Rome And the Black Sea Region: Domination, Romanisation, Resistance (Black Sea Studies 5)

ROME AND THE BLACK SEA REGION

BLACK SEA STUDIES

5 THE DANISH NATIONAL RESEARCH FOUNDATION’S CENTRE FOR BLACK SEA STUDIES

ROME AND THE BLACK SEA REGION Domination, Romanisation, Resistance

Edited by Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

AARHUS UNIVERSITY PRESS a

ROME AND THE BLACK SEA REGION Proceedings of an international conference, University of Southern Denmark, Esbjerg, January 23-26, 2005. Copyright: Aarhus University Press 2006 Cover design by Jakob Munk Højte Cover photograph: The eastern gate of Nikaia (photo by Jesper Majbom Madsen) Printed in Denmark by Narayana Press, Gylling ISBN-13: 978 87 7934 174 6 ISBN-10: 87 7934 174 8 AARHUS UNIVERSITY PRESS Langelandsgade 177 DK-8200 Aarhus N White Cross Mills Lancaster LA1 4XS England

Box 511 Oakville, CT 06779 www.unipress.au.dk The publication of this volume has been made possible by a generous grant from The Danish National Research Foundation and The Aarhus University Research Foundation

Danish National Research Foundation’s Centre for Black Sea Studies Building 1451 University of Aarhus DK-8000 Aarhus C www.pontos.dk

Contents

Introduction Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

9

From Kingdom to Province: Reshaping Pontos after the Fall of Mithridates VI Jakob Munk Højte

15

The Roman Army as a Factor of Romanisation in the North-Eastern Part of Moesia Inferior Liviu Petculescu

31

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans Daniela Dueck

43

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony and its Representativity Jesper Majbom Madsen

63

The Rôle and Status of the Indigenous Population in Bithynia Thomas Corsten

85

Pliny’s Province Greg Woolf

93

Local Politics in an Imperial Context Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

109

Cultural Contact and Cultural Change: Colonialism and Empire Anne Marie Carstens

119

What Have the Romans ever Done for Us? How to Win Wars and also the Peace Jørgen Christian Meyer

133

Abbreviations

151

Bibliography

153

Index of Persons

165

Geographical index

172

Index Locorum

177

Contributors

185

Figures and Tables

Jakob Munk Højte: From Kingdom to Province Fig. 1. Satellite image of the Sinop Promontory  17 Fig. 2. The number and size of loci in different areas of the Sinop Promontory in the Hellenistic (top) and Roman (bottom) periods (from Doonan 2004, 156-157)  18 Fig. 3. Grave stele for Iulia Galatia erected by Antiochos in the year 174 of the local era (AD 171/72), now in Amasya Museum (author’s photo)  21 Fig. 4. Ethnic composition of the names in the dated inscriptions from Amaseia (based on French 1996)  27 Table 1. Chronological distribution of the dated inscriptions from Amaseia (based on French 1996)  24 Table 2. Chronological distribution of the dated inscriptions from Amastris (based on Marek 1993, 157-187)  26 Table 3. Chronological distribution of the inscriptions from inner Paphlagonia: Neoklaudiopolis, Hadrianopolis, Pompeiopolis, and Germanikopolis (based on Leschhorn 1993, 481-484)  28 Liviu Petculescu: The Roman Army as a Factor of Romanisation Fig. 1. The Roman Dobrudja (first-third centuries AD), after ���������������� Bărbulescu 2001 with modifications���   33 Fig. 2. The roads of Roman Dobrudja (second-fourth centuries AD), after Bărbulescu 2001���   39 Jesper Majbom Madsen: Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony and its Representativity Fig. 1. The ������������������������������������������������� sarcophagus of G. Cassius Chrestus in Nikaia (author’s photo)  77 Fig. 2. The ����������������������������������������������� Rascanii family from Apameia. Bursa Museum (author’s photo)  80 Thomas Corsten: The Rôle and Status of the Indigenous Population in Bithynia Fig. 1. Map of Roman Bithynia  87

Anne Marie Carstens: Cultural Contact and Cultural Change Fig. 1. Alabaster vase from the Maussolleion excavations (British Museum, ANE 132114)  125 Fig. 2. Cylinder seal from Tomb 813 at Sardis (Dusinberre 1997, fig. 3)  126 Fig. 3. Daskyleion bullae depicting a bear hunt (Kaptan 1996, Pl. 26:7)  127 Jørgen Christian Meyer: What have the Romans done for us? Fig. 1. Tetradrachm of the Bar Kokhba revolt, AD 133/4 (University of Aarhus)  140 Fig. 2. Antoninianus of Zenobia, AD 271-272 (© Copyright Andreas Pangerl, www.romancoins.info)  143

Introduction Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

Domination In 89 BC, Roman legionaries intervened in the Black Sea region to curb the ambitions of Mithridates VI of Pontos. Over the next two centuries, the Roman presence on the Black Sea coast was slowly, but steadily increased. The annex­ ation of Pontus and Bithynia as a Roman province (63 BC), the transformation of the Bosporan Kingdom into a client power (42 BC) and the establishment of Roman garrisons in the Crimea (AD 64) mark stages in this protracted process. The campaigns of Trajan in Dacia and Armenia (AD 105‑114) represent the last great effort of Rome to bring the Pontic area under her sway, and the Periplus of Arrian (AD 130) a stock‑taking of Roman domination at its greatest extent, when Rome controlled, directly or indirectly, more than two-thirds of the Black Sea shoreline. Unlike the Mediterranean, the Black Sea never became a Roman lake. Even at the height of Roman power, political control was enforced through a variety of mechanisms, from outright annexation to alliances with native rulers, the details of which have not always found their way into the historical record. The range of different political and diplomatic instruments used by Rome in the Pontic region reflect her underlying reluctance to undertake a permanent annexation by military means. With large numbers of regular soldiers already committed to the defence of the Rhine, the Danube and Syria, Rome had no need for yet another frontier in the Pontos, nor a limes in the Caucasus. They also, however, reflect the variety of political, geographical and demographical realities that faced Rome on her first encounters with the Black Sea region – where the nomads of the north Pontic steppe zone and the mountain pastoralists of Anatolia coexisted with the Greek-speaking citizens of the coastal cities, ancient Milesian colonies whose inhabitants took pride in their urbanity and civic heritage. The advent of Rome brought immediate and tangible changes in local power relations, taxation, local administration, to take a few examples. Over time, it entailed innumerable minor and major changes that were not limited to the sphere of economy and politics, nor to the districts under Roman rule. The new order of things came to permeate social life, religion, lifestyle, architecture, language and patterns of consumption.

10

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

Romanisation At least since the time of Theodor Mommsen, Romanisierung or ‘Romanisation’ has been used as a convenient catch-all term to describe these changes. Though the term has remained in use for over a century, its content and implications have changed. The historiography of Roman expansion and its consequences offer striking proof of Benedotte Croce’s dictum that in the last analysis “all history is contemporary history”. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, Roman expansion in Italy was viewed as a “natural” historical pro­ gress analogous to the formation of modern European nation-states; Roman expansion outside Italy as the “natural” domination of a higher race analogous to the formation of the European overseas empires; and Romanisation as the “natural attraction of a higher form of life” (Rostovtzeff 1927). For “Roman”, read Russian, Dutch, British or French; for “barbarian”, read Algerian, Indian, Indonesian, Cossack or African. To most thinkers of the early twentieth century, even the more profound ones, imperialism was if not justified, at least compensated by the advantages in terms of law, order, morals and religion imposed by the new masters on their willing or unwilling subjects. Continued European domination under “mandated” colonial administration, not self-government, was the League of Nations’ gift to the liberated territories of the vanquished German and Ottoman Empires. The former subjects of the Austrian Empire, on the other hand, were allowed to govern themselves; but then of course they were Europeans. As with European expansion, the justification of Roman expansion was rarely called into question, and Romanisation was seen to justify Roman dominance or at the very least, as a beneficial spin-off effect of Roman expansion. In the graphic formulation of Francis Haverfield, the Roman empire was an oasis of peace and order; outside its borders “roared the wild chaos of barbarism” (Haverfield 1924). The comfortable assumptions on which European imperialism was based were already called into question during the inter-war period and definitely shattered by World War II. The breakup of the colonial empires had begun during the war, gained momentum in the 1950s and was largely complete by the mid-sixties. This did not, however, translate into a reappraisal of Roman imperialism. On the contrary, Rostovtzeff’s Rome, firmly rooted in the ideological perceptions of pre-1914 Russian liberalism, was still being reprinted and translated in the 1960’s. To solve this seeming paradox, it needs to be remembered that in its early post-war phase, decolonisation was largely imposed on the European powers by the two new superpowers, both strongly anti-colonialist (though for very different reasons). What eventually made the intellectual establishment of western Europe turn its back on colonialism, however, was the rise of local resistance movements from the mid-1950s on-

Introduction

11

wards, often led by an educated and Europeanised elite who could no longer be dismissed as “barbarians”.

Resistance At the same time, the success of the colonial resistance movements inspired a new interest in the historical sociology of resistance and revolution. The case for the existence of hitherto-overlooked movements of social revolt in history was forcefully made by Eric Hobsbawm’s Bandits (1971) with the claim that those whom history has recorded as brigands, bandits, robbers and vandals were motivated by a wider social or political agenda. Whatever the merits of Hobsbawm’s thesis, it kindled an interest in resistance to Rome and Romanisation. The sixth International Congress of Classical Studies (Pippidi (ed.) 1974) was entirely devoted to the theme of “Assimilation and resistance to GraecoRoman culture” and was followed by Stephen Dyson’s study of native revolt patterns in Gaul (1975) and Marcel Bénabou’s monograph on resistance in Roman Africa (1976). As the 1970s gave way to the 1980s, however, a declining interest in ancient resistance movements could be observed. A Crocean reflection of the changing political climate, or merely a general sense of surfeit and tedium after so many words had been expended on the subject? The postwar phenomenon of global cultural Americanisation also brought the realisation that a dominant power might impose changes in culture, language, lifestyle and patterns of consumption even without the formal poli­ tical and economic control framework that had characterised the colonial era. Within the study of Roman history, this new insight translated into a dialectical analysis of the relationship between domination and Romanisation and the rediscovery that Romanisation could be an instrument of dominance rather than a consequence. The study of Romanisation in its Mommsenian sense (as a process of linguistic and institutional assimilation) thus gave way to a concept of Romanisation closer to that of Francis Haverfield (whose classic The Romanisation of Roman Britain was republished in 1979). On the other hand, the new generation of researchers rejected Haverfield’s optimistic dualism of Romanity and barbarism as emphatically as they rejected Mommsen’s vision of an empire unified by common norms, laws and institutions. In the postmodern world of cultural relativism, there is no place for the notion of “higher” and “lower” cultures, and the worn-out idea of cultural diffusion has given way to concepts such as ethnic strategy, identity choice or cultural bricolage. The individual – to paraphrase Appius Claudius Caecus – is the maker of his own identity. Romanisation remains a controversial and much debated concept. In the last decade, many researchers have felt that the whole notion of “Romanisation” is burdened down by so many imperialist connotations that it should be discarded. Instead of “Romanisation”, we now talk of “Kulturwandel unter

12

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

Roms Einfluss” (Haffner and Schnurbein 1996), “Becoming Roman” (Woolf 1994; 1998), “cultural interaction” (Creighton and Wilson (ed.) 1999), “italicisation” (Lomas 2000, 165) or “Creolizing the Roman Provinces” (Webster 2001). Others concede that Romanisation “could be allowed to stand as a term, as long as some fundamental preconceptions about the processes it purports to describe are altered” (Alcock in Hoff and Rotroff (ed.) 1997). Romanisation has become the R-word of ancient history, banned from polite academic conversation. As the twenty-first century dawns, it is being argued that the moral deficit of British imperialism was compensated by its modernising influence on the subject peoples (Ferguson 2002). It remains to be seen if this view will gain acceptance among contemporary historians, whether there will be a Crocean trickle-down effect on the perception of ancient imperialism and Romanisation, and whether the R-word will once more become a buzzword.

Romanisation and the Black Sea region The fifth international conference of the Centre for Black Sea studies was dedicated to the impact of Rome on the Black Sea Region. In this volume, nine of the papers presented at the conference are published, but like any conference volume, the present book fails to do justice to the inspired discussions after the papers, in the intervals, at dinner and over drinks. In the opening paper, “From kingdom to province”, Jakob Munk Højte traces the strange political metamorphosis of Pontos as it is revealed in the patterns and practices of everyday life. Within two generations, Pontos went from a late Hellenistic kingdom ruled by a warlord with expansionist, indeed imperial ambitions to a peaceful provincial backwater ruled by the ex-magistrates of late republican Rome. Swords were turned into ploughshares and the Pontic hammer became an anvil. What visible effects did this have locally? Højte traces the evolution of three aspects of daily life: settlement patterns, calendar systems and the development of the “epigraphic habit” – the last is a topic that is taken up by several other contributors. The imposition of Roman rule is also at the centre of the chapter by Liviu Petculescu, examining in detail not only how the Roman army achieved and maintained control over Scythia Minor, but the cultural and economic consequences, first and foremost in the sphere of urbanism, that followed. Militarised and Latinised, the military zone of Scythia Minor provides an instructive contrast not only with de-militarised and un-Latinised Pontos but with the Greek cities on the coast of Scythia Minor, which were far less affected by the advent of Rome. With the contributions by Daniela Dueck, Thomas Corsten and Jesper Maj­ bom Madsen, we move back to Asia and into the cultural sphere of Pontic Hellenism. The Roman province of Bithynia et Pontus is particular interesting for the study of Roman influence and Greek reactions. The cultural complexity

Introduction

13

of this composite province offers a rare possibility to compare the response to Roman hegemony in different societies with different cultural patterns. An important question is whether there are significant differences between the ways in which people in the Greek colonies, in the Hellenistic city-states and in the communities colonized by Rome reacted to the Roman presence. For instance, were the residents of the ancient Greek colonies more reluctant to live and identify themselves as Romans than citizens of the communities that were founded in the Hellenistic or Roman periods? From the preserved fragments of his history, Dueck brings the historian Memnon of Herakleia to life before our eyes and shows how, despite living in a vast Empire divided between Greek and Roman, Memnon is first and foremost Pontic and Herakleian in his outlook. For all the cosmopolitism of a world empire, parochialism was still a powerful force. More literary figures make their appearance in the following chapter by Jesper Majbom Madsen. Was the literary revival of the first and early se­cond century known as the Second Sophistic a reaction against the spread of Roman influence in Greece and Asia Minor (Swain 1996; Goldhill (ed.) 2001) or an attempt on the part of the Hellenised elite to demarcate themselves from their social inferiors? Madsen takes a two-stage approach to the problem. In the first half of his paper, he critically examines the case for the second Sophistic as an example of cultural resistance, and in the second part, he uses epigraphic behaviour to diagnose the cultural preferences of the literate middle and upper classes. As we have already seen in Højte’s paper, names are important; to name something is to appropriate it. The voluntary acceptance of Roman names by the Greek elite implies that they had been appropriated by the dominant Roman culture. Abandoning a perfectly good Greek name in favour of a Roman or Latinised one was a serious matter, and though well received by the Romans, it could earn the disapproval and derision of one’s peers – Apollonios is credited with the witty remark that “it is a disgrace to have a person’s name without also having his countenance” (Letters, 72). While intellectuals such as Plutarch or Dion viewed the spread of Roman mores with some scepticism, the onomastic evidence indicates that their sentiments were hardly representative of the provincial elite as a whole. Thomas Corsten addresses the same source material as Madsen, but with a different point of departure and a different interpretation. To Corsten, the transition from Greek to Latin names in the Bithynian inscriptions does not reflect the enfranchisment of the elite and the adoption of Roman names by Bithynians, but a wholesale replacement of the old Thraco-Bithynian gentry by a new class of Roman entrepreneurial landowners. The idea that Romanisation was carried into the conquered provinces by a class of immigré kulaks has respectable antecedents; it was central to the analysis of the western provinces by Rostovtzeff (1926/1957) but rejected by Hatt (1959). It addresses complex issues concerning the social structure and ethnic differentiation of provincial society, a subject that would merit a conference or a volume of its own.

14

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

While the preceding contributors have seen the Roman Black Sea from an indigenous perspective, Greg Woolf and Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen try to view Bithynia et Pontus through the eyes of a Roman recently arrived, Pliny the younger. Woolf strongly warns us against the perils of treating Pliny’s correspondence as a slice of Roman gubernatorial life. Pliny shows us his province and the Roman Black Sea region as he wants us to see it, and himself as he would like to appear to our eyes. Bekker-Nielsen is less concerned with what meets the eye, or what Pliny wants to meet our eyes; instead he searches for the invisible factors of local politics, rooted in the twilight world of back-room deals, rumour-mongering and pasquinades. Conceptualising cultural interaction as a process between cultural traditions that are themselves developing and changing introduces an extra dimension into the model and reveals the limitations of the classical theories of Romanisation. It also leads to the realisation that cultural change is rarely a zero-sum process: becoming more Roman does not necessarily mean becoming less Greek (or less Gaulish, less Scythian, less Bosporan, etc.). The last two contributions in the volume, by Anne Marie Carstens and Jørgen Christian Meyer, both deal with such (in Meyer’s phrase) “multi-identity cultures”. Modern populist-xenophobic politicians see cultural diversity as a threat to the stability of society, but the analyses of Carstens and Meyer indicate that the social resilience of Achaemenid and Roman structures of dominance owed much to their cultural diversity and the readiness of the dominant population to accept and even adopt the mores of their subjects when the situation called for it; the “ability to have several identities” (Meyer) and the possibility of “creative negotiation” (Carstens). Reading through this volume, the reader will find diversity, multiple cultural identities and occasional disagreement. It is hoped that it will provide food for creative reflection on cultural change in the traditionalist and parochial, yet dynamic and cosmopolitan environment that was the Roman Black Sea region. University of Southern Denmark, Esbjerg September 2006

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

From Kingdom to Province: Reshaping Pontos after the Fall of Mithridates VI Jakob Munk Højte

After the final collapse of the Pontic forces and the flight of Mithridates VI in 66 BC, Pompey was faced with the problem of reorganizing the former dominion of Mithridates. This was no easy task since much of the territory, particularly the interior of Asia Minor, differed significantly in respect to its organisation and infrastructure from most of the other areas incorporated into the provincial system in the Greek East. Only along the coast could the Roman administration build on already existing polis structures. As a result, Pompey only joined a manageable portion of the western part of the Asian domains of Mithridates with Bithynia to form the new province, and the rest he parcelled out to client kings. The difficulty of this operation is attested by the fact that nearly a century and a half would pass before the remaining part of Pontos was brought under direct Roman control. Some of the cities founded by Pompey to create a continuum of urban territories later dwindled and disappeared under the rule of the local dynasts who had been installed by Caesar and Marcus Antonius, and who showed little interest in supporting an urban culture; these cities had to be refounded later. The long and very complex historical process of transforming the territory of the Pontic Kingdom into the Roman provinces of Bithynia and Pontos, Galatia and Cappadocia in their more or less final form in the later first century AD has been treated thoroughly by Syme, Magie, Jones, Mitchell, Marek and others, and will only be dealt with in passing.1 Instead, I intend to look more closely at some of the archaeologically visible changes that occur during the Roman period on a somewhat smaller scale. First, I will undertake an examination of settlement patterns – made possible thanks to two recent survey projects – then investigate the use of eras and the reckoning of time, and finally look at what dated inscriptions can reveal about the chronology of changes in epigraphic habits and the use of personal names in northern Asia Minor, changes which may all be associated with the effects of Romanisation.

16

Jakob Munk Højte

Settlement patterns We know relatively little about how the Mithridatid kingdom was organized. It seems clear that apart from the coastal strip, the level of urbanisation was low in Pontos; at least there was nothing like the Greek polis, neither in physical appearance nor in the sense of an administrative unit. The royal residence of Amaseia may be an exception since the needs of the court would have attracted a whole range of specialised labour.2 The temple states of Komana Pontike, Zela, and Ameria also supported quite large populations, but whether the temple slaves and the devotees lived around the precinct or were scattered throughout the territory remains uncertain. The account of Strabon (12.3.36-37) suggests that some form of urban structure did exist around the temples. Eupatoria, founded by Mithridates VI in Phanaroia, may have been a first attempt by the kings to encourage the formation of cities in the in­terior.3 Symptomatically, he destroyed the city himself after it had sided with the Romans during the Third Mithridatic War. Central to the royal control of the land was a large number of castles scattered over the whole territory.4 Many of these served as treasuries of the king, but the commander (φροbραρχος) of the castle may equally well have served as governor of the surrounding district (¦παρχ\α). This system of control has analogies throughout eastern Asia Minor, and also seems to have been exported to the northern Black Sea area after Mithridates gained control of the Bosporan Kingdom.5 Pompey destroyed most of the castles, supposedly because they could become refuges for robbers and brigands, in reality probably because in the hands of disloyal local dynasts, they could be a threat to Roman control. The administrative units in Pontos seem to have been quite small. We know from the inscriptions in the sanctuary of Zeus Stratios that the territory of Amaseia was divided into at least twelve districts, only five of which are mentioned by Strabon.6 By the second century AD, when the inscriptions were erected, these districts had long ceased to have any administrative function, but their names lingered on. Almost all the districts have indigenous names ending in -ηνη or -ιτι�ς, probably with roots going back to the Bronze Age, and the same is true for the villages or hamlets mentioned.7 On account of the inscriptions, D. French suggests that there may have been as many as 500 villages in the territory of Amaseia,8 which of course brings to mind the district northwest of Amaseia called Chiliokômon, the “valley of a thousand villages”. Contrary to most names of districts, this carries a Greek name, but it could of course be a Greek translation of an earlier, indigenous name. All this suggests a densely populated rural landscape in the valleys of the interior during the pre-Roman period. Supposedly it was from all these scattered villages that the inhabitants of the Roman foundations were drawn. There are, however, reasons for not accepting this interpretation of preRoman decentralisation contra Roman urbanisation too readily. Over the

From Kingdom to Province

17

Fig. 1. Satellite image of the Sinop Promontory.

past few years, our knowledge about settlement patterns and land-use in central northern Asia Minor has increased significantly, mainly due to two international survey projects carried out in Paphlagonia in the late 1990s. Many other, less intensive surveys have been carried out in Pontos by local archaeologists.

The Sinop Survey During the late 1990s, the Sinop Regional Archaeological Project intensively surveyed 350 selected tracts on the Sinop promontory and located 170 archaeological sites or loci (Fig. 1). The preliminary publications of the survey have demonstrated that until about the time when Sinope became the capitol of the Pontic kingdom, habitation was scarce on the Sinop promontory, and the city’s primary lines of communication went via the sea.9 The site density in most areas is very low in the archaic and classical periods, with a slight rise during the Hellenistic period, but the real change in the settlement pattern only occurs under the Empire. Exceptions are the smaller promontory Boz Tepe (which, due to its geographical position, had always been closely linked to the city) and the area around Armene west of Sinop, where Xenophon and the Ten Thousand made landfall on their westward journey by sea along the coast. The director of the project, Owen Doonan, concludes that in contrast to the earlier periods, “Roman settlement tended to be extensive, specialized and connected”.10 The change is particularly noticeable in the Demirci Valley

18

Jakob Munk Højte

Fig. 2. The number and size of loci in different areas of the Sinop Promontory in the Hellenistic (top) and Roman (bottom) periods (from Doonan 2004, 156-157).

to the south of the city and the Karasu Valley to the north (Fig. 2), which saw the growth of an extensive olive production and the production of amphorae in the second century AD.11 Smaller hamlets, probably relying heavily on marine resources, also began to dot the coastline during this period, and suburban elite settlements such as the possible villa site at Kiraztepe were established.12

The Paphlagonia Survey Likewise in the late 1990s, a British team carried out a somewhat more extensive survey of the towns of Hadrianopolis and Antoninopolis in the interior of Paphlagonia.13 Their conclusion about the development of the settlement pattern was similar to that of the Sinop peninsula survey: “During the Roman period, settlement in southern Paphlagonia takes on new dimensions. For the first time we start to see widespread settlement across almost the entire

From Kingdom to Province

19

landscape … and the first appearance of a truly distinct hierarchy of settlement, ranging from large town to small hamlet with associated cemetery”, and further: “A notable component of the Roman settlement pattern is the prevalence of small sites”.14 Precise dates are not given for specific sites, but coins and inscriptions of the third century AD are mentioned. In all, thirtyone loci occupied in the Roman period were identified. Only seven of these loci (23%) also contained material from the Hellenistic period. Moreover, in no instances does occupation terminate during the Hellenistic period. The complete site continuity from the Hellenistic to the Roman period indicates that in the later period, inhabitants spread over the landscape from already existing sites. The reports from both surveys point to the peaceful situation during the Roman imperial period as the primary reason for the characteristically dispersed settlement pattern, which was not matched until modern times.

Other surveys Several surveys have been carried out further eastward in Pontos by Turkish archaeologists. Projects initiated by M. and N. Öszait cover the districts of Amasya, Samsun and Ordu, and another group has been working in the areas around Tokat. In Paphlagonia, a team has been working in the area around Kasamonu.15 However, none of these surveys follow as systematic an approach as that mentioned above, nor are they as intensive. In addition, most of the projects focus predominantly on periods earlier or later than the Hellenistic and Roman era. What can be glimpsed from the many preliminary reports boils down to a generally wider distribution of sites in the Roman period. The evidence will not at present support broader conclusions because of the preliminary nature of many of the publications, and because the Hellenistic period was shorter than the Roman period – which is often taken to include the Byzantine period as well – and also because in extensive surveys Roman remains may be more readily recognizable than Hellenistic ones. The sum of available evidence creates an impression of a Roman landscape that, contrary to what might be expected, did not concentrate settlement in the urban centres that were the focus of the Roman administration, but rather distributed the population across the countryside in a variety of settlement types. This development under Roman rule is quite different from that of the province of Achaea, by far the most thoroughly investigated area, where “the Classical and early Hellenistic periods appear exceptionally active, characterized by the presence of numerous, dispersed, small sites”. By comparison, with few exceptions the Roman landscape of Achaea appears “empty”.16 However, Achaea was probably not representative of the Empire in this respect, and developments in northern Asia Minor are parallelled elsewhere. This raises a question about the demographic potential of Pontos during the Hellenistic period. Where did Mithridates obtain soldiers for

20

Jakob Munk Højte

his campaigns against Rome if there were no large urban centres and little dispersed settlement?

Defining time – the use of calendar systems in northern Asia Minor Space was altered as new settlement patterns changed the landscape and the administrative infrastructure was shaped along new lines when the land was parcelled out among newly created cities. Time, or rather the reckoning of time, changed as well. Prior to the Roman conquest, the dominant system for reckoning years in northern Asia Minor was according to the Bithyno-Pontic era, counting the years from the accession of King Zipoites of Bithynia in 297/96 BC.17 The earliest evidence for its use are coins struck in 149/48 BC, the year Nikomedes II became king after the murder of his father Prusias. Earlier Bithynian coins carry no indication of date, and it is possible that the calendar was in fact invented on this occasion. In 96 BC or shortly before, Mithridates VI began to strike coins in precious metals, and with the exception of a very small number of undated coins they are from the beginning dated according to the Bithyno-Pontic era, which must have been adopted in Pontos in the early part of his reign.18 His forefathers, on the other hand, had used the Seleucid era. Mithridates’ motives for adopting another state’s era are a mystery, as this would normally indicate a subordinate position. Furthermore, relations with Bithynia were not very amicable at the time, at best rather competitive. Only in the joint invasion of Paphlagonia in 108 BC did the two kings cooperate, and this event marks the most likely time for the changeover.19 With the Roman conquest, the Bithyno-Pontic era ceased to be used in Asia Minor, but continued to be used in the Bosporan Kingdom at least until the end of the fifth century AD. The era was certainly employed in inscriptions in the Hellenistic period, as evidenced by inscriptions from the Northern Black Sea area,20 but to my knowledge no dated inscriptions have turned up in either Bithynia or Pontos, where so far it is only known from coins. It has generally been assumed that the Bithyno-Pontic era was abandoned because it was associated with kingship, but against this speaks the fact that the Seleucid era remained the predominant calendar system in the East until the Arab invasion, and continued to be used sporadically in Asia Minor well into the imperial period.21 Furthermore, the Bithyno-Pontic era was not particularly associated with Pontos and Mithridates VI, the enemy of Rome, since it had only been introduced in Pontos a generation prior to his succession; and the Romans in general seemed disinterested in imposing new calendars in the conquered territories. Changing the calendar system was therefore a very conscious choice of connecting oneself to Rome, and the initiative undoubtedly came from local authorities. Had it been in the interest of the Roman administration to regulate the reckoning of time this could easily have been brought about at any time by implementing a common provincial era, a familiar phenom-

From Kingdom to Province

21

Fig. 3. Grave stele for Iulia Galatia erected by Antiochos in the year 174 of the local era (AD 171/72), now in Amasya Museum (author’s photo).

22

Jakob Munk Højte

enon in other provinces. For the administration of the province, it could not have been practical to encounter at least six different calendar systems when travelling the relatively short distance from Herakleia to Polemonion. Many cities chose the year of the city’s inclusion in the Roman province of Bithynia and Pontus as the starting point for their new era (or in Galatia in the case of the inner parts of Paphlagonia and Pontos). For some reason, however, no one seems to have used the initial creation of the province of Bithynia and Pontus in 63 BC, nor is there any solid evidence for the often proposed Pompeian era. Instead, the Lucullan era starting in 70/69 BC was chosen in Amastris and Abonouteichos. Amisos deviates from the rest in that this city seems to have used its grant of freedom in the year 32/31 BC as the starting point.22 The long use of the Seleucid and the Bithyno-Pontic calendars in Asia Minor may explain the unusual popularity of calendars with years numbered in succession as opposed to eponymous magistrates or the year of reign of the emperor. It is one thing to calculate out the year from which a particular era was reckoned, quite another to figure out when the era was actually introduced. In a few instances the two events are definitely contemporary. In Amastris, for example, coins were struck in year one of the Lucullan era,23 but often we find a considerable gap between the starting point of the era and our earliest evidence for its use. Along the coast, the gaps generally tend to be short; inland, on the other hand, it is a question of centuries rather than decades: Neapolis/Neoklaudiopolis, 115 years; Pompeiopolis, 174 years; Kaisareia/ Hadrianopolis, 170 years; Gangra/Germanikopolis, 198 years – all according to the Paphlagonian era starting 6/5 BC.24 The proposition that this era was already used in the famous oath of the Paphlagonians to Augustus is false.25 The number three in the text does not refer to the local era but rather to the third year of the 12th consulship of Augustus. That the two different readings in fact yield the same date, 3/2 BC, is a mere coincidence. The oath’s close connection with the emperor can further be seen in the date chosen, the 6th of March, the anniversary of Augustus’ elevation as pontifex maximus, and the use of νωνäν Μαρτ\ων ���� transliterated from Latin further suggests a nonnative dating system. The question is whether the era was actually introduced at a later date or whether it appears so due to the insufficiency of our sources. It is quite possible that a city could maintain and employ a calendar system that was never revealed in any of the sources available to us, as these comprise only coins and monumental inscriptions on stone. I would suggest, however, that the introduction of eras related to the city’s incorporation into the Roman empire was part of a larger package that included new settlement patterns, the introduction of local coinage, new social structures, and new means of self-expression, both individually and for communities as a whole, the latter primarily visible through what has become known as “the epigraphic habit”. All these markers seem to coincide more or less chronologically – at a much

From Kingdom to Province

23

later date than the creation of the province. The correlation between coinage and inscriptions is of particular interest, as these contain our most precisely datable evidence and can therefore provide a clue to the date of this transformation.

The epigraphic habit The epigraphic habit, or the use of inscriptions in public and private contexts, was a fundamental feature of participation in the Graeco-Roman cultural sphere. Judged by this parameter, northern Asia Minor, apart from the coastal cities, was by no means Hellenized under the Pontic kings, as hardly any inscriptions exist from the Hellenistic period. The epigraphic habit was closely associated with the Greek language, and the use of Greek seems very restricted and a rather late phenomenon outside the old Greek colonies – with the exception of coin legends. Several literary sources remark on the linguistic talents of Mithridates VI and relate that the king spoke all the tongues and dialects of his domain: twenty languages or more.26 Since a surprisingly large proportion of inscriptions in northern Asia Minor can be dated accurately, we can determine with some degree of certainty when the epigraphic habit was introduced. Naturally, caution should be taken when drawing conclusions from epigraphic sources. The preserved epigraphic monuments are by no means an unbiased selection of what once existed. Most importantly, we essentially only possess inscriptions written on stone. In northern Asia Minor, hard limestone was in scarce supply; on the other hand, metal was abundant, and inscriptions on bronze may have been more common than we can perceive today. Painted inscriptions on wooden panels may also have existed in an area rich in wood and Sinopean red dye.27 This leads to the question of survival rates. In Herakleia Pontike, for example, only about seventy or eighty inscriptions have been preserved, and the earliest may well be a base for a statue of Claudius. By this time the city had been among the major cities in the Black Sea for nearly 600 years, and no one would hesitate to place it within the Greek cultural sphere. The destruction of the city by Cotta in 70 BC, the extensive reuse of inscribed stones as building material, and the destructive forces of modern town planning are the standard explanations given for the small number of preserved inscriptions.28 At the sites chosen for investigation here, however, the inscriptions do not seem to have been subject to such radical selection during the Roman period and probably represent a fairly random sample.

24

Jakob Munk Højte

Table 1. Chronological distribution of the dated inscriptions from Amaseia (based on French 1996). Decade

Number of inscriptions

AD 50-59

0

60-69

0

70-79

0

80-89

0

90-99

3

100-109

1

110-119

0

120-129

3

130-139

5

140-149

6

150-159

5

160-169

13

170-179

13

180-189

3

190-199

9

200-209

6

210-219

4

220-229

0

230-239

3

240-249

2

250-259

4

260-269

0

270-279

0

280-289

0

– 370-379 Total

1 81

From Kingdom to Province

25

Amaseia By far the best sample of dated inscriptions derives from the territory of Amaseia, the former capital of the Pontic Kingdom, and was collected by David French. Although the corpus still awaits publication, the published lists of dated inscriptions provide us with an adequate impression of the material. The latest count shows 443 inscriptions: 6 Hellenistic, 350 Roman, and 87 Byzantine – figures that strongly testify to the scarcity of Hellenistic material. Among the Roman inscriptions, 278 relate to funerary monuments, and of these 84, or 30%, can be dated according to the local era.29 We have no idea as to what caused people to include or omit the year in the epitaphs of their relatives. It does not seem to be a question of chronology. A study of the limited material published with photographs or drawings in Studia Pontica30 on the basis of letter forms suggests that there is no overall discrepancy between the chronological distribution of the dated and undated inscriptions. The monuments likewise appear to be a representative sample with regard to quality. I think that we can safely take the dated inscriptions as indicative of the whole corpus. The earliest definite evidence of the use of the local era in Amaseia is provided by three coin issues during the Flavian period.31 Slightly later, we find the earliest epigraphic use of the era on a sarcophagus dated to 97/98 AD, and from then on, the number of inscriptions increases until the 160s and 170s, after which a decrease sets in (Table 1). The high figures in the late 160s and 170s can possibly be interpreted as an increased mortality rate due to the Antonine Plague, followed by a reduced number of deaths and perhaps economic stagnation in the 180s AD.32 The Gothic and Sassanian invasions in the 250s and 260s brought an end to the use of local calendars, or at least to our knowledge of them. It may be of significance that local coinages ceased at the same time. The very sporadic use of the Amaseian era and other eras in northern Asia Minor in the late fourth, the fifth and even sixth centuries AD reveals that the memory of the era was somehow kept alive in media not preserved for posterity or was reinvented during late antiquity. One area where the dated inscriptions offer promising evidence concerns the changes in the use of personal names: When did people begin to use Roman names and how common do they become, how long did indigenous and Persian names persist, can we detect gender related practices etc. The list of questions raised by these changes is long, and to answer them adequately would require a very thorough study; here I will restrict myself to one aspect: the introduction of Latin names. In this respect the evidence from Amaseia is a bit disappointing because the transition from Greek and indigenous names to the mixture of Greek, Latin and mixed names that can be observed in the second and third centuries must have taken place before our record of inscriptions begins (Fig. 4). The earliest inscriptions already have a majority of Latin names. Indigenous and Persian names that were relatively common

26

Jakob Munk Højte

Table 2. Chronological distribution of the dated inscriptions from Amastris (based on Marek 1993, 157-187). Decade

Number of inscriptions

AD 50-59

1

60-69

1

70-79

0

80-89

1

90-99

1

100-109

2

110-119

2

120-129

1

130-139

2

140-149

2

150-159

2

160-169

1

170-179

1

180-189

2

190-199

1

200-209

4

210-219

0

220-229

0

230-239

1

240-249

0

250-259

1

260-269

0

270-279

0

280-289

0

Total

26

at the time of Mithridates VI, judging from a study of names of officials and officers,33 had largely disappeared.

Amastris and Inner Paphlagonia A smaller sample of twenty-six dated inscriptions from Amastris shows a somewhat different pattern (Table 2).34 Here the earliest inscription dates from 50/51 AD, i.e., half a century earlier than in Amaseia. It is, however, no less

From Kingdom to Province

27

    

0L[HG QDPHV



/DWLQ QDPHV



*UHHN QDPHV

  

 V  V  V  V  V  V  V  V  V  V  V  V  V  V  V  V  V



Fig. 4. Ethnic composition of the names in the dated inscriptions from Amaseia (based on French 1996).

than 121 years after the introduction of the Lucullan era; and as mentioned above, Amastris is in fact one of the few places where we have certain evidence of the use of the calendar immediately after its introduction. The end of the use of the calendar likewise coincides with the invasions in the 250s and 260s AD. Between these end points, the inscriptions are distributed more evenly than in Amaseia, with only a slight increase in the first half of the se­ cond century. The concentration of four inscriptions under Septimius Severus is probably coincidental. With regard to the ethnic character of the names, we see a clear development away from purely Greek names over time. In the three earliest inscriptions of the first century AD, all names are of Greek or Iranian inspiration. During the first half of the second century, Greek names still dominate but Latin names or Latin tria nomina with a Greek cognomen begin to appear; after the middle of the century only a single Greek name appears. In two instances, a father with a Greek name gave his children Latin names.35 This could be a sign of the times or of the upward mobility of the persons that appear in the epigraphic record. The last examples I shall present here concern the cities of Pompeiopolis, Neoklaudiopolis and Hadrianopolis in inner Paphlagonia. Apart from two inscriptions from Neoklaudiopolis from the 120s, dated inscriptions only begin in the 160s (Table 3), yet end around 260, with one late example from the 280s.36 The small size of the sample and the scattered distribution does not permit a detailed statistical analysis of the development in the use of names.

28

Jakob Munk Højte

Table 3. Chronological distribution of the inscriptions from inner Paphlagonia: Neoklaudiopolis, Hadrianopolis, Pompeiopolis, and Germanikopolis (based on Leschhorn 1993, 481-484). Decade

Number of inscriptions

AD 50-59

0

60-69

0

70-79

0

80-89

0

90-99

0

100-109

0

110-119

0

120-129

2

130-139

0

140-149

0

150-159

0

160-169

4

170-179

2

180-189

1

190-199

6

200-209

1

210-219

3

220-229

1

230-239

2

240-249

3

250-259

4

260-269

2

270-279

0

280-289

1

Total

32

Suffice to say that at least some non-Greek, non-Latin names still occur among the inscriptions. Keeping in mind the danger of overinterpretation, I think that the three examples given here can be taken as evidence of how the custom of erecting inscribed monuments (particularly of a funerary nature) to commemorate oneself and one’s family spread among a wider section of the population. It began on the coast in the first century AD and then slowly penetrated the hinterland before the mid-second century. In most cities it coincides with

From Kingdom to Province

29

the introduction of local coinage, the more common use of Latin names, the construction of public buildings, and probably other, less clearly dated phenomena such as changed land-use and settlement patterns. It is difficult to say whether these changes were perceived as Romanisation by the local population, but they were certainly a product of the favourable conditions offered by the Pax Romana. Notes

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Magie 1950; Jones 1971; Marek 1993; Mitchell 1993; Syme 1995. Strabon 12.3.39. Syme 1995, 115. Mitchell 1993, 84. Olshausen & Biller 1984 (map) for location. Saprykin & Maslennikov 1996, 1-14. French 1996b, 78. Dalaison 2002, 261-276. French 1996, 82. Appian (Mithr. 65) furthermore relates that Murena captured 400 villages belonging to Mithridates. 9 Doonan 2004. 10 Doonan 2004, 47. 11 Doonan 2004, 103; 111-112. 12 Doonan 2004, 47. 13 Matthews, Pollard & Ramage 1998. 14 Matthews, Pollard & Ramage 1998, 203. 15 Özdogan, Marro & Tibet 1999; Özsait 2002; 2003; Özsait & Özsait 2002; Dönmez 1999 – to mention a few. In her new book on the Pontic kingdom, Erciyas (2006, 53-62) offers a summary of all the surveys conducted in Pontos. 16 Alcock 1993, 48. 17 For the beginning of the era, see Perl 1968, 299-330. 18 Callataÿ 1997, 8-9 & 33-36. 19 Leschhorn 1993, 83-86. McGing 1986, 66. Justinus 37.4.3. 20 An inscription from Phanagoreia dated to the year 210 (88/87 BC) published by Vinogradov & Wörrle (1992, 159-170), and another newly found inscription from Olbia dated to the year 220 (78/77 BC) published by Krapivina & Diatroptov 2005, 167-180. 21 �������������������� Leschhorn 1993, 418. ��������������������������� 22 ������������������������ Leschhorn 1993, 106-115. ��������������������������������������������������� 23 ������������������������������������������������ Waddington, Reinach & Babelon 1925, 176, no. 19. ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 24 For the earliest occurrence of the era in the different cities, see Leschhorn 1993, 481-484. 25 Anderson, Cumont & Grégoire 1910, no. 66. 26 Pliny (NH 7.24; 25.3) reports that it was a well-known fact that Mithridates spoke twenty-two languages and never required the service of an interpreter. Gellius (17.17) offers the figure of twenty-five, and Aurelius Victor (De vir illustr. 76.1) claims that he spoke fifty languages. 27 For inscriptions on wood in the Roman period, see Eck 1998, 203-217. 28 IK 47, p. 1-2. ���������������������� 29 French 1996, 86-87. 30 Anderson, Cumont & Grégoire 1910, 109-187.

30

Jakob Munk Højte

31 Burnett, Amandry & Carradice 1999, 236-238. The legend on a Julio-Claudian coin formerly read as Ε[ΤΟΥΣ] ΜΑ (year 41) turns out to read EΠI ΒΑΣΙΛΑ. Basila served as legate of Galatia sometime during the first decades of the first century AD. ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 32 For more examples of the impact of the Antonine Plague, see Duncan-Jones 1992, 108-136. 33 Olshausen 1974, 153-170. ����������������������� 34 Marek 1993, 157-187. 35 Marek 1993, 170, no. 48; 184, no. 104. 36 See Marek 1993, 135-155; 187-210, for the inscriptions from Pompeiopolis and Hadrianopolis. See Anderson, Cumont & Grégoire 1910, 46-108, for the inscriptions from Neoklaudiopolis. In Hadrianopolis, two statue bases for Hadrian and Antoninus Pius, respectively, testify to the fact that inscriptions were erected before the practice of dating the inscriptions was introduced in epitaphs.

The Roman Army as a Factor of Romanisation in the NorthEastern Part of Moesia Inferior Liviu Petculescu

From antiquity, the territory between the Danube and the Black Sea known today as Dobrudja represented a geopolitical unity. Reflecting this fact, at the beginning of the Late Empire the Romans organized a province, Scythia Minor, whose borders almost correspond with those of Dobrudja. In the pre­ sent study I will leave aside the southern extremity of Dobrudja and deal only with the main part of the region, the 15,485 sq km lying within the modern state of Romania. The Roman army entered Scythia Minor for the first time as early as 72-71 BC, during the war against Mithridates when M. Terentius Varro Lucullus, proconsul of Macedonia, conquered the Greek towns of the coast.1 Yet, ten years later, the army of another governor of Macedonia, C. Antonius Hybrida, was destroyed by mutinous allies near Histria and the Roman control of the region was lost for about three decades. Not until the end of the civil wars did Rome have another army available to fight in this remote area. In 29-28 BC, M. Licinius Crassus, the Macedonian governor of the time, campaigned successfully in Dobrudja but the Romans annexed only the Greek towns of Histria, Tomis and Callatis, giving the rest of the country to the Thracian client kingdom. However, the praefectus in charge of the Greek cities also kept a military control of the Danube line. When Claudius suppressed the Thracian state in AD 46, its part south of the Balkan mountains was organized into the province of Thracia, while the territory between the Balkans and the Danube was added to the province of Moesia but does not seem to have been garrisoned permanently for nearly a quarter of a century.2 Anyway, only after the reorganization of the Moesian limes by Vespasian – implying also the establishment of the classis Flavia Moesica – are the first Roman auxiliary military units stationed in Dobrudja attested.3 Even later, after the division of Moesia and creation of the two new provinces of Moesia Superior and Moesia Inferior by Domitian, and the occupation of Dacia by Trajan following the ardous wars of AD 101-102 and 105-106, the limes on the

32

Liviu Petculescu

Lower Danube acquired its definite shape which remained basically unaltered until the end of the Principate. Thus the Danubian frontier between Viminacium and Novae, heavily manned to resist the Dacian attacks, was abandoned and some of the military units previously quartered upstream from Novae were sent north of the Danube into the new province of Dacia and the part of the kingdom of Decebalus annexed to Moesia Inferior. The remaining units that were available to be quartered elsewhere were transferred eastward by Trajan to guard the Danube’s right bank as far as the river delta (Fig.1). Now, at last, the legions were settled in Dobrudja: legio XI Claudia at Durostorum immediately beyond the present-day Romanian border and legio V Macedonica at Troesmis. Moreover, from the first half of the second century AD the garrison of Dobrudja certainly included the following auxiliary units: ala I Vespasiana Dardanorum at Arrubium, ala II Hispanorum et Aravacorum at Carsium, cohors I Cilicum milliaria sagittariorum at Sacidava, cohors I Germanorum at Capidava, cohors I Lusitanorum Cyrenaica at Cius and until AD 144 at the latest, cohors II Mattiacorum at Dinogetia and Barbo���������������������� ş��������������������� i. However, since on the limes between Durostorum and Dinogetia there were at ���������������� least two other auxiliary forts at Sucidava and Carsium, it is probable that the number of auxiliary units permanently settled in Dobrudja was larger than attested so far. Besides, the northern sector of the frontier including the forts at Dinogetia, Noviodunum, Aegissus, Halmyris and the bridgeheads from Barbo������� şi����� and Aliobrix, was perhaps manned exclusively by classis Flavia Moesica after the removal of the cohors II Mattiacorum. So from Trajan to Marcus Aurelius the garrison of Dobrudja consisted of c. 6000 soldiers from legio V Macedonica, 3,500-4,500 auxiliary cavalry and infantry, the bulk of the classis Flavia Moesica – whose number is hard to estimate, yet I believe could at least be of 2,000 sailors and soldiers – and probably small vexillations of legio XI Claudia; that is, a total amount of c. 12-13,000 troops. After the transfer of legio V Macedonica to Dacia in AD 167-170, on its former sector of the limes one could meet detachments from legio I Italica based at Novae, sometimes in association with those of legio XI Claudia, but one couldn’t know if they were stationed here permanently or only temporarily. After the Marcomannic Wars the garrison strength of the north-eastern part of Moesia Inferior dropped to c. 8,000 troops and this number seems to have been maintained without major changes during the third century AD. The relatively limited strength of the Roman army in Dobrudja during the Principate was determined by the characteristics of its borders. In itself, the Lower Danube represented a difficult obstacle, and beyond the river bed proper there were plenty of marshes and lakes. Westward of Dobrudja the river divided itself creating two huge marshes known today under the names of “Ialomi������������������������������������������������������������������� ţa bog” and “������������������������������������������������������ ������������������������������������������������������� Brăila bog”������������������������������������������� ; northward, there are numerous lakes, and further northeast the Danube Delta. Accordingly, in this region the Danube has only few fords at: Durostorum, Carsium, Dinogetia and Noviodunum. Of course, during the hard winter frost the river could be crossed on ice in

The Roman Army as a Factor of Romanisation

33

Fig. 1. The Roman Dobrudja (first-third centuries AD), after ����������� Bărbulescu ����� 2001 �������������� with modifications.

many places and in fact in the past the Dacians had often taken advantage of this situation. It is clear that the Romans did not need too many troops to control the fords and the traffic on the Danube; indeed, that is all they did, following the principle of linear frontier defence which was the norm during the first three centuries AD. As for the seashore, there is no straightforward evidence that the Romans considered it as a real limes to be defended until the Gothic attacks of the third century. Consequently, all military units of this part of Moesia Inferior were stationed along the Danube.

34

Liviu Petculescu

The reorganization of the limes Moesiae Inferioris by Trajan accomplished the division of Dobrudja in three different parts: the bank of the Danube, the interior and the littoral. Each of these zones not only represented a geographical unit but at the same time developed administrative features and even ethnic characteristics. As the Danube’s bank was a frontier area, it was organized as a military district and became the more Romanised region of Dobrudja. On public land the army erected castra where the military units were quartered, and nearby civilian settlements arose which were organized in Roman fashion as canabae or vici. The origin of the soldiers making up these military units was widely different but during their service even those less romanised soldiers assimilated Roman civilization, including the Latin language. Among the 16 military men of legio V Macedonica, most of those giving their origo in inscriptions found in Dobrudja came from the Orient: Ankyra (ISM V, 155; 135; 174; 183), Amastris (ISM V, 184; 186), Nikaia (ISM V, 196), Hemesa (ISM V, 178), Laodikeia (ISM V, 179), Nikopolis (ISM V, 158).4 Besides, two others hailed from Oescus (ISM V, 188) and castris (ISM V, 160) respectively, and the c. 300 veterans discharged in AD 134 had true citizen names including rare Italic ones, yet very few with Greek cognomina (ISM V, 137). Irrespective of their origin, however, the legionaries and veterans from Troesmis erected only Latin inscriptions. All the auxiliary units settled in Dobrudja except cohors I Cilicum were initially raised from European tribes, yet the bulk of the manpower of the fleet seems to have been drawn from the Orient. Since, with the passage of time, vacancies within these units were filled by recruitment within the region where they were quartered, they eventually lost some – if not most – “national” features. So they became typical Roman military units except that according to regulations, until the Constitutio Antoniniana in AD 212, they consisted of peregrines. Reflecting the progressive levelling process between citizen and peregrine soldiers, the inscriptions found so far in the auxiliary forts are similar in content to those of the legionaries, and likewise written in Latin. The army was followed by the soldiers’ families and a lot of people who earned their lives by meeting the demands of military men: artisans, merchants, prostitutes. Thus, alongside every fort on the Danube bank civilian settlements soon appeared, two of which developed into towns with Roman status. At Troesmis, in the vicinity of the fortress of legio V Macedonica the canabae legionis and another civilian settlement (vicus? civitas?) are attested.5 The canabae (ISM V, 154; 141) were under the jurisdiction of the legatus legionis but had their own council named curia (ISM V, 155) and magistrates: magistri (ISM V, 154; 156), quinquennalis (ISM V, 155; 158), aediles (ISM V, 156). Here lived veterani et cives Romani. On the other site ruled by a council termed ordo Troesmensium (ISM V, 143-145) and two magistri (ISM V, 157), only cives Ro-

The Roman Army as a Factor of Romanisation

35

mani Troesmi consistentes dwelled. After the transfer of the legion in AD 167 to Potaissa in Dacia, Marcus Aurelius6 or an emperor of the Severan dynasty7 promoted one of the Troesmis settlements to municipal status. The municipium had an ordo municipii Troesmensium (ISM V, 150; 152; 153; 165) and the usual magistrates and priests of a Roman town: duumviri (ISM V, 151; 163 et al.), quinquennales (ISM V, 148; 165), aediles (ISM V,148), quaestores (ISM V, 148; 149), flamen, (ISM V, 163), pontifices (ISM V, 148), augures (ISM V, 166; 180). Nevertheless, I believe that the two sacerdotes provinciae (ISM V, 151; 194) known so far at Troesmis, certainly prove the importance of the town in providing priests of the imperial cult of the province, but do not necessarily prove that the provincial assembly met here. At Noviodunum, located approximately at mid-distance between Novae and Crimea, that is, at the center of the sector of the naval frontier patrolled by the classis Flavia Moesica, was most likely the residence of the praefectus classis (ISM V, 281) and accordingly the main statio of the fleet. The extensive civilian settlement, probably a vicus, was administratered by a quinquennalis and two magistri (ISM V, 268). Sometimes later, perhaps around AD 200, Noviodunum was promoted to the rank of municipium.8 Near the other auxiliary forts, civilian settlements of lower profile are attested. At Sacidava the site of the civilian settlement is not yet identified, but numerous inscriptions were found in the wall of the fort, set up by veterans who dwelled somewhere around.9 Six km north of Sacidava, in the neighborhood of the modern village of Rasova, a horreum of the military type was excavated.10 Since among the bricks used for this building some bear the stamps Leg. V Ma., Leg. XI Cl.P.F. and Leg. I Ital., it is certain that this was another settlement linked with military activity during the first half of the second century AD. Downstream of Rasova, Axiopolis would seem by its name to have been a civitas of old Greek origin, without a military link, and in fact Ptolemaios mentions it among other poleis (Ptol. Geogr. 3.10.5). The civilian site of Capidava is still not located, though some tumuli of the cemetery extending around the fort have been excavated.11 Nevertheless, an inscription informs us of a territorium Capidavensis ruled by a quinquennalis (ISM V, 77) that is, organized to reproduce, on a reduced scale, the municipal administration. At Cius a vicus Verg[ob]rittiani led by a magister who was veteranus legionis V Macedonicae (ISM V, 115) is attested. Unfortunately one cannot determine whether this was the proper civilian settlement of the followers of cohors I Lusitanorum, or merely a village inside the area subject to the jurisdiction of this military unit. Aegissus, originally a native fort, was garrisoned by the Romans quite early, during the first century AD (ISM V, 286). One inscription that probably should be dated to the second century AD mentions a territorium A[eg(yssensis)] with an ordo decurionum, indicating a pseudo-municipal administration as for the territory of Capidava.12 Further southeast, at Murighiol, quite probably the antique Halmyris, beside the fort manned by the fleet a vicus classicorum sprang up, administratered by a

36

Liviu Petculescu

magister and inhabited by cives Romani who in this instance, were obviously veterans of the fleet.13 At the end of this quick survey of the state of the Danubian frontier zone, some general remarks are required. As expected, the names of the sites of the forts and the civilian settlements related to them were overwhelmingly of pre-Roman origin, mostly Geto-Dacian. In the southern part of the frontier, there was a concentration of place-names ending in dava, characteristic of the Geto-Dacian hill-forts, indicating that the Roman army on its arrival in this region found a lot of local tribes dwelling in fortified sites according to their traditional habits. In the limes area, however, there is evidence only for a few, very small native sites surviving until the middle of the second century AD14 and for some Dacian individuals, who were in any case connected with the Roman army (IDRE II, 332; 336; 338). On the other hand, all over the frontier region there was a compact, cosmopolitan population depending upon the soldiers, sharing the Roman civilization, speaking solely Latin (at least in official circumstances) and living in communities of varying Roman legal status, among which two of the three Roman towns of Dobrudja stood out. As mentioned above, the only exception to this rule seems to have been represented by Axiopolis – apparently a civil site without any military connection, probably founded by Greek-speaking people though so far the site has produced Latin inscriptions exclusively.15 Even in the cemeteries at Capidava and Noviodunum, the only ones on the limes excavated to some extent, only graves of specific Roman provincial types were found including a few funeral assemblages containing military equipment, which was normal considering that some of the deceased were auxiliary soldiers.16 On the seashore the old Greek city-states of Callatis, Tomis, Histria were already established. Another much smaller Greek town was probably Argamum, mentioned in the horotesia of Histria (ISM I, 67-68) and located at Capul Dolojman, but the shortage of evidence prevents any further comments on it. During the first-third centuries AD, the three major Greek towns of the Dobrudja were civitates peregrinae, i.e. self-governing communities without Roman status. Since the foedus between Rome and Callatis that has been partly preserved attests that the latter was a civitas foederata (ISM III, 1), for the other two cities one has also to consider every alternative status: civitates stipendiariae or civitates liberae et immunes. Nevertheless, the specific juridical status of each city-state was not of paramount importance as in practice the differences between distinct categories of civitates peregrinae had already begun to fade away from the first century AD.17 In Callatis, all the inscriptions set by individual inhabitants are in Greek except one Latin dedication to Trajan and cives Romani consistentes Callatis led by a quinquennalis perpetuus (ISM III, 83). According to the epigraphic evidence, at Tomis and Histria the population still spoke predominantly Greek, but in each of them one encountered a tribe of the Romans (ISM II, 256; I, 142). A considerable part of these Roman citizens, some of them Latin speakers,

The Roman Army as a Factor of Romanisation

37

were veterans. And in both these towns are attested a lot of Latin speaking soldiers on duty or buried in the place of their residence or origin. As Tomis was the largest coastal Greek city of Moesia Inferior, it is no surprise that it produced a far larger number of army-related persons than Histria.18 It may be concluded that among the three Greek city-states of Dobrudja, Callatis best preserved its heritage and was at the same time free of any significant Roman military presence. The special situation of Callatis could derive from its privileged juridical status, from a traditional behavior characteristic of the Dorian colonists or even from its lack of importance to the Romans due to its reduced size and/or remote location. Given the meagre surviving evidence it is impossible to be more specific on this issue. The inner part of Dobrudja was predominantly a rural area divided into the territories of the military settlements and Roman towns along the Danube frontier and of the Greek cities on the Black Sea shore (Fig. 1). It was only in the extreme south of this zone that Tropaeum Traiani developed, the third town of Dobrudja with Roman status. The Roman settlement near the Adamklissi tropaeum sprang up contemporarily with/or immediately after the inauguration of the monument in AD 109, as attested by a dedication to the emperor by Traianenses Tropaeenses in AD 116/117 (CIL III, 12470). Several mixed vexillations were composed of soldiers from both legions I Italica and V Macedonica (CIL III, 142143; CIL III, 14433) among which the largest, 1500 troops strong, probably worked on the construction of the monument and possibly also the settlement.19 Later, during the reigns of Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius, officers of legio XI Claudia offered dedications at Adamklissi which, together with other undated inscriptions set up by soldiers, prove a continual military activity on the spot (CIL III, 7483; 142141; 142146). Sometimes before AD 170, Tropaeum Traiani was promoted to municipal status (IDRE II, 337). The town had an ordo decurionum municipii Tropaei (CIL III, 7484 = 12461; III, 142144) and the usual series of municipal magistrates and priests: duumviri (CIL III, 142142; 142146 et al.), duumviri quinquennales (CIL III, 14437 = 12462), aediles, quaestores, sacerdotes.20 In the remaining inner part of Dobrudja, one met only rural administrative units, most of them of Roman type: vici and villae rusticae. So, according to recent statistics of all the settlements of the Dobrudja, except the towns, 26 + 2(?) vici are attested, compared with 4 +6(?) komai and 2 pyrgoi + 2 turres (one turned into a vicus).21 In addition, there are at least 68 villae rusticae, 27 cemeteries and 74 isolated graves.22 The vici had the standard Roman organization, i.e. they were led by one or usually two annually elected magistri, and when of larger size they also had a quaestor. Characteristically, most of them had Roman names: Quinctionis (ISM I, 324-341), Secundini (ISM I, 342-349), Casiani (ISM I, 369-370), Celeris (ISM I, 351-352), Clementianenses (ISM II, 134; 136; 191), Narcissiani (ISM II, 133), Nov…(ISM V, 233), Petra (ISM V, 240), Ulmetum (ISM V, 62; 63; 69), Tres Protomae (ISM II, 53), Sc[apt]ia (ISM II, 137), I Urb…(CIL III, 14441), Urbin…23,

38

Liviu Petculescu

Rami…(ISM V, 117). Even more significant is the presence of veterani et cives Romani consistentes in the vici: Quinctionis, Nov…, Bad…24, V…(CIL III, 14442), …stro (ISM I, 138). In addition, the site of vicus classicorum obviously settled by veterans of the fleet, but where there are only cives Romani attested proves that one has to consider the presence of the veterans also in other settlements or at least in the sites producing evidence for Roman citizens as the vici: Secundini, I Urb…, Turris Muca (ISM II, 141) and Ulmetum. The vici settled by veterani et cives Romani, are known mostly in regio Histriae, which is partly due to the existence of better evidence for the rural sites of this area. However it is hard to see the concentration of all the inscriptions specifying veteran communities in the northern part of Dobrudja as purely casual. Therefore it results in one having to consider this region as having been extensively populated by the Roman administration, partly with veterans. An additional proof of the systematic politics of colonization of this area is that in vici Quinctionis and Ulmetum there were, besides the Roman citizens, also attested Bessi consistentes. And if Lai consistentes from vici Secundini and Turris Muca were in fact, like the Bessi, other Thracian colonists and not simply laoi, it means that in this part of Moesia Inferior it was common for people of different origins and social status to settle in the same vicus. The reason for using such a procedure consisted probably in the limited number of men available for colonization during the short period of time assigned by the Roman authorities for the development of the land. A completely different situation is to be found in the territory of Callatis where neither communities of Roman citizens nor even rural settlements of Roman type were known except perhaps Amlaidina, if its designation as vicus in a single, funerary Latin, inscription was correct (ISM III, 237). So one can infer that the peculiarity of the proper town of Callatis succeeded in keeping its traditional Greek character all over its rural territory. Everywhere in the Empire the Romans built roads in order to facilitate the military traffic and the running of the imperial post cursus publicus. Hence it must not have been pure chance that the series of milestones known so far in Dobrudja begins in Trajan’s reign when the number of troops quartered in the region dramatically increased and the limes was thoroughly refurbished by the erection of several new fortifications along the Danube. Determined by the natural conditions, the network system completed by Trajan consisted of three main roads, one along the seashore, another along the Danube bank and the third running from south to the north through the middle of the land, linked together by secondary transversal roads (Fig. 2). Built by the soldiers for meeting the demands of the army and the state administration, the roads were naturally used also for the transportation of civil goods and persons and greatly promoted the economic development of the country to which they came. So it is no surprise that all the settlements of some importance were placed on the main roads, especially where they crossed with other roads. However the impact of the famous Roman roads

The Roman Army as a Factor of Romanisation

39

Fig. 2. The roads of Roman Dobrudja (second-fourth centuries AD), after Bărbulescu 2001.

on the local population was not always positive. On the contrary, we know about the complaints of the people from Laikos Pyrgos and Chora Dagei in regio Histriae, who asked the governors of Moesia Inferior in AD 137-141 and 160 respectively, to be spared from the abuses they were subjected to by the cursus publicus administration, otherwise they were on the point of leaving their villages and moving away from the roads (ISM I, 378). Anyway, as proved by the milestones and some of the beneficiarii inscriptions, the network system of Dobrudja was constantly maintained in good condition and guarded by the army, even during the terrible crisis of the third

40

Liviu Petculescu

century AD, and was entirely restored during the Tetrarchy and House of Constantine. Due to the shortage of manpower in the provincial administration, the Roman authorities resorted to the army, which supplied the necessary substitutes, who had the great advantage of not demanding additional expenses.25 If the procedure of giving soldiers administrative tasks appeared as early as the beginning of the Principate, it developed gradually until the end of the third century AD according to the strengthening of the imperial power and the decreasing of the prerogatives of the self-governing provincial communities. Not surprisingly, this process is to be found also in Dobrudja where, apart from the presence of a lot of beneficiarii, some of them acting as a police force, the direct involvement of the army is attested in the regulation of boundary disputes. Thus, in AD 177-178 landmarks were put in by the tribunus cohortis I Cilicum between civitas Ausdecensium and a Dacian community (IDRE II, 338); in AD 198-202 by the commander-in-chief of the Moesian fleet, praefectus classis, between the villa of Messia Pudentilla and vicani Buteridavenses (ISM I, 359-360); and in AD 229, inside the territory of Capidava by one legionary centurion (ISM V, 8; 57-58). It seems obvious that the use of the army for marking the controversial limits of communal and private estates, or of the individual plots, was due both to its capacity of imposing the observance of the dispositions taken in the name of the governors and to the technical expertise on making measurements of the land. At the end of this survey it is worth emphasizing the main aspects of the impact of the Roman army on the local societies in the northeastern part of Moesia Inferior. From the beginning of the second century AD the presence of nearly 15,000 troops together with their followers in a small rather scarcely populated region, except for the seashore with its three Greek towns, profoundly influenced the subsequent development of the country. As all the military units were quartered along the Danube frontier, this part of Dobrudja was completely Romanised. Nevertheless the role of the army extended far beyond its forts and the civil settlements developed near them in the inner part of the region, where numerous rural settlements organized in Roman manner are attested. Even in the territories of the Greek towns of Histria and Tomis there are numerous vici settled at least partially by veterani et cives Romani, led by magistri and using Latin. And, significantly, if in the old Greek colonies of Histria, Tomis and Callatis the population still predominantly spoke Greek, one met in each of them a conventus c. R. or a tribe of the Romans. A large part of these Roman citizens were veterans and Latin speakers. In conclusion, with the exception of the Greek towns, which kept their traditions despite the strong influence of the Roman civilization, the rest of the territory of Dobrudja was thoroughly Romanised during the Early Empire, especially as a result of the presence of a considerable number of troops.

The Roman Army as a Factor of Romanisation

41

Notes 1 For the Roman military activity until the inclusion of Dobrudja in the province of Moesia see Vulpe 1968, 13-48; Suceveanu 1991, 23-26 with bibliography. 2 See Kolendo 1998. At variance with the traditional opinion, Suceveanu repeatedly asserts that Dobrudja was not annexed to the province of Moesia before the time of Vespasian, when the first Roman military units are attested to have settled in the region (Suceveanu 1991 a, 28-29; Suceveanu 1991 b.). Yet the horotesia of Laberius Maximus (ISM V, 67-68) mention in AD 47 the first defining of the borders of Histria by a legatus of Moesia. 3 For the Roman army in Dobrudja during the Principate, see especially Aricescu 1977 and Matei-Popescu 2001-2002. 4 ���������������������� Doru������������������ ţiu-Boilă 1974, �������� 8. 5 ���������������������� Suceveanu 1977, 62-65. 6 ���������������� Vulpe 1968, 167. 7 �������������������� Suceveanu 1998, 138. 8 Barnea 1988, 53-60. 9 Scorpan 1977. 10 ������������������������� Bărbulescu 2001���������� , 116-117. 11 �������������������������������� Cheluţă������������������������� -Georgescu 1979, 179-182. 12 ������������������������� Baumann 1983, 156, no.20. 13 ��������������������������� Suceveanu & Zahariade 1986. 14 ��������������������� Bărbulescu 2001, 286. 15 Tudor 1956, 572-577, nos. 28-43 and CIL III 7485; 14214. 16 Capidava: ����������������������������������������������������������������� Cheluţă���������������������������������������������������������� -Georgescu 1979; unpublished lecture by the author at the annual Symposium of Constan�������������������������������������������� ţa������������������������������������������ Museum in 2002. Noviodunum: Simion 1984; Simion 1994-1995. 17 De Martino 1965, 717. 18 See for Tomis indices of ISM II, p. 397 and for Histria, indices of ISM I, p. 537. 19 Unpublished lecture by the author at the annual Symposium of Constan��� ţa� Museum in 1983. 20 B�������������������� ărbulescu 2001, 120. 21 Bărbulescu 2001, 282. 22 Bărbulescu 2001, 283. 23 Baumann 1983, no. 20. 24 �������������������� Bărbulescu 2001, 94. 25 For the utilisation of the Roman army in the administration, see Zwicky 1944.

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans Daniela Dueck

Local Authors on Rome – a Phenomenon in Context Roman control over the regions around the Black Sea (excluding the northeastern coasts) and the incorporation of these areas into the system of Roman provinces, made this part of the world into an integral part of the Roman Empire.1 This new political and administrative situation was a complex one, particularly for the local upper classes. For them, there was a potential triple political and cultural identity: as people born in the region with a natural adherence to their geographical and physical origins; as intellectuals who had acquired a traditional Hellenistic education and lived in accordance with Hellenistic customs; and as inhabitants of the Roman Empire who in the course of time were often granted Roman citizenship. The elites, including kings and rulers, here as elsewhere in the Greek world, deliberately tended towards the adoption of Greek culture, expressing their local connections in a sentimental attachment to their patria rather than in an adherence to vestiges of local culture. Thus, the cultural and political identity of such individuals oscillated between two poles – Greek and Roman. This identity, as also the attitude towards Rome, converged with a range of possible viewpoints stretching between the two poles. Pride in Hellenic traditions, bordering on a kind of Greek snobbery, generally prevailed, existing side by side with recognition of the advantages of Roman rule and Roman political superiority.2 One of the social manifestations of this situation was personal friendship between members of the elites and Roman governors and even emperors in periods when the Greek cities in the region experienced prosperity and peace.3 Conscious aspirations for Hellenistic identity became prominent particularly in the regions bordering on the Black Sea, where feelings of marginality in relation to the cultural centres demanded to be compensated by attempts to adhere to the mainstream of cultural activity.4 The striving for a classical education resulted in the formation of flourishing communities of men of letters, above all in Asia Minor. This development is apparent in Strabon, who enumerated scholars according to their geographical origins.5 Among Asian authors who spoke of Rome and the Romans were writers living beside the Black Sea and active since the first encounter of the region with Rome in the

44

Daniela Dueck

first century BC. Noteworthy among them are Strabon of Amaseia, Dion of Prusa, Cassius Dion of Nikaia and Arrian of Nikomedeia.6 The fact that local authors referred in some way or another to political developments connected with Rome is not in itself surprising and is indeed quite natural in the case of any person of political and social awareness. However, when one tries to reach a better understanding of the phenomenon of provincial “multi-culturalism”, it is useful to examine the attitudes of specific authors toward Roman conquest and political dominance. Modern studies of this sort tend to concentrate on particular individuals. Considerations of the encounter between Hellenism and Roman rule focus, naturally enough, on the writings and character of intellectuals whose works have survived to a reasonable extent. Studies therefore usually deal with well-known authors whose fame rests largely on relatively well-preserved works.7 At the same time, lesser-known writers of whose production only fragments have remained are generally neglected. It is probably due more to the methodological complexities of dealing with scraps of texts, often inaccurately and misleadingly preserved, than to a lack of interest, that fragmentary works tend to be ignored. But one may find meaningful information in such texts despite their fractured condition. Accordingly, it is my intention here to look at a local Black Sea author’s view of Rome and the Romans through the incomplete and epitomised work of Memnon of Herakleia.

Memnon of Herakleia – the Man and his Work We possess only an abridged version of the original History of Herakleia Pontike (περˆ `Ηρακλε…α) written by Memnon. Photios, a ninth century patriarch of Constantinople, summarised Memnon’s work as part of a major project in which he composed a continuous summary of the collection of historiographical and theological works in his possession. Encompassing a wide range – from Herodotos to the ninth century ecclesiastical historian Sergios – the project was addressed to Photios’ brother Tarasios, and was originally intended as a private correspondence between the brothers with no apparent aspiration to publish the results for a wider readership. It thus presents the form, the style and the purpose of an unofficial literary memoir, so to speak, which depended on the patriarch’s memory and on the industry of his secretary. Each of the 386 original works in Photios’ collection reached it simply by having been available. The arrangement of the material – both pagan and Christian – was not systematic, and the style clearly reflects the circumstance that some parts were composed from memory when Photios no longer had the texts before him. Also, certain details occurring in the Bibliotheca, as the work was later called, perhaps better suggest the interests of the epitomizer than the intentions or tendencies of the original author of the complete work.8 For Photios, the historian Memnon probably presented an account of political developments in Asia Minor beyond local Herakleian affairs, and his own

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans

45

summary treats the Roman conquest of the East as a precursor of later Byzantine dominance.9 In presenting Memnon, Photios says that he is describing only books 9-16 because “we have not found a copy to read of the first eight books, or of anything after the sixteenth book” (FGrH 434 T 1).10 Photios saw a fragmentary work as worth epitomising and this makes our acquaintance with the original even more remote: not all of it is reflected in the Bibliotheca and what is presented has gone through the filter of Photios’ interests and other considerations. Nevertheless, it seems reasonable to accept some of the information in the fragments as based on the actual and original ideas of Memnon himself. At the same time, only limited attention may be given to linguistic forms and matters of style while the focus should rather be on texts of historiographic character as echoes of the original work by Memnon.11 Accordingly, references to “Memnon” throughout this paper should be read with these considerations in mind. Whatever these reservations are, the epitome seems to offer enough information that may be safely ascribed to Memnon. Who was Memnon? We do not know.12 There are no significant details in the epitome to compensate for this ignorance. He wrote a History of his city, Herakleia, in at least 16 books, and lived probably sometime during the first century of our era.13 He wrote in Greek, with the stylistic and cultural tendencies current in the Hellenistic age: for instance, he uses the term “barbarians” (βVρβαροι) several times in referring to the Gauls, the forces of Mithridates and his generals, and also the people of Kabeira.14 The Photian summary of Memnon’s History covers the period between the ascendance of the Herakleian tyrant Klearchos (364 BC) and the friendship between Julius Caesar and the Herakleians (47 BC).15 The first eight books probably started with the foundation of Herakleia in about 560 BC by Megara and Boiotia.16 Thus, the economy of the work seems to have been fairly even: eight books for the first two centuries, perhaps including a lengthy description of the foundation, and eight for the next 317 years. If Memnon conformed to most ancient historians’ tendency to treat long periods and within them to employ more detailed descriptions for more recent times, it is possible that the portion following the 16th book dealt with Memnon’s immediate past on a broader scale. Both at the beginning and the end of the Memnonian excerpt, Photios offers some general remarks regarding the style and the purpose of Memnon’s work. He says “it lists the tyrants of Herakleia, their deeds and character, the lives of others, the manner of their death, and the sayings which were associated with them” (FGrH 434 T 1). Photios thus characterises Memnon’s historiography in terms of scope, purpose and thematic orientation: it is a local history of Herakleia and it has a strong biographical orientation apparent in the emphasis put on deeds, manner of death, sayings and specifically bioi of famous persons.17

46

Daniela Dueck

Apart from several digressions for the sake of clarity (see below), Memnon concentrates on Herakleian affairs. Composing the history of one’s native city became a widespread phenomenon in the Hellenistic age and gave rise to a genre of local histories.18 Memnon’s focus presents all historical events in the perspective of their relevance to Herakleia and its political and social stature, so that the value of historical events in Memnon “varies in inverse proportion to the distance of the events from Herakleia”.19 This patriotism is apparent also in the presentation of the Herakleians. Memnon emphasizes the heroic behaviour of the people of Herakleia in various situations and repeatedly demonstrates their courage and their wisdom. Describing the wars of the Diadochi following the death of Alexander and the involvement of the Herakleian forces in these clashes, he praises the exceptional bravery of his compatriots. (FGrH 434 F 1, 8.6; also 14.2) In the local war that immediately followed between the peoples of Herakleia and Bithynia, the brave Herakleians were defeated but demonstrated piety and morality in the treatment of their dead (FGrH 434 F 1, 9.5). When the Herakleians sent two triremes to assist the Romans in their wars in North Africa they also won “much praise for their bravery” (FGrH 434 F 1, 21). Later, their physical endurance during the long Roman siege is emphasized (FGrH 434 F 1, 34.1-9). Another tendency in Memnon, noted by Photios, is his interest in the character of historical persons. He thus attaches to his reference to the Herakleian ruler Timotheos a short excursus on character and personal traits: He was a strict but humane judge and in other respects he had a good and trustworthy nature…. He also showed a brave spirit in matters of war. He was generous and noble in body and in mind, and he was fair and gracious in the settlement of wars. He was skilful at grasping an opportunity and vigorous in achieving what he contemplated. He was merciful and just in character and relentless in his boldness. He was moderate, kind and compassionate (FGrH 434 F 1, 3.1-2). This biographic orientation is combined with Memnon’s moralistic approach to history. The description of Timotheos’ character seems therefore to correspond to Memnon’s idea of a good ruler, using a set of personal traits to construct the image.20 In describing early tyrants in Herakleia, Memnon emphasizes their attitude to intellectual activities and judges them accordingly. Klearchos was a tyrant but also a well educated man (he was a pupil of Plato and Isocrates) who founded a library (FGrH 434 F 1, 1.1-2). On the contrary, Satyros, his successor to the tyranny, was bad and crude because he did not care at all for intellectual activities: He [Satyros] was completely uninterested in learning philosophy and all the other liberal arts. His only passion was for murder,

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans

47

and he did not want to learn about or practice anything which was humane or civilised (FGrH 434 F 1, 2.2). Memnon criticizes tendencies to luxurious living, for instance in describing the manners of Dionysios, another Herakleian tyrant: He gave himself up to a life of continual luxury, so that he grew fat and unnaturally bloated. As a result, not only did he pay less attention to governing the state, but also when he went to sleep he was only with difficulty roused from his sleepy state by being pierced with large needles, which was the only remaining way of reviving him from his unconscious inaction (FGrH 434 F 1, 4.7). Memnon’s moralistic tendency is apparent in what seem to be implicit references to the notion of crime and punishment even if this is not expressly spelled out. The same intellectual Klearchos called himself the son of Zeus and tried to change his appearance to frighten the people: he painted his face and dressed up to appear fearsome. The last comment of Memnon on this man seems to suggest a punishment for this sin of hybris and cruelty: the ghosts of the people he murdered pursued him (FGrH 434 F 1, 1.4). Memnon’s concept of crime and punishment is apparent also in his terminology: Like Klearchos, Satyros gave to those who saw him when he was dying the impression that he was paying the penalty for his savage and lawless abuse of the citizens… he finally paid his due (FGrH 434 F 1, 2.5). These ethical allusions could have been relevant to the political atmosphere in which Memnon was active, naturally dependent on the time and place of writing and on his intended audience, all of which are undefined. There are implications in his treatment of the malpractice of Herakleian tyranny both for Roman governors (if writing early) and emperors (if writing later), as well as for other non-Roman men in leading positions. Lamachos of Herakleia was an old friend of Mithridates, and Memnon relates his scheme to enable the king of Pontos to control Herakleia: Lamachos “prepared a magnificent feast for the citizens outside the city, and plied the people with drink, after instructing that the city gates should be left open during the feast”. Then Mithridates came up secretly and “gained control of the city before the Herakleians even realized that he had arrived” (FGrH 434 F 1, 29.3). The special Memnonian (or Photian) emphasis, beyond the factual occurrence, is the indication that later, when Herakleia was suffering a long and painful siege which included a lethal plague, Lamachos “endured a particularly slow and painful death” (FGrH 434 F 1, 34.9). Again, the feeling is that there is no crime without retribution.21

48

Daniela Dueck

The worst crime (� μιαρfτατον� œργον), Memnon thinks, is the murder of one’s mother: Klearchos and his brother drowned their mother.22 Retribution is justified here: Lysimachos king of Macedonia avenged the murder, thus “making them pay the penalty” (FGrH 434 F 1, 5.3). Ptolemy murdered the sons of his sister-wife and was killed in a way that suited his cruelty – ξ\ω��ς τ ς éμóτητος� (FGrH 434 F 1, 8.8). Mithridates also murdered his mother and brother but then he was a “barbarian” (FGrH 434 F 1, 22.2). Memnon’s moral views are also reflected in his comments on ill-planned endeavours on the battlefield. He twice criticizes a lack of planning leading to defeat. Both cases involve people defined as “barbarians”: “The Galatians are accustomed to waging war with passion rather than by making the necessary preparations” (FGrH 434 F 1, 20.2). And, referring to the forces of Mithridates: “the royal troops suffered from a lack of supplies, because they used up what they held recklessly and did not know how to preserve what they had acquired” (FGrH 434 F 1, 22.12). Beside Memnon’s biographical and moralistic approach to history he had some political awareness. He defines Timotheos the Herakleian monarch as δημοκρατικfτερος (more democratic) than his two predecessors, cruel tyrants who acted violently against their people (FGrH 434 F 1, 3.1). He also differentiates between a king and a tyrant (FGrH 434 F 1, 4.6). What about Memnon’s style of presentation? In his concluding remarks Photios indicates some stylistic tendencies in the History: This history is intelligent and written in a plain style, with attention to clarity. It avoids digressions, except if its purpose necessitates the inclusion of some external events; and even then, the digression does not last for long, but concentrating on what is essential it returns neatly to the main course of the narrative. It uses a conventional vocabulary, though there are a few unusual words. (FGrH 434 T 1). This evaluation depends on Photios’ point of view and there is no direct way to sense and assess Memnon’s style and approach (did he include speeches in his narrative? incorporate ethnographic digressions? use dramatic technique?) Nevertheless, there are some hints of his literary manner. I shall present them briefly, only inasmuch as they contribute to the main theme of the present discussion. Memnon generally maintains a chronological order in his survey with awareness for the sequence of events. Sometimes he makes use of chronological expressions such as “shortly before this” (FGrH 434 F 1, 33.1) or uses a relative system of dating, for instance saying that the Herakleians returned home after assisting the Romans in North Africa “in the eleventh year after they had left” (FGrH 434 F 1, 21). Occasionally he synchronizes Herakleian developments (his main theme) with events in other political entities, noting

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans

49

that “at that time Artaxerxes was king of Persia and after him his son Ochos” (FGrH 434 F 1, 1.4); “…while Archidamos was king of Sparta” (FGrH 434 F 1, 2.5); “…when Doidalsos was the ruler of the Bithynians” (FGrH 434 F 1, 12.3). At least once (in what we have from the work) the historian uses Olympiads as a dating system, saying that “Astaces was founded by settlers from Megara at the beginning of the 17th Olympiad” (FGrH 434 F 1, 12.1). Memnon (or Photios) is also aware of the content of his work as a whole, once noting that some matter “has been said previously” (FGrH 434 F1, 33.1). The epitome contains some sections in which the description is detailed and others narrated in a more abridged and hasty way.23 For instance, “many years had passed and the government of the Romans had come under the control of a single man, Gaius Julius Caesar” (FGrH 434 F 1, 40.3). Besides his chronological progression, Memnon includes in his History also several digressions. These vary in extent but their purpose is always to supply the reader with some information necessary for the understanding of the main line of the story. All the digressions are indeed deviations from the main narrative line, since they do not contain any Herakleian involvement whatsoever. They include information of various kinds. This may be historical, as on the Mithridatic War (no mention of Herakleian involvement, FGrH 434 F 1, 22-25); genealogical, as on the dynasty of the Bithynian kings (FGrH 434 F 1, 12.4-6); or mythological, connected with foundation myths (FGrH 434 F 1, 28.9-11). Regarding Memnon’s narrative technique we may note that he included in his work direct speeches and quotations of original documents. Speaking of Chamaileon, the Herakleian envoy to Seleukos, Memnon describes how Chamaileon was not shaken by the king’s threats and said: “Herakles is karron, Seleukos!” and then Memnon (or Photios?) comments that “karron means ‘stronger’ in the Doric dialect” (FGrH 434 F 1, 7.1). In another context we hear how Tigranes the Armenian king looked at the small Roman camp and said: “If they have come as ambassadors, there are too many of them; if they have come to fight, there are too few” (FGrH 434 F 1, 38.4). Both examples demonstrate Memnon’s inclusion of direct speech that is almost proverbial in its brevity and wit. As for legal documents, in the description of the treaty between Nikomedes king of Bithynia and the Galatians, not only do we hear of the exact terms of the pact, but we have an echo of its formulaic style, for instance: “they should be allies of his allies and enemies of his enemies” (FGrH 434 F1, 11.2). These examples may offer us enough ground to suppose that the original and complete work included more of the same kind of citations. Another conspicuous component in Memnon’s History is the frequent inclusion of definite numbers of forces – soldiers, ships, prisoners – in his descriptions of battles, which Photios does not omit.24 What were Memnon’s sources? There were probably different sources for Herakleian history and for pieces of information regarding broader Asian and Roman history (below). Memnon himself mentions specifically Nymphis of

50

Daniela Dueck

Herakleia as a Herakleian envoy (FGrH 434 F 1, 7.3; 16.3) and alludes to his being a historian. Nymphis, who lived in the middle of the third century BC, composed a local chronicle of Herakleian history (FGrH 432) and a history of Alexander and his successors, both of which were probably used by Memnon. As for later Herakleian history and events related to developments outside Herakleia – we cannot identify Memnon’s informants. Modern scholars have made several suggestions, which include Theopompos, Kallistratos, Ps.-Kallisthenes, the Alexander-Roman and others,25 but no definite conclusion has been reached.

Memnon on Roman Affairs Keeping Memnon’s historiographic approach in mind, let us examine what he knew about the Romans and how he saw them. First, let me define my approach to these questions: my purpose is to examine what can be said about Memnon’s knowledge of Rome and how he chose to deliver this information. I do not intend to study the extent of truth in details pertaining to Roman tactics and strategic endeavours. On the contrary, it is non-factual references and judgemental and personal allusions to events and persons which are of interest in the present case. Such statements most probably reflect the personal opinion of the author regarding political developments which influenced not only the entire position of local politics and socio-economic circumstances but also the personal stature of numerous individuals. Thus, a good starting point would be to imagine that Memnon is our sole source of information on Rome. While the danger of making conclusive assertions regarding Memnon’s choice or avoidance of themes cannot be ignored, particularly in view of the filtering by Photios, it is still valuable to assess Memnon’s approach. Memnon first mentions Rome in Book 13 of the work, introducing the subject through a historical digression leading to the time of Roman involvement in Asia Minor, which then connects with the main line of local Herakleian history: Having brought his account down to this point, the author makes a digression about the Romans’ rise to power: what race they came from, how they settled in Italy, what happened before and during the foundation of Rome (FGrH 434 F 1, 18.1) According to Photios, Memnon starts with a digression on the ascendance of Rome from its beginnings, noting events in its history. Clearly the purpose of the digression was to supply readers with some background before connecting the historiographical survey with the chronological sequence of the main line of events and with the geographical focus of the local Asian history of Herakleia. Therefore Memnon’s expository excursus ends with Antiochos III’s defeat in Magnesia (189 BC), for shortly after that, in 188, Roman history connected

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans

51

up with that of Herakleia, when Herakleian envoys addressed the Roman generals who came to Asia, thus turning Herakleia into a Roman ally. Memnon’s excursus calls to mind another historical digression on Roman history. In his geographical survey of the inhabited world, Strabon attaches to his account of Italy “a summary account also of the Romans who took possession of it and equipped it as a base of operations for the universal hegemony” (6.4.2).26 Strabon’s purpose in his excursus was, like Memnon’s, to supply some missing information. In addition to this, there seems to be in Strabon some contemporary political allusion in the reference to developments in his own time and particularly to the benefits of the Augustan principate.27 This dimension evidently does not exist in Memnon, since its purpose was also to explain the chronological scope of the digression, which concludes in the early first century AD, Strabon’s own period. Despite the differences in scope and purpose, both Strabon and Memnon intended to present Roman history in a capsule, so to speak. Therefore it is interesting to see which events they dwelt on in constructing this brief history of Rome. Let us not forget that in the case of Memnon we have an epitomized version of the original excursus. The following table compares the chronological scope of both digressions and the themes included in them: Memnon FGrH 434 F 1, 18.1-5

Strabon 6.4.2

Time span of excursus

c. 1200-190 BC

753 BC – c. 14 AD

Events and themes in Roman history

Racial origin of Romans (Troy) c. 1200 BC

-

Roman settlement in Italy

-

Foundation of Rome 753 BC

+

Change from monarchy to Republic 509 BC

+

Gallic invasion of Rome 390 BC

+

Contact with Alexander c. 330 BC

-

War with Pyrros 280-275 BC

+

Punic Wars 264-146 BC

+

Macedonian Wars 214-167 BC

+

War with Antiochos III 192-189 BC

+

52

Daniela Dueck

On the whole, apart from early history before the foundation of Rome,28 and the Alexander episode (see below), both authors present an almost identical set of events. The feature common to most of these is expansion and conquest, that is Roman contact with political and social entities outside Rome. Strabon particularly emphasizes the geographical and ethnographic scope of Roman conquests. Neither he nor Memnon refer in their digressions to significant inner events in the history of Rome, for instance the social clashes of the sixth to fourth centuries BC or the Gracchan reforms (which are outside Memnon’s chronological frame). This similarity in itself is not enough to prove Memnon’s direct acquaintance with Strabon (or vice versa). But it does show something of the knowledge of Roman history by non-Romans who did not focus on Roman history.29 Memnon’s digression includes an allusion to a supposed contact between Alexander and the Romans which was in fact the first Roman contact with the East: Alexander wrote to them, when he crossed over to Asia, that they should either conquer others, if they were capable of ruling over them, or yield to those who were stronger than them; and the Romans sent him a crown, containing many talents of gold (FGrH 434 F 1, 18.2). According to this story, Alexander initiated an epistolary exchange with the Romans. His message included an implied threat although it held also a suggestion or opportunity. The reaction of the Romans shows them as fully acknowledging Alexander’s superiority. Although as far as we know there was no direct confrontation between Rome and Alexander, there are allusions to the theoretical superiority of Alexander over the Romans.30 Livy, for instance, scorns the “silliest of the Greeks who exalt the reputation even of the Parthians against the Romans…” and “are fond of alleging that the Roman people would have been unable to withstand the majesty of Alexander’s name” (9.18.6) and so they deprecate the power and glory of the Romans. Such challenges to the exclusiveness of Roman power and world-rule appear also in Strabon and Pompeius Trogus.31 Thus, the fact that Memnon incorporated such an anecdote in his work is significant, as is also the fact that Photios did not drop it in the process of epitomising. Arrian in his Anabasis Alexandri also refers to a connection between Alexander and the Romans in a way which recalls Memnon’s anecdote: Alexander appeared to be lord of all the earth and sea. Aristos indeed and Asklepiades from among the historians of Alexander assert that even Romans sent envoys, and that Alexander when he met their envoys prognosticated something of their future power

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans

53

when he noticed their orderliness and diligence and freedom, and when he also had learnt something of their constitution. But then Arrian adds his own critique, concluding that such a connection is historically implausible: This I have recorded neither as true nor as untrue; except that no Roman ever made mention of this embassy sent to Alexander, nor even the historians of Alexander whom I most follow, Ptolemaios son of Lagos and Aristobulos; nor was it suitable for the Roman republic, which was then entirely free, to send to a foreign king, especially so far from their own home, when no scare compelled them, nor with any expectation of help, and being as they were a people particularly given to dislike of kings and of the very name of kings (7.15.4-6). While Arrian thought the anecdote was highly unlikely (but nevertheless chose to present it), we do not know what Memnon could have thought of his own version of the story. The fact that he did incorporate it in his historical survey is significant for the assessment of his attitude towards Rome, which in this section is not entirely flattering. Another benefit for us here may be a hint of Memnon’s possible source for Roman history. As Arrian notes, no Roman author or any of Alexander’s historians mentioned any early Roman contact with Alexander. The only allusion to such an anecdote may be ascribed to Aristos or Asklepiades. To this we may add the following comment by Pliny the Elder: Theophrastos [was] the first foreigner to write with special care about the Romans… Theopompos… merely states that Rome was taken by the Gauls, and Kleitarchos, the next after him, only that an embassy was sent to Alexander… (NH 3.57). There is of course the possibly separate tradition of Alexander’s letter to the Romans, but regarding the Roman diplomatic initiative we may assume that Memnon used a Greek source for Roman history.32 The widespread literary topos of foreign peoples addressing Alexander figures again in Memnon’s indication that the Herakleians too addressed the king, asking him to help them establish democracy instead of tyranny (FGrH 434 F 1, 4.1). This detail not only contributes to the fame and eminence of Alexander, but also to the reputation of the people of Herakleia, who may be counted among the leading powers of the world at the time. Throughout his History, Memnon does not lose his Herakleian focus. He consistently presents Rome through the prism, so to speak, of Herakleian af-

54

Daniela Dueck

fairs. There were three phases in the historical relations between Rome and Herakleia: official friendship (188 BC) (FGrH 434 F 1, 18-21); hostility deriving from local politics in Asia Minor and mainly from the fact that Herakleia was forced to join Mithridates VI in 74 BC in his war against Rome (FGrH 434 F 1, 22-38); and renewed friendship with Julius Caesar (47 BC) (FGrH 434 F 1, 39-40). We also hear first-hand primary details regarding the Roman formation of treaties with local cities in Asia Minor, including a formulaic direct quotation from the letter addressed to the Herakleian leadership: Cornelius wrote back to the Herakleians, beginning as follows: “Scipio, general and proconsul of the Romans, to the senate and people of the Herakleians, greetings”. In the letter he confirmed the goodwill of the Romans towards the Herakleians, and that they were willing to put an end to the war with Antiochos (FGrH 434 F 1, 18.8). Later, Rome and Pontos, that is Murena and Mithridates, tried to win over the Herakleians by sending envoys with offers of alliance. It is illuminating to look at Memnon’s presentation of the debates: “The Herakleians considered the power of the Romans to be formidable, but were afraid of Mithridates because he was their neighbour” (FGrH 434 F 1, 26.5). Their final response was that they were so weak and insignificant that they could “scarcely protect their own territory, let alone come to the assistance of others”. And thus they chose a temporary state of neutrality. What is presently of importance is the fact that the reputation of the Romans at that stage already rested on their power. Although the Romans were conquerors and in some cases caused distress to the Herakleians, there seems to be a certain apologetic tone in Memnon’s presentation of the Herakleian reaction to Roman exploits. He tells how Roman tax collectors disregarded local law and aroused among the people of Herakleia a feeling of enslavement. The Herakleians intended to send an embassy to the senate in Rome to ask for an exemption from taxes, “but they were persuaded by one of the most audacious (θρασbτατος) men in the city to make away with the money collectors in secret in such a way that no one was sure how they died” (FGrH 434 F 1, 27.6). The entire course of events as Memnon describes it gives the impression that the Herakleians were somehow tricked into opposing the Romans. The joint scheme of Mithridates and Lamachos of Herakleia (above p. 47), together with distributions of Mithridatic money “especially to those in positions of authority”, with the counsel “to maintain their goodwill towards him [i.e. Mithridates]”, and to tolerate his 4000 men strong garrison in the city, intended “to defend the city and save the inhabitants” if the Romans attacked it – all seem to show that the Herakleians were forced to choose sides (FGrH 434 F 1, 29.2-4) in spite of themselves.33

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans

55

Memnon again emphasizes his local Herakleian orientation by alluding to certain public agents of the city who, according to his account, were on close and friendly terms with Caesar, although we do not hear of Brithagoras and his son Propylos in any other ancient source and the allusion to twelve years of service may cause some chronological discomfort since that service is said to have begun with Caesar’s sole rule: Brithagoras set out on an embassy to Caesar, and developed a friendship with him, but he was not able immediately to win freedom for his city, because Gaius did not stay in Rome, but left on expeditions to other places. However Brithagoras did not give up, but he and Propylos accompanied Caesar all over the world, and were seen in his presence, as if the dictator (αÙτοκρVτωρ) was indicating that he approved of their petition. After he had been in attendance on Caesar for 12 years, and just as Caesar was planning to return to Rome, Brithagoras died, worn out by old age and by his continual exertions. His death caused great sadness in his homeland (FGrH 434 F 1, 40.3-4). Memnon mentioned various Roman personages of whom the following entered Photios’ excerption: M. Furius Camillus cos. 349 (FGrH 434 F 1, 18.1), L. Aemilius Paullus cos. 168 (18.4), P. Aemilius (18.6), L. Cornelius Scipio and P. Cornelius Scipio (18.3; 18.7; 18.8), Sulla, Marius and M’. Aquillius cos. 101 (22.6-7), L. Hortensius (22.13), L. Valerius Flaccus and C. Flavius Fimbria (24.1), L. Licinius Murena (26.1), M. Aurelius Cotta cos. 74 and L. Lucullus (27.1), Barba and C. Valerius Triarius (28.5), M. Pompeius (30.2), Appius Claudius Pulcher (31.2), Censorinus (37.2), C. Papirius Carbo (39.3), and Julius Caesar (40.3). Not all the persons named are identifiable and some are recorded only by Memnon.34 This may suggest that his source of information was probably rather close to Asian occurrences at the time.35 The concept of the significant role of individuals in history is apparent in Memnon’s treatment of Roman notables. He seems to assess each person without any pre-conceived negative or positive notion regarding Romans as a group. Good examples are the depictions of M. Aurelius Cotta and L. Licinius Lucullus. Cotta is presented as a cruel, greedy and impious person:36 Cotta seized the men who had surrendered to him and the prisoners of war, and he treated them all with the utmost cruelty. In his search for treasure he did not even spare the contents of the temples, but removed from them many fine statues and images. He removed the statue of Herakles from the market-place… Lastly he ordered the soldiers to set fire to the city, and burnt down many parts of it (FGrH 434 F 1, 35.7-8).

56

Daniela Dueck

But he was harsh also towards his own men. When the first attempts to capture Herakleia failed, “he burnt the machine and beheaded the men who had made it” (FGrH 434 F 1, 34.2). Lucullus, on the contrary, is depicted as generous and humane. He fulfils his role as a good tactician and a responsible commander and leader, for he “drew up his army for battle carefully and skillfully, and he addressed his men with encouraging words” (FGrH 434 F 1, 38.5). At the same time he did not add cruelty to necessary warlike actions. In two situations, not connected directly to Herakleia, but to Amisos and Sinope respectively, Memnon shows Lucullus’ pious and generous behaviour: Many of the citizens of Amisos were slaughtered immediately, but then Lucullus put an end to the killing. He restored the city and its territory to the remaining citizens, and treated them considerately (FGrH 434 F 1, 30.4). And in Sinope: The soldiers mounted the walls, and to begin with there was a considerable slaughter [of the citizens]; but Lucullus took pity on them, and put an end to the killing (FGrH 434 F 1, 37.8). It seems, then, that according to Memnon the nature of the Romans depends on the individuals concerned. There may be “good” Romans such as Lucullus and “bad” ones such as Cotta. This notion has to do with the tendency, both in Greek and Roman writings of the age, to denounce the behaviour of individual Romans and thus to present them as the exception to emphasize the rule i.e. the overall beneficient effect of Roman imperialism.37 Memnon goes on to say that after the capture of Herakleia, Cotta received from the senate the title of “Imperator Ponticus” (ΠοντικÒς αÙτοκρVτωρ). But envy of the wealth he had amassed in the war and the complaint of the Herakleians before the Roman assembly, aroused hatred towards him. Memnon describes in detail how Thrasymedes, the spokesman of the Herakleians moved the Romans with his speech describing Cotta’s outrageous deeds against the Herakleians. Thrasymedes delivered this speech “with wailing and tears, while a crowd of captives stood nearby, both men and women with their children, dressed in mourning clothes and sorrowfully holding forth olive branches in supplication”. Cotta replied “in his mother tongue” (πατρ\ος γλfττη),38 and then came the exclamation of Carbo, cited by Memnon as direct speech: “Cotta, we instructed you to capture the city, not to destroy it”. After similar comments by others, the Roman people decided to impose a punishment milder than exile on Cotta: he was expelled from the senate, and the Herakleians gained some relief (FGrH 434 F 1, 39.1-3). Two points are noteworthy. First, the Herakleian supplication is performed

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans

57

before the Roman assembly (™κκλησ…α), while we would expect such matters to be treated by the senate.39 Second, the presentation of Roman policy as one designed “to capture and not to destroy” is reminiscent of the Vergilian “parcere subiectis et debellare superbos” (Aen. 6.853). As mentioned above, in his digression on earlier Roman history Memnon referred mainly to events inasmuch as they pertained to world history and to Roman involvement with non-Roman groups. Returning to his main historiographical purpose, from then on he alluded to Roman affairs in his primary context of Herakleian history. We find a reference to only one internal Roman development, but this serves merely as a temporal indicator or as a faint background for Sulla’s involvement with Mithridates. Thus Memnon writes: “later, when Sulla and Marius were engaged in fighting for control of the Roman state… (Vναρριπισάντες���τ¾ν��� �� στ£σιν)” (FGrH 434 F 1, 22.6) and “after Marius, one of the opposite faction (�ντιστασιèτης), had been restored to Rome from his exile, Sulla was afraid that he might be forced into a similar exile because of his harsh treatment of Marius… so Sulla returned in glory to Italy and Marius again withdrew from Rome” (FGrH 434 F 1, 25.1; 25.3).40 Typically, and as seen in other authors, including Roman, Memnon does not display a clear and coherent idea of Rome as an abstract political entity, but rather alludes to Roman political institutions – the senate, the assembly, the people – or, more commonly, to the actions of Roman individuals. Therefore, judgmental intonations as well are reserved for particular Romans and less Rome as an abstract entity. Nevertheless, the Herakleian author seems to criticize Roman behaviour in general, accusing the Romans of cruelty, arrogance, theft of works of art and violation of local laws and customs. The extreme and impious cruelty of the Romans is apparent in their conduct at Herakleia after the defeat during Cotta’s campaign: “They [the Romans] did not even spare those who had fled into the temples, but cut them down by the altars and the images of the gods” (FGrH 434 F 1, 35.5). The Romans are depicted also as unreliable people who do not respect agreements and laws: When their attendants had withdrawn, they came to an agreement, that Mithridates would surrender Asia to the Romans, that the Bithynians and Cappadocia would be ruled by their native kings, that Mithridates would be confirmed as king of all of Pontos, as long as he provided 80 triremes and 3,000 talents to Sulla personally for his return to Rome, and that the Romans would not punish the cities for their support of Mithridates. In fact the Romans did not abide by this last part of the treaty, and they afterwards forced many of the cities into slavery (FGrH 434 F 1, 25.2). Again, upon the surrender of Herakleia in the course of the war with Mithridates, the Romans are presented as behaving unjustly and immorally:

58

Daniela Dueck When the money-collectors arrived in the city, they disregarded the laws of the state, and their demands for money distressed the citizens, who regarded this as the beginning of slavery (FGrH 434 F 1, 27.6).

The circumstance that many Roman ships carrying treasures looted from the temples of Herakleia sank shortly after leaving port (FGrH 434 F 1, 35.5; 35.7-8; 36) is explained simply by overloading, but may also be interpreted on the basis of Memnon’s idea of crime and punishment: the Romans, and particularly Cotta, had violated sacred precincts, and thus were punished “so that much of their cargo was lost” (FGrH 434 F 1, 36).

Conclusion Memnon’s historiographical orientation was moralistic and included a pronounced biographical approach. In his attitude to events the point of departure was Herakleian patriotism, but also on occasion referred to world history in temporal conjunctions with his local chronicle. He showed Herakleia as a dominant city of the region that persistently strove against alliances with foreign political entities – whether Pontos or Rome – and aspired to retain its independence and freedom. Memnon does not express an explicitly hostile attitude towards Rome and Roman rule but also does not refrain from showing the Romans as cruel and arrogant. He is not enthusiastic about Roman conquests but can see positive traits as in the character of Lucullus and in certain Roman military achievements. The complete work seems to have comprised more than 16 books and this may indicate that Memnon continued his survey and spoke of Roman activities in the region after Julius Caesar. From what we have, we may conclude that, like other local authors, Memnon combined local patriotism, Hellenistic intellect and political awareness. The Memnonian story of Herakleia is thus a story of focus, periphery and their interchangeable relationships: for Memnon Herakleia was the focus, both politically and geographically, and the rest of the world was the periphery. From a Roman point of view, Herakleia was marginal. Memnon’s decision to write on Herakleia derived from the city’s importance and centrality in his eyes.41 At the same time, his treatise put the Asian city “on the map” in the context of world history. These emphases reflect and depend on Memnon’s intended audience and his residence at the time of writing, two unfortunately obscure facts. Whatever the unknown truth is, it seems that in this work there is no significant conflict between patriotism and Roman loyalty. Even with specific criticisms, Greek and Roman identities could cohabit peacefully.42 Notes * I am grateful to David Braund and Joseph Geiger for their helpful and important comments on earlier versions of this paper.

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans

59

1 For a brief historical survey of these developments, see CAH 9 (1994) 137-164; 229-255; CAH 10 (1996) 151-154; 545-585; 641-675; CAH 11 (2000) 109-113. 2 For this complex situation, see discussions on the phenomenon as a whole and on individuals in Millar 1964, 7-10; 174-192; Jones 1978, 125-131; Macro 1980, 659-695; Anderson 1993, 1-10; 69-85; 101-132; Swain 1996; Braund 1997, 131-135; Veyne 1999, 510-567; Goldhill 2001, 8-18; Fernoux 2004. 3 For example Theophanes of Mytilene and Pompey; Hypsikrates of Amisos and Theopompos of Knidos and Julius Caesar; Strabon of Amaseia and Aelius Gallus; Athenodoros of Tarsos and Areios Didymos and Augustus. See Dueck 2000a, 142-143. 4 Braund 1997, 121-135. 5 See Dueck 2000a, 79-81; Engels 2005. Specifically for Herakleia, Strabon mentions Herakleides the Platonic philosopher (12.3.1). 6 Add to these the poet Parthenios of Nikaia who does not mention Rome in the extant poems. For other, less known, intellectuals, see Millar 1964, 177 and n. 3. See also the extensive and thorough study of the attitude of Greek intellectuals to Rome, including discussions of particular authors, in Swain 1996. 7 Cassius Dion: Millar 1964; Dion of Prusa: Jones 1978; Swain 2002; Arrian: Stadter 1980; Dionysios: Gabba 1991; Strabon: Dueck 2000a; broader discussion: Swain 1996. 8 Information and evaluation of Photios’ project based on Treadgold 1980, esp. 1-14; 95-114. 9 Mendels 1986, esp. 201-204. 10 References throughout are to the text of Memnon by Jacoby in FGrH 434. The translation of Memnon is based – with some adaptation – on the one by Andrew Smith in http://www.attalus.org/translate/memnon1.html. Other available translations of Memnon are: in French, by René Henry, in Henry 1965, 48-99; in German, by Angela Bittner, in Bittner 1998, 162-213. 11 On problems related to epitomes, see Brunt 1980. 12 Modern scholarship on Memnon includes Jacoby in FGrH 3 (1955), p. 267-283; Janke 1963; Desideri 1967; Bittner 1998. 13 The latest event noted in the epitome is Julius Caesar’s arrival in Asia Minor in 47 BC. The original work probably did not end there and with some necessary chronological distance between events and time of writing it probably came up to the first century AD. Based on stylistic grounds it has been suggested that Memnon lived in the second century AD and certainly at the time of the High Roman Empire, see R. Laqueur, “Lokalchronik”, RE 13.1099; OCD3 (1996) s.v. Memnon (3); K. Meister, “Memnon aus Herakleia”, DnP 7.1205-1206; Henry 1965, 177. Because the stylistic explanation is equivocal, I prefer to follow some chronological markers in the text, and to assume with other scholars that Memnon was active in the first century AD, see Jacoby FGrH 3 ad no. 434, p. 267-283; Janke 1963, 7-8; 11; Bittner 1998, 4. 14 See FGrH 434 F 1, 11.2; 24.4; 29.9; 30.2 respectively. 15 Modern surveys of Herakleian history include Desideri 1967; Desideri 1970-1971; Burstein 1974; Bittner 1998. 16 The first eight books were not in Photios’ possession and he summarised the next eight. One may assume that the work was available in codex form, each volume, except perhaps the last, comprising eight books. Desideri 1967, 374 and n. 38 suggests that the work was composed of units of eight books, perhaps in separate volumes, and thus the complete work had 18 or 24 books.

60

Daniela Dueck

17 Photios may have found these remarks in Memnon’s own introductory comments to his second octoplet. 18 Such were the histories of Egypt by Manethon, of Babylon by Berossos and Josephos’ AJ. Other histories of Herakleia Pontike were written by Promathidas (FGrH 430); Amphiteos (FGrH 431); and Nymphis (FGrH 432) – all from Herakleia themselves, and also by Domitios Kallistratos (FGrH 433) and Timogenes of Miletos (FGrH 435). This of course reflects the political and economic importance of Herakleia. On local histories of Herakleia, see R. Laqueur, “Lokalchronik”, RE 13.1089-1102. 19 CAH 9 (1962), 890. For other expressions of civic pride and patriotism in Asia Minor under Rome, see Macro 1980, 682-684. 20 Note the emphasis on courage, kindness and moderation, which are constant elements in contemporary ideas of the virtues pertaining to leadership. See Fears 1981, esp. 875-889; Wallace-Hadrill 1981. 21 Cf. Janke 1963, 115. 22 Janke 1963, 7 points out the similarity to Nero’s act as described in Tac. Ann. 14.3-5, but cannot conclude for a definite influence, which might also have had some bearing on the question of Memnon’s date. 23 Janke 1963, 11 n.1 shows how different Memnonian books gained Photian summaries of different lengths. 24 Cf. Janke 1963, 139-144 who presents a list of strategic numbers in Memnon as compared with other historians. 25 ������� Jacoby FGrH 3, p. 269-270; Janke 1963, 12-14; Desideri 1967, 381-392; Desideri 1970-1971, 494-496. 26 Translations of ancient texts other than Memnon are those of the LCL. 27 On which see Dueck 2000a, 101. 28 Photios merely lists the themes Memnon dealt with. We cannot but guess Memnon’s specific emphases regarding Rome’s beginnings, particularly taken that it was rooted in Asia Minor even if Herakleia did not exist at the time. 29 Compare Tacitus’ thumbnail history of Rome in Ann. 1.1 with its emphasis on constitutional developments: kingship, consulship, dictatorships, decemvirate, Cinna, Sulla, Pompey, Crassus, Caesar, Lepidus, Antony and Augustus. 30 Alexander became a model for Roman generals and particularly for Roman emperors who aspired to an imitatio Alexandri. See Weippert 1972. 31 Cf. Dueck 2000a, 113-115. 32 See detailed discussion in Janke 1963, 16-20. 33 See similar notions emphasizing the need to choose between Rome and Mithridates and the immoral behaviour of the latter in Paus. 1.20.5; 3.23.3-5; Ath. 5.212A-213C; 12.543A. 34 See attempts at identification in Janke 1963, ad loc. 35 For various choices of Roman historical persons, see Dueck 2000b. 36 Note again the traits of the ideal ruler – and their opposites – in Fears 1981; Wallace-Hadrill 1981 and above pp. 46-48. 37 ���������������������������� Cf. Braund 1998, esp. 22-23. 38 The Herakleians no doubt spoke Greek. 39 In other contexts Memnon seems to ascribe significance and dominance to the Roman senate (σÚγκλητος). He tends to introduce each significant Roman character with the phrase that he “was sent by the senate”. Cf. Janke 1963, 78. 40 See discussion in Janke 1963, 45-46.

Memnon of Herakleia on Rome and the Romans

61

41 Herakleia was an important and prosperous city and sent out several colonies, see Bittner 1998. 42 ������������������������������������������������ Cf. Braund 1998, 10-24; Braund 2000, esp. 14-22.

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony and its Representativity Jesper Majbom Madsen

Introduction It is generally accepted that the populations in Roman provinces dominated by Greek culture did not adopt Roman culture or identify themselves as Romans to the same degree as provincials in the Western part of the Empire. One explanation for the continuous domination of Greek culture in the East is often based on the form of provincialization Rome chose there. When Pompey reorganised Bithynia-Pontus between 66 and 63 BC he chose to preserve the polis culture as the administrative centre where it already existed, such as in Bithynia and the south coast of the Black Sea. In the Pontic Kingdom, where the urban structure was less developed, Pompey founded a number of new cities organised according to the polis model. It is commonly thought that Rome’s use of the polis model prevented a full-scale introduction of Roman institutions and Latin and Roman religion in Anatolia and the East, thus enabling the population in Greek colonies and cities founded by various Hellenistic kings to maintain Greek traditions and ways of living relatively unchanged.1 It has later been argued convincingly that the coming of Rome did cause significant changes in Greek communities and brought changes to the constitution of the polis, where in particular the boule was modified. As part of the reorganisation of Bithynia-Pontus, Pompey introduced a minimum age of thirty, later reduced to twenty-two by an edict of Augustus, and gave ex-magistrates membership for life. Another significant change was the introduction of censors who controlled and elected new boule members.2 That the Greeks continued to dominate the cultural pattern in the East has led to the belief that apart from introducing a new material culture and architectonic changes in the civic landscape, the influence of Roman culture never reached a level that significantly challenged Greek cultural identity. As a result, the Greeks continued to identify themselves as Greeks rather than as Romans or as members of the Roman community.3 This particularly strong Greek self-consciousness, believed to have formed the background for a profound Greek cultural resistance, scepticism or indifference towards Roman culture, is often ascribed to Greek intellectualism and the tradition of philosophers, sophists, historians and other Greek writers who promoted

64

Jesper Majbom Madsen

Greek traditions, cultural heritage and history under periods of Roman rule.4 Such intellectual resistance has often been attributed to the literary movement “the Second Sophistic’, a literary tradition from the first to the third century AD in which the authors’ linguistic style was inspired by that used by Greek Athenian writers, particularly in the fifth century BC.5 This use of Attic Greek and the increased focus on the Greek past are likely to have evolved as a response to various upheavals in the Greek world, caused by the Macedonian Empire and the subjection to Roman rule. In the Hellenistic Age, koine Greek began to develop and eventually became the predominant language among Greeks. Koine was used in academic circles by such writers as Polybios and Strabon, but was also the language used by writers of less excellence such as the evangelists, and it was the language spoken by the uneducated part of the population. In the imperial period, as the knowledge of ancient Greek deteriorated, Attic Greek developed as the language of excellence, with members of the intellectual elite assuming a kind of Greek inspired by the Athenian intellectuals writing in the golden age of Athenian domination.6 This intellectual interest in the Greek past and the fact that some of the authors profoundly criticized Roman hegemony and culture in the imperial period has led to the impression that the Second Sophistic tradition represents a general Greek scepticism or indifference towards Roman culture.7 It seems likely that a literary tradition celebrating a chosen Golden Age of Greek culture did indeed develop as a response to a period when knowledge of the Greek past and cultural heritage were under severe pressure from Roman political, economic and cultural influences. And though it is easy to overestimate the right to speak freely under the Antonine em­perors, it appears that the emperors from Trajan to Marcus Aurelius tolerated a large degree of criticism, particularly when it was directed towards the previous dynasty. In this respect, Marcus Aurelius celebrated his own and his father’s, Antoninus Pius’, tolerance of philosophers’ criticism.8 Whether this criticism developed because it was allowed to do so by the new dynasty – as an attempt to show more openness towards critics of the imperial institution in general, or Domitian in particular – or whether such criticism was permitted because it was in any case too strong to suppress, is difficult to determine. But at the beginning of the second century AD not only Domitian but also the less successful of the Julio-Claudian emperors and the imperial institution in more general terms were exposed to criticism by both Latin and Greek authors such as Suetonius, Tacitus, Plutarch and Dion of Prusa. But the view of the Second Sophistic literary tradition as a movement generally critical towards Rome does not take into consideration the cultural, political and social differences between the authors; nor does it take into account that each writer’s individual experience with Roman authorities is likely to have had a profound influence on the ways in which Greek writers reflected on and described Rome.

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony

65

The aim of this paper is to demonstrate how members of the Greek intellectual elite responded to Roman hegemony and the cultural influence of Rome. It will discuss whether Greek authors writing in a Second Sophistic tradition are more convincingly understood as a literary movement with similar views on Rome or whether personal experiences and different per­iods in which the author wrote caused significant differences in the literary treatment of the Romans. In this respect it should be kept in mind that there are examples of authors related to the Second Sophistic tradition who had a positive view of Rome and responded by taking active part in the Roman community. This paper will also discuss whether the critical attitude towards Rome, clearly expressed by a part of the Greek intellectual elite, represents a general view within the Greek provincial elite. A case study of how the local elite in Bithynia-Pontus responded to the coming of Rome indicates that the local elite, through careers in the Roman administration and the use of Roman names, were eager to present themselves as Roman and as members of the Roman community.

Intellectual resistance Lucius Mestrius Plutarchos from Chaironeia One of the Greek intellectuals to have expressed the strongest criticism of Roman hegemony and the influence of Roman culture is the biographer and moral philosopher Lucius Mestrius Plutarchos from Chaironeia in Boiotia.9 With his Boiotian descent, Plutarch differed from the majority of the Second Sophistic authors, who originated from Asia, Bithynia, or the Hellenised world of Asia Minor and the East. Nonetheless, Plutarch is interesting in a study of intellectual responses to Rome because he was one of the few Second Sophistic writers who maintained a sceptical attitude towards Rome throughout his literary career. Plutarch did not encourage a definitive confrontation with Rome to free the Greek world from Roman hegemony. Instead, his literary activities were directed towards a Greek audience. He argued that increased participation in Roman politics and imperial administration, where members of the Greek elite either adopted Roman traditions or left their home towns in order to follow personal ambitions in Rome or in the provincial administration, would increase Rome’s influence and reduce the knowledge of the Greek past. Plutarch’s concern is expressed repeatedly in the Moralia as well as in the essay Praecepta gerendae reipublicae or Precepts of Statecraft, where he criticises members of the Greek political elite for serving as procurators and governors (primarily for reasons of prestige or money) while leaving their fatherlands unattended. Is there any comparison between such a favour (friendship between Greeks and influential Romans) and the procuratorships and governorship of provinces from which many talents may be

66

Jesper Majbom Madsen gained and in pursuit of which most public men grow old haunting the doors of other men’s house and leaving their own affairs uncared for? (Moralia 814 D, translation by H.N. Fowler)

Plutarch criticises the Greek elite for seeking influence in the Roman world, which provided wealth and prestige in the Roman community but urged Greeks to humiliate themselves as clients at the doors of the political elite in Rome. This discussion was opened in another essay, De tranquillitate animi or On Tranquility of Mind, which discusses the issue of inner peace. Here Plutarch is critical of the members of the local elite, particularly in Galatia and Bithynia, who are constantly pursuing more prestigious positions in the Roman administration because they were unsatisfied with their social standing at home (Moralia 470 B-C). Plutarch’s negative view of the Greek involvement in the imperial administration should be seen in the light of an overall belief that Greek cultural identity was best preserved when the influence from Rome was kept at a minimum. What presumably concerned Plutarch was that participation in the imperial administration would drain the Greek communities of individuals with the necessary economic and cultural resources necessary to maintain and qualify local government, and leave a political vacuum only to be filled by an even larger influence from Rome. Plutarch was keen on making his fellow Greeks understand that they were no longer free but placed under the rule of Rome, as stated explicitly in his account of the role played by local magistrates. You who rule are a subject, ruling a state (polis) controlled by proconsuls, the agents of Caesar … You should arrange your cloak more carefully and from the office of the generals keep your eyes upon the orators’ platform, and not have great pride or confidence in your crown, since you see the boots of the Roman soldiers just above your head (Moralia 813 E, translation by H.N. Fowler). Plutarch’s main concern here is to show his fellow Greeks that they are no longer free, but ruled by emperors and various Roman officials, who generally lack the cultural education and dignity to rule the Greek communities. As part of the same general concern that the influence from Roman culture could threaten Greek culture, Plutarch warns his fellow Greeks against spending their economic resources on festivals and celebrations – a comment which should be seen in the light of Plutarch’s own involvement in erecting a statue in honour of Hadrian.10 Plutarch did not see Greek liberation from Roman hegemony as a realistic goal; instead, he recommended close contacts with influential Romans who could represent Greek interests at Rome (Moralia 814 D). What Plutarch aimed for was merely to make the Greek provincials realize that they had a different

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony

67

cultural origin and that the influence from Roman culture would weaken the knowledge of Greek culture. Dion Cocceianus of Prusa in Bithynia Another Greek intellectual who criticised the Roman influence in the Greek world was Dion of Prusa. Like Plutarch, Dion was worried that Roman hegemony would weaken the authority of the Greek cities and further undermine Greek cultural identity. Dion’s relations to Rome as such can be divided into three periods: before, during and after his exile. In the first period, Dion acted as a public speaker in Rome and moved within the political elite. As an intellectual Roman citizen with powerful friends and a wealthy family, Dion had a prestigious career in the Roman administration within reach, but for some reason this favourable prospect took a dramatic turn for the worse in the early years of Domitian’s reign. And even though the validity of the exile story has been questioned by Philostratos (VS 488) it seems convincing that Dion’s career in Rome ended under the reign of Domitian, either as a consequence of his role in the conspiracy against Domitian in 82 AD (Dion, Or. 13.1) or – in Philostratus’ version – as a voluntary exile caused by Dion’s fear of the emperor’s rage (VS 488).11 Dion’s work concerning political issues can be divided into four categories: the acceptance of Roman rule, as in his speech to the Alexandrians (Or. 32); his advice to the emperor on how to rule the empire (Or. 1-4); the issue of concordia between Bithynian cities (Or. 38-39), and the speeches on local politics in the city of Prusa (Or. 42-49). Like Plutarch, his main point of view was that Greeks were to accept Roman rule but not Roman culture, the influence of which was to be avoided by minimising the Roman authorities’ influence. Dion’s agenda was less distinct than Plutarch’s. According to his own account, Dion moved within the highest circles of the Roman elite under the reign of the Flavian Emperors, where he was highly celebrated as a public speaker until the accession of Domitian.12 If Dion is to be trusted, it is likely that he stayed in Rome on a regular basis and his career choice must have brought him into daily contact with members of Rome’s political elite. His philo-Roman period is illustrated by the Alexandrian speech, in which he, speaking before the assembly in Alexandria, urges the inhabitants to live a more respectable life and honour the emperor, either Vespasian or Trajan, for what he has done for their city and to re-establish a more favourable rapport with the imperial house (Or. 32.95-96.). In his own version, Dion had been an integrated part of the imperial power he so eagerly criticised later. One element of Dion’s critical attitude towards Rome is represented in his view of imperial worship, where he questions the practice of celebrating the living emperor as a god with the argument that a heavenly king (Zeus) gave the earthly king (in this case Trajan) the power to rule men (Or. 1.42; 1.45). For Dion, the emperor could attain divine status

68

Jesper Majbom Madsen

and become a daimôn or a hêrôs, but only after his death (Or. 3.54.).13 Dion thereby distances himself from the population of the Bithynian cities, who were among the first to offer divine worship to Octavian in 29 BC when he passed though Asia Minor on his way home from Alexandria. Again, Dion’s concern might have been to downplay the importance of the Roman Emperor and try to balance the Emperor’s popularity in Asia Minor. Dion’s profound criticism of the Roman Empire is related to his experiences with the rule of Domitian, which is described as a regime of evil: the emperor demanded to be worshipped as both “a master and a god” (Or. 45.1.), thus calling for the kind of cult that Dion argues against. The speech may have served to point out how badly Roman civilization could develop, while at the same time creating a vision of a more ideal type of emperor, personified by Trajan.14 The series of speeches on Concordia between the Bithynian cities held in Nikaia and Nikomedeia and in Prusa and Apameia, respectively, bear witness to Dion’s increasing unease with Rome and Roman authorities. In the speeches Or. 38 and 39, Dion discusses the issue of solidarity between the cities. In Dion’s mind, the competition between Nikaia and Nikomedeia to be the best city in the province compelled the cities to vie for unnecessary, honorary titles such as Metropolis or First City of the province. Such competition could, according to Dion, cause a disaccord between the cities, weaken their ability to unite against Roman demands, and enable the governor to benefit from the disharmony, as in repetundae processes, where the governor could seek support from one of the competing cities and avoid conviction. Or is it possible you are not aware of the tyrannical power your own strife offers those who govern you? For at once whoever wishes to mistreat your people comes armed with the knowledge of what he must do to escape the penalty. For either he allies himself with the Nikaian party and has their group for his support, or else by choosing the party of Nikomedeia he is protected by you. (Or. 38.36, translated by H. Lamar Crosby) In the third phase, after Dion’s return about a decade later, his goal was no longer a political career on the imperial level; instead, he channelled his energy toward improving the political status (Or. 44.11-12) of his native Prusa as well as to beautifying the city through an extensive building programme to prevent Prusa from falling behind the other cities in the region (Or. 47). In the speech he gave before the assembly in Prusa, shortly after his return from exile, Dion presents his plans for upgrading the political status of Prusa, a project that he, due to his alleged ties to the new imperial family, saw himself as the perfect man to carry out. In Prusa, Dion tells his fellow citizens that the city had a reasonable chance not only to acquire the right to hold court and obtain a larger council, but also to obtain freedom (Or. 44.11-12), which

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony

69

would free the city from the influence of the Roman governor. No doubt this must have caused much excitement in the city. A man from a noble family returns to the city after many years in exile and claims to be able to elevate the city to about the highest status a city in the empire could obtain. To Dion this may have been a long-desired opportunity to place himself in the role of Prusa’s most important benefactor. In the following speech, Or. 45, however, it becomes clear that Dion may have overestimated his influence at the imperial court. It seems likely that Prusa was granted the right to increase the number of council members and the right to judge court cases, but the request for freedom was never granted. From the speech, which shows Dion in a defensive position (Or. 45.2-4), it seems that he was criticised by his fellow citizens in Prusa for not delivering what he had promised. To judge from the speeches, the embassy to Trajan must have been viewed as a failure not only by Dion’s political enemies in Prusa but by Dion himself, who, it is safe to assume, had expected more from his encounter with Trajan. The request for the right to hold court and to raise the number of boule members were small improvements which Trajan could easily grant as a way to show his favour, but the real aim of Dion’s visit to Rome must have been the grant of freedom, which Trajan denied. Dion was thus both politically and personally involved with the political elite in Rome and spoke highly of the emperor in Alexandria. Understandably, this positive sentiment changed, either as a result of the exile, which caused a significant loss of influence in the capital, or as a result of his inability to persuade Trajan to give Prusa freedom. The hardest blow might not have been the problem with the unpredictable emperor Domitian but rather the disappointment with the highly respected Trajan. Dion presented the exile as a phase during which he grew from sophist to philosopher, and therefore as less devastating than it might sound,15 and the embassy to Trajan as more successful than claimed by his enemies. But this does not change the general picture of a man who once had a positive attitude to Roman hegemony until Domitian forced him into exile and changed his political status both in Rome and locally. Flavios Philostratos from Athens The third century writer Philostratos, from a wealthy family in Athens, is another Greek writer to have profoundly criticised Roman rule. Through Apollonios, a holy man from Tyana living in the first century AD, Philostratos criticised the influence of Roman culture in the third century AD.16 Referring to a collection of letters attributed to Apollonios, Philostratos criticised the adoption of Latin names, calling it unworthy for a man to have another man’s name but not his looks.17 This statement is likely to have been directed towards those Greeks who took the emperor’s name and then obtained Roman citizenship. But Philostratos went further in his criticism of Roman hegemony,

70

Jesper Majbom Madsen

arguing, again through Apollonios, this time in the biographic work on the life of Apollonios, that the Greek cities and culture were in moral decline, and he blamed this development on the Roman governors and their inability to rule the more culturally educated Greeks (Ap. 5.36). In his work on the Lives of the Sophists, Philostratos complicates matters further; he praises those who stood up against Rome and the emperor, such as Polemo from Smyrna, who expelled Antoninus Pius from his house in Smyrna when Pius was the governor of Asia. But at the same time, Polemo’s is praised for his ability to collaborate with the Roman authorities for the benefit of Smyrna and appears in Philostratos’s portrait as both a distinctive sophist with a school in Smyrna and the one who presided over the Olympic Games that Hadrian founded in Smyrna (VS 532). Polemo’s status as a highly educated Greek intellectual and a local politician with close relations to Rome and the one responsible for a cultural event introduced by Rome is not seen as a problem by the Athenian Philostratos. Again, there is an acceptance of Roman rule combined with criticism of the influence Roman hegemony had on the cultural pattern in Greek communities. Similarly to Dion from Prusa, Philostratos also failed to meet his own ideals. Dion joined the elite in Rome after Trajan denied him the political success of freeing Prusa, and Philostratos’s criticism of Greeks joining the Roman administration is not in accordance with the way he lived his own life. His name, Flavios Philostratos, indicates that his family obtained Roman citizenship under the Flavian emperors, and one of his sons seems to have been admitted to the senate.18 When Philostratos criticises the use of Roman names and those Greeks who took part in the malfunctioning and morally inferior Roman administration which ruined Greek culture, it is a criticism that applies to himself as well as his own family. L. Flavius Arrianus from Nikomedeia in Bithynia Other Greek intellectuals had an entirely different attitude towards Rome. One example of a more positive view of Roman hegemony is represented by L. Flavius Arrianus from Nikomedeia in Bithynia, who was elected consul and appointed governor of Cappadocia in the middle of the second century AD. Arrian’s production does not contain any obvious criticism of Rome; instead he appreciated the Roman people’s ability to adopt the best elements from other cultures and make them their own (Taktika, 44.2-3). In his book Hellenism and Empire from 1996, Simon Swain suggests that even though Arrian wrote accounts of his life as a Roman governor,19 he was primarily interested in what Simon Swain calls Greek issues – Alexander the Great, the history of Bithynia, and Greek hunting techniques – indicating Arrian’s interest in Greek culture. This might very well be a correct observation, but it also raises the question of how Greek Bithynia actually was. Plutarch singles out Bithynians and Galatians as people who were less likely to be satisfied with their social standing in their home com-

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony

71

munities and therefore more drawn towards Roman magistracies (Moralia 470 B-C). Apart from the themes treated in his literary production, Arrian’s cultural identity as Greek has been based on a remark in his biography of Alexander the Great, where Arrian makes the unclear statement that he did not have to state his name, who his family and patria were, or which magistracies he held in his hometown, because this was already well known.20 Arrian never specifies what he intended by patria or what kind of magistracies he held there. Simon Swain argues convincingly that Arrian was referring to Nikomedeia, and that the magistracies referred to may have been the priestly college of Demeter and Kore, which Arrian, according to Photios, held in Nikomedeia.21 It seems convincing that Arrian saw himself as Greek, but the somewhat cryptic statement about his patria and Greek-ness may indicate that his cultural identity was not at all obvious to his contemporaries, which in turn may suggest that a Bithynian origin was viewed differently than descent from Mainland Greece and Ionia. Arrian presumably wrote The Anabasis of Alexander in his Athenian years,22 and it is likely that he, a man from Bithynia, who spent much of his adult life in Rome and in the provincial administration, seemed more Roman than Greek to a Athenian audience and therefore needed to justify his Greek descent in an Athenian environment. Cassius Dion from Nikaia in Bithynia In many ways Cassius Dion from Nikaia had a relation to the Roman world similar to that of Arrian. Cassius Dion also had a glorious career in the Roman administration, where he was elected consul twice, the second time with the emperor Severus Alexander as his colleague,23 and he was appointed governor in Africa, Dalmatia and Pannonia.24 Unlike Arrian, who was the first senator in his family, Cassius Dion’s father was a consul and governor in Lycia-Pamphylia,25 Cilicia26 and Dalmatia.27 He lived the majority of his life in the Roman world where he, like Arrian, fulfilled his role well enough to be chosen repeatedly as Rome’s representative in prestigious provinces. In his Roman History, written in Greek, Cassius Dion criticises the Emperors for their incompetence – for instance, Domitian, who is criticised for having killed countless numbers of Romans28 and forcing the Roman public to worship him as a god.29 Cassius Dion also expresses a general disapproval of the imperial cult, in the fictive speech of Maecenas held to Augustus (52.35-36.1.). Here it is argued that no man could ever vote any honours to an emperor on his own free will and that the ruler thereby ends up bestowing such honours upon himself – with the risk of being ridiculed (52.35.2.). This criticism of the ruthless emperors, however, was in no way a Greek phenomenon but was very much alive among Latin intellectuals such as Tacitus and Suetonius, who were far from reticent in their negative treatment of the last Flavian emperor.30 Even though Cassius Dion wrote his Roman his-

72

Jesper Majbom Madsen

tory in Greek and referred to Nikaia as his fatherland, he was a part of the Roman community and must have been seen as such by his contemporaries when he represented Rome as the governor or curator in the Western or the Greek-speaking part of the Empire. Cassius Dion is thus another example of a Greek intellectual with a clear Greek cultural heritage, someone who saw himself as part of the Roman political elite, as indicated by his use of “we” then referring to the senatorial order.31 As governors in prestigious provinces, Arrian and Cassius Dion held high positions in the political elite and benefitted significantly from their relations in Rome and in the provincial communities. In many ways, their situation differed significantly from the experiences that Dion of Prusa had with the Roman authorities, and it is questionable whether he and Plutarch had anything in common with Arrian and Cassius Dion apart from their admiration of the Athenian language and the Greek literary tradition – and the fact that they all were Roman citizens. Aristeides from Hadriananoutherai in Asia The last Greek intellectual to be discussed here is Ailios Aristeides, who is essential to the question of Greek intellectuals’ relations to Rome because he delivers a generally positive account of the Roman Empire in his speech To Rome held in the capital in front of the imperial family. Aristeides is particularly favourable in his account of Rome’s ability to integrate the provincial population in the Roman community by granting Roman citizenship, which is seen as quite distinct from Athenian hegemony, where Athens is criticised for not making her subjects an integrated part of the empire.32 I mean your magnificent citizenship with its grand conception because there is nothing like it in the records of all mankind. Dividing into two groups all those in your empire – and with this word I have indicated the entire civilized world – you have everywhere appointed to your citizenship, or even to kinship with you, the better part of the world’s talent, courage, and leadership, while the rest you recognized as a league under your hegemony. (Aristeides, To Rome 59. Translation by Oliver 1953). And Aristeides goes on to praise Roman citizenship for its ability to unite the Empire through what may be called a common Roman identity. On the contrary, you (the Romans) sought its (the Roman Citizenship) expansion as a worthy aim, and you have caused the word Roman to be the label, not of membership in a city, but of some common nationality… (To Rome 63)

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony

73

Due to the circumstances in which the speech was presented, it has been questioned whether Aristeides’ celebration of Roman hegemony was a sincere reflection of Aristeides’ view of Rome or part of Aristeides’ own agenda to flatter the new emperor, Antoninus Pius. The simple answer to this question is that the latter is true. Aristeides is known to have flattered not just the imperial family but also the governor in the province of Asia in order to free himself from the obligation to serve as a magistrate in Smyrna (Sacred Tales 4.87-92). But Aristeides’ attempt to free himself from his obligations in Smyrna is not necessarily an indication of scepticism towards Roman hegemony. It is just as likely that he wasn’t interested in local politics and would rather not spend the money magistrates were expected to expend. That To Rome should be less trustworthy as a reflection of Aristeides’ view of Rome is not entirely convincing. In the fourth of the Sacred Tales, where the issue of immunity is presented, it is clear that the conflict between Aristeides and the Asian cities was mainly of a local character. And when the governor Severus was forced to intervene, he took Aristeides’ side in the conflict and supported his attempt to avoid the office in Smyrna (Sacred Tales 4.100). As pointed out by Simon Swain, it is clear that Aristeides was uninterested in Roman politics, but this does not mean that Aristeides was against the Roman order, which he praises highly not just in To Rome but also in the speeches on concord between Asian cities (Or. 23.11 and 54), or when Marcus Aurelius and Commodus are referred to as divine, theios, while they are still alive (Or. 29.5). Furthermore, To Rome was not just one long encomium of Roman rule. In his discussion of the emperor’s function as the supreme governor, Aristeides appreciates the Roman emperor’s ability to rely on an organisation of magistrates, which he could control through letters without the need to travel around the empire (To Rome 33). This description is held up against Alexander the Great, whom Aristeides describes as a ruler who accomplished much as a general but little as a king because of his inability to integrate his conquests into a working empire (To Rome 25-26). Still, a Roman audience would also recognize the picture of the travelling ruler as a characteristic of Pius’s predecessor Hadrian. It is difficult to determine what Aristeides meant by this remark, but it is a reasonable assumption that he was arguing for a type of government based as far as possible on local rule. Taken together, Aristeides’ works provide a picture of a Greek intellectual with a generally positive view of Roman hegemony and the abilities of the Roman administration. But Aristeides also exemplifies an indifferent attitude to the life of Roman politics. Unlike Arrian and Cassius Dion, Aristeides had no desire for a career in the imperial administration, or in the cities of Asia for that matter. He was no doubt deeply rooted in Greek cultural heritage and content to present himself as an important and highly estimated rhêtôr either far too important or too ill to take part in the pitiful world of Roman politics. This lack of interest in political activities, however, was not particularly

74

Jesper Majbom Madsen

directed against civil offices in the Roman administration. As far as we can recall, Aristeides never held any magistracy in the Asian cities, and his reluctance to serve as an imperial priest should therefore not be seen as resistance to Roman hegemony or culture as such. Yet, Aristeides’ overall view of Rome is important because it might represent how the population in Asia Minor saw Roman hegemony in general. When Aristeides celebrates Rome for sharing her citizenship and making the word “Roman” signify a common people (To Rome 63), he may very well have been in accordance with the majority of the local elite in Bithynian cities, to whom being Roman became a matter of prestige and social status. Being Roman in Bithynia et Pontus That Greek intellectuals, for various reasons, criticised the Roman influence in the Greek world is beyond doubt. But it is appropriate to discuss how representative such views towards the Roman world were among the Bithynian and Pontic elite. Simon Swain has argued that Greek intellectuals shared their passion for cultural education (paideia) with the larger part of the educated upper half of the Greek community and that it would be wrong to argue that the negative attitude to Rome in the works of, for example, Plutarch, Dion of Prusa or Philostratos are not representative of the audience.33 The general pattern of how the local elite in Bithynia-Pontus responded to the coming of Rome was different from the negative view presented in the works of Plutarch, Dion of Prusa and Philostratos. Members of the local elite were keen to exhibit their status as Roman citizens and announce their own or their relatives’ merits in Roman institutions and eager to present themselves as Roman in public by appearing with Latin-sounding names. This raises the question of whether a Greek cultural heritage prevented the Bithynian and Pontic elite from identifying themselves as Romans. An early example of a clearly Roman appearance is from the Roman colony of Apameia, where Catilius Longus, a man presumably of Italian descent, is honoured for his career in the Roman administration. From the Latin inscription it appears that Catilius Longus’s career began in the army as tribunus militium and led to a senatorial career followed by an appointment as propraetor in the province of Asia.34 Catilius Longus might have been the first of the gens Catilia from Apameia to join the Senate. That the gens Catilia were represented in the region around Apameia is illustrated by a Latin inscription where a Cn. Catilius Atticus is mentioned as the owner of the vilicus Tertius,35 who set up a gravestone for his sister. Cn. Catilius Atticus may have been the father of the later L. Catilius Severus Iulianus Claudius Reginus, who had a glorious career in the first half of the second century with appointments as governor in Syria and Africa, consul twice, and election as praefectus urbanus.36 Two other Catilii Severii were recorded as members of the senate in the late second and early third century AD, since they were members of the Arval college, a priesthood consisting of twelve senators who celebrated Dea Dia.37

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony

75

It is hardly surprising that men from a Roman colony of veteran descent held on to their Latin names and chose careers in the Roman army and the upper level of the political elite in Rome. Nor is it exceptional that a man such as L. Catilius Severus Iulianus Claudius Reginus reached a higher level in the provincial administration than Catilius Longus, who was the first in the family to join the senate. But the use of Roman names and careers in the imperial administration were far from restricted to the elite in Bithynian and Pontic colonies. In his study of the elite in Bithynia, Notables et élites des cités de Bithynie aux époques hellénistique et romaine (III siécle av. J.-C. – III siécle ap. J.-C.) from 2004, HenriLouis Fernoux records men of senatorial status in most of the Bithynian ci­ties. The city of Nikaia was well represented in the senate and the provincial admini­ s­tration. It appears that the first family to join the political elite in Rome was the gens Cassia: according to the reconstruction of a damaged inscription, C. Cassius Agrippa was appointed consul suffectus around 130 AD and served as legatus of the 20th legion in Baetica.38 Apart from Cassius Dion and his father, Claudius Cassius Apronianus, who, as we have already seen, held the consulship and important provinces, Sedatus Theophilos also represented Nikaia, reaching the level of praetor under the reign of Antoninus Pius.39 From the city of Nikomedeia, Arrian and his son Flavius Arrianus both reached the consular office in the second century AD.40 A third senator of Nikomedeian origin, whose identity is unknown due to the state of the inscription, was apparently admitted to the senate and served as legatus Augusti after a long career in Nikomedeia.41 The city of Klaudiopolis was represented by a total of three senators: Marcus Domitius Euphemus, who reached the level of consul in the late second / early third century;42 Marcus Ulpius Arabianus, who reached the highest level of the provincial administration as governor in Syria-Palestina and Africa during the reign of Marcus Aurelius and Commodus,43 and Marcus Ulpius Domitius Aristaeus Arabianus, who reached the level of praetor and served as propraetor in the province of Asia in the beginning of the third century.44 In the city of Prusa, too, the local elite reached the political elite of the Roman empire when Lucius Egnatius Victor Lollianus was admitted to the senate and served as both corrector in Achaea and proconsul in Asia in the third century.45 In addition, Prusias ad Hypium was represented by Claudius Piso, who served as legatus augusti in the first legion Adiutrix pia fidelis in the reign of Septimius Severus,46 and Marcus Domitius Valerianus held several military appointments as legatus in various legions and served as propraetor in Galatia, Cilicia and Arabia before being elected consul suffectus in the middle of the third century.47 The studies conducted by Henri-Louis Fernoux show that starting with Catilius Longus in the reign of Vespasian, the elite in the Bithynian cities were represented in the senate and the provincial administration. Up through the second century AD Bithynians were frequently found among the political elite

76

Jesper Majbom Madsen

in the senate and it is also in this period that men of Bithynian origin such as Arrian from Nikomedeia, Marcus Ulpius Arabianus from Klaudiopolis, and the gens Cassia from Nikaia obtained prestigious appointments as governors in Cappadocia, Syria and Africa. And it is worth noting that more than just one family from each city often reached the senate. This involvement in the political life in Rome and the provincial administration indicates that the Bithynian elite took an interest in the Roman world. The men mentioned here not only accepted Roman hegemony and showed their Roman status, but they chose an active role in the political life in Rome and careers in the provincial administration where they represented Roman hegemony in provincial communities – exactly what Plutarch argued against. How widespread the readiness was to become part of the Roman community and to participate in a Roman context cannot be determined from the response at the highest level of the provincial elite alone. It may be argued that the involvement in Roman politics was entirely a pragmatic attempt to gain as much influence or economic benefits as possible. Or that some would always be drawn towards power and assimilate to life in the ruling community. In order to determine how the elite in Bithynia-Pontus responded in more general terms to Roman hegemony, it is necessary to focus on the reception of Roman culture among those who remained at home. In the Bithynian and Pontic cities, the influence of Roman culture was balanced by indigenous Greek cultural traditions, and the continuous use of the polis structure and Greek as the official language are likely to have caused a different response to Roman culture compared with a life in Rome, in the army or in the provincial administration. Still, the interest in Rome and Roman culture seems to have been significant. In the city of Herakleia Pontike, Claudius Domitius showed his loyalty to the emperor and his relation to the Roman community in his will by requesting that his daughter Claudia Saturnina, the archpriestess of the cult of Antoninus Pius, was to be honoured with an inscription. It is Claudia Saturnina’s nieces, Claudia Saturnina and Claudia Licinnia, who appear to be the ones honouring their aunt’s female family members with Roman names.48 To the city of Herakleia Pontike, the family of Claudius Domitius must have appeared as loyal to both Rome and the emperor, the use of Roman names for the entire family revealing not only the family’s Roman status but also a strong desire to appear as a Roman family in public and hence as part of the Roman community. In Nikaia, the Cassii family seems to have had a somewhat similar relation to Rome. Before admission to the senate and the provincial administration in the second and third century, a G. Cassius Chrestos is recorded as a priest in the imperial cult49 and as the one responsible for setting up statues and inscriptions in the honour of the Flavian emperors at the northern and southern gates and for honouring M. Plancius Varus on a private initiative.50 Again, it must have been evident to the inhabitants of Nikaia that Cassius Chrestos was Roman and an active member of the Roman community in the city, a

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony

77

Fig. 1. The sarcophagus of G. Cassios Chrestos in Nikaia (author’s photo).

status in which he clearly took pride. His role as priest in the emperor’s cult and his eagerness to honour the Roman governor are once again examples of public appearances in Roman contexts. The use of Latin names in the form of the tria nomina with the praenomen, the family name (which indicated whether the person was a Roman citizen) and the cognomen was a way to show the family’s Roman status. Even female members of Bithynian families were often provided with three or more names in a form designed to imitate the tria nomina, as in the examples below: Claudia Saturnina and Claudia Licinnia from Herakleia Pontike (IK 47.1) Gellia Tertia and Rascania Prima from Apameia (IK 32.22) Aelia Cornelia from Sinop (IK 64.109) Valeria Alexandria from Sinop (IK 64.156)

And there were even women with simulated tria nomina: Tiberia Claudia Aureliana Archelais from Herakleia Pontike (IK 47.8)

78

Jesper Majbom Madsen Ulpia Titia Fadilliane Artemonis from Prusias ad Hypium (IK 27.54) Aurelia Heraklidiane Domitia from Prusias ad Hypium (IK 27.85) Calpurnia Domitia Markiane and Flavia Domitia Artemonis (IK 27.53)

To give tria nomina as names to women was a way to further underline the family’s Roman status and show the local community that the entire family was to be considered a part of the Roman community. But the practice of giving Roman names to females illustrates that the Roman names were more than just a pragmatic attempt made by the politically active elite as a way to illustrate their legal status. Had the preservation of Greek culture been a central issue, it would have been more appropriate to give girls, who were without political opportunities, Greek names and to keep gravestones within the Greek tradition without mentioning the deceased’s merits in the Roman political and provincial administration. The question of pragmatism is often raised in respect to Romanisation in Greek provinces, where it is argued that Greeks never identified themselves as Roman but only appeared as such for political reasons. In this respect it should be taken into consideration that most of the inscriptions, except those set up in Rome or elsewhere in the empire to record the merits of imperial magistrates, appeared in the home cities of those honoured, indicating that members of the local elite chose to appear Roman in public in a very local context. If appearing Roman was a pragmatic attempt to flatter Roman authorities without any real underlying sentiments, and if this was a general attitude within the Greek population, it is difficult to see the meaning behind the Roman appearance in the local community, where the inhabitants must have been well aware of the underlying strategy. Roman authorities were hardly the target audience for gravestone and honourary inscriptions in Bithynian and Pontic cities: they could collect their information about individuals’ Roman citizenship from censor- and phylai-lists.51 Instead, it seems more convincing that the inscriptions and the expression of a Roman identity were aimed towards a local audience, who would have been difficult to convince had Roman appearance only been a public appearance designed to achieve higher political or economic objectives. It is therefore more appropriate to see the expression of Roman identity as a way of showing a certain kind of status not available to all and thereby an element in the social graduation of the cities’ hierocracy. That a Roman name was related to status is indicated by the widespread use of Roman names among individuals without Roman rights who took these names presumably to imitate the elite:

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony

79

Sexta Quinctia Tyrannis from Nikaia (IK 9.98) Paulinus son of Paulinus from Nikaia (IK 9.125) Markianus son of Markus from Prusia ad Hypium (IK 27.1) Domitius son of Aster from Prusias ad Hypium (IK 27.2) Domitius, the son of Aster, was honoured as the first archon of the city of Prusias ad Hypium. Since Roman citizens were listed with their full tria nomina, it is likely that Domitius was no Roman citizen when the inscription was set up at the beginning of the third century AD. Nonetheless, he had the Roman-sounding name of Domitius. Because Roman citizenship in Bithynia-Pontus was closely tied to the local elite, a Roman status may very well have helped to further underline the political authority of the Bithynian and Pontic elite, and been attached to significant prestige in the cities’ hierocracy. In this way, Roman citizenship can be seen as a super-structure on a person’s already existing identity as a member of a certain family, a certain city, a certain social status in a community, where Greek culture played a significant role in daily life. A Roman identity therefore did not need to cause existential crises among a Greek population in Herakleia Pontike, Sinop or Nikomedeia, particularly since Rome never demanded that the provincial communities should give up their ingenious culture. As Roman status was followed by improved political and economic rights, it was hardly something most provincials would turn down, and since Roman tria nomina accompanied Roman status, one might argue that the adoption of Roman names in itself provides no guarantee that Greek provincials using Roman names also identified themselves as Romans. But once again it should be maintained that the tendency to show activities in Roman institutions, the desire to appear to be a Roman family by giving Roman names, often the tria nomina, to female members or by choosing a Roman theme on grave reliefs, were entirely voluntary manifestations of belonging to the Roman world. When Roman citizenship became still more widespread and men of Greek origin appeared still more frequently as magistrates at all levels of the provincial organisation, Roman identity changed from being ethnically defined to being a mere social and political status, as indicated by Aristeides’ remark that to be Roman was to be a member not of a single city, but of a much larger community (To Rome, 63). In this respect, there seems to be little concordance between the behaviour of the Bithynian and Pontic elite, who lived in Bithynia-Pontus or in Rome or served in the provincial administration, and those among the intellectual elite who promoted a negative approach towards Roman hegemony or towards Greeks behaving like Romans. It is therefore likely that this intellectual

80

Jesper Majbom Madsen

Fig. 2. The ���������������������������������������������������������������� Rascanii family from Apameia. Bursa Museum (author’s photo).

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony

81

criticism of Rome is more convincingly seen as criticism of a general positive response to the Roman world among the Greek elite and that writers such as Plutarch, Dion of Prusa and Philostratos were critics of society rather than spokesmen of a general attitude towards Rome.

Conclusion The Greek intellectual writers do not seem to have had much else in common besides their love for Greek culture and a romantic idea that life in classical Greece was culturally and morally excellent. Their views on Rome and Roman culture are very different and are often related to personal experiences, as indicated by Dion’s criticism and Arrian’s overall satisfaction with Roman hegemony. There seems to have been a difference between the way intellectuals from the Greek mainland, such as Plutarch and later Philostratos, related to the influence from Rome and the way Bithynian intellectuals such as Dion, Arrian and Cassius Dion treated the coming of Rome. Dion from Prusa was no doubt critical, but not until he failed to free Prusa. Again, this does not mean that Bithynian intellectuals did not identify themselves as Greeks; they were all attached to a cultural heritage dominated by Greek culture: Greek was the official language and the language of the literary traditions, the Greek Pantheon was the predominant religion, and cities were build on the polis culture. But since Bithynia and Asia Minor in general stood on the sidelines and were subjected when Greek powers in mainland Greece reached their days of glory, it is likely that intellectuals and the Greek population in Asia Minor were less attached to the glorious past, compared to Plutarch and Philostratos, who originated from what was once the hard of Greek domination, and therefore more open and eager to participate in what the new world Rome had to offer. It is therefore up for debate whether it is useful to see the Second Sophistic as an intellectual movement with a generally critical or indifferent attitude towards Rome and Roman culture. Compared with the actual life in Bithynian and Pontic cities, the ideas of especially Plutarch, Dion and Philostratos far from correspond with how members of the local elite responded to the influence of Roman hegemony. Roman identity was regarded as a matter of status, and the local elite were eager to show their relations to the Roman world by participating in the political life in Rome and by appearing in public local contexts as Roman. Consequently, the conclusion of this paper is that the works of the most critical of the Greek writers do not represent the general attitude among members of the elite communities in the Greek cities, at least not in Bithynia et Pontus, but should be read as a criticism of the increased Greek interest in Roman traditions and the widespread adoption of Roman identity.

82

Jesper Majbom Madsen

Notes 1 Rostovtzeff 1927, 215; A.H.M. Jones 1963, 4; Bowersock (1965) 71-72; MacMullen 2000, 7-10. 2 Wörrle 1988, 91. For a discussion of Pompey’s changes to the boule and the use of censors, see Pliny Ep. 10.79; 10.112. 3 Woolf 1994, 128. 4 Swain 1996, 241 and 414-415; Woolf 1994, 128. 5 Swain 1996, 18 and 139-140, where Plutarch’s focus on the Greek heroes of the fifth century BC is accentuated. 6 Swain 1996, 19. 7 Swain 1996, 41-42 and 71. 8 Marcus Aurelius, Meditationes 1.14-16.. 9 Smallwood 1966, no. 487. It is only from this inscription in Delphi, where Plutarch was responsible for erecting a statue of the new emperor Hadrian, that his full Roman name is known. 10 Smallwood 1966 no. 487 11 Philostratos, VS 488. 12 Dion of Prusa Or. 13.1. See also Whitmarsh 2001, 157; Jones 1978 45-46. 13 Cf. Swain 1996, 195. 14 Whitmarsh 2001, 157. 15 Or. 13.11-12, See also Tim Whitmarsh’s remarks on the transformation from sophist to philosopher and on the general theme of exile as a period of personal development among Greek intellectuals. Whitmarsh 2001, 134-141. 16 Swain 1996, 381. 17 Philostratos Apollonios, Letters 72. See also Goldhill 2001, 6. 18 IG II/III2 1803; IK 1.63. �������������������������� See also Swain 1996, 380. 19 “I gave the army its pay and inspected its weapons, the walls, the trench, the sick, and the food supplies that were there. My opinion about this latter point I have written to you in the Latin report.” Arrian Periplus 6.2. Translation by Little 2003. 20 Arrian Alexander 1.12. For a discussion of Arrian’s fatherland, see Swain 1996, 244-245. 21 Photius, Library cod. 93. See Swain 1996, 245. 22 Hamilton 1971, 16-17. 23 PIR2 C.492; Suffect Consul Cassius Dion 77.16.4; Consul ordinarius AE 1971 430. 24 Proconsul in Dalmatia, Cassius Dion 49.36.4. 25 CIL XV, 2164. 26 Cassius Dion 69.1.3. 27 Cassius Dion 49.36.4 28 Cassius Dion 67.11. 29 Cassius Dion 67.5.7. 30 Tacitus Agricola 39-46 especially 43, where Tacitus suggests that Domitian had a hand in Agricola’s death; Suetonius offers a more balanced but still critical treatment of Domitian’s life, depicting the emperor’s killing of many noblemen, Suetonius Dom. 10. 31 Cassius Dion 73.20.1-3; Rich 1990, 14-15. 32 Aristeides, To Rome 41-51. 33 Swain 1996, 241 and 414; see also Woolf 1994, 128.

Intellectual Resistance to Roman Hegemony

83

IK 32.2. IK 32.21 and p. 33. PIR2 C.558. CIL X, 8291. PIR2 C.556. CIL VI, 2098; CIL VI, 2099. PIR2 C.557; CIL VI, 2086; CIL VI, 2104. Fernoux 2004 450-451. ��� 38 PIR2 C.481; IK 9.57. ������������������ Fernoux 2004, 461. �������������� 39 Aristeides Or. 48.48; 50.16; See Fernoux 2004, 463-464. 40 To Arrian’s son IG II/III2, 4251-53; see also Fernoux 2004, 459. 41 IGR III, 7, Fernoux 2004, 460. ��� 42 PIR2 D.146; IGR III, 73, Fernoux 2004, 469. ��� 43 IGR III, 85; CIL VIII 1640, 15876. See also Fernoux 2004, 469 no. 39; Halfmann 1979, 205 no. 148. Fernoux 2004, 469-70. 44 PIR2 D 134; IGR IV, 698. Fernoux ������������������������������������������� (2004) 471. Halfmann 1979, no. 148. 45 PIR2 E 36; CIL VI, 1405 and 2001; CIL III, 6058; IG VII, 2510; Fernoux 2004, 453454. 46 PIR2 C 960; CIL III, 11082. See also Ameling, IK 27 p. 117; Fernoux 2004, 471. 47 PIR2 D 168; IGR III, 904, CIL III, 14149. IK 27.45. Fernoux ������������������ 2004, 472. ��� 48 IK 47.1. ��� 49 IK 9.116. ��� 50 IK 9.25-29; IK 9.51. ���������������������������������������������������������� For a discussion of a similar celebration of the governor on private initiative, see the dedication to M. Plancius Varus by Ti. Claudius Quintianus, IK 9.52. 51 Our knowledge of the existence of the censor institution in Bithynian and Pontic cities is based on Pliny’s book 10, where the role of the censors is discussed by Pliny in Ep. 10.79.3; 10.112.1. For examples of Phylai lists, see Prusias ad Hypium IK 27.1; IK 27.2; IK 27.3. 34 ��� 35 36 37

The Rôle and Status of the Indigenous Population in Bithynia Thomas Corsten

The indigenous population of Bithynia was of Thracian origin. This was known to ancient authors from the time of Herodotos and Xenophon onwards, and is attested by numerous inscriptions from Bithynia containing Thracian personal names.1 What is, however, less clear, is the social status of these Thraco-Bithynians and possible changes in it over the course of time. This is, of course, mainly due to a lack of evidence, especially a lack of literary and epigraphical sources, but also to the fact that scholars have not yet realised the full potential of those sources which we do have at our disposal. For it is not only written evidence that is useful in this respect; archaeological evidence as well is a rich source of information, especially when used in combination with inscriptions and literature. In the belief that there is in fact enough evidence to tackle the question of the social status of the Thracian population in Bithynia, I will, in what follows, examine a number of monuments, most of them with a sculptured relief and an inscription. In order not to draw hasty conclusions from material coming from regions that have not yet been sufficiently explored, I will limit this study to the area of four cities, for which we have abundant and well-published documentation. These are the cities of Nikaia, Nikomedeia, Prusa ad Olympum and Kios. It is evident that, on the monuments in question, the reliefs and inscriptions mutually reinforce the message they contain about the social and economic status of those they commemorate. The focus here will be on the Roman period and on possible changes between this and the preceding Hellenistic period, changes which might have been brought about by a process of what could be called Romanisation, or, speaking less theoretically, simply by the imposition of Roman social conditions which followed in the wake of Roman domination. In order to make this comparison between the situation in Roman times with that in the Hellenistic period, we have to know what conditions prevailed during the latter. I have argued elsewhere – and will only briefly recapitulate it as a starting point – that in the Hellenistic period, a large part of the fertile land of Bithynia was in the hands of a ruling élite of Thracian origin. This can be deduced from a number of funerary stelae found in the surroundings of the cities, but not in the cities themselves. Their reliefs and inscriptions attest a class of cavalry officers who bore Thracian names and

86

Thomas Corsten

whose affluence was based on exploitation of the estates allotted to them.2 In the imperial period, however, the distribution of Thracian personal names and the evidence for landholding give a different picture. Then it appears that people with Thracian names lived in the countryside as well as in the cities, and that most of them were of inferior social rank. On the other hand, what we know of estate holders is that some of them bore Greek names, but most Roman names or even the Roman tria nomina. In what follows, I propose first to examine separately the documents with Thracian names and then those concerning landholding, before attempting to draw any conclusions. I start with the evidence for Thracian names. In imperial Nikaia, there are ten inscriptions with Thracian personal names, one of which was found in the city itself. This is a list of names, unfortunately incomplete, dating probably from the first century AD, and it contains, among a large number of Greek and Roman names, only three or four Thracian names.3 The other nine inscriptions are all on tombstones which were found in the neighbourhood of Nikaia, five in the region of Gölpazarı, two near Göynük and one each from near Geyve and Osmaneli. Judging from their appearance, most of them were erected by members of the middle class, and only one, the huge funerary monument of a certain Diliporis, qualifies as evidence for the wealth of his family.4 In Nikomedeia the result is similar. There we find 14 inscriptions with Thracian names, two or three of them from the city itself, the rest from the countryside. They are lists of personal names, dedications and, of course, tombstones.5 Here again all these monuments are rather modest, and there is no indication that any of the owners belonged to the upper social strata. Now, Prusa. In this city, there are only three inscriptions of the imperial period which contain Thracian names, all tombstones of modest or inferior workmanship.6 One of them is reported to have been found in Bursa (the modern name of Prusa), and two in its surroundings. Finally, the evidence from Kios and its territory is not so helpful. There are altogether four inscriptions with Thracian names, two of which are clearly Hellenistic,7 while the other two are not datable.8 Concerning the social status of these people with Thracian names, it is clear that – with the exception of Diliporis near Nikaia9 – they did not belong to the upper class of imperial Bithynia, but should be assigned to the middle, or even to the lower, classes. They are probably to be equated with the people who are called “those living in the countryside” in an inscription from Prusias ad Hypium in eastern Bithynia: οί τ ν γροικ…αν κατοικ τες, people without citizenship in the city to which the land belonged.10 There is no evidence for any of them owning a large estate. Of course, Diliporis from near Nikaia could have been a rich landowner, given the find spot and the impressive character of his grave monument. But he would be an exception, perhaps the only one. But who were, then, the owners of the domains which had been in the hands of the ruling Thraco-Bithynian élite in Hellenistic times? If we go through the

The Rôle and Status of the Indigenous Population in Bithynia

87

Fig. 1. Map of Roman Bithynia.

epigraphic material in search of them, we find that almost all those attested as landowners bore Roman names, besides a few Greek names. Again, we start with the rich epigraphic harvest from Nikaia. In order not to tax your patience with an endless enumeration of inscriptions, personal names, dates, findspots etc., I offer you only the essential data. Inscriptions inform us about nine estate owners and their administrators who are usually called oikonomoi.11 Except for two, all the owners bear the tria nomina (or, in the case of women, two names); the two exceptions are an Euangelos and a woman with the name Antipatris.12 Not one of the administrators has a Thracian name. Most of their names are Greek, and at least one oikonomos claims Roman citizenship.13 Nikomedeia has fewer inscriptions to offer or, to be more precise, just two, and their relevance is not entirely clear.14 One of them mentions a patron, who could be the owner of an estate, with the name Publius Vedius Cornelianus Strato.15 The second is the grave inscription of a Gaios, oikonomos of Tryphon.16 Thus, no Thracian names; instead we have a man with a Greek name and a Roman citizen as landowners.17 In Prusa only two landowners are attested, one with the name of Timotheos, the other a Roman citizen, Tiberius Claudius Polio Phaedrus.18 The city of Kios, or Prusias ad mare, is rather disappointing for our purpose.19 We know of a village which must have been named after an ancient owner of the

88

Thomas Corsten

land to which the village belonged: the δ μος τ ν Χαρμιδεαν ν, that is the village on the land of a certain Charmides, thus a man with a Greek name.20 Otherwise, there is an oikonomos Claudius Caricus, from whose name we can infer that he was a Greek freedman of a Roman landowner with the nomen Claudius.21 Then we have a freedman of a Catilius, who must have been the owner of an estate.22 That is all, but it suffices to show that at Kios, too, most land was in the hand of Romans. The fact that all the landowners of the imperial period known to us had Greek or Roman names does not, of course, from the outset exclude that the estates still belonged to the same old Bithynian families. One could imagine, for example, that the descendants of the Bithynian landowners with Thracian names of the Hellenistic period took Greek or Roman names or even received Roman citizenship shortly before or during the imperial period. However, what this would presuppose is that all members of the Bithynian élite without exception had exchanged their indigenous names for Greek or Roman names, something that seems highly improbable. It is therefore evident that there must have been a radical change in the ownership of the fertile and economically attractive land between the third century BC and the time of Augustus. However, when did that occur and why did the changes described happen? I suggest that the origins for this profound change are to be sought as early as the time of the war against Antiochos III and were most pronounced in the period from the last stages of the Bithynian monarchy to the time preceding the reign of Augustus.23 In the first phase, that is in the early second century BC, Prusias I came under the influence of Rome when he was forced to aid the Romans against the Seleucids.24 Next, it is known from Diodoros that before 104 BC many Bithynians had been enslaved by Romans, since the Bithynian state had become indebted.25 Finally, the last Bithynian kings, Nikomedes III and IV, had great difficulties in maintaining their kingdom against their adversaries, foremost the Pontic king Mithradates VI. Nikomedes IV was eventually forced to ask the Romans for help, and as these did not offer assistance without an appropriate reward, he had, so to speak, to sell himself and his land to the Romans26. As a result, Bithynia became heavily indebted to the Romans. This certainly does not mean that the king alone was indebted, but that he had to turn to his noblemen for help. So, what the Romans took from him he tried to recover from the noblemen – if the Romans had not already done just this before him. After the end of the kingdom, the situation changed from bad to worse: even more negotiatores came in; on top of that, the publicani arrived, and together they plundered what was left.27 When people thought it could not really get worse, civil war broke out in Rome, and the East suffered again.28 By the time Augustus finally overcame his enemies and brought peace to the Roman world, most, if not all, of the Bithynian land that had been in the hands of indigenous noblemen, had fallen into the possession of Romans who, then, continued to enlarge their land-holdings.29 A good example of a family

The Rôle and Status of the Indigenous Population in Bithynia

89

which eventually acquired large and widespread land-holdings in Bithynia allows me to come back, so to speak, to my roots. In my very first article (Corsten 1985), I dealt with a family with the nomen Catilius. They bought or received land in Apameia, a city which was refounded as a Roman colony, and during the first century AD accumulated more and more estates to the extent that we find them eventually also in the region of Nikaia.30 As a consequence of these developments during the last phase of the kingdom and the early imperial period, the epigraphic record no longer attests people with Thracian personal names, i. e. Bithynians, as owners of large estates, but we find Romans in their place (and some men with Greek names). The formerly wealthy Bithynian land-owning élite must have joined the middle- and lower-class Thraco-Bithynian population, which is visible in the inscriptions of the Roman imperial period. Only Diliporis from near Nikaia seems to stand out as a fossil of a time gone by. Appendix: Inscriptions mentioning owners and/or administrators of estates 1) Nikaia (Die Inschriften von Nikaia = IK 9-10) 196: Philon, oikonomos of Claudia Gallita 205: Cl. Thallos, oikonomos of C. Claudius Calpurnianus 1062: Graptos, oikonomos of Annia Astilla 1201: Doryphoros, oikonomos of Cl. Eias 1203: P. Anteros, pragmateutes of P. Ta[-] Achaicus 1336: Quirinus, oikonomos of Euangelos 1413: Euangelos, oikonomos of Antipatris 1466: Eupraxia, oikonomissa of C. Catillius Claudianus Thraso EA 3, 1984, 105/6: Archelas, oikonomos of M. Scribonius Capitolinus 2) Nikomedeia (TAM IV.1) 70: Publius Vedius Cornelianus Strato (patron) 276: Gaius, oikonomos of Tryphon 3) Prusa (Die Inschriften von Prusa ad Olympum = IK 39-40) 68: Anthousa, oikonomissa of Timotheos 165: Hesperos, son of Hesperos, oikonomos of Tiberius Claudius Polio Phae­ drus 4) Kios (Die Inschriften von Kios = IK 29) 26 and����� �������� 27: δ μος τ ν Χαρμιδεαν ν 91: C. Caricus, oikonomos of a Claudius 105: L. Catillius Philom[-], πελεύθερος of a Catil(l)ius

90

Thomas Corsten

Notes 1 E. g. Herodotos 7.75; Thukydides 4.75.2; Xenophon, Hellenika 1.3.2; 3.2.2; Anabasis 6.4.2; Strabon 12.3.4; Arrian, Anabasis 1.29.5. – Cf. Detschew 1957, VI; Danov 1976, 6; 97. Cf. also F.K. Dörner, “Bithynia”, DkP 1.909; Mitchell 1993, I 175; Cohen 1995, 60; K. Strobel, “Bithynia”, DnP 2.698. 2 I have dealt with this question in a paper given at the LGPN colloquium “Old and New Worlds in Greek Onomastics” in Oxford in March 2003, which will be published in its proceedings (forthcoming). 3 IK 9/10.81: Diliporis (line 8), Rhaikosos (line 14 – if Thracian), Sallous (line 18), and Ziailas (line 19). 4 The rich family’s tomb monument is IK 9/10.1232 from Akçakaya/Geyve (2nd-3rd century AD): Diliporis; the others are: IK 9/10.1289 from Yukarı Kınık/Göynük (imperial period): Perobres; 1308 from Kayabaşı/Göynük (uncertain date, perhaps imperial period): Perobres, Ziailas; 1341 from Gözaçanlar/Gölpazarı (imperial period?): Biobris or Biobres; 1375 from Tekeciler/Gölpazarı (1st-2nd century AD): Lala (if this is a Thracian name); 1389 from Dereli/Gölpazarı (3rd-4th century AD): Lala; 1416 from Nasuhlar/Gölpazarı (2nd century AD): Dili[- -]; 1434 from Hüyük-Köy/Osmaneli (1st-2nd century AD): Skopes; 1592 from Necmiye/Bilecik (2nd century AD): Lala. 5 TAM IV.1, 8, perhaps from Nikomedeia (imperial period?): Moukaporis; 16 from Ihsaniye (122-27 AD): Diliporis; 17 from Ihsaniye (128-131 AD): Dil(l)iporis; 60 from Ishakcılar (98/99 AD): Mokazis; 62 from Akpınar (uncertain date, perhaps imperial period): Moukazes/os; 69 from Akpınar (uncertain date, perhaps imperial period): Mokazis; 84 from Sevindikli (uncertain date, perhaps imperial period): Zielas (?); 140 from Nikomedeia (imperial period?): Dada (if Thracian); 144 from Nikomedeia (uncertain date, perhaps imperial period): Moukazis; 182 from Sapanca (imperial period?): Doidalses/os; 218 from Kıyırlı (uncertain date, perhaps imperial period): Moukazis (?); 256 from Cumaköy (imperial period): Moukaporis; 363 from Karamatlı (uncertain date, perhaps imperial period): Moukaporis; Peschlow-Peschlow-Bindokat-Wörrle 2002, 440-441 no. 111 from north-western Bithynia (2nd century AD): Mokazis. 6 IK 39.56 (perhaps still late hellenistic); 73; 150. 7 IK 29.98 (Bioeris); p. 183 T 29 (honorary decree from Aptera on Crete for Dintiporis). It is not certain, whether the latter text mentions a citizen of Prusias ad mare (Kios) or Prusias ad Hypium; cf. IK 27 p. 204-205 T 9. 8 IK 29.72 (Diliporis); 111 (Mokazeis). 9 IK 9/10.1232. 10 IK 27.17 line 14 (with commentary); cf. Dion Chrys., Or. 45.13. Mitchell 1993 I 177-178; Fernoux 2004, 136-137; 341. – For the difference between citizens and country dwellers in Asia Minor cf. Schuler 1998, 195-196. 11 See appendix under “1) Nikaia”. I consider here and give in the appendix only those cases which are certain enough to base my argument upon. However, there are more inscriptions (here quoted after IK 9-10) that do or might testify to landholding in the territory of Nikaia. All (including those in my appendix) are listed in Fernoux 2004, 239-241. They fall into three groups, each of them with their own difficulties of interpretation. 1) There are several which do not mention the owners of the (possible) estates or where the man mentioned is only perhaps the owner: 192 (Italos, oikonomos, perhaps of Chrestos); in 1057, 1118, and 1292, no landlord is mentioned. 2) There are others where a patron is named of

The Rôle and Status of the Indigenous Population in Bithynia

91

whom we cannot know whether he was the owner of an estate: 1128 and 1131. 3) There are those where the people mentioned might just be the owners of (small) farms: 1380, 1411, 1511. Fernoux 2004, 238 note 18 excludes IK 9/10.196 since no provenance is given; it seems, however, sufficiently certain that the tombstone originates from the environs of Nikaia. 12 IK 9/10.1336; 1413. ��� 13 IK 9/10.205 (Cl. ����������������������������� Thallos). The administrator (pragmateutes) in IK 9/10.1203 is not a Roman citizen, since he his called P. Anteros and thus lacks a Roman nomen gentile. 14 See appendix under “2) Nikomedeia”. 15 ������������� TAM IV.1, 70. ����������������� 16 �������������� TAM IV.1, 276. �������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 17 Fernoux 2004, 241 mentions two further inscriptions which he considers uncertain in this respect: 1) TAM IV.1, 57: however, the stone does not come from Nikomedeia, but from Nikaia, and has since been republished with improved reading in EA 3, 1984, 105-106 (this is the last inscription mentioned in my appendix under “Nikaia”). 2) TAM IV.1, 150: the inscription is heavily damaged, and only the possible restoration of the word οίκονόμος would point to a context of landholding. 18 See appendix under “3) Prusa”. Fernoux 2004, 241 includes also IK 39.98, but since the two freedmen (one of them a πραγματευτής), ���� for whom the tombstone was erected in their hometown of Prusa, died in Syria, they were rather employees of a merchant. 19 See appendix under “4) Kios”. 20 ������������������������������������������������������������������������������ IK 29.26; 29.27; cf. Fernoux 2004, 136; 246. The ��������������������������������� name of the village has been explained by Robert 1937, 242-243; cf. Flam-Zuckerman 1972; IK 29 pp. 10-11; Mitchell 1993, I 161. The original owner of the land, after whom the δÁμος����� was named, may be mentioned in an inscription from a village in Bithynia which was until recently believed to belong to the territory of Klaudiopolis. The text has therefore been included in the corpus of this city (IK 31.117). However, following a suggestion by S. Şahin, C. Marek has studied the area in question (the ancient Modrene) and concluded that it should have belonged to Nikaia (he has also rediscovered the inscription IK 31.117 and (re-)published it as new in Marek 1997, 84 [SEG XLVII, 1481]). The inscription is the epitaph of a councillor of Nikaia with the name Χαρμίδης����� Χαρμίδου. ���� The supposed fact that this Nikaian councillor owned land in the territory of neighbouring Kios does not constitute an obstacle, since no law restricted the possession of land to one’s own home-town. That the δ μος��τ� ν���������� Χαρμιδεαν ��������� ν in fact lay within the territory of Kios (and not that of Nikaia), is borne out by the epitaph IK 29.100, found in the modern village of Yeniköy near the north-western corner of the Lake of Iznik (Nikaia). A clause at its end states that the fine for any violation of the tomb is to be paid to the city of Kios. Çeltikçi, where the inscriptions mentioning the �δÁμος τîν Χαρμιδεανîν were found, is situated between Kios and Yeniköy and must therefore also have belonged to the former; cf. IK 10.1 p. 4 and IK 29 p. 9. 21 IK 29.91. 22 IK 29.105. 23 For this period cf. e.g. the overviews of Vitucci 1953, 53-119; Harris 1980, 862-874; Fernoux 2004, 113-123; 167-185. 24 Polybios 21.11; Livy 37.25.

92

Thomas Corsten

25 Diodoros 36.3.1. Cf. Magie 1950, 318; Badian 1972, 87; Mitchell 1993, I 30; Debord 1998, 147. 26 Justin 38; Appian, Mithr. 11. Cf. Magie 1950, 319. 27 Mitchell 1993, I 160; Debord 1998, 150. According to Cicero, De lege agraria 2.40, Bithynia was in the hands of the Roman people: … regnum Bithynia, quod certe publicum est populi Romani factum … – As to the publicani, there is a controversy as to whether they arrived only at this time or whether they had already exercised their power in Bithynia during the last phase of the kingdom: Fernoux 2004, 115 holds the first view, arguing against Vitucci 1953, 101 and Badian 1972, 87, who favour the second. Thanks for several suggestions are due Amelia Dowler, Oxford. 28 Cassius Dio 42.49, 1. Cf. Fernoux 2004, 184-185. 29 Cf. Fernoux 2004, 185. 30 Corsten 1985; cf. Fernoux 2004, 247; Mitchell 1993, I 160.

Pliny’s Province1 Greg Woolf

Modern historians who specialise in the Roman provinces have a bad habit of treating ancient authors as if they are research assistants. For the southern shores of the Black Sea, Strabon and Arrian act as travel writers, with some local knowledge; Dion of Prusa provides vignettes of civic institutions; Lucian provides some racey anecdotes, and Pliny the Younger is deputed to compile an administrative archive that will offer an imperial perspective on local government. Once this mass of testimony has been assembled, and seasoned with choice inscriptions and a few monuments, historians typically lament the absence of witnesses they could not recruit – women, slaves, Scythians, merchants, peasants and so on. The objections to this procedure are well known, if often forgotten. No list of witnesses could ever be comprehensive. Worse, more information does not always lead to greater understanding (as our modernist colleagues, deluged with evidence as they are, remind us). Worst of all, our “witnesses” are not colleagues, their texts are not responses to our research questions, and at least some apparent resemblances between their texts and the products of modern scientific research are profoundly misleading. This chapter is not intended to be simply a reminder of these points, illustrated through discussion of book 10 of Pliny the Younger’s Letters. But the state of the secondary literature does mean that it is necessary to begin by showing that this text is not an administrative archive, that its arrangement is shaped by rhetorical and panegyrical ends, that it does not provide a normative model for relations or correspondence between a typical emperor and a typical governor (if such things existed); and that modern attempts to use Pliny’s Letters as a more or less straightforward guide to the metier of a Roman governor are unconvincing and misconceived. Making these points will be the function of section 1. But in the rest of this paper, I shall ask what sort of Black Sea province Pliny presented to his audience back home in Rome? What did he include and emphasize? What was omitted? How far does that distinction reflect a difference between the province he saw and the province that remained unseen by him? And how far is it the product of ideology, or of design? In interpreting the partialities of this text I will not be arguing that it is fictional, at least not in

94

Greg Woolf

any everyday sense. The credibility of Pliny’s account of Bithynia and Pontus has been spared the sceptical interrogation lavished on Herodotos’ account of the Black Sea.2 Recent scholarship has also largely rejected the extreme versions of that scepticism and also the parallel thesis that Ovid never set foot in Tomis.3 It is not entirely clear why suspicion surrounds these ancient accounts of the Black Sea region, in a way that it does not similar accounts of western provinces. Had the Euxine – however long it had been known, colonized and navigated – somehow acquired a particularly alien connotation in classical literature, rather like the wildness of the American Wild West? But Pliny’s Black Sea will emerge as domesticated as Ovid’s is wild, while Pliny’s Letters from Pontus express a contented proximity to the imperial court that contrasts strikingly with the tortured distance evoked by Ovid’s last compositions. None of this, I suggest, is by chance. The difference is only partly a matter of genre, prose rather than poetry, letters rather than inquiries. Ovid had made Letters into a vehicle for fantastic mythopoetics and Apuleius did the same in his prose evocations of Roman Greece. The selection of a genre is in any case a compositional technique, so no kind of explanation for the particularity of any text. If Pliny’s Letters are presented in terse and unadorned prose, clothed in factuality rather than in an air of the fantastic and the unreal, that is his deliberate choice. I emphasise choice and composition for another reason. Naïve readings of Pliny have often treated his work as in effect real correspondence, lightly polished perhaps, but in general usable as if it were documentary. Yet an appreciation of its textuality might lead to an opposite extreme, currently rather fashionable in readings of other texts of the early empire, in which they are read mainly for traces of empire, as exemplars of an imperial gaze or commentaries, intentional or otherwise, on their imperial situation. I shall argue that Pliny’s province is ideologically laden, in the sense that it reflects interested beliefs shared among the Latin-reading and province-governing elite around the imperial court. But those beliefs can be distinguished from the very deliberate rhetorical aims of this particular text and this author. My ambition, then, is to pilot Pliny into the Euxine on his own Argosy between the Kyanean Rocks of naïve literalism and of schematic post-colonialist readings, and bring him home with a Golden Fleece of Realien about Roman government and the southern shores of the Black Sea.

The nature of book 10 The common assessment of book 10 of Pliny’s Letters remains a version of that presented by Sherwin-White in his monumental commentary.4 Sherwin-White was convinced of their “authenticity as correspondence” by the undoubted historicity of the correspondents and especially by the mass of precise and particular details. He considered that the letters were “highly polished”, that Pliny wrote “under strong literary influence”, that some letters had been

Pliny’s Province

95

“elaborated” and that as a whole “the letters have developed from genuine letters, and within limits Pliny is faithful to the principle of authenticity”. Some of the more mundane letters could, according to Sherwin-White be checked by comparison with certain of the letters to Trajan, which like the rest of book 10 show no sign of literary revision, and have never been regarded as other than genuine letters.5 Sherwin-White’s view of the nature of books 1-9 was never completely ac­ cep­ted. Indeed, his project of writing an historical, social and economic commentary that dealt with as little literary matter as possible ran counter to some other trends in Plinian scholarship.6 He was certainly correct to note that signs of literary art and even direct references to other texts are to be expected in the most private correspondence between aristocrats steeped in literary culture. Yet the argument for authenticity from the impression of verisimilitude conjured up by a mass of convincing detail is a weak one: it would apply equally to Apuleius or even Dickens. Nor is the historicity of addressees a powerful argument, given that much Latin epistolography had, at least since Cicero, adopted the convention of addressing real individuals. Sherwin-White’s view seems in many cases to rest on a subjective reading, a profession to have been persuaded.7 Yet Pliny, as an accomplished orator, was a master of persuasion. More recently a mass of scholarship has offered a cumulative re-evaluation of the Letters as literature8. Most situate them firmly in the contexts of didactic epistolography and stress intertextual and other relationships with Ciceronian models and also with contemporary works such as Tacitus’ Dialogus de oratoribus and Quintilian’s Institutes as well as with Pliny’s Panegyricus. There is a new appreciation of the subtlety of Pliny’s self-representation, the artfulness with which his ethical, aesthetic and political agenda is advanced, and in particular the care with which addressees were selected, letters edited, and their arrangement within each book devised. Pliny’s self-exemplification like his fascination with memorialising the lives of himself and others (and with condemning the unworthy to oblivion) offers new didactic possibilities in letters that overtly disclaim philosophical or literary pretensions. As a result it is increasingly difficult to read Pliny’s Letters as an unselfconscious document of aristocratic life that offers unmediated contact with the thought world of Pliny and his peers. These studies have, however, been focused almost entirely on the first nine books of the Letters as were the more literary approaches to Pliny’s Letters criticised by Sherwin-White. He was quite correct to write that the tenth book had usually been regarded as quite different in kind. The tradition of treating book 10 as different is an old one, and one based on genuine differences. Pliny’s letters in book 10, unlike the others, have a single addressee, it is the only one to include exchanges between Pliny and his correspondent (Trajan), the book shows some stylistic differences from

96

Greg Woolf

the others,9 and much (but not all) of it concerns events that take place far from the City of Rome, and the rather sunny world of Trajanic Italy. There are also some differences in the transmission of book 10, although these are less clear-cut than sometimes represented.10 Wynne Williams’ excellent 1990 commentary on most of book 1011 – he excludes letters 1-14 that precede Pliny’s governorship – presents essentially the same view as Sherwin-White. Books 1-9 (and the first 14 letters of book 10) are “private”, “personal” prepared for publication by Pliny and are somewhat polished and selected for literary aims. The rest of book 10 are “public” letters, and are taken to be very much as he composed them. Williams accurately summarised the communis opinio when he writes that It is usually assumed that Pliny died suddenly in BP soon after writing 10.120, and that book 10 must have been collected and published by someone else (‘an editor’) in an unrevised form.12 This assumption is in fact a conjecture of Sherwin-White’s based on the fact that our epigraphic evidence for Pliny’s career shows no offices certainly later than his governorship, and that the book has seemed to many to break off sharply. Along with these views go the following: that the order of the letters to Trajan roughly preserves the order of composition; that although some responses are missing there are no major gaps in the sequence; and that the letters are unpolished, either by Pliny or his postulated literary executor. Combining all these views we arrive at the modern position, which treats the letters from Bithynia-Pontus as essentially equivalent to an archive of the total correspondence between one governor and the emperor. It would be wonderful if this were true. But there are many objections. First, as has always been realised, the unity of the tenth book depends not on the period of composition, nor on the subject matter of governing a province, but on the fact that it deals with Pliny’s epistolary relations with Trajan. In fact, the first fourteen letters of book 10 form a careful and appropriate introduction of this theme, beginning with congratulations to Trajan on his accession, going on to establish Pliny’s debt to Trajan (and status as a client), asserting the personal interest that Trajan has taken in Pliny from the very beginning of his most fortunate principate, and providing a resumé of Pliny’s career presented as a series of beneficia depending on Trajan. Trajanic propaganda motifs like indulgentia, and themes such as respect for the senate and the dawning of a new age, also appear. When Trajan first responds he begins by praising Pliny for doing his duty as a civis and a senator. More beneficia follow in letters 5 through 7 and are answered in 8 with the first appearance of imperial cult, a Leitmotiv of the tenth book as of the Panegyricus. The last pre-Bithynian letter congratulates Trajan on his recent victory, and ends with a prayer that the glory of the empire might be renewed and expanded by Trajan’s great virtues. It will be apparent now that there is a case to be made for at least the be-

Pliny’s Province

97

ginning of book 10 being treated as just as carefully composed as books 1-9. How plausible is it that an editor or literary executor made this arrangement after Pliny’s death? If he did not, how plausible is the argument that book 10 is effectively a file of letters published as they were found? Other objections can be made to reading the remaining letters in this way. If they were really not intended for publication, why are they so easily comprehensible (by contrast with Cicero’s actual correspondence from Cilicia which, like most real letters, presumes a good deal of shared information between correspondents)? Like the letters in book 9 and unlike Cicero’s private correspondence, each letter in book 10 has a unity of theme. And how do we explain the ordering, and the fact that no replies refer to more than one subject, given the journey time between Bithynia-Pontus and Rome? Why do Trajan and Pliny always emerge so well from the correspondence if it was not written for a public eye? And why do the letters, when gathered together as they are, create such a well-rounded narrative? My answer, of course, is that book 10 is much more similar to the other books than has been acknowledged, that its relationship to actual correspondence is just as remote and that we are (still) dealing with issues of selfrepresentation. The difference is that Pliny has worked a new variation on what was an apparently successful epistolary formula, adapting it so that it no longer models a set of idealised moral, literary and political transactions within the Roman imperial elite, but instead models the proper relationship between “the ideal emperor and the ideal senator”.13 It is an idealised relationship of course, one where the senator forever defers and the princeps forever concedes, one articulated by unequal exchanges, but exchanges conducted within the elaborate language of patronage. Pliny’s text elaborates an ideology of active participation, portraying a partnership that works in the interest of the provincials and the empire. Like the positions created in books 1-9 we can understand Pliny’s concerns as both immediate and topical on the one hand – well suited to the circumstances of Trajan’s principate and the aftermath of Domitian’s – and on the other hand generalisable, contributing like all imperial panegyric to a blue-print for good government as the senate saw it. The inclusion of Trajan’s responses gives it the quality of a dialogue. Perhaps this is not so surprising given the role of dialogue in the philosophical writing of Pliny’s admired Cicero, and one effect is to dramatise their relations, rather like the tense exchanges between emperors and senators in Tacitus’ Annals. Except that in the Letters we are in a world of ideals, where imperial and aristocratic virtues form easy alliances rather than come into inevitable conflict, and for most of the book we are far from the claustrophobic politics of Rome.

A very Roman province Let us begin with the question of audience. Perhaps the most obvious intended first readers were those for whom the first nine books of Letters 1-9 were

98

Greg Woolf

written. It seems reasonable to imagine that this group included, but was not limited to, the addressees. Of these there were just over a hundred, nearly half of them senators, the rest equites or members of municipal aristocracies (especially those from the Italian Lakes area where Pliny himself originated), almost all male, and almost all from Italy rather than the provinces.14 Beyond this group, we might envisage readers of similar class and background, and perhaps also a slightly broader social group since the Letters stand out in the Latin literature of the period for their accessibility and the absence of esoteric allusions and the other markers of a literary culture of exclusion.15 Educated along the lines advocated by Quintilian, Pliny’s readers had learned Roman imperialism from Virgil and Latin prose from Cicero. Among them, those of higher status knew something of provincial government from personal experience, since military service remained a rite of passage for the young males of equestrian and senatorial status. A few were former governors, legates of various sorts or procurators. Others aspired to those positions. Yet very few of Pliny’s readers were likely to have expert knowledge of the Roman Black Sea, and they approached Pliny’s tenth book without the modern aids we take for granted: commentaries, atlases, prosopographical reference works, synopses of Hellenistic history, a great nineteenth and twentieth century literature on “provincial administration” and the like. And because they approached it with expectations drawn from the first nine books they were in for some surprises. I have already described how the book introduces its theme, Pliny and Trajan, from the initia felicissimi principatus. Achronicity is immediately flagged, for book ten has more or less the same chronological starting point as book one. Instead of a sequel we are offered a parallel supplement, rather like the second and third volumes of Lawrence Durrell’s Alexandria Quartet which retell the events of the first novella from the different perspectives offered by other characters. As the reader gets to know the protagonists of book 10, he or she receives a frisson of excitement when for the first time in all the Letters Pliny becomes the recipient of a letter, and one from the optimus princeps of all people! Pliny’s glorious career appears anew. The distant emperor of the first nine books comes sharply into focus. The elaborate patron-client relations that pervade the first nine books are at last completed with the appearance of the ultimate patron, now for the first time revealed as the font of much of Pliny’s bounty. Pliny, that is, in the presence of Trajan presents himself as broker more than patron.16 Then, with letter 15, we suddenly find Pliny heading eastwards, rounding Cape Malea and crossing the Aegean to Ephesos en route for an as yet unnamed province, revealed only in letter seventeen as Bithynia. Note the lack of precision in the provincial title: Pliny hardly mentions Pontus in his letters and often refers to the province as Bithynia and its inhabitants as Bithynians. More on this anon. The Letters as a whole are all about self-presentation. Pliny portrays himself throughout book ten as energetic, loyal and eager. Gone is the reflective

Pliny’s Province

99

aristocrat musing on the virtues of scholarly otium, elegantly balancing his social obligations with his literary aspirations, or else writing mischievous reproaches to his peers. In letter 16 Pliny is making haste, already hard at work on the finances of Prusa, despite the fact that he claims to be writing immediately on his arrival. The next two letters (17 and 18) introduce the main themes of the book, the loyalty of the provincials, the foresight of the emperor, the diligence of the governor and the energy expended by both for the benefit of the provincials. Their gratitude, when it appears next, is precisely an expression of the gift-exchange between rulers and ruled which Simon Price has made the key to understanding the imperial cult.17 Note too that in Trajan’s response in letter 17, he finds time to advertise his great building projects in Rome. The next exchange addresses the perennial hot potato of the role of soldiers in peaceful provinces. Pliny and Trajan concur in preferring to use civilians where possible, Pliny faithfully transmits the message to the praefectus of the ora Pontica, Trajan approves his action and backs him up, ending the correspondence with the sententia that “Public interest should always be the priority and soldiers should be removed from their units as rarely as possible” (10.20). But I will not go on here to offer a reading of each exchange as it arises, although the way the character of imperial rule is revealed through successive elaborations on the basic themes is indeed interesting. Not only does it offer a quasi-narrative of Pliny’s first year in office but it also conforms to a principle well established in the first nine books of the Letters, that of varietas – varying the subject matter frequently in an apparently random fashion, one which conceals some significant juxtapositions. As in the other books, there are also intratexts that establish a thematic unity for the Tenth Book, and give it some direction. Instead, I want to pick out a few of the ways Pliny’s text Romanises Bithynia-Pontus. For a start there are many continuities with some of the ethical and political preoccupations of Letters 1-9 and with those of the Panegyricus too. All ten books are preoccupied with the proper ordering of society, and the emperor is the ultimate guarantor of that order. Most important to Pliny and his readers are the relations between members of the imperial elite, and the political roles appropriate to them under the principate. Throughout the Letters – none of which were written under Domitian or Nerva – Trajan’s reign is portrayed as a period of prosperity and calm, of urban munificence and social justice. Bithynia, in all these respects, is an extension into the provinces of Pliny’s analysis of Rome and Italy. The senatorial, equestrian and municipal elites of the peninsula are revealed to be only some of the beneficiaries of the new age, and they are partners in rolling out Trajanic order. One key theme that becomes prominent from letter 56 onwards and which also points back to preoccupations of Letters 1-9, is the relationship of Pliny and Trajan’s rule to past decisions, especially those of Pliny’s predecessors as governor (in the trials of two of whom Pliny had been involved18) and Trajan’s as emperor.

100

Greg Woolf

Naturally some of the matters were genuinely important, especially given the authority often accorded to precedent both in general and explicitly by Pliny and Trajan in this book. But there is also a connection with a key concern of the first three books of Pliny’s Letters: how far does Trajan’s break with the Domitianic past go? Will there be new trials of former delators? Are all Domitianic precedents automatically abrogated? And what will happen to those who did well under Domitian? Revisited in Pliny’s tenth book, these issues lead the correspondents back through the governorships of Julius Bassus, Julius Calvus, to Velius Paulus and the principates of Nerva and Domitian. Perhaps the interest in Pompey’s Law is the natural culmination of this process, since Pompey provides Pliny’s Province with its Year Zero. Epigraphic evidence and the odd literary text makes clear that Hellenistic arbitrations and claims based on early historical, mythical and poetical authorities were common.19 Yet Pliny’s Bithynia is entirely a Roman artefact, and its social order utterly Roman. Then again, consider the places and people mentioned in the course of the Letters. By letter 22 only one location within the province has been mentioned – Prusa – and only one individual, Gavius Bassus, the prefect of the Pontic Shore. The next individual named is another member of the Roman administration, the legatus Servilius Pudens whose arrival at the city of Nikomedeia is reported in letter 25. Letter 26 is a testimonial for a senatorial protégé, Rosianus Geminus and is unrelated to the affairs of the province. This is a good reminder for us of how shaky is the distinction between book 10 and the rest of Pliny’s Letters, but for a Roman reader perhaps a sign that Pliny’s geographical remoteness does not make him neglect his officia within the Roman elite. Geminus is also a cadre of similar rank to Bassus, and both are in fact veterans of Trajan’s wars. Letter 27 introduces an imperial freedman Maximus, a procurator en route to fetch corn from Paphlagonia, a group of beneficiarii and Maximus’ superior, a more senior procurator Gemellinus. Letter 29 presents Sempronius, a junior officer, removing slaves from his recruits. Plinian varietas is at work. Alongside the parade of energetic Roman officials we observe in both incidents Trajan’s and Pliny’s insistence that slaves and exslaves be kept in their proper place. Tyrants, notoriously, failed to respect the order of things, giving slaves and freedmen power and precedence over free and freeborn. That theme, which evokes a trope of Domitianic and Claudian tyranny mentioned elsewhere in the Plinian corpus,20 is prolonged in letters 31 to 33 which concern the proper treatment of men once sentenced to hard labour or the arena whom Pliny discovers are doing the job of public slaves in Nikaia and Nikomedeia. At this point, the only cities to have been mentioned are Prusa, Nikomedeia and Nikaia, the great centres of the Hellenistic kingdom of Bithynia. There is a real contrast here with the listing of exotic Pontic toponyms and eth­nonyms in Arrian’s Periplus written in the next reign, with its constant reference to Xenophon’s march into the unknown, and to peoples like the Colchians fa-

Pliny’s Province

101

miliar from myth. Those myths had been made popular by numerous Greek and Latin Argonautica poems and tragedies on the theme of Medea, some of them composed in Flavian Rome by Pliny’s aristocratic peers. Lucian’s Alexander, set largely in Pontus, also makes a good deal of its remoteness and the superstition of the Paphlagonians who inhabit the hinterland of Abonouteichos. Yet Pliny’s province of Greek cities remains the focus of his attention throughout the tenth book. Other cities do eventually appear. Klaudiopolis, formerly Bithynium, in letter 43, then Byzantium, and Apameia in 47-48, both in the context of the inspection of their finances. But we remain mostly in old cities of the Bithynian west. Pontic cities appear in letter 75 where a Pontic benefactor leaves money to Herakleia and Tios, in 90 and 91 on the water supply of Sinope and in 92-93 on the autonomy of Amisos. A series of letters looking back to Pompey’s lex provinciae appear in the sequence 108-112, but Bithynia soon reappears as shorthand for Bithynia-and-Pontus. Nor do a mass of individuals whose names immediately declare them provincials appear in subsequent letters. A few grandees from the great Bithynian cities, mostly Roman citizens, have walk-on parts: Flavius Archippos, Claudius Eumolpus, Dion Cocceianus, Claudius Polyaenus. But Pliny’s main concern remains with the Romans in his province. It is not new, of course, to point out that Pliny offers a partial account of Bithynia-Pontus. There is less agreement on the reasons for this partiality. For those who see the correspondence as a more or less faithful record of the preoccupations of Pliny the governor, this partiality reflects his experience.21 More generally, the focus on the cities of the Bithynian west has been used to support the speculative thesis that Pliny was sent out with special financial responsibilities because of crises in the Bithynian cities, and in this respect differed from “normal” governors. This hypothesis is not really testable, given the absence of external evidence for Pliny’s activities as governor and the paucity of comparanda from other governors’ careers. The letters that do refer to Pliny checking civic finances sit alongside letters on many other matters: he was also especially concerned with building, with the role of the military, and also with the proper observance of cult. Yet Pliny’s focus on the Bithynian west may well give a realistic impression of the priorities of the province’s governors, whether it represents a detailed log of his actual experience or is simply a plausible representation of it. The location of conventus (assize) centres in many provinces – among them Baetica, Cyrenaica, Egypt and Asia – makes it clear that governors did spend most of the time in the more urbanised portions of their provinces. Bithynia had about twice as many cities as Pontus, and the largest were far more populous.22 Pontus and Paphlagonia had many analogues elsewhere in the empire as vast underdeveloped internal hinterlands, areas from which men, timber and grain might be extracted, but where Roman government was otherwise far from intrusive. And as in modern colonial situations, the grandest local elites must have drawn attention and energy to themselves through their greater politi-

102

Greg Woolf

cal prominence and better access to governmental circles. The list of known equestrians attested from the province includes 18 from Bithynia but only 6 from Pontus.23 The list of senators certainly from the province includes 14 from Bithynia, among them the historians Arrian and Dion Cassius, but only 3 from Pontic cities.24 So before convicting Pliny of deliberately turning a blind eye, we much take account of the real limitations of the gubernatorial gaze. Governors saw cities rather than villages because they spent most time in cities, and the journeys they made around their provinces were along major rather than minor roads, along the coastal plains (or even by sea) rather than through the wooded uplands of districts like northern Anatolia. Governors knew Romans by name since they depended so heavily on their subordinates, slaves and ex-slaves to bring information and implement their decisions. By the same token, the provincials they knew best were prominent male members of urban elites, perhaps especially that growing group who spoke Latin as well as Greek. Perhaps too the largely supervisory role of the Roman governor drew their attention to wealth and power, since it was conflicts over civic finances and tensions between the super-wealthy and other members of civic élites that were most likely to disturb the Roman government. Yet the very tranquillity of Pliny’s governorship arouses suspicions. One of the achievements of the new Plinian scholarship is the demonstration of how closely Pliny established Cicero as a model for his own life and literary production.25 Pliny’s letters are not very like the rather unpolished letters Cicero sent back from Cilicia. One major contrast is between the high degree of closure and unity of theme evident in each exchange between Trajan and Pliny, compared to Cicero’s letters which often treat several issues, and frequently leave them unresolved. Perhaps a Roman reader comparing the two might note more dysfunction in Cicero’s account, and more emphasis on the clash of interests between different Romans in the province, between metropolitan interests and local concerns, and even the way the provincials seemed often to lose out. Tacitus’ famous negative verdict (Ann. 1.2) on provincial government under the Republic shows that at least some senators of Pliny’s day were well aware of the failings of that system. Pliny’s epistolary account of provincial government is utterly opposite in its emphasis. Emperor and senator work together, supported by an excellent cast of smaller players, and the provincials are enriched, protected and cherished by the co-operative efforts of their rulers. Pliny had perhaps a better Ciceronian model in the rather more idealised letter to Quintus which in effect describes the virtues of a governor26. Pliny had already essayed a short version of this in his much discussed letter to Maximus en route to govern the free cities of Achaea (8.22). That letter picks up a number of Ciceronian themes – the Greeks as authors of humanitas, their decayed present state, the good treatment owed to them on this account and the obligation on a governor to live up to his own virtues and so on. Much of book ten is an

Pliny’s Province

103

exemplification of these themes, but it also generalises them so they may be applied to any province. The Greekness of the Bithynians is hardly alluded to. Trajan at one point (10.40) opines gymnasiis indulgent Graeculi and a few Greek institutions are mentioned in passing – threptoi (65) and eranoi (92) – but in general the specificity of the Bithynians’ situation is played down. We might even see Pliny as contributing to a long running discourse on the virtues and role of a governor, one in which the legal innovations of Scaevola, Cicero’s letter to his brother, Tacitus’ Agricola and Ulpian’s On the Office of Proconsul might all be inserted. It is hardly a surprise that this was a source of anxiety,27 given the general interest of Roman aristocrats in the ethical basis of their conduct; given the stimulus provided by Stoicism to examine the virtues appropriate to one’s role in life; and given the relatively large proportion of the senatorial and equestrian elite who at one point or another in their careers would find themselves serving the emperor in the provinces in one capacity or another. At least one commonplace of these texts was the great variety of functions a governor might be called on to perform. The epistolary format offered Pliny the means of presenting his officium as a montage of images: the governor concerned about foundlings, the governor dealing with religious conflict, the governor coming to the rescue of the burning city, the governor receiving envoys from friendly kings beyond the province, the governor officiating in the imperial cult and so on. Even so, it is striking what is absent from this montage, missing images which we can supply from Cicero’s Cilician letters and from numerous anecdotes in historical texts. The governor at loggerheads with his procurator, the civic squabbles that cannot be resolved because the truth is obscure or the protagonists too well connected in Rome, the Roman troublemakers whose connections in the capital make them invulnerable to gubernatorial regulation, the governor accused of peculation or cruelty, the governor embarrassed by the behaviour of his family and entourage, the atrocities perpetrated in remote hinterlands by soldiers, publicans or imperial freedmen… who must nevertheless be supported in the name of Rome.28 These omissions were not invisible to the gubernatorial gaze, indeed they were all too obvious to it. It is inconceivable that none of these issues arose during Pliny’s governorship. His decision to mention no problems that could not be resolved at once must have been deliberate. This partiality strengthens the impression that the ethical themes common to Letters 1-9 and the tenth book are not simply the product of a single mind writing on two different themes. Pliny’s province has been carefully constructed and carefully edited, and book ten of the Letters is not a collection of confidential despatches from the Euxine front. It is an artfully constructed image of the good aristocrat in his province, and of the best of emperors in Rome.

104

Greg Woolf

Pliny and Black Sea Studies What are the implications of these arguments for the study of Roman government on the southern shores of the Black Sea? Clearly we have to abandon the modern fantasy that these letters are as good as a papyrological archive, a precious chance to look over the shoulder of a governor at work. But the tenth book of Letters does offer us glimpses of the ideology of Roman government, of the immediate context of Pliny’s epistolary project, and perhaps too of the view of Pontos from Rome. First then, Pliny’s text certainly reflects the attitudes and ideologies of his class. Perhaps most striking is how easily the ethics of provincial government could be presented as simply an extension of the domestic virtues of the aristocrat. Like all colonial administrators in every empire, Roman governors brought preconceptions and habits of mind with them to the provinces. But Roman administrators never spent as long in their stations as did those of nineteenth-century empires. Their rapid circulation back to the centre was more analogous to that of modern diplomats, who rarely stay in post long enough to lose their institutional and national viewpoint, and spend much of their time abroad closeted with compatriots and fellow diplomats. Diplomats today, as a result, rarely “go native” in the way some colonial administrators were believed to in modern British and French empires. Roman administrators, too, seem neither to have adopted local customs and tastes, nor to have developed any special identity like those created in the colonial services of the bureaucratic empires created by European nation-states. Pliny is as Roman in Bithynia-Pontus as he is in Rome or Comum… or at least knows how to convey that impression. The limits of using book ten of the Letters to explore a gubernatorial ideology are set by the extent to which Pliny’s governorship is the product of careful rhetorical design. Both his Ciceronianism and his careful partiality would have been noticed and appreciated by his most obvious first readers. There is no question of these Letters serving a propagandistic function. Very few in the Greek world would read them. The Roman élite themselves were well aware from their experience as well as their reading of quite how messy provincial government might be on the ground, quite what awkward moral compromises governors had to make, quite how difficult it was to deal with certain difficulties. As with Letters books 1-9, Pliny offered a beguiling and reassuring idealisation that may have comforted some readers and amused others. Imperial ideology often offers rulers a beguiling and reassuring view of their roles. But for some readers, it was perhaps effective mostly as a cunning variation on the epistolary conventions established in the first nine books, and as yet another deft reworking of Ciceronian themes. More serious perhaps was the panegyrical intent of the Letters, the proclamation that Trajan so exercised his officium as emperor that it made it possible, even easy, for an aristocrat to govern his province virtuously. Pliny’s

Pliny’s Province

105

epistolary dialogue is a complement to Tacitus’ near contemporary exploration in the Agricola of the limits set on gubernatorial virtue by a tyrant in Rome. At the time of its likely publication it also contributed to the topical needs of Trajan’s regime to establish itself as a new start, as un-Domitianic and as a partnership with enlightened members of the senate29. And Pontos itself? Pliny could certainly have written up his time in Bithy­ nia-Pontus is other ways. Strabon, Ovid, Lucian offer contrasting views in which the particularity of the Black Sea World and the exoticism of some of its more marginal regions is stressed or exploited. Roman readers would have known, whether they had visited the Euxine or not, that there was always local colour. Lucian has a Roman governor among those who visited the oracular shrine of Glycon at Pontic Abonouteichos.30 An interest in local cults was not uncommon for Roman governors: several governors of Macedonia were initiated at Samothrake and others at Eleusis. Tourist visits to the Pyramids in Egypt by prefects and members of the imperial family are well attested. There are many anecdotes involving governors in Philostratos’ Lives of the Sophists. Pliny the Elder lists many Roman officials who became interested in local fish stocks or geography or collected art-works. And a great and largely unrecorded crowd of governors presumably spent their time dining, hunting and intriguing with the locals. It is no surprise that Pliny presents his gubernatorial self as a workaholic, or rather that the varieties of otium that featured in his other letters are almost absent from book 10. Like other governors, he often appears like a miniature version of one idealisation of the emperor working long hours, receiving petitions, adjudicating conflicts and often on the move. But Pliny does more than efface his leisure from his account of his governor’s life. The province itself is made characterless. No forests and wild shores, no historic sites or crumbling temples, no strange uncivilised peoples appear. Arrian’s view of the Euxine coast is completely different, much more like the colour with which Tacitus renders Agricola’s province untamed and unknown. Bithynia-Pontus is domesticated, in deference to the completeness of Roman and Trajanic success (unlike the incompleteness of Domitianic Britain). But it is also generalised. I have suggested already that this contributes to Pliny’s didactic aim, to the exemplary role he has chosen for himself. Pliny might be any governor, his subjects any group of provincials. Perhaps too it reflects an ideology of provincial rule as the application of general virtues, rather than the work of knowledgeable specialists. But it also expresses an often unremarked feature of Roman engagement with their empire, one that distinguishes Roman imperial culture from that of more modern empires.31 The experience of modern empire reflects a fascination with the exotic, a desire to engage with the strangeness of foreign lands that took sexual, gastronomic, aesthetic, poetic, architectural, scientific and even mystical forms. Romans seem to have had none of this appetite for the alien. Britain, Africa or Germany might be exoticised, but in formulaic and schematic ways for

106

Greg Woolf

immediate rhetorical effect, not as an attempt to capture the authentic difference of the alien. Pliny’s province too was merely a canvas, one that might be rendered schematically domesticated or wild according to need. But it posed no imaginative challenge for him, in the way that mapping the virtue of an imperial aristocracy evidently did. Notes 1 This paper is much improved by the kind, encouraging and critical comments of other participants in the conference held at Esbjerg in January 2005 and by those of Roy Gibson, Dominic Rathbone and of course Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen. All have saved me from many errors and some exaggeration. Section 1 on the nature of book 10 of Pliny’s Letters summarises arguments presented to the audience of the Walsh Lecture at the University of Chicago in 2005 which will be published more fully elsewhere. My thanks to that audience too. 2 For the modern debate since Armayor 1978, see Hartog 1988, Fehling 1989, Pritchett 1993 and most helpfully Cartledge and Greenwood 2002. 3 For a succinct statement and elegant analysis see Williams 1994, 3-49 with interesting comments on the air of unreality with which Ovid’s exile poetry cloaks Tomis. 4 Sherwin-White 1966, 11-20. Sherwin-White’s decision to mount a defence of “The Authenticity of the Letters as Correspondance” recognised a range of different views on the letters current at the time of the composition of his commentary. His magisterial Commentary’s influence has survived a hostile reception exemplified by Jones 1968, as well as more appreciative reviews like that of Veyne 1967. 5 Sherwin-White 1966, 12. 6 E.g. Guillemin 1929, Butler 1970. 7 Lilja 1970 also argues for the “reality” of the “private” letters in books 1-9 but also challenges the legitimacy of the distinction between “real” and “literary” letters and gathers a mass of evidence that shows Pliny’s awareness of the stylistic conventions of epistolography. She seems to me to place undue emphasis on the lack of explicit discussion of publication or performance within the Letters. 8 From a growing recent bibliography see in particular, Eco 1985, Murgia 1985, Leach 1990, Riggsby 1995, 1998, Gunderson 1997, Ludolph 1997, Hoffer 1999, Henderson 2002 and the essays collected by Roy Gibson and Ruth Morello in Arethusa 2003 (36.2). 9 Gamberini 1983 documents formal differences. The difficulty is distinguishing differences that reflect the contrast between “public” or “literary” letters as opposed to “private” or “real” letters from those that might reflect the different persona Pliny creates for himself as he moves to letters that reflect his officia towards the emperor. 10 Until 1502 no editions of the correspondance include book 10, but of the three main early Codices one (Florentinus) breaks off early in book 6, another (Dresdensis) comprises books 1-7 and 9 but neither 8 nor 10 and only the third (Mediceus) contains books 1-9. Pliny’s letter on the Christians at least was known by Tertullian and Eusebius. When Symmachus’ letters were edited in the early fifth century they were arranged into ten books, the last consisting of letters (relationes) to the emperor, strongly implying a ten book edition was known in late antiquity. Discussion in Hardy 1889, Stout 1954 and Reynolds 1983.

Pliny’s Province

107

11 Williams 1990, 2-5. Compare Hardy 1889, v: “Pliny’s Letters to Trajan have little share in the literary interest of his other correspondance.” 12 Williams 1990, 2. 13 Hoffer 1999, 5-10 bringing out the centrality of this theme to both the Letters and the Panegyricus. 14 Birley 2000, 17-21 for a very helpful analysis. 15 Woolf 2003 on some of these issues. 16 Saller 1982 on the distinction between patrons who can deliver beneficia themselves and brokers whose service is to put clients in touch with those whose can supply favours. 17 Price 1984. 18 Letters 4.9 for the trial of Julius Bassus; 5.20, 6.5, 6.13, 6.29, 7.6 and 7.10 for that of Varenus Rufus. 19 Jones 1999 for a short account. 20 Pliny Letters 7.29 and 8.6 on Pallas’ power under Claudius, 3.14 on Larcius Macedo the senator unable to escape his inherited and inherent servile nature. Panegyricus 88 claims that most emperors were slaves of their freedmen until Trajan. 21 Sherwin-White tried to reconstruct Pliny’s travels around his province on the basis of the order in which individual cities appear, but this seems difficult to square with letter 33 in which Pliny claims to have been touring the province when a first broke out in Nikomedeia, unless we are to imagine this tour uneventful or at least giving rise to no letters. 22 On the relative urbanisations of Bithynia and Pontus see Sherwin-White 1967, 525-29, Williams 1990, 12-13 drawing heavily on Jones 1971 (or on the first edition of 1937 and the second edition of 1971). Marek 2003 offers a vivid and up to date synthesis of the province. 23 Demougin 1999. For comparison Cappadocia has a single example, Galatia and Pisidia 41, Cilicia 7, Pamphylia 22, Lycia 9 and Asia 176. Differential impact of colonisation is part of the explanation, but the figures are otherwise provide a crude indication of the integration of local élites into the imperial aristocracy. Fernoux 2004, 416-89 provides detailed discussion of a larger number of Bithynian (but not Pontic) senators and equestrians, but one that includes many that he and or Demougin regard as only probably or possibly of Bithynian origin. But his figures show very clearly how few local notables had entered the equestrian and senatorial orders during the first century AD and how rapid progress was in the first decades of the second century. 24 Halfmann 1982, 39-41 (and see preceding note). 25 ���������������������������������� E.g. Riggsby 1995, Henderson 2001. ���������� 26 Cicero To his brother Quintus 1.1 27 “Anxiety” in the sense in which it is used by Hoffer 1999 that is. 28 Braund 1989 for an interesting discussion. 29 For this reason, the objection to this reading of book 10 that it would have been dangerous or unacceptable to make any changes to Trajan’s own letters seems to me to have no force. It is impossible to ascertain the authorship of Trajan’s letters but Pliny has certainly reordered them if he has not modified them or even composed them himself in the same way Cicero put words into the mouth of Quintus, Atticus and others in his philosophical dialogues. Christian writers certainly believed Trajan’s words to be genuine, and perhaps they were. But the essential point is to recognise that Book 10 emerged from within the Trajanic

108

Greg Woolf

regime, was written by an insider and presented a view of Trajan wholly in accord with his self-representation in other media. 30 Lucian Alexander or the False Prophet 27 on Severianus. Another governor plays only a slightly less discreditable role in chapter 57. 31 I intend to return to this theme at length elsewhere.

Local Politics in an Imperial Context Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

1. Formal and informal politics The Roman Empire was an empire of cities. There were few truly large ci­ ties, but hundreds and thousands of smaller poleis and civitates, each of them a replica, on a small scale, of the great urbs itself. We are fortunate to have a vast array of sources for local government in the Empire generally and for Asia Minor in particular. Nearly all, however, derive from the sphere of formal politics: magistracies, public contracts, honorific decrees, legislation. These activities involve only a minority of the city population, the political class. This banal observation should be kept in mind because the focus of our research is so easily constrained by the focus of our sources. The latest work on the subject, for instance, the admirable volume by Henri-Louis Fernoux on local politics in Hellenistic and Roman Bithynia, is sub-titled Essai d’histoire sociale, yet explicitly limits itself to dealing with the elite, as Fernoux calls them, the notables. Now a moment’s reflection will make it clear that formal or “visible” politics, the aspects of local politics revealed by our sources, can only represent the tip of a much larger iceberg. For proof, one can study the parallel of the urbs itself, where the Annals of Tacitus provide a chronicle of informal wheeling and dealing, rumours and alliances, backbiting, envy, revenge and denunciation within the political class. We have no comparable political chronicle for any other city of the Empire, but there are a few places where political life at the informal or sub-formal level shows through and becomes visible. One is Pompeii in Campania, thanks to the large number of electoral graffiti that have been preserved;1 another is Prusa ad Olympum in Bithynia, where we possess a collection of municipal speeches by a local politician, the orator Dion of Prusa. Despite its many ambiguities and textual problems, this body of texts, when combined with the epigraphic evidence, provides some fascinating glimpses of municipal politics at the lower levels. They can be grouped under four main headings: the power of money; the power of minor municipal officials; the power of Rome; the power of rumour and innuendo.

110

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

1.1 The power of money The phenomenon of municipal cash crises in Greek cities is a familiar one. The exasperated tone of Pliny’s letters from Bithynia might lead us to believe that the financial disarray of the cities under his tutelage was unique, but in fact financial disorder seems to have been the rule rather than the exception. The city of Prusa was a recent foundation when it experienced its first major cash crisis, evidenced by an inscription of the 180’s or 170’s BC (IK 40.1) in which the city council records the generosity of a former epistatês or city commander. The text is fragmentary, but clearly states how the city had borrowed a sum of money from the epistatês to cover current expenses. Now the epistatês has generously waived the interest that was due on the loan. This indicates that the sum was a substantial one and would take some time to repay. Writing from Cilicia a century later in his capacity as provincial governor, Cicero relates how the city council of Salamis in Cyprus have contracted a debt which they are finding difficult to repay – not surprisingly, since their Roman creditor, Brutus, is charging an annual interest of 48% (Letters to Atticus 6.1). Roman governors or specially appointed curatores would try to set city finances in order from time to time, and Pompey’s decision to redistribute the lands of Pontos (Strabon 12.3.1), thus presumably also of Bithynia, among the city territories may have been intended to increase the revenue basis of individual cities.2 But it was not only a question of insufficient resources, but also of underlying structural problems. The ancients had no banks and little knowledge of cash flow analysis, so unpredictable periods of cash shortage might be matched by periods with a surplus of cash.3 In a budgetary crisis, the average citizen would neither want to contribute more nor to go without the amenities of urban life; the rich, for their part, preferred to contribute on an ad hoc basis in the form of benefactions and grants that earned the gratitude and compliance of the city in return, rather than through taxes. In politics, however, there is no such thing as a free drink; and the recurrence and unpredictability of cash crises combined with high civic ambitions left many cities at the mercy of their so-called benefactors, a phenomenon that has been highlighted in the classic study by Paul Veyne (1976) and within the Danish Black Sea Centre is being studied by Trine Madsen.

1.2 The power of minor officials Apart from the prestigious magistracies, a city in Roman Asia Minor would also have some minor elected officials, as well as a number of subordinate functionaries. That some of the latter were of low status or slaves does not exclude them from the sphere of power. The magistrates of small provincial cities had other demands on their time than politics; living outside the city itself, as many Bithynian nobles did, they would often be absent. This in turn

Local Politics in an Imperial Context

111

offered greater scope for decision-making by subordinate officials, just as in modern university departments, the locus of real power is often the departmental secretariat, simply because the secretary is nearly always available for advice, whereas the professors are absent from the department for much of their time. Two other factors would enhance the power of minor officials. One is that they could control access to the decision-makers. From Rome itself, we hear of imperial servants taking bribes in return for the chance to meet the emperor.4 In the provinces, a governor’s servants might offer to use their influence with their master in return for a bribe.5 Do we have any reason to assume that local city officials and provincial court clerks were less corrupt? Another aspect is that being involved in the daily business of the city on a long-term basis, the minor functionaries would know its recent history, its records, its rules of procedure and its financial obligations better than the annual magistrates. Finally, there is the question of literacy. We tend to assume that the urban lower classes of Roman Asia were literate after a fashion, but they might nonetheless need assistance when dealing with official paperwork, filing a petition or the like.

1.3 The power of Rome The formal source material provides an incomplete and one-sided picture of Greek perceptions of the ruling power: hostile attitudes are very rarely found in inscriptions, not because they were not voiced in public, but because writing them down could be dangerous. Hostility directly expressed in writing is rare and would generally be found only in private correspondence between individuals, or between individuals and deities – one of the few examples preserved down to the present is a defixio of a citizen of Kourion in Cyprus who put a curse on the Roman governor in connection with a court case.6 In fact, the judiciary was precisely the sphere where a provincial would be most likely to come into direct contact with the ruling power. It was only the elite and the propertied middle classes, however, who had the means and connections to involve themselves in litigation.7 For civil cases, the less affluent would prefer the cheaper alternative of arbitration8 and if they ever found themselves in the governor’s court, it would probably be in the unpleasant position of the defendant. The relationship of the provincial cities to their governor was highly asymmetrical. In his oration 46, one of his earliest, Dion likens the relation of the governor to the cities to that of a schoolmaster to his pupils (Or. 46.14) In a later speech, he emphasizes how disunity among the cities plays into the hands of the governor (Or. 38.38) – but given Dion’s eclectic style of argumentation and ambivalent attitude to Roman rule in general, we cannot conclude the converse, that a united front by the cities would have posed any serious opposition to the authority of the governor.

112

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

Nonetheless, it was possible to short-circuit the power of the governor by a variety of different ways. One was the procurator of imperial property; in a province with large imperial estates, his de facto power would rival that of the proconsul. Another was to exploit a direct personal lien between the emperor and a provincial citizen, e.g., an influential senator or an intellectual. Dion, as we shall see, claims to enjoy the “attention”, spoudê, of the reigning emperor, and to have used his influence for the benefit of his native city (Or. 45.3). Speaking about irregularities at a municipal election, Dion claims that if the proconsul should refuse to intervene, Dion could write directly to the emperor and make him take action (Or. 45.8); but we are dealing with a hypothetical situation and Dion’s ability to override the governor’s authority was not put to the test on this occasion. The ultimate option was to file a suit de repetundis after the end of the governor’s term, but this was expensive and the outcome by no means certain.9

1.4 The power of rumour and innuendo How well did the inhabitants of an ancient city know each other? Was the provincial city a “face-to-face society”? In a larger city of several thousand inhabitants, not everyone would know everyone else; but the leading citizens, those who participated in the social agon and the race for magistracies and places on the city council, would be known to most of their fellow citizens. Given that a great deal of social and political interaction took place in public spaces, their actions and relation to each other would be observed by, and known to, a wide circle. This provided a fertile environment for spreading rumours and telling defamatory stories about one another. Rumour is a democratic weapon: anyone can start a rumour and, after a while, the originator can no longer be traced. In modern municipal politics, slandering one’s opponents remains a reliable and often used tactic, the most popular topics being sexual orientation and drinking habits. To judge from the stories passed on by Suetonius, the same two topics were at the top of the list in antiquity. This would also explain the Pompeiian graffiti announcing that thieves or late drinkers support so-and-so. There are a number of such electoral graffiti, and if they do not seem particularly funny to us, that is because we do not have the clue to their deeper meaning.10 They may refer to a particular candidate’s drinking habits or financial probity and may have been very funny, or very insulting, in their original context. The use of rumour as a political weapon in Asia Minor is attested, inter alia, by Cicero’s correspondence with his brother Quintus during the latter’s term as governor of Asia. In a long letter (To his brother Quintus) Cicero gives his brother detailed advice on how to treat the local notables. He writes that Quintus’ administration generally earns praise, but that his iracundia has drawn negative comments in Rome; Quintus must learn to control his anger better (1.13.37). Written at a time when Quintus had already been in office

Local Politics in an Imperial Context

113

for more than two years, this is not likely to be brotherly advice of a general character, but rather a response to specific complaints and rumours about the conduct of Quintus; rumours that must have originated from his province and were no doubt circulated by his political and personal enemies.11 That they have filtered through from far-off Pergamon to Rome is in itself a testimony to the power of rumour and innuendo in the ancient world. The political power of rumour and of public opinion generally is to some extent proportional with the degree of public participation in decision-making. How much did the urban populace have to say in the cities of Bithynia? The provincial law of Pompey had introduced a scheme of urban government where the council (boulê) was dominated by ex-magistrates holding their seats for life. The intention was clearly to reduce the democratic element in urban politics. It seems, however, that the popular assembly – ekklêsia – continued to play a significant role. The assembly conferred honorific titles, as we know from inscriptions; it elected or at least ratified the choice of magistrates; but it also seems to have taken a hand in other matters. That Dion defends his building programs in the assembly indicates that questions of building and finance, which we would expect to fall within the competence of the council, would sometimes be debated in the assembly to ensure popular backing for the council’s decisions. It may even be hypothesised that the reforms of Pompeius, intended to reduce the degree of democratic participation in city politics, actually strengthened the assembly because its decisions had a legitimacy that the council was no longer able to confer.

2. Two case studies 2.1 Reading the Riot Act in Ephesos This well-known story is told in the Acts of the Apostles and takes place not in Bithynia, but at Ephesos in the neighbouring province of Asia. A silversmith called Demetrios is concerned that the preaching of the apostle Paul and consequent conversions to Christianity will harm his business and that of his colleagues. A spontaneous meeting takes place in the city’s theatre but is dispersed by a person who is not named but identified as grammateus. His address to the throng is rendered as follows: Citizens of Ephesus, who is there that does not know that the city of the Ephesians is the temple keeper of the great Artemis and of the statue that fell from heaven? Since these things cannot be denied, you ought to be quiet and do nothing rash. You have brought these men here who are neither temple robbers nor blasphemers of our goddess. If therefore Demetrius and the artisans with him have a complaint against anyone, the courts are open, and there are proconsuls; let them bring charges there against one another. If there is anything further you want to know, it

114

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen must be settled in the regular assembly. For we are in danger of being charged with rioting today, since there is no cause that we can give to justify this commotion (Acts 19.35-40, New Revised Standard Version).

As with most of the speeches inserted into ancient historical narrative, the authenticity of this text is dubious. It is safer to take it as a normative account of how, in the narrator’s view, a situation like this should be resolved. But to carry weight with his readers, the choice of characters and the line of argument had to be convincing. There are several remarkable points in the narrative. First, the protagonist of the scene is the grammateus, in the Vulgate translation rendered as scriba. The precise standing of the Ephesian grammateus is not clear, but he is certainly of lower status than the Asiarchs who have previously taken a hand in the matter, without success (Acts 19.31). Despite the absence of high formal status, the grammateus is clearly perceived as an important person who not only quiets the assembly and succeeds in dispersing it but takes it upon himself to prejudge the case: “these men are neither temple robbers nor blasphemers”. Secondly, one notes that the grammateus invokes the power of Rome in two strikingly different ways. First as an invitation to the silversmiths to take their grievance to the proconsul’s court; then as a thinly veiled threat of punishment by the Roman authorities in case their riot was denounced as treasonous. The distinction between appearing in court as a litigant and as a defendant is implicitly stressed. Our clerk adds that if the conflict is not a matter that comes within the jurisdiction of the court, it can be settled by the ekklêsia, that is by the assembly of the people, in a regular meeting. Like its counterpart in Prusa, the competence of the Ephesian ekklêsia is apparently not tightly defined; the assembly can deal with matters that are not specifically within the jurisdiction of other institutions, such as the court. We might suspect that the ekklêsia of the Ephesians functioned as a “safety valve” for minor grievances.

2.2 Friends in high places Our second case story takes place in Prusa. Dion is involved in one of his many conflicts with other influential Bithynians. It is a typically Dionian conflict involving money and building projects. An edifice that has been built under Dion’s supervision is to be taken over by the city, and Dion will receive a sum in return. It is not quite clear whether Dion was acting on behalf of the city throughout or whether the building is his own private project that he now asks the city to take over; probably the latter. In any case, Dion has named a sum, and the city fathers, wanting to know how he has arrived at this figure, have asked to see the building accounts. Dion refuses to provide

Local Politics in an Imperial Context

115

the documentation required, thus strengthening the latent suspicion that he is demanding too much. While this matter is dragging on, his opponents present another seemingly minor, but potentially lethal charge: Dion has placed a portrait of the emperor Trajan next to the place where his wife and son are buried. Given ancient attitudes to burial places, this could be interpreted as a desecration of the emperor’s image, or at the very least as a mark of disrespect, and provide the foundation for a charge of maiestas. Pliny writes to the emperor for advice. In conclusion, he explains that he has inspected the buildings in question, where I find your statue is placed in a library; and as to the edifice in which the bodies of Dion’s wife and son are said to be deposited, it stands in the middle of a court, which is enclosed with a colonnade (Ep. 10.81, translated by Betty Radice). Trajan’s reply (10.82) is short and to the point: Dion must produce his books while no action is to be taken on the maiestas charge, which Trajan dismisses as irrelevant. His tone is one of mild reproach that Pliny should have bothered him with such a trivial matter. Some modern commentators have followed the emperor’s lead and dismissed Pliny’s letter as one example among many of this proconsul’s indecisiveness. Certainly it conforms to a perception of the younger Pliny as a pedantic, cautious and unimaginative bureaucrat. But while this general character sketch of its author may well be valid, an alternative interpretation of this particular letter is possible. First, it is worth noting that this letter combines two matters related only in so far as they concern the same person, Dion. Even in the first nine books of Letters, where the individual letters are longer and more literary in style, most of Pliny’s letters are devoted to a single subject. In the letters from Bithynia this trend is even more pronounced: each missive is brief and deals with a specific problem that has recently presented itself, rather like a modern e-mail. Second, Pliny was well aware that Trajan would never press maiestas charges on such flimsy grounds. How do we know? Because earlier, Pliny had said so himself: in his Panegyric composed shortly after Trajan’s accession, Pliny praises the civilised attitude of the new emperor and contrasts it with bad rulers (i.e. Domitian) who would persecute their subjects on charges of maiestas (Panegyricus 42.1). In the contemporary work of Suetonius, persecuting for maiestas on trivial grounds (such as bringing a coin with the emperor’s portrait into a public lavatory) is used as an example to illustrate the wanton cruelty of Tiberius (Suetonius, Tiberius 58). But then, why consult the emperor at all? Let us examine Pliny’s situation in its context. He is far away from home and no longer à courant with the situ-

116

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

ation at the imperial court. He is presented with a complaint – at this stage, it is only a complaint, not a criminal charge – against Dion. Dion, as we know from his speeches, is an energetic name-dropper, continually reminding his townsmen of his close relations to the famous and powerful: governors, philosophers, even the emperor himself. According to Dion, Nerva was an “old friend” who felt affection, agapê, for Dion (Or. 45.2), and we are also told about the philantropia kai spoudia shown him by Trajan (45.3). Naturally, his enemies circulate nasty counter-rumours that Dion is not nearly as close to the emperor as he claims; that when he led an embassy to Rome it was less successful than the embassy from Smyrna (40.13-14); that the orations Dion composed for the emperor’s ear were never held in the imperial presence. We see the power of rumour in operation and the wide scope for extravagant claims and counter-claims that no one in Prusa can verify, least of all the proconsul, who has recently arrived and knows little of Dion’s past history except that he was exiled under Domitian and has been rehabilitated by Nerva. The situation is a delicate one, and Pliny follows his usual routine in a difficult situation: he consults the emperor – but he cannot send Trajan a missive along the lines “Sire, is this person, as he claims, a friends of yours and therefore above the law, or should the same rules apply to him as to everyone else?” Here the maiestas charge provides a handy pretext. Maiestas by definition involves the emperor, so referring the matter to Trajan is the correct procedure. Pliny combines two questions in one letter and gets two answers. About the maiestas charge he was probably never in doubt. To the other question he gets the guidance he wants: Dion is not one of Trajan’s intimates and must open his books for inspection. In his Hellenism and Empire from 1996, Simon Swain discusses this correspondence and concludes that “Pliny’s major worry is not the public accounts, but the potentially treasonable act of having placed the emperor’s statue near a grave”.12 Clearly the interpretation given above disagrees with Swain, though not to insist that the public accounts were the prime concern of Pliny. His real concern was that he might cross the plans of an amicus principis who was more influential than himself. One cannot help wondering if Pliny, like Dion, has exaggerated his ­personal familiarity with Trajan? But that is another question for another occasion. Notes 1 Mouritsen 1988. 2 Fernoux 2004, 133. 3 Pliny, Ep. 10.54 for a description of the difficulty Pliny finds in placing the cash surplus of the Bithynian cities. 4 Tacitus, Annales 16.1 (Cesellius Bassus bribes himself into the presence of Nero); cf. also Suetonius, Vespasian 23. 5 Ailios Aristeides recounts how, in a dream, a governor’s clerk offered to have a verdict reversed in return for a bribe of 500 drachmas (Sacred tales 4.81).

Local Politics in an Imperial Context

117

6 Mitford, Inscriptions of Kourion, 130. 7 For an idea of the expense of contesting a court case, and the income that the periodical assizes generated in the urban community, see Dion Or. 35.15. 8 Cf. the (mock?) complaint of Pliny (Ep. 7.30) about the many demands for his services as iudex or arbiter. 9 Cf. Pliny, Ep. 5.20. 10 Mouritsen 1988, 67 rightly rejects the notion that rogations by serebibi or latrunculari are “real recommendations by an organized group of people” but goes on to argue that “it seems unlikely that in the few cases in which the intention was to embarrass opponents, so subtle a form should have been used as to make the meaning obscure”. The message is subtle and obscure to our eyes because we do not know the code; it may have been blunt and clear to a contemporary reader. 11 On Cicero’s attitude to rumour in general, and his awareness of ways in which it could be exploited, see Dufallo 2001. 12 Swain 1996, 237.

Cultural Contact and Cultural Change: Colonialism and Empire1 Anne Marie Carstens

“The concept of culture is the single most difficult term in anthropology”. This is how Thomas Hylland Eriksen approaches the issue in his handbook What is Anthropology?2 I may add; it is no easier a concept in archaeology. Or rather, it seems that archaeology has a need for both an extreme operational concept of culture in order to interpret the archaeological evidence in time and space – we could call it a concept of archaeological culture – and a more holistic, inclusive, metaphysical concept of culture in order to understand and explain cultural relations. We could settle the eternal dispute in that way, by a formal agreement that the archaeological cultures are true entities, “true” meaning that they were with all probability perceived as entities there and then. A metaphysical concept of culture, then, might be considered once in a while, when we felt a need to become more philosophical. I take this question of the concept of culture to be an important one, the most fundamental in any archaeological process, and therefore no less in a discussion on the nature of cultural contact and cultural change. A twofold concept of culture is not a solution, rather an illustration of the problem. Colin Renfrew and Paul Bahn put it this way: Groups of artifact (and building) types at a particular time and place are called assemblages, and groups of assemblages have been taken to define archaeological cultures… the difficulty comes when one tries to translate this terminology into human terms and to relate an archaeological culture with an actual group of people in the past.3

120

Anne Marie Carstens

Style and identity It is no passable road to ignore this problem of translation. The problem is not even to bridge the gap from things to thoughts, but to accept, understand and explain the interrelations between things and thoughts. That there exists such a relation is suggested by the notion of style.4 Trained as a Classical Archaeologist – in the tradition of corpora and empiric mastery – the stylistic analysis forms the backbone of one’s professionalism. It is the analytical tool that never sleeps; it is where everything begins. It is the method by which we organize the archaeological objects, create typologies, structure the evidence. Because mere experience has shown us that style is related to time and place. Style reveals where and when. Style is how we do things, and often we do things automatically, unconsciously, guided by a sense of the appropriate reaction in a given situation. The proper response, the doing of things seems to be included in the social and cultural context of the acting person. My assertion is that it is possible to deduce from things done, that is, archaeological evidence to the context that determined what was done. It has to do with a certain diffusion between spirit and object, between thoughts and things. Culture is not only a common code, nor a common catalogue of proper answers to common problems, a collection of particular ideas and thoughts; rather, culture is a totality of fundamental thoughts interwoven and forming a carpet that contains myriads of particular figures. But it is not only a metaphysic construction, it is in the real things, the physical contexts as well as in the mind of men.5 This is how Pierre Bourdieu described cultural entities, inspired by and referring to Erwin Panofsky’s work on the scholastic habitus and its diffusion in Gothic architecture, and his consideration on the Humanities as a hermeneutic project and iconology as its working principle.6 The operational concept of archaeological culture cannot be separated from metaphysics. They constitute each other. Ian Hodder says that “material culture has a central role to play in what it means to be human”, Michael Shanks that “our identities are not something inherited or acquired, as essential qualities or our character of life, but are perpetually reconstructed in relations with others and with cultural artefacts”.7 This is not just some twaddling nonsense from two theoretical and speculative researchers, rather it is quite precisely what we ourselves encounter in our everyday life. That for instance our homes expose our identity, that the things that fill up our kitchens and closets reveal our acclaimed uniqueness. That we all know, if provided only slight insight into the local context, what kind of newspaper is most likely to be read in the home of a Danish intellectual of this and that age, what car I ought to drive, whether I prefer green products etc. All of these are in fact archaeological evidence / material culture / cultural artefacts, and they unveil me.

Cultural Contact and Cultural Change

121

But my home represents not only my professional life-style, rather a conglomerate of elements that derive from my husband and his family, as well as from myself and my family, things we have bought together, like the kilims that reveal a Turkish connection, items that the kids love even perhaps for their ugliness – and it is not a constant, new things come along, by chance or after months of saving, and the style is constantly negotiated and altered. Not least as a reaction to other things in other homes. Identity – cultural, ethnic, personal – comes from within, identity is first and foremost something that is negotiated and established inside our heads. It is a feeling, a sense of belonging. And eventually, because of what goes on inside the mind of men, it is expressed with deeds and acts, and things. Since we constantly interact with each other, it is constantly compromised and fluctuating.

Perpetually reconstructed in relations with others… “Our identities are… perpetually reconstructed in relations with others and with cultural artefacts.” If culture is constantly negotiated, why study cultural change as a specific phenomenon? The main reason is that the constant fluctuation of culture is slow, lazy, guided by both our conservative nature and our longing for the recognizable.8 Rather than major changes, the consequences of the negotiations are at most minor alterations… And even when we feel that we are drastic and dramatic in our choices, they are often confined within the frame of the expected. By “cultural change” something more radical is anticipated. Often the change seems provoked via political or military conquest, disasters that led to mass migrations etc. In archaeology the “meeting of cultures” or acculturation studies have become a focal point concurrently with the expansion of the self perception of the classical disciplines from the study of the Greek heartlands and Rome in the early 1980s to “rural life in the hinterlands”. The study of Magna Graecia, for instance, turned from Greek colonies into apoikia. In recent years “Colonial Archaeology” or “Historical Archaeology” (dealing with the culture histories of the post-Columbian world) have formed another platform for archaeological research inspired by and in dialogue with anthropology and social science, focusing on acculturation.9 Encyclopædia Britannica Online gives this answer, when asked to define “acculturation”: … the processes of change in artifacts, customs, and beliefs that result from the contact of societies with different cultural traditions. The term is also used to refer to the results of such changes.10

122

Anne Marie Carstens

Its authors distinguish two classes of acculturation, a “free” and a “directed” one. The free form is characterised by borrowing, modification and interchange between the parties, often resulting in integration and incorporation – closely related to the “typical” cultural fluctuation. Directed change is initiated by conquest or political control, and may result in anything from assimilation, the almost complete replacement of one culture by another, to cultural fusion, a new synthesis of cultural elements differing from both precontact cultures. Both “free” and “directed” acculturation are perceived as processes. Culture and thus these variations of cultural meld are considered as anything but constants and they may result in assimilation or fusion, in dramatic changes or more calm diffusions.

Colonialism Another way round “cultural contact” and “cultural change” is offered in the stimulating book by Chris Gosden, Archaeology and Colonialism – Cultural Contact from 5000 BC to the Present (2004). Gosden focuses on what he calls material things, and in particular on the power of material culture in colonialism, which he sees as “a relationship with material culture, which is spatially extensive and destabilising of older values”.11 He sets up a tripartite typology of colonialism: terra nullius, the “I cleared the land and fenced it”12-form of colonialism that settled north America from the middle eighteenth century; middle ground which for instance covers the hybrid form of Romanisation or the early European contacts in north America; and colonialism within a shared cultural milieu which is about controlling networks, about colonialism without colonies… It is governed by cultural power, transmitted first by the elite and referring to a symbolic centre of reference. The early Greek expansion in the Mediterranean is an example. The Achaemenid empire another. The notion of Roman Empire maybe a third? Gosden’s focus on colonialism as a correlation between material culture and human relations with the world, driven by a desire for things / wealth and seen as a source of creativity – colonial cultures were created by all who participated in them13 – leaves archaeology as the keeper of keys in the study of colonialism. Not because pots are people, but because “material culture has a central role to play in what it means to be human”: Colonialism is a process by which things shape people, rather than the reverse. Colonialism exists where material culture moves people, both culturally and physically, leading them to expand geographically, to accept new material forms and to set up power structures around a desire for material culture.14

Cultural Contact and Cultural Change

123

This desire creates a network between people and things, and by focusing on the material things the network becomes visible to us. Speaking of the Orientalising and the early Greek apoikiai he puts forward the proto-Corinthian aryballos with all its complexity of origin and stylistic mixture – symbolizing the processes of colonialism and its base in a shared cultural milieu, a colonialism of “minds and bodies through concepts of wealth, common practises and aesthetics”.15 What is of interest here is not who brought these things along, rather their distribution as such. The distribution shows us that this was a world of relations, this world was united and interconnected, and the relations had things as their starting point – bringing along thoughts, but starting with a desire for things/wealth. Was Romanisation then also a matter of business, applying the rules of supply and demand?

Desirable things Gosden distinguishes between things and objects, things being artefacts of value through their aesthetic or symbolic qualities; they are sensitive to context, social and perhaps sacred relations. Objects are quantifiable and “uncoded’; they can be exchanged within broader contexts. He also focuses on the dichotomy between dividuals and individuals. The dividual is composed by relations, the individual is self-governing, however, in all persons are both dividual and individual aspects: “A separate sense of self and the importance of belonging to a group are ideas in tension with each other: to create oneself as an individual is to cut off some of the links to the group; to submerge oneself in the group makes it less possible to emerge as an individual”.16 While objects and individuals belong together in a sort of de-contextualized manner, things and dividuals call upon each other – they are only fully appreciated as part of grander relations. Such a thing is the alabaster vase from the Maussolleion (fig. 1). During Newton’s excavations of the Maussolleion in Halikarnassos it was found at the landing close to the monumental staircase that led to the tomb chamber.17 It has from time to time been put forward as a sign of proxenia, a symbol of the relation or alliance between the Persian hegemony, personified in Xerxes the Great, and the Halikarnassian Artemisia the Older. She participated with a minor fleet in Xerxes’ warfare against the Greeks and according to Herodotos, he was full of admiration for her bravery (Herodotos 8.68-69; 8.88).18 The vase is inscribed with the words “Xerxes Great King” in Old Persian, Elamite, Babylonian and Egyptian. Was it a personal gift from a grateful Great King to the local aristocrat? An export item, maybe one out of many vessels manufactured for such purposes, as tokens of political contracts embedded in elite networks?19 This precious item, this desirable thing, was kept in the court circles at Halikarnassos one way or the other, as a token of the aristocratic roots that

124

Anne Marie Carstens

laid the foundation of the Hekatomnid dynasty almost a century later and as a symbol of its successful relations to the Persian supremacy. Material culture, not least Gosden’s things, are signs and carry with them references, contexts, relations, origins.

Invention of tradition and enacting of empire The Persian Empire comprised different people, speaking a wide range of languages, worshipping multiple deities, living in very varied environments with different social customs etc. Within this cacophony of diversities the Achaemenids invented a quite successful method of hegemony: flexible empire. Although it was created by conquests, their territory was preserved by “the creation of a consistently idealized vision of kingship and empire”, in the words of Margaret Cool Root.20 It was kept together as a successful empire not least by the creation of an ideology of power that was spread via a conscious use of a royal iconography resting on tradition. It adjusted itself to local power structures, admitted freedom of religion and ritual practices. The Great King had only a few formal demands: that he received his taxes and that conquered land was protected.21 But how did this system work in reality, how did life change when the Persian army conquered Sardis in the 540s BC, how was it to be the subject in a new constellation of power, how did Persianisation function? These are questions that Elspeth Dusinberre sets out to answer in her recent work on Aspects of Empire in Achaemenid Sardis (2003). And her overall conclusion is that the Persian hegemony, the establishing of empire, the transformation of the Lydian kingdom into a Persian satrapy led to a new hybrid culture headed by a transformation of the local, Lydian elite. How it was felt or experienced is not easy to tell. It seems as if the transition ran smooth, that the acculturation was a success, resulting in a meld, a new eclectic culture in a new context. However, living during these processes may not have been as easy as archaeology suggests.22 Local estate holders had to give up territory to Iranian cavalrymen who formed the core of the standing army.23 Empire came to Sardis with force, people died in the battle of Sardis, large portions of the city and its magnificent fortification walls were demolished – it started out chaotically on the worst premises! The ground was levelled for “directed” change, forceful assimilation and neglect of the hitherto prevailing order of things. Complications, however, would have served neither the Achaemenids nor the Lydians. First and foremost, it is evident that the Persians did not arrive in a terra nullius, land unsettled, towns emptied or non-existent. Who ever did? They took over a kingdom with an existing power structure and infrastructure, and they made good use of it. Dusinberre speaks of the creation of a polyethnic elite, visible through a new amalgamated style.24 This elite carried a large part of the success of the

Cultural Contact and Cultural Change

125

Fig. 1. Alabaster vase from the Maussolleion excavations (British Museum, ANE 132114).

satrapy on its shoulders – by involving and transforming the local elite, they worked as intermediaries between the Achaemenid rule and the local population. The local infrastructure of power was made to work for mutual benefits of the Great King and the Sardians. One group of monuments is especially crucial to the Achaemenid empire, i.e. personal seals. Together with other minor objects, such as jewellery and gold foil ornaments they may be seen as tokens of the membership of the new polyethnic elite that was the eventual result of the Persianisation of western Anatolia.25 Such an item is a cylinder seal from Sardis Tomb 813, a rock-cut chamber tomb from the so-called Great Necropolis west of the Pactolus stream, dated to the early 5th c. BC. The tomb is quite unusual, not least the stepped façade flanked by antemion stelai. The limestone sarcophagus in the rear chamber contained skeletal remains of a large male, golden appliqués and a golden ring, and his cylinder seal (fig. 2). The seal depicts a crowned hero wearing the Persian court robe

126

Anne Marie Carstens

Fig. 2. Cylinder seal from Tomb 813 at Sardis (Dusinberre 1997, fig. 3).

facing right. He grasps two rampant lion-griffins by their necks, standing on the heads of two couchant winged sphinxes that face each other, each raising a foreleg to touch paws at the centre.26 While the central motif is very common at Persepolis – the crowned hero seems to encompass the ideal of a Persian man27 – it is not seen in Sardis except for this one incident. And the use of pedestal animals is otherwise reserved the royal name seals, that is, a smaller group of seals carrying the name of the Great King.28 The seal from Tomb 813 is carved in the so-called Graeco-Persian style. It is a poor and problematic term – we shall return to that in a short while. Many different styles were in use concurrently in the Achaemenid administration,29 – in the sealing material from Persepolis at least eight different styles have been identified. The Graeco-Persian style on the contrary was never employed in the Iranian heartlands: it was confined to Anatolia. The man buried in the back sarcophagus of Tomb 813 belonged to a local Sardian elite. Within the Persianized aristocracy he exposed his elitarian epithets: a prominent cylinder seal that was carried in a string around his neck, golden appliqués attached his undoubtedly luxurious garments. By his seal he lived up to the metaphoric / iconographical language exclusive to the upper echelon of the Iranian court. He was an important man in Sardis, and

Cultural Contact and Cultural Change

127

Fig. 3. Daskyleion bulla depicting a bear hunt (Kaptan 1996, Pl. 26:7).

he played a game that would hardly have been tolerated in Persepolis, but were interpreted clearly in this local context: he was one of the Great King’s men. Jewellery, seals, and golden appliqués are all extreme visible parts of a persons public appearance; – they signify the bearer. Exactly these are the things that represent the amalgamated or eclectic style of the new Persianized elite of western Anatolia. In Daskyleion, the residence of the satrapy of Greater Phrygia, the existence of a satrapal archive has been known since 1959, when Ekrem Akurgal excavated more than 400 bullae, clay seal impressions. Quite recently, in 2003, a full publication of the sealings has appeared.30 The documents that were sealed with the little lumps of clay have not survived – all we know is that the majority, at least 89% was rolls of papyrus, while 9% sealed leather or another smooth material.31 What was written on these documents is also unknown, but we know that other Achaemenid archives contained documents dealing with local administration, payments, transportation of food commodities, private business etc. The Daskyleion sealings are quite innovative and lively (fig. 3). One example is a hunter on foot advancing a bear. Further east such a hunting seen would depict a boar or a lion.32 More than anything the seals evidence an artistic creativity, also found for instance in the coinage of nearby Kyzikos,

128

Anne Marie Carstens

– indeed the carvers of the coin stamps in this prosperous “Greek” harbourtown and the seals used by the local satrapal administration may very well have been the same.33

Questioning the Graeco-Persian Creative and experimental spirits are indeed characteristic of the artistic production of the western Achaemenid empire, of the cultural milieu. Deniz Kaptan, the man behind the Daskyleion bullae publication put it this way: “The Daskyleion sealings contribute more evidence toward interpreting this art as a lively ‘blend of ancient Near Eastern, Anatolian and East Greek elements.’”34 Chris Gosden explains the cultural changes that occur with the process of colonialism as a kind of positive energy, more a creator than a destroyer: Paradoxically perhaps, I see colonialism as often being a source of creativity and experiment, and while certainly not being without pain, colonial encounters cause the dissolution of values on all sides, creating new ways of doing things in a material and social sense. A stress on creativity takes us away from notions such as fatal impact, domination and resistance or core and periphery, emphasising that colonial cultures were created by all who participated in them, so that all had agency and social effect, with coloniser and colonized alike being radically changed by the experience.35 The term Graeco-Persian is problematic. Not so much the words describing a certain stylistic fuse between Greek and Persian art. But it is a loaded term and as such it was introduced in the field of research concerning Achaemenid Anatolia: it was based on the assumption that Achaemenid art needed the Greek expertise in order to alter Persian sterility and artistic poverty. In that way Graeco-Persian art was “an offshoot of Greek”, Graeco-Persian was a reflection of Persian artistic weakness and cultural indebtedness to the west.36 A reversed, or at least edited version of the gravity of Achaemenid art in the west – a version that matches both Gosden’s creative colonialism and the various eclectic styles that occur and blossom in western Anatolia not least during the Achaemenid period, but also before, and certainly later – is closer the case. Much of the creative force of art in the Achaemenid empire derives from the western satrapies, where the feeling of colonialism may have been the strongest, the tensions between powers intense.37 And it is also here that continuity from the Achaemenids to the Hellenistic iconography of power is the clearest.

Cultural Contact and Cultural Change

129

Thoughts and things When Margaret Cool Root set out to write her thesis on Achaemenid art and empire in the late 1970s she undertook an investigation of the construction and maintenance of the Achaemenid Empire as an ideology expressed in iconography. She laid the foundation for another understanding of empire, as not only a form of governance, but as a totality of polities that rests and depends upon a conscious and calculated use of iconography, an image of power produced in order to underline the ideology that the Achaemenids wished to emphasise: The Persian kings waged brutal wars, exacted heavy taxes from reluctant subjects, and harboured fears of palace revolutions spawned by ambitious courtiers. But, for the imperial art with which they hoped to impress the world (and with which they themselves apparently wished to identify), …the Achaemenids commissioned the creation of a consistently idealized vision of kingship and empire – a vision which stressed images of piety, control and harmonious order.38 Archaeology of Empire is a trend in archaeological research that moves on the problematic, yet often profitable thin ice of letting general premises enlighten particular cases, and vice versa. Adding the perspective that cultural histories give, the background to let differences and changes come forward. Of the general nature is the fact that territorial expansion is costly not least when based on military conquest. Consolidating empire in such conquered territory is almost impossible without diplomacy and personal magnetism: The charisma of great leaders in empire formation is not incidental; the creation of personal loyalties and alliances between emperors and newly conquered elites may ameliorate costs of military domination, and the awesome or sacred name and reputation of the emperor may encourage conciliation and submission without the need for military activity or a permanent military presence.39 Stressing that the creation of empire, by a conscious use of an iconography of ideology, indeed also encompasses the Roman Empire is by no means breaking news. But underlining the mechanisms and their roots in imperial history and tradition may let us gain more knowledge. Gosden focuses on colonialism as a social event. He says that: Colonialism is a relationship of desire, which creates a network of people and things, but the exact shape of desire and the ensu-

130

Anne Marie Carstens ing network will vary. And this variability is partly due to the regimes of value in place at any one time and partly to do with the negotiations of value that take place between different cultural forms”.40

His point is that we are constructed through objects and vital social values adhere in and around objects. It is easy to feel “lost in translation” from things to thoughts. Yet, what we learn from focusing on things is that empire building is not only a question of power politics, dominance and submission, but rather a case of creative negotiation as well as forceful and conscious use of cultural power. And that out of chaos, stress, and tension grow artistic quality and creativity.41 Notes 1 I wish to express my warm thanks to my colleagues, Helle Winge Horsnæs and Rune Frederiksen, for reading through drafts of this paper. Winfried Held needs a special thank for ample, vivid and ongoing discussions on identity, on the Achaemenids in Western Anatolia in general, and for providing me Daskyleian first aid. 2 Eriksen 2004, 36. 3 Renfrew & Bahn 1993, 98. 4 Carstens 2004. 5 Bourdieu 1967, 151-152. 6 Panofsky 1969; 1970; 1939. 7 Hodder 2002, 9; Shanks 2002, 293. 8 ��������������������� Carstens 2004, 14-15. ����������������� 9 ��������������� Cf. Burke 1999. ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 10 “acculturation.” Encyclopædia Britannica from Encyclopædia Britannica Online. [Accessed June 15, 2005]. 11 Gosden 2004, 4. 12 Henry Lawson, Reedy River; Gosden 2004, 114. It is important to stress that in fact North America was indeed not terra nullius, land unsettled and empty, rather the idea of the early colonisers were that they settled and civilized land hitherto uncivilized. 13 Gosden 2004, 25. 14 Gosden 2004, 153. 15 Gosden 2004, 155. 16 Gosden 2004, 35. 17 Newton 1862-1863, 91-94, and Appendix II. 18 Carstens 1999, 112. 19 In Halikarnassos it was not an isolated item. In the British Museum register all 17 alabaster jars or fragments are listed deriving from Newton’s excavations, yet this one is the only carrying an inscription. Jeppesen & Zahle 1975, 70; Zahle & Kjeldsen 2004, 221-227. In the treasury of Persepolis 53 similar alabaster vessels were found bearing the same inscription, “Xerxes Great King”. Schmidt 1957, 81-93, pl. 47-65; Cahill 1985, 383. 20 Root 1979, 2. 21 Cf. Dusinberre 2003, 1-4.

Cultural Contact and Cultural Change

131

22 Gosden 2004, 25. 23 Sekunda 1991, 8-84. 24 Dusinberre 2003, 29. However, being polyethnic or rather above and beyond ethnic differentiation may be exactly the hallmark of aristocracy, Carstens 2005. But Dusinberre’s point is another; she is forcefully arguing against the alleged denial of both artistic creativity and ability to create an impact on local cultures in the empire. Dusinberre 2003, 8-9. See also Root 1979, 15 et passim. 25 Dusinberre 2003, 146; Sekunda 1991, on onomastic evidence of acculturation or intermarriage. Dusinberre 2003, 145-157. 26 Dusinberre 1997, 100. 27 Root 1979, 303-306. 28 Dusinberre 1997, 106. 29 Earlier it was believed that the styles bore with them certain messages of the ethnicity of its user, but the detailed studies of the large body of material deriving from the Persepolis archives have revealed that style was something deliberate chosen “not only to their tastes but perhaps to the purpose of the seal or the position of the commissioner in the administrative hierarchy.” Dusinberre 1997, 110. See also: Garrison & Root 2001, 16 and passim, Introduction; Dusinberre 2003, 164. 30 Kaptan 2003. 31 Kaptan 1996. 32 Kaptan 1996, 91-92. 33 Kaptan 2000; 2001. 34 Kaptan 1996, 95. 35 Gosden 2004, 25. 36 Root 1991, 1 and passim; 1994, 18. 37 It is indeed puzzling that the Graeco-Persian style seems prominent in the centres of the western satrapies at Daskyleion and Sardis, where the satraps were ethnic Persians and the landscapes/cultures more Anatolian (Phrygian and Lydian) than East Greek. Or, indeed, they already represented a cultural blend. This questions, on another level, the “Classical tradition”, the urge for Greek culture, in the late Archaic and Classical western Anatolia, and the Ionian Renaissance. Cf. Pedersen 2001-2002. 38 Root 1979, 2. 39 Sinopoli 1994, 163. 40 Gosden 2004, 153. 41 The lively eclecticism of Roman “provincial art” that leads Jørgen Christian Meyer in his paper to characterise Palmyra as “never fully Romanised from a cultural point of view” is rather than a Palmyrenian false perception of “becoming Roman” an illustration of the negotiations that more than anything characterises processes of cultural change and the spirits of colonialism. Indeed, this insight should lead us to question the check-list methodology hitherto too often applied the study of Romanisation.

What Have the Romans ever Done for Us? How to Win Wars and also the Peace1 Jørgen Christian Meyer

Reg: All right, but apart from the sanitation, medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, the fresh water system and public health, what have the Romans ever done for us? Attendee: Brought peace? Reg: Oh, peace – shut up! (Life of Brian, 1979). The Roman Empire was one of the largest and most successful empires in world history. Not only did the Romans win the wars, but they also won the peace, pax Romana. Even after the collapse of the western part of the empire, the idea of Imperium Romanum continued to have a strong positive cultural, ideological and symbolic effect on European history. In that respect the Romans differed from other successful empire-builders of the Iron Age such as the Assyrians, whom people under the influence of Judeo-Christian tradition remember for the fear their brutality inspired. The Romans, however, also used terror and brutality in building their empire. In 146 BC, Carthage and Corinth suffered. No empire can be maintained without the employment of retaliatory measures if necessary. In that respect the Romans did not differ from the Persians who, in 494 BC, destroyed the city of Miletos and deported its population, or the Athenians, who in 416 BC, showed no mercy when Melos declined to join their empire. All the men were killed; the women and children were enslaved. The Romans were distinguished by having at their disposal one of the most professional, well-equipped, well-organised and well-commanded military forces that the world has ever seen. There might be problems at the frontiers, but internally local revolts were normally no match for the Roman army when it intervened. The army was also a guarantee for peace within the empire. This of course had to be financed by imposing taxes. In some parts of the empire it made no difference to the population whether the taxes were paid to the former rulers or to the Romans, if the burden was within reason, even if some of them had to get used to paying not in kind, but in cash. In other parts of the empire where taxation had been rudimentary the Romans had to convince the locals that the peace was worth the price – even if they had to do it the hard way.

134

Jørgen Christian Meyer

The Romans’ military superiority and their ability to maintain law and order were undoubtedly crucial for the stability of their empire, but military superiority cannot be the only answer. The Romans had more to offer. In the famous scene in the movie Life of Brian (1979), the leader of the People’s Front of Judaea, Reg (John Cleese) asks the attendees: “What have the Romans ever done for us?” What differentiated the Romans from most other empire builders was their willingness to share the fruits of the Empire with the subdued populations, whether they were inhabitants of cities on the same cultural level as themselves or tribal populations with a less sophisticated way of life. If you belonged to the local elite, the chance of attaining even the rank of Roman senator was at least one hundred times greater than our chance of winning one of the big prizes in the weekly lotto. In 98, Rome even got an emperor born in Spain. If you belonged to the lower stratum of the population, enlistment in the Roman army was a way to obtain Roman citizenship for yourself and your descendants, if it was not awarded to your community by the emperor as a favour. The ancients were well aware of this. According to Tacitus, the Roman commander Cerialis, sent to Gaul by Vespasian, held the following speech in defence of the Roman rule to the Treviri and Lingones who had revolted during the chaotic years after the fall of Nero: There were always kings and wars throughout Gaul until you submitted to our laws. Although often provoked by you, the only use we have made of our rights as victors has been to impose on you the necessary costs of maintaining peace; for you cannot secure tranquillity among nations without armies, nor maintain armies without pay, nor provide pay without taxes: everything else we have in common. You often command our legions; you rule these and other provinces; we claim no privileges, you suffer no exclusion. (Tac. Hist. 4.74, translation by C.H. Moore). We do not know if Cerialis ever delivered a speech like that. It is also propaganda, and we have to distinguish between rhetoric and reality. Still, it has a core of truth in it. Dionysios of Halikarnassos noted the difference between the Romans and the Greeks: There was yet a third policy of Romulus, which the Greeks ought to have practised above others, it being, in my opinion, the best of all political measures, as it laid the most solid foundation for the liberty of the Romans and was no slight factor in raising them to their position of supremacy. It was this: not to slay all the men of military age or to enslave the rest of the population of the cities captured in war or to allow their land to go back to pasture

What Have the Romans ever Done for Us?

135

for sheep, but rather to send settlers thither to possess some part of the country by lot and to make the conquered cities Roman colonies and even grant citizenship to some of them. (Dion. Hal. 2.16, translated by E. Cary). The Emperor Claudius pursued the same line of thought in his speech to the Roman senate in AD 48, when he proposed to admit prominent Gallic citizens into the Senate:2 The day of stable peace at home and victory abroad came when the districts beyond the Po were admitted to citizenship and, availing ourselves of the fact that our legions were settled throughout the globe, we added to them the stoutest of the provincials, and succoured a weary empire. Is it regretted that the Balbi crossed over from Spain and families equally distinguished from Narbonese Gaul? Their descendants remain; nor do they yield to ourselves in love for this native land of theirs. What else proved fatal to Lacedaemon and Athens, in spite of their power in arms, but their policy of holding the conquered aloof as alienborn? But the sagacity of our own founder Romulus was such that several times he fought and naturalized a people in the course of the same day. Strangers have been kings over us: the conferment of magistracies on the sons of freedmen is not the novelty which it is commonly and mistakenly thought, but a frequent practice of the old commonwealth. (Tac. Ann. 11.24, translated by J. Jackson). However, nobody likes to be dominated by a neighbour or a foreign power, even if this is to some benefit. The Americans have learned that lesson in Iraq. They have removed a dictator, given the Iraqis the prospect of democracy, free speech (within certain limits), participation in a capitalistic world economy and access to all the seductive goods of western society, but still a large part of the population in Iraq asks: “What have the Americans ever done for us?” The United States won the war, but they have not won the peace yet. What made the population around the Mediterranean, Gaul and Britain more susceptible to “Romanisation” than the Iraqi to “Americanisation”? I will start by asking the question: how big was the difference really between the Roman masters and the subdued populations? At first glance there seems to be a huge difference between the tribal population in Britain and the population in the eastern Hellenistic cities, and Rome itself had only recently entered the Hellenistic world from a strictly cultural point of view. However, they also had many things in common. The family structure and the basic values associated with a good and successful life in tribal Britain or Gaul did not differ from those of the Mediterranean world. They also shared

136

Jørgen Christian Meyer

what we would define as the concept of gift exchange and some kind of patronage.3 There were leaders and followers; and politics involved alliances, opportunism and betrayal. During the Roman conquest of Gaul Caesar and Vercingetorix understood each other perfectly well, even if they did not speak the same tongue. Basically they were playing the same game. Arminius, the German chieftain of the Cherusci tribe, obtained Roman citizenship, served in the Roman auxiliary forces and attained equestrian rank. As we all know he paid back the favour in a special way in AD 9 by annihilating Varus’ army, but it was not because he belonged to a fundamentally different culture. He just played the game, and even Tacitus expressed admiration of his leadership and greatness, as a liberator of Germany, liberator Germaniae (Ann. 2.88). In the following period, an increasing number of Germans were enlisted in the Roman auxiliary forces. In the Eastern Mediterranean Roman commanders such as Pompey, Caesar and Antony had no problems in adapting themselves to the politics of the Hellenistic world. The ancient world was, from an early stage, very cosmopolitan across political, linguistic and cultural borders.4 The Roman king Tarquinius Superbus took refuge with the Greek tyrant Aristodemos in Cumae after he was expelled from Rome (Livy 1.49.9; 2.21). Perikles and the Spartan king Archidamos, opponents during the Peloponnesian war, were united by friendship (Plut. Per. 33.2); Themistokles, the victor of Salamis, ended his days as a Persian satrap (Thuk. 1.137-138), to take just a few examples. This cosmopolitan world was not restricted to the elite. Greek mercenaries served in the Persian and Egyptian armies.5 Greek artisans and traders settled abroad in non-Greek societies, and during the sailing season captains and their crews reached foreign harbours and became acquainted with their inhabitants.6 Contacts between the Celtic area and the Mediterranean had been established already in the early Iron Age. The early Etruscan (Villanova) and Roman Iron Age culture is often labelled as an “urnfield” culture, together with the so-called Hallstatt culture north of the Alps.7 Even if the ancients did not have our modern infrastructure and means of communication, in many respects they lived in a much more cosmopolitan world than we do, with fewer cultural differences. In spite of increasing globalisation, the differences between the American and Iraqi ways of thinking and living are huge. They involve family structure, the position of the individual, basic values, social structure and also, to some degree, the rules of politics. Sharing some basic cultural values, however, is no guarantee of peaceful coexistence. It depends on how the different population groups define themselves in relation to each other. It involves the feeling of identity and loyalty. In modern Turkey the differences between Turkish and Kurdish culture are not really that great when viewed from outside. Notwithstanding, a large part of the Kurdish population in the eastern part of Turkey stresses that food, music, family life, women’s position etc. among the Kurds are markedly dif-

What Have the Romans ever Done for Us?

137

ferent from the Turkish way of life. The modern Greeks also deny that they share some important cultural characteristics of the old Ottoman Empire with the Turkish population in the western part of modern Turkey. The issue of identity and loyalty in the ancient world is very complicated, and it needs a series of case studies of local communities where we also have local sources. My approach will be different. I will consider the group in the Roman Empire that definitely had no positive feelings about “what the Romans had ever done for them”, namely the Jews. I will follow in the steps of Fergus Millar in his brilliant paper, Empire, Community and Culture in the Roman Near East: Greeks, Syrians, Jews and Arabs, from 1989, but will extend my scope also to the rest of the Roman Empire. At first sight the Jews did not differ markedly from the rest of the population around the Mediterranean. Their family structure and the basic values surrounding it were not so exceptional. The Jews were also very cosmopolitan. Jewish families and smaller communities could be found not only around the Mediterranean, but also in the Parthian empire, and many of them were engaged in trades and commerce with a well-functioning international network.8 Some Jewish families in Alexandria built up enormous fortunes.9 We find Jewish mercenaries in the Ptolemaic army, and some even advanced to be generals.10 It is true that the Jewish monotheistic religion and some cultural characteristics such as the observance of a day they called the Sabbath, circumcision and the prohibition against eating pork were alien to most of their neighbours. However, a large part of the Jewish population had adopted the Greek way of life without forsaking their ancestral faith. In the middle of the second century BC, the Hellenistic ruler Antiochos IV intervened in the conflict between the Hellenistic and the more orthodox Jews of Jerusalem.11 After serious uprisings he issued an edict through which he tried to Hellenise the more orthodox Jews by banning their practices with disastrous results.12 Part of the Jewish population, led by Judas Makkabaios, revolted, and the Seleucids lost control of an important border province. However, as long as the central authorities allowed the more orthodox Jews to observe their practices, there was no reason why the Jews could not be incorporated into the Hellenistic or Roman multi-ethnic, multi-religious, multi-cultural and multi-linguistic empires and benefit from peace, law and order and live a good and prosperous life. In 63 BC Pompey secured Roman control of Palestine without direct annexation. Caesar, who had been assisted by the Jews in Alexandria, continued this policy, and in 40 BC the Roman senate appointed Herod king of Judaea. In reality he was a client king, but at least officially, Judaea had once again become an independent kingdom. Moreover, Josephos quotes an edict of AD 2/3 in which Augustus confirmed the Jewish rights to perform their religion and practices (Joseph. AJ 16.162-165). According to Josephos it was inscribed on a pillar in the temple of Caesar in Rome. The authenticity of the edict has been questioned, as well

138

Jørgen Christian Meyer

as its universal address.13 However, later in a letter to the Alexandrians (see below) Claudius refers to an Augustan edict, though it is not clear whether it is a universal or local one. There is no reason to doubt that Augustus issued an edict, even if its actual wording may be questioned, and it demonstrates the Roman willingness to accommodate the Jewish population. At the outset the first Jewish encounter with the Romans looked promising for the future relations.14 Then things slowly began to go wrong.15 The Romans had definitely hoped to control the area through the King, the elite and the Jewish high priesthood in the traditional way. However, the rule of Herod and especially that of his descendants was never popular with the common people, and the elite too lacked popular support.16 Old tension between more Hellenised and more traditional, urban and rural Jews prevailed. Not even the high priesthood was able to exercise control. The Jewish people never developed a strong hierarchal religious organisation as the later Christian church did. The Jewish religion was quite capable of surviving without one, because local assemblies existed complementary to and parallel with the Temple organisation, probably already from the second century BC.17 They were later to develop into the institution of the synagogue after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70. In AD 6, Augustus intervened at the request of the local population, and Judaea became a Roman province. He solved one problem, but without knowing it laid the basis for another yet to come. In AD 6 the so-called Zealot movement was founded with the aim to regain the independence of Judaea. We do not have space to go into details about the events leading up to the great Jewish uprising in 66-73, the Bar Kokhba revolt in 132-135 and the actual wars. I will confine myself to some aspects of the conflicts. We will start not in Palestine, but in Alexandria, and not with a RomanJewish conflict, but a local one. In 41 serious riots broke out in Alexandria between the Jewish community, which demanded full citizenship in Alexandria, and the Greek population, which wanted their own senate and viewed the Jewish privileges and also the position of some Jews high up in the Roman administration of Alexandria with suspicion and envy.18 They felt neglected by the Roman central authorities. Moreover, the Greeks had not forgotten that the Jews supported Caesar, and the Jewish community was probably a perfect target for their frustrations. After the Roman army had established law and order, both parties sent delegations, the Jewish even two, representing different factions, to the emperor for support and to offer an apology for the riots. Claudius’ answer is preserved in a papyrus from Egypt:19 As to the disturbances and rioting against the Jews – rather, the war against them, if I am to use the accurate term – and the question which side was originally responsible, although your envoys, especially Dionysios son of Theon, have zealously maintained

What Have the Romans ever Done for Us?

139

their case at length in the confrontation, I have none the less been unwilling to examine the matter in detail, reserving implacable wrath for those who started it up again. I tell you plainly, that if you do not put an end to this disastrous, outrageous frenzy against one another, I shall be forced to show you what a welldisposed Emperor is like when he becomes justifiably angry. Accordingly even at this late stage I adjure the Alexandrians to show humanity and good will towards Jews who have been living in the same city with them for generations, and not to do anything to desecrate the practices connected with the cult of their god, but to allow them to keep the same customs as they followed under the deified Augustus, which I too have confirmed after having heard both sides. And as to the Jews, I tell them straight out not to waste time working for any more privileges than they had before, nor in the future to send two separate delegations as if they were living in two separate cities, which is something that has never happened before; nor are they to force their way into games arranged by gymnasiarchs or cismetici, since as it is they enjoy their own privileges as well as benefiting from an abundance of unstinted advantages when they are living in a city that does not belong to them. And they are not to bring in or admit Jews sailing from Syria or Egypt, which will inevitably increase our suspicions. Otherwise I shall proceed against them in every way as spreading what amounts to a worldwide epidemic. If your two parties renounce those courses and are willing to live together with mutual forbearance and amity, I too shall give careful attention to the city which comes into our hands like a house inherited from our ancestors. (Smallwood 1967, 370). This was really a complicated situation. To support one of the parties would only make things worse, and Claudius decided to do nothing. Instead he speaks to the Jews and the Greeks in Alexandria as a father speaks to naughty children! I will not investigate who started all this, and no one will be punished. Let us start afresh. Behave yourselves and you will benefit from my generosity. If not, you will really be in for it. And then there will be no mercy. It is characteristic that the problems started as a local conflict between the Jews and their neighbours. The Jews were a relatively clearly defined group with special characteristics, not only in Alexandria. There was also trouble in Rome in 41, and Claudius was compelled to deny the Jews the right to assemble in the capital of the Empire (Dion Cass. 60.6; Suetonius, Claudius 25). The Romans were obviously well informed about the Jewish religion, their practices,

140

Jørgen Christian Meyer

Fig. 1. Tetradrachm of the Bar Kokhba revolt, AD 133/4 (University of Aarhus).

their peculiarity and exclusiveness. The sons of Herod the Great spent part of their upbringing in Rome.20 M. Julius Agrippa, grandson of Herod the Great, and his son, spent many years at the imperial court.21 The Romans received several embassies from Judaea.22 Tacitus later wrote, “In order to secure the allegiance of his People in the future, Moses prescribed for them a novel religion quite different from those of the rest of mankind”, and then he goes into details (Tac. Hist. 5.4). He also adds: “They will not eat or intermarry with gentiles” (Tac. Hist. 5.5). They were also well aware of the interregional network of the Jews. Claudius, in his speech, mentions Jews sailing in from Syria and other parts of the province of Egypt. In a much later very serious revolt in 115-117 during the reign of Trajan diasporic Jews in Egypt, Cyrenaica and Cyprus coordinated their actions, and once again it all started as local conflicts.23 In spite of this the Romans obviously underestimated the political dynamite in the Jewish culture, the strength of the Zealot movement and its popular appeal. Up to the great war in 66-73 only 6 cohorts were stationed in Judaea. Then in 66 the Roman procurator Gessius Florus made a stupid decision: He charged the Temple in Jerusalem a tax. The Jews revolted, and the conflict escalated.24 The determination and bitter commitment of the rebels caught the Romans napping. Nero had to send one of his most able commanders Vespasian with his son Titus to Judaea and commit 4 legions with auxiliaries, equivalent to one seventh of the entire Roman army, in an area not bigger than Jutland in Denmark.25 Even if the military operations were disrupted by the fall of Nero in 68 and the subsequent dynastic troubles in Rome, it took the Romans two years to get control of the countryside, and Titus’ siege of Jerusalem lasted four months. The last stronghold, Masada, kept on fighting until 73, when the defenders, men, women and children, preferred collective suicide to surrendering after a siege of sixth months. The Roman revenge was terrible: the destruction of the symbolic centre of the Jewish culture and

What Have the Romans ever Done for Us?

141

religion, the Temple in Jerusalem. The Temple was plundered of its holy relics and the spoils brought to Rome in triumph. No longer were the Jews able to count on any imperial protection, such as they had enjoyed since the reign of Augustus. Claudius’ threat from 41 materialized. The Jewish war in 66-73 is an extremely interesting conflict not only as regards antiquity, but also for world history. First of all, it happened when the Roman Empire displayed no signs of weakness, even though Nero was very unpopular with the Roman ruling class. If the revolt had happened after the fall of Nero, it would have made much more sense. The procurator Gessius Florus surely made a stupid decision, but the Jews did the same when they escalated the conflict to a war against an overwhelming military power. That is also the message of Josephos in his Jewish Wars, where he has a digression on the Roman army and its professionalism: Where counsel thus precedes active operations, where the leader’s plan of campaign is followed up by so efficient an army, no wonder that the Empire has extended its boundaries on the east to the Euphrates, on the west to the ocean, on the south to the most fertile tracts of Libya, on the north to Ister and the Rhine. One might say without exaggeration that, great as are their possessions, the people that won them are greater still. If I have dwelt at some length on this topic, my intention was not so much to extol the Romans as to console those whom they have vanquished and deter others, who may be tempted to revolt. (BJ 3.5.7-8, translated by H.St.J. Thackeray). The Romans experienced many local revolts in their empire, but normally it happened when the central authorities were weakened or had lost control, as for example in some parts of Gaul after the fall of Nero. The rebels simply gambled on some chance of success. One conclusion can be drawn: it is obvious that the events of 66 in Judaea unleashed forces that neither the Romans nor the Jewish leaders could have foreseen or been able to control. Secondly, the Romans experienced what can be classified as a total mobilisation against Roman rule, including extensive guerrilla warfare, which presupposes a strongly motivated population, ready to make extensive sacrifices. As Tacitus stated it, “The Jews displayed an inflexible determination, women no less than men, and the thought that they might be compelled to leave their homes made them more afraid of living than of dying” (Tac. Hist. 5.13). The Romans faced the same problem as the Americans in Vietnam and Iraq, the Soviets in Afghanistan and the Israeli in the occupied territories, namely that of fighting irregular troops. The Romans had experienced that before in Gaul and Spain, but not to the same extent. The Romans learned the lesson, and thereafter a full legion was stationed

142

Jørgen Christian Meyer

in Judaea. With the establishment of the province of Arabia in the beginning of the second century another legion was stationed in Bostra in the southern part of modern Syria within only two days of striking distance. The Jews, however, did not seem to have learned the lesson nor listened to the words of Josephos. I have already mentioned the serious revolt in 115-117 during the reign of Trajan among the diasporic Jews in Egypt, Cyrenaica and Cyprus. In 132-135 we have the last great revolt in Judaea, the so-called Bar Kokhba revolt, named after the Jewish leader Shim’on ben Kosiba or Bar Kokhba.26 Once again, the odds were against the Jews. The Roman Empire was in a healthy state, but again, it was a bitter fight involving guerrilla tactics. The emperor Hadrian transferred one of his best commanders, Julius Severus, from the distant province of Britannia to Judaea. Severus commanded a large force for several seasons before the area was pacified. The Jews were banned from the centre of Jerusalem, or Aelia Capitolina as it had been renamed in 130, and one more legion was stationed in the province for the next two centuries. After 135, the Jews no longer seem to have the political, urban, or territorial institutions that could support another great revolt, even if there were minor uprisings during the reigns of Antoninus Pius and Septimius Severus. At last the Romans had won not only the war, but also the peace, but at very high costs. They had to do it the Assyrian way. The causes of the revolt are obscure. Unlike the first war, for which the Jewish historian Josephos is a contemporary source, our sources for this last Jewish war are later – Dion Cassius and Eusebios – and not so detailed. Probably they were religious and symbolic: Hadrian’s prohibition of circumcision, which the Romans looked upon as a barbaric rite, the renaming of Jerusalem as Aelia Capitolina in 130 and perhaps also the plans to refound Jerusalem as a Roman colony. There is, however, no scholarly consensus of what caused the revolt and what should be considered part of the Roman repressive measures that followed it.27 Whatever the causes, we have one excellent source for the uprising, which can add some new dimensions to our understanding of the relationship between the Jews and the Roman Empire. During the revolt the Jews issued a series of coins: tetradrachms, drachms and three bronze denominations by overstriking existing foreign silver and bronze coins.28 A common theme on the obverse of the coin (Fig. 1) is the facade of a sanctuary, the Temple, with an inscription written in ancient Hebrew letters, “Jerusalem.” The reverse of the coin displays a so-called lulav (myrtle, palm branch, and willow tied in a bundle) and etrog (citron fruit), which are used in the celebration of the Jewish holiday of Sukkot or Feast of Tabernacles, connected with the long wandering in the Sinai desert. The inscription reads, “Year 2 of the freedom of Israel.” The coins have a clear and unambiguous message. This is an introduction of a new era with reference back to Jewish history, the long wandering through the desert and the Temple of Jerusalem. The language is Hebrew and there are no Hellenistic or Roman symbols.

What Have the Romans ever Done for Us?

143

Fig. 2. Antoninianus of Zenobia, AD 271-272 (© Copyright Andreas Pangerl, www.romancoins.info).

This can be compared with two other rebellions at a much later date, in the second part of the third century. In 260 the commander Marcus Cassianius Latinius Postumus established himself as Roman emperor of Gaul, Britain and Spain and began to issue coins.29 A coin from 262 shows Postumus on the obverse with the inscription “IMP C POSTVMVS P F AVG” (Imperator Caesar Postumus pius felix Augustus). The reverse shows Mars and the inscription “P M TR P IIII COS III P P” (Pontifex maximus, tribunicia potestate IIII, consul III, pater patriae). Postumus uses all the traditional titles of an Roman emperor, and even if he did not take any action at all to march on Rome, there is no evidence that he or his successors wanted to create a separate western empire. They placed themselves in the tradition of the Roman emperors, clearly underlining the universal claim of their rule within the Roman Empire. The other example is Palmyra. The Palmyrenes, a conglomerate of Amorite, Aramaic and Arab groups, were never fully Romanised from a cultural point of view.30 Their main god was the Babylonian god Bal, and their priesthoods were hereditary within a few families. They still retained their Aramaic language and Palmyrene script as a supplement to Greek and Latin. They also dressed differently and had their own customs. Politically the Palmyrenes retained a high degree of independence, maintained their own camel regiments and managed to keep the long frontier against desert Arabs peaceful for over 200 years.31 The Romans could only be satisfied, and Hadrian declared Palmyra a free city in 129. However, in the second half of the third century the Romans lost control of the eastern frontier. The Sassanid king, Shapur, launched an offensive deep into Roman territory, and the Palmyrene economy, which was dependent on the eastern trade in the Arabian Gulf and with India, suffered heavily. One of the leading citizens in Palmyra, Odaenathus, seized power. According to Petros Patrikios, a Byzantine historian of the sixth century AD, he sent a delegation to Shapur offering him gifts, but was

144

Jørgen Christian Meyer

rejected (FHG 4.187), but no other sources mention this episode. Odaenathus now raised an army. First he defeated two imperial pretenders, Macrianus and Quietus, and in 261 he drove the Persians out of the Roman territory, restoring law and order in the eastern provinces. He was named “Restorer of the entire East”. His name is also associated with the term “King of Kings”, a title borne by the Persian kings; but it is possible that his wife, Zenobia, attributed this title to him posthumously.32 Even if he claimed the title, we have no indication that this should be regarded as a rupture with Rome and the Roman emperor Gallienus. Rather, it was a direct challenge to the Sassanid king. We do not know if Odaenathus had further ambitions within the Roman Empire or in the East as such. In 267 he was assassinated, and his wife, Zenobia, took over on behalf of her son, Waballathus. Of her ambitions there can be no doubt, and in 269 she had gained control of the provinces of Syria, Arabia and Egypt. When Aurelian started his offensive to re-establish the unity of the empire, the Palmyrenes issued a series of coins with the bust of Zenobia. A coin from 271-272 (Fig. 2) shows Zenobia on the obverse with the inscription “S. ZENOBIA AVG” (Septimia Zenobia Augusta) and Juno on the reverse with the inscription “IVNO REGINA”, referring to the Capitoline triad, Iuno, Jupiter and Minerva. Corresponding coins were issued with a Greek text. There is no reference to the main Palmyrene god Bal and no coins bear a Palmyrene text. The coins are clearly in the Roman tradition, and they do not differ from issues with Roman empresses. These issues were a direct challenge to the rule of Aurelian as a Roman emperor. The prize was not an independent Palmyrene empire, but Rome itself. The Palmyrenes are interesting to compare with the Jews. They too had their characteristics, but they had no problem in adapting themselves to Graeco-Roman culture, without compromising their own, which was a mixture of Arab, Hellenistic and Persian elements. In contrast to the Jews they seem to have been able to have several identities simultaneously. They could simply choose which identity to activate, and they were able to be pragmatic and opportunistic, changing their loyalty according to the political situation. Even if many Jews were in fact well adapted to the Roman Empire and there were great differences between Hellenised Jews and their more orthodox compatriots, the Jews were unique in the ancient world when it came to identity and their inability to adapt themselves to other cultures. Of course, this had something to do with their monotheistic religion that developed especially after the Babylonian exile. To accept the gods of other people was to renounce Jahve. This had political consequences. Both the Jews and the Romans lived in a world where there was no separation between religion and politics. Moreover, the sacred books of the Jews, gathered in what we call the Old Testament, have some special features compared to the sacred books of the pagan world. They contain both a historical narrative from Creation onward and prophecies about the future destiny of the Jews as God’s chosen people.

What Have the Romans ever Done for Us?

145

They also have a strong eschatological perspective. This aspect was reinforced by the political development in Palestine, where the Jews lost their independence to foreign powers, first to the Persians, then to Hellenistic rulers, and later to the Roman Empire. The concept of a Messiah became not only a religious but also a political force. This corpus of sacred books was gathered and edited over the centuries, and also, at an early stage, translated into Greek for the Hellenised Jews who did not master the Hebrew language any longer. Already before the Romans entered the scene as the new dominant power, important parts of the Old Testament constituted a common property of the Jewish people, even if the final canonisation of the text took place during Roman rule. The sacred books of the pagan world were different. Most famous are the Sibylline Books housed in the temple of Capitoline Jupiter, later moved to the temple of Palatine Apollo by Augustus, closer to his own residence. Even if the core of the Sibylline Books was prophesies about the future, it was a future not fundamentally different from the present, and the books were not a common property of the Roman people as such and did not play the same role in shaping the Roman identity in relation to other cultures. However, the importance of the sacred books must be seen in combination with the other characteristics of the Jewish culture, such as the Sabbath, circumcision and prohibition against eating pork, and the fact that the Jewish community was exclusive, but not under cover. It was visible in normal everyday life. Often this stirred tensions and even clashes with other groups. This again enhanced the Jewish feeling of distinctness and cohesion. The Jewish identity was not something created at the time of Moses, but it developed over the centuries from the Babylonian exile in confrontation with foreign rulers and other local communities in a dialectic process.33 Now we can sum up in a schematic way some important points about Jewish identity compared to non-Jewish identities. As with all human beings, a Jewish identity too was above all related to the family and the kin. Thereupon follows:

1. The local Jewish community/friends. 2. The symbolic centre of the Jewish religion (the Temple in Jerusalem). 3. Other Jewish communities outside one’s place of residence. 4. The local community. 5. The Empire.

The Jewish identity transcends family, class, the local communities and the empire, and it is also attached to one single symbolic centre, the Temple in Jerusalem, even after this was destroyed in 70. It is characterised by a very high degree of horizontal impersonal cohesion that even the Jewish high priesthood or elite was not able to control. The Jews share a common destiny with a historical purpose given by God. It is no easy matter to become a member of the Jewish community, if you were not born into it. The identity is exclusive

146

Jørgen Christian Meyer

and singular, as the religion in itself, and you cannot compromise by adopting other identities. The sacred books are a common property of the Jewish people, and an important tool in maintaining this special Jewish identity. In case of revolt this very strong cohesion and feeling of only one identity could be utilised in mobilising the members with unique determination – not to call it fanaticism – even against military odds. Punishment could be regarded as part of God’s plan. This cohesion and feeling of only one identity has rightly been compared to modern nationalism,34 even if language did not play the same role in Judaism, insofar as there were Jewish communities that were in fact Greek speaking and read the sacred books in Greek translation. You cannot choose your nationality; you are born with it. The problem the Roman Empire experienced with the Jews can be compared with the problem later European multinational empires experienced – and experience (Russia) – with the rise of nationalism; but it went beyond nationalism. Judaism was also an international brotherhood and possessed the ability to mobilise across borders. It can be compared with the development of modern Islamic fundamentalism in its recent confrontation with the western culture. Non-Jewish identities were also primarily related to the family and the kin. Thereupon follows:

1. Patrons/chieftains/friends. 2. Local milieu. 3. Empire.

The non-Jewish populations are characterised by a very high degree of vertical or personal cohesion from micro to macro level. Networks outside your community are based on personal relationships even with the emperor himself. Another characteristic is the ability to have several identities. A multi-identity culture gives one a choice. One can choose one’s destiny. The Roman identity is no threat to local identities. In case of revolt the mobilisation of the members was very much dependant on strong leaders and their charisma and indeed also the prospects of military success. Severe punishment is to be avoided. The choice between revolt and collaboration is in many ways a pragmatic or opportunistic one, both for the leaders and their followers. This division between two kinds of identities is of course a very schematic one, and it neglects the fact that many Jews were indeed well integrated into the Roman Empire. They were no homogeneous group. It also neglects the fact the Romans in their conflict with non-Jewish societies also met some kind of horizontal mobilisation at least in rhetoric, according to our sources. Arminius is called the “liberator of Germany”, liberator Germaniae (Tac. Ann. 2.88). According to Tacitus, the Scottish chieftain Calgacus delivered the following speech in 83 before the battle against the Roman legions commanded by Agricola:

What Have the Romans ever Done for Us?

147

As often as I survey the causes of this war and our present straits, my heart beats high that this very day and this unity of ours will be the beginning of liberty for all Britain… To plunder, butcher, steal, these things they misname empire; they make a desolation and they call it peace. Children and kin are by law of nature each man’s dearest possessions; they are swept away from us by conscription to be slaves in other lands; our wives and sisters, even when they escape a soldier’s lust, are debauched by self-styled friends and guests; our goods and chattels go for tribute; our lands and harvests in requisitions of grain; life and limb themselves are used up in levelling marsh and forest to the accompaniment of gibes and blows … That army (sc. Roman), gathered from races widely separate, is held together only by success, and will melt away with defeat: unless you suppose that Gauls and Germans, and even – to their shame be it spoken – many of the tribes of Britain, who lend their blood to an alien tyranny, of which they have been enemies for more years than slaves, are attached to Rome by loyalty and liking. Fear and panic are sorry bonds of love: put these away, and they who ceased to fear will begin to hate … In the enemy’s own battle line we shall find hands to help us; the Britons will recognise that our case is theirs; the Gauls will remember their former freedom; the rest of the Germans will desert them … Therefore, before you go into action, think upon your ancestors and upon your posterity. (Tac. Agr. 32, translated by M. Hutton). Once again, we do not know if Calgacus ever delivered a speech like that, but it shows that these kinds of horizontal ties were not alien to the ancients. It would indeed have been very surprising if only vertical ties had dominated ancient society, or any society. All societies display both vertical and horizontal social affinities depending on the situation. We also know of a revolt in Egypt in 172-173 under the leadership of a priest, Isidore, where the local population of the countryside in the Delta stirred up a serious uprising against Roman rule. The situation went out of control and the city of Alexandria was threatened. The Romans summoned reinforcements from Syria, but according to Dion Cassius, military means had to be supplemented with a careful strategy:

148

Jørgen Christian Meyer His strategy (sc. Cassius) was to damage the good relations they had with one another and to separate one group from another: they were so desperate and so numerous that he did not dare to attack them when they were united. So he got the better of them by setting them at loggerheads with one another. (Dion Cass. 72.4, translated by E. Cary).

The reasons for the uprising are obscure, but the revolt clearly shows horizontal affinities, whether they were social or “nationalist”. Egypt was indeed a very special province in the Roman Empire, and not just in administration and monetary system. There was also a deep social, cultural, ethnic and linguistic difference between the rural and the urban population. It is not my intention to deny the existence of horizontal ties, but my point is that these ties among most of the populations in the Roman empire were not strong enough in the longer run to create an identity and a loyalty which could really challenge the vertical ones, in contrast to the Jews, who, when it came to major conflicts, were able to mobilise the population with a unique determination. In societies with strong vertical cohesion and multi-identities the process of Romanisation can be divided into several steps, phases or levels, with much chronological overlapping: Conquest/Domination In the first phase the Romans used their military superiority, combined with diplomatic means exploiting local competition and struggles for power, to establish control. Consolidation During the consolidation phase the Romans often had to build up the infrastructure, and they experienced resistance and series of revolts. The subdued populations and their leaders simply had to learn the hard way that the Romans were able and willing to crush any resistance. Adaptation The question “What have the Romans ever done for us” is of crucial importance especially in this phase: firstly, the Roman ability to maintain law, order and peace, not only to the benefit of the Romans, but also of significant segments of the local population, and, secondly, the Roman willingness to share the fruits of the Empire. This adaptation phase is only possible in a multiidentity culture. Revolts might still occur because of a temporary weakening of the central authorities or their inability to maintain peace at the borders. For the rebels and their leaders it was a pragmatic choice.

What Have the Romans ever Done for Us?

149

Full integration Over time, the population began to feel like Romans, not only the elite, but also the population as a whole. They began to speak one of the two official languages of the empire, Greek and Latin often at the expense of the local tongue, which was simply forgotten. Rebels were now ambitious commanders and their armies and the goal is Rome, Caput mundi. Thus the Romans succeeded in creating some kind of Roman identity over time. Christianity, which inherited some of the characteristics of the Jewish religion, culture and communities, posed a new threat. The symbiosis of the Roman Empire with Christianity in the fourth century and the establishment of a strong, vertical, hierarchal religious organisation made Christianity an instrument of control, not horizontal mobilisation. This settled potential conflicts of this type in European history for several hundred years. Further, the Romans never lost their ability to have several identities. Roman identity never became singular and exclusive. They needed that characteristic in Europe after the collapse of the Western Roman Empire and in the east, when the Arabs established their empires. The potential, which the Jews displayed, to call forth a massive horizontal mobilisation of its people against a common enemy, based on one single, shared identity, emerged again only with the rise of the national states in the nineteenth century. Notes 1 I am deeply grateful to Richard H. Pierce, University of Bergen, for critical remarks and valuable suggestions. 2 Claudius’ speech has partly been preserved on a bronze tablet found at Lyon (Smallwood 1967, 369). Tacitus’ version is a paraphrase, but it does not change the contents of the speech. 3 Drinkwater 1989, 189-190. 4 ������������ Herman 1987. ������������� 5 Parke 1933. 6 Boardman 1980. 7 Müller-Karpe 1959. 8 Smallwood 1976, 120-124. 9 The Alexandrian writer and political leader Philon and his brother Alexandros, who gained a high position in the Roman administration, descended from a prominent and wealthy family in the diaspora. 10 Kasher 1992. 11 Grabbe 2002. 12 Chamoux 2003, 121-123. 13 Rajak 1984. 14 McKechnie 2005; Smallwood 1976, 138-143; Lange 1978, 255-260. 15 Smallwood 1976, 144-180 16 Smallwood 1976, 96-104. 17 For a discussion of the controversial issue on the date of the synagogue see: Rajak 2002; Fitzpatrick-McKinley 2002; Schwartz 2001, 215-239; Smallwood 1976, 133‑138; Levine 2000.

150

Jørgen Christian Meyer

18 Jones 1926, 22; Smallwood 1976, 220-250; Fitzpatrick-McKinley 2002, 77-86. 19 Jones 1926. 20 �������������� Leon 1960, 14. ��������������������������� 21 Smallwood 1976, 187-200. 22 McKechnie 2005. 23 Fuks 1961; Smallwood 1976, 389-427. 24 Smallwood 1976, 289; 293-330. 25 Millar 1989, 145. 26 Smallwood 1976, 428-466. 27 Goodman 2003; Tsafrir 2003; Isaac 2003; Oppenheimer 2003; Abusch 2003. 28 Mildenberg 1984. 29 Drinkwater 1987. 30 Richmond 1963; Young 2001, 136-186; Seyrig 1950. 31 Millar 1993, 333; Bowersock 1983, 129. 32 Young 2001, 235-239. 33 Grosby 1999. 34 Grosby 1999; Millar 1989, 147.

Abbreviations AchHist AE AJA AJPh AncSoc ANRW BCH CAH CIL CQ DkP DnP EA FGrH FHG IDRE IG IGR IK ISM JRA JRS LCL LGPN Materiale MEFRA OCD PCPhS Peuce PIR RE REG SCO SEG SNG SCIV(A) TAM TAPA ZPE

Achaemenid History L’Année épigraphique American Journal of Archaeology American Journal of Philology Ancient Society Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt Bulletin de Correspondence Hellénique Cambridge Ancient History Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum The Classical Quarterly Der kleine Pauly Der neue Pauly Epigraphica Anatolica Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker Fragmenta historiarum Graecarum Inscriptions de la Dacie romaine. Inscriptions externes concernant l’histoire de la Dacie (Ier-IIIe si������ ècles�) Inscriptiones Graecae Inscriptiones Graecae ad res Romanas pertinentes Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien Inscriptiones Scythiae Minoris Journal of Roman Archaeology Journal of Roman Studies Loeb Classical Library Lexicon of Greek Personal Names Materiale şi cercetări arheologice Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome. ��������� Antiquité Oxford Classical Dictionary Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society Peuce. Rapoarte, studii şi comunicări de istorie şi arheologie Prosopographia Imperii Romani Real-encyclopaedie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft Revue des études grecques Studi Classici e Orientali Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum Studii şi cercetări de istorie veche Tituli Asiae Minoris Transactions of ������������������������������������� the American Philological Association Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik

Bibliography

Abusch, R. 2003. Negotiating Difference: Genital Mutilation in Roman Slave Law and the History of the Bar Kokhba Revolt, in: Schäfer (ed.) 2003, 71‑92. Alcock, S.E. 1993. Graecia Capta. The Landscapes of Roman Greece. Cambridge. Anderson, G. 1993. The Second Sophistic: a Cultural Phenomenon in the Roman Empire. London. Anderson, J.G.C., F. Cumont & H. Grégoire. 1910. Studia Pontica III.1. Recueil �������� des inscriptions grecques et latines du Pont et de l’Arménie. Bruxelles. Aricescu, A. 1977. Armata în ������������������� Dobrogea romană. Bucureşti. Armayor, O.K. 1978. Did ����������������������������������������� Herodotus ever go to the Black Sea?, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 82, 45‑62 Badian, E. 1972. Publicans and Sinners. Private Enterprise in the Service of the Roman Republic. Oxford. Bărbulescu, M. 2001. Viaţa rurală în Dobrogea romană (sec. I‑III p. Chr). Constanţa. Barnea, A. 1988. Municipium Noviodunum. Nouvelles données épigraphiques, Dacia 32, 53‑60. Bartlett, J.R. (ed.) 2002. Jews in the Hellenistic and Roman Cities. London‑New York. Baumann, V.H. 1983. Ferma romană din Dobrogea. Tulcea. Bell, H.I. 1941. Anti‑Semitism in Alexandria, JRS 31, 1‑18. Benabou, Marcel 1976. La résistance africaine à la romanisation. ������ Paris. Birley, A.R. 2000. Onomasticon to the Younger Pliny. Letters and Panegyric. Munich. Bittner, A. 1998. Gesellschaft und Wirtschaft in Herakleia Pontike: Eine Polis zwischen Tyrannis und Selbstverwaltung. Bonn. Boardman, J. 1980. The Greeks Overseas. London. Bourdieu, P. 1967. Postface, in: E. Panofsky, Architecture gothique et pensée scholastique. Paris. Bowersock, G.W. 1965. Augustus and the Roman World. ������� Oxford. Bowersock, G.W. 1983. Roman Arabia. Cambridge, MA‑London. Braund, D. 1989. Function and dysfunction: personal patronage in Roman imperialism, in: A. Wallace‑Hadrill (ed.), Patronage in Ancient Society. London, 137‑152 Braund, D. 1997. Greeks and Barbarians: The Black Sea region and Hellenism under the Early Empire, in: S.E. Alcock (ed.), The Early Roman Empire in the East. Oxford, 121‑136.

154

Bibliography

Braund, D. 1998. Cohors: The governor and his entourage in the self‑image of the Roman Republic, in: R. Laurence & J. Berry (eds.), Cultural Identity in the Roman Empire. London, 10‑24. Braund, D. 2000. Learning, Luxury and Empire: Athenaeus’ Roman Patron, in: D. Braund & J. Wilkins (eds.), Athenaeus and His World: Reading Greek Culture in the Roman Empire. Exeter, 3‑22. Brunt, P.A. 1980. On historical fragments and epitomes, CQ 30.2, 477‑494. Burke, H. 1999. Meaning and Ideology in Historical Archaeology. Style, Social Identity, and Capitalism in an Australian Town. New York. Burnand, Y., ������������������������������������� Y. Le Bohec & J.‑P. Martin 1998. Claude de Lyon, empereur romain. Actes du colloque Paris‑Nancy‑Lyon, novembre 1992. Paris. Burnett, A., M. Amandry & I. Carradice 1999. Roman Provincial Coinage II: From Vespasian to Domitian (AD 69‑96). Paris. Burstein, S.M. 1974. Outpost of Hellenism: the Emergence of Heraclea on the Black Sea. Berkeley. ��������� Bütler, H.P. 1970. Die geistige Welt des jüngeren Plinius: Studien zur Thematik seiner Briefe. Heidelberg. Cahill, N. 1985. The ��������������������������������������������������������������� Treasury of Persepolis: Gift‑giving at the City of the Persians, AJA 89, 1985, 373‑389. Callataÿ, F. de 1997. L’histoire des guerres mithridatiques vue par les monnaies. Louvain‑la‑Neuve. Carstens, A.M. 1999. Death Matters. Funerary Architecture on the Halikarnassos Peninsula. Unpublished Ph.D.‑thesis, University of Copenhagen. Carstens, A.M. 2004. Style and Context, Hephaistos 21/22, 2003/2004, 7‑28. Carstens, A.M. 2005. To bury a ruler: the meaning of the horse in aristocratic burials, in: V. Karageorghis, H. Matthäus & S. Rogge (eds.), Cyprus: Religion and Society from the late Bronze Age to the End of the Archaic Period. Möhnsee, 57‑76. Cartledge, P. & E. Greenwood 2002. Herodotus as a critic: truth, fiction, polarity. In E. Bakker, I.J.F. de Jong & H.van Wees (eds.), Brill’s Companion to Herodotus. Leiden, 351‑371. Chamoux, F. 2003. Hellenistic Civilization. Oxford. Cheluţă‑Georgescu, N. 1979. Capidava‑1978. Cercetări arheologice efectuate în necropola romană, Materiale 13, 179‑182. Cohen, G.M. 1995. The Hellenistic Settlements in Europe, the Islands, and Asia Minor. ���������������������������� Berkeley‑Los Angeles‑Oxford. Corsten, T. 1985. Die Familie der Catilii in Bithynien, EA 6, 127‑131. Creighton, J.D. and R.J.A. Wilson (ed.) 1999. Roman Germany: Studies in Cultural Interaction (JRA Suppl., 32). Portsmouth, RI. Dalaison, J. 2002. Les limites de la cité d’Amaseia au Haut‑Empire, Anatolia Antiqua 10, 261‑276. Danov, C.M. 1976. Altthrakien. Berlin‑New York. De Martino, F. 1965. Storia della Costituzione Romana, IV, 2. Napoli.

Bibliography

155

Debord, P. 1998. Comment devenir le siège d’une capitale impériale: le “parcours” de la Bithynie, Revue des études anciennes 100, 139‑165. Demougin, S. 1999. L’ordre équestre en Asie Mineure. Histoire d’une romanissation, in: S. Demougin (ed.), L’Ordre Équestre. Histoire d’une aristocratie (IIe s. avant J.‑C. – III s. ap. J.C.), Collection de l’École Française de Rome 257. Rome. 579‑612. Desideri, P. 1967. Studi di storiografia Eracleota – Promathidas e Nymphis, SCO 16, 377‑416. Desideri, P. 1970‑1971. Studi di storiografia Eracleota – La guerra con Antioco il grande, SCO 19‑20, 487‑537. Detschew, D. 1957. Die thrakischen Sprachreste. Wien. Dönmez, S. 1999. Sinop‑Samsun‑Amasya illeri Yüzey Araştırması, 1997, Araştırma Sonuçları Toplantısı 16.2, 513‑536. Doonan, O. 2004. Sinop Landscapes. Exploring Connection in a Black Sea Hinterland. Philadelphia. Doruţiu‑Boilă, E. 1974. Populaţia Dobrogei în epoca romană (sec. I‑III). Unpub������ lished Ph.D.‑thesis. Bucure���� şti. Drinkwater, J.F. 1987. The Gallic Empire: Separatism and Continuity in the NorthWestern Provinces of the Roman Empire A.D. 260-274 (Historia-Einzelschriften, 52) Stuttgart. Drinkwater, J.F. 1989. Patronage in Roman Gaul and the Problem of the Bagaudae, in: A. Wallace-Hadrill (ed.), Patronage in Ancient Society. London-New York, 189‑204. Dueck, D. 2000a. Strabo of Amasia. A Greek Man of Letters in Augustan Rome. London. Dueck, D. 2000b. Historical Exempla in Augustan Rome and their role in a geographical context, in: C. Deroux (ed.), Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History 10. Brussels, 176‑196. Dufallo, B. 2001. Appius’ indignation, TAPA 131, 119‑142. Duncan‑Jones, R.P. 1992. The Impact of the Antonine Plague, JRA 9, 108‑136. Dusinberre, E.R.M. 1997. Imperial ��������������������������������������������������� Style and Constructed Identity: A “GraecoPersian” Cylinder Seal from Sardis, Ars Orientalis 27, 99‑129. Dusinberre, E.R.M. 2003. Aspects of Empire in Achaemenid Sardis. Cambridge. Dyson, S.L. 1975. Native Revolt Patterns in the Roman Empire, ANRW II.3 138‑175. Eck, W. 1998. Inschriften ������������������������������������������������������������� auf Holz. Ein unterschätztes Phänomen der epigraphischen Kultur Roms, in: Imperium Romanum. Festschrift für Karl Christ zum 75. Geburtstag. ������������������� Stuttgart, 203‑217. Eco, U. 1985. Portrait of the Elder as a Young Pliny: How to build fame, in: M. Bronsky (ed.), On Signs. Baltimore, 289‑302. Engels, J. 2005. Andres Endoxoi or “men of high reputation” in Strabo’s Geo­ graphy, in: D. Dueck, H. Lindsay & S. Pothecary (eds.), Strabo’s Cultural World: The Making of a Kolossourgia. Cambridge, 129‑143.

156

Bibliography

Eriksen, T.H. 2004. What is Anthropology? London. Erciyas, D.B. 2006. Wealth, Aristocracy, and Royal Propaganda under the Hellenistic Kingdom of the Mithradatids. Leiden. Fears, J.R. 1981. The cult of virtues and Roman imperial ideology, ANRW II.17.2, 827‑948. Fehling, D. 1989. Herodotus and his “sources”: citation, invention and narrative art. Leeds. Ferguson, Niall 2002. Empire. The Rise and Demise of the British World Order and the Lessons for Global Power. New York. Fernoux, H.-L. 2004. Notables et élites des cités de Bithynie aux époques hellénistique et romaine (IIIe siècle av. ����������� J.-C. – IIIe siècle ap. J.-C.). Essai d’histoire sociale. ����� Lyon. Fitzpatrick-McKinley, A. 2002. Synagogue Communities in the Graeco-Roman Cities, in: Bartlett 2002, 55‑87. Flam‑Zuckerman, L. 1972. Un ����������������������������������������������� exemple de la genèse des domaines impériaux d’après deux inscriptions de Bithynie, Historia 21, 114‑119. French, D.H. 1996a. Amasian Notes 3. Dated Inscriptions from Amasia and its Territory, EA 26, 71‑86. French, D.H. 1996b. Amasian Notes 5. The Temenos of Zeus Stratios at Yassiçal, EA 27, 75‑92. Fuks, A. 1961. Aspects of the Jewish Revolt in A.D. 115‑117, JRS 51, 98‑104. Gabba, E. 1991. Dionysius and the History of Archaic Rome. Berkeley. Gamberini, F. 1983. Stylistic Theory and Practice in the Younger Pliny (Altertumswissenschaftliche Texte und Studien 11). Hildesheim. Garrison, M.B. & M.C. Root 2001. Seals on the Persepolis Fortification Tablets, I. Chicago. Goldhill, S. 2001. Setting an agenda: “Everything is Greece to the wise”, in: Goldhill (ed.) 2001. Goldhill, S. (ed.) 2001. Being Greek under Rome: Cultural Identity, the Second Sophistic and the Development of Empire. Cambridge. Goodman, M. 2003. Trajan and the Origins of the Bar Kokhba War, in: Schäfer (ed.) 2003, 23‑30. Gosden, C. 2004. Archaeology and Colonialism – Cultural Contact from 5000 BC to the Present. Cambridge. Grabbe, L.L. 2002. The Hellenistic City of Jerusalem, in: Bartlett (ed.) 2002, 6‑21. Greenewalt, C.H., N.D. Cahill & M.L. Rautman 1987. The Sardis Campaign of 1984, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research, suppl. 25, 38‑44. Grosby, S. 1999. The Chosen People of Ancient Israel and the Occident: why does nationality exist and survive? Nations and Nationalism 5, 357‑380. Guillemin, A.‑M. 1929. Pline et la vie littéraire de son temps. Paris. Gunderson, E. 1997. Catullus, Pliny, and Love‑Letters, TAPA 127, 201‑231.

Bibliography

157

Haffner, A. and S. von Schnurbein 1996. Dem Kulturwandel unter Roms Enfluss auf der Spur, Archäologie in Deutschland 1996:2, 6‑9. Halfmann, H. 1979. Die Senatoren aus dem östlichen Teil des Imperium Romanum bis zum Ende des 2. Jh. n.Chr. Göttingen. Halfmann, H. 1982. Die Senatoren aus den kleinasiatischen Provinzen, in: Epigrafie e ordine senatorio II. Rome, 603‑650. Hamilton, J.R. 1971. Introduction, in: Arrian. The Campaigns of Alexander. London. Hannestad, Lise 1996. ‘This Contributes in no small way to ones Reputation’: The Bithynian Kings and Greek Culture, in P. Bilde et al. (eds.) Aspects of Hellenistic Kingship (Studies in Hellenistic Civilization, 7). Aarhus, 67‑98. Hardy, E.G. 1889. C. Plinii Caecilii Secundi Epistulae ad Traianum Imperatorem cum Eiuisdem Responsis. London‑New York. Harris, B.F. 1980. Bithynia: Roman Sovereignty and the Survival of Hellenism, ANRW II.7.2, 857‑901. Hartog, F. 1988. Le miroir de Hérodote: Essai sur la représentation de l’autre. Paris. Hatt, J.‑J. 1959. Histoire de la Gaule romaine: colonisation ou colonialisme? Paris. Haverfield, F. 1924. The Romanization of Roman Britain. 4th ed. London. Henderson, J. 2001. On Pliny on Martial on Pliny on Anon… (Epistles 3.21/ Epigrams 10.19), Ramus 30.1, 56‑87. Henderson, J. 2002. Pliny’s Statue. The Letters, Self‑Portraiture and Classical Art. Exeter. Henry, R. 1965. Photios. Bibliothèque, vol. 4 – Codices 223‑229. Paris. Herman, G. 1987. Ritualised friendship and the Greek city. Cambridge. Hobsbawm, E. 1971. Bandits. London. Hodder, I. (ed.) 2002. Archaeological Theory Today. Cambridge. Hoff, Michael C. and Susan Rotroff (eds.) 1997. The Romanization of Athens. Proceedings of an International Conference held at Lincoln, Nebraska (April 1996) (Oxbow Monographs, 94). Oxford. Hoffer, S.E. 1999. The Anxieties of Pliny the Younger (American Classical Studies 43). Atlanta, GA. Hoyland, R.G. 2001. Arabia and the Arabs from the Bronze Age to the Coming of Islam. London‑New York. Isaac, B. 2003. Roman Religious Policy and the Bar Kokhba War, in: Schäfer (ed.) 2003, 37‑54. Janke, M. 1963. Historische Untersuchung zu Memnon von Herakleia. Würzburg. Jeppesen, K. & J. Zahle 1975. ����������������������������������������� Excavations on the site of the Mausoleum 1970/1973, AJA 79, 67‑79. Jones, A.H.M. 1963. The Greeks under the Roman Empire, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 17, 1‑19.

158

Bibliography

Jones, A.H.M. 1971. The Cities of the Eastern Roman Provinces (2nd ed.). Oxford, reprinted Amsterdam 1983. Jones, C.P. 1968. A new commentary on the Letters of Pliny, Phoenix 22, 111‑142. Jones, C.P. 1978. The Roman World of Dio Chrysostom. Cambridge, MA. Jones, C.P. 1999. Kinship Diplomacy in the Ancient World. Cambridge, MA. Jones, H.S. 1926. Claudius and the Jewish Question at Alexandria, JRS 16, 17‑35. Kaptan, D. 1996. Some remarks about the Hunting Scenes on the Seal Impressions of Daskyleion, BCH suppl. 29, 85‑100. Kaptan, D. 2000. Common Traits on Seals and Coins of the Achaemenid Period in an Anatolian Context, in: O. Casabonne (ed.), Mécanismes et innovations monétaires dans l’Anatolie achéménide. Numismatique et historie (Varia Anatolica, 12). Istanbul, 213‑233. Kaptan, D. 2001. On the Satrapal Center in Northwestern Asia Minor: some evidence from the seal impressions of Ergili/Daskyleion, in: T. Bakir (ed.), Achaemenid Anatolia. Leiden, 57‑64. Kaptan, D. 2003. The Daskyleion Bullae. Seal Images from the Western Achaemenid Empire (AchHist 12). Leiden. Kasher, A. 1992. The Civic Status of the Jews in Ptolemaic Egypt, in: P. Bilde, T. Engberg‑Pedersen, L. Hannestad & J. Zahle (eds.), Ethnicity in Hellenistic Egypt (Studies in Hellenistic Civilization, 3). Aarhus, 100‑121. Kolendo������������������������������������������������������������������������� , J. 1998. Claude et l’annexation de la Thrace, in: Burnand et al. (ed.) ������ 1998, 321‑332. Krapivina, V. & P. Diatroptov 2005. An inscription of Mithridates VI Eupator’s governor from Olbia, Ancient Civilizations from Scythia to Siberia 11.3‑4, 167‑180. Lange, N.R.M. de 1978. �������������������������������������������������� Jewish Attitudes to the Roman Empire, in: P. Garnsey & C.R. Whittaker (eds.), Imperialism in the Ancient World. Cambridge, 255‑281. Leach, E.W. 1990. The Politics of Self‑Presentation: Pliny’s “Letters” and Roman Portrait Sculpture, Classical Antiquity 9, 14‑39. Leon, H.J. 1960. The Jews of Ancient Rome. Philadelphia. Leschhorn, W. 1993. Antike Ären: Zeitrechnung, Politik und Geschichte im Schwarzmeerraum und in Kleinasien nördlich des Tauros (Historia‑Einzelschriften 81). Stuttgart. Levine, L.I. 2000. The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years. New Haven. Liddle, A. 2003. Arrian. Periplus Ponti Euxini. Bristol. Lilja, S. 1970. The nature of Pliny’s Letters, Arctos 6, 61‑79. Lomas, K. 2000. Between Greece and Italy: An outside perspective on Roman Sicily, in: C.J. Smith and J. Serrati (eds.), Sicily from Aeneas to Augustus: New Approaches in Archaeology and history. Edinburgh, 161‑173.

Bibliography

159

Ludolph, M. 1997. Epistolographie und Selbstdarstellung. Untersuchungen zu den “Paradebriefen” Plinius des Jüngeren (C������������������������������� lassica Monacensia, 17). Tübingen. McGing, B.C. 1986. The Foreign Policy of Mithridates VI Eupator King of Pontus. Leiden. McKechnie, P. 2005. �������������������������������������������������� Judaean Embassies and Cases before Roman Emperors AD 44‑66, Journal of Theological Studies, n.s. 56, 339‑361. MacMullen, R. 2000. Romanisation in the Time of Augustus. London. Macro, A.D. 1980. The Cities of Asia Minor under the Roman Imperium, ANRW II.7.2, 658‑697. Magie, D. 1950. Roman Rule in Asia Minor: to the End of the Third Century after Christ. Princeton. Marek, C. 1993. Stadt, Ära und Territorium in Pontus‑Bithynia und Nord‑Galatia (Istanbuler Forschungen 39). Tübingen. Marek, C. 1997. Grab‑, Ehren‑ und Weihinschriften aus der Gegend von Modrene (Mudurnu) in Bithynien, EA 28, 81‑84. Marek, C. 2003. Pontus et Bithynia. Die ���������������������������������������� römischen Provinzen im Norden Klein­ asiens. Mainz. Matei‑Popescu, F. 2001‑2002. Trupele ���������������������������������������������� auxiliare romane din Moesia Inferior, SCIVA 52‑53, 173‑242. Matthews, R., T. Pollard & M. Ramage 1998. Project Paphlagonia: Regional Survey in Northern Anatolia, in: R. Matthews (ed.), Fifty Years’ Work by the British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara. Ankara, 195‑216. Mendels, D. 1986. Greek and Roman History in the Bibliotheca of Photios – A Note, Byzantion 56, 196‑206. Mildenberg, L. 1984. The Coinage of the Bar Kokhba War. ������ Aarau. Millar, F. 1964. A Study of Cassius Dio. Oxford. Millar, F. 1989. Empire, Community and Culture in the Roman Near East: Greeks, Syrians, Jews and Arabs, Journal of Jewish Studies 38, 143‑164. Millar, F. 1993. The Roman Near East. 31 BC – AD 337. Cambridge, MA-London. Mitchell, S. 1993. Anatolia. Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor I. The Celts and the Impact of Roman Rule. ������� Oxford. Mouritsen, H. 1988. Elections, Magistrates and Municipal Elite: Studies in Pompeian Epigraphy (Analecta Romana Instituti Danici, Suppl. 15). Rome. Müller-Karpe, H. 1959. Beiträge zur Chronologie der Urnenfelderzeit nördlich und südlich der Alpen. ������� Berlin. Murgia, C. 1985. Pliny’s letters and the Dialogus, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 89, 171‑206. Newton, C.T. 1862‑1863. A History of Discoveries at Halikarnassus, Cnidus and Branchidae. London. Olshausen, E. 1974. Zum Hellenisierungsprozess am pontischen Königshof, Ancient Society 5, 153‑170.

160

Bibliography

Olshausen, E. & J. Biller 1984. Historisch-geographische Aspekte der Geschichte des Pontischen und Armenischen Reiches. Wiesbaden. Oppenheimer, A. 2003. ���������������������������������������������������� The Ban of Circumcision as a Cause of the Revolt: A Reconsideration, in: Schäfer (ed.) 2003, 55‑70. Özdogan, A., C. Marro & A. Tibet 1999. Kastamonu Yüzey Araştırması 1997 yılı çalişmaları, Araştırma Sonuçları Toplantısı 16.2, 219‑244. Özsait, M. & N. Özsait 2002. Amasya-Merzifon Araştırmaları, Anadolu Araştırmaları 16, 527‑552. Özsait, M. 2002. 1999‑2000 yılı Amasya-Merzifon ve Ordu-Kumru Yüzey Araştırması, Araştirma Sonuçları Toplantısı 19.2, 191‑206. Özsait, M. 2003. 2002 yılı Samsun-Amasya Yüzey Araştırmalarinin ilk sonuçları, Araştirma Sonuçları Toplantısı 21.2, 273‑279. Panofsky, E. 1939. Studies in iconology. Oxford. Panofsky, E. 1969. The history of art as a humanistic discipline, in: T. Meyer Greene (ed.), The meaning of the humanities. Princeton (Washington), 91‑118. Panofsky, E. 1970. Gothic architecture and Scholasticism. Cleveland. Parke, H.W. 1933. Greek Mercenary Soldiers. From the Earliest Times to the Battle of Ipsus. Oxford. Pedersen, P. 2001‑2002. Reflections on the Ionian Remaissance in Greek Architecture and its Historical Background, Hephaistos 19‑20, 97‑130. Perl, G. 1968. Zur Chronologie der Königsreiche Bithynia, Pontos und Bosporos, in: J. Harmatta (ed.), Studien zur Geschichte und Philosophie des Altertums. Amsterdam, 299‑330. Peschlow, U., A. Peschlow‑Bindokat & M. Wörrle 2002. Die Sammlung Turan Beler in Kumbaba bei �������������������������������������������������� Ş������������������������������������������������� ile (II). Antike und Byzantinische Denkmäler von der bithynischen Schwarzmeerküste, Istanbuler Mitteilungen 52, 429‑522. Pippidi, D.M. (ed.) 1976. Assimilation et Résistance à la Culture Gréco‑Romaine dans le Monde Ancien. Travaux du Vie Congrès International d’Etudes Classiques (Madrid, Septembre 1974). Bucharest‑Paris. Pippidi, D. M. & E. Popescu (eds.) 1977. Epigraphica. Travaux ������������������ d��������� édiés ��� au VII e Congrès �������������������������������������������������������������������� d’épigraphie������������������������������������������������ grecque et latine (Constantza, 9‑15 sept. 1977). Bucure���� şti. Price, S.R.F. 1984. Rituals and Power. The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor. Cambridge. Pritchett, W.K. 1993. The Liar School of Herodotos. Amsterdam. Rajak, T. 1984. Was There a Roman Charter for the Jews? JRS 74, 107‑123. Rajak, T. 2002. Synagogue and Community in the Graeco‑Roman Diaspora, in: Bartlett (ed.) 2002, 22‑38. Renfrew, C. & P. Bahn 1993. Archaeology: theories, methods, and practice. London. Reynolds, L.D. 1983. The younger Pliny, in: L.D. Reynolds (ed.), Texts and Transmission: a survey of the Latin Classics. Oxford, 316‑322

Bibliography

161

Rich, J.W. 1990. The Augustan Settlement: Roman History 53.1‑55.9. Dio Cassius; edited with translation and commentary. Warminster. Richmond, I.A. 1963. Palmyra under the Aegis of Rome, JRS 53, 43‑54. Riggsby, A.M. 1995. Pliny on Cicero and Oratory: Self‑Fashioning in the Public Eye, AJPh 116.1, 123‑135. Riggsby, A.M. 1998. Self and Community in the Younger Pliny, Arethusa 31.1, 75‑98. Robert, L. 1937. Études anatoliennes. Paris. Root, M.C. 1979. The King and Kingship in Achaemenid Art. Essays on the Creation of an Iconography of Empire. ������� Leiden. Root, M.C. 1991. From the Heart: Powerful Persianisms in the Art of the Western Empire, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & A. Kuhrt (eds.), Asia Minor and Egypt: Old Cultures in a New Empire (AchHist, 6), Leiden, 1‑19. Root, M.C. 1994. Lifting the veil: artistic transmission beyond boundaries of historical periodisation, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & A. Kuhrt (eds.), Continuity and Change (AchHist, 8). Leiden, ������������� 9‑37. Rostovtzeff, M.I. 1927. A History of the Ancient World, II: Rome. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Rostovtzeff, M.I. [1926] 1957. The Social and Economic History of the Roman Empire, 2nd edition revised by P.M. Fraser. Oxford. Saller, R.P. 1982. Personal Patronage under the Roman Empire. Cambridge. Saprykin, S.Ju. & A.A. Maslennikov 1996. Bosporan Chora in the Reign of Mithridates VI Eupator and his Immediate Successors. Part II. Polis‑Chora System in the State of Bosporus on the Threshold of the Christian Era, Ancient Civilizations from Scythia to Siberia 3, 1‑14. Schäfer, P. (ed.) 2003. The Bar Kokhba War Reconsidered. New Perspectives on the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism, 100). Tübingen. ��������� Schmidt, E.F. 1957. Persepolis II. Content of treasury and other discoveries. Chicago. Schuler, C. 1998. Ländliche Siedlungen und Gemeinden im hellenistischen und römischen Kleinasien. München. Schwartz, S. 2001. Imperialism and Jewish Society, 200 B.C.E. to 640 C.E. Prince­ ton‑Oxford. Scorpan, C. 1977. S������������������������������������������������������������� tèles funéraires inédites������������������������������������ de Sacidava, in: Pippidi & Popescu (eds.) 1977, 203‑222. Sekunda, N. 1991. Achaemenid settlement in Caria, Lycia and Greater Phrygia, in: H. Sancisi‑Weerdenburg & A. Kuhrt (ed.), Asia Minor and Egypt: Old Cultures in a New Empire (AchHist 6). Leiden, 83‑143. Seyrig, H. 1950. Palmyra and the East, JRS 40, 1‑7. Shanks, M. 2002. Culture/Archaeology – the dispersion of a discipline and its objects, in: Hodder (ed.) 2002, 284‑305. Sherwin-White, A.N. 1966. The Letters of Pliny. A Historical and Social Commentary. Oxford.

162

Bibliography

Simion, G. 1984. Descoperiri noi ������������������������������� în necropola de la Noviodunum, Peuce 9, 75‑96, pls 1‑18. Simion, G. 1994‑������������������������������������������������������ 1995. Ensemble funéraire de la nécropole tumulaire de Noviodunum (Isaccea), Dacia 38‑39, 121‑149. Sinopoli, C.M. 1994. The Archaeology of Empires, Annual Review of Anthropology 23, 159‑180. Smallwood, E.M. 1966. Documents Illustrating the Principates of Nerva, Trajan and Hadrian. Cambridge. Smallwood, E.M. 1967. Documents Illustrating the Principates of Gaius, Claudius and Nero. Cambridge. Smallwood, E.M. 1976. The Jews under Roman Rule. From Pompey to Diocletian. Leiden. Stadter, P.A. 1980. Arrian of Nicomedia. Chapel Hill. Stout, S.E. 1954. Scribe and Critic at work in Pliny’s Letters. Notes on the History and the Present Status of the Text. Bloomington. Suceveanu, A. 1991a. La Dobroudja aux Ier-IIIe siecles n. é., in: Suceveanu & Barnea 1991, 22‑153. Suceveanu, A. 1991b. M. Arruntius Claudianus et l’annexion romaine de la Dobroudja, AncSoc 22, 255‑276. Suceveanu, A. 1998. Fântânele. Contribuţii la studiul vieţii rurale în Dobrogea romană. Bucureşti. Suceveanu, A. & A. Barnea 1991. La Dobroudja romaine. Bucure���� şti. Suceveanu, A. & M. Zahariade 1986. Un nouveau “vicus” sur le territoire de la Dobroudja romaine, Dacia 30, 109‑120. Swain, S. 1996. Hellenism and Empire. Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World, AD 50‑250. Oxford. Swain, S. (ed.) 2002. Dio Chrysostom: Politics, Letters and Philosophy. Oxford. Syme, R. 1995. Anatolica: Studies in Strabo. Oxford. Treadgold, W.T. 1980. The Nature of the Bibliotheca of Photios. Washington. Tsafrir, Y. 2003. Numismatics and the Foundation of Aelia Capitolina: A Critical Review, in: Schäfer (ed.) 2003, 31‑36. Tudor, D. 1956. Inscripţii romane inedite din Oltenia şi Dobrogea, Materiale 2���������� , 563‑624. Veyne, P. 1967. Autour d’un commentaire de Pline le Jeune, Latomus 26, 723‑751. Veyne, P. 1976. Le pain et le cirque. Sociologique historique d’un pluralisme politique. Paris. Veyne, P. 1999. L’identité grecque devant Rome et l’empereur, REG 112.2, 510‑567. Vinogradov, J.G. & M. Wörrle 1992. Die Söldner von Phanagoreia, Chiron 22, 159‑170. Vitucci, G. 1953. Il regno di Bitinia. Rome. Vulpe, R. 1968. Perioada Principatului, in: Vulpe & Barnea 1968, 13‑365.

Bibliography

163

Vulpe, R. & I. Barnea 1968. Din istoria Dobrogei II. Romanii la Dun�������� ărea de ��� Jos. Bucureşti. Waddington, W., E. Babelon & Th. �������������� Reinach 1925. Recueil général des monnaies grecques d‘Asie Mineure I.1 Pont et Paphlagonie (2nd ed., reprinted 1976). Paris. Wallace‑Hadrill, A. 1981. The emperor and his virtues, Historia 30, 298‑323. Webster, J. 2001. Creolizing the Roman Provinces, American Journal of Archaeology 105, 209‑225. Weippert, O. 1972. Alexander-Imitation und römische Politik in republikanischer Zeit. ��������� Augsburg. Whitmarsh, T. 2001. Greek Literature and the Roman Empire: The Politics of Imitation. Oxford. Williams, W. 1990. Pliny: Correspondence with Trajan from Bithynia (Epistles 10). Warminster. Williams, G. 1994. Banished Voices. Readings in Ovid’s Exile Poetry. Cambridge. Woolf, G. 1994. Becoming Roman Staying Greek. Cultural Identity and the Civilizing Process in the Roman East, PCPhS 40, 116‑143. Woolf, Greg 1998. Becoming Roman. The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul. Cambridge. Woolf, G.D. 2003. The City of Letters, in: C. Edwards & G. Woolf (eds.) Rome the Cosmopolis. Cambridge, 203‑221. Wörrle, M. 1988. Stadt und Fest im kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien. ������� Munich. Young, G.K. 2001. Rome’s Eastern Trade. International Commerce and Imperial Policy 31 BC‑AD 305. London‑New York. Zahle, J. & K. Kjeldsen 2004. Subterranean and pre‑Maussolan Structures on the Site of the Maussolleion (The Maussolleion at Halikarnassos, 6). Aarhus. ������� Zwicky, H. 1944. Zur Verwendung des Milit������������������������������������ ärs in der Verwaltung der römischen Kaiserzeit. Zürich.

Index of Persons

Abusch, R. 150 n. 27 Achaicus, P. Ta[-] 89 Aelius Gallus 59 n. 3 Aemilius, P. 55 Aemilius Paullus, L. 55 Agricola, Gn. Julius 82 n. 30, 105, 146 Agrippa, C. Cassius 75 Agrippa, M. Julius 140 Akurgal, E. 127 Alcock, S. 12, 29 n. 16 Alexander the Great 46, 50-52, 60 n. 30, 70, 73 Alexander Severus 71 Alexandros 149 n. 9 Amandry, A. 30 n. 31 Ameling, W. 83 n. 46 Amphiteos 60 n. 18 Anderson, G. 59 n. 2 Anderson, J.G.C. 29 n. 25, 30 nn. 30; 36 Anteros, P. 89, 91 n. 13 Anthousa 89 Antiochos 21 Antiochos III 50, 52, 54, 88 Antiochos IV 137 Antipatris 87, 89 Antonine dynasty 25, 30 n. 32, 64 Antoninus Pius 30 n. 36, 37, 64, 70, 73, 75-76, 142 Antonius, Marcus 15, 60 n. 29, 136 Apollo 145 Apollonios 13, 69 Appian 29 n. 8 Appius Claudius, see Claudius Apuleius 94-95 Aquillius, M’. 55 Arabianus, Marcus Ulpius 75-76 Arabianus, Marcus Ulpius Domitius Aristaeus 75

Archelais, Tiberia Claudia Aureliana 77 Archelas 89 Archidamos 49, 136 Archippos, Flavius 101 Aricescu, A. 41 n. 3 Aristeides, Ailios 72-74, 82 n. 32, 116 n. 5 Aristobulos 53 Aristodemos 136 Aristos 52-53 Armayor, O.K. 106 n. 2 Arminius 136 Arrian 9, 44, 52-53, 70, 72-73, 75-76, 81, 82 nn. 19-20, 83 n. 40, 93, 100, 102, 105 Artaxerxes 49 Artemis 113 Artemisia the Elder 123 Artemonis, Flavia Domitia 78 Artemonis, Ulpia Titia Fadilliane 78 Asklepiades 52-53 Astilla, Annia 89 Athenaios 60 n. 33 Athenodoros of Tarsos 59 n. 3 Atticus, Cn. Catilius 74, Atticus, T. Pomponius 107 n. 29 Augustus 22, 51, 59 n. 3, 60 n. 29, 63, 68, 70, 88, 137-138, 141, 145 Aurelian 144 Aurelius, Marcus 32, 35, 37, 64, 73, 75, 82 n. 8 Aurelius Victor 29 n. 26 Babelon, E. 29 n. 23 Badian, E. 92 nn. 25; 27 Bahn, P. 119, 130 n. 3 Bal 143-144 Balbi 135 Barba 55

166

Index of Persons

Bărbulescu, M. 41 nn. 10; 14; 20-22; 24 Barnea, A. 41 n. 8 Basila 30 n. 31 Bassus, Cesellius 116 n. 4 Bassus, Gavius 100 Bassus, Julius 100, 107 n. 18 Baumann, V.H. 41 nn. 12; 23 Bekker-Nielsen, T. 106 n. 1, 109-117 Bénabou, M. 11 Berossos 60 n. 18 Biller, J. 29 n. 4 Bioeris 90 n. 7 Birley, A.R. 107 n. 14 Bittner, A. 59 nn. 10; 12-13; 15, 61 n. 41 Boardman, J. 149 n. 6 Bourdieu, P. 120, 130 n. 5 Bowersock, G. 82 n. 1, 150 n. 31 Braund, D. 58 n.; 59 nn. 2; 4, 60 n. 37, 61 n. 42, 107 n. 28 Brithagoras 55 Brunt, P.A. 59 n. 11 Burke, H. 130 n. 9 Burnett, A. 30 n. 31 Burstein, S.M. 59 n. 15 Butler, H.P. 106 n. 6 Caesar, C. Julius 15, 45, 49, 54-55, 58, 59 nn. 3; 13, 60 n. 29, 136-138 Cahill, N. 130 n. 19 Calgacus 146-147 Callataÿ, F. de 29 n. 18 Calpurnianus, C. Claudius 89 Calvus, Julius 100 Camillus, M. Furius 55 Capitolinus, M. Scribonius 89 Carbo, C. Papirius 55-56 Caricus, Claudius 88-89 Carradice, I. 30 n. 31 Carstens, A.M. 14, 119-131 Cartledge, P. 106 n. 2 Cassius Apronianus, Claudius 75 Cassius Dion, see Dion Cassius Catil(l)ius 88-89

Catillius Philom[-], L. (freedman of Catilius) 88-89 Censorinus 55 Cerialis, Petilius 134 Chamaileon 49 Chamoux, F. 149 n. 12 Charmides 88-89 Cheluţă-Georgescu, N. 41 nn. 11; 16 Chrestos (Nikaian landowner) 90 n. 11 Chrestos, C. Cassios 76-77 Cicero, M. Tullius 98, 102-104, 107 n. 26; 29, 110, 112-113, 117 n. 11 Cicero, Q. Tullius 102, 107 nn. 26; 29, 112-113 Cinna, L. Cornelius 60 n. 29 Claudius 23, 31, 88, 100, 107 n. 20, 135, 138-141, 149 n. 2 Claudius Caecus, Ap. 11 Cocceianus, Dion see Dion of Prusa Cohen, G.M. 90 n. 1 Commodus 73, 75 Constantine 40 Cornelia, Aelia 77 Corsten, Thomas 12-13, 85-92 Cotta, M. Aurelius 23, 55-56, 58 Crassus, M. Licinius 31, 60 n. 29 Creighton, J.D. 12 Croce, B. 10-11 Cumont 29 n. 25, 30 nn. 30; 36 Dada 90 n. 5 Dalaison, J. 29 n. 7 Danov, C.M. 89 De Martino, F. 41 n. 17 Debord, P. 92 n. 25 Decebalus 32 Demeter 71 Demetrios (Ephesian silversmith) 113 Demougin, S. 107 n. 23 Desideri, P. 59 nn. 12; 15-16, 60 n. 25 Detschew, D. 90 n. 1 Diatroptov, P. 29 n. 20 Dickens, C. 95 Didymos, Areios 59 n. 3

Index of Persons Diliporis 86, 89, 90 nn. 3-5; 8 Dintiporis 90 n. 7 Diodoros 88 Dion of Prusa (Chrysostomos) 13, 44, 64, 67-68, 72, 74, 81-83, 90, 93, 101, 109-116 Dion Cassius 44, 71-73, 75, 79, 82 nn. 24; 26-29; 31, 102, 142, 147-148 Dionysios (Herakleian tyrant) 47 Dionysios of Halikarnassos 134 Dionysios son of Theon (Egyptian envoy) 138 Doidalses 90 n. 5 Doidalses/-os (Bithynian ruler) 49 Domitia, Aurelia Heraklidiane 77 Domitian 31, 64, 67-68, 71, 82 n. 30, 97, 99-100, 105, 115-116 Domitius son of Aster 79 Domitius, Claudius 76 Dönmez, S. 29 n. 15 Doonan, O. 17-18, 29 nn. 9-12 Dörner, F.K. 90 n. 1 Doruţiu-Boilă, E. 41 n. 4 Doryphoros 89 Dowler, A. 92 n. 27 Drinkwater, J. 149 n. 3, 150 n. 29 Dueck, D. 12-13, 43-61 Dufallo, B. 117 n. 11 Duncan-Jones, R.P. 30 n. 32 Durrell, L. 98 Dusinberre, E. 124, 126, 130 n. 21, 131 nn. 24-26, 28-29 Dyson, S. 11 Eco, U. 106 n. 8 Eias, Cl. 89 Engels, J. 59 n. 5 Erciyas, D.B. 29 n. 15 Eriksen, T.H. 119, 130 n. 2 Euangelos 87, 89 Eumolpus, Claudius 101 Euphemus, Marcus Domitius 75 Eupraxia 89 Eusebius 106 n. 10, 142

167

Fears, J.R. 60 nn. 20; 36 Fehling, D. 106 n. 2 Ferguson, N. 12 Fernoux, H.-L. 59 n. 2, 75, 83 nn. 37-47, 90 nn. 10-11, 91 nn. 11; 17-19; 23, 92 nn. 27-30, 107 n. 23, 109, 116 n. 2 Fimbria, C. Flavius 55 Fitzpatrick-McKinley, A. 149 n. 17, 150 n. 18 Flaccus, L. Valerius 55 Flam-Zuckerman, L. 91 n. 20 Flavian dynasty 25, 67, 70-71, 76 Florus, Gessius 140-141 Frederiksen, R. 130 n. 1 French, D. 16, 24-25, 27, 29 nn. 6; 8; 29 Fuks, A. 150 n. 13 Gabba, E. 59 n. 7 Gaios (Gaius) 87, 89 Galatia, Iulia 21 Gallienus 144 Gallita, Claudia 89 Gamberini, F. 106 n. 9 Garrison, M.B. 131 n. 29 Gauls 45 Geiger, J. 58 Gellia Tertia 77 Gellius, Aulus 29 n. 26 Gemellinus 100 Geminus, Rosianus 100 Gibson, R. 106 nn. 1; 8 Glycon 105 Goldhill, S. 13, 59 n. 2, 82 n. 17 Goodman, M. 150 n. 27 Gosden, C. 122, 124, 128, 129, 130 nn. 11-16, 131 nn. 22; 35; 40 Grabbe, L.L. 149 n. 11 Gracchi 52 Graptos 89 Greenwood, E. 106 n. 2 Grégoire, H. 29 n. 25, 30 nn. 30; 36 Grosby, S. 150 nn. 33-34 Guillemin, A.-M. 106 n. 6 Gunderson, E. 106 n. 8

168

Index of Persons

Hadrian 30 n. 36, 66, 70, 73, 142-143 Haffner, A. 12 Halfmann, H. 83 nn. 43-44, 107 n. 24 Hamilton, J.R. 82 n. 22 Hardy, E.G. 106 n. 10, 107 n. 11 Harris, B.F. 91 n. 23 Hartog, F. 106 n. 2 Hatt, J.-J. 13 Haverfield, F. 10-11 Held, W. 130 n. 1 Henderson, J. 106 n. 8, 107 n. 25 Henry, R. 59 n. 10; 13 Herakleides 59 n. 5 Herakles 49, 55 Herman, G. 149 n. 4 Herod the Great 137-138, 140 Herodotos 44, 85, 94, 123 Hesperos 89 Hobsbawm, E. 11 Hodder, I. 120, 130 n. 7 Hoff, M.C. 12 Hoffer, S.E. 106 n. 8, 107 n. 13; 27 Højte, J. Munk 12-13, 15-30 Horsnæs, H.W. 130 n. 1 Hortensius, L. 55 Hybrida, C. Antonius 31 Hypsikrates 59 n. 3 Isaac, B. 150 n. 27 Isidore 147 Isocrates 46 Italos 90 n. 11 Jacoby, F. 59 nn. 10; 12-13, 60 n. 25 Jahve 144 Janke, M. 59 n. 13, 60 nn. 21-25; 32; 34; 39-40 Jeppesen, K. 130 n. 19 Jones, A.H.M. 15, 29 n. 1, 82 n. 1, 107 n. 22, 150 nn. 18-19 Jones, C.P. 59 n. 2; 7, 82 n. 12, 106 n. 4, 107 n. 19 Josephos, Flavius 60 n. 18, 137, 141, 142 Julio-Claudian emperors 64

Juno 144 Jupiter 144-145 Justinus 29 n. 19 Kallistratos, Domitios 50, 60 n. 18 Kaptan, D. 131 n. 30-34 Kasher, A. 149 n. 10 Kjeldsen, K. 130 n. 19 Klearchos 45-48 Kleitarchos 53 Kolendo, J. 41 n. 2 Kore 71 Kosiba, Shim’on ben 138, 140, 142 Krapivina, V. 29 n. 20 Laberius Maximus 41 n. 2 Lala 90 n. 4 Lamachos 47, 54 Lange, N.R.M. de 149 n. 14 Laqueur, R. 59 n. 13, 60 n. 18 Lawson, H. 130 n. 12 Leach, E.W. 106 n. 8 Leon, H.J. 150 n. 20 Lepidus 60 n. 29 Leschhorn, W. 28, 29 nn. 19; 21-22; 24 Licinnia, Claudia 76, 77 Lilja, S. 106 n. 7 Lollianus, Lucius Egnatius Victor 75 Lomas, K. 12 Longus, Catilius 74, 75 Lucian 93, 101, 105, 108 n. 30 Lucullus, L. Licinius 22, 27, 55-56 Lucullus, M. Terentius Varro 31 Ludolph, M. 106 n. 8 Lysimachos 48 Macedo, Larcius 107 n. 20 McGing, B.C. 29 n. 19 McKechnie, P. 149 n. 14, 150 n. 22 MacMullen, R. 82 n. 1 Macrianus 144 Macro, A.D. 59 n. 2, 60 n. 19 Madsen, J.M. 12-13, 63-83 Madsen, T. 110

Index of Persons Maecenas 70 Magie, D. 15, 29 n. 1, 92 nn. 25-26 Makkabaios, Judas 137 Manethon 60 n. 18 Marek, C. 15, 26, 29 n. 1, 30 nn. 34-36, 91 n. 20, 107 n. 22 Marius, C. 55, 57 Markiane, Calpurnia Domitia 78 Markianus son of Markus 79 Marro, C. 29 n. 15 Mars 143 Maslennikov, A.A. 29 n. 5 Matei-Popescu, F. 41 n. 3 Matthews, R. 29 nn. 13-14 Maximus (imperial freedman) 100 Maximus (governor of Achaea) 102 Medea 101 Meister, K. 59 n. 13 Memnon of Herakleia 13, 43-44, 46-48, 50, 52-53, 55, 57-60 Mendels, D. 59 n. 9 Meyer, J.C. 14, 131 n. 41, 133-150 Mildenberg, L. 150 n. 28 Millar, F. 59 n. 2; 6-7, 137, 150 n. 25; 31; 34 Minerva 144 Mitchell, S. 15, 29 nn. 1; 4, 90 nn. 1; 10, 91 n. 20, 92 nn. 25; 27; 30 Mithridates VI 9, 15, 16, 19, 23, 29 n. 26, 31, 45, 47, 48, 54, 57, 60 n. 33, 88 Mokazeis 90 n. 8 Mokazis 90 n. 5 Mommsen, Th. 10-11 Morello, R. 106 n. 8 Moses 140, 145 Moukaporis 90 n. 5 Moukazes 90 n. 5 Mouritsen, H. 116 n. 1, 117 n. 10 Müller-Karpe, H. 149 n. 7 Murena 29 n. 8, 54-55 Murgia, C. 106 n. 8 Nero 60 n. 22, 117 n. 4, 134, 140, 141 Nerva 99, 100, 116

169

Newton, C.T. 123, 130 n. 17 Nikomedes II 20, 49 Nikomedes III 88 Nikomedes IV 88 Nymphis 49, 60 n. 18 Ochos 49 Octavian, see Augustus Odaenathus 143 Olshausen, E. 29 n. 4, 30 n. 33 Oppenheimer, A. 150 n. 27 Öszait, M. 19, 29 n. 15 Öszait, N. 19, 29 n. 15 Özdogan, A. 29 n. 15 Ovid 94, 105, 106 n. 3 Pallas, M. Antonius 107 n. 20 Pangerl, A. 143 Panofsky, E. 120, 130 n. 6 Parke, H.W. 149 n. 5 Parthenios 59 n. 6 Paul (apostle) 113 Paulinus son of Paulinus 79 Paulus, Velius 100 Pausanias 60 n. 33 Pedersen, P. 131 n. 37 Perikles 136 Perl, G. 29 n. 17 Perobres 90 n. 4 Peschlow, U. 90 n. 5 Peschlow-Bindokat, A. 90 n. 5 Petculescu, Liviu 12, 31-41 Petros Patrikios 143 Phaedrus, Tiberius Claudius 87, 89 Philom[-], L. Catillius 89 Philon 89, 149 n. 9 Philostratos 69, 74, 81, 82 nn. 11; 17, 105 Photios 44, 47-50, 55, 59 n. 8; 16, 60 nn. 17; 28, 71 Pierce, R.H. 149 n. 1 Pippidi, D.M. 11 Piso, Claudius 75 Plancius Varus, M. 76, 83 n. 50, 136 Plato 46, 59 n. 5

170

Index of Persons

Pliny the Elder 29 n. 26, 53 Pliny the Younger 14, 83 n. 51, 93-108, 110, 115, 116 n. 3, 117 nn. 8-9 Plutarch 13, 64-67, 72, 74, 76, 81, 82 n. 5 Polemo 70 Pollard, T. 29 nn. 13-14 Polyaenus 101 Polybios 64 Pompeius, Gnaeus 15-16, 55, 59 n. 3, 60 n. 29, 63, 82 n. 2, 100-101, 110, 113, 136-137 Postumus 143 Price, S. 99, 107 n. 17 Prima, R. 77 Pritchett, W.K. 106 n. 2 Promathidas 60 n. 18 Prusias I 88 Prusias II 20 Ps.-Kallisthenes 50 Ptolemaios son of Lagos 53 Ptolemaios, Klaudios 35 Pudens, Servilius 100 Pudentilla, Messia 40 Pulcher, Ap. Claudius 55 Pyrros 51 Quietus 144 Quintianus, Ti. Claudius 83 n. 50 Quintilian 95, 98 Quirinus 89 Rajak, T. 149 nn. 13; 17 Ramage, M. 29 nn. 13-14 Rascanii 80 Rathbone, D. 106 n. 1 Reginus, L. Catilius Severus Iulianus Claudius 74 Reinach, S. 29 n. 23 Renfrew, Colin 119, 130 n. 3 Reynolds, L.D. 106 n. 10 Rhaikosos 90 n. 3 Rich, J.W. 82 n. 31 Richmond, I.A. 150 n. 30 Riggsby, A.M. 106 n. 8, 107 n. 25

Robert, L. 91 n. 20 Romulus 134 Root, Margaret Cool 124, 129, 130 n. 20, 131 nn. 27; 36; 38 Rostovtzeff, M.I. 10, 13, 82 n. 1 Rotroff, S. 12 Rufus, Varenus 107 n. 18 Sahin, S. 91 n. 20 Saller, R.P. 107 n. 16 Sallous 90 n. 3 Saprykin, S. 29 n. 5 Saturnina, Claudia 76‑77 Satyros 46 Schmidt, E.F. 130 n. 19 Schnurbein, S. von 12 Schuler, C. 90 n. 10 Schwartz, S. 149 n.17 Scipio, L. Cornelius 54-55 Scipio, P. Cornelius 55 Scorpan, C. 41 n. 9 Sekunda, N. 131 n. 23 Seleukos I 49 Sempronius Caelianus 100 Sergios 44 Severan dynasty 35 Severianus 108 n. 30 Severus, Julius 142 Severus, Septimius 27, 73, 75, 142 Seyrig, H. 150 n. 30 Shanks, M. 130 n. 7 Shapur 143 Sherwin-White, A.N. 94-96, 106 nn. 4-5, 107 nn. 21-22 Simion, G. 41 n. 16 Sinopoli, C.M. 131 n. 39 Skopes 90 n. 4 Smallwood, E.M. 82 nn. 9-10, 149 nn. 14‑16, 150 nn. 18; 21; 24; 26 Smith, A. 59 n. 10 Stadter, Ph. 59 n. 7 Stout, S.E. 106 n. 10 Strabon 16, 29 n. 2, 43-44, 51‑52, 59 nn. 3; 5, 64, 93, 105

Index of Persons Strato, Publis Vedius Cornelianus 87, 89 Strobel, K. 90 n. 1 Suceveanu, A. 41 nn. 1; 2; 5; 7; 13 Suetonius 64, 71, 82 n. 30, 112, 115, 116 n. 4 Sulla, L. Cornelius 55, 57, 60 n. 29 Swain, S. 13, 59 nn. 3; 6-7, 82 nn. 4-7; 13; 16; 18; 20-21; 33, 116, 117 n. 12 Syme, R. 15, 29 n. 1; 3 Symmachus, Q. Aurelius 106 n. 10 Tacitus 60 n. 29, 64, 71, 82 n. 30, 95, 97, 103, 105, 109, 116 n. 4, 124, 136, 140, 141, 146 Tarasios 44 Tarquinius Superbus 136 Tertius (vilicus) 74 Tertullian 106 n. 10 Thallos, Cl. 89, 91 n. 13 Themistokles 136 Theophanes of Mytilene 59 n. 3 Theophilos, Sedatus 75 Theophrastos 53 Theopompos of Knidos 50, 53, 59 n. 3 Thraso, C. Catillius Claudianus 89 Thrasymedes 56 Tiberius 116 Tibet, A. 29 n. 15 Tigranes 49 Timogenes 60 n. 18 Timotheos 46, 48, 87, 89 Titus 140 Trajan 9, 31-32, 34, 36-38, 64, 67, 69-70, 95, 97-100, 102-105, 107 n. 20; 29, 116, 140, 142 Treadgold, W.T. 59 n. 8 Triarius, C. Valerius 55 Trogus, Pompeius 52 Tryphon 87, 89 Tsafrir, Y. 150 n. 27 Tudor, D. 41 n. 15 Tyrannis, Sexta Quinctia 79

171

Ulpian 103 Valerianus, Marcus Domitius 75 Vercingetorix 136 Vespasian 31, 41 n. 2, 67, 75, 116 n. 4, 134, 140 Veyne, P. 59 n. 2, 106 n. 4, 110 Vinogradov, J.G. 29 n. 20 Virgil 57, 98 Vitucci, G. 91 n. 23, 92 n. 27 Vulpe, R. 41 n. 1 Waballathus 144 Waddington, W. 20, 29 n. 23 Wallace-Hadrill, A. 60 n. 20; 36 Webster, J. 12 Weippert, O. 60 n. 30 Whitmarsh, T. 82 nn. 12; 14-15 Williams, W. 96, 106 n. 3, 107 nn. 11-12; 22 Wilson, R.J.A. 12 Woolf, G. 12, 14, 82 nn. 3-4; 33, 93-108 Wörrle, M. 29 n. 20, 82 n. 2, 90 n. 5 Xenophon 17, 85, 100 Xerxes 123, 130 n. 19 Young, G.K. 150 n. 32 Zahariade, M. 41 n. 13 Zahle, J. 130 n. 19 Zenobia 143, 144 Zeus 16, 47, 67 Zeus Stratios 16 Ziailas 90 nn. 3-4 Zielas 90 n. 5 Zipoites 20 Zwicky, H. 41 n. 25

Geographical Index

Abonouteichos 22, 101, 105 Achaea 19, 75, 102 Adamklissi 37 Aegissus 32, 35 Aelia Capitolina 142, see also Jerusalem Afghanistan 141 Africa 10-11, 46, 48, 71, 76, 105 Akpınar 90 n. 5 Alexandria 67, 69, 137-139, 147, 149 n. 9 Algeria 10 Aliobrix 32 Amaseia (Amasya) 16, 19, 21, 24-27, 44 Amastris 22, 26-27, 34 Amisos 22, 56, 101 Amlaidina 38 Ankyra (Ankara) 34 Antoninopolis 18 Apameia (Mudanya) 68, 74, 77, 80, 89, 101 Arabia 75, 142, 144 Argamum 36 Armenia 9, 49 Arrubium 32 Assyria 133 Astaces 49 Athens 69-70, 72, 133, 135 Austrian Empire 10 Axiopolis 35, 36 Babylon 60 n. 18, 143, 144, 145 Baetica 75, 101 Barboşi 32 Bilecik 90 n. 4 Bithynia 9, 15, 20, 22, 49, 57, 63, 65-68, 70, 78, 85-110 Bithynia et Pontus 12, 14-15, 63, 65, 74, 76, 79, 96-97, 104

Boiotia 45, 65 Bosporan Kingdom 9, 14, 16, 20 Bostra 142 Boz Tepe 17-18 Britain 10, 105, 135, 142-143 British Empire 104 Bursa, see Prusa Byzantium 101 Callatis 31, 36-38, 40 Campania 109 Cape Malea 98 Capidava 32, 35-36, 40, 41 n. 16 Cappadocia 15, 57, 76, 107 n. 23 Capul Dolojman 36 Carsium 32 Carthage 133 Casiani 37 Caucasus 9 Celeris 37 Chaironeia 65 Chiliokômon 16 Chora Dagei 39 Cilicia 71, 75, 97, 102-103, 107 n. 23, 110 Cius 32, 35 Civitas Ausdecensium 40 Clementianenses 37 Colchis 101 Comum (Como) 104 Constanţa 41 n. 19 Constantinople 44 Corinth 133 Crimea 9, 35 Cumae 136 Cumaköy 90 n. 5 Cyprus 110, 140, 142 Cyrenaica 101, 140, 142

174

Geographical Index

Dacia 9, 31-32, 35-36, 40 Dalmatia 71 Danube 9, 31, 32-34, 37-38, 40, 141 Daskyleion 127-128 Demirci Valley 17-18 Dinogetia 32 Dobrudja 31-34, 36-40, 41 nn. 1-3 Durostorum 32 Egypt 60 n. 18, 101, 105, 137-140, 142, 144, 147-148 Eleusis 105 Ephesos 98, 113 Etruria 136 Eupatoria 16 Euphrates 141 France 10, 104 French Empire 104 Galatia 15, 22, 30, 48-49, 66, 75, 107 n. 23 Gangra 22 Gaul 11, 14, 53, 134-136, 141, 143 German Empire 10 Germanikopolis 22, 28 Germany 10, 105, 145 Geyve 86, 90 n. 4 Gölpazarı 86, 90 n. 4 Göynük 86, 90 n. 4 Hadrianopolis 18, 22, 27-28, 30 Hadrianoutherai 72 Halikarnassos 123, 125, 130 n. 19 Halmyris 32, 35 Hemesa 34 Herakleia 13, 22-23, 44-50, 53-54, 56-58, 59 n. 15, 60 nn. 18; 28, 76-77, 79, 101 Histria 31, 36-40, 41 nn. 2; 19. Ihsaniye 90 n. 5 India 10, 144 Indonesia 10 Ionia 71

Iraq 135, 141 Ishakcılar 90 n. 5 Jerusalem 137-138, 140-142, 145 Judaea 134, 137-138, 140-142 Kıyırlı 90 n. 5 Kabeira 45 Kaisareia 22 Karasu Valley 18 Kasamonu 19 Kios 85-89, 90 n. 7, 91 n. 20 Kiraz Tepe 18 Klaudiopolis 75-76, 91 n. 20, 101 Komana 16 Kyzikos 127 Laikos Pyrgos 39 Laodikeia 34 Libya 141 Lycia 71, 107 n. 23 Lydia 124, 131 n. 37 Lyon 149 n. 2 Macedonia 31, 48, 52, 64, 105 Masada 140 Megara 45, 49 Melos 133 Miletos 9, 133 Mirughiol 35 Modrene 91 n. 20 Moesia 31, 40, 41 n. 2 Moesia Inferior 31-34, 37-40 Moesia Superior 31 Narcissiani 37 Neapolis 22 Neoklaudiopolis 22, 27-28, 30 Nikaia (Iznik) 34, 44, 68, 71-72, 75-76, 79, 85-87, 89, 91 nn. 11; 20, 100 Nikomedeia (Izmit) 44, 68, 70-71, 75-76, 79, 85-87, 89, 100, 107 n. 21 Nikopolis 34

Geographical Index Novae 32, 35 Noviodunum 32, 35-36, 41 n. 16 Oescus 34 Olbia 29 n. 20 Ordu 19 Osmaneli 86, 90 n. 4 Ottoman Empire 10, 137 Pactolus 125 Palestine 75, 137-138, 145 Palmyra 131 n. 41, 143-144 Pamphylia 71, 107 n. 23 Pannonia 71 Paphlagonia 17-18, 20, 22, 26-27, 100‑101 Parthia 137 Pergamon 113 Persepolis 126-127, 130 n. 19 Persia 25, 49, 123-124, 128-129, 131 n. 37, 133, 136, 143-145 Petra 37 Phanagoreia 29 n. 20 Phrygia 127, 131 n. 37 Pisidia 107 n. 23 Polemonion 22 Pompeii 109, 112 Pompeiopolis 22, 28, 30 Pontos 9, 14-17, 19, 22, 47, 54, 57, 63, 78, 93, 94, 101-102, 110 Potaissa 35 Protomae 37, 58 Prusa (Bursa) 44, 67-68, 70, 75, 85-87, 89, 91 n. 18, 99, 100, 109, 114, 116 Prusias ad Hypium 75, 78-79, 83 n. 51, 86, 90 n. 7 Prusias ad mare (Kios) 87, 90 n. 7 Quinctionis 37-38 Rasova 35 Russia 10, 145

Sacidava 32, 35 Salamis 110, 136 Samothrake 105 Samsun 19 Sapanca 90 n. 5 Sardis 124, 126 Sc[apt]ia 37 Scythia Minor 12, 14, 31 Secundini 37-38 Şeltikşi 91 n. 20 Sevindikli 90 n. 5 Sinop (Sinope) 17, 23, 56, 77, 79, 101 Sinop promontory 17 Smyrna 70, 73, 116 Spain 134, 141, 143 Sparta 49, 135-136 Sucidava 32 Syria 9, 75‑76, 91 n. 18, 139, 142, 144 Thrace 31, 85, 86 Tios 101 Tokat 19 Tomis 31, 36, 40, 41 n. 18, 106 n. 3 Troesmis 32, 34-35 Tropaeum Traiani 37 Turris Muca 38 Ulmetum 37-38 Vicus classicorum 38 Vietnam 141 Viminacium 32 Yeniköy 91 n. 20 Zela 16

175

Index Locorum

Apollonios, see Philostratos Appian Mithridatic War 11 65 Aristeides Orations 23.11 26.25-26 26.33 26.41-51 26.59 26.63 29.5 48.48 50.16 54 Sacred Tales 4.81 4.87-92 4.100 To Rome, see Or. 26 Arrian Anabasis of Alexander 1.12 1.29.5 7.15.4-6 Periplus 6.2 Taktika 44.2-3

92 n. 26 29 n. 8

73 73 73 82 n. 32 72 72-74, 79 73 83 n. 39 83 n. 39 73 116 n. 5 73 73

Athenaios Deipnosophistai 5.212A-213C 12.543A

60 n. 33 60 n. 33

Aulus Gellius Attic Nights 17.17

29 n. 26

Aurelius Victor De viris illustribus 76.1

29 n. 26

Cicero De lege agraria 2.40 Letters to Atticus 6.1 Letters to his brother Quintus 1 1.1 1.13 Diodoros of Sicily 36.3.1

82 n. 20 90 n. 1 52-53 9, 100 82 n. 19 70

Dion of Prusa Orations 1-4 3.54 13.1 13.11-12 32 35.15 38.36 38.38 38-39 42-49

92 n. 27 110 103, 112 107 n. 26 112

92 n. 25

67 68 67, 82 n. 12 82 n. 15 67 117 n. 7 68 111 67-68 67

178

Index Locorum

44.11-12 45 45.1 45.2-4 45.3 45.8 45.13 46.14 47

68 68-69 68 69 112 112 90 n. 10 111 68

Dion Cassius 42.49 49.35 49.36 52.35-36 60.6 67.11 67.5 69.1 72.4 73.20 77.16

92 n. 28 82 n. 24 82 n. 27 71 139 82 n. 28 82 n. 29 82 n. 26 148 82 n. 31 82 n. 23

Dionysios of Halikarnassos 2.16 Herodotos 7.75 8.68-69 8.88 Josephus Antiquitates Judaicae 16.162-165 Bellum Judaicum 3.5.7-8

135

90 n. 1 123 123

137 141

Justin 37.4.3 38

29 n. 19 92 n. 26

Livy 1.49.9 2.21

136 136

9.18.6 37.25 Lucian Alexander, or the false prophet 27 Marcus Aurelius Meditationes 1.14-16

52 91 n. 24

101 108 n. 30

82 n. 8

Memnon of Herakleia History of Herakleia (FGrH 434) 13 F 1, 1.1-2 46 F 1, 1.4 47, 49 F 1, 2.2 46-47 F 1, 2.5 47, 49 F 1, 3.1 48 F 1, 3.1-2 46 F 1, 4.1 53 F 1, 4.6 48 F 1, 4.7 47 F 1, 5.3 48 F 1, 7.1 40 F 1, 7.3 50 F 1, 8.6 46 F 1, 8.8 48 F 1, 9.5 46 F 1, 11.2 49, 59 n. 14 F 1, 12 49 F 1, 14.2 46 F 1, 16.3 50 F 1, 18-21 54 F 1, 18.1 50, 55 F 1, 18.2 52 F 1, 18.3 55 F 1, 18.1-5 51-52 F 1, 18.4 55 F 1, 18.6 55 F 1, 18.7 55 F 1, 18.8 54-55 F 1, 20.2 48 F 1, 21 46, 48

Index Locorum F 1, 22.2 F 1, 22.6 F 1, 22.6-7 F 1, 22.12 F 1, 22.13 F 1, 22-25 F 1, 22-38 F 1, 24.1 F 1, 24.4 F 1, 25 F 1, 26.1 F 1, 26.5 F 1, 27.1 F 1, 27.6 F 1, 28.5 F 1, 28.9-11 F 1, 29.2-4 F 1, 29.3 F 1, 29.9 F 1, 30.2 F 1, 30.4 F 1, 31.2 F 1, 33.1 F 1, 34.1-9 F 1, 34.2 F 1, 34.9 F 1, 35.5 F 1, 35.7-8 F 1, 36 F 1, 37.2 F 1, 37.8 F 1, 38.4 F 1, 38.5 F 1, 39.1-3 F 1, 39.3 F 1, 39-40 F 1, 40.3-4 T 1 New Testament Acts 19.31 19.35-40

48 57 55 48 55 49 54 55 59 n. 14 57 55 54 55 54, 58 55 49 54 47 59 n. 14 55, 59 n. 14 56 55 48-49 46 56 47 57-58 56-57 58 55 56 49 56 56 55 54 49, 55 45, 48

114 113-114

179

Nymphis History (FGrH 432)

50

Pausanias Description of Greece 1.20.5 3.23.3-5

60 n. 33 60 n. 33

Petros Patrikios (FHG 4.187) Philostratos Letters of Apollonios 72 Life of Apollonios (Ap.) 5.36 Lives of the Sophists (VS) 488 532 Photios Library Pliny the Elder Natural History 3.57 7.24 25.3 Pliny the Younger Letters (Ep.) 3.14 4.9 5.20 6.5 6.13 6.29 7.6 7.10 7.29 7.30 8.6 8.22 10.1-14 10.15

144

13, 82 n. 17 70 67, 82 n. 11 70

44-46, 82 n. 21

53 29 n. 26 29 n. 26

93-106, 106 n. 10 107 n. 20 107 n. 18 107 n. 18, 117 n. 9 107 n. 18 107 n. 18 107 n. 18 107 n. 18 107 n. 18 107 n. 20 117 n. 8 107 n. 20 102 96-97 98

180 10.16-18 10.20 10.22 10.25-28 10.31 10.33 10.43 10.47-48 10.54 10.56 10.75 10.79 10.81-82 10.90-93 10.108-111 10.112 10.120 Panegyricus 42.1 88 Plutarch Moralia 470 B-C 813 E 814 D Perikles 33.2 Precepts of Statecraft Polybios 21.11 Ptolemy Geography 3.10.5 Quintilian Institutes Strabon Geography 6.4.2 12.3.1

Index Locorum 99 99 100 100 100 100, 107 n. 21 101 101 116 n. 3 100 101 82 n. 2, 83 n. 51 115 101 101 82 n. 2, 83 n. 51, 101 96 95-96, 99 115 107 n. 20

65 66, 71 66 65-66 136 65

91 n. 24

35

95

51-52 59 n. 5, 110

12.3.4 12.3.36-37 12.3.39 Suetonius Tiberius 58 Claudius 25 Vespasian 23 Domitian 10 Tacitus Agricola 32 39-46 Annales 1.1 1.2 2.88 11.24 14.3-5 16.1 Dialogus Historiae 4.74 5.4-5 5.13 Thukydides 1.137-138 4.75 Ulpian On the Office of Proconsul Virgil Aeneid 6.853 Xenophon Anabasis

90 n. 1 16 29 n. 2

115 139 116 n. 4 82 n. 30

103, 105 147 82 n. 30 97, 110 60 n. 29 102 136, 146 135 60 n. 22 116 n. 4 95 134 140 141

136 90 n. 1

103

57

Index Locorum 6.4.2. Hellenika 1.3.2 3.2.2 Inscriptions and papyri AE 1971 430 CIL III 6058 7483-7484 7485 11082 12461-12462 12470 14149 14214 14433 14437 14441 14442

90 n. 1 90 n. 1 90 n. 1

82 n. 23

83 n. 45 37 41 n. 15 83 n. 46 37 37 83 n. 47 37, 41 n. 15 37 37 37 38

CIL VI 1405 2001 2086 2098-2099 2104

83 n. 45 83 n. 45 83 n. 37 83 n. 37 83 n. 37

CIL VIII 1640 15876

83 n. 43 83 n. 43

CIL X 8291

83 n. 36

CIL XV 2164

82 n. 25

IDRE II 332 336 337 338

181 36 36 37 36, 40

IG II/III2 1803 2510 4251-4253

82 n. 18 83 n. 45 83 n. 40

IG VII 2510

83 n. 45

IGR III 7 73 85

83 n. 41 83 n. 41 83 n. 43

IGR IV 698

83 n. 44

IK 1.63 9.25-29 9.51-52 9.57 9.81 9.98 9.116 9.125 9.192 9.196 9.205 10.1057 10.1062 10.1118 10.1128 10.1131 10.1201 10.1203 10.1232 10.1289 10.1292

82 n. 18 83 n. 50 83 n. 50 83 n. 38 90 n. 3 79 83 n. 49 79 90 n. 11 89, 91 n. 11 89, 91 n. 13 90 n. 11 89 90 n. 11 91 n. 11 91 n. 11 89 89, 91 n. 13 90 nn. 4; 9 90 n. 4 90 n. 11

182 10.1308 10.1336 10.1341 10.1375 10.1380 10.1389 10.1411 10.1413 10.1416 10.1434 10.1466 10.1511 10.1592 27.1-2 27.3 27.17 27.45 27.53 27.54 27.85 27.T 9 29.26-27 29.72 29.91 29.98 29.100 29.105 29.111 29.T 29 31.117 32.2 32.21 32.22 39.56 39.68 39.73 39.98 39.150 39.165 40.1 47.1 47.8 64.109 64.156

Index Locorum 90 n. 4 89, 91 n. 12 90 n. 4 90 n. 4 90 n. 11 90 n. 4 90 n. 11 89, 91 n. 12 90 n. 4 90 n. 4 89 90 n. 11 90 n. 4 79, 83 n. 51 83 n. 51 90 n. 10 83 78 78 78 90 n. 7 89, 91 n. 20 90 n. 8 89, 91 n. 21 90 n. 7 91 n. 20 89, 91 n. 22 90 n. 8 90 n. 7 91 n. 20 83 n. 34 83 n. 35 77 90 n. 6 89 90 n. 6 91 n. 18 90 n. 6 89 110 77, 83 n. 48 78 77 77

Inscriptions of Kourion 130

117 n. 6

ISM I 67-68 138 142 324-341 342-349 359-360 369-370 378

36 38 36 27 37 40 37 38

ISM II 53 37 133-134 136-137 141 191 256

37 37 28 37 36

ISM III 1 83 237

36 36 38

ISM V 8 57-58 62-63 67-68 69 77 115 117 135 137 141 143-145 148-150 151 152-153 155-158 160

40 40 37 41 n. 2 37 35 35 38 34 34 34 34 35 34-35 35 34 34

Index Locorum 163 165-166 174 178-179 180 183-184 186 188 194 196 233 240 268 281 286 Peschlow, Peschlow-Bindokat & Wörrle 2002 111 SEG XLVII 1481 Smallwood 1966 487

35 35 34 34 35 34 34 34 35 34 37 37 35 35 35

90 n. 5

91 n. 20

82 n. 9-10

Smallwood 1967 369 370 TAM IV.1 8 16 17 57 60 62 69 70 84 140 144 150 182 218 256 276 363

183 149 n. 2 138-139

90 n. 5 90 n. 5 90 n. 5 91 n. 17 90 n. 5 90 n. 5 90 n. 5 89, 91 n. 15 90 n. 5 90 n. 5 90 n. 5 91 n. 17 90 n. 5 90 n. 5 90 n. 5 89, 91 n. 16 90 n. 5

Contributors

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen Department of History University of Southern Denmark, Esbjerg Niels Bohrs vej 9 DK-6700 Esbjerg Denmark [email protected] Anne Marie Carstens The Saxo Institute Department of Archaeology and Ethnology University of Copenhagen Njalsgade 106 DK-2300 Copenhagen K Denmark [email protected] Thomas Corsten Ruprecht-Karls-Universität Heidelberg Seminar für Alte Geschichte Marstallhof 4 D-69117 Heidelberg Germany [email protected] Daniela Dueck Department of History Department of Classical Studies Bar Ilan University 52900 Ramat-Gan Israel [email protected]

Jakob Munk Højte Danish National Research Foundation’s Centre for Black Sea Studies University of Aarhus, Building 1451 Nordre Ringgade 1 DK-8000 Aarhus C Denmark [email protected] Jesper Majbom Madsen Department of History University of Southern Denmark, Odense Campusvej 55 DK-5230 Odense M Denmark [email protected] Jørgen Christian Meyer Department of History University of Bergen Sydnesplass 7 N-5007 Bergen Norway [email protected] Liviu Petculescu Muzeul National de Istorie a Romaniei Calea Victoriei 12 R-030026 Bucuresti Romania [email protected] Greg Woolf University of St. Andrews School of Classics St. Andrews, Fife, KY16 9AL United Kingdom [email protected]