if we accept the view of H. Eshel, Broshi and Jull. They argue that P. Murabba’at 22, 25, 29 and 30 all date to the first revolt, not to that of 132 as the original editor of these documents believed. These texts name the era either as “of the redemption of Israel” (P. Murabba’at 22, 29, 30), or “of the freedom of Jerusalem” (P. Murabba’at 25).62 However, neither the coins nor the documents mention a ruler or leader. The evidence from the revolt of 132–135 does precisely this. These rebels also used an independence era. And its coins specify the era: “year one of the redemption of Israel” and “Y[ear] 2 of the free[dom] of Israel.” But we also have mention of a ruler. Many of the coins bear his name, Simeon. And some of the bronze coins of Year 1 add his title “nasi’ of Israel”. The latter title follows his name and patronymic (“Simeon son of Kosiba”) on two letters, XHev/Se 30:1, P. Yadin 54:1 (this has “the nasi’ over Israel”). Most extensive is the evidence from the dating formulas on the documents. Of the 22 or 23 documents clearly dated to the second revolt we find the following eras.63

See Eshel, Broshi & Jull 1998, 233–9. For detailed references, see Goodblatt 1998, 29–33. The discussion there still included P. Mur. 22, 25, 29 and 30. The subsequent arguments of Eshel, Broshi and Jull, referred to in the previous footnote, convince me that these documents should be assigned to the revolt of 66. 62

63

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david goodblatt NUMBER OF DOCUMENTS

Of the freedom of Israel Of the freedom of Israel by/in the days of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel Of the freedom of Israel in the name of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel Of the redemption of Israel by Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel Of Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel

1

13–1464 5

TOTAL

22–23

1 2

With a single exception the documents either combine the freedom/ redemption era with a reference to Simeon (16–17 cases), or use an era of Simeon (5 cases). The combination of an era of independence with mention of the nasi’ Simeon in 16–17 cases recalls the dating formula of Simeon the Hasmonaean as attested at 1 Macc 13:42. In addition there are the five purely regnal datings. Most important in the present context, the title and name are always followed by specification of the entity over which Simeon ruled: Israel.65 Like the term NBTW, “Israel” could be a collective singular ethnonym (= the people of Israel) or a geographical term. This concludes our review of the comparative evidence. We have seen the elaboration of the name and title of a ruler in a variety of contexts that might shed light on the Herodian dating formulas. These include the identification of Simeon as “high priest, commander and leader of the Judaeans” in the date formula from 1 Macc 13, the mention of “the hever of the Judaeans” and the title “head of the hever of the Judaeans” on the Hasmonaean coins, the labeling of Jesus as “king of the Judaeans” on the cross, and the Nabataean usage of the title “king of [the] NBTW”. The Nabataean parallel may be no less important than the Judaean evidence. As Kokkinos has reminded us, 64 I have not included in my count Wadi Sdeir 2. Sdeir papPromissory Note? Ar, published by Yardeni in Charlesworth 2000, 125–9. The document begins “On the sixth of Adar year three of the redemption of Israe[l]. . . .” Yardeni restores the following lacuna with the words “by Simeon son of Kosiba nasi’ of Israel. . . .” This is reasonable in view of her palaeographic dating of the text. She notes that the script is “the ‘Jewish’ cursive hand of the early second century CE”. However, since the formula breaks off we cannot count this as a certain instance. 65 That the name “Israel” always appears with nasi’ in the Bar Kokhba documents is emphasised by Habas 2000.

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the Nabataean connections of Herod are legion. His grandfather, while serving as governor of Idumaea under Alexander Jonathan and Salome Alexandra, established contacts with “the neighboring Arabs”, i.e., the Nabataeans. Those contacts continued under Herod’s father, who engineered the alliance between Hyrcanus II and the Nabataean king Aretas/Haretat III (84–62/60) and later served as a intermediary between Scaurus and Haretat (see Jos., Ant. 14.10, 14–21, 33, 81, 122). In view of these contacts it is not surprising that Herod’s father married a woman from a noble “Arab”, i.e., Nabataean, family. This woman, Cypros, may in fact have come from the Nabataean royal family as Kokkinos has suggested.66 In any case, she was the mother of Herod ( Jos., War 1.181 || Ant. 14.121). That Herod continued the family tradition of maintaining close ties with the Nabataean kings is implied by his seeking refuge with Maliku/Malichus I ( Jos., Ant. 14.370–3) when fleeing Mattathias Antigonus and the Parthians. The attempt by Syllaeus, the minister of Obadat/Obadas II/III (30–9 BCE), to marry Salome the sister of Herod has its background in regular contacts between Syllaeus and Herod around 21/20 BCE ( Jos., War 1:487, 534, 566 || Ant. 14.220–5). And sometime around 7/6 BCE Herod’s son Antipas married a daughter of Haretat/Aretas IV ( Jos., Ant. 18.109–12).67 In view of these long-standing contacts it is quite likely that Herod would have been familiar with the Nabataean usage of the phrase “king of [the] NBTW”. In light of the evidence surveyed here, I return to the question of what Herodian dating formulas are likely to have looked like. We can be sure the documents would have been dated to the regnal years of Herod. And perhaps some epithet would have followed, like “Pious and Friend of Caesar” on the stone weight and the lead weight. Whether the reference to King Herod would be followed by an identification of the territory or ethnos of which he was king is far less certain. Some of the Hasmonaean and Nabataean parallels and perhaps the New Testament evidence allow us to speculate that the phrase “of the Judaeans” might have followed his name and title. On the other hand, all the surviving inscriptions mentioning Herod on coins and stone, including the few with date formulas surveyed above, have only the title “king” with no

Kokkinos 1998, 95, n. 39. See Kokkinos 1998, 182–4 on Syllaeus and Salome and 229–33 on Antipas and his Nabataean wife. 66 67

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further specification (aside from the epithets “Pious” and “Friend of Rome”). This seems to suggest that Herod deliberately avoided adding any ethnic or territorial name.68 If so, can we attribute this reticence to his role as a “client king”?69 This is unlikely. First, even Roman documents might specify the entity over which clients ruled. Thus documents from the 40’s BCE, cited by Josephus, call Hyrcanus II “ethnarch of the Judaeans” ( Jos., Ant. 14.191, 194, 200, 211, 226).70 Second, other “client kings” in the Roman sphere of influence did not avoid using territorial or ethnic terms in their titles. The Nabataean kings provide one example, as we saw above. Yet another example comes from the Bosporan kingdom about three decades after Herod. An inscription bestows the epithet philorômaios on King Aspourgos and on his father King Asandrochos. Asandrochos is also called philokaisar. (The latter title, we recall, appeared on the two weights from Herod’s kingdom.) The same inscription calls Aspourgos “king of all Bosporus and Theodosia and the Sindi and Maiti and Taipeii and Toreti, Psesi and Tanaiti”.71 Thus both territorial and ethnic entities are mentioned. It appears, then, that Rome did not mind their clients identifying their ethnic or territorial domain. Consequently Herod’s reticence may represent not Roman limitation of his role, but rather the opposite. Perhaps it was Herod’s ambitions that led him to avoid mention of Judaea and the Judaeans. Perhaps he did not want to be restricted to this realm and hoped for a broader role in the world. In this context we may recall the famous passage in Jos., Ant. 16:141. While describing the celebration marking the completion of the construction of Caesarea, Josephus adds the following. He reports how “they say” that Augustus and Agrippa often observed that the extent of Herod’s rule did not match the greatness of his soul (megalopsychia) and that he was deserving of being king of all Syria and Egypt. Whether Augustus and Agrippa ever expressed this sentiment is unknowable. But it is a safe assumption that Herod himself felt this way. Dreaming of becoming ruler of the Levant, he would not want to be known only as King of Judaea/the Judaeans. Ultimately, however, it is best to leave these

My colleague, Joseph Patrich, made this argument orally at the conference. On the “client kings” see Braund 1984. On Herod as a “client king” see Jacobson, 2001. 70 For discussion and references to literature, see Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, 49–50, 141–2. 71 Millar 1996, 170. See also Sullivan 1984. 68 69

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speculations aside. In the meantime we can hope that further discoveries from the territory of Judaea will provide definitive answers to the form of Herodian date formulas. Bibliography Avigad, N., 1965. “The Palaeography of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Documents,” in Ch. Rabin & Y. Yadin (eds), Aspects of the Dead Sea Scrolls, Second Edition; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, Scripta Hierosolymitana volume 4, 56–87. Baillet, M., Milik, J. T. & de Vaux, R. (eds), 1962. Les ‘Petites Grottes’ de Qumrân, Oxford: Clarendon Press, DJD 3. Bar-Adon, P., 1980. The Cave of the Treasure. The Finds from the cave in Nahal Mishmar, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Benoit, P., Milik, J. T. & and de Vaux, R., 1961. Les Grottes de Murabba’ât, Oxford: Clarendon Press, DJD 2. Beyer, K., 1994. Die AramäischeTexte vom Toten Meer. Ergänzungsband, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Bowersock, G. W., 1991. “The Babatha papyri, Magadai, and Rome,” JRA 4, 336–344. Braund, D., 1984. Rome and the Friendly King. The Character of the Client Kingship, London & Canberra: Croom Helm and New York: St. Martin’s Press. Brown, R. E., 1994. The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsamene to the Grave. A Commentary on the Passion Narratives in the Four Gospels, Two Volumes, New York: Doubleday. Cantineau, J., 1932. Le Nabatéen, Vol. II, Paris: Ernest Leroux. Charlesworth, J. et al. (eds), 2000. Miscellaneous Texts From the Judaean Desert, Oxford: Clarendon Press, DJD 38. Cotton, H. M., 2000a. “4Q350 = 4QAccount gr,” in Pfann et al., 2000, 294–295. ——, 2000b. “P. Jericho 16 gr = Jericho papText Mentioning the Emperor Hadrian gr.,” in Charlesworth 2000, 93–95. Cotton, H. M. & Geiger, J., 1989. Masada II. The Latin and Greek Documents, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Cotton, H. M. & Yardeni, A. (eds), 1997. Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts From Nahal Hever and Other Sites With An Appendix Containing Alleged Qumran Texts (The Seiyâl Collection II), Oxford: Clarendon Press, DJD 27. Cross, Jr., F. M., 1955. “The Oldest Manuscripts from Qumran,” JBL 74, 147–172. ——, 1961. “The Development of the Jewish Scripts,” in G. E. Wright (ed), The Bible and the Ancient Near East. Essays in honor of William Foxwell Albright, Garden City, New York: Doubleday, 133–202. Cross, F. M. & Eshel, E., 1997. “Ostraca from Khirbet Qumrân,” IEJ 47, 17–28. ——, 2000. “Khirbet Qumran Ostracon,” in Pfann et al. (eds), 2000, 497–507. Eph’al, I. & Naveh, J. 1996. Aramaic Ostraca of the Fourth Century BC from Idumaea, Jerusalem: Magnes Press and Israel Exploration Society. Eshel, H., 2000–01. “Hebrew in Economic Documents from the Judean Desert,” Leshonenu 63, 41–52 [Hebrew]. Eshel, H., Broshi, M. & Jull, T. A. J., 1998. “Documents From Wadi Mura’abat [sic] and the Status of Jerusalem During the War,” in H. Eshel and D. Amit (eds), Refuge Caves of the Bar Kokhba Revolt, Tel Aviv: Israel Exploration Society; College of Judea and Samaria; C. G. Foundation; Jerusalem: “Eretz” Geographic Research and Publications Project for the Advancement of Knowledge of Eretz Israel, Tel-Aviv University. Eshel, H., Eshel, E. & Misgav, H., 2000. “Jericho 7 = Jericho papSale of Date Crop ar,” in Charlesworth et al. 2000, 55–61.

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Fitzmyer, J. A. & and Daniel J. Harrington, D. J., 1978. A Manual of Palestinian Aramaic Texts, Rome: Biblical Institute Press. Geiger, J., 1996. “Titulus Crucis,” SCI 15, 202–207. Goldstein, J. A., 1976. I Maccabees, Garden City, New York: Doubleday, Anchor Bible volume 41. Goodblatt, D., 1994. The Monarchic Principle. Studies in Jewish Self-government in Antiquity, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, TSAJ volume 38. ——, 1998. “From Judeans to Israel: Names of Jewish States in Antiquity,” JStJ 29, 1–36. ——, 1999. “Dating Documents in provincia Iudaea,” IEJ 49, 249–259. Gropp, D. M. & Bernstein, M. et al. (eds), 2001. Wadi Daliyeh II. The Samaria Papyri from Wadi Daliyeh and Qumran Cave 4.XXVIII. Micellanea, Part 2, Oxford: Clarendon Press, DJD 28. Gruen, E. S., 1996. “The Purported Jewish-Spartan Affiliation,” in Wallace, R. W. & Harris, E. M. (eds), Transitions to Empire: Essays in Greco Roman History 300–146 BC, in Honor of E. Badian, Norman, Oklahoma: University of Oklahoma Press, 254–269. Gutfeld, O., 2003. “The Stepped Tunnel Riddle at Hyrcania in the Judean Desert,” Qadmoniot 36, 43–46 [Hebrew]. Habas (Rubin), E., 2000. “Shim’on Ben Kosbah Vehato’ar ‘Nasi’,” in Schwartz, J., Amar, Z. & Ziffer, I. (eds), Jerusalem and Eretz Israel. Arie Kindler Volume, Tel Aviv: Eretz Israel Museum and Ingeborg Rennert Center for Jerusalem Studies, Bar-Ilan University, 133–146. Healey J. F., 1993. The Nabataean Tomb Inscriptions of Mada’in Salih, Oxford: Oxford University Press on behalf of the University of Manchester. Isaac, B., 1983. “A Donation for Herod’s Temple in Jerusalem,” IEJ 33, 86–92. Jacobson, D. M., 1993–94. “King Herod, Roman Citizen and Benefactor of Kos,” BAIAS 13, 31–35. ——, 2001. “Three Roman Client Kings: Herod of Judaea, Archelaus of Cappadocia and Juba of Mauretania,” PEQ 133, 22–38. Kokkinos, N., 1998. The Herodian Dynasty. Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, JSOPSS volume 30. ——, 2000a. Review of Cotton & Geiger 1989. PEQ 132, 81–3. ——, 2000b. Review of Richardson 1996. Biblica 81, 141–4. ——, 2003. “Justus, Josephus, Agrippa II and his Coins”, SCI 22, 163–180. Kushnir-Stein, A., 1995a. “An Inscribed Lead Weight From Ashdod. A Reconsideration,” ZPE 105, 81–84. ——, 1995b. “Another Look at Josephus’ Evidence for the Date of Herod’s Death,” SCI 14, 73–86. Lange, A. & Mittmann-Richert, U., 2002. “Annotated List of the Texts from the Judaean Desert Classified by Content and Genre,’ in Tov (ed), 2002, 115–164. Lemaire, A., 1996. Nouvelles inscriptions araméenes d’Idumée au Musée d’Israël, Supplément N. 3 à Transeuphratène, Paris. ——, 2002. Nouvelles inscriptions araméenes d’Idumée, Tome II, Paris. Lieberman, S., 1969–74. “Notes on the Giv’at ha-Mivtar Inscription,” in P’raqim. Yearbook of the Schocken Institute for Jewish Research of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, II, 375–380 [ Hebrew]. Marcus, R., 1943. Josephus with an English Translation by Ralph Marcus, Vol. 7, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press and London: William Heinemann Ltd. Mendels, D. 1992. The Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism, New York: Doubleday. Meshorer, Y., 1970. “A Stone Weight from the Reign of Herod,” IEJ 20, 97–98. ——, 1975. Nabataean Coins, Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Qedem volume 3. ——, 1982. Ancient Jewish Coinage, 2 volumes, Dix Hills, NJ: Amphora.

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——, 2001. A Treasury of Jewish Coins From the Persian Period to Bar Kokhba, Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press and Nyack, NY: Amphora. Millar, F., 1996. “Emperors, Kings and Subjects: The Politics of Two-Level Sovereignty,” SCI 15, 159–173. Misgav, H., 2001. “Xreceipt ar and gr,” in Gropp and Benstein, 2001, 223–224. Naveh, J. 1973. “The Aramaic Ostraca,” in Y. Aharoni (ed.), Beer-sheba I. Excavations at Tel Beer-sheba I, 1969–1971 Seasons, Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 79–82. ——, 1974. “Ketovet aramit mihurqaniyah,” ‘Atiqot 7, 56–57 [Hebrew with English summary on p. *7]. ——, 1979. “The Aramaic Ostraca from Tel Beer-Sheba (Seasons 1971–1976),” Tel Aviv 6 182–195. ——, 1992. On Sherd and Papyrus. Aramaic and Hebrew Inscriptions from the Second Temple, Mishnaic and Talmudic Periods, Jerusalem: Magnes Press. Newsom, C., 1998. “Shirot ‘Olat Hashabbat,” in E. Eshel et al. (eds), Qumran Cave 4, VI. Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part I, Oxford: Clarendon Press, DJD 11. Niese, B., 1955. Flavii Iosephi Opera, Vol. III, Second Edition; Berlin: Weidmannsche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Noy, D. 1993. Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe, Vol. I, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pfann, S. J., Alexander, P., Broshi, M., Hazon, E. et al. (eds), 2000. Qumran Cave 4, XXVI. Cryptic Texts and Miscellanea, Part 1, Oxford: Clarendon Press, DJD 36. Pucci Ben Zeev, M., 1998. Jewish Rights in the Roman World. The Greek and Roman Documents Quoted by Flavius Josephus, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, TSAJ 74. Rappaport, U., 2004. The First Book of Maccabees. Introduction, Hebrew Translation, and Commentary, Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi Press. Reed, S. A., Lundberg, M. J. & Phelps, M. B. (eds), 1994. The Dead Sea Scrolls Catalogue, Atlanta: Scholars Press. Rengstorf, K., 1973–83. A Concordance to Flavius Josephus, 4 vols., Leiden: Brill. Richardson, P., 1996. Herod, King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans, Columbia, South Carolina: University of South Carolina Press. Roller, D. W., 1998. The Building Program of Herod the Great, Berkeley/Los Angles/London: University of California Press. Rosenthal, E. S., 1969–74. “The Giv’at ha-Mivtar inscription,” in P’raqim. Yearbook of the Schocken Institute for Jewish Research of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, II, 335–373 [Hebrew]. Schmitt-Korte, K., 1990. “Nabataean Coinage—Part II. New Coin Types and Variants,” NC 150, 105–133. Schürer, E., 1973. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 BC–AD 135), A New English Version Revised and Edited by Geza Vermes and Fergus Millar, Vol. I, Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. Stern, M., 1974–84. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism Edited with Introductions, Translations and Commentary, 3 Vols., Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities. Sullivan, R., 1984. “Royal Coins and Rome,” in Heckel, W. & Sullivan, R. (eds), Ancient Coins of the Graeco-Roman World. The Nickle Numismatic Papers, Waterloo, Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press for the Calgary Institute for the Humanities, 145–158. Talmon, S., 1999. “Hebrew Fragments From Masada,” Masada VI. The Yigael Yadin Exacavations 1963–1965 Final Report, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1–149. Tov, E., 2002. “Lists of Specific Groups of Texts from the Judaean Desert,” in Tov (ed), 2002, 203–228. ——, (ed.), 2002. The Texts from the Judaean Desert. Indices and An Introduction to the Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Series, Oxford: Clarendon Press, DJD 39.

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Webster, B., 2002. “Chronological Index of the Texts from the Judaean Desert,” in Tov (ed.), 2002, 351–446. Yadin, Y., 1999. “The Ben Sira Scroll From Masada,” Masada VI. The Yigael Yadin Exacavations 1963–1965 Final Report, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 151–225. Yadin, Y., Greenfield, J. C., Yardeni, A. & Levine, B. A., 2002. The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters. Hebrew, Aramaic and Nabatean-Aramaic Papyri, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society; Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University; Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum. Yardeni, A., 1990. “New Jewish Aramaic Ostraca,” IEJ 40, 130–157. ——, 1991. The Book of Hebrew Script, Jerusalem: Carta [Hebrew]. ——, 1997a. The Book of Hebrew Script, Jerusalem: Carta. ——, 1997b. “A Draft of a Deed on an Ostracon From Khirbet Qumrân,” IEJ 47, 233–237. ——, 1997c. “Introduction to the ‘Qumran Cave 4’ Documentary Texts,” in H. M. Cotton & A. Yardeni (eds), Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts from Nahal Hever and Other Sites, with an Appendix Containing Alleged Qumran Texts (The Seiyâl Collection II), Oxford: Clarendon Press, DJD 27, XXX–XXX. ——, 2000a. “4Q355 = 4QAccount C ar or heb,” in Pfann et al. (eds), 2000, 296. ——, 2000b. “Jericho 9 = Jericho papDeed A heb? (1st Century CE),” in Charlesworth 2000, 67–69. ——, 2000c. “Jericho 13 = Jerich papUnclassified Text ar (116 CE?),” in Charlesworth 2000, 79–80 ——, 2000d. Textbook of Aramaic, Hebrew and Nabataean Documentary Texts From the Judaean Desert and Related Material, Jerusalem: Hebrew University, The Ben-Zion Dinur Center for Research in Jewish History.

AUGUSTAN AND HERODIAN BUILDING PROGRAMMES

ROME AND JERUSALEM: PUBLIC BUILDING AND THE ECONOMY1 Joseph Geiger Abstract While Roman influences on Herod, possibly not unconnected with his personal relationships with Augustus and Agrippa, have been recognized in a number of fields, including the political, military, and cultural, little has been done in comparing the economic policies of the King to those of his patrons. This paper deals with one particular aspect of this issue. It is demonstrated that Herod’s building policies, one of the best-known and most often explored aspects of his reign, were deeply influenced by those of Augustus and Agrippa; the emphasis is laid on the economic side of these building activities with special reference to the rebuilding of the Temple of Jerusalem and the employment of large numbers of men in it. Next, the economic aspect of Augustus’ large building and restoration projects are reviewed, and their importance in providing more or less permanent employment for great numbers of people as well as contributing to the growth of the economy and to the general prosperity is assessed, and then an attempt is made to compare these achievements with those of Herod. Once the similarity between the two cases is accepted, the Roman and Judaean evidence may reciprocally be complemented. While we lack such sustained reports on Augustan building as we can find in Josephus, Judaea of course is short of the wealth of epigraphic information that can be obtained about Rome. Though this is not a quantitative study, available figures and previous attempts at quantification are adduced in order to form informed guesses about the orders of magnitude involved. In conclusion it will be asked whether these policies of Herod had a comparable influence on his relations with (the silent masses of ) his people as had those of the Princeps on his relations with the Roman plebs.

The central part of the Res Gestae Divi Augusti is taken up by three themes: chapters 15 to 18 itemise the largesses of the Princeps to the Roman people, some to the urban plebs, some to those settling in colonies and compensation for the land required for them, and some to help out the Treasury. In chapters 19 to 21.1 Augustus lists the public works, buildings and restorations he carried out during his long rule, followed by an appendage of dedications and remissions of payments

I have kept the form of the paper as delivered and added only some necessary annotation. It is a pleasant task to thank again the organisers for a judiciously conceived and excellently executed conference. Further, I would like to dedicate this paper to the memory of the late Peter Brunt. 1

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by him (21.2–3). The third theme is games and public entertainments (chapters 22 and 23), again followed by a chapter (24) of dedications.2 The shared claim, benefactions to the Roman people, is clear and needs no elaboration. Yet for our present concern it is a remarkable feature of this section that the public works are sandwiched between the bread and the circuses, a clear indication of Augustus’ intentions. Moreover, it has been observed that Augustus gradually monopolised public building in Rome,3 for a time leaving a share to his closest associates, in fact the very same ones who also were the last outside the Imperial family to gain the right to a triumph.4 Usually this line of action of the Princeps is seen as one more means of earning the gratitude of the plebs. This may well be so, but it is as well to realise what exactly this involved: in my view the turning of the Princeps into by far the largest-scale employer of the part of the plebs constituted by the “mass of semi-employed, looking for work”5 must have played a considerable role in their relations. We all too often tend to assume that ‘bread’, even in the literal sense, meant only the bread rationed to the poor populace of Rome. Yet it has been shown that the frumentationes supplied only a fraction of the corn needed to feed the capital.6 The statement of Tacitus (Ann. 1.2) that Augustus seduced the populus by means of the annona is typical for the attitude of ancient historians to economic problems.7 But man does not live by bread alone (Dt. 8:3):8 the other necessities, or even minor luxuries to go with them, may have been provided, more often than not, by the earnings from more or less casual or temporary employment. This may well have been a no lesser means utilised by the said employer of providing the plebs with ‘bread’ than the rations. In fact, it does not appear absurd to me to juxtapose 2 By the way, it will be noted here that our sources provide additional information on the benefactions of Augustus, and that he chose to enumerate only a part of them, emphasising especially those granted to the people of Rome; for an enumeration of some eminent scholars discussing this issue, see Yavetz 1984, 8 (with acute criticism at 8–13). 3 For a succinct summary of all public buildings under Augustus, see Scheithauer 2000, 27–31. 4 In fact Augustus encouraged triumphators to put up public buildings (Suet., Aug. 29.4–30.1; cf. Itgenshorst 2004, 450–1). For a table connecting victories with public building in the Augustan age, see Favro 1996, 83–6. 5 Veyne 1990, 394. 6 Rickman 1980, 231–5. 7 And of some of their less critical modern successors—see the wise censure of both by Brunt 1974, 92; 102. 8 Referred to already by both Brunt 1980, 94 and Veyne 1990, 394.

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Augustus’ relations with the plebs also by means of providing them with work and feeding them, with those he had with the army—certainly by far the best compensated non-elite group in the Roman Empire.9 All this of course is nothing new: already Polybius (6.13.3) when discussing the role of senate and censors was aware of the importance of outlay for public works of construction and reconstruction, and he also (6.14.2) emphasises the importance of the control of expenditures for the people. What is stated in general terms by Polybius is given specific contents e.g. for the Gracchan period by both Plutarch and Appian.10 Anybody in the least acquainted with universities knows how much easier it is to recruit donors for buildings that will proudly display their names than to obtain the monies necessary for their day-to-day upkeep or periodic repair and refurbishment. One imagines that the eighty-two temples, as well as the Capitol and the theatre of Pompey restored under Augustus were in need of repairs not only, perhaps not even chiefly, as a result of the neglect or damage caused by the civil wars. Needless to say there never existed a central authority that would deal with such matters, and such restorations that were from time to time carried out were the initiative of pious descendants of the original benefactors, who more often that not would take this opportunity to display publicly their own contributions. I should think that the neglect of public buildings in republican Rome may have been endemic, and bad repair the rule rather than the exception for many of them,11 perhaps for temples even more so than for more obviously useful structures—and one remembers that after the death of Agrippa Augustus had also to care for the repair of aqueducts. The introduction of new officials responsible for the upkeep of various public works in the latter half of the reign of Augustus seems to indicate the previously prevalent bad state of repair.12 The decision to restore the temples en masse has two obvious aspects: the availability of the money needed for such a large scale operation and the religious-political, not to say propagandistic, gains to be had. 9 See also Purcell 1996, 805 (on the benefits as “a bonus to denote their status”) and 808 (on the building projects as a source of employment). 10 App. BC 1.23 and Plut. CGr 6.3–4 both speak of contractors (ergolaboi) and craftsmen (cheirotechnai, technitai). 11 Cf. Strong 1968, 101. 12 For the Augustan restoration work, see e.g. Favro 1996, 105–14; the chronology of the various Augustan boards dealing with public works is badly known (cf. Strong 1968, 104).

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A third aspect must have been purely economic. Though one imagines that some part of the population of the City has always been occupied with public works of some sort, whether new buildings or some routine upkeep, repairs and restorations, an operation on the scale envisaged by Augustus must have meant an entirely new magnitude of work force on all levels, from architects down to those carrying out the most simple tasks. I shall not try to quantify, much as I would like to, the overall employment of Augustus’ building schemes in Rome, but I shall set before you some figures and some earlier efforts at quantification that might well give some idea of the orders of magnitude involved.13 First, the well known statements of Frontinus (Aq. 98–9; 116–7) that Agrippa maintained for the upkeep of the aqueducts alone a permanent team of 240 men; to these a familia Caesaris of 460 men was added under Claudius, so that from that reign on the men permanently employed in these tasks numbered 700—a figure that may lead to some educated guesses in respect to other projects. A closer indication of the importance of the building industry in Rome can be gained from the fact that one out of every three of all magistri of all the professional collegia known to us in all Italy, and almost two out of every three known to us in Rome, are the magistri of the collegium fabrum tignariorum in Rome.14 Conversely in a more trade and industry-oriented city like Ostia (including Portus) though still the largest guild, they amount to less than a quarter of the total.15 The difference in building activity must be laid down to public, rather than private building. In absolute numbers we know that the membership of the collegium in Rome comprised some 1300 persons, in Ostia 350. Of course only those people connected with the building trade would become members of the collegium who were prosperous enough to pay the fees, and perhaps also desirous of some social advancement—architects, contractors, sub-contractors, some skilled craftsmen and perhaps some foremen or organisers of gangs of unskilled labourers; but no doubt 13 I totally disregard Thornton & Thornton 1989, whose model and details are too arbitrary to be taken into account. 14 See Royden 1988, 127–36 and App. 4, 259–60. 15 32 out of 142, or about 22.5%, see Royden 1988, 63–125 and App. 4, 259–60. These are of course numbers for the first three centuries of the Empire, but there is reason to believe that they would not have been very different in the time of Augustus. Note also that the reorganisation of the collegium in 7 BCE may have been, as is often the case, a belated reaction to a change in circumstances which had already occurred.

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these last were numerically by far the largest element in any building project. Even if many of these businesses were on a small scale, multiplying the members of the collegium by a factor of ten would probably not err by much in estimating the order of magnitude of those involved in the building industry at any particular time; during periods of major activity, like the Augustan age, it would not appear arbitrarily high to multiply this figure again by a factor of two or three. Finally, in an important and detailed study of a much later major building project, that of the Baths of Caracalla, Janet DeLaine16 calculates, always keeping to what she regards as the lowest estimate, that for four years some 10,000 people may have been employed on the project at any point, and at times as many as 16,000—according to her, between 15% and 24% of adult males seeking employment.17 These figures harmonise well with similar ones brought in for the sake of comparison for major building projects in other pre-industrial societies.18 Public building on a large scale was not an isolated economic activity. Private building was supported by the availability of skilled and unskilled workers, of materials and of know-how, and the money earned by those involved in the building industry, from engineers and contractors down to the last unskilled labourer, was spent and thus returned to further economic use.19 I shall return later to the effects of these developments. It is now time to turn to the second subject of our conference, Herod. Though it could be said that the Judaean state was born, or at any rate conceived, by the Edict of Cyrus and the building of the Second Temple, later there existed neither the economic nor the political conditions for public building on any considerable scale. In fact even the powerful later Hasmonaean rulers restricted their building activities to necessities like walls and fortifications on the one hand, and to palaces and villas for their own pleasure and gratification on the other. When Herod came to power in Judaea public building in the sense of buildings for the public was virtually unknown. It would be otiose here to recount Herod’s building projects: the impressive public buildings

DeLaine 1997. One may also usefully compare the figures of Salmon 2001 for the building of the Parthenon. 18 Cf. Brunt 1974, 87. 19 Cf. Frank 1940, 19. 16 17

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in Jerusalem, chief among them the virtually new Temple, but also buildings for public entertainment; the numerous new cities, among them Caesarea and Sebaste, and the generous contributions to public building in a variety of cities and provinces of the Empire—in fact the last few years have seen not less than three monographs dedicated to the subject,20 and of course these matters occupy other contributors to this volume. Herod’s close relations with Augustus and with Agrippa are well known. The influence of his Roman patrons on the political, social and cultural spheres of his kingdom, are widely acknowledged.21 We also are in the possession of some detailed studies, not least from some scholars attending the conference, demonstrating the influence of Roman art and architecture on the building projects of the king. It is however wider considerations that I wish to raise here. Though of course there is no way to bring in explicit testimonies to this effect, it is my contention that the very idea of public building on a large scale must have been influenced, to some extent at least, by the model of the Princeps and of his closest associate, perhaps even closer in this respect than in others. Moreover, Herod could hardly fail to appreciate the economic consequences of such projects. (In parentheses I add here that Herod may have taken a leaf or two from Augustus’ book also in other economic moves, including remissions of taxes and distributions of grain). It is not possible to estimate the proportional importance of a variety of considerations leading to a decision, but I think it will not be unjustified to say that Herod, whose building of Caesarea and its harbour was a major venture of great economic importance could not, and would not, overlook the economic side also of enterprises where the emphasis lay on different considerations. Also bearing in mind the extent to which Roman planners, architects and models were involved in sites like Masada22 and Caesarea,23 one would not dismiss some sort of Roman involvement in Jerusalem also: these Romans would hardly be unaware of the economic side of such projects.

Viz., Roller 1998, Lichtenberger 1999 and Japp 2000. For a recent reassessment see Geiger 1997; Günther 2005, passim, unconvincingly denies Roman influences and insists on Herod’s ‘hellenistic’ position. 22 See Foerster 1995, passim. 23 See now Hohlfelder 2003. 20 21

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In the following I shall restrict myself to the one example of the rebuilding of the Temple and its financial and economic correlations.24 I shall not attempt to speculate about Herod’s reasons for rebuilding the Temple—or as the author of the huge work on the Temple of Jerusalem would prefer it, the destruction of the Hasmonaean Temple as the final seal on the destruction of the dynasty, and then the rebuilding as the restoration of some semblance of the Davidic monarchy;25 suffice it to say that neither this, nor any of the authors of the recent monographs on Herod’s building policies, gives a thought to possible economic motives, at least as secondary reasons in the considerations of the king.26 It was the revenues, rather than the expenditures of Herod that are detailed in our main source and hence figure prominently in modern scholarship.27 Moreover, despite the indications to the contrary in his own text, most scholars prefer to follow the lead of Josephus and repeat what he says about taxes and exploitation—as if anyone wouldn’t be happy to pay fewer taxes than he actually does. Josephus of course cannot be blamed for not thinking, or writing, in terms of the situation of the great masses or of economic growth: the same cannot be said of modern scholars. In the following I shall deal with the test case of the rebuilding of the Temple of Jerusalem from this point of view, and leave the implications for such other well-attested projects as the building of Caesarea to the imagination. Josephus’ figures (Ant. 15.390; 420–1) for the rebuilding of the Temple, including work on the levelling of the Temple Mount and related structures, is 10,000 men over 8 years and 1,000 priests employed on the Temple itself for a year and five months, though it is not clear to me whether the latter figure is or is not included in the former. A study by two civil engineers estimating the labour involved arrives at comparable, though slightly lower figures. Without wishing to enter into a detailed criticism of their

For the economic importance of temples in antiquity, see Silver 1995, 18–33. Busink 1980, 1058–62. 26 Prause 1990, 139; 142 and Gabba 1999, 123 briefly refer to the positive influence of the building of the Temple on employment. 27 Most prominently Gabba 1990; even the short section of Warszawski & Peretz (1992, 42–4), dealing with the economic aspects of the rebuilding of the Temple, estimates only expenditures and the probable sources for covering them. The most detailed discussion of the reign of Herod (Schalit 1969), devotes less than 7% of text to the economy—alas, entirely to the revenues. 24 25

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estimates—which seem to me to be somewhat on the low side28—it will be taken here as a given that the figures in question do reflect in a general way the orders of magnitude involved. The estimates of Warszawski and Peretz for the workmen employed in Herod’s rebuilding of the Temple should not be assessed on their own terms only, but also compared with other available estimates. They certainly do not seem to be out of harmony with the impressive study I referred to about the Baths of Caracalla. These figures should be seen against the background of the population of Jerusalem. Without entering into a lengthy discussion that cannot result in reliable and generally accepted conclusions, one will not err much in assessing the population of Herod’s Jerusalem as somewhere between 5% and 10% of that of Rome—probably about 40,000, closest to the calculation of Magen Broshi, who bases his figures on the area of the city and estimated population density.29 Now that scholarly consensus seems to have adopted the largely a priori arguments of Brunt and others that it was in the main free labour that was employed in the large public projects in Rome,30 we may unhesitatingly assume a fortiori the same for Herod’s Jerusalem, since here no doubt the very availability of slave labour was much more circumscribed than in Rome while the considerations for preferring free labour were as valid as elsewhere. And it needs no arguing that exclusively Jewish labour was involved in all stages of quarrying, transportation, construction and ornamentation, though perhaps not in planning. There can be no doubt that, given the relative sizes of the projects and of the populations of the cities involved, the economic importance of the rebuilding of the Temple must have been very considerably larger than that of Augustus’ ventures in Rome. Moreover, one has to consider the fact that the main expenditure in building projects is labour, including that involved in the obtaining, preparation and transportation of the materials needed. Thus large-scale projects appear as a most healthy and beneficial way of reinvesting in the economy the gains from taxation. One may usefully compare this 28 Warszawski & Peretz 1992. It seems to me that some of their estimates are too low, in that they fail to take into account, unlike e.g. DeLaine 1997, an approximately 10% additional labour employed in supervision. 29 Broshi 1975; 1978. 30 Brunt 1974, 1980, followed by, e.g., Anderson 1997, 103–25, Martin 1989, 62–72; see also Scheidel 2005a on high slave wages, and Scheidel 2005b on the relatively small size of the slave population.

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with the Temple tax, much of which lay there unused, and a temptation to looters. Despite the difficulties of dating the impressive private mansions excavated in the seventies more exactly than to the Herodian period generally, it is clear that under the king a big boost was given to private building in Jerusalem31—a well-known concomitant of public building on a large scale. I again only refer in passing to that automatic outcome of large-scale employment, the wages returning to the economy by catering to the needs of the workforce and thus activating economic growth. Moreover, it may well be that the magnificently reconstructed Temple increased its attraction for pilgrims both from Judaea and from abroad, with the obvious economic consequences of that growth.32 Also donations by both affluent Jews33 and the Imperial family34 contributed to the wealth and economic welfare of the city.35 All this would vindicate the view of Keith Hopkins, who modified Finley’s model of economic stagnation by admitting economic growth in certain specified periods, such as the Augustan, with exactly this sort of phenomena in mind.36 It seems to me that the growing Augustan prosperity also extended to Herod’s realm. Though it is Jerusalem that is at the focus of the present investigation, it will be readily conceded that mutatis mutandis similar considerations will apply at least to some degree to Herod’s building policies in the gentile-dominated parts of his kingdom, and that his even-handedness in dealing with the two main sections of his subjects, now recognised by many scholars37 could also be observed in these matters. But economics were closely tied to, indeed subject to, social and political considerations. A special paper of this conference is devoted to the entertainment—indeed circuses—presented by Herod to the population of Jerusalem;38 bread was not given free, but it was the purpose of this paper to show that heretofore unknown opportunities to earn it were provided to large sections of that population. In passing

Avigad 1983, 82–106. See e.g. Lichtenberger 1999, 140. 33 Isaac 1983. 34 Schürer 1979, 313 n. 88. 35 On another aspect of the economic importance of the Temple see Ådna 1999, unreasonably denied by Günther 2005, 211–2. 36 Hopkins 1983, esp. xiv; cf. Millett 2001, 24–7. 37 Pastor 2003. 38 See the contribution of J. Patrich in this volume. 31 32

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I remark on the almost inevitable consequence of such a situation, namely the massive movement of the poor from rural areas to the city. It is a well-known phenomenon that such movements are always one way, and once the requirements for labour diminish these new residents of the city either become an unemployed mass or employment must be found for them. Hence the ongoing works on the Temple almost to the time of its destruction, hence the famous statement of Josephus—whatever the exactitude of his figure—concerning the 18,000 people out of work when the project eventually came to its end in 64 CE. Agrippa II refused the demands of the people to construct anew the eastern stoa on the Temple Mount, and instead they were employed in plastering the streets of Jerusalem—a typical solution for that sort of situation ( Jos., Ant. 20.219–22). Whatever the accuracy of the estimation of the population of Jerusalem, I would insist that Broshi’s method is correct, and that the most accurate correlation one may find is still that between the area of a city and its number of inhabitants. Now it appears that the extent of the city, and with it its population, expanded by over 100% between Herod and the outbreak of the revolt.39 I think I am not too reckless in asserting that the relocation of labour-hungry men from rural Judaea into the city was a main cause of this expansion, and that it testifies to the economic growth I have been speaking about. I do not wish to exceed the limits of my topic and even less so the confines of the conference, but I daresay that this remarkable growth of the population of Jerusalem is a factor that has to be taken into account in all discussions of the antecedents and the causes of the Jewish War. How did the urban poor—I shall not call them plebs urbana, let alone sordida and the like—react to Herod’s building policy? Can we assume that they shared the prejudices or the hostility discernible in Josephus, no doubt reflecting genuine attitudes of some at least of the upper classes in Judaea? Would they bite the hand that fed them? Surprisingly perhaps, the reply to this obviously rhetorical question is not an unqualified ‘no’. As is well known, the various sects and opposition groups of the period were united in their hostility to the position of the Temple and the cult. Probably some of this antagonism was directed against its financial position and dealings—of course Jesus and the moneychangers come immediately to mind. Nevertheless it may be repeated

39

Broshi 1975; 1978.

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that it is not immensely far-fetched to assume that most people were not ideologically as highly charged as e.g. the Essenes, and thus they may have favourably compared Herod’s expenditures on mass employment with the Temple treasure’s barren existence, waiting as it were for the next robber to appear on the scene. Thus we have seen that there may have been more to the rebuilding of the Temple of Jerusalem than deferring to Jewish religious sensibilities, as well as displaying the magnificence or even the political and religious ambitions of the King. Can one assume that the often quoted and unparallelled positive evaluation of Herod’s Temple in Rabbinic literature (bBB 4a) is to some degree a recollection of thankfulness for employment in the project, and then for decades in the upkeep? Moreover, the tale that while the building was in progress it rained only at night is one of the rare cases where there is a perfect correspondence between Josephus and a Talmudic passage; whether or not there is a kernel of truth in this miracle, the tradition that may well have reflected the gratefulness of the workers for the opportunity to earn a living was already current in the first century CE and persisted for centuries more ( Jos., Ant. 15.425; bTaan 23a). The two Talmudic passages referred to may provide rare glimpses of other than upper-class sources concerning the King. It has been suggested with some authority40 that there existed a certain correlation between the popularity or otherwise of Roman Emperors and their providing employment by means of public works. One should add of course the other economic advantages of Herod’s rule not discussed here. Can one then disallow without hesitation similar considerations in the case of Herod? Bibliography Ådna, J. (1999). Jerusalemer Tempel und Tempelmarkt im 1. Jh n. Chr., Abh. D. Pal.-Vereins 25. Wiesbaden. Anderson, J. C. Jr., (1997). Roman Architecture and Society. Baltimore and London. Avigad, N. (1983). Discovering Jerusalem. Nashville etc. Broshi, M. (1975). “La population de l’ancienne Jérusalem.” RB 82: 5–14. ——. (1978). “Estimating the Population of Ancient Jerusalem.” BAR 4: 10–15. Brunt, P. A. (1974). “The Roman Mob.” in: Studies in Ancient Society, ed. M. I. Finley, London and Boston, 74–102 (= Past and Present 35 [1966]: 3–27). ——. (1980). “Free Labour and Public Works at Rome.” JRS 70: 81–100.

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Brunt 1980, 98.

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Busink, Th. A. (1980). Der Tempel von Jerusalem: Von Salomo bis Herodes, 2. Von Ezechiel bis Middot. Leiden. DeLaine, J. (1997). The Baths of Caracalla. A study in the design, construction, and economics of large-scale building projects in imperial Rome. JRA Suppl. 25, Portsmouth RI. Favro, D. (1996). The Urban Image of Augustan Rome. Cambridge. Foerster, G. (1995). Masada V. The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965 Final Reports: Art and Architecture. Jerusalem. Frank, T. (1940). An Economic Survey of Ancient Rome. V: Rome and Italy of the Empire. Baltimore. Gabba, E. (1990). “The Finances of King Herod.” in: Greece and Rome in Eretz Israel. Collected Essays, eds. A. Kasher, U. Rappaport, G. Fuks, Jerusalem, 160–168. ——. (1999). “The social, economic and political history of Palestine 63 BCE–CE 70,” in CHJ iii, Cambridge, 94–167. Geiger, J. (1997). “Herodes Philorhomaios.” Ancient Society 28: 75–88. Günther, L.-M. (2005). Herodes der Große. Darmstadt. Hohlfelder, R. H. (2003, pbld. 2004). “Images of Homage, Images of Power: King Herod and his Harbour, Sebastos.” Antichthon 37: 13–31. Hopkins, K. (1983). “Introduction”, in: Trade in the Ancient Economy, eds. P. Garnsey, K. Hopkins, C. R. Whittacker, London, ix–xxv. Isaac, B. (1983). “A Donation for Herod’s Temple in Jerusalem.” IEJ 33: 86–92. Itgenshorst, T. (2004). “Augustus und der republikanische Triumph. Triumphalfasten und summi viri-Galerie als Instrumente der imperialen Machtsicherung.” Hermes 132: 436–458. Japp, S. (2000). Die Baupolitik Herodes’ des Großen. Die Bedeutung der Architektur für die Herrschaftslegitimation eines römischen Klientelkönigs. Intern. Archäologie 64, Rahden/Westf. Lichtenberger, A. (1999). Die Baupolitik Herodes des Großen, Abh. DPV 26, Wiesbaden. Martin, S. D. (1989). The Roman Jurists and the Organization of Private Building in the Later Republic and Early Empire. Coll. Lat. 204, Bruxelles. Millar, F. (1984). “State and Subject: The Impact of Monarchy”, in: Caesar Augustus: Seven Aspects, eds. F. Millar and E. Segal, Oxford, 37–60 (repr.: id., Rome, the Greek World, and the East, i. The Roman Republic and the Augustan Revolution, eds. H. M. Cotton and G. M. Rogers, Chapel Hill and London 2002, 292–313). Millett, P. (2001). “Productive to Some Purpose? The Problem of Ancient Economic Growth”, in: Economies Beyond Agriculture in the Classical World, eds. D. J. Mattingly and J. Salmon, London and New York, 17–48. Pastor, J. (2003). “Herod, King of Jews and Gentiles: Economic Policy as a Measure of Evenhandedness”, in: Jews and Gentiles in the Holy Land in the Days of the Second Temple, the Mishnah and the Talmud, eds. M. Mor et alii, Jerusalem, 152–164. Prause, G. (1990). Herodes der Große: Die Korrektur einer Legende. Stuttgart. Purcell, N. (1996). “Rome and its Development under Augustus and his Successors.” in: CAH X2, 782–811. Rickman, G. (1980). The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome. Oxford. Roller, D. W. (1998). The Building Program of Herod the Great. Berkeley/Los Angeles/ London. Royden H. (1988), The Magistrates of the Roman Professional Collegia in Italy from the First to the Third Centuries A.D. Biblioteca di studi antichi 63, Pisa. Salmon, J. (2001). “Temples the Measures of Men: Public Building in the Greek Economy.” in: Economies Beyond Agriculture in the Classical World, eds. D. J. Mattingly and J. Salmon. London and New York, 195–208. Schalit, A. (1969). König Herodes—der Mann und sein Werk. Berlin. Scheidel, W. (2005a). “Real Slave Prices and the Relative Cost of Slave Labor in the Greco-Roman World”. AncSoc 35: 1–17. ——. (2005b). “Human Mobility in Roman Italy, II: The Slave Population”. JRS 95: 64–79.

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Scheithauer, A. (2000). Kaiserliche Bautätigkeit in Rom. Das Echo in der antiken Literatur. HABES 32, Stuttgart, 27–31. Schürer, E. (1979). The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 BC–AD 135) ii. A New English Version Revised and Edited by G. Vermes, F. Millar, M. Black. Edinburgh. Silver, M. (1995). Economic Structures of Antiquity. Contributions in Economics and Economic History 159, Westport, Conn. and London. Strong, D. E. (1968). “The Administration of Public Building in Rome during the Late Republic and Early Empire.” BICS 15: 97–109. Thornton, M. K. and Thornton, R. L. (1989). Julio-Claudian Building Programs: a Quantitative Study in Political Management. Waucunda. Veyne, P. (1990). Bread and Circuses, transl. B. Pearce, London. Warszawski, A. and Peretz, A. (1992). “Building the Temple Mount: Organization and Execution.” Cathedra 66: 3–46 (Hebrew; Engl. sum. 191). Yavetz, Z. (1984). “The Res Gestae and Augustus’ Public Image.” in: Caesar Augustus. Seven Aspects, eds. F. Millar and E. Segal, Oxford, 1–36.

PALACES AND THE PLANNING OF COMPLEXES IN HEROD’S REALM Ehud Netzer Abstract Analyzing the building projects of Herod the Great leads one to the conclusion that the design of complexes is one of their most distinctive features. This is manifested by the planning, to a high standard, of many of his palaces as complexes, as is the case with most of the temples and entertainment facilities. Herod’s palaces excelled in their great variety. The striking complexes among these palaces are: Masada’s Northern Palace; Jericho’s Third Palace; tentatively, the central palace at Jerusalem; and Greater Herodium—the most comprehensive complex. The temples, no doubt, called for initiative in the design of complexes. On one hand are the pagan temple precincts of Sebaste and Caesarea. On the other hand, there is the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem, which featured a complex within a complex—the Inner Temple within the Temple Mount. Jericho’s Hippodrome is a most inspiring complex by itself. However, the inauguration festivities of Caesarea were sufficient reason to combine the enlarged palace, a hippodrome and a theatre in a kind of complex. Herod’s sources of inspiration ranged from his predecessors, the Hasmonaeans (e.g. their winter palace complex at Jericho); the Hellenistic architecture in the Eastern Mediterranean (such as at Alexandria and Antioch); the developing Roman architecture—in particular that of Augustus and his milieu (e.g. Forum Iulium and Forum Augustum in Rome); but above all his own ability, based on the combination of a deep understanding in the field of building, profound logic, and a most creative imagination.

An analysis of the building projects of Herod the Great leads one to the conclusion that the design of complexes is one of their most distinctive features. This is manifested by the planning, to a high standard, of many of his palaces as complexes, which also applies to many of the temples and entertainment facilities erected by him. The wave of building in Rome during the days of Augustus certainly served as one of the sources of inspiration for Herod’s projects following his first visit to that city in 40 BCE. Buildings and complexes, such as the theatre of Pompey and the porticoes fronting it, the Forum Julium,1 and the Saepta, some of which were still in the process of

1 Although it still lacked certain elements at the time of its inauguration by Julius Caesar in 46 BCE, and was completed by Augustus some years later; see Roller 1998, 41.

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construction, must have made a strong impression on him.2 However, both in his own country and its neighbours Herod saw and apparently was much impressed by various building projects, most of which were erected according to Hellenistic traditions. The most distinctive local example is the Hasmonaean winter palace complex at Jericho (Netzer 2001 1–174; 301–311) (Fig. 1). However, there might have been other Hasmonaean complexes in Jerusalem and elsewhere. An open question is the role of Iraq el-’Amir in Herod’s realm. It included Hyrcanus the Tobiad’s “floating palace,” which was possibly never completed, but was still standing nearly to its full height in the days of Herod. This was part of a most impressive complex that was inspired by Alexandrian architecture (Netzer 1998; 2000). In any event, Herod had visited both Alexandria and Antioch, the two most important Hellenistic centres. We shall first survey Herod’s palaces, many of them built as complexes. (However, with the exception of Masada, we shall not discuss the palatial wings within the desert fortresses.) Most of the palaces built in the first phase of his reign (ca. 37–30 BCE)3 were in fact compact buildings. They included the Western Palace at Masada (and its three satellites, Buildings Nos. 11, 12, 13), which resemble the Hasmonaean Twin Palaces at Jericho (Netzer 1991, 599–604). All of them have oriental elements in their plan. Included in the category of compact buildings is Herod’s First Palace at Jericho (Netzer 2006 45–49; 262–263), which features both Hellenistic and Roman elements (Fig. 2). However, a personal touch can be sensed in its general organization.4 On the other hand the Antonia Fortress in Jerusalem, whose plan can only be conjectured, was according to Josephus a kind of a complex comprised of a royal wing, a military wing and four towers, one at each corner (Fig. 3). In view of the great similarity between the remains of the Mountain Palace Fortress at Herodium and the literary description of the Antonia, it seems that the latter was basically square in plan.5 Unlike most scholars who place this edifice beyond the “traditional” Temple Mount, a location that rules out a square plan, we believe

Haselberger 2002, 134–135, 219, 242–244; and Roller 1998, 33–36. There are various viewpoints with regard to the division of Herod’s reign into phases; however, we shall not discuss this subject in this article. 4 E.g., in the organization of the service areas along the building’s northern side, which were approached by separate corridors. 5 See Josephus, War 5.238–246, and Netzer 2006, 119–125. 2 3

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 173 that the Antonia jutted (some 65 m!) into the existing monumental platform—a projection that was eliminated during the Umayyad period (Netzer E., 2006 159–160). The next palaces to be discussed are those built in the second phase of Herod’s reign (ca. 30–20 BCE). The Second Palace at Jericho is already a clear complex that combined a rectangular main wing, built along an axis of symmetry, with an adjacent lower wing, which included a swimming pool, a bathhouse and a garden (Netzer 2006 175–217; 312–316) (Fig. 4). This lower wing, in contrast to the main upper one, was laid out in a free manner, in order to fit in with the existing Hasmonaean pools. Also present within the boundaries of this complex were a formal garden and a large swimming pool (32 m long—the two Hasmonaean pools that Herod had joined together). More or less at the same time, Masada’s Northern Palace was built (Netzer E., 1991 102–170, 575–588; 2006 27–33). Although the original intention might have not been to create a complex, it developed into one following the brilliant idea to erect it on three natural terraces (Fig. 5). This was apparently Herod’s own vision, motivated by the dramatic local topography. The outcome, in any event, was a most inspiring complex—an architectural gem. Jerusalem’s main palace was also erected in the second phase. Although archaeology has so far failed to furnish even elementary data for a reconstruction of its general plan, the many elements it included, according to Josephus’ description, point to a kind of complex6 (Fig. 6(a)). Worthy of note among them are the Caesareum and the Agrippeum, two huge reception/dining halls, which according to Josephus must have been truly impressive.7 This tentative complex also included the three famous towers—Phasael, Hippicus, and Mariamne, each of which was a kind of “mini-complex.” (Fig. 6(b)) They were built a few years before the palace, but were ultimately integrated into it (Netzer 2006 125–131). It seems that following the completion of his palace in Jerusalem, Herod was ready to tackle Herodium—the most extensive and, in fact, most significant of his complexes. Here he built his largest palace, which covered an area of 20–25 hectares (Fig. 7(a)). Herodium was a multifunctional compound (Netzer 2006 178–200), comprising Herod’s burial 6 7

Josephus, War 5.176–181. Josephus, Antiquities 15.318; War 1.402.

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place, a memorial site (apparently the only one to bear his name!),8 a large summer palace, and the capital of a toparchy. The round building on the truncated hill served as a palace, fortress and monument (Fig. 7(b)). Lower Herodium was a complex consisting of many palatial wings, reception halls, service wings, and the living quarters of the maintenance team as well as the toparchy’s administration. The pool complex, located in the middle of Lower Herodium, served as its centre. Worthy of note is a series of structures, built beside the pool complex, which apparently belonged to Herod’s burial compound and included a 350-m-long course (30 m wide), a monumental building at its end, a large ritual bath and a second monumental building that was later demolished. (The tomb itself has not yet been discovered; however, it is probably located either in the area discussed or somewhere below the top of the hill, and was reached from the above-mentioned structures either above ground or via a hypothetical tunnel.) A most important feature of Greater Herodium is its construction according to a single grid system, with architectural axes and focal points serving as major guidelines for its planning. Furthermore, Lower Herodium has a unique cluster design, probably a Herodian innovation (Fig. 7(c)). Also erected at the end of the second phase was the Promontory Palace at Caesarea—a compact building with a swimming pool at its center, surrounded by porticoes (Netzer 2006, 105–111). A pool surrounded by colonnades had already appeared in Herod’s Second Palace in Jericho and also might be regarded as a Herodian innovation. At a later stage, in the third phase (ca. 20–4 BCE), Herod added to it a new wing built around a large courtyard to make possible large receptions in honor of the city’s inauguration (Fig. 8). Last, but not least, is Herod’s Third Palace in Jericho, the so-called “opus reticulatum palace”—a unique complex that occupies some 3 hectares (Netzer 2001, 229–298; 317–330) (Fig. 9). There is no doubt that architects and builders from Italy took part in its construction, and it resembles buildings known to us, particularly in Campania. However, I have reasons to assume that Herod personally contributed to the planning of this complex, both with regard to the way it spreads over both banks of Wadi Qelt and, in particular, to the erection of the building on top of the Southern Tell. The latter edifice, which stood on top of an artificial mound raised for this purpose and was approached via a stair bridge, included a round reception hall beneath which was a small The second “Herodium,” mentioned by Josephus, is apparently a literary error; see Netzer 2006, 180, n 15. 8

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 175 bathhouse (Fig. 9(c)). This unique round hall was named either after Augustus or Marcus Agrippa, whereas the second lavish hall in this complex, bearing the name of the other, was built to the north of the wadi. The latter was an extremely large basilican hall, 29 m long, paved in the opus sectile style. The Third Palace also featured long decorated porticoes, a large, exotic formal garden, and a huge pool, 90 m long, for swimming and boating. The many palaces of Herod the Great are characterized by their great variety: small and huge; fortified and unfortified; compact buildings or complexes; introvert and extrovert, etc. (By the way, from an architectural viewpoint, an isolated and well-protected palace is not automatically introvert, as exemplified by Masada’s Northern Palace, the most extrovert structure ever built by Herod; however, this is the case with regard to Herodium’s Mountain Palace-Fortress, with the exception of its high eastern tower which offered a view of the landscape.) The architectural traditions finding expression in these building projects are varied. We mentioned the eastern influence in Masada’s earliest palaces.9 The Hasmonaeans possibly contributed greatly to the integration of gardens and pools into the Herodian palaces. Direct and indirect Hellenistic traditions may be discerned in most of these palaces. The later palaces show a stronger Roman influence. Nearly all of them benefited from Herod’s intuition (Netzer 2006, 295–300). *

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We shall now turn to the temple complexes erected by Herod and his architects. The first to be built was the Augusteum at Samaria-Sebaste (Fig. 10). It comprised a temple on a high platform and a forecourt that was surrounded by double colonnades. The construction of the forecourt necessitated an extension beyond the steep boundaries of the acropolis, and this was achieved by means of high terrace walls and massive fills. The main entrance to the precinct was apparently on its axis of symmetry, via a stair bridge. The reason for constructing the temple on top of a high platform, beyond the boundaries of its forecourt—a rather rare phenomenon—was probably the result of Herod’s desire that the temple be readily visible from afar. Various buildings surrounded this precinct, including the house of the priest, some storerooms, and perhaps even stables. However, architecturally speaking, they do not compete with the precinct of the temple. It seems that in the case of 9

Foerster 1995, 68–170.

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this building project, more than any other, one can draw a parallel to contemporaneous Rome; Sebaste’s temple was probably influenced by the Forum Iulium which Herod had seen a few years earlier. During the construction of Caesarea, the population of which was similar to that of Sebaste (mainly pagans), Herod built the temple of Augustus and Rome, a precinct that differed from the one at Sebaste in many details and seems to have been more refined in its design (Fig. 11). In contrast to Sebaste’s Augusteum, the temple at Caesarea, which was oriented toward the harbour, stood within a court and lacked a high podium. I think that double colonnades surrounded this court on three sides, a hypothesis that only future excavations can confirm. The above mentioned refinements are to be found at both the front and back of the precinct. In the rear, the court terminated in the segment of a circle, which was either intended to improve the layout or perhaps to adapt the precinct to the surrounding streets, which were laid out in a different alignment. At the front, the precinct bordered on the harbour’s quay, which was about 11 m lower. A 20-m-wide strip, which I think was occupied by a formal garden, separated the temple from the harbour. The tentative garden was flanked by two narrow wings, perhaps continuations of the hypothetical colonnades—a most inspiring architectural element. The garden was bisected by a stairway built on top of arches, leading up to the precinct. Several years after launching the major project of Caesarea with its harbour, Herod began his grandiose enterprise—the rebuilding of the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem, together with the enlargement of the Temple Mount (Fig. 12). In this case, one might designate two architectural complexes—one within the other—each standing on its own merit. The construction of the Temple proper, together with its adjacent courts, was implemented within a limited period of time, about a year and a half, following an agreement between Herod and the priests (Netzer 2006, 136–177). While freedom of planning was much more limited in the Temple itself, it seems that with regard to the court in which the Temple stood (the azarah), in particular the offices, the gates, and the wall around it (here termed the “inner enclosure”), the situation was different (Fig. 13). We came to this conclusion as a result of a careful architectural study, which was based mainly on data provided by the Mishnah and Josephus, and the nature of Herodian architecture. Herod’s partial freedom in the planning here found expression in a modular design. This is evident, in particular, in the six gate towers (three on each side) with their heavy doors that were all plated with

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 177 gold and silver. Only two of these six gates (hanitzotz and hamoked) were in daily use; a third, the Water Gate, was used only once a year, while the other three were never opened. Nevertheless, the interiors of the latter gates were put to use as offices and storerooms. It seems that this modular design helped Herod to attain in a short time a practical, efficient complex. The final product features some sophisticated details, such as the chel (a ramp-like balcony surrounding the Inner Enclosure on three sides) which, to our mind, was built in order to conceal within it a service corridor; or the use of part of the azarah’s substructure, under its eastern periphery (a strip reserved for Jewish males who were not priests) named ezrat yisrael, to house some of the offices. On top of the relevant offices mentioned in the Mishnah,10 it included to my mind two offices—those of Pinhas the Outfitter and the havitin makers—which according to the Mishnah were built on either side of the Nicanor Gate. They were probably entered through the two wickets ( pishpashim) located on either side of the gate, beyond which were steps built into the wall of the Inner Enclosure. The final result was a complex that met both the functional-religious needs of the priests, and satisfied Herod’s own architectural desires. The enlargement of the Temple Mount was a result of various considerations, but one of them, Herod’s personal need for an appropriate status on the mount, gained his special attention. It inspired him to erect the most monumental edifice he ever built—the stoa basileia (Royal Portico)—which called for a huge platform despite the difficult topographical conditions on the mount’s southern side. Herod was not permitted to enter the Temple proper, and he had no special status throughout the area controlled by the priests. However, in the Royal Portico, beyond the 500 × 500 cubits of holy territory, his prestige as monarch could be given full recognition. On the mount itself, the Royal Portico complemented the surrounding double porticoes (Fig. 14). Theoretically, the king and his guests used this magnificent space only at the time of the high holidays. During the rest of the year it probably played a role similar to that of the other porticoes. Nevertheless, it seems to me that the stair bridge ending in Robinson’s Arch was not intended for daily use by the public, but merely served as a ceremonial entrance to the Royal Portico (and also to the Temple) for the king and those accompanying him.

10 Through the Women’s Court (ezrat nashim), which was at a level ca. 3 m lower than that of the azarah.

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The Antonia, at the northern edge of the Temple Mount, was built prior to the latter’s extension. An effort was now made to adapt the new scheme to the Antonia and not the other way round. As a complex, the Temple Mount, with its surrounding porticoes and the two main entrances (Huldah Gates) built as tunnels under the Royal Portico, functioned harmoniously. If there was any Roman influence, it was only indirect. I tend to agree with D. Bahat who regards the surrounding colonnades in Herod’s time as a remnant from the Hasmonaean master plan. In any event, the inner complex of the Temple was in fact an entity in itself. From an architectural viewpoint, it did not really relate to the outer complex. If there was any sophisticated relationship between the two, I prefer to see it in the entrance to the Temple proper, which might have been located at the exact center of the open space bounded by the Royal Portico and the three porticoes. Not all of Herod’s entertainment edifices have yet been revealed, but among those known to us two should be mentioned from the viewpoint of complexes: Jericho’s hippodrome and the hippodrome-theatre-palace complex at Caesarea. Jericho’s hippodrome is one of Herod’s most inspiring complexes (Fig. 15). The unique combination of a race course, a cavea of a theatre (with an apparently portable stage), and a large elevated building behind the cavea—a gymnasium or reception unit—is the only one of its kind throughout the classical world, and I feel certain that this mélange is one of the many creative proposals made by Herod himself. (In the past, I have discussed Herod’s contribution of original ideas in the design of his buildings, such as the integration of several functions within a single building project, as a characteristic feature of his architecture.) In the case of Jericho’s hippodrome, the impact of the theatre and gardens of Pompeii in Italy is possibly noticeable. The assemblage of edifices in the southern part of Caesarea was probably built to meet the requirements of the inauguration festivities (Fig. 16). At first glance, they do not appear to constitute a coherent complex. However, certain intermediate architectural elements might have linked them together to form a more refined complex—a possibility that only future excavations can explore. *

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Herod inherited sound political sense from his father, and throughout his life he adhered to the latter’s policy of maintaining good relations with the Romans, except for a single deviation in 9 BCE. However, it is

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 179 very doubtful whether every building erected by him in his own realm exhibits tendencies of Romanisation, or the desire to win the favour of Roman rulers. After all, there is a great difference between naming a city, hall, or tower after an emperor or one of Herod’s relatives, and the considerable outlays and efforts invested in their construction. In any event, I believe that such projects were primarily assessed in terms of the local benefit to be gained from them, including the king’s own ambition and prestige. One can rightly assume that in designing the precincts at Sebaste and Caesarea, Herod might have focused his intentions on matching the customs of Rome or other parts of its empire (Fig. 17), but this does not apply to most of his other buildings. I do not see any act of Romanisation in the introduction of Roman bathhouses into his palaces—modernisation, yes. The building technologies employed by Herod were basically local. The imported pozzolana used at Caesarea was essential for the construction of the harbour (in which Roman engineers must have been involved); the combination of Roman concrete and opus reticulatum was produced only by the Italian team that came for a year or two as part of their routine operations, and was never imitated by the local builders. We must bear in mind that only some of Herod’s structures were built of elegant ashlars; the rest were constructed of various types of stone or even adobe, all of which were covered by stucco—as a means of attaining his goal and not as a showcase to be viewed by visitors from overseas. In any event, no Herodian buildings were faced with marble. Architectural decoration in the Pompeian Second or Third Style should be regarded as the fashion then in vogue, not as a conscious act of Romanisation. There appears to be little justification for drawing a direct line between Herod’s and Augustus’ concepts in the field of architecture. However, in theory, such influences could have been mutual. *

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Without doubt, the planning of complexes was primarily an expression of Herod’s administrative capabilities, creative imagination, and his profound understanding in the field of building. Complexes such as Herodium, Jericho’s hippodrome, and his Third (opus reticulatum) Palace at Jericho, or the “mini-complexes” such as the southern tell of the last-mentioned palace (with the round hall at its top), Masada’s Northern Palace, and the multi-storeyed towers, are all masterpieces in one way or another. Rather than being expressions of Romanisation,

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these complexes are, above all, manifestations of the architecture of Herod the Great. The author would like to thank all the draftsmen who prepared the isometric reconstructions following his instructions: Figs. 1, 5, 7(c), 9, 10, 15—J. Salzberg; Figs. 2, 4—R. Laureys-Chachy and Figs. 11, 13, 14—M. Edelkop (computerized drawings). Fig. 7(b) was drawn by the author. The reconstructed plans of Caesarea’s theatre (Fig. 16) were produced by the author together with R. Laureys-Chachy. All the other plans (except Caesarea’s city plans and hippodrome, and the Forum Iulium), were produced by the author. Bibliography Foerster, G., 1995. Masada V, The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965, Final Reports ( Jerusalem). Haselberger, L., 2002. Mapping Augustan Rome, Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series, No. 50 (Portsmouth, RI). Netzer, E., 1981. “Herod’s Building Projects: State Necessity or Personal Need?” The Jerusalem Cathedra 1, 48–61, 73–80. ——, 1991. Masada III, The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965. The Buildings: Stratigraphy and Architecture, Jerusalem, pp. 402–413. ——, 1998. “Hyrcanus the Tobaid’s Enchanted Palace East of the Jordan,” Qadmoniot Vol. XXXI (No. 116), pp. 117–122 (in Hebrew). ——, 1999. The Palaces of the Hasmonaeans and Herod the Great ( Jerusalem). ——, 2000. “Tyros, the ‘Floating Palace’,” in S. G. Wilson and M. Desjardins (eds.), Text and Artefact in the Religions of Mediterranean Antiquity, Studies in Christianity and Judaism 9, pp. 340–453. ——, 2001. Hasmonaean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho, Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations, Vol. I: Stratigraphy and Architecture ( Jerusalem). ——, 2004. Hasmonaean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho, Final Reports of the 1973–1987 Excavations, Vol. II: Stratigraphy and Architecture (together with R. Laureys-Chachy) ( Jerusalem). ——, 2006. The Architecture of Herod, the Great Builder (Tübingen). Roller, D. W., 1998. The Building Program of Herod the Great (Berkeley, CA).

HERODIAN ENTERTAINMENT STRUCTURES Joseph Patrich Abstract Entertainment structures constituted a significant part of the Herodian building projects in Herod’s kingdom and beyond, serving his internal and external political interests. They were an important means for disseminating Greco-Roman culture, and enhancing Herod’s reputation as patron of arts and agonistics. According to Josephus, theatres were built in Jerusalem, Jericho, Caesarea, Sidon and Damascus; amphitheatres/hippodromes in Jerusalem, Jericho, and Caesarea. Gymnasia were constructed only outside his realm, in Tripolis, Damascus and Ptolemais, and in Cos he set a yearly endowment for the gymnasiarch. In year 12 BCE, as a reward for his munificence in providing funds for the Olympic Games, Herod was awarded the title of perpetual president (agônothetês) of the games. In the private sphere his palaces were provided with swimming pools ( Jericho, Hyrcania, Masada), and sailing pools ( Jericho, Herodium). The remains of Herodian theatres and amphitheatres are examined here. Those at Caesarea (both inaugurated in year 10 BCE) still survive. Other extant structures, like the stadium at Samaria/Sebaste, or the Herodium course, not mentioned by Josephus, are attributed to him by archaeologists. The theatre of Caesarea, stone-built, was of the Roman type; that built earlier in Jerusalem (before 28 BCE), is believed to have been a wooden structure, following the practice prevalent at Rome at that time. Herod’s stone-built “amphitheatre” at Caesarea was a multi-purpose entertainment stadium. It was provided with starting-gates (carceres) to accommodate chariot races (hippika), in addition to the regular athletics ( gymnika). Hence the term hippo-stadium has been coined to designate this type of stadium. Roman spectacles—gladiatorial combats (munera), and chasing of wild beasts (venationes) took there place as well. This stadium of Caesarea, with stone cavea and sphendone, represents the culminating stage in the evolution of Herodian stadia, from a simple rectangular arena surrounded all around by porticos in Samaria/Sebaste, through that of Jericho—with three porticos and an earthen sphendone supporting wooden seats on one of the narrow sides. The startinggates of the hippo-stadium of Caesarea, set parallel to the longitudinal axis of the arena, suggest races on the Olympic style, prevalent in the Hellenistic world, rather than of the Roman style, à la Circus Maximus. Races of the Roman style were introduced to Caesarea only early in the 2nd century CE. The sources of architectural inspiration on the Herodian entertainment structures in the Hellenistic and Roman world, and their role in the later evolution of the theatre and hippo-stadium in our region are also discussed.

Josephus concludes the description of the dedication feast of Caesarea, held in Herod’s palace and in the adjacent entertainment structures, with the following sentence:

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joseph patrich And they say that Caesar himself and Agrippa often remarked that the extent of Herod’s realm was not equal to his magnanimity (megalopsychia), for he deserved to be king of all Syria and of Egypt.1

So immense was the impression that these structures had left.2 And indeed, entertainment structures for games and spectacles constituted a significant part of the Herodian building projects in his kingdom and beyond, serving his internal and external political interests. It was an important move to introduce and disseminate Graeco-Roman culture, and enhance his reputation as patron of arts and agones. There were few entertainment structures in the Hellenistic Near East prior to Herod. The most famous was the hippodrome of Alexandria—the Lageion, built by Ptolemy Lagus.3 As for Antioch, an arena for chariot racing on the Greek style probably existed at Daphne from at least the late third century BCE, but not in Antioch proper, where there is no evidence for a hippodrome under the Seleucids. The first hippodrome there comprising built elements, probably on the model of the contemporary Circus Maximus, seems to be that donated by Quintius Marcius Rex, proconsul of Cilicia in 67 BCE.4 A hippodrome existed outside the city wall of Damascus in the early first century BCE.5 It is also worth mentioning that the LXX uses the term hippodromos in referring to the burial place of Rachel near Ephrata in Gen. 48:7 (and see also Gen. 35:19). It is quite possible that during the Hellenistic period there existed in this flat area on top of the Judaean ridge, far from Jerusalem and to the south, a simple Hellenistic-type race course, with no architectural features.6

Ant. 16.141. As a matter of fact, by that time Agrippa was already dead. He died on March 12 BCE. But the remarks to Herod’s magnanimity are general and must have been made on various occasions including when Herod was in Rome in 13/12 BC where he showed megalopsychia. M. Agrippa had seen Caesarea already in 15 BCE (Philo Leg. 297; Jos., Ant. 16.13). 3 See: J. H. Humphrey, Roman Circuses: Arenas for Chariot Racing, London 1985, pp. 505–513. 4 Humphrey, op. cit., pp. 456–458. 5 Ant. 13.389. 6 It seems that this toponym prevailed down to the Late Roman period. Eusebius and Jerome mention this under the entry Ephratha, specifying a distance of 4 miles from Jerusalem to the hippodrome (Eusebius), the site of Rachel’s tomb. Jerome indicates that the word hippodromos was given by the LXX, and amends the distance from Jerusalem to the tomb to be 5 miles. See E. Klostermann (ed.), Eusebius. Das Onomastikon der biblischen Ortsnamen, Leipzig 1904, repr. Hildesheim 1966, 82:13–14; 83:15; Freeman-Grenville et al. 2003, 49. See also Humphrey, ibid. p. 530, with reference to the Test. XII Patriarcharum, Joseph 20, 3 (ed. M. De Yonge), Leiden 1964; M. De Yonge, The Testament 1 2

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The gymnasium, a basic institution of a Hellenistic polis for education and athletic training, seems to have been quite common. Gymnasia are mentioned in Jerusalem, Antioch, Damascus, and Alexandria.7 There are no remains of any Hellenistic stadium in the Levant,8 but the hippodromos referred to could have been a casual course, set against a natural slope used for the occasion of a specific agon. Hellenistic theatres are not known in this area prior to Herod.9 By building entertainment structures, Herod introduced a novelty, on a large scale, into his kingdom and beyond. Theatres were built by him in Jerusalem, Jericho,10 Caesarea, Sidon and Damascus; amphitheaters or hippodromes in Jerusalem, Jericho, and Caesarea. Gymnasia were constructed only outside his realm, in Tripolis, Damascus and Ptolemais, and in Cos he set a yearly endowment for the gymnasiarch.11 Physically he was endowed with strength and stamina. He was reputed to be an excellent horseman, a good hunter and warrior—many stood amazed at his readiness in his exercises, when they saw him throw

of the Twelve Patriarchs, Leiden 1953, 112 and n. 347; and more recently: H. I. Newman, “A Hippodrome on the Road to Ephrath,” Biblica 86.2 (2005), pp. 213–228. 7 J. Delorme, Gymnasion, Paris 1960; idem, Les Palestres, Paris 1961; P. M. Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria, Oxford 1972, pp. 28–30; Daniel Kah, Peter Scholz (eds.), Das hellenistische Gymnasion (Wissenskultur und gesellschaftlicher Wandel, 8), Berlin 2004; Ant. 12.120. 8 The U-shaped stadium of Marathus (‘Amrit) in Phoenicia, where Alexander the Great had spent four days while his army conquered Damascus, has been assigned to the 4th–3rd century BCE, preceding by ca. three centuries any other built stadium in our region. A short description of it is given in: N. Saliby, “ ‘Amrit,” in: Dentzer J. M. & Orthmann W. (eds.), Archéologie et Histoire de la Syrie II, Saarbrücken 1989, pp. 24–26, Fig. 6. The dimensions given in the text are 230 × 30 m, but according to the scale in Fig. 6, the width of the arena is ca. 40 m. See also M. Dunand et al., “Les fouilles d’Amrit en 1954: Fouille de stade,” Annales Archéologiques de Syrie 4–5 (1954–55), pp. 203–204; N. Saliby, “ ‘Amrit”, in E. M. Meyers (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East, Vol. 1, New York and Oxford 1997, p. 113. It seems that this structure deserves farther exploration before such an early date can be adopted with absolute certainty. Recently it was suggested that a rectangular structure 60 × 350 m in dimensions, unexcavated yet, located in the valley to the north of the eastern saddle of Hippos-Sussita, was a hippodrome. See: A. Segal and M. Eisenberg, “Hippos-Sussita of the Decapolis—First Five Years of Excavations”, Qadmoniot 38 (2005), p. 20 (Hebrew). Future excavations may, or may not, confirm this hypothesis, and provide a date. 9 This was observed and commented upon by E. Frézouls, “Recherches sur les théatres de l’Orient Syrien,” Syria 36 (1959), pp. 202–212; idem., “Les édifices des spectacles en Syrie,” in: Dentzer J. M. & Orthmann W. (eds.), Archéologie et Histoire de la Syrie II, Saarbrücken 1989, pp. 385–388. 10 In some MSS theatre, rather than amphitheatre is rendered in Ant. 17.161. 11 For the entertainment structures in his realm see below. For those beyond his territory, see: War 1.422–423. On gymnasiarch see: Ch. Schuler, “Die Gymnasiarchie in hellenistischer Zeit,” in: Kah and Scholz 2004, pp. 163–192.

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the javelin directly forward, and shoot the arrow upon the mark. We may say that he was a sportsman in his military training, but not in his spirit: in contests he was feared.12 He travelled widely, visiting Alexandria, Laodicea, Rhodes, Cos, Mytilene in Lesbos, Asia Minor, Phoenicia, Damascus, and Antioch. He visited Rome on three occasions, in 40, 17, and 13 BCE.13 In 17 BCE,14 he attended the “Centennial Games”—ludi saeculares (the Secular Games) held at the 10th anniversary of the Principate (31 May–11 June),15 and in July 13 BCE he attended the consecration of the Ara Pacis, the dedication of the theatre of Marcellus, with exotic spectacles, and on Augustus’s fiftieth birthday (23 September), when games were given in the Circus Maximus, he donated him a valuable gift of 300 talents.16 On 6 March, 12 BCE, still in Rome, he was present at the magnificent ceremony in which Augustus assumed the position of Pontifex Maximus and perhaps even attended the contests held in Panathenaic fashion, in the name of Augustus’ sons between 20 and 23 March. Herod might have also been present at the funeral of Marcus Agrippa, who died in that month.17 In June 12 BCE, as a reward for his munificence in providing funds for the Olympic Games,18 Herod was named perpetual

12 War 1.429–30; E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135), Vol. I, ed. G. Vermes and F. Millar, Edinburgh 1973, pp. 294–5. 13 For a possible further visit to Rome, on 10 or 9 BCE, see Schürer, op. cit., p. 293, and note 17, referring to A. Schalit, König Herodes: der Mann und sein Werk, 1969, p. 613. L. Korach, “Die Reisen des Königs Herodes nach Rom. Eine kritische Untersuchung,” MGWJ 38 (1894), pp. 533–535, dismisses such an idea. 14 Ant. 16.6. For the date see: Schürer, op. cit., p. 292; P. Richardson, Herod. King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans, Edinburgh 1999, p. 239; N. Kokkinos, The Herodian Dynasty: Origin, Role in Society, and Eclipse, Sheffield 1998, pp. 369–70. Korach, op. cit., p. 530 places the visit in year 18 or 17, while T. Corbishley, “The Chronology of the Reign of Herod the Great,” JTS 36 (1935), pp. 27–29 says that probably this journey occupied most of the years 17 and 16 BCE, or was perhaps undertaken early in 16 BCE. 15 The ludi saeculares were commemorated by Horace in a special hymn, the Carmen Saeculare. See also infra, note 37. 16 On this visit see Ant. 16.87–135; War 1.452–454. According to a variant reading of Ant. 16.128, on this occasion Herod, and not Augustus, provided spectacles and handouts to the people of Rome. 17 This sequence of public events which Herod attended in Rome during this visit is suggested by Kokkinos (supra, note 13), pp. 371–372. Most scholars place this visit in 12 BCE., rather than marking its start in mid-13 BCE, as Kokkinos does. See: Korach, op. cit., p. 532; Corbishley, op. cit., pp. 30–32 (departure in Aug./Sept. 12 BCE, back to Judaea in April 11 BCE); Schürer, op. cit., p. 293; Richardson, op. cit., pp. 278–279. 18 Ant. XVI.149; War I.426–427. Others say that it was in the 8 BCE Olympiad. See Thackeray’s comment on War 1.427 (LCL 203, p. 202). T. Corbishley, “The Chronology

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president (agônothetês) of the games.19 In this capacity he was able to learn in detail the way Olympic Games were organised, and to meet the foremost Greek athletes and artists of the time. In his many travels he saw and could have learnt much about Greek games, and also about Roman games, their organisation, and the structures in which they were held. But in this domain, like in his other building projects, priority attention should be paid to his genius as master of architecture and his sense of inventiveness, expressed in the construction of multipurpose entertainment structures which will be described below. The remains of the theatre and amphitheatre at Caesarea are still standing (Fig. 1). Other extant structures, like the stadium at Samaria/ Sebaste, or the Herodium course, not mentioned by Josephus, are attributed to him by archaeology. The literary sources provide important information about some of these structures and the games held therein. This written evidence was discussed mainly by H. A. Harris, and by M. Lämmer.20 Most detailed are the games instituted by Herod in Jerusalem in 28 BCE. These games, like the later ones in Caesarea, were Isactian Games, commemorating the momentous victory at Actium, on 2 September, 31 BCE. (but celebrated on Augustus’ birthday, 23 September).21 They included gymnika, musical contests, hippika, as well as Roman spectacles. These comprised an exhibition of exotic animals of the Reign of Herod the Great,” JTS 36 (1935), pp. 28–29, and Kokkinos, op. cit., p. 370, are in favour of year 16 BCE Olympiad. 19 M. Lämmer, “Eine Propaganda-Aktion des Königs Herodes in Olympia,” Perspektiven der Sportwissenschaft, Jahrbuch der deutschen Sporthochschule Köln 1 (1972). 20 H. A. Harris, Greek Athletics and the Jews, Cardiff 1976; M. Lämmer, “Griechische Wettkämpfe in Jerusalem und ihre politischen Hintergründe,” Perspektiven der Sportwissenschaft, Jahrbuch der deutschen Sporthochschule Köln 2 (1973) 182–227; idem., “Die Kaiserspiele von Caesarea im Dienste der Politik des Königs Herodes,” Kölner Beiträge zur Sportwissenschaft 3 (1974) 95–164; idem., “Griechische Agone und Römische Spiele unter der Regierung des judischen Königs Agrippa I,” ibid. 9/10 (1981/82), 199–237, and “The attitude of King Agrippa I towards Greek contests and Roman games,” Physical education and sports in the Jewish history and culture, Netanya 1981, pp. 7–17. 21 D. R. Schwartz, “Caesarea and its ‘Isactium’: epigraphy, numismatics and Herodian chronology,” in Studies of the Jewish background of Christianity, Tübingen 1992, p. 175, note 37, following R. Rieks, Hermes 98 (1970), pp. 96–116. Opinions vary about the commencement of the Actian games, as to whether they were instituted in 29, 28, or 27 BCE (see A. Schalit, King Herod—portrait of a ruler ( Jerusalem 1964), p. 193 [Hebrew]; Wikgren’s comment in Marcus’ LCL translation of Ant. 16.137–41, pp. 262–3; Schwartz, op. cit.). The Jerusalem games could not have preceded their institution elsewhere. Lämmer, op. cit., (1974), p. 99, dates them to 28 BCE. Schürer (supra note 11), p. 90, to 27? BCE. Late in the 19th century Drüner had suggested that the detailed description of the Jerusalem games in Josephus (to be cited below), is derived from that of the Caesarea games, which were the only games to be instituted by Herod,

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and of beasts incited to attack each other, and hunting shows. Following the Roman practice, in addition convicted criminals were delivered to the wild beasts in these shows. Here is the description: For in the first place he established athletic contests every fifth year (agôna pentaetêrikon athlêmatôn) in honour of Caesar, and he built a theatre in Jerusalem, and after that a very large amphitheatre in the plain (en tô pediô ),22 both being spectacularly lavish but foreign to Jewish custom, for the use of such buildings and the exhibition of such spectacles have not been traditional (with the Jews). Herod, however, celebrated the quinquennial festival in the most splendid way, sending notices of it to the neighbouring peoples and inviting participants from the whole nation. Athletes and other classes of contestants were invited from every land, being attracted by the hope of winning the prizes offered and by the glory of the victory. And the leading men in various fields were assembled, for Herod offered very great prizes not only to the winners in gymnastic games but also to those who engaged in music and those who are called thymelikoi.23 And an effort was made to have all the most famous persons come to the contest. He also offered considerable gifts to drivers of four-horse and two-horse chariots and to those mounted on racehorses. And whatever costly or magnificent efforts had been made by others, all these did Herod imitate in his ambition to see his spectacle become famous . . . As for serviceable objects, there was no valuable garment or vessel of precious stones which was not also on exhibition along with the contests. There was also a supply of wild beasts, a great many lions and other animals having been brought together for him, such as were of

so he claimed. Lämmer (op. cit., pp. 140–141, endnote 13, with references to Dörner’s and similar opinions) dismisses this idea. 22 The Latin text renders here in campo maximo (“in the Great Plain”). Therefore, Milik, like others previously, had suggested that the reference is to the Jordan Valley, or more specifically, to the amphitheatre of Jericho. However, the toponym mega pedion, or campo maximo, as used by Josephus, and other ancient sources (The Book of Judith; Eusebius; the “Bordeau Pilgrim”), generally refer to the Jezreel Valley, not to the Jordan Valley. See: Y. Tsafrir, L. Di Segni, and J. Green, Tabula Imperii Romani. Judaea/ Palaestina, Jerusalem 1994, p. 182. No Herodian amphitheatre is known in that Valley, so it seems that the Greek version should be preferred in this case. 23 This is perhaps a guild or association of professional actors and musicians. [Editors’ comment: the term is derived from Thymelê—the stand in the centre of the orchestra where the leader of dancing stood—thus thymelêkoi would have been leading dancers (choreutai )]. An artists’ association by this name is also mentioned by Plutarch (Sulla 36) aside mime artists and kithara musicians. Such guilds were known in the Hellenistic world, primarily with regard to the Dionysos and the Hellenistic royal cults—see Marcus’ note in the LCL translation of Josephus, who refers to: M. Rostovtzeff, Social History of the Hellenistic world, II (Oxford 1941; reprint 1998) 1048–50. See also: J.-C. Moretti, Théâtre et société dans la Grèce antique, Paris 2001, pp. 250–266; Brigitte Le Guen, Les associations de technites dionysiaques à l’époque hellénistique, I: Corpus documentaire; II: Syntèse (Études dÁrchéologie Classique, XI–XII), Nancy 2001, and infra, note 39.

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extraordinary strength or of very rare kinds. When the practice began of involving them in combat with one another or setting condemned men to fight against them, foreigners were astonished at the expense and at the same time entertained by the dangerous spectacle, but to the natives it meant an open break with the customs held in honour by them. For it seemed glaring impiety to throw men to wild beasts for the pleasure of other men as spectators, and it seemed a further impiety to change their established ways for foreign practices.24

Further details are provided about the games instituted in Caesarea on the occasion of the inauguration of the city commonly thought have taken place in 10 BCE.25 Here gladiatorial combats are mentioned in addition to all other games and contests already listed for Jerusalem, and it is clear that the Caesarea Games were held on a much larger scale. And so, there was, to begin with, a very great festival of dedication and most lavish arrangements. For he had announced a contest in music and athletic exercises, and had prepared a great number of gladiators and wild beasts and also horse races (hippôn dromos) at the very lavish shows that are to be seen at Rome and in various other places. And this contest too he dedicated to Caesar, having arranged to celebrate it every fifth year.26

More on these games we read in War, 1.415: He further instituted quinquennial games, likewise named after Caesar, and inaugurated them himself, . . . offering prizes of the highest value; at these games not the victors only, but also those who obtained second

24 Ant. 15.268–74. For a detailed discussion of these celebrations and their political significance, see: Lämmer, 1973 (supra, note 20). 25 This date will not follow the victory in Actium, neither if the Actian Games first occurred in 29 BCE, nor in 28, and nor in 27 BCE—the closest to this era would be 11 BCE (see note 21). Opinions vary about the date of Caesarea’s inauguration, and of the games held there. 10 BCE is claimed by Schürer (supra, note 11), pp. 293 and 306; Levine, Caesarea Under Roman Rule, Leiden 1975, pp. 10 and 149, note 53; D. R. Schwartz, Agrippa I. The Last King of Judaea, Jerusalem 1987, pp. 123 and 215 (Hebrew); idem., “Caesarea and its ‘Isactium’: epigraphy, numismatics and Herodian chronology,” in Studies of the Jewish background of Christianity, Tübingen 1992, p. 176, note 40. Corbishley (supra, note 13), pp. 29–30, says that the games were held in July 12 BCE, contemporarily with the Olympic Games of that year; Lämmer (supra, note 20), 1974, p. 97, suggested the end of the summer of 12 BCE., while on p. 99, early in 11 BCE. J. Ringel, Césarée de Palestine: Étude Historique et Archéologique, Paris 1975, p. 29, also maintains that the construction work was concluded in 12 BCE. Kokkinos (supra, note 13), pp. 370, 378–80, set the games in March, 13 BCE (but since the Isactian Games were held in September, not in March, and in Sept. 13 BCE. Herod was already in Rome, this is impossible; see infra, note 29). 26 Ant. 16.137–41; and see War 1.21, 8, 415.

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joseph patrich and third places, participated in the royal bounty. . . . When to see the sights there came to the city a great multitude as well as the envoys sent by communities because of the benefits that they had received. Herod welcomed them all and entertained them with the lodging and meals and continuous feasts. During the day the festivals offered the diversion of spectacles, while at night they provided amusements costing great sums of money, and so they made his generosity famous, for in all the things that he undertook he was ambitious to surpass what had been done before.

Of particular interest is the personal assistance given by Augustus and Julia: And Caesar, adding lustre to his (Herod’s) munificence, from his own revenues sent all the equipment needed for such games. On her own account Caesar’s wife Julia sent many of her greatest treasures from Rome, so that the entire sum was reckoned as no less than five hundred talents.27

According to the Latin version of Ant. 16.140, preserved in a much older manuscript than the Greek one with which we are familiar, the games lasted for 15 days.28 The games were established as a quinquennial festival, celebrated on the fifth year (inclusive counting) or every four years by our reckoning. In games held during the time of Agrippa I, on the second day of the festivities events in the theatre of Caesarea started early in the morning.29 The Jerusalem Games were intended to be a quinquennial festival as well, but there is no reference to them in 27 Ant. 16.139. As was noted above, in year 12 BCE, Herod donated a sum of 300 talents for games held at Rome. As for the equipment and utensils sent by the imperial couple, this could have been those used in Rome in the aforementioned games of 12 BCE, or even those used in the memorable Ludi Saecularis in year 17 BCE, which might have already gone out of fashion in Rome. 28 “ . . . et per dies quindecim spectacula vel delicias ministravit.” On the superior textual tradition of the Latin, preserved in a 9th c. MS, see: B. Niese (ed.), Flavi Josephi Opera, I (1887), pp. xxvii–xxix; F. Blatt, The Latin Josephus I, introduction, Aarhus 1985 [= Acta Jutlandica 30, I] 17–26. See also: Lämmer (supra, note 20), 1974, who quotes, on pp. 136–37, the full text of the Latin version. 29 Ant. 19.343–50. This was a hyper soterias festival, celebrating the victorious return of Claudius from his campaign in Britain in the spring of 44 CE, not Isactian Games. See also Schürer (above note 11), p. 453, n. 43; Lämmer (supra, note 20), 1981/82, p. 217, Kokkinos (supra note 13) pp. 378–380. But this will be impossible if Agrippa died in 43 CE, as was argued by Schwartz. I would like to comment on one point of Kokkinos’ arguments against D. Schwartz’s chronology, namely that the festival referred to by Eusebius (Mart. Palest. 11.30), held in Caesarea on March 5–7 306 CE, was not related to the inauguration date of Herodian Caesarea, but rather to its proclamation as a Roman Colony by Vespasian, on the annual festival of the local Tyche, coinciding with the Navigium Isidis. This can be deduced from the “Louvre cup”. See: E. Will, “La coupe de Césarée de Palestine au Musée du Louvre”, Monuments et mémoires 65 (1983), pp. 1–24. I intend to elaborate upon this point elsewhere.

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any later period. Lämmer had suggested that as a result of the Jewish protest they were later moved to Sebaste.30 Before proceeding to examine the literary evidence pertaining to each entertainment structure, and their archaeological remains, the terminology should first be clarified. Harris, and later Humphrey, already drew attention to this issue.31 Today each structure has an exact significance. A stadium is always a place for athletic sports with accommodation for spectators; a hippodrome (in Latin circus) is always a similar construction on a larger scale for chariot and horse racing; a theatre, with a semicircle of seats for the audience, is for dramatic or musical entertainment; an amphitheatre is an oval arena completely surrounded by spectators’ seats, for gladiatorial combats and wild beasts shows. However, Greek and Latin authors of Josephus’ time and later are by no means so precise in their use of these terms. The term ‘theatre’ is very widely applied; literally it means “a place for viewing something”, so it can be employed of any building with spectator accommodation. Philo uses it for a stadium, as do later authors. Of all these terms, ‘amphitheatre’ causes most difficulty. The amphitheatre proper is hardly known in the eastern, Greek speaking part of the Roman Empire. On the occasions when gladiatorial and animal shows were given in this part of the Empire, a theatre, stadium or hippodrome was temporarily called into service. In the period under discussion, the term amphitheatre was use indifferently to designate a stadium, or a hippodrome, rather than an oval Roman amphitheatrum, known in the first century BCE as spectaculum.32 Such is also the case in the writing of Josephus, when he is speaking about the hippodrome/amphitheatre at Jerusalem, and Jericho.33 The Greek word amphitheatron is found in Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Rom. Ant., 3.68.3; 4.44.1), describing the Circus Maximus in Rome. In inscriptions from Asia Minor it is applied to a stadium. Strabo (14.1.43), writing in the time of Augustus, mentions an amphitheatre at Nysa in Asia Minor, again in all probability

Lämmer (supra, note 20), 1974, p. 99. Harris (supra note 20), pp. 32–35; J. Humphrey, “ ‘Amphitheatrical’ Hippo-Stadia,” in: A. Raban and K. G. Holum (edd.), Caesarea Maritima. A retrospective after two millennia (Leiden–New York–Köln 1996), pp. 121–129. 32 See: R. Etienne, “La naissance de l’amphithéâtre: le mot et la chose,” Révue des études latines 43 (1966) 213–20. 33 See: J. Jeremias, “Der Taraxippos im Hippodrom von Caesarea Palaestinae.” Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 54 (1931): 279–89, pls. XII–XIII; Humphrey, supra, note 31. 30 31

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a stadium or hippodrome, and when describing Alexandria in Egypt he speaks (17.1.10) of an amphitheatre and stadium in Nicopolis, west of the city. The former is obviously identical with “the so-called hippodrome” that he mentions later in the passage.34 As for their function, stadia and hippodromes could have served also as training grounds for military units, in addition of being entertainment structures. Let us now examine in more detail the information on each structure and site. Theatres The Jerusalem Theatre—A Wooden Structure35 In year 28 BCE, Herod introduced a novelty into Jerusalem: Greek drama and Dionysiac music.36 A special structure was erected for these performances—a theatre. The circumstances of this enterprise and the rebellious reaction of the Jews to the embellishments of the theatre are narrated in detail by Josephus (Ant. 15.272–81): All round the theatre were inscriptions concerning Caesar and trophies of the nations which he had won in war, all of them made for Herod of pure gold and silver . . . more than all else it was the trophies that irked them [the Jews of Jerusalem], for in the belief that these were images surrounded by weapons, which it was against their national custom to worship, they were exceedingly angry . . . they would not endure images of men being brought into the city—meaning the trophies—for this was against their national custom. Herod . . . summoned the most eminent among them and leading them to the theatre, showed them the trophies and asked just what they thought these things were. When they cried out “images of men”, he gave orders for the removal of the ornaments which covered them and showed the people the bare wood.

These trophies of gold and silver, decorating presumably the scaenae frons, were apparently shields and bounty stands, on which body armour, made as a decorative envelope set on wooden skeletons (taxyla), was

Harris, supra, note 31. For a full presentation of the arguments see: J. Patrich, “Herod’s Theater in Jerusalem—a new proposal,” Israel Exploration Journal 52 (2002a), pp. 231–239. 36 As a matter of fact, Dionisiac parades were first enforced on the Jews in Jerusalem ca. a century and a half earlier, on the eve of the Maccabaean revolt, as is narrated in II Macc. 6:7. 34

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hung. These motifs were among the most popular throughout the Augustan Empire.37 Archaeological excavations have yielded so far no clue for the precise location of the theatre. Several locations were proposed. If it were a monumental structure in the urban centre, could it disappear without trace or mention in Josephus’ long and detailed description of the city (War 1.401–2; 5.136–227; 5.238–243), or in passages rich with topographical information in connection with events that took place during the Jewish revolt in Jerusalem? It seems that by then it had already disappeared from the urban landscape. It is doubtful whether it survived the days of Herod. It would be easier to understand such a situation if it was not a monumental structure, but a temporary wooden structure. Temporary Wooden theatres and amphitheatres were very common in Rome during the late Republic, and even during the early Empire. This was the early stage in the evolution of the Roman theatre. The first permanent theatre in Rome was built by Pompey in 55 BCE, but in the beginning its stage house was still of wood, and its erection aroused a protest in traditional Roman circles. In the ludi saeculares at Rome, in 17 BCE, after the sacrifice to the Quirites was completed, the presentation of plays began at night on 31 May, on a stage without the addition of a theatre, and without setting up seats. On 1 June, Latin plays were given in a wooden theatre, erected in the Campus Martius alongside the Tiber.38 According to Vitruvius (De Arch. 5.5.7, written between 16–13 BCE), Rome’s public theatres in his time—the age of Augustus and Herod—were of wood. Stage houses in the occasional theatres could be monumental, including columns and marble revetments, wall 37 A nice example, depicting a very naturalistic body armour, was found in Turin, perhaps of a honorific arch (see P. Zanker, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus, A. Shapiro (Eng. transl.) (Ann Arbor 1990), pp. 311 and 313, Fig. 244.) A similar motive is depicted on the frieze of Tomb 649 in Petra (1st century CE), or the relief of the propylon and the second story parapet of the stoa of the temple of Athena in Pergamon, and the propylon of the Bouleterion of Miletus (2nd century BCE). See: Judith McKenzie, The Architecture of Petra. British Academy Monographs in Archaeology 1. Oxford 1990, Pl. 161; A. W. Lawrence, Greek Architecture, Bungay 1967, pp. 208–209 and Pl. 145. For similar presentations of Gallic armour on monuments of all sorts see: P. Couissin, “Les armes gauloises figurées sur les monuments grecs, étrusques et romaines,” Revue Archéologique 25 (1927), pp. 138–76, 301–25, and 26 (1928), pp. 43–79. Such body armour seemed to the Jerusalemites to hide statues and icons. The decorations of the monument erected by Simon the Hasmonaean over the sepulchre of his father and brothers in Mode‘in (I Macc. 13:29) included similar panoply (πανοπλία). 38 See: N. Lewis and M. Reinhold, Roman Civilization3 I, New York 1990, pp. 612–616.

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mosaics, and paintings, but these too were temporary structures that were dismantled at the end of the festivals. The second stone theatre to be built in Rome, that of Balbus, was constructed only in 13 BCE. The theatre of Marcellus, which was begun by Julius Caesar, was completed by Augustus in 11 BCE, being the third stone theatre in the city. Wooden seats were common in Roman amphitheatres as well. In the time of Herod, the construction of a stone Roman theatre was the exception, justifying an explicit indication in Ant. 15.341, where Herod is praised by noting that his theatre at Caesarea was of stone. Yet this would have sounded strange, unless the theatre erected by him 18 years earlier in Jerusalem was not of stone but of wood. Another indication that such could be the case can be derived from the description of the trophies decorating the Jerusalem theatre, cited above. Were it a stone theatre, one would expect the decoration to be in stone relief, and not as an overlay on a wooden skeleton. To judge from the reference to thymelikoi, it seems that Hellenistic rather than Roman plays were staged there. According to Vitruvius (De Arch. 5.7.2) the performance of the thymelici was given in the orchestra, rather than on the stage (logeion), where tragic and comic actors (called scaenici) perform. Similarly, Pollux (Onom. 4.123), deriving from earlier sources, maintained that the skênê belongs to the actors, while the orchestra, in which the thymelê stands, belongs to the chorus.39 Another Wooden Theater at Herodium? I would like to suggest that another such structure did exist on the southern slope of Herodium, where an artificial, ‘theatrical’ depression is noticeable (Fig. 2). Other than this there are no structural remains to substantiate this claim, and the area was checked by Netzer. But what structural remains could a wooden theatre leave other than such depression? If it existed, it could have served funeral purposes, like one of the functions suggested for the Herodium course, to be discussed

M. Bieber, The History of the Greek and Roman Theater, Princeton 1961, p. 126. See also supra, n. 23. In the Secular Games at Rome (17 BCE), Greek ‘thymelic’ or lyric plays were presented in Pompey’s Theatre, while Greek scenic plays were given in the Circus Flaminius (eadem., ibid., p. 184). For these games see previous note. Pollux was an author and rhetor in Athens under Commodus. His Onomasticon is set in a thematic, rather than alphabetical order. 39

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below. Nabataean theatres had similar functions. The case of the theatre in Jericho may give some support for this hypothesis. The Jericho Theatre As was noted above, in some MSS theatre is rendered rather than amphitheatre as the site where Judas and Matthias, the two offenders who pulled down the golden eagle from the great gate of the temple, were arrested. And indeed, a theatre is a component of the Herodian multi-purpose entertainment structure uncovered in Jericho to the north of the palaces, which will be described later on, under stadia. This structure had an earthen cavea; no seats or remains of a stage building were found, so it seems that it had wooden benches, and in any case a casual, wooden stage stood on a 1.5m raised earth platform. As for its date, since this theatre was constructed mainly of mudbrick, it should be linked chronologically with the second Herodian palace of Jericho, which has been ascribed by E. Netzer40 to the period 25–15 BCE, rather than to the third, opus reticulatum palace. If so, it was already standing by the time M. Agrippa visited Herod in Judaea in 15 BCE. The Caesarea Theatre 41 As was mentioned above, the theatre was one of the venues where the dedication feasts of Caesarea took place. Here King Agrippa I, vested in golden garb, became ill on the second day of the hyper soterias festival held in September 43 CE (following the chronology of Schwartz).42 A year or two earlier a rebellious Jerusalemite named Simeon was summoned to the King in the theatre.43 E. Netzer, Jericho I, Jerusalem 2001, p. 339. C. R. Conder and H. H. Kitchener, The Survey of Western Palestine II, London 1882, pp. 15–17; A. Frova et al., Scavi di Caesarea Maritima. Milan Istituto Lombardo, Accademia di Scienze e Lettere, Milano 1965, pp. 57–234; I. L. Levine, Roman Caesarea: An Archaeological-Topographical Study (Qedem, Monographs of the Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University, 2), Jerusalem 1975, pp. 23–26; J. Ringel, Césarée de Palestine: Étude Historique et Archéologique, Paris 1975, pp. 47–51; This phase was described by Frova in detail in Scavi, pp. 167–174, and a useful summary is to be found in EAEHL, pp. 274–277, and NEAEHL, pp. 273–274. See more recently: E. Netzer, The Architecture of Herod, the Great Builder, Tübingen 2006, pp. 112–118, with proposed graphical reconstructions on p. 114, Fig. 26. His reconstructed cavea, disregards the location of the single stairway that was preserved relative to the axis of symmetry; it differs from what is suggested here. 42 Five days later he died in the palace in Caesarea (Ant. 19.350; Acts, 12:21–23). 43 Ant. 19.332–334. Simeon, a Sadducean priest, who claimed Agrippa I to be impure for serving in the Temple, was brought to him while sitting in the theatre at Caesarea. 40 41

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The Herodian theatre, facing west to the sea (Fig. 1), was entirely exposed in the years 1959–1963 by the Italian expedition headed by A. Frova. It was exceptional in being of stone in a period when most theatres in the city of Rome were still of wood. It adopted a Roman, rather than Greek form, with a semi-circular layout of the auditorium, but still possessed some features derived from the Hellenistic tradition (see below). It had two meniani, but their state of preservation was quite poor. Its external diameter was 90–100 m,44 accommodating ca. 3500–4000 spectators. The lower block of seats (ima cavea), buried under the later seats (Fig. 3), was partially rock-cut in a moderate hillock, the upper was stone built and artificially retained. The later, ‘imperial’, ima cavea is divided into six sectors of seats (cunei), and the upper tribunes (summa cavea) into seven. The encircling, vaulted corridor with six radiating vomitoria leading to the horizontal praecinctio belong to the later (‘imperial’) theatre as well. They could not be features of the Herodian structure, which had reached different elevations. Only the three lowest rows of seats of the Herodian structure, and a single stairway, were partially exposed at a depth of ca. 2.30 m under a fill of the later cavea. To judge from the location of the single stairway relative to the axis of symmetry, I would suggest that the auditorium, despite being semi-circular, followed a Greek/Hellenistic layout, rather than a Roman one, if we accept Vitruvius’ distinction. According to Vitruvius (De Arch. 5.7.1–2), in the Greek theatres the location of the stairways of the ima cavea was determined by the corners of three squares inscribed in the circle of the orchestra; none fell along the axis of symmetry, and they were delineating seven cunei. In the Roman theatre (5.6.1–9) they

On this incident and the possible religious and social origin of this Simeon, see Schwartz (supra note 25), pp. 137–43 (Hebrew). 44 These are the ‘official’ numbers given for the external diameter by the Italian expedition—Scavi, p. 176, “imperial” phase; idem., A. Frova, “Italian Excavations in Israel: Caesarea.” Christian News from Israel 14/3–4 (1963), p. 23, pls. 1–4. A. Segal, Theatres in Roman Palestine and Provincia Arabia, Leiden 1995, pp. 64–69, cites three different figures for the diameter of this theatre: 62 m on p. 65 and in the table—p. 99 (88 m for the rear plaza, which is actually only 64 m in diameter); in Fig. 70, it is given as ca. 90m, and in the other plan, given in Fig. 71, it is ca. 100 m (which is the figure given by Frova, and following him Levine, ibid., Roman Caesarea, p. 23, and note 159, and Ringel, Césarée, p. 48), which is far from the 62 m given in Segal’s text and table. In two places (pp. 66 and 69) Segal seems to confuse between radius and diameter; one cannot obtain from him the slightest idea about the Herodian phase, the earliest Roman theater in Judaea/Palaestina, and Josephus’ assertion that this was a stone theatre is left uncommented by Segal.

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were determined by four inscribed triangles, defining six cunei by seven stairways, the central one running along the axis of symmetry. A drainage channel (euripus), 0.85 m deep ran at the foot of these seats, at the circumference of the Herodian orchestra (Fig. 3).45 The ‘Imperial’ cavea was set on top of a ca. 1 m high podium wall; such a wall was not a feature of the Herodian structure. It could not be determined whether the cavea and the skêne were bonded together already in the Herodian phase.46 The Herodian orchestra floor lies 0.70 m below the later marble floor, laid between the second and third quarters of the first century CE, and in use in the later Severan theatre (Fig. 4). Measuring ca. 35 m in diameter,47 it was actually more than half a circle up to the line of the pulpitum. It was a multi-coloured plaster floor that was frequently refurbished, and yielded good acoustics. An axial vaulted passage ran underneath this floor. Altogether, 14 successive layers of painted plaster were counted over the thick stucco floor. The uppermost layer depicted a polychrome geometric pattern of rectangles, and discs and lozenges in squares, arranged in parallel rows, imitating marble incrustation. A similar band ran at the circumference. Blue, red and white were the dominant colours. The layer immediately underneath imitated multicoloured feathers Frova, Scavi, p. 86, Fig. 64. A kurkar slab with a Latin dedication of a building to Tiberius by Pontius Pilatus was found incorporated in a 4th century CE floor in the theatre, at the foot of the Imperial staircase, 86 cm above the orchestra level, see Frova, Scavi, p. 90, Fig. 75, p. 92, Figs. 77 and 78. The slab is 0.82 m high, 0.66 m wide, and 0.21 m thick. A hole, 0.22 m in diameter, is cut through its right side, indicating that it might have served as a socket, or part of a ring stone for an awning post, at the foot of the northern stairs. For such slabs on the perimeter wall of a theatre, see for example D. Millette, “The awning apparatus of the theater at Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges”, JRA 17 (2004), pp. 434–441. Lehman and Holum (infra) suggested that the hole indicates that the slab was first reused as a well-head, noting however that a diameter of 0.22 m seems very small. The Tiberieum to which the inscription refers is a debated issue; for discussion and full references pertaining to the inscription, see C. M. Lehman and K. G. Holum, The Greek and Latin Inscriptions of Caesarea Maritima (The Joint Expedition to Caesarea Maritima Excavations Reports, Vol. V), Boston 2000, pp. 67–70, inscr. 43. See also: G. Alföldi, “Pontius Pilatus und das Tiberieum von Caesarea Maritima”, SCI XVIII (1999), pp. 85–108, and idem., “Nochmals: Pontius Pilatus und das Tiberieum von Caesarea Maritima”, SCI XXI (2002), pp. 133–148. 47 Frova, op. cit., gives a diameter of 30 m for the imperial phase. The Herodian orchestra was more than 5 m larger, as can be gleaned from Scavi, p. 86, Fig. 64. Segal (p. 66) gives a figure of 17 m, it is not clear on what grounds, but he seems to have been confused between radius and diameter. The difference in elevation between the Herodian orchestra floor and the later (marble) floor is not indicated by him at all. 45 46

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(opus pavonaceum). This motif was repeated time and again in layers II to X (or even XIII, counting from top to bottom) with variations pertaining to proportions, colour and distribution. The earliest layer (XIV), depicted vivid curvilinear polychrome floral and geometric motifs—circular bands of flowers, circles, and pointed dents (“denti di lupo”), resembling those of the mosaic floors in the Western Palace of Masada.48 The single parallel for a similar painted plaster orchestra floor is that of the Augustan theatre at Leptis Magna. However, the plaster floor of that theatre is Flavian in date, namely, ca. a century later than that of Caesarea. The Herodian proscaenium and pulpitum (Fig. 4), unique in their shape in the architecture of early Roman theatres, are not those seen at present (1 m high, and 7 m deep) in the theatre. Remains of these features were uncovered under the later ones. The primitive proscaenium had alternating concave and rectilinear exedras, 3.5m wide to the front, and ca. 0.6 m deep. Later these exedras were blocked, and the proscaenium became rectilinear. At this stage it was decorated by frescos depicting lozenges, imitating incrustation in marble, resembling those of the painted floor (Fig. 5).49 The Imperial proscaenium was articulated with niches, first circular, and then circular and rectangular, alternately. The hyposcaenium (35.90 m long, and 5.5 m wide), is divided by 10 pillars, supporting arches, into two unequal naves. It was accessed from both ends. The Herodian scaenae frons, of local kurkar plastered and stuccoed, rather than the later granite and marble structure, is also unique in Roman theatre architecture. It is more closely related to the preceding Hellenistic types, than to the Roman types that followed. It had a central rectangular exedra flanked by two shallow curvilinear ones with colonnaded wings (Fig. 6). The lateral exedras were not in line with the central one; they formed an obtuse angle relative to its line. The

48 A. Albricci, “L’orchestra dipinta del teatro Erodiano di Caesarea Maritima,” Bollettino di Arte 4 (1962), pp. 289–304; idem., Scavi, pp. 93–120; Frova, ibid., pp. 167–68. A fragment of this stucco floor was uncovered by the Israel Antiquities Authority in a rescue excavation in the underground channel, into which it collapsed due to a winter flood in 1999. The feather pattern (Scavi, Fig. 72, and Tav. II, Fig. 93), was encountered also in a mosaic floor of the Roman urban villa excavated by Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA). See Porath (2000), Hadashot Arkheologyiot 112, p. 44, Fig. 55 (Hebrew section), and p. 37* (English Section). 49 Frova, Scavi, p. 87, Fig. 72, and p. 95, Figs. 82–84, marked A and B; Tav. I, Figs. 86–89, 125–126.

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later scaenae frons, of marble and red and gray granite, was Roman in type, comprising a grand semi-circular exedra, flanked by a rectangular one on each side.50 Herodian Theatres: Conclusion The transformation evident in the structure of the Herodian theatres during the period of ca. 18 years (? see comment above) that elapsed between the construction of what may have been a wooden theatre in Jerusalem and the stone theatre in Caesarea reflect a similar transformation that had occurred in Rome. The change is expressed by Vitruvius, who gives detailed specifications for the construction of an elaborate stone theatre at a time when most theatres in Rome were still of wood. We are dealing with a period of dynamic development in this domain of architecture, both in Rome and in Herodian Judaea. The stone theatre of Caesarea presents a compromise between the old Hellenistic tradition and the new Roman norms. This is clearly expressed in the auditorium, being partially retained against the hillock, and partially built. Hellenistic features are expressed mainly in the layout of its stairways, and in the shape of the scaenae frons, while the semicircular shape of the auditorium, and the very existence of a low stage are Roman features. The orchestra is prolonged, extending over more than a semicircle.51

Frova, Scavi, p. 129, Figs. 146 and 147 respectively. The theatre at Sebaste was attributed by its excavators to the Severan period. See: J. W. Crowfoot, K. M. Kenyon, E. L. Sukenik, Samaria-Sebaste, I: The Buildings at Samaria (London 1942), pp. 57–62, Figs. 24–28, pls. lvi–lix.1; F. Zayadine, “Samaria-Sebaste, le theatre,” Revue Biblique 73 (1966), pp. 576–80, Fig. 3. Soundings under the Severan floor, planned to follow the large scale excavations carried out in 1965 (March–Dec.), in order to determined whether a Herodian structure preceded the Severan one (ibid., pp. 279–80), were not realised. Here, too, the layout of five or seven cunei and the six stairways follow the Greek/Hellenistic pattern, and the orchestra is more than half a circle. In addition, the auditorium was built against the slope of the acropolis, in a Hellenistic manner. One should not exclude the possibility that this theatre actually had an earlier phase, as was already suggested by Frézouls (supra, note 8), and that the Herodian building projects at Sebaste also included a theatre, as in Jerusalem, Caesarea and Jericho. 50 51

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According to my classification, all other Herodian entertainment structures are stadia. In the writings of Josephus stadia are explicitly named for Caesarea (War 2.172; Ant. 18.57), not far from the praetorium of the Roman procurator Pontius Pilatus, and in Tiberias (War 2.618; Life 92; 331) on the sea shore.52 But bearing in mind the previous remark about terminology, namely that the terms hippodrome, amphitheatre and stadium can be applied interchangeably, five extant structures of two main morphological types can be set in this group (see table below). The first type is rectangular (the Herodium course and the stadium at Sebaste), and the second U-shaped, with a sphendonê on one end (at Jericho, Caesarea and Tiberias). The Herodian amphitheatre/hippodrome of Jerusalem, which left no trace, seems to have been a wooden structure, like the Jerusalem theatre. Only the podium on which the seats were set might have been a stone embankment. But the seats and the starting gates (carceres) seem to have been of wood.53 Herodian Stadia—table Type 1: rectangular Herodium course* Samaria/Sebaste stadium* * term given by archaeologists

Type 2: U-shaped—amphitheatrical Jericho “amphitheatre”** / “hippodrome”** Caesarea “amphitheatre”** / “great stadium”** Tiberias “stadium”** ** term employed by Josephus

Rectangular Stadia The Herodium Course54 This structure was uncovered by Ehud Netzer below the lower palace (Fig. 2). It can be considered as a private, royal garden hippodrome. 52 See also Jerusalem Talmud, Erubin, 5.1, 22b. See S. Lieberman, Tarbitz 3 (1932), pp. 207–209 (Hebrew). 53 For farther details see: J. Patrich, “On the Lost Circus of Aelia Capitolina”, Scripta Classica Israelica XXI (2002b), pp. 173–188. 54 E. Netzer, Greater Herodium (Qedem 13), Jerusalem 1981, pp. 35–45, with notes on pp. 134–135. For the more recent 1997–2000 excavations see: idem. et al., “New Discoveries at the Excavations of Lower Herodium”, Qadmoniot 38 (2005), pp. 30–42 (Hebrew).

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Already in late Republican times hippodromes were incorporated in villas of the wealthy. The dimensions are 350 × 25 m. It was retained by two longitudinal walls on the north and south. The south wall, 1.4 m thick, was preserved to a height of 2 m. The semicircular shape at the eastern end of the course is conjectural. On the W it reached the pond in front of the monumental structure. Netzer suggested that the course might had served as an athletics track for training, racing, and as a private stadium of the palace.55 Other suggested functions are a promenade, a funeral garden, or a route that was to serve in due course his funeral procession. The Sebaste/Samaria Stadium56 This structure was excavated in the early 1930s by a British expedition headed by J. Crowfoot. The stadium is located in a shallow depression in the north-east part of the city, within the Herodian wall. It is a long rectangular peristyle in plan, with the southern end rock cut; hence this end is better preserved than the northern one (Fig. 7). The inner dimensions are about 205 m from north to south, and 67 m from east to west. Two phases were discerned, Herodian57 and Severan. The arena was 194.5 m long, and 58–58.5 m wide. The Herodian enclosure, built of soft limestone, had Doric colonades all around.58 There were no raised seats, just porticos all around. Neither carceres nor sphendonê, nor a spina were ever built. In the south-western and south-eastern corners two Doric pillars were partially preserved in situ, with half columns attached to two sides, giving a heart shaped cross-section. The south-eastern pillar

55 In this case, together with the vast garden surrounded by porticos, with a pool in the centre and a bathhouse in the south-west corner, this complex actually resembles a gymnasium. 56 J. W. Crowfoot, K. M. Kenyon, E. L. Sukenik, Samaria-Sebaste, I: The Buildings at Samaria (London 1942), pp. 41–50, pls. xlvi–l. For the preliminary reports see: J. W. Crowfoot, “Excavations at Samaria, 1931: Karam el-Sheikh,” PEFQSt 64 (1932), pp. 24–27; idem., “Samaria Excavations: The Stadium,” PEFQSt 65 (1933), pp. 62–73. 57 Crowfoot et al., Buildings, pp. 41–50; idem., PEFQSt 65 (1933), p. 67. It can hardly have been laid out before the city wall, located just 26m farther north and attributed to Herod, was built; it was in existance probably well into the 2nd century, and it was ruined finally perhaps by flooding from above. 58 The Severan enclosure was built of harder lime stone, and it had Corinthian colonnades. Three drainage channels were found: one ran outside along the W wall, a smaller gutter ran inside against the colonnade, and a third ran down the arena.

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was set in a rock-cut trench.59 Two Doric columns were partially preserved in situ next to the south-western corner pillar (Figs. 8, 9). The columns and the corner pillars were set on a stylobate of rubble with paving stones on top. The intercolumniation is 1.75 m, and the distance from centre to centre is 2.2 m,60 permitting 25 columns in the northern and southern porticos, and more than three times this number in the long eastern and western porticos. The columns, built of several drums held together with dowels, had a lower diameter of 45 cm.61 Some drums were reused to form the foundation of the stylobate of the later Corinthian enclosure (Fig. 9).62 No fragment of the entablature was found; it might have been of wood. The back walls were preserved on the southern end, and along the western side.63 They were covered by a thick layer of painted plaster. The frescos were well preserved on the western wall, still standing to a height of ca. 2 m. They depict a series of large orthostats in red and yellow alternately, with a dado of yellow marbling below (Fig. 8). Most instructive are scratches incised on these panels, depicting crude figures (Fig. 10).64 I share Crowfoot’s opinion that these evidently refer to the matches which took place in the arena, such as boxing or wrestling, gladiatorial combats (munera), and hunting spectacles (venationes), not just athletics.65 It seems that lectures were given there as well, 59 The blocks of the piers, some with the attached half columns, and some without, as depicted in Pl. XLVIII:1 and 2, somewhat resemble the blocks of phase Ib carceres at Caesarea. 60 Crowfoot, PEFQSt 65 (1933), pp. 66 and 68. 61 The later Corinthian columns were 4 m high, monolithic, with a lower diameter of ca. 60 cm; their attic bases were made of a single block with the plinth; the distance from centre to centre was increased to 3 m, permitting 20 columns on the shorter sides, and 65 on the longer sides. 8 columns were preserved in situ in the N, 7 on the W, 1 on the E. More columns were lying on the surface. One capital was found near the south-western corner. There were no corner piers, just columns. No columns were found on the south stylobate. It seems that the construction of this side of the enclosure was never completed. 62 Crowfoot et al., Buildings, pl. xlviii. 63 Crowfoot et al., Buildings, pl. xlix/1 and Fig. 13. At the south-western corner it was still standing 4 m high. Mostly, courses were laid as headers and stretchers alternately. The stones were laid in grey mortar, and not closely fitted; smaller stones and potsherds were pushed in between them—poor masonry. 64 Crowfoot et al., Buildings, pp. 42–46, 49, Figs. 14, 15. 65 The unusual breadth (dimensions—194.5 m length, and 58–58.5 m width, are equivalent to 600 × 200 feet of 29.6 cm; a regular stadium would be just 100 feet or less broad), much broader than that encountered in regular stadia, suggesting that even horse and chariot races could have been conducted there. However, no stalls and starting gates (carceres) were found at the site.

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under the porticos. Martialis, mentioned in one of the Greek inscriptions scratched on the walls, was a philologos. He and his friends were asking to be remembered with goodwill by Kore.66 Pomponius Rufus was hieroktistês, the founder of a shrine, or a cult.67 Altars, inscriptions, and a statue of Kore attest to a cult for this goddess in the stadium, perhaps as the patron goddess of the city.68 A small terracotta statuette of an athlete was also found in the stadium.69 U-Shaped—Amphitheatrical Stadia The Jericho Stadium Complex70 The complex in Jericho, at a distance of 1.5 km to the north of the Hasmonaean and Herodian winter palaces, was excavated by Netzer in the 1970s on behalf of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and the Israel Exploration Society. It comprises three components (Fig. 11). The main structure, on the north, was ca. 92 m long from north to south, and ca. 70 m wide. It was totally destroyed to below its floor level; only the foundations and the fill remained, forming the present Tell es-Samarat—an artificial platform elevated 10–12 m above its J. W. Crowfoot et al., The Objects of Samaria, London 1957, p. 41, inscr. 48. Op. cit., inscr. 47. 68 Op. cit., pp. 5–8; D. Flusser, “The great goddess of Samaria,” Israel Exploration Journal 25 (1975) 13–20. J. Magness, “The Cults of Isis and Kore at Samaria-Sebaste in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods”, HTR 94.2 (2001), pp. 157–77. Several marble votive legs, one bearing a Greek inscription addressing Kore, found in the sacellum of Caesarea stadium, indicate that she was worshiped at that stadium as well. For these marble legs see: R. Gersht, “Representation of deities and the cults of Caesarea,” in Raban and Holum (supra n. 31), 1996, pp. 310–11; Y. Porath, (infra n. 76), 1995a, p. 23, Fig. 10; idem., Excavations and Surveys in Israel 17 (1998) 41, Fig. 3. 69 Crowfoot (supra, note 62), 1942, p. 72 and Pl. VII.1, 2. Its height is 29 cm. and it is dated to the 4th–3rd centuries CE. 70 On the hippodrome / stadium in Jericho, see: E. Netzer, Jericho II, Jerusalem 2004, pp. 195–225, 230–232; idem., The palaces of the Hasmoneans and Herod the Great ( Jerusalem 1999) 56–59 (Hebrew). In 1868, an east-west trench was cut across the top of Tell es-Samarat by Charles Warren, on behalf of the PEF, suspecting it was a biblical tell. Gustav Dalman was the first to identify, on an aerial photograph taken by the Germans in World War I, a hippodrome to the south of the Tell. In 1975 it was identified independently by Ehud Netzer on a more recent aerial photograph, and it was excavated by his team in winter seasons in the years 1975–76 and 1976–77. Ca. 90 soundings were skilfully conducted throughout the site, following a grid of 10m squares based on the central axis of symmetry of the cavea—an exemplary method, producing a detailed plan of the entire structure in a most efficient manner. 66 67

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immediate surroundings. Netzer has suggested that access from below was through a stair-tower set in the north-east corner. The principal building material was traditional sun-dried brick, which has been in use in this area up to the present time. The mud-brick walls were plastered. Halls and rooms on top of the platform stood on the north and south of a central courtyard (55.2 × 24.8 m) that was surrounded by porticos on the east, west and north. It was suggested that this elevated building, public or royal in character, served to receive, house, and entertain important guests, but it could have also be a gymnasium, with a central palaestra, under the auspices of the king.71 The second component of the complex was the theatre mentioned above. The cavea was retained by a semicircular wall (W12), 70 m in diameter. There were no vomitoria. A plastered horizontal walkway (praecinctio) was uncovered about halfway down the slope of the cavea, but there were no traces of stone seats, or of their foundations. Netzer assumed that they were looted long ago.72 As I have suggested above, they might actually have been casual wooden benches, in accordance with the wooden theatre of Jerusalem.73 This stadium complex could have seated ca. 3000 spectators. A colonnade standing on top of the semicircular wall was suggested above the cavea, since column drums, some plastered to imitate marble, and a fragment of an Ionic capital, were found there. The area to the south of the cavea, elevated ca. 1.0–1.5 m above the arena, measuring 25 × 80 m, extends across its entire width. A permanent stage building, or a scaenae frons, is of course out of the question, since it would have blocked the view of any races in the arena, the third component of our complex. And indeed, no built traces or foundations of a stage building, or of a retaining wall, separating it from the arena, were found there. A very basic stage could have been

Vitruvius, De Architectura V.11, describes a complex of a Greek gymnasium, comprising of a palaestra, xista, and a stadium behind, so planned that large crowds could comfortably see the competitors. He comments that a palaestra was uncommon to Italy. See also Delorme (supra, note 7), 1960, pp. 489–497, and Fig. 67. Netzer, Jericho, p. 222, is of the opinion that this elevated building is the hippodromon where the notable Jews mentioned in Ant. XVII.174–178 and War I.659–666, were arrested at Herod’s command. But it seems that the multitude, being summoned “from every village from one end of Judaea to the other”, would have been rather large, so the arena might have been a better place to summon the notables, especially if it was surrounded by porticos. 72 Netzer, Jericho II, pp. 197, 200–201. 73 Patrich 2002a, supra, note 35. 71

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erected on this elevated area.74 Traces of a white lime plaster floor, perhaps of the original stage, were found at the centre of the elevated area. Netzer has suggested that wrestling, gymnastics, music and drama were staged in this open elevated area, in front of the spectators seated in the theatron. When necessary, movable wooden structures could have been constructed at the rear.75 The arena (315 × 82 m, external dimensions), comprising the third component of the complex, was delineated by walls 1.6 m thick in their foundations, on the east, west and south sides. The upper part, standing originally to an elevation of 5–6 m, was constructed of mudbricks, remnants of which were still preserved in one of the soundings. The foundations were of small stones. No traces of seats were found, but on top of the wall there was enough room for one or two rows of benches.76 No traces of a central barrier, to serve as a spina, were encountered in two long soundings dug in the centre of the arena. Netzer has noted that the barrier must have been marked by wooden poles. Similarly, no stalls, or entrances were encountered. The starting gates (carceres) seem to have been temporary wooden structures.77 Netzer suggest that the arena was surrounded on the west, east and south by colonnades, similar to those in the stadium of Sebaste/Samaria,78 but unlike the Sebaste stadium, no traces of a stylobate were found here (an early version of his reconstruction is given here; see Fig. 11). If colonnades did exist, the dimensions given above for the open arena should be reduced accordingly. In spite of the fact that the main, elevated structure had no bath installations, it seems that the architectural composition of the Jericho complex is derived from Hellenistic gymnasia, comprising of a palaestra and a stadium. As was noted above, such components of a Hellenistic gymnasium are also mentioned by Vitruvius. A complex somewhat resembling that of Jericho exists in Mesene, in the Peloponnese. 74 According to the local inhabitants, the area underwent deep ploughing, and it was cleared of stones for agricultural purposes several decades ago (Netzer, Jericho II, pp. 210–211). 75 Ibid., p. 221. One should bear in mind that for scenographic reasons, the stage building of the theatre of Pergamon was a disassembled structure. 76 Ibid., p. 231, note 19. I may suggest that two outside rectangular rooms, one attached in the south-western corner and the other attached on the western side, might have housed guards. 77 See, for example, the wooden carceres depicted on a mosaic floor from Lyons, France, reproduced in Humphrey (supra, note 3), 1985, p. 86, Fig. 36. 78 Op. cit., p. 222.

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It comprises a stadium and a triple porticoed structure above a sphendonê, and encompassing it. The sphendonê is more than half-circle; it has two short arms. The two lateral porticos extend farther beyond these arms, along and on top of the two lateral earthen banks of the stadium. The arena of the stadium is wider than the sphendonê. Its date is undetermined.79 The Hippo-Stadium at Caesarea An arena for chariot races and other games, uncovered in the archaeological excavations conducted at Caesarea in the years 1992–1998,80 is identified with the “amphitheatre” described thus by Josephus: Herod also built . . . on the south side of the harbour, farther back, an amphitheatre large enough to hold a great crowd of people and conveniently situated for a view of the sea.81

And indeed, the location on the seashore, and the architecture of the structure exposed, befits this description. The structure, U-shaped, was See Delorme (supra note 7), 1960, pp. 234–235, and Fig. 58. It should be noted that Delorme’s conclusion is that the triple porticoed structure above the sphendonê was not a gymnasium. There are more relevant comparanda: in the 2nd century BCE Lower Gymnasium of Priene there is a complex consisting of a palaestra and a stadium. The palaestra is located several metres higher in elevation relative to the stadium, to which it is attached, but the stadium has no sphendonê, and the palaestra is not set at right angle to the axis of the stadium. See op. cit., pp. 191–195, and Fig. 47. See also the 3rd century BCE complex at Iasos, in Asia Minor, op. cit., p. 123, Figs. 26–27, and the 2nd century BCE gymnasium at Delos, and its stadium, op. cit., pp. 149–153, Fig. 14. 80 The structure was excavated by two expeditions. One, on behalf of the Israel Antiquities Authority, directed by Y. Porath, had exposed the cavea and most of the arena. The second, on behalf of the University of Haifa directed by the present author, exposed the starting gates and the adjacent arena. For preliminary reports see: Y. Porath, “Herod’s ‘amphitheater’ at Caesarea: a multipurpose entertainment building,” in J. H. Humphrey (ed.), The Roman and Byzantine Near East: some recent archaeological research, ( Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplement Series 14), Ann Arbor, MI 1995a, 15–27; idem., “Herod’s ‘amphitheater’ at Caesarea (preliminary notice),” ‘Atiqot 25 (1995b) 11*–19*; idem., “Herod’s ‘amphitheater’ at Caesarea,” Qadmoniot 29/112 (1996) 93–99 [Hebrew]—this article is updated to the 1995 excavations; J. Patrich, “The Carceres of the Herodian Hippodrome/Stadium at Caesarea Maritima and connections with the Circus Maximus,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 14 (2001), pp. 269–283; idem., “More on the Hippodrome-Stadium of Caesarea Maritima: a response to the comments of Y. Porath,” JRA 16 (2003a), pp. 456–459; idem., “On Circus Carceres and a third far-fetched hypothesis. Comments on Y. Porath’s article in Qadmoniot 125 ‘Theatre, Racing and Athletic Installations in Caesarea’,” Qadmoniot 36, no. 126 (2003b), pp. 119–120 (Hebrew). 81 Ant. 15.9, 6, 341; War 1.21, 8, 415 mentions only the amphitheater, with no details about its relative location. 79

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built on a north–south axis, parallel to the coastline (Figs. 1, 12). The local kurkar stone served as the exclusive building material. The arena was about 300 m long and 50.5 m wide. The seats (cavea), holding 12 rows with a seating capacity for ca. 10,000 spectators,82 enclosed it on the east, south, and west. They were arranged in 18 segments (12 of which are still preserved), and were set on top of a podium wall 1.1 m high above the arena level. The southern gallery, semicircular in shape (sphendonê ), had an arched entranceway, 3 m wide, in its centre.83 The starting gates (carceres) enclosed the arena on the north. The dimensions, and the existence of starting gates, indicate that the structure served as a hippodrome. But locally it was known as the “great stadium,”84 or just the “stadium”85 of Caesarea. A passageway—vomitorium—located about 115 m from the southern gate, ran across the entire width of the eastern gallery, which forked near the far side into two inclined vaults, leading after two successive 90° turns, to a platform for the dignitaries ( pulvinar) that was set above. This loggia was usually located opposite the finishing line of the chariot races which was marked in lime across the right side of the arena. The

82 Porath (supra n.1), “Herod’s ‘amphitheater’ ”, Qadmoniot 29/112 (1996), 96, estimated it to be 7,000–8,000 spectators (assuming that the western side did not have seats). A careful analysis of the conservation works architect, Daniel Abu Hatzeira (interim publication), presents the following estimations for the maximum number of spectators, assuming that there were 12 rows of seats in the west as well: 10,250 (according to a 55 cm seat width), 9,410 (according to a 60 cm seat width), and 8,684 (according to a 65 cm seat width). 83 The southern retaining wall of the adjacent palace is bonded to the sphendonê on its western side. The upper terrace of the palace overhung the sphendonê on its southwestern side, as in a similar manner the main structure in Jericho overlooked the cavea from the north. 84 War 2.9, 3, 172. The context suggests that the event described above took place near the Roman praetorium on the site of Herod’s palace, namely, in the Herodian entertainment structure under discussion. 85 Ant. 18.3, 1, 57; Eusebius, History of the Martyrs in Palestine, (Syriac text and English translations and notes by W. Cureton) (London and Paris 1861), pp. 21–23 (Syr.), 19–21 (Eng.); p. 51 (Syr.), p. 47 (Eng.); Eusèbe de Césarée, Les Martyrs en Palestine, text Grec, traduction et notes (ed. G. Bardy, Histoire Ecclésiastique, Livres VIII–X) [Sources Chrétiennes 55], (Paris 1967) VI.3–7, pp. 139–40 (Gr.). Eusebius, a resident of Caesarea, speaks about events that he and other citizens had witnessed, therefore his testimony for the identification of the structure as a stadium by the locals is of utmost significance. Christian martyrs were thrown into the stadium as prey for the wild beasts. The reality of hunt scenes (venationes), conducted in a stadium, is also familiar in the Rabbinic sources (m. Baba Kamma 4, 4; cf. M ‘Avodah Zarah 1, 7).

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face of the podium wall was coated with plaster and frescoes that were renewed from time to time.86 At the southern end of the arena, about 25 m north of the southern entrance, remains were preserved of the turning post—the meta prima. Several architectural phases were discerned here. At the northern end, three phases were discerned in the arrangement of the starting gates (carceres) (Fig. 13). Phase I, with three sub-phases, is of our concern here. The floor of its arena is 2.20 m above sea-level. The stalls were of the “four pier” type,87 with five stalls on each side of a central gate. The three sub-phases can be distinguished from each other by the structure and the ornamentation of the piers, preserved up to 1–2 courses. The first sub-phase (Ia), was built by Herod. The stalls seem to have been of wood,88 with their partitions being set on top of a trapezoidal platform, and having a vertical depression to the front. The subsequent sub-phases exhibit a growing monumentalisation. The ceilings in all three sub-phases were flat and light, seemingly made of wooden beams. The starting gates of the Herodian hippodrome at Caesarea are most instructive concerning the type of chariot races conducted therein (Fig. 14). They were set parallel to each other and to the longitudinal axis of the arena. This arrangement indicates that the chariots started their course in parallel lanes, as at Olympia. The destination of the chariots was the far turning post—the meta prima. Herod instituted Greek-style races, according to the Olympic style, prevalent in the Hellenistic world, rather than to the Roman style, à la Circus Maximus. Such was their style throughout phase I. This phase came to an end when a thick wall (W100) was built on top of the stalls, during the Jewish revolt (66–70 CE). Such a racecourse precludes any possibility

86 One of the layers, in the section preserved south of the dignitaries’ platform, depicts a scene of wild animals running, as well as vegetation. Porath attributes this layer of frescos to a late phase, when the hippodrome was shortened (see below). In another layer surviving in the curved section between the eastern and southern sides, geometric patterns were preserved. Additional sections of plaster were also found opposite it, on the western side. See: Y. Porath, “The wall paintings on the podium of Herod’s amphitheatron, Caesarea”, Michmanim 14 (2000) 42–48, and colour Pl. 7 (Hebrew with an English summery on pp. 17*–18*). 87 For this classification and further details on the various phases, see my JRA articles (note 76). 88 The carceres of the Circus Maximus was of wood and tufa until the time of Claudius, and individual stalls were not properly roofed under Julius Caesar and Augustus, becoming massive only under Claudius. See: Humphrey (supra, note 3), 1985, pp. 133–34.

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for the existence of a continuous physical barrier along the middle of the arena in this phase. The nature of Herod’s hippika as described by Josephus above, which encompassed horse riding and chariot races, not just the latter, also indicates their Greek style. Races according to the Roman style, in radial lanes, were introduced to Caesarea only early in the 2nd century CE when, in phase II, the layout of the stalls became radial, rather than parallel.89 The stadium of Marathus (‘Amrit) in Phoenicia, U-shaped as well, had seven rows of seats, partially rock cut (Fig. 15). The dimensions of its extant arena are 230 × 40 m. Remains attributed to the meta prima were uncovered near its semi-circular end, on the eastern side.90 Most instructive is the resemblance of the Herodian hippodrome in Caesarea to the Caesarean and Augustan small circus in Bovillea, not far from Rome (Fig. 16).91 Here there was an early cult place to gens Juliae—the forefathers of Julius Caesar and Augustus. At the end of 16 CE a temple was dedicated there by Tiberius, with a statue of divine Augustus inside. In other words, the Imperial Cult was celebrated in this private circus as well. There is also a resemblance in the programmes held in both places, which included athletics, chariot races in the Greek tradition, and entertainment according to the Roman-style: gladiatorial combats and wild beast spectacles.92

89 There is a series of foundations in a radial layout, with top elevations of only 1.50–1.72 m above sea level, with a tight layer of beaten kurkar at an elevation of 1.55–1.62 m above sea level (as an intermediary layer in the arena fill), which reached up to the foundations and designated as phase 0. These lower foundations seem to have represented stalls, intended to serve a specific event that preceded the inaugural celebrations of the city. Elsewhere I suggested that the event in question was the visit of Marcus Agrippa to Herod in Caesarea, in year 15 BCE, when the hippodrome was still under construction, five years prior to its inauguration—see Patrich 2003a, supra, note 80; idem., “Herod’s Hippodrome/Stadium at Caesarea in the Context of Greek and Roman Contests and Spectacles,” in: Y. Ben-Arieh and E. Reiner (eds.), Studies in the History of Eretz Israel Presented to Yehudah Ben Porat, Jerusalem (2003c), 119–166, pp. 166–67 (Hebrew). 90 See supra, note 8, with reservations about the 4–3rd century BCE date it was assigned. 91 On the hippodrome of Bovillea, see Humphrey (supra n. 3), 1985, 561–66; L. Devoti, Itinerari nella campagna romana. Castrum Candulphi-Castelgandolfo: archeologia-storia-storie-arte, Velletri 2000, pp. 20–23. A direct influence of the building projects of Augustus and Agrippa in Rome was also recognized in other building projects of Herod. This is expressed, inter alia, by sending teams of masons familiar with the opus reticulatum and quadratum building techniques. These techniques are encountered in Israel only in Herod’s building projects in Jericho, Jerusalem, and Paneas. 92 This, as noted, is the typical programme of games associated with the imperial cult. Similar celebrations were also held in a 1st-century CE stadium of Aphrodisias,

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The architectural similarities pertain to the north-south orientation, the dimensions, here 60 × 328.5 m, which closely resemble those of Caesarea, the structure of the seats on two parallel longitudinal walls, with the pulvinar set above a passageway that cuts through the centre of the cavea. There are similarities in the dimensions and structure of the carceres as well, being of the “four pier” type with a grid of wooden rods serving as a partition between the stalls, as in Phases Ia and Ib at Caesarea.93 The foundation of the seats on two parallel walls, having a fill or vaulted passageway between them, corresponds with Hellenistic tradition, since it appears in the earliest hippodromes and circuses. Such was the case in the Hellenistic Lageion of Alexandria and in the hippodrome of Cyrene.94 The substructure of the seats in the Circus Maximus in the days of Julius Caesar and Augustus followed a similar arrangment. The typical layout of the seats in the Roman circuses and stadia (as well as in the Roman amphitheatres) at a later period was on a network of parallel vaults set perpendicular to the arena’s long axis. The auditorium layouts at Gerasa (second half of the 2nd century CE) and Tyre (early 3rd century CE) were of this type. Tiberias and Taricheae Of the “stadium” of Tiberias, first mentioned in the beginning of the Jewish War, when Josephus served as commander in Galilee (War 2.617–9; Life 91–2; 96; 331), only the podium of the sphendonê, and short sections of the lateral walls were recently uncovered by the Israel Antiquities Authority. Like in Caesarea, the sphendonê is situated on its south side. Its northern end has not been excavated yet, so its length is still unknown. The estimated width of the arena is ca. 58 m.95 Long ago, Lämmer had attributed its construction to Herod Antipas, to accommodate the celebrations in honour of Tiberius in the dedication

and in any other place where such games took place. See: K. Welch, “The stadium at Aphrodisias,” American Journal of Archaeology 102 (1998), 561–68. 93 For a more detailed comparison see my article in JRA 14 (2001), supra, note 76. 94 For influences from the hellenistic east—Alexandria, Antioch, Cyrene, rather than only from Italy and Rome on Herodian architecture, as against D. Roller, see: B. Burrell and Ehud Netzer, “Herod the Builder,” (review article on D. Roller), JRA 12 (1999), pp. 705–714. 95 I am indebted to Dr. M. Hartal, the excavator, for this oral information. See also supra, note 52.

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feast of the city.96 The hippodrome of Taricheae, on the Sea of Galilee (War 2.599; Life 132–3; 138), has not been exposed yet. According to Josephus a multitude of 100,000 people assembled there in protest against him in 66/67 CE, but it is not clear to what extent this was a built enclosure, like that of Tiberias. The number accommodated seems to be exaggerated.97 Herodian Stadia—Conclusion (Fig. 17) In the Herodian stadia of both types, rectangular and U-shaped amphitheatrical, as with the theatres, a distinct development from wooden to masonry construction and towards increased elaboration and sophistication can be discerned. The oldest of these edifices, the amphitheater/hippodrome in Jerusalem, built in 28 BCE, has left no extant remains; even its location is a matter of debate. Like the theatre, it seems to have been a wooden structure. The stadium in Sebaste/ Samaria, whose construction began in 27 BCE, is not mentioned by Josephus, but is attributed to Herod by the archaeologists. It was a rectangular field (194.5 × 58.5 m) surrounded by porticos. That of Herodium was a narrower but longer course, 25 × 350 m, too narrow for chariot races, but horse races could have taken place there. The hippodrome in Jericho was a more complex stadium, being a rectangular race track, measuring 315 × 83 m (or perhaps 310 × 73 m if it had porticos). Its northern side was occupied by an earthen sphendonê with a 1.5 m raised platform in front. The “amphitheatre” in Caesarea, known also as the “great stadium” of the city, already had masonrybuilt seats, not just on the sphendonê side, but on the two long sides as well. The dimensions of its arena (301 × 50.5 m) are somewhat smaller than those of Jericho. As was already noted by Netzer for Jericho, and by Humphrey for Caesarea, the U-shaped Herodian stadia were multi-purpose entertainment structures. Herod’s “amphitheatre” at Jericho is referred to by Josephus as a “hippodrome”. Thus, equestrian races took place 96 The foundation of Tiberias is dated by coin evidence to shortly before 19/20 CE The event could not have taken place before the 60th birthday of Tiberius on 16 November 18 CE. For this and the “hippodrome” of Tarichaea, see Kokkinos 1998, 234–5. 97 On these two structures see Lämmer 1976. On Taricheae-Magdala see also: F. Manns, “Magdala dans les sources littéraires,” Studia Hierosolymitana in onore del P.B. Bagatti, I, Jerusalem 1976, pp. 307–337, esp. p. 315.

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there, in spite of the fact that starting gates and turning posts were not found there. They must have been of wood, as Netzer had suggested. Herod’s “amphitheatre” at Caesarea, stone-built, with stone cavea and sphendonê, was the culminating architectural stage in the evolution of Herodian stadia. It was already provided with starting-gates (carceres) to accommodate chariot races (hippika) on a more regular basis, in addition to the athletics (gymnika), simpler to organize, and seemingly held more frequently. Humphrey had rightly coined the term hippo-stadium to designate this type of stadium.98 The hippika followed the Olympian system, and the gymnika were also in keeping with the Greek/Hellenising tradition, but Roman spectacles, gladiatorial combats (munera) and chasing of wild beasts (venationes), took place there as well. The amalgamation of Greek and Roman functions and styles, evident in all domains of Herod’s activity, are revealed in his entertainment structures as well, presenting the achievements of a Hellenised monarch at the service of the Romans.99 Bibliography Albricci A., 1962. “L’orchestra dipinta del teatro Erodiano di Caesarea Maritima,” Bollettino di Arte 4, 289–304. Alföldi G., 1999. “Pontius Pilatus und das Tiberieum von Caesarea Maritima”, SCI 18, 85–108. ——, 2002.“Nochmals: Pontius Pilatus und das Tiberieum von Caesarea Maritima”, SCI 21, 133–148. Bieber M., 1961. The History of the Greek and Roman Theater, Princeton. Burrell B. and Netzer E., 1999. “Herod the Builder” (review article on D. Roller), JRA 12, 705–714. Conder C. R. and Kitchener H. H., 1882. The Survey of Western Palestine II, London. Corbishley T., 1935. “The Chronology of the Reign of Herod the Great,” JTS 36. Couissin P., 1927–28. “Les armes gauloises figurées sur les monuments grecs, étrusques et romaines,” Revue Archéologique 25, 138–76, 301–25; 26, 43–79. Crowfoot J. W., 1932. “Excavations at Samaria, 1931: Karam el-Sheikh,” PEFQSt 64, 24–27.

98 As was already recognized by Humphrey, supra, note 31, the Roman small hippodromes of Gerasa, Neapolis, Gadara, Scythopolis, and perhaps also Phillipopolis, are other members in the group of hippo-stadia. The Herodian structure in Caesarea (with a 303 × 50.5 m arena) is the largest among them; there were good grounds for it to have been called “the Great Stadium”. Moreover, it can be conceived as their archetype! The number of starting gates in Gerasa and Neapolis, five on either side of a central gate, is the same as their number in phases I and II at Caesarea. They were never intended to match the 12 stalls of the Circus Maximus, and they are much smaller than it in size. 99 See also Netzer 2006, 277–281.

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——, 1933. “Samaria Excavations: The Stadium,” PEFQSt 65, 62–73. Crowfoot J. W., Kenyon K. M., and Sukenik E. L., 1942. Samaria-Sebaste, I: The buildings at Samaria (London). Crowfoot J. W. et al., 1957. The Objects of Samaria, London. Delorme J., 1960. Gymnasion, Paris. ——, 1961. Les Palestres, Paris. Dentzer J. M. and Orthmann W. (eds.), 1989. Archéologie et Histoire de la Syrie II, Saarbrücken. Devoti L., 2000. Itinerari nella campagna romana. Castrum Candulphi—Castelgandolfo: archeologia-storia-storie-arte, Velletri. Dunand M. et al., 1954–55. «Les fouilles d’Amrit en 1954: Fouille de stade,» Annales Archéologiques de Syrie 4–5, 203–204. Etienne R., 1966. “La naissance de l’amphithéâtre: le mot et la chose,” Révue des études latines 43, 213–20. Flusser D., 1975. “The great goddess of Samaria,” Israel Exploration Journal 25, 13–20. Fraser P. M., 1972. Ptolemaic Alexandria, Oxford. Freeman-Grenville G. S. P., Chapman R. L., and Taylor J. E. (eds.), 2003. Eusebius of Caesarea, The Onomasticon: Palestine in the fourth century A.D., Jerusalem. Frézouls E., 1959. “Recherches sur les théatres de l’Orient Syrien,” Syria 36, 202–212. ——, 1989. “Les édifices des spectacles en Syrie,” in Dentzer and Orthmann 1989, 385–388. Frova A., 1963. “Italian Excavations in Israel: Caesarea.” Christian News from Israel 14/3–4, 23, pls. 1–4. Frova A. et al., 1965. Scavi di Caesarea Maritima. Milan Istituto Lombardo, Accademia di Scienze e Lettere, Milano. Gersht R., 1996. “Representation of deities and the cults of Caesarea,” in Raban and Holum 1996, 310–11. Harris H. A. 1976. Greek Athletics and the Jews, Cardiff. Humphrey J. H., 1985. Roman Circuses: Arenas for Chariot Racing, London. ——, 1996. “ ‘Amphitheatrical’ Hippo-Stadia,” in: Raban and Holum 1996, 121–129. Jeremias J., 1931. “Der Taraxippos im Hippodrom von Caesarea Palaestinae.” Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins 54, 279–89, pls. XII–XIII. Kah D. and Scholz P. (eds.), 2004. Das hellenistische Gymnasion (Wissenskultur und gesellschaftlicher Wandel, 8), Berlin. Klostermann E. (ed.), 1904. Eusebius. Das Onomastikon der biblischen Ortsnamen, Leipzig (repr. Hildesheim 1966). Kokkinos N., 1998. The Herodian Dynasty: Origin, Role in Society, and Eclipse, Sheffield. Korach L., 1894. “Die Reisen des Königs Herodes nach Rom. Eine kritische Untersuchung,” MGWJ 38. Lämmer M., 1972. „Eine Propaganda-Aktion des Königs Herodes in Olympia,“ Perspektiven der Sportwissenschaft, Jahrbuch der deutschen Sporthochschule Köln 1. ——, 1973. “Griechische Wettkämpfe in Jerusalem und ihre politischen Hintergründe,” Perspektiven der Sportwissenschaft, Jahrbuch der deutschen Sporthochschule Köln 2, 182–227. ——, 1974. “Die Kaiserspiele von Caesarea im Dienste der Politik des Königs Herodes,” Kölner Beiträge zur Sportwissenschaft 3, 95–164. ——, 1976. „Griechische Wettkämpfe in Galiläa unter der Herrschaft des Herodes Antipas,“ Kölner Beiträge zur Sportwissenschaft 5, 37–67. ——, 1981. “The attitude of King Agrippa I towards Greek contests and Roman games,” U. Zimri (ed.), Physical education and sports in the Jewish history and culture, Netanya 1981, pp. 7–17. ——, 1981/82. “Griechische Agone und Römische Spiele unter der Regierung des judischen Königs Agrippa I,” Kölner Beiträge zur Sportwissenschaft 9/10, 199–237. Lawrence A. W., 1967. Greek Architecture, Bungay. Le Guen B., 2001. Les associations de technites dionysiaques à l’époque hellénistique, I: Corpus documentaire; II: Syntèse (Études dÁrchéologie Classique, XI–XII), Nancy.

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——, 2000. “Caesarea”, Hadashot Arkheologyiot 112, p. 44 (Hebrew section), p. 37* (English Section). Raban A. and Holum K. G. (eds.), 1996. Caesarea Maritima. A retrospective after two millennia, Leiden–New York–Köln. Richardson P., 1999. Herod. King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans, Edinburgh. Ringel J., 1975. Césarée de Palestine: Étude Historique et Archéologique, Paris. Rostovtzeff M., 1941. Social History of the Hellenistic world, vol. II, Oxford (repr. 1998). Saliby N., 1989. “ ‘Amrit”, in Dentzer J. M. & Orthmann W. (eds.), Archéologie et Histoire de la Syrie II, Saarbrücken, pp. 24–26. ——, 1997. “ ‘Amrit”, in E. M. Meyers (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East, Vol. 1, New York and Oxford, p. 113. Schalit A., 1964. King Herod—portrait of a ruler, Jerusalem. ——, 1969. König Herodes: der Mann und sein Werk, Berlin. Schwartz D. R., 1987. Agrippa I. The Last King of Judaea, Jerusalem (Hebrew). ——, 1992. “Caesarea and its ‘Isactium’: Epigraphy, numismatics and Herodian chronology,” in: Studies of the Jewish background of Christianity, Tübingen. Schürer E. 1973. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135), Vol. I, ed. G. Vermes and F. Millar, Edinburgh. Segal A., 1995. Theatres in Roman Palestine and Provincia Arabia, Leiden. Segal A. and Eisenberg M., 2005. “Hippos-Sussita of the Decapolis—First Five Years of Excavations”, Qadmoniot 38 (Hebrew). Tsafrir Y., Di Segni L., and Green J., 1994. Tabula Imperii Romani. Judaea/Palaestina, Jerusalem. Welch K., 1998. “The stadium at Aphrodisias,” AJA 102, 561–68. Will E., “La coupe de Césarée de Palestine au Musée du Louvre”, Monuments et mémoires 65 (1983), pp. 1–24. Zanker P., 1990. The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus (Eng. transl. A. Shapiro), Ann Arbor. Zayadine F., 1966. “Samaria-Sebaste, le theatre,” Revue Biblique 73, 576–80.

INDIVIDUAL HERODIAN SITES

HEROD’S CAESAREA ON SEBASTOS: URBAN STRUCTURES AND INFLUENCES Barbara Burrell Abstract Starting in 22 BCE, Herod the Great began to build an enormous artificial harbour and city on the coast of his realm. He devoted a major portion of his and his kingdom’s wealth and resources to the project, probably ceasing work on any other but the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. In building the harbour Sebastos and the city Caesarea, Herod and his builders faced a multitude of decisions about placement, design, and construction techniques for the facilities. Some of their choices were dictated by the terrain, some by the technology available; but many appear to have been the result of Herod’s plans for what sort of city Caesarea was to be, and what place he would take within it. This paper analyses the siting of, influences on, and motives behind all the major structures of the project. Everything began with the harbour, which was vital for the provision of materials for its own construction as well as that of all the rest. The Temple of Augustus and Rome was to dominate the harbour and seacoast, while the street grid of the settlement followed its own rationale. Gates and walls marked out the city for its intended population, the first of whom was Herod himself, who established his palace on the only promontory not devoted to harbour works. Theatrical venues were provided, not just for the celebration that marked the city’s inauguration, but for a continuing sacred festival in honour of its namesake Augustus, and likely for subsequent gatherings of the citizens of Caesarea and of the wider province. The absence or presence of further facilities may be traced via archaeological remains or ancient texts. Through cult, through sacred festivals, and by their very names, Caesarea and Sebastos were visible proof of their founder’s alliance with Rome and its ruler. The harbour became a practical success, and its accessibility to trade by land and sea justified all that had been spent on it. Furthermore, the city’s population appears to have been more devoted to Herod than was true elsewhere, so that it formed a bulwark for his kingdom. Finally, for the wider Graeco-Roman world, Caesarea on Sebastos served as a show-window onto Herod’s realm. In all these ways, the harbour and city accomplished the designs of this cosmopolitan king.

Around 22 BCE, Herod the Great began to build an enormous artificial harbour and city on the coast of his realm (Fig. 1, to be referred to throughout).∗ He named the one Sebastos, the other Caesarea, both in ∗ I would like to thank the organisers of the “Herod and Augustus” conference, David Jacobson and Nikos Kokkinos, as well as Sara Martin of the Institute for Jewish Studies, for all their help. I would also like to thank Kathryn Gleason, Ehud Netzer, Yossi Patrich, Anna Iamim, Malka Hershkovitz, Sylvia Rozenberg, and the other workers at Caesarea for their invaluable knowledge and advice. All errors are my own.

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honour of the man who had granted him this territory only a few years before. Thus Caesarea is a very appropriate site in which to examine the twinned theme of this conference, Herod and Augustus. I am a relative newcomer to Caesarea, as I and my co-director, Kathryn Gleason, only began to excavate at the Promontory Palace there in 1990; and the first thing I’d like to do here is to recognise and thank other excavators of Caesarea, some of whom attended the conference in 2005. Their unfailing generosity and high standards of scholarship and publication have made our work there both rewarding and pleasurable. I also ask for their patience, as much that I have to say will not be new, and some of it will be things they have said themselves. Nonetheless, I think that a general survey of the motives behind and structure of Caesarea on Sebastos may be quite useful as a means of exploring the methods and motives behind Herod the Great’s building program. First is, of course, the name: a harbour Sebastos, a city Kaisareia, both Greek versions of the names of Augustus. Herod had already named one city Sebaste, which he located in territory that Augustus had given him at the same time as Caesarea’s, in 30 BCE. But Herod was renowned for naming cities and monuments after people: not just his Roman overlords, but his father, mother, brother, friends, and even himself. This, of course, was a giant project, suitable to be named after the man with the greatest power over Herod’s sphere. Other allied kings, such as Juba II of Mauretania and Archelaus of Cappadocia, embarked on the same politic process of founding and naming at around the same time.1 Then comes the harbour, the raison d’être for the city, and the most daring, difficult, and expensive part of the project. Herod’s coastline was notoriously short on safe harbours, and the few there were could not accommodate very many, or very large, ships. A more modest king could have tried to extend the harbour works at Joppa. Instead, Herod chose the site of Straton’s Tower, which, though a port, was not a flourishing one, and had few natural features that made the job easier; and on it he built an artificial harbour “as large as Piraeus,” according to Josephus.2

1 Jacobson 2001. For recent excavations at Archelaus’ city of Elaiussa, which he renamed Sebaste, see Equini Schneider ed. 1999, esp. 35–36. 2 Jos., Ant. 15.332; B.J. 1.410 says Caesarea’s harbour was bigger than Piraeus.

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The landmark studies of the Caesarea Ancient Harbour Excavation Project (piloted by the late Avner Raban, who should be remembered here) have shown the amazing way that this harbour was constructed.3 Enormous boxlike barges were built on shore, of wood imported from Italy or Cyprus; they were filled partway with special concrete made with pozzolana, which had the rare property of being able to set underwater; they were floated to their destination in the harbour, and there they were filled with layers of both pozzolana cement and more easily available local materials until they sank into place. Much has been made of the imported Italian materials, and thus likely practitioners, of this advanced technology. The pozzolana that was used to construct Sebastos came direct from the Bay of Naples, and the sites of Cosa, Puteoli, and Misenum show that Italian builders were in the forefront of its use in harbour works, though at this time Rome’s port of Ostia was far less developed.4 But Vitruvius, who wrote on architecture and the uses of pozzolana at around the same time that Herod began to build Caesarea, does not mention this barge method of construction. It is only recently that a precedent has been found: interestingly, in the underwater excavations of the harbour at Alexandria.5 Pinewood barges of about the same size as Caesarea’s were filled with non-pozzolana-based concrete; as it couldn’t set under water, the barges had to be impermeable, and they had to be settled, not directly into the sea, but onto prepared mounds. The side boards of the barge could then be stripped and reused, but the resultant giant concrete block sealed the barge’s bottom underneath; the wood preserved under one such block recently yielded a carbon date (calibrated) between 390 and 130 BCE. So when we consider the technology Herod chose for this project, we are not looking just at imported “Roman” methods, nor just at “Hellenistic”; it is in fact the most advanced technology available, and the best suited to solve the immense problems posed by the building of Sebastos. This is not to doubt the presence of Italian builders at Caesarea. Certainly the use of a material like pozzolana in such a crucial role, and in such mass quantities that it probably had to come as ballast on

3 Raban (ed.) 1985; 1998; Oleson 1989–1994; Hohlfelder 1996; Brandon 1996, 1997, 2001; infra nn. 4–6. 4 Gianfrotta 1996. See Strabo 5.4.6: pozzolana allowed the harbours along the Phlegraian coast to be transformed into basins where the biggest ships could moor safely. 5 Goddio 1998, 32–43; de Graaw 1998, 55–56; Brandon 2001.

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the huge grain ships returning from Italy to Alexandria, would not have been attempted without experts in its use on hand.6 In addition, there are telltale signs of Italian builders at Caesarea: one is a secondary wall at the south end of the hippodrome topped with opus reticulatum, the laborious style of network-facing for concrete walls.7 This is widely used in Italy, but extremely rare in the East. Of only about twenty known examples, this is the fourth so far to be found in Herod’s realm, all associated with his cities and projects: this one in Caesarea; another in Caesarea Philippi, or Panias, where he built a temple to Augustus; what was probably known as “Herod’s Monument” outside the Damascus Gate of Jerusalem; and at Herod’s Third Palace at Jericho, excavated by our colleague, Ehud Netzer.8 It is possible that the team from Caesarea came to Jericho and gave Herod (who had installed hypocausts in all his palaces’ baths from the very first) a full-scale Italian-style bath, complete with laconicum. After all, the high seas of winter made harbour building impossible for a good chunk of the year; why not bring those expensive Italian builders (all eating their heads off, no doubt) inland to work on Herod’s brand new winter palace, perhaps as a special surprise to greet Agrippa, who visited Judaea in 15 BCE, with all the comforts of home?9 The Caesarea project had to begin with the harbour Sebastos, which was vital for the provision of materials for its own construction as well as that of all the rest. Why did Herod choose to build it? Surely there were many reasons. His realm had recently experienced a famine, which could have been abated more easily by mass imports of grain in larger ships.10 A capacious all-weather port attracted more traffic, which meant harbour duties; the certainty of finding a choice of merchants and ships would also bring in the caravan trade. A harbour could also house a royal fleet, and Herod would soon sail one of his own to the Black Sea for manoeuvres under Agrippa’s command. Moreover, an international port would literally open Herod’s realm to the wider world, and act as a show window for his kingdom. And the fact that all this had been Hohlfelder 1999, 2000; McKenzie 2003, 39. In the area excavated by the Israel Antiquities Authority, Y. Porath, director. 8 Dodge 1990; Spanu 1996; Netzer 2001, 232, 339–340; Bonato-Baccari 2002. 9 As Ehud Netzer pointed out after my lecture, dating the “opus reticulatum palace” at Jericho after Agrippa’s visit in 15 BCE is preferable in terms of architectural and project chronology. Undoubtedly there could have been several teams of Italian builders who worked in Herod’s realm at different times. 10 Jos., Ant. 15.299–316; Hohlfelder 2000. 6 7

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made out of nothing would demonstrate to all that here, as Josephus said (B.J. 1.410), Herod had truly “conquered nature.” It is intriguing that Caesarea’s chief temple faces the all-important harbour, not the city. Herod built the temple to Augustus and Rome, using a natural outcrop of rock but extending it with retaining walls to make a high platform; Josephus says (Ant. 15.339) that it was “visible from afar to those sailing in”—intentionally so.11 Sometimes this is called a “Capitolium,” though structurally it is nothing like either the one in Rome nor the ones that often formed the centre of Roman colonial foundations. The temple to Augustus that Herod built at Sebaste was also on a height, and of course so was the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Perhaps the closest comparison, however, is with the Sebasteion at Alexandria, which was not only on a height but like this faced out onto the harbour, and in which Augustus was hailed as “Kaisar epibaterios” as early as 30 BCE.12 Recent excavations keep revealing more of the temple at Caesarea.13 It was likely a six-columned Corinthian structure, built of local stone coated with stucco containing marble dust, so as to be smooth and sparkling; Josephus, who was no geologist, said that Caesarea’s buildings were of imported white stone (Ant. 15.331–332). Details were touched in with red and blue paint. Unlike the temples in Caesar’s or Augustus’ forum at Rome, it stood isolated in its precinct, but the back of that precinct was curved, recalling the semicircular colonnade cut into a hillside for another Corinthian temple to Augustus, at the Pisidian colony of Antioch.14 A twenty-meter-long foundation at the lip of the inner

11 Von Hesberg 1996, 11–16. For imperial temples that were visible from afar and faced harbours, see Süss 2003, 265; Burrell 2004, 316–317. 12 Capitolium: Roller 1998, 138–139. Sebaste and the Temple Mount: Lichtenberger 1999, 82–84, 131–142. Sebasteion at Alexandria: Philo, Leg. 150–151; Hänlein-Schäfer 1985, 32–34. 13 Kahn 1996; Patrich 2001b, 88. 14 Mitchell and Waelkens 1998, 113–173; Lyttelton 1987, 41–43. The Antioch temple looked out on a courtyard, but was not completely enclosed in a columned precinct. Instead its curved two-story (Ionic on Doric) portico formed a background for it, which Lyttelton sees as a Hellenistic feature. She also compares the free-standing semicircular portico enclosing the Temple of Caelestis at Dougga in Tunisia, though that dates far later, to the reign of Severus Alexander: Golvin and Khanoussi 2005, 97–208; SaintAmans 2004, 220–221, 229–230. A closer parallel to the Antioch temple can be found in Gallia Narbonensis: the temple at Château-Bas, Vernègues, also Corinthian, set in a semicircular precinct, and dated 30–20 BCE, though its deity remains unknown (Fournier and Gazenbeek 1999). None of these, however, has the high, level, enclosed platform and the complex curve of the back wall of the Caesarea precinct.

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harbour is on an axis with the temple’s foundation, and may have been its altar, or the first springing of a central staircase like that at Sebaste or the bridge-staircases leading up to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Access from the city was at a major crossroads, but the broad southern staircase led up to a side view of the temple, not its impressive front; and the whole is skewed thirty degrees off the city’s grid. According to Suetonius (Augustus 52), Augustus refused to be worshipped without Rome, and so the personification of the City shared this temple. Though Josephus (B.J. 1.414) says that the colossal statue of the emperor was “not inferior to the Olympian Zeus, on which it was modelled,” and that of Rome “the equal of Hera at Argos,” we should not take him so literally as to restore them with the iconography of Zeus and Hera, as ivory and gold, or even necessarily as both seated. The Zeus and Hera were two of the most famous cult statues in the Graeco-Roman world, and Josephus (or perhaps a source like Nikolaos of Damascus—or even a tour guide) is just saying that these statues were as good as that. Coins that show the temple of Rome and Augustus at Pergamon, which was probably finished a few years before that at Caesarea, show Rome as a city-goddess crowning the emperor in military dress.15 But truly, we have no clear data for the precise imagery used at Caesarea. Josephus (B.J. 1.414, Ant. 15.340) makes special mention of Caesarea’s street grid and the drainage system that ran under it, though little of the sewer has been found thus far.16 Street-grids, of course, were nothing new for planned cities east or west. Certainly many nearby towns founded by the Seleucids had orthogonal plans, including harbours like Laodikeia on the Sea.17 At Caesarea, as in those other cities, the grid was adapted to suit the landscape and public buildings: though both the north-south and east-west streets ran parallel to one another, their spacing varied according to the buildings that needed to fit into the plan. For example, blocks east of the Temple of Augustus and Rome appear to have been longer, to accommodate its position without an intervening street running up to the back of the platform; and this may

15 For the Hera and Zeus, Pausanias 2.17.4, 5.11.1. Burrell 2004, 19–20, 24–25, figs. 46, 50 (rev.). The Pergamene temple and its statues have not yet been found, but on the coins, both figures are shown standing. 16 What such a system might have looked like is shown by that of the neighboring city of Dor: Berg, Sharon, and Zilberstein 2002, 164–167. 17 Castagnoli 1971, 90–92; Ward-Perkins 1974, 20, 115–116, fig. 20.

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have also been true of the area just to the north, where the warehouses and harbour works of Sebastos perhaps again influenced the plan. Further south, several of the blocks are roughly half the size east-west, to accommodate the hippodrome; and the theatre too is off the grid’s axis, a point to which I shall return. When Vitruvius (1.5) discusses city-foundation, he calls for the architect to lay out defensible walls even before the street grid. Caesarea indeed had such walls, visible mainly through aerial photographs; only a few stretches have been unearthed.18 Round towers mark the main North Gate; at the south, remains of another, smaller round tower mark what was probably supposed to be the south gate in the city’s original plan; but the street into which the gate was to run was blocked by the addition of the theatre. Though it was long thought that the North Gate complex was a relic of Straton’s Tower, the similarity of the masonry, with its central rustication, drafted margin, and header-and-stretcher construction, to that of the platform of the Temple of Augustus and Rome, which was surely built by Herod, makes it more likely that the walls are Herodian.19 A city, of course, must have a population. In the case of Caesarea, its founder was also one of its first residents, and probably built his own residence on site in order to keep track of his enormous harbour project. On the only sandstone promontory that was not being used for Sebastos, a large and luxurious palace was built, which I have had the good fortune to excavate and study.20 In its first form, it was basically a rectangular building composed of rooms built around a peristyle court, not unlike Herod’s First Palace at Jericho; but in this case the centre of the court was not a garden or a gathering place, but a pool with channels to fill it with fresh water, though it stood in the midst of the sea. The eastern end of the pool had a large dining and reception suite looking out over its expanse; from there, one could stroll down the flower-decked porticoes, or climb up the stairs and walk out to a semicircular overlook placed on the second level to avoid winds and spray, allowing the guest a view out over the sea just a few steps away from the placid interior pool. Though palatial, this lower wing did not have the facilities to accommodate many guests or petitioners, and

18 19 20

Blakely 1992. Patrich 2001b, 102–103 n. 41. Netzer 1996; Gleason et al. 1998.

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appears to have been for Herod’s own use. It was only later that a new public wing was fitted onto the private one, integrating it with the rest of the city’s grid. This public wing was entered via an impressive gate structure, leading into an enormous peristyle courtyard designed for the gathering and control of crowds. Remains of a central rectangular podium probably mark the tribunal of the King; and on the north, a wide basilical hall was probably intended for closed audiences. The larger structure probably also offered much-expanded guest quarters; certainly they were needed, as Herod would lodge and feed the embassies of all the cities he had benefited—and there were many—when he gave his festival celebrating Augustus at the inauguration of Caesarea. Built at the same time as the Palace’s public wing, and closely integrated with it, were the two public buildings that would play crucial roles in that festival: the hippodrome along the seashore and the theatre both flanked the Palace on its promontory. The hippodrome, which Josephus calls both “amphitheatre” (Ant. 15.341, B.J. 1.415) and “stadium” (below), was a multi-purpose structure, suitable not only for horse races and chariot races, but open enough for footraces, wrestling, and other Greek-style athletic events.21 The Palace’s public wing binds with the hippodrome’s west wall, and the arena was entered via an archway that opened directly in front of the Palace gates. Its tiers of seats were built on parallel walls, like many Hellenistic hippodromes, including some in Italy. Interestingly, entry to it from along the landward, east side, which would have been an easy way of filling the seats from above, was prevented by a deep trench. It looks as if crowd control was more important than efficiency here, and we know that later Pontius Pilate’s soldiers penned up a hostile crowd in “the great stadium” at Caesarea ( Jos. B.J. 2.172, cf. Ant. 18.57). The same motive may have been at work in the theatre, since it is one of the first in the East in which the cavea is artificially built up on vaults in the Roman way rather than built into a hillside like most Greek theatres.22 Nonetheless, the lower parts of it were scooped out of the bedrock. The precise site on which this was done was apparently important; the theatre not only blocks what was originally meant to

Patrich, 2001a, 2002, 2003, and in this volume; Porath 2003, 2004. Frova 1966; Gleason 1996, 217–219, 223–224; Japp 2000, 22–26. Note that several first-century-BCE amphitheatres of Italy (at Pompeii, Telesia, and Puteoli) have lower parts of the cavea that were sunk in the ground, as was the Caesarea theatre: Gagliardo and Packer 2006, 93 n. 2. 21 22

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be a major gate into the city from the south, but is the only Herodian building besides the Temple of Augustus and Rome that was off the city’s grid. It doesn’t take its axis from temple or harbour, but looks out towards the Palace on its promontory. Though little remains of the original Herodian phase apart from its shape and the lowest layers of coloured plaster on the orchestra floor, it had a permanent stage building and semicircular orchestra, like many eastern and Italian theatres of the late Hellenistic period. As with the hippodrome, it is likely that the theatre was used for civic as well as celebratory purposes; in an episode narrated by Josephus (BJ 1.550; Ant. 16.393), Herod is said to have summoned the people of Caesarea into “the ekklesia,” the assembly which in other eastern cities often met in the theatre. There, Herod accused a veteran of his own army living in Caesarea, plus three hundred more officers, of conspiring against him, and the people were so outraged that they stoned the alleged conspirators to death on the spot. That Herod chose to make this a public accusation in the city’s assembly, by the way, is a striking demonstration of Herod’s close relations with the people of Caesarea, and theirs with him. The theatre and hippodrome were to be venues for the great festival that inaugurated the city, and continued afterward as a pentaeteric Greek-style contest in celebration of the city’s god, Augustus. The Caesarean festival included both musical contests, mainly to be presented in the theatre, and athletic contests, including horse racing, which were held in the hippodrome. Herod was certainly familiar with the organization of Greek-style games: as well as donating festival structures to many cities of the East, he had served as agonothetes, sponsor of the great festival of Zeus at Olympia, at just the same time that Caesarea was being built.23 On the other hand, Josephus (Ant. 16.136–141) specified that Herod’s inaugural festival for Caesarea included gladiators and wild beast hunts, specifically Roman spectacles outside the scope of Greek contests. Both Augustus and his wife Livia sent gifts and equipment to Herod for the celebration, to a value of five hundred talents; and several have associated these gifts with a Romanisation of the contests, and even with the Secular Games given by Augustus in Rome eight years before.24 The Olympic festival: Jos., B.J. 1.426–427, Ant. 16.149. Herod gave theatres to Sidon and Damascus ( Jos. B.J. 1.422); Josephus’ references to his gifts to Nikopolis (B.J. 1.425, Ant. 16.147) do not specify whether festival structures were included. 24 Patrich 2002. 23

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Perhaps the “equipment for the festival” that Augustus sent included gladiatorial gear, a Roman speciality. But that would not secure any association with the Secular Games, as no gladiatorial combats were given with them.25 Though they did have a wild beast hunt, it was not integral to the games themselves, but was added at the end by a separate act of the Senate. Indeed, the Secular Games were so peculiar to Rome, and to Augustus’ own policies in shaping the city and its elites, that they probably would not have translated well to the East, though they themselves included “Greek thymelic and city games” among the mainly theatrical presentations offered. Why did Herod spend so much on Caesarea’s inaugural festival, and why did he build a theatre and hippodrome so close to his palace? We should not be misled by our own view of sports and the theatre as pure entertainment—this is not, as Biblical Archaeology Review jokingly called it, “Herod’s Fun City” or “Vegas on the Med.”26 Both Greek and Roman festivals were dedications to the gods, and the contests enacted were sacred. Like the city, harbour, and Temple, Caesarea’s festival was meant to honour Augustus as a god. Further, the association of the festival venues with the ruler who endowed it and presided over it in perpetuity was typical of Hellenistic kings, and later of Roman emperors also. For example, the palace district of the Ptolemies in Alexandria included a theatre, while that of the Seleucids at Antioch had a racecourse; and of course Augustus’ house, and later the Flavian Palatine complex, looked down upon the Circus Maximus.27 But most important, Herod’s purpose in giving the contests at all was to show his megalopsychia, a word which goes beyond “magnanimity” to verge on “greatness.” So here again is that much-cited passage of Josephus (Ant. 16.141), who just after he has discussed the magnificence of the opening festival at Caesarea, says: “both Augustus himself and Agrippa said many times that Herod’s realm was not equal to his megalopsychia: for he was worthy to have the kingship of all Syria and Egypt.” It was partially for this reputation that he celebrated and built so magnificently.

25 Cooley 2003, 266–279, is a convenient English translation of the major documents; for a text incorporating the most recent finds, see Schnegg-Köhler 2002. 26 Porath 2004, with front cover. 27 Nielsen 1999, 112–113, 272–274 (Antioch), 130–133, 282–284 (Alexandria), 174–180, 293–295 (Palatine), 214–215 (chart of palaces with “public” functions including theatres and hippodromes).

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There are other features that Herod put into his city that I can only mention, because Caesarea has not yet offered up enough clear evidence for them. For example, Josephus wrote that the city had agoras, but we haven’t found them yet.28 The sea has swept away many of the harbour’s features: vaulted shelters, colossal statues that guarded its entrance, the tower named after Augustus’ stepson Drusus that may have served as its lighthouse. There was ample space for houses for the population, but only a fraction of it has been excavated. And certainly a city this large must have had a water supply; it is unlikely that Herod would have let a project as grandiose as Caesarea depend on wells alone.29 Though some have dated the first, easternmost, of Caesarea’s twin high-level aqueducts to the Claudian period, I think that the relative chronology of hydraulic plastering cannot be—if I may say so—that firmly set. Herod’s Italian builders would have had the expertise to build this aqueduct, especially if they had worked on the Aqua Julia, the Aqua Virgo, or any of Agrippa’s other water projects.30 By the way, though I do believe that Agrippa, and of course Augustus, powerfully influenced Herod, I do not associate the practical building at Caesarea or elsewhere in Herod’s realm with the timing of Agrippa’s visit to Herod, or Herod’s visits to Rome. Our literary sources for the period have a strong biographical slant, which colours our considerations. It is certainly possible that Agrippa and Herod could have sat down and discussed architecture as they strolled in the gardens of Jericho, or stared out into the desert from the overlook of the northern palace at Masada. But there is no reason to believe that those discussions had to be in person or limited to the times that they met. Also, we should face the fact that both these men were, in architectural terms, clients, not builders. Yes, they had strong opinions, even demands. Each was knowledgeable about building, had seen a great deal of the Mediterranean world, could specify what he wanted, and 28 The most important literary sources for Caesarea and its foundation by Herod are Josephus: B.J. 1.408–415 and Ant. 15.331–341. For agoras, see B.J. 1.415. 29 Few wells or cisterns of Herodian date have been found in Caesarea: see Patrich 2001b, 93–94, 108–109 nn. 91–96; Porath 2002b, 105, 124–5. Pace the latter, the well in the courtyard of the upper Promontory Palace is not of the first half of the first century CE, but likely of the fourth century or later (Gleason et al. (1998), 48–49), and the “cistern” in the same courtyard shows no sign that it ever held water. 30 Porath 2002a and b; but see Patrich and Amit 2002, 11–12, 14–15. It would be useful to test these plasters petrographically and check for the use of pozzolana as mentioned by Vitruvius (2.5.1–2.6.1), and as found in the Caesarea harbour works (see above). On Agrippa’s and Augustus’ water projects: Taylor 2000, 136–154, 169–200.

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see that it was carried out. But the key to each project was getting the people with practical expertise, the master builders, who could turn those desires into reality. It is by the details of construction, things like opus reticulatum and drafted-margin blocks and barges filled with a new, more efficient, concrete, that we can trace direct architectural influence. And those had to be carried out by actual builders, not just by one man’s vision. Also, I may add, influence didn’t go in just one direction. Those who see Herod the client may try to trace each architectural aspect back to buildings he may have seen in Rome; while those who see Herod the king may single out the parts that are Hasmonean or more broadly Hellenistic. Here we face a grave difficulty: our near-total ignorance of two world capitals, Alexandria and Antioch. Trying to figure out the architectural development of their world without them is like trying to reconstruct the course of modern art if all the works of Picasso and Matisse had gone up in smoke. This, and the facts that the archaeological record is both incomplete, and only datable by relative chronology, make it highly unlikely that we will ever be able to trace back the very first appearance of almost anything. Which hemicycle viewing platform came first, Herod’s at Masada, or what may have been Agrippa’s at the Villa della Farnesina?31 And couldn’t they both have derived from Cleopatra’s favourite outlook on the harbour at Alexandria? We also have to admit that this was a time when the people of the Mediterranean were travelling and communicating with each other most actively. War and commerce sent them back and forth. Italy was already full of cities where people spoke Greek, and the Romans were not monolingual. The city’s gods may have been given conservative ground plans for their temples, and the politicians’ houses had to show their connections with the glory of old Rome; but they often had a fine Hellenistic gloss of marble columns and philosophy on top. On the other hand, the heated baths pioneered in Italy soon began to filter into eastern gymnasia that had once been content with cold splash-basins. It was a cosmopolitan world, and what came around, went around. So we finally get to Rome, and thus to the other topic of our conference, Augustus. Did any of his activities compare with Herod’s in founding Caesarea? I find the differences more striking than the similarities, and the irony is that the allied king had the freer hand. What

31

Krause 2000 assembles the evidence.

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Herod did in founding cities was acceptable and understood; he was a king. Augustus had to be more wary, especially early in his dominion; his adoptive father Caesar had perhaps been too high-handed and precipitate, and it had got him . . . deified. So Augustus built with splendour, but also with care.32 The temples of the gods had to be just as they had always been, but also new and lavish; names of original founders had to be preserved as an ostentatious sign of modesty; orthogonal plans could be introduced, but they had to fit where they could in a crowded and unplanned city. Augustus’ own house could be seen as both sacred and ordinary; it wore laurels and the civic crown, associated itself with the Palatine Temple of Apollo, the Circus Maximus, and the Hut of Romulus, but its furnishing was not distinct from that of other elite houses, and he lived there in conspicuous modesty. Outside Rome, Augustus founded an unprecedented number of colonies in settling the veterans of the late republican armies. But his res gestae concentrates on the fact that he paid money for the land, and devotes one unvarnished sentence (28.1) to the provinces that held the colonies. Even Nikopolis, the city he built (and Herod benefited) to commemorate his victory at Actium, goes unmentioned.33 For Rome, however, the res gestae lists virtually every building (19.1–21.2). Though Augustus could think of taking on the name Romulus, could claim he had transformed Rome from a city of brick to a city of marble, and did accomplish many large and well-integrated projects, he could not really build Rome as Herod built Caesarea. In fact, his position there was more like Herod’s in Jerusalem: he inherited a city already formed, with ancient divinities and a long and complex history. All he could do was make himself conspicuous spaces within it, and thus within the minds and memories of its inhabitants. So we return to consider Herod’s harbour and city. Through cult, through sacred festivals, and by their very names, Caesarea and Sebastos were visible proof of their founder’s alliance with Rome and its ruler. The harbour became a practical success, and its accessibility to trade by land and sea no doubt justified all that had been spent on it.

32 Of a multitude of sources on Augustus’ buildings in Rome and their interpretations, see: Favro 1996; Ganzert 1996, 2000; Quenemoen 2000; Spannagel 1999; Viscogliosi 1996; von Hesberg and Panciera 1994; Zanker 1972, 1988, 1997. For the new evidence of a third hemicycle in Augustus’ forum, see La Rocca 2001, 184–195. 33 For Nikopolis, supra n. 23; for recent finds from Augustus’ triumphal monument there, see Zachos 2001.

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Furthermore, the city’s population appears to have been more devoted to Herod than was true elsewhere, so that it formed a bulwark for his kingdom. For the wider Helleno-Roman world, Caesarea on Sebastos served as a show-window onto Herod’s realm, and illustrated his twin roles of faithful ally and powerful king. And finally, we return to Josephus (B.J. 1.408–410), who held that of all Herod’s foundations, Caesarea best demonstrated “the innate grandeur of his character”—that by sheer enterprise and love of honour, here he “conquered nature.” For those of us who study Herod’s buildings, however, it is not just the triumph over nature, but the choice of each landscape, no matter how difficult, and the moulding of each to the will of the founder while retaining its own special character. This marks each of Herod’s projects as unique and particular to him. In this, as well as in all else, the harbour Sebastos and city of Caesarea truly accomplished Herod’s designs. Bibliography Berg, J., I. Sharon, and B. Zilberstein. 2000. “Water supply, distribution and disposal in Roman Dor,” in The aqueducts of Israel, edited by D. Amit, J. Patrich, and Y. Hirschfeld, 155–167. Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 46. Portsmouth, R.I.: Journal of Roman Archaeology. Blakely, J., 1992. “Stratigraphy and the North fortification wall of Herod’s Caesarea” in Caesarea Papers: Straton’s tower, Herod’s Harbour, and Roman and Byzantine Caesarea: Including the papers given at a Symposium held at the University of Maryland, the Smithsonian Institution, and the Jewish Community Center of Greater Washington on 25–28 March, 1988, edited by R. L. Vann, 26–41. Ann Arbor: Journal of Roman Archaeology. Bonato-Baccari, S., 2002. “Le mausolée en opus reticulatum de Jérusalem: tombeau d’Hérode ou simple témoin d’un modèle romain?” Latomus 61:67–87. Brandon, C., 1996. “Cements, Concrete, and Settling Barges at Sebastos: Comparisons with Other Roman Harbor Examples and the Descriptions of Vitruvius,” in Caesarea Maritima: a Retrospective After Two Millennia, edited by A. Raban and K. Holum, 25–40. Documenta et monumenta Orientis antiqui 21. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——, 1997. “The Concrete-filled Barges of King Herod’s Harbor of Sebastos,” in Res maritimae. Cyprus and the Eastern Mediterranean from Prehistory to Late Antiquity. Proceedings of the Second International Symposium “Cities on the Sea”, Nicosia, October 18–22, 1994, 45–58. Scholars Press: Atlanta. ——, 2001. “Unterwasser-Konstruktionen in der Antike.” Skyllis 4:34–40. Burrell, B., 2004. Neokoroi: Greek Cities and Roman Emperors. Leiden: Brill. Castagnoli, F., 1971. Orthogonal town planning in antiquity. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Cooley, M., ed. 2003. The Age of Augustus. LACTOR 17. Cambridge: London Association of Classical Teachers. de Graaw, A., 1998. “A 20th Century Engineer’s Viewpoint of the Eastern Harbour of Alexandria” in F. Goddio, Alexandria: the Submerged Royal Quarters, 53–58. London: Periplus. Dodge, H., 1990. “The Architectural Impact of Rome in the East” in Architecture and Architectural Sculpture in the Roman East, edited by M. Henig, 108–120. Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology.

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Equini Schneider, E., ed. 1999. Elaiussa Sebaste I: Campagne di scavo, 1995–1997. Roma: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. Favro, D., 1996. The urban image of Augustan Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fournier, P., and M. Gazenbeek. 1999. “Le sanctuaire et l’agglomération antiques de Château-Bas à Vernègues (Bouches-du-Rhône)” in Revue archéologique de Narbonnaise 32: 179–195. Frova, A., et al. 1966. Scavi di Caesarea Maritima. Roma: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. Ganzert, J., 1996. Der Mars-Ultor-Tempel auf dem Augustusforum in Rom. Mainz am Rhein: P. von Zabern. ——, 2000. Im Allerheiligsten des Augustusforums: Fokus “Oikoumenischer Akkulturation.” Mainz: von Zabern. Gagliardo, M., and J. Packer. 2006. “A New Look at Pompey’s Theater: History, Documentation, and Recent Excavation.” AJA 110:93–122. Gianfrotta, P., 1996. “Harbor Structures of the Augustan Age in Italy,” in Caesarea Maritima: a Retrospective After Two Millennia, edited by A. Raban and K. Holum, 65–76. Documenta et monumenta Orientis antiqui 21. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Gleason, K., 1996. “Ruler and Spectacle: the Promontory Palace,” in Caesarea Maritima: a Retrospective After Two Millennia, edited by A. Raban and K. Holum, 208–227. Documenta et monumenta Orientis antiqui 21. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——, et al. 1998. “The Promontory Palace at Caesarea Maritima: Preliminary Evidence for Herod’s Praetorium,” in Journal of Roman Archaeology 11:23–52. Goddio, F., 1998. Alexandria: the Submerged Royal Quarters. London: Periplus. Golvin, J.-C., and M. Khanoussi, editors. 2005. Dougga, études d’architecture religieuse: les sanctuaires des Victoires de Caracalla, de “Pluton” et de Caelestis. Bordeaux: Ausonius. Hänlein-Schäfer, H., 1985. Veneratio Augusti: eine Studie zu den Tempeln des ersten römischen Kaisers. Rome: G. Bretschneider. Hohlfelder, R., 1996. “Caesarea’s Master Harbor Builders: Lessons Learned, Lessons Applied?” in Caesarea Maritima: a Retrospective After Two Millennia, edited by A. Raban and K. Holum, 77–101. Documenta et monumenta Orientis antiqui 21. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——, 1999. “Building Sebastos: the Cyprus Connection.” International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 28:154–163. ——, 2000. “Beyond Coincidence? Marcus Agrippa and King Herod’s Harbor.” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 59:241–253. Jacobson, D. M., 2001. “Three Roman client kings. Herod of Judaea, Archelaus of Cappadocia and Juba of Mauretania.” PEQ 133:22–38. Japp, S., 2000. Die Baupolitik Herodes’ des Grossen: Die Bedeutung der Architektur für die Herrschaftslegitimation eines römischen Klientelkönigs, Rahden/Westf.: Verlag Marie Leidorf. Kahn, L., 1996. “King Herod’s Temple of Roma and Augustus at Caesarea Maritima,” in Caesarea Maritima: A Retrospective after Two Millennia, edited by A. Raban and K. Holum, 130–145. Documenta et monumenta Orientis antiqui 21. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Krause, C., 2000. “Hemizyklien im frühkaiserzeitlichen Villenbau.” RM 107:37–78. La Rocca, E., 2001. “La nuova immagine dei fori Imperiali: appunti in margine degli scavi.” RM 108:171–213. Lichtenberger, A., 1999. Die Baupolitik Herodes des Grossen. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Lyttelton, M., 1987. “The Design and Planning of Temples and Sanctuaries in Asia Minor in the Roman Imperial Period”, in Roman Architecture in the Greek World, edited by S. Macready and F. H. Thompson, 38–49. London: Society of Antiquaries. McKenzie, J., 2003. “Glimpsing Alexandria from Archaeological Evidence.” JRA 16:35–63. Mitchell, S., and M. Waelkens. 1998. Pisidian Antioch: The Site and its Monuments. London: Duckworth with The Classical Press of Wales.

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Moretti, L., 1953. Iscrizioni agonistiche greche. Rome: A. Signorelli. Netzer, E., 1996. “The Promontory Palace,” in Caesarea Maritima: a Retrospective After Two Millennia, edited by A. Raban and K. Holum, 193–207. Documenta et monumenta Orientis antiqui 21. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——, 2001. Hasmonean and Herodian palaces at Jericho: Final reports of the 1973–1987 excavations, 1: Stratigraphy and architecture. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society; Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Nielsen, I., 1999. Hellenistic Palaces: Tradition and Renewal. 2nd ed. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Oleson, J., editor. 1989–1994. The Harbours of Caesarea Maritima: Results of the Caesarea Ancient Harbour Excavation Project 1980–1985. Oxford: B.A.R. Patrich, J., 2001a. “The Carceres of the Herodian Hippodrome-stadium at Caesarea Maritima and Connections with the Circus Maximus.” JRA 14:269–283. ——, 2001b. “Urban space in Caesarea Maritima, Israel” in Urban Centers and Rural Contexts in Late Antiquity, edited by T. Burns and J. Eadie, 77–110. East Lansing MI: Michigan State University Press. ——, 2002. “Herod’s Hippodrome-stadium at Caesarea and the Games Conducted Therein,” in What Athens has to do with Jerusalem. Essays on Classical, Jewish, and Early Christian Art and Archaeology in honor of Gideon Foerster, edited by L. V. Rutgers, 29–68. Peeters: Leuven. ——, 2003. “More on the Hippodrome-stadium of Caesarea Maritima. A Response to the Comments of Y. Porath.” JRA 16:456–459. ——, and Amit, D., 2002. “The aqueducts of Israel: an introduction,” in The Aqueducts of Israel, edited by D. Amit, J. Patrich, and Y. Hirschfeld, 9–20. Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 46. Portsmouth, R.I.: Journal of Roman Archaeology. Porath, Y., 2002a. “Hydraulic plaster in aqueducts as a chronological indicator,” in The Aqueducts of Israel, edited by D. Amit, J. Patrich, and Y. Hirschfeld, 25–36. Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 46. Portsmouth, R.I.: Journal of Roman Archaeology. ——, 2002b. “The water-supply to Caesarea: a re-assessment,” in The Aquiducts of Israel, edited by D. Amit, J. Patrich, and Y. Hirschfeld, 104–129. Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 46. Portsmouth, R.I.: Journal of Roman Archaeology. ——, 2003. “Herod’s Circus at Caesarea. A Response to J. Patrich ( JRA 14, 269–83).” JRA 16:451–455. ——, 2004. “Vegas on the Med: a Tour of Caesarea’s Entertainment District.” BAR 30.5:24–35, with corrections in BAR 31.1 (2005) 9. Quenemoen, C., 2000. The Architectural Significance of the House of Augustus, PhD. Thesis, Yale University. Ann Arbor, Mi.: UMI Dissertation Services. Raban, A., 1998. “Sebastos, the Royal Harbour of Herod at Caesarea Maritima. 20 Years of Underwater Research” in Archeologia subacquea. Come opera l’archeologo. Storie dalle acque. VIII Ciclo di lezioni sulla ricerca applicata in archeologia, Certosa di Pontignano (Siena) 9–15 dicembre 1996, 217–273. Florence: Edizioni all’insegna del Giglio. ——, ed. 1985. Harbour Archaeology: Proceedings of the First International Workshop on Ancient Mediterranean Harbours, Caesarea Maritima, 24–28.6.83. BAR international series 257. Oxford: B.A.R., 1985. Roller, D., 1998. The Building Program of Herod the Great. Berkeley: University of California Press. Saint-Amans, S., 2004. Topographie religieuse de Thugga (Dougga): ville romaine d’Afrique proconsulaire (Tunisie). Bordeaux: Ausonius. Schnegg-Köhler, B., 2002. Die augusteischen Säkularspiele. Munich: K. G. Saur. Spannagel, M., 1999. Exemplaria principis: Untersuchungen zu Entstehung und Ausstattung des Augustusforums. Heidelberg: Archäologie und Geschichte. Spanu, M., 1996. “L’opus reticulatum e mixtum nelle province asiatiche” in L’Africa romana. Atti dell’ XI Convegno di studio, Cartegine 15–18 dicimbre 1994, 923–939. Ozieri: Il Torchietto.

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Süss, J., 2003. “Kaiserkult und Urbanistik. Kultbezirke für römische Kaiser in kleinasiatischen Städten” in Die Praxis der Herrscherverehrung in Rom und seinen Provinzen, edited by H. Cancik und K. Hitzl, 249–281. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Taylor, R., 2000. Public Needs and Private Pleasures: Water Distribution, the Tiber River and the Urban Development of Ancient Rome, Roma: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. Viscogliosi, A., 1996. Il tempio di Apollo in Circo e la formazione del linguaggio architettonico augusteo. Roma: “L’Erma” di Bretschneider. von Hesberg, H., 1996. “The Significance of the Cities in the Kingdom of Herod,” in Judaea and the Greco-Roman world in the time of Herod in the Light of Archaeological Evidence: Acts of a Symposium organized by the Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and the Archaeological Institute, Georg-August-University of Göttingen at Jerusalem, November 3rd–4th 1988, edited by K. Fittschen and G. Foerster, 9–25. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. ——, and S. Panciera. 1994. Das Mausoleum des Augustus: der Bau und seine Inschriften. Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Ward-Perkins, J. B., 1974. Cities of Ancient Greece and Italy: Planning in Classical Antiquity. New York: George Braziller. Zachos, K., 2001. To mnemeio tou Oktavianou Augoustou ste Nikopole: to tropaio tes naumachias tou Aktiou. Athens: Hypourgieo Politismou. Zanker, P., 1972. Forum Romanum: die Neugestaltung durch Augustus. Tübingen: E. Wasmuth. ——, 1988. The power of images in the Age of Augustus. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. ——, 1997. Der Kaiser baut furs Volk. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag.

THE ARCHITECTURAL ORIGINS OF HEROD’S TEMPLE MOUNT1 Dan Bahat Abstract Herod’s Temple complex in Jerusalem differed from his other building projects in one important respect. Whereas he and his architects were given a clean slate for his other monumental schemes, in the case of the Temple they were constrained by the pre-existing arrangement of the Temple Mount. There were also Biblical prescriptions governing the location, design and dimensions of the Temple Sanctuary which had to be obeyed. In order to reconstruct the layout of Herod’s Temple complex, and ascertain the areas where his architects could apply Graeco-Roman architectural norms, it is therefore essential to establish the scheme of the pre-existing Temple Mount, and this paper attempts to supply the answer.

The building activities of Herod the Great were mostly an expression of the Hellenistic-Roman milieu of the Levant. In any discussion about Herod and his relations with Rome, one has to consider his cultural sources, including those manifested in his works of architecture. Many Roman monuments include the construction of large artificial platforms and terraces raised partly on vaulted substructures and reinforced by enormous retaining walls to overcome the topographical constraints of the respective sites. Early examples include the great sanctuaries of Latium, most notably those of Fortuna Primigenia at Palestrina (Praeneste) and Hercules Victor at Tivoli (Tibur) near Rome, which both date from the about the mid 1st century BCE.2 Both exhibit the strict symmetry and strong axial emphasis, which are conspicuous characteristics of monumental Roman architecture. They were planned on rectilinear grids, according to simple arithmetical ratios.3 1 This paper deals with the Temple Mount only because, unlike the Temple proper, there is archeological evidence that can be used to supplement that provided by the documentary sources. 2 On these and the other great Latin sanctuaries on terrace platforms, see inter alia Gros 1996, 136–40; Coarelli 1987. 3 For example, the sanctuary of Fortuna Primigenia at Praeneste is inscribed in a square, 400 Roman feet each side and these dimensions are split into modules of 25 feet (Coarelli 1987, 42, Fig. 10).

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Because of its form and its size, the Temple Mount in Jerusalem was a unique structure in the Greco-Roman world ( Jacobson 2000, Table 2).4 Within the Herodian sphere, two more structures with similar characteristics, albeit of much smaller size, were constructed. These are the enclosure containing the Cave of the Patriarchs (known in Arabic as the Haram al-Khalil) and that at Mamre (Ramet al-Khalil)—the traditional site where Abraham hosted the three angels (Gen. 18:1–16). They are both situated within the environs of Hebron, about 40 km south of Jerusalem. The similarity of the three, all of Herod’s creation, shows a conjunction of architectural ideas, including similarities of detail which indicate common architectural sources and preferences. It is clear that Herod’s Temple complex fits well into the framework of the Roman world, because Herod’s many monumental works show clear classical features—this may be seen in the architectural details in the Temple Mount that are purely ‘classical’ such as capitals, columns and similar features, and the combination of a triple-aisled basilica, the basileios stoa of Josephus, and quadriporticus that framed the enclosure (Mazar 1969; 1971; 1975), but there are aspects—including its unique size and the inner courts and structures, which have few parallels in classical architecture. However, the blending of local religious and cultural traditions with classical ideas was common in the East. An interesting example that can still be seen is the temple of Bel in Palmyra. Dating from 19–32 CE, this temple is a synthesis of Roman architecture, incorporating specifically early Augustan features, Ptolemaic influences and native elements.5 Levantine characteristics, including the tripartite division of the main sanctuary essentially relate to Palmyrene religious ritual, just as the non-classical features of Herod’s Temple were connected with Biblical tradition. When dealing with the Temple proper, its various courts and functions, there is no doubt that the sources—Josephus and the Mishnah—describe the same structures, especially with regard to the inner courts and structures (e.g. Busink 1980, 1532–36). In the case of the

4 It has been suggested that the drafted masonry in the retaining walls of Herod’s Temple was intended to allude to the Solomonic Temple, while at the same time it bears unmistakable similarities to ashlar masonry used in prestigious Augustan temples ( Jacobson 2000). 5 Jacobson 2002, 22–23.

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Temple Mount it is different, as there are major contradictions between the descriptions in these two textual sources.6 In our consideration of the inner Temple, we shall examine the consecrated area which was out of bounds to gentiles, known in Hebrew as har habayit and usually translated as the Temple. Of the Temple Sanctuary and other inner structures there are no known archaeological remains, and we are almost totally reliant on ancient literary sources for our knowledge of these buildings. The archaeological excavations carried out around the Temple Mount during the 20th century, and the explorations on the periphery and inside the Mount through the 19th century have furnished important information about the site, especially as regards its natural topography (Warren and Conder 1884, 117–233; Warren 1884, Pl. VI–VII).7 Crucial topographical data include the location, size, and height of the hillock now encased within the later enclosure, known as Mount Moriah—the source of the sanctity of the Temple Mount since Biblical times, and possibly even earlier.8 It is surprising that in all the discussions on the development of the Temple Mount, the size of Mount Moriah as a factor in understanding the Halachic system is never taken in consideration. Although the Mount’s topographic features are known to us, thanks largely to Charles Warren, and they provide some assistance in gaining insights on the origins of the plan of the temple precinct that stood on the summit, yet because there are no identified remains of these structures, we need to look beyond archeology only and seek assistance from the literary sources, as will be shown. The main sources that will be dealt with here are two of the works of Josephus (Ant. 15.380–425; 20.219–22, War 5.184–247),9 where the Temple is described, to which may be added the incidental information contained in the Gospels and the Book of Acts,10 which is consistent with Josephus’ description of the Temple Mount. The other sources

6 There are also contradictions within these principal sources, and examples of these are cited in Levine 1994, 234–35. 7 Of special importance to the present study are plates VI and VII therein. 8 The possibility that Mount Moriah was sanctified much before the time of David and Solomon is clear and will be discussed by R. Gonen and myself in the future. 9 More description details may be found elsewhere in Josephus’ writings while describing various events. 10 Many events mentioned in the Gospels occurred on the Mount: Jesus challenging the Rabbis, chasing out the money-changers, deliberating under Solomon’s portico, John and Peter healing the mendicant, etc.

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under discussion are the tractates of the Mishnah that refer to the Temple and the religious laws governing it, but they also throw light on the holy precinct as a whole.11 As the Mishnah is a compendium of religious jurisprudence, I believe that its compilers endeavoured to be precise in their descriptions and therefore I suggest that one can rely on its description of the Temple Mount as factual and accurate. Comparing Josephus’ account to that of the Mishnah shows many serious discrepancies that cannot be explained otherwise than as describing different Temple Mounts.12 A pertinent example of such a discrepancy is the Mishnaic description of the western wall of the Mount where there is only one gate, named the Kiponos Gate (m. Mid. 1.2), whereas in Josephus’ description, in the western wall of the Mount four gates are mentioned (Ant. 15.410). These four gates may be seen even today where they are known by names given to them after their discoverers: Robinson, Barclay, Wilson (actually discovered by T. Tobler), and Warren. Again, the agreement between what is seen today and Josephus’ description verifies the suggestion that his description relates to the Herodian Temple Mount. Because Josephus’ description agrees so well with what one can still see today, and what we see today is, unmistakably, the Herodian Temple Mount, I can only conclude by agreeing with Magen that the Mishnaic description mostly refers to the state of the Mount as it existed before Herod constructed his own scheme.13 The simplest way to explain the size of the Mount (500 × 500 cubits) is that it derives directly from the account of the eschatological Temple described by Ezekiel (42:16–20), as argued by O. Holtzmann (1913, 44).14 However, I prefer to believe that it relates to the pre-Herodian Temple Mount (Bahat 1999, passim & 11 Especially tractates Middoth, Tamid, and Para, but other tractates also occasionally provide some details about the Temple. 12 For a recent discussion of these differences and their treatment by various scholars, see Levine 1994, 234–236. 13 See Magen 1980, 41–45, who assigned that phase of the Temple to the Hasmonaean period. The idea that the Temple as described in the Mishnah was pre-Herodian was first suggested in the 19th Century by Rabbi J. Hildesheimer (1877). J. Brandt (1960, 212; 216) has suggested that this description relates to the Temple of Zerubbabel in the Persian period. 14 It should be pointed out that tractate Middoth cites many passages from the Book of Ezekiel verbatim, which shows that its compilers viewed it as an important source of information on the Temple. Josephus states that the complete circuit of the Temple porticos, inclusive of the Antonia was a mere 6 stades or 3,600 Roman feet, which is equivalent to 1,100 metres [ Jos., War 5.192], giving a surface area that is not very much greater than the 500 × 500 cubits of the Mishnah. However, this figure is likely

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Fig. 22). The same would then be true for the references in the Mishnah to the structures within and the rules pertaining to it. The fact that what we see today dates from Herod’s time may be proved by the architecture of the retaining walls, the Double Gate and its surviving decoration and other remains of the outer enclosure. If the pre-Herodian hypothesis for the description of the Temple Mount in the Mishnah is correct, then one has to date the construction of this older Mount and identify some of its feature which may cast light on the origins of the plan and characteristics of this phase of construction. In my view, the Temple built by the repatriates from Babylon (in the 6th century BCE) was too poor to be a candidate for the Mishnaic Mount (Ezra 3:1–7).15 An important source describing the Mount before Herod is pseudo-Hecataeus (Bar-Kochva 1996, 113). Its size according to an ancient source (thought to date about the beginning of the 1st Century BCE) was about 154 × 51 m, which is smaller than 500 × 500 cubits. It may be suggested that the reference by pseudo-Hecataeus is to the inner court only, but the meaning of the inner court requires a study in its own right as it may also refer to the pre-Herodian Mount.16 Another possibility for the construction of the pre-Herodian, Mishnaic Mount is that it was carried out by the Maccabaean rulers who embellished and reinforced the fortifications of the Temple (in the 2nd century BCE). From the description in 1 Macc 4:36, 59–60, one has to assume that the Mount was fortified before they conquered it or its fortifications were improved by them.17 Partial destruction of a certain pre-Maccabaean structure on the Temple Mount is described in 1 Macc 9:54.

to be erroneous, as is the case for several other measurements that Josephus supplies; see Jacobson 1999, 168, Table 4.3. 15 In Ezra 3:12 it is mentioned that the older people, who had remembered the Solomonic Temple wept when they saw its poor replacement. 16 It is possible that the famous inscriptions, prohibiting the gentiles from trespassing into the holy precinct marks the confines of the inner court, although Josephus explicitly states that they were affixed to the stone balustrade (wherever that happened to be) [ Jos., Ant. 15.417; War 5.194, etc.]. 17 In this passage, Judah is ascending the Temple Mount (= Mount Zion in 1 Macc.), and he sees “the courts, the gates, the chambers”. These installations are definitely not what were built in the 6th century BCE. More significant is 4:59: “At that time also they built up Mount Zion (= the Temple Mount—D.B.), with high walls and strong towers round about”. This may be confronted with 6:7 where “and that they had compassed about the sanctuary with high walls, as before,” which means reconstruction and not initial construction.

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One should look for a possible previous construction of the Mount in order to understand reconstruction work carried out by the Maccabees after the period of neglect caused during the years of disorder in the country during the reign of Antiochus IV and the attempts to establish Jerusalem as a Hellenistic city. Two literary sources from Hellenistic Alexandria may cast light on our query. One is the book of Ecclesiasticus (or The Wisdom of Jesus the Son of Sira), and the other the Letter of Aristeas. Though opinions vary, both of these sources seem to date slightly later than 200 BCE (Yadin 1965, 5 n.15; Schürer IIIa 1986, 202, 680, 682).18 However, both represent the reality of the third century BCE (Bar Kochva 1980, 56, 279). The first pseudepigraphal source describes the high priest Simon II, the son of Onias II, building the Temple Mount (“the House, the Shrine”): “Building it from the foundations and doubling its height” and “the cistern to receive water” (Ecclus. 49:11–14; 50:1–4).19 The letter of Aristeas backs up this description by also describing the immense fortifications of the Mount and the water supply to it (Thackeray 1904, 20–21). From these accounts, one may conclude that the building of the 500 × 500 cubits Temple Mount was earlier than the Maccabaean period, and it was only repaired by the Maccabees. By the 3rd century BCE, the fashion of building sacred precincts on the summit of hills had become a common and widely diffused feature in the Greek world.20 Following this line of argument, the pre-Herodian (Mishnaic) Temple Mount was built in the 3rd–2nd century BCE, probably blending some local architectural traditions with Hellenistic ones (definitely not Roman), and the formidable pre-Herodian structure cannot be attributed to the Maccabees. The elements that are described in the Mishnah as pertaining to the pre-Herodian Temple Mount are, in my opinion:

18 The date of about 200 BCE for Ben Sira precedes the Maccabaean revolt. Stern argues that Ben Sira’s grandson came to Egypt in 133 BCE and translated his grandfather’s book in about 116 BCE (see Stern 1992, p. 15 n. 49). 19 As translated in Apocrypha or non-Canonical Books of the Bible, ed. M. Komroff, NewYork 1992, pp. 224–225. 20 E.g. the Parthenon on the Acropolis in Athens (6th–5th centuries BCE) and the Temple of Athena Polias at Pergamon, where the surrounding porticos were built by Eumenes II (197–159 BCE).

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1. A square platform retained by four high walls, 2. The Temple sanctuary, which is not standing in the centre of the platform, but slightly to the north-west of the centre, 3. The platform was bordered by porticos, 4. Among the five gates of the Mount, there are two gates to the south, named Huldah Gates, to which a stairway leads.21 Early Hellenistic writers mention the Jews as possessing many fortresses (Stern, 1974, I, 39 [Hecataeus], 106–108 [Agatarchides] etc.), and having the city of Jerusalem also fortified. Although the “fortresses” may suggest the period that the writers describe, when the Jews had gained their independence, could it be that the Jewish fortresses were guarded by Jews even earlier, for example, serving as mercenaries of the Ptolemies in their own country (1 Macc 1:36–37)? Thus, the “Jewish fortresses” may predate these literary sources. All these pre-Herodian features are also reflected in the Herodian Mount: 1. When Herod decided to increase the size of the Mount, he retained the principle of a quadrangular structure as the 500 × 500 cubit enclosure had been. In order to achieve this aim he had to expand the Mount beyond Mount Moriah, towards the north, west and south. His rectangular Mount is based on the pre-existence of an earlier square enclosure on the site.22 Checking other holy precincts shows that most are adjusted to the natural topography of the site and don’t adhere to a strict quadrangular area, which is the case for the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. The size of the Temple Mount is so enormous that the visitor cannot recognize the fact that actually the Mount forms a trapezoid and not a strict rectangle as one might believe—due to the topography of the area. 21 R. Reich, to whom I am indebted for the information, exposed a stairway, leading northwards from the Lower City (the Ophel) of Jerusalem and disappearing under the southern wall of the Temple Mount: it is thus earlier than the Herodian Mount. 22 This is based on my assumption that we can trace nowadays the location of the holy precinct of 500 × 500 cubits, which I have marked, probably the first time (with some confidence in my opinion), in Bahat 1989, map on p. 35, showing the Temple Mount and the limits covering the 500 × 500 cubits area (“old and new Temple Mount”). The same position and alignment of this square area was introduced in the plan presented in Ritmeyer 1989, 45 (drawn by L. Ritmeyer). My reconstruction was the result of many conversations with B. Mazar, although in some aspects the reasoning of Ritmeyer’s reconstruction was different from mine.

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2. Owing to the natural topography of Mount Moriah, the artificial structures built over it could not be adjusted to an idealised ‘classical’ scheme with the temple on the platform standing at its centre. This observation was also recognised in the Mishnaic Temple Mount: “Its largest space was to the south, the next largest to the east, the third largest to the north, and its smallest was to the west” (m. Mid. 2.1).23 From the unequal measurements of the open spaces it is clear that the Temple sanctuary was situated north-west of the central point of the platform in the pre-Herodian Mount as it was in the Herodian one. 3. The Mishnaic Temple Mount was surrounded by porticos, as was the Herodian Mount. This may be concluded from the following detail: The enhancement of the Mount to the north, south and west, left the eastern wall of the mount in its original form. The eastern portico on or alongside it must have also been still in its original state. Josephus (War 5.184; cf. Jn 10:22–3) attributes its construction to King Solomon, and says that it was, due to its antiquity, in a rundown state that required repair in the days of Agrippa II (Ant. 20.21–2). So the existence of a portico, at least on the eastern side, is attested. Because of the different date of this portico from that of the other three in the Herodian enclosure, it also appeared different, being lower than the others (m. Mid. 2.4).24 According to the Mishnah, there were five gates into the Temple Mount: two in the south, named after the prophetess Huldah (2 Kings 22:14; 2 Chon 34:22)25 whose tomb must have been shown close by. The Huldah Gates were probably the most frequented gates, being the points of access for pilgrims to the Temple Mount. These, together with the Kiponos Gate on the west, were the only gates for general access (entry

The space refers to the open space between the Temple and the respective walls of the Mount. 24 However, it is not clear if that reference is to the eastern portico or to the eastern wall of the Temple itself. 25 This prophetess was living in the Mishne quarter of Jerusalem, which probably lay on the Western Hill of Jerusalem. However, the location of her burial place was unknown to the inhabitants in the Second Temple period, who probably showed her tomb close to the southern wall of the Temple Mount. This assumption is based on the fact that her tomb, along with the tombs of the Davidic dynasty, were not considered contaminating as any other tomb, because it was shown in the inhabited area of the city. For this see e.g. Tosefta, Baba Bathra 1:7,11, Jerusalem Talmud, Nazir 9:3, and other citations of this Halacha. 23

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and exit) into the Temple enclosure at that time (Mid. 1.3). This may explain why the gates must have possessed double passages, so that every one had to enter the Temple Mount from the right and come out from the left (only mourners and excommunicated people had to proceed the other way round).26 A line of columns or another device provided a logical means to separate the two streams of worshippers. The present southern gates, dubbed “Double” and “Triple” gates, date from Herod’s time and followed the same pattern of being divided by columns into two passages, as indicated in the Mishnah.27 In the Temple Mount of the Mishnah, there was a place where a trumpeter announced the Shabbath. This may be deduced by the fact that it is mentioned in the Mishnah (m. Suk. 5.5, t. Suk. 4.11–12).28 The same habit prevailed also in the Herodian Temple Mount, and the precise location of the trumpeter is known through an archaeological discovery. It is impossible to say where the trumpeter was positioned before Herod enhanced the size of the Mount, but there must have been a regular place for the trumpeter also previously. The monarch’s architects would have made an allowance for stationing of the trumpeter, as Herod could not change existing habits ( Jos., War 4.582).29 These were some of the features of the Temple Mount that are described in the Mishnah and that should be associated with its 26 It has been suggested that two cisterns on the Temple Mount, nos. 36 and 6 (= nos. 1 and 2 on Schick’s list), were ritual baths in antiquity; see Reich1989. I believe that they were originally the upper exits of the (pre-Herodian) Huldah Gates. 27 The Herodian southern gates are often referred to today as Huldah Gates, but this is a misnomer, because we don’t know the name(s) applied to the gates in the Herodian period. The usual reconstruction of the “Triple” gate as having three openings in the Herodian Mount is also unfounded, as the form of the gate in its present state is an 11th century CE reconstruction. More likely it was originally double like its counterpart to the west. The gates to the Mount were either single or double. This applies to the Gate of the Chain, the Double Gate, the eastern gate, the entrance to the Herodian Hall in the Western Wall tunnels etc. The “Nicanor” gate in the Temple itself was a triple gate, and because it is explicitly mentioned thus, it must have been unique in the Temple (Middoth 2:6). 28 In the Mishnaic Temple Mount this place was in accordance with its description in Sukkah. This tractate mentions the blowing of the trumpet on all the quotidian occasions including the one to usher in the Sabbath. In the Tosefta for this passage, it says: “. . . takes the trumpets to the top of the roof, to the height of the town”, but this does not mention the Temple. 29 In the Herodian period, again, a place was installed at the south-west angle of the Temple Mount, opposite the Lower City, for announcing the commencement and ending of the Sabbath, by blowing a trumpet. An inscription marked the place. An inscription to this effect was found at the foot of the south-west corner of the Mount, just as mentioned by Josephus; see Mazar, 1970.

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pre-Herodian phase. We also know these features from the writings of Flavius Josephus, and in some cases also from archaeology—both in the context of the Herodian Mount. The fact that the same features occur in both phases of the Mount compels us towards one conclusion. When planning the greatest of all his projects, Herod was obliged to take in account the existing features on the Temple Mount, but he was also committed to the Roman-Augustan architectural values that prevailed in his time. However, it is unreasonable to assume that he planned his rebuilding as though the Mount was a tabula rasa. Bibliography Bahat, D., 1999. ‘The Herodian Temple,’ in: W. Horbury, W. D. Davies, J. Sturdy (eds.), The Cambridge History of Judaism, III. The Early Roman Period, Cambridge, 38–58. ——, (with Rubinstein, C.), 1989. The Illustrated Atlas of Jerusalem, Jerusalem. Bar Kochva, B., (ed.) 1980. The Seleucid Period in Eretz Israel, Tel-Aviv (Heb.) ——, 1996. Pseudo-Hecataeus on the Jews, Berkeley. Brandt, J., 1960. ‘Some Observations on the Second Temple Edifice,’ Tarbiz, 210–17 (Heb.). Busink, T. A., 1980. Der Tempel von Jerusalem, von Salomo bis Herodes: Eine archäologischhistorische Studie unter Berücksichtigung des westsemitischen Tempelbaus, Vol. 2: Von Ezechiel bis Middot (Leiden). Coarelli, F., 1987. I Santuari del Lazio in età repubblicana (Rome). Gros, P., 1996. L’architecture romaine du début du III e siècle av. J.-C. à la fin du Haut-Empire. 1. Les monuments publics (Paris). Hildesheimer, J., 1877. Die Beschreibung des herodianischen Tempels im Tractate Middoth und bei Flavius Josephus (Berlin). Holtzmann, O., 1913. Middot (Von den Massen des Tempels), Giessen. Jacobson, D. M., 1990–1991. ‘The Plan of Herod’s Temple,’ BAIAS 10, pp. 36–66. ——, 1999. The Place of Herod’s Temple in the Architecture of the Augustan Age, PhD Thesis, University of London. ——, 2000. ‘Decorative Drafted-margin Masonry in Jerusalem and Hebron and its Relations,’ Levant 32, 135–154. ——, 2002. ‘Herod’s Roman Temple,’ BAR 28 (2), 18–27, 60–61. Levine, L. I., 1994. ‘Josephus’ Description of the Jerusalem Temple: War, Antiquities, and Other Sources,’ in: F. Parente and J. Sievers, Josephus and the History of the Greco Roman Period. Essays in Memory of Morton Smith, Leiden. Magen, Y., 1980. ‘The Gates of the Temple Mount according to Josephus Flavius and the Mishna’, Cathedra, 14, 41–53 (Heb.). Mazar, B., 1969. The Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem: Preliminary Report of the First Season, 1968 ( Jerusalem). ——, 1970. ‘Hebrew Inscription from the Temple Area in Jerusalem,’ Qadmoniot, 3 (4), 142–144 (Heb.). ——, 1971. The Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem near the Temple Mount: Preliminary Report of the Second and Third Seasons, 1969 –1970 ( Jerusalem). ——, 1975. ‘The Archaeological Excavations near the Temple Mount,’ in Y. Yadin (ed.), Jerusalem Revealed: Archaeology in the Holy City 1968–74, Jerusalem, 25–40.

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Reich, R., 1989. ‘Two Possible Miqwa’ot on the Temple Mount,’ IEJ 39, 63–65. Ritmeyer, K., 1989. ‘A Pilgrim’s Journey,’ BAR 15 (6), 43–45. Schürer, E., 1986. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 BC–AD 135), rev. and ed. by G. Vermes, F. Millar and M. Goodman, Vol. IIIa (Edinburgh). Stern, M., 1974. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, 1, The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, Jerusalem. ——, 1992. Studies in Jewish History, The Second Temple Period, Jerusalem (Heb.) Thackeray, H. St. J., (ed.), 1904. The Letter of Aristeas, London (reprint from JQR 1903), 20–21. Warren, C., 1884. Plans, Elevations, Sections &c. Showing the Results of the Excavations at Jerusalem, London. Warren, C., and Conder, C. R., 1884. Survey of Western Palestine: Jerusalem (London). Yadin, Y., 1965. The Ben-Sira Scroll from Masada, Jerusalem.

APPLIED ARTS IN THE HERODIAN KINGDOM

WALL PAINTINGS OF THE HELLENISTIC AND HERODIAN PERIOD IN THE LAND OF ISRAEL1 Silvia Rozenberg Abstract The Herodian style of decoration developed against the background of the Hellenistic style prevalent in the region. During the Hellenistic period, Palestine was a border state between the Ptolemaic and the Seleucid Kingdoms, alternately belonging to one or the other and influenced by the art both of the Oriental regions and of the Hellenistic world. It seems that in the field of interior decoration the principal influence came from the Greek styles that prevailed in the neighbouring countries, which boasted a long tradition of wall painting. Remains of buildings in different sites (Mareshah, Tel Anafa, Acco, Pella of the Decapolis, Iraq el Emir) show the use of different styles—the zone painted style, the incised style, and the relief style, all of them common in the Masonry style of painted decoration current in the Hellenistic centres, such as nearby Pergamon, Priene, Olynthos, and Alexandria. Sometimes the different styles were used in combination. In addition, eclectic decorative and architectonic traits were occasionally borrowed from the Hellenistic world as well as from ancient oriental traditions. The Herodian-Roman examples ( Jericho, Masada, Herodion, Jerusalem, Caesarea, Cypros, Samaria-Sebaste), in contrast, are actually closest to the Second and Third Style, which originated in Italy, and it seems that the most important influences came from Rome.

This paper will analyse the extensive western influence, as expressed in the quality of the work, the technique, the stylistic and compositional patterns, the colour composition, the relation to the painting as a decorative element unifying the different walls in a continuous space, and the different ornamental motifs (rectilinear, geometric, stylised and naturalistic floral motifs, and architectural motifs). During the Hellenistic period, Palestine was a border state between the Ptolemaic and the Seleucid Kingdoms, alternately belonging to one or the other, and influenced by the art both of the Oriental regions

1 This lecture is based on the artistic material from Herodian Jericho, which will be published in the forthcoming book in the Jericho series, under the direction of E. Netzer. Preliminary articles on the material have been published over the years, see Rozenberg 1996; Rozenberg 2004; Rozenberg, forthcoming. I would like to thank Prof. Netzer for allowing me to work on the material from his excavations and for his constant help and encouragement.

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and of the Hellenistic world. From various excavations, it is clear that the houses from the Hellenistic-Hasmonaean period were decorated with mural paintings resembling those in the Masonry Style, common during this period at other places.2 The most common type of decoration was the five-zone scheme (Fig. 1) in which the wall was divided into horizontal zones: a lower baseboard or narrow plinth, a dado or orthostat zone (a tall zone above the baseboard or plinth), a complementary decorative string-course between the dado and the main zone, the main wall area, and an upper area—usually a flat band of white at the top. In Palestine, simple white plastered walls in dwellings and tombs were common already from the 10th century BCE. More complicated forms of painted plastered decoration appear in the Hellenistic period, for example at Iraq el-Amir, Akko, Mareshah, Tel Anafa, and the Hasmonaean Palace complex at Jericho (Fig. 2).3 It seems that in the field of interior decoration the principal influence came from the Greek styles that prevailed in the neighbouring countries, and which boasted a long tradition of wall painting. The remains show the use of different variations of the Masonry Style current in the Hellenistic centres. The rich polychrome decoration of the upper part of the walls, found at Priene, Erythrai and Delos,4 seems to be a characteristic of the late Masonry Style, which became prevalent throughout the Mediterranean region, influencing also the decoration styles in Israel. On the other hand, the Alexandrian variant in particular—with its polychrome imitations of different textures, especially marble and alabaster of different veining—exerted a strong influence on the Hasmonaean and Herodian styles.5 Mural decoration in Palestine came with the increased luxury and higher standard of living of the Hellenistic period and became one of the common forms of decoration in important private and public buildings. From the scarce fragments preserved at most of the sites it is clear that there was some kind of division into different zones, imitating the structural divisions of the wall. In the northern sites of this region, Bruno 1969; Ling 1991, 12. Groot 1983, Figs. 33ff.; Hartal 1993, 22; Kloner 2003; Weinberg 1970, Pl. D; Herbert 1994, Fig. 2.14; Gordon 1979, Pls. Xff.; Netzer 2001, 11ff., Ills. 12–13. 4 Raeder 1983, Pl. 1; Bingöl 1997, Pl. 16; Chamonard l922–1924, Vol 8, Fig. 83. 5 See Venit 2002 for a full bibliography. Marble and alabaster imitation recurs in almost all the tombs of the Moustapha Pacha and Anfoushy necropoleis; see Adriani 1936, Figs. 50, 56; Adriani 1952, Figs. 35ff. 2 3

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Aegean and Asia Minor influences seem to be stronger, whereas in the southern sites an Alexandrian influence is felt. In both areas the imitation isodomic masonry was modeled in relief or delineated by incised lines, and the panels were painted in various colours to simulate the use of several types of stones. Marble and alabaster imitations were common. Sometimes the drafted margins were accentuated by a different colour from that of the panels, as in the Delos examples.6 The use of framing mouldings around the panels, richly painted as in the examples from Tell Anafa, is rare, whereas plainer reliefs and incisions were widespread. Herodian and Early Roman Domestic Decoration In contrast to the situation regarding Hellenistic sites, many of the Herodian and Early Roman sites excavated in the area (mostly palaces built by Herod, such as Cypros, Herodium, Masada, and Jericho) were found in a relatively good state of preservation, with almost entire walls remaining intact. From a stylistic point of view, the majority of the fragments and remains in situ from the Herodian period feature the architectonic style of decoration common in the Roman world: square and rectangular panels with flat colours or colourful variations of imitation marble or alabaster designs. In the three palaces at Jericho, remains of interior decoration (fresco, stucco, mosaic and opus sectile) were found, those of the Third Palace being the most remarkable ones.7 There the painted rooms were decorated in panels, sometimes divided by painted representations of slender columns, with rectilinear, geometric, floral and architectural details. Colour scheme was an important factor in the general design of the palace, and the extent of the elaboration and use of expensive colours seems to have had a direct relationship to the importance of the rooms. The less important rooms were decorated in a simpler version of the Second Pompeian Style8 with large square and rectangular

Chamonard 1922–24, Vol. 8.3, Figs. 226–227. Remains of decoration were found in most of the rooms, but principally in the southern part of the Northern Wing, see Rozenberg 1996; Netzer 2001. 8 For a comprehensive study of the four styles see Ling 1991; Barbet 1985. On the Second Style, see Beyen 1938 and 1960; Beyen 1958; Ling 1991, 23–51; Tybout 1989, 41ff., and Strocka 1990, 213ff. 6 7

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panels separated by narrow ones (Fig. 3), and only one room in the palace is decorated with the earlier type of imitation alabaster designs (Fig. 4).9 On the other hand the most important rooms in the palace differed from the rest not only in their situation and dimensions but also in their wall decoration. It is well known that wall decoration played a major role in indicating the accessibility of rooms, and colour composition probably helped in the differentiation of spaces.10 In the Northern wing, for example, socles were usually decorated red, but two rooms, Courtyard B55 and Room B73, had yellow socles (Fig. 5). These rooms also bore a similar decoration on the upper parts of their walls, consisting of blue and red orthostat panels. Thus it appears that color composition was one of the ways in which the eastern rooms were differentiated from the rest. In the western part of the palace the walls of many rooms were decorated with simple colour combinations, with white and cinnabar, purple and yellow, and purple and black being the most common. However, four rooms are prominent in their decoration: Entrance Rooms B51 and B90, Reception Hall B70 and Throne Room B88. According to the few preserved fresco fragments and the small pieces of white coloured plaster in situ on the walls, Entrance Room B51 was probably decorated with purple-red and white panels bearing elaborate designs (Fig. 6). The rich colours and designs of the fragments point to the importance attached to this room of passage to the northern wing of the palace. The use of white and red panels (known also in Masada) as in the House of Augustus and the House of Livia at the Palatine, Rome, suggests a Western Roman influence.11 White, wide panels that flatten the walls, contrasting sharply with the rich colours used for the decorative patterns appear also in Courtyard B64 (Fig. 7) and are found in Imperial houses in Rome, as in the House of Augustus, the House of Livia and the villa under the Farnesina.12 Reception Hall B70, the largest hall in the building to the Rozenberg 1996, Fig. 6 Rozenberg 2004. 11 Foerster 1995, Pl. 12:a–b; Carettoni 1983a, Pls. B, E; Rizzo 1936, Fig. 11. On the House of Augustus, see also Carettoni 1983b, 373–419, Pls. 91–108; Ehrhardt 1987, 13–17. Carettoni (1987, 111) dated the decoration of the house between 36–29 BCE but it is generally attributed to the Second Style, phase 2B, late 30s BCE (Ling 1991, 37ff.; Strocka 1990, 221). On the House of Livia, probably the quarters of Augustus’ consort in the Palatine complex, ca. 30 BCE, see Rizzo 1936. For a date after 30 BCE, see Ling 1991, 37ff. 12 Carettoni 1983a, Pl. L; Rizzo 1936, Fig. 30; Sanzi Di Mino 1998, Figs. 30–31 and 125ff. On the villa under the Farnesina, see Beyen l948, 3ff.; Bastet and De Vos 1979, 9

10

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west, was the main unit of the wing—the central triclinium, designed for ceremonies, receptions, and banquets. It was decorated with dark blue (almost black) panels (1.90 to 2 m wide) divided by light blue vertical bands with inner white rectangles (Fig. 8).13 The serene and majestic wide blue panels of this room lend it an impressive, regal feeling. The upper part of the wall was probably decorated with cinnabar and yellow asymmetrical smaller panels including scroll ornaments. The blue painted panels relate also to examples of the Second Style: the Villa of the Poppaei at Oplontis, the Villa of Livia at Primaporta and the villa under the Farnesina at Rome.14 In fact many stylistic traits from Jericho are close to the last example of the Augustan trend—the decoration of the Villa Farnesina, dated c. 20 BCE, in which the flat composition, based totally on colour and ornament, predominates. As in Jericho, the richly painted panels of this house are in yellow, black, white and bright sky blue, usually bordered by contrasting colours, the frames decorated with delicate floral ornaments. The Throne Room B88 (Fig. 9) was decorated with a complicated and costly composition of cinnabar, blue, yellow and black panels divided by painted representations of slender columns that, linking the horizontal segments of the wall, reinforced the architectural illusion of the room. This kind of colour scheme, like the ornamental designs of the decoration, relates the palace decoration to the examples of the final phase of the Second Pompeian Style, with its rich polychrome arrangements in bright reds, white, black, yellows and green and stylized floral decorations, as for example in the House of Augustus and the House of Livia on the Palatine. As in Room B88 at Jericho, the flatness of the wall in Triclinium C of the Farnesina Villa is accentuated by the use of vertical black panels that emphasize the consistency of the wall.15 The division of large panels by delicate, narrow white frames decorated with polychrome stylised floral patterns

17–23; Bragantini and De Vos 1982; Sanzi Di Mino 1998. White panels appear also at Mount Zion in Jerusalem (Broshi 1976, Pl. 19), and in early Third Style examples (Beyen 1960, Pl. 79). On the Third Style, between 20 BCE and 50/60 CE, see Bastet and De Vos 1979; Strocka l987, 29ff.; Ehrhardt 1987, esp. 1–12; Pappalardo 1990, and Ling 1991, 52–70. 13 Rozenberg 1996, Figs. 7:a–b. 14 De Franciscis l975, Figs. 8, 25; Settis 2002, 10–11, 52; Sanzi Di Mino 1998, Figs. 32ff., 80ff., 93. On the Villa at Oplontis, dated to the 40s BCE, see De Franciscis l975. On the Third style rooms of this villa, see Clarke 1987, 267ff. On the Villa of Livia at Primaporta, ca. 20 BCE, see Gabriel 1955; Calci and Messineo 1984; Settis 2002. The villa is sometimes defined as early Third Style, Pappalardo 1990, 223. 15 Sanzi Di Mino 1998, Fig. 51.

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or by slender columns (Fig. 10) was also common in Second and early Third Style examples, as in the villa under the Farnesina at Rome and in the large oecus of the Villa Imperiale at Pompeii.16 In fact, the colours used for the decoration of the official rooms at Jericho were similar to those used in imperial houses, and the decorative scheme of some of the palace rooms suggests that more than mere aesthetic concerns lay behind the palace’s decorative scheme, and that the Herodian artists at Jericho utilized the new trends of the Augustan decoration in order to regulate the relationship between rooms and to distinguish between them in a hierarchical way, according to status. Let us now examine the ornamental and stylistic aspects of the decoration in the Third Herodian palace. The Relief and Incision devices of the Masonry Styles known in other places do not appear in the palace at all. The principal influences on the ornamental details seem to be Western Roman and not Hellenistic, many of them recalling the ornamental style of the “bottega colta” in the service of Augustus and Agrippa, acknowledged as responsible for the decoration in the Houses of Augustus and Livia, the Aula Isiaca, and the villa under the Farnesina.17 The division of the socle by geometrical patterns as in Room B90 (Fig. 11), appears in the villa under the Farnesina at Rome, in the large oecus of the Villa Imperiale at Pompeii and at the Villa of Agrippa Postumus at Boscotrecase, decorated around 11 BCE.18 Innerpanel frames (Fig. 8) painted in different light and dark shades clearly meant to give the impression of drafted stone work, common also at Masada, Sebaste, Herodium and Jerusalem, are a recurrent device in the examples of the Second and Third Style, as in the Villa Arianna at Stabiae, the Villa of Boscoreale, the House of Augustus in Rome, the Villa of the Mysteries, and the Villa Imperiale at Pompeii.19 The

16 Sanzi Di Mino 1998, Figs. 17, 20, 29, 124; Ehrhardt 1987, Pls. 16–17. On the Villa Imperiale at Pompeii, after 20 BCE, see Beyen 1956, 54ff.; Allroggen-Bedel 1975, 225–236; Bastet and De Vos 1979, 37ff., Pls. 6–11; Strocka 1987, 29; Pappalardo 1987, 125–134. 17 Bragantini and De Vos 1982, 30–31; Allag 1985; Clarke 1991, 54ff.; Pappalardo 1995, 179. 18 Sanzi Di Mino 1998, Figs. 82, 124, 127; Ehrhardt 1987, Pls. 16–18; Bastet and De Vos 1979, 45ff.; von Blanckenhagen and Alexander 1990, Pls. 2–5. 19 On the Herodian examples, see Rozenberg 1996, Fig. 7:b; Foerster 1995, Pls. II:c, XV:b; Rozenberg 1993, 148; Corbo 1989, Col. Pls. I.1, II.2, IX.2; Rozenberg 2003, Pls. 11.1–11.2. On the Italian examples, see Camardo et alii 1998, Figs. 1, 6; Lehmann 1953, Figs. 46–48; Carettoni 1983a, Pl. V; Maiuri l947, Figs. 70, 82; Ling 1991, Col. Pl. IX:A–B; Ehrhardt 1987, Pls. 16, 18:73. Cubicula 37 and 44–45 in the villa Arianna at

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choice of white or black framing lines as a means for indicating the direction of the light is not as consistent in the Herodian examples as in those from Italy, and was probably copied as a decorative motif without illusionist significance. Most of the decorative elements also resemble those of the more complicated examples of the Late Second Style and the Early Third Style: the design of lozenges inside or beside rectangles (Fig. 12) is known in Third Style decoration bands over orthostat panels—and it can also be seen in socle decorations—as in the Villa Imperiale at Pompeii.20 Simple scrolls, twisted scrolls and volutes (Fig. 13) appear in most of the rooms, with parallels in Second and Third Style examples, as in the Villa of Livia at Rome, the Third Style rooms at the Oplontis Villa, the Villa of Agrippa Postumus at Boscotrecase, and the Villa Imperiale in Pompeii.21 The two-strand guilloche design (Fig. 14), rare in earlier Roman paintings, appears also at the Jewish Quarter in Jerusalem, and on one of the floors at Caesarea.22 It was a common motif in Masonry Style wall decorations from the Hellenistic period, but is virtually absent from the Pompeian examples. On the other hand, the two-strand guilloche was a common decorative motif in Hellenistic and Roman mosaics.23 Its rarity suggests an iconographic influence from the medium of mosaics. Different types of lotuses, and interlinked lotuses patterns, such as those of Jericho (Fig. 15), appear also at Masada and the Jewish Quarter, the lotus design being a common motif in Augustan times, with parallels in Second Style examples, as at the villa under the Farnesina in Rome.24 On the other hand, the closest parallels to the highly stylized fragments from Jericho are found in Third Style examples, as those from the Villa of Boscotrecase, and

Stabiae are dated to the early Second Style, 60–50 BCE, see Camardo et alii 1998, 20, 25. The Villa of Publius Fannius Sinistor at Boscoreale belongs to the Second Style, phase IC, 50–40 BCE, Barnabei l901; Beyen 1938, 91ff.; Lehmann 1953; Strocka 1990, 216; Ling 1991, 28–31. On the Villa of the Mysteries, dated between 60 and 40 BCE, see Barbet 1985, 37–40; Strocka 1990, 215 [80–70 BCE]. On the Second style ensembles of this villa, ca. 60 BCE, see Clarke 1991, 94ff. 20 Rozenberg 1996, Figs. 12–14; Ehrhardt 1987, Pls. 22:91, 23:95. On this motif on bands above orthostats panels, see fragments 9165 and 9183 at the Archaeological Museum in Naples, generally dated to the Third Style, phase 1A, end of the 1st century BCE; see Herbig 1962, Pls. 38, 43; Ehrhardt 1987, 60–61. 21 Rizzo 1936, Figs. 8, 11, 36; Clarke 1987, Fig. 5; von Blanckenhagen and Alexander 1990, Pls. 65:2, 68:2, 70:3; Ehrhardt 1987, Pl. 22:88. 22 Rozenberg 2003, Pl. 11.6:22–23; Albricci 1966, Pl. 4:110. 23 Chamonard 1922–24, vol. 8, Pl. LIII; Pernice 1938, Pls. 1:4, 19:5. 24 Rozenberg 1996, Fig. 15; Foerster 1995, Pl. VIII:a; Rozenberg 2003, Pl. 11.7:40– 41; Bragantini and De Vos 1982, Pls. F–G; Sanzi Di Mino 1998, Fig. 51.

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the House of the Beautiful Impluvium (I.9.1) at Pompeii.25 Lotuses holding medallions and decorating interiors of semicircles and medallions are known in Third Style examples, as in the fragments from Urbisaglia, the Villa of Boscotrecase and the Villa Imperiale.26 Beautiful red flowers, with free rendered long petals (Fig. 16), simple garlands and delicate naturalistic flowers between leaves, are close to examples from the early Third Style as the Villa in Boscotrecase, and the Third Style rooms in the Oplontis villa.27 Architectonic designs, including parts of entablatures and columns (Fig. 17),28 less common at Herodian sites, also have Roman parallels. Fluted shadowed columns (depicted also at Herodium and Masada) resemble those of the Second Style, as in the Villa Arianna at Stabiae, the Villa of Boscoreale, and the House of Augustus in Rome.29 Slender columns separating panels, as in Jericho and Herodium, are present in the villa under the Farnesina.30 The complicated patterns decorating painted columns in the fragments from Jericho have close parallels in Late Second and Early Third Style examples: the House of Obellius Firmus (IX 10.1–4), the House of the Beautiful Impluvium, and the Villa Imperiale in Pompeii.31 Capitals holding entablatures (Fig. 18) and entablatures decorated with squares encircling flowers are known in Third Style examples, as in the House of the Beautiful Impluvium and the Villa Imperiale.32 The wall painting technique also suggests Roman influences. The Jericho plaster composition agrees, apart from slight differences, with Vitruvius’ and Pliny’s descriptions and with what was common in other places during the Hellenistic and Roman periods. None of the walls

25 Von Blanckenhagen and Alexander 1990, Pls. 28–29, 41, 64–65; Ehrhardt 1987, Pls. 108:456, 109:457–459. On the House of the Beautiful Impluvium, Third Style, phase 2B, 34–45 CE, see Bastet and De Vos 1979, 71, Pls. 36–37; PPM I 1990, 919–941; some of the rooms belong in fact to the Augustan period, see Ehrhardt 1987, 74–76; Ling 1991, 62. 26 Rozenberg 1996, Fig. 16; Delplace 1981, Fig. 25; von Blanckenhagen and Alexander 1990, Pls. 66:2, 68:1, 69:4; Ehrhardt 1987, Pl. 104:416, 423. 27 Von Blanckenhagen and Alexander 1990, Pls. 22, 29, 48, 67:4; Clarke 1987, Figs. 7–8. 28 Rozenberg 1996, Figs. 17, 19–20. 29 Corbo 1989, Col. Pl. IX:2; Foerster 1995, Pl. V:b; Camardo et alii 1998, Figs. 1, 6; Lehmann 1953, Figs. 17, 46–48, Carettoni 1983a, Col. Pls. Q:2, S. 30 Corbo 1989, Col. Pl. I:1; Sanzi Di Mino 1998, Figs. 20, 124. 31 Rozenberg 1996, Fig. 19; Ehrhardt 1987, Pls. 2:7, 3:11, 105:424–425, 108:452. On the House of Obellius Firmus, ca. 20 BCE, see Spinazzola 1953, vol. 1, 337ff., Figs. 396, 400; Ehrhardt 1987, 20–23. 32 Rozenberg 1996, Fig. 17; Ehrhardt 1987, Pls. 16:69, 20:79, 43:179, 109:464.

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included six layers of plaster, as described by Vitruvius, but we have to remember that in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, both in Italy and in Israel, the use of no more than two kinds of plaster layers was the rule. On the other hand, the plaster layers were made of the exact materials that Vitruvius required. They contained marble dust, found primarily in imperial houses in Italy, such as the House of Livia at the Palatine and the Farnesina Villa, and probably a prerogative of rulers. The appearance of this material in some of the mural fragments found in Israel points to the use of fresco painting as the principal technique of wall decoration during the rule of Herod, in accordance with Vitruvius’ recommendations, perhaps under the influence of an Italian team working in the area. Colours too seem to have been prepared for use on a damp background, and their chemical compositions fit the descriptions of Vitruvius and Pliny. Remains of ten well-pulverised pigments of different shades were found in numerous bowls and cooking pots in one of the lateral rooms of the palace. Chemical analysis has established that the pigments are identical with the ones applied to the walls.33 Most of the examples contained small quantities of calcite and quartz, probably because they had been mixed with lime water prior to their application to the wet wall. Most of the pigments used at Jericho were natural colours, some probably local (such as white, the yellows, and the simple reds) and some imported (such as the Spanish cinnabar and the Cyprian green). Others were artificially produced (such as orange, black, pink, and blue). Thus the artists had a wide range of colours at their disposal, despite the fact that some were truly expensive pigments. As noted above, some of the colours were imported and hence probably very expensive. Among these was the bright-red cinnabar, the bright-red colour containing mercury sulphide seldom used until the Roman period. The cinnabar used in Jericho originated in the lesser known mines of Tarna, near León in Spain which were also under Roman control in the first century BCE (Fig. 19).34 Pliny specifies the expensive price of this colour—an average of 50 sesterces a pound and fixed by law at a maximum of 70 sesterces—and notes the state monopoly on its production. Because of its high price, incompatibility with the fresco technique, and restricted production, it was very rare

33 34

Ilani and Porath 1993; Porath and Ilani 1998; Rozenberg 1997; Rozenberg 2004. Edwards, Farwell and Rozenberg 1999, 363–364, Fig. 6.

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outside Italy, where it was also an imported material, appearing only in important and sumptuous buildings, such as the House of Augustus and the Aula Isiaca in Rome, and the Villa of the Mysteries at Pompeii. This colour was in all probability introduced into the country only in the Herodian period, perhaps reflecting the influence of the Roman examples of wall painting or the personal relations of Herod with the ruling house at Rome. Between the synthetic colours, the blue colour was found as a pigment in bowls and as a background colour, exceptionally painted over very large areas (Fig. 20). According to the chemical analysis it is a kind of light caeruleum, probably the Egyptian blue, or cuprorivaite, a synthetic material made from quartz, calcium carbonate, and a compound of copper, ground together and fired. The colour could have been imported from Egypt, but its raw materials (calcite, quartz, and copper) are also found in Israel, suggesting local production. The technique for preparing Egyptian blue was already widespread throughout the Mediterranean area during the Hellenistic period. Applied in the true fresco technique, the light blue used in large panels from imperial examples of the Late Second Style in Italy was an expensive colour, and as noted before, it was used only in rooms that played an important role in the house, as in Jericho. Blue is known in wall paintings in Israel, but in most cases, it does not seem to have been used over such large areas as at Jericho. Frescoes similar to the ones from Jericho were uncovered in other palaces and fortresses built by Herod, as at Cypros, Masada and Herodion.35 In Masada the Herodian palaces were decorated with mural paintings, similar to examples from the Masonry Style and the Schematic Second Pompeian Style.36 It seems that the decoration of the different buildings from the main phase of construction at Masada (i.e., after 25 BCE), was a combination of traits from the earlier Hellenistic tradition, with new Western patterns and compositions.37

35 Netzer and Laureys-Chachy 2004, 233ff., Pls. XV–XVI; Foerster 1995; Corbo 1989. 36 The “Schematic Second Style,” was especially common in the provinces and was characterized by plain high socles and wide and narrow orthostats—painted in plain colours or in marble-imitation patterns. The style, dated mostly between the first century BCE to the beginning of the Augustan period, was analysed and defined by Barbet (1968). 37 Foerster stresses the importance of the Hellenistic influences, suggesting an amalgamation of several traditions (Foerster 1995, 28).

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A slightly later example of decoration can be found in the rooms of the Mountain Palace-Fortress and of the Lower area buildings at Herodium. Some of the rooms include relief work imitating simple masonry (as in Exedra XXXIV, and Gate XII), but most of the rooms were decorated with typical Herodian panel decorations.38 Painted columns with cast shadows, in front of alabaster imitation panels (as in Caldarium XXIX), have Second Style parallels, for example, in the House of the Silver Wedding (V.2) at Pompeii.39 In the circular, domed Tepidarium, the orthostat area on top of a red socle and a brown frieze is decorated with an unusual geometrical design—large beige rectangles alternating with a motif composed of five squares, the last of which is superimposed on the centre of the other four (Fig. 21).40 The central square is decorated with aquatic birds in a secco technique.41 Thin, light blue columns divide the rectangles. This unique decoration, for which there are no exact parallels, can be considered a variation of architectural style compositions current in the west, and it can be derived for example from the treatment of the socle in Late Second Style examples. A similar design appears in the socle of cubiculum e at the villa under the Farnesina.42 On the other hand, the design recalls the gamma motif in the stucco Masonry decoration of the Hellenistic naos at Jerash, Jordan.43 A related design appears in one of the Masonry Style redecorated rooms of a large house in the Jewish Quarter,44 indicating perhaps an oriental tradition for this motif. Figurative motifs are almost non-existent in Herodian wall painting remains, and they are to be considered an exception to the general trend. Bird depictions are rare in Jewish art, but they appear in Late Hellenistic-Early Roman works in the area (as in the fragments from Mount Zion) and were very common in Second Style works.45 Corbo asserted that the frescoes from Herodion belong to the Pompeian First Style but, in fact, they

Only a few examples remain in situ on the Mountain Palace-Fortress. Most of the wall paintings have been covered and are not visible today. For all the examples see Corbo 1989. The structures in Lower Herodium yielded similar fragments of frescoes and stucco mouldings, see Rozenberg 1981, 71–74, Ills. 100–103. 39 PPM III 1992, 743, Fig. 145. 40 Corbo 1989, Col. Pl. I:1. 41 The birds, whose shape is blurred in the photographs, are distinguishable on the cross-section of the baths (Corbo 1989, Pl. V). 42 Bragantini and De Vos 1982, Pls. 166–167; Sanzi Di Mino 1998, Fig. 128. 43 Eristov, Seigne et alii 2003, Fig. 10. 44 Avigad 1983, 95ff., and fresco in situ. 45 Broshi 1976, Pl. 19. On the Roman examples, see Robert 1993, 168–173. 38

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are different from the Pompeian examples of the earlier style. Their composition seems to be more elaborate and their stylistic characteristics are closer to the Late Second Pompeian Style than to the First one. Indeed, Tybout related these frescoes to the second phase of the Second Style, as is confirmed by the close parallels to the house of Obellius Firmus and the Farnesina Villa.46 From the superimposed layers it is clear than some of the rooms were redecorated several times. During the first period the walls were probably faced with white plaster in relief work imitating simple masonry and more complicated geometric forms known from Hellenistic and Herodian sites. The raised lozenge panels, rendered in relief and incisions, appear in other Hellenistic and early-Herodian sites in Palestine, as Tell Anafa, Khirbet el-Murak, and Gamla.47 These relief and incision designs attest to the persistence of the “Masonry Style” Hellenistic influences at early Herodian and Roman sites. It seems that later on, during the last stages of the construction and shortly before the visit of Marcus Agrippa to Judaea, while some of the rooms were still being decorated, the important rooms of the palace were redecorated in an elaborate style with more affinity to that current in Italy at that time. At this same stage, the lower part of the rooms decorated in the earlier style was covered by a second layer with large panels painted in rich, alternating colours, sometimes preserving the original white plaster relief in the upper part of the wall. In the rooms that had not yet been completed, the elaborate decoration was applied as a first layer (as in Apodyterium XXVII). These changes in the decoration point to an increasing attachment to the Roman sources of inspiration, and the gradual abandonment of the Hellenistic designs that were so important in the Masada decoration. Remains of wall paintings appear also in other Herodian and Early Roman sites: the hippodrome at Jericho, Sebaste, the Augustan temple in Omrit (still unpublished), a house dated after 31 BCE on Mount Zion, and the Jewish Quarter in Jerusalem.48 In Sebaste, the combination of palmettes and lotuses painted in white over a purple background (Fig. 22), is similar to examples from the Augustan period in Italy, Tybout 1989, 167ff. On Khirbet al-Murak (a large villa, from the middle of the 1st century BCE), see Damati 1982, 117–121, and Fig. on p. 120. The material from Gamla is still unpublished. 48 Netzer and Laureys-Chachy 2004, 195ff., Pl. XIII; Crowfoot et alii 1942, Fig. 13, Pls. XLIX:1, LX, LXXXIII; Rozenberg 1993, 148–149; Broshi 1976, 81–88; Avigad 1983, 149–148, Figs. 166–174; Rozenberg 2003, 302ff. 46 47

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most of them belonging to the the Late Second and Third Styles, as for example, those from the House of Menander and the House of the Cryptoportico at Pompeii.49 Flowers and stylized designs painted in white or light colours on purple or red can be seen in the House of Augustus, and the appearance of these ornamental motifs reflect the wide range of influence of the new Italian developments. Conclusion While closely related to the general decorative styles in the HellenisticRoman world, the frescoes from the Herodian period present interesting local variations.50 In some aspects the artists seem to have restricted themselves to a select range of inanimate ornaments, which were more in keeping with Jewish traditions and tastes, yet which nevertheless allowed them to embellish the palaces in a rich and colourful style. The different examples include a combination of Hellenistic traditions and motifs, some of them probably derived from the mosaic repertoire, together with the Western motifs and stylistic traits inspired by the Italian styles. These examples, with their combination of diverse stylistic currents, demonstrate the abiding strength of the Hellenistic tradition, while reflecting the influence of new Italian developments—a phenomenon typical of works from the Eastern provinces. In time, the Roman influences seem to become more and more important, and a gradual development from the Hellenistic traditions to the Roman ones can be suggested. The decoration of the later Third Herodian palace at Jericho represents the last stage of this evolution. From a technical point of view the high quality of the fresco work, the preparation of the walls and colours according to the Roman precepts, and the use of imported colours suggest that trained craftsmen, probably from Rome, worked at Jericho.51 Pictori pelegrini were a well known phenomenon in the Roman world, and despite the fact that there was a long tradition of wall painting in Palestine and that local workshops or teams able to carry out the work probably existed there, it is only logical to assume that Herod preferred to have his most Crowfoot et alii 1942, Pl. LXXXIII:1–2; Fittschen 1996, notes 62, 69 and Figs. 18, 26. 50 Fittschen 1996, 150. 51 Foerster suggests foreign craftsmen also at Masada (Foerster 1995, p. xviii). 49

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important palaces decorated by Roman artists in the new fashion styles of Rome. The frescoes attest to Herod’s familiarity with the artistic innovations in the Roman world, which he must have seen during his sojourns there. He must have been quite familiar with the different types of Second Style decoration as well as the earliest examples from the Third Style in the imperial houses, as attested by the new decorative motifs and the colour composition in the important rooms at the Third Palace in Jericho. Indeed, in this palace the colour scheme, the style of the columns and of some of the geometric, floral and naturalistic motifs belong to the transitional period between the Second Style and the Third Style, dating to 20–15 BCE, a change usually connected with the Imperial house and to the new trends of the Augustan decoration. As in Roman client kingdoms and allied city states, the elite tended to copy Roman artistic forms or to syncretise them with their own, thereby associating themselves with fashions at Rome. The close parallels between some of the decorative motifs in Herod’s palace to Augustan decorated buildings may indicate that the wall decoration and the colour scheme had not only a functional and aesthetic role, but also political significance, and that perhaps art was used as a means of publicising Roman support of Herod’s rule. Bibliography AJA—American Journal of Archaeology, Archaeological Institute of America. Boston/New York. AMGR—Annuaire du Musée gréco-romain, Alexandrie. BABesch—Bulletin van de Vereeniging tot Bevordering der Kennis van de Antieke Beschaving, Leiden. BAR—British Archaeological Reports (IS—International Series), Oxford. BdA—Bollettino d’Arte, Ministero per i beni culturali e ambientali, Rome/Ravenne. EAD—Exploration archéologique de Délos, Paris. ESI—Excavations and Surveys in Israel, Israel Antiquities Authority, Jerusalem. Gallia—Fouilles et monuments archéologiques en France Métropolitaine, Paris. IAAR—Israel Antiquities Authority Reports IEJ—Israel Exploration Journal, Israel Exploration Society, Jerusalem. MededRome—Mededelingen van het Nederlands Instituut te Rome. Assen. MEFRA—Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire de l’École française de Rome, Antiquité, Paris. Pictores 1987—Pictores per provincias. Aventicum V., Actes du 3e Colloque International sur la peinture murale romaine (Cahiers d’archéologie romande 43), Avenches, Switz. PPM I 1990 —Carratelli, G. P. and Baldassarre, I. (eds.), Pompei, Pitture e Mosaici I, Rome. PPM III 1992—Carratelli, G. P. and Baldassarre, I. (eds.), Pompei, Pitture e Mosaici III: Regiones II–III.V, Rome. Qadmoniot—Qadmoniot: Quarterly for the Antiquities of Eretz Israel and Biblical Lands, Jerusalem.

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Porath, N., and Ilani, Sh., 1998. “A Roman Period Palette: Composition of Pigments from King Herod’s Palaces in Jericho and Massada, Israel”, Israel Journal of Earth Sciences 47, 75–85. Raeder, J., 1983. Priene. Funde aus einer griechischen Stadt, Berlin. Rizzo, G. E., 1936. Le pitture della “Casa di Livia (Palatino)” (Mon.Pitt.Ant. III, Roma, fasc. III), Rome. Robert, R., 1993. “Des oiseaux dans les architectures,” in Moormann 1993, 168– 173. Rozenberg, S., 1981. “Frescoes and Stucco,” in E. Netzer, Greater Herodium (Qedem 13), Jerusalem (1981), 71–74. ——, 1993. Enchanted Landscapes: Wall Paintings from the Roman Era, Jerusalem. ——, 1996. “The Wall Paintings of the Herodian Palace at Jericho,” in Fittschen and Foerster 1996, 121–38. —— 1997. “Pigments and Fresco Fragments from Herod’s Palace at Jericho,” in Béarat et alii 1997, 63–74. ——, 2003. “Wall painting Fragments from Area A”, in H. Geva (ed.), Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, Vol. II. The Finds from Areas A, W and X-2, Final Report, Jerusalem (2003), 302–328, Pls. 11.1–11.8. ——, 2004. “The Role of Colour in Herod’s Palace at Jericho”, in L. Cleland and K. Stears, (eds.), Colour in the Ancient Mediterranean World, BAR International Series 1267, Oxford (2004), 22–31. ——, forthcoming. “Domestic Wall Paintings of the Hellenistic and Herodian Period in the Land of Israel”, in C. Guiral (ed.), Circulacion de temas y sistemas decorativos en la pintura mural antigua, Actas del IX Congreso Internacional de la “Association Internationale pour la peinture murale antique,” 21–25 Septiembre 2004. Sanzi di Mino, M. (ed.), 1998. La Villa della Farnesina in Palazzo Massimo alle Terme, Milano. Settis, S., 2002. Le pareti ingannevoli. La Villa di Livia e la pittura di Giardino, Milan. Spinazzola, V., 1953. Pompei alla luce degli Scavi Nuovi di Via dell’Abbondanza (anni 1910– 1923), 2 vols., Rome. Strocka, V. M., 1987. “Die römische Wandmalerei von Tiberius bis Nero”, in Pictores 1987, 29–44. ——, 1990. “Der Zweite Stil”, in Cerulli Irelli 1990, 213–222. Tybout, R. A., 1989. Aedificiorum figurae. Untersuchungen zu den Architekturdarstellungen des frühen zweiten Stils, Amsterdam. Venit, M. S., 2002. Monumental Tombs of Ancient Alexandria: The Theater of the Dead, Cambridge University Press. Weinberg, S. S., 1970. “Excavations at Tel Anafa”, Qadmoniot 3 (12), 135–138 (Hebrew).

HERODIAN POTTERY Malka Hershkovitz Abstract This paper focuses mainly on pottery unearthed in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem. Relying upon the results of my work with my colleague Hillel Geva on the finds in Area E, we identified vessels typical of King Herod’s period (namely the second half of the first century BCE). The vessels were found in a building from that specific period, which was destroyed in order to allow for the construction of a paved road on that site. Thus, the remnants of that building (levels 3 and 4 of area E) represent King Herod’s period and no later. Comparisons to these finds have been made with the finds from Jericho, Masada, Herodium and Qumran. The repertoire of vessels from that building represents Jerusalemite and Judaean pottery of that specific period. Some of the pottery types continue local traditions from the Hellenistic-Hasmonaean period and some exhibit new developments, influenced from imported ware. Specific types of pottery prominent in that period and their development are discussed. These include the cylindrical jar with a long collared rim, the bag-shaped jar, the globular low-necked cooking pots, the jug with a piriform (pyriform) body and a ledged rim and the one with a narrow neck and cup-shaped rim, juglets of various types, twisted handles, which appear on an asymmetric flask as well as on jugs and juglets, spindle bottles and lamps. One of the most important innovations of this period was a specific type of painted ware: Jerusalemite painted bowls decorated with red-brown paint in stylized floral patterns, depicting Jewish symbols such as rosettes and lilies. The main types of pottery forms that are typical of King Herod’s time continued into the first century CE and are also referred to as Herodian ware.

Introduction When discussing Herodian pottery, one must bear in mind that most of the types have been known and dealt with extensively in the publications of the excavations of the Jewish Quarter (Geva 2003) and of Jericho (Bar-Nathan 2002) as well as other sites, such as Qumran (de Vaux 1954, 1956), Machaerus (Loffreda 1996) and Masada (Bar-Nathan 2006). I focus here mainly on pottery unearthed in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem, relying extensively upon the research of the finds from area E. In this research, conducted by Hillel Geva and myself, we identified the vessels typical of King Herod’s period (namely the second half of the first century BCE). The vessels were found in a building from that specific period, which was destroyed in

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order to allow for the construction of a paved road on that site. Thus the remnants of that building (level 3 and 4 of area E) represent King Herod’s period and no later (Geva 2006, 24–27, 58–61, 99–103). From an analysis of the numismatic finds undertaken by D. T. Ariel (Geva 2006, 32–33), the construction of the pavement has been dated to the last quarter of the first century BCE. I shall start with a brief review of the main types of local pottery produced during the reign of King Herod, specifically dwelling upon lamps and painted vessels. The local pottery from the time of Herod’s reign (37–4 BCE) is well levigated with a metallic quality. Its colour is yellowish to light brown and displays uniformity in its shapes and types (see the cup-shaped funneled rims, twisted handles and ribbed bodies—Fig. 1). Storage Jars Most of the jars have a cylindrical or bag-shaped body, a rounded or slightly pointed base, with two loop-handles on the shoulder. On some examples the body and the shoulder are slightly ribbed (Fig. 2:1,2). The ware is light brown and well fired. Some of the first century BCE jars are decorated with a painted reddish-brown stripe across the width of the body. The difference between the types of jars is generally expressed in the rim forms. The jars with thickened rims belong to an early Hellenistic tradition, whereas the types with everted rims, squared rims and short collared rims are more typical of the Hasmonaean period. The long collared rim jars that developed at the beginning of the Herodian period were the dominant type during the second half of the first century BCE. Some of the jars already had a ridge under the rim—a type that continued into the first century CE. The cylindrical (or ovoid) ‘scroll jar’ with a ring-base became popular in the repertoire of household vessels at Dead Sea sites, such as Qumran (de Vaux 1954, Figs. 5:2–3, 7–9; Idem 1956, Fig. 2:10), Jericho (Bar-Nathan 2002, J-SJ2A1) and Machaerus (Loffreda 1996, Fig. 6).

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Jugs and Juglets Two basic types of jugs were found in most of the sites, their bodies being globular to piriform, with a handle extending from the rim to the shoulder and a high ring base. a. The more popular ledged-rim jug has a piriform body, a handle extending from rim to shoulder, a high and narrow neck and a narrow ring base (Fig. 2:3). b. The cup-shaped rim, found mainly on jugs in Jericho, is common in spherical Juglets with either a rounded or a flat base and a twisted strap handle (Fig. 2:4). The cup-shaped rim developed into an inner funnel, whereas the base remained flat or round (Fig. 2:7,8). Many variations of this juglet appeared in the first century BCE and through to the first century CE. Although the rim remains cup-shaped with a funnel or a flaring shaped ridge along the neck, in variants the handle is twisted and drawn from the neck to the shoulder (Fig. 2:5). The Fusiform Unguentaria The fusiform unguentarium (or spindle bottle, approx. 30 cms high), which continued from the Hellenistic period, was made of thick clay and has a small bulbous fusiform body, while the neck in Herodian examples is longer and the base has a higher foot than do earlier ones. Some of the vessels were decorated with red or reddish-brown paint on the rims, necks and bodies (Fig. 2:10). They were still in use for perfumed oil during Herod’s reign, but disappeared at the beginning of the first century CE, having been replaced by the piriform bottles (Bar-Nathan 2002, 57–9). The Piriform Unguentaria This vessel has a thin wall; a high narrow cylindrical upright neck; an everted, flaring rim and a flat base. Some examples were decorated with reddish-brown paint on the rim and the neck (Fig. 2:12). Piriform bottles were not introduced to Judaea before the second half of the first

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century BCE. This coincides with Khairy’s dating of the appearance of the Nabataean piriform bottles (Khairy 1980: 85–6). The piriform unguentarium appeared and came into use during King Herod’s reign, alongside the existing fusiform unguentarium, which was ultimately replaced by the former in the first century CE. It is assumed that the piriform bottle served as the prototype for the glass blown bottles, which are similar to it in shape (Barag 1970, 197–8). The Pilgrim Flasks These flasks differ in shape from the Hellenistic ones, which had a thick and rounded body. They constitute a group homogenous in workmanship and in shape. The common features include a globular, asymmetrical bi-conical body; a slightly thickened rim, a narrow straight high neck and two twisted strap-handles that extend from the middle of the neck to the shoulder (Fig. 3:1). They are made of a particularly delicate, well-fired ware. Most of these flasks bear indications of the potters’ work in smoothing the joint created when the neck was added to the vessel. This delicate flask, with its unique shape, a type that appeared sporadically during the first half of the first century BCE, continued without any obvious changes until the end of the Second Temple period. The Alabastra The alabastron has a lengthened piriform body, ending in a thick, pointed base. It has a slightly carinated shoulder, an out-turned neck and a triangular down-turned rim (Fig. 2:11). A single painted stripe in shades of red and dark brown may appear on the body. This item, which appeared already at the end of the Hasmonaean period, became popular during Herod’s reign and disappeared in the first century CE. Miniature Vessels Continuing the Hellenistic tradition, miniature vessels that served to store medical ointments and perfumes (Hershkovitz 1986) appear in small numbers in Herodian Judaea. A miniature bi-conical medicine bottle with a wide averted rim and a solid disk base was found at Tel Dor (Rosenthal-Heginbottom 2003,

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304, photo 6.23) (Fig. 4). The exterior of the upper body was decorated with a reddish-brown slip. The shape of this specimen and its pinkish fabric attest to its having been imported during the Hellenistic period. It has been found at various sites along the Mediterranean coast (for instance, at Morgantina in Sicily). In Judaea it has been found only in Herodian contexts, such as Masada (Hershkovitz 1985, Fig. 2:3) or Jericho (Bar-Nathan 2002, Type J-PXIA, Pl. 10:112, 113, a local imitation). Miniature Bottles Some small bottles with high necks and flat bases, with a variety of body shapes, and decorated with splashed red paint, were found in the above-mentioned sites (Geva & Rosenthal-Heginbottom 2003, 186, Pl. 6.10). It should be noted that the miniature bottle type with a very small body and a high cylindrical neck is quite common in the first century CE at Masada (Bar-Nathan 2006, Fig. 37:21–30). Miniature Cups The miniature cups relate to the miniature vessels. They have rounded bodies, wide rims, flat bases and strap handles which drop from the rim to the shoulder. Some of the cups are decorated with red and brown paint, which was common in the Herodian period (Fig. 2:18). Bowls Bowls were very popular among the repertoire of household vessels in Judaea during the Second Temple period. A variety of down-turned rims, ledged, grooved and triangular, has been found on the large bowls, with flat or ring bases. The use of these bowls became widespread in the first century BCE and through the first century CE at Qumran and Jericho (Fig. 2:13–16). Two types consisting mainly of small bowls, already common in the second century BCE were very popular in Judaean ceramic assemblages of the first century BCE, namely the infolded- and the incurved-rim bowls (Fig. 2:13). They were found together in large numbers (hundreds!) in water installations, such as Miqwa’ot of the first century BCE (Reich 2000, 88–90; Bar-Nathan 2002, 86, 96). The other types of

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bowls are larger in size and include bowls with flaring rims (Fig. 2:14), down-turned rims and undercut rims. The latter group probably came into use only in the second half of the first century BCE and reached its height of popularity during the first century CE. Bowls with Carinated Shoulders This type of bowl had a sharply carinated shoulder on the upper part of its body, an everted rim and a flat, slightly concave base. They were popular during the Herodian period in Jericho (Bar-Nathan 2002, type J-BL7A) and in Jerusalem (Fig. 2:16). Cups Most of the cups have simple everted rims, rounded or nearly straight walls and a wide flat base. The cup is typical for the Herodian period. Similar examples from the Hasmonaean and Herodian periods in Jericho are somewhat larger and have a disc or ring base (Bar-Nathan 2002: Type J-CU1B-C). The form of the cups became more and more delicate with time, constantly influenced by imported Italian thin-walled ware. Cooking Vessels The cooking vessels include several basic groups: closed cooking pots, casseroles (open cooking pots), pans and cooking jugs. The number of cooking vessels in the entire repertoire of local vessels of the Second Temple period is quite large. Most of them are closed cooking pots with globular, slightly squatted, borders. The most common among the closed cooking pots has a triangular or everted rim (Fig. 3:2). The triangular rim is also common among the casseroles. Both the open and the closed cooking pots have two oval-sectioned or strap handles. Some pots have a simple rim, designed to hold a lid. Some small cooking pots have only one handle. The cooking vessels were made of reddishbrown ware, generally well levigated and well fired. The bottom of the cooking vessels is usually covered with soot.

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Casseroles (Open Cooking Pots) Several variants of casseroles have been defined; they differ in height and shape, as well as in the form of their rims. Two oval-sectioned or strap handles extend from their rims to the shoulders. There are casseroles with ledge rims and a sharp carination at the centre of the body; there are deep casseroles as well as shallow ones, with narrow ledges or triangular rims and a sharp carination on the upper part of the body, with two strap handles extending from the rim to the carination (Fig. 3:3,4). The deep-shouldered casserole with a triangular rim is typical for the later part of the first century BCE to the first century CE and was used with a flat lid. Pans Only a few pans were found, some of which had thick walls with simple rims and others had ledged ones. Cooking Jugs A new type of jug, made of cooking-pot ware, was developed during the Herodian period: wide-mouthed, with a short everted neck and a triangular rim, with one handle dropping from the rim to the shoulder. A typical cooking jug, it was probably used as a kettle for boiling water. Its use was continued throughout the first century CE, with one change: a narrow neck and globular body (Bar-Nathan 2002, Type J-C1G1). Lids Rounded flat stoppers with a small central knob. Stands Wheel-made ring-shaped stands with rounded rims were found at most of the sites. They were used to support vessels with rounded bases. Lamps Two types of Judaean lamps were produced during the first century BCE: wheel-made and mould-made.

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The wheel-made lamps, which developed from local traditions, are of two kinds: a folded-rim lamp and a pinched-rim lamp, produced in the second century BCE, and they were in use continuously throughout the first half of the first century BCE. The lamp is made of light brown ware in the form of a small bowl with a round or flat base. Its rim is either turned inward or pinched (Fig. 3:5; Fig. 5—top right). By the beginning of the second century BCE, imported Hellenistic mould-made radial lamps of the Broneer type 18 (Broneer 1930, Nos. 301–4) were found in most of the Hellenistic Towns (such as Dor and Samaria). These lamps are decorated with human figurines and other pagan symbols which were not acceptable to the Jews. During the Hasmonaean period the local pinched lamp was in use along with a new type of lamp that was developed in Judaea, influenced by the Hellenistic radial lamp. The Judaean radial lamp (Fig. 5), as referred to in the Masada Final Report (Barag & Hershkovitz 1994, 22–4) is mould-made and of reddish-pink ware, with thick walls, mostly with a brown or red slip on their exterior upper part. Ridges surround its rims and its shoulders are decorated with radial lines, additional circles and stylised floral motifs. Its base is either flat or with a low ring. The nozzle is either long or short, with a round wick-hole (Fig. 3:6,7,8; Fig. 6:1,2). These lamps were in common use in Jerusalem and in Judaea during the Herodian period (the latter part of the first century BCE) and disappeared by the first century CE (Fig. 7: the lower items). A special assemblage of eight Judaean radial lamps was found in area E of the Jewish Quarter with two unique specimens of this type of lamp: two lamp-nozzles, decorated with a schematic depiction of a human face (Fig. 6:3,4). I assume that the simple nature of this decoration (in which some of the details were omitted) is due to the fact that Jewish law prohibited such figurative representations. Another such nozzle was found in Area A of the Jewish Quarter (Rosenthal-Heginbottom 2003, Pl. 6.12:7); the implication of these nozzles has not been dealt with here, though I would like to note that other examples of animal depictions from the Herodian period have been found. Nevertheless, it seems that in some cases artists did allow themselves the freedom to use such patterns, though not in the public domain, thus creating an exception to the rule which banned any pictorial depiction of humans and animals. Since no more than three specimens of this mould-made lamp depicting a human face have been found so far, one must conclude that they

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were quite rare (unless many more are yet to be found). Nevertheless, since they were found in the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem with soot on their nozzles, they must have been in use then and there. Of the Roman influence during the Augustan period one can learn from a homogenous group of Judaean radial lamps with two nozzles and a stylized palmette handle, found only at Masada (Barag & Hershkovitz 1994, 22–4) (Fig. 7: upper lamps). These lamps are a local interpretation of the Augustan Imperial lamps—known as Broneer type XXI, Bailey type DIII–DIV (Broneer 1930, 76–8, 171–6, Fig. 37; Bailey 1980, 32)—which date to the first century BCE. The Masada specimens date to the Herodian period, when mould-made lamps and wheel-made lamps were concurrently in use. The Knife-Pared Lamps On the basis of the pottery finds from Area E, it appears that the new type of wheel-made lamps with knife-pared spatulated nozzles—referred to in the Masada Final Report (Barag & Hershkovitz 1994, 24–58) as knife-pared lamps (otherwise called Herodian lamps)—were introduced by the end of Herod’s reign (Fig. 8). These lamps were made of a well-fired light-brown or grey ware. They replaced the radial lamp as the most popular oil lamp in use from the first century CE and continued through the Bar Kochba years, namely the first half of the second century CE. Thus we realize that during the reign of King Herod two new types of lamps were developed, proving the influence of imported lamps on the local tradition. Jerusalemite Bowls Painted pottery tableware dating from Herod’s reign to the destruction of the Second Temple and the fall of Masada (between the years 20 BCE and 73 CE) has been discovered in Jerusalem and its surroundings. This thin, delicate, fine-quality tableware consists mainly of bowls, although some jugs, juglets and kraters have also been found. The clay is of light pinkish-brown colour, painted in brown, reddish-brown and black with floral motifs, lines and dots. Such vessels first appeared in 1963–1965 at the Masada excavations (Bar-Nathan 2006, Figs 79–80). In Jerusalem they have been found in the Citadel, the Temple Mount,

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the Jewish Quarter and the American Garden excavations. Outside Jerusalem they have been discovered in the Judaean Desert, at Herodium and Jericho, as well as one sherd found at ‘Ein Feshkha (Fig. 11). In shape, fabric and decoration, the Jerusalemite bowls are similar to the Nabataean fine ware from the first century BCE onwards, found mainly in Petra and in Nabataean towns in the Negev. This ware is characterised by its delicate thinness and its distinctive painted design. When such vessels were first discovered in the Temple Mount excavations in Jerusalem, B. Mazar named them ‘pseudo-Nabataean painted ware’. Later, when N. Avigad found them in the Jewish Quarter excavations he proposed the term ‘Jerusalemite painted bowls’. Neutron activation analysis on ten pieces has proved that all these bowls were manufactured in Jerusalem (Perlman et al. 1986, 78, 81–2, Fig. 1). The majority of the vessels are thin-walled hemispherical bowls. The rims are either rounded or slightly incurved and the bases are either flat or have a low ring base. The painted decoration was applied directly onto the clay on the interior of the bowl. It was applied by brush in brown, red-brown or black, mostly free-hand, and comprises motifs taken from the local plant repertoire. Some of the bowls have a symmetrical composition and others have a geometric design. Most of them are decorated with leaves, wreaths, braids and naturalistic floral designs (Figs. 10, 11). The main decoration is of Jewish symbols, consisting of stylised floral patterns, such as rosettes and lilies. The lily is quite common in Jewish art of the period; it appears on coins as well as monumental and sepulchral art. A floral pattern made up of circles and dots is a stylised rendering of a rose or a rosette. The rosette was a popular motif in the Second Temple period and can be seen on architectural monuments, façades of burial caves and ossuaries, as well as in a mosaic floor at the Western Palace of Masada. Decorated bowls and jugs from this period have been found festooned with rosettes and lilies (Fig. 9). Conclusions The Jerusalemite painted pottery, especially the bowls, which were developed mostly late during the reign of King Herod the Great, represent a unique kind of tableware that was in use in daily life. It was a period when the cultural atmosphere was open to changes and innovations.

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The pottery assumed the popular cultural-artistic expression typical for the period, and its quality improved as a market for new kinds and forms opened. After Herod’s demise some of the vessels went out of use, among which one can identify the pinched types, as well as the Judaean radial lamps and the fusiform ungentaria. The ordinary household repertoire of the period—alongside local ware—included types of newly imported pottery. Items such as thin-walled ware, eastern Sigillata A (imported from Northern Syrian centres), western Terra Sigillata, Pompeian red ware and wine amphorae (from Italy) were introduced, along with imported Italian foods and beverages, such as wine, dried apples (mala) and fish products (garum), evidence of which was found in Masada. One can undoubtedly identify the influence of imported vessels on the local repertoire, such as lamps and decorated bowls, which I have presented, that attest to the change in life-style, from the ordinary kitchen to the palace (Fig. 12). Bibliography Ariel, Donald T., 2006. “Coins”, Chapter 8 in H. Geva (ed.), 2006, 192–217. Avigad, N., 1983. Discovering Jerusalem. (Nashville, Camden, New York: Thomas Nelson). Avissar, M., 1996. “The Hellensitic and Early Roman Pottery”, in A. Ben-Tor, M. Avissar and Y. Portugali (eds.), Yoqne’am 1, The Later Periods (Qedem Reports, Vol. 3) ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and The Hebrew University of Jerusalem), 48–59. Baily D. M. 1980. Catalogue of Lamps in the British Museum. Part II: Roman Lamps Made in Italy, Oxford. Barag D. 1970. Glass Vessels of the Roman and Byzantine Periods in Palestine (unpublished Ph.D. thesis. The Hebrew University of Jerusalem [Hebrew]). Barag, D. and M. Hershkovitz, 1994. “Lamps from Masada”, in Masada, Vol. IV, The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965. Final Report ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and The Hebrew University of Jerusalem). Bar-Nathan, R., 2002. Hasmonean and Herodian Palaces at Jericho, Vol. III: The Pottery ( Jerusalem: The Israel Exploration Society and the Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem). ——, 2006. The Pottery of Masada. Masada Vol. VII. The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965 Final Report ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and The Hebrew University of Jerusalem). Broneer, O., 1930. Corinth, Vol. IV, Part 2: Terracotta Lamps. Cambridge. Crowfoot J. W., G. M. Crowfoot and K. M. Kenyon, 1957. Samaria-Sebaste, Vol. III: The Objects from Samaria-Sebaste (London: Palestinian Exploration Fund). De Vaux, R., 1954. “Fouilles de Khirbet Qumran: rapport preliminaire sur la deuxieme campaigne”, RB 61, 206–236. ——, 1956. “Fouilles de Qumran: rapport preliminaire sur les 3e, 4e et 5e campaignes”, RB 63, 533–577.

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Geva H., 2003. “Hellenistic Pottery from Areas W and X-2”, in H. Geva (ed.), Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem, Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, Vol. II: The Finds from Areas A, W and X-Z , Final Report ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and The Hebrew University of Jerusalem), 113–175. ——, (ed.), 2006. Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, Vol. III: Area E and Other Studies, Final Report ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and The Hebrew University of Jerusalem). Geva H. and M. Hershkovitz, 2006. “Local Pottery of the Hellenistic and Early Roman Periods”, Chapter 4 in H. Geva (ed.), 2006, 94–192. Geva H. and R. Rosenthal-Heginbottom, 2003. “Local Pottery from Area A”, in H. Geva (ed.), Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem, Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969 –1982, Vol. II: The Finds from Areas A, W and X-Z , Final Report ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and The Hebrew University of Jerusalem), 176–191. Hershkovitz, M., 1986. “Miniature Ointment Vases from the Second Temple Period”, IEJ 36, 45–51. ——, 1992. “Aroer at the End of the Second Temple Period”, in E. Stern and T. Levi (eds.), Eretz-Israel 23 ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society), 307–319 (Hebrew). ——, 2003a. “Lamps Decorated with Human Faces from the Excavations at the Jewish Quarter in Jerusalem”, in I. Chrzanovski (ed.), Lychnological News (Geneva: LychnoServices, Chaman Atelier Multimedia), 111–114. ——, 2003b. “Jerusalemite Painted Pottery from the Late Second Temple Period”, in R. Rosenthal-Heginbottom (ed.), The Nabateans in the Negev (Haifa: Reuben and Edith Hecht Museum, University of Haifa), 31–34. Khairy N. I., 1980. “Nabataean Ungentaria”, BASOR 240 pp. 85–91. Killebrew, A.E., 1999. “The Pottery” in R. Chahlili and A. E. Killebrew, Jericho: The Jewish Cemetery of the Second Temple Period (IAA Reports 7) ( Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities Authority), 115–133. Lapp, P. W., 1961. Palestinian Ceramic Chronology, 200 BC–70 AD (New Haven, CT: American Schools of Oriental Research). Loffreda, S. L., 1996. La Ceramica di Macheronte e dell’Herodion ( Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press). Mazar, B., 1971. “The Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem near the Temple Mount—Second Preliminary Report, Seasons 1969–70”, in Eretz-Israel 10 ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society), 1–14 (Hebrew). Perlman I., Gunneweg J. and Yellin J., 1986. “Pseudo-Nabataean Ware from Jerusalem”, BASOR 262, pp. 77–82. Reich R., 2000. “Hellenistic to Medieval Strata” in H. Geva (ed.), Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem, Conducted by Nahman Avigad 1969–1982, Vol. I: Architecture and Stratigraphy: Areas A, W and X-2. Final Report, Jerusalem, pp. 83–110. Rosenthal-Heginbottom, R., 2003. “Hellenistic and Early Roman Fine Ware and Lamps from Area A”, in H. Geva, Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem, Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, Vol. II: The Finds from Areas A, W and X-Z , Final Report ( Jerusalem: Israel). Exploration Society and The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 192–223. Tushingham, A. D., 1985. Excavations in Jerusalem 1961–1967, Vol. I (Toronto: Royal Ontario Museum).

ADMINISTRATION AND CLIENT NETWORK

HEROD, AUGUSTUS, AND THE SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP: THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE PROCURATORSHIP Anthony A. Barrett Abstract We know much about the relationship between Augustus and Herod because of the wealth of information preserved by Josephus. Although the impression is created of a special rapport between the two men, most of the features that seem to mark Herod’s position as unique among the client kings can, on close inspection, be detected in the careers of the others also. There is one apparent exception. Josephus makes the claim in the War that Herod was appointed procurator of Judaea in 20 BCE, and in the Antiquities that he was associated with the procurators of Syria. Both texts assert that other procurators had to act on Herod’s instructions. The claim is obscure and has met with much scepticism. The purpose of the present paper is to offer a limited vindication of Josephus. It will concede that there is no known Julio-Claudian instance of a client king holding public office, but it will also show that in the early period of the principate the concept of ‘procurator’ was a very flexible one, going through a process of evolution, that it could suggest a person holding something akin to public office but could also suggest the representative of a principal acting in a private capacity, which is the force it had during the republic. It is not until Claudius that procurators seem to have been regularly and formally recognised as public officials with jurisdiction. The paper will show that there are other provincials roughly contemporaneous with Herod who were appointed to procuratorships under Augustus, just as Herod’s father Antipater had been similarly appointed as procurator for a short period before Augustus. It will also show that in the later empire at any rate there is clear evidence of a procuratorial hierarchy with senior provincial procurators being assisted by subordinate procurators, which could provide a later parallel of sorts for Herod and the other procurators in Syria. The paper does not argue for a total vindication of Josephus. He provides his information in the context of Herod’s supposed special status, and it will be suggested that he is misleading in this respect. The paper argues that the appointment was not necessarily one of great political significance. Herod had considerable financial acumen and this appointment may have given him only the authority to direct the patrimonial procurators, the financial administrators of Augustus’ private estates, without general administrative responsibilities.

The relationship between Herod and Augustus was a complex one, difficult for the modern scholar to evaluate, and indeed probably even more difficult for the two protagonists to define accurately, since each would no doubt have seen that relationship in different terms. In a famous and astonishingly exaggerated assessment of the link between the two men, Josephus (Ant. 15.361; War 1.400) remarks that Herod valued above anything else the knowledge that he stood closest in

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Augustus’ affections after Marcus Agrippa (and closest in Marcus Agrippa’s after Augustus). Now while this assertion must be seen as a piece of brazen hyperbole, intended no doubt to inflate Herod’s sense of self-importance and probably stemming originally from his panegyricist Nicolaus of Damascus, there can be little doubt that Herod was one of the more prominent and consequential of the client rulers, as we understand that term. Can it be reasonably said, however, that there was a “special relationship” between the two men, one that distinguished Herod from other contemporary monarchs? Several features seem at first to point to a distinctive role for Herod, such as the very personal part that Octavian played in his accession, or Herod’s habit of sending his children to Rome for part of their upbringing. The problem is, however, that we know so much more about Herod than other monarchs because the others did not have a Josephus to document their reigns. And when, in fact, we look more closely at features that seem at first glance to be distinctive, the evidence seems to suggest that they were common to many of the other client kings.1 But there is one measure that does seem to mark Herod out, and it is on that topic that this paper will focus: his apparent appointment to a public office. In War 1.399 Josephus states that Augustus made Herod procurator of the whole of Syria when he visited the province (in 20 BCE) with the consequence that it was not permitted to any of the procurators to make any administrative action (dioikein) without his symboulia. In Antiquities 15.360 he makes a somewhat less dramatic statement, that Augustus “associated” (enkatamignysi ) Herod with the procurators of Syria, instructing them to follow his gnômê in all their activities.2 The arrangement seems on the surface to be remarkable—Smallwood has characterized the notion of Herod being made procurator of “all Syria” as absurd, and Schuerer as not to be taken too seriously.3 One response, originating with Marquardt, has been to emend the text of Josephus’ War, from Syrias holês to Syrias Koilês, making Herod procurator not of “all Syria” but of Coele-Syria, a less than precise geographical

This evidence is collected in Braund 1984. This passage has attracted a fair share of scholarly attention: inter alios, Marquardt 1884, 408; Gardthausen 1891, 818; Otto 1913, 71; Momigliano 1934, 360–1; Hahn 1965; Cimma 1976, 311; Smallwood 1981, 87–8; Braund 1984, 85; Schürer 1973, 319 n. 122; Gabba 1999, 120. 3 Smallwood 1981, 87–8, n. 94; Schürer 1973, 319, n. 122. 1 2

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expression, but often in Josephus signifying the Decapolis.4 This emendation, however, would provide only a partial solution, since it would seemingly still involve a highly unusual constitutional arrangement. A possible first step in evaluating the reliability of Josephus’ testimony might be to look elsewhere in the empire during the Julio-Claudian period to see what evidence, if any, there is of other client kings being appointed to Roman office. The potential parallels are few and farbetween. The one most often cited is from Britain. Tiberius Claudius Cogidubnus is known from two ancient pieces of evidence. In his brief summary of the history of Britain in the Agricola, Tacitus tells us (Ag. 14), in the context of the period between the invasion of 43 CE and the arrival of Didius Gallus in 52, that certain civitates were granted to king Cogidubnus, who remained most loyal “down to our own day” (usque ad nostram memoriam). The singling out of Cogidubnus by Tacitus leaves little doubt that he must have played a significant part in the early period of the conquest. We can assume that his kingdom was located in the area of Chichester, since it is there that we find the second reference to him, in a dedication slab from a Temple of Neptune and Minerva. The reading that prevailed for a considerable period and is published in Roman Inscriptions of Britain (91) is as follows: [N]eptuno et Minervae templum [pro] salute do[mus] divinae [ex] auctoritate [Ti.] [Co]gidubni R[egis] legat[i A]ug(usti) in Brit(annia) [colle]gium fabror(um) et qui in e[o sun]t d(e) s(uo) d(ant) donante aream [ ]ente Pudentini fil(io) The guild of artisans and its members provide this temple to Neptune and Minerva at their own expense for the protection of the divine house, on the authority of Tiberius Claudius Cogidubnus, king and legatus of the emperor in Britain. . . . ens, son of Pudentius, donated the land.

This inscription seems to identify Cogidubnus as R LEGAT AUG IN BRIT, Rex Legatus Augusti in Britannia, a combination of roles that is unparalleled in the Roman Empire. Unfortunately, we have no precise information on his origins or family background that might provide an explanation. In any case the issue took an important turn in 1979 when it was argued persuasively that R LEGAT AUG N should be

Marquardt 1884, 408; on the Decapolis: Hahn 1965; Smallwood 1981, 45, n. 4; on these passages, not only with reference to War 1.225 and Ant. 14.280 but also to the geographical question of Coele Syria in Herod’s early career, see now Kokkinos 2002, 733–42. 4

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read as REG MAGN (Rex Magnus, “Great King”).5 While this seems a very curious appellation for a British king, and perhaps more typical of eastern monarchs, it is arguably less curious than the appointment of King Cogidubnus as a Legatus Augusti, a notion that must now be placed in very serious doubt. Marcus Julius Cottius was an Alpine king who ruled in succession to his father, Donnus. After an initial resistance he acquiesced in Augustus’ pacification of the Alpine regions, and as a reward was recognized as the ruler of some fourteen native tribes, with the title of praefectus civitatum. In honour of Augustus he erected an arch at Segusio, near Turin, whose inscription has survived: M. Julius regis Donni f. Cottius praefectus ceivitatium quae subscriptae sunt (he supplies the names of 14 tribes) et ceivitates quae sub eo praefecto fuerunt (ILS 9). Cottius thus refers to himself as praefectus civitatum and by the repetition of the rank at the end of the inscription he seems to emphasize that this was a real, not a courtesy, title. There is a nice parallel in the neighbouring Alpes Maritimae, where C. Balbius Atticus governed with the very same title, further confirming that it was real (ILS 1349). Does this mean that King Cottius held the equestrian rank of praefectus? Ammianus (15.10.2) does call him a rex, but Ammianus’ context includes the period after the defeat of the Gauls when Cottius went into hiding, before he received his territorial grant from Augustus. Similarly, Vitruvius (8.3.17) and Suetonius (Tib. 37.3) talk of Cottius’ regnum in the Augustan/Tiberian period, but they do not explicitly state that he in fact continued to rule it as king after the Augustan concession. In the Segusio inscription Marcus Cottius makes no mention of himself as rex, and the absence of the title there is a strong indication that he relinquished the kingship when he received the prefecture. Support for this supposition comes from Dio (60.24.4), who tells us that when Claudius (in 44 CE) allowed Marcus Julius Cottius to be called king, he was permitting this “for the first time” (tote prôton). The likelihood is, then, that Claudius gave him leave to resume a title that his father Donnus had been obliged to abandon. The Cottian Alps were eventually incorporated as a province in the Neronian period.6 Gaius Julius Laco is mentioned in an inscription from Corinth, where he is named as pocurator of Claudius. The part of the inscription that

5 6

Bogaers 1979. On the dynasty of Donnus, see Letta 1976, Mennella 1978.

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is relevant to the present discussion is TI. CLAUDI CAESAR / AUG. GERMANICI / PROCURATORI / C. IULIO C. F. FAB. LACONI / AUGUR AGONOTHET // ISTHM ET CAESAREON / IIVIR QUINQ CUR FLA AUG.7 The general assumption is that this Laco is the dynast of Sparta and son of C. Julius Eurycles, who founded the dynasty and who was removed by Augustus as an inveterate troublemaker. Laco was installed in power after making clear his intention not to follow in the footsteps of his disruptive father, probably early in the reign of Tiberius. At some point he was stripped of his power by the same emperor, perhaps in the early thirties.8 He was eventually restored to his position, probably under Claudius; at any rate some of his coins have been dated to the Claudian period.9 This inscription shows that Laco held the office of procurator in Corinth, some distance from his kingdom in Sparta. We can probably rule out any notion that his rank of procurator was purely honorary, since he is recorded as holding other significant offices there. He was duumvir quinquennalis and held the office of agônothetês of the Isthmian games and the important priestly positions of augur and flamen Augusti. A second inscription from Corinth records the career of Laco’s son Spartiacus there, holding offices that seem to parallel those of his father: duumvirate, priesthood and procuratorship. All of this suggests a real and active interest by Laco and his son in the actual administration of Corinth. Does this mean that Laco held the rank of both dynast and procurator? We have to be cautious. Bowersock has cast doubt on the whole issue, noting that it is only an assumption that Laco, the procurator in the inscription, is in fact Laco son of the dynast Eurycles. He notes that in the Corinth inscription Laco’s filiation appears as Cf. (son of Gaius) while in all the dynastic inscriptions the father’s full name of Eurycles, and not just his praenomen, appears, which would appropriately reflect his father’s important status. Accordingly, Bowersock doubts the identification and suggests that the procurator may possibly be a homonymous son of Laco.10 On close examination, then, there is no clear and explicit example in the early imperial period of an individual continuing to hold authority as a ruler while simultaneously holding Roman office. 7 8 9 10

West 1931, no. 67; Taylor & West 1926, 390. Strabo, 8, 5.5 (366); Tac., Ann. 6.18.2, see also Suet., Tib. 49.2. RPC 1109–15; Bowersock 1961, 117. Bowersock 1961, 117.

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The logical next step might be to consider what precisely would have been meant by the assertion that Herod was a procurator/epitropos. In fact, an all-embracing definition of the office of procurator in Herod’s day is something of a mare’s nest. Its nature changed considerably in the course of imperial history and the terms used to designate it show a bewildering variety in the epigraphic record.11 Most of what we know about its specific functions begins to appear from the early second century onwards. Adding to the complications, procurators could be assigned to areas technically outside Roman jurisdiction. In Augustus’ time, Archelaus the King of Cappadocia had lost his mind to such a degree that the emperor appointed a procurator (epitropos) over his kingdom (Dio 57.17.5). Within the empire the office evolved constantly. In general it might be said to have opened up a career opportunity for people of non-senatorial rank, both equestrians and freedmen. It had its own hierarchy. Dio speaks of the ranks of procurators as early as the time of the Augustan settlement (27 BCE), although he may have been speaking proleptically (Dio 53.3.5). But at any rate Suetonius (Vesp. 16.2) says that Vespasian used to advance the careers (ad ampliora officia) of his most predatory procurators so that he could prosecute them when they had become all the richer. At the top of the hierarchical tree there were the governors of small provinces. They were virtually without exception equestrians.12 The designation of such governors as procurators seems to have happened first under Claudius, although it did not happen everywhere at the same time, and seems to have prevailed only gradually. The first procurator known to be formally identified as such is the procurator pro legato recorded in an inscription from Mauretania and dated to 44 CE.13 The addition of the words pro legato in his titulature makes clear that he exercises his procuratorial power in the capacity of an imperial governor, but afterwards the phrase is not consistently

11 On this general topic, see Eich 2005; Demougin 1988, 712–43; Brunt 1983; Millar 1964; 1965; Jones 1960; Pflaum 1950; Sherwin-White 1939. 12 Under Tiberius a freedman Hiberus was acting prefect of Egypt (Dio 58.19.6) and Claudius appointed Marcus Antonius Felix, freedman of Antonia, governor of Judaea (identified as a freedman by Tac., Hist. 9.5); none of the other sources explicitly states that Felix had been elevated to equestrian status before taking the office (PIR2 A828). 13 AE 1924, 66. However, L. Aurelius Patroclus is still praefectus in 46 CE, while M. Iuventius Rixa is procurator in 66 CE, both in Sardinia (see Kokkinos 1990, 131–2, with the suggestion that wider change might have occurred after 46 and before 51, based on an inscription from Bir el-Malik).

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applied and in fact seems to be seldom used.14 The modern term used by scholars is “praesidial” procurator, and it was assigned to governors of Corsica, the Alpine districts, Raetia, Noricum, Thrace, Cappadocia, Judaea and the two Mauretanias.15 Before Claudius such governors usually bore the title of praefectus, which, with some minor exceptions, was thereafter reserved for Egypt. Interestingly, in 41 Claudius in his letter to the Alexandrians refers to the Prefect of Egypt Vitrasius Pollio as “my procurator”.16 The term procurator is not securely attested in the epigraphic record for a provincial governor before Claudius, although it does seem to have been so used anachronistically by historians. Even Tacitus (Ann. 15.44.3) refers to the death sentence being carried out on Christ per procuratorem Pontium Pilatum, but a Tiberian inscription from Caesarea shows that Pilate used the title of praefectus Iudaeae.17 Clearly, if Josephus meant to suggest that Herod became a kind of praesidial procurator of Coele-Syria (Syria proper would be impossible) then he would have been using the term anachronistically. Apart from the praesidial procurators, there were the “provincial” procurators serving in both the imperial and senatorial/public provinces.18 In the early period they were probably looked upon as essentially private agents of the emperor, responsible only for overseeing financial matters relating to the imperial properties within the provinces, with no official administrative role. But this situation changed, and they assumed administrative duties, perhaps even as early as Augustus in the imperial provinces, as will be discussed in more detail below. Their powers and responsibilities grew especially from the time of Claudius, and even in the Julio-Claudian period there could be tensions between the procurator and the legatus of the province, as in the famous case of the procurator Classicianus who sought to reduce the harsh exactions of the legate Suetonius Paulinus in Britain following the Boudiccan rebellion in the 60’s CE, a difference of opinion that led to a public feud and the despatch of a conciliator, the freedman Polycleitus.19 By the reign of Domitian we find that Claudius Athenodorus the procurator 14 Under Claudius himself a governor of Noricum is styled simply “procurator”: procuratori Ti.Claudi Caesaris Aug. Germanici in Norico (ILS 1349). 15 For minor exceptions and anomalies, see Levick 1990, 48–9. 16 P. London 1912, Col iii, cf. ILS 8899. 17 AE 1963, 104; see now Lehmann & Holum 2000, 67–70, no. 43. 18 For calling the “senatorial” provinces appropriately “public”, see Millar 1989; now included in his collection of papers Millar 2002, 314–20. 19 Tac., Ann. 13.48–9; Ag. 16.

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of Syria is responsible for preventing abuses of angareia, a system of forced labour in the service of the military (IGLS 1998). Most of the provincial procurators were equites, but there was no shortage of freedmen occupying the position.20 Finally, there were the procurators of imperial estates and villas and various commercial enterprises throughout Italy and the provinces, as well as in the smaller departments in Rome, the so-called “patrimonial” procurators. Sometimes equestrians, these agents, both in Rome and very often in the provinces, were likely to be freedmen, and their specific duties are often recognized epigraphically, as in the case of T. Flavius Aug. l. Epaphra, proc. Villarum Tusculanarum (ILS 1579). We also find individuals, mainly freedmen, who held rather undefined and probably minor functions. In the first century procurators responsible for the supervision of specific taxes appear, and become increasingly common in the second, along with procuratorial posts that were connected with the organization of various services and functions, such as aqueducts, the annona, roads, and imperial games; there was even a procurator ad elephantos (ILS 1578). Hence in the Flavian period, T. Flavius Aug. lib. Delphicus held posts of proc. rationum thesaurorum, proc. hereditatium, proc. fisci alexandrini (ILS 1518). We know little about these functionaries beyond their titles, and there is probably little to be gained by speculation on their precise duties. Sherwin-White characterises them as “very small fry”.21 The position of the procuratorial officials was much enhanced under Claudius although the details are far from clear. We are told by Tacitus that in 53 CE Claudius conferred judicial powers on procurators so that their judgments would have the same authority as his own: parem vim . . . ac si ipse statuisset (Tac., Ann. 12.60.1). At the end of the section dealing with this legislation, Tacitus says that by this new measure Claudius elevated freedmen he had placed in charge of his res familiaris to be his equal. Although freedman were not barred from the higher procuratorships in practice, Tacitus’ comment strongly implies that it was the patrimonial procurators whose authority was enhanced, although it is hard to believe that praesidial procurators would not also have been given these new powers if they did not already have them. This measure marks an important stage in the development of

20 21

Millar 1964, 184; Weaver 1972, 276–8. Sherwin-White 1939, 23; Millar 1964, 183; Weaver 1972, 274.

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the procuratorship. The granting of jurisdiction was a recognition that the position had gone beyond the limits of a private one and that the holder now clearly held a public office.22 Clearly, from Claudius on there can be no ambiguity about the official status of the procuratorship within the cursus honorum. But we must remember that Herod’s supposed tenure of the office belongs to the “prima initia” of the imperial era, 20 BCE, only seven years after Augustus’ first settlement. This was a period of transition from the republican to the new quasi-monarchical system and at this stage the nature of the office must have been in considerable flux. During the republic, “procurator” is a term of private law, referring to an attorney acting in court for an absent party, or to someone designated to conduct business for or to administer the property of an absent or incapacitated principal, and the term could also be used, more loosely, of anyone acting on behalf of another. The agent might be a freedman, but could equally well be a person of good social standing.23 It was an old concept. Varro (RR 3.63), writing in the second century BCE, could refer to a landowner demanding of his agent three chicks from each hen (a procuratore ternos pullos exigit). Such agents are found all over the Roman world. Procurators of A. Trebonius in Cilicia are mentioned by Cicero (Fam. 1.3.2). The procurators of Caerellia’s property in Asia wrote to her friend Cicero to remind him that he had offered to put in a good word with the proconsul P. Servilius, who had promised to help but had apparently been too busy (Fam. 13.72.1). They could also operate in Rome. Cicero (Fam. 6.18.5) writes that he cannot get out of the city because he has to squeeze the primam pensionem out of Dolabella’s procurators, presumably for the return of his daughter Tullia’s dowry after her divorce. By and large there would have been an advantage in having a procurator of some eminence, and even of some financial substance. Whenever he went to Gaul P. Quinctius entrusted his affairs to an equestrian, Alfenus eques Romanus locuples, sui negoti bene gerens, (Cic., Quinct. 62). The procurator might be his principal’s social equal or even superior. T. Pinarius, a friend (though not a very important one) of Cicero and Atticus, was apparently an agent for Dionysius, Atticus’ freedman in Africa in 43 BCE: procurat rationes negotiaque Dionysi nostri (Cic., Fam. 12.24.3). Publius Cornelius Sulla, nephew of the dictator

22 23

For detailed discussions, see Millar 1964; 1965; Brunt 1966. Nicolet 1966, 423–6.

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and a nobilis, looked after the property of Publius Sittius, an equestrian, when the latter went to Spain (Sulla procurante eius rem) and sold many of his possessions to pay off part of his debt (Cic., Sull. 56). The good standing and wealth of the procurator was, in fact, an indication that he might be honest and influential enough to protect one’s interests. But in a foreshadowing of imperial practices, if the principals needed continuity of representation, especially on their properties, it would have been most useful to use freedmen procurators, and often several in the same operation. Cn. Otacilius Naso, for instance, had three freedmen in charge of negotia in Sicily (Cic., Fam. 13.33). Even on one single estate there could be several. Cicero (Att. 14.16.1) talks of handing over his villa on the Lucrine lake to his friend Pilia with vilici and procurators. In all of the above examples the duties of the agents defined as procurators in the republic were limited to the private sphere. Are there any with a public role? It is indeed the case that in republican literature we find procuratio used in contexts that suggest a public dimension. Thus, for instance, Scipio in Cicero’s De Republica (2.51) contrasts Tarquinius a tyrant with the good ruler, civilis quasi tutor et procurator reipublicae; in 54 BCE Cicero (Fam. 4.6.2) could say, of not having any official business to attend to, nihil procuro; and in 47 could write to say that his mind was not preoccupied by reipublicae procuratione (Q.Fr. 3.9.3). Perhaps even more strikingly, in 57 Cicero (Att. 4.1.1) wrote to Atticus about the problems of the corn supply (annona) saying that Pompey was being called upon by all classes to look after it (ad eius procurationem). But all of these references are surely to procuratio in a figurative, non-technical sense. This figurative sense of the procuratorship would explain why there is a relative frequency of such republican usages to describe non-Roman institutions, such as Pothinus in Egypt being placed in procuratione regni (“in the stewardship of the kingdom”) because of the extreme youth of King Ptolemy, brother of Cleopatra (Caes., BC 3.108), or Adherbal being enjoined by father Micipsa on his deathbed to think of himself as possessing regni Numidiae tantum modo procurationem (“only the stewardship of the kingdom of Numidia”—Sall., Jug. 14.1).24 Such uses of the word should then be deemed figurative. But there does seem to be something of a modest shift in the triumviral period when the role of the procurator begins to acquire a political connotation,

24

On this general question, Pflaum 1950, 14–5; Jones 1960, 117.

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referring to someone who watched out for an absent triumvir. Technically they are still private agents, but they are representing political or state interests. Antony was rarely in Rome after Phillipi and needed supporters to act for him there. Appian (BC 5.15) tells us that when he was in Egypt Antony’s interests were protected in Italy by his brother Lucius Antonius, by his wife Fulvia and by Manius (mentioned only by Appian): ho tês apodêmias eptitropeuôn tôi Antoniôi Manios. This does not, of course, give Manius an official rank but it distinguishes between his service as epitropos and that of Antony’s wife and brother.25 We do have an intriguing reference to the procuratorship in an official document from the late triumviral period, Octavian’s edict on the privileges of the veterans, probably dated to 33 BCE.26 In this decree Octavian exempts the veterans from any obligation to act as procurators, which he seems to distinguish from regular magistracies and equates with legati (members of a legation) and tax farmers (private citizens). Unfortunately, no definition of the procuratio is provided, but the intention in this decree is presumably to safeguard veterans from any obligation to act as legal representatives to a third party. As we pass from the triumviral to the Augustan period, the range of procuratorial tasks grows, and their status and legal responsibilities go through a process of almost constant evolution. In the early transition period between republic and principate, the situation is bound to be particularly obscure. The degree to which the procuratorship was an official state office under Augustus, especially his early years, remains an open and highly controversial issue.27 A good starting point, although a potentially misleading one, might be Dio’s account of the settlement of 27 BCE. After describing the career opportunities made available to the senators, he turns to the equestrians. He explains (53.15.3) that the princeps sends out salaried procurators (epitropous) to collect and distribute the public revenues (koinas prosodous), and that sometimes he even appointed freedmen to the task. Dio speaks of such procurators being sent to both imperial and public provinces, but his account must surely be proleptic so far as the public provinces are concerned, describing an administrative principle that stems from the settlement of 27, without necessarily meaning that the actual arrangements were instituted in 27. For the triumviral period, see Eich 2005, 94–8. FIRA no. 56; EJ 2 no. 302; ARS no. 131; see Wolff 1986, 76 for the date. 27 For the classic discussions: Mommsen, SR II3 837; Hirschfeld 1905, 5–13; von Premerstein 1937, 107, 214, 240; Pflaum 1950, 1–10; recently Eich 2005, 99–145. 25 26

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This we can deduce from a later event, in Tiberius’ reign. In 23 CE a case was brought against the procurator Cn. Lucilius Capito for making improper and unauthorized use of troops in Asia, a public province, when he took over the soldiers that were under the proconsuls’ command to enforce his own decision. Tiberius in addressing the senate on the case was insistent that the procurator’s jurisdiction extended only over the slaves and revenues of the emperor’s property: non se ius nisi in servitia et pecunias familiares dedisse: quod si vim praetoris usurpasset manibusque militum usus foret, spreta in eo mandata sua. Dio in his account of these events notes that tote (“at that time”) the people charged with administering the emperor’s properties were allowed only to collect the appropriate revenues, and where there were disputes they had to resolve them through the normal legal process. Clearly in the Tiberian period the procurators, at least in public provinces, operated in an essentially private capacity. Capito, who was an equestrian, was tried, perhaps on a charge of vis publica, before the senate, which might be seen to elevate him in a sense from a private agent to a quasi-public official. But the criteria for determining why certain cases went to the senate are not totally clear.28 Evidence for the procurators in public provinces is common from Claudius on, very scattered before him.29 This class of procurator is not of course strictly relevant to the case of Herod, since Syria was an imperial province. Already under Augustus the situation in the imperial provinces was quite different. In these, as in the public provinces, the primary functions of the procurator were initially financial, presumably with a focus on managing the emperor’s financial interests, but in the imperial provinces any dichotomy between the public revenues and the emperor’s patrimony was clearly blurred at an earlier stage than in the public provinces, since the imperial patrimony provided revenues from which the emperor subsidised state expenditures. Accordingly, the distinction between agents who served the emperor as private individuals and those who were officers of the state appointed by him was difficult, indeed impossible, to sustain. Licinus, Augustus’ provincial 28 Tac., Ann. 4.15.3; Dio 57.23.4–5; Suet., Tib. 30; Brunt 1966, 464; 1983, 52; Levick 1990, 50; Talbert 1984, 467; Garnsey 1970, 30–1; a parallel case under Tiberius involving an equestrian cavalry commander charged with vis and rapina before the senate is recorded by Suet., Tib. 30. 29 Lucilius Capito is the most familiar pre-Claudian example. Strabo 13.2.3 (618) speaks of a Marcus Pompeius, procurator of Asia under Augustus, perhaps to be identified with Pompeius Macer, friend of Ovid (see PIR2 P625).

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procurator in Gaul, is recorded in 15 BCE collecting eisphorai, a word more suitable for tribute or direct taxes than for private revenues (see further on Licinus below, Dio 54.21.5). Strabo (3.420 [167]) reports that Augustus had procurators of equestrian rank in Tarraconensis who paid the troops and probably organised the commissariat.30 Also, we hear of one Augustan praesidial procurator who commanded troops. When Herod died in 4 BCE Sabinus, procurator of Syria, made his way to Judaea with the intention of taking charge of Herod’s estate. He seems to have assumed that Augustus would assert rights over Herod’s property. He was temporarily deterred by Varus, legate of Syria, but on Varus’ departure Sabinus took possession of Herod’s palace and tried to force the governors of the citadels to hand over the buildings and their treasures. When his action provoked an uprising, he defended himself with the legion that the legate had stationed at Jerusalem and which apparently considered itself under his command. He also armed his slaves and freedmen and used them as troops.31 The limited evidence seems to suggest that the procuratorial system under Augustus (and down to the time of Claudius) was very flexible, perhaps reflecting specific circumstances. During that constitutionally volatile early-Augustan period there are some instances of procuratorships that seem on the surface to be no less remarkable than Herod’s putative office. There is, for instance, the case of Areius, the Alexandrian philosopher. Areius was nominally a Stoic, who kept an open mind towards other schools and, as a consequence, was capable of the kind of pragmatism that appealed to Romans. He was a very charming individual, described by Octavian, at the time of Actium, as his mentor and companion. One of the reasons that Octavian reputedly gave for sparing Alexandria after the battle was his great regard for the philosopher. Areius also became a close confidant of Livia, and counselled her after the death of her son Drusus, very effectively, according to Seneca (Cons. Marc. 4.3).32 Bowersock suggests that he may have held some kind of well-defined post in the imperial household. He certainly served in the provinces, and was sent to Sicily to serve as a dioikêtês, which must mean that he was procurator. His predecessor there is

Jones 1960, 123; Brunt 1983, 52. Jos., Ant. 17.252–3, War 2 16–8, 40–1. 32 Cf. Suet., Aug. 89.1; Plut., Ant. 80; Marc. Aurel., Med. 8.31; Dio 51.16.1–5; Bowersock 1965, 33–3, 39–41. 30 31

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identified as Theodorus, perhaps the Thedorus of Gadara who was the tutor of the young Tiberius. In time, Areius was offered another significant position by Augustus, that of epitropos in Egypt (epitropên tês Aigyptou), which he declined. The genitive here surely can hardly signify procurator “of ” Egypt, in a loose use of the word for governor. Presumably a praesidial procuratorship is what Julian had in mind. Even that is a remarkable claim.33 Julius Licinus was procurator in Gaul, or at least in Lugdunensis. The Apocolcyntosis (6), in commenting on Claudius’ birth at Lugdunum, says that it was the place where Licinius [sic] multis annis regnavit, which may mean that he was procurator of Gallia Lugdunensis, where he reigned in the sense of “holding sway”. Treggiari speculates that he may have belonged to the ruling class. Regnavit in that case could be taken more literally to mean that he was at one point a tribal leader who ruled as such for a number of years. In any case, this unelaborated reference from the post-Claudian period indicates that Licinus managed to achieve a considerable degree of notoriety that survived into succeeding reigns.34 His tenure of office was roughly contemporaneous with Herod’s appointment; certainly he had been procurator if not for multis annis then at least long enough before Augustus’ visit to Gaul in 16–15 BCE to have developed a reputation for inflicting more harm on the Gauls than the Germans did, as Dio, our main source on Licinus, puts it, adding that his tenure was so awful that it had been predicted by the arrival of a Leviathan with a woman’s body and a monster’s head (Dio 54.21.3–8). A Gaul by birth, Licinus had been captured in battle by the Romans and enslaved by Caesar, then freed by him and made procurator of Gaul by Augustus. He managed to combine barbaric avarice with Roman dignity, as Dio says, and he came up with various unethical schemes, such as the schedule he created for those who paid on a monthly basis. He argued, with etymological cogency, that December was the tenth month of the year and that two months should accordingly be added after it. Augustus, we are told, was so embarrassed by his behaviour that he pretended to disbelieve many of the charges and brushed others under the table. Licinus got away with it, claiming that he had taken Sicily: Plut., Apothegm. 207B; Cichorius 1922, 280 emended the text of the Apothegmata to read Athenodorus for Theodorus, see Bowersock 1965, 35, n. 5; Tiberius: Suda, s.v. Theodōros; Egypt: Julian, Ad Themist. 265a I. 34 Treggiari 1969, 65, 190. 33

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the wealth from the Gauls to prevent them using it in a rebellion and that he was holding it for Augustus. He became prodigiously wealthy. Seneca (Epp. 119.9) and Persius (2.36) both link him with Crassus as archetypal millionaires (Persius describes his estates as Licini campos). Juvenal (1.109) links him with Pallas, the notoriously rich freedman of Claudius. Even after his death his wealth continued to impress. Martial (8.3.6) speaks of his tomb as alta Licini marmora (“the lofty marble structure of Licinus”), echoed in an anonymous poem, marmoreo Licinus tumulo iacet (“Licinus lies in a marble tomb”).35 There are some interesting parallels here with Herod. Recruited from outside of Rome, Licinus was clearly a person with tremendous financial acumen, whose monetary skills were so considerable that Augustus was willing to overlook his other faults, and, although he occupied no place in the Roman cursus honorum, to elevate him to a procuratorship. There is in fact another cogent parallel, much closer to home, in the person of Antipater, the father of Herod. In 48 BCE at a time when he was supporting Caesar’s cause, Antipater appears in Josephus’ Antiquities (14.127, 139) with the title of ho tôn Ioudaiôn (or tês Ioudaias) epimelêtês. Epimelêtês is a very general term and too imprecise to allow us to get any proper sense of his duties. We are not told specifically when he first received the title, but it must have been bestowed some years earlier, perhaps by the legate of Syria, A. Gabinius.36 We know that Gabinius had in 57 reorganised Judaea into five districts. He seems to have abandoned this arrangement on giving up the governorship of Syria in 55, probably at the time redefining the role of the ruler, Hyrcanus, whose old title of ethnarch was not restored and who seems to have been limited to priestly responsibilities. Josephus claims that before he left Gabinius settled Judaea in accordance with the wishes of Antipater.37 It is possible that this involved the reunification of the territories and the conferring of authority on Antipater, with the broad title of epimelêtês. Hyrcanus was made High Priest. There was an important development in 47, when Caesar visited Palestine and made a general settlement. Caesar not only reaffirmed Hyrcanus as High Priest but

PLM (Baehrens) p. 64. An appointment by Gabinius is argued by Schürer 1973, 270, n. 13; Smallwood 1981, 35. According to Kokkinos (1998b, 97–8) Antipater had an important position in Judaea before the time of Gabinius and even before Scaurus, and thus it is possible that the appointment of epimelêtês dates as early as the conquest of Pompey. 37 Jos., Ant. 14.103, War 1.177. 35 36

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also revived his title of ethnarch, which at the same time restored to him at least some of his secular authority.38 Antipater also underwent a change of status at this time, which may well complement in some respect the changes for Hyrcanus. He received Roman citizenship and personal exemption from taxes.39 But Caesar went beyond this. He gave Antipater an administrative post that would cover the whole of Judaea. Josephus tells the story that Caesar offered Antipater his choice of position. The latter supposedly demurred and left the decision to Caesar. The rank conferred on him was that of epitropos tês Ioudaias (the War adds pasês).40 It is interesting that Antipater’s status seems to have changed from that of a general administrator, epimelêtês, appropriate in the absence of any secular authority of Hyrcanus, to that of the more restricted epitropos/procurator, perhaps reflecting the restoration of Hyrcanus’ ethnarchy. Smallwood suggests that Antipater’s duties would have lain in the sphere of tax collection, and that as a Roman citizen he could have been the resident representative of Rome, safeguarding Roman financial interests. We do know that a series of complex taxes was instituted in 47. Josephus’ account of them is obscure and his text may well be corrupt. There was a general impost in the form of a variable land tax based on a percentage of the harvest grown, as calculated from the seed sown (sabbatical years exempted). Then there was a specific levy on Joppa, which had to pay a tax of 20,675 modii of wheat each year (except for sabbatical years), and had to concede to the Romans the harbour and export dues. Smallwood observes that the Jewish authorities were apparently given a free hand in the collection of the taxes and that this was one of the spheres in which Antipater could have played an important role, especially in supervising the yearly calculation of the variable land tax.41 There do, then, seem to have been precedents and parallels for the possible appointment of Herod as procurator. But what of Josephus’ claim that Herod somehow could outrank the other procurators in Syria? As noted earlier there was clearly a hierarchy of procuratorships; we have no references to procurators working as subordinates to others from the Augustan period (other possibly than Herod), but we do have later evidence of this aspect of the office, perhaps as early 38 39 40 41

Jos., Ant. 14.137, 143, 193, War 1.194. Jos., Ant. 14.137, War 1.194. Jos., Ant. 14.143, War 1.199. Smallwood 1981, 39, 41.

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as the reign of Tiberius. Tiberius Julius Mellon was procurator of the imperial estates at Jamnia in Palestine, identified by the simple title proc. The equestrian C. Herennius Capito is also found as procurator under Tiberius and Caligula; Pflaum argues that Mellon was the subordinate of Capito, which, if so, would make them the first known example of an equestrian and freedman procurator working as a pair. Pflaum’s suggestion is no more than speculation; Boulvert attributes the full-scale implementation of such a dual system in most spheres of the administration to Claudius.42 The first pair actually to be mentioned together is cited by Tacitus (Ann. 13.1.1) under 54 CE, the equestrian P. Celer and the freedman Helius: ministri fuere P. Celer eques Romanus et Helius, rei familiari principis in Asia impositi. They were supposedly Agrippina’s agents in eliminating Marcus Junius Silanus, proconsul of Asia. They were clearly procurators, given Tacitus’ reference to the rei familiari principis. They were also a pair of rogues. The equestrian Celer was charged with extortion in the same province in 57 (Nero sat on the case until the accused died of old age). The freedman Helius gained notoriety when he was left in charge in Rome during Nero’s absence in Greece. He was arrested by Galba after the emperor’s death.43 Whether Celer and Helius had a formal hierarchical relationship in the execution of their procuratorial duties is unclear, but Weaver observes that by the end of the first century at any rate we find freedmen with the title of procurator provinciae, the first being Eutactus lib. Proc(urator) Provinciarum Asiae et Lyciae, and notes that they become very common in the late second century. Weaver argues that they cannot be of the same status as the equestrian procurators, but are the senior freedmen in each province and the assistants of the corresponding equestrian procurators. He cites as evidence of this the fact that the freedmen do not use the title procurator Augusti, thus observing a distinction between themselves and the equestrian procurators.44 That the relationship between equestrian and freedman in such a pair is that of principal and assistant is shown clearly in an exchange of letters between Pliny and Trajan. Pliny (10.27, 28) states that Maximus libertus et procurator tuus (i.e. Trajan’s) has asked for soldiers for a special assignment over and

42 Mellon: AE 1948.141; Capito: AE 1941.105; Jos., Ant. 18.158, 163; Pflaum 1950, 34, n. 11; Boulvert 1970, 392–3. 43 Celer: Tac., Ann. 13.33.1; Helius: Dio 64.3.4. 44 Eutactus: AE 1930, 86 (Ephesus); Weaver 1965, 460; 1972, 275–8, see Brunt 1966, 465.

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above the soldiers given to Virdius Gemellinus. Trajan in reply confirms the assignment of troops to libertus meus Maximus, and goes on to refer to Virdius as procurator meus whom Maximus assists (quem adiuvat). The evidence for such arrangements is almost by necessity post-Augustan, given the general dearth of Augustan material, but it does at the very least indicate that Romans were amenable to the notion of some sort of command structure within the procuratorship. Before 20 BCE the titles granted to Herod by Roman officials had been conventional ones. Sextus Caesar, governor of Syria, had appointed Herod, probably in 46, as stratêgos of Coele-Syria and Samaria, even before he was king.45 This was a well-established title for regional administrators of Syria, as it was of other areas of the Hellenistic world. It was not a peculiarly Roman term. Before Cassius was obliged to leave Syria in 42 he also made Herod stratêgos of Coele-Syria and left him in command of troops and possibly ships.46 The notion of procurator/epitropos is, of course, specifically Roman, but in the early post-settlement period the term, as has been shown, was ill-defined and in the process of rapid and dramatic evolution. There seems to be no reason why Augustus could not have assigned the title to Herod, and the definition of his duties would have reflected local circumstances. The issue of a client-king holding public office is an artificial one, since a procurator could act as a private agent for the principal. Otto, in the article on Herod in Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft, argues that Josephus could not have meant that Herod was an epitropos “in der technischen Bedeutung”.47 This goes to the heart of the matter. The concept of procurator was until the second century so flexible that in the early years of the principate it is perhaps misleading to speak of its “technical meaning”. Procurators could have a variety of responsibilities, usually associated with financial administration, and they could come from a variety of backgrounds.

45 Jos., Ant. 14.180, War 1.213; the Antiquities mentions only Coele-Syria; see Smallwood 1981, 45, n. 4; in general Hahn 1965; Bammel 1968; Braund 1984, 85. 46 Jos., Ant. 14. 280 (Coele-Syria and ships); War 1.225 states that Herod was made epimelêtês of all Syria, perhaps used loosely for stratêgos; this was a period of considerable confusion in the region but the Antiquities’ restriction of the office to Coele-Syria is more plausible; note also that the Antiquities states that Herod was granted the epimeleian specifically of the troops; the War may have meant to indicate that Herod commanded the troops in Syria, not that he administered the whole of Syria. Smallwood (1981, 47, n. 8) thinks that there may be a confusion with the events of 20 BCE. 47 Otto 1913, 71.

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What precise functions Josephus might have meant to assign to Herod by his statement is a more complex question. Some have understood the procuratorship in terms of territorial jurisdiction. Braund sees the explanation in security concerns. He notes that in the Antiquities the appointment follows the report of Augustus’ grant to Herod of the remaining territory of Zenodorus between Trachonitis and Galilee, namely Ulatha, Paneas and the surrounding territory. Braund argues a connection between these two developments. All of this new territory bordered on Syria, and, once Herod had taken it over, there would have been a need for him to deal with the procurators in the border areas. In about 23 BCE, some three years previously, Herod had been given the other part of Zenodorus’ territory (Trachonitis, with the neighbouring territory of Batanea and Aurantitis) because brigands from Trachonitis had been given a free hand by Zenodorus to plunder property in Damascus.48 Cimma had previously argued that the passages of Josephus indicate that the procurator of Syria needed Herod’s permission to pursue bandits into his kingdom.49 Thus, Braund argues, Augustus might have given Herod procuratorial responsibility in Syria, probably restricted to the border area. It would mean, of course, that Josephus’ description was exaggerated to make the grant sound broader and more significant than it really was. Since we have no evidence of Herod actually exercising his putative procuratorial duties we can do no more than speculate on what they might have been thought to comprise. But there was usually a close connection between the procuratorship and financial administration, and it is very tempting to see Herod being called to serve the latter.50 Herod’s financial skills were legendary and need not be repeated in any great detail here. We hear of a number of his convoluted commercial ventures. When Jewish territories around Jericho were granted to Cleopatra by M. Antonius, Herod accepted the arrangement and leased them back at 200 talents a year. It is interesting that he suppressed any resentment he might have felt over the surrender of territory, and simply focussed on the financial opportunities (the territory was restored later). He also leased the payment of the tributes owed by the Nabataeans to Cleopatra, although he had considerable difficulty Jos., Ant. 15.343–8; War 1.398–9. Braund 1984, 85; Cimma 1976, 311. 50 For the same conclusion, see Kokkinos 1998a, 125; and for this and other unusual powers held by Herod, see also Kokkinos 1998b, 116, n. 102. 48 49

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extracting what was due to him from the Nabataean king.51 For a onetime payment of 300 talents, Augustus granted Herod the exploitation of copper mines on Cyprus, allowing him half the income.52 In an especially interesting passage of the War (1.428), Josephus says that it would be tedious to relate all the places where Herod had subsidised the tax burden of a number of communities. He does mention three: Phaselis in Lycia, Balanea in Syria and “small towns” ( polichnioi ) in Cilicia. This suggests that he must have leased the contracts to collect the taxes and tributes from within Roman provinces.53 Some scholars have seen the procuratorship in this context.54 This is possible, but not necessary. Herod could have been acting in Syria as Augustus’ private agent, advising the procurators of the emperor’s private properties in the province on how to manage them for the best financial return. It is interesting that Josephus uses the words symboulia and gnômê in the War and the Antiquities respectively to describe the nature of Herod’s supervision over the other procurators, terms that suggest advice and guidance rather than strictly formal authority. Thus Josephus could well have been right, that Herod was held in special regard by Augustus, but in the very limited sphere of financial acumen, without any suggestion that he was, in the emperor’s eyes, invested with the potestas and auctoritas of a traditional Roman magistrate. Bibliography Bammel, E., 1968. “Die Rechtsstellung des Herodes”, ZDPV 84, 73–9. Barrett, A. A., 1979. “The Career of Tiberius Claudius Cogidubnus”, Britannia 10, 227–42. Bogaers, J. E., 1979. “King Cogidubnus in Chichester: Another Reading of RIB 91”, Britannia 10, 243–54. Boulvert, G., 1970. Esclaves et Affranchis Impériaux sous le Haut-Empire romain, Naples: Jovene. ——, 1965. Augustus and the Greek World, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Braund, D., 1984. Rome and the Friendly King, London: Croom Helm.

Jos., Ant. 15.96, 106–7, 132; War 1.361–2. Jos., Ant. 15.107; Marquardt 1984, 261, n. 1; Broughton 1938, 651–2; Gabba 1999, 120. 53 For a discussion on Herod’s acquisition of private lands in territories outside his kingdom, see Kokkinos 2002, 740–2. 54 Momigliano 1934, 360–1; Gabba 1999, 120; Gardthausen (1891, 818) suggests that Herod was appointed as general lessee of the taxes of Syria. 51

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Broughton, T. R. S., 1938. “Roman Asia Minor”, in T. Frank, Economic Survey of Ancient Rome, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, Vol. IV, 651–2. Brunt, P., 1966. “Procuratorial Jurisdiction”, Latomus 25, 461–89. ——, 1983. “Princeps and Equites”, JRS 73, 42–75. Cichorius, C., 1922. Römische Studien, Leipzig: Teubner. Cimma, M. R., 1976. Reges Socii et amici populi Romani, Milan: Giuffrè. Demougin, S., 1988. L’ordre équestre sous les Julio-Claudiens (Rome: École Française de Rome) Eich, P., 2005. Zur Metamorphose des politischen System in der römischen Kaiserzeit (Klio Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte, Band 9; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag). Gardthausen, V., 1891–1904. Augustus und seine Zeit, Leipzig: Teubner. Gabba, E., 1990. “The Finances of King Herod”, in A. Kasher, U. Rappaport and G. Fuks (eds.), Greece and Rome in Eretz Israel: Collected Essays, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 160–8. ——, 1999. “The Fiscal Situation under Herod the Great”, in L. Finkelstein and W. D. Davies (eds.), The Cambridge History of Judaism, Vol. III The Early Roman Period, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 118–125. Garnsey, P., 1970. Social Status and Legal Privilege in the Roman Empire, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hahn, I., 1965. “Herodes als Prokurator”, in E. C. Welskopf (ed.), Neue Beiträge zur Geschichte der Alten Welt Römische Reich, Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, Vol. II, 25–44. Hirschfeld, O., 1905. Die kaiserlichen Verwaltungsbeamten bis auf Diocletian, Berlin: Weidmann. Jones, A. H. M., 1960. “Procurators and Perfects in the Early Principate”, Studies in Roman Government and Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 115–125. Kokkinos, N., 1990. “A Fresh Look at the gentilicium of Felix Procurator of Judaea”, Latomus 49, 126–141. ——, 1998a. “The Relative Chronology of the Nativity in Tertullian”, in E. J. Vardaman (ed.), Chronos, Kairos, Christos II (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press). ——, 1998b. The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse ( JSP, Suppl. Series 30; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press). ——, 2002. “The City of Mariamme”, Mediterraneo Antico 5.2, 715–746 Lehmann, C. M. & Holum, K. G., 2000. The Greek and Latin Inscriptions of Caesarea Maritima (Boston, MA: ASOR). Letta, C., 1976. “La dinastia dei Cozii e la romanizzazione delle Alpi occidentali”, Athenaeum 54, 37–76. Levick, B., 1990. Claudius, London: Batsford. Marquardt, J., 1884. Römische Staatsverwaltung, Vol. II2, Leipzig: Hirzel. Mennella, G., 1978. “Ipotesi sull’iscrizione dei re Cozii nel teatro di Augusta Taurinorum”, RIL 92, 96–100. Millar, F., 1964. “Some Evidence on the Meaning of Tacitus Annals XII.60”, Historia 13, 180–187. ——, 1965. “The Development of Jurisdiction by Imperial Procurators: Further Evidence”, Historia 14, 362–367. ——, 1989. “Senatorial Provinces: An Institutionalized Ghost”, Ancient World 20, 93–97. ——, 2002. Rome, The Greek World, and the East, vol. 1 (Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press). Momigliano, A., 1934. “Ricerche sull’organizzazione della Guidea sotto il dominio romano (63 a.C.–70 d.C.)”, ASNP Series II. 3, 183–221, 347–96. Nicolet, C., 1966. L’ordre équestre à l’époque républicaine, Vol. I, Paris: Boccard. Otto W., 1913. “Herodes”, RE Supp, II, cols 1–158. Pflaum, G., 1950. Les Procurateurs Equestres sous le Haut-Empire Romain, Maisonneuve: Paris, 1950.

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Premerstein, A. von, 1937. Vom Werden und Wesen des Principats, Munich: Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Schürer, E., 1973. The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 BC–AD 135), Vol. I, revised by G. Vermes and F. Millar, Edinburgh: Clark. Sherwin-White, A. N., 1939. “Procurator Augusti”, PBSR 15, 11–26. Smallwood, E. M., 1981. The Jews under Roman Rule, Leiden: Brill. Talbert, R., 1984. The Senate of Imperial Rome, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Taylor, L. R. and West, A. B., 1926. “The Euryclids in Latin Inscriptions from Corinth”, AJA 30, 389–400. Treggiari, S., 1969. Roman Freedmen during the Late Republic. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Weaver, P. R. C., 1965. “Freedmen Procurators in the Imperial Administration”, Historia 14, 460–69, University Press. ——, 1972. Familia Caesaris: A Social Study of the Emperor’s Freedmen and Slaves, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. West, A. B., 1931. Corinth: Latin Inscriptions, Vol. VII, pt. I, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Wolff, H., 1986. “Die Entwicklung der Veteranenpriviligien vom Beginn des 1. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. bis auf Konstantin d. Gr.”, in W. Eck and H. Wolff (eds.), Heer und Integrationspolitik, Cologne: Böhlau, 44–155.

CLIENT KINGS’ ARMIES UNDER AUGUSTUS: THE CASE OF HEROD Denis B. Saddington Abstract After defeating Antony in the Battle of Actium in 31 BC, Augustus inherited a swollen army in urgent need of pruning and reform. At the time the Romans still tended to think of their legions as regiments called up for comparatively short periods of time for particular wars. Although by a convention of Roman historiography this hardly features in the literature of the period, the Romans were unable to operate without large allied forces supplementing the legions in specialised branches of warfare. Unlike Hellenistic monarchies they did not resort to mercenaries for this, but relied on men supplied on an ad hoc basis by their subjects or allies in nearby provinces. These soldiers were known as auxiliaries. Client kings were not exempt from supplying troops when called upon to do so. What steps did Augustus take to reduce the Roman forces to an affordable size and fit them for his concept of empire? This study examines the role that was assigned to the armies of allied kings and, in particular, the place occupied by Herod in the military situation in the Near East at the time.

The Roman Army It is misleading to regard the Roman army1 as a super efficient war machine. This view is heavily coloured by the professionalism of modern armies and the sort of thinking found in such books as E. N. Luttwak’s The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire (1976); interestingly Luttwak also wrote on The Israeli Army (1975). It should also not be forgotten that there never was such an entity as a unitary Roman army under a single commander: there were only exercitus or armies consisting of one or more legions and their auxiliaries deployed where they were most needed. Such exercitus came under the command of the governor of the province where they were stationed. Egypt had three, and Syria four legions—the latter never without a consciousness of the power of Parthia across the Euphrates.

1

For the Roman army under Augustus, cf. Keppie 1984 r. 1988.

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After the Battle of Actium in 31 BCE the victor, Octavian, soon to be known as the Emperor Augustus, faced a threatening and chaotic situation in the armed forces, which in any case needed to be remodelled to suit the new need for consolidation in the frontier areas of the empire. Theoretically, even if anachronistically, the legions2 were still regarded as regiments of Roman citizens called up to deal with specific military situations, especially in newly formed provinces of the empire. Augustus reduced the number of those which had fought in the civil wars of the Second Triumvirate at the end of the Republic to just under 30. As just noted, these were largely stationed in key frontier areas, but were often moved as circumstances changed. He settled the pay and the conditions of service of the legionaries. But all was not yet in place: serious mutinies broke out on his death. Some 30 legions were hopelessly inadequate for the needs of an enormous and still expanding empire. In fact, in all their wars the Romans had always needed help from others. They called their allied soldiers auxiliaries;3 and these supplemented the heavy-armed infantry of the legions especially as cavalry, light-armed troops, archers and slingers. The auxiliaries were drawn from all parts of the empire. But especially in the East they might come from the nominally independent areas ruled by client kings. The Hasmonaeans had assisted the Romans in this way in the late Republic. Under Augustus the position of the auxiliaries also needed attention. Little is known about what happened in this regard, as it was a convention of Roman historiography hardly to refer to them except, and that only cursorily, in descriptions of battles. But there are signs that the non-citizen soldiery, especially the cavalry, was beginning to change from ad hoc levies of local allies to permanent units with regular recruitment. In fact they became professional, as can be seen from the army which the governor of Syria, Quinctilius Varus (PIR2 Q 30), took to Judaea to quell the serious unrest that broke out there after the death of Herod the Great. It consisted of two legions, four alae of cavalry and whatever auxiliaries were provided by the kings and tetrarchs of the area ( Jos., Ant. 17.286f.). What role did the armies of the client kings have under Augustus? Did they take on any features of the legions and the auxiliary units being remodelled by him? What sort of army did a king like Herod

2 3

For the legions, cf. Ritterling 1924; Parker 1928 r. 1961; Le Bohec 2000. For the auxiliaries, cf. Cheesman 1914 r. 1975; Holder 1980; Saddington 1982.

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have? Was its main purpose internal security? Did it have to protect the kingdom’s borders? How was it expected to operate when required to assist in Rome’s wars? The Forces of Client Kings Tacitus (Ann. 4.5) conveniently listed the armed forces of the Roman Empire under the year 23 CE, a decade after the death of Augustus. He gives the legions province by province. But between them, as if on a par with the exercitus of legions, he inserts the forces of two client kings, Rhoemetalces (PIR2 R 67) of Thrace and Juba (PIR2 I 65) of Mauretania. Under Augustus the Thracian king had provided the cavalry needed for five legions and their auxilia (Vell. 2.112f.), and it may be noted that some years earlier the Romans had supported him when he was in difficulties (Dio 54.20). A king’s army might be as effective as an exercitus of legions, and it was worth using military resources to maintain him in a position where he could assist Rome when necessary. It is of interest that Suetonius (Aug. 48) makes Augustus care for the reges socii, the allied kings as he calls them, as “members and parts of the empire”. They were especially important in the East. A notable preimperial example was Deiotarus (RE IV 2401 [2]) of Galatia; it may be recalled that the Galatians were the descendants of Celtic invaders into Asia Minor. He regularly supported Roman generals operating in the east. In particular, he made “all his forces” available to Cicero, then governor of Cilicia and facing a Parthian threat. They consisted of 30 cohorts, each 400 strong, which were armed in the Roman way. A Roman legion at full strength consisted of 5,000 to 6,000 men, hence Deiotarus’ infantry was the equivalent of two legions; Cicero himself only had two (Plut., Cic. 36). He also supplied 2,000 cavalry (Cic., Att. 6.1). Later, in the Civil War, Deiotarus’ force is explicitly referred to as two legions, which for several years had been armed and trained in the Roman way.4 At the end of the war Deiotarus was accused before Caesar, and we still have Cicero’s defence of him. Two items from the speech are of interest. Cicero (Deiot. 13) shows how a client king would

4 BAlex 34, 4. Whether Deiotarus also supplied the 100 cavalry mentioned after his legions is not clear.

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feel constrained to assist Rome: he might be requested as a “friend” (amicus), or summoned as an “ally” (socius), or called to the colours (euocatus), as one who had learnt to obey the Senate. To the client king the last alternative was the operative one: Deiotarus excused himself for having supported Pompey rather than Caesar by stating that someone who had been called a king by the Senate could not take sides in the political controversies of the Roman people ( populus Romanus), but had to obey the generals on the spot (BAlex 67). There is a further point of significance about Deiotarus. In his defence of him, Cicero felt that it would be advantageous to present him not as a misguided foreigner but as a complete Roman: he was an excellent “pater familias” or head of household, a painstaking farmer and exhibited the key Roman qualities of uirtus and grauitas. More to the point, he had had the correct military training and had kept himself in practice.5 In fact, his forces had been so fully assimilated to the Roman model that they were eventually incorporated as if Romans into a properly constituted legion, the XXII Deiotariana (RE XII 1791). Little information about client kings survives for the principate of Augustus, except usefully for Herod, because of Josephus. And it may be recalled that Josephus (War 3.70–109) wrote a detailed description of the Roman army, which is used as a prime source by Roman military historians. He had had firsthand experience of it when he fought the Romans as governor of Galilee in 67 CE. However, before turning to Judaea, a word may be said about Herod’s younger contemporary, Juba II, whose forces in Mauretania, as noted above, were regarded by Tacitus as the equivalent of the legion in Africa. Unfortunately we do not know their size or composition. A Roman citizen like Herod, Juba had received his military initiation by accompanying Augustus during the Spanish War in 23 BCE (Dio 51.15 in the light of 53.26). His kingdom included the district of Gaetulia, roughly the area in Libya along the edge of the Sahara. One would have expected that he would have been able to maintain the peace in the region, but the Romans had to impose order for him there after a revolt. This was done by the governor of Africa, Cossus Cornelius Lentulus (PIR2 C 1380), in 6 CE, who was awarded a triumph and the agnomen or honorary name of Gaetulicus. On the coins Juba issued celebrating the victory, however, he assimilated himself iconographi-

5

Cic., Deiot. 26ff.; cf. Saddington 1993, 92; 96, n. 36.

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cally to a triumphant Roman general.6 On only one occasion he, and his son, Ptolemaeus (PIR2 P 1025), are known to have assisted Rome. During the revolt of the Numidian auxiliary Tacfarinas (PIR1 T 1) they provided Maurorum auxilia. Ancient Palestine, or Judaea as the Romans called it, was strategically situated between Egypt to the south and Parthia to the east. Not under a rex or king like Deiotarus, but nevertheless, in the person of Hyrcanus II (RE Suppl. IV 788 [1b]), a high priest of royal descent who became ethnarch or ruler of his people, it had provided crucial help to Caesar in Egypt in 48/7 BC. This consisted of 3,000 (1,500 in another version) hoplitai or infantry (numerically the equivalent of half a legion) under the command of Antipater (RE I 2509 [17]), an Idumaean, who was the ethnarch’s right-hand man and the father of Herod. We are told that he was not deficient where ships were needed—whether transports on the Nile or warships for the assault on Alexandria is not clear. He also persuaded the Nabataean Arabs to assist, as well as two local rulers in the Lebanon.7 Cicero (as already mentioned above) had praised Deiotarus as all but a Roman, but his descendants were not enfranchised until well after his death. However, Caesar made Antipater a Roman citizen and epitropos ( Jos., War 1.194, 199), that is, his representative, presumably especially in financial affairs, in the ethnarchy. It is not clear whether there were any military obligations. Antipater then appointed Herod stratêgos, which probably means military governor, of Galilee (War 1.203). From the outset Herod would have had to direct affairs with one eye on Rome. Herod’s Military and Administrative Responsibilities in the 30s BCE The province of Syria and nearby areas in the Near East under Roman influence were fully involved in the civil wars of the Second Triumvirate at the end of the Roman Republic from 42 to 31 BCE. While acting for his father in Galilee Herod put down the endemic brigandage there. Later he was in charge of the armoury in Jerusalem (War 1.224; Ant. 14.278). In 46 BCE his father gave him a symmachia or Dio 55, 28, 3–4; Mazard 1955, 71, 88 [193–5]. Jos., War 1.187; Ant. 16.52, however, gives the number of the soldiers as 2,000. Earlier Antipater had supported Gabinius (RE VII 424 [11]) in Egypt with men and supplies (War 1.175). 6 7

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allied contingent to support the Caesarians in Syria (War 1.217; Ant. 14.269). Various governors of the province then gave him duties in Coele Syria, the difficult area north of Galilee up to the Beqa’a Valley. Josephus (War 1.213, 225; Ant. 14.280) gives him the titles of epimelêtês and stratêgos—imprecise terms probably implying that the governors felt that Herod could provide some sort of security in the area and create conditions under which taxes could be safely collected. Presumably he may be regarded as an administrator with military responsibilities. 8 That he had soldiers under him is shown by the fact that he took some with him when he went up to Jerusalem for the Passover (War 1.229). On one occasion the Roman authorities assigned him a dynamis or force of infantry and cavalry, but this was with an eye to threatening civil conflict in the area rather than for local needs; on another, they instructed the Roman military tribunes then in Tyre to assist Herod in the assassination of the man he accused of having murdered his father Antipater.9 After the battle of Philippi in 42 BCE, M. Antony appointed Herod and his brother tetrarchs of Judaea, i.e., sectional rulers under the ethnarch and high priest Hyrcanus (War 1.244). In 40 BCE, largely through Antony’s influence but also with the support of Octavian, Herod was appointed king of Judaea (War 1.282–4). But the Parthians were in control of the kingdom and Herod was forced to flee. He went to Idumaea with a force of 10,000 men (the equivalent of two legions), but had to dismiss them as he could not afford to maintain them (War 1.266). In 39 BCE, at Ptolemais (Acre, now Acco), he assembled an army of xenoi kai homophyloi (War 1.290), i.e., mercenaries and fellow tribesmen, the latter presumably Jews and Idumaeans. In 38 BCE he appointed his brother governor of Idumaea with 2,000 infantry and 400 cavalry (War 1.303), while he reduced Galilee. Ventidius Bassus (RE VIIIA 795 [5]), the governor of Syria, then sent two legions and 1,000 cavalry to assist Herod oust the Parthians. These were commanded by a stratêgos called Machaeras. In spite of his Greek name (possibly a nickname), which seems to mean cutler or swordsman, he was probably a legate of Ventidius (War 1.317). In 38 BCE Ventidius’ successor, C. Sosius (RE IIIA 1176 [2]), sent to Judaea to assist Herod an advance force of Cf. the discussion in Momigliano 1934 r. 1967 r. 1996, 218ff. = 36ff. Jos., War 1.225, 230; Ant. 14.280ff.; 15.452. Shatzman 1991, 205, has rejected my suggestion (Saddington 1982, 19) that Herod may have used these military tribunes as military experts to help train his army. 8 9

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two legions under a legate, Pompaedius Silo (RE XXII 81 ad fin.), while Herod had already raised 800 men from Mount Lebanon, i.e., Ituraeans (War 1.327ff.; cf. Ant. 14.451–2). Josephus (War 1.351; cf. 366ff.) calls Herod’s forces tou peri Hêrôdên Ioudaïkou, which would be a geographical designation (to distinguish them from the Romans) rather than an ethnic one; earlier Herod had used a small force of five cohorts (speirai ) which were partly mercenary and partly Ioudaioi, in the sense of Jewish (War 1.301). Jerusalem fell in 37 BCE. Herod was now able to rule, but his subordinate position in Roman eyes can be seen from the fact that a legion was left in Jerusalem to support him (Ant. 15.72), and in 34 BCE Sosius triumphed ex Iudaea (Fasti Cap. [CIL I2 50 = II XIII 1, 87]). The victory and the right to rule was Rome’s alone. Herod next had to assist Antony in the looming civil war with Octavian. Josephus (Ant. 15.109) gives no details, merely saying that he enrolled a force, arming it punctiliously (this remark was presumably added to counter the common Roman criticism that auxiliary forces were often ill-armed and undisciplined). Plutarch (Anton. 71) is not much more explicit: Herod sent some tagmata kai speiras. If Plutarch is using Roman terminology here10 this would mean legions and auxiliary cohorts, but it would be unwise to expect precision; however, a large force is implied. But he was not used at the battle of Actium in 31 BCE. Instead Antony sent him against Malchus (PIR2 M 108) of Nabataean Arabia. Herod won an initial battle, but at Canatha in Auranitis (Qanawat in Jebel Druze) he was soundly defeated ( Jos., Ant. 15.111ff.). The defeat of Antony could have meant the end for Herod, but Octavian reinstated him as king of Judaea. An opportunity for Herod to serve his new master came soon. In 30 BCE Octavian passed through Syria on his way to Egypt. Herod responded promptly by provisioning the Roman forces (War 1.394). But at this period, of course, no further wars were being contemplated. The Roman Forces in Syria When normality was restored, Augustus stationed three legions in Egypt and four in Syria. The Syrian establishment comprised about 15%

10

Cf. Mason 1974, 163–4.

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of that of the whole empire. Its main concern was Parthia across the Euphrates and the client kingdom of Armenia to the north. Unfortunately little is known about the auxiliaries in Syria at the beginning of the Principate. A Coh. I Augusta and a Coh. II Classica are recorded (ILS 2683; in passing it may be noted that the prefect in command conducted the census of a Syrian town, showing, as posited for Herod, the connection between the army and the taxation system). These two, however, and the speira Italikê recorded in Judaea 50 years later (Acts 10:1) were not ordinary auxiliary regiments but, since they were composed of Roman citizens, more like detachments of legions.11 Many auxiliaries were raised in Syria. Some were designated simply Syrorum or Sagittariorum, but others were named after the towns at the centre of the administrative or tribal districts from which the men were enlisted. Such were the Canathenorum, a joint Canathenorum et Trachonitarum, Damascenorum, Hamiorum (from around Epiphania, Tell Ghamqe, the Biblical Hamath), Hemesenorum (Homs), Tyriorum.12 It is not certain whether the origin of the Coh. Canathenorum goes back to Herod’s engagement with the Arabs there, mentioned above. There were several cohorts and an ala from Ituraea: Antonius had had a bodyguard of Ituraeans in the 40s BCE (Cic., Phil. 2.112). It is not known how many of these units were stationed in Syria before being moved elsewhere. As far as regiments of non-local origin are concerned, in the Julio-Claudian period there were three combined cavalry alae of Gauls and Thracians in Syria, the Ala Veterana Gallorum et Thraecum, the Ala Gallorum et Thraecum Antiana and the Ala Gallorum et Thraecum [—]: the men in them who had been given Roman citizenship had enlisted in 29 CE.13 There was also an Ala Thraecum at Gerasa ( Jerash) in the Decapolis.14 In early Syria the infantry seems to have been local, the cavalry drawn from elsewhere.

Cf. Saddington 2002. For these units cf. Cichorius 1900. For the Canathenorum et Trachonitarum, cf. ILS 4349, as emended in Lörincz 2001, 33, 245 [292] (ILS 4349 reads eq. coh. D Camprag.). 13 They are recorded on CIL XVI 3 of 54. Since auxiliaries had to serve a minimum of 25 years before being granted Roman citizenship, the recipients could not have enlisted after 29 CE. 14 AE 1930, 89, 90; CIL III 141591; Gatier 2002. 11 12

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The Judaean Army The ancient Israelite armies, like their Roman equivalents, had their stereotypes. Even that of modern Israel is often thought of as a protoguerilla force inspired by a just religious cause which developed into a technologically sophisticated modern force. So, too, in Old Testament times: Joshua and David owed their victories more to God than to their puny armies. This tradition was revived by the Maccabees, and the religious factor was still powerful until the fall of Jerusalem in 70 CE, as is shown by the controversy about fighting on the Sabbath and Josephus’ conviction that the Jews were defeated because they had been abandoned by God. As far as expertise is concerned, the Jews were especially praised for being good slingers and archers ( Jos., Ant. 17.259). Herod’s troops are sometimes called Ioudaioi, as when he fought the Arabs at Canatha ( Jos., Ant. 15.111, 115ff., 124, 147), and other times they are homophyloi. One might be tempted to understand the latter as referring to Idumaeans, since Herod was an Idumaean by origin, but it might also be an unspecific reference to ‘Greater Judaea’; by this time Idumaea, like Galilee and Samaria, had long been part of the Jewish area. It may be noted that there were no regiments called Iudaeorum in the Roman army. The only epigraphically attested units from the Judaean area are the Ascalonitae (from the free city of Ascalon on the coast, the Biblical Asheklon)—first attested under Tiberius in 18 CE—and the Sebastenians15 (from Samaria). These can be traced directly back to the army of Herod. He had a force of 3,000 Sebastenians, who were praised as the most warlike element in his army (War 2.52, 58). Later, converted into five cohorts and one ala, they successfully got Claudius to reverse his decision to transfer them from Judaea to Pontus in the Black Sea area in 44 CE.16

For the Ascalonitae, cf. CIL IX 3664 (a Coh. 1 Ascalonitarum appears on military diplomas [e.g., CIL XVI 35]); for the Cohh. Sebastenorum, cf. RE IV 245, 331; for an Ala Sebastenorum, ibid. I 1260. 16 Jos., Ant. 19.365; 20.176; Saddington 1982, 50. 15

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The most detailed account of Herod’s forces comes from Josephus’ description of his funeral in 4 BCE (War 1.672f.; Ant. 17.198f.). They are listed as hoi doryphoroi kai to Thraikion stiphos, the bodyguard “and” a Thracian unit, a German and a Gallic one “with them”, then the loipê dynamis, “the rest of his forces”, all under their officers. In Antiquities “the army”, to stratiôtikon (also called pas ho stratos, “the whole army”), is arranged ethnically, kata oikeia ethnê kai prosêgorias. The Thracians, Germans and Gauls need not surprise. Herod had used mercenaries at Ptolemais in 38 BCE. In fact the Hasmonaeans had resorted to mercenaries as early as under John Hyrcanus I in 130 BCE (Ant. 13.249, 374). The combination of Thracians and Gauls is interesting; as noted above, Alae Gallorum et Thraecum were stationed in Syria fifty years later, if not before. The only detail Josephus gives is on the guard. However, it is not clear whether his kai, “and”, implies that there was an inner core supplemented by the Thracians and Gauls, or whether they were separate units. In one of the palace intrigues under him a member of the guard was involved who was not Thracian or Gallic, but an Arab who had grown up in Judaea with the Greek name of Corinthus (War 1.576). This might imply an inner corps of a more local ethnic composition. Unfortunately the origins of two other guards mentioned by Josephus (Ant. 16.314), Jucundus (the name is Latin) and Tyrannus (the name is Graeco-Latin), are not stated. (In War 1.527 they are called hipparchoi, implying that the guard included cavalry.) Herod’s use of Gauls and Germans shows similarities with Augustus’ personal guard, his corporis custodes. It consisted of 500 Germans, mainly Batavians, many of whom had single Greek names.18 After Actium, that is 27 years before his death, Herod had been granted 400 Galatai, presumably Gauls rather than Galatians, from the bodyguard of Cleopatra by Octavian.19 In fact, Gauls and Germans had been used in the East

17 For the army of Herod, cf. Shatzman 1991. For Jews and the Roman army, cf. Appelbaum 1971. 18 Cf. RE IV 1900 [2]; Bellen 1981. 19 Jos., War 1.397; Ant. 15.217. As noted above, the Galatians of Deiotarus had been converted into a Roman legion. Cleopatra could have had a Galatian guard, but, like Caesar, Antony would have brought Gauls with him to the East (cf. Saddington 1982, 9–11). Antony had Gallic auxiliaries during his Parthian campaign in 36 BCE (Plut., Ant. 37). Herod used Galatai to drown his brother-in-law Jonathan (also called Aristobulus—RE II 909 [7]), whom he had appointed as high priest ( Jos., War 1.437).

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since the Civil War of Pompeius and Caesar in 49 BCE,20 so that it is not surprising to find them in the service of Herod. How closely a client king might model his bodyguard on that of the Emperor is shown by a Latin inscription of a corporis custos with a Greek name protecting Juba II of Mauretania.21 Some detail on the composition of Herod’s army proper can be recovered from Josephus’ account of the unrest that broke out after his death. When the governor of Syria, Quinctilius Varus, who had to intervene, had restored order, he was met at Jerusalem by “the royal army” (ho basilikos stratos), and 3000 Sebastenians, i.e., troops from Samaria. There were archers from Trachonitis (El Leja).22 Two thousand former soldiers of Herod from Idumaea had re-enlisted ( Jos., War 2.55). It would appear that, apart from the guard with its strong foreign element, Herod’s army was drawn from various parts of his kingdom, not excluding Judaea proper, but that the contingents from different areas were kept ethnically distinct. The terminology Josephus uses for the officers in the army is typically vague. When a riot broke out about the Golden Eagle Herod had placed above the great gate of the Temple, ho stratêgos tou basileôs ( Jos., War 1.652; Ant. 17.156), “the king’s general”, was sent with a sizeable force to restore order. Archelaus (PIR2 A 1025), the son of Herod who succeeded him, also used a stratêgos to quell an angry crowd after his father’s death (Ant. 17. 209f.). It is not clear whether stratêgos here refers to an overall commander of the army or to the commander of the forces in Jerusalem alone. Stratêgos usually has a regional reference in Hellenistic terminology.23 At Herod’s death senior authority was in the hands of his relatives, Achiab his cousin (Ant. 17.270) and Joseph (PIR2 I 43) his nephew. The Ptolemaeus (PIR2 P 1022; cf. 1023) who captured a rebel (War 2.64) was probably “the friend” of Herod who accompanied Archelaus to Rome (War 2.14) when he went to claim his father’s kingdom from Augustus. Two professionals seem to be implied in the Gratus (PIR2 G 222) and the Rufus (PIR2 R 190) who were in charge respectively of the royal infantry and the royal cavalry (War Cf. Saddington 1982, 5ff. AE 1976, 750; cf. CIL VIII 21068 for a decurio corpor(is custodum). Cf. Speidel 1984; 1993. 22 Jos., War 2.58; Momigliano (1934 r. 1967 r. 1996, 71f.) regards these as the Idumaeans whom Herod had settled in Trachonitis ( Jos., Ant. 16.285, 292). He suggests that the hippeis kolônitai recorded (OGIS 425 = IGRR III 1144) as serving under Agrippa II could be their descendants. Cf. Shatzman 1991, 174; Saddington 2002, 881. 23 Cf. LSJ2 s.v. II 3; Mason 1974, 156ff., 162. 20 21

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2.52). Their names are Latin and may suggest that they were Roman specialists employed by Herod.24 Another extraneous commander was an Ituraean, Sohaemus (PIR2 S 763), whom Herod put in charge of the fortress of Alexandrium (Sartaba) when he imprisoned there his wife Mariamme I (PIR2 M 278) and his mother-in-law Alexandra (RE Suppl. III 79 [4]). Normally Josephus’ preferred terms are hêgemones or “leaders” for the higher and taxiarchoi, “those in charge of the ranks”, for the lower officers. Traces of direct Roman influence upon Herod’s army have been sought. In 7 BCE Herod sent a stratopedarchês, who had the Latin name of Volumnius (PIR1 V 639), to take letters about the alleged treason of his sons to Augustus in Rome ( Jos., War 1.535). The term was used by Greek authors to translate the Latin praefectus castrorum,25 who was usually a senior centurion responsible for logistical matters for a single legion or several legions brigaded together on an expedition. The post took on particular importance in Egypt, where Augustus did not appoint a senatorial legate to command the legions there. It was, however, a new creation of Augustus’, which makes it unlikely that it was borrowed so soon. Rather, the term here must be used in its more general sense of the commander of an army (in the field). As late as Agrippa II (PIR2 I 132) a commander of a large force was said to have been stratopedarchêsas:26 he was a local, not a Roman. Roman terminology appears in the speiran te hoplitôn chiliarchon te (Ant. 17.215) which Archelaus sent to calm the rebels at the onset of the disturbances after the death of his father. In Latin this would be cohors et tribunus militum.27 Chiliarchos in this sense survived in the Talmud,28 and Latin ranks were used in the armies of client kings in the East—KLYRK’ and QNTRYN’ (for centurion) occur in that of Nabataean Arabia.29 But the general impression one gets of

Gracey 1986, 314, asks whether they were soldiers discharged after Actium. Cf. Saddington 1996. 26 Herodes the son of Aumos (RE Suppl. II 166 [22]), commanding the hippeis kolônitai (mentioned above, note 22) in conjunction with other stratiôtai. 27 For chiliarchos in this sense, cf. Saddington 1982, 210, n. 109. It is also so used in Jos., War 1.230. The association of cohors and tribunus militum here is of interest. Auxiliary cohorts in the Roman army were normally 500 strong and commanded by officers with the title of praefectus. Only milliary cohorts were commanded by tribunes. They are not known to have pre-dated the late Neronian period (Saddington 1982, 174; cf. 51; 210 n. 113). If Archelaus’ cohort was 1,000 strong, it could imply that in the East the Romans incorporated a local regiment type into their army. 28 S. Krauss 1898, II 285, 546; cf. 529 for centurio. 29 For chiliarch, cf. CIS II 201; for centurion, CIS II 217; cf. Graf 1994, 279, 289. 24 25

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Herod’s military organization is that it was tailored to local conditions rather than aping the Roman model. Herod’s army must have grown over the years, but one cannot recover the details. When, as noted above, he set out in 39 BCE as the official king of Judaea to wrest the country from the Parthian-backed Antigonus (RE I 2419 [9]) he formed an army in Ptolemais. Josephus (War 1.290) merely says that it was sizeable and consisted of foreigners as well as Jews. Many epichôrioi or locals were prepared to join: Josephus gives their reasons as remembrance of his father or admiration for his own achievements. But most sided with him because victory seemed within his grasp. His army was dysnikêtos, “hard to conquer” (War 1.293, 335). He was able to detach 2,000 foot and 400 horse to regain Idumaea (War 1.303). In Galilee he deployed three telê of infantry and an ilê of cavalry (War 1.305) as “part” of his army. Telos here cannot have its usual Roman meaning of legion, but must refer to a unit of only 1,000. In a battle at Jericho in 38 BCE his brother Joseph had five speirai or cohorts given him by Machaeras. These were neosyllektoi (War 1.324) or newly levied, and did not have a stiffening of old soldiers; it was a Roman practice to put a nucleus of trained men in new formations. They were not legionaries, but auxiliaries—compare the Syrians in Sosius’ force in 37 BCE, which consisted of 11 legions (50–60,000 men), 6,000 horse and Syrian auxiliaries. By 37 BCE Herod had 30,000 men to fight alongside the Roman army.30 No doubt after his victory Herod was able to reduce the size of his army, as Augustus did the Roman after the battle of Actium. But the Emperor had increased the size of the territory he assigned to Herod (War 1.398), and whether this led to an accession of troops from the new areas is not known. Augustus also made him a procurator in Syria,31 and as noted above, Herod had been assigned authority in the province before. The precise nature of the office is not clear. In the early Principate it became customary to appoint members of the equestrian 30 Jos., War 1.324; Ant. 14.449. The view that they were legionaries is that of Shatzman 1991, 185. For Sosius’ army, cf. Jos., War 1.346. 31 Jos., War 1.399, where Koilê Syria seems a better reading than holê Syria, the whole of Syria. Cf. Ant. 15.360. Apparently Herod was to advise the Roman procurators on the organisation of the collection of taxes in the area. (The plural “procurators” here is puzzling. There was only one procurator in an imperial province. Josephus may have been thinking of successive procurators, or perhaps even of Augustus’ procurators of his private possessions in the province.) On Herod’s appointment as procurator, see also Anthony Barrett’s article in this volume.

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order as procurators in imperial provinces to handle the finances there for the Emperor. Plainly Herod does not fit into this category. But also in the early Principate, especially in newly conquered areas near the frontiers, equestrian or sub-equestrian officials, usually with the title of praefectus,32 were assigned to introduce Roman rule to the area. Such prefects had a military force at their disposal and sometimes also administered the finances of the area under their control. (This situation is found in Judaea after the removal of Archelaus as ethnarch, the most famous of the prefects being Pontius Pilate—PIR2 P 815.) But Herod was not a member of the equestrian order or a senior military officer from Italy. There are, however, parallels to his appointment. In the initial stages of the provincialisation of Gaul, Augustus appointed a freedman, Licinus (PIR2 I 381), as procurator there. In Egypt prominent members of the Jewish community in Alexandria were appointed arabarchs, i.e., collectors of customs dues on the merchandise arriving in Egypt from India; the franchise, which was extremely lucrative, required military protection.33 One such was Alexander (PIR2 A 510), once a financial agent of Tiberius’ sister-in-law Antonia (PIR2 A 885). He was the father of M. Julius Alexander (PIR2 I 138), also an arabarch, and of Ti. Julius Alexander (PIR2 I 139), who became governor of Judaea and Egypt. M. Julius Alexander was a Roman citizen, as was Herod. One does not know how technically one can take Herod’s title of epitropos34 or procurator in Josephus. Administrative procedures under Augustus had hardly crystallised by this date, especially in remote areas. Presumably Herod was charged with producing conditions in a troublesome region of southern Syria so that taxation could be routinely collected. He was credited with having brought peace to the region (Ant. 15.348). Difficult financial assignments needed military backing, but there are no details. Under the year 12, Josephus (Ant. 16.128) records a financial accord between Augustus and Herod involving the mining of copper in Cyprus. Part of the agreement was that Herod was given responsibility for managing half the mines. Again, security would have been involved, as the Romans regularly assigned legions to mining activities. (It may be noted that no legion was stationed on Cyprus, but a regiment that

32 33 34

RE XXII 1290 (s.v. praefectus ciuitatis); Saddington 1987. RE II 342. For the Roman equivalent of this term, cf. Mason 1974, 142.

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can be classified as a “citizen cohort”, the Coh. Cypria, since, although it was an auxiliary unit, the soldiers serving in it were Roman citizens, as in the Coh. I Augusta, the Coh. II Classica and the Coh. Italica mentioned above.)35 One is tempted to ask whether Herod had not been involved in the mines of Cyprus earlier. They had originally belonged to Cleopatra and had been administered by an agent of Antony.36 It is not surprising to find Herod operating again in former Cleopatran territory. He was later credited with being capable of taking over the whole of her former kingdom (Ant. 16.141). Certain arrangements Herod made in the extra-Judaean territories assigned have been recorded. He settled 3,000 Idumaeans in Trachonitis (Ant. 16.285).37 In Batanaea (the Biblical Bashan) he gave land around the village of Bathyra to Zamaris (PIR1 Z 2), an immigrant Jew from Babylon. He had a personal following of 100, as well as a corps of 500 mounted archers (Ant. 17.24ff.). Did Herod have a navy? His father had supplied shipping to Caesar in Egypt. In 43 BCE the Romans had given him ships (Ant. 14.280). He realised the need for protection at sea. When he went to visit Rome in 40 BCE, instead of engaging a merchantman, he built himself a huge trireme or warship (War 1.280). In 14 BCE he sailed to Sinope (Sinop) on the Black Sea to support Agrippa (PIR1 V 457) who was planning an expedition against the kingdom of the Cimmerian Bosporus (Ant. 16.16ff.). On his unexpected arrival he was warmly welcomed. It is not unlikely that he arrived with a flotilla of warships. On one occasion he assisted Rhodes with money for building ships (Ant. 16.147): were these warships? He built an enormous harbour at Caesarea-on-the-Sea (Qaisariye). Much of the expertise for this must have come from Rome, and the material for making hydraulic concrete was imported from

35 For a definite citizen in the Coh. Cypria, cf. M. Blossius M. f. Ter. (i.e., member of the Teretina voting constituency, marking him out as unquestionably a Roman citizen— EA VI [1985] 99 [= Speidel 1992, 175]: Blossii are attested at Sinuessa in Italy; AE 1977, 187; cf. Solin 2004, 200–2); for other citizens in the unit cf. ILS 8874; 9161 = CIRB 691; 726. 36 On the copper mines in Cyprus, cf. Hill 1940, I 238, n. 3. Hauben (2005) interprets the exchange on Cyprus in terms of “spontaneous mutual liberalities” common in the Hellenistic world. 37 Sartre (1993, 133–5) has published an inscription (AE 1993, 1636) mentioning a group of Greeks in a village in Trachonitis. He has interestingly suggested that they (or their ancestors) had also been settled there by Herod. They were not military but, as Sartre suggests, they may have been part of a larger number settled in the area to be used against the bandits. If so, we have further evidence of the ethnic diversity in Herod’s forces.

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Italy.38 It has been reasonably suggested39 that Agrippa, who had built a huge naval training base at Portus Julius on Lago Averno near Pozzuoli in Italy for Octavian’s naval wars at the end of the Republic, may well have advised Herod on its construction, not ruling out possible military use of the facility. It may be noted that the Romans had to deal with piracy off Joppa ( Jaffa—War 3.416ff.) and on the Lake of Galilee (War 3.468ff.) during the Jewish War. It is not possible to recover the disposition of Herod’s forces throughout his kingdom. He had two fortified points in Jerusalem, his palace and the Antonia, and fortresses strategically located throughout his kingdom. The importance he placed upon them can be seen from the fact that he entertained Agrippa at three of them when he visited him (Ant. 16.13). We happen to hear that he settled select cavalry at Gaba in the Great Plain to overlook Galilee (Ant. 15.294). He had spies and informers (e.g. Ant. 15.366) and at times he maintained a careful watch over the roads (Ant. 17.82); presumably military personnel were used. The morale of his army would have been important. He took care to claim the support of God for his wars. But all commanders of armies try to comfort their men with the assurance that their cause is just and that they have the support of the Divine. The question of how Jewish Herod’s forces were is difficult to answer. However, Josephus often has him claiming the approval of God for his wars: even though he uses Hellenistic terms like to theion, the Divine, rather than ho Theos. He is once reported (Ant. 15.147) as carrying out sacrificing kata ta nomizomena (customary to him or his Judaean troops?). He took particular care to conciliate the army after dynastic upheavals (War 1.461f.; Ant. 16.134, 383ff.). But there were disaffected officers (Ant. 16.386; Archelaus soon replaced some—Ant. 17.232). The army knew its importance: in 4 BCE a rebel accused it of hybris, “arrogance” (Ant. 17.281). After his death a letter of thanks to the army by Herod was read out (Ant. 17.194): it is clear that Herod had to work at the morale of his armed forces.

Samples taken from the pozzolana pillars supporting the breakwaters have been shown to have come from Pozzuoli (Oleson et al., 2004, 206). Interestingly, the wood used in the frames to hold the concrete was Cyprus pine (Hohlfelder 1999, 159–60). 39 Cf. Hohlfelder 2000, 241. 38

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Herod Assisting Rome In broad geo-political terms the importance of Judaea lay in its connection with Parthia rather than with Arabia. Antony made this point when he presented Herod to the Senate to be proclaimed king (War 1.284). Judaea’s potential usefulness to Rome in contacts with Parthia lay partly in the fact that there was a sizeable Jewish community in Parthia, the descendants of the Babylonian exile. In the Jewish War Agrippa II suggested that they could facilitate a Parthian invasion (War 2.388) and, later in the war, the Jews were accused of having sent embassies to Parthia (War 6.343). In fact the rebels had expected help from the Jews across the Euphrates (War 1.5). When Herod’s son Alexander (PIR2 A 498) was accused of committing treason against him, one of the things he is alleged to have asserted is that his father was engaged in a plot to switch his allegiance from Augustus to the king of Parthia (Ant. 16.253). Josephus wrote the Aramaic version of his Jewish War partly as a warning to the Jews there (War 1.5f.). But the Jewish enclave in Parthia could be used to Rome’s advantage, and the Herods could help. In 38 CE Antipas (PIR2 A 746) facilitated a meeting between the king of Parthia and the then governor of Syria, L. Vitellius (PIR1 V 500; Ant. 18.101). Herod appointed a high priest from the Jews in Parthia (Ant. 15.22, 39) and was able to negotiate with the king about Hyrcanus II, who was in captivity there. When he settled Zamaris at Bathyra he did so partly because he could protect convoys of Jews coming from Parthia to the festivals in Jerusalem. But of more immediate use to the Romans in the early part of his career was the help Herod could give differing contestants in the civil wars of the period. As noted above, his father had sent him with a force to assist one of the governors of Syria. When another gave him a force of cavalry this was partly on the supposition that he would be of great future use. When in 38 BCE he went to Antony, then engaged in the siege of Samosata (Samsat), to complain of the duplicity of Machaeras, he slew many of the enemy and secured much booty for Antony (War 1.322); he must have taken a considerable force with him. In 34 BCE he accompanied Antony part of the way on his Parthian expedition (Ant. 15.80). As noted above, he was prepared to assist Antony at Actium, but was directed against Nabataean Arabia instead. He facilitated Octavian’s march through Syria to Egypt in various practical ways in 30 BCE. He also intercepted a group of Antony’s so-called gladiators on the way to Egypt (War 1.392). In fact this was

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a respectable force recruited in Cilicia; the men in it had been offered transfer to the legions (Dio 51.7). The first occasion on which he became involved in a Roman foreign war was in 25 BCE when he sent 500 select men from his bodyguard to Augustus. They were diverted to Egypt where they served in the expedition of the prefect there, Aelius Gallus (PIR2 A 179), against Arabia Felix. It is not certain whether these men were the Galatai given him by Octavian earlier. Strabo (16, 4, 23, 780) calls them Ioudaioi, but this may not describe their ethnicity but merely refer to their place of origin. It has been suggested that this expedition had wider aims than merely taking over the spice trade. It may possibly have formed part of Augustus’ Parthian policy, since there was a thrust towards Persis, a vassal of Parthia.40 During a famine Herod was able to secure supplies of grain from Gallus’ successor, P. Petronius (PIR2 P 270), who is called a philos or friend of his ( Jos., Ant. 15.307). His assistance to Agrippa against Bosporus has already been mentioned. No hostilities occurred, but Herod was praised as a welcome participant in the affairs of, and as an adviser to, Agrippa (Ant. 16.22). Peace reigned in the East after that. Perhaps a final speculation may be allowed. Augustus’ adopted son and prospective heir, Caius Caesar, undertook a much publicised expedition to the East in 1 CE, by which time Herod was dead. But preparations were being made long in advance. Juba II of Mauretania had written a geography of the area for the prince (FGrH IIIA 275 F 1), which must have taken some time to produce. Caius Caesar was to campaign in Arabia. In 9 BCE Herod had earned the irate censure of Augustus for an attack on the Nabataean kingdom. Was part of Augustus’ anger due to the area in which he had operated? In any case, due to his apparent loss of grip in his final years, the support needed for the young prince’s planned expedition could have been jeopardised. It may be noted that Quinctilius Varus, the governor of Syria, had actually come south to Judaea to visit Herod. Josephus (Ant. 17.89; cf. War 1.617) says this was at the request of Herod to preside at the trial of his son Antipater (PIR2 A 748). One may, however, suspect that the political situation on the eastern frontier in view of the projected expedition, and the fitness of Herod to provide support, was also a motive for the visit.

40

Strabo 15.3, 2, [727f.]. The suggestion was made by Marek 1993, 145.

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Conclusion From the time of Julius Caesar onwards the Romans had been drawing considerable military and financial support from Judaea. But this came at a price. Judaea at the time was seriously divided and often unstable. In fact, during the Second Triumvirate, although there were instances of Jewish support for the different Roman generals involved in the East, the Romans had themselves to divert sizeable armies to stabilise and, in their terms, actually to conquer Judaea. Herod was the figure to guarantee stability there, and in other troubled areas in the region. This he did by maintaining a ruthless army, mainly to crush opposition in the kingdom itself. That it was not purely Jewish need not surprise. In fact, few communities in the Roman world of the 1st century BCE were ethnically uniform. Perhaps when it came to the realities of power not all showed the same sensitivity to Jewish susceptibilities as those evinced by Josephus. In any case Herod’s kingdom was only partly Jewish, and he held his position at the favour of the Roman Emperor. The trophies recording the peoples Augustus had conquered in war (Ant. 15.272) which Herod had placed round the theatre he had built in Jerusalem were obviously not directed to a Jewish audience, although one may note the panoply ( panoplia) on the tomb of the Hasmonaeans at Modi’in (1 Macc. 13:29). Due to the effectiveness of diplomacy in the East during the early Principate there were no major calls to arms there. Hence for most of his reign Herod did not have to deploy troops abroad, except possibly on a small scale for the mainly financial and administrative functions he performed for the Romans in southern Syria, and Cyprus. Besides providing stability in a strategic area, Herod’s other main contribution seems to have been that he came to be used as an expert on the client kingdoms of the Near East. This appears especially in his relationship with Agrippa, which was two-way. Agrippa took an interest in Herod’s fortresses and was surely involved in the great harbour project at Caesarea. But Herod also gave the Roman general invaluable assistance when he was engaged in the Black Sea area. Roman influence on Herod must be seen as this level of high policy and imperial defence, rather than in the details of his army structure. Herod knew what was needed on the ground in that respect, and the Romans had always used local expertise to assist in their military operations.

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Appelbaum, S., 1971. “Jews and Service in the Roman Army”, Limes 7, 181–4. Bellen, H., 1981. Die germanische Leibwache der römischen Kaiser des julisch-claudischen Hauses (Mainz: Akad. d. Wissenschaften). Cheesman, G. L., 1914 r. 1975. The Auxilia of the Roman Imperial Army (Oxford: OUP; Chicago: Ares). Cichorius, 1893. “ala”, RE I 1224–70. ——, 1900. “cohors”, RE IV 231–356. Gatier, P., 2002. “Inscriptions du 1er siècle à Gérasa”, Syria 79, 271–83. Gracey, M. H., 1986. “The Armies of the Judaean Kings”, in P. Freeman et al. (eds), The Defence of the Roman and Byzantine East (Oxford: BAR), 311–22. Graf, D. F., 1994. “The Nabataean Army and the Cohortes Ulpiae Petraeorum” in E. Dabrowa, The Roman and Byzantine Army in the East (Kracow: Jagiellonian University Press), 265–311. Hauben, H., 2005. “Herod the Great and the Copper Mines of Cyprus”, AncSoc 35, 175–95. Hill, G. F., 1940. History of Cyprus (Cambridge: CUP). Hohlfelder, R. H., 1999. “Building Sebastos: The Cyprus Connection”, IJNA 28, 154–63. ——, 2000. “Beyond Coincidence? Marcus Agrippa and King Herod’s Harbour”, JNES 59, 241–53. Holder, P. A., 1980. Studies in the Auxilia of the Roman Army from Augustus to Trajan (Oxford: BAR). Keppie, L., 1984 r. 1988. The Making of the Roman Army from Republic to Empire (London: Batsford). Krauss, S., 1898 r. 1964. Griechische und lateinische Lehnwörter im Talmud (Berlin). Le Bohec, Y., (ed.) 2000. Les légions de Rome sous le Haut-Empire (Paris: de Boccard). Lörincz, B., 2001. Die römischen Hilfstruppen in Pannonien während der Prinzipatszeit (Vienna: Forschungsgesellschaft Wiener Stadtarchäologie). Luttwak, E. N., 1975 r. 1983. The Israeli Army (Allen Lane). ——, 1976. The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire from the First Century A.D. to the Third (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins). Marek, C., 1993. “Die Expedition des Aelius Gallus nach Arabien im Jahre 25 v. Chr.”, Chiron 23, 121–56. Mason, H. J., 1974. Greek Terms for Roman Institutions: A Lexicon and an Analysis (Toronto: Hakkert). Mazard, J., 1955. Corpus Nummorum Numidiae Mauretaniaeque (Paris: Arts et métiers graphiques). Momigliano, A., 1934 r. 1967 r. 1996. Ricerche sull’ organizzazione della Giudea sotto il dominio romano (63 a.C.–70 d.C.), ASNP, Serie II, iii, 183–221; 347–96 = Amsterdam, 1–89 = Nono contributo, 227–323. Oleson, J. P., et al. 2004. “The ROMACONS Project: A Contribution to the Historical and Engineering Analysis of Hydraulic Concrete in Roman Maritime Structures”, IJNA 33, 199–229. Parker, H. M. D., 1928 r. 1961. The Roman Legions (Oxford: UP; Cambridge: Heffer). Ritterling, 1924. “legio”, RE XII 1186–1829. Saddington, D. B., 1982. The Development of the Roman Auxiliary Forces from Caesar to Vespasian (49 B.C. to A.D. 79) (Harare: University of Zimbabwe). ——, 1987. “Military Praefecti with Administrative Functions”, in A. Fol et al. (eds.), Actes du IXe Congres international d’Épigraphie (Sofia: Centrum Historiae), 268–74.

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——, 1993. “Preparing to Become Roman—The ‘Romanization’ of Deiotarus in Cicero”, in U. Vogel-Weidemann et al. (eds.), Charistion C.P.T. Naudé (Pretoria: University of South Africa) 87–97. ——, 1996. “Early Imperial Praefecti Castrorum”, Historia 45, 244–52. ——, 2002. “The Roman Auxilia in the East—Different from the West?” Limes 18, 879–82. Sartre, M., 1993. “Communautés villageoises et structures sociales d’après l’épigraphie de la Syrie du Sud”, in A. Calbi et al. (eds), L’epigrafia del villagio (Faenza), 117–35. Shatzman, I., 1991. The Armies of the Hasmonaeans and Herod: From Hellenistic to Roman Frameworks, Tuebingen: Mohr. Solin, H., 2004. “Sinopensia”, Arctos 38, 198–204. Speidel, M. P., 1984. “An Urban Cohort of the Mauretanian Kings?” Mavors 2, 349–50; 411. ——, et al. 1992. “Bithynian Troops in the Kingdom of Bosporus”, Mavors 8, 173–9. ——, 1993. “The Fustis as a Soldier’s Weapon”, AntAfr 29, 137–49.

NABATAEAN ROYAL PROPAGANDA: A RESPONSE TO HEROD AND AUGUSTUS?* Stephan G. Schmid Abstract Major developments and building activities took place within the Nabataean kingdom, mainly in the city of Petra during the reign of Herod and the period that immediately followed. Some of these elements, such as the layout of funerary complexes, details of interior decoration and specific elements of luxury architecture, find close parallels within Herodian buildings. The question, therefore, is, whether these similarities are related to aspects of pure fashion or whether there is a kind of rivalry between the Nabataeans and Herod. When analysing these elements, it becomes evident that some interpretations of what can be considered Nabataean royal propaganda do depend on the exact status of the Nabataean kingdom in relation to Rome, i.e. the question whether at that time it was a client state or not. Several relief blocks with figural decoration suggest that events related to Octavian’s victory at Actium and the conquest of Egypt in 31/30 BC were prominently illustrated in the city centre of Petra. Although we do not know the exact function of the buildings to which they were attached, it becomes evident that the Nabataeans did use a purely Hellenistic-Roman iconography by that time, implying, of course, strong figural elements, and, therefore, different from contemporary Herodian architectural decoration. Despite such differences, the layout of luxurious buildings, such as theatres, temples and representative pool- and garden-complexes from Petra do show straight parallels with respective Herodian constructions. Following this argumentation, we can even propose to identify a royal residence on top of Umm al-Biyara as being a kind of Nabataean answer to Herodian hilltop palaces like Masada or Machaerus (Machairous). Despite evident parallels, details related to construction techniques and in general terms the attitude of the Nabataeans towards Rome and the wider Mediterranean indicate that the status of the Nabataean kingdom cannot be considered exactly the same as in the case of Herod’s Judaea. While workshops responsible for the interior decoration of building complexes seemingly worked within Herodian palaces as well as in Petra, the Nabataeans did not employ Italian workshops and building materials as did Herod and other client kings. Also, there are no indications of official honours bestowed upon Roman emperors by the Nabataeans prior to the annexation of the kingdom in AD 106. We therefore witness the interesting situation of a culture slightly behind the line of direct influence and control from the great Mediterranean powers, trying to juggle with propagandistic elements in order to preserve their independence.

* The author would like to thank Laurent Gorgerat, Bernhard Kolb (both of Basel) and David Graf (Miami) for manifold logistic support as well as for discussing different matters related to this contribution, as well as David Jacobson (London) for his careful editing of the text.

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The period during which Herod the Great reigned over Judaea as well as the years immediately afterwards correspond to major developments and building activities within the Nabataean kingdom, not exclusively but perhaps predominantly in the city of Petra, the capital of the Nabataean kingdom.1 During the reigns of Obodas III (30–9 BC) and Aretas IV (9 BC–AD 40), the city of Petra saw an important monumentalisation, both in terms of private and public buildings. Whilst some of these buildings as well as their decoration (stucco, painting, sculpture) probably depended on more general developments and influences of styles from the major Hellenistic and Roman centres, other elements seem to be connected to a kind of rivalry between the Nabataean realm and Herod. The present contribution considers some of these elements, without claiming to be a complete study of the phenomenon. At the same time, the extent to which these elements reflect influences by or reactions to events related to Roman and more specifically Augustan policy are examined. Within the framework of the above issues, the best opportunity seems to be offered by the remains of a weapon frieze, discovered in the city centre of Petra in the 1960s.2 Several blocks depicting panoply as well as three blocks belonging to a figural scene (Fig. 1) surely come from the same monument.3 Since they were found as fill in a tower-like structure southwest of the entrance to the temenos of Petra’s main temple, the Qasr el-Bint (for location see no. 1 in Fig. 12), we can assume that they once adorned a public building in the city centre. Further precision as regards the exact location and function of that presumed building is not possible for the time being.4 However, the blocks themselves indicate a further element: the three fragments with figural decoration, representing more precisely a Nereid riding a triton and accompanied by a small Eros, form an angle, maybe even the

For a general overview, see Schmid 2001a. For an account of the discovery and a first publication, see Wright 1967–68, 20–29. 3 See the different listings and comments by Wenning and Hübner 2004; Polito 1998, 150–152; Freyberger 1998, 15–18; Kader 1996, 132–136; McKenzie 1990, 134–135; Lyttelton and Blagg 1990b; Thüroff 1989, 88–97, McKenzie 1988, 92–93, all with older references. 4 A fragment of a block showing a small frieze (about 10.5 cm in height) with Nereids riding on sea monsters, but without weapons, was reported as being found in the area of the baths: Bachmann, Watzinger and Wiegand 1921, 45, 47–48 and Fig. 39; such more peaceful variants of marine thiasoi could belong to the decoration of the baths (ibid. 47–48), as well as to the frieze illustrated here as Fig. 3. 1 2

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angle of a broken pediment (Fig. 1).5 We are, therefore dealing with a frieze that once showed some additional architectural elements. Besides these recorded blocks, other sculptural elements probably belong to the same frieze, as is indicated by a small fragment, now (2005) stored immediately to the West of the tower-like structure where the other pieces were found (Fig. 2). This “new” fragment shows the tip of the tail of a sea monster like the triton in Figure 1 and should belong to a similar composition. Since there is no archaeological context available, stylistic analysis and observations on the subject matter of frieze reliefs are the only means for obtaining a chronological indication. In recent years there has been a consensus that the frieze should belong to the last quarter of the 1st century BC, or alternatively to the very first years of the 1st century AD.6 As for the iconography, it is clear that all elements point to an interpretation as an allegory of a naval victory, the key question being which one.7 If we try to find a match within historically known naval victories of the Nabataeans themselves or of importance to the Nabataeans without their own involvement, there are two obvious possibilities. One is the victory at Actium in 31 BC where the Nabataeans apparently did not participate,8 but had, of course, good reasons to celebrate.9

5 In addition to the references quoted in note 3 above, see also Lyttelton and Blagg 1990a, 97–98 and Fig. 6.7. For some time the three blocks were on display together. For the past few years they have been shown separately, in and in front of the Petra Museum. Therefore, Fig. 4 is a photomontage. It is not completely clear whether the oblique surface of one of the upper sides (left on Fig. 4) is due to a secondary mutilation or whether it belongs to the original installation and, therefore, to a broken pediment. Since the head of the Nereid seems surprisingly close to the actual edge of the block, I would prefer the first solution. 6 See the contributions quoted in notes 3 and 5. 7 As for the identification and the general use of similar representations, especially within the Augustan period, see Fittschen 1976, 189–194; Hölscher 1985. 8 According to Plut., Ant. 66, 1 Herod and Malichus I had both sent troops to Antony’s support at Actium. However, since according to Jos., Ant. 15, 5, 1 (108–111) and Jos., Bell. 1, 19, 1 (364–365) Antony ordered Herod to fight against the Nabataeans, it seems unlikely that Nabataean contingents were present at Actium as is correctly pointed out by Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 492–498, 548–550, 581; cf. Richardson 1999, 165–169. On the other hand, Wenning 1988, 253–254, thinks the Nabataeans did indeed fight for Antony at Actium and sees the panoply frieze as a reference and reparation to the winner. 9 The iconography related to the battle of Actium became so widespread shortly afterwards that it showed up even at the very periphery of the Roman world and sometimes without a direct relationship to that naval victory. On this point, see the contribution by J. Creighton in this volume; cf. also Gans 2003 and in a wider context Boschung 2003; Hölscher 1985. On Actium, see Murray 2002; Gurval 1995.

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The other one is an episode that took place one year later during Octavian’s campaign in Egypt. As we learn from the ancient sources, Cleopatra had prepared ships on the Red Sea in order to flee the country in case of defeat and the Nabataeans burned these ships.10 With the decorated blocks being the only evidence available, one could make a case in favour of either possibility. Like every ruler in the wider Mediterranean region, whether a client ruler or not, the Nabataean king had to react to the new order that arose after the battle of Actium. Furthermore, the fact that the Nabataeans clearly had chosen to support Octavian’s camp at least by 30 BC put them in a favourable position against Herod, at least at first sight.11 The relationship between the Ptolemies and the Nabataeans was mostly a tense one. A climax was reached when Antony confiscated parts of the Nabataean territories in order to bestow them upon Cleopatra and her children.12 It was, therefore, clear that the Nabataeans supported Octavian and it must have been a real satisfaction for them to burn Cleopatra’s ships. It is precisely this burning that could constitute an element in explaining why the triton on the Petra frieze is holding a torch, otherwise rather unusual in a metaphoric representation of a naval battle. In this case too, a definite decision between the two possibilities, Actium or the Red Sea, is not an easy task. No matter which naval victory was supposed to be represented, the Nabataeans had chosen an iconography that stands completely in the tradition of the late Hellenistic and early Imperial periods. The same is true for other fragments of a smaller frieze illustrating Nereids holding torches on sea monsters and Erotes holding cornucopiae (Fig. 3),13 underlining the general importance of this specific iconography for the Nabataeans during that period. The same observation is also true for several other blocks with relief decoration, all found in the city centre of Petra. The aspect of victory was apparently very important within the official propaganda of the Nabataean kings during the late 1st century BC–early 1st century AD. This becomes clear not only from the different pieces belonging to an architectural frieze illustrating weapons that were mentioned above, but

Dio Cassius 51, 6, 2–7, 1; cf. Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 428–429. As was already supposed, in connection with these reliefs, by Wenning 1987, 235–236 and Wenning 1988, 253–254 (cf. note 8 above). 12 Dio Cassius 49, 32, 4; Plut., Ant. 36, 1–3; Jos., Ant. 15, 4, 1f. (88–96); cf. Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 427–428, 490–492, 579–580. 13 Lyttelton and Blagg 1990b, 278–279 Pl. 11. 12; McKenzie 1988, 93, nos. 38, 39. 10

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also from several fragments of a frieze illustrating winged victories. In order to illustrate both the high quality of these relief friezes, as well as the difficulties in finding out where they were installed originally, we shall mention three other cases. In the area of the temenos of Qasr el-Bint and along the colonnaded street several blocks with relief decoration can be found, and these were transported from one place to the other over the years. As of 2005, one block with the fragmented representation of a winged victory (Fig. 4, left) was standing in a row with other blocks immediately East of Qasr el-Bint. Another fragment with a winged victory was standing in front of the so-called South Temple across the colonnaded street (Fig. 4, right). As can easily be seen, and as is confirmed by the corresponding depth of the two blocks, they not only belong together but fit perfectly (Fig. 4). The splendid rendering of the thin cloth pressed against the victory’s body by the wind while she is moving forward indicate a date similar to the blocks from the panoply frieze. Another fragment illustrating a winged victory was published by A. Musil, and was at that time located along the colonnaded street.14 The whereabouts of that fragment are not known to the present writer and it is, therefore, difficult to judge whether it could belong to the same monument as the other victory just mentioned. However, as far as one can tell from the illustrations in Musil and Parr, the general date should be the same. What is interesting about the latter fragment is the particular position of the victory’s right arm, which is laid across her chest and directed towards the other side of her body. This is the general posture of victories adorning tropaia, as they can be seen for instance on cuirassed statues of Imperial date,15 although they are usually shown in profile and not frontally as is the case with the fragment from Petra, or they are shown frontally but don’t have the arm crossed over the body. Closer in posture is a specific type of victory, the winged female figure writing on a shield. Although going back to prototypes from the Hellenistic period, the most widely distributed form of this iconography is the one created in the Augustan period.16 That type

14 Musil 1907, 106. 109 and Fig. 77; Parr 1957, 9, no. 7 and Pl. 6b; the indication ibid. that “it was found by the Horsfields in the roadway east of the Monumental Gate . . .” is only partially correct since already Musil had seen the fragment along the colonnaded street; according to McKenzie 1988, 94, no. 71, “north of Temenos Gate”. 15 Stemmer 1978, especially 155–157. 16 See Hölscher 1967, 98–135.

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comes very close to our example but in this case the victory usually shows a naked torso, since initially the Augustan propaganda created a type of Venus genetrix writing the virtues of Augustus on the clipeus virtutis bestowed in 27 BC by the Senate, that later was given wings in order to assimilate her to Victory.17 If indeed the winged victory from Petra seen by Musil belongs to that type, we would witness a clear adoption of an initially specific Augustan element of propaganda. Less clear is the case of a third category of relief blocks featuring Erotes carrying garlands (Fig. 5). Again, no exact location for the monument that once bore these blocks is known, but they must belong to a public monument in the city centre.18 As is shown by the fragment with a small grasshopper illustrated as Figure 5, we are dealing with a specific category of garlands, showing also small animals as a supplementary element of fecundity. As for the chronology, one would tend to favour an early date, close to the beginning of the Christian era.19 Although garland friezes have a long history before and after the Augustan period, they are especially popular and widespread during the reign of the first Princeps.20 The general message of richness, fertility and abundance was so universally understandable that the iconography of putti and garlands was successful well beyond the Mediterranean.21 In areas more directly under Roman influence, the meaning of putti carrying garlands could be more specifically linked to the richness and stability offered by Augustan rule, since the Iulii claimed to be descendants of Venus.22 Again, with the available evidence it is difficult 17 Ibid. 122–126; Hölscher 1970, 67–80; there is, however, a tradition that can illustrate this type of Venus wearing a tiny chiton, at least from the 1st century AD onwards: see Schröder 2004, 387–392, with further references. 18 One block belonging to the same frieze was reported as being part of the debris from the baths and would, therefore, come from the same general area as the panoply frieze: Bachmann, Watzinger and Wiegand 1921, 47–48 and Fig. 42. 19 Schmidt-Colinet 1981, 62, contra Baratte 1978, 76; the garlands from Petra come very close in style and composition to the garlands from the Ara Pacis, built for Augustus between 13 and 9 BC; on that monument see Conlin 1997; Settis 1988. The Pergamene influence that has been observed within others by Lyttelton and Blagg 1990a, 96–97 and Fig. 6.6 is not an obstacle for the chronology, especially since similar influences are suggested for the Ara Pacis: see Castriota 1995; Conlin 1997. Indeed, while comparing some of the earlier floral capitals from Petra, comparisons from late Republican Rome or late Hellenistic Pergamon seem rather pertinent: see Schmid 2000a, 492. 20 Heinrich 2002; Hesberg 1981; Honroth 1971; Turcan 1971; the same observation being true for friezes with scrolls: Schörner 1995. 21 Bromberg 1988. 22 As was shown in the case of Aphrodisias in Asia Minor by Chaisemartin 2002; Chaisemartin 2001; especially the scrolls and garlands from the Ara Pacis were inter-

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to decide whether in the city centre of Petra such an element had a specific Augustan connotation or whether it was just a general expression of fecundlity that was equally well attributable to the reign of any Nabataean king. More troublesome in some ways is a similar element on the Nereid and panoply frieze considered above. The preserved Nereid riding on a triton is accompanied by a small Eros holding a bow. Indeed, maritime thiasoi often feature Nereids riding on tritons accompanied by Erotes, but then they are part of Poseidon’s/Neptune’s wedding with Amphitrite or Thetis’ wedding with Peleus and, therefore, have a specific purpose.23 Since, in our case, the context is a completely different and far less peaceful one, the Eros makes no sense at first sight. One explanation could be that the artists simply did not adapt an iconographic prototype from a scrap book to the specific situation. Another explanation would again be to see this as an allusion to the gens Iulia and, therefore, to Octavian. In this case the Petra frieze, no matter whether referring to the battle of Actium or to the burning of Cleopatra’s ships in 30 BC, would contain a clear hint to the overall winner of this major conflict, Octavian, the future Augustus. In any case, garlands and scrolls, on the one hand, as well as panoply friezes, on the other hand, belong to the most popular iconographic themes of the Augustan period.24 This leads to the question whether the Nabataeans exclusively used a kind of codified iconography in order to celebrate the different moments related to historical events of the Augustan period, or whether there are more direct references. Although we cannot give a definitive answer, it seems worth mentioning an otherwise unpublished fragment of yet another relief from the city centre of Petra. Three blocks with relief decoration were (in 2005) standing around about 10 meters northwest of the Temenos Gate, together with other blocks without decoration. Two of these blocks share a common height and each represents a standing person. The third block originally was somewhat higher (the preserved height is approx. 55cm) and illustrates a male(?) person in a strong movement, like striding or fighting (Fig. 6). It is probably not preted in detail and in different ways; cf. for example Sauron 2000; Vandi 1999; Castriota 1995. On the place of Venus in Augustan propaganda, see Zanker 1987, 198–204. 23 In general terms on the iconography of maritime thiasoi see LIMC VI 1 (Zurich/ Munich 1992) 785–824 s.v. Nereides (N. Icard-Gianolio and A.-V. Szabados); Barringer 1995; Lattimore 1976. On some specific cases, but without connection to our case, see also Miller 1986. 24 Zanker 1987, 307–308 and passim; Schörner 1995.

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too unrealistic to suppose that the figure once belonged to a narrative frieze illustrating a complex story. Purely hypothetical is the next step, that is to propose that it could, therefore, belong to an illustration of one of the above-mentioned events. As we have seen above, none of the different relief blocks can be assigned to a specific monument in the city centre of Petra. At the same time, it is not possible to obtain a more precise chronology within the Augustan period from the blocks themselves. However, recent archaeological investigations in the city centre have enabled a more precise idea to be obtained about the general development of the area and the different building phases.25 For instance, it became clear that the temenos of Qasr el-Bint as well as the colonnaded street were not paved during the late 1st century BC and the early 1st century AD.26 In both cases the paving can date to the late 1st century AD, at the earliest, and it is even possible that it may post-date the Roman annexation in AD 106. Another remarkable new result is the fact that the Temenos Gate not only must belong to the same building phase, i.e. not earlier than the late 1st century AD, but that it had no predecessor, at least not at the same spot.27 Other evidence indicates that there were indeed monumental building activities going on during the years we are dealing with. For instance, a substantial wall in the Temenos area (no. 1 in Fig. 7) clearly belongs to the late 1st century BC. The sounding on Figure 7 is situated about 5 metres northwest of the Temenos Gate and the wall seems to run parallel to the Wadi Mousa underneath the later Temenos Gate.28 Before it was partially integrated and covered by the later paving of the Temenos

25 Most of the recent investigations related to the colonnaded street, the temenos and the Temenos Gate, the Qasr el-Bint, the pool- and garden-complex and the so-called South Temple, point into the same general direction as far as the monumentalisation of the city centre is concerned. See for instance Fiema 2003; Fiema 2001; Graf, Schmid and Bedal (2005); Zayadine, Larché and Dentzer-Feydy 2003 (the argumentation about the chronology has to be reconsidered in the light of new excavation in the temenos area, but the general chronology as such seems reliable); Joukowsky et al. 1998 (see also later reports in ADAJ ); Bedal 2003; Schluntz 1999. 26 See the references in the previous note (Fiema 2001; Graf, Schmid and Bedal 2005) as well as Graf, Schmid and Ronza 2007. 27 Graf, Schmid and Ronza 2007; this excludes all earlier hypotheses according to which the weapon frieze could belong to a predecessor of the actual gate, as has recently been postulated especially by Kader 1996, 108–149, especially 128–132. 28 On this sounding see Graf, Schmid and Bedal (2005).

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area, the wall supported a stylobate with columns, of which one attic half-column base still is in situ (no. 2 in Fig. 7). As for the chronology, the clearly visible foundation trench of the wall contained a sufficient amount of Nabataean pottery to give a good chronological framework.29 From the lower levels of the foundation trench, corresponding to the rather roughly cut blocks, comes Nabataean pottery belonging exclusively to the third quarter of the 1st century BC, while the pottery from the higher levels of the foundation trench, corresponding to the carefully cut upper blocks of the wall as well as the stylobate, dates to the last quarter of the 1st century BC.30 This leads to the conclusion that the wall had two major building phases and was used, at least during the later phase, to support a colonnade. The chronological frame for that later phase, i.e. the late 1st century BC, can be confirmed by the typological analysis of the attic half-column base still in situ (no. 2 in Fig. 7; on the right in Fig. 8). The half-column base belongs to a type that can be found at Petra, for instance at the temple of the Winged Lions, the Urn Tomb, the South Temple and the theatre, and that is very close to the column bases from Herodian buildings such as the hilltop palace of Machaerus (Fig. 8, left).31 It is clear that the excavated part of the wall and the colonnade belonged to a much bigger monument, maybe a stoa or a portico flanking the Temenos area, and even more complex architectural features.32 In terms of the general architectural characteristics and the chronology as it was established by the excavations, this monument—or a parallel structure on the other side of the temenos area, or both of them—could well be the original location for one (or several) of the friezes discussed above. But even without a physical proof for that hypothesis, at least for the time being,

Pottery identification and dating according to Schmid 2000b. On top of these levels is grayish sand containing ashes that functions as embedding for the pavement stones and contains pottery from the last quarter of the 1st century AD; cf. above. 31 On the bases from Petra, see McKenzie 1990, Pl. 50e–g; Netzer 2003a, 158–159. On the bases from the South Temple cf. Schluntz 1998, 226, Fig. 5.42; on Machaerus, see the references quoted below in note 56, and especially on the bases, Japp 2000, 84. At the same time, these bases are distinctly different from the ones of the Temenos Gate; yet another argument against an early date for the gate. On the bases from the Temenos Gate, see also Kader 1996, 124–126 and Figs. 60. 61. 32 Since the colonnade features at least one half column and since it seems to continue further south again in the shape of a colonnade, the stretch in between must be occupied by a building with massive walls. 29 30

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these results contribute in an interesting way to our understanding of Nabataean royal propaganda. As becomes increasingly clear by comparing the different results of excavations in and near the city centre of Petra, the major public buildings seem to correspond to overall building phases.33 No matter whether these are the results of real official building programmes or not, they allow us to extrapolate the chronological data from the trench shown in Figure 7 for other areas as well. Therefore, in general terms, the major building activities in the city centre would belong to the reign of Obodas III (30–9 BC) and to the early years of Aretas IV (around 9 BC to the very early 1st century AD). With respect to what we learned from the iconography of the figural friezes, this opens the way for two different interpretations. If for instance the panoply and Nereid frieze belongs to the first of these building phases, it would be the direct result of and reaction to important historical events such as the battle of Actium or the burning of Cleopatra’s ships in 31 and 30 BC respectively. In this case, the Nabataean king would have been addressing his own subjects as well as foreign visitors with a message illustrated in a purely Hellenistic-Roman iconography.34 The message would probably have been understood as projecting the strength of the Nabataean forces that contributed to the elimination of the long-time rivals that were the Ptolemies (if indeed the second event is illustrated) as well as the Nabataean support for Octavian/Augustus (in either case). Into this frame would also fit the frieze with the putti carrying garlands, illustrating the general prosperity that was guaranteed by the good government by the royal dynasty in general and more specifically by the actions and events illustrated by the other frieze. Additionally, the general message of military strength and, in its wake, economic prosperity could also refer to the Nabataeans’ conflict with Herod over the payment of taxes to Cleopatra in 32/31 BC, a conflict that the Nabataeans eventually won.35

See the different references in note 25 above. I use the term “Hellenistic-Roman” in order to distinguish the iconography and style of these friezes from “Oriental” or “local”. It is true that some details of the panoply and garland friezes show stronger Hellenistic than Roman elements (cf. note 19 above), but this does not speak against the interpretation given to them in the present contribution; cf. note 86, below. 35 Jos., Ant. 15, 4, 4 (106) ff.; cf. Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 492–505; Richardson 1999, 165–169. Although the exact moment of Malichus’ I death and, therefore, the ascension to the throne by Obodas III is not completely clear, it seems that Malichus 33 34

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Since both the chronology of the friezes and of the major building activities in the city centre make equally possible a date within the first years of Aretas IV, we have to ask whether this possibility makes sense and is plausible. Even more than in the previous version, we have to ask not only by whom, but also for whom the friezes were designed. What could have been the motivation for Aretas IV to remember events that went back more or less one generation? What could have been his interest in these events, since he was not even a direct descendant of Obodas III?36 The years from 14/13–10/9 BC were marked by an intense struggle between the Nabataeans and Herod the Great that initially started over territories in Transjordan such as the Auranitis and Trachonitis.37 Augustus consistently supported Herod with one exception, namely, when the Nabataean ‘prime minister’ Syllaios made him believe that Herod had been the aggressor.38 Therefore, the overall situation for the Nabataeans in this conflict was rather uncomfortable during the last years of Obodas III and the early reign of Aretas IV, because Rome was on the side of their Jewish opponents. The situation was so bad that Augustus was apparently thinking about donating the Nabataean kingdom to Herod. It is said that only the continuing problems within Herod’s family kept Augustus from doing so ( Jos., Ant. 16, 10, 9 [353–55]). Considering their situation, it must have seemed appropriate for the Nabataean kings to show their devotion to Rome and the Princeps, at least initially. When looking at the different friezes, and especially the one celebrating a naval victory, with the background of the difficult relations between the Nabataeans and Herod, and consequently between the Nabataeans and Augustus, it becomes obvious that Aretas IV had good reasons to celebrate the Nabataean support of Octavian. Not only could he remember the loyalty of his predecessors to the future Princeps, but more specifically he could point out the difference between the I did survive Cleopatra VII for some time within the same year; cf. Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 553. Nevertheless, it seems improbable that substantial monuments celebrating any of the above-mentioned events were constructed within such a short span of time under Malichus I. It is, therefore, more plausible to suggest Obodas III as a potential builder for the monuments featuring the relief friezes. 36 On the family ties between Aretas IV and the royal family see Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 64. 248–250. 37 Jos., Ant. 15.10.2; 16.9.1–10.9; cf. Richardson 1999, 279–281; Meshorer 1975, 32–33; Millar 1993, 39–40; Bowersock 1983, 49–54; Hammond 1973, 23–26. 38 Jos., Ant. 16, 9, 2–3; Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 514–512; on Syllaios see also Jos., Ant. 16, 7, 6; Kokkinos 1998, 177–205 especially 182–184.

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Nabataean attitude and that of Herod, who had supported Mark Antony at Actium. While the first motif—assigned to a context immediately after 31/30 BC—would address its message to an audience specifically including Nabataeans, the second motif—belonging to a context during the last decade of the 1st century BC—would rather focus on a non-Nabataean audience and more specifically on Romans. That this propaganda would indeed have had an audience is supported by a passage in Strabo’s Geography (16, 4, 21 [C 779]), indicating that during his time Petra was a well developed city, visited by many foreigners including Romans.39 That the last years of Obodas’ III reign and the first years of Aretas IV were indeed a crucial point in the relations between the Nabataean kingdom and the Roman Empire can also be deduced from the Nabataean coins. From the year 14/13 BC on, coins of Obodas III and Aretas IV show the king crowned with a (laurel?) wreath. Earlier all the Nabataean kings were shown exclusively diademed according to the customs of Hellenistic kings. Obodas III minted coins with both types of portraits during the last five years of his reign,40 as did Aretas IV for the first four years of his reign.41 However, after 5 BC Nabataean kings are shown exclusively with the wreath on their coins. It could very well be that Obodas III and Aretas IV did illustrate a 39 In spite of the above said, it would be very interesting to discuss the reliefs of the fronton of the temple at Khirbet edh-Dharieh, although not directly related to our topic: in a building phase dated to the early 2nd century AD, victories crowning tritons accompanied by eagles were made to adorn the monument (Chambon, al-Muheisen, Janif and Villeneuve 2002, 46–48. 57–60; Villeneuve and al-Muheisen 2003, 94–96). It is difficult to decide whether this programme dates before or after the Roman annexation of AD 106. If it dates after AD 106 and, therefore, celebrates the integration of the Nabataean kingdom into the Roman Empire, why should there be references to naval victories? If it dates before AD 106, is this a desperate attempt by Rabbel II to remember Nabataean loyalty to Octavian more than a century earlier, in order to persuade Trajan to abstain from annexing his kingdom? As Judith McKenzie correctly observes (McKenzie 2003, 184 and passim; McKenzie, Reyes and Gibson 2002, 464–464 and passim; McKenzie—Gibson and Reyes 2002, 72–73), the reliefs from Khirbet edhDharieh were probably made by the same workshop as the reliefs belonging to phase II at Khirbet et-Tannur and both are very close to the decoration of the Temenos Gate at Petra. Since we now definitely know that the Temenos Gate was not constructed before the end of the 1st century AD, but again cannot decide whether this was before or after AD 106 (cf. note 27 above), the enigma remains for the time being. 40 Wreath: Meshorer 1975, 92, nos. 33, 35, 37, 39; no. 37 is interpreted by Meshorer as diademed but, as Schmitt-Korte 1990, 110, nos. 21–22, shows, wearing a wreath; diademed: Meshorer 1975, 92 nos. 32, 34, 36, 38; Schmitt-Korte 1990, 111, no. 24. 41 Diademed: Meshorer 1975, 94–96, nos. 46, 47, 47A, 50, 52, 55; Schmitt-Korte 1990, 116–117, nos. 52–54; wreath: Meshorer 1975, nos. 48–49A.

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kind of appeasement policy by replacing the traditional Hellenistic diadem with the typical Roman wreath.42 In the light of this, it is certainly no coincidence that the ambassadors sent to Rome by Aretas IV brought Augustus an expensive golden wreath, symbolic of the ruler’s legitimisation. It is also significant that Augustus did not accept the gift because he was angry at the Nabataean ruler for ascending to the throne without asking for his approval. This puzzling event shows that, indeed, there must have been a kind of dependence by Nabataea on Rome at the time ( Jos., Ant. 16, 9, 4 [296]). However, the replacing of the Hellenistic diadem by the Roman wreath is not by itself enough to postulate that the Nabataean kingdom became a client state, since other “real” client kings from North Africa and from Asia Minor continue wearing the diadem.43 While in domains such as coin minting and relief decoration of public buildings there is always a direct political connotation, other areas may show a more indirect rivalry, not necessarily a negative one, between Herod and the Nabataean realm. When looking at certain characteristics of what one could call luxury architecture, it becomes obvious that there are parallel elements to be found on both sides of the River Jordan. The question is, whether we can be sure that there is more than just common fashion behind such parallels. For instance, the analysis of rich Nabataean private dwellings, perfectly illustrated by the mansion located on az-Zantur at Petra, has highlighted astonishing parallels with Herodian architecture, i.e. the same eclectic use of Hellenistic and Roman influences in the architecture, the interior decoration and functional aspects such as hypocaust

42 See also D. Keller in Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 272–273; Schmid 2001a, 373–374. 43 Contra Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 520, who think that these events, especially the ones related to Aretas IV’s ascension to the throne and the bringing of the golden wreath to Augustus, indicate that the Nabataean kingdom indeed was a Roman client state, as does Weber 2003, 23 and passim. On client rulers wearing the diadem see Megow 1999. Client rulers may have had another way to express their royalty towards Rome, no matter whether they wore the diadem or the wreath, mainly through adopting their portraits to Roman styles, such as sporting short hair etc.: Smith 1988a; Smith 1988b, 104–106, 130–132. Also in this respect, the Nabataean kings do not show any assimilation, as indicated by their numismatic portraits, no matter whether one agrees with some recent proposals for identifying Nabataean royal sculpted portraits: Schmid 2001d; Schmid 1999.

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heating.44 Hypocaust heating systems were a typical Roman invention that was adopted for the first time in the Near East in the various palaces built by Herod the Great.45 Since the first such heating systems in Nabataean buildings are almost half a century later than the first Herodian examples, it is probably better not to talk of a direct influence but rather of a general development.46 When looking into details, one can observe further parallels between Herodian and Nabataean elements. For example, the impressive stucco decoration from the Nabataean mansion at az-Zantur includes fragments with egg and dart patterns that find close correspondence in the South Temple and the Soldier Tomb complex at Petra, but also at the Herodian villa complex from Kallirrhoë, the third winter palace at Jericho, at lower Herodion and at Masada.47 While one would hesitate to connect this evidence with official propaganda, it is nevertheless interesting in the light of the manufacturing processes of such decorative elements and one will have to consider migrating workshops and pattern books.48 Another feature of a kind of Nabataean luxury architecture that finds good parallels within Herodian buildings, is related to the general layout of Nabataean funerary complexes. Recent research has shown that the famous rock-cut façades at Petra are not monuments per se, but have to be understood as integral parts of more complex installations. The most obvious such example is the complex of the Soldier Tomb in the Wadi Farasa East at Petra (Fig. 9).49 Here the rock-cut façade with its sculptural decoration and a huge rock-cut banqueting hall are situated within the main axis of a peristyle courtyard that relates to other, For a general overview, see Kolb 2002; Kolb 2001. For similar heating systems in the Nabataean and Herodian realm cf. Kolb and Keller 2001, 319; Kolb and Keller 2000, 361–363; Netzer 1999, and in a wider context, Hoss 2005. 46 As we will see further below, in specific cases the influence may have been more direct. 47 Egg and dart pattern from az-Zantur: Kolb and Keller 2002, 288, Fig. 14; South Temple: Egan 2002, 353, Figs. 3–4; Joukowsky 2003, 401–402, Figs. 18–19; Bellwald 2004; Kallirhoë: Strobel and Wimmer 2003, Pl. 18A; Clamer 1997, 55, Fig. 91b; Jericho and lower Herodion: Netzer 2001b, 55, Fig. 65; 104, Fig. 143; Rozenberg 1996, 135–136, Figs. 21–23; Masada: Foerster 1995, 68–69, with the observation that the closest parallels for this decoration is to be found within the house of Augustus on the Palatine and within the Casa del Criptoportico at Pompeii; cf. note 93 below. 48 According to Bellwald 2004, 150, the stucco ceiling from the South Temple was executed by the same workshop as the corresponding decoration in the Herodian palaces of Masada, Jericho and lower Herodion. 49 Schmid 2001b; Schmid 2004a; Schmid 2007; see also the consecutive preliminary reports from ADAJ 44, 2000 onwards, and www.auac.ch. 44 45

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freely built structures in the same complex. The constructed part had an upper floor, accessible through a partially rock-cut and partially built substantial staircase (room 8 in Fig. 9). The construction of the staircase recalls similar installations within free-built Nabataean architecture, usually called staircase-towers.50 Although fairly frequent in Nabataean architecture, such structures are not limited to the Nabataean area. In several of the palaces of the Hasmonaeans and of Herod the Great similar staircases constructed around a central pillar were found, and are even a characteristic common feature of these buildings.51 Small elements of wall paintings, opus sectile decoration and hypocaust pillars found during the excavation indicate a lavish decoration of the rooms belonging to that complex in the Wadi Farasa East, including heated rooms and, therefore, an installation that was not exclusively devoted to funerary aspects but to aspects of daily life as well. These luxurious elements as well as the general plan of the overall structure, constructed during the third quarter of the 1st century AD, clearly indicate prototypes such as the palaces and large villas of the elites of the Hellenistic and early Roman period within the Mediterranean area (cf. below). Interestingly, when looking closer it becomes obvious that such complexes are much more the rule than the exception within Nabataean Petra.52 Therefore, Nabataean rock-cut façades—the monumental ones showing “western” architectural elements as well as the smaller ones with a more “traditional” architecture—have to be understood not as exterior façades but as façades looking on to an interior courtyard. When looking beyond the limits of the Nabataean kingdom, it becomes apparent that these complexes are closely connected to contemporary villas and palaces of the upper classes of the Hellenistic and Roman world, but they also offer further possibilities on comparisons with other monuments, such as the hypogea of Hellenistic Alexandria or Nea Paphos in Cyprus.53 Other comparisons may be offered by Hellenistic and Roman heroa in Greece and Asia Minor.54 All these installations are clearly derived from the architectural complexes of the Negev 1973. Cf. Netzer 2001a, 155, 167f.; Netzer 1991, 156, 170, 263, 601. 52 For other such installations, see Schmid 2001b; Schmid 2004a; Schmid 2007; Netzer 2003a, 51–57. 53 For the comparision with Nabataean funeral complexes see Schmid 2001b, 182– 188, with further references; on the Alexandrian tombs, see now also Venit 2002. 54 In general see Kader 1995; on their connection to Nabataean complexes, cf. Schmid 2004a. 50 51

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wealthy such as the palaces of the Hellenistic kings. The importance of the Nabataean funerary complexes such as the Soldier Tomb lies in the fact that they mirror this kind of luxury architecture in a rather exact way: in their space and arrangement they come much closer to the lost palaces of the Ptolemies and Seleucids than do the smaller and subterranean Alexandrian or Macedonian tombs. This is confirmed by the similarities in the plan when comparing the Soldier Tomb complex with large palaces such as the royal Macedonian palaces at Vergina and Pella, but also with smaller installations, probably governor palaces, such as the palace at Jebel Khalid in northern Syria or the “Palazzo delle Colonne” at Ptolemaïs in northern Libya.55 Other reflections of Hellenistic palace architecture can be found in the palaces of Herod the Great and further in the villas of the Roman aristocracy of the late Republican and early Imperial period. Herod’s palaces do feature many elements borrowed from Hellenistic luxury architecture such as the manifold water basins, swimming pools and gardens.56 In comparison with Nabataean funerary complexes and especially with the complex of the Soldier’s Tomb, the seaside palace at Caesarea Maritima (Fig. 10) comes closest.57 The arrangement of the most important rooms—reception hall and banqueting hall—on the main axis of a huge peristyle courtyard is exactly the same. With their intensive involement in the affairs of the eastern Mediterranean, the Roman upper class became increasingly hellenised in terms of material culture. This is reflected—among others— by the “Villa of Mysteries” at Pompei or by the “House of the Faun” at the same site.58 On the other hand, it has been shown that the palaces of Herod the Great incorporated, in their turn, elements borrowed from the Roman luxury architecture, creating something new between local tradition, Hellenistic and Roman influences.59 The close interconnection between Hellenistic (i.e. mostly Alexandrian), Roman, Herodian and even Nabataean luxury architecture can be shown, among 55 On the different buildings, see Hoepfner 1996; Nielsen 1994, passim; Siganidou 1996 (Pella); Clarke 2002 ( Jebel Khalid); Pesce 1950; Kraeling 1962, 83–89; Lauter 1971; Lyttelton 1974, 53–60; McKenzie 1990, 75–77; Nielsen 1994, 146–52, 284–86, cat. no. 22 (Palazzo delle Colonne). 56 In general on Herodian luxury architecture, see Netzer 2001b; Japp 2000; Lichtenberger 1999; Roller 1998; Nielsen 1994, 181–208. 57 Gleason, Burrell and Netzer 1998. 58 On the hellenisation of Pompeian houses, see Zanker 1995, 39–49; on the “House of the Faun”, see especially Zevi 1998; Hoffmann 1996; Nielsen 1994, 164–180. 59 Förtsch 1996; Lichtenberger 1999; Nielsen 1994, 203–208; Japp 2000, 35–39. 64–75.

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many others, in the case of the so-called Villa of Catullus at Sirmione in northern Italy.60 Built on a promontory projecting into the lake of Garda (Fig. 11), the villa is almost a twin of Herod’s seaside palace at Caesarea both in terms of location and layout and, as far as the plan is concerned, also of Nabataean funerary complexes such as the complex of the Soldier Tomb. Of course, there is no direct relationship between these buildings, but they reflect the different influences and contacts, as pointed out above. As far as recent excavations were able to provide information about the chronology of the “Villa of Catullus”, they point to the Augustan or Tiberian era for a first building phase.61 Turning again to the Nabataean sphere, the recent discovery of a pooland garden-complex, a paradeisos, in the city center of Petra (no. 2 in Fig. 12) showed that there are many parallels between Herodian and Nabataean architectural representation.62 In contrast to less specific elements, such as common plans of rich dwellings or similarities in wall decorations, in the case of the pool- and garden-complex a more direct connection with Herodian installation is likely, that goes beyond pure fashion. Located in the city centre at a very prominent spot, this paradeisos clearly had, among others, a representative function, putting its owner in direct line with rulers from the Babylonian through the Achaemenid and Hellenistic cultures. It is difficult to believe that the Nabataean upper class was not aware of similar buildings at Jericho and elsewhere. Despite occasional disputes that even led to military conflict, Nabataeans and Herodians were otherwise closely connected. Herod the Great himself was born of a Nabataean mother,63 and Syllaios tried to marry Herod’s sister Salome and reportedly visited her family—and, therefore, the Herodian palaces—several times.64 And finally, a daughter of Aretas IV was temporarily married to Herod Antipas.65 The close similarities between the Petra pool-complex and

Roffia 1997; Lafon 2001, 446–448 (BS 1). Roffia 1997, 161–162. 62 Bedal 2003, especially 114–118, 153–155, 171–183, on the connections between Nabataean and Herodian architecture. 63 Jos., Ant. 14, 7, 3 (121–122); Jos., Bell. 1, 8, 9 (181); cf. Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 485f. 543f.; Kokkinos 1998, 95–96; Richardson 1999, 62–63. 64 Jos., Ant. 16, 7, 6 (220–225); 17, 1, 1 (10); Jos., Bell. 1, 28, 6 (566) cf. Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 513f., 526, 553f.; Kokkinos 1998, 182–184. 65 Jos., Ant. 18, 5, 1 (109–115); Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 66, 532–536; Kokkinos 1998, 229–232. 60 61

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the Herodian structures mentioned has led even to the hypothesis that the Petra pool-complex could belong, together with the so-called South Temple, to the basileia of the Nabataean kings.66 This hypothesis is tentative, so one must remain rather cautious for the time being, mainly for two reasons: first, the “Baths” that are supposed to belong to the same structure do not show the same orientation as the South Temple and the pool-complex; and secondly, a royal palace does not consist only of installations used for official purposes but also needs living areas. So far nothing that could be interpreted as royal living areas has beem found in the zone of the South Temple and the pool-complex. Although it is possible to suppose that such structures are still buried beneath the area of the “Small Temple”, i.e. in the space between the South Temple and Qasr el-Bint, it may be better for the time being to abstain from a definite interpretation.67 In any case, it is most likely that indeed the Nabataean palace(s) did look much like the Herodian ones. Before turning to possible Nabataean royal residences, we shall briefly consider some aspects of the South Temple at Petra. As has been pointed out by several authors, the general layout of the complex, with the huge forecourt and the temple on a higher level, finds a good parallel within the temple of Augustus at Samaria-Sebaste, built by Herod immediately after 27 BC and, therefore, one of the earliest temples of Augustus in the Mediterranean.68 As on other occasions, it is difficult to decide whether this correspondence is more than pure coincidence or due to fashion. What is striking again is the chronological parallel, since the South Temple too was built in the last quarter of the 1st century BC.69 Beside a direct connection between the two monuments, one could also suggest common prototypes like late Republican temples,70 themselves 66 Bedal 2003, 171–187; Schluntz 1999, 82–122, with discussion of similarities between this supposed royal structure at Petra and Herodian buildings of similar function; Bellwald 2004, 152; Balty 2005, 146. 67 Same conclusion with other arguments: Netzer 2003a, 81. 68 Hänlein-Schäfer 1985, 199–201; Roller 1998, 211–212; Japp 2000, 147–148; Lichtenberger 1999, 82–88, especially 86–87, for the parallel with the South Temple, also pointed out by Freyberger 1998, 24. It cannot be denied that both structures—the South Temple at Petra and the temple of Augustus at Samaria-Sebaste—also show some distinctive oriental characteristics (ibid.). 69 See for instance Joukowsky et al. 1998, 136; although one has to be cautious as for the results of this excavation (as was pointed out, within others, by Seigne 2000; Netzer 2003b, 72–81), a general date within the last quarter of the 1st century BC for the construction seems correct. 70 For instance the sanctuary of Fortuna Primigenia at Praeneste: Gullini 1989; Netzer 2003b further suggests the Forum Iulium at Rome as possible prototype.

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going back to Hellenistic influences.71 The same point can be made about theatre buildings. The construction of Petra’s huge theatre can be considered as somehow abrupt, and it is possible that it represents a reaction to the construction of Herod’s theatre at Caesarea Maritima.72 It is difficult to decide whether there is a close architectural relationship between the two buildings, since both underwent substantial changes in later times. However, both show similar elements such as partial or complete construction of the orchestra and cavea out of bedrock. As with the temple buildings discussed above, it is again the common chronology that is remarkable73 and one has to ask why the Nabataeans suddenly felt the need of a theatre unless it is was prompted by rivalry with Herod, which we could expect. The general presumption pointed out above, that Nabataean royal residences probably did not look much different from the palaces of Herod, can be strengthened by a recent discovery.74 During the 1960s, Crystal Bennett was carrying out several seasons of excavation on the summit of Umm al-Biyara, the huge rock massif dominating Petra.75 Although her activities were mainly focused on the Iron Age period, a survey and a trial trench as well as additional observations also dealt with Nabataean structures, especially a huge building that was interpreted as being a ruined temple of the Nabataean period.76 As a matter of fact, the only element that was mentioned in favour of the 71 Such as the sanctuary of Asklepios at Kos or the sanctuary of Athena at Lindos; on these see, with older references, Gruben 2001, 440–459; on the connection between the Hellenistic and the Republican sanctuaries see Lauter 1979. 72 On the theatre of Petra: Hammond 1965; Segal 1995, 91–93; Bedal 2003, 27, for a possible connection with the building at Caesarea Maritima; for this building see Frova, Adamesteanu and Albricci 1965, 57–235; Segal 1995, 64–69. 73 The theatre at Caesarea can be placed between the years 22 and 10 BC, i.e. the formal new foundation and the official opening ceremony (cf. Jos., Ant. 15, 8, 1–5; 9, 6; Jos., Bell. 1, 21, 5–8). The first phase of the theatre at Petra is dated by the excavator (Hammond 1965, 55–65) to the period of Aretas IV, more specifically (but without real elements), to 4 BC–AD 27. The most conclusive elements for the chronology are different assemblages of pottery relevant to the chronological phases. It is, therefore, difficult to understand why the painted pottery corresponding to phases Ia and Ib is described (as red painted) but barely illustrated! However, since the pottery illustrated for phase Ic belongs to the period around AD 100, phases Ia and Ib are necessarily earlier. Red painted pottery as well as the illustrated coarse and plain ware pottery would correspond to the time of Aretas IV. 74 Although we are not dealing with it, this argument should be true for the main residence, the basileia, as well, that has to be looked for within the city centre of Petra. 75 Bennett 1966; Bennett and Parr 1962; Morton 1956. A final publication of these activities is under preparation by Piotr A. Bienkowski (Manchester). 76 Bennett 1980.

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interpretation as a Nabataean temple was its presumed orientation towards the city’s main sanctuary of Qasr el-Bint. Upon verification it turned out, however, that the Qasr el-Bint is not at all visible from the spot of the presumed temple, since the hill of el-Habis obstructs the view (Fig. 12). During several visits in 2005 the following observations were made, putting that structure into a completely different context and in close relation with Herodian luxury architecture. Although the exact plan and extension of that building is not clear, it must have been a substantial one, extending over several levels and built on the very edge of the hilltop, prominently overlooking the city centre of Petra (Fig. 12). A few rooms are partially exposed, probably following illicit excavation.77 From the debris lying around it becomes clear that one or several rooms were equipped with hypocaust heating systems as well as with wall heating systems (Fig. 13). Although these rooms are not too far away from, and on a slightly lower level than, the row of cisterns on the south-eastern ridge of the plateau, a direct connection was not observed. Therefore, it must remain open for the time being whether we are dealing simply with heated rooms, or with heated rooms in connection with bathing installations. Small fragments of marble and alabaster slabs show that the interior of the building must once have been lavishly decorated (Fig. 14).78 Pottery and lamps are scattered all over the area, indicating an occupation of the building from the last quarter of the 1st century BC until the end of the 1st century AD–beginning of the 2nd century AD (Figs. 15 and 16).79 Although it is not yet possible to obtain a more precise picture of this Nabataean installation on top of Umm al-Biyara, several elements can be discerned: From the late 1st century BC onwards a huge building occupied the most prominent spot on top of Umm al-Biyara, dominating the whole city of Petra.80 Richly decorated, this installation featured also some

The writer’s last visit (before 2005) to Umm al-Biyara was in the early 1990s, when none of the rooms mentioned in this contribution were visible. 78 Other elements include Nabataean capitals, blocks with scrolls as well as the blocks showing Erotes and garlands. On these, see the references in notes 75 and 76. 79 Pottery identification and chronology according to Schmid 2000b; the shards on fig. 15 are only a small selection of the earliest (last quarter of the 1st century BC) pottery found related to these structures and there is much more, especially from the 1st century AD, as illustrated in Fig. 16. 80 The visibility is an argument that works in both directions. Not only the whole of Petra (and the upper part of Wadi Mousa where the ancient village of el-Gij has to be located, no. 3 in Fig. 12) is visible from that spot on Umm al-Biyara, but that building is prominently visible from across the city. 77

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elements of particular luxury, namely heated rooms.81 Despite the fact that heated rooms per se were not necessarily considered a specific luxury item by the time of their construction, the fact that they are situated on top of the highest elevation in the region makes them outstanding, since every single twig that was burned in their praefurnia needed to be carried up the hill. It is precisely that ostentatious demonstration of richness that places this Nabataean building in close relationship with some of Herods’ hilltop palaces. In Masada, Herodeion, Kypros and Machaerus (Machairous), heated rooms, usually as part of Roman style thermae, are an outstanding characteristic.82 We can assume that these installations not only were known to the Nabataean upper class (cf. above), but especially the palace at Machaerus, situated on the eastern shore of the Dead Sea, must have been a in many ways a provocation for the Nabataeans. It seems, therefore, perfectly appropriate to suggest that the building on top of Umm al-Biyara consisted something like the Nabataean response to the Herodian hilltop palaces.83 That it has to be a building out of the commonplace is further suggested by the general geo-strategic situation of Umm al-Biyara. No matter whether Umm al-Biyara is the “rock” of the Nabataeans reported for the year 312 BC by Diodorus,84 by the late 1st century BC and the 1st century AD, Umm al-Biyara must have been sufficiently important that not everybody was allowed to build there. In Roman Italy, influences of Hellenistic architecture within rich private buildings start considerably before the late 1st century BC, as pointed out above. However, a clear intensification of these influences as well as a clear influence of Roman innovation on the luxury architecture of the eastern Mediterranean can be observed during the period we are dealing with. It is probably not a pure coincidence that these phenomena of

No precise chronology for these rooms can be obtained without more intensive investigation. According to the pottery from that area, they should belong to the 1st century AD. This would perfectly fit the information about hypocaust heating from other Nabataean buildings (cf. notes 44, 45 above). 82 On the hilltop palaces of Masada, Herodeion, Kypros and Machaerus, see the references quoted in note 56 above. 83 It cannot be excluded, of course, that the Nabataeans had more than one such luxury installation built on prominent landmarks. It would be interesting in that context to examine more closely the structures on top of as-Sela near Busayrah; cf. Wenning 1987, 86–87; Lindner et al. 2001; Lindner 1983. 84 Diod. 2, 48, 6; 19, 95, 1–19, 98, 1; Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 432–433. 439–453. 81

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intercultural exchanges increase immediately after the Roman conquest of Ptolemaic Egypt in 30 BC. Some of these aspects can probably be explained in a simple fashion, but others go beyond such a superficial explanation and seem likely to be the result of a kind of architectural rivalry between Herod and the Nabataean realm. It is probably not a coincidence either that the monumentalisation of Nabataean public and private architecture begins to occur from the last quarter of the 1st century BC onwards: after the annexation of Ptolemaic Egypt by Rome in 30 BC, Alexandrian artists and artisans went to Italy and to Rome, as is widely known.85 It cannot, however, be excluded that others found new clients on both sides of the river Jordan.86 The intercultural contacts between different areas of the eastern Mediterranean and Roman Italy finally led the way to the creation of such spectacular buildings as the palaces and villas belonging to the imperial family on the island of Capri, Tiberius’ “Villa Iovis” in the first place, where the traditions of Hellenistic palace architecture partially give way to something new.87 The various elements that could indicate a kind of relation between the Nabataean and Herodian propaganda and official representation can be classified roughly into three categories. The first one seems connected to a specific situation, facilitating the transfer of knowledge and prototypes from Ptolemaic Alexandria after 30 BC, and can probably explain such elements as the general layout of Nabataean funerary complexes, some aspects of monumental rock-cut façades at Petra and some features to be found in Nabtaean private dwellings. The second category features other elements that probably go back to a more direct exchange between the Nabataean and the Herodian kingdoms. Such could be the case with luxury architecture as represented by the Petra pool- and garden-complex or the presumed royal residence on top of Umm al-Biyara, clearly reflecting similar structures and installations within Herodian palaces. Although more directly linking Nabataeans and Herodians, these elements do not necessarily imply 85 For some reflections on the effects of Alexandrian architecture within the Roman Empire, see McKenzie 1996. 86 This hypothesis would also help to explain some “Pergamene” or, more generally, Hellenistic influences within the friezes discussed in this contribution and within the decoration of the Khazneh; cf. the references in note 34 above. 87 On the “Villa Iovis” see Krause 2003; on other villae on Capri cf. Lafon 2001, 406 CAP 1–10 and Federico and Miranda 1998, 179–223, both with further bibliography.

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a political confrontation and differentiation between the two realms. This third category is represented by figural representations on coins and relief friezes, where the Nabataean kings obviously did react to actual historical events and political necessities, both towards Herod and Augustus. Supposing that the general interpretation of the figural friezes discussed in this contribution is correct, one could be surprised by the intensive use of such elements in a short span of time and on a small spot, the city centre of Petra. This feeling of “overload” can again be explained by comparing the Nabataean royal propaganda to that of Herod the Great. In regard to what was the international language of propaganda by the late 1st century BC, that is, a strongly visual language, Herod had an obvious handicap: in his own kingdom figural representations were strictly impossible, as becomes manifest with the misfortunes of the tropaia in the theatre of Jerusalem and of the golden eagle over the entrance to the Temple at Jerusalem.88 To what extent this must have been a major disadvantage can be shown by the fact that not only do all known statues of Herod come from outside his kingdom,89 but that the closest one was erected at Seia in southern Syria in a former Nabataean territory and by a Nabataean!90 It seems clear that the Nabataeans took advantage of these circumstances, resulting in a massive visual (and figural) programme in the city centre of Petra with a clear propagandistic goal. As was mentioned previously, it seems as if the status of the Nabataean kingdom in relation to Rome was not exactly the same as that of Herod’s Judaea (but see infra, appendix). This offered Herod the possibility of compensation, mainly in the form of his strong support for Augustus. This becomes manifest with the erection of three major temples to honour the Princeps at Caesarea

88 Jos., Ant. 15, 8, 1–2 (272–279) (theatre); Jos., Ant. 17, 6, 2–4; Jos., Bell. 1, 33, 2–4 (649–655) (eagle); cf. Roller 1998, 270–271. 89 Especially from Athens: IG II 2, 3440 and 3441; cf. Roller 1998, 219–220; Kokkinos 1998, 137; Lichtenberger 1999, 169, and Japp 2000, 149–150, with these and other examples. These (now lost) statues, as well as the one cited in note 90, are attested by inscriptions on their bases and are, therefore, the only confirmed statues of Herod the Great. Some attempts have been made to identify sculpted portraits with Herod, namely a head found at Memphis, Egypt, now in Boston, MFA (Roller 1998, 273–275; for the traditional identification as late Ptolemy, see Smith 1988b, 96–97, 167, cat. no. 57 and Pl. 39, 1. 2) as well as a head from Byblos, now in Beirut (Smith 1988b, 105, 131, 174, cat. no. 101 and Pl. 60, 1). On these as well as other heads tentatively identified as Herod, see also Kokkinos 1998, 137–138. 90 OGIS 415; Roller 1998, 272–273; Lichtenberger 1999, 170; Japp 2000, 150.

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Maritima, Samaria Sebaste and Paneion/Paneas.91 But the phenomenon goes far beyond these buildings and includes the entire construction (and naming) of Caesarea and Sebaste, as well as other elements.92 In some sense, the most striking evidence is provided from the acropolis at Samaria Sebaste. Despite some uncertainties related to the early date of the first excavations, it very much looks as if Herod had built a residence immediately beside the temple of Augustus. This would be exactly the same configuration as at Rome, where Augustus had built his house beside the temple of Apollo Palatinus, the two connected by a subterranean corridor.93 Just as Augustus was putting himself under the protection of Apollo, Herod placed himself under the protection of Augustus. As far as we can see, the situation within the Nabataean realm was different, with no direct honours to the Roman emperor known before AD 106 (but see infra, appendix). Another field where Herod apparently had an advantage over the Nabataeans was propaganda outside the homeland. Despite the fact that Nabataeans travelled all over the Arabian peninsula and the Mediterranean, the traces of their presence remain discrete and are usually concentrated on their own world, that is, dedications to their own gods and the like.94 The most massive presence of Nabataeans in the Mediterranean is the sanctuary of Dusares at Pozzuoli,95 but here too, we are dealing with an installation built by Nabataeans for Nabataeans. Completely different is the behaviour of Herod, who acts as a real benefactor (euergetes) in the best Hellenistic tradition with manifold buildings and other activities offered by him to other cities in Syria and the Mediterranean.96

91 For the temple at Samaria Sebaste, see note 68 above; on the temple of Augustus at Caesarea Maritima, see Holum 1999, especially 17–26. See further, Hänlein-Schäfer 1985, 198–199 (Paneas); 201–203 (Caesarea Maritima); Lichtenberger 1999, 119–121 (Caesarea Maritima); 150–153 (Paneas); Roller 1998, 138–139 (Caesarea Maritima); 190–192 (Paneas) Japp 2000, 106 (Caesarea Maritima); 144–145 (Paneas). 92 See, in general, Netzer 2003b; Japp 2000, 49–53; 101–109; 146–149; Lichtenberger 1999, 80–92, 116–130; Roller 1998, 133–144, 209–212; see also the contribution by A. Lichtenberger in this volume. 93 Japp 2000, 148; Lichtenberger 1999, 88, for the parallels between the buildings at Samaria Sebaste and on the Palatine at Rome; for Augustus’ house and its relation to the temple of Apollo see also Iacopi 1995, Gros 1993; Carettoni 1983. 94 On the Nabataean presence outside their kingdom see Schmid 2004b; Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 107–135; Wenning 1987, 22–24, all with further references. 95 See the references in note 94, also Steuernagel 1999, 162–164; Lacerenza 1994; Lacerenza 1988–89; Bisi 1972. 96 Lichtenberger 1999, 168–175; Roller 1998, 214–238.

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Appendix: Everything was Different . . . After having tried to show in a few pages that there was a kind of rivalry between Herod and the Nabataeans, resulting from political differences between the two realms but equally from their different positions in relation to the Roman Empire, it is now appropriate to counter-check the evidence. Archaeology is not an exact science, especially when it comes to interpretation. As we have seen, none of the reliefs dealt with above has a precise archaeological context. Their interpretation can, therefore, be directed in a slightly, but decisively, different way. All the blocks with figural decoration referring to naval victory (Figs. 1– 3), to victory in general (Fig. 4) and to prosperity (Fig. 5) were discovered, as far as there is any information, in a rather small area around the Temenos Gate in the city centre of Petra (around no. 1 in Fig. 12). In other words, they were found in the immediate neighbourhood of the South Temple and one could easily assume that they originally belonged to that structure, including the temple itself, the forecourt with its porticoes and the propylon.97 The iconography of these friezes not only is completely Hellenistic-Roman, but their various themes were especially popular in contemporary Augustan propaganda, as pointed out above. The South Temple shows clear parallels with the temple of Augustus at Samaria Sebaste. Since no decisive evidence has yet been found as to the exact function of the South Temple, one might suppose that it was a temple to Augustus, built by Obodas III or Aretas IV in honour of the Emperor and adorned with relief cycles expressing the themes of Augustan propaganda, namely prosperity and peace, granted by the victory at Actium. The overall monument would have been not unlike (especially in plan)—although probably more modest than—the slightly later Sebasteion at Aphrodisias.98 The reliefs illustrating more narrative scenes (Fig. 6) could belong to a frieze depicting either battle scenes or Octavian’s triumph in 29 BC (or both) as was the case with the interior frieze of the temple of Apollo Sosianus at Rome.99 In this case, the Nabataean kingdom would become a “normal” client state, a 97 All the more since recent discoveries of similar reliefs within the South Temple suggest that it once had a very similar decoration: Joukowsky 2004, 164–166, especially Fig. 13; for a discussion of some of these finds, see Basile 2002. 98 On the Sebasteion at Aphrodisias and its decoration, see Smith 1987; Smith 1988c; Smith 1989; Smith 1990. 99 On the temple of Apollo Sosianus, see Viscogliosi 1996; Viscogliosi 1993; on the identification of the scenes on the interior frieze, see Hölscher 1985, 88–89 and,

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theory that would equally well explain the events between 14/13 and 5 BC, i.e. the new royal portrait type on coins, wearing the wreath and no longer the diadem, the troubles of Aretas IV in assuming power without official authorisation by Augustus, etc.100 All the corresponding evidence for monumental building activities in Petra could be explained as being part of a general movement by Roman client kings to monumentalise their cities, Obodas III and Aretas IV being no different from Herod the Great or Juba II of Mauretania.101 Yet, here too, there are some weak points. Not only there is no evidence as to the function of the South Temple, but there is no evidence at all that Roman emperors were honoured by the Nabataeans prior to AD 106. If theirs was a client kingdom, the Nabateans should have shown more devotion or interest to such matters.102 Further, no matter what was the function of the South Temple, it manifestly underwent important changes after the annexation in AD 106, mainly the construction of a theatron at the spot where a supposed cella should have been located.103 If indeed it was a temple of Augustus, there would be no requirement for such a change. There would have been no need either

in general, for the Augustan connotation of the temple’s decoration, see La Rocca 1985, 83–102. 100 One of the most intriguing elements is the story about Syllaios ( Jos., Ant. 16, 9, 1–4 [271–299]; 16, 10, 8–9 [335–355]; 17, 3, 2 [54–57]; cf. Hackl, Jenni and Schneider 2003, 514–528). Why should Syllaios be condemned to death by Augustus, but first be released in order to repair the damage he had done, then come back to Rome in order to be executed? And why should Aretas IV bring his complaints about Syllaios before Augustus? Indeed, all these issues could point to the status of a client kingdom but, as indicated, other arguments speak against this. 101 On Juba II and his residence Iol-Caesarea, see Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997, 144–159; Roller 2003, 119–162, both with many other aspects related to royal propaganda and its relation to Augustan Rome. On Archelaos of Cappadocia see Sullivan 1980, 1149–1161. For a comparative analysis of Herod the Great, Juba II and Archelaos of Cappadocia see Jacobson 2001; see also the contribution by A. A. Barrett in this volume. For the general phenomenon of client kings monumentalising their cities see Japp 2000, 49–53; Lichtenberger 1999, 128; Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997, 146 and Fig. 22, and for parallels between the evolution of cities within Herod’s kingdom and surrounding areas, see von Hesberg 1996. 102 In general on the cult of the Roman emperor, its archaeological remains and its mechanism, see Hänlein-Schäfer 1985; Clauss 1999. 103 Joukowsky et al. 1998, 118–120. 125–128; cf. also Seigne 2000. Unfortunately it seems that the excavations did not provide enough evidence for a definite date of these changes; cf. Netzer 2003a, 78–81.

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to build other structures related to the imperial cult in the immediate neighbourhood, such as the so-called Small Temple.104 And there is another difference in the behaviour of Nabataean royal builders compared to that of Herod. Herod not only prominently featured his support of Augustus by buildings honouring the emperor, or by bestowing on them his name and those of members of his family, he also adopted specific Roman building techniques that were otherwise unknown in the area and are probably due to the presence of Italian workshops at specific sites. One characteristic is the use not only of Roman-style underwater concrete but the importation of volcanic earth (the so-called pozzolana) from Pozzuoli in Italy for the concrete of the harbour construction at Caesarea Maritima. 105 The second characteristic is the use of walls built in opus reticulatum technique in specifically Herodian buildings, such as the northern wing of the third palace at Jericho, the temple of Augustus at Paneas, and a mausoleum at Jerusalem.106 Both technical characteristics are, to my knowledge, completely absent from the Nabataean construction technique of that period. This does not mean that the Nabataean architects and engineers were less skilful than their Jewish colleagues, but it indicates that the Nabataean kings had not the opportunity or did not want to make use of Italian workshops for their representative buildings, probably because the status of the Nabataean kingdom was different. This theory can be indirectly confirmed by analogous opus reticulatum walls from Juba’s II capital Iol-Caesarea107 and from Samosata, the capital

104 If indeed a temple for the imperial cult, as suggested by Reid 2005. Local, i.e. municipal, temples for the imperial cult can show a broad variety of types compared to the provincial temples of the imperial cult; for a case study, see Schmid 2001c. The use of marble does not seem a specific characteristic for such buildings, contra Reid 2005. Other, secondary, structures related to the worshipping of Roman emperors in the area, such as an exedra in front of Qasr el-Bint (for the moment see the scanty evidence in Augé 2005; Augé et al. 2002), do not contradict an interpretation of the Small Temple as a building for the imperial cult. 105 Oleson and Branton 1992; according to Hohlfelder 2000, the use of pozzolana could indicate a direct implication of M. Agrippa. 106 Netzer, 2001a, 231–279, especially 232; Roller 1998, 98–99. 181. On the temple at Paneas, see the references in note 91 above; on the mausoleum near Jerusalem see Bonato-Baccari 2002. For further thoughts on the use of opus reticulatum by Herod: Lichtenberger 1999, 63–68; in general on opus reticulatum and its use outside Italy, see Medri 2000, Spanu 1996; the last two authors do not mention the temple at Paneas. 107 Roller 2003, 121; Japp 2000, 81; Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997, 148, note 50; the exact date of the opus reticulatum remains at Iol-Caesarea is not clear, mainly due to massive later building activities and the generally small archaeological evidence; for Iol-Caesarea

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of Kommagene;108 apparently client kings did indeed manifest their proximity to Augustus by such specifically Roman building techniques.109 The “international” aspects of the activities of real client kings point in the same direction. We have already mentioned some of the activities related to Herod, and Juba II too received honorary posts and statues from cities in Spain and by Athens, while the situation for the Nabataean kings is completely different, as pointed out above.110 When summing up the results of this short overview, it becomes apparent that we are still far from having a precise knowledge of the exact context and function of most elements that could belong to the sphere of Nabataean royal propaganda. Although recent research has contributed to sharpening the picture, many questions remain open, in details (precise chronology and function of monuments) as well as in general (the status of the Nabataean kingdom in relation to Rome). To what extent the situation is still rather blurred has been shown by way of examples in the appendix above, turning the evidence gathered so far in a completely different direction. One point that becomes increasingly clear is that the archaeological remains of the Nabataeans cannot be discussed and understood without comparing them to neighbouring areas and putting them into a wider context. This is, by the way, also true for the archaeology of the former Nabataean kingdom after its incorporation into the Roman Empire in AD 106. For instance, it may be worth trying to understand the theatron building within the South Temple at Petra within the context of similar structures in the Near East.111

the presence of workshops from Augustan Italy has been suggested by analysing capitals found at the supposed location of the royal palace: Fittschen 1979, 242. 108 Roller 1998, 256; Medri 2001; Spanu 1996; the last two authors think that the opus reticulatum at Samosata dates to after the Roman annexation. 109 As is to some extent supported by the conclusions drawn by Spanu 1996, 935–939, that is that only persons or communities with a direct connection with Rome were able to make use of opus reticulatum and related building techniques; cf. Japp 2000, 81–82. 110 Cf. notes 94–96 above. On Juba’s II honours abroad, see Roller 2003, 156; Coltelloni-Trannoy 1997, 139; the different activities and gestures typical of client kings are described by Suet., Aug. 48. 60; cf. the comments by Jacobson 2001. 111 Cf. some thoughts by Balty 2005, especially 145–146; Augusta-Boularot and Seigne 2005.

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——, 1988a. “Philorhomaioi: Portraits of Roman Client Rulers in the Greek East in the 1st century BC”, in N. Bonacasa and G. Rizza (eds), Ritratto ufficiale e ritratto privato. Atti della II Conferenza Internazionale sul Ritratto Romano, Rome: Consiglio nazionale delle ricerche, 493–497. ——, 1988b. Hellenistic Royal Portraits, Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——, 1988c. “Simulacra gentium. The Ethne from the Sebasteion at Aphrodisias”, JRS 78, 50–77. ——, 1989. “Le Sébasteion et son décor sculpté”, DossArch 139, 46–59. ——, 1990. “Myth and Allegory in the Sebasteion”, in C. Roueché and K. T. Erim (eds.), Aphrodisias Papers, 1. Recent Work on Architecture and Sculpture, Ann Arbor: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 89–100. Spanu, M., 1996. “L’opus reticulatum e mixtum nelle province asiatiche”, in M. Khanoussi, P. Ruggeri and C. Vismara (eds.), L’Africa romana. Atti dell’XI Congresso di studio, Ozieri: Editrice Il Torchietto, 923–939. Stemmer, K., 1978. Untersuchungen zur Typologie, Chronologie und Ikonographie der Panzerstatuen, Berlin: Mann. Steuernagel, D., 1999. “. Über Vereins-, Stadt- und Staatskulte im kaiserzeitlichen Puteoli”, MDAI(R) 106, 149–187. Strobel, A., and Wimmer, S., 2003. Kallirrhoë (‘Ēn ez-Zāra). Dritte Grabungskampagne des Deutschen Evangelischen Instituts für Altertumswissenschaft des Heiligen Landes und Exkursionen in Süd-Peräa, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Sullivan, R. D., 1980. “The Dynasty of Cappadocia”, ANRW 2, 7, 2, Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 1125–1168. Thüroff, R., 1989. Waffenfriese im Gebiet des östlichen Mittelmeers. Zur Entwicklung eines Friestyps in hellenistischer und frührömischer Zeit, unpublished MA thesis, University of Basel. Turcan, R., 1971. “Les guirlandes dans l’antiquité classique”, JbAC 14, 92–139. Vandi, L., 1999. “Sulle trace di una tradizione della natura. Rilettura del fregio ornamentale dell’Ara Pacis Augustae”, AAAH 11, 7–39. Venit, M., 2002. Monumental Tombs of Ancient Alexandria. The Theater of the Dead, New York: Cambridge University Press. Villeneuve, F., and al-Muheisen, Z., 2003. “Dharih and Tannur, Sanctuaries of Central Nabataea”, in G. Markoe (ed.), Petra Rediscovered. Lost City of the Nabataeans, New York: Harry N. Abrams Inc., 82–100. Viscogliosi, A., 1993. “Apollo, aedes in Circo”, in E. M. Steinby (ed.), Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae, 1, Rome: Quasar, 49–54. ——, 1996. Il tempio di Apollo in Circo e la formazione del linguaggio architettonico augusteo, Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Weber, F., 2003. Herodes—König von Roms Gnaden? Herodes als Modell eines römischen Klientelkönigs in spätrepublikanischer und augusteischer Zeit, Berlin: Logos Verlag. Wenning, R., 1987. Die Nabatäer. Denkmäler und Geschichte, Freiburg: Universitätsverlag/ Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht. ——, 1988. “Maskierte Götter? Anmerkungen zum Aufeinandertreffen von Ost und West am Beispiel der arabischen Nabatäer”, in K. Rudolph and G. Rinschede (eds.), Beiträge zur Religion/Umwelt-Forschung I, Geographia religionum, 6, Berlin: Reimer, 243–260. Wenning, R., and Hübner, U., 2004. “Nabatäische Büstenreliefs—zwei Neufunde”, ZPalV 120, 157–181. Wright, G. R. H., 1967–68. “Recent Discoveries in the Sanctuary of the Qasr Bint Far`un at Petra. Some Aspects Concerning the Architecture and Sculpture”, ADAJ 12–13, 20–29. Zanker, P., 1987. Augustus und die Macht der Bilder, Munich: C. H. Beck. ——, 1995. Pompeji. Stadtbild und Wohngeschmack, Mainz: von Zabern. Zayadine, F., Larché, F., and Dentzer-Feydy, J., 2003. Le Qasr al-Bint de Pétra. L’architecture, le décor, la chronologie et les dieux, Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Zevi, F., 1998. “Die Casa del Fauno in Pompeji und das Alexandermosaik”, MDAI(R) 105, 21–65.

HEROD’S CONTEMPORARIES IN BRITAIN AND THE WEST John Creighton Abstract This paper is focused on Herod’s contemporaries in the west. Whereas we know much about the Herodian dynasty in Judaea, we know much less about many of the other friends and allies of Rome which, alas, had no authors such as Josephus to write about them. This article pieces together aspects of the numismatic and archaeological evidence to show that despite the lack of literary evidence, many of the kings of the west were probably similarly locked into the developments of the Principate as Herod was. First the context of client kingship is briefly discussed, after which the cases of Britain, northeast Gaul, Noricum and Mauretania are all examined. Imagery on the coinage shows how these members of distant aristocracies bought into the visual language of the Augustan revolution. Sometimes this might mean displaying Victory on their coins; a goddess that Octavian made significant play on after his victory at Actium in the war against Mark Antony. On the other hand it could be displaying an image of Capricorn (Augustus’ birth sign), or inanimate representations such as vine leaves or ears of corn (representing even nature ordered and adhering to the Princeps’ new world order, as exemplified on late Augustan art such as the Ara Pacis). Unlike Herod, these monarchs had no taboos on them preventing the representation of pagan deities, living people or animals (see Ariel’s paper in this volume). While these monarchs used Augustan imagery, they also shared types amongst themselves, so we find the curious case of a particular lion image being found on the coinage of three extremes around the Roman world: in Southern Britain, Mauretania and in the Bosporan Kingdom. Coinage is not the only signifier in terms of material culture showing contacts amongst the friends and allies of Rome. There is also other evidence which attests to this: from identical brooches in Eastern Britain and Noricum to graffiti linking merchants from Noricum and Mauretania. Collectively the picture that emerges is that while the friendly kings on the northeastern fringes of the Roman world may have been the poor relations in terms of architecture and wealth, their outlook in the developing culture of the Augustan Principate was very much on the same lines as those of Herod, Juba and their ilk.

Friendly Kings and Conquest in the West Just as Herod’s appointment as Rome’s client ruler of Judea marked a radical change in the political, economic and cultural landscape of that country, similar changes were taking place elsewhere around the Roman dominions. The key difference is that without the fulsome testimony of Josephus, the evidence for similar processes in the West is fragmentary

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in the extreme, and has to be pieced together from very slim literary evidence, numismatics and archaeology. Herod’s appointment saw him join an international elite, a network of privileged rulers around the Roman world. In comparison to his predecessors he travelled far and wide, visiting not only Augustus in Rome but also other rulers and kings.1 It is the material by-product of this network of long distance relations that can sometimes reveal itself in the archaeological record when the literary evidence fails us. Some of this evidence is discussed below, in the form of the designs on coinage, the importation of material culture, and new forms of burial and religious practice. These come from a range of kingdoms in the West, predominantly Britain, but also the Treveri (northeast Gaul), Noricum, and much further south in Mauretania. Let us start by defining ‘client’ kingship.2 Briefly stated this was where the senate (or later Princeps) recognised a king as a ‘friend and ally of Rome’. This phenomenon developed so much in the late Republic that Mark Antony was almost surrounded at court by eastern Hellenistic monarchs such as Herod and Cleopatra. Octavian also associated with or appointed in the West such people, using them as an indirect means of Roman control. The best example is Juba II, the son of Juba I of Numidia, who was brought up in Rome after his father’s death in the civil wars, and was placed on the throne of Mauretania by Octavian in 25 BCE. Associated with this phenomenon was the appearance in Rome of the sons of these kings, often growing up there receiving an education in Roman values. These were the obsides or ‘hostages’, though this translation does not quite do justice to the Latin; perhaps a word like fosterage is more appropriate to describe the process. Some obsides, such as Juba II, even spent time on campaign with the Roman army before returning to rule in their kingdoms. As we come into the Principate client kingdoms were just another aspect of Augustus’ rule. Some territories were managed as senatorial provinces, others directly by himself as Imperial provinces, and yet more were managed by client kings who had often been brought up as children at Rome. Suetonius summed this up succinctly:

Jacobson 2001, 22–38. The best introduction to ‘client kingship’ is Braund 1984. The phenomenon with specific reference to Britain and its transformation into a Province is discussed extensively in Creighton 2006. 1 2

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Except in a few instances [Augustus] restored the kingdoms of which he gained possession by the right of conquest to those from whom he had taken them or joined them with other foreign nations. He also united the kings with whom he was in alliance by mutual ties, and was very ready to propose or favour intermarriages or friendships among them. He never failed to treat them all with consideration as integral parts of the empire, regularly appointing a guardian for such as were too young to rule or whose minds were affected, until they grew up or recovered; and he brought up the children of many of them and educated them with his own.3

As Braund observed: . . . the notion that one held at Rome received an ‘education’ which imbued him in Roman mores became something of a commonplace. The Romanised ways of the ex-‘hostage’ Vonones are said to have been disliked and ridiculed by his Parthian subjects. Similarly, Tacitus says that the Parthians expected Tiridates to be a mild ruler because of his upbringing as a ‘hostage’ at Rome. Indeed, a Parthian embassy is said to have held that their kings sent their children to Rome as ‘hostages’ with the specific purpose that they should be improved by acculturation to Roman mores.4

The question is, did this phenomenon take place in respect of the northern European client kings as well as the Hellenistic ones? As will be seen below there is good reason to think so. Certainly Caesar took hostages during his campaigns in Gaul; over one thousand in number are reported as being taken at various points.5 The numbers seem excessive, but since later we hear of Augustus demanding 700 children from Dalmatia during his campaigns there, we have little cause to doubt the scale of this practice.6 Many would have been returned relatively rapidly when hostilities ended, but the sons of the leading elite had to be bonded into the new power structure; while the army provided an avenue for adult males, education provided the key for younger children. During the Gallic wars many were looked after in the custody of the Aedui (long-term friends and allies of Rome) at Noviodunum, until it was sacked.7 However after the Gallic war Massalia proved a suitable

3 4 5 6 7

Suetonius Aug. 48. Braund 1984, 15. Caesar BG 2.15; 5.4; 6.4; See also Braund 1984, 21. App. Illyr. 28. Caesar BG 6.4; 7.55.

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location for a while;8 and by the time of the revolt of Julius Sacrovir, children were once again being collected together and educated amongst the Aedui at Augustodunum.9 These are the locations where we can imagine the majority of obsides went, learning new value systems and developing new links of patronage. However while the vast majority of children of the elite would have stayed in Gaul, the sons and daughters of the strategically important tribal leaders could easily have been brought to Rome; especially the sons of client kings. From the time of Augustus it became virtually customary for kings to send their sons to Rome to provide for them an education and direct social contact with families of influence in the new world order. Building this relationship was also important if the son was going to stand any change of gaining recognition and succeeding to his father’s throne in due course. This phenomenon also gave scope for establishing contact with individuals not just from the centre of power, Rome, but also with members of the ruling families of other kings around the Roman world, creating a new network of power. What I am going to do is examine the material evidence for this network, but first it is important to introduce Herod’s contemporaries in Britain, where most of the evidence we will examine comes from. The British Dynasties The literary evidence in Britain is poor in comparison to Judaea. At the time of Augustus we have a variety of names appearing on coin in south-east Britain, and combined with the literary fragments we have we can reconstruct the two main dynasties that dominated the region: the Commian dynasty in the South, and the Tasciovanian dynasty in the East (Fig. 1). Several of these called themselves REX on their coinage. Historically we know little about them, the testimony which survives includes: two sentences about Cunobelin;10 one sentence about Verica;11 while Dubnovellaunus and the first three letters of Tincomarus’

8 Strabo Geog. 4.1.5 (written c. 18 CE): “a short time ago [Massalia] was given over as merely a training school for the barbarians and was schooling the Galatae to be fond enough of the Greeks to write even their contracts in Greek . . .” 9 Tacitus Ann. 3.43. 10 Dio 60.20.1; Suet., Gaius 44.2. 11 Dio 60.19.1.

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name appear in a list in Augustus’ Res Gestae;12 whereas on the names of Eppillus, Epaticcus and Tasciovanus the historical record is totally silent. Nonetheless, just as Herod visited Rome, so too did the British kings, arriving and making sacrifice on the capitol, though frustratingly we do not know which ones they were.13 We also know British boys were also seen in Augustan Rome by Strabo,14 though whether they were obsides, slaves or anything else we also do not know. Certainly these kings had a close relationship with the Princeps. So much so, that when any felt insecure in their own kingdom, it seems they fled to the emperor for protection (Tincomarus and Dubnovellaunus fled to Augustus; Amminus—a son of Cunobelin—fled to Gaius; and Verica had fled to Rome at some point and was there when Claudius was considering invading the island). Like Herod of Judaea, Archelaus of Cappadocia and Juba of Mauretania, it is possible that the founders of the Commian and Tasciovanian dynasty were external impositions upon Britain, selected from the neighbouring aristocracy in Gaul. Commius, the founder of the British Southern dynasty is generally imagined to be one and the same as the Commius of the Gallic Atrebates, who appears in Caesar’s Gallic Wars.15 Here he had been a loyal friend to Caesar and had been given dominion not only over the Gallic Atrebates, but other communities on the northeast as well (the Menapii and Morini)—his relations did however receive a setback during the Gallic Revolt where he sided with Vercingetorix. A similar external imposition may have taken place with the Eastern or Tasciovanian dynasty. They ruled over an area that became the Roman civitas of the Catuvellauni after the conquest. This again is the name of a community in neighbouring Gaul amongst the Remi—who were very loyal to Caesar throughout the Gallic revolt. So again it is not unlikely that one of their more pliant rulers were given dominion over surrendering tribes in eastern Britain. The island may not have been turned into a province after Julius Caesar’s expeditions of 55 and 54 BCE, but it certainly seems as if Rome had meddled in its affairs. Res Gestae 32. Strabo, Geography, 4.5.3. 14 Strabo, Geography, 4.5.2. 15 See Creighton 2000, 59–64 for a discussion of the historical evidence. Some believe the British Commius may be the son of the Gallic Commius, the evidence is equivocal but the consequence would be the same, that this was a king being imposed by Rome from the aristocracy of a neighbouring area. 12 13

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Complex narratives have been built up of the history of these dynasties in the years between Caesar’s visits of 55 and 54 BCE and Claudius’ conquest in 43 CE. Based on coin distributions, pseudohistories have been created of the rise, fall and expansion of each of these king’s dominions.16 While there is probably a basis of reality in many of these, there is also probably an element of over-interpretation of evidence as well.17 Having introduced the British dynasties of the early Principate, it is time to see how their coinage developed and how this compared to practices in other friendly kingdoms around the Roman world. Coinage and Links with the Iconography of Augustus Much of the indigenous coinage of Gaul and South East Britain was based on imagery ultimately derived from the staters of Philip II of Macedon and the coinage of Tarrentum. Successive issues would modify a design by small degrees, ultimately leading to the development of a series of distinctive regional styles, many highly abstracted. From these incremental changes numismatists have derived their long complex typologies around which our chronologies of Celtic coin have been constructed.18 However, around the mid- to late first century BCE radically new images began to appear in several regions. The abstract ‘Celtic’ imagery gave way to novel devices, including ‘portraits’, horsemen, lions and victories. It was recognised early on that many of these derived from the imagery on Roman denarii.19 This phenomenon did not last very long in continental Gaul since it was now under direct Roman rule. Local production continued for a while, but as the area was gradually provincialised and the mint at Lugdunum began production, the need for local coinages ceased. However, in Britain this phenomenon of using Roman prototypes continued and flourished for another century under the Tasciovanian and Commian Dynasties until the Claudian annexation of the southeast in 43 CE.

For example: Mack 1953, Rodwell 1976, Van Arsdell 1989, Bean 2000. The way narratives of the Late Iron Age have been constructed is summarised in Creighton 2000, 74–9. 18 The best example of the development of this serial imagery is Scheers’ work on Gallo-Belgic coin, slightly modified by Haselgrove. References: Scheers 1977, 61; and Haselgrove 1984. 19 Scheers 1969. 16 17

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A series of studies has taken place on Celtic coin focusing upon this classical imagery. Scheers looked at a wide range of issues in Gaul that may have had Roman denarii as prototypes20 and similarly turned her attention to Britain, though here extending the range of prototypes to include curiously a wide range of late Greek issues.21 The use of such a variety of sources for the designs was puzzling, as Scheers pointed out: One of the most singular and striking features of these coinages is the presence of types which are exclusively related to the Greek world, such as leaves, grain-ears, and boar-heads. Certainly, most of these types bear some relation to actual objects or circumstances of the Celts, but is not this the reason why they were chosen? Because they conveyed a special meaning within the Celts’ own cultural heritage?22

This has been the prevailing feeling behind the Celtic appropriation of classical imagery, that somehow it reflected certain aspects of ‘Celtic life’. Allen and Laing, looking at the British material, shared this opinion.23 Henig augmented the argument by suggesting that the British were also using gemstones as a source of imagery as well as denarii.24 However, I think there are some problems with these perceptions. First, the mechanism by which these images were received and selected has rarely been discussed or made explicit. How did these denarii and gemstones arrive in Northern Europe, and why were these particular images selected? Many of the supposedly copied Roman coins were from exceedingly rare issues. In Britain sphinxes appeared on several local coins, but this animal was only represented on a very small selection of extremely rare Augustan issues out in the east of the Empire, none of which are known from northern European contexts.25 A second example comes from the vicinity of Luxembourg where we have coins being issued in the name of ARDA, probably minted at the oppidum of the Titelberg.26 This coin copied the image of a horseman on one side derived from a Republican denarius issued by P. Crepusias,27 a coin we will have cause to mention later. Once again this is a very rare issue in Scheers (note 19). S. Scheers 1982; also: S. Scheers 1992. 22 Scheers 1992, 41–3. 23 Allen 1958 and Laing 1991. 24 Henig 1972. 25 Augustan Sphinxes appear on RIC 478, 492, 511–3 & 527; all these are references to Sutherland 1984. 26 Sch. 30a classe ii; all these are references to Scheers 1977. 27 RRC 361; all these are references to Crawford 1974. 20 21

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northern Europe; of all the thousands of denarii reported in the German Fundmunzen volumes detailing coin finds from that country, only one of these types has been discovered. The choices of types seem exotic and rare, so what was the motivation behind these selected images? In the context of a discussion about Herod, one might wonder if this arrival of new imagery in Britain does not have more to do with the kind of stylistic diffusion that was being seen in a range of cultural spheres among the Hellenistic friendly kings. Jacobson has observed that the new Roman building techniques, particularly opus reticulatum and the use of hydraulic concrete that could be seen in a variety of the ‘new towns’ being constructed in these kingdoms, perhaps indicates artisans shipped out from Rome. With these came decorative techniques; some from Rome, but others from Phoenician-Numidian, Hellenistic and Egyptian iconography.28 Within this context of cultural diffusion amongst the super-elite of the client kings and Princeps, the development of new imagery on the coinage can make perfect sense. If we step back and look at British coinage in the context of what was happening in other client kingdoms, Britain can be seen to fit in exceptionally well to this new cultural milieu. Indeed, the kings in Britain can be shown to display an alarmingly thorough attention to detail in adopting not just the general imagery of the Mediterranean world, but also the specific visual language of power in the developing Principate of Augustus and his network of friendly kings. If we look at various areas in turn, we will be able to see how this works. The Coinage of Numidia and Mauretania The coinage of North Africa up until the civil wars was extremely conservative; the vast majority of coins from the time of Masinissa (208–148 BCE) onwards had a horse on one side, and a bearded man representing the monarch on the other.29 Originally these were uninscribed, but gradually the names of individuals appeared on them and the men became cleanly shaven. There were the occasional additional types but not many until the time of the civil war, at which point the ruler, Juba I, issued a range of new types with temples and other images on them. But Juba I lost the war and his life. His young son (later Juba II) was taken to Rome and led in Caesar’s triumphal procession, after Jacobson 2001 p. 30. The standard catalogue is Mazard 1955; with two supplements: Mazard 1956 and 1957. 28 29

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which Octavian raised him along with the sons and daughters of other monarchs, marrying him off to the daughter of Cleopatra and Mark Antony. In 33 BCE the king of Mauretania died and for a few years this part of Africa was ruled directly by Rome, however in 25 BCE Augustus installed Juba II there as king, where he ruled for 50 years until his death. In 25 CE the throne passed peacefully to his son Ptolemy, who died in 40 CE, murdered on the instructions of Gaius. Here the royal line came to an end, and direct rule by Rome was resumed when Claudius annexed the region. Iconographically the coinage marks a radical shift between Juba I in Numidia and Juba II in Mauretania. Juba II now developed a far greater range of types, many of which included a rich collection of allusions to religious and temporal symbols of power. Imagery of Hercules is prevalent, a potent Hellenistic attribute of kingship ever since Alexander the Great. So too were representations of imperial gifts from Rome including a curiale chair, a sceptre and robe. Eagles and lions also occur frequently. It appears as if the upbringing in Rome had led to a complete disjunction with the imagery of his ancestors. This is hardly surprising, since the education in Rome was so thorough that Juba II was widely regarded as being one of the most learned men of his day, and he wrote a series of books on geography and history, alas none of which survive. Like Herod, Juba’s links of patronage also spread far and wide, being an honorary magistrate in Gades and Carthago Nova in Spain, and erecting statues in Athens—the showcase of the Hellenistic world within which he was now competing. In Juba II we see how an education in Rome could change an individual fundamentally. The Coinage in Britain Britain had been conquered by Julius Caesar in 55/54 BCE, though as with Mauretania it was not converted into a full province until after it was annexed by Claudius some time later. The coinage of Britain, as far as we understand its chronology, continued using the same earlier ‘abstract’ imagery after Caesar’s visit.30 Even the first inscribed coins References to British coin take the form of VA375:S7. The first part refers to the reference number in Van Arsdell’s catalogue; while the second part indicated the region where the coins are found and their approximate date (after Haselgrove). The regions and phases which appear here are ‘S’ for Southern, ‘E’ for Eastern and ‘SE’ for SouthEastern. The coin phases have the following approximate dates: Phase 6 = c. 50–20 BCE, Phase 7 = c. 20 BCE to 10 CE, Phase 8 = c. 10–40 CE, Phase 9 = c. 30–45 CE. The standard works are: Van Arsdell 1989 and Haselgrove 1987. 30

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in Britain with COMMIOS’ name on them continued the earlier image repertoire. However when the first ‘son of Commios’ took over, TINCOMARVS, we suddenly get for the first time classical imagery appearing. The kind of date for this would be in the 30s or 20s BCE. So, at about the same time as Juba II was sent to rule Mauretania we have Tincomarus appearing in Britain with radically new concepts and ideas of what should appear on a coin. It would appear that we might have the same phenomenon taking place in Britain, with a radical shift in the imagery being effected by the return of a son brought up in a different cultural milieu. From this point on many of the coins of the principal two dynasties of south-east Britain adopted a new classical repertoire of images. However to imagine that they were simply random copies of Roman coins is to miss the bigger picture. They follow the key images which Octavian himself used as he carved out for himself dominion in Rome. The British coin reflects directly the visual language of the development of the Principate as reflected in the Augustan building programme in Rome, something which was only partially reflected on Roman coinage. The use of visual language by Octavian/Augustus has been extensively discussed by Zanker.31 In his work he shows the sequential development and the political context of the images used. For example, amongst the earliest images that Octavian used was the star. This represented the comet seen shortly after Caesar’s death (Sidus Iulium), and thought to represent his transformation into a god. Octavian went around placing a star on all of Caesar’s statues. His link with his divine ‘father’ was also emphasised on his coinage with the inscription CAESAR DIVI F. But divine ancestry was nothing in comparison to the need for military might, and the most potent symbol of this in Rome was the award by the senate to this young man of an equestrian statue—the traditional symbol of military victory. Even before it was built it had been shown of on his coinage (though the image on the earlier coins looked nothing like the final monument as represented on some later ones). It is very curious therefore that the very first classical image that appears in Britain combines all of these very specific attributes. This is a gold coin of Tincomarus with ‘TINCO’ inscribed in well carved

31 Zanker 1988; the effect on British coin is discussed extensively in Creighton 2000, 80–125.

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Latin letters on one side, which on the other is an equestrian statue with a horseman carrying a spear on a horse rearing up. Underneath are the letters C.F., expanded on other coins to be read as ‘Commios Filus’, whilst above is a star.32 As it happens the horseman is a copy of the Republican issue of P. Crepusias,33 but the symbolism is totally that of Octavian’s rise to power, using all the same visual strategies. As time continues, other imagery related to Octavian/Augustus is used in Britain (Fig. 2). Augustus’ star sign (Capricorn) appears. The Sphinx appears which was the image Octavian had on his signet ring, the animal represented the dawning of the golden age of Apollo, a deity Octavian associated himself with). The victory at Actium heralded a new range of motifs including the sea creatures and gods that had helped in the battle, most notably representations of Victory herself. These too appear in Britain. With the civil war won, reconciliation was necessary, and themes of sacrifice and the healing of the state dominated; and then as Augustus reached his dotage the Golden Age was proclaimed and images of nature ordered and in abundance predominated, as exemplified by the sculptural reliefs on the Ara Pacis. Both the two monarchs who dominated Later Iron Age Britain had symmetricised nature on the obverses of their coinage: Cunobelin in the eastern kingdom with his ear of corn and Verica in the south with his vine leaf. Such was the evolution of Augustan political imagery, and while our knowledge of the precise chronology of British coinage is vague, what we do understand of it is totally consistent with finding the imagery in Britain within a generation of its use in Rome. An image did not need to show Augustus directly to allude to him. In using Octavian/Augustan imagery the British dynasts were acting no differently from other members of the elite in Rome and Italy who began to adopt the same visual language on items from finger rings to roof tiles, oil lamps to wall-paintings. Had the sons of the British client kings been brought up in Rome then this should occasion no surprise whatsoever. Their upbringing would have thoroughly inculcated them with this new visual language together with its highly charged symbolic meaning. So much so that in some instances when we have victory transferred to Britain, instead of carrying a wreath (a symbol

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VA375: S7 (see Figure 2). RRC 361.

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not necessarily understood by a British audience) this appears to have been transformed into a torque.34 It is only a hypothesis that the children of the British elite were brought up in Rome, but if that was the case then we can expect the likes of Tincomarus to have known his contemporary Juba II and the sons of Herod. All would have been children when they arrived in the metropolis, and both Juba II and Tincomarus returned to rule their new dominions at about the same time. If there is a strong linkage between the imagery used by friendly kings and images associated with Rome and Augustus, does the same phenomenon exist in terms of the sharing of imagery between the friendly kings? As it happens there are extremely close links between the coinage of the Commian dynasty and that of Juba II and his son Ptolemy (Fig. 3). These links are enduring and pass down the generations of each dynasty. It suggests that we are not dealing with a single period of contact between Juba II and Tincomarus in Rome as children, but a longer-lasting association, exactly as we understand Herod continually travelled and met up with his contemporaries around the Mediterranean world. This conforms totally to the picture represented by Suetonius of Augustus fostering links between the kings and children of kings around his empire. One of the images, that of a lion, is found not only both in Britain and Mauretania, but in the Bosporan kingdom as well;35 so we have it at the north-west, south-west and north-easternmost extremities of Roman influence; and yet it is not mimicking a Roman image but one which probably has its roots in Mauretania. In conclusion, I would see the romanised imagery that suddenly appears in post-Caesarian contexts in Northern Europe as being a consequence of the inculcation of the native elite by Rome, sometimes taking place at Rome itself. The literary sources are silent about this, but the survival of literary testimony can be remarkably erratic. We only know that many of the sons of Herod of Judea were brought up in Rome because Josephus decided to write a history of the Jewish War; had he not done so we would have had no literary evidence for this at all. Alas, no one was writing a detailed history of Julio-Claudian northern Europe between Caesar’s Gallic Wars and Tacitus’ Germania.

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Victory holding a torque: Eppillus VA452:SE8. Bosporan coinage: Frolova 1997 (see Figure 2).

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Given the possibility of this phenomenon it would be worth re-examining some of the other Northern European Series. The Coinage in Noricum Noricum lay just on the other side of the Alps from Italy, and so the close involvement of the Roman Republic in her affairs was almost inevitable. Relations appear to have been relatively amicable for much of the time, and this has led to problems, as the lack of military action has also led to a lack of literary testimony about the region. Nonetheless from late second century BCE Roman traders were clearly present at the principal settlement: the Magdalensberg. The literary testimony is slightly ambiguous, but the region was probably annexed by Rome in the Augustan period, perhaps when Drusus and Tiberius subdued the Raeti and Vindelici in 15 BCE.36 However, apart from the construction of even more romanised structures on the Magdalensberg, little of archaeological significance took place until the Claudian period when the old oppidum was deserted, and a new town was created (Virunum). This is when the area was probably turned into a formal province. The silver coinage of the south-western part of the Noricum Kingdom lasted from some time in the early first century BCE probably until around 15 BCE.37 While the absolute chronology of the coinage is uncertain, Göbl has created what he believes to be a tight relative chronology. The sequence can be clearly broken down into an earlier and later series, the latter starting with an otherwise unknown ruler called COGESTLVS. Halfway though his earlier series a name appears in ‘Venetic’ letters saying ‘VOKK’, which may be the Norican king Voccio mentioned by Caesar.38 If the end of the earlier series and the entirety of the later one have to be fitted into the period from Caesar to c. 15 BCE, then the switch between the two would presumably have come around the 30s BCE on the basis of a crude guess. The importance of this is that the entirety of the new stream of coinage is based upon the horseman image from the Republican denarius of

Strabo Geog. 4.6.8; Alfoldi 1974, 52. See: Göbl 1973 and 1994; and also Mackensen 1975. 38 VOCCIO mentioned in Caesar BG 1.53.4 & is possibly the King in Caesar Civil War 1.18. 36 37

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P. Crepusias, the same image which Tincomarus in Britain used as the first classical picture on his coinage. Both kingdoms are showing similar transformations based on the same prototype at about the same date, this cannot be a coincidence. We also find other material evidence at the Magdalensberg linking Noricum with Britain and some of the other friends and allies of Rome. An exceptionally well-decorated brooch was found there, showing a kneeling helmeted warrior with shield. The posture is very much like that of the supplicant king. Only one other like it is known, and that was from Verulamium in Britain, the principal mint of Tasciovanus,39 another oppidum of a friendly king. A link with Mauretania can also be found: there was graffiti on the walls of one of the shops there showing that there had been multiple visits from a merchant called Orosius from Volubilis in Juba II’s kingdom. His name recurs several times indicating he was buying large numbers of rings and plates.40 Numismatics and archaeology come together to demonstrate linkage between not only Noricum and Rome, but between Noricum and other friendly kingdoms. The Coinage of Arda of the Treveri and the Case of the Recurring Horseman Arda is an unknown king, but his name appears on a tri-metallic series of coins that come from around the time of Caesar.41 His coinage focuses upon the oppidum of the Titelberg in modern day Luxemburg. Because half of Arda’s coins have classical designs on them, it is likely that they post-date the Gallic wars. Some people contest this as it has sometimes been asserted that client kings did not have the right to mint gold coins (ergo Arda must be pre-conquest). There is no absolute reason for believing this assertion however. It was not a rule that client kings did not have the right to issue gold coins. Ptolemy did in Mauretania, and many of the British dynasts did too.42 Arda’s gold was extremely traditional in its design, developing on from the earlier inscribed gold of the Region.43 This has reinforced the belief by some that it is earlier 39 Brooch from Magdelensberg: Collis 1984, 147; the brooch from Verulamium: Stead and Rigby 1989. 40 For the graffiti see Egger 1961; though also see Euzennat 1979. 41 Reding 1972. 42 The debate about client kings and gold is reviewed in Braund 1984, 123–6. 43 Arda’s gold: APDA Sch. 30AVvi; earlier gold: VOCARANT Sch. 30AVii; LVCOTIOS Sch. 30AViii & POTTINA Sch. 30AVv.

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than some of the more Romanised silver and bronze issues, placing the gold before or during the Gallic wars and the silver and bronze afterwards. However even in Britain there is a far greater degree of conservatism in the gold coinage after Caesar than in the silver and bronze, so no chronological disparity need be implied. However, it is in the silver and bronze coinage that the iconography becomes more interesting. In his silver series he has one type which is romanised and another that is not. The pattern is the same with his bronze coinage as well. Of the romanised silver, it has on one side a picture of Victory (taken from the coin of Juba I of Mauretania), while on the other side is the ubiquitous equestrian image from the P. Crepusias republican denarius.44 Both images are potent symbols of Augustus’ ascendancy, with Victory taking on a huge role after the battle of Actium, and the horseman representing the award to Octavian of an equestrian statue. The romanised bronze coin similarly has an equestrian image on one side, but an image of Jupiter on the other, as in the principal god in the Capitolium where offerings were made by visiting kings until Augustus’ new forum and Temple of Mars Ultor was constructed. The appearance of the P. Crepusias type in Britain, Noricum and with Arda is a remarkable coincidence, if it is a coincidence. Nash suggested long ago that she thought that the die engravings were so good that thy must have been imperial gifts to Tincomarus and Arda. Given our understanding of the nature of client kingship, which these people may have been part of, this is not at all unlikely. It is all too easy to forget the individuals behind the issue of coins, but I hope that this article can start to refocus on how imagery was used by individuals and why. Both the Commian dynasty and Arda used imagery that they share with a number of other groups around the periphery of the empire and with Octavian/Augustus himself. I believe direct links and associations between them are the context for this, rather than simply the random copying of Roman denarii. Client kingship is one mechanism, though not the only one, but I think it helps explain close relationships between regions which are otherwise difficult to understand.

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Loscheider 1994.

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From coinage we can gently move away to look at other items of material culture that we start to find in common around the fringes of the Roman world, all similarly linking individuals with each other and the centre. On many of the coins of friendly kings regalia are displayed. Interpreting these is often difficult. Sometimes a good argument can be made for suggesting that they represent gifts from Rome, on the other hand they might be local insignia imitating the trappings of power of the Roman world. Nonetheless, the effect upon subjects in their kingdoms would have been the same. In Mauretania Ptolemy was awarded a triumphal robe and an ivory sceptre in 24 CE.45 These appear to be shown on some of his coins. His father, Juba II, also displayed a set of regalia on some of his coins, however none of the literary sources say explicitly that these were gifts from Rome; but the timing of the issue is suggestive. Juba II’s coins date to some time not long after 6 CE. This happens to be shortly after a victory by him and the Roman general Cossus against some rebels, the Gaetuli, in the south;46 so an award of gifts may have come in the wake of that. In both images the chair or throne is central and clearly important. On the coinage of the Bosporan Kingdom two coin types also show a curule chair and other objects. In this case the coin types became fossilised and were retained by various kings throughout the first and second century CE. In addition to the chair a staff can be seen. Ivory sceptres are mentioned as gifts: however this one appears to be topped by a small bust on a globe. This object is rare and exceptional. Few busts are known mounted on globes, and with one exception none are from the first or early second century. The exception comes from a nineteenth century find believed to be from a railway cutting near Colchester (Fig. 4).47 Here a small bust was found, mounted on a globe, which itself had been remounted on a bell shaped object. In terms of scale it is similar in size to the image on the Bosporan coin. The bust was identified as being a young Gaius: however the identification is by no means secure, and referring to it just as an early Julio-Claudian is probably safest. In

45 46 47

Tac. Ann. 4.26.4. Fishwick and Shaw 1976. Toynbee 1964, 40.

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terms of visual language the representation of the emperor’s head on a globe showing world domination is an image redolent of power.48 The globe appears on denarii associated with Caesar (RRC 494/39a; 480/6): it could be seen being trampled underfoot by both the figure of Roma (RRC 449/4) and Victory herself (RRC 546/4). The message in each case was the same; Rome was supreme. As a gift to a friendly king, the image of an imperial bust on a globe linked the king with his distant but omnipresent sponsor and guarantor. It clearly demonstrated where power lay to back up the king in his kingdom. Evidence for chairs, and a sella curulis in particular, has been found in the Lexden Tumulus near Colchester. Within this high-status grave, dating to some time around 15–1 BCE, a large amount of corroded ironwork was found which Foster identified plausibly as part of a folding chair.49 The identification is not absolutely certain, nonetheless it offers the most convincing interpretation of the remains, and in the light of the discussion above is by no means unlikely. Together with it was found a small sandaled foot, which may have been on one of the legs of the stool paralleled in an example from a Claudian burial in Nijmegen.50 Smaller forms of gift may also have been ‘issued’ to our friendly kings, such as the identical brooches found from both the centre of the Norican kingdom at the Magdalensberg, and from one of the major oppida of the Eastern Kingdom in Britain, showing a suppliant warrior—images very redolent of pictures on the Boscoreale cups. Of course, very few small-finds specialists often sit down to compare the material culture of such distant places, so it is highly likely there are many more such artefacts hiding in archaeological reports waiting to be matched with others from beyond the other side of the Roman Empire. Towns and Burial Herod, and all the Hellenistic friendly kings, were famous for their city foundations named in honour of the Principate or his family. Herod had his Caesarea, as did others in the east.

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Nicolet 1991, 36–7. Foster 1986, 61, 109. Jitta et al. 1973.

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In the west in Mauretania, Juba and his wife, Cleopatra Selene, also set about transforming their new dominion with the redevelopment and renaming of a town. Having had a childhood in Rome at the court of Octavian, Juba II found himself granted sovereignty in Mauretania. Here, despite now living in North Africa, he tried to show that he was still conducting life in accordance with Roman standards, displaying his humanitas, by developing his own royal court.51 Innovative new buildings were constructed, and an orderly orthogonal plan was forced through the Carthaginian and Numidian city of Caesarea. The arrival of Juba in an alien land recreating a haven of romanitas around him also has resonances with earlier times at Silchester in the southern kingdom in Britain. When it was established c. 10 BCE, its material culture in terms of ceramics, food and buildings contrasted greatly with anything hitherto in central southern Britain. Again, whoever was founding this settlement was creating a haven of humanitas on a lesser scale within which to feel comfortable and rule. Whether this was Tincomarus returning from an upbringing in Rome we can only speculate. The scale of architecture is different, but the principles were the same, with new architectural forms and ways of living arriving not just here, but in the other newly founded oppida in the Eastern Kingdom as well. Juba II set to work not only in the towns but also on other projects. Near Tipasa a massive tomb was constructed, probably at this time, as the Mauretanian Royal Mausoleum.52 In its design it drew upon earlier mausolea in Numidia (from where his father had come), but it also bore a striking resemblance to Augustus’ monumental tomb, which was already under construction in 27 BCE, before Juba II left Rome. Juba was drawing upon both local and Augustan models, and this shows how the creation of a new Imperial culture was not just a one-way flow, rather a dialogue between the elites of the developing Imperial diaspora. In Britain too we have our kings of the Eastern dominions constructing the Lexden tumulus, a much more modest affair, but again a monument which has been seen as drawing its inspiration from a combination of the tumuli of much earlier pre-history, the developing burial culture of Belgic Gaul (e.g. the tomb at Clemency in the territory

51 52

Roller 2003, 119–62. Pomponius Mela 1.31.

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of Arda’s Treveri)53 and Augustus’ mausoleum. Ideas flowed around within this elite network. Change does not need programmatic ‘romanisation’, what it requires is a community of ideas and people with a commonality of interests. In Judea we are richly furnished with both the archaeology and literary testimony. In Mauretania as well we have just about enough information to see this taking place at a human level, combining the archaeology, numismatic and epigraphic record with the literary evidence. In Britain we are less fortunate, but attention to the small pieces of evidence can build up to suggest that the poor relations on the north-western fringes of the empire were bound into the developing Principate in similar ways to Herod, Juba and their contemporaries. All the friendly kings from Judea, Britain and beyond found common purpose with the elite in Rome, and in the interplay of ideas and values they helped fashion new social identities for themselves, bonding them into the Principate. The late first century BCE and the early first century CE did not so much see the extension of Roman culture across temperate Europe in competition with existing societies; rather it witnessed the creation of a new Imperial culture through the interaction and activities of these friends and allies of Rome.54 Bibliography Alfoldi, G., 1974. Noricum, London: RKP. Allen, D. F., 1958. “Celtic coins as an illustration of life in late pre-Roman Iron Age Britain”, Proc. Prehist. Soc. 24, 43–63. Bean, S. C., 2000. The Coinage of the Atrebates and Regni, Studies in Celtic Coinage, Number 4, Oxford: Oxford University School of Archaeology Monograph 50. Braund, D. C., 1984. Rome and the Friendly King: The Character of Client Kingship, Beckenham: Croom Helm. Collis, J., 1984. Oppida: Earliest towns in Northern Europe, Sheffield: John Collis Publications. Crawford, M. H., 1974. Roman Republican Coinage, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Creighton, J. D., 2000. Coins and Power in Late Iron Age Britain, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——, 2006. Britannia: The creation of a Roman Province, Abingdon: Routledge.

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Egger, R., 1961. Die Stadt auf dem Magdalensberg ein Grosshandelsplatz: Die Ältesten Aufzeichnungen uber den Metallwarenhandel auf dem Boden Österreichs, Wien: Kommissionsverlag der Osterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Euzennat, M., 1979. “Le Marocain du Magdalensberg”, Antiquités Africanes 14, 123–128. Fishwick, D. and Shaw, B. D., 1976. “Ptolemy of Mauretania and the conspiracy of Gaetulicus”, Historia 25, 491–4. Foster, J., 1986. The Lexdon Tumulus: A re-appraisal of an Iron-Age burial from Colchester, Essex, Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 156. Frolova, N. A., 1997. Monethoe Delo Bospora (Seredina I v. do n.e.—Seredina IV v.n.e.) Volume I: Monetnoe delo Bospora 49/48 g. do. N.e.—210/211 g. n.e., Moscow: Editorial URSS. Göbl, R., 1973. Typologie und Chronologie der keltischen Munzprägung in Noricum, Wien: Osterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. ——, 1994. Die Hexadrachmenprägung der Gross-Boier: Ablauf, Chronologie und Historiche Relevanz für Noricum und Nachbargebiete, Wien: Fassbaender. Haselgrove, C. C., 1984. “Warfare and its aftermath as reflected in the precious metal coinage of Belgic Gaul”, Oxford Journal of Archaeology 3/1, 81–105. ——, 1987. Iron Age Coinage in SE Britain: the Archaeological Context, Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 174. Henig, M., 1972. “The origin of some ancient British coin types”, Britannia 3, 209–23. Jacobson, D. M., 2001. “Three Roman Client Kings: Herod of Judaea, Archelaus of Cappadocia and Juba of Mauretania”, Palestine Exploration Quarterly 133, 22–38. Jitta, A. N. Z., Peters, W. J. T. & Witteveen, A. M., 1973. The figural Bronzes: Description of the collections in the Rijksmuseum at Nijmegen, Nijmegen: Rijksmuseum. Laing, L., 1991. “Types and Prototypes in Insular Celtic Coinage”, in Celtic Coin Bulletin 1, Nottingham: University of Nottingham, 19–24. Loscheider, R., 1994. “Ein Beitrag Numidiens zur keltischen Numismatik des Trevererlandes”, Hemecht 47.4, 579–90. Mack, R. P., 1953. The Coinage of Ancient Britain, London: Spink. Mackensen, M., 1975. “The state of research on the ‘Norican’ silver coinage”, World Archaeology 6.3, 249–275. Mazard, J., 1955. Corpus Nummorum Numidiae Mauretaniaeque, Paris: Arts et Métiers Graphiques. ——, 1956. “Nouvel apport a la Numismatique de la Numidie et de la Mauretanie”, Libyca: Archéologie & Epigraphie 4, 57–67. ——, 1957. “Deuxième Supplément au Corpus Nummorum Numidiae Mauretaniaeque”, Libyca: Archéologie & Epigraphie 5, 51–58. Metzler, J., Waringo, R., Bis, R. and Metzler-Zens, N., 1991. Clemency et les tombes de l’aristocratie en Gaule Belgique, Luxembourg: Dossiers d’Archéologie du Musée National d’Histoire et d’Art I. Nicolet, C., 1991. Space, Geography, and Politics in the Early Roman Empire, Ann Arbour: University of Michigan Press. Reding, L., 1972. Les monnaies gauloises du Tetelbierg, Luxembourg. Rodwell, W. J., 1976. “Coinage, oppida and the rise of Belgic power in south-east Britain”, in Cunliffe, B. W. & Rowley, T. (eds.), Oppida in Barbarian Europe, Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, Supplementary Series 11, 181–367. Roller, D. W., 2003. The World of Juba II and Kleopatra Selene: Royal Scholarship on Rome’s African Frontier, New York: Routledge. Scheers, S., 1969. Les monnaies de la Gaule inspirées de celles de la République romaine, Leuven. ——, 1977. Traité de numismatique Celtique II: La Gaule Belgique, Paris: Annales Littéraires de l’Université de Besançon, Volume 195. ——, 1982. “Les imitations celtiques des monnaies romaines en Angleterre et leur signification historique”, in Actes du 9e Congrès International de Numismatique, Berne, Vol. 1, Luxembourg: Louvain-la-Neuve, 619–23.

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——, 1992. “Celtic coin types in Britain and their Mediterranean origins”, in Mays, M. (ed.) 1992, Celtic Coinage: Britain and Beyond, Oxford: British Archaeological Reports 222, 33–46. Stead, I. and Rigby, V., 1989. Verulamium: The King Harry Lane site, London: English Heritage Archaeological Report No. 12. Sutherland, C. H. V., 1984. The Roman Imperial Coinage, Volume 1 Revised Edition, 31BC– AD69, London: Spink. Toynbee, J. M. C., 1964. Art in Britain under the Romans, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Van Arsdell, R. D., 1989. Celtic Coinage of Britain, London: Spink. Woolf, G., 1997. “Beyond Romans and Natives”, World Archaeology 28, 339–50. Zanker, P., 1988. The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

RELIGION UNDER AUGUSTUS AND HEROD

ONE TEMPLE AND MANY SYNAGOGUES: ON RELIGION AND STATE IN HERODIAN JUDAEA AND AUGUSTAN ROME Daniel R. Schwartz Abstract The reign of Herod, who was neither a priest nor a Roman, looks as if it were a neatly intermediate step between the Hasmonaean period, when Judaea was ruled by high priests, and the Roman period, when it was ruled by non-Jews. It also seems to be the beginning of the separation of religion from state in Judaea. In fact, things are not at all so neat and clear-cut. On the one hand, the Hasmonaeans had already introduced formal and real separation of religion from state—by adding the royal title to their high-priesthood, which allowed even for rule by a queen, and then by abandoning their earlier insistence that their non-Jewish subjects convert to Judaism. And Herod’s reign, on the other hand, although it indeed continued and deepened this separation between the two spheres, nevertheless saw religion subject to the state. Herod appointed and switched high priests at will, preferring priests from the Diaspora who could be expected to have no political aspirations. Thus, Herod’s main contribution to the religion/state issue in Judaea seems rather to have been elsewhere, and one despite himself. Namely, his expansion and renovation of the Temple, which turned it into something quite massive and impressive, exacerbated the contradiction between the continued existence of that which the Bible and Jewish tradition considered to be the House of God, i.e., the palace of the true King of the Judaea, on the one hand, and Roman rule, on the other. This contradiction generated the rebellion of 66 CE and the ensuing destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE. Contemporary developments in Rome exacerbated the problem and contributed to the crisis. Namely, the decades of Herod’s rule were also those of massive growth for the Jewish community of Rome, which comes into view especially in the latter half of the first century BCE. This means that around the same time that Herod was providing the Jews with a visible and impressive symbol for the territorial nature of the Jews and their God, Jews in Rome were providing the emperors with more and more visible evidence for Judaism being something universal, and spiritual, without political aspirations and claims. So if once Romans could think of Jews only as Judaeans, by the days of Augustus, and into the first century, Jews were, for Romans, more and more adherents of the Jewish religion—thus allowing Romans less and less understanding for the motivations of territorially-oriented Judaeans just as the latter were getting a more and more impressive symbol for their aspirations. It is no surprise that it all blew up within a few decades.

For more than a century prior to Herod’s reign, on the one hand, Judaea was ruled by high priests, that is, by people who ruled the state by virtue of their status vis-à-vis the Jewish God and function in His cult.

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After Herod’s death and after a mere decade of rule by his son Archelaus, on the other hand, Judaea was ruled by Roman governors, that is, by representatives of the Roman state who had no relationship with the Jewish God or function in His cult. During the three-plus decades of Herod’s rule in between, in contrast both to the preceding period and to that which succeeded it, it was ruled by someone who, although Jewish, had no special status in the Jewish religion, but who, although a vassal of Rome, was the Jewish king of a Jewish state. Thus, it would seem, at first glance, that Herod’s reign was a period of transition, between one pole and the other. Here a Jewish religious leader, there a Roman governor, and in the middle someone who was a little of this and a little of that: a Jew by religion but without any special standing in the Jewish religion, and a vassal of Rome who nevertheless was formally the independent Jewish king of Judaea. Moreover, if we prescind from the individuals involved and look at the system, it would seem that Herod’s tenure played a pivotal role in the transition from a situation in which religion and state were bound up one with another, to one in which they were divided. Namely, if prior to Herod the Hasmonaean high priests who ruled Judaea had united the two spheres, and if after Herod the Romans who ruled Judaea had separated them, allowing high priests or later rabbis to run religious affairs as long as they rendered unto Caesar what belonged to Caesar, during Herod’s reign religion and state were separated but in a less demonstrative way, given the fact that the state was a Jewish one. That is, Herod’s reign saw the separation of the two spheres, but with kid gloves, and after several decades of letting the Jews get used to the idea it was simpler for the Romans to move in in Herod’s stead, leaving the religious sphere, as under Herod, to the high priests, but denying them, as under Herod, any governmental authority. However, in fact these two neat pictures of before, after and in between, are quite misleading for several reasons. First, it seems that already the Hasmonaeans, prior to Herod, had separated the religious sphere from that of the state. Second, it seems that even under Herod, religion and state were not as separate as one might think. The fact that Herod was not a priest—not to mention a high priest—did not prevent him from exercising authority in the field of Jewish religion, just as, indeed, it did not prevent his first Roman successors from doing the same. Third, and most importantly, it seems to me that Herod’s lasting contribution to the separation of religion and state was an ironic and certainly unplanned result of his most major involvement in the Jewish

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religion, namely, his renovation of the Temple of Jerusalem. Each of these three points will be presented in turn. 1. The Hasmonaeans had Already Separated Religion from State That this is the case is clear, I believe, from two Hasmonaean innovations that came more or less hand in hand in the late second or early first century BCE. The first of these was the decision to add the royal crown to the high priestly diadem, attributed by Josephus (Ant. 13.301) to Aristobulus I, who ruled for a year in 104/3 BCE, but perhaps really to be ascribed (with Strabo, Geog. 16.2.40) to his brother and successor, Alexander Jannaeus, who ruled 103–76 BCE.1 If all the Hasmonaean rulers until Aristobulus or Jannaeus had ruled as high priests alone (although they were in fact at the head of a fledgling Hasmonaean state), now one of these two brothers decided to formalise this rule by taking a title appropriate to it: basileus, “king”. But this formalised the recognition of the state as a separate sphere, alongside religion. True, at first the same ruler wore both crowns ( Jannaeus being both king and high priest), so the separation was only a formal one. But even the formalities of a constitution have their significance. Moreover, when Jannaeus died in 76 BCE he was replaced by his widow, Salome Alexandra. Although as a woman Salome could not be a priest, according to the rules of the Jewish religion, now that the religion had been distinguished from the state there was no reason for her not to rule the latter, and so she did (76–67 BCE), just as there were other queens around the Hellenistic world of her day. Thus, what began as a formality very quickly turned into practice. Moreover, the other Hasmonaean innovation of this period, a practical one, shows just how meaningful this constitutional innovation was. I refer to the issue of what to do about conquered non-Jewish populations, a pressing issue in the late second and early first centuries BCE, which were the heyday of Hasmonaean expansion. We do not have much information on this subject, but the clearest data pertain to the second century, to the days of John Hyrcanus and Aristobulus I, both of whom are said to have imposed circumcision on non-Jewish peoples

1 For a detailed defense of Strabo’s position, on the basis of numismatic evidence, see Main 2004, 309–91.

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of the region (Ant. 13.257–8, 318–9). The sources bristle with problems,2 but it is nonetheless clear that the conquest of Idumaea came hand in hand with the conversion of the Idumaeans—Herod’s ancestors—to Judaism, under John Hyrcanus I, and that something like that happened also with the Ituraeans, in the days of Aristobulus I. This, then, as already the Hasmonaean destruction of pagan temples and altars in Judaea (1 Macc 2:25, 45; 5:68; 13:47–8; etc.), would seem to be a clear application of the biblical principle that there shall be one law within the land, both for the native-born and those who come to dwell in it (Ex 12:48–9;3 Num 15:16; etc.). But it does not happen any more, as far as we can see, even though Alexander Jannaeus went on to conquer cities and territories along with their native populations. Why do we hear no more of forced conversion?4 Apparently, the earlier policy bespoke the notion that the land and its God go together, so he who wants to live in the Jewish country must accept the law of the God of that land. After all, the country was under the jurisdiction of someone who was defined as high priest of that God, and it made no sense to be his subject without being His subject too. However, whether or not this was a motive for the constitutional innovation or just an implication of it, the addition of the royal crown made sense of Hasmonaean rule of non-Jews and so allowed them to forgo the demand that their subjects become Jews. Thus the last years of the Hasmonaeans’ independence saw them institutionalising the separation of religion from state. True, when Salome died in 67 BCE and three-four years went by until Pompey conquered Jerusalem, her sons spent the time fighting each other, each hoping to restore the personal union of high priesthood and temporal rule. But they did not succeed, and even if they had, the very fact of Salome’s rule had already proven that the two spheres were separate, so with Pompey’s conquest of Judaea in 63 BCE the Romans could hope to inherit the same system, moving their own man in instead of Salome and letting some high priest go on running the Temple cult. 2 For the above mentioned Josephan passages and other sources, and a recent discussion, see Shatzman 2005. 3 Note the Septuagint translations of both occurrences of ’ezra˜ here, both of which clearly define the individual as a native of the place: autochthôn, enchôrios. 4 The closest we get is a Josephan statement that Jannaeus destroyed Pella because its inhabitants did not agree to adopt Jewish customs (Ant. 13.397)—which need not mean (and no one would claim) that the inhabitants of all the numerous other cities listed there did.

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Indeed, the Roman takeover saw it making two moves that fleshed out Rome’s claim that it was leaving the Jews their religion but taking the state for itself. First, it detached from Jewish jurisdiction non-Jewish territories that had been conquered by the Hasmonaeans, thus—as Josephus was to put it, using the approving language of a Syrian observer (Nicolaus of Damascus)—confining the ethnos to its own borders.5 By doing this, it expressed its opinion that the Jews are an ethnic entity, not a territorial one. Second, by denying its Hasmonaean vassal, Hyrcanus II, the royal title, and leaving him as “high priest”, and at some point “ethnarch” too, it made the same point. “High priests” go with religion, “ethnarch” (whenever Hyrcanus received that title—at the latest from Julius Caesar)6 goes with ethnos; it is “king” that would have gone with a state, and that the Romans did not give the Jews. That was shown clearly by the fact that, beginning in 63 BCE, the Jews paid taxes to Rome. These taxes, paid on that which grows in the land, were not only a financial burden. They were also clear expressions of the view that the land, that is, the state, belongs to Rome. Thus, it seems that our original assessment must be revised. First, the separation between religion and state did not begin with Herod; the Hasmonaeans, in their heyday, began it themselves. Second, the Hasmonaean high priest who preceded Herod, Hyrcanus II, did not really rule the state; already his generation was one of Roman rule of the state, while Hyrcanus ruled the religion and the people. Thus, Herod’s reign was not revolutionary in either respect. 2. Religion and State were Not Really Separate during Herod’s Reign True, there is movement in this direction. The most expressive pointer in this direction was Herod’s foundation of Caesarea, a city by the sea that, by its very name, pointed to Rome as the country’s mistress. This would seem to bespeak the view that the sovereign to whom Jerusalem pointed, and whose palace was there, namely, the Jewish God, was a religious sovereign only. Nevertheless, with regard to the highest echelon 5 See Ant. 14.74–76. For my attribution of this passage to Nicolaus, see Schwartz 1994, 217–219, and Schwartz 2002, 65–71. 6 See Jos., Ant. 14.194. For the assumption, based upon Ant. 20.244 (which uses more general terminology), that already Pompey gave this title to Hyrcanus II (so Caesar merely renewed or confirmed it), see Smallwood 1981, 27, 32, 39.

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of the Jewish religion proper, although the two spheres were distinct one from the other, Herod ruling the state while high priests administered the cult, the fact is that Herod ruled the high priesthood. If hitherto the rule had been that high priests served for life, nevertheless history knew of some exceptions, at times of political crisis—most recently in the 60s BCE, when a struggle between Hyrcanus II and his brother forced Hyrcanus, at one point, to step down from the high priesthood and give it to his brother ( Jos., Ant. 14.6–7; 20.243). So Herod had some precedent, and he made it into a rule: from his days on, high priests were appointed and changed at will by whatever temporal authority was invested with such authority. During Herod’s reign, he was the man, and we indeed find him exercising this privilege several times.7 Most interestingly, in the present context, is the fact that several of Herod’s appointees were from the Hellenistic diaspora; Josephus tells us this explicitly concerning Ananel8 and Simeon ben Boethus (Ant. 15.320–2), and the same may be inferred for Jesus ben Phiabi.9 If we ask why such appointees would have been attractive for Herod, various reasons suggest themselves. Indeed, concerning one of them, Simeon ben Boethus, Josephus reports that it was merely because Herod had fallen in love with the man’s daughter and so, upon marrying her, gave his father-in-law a good job. Nevertheless, we should not omit to note that, being Jews of the Diaspora, such high priests were used to their religion not investing them with claims for temporal authority. That too must have made them very attractive for the King of Judaea, especially since his own religious credentials could hardly compete with anyone’s. Another very practical way in which Herod exercised his control of the high priesthood was by keeping the high priestly vestments under lock and key. The Torah (Ex 39) and Jewish tradition required the high priest to wear special vestments when serving in the Temple, and so whoever controlled those vestments controlled the high priest. Josephus refers to this several times (Ant. 15.403–408; 18.90–95; 20.6–16), detailing the history of the custody of the vestments as practical indices

7 On the history of the high priesthood under Herod, see VanderKam 2004, 394–416. 8 At Ant. 15.22 and 39 Josephus says Ananel was from Babylonia. The Mishnah refers to a high priest named Anamel the Egyptian (m. Parah 3:5); for discussion of the question of their possible identity, see VanderKam 2004, 397–398. 9 See Stern 1974a, 274.

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of the government’s involvement in religion. As he tells the story, the Hasmonaean high priests had of course kept the vestments under their own control, in their fortress adjacent to the Temple Mount, and Herod, who renamed it Antonia, kept them there, but now in his own custody. This gave him a way of keeping the high priests under his thumb. Thus, if to begin with we thought Herod’s rule was one that saw a division between religion and state, we now must revise and say that the two spheres were indeed distinguished one from the other, but the former, in its most formal and representative institution, was subject to the latter. And this situation would remain the same during the first several decades of Roman rule too, for the first Roman governors went on appointing and deposing Jewish high priests, and keeping their vestments in governmental custody. Only after decades did they give it up and deposit those rights with the latter Herodians, whom they viewed as the Jews’ representatives ( Jos., Ant. 15.407, 20.12).10 3. Herod’s Lasting Contribution to the Separation of Religion and State was an Ironic and Certainly Unplanned Result of His Most Major Involvement in the Jewish Religion, Namely, His Renovation of the Temple of Jerusalem Herod’s expansion of the Temple Mount and renovation of the Temple was his most lasting achievement. It more than doubled the size of the Temple Mount and radically changed the appearance of the Temple, which had hitherto been, apparently, rather a modest institution. Observers such as Pliny (N.H. 5.70), who observed in the first century that Jerusalem was by far the most famous city of the East and not only of Judaea, and the later rabbis, who while generally hostile to Herod nevertheless admitted that “He who has not seen Herod’s (Temple) building has never seen a beautiful building” (b. B.B. 4a; similar in b. Sukk. 51b), testify to the great impact of Herod’s work upon the Temple and the city at large. That testimony is backed up impressively by modern excavations in the Herodian quarter of Jerusalem, what Josephus calls the Upper City.11

For the last Herodians as supervisors of the Temple, see Ant. 20.15–16, 217. See Levine 2002, 187–281 (on Herodian Jerusalem) and 326–335 (on the Upper City). 10

11

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Why did Herod make such an investment in the Temple, and in Jerusalem in general? The answer should be fairly obvious: Jerusalem was his capital and he wanted to make it impressive, and the Temple, its central institution, was dear to the Jews. Herod was a Jew, so if he made demonstrative contributions to pagan cities, both in his kingdom and abroad, all the more so should he have invested in the Jewish capital and its central shrine. This need not conflict with Roman rule, and indeed, just as Roman dignitaries took care to show respect for the Temple ( Jos., Ant. 14.488, 16.14; War 2.412–3, 4.181, 5.562–3; Philo, Leg. 157, 297, 319),12 so too did Herod take care to show respect for Rome in the Temple: we hear that he hung an eagle—an obvious symbol of Roman overlordship—over one of gates of the Temple, and punished severely some Jewish zealots who cut it down (War 1.648–55; Ant. 17.149–67). Similarly, along with Momigliano we should note that it is likely that the daily “loyalty sacrifices” in the Temple of Jerusalem, which (according to Philo, Leg. 157) began under Augustus, were begun by Herod himself.13 However, the most obvious way for Jews to understand the Temple was as what the Bible calls, hundreds of times, God’s “house”. But if it is God’s house, and if God is a king (another standard biblical notion), then the Temple was His palace, Jerusalem was His capital, and, accordingly, Judaea, or even the Land of Israel, was His territory. Whatever Herod wanted from his project, and whatever care both sides took to prevent it from provoking conflict, the result was willy-nilly the opposite: the bigger and better the Temple was, the more real God’s presence seemed to be, and, consequently, the more real a threat it posed to Rome. We note, in this connection, the fact that massive pilgrimage to Jerusalem is a well-known phenomenon of the first-century BCE, but hardly before. This would seem to point directly to the city’s upgrading under Herod. However, pilgrimage was not only an occasion for the individual believer to seek the proximity of God. It was also a serious national experience. As Philo (Spec. Leg. 1.68–70) put it, countless

For an exception, see Suetonius, Divus Augustus 93 (Stern 1976b, 110–111, no. 304). True, Philo says Augustus financed the sacrifices and implies that he initiated them, but, as Momigliano notes, that was required by the context (Augustus’ gestures to the Jews) in which Philo refers to them; see Momigliano 1934, 329, n. 5. Cf. Smallwood 1970, 240–241. For Philo’s willingness to play with historical facts in order to make his rhetorical points, see Schwartz 2004, 68–69. 12 13

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multitudes of Jews came from all over to Jerusalem and, apart from expressing their piety, also, while enjoying this brief period of happiness, formed ties of friendship and reciprocity. This sounds nice and peaceful, but need not remain so; as Josephus puts it roundly, in War 1.88, uprisings usually arose during the Jews’ festivities. And the Romans knew this was the case; witness the beefing up of the Roman garrison in Jerusalem, and overlooking the Temple, during the holidays ( Jos., War 2.224; 5.244–5), and witness the various violent incidents which did occur at the pilgrimages.14 Indeed, the fact is that the Temple of Jerusalem lay at the heart of the clash which touched off the great rebellion against Rome. Already in the days of Gaius Caligula, when the Jews of Jamnia ( Jabneh) had destroyed an altar there in honour of the Emperor because—as Philo (Leg. 202), who is surprisingly candid here, explains—they considered its existence to pollute the Holy Land, Gaius had correctly inferred that it was the existence of the Temple that underlay the notion that the land was holy. For the Temple signified the presence of God in the Land. Therefore, Gaius ordained the erection of a Roman idol in the Temple of Jerusalem, and this in and of itself would have touched off a full-scale rebellion had he not been assassinated. That assassination, however, did not change anything in principle, and a quarter of a century later, it was the same type of issue that touched off the rebellion. Namely, in the summer of 66 CE nationalist priests in Jerusalem decided to cease offering the loyalty sacrifices on behalf of Rome in the Temple of Jerusalem ( Jos., War 2.409–17). The meaning of this decision was very clear, just as the meaning of those sacrifices, which (as noted above) are said to have been customary since Herod’s days, was also very clear: they demonstrated that even in the Temple of Jerusalem, which might be considered the palace of the Jewish sovereign, the Jews accepted Roman sovereignty. Those who suspended these sacrifices made the opposite statement, which amounted to raising a Jewish flag where a Roman one had been, that is, it amounted to a declaration of war. And this time the war did indeed begin, and even the deaths of several emperors, in the Year of the Four Emperors, would not save the Jews. So, to summarise this point: by expanding and renovating the Temple, and Jerusalem more generally, Herod ironically reinforced the notion

14

See Jos., War 2.10, 224–227, 232–235, 255, 280–283; Luke 13:1.

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that they were alive and well. Although Herod thought they could be alive and well under Roman rule, for many believers it was the Bible’s, and Jewish history’s, understanding of the Temple and of Jerusalem that carried more weight: they were God’s palace and God’s capital, the center of God’s land, and many—too many—Jews believed that, in good conscience, they could not go on making concessions on God’s behalf. So much for the Judaean developments, under Herod, that laid the basis for the upheavals and catastrophe of the first century. However there was, it seems, another parallel and more or less contemporary development, not in Jerusalem but rather in Rome, which laid the groundwork for the same. Namely, if we want to study the history of the Jewish community of Rome itself, we should take note of two points that are very suggestive in the present context. First, it seems that the beginnings of the community itself are to be traced, for the most part, to the middle and late first century BCE— Herod’s days. True, we do have an isolated bit of evidence regarding Jews in Rome in 139 BCE, but it is both problematic in and of itself and, even if we believe it, what it reports is an expulsion of the Jews from the city.15 Thus, it could be that the community of the first century BCE represents a new start. The evidence for it begins with the 60s BCE, with Philo’s claim (Leg. 155) that the community grew out of Jews enslaved, brought to the capital, and eventually freed. For the most part this probably refers to those captured by Pompey and by later Romans active in Palestine; thus, for example, we read that Cassius, in 43 BCE or so, enslaved the population of several Judaean towns ( Jos., Ant. 14.275). Cicero’s evidence, in Pro Flacco 28:66–67, comes from a little earlier, the 50s: he complains about the Jewish mob exerting pressure upon him in the courtroom.16 And after these bits and pieces there are a few more, regarding the Jews of Rome in the days of Julius Caesar ( Jos., Ant. 14.215; Suet., Iul. 84.5)17 and demonstrations in Rome following Herod’s death ( Jos., Ant. 17.300–1, 330). This is not much, but it does indicate that, under Augustus, Jews were becoming part of the scenery in Rome itself.

15 16 17

For Valerius Maximus’ testimony, see Stern 1974b, 357–360, nos. 147a–b. See Stern 1974b, 193–201, no. 68. Stern 1976b, 109–110, no. 302.

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Second, what is most striking about the Jewish community of Rome, for those used to studying Jewish communities in the Hellenistic diaspora, is that we should not, in fact, speak of ‘the Jewish community of Rome’, for there were several. As opposed to the Jews of Alexandria, Berenice in Cyrene, and elsewhere, who were organised, it seems, as a single Jewish community ( politeuma) of a given city18—something corresponding to what used to be the Jewish kehilla of a given city, or a Gemeinde in Germany—in Rome what we find are many separate synagogues. The evidence is scattered and not at all satisfactory; thus, for example, while we have evidence for 11 different synagogues we do not know whether they all existed at the same time, and in some cases we are not sure what their names indicate about their nature. Since synagogue buildings have not yet been discovered in Rome, and there is no useful literary evidence, all we have to go on in order to date them are the inscriptions that name them. In some cases this leads nowhere, for we do not really know what the names indicate. However, two cases are very instructive: several inscriptions refer to the “Synagogue of the Augustans”, and several others to the “Synagogue of the Agrippans”.19 It appears to be beyond doubt that they were named, respectively, for Augustus himself and his son-in-law Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, who was a prominent public figure in his own right; that indicates that these synagogues, at least, were founded during the Augustan period. This, of course, tallies very well with the odd bits of evidence, summarised above, for the rise of the Jewish community in the city.20 All of which means that if once upon a time Romans could think of Jews, that is, of Ioudaioi in Greek or Iudaei in Latin, as Judaeans plain and simple, and therefore understand their sensitivities pertaining to a particular place, Judaea, and to that which was once its capital, Jerusalem, by the first century the Romans had plenty of nearby models for Jews who were organised only as members of local communities, without even a citywide framework, and who named their communities in ways that eloquently expressed their acceptance of Roman rule. And in this connection we should note that the Romans demonstrated little For some new evidence on this and a review of the dossier, see Kasher 2002/3. See van der Horst 1991, 86. 20 In general, on the history of the Jews of Rome, see Leon 1960; Barclay 1996, 282–319; and Gruen 2002, 15–53. 18 19

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understanding for the Jews’ distinction between synagogues on the one hand, which were many and all over and served as meeting places for Jews, and the Temple of Jerusalem on the other hand, of which there was only one and it was meant to serve as the House of God. This, in any case, seems to be the implication of the documents from the Roman period quoted by Josephus (Ant. 14.227, 260), that refer to the Jews’ sacrifices in local communities abroad.21 It thus seems, in conclusion, that around the same time that Herod, with no anti-Roman intentions, was expanding and improving the shrine which good biblical and traditional precedent viewed as the palace of the Jewish God, who ipso facto competed with Rome and denied its sovereignty in His land, the Jews of Rome were, increasingly, giving the Romans the impression that Jews, qua Jews, do not have any claims to any territory at all, much less to political sovereignty. This contradiction between what Jews want here and what Jews want there must have been very confusing, and also frustrating, for the Romans, just as Herod’s descendants, who were charged by Rome with supervising the Temple, must have found it very frustrating to see their grandfather’s foremost project serve as such an efficient focus and catalyst for anti-Roman ferment, and just as many Jews were evidently frustrated at seeing God’s new and expanded house not in fact having the real political significance the good books said it was supposed to have. With all sides so frustrated, it’s not surprising that things were soon to explode. After the rebellion things would be different: no Temple in Jerusalem seemed to posit Jewish sovereignty, and the city was now an inland Caesarea, home of a Roman legion; the Romans were moving to change the name of Judaea to Palestina, thus allowing the Jews of Rome, and of the diaspora as a whole, to identify themselves, and be identified by others, as adherents of a religion without territorial links;22 and even the Jews of Palestine were beginning the transfer of their center from Judaea to the Galilee. What Herod had tried to impose while holding on to the Temple could only be established without it, but it could only be destroyed if it were first enhanced enough to draw sufficient attention and allegiance from those who would make its implications real.

21 In general, about Roman misconceptions about the Jews and their practices, see M. Stern 1976a, 1144–59, and Pucci Ben Zeev 1989. 22 For the post-destruction rise of “Idumaea” and “Palestine” instead of “Judaea”, see Schwartz 2005, 68–71.

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That, it turns out, was Herod’s lasting, if ironic, contribution to the process that would allow for the Jews’ survival through two millennia of diasporan existence. Bibliography Barclay, J. M. G., 1996. Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora. Berkeley: Univ. of California. Gruen, E. S., 2002. Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University. van der Horst, P. W., 1991. Ancient Jewish Epitaphs, Kampen: Kok Pharos. Kasher, A., 2002/3. Jewish Quarterly Review 93, 257–268 (review of J. M. S. Cowey & K. Maresch, Urkunden des Politeuma der Juden von Herakleopolis . . . [2001]). Leon, H. J., 1960. The Jews of Ancient Rome, Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society. Levine, L. I., 2002. Jerusalem: Portrait of the City in the Second Temple Period (538 BCE–70 CE), Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society. Main, E., 2004. “Les Sadducéens et l’origine des partis juifs de la période du Second Temple”, (unpublished doctoral dissertation, École pratique des hautes études [Paris] and the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2004). Momigliano, A., 1934. “Herod of Judaea”, in: S. A. Cook, F. E. Adcock & M. P. Charlesworth (eds.), Cambridge Ancient History, X, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 316–339. Pucci Ben Zeev, M., 1989. “The Jews in the Romans’ Eyes”, in: A. Kasher, G. Fuks & U. Rappaport (eds.), Greece and Rome in Eretz-Israel, Jerusalem: Yad Ihak BenZvi,15–35 (in Hebrew). Schwartz, D. R., 1994. “Josephus on Hyrcanus II”, in F. Parente & J. Sievers (eds.), Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period: Essays in Memory of Morton Smith, Leiden: Brill, 210–232. ——, 2002. “Rome and the Jews: Josephus on ‘Freedom’ and ‘Autonomy’ ”, in A. K. Bowman et al. (eds.), Representations of Empire: Rome and the Mediterranean World, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 65–81. ——, 2004. “Did the Jews Practice Infant Exposure and Infanticide in Antiquity?” Studia Philonica Annual 16, 61–95. ——, 2005. “Herodians and Ioudaioi in Flavian Rome”, in J. Edmondson, S. Mason & J. Rives (eds.), Flavius Josephus in Flavian Rome, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 63–78. Shatzman, I., 2005. “On the Conversion of the Idumaeans”, in M. Mor et al. (eds.), For Uriel: Studies in the History of Israel in Antiquity Presented to Professor Uriel Rappapport, Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 213–241 (in Hebrew). Smallwood, E. M., 1970. Philonis Alexandrini Legatio ad Gaium (2nd edition), Leiden: Brill. ——, 1981. The Jews Under Roman Rule (2nd edition), Leiden: Brill. Stern, M., 1974a. “The Reign of Herod and the Herodian Dynasty”, in S. Safrai & M. Stern (eds.), The Jewish People in the First Century, I (Assen: Van Gorcum, & Philadelphia: Fortress, 216–307. ——, 1974b. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, I, Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities. ——, 1976a. “The Jews in Greek and Latin Literature”, in: S. Safrai & M. Stern (eds.), The Jewish People in the First Century, II (Assen: Van Gorcum, & Philadelphia: Fortress, 1101–1159.

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——, 1976b. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, II, Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities. VanderKam, J. C., 2004. From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile, Minneapolis: Fortress, & Assen, The Netherlands.

INDEX

[Note: parenthetical data after several names is used here merely to indicate precisely whom or what is being referred to. However, this has not been applied systematically by the contributors.] Introduction (David Jacobson & Nikos Kokkinos) Actium, 2 Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, 5, 6 Archelaus (of Cappadocia), 7 Athens, inscriptions, 6 Augustan Revolution, 2 Augustus, the title of, 2 Augustus, as Pontifex Maximus, 5

Josephus, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8 Juba II, 7

Britain, numismatic evidence, 8

Nabataea, 7 Nicolaus of Damascus, 7, 8 Noricum, 3

Livia, 6 Masada, Herod’s Northern Palace, n2 Mauretania, 3, 7

Caesarea (Maritima), festival, 3, 4, 6 clupeus virtutis, 5 congiaria, 9

Octavian, 2, 9 paintings (frescos), Second (Pompeian) Style, 4, 5; Third (Pompeian) Style, 4, 5 Petra, Umm al-Biyara, 7; Petra, az-Zantur, 7 Philo ( Judaeus), 6

donativa, 9 Elaiussa-Sebaste (Aya‘), 7 Games, quadrennial, 1, 4 Herod (the Great), regal qualities of, 3 Jericho, Herod’s Third Winter Palace, 4

Rome, Circus Maximus, 3, 4; Rome, Palatine Hill, 3 Temple (in Jerusalem), Temple Mount, 5

Erich Gruen Actium, 23 Alexander the Great, 24 Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, buildings for, 17, 18, 18n15; eastern trips, 18n15, 20; and Herod, 13, 20, 21, 22, 24, 26 Antioch, 22 Antiochus IV Epiphanes, 25, 25n37 Antonius, M. (Mark Antony), 17 Argos, 25 Athens, 23, 25

Attalids, 25 Augustus and Herod, 13, 16, 17, 17n14, 18, 18n15, 24, 26; buildings for, 15, 17, 18, 23; honors for, 17n14, 24; recovery of standards, 19 Ba’al Shamim, 23 Beirut, 22 Byblos, 22 Byzantium, 25

400

index

Caesar, Julius, 13, 19 Caesarea, 17, 18, 18n15, 20 Chians, 24 Chios, 23, 23n28 Cilicia, 23 client kings, 14, 14n1, 14n3 Cos, 23, 23n28

Jericho, 17, 18 Laodicea, 22 Masada, 18 Nabataeans, 19, 19n19, 23 Nicolaos of Damascus, 13, 21, 21n23, 24 Nicopolis, 23

Damascus, 13, 21, 22, 24 Delos, 23, 25 Delphi, 25

Olympic Games, 23

Elis, 23 Herod (the Great) and Agrippa, 13, 20, 21, 22, 24, 26; and Augustus, 13, 16, 17, 17n14, 18, 18n15, 24, 26; as benefactor, 13, 18, 21, 25n35, 26; as client king, 14, 18; as Hellenistic king, 13, 24, 25, 25n35, 26; intimidates adversaries, 19; attitudes toward diaspora Jews, 13, 19, 22, 23, 24; building programme, 16, 19, 23; episode of the golden eagle, 15, 16, 16n8; episode of the trophies, 15 Herodion, 18 Hyrcanus II, 13, 19, 20 Ilium, 24, imperial cult, 17 Ionia, 13, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

Paneion, 17 Parthian menace, 18 Pergamum, 23, 23n28, 25 Phoenicia, 13, 22 Ptolemais, 22 Res Gestae, 17 Rhodes, 23, 25 Samos, 23, 23n28 Sebaste, 17, 18, 20 Sepphoris, 18 Sia, 23 Sidon, 22 Sparta, 23 Syria, 13, 22, 23 Thespiae, 25 Tripolis, 22 Tyre, 22

Karl Galinsky Agrippa I, 39 Augustan “revolution,” 29, 30 Augustan cultural revolution, 40 Augustus, building activity, 35, 38; and Herod, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 35, 37, 38, 39, 40 Augustus’ programme, 29, 30

Herod (the Great) and Augustus, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 35, 37, 38, 39, 40; building activity, 29, 30, 35, 38, 39

Caesarea on Sebastos (Maritima), theatre, 36

Pax Americana, 36 Pax Augusta, 33

Diaspora, Roman, 29, 31, 32, 33, 38

Romanization, definition, 32, 33

gladiatorial games in Judaea, 40

Tiberius, 32

Hadrian, 32

Varro, 35

Nicopolis, 38 oikumene, 39

index

401

Achim Lichtenberger Actium, 46 Agrippeia, 47 Alexandreion (= Alexandrium), palace, 48, 49, 55, 57 Ancoz, 50, 50n41 Anthedon-Agrippias, 47 Antony, Mark, 44, 46 Antipatris, 55 Bosporan kingdom, 47 Caesarea, Drusus tower, 43, 46; foundation, 46, 55; Tiberieum, 46n18 Cypros, palace, 55 Delos, 52 Drusias, 47, 47n19 Drusus, 46, 47 Emesa, 50 Emperor worship, 45, 46 Hellenisation, 43, 45 Herod (the Great), 43, 44, 43n1, 44n3, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 53n59, 53n60, 54n68, 55, 56, 56n83, 56n84, 57, 58, 59 Herodeion (= Herodium), Upper Palace, 48, 49, 53, 54, 57 Hyrcania, palace, 48, 49, 55, 57 Ionia, 49 Jerusalem, Antonia (fortress), 43, 45, 46, 47, 55, 57; Hippicus (tower), 56; Mariamme (tower), 56; opus reticulatum

building, 43, 50, 51; Phasael (tower), 55, 56 Kallirrhoe, palace, 54 mosaics, black and white, 50, 52, 59; polychrome, 52, 59 Nicolaos of Damascus, 56 opus reticulatum, 43, 50, 50n38, 50n41, 51, 52, 53, 56 opus sectile, 52 Ostia, 52 Paneas, 46, 50 Panticapeion (in Bosporus), 47 Pergamon, Peristylhaus II, 52 Phanagoria (in Bosporus), 47 Phasaelis, 55 Polemon (king of Pontus and the Bosporus), 47 Pompeii, 52 Pompey, 44 Ptolemais-Akko, 57 Rome, Mausoleum Augusti, 54 Samaria, 46, 53n60 Samosata (in Commagene), 50 Sebaste, 43, 46, 48, 49, 55 Settefinestre, villa, 53 Straton’s Tower, 46 Tiberius, 46

Mark Toher Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, 70, 72, 77, 78, 79, 82 Alexander I (son of Herod and Mariamme), 68, 76 Antipater I (father of Herod), 66 Antipater II (son of Herod), 75, 76, 80 Antonius, Marcus (= Mark Antony), 77 Arabia, 72 Archelaus (Ethnarch), 65, 66, 69, 70, 72 Aristobulus I (son of Herod and Mariamme), 68, 75, 76 Aristotle, 66

Augustus and Herod, 65, 66, 69, 72, 77, 78, 78n20, 78n21, 80; and Nicolaus of Damascus, 65, 66, 69, 70, 70n9, 72, 75, 79, 80; interest in autobiography of Nicolaus of Damascus, 78; succession of, 79, 80n25 Autobiography, Graeco-Roman, 71, 73 Caesar, Gaius, 65, 78, 79 Caesar, Julius, 75 Caesar, Lucius, 65, 78, 79

402

index

Cassius Dio (= Dio), 71, 79 Cicero, 69 Croesus, 74 Drusus, Nero Claudius (son of Livia), 78, 79 Egypt, 77 Eurycles, 75 Herod, bequest to Augustus and Livia, 77, 80; parallel career to that of Augustus, 78 Herodotus, 74 Hyrcanus (high priest), 75 Josephus, criticism and depiction of Nicolaus, 65, 66, 67, 68n4, 69, 74; characterization of Herod, 65, 66, 68, 71, 71n14, 72, 74, 75, 76, 78 Julia (daughter of Augustus), 78, 79 Livia, 65, 77, 78, 79, 80, 80n25 Macrobius, 78n20 Mariamme I (wife of Herod), 65, 66, 72, 76, 80 Nabataea, 77 Nero, Tiberius Claudius (son of Livia), 78 Nicolaus of Damascus, autobiography, 65, 66, 67, 68n4, 70n10, 71, 71n13,

71n14, 72, 73, 74, 76, 77, 78, 80; composed for a Roman readership, 78; used by Josephus, 71, 71n14, 72, 77; in Rome after 4 BCE, 65, 66, 69, 70, 77, 78; personal relationship with Augustus, 65, 66; trips to Rome, 65, 67, 68n4, 69, 70, 77, 78, 79; universal history, 65, 66, 67, 68, 68n4, 69, 70, 71, 72, 74, 75, 77; pathos and emotion in, 75 Obodas, 75 Parthians, 79 Pompeius Magnus, 76 Porcia (wife of M. Brutus), 68 principes iuventutis, 79 Rhine River, 79 Salome I (sister of Herod), 80 Sophronius of Damascus, 65, 70 Strabo, 71 Stryangaios, 74, 75 Syllaeus, 75 Syria, 77, 79 Thucydides, 69n7 tribunicia potestas, 79 Velleius Paterculus, 69n6

Joseph Sievers Actium, 107 Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, visits to Judaea, 90 Alexander (son of Herod and Mariamme), 90n38, 91n42, 94, 99n71, 106n96 Alexandra (mother of Mariamme), 94, 106n94 Alexandra, Shalomzion (queen), 101 Antigonus, Mattathias, 99, 104n89 Antipater, 89, 89n36, 93n51, 96, 96n61, 97, 97n66, 98, 98n68, 99, 99n68, 100, 100n73, 101, 101n80, 102, 103, 103n83, 104, 105, 109 Antony, Mark, 97, 100, 107 Asinius (Pollio), 96

Augustus and Herod, 83, 84, 106, 106n94, 106n96, 107, 108 “brigands,” 102, 105, 106, 107 Caesar, (C.) Julius, 96, 98n68 Caesar, Sextus Julius, 102, 102n81, 103, 105, 105n92 Claudius (emperor), 100 Essenes, 100 Ezekias, 102, 103n83, 104, 105, 106, 106n93 Herod as hunter, 91, 92, 93, 94; ancestry, 89, 99; encomium, 91,

index 92, 93, 93n52, 94, 95, 101; famine relief, 90; physical qualities, 92, 94; trial, 102, 102n81, 103, 104, 104n87, 106 Hunting, 90n38, 91, 92, 92n46, 93, 94, 95, 109 Hypsicrates, 96 Hyrcanus I, John, 97 Hyrcanus II (= Hyrcanus), 90n38, 93n52, 95, 95n58, 96, 96n61, 97, 97n62, 98, 99, 99n68, 101, 101n80, 102, 102n81, 103, 103n83, 104, 105, 105n92, 106, 106n94 Idumaea, 89, 92, 98, 99, 100n73 Irony, 94 Jerusalem, 89, 90n39, 98, 99, 99n71, 100n73, 104n86 John the Baptist, 112 Josephus, Against Apion, 98n68, 100; Antiquities, 83, 84, 87, 87n24, 88, 89, 90, 94, 95, 96, 99, 99n71, 100, 100n74, 101, 102, 103, 104, 104n86, 105, 107, 108, 108n101, 109; Life, 87, 93m51, 94n56, 98, 99n72, 103n82; War, 83, 84, 87, 88, 88n29, 89, 90, 90n38, 91, 91n41, 92, 92n45, 93, 93n52, 94, 95, 95n58, 96, 96n61, 97, 97n66, 98, 98n68, 99, 99n71, 99n72, 100, 100n73, 100n74, 100n75, 101n78, 101n80, 102, 102n81, 103, 103n82, 103n84, 104, 104n86, 105,

403 106, 106n93, 106n94, 106n96, 107, 107n99, 108, 108n103, 109

Laqueur, Richard, biography, 84, 109; on Josephus, Ant. 14, 83, 87, 87n24, 87n25, 88, 88n29, 95, 96n61, 100, 100n74, 101n80, 104n86, 109 Malichus, 100, 101n80 Mariamme, 93n52, 94, 106n94, 108 Mithridates of Pergamum, 96 Nicolaus of Damascus as source of Josephus, 88, 89, 90n38, 93, 95, 96, 98, 99, 101, 108, 109; Autobiography, 96, 108n101; Biography of Augustus, 96; Universal History, 90n39, 95, 96, 96n60, 108n101 Parsondes, 93, 93n49, 93n53 Phasael, 103 Pollio, 96, 104, 104n88 Salome, 108 Samaias, 104, 104n88, 105 Sextus Caesar, 102, 102n81, 103, 105, 105n92 Solomon (king), 100 Strabo, 93n50, 96, 107n99, 107n100, 109 Syllaeus, 88, 107, 108, 108n102 Synedrion, 102n81, 102n87, 102n89, 105, 106, 106n95

Donald Ariel ‘Actian’ (era), 123 Agrippa, Marcus (Vipsanius), 115, 117 Antony, Mark, 119, 120, 121, 123 Augustus (= Octavian), munificence (liberalitas Augusti), 117; institution of congiarium (= congiaria), 113, 117, 118, 122; institution of donativus (= donativa), 113, 117, 118, 122

119n1; poppy pod, 114; pomegranate, 114; shield, 114, 119, 119n1, 120n1; tripod, 114, 119, 121; institution of congiarium (= congiaria), 113, 117, 122; institution of donativus (= donativa), 113, 117, 122; refoundation of Samaria as Sebaste, 113, 121, 122

Cleopatra, ‘Syrian era’, 122

Jerusalem, mint , 113, 114, 115, 116

Herod (the Great), army, 113, 117; building projects, 113, 117; client king status, 115, 120; coinage (= numismatics), 113, 115, 116, 117 119, 123, 124; aphlaston, 114, 119, 120; caduceus, 114, 115, 119, 120; eagle, 115; helmet, 114, 119,

Rhodes, 113, 116, 117, 122 Samaria (Sebaste), mint, 113, 114, 118, 121, 122, 123 Tyre, 115

404

index David Goodblatt

Agrippa II, 128, 132n13, 141, 141n42 Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, 139, 147, 150 Alexander Jonathan, 129, 143n48, 144n55, 145, 146, 149 Appian, 138, 138n32, 139 Arabia (province), 140 Aramaic, 131, 135, 136, 140, 141, 143, 146, 147 Archelaus, 137, 138 Aretas III, 143, 149 Aretas IV, 143, 149 Ashdod, 134 Augustus, 128, 150 Cypros, 149 Domitian, 141 Giv’at Hamivtar, inscription, 136 Greek, 134, 135, 136, 137, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 144n55, 146 Hadrian, 142 Hasmonean (= Hasmonaean) coins, 136, 144, 145, 146, 148 Herod (the Great), 127, 128, 128n3, 129, 129n4, 129n6, 130, 131, 132n13, 133, 133n14, 134, 134n18, 134n20, 135, 135n22, 136, 137, 137n27, 138, 139, 140, 141, 143, 145n55, 146, 147, 149, 150, 150n69 Hever, 142, 146, 148 Hyrcania, inscription, 135 Hyrcanus II, 135, 149, 150 Israel, 127, 137n30, 142, 144, 147, 148, 148n64, 148n65 Iudaea (province), 127, 128, 138, 141, 142, 147 Jericho, 139, 141, 142 Jerusalem, 134, 139, 147 John Hyrcanus, 135, 146 Josephus, 137, 138, 139, 145n55, 145, 150 Judah (= Judea, Judaea), 128, 136, 137n27, 146

Luke, 137, 138 Malichus I, 143, 149 Malichus II, 144 Antonius, Marcus (= Mark Antony), 134n18, 138 Masada, 131, 136 Mattathias Antigonus, 146, 149 Matthew, 138 Murabba’at, 142, 147 Nabatea (= Nabataea), coins, 136, 143, 143n47; documents, 128, 128n2, 136, 144, 149; inscriptions, 143, 143n50 Nahal Hever, 127, 132, 132n12 Nero(n), 142 Nicolaus of Damascus, 139 Obadas II/III, 143, 149 Plutarch, 137, 138 Pompeii, 137 Pompey, 145, 146 Qumran, 127, 129, 130, 130n8, 131, 131n9, 132, 132n12, 133, 139 Rabbel II, 144 Rome, 137, 145, 150 Salome (sister of Herod), 149, 149n67 Salome Alexandra, 149 Scaurus, Aemiliaus, 149 Simeon (the Hasmonean), 147, 148, 148n64 Spartans, 145, 146 Strabo, 129, 145, 146 Syllaeus, 149, 149n67 Tiberius, 140, 141n40 Trajan, 142 Uzziah inscription, 135 Wadi Daliyeh papyri, 142

index

405

Joseph Geiger Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, 157, 159, 160, 162 Agrippa II (Herodian king), 166 Augustus, largesses of, 157; his public building, 157, 158, 158n3, 158n4, 159, 161, 162; Res Gestae, 157 Collegia, 160 Caesarea, 162, 163

Jerusalem, pilgrims, 165; population, 164, 165, 166; Temple, 157, 162, 163, 163n26, 163n27, 164, 165, 165n35, 166, 167; Temple Mount, 163, 166 Jesus, 166 Josephus, 157, 163, 166, 167 Masada, 162

Essenes, 167

Ostia, 160

familia Caesaris, 160

Rome, Baths of Caracalla, 161, 164; Capitol, 159; population, 160, 164, 164n30; public works, 157, 158, 159, 159n12, 160, 167; temples, 159, 163n24; theatre of Pompey, 159

Hasmonaeans (Hasmonaean rulers, 161; Hasmonaean Temple, 163)

Sebaste, 162 Ehud Netzer Alexandria, architecture, 171, 172 Antioch, 171, 172 Augustus, 171, 171n1, 175, 176, 179 Caesarea, harbour, 176, 179; hippodrome, 171, 178, 180; palace complex, 171, 173, 174, 176, 178; Promontory Palace, 174; Temple of Augustus and Rome, 175, 176; theatre, 171, 178, 180 Greater Herodium (see Herodium) Herod (the Great), building projects; bathhouses, 173, 175, 179; complexes, 171, 172, 173, 175, 176, 178, 179, 180; fortresses, 171, 172, 174, 175, 176, 178, 179; gardens, 173, 175, 176, 178; palaces, 171, 172, 173, 175, 179; temples, 171; tomb, 174 Herodium, Lower Herodium, 174; Mountain Palace Fortress (= Upper Palace), 172, 175 Hyrcanus the Tobiad (see also Iraq el-Amir), 172 Iraq el-Amir, Floating Palace, 172 Jericho, Hasmonean Pools, 173, 175; Hasmonean Twin Palaces, 172;

Hasmonean Winter Palaces, 171, 172; Herod’s First (Winter) Palace, 172; Herod’s Second (Winter) Palace, 173, 174; Herod’s Third (Winter) Palace, 171, 174, 175; hippodrome, 171, 178, 179; Southern Tell, 174, 179 Jerusalem Antonia Fortress, 172 (main) palace, 171, 173 halls, 173, 174, 175, 179; Augusteum, 175, 176 Agrippeum, 73 towers, 172, 173, 176, 179 Hippicus, 173 Mariamne, 173 Phasael, 173 Temple Mount (see also Temple Mount), 171, 172, 176, 177, 178 azarah, 176, 177, 177n10 colonnades, 174, 175, 176, 178 courts (see also azarah), 176 Jewish (Second) Temple, 171, 176 gates, 176, 177, 178 stoa basilea, 177 Josephus, 172, 172n5, 173, 173n6, 173n7, 174n8, 176 Masada, Northern Palace, 171, 173, 175, 179; Western Palace, 172 Mishnah, 176, 177

406

index

opus reticulatum, 174, 179 opus sectile, 175

Romanisation, 179 Sebaste, Augusteum, 175, 176 Joseph Patrich

Actium, 185, 187n25 Agrippa I (king of Judaea), 185n20, 187n25, 188, 193, 193n43, 207n91 Alexander the Great, 183n8 Alexandria, hippodrome (Lageion), 182, 183, 183n7, 190, 208, 208n94 Amphitheatre, 183, 204n80, 204n81, 205n82, 209 Antioch, 182, 183, 184, 204n94 Asia Minor, 184, 189, 204n79 Augustus, 184, 184n16, 185, 188, 189, 191, 191n37, 192, 206n88, 207, 207n91, 208 Bovillea, small circus, 207 Caesar, Julius, 186, 187, 188, 190, 192, 206n88, 207, 208 Caesarea Maritima, theatre, 189n31, 193n41, 195n46, 196n48, 204n80; amphitheatre, 189n31; stadium, 204n80; hippo-stadium, 189n31, 204n80; hippodrome, 204n80; inauguration feast, 181, 187, 187n25, 188, 193, 207n89, 209; quinquennial games, 186, 187, 188; hyper soterias festival, 188n29, 193; Tyche of, 188n29; Navigium Isidis celebrated at, 188n29 Centennial Games (see ludi saeculares), 184, 184n15, 191 chariot races, 181, 200n65, 204, 205, 206, 207, 209, 210 Claudius (emperor), 188n29, 206n88 Cos, 181, 183, 184 Daphne, 182 Damascus, 181, 182, 183, 183n8, 184 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 189

gymnasion(-ia), 181, 183, 183n7, 203 gymnasiarch, 181, 183, 183n12 gymnika, 185, 210 Herod (the Great) as agônothetês of the Olympic games, 181, 185; megalopsychia, 182, 182n2; physical traits, 183 Herodion (= Herodium), 181, 185, 192, 198, 198n54, 209 Herodium, theatre, 192, 198 hippika, 181, 185, 207, 210 hipódromos, 182, 182n6, 183 hippo-stadium, 181, 204, 210 Hippos/Sussita, 183n8 horse races, 187, 209 Isactian games, 185, 187n25, 188n29 Jericho, theatre, 183, 189, 193, 193n40, 197n51, 198; amphitheatre, 181, 183, 186n22, 189, 198, 209; hippodrome, 181, 183, 189, 198, 201n70, 202n71, 209 Jerusalem, theatre, 181, 183, 186, 190, 190n35, 192, 197, 197n51, 198, 202, 203n75, 209; Temple, 193, 193n43, 207; golden eagle, 193 Jezreel Valley, 186n22 Jordan Valley, 186n22 Josephus, 181, 185, 185n21, 186n22, 186n23, 186n28, 189, 190, 191, 194n44, 198, 204, 207, 208, 209 Judas (rebel against Herod), 193 Julia (wife of Augustus), 188, 207 Kore, 201, 201n68

Egypt, 182, 190 Ephrata, hippodrome at the burial place of Rachel, 182, 182n6

Laodicea, 184 Leptis Magna, theatre, 196 ludi saeculares, 184, 184n15, 191 LXX (Septuagint translation of the Bible), 182, 182n6

gens Juliae, 207 gladiatorial combats (munera), 181, 200, 210

Marathus (= {Amrit), 183n8, 207 Agrippa, Marcus, 182n2, 184, 193, 207n89

index Martialis (philologos of Sebaste/Samaria), 201 Matthias (rebel against Herod), 193 Miletus, bouleterion, 191n37 Mode{in, 191n37 Mytilene (in Lesbos), 184 Nicopolis (suburb of Alexandria), 191 Olympic games, 181, 184, 185, 187n25 opus reticulatum, 193, 207n91 opus pavonaceum, 196 Pergamon, Temple of Athena, 191n37, 203n75 Philo, 182n2, 189 Phoenicia, 183n8, 184, 207 Pollux, Roman author, 192, 192n39 Pomponius Rufus (hieroktistês of Sebaste/ Samaria), 201 Ptolemais, 181, 183 Ptolemy Lagus, 182 Rex, Quintius Marcius (proconsul of Cilicia), 182 Rhodes, 184 Rome, Ara Pacis, 184; Campus Martius, 191; Circus Flaminius, 192n39; Circus Maximus, 181, 182, 184, 189, 204n80, 206, 206n88, 208, 210n98; Marcellus’ Theatre, 184,

407 192; Pompey’s Theatre, 191, 192n39; wooden theatres and amphitheatres, 181, 190, 191, 192, 193, 197, 198, 202, 203

Samaria (= Sebaste), stadium, 181, 185, 198, 199, 199n56, 203, 209; theatre, 197n51; Kore, veneration of, 201, 201n68 Seleucids, 182 Sidon, 181, 183 Simeon (Sadducean priest of Jerusalem), 193, 193n43, 194n43 Simon the Hasmonaean, 191n37 spectaculum, 189 sphendone, 181, 198, 199, 204, 204n79, 205, 205n83, 208, 209, 210 Strabo, 189 Syria, 182, 183n9, 205n85 Tarichea, hippodrome, 209, 209n96 Tell es-Samarat, theatre, 201, 201n70 thymele, 186n23, 192 thymelikoi, 186, 192 Tiberias, stadium, 198, 208, 209 Tripolis, 181, 183 Turin, 191n37 Tyche, 188n29 venationes, 181, 200, 205n85, 210 Vitruvius, 191, 192, 194, 197, 202n71, 203

Barbara Burrell Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius as builder, 220n9, 227, 228; water projects in Rome, 227, 227n30 Alexandria, harbour, 219, 221, 228; palace district, 226; Sebasteion, 221, 221n12 Antioch in Pisidia, 221; in Syria, palace, 226 Archelaus (king of Cappadocia), 218, 218n1 Augustus, temples for his cult (see also: Roma); Alexandria, 221, 221n12; Caesarea on Sebastos (Maritima), 220, 221, 225, 226 ; Caesarea Philippi, 220; Pergamon, 222

Caesarea (Maritima), agoras, 227, 227n28; aqueducts, 227; cult statue, 222; ekklesia, 225; festival for Augustus, 217, 222, 224, 225, 226; gates, 217, 224; harbour Sebastos, 217, 218, 218n2, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 225, 226, 227, 229, 230; hippodrome (“amphitheatre,” “stadium”); houses, 223, 227, 228, 229; palace, 217, 218, 223, 224, 225, 226; sewer system, 222; street grid, 217, 222, 223; Temple of Augustus and Roma, 217, 221, 222, 223, 225; theatre, 223, 224, 224n22, 225, 226; walls, 217, 220, 221, 223, 224 Caesarea Philippi (Panias), 220

408

index

Hera, cult statue at Argos, 222 Herod (the Great) as agonothetes of Olympic festival, 225; as benefactor to Nikopolis, 225n23, 229, 229n33; as builder, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 223, 226, 227, 229, 230; building projects, 217, 218, 219, 220, 223, 227, 228, 230; character, 230; megalopsychia, 226; naming of projects, 217, 218, 218n1, 227, 229; outside influences on projects, 217, 218, 229; palaces, 217, 218, 220, 220n9, 223, 224, 225, 226, 226n27, 227, 227n29; rationale for projects, 217 Jericho, Herod’s first (winter) palace, 223; Herod’s third (winter) palace, 220 Jerusalem, “Herod’s Monument,” 220; Herod’s palace, 217, 218, 220, 224, 225, 226; Temple Mount, 217, 221, 221n12, 222 Josephus, 218, 221, 222, 224, 225, 225n23, 226, 227, 227n28, 230 Juba II (king of Mauretania), 218 Laodikeia on the Sea, 222 Livia (wife of Augustus), 225

Nikolaos of Damascus, 222 Nikopolis (in Epeiros), 225n23, 229, 229n33 opus reticulatum, 220, 220n9, 228 Orthogonal planning, Caesarea, 229; Laodikeia on the Sea, 222 Olympia, cult statue of Zeus, 222 Pergamon, Temple of Rome and Augustus, 222 Pontius Pilate, 224 Rome, Agrippa’s water projects, 227, 227n30; Augustus’ building projects, 229, 229n32; Capitolium, 221, 221n12; Circus Maximus, 226, 229; House of Augustus on Palatine, 226, 226n27, 229; Hut of Romulus, 229; Temple of Apollo on Palatine, 229; Villa della Farnesina, 228 Sebastos, harbour of Caesarea, construction, 217, 219, 220, 222, 223; rationale, 217, 218, 220, 223; relation to city, 217, 218, 221, 226, 229, 230 Vitruvius, 219, 223, 227n30

Masada, Herod’s Northern Palace, 227, 228

Zeus at Olympia, cult statue, 222, 222n15; festival, 225

Dan Bahat Agrippa II (Herodian king), 242 Hebron, Cave of the Patriarchs, 236 Jerusalem, Double Gate, 239, 243n27; Herod’s Temple; Huldah Gates, 241, 242, 243n26, 243n27; Kiponos Gate, 238, 242; Mount Moriah, 237, 237n8, 241, 242; Solomon’s Portico, 237n10, 242, 242n24; Temple Mount, 235, 235n1, 236, 237, 238, 239, 239n17, 240, 241, 241n21, 241n22, 242, 242n25, 243, 243n26, 243n28, 243n29, 244; Temple Sanctuary, 235, 237, 241, 242; Triple Gate, 243, 243n27

Josephus, 236, 237, 237n9, 238, 238n14, 239n14, 239n16, 242, 243n29, 244 Mamre (= Mambre), 236 Onias II (High Priest), 240 Palestrina (= Praeneste), Temple of Fortuna Primigenia, 235, 235n3 Palmyra, Temple of Bel, 236 Simon II (High Priest), 240 Tivoli, Temple of Hercules Victor, 235

index

409

Silvia Rozenberg Acco (Ptolemais, Acre), wall paintings, 249; Masonry Style, 249 Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, visit to Judaea, 260 Agrippa Postumus, Villa at Boscotrecase, 254, 255 Alabaster, imitation, 250, 250n5, 251, 252, 259 Alexandria, Masonry Style, 249, 250; wall paintings, 249, 250 Augustus, House on the Palatine, 252, 252n11, 253; Bottega colta, 254 Boscoreale, Villa, 254, 255n19, 256 Boscotrecase, Villa of Agrippa Postumus, 254, 255, 256 caeruleum, 258 Caesarea Maritima, floor (of theatre), 255 Cypros, wall paintings, 249, 251, 258 Delos, Masonry Style, 250; wall paintings, 250, 251 drafted stone, imitation, 254 Erythrai, Masonry Style, 250; wall paintings, 250 Gamla, Masonry Style, 260, 260n47 Guilloche, 255 Herod (the Great), palaces, 251, 251, 258, 261; personal relations, 258 Herodion (= Herodium), Lower Palaces, 259n38; Masonry Style, 249, 258; Upper (Mountain Palace-Fortress), 259, 259n48; wall paintings, 249, 258, 259 Iraq el-Emir, Masonry Style, 249; wall paintings, 249 Jerash (= Gerasa), Hellenistic naos, 259; Masonry Style, 259 Jericho, Hasmonaean palace complex, 250; Herod’s Third (Winter) Palace, 251, 262; Hippodrome, 260; wall paintings, 249, 250, 251, 253, 254, 255, 257, 258, 260, 261, 262 Jerusalem, Jewish Quarter, 255, 259, 260; Mount Zion, 253n12, 259, 260;

wall paintings, 249, 253n12, 254, 255, 260 Khirbet el-Murak, Masonry Style, 260, 260n47 Livia (wife of Augustus), House (on the Palatine), 252, 252n11, 253, 254, 257; Villa at Prima Porta, 253, 253n14, 255 Lotus, 255, 256, 260 marble imitation, 250, 250n5, 251, 258n36 Mareshah, Masonry Style, 249, 250 Masada, Herod’s Palaces, 251, 252, 254, 258; wall paintings, 249, 254, 255, 256, 258, 260 Omrit, Augustan temple, 260 Oplontis, Villa of the Poppaei, 253, 253n14, 255, 256 Pliny, 256, 257 Pompeii, House of the Beautiful Impluvium, 256, 256n25; House of the Cryptoportico, 261; House of Menander, 261; House of Obellius Firmus, 256, 256n31, 260; House of the Silver Wedding, 259; Imperiale, 254, 254n16, 255, 256; Villa of the Mysteries, 254, 254n19, 258 Priene, Masonry Style, 249, 250 Prima Porta, Villa of Livia, 253, 253n14 Ptolemaic Kingdom, 249 Rome, Aula Isiaca, 254, 258; Farnesina (villa), 252, 252n12, 254, 255, 256, 257, 259, 260; House of Augustus (on the Palatine), 252, 252n11, 253, 254, 256, 258, 261; House of Livia (on the Palatine), 252, 252n11, 253, 257 Sebaste, wall paintings, 249, 254, 260 Seleucid Kingdom, 249 Stabiae, Villa Arianna, 254, 254n19, 256 Style, Masonry, Aegean and Asia Minor Styles, 251; Masonry, Alexandrian Style, 250, 251; Pompeian, First Style, 259; Pompeian, Second Style, 251n8, 252n11, 253, 255, 255n19, 256, 258,

410

index

258n36, 259, 260, 262, ; Pompeian, Third Style, 249, 253n12, 253n14, 254, 255, 255n20, 256, 256n25, 261, 262 Tarna, mines (Spain), 257 Tel Anafa, Masonry Style, 249, 250 Urbisaglia, wall paintings, 256

Vitruvius, 256, 257 wall paintings (technique), cinnabar, 252, 253, 257; Egyptian blue, 258; fresco, 251, 252, 257, 258, 259, 259n38, 260, 261, 262; marble dust, 257; pictori pelegrini, 261; pigments, 257, 258; plaster, 250, 252, 256, 257, 260; secco, 259

Malka Hershkowitz alabastron(-a), piriform, 270 bottles, miniature, 271 bowls, Jerusalemite, 267, 275, 276; painted decoration, lilies, 267, 276; painted decoration, rosette(s), 267, 276 casseroles, 272, 273 cups, miniature, 271 ‘Ein Feshkha, 276 flasks, pilgrim (see also pilgrim flasks), 270 Herod (the Great), 267, 268, 269, 270, 275, 276, 277 Herodium, 267, 276 jars, storage, 268 Jericho, 267, 268, 269, 271, 272, 276 Jerusalem, American Garden, 276; Citadel, 275; Jewish Quarter, 267, 274, 275, 276; Temple Mount, 275, 276 Judaea, 269, 270, 271, 274 jugs, cooking, 272, 273; globular, 267, 269, 273; piriform, 267, 269, 270 juglets, 267, 269, 275

lamps, knife-pared, 275; mould-made, 273, 274, 275; Judaean radial, 274, 275, 277; wheel-made, 273, 274, 275 lids, 273 lilies, 267, 276 Machaerus, 267, 268 Masada, Western Palace, 276 pans, 272, 273 Petra, 276 pilgrim flasks (see also under flasks), 270 Qumran, 267, 271 rosette(s; see also bowls, painted decoration), 267, 276 stands, 273 unguentarium(-a), fusiform, 269; piriform, 270 vessels, miniature, 270, 271; cooking, 267, 272, 273 ware, Herodian, 267 ware, eastern Sigillata A, 277; Pompeian red, 277; thin-walled, 272, 277; western Terra Sigillata, 277

Anthony Barrett Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, 282 Antony, Mark, political ambition, 291 Antipater (father of Herod), 295, 295n36, 296 Archelaus (king of Cappadocia), 286

Areius (Alexandian philosopher), 293, 294 Athenodorus, Claudius (Governor of Syria), 287, 294n33 Atticus, C. Balbius, 284, 289, 290

index Augustan Settlement, 286 Augustus and Herod, 281, 282, 293, 298, 299, 300; procuratorships, 293, 294, 295; visit to Gaul, 294 Aurantitis, 299 Batanea, 299 Caesar, (Gaius) Julius, settlement of Palestine, 294, 295, 296 Caesar, Sextus (Governor of Syria), 298 Capito, C. Herennius (imperial procurator), 297, 297n42 Capito, Cn. Lucilius, 292, 292n29 Cappadocia, 286, 287 Cassius (Governor of Syria), 298 Celer, P., 297, 297n43 Cicero, M. Tullius, 289, 290 Cilicia, 289, 300 Classicianus (procutator in Britain), 287 Claudius, 281, 283, 284, 285, 286, 286n12, 287, 288, 289, 292, 293, 294, 295, 297 Cleopatra, 290, 299 Coele-Syria, 282, 283n4, 287, 298, 298n45, 298n46 Cogidubnus, Tiberius Claudius (British king), 283, 284 Cottius, Marcus Julius (Alpine king), 284 Crassus (Roman statesman), 295 Cyprus, 300 Damascus, 282, 299 Dio (= Cassius Dio), 284, 286, 286n12, 291, 292, 292n28, 293, 293n32, 294, 297n43 Drusus, (Nero Claudius: son of Livia), his death, 293 epimelêtês, 295, 295n36, 296, 298n46 epitropos; see procurator Gabinius (governor of Syria), 295, 295n36 Galba, 297 Helius, 297, 297n43 Herod (the Great) and Augustus, 281, 282, 287, 292, 293, 294, 298, 299, 300; his procuratorship, 281, 282, 286, 291, 298, 299 Hyrcanus, High Priest, 295, 296 Joppa, special levy, 296 Josephus, 281, 282, 283, 287, 295, 296, 298, 299

411

Laco, Gaius Julius (Spartan dynast), 284, 285 Livia (wife of Augustus), 293 Lucilius Capito (procurator of Asia), 292, 292n29 Licinus (procurator of Gaul), 292, 293, 294, 295 Lycia, 297, 300 Mauretania, 286, 287 Mellon, Tiberius Julius (procurator at Jamnia) Nabataea, tribute owed to Cleopatra, 299 Nicolaus of Damascus, 282 Paneas, 299 Phaselis (Lycia), 300 Pontius Pilate, 287 Pliny the Younger, 297 praefectus, 284, 286n13, 287 procurator, gubernatorial (have not finished these yet), 281, 286, 287, 288, 289, 292, 294, 295, 297, 299; patrimonial, 281, 288; praesidial, 287, 288, 293, 294 Sabinus (procurator of Syria), 293 Samaria, 298 Silanus, Marcus Junius (governor of Asia), 297 Suetonius, 284, 286 Suetonius Paulinus (governor of Britain), 287 Syria, 281, 282, 283n4, 287, 288, 292, 293, 295, 296, 298, 298n46, 299, 300, 300n54 Tacitus, 283, 287, 288, 297 Theodorus of Gadara (tutor of Tiberius), 294, 294n33 Tiberius, 283, 285, 286n12, 292, 292n28, 294, 294n33, 297 Trachonitis, 299 Trajan, 297, 298 Ulatha, 299 Varus (governor of Syria), 293 Vespasian, 286 Zenodorus, 299

412

index Denis Saddington

Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, 317, 318, 320, 321 Agrippa II (Herodian king), 313n22, 314, 319 ala Ituraeorum, 310 ala Sebastenorum, 311n15 Alexander (son of Herod the Great), 316, 319 allied troops, Arabs, 307, 310, 311; Ascalonitanians, 311, 311n15; Gauls, 310, 312, 312n19; Germans, 312; Idumaeans, 307, 308, 311, 313n22, 317; Ioudaioi ( Jews), 309, 311, 320; Ituraeans, 309, 310, 314; Sebastenians, 311, 313; Thracians, 305, 310, 312; Trachonitans, 313 Antigonus, 315 Antipas, 319 Antipater (père), 307, 307n7, 308; (fils, father of Herod the Great), 320 Arabarch, 316 Archelaus (son of Herod the Great), 313, 314, 314n27, 316, 318 Auxiliaries, 303, 304, 304n3, 310, 310n13, 312n19, 315 Bassus, Ventidius, 308 bodyguards, 310, 312, 313, 320 Caesarea (on Sebastos), harbour, 317, 321 centurion, 314, 314n29 chiliarchos (military tribune), 314, 314n27 client king, 303, 304, 305, 306, 310, 313, 314 cohort I Ascalonitarum, 311n15; Augusta, 310, 317 cohort Canathenorum, 310, 310n12; Canathenorum et Trachonitarum, 310, 310n12; Damascenorum, 310; Hamiorum, 310; Hemesenorum, 310; 317; Ituraeorum, 311n15; Thracum (Thracian), 312; Tyriorum, 310 corporis custos, 313 Cyprus, 316, 317, 317n36, 318n38, 321 Deiotarus, 305, 305n4, 306, 307, 312n19

Epitropos, 307, 316 Ethnarch, 307, 308, 316 Gratus, Valerius, 313 Herod (the Great), army, 303, 303n1, 304, 308n9, 310, 311, 312, 312n17, 313, 314, 315, 318, 321; army morale, 318; bodyguard, 312, 313; early military experience, 306, 307, 308, 308n9, 315, 316; epimelêtês, 308; epitropos, 316; navy, 317; stratêgos, 307–308, 313; tetrarch, 304, 308 hipparchoi, 312 Hyrcanus II, 307, 319 Juba II (king of Mauretania), 306, 313, 320 Machaeras (= Machaerus), 308, 315, 319 Malchus (king of Nabataea), 309 Nabataeans, 307, 309, 314, 319, 320 Parthia, 303, 307, 310, 319, 320 Pontius Pilate, 316 praefectus, 314, 314n27, 316, 316n32 Petronius, P., 320 Procurador, 315, 315n31, 316 Quinctilius, Varus, 304, 313, 320 Rufus, 313 Sosius, C., 308, 309, 315, 315n30 speira (see ‘cohort’), 309, 310, 314, 315 stratopedarches, 314 Tacfarinas, 307 taxiarchoi, 314 tetrarch, 304, 308 tribunus militum (see ‘chiliarchos’), 314, 314n27 Vitellius, L., 319 Zamaris, 317, 319

index

413

Stephan Schmid Actium, 325, 327, 327n8, 327n9, 328, 331, 334, 336, 349 Alexandria, hypogea, 339 Antony, Mark, 327n8, 328, 336 Aretas IV (Nabataean king), 326, 334, 335, 335n36, 336, 337, 337n43, 341, 343n73, 349, 350, 350n100 Caesarea (Maritima), harbour, 351; palace, 340, 341; temple of Augustus and Roma, 342, 342n68, 348, 348n91, 349, 350, 351; theatre, 343, 343n73 Capri, villa Iovis, 346, 346n87 Cleopatra VII, 335n35 Herodion (= Herodium), pool and garden, 338, 338n47, 338n48 Jebel Khalid, 340, 340n55 Jericho, palaces of Herod the Great, 338, 338n48 Juba II (king of Mauretania), 350, 350n101, 352 Kallirhoë, residence of Herod the Great, 338n47 Kypros, hilltop palace, 345, 345n82 Machaerus, hilltop palace, 325, 333, 333n31, 345, 345n82 Masada, palaces of Herod the Great, 325, 338, 338n47, 338n48, 345, 345n82 Nabataean, 325, 326, 327, 327n8, 328, 331, 333, 334, 335, 336, 336n39, 337, 337n43, 338, 338n45, 339, 339n53, 339n54, 340, 341, 341n62, 342, 343, 344, 344n77, 345, 345n81, 345n83, 346, 347, 348, 348n94, 349, 350, 351, 352 Nea Paphos, hypogea, 339

Obodas III (Nabataean king), 326, 334, 334n35, 335, 335n35, 336, 349, 350 Octavian, 325, 328, 331, 334, 335, 336n39, 349 Paneion/Paneas, temple of Augustus, 348 Pella (Macedonia), 340, 340n55 Petra, az-Zantur, 337, 338, 30n47; city centre, 325, 326, 328, 330, 331, 332, 332n25, 335, 341, 343n74, 344, 347, 349; paradeisos, 341; Qasr el-Bint, 326, 329, 332, 332n25, 342, 344, 351n104; Soldier’s Tomb complex, 338, 340, 341; South Temple, 329, 332n25, 333, 333n31, 338, 338n47, 338n48, 342, 342n68, 349, 349n97, 350, 352; Temenos Gate, 326, 329, 329n14, 331, 332, 332n25, 333, 333n31, 336n39, 349; Temple of Winged Lions, 333; theatre, 325, 333, 343, 343n72, 343n73, 347, 347n88; Umm al-Biyara, 325, 343, 344, 344n77, 344n80, 345, 346; Urn Tomb, 333 Pompeii, 338n47 Pozzuoli, sanctuary of Dusares, 348, 351 Ptolemaïs (Cyrenaica), palazzo delle colonne, 340, 340n55 Ptolemies, 328, 334, 340 Rome, temple of Apollo Palatinus, 348; house of Augustus, 338n47, 348n93 Samaria (= Sebaste), residence of Herod the Great, 348, 348n93; temple of Augustus, 342, 342n68, 348, 348n91, 349 Seia, statue of Herod the Great, 347 Sirmione, 341 Syllaios, 335, 335n38, 341, 350n100 Vergina, 340

John Creighton Aedui, at Noviodunum, 363; at Augustodunum, 364 Amminus (king of South-eastern Britain), 365 Antony, Mark, 361, 362, 369 Archelaus of Cappadocia, 365

Arda (king of the Treveri), 367, 374, 374n43, 375, 379 Augustus, Ara pacis, 361, 371; mausoleum, 378, 379; Res Gestae, 365, 365n12; Temple of Mars Ultor, 375

414

index

Bosporan Kingdom, 361, 372, 376 Britain, 361, 362, 362n2, 364, 365, 366, 367, 368, 369, 370, 371, 372, 374, 375, 377, 378, 379

Juba II (king of Mauretania), 362, 368, 369, 370, 372, 374, 376, 378

Caesar, Julius, 365, 369 Casearea (Numidia), 377, 378 Catuvellauni, 365 Claudius, 365, 366, 369 Cleopatra, 362, 369 Cleopatra Selene (wife of Juba II), 378 Coinage, Greek, 367; Lugdunum, 366; Mauretania, 361, 368, 369, 370, 372, 374, 375, 376; Noricum, 361, 373, 374; Numidia, 368, 369; Philip II of Macedon, 366; Roman, 361, 366, 367, 370, 372, 375; Tarrentum, 366 Colchester, Lexden Tumulus, 376, 377 Commius (king of Southern Britain), 365, 365n15, Cunobelin (king of Eastern Britain), 364, 365, 372

Massalia, 363, 364n8 Mauretania, 361, 362, 365, 368, 369, 370, 372, 374, 375, 376, 378, 379 Menapii, 365 Morini, 365

Dalmatia, 363 Drusus (Nero Claudius, son of Livia), 373 Dubnovellaunus (king of Eastern Britain), 364, 365 Epaticcus (king of Southern Britain), 365 Eppillus (king of Southern Britain), 365, 372n34 Gaius (Caligula), 364n10, 365, 369, 376 Gaul, 361, 362, 363, 364, 365, 366, 367, 378 Herod (the Great), 361, 362, 364, 365, 368, 369, 372, 377, 379 Josephus, 361, 372 Juba I (king of Numidia), 362, 368, 369, 375

Lugdunum, 366

Nijmegen, 377 Noricum, Magdalensberg, 373, 374, 377 Obsides, 362, 364, 365 Octavian, 361, 362, 369, 370, 371, 375, 378 Ptolemy, king of Mauretania, 369, 372, 376 Raeti, 373 Remi, 365 Roman army, 362 Sacrovir, Julius, revolt, 364 Strabo, Geography, 365n13, 365n14 Suetonius, Augustus, 362, 363n3, 372 Tacitus, Annales, 363, 364n9 Tasciovanus (king of Eastern Britain), 365, 374 Tiberius, 373 Tincomarus (king of Southern Britain), 364, 365, 370, 372, 374, 375, 378 Tiridates (king of Parthia), 363 Treveri, Titelberg, 367, 374 Vercingetorix, 365 Verica (king of Southern Britain), 364, 365, 371 Vindelici, 373 Vonones (king of Parthia), 363

Daniel Schwartz Agrippa, Marcus Vipsanius, 395 Alexander Jannaeus, 387, 388, 388n4 Alexandria, 395 Anamel the Egyptian, 390n8 Ananel, 390n8 Antonia, 391 Archelaus, 386 Aristobulus I, 387, 388

Aristobulus II (referred to as “brother of Hyrcanus II”), 387, 390 Augustus, 385, 392, 392n13, 394, 395 Berenice (Cyrenaica), 395 Caesar, Julius, 389, 394 Caesarea, 389, 396

index

415

Cassius (= Gaius Cassius Longinus), 394 Cicero, 394 conversion to Judaism, 385, 388

John Hyrcanus, 387, 388 Judaea, 385, 386, 388, 390, 391, 392, 394, 395, 396, 396n22

diaspora, 385, 390, 395, 396, 397

Nicolaus of Damascus, 389, 389n5

eagle, 392 ethnarch, 389

Palestina (= Palestine), 396 Pella, 388n4 Philo, 392, 392n13, 393, 394 Pilgrimage, 392, 393 Pliny, 391 politeuma, 395 Pompey, 388, 389n6, 394

Gaius Caligula, 393 Galilee, 396 Hasmonaeans, 385, 386, 387, 388, 389, 391 Herod (the Great), 385, 386, 388, 389, 390, 391, 392, 393, 394, 396, 397 high priests, 385, 386, 387, 388, 389, 390, 390n7, 390n8, 391 “Holy Land,” 393 Hyrcanus II, 389, 389n6, 390 Idumaea, Idumaeans, 388, 396n22 Ioudaioi, Iudaei, 395 Ituraea, Ituraeans, 388 Jamnia ( Jabneh), 393 Jerusalem, Herodian quarter, 391 Jerusalem, Temple, Jerusalem, Temple Mount, 391 Jerusalem, Upper City, 391, 391n11 Jesus ben Phiabi, 390

religion and state, 386, 389, 391 Rome, Jewish community of, 385, 394, 395 sacrifices, “loyalty sacrifices,” 392, 393 Salome Alexandra, 387, 388 Simeon ben Boethus, 390 Strabo, 387, 387n1 synagogues, “Synagogue of the Agrippans,” 395 synagogues, “Synagogue of the Augustans,” 395 Valerius Maximus, 394n15 vestments, high priestly, 390, 391, 392 “Year of the Four Emperors,” 393

PLATES

herod and rome

Figure 1. Jericho, opus reticulatum in B69 (Netzer 2001, 257, Ill. 386).

419

420

achim lichtenberger

Figure 2. Jericho, opus reticulatum and wall decoration in B73 (Netzer 2001, 249, Ill. 375).

Figure 3. Masada, polychrome mosaic in room 456, Western Palace (Netzer 1991, 249, Ill. 394).

herod and rome

421

Figure 4. Masada, honeycomb-pattern from a mosaic in courtyard 101, bathhouse (Netzer 1991, 80, Ill. 128).

Figure 5. Pergamon, honeycomb-pattern from a mosaic floor in Peristylhaus II (photo D. Salzmann).

422

achim lichtenberger

Figure 6. Herodeion (Corbo 1989, Pl. 1).

herod and rome

Figure 7. Settefinestre (Carandini (ed.) II 1985, 15).

423

Figure 8. Jericho, Northern Wing of Third Palace (Netzer 2001, 232, Plan 34).

424 achim lichtenberger

the coins of herod the great

425

Obverse: Tripod with lebes, standing on a podium, with date on the left (LΓ = year 3), monogram on the right and surrounding inscription: ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΗΡΩ∆ΟΥ. Reverse: Helmet with straps, surmounted by a star on a flat base, flanked by two palm branches.

Figure 1. Bronze coin of Herod; average weight 7 g.

Obverse: Crested helmet with two cheek pieces, with date on the left (LΓ = year 3), monogram on the right and surrounding inscription: ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΗΡΩ∆ΟΥ. Reverse: Decorated Macedonian shield.

Figure 2. Bronze coin of Herod; average weight 5 g.

426

donald t. ariel

Obverse: Winged caduceus, with date on the left (LΓ = year 3), monogram on the right and surrounding inscription: ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΗΡΩ∆ΟΥ. Reverse: Poppy pod or pomegranate on stem with leaves, and fillets on either side.

Figure 3. Bronze coin of Herod; average weight 3.5–4 g.

Obverse: Aphlaston, with date on the left (LΓ = year 3), monogram on the right and surrounding inscription: ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΗΡΩ∆ΟΥ. Reverse: Palm branch with fillet.

Figure 4. Bronze coin of Herod; average weight 1.5–2.8 g.

the coins of herod the great

427

Obverse: An open diadem inscribing an “X” and surrounding inscription: ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩC ΗΡΩ∆ΟΥ. Reverse: Tripod table, with curved legs, and flanked by palm branches.

Figure 5. Bronze coin of Herod; average weight 2.5–4 g.

Figure 1. Isometric view of Hasmonaean winter palace complex at Jericho in its fullest development.

428 ehud netzer

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 429

Figure 2. Herod’s First Palace at Jericho.

430

ehud netzer

Figure 3. (a) Reconstructed plan and (b) section of the Antonia palatial fortress in Jerusalem.

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 431

Figure 4. Herod’s Second Palace at Jericho: (a) plan, (b) isometric view.

432

ehud netzer

Figure 5. Masada’s Northern Palace: (a) plan, (b) view from north, (c) restored isometric view.

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 433

Figure 5b.

434

ehud netzer

Figure 5c.

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 435

Figure 6. (a): Jerusalem’s main palace, from the model exhibited in the Israel Museum, (b): Restored elevation of Herod’s multi-storeyed towers (including Phasael, Hippicus, and Mariamne/Mariamme).

436

ehud netzer

Figure 7. (a) Plan of Greater Herodium, (b) Restored views of Herodium’s mountain palace-fortress before the creation of the artificial cone; (c) Restored isometric view of Greater Herodium.

Figure 7c.

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 437

Figure 8. The Promontory Palace at Caesarea: (I—left) first phase; (II—right) second phase.

438 ehud netzer

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 439

Figure 9. (a) Plan of Herod’s Third Palace in Jericho, (b) The palace’s Northern wing, (c) Restored isometric view of the round reception hall elevated on top of an artificial mound.

ehud netzer

Figure 9b.

440

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 441

Figure 9c.

442

ehud netzer

Figure 10. (a) City plan of Samaria-Sebaste in the days of Herod, (b) Restored plan of the temple of Augustus at Samaria-Sebaste, (c) Restored isometric view of the temple.

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 443

Figure 10b.

Figure 10c.

444

ehud netzer

Figure 11. (a) City plan of Caesarea during the early phase of Herod’s building programme at the site, (b) Section through the precinct of the temple of Augustus and Rome at Caesarea, (c) Restored isometric view of the temple.

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 445

Figure 11b.

Figure 11c.

446

ehud netzer

Figure 12. Stages of development of the Temple Mount and its surroundings through Herod’s reign.

Figure 13. Restored isometric view of the Temple and the inner enclosure.

Figure 14. (a) Restored north-south section through the Temple Mount; (b) Restored view of the Temple Mount; (c) The southwestern corner of the Temple Mount, the Second Temple Model, Israel Museum.

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 447

448

ehud netzer

Figure 14b.

Figure 14c.

Figure 15. Jericho’s hippodrome, a multi-functional installation, (a) Plan of the remains, (b) Restored plan, (c) Aerial view.

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 449

ehud netzer

Figure 15b.

450

Figure 15c.

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 451

452

ehud netzer

Figure 16. (a) City plan of Caesarea at the end of Herod’s building programme at the site, (b) Restored plans and elevation of Caesarea’s theatre, (c) Restored plan of Caesarea’s hippodrome.

palaces and the planning of complexes in herod’s realm 453

Figure 16b.

Figure 16c.

454

ehud netzer

Figure 17. The Temple Compounds at (shown clockwise): (a—top) Caesarea, (b—bottom right) Samaria-Sebaste, (c—bottom left) the Forum Iulium at Rome.

herodian entertainment structures

455

Figure 1a. Caesarea, aerial view of the hippo-stadium, looking east (Raqia Aerial Photography).

Figure 1b. Caesarea, aerial view of the theatre, looking west (Raqia Aerial Photography).

456

joseph patrich

Figure 2. Herodium, general plan. Note the course at the bottom of the hill; the proposed location of the wooden theatre in the topographical depression to the south of the Monumental Building (E. Netzer, The Architecture of Herod, the Great Builder, Tübingen 2006, p. 182, Fig. 40).

herodian entertainment structures

457

Figure 3. Caesarea theatre, the Herodian scaenae frons (Frova, Scavi, p. 129, Fig. 146).

Figure 4. Caesarea theatre, cross-section in the cavea. Note traces of Herodian seats under the ‘Imperial’ theatre (Frova, Scavi, p. 86, Fig. 64).

458

joseph patrich

Figure 5. Caesarea theatre, orchestra floors (right—Herodian, left—“Imperial”), and phases of proscaenium (composite figure derived from Frova, Scavi, p. 87, Fig. 72, and p. 127, Fig. 143).

herodian entertainment structures

459

Figure 6a. Caesarea theatre, incrustation frescos of the proscaenium (Frova, Scavi, Tav. I, Figs. 86–89, 125–26).

460

joseph patrich

Figure 6b. Caesarea theatre, plastered floor of the orchestra (Frova, Scavi, Tav. II, Fig. 93).

Figure 7. Samaria stadium, general plan (Crowfoot et al., Buildings, Pl. V).

herodian entertainment structures

461

Figure 8. Samaria stadium, detailed plans and elevations (Crowfoot et al., Buildings, p. 43, Fig. 12).

462

joseph patrich

Figure 9. Samaria stadium, south-western corner of stylobate. Note column drums of the Herodian Doric phase incorporated in the Severan Corinthian stylobate (Crowfoot et al., Buildings, Pl. XLVIII.2).

herodian entertainment structures

463

Figure 10. Samaria stadium, incised drawings (Crowfoot et al., Buildings, p. 45, Fig. 14).

464

joseph patrich

Figure 11. Jericho stadium, general plan and suggested reconstruction (E. Netzer, “The Hippodrome that Herod built at Jericho”, Qadmoniot XIII/51– 52 [1980], p. 105 [in Hebrew]). Note that in this version there are no porticos around the arena, in line with the remains of just a single enclosing wall.

Figure 12. Caesarea hippo-stadium, plan and cross-section (A. Iamim).

herodian entertainment structures

465

Figure 13. Caesarea hippo-stadium, carceres phases. Phase Ia is Herodian. Ib and Ic are elaborations carried out in the 1st century CE. Phase II is Hadrianic, and phase III is Severan (I. & N. Levit and A. Iamim).

466

joseph patrich

Figure 14. Caesarea hippo-stadium, showing the scheme of the chariot paths. Above—Herodian, associated with phase I carceres; below—Roman Imperial, associated with carceres II and III ( J. Patrich and A. Yamim).

Figure 15. Marathus-{Amrit (Phoenicia) stadium (N. Saliby, “ {Amrit,” in: Dentzer J. M. & Orthmann W. (eds.), Archéologie et Histoire de la Syrie II, Saarbrücken 1989, pp. 24–26, Fig. 6).

herodian entertainment structures

467

Figure 16. Augustan small circus of Bovillea, Italy ( J.H. Humphrey, Roman Circuses: Arenas for Chariot Racing, London 1985, p. 563, Fig. 268).

Figure 17. Herodian Stadia: Samaria-Sebaste, Jericho, Caesarea (M. Abu-Shaneb).

468

barbara burrell

Figure 1. Plan of Herodian Caesarea.

wall paintings of the hellenistic and herodian period

469

Figure 1. The five-zone scheme of wall decoration (after Chamonard 1922–24).

Figure 2. Wall painting decoration in the Hasmonean Palace at Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

470

silvia rozenberg

Figure 3. Room B100 at the Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (drawing by Pnina Arad).

Figure 4. Imitation alabaster designs in Room B81–B87 at the Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

wall paintings of the hellenistic and herodian period

Figure 5. Room B73 at the Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

Figure 6. Room B51 at the Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (drawing by Pnina Arad).

471

472

silvia rozenberg

Figure 7. Fragments with architectonic designs on white panels, Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

Figure 8. Detail of west wall in Triclinium B70 at the Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

wall paintings of the hellenistic and herodian period

473

Figure 9. Room B88 at the Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (drawing by Pnina Arad).

Figure 10. Detail of west wall in Room B88 at the Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (drawing by Pnina Arad).

474

silvia rozenberg

Figure 11. Fragment from the socle area, Room B90, Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

Figure 12. Fragment with lozenge design, Room B90, Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

wall paintings of the hellenistic and herodian period

475

Figure 13. Fragment with scroll design, Room B64, Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

Figure 14. Fragments with guilloche design, Room B64, Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

476

silvia rozenberg

Figure 15. Fragments with a lotus design, Room B90, Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

Figure 16. Fragments with naturalistic flowers between leaves, Room B64, Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

wall paintings of the hellenistic and herodian period

477

Figures 17–18. Fragments with architectonic designs, Room B64, Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

478

silvia rozenberg

Figure 19. Remains of bowl with cinnabar pigment, Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

Figure 20. Remains of bowl with blue pigment, Third Herodian Palace, Jericho (courtesy of E. Netzer).

wall paintings of the hellenistic and herodian period

479

Figure 21. Tepidarium wall, Mountain-Palace, Herodium (drawing by Pnina Arad, after Corbo 1989).

Figure 22. Wall painting fragment from Sebaste (photo by the author).

Figure 1. An assemblage of vessels from Herod’s period from the Jewish Quarter Excavations. Courtesy of H. Geva, Jewish Quarter Excavations.

480 malka hershkovitz

herodian pottery

481

Figure 2. Jars, jugs, juglets, spindle bottle and Alabastron from the Jewish Quarter Excavations. Courtesy of H. Geva, Jewish Quarter Excavations. NO.

OBJECT

NO. IN PUBLICATION

DESCRIPTION

1

Storage Jar

4.7:1

Yellowish-brown

2

Storage Jar

4.12:1

Yellowish-brown

3

Jug

4.10:6

Light brown

4

Juglet

4.11:7

Brown

5

Juglet

4.10:7

Reddish-brown

6

Juglet

4.11:6

Light brown

7

Juglet

4.11:3

Pinkish-brown

8

Juglet

4.7:12

Grayish-brown

9

Painted Juglet

4.7:9

Pinkish-brown, red paint

10

Unguentarium

4.12:2

Light brown, black and red paint

11

Alabastron

4.9:5

Pinkish-brown, red slip

12

Bottle

4.11:10

Yellow, dark brown paint

13

Bowl

4.10:12

Grayish-brown

14

Bowl

4.8:1

Pinkish-brown

15

Bowl

4.11:8

Pinkish-brown

16

Bowl

4.8:4

Light brown

17

Painted Bowl

4.8:7

Pinkish-brown, reddish-brown paint

18

Miniature vessel

4.7:18

Light brownish-pink, red paint

482

malka hershkovitz

Figure 3. Flask, cooking pots and lamps from the Jewish Quarter Excavations. Courtesy of H. Geva, Jewish Quarter Excavations. NO.

OBJECT

NO. IN PUBLICATION

DESCRIPTION

1

Flask

4.11:11

Pinkish-brown

2

Cooking pot

4.8:9

Reddish-brown

3

Casserole

4.12:16

Reddish-brown

4

Casserole

4.8:12

Reddish-brown

5

Pinched-rim lamp

4.9:19

Light-brown

6

Judean radial lamp

4.12:21

Pinkish-brown, red paint

7

Judean radial lamp

4.9:21

Pinkish-brown, red slip

8

Judean radial lamp

4.8:16

Pinkish-brown, reddish-brown slip

herodian pottery

483

Figure 4. A miniature vessel from Tell Dor excavations. Courtesy of E. Stern, Tell Dor Excavations.

Figure 5. A pinched-rim lamp and three radial lamps from Temple-Mount Excavations. Courtesy of B. Mazar, Temple-Mount Excavations.

484

malka hershkovitz

Figure 6. Judean radial lamps from the Jewish Quarter Excavations. Courtesy of H. Geva, Jewish Quarter Excavations. NO.

OBJECT

NO. IN PUBLICATION

DESCRIPTION

1

Judean radial lamp

4.6:8

Yellowish-brown, reddish-brown slip

2

Judean radial lamp

4.6:6

Pinkish-brown, reddish-brown slip

3

Judean radial lamp

4.6:2

Pinkish-brown, reddish-brown slip

4

Judean radial lamp

4.6:3

Pinkish-brown, reddish-brown slip

herodian pottery

485

Figure 7. Judean radial lamps from Masada. Published by B. Barag and M. Hershkovitz.

486

malka hershkovitz

Figure 8. Knife-pared lamps from Masada. Published by B. Barag and M. Hershkovitz.

Figure 9. A painted Jug from Masada. Courtesy of R. Bar-Nathan, Masada Excavations.

herodian pottery

487

Figure 10. A painted Bowl from the Jewish Quarter Excavations. Courtesy of H. Geva, Jewish Quarter Excavations.

Figure 11. Painted bowls from the Jewish Quarter Excavations. Courtesy of H. Geva, Jewish Quarter Excavations.

488

malka hershkovitz

Figure 12. An assemblage of vessels from the Temple-Mount Excavations. Courtesy of E. Mazar, Temple-Mount Excavations.

nabataean royal propaganda

489

Figure 1. Relief fragments with Nereid riding on a triton. Petra, Museum. Photo and photomontage by the author.

Figure 2. Fragment of a relief illustrating the tail of a sea monster. Petra, near the Temenos Gate. Photo by the author.

490

stephan g. schmid

Figure 3. Fragment of a small frieze depicting nereids on sea monsters and Erotes holding cornucopiae. Petra, Museum. Photo by the author.

Figure 4. Two fitting blocks of a relief illustrating a winged victory. Petra, near Qasr el-Bint (left) and near the Temenos Gate (right). Photo by the author.

nabataean royal propaganda

491

Figure 5. Relief block with the depiction of an Eros carrying a garland. Petra, Museum. Photo by the author.

Figure 6. Relief block with a fragmented striding figure. Petra, near the Temenos Gate. Photo by the author.

492

stephan g. schmid

Figure 7. The Hellenistic Petra Project (HPP). Sounding near the Temenos Gate. Photo by the author.

Figure 8. (Half ) column bases from Machaerus (left) and Petra (right). Photo and drawing by the author.

nabataean royal propaganda

Figure 9. Petra, Wadi Farasa East, general plan. André Barmasse.

493

494

stephan g. schmid

Figure 10. Caesarea Maritima, seaside palace of Herod the Great. After Netzer 2001b, 122, Fig. 162.

nabataean royal propaganda

495

Figure 11. Sirmione (North Italy), “Villa of Catullus”. After Roffia 1997, 147, Fig. 8.

496

stephan g. schmid

Figure 12. Petra, Nabataean building on Umm al-Biyara overlooking the city centre. Photo by the author.

Figure 13. Hypocaust and tubuli fragments from Nabataean building on Umm al-Biyara. Photo by the author.

nabataean royal propaganda

497

Figure 14. Marble fragments from Nabataean building on Umm al-Biyara. Photo by the author.

Figure 15. Nabataean pottery, last quarter 1st century BC from Nabataean building on Umm al-Biyara. Photo by the author.

498

stephan g. schmid

Figure 16. Nabataean pottery, second half 1st century AD from Nabataean building on Umm al-Biyara. Photo by the author.

Figure 1. The two main British dynasties: dates are only approximate.

herod’s contemporaries in britain and the west 499

500

john creighton

Figure 2. The imagery of Octavian/Augustus on British coinage.

herod’s contemporaries in britain and the west

501

Figure 3. Links between imagery on British coinage and those of other kingdoms.

Figure 4. Imperial busts on globes: the find from Colchester (in Colchester Museum) and the image on coins of the Bosporus.

502 john creighton