Alexander the Great and Propaganda 2020045590, 2020045591, 9781138079106, 9780367723699, 9781315114408

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Alexander the Great and Propaganda

Alexander the Great and Propaganda explores the use of propaganda – whether literature, coinage, or iconography – in the court of Alexander the Great, as well as those of his Successors, demonstrating that it was as integral to Hellenistic courts as it was to Imperial Rome. This volume brings together ten essays from leading international scholars in Alexander studies. There is currently no equivalent collection which has a specialist focus of themes or issues relating to the use of propaganda in the courts of Alexander or his Successors. This book will be an invaluable resource for students and scholars of Alexander studies, as well as those studying the use of propaganda across the ancient world, and to the more general reader with an interest in Alexander the Great and his reign. John Walsh is Assistant Professor in the School of Languages and Literatures (Classical Studies), University of Guelph, Canada. Elizabeth Baynham is Senior Lecturer in the School of Humanities and Social Science at the University of Newcastle, Australia.

Alexander the Great and Propaganda

Edited by John Walsh and Elizabeth Baynham

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, John Walsh and Elizabeth Baynham; individual chapters, the contributors The right of John Walsh and Elizabeth Baynham to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Walsh, John, editor. | Baynham, Elizabeth, 1958– editor. Title: Alexander the Great and propaganda / edited by John Walsh and Elizabeth Baynham. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020045590 (print) | LCCN 2020045591 (ebook) | ISBN 9781138079106 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367723699 (paperback) | ISBN 9781315114408 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Alexander, the Great, 356 B.C.–323 B.C.—Influence. | Propaganda, Greek. | Greece—Politics and government—To 146 B.C. | Greece—History—Macedonian Expansion, 359–323 B.C. | Greece—History—Macedonian Hegemony, 323–281 B.C. Classification: LCC DF234.3 .A44 2021 (print) | LCC DF234.3 (ebook) | DDC 938/.07092—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020045590 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020045591 ISBN: 978-1-138-07910-6 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-72369-9 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-11440-8 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

List of figures List of contributors Acknowledgements List of abbreviations 1 “Selling Alexander”: the concept and use of “propaganda” in the age of Alexander

vii viii ix xi

1

E L I Z A B E TH B AYN H A M

2 Alexander the Great: A life lived as legend

14

E DWA R D M . A N SO N

3 Ptolemaic propaganda in Alexander’s visit to Ammon

33

F R A N C E S P OWN A L L

4 The “pursuit” of kings: imitatio Alexandri in Arrian’s Darius and Bessos “Chase scenes”

54

TI M OTH Y H OWE

5 The bias of Hieronymus: a source critical analysis of Diodorus 18.8–18

71

J O H N WA L S H

6 At the court of Antigonus Gonatas, the heir of two dynasties

94

F R A N CA L A N DUCCI

7 Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? Persia and the Macedonians SA B I N E M Ü L L ER

107

vi

Contents

8 The man who would be king: Alexander between Gaugamela and Persepolis

129

H U G H B OWDE N

9 Desertions and the rise and fall of rulers in Hellenistic Macedonia

150

J O S E P H RO I SMA N

10 Coinage as propaganda: Alexander and his Successors

162

PAT W H E AT L E Y AN D CH ARL OTTE DUN N

Index

199

Figures

10.1 10.2 10.3 10.4 10.5 10.6 10.7 10.8

Silver tetradrachm of Alexander III, struck c. 336–323 bc Gold stater of Alexander III, Amphipolis mint, struck c. 330–320 bc Silver ‘medallion’ of 5 shekels or decadrachm of Alexander III, local mint in Babylon, struck c. 325–323 bc Silver tetradrachm of Ptolemy I Soter, as satrap, Alexandria mint, struck c. 311/310–305 bc Gold stater of Ptolemy I Soter, Cyrene mint, struck c. 299–294 bc Silver tetradrachm of Lysimachus, Lysimachia mint, struck 297/296–282/281 bc Silver tetradrachm of Seleucus I Nicator, Sardes mint, struck c. 282–281 bc Silver tetradrachm of Demetrius I Poliorcetes, Amphipolis mint, struck c. 289–288 bc

166 168 171 174 175 177 179 181

Contributors

Edward M. Anson is Professor of History at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock, United States of America. Elizabeth Baynham is Senior Lecturer in the School of Humanities and Social Science at the University of Newcastle, Australia. Hugh Bowden is Professor of Ancient History at King’s College London, United Kingdom. Charlotte Dunn is Lecturer in Classics at the University of Tasmania, Australia. Timothy Howe is Professor of History and Ancient Studies at St Olaf College, United States of America. Franca Landucci is Professor of Ancient History in the Department of Historical Sciences, Catholic University of the Sacred Heart, Italy. Sabine Müller is Professor Dr in the Seminar für Alte Geschichte, Philipps Universität, Marburg, Germany. Frances Pownall is Professor in History and Classics at the University of Alberta, Canada. Joseph Roisman is Adjunct Professorial Lecturer in History at the American University, Washington DC, United States of America. John Walsh is Assistant Professor, in the School of Languages and Literatures (Classical Studies), University of Guelph, Canada. Pat Wheatley is Associate Professor in Classics at the University of Otago, New Zealand.

Acknowledgements

This book has been a long time in production – perhaps far too long. As noted in Chapter 1, it originated from a conference held by the Australasian Society for Classical Studies (ASCS) in 2013, as well as a special conference on Alexander the Great to celebrate a major exhibition of the Alexander collection from the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg. The Alexander conference attracted leading scholars from all over the world; it was also an informal celebration of my late partner Brian Bosworth’s seventieth birthday – on what would turn out to be his last chance to personally greet his friends and colleagues from all over the world. I have many people to acknowledge: first and foremost, Associate Professor Ken Sheedy and Dr Blanche Menadier of Macquarie University for their wonderful organisation of a highly successful conference, especially in securing funding for international visitors, as well as Dr John Valance, former principal of Sydney Grammar School, who generously offered the world-class facilities of the School as a venue. I would also like to thank Professor Emeritus Hugh Craig and the University of Newcastle for additional funding towards the Alexander conference and keynote speaker Professor Robin Lane Fox, who offered initiative and insight with inimitable panache. The contributors to this volume – whom I like to think of playfully as members of a global ‘Alexander family’ (along with many others) – have not only offered their expertise in wonderfully articulate and engaging chapters but also been very patient and supportive of the journey this volume has undertaken; so Ed, Tim, Frances, Franca, Hugh, Sabine, Yossi, John, Pat, and Charlotte – I am very grateful to you all for your support and patience. I am grateful to Michael Greenwood, Lizzi Risch, Balaji Karuppanan and the team at Taylor and Francis for their commitment to the project, professionalism and help in its production. Finally, to my co-editor John Walsh – who has been a tower of strength and who needs to be thanked twice – and his assistants Chelsea Hartlen, Hannah Hodgson, and Shane Hubbard, I could not have done this book without you. Liz Baynham Newcastle, Australia 2020

x

Acknowledgements

I echo the sentiments of gratitude to those who contributed their time and work to this volume expressed so eloquently by my co-editor. Liz is right – except where she exaggerates my own role – in acknowledging that this volume is the product of the patient efforts and dedication of many talented hands. To say it was an honour for me to be involved would be an understatement. The authors included herein are my scholarly heroes, but amongst even this group, Brian Bosworth was a degree apart. His was a generational intellect, and his work demonstrated the very keenest of insights. Seemingly intractable problems gave way to his meticulous analysis, and his vast, nearly limitless, imagination was apropos for a scholar of the great Alexander himself. He exceeded, however, the frequent subject of his study in humility and grace; for he was, truly, a gentleman scholar. Having beneftted from his generosity and guidance, I will remain forever indebted to his memory. In the same way, I want to thank Liz for her courage and resilience. Many mourned Brian: as colleagues, friends, admirers, and students, we marked the passing of a great scholar. She mourned the passing of a man. Her commitment to the completion of this work inspired me throughout, and so I hope it will stand as a work of devotion and the truest affection – an enduring scholar’s monument of words and ideas. John Walsh Guelph, Ontario, Canada 2020

Abbreviations

The most frequently used abbreviations of important works are listed here. In other cases, references to ancient sources and general reference works follow the standard conventions of the Oxford Classical Dictionary (rev. 4th edn, 2012); citations of journal titles conform to L’Année Philologique.

General and reference works Astronomical Diaries, vol. 1

Berve, Alexanderreich

BNJ CGC DNa DNb DPe DSf DSm DNP FGrH Heidelberg Epit. Hell. Oxy.

Sachs and H. Hunger, Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylon, Volume 1: Diaries from 652 B.C. to 262 B.C. (Vienna 1988) H. Berve, Das Alexanderreich auf Prosopographischer Grundlage, vols 1–2 (Munich 1926) I. Worthington (ed.), Brill’s New Jacoby (2006–) Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire (Cairo. 1901–) (Inscription) a (of) D(arius I) (from) N(aqsh-I Rustam) (Inscription) b (of) D(arius I) (from) N(aqsh-I Rustam) (Inscription) e (of) D(arius I) (from) P(ersepolis) (Inscription) f (of) D(arius I) (from) S(usa) (Inscription) m (of) D(arius I) (from) S(usa) Der Neue Pauly F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker (Berlin and Leiden 1923–) Epitome Heidelbergensis historiae Diadochorum Hellenica Oxyrhynchia

xii

Abbreviations

IG/IG2 LDM POxy. Suda

Inscriptiones Graecae (1st edn Berlin 1873–; 2nd edn Berlin 1913–) Liber de Morte Alexandri Magni Testamentumque Oxyrhynchus Papyri (1898–) Greek Lexicon formerly known as Suidas

Ancient sources Ael. VH Aeschin. Apollod. Bibl. App. Syr. Arist. Rh. Arr. Anab. Arr. Ind. Arr. Succ. Athen. Cic. Brut. Cic. Off. Cic. Fam. Curt. Dem. Din. Dio./Dio. Cass. Diod./Diod. Sic. Diog. Laert. Dion. Halic. Antiq. Rom. Dion. Halic. Comp. Eur. Heracl. Hdt. Hom. Il. Hom. Od. Hor. Ars P. Hyp. Isoc. It. Alex. Just. Epit. Lib. Or. Lucian Cal. Lucian Macr. Nep. Ages. Nep. Eum.

Aelianus Varia Historia Aelian Aeschines Apollodorus Mythographus Bibliotheca Appian Συριακή Aristotle Rhetorica Arrian Anabasis Arrian Indica Arrian Successors Athenaeus Cicero Brutus (or De Claris Oratoribus) Cicero Off. Cicero Epistulae ad familiares Q. Curtius Rufus Demosthenes Dinarchus Dio Cassius Diodorus Siculus Diogenes Laertius Dionysius Halicarnassensis Antiquitates Romanae Dionysius Halicarnassensis De compositione verborum Euripides Heraclidae Herodotus Homer Iliad Homer Odyssey Horace Ars poetica Hyperides Isocrates Itinerarium Alexandri Justinus, Epitome (of Trogus) Libanius Orationes Calumniae non temere credendum Lucian Macrobii Cornelius Nepos Agesilaus Cornelius Nepos Eumenes

Abbreviations

Nep. Phocion Oros. Ov. Her. Paus. Pindar Pyth. Pl. Leg. Plin. HN Plut. Alex. Plut. Eum. Plut. Ages. Plut. Demetr. Plut. Dem. Plut. Dion Plut. Lys. Plut. Mor. Plut. Phoc. Plut. Pytth. Plut. Themist. Polyaen. Polyb. Porph. Ps. Callisth. Soph. Trach. Stob. Str./Strab. Suet. Aug. Trogus Prol. Val. Max. Xen. Ages. Xen. An. Xen. Cyr. Xen. Hell.

Cornelius Nepos Phocion Orosius Ovid Heroides Pausanias Pindar Pythian Odes Plato Leges Plato Naturalis historia Plutarch Alexander Plutarch Eumenes Plutarch Agesilaus Plutarch Demetrius Plutarch Demosthenes Plutarch Dion Plutarch Lysander Plutarch Moralia Plutarch Phocion Plutarch Pyrrhus Plutarch Themistocles Polyaenus Polybius Porphyry Pseudo-Callisthenes Sophocles Trachiniae Stobaeus Strabo Suetonius Divus Augustus Pompeius Trogus, Prolegomena Valerius Maximus Xenophon Agesilaus Xenophon Anabasis Xenophon Cyropaedia Xenophon Hellenica

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Chapter 1

“Selling Alexander” The concept and use of “propaganda” in the age of Alexander Elizabeth Baynham

In a cartoon strip of Hägar the Horrible (a Viking chieftain and good family man, created by the late Dik Browne), a concerned courtier tells his king: “Sire! Hägar is telling the Press lies about you! When should I send the guards to arrest him?” To which the king replies: “When he starts telling the truth!”1 Of course, “truth” – as Pontius Pilate glibly asked Jesus (John 18.38) and “lies” are both difficult to define – elusive, changeable, and fluid concepts. However, inherent in Hägar the Horrible’s gentle humour is the truism that whoever rules will also control the dissemination of carefully selected, persuasive information or messages to a mass audience – what the “propagator” may indeed call “truth”, but what others may term “propaganda”. From an ancient perspective, that definition of propaganda – if I may give some examples of monuments and inscriptions which have been described as such – could include Darius’ proclamation of himself as the rightful king and recipient of Ahura Mazda’s special favour on the Behistun Inscription, the Athenians’ promotion of their special connection with Athena on the Parthenon, and Augustus’ claim to have transferred the Res Publica from his potestas (power) to the Senate and the People of Rome in the Res Gestae.2 Within our own time, we may think of Leni Riefenstahl’s spectacular (and chilling) films Triumph des Willens and Olympia, both of which promoted not only youth, athleticism, physical fitness, ritual, and military discipline but also the Third Reich.3 However, propaganda does not have to be exclusively associated with a totalitarian regime, nor government of any kind, nor with a time of crisis like a war. Most forms of advertising – from electioneering campaigns of political parties, to selling products or services of any kind – share common features with propaganda. They are both directed at the many, and they both convey selected information. In the twenty-first century, a range of powerful multimedia can disseminate such messages: radio, newspapers, cinema, and television, along with the Internet, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, as well as mobile phone apps. In the ancient world, the available ways of spreading ideas included iconography, inscriptions, architecture, coinage,

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and literature and oral communication; but there are also questions concerning not only the distribution of information but also its regulation and audience response. The term “propaganda” derives from Catholic Church terminology from the early medieval period but did not become a popular usage until the twentieth century. The earliest sense of the word was neutral, meaning to promote or spread an idea or information; however, “propaganda” gradually assumed a more pejorative and “deceitful” sense, as well as a distinct association with a particular ideology, or perspective.4 Today, both the theory and phenomenon of propaganda are widely investigated given its relevance to the disciplines of Sociology, Political Science, Media and Communication, History, and Law, to name a few. Not only is the modern bibliography substantial, but there are also entire specialist academic research centres devoted to its study.5 As one scholar has recently noted, “propaganda” was used in every society since human civilization began by those who governed the community.6 However, given the limited technology of the ancient world, many academics have expressed doubt as to whether “propaganda” could exist at all, at least by any usual understanding of the term.7 It is true that the ancient Greeks and Romans did not use the word “propaganda” themselves any more than a Classical Athenian would have spoken of a “politician” or “policy”. The Greek word rhetor – which derives from rhesis (a speech) – was the usual term in Classical Athens for an orator or a politician who regularly spoke in the courts or the Assembly. Rhetor carries the inherent sense of being able to “persuade” an audience by using the tools of compelling speech – such as argument, sentiment, theatricality, and pragmatism.8 Yet despite the scepticism of some scholars, “propaganda” – along with “politician”, “imperialism”, and many other terms that have a modern association – is freely and widely applied in modern scholarship. So, how appropriate is usage of the term “propaganda” for the ancient world? This seems largely to depend on individual perspectives; for many modern scholars it is both recognizable and ubiquitous. Yet, in its original context, how “deliberate” or “conscious” was its application? We may also ask what the role of the audience was in ancient societies – who “receives” propaganda, and how do they respond? This is harder to determine; for a start, we are not always sure who that audience was. For example, the great rock inscription of Darius I has been called one of the “earliest examples of propaganda”.9 Darius was not the first king from Iran to proclaim his triumph carved into living rock; there was the earlier precedent of the Lullubian reliefs, among other inscriptions.10 But the Behistun relief commemorated one of the most spectacular (and suspect) coups d’état in history – a story which was also recounted by the so-called “Father of History”, Herodotus (3.68–87).11

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In the inscription, Darius uses authoritative and dignified language. He presents himself as a liberator of his people, a freedom fighter, who, with the favour of the Achaemenids’ supreme God, Ahura Mazda, unmasks and destroys an impostor (or impostors) who had seized the throne. Yet the text of the inscription was carved in three languages on a limestone cliff face over 100 metres above the valley floor, so that not only was the writing quite unreadable by any traveller but even the detail of the tableau’s massive sculptures would be hard to see. Given the inaccessible setting, why would Darius have undertaken such expense and effort? One suggestion is that the inscription and its sculptures were the Great King’s proclamation to Ahura Mazda and the elements – from “one Master of Truth” as Darius would claim for himself (as Briant observed), to the God of Truth and Light.12 However, Darius did not forget his human audience. He had the inscription’s content circulated in multiple languages throughout the Persian Empire, as he notes himself in the text; we also have surviving fragments of the text on a papyrus from Elephantine, Egypt in Aramaic.13 No doubt, the extent of audience reception would depend on the levels of literacy throughout the satrapies, but the principle was very clear. Darius was publicly conveying to his subjects the achievements, aspirations, and expectations of their Great King – and in the language of a particular province so as to maximize its dissemination. Darius also included two inscriptions on his tomb at Naqsh-e Rostam; one was a statement of his achievements; the other was a projection of an ideal king and how he fitted the template (on Darius’ tomb, see Chapter 7).14 Likewise, the Parthenon (erected 448–c. 435 bc) and its lavish iconography were a strident celebration of the goddess Athena and her patronage of the Athenian demos.15 Built from fine Pentelic marble, the temple was the largest and most extravagant construction of its day, and the exhibitionist statement of a rich and confident polis. As Pausanias noted (1.5), the iconography of the pediments was dedicated to Athena. The sculptures themselves are damaged and incomplete, but they depicted two stories central to Athena’s mythology: her birth, adult and fully armed from the head of her father, Zeus, and her contest with Poseidon over mastery of Attica. Although the meaning of the Parthenon frieze’s iconography is uncertain and interpretations of the sculptures vary considerably, the most common view is that the frieze depicts the preparations for the Great Panathenaic festival in which a new robe was presented to the goddess every four years. Significantly, the Parthenon frieze appears to show not only the Olympian divinities but also human beings, presumably the Athenians themselves, thereby proclaiming their connection with the goddess – and by implication, her favour.16 The emperor Augustus offers another parallel. As we noted earlier, he disseminated a written text in Latin and Greek of his achievements, the Res Gestae, not long before his death in ad 14 (according to the text [RG 35] he

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was 75 at the time of writing).17 Like Darius I and the Athenians, Augustus also claims special connection with a divinity – in his case, via his ancestry – and he emphasizes his pietas in terms of the numbers of temples to the gods that he has either restored or built (RG 19–21). Elsewhere, Augustus as well as Tiberius and his immediate and later Imperial successors showed themselves as masters of visual propaganda, not only in terms of public architecture and statuary but also on cameos18 and in coinage.19 For example, the famous extant marble cuirass statue of Augustus from Prima Porta was a copy of an earlier bronze which was perhaps originally commissioned by the Senate or Tiberius. The statue celebrates one of the emperor’s most significant diplomatic achievements: the return, in 20 bc, of the Roman standards lost by Crassus at the disaster of Carrhae in 53 bc. The dramatic scene holds pride of place in the centre of the statue’s breastplate, where a Parthian king hands over the eagle to a Roman officer – variously interpreted as Romulus, Mars Ultor, or Tiberius.20 So, while details of interpretation of all these respective monuments may vary, all three examples have one aspect in common; Darius I, the Athenian demos, and Augustus were all proclaiming their power and their worthiness to rule. This collection of essays has its origins in a conference which was held in Sydney in January 2013 under the aegis of the annual Australasian Society for Classical Studies (ASCS) and in conjunction with the Australian Museum’s Exhibition of Alexander the Great antiquities and paraphernalia once owned by Catherine the Great, and now housed in the State Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg.21 Informally, the Alexander conference delegates also celebrated the seventieth birthday of the late Brian Bosworth in what would turn out to be his last meeting with local and international colleagues. The investigation of “propaganda” also featured quite prominently in Bosworth’s scholarship throughout his career, beginning with one of his most influential articles (CQ, 1971) – which addressed the tortuous and biased strands of tradition on the death of Alexander the Great – and ending with a chapter in Private and Public Lies (2010), an edited collection that focuses on exploring boundaries between state powers and individual rights in the Graeco–Roman world.22 Alexander the Great offers a particularly robust example for the study of propaganda. The literary, iconographical, and numismatic tradition is rich, albeit derivative (at least in the case of the former), and problematic. It is clear from our Graeco–Roman sources23 that Alexander displayed preferences for the work of certain painters, gem carvers, and sculptors; some even go so far as to suggest a formal edict by the king (Hor. Epist. 2.1, 232–44; cf. Cic. Epist ad fam. 5.12.7; Apuleius, Florida 7) to the effect that his portrait was only to be painted by Apelles, and cast in bronze by the sculptor Lysippus.24 At the very least, this tradition suggests that Alexander was conscious of his visual image, its duration, and the capacity of certain artists to express his wishes. However, both the authenticity of this “edict”

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and how far Alexander was able to enforce it are unknown; also what is less clear is what he wanted the message to be – although Apuleius claims that Alexander desired a homogeneous promotion of “martial energy, kingly disposition, youthful freshness, and nobility of forehead”. There are some other clues. For example, Apelles’ painting of Alexander wielding the thunderbolt is mentioned by several sources,25 but as Apelles’ work has not survived, it would be difficult to say whether the imagery had been chosen by Alexander himself, or whether it was a literary fabrication in an earlier account which in turn passed into the secondary tradition. However, the imagery of the king wielding the thunderbolt along with the legend Aniketos (“Unconquered”) appears on the so-called Porus medallions which are thought to have been issued around 324 bc and which (on the reverse) reference Alexander’s battle against Porus on the Hydaspes in 326 bc.26 Although there is a scholarly dispute over the origin of the coins, in some ways it is immaterial as to whether these were minted by Alexander himself or by his satraps or even minted by Seleucus.27 The propaganda is striking; either Alexander himself or someone else with his approval or one of his Successors was proclaiming not only the king’s invincibility but also his association with his divine “father” Zeus; effectively, he was wielding Zeus’ power on Earth. This motif also supports the idea of Alexander and a circle of skilled court flatterers actively cultivating the creation of belief in the king’s divinity28 as well as Alexander creating and living his own legend (on which, see Chapter 2). Alexander’s entourage also included highly specialized experts – scientists, engineers, and technicians, along with philosophers and intellectuals. In particular, the latter were selected staff. Although the evidence on their duties is sparse, they probably included instructing the paides basilikoi – or elite group of “royal youths” (often called “pages”) in modern literature – as certainly Callisthenes appears to have done – as well as counselling the king or acting as a spokesman for him at banquets – like Anaxarchus in the illfated banquet (or series of banquets) in 327 bc in which Alexander tried to persuade his aristocratic Macedonian hetairoi – his Companions and officers – to offer him the Persian protocol of respect – proskynesis.29 Callisthenes is described by our ancient sources as a philosopher and historian who had been raised in Aristotle’s house and was related to him by blood.30 We do not know the circumstances of how Callisthenes was invited to join the expedition of Alexander. No doubt, the family connection with Aristotle (Plut. Alex. 55. 5; cf. 52.3), who was the former tutor of Alexander, helped, but Callisthenes was a prolific writer in his own right, and the author of several histories of Greece. We also do not know how Callisthenes’ Deeds of Alexander was published – whether instalments were sent back to Greece as Alexander’s expedition progressed – in which case we have no information about who was receiving the work or how – or to whom – it was disseminated. As Callisthenes died (or was executed) as a

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result of the so-called “Pages’ Conspiracy” in 327, his history of Alexander was unfinished, but whatever remained of it was preserved – at least enough to be quoted by writers including Polybius, Strabo, and Plutarch in subsequent centuries. Although there is considerable evidence that Callisthenes may have been killed because of his association with Hermolaus and the group of paides basilikoi – or “royal youths” – who had conspired to assassinate Alexander31 as well as for his opposition to Alexander’s unsuccessful attempt to introduce proskynesis, his history had already promoted a message that was not inconsistent with the Porus medallions: namely, the king’s divine paternity and his association with Zeus. According to Callisthenes’ history (Plut. Alex. 33 = FGrH 124. F. 36), prior to the battle against Darius at Gaugamela, Alexander prayed to Zeus as his son in front of his soldiers for his “father” to defend and strengthen them; likewise, Strabo (17.1.43 = FGrH 124 F. 14a) cites Callisthenes as an authority for the oracle of Zeus Ammon confirming Alexander’s descent from the god. Three themes pervade the current investigation: first, the dominance of Alexander’s general, Ptolemy Soter, the later Pharaoh of Egypt, and one of the most important historians of the eyewitness tradition, in both the historiographical (see especially Chapters 3–5) and iconographical media (Chapter 10). The second theme is the complexity and sophistication of ancient authors’ manipulating propaganda within Alexander historiography (see Chapters 3–8) while the third theme examines the role of the audience for whom the propaganda is intended (Chapters 2, 7–10). The composition of the audience would also depend on the time frame of the source – and given that all of the contemporary and near-contemporary historiographical tradition is lost, the presentation of the king is inevitably skewed by cultural biases of the Graeco–Roman Imperial period. Anson (Chapter 2), as well as Wheatley and Dunn (Chapter 10) argue that Alexander deliberately created his own image through literature, art, and coinage; however, Howe (Chapter 4) and Pownall (Chapter 3) – as we shall see – make strong cases for Ptolemy’s conscious manipulation of the dissemination of information. The second chapter of this collection by Edward Anson, “Alexander the Great: A Life Lived as Legend”, sets the scene. He argues that Alexander, far from being merely a contrived construction of later and derivative Roman authors, effectively set his own bar, largely creating his own image and the propaganda to publicize it. Alexander’s own deeds were outstanding – for the first time in Western culture, a king and his army actually traversed continents and conquered numerous people, bending thousands of others to his will. He not only emulated but also surpassed Heracles, the great, universal hero for Greeks and Macedonians. It was not surprising that he sought immortality and either he

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believed he descended from divinity or that he was divine. Alexander did not need anyone else to “sell him” – so to speak – he sold himself. Conversely, Ptolemy Soter commands Alexander historiography and coinage like a colossus.32 But, as Ptolemy’s original history is lost, there is another layer of reception between Ptolemy’s text and the modern audience – namely, the derivative Alexander historiographical tradition, particularly Arrian. Timothy Howe’s perceptive chapter shows how Arrian cleverly reinforces Ptolemy’s own propaganda and self-promotion as the worthy successor to Alexander in the destruction of the Achaemenid pretender, Bessus. In the first part of his chapter, Howe also demonstrates the theory and “mechanics” of historical narrative, especially the thorny questions of historicity and fictionality. Howe argues that the narrative techniques of ancient historiography inevitably tended towards the propagandistic as ancient writers attempted to report historical events experientially by fictionalizing tools like speech and “focalization” (the representation of perceptions, expectations, intentions, and motives) in order to portray historical material in a way that would fit the author’s particular agenda and perspective. This does not mean that ancient historians fabricated their accounts but were rather aiming at how their audience would experience the presentation of the information they had selected. As noted earlier, Alexander promoted his divine filiation with Zeus through coinage and painting. An important aspect of this is the episode of the king’s visit to the oracle of Zeus Ammon at Siwah, in 331 bc in which the Egyptian god Ammon (Zeus’ equivalent to the Greeks) supposedly recognized Alexander as his son. As Frances Pownall observes in her chapter, this was not only one of the most significant components of the king’s propaganda, but it was also critical for Ptolemy I as well, who needed to legitimize his own dynastic rule. In particular, Pownall revisits two of Ptolemy’s variants in his own version of the story in Arrian’s text – namely that Alexander’s expedition was guided by two hissing snakes (Anab. 3. 3. 5) and Alexander’s return. According to Ptolemy (Anab. 3. 4. 5), the king went back to Egypt via a longer route through the desert to Memphis, instead of along the Mediterranean coast. As Pownall demonstrates, this ancient pharaonic city was key to validating Ptolemy’s regime even more than building the ostentatious all-weather harbour of Alexandria. However, Ptolemy was not the only historian of Alexander’s era who seems to have manipulated historical tradition in his favour. Like Ptolemy’s own history, the work of Hieronymus of Cardia is not extant. But, Hieronymus’ work appears to have been the main source for Diodorus Books 18–20 of his universal history – and indeed the basis for much of the source tradition on the Diadochoi. Hieronymus was hardly an unbiased historian, and the idea that he promoted Antigonids – who were his patrons – is well known. Nevertheless, John Walsh, in a penetrating examination of Hieronymus’

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account of the battle of Lamia, shows how Hieronymus, over the course of his long life (one of the few centenarians whom we hear of from the ancient world),33 also consistently maintained his animosity towards Antipater himself and not just Cassander and his murderous offspring. Walsh argues that Hieronymus distorted the history of the engagement in order to discredit Alexander’s regent. However, this raises a paradox, as Antigonus Gonatus (319–239 bc) was also a grandson of Antipater through his mother, Phila. This family connection is brought out in Chapter 6. The potential for dynasties to create and promote a particular kind of image is thoughtfully highlighted by Franca Landucci. She also throws the spotlight on the Antigonid dynasty, revisiting the deliberate cultivation of Antigonus Gonatas, the heir to two great families (the Antigonids and the Antipatrids), as a “philosopher king” by poets, philosophers, and intellectuals. This had been William Tarn’s focus in his classic study on Gonatas; Landucci shows that the king’s promotion of the ideology of himself as an enlightened ruler was to validate the utmost legitimacy from the Macedonian and Greek perspective. The irony was the Chremonidean War, which starkly presented a very different reality of the monarchy. So far, the commentary on Chapters 1–6 has identified various historiographical and historical aspects of propaganda in the era of Alexander and the Successors. However, we also need to ask why was there any need “to sell” anything or “persuade” anyone at all? In Chapter 7, Sabine Müller, in her fascinating discussion, raises another facet of Alexander – the king as a tourist. Although Alexander’s sacking of Persepolis and notorious arson of the royal palace were to resonate through history, he very likely visited the tombs of the Achaemenid kings at Naqsh-e Rostam, about 12 kilometres from the royal palace. We have no direct evidence that he went there, but as Müller points out, the place was neither inaccessible nor the trip inconvenient. Alexander also showed considerable respect for the founder of the Achaemenid empire, Cyrus the Great, and his reverence was probably not solely motivated by a need to reconcile his Persian subjects. The king would have known Xenophon and his treatise on Cyrus as a model leader. Moreover, someone in Alexander’s entourage did see the tombs or at the very least was interested enough to quote a translation of one of the inscriptions from the burial place of Darius I. That man was Onesicritus, one of the eyewitness historians of the expedition. Müller reminds us that the Argead dynasty and the Persian aristocracy – far from being two alien cultures – historically had enjoyed far closer relations than the Panhellenic propaganda disseminated not only by proMacedonian Greeks back home, but also by Alexander’s staff (including Callisthenes himself) would allow. The Argead affinity with the Achaemenid court is explored further by Hugh Bowman in Chapter 8. In particular, Bowman examines Alexander’s presentation of himself after the battle of Gaugamela, especially in relation

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to two important cities in the Achaemenid Empire: Susa and Babylon. As Bowman points out, both these capitals were more important for the king than Persepolis; it is also likely that he participated in enthroning rituals and adopted Achaemenid protocols when he took the cities. Bowman suggests that Alexander’s officers may not have been averse to the creature comforts of empire; after all, there is no evidence that Parmenio rejected Alexander’s gift of the house which had formerly belonged to Bagoas, Darius’ vizier. No doubt, our extant Alexander historiography presents Macedonians harbouring a hostility towards the Persians, which is coloured with projected Roman prejudices. But, we also cannot deny the undercurrent of antiPersian feeling that was evident among the king’s Western followers. This tension was to surface many times, expressed not only by high-ranking officers like Cleitus or aristocratic young men like Hermolaus but also by the men of the phalanx. In Chapter 9, Joseph Roisman addresses the issue of what happens when propaganda fails. He examines the phenomenon of desertion, and asks the question why some Hellenistic rulers lost the support of their soldiers – was it because of a lack of material benefits or promises that failed to deliver – or violation of an “unwritten” agreement? Roisman demonstrates that sometimes Macedonians could switch sides simply because they found the alternative more frightening or simply more appealing. They may have appeared to have accepted the new ruler’s propaganda for a while but would change sides in the right circumstances – as happened when Demetrius Poliorcetes’ troops deserted him for Pyrrhus. In this case, Pyrrhus’ reputation as a just and fair ruler, in contrast with increasing public “poor” perceptions of Demetrius, did much to sway the loyalty of his own troops against him. Chapter 10, the concluding study of this volume, by Charlotte Dunn and Pat Wheatley, returns to the important medium of iconography – in this case numismatics. Coinage is a critical visual source because it is immediate, unlike most Alexander iconography which has survived only through later copies. Coinage also – potentially at least – reaches the widest audience, and its recipients do not have to be literate in order to receive its message. Dunn and Wheatley consider how and why Philip II, Alexander the Great, and the Successors used coinage to promote positive propaganda about themselves. While this question has been asked by others, Dunn and Wheatley bring subtle perspectives and fresh insights to what Hugh Bowman elsewhere rightly terms “well-trodden ground”. For example, it was not just the choice of images that governed how rulers could exploit coinage for self-aggrandizement. Alexander changed the weight of his coins and increased their value, and, as Dunn and Wheatley note, while this may not be “propaganda” per se, it was certainly manipulation. Thus, they demonstrate, as a result of Alexander’s successful campaigns, his own coinage was soon able to surpass the previously dominant currency in the Greek world, the ubiquitous Athenian silver owls.

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In conclusion, all nine essays explore different facets of the themes outlined in this chapter, bringing fresh insights to the ever-complex era of Alexander.

Notes 1 Hägar by Browne, Daily Telegraph. Com. Au, January 7, 2019. 2 RG 34; see P. A. Brunt and J. M. Moore, Res Gestae Divi Augusti (Oxford, 1967); also A. E. Cooley, Res Gestae Divi Augusti: Text, Translation and Commentary (Cambridge, 2009). 3 There is considerable bibliography on Leni Riefenstahl, one of the most controversial filmmakers of the twentieth century, and the question of whether Olympia, a documentary which celebrated the 1936 Berlin Olympic Games, in particular was Nazi propaganda. In general, see David Hinton, The Films of Leni Riefenstahl (Lanham, MD, 2000) and Cooper C. Graham, Leni Riefenstahl and Olympia (Lanham, MD and London, 1986). 4 See Viorel Tutui, “Some Reflections Concerning the Problem of Defining Propaganda”. Argumentum: Journal of the Seminar of Discursive Logic, Argumentation Theory and Rhetoric 15.2 (2017), 110–25, especially 112–13. Cf. Jacques Ellul, Propaganda: The Formation of Men’s Attitudes (New York, 1973). 5 Historically, we may note the famous IPA or the Institute For Propaganda Analysis, a multi-disciplinary centre based in New York which operated in the 1930s and early 1940s and was aimed at encouraging public awareness of “tainted propaganda”; see Michael J. Sproule, Propaganda and Democracy: The American Experience of Media and Mass Persuasion (Cambridge, 1997). For an example of a current academic focus group, see the Centre For the History of War, Media and Society, University of Kent, UK: https://research.kent.ac.uk/ war-media-and-society/ 6 See Tutui (see n.4), 112. 7 Scholarly debate on the use of the term “propaganda” in relation to the ancient world is recently summarized with bibliography by Corey Ellithorpe, Circulating Imperial Ideology: Coins as Propaganda in the Roman World (Dissertation; University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, 2017), xxvi with n.6. 8 For a general discussion on the meaning of rhetor and the role of rhetores, see David Stockton, The Classical Athenian Democracy (Oxford, 1990), p. 118 with n.1; for other terms for political activists, see R. K. Sinclair, Democracy and Participation in Athens (Cambridge, 1988), 136–37 with n.4. 9 See D. Brendan Nagle and Stanley M. Burstein, The Ancient World: Readings in Social and Cultural History (Upper Saddle River, NJ, 2009), 133. 10 Anubani, a king of Lullubum in the Zagros, had an inscription carved in Akkadian on a rock at Sar-i Pul-i Zohab (ancient Padir) in about 2300 bc; cf. I. M. Diakoneff in I. Gershevitch (ed.) The Cambridge History of Iran, Vol. II (Cambridge, 1985), 38–39; on the similarity in content of Anubani’s inscription to Darius’ Behistun monument, see D. T. Potts, The Archaeology of Elam: Formation and Transformation of an Ancient Iranian State (Cambridge, 1999), 318. 11 On the “suspicious” aspects of the accounts of Darius’ accession, see J. M. Balcer, Herodotus and Bisitun: Problems in Ancient Persian Historiography (Stuttgart, 1987), E. J. Bickerman and H. Tadmor, “Darius I, Pseudo-Smerdis and the Magi”. Athenaeum 56 (1978), 239–61; M. A. Dandamaev, A Political History of the Achaemenid Empire (Leiden, 1989), 83–135; see also Pierre Briant’s insightful analysis, From Cyrus to Alexander (Winona Lake, IN, 2002), 107–38.

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17 18 19 20

21

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23 24 25 26

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See Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, 126–27. See A. L. Oppenheim in CAH Iran, Vol. II, 543, n.4; cf. 559. On Darius’ inscriptions, see From Cyrus to Alexander, 172–83. As Mary Everly remarked in her review of Jenifer Neils (BMCR [2002] 06.14), the Parthenon has become a “scholarly industry”; however, on the monument and its decoration in general, see John Boardman, The Parthenon and Its Sculptures (Austin, TX, 1985). On the Parthenon frieze, see J. Neils, The Parthenon Frieze (Cambridge, 2001); more controversial are the interpretations of Joan Breton Connelly; see “Parthenos and Parthenoi: A Mythological Interpretation of the Parthenon Frieze”. American Journal of Archaeology 100 (1996), 53–80; more recently, The Parthenon Enigma (New York, 2014). See n.2. See Julia Claire Fischer, The Iconography of Large Imperial Cameos (Ohio, 2014). On propaganda in Roman imperial coinage, see recently C. Ellithorpe, Circulating Imperial Ideology, with Ellithorpe, xxvi, n.7. On the Prima Porta cuirass statue, see Paul Zanker and Alan Shapiro (trans.), The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus (Ann Arbor, 1990), 188–92; Erika Simon, Der Augustus Von Prima Porta (Dorn, 1959); “Altes und Neues Zur Statue des Augustus von Primaporta”. In G. Binder (ed.) Saeculum Augustum, Vol. III (Darmstadt, 1991), 204–33. See Alexander the Great, 2000 Years of Treasures, Catalogue of the Exhibition (Australian Museum and the State Hermitage Museum, 2012). The Alexander Exhibition also coincided with the Australasian Society for Classical Studies annual conference convened by Associate Professor Ken. Sheedy and Dr Blanche Menadier (2013, Macquarie University). A. B. Bosworth, “The Death of Alexander the Great: Rumour and Propaganda”. Classical Quarterly 21 (1971), 112–36; “Truth and Falsehood in Early Hellenistic Propaganda”. In Andrew J. Turner et al. (eds.) Private and Public Lies (Leiden, 2010), 39–50. The ancient sources are offered in both Greek and Latin texts with English translation by Andrew Stewart; see Faces of Power (Berkeley, 1993), 360–416. Cf. Val Max. 8.1, ext. 2; Pliny NH 7.125; Plut. Alex. 4.1; Mor. 335A; Arrian, Anab. 1.16.4, with A. B. Bosworth, HCA i (1980), 126; see also Stewart, Faces of Power, 360–64. Cic. In Verr. 4.60. 135; Pliny, NH 35. 92; Plut. Mor. 335A; Mor. 360D; Alex. 4.1; Stewart, Faces of Power, 363–64. On the propaganda of the Porus coins, see A. B. Bosworth, Alexander and the East (Oxford, 1996), 6–9; for discussion of the various types and weights of the coins as well as their authenticity, including the gold medallion first published by Bopearachchi and Flandrin in 2005, see Michael E. Habicht et al., “The SoCalled Porus Medallions of Alexander the Great – Crucial Historical Numismatic Objects or Clever Forgeries”. Journal of the Numismatic Association of Australia 29 (2018/19), 24–50; cf. Frank L. Holt, Alexander the Great and Mystery of the Elephant Medallions (Berkeley, 2003). On the suggestion that Seleucus I had minted the Porus medallions, see G. K. Jenkins and Harald Küthmann, Münzen der Griechen (Munich, 1972), 273; cf. Habicht et al. (see n.26, p. 25) who note that the dating of the Babylonian hoard contradicts this interpretation. Bosworth, Alexander and the East, 98–132. On Callisthenes’ opposition to proskynesis; see Arrian, Anab. 4. 10.5–11.9; Plut. Alex. 54.3; Curt. 8. 5.13–19; on Anaxarchus, see Berve, ii. 33–35, no. 70;

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Elizabeth Baynham Waldemar Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great (London, 2006), 27. On Callisthenes, cf. Berve, ii. 191–99, no. 408; Heckel, Who’s Who, 76–77; Lionel Pearson, The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great (London, 1960), 22–49. On the so-called “Pages’ Conspiracy” and Callisthenes’ alleged association with it, see Arrian, Anab. 4.12.7, 14.1; Plut. Alex. 55. 3–5; Curt. 8. 6. 24–25, 27. See recently, Timothy Howe (ed.), Ptolemy I Soter: A Self Made Man (Oxford, 2018); also Ian Worthington, Ptolemy I: King and Pharaoh of Egypt (Oxford, 2016). Hieronymus supposedly reached the age of 104; cf. FGrH 86 F 4 = Pseud. Luc. Macrob 22; see Heckel, Who’s Who, 139–40; for the traditions on his life and their authenticity, see Jane Hornblower, Hieronymus of Cardia (Oxford, 1981), 5–6, 15–16.

Bibliography Balcer, J. M. Herodotus and Bisitun: Problems in Ancient Persian Historiography. Stuttgart, 1987. Berve, H. Das Alexanderreich. 2 vols. Repr. New Hampshire, 1988. Bickerman, E. J. and H. Tadmor. “Darius I, Pseudo-Smerdis and the Magi”. Athenaeum 56 (1978), 239–61. Boardman, John. The Parthenon and Its Sculptures. Austin, TX, 1985. Bosworth, A. B. Alexander and the East. Oxford, 1996. Bosworth, A. B. “The Death of Alexander the Great: Rumour and Propaganda”. Classical Quarterly 21 (1971), 112–36. Bosworth, A. B. A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander. Vol. 1. Oxford, 1980. Bosworth, A. B. “Truth and Falsehood in Early Hellenistic Propaganda.” In Andrew J. Turner et al. (eds.) Private and Public Lies. Leiden, 2010, 39–50. Briant, Pierre. From Cyrus to Alexander. Winona Lake, IN, 2002. Brunt, P. A. and J. M. Moore. Res Gestae Divi Augusti. Oxford, 1967. Connelly, Joan Breton. The Parthenon Enigma. New York, 2014. Connelly, Joan Breton. “Parthenos and Parthenoi: A Mythological Interpretation of the Parthenon Frieze”. American Journal of Archaeology 100 (1996), 53–80. Cooley, A. E. Res Gestae Divi Augusti: Text, Translation and Commentary. Cambridge, 2009. Dandamaev, M. A. A Political History of the Achaemenid Empire. Leiden, 1989. Diakoneff, I. M. “Media”. In I. Gershevitch (ed.) The Cambridge History of Iran. Vol. II, Cambridge, 1985, 36–39. Ellithorpe, Corey. Circulating Imperial Ideology: Coins as Propaganda in the Roman World. Diss; Univ. North Carolina, Chapel Hill, 2017. Everly, Mary.“Review of The Parthenon Frieze by Jenifer Neils”. BMCR 06.14 2002. Fischer, Julia Clair. Private Propaganda the Iconography of Large Imperial Cameos. Columbus, OH, 2014. Graham, Cooper C. Leni Riefenstahl and Olympia. Lanham, MD, 1986. Habicht, Michael E., Andrew M. Chugg, Elena Varotto and Francesco M. Galassi. “The So-Called Porus Medallions of Alexander the Great – Crucial Historical Numismatic Objects or Clever Forgeries”. Journal of the Numismatic Association of Australia 29 (2018/19), 24–50.

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Heckel, Waldemar. Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great. London, 2006. Hinton, David. The Films of Leni Riefenstahl. Lanham, MD, 2000. Holt, Frank L. Alexander the Great and Mystery of the Elephant Medallions. Berkeley, 2003. Hornblower, Jane. Hieronymus of Cardia. Oxford, 1981. Howe, Timothy (ed.). Ptolemy I Soter: A Self Made Man. Oxford, 2018. Jacques Ellul, Jacques. Propaganda: The Formation of Men’s Attitudes. New York, 1973. Jenkins, G. K. and Harald Küthmann. Münzen der Griechen. Munich, 1972. Nagle, Brendan D. and Stanley M. Burstein. The Ancient World: Readings in Social and Cultural History. Upper Saddle River, NJ, 2009. Neils, J. The Parthenon Frieze. Cambridge, 2001. Oppenheim, A. L. “The Babylonian Evidence of Achaemenid Rule in Mesoptomia”. In I. Gershevitch (ed.) The Cambridge History of Iran. Vol. II, Cambridge, 1985, 529–87. Pearson, Lionel. The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great. London, 1960. Potts, D. T. The Archaeology of Elam: Formation and Transformation of an Ancient Iranian State. Cambridge, 1999. Simon, Erika. Der Augustus Von Prima Porta. Dorn, 1959. Sinclair, R. K. Democracy and Participation in Athens. Cambridge, 1988. Sproule, Michael J. Propaganda and Democracy: The American Experience of Media and Mass Persuasion. Cambridge, 1997. Stewart, Andrew. Faces of Power. Berkeley, 1993. Stockton, David. The Classical Athenian Democracy. Oxford, 1990. Tutui, Viorel. “Some Reflections Concerning the Problem of Defining Propaganda”. Argumentum: Journal of the Seminar of Discursive Logic, Argumentation Theory and Rhetoric 15.2 (2017): 110–25. Worthington, Ian. Ptolemy I: King and Pharaoh of Egypt. Oxford, 2016. Zanker, Paul and Alan Shapiro (trans.). The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus. Ann Arbor, 1990.

Chapter 2

Alexander the Great A life lived as legend Edward M. Anson

That Alexander, especially in those sources collectively often referred to as the Vulgate, is presented with a ‘largely contrived’ image that already has the elements that will be expanded in the Alexander Romance cannot be denied, but that it is the contrivance of the later Roman authors.1 I do not believe this is the case. It is my contention that this particular image arose from Alexander himself. Nor was it just for the public, but rather was truly a self-image to Alexander, the true Alexander. Moreover, Alexander did not wish to be like one of his heroes. He wished to use them as models for heroic behaviour and their achievements as goals to be exceeded. They were to be benchmarks. It was an evolving and complex image he wished to project in life to demonstrate that he was not an ordinary man. It was complex in that it was a combination of a number of base beliefs that changed little over time and his desire to project himself in ways that would be receptive to whoever was his current audience and evolving in his view of his exceptionality, an image enhanced by every success. That he wished to control his image can hardly be doubted given his employment of an historian, Callisthenes (Arr., Anab. 4.10.1–2), whose work apparently continued until his death in 329 bc. (Str., 11.14.13); a personal sculptor, Lysippus (Plut. Alex. 4.1–2); a painter, Apelles (Cic., Ad fam. 5.12.7); and an engraver, Pyrgoteles (Plin., HN 7.125, 37.8). He created many cities named Alexandria scattered throughout his conquests, which were to echo his name throughout the ages.2 He founded two cities named Nicaea to emphasise his victories and a city named Bucephala to honour his horse.3 Even as a 16-year-old, he founded Alexandropolis in Thrace (Plut., Alex. 9.1), demonstrating that even at this early age he was already concerned with establishing his importance. The image Alexander wished to convey is clear in the sources. Alexander is reported to have envied Achilles ‘for having Homer to proclaim his fame to posterity’ (Arr., Anab. 1.12.1), and Callisthenes, Alexander’s faux Homer, declared that Alexander’s fame depended on him and that even the king’s share in divinity also depended on Callisthenes’ history (Arr., Anab. 4.10.1–2). Such a statement had to be based on the known desires

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of Alexander himself. Everything Alexander did was about Alexander. He stayed in Europe just long enough to secure his back before leaving for Asia; he was not interested in supplying his homeland with an heir prior to his departure as suggested by his principal advisors. Perhaps the strongest evidence of his self-image was that he was not creating a Macedonian empire with its rather provincial capital of Pella. Alexander was creating Alexander’s empire with its capital in the then greatest city in the ancient world, Babylon: a city he believed was truly worthy of himself (Str. 15.3.9–10; Diod. 17.108.4). He was the son of a mortal father who was hailed as ‘the greatest king in Europe’ (Diod. 16.95.1) and later also proclaimed the son of the greatest of the Greek gods Zeus, engaging like his ancestor Heracles in a kind of dual paternity.4 Alexander was not just a legend in his own time but also a legend in his own mind. This is not to say that Alexander did not enhance this base image as a Homeric hero with political expedient corollaries. His adoption of his father’s ‘War of Revenge’ being a case in point.5 It energised the Greek world but, given that Alexander once having conquered the Persian heartland gave up his war of revenge most readily and began a rapprochement with his former enemies, suggests it was simply a means to an end.6 In the proclaimed campaign of revenge against the Persians, references to the Trojan War and to Achilles would play well with his troops. Agesilaus had likewise attempted to associate his invasion of Asia Minor with the expedition to Troy by offering sacrifice at Aulis, emulating the departure of the Trojan expedition, but was thwarted by the Boeotians (Xen., Hell. 3.4.3–4). While Alexander’s image evolved over time with his multiple successes, these were more enhancements than new directions. His image was based initially on the examples of his two proclaimed ancestors Achilles and Heracles (Plut., Alex. 2.1; Curt. 4.6.29). As Aristotle (Rhet. 2.15) states, ‘noble birth is a heritage of honour from one’s ancestors’. Over time these early images paled before Alexander’s ultimate vision of himself not just as the descendant of these Greek heroes but as the son of Zeus in his own right, and later still as a living god, but all proceeded from Alexander’s belief in his special status as superior to all other mortals. While this self-image was ever evolving, aspects of the earliest exemplars remained throughout. Alexander started life in the rarefied air of the heroic ideals of personal achievement, honour, and glory.7 These standards required that one ‘always be the best, and preeminent above all others’ (Hom., Il. 11.783–84), especially in warfare. This moral and martial excellence, the so-called aretê, was how Alexander wished to measure his life. Alexander’s favourite line supposedly came from the Iliad (Plut., Mor. 331C): ‘Both things is he: both a goodly king and a mighty warrior’ (Hom., Il. 3.179). When his father Philip suffered a thigh wound from a spear in battle with the Triballians and complained of his lameness, Alexander is recorded as commenting, ‘Father, be of good cheer and go on your way rejoicing, that at each step you

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may recall your valour’ (Plut., Mor. 331C). Achilles was certainly important in Alexander’s earliest presentation of himself,8 as seen in his pleasure as a boy of being called ‘Achilles’ and his father being called ‘Peleus’ by his tutor, Lysimachus (Plut., Alex. 5.8), but especially with respect to the aspect of the mighty warrior, this imaging continued into adulthood. On the Hyphasis, he supposedly declared that he had never given a command ‘without first exposing myself to the risks involved, and I have often protected your line with my own shield’ (Curt. 9.2.29).9 It was Achilles’ qualities that Alexander wished to emulate. Certainly, on occasion, he did wish to convey his association with his supposed famous ancestor. Having arrived in Asia, he paid homage at the tomb of Achilles at Troy.10 Given Alexander’s own emphasis on Achilles, ancient and modern writers may indeed have associated certain of Alexander’s later actions as his attempts to emulate Achilles where it is possible such emulation only existed in the eyes of the beholders, ancient and modern.11 Such an example would be the comparison of Alexander’s actions battling the Indus with those of Achilles and the Scamander (Diod. 17.97.1; Curt. 9.4.8–14). However, Alexander’s assumption of certain of Achilles’ attributes would explain his behaviour. His relationship with Hephaestion was modelled on that of Achilles and Patroclus with the same sexual ambiguity as in the latter. At Troy, he associated Hephaestion with the sacrifice. Alexander sacrificed to Achilles and Hephaestion to Patroclus (Arr., Anab. 1.12.1; Ael., VH 12.7). Consequently, his reaction to the death of his ‘second self’ (Arr., Anab. 7.14; Diod. 17.114–15) elicited a response both emotional and proper as per the model of Achilles. After his capture of Gaza, when the injured commander of that citadel Batis is brought before him and refuses to be a supplicant, Alexander has thongs  or rings placed through the still living man’s ankles and has him dragged around the city (Curt. 4.6.28–29; FGrH 142 F-5). The perceived insolence of Batis would have made the punishment received seem appropriate, using as a precedent, in a modified way, Hector’s treatment at the hands of Achilles. The major modification was that, unlike Hector, Batis was very much alive when he was dragged around Gaza: brutal and certainly inhumane but not out of Alexander’s character.12 Waldemar Heckel, while arguing that this association in the sources of Achilles and Alexander is the creation of our sources, accepts those passages associating Alexander and Heracles as mostly authentic.13 I would concur with his conclusions regarding Heracles but would argue that these in no way invalidate the comparisons with Achilles. Heracles had long been associated with the Macedonian monarchy, and his image is found on the coinage of Macedonian monarchs at least as early as Archelaus.14 Alexander is referenced as offering sacrifices and libations to Heracles on a number of occasions,15 but it was not only in official acts that Alexander invoked the name of the hero. It is also recorded that Alexander claimed that Heracles appeared to him in a dream during the siege of Tyre inviting him into the

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city.16 Curtius notes that this dream, when interpreted by Aristander, was a sign of ultimate victory likely played well with the troops. Alexander, as was also the case with his association with Achilles, was not attempting to become the incarnation of Heracles. After all, Alexander did not go around in a lion skin, nor had Alexander competed at Olympia, as had Heracles (Paus. 5. 8. 4), nor had he in homage visited Pylos (Apollod. 1.9.9; 2.7.2), Elis,17 Nemea,18 or Crete.19 He was in competition with the hero, not trying to become him. Only Ephippus of Olynthus, in his On the Deaths [or Funerals] of Alexander and Hephaestion, might be seen to suggest otherwise. He describes Alexander as appearing at banquets dressed as Ammon, Hermes, and Artemis (FGrH 126 F-5). Nowhere else is Alexander portrayed as dressing up as these deities. From the surviving fragments, it is clear this was a work hostile to the memory of the Conqueror and should be discounted as likely attempting to satirise Alexander’s adoption of certain articles of Persian attire after his conquest of the Persian heartland.20 Curtius (3.10.5; 9.4.21; cf. Just. 14.2.9) proclaims that Alexander desired to ‘traverse the bounds set by Heracles’. He was ever in search of ways to exceed his ancestor (Arr., Anab. 3.3.2), but always in what Lowell Edmunds has called ‘pious envy’.21 Alexander’s desire to conquer the Rock of Aornus was made greater by the knowledge that Heracles had failed in its capture.22 On the Hyphasis, Alexander is reported as having complained that his soldiers were breaking ‘the palm branch with which I shall rival Hercules and Father Liber’ (Curt. 9.2.29). Father Liber or Dionysus was another deity Alexander sought to surpass. His contest with this deity became manifest when Alexander entered India, a nation that tradition held was conquered by Dionysus. Alexander was pleased to learn that he had surpassed that god’s penetration into India (Arr., Anab. 5.2.1; cf. 7.10.6; 7.20.1). His march across the Gedrosian desert, and, perhaps, even his desire to conquer India were the result of his attempting to succeed where the great heroes of Asia, Cyrus, and Semiramus had failed (Arr., Anab. 6.24.3; Str. 15.1.5). Alexander’s self-image never was one that was purely mortal. Alexander was, as noted, believed to be related to the god Heracles. Moreover, as king of Macedonia, he was seen as the chief intermediary between the Macedonian people and their gods. The sacral nature of the monarchy also helps account for the success of the Argead family, and later the Antigonid, in monopolising the kingship. The king obtained the favour of the gods for his people (Just. 7.2.9–12; 9.4.1). There was no professional priesthood; the monarch made the sacrifices23 and conducted the sacred festivals.24 This religious aura carried over into the ceremonies performed for a dead king. On the death of a monarch a lustration was carried out (Just. 13.4.7; cf. Curt. 10.9.11–12), funeral games and sacrifices were held,25 and the body was laid to rest in the royal tombs at Aegae.26 Thereafter, sacrifices were made to the dead king.27 Alexander’s father Philip, while alive, even had his image appear in a procession of the 12 Olympian deities (Diod.

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16.92.5, 95.1). Philip was also apparently worshipped in Eresus and Ephesus in some form prior to his death. At Eresus, on the island of Lesbos, altars to ‘Zeus Philippios’ were established,28 likely, in 33629 in recognition of Philip’s aid in the overthrow of the tyranny favoured by the Persians that had previously dominated the city, and a statue of Philip was also placed in the temple of Artemis in Ephesus (Arr., Anab. 1.17.11),30 likely in the same year. The precise meaning of these honours is much debated.31 However, the procession in Macedonia and any knowledge of such activities in Eresus and Ephesus would have had an influence on Alexander. As Fredricksmeyer has shown, it was not only the gods with whom Alexander competed for glory but also his father.32 Moreover, Alexander did not curtail his flatterers’ allusions to his divinity, apparently welcoming their exuberance. Curtius (8.5.7–8) records that he rewarded them when they publicly proclaimed ‘that Heracles, Father Liber, and Castor and Pollux would make way before the new divinity’. It is to be remembered that Callisthenes said his history would gain for Alexander a share in divinity (Arr., Anab. 4.10.2). The interplay of self-image and propaganda is most clearly seen in Alexander’s ability to manipulate events to achieve this image in the minds of others. This is seen in two related aspects of this self-image relating to his military prowess and to his flirtation with divinity. Alexander wanted to be viewed as invincible. This had been proclaimed supposedly by the Delphic Oracle even before he left for Asia (Plut., Alex. 14.4–5; Diod. 17.93.4). This seeming proclamation from Apollo was seen as being endorsed by Zeus on three subsequent occasions. At Gordium, Alexander solved the famous Gordian knot which was then hailed as a prophetic endorsement by Zeus for his campaign.33 Here there was no oracle but a task to perform. Alexander could have avoided it, but his ‘pothos’, an overweening desire, led him to the acropolis where the wagon and its famous knot awaited him (Arr., Anab. 2.3.1). The yoke was tied with an elaborate knot about which it was prophesied that whoever could undo it would rule Asia. Not succeeding in untying the knot, Alexander either sliced through it with a sword or loosened the pin (Arr., Anab. 2.3.6–8; Curt. 3.1.14–18).34 That evening a convenient thunderstorm was taken by Alexander and his companions as a sign that the king had indeed successfully fulfilled the task (Arr., Anab. 2.3.8). Later, the Oracle of Zeus/Ammon at Siwah, as reported by Callisthenes, among other statements declared Alexander to be invincible.35 At Gaugamela, in the battle that ultimately sealed the fate of Persia, Alexander is reported to have called on Zeus ‘that if he was his father to defend and strengthen the Greeks’. In Plutarch’s account (Alex. 33.1–2), an eagle appeared over Alexander’s head and then flew at the Persian battle lines. To these were likely later added the various omens supposedly seen at the time of his birth. Plutarch (Alex. 3.4–5) records that at Ephesus the temple of Artemis burned down indicating to the Persian priests that ‘a great calamity was about to befall Asia’, and that Philip on the day he captured Potidaea was brought three messages: his

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general Parmenion had defeated the Illyrians, his horse had won at Olympia, and Alexander had been born. The diviners (mantes) proclaimed to Philip that a son born in the midst of such portends would always be victorious (Plut., Alex. 3.5). With time, all of these events, which may have occurred at different times, came in the popular mind to be connected to Alexander’s birth. Omens and ‘overwhelming desire’ were indications from the gods of, at the least, divine protection and support. These were to be seen or heard and interpreted by others and not the result of any insistence by Alexander. All was to be seen as spontaneous affirmations from the gods. That he went from victory to victory affirmed what he believed was divine support. These successes also strengthened his belief in his own divine nature. Outside of the Greek mainland, the acceptance of this connection to the divine was more readily received. The examples of Eresus and Ephesus with respect to his father are cases in point. Moreover, other claims for hero status during the lifetime of the recipient also appear. ‘Altars were erected and sacrifice offered as to a god’ to Lysander by a number of island cities, specifically Samos, at the conclusion of the Peloponnesian War (Plut., Lys. 18.3–4); Agesilaus is recorded as refusing similar honours offered by the Thasians (Plut., Ages. 25; Mor. 210D)36; and Dion in the middle of the fourth century bc received ‘heroic honours’ from the Syracusans (Diod. 16.20.6; Plut., Dion). In particular, the altars associated with Lysander do not admit for any other sort of explanation other than the ritual of worship. Then there is also Egypt and Asia where kings are not, as in Macedonia, leaders of companions, hetairoi, the first among aristocratic equals, or on a lesser scale the companion of his pezhetairoi, the phalanx soldiers. Alexander was after Issus already styling himself as the King of Asia.37 While the monarchs of Egypt and Asia may have had limitations on their ‘divine’ status, their connections to the divine world were intimate. While prevailing opinion claims that pharaoh was ‘divine while performing the duties of kingship, and human at other times’,38 this would have been a rather nuanced position. The status of the Great King of Persia is murkier still. Two recent studies have suggested that the belief that the Persian king was not divine may not be entirely correct.39 The best example of the interplay of personal belief, the need for spontaneous acceptance by others, and the manipulation of events to achieve this acceptance is found in Alexander’s actions in Egypt. Early in 331 bc, Alexander journeyed 300 miles across the Libyan Desert to the oasis of Siwah to consult the oracle of Zeus/Ammon. While the Persian offensive in the Aegean had collapsed (Arr., Anab. 3.2.3–7), removing that obstacle to the security of his current conquests and serious Persian interference in Greece, Darius was still unconquered in the East gathering his forces to renew the struggle. Yet, with the Persian Empire still very much intact and preparing for future battle, Alexander still chose to journey from Lake Mariout (Curt. 4.7.9) in Egypt to the oracular site and back again, a round trip of

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approximately 450 miles (cf. Arr., Anab. 3.3.3), or between three weeks and a month’s journey. The oracle of Zeus/Ammon was an offshoot of the worship of Amon-Ra in Thebes, which at some subsequent time, perhaps in the sixth century bc, established a branch of the Theban cult in the Libyan desert at Siwah.40 While in origin an Egyptian foundation, it very early came to be seen by the Greeks as an oracle of Zeus.41 By the middle of the fifth century, Zeus Ammon of Siwah had already appeared in an ode of Pindar’s (Pyth. 4.29; cf. Paus. 9.16.1), and Ammon and Zeus were equated in a long discourse by Herodotus (1.46; 2.32, 52–56). Certainly, by the fifth century, the oracle in the Libyan desert was ranked by Greeks with those at Dodona and Delphi.42 Our sources report that this desire (pothos) to consult the oracle arose suddenly.43 Even though these authors list many reasons for Alexander’s wish to consult the oracle: Siwah’s noted veracity, competition with the mythical heroes, Perseus and Heracles, who had supposedly visited the oracle, inquiry into his father Philip’s murder, questions regarding which gods should be especially honoured with sacrifices, queries concerning the success of his expedition, consultation concerning the foundation of Alexandria, and inquiries into his birth.44 Despite this myriad of reasons offered for this journey, all of which may have played some role, there was really only one that predominated, and that is the last listed. Alexander went to Siwah to inquire of this specific oracle because he wanted to be absolutely certain of the response to the question regarding his origins. He wished to be proclaimed a son of Zeus by one of the three dominant oracles in the Greek world (Arr., Anab. 3.3.2; Curt. 4.7.8).45 It was the knowledge that his divine parentage would be verified that drew Alexander into the desert. While it is debated by scholars and unclear in the sources what questions were ultimately asked by Alexander and what responses were actually given, it is apparent that the priest of Ammon initially greeted the king as ‘son of Zeus’,46 and that throughout the proceedings this divine parentage was repeatedly emphasised.47 It is true, however, that the actual responses of the oracle were given to Alexander in private, but it was revealed by Callisthenes that he had been told he was the son of Zeus (Callisthenes, FGrH 124 F14a=Str. 17.1.43). The modern arguments claiming that the question concerning his divine father was never asked of the oracle may well be true. What would be the point of asking, if from the very greeting the oracle had confirmed the relationship with striking clarity? As noted, in a similar fashion the Delphic oracle had labelled Alexander as ‘invincible’. In any case, when Arrian (Anab. 3.4.5) reports that Alexander received ‘the answer his heart desired’, there can be little doubt that the answer concerned his birth. Callisthenes’ account (Str., 17.1.43=FGrH 124 F-14) presents the entire episode in a mythic form. Alexander sets off in the footsteps of these great heroes, sudden rain quenches his thirst, serpents guide him when lost,48 and the entire episode concludes with the priest hailing Alexander as the son of

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Zeus. As Callisthenes proclaimed, in Egypt Alexander does gain a ‘share of divinity’ (Arr., Anab. 4.10.2). With respect to the other purposes for the journey listed by the sources, there was nothing in them that would have singled out Siwah for special attention.49 While the Libyan oracle was one of the three most prominent oracular centres in the Greek world, its reputation for infallibility was certainly no greater than that of the oracles at Dodona or Delphi. Plato in his Laws (5.738C) states that whatever religious practice has been sanctioned by Delphi, Dodona, or Siwah must not be altered. Nor did Siwah possess special provenance in the area of hero worship. It was not historically associated with either Macedonia or with the Macedonian royal family. Indeed, while it was regularly consulted by Greeks, there is no evidence that any Macedonian ever consulted the oracle prior to Alexander. While Alexander’s overwhelming desire to travel to Siwah may have been seen by him as a divine inspiration, it was also the practical realisation that the result of such a visit would be the acknowledgement of his divine parentage at the least. The desert oracle, because of Alexander’s position as an Egyptian pharaoh, would, therefore, address him with the titles associated with this office. Even though he may never have been officially enthroned according to the full Egyptian rites,50 and of the literary sources only Pseudo-Callisthenes (1.34.2) records that Alexander was so coronated, he was given every title associated with the divine nature of pharaoh. In inscriptions discovered in Luxor in Thebes, Alexander is described as ‘the perfect god’, ‘Horus’, ‘the beloved of Ammon’, ‘lord of crowns’, but most typically as the ‘son of Amon-Ra’ or the ‘son of Ra’.51 He is also in the iconography depicted as being enthroned.52 As noted earlier, while the prevailing current opinion is that the Egyptian pharaoh was only divine when performing the duties of kingship, it is doubtful that the average Egyptian or a newly arrived Macedonian would have been cognizant of this distinction. These titles were given by the priests and represent their acceptance of Alexander as the pharaoh.53 In Babylon, as in Egypt, he received the standard titles associated with kingship: ‘Alexander, king of the world’, ‘Alexander, king of all countries’.54 In both Egypt and Babylonia, the Macedonian king was hailed as a liberator. In any translation of the initial Egyptian greetings or ceremonials into Greek, Ammon or Zeus would have been used for Amon-Ra or Ra. As noted earlier, in the Greek world this identification was commonplace. Personally, Alexander may have seen this situation as a divine summons for him to travel to Siwah and have the oracle proclaim what the Egyptian priests were stating. While later in his campaign, claims of Zeus/Ammon sonship gave rise to overt hostility on the part of his Macedonians, at this point with the battle to contest Asia with Darius still in the future, any indication of divine support and promise of victory would be greatly welcomed by the rank-and-file. The pronouncement of the oracle would carry great

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weight with his troops, whereas proclamations by foreign religious authorities would not. As an Egyptian oracle, its priest had to acknowledge Alexander, the new pharaoh, as at the very least ‘Son of Ammon’, regardless of any Greek sensibilities possessed by the oracular authorities. That Ammon had never apparently acknowledged any other Greek as a god or the child of a deity is immaterial. There had never been a previous Greek who was the pharaoh of Egypt. Justin (11.11.6) even suggests collusion between Alexander and the Siwah priests, stating that Alexander sent men ahead to bribe the priests to give him the responses he wished. Given the status of the oracle and the unique circumstances, such actions were not necessary. On his return, representatives from the oracles at Didyma and Erythrae arrived also proclaiming that he was the son of Zeus (Str. 17.1.43).55 The results of Alexander’s visit to Siwah may have gone well beyond his desire to be recognised as the son of Ammon/Zeus. Ernst Badian states, ‘Among the mysteries communicated to Alexander by his divine “father” at Siwah there must have been an explicit promise that (at whatever time and in whatever form) he would become a god in his lifetime’.56 This assumption would explain a number of Alexander’s later actions. In the summer of 327, almost four years after his great victory at Gaugamela confirming his conquest of the Persian Empire and his occupation of the Persian heartland, Alexander attempted to introduce proskynesis into his court ceremony,57 a form of submission which could involve a bowing or full prostration (Hdts. 1.134.1).58 Alexander’s success at Gaugamela and the occupation of Persia followed by the death of Darius caused outward changes in both the stated purpose of the expedition and also in Alexander’s outward manifestation of his singular nature. With respect to the expedition, it would no longer be a war of revenge, but one of pure conquest.59 Moreover, the reception by his new Persian subjects presented Alexander with a whole new cultural reality. His desire to continue his conquests made the Persians more than just a subject population. He was in need of their manpower and their administrative skills. They were then to be partnered with the Macedonians and the Greeks.60 Alexander therefore needed to appeal to them in traditional ways. Proskynesis was one way to accommodate Persian court ceremonial practice. While this was not worship in a clear sense, there existed a ‘great intimacy’ between king and god in Persian belief.61 The King of Persia was then treated far differently in practice by his subjects than the King of Macedonia traditionally was by his. The Macedonian king, while having the duties of a chief priest, was also seen especially by the Macedonian aristocracy as their near equal.62 Alexander attempted to introduce proskynesis into his court, where it pleased the Persians but led to serious opposition from his Macedonians and the practice was abandoned.63 Alexander’s own historian, the very one who had proclaimed that he would be responsible for the king gaining a share in divinity when it came to the actual practice of performing

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what in Greek eyes appeared as worship, baulked (Arr., Anab. 4.10.3). Callisthenes’ relationship with Alexander never recovered, and later, on charges of treason related to other matters, Callisthenes was executed, leaving his history unfinished (Arr., Anab. 4.14.1). While there may have been many reasons for the attempt to introduce proskynesis,64 all of the sources are clear that granting Alexander godlike honours was at the centre of this attempt to introduce the practice (Arr., Anab. 4.10.6, 11.2–3: Curt. 8.5.5). In a preliminary discussion in Alexander’s court where his flatterers attempted to justify proskynesis, it was noted that it would be more just to recognise Alexander during his lifetime as a god (theos) because his achievements were greater than those of Heracles or Dionysus (Arr., Anab. 4.10.6). Peter Green observes that in the later Hellenistic period honours usually reserved for the gods became extravagant recognition for the living.65 ‘Sacrifices, sacred enclosures, tombs, statues, prostration (proskynesis), hymns, altars, and other such divine appanages are all, as Aristotle [Rhet. 5.9] specifically states, simply marks of honour the gesture itself, not its recipient (whether god or man), is the important thing’, that is transcendent mortals were simply sharing some of the gods’ divine prerogatives. Certainly, after Alexander’s death, this was very clearly the case. It is most unlikely that Alexander believed himself to be a god in the sense of escaping death, being able to alter his form, or producing miracles. It was his exceptionalism, his personal association with Zeus, and his superhuman achievements that were to be honoured. He was so beyond all other mortals and heroes that the only appropriate way for him to be honoured was as a god. This, however, proved to be a hard sell to the Macedonians whose traditional king was one of them, not some demigod. The final chapter in Alexander’s creation of his own legend was his desire to be recognised as a god in Greece proper. While knowledge of Alexander’s desire to be honoured as a divinity was known and debated in the Greek world likely since the king’s return from India, as Brian Bosworth states that the ‘catalyst’ for the final stage of Alexander’s transformation from Macedonian king to godlike ruler was the death of his lifelong companion Hephaestion.66 Alexander first questioned the oracle at Siwah whether his former companion should receive the sacrifices worthy of a god, but the oracle said only those suitable for a hero (Arr., Anab. 7.14.7, 23.6; Plut., Alex. 72.1–3).67 Hephaestion’s funeral was to be magnificent (Arr., Anab. 7.14.8, 10; Diod. 17.114.4, 115.1) and the worship extravagant, with sacred precincts, offerings, festivals, and temples (Lucian Cal. 17). Diodorus (17.115.6) states that Hephaestion was to be worshipped as ‘theos paredros’. This phrase can best be translated as ‘associate god’. This phrase ‘associate god’ can be taken to mean a synnaos, a temple sharer. The obvious sharer would be Alexander. This was not an infrequent occurrence in which the ‘hero’ shared the precinct with the god, forming a sort of partnership, and, on occasion sharing in the sacrifice.68 Bosworth accepts the coordination of the cults, arguing,

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‘It is neither impossible nor improbable that when Alexander sent formal letters requesting (or demanding) a hero cult for Hephaestion, he also suggested that recognition of his own divinity would be welcome and appropriate’.69 It is possible that such recognition had already taken place in various of the Greek cities. Most of the evidence, however, for the existence of these cults can only be securely dated to the period after Alexander’s death.70 The evidence, sparse and unreliable as it is, still does suggest that Alexander likely did request that cult be initiated for him through surrogates, and it was the worship suitable for a god.71 An incident late in his life bolsters this belief. According to Aristobulus (Str. 16.1.11; Arr., Anab. 7.20.1), Alexander attacked the Arabs in part because he had learned that they only worshipped two gods and he believed that they would worship him as a third if he conquered them and then restored their independence. Here, as with respect to Ammon, Alexander wanted his special status recognised spontaneously, not ordered and enforced. This may be behind his abandonment of proskynesis with respect to his Macedonians. Our sources say that it was discussed, and Alexander approved of the attempt to begin the practice, but it was to appear as if the initiation by his courtiers was of their own accord. He did not summon the Macedonians and order them to prostrate themselves before him. That Alexander had an image of himself cannot be denied, and the outlines of that image are clear. He wanted to be seen as a great warrior, invincible, unconquerable, the son of Zeus, and as a god himself on earth. While our lost sources and those that survive have shaped their narratives, these presentations and the later Romance itself followed the path that Alexander himself created. Where Heracles was seen as a great benefactor of the Greek nation for his feats, Alexander had defeated the great nemesis of Persia. Where Achilles had won glory in the siege of but a single city, Alexander had subdued dozens of them and spread Greek culture as far as the Indus River valley. He was in his own mind and in the eyes of his contemporaries a man who transcended his mortality by his achievements: not just beloved of the gods but the proclaimed son of the greatest god of all, Zeus. That he sought the recognition of divinity in his lifetime can hardly be doubted. As Isocrates (5.5) proclaimed in reference to Philip, whoever conquered the Persian Empire, there would be nothing left to do but to become a god. That the Alexander Romance saw his achievements inflate to mythical status was the culmination of the legend begun by the Conqueror himself.

Notes 1 See D. Spencer, The Roman Alexander (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2002); D. Spencer, ‘Roman Alexanders: Epistemology and Identity’, in Alexander the Great: A New History, ed. Heckel and L. A. Tritle (Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), 251; and J. Maitland, ‘MHNIN AEIΔE ΘΕΑ: Alexander the Great and the Anger of Achilles’, in East and West in the World Empire of

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6 7

8

9

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Alexander: Essays in Honour of Brian Bosworth, ed. P. Wheatley and E. Baynham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 1–20. See E. Anson, Alexander the Great: Themes and Issues (London, New Delhi, New York, and Sydney: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013), 134–36. Arr., Anab. 4.22. 6; 5.19.4; Diod. 17.95.5; and Curt. 9.3.23. Apollod. 2.4.8–9; Ovid, Her. 9.44; cf. Hom., Odys. 8.601–6; and Eurip., Heracl. 148–49, 339–47; A. B. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), 271 and A. B. Bosworth, Conquest and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great (Cambridge, New York, and Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 283. In the summer of 324, Alexander was still calling Philip his father (Arr., Anab. 7.9.2). There is little evidence to suggest that Alexander ever repudiated Philip as his mortal father (Kraft 1971: 65). At Opis in the summer of 324, the sources present him as extolling the accomplishments ‘of his father Philip’ (Arr., Anab. 7.9.2; cf. Curt. 10.2.12; and Diod. 17.109). On the use of this particular theme by both Philip II and Alexander III, see G. Squillace, ‘Consensus Strategies under Philip and Alexander’, in Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, ed. E. Carney and D. Ogden (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 76–80 and G. Squillace, Βασιλεῖς ἢ τύραννοι, Filippo II e Alessandro Magno tra opposizione e consenso (Rubbettino: Soveria Mannelli, 2004), 60–71, 130–38. Anson, 153–57. E. A. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander and Philip: Emulation and Resentment’, Classical Journal 85 (1990): 300–15; J. Roisman, ‘Honor in Alexander’s Campaign’, in Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, ed. J. Roisman (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2003), 279–321; and Anson, 83–86. See in particular, W. Ameling, ‘Alexander und Achilleus: Ein Bestandsaufnahme’, in Zu Alexander d. gr. Festschrift G. Wirth zum 60. Geburtstag am 9. 12. 86, ed. W. Will (Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert, 1988): 657–92; and A. Stewart, Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford: University of California Press, 1993), 78–95. Even if he never said this, it was true in actuality. The question of the trust to put in speeches has long been debated. I prefer to treat each speech on its own merits, and, while recognising these are at least partially rhetorical exercises by their respective authors, ‘the general content, not the specific language, should be accepted unless it can be shown to be inaccurate’ (Anson, 5). Arr., Anab. 1.12.1; Ael., VH 12.7; Diod. 17.17.3; and Plut., Alex. 15.4. The propaganda involved in these actions has long been recognized. See H. U. Instinsky, Alexander der Grosse am Hellespont (Godesberg: H. Küpper, 1949) and Ameling. J. Maitland and W. Heckel, ‘Alexander, Achilles, and Heracles: Between Myth and History’, in East and West in the World Empire of Alexander: Essays in Honour of Brian Bosworth, ed. P. Wheatley and E. Baynham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 24–25. Plutarch declares that Alexander ‘was more magnanimous than Achilles; for Achilles gave back the body of Hector for a small ransom, but Alexander buried Darius at great expense’ (Mor. 343B). It is doubtful that Alexander would have made this particular distinction. For the historicity of this episode, see Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 68. W. Heckel, ‘Alexander, Achilles, and Heracles: Between Myth and History’, in East and West in the World Empire of Alexander: Essays in Honour of Brian Bosworth, ed. P. Wheatley and E. Baynham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 25–32. There is little evidence to regard these as fabrications. Heckel references a fragment from Constantius Prophyrogenitus, on Hor., AP 357 =

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29 30 31

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Edward M. Anson FGrH 153 F10a to make his point (Heckel, 26n13). The poet Choerilus of Iasus wrote an epic poem in which he cast Alexander in the role of Achilles. Alexander supposed he would rather be Homer’s Thersites than Choerilus’ Achilles. The passage is a reflection on the quality of the work, not directly on the comparison between Achilles and Alexander. Curtius (8.5.8) condemns Alexander’s flatterers and their corrupting influence and includes Choerilus in this number. He also in this passage condemns Choerilus’ poetry as ‘execrable’. Yet, according to Curtius they were all given ‘preferential treatment’ by the king. B. V. Head, A Catalogue of Greek Coins in the British Museum. Macedonia, Etc, vol. 5 (London: The British Museum, 1879), 163, 165–66. The coins are both of a bearded and a youthful Heracles. (Danube) Arr., Anab. 1.4.5; (Hellespont) Arr., Anab. 1.11.7; (Issus) Curt. 3.8.22, 12.27; (Tyre) Arr., Anab. 2.24.5; 3.6.1; Curt. 4.8.16; and Diod. 17.46.6; and (Hydaspes) Arr., Anab. 6.3.2. Arr., Anab. 2.18.1–2; Plut., Alex. 24.3; and Curt. 4.2.17. Paus. 5.1.9, 10.9; 9.11.6 and Apollod., Bibl. 2.7.1. Paus. 3.18.15; 5.10.9, 11.5, 25.7, 26.7; 6.5.5 and Apollod., Bibl. 2.4.11–12. Apollod., Bibl. 2.5.7 and Paus. 1.27.10; 5.10.9. While Heracles journeyed to Dodona (Soph., Trach. 46–48, 77–84, 155–58, 165, 169), there is no record of Alexander doing likewise. However, he certainly was in a position to do so on numerous occasions and an argument from silence is not, in this case, very compelling. A. J. S. Spawforth, ‘The Pamphleteer Ephippus, King Alexander and the Persian Royal Hunt’, Histos 6 (2012): 169–207 and R. Lane Fox, Alexander the Great (New York: Penguin, 1973), 447. L. Edmunds, ‘The Religiosity of Alexander’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 12 (1971): 374. Arr., Anab. 4.28.1; Curt. 8.11.2; cf. 9.2.29; and Diod. 17.85.2. Arr., Anab. 3.16.9; 5.3.6; 6.3.2; 7.25.2; Plut. Alex. 23.2; Diod. 17.16.3, 18.1; Polyb. 5.14.8, 24.8–9; and Livy 40.22.7. Arr., Anab. 1.11.1; Dem. 19.192; Diod. 16.91.4; Athen. 13.572D-E; and Polyb. 10.26.1. Diod. 18.28.4; 19.52.5; Just. 9.7.11; 11.2.1; and Athen. 4.155A. The burial of Alexander III was the notable exception (Diod. 18.28.2–4). Just. 9.7.11; 11.2.1; cf. Diod. 18.28.4; N. G. L. Hammond, A History of Macedonia. Vol. 1. Historical Geography and Prehistory (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 64–67; and N. G. L. Hammond and T. G. Griffith, A History of Macedonia. Vol. 2. 550–336 B. C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), 157. M. N. Tod, A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions. Vol. 2. From 403 to 323 B. C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1948), 191, lines 5–6; A. J. Heisserer, Alexander the Great and the Greeks of Asia Minor (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1980), 38, line 5; and P. J. Rhodes and R. Osborne, Greek Historical Inscriptions 404–323 BC (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 408, line 5. J. B. Lott, ‘Alexander, and the Two Tyrannies at Eresos of “IG” XII.2.526’, Phoenix 50 (1996): 26–40. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary, 133. C. Habicht, Gottmenschentum und griechische Städte (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1970), 14–16; E. Badian, ‘Alexander the Great Between Two Thrones and Heaven: Variations on an Old Theme’, in Subject and Ruler: The Cult of the Ruling Power in Classical Antiquity, ed. A. Small (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996), 13; and E. A. Fredricksmeyer (1979), 39–61; Lott, 32. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander and Philip: Emulation and Resentment’, 309–14.

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33 Arr., Anab. 2.3.4–8; Curt. 3.1.14–18; Just. 11.7.4, 15–16; Plut., Alex. 18.2–4; and FGrH 135/6. F-4. Fredricksmeyer argues for the acceptance of the tradition that the Phrygians had migrated from Macedonia and for Alexander’s knowledge of this connection (1961, 160–68). His argument for the general acceptance of the veracity of this connection in Alexander’s time would make the fulfillment of the prophecy doubly significant for Alexander. 34 While Edmunds argues that Alexander lacked confidence in his ability and needed the assurance of oracles and divine signs that his expedition would be successful, the incident at Gordium, however, required a very self-assured individual to attempt it: L. Edmunds, ‘The Religiosity of Alexander’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 12 (1971): 379. 35 Diod. 17.51.1–2; Curt. 4.7.27–28; and Just. 11.11.10; cf. Str. 17.1.43. 36 Flower (1988), 123–34. 37 E. A. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander the Great and the Kingship of Asia’, in Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, ed. A. B. Bosworth and E. J. Baynham (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 136–66. 38 J. Malek, ‘Review of Ancient Egyptian Kingship, by D. O’Connor and D. P. Silverman’, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 83 (1997), 227. 39 F. Almagor, ‘The Political and the Divine in Achaemenid Royal Inscriptions’, in Ancient Historiography on War & Empire, ed. T. Howe, S. Müller, and R. Stoneman (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2017), 26–47 and J. Wieshöfer, ‘Cyrus the Great and the Sacrifices for a Dead King’, in Ancient Historiography on War & Empire, ed. T. Howe, S. Müller, and R. Stoneman (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2017), 55–60. 40 On the history of the oracle, see C. J. Classen, ‘The Libyan God Ammon in Greece before 331 B.C.’, Historia 8 (1959): 349–55 and H. W. Parke, The Oracles of Zeus: Dodona, Olympia, Ammon (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987), 194–95. 41 Parke, 203–37 and P. A. Brunt, Arrian. Anabasis of Alexander, Books I–IV, with English Translation by P. A. Brunt (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976), 474–75. 42 Parke, 109–17. 43 Bloedow argues that visiting the oracle was the reason Alexander entered Egypt (‘Egypt in Alexander’s Scheme of Things’, Quaderni urbinati di cultura classica 77 (2004): 75–99). This is unlikely. The sources insist the desire only arose after Alexander entered Egypt. 44 Arr., Anab. 3.3.1–2; Curt. 4.7.8; Plut., Alex. 27.6–7; Diod. 17.51; and Str. 17.1.43. 45 Bloedow, 95–99. 46 Plut. Alex. 27.5–9; Curt. 4.7.25; Diod. 17.51.1–2; and Str. 17.1.43. Plutarch (Alex. 27.9) comments that ‘some say’ that the priest attempted to address Alexander as ‘my son’ but because of his faulty Greek actually said ‘son of Zeus’, but it is unlikely that a priest associated with an oracle of such prominence in the Greek world did not know Greek. But regardless, even if this had been the case, Alexander would have taken the error as being initiated by the god, in short a favourable response (cf. Plut. Alex. 14.6–7 and Diod. 17.93.4). 47 Str. 17.1.43; Curt. 4.7.27; Diod. 17.51.1–2; and Just. 11.11.2–8. 48 Arrian quotes Ptolemy as reporting that the guides were serpents (Anab. 3.3.5); Curtius mentions crows (4.7.15). 49 For these other purposes, including emulating the journeys of Heracles and Perseus, see Anson, 98–101. 50 S. M. Burstein, ‘Pharaoh Alexander: A Scholarly Myth’, Ancient Society 22 (1991): 139–45; A. J. Collins, ‘The Transformation of Alexander’s Court: The

28

51

52

53 54 55

56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

65 66 67

Edward M. Anson Kingship, Royal Insignia and Eastern Court Personnel of Alexander the Great’ (PhD dissertation, Dunedin, NZ: University of Otago, 2008), 46–59. Contra: A. T. Olmstead, History of the Persian Empire (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1959), 512; W. Will, Alexander der Grosse (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1986), 83; B. Menu, ‘Le tombeau de Pétosiris (4). Le souverain de l’Égypte’, Bulletin de l’Institut franĉais d’archéologie orientale de Caire 98 (1998): 262; and E. A. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander’s Religion and Divinity’, in Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, ed. J. Roisman (Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, 2003), 258. M. Abd el-Rasiq, Die Darstellungen und Texte des Sanktuars Alexanders des Grossen im Tempel von Luxor (Mainz: P. von Zabern, 1984), 11, 14, 16, 22, 45; C. F. Lepsius, Denkmaeler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien nach den Zeichnungen der von Seiner Majestät dem Koenige von Preussen, Friedrich Wilhelm IV., nach diesen Ländern gesendeten, und in den Jahren 1842–1845 ausgeführten wissenschaftlichen Expedition auf Befehl Seiner Majestät, Vol. 3 (Geneva: Éditions de Belles-Lettres, 1972) Pls. 32, 82–83; Abteilung IV, pls. 3–5; and J. von Beckerath, Hankbuch der ägyptischen Königsnamen (Munich and Berlin: Deutscher Kunsverlag, 1984), 232–33. Derchain proclaims this particular piece of iconography to be a temple propaganda, which may very well be true, but still indicative of titles used to address: Alexander P. Derchain, ‘Pharaoh dans le temple ou l’illusion sacerdotale’, in Les moyens d’expression du pouvoir dans les societies anciennes, ed. M. Broze, P. J. Dehon, P. Talon, and E. Warmenhol (Leuven: Peeters, 1996), 91–99. Burstein, 141. A. Sachs and H. Hunger, Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylon. Vol. 1. Diaries from 652 B.C. to 263 B.C. (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1988), 179, 181. Bosworth believes that Didyma and Erythrae heard of ‘Alexander’s claims’ before he left for Siwah and, in consequence, issued their oracles ‘spontaneously’ (Conquest and Empire, 282). However, see Anson for the claim that the impetus for these proclamations was the result of Alexander’s realisation of the implications of being Pharaoh of Egypt and the sending of ambassadors to the two lesser oracles with hints of an appropriate response (p. 107). Badian, 66. Arr. 4.9.9, 10.5–12.6; Curt. 8.5.5–24; and Plut., Alex. 54.2–6. R. N. Frye, ‘Gestures of Deference to Royalty in Ancient Iran’, Iranica Antiqua 9 (1972): 102–07. On the change in the invasion’s purpose, see Anson, 153–58. Anson, 156–57, 174–75. Almagor, 27–43; Wieshöfer, 58. See Anson, 24–26. Arr., Anab. 4.9.9, 10.5–12.6; Curt. 8.5.5–24; and Plut., Alex. 54.2–6. For example, to coordinate court ceremony. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander’s Religion and Divinity’, 274–75. The opposition may not have been occurred because it was seen as bestowing divine honors, but rather that the ceremony was regarded as servile and worthy only of a ‘barbarian’: Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 284. Green (1990), 402. Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 288. The sources: Arr., Anab. 7.14.1: Plut., Alex. 72.2; Diod. 17.110.7–8; and Just. 12.12.11. In the Greek world, there were three main religious statuses: mortal, god, and hero – not always very distinct statuses, however. Heroes have, with some accuracy, been described as an intermediary stage between the other

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two: the intersection of mortal and immortal, man and god (Kearns), with the divine status a reward given after death (Anson, 87–89). See E. Kearns, The Heroes of Attica (London: Institute of Classical Studies, University of London, 1989), 125. Ferguson and Nock (1944), 144. Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 288. For a full review of the various opinions on whether Alexander was worshipped in his lifetime, see Anson, 115–20. See Ael., VH 2.19, 5.12; Din. 1.94; Athen. 6.251B; Hyp. 5, frag. 7, 6 frag. 20–22; Plut., Mor. 219E; Polyb. 12.12B; and Val., Max. 7.2.13.

Bibliography Abd el-Rasiq, M. Die Darstellungen und Texte des Sanktuars Alexanders des Grossen im Tempel von Luxor. Mainz: P. von Zabern, 1984. Almagor, F. ‘The Political and the Divine in Achaemenid Royal Inscriptions’. In Howe, Müller, and Stoneman, Ancient Historiography, 26–54. Ameling, W. ‘Alexander und Achilleus: Ein Bestandsaufnahme’. In Zu Alexander d. gr. Festschrift G. Wirth zum 60. Geburtstag am 9. 12. 86, edited by W. Will, 657– 92. Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert, 1988. Anson, E. Alexander the Great: Themes and Issues. London, New Delhi, New York, and Sydney: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013. Badian, E. ‘Alexander the Great Between Two Thrones and Heaven: Variations on an Old Theme’. In Subject and Ruler: The Cult of the Ruling Power in Classical Antiquity, edited by A. Small, 11–26. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996. ———. ‘The Deification of Alexander the Great’. In Ancient Macedonian Studies in Honor of Charles F. Edson, edited by H. J. Dell, 27–71. Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies, 1981. Bloedow, E. ‘Egypt in Alexander’s Scheme of Things’. Quaderni urbinati di cultura classica 77 (2004): 75–99. Bosworth, A. B. Conquest and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great. Cambridge, New York, and Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1988. ———. A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander. Vol. 1. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980. Brunt, P. A. Arrian: Anabasis of Alexander, Books I–IV, with English Translation by P. A. Brunt. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976. Burstein, S. M. ‘Pharaoh Alexander: A Scholarly Myth’. Ancient Society 22 (1991): 139–45. Classen, C. J. ‘The Libyan God Ammon in Greece before 331 B.C.’. Historia 8 (1959): 349–55. Collins, A. W. ‘The Transformation of Alexander’s Court: The Kingship, Royal Insignia and Eastern Court Personnel of Alexander the Great’. Unpub. Diss. Dunedin, NZ: University of Otago, 2008. Derchain, P. ‘Pharaoh dans le temple ou l’illusion sacerdotale’. In Les moyens d’expression du pouvoir dans les societies anciennes, edited by M. Broze, P. J. Dehon, P. Talon, and E. Warmenhol, 91–99. Leuven: Peeters, 1996. Edmunds, L. ‘The Religiosity of Alexander’. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 12 (1971): 363–91.

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Ferguson, W. S., and A. D. Nock. ‘The Attic Orgeones and the Cult of Heroes’. Harvard Theological Review 37.2 (1944): i–vi/61–174. Flower, M. A. ‘Agesilaus of Sparta and the Origins of the Ruler Cult’. Classical Quarterly 38 (1988): 123–34. Fredricksmeyer, E. A. ‘Alexander and Philip: Emulation and Resentment’. Classical Journal 85 (1990): 300–15. ———. ‘Alexander the Great and the Kingship of Asia’. In Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, edited by A. B. Bosworth and E. J. Baynham, 136–66. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. ———. ‘Alexander, Midas, and the Oracle at Gordium’. Classical Philology 56 (1961): 160–68. ———. ‘Alexander’s Religion and Divinity’. In Roisman, Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, 253–78. ———. ‘Three Notes on Alexander’s Deification’. American Journal of Ancient History (1979): 1–9. Frye, R. N. ‘Gestures of Deference to Royalty in Ancient Iran’. Iranica Antiqua 9 (1972): 102–07. Green, P. Alexander to Actium. Berkley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1990. Habicht, C. Gottmenschentum und griechische Städte. Munich: C. H. Beck, 1970. Hammond, N. G. L. ‘The Archaeological Back-ground to the Macedonian Kingdom’. In Archaia Makedonia I, edited by V. Laourdas and Ch. Makaronas, 53–67. Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies, 1970. ———. A History of Macedonia. Vol. 1. Historical Geography and Prehistory. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972. ———. ‘“Philip’s Tomb” in Historical Context’. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 18 (1978): 343–49. Hammond, N. G. L. and T. G. Griffith. A History of Macedonia. Vol. 2. 550–336 B.C. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979. Head, B. V. A Catalogue of Greek Coins in the British Museum. Macedonia, Etc. Vol. 5. London: The British Museum, 1879. Heckel, W. ‘Alexander, Achilles, and Heracles: Between Myth and History’. In Wheatley and Baynham, East and West in the World Empire of Alexander, 21–33. Heisserer, A. J. Alexander the Great and the Greeks of Asia Minor. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1980. Howe, T., S. Müller, and R. Stoneman, eds. Ancient Historiography on War & Empire. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2017. Instinsky, H. U. Alexander der Grosse am Hellespont. Godesberg: H. Küpper, 1949. Kearns, E. The Heroes of Attica. London: Institute of Classical Studies, University of London, 1989. Kraft, K. Der “rationale” Alexander. Kallmünz: Lassleben, 1971. Lane Fox, R. Alexander the Great. New York: Penguin, 1973. Lepsius, C. F. Denkmaeler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien nach den Zeichnungen der von Seiner Majestät dem Koenige von Preussen, Friedrich Wilhelm IV., nach diesen Ländern gesendeten, und in den Jahren 1842–1845 ausgeführten wissenschaftlichen Expedition auf Befehl Seiner Majestät. Vol. 3. Geneva: Éditions de BellesLettres, 1972.

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Lott, J. B. ‘Alexander, and the Two Tyrannies at Eresos of “IG” XII.2.526’. Phoenix 50 (1996): 26–40. Maitland, J. ‘MHNIN AEIΔE ΘΕΑ: Alexander the Great and the Anger of Achilles’. In Wheatley and Baynham, East and West in the World Empire of Alexander, 1–20. Malek, J. ‘Review of Ancient Egyptian Kingship, by D. O’Connor and D. P. Silverman’. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 83 (1997): 227. Menu, B. ‘Le tombeau de Pétosiris (4). Le souverain de l’Égypte’. Bulletin de l’Institut franĉais d’archéologie orientale de Caire 98 (1998): 247–62. O’Brien, J. M. Alexander the Great: The Invisible Enemy. London and New York: Routledge, 1992. Olmstead, A. T. History of the Persian Empire. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1959. Parke, H. W. The Oracles of Zeus: Dodona, Olympia, Ammon. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987. Rhodes, P. J., and R. Osborne. Greek Historical Inscriptions 404–323 BC. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Roisman, J., ed. Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great. Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, 2003. ———. ‘Honor in Alexander’s Campaign’. In Roisman, Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great. Sachs, A., and H. Hunger. Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylon. Vol. 1. Diaries from 652 B.C. to 263 B.C. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1988. Samuel, A. E. ‘Philip and Alexander as Kings: Macedonian and Merovingian Parallels’. American Historical Review 93 (1988): 1270–86. Sancisi-Weerdenberg, H. ‘Alexander and Persepolis’. In Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth, edited by A. Cameron and A. Kuhrt, 177–88. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1993. Salviat, F. ‘Une nouvelle loi Thasienne’. Bulletin de correspondance hellénique 82 (1958): 193–267. Savalli-Lestrade, I. Les philoi royaux dans l’Asie hellėnistique. Geneva: Droz, 1998. Sawada, N. ‘Social Customs and Institutions: Aspects of Macedonian Elite Society’. In A Companion to Ancient Macedonia, edited by J. Roisman and I. Worthington, 392–408. Malden, MA, and Oxford: Blackwell, 2010. Spencer, D. The Roman Alexander. Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2002. ———. ‘Roman Alexanders: Epistemology and Identity’. In Alexander the Great: A New History, edited by W. Heckel and L. A. Tritle, 251–74. Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009. Spawforth, A. J. S. ‘The Pamphleteer Ephippus, King Alexander and the Persian Royal Hunt’. Histos 6 (2012): 169–213. Squillace, G. Βασιλεῖς ἢ τύραννοι, Filippo II e Alessandro Magno tra opposizione e consenso. Rubbettino: Soveria Mannelli, 2004. ———. ‘Consensus Strategies under Philip and Alexander’. In Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, edited by E. Carney and D. Ogden, 69–80. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Stewart, A. Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford: University of California Press, 1993.

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Tod, M. N. A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions. Vol. 2. From 403 to 323 B.C. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1948. von Beckerath, J. Hankbuch der ägyptischen Königsnamen. Munich and Berlin: Deutscher Kunsverlag, 1984. Will, W. Alexander der Grosse. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1986. Wheatley, P., and E. Baynham, eds. East and West in the World Empire of Alexander: Essays in Honour of Brian Bosworth. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Wieshöfer, J. ‘Cyrus the Great and the Sacrifices for a Dead King’. In Howe, Müller, and Stoneman, Ancient Historiography, 55–61.

Chapter 3

Ptolemaic propaganda in Alexander’s visit to Ammon Frances Pownall

Alexander’s pilgrimage to the Libyan shrine of Siwah, in which the Egyptian deity Ammon, equated by the Greeks with Zeus as early as Pindar (Pyth. 4.17),1 is alleged to have acknowledged his paternity of the young conqueror, appears in the accounts of all of the extant ancient sources on Alexander,2 and is one of the most discussed episodes in modern scholarship.3 Ammon’s pronouncement of Alexander’s divine filiation was an important component of his propaganda,4 and therefore it is not surprising that Callisthenes, who accompanied Alexander on his expedition as official court historian and almost certainly provided a version of his consultation of the oracle that was endorsed by the young king himself, is generally agreed to have been the ultimate source for the Siwah episode in the later tradition.5 Alexander’s use of the Siwah expedition for propagandistic purposes ultimately set the stage for his successor in Egypt, Ptolemy I, to modify the existing tradition of the episode in order to legitimize his own dynastic rule. As has often been noted, the figure of Alexander loomed large in the development of Ptolemy’s ideology,6 and therefore we should be on the hunt for specific Ptolemaic propaganda behind any details in which his narrative differs from that of the other Alexander historians.7 Ptolemy’s distinctive spin on the Siwah episode can be discerned from Arrian’s narrative of Alexander’s visit to the oracle of Ammon (Arr., Anab. 3–4), in the course of which he indicates explicitly two details on which his two principal sources, Ptolemy and Aristobulus,8 disagree. The first occurs during the march of Alexander’s lost and weary troops through the featureless desert in a sandstorm on the way to Siwah, where Ptolemy substitutes snake guides for the crows of Callisthenes and Aristobulus: Ptolemy the son of Lagus says that two snakes proceeded in front of the army emitting a sound, and Alexander ordered his guides to follow them, trusting the divinity, and they led the way to the oracle and back again. (6) But Aristobulus – and the accounts of most authorities are in line with his version – says that two crows flew in front of the army, and that they became Alexander’s guides.9

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The interpretation of the crows as offering divine guidance, and thereby confrming Alexander’s divine favour, originates in Callisthenes10 and was transmitted to subsequent authorities by Aristobulus, as Arrian’s language reveals.11 Ptolemy’s variant of snake guides is unique and was probably invented by him, as Daniel Ogden has convincingly argued, both to confrm the identity of Ammon with Alexander’s siring snake, and also to legitimize his own dynastic claim to Egypt, where the snake played an important role in mythology and cult practice, as well as royal ideology.12 In this light, I would like to re-examine Ptolemy’s other variant, which Brian Bosworth identified as ‘one of the most annoying cruces of Alexander’s reign’,13 that Alexander marched back to Egypt via the longer and more difficult desert route to Memphis, instead of returning along the Mediterranean coast along the same route by which he had come, as Aristobulus states: Then Alexander marvelled at the place and consulted the god. And when he had heard what his heart desired, as he said, he marched back towards Egypt, by the same route (i.e., via Paraetonium; cf. Arr., Anab. 3.3.3) according to Aristobulus, but by a different route straight to Memphis, according to Ptolemy the son of Lagus.14 As I shall argue, this divergence, like Ptolemy’s substitution of crows for snakes, has its roots in Ptolemaic propaganda and should not simply be dismissed as an error by Ptolemy15 or a mistaken inference by Arrian from Ptolemy’s narrative.16 Like the snake guides, this variant on Alexander’s return journey to Egypt is unique to Ptolemy. The route through the desert (unlike the less difficult coastal one) would have formed a close parallel to Herodotus’ version of Cambyses’ attempted invasion of the sanctuary at Siwah (after his conquest of Memphis),17 which failed disastrously when his huge army was swallowed up by a mysterious sandstorm (Hdt. 3.25.3. – 26),18 and it is very unlikely that the Alexander historians would have missed an opportunity to play up the greatness of Alexander in contrast to one of his Persian predecessors. Thus, it is safe to say that the arduous desert return route via Memphis occurs only in Ptolemy, and we can turn our attention as to what might have motivated him to invent such a tradition.19 It is certain that Ptolemy, ‘a true master of propaganda’, as he has recently been described,20 would have had a specific purpose in doing so. Timothy Howe has recently argued that Ptolemy’s variant on Alexander’s return journey was deliberate. He suggests that Ptolemy altered Alexander’s route in order to separate the foundation of Alexandria from the consultation of the oracle, ‘because a god-like, prescient Alexander should not need advice on how to plan his most famous city’.21 By providing a heroic backstory (i.e. Alexander’s successful march through the desert) for the founding of

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Alexandria, Ptolemy intended to create a mythology for his new capital that went far beyond anything intended by Alexander himself, for whom Alexandria was merely a military fort on a par with the many others that he founded in the course of his campaigns.22 The general premise that the glorious capital city and cultural centre of Alexandria was the creation of the early Ptolemies, rather than that of Alexander himself, is very convincing. But I wonder to what extent the mythology surrounding the foundation of Alexandria in the context of Alexander’s consultation of Ammon is anachronistic, particularly as it is unclear whether the city achieved its real political and cultural importance under Ptolemy I Soter, or in the reign of his son Ptolemy II Philadelphus,23 who proved to be equally adept at propaganda as his father.24 Furthermore, it is important to note that Ptolemy’s variant on Alexander’s return route from his consultation of Zeus–Ammon has important implications on the timing of the foundation of Alexandria. Arrian (Anab. 3.1.5; cf. It. Alex. 48) and Plutarch (Alex. 26.2) date the foundation of the city before Alexander’s pilgrimage to Siwah, almost certainly on the authority of Ptolemy (although neither source says so explicitly), while the so-called Vulgate historians date it afterwards.25 Although it is generally assumed that the timing of the foundation of Alexandria in the Vulgate historians derives from Aristobulus, Arrian does not indicate that he diverges from Ptolemy on this point, nor does the foundation of Alexandria appear in any of the extant fragments.26 It is more likely that it was Cleitarchus who created a secondary tradition found in the Vulgate historians that the conqueror founded the city after his consultation of the oracle at Siwah.27 The romanticized tradition that Alexander’s builders marked out the circuit of the city wall with barley after running out of chalk, an incident  which was interpreted as prophesying Alexandria’s later prosperity, almost certainly comes from Cleitarchus, particularly as Arrian (Anab. 3.2.1–2) introduces the episode in such a way as to suggest that he did not derive it from his usual sources (i.e. Ptolemy and Aristobulus).28 As Boris Dreyer has noted, Cleitarchus’ account elaborates the panegyric of Callisthenes’ account but goes further by creating a direct association between Ammon and Alexandria, thereby giving divine justification to the Ptolemies and their rule from Alexandria.29 Although the floruit for Cleitarchus has conventionally been identified as the last decade of the fourth century,30 it has been argued on literary and source-critical grounds that Cleitarchus was writing in Alexandria under Ptolemy II, therefore well into the third century.31 The arguments for a post-Ptolemy I date for Cleitarchus have been vindicated by the recent publication of a papyrus fragment which indicates that he served as the tutor of Ptolemy IV Philopator.32 Although this new ‘low’ dating has not been universally accepted,33 the combination of this evidence suggests that Cleitarchus was still active as late as the middle of the third century. It seems therefore that the desire to legitimize Ptolemaic rule based at Alexandria by associating the foundation of the city with Alexander’s consultation

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of the oracle of Ammon was a preoccupation of Ptolemy II Philadelphus, and not necessarily that of his father, Ptolemy I Soter. It is also important to remember that the original seat of Ptolemy’s satrapy in Egypt was the ancient capital of the pharaohs at Memphis. There is some controversy about the date of Ptolemy’s transfer of the satrapal seat from Memphis to Alexandria, but it seems clear that Ptolemy’s transformation of Alexandria into a suitably impressive capital heated up (in tandem with his empirebuilding efforts) only after 311, which is the date of the Satrap Stele (CGC 22182), our earliest reference to Alexandria (described as a fortress) as the site of his residence.34 Furthermore, the date of the composition of Ptolemy’s history remains obscure. Although the traditional view has been that he would not have had time to have written his history until the end of his long and busy life (the ‘low’ chronology),35 Ptolemy’s self-aggrandizement in the extant fragments and emphasis on his close association with Alexander suggest that he composed it early in his reign (the ‘high’ chronology), when the need to legitimize his power was the greatest.36 The most convincing evidence that Ptolemy I did not intend to connect the foundation of Alexandria with Alexander’s consultation of Ammon is that his variant takes Alexander back to Egypt via Memphis. Therefore, it stands to reason that Memphis itself, Ptolemy’s original satrapal seat, rather than his future capital of Alexandria, is the target of the legitimizing propaganda that he wished to promulgate in his history. It is no coincidence that after hijacking the body of Alexander from the funeral cortège that was conveying it back to the traditional royal burial grounds of the Argeads at Aegae,37 Ptolemy chose to bury his illustrious predecessor at Memphis,38 and not at Siwah, where the sources claim that Alexander had expressed the desire to be interred.39 Burial of the king conferred legitimacy upon the burier according to Macedonian custom40 and was also a practice of Pharaonic Egypt.41 It is surely no coincidence that Alexander’s fictitious will in the Liber de Morte, a pamphlet almost certainly emanating from Ptolemy’s court around 309/8,42 stipulates that Ptolemy was to convey Alexander’s body to Egypt, where the Egyptian priests were to perform the burial.43 With this masterful stroke of propaganda, Ptolemy both avoided the sticky question of precisely where in Egypt Alexander wished to be buried and legitimized his snatching of Alexander’s body. It was only later that Alexander’s remains were transferred to Alexandria and housed within the palace in what became the royal burial district (where he was eventually joined by the Ptolemies) and famously viewed by the victorious Octavian after Actium who, according to Cassius Dio, actually touched the embalmed body and accidentally broke off a part of the conqueror’s nose.44 The problem is, however, that the sources do not make it clear when exactly the transfer of Alexander’s remains from Memphis to Alexandria took place.45 It presumably did not occur until Ptolemy was less concerned with the establishment of legitimacy and was beginning to focus

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his attention upon the creation of a new dynasty centred in Alexandra,46 which suggests a date later in his reign. Interestingly, at least one source attributes the transfer not to Ptolemy I Soter, but to Ptolemy II Philadelphus, whose role in associating Alexander with Alexandria and thereby legitimating the Ptolemaic dynasty has been mentioned earlier.47 All that we know for a fact of Ptolemy Soter’s own intentions remains that he originally buried Alexander at Memphis. Therefore, it stands to reason that the connection that he was trying to forge with his alteration of Alexander’s return route from Siwah was not between Alexander’s consultation with Ammon and Alexandria, but rather Memphis. Burying Alexander in Memphis, the ancient capital of the pharaohs and the seat of his satrapy, afforded Ptolemy legitimacy not only to a Macedonian and Greek audience but to an Egyptian one as well. Ludwig Koenen has remarked upon the ‘Janus-like character’ of Ptolemaic kingship, in which the Ptolemies treaded a ‘sometimes-uneasy’ balance between their Macedonian and Greek subjects on the one hand and their Egyptian subjects on the other.48 Unlike Alexander, whose sojourn in Egypt was necessarily brief, Ptolemy had plenty of time to solidify and maintain relationships with the ruling elite. In particular, he developed close ties with the Egyptian priesthood at Memphis (the ancient religious capital of Egypt), who were key figures in ensuring the success of his rule and promoting the Ptolemaic agenda.49 It is as part of this agenda that we find Ptolemy tweaking the tradition of Alexander’s famous visit to the oracle at Siwah in another way. In Callisthenes’ account of Alexander’s pilgrimage to Siwah, the young king is confirmed as the son of Zeus (FGrH 124 F 14a), whereas in Arrian’s account (Anab. 3.3.2; 3.4.5), based upon Ptolemy, Alexander’s divine parent is Ammon,50 a switch which reflects Ptolemy’s dual audience, composed not only of Greeks and Macedonians in Egypt but also of the powerful Egyptian priesthood. This shift of Alexander’s divine parentage is also reflected in Ptolemy’s coinage. One of his earliest reforms as satrap of Egypt was to impose from his mint at Memphis the use of Alexander’s coinage, issued during the last decade of the conqueror’s life, which portrayed a youthful Heracles sporting his trademark lion skin on the obverse, and Zeus enthroned with eagle and sceptre on the reverse.51 In 320/19,52 however, Ptolemy replaced the head of Heracles with the deified Alexander in an elephant headdress and (although it was almost obscured by the elephant scalp) the ram’s horn of Ammon.53 Significantly, Ptolemy was the first of the Successors to modify Alexander’s coinage which, as Catharine Lorber remarks, ‘must have appeared universal and immutable to contemporaries’.54 The ram’s horn, of course, evoked Alexander’s visit to  Siwah  and  Zeus–Ammon’s declaration of his divine filiation to Ptolemy’s Greek and Macedonian subjects. But it is important to recognize that the horns of Ammon also emphatically place Alexander and by extension Ptolemy himself into a tradition of representations of the pharaoh which

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was common in the New Kingdom, expressing the ritual unification of the pharaoh with the sun-god Amon-Re. Similarly, the elephant headdress served as a reference to Alexander’s conquest of India to Ptolemy’s Greek and Macedonian subjects, while for his Egyptian subjects it recalled the Asian empire of the New Kingdom pharaoh Thutmose III, who celebrated his success in his Syrian campaigns with an elephant hunt.55 Ptolemy maintained Alexander’s image on his coinage throughout most of his lengthy reign, long after his assumption of the royal title, placing his own portrait on his coinage (once again the first of the Successors to do so) only in the 290s, although his image shared attributes such as the diadem and Zeus’ aegis with the deified Alexander, who continued to appear on coins (albeit ones of lesser value).56 Perhaps by this time, the elderly Ptolemy was beginning to think of the future, and it was no longer a question of using the image of Alexander to legitimize his royal power, but rather one of appropriating the conqueror’s divine status for himself and his dynasty. It was in Ptolemy’s interests to contribute to the apotheosis of Alexander in more tangible ways also, as always with an eye to legitimizing his rule to both his Graeco-Macedonian and his native Egyptian subjects. The most obvious example is his establishment of a state-run ruler cult as compared to Alexander,57 which served not only to catapult his illustrious predecessor into the ranks of the gods but also to set a precedent for himself and his Successors eventually to receive the same honour. The eponymous priest of this new cult, who oversaw the worship of the deified Alexander with traditional Greek ritual, became the most important priest in the kingdom, as is attested by the appearance of his name directly after that of the king in dating formulae in both Greek and demotic documents, as well as in the hieroglyphic versions of decrees made by the priests.58 Naturally, the Priest of Alexander was a member of the Greek or Macedonian elite,59 rather than an Egyptian, which suggests that Ptolemy was rather more successful at making the idea of the divinity of Alexander palatable to the Greeks and Macedonians than Alexander himself ever was. Nevertheless, it was crucial for Ptolemy’s legitimacy in the eyes of his Egyptian subjects to embed himself into traditional Egyptian religious practice and pharaonic customs as much as possible.60 When Ptolemy himself died, this process was carried to its logical conclusion by his son Philadelphus, who deified his father (presumably in accordance with his wishes) and instituted a dynastic cult, into which the current royal couple were inducted as living gods, setting a precedent followed by all of the subsequent Ptolemies.61 Although the dynastic cult of the Ptolemies, like its predecessor the ruler cult of the deified Alexander, followed Greek traditions and was aimed at the Greek-speaking elements of the population, it combined with traditional pharaonic rituals and in the third century led to the worship of the Ptolemies alongside Egyptian deities by their native subjects.62 This validation of the Ptolemaic monarchy through divine worship

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by both their Graeco–Macedonian and Egyptian subjects is the inevitable consequence of Ptolemy I’s establishment of the ruler cult as compared to Alexander, and ongoing efforts to legitimize his rule through a close association with Alexander. Driven by the imperative of appeasing the dual elements of his subject population, Ptolemy not only emphasized his connection with Alexander but also went beyond Alexander’s own legitimation strategies, carrying them to their natural conclusions. In addition to the ruler cult that proclaimed the divinity of Alexander at a very visible ritual level, Ptolemy seems to have appropriated and extended Alexander’s symbolic role as the pharaoh of Egypt. It is widely asserted in modern scholarship that during his sojourn in Egypt, Alexander was formally crowned pharaoh at Memphis by the high priests of Ptah in accordance with Egyptian tradition.63 This communis opinio, however, has been challenged by Stanley Burstein,64 who observes that the only ancient source to mention Alexander’s alleged coronation is the Alexander Romance,65 a work composed in Ptolemaic Egypt that evinces traces of a nationalist agenda.66 Nevertheless, while Alexander may or may not have concerned himself with the ‘trappings and traditional titles of the pharaoh’,67 it was quite a different matter for the Egyptian elite, for whom the religious legitimacy of the pharaoh was necessary not only to attend to the ritual duties required of the king but also to maintain the cosmic order of the universe.68 The pharaoh was considered not only to be the son of Re but also to be divine himself as the incarnation of the god Amon-Re through a ceremony held at his coronation and annually renewed at the optet festival.69 There is no doubt that Alexander was recognized by the Egyptian priesthood as a legitimate king, as is demonstrated by the spurt of temple construction and renovation undertaken in his name that occurred in the years following his departure from Egypt;70 the dedicatory inscriptions of these building works include full pharaonic titulary for Alexander as the son of Re.71 The emphasis in these inscriptions on the renewal of monuments served to legitimize Alexander’s rule in the eyes of his native population by linking him with the greatest pharaohs of the New Kingdom and suggesting that he was righting the wrongs inflicted by the Persian usurpers upon traditional Egyptian religion.72 After Alexander’s death, Ptolemy I, while still ruling as satrap in Egypt, continued to enhance Alexander’s programme of restoration as an integral part of his own propaganda, for he had at least as much to gain as the Egyptian priesthood from the formalization (retrospective or not) of Alexander’s position as the pharaoh. While Alexander’s heirs were still alive, Ptolemy could not do so in his own name, but dedicatory inscriptions recorded under the name of Philip III Arrhidaeus continue to include the royal titles and emphasize the king’s restoration of the temples of the traditional Egyptian gods.73 By 311 bc (on the significance of this date, see previous discussion), however, Ptolemy was ready to appropriate for himself the role previously

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played by Alexander and his brother Arrhidaeus.74 On the Satrap Stele, although Alexander’s young son Alexander IV (Arrhidaeus now having been dead since five years) is recognized with the standard royal titles as the son of Re, Ptolemy is identified as ruler of Egypt (‘a great prince in Egypt’) and is described (using epithets of a traditional type)75 in grandiose terms, culminating with the claim that he is the one responsible for restoring ‘the sacred images of the gods which were found within Asia, together with all the ritual implements and all the sacred scrolls of the temples of Upper and Lower Egypt’.76 This kind of language in itself suggests that Ptolemy took a far more active role in overseeing the contents of such decrees attesting to the concern of the Macedonian rulers for native Egyptian religion than Alexander himself did in the dedications issued in his name.77 The legitimacy of Ptolemy’s own rule in the eyes of his native Egyptian subjects rested upon the religious legitimacy of his predecessor, an issue he addressed very early on, with remarkable foresight, long before he officially proclaimed himself basileus in 306/578 and celebrated his own formal coronation as the pharaoh at Memphis.79 As Ptolemy’s hijacking of Alexander’s funeral cortège in 321 shows, very early on in his own rule he was indeed already planning his illustrious predecessor’s apotheosis. Burial in the ancient Egyptian capital of Memphis was an integral part of his vision, for it confirmed Alexander’s formal status as the pharaoh (whatever Alexander himself may or may not have done), endorsing him as the incarnation of Amon-Re in the eyes of his Egyptian subjects, and also legitimized Ptolemy as his (albeit at this stage de facto) successor as the agent responsible for his burial. Alexander Meeus has observed that the scholarly consensus that Ptolemy’s goal in seizing Alexander’s body was to substantiate his claim to rule Egypt is anachronistic, for ‘at a time when most people must still have considered Alexander’s realm one united empire, it would have been ridiculous to use the most powerful political symbol there was to legitimize one’s rule over such a small portion of it’.80 Nevertheless, establishing the divinity of Alexander according to the traditional Egyptian conception of the pharaoh and laying the ground for the legitimacy of his own succession (symbolized by the burial of his predecessor in accordance with Macedonian and Egyptian customs) would have been important goals for Ptolemy even at this early stage, regardless of whether he intended to surpass all of his rivals and rule one united empire or found a dynasty in one powerful and wealthy region of Alexander’s former empire. Propaganda, after all, can easily be modified and manipulated to suit the circumstances. Returning, then, to Ptolemy’s variants in his narrative of the visit to Siwah, I have argued that his assertion that Alexander returned from the Ammon shrine via Memphis, like his substitution of snake guides for the ravens of Callisthenes and Aristobulus, is both deliberate and significant and originates in Ptolemaic propaganda. The Memphis variant offers an illustration

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that has previously been overlooked of the way in which Ptolemy adopted and reconfigured Alexander’s image and ideology as part of his own royal programme in the ancient land of the pharaohs. The city of Memphis conferred legitimacy upon Alexander (and thereby Ptolemy also), particularly to the native population of Egypt, in a way that the new city of Alexandria could not. By emphasizing the close association between Alexander and Memphis, Ptolemy was able to bridge the gap between pharaonic Egypt and his role as the legitimate successor to the Argead monarchy in Egypt. Just as the oracle at Siwah confirmed Alexander as the son of Zeus–Ammon to Ptolemy’s Graeco–Macedonian subjects, a formal coronation at the ancient pharaonic capital of Memphis confirmed him as the son of Amon to his Egyptian subjects. How better to reinforce this syncretism than to associate Memphis directly with the tradition of Alexander’s pilgrimage to Siwah?

Notes 1 On the assimilation of Zeus and Ammon, see A. B. Bosworth, ‘Alexander and Ammon’, in Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory, ed. K. H. Kinzl (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1977), 52. 2 Str. 17.1.43 (= Callisthenes FGrH 124 F 14a); Diod. Sic. 17.49–51; Curt. 4.7.5– 32; Arr., Anab. 3.3–4; Plut., Alex. 26.6–27.5 (= Callisthenes FGrH 124 F 14ab); and Just., Epit. 11.11; It. Alex. 21–22.1. 3 Recent contributions include E. M. Anson, ‘Alexander and Siwah’, Ancient World 34 (2003): 117–30; T. Howe, ‘The Diadochi, Invented Tradition, and Alexander’s Expedition to Siwah’, in After Alexander: The Time of the Diadochi (323–281 BC), ed. V. Alonso Troncoso and E. M. Anson, 57–70 (Oxford and Oakville, CT: Oxbow Books, 2013); Bowden, ‘Alexander in Egypt: Considering the Egyptian Evidence’, in Alexander in Africa, ed. P. Bosman, 38–55 (Pretoria: Unisa Press, 2014); A. Collins, ‘Alexander’s Visit to Siwah: A New Analysis’, Phoenix 68 (2014): 62–77; and D. Ogden, ‘Alexander and Africa (332–331 bc and Beyond): The Facts, the Traditions and the Problems’, in Bosman, Alexander in Africa, 9–14 (all with earlier bibliography). 4 On Alexander’s use of the Siwah episode to negotiate legitimacy on multiple levels with his Macedonian army, his Greek allies, and the Egyptian elite, see Bowden (‘Alexander in Egypt) and S. Caneva, From Alexander to the Theoi Adelphoi: Foundation and Legitimation of a Dynasty (Leuven: Peeters, 2016), 14–28. 5 See M. Zahrnt, ‘Von Siwa bis Persepolis: Überlegungen zur Arbeitsweise des Kallisthenes’, Ancient Society 36 (2006): esp. 151–58; A. Collins, ‘Callisthenes on Olympias and Alexander’s Divine Birth’, Ancient History Bulletin 26 (2012): 1–14; Bowden, 43–51; F. Pownall, ‘Aristoboulos of Kassandreia (139)’, in Brill’s New Jacoby, ed. I. Worthington (Leiden: Brill, 2013); and L. O’Sullivan, ‘Callisthenes and Alexander the Invincible God’, in East and West in the World Empire of Alexander, ed. P. Wheatley and E. Baynham, 35–52 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). As Caneva observes, the ‘dry style’ of Callisthenes’ narrative of the oracle’s acknowledgement of Alexander’s divine filiation transmitted by Strabo and Plutarch (see note 2) distinguishes his contribution from the romanticized overlay of the later sources (From Alexander, 12). 6 See J. Bingen, Hellenistic Egypt: Monarchy, Society, Economy, Culture (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2007), 15–30; S. Stephens,

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8 9

10 11 12

13 14

15

Frances Pownall ‘Ptolemaic Alexandria’, in A Companion to Hellenistic Literature, ed. J. J. Clauss and M. Cuypers (Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 49–51; A. B. Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom: The Case of Egypt’, in Creating a Hellenistic World, ed. A. Erskine and L. Llewellyn-Jones (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2011), 92; Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’, 73–74; H. P. Colburn, ‘Memories of the Second Persian Period in Egypt’, in Political Memory in and After the Persian Empire, ed. J. M. Silverman and C. Waerzeggers (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2015), 168–69; S. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien (Berlin: Trafo, 2014), 78–90; and Caneva, From Alexander, 29–79. But cf. M. Lianou, who has argued that the early Ptolemies looked farther back into Argead monarchy as a source of dynastic legitimation: M. Lianou, ‘The Role of the Argeadai in the Legitimation of the Ptolemaic Dynasty: Rhetoric and Practice’, in Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, ed. E. Carney and D. Ogden, 123–33 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). On Ptolemy’s shaping of his narrative of Alexander’s campaign to legitimize his own dynastic claims, see A. B. Bosworth, Alexander and the East: The Tragedy of Triumph (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 41–53; T. Howe, ‘Alexander in India: Ptolemy as Near Eastern Historiographer’, in Macedonian Legacies: Studies in Ancient History and Culture in Honor of Eugene N. Borza, ed. T. Howe and J. Reames, 215–33 (Claremont, CA: Regina Books, 2008); T. Howe, ‘Introducing Ptolemy: Alexander and the Persian Gates’, in The Many Faces of War in the Ancient World, ed. W. Heckel, S. Müller, and G. Wrightson, 166–95 (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2015); see also ‘The “pursuit of kings” imitation Alexandri in Arrian’s Darius and Bessos “chase scenes”’ in this volume; pace J. Roisman, who argues that Ptolemy did not intend his history as propaganda: J. Roisman, ‘Ptolemy and his Rivals in his History of Alexander’, Classical Quarterly 34 (1984): 373–85. Arr., Anab. pref. 1–2 = Ptolemy FGrH 138 T 1 and Aristobulus FGrH 139 T 6; cf. Arr., Anab. 7.15.6 = Ptolemy FGrH 138 F 29 and Aristobulus FGrH 139 F 53. Arr., Anab. 3.3.5–6 = Ptolemy FGrH 138 F 8 and Aristobulus FGrH 139 F 14: ∏τολεμαῖος μὲν δὴ ὁ Λάγου λέγει δράκοντας δύο ἰέναι πρὸ τοῦ στρατεύματος φωνὴν ἱέντας, καὶ τούτοις ᾽Αλέξανδρον κελεῦσαι ἕπεσθαι τοὺς ἡγεμόνας πιστεύσαντας τῶι θείῳ, τοὺς δὲ ἡγήσασθαι τὴν ὁδὸν τήν τε ἐς τὸ μαντεῖον καὶ ὀπίσω αὖθις· ᾽Αριστόβουλος δὲ – καὶ ὁ πλείων λόγος ταύτῃ κατέχει – κόρακας δύο προπετομένους πρὸ τῆς στρατιᾶς, τούτους γενέσθαι ᾽Αλεξάνδρωι τοὺς ἡγεμόνας. Callisthenes FGrH 124 F 14a (= Strabo 17.1.43) and F 14 b (= Plut. Alex. 27.1–3). Cf. Pownall, ‘Aristoboulos of Kassandreia (139)’: Commentary on F 13–15. D. Ogden, ‘Alexander’s Snake Sire’, in Alexander & His Successors: Essays From the Antipodes, ed. P. Wheatley and R. Hannah, 136–78. (Claremont, CA: Regina Books, 2009); cf. S. R. Asirvatham, ‘Olympias’ Snake and Callisthenes’ Stand: Religion and Politics in Plutarch’s Life of Alexander’, in Between Magic and Religion: Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient Mediterranean Religion and Society, ed. S. Asirvatham, C. Pache and J. Watrous (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2001), 103. A. B. Bosworth, ‘Errors in Arrian’, Classical Quarterly 26 (1976): 136. Arr. Anab. 3.4.5 = Ptolemy FGrH 138 F 9 and Aristobulus FGrH 139 F 15: ἐνταῦθα ᾽Αλέξανδρος τόν τε χῶρον ἐθαύμασε καὶ τῶι θεῷ ἐχρήσατο. καὶ ἀκούσας ὅσα αὐτῷ πρὸς θυμοῦ ἦν, ὡς ἔλεγεν, ἀνέζευξεν ἐπ᾽ Αἰγύπτου, ὡς μὲν ᾽Αριστόβουλος λέγει, τὴν αὐτὴν ὀπίσω ὁδόν, ὡς δὲ ∏τολεμαῖος ὁ Λάγου, ἄλλην εὐθείαν ὡς ἐπὶ Μέμφιν. So, C. B. Welles, ‘The Discovery of Serapis and the Foundation of Alexandria’, Historia 11 (1962): 278–81 and E. N. Borza, ‘Alexander and the Return from Siwah’, Historia 16, no. 3 (1967): 369.

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16 So, Bosworth, ‘Errors in Arrian’, 136–38; cf. A. B. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), 263, 274. 17 Bosworth,‘Errors in Arrian’, 136–37 and Howe,‘Founding Alexandria’, 78–79 (cf. Howe, ‘Ptolemy 138’, in Worthington, Brill’s New Jacoby: Commentary on F 9). 18 Cf. Plut., Alex. 26.12. The miraculous annihilation of Cambyses’ army which prevented it from capturing Siwah was probably circulated by the authorities at the sanctuary itself; cf. a similar miracle that was alleged to have protected Delphi during Xerxes’ invasion (Hdt. 8.36). It is possible that Herodotus’ account derives from Egyptian narratives designed to portray Cambyses as an unsuccessful and therefore illegitimate ruler; J. Dillery, ‘Cambyses and the Egyptian Chaosbeschreibung Tradition’, Classical Quarterly 55 (2005): 387–406. 19 Pace S. Müller, who argues that Ptolemy preserves an authentic tradition: S. Müller ‘Kambyses II., Alexander und Siwah: Die ökonomisch-geopolitisch Dimension’, in Diwan: Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean, ed. C. Binder, H. Börm and A. Luther, 223–45 (Duisburg: Wellem Verlag, 2016). 20 A. Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image in the Age of the Successors’, in Alexander the Great: A New History, ed. W. Heckel and L. A. Tritle (Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), 245. Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 78: ‘Meister der Manipulation’. 21 Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’, 78. 22 Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’; cf. M. Lianou, ‘Ptolemy I and the Economics of Consolidation’, in The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 B.C.), ed. H. Hauben and A. Meeus (Leuven: Peeters, 2014), 385–86 and V. Grieb, who argues that the foundation narrative is a literary construction by the later sources (‘Zur Gründung von Alexandreia: Die Quellen im Kontext des spätklassichen Urbanismus der südöstlichen Ägäiswelt und der nautischen Bedingungen im östlichen Mittelmeerraum’, in Alexander the Great and Egypt: History, Art, Tradition, ed. V. Grieb, A. Wojciechowska and K. Nawotka (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2014), esp. 187–201). 23 P. Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), esp. 1:36; A. Łukaszewicz, ‘Sur les pas de Ptolémée Ier: Quelques remarques concernant la ville d’Alexandrie’, in Hauben and Meeus, The Age of the Successors, 189–205; cf. A. Erskine, who comments that the Alexandria of Ptolemy I ‘was more likely to have resembled a gigantic building site than a prestigious capital city’ (‘Life After Death: Alexandria and the Body of Alexander’, Greece and Rome 49 (2002): 165). On Ptolemy II’s deliberate positioning of Alexandria as the military, cultural, and economic centre of an empire, see C. Marquaille, ‘The Foreign Policy of Ptolemy II’, in Ptolemy Philadelphus and His World, ed. P. McKechnie and P. Guillaume, 39–64 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2008). 24 See esp. R. A. Hazzard, Imagination of a Monarchy: Studies in Ptolemaic Propaganda (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2000). 25 Diod. Sic. 17.52.1; Curt. 4.8.1; and Just., Epit. 11.11.13. 26 As noted by Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’, 77n23. 27 On Cleitarchus as a source, whether direct or indirect, for Diodorus, Curtius, and Justin, see, for example, J. R. Hamilton, ‘Cleitarchus and Diodorus 17’, in Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory, ed. K. H. Kinzl, 126–46 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1977); A. B. Bosworth, From Arrian to Alexander: Studies in Historical Interpretation (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), 8–13; Bosworth, A Historical Commentary, 29–30; E. Baynham,

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Frances Pownall Alexander the Great: The Unique History of Quintus Curtius (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1998), 74–82; B. Dreyer, ‘Jener hat Alexander-Bild, das er verdient: The Changing Perceptions of Alexander in Ancient Historiography’, in Wheatley and Hannah, Alexander & His Successors, 63–67; and J. Atkinson, Curtius Rufus: Histories of Alexander the Great, Book 10, trans. J.C. Yardley (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 19–21. D. Ogden, ‘Alexander and Africa (332–331 bc and Beyond): The Facts, the Traditions and the Problems’, in Bosman, Alexander in Africa, 7–8. In Arrian’s (rationalized) version (3.2.2), the seer Aristander of Telmessus makes the prophecy solely on the use of the barley (cf. Strabo 17.1.6). The other sources add in the sudden appearance of a flock of birds whose devouring of the barley gives added emphasis to the omen: Curt. 4.8.6; Val. Max. 1.4. ext. 1; Plut., Alex. 26.8– 10; and It. Alex. 49. This too was probably a detail originally in Cleitarchus’ account: Bosworth, A Historical Commentary, 265–66. B. Dreyer, ‘Heroes, Cults, and Divinity’, in Heckel and Tritle, Alexander the Great, 221–22 and ‘Jener hat Alexander-Bild’, 66–67. E. Badian, ‘The Date of Clitarchus’, Proceedings of the African Classical Association 8 (1965): 5–11; L. Prandi, Fortuna e realtà dell’opera di Clitarco (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1996), 66–71; E. Baynham, ‘The Ancient Evidence for Alexander the Great’, in Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, ed. J. Roisman (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 10–11; and A. Zambrini, ‘The Historians of Alexander the Great’, in A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, ed. J. Marincola (Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007), 316–17. So, Hazzard, 7–17; V. Parker, ‘Source-Critical Reflections on Cleitarchus’ Work’, in Wheatley and Hannah, Alexander & His Successors 28–55; and S. Caneva, ‘Il coro del re. Capo e comprimari nella storiografia e nell’epos fra IV e III A.C.’, Quaderni di Storia 77 (2013): 194–99. POxy 4808 = Kleitarchos BNJ 137 T 1b. Cf. C. S. Chrysanthou, ‘POxy LXXI 4808: Bios, Character, and Literary Criticism’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 193 (2015): 26–29n13. L. Prandi, ‘New Evidence for the Dating of Cleitarchus (POxy LXXI.4808)?’, Histos 6 (2012): 15–26; cf. L. Prandi, ‘Kleitarchos of Alexandria (137)’, in Worthington, Brill’s New Jacoby: Commentary to T 1b and Biographical Essay. On the transfer of the capital from Memphis to Alexandria, see, for example, Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’, 80–81; M. Lianou, ‘Ptolemy I and the Economics of Consolidation’, in Hauben and Meeus, The Age of the Successors, 386–87; and I. Worthington, Ptolemy I: King and Pharaoh of Egypt (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 124–25. On Ptolemy’s aggressive territorial ambitions after 311, see A. Meeus, ‘The Territorial Ambitions of Ptolemy I’, in Hauben and Meeus, The Age of the Successors, esp. 289–93. L. Pearson, The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great (New York: American Philological Association, 1960), 193; W. M. Ellis, Ptolemy of Egypt (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), 15–19; Zambrini, ‘The Historians of Alexander the Great’, 217–18; Worthington, Ptolemy I, 216–19; and W. Heckel, ‘Ptolemy: A Man of his Own Making’, in Ptolemy I Soter: A Self-Made Man, ed. T. Howe, 1–19 (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2018). E. Badian, Review of The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great by L. Pearson, Gnomon 33 (1961): 665 and ‘Alexander the Great, 1948–67’, Classical World 65 (1971): 39–40: sometime between Ptolemy’s hijacking of Alexander’s corpse and 308; R. M. Errington, ‘Bias in Ptolemy’s History of Alexander’, Classical Quarterly 19 (1969): 241–42, followed by Bosworth, A Historical Commentary, 22–23: shortly after Perdiccas’ unsuccessful invasion of Egypt; and Howe

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37 38

39

40

41 42

43 44

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‘Ptolemy 138’: Biographical Essay: around 311, when Ptolemy was beginning to focus his attention upon Egypt. Arrian FGrH 156 F 9.25; Diod. Sic. 28.2–5; Strabo 17.1.8; Paus. 1.6.3; and Ael., VH 12.64. So Marmor Parium FGrH 239 B 1; Paus. 1.6.3; Curt. 10.10.20; and Ps. Callisth. 3.34.5; the other sources (Strabo, Diodorus, and Aelian) conflate Alexander’s original burial at Memphis with his permanent resting place at Alexandria (cf. Ogden, ‘Alexander and Africa’, 22). Diod. Sic. 18.3.5 and 28.3; Curt. 10.5.4; and Justin 12.15.7 and 13.4.6. Ogden observes that the embalming of Alexander’s body (Curt. 10.10.13) corroborates the contention that it was his desire to be buried at Siwah (‘Alexander and Africa’, 21n86). On the symbolic significance of Ptolemy’s burying of Alexander, see, for example, Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria, 1.15–17; Erskine, ‘Life After Death’, 171–76; Lianou, ‘The Role of the Argeadai’, 127–28; Meeus, ‘Territorial Ambitions’, 273–77; Caneva, From Alexander, 35–42; and Worthington, Ptolemy I, 93–95, 129–33. Lianou, ‘The Role of the Argeadai’, 127–28; C. C. Lorber,‘The Currency Reforms and Intentions of Ptolemy I Soter’, in Howe, Ptolemy I Soter, 60–87. So, A. B. Bosworth, ‘Ptolemy and the Will of Alexander’, in Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, ed. A. B. Bosworth and E. J. Baynham, 207–41 (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2000); cf. Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’, 79–80 and Meeus, ‘Territorial Ambitions’, 293. LDM 108, 119. Dio 51.16.5; cf. Suet. Aug. 18, who claims that Octavian snubbed the Ptolemies, stating that he had come to see a king. On the (eventual) incorporation of Alexander’s tomb within the royal palace, see Strabo 17.1.8 with Erskine, ‘Life After Death’, 164–67; Ogden, ‘Alexander and Africa’, 22–24; Caneva, From Alexander, 41–47; and Worthington, Ptolemy I, 132. Caneva comments: ‘The architectural organization of the royal district grew up around Alexander’s body, as the durability of monarchic power results from a process of metaphorization, through which legitimacy was transferred from the biological body of the founder king to the institutional body of the Ptolemaic kingdom’ (From Alexander, 47). Curtius (10.10.20) asserts only that Ptolemy transferred the body from Memphis to Alexandria ‘after a few years’ (paucis post annis), a phrase vague enough to encompass any period of his reign. So, F. De Polignac, ‘The Shadow of Alexander’, in Alexandria, Third Century BC: The Knowledge of the World in a Single City, ed. C. Jacob and F. de Polignac, trans. C. Clement. (Alexandria: Hapocrates Pub., 2000), 39–40 and Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’, 80–81. Paus. 1.7.1; cf. W. S. Greenwalt, ‘Argaeus, Ptolemy II, and Alexander’s Corpse’, Ancient History Bulletin 2 (1988): 41n7: ‘it would have made sense for Ptolemy II to move Alexander’s remains in order to sanctify the internment of Ptolemy I, so that the power of Alexander’s presence could consecrate the first transmission of royal power between the two Ptolemies’. L. Koenen, ‘The Ptolemaic King as Religious Figure’, in Images and Ideologies: Self-Definition in the Hellenistic World, ed. A. Bulloch, E. S. Gruen, A. A. Long and A. F. Stewart (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 25; cf. J. G. Manning, The Last Pharaohs: Egypt Under the Ptolemies, 305–30 B.C. (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2010), 91–96 and Worthington, Ptolemy I, 186–87. The relationship was not always an easy one, as is attested

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54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62

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Frances Pownall by the β recension of the Alexander Romance at 3.34.1 in which an oracular voice demands that Alexander’s body be removed from Memphis and buried in Alexandria, apparently in service to an Egyptian nationalist agenda; see J. Dillery, ‘Alexander’s Tomb at “Rhacotis”: Ps. Callisth. 3.34.5 and the Oracle of the Potter’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 148 (2004): 253–58. G. Hölbl, A History of the Ptolemaic Empire, trans. T. Saavedra (London and New York: Routledge, 2001), 80–81; Manning, 91–93; Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 94; D. J. Thompson, Memphis Under the Ptolemies, 2nd ed. (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2012), 99–143; and S. Müller, ‘The Female Element of the Political Self-Fashioning of the Diadochi: Ptolemy, Seleucus, Lysimachus, and their Iranian Wives’, in Alonso Troncoso and Anson, After Alexander, 204–06. Cf. Howe, ‘The Diadochi’, 63. Colburn, ‘Memories’, 169; Lorber, ‘the imposition of Alexander’s coinage was a symbolic expression of Macedonian authority in Egypt’ (‘The Currency Reforms and Intentions of Ptolemy I Soter’). On the date, see C. C. Lorber, who suggests that the issuing of the new coinage may be connected with Ptolemy’s seizure of Alexander’s remains (‘A Revised Chronology for the Coinage of Ptolemy I’, Numismatic Chronicle 165 (2005): 62); cf. A. Stewart, Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 233. K. Dahmen, The Legend of Alexander the Great on Greek and Roman Coins (London and New York: Routledge, 2007), 10–11, 112–14; Colburn, ‘Memories’, 169; Lorber, ‘The Currency Reforms and Intentions of Ptolemy I Soter’ In Howe, Ptolemy I Soter, 60–87. Lorber, ‘The Currency Reforms and Intentions of Ptolemy I Soter’, in Howe, Ptolemy I Soter, 60–87. C. C. Lorber, ‘An Egyptian Interpretation of Alexander’s Elephant Headdress’, American Journal of Numismatics 24 (2012): 21–31. Lorber, ‘The Currency Reforms and Intentions of Ptolemy I Soter’, in Howe, Ptolemy I Soter, 60–87. Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria, 1: 215–26; Koenen, 46–69; and Hölbl, 92–94. Hölbl, 94. Hölbl, 94. Cf. Manning, 91–96. Hölbl, 94–95 and C. Johnson, ‘OGIS and the Divinization of the Ptolemies’, Historia 51 (2012): 112–13. Hölbl, 94–95; Johnson, 112–13; Manning, 92–96; and Thompson, 117–26. On possible reasons why Alexander, himself, was not incorporated into the Egyptian dynastic cult under the later Ptolemies, see G. R. Dumke, ‘The Dead Alexander and the Egyptians: Archaeology of a Void’, in Grieb, Wojciechowska and Nawotka, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 337–46. A survey of the scholarship can be found in A. Collins, ‘The Divinity of Alexander in Egypt: A Reassessment’, in Wheatley and Hannah, Alexander & His Successors, 179–81. It is important to note, however, that if we do accept the historicity of Alexander’s formal coronation, it took place during his second visit to Memphis (i.e. after his pilgrimage to Siwah) and not during this first visit, as is generally assumed. See A. Wojciechowska and K. Nawotka, ‘Alexander in Egypt: Chronology’, in Grieb, Wojciechowska and Nawotka, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 53–54 and S. Pfeiffer, ‘Alexander der Große in Ägypten: Überlegungen zur Frage seiner pharaonischen Legitimation’, in Grieb, Wojciechowska and Nawotka, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 105.

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64 S. M. Burstein, ‘Pharaoh Alexander: A Scholarly Myth’, Ancient Society 22 (1999): 139–45; cf. Collins, ‘The Divinity of Alexander’. 65 Ps. Callis. 1.34.2–3, both α and β recensions; ‘a source of dubious historical reliability’ according to Lloyd, who nevertheless accepts the tradition of Alexander’s coronation as the pharaoh at Memphis (‘nothing is more likely’) (‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 88). 66 See note 48 and Collins, ‘The Divinity of Alexander’,183–85. 67 Sheedy and Ockinga, ‘The Crowned Ram’s Head’, 232–33. 68 Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 88: ‘It is, however, beyond dispute that he was treated by the Egyptian elite as a Pharaoh in the fullest sense’. Cf. Ogden, ‘Alexander and Africa’, 3 and Bowden, ‘Alexander in Egypt’. 69 See, for example, A. Collins, ‘The Divinity of the Pharaoh in Greek Sources’, Classical Quarterly 64 (2014): 841, with previous bibliography. 70 The most important of these are the temple of Amon and Horus at the Bhariya Oasis, the restoration of the shrine housing Amon’s barque at Luxor, and the renovations of the temple of Amon at Karnak. See D. Schäfer, ‘Alexander der Große: Pharao und Priester’, in Ägypten unter fremden Herrschen zwischen persischer Satrapie und römischer Provinz, ed. S. Pfeiffer, 54–74. (Frankfurt: Verlag Antike, 2007); Collins, ‘The Divinity of Alexander’, 200–03; Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 88–89; Lorber, ‘An Egyptian Interpretation’, 25–26; Wojciechowska and Nawotka 2014: 51–52; Sheedy and Ockinga, ‘The Crowned Ram’s Head’, 232–36; and Caneva, From Alexander, 20–22. 71 On the significance of Alexander’s Egyptian titles on these monuments as confirming his religious legitimacy, see F. Bosch-Puche, ‘Alexander the Great’s Egyptian Names in the Barque Shrine at Luxor Temple’, in Grieb, Wojciechowska and Nawotka, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 55–83; F. Bosch-Puche, ‘The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I: Horus, Two Ladies, Golden Horus, and Throne Names’, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 99 (2013): 131–54; F. BoschPuche, ‘The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, II: Personal Names, Empty Cartouches, Final Remarks, and Appendix’, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 100 (2014): 89–109; and F. Bosch-Puche and J. Moje,‘Alexander the Great’s Name in Contemporary Demotic Sources’, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 101 (2015): 340–48. Cf., however, I. A. Ladynin who observes that some of Alexander’s royal titles may be early Ptolemaic imitations: I. A. Ladynin, ‘Defence and Offence in the Egyptian Royal Titles of Alexander the Great’, in The Religious Aspects of War in the Ancient Near East, Greece, and Rome, ed. K. Ulanowski (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2016), 258–59. 72 Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 89 and Sheedy and Ockinga, ‘The Crowned Ram’s Head’, 236–37. 73 Esp. the inscription on the renovated sanctuary of Amon at Karnak; Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 89–90 and Sheedy and Ockinga, ‘The Crowned Ram’s Head’, 236–37. 74 On Ptolemy’s ‘decentralization’ (while still formally satrap) of the building programme undertaken in the name of Alexander and his immediate successor Arrhidaeus, see I. A. Ladynin, ‘The Argeadai Building Program in Egypt in the Framework of Dynasties’ XXIX–XXX Temple Building’, in Grieb, Wojciechowska and Nawotka, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 221–40. 75 Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 91; cf. Colburn, ‘Memories’, 173– 80 and Sheedy and Ockinga, ‘The Crowned Ram’s Head’, 237–38. 76 Colburn, ‘Memories’, 175. 77 Cf. Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 88–89: ‘All such texts mean is that the building works were carried out during Alexander’s reign, and he

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probably had no knowledge of them and was probably not in any sense an initiator’. 78 On the date, see Worthington, Ptolemy I, 160–62. 79 Although the first explicit evidence for a traditional coronation ceremony is that of Ptolemy V on the Rosetta Stone, it is generally accepted that this was a practice begun by Ptolemy I and continued by his successors: Hölbl, 21–22; Manning, 94–95; and A. Meeus, ‘What We Do Not Know About the Age of the Diadochi about the Age of the Diadochi: The Methodological Consequences of the Gaps in the Evidence’, in Alonso Troncoso and Anson, After Alexander, 88 and Worthington, Ptolemy I, 162. On the date, see Hölbl, 21–22. 80 Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image’, 243; cf. Meeus, ‘Territorial Ambitions’; H. Hauben, ‘Ptolemy’s Grand Tour’, in Hauben and Meeus, The Age of Successors, 235–61; R. Lane Fox, ‘King Ptolemy: Centre and Periphery’, in Wheatley and Baynham, East and West, 172 (rejecting the traditional view of Ptolemy as an ‘isolationist’); and Worthington, Ptolemy I, 4 (‘Ptolemy had the same imperialistic goals as the other Successors’). Cf., however, Anson, who argues that Ptolemy’s ultimate goal from the very beginning was the dissolution of Alexander’s empire (‘Ptolemy and the Destruction of the First Regency’, in Howe, Ptolemy I Soter, 20–34).

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———. ‘Kambyses II., Alexander und Siwah: Die ökonomisch-geopolitisch Dimension’. In Diwan: Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean, edited by C. Binder, H. Börm and A. Luther, 223–45. Duisburg: Wellem Verlag, 2016. Ogden, D. ‘Alexander and Africa (332–331 bc and Beyond): The Facts, the Traditions and the Problems’. In Bosman, Alexander in Africa, 1–37. ———. ‘Alexander’s Snake Sire’. In Wheatley and Hannah, Alexander & His Successors 136–78. O’Sullivan, L. ‘Callisthenes and Alexander the Invincible God’. In Wheatley and Baynham, East and West, 35–52. Parker, V. ‘Source-Critical Reflections on Cleitarchus’ Work’. In Wheatley and Hannah, Alexander & His Successors 28–55. Pearson, L. The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great. New York: American Philological Association, 1960. Pfeiffer, S. ‘Alexander der Große in Ägypten: Überlegungen zur Frage seiner pharaonischen Legitimation’. In Grieb, Wojciechowska and Nawotka, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 89–106. Pownall, F. ‘Aristoboulos of Kassandreia (139)’. In Brill’s New Jacoby, edited by I. Worthington. Leiden: Brill, 2013. ———. ‘Callisthenes in Africa: The Historian’s Role at Siwah and in the Proskynesis Controversy’. In Bosman, Alexander in Africa, 56–71. Prandi, L. Fortuna e realtà dell’opera di Clitarco. Stuttgart: Steiner, 1996. ———.‘Kleitarchos of Alexandria (137)’. In Brill’s New Jacoby, edited by I. Worthington. Leiden: Brill, 2016. ———. ‘New Evidence for the Dating of Cleitarchus (POxy LXXI.4808)?’ Histos 6 (2012): 15–26. Roisman, J. ‘Ptolemy and his Rivals in his History of Alexander’. Classical Quarterly 34 (1984): 373–85. Schäfer, D. ‘Alexander der Große: Pharao und Priester’. In Ägypten unter fremden Herrschen zwischen persischer Satrapie und römischer Provinz, edited by S. Pfeiffer, 54–74. Frankfurt: Verlag Antike, 2007. Sheedy, K. and B. Ockinga. ‘The Crowned Ram’s Head on Coins of Alexander the Great and the Rule of Ptolemy as Satrap of Egypt’. In Wheatley and Baynham, East and West, 197–249. Stephens, S. ‘Ptolemaic Alexandria’. In A Companion to Hellenistic Literature, edited by J. J. Clauss and M. Cuypers, 46–61. Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010. Stewart, A. Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993. Thompson, D. J. Memphis Under the Ptolemies. 2nd ed. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2012. Welles, C. B. ‘The Discovery of Serapis and the Foundation of Alexandria’. Historia 11 (1962): 271–98. Wheatley, P. and E. Baynham, eds. East and West in the World Empire of Alexander. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Wheatley, P. and R. Hannah, eds. Alexander & His Successors: Essays From the Antipodes. Claremont, CA: Regina Books, 2009.

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Wojciechowska, A. and K. Nawotka. ‘Alexander in Egypt: Chronology’. In Grieb, Wojciechowska and Nawotka, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 49–54. Worthington, I. Ptolemy I: King and Pharaoh of Egypt. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. Zahrnt, M. ‘Von Siwa bis Persepolis: Überlegungen zur Arbeitsweise des Kallisthenes’. Ancient Society 36 (2006): 143–74. Zambrini, A. ‘The Historians of Alexander the Great’. In A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, edited by J. Marincola, 210–20. Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007.

Chapter 4

The “pursuit” of kings Imitatio Alexandri in Arrian’s Darius and Bessos “Chase scenes” Timothy Howe

In 329 bce, Alexander the Great’s last rival for the Persian throne, Artaxerxes V,1 more commonly known as Bessos, satrap of Bactria, was run to ground and eventually captured, thus ending any formal resistance to Alexander’s assumption of the Achaemenid throne. In Arrian’s account of the pursuit (and singularly in Arrian’s account derived from Ptolemy’s lost History), it is Ptolemy who hunts down Bessos and brings him to Alexander.2 Apart from the insertion of Ptolemy into the narrative, which has been widely studied,3 Arrian’s version of the Bessos pursuit is also noteworthy for its intratextuality with his earlier passage in which Alexander pursues and nearly captures Darius alive.4 While scholars have adopted a variety of innovative and effective methodologies for dealing with the different versions of Bessos’ capture, including Ptolemy’s role and its place in his History,5 most have viewed Arrian (and Ptolemy’s) narrative in such “Alexander-centered” ways – that is, what Alexander did or did not do, what Alexander intended, or did not intend, and how this capture “fit” (or did not) Alexander’s grand strategy and Ptolemy’s presentation thereof – that they have downplayed the extent to which Arrian’s presentation of Bessos’ capture, as we now have it, is an intentional literary construct and consequently a product of post-Alexander literary propaganda for a post-Alexander audience.6 This paper interrogates this focus by analyzing how the Bessos story might fit in Arrian’s (and especially Ptolemy’s) wider narrative goals as an imitatio Alexandri.7 Seen in this light, the salient questions then become: to what extent are portions of Ptolemy’s capture of Bessos part of a narrative arc in Arrian’s (and perhaps Ptolemy’s) account that deploys an intratextual literary emulation of Alexander (imitatio Alexandri) to comment on the nature of monarchy and legitimate succession, specifically the comparison of Bessos and Ptolemy to their respective kings Darius and Alexander.

Narrative mechanics Historical narratives, both ancient and modern, are tricky, being much more complex than reports of “just the facts.”8 Indeed, the borderline between

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fiction and non-fiction and between historicity and fictionality in historiography is quite permeable.9 To be sure, the general question of heuristic possibility in historiographic narrative (i.e., “how does the narrator know what he is narrating”) almost naturally implies conjecture, interpretation and reconstruction of actions, motivations, and attitudes. For this reason, historiography inevitably becomes infused with fictionality from the moment it is presented as connected historical narrative, for however informed he or she might be, the author can never truly know what motivated his or her subjects or what they thought, felt, or intended.10 As Grethlein (2013) has shown, ancient historiographers knew this quite well and thus consciously exploited such fictionalizing techniques as invented speech,11 focalization12 (the representation of perceptions, expectations, intentions and motives), and inter- and intratextuality,13 to name the most common, in order to situate readers in the past and enable them to experience that past as if they were present while it unfolded. Through such fictionalizing “experiential” narrative, the readers could relive and “own” decisions and actions linking events and individuals and in so doing reach the telos, or the end, as the author intended, an end that was not even visible or meaningful to the historical participants at the time but a dynamic product of the author and the readers’ hindsight, experience and judgement.14 An end that, in fact, unfolded only in the author’s mind as he wrote the narrative and then in the readers’ when they read it. The goal of such fictionalizing narration was not so much to construct a character or to reconstruct an historical person, but rather to teach readers something about past behavior and its relevance to current reality, to make the past present for readers and allow them to re-create past decisions and experience their repercussions to current realities – their telos – in controlled and predictable ways.15 Inter- and intratextuality, as well as the related narrative device of imitatio,16 are some of the most powerful ways to re-present and interrogate the past in this fashion since they embed the other fictionalizing tools like focalization and speech. As De Temmerman (2016, 21–22) puts it, “intertextual references inevitably work towards creating a literary construct that goes beyond factual representation of the historical persons or events documented in the narrative.” In this sense, “characters are depicted not only by what they do, say or think but also by implicit or explicit association with and dissociation from other figures” (De Temmerman 2016, 20).17 That is, inter- and intratextuality deeply contextualize the narrative and allow the reader to intuit connections between events and characters in a seemingly natural fashion. To put it another way, narrative techniques (and their embedded fictionalizations such as focalization and invented speech) that interrogate, destabilize or challenge the historical events they report allow audiences not only to experience history on a deeply meaningful level but also to reach guided insights about how decisions shape actions, policies and systems in contexts that are currently

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relevant, what Grethlein (2013, 1–26) calls “futures past.” Thus, ancient historiography tended toward the propagandistic rather than bias neutral or what might today be termed “factual.”18 Perhaps we might put it this way: the sources upon which we modern scholars must rely attempted to report real events experientially, by means of fictionalizing tools, in order to draw internally satisfying (and culturally relevant) conclusions about the character and motives of the individuals involved in those events.19 To be clear, I am not suggesting that Arrian, Ptolemy or any of the other Alexander historians invented their accounts, but merely that they were predisposed to preserve, highlight and, in fictionalized ways, re-present historical material that fit particular agendas and historical perspectives. While narrative mechanics certainly complicated the works of the Hellenistic, “first generation” Alexander authors such as Ptolemy, Aristoboulos, Nearchos, Chares and Kallisthenes, they had an even more destabilizing, distributive effect on later Roman-era historiographers like Arrian, who relied on those Hellenistic authors as sources.20 Consequently, the segmentary composition of the Alexander narratives (i.e. Arrian crafting his narrative by reading Aristoboulos and Ptolemy and so on) was especially conducive to the omission of some historical (or pseudo-historical) material, the absorption of previous narratological fictionalizations (“experiences”), the subordination of historicity to internal consistency, and, in the case of Arrian, the wish to exclude or unmask the fabulous and incredulous.21 Nonetheless, even though Arrian and his Roman literary colleagues preserved much content and even some rhetorical tone and bias that was present in their Hellenistic sources, we should not assume that the Roman Alexander narratives are simply a facsimile of the lost originals. Roman historiographers were literary stylists in their own rights, with their own literary purposes, audiences, and interests.22 As A. B. Bosworth explains, the nature of the game was to operate with the material at one’s disposal, identifying and criticizing falsehood and bias, combining details from several sources into a composite picture not paralleled in any single source, but not adding invention of one’s own. (Bosworth 2003, 194) Accordingly, then, the surviving Roman-era accounts of Alexander’s campaigns must be seen as complicated pastiches of experiences and historical contexts, with some original Hellenistic content (both fctionalized and historical) preserved, other content interpolated and synthesized from multiple sources, and the rest fctionalized by the Roman author himself and offered to contemporary readers so they might experience “what is likely to have been said and done” in ways that could help them contextualize current issues and problems. What is clear, however, is that the Roman authors did not invent the backbone of their historical accounts. They worked

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with evidence and themes that already existed in their own sources in their efforts to excerpt and format historical content in new and meaningful ways. As literary artists with their own authorial agendas, Arrian and his historiographic colleagues sifted through sources, chose what information to put into their books, and, fnally, chose how the reader should experience that information.23 Most importantly for our purposes here, though, the Hellenistic- and Roman-era authors used all their rhetorical skills to sway a reader into accepting certain “truths” so they might better understand their own worlds.24 All too often, the Macedonians served as a distorted mirror for such “truths” when Romans (and, later, Greeks like Diodoros and Plutarch living in a Roman world) sought to mine the past for that peculiar content against which they might weigh the moral implications of contemporary decisions, policies, and rulers.25 As Justin’s epitome of Trogus puts it, “I omitted what did not make pleasurable reading or serve to provide a moral” (praef. 4, translation Yardley 1994). This need for historical material to serve as a message for contemporary audiences is central to understanding why certain Hellenistic source material has survived in later accounts. Roman authors grounded their narratives in audience education, what Justin calls in his preface “providing a moral.”26 And since this type of research prized the authentic experience over the invented, Roman authors did not seek to greatly alter the content they received beyond the narrative techniques discussed earlier.27 Thus, Arrian and his colleagues transmitted to their audiences synthesized, focalized, and recontextualized content that had itself been synthesized, focalized, and recontextualized for ideological and propagandistic purposes by “first generation” authors like Ptolemy. For our purposes, Ptolemy is especially interesting because he alone of Alexander’s Successors wrote an Alexander History, and, perhaps no surprise, he played a starring role in that narrative in order to underscore his military prowess and kingly qualities.28 I think Bosworth (1996, 45) describes Ptolemy’s agenda best: Even if there was no obvious malice or intention to misrepresent, it was inevitable that [writers] would stress the actions in which they were prominent or had direct experience, downplay the success of people they disliked, and interpret the events of the period according to their interests at the time of writing (31–2). . . . The achievements of others are not ignored, but they are used to underscore the outstanding contribution of the narrator, who is invariably in the right place at the right time As I have argued elsewhere, concerning Alexander’s battles at the Persian Gates in 330 bc and the Siege of the Indian Rock of Aornus in 326, Ptolemy used all of the tools of narrative discussed earlier – focalization, invented

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speech and inter- and intratextuality – to have the reader experience Ptolemy’s reality as Alexander’s most trusted general.29 And all of this self-promotion – propaganda, if you will – served as raw material, as backbone, for Arrian’s narrative of Alexander’s campaigns as he re-presented those experiences in ways that were relevant to his second-century ce Roman readers.30

The pursuits At this point, it is useful to go slowly through Arrian’s account of Ptolemy’s hunt for Bessos and compare it to Alexander’s pursuit of Darius, so we can understand how Arrian (and his source Ptolemy) uses imitatio Alexandri to place the reader in Ptolemy’s sandals. After crossing the river Oxos, Alexander moved quickly so that he might find Bessos and his army. At this time men came to him from Spitamenes and Dataphernes reporting that if a small force under a commander were sent to them, Spitamenes and Dataphernes would take hold of Bessos and hand him over to Alexander. In fact, Bessos had already been placed under guard. (7) On hearing this, Alexander sent Ptolemy son of Lagos ahead with orders to move quickly against Spitamenes and Dataphernes. Ptolemy was to take with him three squadrons of the Companion Cavalry, all the mounted javelin men, the battalion of Philotas, one chiliarchy of the hypaspists, all the Agrianians and half the bowmen. Following his orders, Ptolemy covered in four days what was usually a ten-days’ march and reached the camp where Spitamenes and his barbarians had camped the day before. (30.1) There, Ptolemy learned that Spitamenes and Dataphernes were not firmly committed to the surrender of Bessos. Accordingly, he left his infantry with orders to follow him in formation and himself rode ahead with the cavalry, coming to a village where Bessos resided with only a few of his soldiers. (2) Spitamenes and his men had already departed, ashamed to be personally involved in the surrender of Bessos. Ptolemy surrounded the village with his cavalry – there was some type of wall around it and gates in the wall – and sent a herald to report to the barbarians in the village that they would be released unharmed if they turned Bessos over to him. These men then let Ptolemy’s soldiers into the village. (3) Ptolemy seized Bessos and left again. After this Ptolemy sent ahead to Alexander to ask how he should bring Bessos into the king’s sight. Alexander told him to fasten the man, naked, in a wooden collar and bring him like that, setting him on the right side of the road along which Alexander and the army would be going. Ptolemy did as instructed. (4) When Alexander noticed Bessos he halted his chariot and asked him why he had taken Darius in the first place and bore him around in irons and later murdered him, for Darius was his king and at the same time his

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relative and master. Bessos said that he was not alone in choosing this course of action. He had worked together with men who were close to Darius, so that he might be spared punishment by Alexander. (5) Alexander ordered him to be flogged for this and further instructed a herald to call out during the punishment those very acts for which Alexander condemned Bessos when he had questioned him. After being tortured in this manner, Bessos was sent to Baktra for execution. So Ptolemy wrote about Bessos. But Aristoboulos (139 F 24) says that Spitamenes, Dataphernes, and their followers brought Bessos to Ptolemy and handed him over to Alexander, bound naked in a collar. (Arrian Anab. 3.29. 6–30. 5 = Ptolemy BNJ 138 F 14) Notice the narrative mechanics used by Arrian (and presumably, his paraphrased source Ptolemy) that allow the reader to experience the chase and the decisions made by the main players. Focalization through verbs of perception is everywhere: Alexander “heard” (ἤκουσεν) that Bessos had been placed under guard and for that reason decided to send Ptolemy ahead; Ptolemy “learned” (ἔμαθε) that Spitamenes and Dataphernes were unwilling to surrender Bessos; and Alexander “noticed” (ἰδὼν) Bessos collared by the side of the road. Speech is also embedded: Ptolemy “asked” (ἤρετο) Alexander how to treat Bessos once he had taken him captive; Alexander “instructed” (ἐκέλευσε) Ptolemy how to treat Bessos; Alexander “asked” (ἤρετο) Bessos why he had imprisoned Darius (initiating an intratextual reference to the previous section in Book Three where Alexander himself unsuccessfully pursued Darius); and Bessos “said” (ἔφη) that he had not acted alone and then only in self-defense because he feared punishment by Alexander. All of this vividly invites the reader to experience Ptolemy’s astounding pursuit and triumph, to “hear” Alexander and Ptolemy’s conversations, to be present for Alexander’s interrogation of Bessos, to “own” Bessos’ fear of punishment, and in these ways to internalize the process by which Alexander chose Ptolemy for this job. Consequently, we are led to the telos: (1) Alexander picked Ptolemy because he was the best man for this pursuit; and (2) Bessos brought this end on himself for his treatment of Darius and his own cowardice.31 Moreover, Arrian is keen to point out that Ptolemy acts only in ways that Alexander approves – he takes care to query Alexander on how best to treat Bessos once he has captured him, a clear contrast to the liberties Bessos takes with Darius’ person in an earlier Alexander–Darius “chase scene,” where we turn next. If we follow the intratextual cue to Alexander’s pursuit of Darius, we notice similar focalized techniques, similar vocabulary, and similar narrative structure: At that point Alexander took the Companions cavalry and the mounted scouts and the mercenary horse under Erygios, and the Macedonian

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phalanx, save those detailed to guard the treasure, and the archers and Agrianes, and began his pursuit of Darius. By reason of the speed of his march many of his troops were left behind, worn out, and many horses died, but Alexander went on undeterred and reached Rhagai in eleven days . . . (21.2) On learning this [i.e. Darius’ arrest by Bessos and Barsaentes] Alexander pressed on faster than ever, with only the Companions, the mounted scouts, and the strongest and lightest of the infantry who had been carefully selected for the task. He did not even wait for Koinos and his men to return from their foraging, but appointed Krateros (3) to command those left behind and ordered him to follow, but not by forced marches. His own men had nothing but their arms and two days’ rations. Traveling all night and the next day until noon, he rested his troops a short time and then again hurried on all night and at dawn reached the camp from which Bagistanes had come. (4) But Alexander did not catch the enemy. He learned that Darius had indeed been imprisoned in a closed wagon and that Bessos had been given the sovereignty in place of Darius and had been saluted as leader by the Bactrian cavalry and all the other Persians who had fled with Darius except Artabazos and his sons and the Greek mercenaries. These, Alexander learned, remained faithful to Darius, but being unable to prevent what had occurred, had turned off the main road and were making for the hills themselves, refusing to participate in the actions of Bessos and his followers. (5) Those who had seized Darius had decided that if they should learn that Alexander was pursuing them they would give up Darius to Alexander and make good terms for themselves. Should they learn that Alexander had turned back they would collect as large an army as they could and join in preserving their empire. Bessos was in command for the time being both from his family relationship to Darius and because the event took place in his satrapy. (6) Hearing this, Alexander decided he must pursue with the utmost vigor. Already his men and horses were growing exhausted from this continued exertion, yet Alexander pressed on . . . [Alexander cuts his forces down even further and puts his best infantry on fast horses] (9) Alexander then himself started off at dusk, and led on his troops at full speed; during the night he traversed some four hundred stades, and just at dawn broke he came upon the Persians marching at ease and without arms, so that only a few of them turned to hinder his passage, but the greater part, as soon as they saw Alexander himself, not wanting to come to close quarters, ran off. Those who turned to fight, once they lost a few of their number, also fled. (10) Bessos and his immediate followers took Darius with them for a while in the closed wagon, but when Alexander was almost upon them, Nabarzanes and Barsaentes wounded Darius and left him where he was, themselves escaping with

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six hundred horsemen. Darius died of his wounds soon after, before Alexander had seen him. (Arr. Anab. 3.20.1–2, 3.21.2–10) As with his account of Ptolemy’s pursuit of Bessos, Arrian deploys multiple verbs of perception to situate the readers in the narrative and allow them to experience Alexander “hearing” (ἀκούσαντι) of Darius’ capture and Bessos’ treachery against his king. Thus, we enter the heads of Darius’ captors as they “decide” (γνώμην δὲ πεποιῆσθαι) what to do if Alexander pursues them; we, the audience, weigh the rebels’ options and see that Bessos, Nabarzanes, and Barseantes do not want to fght Alexander in a fair battle. Unlike Artabazos (Darius’ brother) and his sons (Darius’ nephews), who are Darius’ legitimate and loyal family, Bessos, his close relative is a false, bumbling coward who is not even able (or willing) to kill his king outright in his single-minded concern for his own safety and advancement. Artabazos is juxtaposed with Bessos here to give the themes of family, duty, and loyalty extra bite, for Bessos has abused his family connections and offcial position as satrap to “usurp the power of Darius” (Βήσσῳ δὲ ἀντὶ Δαρείου εἶναι τὸ κράτος). The audience is meant to ponder this and then contrast it with the legitimate power that Alexander “gives” to his facsimile Ptolemy, whom Alexander appoints to pursue Bessos. Notice that like Alexander, we the audience are also robbed of seeing Darius alive at the end of this chase (πρὶν ὀφθῆναι Ἀλεξάνδρῳ). Consequently, we share Alexander’s disappointment, Darius’ ignominy, and Bessos’ treachery; by this narrative we are primed to seek to avenge Darius and so can take justifable satisfaction when, a few paragraphs later, Ptolemy brings Bessos to justice. By stressing loyalty and royal authority in these passages, Arrian sets up a comparison between royal power properly bestowed on a worthy successor and royal power usurped by a cowardly incompetent. Through these two intratextual passages, Arrian (and probably Ptolemy) invite the reader to compare Bessos and Ptolemy (the royal successors), Bessos and Darius (the pursued), and Alexander and Ptolemy (the pursuers). But these comparisons have moved beyond intratextual allusion to outright imitation:32 as he pursues Bessos Ptolemy becomes Alexander.33 When hunting Darius, Alexander chose the Companions and the mounted scouts, the mercenary horse under Erygios, the Macedonian phalanx, except those detailed to guard the treasure, and the archers and Agrianes (Αὐτὸς δὲ ἀναλαβὼν τήν τε ἵππον τῶν ἑταίρων καὶ τοὺς προδρόμους καὶ τοὺς μισθοφόρους ἱππέας, ὧν Ἐριγύϊος ἡγεῖτο, καὶ τὴν φάλαγγα τὴν Μακεδονικὴν ἔξω τῶν ἐπὶ τοῖς χρήμασι ταχθέντων καὶ τοὺς τοξότας καὶ τοὺς Ἀγριᾶνας). To capture Bessos, Alexander orders Ptolemy to take with him those same units, Companions, the javelin-men, the Macedonian phalanx that had belonged to Philotas, 1,000 of the hypaspists, all of the Agrianians, and half of the archers (∏τολεμαῖον

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δὲ τὸν Λάγου ἀποστέλλει τῶν τε ἑταίρων ἱππαρχίας τρεῖς ἄγοντα καὶ τοὺς ἱππακοντιστὰς ξύμπαντας, πεζῶν δὲ τήν τε Φιλώτα τάξιν καὶ τῶν ὑπασπιστῶν χιλιαρχίαν μίαν καὶ τοὺς ̓Αγριᾶνας πάντας καὶ τῶν τοξοτῶν τοὺς ἡμίσεας). It has long been known that many of these units, such as the Agrianes, the “royal” hypaspists, and the archers, are Alexander’s own special troops, who fight only with him.34 In a sense, Arrian and Ptolemy are presenting Alexander as choosing Ptolemy to “succeed” him as commander of the king’s special units, the Agrianes, archers, hypaspists, and Companions. Significantly, no other commanders in Arrian’s account of Alexander’s campaign, save Ptolemy and Alexander, lead these special forces. But along with Alexander’s troops, Ptolemy has also acquired Alexander’s legendary speed.35 In fact, others are warned off from moving at such a dangerous rate: Alexander ordered Krateros to command those left behind and not to follow at a forced march (τοῖς δὲ ὑπολειπομένοις ἐπιστήσας Κρατερὸν προστάττει μὴ μακρὰς ὁδοὺς ἄγοντα), while Alexander himself traverses 400 stades in one night (διελθὼν δὲ τῆς νυκτὸς σταδίους ἐς τετρακοσίους). And yet, Ptolemy is allowed “Alexander-speed”, covering in four days what was usually a ten-days’ march (∏τολεμαῖος ἤιει ὡς ἐτέτακτο καὶ διελθὼν ἐν ἡμέραις τέτταρσι σταθμοὺς δέκα). As with the special troops, Ptolemy is the only commander in Arrian’s Anabasis, who is ever portrayed as having this Alexander-speed. Finally, in addition to speed, Ptolemy and Alexander also have a single-minded fixation on the goal. As with Alexander when he sought Darius, Ptolemy leaves behind his slower forces to follow at an orderly pace, so he, like Alexander, can rachet up to super-speed and capture Bessos before he can escape or marshal an effective resistance. Throughout this passage, Arrian (and Ptolemy) present Ptolemy as an “Alexander,” having succeeded Alexander to possess his military units, his speed, and his single-minded focus on the goal. Ptolemy also seems to have taken on Alexander’s “success.”36 When Ptolemy arrives in time to trap Bessos in a walled village, Bessos’ remaining guards are cowed by Ptolemy’s seeming “Alexander-ness” – his speed and military prowess – and agree to open the village gates and surrender Bessos. By comparison, in Arrian’s account of Alexander’s pursuit of Darius, Bessos and Company wound their captive and run off, leaving Darius to die before Alexander can reach him, thus robbing Alexander of his goal. Of course, this is not Alexander’s failure but rather the result of Bessos’ treachery and the fickleness of fortune, but it is significant that Ptolemy’s pursuit of his “king” ends on a superior note. Ptolemy’s power impels Bessos’ captors to surrender their captive, while Alexander’s power frightens Darius’ captors into fleeing and killing their hostage. Is Alexander simply too awesome for the world of mortals? This theme of Ptolemy “succeeding” Alexander continues to develop in both Arrian’s narrative and the Ptolemy fragments which Arrian preserves. When Ptolemy has an independent command next, in 326 against the Indian hill tribes in the Swat Valley, he is again leading the Companions, Agrianes,

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and special troops (F 18 = Arr. Anab. 4.24.1–25.4).37 Here, as with the pursuit of Bessos discussed earlier, Ptolemy highlights that Alexander gave him command of the king’s own special troops, but then moves to a new subject, seeming criticism of Alexander’s command decisions. Ptolemy and Arrian point out that Alexander’s assessment of the enemy numbers was inaccurate and that this assessment resulted in Macedonian losses. Consequently, Alexander has failed in his objective because of his own error (or hubris). But all is not lost, Ptolemy, as Ptolemy and Arrian tell us, had assessed the enemy strength correctly and as a result was able to save the day when Alexander finally put his trust in him and gave him command. The reader is left to draw this obvious conclusion: if only Alexander had listened to Ptolemy in the first place, the battle against the massed Indian forces would have gone better and Macedonians would not have died. In light of the Alexander imitation, we have witnessed thus far in Arrian and Ptolemy’s narratives, it might seem curious that Ptolemy and Arrian choose to highlight Alexander’s mistake. But, for the sake of argument, I would like to suggest that Ptolemy brings up Alexander’s miscalculation in order to allow Ptolemy to save the day and in so doing win over Alexander’s unquestioning support. This is a chance to show that even Alexander is not infallible and that his confidence and unprecedented success can lead to error. But not to worry: Alexander is also fortunate, much more fortunate than other kings (i.e. Darius), because Alexander has a loyal general like Ptolemy to get things right and bring about victory despite the king’s own miscalculation. The message is that Alexander achieves his victory through the aid of loyal subordinates like Ptolemy; if he were acting alone he would fail, just like Darius, who died alone and abandoned by his disloyal and cowardly subordinates, failed. Through his actions against the Indians, Ptolemy has demonstrated that he is a better resource to Alexander than even Alexander’s own mind. From here on out, Alexander gives Ptolemy increasingly important roles and allows Ptolemy to make his own command decisions, without hesitancy or question (e.g., BNJ 138 F 35). Thus, even though Ptolemy disagreed with Alexander, even though Alexander doubted Ptolemy’s assessment of the enemy (Arr. Anab. 4.24.8–9), Ptolemy was the only commander in the Macedonian army loyal enough – and brave enough – to point out Alexander’s oversight. Throughout Arrian and Ptolemy’s narratives, Ptolemy’s loyalty is presented as undaunted, unshakable, and ultimately the reason behind Alexander’s success.38

Conclusions In all of the passages discussed here, both Arrian and Ptolemy take pains to underscore the fact Alexander has chosen Ptolemy to act as his proxy and that Alexander approves of Ptolemy’s actions and trusts him more than any other commander in his army. The conclusion we are expected to draw is

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that Ptolemy is a second Alexander; he serves Alexander’s interests better even than Alexander might do himself, as we saw in the Swat Valley. Moreover, the fact that Ptolemy’s pursuit of Bessos so closely imitates Alexander’s pursuit of Darius invites the reader to weigh Bessos “the Successor” against Ptolemy who competently succeeded Alexander. Arrian and Ptolemy are using Bessos to illustrate “a bad succession” and perhaps even “bad kingship,” in much the same way as Briant (2003) has shown Arrian (and Ptolemy) elsewhere use Darius in comparison with Alexander. And while we can only speculate as to why this theme appealed to Arrian and his audience enough that he would preserve Ptolemy’s self-promotion, it seems likely that themes of legitimate succession and loyalty would resonate in a Rome grappling with Hadrian’s succession to Trajan, the conqueror of Parthia. Perhaps we readers are meant to draw parallels between Bessos and Antigonos, Cassander, Eumenes, and Lysimachos and as well as Roman successors like Caligula, Nero, and Domitian. In the end, all of this narratological analysis suggests that when it comes to the pursuit and capture of Bessos, the so-called Vulgate sources (Curtius and Diodoros) provide a cleaner account. Yet, even though the Vulgate is less contaminated by Ptolemaic propaganda, it too has its own narratological issues, for that is the problem with historical narratives – they are narratives – and grasping truth in the narrative bathtub of historiography is more difficult than grasping the soap (and nowhere near as clean).

Notes 1 Who “said” he was king of Asia (Arr. 3.25.3). For a discussion of Bessos’ legitimacy and the nature of his claims and how they have been received, see Howe (2015c). 2 Arr. Anab. 3.29.7–30.5 (Ptolemy BNJ 138 F 14). The other accounts are Diod. 17.83.7–9, Curt. 7.5.19–16, 36–40, and Aristoboulos BNJ 139 F 24. Curtius and Diodoros make no mention of Ptolemy and instead credit Persian leaders for Bessos’ capture and surrender. In Aristoboulos’ brief account, as reported by Arrian, the Persian leaders do all of the work: “But Aristoboulos (BNJ 139 F 24) says that Spitamenes, Dataphernes, and their followers brought Bessos to Ptolemy and handed him over to Alexander, bound naked in a collar. Ἀριστόβουλος δὲ (BNJ 139 F 24) τοὺς ἀμφὶ Σπιταμένην τε καὶ Δαταφέρνην ∏τολεμαίωι ἀγαγεῖν Βῆσσον καὶ παραδοῦναι Ἀλεξάνδρωι γυμνὸν ἐν κλοιῶι δήσαντας.” 3 See Howe 2018, commentary on F 14, for the relevant bibliography. 4 Arr, Anab. 3.20.1–2, 3.21.2–10. Cf. Curt. 5.12.18–13.25, 6.2.17; Diod. 17.73.2–4; Justin 11.15.1–15; Plut. Alex. 42.6–43; Polyaen. 4.3.25; Ael. NA 6.25. 5 Howe 2018, commentary on F 14. 6 For example, Worthington (2016, 46), who downplays any propaganda on Ptolemy’s part here, arguing that Alexander chose Ptolemy because he was the best man for the job in terms of military skills and general trustworthiness. 7 See Baynham (2003, 2009); Spencer (2002, 2009), and Grethlein (2013, 92–130) for the ways in which the Roman-era sources “re”-present the Alexander story to contemporary audiences in new and culturally relevant ways. Cf. Welch and Mitchell 2013.

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8 Ancient: Munn (2017); modern: Tamm (2014). 9 Whitmarsh (2003, 193); Grethlein (2013); De Temmerman (2016, 4). 10 The most famous examples of this are speeches (Wiseman 1993, 132–35; Henderson 2003, 24–25). 11 Grethlein (2013, 38), “Speeches embed in the action not only factual information, but also interpretive elements.” See also John Marincola (2007, 119), who argues that historiographers use speech to characterize “the speaker, by indicating his or her frame of mind and disposition. . . . Speeches indicated the reasons and rationale of the historical characters, why they did what they did and with what aims, goals, and expectations.” “Thus, elements of both fidelity and invention are present” (121). 12 Grethlein (2013, 33–36) argues that focalization in particular pulls the reader deep into the world of the action as it is experienced by the historical agents. In a very real sense, the reader perceives and gives voice to important pieces of information. 13 Grethlein (2013, 58–60, 161–62). 14 Grethlein is clear that all the authors discussed in his survey employ elements of both experiential and teleological narratives, but that each one falls closer to one end of the scale or the other. Accordingly, he splits the book into two main pieces. Part I (27–181) Experience: Making the Past Present offers case studies of Thucydides, Xenophon, Plutarch’s Alexander, and Tacitus as authors whose works fall on the experiential end of the scale. Part II (183–310) Teleology: The Power of Retrospect examines Herodotus, Polybius, and Sallust. Arrian seems to fit this trend, and though he leans more toward a teleological view, the death of Alexander, and his triumph over Persia, he also has experiential intentions. The impact of that triumph and the changes it brings to the Macedonians are thoroughly interrogated, perhaps to help Arrian’s contemporary Romans come to terms with Trajan and Hadrian’s different reactions to their own Eastern Enemies. For a recent analysis of how Trajan and Hadrian affect the historiography of the Second Sophistic, see Frank (2017); Catarine (2017); Asirvatham (2018). 15 So White (1978); cf. Raaflaub (2010). See Grethlein (2013, 2015) for a recent discussion and bibliography. 16 Hau (2014). 17 See also Margolin (1996, 115–27). 18 See Marincola (1999); Raaflaub (2010); Grethlein (2013, 1–26); De Temmerman (2016, 9–10). 19 See Nicolai (2007) and Munn (2017), for a review of the relevant bibliography. 20 For the Roman-era writers, earlier Hellenistic narratives were simply raw data to be mined, manipulated, and knit together in a meaningful, relevant, and, above all, literarily satisfying way for their Roman audiences to “experience.” (Marincola 1999; Bosworth 2003; Baynham 2003, 2009; Spencer 2002, 2009; Howe 2015b). For the aims and methods of specific authors see the following.  Diodoros: Goukowsky (1977, ix–xxiii; 2016, vii–xix). Trogus: Lane Fox  (1986); Alonso-Núñez (1987); Yardley (2003); Frank (2018). Plutarch: Pelling (1980); Duff (1999); Frank (2017). Curtius: Atkinson (1994, 25–28) and Baynham (1998, 57, esp. n. 3, 77–85). Arrian vol. I (1980, 16–34; Bosworth (1994); Howe (2015a). 21 Anab. praef; Howe (2018, commentary on T 1. For recent treatments of the Alexander sources’ inherent segmentation see Howe (2015a, 2015b). 22 See Woodman (1988); Marincola (1999); Howe (2015b). See also Drews (1962; Pelling (1980; Alonso-Núñez (1987; Sacks (1990, chapters 1 and 2); Shrimpton (1991, 128–29; Ambaglio (1995; Duff (1999, chapter 1, 2011); Lefèvre 2002; Yardley 2010; Goukowsky (2016, vii–xix). For Diodoros in particular it is no

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23 24

25 26

27 28

29 30 31 32 33

34

35

36

longer accepted (e.g., Hammond 1937) that whenever he names no source in books 11 through 16 of the Bibliotheke, he is automatically reproducing Ephoros. See Pownall (2004, 118), for a recent assessment. For Trogus, the issue in compounded further by the fact that we do not have his original text, only Justin’s epitome; see Yardley (2003); Frank (2018). For example, Stadter (1978); Bosworth (1994); Howe (2015b). For discussions of “Roman” historiographic methods see, for example, Woodman (1988), 70–116; Kraus and Woodman (1997, 5–6). Such careful winnowing of evidence seems to have been in play during the late 300s as well; for example, Pownall (2004, 1–36). See Grethlein (2013, 92–130), for how this may have shaped Plutarch’s presentation of Alexander. See Frank 2018 for a recent analysis. For the role of paideia, moral education, in the writing of the Roman historians,  especially those like Arrian and Plutarch from the so-called Second Sophistic, see, for example, Anderson (2009, esp. 211ff.); Asirvatham (2018). For Trogus, especially the moralising perspectives he shares with his contemporary historiographer Livy, see Yardley (2003, 20–78); Frank (2018). For the Roman-era literary masters, synthesis, attribution, and “truth” were the way to literary reputation. See Kraus and Woodman (1997); Marincola (1999); Bosworth (2003, 167); De Temmerman (2016); cf. Hau (2016). In order to attract and keep loyal his Macedonian and Greek soldiers; see Müller (2014, 176–77) and Errington (1969, 233–42); cf. Worthington (2016, 213–19), who rejects the notion that Ptolemy used his narrative for the purpose of selfpropaganda, arguing that Ptolemy’s history is accurate, measured, and restrained. Howe (2015b, 2018 commentary F 18, F 35). Howe (2018) commentary on T 1. It is a common topos in the Alexander narrative to have Persians be the causes of their own downfall. Almagor (2011, esp. 14–15). See Hau (2014) for a discussion of the use of imitatio in Greek historiography. By Arrian’s time it has become quite common for Roman emperors to imitate Alexander; Tisé (2002). Indeed, Asirvatham (2017, 487) suggests that Arrian wrote his history of Alexander as a response to such Roman imperial imitation of the Macedonian conqueror. If that is the case, I find it noteworthy that Arrian incorporated the earlier Ptolemaic imitation in his “Roman” response: Hellenistic imitatio Alexandri deployed in such a way that the audience can experience and engage contemporary Roman imitatio Alexandri. Almost the same units were with Alexander when he went after Satibarzanes (Arr. 3.25.6). For the Agrianians, hypaspists, and the archers as Alexander’s personal troops, see Ptolemy BNJ 138 F 3 and Arr. Anab. 1.1.11; 1.8.3–4; 2.8.3; 3.11.9; 3.17.2; 3.29.7; 4.3.2; 4.30.2. Howe 2018, commentary F 3. The locus classicus is Arr. Anab 1.7.4–6, Alexander’s lightning march south and surprise appearance at Thebes in 335. For example Arr. Anab. 1.6; 2.10.3–5; 3.18.10–12. Chaplin (2011, 621, n. 14), observes that speed is the norm for Alexander in Arrian. Aristoboulos BNJ 139 F 24 (Pownall, 2013), however, tells a different tale, reporting that Spitamenes’ and Dataphernes’s men brought Bessos to Ptolemy. In Aristoboulos’ account, all of the important actions, the seizure, and the punishment are done by order of Spitamenes and Dataphernes, not Ptolemy; Pownall 2013, commentary F 24. Heckel (2018, 18) offers an innovative, though unprovable, argument that the text as we have it is corrupted – ∏τολεμαίωι should be removed – since there is little point in Arrian’s contrasting Aristoboulos’ report with that of Ptolemy’s, which he says he does when those two do not agree (Arr. Anab. proem. 1). In this interpretation, Aristoboulos would then make no mention of Ptolemy.

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Cf. Seibert (1969, 13) and Bosworth (1980, 377), who argue that “Aristobulus seems to have an independent version, giving Ptolemy a role in the arrest but a relatively minor one. Spitamenes and his associates presented Bessus to the king; Ptolemy merely led the convoy which escorted them to the king.” If Heckel is right about Aristoboulos, then the imitatio is Ptolemy’s alone. For the sake of argument, I propose that Arrian has chosen to keep Ptolemy’s because it helps to interrogate the imperial imitatio Alexandri of his own day. Thus, we can tentatively suggest that Alexander’s pursuit of Darius, as reported in Arrian Anab. 3.20.1–2, 3.21.2–10, should be considered a fragment of Ptolemy in the same way Jacoby identified F 34 and F 35 as deriving from Ptolemy’s lost History, that is by context and content. 37 Bosworth (1996, 163–64); Howe (2018, commentary F 18). 38 As Bosworth (1996, 164) puts it “the note of scepticism does not undermine Ptolemy’s credit. Rather it underscores the enormous number of defenders whose refuge he had discovered.”

Bibliography Almagor, E. (2011) “Plutarch on the End of the Persian Empire,” Greco-Latina Brunensia 16.2, 3–16. Alonso-Núñez, J. M. (1987) “An Augustan World History: The ‘Historiae Philippicae’ of Pompeius Trogus,” G&R 34, 56–72. Ambaglio, D. (1995) La Biblioteca Storica di Diodoro Siculo: problemi e metodo. Como: New Press. Anderson, G. (2009) The Second Sophistic: A Cultural Phenomenon in the Roman Empire. London: Routledge. Asirvatham, S. (2017) “Historiography,” in D. S. Richter and W. A. Johnson (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of the Second Sophistic, 477–92. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. (2018) “The Memory of Alexander in Plutarch’s Lives of Demetrios, Pyrros and Eumenes,” in T. Howe and F. Pownall (eds.), Ancient Macedonians in the Greek and Roman Sources, 253–94. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales. Atkinson, J. E. (1994) A Commentary on Q. Curtius Rufus’ Historiae Alexandri Magni. Books 5 to 7,2. Amsterdam: A. M. Hakkert. Baynham, E. (1998) Alexander the Great: The Unique History of Quintus Curtius. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. ———. (2003) “The Ancient Evidence for Alexander the Great,” in J. Roisman (ed.), Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, 3–30. Leiden: Brill. ———. (2009) “Barbarians I: Quintus Curtius’ and other Roman Historians’ Reception of Alexander,” in A. Feldherr (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Roman Historians, 288–300. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bosworth, A. B. (1988) A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander. ———. (1988) Conquest and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. (1994) “Arrian and Rome: The Minor Works,” ANRW 2.34.1, 226–75. ———. (1995) A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander. Volume II: Commentary on Books IV–V. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. (1996) Alexander and the East. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. (2003) “Plus ça change . . . Ancient Historians and their Sources,” ClassAnt 22.2, 167–98.

68 Timothy Howe Bowie, E. L. (1970) “The Greeks and their Past in the Second Sophistic,” Past and Present 46, 3–41. Briant, P. (2002) From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbauns. ———. (2003). Darius dans l’ombre d’Alexandre. Paris: Fayard. Burlinga, B. (2013) Arrian’s Anabasis: An Intellectual and Cultural Story. Gdańsk: Akanthina. Catarine, M. M. (2017) “Alexander-Imitators in the Age of Trajan: Plutarch’s Demetrius and Pyrrhus,” CW 112.4, 406–30. Chaplin, J. D. (2011) “Conversations in History: Arrian and Herodotus, Parmenio and Alexander,” GRBS 51, 613–33. De Temmerman, K. (2016) “Ancient Biography and the Formalities of Fiction,” in K. De Temmerman and K. Demoen (eds.), Writing Biography in Greece and Rome: Narrative Technique and Fictionalization, 3–25. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Drews, R. (1962) “Diodorus and His Sources,” AJPh 83, 383–92. Duff, T. (1999) Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Virtue and Vice. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Frank, R. (2017) “The Hero vs. the Tyrant: Legitimate and Illegitimate Rule in the Alexander-Caesar Pairing,” in T. Howe, S. Müller and R. Stoneman (eds.), Ancient Historiography on War and Empire, 210–25. Oxford: Oxbow. ———. (2018) “A Roman Olympias: Powerful Women in the Historiae Philippicae of Pompeius Trogus,” in T. Howe and F. Pownall (eds.), Ancient Macedonians in the Greek and Roman Sources, 41–58. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales. Goukowsky, P. (1977) Diodore de Sicile. Bibliothèque historique, Tome X, Livre XV. Collection des universités de France. Paris: Les Belle Lettres. ———. (2016) “Notice,” in Gaillard-Goukowsky, D. and P. Goukowsky (eds.), Diodore de Sicile. Bibliothèque historique, Tome XI, Livre XVI. Collection des universités de France, vii–ccxl. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Grethlein, J. (2013) Experience and Teleology in Ancient Historiography: ‘Futures Past’ from Herodotus to Augustine. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. (2015) “Is Narrative ‘The Description of Fictional Mental Functioning’?: Heliodorus Against Palmer, Zunshine & Co.,” Style 49.3, 257–84. Hammond, N.G.L. (1937) “The Sources of Diodorus Siculus XVI,” CQ 31.2: 79–91. Hau, L. I. (2014) “Stock Situations, Topoi and the Greekness of Greek Historiography,” in D. Cairns and R. Scodel (eds.), Defining Greek Narrative. Edinburgh Leventis Studies, 7, 241–59. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. ———. (2016) Moral History from Herodotus to Diodorus Siculus. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Heckel, W. (2018) “Ptolemy: A Man of His Own Making,” in T. Howe (ed.), Ptolemy I Soter: A Self-Made Man. Oxford: Oxbow. Henderson, I. H. 2003, “Speech Representation and Religious Rhetorics in Pholostratus’ Vita Apolloni,” SR 32.1–2, 19–37. Howe, T. (2015a) “Arrian and ‘Roman’ Military Tactics. Alexander’s Campaign Against the Autonomous Thracians,” in T. Howe, E. Garvin and G. Wrightson (eds.), Greece, Macedon and Persia: Studies in Social, Political and Military History in Honour of Waldemar Heckel, 87–93. Oxford: Oxbow.

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———. (2015b) “Introducing Ptolemy: Alexander at the Persian Gates,” in W. Heckel, S. Müller, G. Wrightson (eds.), The Many Faces of War in the Ancient World, 168–97. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Press. ———. (2015c) “Alexander and ‘Afghan’ Insurgency: A Reassessment,” in T. Howe and L. L. Brice (eds.), Brill’s Companion to Insurgency and Terrorism in the Ancient Mediterranean, 151–82. Leiden: Brill. ———. (2018) “Ptolemy 138,” BNJ. Kraus, C. S. and A. J. Woodman (1997) Latin Historians. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lane Fox, R. (1986) “Theopompus of Chios and the Greek World 411–322 bc,” in J. Boardman (ed.), Chios, 105–20. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lefèvre, F. (2002) “Le Livre XVI de Diodore de Sicile: Observations sur la composition et sur le traitement des grands personnages,” REG 115: 518–37. Margolin, U. (1996) “Characters and Their Versions,” in C. A. Mihailescu and W. Hamarneh (eds.), Fiction Updated: Theories of Fictionality, Narratology, and Poetics, 113–32. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Marincola J. (1999) “Genre, Convention, and Innovation in Greco-Roman Historiography,” in C. S. Kraus (ed.), The Limits of Historiography: Genre & Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts, 281–32. Leiden: Brill. Marincola, J. (2007) “Speeches in Classical Historiography,” in J. Marincola (ed.) A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, 118–32. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Marinocla, J. (2011) Greek and Roman Historiography (Oxford: Oxford Readings in Classical Studies). Müller, S. (2011) “Die frühen Perserkönige im kulturellen Gedächtnis der Makedonen und in der Propaganda Alexanders d. Gr.,” Gymnasium 118, 105–33. ———. (2014) “Ptolemaios und das Ölwunder (Arr. an. 4,15,7–8),” in V. Iliescu, D. Nedu, and A.-R. Barboş (eds.), Graecia, Roma, Barbaricum: In memoriam Vasile Lica, 175–97. Galați: Editura Muzeului de Istorie Galați. Munn, M. (2017) “Why History? On the Emergence of Historical Writing,” in T. Howe, S. Müller and R. Stoneman (eds.), Ancient Historiography on War and Empire, 2–23. Oxford: Oxbow. Nicolai, R. (2007) “The Place of History in the Ancient World,” in J. Marincola (ed.), A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, 13–26. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Pelling, C. (1980) “Plutarch’s Adaption of his Source-Material,” JHS 100, 127–40. [reprinted in Plutarch and History, Swansea, 2011]. Pownall, F. (2013) “Aristoboulos 139,” BNJ. ———. (2004) Lessons from the Past: The Moral Use of History in Fourth-Century Prose. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Raaflaub K. A. (2010) “Ulterior Motives in Ancient Historiography: What Exactly, and Why?,” in L. Foxhall, H.-J. Gehrke and N. Luraghi (eds.), Intentional History: Spinning Time in Ancient Greece, 189–210. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Sacks, K. (1990) Diodorus Siculus and the First Century. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Seibert, J. (1969) Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Ptolemaios’ I. Munich: C. H. Beck. Shrimpton, G. S. (1991) Theopompus the Historian. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

70 Timothy Howe Spencer, D. (2002) The Roman Alexander: Reading a Cultural Myth. Exeter: Exeter University Press. ———. (2009) “Roman Alexanders: Epistemology and Identity,” in W. Heckel and L. A. Tritle (eds.), Alexander the Great: A New History, 251–74. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Stadter, P. A. (1978) “The Ars Tactica of Arrian: Tradition and Originality,” CP 73, 117–28. Tamm, M. (2014) “Truth, Objectivity and Evidence in History Writing,” Journal of the Philosophy of History 8, 265–90. Tisé, B. (2002). Imperialismo romano e imitatio Alexandri: Due studi di storia politica. Galatina: Mario Congedo Editore. Welch, K. and H. Mitchell (2013) “Revisiting the Roman Alexander,” Antichthon 47: 80–100. White, H. (1978) Topics of Discourse: Essays in Cultural Criticism. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Whitmarsh, T. (2003) “Reading for Pleasure: Narrative, Irony, and Eroticism in Achilles Tatius,” in S. Panayotakis, M. Zimmerman and W. Keulen (eds.), The Ancient Novel and Beyond, 191–205. Leiden: Brill. ———. (2005) The Second Sophistic. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wiseman, T. P. (1993) “Lying Historians: Seven Types of Mendacity,” in C. Gill and T. P. Wiseman (eds.), Lies and Fiction in the Ancient World, 122–46. Exeter: Exeter University Press. Woodman, A. J. (1988) Rhetoric in Classical Historiography. London: Croom Helm. Worthington, I. (2016) Ptolemy I: King and Pharaoh of Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Yardley, J. (1994) Epitome of the Philippic History Of Pompeius Trogus (Society for Classical Studies Classical Resources). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Yardley, J. C. (2003) Justin and Pompeius Trogus: A Study of the Language of Justin’s Epitome of Trogus. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Yardley, J. (2010) “What is Justin doing with Trogus?,” in M. Horster and C. Reitz (eds.) Condensing Texts—Condensed Texts. Palingenesia Band 98, 469–490. Stuttgart: Steiner.

Chapter 5

The bias of Hieronymus A source critical analysis of Diodorus 18.8–18 John Walsh

Literary and source critical studies in Diodorus Siculus In compiling and writing the Bibliotheke, Diodorus Siculus is generally believed to have relied on a single main source for each book of his history, sometimes supplemented with the use of minor sources.1 Hieronymus of Cardia is widely acknowledged to have been Diodorus’ main source for Books 18–20 and, except the Sicilian sections, Hieronymus of Cardia was regarded as the only source he used.2 The idea that Diodorus used the intermediary source Agatharchides of Cnidus was held by K. J. Beloch,3 but this has been convincingly refuted by I. L. Merkur and J. Hornblower.4 Today, it is generally believed that Diodorus used Hieronymus in a much more idiosyncratic way than previously thought and that he may have consulted other sources as well.5 J. Hornblower has concluded that Diodorus used an Alexandrian author with a pro-Ptolemy bias6 and a ‘Rhodian’ source in Books 19 and 20.7 F. Landucci Gattinoni has taken an even more radical view, arguing that Hieronymus of Cardia was not the major source of Diodorus’ books on the Diadochoi and that Diodorus may also have used Duris of Samos.8 This opinion, however, remains the minority view and has not won general acceptance.9 We may say confidently, however, that Diodorus followed Hieronymus closely and relied on his accounts extensively: as a result, his work retains much of Hieronymus’ bias.10 The transmitted history of the Lamian War (18.8–18) offers an excellent opportunity to investigate the influence of these partialities.

The conflicting source tradition Diodorus’ reliance on Hieronymus of Cardia as his foundational source for Book 18 highlights the possible routes by which Hieronymus’ biases, especially his disdain for Antipater, may have informed Diodorus’ account. In particular, Diodorus’ unbecoming portrayal of Antipater during the conduct of the Lamian War is clearly influenced by Hieronymus’ personal views and by the extent to which the latter employed Athenian sources.11 There

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is, moreover, evidence of an historical tradition supporting the view that Antipater won the war through his military skill, rather than simply benefiting from an Athenian loss. While, in a strictly military sense, the naval campaign was the most important theatre of the war, the siege at Lamia is the key to understanding the value of the Macedonian victory.12 The belligerent Athenians may well have been the architects of their own destruction in the sense that they initiated the war, but it was undoubtedly Antipater’s strategic superiority that delivered a Macedonian victory. Polybius seems to confirm the existence of this conflicting pro-Antipater tradition. A good deal of scholarly attention and effort has been directed at explaining what appears to be Polybius mistakenly mentioning Antipater’s victory at Lamia. When discussing the war at 9.29.2, Polybius refers to ‘Antipater after his victory over the Greeks at Lamia’. Walbank, in his commentary to Polybius, goes to great lengths to explain that Polybius was confusing the Macedonian victory at Crannon with Lamia, dismissing as Polybius’ error a distance of 50 miles and the passing of a year.13 However, perhaps the more parsimonious solution is that Polybius was right, that Antipater was victorious at Lamia and that this passing statement represents an alternative convention. Although Polybius’ statement seems entirely at odds with the modern view of the events in Greece after Alexander’s death and has required some scholarly explanation to bring it into line with received opinion, he was not alone in making this supposed mistake. We find something very similar in Pausanias. Pausanias adopts the standard position at first and writes at 1.1.3: ‘this Leosthenes leading the united Athenians and Greeks defeated the Macedonians in Boeotia and again outside Thermopylae, pushed them into Lamia by Oeta, and barricaded them within’. But later, at 1.8.3, he states: ‘Here also is Demosthenes, whom the Athenians forced into exile in Calauria, the island off Troezen, and then, when they had taken him back, banished again after the blow at Lamia (μετὰ τὴν ἐν Λαμίᾳ πληγήν)’. Pausanias revisits the Lamian War in Book 7, where his language is stronger still. At 7.10.4, he tells us of a Greek defeat for which their miscalculation is clearly to blame: ἐπεὶ δὲ τὸ ἐν Λαμίᾳ πταῖσμα ἐγένετο Ἕλλησιν. Antipater, according to Pausanias, was eager to wage war in Asia, so we can appreciate how this concern precipitated his decision to avoid pitched battles with the Athenians and their allies.14 Pausanias’ account confrms the divided nature of Athenian politics – even casting Demades as a ‘traitor’. Moreover, we fnd that, by Pausanias’ reckoning, the defeat at Lamia was more signifcant than Chaeronea, despite the cost of only 200 Greek lives. In the Oxyrhynchus Papyrus, we fnd evidence confrming that, by the second or third century, the relationship between the misfortune at Lamia and Hyperides’

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death at the conclusion of the war had become frmly established. Lamia, and not Crannon, appears to be the decisive event.15 So there seems to be some degree of confict in the ancient tradition surrounding the Lamian War, even within a single source like Pausanias.

Diodorus Siculus’ rhetoric and the bias of Hieronymus It is now broadly accepted that Diodorus chose to adapt one major source for each book of his history and that he revised these adaptations with intermittent reference to other less prominent sources.16 For Books 18–20, Hieronymus of Cardia served as Diodorus’ main source and the model for its composition – indeed, it is Diodorus’ only source aside from the Sicilian excerpts.17 Beyond Diodorus’ reliance on this source for form and content, it is clear that he also reiterated many of Hieronymus’ statements and views. It is therefore almost certain that Diodorus applied the same reproductive method to his biases. Hieronymus was adept at maintaining the favour of his many benefactors and lived until the age of 104 in the service of several patrons.18 The first of these, Antigonus, had pardoned him after his war with Eumenes.19 Hieronymus then benefitted from the patronage of Antigonus’ son, Demetrius the Besieger, followed by Antigonus Gonatas. The longevity of these client–patron relationships is no doubt owed in part to Hieronymus’ ability to enhance the reputation of his patrons while simultaneously minimising the significance of the other Diadochoi. Where Antipater is concerned, we must also keep in mind the influence of the animosity that endured between both his descendants and those of Antigonus.20 Hieronymus’ derogation of Antipater’s competence and military aptitude makes sense in light of the former’s installation as a client of the Antigonids and the death of Alexander. There were presumably several traditions in antiquity that offered different views on Antipater. It seems that Diodorus did not question the Hellenic and Atheno-centric tradition or its relegation of Antipater to the role of accessory. This perspective, steeped in Hieronymus’ biases, informs our modern perception of him to an inordinate degree. The final narrative is the result of two forces: Hieronymus’s suppression of Antipater’s significance and Diodorus’ desire to produce a captivating history. Diodorus produced an erudite and stimulating chronicle populated by characters who exemplified heroic and moral greatness. His version significantly improved upon that of Hieronymus which was, according to Dionysius, a laborious and uninspiring read.21 Diodorus’ needed the leader of the Athenian revolt to be distinguished beyond all others; thus, he accepted an account that elevated Leosthenes’ heroism and marginalised Antipater. Hieronymus achieved this effect by emphasising the Lamian siege – a choice that may have been motivated by his desire to draw attention to Antipater’s

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least successful military campaign.22 For Diodorus, stretching the truth was a perfectly acceptable means to achieving his end – the production of a scintillating history. He did not hesitate to embellish, and it appears that he accepted Hieronymus’ suppression of a key military actor with little reservation. Diodorus’ Lamian narrative is the result of this editorial process. In his account, Athens and Greater Greece had nearly achieved liberation when Leosthenes bested the famed Macedonian Antipater. This iteration takes a moral tone and suggests that the Athenians suffered their loss at the hands of a higher power – Fortune.23 This lends the narrative an overwhelming sense of justice in the form of divine retribution: the Athenians failed to bear in mind the fate of Thebes, and so they were punished for their transgressions. The presence of such heavy moral criticism requires that modern historians approach the source with caution. Once Diodorus’ moral and rhetorical layer is meticulously peeled away, the core of the work, Hieronymus’ narrative, is revealed. Pausanias (1.9.8) quite explicitly states that Hieronymus was biased toward Antigonus Gonatus above all other kings: ‘Hieronymus has a reputation generally of being biased against all the kings except Antigonus, and of being unfairly partial towards him.’24 Pausanias continues and proposes that Hieronymus’ resentment of Lysimachus informed his work as well: Possibly Hieronymus had grudges against Lysimachus, particularly his destruction of the city of Cardia and the foundation in its place of Lysimachea on the isthmus of the Thracian Chersonese.25 We should consider the possibility that Hieronymus’s portrayal of Antipater originated from a similar personal grudge, borne of his experiences, and those of Eumenes, during the siege of Nora in 320. After Antigonus defeated Eumenes, the latter retreated to Nora. There, Eumenes saw nearly a sixth of his 600 men fall as he and his troops endured a brutal siege (Diod. 18.53.7). Hieronymus became involved in the summer of 319 when Eumenes sent him to Antipater to discuss terms of surrender (Diod. 18.42.1). The tenor of these negotiations likely infuenced Hieronymus’ disposition towards Antipater.26 Eumenes’ own hatred of Antipater may have informed the remainder of Hieronymus’ opinion (Plut. Eum. 5.7),27 and Hieronymus may, therefore, have emphasised the siege of Lamia to stress the worst elements of this event and Antipater himself. It is helpful to compare Diodorus’ account of the two sieges, informed as they are by Hieronymus. In particular, Diodorus minimises the desperate conditions that characterised Eumenes’ occupation of Nora (18.41.1) but underscores Antipater’s arrival at Lamia with a deep sense of urgency.28 Likewise, Diodorus highlights the weakness of Antipater’s position when he offered to negotiate while he was beset at Lamia (Diod. 18.18.3) but paints a far more complimentary image of Eumenes’ position at Nora (Diod.

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18.41.7). Perhaps Hieronymus’ personal knowledge of Eumenes’ retreat to Nora and his negotiations with Antipater served as a model for his account of Antipater in his treatment of the Lamian siege. In 320, Eumenes was running for his life after his defeat by Antigonus and the desertion of his soldiers to the same. (18.41.1). Antipater experiences a parallel betrayal when the Thessalians abandon him. Diodorus suggests that food shortages (18.42.5) were prevalent at Nora and that they led, in part, to the death of 100 men: these shortages may have inspired Hieronymus’ uncharitable interpretation of Antipater’s position at Lamia (18.13.4). These criticisms are apparent throughout the sections of Diodorus’ text in which he makes unfavourable and needlessly critical remarks about Antipater and his strategy. The most judicious assessment is that the original author of this condemnation of Antipater was Hieronymus, who was committed to diminishing Antipater’s military aptitude and his role in the war despite his history of distinguished accomplishments under Philip and Alexander.

Critical source analysis of the Lamian narrative 18. 8–14 In Diodorus’ account of the Lamian War (18.8–18), which is derived from Hieronymus, the final Macedonian victory seems to come as a surprise, a result that at first appears chiefly due to the role and influence of Fortune (Diod. 18.13.4). It seems that Hieronymus said very little that was positive about Antipater and took every opportunity to use suggestion and innuendo to detract from his victory. A more critical reading of Diodorus is required to see beneath Hieronymus’ fierce bias and judgemental language. However, it seems quite possible that Diodorus has adapted his source’s version of the narrative, manipulating the bias of Hieronymus to his own advantage, in order to emphasise the rather unexpected conclusion of the war. This is consistent with the rhetorical practice of his time and typical of the technique of declamation popular in the first century at Rome. A careful review of Diodorus can establish the bias of Hieronymus. I propose here to examine 15 instances of bias in Diodorus’ narrative of the events of the Lamian War, which can be plausibly derived from Hieronymus. All of them are examples of deliberately negative remarks about Antipater. 18.8.1 In Europe, the Rhodians drove out their Macedonian garrison and freed their city, and the Athenians began what is called the Lamian War against Antipater.

The characterisation of the conflict as a war ‘against Antipater’ πρὸς Ἀντίπατρον πόλεμον by definition portrays him in a passive role militarily and also emphasises his personal role in agitating hostilities. This is

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a unique reference to the war and does not appear in any other ancient source; it is also unique in Diodorus’ own work. The choice of words makes him appear both weak and colours the interpretation of the first half of the war.29 18.9.2 As a resource for the war they had the sum of money left by Harpalus, the story of which we told in full in the preceding Book, and likewise the mercenaries who, some eight thousand in number, had been dismissed from service by the satraps and were waiting near Taenarum in the Peloponnesus. They therefore gave secret instructions about these to Leosthenes the Athenian, ordering him at first to enrol them as if acting on his own responsibility without authority from the city, in order that Antipater, regarding Leosthenes with contempt, might be less energetic in his preparations, and the Athenians, on the other hand, might gain leisure and time for preparing some of the things necessary for the war. Accordingly Leosthenes had very quietly hired the troops mentioned above and, contrary to general belief, had secured a considerable number of men ready for action; for these men, who had campaigned throughout Asia for a long time and had taken part in many great conflicts, had become masters of warfare.

There is a complete distortion of the essential natures of the two main participants here. The commonly held belief that Leosthenes was a man whose abilities were not highly regarded is manipulated to reveal a weakness in Antipater: that he was so naïve as to be fooled into inaction by the simple ruse of putting a man of little distinction (Leosthenes) in charge of the Greek army. The implication is thus that Antipater was not very astute. This is a typical example of innuendo as well as an attempt to call into question Antipater’s judgement and vigour in preparing for the war. 18.9.5 After Leosthenes had distributed their pay to the mercenaries and had fully armed those who lacked armour, he went to Aetolia to arrange for common action. When the Aetolians listened to him gladly and gave him seven thousand soldiers, he sent to the Locrians and the Phocians and the other neighbouring peoples and urged them to assert their freedom and rid Greece of the Macedonian despotism.

The language is highly emotive. ‘Macedonian despotism’ is an obvious attack on Antipater, given that Alexander had died at this point. It should be clear from the distribution of the allies Diodorus later describes (18.11.1–3)

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that Macedonia, and Antipater in particular, were seen in a far more positive light by many poleis than this statement would suggest. The Athenian refusal to support Agis was itself the result of the lenient treatment Athens received from Macedon (Diod. 17.62.6). 18.10.5 Nevertheless, as the ambassadors made the circuit of the cities and roused them for war with their accustomed eloquence, most of the Greeks joined the alliance, some by national groups and some by cities.

Before providing a detailed list of the poleis and peoples joining the Athenian and Aetolian cause, we find the grandiose and completely unsupported claim that ‘most of the Greeks joined the alliance’. Certainly, this overstatement is designed to make the list that follows appear more impressive and to disguise that the alliance is, in fact, not representative of the majority of Greece. It seems that Diodorus’ source has gone to great effort to make what is essentially an Athenian and Aetolian war appear Hellenic. 18.11.1–3 Of the rest of the Greeks, some were well disposed toward the Macedonians, others remained neutral. The Aetolians in full force were the first to join the alliance, as has been said, and after them all the Thessalians except those from Pelinnaeum, the Oetaeans except the inhabitants of Heraclea, the Achaeans of Phthiotis except the people of Thebae, the Melians except those of Lamia, then in succession all the Dorians, the Locrians, and the Phocians, also the Aenianians, the Alyzaeans, and the Dolopians, and in addition the Athamanians, the Leucadians, and those of the Molossians who were subject to Aryptaeus. The last named, after making a hollow alliance, later treacherously co-operated with the Macedonians. A few of the Illyrians and of the Thracians joined the alliance because of their hatred of the Macedonians. Next, the Carystians from Euboea undertook a share in the war, and finally, of the peoples of the Peloponnesus, the Argives, the Sicyonians, the Eleans, the Messenians, and those who dwell on Actê. Now those of the Greeks who joined the alliance were as I have listed them. Athens sent citizen soldiers to Leosthenes as reinforcements, five thousand foot and five hundred horse, and also two thousand mercenaries. These were to go through Boeotia, but it happened that the Boeotians were hostile to the Athenians for some such reason as the following. After Alexander had razed Thebes, he had given the land to the neighbouring Boeotians. They, having portioned out the property of the unfortunate people, were receiving a large income from the land. Therefore, since they knew that the Athenians, if they were successful in the war, would restore both fatherland and fields to the Thebans, they were inclined toward the Macedonians.

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The description of the distribution of the allies is an opportunity Hieronymus uses to good effect to slander Antipater. In contrast to what appears to be one of Leosthenes’ greatest qualities – his broad personal appeal and ability to forge a pan-Hellenic alliance – the narrative is constructed to highlight Antipater’s deficiency in this regard. The verb ἀποκλίνω ‘turn away’ with the often-implied additional sense of ‘to something worse’ characterises Antipater’s allies in a negative way. It taints his ability to acquire allies by the slight pejorative sense of the verb. The description goes further to suggest that any Greeks who did side with Antipater were, in fact, neutral, when their lack of support should be seen as pro-Macedonian in this instance. Again, we could hardly consider the Athenian absenteeism from Agis’ revolt an act of neutrality. When it is clear that Antipater has been successful in enticing an ally to his cause, even one as unlikely as Aryptaeus/Arybbas,30 there is every evidence of the insidious hand of Hieronymus in Diodorus’ words (18.11.1). It seems no achievement of Antipater can be recorded untarnished. Aryptaeus is accused of making a ‘hollow alliance’ ὕπουλον συμμαχίαν and being ‘treacherous’. This, of course, is designed as much to discredit Antipater as Aryptaeus himself. We find next that ‘a few Illyrians and Thracians’ joined the alliance. The fact that they are described as being ‘a few’ is no hindrance to the author’s bias. He makes a special mention of their ‘hatred of the Macedonians’. So, even when, as here, the majority of the Illyrians and Thracians do not join the fight against Antipater, Hieronymus takes the opportunity to make Antipater appear to be disliked. We would expect the Illyrians and the Thracians to join the alliance. Thus, what should be a positive remark about Antipater by an unbiased source (that Antipater managed to secure the cooperation of the majority of two of Macedon’s habitually bitter enemies to limit the scope of a potential Hellenic revolt) is twisted into this critical remark. 18.11.5 While the Boeotians were in camp near Plataea, Leosthenes, taking part of his own forces, came into Boeotia. Drawing up his own men along with the Athenians against the inhabitants, he defeated the latter in battle and, after erecting a trophy, hurried back to Thermopylae. For there, where he had spent some time in occupying the passes in advance of the enemy, he intended to meet the Macedonian forces.

Much is made here of Leosthenes’ battle in Boeotia in an effort to exaggerate and distort the interpretation of Antipater’s arrival in Lamia. This rather meaningless battle in Boeotia is meant to serve – along with the description of his fortification and occupation of Thermopylae – as some sort of counterpoint to the description of Antipater’s army and initial movements. It seems

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Hieronymus is attempting to overshadow the main affair with Leosthenes’ minor and dubious achievement. In precisely the same way, the value of the indecisive Greek victory (18.15.4) is exaggerated within a reasonable understanding of the broader strategic context. 18.12.1 When Antipater, who had been left by Alexander as general of Europe, heard of the death of the king in Babylon and of the distribution of the satrapies, he sent into Cilicia to Craterus, asking him to come to his aid as soon as possible (for the latter, having been previously dispatched to Cilicia, was going to bring back to Macedonia the Macedonians who had been mustered out of service, being more than ten thousand in number). He also sent to Philotas, who had received Hellespontine Phrygia as his satrapy, asking him likewise for aid and promising to give him one of his own daughters in marriage.

The language here is designed to make Antipater appear desperate, ‘asking him [Craterus] to come to his aid as soon as possible’. This request, however, precedes his knowledge of the Athenian-led revolt and in no way suggests that he was being forced to take action by the Athenians, although the deliberate intent to draw this connection for the reader is surely on display. 18.12.2–3 As soon, however, as he learned of the movement concerted against him by the Greeks, he left Sippas as general of Macedonia, giving him a sufficient army and bidding him enlist as many men as possible, while he himself, taking thirteen thousand Macedonians and six hundred horsemen (for Macedonia was short of citizen soldiers because of the number of those who had been sent to Asia as replacements for the army), set out from Macedonia to Thessaly, accompanied by the entire fleet which Alexander had sent to convoy a sum of money from the royal treasury to Macedonia, being in all one hundred and ten triremes. At first the Thessalians were allies of Antipater and sent out to him many good horsemen; but later, won over by the Athenians, they rode off to Leosthenes and, arrayed with the Athenians, fought for the liberty of the Greeks.

The description of Antipater’s army is in stark contrast to the praise Leosthenes and his army received (cf. 18.9.2–4). Here it is by omission that Hieronymus attacks Antipater and understates the quality of the army with which he takes the field. Missing is the hyperbole that accompanied the description of Leosthenes’ forces. Antipater’s army appears rather

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unremarkable. The language may well reflect Hieronymus’ service with Eumenes at Gabiene and may be adapted from reference to the Argyraspides.31 It appears that Hieronymus has borrowed some of the language he uses to exaggerate the Athenian strength from his own experience, just as he may have allowed his experience at Nora to influence his depiction of Antipater’s position at Lamia. The departure of the Thessalian cavalry has been exploited to make Antipater appear unable to maintain his coalition. The implication here is that Antipater was unable to build an alliance: it is used deliberately as a cynical attempt to cast doubt on his leadership and to contrast him with the supposedly dynamic Leosthenes. However, a more careful analysis of strategy is in order. If Antipater had made directly for Thessaly and Lamia with the intention of occupying the city fortress (and had anticipated a siege by the Athenians and their allies), then what benefit would cavalry have been to him? His own force disposition confirms his intention, as it is recorded that he left with 13,000 infantry and 600 horsemen (Diod. 18.12.2). This was foremost an infantry army moving south with a small flanking cavalry detachment, with the sole intention of occupying a prepared and fortified position at Lamia. He had no intention, at this point, of fighting in the open, and this was an army purposely assembled to withstand a siege. The addition of Thessalian cavalry would only have burdened his resources and threatened his ability to survive the siege, while providing him with little tactical force-multiplying effect. Hieronymus’ attempt to criticise Antipater does not stand up under the weight of the evidence. The use of emotive propaganda (‘fought for the liberty of the Greeks’) is designed to distract the reader from the reality of the situation. After Lamia, the Greek strategy hinged on exploiting the supposed advantage the Thessalian cavalry represented (Diod. 18.15.2–3, 17.2). They were initially successful against Leonnatus, but after his death were immediately rendered useless by the manoeuvre of the Macedonian phalanx (Diod. 18.15.4). Antipater continued to exploit the inability of the Greek alliance to cooperate and easily negated any apparent value of the Thessalian cavalry (Diod. 18.15.6–7). At Crannon, Antipater easily had the better of the Thessalians (Diod. 18.17.3–6). 18.12.4 Now that this great force had been added to the Athenians, the Greeks, who far outnumbered the Macedonians, were successful. Antipater was defeated in battle, and subsequently, since he neither dared to engage in battle nor was able to return in safety to Macedonia, he took refuge in Lamia. He kept his troops in this city and strengthened its walls, besides

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preparing arms, engines, and food, while anxiously waiting for his allies from Asia.

Here is perhaps the most damning example of Hieronymus’ distortion of the events. Hieronymus is pushing the bounds of credibility here. All the evidence we have considered suggests he has completely misrepresented the relative positions in the war. If Antipater was really seeking ‘refuge in Lamia’ and was ‘defeated in battle’ and neither ‘dared to engage in battle nor was able to return in safety to Macedonia’, why then does Leosthenes immediately fortify a camp with a deep ditch upon his arrival (18.13.1)? Logic dictates this action would be unnecessary if he were faced with an enemy, as he allegedly was, who did not dare to fight. This is not an attempt to circumvallate Antipater. Diodorus is explicit that this takes place much later (18.13.3), only after Leosthenes has been unsuccessful in every attempt to take the city. Leosthenes is adopting a defensive stance in the face of a supposedly defeated army. We must accept either alternative: that Leosthenes is so naïve that he has failed to appreciate that he is in the more powerful position or, more reasonably, that Antipater is not beaten and weakened, and that Leosthenes wished to protect himself from a very dangerous Antipater. Either alternative does not flatter the Athenian and demands that we recognise Hieronymus’ deliberate attempt to confuse the situation. Of the two, Antipater, within the fortified walls of Lamia, with weapons and food (18.12.4, 13.2) is in the far superior position. 18.13.1 Leosthenes, when he had come near Lamia with all his forces, fortified a camp with a deep ditch and a palisade. At first he would draw up his forces, approach the city, and challenge the Macedonians to battle; then, as the latter did not dare risk an encounter, he made daily attacks on the walls with relays of soldiers.

The narrative that focuses on the siege reveals much of Hieronymus’ effort to assign as much responsibility as possible to Fate for Antipater’s victory and to distract the reader from the brilliance of his strategy. Again at 18.13.1, Antipater is described in unflattering terms: ‘the latter [Antipater] did not dare risk an encounter’. Here, his strategic caution is portrayed as cowardice. Through specious reasoning, the assumption is that his refusal to fight implies weakness. Compare this description of motivation with the far more positive and apologetic description of the Greek refusal to fight later in the war (Diod. 18.15.7). Antipater’s refusal is due to the fear that results from a weak position, while the caution of Antiphilus credits his sophistication.

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18.13.2 As the Macedonians defended themselves stoutly, many of the Greeks who pushed on rashly were killed; for the besieged, since there was a considerable force in the city and an abundance of all sorts of missiles, and the wall, moreover, had been constructed at great expense, easily had the better of the fighting.

The Greek casualties are the result of their rash charges προπετῶς, and this subtle turn of phrase detracts again from the quality of Antipater’s defensive posture. The implication is that the enthusiasm of the Greeks and their fervour to free their homeland lead them to waste their lives rashly. It is as a result of their recklessness and is here used to minimise the force of the preceding statement (‘the Macedonians defended themselves stoutly’) that the Greeks are killed. Hieronymus cannot completely fabricate his account or it would have lost any claim to seriousness and believability. He follows a positive remark, in this case, of the Macedonian fighting (still notably defensive, however) with a remark intended to disarm its potency. This again demonstrates his ongoing attempts to obscure the agency of Antipater. 18.13.3 Leosthenes, giving up hope of capturing the city by storm, shut off all the supplies that were going into it, thinking that he would easily reduce by hunger the forces besieged in the city. He also built a wall and dug a deep, wide ditch, thereby cutting off all escape for the beleaguered troops.

Although it is clear that Antipater and his men are faring extremely well: ‘the Macedonians defended themselves stoutly’ (18.13.2) and that ‘they easily had the better of the fighting’ (18.13.2), Hieronymus continues to try and force his interpretation on historical truth and neutralise any statement that concedes that there was a Macedonian success. As mentioned earlier, where he attributes the Athenian casualties to their zealous charges in order to overshadow the admittedly ‘stout’ defence of Antipater’s men, here he likewise follows praise with misleading criticism. Although Antipater’s  forces  are described as ‘easily’ having ‘the better of the fighting’, Leosthenes’ efforts are described in an almost comically positive manner: thinking he [Leosthenes] would easily reduce by hunger the forces in the city. He also built a wall and dug a deep, wide ditch, thereby cutting off all escape for the beleaguered [πολιορκουμένους] troops.

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This is certainly an exaggeration. Hieronymus’ bias here is striking. There is no evidence that Antipater and his men were suffering privation. As the stated purpose of the ditch was to cut off supplies – the obvious implication being that Lamia remained well supplied during Leosthenes’ early efforts – the additional statement (‘thereby cutting off all escape’) must refect the partiality of Hieronymus. Hieronymus has inserted this additional purpose to imply that Antipater and his men wanted to fee the city when we have no convincing evidence to suggest this to be true. Hieronymus refers to the Macedonians within the city as ‘besieged’ πολιορκούμενοι before the construction of this ditch. This is certainly pushing the limits of the language in order to characterise Antipater as vulnerable. Even when this ditch, designed as it was to intercede supplies, was constructed, the affair was hardly a siege by the standards of the day. 18.13.4 Our best evidence regarding Leosthenes’ shift in tactical focus is the immediate withdrawal of the Aetolians following the construction of this ditch. Of course, an effort is made to lessen the dire implications that accompany their departure. Regardless, Diodorus preserves this statement: Antipater and his men, however, were nearly exhausted and the city was in danger of being taken because of the anticipated famine when chance gave the Macedonians an unexpected turn of good fortune. Indeed, the use of παράδοξον (unexpected) provokes the reader to make a comparison at this moment with Leosthenes’ paradoxically great force described earlier. We see again that Diodorus’ narrative is layered for rhetorical effect. While on the surface he allows Hieronymus’ heavily biased narrative to develop as his reader expects, he has created a structural subtext that challenges and calls into question the inherent assumptions about the war and its major participants. He allows Hieronymus’ narrative to function as the adversary to his structured rhetorical dismissal of the major theses of this narrative: Leosthenes ‘and Greek superiority and success and the Hellenic nature of the war’. 18.13.5 For when Antipater made an attack on the men who were digging the moat and a struggle ensued, Leosthenes, coming to aid his men, was struck on the head by a stone and at once fell and was carried to camp in a swoon. On the third day he died and was buried with the honours of a hero because of the glory he had gained in war. The Athenian people caused the funeral oration to be delivered by Hypereides, foremost of

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At the moment, Leosthenes took action that posed a genuine threat to Antipater, and he and his forces promptly left the safety of the city and killed Leosthenes. If they were indeed so weak and dared not to fight when they arrived and, according to this narrative, were on the point of starvation and in a worse position than at the beginning of the siege, how is it that they ‘dared’ to leave Lamia and kill Leosthenes? We should conclude that, despite the desperate attempt to convince us otherwise, Antipater and his men were in no danger at all. The next we hear of Lamia (18.15.1) where the Greeks have abandoned their efforts. It is to this shift in the narrative setting that we now turn to conclude Diodorus’ own purpose in the narrative. Diodorus uses his digression in 18.14 to draw attention to the analysis in which he wants the reader to engage. In discussing Lysimachus in Thrace (18.14.2–4), he has the following account: Lysimachus, when he entered the Thracian region and found that the king of that country, Seuthes, had taken the field with twenty thousand infantry and eight thousand cavalry, was not frightened by the size of the army. And although he had in all no more than four thousand foot soldiers and only two thousand horsemen, he joined battle with the barbarians. In truth, he was superior to them in the quality of his troops though inferior in numbers, and the battle was a stubborn one. After losing many of his own men but killing many times that number, he returned to his camp with but a doubtful claim to victory. Therefore for the moment the forces of both sides withdrew from the locality and busied themselves with greater preparations for the final conflict. The use of the digression here emphasises the thematic argument of the narrative that has reached its climax with the death of Leosthenes at the siege of Lamia. Stated here explicitly is the thesis previously only hinted at through Diodorus’ subtle rhetorical construction. Lysimachus’ lack of fear compels us to readdress, in light of his victory, Antipater’s reluctance to fght. We are reminded that an army superior in terms of quality need not fear a numerically larger opponent. However, the digression also draws attention to the doubtful nature of some victories and the importance of recognising victory and defeat in terms of the ultimate outcome. In this way, the digression summarises the Lamian narrative to this point and anticipates the remainder.

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Leosthenes’ apparent victories – uncertain in the initial phase of the war – will not be suffcient to sustain the Greeks in the fnal confict. Notably, Diodorus does not revisit this matter with Seuthes. The digression has fulfilled its intended narrative purpose: to emphasise that which has come before and to again seed the reader’s imagination to understand that which will come. Diodorus is not as concerned with the historical details of Seuthes but rather the power of the affair to illuminate the thematic revelation of his main narrative to this point. This, then, is where Diodorus’ digression leads us. We can challenge the superficial treatment of his source Hieronymus, and re-evaluate the Lamian narrative to discover that he has been leading us to the conclusion, which he supports along the way, that appearances can deceive, and in this case, the apparent victories of the Greeks are hollow. He has drawn us into an analysis of paradox through his language (18.9.4; 13.4), and we see that results, like motives, can disguise more profound meanings beneath their first appearance. It would seem that Diodorus has manipulated his sources with far more acumen than previously realised, and although Hieronymus has done his best to discredit his patron’s rival, Antipater’s competence and military skill is easily demonstrated by a brief review of his career before the Lamian War. The war for the common freedom of the Greeks lost for 500 casualties. Surely, Polybius is not mistaking Antipater’s masterstroke and victory at Lamia for this insipid battle.

Conclusion In any final analysis of the Lamian War, Antipater emerged from a conflict in which he apparently escaped by the narrowest of margins with an army three times the size of the original one. He had almost no casualties to speak of, and one of his key rivals, Leonnatus, was conveniently killed by the Greeks. Craterus, another rival, was neutralised and both their armies were under his control. The Greek states were divided, defeated, and leaderless. He had dealt with each city–state on an individual basis in the peace settlement, which had severely undercut the pan-Hellenic rhetoric that justified the war. Antipater, for instance, had made easy terms with the Thessalians (Diod. 18.17.7; cf. Plut. Mor. 846e) and installed sympathetic oligarchies in the Peloponnese with city garrisons (Diod. 18.18.8, 55.2, 57.1, 69.3). The dispatch of Phocion and Demades from Athens to make peace with Antipater demonstrates Antipater allowed a faction at Athens to gain prominence.32 This was probably what the anti-Macedonian faction at Athens had envisioned for themselves: a negotiated settlement that would see them put in power by Antipater. This was why they wanted to escalate the war to involve as much of Greece as possible since they would to force Antipater to turn control of Athens over to them in order to stabilise the region. With Athens

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settled, Antipater concentrated on pacifying the Aetolians (Diod. 18.25–5). All of these policies were characteristic of Antipater’s strategy of separating opponents and coming to peace with each one in turn. Thus, Antipater quickly settled with the Aetolians when he was faced with new threats from the East.33 He himself was possibly in the strongest position of all the Diadochoi in the contest for control of Alexander’s empire. Justin (13.6.5–6) confirms that Antipater was adept at manipulating affairs after Alexander’s death to his best interest and that his political actions were often misunderstood by his opponents. This was a comprehensive victory for Antipater. This study was attempted to examine the Lamian War by taking into account the fact that the main surviving account in Diodorus is the derivative product of a severely biased source, Hieronymus of Cardia. To change the perspective, we have examined the beginning of the Lamian War, in which Antipater, having isolated Athens and Aetolia politically through the Exiles’ Decree, occupied the fortress city of Lamia and forced the Greeks into a hopeless and ruinous siege. Having killed the ineffective Athenian general Leosthenes in battle, Antipater, reinforced by the armies of Leonnatus and Craterus, easily defeated the Athenian Antiphilus at Crannon and curtailed Athenian democracy. It is certain that beneath Diodorus’ account, enough evidence remains uncorrupted so we can build up a more realistic and useful picture of Antipater and the Lamian War. It is important to see the broader ambitions of Antipater at work in this war and his political position after the death of Alexander.

Notes 1 E. Schwartz, RE 5.1 (1903), s.v. ‘Diodorus’, 663–704; R. H. Drews, ‘Historiographical Objectives and Procedures of Diodorus Siculus’ (PhD dissertation, Johns Hopkins University, 1960); and R. H. Drews, ‘Diodorus and His Sources’, American Journal of Philology 81 (1962): 383–92. All translations of Diodorus Siculus are drawn from: Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, Volume IX: Books 18–19.65 trans. Russel M. Geer. Loeb Classical Library 377 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press), 1947. 2 Schwartz, 684–85; R. H. Simpson, ‘Abbreviation of Hieronymus in Diodorus’, American Journal of Philology 80, no. 4 (1959): 370–79; I. L. Merkur, ‘Diodorus Siculus and Hieronymus of Cardia’, Ancient History Bulletin 2, no. 4 (1988): 90–93; J. Seibert, Das Zeitalter der Diadochen (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1983), 27–36; and J. Hornblower, Hieronymus of Cardia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981), 18–39. 3 K. J. Beloch, Griechische Geschichte, Vol. 4, Part 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 4–5. 4 Merkur, 90–93 and Hornblower, 62–63. 5 Hornblower, 18–75; P. Goukowsky, Diodore de Sicile, Bibliothèque historique, Collection des universités de France, Tome XIII, Livre XVIII (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1978), xx–xxiv; K. Meister,Die griechische Geschichtsschreibung,Von den Anfängen bis zum Ende des Hellenismus (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhamer, 1990), 124– 26; A. B. Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander: Politics, Warfare, and Propaganda

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9

10 11

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under the Successors (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 26–27; and R. A. Hadley, ‘A Possible Lost Source for the Career of Eumenes of Kardia’, Historia 50, no. 1 (2001): 3–33. Hadley argues that Diodorus also used a panegyrical life of Eumenes. See R. L. Fox, ‘King Ptolemy: Centre and Periphery’, in East and West in the World Empire of Alexander, eds. Pat Wheatley and Elizabeth Baynham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 167–68. Hornblower, 49–62. F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Ieronimo di Cardia e la storia dei Diadochi’, Invigilata Lucernis 3/4 (1981–82): 13–26 and F. Landucci Gattinoni, Diodoro Siculo: Biblioteca storica: libro XVIII: commento storico, Storia, Ricerche (Milan: V & P, 2008), xii–xxiv. This argument is based on the contention that various passages in Diodorus that are critical of Antigonus Monophthalmus could not have been written by Hieronymus. However, it is perfectly possible that Hieronymus made minor criticisms of Antigonus Monophthalmus under Gonatas, particularly when the methods and policies of the grandfather and grandson were different. See Hornblower, 170–71 and T. S. Brown, ‘Hieronymus of Cardia’, American Historical Review 52, no. 4 (1947): 695: In reading accounts derived from Hieronymus, it should always be kept in mind that he wrote in defense of a policy formulated by a ruling king, the results of which could not yet be seen; and that he uses that policy as a standard by reference to which he approves or condemns the previous acts of the Diadochoi. Perhaps in this way some of the passages in Diodorus Siculus, for which a ‘Ptolemaic’ source has been suggested, may find a simpler explanation in Hieronymus’ natural sympathy with a policy that closely resembled that of his own royal patron. See also Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander, 25n66. N. G. L. Hammond has argued that Diodorus used Diyllus of Athens (FGrH 73) in Books 18 to 20 for affairs in Greece, in addition to Hieronymus. See N. G. L. Hammond and F. W. Walbank, A History of Macedonia, Volume 3, 336–167 B.C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), 98 and N. G. L. Hammond, Three Historians of Alexander the Great: The So-Called Vulgate Authors, Diodorus, Justin, and Curtius (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 73–74. A similar view was taken by R. Schubert, Die Quellen zur Geschichte der Diadochenzeit (Leipzig: 1914), 243–45 and W. Schwahn, ‘Diyllos’, Philologus 86 (1931): 145–68, but this has not won general acceptance either. The idea that Diodorus used an ‘Athenian’ source in Book 18 was also held by P. Treves, ‘Per la critica e l’analisi del libro XVI di Diodoro’, Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa 2, no. 6 (1937): 255–79. The view that Diodorus consulted an Athenian source for Book 18 is being examined by Brian Sheridan. I would like to express my gratitude to Mr Sheridan for discussing his views on this matter by personal correspondence. On lost historians who covered the Lamian War, see Appendix A below. See Hornblower, 263–81 with the criticisms of A. B. Bosworth, Review of Hieronymus of Cardia, by J. Hornblower, The Journal of Hellenic Studies 103 (1983): 209–10. On Hieronymus’ bias, see J. Roisman, Alexander’s Veterans and the Early Wars of the Successors (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2012), 9–30. For Hieronymus’ use of Athenian records, see K. Rosen, ‘Political Documents in Hieronymus of Cardia (323–302 bc)’, Acta Classica 10 (1967): 41–94, esp. pp. 44–45, 54–60, 73–76, 86–89 and 92–93. Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander, 14.

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13 F. W. Walbank, A Historical Commentary on Polybius I–III, Vol. 2 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), 167. 14 Antipater’s war against Agis III, nearly a decade earlier, may have informed his conservative strategy here. In the single battle at Megalopolis, the Macedonian casualty rate was 8.8 per cent. By contrast, following the siege at Lamia at the Battle of Crannon in 322, the Macedonians suffered a 0.3 per cent casualty rate. Dayton (2003 [2007]) 82 demonstrates that in battles between Greek armies from 357 to 197 this was a particularly low-sustained casualty rate. 15 POxy 1800, Fr. 8, Col. ii, lines 22–33. The fragment appears partially to preserve a biography of Hyperides. Cf. Plut., X Orat. Vit. 849f, Phoc. 23. Here the account of his death in Macedonia is preserved. Cf. Plut., X Orat. Vit. 849b. But, critically, it is the events at Lamia (l.23), and not Crannon, that are the cause of his death. The tradition of the demand for the surrender of the ten orators is confirmed in the Suda (s.v. Ἀντίπατρος, A 2704). However, the Suda mistakenly lists 11 names. See Cooper (1993), 130–35. 16 Schwartz, 663–704; Drews, ‘Historiographical Objectives’; and Drews, ‘Diodorus and His Sources’. 17 Schwartz, 684–85; Simpson, 370–79; Merkur, 90–93; Seibert, 27–36; and Hornblower, 18–39. Some have argued that Diodorus used an intermediary source, which Beloch thought was Agatharchides of Cnidus (pp. 4–5), but see Merkur (pp.  90–93) and Hornblower (pp.  62–63) for a convincing refutation of this thesis. 18 See C. Muntz, Diodorus Siculus and the World of the Late Roman Republic (Oxford: Oxford Press, 2017). 19 Lucian, Macrobii, 22; Plut., Demetr. 39; Diod. Sic. 18.42.1, 50.4, 19.44.3, 100.1–3 09; and Dion. Halic., Antiq. Rom. 1.6.1, 7.1. 20 Plut., Demetr. 35–7 and Pyrrh. 6–8. 21 Dion. Halic., De compositione verborum 4.108–112 = FGrH 154, T 12: τοιγάρτοι τοιαύτας συντάξεις κατέλιπον οἵας οὐδεὶς ὑπομένει μέχρι κορωνίδος διελθεῖν, Φύλαρχον λέγω καὶ Δοῦριν καὶ ∏ολύβιον καὶ Ψάωνα καὶ τὸν Καλλατιανὸν Δημήτριον Ἱερώνυμόν τε καὶ Ἀντίγονον καὶ Ἡρακλείδην καὶ Ἡγησιάνακτα καὶ ἄλλους μυρίους. Not only Hieronymus, but also Duris of Samos, another important source for Diodorus, is criticised for his inaccessible style. Polybius, an important source for his Roman material, is similarly critiqued. See Kunz (1935) 73–82 and K. Sacks, Diodorus Siculus and the First Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 9–11. This may suggest the possibility that Diodorus’ work was conceived in response to a growing public dissatisfaction with the genre of historical literature as a whole. Perhaps the growing influence of an oral literary culture, popularised by the rhetorical influences of Greek education at Rome, began to create the demand for a more didactic and moral tone in historical writing. For a discussion of Greek education on the development of literature and rhetoric at Rome, see E. J. Kenney (ed.), Cambridge History of Classical Literature, Vol. 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 5–10. 22 Although the Lamian War was certainly a crucial event in the history of Athens, Dexippus’ decision to avoid characterising the war as a Hellenic struggle for freedom forces us to call into question Hieronymus’ motives. Where Diodorus may have later found the perfect canvas for moral rhetoric, Hieronymus certainly exploited the war in order to best slander Antipater. See G. Martin, ‘Antipater After the Lamian War: New Readings in Vat. Gr. 73 (Dexippus Fr. 33)’, Classical Quarterly 55, no. 1 (2005): 301–5.

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23 See Sacks, 36–41 and 132–37 for a discussion of the role of Fortune in the Bibliotheke and the attempts of scholars to definitively link Diodorus’ narrative use of tuvch with a particular school of philosophy. 24 See also Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Ieronimo di Cardia’ and S. Panichi, ‘Ieronimo di Cardia, Alessandro e gli Antigonidi’, Studi ellenistici 13 (2001): 155–66. 25 Plutarch notes (Demetr. 20; 25; 31; 44) Lysimachus’ hatred of Demetrius. Lysimachus attempted to procure the death of Demetrius in 284 after he had been captured by Seleucus (Plut., Demetr. 51 and Diod. 21.20.1–2). We should assume that this would exacerbate Hieronymus’ hostility and bias. H. Hauben illustrates that Demetrius’ relationships with his contemporaries were frequently strained and dominated by rivalry and jealousy: ‘Royal Toast in 302 B.C.’, Ancient Society 5 (1974): 105–19. 26 E. M. Anson, Eumenes of Cardia: A Greek among Macedonians (Boston and Leiden: Brill, 2004), 134–35. Anson argues that Hieronymus never reached Antipater but was probably captured by Antigonus after he left Nora. At Diod. 18.50.4, Hieronymus is found in the entourage of Antigonus after the death of Antipater. Nevertheless, being sent to Antipater to seek terms would surely have cemented his resentment of Antipater. On Diodorus’ narrative of the events at Nora, Eumenes, and the mutability of Fate, see R. A. Hadley, ‘Diodoros 18.60.1–3: A Case of Remodelled Source Materials’, Ancient History Bulletin 10, no. 3–4 (1996): 140–41. Hadley similarly advances the thesis that given the opportunity for moralising, the work may represent Diodorus’ own voice more than that of his source. Diodorus notes also that these negotiations were referred to Antipater, and it may also be the case that Diodorus’ frequent reference to Fortune in reference to Nora and Eumenes (18.41.7, 42.1, 53.1, 53.3, 53.7) is designed to provoke the comparison by the reader. 27 The statement of Justin (14.2.4) that Antipater did in fact send aid to Eumenes is no doubt an error: Anson. 134n62. 28 Compare the use of ὃ προσηγορεύετο Νῶρα (18.41.1–2) with κατέφυγεν εἰς πόλιν Λάμιαν (Diod. 18.12.4). 29 See also Justin (12.5.8). 30 The Aryptaeus of Diod. 18.11.1 is widely identified with Arybbas, the king of Epirus driven out by Philip II. See F. Reuss, ‘König Arybbas von Epeiros’, Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 36 (1881):168–74; Goukowsky, 19, with apparatus; and Hammond and Walbank, A History of Macedonia, 119. 31 Cf. Diod. 19.41.1–2; Plut., Eum. 16.4; and Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander, 151. 32 Diod. 18.18; Plut., Phoc. 26; Paus. 7.10.4; Nep. Phocion 2. Demades and Phocion were the perfect ambassadors. Demades was self-interested and notoriously corrupt (Diod. 18.18.2; cf. Plut., Phoc. 26.2; Suda s.v. ‘Demades’) and was probably used by Antipater to propose the motion that Demosthenes be put to death. Antipater also persecuted the anti-Macedonian faction at Athens (Arr. Succ. 1.13; Plut., Phoc. 27; Plut., DE 28–9; Plut., Mor. 849b–c; Paus. 1.8.3; 25.5). Phocion, by contrast, had credibility with the Athenians. Although he had opposed the war from the beginning, his patriotism was on full display when he defeated Micion (Plut., Phoc. 25.1–4). He had remained untainted by Harpalus’ arrival (Plut., Phoc. 21.3–4). Menyllus, a Macedonian and friend of Phocion (Plut., Phoc. 18.1), was installed as the φρούραρχος at Munychia in the peace settlement (Diod. 18.18.5; Plut., Phoc. 28.1). This Menyllus was replaced by Nicanor after Antipater’s death in 319 (Plut., Phoc. 31.1). They were both instruments of Antipater. 33 Diod. 18.25.5; cf. Arr. Succ. 1.24; and Just. 13.6.9.

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Bibliography Anson, E. M. Eumenes of Cardia: A Greek among Macedonians. Boston and Leiden: Brill, 2004. Beloch, K. J. Griechische Geschichte. Vol. 4. Part 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Bosworth, A. B. The Legacy of Alexander: Politics, Warfare, and Propaganda under the Successors. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2002. ———. ‘Review of Hieronymus of Cardia, by J. Hornblower’. The Journal of Hellenic Studies 103 (1983): 209–10. Brown, T. S. ‘Hieronymus of Cardia’. American Historical Review 52, no. 4 (1947): 684–96. Cooper, C. ‘A Note on Antipater’s Demand of Hyperides and Demosthenes’. AHB 7, no. 3/4 (1993): 130–35. Dayton, J. ‘The Athletes of War’. AJAH 2, no. 2 (2003 [2007]): 17–97. Diodorus Siculus. Library of History, Volume IX: Books 18–19.65. Translated by Russel M. Geer. Loeb Classical Library 377. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1947. Drews, R. H. ‘Diodorus and His Sources’. American Journal of Philology 81 (1962): 383–92. ———. ‘Historiographical Objectives and Procedures of Diodorus Siculus’. PhD diss., Johns Hopkins University, 1960. Fox, R. L. ‘King Ptolemy: Centre and Periphery’. In East and West in the World Empire of Alexander, edited by Pat Wheatley and Elizabeth Baynham, 167–68. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Goukowsky, P. Diodore de Sicile. Bibliothèque historique, Collection des universités de France. Tome XIII. Livre XVIII. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1978. Hadley, R. A. ‘Diodoros 18.60.1–3: A Case of Remodelled Source Materials’. Ancient History Bulletin 10, no. 3–4 (1996): 131–47. ———. ‘A Possible Lost Source for the Career of Eumenes of Kardia’. Historia 50, no. 1 (2001): 3–33. Hammond, N. G. L. Three Historians of Alexander the Great: The So-Called Vulgate Authors, Diodorus, Justin, and Curtius. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. Hammond, N. G. L. and F. W. Walbank. A History of Macedonia. Vol. 3. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988. Hauben, H. ‘A Royal Toast in 302 B.C.’. Ancient Society 5 (1974): 105–17. Hornblower, J. Hieronymus of Cardia. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981. Kenney, E. J., ed. Cambridge History of Classical Literature. Vol. 7. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. Kunz, M. ‘Zur Beurteilung der Prooemien in Diodors historischer Bibliothek’. Diss., Zurich, 1935. Landucci Gattinoni, F. Diodoro Siculo: Biblioteca storica: libro XVIII: commento storico. Storia. Ricerche. Milan: V & P, 2008. ———. ‘Ieronimo di Cardia e la storia dei Diadochi’. Invigilata Lucernis 3/4 (1981– 82): 13–26. Martin, G. ‘Antipater After the Lamian War: New Readings in Vat. Gr. 73 (Dexippus Fr. 33)’. Classical Quarterly 55, no. 1 (2005): 301–05.

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Meister, K. Die griechische Geschichtsschreibung. Von den Anfängen bis zum Ende des Hellenismus. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1990. Merkur, I. L. ‘Diodorus Siculus and Hieronymus of Cardia’. The Ancient History Bulletin 2, no. 4 (1988): 90–93. Muntz, C, Diodorus Siculus and the World of the Late Roman Republic. Oxford: Oxford Press, 2017. https://books.scholarsportal.info/en/xml/chapter?id=/ebooks/ ebooks3/oso/2017-02-28/1/9780190498726-Muntz&chapterId=acprof-9780 190498726-chapter-1. Panichi, S. ‘Ieronimo di Cardia, Alessandro e gli Antigonidi’. Studi ellenistici 13 (2001): 155–66. Reuss, F. ‘König Arybbas von Epeiros’. Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 36 (1881): 168–74. Roisman, J. Alexander’s Veterans and the Early Wars of the Successors. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2012. Rosen, K. ‘Political Documents in Hieronymus of Cardia (323–302 bc)’. Acta Classica 10 (1967): 41–94. Sacks, K. Diodorus Siculus and the First Century. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990. Schubert, R. Die Quellen zur Geschichte der Diadochenzeit. Leipzig: Dieterich’schen Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1914. Schwahn, W. ‘Diyllos’. Philologus 86 (1931): 145–68. Schwartz, E. RE 5.1 (1903), s.v. ‘Diodorus (38)’, 663–704. Seibert, J. Das Zeitalter der Diadochen. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1983. Simpson, R. H. ‘Abbreviation of Hieronymus in Diodorus’. American Journal of Philology 80, no. 4 (1959): 370–79. Treves, P. ‘Per la critica e l’analisi del libro XVI di Diodoro’. Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa 2, no. 6 (1937): 255–79. Walbank, F. W. A Historical Commentary on Polybius I–III. Vol. 2. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967.

Appendix A Lost historians who treated the Lamian War

Various theories have been put forward explaining the sources of Diodorus Siculus in Books 18 and 19 of his universal history. For convenience, I have listed here all the known fragmentary historians who wrote on the Lamian War down to the time of Diodorus. The historians can be divided into two groups: (1) those who wrote specific treatises on Diadoch history and (2) those who wrote Hellenika or universal histories. Diadoch historians (1) Nymphis of Heraclea, On Alexander and the Diadochoi FGrH 432; (2) Euphantus of Olynthus (c. 300?), Histories, FGrH 74; (3) Hieronymus of Cardia (wrote in the 260s), FGrH 154; Universal historians (1) Diyllus of Athens, Histories (written c. 300; covered the period from 370?/357–297 bc; Diyllus continued Ephorus’ universal history), FGrH 73; (2) Demochares of Athens (lived c. 350–271 bc), Histories (probably covered 323 – ? 289; written before 271/0), FGrH 75; (3) Duris of Samos (c. 350 – after 281 bc), Histories or Makedonika (covered the period 371 – ? 281 bc), FGrH 76; (4) Neanthes of Cyzicus (lived fourth to third century bc?), Hellenika (covered mythical times – ?; written 200 bc), FGrH 84; (5) Heraclides of Lembos (second century?), Histories (covered the Trojan war – third century bc?), epitome of Satyrus’ Lives, epitome of Sotion’s Diadochai, epitome of Aristotle’s Politeia, FHG 3, 167–171; (6) Agatharchides of Cnidus (fl. 145–132), History of Asia and Europe (this probably covered the ancient orient – ?169; written c. 150), FGrH 86; (7) C. Sulpicius Galba (first century bc), Histories? (covered mythical times – at least 76 bc), FGrH 92;

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(8) Timagenes of Alexandria, On Kings (mythical times – Caesar; written after 55 bc), FGrH 88; (9) Pompeius Trogus (after 10 bc; ? 6 ad), Philippic History; (10) Bion (second/first century bc?), Mousai (covered ancient orient – ?), FGrH 89.

Chapter 6

At the court of Antigonus Gonatas, the heir of two dynasties * Franca Landucci

The most famous political and cultural ‘portrait’ of Antigonus Gonatas survives in a memorable anecdote preserved in the works of Aelian where we read that the Macedonian king seeing that one of his sons, who goes unnamed, behaved himself contemptuously and severely towards his subjects, reminded him that their monarchic power was a ‘glorious form of servitude’ (ἔνδοξος δουλεία).1 This well-known aphorism seems to re-echo the theme of a ‘philanthropic’ monarchy of a Stoic nature to which, according to modern scholars,2 Gonatas wanted to refer after the ‘behavioural’ excesses of his father Demetrius so diffusely exposed in Plutarch’s biography of Poliorcetes.3 In the same line seems to fall another aphorism that Stobaeus in his Antologium4 attributes to Antigonus: in this aphorism, the king speaks about the diadem, the symbol of sovereignty and as such frequently immortalised in the iconography of rulers.5 According to Stobaeus, Antigonus thus addressed an old woman who called him blessed by fate: ‘if you knew all the troubles that clung to this rag (showing her the diadem), you would never stoop to pick it up if it lay on a dunghill’.6 If Stobaeus limits himself to few yet vivid words to emphasise Antigonus’s detachment from power, Aelian not only introduces the aforementioned aphorism with a broader reflection on the figure of the king, whom he describes as ‘popular and lenient’ and characterised by mildness and humanity,7 but also concludes the passage so as to render an even more positive, if possible, representation of Antigonus: Antigonus’s remark to his son is very mild and humane. A person who thinks otherwise seems to me not to know what makes a king or a politician, but to have lived instead under tyranny.8 In this atmosphere of rarefed composure, Antigonus emerges as the paradigm of the philosopher-king, always intent upon his duties, utterly indifferent (or even hostile) to outward forms of sovereignty and very far from the stereotype of the autocrat vested with a power ‘absolutely irresponsible’, typical of many Hellenistic monarchs, the behaviour of whom is generally

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ferociously censured by Polybius.9 Polybius arrives to affrm without mincing words that ‘it was the nature of monarchy to hate equality, and to endeavour to have everybody, or at least as many as possible, subject and obedient’.10 The target of this particularly ferce attack is above all Philip V, the grandson of Antigonus Gonatas and a dangerous antagonist of the Romans between the end of the third century bc and the beginning of the second;11 nor are Polybius’s hints at Gonatas friendlier, despite being few and rather synthetic, and always exclusively related to the history of the Achaean League before the age of Philip V.12 But, apart from the testimony of Polybius, in modern historical memory Antigonus Gonatas embodies a model of sovereignty grounded in philosophy, and this is so especially since such a characterisation is the fil rouge of the well-known monograph by W.W. Tarn which, precisely 100 years after its publication, still is the essential reference for anyone intent on approaching the reign of Antigonus II.13 The two most famous (and quoted) chapters of Tarn’s Antigonos are indeed those devoted, respectively, to the ‘teachers’ of the king and to the ‘circle of intellectuals’ gathered at the court of Pella.14 As has been justly emphasised,15 the hypothesis of the dependence of Gonatas’s political activity on a philosophical framework was considered so concrete by Tarn as to lead him to compare Antigonus II with the Emperor Marcus Aurelius,16 the philosopher–-emperor par excellence, a comparison later reproposed by scholars such as Pohlenz and Schneider.17 At the basis of Tarn’s considerations on the importance that Antigonus attributed to culture and philosophy lies the adherence to an erudite tradition, datable to the Roman Imperial and Late Ancient ages, which much insists on the cultural aspects of the biography of the king, overlooking (and often ignoring) its event-related features; this also due to the fact that this erudite tradition was largely shaped to praise the intellectuals believed of having been part of Gonatas’s circle. Tarn’s interest in this kind of literature, generally considered ‘minor’ by the moderns, was undoubtedly increased by the hopeless lack of historiographical sources worthy of such a name on the life of Gonatas who, born in 319, died in 239, at the age of 80, after reigning for over 30 years.18 In effect, apart from some concise hints in Polybius who, in the first two books of his Histories, summarises the events occurring between 264 and 220 bc – the year that he considers the true starting point of his work – the only historiographical text that ‘covers’ all the age of Antigonus II is the Epitome of the Philippic Histories compiled in the third century ad by Marcus Junianius Justinus, indeed a summary of the Philippic Histories written by Pompeius Trogus, a Roman citizen of Celtic origin, in the Augustan age. Unfortunately, the books of Diodorus Siculus’s Historical Library dedicated to the events after 302 went lost.19 Particularly relevant information on Antigonus derives from Plutarch who deals with events more or less directly related to the former in some,

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sporadic, passages of the Moralia and above all in the Lives of Demetrius, Pyrrhus and Aratus – respectively, Gonatas’s father, one of the most dangerous opponents of the early years of Gonatas’s reign and a stubborn antagonist of his last years of rule. Unlike Justinus, who is actually interested only in the event-related aspects of Antigonus’s actions, Plutarch is instead particularly intent on outlining the ‘moral’ behaviours of the king in the various phases of his life. In the Life of Demetrius, it is especially noteworthy the enhancement of Antigonus’s family background, and chiefly of his mother Phila, daughter of Antipater, whom the biographer of Chaeronea seems to consider essential to shaping a positive image of the personality of her son, in order to overshadow the negative sides of the personality of his father, Demetrius Poliorcetes. Indeed, for Plutarch, Poliorcetes is a negative paradigm, officially ‘encoded’ at the opening of the Life of Demetrius, that in the economy of the Parallel Lives tandems Mark Antony in furnishing an example of ‘deterrent lives, that is two models not to be imitated, but to beware of ’.20 In the face of the negativity of Antigonus’s paternal model, Plutarch highlights the positivity of his maternal model, thus fully aligning himself with the rest of tradition that unanimously recognises the talents of Phila,21 celebrated as a noble and virtuous woman. Indeed, Diodorus, in a passage which clearly re-echoes Duris of Samos,22 reports that Phila’s father, Antipater, the wisest among the rulers of the time, would consult her in regard to the most serious political and institutional affairs. All in all, however, the fact remains that in historiographical tradition, Phila is par excellence the daughter of Antipater, so much so that Plutarch,23 when describing Demetrius’s accession to the throne of Macedonia after he had eliminated Cassander’s heirs,24 explicitly states that the Macedonians turned in favour of Poliorcetes as he was husband to Phila and they still held in high regard the moderation of her father, the old Antipater, whose legacy could be continued by the young Antigonus, Phila’s son to Demetrius, whom the latter officially considered his heir.25 With respect to the positive hints at Antipater’s moderation, it seems to me that they should be read as praising the old-Macedonian features of Antipater’s personality that, passed on to his grandson Antigonus Gonatas, could grant him the favour of being accepted to the throne even by the most conservative Macedonians disappointed by the excesses that had been typical of Poliorcetes’s basileia.26 Given the strongly pro-Gonatas tone of these passages from Plutarch, their source, which exalts the traditional moderation of Antipater while being direly hostile to his direct heirs, that is Cassander and his sons,27 is to be identified as Hieronymus of Cardia, who, as well-known, wrote his History of the Diadochi in old age at the court of Antigonus Gonatas, by then king of Macedonia, after having faithfully served his ancestors, namely his grandfather Antigonus the One-Eyed and his father Demetrius Poliorcetes.28

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Sic stantibus rebus, it can be assumed that Hieronymus, as a wise court historian, would voice the desiderata of the king, who wanted to present himself to his subjects as the official heir to Antigonus’s clan along his father’s line, yet, presented himself along his mother’s line, as the one who, thanks to Phila’s name and fame, preserved those features of ‘Macedonianness’ typical of the generation of Philip II and certainly shared by his maternal grandfather Antipater. Among the objectives of the historiography of Hieronymus, one can thus include that of recomposing (and transcending) in the figure of Gonatas the wrenching conflict that for decades had opposed the Antipatrids to the Antigonids, in the long-lasting and often bloody clash between Cassander, son of Antipater, and Demetrius, son of Antigonus. As king of Macedonia, Antigonus II endorsed what good had been done by his grandparents’ generation, while the mistakes, excesses and crimes committed by the middle-generation family members, namely his father Demetrius and his maternal uncle Cassander, were permanently deleted. Thus, because of the propagandistic importance of his historiographical production, Hieronymus stands out as one of the leading figures of that ‘circle of intellectuals’ whose members, as pointed out by Tarn, were essential parts of Antigonos’ Macedonia, so profoundly tied to the king that, as Tarn argues, ‘we do not connect them with any other place’.29 Many are the names mentioned by Tarn in a list which to this day is still considered the canon for the reconstruction of the cultural interests of Gonatas’s court. Here, alongside a historian like Hieronymus lived poets, scholars and philosophers, whose works went lost in the wreckage of Hellenistic age literature; with a single conspicuous exception, however, that of Aratus of Soli, author of the Phaenomena, a short didactic poem in two books preserved also in several Latin translations.30 Besides a brief note in Pausanias,31 the permanence of Aratus at the court of Antigonus is reported by the late-ancient erudite tradition which, in this respect, is compact and coherent: both his entry in the Suda32 and the four Vitae prior to the Phaenomena33 agree in emphasising that Aratus stayed at Pella until his death. Most remarkably, an explicit reference to the existence of a ‘circle of intellectuals’ at the court of Antigonus is made precisely in the first Vita Arati.34 Along with the historian Hieronymus of Cardia and the poet Aratus of Soli, at least two other poets, Antagoras of Rhodes and Alexander Aetolus,35 are mentioned, who seem to have resided, at least for some time, at the court of Antigonus. The ruler’s fame as a ‘wise king’, so thoroughly reconstructed by Tarn, is however indissolubly tied to information about his friendship with some of the most important philosophers of his time which, despite being often anecdotal in nature, abounds in the Lives of the Philosophers by Diogenes Laertius, the ultimate source of a very rich, yet unfortunately lost, corpus of Hellenistic doxographic production.36 Many were the philosophers who, as documented by Diogenes, had contacts with Gonatas in various ways, regardless of their possible presence at

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Pella. About Euphant of Olynthus and Menedemus of Eretria, for example, we are told that they were somehow involved in the education of the young prince and that they remained his trusted advisors after his accession to the throne;37 as for other philosophers, such as Timon of Phlius, Arcesilaus of Pitane and Bion of Borysthenes,38 we know that they had ties with Gonatas after he became king, and we are informed about some more or less significant episodes relative to their relations with him. According to Diogenes, however, the most influential acquaintance of Antigonus’s was Zeno of Citium, the founder of the Stoic school of philosophy: indeed, whenever the king went to Athens, he would attend the lessons of the philosopher and wished to have him at his court. In this regard, Diogenes reports an exchange of correspondence between the two, in which Zeno, despite declining the king’s invitation to Pella on account of his old age, offered to send him two of his disciples – whom Diogenes himself identifies as Perseus of Citium and Philonides of Thebes – so as to meet his requests.39 Without entering the long-lasting, heatedly debated issue of the authenticity of such a correspondence,40 it is in any case manifest that the erudite tradition of the Hellenistic age, preserved to us by Diogenes, intended to emphasise the reverence and respect shown by Antigonus towards Zeno, who is said to have been granted the honour of being buried at the Kerameikos by the Athenians just at the request of the king.41 Explicit references to the importance of the bond between Antigonus and Zeno, although the latter remained physically detached from the Macedonian court, are also found in the works of Aelian, who in two different passages42 mentions Gonatas’s friendship with the founder of Stoicism, the school of philosophy to which the king inclined even after Zeno’s death. Diogenes in effect also records Antigonus’s contacts with Cleanthes, the successor to Zeno as the chief of the Stoà, and with Perseus, sent to Pella by Zeno himself, who remained at the court not only as a collaborator of the king but also as a preceptor to his son Alcyoneus.43 Thus, erudite tradition strongly insists on Antigonus’s interest in philosophy and specifically in Stoicism, an interest which would induce the king even to bear patiently the reproaches that the philosophers would address to him: in Diogenes,44 for example, Menedemus of Eretria, questioned by Gonatas on the advisability of going to a revel, is said to have urged the king not to forget his rank, while in the works of Aelian45 Zeno is reported to have harshly rebuked Antigonus for his inclination to drink. These rebukes against the king have been assumed by Tarn to derive from a tradition hostile to Gonatas, alternative to that which highlights his interest in philosophy. In my opinion, instead, the fact that the erudite tradition unanimously emphasises that the king would humbly accept the philosophers’ reproaches proves that such tradition too derives from a

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pro-Antigonus strand that portrays the king of Macedonia not as a perfect man, which would have sounded totally unrealistic, but as a man capable of restraining the most ‘barbarian’ impulses of his Macedonian origins. We are therefore confronted here with the attempt to shape the image of a very balanced ruler in which his attachment to philosophy is central while pre-existing family ties are put aside. In this way, tradition avoids, on the one hand, demonising the past, marked by the lingering memory of Poliorcetes, while prefiguring, on the other, a bright dynastic future to a monarchy then conceived and presented as a ‘glorious form of servitude’ to one’s subjects and not as autocratic and self-referential ‘tyrannical’ power. Thus, Antigonus succeeded in presenting himself not only, and not as much, as the heir of two pre-existing dynasties, the Antipatrids and the Antigonids, but rather as the founder of a new dynasty that in the ideology of the ‘philosopher-king’ had its foundations and its firmest legitimacy in the eyes of both Macedonians and Greeks. All this, of course, was in principle. In reality, it cannot be forgotten that the same Antigonus, while showing respect and reverence towards philosophy in general and towards Stoicism in particular by venerating as a master Zeno of Citium – who in Athens founded and directed his philosophical school until death, was manu militari imposing his power over the Attic city that he defeated in the so-called Chremonidean War.46 As well-known, this war, the last one between Athenians and Macedonians, was named after Chremonides, the Athenian citizen who issued the decree by which the Athenians joined the anti-Macedonian coalition promoted by the Spartan king Areus I with the explicit support of Ptolemy II Philadelphus king of Egypt.47 In the decree, which never mentions Gonatas explicitly, nothing, however, remains of the image of the ‘philosopher-king’. On the contrary, Antigonus is therein only alluded to as the ruler who, for his savagery, proved wholly unable to understand the Hellenic ideal of freedom, the protection of which the Athenians had always considered imperative.48

Notes * English translations are from Loeb Classical Library editions. 1 Aelian. VH 2.20: ὁ Ἀντίγονος οὗτος ὁρῶν τὸν υἱὸν τοῖς ὑπηκόοις χρώμενον βιαιότερόν τε καὶ θρασύτερον ‘οὐκ οἶσθα’, εἶπεν, ‘ὦ παῖ, τὴν βασιλείαν ἡμῶν ἔνδοξον εἶναι δουλείαν;’. In general, on Aelian as a historical source, see most recently L. Prandi, Memorie storiche dei Greci in Claudio Eliano (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 2005) which, on 73 and 110, recalls the aphorism attributed to Antigonus Gonatas. 2 See S. Cioccolo, ‘Enigmi dell’ἦθος: Antigono II Gonata in Plutarco e altrove’, Studi ellenistici 3 (1990): 135–90; B. Virgilio, ‘Storiografia e regalità ellenistica’, in Storiografia e regalità nel mondo greco: colloquio interdisciplinare cattedre di storia della storiografia greca e storia greca, Chieti, 17–18 gennaio 2002, ed. E. Luppino Manes, 303–30 (Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso, 2003) in particular,

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Franca Landucci 327–29 (see also Id., Lancia, diadema e porpora. Il re e la regalità ellenistica, Studi Ellenistici 14 (Pise-Rome: 2003), 67–69. On this issue, see most recently F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Politica e ideologia in età ellenistica’, Politica antica 1 (2011): 89–105, in particular 98–99. On Plutarch’s Demetrius, see most recently O. Andrei, ‘Introduzione’, in Plutarch, Vite parallele. Demetrio e Antonio, trans. and eds. O. Andrei and R. Scuderi (Milan: BUR Biblioteca Univ. Rozzoli, 1989), 35–116. On Demetrius, besides the ‘by now dated’ monograph study by C. Wehrli, Antigone et Démètrios (PhD diss., Université de Genève, 1968), several essays have been published among which, see most recently, for example, P. Wheatley, ‘Young Demetrius Poliorcetes’, AHB 13 (1999): 1–13; Id., ‘The Lifespan of Demetrius Poliorcetes’, Historia 46 (1997): 19–27; Id. ‘Three Missing Years in the Life of Demetrius the Besieger: 310–308 B.C.’, JAC 16 (2001): 9–19; J. Thonemann, ‘The Tragic King: Demetrios Poliorketes and the City of Athens’, in Imaginary Kings: Royal Images in the Ancient Near East, Greece and Rome, eds. O. Hekster and R. Fowler, 63–86 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2005); A. B. Kuhn, ‘Ritual Change during the Reign of Demetrius Poliorcetes’, in Ritual and Communication in the Graeco-Roman World, Kernos Suppléments 16, ed. E. Stavrianopoulou, 265–81 (Liège: University Press of Liège, 2006); and L. O’Sullivan, ‘“Le Roi Soleil”: Demetrius Poliorcetes and the Dawn of the Sun-King’, Antichthon 42 (2008): 78–99. On Stobaeus and his works, see G. Reydams-Schils, ed., Thinking Through Excerpts: Studies on Stobaeus (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011). On the meaning and usage of the diadem, see the by now classical reflections by R. R. R. Smith, Hellenistic Royal Portraits, Oxford Monographs on Classical Archaeology (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), 34–38. For an explicit reference to the ‘weight’ of the diadem, see another famous saying, attributed by Plutarch, Mor. (An seni respublica gerenda sit) 790 a-b, to Seleucus Nicator: the latter, according to Plutarch, would constantly repeat that ‘if people knew what a task it was merely to read and write so many letters, they would not even pick up a crown that had been thrown away’ (τὸν γοῦν Σέλευκον ἑκάστοτε λέγειν ἔφασαν, εἰ γνοῖεν οἱ πολλοὶ τὸ γράφειν μόνον ἐπιστολὰς τοσαύτας καὶ ἀναγινώσκειν ὡς ἐργῶδές ἐστιν, ἐρριμμένον οὐκ ἂν ἀνελέσθαι διάδημα). Stobaeus IV 8, 20: Ἀντίγονος πρός τινα μακαρίζουσαν αὐτὸν γραῦν ‘εἰ ᾔδεις’ ἔφη ‘ὦ μῆτερ, ὅσων κακῶν μεστόν ἐστι τουτὶ τὸ ῥάκος’ δείξας τὸ διάδημα ‘οὐκ ἂν ἐπὶ κοπρίας αὐτὸ κείμενον ἐβάστασας’. Aelian. VH II 20: Ἀντίγονόν φασι τὸν βασιλέα δημοτικὸν καὶ πρᾶον γενέσθαι. καὶ ὅτῳ μὲν σχολὴ τὰ κατ’ αὐτὸν εἰδέναι καὶ αὐτὰ ἕκαστα ἐξετάζειν ὑπὲρ τοῦ ἀνδρός, εἴσεται ἑτέρωθεν· εἰρήσεται δ’ οὖν αὐτοῦ καὶ πάνυ πρᾶον καὶ ἄτυφον ὃ μέλλω λέγειν. Ibid.: καὶ τὰ μὲν τοῦ Ἀντιγόνου πρὸς τὸν παῖδα πάνυ ἡμέρως ἔχει καὶ φιλανθρώπως· ὅτῳ δὲ οὐ δοκεῖ ταύτῃ, ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνός γε οὐ δοκεῖ μοι βασιλικὸν ἄνδρα εἰδέναι οὐδὲ πολιτικόν, τυραννικῷ δὲ συμβιῶσαι μᾶλλον. See in particular Polyb. 27.10.1–2: εἰ γάρ τις ἐπιστήσας αὐτοὺς ἤρετο μετὰ παρρησίας εἰ βούλοιντ’ ἂν εἰς ἕνα πεσεῖν τὴν τηλικαύτην ὑπεροχὴν καὶ λαβεῖν μοναρχικῆς πεῖραν ἐξουσίας, ἀνυπευθύνου κατὰ πάντα τρόπον, ταχέως ἂν αὐτοὺς ὑπολαμβάνω συννοήσαντας παλινῳδίαν ποιῆσαι καὶ μεταπεσεῖν εἰς τοὐναντίον. (If anyone had secured the attention of the multitude, and asked them frankly if they really would wish to see the supreme power in so absolute a form fall into the hands of a single man and to experience the rule of an absolutely irresponsible monarch, I fancy they would very soon have come to their senses and, changing their tune, have undergone a complete revulsion of feeling). Polybius 21.22. 8: (οἱ Ῥόδιοι ἔφασαν) [ . . . ] φύσει πᾶσαν μοναρχίαν τὸ μὲν ἴσον ἐχθαίρειν, ζητεῖν δὲ πάντας, εἰ δὲ μή γ’ ὡς πλείστους, ὑπηκόους εἶναι σφίσι καὶ πειθαρχεῖν. ([the Rhodians said that .  .  . ] every monarchy by its nature hated

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equality and strove to make all men or at least as many as possible subject and obedient to it.) For an analysis of the terminology employed by Polybius to describe tyrannical regimes, see Ed. Lévy, ‘La tyrannie et son vocabulaire chez Polybe’, Ktèma 21 (1996): 43–54. On Polybius and Philip V, see most recently M. D’Agostini, ‘Filippo V e la Storia Romana di Appiano’, Aevum 85 (2011): 99–121. It is specially noteworthy that, in tracing a brief historical account of the relations between Greeks and Macedonians, Polybius, when speaking of the early Hellenistic age, twice combines (albeit in different contexts), in a single reference with evident unappreciative tones, the names of Cassander, Demetrius and Antigonus Gonatas: see Polyb. 2.41.10: κατὰ δὲ τοὺς ὑστέρους μὲν τῶν κατ’ Ἀλέξανδρον καιρῶν [. . .] οἱ Ἕλληνες εἰς τοιαύτην διαφορὰν καὶ καχεξίαν ἐνέπεσον, καὶ μάλιστα διὰ τῶν ἐκ Μακεδονίας βασιλέων, ἐν ᾗ συνέβη πάσας τὰς πόλεις χωρισθείσας ἀφ’ αὑτῶν ἐναντίως τὸ συμφέρον ἄγειν ἀλλήλαις. ἐξ οὗ συνέπεσε τὰς μὲν ἐμφρούρους αὐτῶν γενέσθαι διά τε Δημητρίου καὶ Κασσάνδρου καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα δι’ Ἀντιγόνου τοῦ Γονατᾶ, τὰς δὲ καὶ τυραννεῖσθαι· πλείστους γὰρ δὴ μονάρχους οὗτος ἐμφυτεῦσαι δοκεῖ τοῖς Ἕλλησι (after the time of Alexander [. . .] the Greeks fell, chiefly thanks to the kings of Macedon, into such a state of discord and ill feeling that all the cities separated from the League and began to act against each others’ interests. The consequence was that some of them were garrisoned by Demetrius and Cassander and afterwards by Antigonus Gonatas, and some even had tyrants imposed on them by the latter, who planted more monarchs in Greece than any other king); 9.29.5–6: τά γε μὴν Κασσάνδρῳ καὶ Δημητρίῳ πεπραγμένα, σὺν δὲ τούτοις Ἀντιγόνῳ τῷ Γονατᾷ, τίς οὐκ οἶδε; διὰ γὰρ τὸ προσφάτως αὐτὰ γεγονέναι τελέως ἐναργῆ συμβαίνει τὴν γνῶσιν αὐτῶν ὑπάρχειν. ὧν οἱ μὲν φρουρὰς εἰσάγοντες εἰς τὰς πόλεις, οἱ δὲ τυράννους ἐμφυτεύοντες οὐδεμίαν πόλιν ἄμοιρον ἐποίησαν τοῦ τῆς δουλείας ὀνόματος (and who is ignorant of the actions of Cassander, Demetrius, and Antigonus Gonatas, all so recent that the memory of them is quite vivid? Some of them by introducing garrisons to cities and others by planting tyrannies left no city with the right to call itself unenslaved). W. W. Tarn, Antigonos Gonatas, 1913 (Reprint, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969). Totally inadequate to a thorough analysis of Antigonus II is the concise, even too concise, monograph by J. J. Gabbert, Antigonus II Gonatas. A Political Biography (London; New York: Routledge, 1997), more useful, above all, for a bibliographic update with respect to Tarn’s monumental study. See Tarn, Antigonos Gonatas, 15–36 (‘The Teachers of Antigonos’); 223–56 (‘Antigonos and His Circle’). Cioccolo, Enigmi dell’ἦθος, 136, note 4. Tarn, Antigonos Gonatas, 4: ‘Antigonos Gonatas was the one monarch before Marcus Aurelius whom philosophy could definitely claim as her own, and to whom she could and did look to translate into fact what she envisaged as theory’. M. Pohlenz, Griechische Freiheit (Heidelberg: Quelle and Meyer, 1955), 147; C. Schneider, Kulturgeschichte des Hellenismus, Vol. 2 (München: C. H. Beck, 1967), 972. References in Gabbert, Antigonus II Gonatas, 1. F. Landucci Gattinoni, L’ellenismo (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2010), 11–14. See Andrei, ‘Introduzione’, 37. On Phila, see E. Donnelly Carney, Women and Monarchy in Macedonia (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2000), 165–69; F. Landucci Gattinoni, L’arte del potere: Vita e opere di Cassandro di Macedonia. Historia: Enzelschriften 171. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2003), 58–62; W. Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age

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Franca Landucci of Alexander the Great: Prosopography of Alexander’s Empire (Oxford: WileyBlackwell, 2006), 207–08. Diod. 19.59. 3–6. On the relation Duris–Diodorus, especially on the characterisation of Antipater, see F. Landucci Gattinoni, Duride di Samo (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997), 189–204. On the conquest of the reign of Macedonia by Demetrius, see F. Landucci Gattinoni, Lisimaco di Tracia nella prospettiva del primo ellenismo (Milan: Jaca Book, 1992), 174–82. On these issues, see Landucci Gattinoni, L’arte del potere, 82–87. See Plut. Demetr. 37. 4. On Antigonus Gonatas’s wish to distance himself from the ‘theatrical excesses’ of his father, see Virgilio, Lancia, diadema e porpora, 67–68 (on Poliorcetes’s theatrality, see in particular the still fully acceptable comments by A. Mastrocinque, ‘Demetrio tragodoumenos’, Athenaeum 67 (1979): 260–76. See Landucci Gattinoni, L’arte del potere, 82–87. On Hieronymus’s partiality to Gonatas, see Paus. 1. 9.8; 13.9; on this subject, see F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Ieronimo e la storia dei Diadochi, Invigilate Lucernis 3–4 (1981–2): 13–26; in the same line of thought S. Panichi, ‘Ieronimo di Cardia, Alessandro e gli Antigonidi’, Studi ellenistici 13 (2001): 155–66. For more recent remarks on Hieronymus reaffirming what I have already expressed elsewhere, see F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Il cortigiano’, in Lo storico antico. Mestieri e figure sociali. Atti del Convegno Internazionale (Roma, 8–10 novembre 2007), Pragmeteiai 17, ed. G. Zecchini, 97–114 (Bari: Edipuglia, 2010), with ample discussion of bibliography. Tarn, Antigonos Gonatas, 225. Ample and diversified bibliography is available on Aratus and his poem: for an initial survey, see Ch. Fakas, Der hellenistische Hesiod: Arats ‘Phainomena’ und die Tradition der antiken Lehrepik (Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag, 2001); J.  Dehon, ‘Aratos et ses traducteurs latins: de la simple transposition à l’adaptation inventive’, RBPh 81 (2003): 93–115; E. Mazzotti, ‘L’Esiodo ellenistico’, QUCC 81 (2005): 135–41; and Aratus, Phaenomena, trans. and ed. A. Poochigian (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010). Paus. 1.2.3, where, about the poets living at the courts of kings, we read that ‘Antigonus, ruler of Macedonia, had (at his court) Antagoras of Rhodes and Aratus of Soli’ (συνῆσαν [. . .] Ἀντιγόνῳ Μακεδόνων ἄρχοντι Ἀνταγόρας Ῥόδιος καὶ Σολεὺς Ἄρατος). Suid. A 3745 see Aratos. On the importance of the Suda in historical and historiographical contexts, see the essays in G. Zecchini, ed., Il lessico Suda e la memoria del passato a Bisanzio. Atti della giornata di studio (Milano 29 aprile 1998) (Bari: Edipuglia, 1999). In particular on bio-bibliographical entries, with ample reference bibliography, see in the above cited volume: M. Giangiulio, ‘Storici greci di età arcaica e classica’, 89–99 and F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Storici greci da Eforo agli autori del tardo ellenismo’, 101–12. On the ‘need to interpret the entries of the Suda in the context of ancient erudition based on cataloguing practices, with particular reference first of all to the impressive work by Hesychius of Miletus, into which flows, in the Justinianean age, a complex strand originated from the Pinakes by Callimachus and that in its turn mediates this tradition with Byzantine culture culminating in the Suda’, see Giangiulio, cit., 90 and notes 2–3. Aratus, Scholia in Aratum vetera, ed. J. Martin (Stuttgart: Vieweg+Teubner Verlag, 1974), 6–21. Vita Arati, 7–8 Martin: γέγονε δὲ ὁ Ἄρατος κατὰ Ἀντίγονον τὸν τῆς Μακεδονίας βασιλέα, ὃς ἐπεκαλεῖτο Γονατᾶς. ἦν δὲ υἱὸς Δημητρίου τοῦ ∏ολιορκητοῦ καὶ γυναῖκα

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36

37

38 39

40

41

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εἶχε Φίλαν τὴν Σελεύκου καὶ Στρατονίκης θυγατέρα. δὲ φιλόλογος γενόμενος, καὶ περὶ ποιητικὴν ἐσπουδακὼς περὶ πολλοῦ ἐποιήσατο πολλοὺς μὲν καὶ ἄλλους τῶν πεπαιδευμένων ἔχειν παρ’ αὑτῷ καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸν Ἄρατον. On Antagoras, about whom bibliographic references are few and episodic in nature, see A. Lai, ‘Un aneddoto su Antagora di Rodi e l’εὔστροφον ὄμμα βοός nel proemio della “Corona” di Meleagro’, QUCC 56 (1997): 119–24. Vaster bibliography exists on Alexander Aetolus: remarkable are two works by E. Magnelli, namely the edition of his fragments (E. Magnelli, ed., Alexandri Aetoli testimonia et fragmenta, Studi e Testi 15 (Florence: Università degli Studi di Firenze, Dipartimento di Scienze dell’ Antichità ‘Girogio Pasquali’, 1999)), and a brief yet penetrating synthesis on his personality (E. Magnelli, ‘Alessandro Etolo poeta “di provincial” (o i limiti del callimachismo)’, in La letteratura ellenistica: problemi e prospettive di ricercar: atti del Colloquio internazionale, Università di Roma Tor Vergata, 29–30 aprile 1997, ed. R. Pretagostini (Rome: Quasar, 2000), 113–26). Ample bibliography is available on Diogenes Laertius: for an initial, synthetic approach, see J. Meje, ‘Diogenes Laertius and the Transmission of Greek Philosophy’, ANRW 2, no. 36.5 (1992): 3556–602 and Id., ‘Biography and Doxography: Four Crucial Questions Raised by Diogenes Laertios’, in Die griechische Biographie in hellenistischer Zeit, ed. M. Erler and S. Schorn, 431–22 (Berlin; New York: De Gruyter, 2007). For a series of accurate scientific contributions of a philosophical nature, see G. Giannantoni, ed., Diogene Laerzio storico del pensiero antico. Atti del Convegno internazionale tenutosi a Napoli e Amalfi dal 30 sett. Al 3 ott. 1985, Elenchos: rivista di studi sul penserio antico 7 (Napoli: Bibliopolis, 1986). On the ties between Antigonus and Euphant, see Diog. Laert. 2.110. On his work perì basileías, which was dedicated to Antigonus, see Virgilio, Storiografia e regalità ellenistica, 312–13 (see also Id., Lancia, diadema e porpora, 51 and 78); on ties between Antigonus and Menedemus, see 2.141–144. On Diogenes Laertius’s Life of Menedemus, see D. Knoepfler, La Vie de Ménédème d’Erétrie de Diogène Laërce, Contribution à l’histoire et à la critique du texte des Vies des philosophes (Basel: Friedrich Reinhardt Verlag, 1991). On Timon of Phlius, see Diog. Laert. 9.109–110; on Arcesilaus of Pitane, see Diog. Laert. 4.39 and 42; on Bion of Borysthenes, see Diog. Laert. 4.54. Diog. Laert. 7.6–9. On Zeno bibliography abounds; for an initial approach, see besides the recent synthesis by B. Inwood in DNP 12.2, s.v. Zenon (2) (Stuttgart, 2002), 744–48, also the several essays in Th. Scaltsas and A. S. Mason, eds., The Philosophy of Zeno: Zeno of Citium and His Legacy (Larnaca: The Municipality of Larnaca, 2002). The authenticity of these letters is a very controversial issue for modern scholars: for a status quaestionis until the first half of the twentieth century, see A. Grilli, ‘Zenone e Antigono II’, RFIC 91 (1963): 287–301, who believes in the authenticity of the letters, as also re-affirmed more recently in Id., ‘Διαστροφή in Persio’, in Festschrift für R. Muth zum 65. Geburtstag am 1. Januar 1981 dargebracht von Freunden und Kollegen, eds. P. Haendel and W. Meid (Innsbruck: Verl. der Sprachwiss., 1983), 145–49, in particular 148, note 11. Among those who consider the correspondence between Antigonus and Zeno a fictional exchange of letters: M. Isnardi Parente, ‘La politica della Stoà antica’, Sandalion 3 (1980): 67–98, in particular 70, note 10; T. Dorandi, ‘Estratti biografici su Zenone di Cizio nell’opera filodemea “Gli Stoici” (PHerc. 155 e 339)’, in La regione sotterrata dal Vesuvio, Studi e prospettive (Napoli: Bibliopolis, 1982), 443–54, in particular 449. Diog. Laert. 7.15.

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42 Aelian, VH 7.14: πολλὰ δὲ καὶ Ζήνων ὑπὲρ Ἀθηναίων ἐπολιτεύσατο πρὸς Ἀντίγονον. οὐδὲν γὰρ διοίσει εἴτε τις διὰ γνώμης ὤνησέ τινας εἴτε δι’ ὅπλων (Zeno conducted a good deal of business with Antigonus on behalf of the Athenians. It does not make any difference whether a man serves others in battle or with his good judgement); 12.25: ἀπήλαυσε [. . .] Ἀντίγονος Ζήνωνος (Antigonus gained from Zeno). 43 On Cleanthes and his Hymn to Zeus, see most recently E. Asmis, ‘Myth and Philosophy in Cleanthes’ “Hymn to Zeus”’, GRBS 47 (2007): 413–29. Bollansée, J. ‘Persaios of Kition, or the Failure of the Wise Man as General’, in Politics, Administration and Society in the Hellenistic and Roman World, ed. L. Mooren, 15–28 (Leuven: Peeters, 2000). 44 Diog. Laert. 2.127–128. 45 Aelian, VH 2.26. 46 On the so-called Chremonidean War, see most recently Ch. Habicht, ‘Athens after the Chremonidean War: Some Second Thoughts’, in The Macedonians in Athens, 322–229 B.C.: Proceedings of an International Conference held at the University of Athens, May 24–26, 2001. Edited by O. Palagia and S. V. Tracy (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2003), 533–39. 47 The so-called Decree of Chremonides (IG II2 687), our key source on the Chremonidean War, has often been debated by the moderns (specific bibliography in Cioccolo, Enigmi dell’ἦθος, 187n154, updated information in A. Primo, ‘Una tradizione filoantigonide sulla guerra cremonidea: Ieronimo di Cardia ed Eufanto di Olinto?’ Mediterraneo Antico 11 (2008): 533–39); still fundamental are the observations in F. Sartori, ‘Cremonide, un dissidio fra politica e filosofia’, in Miscellanea di studi alessandrini in memoria di Augusto Rostagni, 117–51 (Torino: Bottega d’Erasmo, 1963). 48 See in particular, IG II2 687, lines 8–13, with manifest hints at the freedom of the Greeks.

Bibliography Aratus. Phaenomena. Translated with an Introduction and Notes by A. Poochigian. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010. ———. Scholia in Aratum vetera. Edited by J. Martin. Stuttgart: Vieweg+Teubner Verlag, 1974. Asmis, E. ‘Myth and philosophy in Cleanthes’ “Hymn to Zeus”’. GRBS 47 (2007): 413–29. Bollansée, J. ‘Persaios of Kition, or the Failure of the Wise Man as General’. In Politics, Administration and Society in the Hellenistic and Roman World. Edited by L. Mooren, 15–28. Leuven: Peeters, 2000. Cioccolo, S. ‘Enigmi dell’ἦθος: Antigono II Gonata in Plutarco e altrove’. Studi ellenistici 3 (1990): 135–90. D’Agostini, M.‘Filippo V e la Storia Romana di Appiano’. Aevum 85 (2011): 99–121. Dehon, J. ‘Aratos et ses traducteurs latins: de la simple transposition à l’adaptation inventive’. RBPh 81 (2003): 93–115. Donnelly Carney, E. Women and Monarchy in Macedonia. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2000. Dorandi, T. ‘Estratti biografici su Zenone di Cizio nell’opera filodemea “Gli Stoici” (PHerc. 155 e 339)’. In La regione sotterrata dal Vesuvio. Studi e prospettive, 443–54. Napoli: Bibliopolis, 1982.

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Fakas, Ch. Der hellenistische Hesiod: Arats ‘Phainomena’ und die Tradition der antiken Lehrepik. Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag, 2001. Gabbert, J. J. Antigonus II Gonatas: A Political Biography. London; New York: Routledge, 1997. Giannantoni, G. (ed.). Diogene Laerzio storico del pensiero antico. Atti del Convegno internazionale tenutosi a Napoli e Amalfi dal 30 sett. Al 3 ott. 1985. (Elenchos: rivista di studi sul penserio antico 7). Napoli: Bibliopolis, 1986. Grilli, A. ‘Διαστροφή in Persio’. In Festschrift für R. Muth zum 65. Geburtstag am 1. Januar 1981 dargebracht von Freunden und Kollegen. Edited by P. Haendel and W. Meid. Innsbruck: Verl. der Sprachwiss., 1983. ———. ‘Zenone e Antigono II’. RFIC 91 (1963): 287–301. Habicht, Ch. ‘Athens after the Chremonidean War: Some Second Thoughts’. In The Macedonians in Athens, 322–229 B.C.: Proceedings of an International Conference held at the University of Athens, May 24–26, 2001. Edited by O. Palagia and S. V. Tracy, Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2003. Heckel, W. Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great: Prosopography of Alexander’s Empire. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006. Isnardi Parente, M. ‘La politica della Stoà antica’. Sandalion 3 (1980): 67–98. Knoepfler, D. La Vie de Ménédème d’Erétrie de Diogène Laërce. Contribution à l’histoire et à la critique du texte des Vies des philosophes. Basel: Friedrich Reinhardt Verlag, 1991. Kuhn, A. B. ‘Ritual Change during the Reign of Demetrius Poliorcetes’. In Ritual and Communication in the Graeco-Roman World. Kernos Suppléments 16. Edited by E. Stavrianopoulou, 265–81. Liège: University Press of Liège, 2006. Lai, A. ‘Un aneddoto su Antagora di Rodi e l’εὔστροφον ὄμμα βοός nel proemio della “Corona” di Meleagro’. QUCC 56 (1997): 119–24. Landucci Gattinoni, F. Duride di Samo. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997. ———. ‘Ieronimo e la storia dei Diadochi’. Invigilate Lucernis 3–4 (1981–2): 13–26. ———. ‘Il cortigiano’. In Lo storico antico. Mestieri e figure sociali. Atti del Convegno Internazionale (Roma, 8–10 novembre 2007). Pragmeteiai 17. Edited by G. Zecchini, 97–114. Bari: Edipuglia, 2010. ———. L’arte del potere: Vita e opere di Cassandro di Macedonia. Historia: Enzelschriften 171. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2003. ———. L’ellenismo. Bologna: Il Mulino, 2010. ———. Lisimaco di Tracia nella prospettiva del primo ellenismo. Milan: Jaca Book, 1992. ———. ‘Politica e ideologia in età ellenistica’. Politica antica 1 (2011): 89–105. Lévy, Ed. ‘La tyrannie et son vocabulaire chez Polybe’. Ktèma 21 (1996): 43–54. Magnelli, E. ‘Alessandro Etolo poeta “di provincial” (o i limiti del callimachismo)’. In La letteratura ellenistica: problemi e prospettive di ricercar: atti del Colloquio internazionale, Università di Roma Tor Vergata, 29–30 aprile 1997. Edited by R. Pretagostini, 113–26. Rome: Quasar, 2000. ———. (ed.). Alexandri Aetoli testimonia et fragmenta. Studi e Testi 15. Florence: Università degli Studi di Firenze, Dipartimento di Scienze dell’ Antichità ‘Girogio Pasquali’, 1999. Mastrocinque, A. ‘Demetrio tragodoumenos’. Athenaeum 67 (1979): 260–76. Mazzotti, E. ‘L’Esiodo ellenistico’. QUCC 81 (2005): 135–41.

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Meje, J. ‘Biography and Doxography: Four Crucial Questions Raised by Diogenes Laertios’. In Die griechische Biographie in hellenistischer Zeit. Edited by M. Erler and S. Schorn, 431–22. Berlin; New York: De Gruyter, 2007. ———. ‘Diogenes Laertius and the Transmission of Greek Philosophy’. ANRW 2, no. 36.5 (1992): 3556–602. O’Sullivan, L. ‘“Le Roi Soleil”: Demetrius Poliorcetes and the Dawn of the SunKing’. Antichthon 42 (2008): 78–99. Panichi, S. ‘Ieronimo di Cardia, Alessandro e gli Antigonidi’. Studi ellenistici 13 (2001): 155–66. Plutarch. Vite parallele. Demetrio e Antonio. Translated and edited by O. Andrei and R. Scuderi. Milan: BUR Biblioteca Univ. Rozzoli, 1989. Pohlenz, M. Griechische Freiheit. Heidelberg: Quelle and Meyer, 1955. Prandi, L. Memorie storiche dei Greci in Claudio Eliano. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 2005. Primo, A. ‘Una tradizione filoantigonide sulla guerra cremonidea: Ieronimo di Cardia ed Eufanto di Olinto?’ Mediterraneo Antico 11 (2008): 533–39. Reydams-Schils, G. (ed.). Thinking Through Excerpts: Studies on Stobaeus. Turnhout: Brepols, 2011. Sartori, F. ‘Cremonide, un dissidio fra politica e filosofia’. In Miscellanea di studi alessandrini in memoria di Augusto Rostagni, 117–51. Torino: Bottega d’Erasmo, 1963. Scaltsas, Th. and A. S. Mason (eds.). The Philosophy of Zeno: Zeno of Citium and His Legacy. Larnaca: The Municipality of Larnaca, 2002. Schneider, C. Kulturgeschichte des Hellenismus. Vol. 2. München: C. H. Beck, 1967. Smith, R. R. R. Hellenistic Royal Portraits. Oxford Monographs on Classical Archaeology. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989. Tarn, W. W. Antigonos Gonatas. 1913. Reprint, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969. Thonemann, J. ‘The Tragic King: Demetrios Poliorketes and the City of Athens’. In Imaginary Kings: Royal Images in the Ancient Near East, Greece and Rome. Edited by O. Hekster and R. Fowler, 63–86. Stuttgart: Steiner, 2005. Virgilio, B. Lancia, diadema e porpora. Il re e la regalità ellenistica. Studi Ellenistici 14. Pise-Rome: 2003. ———. ‘Storiografia e regalità ellenistica’. In Storiografia e regalità nel mondo greco: colloquio interdisciplinare cattedre di storia della storiografia greca e storia greca, Chieti, 17–18 gennaio 2002. Edited by E. Luppino Manes, 303–30. Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso, 2003. Wehrli, C. Antigone et Démètrios. PhD diss., Université de Genève, 1968. Wheatley, P. ‘The Lifespan of Demetrius Poliorcetes’. Historia 46 (1997): 19–27. ———. ‘Three Missing Years in the Life of Demetrius the Besieger: 310–308 B.C.’. JAC 16 (2001): 9–19. ———. ‘Young Demetrius Poliorcetes’. AHB 13 (1999): 1–13. Zecchini, G. (ed.). Il lessico Suda e la memoria del passato a Bisanzio. Atti della giornata di studio (Milano 29 aprile 1998). Bari: Edipuglia, 1999.

Chapter 7

Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? Persia and the Macedonians Sabine Müller

μέμνηται δ᾽ Ὀνησίκριτος καὶ τὸ ἐπὶ τοῦ Δαρείου τάφῳ γράμμα τόδε ‘φίλος ἦν τοῖς φίλοις: ἱππεὺς καὶ τοξότης ἄριστος ἐγενόμην: κυνηγῶν ἐκράτουν: πάντα ποιεῖν ἠδυνάμην’. Onesicritus mentions also this inscription on the tomb of Darius: ‘I was a friend to my friends, I was the first of horsemen and archers, I excelled as hunter, I could do everything’.1

Onesicritus, erudite participant of the Persian campaign,2 is the only Alexander historiographer mentioning Darius I’s tomb at Naqsh-e Rostam explicitly. Diodorus just describes in general ‘the so-called royal hill in which were the graves of the kings’.3 In scholarship, too, Onesicritus’ information did not receive much attention.4 This is either because he is often disregarded as a storyteller or because the surviving fragments of his work focus on the Indian campaign, not on the Persian heartland. However, in this case, Onesicritus is done wrong. His information is valuable, obviously coming from a reliable informant regarding the text of Darius’ epitaph. The Greek translation Onesicritus quotes is an authentic short version summarising the ‘essentials’ of the Old Persian text of DNb: Saith Darius the King: By the favour of Ahuramazda I am of such a sort that I am a friend to right, I am not a friend to wrong . . . I am not a friend to the man who is a Lie-Follower. . . . The man who cooperates, him according to his cooperative actions, him thus do I reward. . . . This indeed is my activity: inasmuch as my body has the strength, as a battle fighter I am a good battle fighter . . . As a horseman I am a good horseman. As a bowman I am a good bowman both afoot and on horseback. As a spearman I am a good spearman both afoot and on horseback . . . by the favour of Ahuramazda what has been done by me; I have done with these skills which Ahuramazda has bestowed upon me.5

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This authentic echo in Onesicritus’ report is even more remarkable, given the general treatment of inscriptions of Eastern monarchs in Greek historiography. Such references are mostly literary devices serving to stress the report’s veracity, the author’s intense research, or his experience as an eyewitness. The inscriptions cited are frequently lacking authentic features while instead being formed by traditional Greek stereotypes regarding the East.6 This is also true for other inscriptions of Eastern kings cited by Alexander historiographers such as Aristobulus’ version of Cyrus’ epitaph or the inscription of the monument of the Greek artifcial fgure of the hedonistic Assyrian king Sardanapalus near Anchiale.7 However, Onesicritus seems to have been special regarding his treatment of Persian royal inscriptions anyway: his version of Cyrus’ epitaph differs remarkably from that preserved by Aristobulus. While the latter obviously quoted a Macedonian forgery,8 Onesicritus’ variant might be at least close to the original epitaph, probably also a forgery, but by Darius I.9 Judging from Onesicritus’ treatment of Cyrus’ epitaph, his reference to the inscription of Darius’ tomb deserves attention. His informant may have been a Persian guide who perhaps might have shown not only Onesicritus but also Alexander and other members of his entourage around at Naqsh-e Rostam. In the four months of Alexander’s stay in Persepolis in 330,10 in any case, he had the chance to visit the Achaemenid tombs as they were situated not far away from the terrace of the palace.11 Alexander must have resided there until he ordered to plunder and raid the palace and burn parts of it down.12 Unfortunately, the fragmented character of Onesicritus’ reference to Darius’ epitaph covers up its genuine context. However, the quotation of the Greek shortened version of the inscription at Naqsh-e Rostam might hint at the possibility that Alexander visited the historical burial site of the earlier Achaemenids.13 Taking Onesicritus’ interest in Darius’ epitaph as a starting point, this chapter aims to analyse the political relations between Macedonia and the Achaemenid Empire from the first known contacts to the conquests under Alexander III. It will show that the idea of two worlds apart, completely strange to each other, is a misleading literary device shaped in accordance with well-known stereotypes concerning Persians, non-Persians, and their relations that are coloured by panhellenic ideas. Therefore, the paper will attempt to distinguish the historical Alexander and his Persian policy from the artificial figures of the literary Alexander created in accordance with the respective author’s intentions, literary role models, and socio-cultural contexts. This difference might also explain the fact that, granted that Alexander took the opportunity to visit Naqsh-e Rostam, nothing is heard about it explicitly – in contrast to his care for Cyrus’ tomb at Pasargadae that received the Alexander historiographers’ attention. Regarding the history of the Argead relations with Persia, Philip’s and Alexander’s claim to wage war against Persia in order to avenge the injuries

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inflicted on the Greeks by Xerxes’ troops was nothing but a piece of panhellenic propaganda.14 The avenger theme that mostly included the ambition to ‘liberate’ the Ionian Greeks was a prophasis of war prevalent in the fourth century bc.15 Actually, the relations between the Argeads and the Achaemenids had once been close. About 513/10 bc, when Darius I campaigned against the so-called European Scythians, his general Megabazus subjected Thracian areas to Persia.16 In this context, the Persians also became interested in Thrace’s neighbour, Macedonia.17 Amyntas I accepted Persian overlordship by giving earth and water to Darius’ ambassadors, either on Persian demand or on his own account.18 As Marek Jan Olbrycht stated, ever since then, Macedonians and Iranians were no strangers anymore.19 The prospect of becoming associated with the leading political power in the Aegean, a worldwide empire, was certainly promising for a local dynast such as Amyntas. Being in the position of a primus inter pares, his power of action was limited by the influential Macedonian families.20 The Persian connection distinguished him and his family remarkably from the leading circles. Thus, the marital bond between the Argead house and a high-ranking Persian family that probably immediately followed the surrender must have been a stroke of luck for Amyntas: his daughter Gygaea married Bubares,21 perhaps even a member of the Achaemenid house.22 The Persian dominion over Macedonia that was located at the Achaemenid Empire’s periphery is mostly regarded as light.23 There is no evidence for any Persian interference in Macedonia’s monarchical structure, administration, or trade.24 Importantly, the Argead Empire became no satrapy.25 Macedonia’s short-lived secession from Achaemenid control during the Ionian revolt was probably triggered by the secession of neighbouring Thrace. The vicinity probably made it difficult to ignore the Thracian example without coming under pressure.26 Presumably, the leading Macedonian families were more eager than the Argead ruler to get rid of the Persian control. The Macedonian nobles might have seen the chance to reduce their ruler’s influence by depriving him of his Achaemenid backup.27 The secession might have taken place during the beginning or early years of the rule of Amyntas’ son and successor Alexander I. Due to his new, still unconsolidated rule, he was in no position to resist. However, after Darius’ general Mardonius had restored Persian authority in Thrace and Macedonia in 492,28 Alexander proved to be willing to cooperate with the Persians and profit from the alliance in order to improve his own situation.29 The first traces of an Argead public image, employment of new methods of royal representation, and dynastic self-fashioning date back to the time of Alexander’s reign under Persian control. Comparably, hoping for a backup by the Persians, the Aleuad family from Thessalian Larisa took sides with Xerxes.30 Alexander I proved to be Xerxes’ loyal ally during the preparation and realisation of his Greek campaign.31 Xerxes’ stay in Macedonia in 480 will have tightened the relation between

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the two rulers.32 Alexander I may have learnt a lot from his Persian guest about court and visualisation of monarchy, strategies of representation, and association of his power with a certain amount of display and ceremony in order to distinguish himself from nobility. As Anthony Spawforth emphasised, the Persian court was an inevitable model for the Argead court.33 Thus, the three decades of Persian dominance will have influenced Macedonian culture, especially ruler, court, and nobility. However, it is unclear to what extent.34 At least, the numismatic evidence sheds light on lessons Alexander I learned from his Persian ally. Argead coinage started with Alexander, obviously in the time when the Macedonians helped Xerxes to prepare logistically his invasion of Greece in 480.35 Therefore, Alexander had to establish a monetary infrastructure with small coinage to enable his workers and soldiers to make their daily living.36 The earliest Argead coins introduce the so-called ‘Macedonian rider’ in arms on the obverse.37 The image mirrors Thracian, Chalcidean, and Persian numismatic sources of inspiration.38 However, most significantly, in his clenched right fist, the rider holds the very distinctive weapon of a Persian akinakes,39 a short sword suspended from a belt on the wearer’s right side.40 A golden or ornate akinakes could be given by the Great King as a sign of favour and status to deserving satraps or allies.41 Thus, Alexander’s coins show a Macedonian rider equipped with a weapon symbolising his high rank within the Persian Empire indicating that he or his empire, reign, or the Argead house – whatever the rider stands for – has this powerful ally. Times got rough again when Xerxes’ troops were defeated in Greece. Alexander had to save his empire. He transformed into a ‘natural born Greek’ and friend of his alleged fellow countrymen, proved the claim of his Greekness at the Olympian Games, and ordered the – now inconvenient – akinakes to be removed from his coins.42 There is a gap in the sources between Alexander I after Plataea and the time of Philip II when contacts between Macedonia and Persia are mentioned again.43 Probably, the contact had never been completely broken. When after the defeat at Plataea, the Persians left northern Greece the Athenians were quick to take their place. In consequence, conditions changed for the Argeads. Under the reign of Alexander I’s son and successor, Perdiccas II, Athens posed a constant threat to Argead autonomy, policy, and freedom of actions. Surrounded by Athenian foundations, allies, and members of the Athenian Naval Confederacy, Perdiccas II tried to save Macedonia’s autonomy by either establishing alliances against Athens or trying to come to terms with the Athenians when his block of alliances fell apart.44 It seems that for the Argeads, the trouble did not start with the Persian presence in northern Greece but with the Athenians showing up. Alexander III grew up at a court to which Persian envoys came and where for about seven years after the so-called Great Satrap’s Revolt, the Persian satrap Artabazus lived at Pella with his family, including Alexander’s later

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girlfriend, Barsine.45 There was much time and opportunity to get information about the Achaemenid court and traditions. In any case, to Alexander and the Macedonian courtly circles, the Persian culture could not have been that alien.46 This is the view from outside the Greek and Roman empire. The Persian and Macedonian Empire were not two worlds apart, foreign to each other. Arrian’s information that there once existed a philia kai symmachia between Philip II and Artaxerxes III (before 341/40) might not have been that implausible.47 There is no evidence for any tensions between Macedonia and Persia until Philip extended his empire to eastern Thrace defeating Cersobleptes. Artaxerxes III, under whom the Persian Empire was consolidated,48 was disturbed by the Macedonian ambitions to go further east besieging Byzantium and Perinthus in 341/40:49 τῆς γὰρ τοῦ βασιλέως αὐξήσεως διαβεβοημένης κατὰ τὴν Ἀσίαν ὁ βασιλεὺς ὑφορώμενος τὴν τοῦ Φιλίππου δύναμιν ἔγραψε πρὸς τοὺς ἐπὶ θαλάττῃ σατράπας βοηθεῖν ∏ερινθίοις παντὶ σθένει. Philip’s growth in power had been reported in Asia, and the Persian king, viewing this power with alarm, wrote to his satraps on the coast to give all possible assistance to the Perinthians.50 Artaxerxes will have been worried for two main reasons: first, Philip’s ambitions regarding the Hellespontine sphere threatened the well-established Persian–Greek balance of power in the Aegean.51 Second, Artaxerxes will have feared that the resourceful satrapies in Asia might become Philip’s source of revenue serving to finance further wars to consolidate the Macedonian conquests.52 In consequence, Macedonia’s swift and surely unexpected rise made Philip a new enemy of Persia. This enmity came suddenly. Before, because of their peripheral position and limited sphere of action, the Argeads had posed no threat to Persia. However, during the last stage of Philip’s reign and the start of Alexander’s rule, for the first time, active hostile Persian actions against Macedonia in Greece are attested. The contemporary Attic orators shed light on the Persian attempts to subsidise revolts against the Macedonian hegemony in Greece in order to make the Macedonians draw back from Persia by keeping them busy in Europe. Demosthenes formed part of the Athenian political faction speaking in favour of anti-Macedonian cooperation with the Great King ‘for even his interests are not unaffected if we prevent Philip from subduing the whole country’.53 In his Fourth Philippic, Demosthenes connects Athens’ fate with that of Persia: ‘Philip is much more dangerous to the king if he has attacked us first, for if we are left to our own resources, and anything happens to us, he will soon be marching confidently against the king.’54 The contemporary Pseudo-Demosthenic Letter to Philip and Answer to Philip’s Letter mention Athenian–Persian negotiations for a defensive alliance (epimachia) against Philip.55 When after Philip’s death, his successor Alexander and leading

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generals carried on the war, according to Aeschines, the Persian king ‘sent, not at the Athenian request, but of his own accord, 300 talents to the demos, which they were wise enough to refuse’.56 Reportedly, Demosthenes kept the money posing as the Great King’s confidant.57 Dinarchus implies that Darius sent the money shortly before the Theban revolt in 335 bc and that Demosthenes agreed to support the Thebans.58 However, Thebes was let down, defeated, and destroyed.59 Aeschines drops the information that the diplomatic Persian–Athenian exchange did not cease until the eve of the battle of Issus in 333.60 Notably, this time schedule corresponds with the imprisonment of Alexander Lyncestes who was accused of having conspired with Darius.61 Thus, the Persian leading circles seem to have tried to mobilise potential stepping stones for the Macedonians in Greece as well as in the Macedonian camp. However, they failed in convincing any Greek or Macedonian majority to cooperate. After the Macedonian victory in Cilicia, Darius seems to have dropped the plan to stir up revolts in Greece and focused on resistance in his own empire.62 In 324, during the last stage of Alexander’s reign, according to Hyperides, the prospect of an Athenian insurrection with help from Asia occurred again. In his speech against Demosthenes, who was accused of having accepted bribes by Harpalus, Hyperides claims that the Athenians could have got help against the Macedonian dominion from ‘the satraps who were willing to join forces with us, each with money and troops, not merely revolting from him, but also . . .’.63 Whatever the lacuna contained, Hyperides points to the prospect of a widespread revolt kicked off by Harpalus’ money and mercenaries. According to him, Demosthenes was guilty of preventing this cooperation. It is not clear whether this is more than rhetorical exaggeration. In any case, the Lamian War illustrated that there was potential to revolt.64 There is wide consensus that Alexander went far beyond his father’s aims in Asia.65 Philip will have intended to establish Macedonian control over the Ionian cities and resourceful satrapies in Asia Minor to the effect of being in possession of a regular income. He needed this in order to finance his future wars necessary to consolidate his conquests. Alexander was faced with different circumstances regarding his personal power base, standing, and freedom of action in the Macedonian political structures. To free himself from the control of Philip’s influential old guard and promote his own trusted men,66 he had to expand wider, win more victories, and acquire more booty to be able to reward his trusted men and keep them loyal. Thus, due to internal policies, the campaign Alexander inherited from his father had a new dynamic. In order to consolidate the Macedonian conquests in Asia, Alexander had to cooperate with the leading indigenous circles. Therefore, he adopted the running system of the Achaemenid administration.67 After Issus, he acted as the new protector of the Persians and treated the captured Achaemenid family respectfully by posing as their new patron.68 After the assassination of

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Darius III, he styled himself as his legitimate successor by burying him honourably and claiming to take vengeance for him by punishing his murderer Bessus.69 Alexander also kept on minting Darius III’s coins for a while.70 Additionally, Alexander honoured the Persian Empire’s founder Cyrus II. The special status of a founder figure in the collective memory of an empire’s inhabitants will have been familiar to Alexander because of the comparable symbolic importance of the Argead founder figure(s).71 Alexander publicly followed in Cyrus’ footsteps by honouring his tomb on his (probably two) visits at Pasargadae. Strabo might have referred to Alexander’s policy of acknowledging the Persian founder figure’s historical importance and creating an artificial connection with him by calling Alexander philokyros.72 Thanks to Xenophon’s Cyropaedia, in Greek literary tradition, Cyrus was known as a wise, moderate, and just ruler.73 Alexander will have thought Cyrus to be a fitting role model popular with Persians, Greeks, and Macedonians. However, as a politician, Alexander was not in need of Xenophon’s Cyropaedia to pursue this kind of appeasement policy: ‘The idea that Alexander the Great led his forces with a spear in one hand and Greek literature in the other . . . is simply not tenable.’74 In fact, the association of Alexander with Xenophon’s Cyrus was literary artifice by the Alexander historiographers. Alexander tried to push his expansion as far as the eastern limits of the reign of Darius I, while in the Alexander historiography, it was claimed that he was emulating Cyrus in India.75 Alexander introduced Persians into his army and court.76 He also attempted to integrate the Macedonians into the Persian family networks by the mass marriages in Susa in 324. Thus, he aimed at neutralising the threats of Persian interfamily connections that bonded the nobles throughout the empire while simultaneously creating an illusion of political continuity under foreign rule.77 Furthermore, Alexander tried to create a new royal representation in accordance with the requirements of his multicultural empire by adopting elements of Achaemenid etiquette, ceremonial, court (such as the office of eisangeleus),78 and regency style.79 However, he abstained from growing a long beard, characteristic for a Great King. All these approaches to the Achaemenid ruling tradition were necessary steps in order to consolidate Alexander’s conquests, and not proofs for his love for the Persian culture.80 Often, regarding his Persian policy, the historical Alexander differs from the images of the literary Alexander. The sources are biased due to traditional clichés concerning the Persians stemming from the time of the Persian Wars, refreshed by panhellenic propaganda of the fourth century.81 Significantly, the Alexander historiographers carried on their panhellenic colouring regarding the later stages of the Macedonian war, even after the dismissal of the Greek troops in the summer of 330 bc officially marking the accomplishment of the (alleged) panhellenic mission.82 Marc van

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de Mieroop points to the difference between fiction and fact: ‘In classical sources, Alexander’s conquest is portrayed as a liberation from oppressive Persian rule. . . . This is to a great extent Macedonian propaganda, however, and most people probably saw little difference between the old and new regimes.’83 In order to illustrate the tendencies of the primary Alexander historiographers, a short look at their respective images of Alexander and his attitude towards the Persians will follow. Against this background, the question why next to nothing is heard about his possible visit to Darius’ tomb can be reassessed. In accordance with the panhellenic message serving to legitimise the campaign to the Greek public, the official court historiographer Callisthenes seems to have depicted his Macedonian protagonist as the Greeks’ divinely chosen liberator from the Persian yoke and avenger seeking satisfaction for the offences Xerxes’ Persians had committed against them.84 Hence, Callisthenes styled him carefully as a counterpart of Persian kings with a bad reputation in Greek literary tradition. Alexander’s Egyptian campaign gave him the chance to use the Herodotean portrait of Cambyses II in Egypt as a foil. Drawing upon anti-Persian slander by disgruntled Egyptian priests and Ammonians, Herodotus depicted the Persian king as a raving loony murdering the holy Apis and trying to burn the oracle of Ammon before being stopped by divine intervention.85 His literary Macedonian counter-image Alexander sacrificed to Apis and was guided to the oracle by divine help.86 Particularly, Callisthenes depicted Alexander as the counterpart of Xerxes, the ultimate bogeyman in the Greek collective memory. Alexander’s way to Asia Minor is styled as the opposite of Xerxes’ march to Greece: Alexander acted piously when Xerxes approved of one of his governors committing sacrilege or when Xerxes acted insane himself.87 However, sometimes, literary artifice corresponds to the actual policy: a significant act of the historical Alexander in accordance with the literary theme of being an anti-Xerxes was the fire at the palace of Persepolis; the archaeological documentation has shown that the flames destroyed mainly those parts of the building that had originally been identifiable as constructions of Xerxes.88 As mentioned before, Xenophon’s Cyropaedia served the Alexander historiographers as another source of inspiration. By borrowing from his ‘formulaic scenes’,89 they intended to provide their readers with elements and the image of a conquering hero familiar to them. This concerns especially Alexander’s personal virtues (moderation, eagerness to learn, ambitiousness, energy), treatment of friends (generosity, exceeding care, healing ambitions), soldiers (comradeship) and captured noble women (chastity, clemency, magnanimity), conduct as a commander (modesty, courage, braveness, divine mission), and a start into the war with meagre resources. Among the secondary authors, this literary device of modelling Alexander upon Xenophon’s Cyrus particularly applies to Plutarch who, as a moral philosopher, will have appreciated the moral tone of Xenophon.90 As for the primary Alexander historiographers, obviously Diogenes Laertius was right in reporting

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that Onesicritus’ literary model regarding his history of Alexander was Xenophon’s Cyropaedia upon which he patterned his own portrait of an educated conqueror uniting a multitude of different peoples.91 Also, Callisthenes borrowed from the Cyropaedia depicting Alexander as the new Cyrus who mastered himself and did not lay hands or even eyes upon Statira, the captured wife of Darius, as the new Panthia, the most beautiful woman in Asia.92 Another clear reference to Xenophon concerns a famous sign of Zeus’ favour combined with a prayer by the respective ruler: an eagle appeared flying ahead of Cyrus when he set out into war to Media and over Alexander’s head flying straight against the enemy at the battle of Gaugamela.93 The fragments of Ptolemy’s history of Alexander work suggest that he focused on Alexander as the philosophical, brave, and virtuous panhellenic warrior king against the evil Persian foes, thereby neglecting the debated aspect of his Persian policy and adoption of Achaemenid traditions.94 Aristobulus seems to have duly followed the official version spread in the camp glorifying Alexander and elaborating stories about miraculous signs and divine predestination.95 In addition, he painted Xerxes’ portrait even blacker by claiming that the king destroyed the tomb and temple of Babylon’s main deity, Marduk.96 This savage act is not confirmed by earlier Greek authorities such as Herodotus. Probably, this was invented in the time of Alexander in order to glorify his building activities regarding the sanctuary. These are attested by cuneiform documents.97 While he will have financed some reparations, the Alexander historiographers credit him with the whole rebuilding of Marduk’s temple. Nearchus seems to have followed the official guidelines closely. Regarding the march through the Gedrosian desert, he refers to the piece of propaganda that Alexander successfully emulated Cyrus by crossing the desert.98 Chares tended to paint an apologetic and idealised picture of Alexander. Exemplarily, he wrote about an unhistorical duel Alexander allegedly fought against Darius at Issus.99 While Chares showed interest in Persian ‘folklore’, he adopts traditional Greek clichès on the decadent luxury of the Persian kings and the addiction of Eastern ‘barbarians’ to luxury and alcohol.100 He did so in order to glorify Alexander and his deeds, thereby certainly also idealising his own portrait as a loyal follower of such a courageous civilising ruler. Cleitarchus is another case of Alexander historiographers elaborating the panhellenic avenger theme even after 330 when the Greek troops were sent home.101 Continuously, he depicted Alexander’s campaigns in accordance with the panhellenic propaganda. Thus, perhaps, it is not surprising that he is credited with a special interest in the Persian Wars of the fifth century bc.102 It may have provided him with the ideological frame for his history on Alexander and clichés about the Persians he frequently used.103 Viewed against the background of these literary images of Alexander in the primary Alexander historiography, it is not surprising that Alexander’s possible visit to Naqsh-e Rostam is not mentioned in the sources and only

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hinted at indirectly by Onesicritus. As Xerxes’ father and known for having started the war that his son inherited, Darius I was a problematic figure in the Greek cultural memory. True to the panhellenic colouring of their reports, the Alexander historiographers seem to have remembered Darius primarily as that: the aggressor.104 The circumstance that Alexander’s Argead ancestors in Darius’ and Xerxes’ times profited from their connection with the Achaemenids had become inconvenient already after Plataea and did not suit the war propaganda of Philip II and Alexander. Therefore, a visit to the tomb of Darius would have been counterproductive to Alexander’s previous panhellenic posture and also unsuitable for the Alexander historiographers indulging in panhellenic themes. To make things worse, Xerxes’ tomb was situated next to that of his father at Naqsh-e Rostam. Only the Greek Alexander Romance mentions that Alexander came across the tomb of Xerxes where, of course, he had to save poor Greek victims of Persian cruelty from getting mutilated by the enemies’ hands.105 Visiting the tomb of Darius (and Xerxes) might have been an interesting part of a sightseeing tour in Fars. However, Alexander will have taken care that it was not integrated into the official report and not become widely known. Predominantly, the Alexander historiographers had no need to mention it anyway. Such a visit was not in accordance with their literary images of Alexander. In the case of Naqsh-e Rostam, however, Onesicritus seems to have done it his way. The reason is unknown, but perhaps, this time, he was motivated by a genuine interest in Persian history beyond Greek clichés.

Notes Acknowledgements: I would like to thank Liz Baynham, Johannes Heinrichs, and Anneli Purchase for their kind support. 1 Strab. 15.3.8. Trans. H.C. Hamilton/W. Falconer. 2 Erudite: Diog. Laert. 6.84; Strab. 15.1.63–65; Plut. Alex. 65.1–2. Naval officer: Strab. 15.2.4–5; Plut. Alex. 66.2; Arr. An. 6.2.3; and Plin. NH 6.96. On Onesicritus see S. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien (Berlin: Trafo, 2014), 58–65; S. Müller, ‘Onesikritos und das Achaimenidenreich’, Anabasis 2 (2012): 45–66; M. Winiarczyk, ‘Das Werk Die Erziehung Alexanders des Onesikritos von Astypalaia (FGrHist 134 F 1–39), Forschungsstand (1832–2005) und Interpretationsversuch’, Eos 94 (2007): 197–250; and E. Baynham, ‘The Ancient Evidence for Alexander the Great’, in Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, (ed.) J. Roisman (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2003), 8. 3 Diod. 17.71.7. 4 Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 63–65; S. Müller, ‘Die frühen Perserkönige im kulturellen Gedächtnis der Makedonen und in der Propaganda Alexanders d. Gr.’, Gymnasium 118 (2011): 121–22; and J. Seibert, ‘Alexander der Große an den Gräbern der Perserkönige’, in Von Sachsen bis Jerusalem, (eds.) H. Seibert and G. Thoma (Munich: Herbert Utz Verlag, 2004), 19–21. 5 DNb §§ 8a-I 5–49. Trans. R.G. Kent. 6 Cf. f.e. Hdt. 1.187.5; 3.88.2.

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7 Cyrus: Plut. Alex. 69.2–3; Strab. 15.3.7; and Arr. An. 6.29.8. Cf. J. Heinrichs, ‘“Asiens König”, Die Inschriften des Kyrosgrabs und das achaimenidische Reichsverständnis’, in Zu Alexander d. Gr. FS G. Wirth, (eds.) W. Will and J. Heinrichs, vol. 2 (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1987), 512–39. Sardanapalus: Arr. An. 2.5.3–4; Strab. 14.5.9; Athen. 12.529 D-530 B. Cf. A. B. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), 193–94: While the reports come from Aristobulus, he supposes that it might originate with Callisthenes. 8 Especially telling regarding Aristobulus’ version is that Cyrus is called the ‘king of Asia’, a title in accordance with Greek perceptions but in contradiction to the Eastern ideology of the Persian king’s universal rule: Arr. An. 6.29.8; Strab. 15.3.7. Cf. Heinrichs, ‘“Asiens König”’, 511. See also D. Stronach, ‘Of Cyrus, Darius and Alexander: A New Look at the Epitaphs of Cyrus the Great’, in Variatio delectat: Iran und der Westen, (ed.) R. Dittmann (Münster: Ugarit, 2000), 681–702. 9 Strab. 15.3.7. Cf. Heinrichs, ‘“Asiens König”’, 539–40. Darius I tried to style Cyrus II as an ‘Achaemenid’ in order to underline his own (in fact debated) membership of Cyrus’ family. 10 Arr. An. 3.18.10. 11 Cf. Seibert, ‘Alexander der Große’, 15–21. 12 Strab. 15.3.6; Arr. An. 3.18.11–12; Plut. Alex. 38.1–4; Curt. 5.7.10–12; and Diod. 17.72. 13 Analogically, Onesicritus will have mentioned Cyrus’ epitaph when he wrote about Alexander’s visit to his grave: Strab. 15.3.7. 14 Polyb. 3.6.3–14: frankly labelling this theme as a pretext (prophasis); Diod. 16.89.3 17.4.9. Cf. I. Worthington, Philip II of Macedon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 160–63. On the panhellenic theme, see also Just. 11.2.5; Curt. 3.10.8–9; 5.6.1; and Plut. Alex. 16.8. Cf. G. Squillace, ‘Consensus Strategies under Philip and Alexander: The Revenge Theme’, in Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, (eds.) E. D. Carney and D. Ogden (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); W. Heckel, ‘Alexander’s Conquest of Asia’, in Alexander the Great, A New History, (eds.) W. Heckel and L. A. Tritle (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), 36–38; and M. Flower, ‘Alexander the Great and Panhellenism’, in Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, (eds.) A. B. Bosworth and E. Baynham, 96–135 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). See also M. Brosius, ‘Why Persia became the Enemy of Macedon’, AchHist 13 (2003): 237: ‘The enmity towards Persia was created because of Persian involvement in Greek affairs. Philip’s real enemy was Greece’. 15 Cf. Agesilaus II in Asia Minor in 396–394 bc: Xen. Hell. 3.4.5. However, by the King’s Peace, Artaxerxes II reinstalled Persian control over the Ionian cities (Xen. Hell. 5.1.31). 16 Hdt. 4.89. Cf. J. Wiesehöfer, Das frühe Persien. Geschichte eines antiken Weltreichs (Munich: Beck, 1999), 30. 17 Hdt. 5.1–2. Cf. Z. H. Archibald, The Odrysian Kingdom of Thrace: Orpheus Unmasked (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 81–82, 85–87. 18 Hdt. 5.18.1 and Just. 7.3. Cf. M. J. Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, in Blackwell’s Companion to Ancient Macedonia, (eds.) J. Roisman and I. Worthington (Oxford and Malden: Wiley-Backwell, 2010), 343–44 and M. Zahrnt, ‘Der Mardonioszug des Jahres 492 v. Chr. und seine historische Einordnung’, Chiron 22 (1992): 245–46. 19 Cf. Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 343. 20 Cf. N. G. L. Hammond and G. T. Griffith, A History of Macedonia, vol. 2 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), 99 and M. Zahrnt, ‘Die Entwicklung

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22 23

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26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

Sabine Müller des makedonischen Reiches bis zu den Perserkriegen’, Chiron 14 (1984): 361. According to Herodotus (8.136.19), thanks to his Persian relations, Alexander I was appointed Persian ambassador by Mardonius during Xerxes’ campaign. Hdt. 5.21–22; 8.136.1; Just. 7.8.9. Cf. E. D. Carney, ‘The Argead Marriage Policy’, in The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives, (eds.) S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017), 140, 143. The date of the marriage is a matter of debate, see M. Zahrnt, ‘Der Mardonioszug’, 245–246n19; Brosius, 230. However, predominantly, it is seen as a consequence of the Macedonian subjection following immediately, cf. S. Müller, Die Argeaden, Geschichte Makedoniens bis zum Zeitalter Alexanders des Großen (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2016), 117–18; Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 343; N. G. L. Hammond, The Macedonian State, The Origins, Institutions and History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 42; E. Badian, ‘Herodotus on Alexander I of Macedon: A Study in Some Subtle Silence’, in Greek Historiography, (ed.) S. Hornblower (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 109, 112; and E. N. Borza, In the Shadow of Olympus: The Emergence of Macedon (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990), 103n15. Cf. Badian, 110–12, 116: Bubares was the son of the Persian general Megabazus (Hdt. 7.22.2). Cf. I. K. Xydopoulos, ‘Anthemus and Hippias: The Policy of Amyntas I’, Illinois Classical Studies 37 (2012): 24–27; Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 343; J. Heinrichs and S. Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol auf Münzen Alexanders I. von Makedonien’, ZPE 167 (2008): 289–90; Hammond, The Macedonian State, 42–43; and Hammond and Griffith, A History of Macedonia, 59. Cf. Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, ZPE 167 (2008): 288; Borza, In the Shadow of Olympus, 41–42. Particularly in 483/2, when Macedonia was under Persian control, Athens received a lot of timber that will have come from Macedonia. Cf. M. Zahrnt, ‘Early History of Thrace to the Murder of Kotys I (360 bce)’, in A Companion to Ancient Thrace, (eds.) J. Valeva, E. Nankov and D. Graninger (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2015), 38 (‘a vassal’); M. Zahrnt, ‘Herodot und die makedonischen Könige’, in Herodot und das persische Weltreich, (eds.) R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg and J. Wiesehofer (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 765; Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 343; Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 289–90; and Borza, In the Shadow of Olympus, 293. Contra Hammond and Griffith, A History of Macedonia, 58–59. Cf. M. Zahrnt, ‘Herodot und die makedonischen Könige’, 765–67; Wiesehöfer, Das frühe Persien, 30; G. Wirth 1985, 20. Cf. Müller, ‘Die frühen Perserkönige’, 111–12. Hammond and Griffith suppose that he entered the throne in 495: A History of Macedonia, 104. Hdt. 7.108.1. Cf. Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 293–95. Cf. C. Morgan, Early Greek States beyond the Polis (London and New York: Routledge, 2013), 87 and M. Sordi, ‘Larissa e la dinastia Alevade’, Aevum 70 (1996): 41–42. Hdt. 7.25.2; 7.143.3; 7.185.2; 8.34; 9.31.5; 8.126.2; 9.89.4. Cf. Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 291. Cf. A. Spawforth, ‘The Court of Alexander the Great between Europe and Asia’, in The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, (ed.) A. Spawforth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 92. There are various suggestions about the Persian influence on the Macedonian court prior to Alexander III. See J. Wiesehöfer, ‘The Persian Impact on

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48 49 50 51 52

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Macedonia’, in The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives, (eds.) S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017), 59–62; S. Müller Perdikkas II. – Retter Makedoniens (Berlin: Frank & Timme, 2017), 79n449; and D. Kienast, Philipp II. von Makedonien und das Reich der Achaimeniden (Munich: Fink, 1973). Cf. J. Heinrichs, ‘Coins and Constructions. Origins and Developments of Achaemenid Coinage under Alexander I’, in The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives, (eds.) S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017), 91–95. Hdt. 7.25.2. Cf. Heinrichs, ‘Coins and Constructions’, 90; Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 287; and Brosius, 230. Cf. Heinrichs and Müller,‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 295–304 and O. Picard, ‘Numismatique et iconographie: Le chevalier macédonien’, Bulletin de Correspondence Hellénique Suppl. 14 (1986): 67–76. He wears a cap that might be a petasos or a kausia. Cf. Heinrichs, ‘Coins and Constructions’, 80–88. The image of the rider is inspired by the Persian example set by Darius I depicting images of the warrior king equipped with various weapons styled as the protector of his empire on his coins. Cf. Heinrichs, ‘Coins and Constructions’, 80, 84; Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 292–95. Hdt. 3.118.2; 7.54.2–3; Xen. an. 1.2.27; Curt. 3.3.18; Dem. 24.129; and Anaximenes BNJ 72 F 15. Hdt. 8.120 (Xerxes) and Xen. an. 1.2.27; 1.8.29. Hdt. 9.44–46; 5.18.2–20.5; Just. 7.3; and Plut. Arist. 15.2. Cf. Heinrichs, ‘Coins and Constructions’, 85–86; S. Müller, Die Argeaden. Geschichte Makedoniens bis zum Zeitalter Alexanders des Großen (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2016), 129– 34; and Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 291. Diod. 16.52.3 and Plut. Alex. 5.1. Cf. Müller, Perdikkas II, 125–224. Diod. 16.52.3. On the so-called Great Satrap’s Revolt, see M. Weiskopf, The So-Called ‘Great Satrap’s Revolt’, 366–360 BC (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1989). Cf. Wiesehöfer, Das frühe Persien, 40: Alexander was extremely well acquainted with the essentials of Persian kingship. Arr. an. 2.14.1–2. However, problematically, he refers to a letter written by Darius III to Alexander. On their diplomatic exchange, see E. Baynham, Alexander the Great: The Unique History of Quintus Curtius (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1998), 150–55. While its authenticity is uncertain, the historical kernel, namely the alliance, might have been trustworthy. Cf. Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 350. Cf. Wiesehöfer, Das frühe Persien, 38. Diod. 16.75.1–2; Paus. 1.29.10; and [Dem.] 11.5. Cf. Müller,‘Die frühen Perserkönige’, 110–11; Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 350–51; and I. Worthington, Philip II of Macedon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008) 131–32. Diod. 16.75.1–4. Trans. C.H. Oldfather. Cf. [Dem.] 11.5. Dem. 9.71. Cf. Brosius, 233–34 and Wirth, Der Kampfverband des Proteas. Spekulationen zu den Begleitumständen der Laufbahn Alexanders (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1989), 31–42. Early in the fourth century, Sparta, steered by Lysander and Agesilaus II, had sent troops to plunder and raid the resourceful satrapies in Asia Minor in order to acquire booty to finance the wars necessary in order to consolidate the Spartan hegemony: Nep. Ages. 3.1–2; Hell. Oxy. 14.1–16.2; 24.1–25–4. Cf. Xen. Ages. 1.34 and Plut. Ages. 19.3 on the rich booty.

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53 Dem. 9.71. In 10.31, Demosthenes emphasised that the Persian king’s trusted men, presumably the Thracians, are Philip’s enemies and that his agent who was privy to all of Philip’s schemes against the Persian king has been kidnapped, perhaps referring to Hermeias of Atarneus. See also [Dem.] 11.4–6. Cf. Plut. Demosth. 20,5. Allegedly, when coming to Sardis, Alexander discovered letters written by Demosthenes and Persian documents mentioning the money Demosthenes had received from the satraps to stir up a revolt in Greece and prevent Philip from crossing over to Asia. The historicity of this information is doubted by I. Worthington, Demosthenes of Athens and the Fall of Classical Greece (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 224. 54 Dem. 10.33. Thus, he urged the Athenians to send an embassy to the Great King, thereby forgetting about the traditional prejudice against him as a ‘barbarian’ and foe of all of the Greeks: Dem. 10.33–34. Cf. Dem. 9.51–52: The Great King used to be hated by the Greeks but was now well disposed to them, in particular to the Athenians. 55 [Dem.] 11.4–6 and [Dem.] 12.6–7. Probably, the letters were written by Anaximenes of Lampsacus: BNJ 72 F11a, F 41. Cf. P. Ceccarelli, Ancient Greek Letter Writing: A Cultural History (600 BC–150 BC) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 166–67; Squillace 2010, 114; and L. Pearson, The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great (New York: American Philological Association, 1960), 245. Contra Worthington arguing in favor of genuine writings: Demosthenes of Athens, 230–31. 56 Aeschin. 3.239. Cf. Din. 1.10; Hyp. 5.17; and Diod. 17.7.2. Aeschines claims that first, the Persian king believed to be free from the danger of the Macedonian invasion and ‘not long before Alexander crossed over into Asia’, and wrote a rude letter to the Athenians demanding that they stop asking him for gold: Aeschin. 3.238–239. Cf. Diod. 17.7.1: Darius wanted to turn the close war back upon Macedonia but was relieved of his fear when Philip died. In any case, it is hardly believable that the diplomatic exchange remained a secret undiscovered by the Macedonian leading circles. Cf. G. Wirth, Hypereides, Lykurg und die autonomia der Athener, Ein Versuch zum Verständnis einiger Reden der Alexanderzeit (Wien: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1999), 76. 57 Aeschin. 3.164. Cf. Wirth, Hypereides, Lykurg und die autonomia der Athener, 75. He doubts the authenticity of the number of 300 talents (75n208). 58 Din. 1.18–22. 32. Cf. Wirth, Hypereides, Lykurg und die autonomia der Athener, 75. See also Hyp. 5.25 and Plut. Dem. 23.2. On the Theban revolt: Just. 11.3.3–8; Diod. 17.8.5–14.4; and Plut. Alex. 11; Hyp. 6.17. 59 According to later accusations against Demosthenes, he kept the money for himself. Cf. Din. 1.10; 1.18–22: The Arcadians were ready to help the Thebans for the prize of ten talents but Demosthenes did not give it to them. Cf. Aeschin. 3.239–240 (70 talents); 3.259; Hyp. 5.17; Diod. 17.4.8. 60 Aeschin. 3.132. 164. 61 Arr. An. 1.25.1–3; Diod. 17.32.1–2; Just. 11.7.1–3; and Curt. 7.1.6. Cf. E. Baynham, Alexander the Great, 180–81. 62 Cf. C. Nylander, ‘Darius III – the Coward King. Point and Counterpoint’, in Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth, (eds.) J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen Due and B. Poulsen (Rome2: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997), 149. Mirrored by Curt. 4.16.15. 63 Hyp. 5.col. 18. 64 Hyp. 6. Cf. O. Schmitt, Der Lamische Krieg (Bonn: Habelt, 1992). 65 Cf. Müller, Die Argeaden, 268; Worthington, Philip II of Macedon, 170; G. Wirth 1985, 148–50; G. L. Cawkwell, Philip of Macedon (London: Faber & Faber, 1978), 177.

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66 On the old guard and new men, see W. Heckel, The Marshals of Alexander’s Empire (London and New York: Routledge2, 2016). 67 Cf. P. Briant, Alexander the Great and his Empire: A Short Introduction (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), 69–71; M. van de Mieroop, A History of the Ancient Near East (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 300; B. Jacobs, Die Satrapienverwaltung im Perserreich zur Zeit Dareios’ III (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1994). 68 Protector of the Persians: Arr. An. 2.14.7–8. Captured royal family: Diod. 17.38.1–3; Curt. 3.12.21–26; 4.10.18–19; Plut. Alex. 21.5; 30.3; and Just. 11.9.15–16; 11.12.6–8. Cf. A. B. Bosworth, Conquest and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 69 Arr. An. 4.7.3–4 and Curt. 7.5.43. Cf. W. Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006), 72 and B. Jacobs, ‘Der Tod des Bessos’, Acta praehistorica et archaeologica 24 (1992): 183. 70 Cf. M. J. Price, ‘Alexander’s Policy on Coinage’, in Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth, (eds.) J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen Due and B. Poulsen (Rome2: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997), 174. 71 Cf. E. Koulakiotis, ‘The Hellenic Impact on Macedonia’, in The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives, (eds.) S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger, 199–213 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017); Müller, Die Argeaden, 85–104. 72 Strab. 11.11.4. Cf. Curt. 7.6.20. On Alexander imitating/honoring Cyrus: Curt. 7.3.1–2 (Cyropolis); Diod. 17.81.1; Arr. An. 3.27.4–5; Just. 12.5.9 (honors the Scythians whose ancestors were benefactors of Cyrus); Arr. An. 6.24.1–3; Ind. 1.3–4; 9.10; and Strab. 15.1.5–6; 15.2.5 (Cyrus’ Indian conquests). 73 Cf. J. Wiesehöfer, Das antike Persien von 550 v. Chr. bis 650 n. Chr. (Düsseldorf and Zürich3: Patmos, 2005), 150; Seibert, ‘Alexander der Große’, 14; P. Briant, ‘History and Ideology: The Greeks and “Persian Decadence”’, in Greeks and Barbarians, (ed.) T. Harrison (London: Routledge, 2002), 193–94. Additionally, Pl. Leg. 694 A-695 B will have had an impact. A. Kuhrt stresses that this view and constructed contrast between Cyrus II and Xerxes was mainly a Greek perspective the inhabitants of the Persian Empire did not necessarily share: ‘Der “gute” und der “schlechte” König – Kyros und Xerxes. A Footnote’, in Diwan. Untersuchungen zu Geschichte und Kultur des Nahen Ostens und des östlichen Mittelmeerraums im Altertum. FS J. Wiesehöfer, (eds.) C. Binder, H. Börm and A. Luther (Duisburg: Wellem, 2016), 127–32. 74 Cf. K. McGroarty, ‘Did Alexander the Great read Xenophon?’, Hermathena: A Trinity College Dublin Review 181 (2006): 15–16. Contra B. Burliga, ‘Xenophon’s Cyrus, Alexander philokyros. How Carefully did Alexander the Great Study the Cyropaedia?’, Miscellanea Anthropologica et Sociologica 15 (2014): 134–46 whose suggestions that the Cyropaedia formed part of Aristotle’s ‘school curriculum’ at Mieza and was at the base of Alexander’s Persian policy are highly speculative. The arguments of C. Kegerreis that refer to the Cyropaedia by Callisthenes and Marsyas of Pella and Onesicritus confirm Alexander’s political imitation of Xenophon’s Cyrus for they knew him and his favourite role models well and wanted to flatter him are similarly speculative and not convincing: ‘The Cyropaedia among Alexander’s Lost Historians’, The Ancient World 46 (2015): 134–61. 75 Arr. An. 6.24.1–3; Ind. 1.3–4; 9.10; and Strab. 15.1.5–6; 15.2.5. Cf. T. Howe and S. Müller, ‘Mission Accomplished: Alexander at the Hyphasis’, The Ancient History Bulletin 26 (2012): 24–42; Briant, Alexander the Great and his Empire, 38. On Darius I’s conquests in India: Hdt. 4.44; DPe, § 2, l. 17–18; DSm § 2, L. 10; DNa § 3, l. 25; and DSf § 3, l. 40: Hiduš.

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76 Court ranks: Curt. 6.2.11; 7.5.40 and Diod. 17.77.4–5 (erroneous). Army: Arr. An. 7.8.2–3 and Diod. 17.108.2–3. Cf. M. J. Olbrycht, ‘Curtius Rufus, the Macedonian Mutiny at Opis and Alexander’s Iranian Policy in 324 bc’, in The Children of Herodotus, (ed.) J. Pigón, 231–52 (Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2011) and M. J. Olbrycht, ‘The Military Reforms of Alexander the Great During His Campaign in Iran, Afghanistan and Central Asia’, in Miscellanea Eurasiatica Cracoviensia, (eds.) C. Galewicz, J. Pstrusińska and L. Sudyka, 309–21 (Krakow: Krakow University Press, 2007). 77 Arr. An. 7.4.4–8; Just. 12.10.9; Plut. Alex. 70.3; Diod. 17.107.6; Curt. 10.3.12; and Athen. 12.538b–539a. Cf. Müller, Die Argeaden, 303; Briant, Alexander the Great and his Empire, 128–29: ‘a veritable pact of governing’; and W. Heckel, The Conquests of Alexander the Great (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 51: a ‘blueprint for political stability’, 137–41. 78 Plut. Alex. 46.2. Cf. D. Lenfant (ed.), Les Perses vus par les Grecs (Paris: Colin, 2011), 88; Spawforth, 94; and Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great, 83. The office of edeatros (Athen. 4.171b-c) may be another example. See in general Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 158. 79 Cf. Müller, Die Argeaden, 297–99; Bowden 2013; and Spawforth. 80 Cf. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary. 81 Cf. Müller, ‘Die frühen Perserkönige’, 129–30 and M. Böhme, ‘Das Perserbild in den Fragmenten der Alexanderhistoriker’, in Studien zur antiken Geschichtsschreibung, (ed.) M. Rathmann (Bonn: Habelt, 2009), 177–80. 82 Cf. Müller, ‘Die frühen Perserkönige’, 121–30. Cf. f.e. Arr. An. 3.19.5–6. See Baynham, ‘The Ancient Evidence for Alexander the Great’, 3–29. 83 Cf. van de Mieroop, 300. Therefore, P. Briant called Alexander ‘the last of the Achaemenids’: From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2002), 876. 84 Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 44–58; Böhme, 163–67; Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great, 76–77; Baynham, ‘The Ancient Evidence for Alexander the Great’, 6–7; Flower, ‘Alexander the Great and Panhellenism’, 105; A. M. Devine, ‘Alexander’s Propaganda Machine: Callisthenes as the Ultimate Source for Arrian’, in Ventures into Greek History, (ed.) I. Worthington (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 89–102; and Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 92. F.e. Plut. Alex. 17.3–4. 85 Hdt. 3.25.3–26.3; 3.27.1; 3.29.1–2. Allegedly, Cambyses ordered 50,000 of his men to enslave the Ammonians and burn their oracle. But on their way, they disappeared having been buried in masses of sand. 86 Callisthenes’ version was echoed by Ptolemy and Aristobulus. Desert trip: Strab. 17.1.43; Arr. An. 3.3.3–6; Ael. VH 2.48; Plut. Alex. 27.2–3; Apis: Arr. An. 3.1.4–5. 87 Route: Hdt. 7.108–112 vs. Arr. An. 1.11.3–5. Aim: Liberating the people instead of subjecting them (Hdt. 7.9a-b); Elaeus: Hdt. 7.33; 9.116 vs. Arr. An. 1.11.5; Hellespont and sacrifices: Hdt. 7.34–35; 7.54.2 vs. Arr. An. 1.11.6–7 (Alexander was protected by Poseidon and the Nereids while Xerxes’ hybris was punished); Ilium: Hdt. 7.43.1 vs. Arr. an. 1.11.7–8; Plut. Alex. 15.4. 88 Cf. R. Stoneman, Xerxes: A Persian Life (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2015), 166–70; R. Boucharlat, ‘Le destin des résidences et site perses d’Iran dans la seconde moitié du IVe siècle avant J.-C’, in La transition entre l’empire achéménide et les royaumes hellénistiques, (eds.) P. Briant and F. Joannès (Paris: Editions de Boccard, 2006), 457; Wiesehöfer, Das antike Persien, 150; Brosius, 228; and H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, ‘Alexander and Persepolis’, in Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth, (ed.) J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen Due and B. Poulsen (Rome2: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997), 181–82, 184–85

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89 90

91 92

93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101

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(pointing out that propaganda has to be distinguished from political reasons: Alexander may have proclaimed that he destructed Xerxes’ heritage. But in fact, he did not want to leave behind items (treasures, throne, throne hall) that could have been used to propagate political power by an anti-king). The damage was done in particular to the Apadana and Xerxes’ Hadiš. On the thorough pillaging of the treasury, see the excavation report: E. F. Schmidt, The Treasury of Persepolis and Other Discoveries in the Homeland of the Achaemenians (Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1939), 55, 71. V. Gray, Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes: Reading the Reflections (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 182. Personal virtues: Xen. Cyr. 1.2.1; 1.6.8; 1.5.13; 8.2.1–2; cf. Plut. Alex. 5.3; 7.3–5; 8.1–2; 34.1–3; 41.1; 42.2; 45.3; Mor. 179d. Treatment of friends: Xen. Cyr. 2.3.12; 8.2.1–8; 8.2.22–25; 8.3.37; cf. Plut. Alex. 8.1; 8.4; 34.1–3; 41.4; Mor. 181e; 179e. Treatment of soldiers: sharing their hardships: Xen. Cyr. 1.2.1; 1.6.25; 1.5.13; cf. Plut. Alex. 42.2–6; 45.3; care for constant training of soldiers (Xen. Cyr. 1.6.17; 3.3.8; cf. Plut. Alex. 31.2) and his own (Xen. Cyr. 5.3.59; cf. Plut. Alex. 23.2; most rewards for bravest soldiers: Xen. Cyr. 8.3.5; cf. Plut. Alex. 24.1–2. Treatment of captured noble women: Xen. Cyr. 4.6.11; 5.1.2–17; cf. Plut. Alex. 21.4–5; 22.2; Mor. 522a. Commandership: no trickery against enemies (Xen. Cyr. 1.6.29; 3.3.9; Plut. Alex. 16.2–3. Start with nearly nothing: Xen. Cyr. 1.1.4; 1.6.9; 2.4.9; cf. Plut. Alex. 11.1; 15.1–3; Mor. 342d. Diog. Laert. 6.84. Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 61–62. On this image of Cyrus see Gray, Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes, 180–82. The most beautiful women of Asia: Xen. Cyr. 4.6.11; 5.1.2–17; cf. Arr. An. 2.12.5; 4.19.6; Plut. Alex. 21.4–5; 22.2; and Mor. 522a. Cyrus forbade people to speak about Statira’s beauty (Xen. Cyr. 5.1.7–8). So did Alexander: Plut. Alex. 22.3. When Statira died, Alexander mourned for her as if she had been one of his relatives and gave her a sumptuous burial just as Cyrus had done for Panthia: Xen. Cyr. 7.3.12; cf. Plut. Alex. 30.1; Curt. 4.10.23–24; and Just. 11.12. Cf. Baynham, Alexander the Great, 60; Bosworth, A Historical Commentary, 221. Xen. Cyr. 2.1.1; cf. Plut. Alex. 33.1–2. Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 79–82; Böhme, 179–80; A. B. Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander the Great: Politics, Warfare and Propaganda under the Successors (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 246–48. Cf. N. G. L. Hammond, Three Historians of Alexander the Great: The SoCalled Vulgate Authors, Diodorus, Justin and Curtius (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 104–05. Arr. An. 3.16.4–5; 7.17.1–2; and Strab. 16.1.5. Cf. Hdt. 1.183.3. Cf. A. Kuhrt, The Ancient Near East c. 3000–330 B.C., II (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), 126–27. Arr. An. 6.24.1–3; Ind. 1.3.4; and Strab. 15.1.5–6; 15.2.5. Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 67–68. BNJ 125 F 6. Cf. the contradictory evidence: Arr. An. 2.11.4. Persian ‘folklore’: BNJ 125 F 5. Clichés: BNJ 125 F 2 (Persian king’s tryphe), F 17, F 19a (Indians love wine). Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 72. So did Callisthenes, see, for example, his report on the massacre of the Branchidae: Strab. 17.1.43 and Curt. 7.5.28–35. On Cleitarchus see Plin. NH 3.57–58. Cf. A. Zambrini, ‘The Historians of Alexander the Great’, in A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, (ed.) J. Marincola, vol. 1 (Oxford: WileyBlackwell, 2007), 216; Baynham, ‘The Ancient Evidence for Alexander the Great’, 20–21; G. Wirth, Der Brand von Persepolis. Folgerungen zur Geschichte

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105

Sabine Müller Alexanders des Großen (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1993), 202; and Hammond, Three Historians of Alexander the Great, 84. Plut. Themist. 27.1; Cic. Brut. 42. Cf. Heckel, The Conquests of Alexander the Great, 7. Cf. Curt. 3.10.8; 4.1.11. He is also used as a foil for Alexander’s deeds: Alexander is depicted as being more successful than Darius against the Scythians (Arr. An. 4.4.3; 4.15.1–5; Curt. 7.9.17–19; cf. Hdt. 4.83–143). Regarding the Indian campaign, significantly, Alexander is not depicted as following in his footsteps but as emulating Cyrus II. Ps.-Call. 2.18. Obviously, the reader is invited to imagine that these poor men were prisoners taken by Xerxes during his Greek campaign – about 150 years before.

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Jacobs, B. Die Satrapienverwaltung im Perserreich zur Zeit Dareios’ III. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1994. ———. ‘Der Tod des Bessos’. Acta praehistorica et archaeologica 24 (1992): 177–86. Jamzadeh, P. Alexander Histories and Iranian Reflections. Boston and Leiden: Brill, 2012. Kegerreis, C. ‘The Cyropaedia among Alexander’s Lost Historians’. The Ancient World 46 (2015): 134–61. Kent, R. G. Old Persian: Grammar, Texts, Lexicon. New Haven2: America Oriental Society, 1953. Kienast, D. Philipp II. von Makedonien und das Reich der Achaimeniden. Munich: Fink, 1973. Koulakiotis, E. ‘The Hellenic Impact on Macedonia’. In The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives, edited by S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger, 199– 213. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017. Kuhrt, A. The Ancient Near East c. 3000–330 B.C., II. London and New York: Routledge, 1995. ———. ‘Der “gute” und der “schlechte” König – Kyros und Xerxes. A Footnote’. In Diwan. Untersuchungen zu Geschichte und Kultur des Nahen Ostens und des östlichen Mittelmeerraums im Altertum. FS J. Wiesehöfer, edited by C. Binder, H. Börm and A. Luther, 127–32. Duisburg: Wellem, 2016. Lenfant, D. (ed.). Les Perses vus par les Grecs. Paris: Colin, 2011. McGroarty, K. ‘Did Alexander the Great Read Xenophon?’. Hermathena: A Trinity College Dublin Review 181 (2006): 1–17. Morgan, C. Early Greek States beyond the Polis. London and New York: Routledge, 2013. Müller, S. Alexander, Makedonien und Persien. Berlin: Trafo, 2014. ———. Die Argeaden. Geschichte Makedoniens bis zum Zeitalter Alexanders des Großen. Paderborn: Schöningh, 2016. ———. ‘Die frühen Perserkönige im kulturellen Gedächtnis der Makedonen und in der Propaganda Alexanders d. Gr.’. Gymnasium 118 (2011): 105–33. ———. ‘Onesikritos und das Achaimenidenreich’. Anabasis 2 (2012): 45–66. ———. Perdikkas II. – Retter Makedoniens. Berlin: Frank & Timme, 2017. Nylander, C. ‘Darius III – The Coward King. Point and Counterpoint’. In Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth, edited by J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen Due and B. Poulsen, 145–59. Rome2: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997. Olbrycht, M. J. ‘Curtius Rufus, the Macedonian Mutiny at Opis and Alexander’s Iranian Policy in 324 bc’. In The Children of Herodotus, edited by J. Pigón, 231–52. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2011. ———. ‘Macedonia and Persia’. In Blackwell’s Companion to Ancient Macedonia, edited by J. Roisman and I. Worthington, 342–69. Oxford and Malden: WileyBackwell, 2010. ———. ‘The Military Reforms of Alexander the Great During His Campaign in Iran, Afghanistan and Central Asia’. In Miscellanea Eurasiatica Cracoviensia, edited by C. Galewicz, J. Pstrusińska and L. Sudyka, 309–21. Krakow: Krakow University Press, 2007. Pearson, L. The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great. New York: American Philological Association, 1960.

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Picard, O. ‘Numismatique et iconographie: Le chevalier macédonien’. Bulletin de Correspondence Hellénique Suppl. 14 (1986): 67–76. Price, M. J. ‘Alexander’s Policy on Coinage’. In Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth, edited by J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen Due and B. Poulsen, 171–76. Rome2: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, H. ‘Alexander and Persepolis’. In Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth, edited by J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen Due and B. Poulsen, 177–87. Rome2: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997. Schmidt, E. F. The Treasury of Persepolis and Other Discoveries in the Homeland of the Achaemenians. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1939. Schmitt, O. Der Lamische Krieg. Bonn: Habelt, 1992. Seibert, J. ‘Alexander der Große an den Gräbern der Perserkönige’. In Von Sachsen bis Jerusalem, edited by H. Seibert and G. Thoma, 13–30. Munich: Herbert Utz Verlag, 2004. Sordi, M. ‘Larissa e la dinastia Alevade’. Aevum 70 (1996): 37–45. Spawforth, A. ‘The Court of Alexander the Great between Europe and Asia’. In The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, edited by A. Spawforth, 82–120. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Squillace, G.‘Consensus Strategies under Philip and Alexander: The Revenge Theme’. In Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, edited by E. D. Carney and D. Ogden, 69–80. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Stoneman, R. Xerxes: A Persian Life. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2015. Stronach, D. ‘Of Cyrus, Darius and Alexander: A New Look at the Epitaphs of Cyrus the Great’. In Variatio delectat: Iran und der Westen, edited by R. Dittmann, 681– 702. Münster: Ugarit, 2000. van de Mieroop, M. A History of the Ancient Near East. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Weiskopf, M. The So-Called ‘Great Satrap’s Revolt’, 366–360 BC. Stuttgart: Steiner, 1989. Wiesehöfer, J. Das antike Persien von 550 v. Chr. bis 650 n. Chr. Düsseldorf and Zürich3: Patmos, 2005. ———. Das frühe Persien. Geschichte eines antiken Weltreichs. Munich: Beck, 1999. ———. ‘The Persian Impact on Macedonia’. In The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives, edited by S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger, 57–64. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017. Winiarczyk, M. ‘Das Werk Die Erziehung Alexanders des Onesikritos von Astypalaia (FGrHist 134 F 1–39). Forschungsstand (1832–2005) und Interpretationsversuch’. Eos 94 (2007): 197–250. Wirth, G. Der Brand von Persepolis. Folgerungen zur Geschichte Alexanders des Großen. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1993. ———. Hypereides, Lykurg und die autonomia der Athener. Ein Versuch zum Verständnis einiger Reden der Alexanderzeit. Wien: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1999. ———. Der Kampfverband des Proteas. Spekulationen zu den Begleitumständen der Laufbahn Alexanders. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1989.

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———. Philip II. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1985. Worthington, I. Demosthenes of Athens and the Fall of Classical Greece. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. ———. Philip II of Macedon. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Xydopoulos, I. K. ‘Anthemus and Hippias: The Policy of Amyntas I’. Illinois Classical Studies 37 (2012): 21–37. Zahrnt, M. ‘Early History of Thrace to the Murder of Kotys I (360 bce)’. In A Companion to Ancient Thrace, edited by J. Valeva, E. Nankov and D. Graninger, 35–47. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2015. ———. ‘Die Entwicklung des makedonischen Reiches bis zu den Perserkriegen’. Chiron 14 (1984): 325–68. ———. ‘Hellas unter persischem Druck? Die griechisch-persischen Beziehungen in der Zeit vom Abschluss des Königfriedens bis zur Gründung des Korinthischen Bundes’. Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 65 (1983): 249–306. ———. ‘Herodot und die makedonischen Könige’. In Herodot und das persische Weltreich, edited by R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg and J. Wiesehofer, 761–77. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011. ———. ‘Der Mardonioszug des Jahres 492 v. Chr. und seine historische Einordnung’. Chiron 22 (1992): 237–79. Zambrini, A. ‘The Historians of Alexander the Great’. In A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, edited by J. Marincola, 210–20. Vol. 1. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007.

Chapter 8

The man who would be king Alexander between Gaugamela and Persepolis Hugh Bowden

Despite major developments in our understanding of the Achaemenid Persian empire and its relationship with the political communities on its western borders,1 the scholarly depiction of the interaction between the two at the time of Alexander the Great has continued to be characterised by the presentation of an opposition between West and East, in which an entirely European Alexander takes on the profoundly oriental Persian empire, defeating it, but at the same time being corrupted by its luxury and effeminacy. This characterisation of Alexander’s career has its roots in the surviving ancient narratives, all of which were written under the Roman empire and which can be seen to reflect the attitudes of the Roman audiences for which they were written. These attitudes were reflected and reinforced in Roman moralistic writings and also in political propaganda, both of which presented the idea of kingship, and eastern kingship in particular, as the subject of great suspicion. This suspicion of eastern kingship distorted the way in which Alexander’s actions were interpreted and has made it difficult to make sense of some of his actions. In this chapter, I will re-examine two episodes in Alexander’s career usually dated to the late autumn of 331 bc and the summer of 330 bc: his behaviour in the throne room at Susa and his supposed adoption of Persian dress in Hyrcania. I will show that reading these two episodes through the lens of a fundamental dichotomy between West and East, as has usually been done, leads to an impoverishment of our understanding of Alexander’s kingship. For reasons that should become clear, I will treat the episodes in reverse chronological order.

Persian dress In 34 bc, Mark Antony held a great meeting in the Gymnasium in Alexandria. We have two accounts of this event that differ in their precise details but tell the same basic story.2 Cleopatra, Caesarion, and Cleopatra’s children by Antony were presented to the people, and Antony distributed the provinces in the eastern part of the Roman empire to them. The title ‘King of Kings’ was awarded to Caesarion, according to Cassius Dio, or to Antony’s

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sons Alexander and Ptolemy, according to Plutarch.3 The two boys were about 6 and 2 years old at this point. Information about Antony’s action was reported to Rome and was recognised there as a great opportunity for propaganda against Antony, which was seized upon by Octavian. Plutarch’s account has details not found in Dio, and it is worth examining more closely: Antony was hated also for the distribution which he made to his children in Alexandria, which came across as theatrical, excessive and antiRoman. He filled the Gymnasium with a mass of people and placed two thrones of gold on a silver dais, one for himself and one for Cleopatra, along with lower thrones for his children.4 Then first he declared Cleopatra Queen of Egypt, Cyprus, Libya5 and Coele Syria, ruling alongside Caesarion, who was considered to have been the son of the previous Caesar, who had left Cleopatra pregnant. Next he proclaimed his own sons by Cleopatra as Kings of Kings,6 and assigned to Alexander Armenia, Media and Parthia, once he had subdued it, and to Ptolemy Phoenicia, Syria and Cilicia. At the same time he brought forward Alexander dressed in Median costume, wearing a tiara and an upright kitara, and Ptolemy in boots, short cloak (chlanis) and kausia with diadema around it. This latter was the costume of the kings who succeeded Alexander, and the former that of Median and Armenian kings. And when the boys had saluted their parents, one was given a bodyguard of Armenians, and the other of Macedonians. Cleopatra then and subsequently when in public wore a robe sacred to Isis, and was addressed as the New Isis.7 Plutarch adds that Octavian reported this information to the senate and denounced Antony to the people for these actions.8 The element of this account to which I want to draw attention is the dressing of the 5-year-old Alexander Helios in Median costume. Whether this actually took place or was part of Octavian’s propaganda campaign is not important for our purposes. The point is that the story was circulating within the Roman empire in the later 30s bc, at the time when our earliest surviving narrative account of the career of Alexander the Great, Book 17 of Diodorus Siculus’ Library of History, was being composed, and the account of it we are considering was written by Plutarch, the author of two more works about Alexander, Life of Alexander and the essay On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander. I will argue that we cannot ignore the Roman attitudes to oriental dress when we examine the question of Alexander’s adoption of Persian practices. Although the argument will move beyond the issue of Alexander’s adoption of Persian dress, that is the best place to start. All the surviving narrative accounts of Alexander’s campaigns refer to his adoption of oriental dress, although they differ in some details.9 This has led to a consensus among modern commentators that this was a deliberate decision of Alexander, enacted at a particular time and place: the time was

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330 bc and the location Parthia.10 The assumption is that such a specific decision was reported by an earlier historian, presumed to be Cleitarchus, since the accounts of Diodorus, Curtius, and Justin are similar.11 However, this assumption may be challenged, if we look at the accounts in more detail. While there are inconsistencies between the surviving accounts about the precise date and place for Alexander’s adoption of Persian dress, there is significant agreement about the narrative context, which is one of Alexander’s loss of self-control and him succumbing to the allure of the east. Diodorus’ account is all set in Hyrcania and starts with the story of the visit of Thalestris, the queen of the Amazons, to Alexander.12 He follows this story with the statement that ‘as it seemed to Alexander that he had achieved his objective, and held the kingdom without opposition, he began to emulate Persian luxury and the extravagance of the kings of Asia’.13 He goes on to refer to the introduction of Asian ushers (rhabdouchoi) and the employment of elite Persians as bodyguards (doryphoroi) before turning to the matter of clothing. As well as adopting his own (restricted) Persian clothing, Diodorus describes Alexander distributing purple cloaks and horse harnesses to his companions. Next comes the reference to Alexander adding 365 concubines to his retinue, who would parade before him every night.14 Finally, Diodorus then notes that Alexander was concerned about Macedonian disapproval but used gifts to silence protestors.15 The parallel part of Curtius’ account also begins in Hyrcania with the arrival of Narbazanes, who had plotted with Bessus to kill Darius, and who now brought great gifts to Alexander, including the eunuch boy Bagoas, as a result of which Alexander pardoned him.16 There follows the story of Thalestris, told with more emphasis on physical attractiveness and less on mutual moral admiration than in Diodorus’ account.17 At this point, Alexander moves to Parthia, where Curtius states that he ‘openly set loose his desires, and swapped self-control and moderation, eminent virtues in all times of highest fortune, for arrogance and licentiousness’.18 He goes on to describe Alexander demanding that his companions should prostrate themselves in his presence, adopt Persian dress and with it ‘insolence of spirit’.19 He mentions Alexander using Darius’ signet ring for correspondence in Asia, and his own for letters to Europe, and requiring others to wear Persian dress, and then mentions the 365 concubines, with added reference to their accompanying ‘flocks of eunuchs’.20 Curtius notes that this was particularly disliked by Philip’s veterans and that Alexander tried to buy them off with gifts.21 Justin’s briefer account begins with Alexander in Parthia announcing that he does not intend to return to Macedonia and inspiring his soldiers to conquer Hyrcania.22 There then follows an account of the visit of the Amazon queen (named by Justin as Thalestris or Minithya)23 and then Alexander adopting Persian dress, requiring his companions to do the same in order to avoid hostility to the move. There is then reference to Alexander spending

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time with the royal concubines and holding great banquets. Justin refers to general hostility to these changes from his army24 and says that Alexander reduced this by allowing his soldiers to marry local women and that he also started to train the children of these relationships as soldiers who would be the Epigoni.25 He then suggests that Alexander had Parmenion and Philotas executed because he was angry about the opposition to the changes.26 Plutarch refers to these same elements, but significantly in a different order. He describes Alexander returning from Hyrcania to Parthia and there deciding to adopt Persian dress, explaining this either as an attempt to adapt to local practices or as a first step towards prostration.27 He mentions that the Macedonians were offended, but tolerated the practice, because of Alexander’s continuing military prowess.28 The visit of the (unnamed) Amazon queen is described next, with a discussion which earlier historians either do or do not mention.29 This is followed by Alexander marching back to Hyrcania and announcing to his troops his intention not to leave Asia.30 He then describes the training of local boys to be soldiers in the context of describing Alexander’s aim of bringing Macedonian and Asian customs together, before mentioning Alexander’s marriage to Roxane as a love-match.31 Arrian refers to Alexander’s adoption of Persian dress after describing him ordering the mutilation of Bessus.32 Both actions are presented with disapproval. The moralising introduction to the topic does not say anything at all about when or where Alexander started to wear Persian clothing: the text does not in any way imply that it should be associated chronologically with the execution of Bessus. Nor does Arrian associate the event with the visit of the Amazon queen or Alexander’s use of courtesans, neither of which he mentions at all. The mutilation of Bessus and the adoption of Persian dress are placed at the start of a sequence of stories that show Alexander in a bad light. This sequence is what Bosworth has called the ‘Great Digression’ and is placed at the very centre of Arrian’s work.33 It allows Arrian to focus his criticisms of Alexander in one place and present a more positive image throughout the rest of the work.34 One of the features of the digression is that it takes events out of their usual chronological sequence, as Arrian indicates.35 We, therefore, have no evidence from Arrian for any specific policy decision by Alexander to start wearing Persian costume. This suggests the likelihood that Arrian had not read about such a policy decision in his principle sources, Ptolemy and Aristobulus. Precisely what Alexander wore is not consistently described. Arrian states that Alexander adopted ‘Median dress’, including the Persian kitaris (‘a floppy hat with long ear-flaps, or a cowl, of uncertain construction, characteristically Scythian, Persian or Thracian’).36 Curtius mentions a diadema (‘a band or fillet of cloth or metal, encircling the head and tied at the nape’) of purple and white37 and Persian clothing (vestem Persicam) not otherwise explained.38 Justin similarly refers to ‘the dress of Persian kings, and the diadema which Macedonian kings were not previously accustomed to wear’.39

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Diodorus and Plutarch go into more detail. Both writers indicate that Alexander only adopted some items of eastern dress: he did not adopt the anaxyrides (‘Persian and Median trousers, sometimes leather, cut full and baggy and usually patterned’)40 or the kandys (‘a Median or Persian coat – sometimes leather – with ornamental sleeves’),41 and Plutarch adds that he did not wear the tiara (‘a high turban headdress, associated by the Romans with the east and royalty’).42 Plutarch makes the same point in his essay On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander and attributes this information to Eratosthenes.43 Strabo indicates that Eratosthenes discussed Alexander’s positive attitude to ‘barbarians’ at the end of his Geographica, and it is most likely that this is where Plutarch found this information.44 Eratosthenes was writing in the second half of the third century, that is about a century after Alexander,45 and it is not clear from where he will have got his information. It is also very unlikely that Eratosthenes provided any information about the circumstances in which Alexander adopted Persian dress. Plutarch appears to have been uncertain how to interpret Alexander’s dress. In On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander, he suggests that Alexander did not like Median dress, considered Persian dress much simpler,46 and wore a costume that mixed Persian and Macedonian elements, citing Eratosthenes as his authority for this. In the Life, he says that the costume was ‘in the middle, mixing Persian and Median, not as puffed-up as the latter, but more imposing than the former’.47 Attempts to draw distinctions between Persian and Median dress need to be treated with caution. Strabo gives an account of the transmission of customs of dress from the Medes to the Persians, and later the Armenians, and suggests that after the Persians had overthrown the Medes they adopted the dress of the people they had conquered, wearing Median clothing that was intended for cold northerly regions even in the warmer south.48 This would imply that Arrian’s indiscriminate use of ‘Median’ and ‘Persian’ was consistent with Roman understanding of these things. What is common to all the surviving narratives is an association between Alexander’s adoption of Persian dress and him being corrupted or his corruption by oriental luxury. This is most explicit in the Latin sources but is a factor in all of them. In the ‘vulgate’ sources, it is particularly associated with feminisation and arguably emasculation: the decision is presented between the visit of the Amazon queen and the acquisition of Darius’ concubines, and for Curtius the concubines are clearly associated with the presence of eunuchs in Alexander’s retinue.49 It was common to characterise easterners as soft and effeminate and that their dress was inevitably part of this.50 The connection between the visit of the Amazon queen and Alexander’s orientalising explains why the stories about the adoption of Persian dress are located in the region of Hyrcania and Parthia on the northern borders of the Achaemenid empire near the Caspian Sea. The Amazons were associated with the area immediately to the north of here, beyond the borders of existing empires, and therefore beyond the borders of the known world.51 The

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depiction of Alexander’s imagined two weeks of dalliance with the Amazon queen is similar to the later interlude at Nysa, a city traditionally associated with Dionysus, where Alexander and his men are depicted succumbing to Bacchic abandon.52 The other place (Parthia) associated with Alexander’s act of orientalising had an additional significance for the readers of the surviving narratives about Alexander, as the place of origin of the rulers of the Persian empire in their own time. What this analysis of the narrative texts suggests is that the evidence for a deliberate policy decision by Alexander to adopt Persian dress in the summer of 330 bc in Parthia or Hyrcania is less certain than has been assumed. The identification of the place where it is supposed to have been enacted, Hyrcania or Parthia, results from its association with the fictional story of the Amazon queen’s visit to Alexander. The time follows from awareness of when Alexander reached that area. Our evidence for exactly what form of dress Alexander wore is also limited: only Eratosthenes, writing a century after the events, provides explicit detail, and he is not followed by all writers. Especially given that no support for the idea of a specific moment of adoption of Persian dress can be found in the works of Arrian, and that Arrian does not offer support for the description of its form provided by Eratosthenes, this evidence is decidedly weak. There is no doubt that Alexander did wear Persian royal dress, but, as we will see, he may well have done so earlier than the surviving ancient accounts suggest. Other than in the passages just discussed, there is relatively little mention of Alexander’s companions or soldiers objecting to his adoption of Persian dress.53 As evidence that there was continuing opposition to it throughout his reign, scholars point to Arrian’s statement that this was a cause of discontent at the ‘Mutiny at Opis’: ‘his wearing of Persian dress, his equipping of the sons of easterners in Macedonian style, and the introduction of foreign horsemen into the Companion units had already frequently angered them’.54 However, none of the other narratives mentions this as a cause of concern at Opis.55 Arrian says this before putting a speech into Alexander’s mouth, a version of which is also given by Curtius,56 which gives a different impression. In the speech, Alexander emphasises the wealth and luxury that the Macedonian soldiers now enjoy.57 In Curtius’ account, Alexander makes the point even more clearly, by addressing the eastern soldiers and praising them for being less corrupted by luxury than his Macedonian troops.58 It is likely that the two speeches draw on a common original, but it would not be safe to assume that this original reflected anything of what Alexander may have said at the time.59 In the speeches, Alexander contrasts his own frugality with the soldiers’ excessive spending of their booty. Plutarch presents a similar contrast, this time between Alexander and his companions, naming Hagnon of Teios, Leonnatus, and Philotas, who all are said to have gone to absurd lengths in pursuit of pleasure and contrasting them with Alexander’s strenuous engagement in military activities and hunting.60 Plutarch claims that in spite of this,

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Alexander’s friends, ‘as a result of their wealth and sense of self-importance wished to live in luxury and idleness, and found his wandering and campaigning oppressive, and little by little came to slander and speak badly of him’.61 Plutarch indicates that much of this wealth came in the form of gifts from Alexander himself; one example of which is the gift of the house of Bagoas in Babylon to Parmenion, which was said to have contained clothing worth a thousand talents.62 It is difficult to see how these accounts of Alexander’s companions and common soldiers enjoying great wealth from booty and possessions including clothing can be made compatible with claims that these same men objected to Alexander adopting Persian dress himself. Indeed, Plutarch tells a story, on the authority of Eratosthenes, about Alexander rewarding a camp-follower with the gift of 12 villages, which presumably gave him an income that raised him to high status and the right to wear Persian dress.63 Here, wearing Persian dress is presented as a privilege and a sign that the wearer is of high status. If we are to find the reason why the Alexander historians present Alexander’s wearing of Persian dress as a problem, we need to look nearer to the time the surviving narratives were written. We have seen at the beginning of this chapter that Octavian circulated the story of Mark Antony dressing his son Alexander Helios in eastern dress as a way of damaging Antony’s reputation, suggesting that Antony was abandoning his allegiance to Rome and Roman ways.64 Another negative example of a ruler adopting foreign dress was Caligula. The elder Seneca criticised him for forcing Persian servitude onto free Roman citizens, referring to his making senators prostrate themselves in front of him, a practice explicitly rescinded by Claudius.65 On the basis of Suetonius’ account, his public attire might be described as ‘Eastern, regal and effeminate’.66 The Alexander historians are likely to be presenting contemporary concerns in their accounts, assuming that the attitudes of their own day could be read back onto Alexander’s time.

The Persian throne Introducing his account of Alexander’s adoption of Persian dress Diodorus says: Considering that he had been successful in his undertaking, and held the kingdom without opposition, Alexander began to have a desire for Persian luxury and the extravagant lifestyle of Asian kings.67 Plutarch speaks in similar terms of Alexander’s position immediately after his victory at Gaugamela: The battle having had this outcome, it was considered that the rule of the Persians had been entirely dissolved, and Alexander, publicly

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proclaimed king of Asia, sacrificed to the gods in magnificent style and presented his friends with wealth and estates and governorships.68 Plutarch goes on to describe the favours Alexander granted to the Greeks, then his journey through Babylonia (without any mention of his entry into Babylon itself), and then his taking of Susa and Persepolis.69 He ends this section by retelling an anecdote about how, when Alexander, in the throne room in Persepolis, ‘sat for the frst time beneath the golden canopy on the royal throne’, Demaratus of Corinth burst into tears because he was fortunate to see Alexander seated on the throne of Darius.70 None of the surviving narratives explicitly states that Alexander was ever formally crowned as king in any of the Asian or African territories he conquered. Because of this, it is the predominant view among modern scholars that he was never formally crowned as either ‘king of Asia’ or as ruler of the Persian empire. Arguments have been made for the possibility of a coronation in Egypt and in Babylon, and it is clear that he was acknowledged formally as legitimate king in both these places, whether or not there was an actual ceremony of coronation.71 On the other hand, the suggestion that he was ever formally recognised as Persian king has found little favour. The argument from silence is reinforced by the belief, based on Plutarch’s Life of Artaxerxes,72 that a Persian coronation would have to have taken place at Pasargadae, and nothing is said about any ceremonies taking place there when Alexander visited.73 However, Plutarch’s text cannot bear too much weight: he describes a rite of passage associated with the figure of Cyrus, but such evidence as there is suggests that Cyrus himself and his successor Cambyses were crowned in Babylon. The rituals Plutarch describes have been characterised as ‘more like a royal initiation ritual than a full-blown public coronation’.74 It has also been suggested that in going to Pasargadae, Artaxerxes may have been reviving a practice that had been changed from the reign of Darius, who had created a new shrine at Naqsh-e Rostam.75 The possibility of alternative locations for a coronation of Achaemenid kings, and Alexander, cannot be ruled out.76 A further key reason given for rejecting the idea of a coronation in the Persian heartlands is the assumption that Alexander did not adopt any form of Persian practices until the summer of 330 when he was in Hyrcania.77 However, as we have seen, there is good reason to question that assumption. Given this, it will be fruitful to re-examine some of the events following the moment when, according to Plutarch, Alexander claimed to have taken control of Darius III’s empire. The most significant event to consider is the story about Alexander’s visit to the throneroom at Susa, which is described by Curtius and Diodorus in very similar ways, although Diodorus offers more moralising. Curtius’ account is as follows:

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Then he sat on the royal throne, which was much too high for his frame. So, since his feet did not reach the top step, one of the royal pages put a table under his feet. And when the king saw one of the eunuchs who had belonged to Darius weeping, he demanded to know the reason for his sorrow. He explained that Darius used to eat from it, and that he could not bear to see his sacred table reduced to a dishonourable use without tears. At that the king was struck with shame for having offended against the gods of hospitality, and was on the point of ordering it to be taken away when Philotas said, ‘You should not do that, my king, but accept this as an omen, that the table from which your enemy ate his banquets has been placed beneath your feet.78 As it is presented to us, this is a fairly typical anecdote revealing reversal in fortune and presenting Alexander’s short stature as the trigger for an unsought omen. There can be little doubt that it has been shaped deliberately to bring out a moral.79 As we will see, there are problems with taking the story at face value, and one of these concerns the table that is at the centre of the story. Another story about Alexander, told by Polyaenus, describes him in an unspecified Persian royal palace: In the palace of the Persian monarch Alexander read a bill of fare for the king’s lunch and dinner, that was engraved on a column of bronze: on which were also other regulations, which Cyrus had directed. It ran thus: [there follows a list of quantities of food]. All, that is here enumerated, was distributed among the forces that attended him. In lunch, and dinner, and in largesses, the above was the king’s daily expenditure.80 Athenaeus describes the rituals and practices of Persian royal dining, attributing it to Heracleides of Cumae, which also emphasises the way in which the king provides food for many in the palace from his table, as part of a practice referred to as the king’s dinner.81 These accounts are supported by Achaemenid evidence. On the basis of Elamite documents from the Persepolis Fortifcation Tablets that refer to food ‘consumed before the King’,82 it can be concluded that: the evidence from the Fortification tablets agrees quite well with what the classical sources, [notably Heraclides (apud Ath. 4.145e–f) and Polyaenus (Strat. 4.3.32),] tell us about the institution known as the King’s Table (Heraclides: to deipnon to basileôs kaloumenon). Food and drinks prepared for the royal dinner not only fed the king, his family and his immediate entourage, but was also redistributed, via the king’s table, to courtiers, personnel and, notably, the king’s guard, who

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dined at a different location (Heraclides), but within the king’s vicinity or ‘before the king’ as the Persepolis scribes would say. It becomes evident that the Persepolis administrators, like the Greek historiographers, thought of the king’s table as an institution, as a complex organisation with its own rules and hierarchy, with very specific needs and demands, and with its own administrators.83 The ‘king’s table’, or Darius’ table, as it is referred to by Diodorus and Curtius, was therefore important as an institution that allowed the king to display his power and his benefcence, rather than as simply a piece of furniture. How this notion of the ‘king’s table’ fed into the story of Alexander in the throne room is not clear. It does, however, provide a reason to be cautious about taking the story at face value. The Susa story is similar in a number of ways to another story involving the royal throne, set in Babylon near the end of Alexander’s life, and told by Diodorus, Plutarch, and Arrian.84 In this story, while Alexander is otherwise engaged, a freed prisoner sat on his throne, wearing the diadem and royal robes. Once he was discovered, on the advice of the Babylonian manteis, he was taken away and executed. In Arrian’s version, there were eunuchs standing around the throne, who tore their clothing and beat their breasts and faces when they saw what had happened. All three authors explicitly present this story as a portent, indicating the imminence of Alexander’s death, and Arrian indicates that this is how Aristobulus reported it.85 It is now recognised that behind the story lies an event known from ancient near eastern documents, a substitute kingship ritual, where the king abdicates temporarily in the face of bad omens, and a prisoner is made king until the danger is passed; the prisoner is then executed.86 Aristobulus, writing several decades after the event, may either have misremembered what actually happened or adapted it to make it meaningful to Greek readers. There are numerous examples in the Alexander narratives of near eastern rituals being either misunderstood or retold to make more sense to a Greek (or Roman) audience. As well as the substitute kingship ritual mentioned earlier, there is the functioning of the procession oracle at Siwah, some details of which survive in the accounts of Diodorus and Curtius.87 The stories about proskynesis could also be considered part of the same phenomenon.88 As a description of an actual event, the Susa story cannot be taken at face value. First of all, the story emphasises that it was Alexander’s unusually small stature that made the footstool necessary, but in Achaemenid reliefs, Persian kings are conventionally depicted with a footstool, when they are on the throne.89 Second, the idea that Persian kings dined in the throne room is not supported by any evidence: there were different rooms set aside for this purpose, as Athenaeus makes clear.90 There is further evidence that Alexander’s appearance in the throne room was more than a casual visit: in On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander the Great, Plutarch tells the story

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of Demaratus of Corinth (see previous discussion) but sets it in Susa rather than Persepolis.91 This means that we have two anecdotes set in the throne room at Susa: one about Demaratus provided by Plutarch, and one about the eunuchs provided by Diodorus and Curtius. The Demaratus story loses much of its point if what he saw was not Alexander formally enthroned. This should encourage us to consider the probability that in the same way as with the Babylonian story, the account of Alexander’s visit to the throne room in Susa had its origins in a near eastern ritual. There are clear similarities between the two stories, both in their elements (the throne, the weeping eunuch) and their function in the surviving narratives as portents. They neatly mirror each other, with the Susa story marking the beginning of Alexander’s time as ruler over the Persian empire and the Babylon one marking its end. The most plausible ritual in the context would be a coronation ceremony.92 There is more evidence from earlier in Alexander’s career that suggests that he and his companions would have expected him to take part in such rituals. Plutarch describes two incidents from Alexander’s childhood which involved interaction with members of the elite of the Achaemenid empire: he is supposed to have entertained a Persian embassy in Philip’s absence and to have negotiated a marriage agreement with Pixodarus, satrap of Caria.93 Whatever the status of these particular stories,94 they act as a reminder that the kingdom of Macedon was involved in diplomatic relations with the powers to its east in the reign of Philip, and probably earlier, as it had been in the period before 479.95 When he reached Susa, Alexander was greeted by the satrap, Abulites, and his son, who must have arranged his entry into the city itself and whom he left as satrap when he left, indicating that their relationship remained positive.96 This repeated the pattern at the previous Achaemenid royal centre, Babylon, where the satrap had also welcomed Alexander and retained his position.97 These accounts obscure the role that diplomatic negotiations will have played in the arrangements: to get the population to come out en masse to meet Alexander and bring him gifts, as happened at Alexander’s entry into Babylon, will have taken considerable planning.98 The accounts, as most ancient historiographies do, also obscure the role in all these encounters that interpreters and other court functionaries must have played.99 Given that, by the time he arrived at Susa, Alexander will have been extremely familiar with the diplomatic formalities necessary in any negotiations between rival forces and that he will have been advised by very knowledgeable courtiers from all sides, it is difficult to accept that Alexander’s actions in the throne room at Susa will have been anything other than deliberate. If he sat on the king’s throne, it must have been in circumstances where he was formally acknowledged as entitled to do so by those present, as the Demaratus anecdote implies. And if there was a formal ceremony involved, it would follow that Alexander would have participated

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in it in an appropriate manner, which would have included wearing appropriate apparel. Clothing is central to the ritual at Pasargadae described by Plutarch.100 The idea that Alexander might have begun to wear Persian royal dress without there being any formal ceremony underestimates the importance of the rituals by which royal legitimacy is established.101 As has already been established, there is considerable uncertainty about what Achaemenid coronation rituals may have involved. Nonetheless, it seems likely that while he was in Susa, Alexander took part in a ceremony in the throne room and that he would have worn a form of Persian royal dress at that time. It follows from this that Alexander was beginning to present himself using symbols of Achaemenid monarchy from at least the time immediately after the Battle of Gaugamela, if not earlier: in which case he was doing so before the death of Darius and before his arrival in Hyrcania. There is one action of Alexander that might appear to contradict the view that he was already presenting himself as the next ruler of the Achaemenid empire (or king of Asia) before the summer of 330, and that is the destruction of Persepolis. There is not enough space here to go over this muchdebated issue in any detail. It is clear that there are a number of reasons why the treatment of Persepolis might have been different from that of the other Persian royal centres, of which two can be noted. Alexander reached it after overcoming determined military resistance, and it would have been difficult to prevent his soldiers from looting the place, as the sources suggest that they did.102 But there also needed to be an action to mark the end of the Hellenic campaign against the Persian king: At Persepolis, it was his turn (not Xerxes’) to bring about ‘ground zero’, the result of his own destruction in the symbolic heart of Achaemenid rule. Drink and a woman may have helped the occasion along, but the burning of the Achaemenid palace was not random ‘hooliganism’: it was the culmination of Alexander’s publicity as a ‘punisher’ of Persian sacrilege.103 In other words, this was an occasion where Alexander’s own propaganda needs took priority over other considerations.

Conclusion The image of Alexander the Great as the young Macedonian king who first conquered the Persian empire and then was corrupted by it was attractive to Roman writers. Cicero associated the turning point with Alexander’s assumption of (eastern) kingship: ‘Let me remind you that even Aristotle’s pupil, whose temperament and self-control were of the best, became proud, cruel and intemperate once he was addressed as king’,104 and it was a theme of Roman moralistic writing.105 It shaped the way in which the surviving

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ancient narratives of Alexander’s campaigns were written. In later periods, emphasising the ‘westernness’ of Alexander was important for authors depicting Alexander as a model for Europeans to emulate.106 It would be fair to say that the image of Alexander was being used for propaganda purposes in all the histories written about him. And this propaganda has had its effect on modern historiography. Historians have underestimated the extent to which Alexander would have been familiar with, and would have made use of, eastern practices in the period before 330 bc, and have overestimated the extent to which this will have been a cause of concern to Alexander’s Macedonian contemporaries.107 There is no good reason to suppose that Alexander was seduced by the attractions of Persian luxury after the death of Darius or that he had to make a difficult decision about his clothing to satisfy the competing expectations of Macedonians and Persians. Alexander, his court, and his army would have been familiar with the different customs of the different peoples of Asia and would have been surrounded by interpreters and other officials who would have been able to advise on protocol. Alexander’s military victories were accompanied by diplomatic activities about which the surviving narratives are largely silent, but which were as important for the success of his campaign. Alexander took part in ritual activity in all the places through which he passed on campaign, and this will have included wearing whatever clothing was deemed appropriate. This may not have suited the narrative needs of his historians, from the Roman period onwards, but it suited his own.

Notes 1 On Persia: Pierre Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Winona Lake: Eisenbruans, 2002) and Pierre Briant, Kings, Countries, Peoples: Selected Studies on the Achaemenid Empire (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2017); on Persian relations with Macedonia: for example, Marek Jan Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, in A Companion to Ancient Macedonia, eds. Joseph Roisman and Ian Worthington (Abingdon: Routledge, 2010), 342–68. 2 Plut., Ant. 54.3–6; Dio 49.41.1–4. The differences may in part be explained by confusion over names: Caesarion was Ptolemy (XV) Philopator, and Antony’s children were Alexander Helios, Cleopatra Selene, and Ptolemy Philadelphus. Dio and Plutarch may have made different assumptions about which Ptolemy and which Cleopatra were to receive which titles and provinces. On the historicity of the event, see: E. W. Gray, ‘The Crisis in Rome at the Beginning of 32 bc’, Proceedings of the African Classical Association 13 (1975): 16–17; Plutarch and C. B. R. Pelling, Life of Antony (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 249–52; Kathryn Welch, ‘“Maiestas regia” and the Donations of Alexandria’, Mediterranean Archaeology 19/20 (2006/7): 189–92; and Pierre Renucci, Marc Antoine: un destin inachevé entre César et Cléopâtre (Paris: Perrin, 2015), 450–56. 3 Dio 49.41.1 and Plut., Ant. 54.4. 4 Dio 49.41.1 has Cleopatra and her children sitting at Antony’s side. 5 Dio 49.41.3 allocates Libya around Cyrenaica to Cleopatra Selene.

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6 Dio 49.41.1 says that this title was given to Caesarion, and Cleopatra was declared Queen of Kings. This latter is supported by coinage of Antony of 32 bce with the words on the reverse, Cleopatra Regina Regum Filiorum Regum: Michael H. Crawford, Roman Republican Coinage, 2 vols (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), 1:539, no. 543. 7 Plut., Ant. 54.3–6. 8 Plut., Ant. 55.1. 9 Diod. 17.77.4–5; Curt. 6.6.4; Plut., Alex. 45; Arr. 4.7.4–5; and Just. 12.3.8–9. 10 For example, Andrew W. Collins, ‘The Royal Costume and Insignia of Alexander the Great’, American Journal of Philology 133, no. 3 (2012): 373: ‘The beginning of Alexander’s use of Persian dress can be dated to 330 bce. Plutarch (Alex. 45.3–4) reported that the king adopted barbarian costume in that year and noted that this was only in the presence of easterners or his companions at first but later when he was riding and giving audiences’; Marek Jan Olbrycht, ‘Parthia, Bactria and India: the Iranian policies of Alexander of Macedonia (330–323)’, in With Alexander in India and Central Asia: Moving East and Back to West, eds. Claudia Antonetti and Paolo Biagi (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2017), 197: ‘The new Alexander’s program, proclaimed in Parthia, involved the ruler’s adoption of the Iranian dress and Achaemenid insignia, Iranian court ceremonies, and other innovations’. 11 For example, Hans-Werner Ritter, Diadem und Königsherrschaft (Munich and Berlin: C.H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1965), 42. But see J. E. Atkinson, A Commentary on Q. Curtius Rufus’ Historiae Alexandri Magni Books 5 to 7.2 (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1994), 201: ‘In many details Curtius and D. S. differ: a common source need not be assumed’. 12 Diod. 17.77.1–3: the account shows Alexander in a positive light. 13 Diod. 17.77.4. 14 Diod. 17.77.6. 15 Diod. 17.77.7–78.1. 16 Curt. 6.5.23. 17 Curt. 6.5.24–32. 18 Curt. 6.6.1. 19 superbiamque habitus animi insolentia sequebatatur: Curt. 6.6.5. 20 spadonum greges: Curt. 6.6.8. 21 Curt. 6.6.9–11. 22 Just. 12.3.2–3. 23 Just. 12.3.5. 24 Just. 12.4.1. 25 Just. 12.4.2–11. 26 Just. 12.5.1–3. 27 Plut., Alex. 45.1. 28 Plut., Alex. 45.3–4. Plutarch mentions briefly here a campaign reported in more detail by Arrian (4.4) before he discusses Alexander’s adoption of Persian practices. 29 Plut., Alex. 46. 30 Plut., Alex. 47.1–2. 31 Plut., Alex. 47.3–4. 32 Arr. 4.7.3–4. 33 P. A. Brunt, Arrian, History of Alexander and Indica, 2 vols (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976–83), 1:532–534; A. B. Bosworth A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, Books iv-v. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995.45–47.

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34 So the adoption of Persian dress is referred to again in the ‘obituary’ of Alexander at the end of the work, where it is given a more positive gloss: Arr. 7.29.4. 35 Cf. Arr. 4.8.1, 4.14.4. 36 Thus Liza Cleland, Glenys Davies and Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones, eds., Greek and Roman Dress from A to Z (London: Routledge, 2007), 104. Bosworth notes that ‘The word is used synonymously with tiara to designate the royal headdress of the Persian kings’ (A Historical Commentary, 50). 37 Cleland, Davies and Llewellyn-Jones, 47. See the exhaustive discussion in Lichtenberger et al., Das Diadem des hellenistischen Herrscher: Übernahme, Transformation oder Neuschöpfung eines Herrschaftszeichens? (Bonn: Habelt, 2012) with Marek Jan Olbrycht, ‘The Diadem in the Achaemenid and Hellenistic Periods’, Anabasis: Studia Classica et Orientalia 5 (2015): 177–87. See also Joseph Wiesehöfer, ‘The Persian Impact on Macedonia: Three Case Studies’, in The History of the Argeads: New Perspectives, eds. Sabine Müller et al. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017), 60–61. 38 Curt. 6.6.4. 39 Just. 12.3.8. 40 Cleland, Davies and Llewellyn-Jones, 6. 41 Cleland, Davies and Llewellyn-Jones, 102. 42 Cleland, Davies and Llewellyn-Jones, 190. See n. 36. 43 Plut., Mor. 330a. 44 Strab. 1.4.9. For a more cautious assessment, see Frances Pownall, ‘Eratosthenes of Cyrene (241)’, in Brill’s New Jacoby, ed. Ian Worthington (Leiden: Brill, 2009). 45 Peter M. Fraser dates Eratosthenes’ position as Librarian at Alexandria to 245– 204/1 (Ptolemaic Alexandria [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972], 1331–33). 46 πολλῷ εὐτελεστέραν: Plut., Mor. 329f. 47 Plut., Alex. 45.2. J. R. Hamilton rightly defends the apparent inconsistency between the two texts (Plutarch Alexander: A Commentary [Oxford: Clarendon, 1969], 121–22). 48 Strab. 11.13.9. 49 Curt. 6.5.23, 6.6.8. 50 Benjamin Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006). 51 Hdt. (4.116) locates them three days east of the Tanais and three days north of Lake Maeotis; Arr. (4.15.4) has Pharasmanes, the king of Chorasmia, claim that his kingdom bordered the land of the Amazons. Hamilton suggests that Plutarch considered the meeting to have taken place beyond the Jaxartes, which puts them in the same general area (p. 123). 52 Curt. 8.10.13–18; Arr. 5.2.5–7; and Just. 12.7.6–8. Justin follows his account with another story of Alexander encountering a powerful queen, Cleophis, and impregnating her (12.7.9–11). 53 Arrian (4.8.4) mentions Cleitus’ dislike of Alexander’s move to a more ‘barbaric’ style (ἐς τὸ βαρβαρικώτερον), but this is immediately after the passage discussed previously. 54 Arr. 7.8.2. For example, Simon Hornblower, A Commentary on Thucydides. Vol. I: Books I–III (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 216. 55 Diod. 17.108; Curt. 10.2.12–14; Plut., Alex. 71.1–5; and Justin. 12.11.5–6. We may note that Diodorus, Arrian, and Justin all refer to the soldier’s objection to Alexander’s supposed claims to be the son of Ammon at this point. 56 Curt. 10.2.15–29. 57 Arr. 7.9–10, esp. 7.9.9.

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58 Curt. 10.3.7–14. 59 For a summary of views on the sources for Arrian’s account, see Francesco Sisti, Arriano, Anabasi di Alessandro, 2 vols (Milan: Mondadori, 2004), 2:597. It would not follow that any speech was taken from the same source as the narrative events. For a contrary view: W. W. Tarn, Alexander the Great, 2 vols (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1948), 2:290–96. 60 Plut., Alex. 40. 61 Plut., Alex. 41.1. 62 Plut., Alex. 39.6. 63 Plut., Alex. 31.5. 64 Plut., Ant. 54.5–6. 65 Sen., Ben. 2.12.1–2 and Dio. 60.5.4. 66 Hurley 1993, 186. Suet., Cal. 52. 67 17.77.4. 68 Plut., Alex. 34.1. 69 Plut., Alex. 34–37. 70 Plut., Alex. 37.4. 71 Egypt and Babylon: Hugh Bowden, ‘Alexander in Egypt: Considering the Egyptian Evidence’, in Alexander in Africa, ed. Philip Bosman (Pretoria: Classical Association of South Africa, 2014), 40–43; Ernst Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander the Great and the Kingdom of Asia’, in Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, eds. A. B. Bosworth and Elizabeth Baynham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 146–47. Egypt: Stefan Pfeiffer, ‘Alexander der Große in Ägypten: Überlegungen zur Frage seiner pharaonischen Legitimation’, in Alexander the Great and Egypt: History, Art Tradition, eds. Volker Grieb, Krzysztof Nawotka and Agnieszka Wojciechowska (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014), 89–106; Donata Schäfer, ‘Pharao Alexander “der Große” in Ägypten – eine Bewertung’, in Alexander the Great and Egypt: History, Art, Tradition, eds. Volker Grieb, Krzysztof Nawotka and Agnieszka Wojciechowska (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014), 159–63. 72 Plut., Artox. 3.1–2. 73 Arr. 3.18.10, 6.29. 74 Lindsay Allen, The Persian Empire (London: The British Museum Press, 2005), 84. 75 Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, ‘The Zendan and the Ka‘bah’, in Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte der Achämenidenzeit und ihr Fortleben, eds. Heidemarie Koch and David Neil Mackenzie (Berlin: Dietrich Reimer, 1983), 151. 76 Carsten Binder,‘Krönngszeremoniell der Achaimeniden’, in Der Achämenidenhof/ The Achaemenid Court, eds. Bruno Jacobs and Robert Rollinger (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2010), esp. 478–79 where she concludes: ‘Allerdings gibt es, eben abgesehen von unserer Notiz bei Plutarch, keinen weiteren Hinweis auf Pasargadai als Krönungsort, weder in der indigenen Überlieferung noch in den griechischen Quellen. Von einer Krönung des Kyros dort wissen wir nichts, so dass wir auch nicht einfach von einer Tradition ausgehen können. Unsere spärlichen indigenen Textzeugnisse deuten lediglich auf ein Krönungszeremoniell des Kyros und des Kambyses in Babylon hin. Dass Pasargadai der Krönungsort der Achaimeniden sei, ist lediglich eine plausible Hypothese, die aber nicht belegbar ist’. 77 For example, Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 354 and A. B. Bosworth, ‘Alexander and the Iranians’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 100 (1980): 5. 78 Curt. 5.2.13–15. Cf. Diod. 17.66.3–7. One detail needs some commentary. Curtius says that Alexander’s feet did not reach the primum (or summum) gradum, which must refer to the platform on which the throne sat. Diodorus uses the

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word ὑποβάθρον, and this is always translated as ‘footstool’ – with the result that the episode becomes more complicated. To quote one modern account: ‘One of the pages, with considerable presence of mind, snatched away the footstool and substituted a table’ (Peter Green, Alexander of Macedon, 356–323 BC: A Historical Biography [Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974], 307). But a ὑποβάθρον is anything that goes under a chair or couch, and here surely it refers to the same thing as Curtius’ gradus. Elizabeth Baynam, Alexander the Great: The Unique History of Quintus Curtius (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1998), 120. Polyaen., Strat. 4.3.32. Ath. 4.145b-146a. On both passages, see also Pierre Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, 286–97. HAL EŠŠANA tibba makka. Wouter F. M. Henkelman, ‘“Consumed before the King”: The Table of Darius, that of Irdabama and Irtaštuna, and that of his Satrap, Karkiš’, in Der Achämenidenhof/ The Achaemenid Court, eds. Bruno Jacobs and Robert Rollinger (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2010), 667–775. Henkelman, 684–86. Diod. 17.116.2–4; Plut., Alex. 73.3–74.1; and Arr. 7.24.2–3. The text of Curtius is lacunose at this point. Diod. 17.116.2 and Plut., Alex. 73.3 use the noun σημεῖον, and Arrian the verb σημαίνω. R. J. Van der Spek,‘Darius III, Alexander the Great and Babylonian Scholarship’, in A Persian Perspective: Essays in Memory of Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, eds. Wouter F. M. Henkelman and Amélie Kuhrt (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 339 and K. A. D. Smelik, ‘The “omina mortis” in the Histories of Alexander the Great’, Talanta 10/11 (1978/9): 92–111. Diod. 17.50.6–7 and Curt. 4.7.23–24. Bowden, ‘Alexander in Egypt’, 43–51. Hugh Bowden, ‘On Kissing and Making Up: Court Protocol and Historiography in Alexander the Great’s “Experiment with Proskynesis”’, Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 56 (2013), esp. 62. See, for example, Maria Brosius, ‘The Royal Audience Scene Reconsidered’, in The World of Achaemenid Persia: History, Art and Society in Iran and the Ancient Near East, eds. John Curtis and St John Simpson (London: I. B. Taurus, 2010), 143 (fig. 13.2) and 144 (fig. 13.3) and Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, 218–19 (figs. 20–22). Athen. 4.145b-c; cf. Maria Brosius, ‘Court and Court Ceremonies in Achaemenid Persia’, in The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, ed. Antony J. S. Spawforth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 41–44 and Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, 308. Plut., Mor. 329d. Montgomery 1969 (rejected by Robin Lane Fox, Alexander the Great [London: Allen Lane, 1973], 528; cf. Robin Lane Fox, ‘Alexander the Great: “Last of the Achaemenids”?’, in Persian Responses: Political and Cultural Interaction with(in) the Achaemenid Empire, ed. C. Tuplin [Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2007], 276); Paul Goukowsky, Essai sur les origines du mythe d’Alexandre (336–270 av. J.C.), 2 vols (Nancy: Université de Nancy, 1978–81), 1:31, 257n31; and Fritz Schachermeyr, Alexander der Grosse: Das Problem seiner Persönlichkeit und seines Wirkens (Vienna: Verlag Österreich, 1973), 284. Plut., Alex. 5.1, 10.1–2. Hamilton doubts the first, but accepts the second (pp. 13 and 25). Hdt. 5.17–21, 8.136; Sabine Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien (Berlin: Trafo, 2014), 154–59; and Sabine Müller, Die Argeaden: Geschichte

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Hugh Bowden Makedoniens bis zum Zeitalter Alexander des Großen (Paderborn: Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh, 2016), 111–29. Diod. 17.66.5; Curt. 5.2.8–12, 17; and Arr. 3.16.9. Curt. 5.1.17, 44. cf. Diod. 17.64.4 and Arr. 3.16.3–5. Amélie Kuhrt, ‘Alexander and Babylon’, Achaemenid History 5 (1990): 126: ‘Babylon’s apparently instant and peaceful surrender to Alexander in fact represents the final outcome of complex negotiations forced on the citizens by an unenviable situation.’ For examples of interpreters in communication between Achaemenid leaders and Greeks see Xen., Anab. 1.2.17, 1.8.12 (Cyrus the Younger’s interpreter Pigres). See further T. Harrison, ‘Herodotus’ Conception of Foreign Languages’, Histos 2 (1998): esp. 13. Plut., Artax. 3.2. This may be how Plutarch (Alex. 45.2) imagined it, when he says that Alexander wore Persian dress initially at home (κατ᾽ οἶκον) and later when out hunting and giving audiences (χρηματίζων). How far he is basing this on reliable information is not clear. As we have noted, Diodorus (17.77.4–5) offers a different gradual sequence, starting with introduction of Asiatic ushers (ῥαβδοῦχοι), which Antony J. S. Spawforth interprets as having happened earlier than 330, then including elite Persians as bodyguards, and then the wearing of his version of Persian royal dress (‘The Court of Alexander the Great between Europe and Asia’, in The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, ed. Antony J. S. Spawforth [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007], 93–94). Resistance: Curt. 5.3.17–4.34; Plut., Alex. 37.1–2; and Arr. 3.18.1–10. Plunder: Diod. 17.70 and Curt. 5.6.1–8. Cf. Pierre Briant, Alexander the Great and His Empire (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), 110–11. Lane Fox, ‘Alexander the Great’, 276. Cic., ad Att. 299.3. For example, Val. Max. 9.5. ext.1. Pierre Briant, The First European: A History of Alexander in the Age of Empire (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2017), esp. 305–39. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 158–59: ‘Als die makedonischen Truppen unter Alexander III. Persien einnahmen, war ihre eigene Kultur daher schon seit längerer eit persisch beeinflusst. So fremd, wie die Quellen es darstellen, können den makedonischen höfischen Kreisen die achaimenidischen Traditionen nicht gewesen sein. Alexander und die makedonischen Offiziere werden einiges an Wissen mitgebracht haben; vieles wird ihnen in Persien vertrauter vorgekommen sein als den Griechen und Römern, die später über den Zug schrieben und von ihren eigenen Maßstäben ausgingen’.

Bibliography Allen, Lindsay. The Persian Empire. London: The British Museum Press, 2005. Atkinson, J. E. A Commentary on Q. Curtius Rufus’ Historiae Alexandri Magni Books 5 to 7.2. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1994. Baynham, Elizabeth. Alexander the Great: The Unique History of Quintus Curtius. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1998. Binder, Carsten. ‘Krönngszeremoniell der Achaimeniden’. In Jacobs and Rollinger, Der Achämenidenhof, 473–97. Bosworth, A. B. ‘Alexander and the Iranians’. Journal of Hellenic Studies 100 (1980): 1–21.

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———. A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995. Bowden, Hugh. ‘Alexander in Egypt: Considering the Egyptian Evidence’. In Alexander in Africa, edited by Philip Bosman, 38–55. Pretoria: Classical Association of South Africa, 2014. ———. ‘On Kissing and Making Up: Court Protocol and Historiography in Alexander the Great’s “Experiment with Proskynesis”’. Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 56 (2013): 55–77. Briant, Pierre. Alexander the Great and his Empire. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010. ———. The First European: A History of Alexander in the Age of Empire. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2017. ———. From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire. Winona Lake: Eisenbruans, 2002. ———. Kings, Countries, Peoples: Selected Studies on the Achaemenid Empire. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2017. Brosius, Maria. ‘Court and Court Ceremonies in Achaemenid Persia’. In Spawforth, The Court and Court Society, 17–57. ———. ‘The Royal Audience Scene Reconsidered’. In The World of Achaemenid Persia: History, Art and Society in Iran and the Ancient Near East, edited by John Curtis and St John Simpson, 141–52. London: I. B. Taurus, 2010. Brunt, P. A. Arrian, History of Alexander and Indica. 2 vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976–83. Cleland, Liza, Glenys Davies and Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones, eds. Greek and Roman Dress from A to Z. London: Routledge, 2007. Collins, Andrew W. ‘The Royal Costume and Insignia of Alexander the Great’. American Journal of Philology 133, no. 3 (2012): 371–402. Crawford, Michael H. Roman Republican Coinage. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974. Fraser, Peter M. Ptolemaic Alexandria. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972. Fredricksmeyer, Ernst. ‘Alexander the Great and the Kingdom of Asia’. In Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, edited by A. B. Bosworth and Elizabeth Baynham, 136–66. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Goukowsky, Paul. Essai sur les origines du mythe d’Alexandre (336–270 av. J.C.). 2 vols. Nancy: Université de Nancy, 1978–81. Gray, E. W. ‘The Crisis in Rome at the Beginning of 32 bc’. Proceedings of the African Classical Association 13 (1975): 15–29. Green, Peter. Alexander of Macedon, 356–323 BC: A Historical Biography. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974. Grieb, Volker, Krzysztof Nawotka and Agnieszka Wojciechowska, eds. Alexander the Great and Egypt: History, Art, Tradition. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014. Hamilton, J. R. Plutarch Alexander: A Commentary. Oxford: Clarendon, 1969. Harrison, T. ‘Herodotus’ Conception of Foreign Languages’. Histos 2 (1998): 1–45. Henkelman, Wouter F. M. ‘“Consumed before the King”: The Table of Darius, that of Irdabama and Irtaštuna, and that of his Satrap, Karkiš’. In Jacobs and Rollinger, Der Achämenidenhof, 667–775. Hornblower, Simon. A Commentary on Thucydides. Vol. I: Books I–III. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991.

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Hurley, Donna. An Historical and Historiographical Commentary on Suetonius’ Life of C. Caligula. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. Isaac, Benjamin. The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006. Jacobs, Bruno and Robert Rollinger, eds. Der Achämenidenhof/ The Achaemenid Court. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2010. Kuhrt, Amélie. ‘Alexander and Babylon’. Achaemenid History 5 (1990): 121–30. Lane Fox, Robin. Alexander the Great. London: Allen Lane, 1973. ———. ‘Alexander the Great: “Last of the Achaemenids”?’ In Persian Responses: Political and Cultural Interaction with(in) the Achaemenid Empire, edited by C. Tuplin, 267–311. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2007. Lichtenberger, Achim, Katherine Martin, Heinz-Helge Nieswandt and Dieter Salzmann, eds. Das Diadem des hellenistischen Herrscher: Übernahme, Transformation oder Neuschöpfung eines Herrschaftszeichens? Bonn: Habelt, 2012. Montgomery, H. Gedanke und Tat. Lund: C.W.K. Gleerup, 1965. Müller, Sabine. Alexander, Makedonien und Persien. Berlin: Trafo, 2014. ———. Die Argeaden: Geschichte Makedoniens bis zum Zeitalter Alexander des Großen. Paderborn: Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh, 2016. Olbrycht, Marek Jan. ‘The Diadem in the Achaemenid and Hellenistic Periods’. Anabasis: Studia Classica et Orientalia 5 (2015): 177–87. ———. ‘Macedonia and Persia’. In A Companion to Ancient Macedonia, edited by Joseph Roisman and Ian Worthington, 342–68. Abingdon: Routledge, 2010. ———. ‘Parthia, Bactria and India: The Iranian policies of Alexander of Macedonia (330–323)’. In With Alexander in India and Central Asia: Moving East and Back to West, edited by Claudia Antonetti and Paolo Biagi, 194–209. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2017. Pfeiffer, Stefan. ‘Alexander der Große in Ägypten: Überlegungen zur Frage seiner pharaonischen Legitimation’. In Grieb, Nawotka and Wojciechowska, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 89–106. Plutarch and Pelling, C. B. R. Life of Antony. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Pownall, Frances. ‘Eratosthenes of Cyrene (241)’. In Brill’s New Jacoby, edited by Ian Worthington. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Renucci, Pierre. Marc Antoine: un destin inachevé entre César et Cléopâtre. Paris: Perrin, 2015. Ritter, Hans-Werner. Diadem und Königsherrschaft. Munich and Berlin: C.H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1965. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, Heleen. ‘The Zendan and the Ka‘bah’. In Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte der Achämenidenzeit und ihr Fortleben, edited by Heidemarie Koch and David Neil Mackenzie, 145–51. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer, 1983. Schachermeyr, Fritz. Alexander der Grosse: Das Problem seiner Persönlichkeit und seines Wirkens. Vienna: Verlag Österreich, 1973. Schäfer, Donata. ‘Pharao Alexander “der Große” in Ägypten – eine Bewertung’. In Grieb, Nawotka and Wojciechowska, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 153–68. Sisti, Francesco. Arriano, Anabasi di Alessandro. 2 vols. Milan: Mondadori, 2004. Smelik, K. A. D. ‘The “omina mortis” in the Histories of Alexander the Great’. Talanta 10/11 (1978/9): 92–111.

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Spawforth, Antony J. S., ed. The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. ———. ‘The Court of Alexander the Great between Europe and Asia’. In Spawforth, The Court and Court Society, 82–120. Tarn, W. W. Alexander the Great. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1948. van der Spek, R. J. ‘Darius III, Alexander the Great and Babylonian Scholarship’. In A Persian Perspective: Essays in Memory of Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, edited by Wouter F. M. Henkelman and Amélie Kuhrt, 289–346. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Welch, Kathryn. ‘“Maiestas regia” and the Donations of Alexandria’. Mediterranean Archaeology 19/20 (2006/7): 181–92. Wiesehöfer, Josef. ‘The Persian Impact on Macedonia: Three Case Studies’. In The History of the Argeads: New Perspectives, edited by Sabine Müller, Timothy Howe, Hugh Bowden and Robert Rollinger, 57–64. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017.

Chapter 9

Desertions and the rise and fall of rulers in Hellenistic Macedonia Joseph Roisman

In a paper entitled ‘Hellenistic Kings, War, and the Economy’, M.M. Austin proposed a thesis that has become highly influential among Hellenistic historians. According to this scholar, Hellenistic monarchy originated in, and survived by, the king’s military prowess and his ability to reward his subjects (including troops) materially. Conversely, failure in these areas could cost the king his army’s loyalty and possibly his kingdom. To quote: a king was expected to deliver the goods, above all to his followers. Hence the economic rapacity of the kings, consumers of wealth on an unending scale; they had to be prosperous and successful [military too], otherwise their following might melt away and their power crumble.1 Brian Bosworth has challenged this view. He argued that Hellenistic monarchs such as Lysimachus and Demetrius retained their rule and legitimacy in spite of their military defeats. He also suggests that what led troops and citizens to abandon their ruler was his failure to uphold a ‘social contract’ that required him to provide moral and material services such as being accessible to his subjects, sharing his wealth with them (as Austin also believed), and resembling Philip and Alexander in bravery, heroism, and mystique.2 This chapter aims to expand the critique of Austin’s view by showing that, when the Macedonians abandoned their kings (or queens), they were not necessarily or chiefly motivated by disappointment with the latter’s performance as commanders and providers, or moved by the wish to punish them for some failure, including an alleged violation of an unwritten agreement with the king. Defections might be due to the appeal of the opposing leader, who was not always a greater benefactor and general. At times, desertion was the Macedonians’ only choice. This chapter argues against a necessary link between loyalty and the ruler’s military activity and gainful rapaciousness. What follows are cases of desertion that serve to illustrate the point. The first attested Hellenistic royalty to have lost the support of the Macedonians was Eurydice-Adea, the wife of the incompetent Philip III. In 317, Eurydice allied herself with Cassander against a coalition of Polyperchon,

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Olympias, and their Epirote supporters. Polyperchon marched with his army and Olympias into Macedonia in order to restore Olympias and Alexander IV to the kingship. When his forces faced Eurydice’s army in Euia, Macedonia, the Macedonians left Eurydice for Olympias, who arrested and then executed the royal couple. Diodorus says that the Macedonians’ desertion was due to Olympias’s reputation (axiôma) and the memory of Alexander’s benefactions (19.11.1–4). Justin attributes to the Macedonians the complementary or alternative motives of memories of Olympias’s husband, Philip II; the greatness of her son, Alexander; and the indignities she had suffered. The nature of the insults is unclear, but they might have to do with her forced retreat to Epirus following her quarrels with Antipater and his son or even to Eurydice’s attempt to prevent Olympias from re-entering Macedonia (Just. 14.5.8–10; cf. 14.6.8). Scholars supplemented the sources with additional explanations of the Macedonians’ defection, such as the difference in the quality of military leadership on the two sides and Olympias’s advantage over Eurydice in legitimacy and Argead affiliation – a charisma that she used to persuade the Macedonians to avoid a civil war.3 We may not need, however, to go beyond the ancient accounts. The Macedonians might have compared and contrasted the alternatives, but the sources suggest that what attracted them to Olympias were not her opponents’ deficiencies but her own qualities, namely, her prestige and her association with (idealised) recollections of better days and better rulers. The only suggested complaint against Eurydice was that Olympias was humiliated: insult and injustice were common grievances against rulers and justified opposition to them.4 Yet, it takes special pleading to make it a cardinal cause of the desertion. The evidence also precludes the possibility that the Macedonians left Eurydice and Philip because they were disappointed with them militarily or materialistically or in protest. On the contrary, Diodorus says that before the showdown with Olympias, Eurydice courted the most enterprising of the Macedonians with gifts and big offers.5 Eurydice, to quote Austin’s vivid description, delivered ‘the goods’ but nevertheless lost the throne. The tables were turned on Olympias some months later when the Macedonians left her for Cassander (317/6). This time the desertions were the result of Cassander’s military and diplomatic successes and the failures of Olympias’s allies and generals, which appear to have left the Macedonians little choice. Diodorus, who is the only source to report on the desertions, tells that Olympias’s mainstay of Epirote support, king Aeacides, came to help her at the head of a mutinous army rife with desertions. After losing a battle against Cassander’s general, he was banished from his kingdom. When the Epirotes made an alliance with Cassander and received a regent from him, the Macedonians despaired of Olympias’s cause and changed sides. Another desertion occurred when Callias, Cassander’s general, used money to entice many of Polyperchon’s troops on the Thessalian border to desert. It is unclear, however, how many Macedonians were among the

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deserters. Finally, towards the end of Cassander’s siege of Olympias in the city of Pydna, starvation and other difficulties led many of her soldiers to obtain their release from her and to join Cassander (Diod. 19.36.2–6, 50.1; cf. Paus. 1.11.3). Although military losses led to the desertions, there is nothing to indicate that the Macedonians blamed Olympias for their misfortune; she certainly could not be held personally responsible for the defeats. Diodorus also suggests that the Macedonians remained loyal to her until Cassander’s military advantage overwhelmed them. Even after Olympias surrendered, Cassander distrusted the Macedonians to condemn her, and the troops he originally sent to kill her refused to do so. Cassander, it appears, won the minds of the Macedonians but not their hearts. It is true that Olympias’s killing of Philip III, Eurydice, and many of Cassander’s supporters made her hateful – on this all sources agree. It is even possible that some Macedonians used the memory of her victims to justify their defection to themselves and others.6 Yet, Diodorus never links the resentment of Olympias’s atrocities to the Macedonians’ desertions, while the authors that describe her executions fail to mention the desertions. The Macedonians stayed loyal to Olympias because of all the reasons that made her attractive in the first place, but then, realistically, they switched sides to the undisputedly stronger party.7 In 294, Demetrius Poliorcetes seized the Macedonian throne after killing its occupier, Alexander V. The two main sources for the affair are Justin and Plutarch, who tell that Cassander’s sons, Antipater the Younger and Alexander (V), fought each other over their father’s inheritance. Alexander invited both Pyrrhus of Epirus and Demetrius, then in Greece, to come to his help. Pyrrhus arrived first, demanded and received territories in return for his alliance, and caused Antipater to seek help from his father-in-law, king Lysimachus. Lysimachus (or Pyrrhus) affected a reconciliation between the brothers, so when Demetrius arrived in Macedonia, Alexander tried to get rid of him. In response, Demetrius killed Alexander in Larissa and seized the Macedonian throne. The Macedonians accepted Demetrius’s claim to the throne, and their easy transfer of loyalty to him deserves an explanation.8 The sources are only partially helpful in this regard. Plutarch claims that the killing of Alexander was in self-defence, but Justin describes it as treachery. They also disagree about the identity of Demetrius’s audience that heard his justification of his action and on their reasons for acknowledging his claim to the throne. According to Justin, Demetrius defended the murder in the Macedonian army assembly, while in the works of Plutarch he was first acknowledged by Alexander’s men in Larissa and then by the rest of the Macedonians.9 In addition, what Justin describes as Demetrius’s arguments in defence of his action is given by Plutarch as the Macedonians’ reasons for taking him as a king. Thus, Demetrius based his claim to the monarchy on his greater experience and age and his status as a truer heir to the Argead dynasty. His father, Antigonus Monophthalmus, provided services

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and showed loyalty to Philip and Alexander, while the Antipatrid house pursued a vendetta against the Argeads. Their persecution of this dynasty deserved to be punished, and, indeed, Philip and Alexander would have preferred the avenger Demetrius on their throne. Conversely, Demetrius’s marriage to Antipater’s daughter and his paternity of her son linked him to the Antipatrid dynasty (Plut., Demetr. 36–37; Just. 16.1.10–18). Demetrius’s justification of the killing was a product of Antigonid propaganda, with him as its chief promulgator.10 He aimed not only to legitimise his assumption of power, delegitimise the Antipatrid monarchy, but also to court its supporters. Yet there were surely Macedonians who could not fail to notice how much he resembled Cassander, the alleged villain in his speech. Both he and Cassander were married and had children from a princess of the royal family they destroyed, and, more significantly, both occupied the throne whose previous occupants they had killed. These disturbing similarities explain why Demetrius had to account for his crime to the Macedonian public. But why did the Macedonians accept his justification without real protest or opposition?11 Some must have wanted to believe that legitimacy and justice were on his side. A similar popular desire to expunge a leader’s criminal act was in play after Alexander’s killing of Clitus, when the people and their ruler had to (re)establish their relationship on the premise that what the king did was legal and right (Curt. 8.2.12). Demetrius’s audience was also likely receptive to his claim to be the avenger and heir to Philip and Alexander.12 Many Macedonians, however, were simply fearful of Demetrius. The killing of their king and his entourage left them leaderless, and Plutarch states that before Demetrius arrived at the Macedonian camp, the troops spent a night of confusion and trepidation (Demtr. 37). Joining Demetrius, then, was a matter of survival. Plutarch also adds that Alexander’s men hated his brother Antipater, who had killed his mother for favouring Alexander, and that they had no better choice than Demetrius. As in the war between Olympias and Cassander, necessity and lack of a better alternative rather than military or economic loss explained the Macedonians’ change of loyalties. About six years later (288), Demetrius’s troops deserted him to a coalition of neighbouring monarchs, and he lost his kingdom. Plutarch’s biographies of Demetrius and Pyrrhus provide a detailed account of the events (Plut., Demetr. 44; Pyrrh. 11–12). Demetrius’s preparations for a large expedition into Asia united every other Hellenistic king against him: Ptolemy, Seleucus, Lysimachus, and Pyrrhus. Ptolemy sailed with a fleet to the Aegean, and Lysimachus and Pyrrhus invaded and raided Macedonia from Thrace and Epirus, respectively. Demetrius marched against Lysimachus first, but the news of Pyrrhus’s occupation of Beroea and other territories in lower Macedonia made Demetrius’s soldiers distraught, mutinous, and critical of him. According to Plutarch, they demanded to return to their homes although they really wished to join Lysimachus. Demetrius decided to confront Pyrrhus in the

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belief that Lysimachus, with his Macedonian background and his fame as Alexander’s companion, would appeal more to the Macedonians than the alien (Epirote) Pyrrhus. When the army came closer to Pyrrhus’s camp, however, the soldiers’ dissatisfaction grew stronger, independently or at the instigation of men from Beroea and Pyrrhus’s agents disguised as Macedonians. The troops began deserting to Pyrrhus, at first clandestinely and in small groups and then in droves and openly, throwing Demetrius’s camp into complete disorder. Plutarch explains that the soldiers preferred Pyrrhus because of his invincible image (which made him look kinglier) and because of his kind and amiable treatment of subjects, troops, and prisoners of war. The biographer also mentions complaints about Demetrius’s oppressiveness (barytês). Some soldiers approached Demetrius and advised him to escape, saying that the Macedonians had had enough of fighting to support his hedonistic luxuriousness. The king took their advice and fled the country. The soldiers turned to looting and destroying the royal tent until Pyrrhus arrived at the scene and restored order effortlessly. Soon, Lysimachus came and demanded the division of Macedonia between them, and Pyrrhus consented because of his distrust of the Macedonians.13 To what extent did the Macedonians desert Demetrius because of their disappointment with him as a king and commander? Plutarch makes it clear that the first insurrections in the army occurred after reports of the invasions and the plundering of the land (Plut., Demetr. 44; Pyrr. 11). It is unlikely that the Macedonians blamed Demetrius for either, but they cursed and were angry with him, probably because they held him responsible for failing to protect their homes from the enemy. If this is true, what Plutarch reports as the troops’ pretended desire to go home was, in fact, an authentic wish to leave so they could defend their families and properties with arms or by joining the camp of the invader. In spite of Lysimachus’s nationalistic appeal and propaganda, however, no desertion to him is reported.14 The reason could be that Demetrius prudently took the army away from him, but it is also possible that the troops’ eagerness to join Lysimachus was not as strong as Demetrius feared and Lysimachus hoped. If Pausanias’s report of a victory won by Demetrius against Lysimachus at Amphipolis is credible, the soldiers had an incentive to stick with a winning general.15 But whether or not Demetrius’s worry about Lysimachus’s appeal was justified, his fear of desertion and disloyalty accounted for his decision to march against Pyrrhus. That the troops followed him there shows that it took more than military distress and even economic hardships to affect mass disloyalty. This changed when Demetrius pitched his camp near Pyrrhus’s. Demetrius, like Lysimachus, hoped to mobilise the Macedonians behind him with the help of ethnic-difference propaganda that contrasted his Macedonian identity with that of the Epirote’s.16 Pyrrhus countered by using Macedonian agents, real or imposters, whose identity validated his message and neutralised the negative impact of his alien origin. The change in

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the scale of desertion from small to mass departure indicated his success. Yet, nationalistic sentiments went only so far as demonstrated by the many Macedonians who joined Pyrrhus. Moreover, it is telling that the message of Pyrrhus’s agents focused more on his virtues than on Demetrius’s failings, and indeed it would be inaccurate to make Demetrius’s character and performance chiefly responsible for the loss of his kingship. His faults were undeniable. He alienated the Macedonians with his overbearing manners, and they complained that they fought so that he could lead an extravagant life (Plut., Demetr. 42, 44; cf. Cic., De Off. 2.26). Hellenistic kings were expected to respect and benefit their people, and the troops’ looting and especially tearing the royal tent apart after Demetrius’s escape suggests that their destructive orgy was mingled with a protest against his lifestyle. Scholars have added other reasons for his unpopularity, such as his arrogant, Asian-style despotism; his earlier military failure in Aetolia; his exacting preparations for an unpopular Asian campaign; and his refusal to be accessible and share profits with the people.17 It is worth noting that Demetrius could offset his lack of success in Aetolia with boasts of past and greater victories. There is also no evidence that the Macedonians opposed or complained about his Asian campaign, which the memory of Alexander’s success in the same continent would have made appealing. The sources also say nothing about protests that the profits of his campaigns went only into his pockets. Plutarch reports Demetrius’s refusal to hear petitions from the Macedonians, but he also tells that after being remonstrated about it, he corrected himself and granted audience to many (Plut., Demetr. 42). This is not to deny that resentment towards Demetrius and his leadership style contributed to his loss of the crown. However, the Macedonians’ desertion of him was inseparable from, or subsidiary to, their wish to follow a king whom they preferred for who he was. Indeed, our sources suggest that Pyrrhus was attractive to the Macedonians primarily because of his own merits.18 While the Macedonians may have judged Demetrius less kingly and considerate than Pyrrhus, the Epirote’s main appeal was not comparative but intrinsic: his military prowess and renown that included his victory over Demetrius’s general in Aetolia (as mentioned earlier), his alleged kindness to persons under his power, his Macedonian friends, and, undoubtedly, the fact that his forces already occupied parts of Macedonia.19 Similarly, Pyrrhus agreed to share Macedonia with Lysimachus for a variety of strategic and political reasons, but if suspecting the Macedonians’ loyalty was one of them, it was not because he did them any wrong. I suggest that the Macedonians liked the alternative before they disliked Demetrius and that their dissatisfaction with him did not fully account for their desertion. Pyrrhus’s distrust of the Macedonians proved to be prescient. In 285, Lysimachus invaded Macedonia, and, in addition to other gains, he succeeded in capturing the provisions of Pyrrhus’s army, which was encamped in Edessa. Lysimachus proceeded to ‘corrupt’ leading Macedonians with letters and

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meetings in which he rebuked them for driving Alexander’s friends away and for choosing an alien for a master, a man whose ancestors used to be the Macedonians’ slaves. When many were persuaded, Pyrrhus took himself and his men out to Epirus.20 There is nothing in the ancient accounts to suggest that the Macedonians abandoned Pyrrhus because he mistreated them or because of their ingrained shiftiness, as some have argued. Pausanias says that Lysimachus prevailed in the war against Pyrrhus, and Hammond deduced from Pyrrhus’s presence in the western city of Edessa that he must have been defeated on the way there.21 Yet, we hear of no accusations against Pyrrhus for his lacklustre performance against Lysimachus, which Lysimachus’s propaganda ignored, instead charging the Macedonians with choosing Pyrrhus as their master (Plut., Pyrrh. 12). Lysimachus and Demetrius used Pyrrhus’s ethnicity against him, but as Demetrius’s experience had shown, this quality was insufficient to antagonise the Macedonians against the Epirote.22 Lysimachus succeeded where Demetrius failed because his ‘nationalistic’ claim was backed by Alexander’s companionship and by his military superiority and gains against his opponent. No less important, his accusation that the leading Macedonians had expelled him from his native land sounded like a threat that might have scared the elite and the masses into joining him. In short, royal failure only played a limited role in the desertions from Pyrrhus.23 In 274, Pyrrhus returned to Macedonia for a raiding campaign that evolved into a renewed quest for kingship. The reigning king was Demetrius’s son, Antigonus Gonatas, who apparently failed more than once to check Pyrrhus’s advance. Pyrrhus’s capture of Macedonian cities led to a defection of 2,000 Macedonian troops. In a subsequent battle, he defeated Antigonus’s Gauls and captured his elephants and then advanced towards the Macedonian phalanx, which was fearful, confused, and showed no sign of offering battle. Pyrrhus, as we have seen, liked to work through local agents and negotiated the phalanx’ surrender and transition to his camp through its generals and officers. Antigonus retreated to coastal towns, while Pyrrhus took over the Macedonian capital Aegae (see later).24 The Macedonians who defected to Pyrrhus were probably moved more by his military success and reputation than by the wish to punish Antigonus Gonatas for his defeats. They appreciated a victorious king, even when he defeated their army (Plut., Demetr. 41), and the 2,000 Macedonian troops who joined him at the outset may also have sought to protect their families and possessions by means of desertion. Later, the Macedonian phalanx and their leaders had no desire to fight a losing battle and suffer the fate of the Gauls in Antigonus’s army. We are told that Pyrrhus called Antigonus shameless for not taking off his royal robe and wearing a commoner’s clothes (Plut., Pyrrh. 26). It was an attempt to delegitimise and humiliate a rival to the throne, which did not work because Antigonus was away and well

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protected. More significantly, the call to resign came from Pyrrhus but not the Macedonians, who were actually upset with their old/new ruler. Pyrrhus installed a Gallic garrison at Aegae, which robbed the royal tombs nearby and scattered the bones of their occupants. He did nothing about this perceived outrage (he clearly needed the Gauls’ services). The Macedonians harshly criticised the king, and the philosopher Teles remarked, perhaps in reference to the pillage, that it was better for a king to be poor than to rob graves.25 Pyrrhus, who behaved in Macedonia as both a conqueror and legitimate ruler, complicated, thus, the view of royal rapaciousness as a means of sustaining one’s rule. He left not long after to the Peloponnese, where he found his death. It was claimed that he was hurt by the Macedonians’ refusal to join his expedition and by their support of Antigonus Gonatas.26 In fact, apart from protesting, neither form of Macedonian opposition, or desertion, is attested by the sources. In sum, our discussion of Macedonians who deserted their king suggests a desire for self-preservation rather than a dislike of the ruler for his failures. In some cases, they simply followed a leader whom they found attractive or scary.27 Thus, using Macedonia as a test case for the formula that links the rise and fall of Hellenistic rulers to their ability to produce military success and economic profits shows the limitation of such an explanation. Moreover, of all the cases of Macedonians turning away from their rulers discussed here, none shows a connection between disloyalty and a leader’s failure to reward his or her people economically. At least in Hellenistic Macedonia, there was no simple correlation between poor economic and military performance and loss of popular allegiance.

Notes 1 M. M. Austin, ‘Hellenistic Kings, War, and the Economy’, Classical Quarterly 36, no. 2 (1986): 463. For royal rapacious imperialism, see, for example, ‘“Men to Whose Rapacity Neither Sea Nor Mountain Sets a Limit”. The Aims of the Diadochs’, in The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 B.C.). Studia Hellenistica 53, ed. H. Hauben and A. Meeus (Leuven: Peeters, 2014), 307–22. 2 A. B. Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander the Great: Politics, Warfare and Propaganda under the Successors (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 246–78, followed by E. D. Carney, ‘Dynastic Loyalty and Dynastic Collapse in Macedonia’, in East and West in the World Empire of Alexander: Essays in Honour of Brian Bosworth, ed. P. Wheatley and E. Baynham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 161. 3 Respectively, W. L. Adams, ‘Antipater and Cassander: Generalship on Restricted Resources in the Fourth Century’, Ancient World 10 (1984): 86; F. Landucci Gattinoni, L’arte del potere; Vita e opere di Cassandro di Macedonia (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2003), 43; and E. D. Carney, Olympias: Mother of Alexander the Great (New York: Routledge, 2006), 69, cf. 171n51. For Olympias’s and Eurydice’s competing regencies, see E. M. Anson, Alexander’s Heirs: The Age of the Successors (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014) 105–6. Carney discusses the roots

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Joseph Roisman and ways of strengthening popular loyalty to the Argeads, but the present case is of a split within the dynasty (‘Dynastic Loyalty’). Athenaeus’s citation of Duris on the confrontation between the queens omits Duris’s likely report on the desertion: Athen. 13.560F = BNJ 76 F 52. See J. Roisman, ‘Royal Power, Law and Justice in Ancient Macedonia’, Ancient History Bulletin 26, no. 3–4 (2012): 139–41. Diod. 19.11.1. Crisis situations encouraged giving presents to people of rank in the hope of gaining their support: see, for example, Diod. 18. 33.2–4, 36.4. Resentment of Olympias: Diod. 19.11.5–9; Just. 14.6.1; and Paus. 1.11.4. See also E. D. Carney, ‘Olympias and the Image of the Virago’, Phoenix 47, no. 1 (1993): 48. Carney explains Olympias’s downfall as due exclusively to military defeats (Olympias, 75–82). Our description attempts to reconcile the different accounts of the events: Plut., Demetr. 36–37; Pyrrhus 6–7; Just. 16.1.1–18; Eusebius 231; and Anson, Alexander’s Heirs, 177–78. Diod. 21.7, (cf. Paus. 9.7.3), states that Demetrius also murdered Antipater, Alexander’s brother, while Pausanias (9.7.3) tells that Alexander, assisted by Demetrius, dethroned Antipater. Justin 16.2.4 and Eusebius 232 ‘credit’ Lysimachus with the Antipater’s murder, which, in any case, must have happened later. For the Macedonian dual monarchy, see E. D. Carney, ‘The Curious Death of the Antipatrid Dynasty’, Ancient Macedonia 6 (1999): 209–16. R. M. Errington, ‘The Nature of the Macedonian State under the Monarchy’, Chiron 8 (1978): 127 and R. M. Errington, A History of Macedonia (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 150, followed by Walbank in Hammond and Walbank 1988, 3:217–218, identify Demetrius’s audience with the Crown Council, based on procedural or power politics considerations. If so, missing from the council were Alexander’s friends whom Demetrius had killed with the king: Plutarch Demetr. 36. See N. G. L. Hammond and F. W. Walbank, A History of Macedonia, vol. 3 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), 216–17; Errington, A History, 150; and especially F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Cassander’s Wife and Heirs’, in Alexander & His Successors: Essays from the Antipodes, ed. P. Wheatley and R. Hannah (Claremont, CA: Regina Books, 2009), 264–71 and F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Cassander and the Argeads’, in The History of the Argeads, ed. S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 2017), 275–78. Justin’s (16.1.18) statement that Demetrius’s speech ‘calmed down the people’ (mitigato populo) implies some disquiet. See Carney, ‘Curious Death’, 213–14. Landucci Gattinoni suggests that Demetrius based his legitimacy on imitatio Alexandri (‘Cassander’). Plut., Demetr. 44; Pyrrh. 11–12; Just. 16.2.1–3, and Orosius 3.223.54–55 suggest that Pyrrhus bribed or defeated Demetrius’s army, but Plutarch’s account is preferable. Pace H. S. Lund, Lysimachus: A Study in Early Hellenistic Kingship (London: Routledge, 1992), 99; cf. J. Champion, Pyrrhus of Epirus (Barnsley: Pen & Sword Military, 2009), 36. Plut., Demetr. 44 is somewhat unclear as to whether the soldiers left Demetrius or only demanded to be let go, but Pyrrhus 11 confirms the latter interpretation, stating that Demetrius moved away from Lysimachus lest they desert him. Paus. 1.10.2; cf. Polyaen. 4.12.2. For a summary of views for and against the historicity of Demetrius’s victory up to the 1950s, see P. Garoufalias, Pyrrhus King of Epirus (London: Stacey International, 1979), 279–80n83. F. Landucci Gattinoni dates the victory to before the invasion (Lisimaco di Tracia. Un sovrano nella prospettiva del primo ellenismo (Milan: Jaca Book, 1992), 178). Lund, however, has doubts about the event (Lysimachus, 15–17).

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16 Lysimachus’s father was actually a Thessalian and a naturalised Macedonian (W. Heckel Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great (Malden, MA: WileyBlackwell, 2006), 153), but Lysimachus was an insider in comparison to Pyrrhus. 17 Despotism: P. Lévèque, Pyrrhos (Paris: A. de Boccard, 1957), 154–55 and C. Wehrli, Antigone et Démétrios (Geneva: Libraire Droz, 1968), 169–71, 187. Aetolia: Hammond and Walbank, 3:229. Asian campaign: Garoufalias, Pyrrhus, 46 and Wehrli, 183. Inaccessible and selfish: Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander the Great, 256–58 and Champion, Pyrrhus of Epirus, 36. 18 Both Demetrius and Pyrrhus tried to impress the public with Alexander-related credentials: Demetrius with his Alexander-like invasion of Asia, and Pyrrhus with his victorious record and a dream in which Alexander promised him aid (Plut., Demetr. 41, 44 and Pyrr. 11). For additional Antigonid links to Alexander, see G. Weber, ‘Herrscher, Hof und Dichter. Aspekte der Legitimierung und Repräsetation hellenistischer Könige am Beispiel der erste Antigoniden’, Historia 44 (1995): 283–316. 19 Pyrrhus’s merits and advantages: Plut., Demtr. 44 (where the Macedonians’ attraction to Pyrrhus precedes their wish to leave Demetrius for any other ruler) and Pyrrh. 11. Lévèque adds the motive of the Macedonians’ prior acquaintance with Pyrrhus, who had been in the region before (Pyrrhos, 154–55n6). 20 Plut., Pyrrh. 12 and Paus. 1.10.2, whose accounts are complementary. Date: Lévèque, Pyrrhos, 168. 21 The Macedonians’ habitual disloyalty: Garoufalias, Pyrrhus, 51, 125. Lysimachus’s campaign: Pausanias 1.10.2 and Hammond and Walbank, 3:234. 22 Pace G. Wylie, ‘Pyrrhus Polemistes’, Latomus 58 (1999): 304, whose statement that the Macedonians were tired of being ruled by the alien Epirote, and that the army openly mutinies has no corroborative evidence. 23 Lund, using earlier suggestions, adds that the Macedonians desired reunification (Lysimachus, 105). 24 Plut., Pyrrh. 26; Just. 25.3.1–8 (who also mentions Antigonus’s defeat to Pyrrhus’s son); and Paus. 1.13.2; cf. Diod. 22.11.1. 25 Plut., Pyrrhus 26; Diod. 22.12; Teles: Teletis Reliquiae (O. Hense, 2nd ed. Tübingen, 1909) 43; W. W. Tarn, Antigonos Gonatas (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1913), 237; and Lévèque, Pyrrhos, 569. 26 F. W. Walbank, A Historical Commentary on Polybius (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1957–79), 3:261–63. 27 Justin reports desertions from Antigonus Gonatas’s army to Pyrrhus’s son, Alexander, in 262/1, but scholars reject his account: Just. 26.2.8–12, and see Tarn, 303–4; H. Heinen, Untersuchungen zur hellenistischen Geschichte des 3. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1972), 176; Walbank 1984, 239n38; and Hammond and Walbank, 3:285, nn4, 6.

Bibliography Adams, W. L. ‘Antipater and Cassander: Generalship on Restricted Resources in the Fourth Century’. Ancient World 10 (1984): 79–88. Anson, E. M. Alexander’s Heirs: The Age of the Successors. Malden, MA: WileyBlackwell, 2014. Austin, M. M. ‘Hellenistic Kings, War, and the Economy’. Classical Quarterly 36, no. 2 (1986): 450–66. Bosworth, A. B. The Legacy of Alexander the Great: Politics, Warfare and Propaganda under the Successors. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.

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Carney, E. D. ‘The Curious Death of the Antipatrid Dynasty’. Ancient Macedonia 6 (1999): 209–16. ———. ‘Dynastic Loyalty and Dynastic Collapse in Macedonia’. In East and West in the World Empire of Alexander: Essays in Honour of Brian Bosworth, edited by P. Wheatley and E. Baynham, 147–62. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. ———. ‘Olympias and the Image of the Virago’. Phoenix 47, no. 1 (1993): 29–55. ———. Olympias: Mother of Alexander the Great. New York: Routledge, 2006. Champion, J. Pyrrhus of Epirus. Barnsley: Pen & Sword Military, 2009. Errington, R. M. A History of Macedonia. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990. ———. ‘The Nature of the Macedonian State under the Monarchy’. Chiron 8 (1978): 77–133. Garoufalias, P. Pyrrhus King of Epirus. London: Stacey International, 1979. Hammond, N. G. L., and F. W. Walbank. A History of Macedonia. Vol. 3. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988. Heckel, W. Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great. Malden, MA: WileyBlackwell, 2006. Heinen, H. Untersuchungen zur hellenistischen Geschichte des 3. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1972. Landucci Gattinoni, F. L’arte del potere; Vita e opere di Cassandro di Macedonia, Stuttgart: Steiner, 2003. ———. ‘Cassander and the Argeads’. In The History of the Argeads, edited by S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger, 269–79. Wiesbaden: Steiner, 2017. ———. ‘Cassander and the Legacy of Philip II and Alexander III in Diodorus’ Library’. In Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, edited by D. Carney and D. Ogden, 113–21. New York: Oxford University Press, 2010. ———. ‘Cassander’s Wife and Heirs’. In Alexander & His Successors: Essays from the Antipodes, edited by P. Wheatley and R. Hannah, 261–75. Claremont, CA: Regina Books, 2009. ———. Lisimaco di Tracia. Un sovrano nella prospettiva del primo ellenismo. Milan: Jaca Book, 1992. Lévèque, P. Pyrrhos, Paris: A. de Boccard, 1957. Lund, H. S. Lysimachus: A Study in Early Hellenistic Kingship. London: Routledge, 1992. Roisman, J. Alexander’s Veterans and the Early Wars of the Successors. Austin, TX: Austin University of Texas Press, 2012. ———. ‘Royal Power, Law and Justice in Ancient Macedonia’. Ancient History Bulletin 26, no. 3–4 (2012): 131–48. Strootman, R. ‘“Men to Whose Rapacity Neither Sea Nor Mountain Sets a Limit”. The Aims of the Diadochs’. In The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 B.C.). Studia Hellenistica 53, edited by H. Hauben and A. Meeus, 307–22. Leuven: Peeters, 2014. Tarn, W. W. Antigonos Gonatas. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1913. Walbank, F. W. A Historical Commentary on Polybius. 3 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1957–79.

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———. ‘Monarchies and Monarchic Ideas’. In Cambridge Ancient History. 2nd ed., edited by F. W. Walbank, A. E. Astin, M. W. Fredriksen, and R. M. Ogilvie, 7.1: 62–100. Cambridge: University Press, 1984. Weber, G. ‘Herrscher, Hof und Dichter. Aspekte der Legitimierung und Repräsetation hellenistischer Könige am Beispiel der erste Antigoniden’. Historia 44 (1995): 283–316. Wehrli, C. Antigone et Démétrios. Geneva: Libraire Droz, 1968. Wylie, G. ‘Pyrrhus Polemistes’. Latomus 58 (1999): 298–313.

Chapter 10

Coinage as propaganda Alexander and his Successors Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

The coinage of Alexander the Great primarily served a practical economic purpose, as might be expected of any currency in circulation, both ancient and modern. Armies had to be paid, and ambitious campaigns required financing. But this functionality aside, coins remain an indispensable form of evidence for the study of history for what they can reveal about the issuing authorities’ policies and ambitions. One of the most interesting aspects of coinage is how a ruler might employ it as a tool to convey important aspects of their leadership they wish to promote, essentially using coinage as a form of propaganda. Due to their portable nature and the fact that coins have the potential to circulate widely and reach a varied audience, these objects are especially suited to this task. The term ‘propaganda’ often has particularly negative connotations. It usually describes a political use of deliberately misleading and biased information promulgated for the benefit of a political party. In the present context, the term is used more in the sense of presenting a carefully cultivated public royal image. Alexander was well aware of how to present such an image and took steps to ensure that he could exert as much control as possible over how he was perceived by his subjects.1 Coinage is just one of the tools Alexander employed towards these ends, and his approach here is consistent with his actions and policies across other mediums, which could be employed similarly towards the creation and maintenance of an ideal royal persona. This was achieved most obviously through artistic formats such as sculptures or paintings but was complimentary to Alexander’s behaviour, affectations, and public acts, all of which were deliberately intended to invoke positive ideas about Alexander as a leader. A study of Alexander’s numismatic policy forms part of this story and is especially interesting as it reflects Alexander’s position and political intentions, with certain changes corresponding to developments in his status and ambitions as his reign progressed. This chapter aims to discuss some of the ways in which Alexander used coinage in order to promote associations that were useful to the image of his kingship, as well as the general ways in which the control and

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manipulation of money could be yet another extension of authority, especially in the case of royal power. The first example of this currency manipulation under Alexander’s reign comes not from changing the images on the Macedonian coins but, rather, from adhering to them. We find that Alexander initially continued to mint the coin types of his father Philip II after his accession and, in fact, did so for the first few years of his kingship.2 This was not simply because it was convenient but because striking the previous king’s coinage was a way in which a new ruler could attempt to demonstrate a degree of stability and continuity on from the previous reign if it was advantageous to do so.3 Maintaining Philip II’s types during this time promoted the important notion that there had been a smooth transition of power and would have provided a currency to Alexander’s subjects and in particular, the army, that was familiar and already perceived as reliable. This was most important during the first turbulent years of his reign, for although there was no real contest for the accession to the Macedonian throne in 336 bc, a new ruler was always a vulnerable one.4 Continuing the same types was, very simply, a way to ensure they would be accepted, both as currency and perhaps on an ideological level as well.5 Such an action also corresponds with what the sources tell us about Alexander’s behaviour following the death of Philip II. Diodorus (17.2.2), for example, states that ‘[Alexander] declared that the king was changed only in the name and that the state would be run on principles no less effective than those of his father’s administration’. Clearly, adherence to the policies of the previous reign was something that was considered desirable and important to promote, and maintaining the same coin types would have contributed to this concept.6 The significance of this act is further evident in the numismatic policies of Alexander’s Successors, as they also continued their former king’s coin types after his death. In fact, while seeking to promote their loyalty to the Argead dynasty, some even returned to the coin types of Philip II for a brief time.7 The need to convey stability during the transition from one reign to the next was even more important for the Successors, due to the situation caused by Alexander’s untimely death and subsequent difficulties concerning the accession.8 Furthermore, as ambitions grew among the generals and men who came to power during this time, such concepts became very significant as these men derived their authority not from hereditary right and royal blood, but specifically from a claimed personal connection to Alexander.9 Tellingly, most of those who eventually claimed royal title and became kings still continued to issue Alexander coin types even as they introduced personal designs and, in some cases, portraits into their coinage.10 Some, like Antigonus Monophthalmus, only minted the Alexander coin types during his reign, perhaps seeing this as ultimately conveying a more important message than what might be told through the use of personal coin types. Further discussion concerning the numismatic policies of the

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Successors will take place later in the chapter, especially because their personal approach to coinage and how they developed it for their own purposes reveal a lot about the deliberate nature of these numismatic policies and how they interpreted what Alexander himself had tried to do. It could be argued that, in Alexander’s case, continuing the coin types of Philip II was simply a practical exercise, and indeed this may have been a consideration. In general, it appears that the kingdom of Macedonia adhered steadfastly to tradition, and there are multiple examples found in the sources demonstrating that Alexander faced resistance and criticism for deviating too far from the acceptable behaviour and role of a Macedonian king.11 It would be understandable, then, to find that there were few immediate changes made to the standard numismatic practice. However, the fact that Alexander began to implement changes and created new coin types at an obvious and symbolic point in his reign, perhaps after defeating Darius III in 333 bc, offers evidence towards this being a deliberate policy as well. It was only after this achievement that Alexander, at last, was in a position where he was able to issue coin types of his own and find this to be a beneficial undertaking.12 Confirmed in his position as Great King and victorious conqueror, Alexander could at last choose types that conveyed messages more significant for his own reign.13 Before discussing the new devices that were chosen for the Macedonian coinage, it is also worth mentioning one other notable reform to Alexander’s currency. Alexander changed the weight content of his new silver coinage so that it was struck on a different standard to what had previously been employed by the Macedonian kings. This new weight of 17.2 grams (for a silver tetradrachm) matched the Attic standard, whereas, previously, the equivalent Macedonian coin weight had been lighter at 14.45 grams.14 During this time period, the bullion value of coinage was supposed to more or less equal its nominal value, but Alexander’s reforms to the coin weights were advantageous nonetheless, due to the fact that coinage struck on the Attic weight standard could be used more widely and was accepted in a large number of the Greek states.15 It is also thought that the heavier coins were preferred by Alexander’s army and especially by mercenaries who expected to be paid on this higher weight standard, as opposed to other less reliable and erratic coinage.16 The other dominant currency of the time was the ubiquitous Athenian Owl, which had a large circulation and was a familiar coinage that found ready acceptance within the Greek world. Due to the weight standard change and Alexander’s successful campaign, his own currency was soon able to surpass them as the leading currency of the day. Although this is not propaganda in a traditional sense, this can certainly be seen as a deliberate act of policy and indicates the way in which a ruler might impose their will through the manipulation of their currency. The coins of Alexander feature his name in the genitive case, ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΟΥ, but never the title Basileus, a convention that only appears

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under the Successors.17 They later adopted this practice for their own coinage as well, so that we find legends referring to kings Lysimachus, Ptolemy, and Seleucus. There were probably a few reasons behind the development towards the inclusion of the royal title by the Successors, especially where the title was used alongside their own names. This must have been because they had more of a need to assert their newly acquired royal authority, whereas, for Alexander and the prior Macedonian kings, born to a recognised royal dynasty, there was no additional need to assert to an audience that it was the king under whose authority a coin had been struck. It is possible that their intention with using the royal title alongside Alexander’s name was also intended to represent, for those who supported him, Alexander IV as a legitimate heir.18 The use of Alexander the Great’s name, however, without any other identifier on his lifetime coinage is still significant, as it provided an obvious connection between the image portrayed and the issuer of the coin. It perhaps also provided a visual connection between the device used and the name of the king as the guarantor of the quality and uniformity of the coin itself, indicating that it would be reliable legal tender wherever his authority extended.19 Alexander struck coinage in gold, silver, and bronze denominations, and of these, the silver and gold are the most important and significant for the purposes of this discussion. The bronze denominations tended to circulate more locally and were not struck with the same frequency and regularity as the gold and silver types. They were also subject to a larger variety of changes and different types.20 The more important gold and silver types, however, were more consistent and conveyed important messages that accorded very well with Alexander’s political intentions as well as his public image.

Silver Alexander’s silver coinage was most commonly minted in the denominations of tetradrachm and drachm. Examples of silver coinage struck in other denominations also exist, although these are fairly rare.21 The device found on the silver is perhaps the most well-recognised coin of Alexander’s reign. Referred to as the Heracles type, these coins feature a profile of a young Heracles wearing his lion skin headdress on the obverse, and on the reverse they have a figure of Zeus seated on a throne, holding an eagle. This particular Heracles design was not actually an invention of Alexander’s, as the Argead dynasty had long maintained an association with Heracles and this image had appeared on the coinage of several previous Macedonian rulers.22 For example, we find images of Heracles on the coinage of Archelaus I (413–399), Amyntas III (393–370), Perdiccas III (365–359), and Philip II (359–336 bc). The traditional type, therefore, was simply adopted for a new denomination during Alexander’s reign.23 For Alexander, however, the image came to be particularly apt. Not only did he claim to be descended

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Figure 10.1 Silver tetradrachm of Alexander III, struck c. 336–323 BC. Head of Heracles on obverse, Zeus seated on reverse, legend reads ‘of Alexander’. Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=17398

from Heracles, but the hero was also thought to have previously carried out the conquest of the East, and thus made for an excellent patron of the Asiatic campaign. Furthermore, Heracles appears to have been an important figure in Macedonia’s neighbouring regions, which required subjugation at the outset of Alexander’s reign. Diodorus even reports that Alexander used his connection to the hero in order to win over some neighbouring tribes in 335–334 bc: ‘First he dealt with the Thessalians, reminding them of his ancient relationship to them through Heracles. . . . Next he won over the neighbouring tribes similarly.’24 Evidence suggests that Alexander deliberately cultivated an association with a number of important Greek heroes, including Heracles, and we find references in the sources to Alexander deliberately trying to equal and outdo Heracles’s own achievements.25 Although some of these references may be anecdotal, it is clear that, nonetheless, Alexander came to be closely associated with this hero in particular. In fact, this association is so strong that there has been considerable debate as to whether the portrait of Heracles was actually intended as a cryptic royal portrait of Alexander himself. In this, as Bellinger notes, there are two important and distinctive questions, whether the authority intended for his recognisable likeness to be depicted, or whether that, regardless of the intention of the king and the die engravers, the portrait was believed to be of Alexander by his subjects.26 With regards to this question, there is considerable variation in facial features across the different issues of the Heracles coinage, both in coins

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minted during Alexander’s lifetime and posthumously, as well as there is variation in the facial features of those later coins minted by the Successors that were deliberately rendered as portraits of Alexander. To further compound the issue, we hear from Plutarch (Alex. 4.1–7) that there was variation found across lifetime portraits in other media, even those created by Alexander’s two officially sanctioned artists, Lysippus and Apelles, making it difficult to establish which specific features depicted resembled those of the living Alexander. As a result, it is difficult to draw any firm conclusions based on a stylistic comparison of the facial features alone. There has been some support for the argument that later during Alexander’s reign, a conscious decision was made to change the Heracles portrait so that it more resembled Alexander, based on the stylistic differences across different dies. In general, however, it is usually accepted now that the Heracles on Alexander’s silver coin was not intended to be a portrait of the king.27 While there may not have been a definite portrait of Alexander in the guise of Heracles during his own lifetime, the longstanding connection between Heracles and the Argead royal family and the fact that Heracles came up to be such a prominent figure during Alexander’s campaign would have ensured that the king and hero were readily associated.28 For the purposes of propaganda, it perhaps did not matter whether the image depicted on the silver types truly reflected or was intended to be an identifiable portrait of the king, as such an image still conveyed a personal connection with  the much-admired Greek hero. Alongside Alexander’s name on the reverse, there could be no ambiguity concerning whom the coin and the hero were to be associated with. The reverse of the silver denominations also features a suitable image for a coin of the Macedonian king. In addition to ruling Olympus, Zeus was considered to be the traditional prototype of royal authority, and, perhaps most importantly for these purposes, he was the patron of the Macedonian army.29 As one of the chief motivations behind minting coinage during this time was to finance military campaigns and to pay armies and mercenaries, we can consider perhaps then that the army was the main audience considered for whatever messages were intended by the coins. Thus, a patron of the army was an appropriate choice. As might be expected, Alexander honoured this god in particular, and he was one of the three deities whom Alexander built altars for upon arriving at the site of Troy at the outset of his campaign (Arr. Anab. 1.11.7).30 There is still some question, however, concerning the origins of this image. It is uncertain if this image of a seated Zeus with sceptre and eagle was copied from a specific cult statue or prototype, or if it was intended to represent a particular incarnation of this deity.31 Generally, it is accepted that this was an image of Zeus, and most probably a Greek or Macedonian viewer would interpret the design in this way as well.32 There are arguments, however, that this image was in fact modelled on a contemporary Persian type, the image

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of the Semitic god Ba’al of Tarsus.33 If this can be accepted, then it is possible that Alexander chose a device that appealed to two different audiences, and certainly, the image of a deified male ruler-figure would have been easy for the inhabitants of the various districts of the empire to identify with their local deities and accept as their own.34 This was, therefore, another appropriately chosen design which had a traditional precedent, yet conveniently could also be accepted by a great many people as Alexander’s empire grew. Such a device may have been chosen so that Alexander was able to not only express continuity with Persian rule for his new subjects in locations such as Cilicia and Phoenicia but also demonstrate the traditional Hellenic piety that was so important for his own Macedonian army.35

Gold Alexander also struck gold staters, and although other denominations exist, these are quite rare.36 The device found on the gold coinage is a head of Athena wearing a Corinthian-crested helmet on the obverse and features a winged Nike holding a mast and spear on the reverse. These types are particularly interesting as they do not have an earlier Macedonian precedent, unlike the Heracles type. This has led to considerable discussion as to what message is intended by this design choice, and the interpretation of the designs on Alexander’s gold coinage is not without controversy. In a general way, Athena would have been appropriate for depiction on the gold currency, especially given her associations with war and her role as a patroness of heroes. Like many gods and goddesses, Athena received

Figure 10.2 Gold stater of Alexander III, Amphipolis mint, struck c. 330–320 BC. Helmeted head of Athena on obverse, Nike standing on reverse, legend reads ‘of Alexander’. Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=30392

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honours from Alexander during his campaign, and, like the image of Zeus, this deity too would have had wide appeal, especially throughout Alexander’s Greek possessions. However, it is possible that the Athena depicted here is a specific incarnation of this deity, and there has been much discussion as to which form of the deity this might be. Some have argued that the image may be that of Athena Ilias, based on the theory that it was not until after visiting Ilium that Alexander began to strike his own gold coinage. The deity Athena Ilias is usually depicted with fairly distinctive features, however, which makes this incarnation of the goddess a bad match for the particular Athena found on Alexander’s coinage, although it is true that Alexander honoured this deity.37 In fact, the site of Ilium was treated with particular importance at the outset of the campaign and played a significant role in Alexander’s early propaganda. Alexander is said to have honoured Ilium with the status of city and made much of the connections between the epic Trojan War and his own campaign.38 Evidence also supports an Athenian model for the obverse of the gold, and often this form is thought to be that of Athena Promachus. This has been concluded based on the design’s similarity to images of Athena Promachus found on vases and later bronze coins where the representation is more explicitly known to be that of Promachus.39 Pheidias’ heroic bronze statue stood on the Acropolis between the Erechtheium and the Propylaea and, according to Pausanias (1.28.2), was a dedication from the spoils of the Persians defeated at Marathon. As such, this model fits especially well with the official motive of revenge against the Persians that was touted for the great campaign.40 Perhaps most significant of all for the interpretation of this figure is the fact that this portrait appears to closely imitate the Athena found on contemporary Corinthian coins.41 It would make sense for Alexander to have chosen a coin that celebrated his status as the hegemon of the League of Corinth, again providing an image for the coinage that was relevant to a great number of individuals and to the promotion of Alexander as the leader of the Greeks. The notion that Alexander was trying to link his campaign to a previous great victory over the Persians is also supported by the reverse image of the gold coinage. On the reverse, again the use of Nike at first glance is an obvious choice, naturally for associations with victory, although, similarly to the head of Athena, this device was not previously connected to any Macedonian coinage. This particular form of Nike, furthermore, holds a stylis, a cruciform staff resembling a kind of flagpole, which is thought to symbolise naval victory.42 The naval connotations are at first curious, as Alexander himself actually had no fleet at his accession and, furthermore, later famously disbanded his fleet during the early stages of the campaign (Arr. Anab. 1.20.1; Diod. 17.22.5–23.3). It is not clear which particular naval victory is actually being referred to here, but given Alexander’s campaign theme and the image of Athena with a Corinthian helmet on the obverse,

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there has been some suggestion that the Nike type was intended to recall the great Athenian naval victory over Persia at Salamis that had taken place in 480 bc. This ties in well with Alexander’s other efforts to link his campaign with famous Greek victories over Persia in the early fifth century bc.43 Overall, the images chosen for both the silver and gold types are appropriate images that had a wide variety of connotations and meanings for a number of different audiences. They were well chosen and especially relevant to Macedonians but did not have to be subjected to changes or adapted for other audiences even as time progressed. Significantly, in terms of propaganda, we can see a concerted effort to appeal to the Macedonians and Greeks with traditional imagery and to promote the campaign with images that call to mind specific Greek victories and something of a united Hellenic force against a common enemy. For the right audience, the dual nature of some of the images perhaps also made the conqueror and his coins more acceptable, by circulating the idea that Alexander was the legitimate successor to the Achaemenid kingship of Asia.44

The Elephant coinage It is worth offering some discussion on a much more unusual issue of coinage, referred to as the Porus types or Porus medallions, or sometimes the Elephant medallions. These coins or medallions, as they may well be, were discovered in Afghanistan in 1887, with a further seven pieces later uncovered in Iraq in 1973. They are notable in that they feature very different designs as compared to those found on Alexander’s other coinage. In this set, there was a type, depicting a battle scene, with a Greek horseman rearing against a war elephant carrying a warrior and mahout, as well as tetradrachms that feature Indian archers and elephants. The dating of this coinage has been the subject of much debate. It must belong to the late 320s bc, but it is difficult to establish whether they were actually struck during Alexander’s lifetime or instead shortly after his death in 323 bc.45 In fact, there are some arguments that they may not even have been minted under Alexander’s authority, as they appear to have been struck on a varying weight standard which is very uncharacteristic of Alexander’s own coinage or, indeed, of any official coinage minted by Greek kings and cities. These medallions are also unusual in that they do not appear to have come from a large mint or to have been distributed as a regular circulating currency.46 However, this does not necessarily diminish the propaganda value of such coins.47 If they were struck by Alexander, they could be seen as a possible victory issue, although Dahmen gives reasons why this is improbable, especially as Alexander’s name is absent from these issues and the defeated subjects are not really displayed in a manner that highlights their defeat.48 However, the battle scene must certainly be evoking Alexander’s battle with the Indian king Porus and the Macedonian victory at the Hydaspes

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Figure 10.3 Silver ‘medallion’ of 5 shekels or decadrachm of Alexander III, local mint in Babylon, struck c. 325–323 BC. Solider (likely intended to represent Alexander) on horse advancing against an elephant with mahout on obverse. On reverse, possible representation of Alexander, wearing military attire, holding thunderbolt, holding spear with his left hand, and crowned with wreath by flying Nike. Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=222422

in 326 bc. The image of a cavalryman, identified as a Macedonian by his Phrygian-style helmet and characteristic long lance (or sarissa), is thought to be a depiction of Alexander himself. The reverse is particularly interesting as well; it shows another Macedonian horseman or possibly the same one, this time standing and being crowned by a winged Victory, and still wearing his distinctive helmet. This figure also appears to be carrying what could either be a sarissa or a royal sceptre in his left hand, and, more importantly, in his right hand he holds the thunderbolt of Zeus. It has been proposed that this figure is intended to be a deliberate depiction of Alexander and, most importantly, an Alexander holding divine attributes. Those who make this argument have pointed out that the choice of the thunderbolt would have represented Alexander’s ancestor Zeus and that the design on the helmet was meant to represent the distinctive white plumage which Plutarch (Alex. 16.7; 32.8–11) tells us the king wore on either side of his helmet. The standing figure mounted on the elephant and brandishing a spear on the obverse has been identified as Porus because of the figure’s height. Porus is described in almost all primary sources as extremely tall, sometimes as tall as 2.1 metres or 7 feet tall, and the height of the figure as it is rendered on the elephant would certainly tally with those measurements. On some examples of the medallion, it is even possible to discern the foot of the rider behind the elephant about halfway up its leg, adding further emphasis to the height

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of this man, although once again, we cannot confirm this was intentionally done to show that the rider was Porus, as this could be simply the stylistic choice of the engraver. If we take the date of the issue as being before Alexander’s death and accept that it is Alexander himself featured on the reverse, then this series of coins represents a fairly remarkable numismatic development. It would be not only the sole surviving depiction of Alexander the Great produced during his lifetime but also among the earliest known images of an identified living person on coins. If correct, then these designs demonstrate once again that coins could be used as a form of propaganda to continue advertising a leader’s success and status to his subjects. Perhaps even more significantly, they appear to correspond with how Alexander’s ambitions and propaganda message had developed by this time. Considering Alexander’s push to have himself recognised as a divine individual during the latter part of his reign, this does not seem completely implausible, and there are multiple examples from the sources that demonstrate Alexander’s growing desire to be recognised as a divine being while alive. Given the resistance he faced from the older, more traditional Macedonians, who were uncomfortable with the idea that a king might claim to be divine or even to be a living god, it is possible that, initially, Alexander chose to trial such imagery on a very small issue of coinage. A small sample issue of coinage that was only intended to circulate locally and was directly connected with a recent victory may have been a way to help justify such lofty claims. It also demonstrates a clear understanding, once again, of how coins could be used as a medium for transmitting important ideas about the ruling authority which issued them.

The coinage of the successors Alexander’s numismatic policies, such as adhering to the coinage of his father prior to choosing types that were beneficial to his own kingship image, set the standard for the men who came to power after his death. Those who found themselves in leadership positions after Alexander’s death followed the same pattern and also continued to mint the coinage of their predecessor. The reasoning behind this was very similar to Alexander’s own policy immediately after Philip’s death. It was practical, and it was another way to show continuity during a particularly unstable transfer of power. For the Successors, however, there were other motivations as well, especially as they derived their positions of authority through their personal connections with Alexander himself and, furthermore, were concerned with the appearance of a unified empire maintained on behalf of the Argead kings, at least in the first years following 323 bc. We find that their numismatic policies reflect their changing positions and ambitions very clearly and that as their ambitions grew, there are corresponding changes to their coinage. The Alexander coin types came to be replaced by new designs, and this development

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continued until some of the Successors had their own names added to their coins and, in some cases, even chose to depict their portraits, which was a significant development in Hellenistic coinage. The following paragraph offers a general survey of some of the most important developments among the Successors’ coins. It should be noted that approaches to coinage varied among Alexander’s Successors. Soon after his death, some chose to mint not only Alexander’s Heracles types but also Philip II’s coins featuring a laureate head of Apollo as well. These were resumed in c. 323/2–317 bc on behalf of Philip III Arrhidaeus, perhaps under the authority of Perdiccas. This was undoubtedly a display of loyalty intended to demonstrate his support of the new kings,49 and it appears that Arrhidaeus’ name (under the dynastic name Philip) was the first to replace Alexander on coins.50 The minting of the familiar coins of the Argead rulers represented, at least on the surface, continuity for the Argead dynasty.51 This was particularly true in Macedonia itself, where the Heracles types were continued under Antipater and later struck by his son Cassander as well.52 The sources hint that there may have been a level of animosity between Cassander and Alexander during his lifetime. This did not, however, prevent him from taking advantage of the positive associations with this coin type and continuing to mint Alexander’s coin types throughout his own reign.53 In fact, the mints in Macedonia continued to produce these Alexander coin types even after Cassander’s death in 297 bc, right up until Demetrius Poliorcetes was declared the king of Macedonia in 294 bc.54 For a ruler whose ambitions mainly lay within the kingdom of Macedonia itself, there was perhaps less of a need or opportunity to vary from the traditional types. After the deaths of Philip III Arrhidaeus in 317 bc and Alexander IV in 310 bc, there were more obvious and dramatic changes to the coin types issued.55 Under the Successors, Alexander’s portrait was for the first time represented on coinage. With so much emphasis placed on having a close relationship with Alexander and using this as a marker of legitimacy during the early years of the Successors’ rise to power, it is not surprising that this development should occur. The style of these portraits is still fairly dramatic and unrealistic, which until c. 278 bc remained a dominant trend for the first generation of Hellenistic kings.56 However, although these images may not have truly reflected the appearance of the former king, for the subjects of these kingdoms, this would have become the most immediate and familiar image they associated with him.57 One of the most notable features of Alexander’s portrait under the Successors was the promotion of overtly divine symbols and Alexander’s status as a god or a hero through these symbols. There was a complex relationship between the way the portrait of Alexander was constructed and the ruler who issued the coin, and although Alexander had campaigned to have himself recognised as a divine being while alive, or at the very least awarded divine honours, this promotion of

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Alexander as divine was more for the benefit of his Successors themselves.58 It did not necessarily stem from an admiration of Alexander or the acceptance of his claims to divinity, but because it was in the interests of those who now claimed power that they had received their authority from Alexander as a god. Ptolemy was the first to change drastically Alexander’s coin types for his own designs. This may have become his prerogative prior to the others, as his position in Egypt was more firmly established from an earlier stage.59 Ptolemy too was a master of propaganda and was able to cultivate aspects of Alexander’s image that were useful to his own political ventures.60 In c. 322–318 bc, Ptolemy struck a new coin type which featured Alexander wearing an elephant scalp, with Ammon’s horn, and included the legend ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ on some issues, with others reading simply ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΟΥ. Later issues from c. 314–313 bc onwards were redesigned to show Alexander’s anastole, as well as a mitra. The new design of these coins also depicted Alexander wearing the aegis of Zeus. These symbols were all familiar, recognisable insignia from the Greek pantheon and together formed a type of symbolic code.61 The aegis and horn were of course associated with Zeus and Zeus–Ammon, both important deities (or incarnations of the same deity) given a prominent focus during Alexander’s campaign.62 The forehead band, known as a mitra, was associated with Dionysus who was another deity both important to the Macedonians and whom Alexander had been compared with during his lifetime.63

Figure 10.4 Silver tetradrachm of Ptolemy I Soter, as satrap, Alexandria mint, struck c. 311/310–305 BC. Diademed and deified head of Alexander with elephant skin headdress on obverse, Athena advancing on reverse, legend reads ‘of Alexander’. Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=235466

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Many different interpretations have been suggested as to the meaning of the elephant scalp. It has been seen as some sort of Dionysian attribute, a representation of India, Africa, or simply a general symbol to illustrate Alexander’s power and the extension of his empire in the East.64 While the elephant scalp may have represented Alexander’s Indian victory and his association with Dionysus, evidence suggests that Alexander was not explicitly compared with Dionysus until c. 329 bc, and this god was not as commonly associated with Alexander’s campaign as figures like Achilles or Heracles.65 Additionally, Ptolemy himself had very little to do with the East and was focused instead on securing Egypt, an ambition that is apparent as early as 323 bc. As such, it would be unusual if Ptolemy chose an image for his coins with the intention of highlighting the Indian victory.66 Ptolemy’s interests lay in minting coins that would be to his own advantage, not necessarily coinage that would benefit the memory of Alexander or that would promote the unity of the empire, a pretence that was gradually discarded as time went on.67 As such, for Ptolemy, the elephant scalp was probably a development along from the Heracles coins of Alexander’s own reign and represented Alexander’s victories in general, just as the lion scalp was symbolic of all of Heracles’ achievements.68 Visually, the design equated Alexander with Heracles, in terms of both their heroic status and as the founders of important royal lines or empires.69 Through circulating this image and its familiar associations, Ptolemy was able to promote Alexander as a type of heroic predecessor on whose authority he established his kingdom in Egypt,

Figure 10.5 Gold stater of Ptolemy I Soter, Cyrene mint, struck c. 299–294 BC. Diademed head of Ptolemy wearing aegis on obverse, Alexander holding thunderbolt in elephant quadriga on reverse, legend reads ‘of King Ptolemy’. Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=371569

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just as Heracles had been for Alexander.70 Ptolemy eventually adopted this iconography for his own portraits, providing a visual transition from Alexander receiving the divine insignia from the gods, through to Ptolemy receiving such associations from Alexander. Ptolemy was one of the first to place his own image on coinage, a development which may have taken place around 299 bc. The first coin portraits of Ptolemy appeared on the obverse of his coins, which featured the image of what is thought to be Alexander in an elephant quadriga on the reverse.71 The figure of Alexander appears either naked or draped in a cloak, holding a thunderbolt and sceptre.72 Ptolemy had originally retained the Zeus reverse of Alexander’s coin types, before replacing this with an image of Athena Alkidemos on select issues.73 His new coins, therefore, reflect a particularly significant change, as traditionally throughout the classical age the obverse had been reserved for deities, and so a portrait of a living person on the obverse was something of an innovation.74 Ptolemy’s portrait shows a somewhat more naturalistic image, though still in the same dramatic style as Alexander’s portrait, with an upwards glance and wide distended eye. The distended eye itself was important and was usually interpreted as a sign of divinity or at least divine inspiration.75 His portrait was depicted with the aegis of Zeus, and although it was Ptolemy himself who had introduced the aegis to Alexander’s imagery, visually this development seems to imply that he himself had received it from his predecessor, once again helping to give weight to his claim to kingship.76 Ptolemy is also depicted wearing the diadem in order to indicate his newly acquired royal title. This is declared on the reverse of the coin as well by the legend ∏ΤΟΛΕΜΑΙΟΥ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ, which is found on these issues.77 Bosworth notes that this title covers as much space on the coin’s surface as the figure of Alexander himself, creating a strong connection between the two kings.78 Another coin usually attributed to Ptolemy shows his portrait on the obverse, with a new design on the reverse: an image of an eagle standing on a thunderbolt, accompanied by Ptolemy’s royal title.79 This appears to mark the final step, a movement away from associations with Alexander and his imagery to a set of coins that represented the Ptolemaic dynasty in its own right. Once Ptolemy had securely established his own kingdom in Egypt and his family as the ruling monarchs, he finally had no more need to use Alexander’s image as propaganda to promote his cause. By the next generation, this development was completed on the coinage of Ptolemy II Philadelphus, which featured the portraits of Ptolemy and his wife Berenice I on the reverse, both wearing diadems and represented as divine rulers with the legend ΘΕΩΝ.80 Lysimachus was given the satrapy of Thrace at the Babylonian settlement in 323 bc and ruled it for nearly 40 years.81 It is thought that he received his coinage from Cassander in the early years of his reign, which must have been of the Alexander coin type. After the battle of Ipsus in 301 bc, his

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newly captured mints in Asia Minor also continued to produce the Heracles coinage. Some of these demonstrate small developments, and later issues carried Lysimachus’ name and royal title, along with a lion’s forepart as the personal symbol of the king.82 By 305/4 bc, Lysimachus established a new mint in Lysimachia, the capital city he had founded in Thrace, after which new types were struck. These coins featured the diademed head of Alexander, adorned with the horns of Ammon on the obverse. These distinctive horns were chosen to serve the symbolic purpose of indicating Alexander’s divine parentage, as well as indicating his deified status, which by now had been accepted. In this portrait, Alexander’s eye is also rendered as unnaturally wide and distended, again making use of an artistic device commonly employed to express divinity.83 The reverse image also changed to feature a seated figure of Athena with Nike, with the addition of the title ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΛΥΣΙΜΑΧΟΥ. Just like the other Diadochoi, Lysimachus established himself as a king and promoted the legitimacy of this new status through his former relationship to Alexander, and so it may be significant that he chose to represent Alexander on his coins in place of one of the established gods of the Olympian pantheon. This was perhaps a decision made in order to demonstrate that it was Alexander specifically who sanctioned Lysimachus’ rule.84 The diadem featured on these coin types was of course also significant, being the official emblem of Hellenistic kingship under the Successors. This, combined with Lysimachus’ royal title on the reverse, may have been intended to suggest that Lysimachus had somehow received the diadem and title from Alexander himself, in the same way that the portraits of Ptolemy had borrowed the diadem and aegis.85

Figure 10.6 Silver tetradrachm of Lysimachus, Lysimachia mint, struck 297/296–282/281 BC. Diademed and deified head of Alexander with horns of Zeus–Ammon on obverse, Athena seated on reverse. Legend reads ‘of King Lysimachus’. Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=132363

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Another of the Successors, Seleucus, took control of Babylon after the defeat of Perdiccas in 321/20 bc, and he too eventually established his own coin types that reflected specific ideas that he wished to promote. Once again, we find an example of how a numismatic policy might closely parallel a leader’s position and political aims.86 From 315 bc, Seleucus issued coinage very similar to that of the other Successors, featuring the typical Alexander Heracles coins, first in Alexander’s name and later replacing this with his own name and title on the reverse as ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΣΕΛΕΥΚΟΥ.87 A few minor changes were made to the Alexander coin type under Seleucus, including the use of an image of Nike on the reverse instead of the eagle, although generally Seleucus’ coins closely resembled the familiar types of the former king. The motivation for continuing these types must have been similar to that of the other Successors, although there was perhaps some personal significance derived from the type: it appears that the Seleucids claimed some level of kinship with the Argeads and Heracles as well. This is hinted at by Libanius, who states: soon the city was built [Antioch], and soon thereafter it was filled with those who came down to it from Ione [Iopolis], Argives, Cretans and descendants of Heracles, who had, I believe, a relationship with Seleucus via the ancient Temenus. (Lib. Or. 11.91)88 Again we see evidence of a Hellenistic ruler attempting to use the connections and royal image established by Alexander to his own advantage. For this particular dynasty, the Heracles coins may have had an additional level of meaning due to their own promoted connection to this hero as well. By 291 bc, however, Seleucus discontinued these coins and turned to minting other designs.89 Like Ptolemy, Seleucus minted coins featuring Alexander’s portrait wearing the elephant scalp, though without the aegis, Ammon’s horn, and mitra. While the elephant scalp on these designs carried associations similar to those of Ptolemy’s coins, Seleucus’ designs were perhaps also intended as a way of commemorating his victories in the East.90 Another important feature of these new types were the gods who were depicted on the reverses. Seleucus’ coins feature the traditional images of a bearded Zeus and, on some issues, Athena. Both of these gods were by this time closely associated with Alexander’s campaign, but were also, of course, traditional Olympians and connected to Macedonia and were particularly important to Seleucus’ own self-presentation and propaganda.91 Perhaps more significantly, Seleucid coinage often featured the symbol of an anchor, which appeared on the reverse in an upside-down configuration, alongside a seated figure of Zeus bearing the eagle. Seleucus was regularly associated with this symbol throughout his lifetime, and multiple anecdotes have been preserved which make reference to it or otherwise tell of the symbol’s origins.92 Many of these stories were connected to Seleucus’ kingship, and

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Figure 10.7 Silver tetradrachm of Seleucus I Nicator, Sardes mint, struck c. 282–281 BC. Head of Heracles on obverse, Zeus seated on reverse, legend reads ‘of King Seleucus.’ Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=357742

it seems that Seleucus used an anchor as his signet ring as well. As the legend grew, some ancient authors even claimed that he had an anchor-shaped birthmark, which was allegedly passed on to the subsequent generations of the Seleucid dynasty (Just. 15.4.5–6; 15.4.9). There was also a story that Seleucus had chanced upon an anchor on a beach, and the anchor symbol featured prominently in the stories which concerned Seleucus’ divine conception, where it was claimed that his mother Laodice was visited by the god Apollo (App. Syr. 56.285–7). This is significant, as it demonstrates a conscious effort on behalf of Seleucus or perhaps his followers to promote this self-made king as a special individual who, like Alexander, had an important divine parent and whose right to rule was indicated by numerous special omens demonstrating that this was divinely predetermined. Despite the design’s close association with Seleucus, it has previously been argued that the symbol actually first appeared on the coinage of Antigonus Monophthalmus on coin types minted at Aradus on the Syrian coast, possibly as early as c. 316 bc.93 If this theory is to be accepted, then perhaps Seleucus adopted the anchor symbol when he gained control over the former Antigonid territory in 301 bc, after which it developed a special meaning for Seleucus specifically.94 Regardless of whether Antigonus had used this device on coinage first, the anchor became very closely tied to Seleucus and his dynasty, and the symbol found on the coinage may therefore have served as a reference to the growing mythos surrounding the king.

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It is also possible that Seleucus’ portrait appeared on coins during his lifetime on coin types issued after 300 bc. These coins feature a helmeted hero, wearing a panther skin and adorned with a bull’s ear and horns.95 It is thought perhaps more likely that this represents Seleucus, especially as the other portraits of Alexander which are depicted on the Seleucus coins are readily identifiable.96 Although these symbols were not associated with Alexander, it is possible that in choosing this design, Seleucus was following the precedent set by the numismatic portraits of Alexander portrayed on coins of the other Successors. These symbols may indicate that Seleucus cultivated similar associations to the gods and heroes just as Alexander had done, and so the panther skin in this context could have been intended as a reference to Dionysus, as well as Seleucus’ victory in India. Bulls were also associated with Dionysus, and horns had by now featured on the posthumous portraits of Alexander as an indicator of divine status.97 In this way, Seleucus’ coin types could have highlighted the similarity between the two great men as well as could have been used for recalling the god’s legendary conquest of the East.98 Perhaps the greatest significance stems from the fact that the portrait was rendered in a style intended for depicting a hero or a divinity, not a mortal man, something that could apply equally to the presentation of Alexander under the Successors or Seleucus himself as he made that transition towards being recognised as a divine ruler. Antigonus Monophthalmus was unique in that he continued to mint Alexander’s coin types, even after he had claimed royal title in 306 bc.99 There may be a number of reasons behind this decision.100 Antigonus was part of an older generation and had in fact originally served under Philip II. During Alexander’s reign, he had been left behind to manage the satrapy of Phrygia in 333 bc and, as such, could not claim the same close personal association with Alexander as the other Successors did, so he was unable to exploit Alexander’s image in the same way. By continuing to mint the traditional Heracles coins, Antigonus made use of the positive associations that these coin types would have conveyed and perhaps sent the message to his subjects and followers and, in particular, to the army that he was loyal to Alexander and the legitimate Argead kings. It may also have helped to emphasise the fact that he still valued the traditional aspects of Macedonian rule. It was a way of highlighting his prestige by emphasising service with Alexander, rather than his own personal achievements. In contrast, Antigonus’ son Demetrius Poliorcetes adopted a very different policy. After Antigonus’ death at the battle of Ipsus in 301 bc, the Antigonid coins were changed to new types almost immediately.101 Demetrius’ designs were completely his own, struck in two main types, a Nike and Poseidon coin, and one which featured Demetrius’ own lifetime portrait. Similar to the other examples we have seen, Demetrius’ portrait showed the king with a royal diadem and divine insignia. These portrait coins also portrayed Poseidon on the reverse, a deity of particular importance to the Besieger. The Nike and Poseidon coin types emerged

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first and were struck in the silver denominations. The obverse showed a winged figure of Nike carrying a trumpet (salpinx) in one hand, and a signal mast (stylis) in the other. The figure was depicted alighting on the forecastle of a defeated galley, with a broken prow ornament (stolos). The reverse of these tetradrachms had a nude figure of Poseidon, along with the legend ΔΗΜΗΤΡΙΟΥ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ.102 This imagery represents a great departure from the previous coinage of the Antigonids, and these designs were no doubt chosen because of their personal significance to Demetrius. The naval elements depicted on Demetrius’ new coinage were probably chosen in commemoration of his great sea victory at Salamis in 306 bc (Diod. 20.49–52), as well as perhaps to indicate Demetrius’ new status as a chiefly naval power. If this interpretation is correct, then this would be an appropriate image, especially when considering Demetrius’ circumstances, as he would have wanted to repair his public image and reputation after the failure at Ipsus. Using an image on his first personal coinage type, which celebrated one of his most significant victories, would have advertised to his followers a powerful message about his royal status and his intentions to achieve further successes of this kind.103 The emergence of Demetrius’ portrait on his coin types in c. 300–298 bc is particularly significant. Indeed, he may have been among the first to do this.104 The likeness on these coins shows a young, idealised image of Demetrius, rendered in a dramatic style similar to the portraits of Alexander found on the coins of the other Successors. This is seen especially with

Figure 10.8 Silver tetradrachm of Demetrius I Poliorcetes, Amphipolis mint, struck c. 289– 288 BC. Diademed and deified head of Demetrius on obverse, Poseidon on reverse, legend reads ‘of King Demetrius’. Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=77914

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the depiction of the diadem and the distinctive curled hairstyle so often associated with Alexander. It may be that Demetrius attempted to associate himself with the former king, and so the use of features like the curled hair and wide-eyed, upwards gaze may have been intended to help visually link the two kings with one another.105 The depiction of the diadem was particularly significant as it represented the most official claim the Diadochoi had to kingship, and for Demetrius, in particular, this would have been an important sentiment to convey. He was too young to have participated in the anabasis and thus lacked that personal connection to Alexander himself, and often his hold over the royal title was, at best, tenuous. Demetrius was also depicted with bull’s horns, and, as with the other coin portraits of the time, this aspect represented divinity. Demetrius too cultivated a connection to the divine, and the literary evidence records that, at least within Athens, he was recognised as such.106 It is thought that in this case, these horns were intended to represent either Dionysus or Poseidon, both deities who were associated with the Besieger.107 Given Demetrius’ emphasis on his naval victories and the figure of Poseidon on the reverses of his personal types, Poseidon is perhaps the more probable candidate. Alexander’s Successors made extensive and sophisticated use of coinage for political purposes. While the individual Diadochoi may have differed in what they wished to portray in their propaganda and the exact way they went about doing so, it is clear that all recognised the value of coins as portable, everyday objects that could be circulated throughout their territories and transmit their message to a wide audience. Coins proved to be an excellent way to both promote and reinforce the important ideas the Diadochoi demonstrated in their other propaganda, such as their loyalty to the Argeads and legitimate kings and their relationship with Alexander. Of course, some of the later coin types also had features which were intended to reinforce a dynast’s own claims to kingship and right to rule. Even those like Demetrius and Antigonus, who did not exploit Alexander’s image in the same way as some of the other Successors, still used Alexander as a model on which to base their leadership, and the importance of coinage as propaganda is certainly reflected in their chosen coin designs.

Notes 1 There are many examples of this to be found throughout the sources, but perhaps the clearest one is the assertion that Alexander only allowed a few specific artists (Lysippus, Apelles, and Pyrgoteles) to render his portrait in artistic media, which allowed him to maintain a high degree of control over how his image was represented to his subjects, see, for example: Plut., Alex. 4; Pliny, NH 7.125; J. J. Pollitt, Art in the Hellenistic Age (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 22; A. Stewart, Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 36–38;

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and B. Kiilerich, ‘The Public Image of Alexander the Great’, in Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth, ed. J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen and B. Poulsen (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1993), 86–87. Philip II r. 359–336 bc; see also P. Thonemann, The Hellenistic World: Using Coins as Sources (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2015), 10. Philip II was remembered nostalgically, and given the resistance Alexander later faced for implying anything that could be conceived to dishonour Philip (most notably the adoption of various Persian customs and Alexander’s inclination to claim that he was in fact the son of Zeus–Ammon), it must have been especially important to demonstrate that Macedonia continued to be ruled in the same tradition as under his father. Numerous references made by the army suggest continued loyalty to Philip’s memory and resistance to the changes made by Alexander during his rule. See, for example: Arr., Anab. 7.8.2–3; Diod., 17.108.2–3; Just., 12.11.5–6; Plut., Alex. 50.6; Curt. 6.11.23–6; 8.1.42–3; and 8.7.13–14 (stating that one of the conspirators against Alexander, Hermolaus, accused the king of rejecting Philip; see S. Müller, ‘Demetrios Poliorketes, Aphrodite und Athen’, Gymnasium 117 (2010): 30, 32n71). Later, when Demetrius Poliorcetes took Macedonia from the Antipatrids, we are told that the Macedonians were happy to see a total regime change away from this dynasty (Plut., Demetr. 37.3; Just. 16.1.17; A. Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image in the Age of the Successors’, in Heckel and Tritle, Alexander the Great, 246), again something which corresponds with changes to the numismatic policy previously established within Macedonia. Although Demetrius continued to strike some Alexander coin types, his own designs soon superseded them within the kingdom. M. J. Price, Coins of the Macedonians (London: Published for the Trustees of the British Museum by British Museum Publications, 1974), 18; E. D. Carney, ‘Hunting and the Macedonian Elite: Sharing the Rivalry of the Chase (Arrian 4.13.1)’, in The Hellenistic World: New Perspectives, ed. D. Ogden (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2002), 60; and K. A. Sheedy, Alexander and the Hellenistic Kingdoms: Coins, Image and the Creation of Identity. The Westmoreland Collection (Sydney: Australian Centre for Ancient Numismatic Studies, 2007), 40–41. Thonemann, 11. Alonso Troncoso, ‘Some Remarks on the Funerals of the Kings: From Philip II to the Diadochoi’, in Alexander and His Successors: Essays from the Antipodes, ed. P. Wheatley and R. Hannah (Claremont, CA: Regina Books, 2009), 279. For example, a Philip II coin featuring the laurate head of Apollo was resumed on behalf of Philip III Arrhidaeus c. 323/2–317 bc, perhaps under the authority of Perdiccas. The intention was to support the accession of a legitimate ruler and to appeal to the Macedonian army which was particularly invested in having an Argead king: Curt. 3.6.17; 10.7.15; Sheedy, 40; and E. Baynham, ‘Continuity and Ambition: The Posthumous Philip II Gold Staters from Colophon/ Magnesia’, in Sheedy, Alexander and the Hellenistic Kingdoms, 25. Stewart, 94–95, 263. Sources for Alexander’s death: Arr., Anab. 7.24–8; Diod. 17.117.5–118.2; 19.11.8; Curt. 10.5.1–6; 10.10.5; 10.10.9–20; Plut., Alex. 73–77.5; Just. 12.13.3–16.1; LM 112; Ps. Callisth. l. 3.31–33; and Val. Max. 1.7 ext. 2; with, inter alia, W. Heckel, The Last Days and Testament of Alexander the Great: A Prosopographic Study (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1988); Heckel, ‘The Earliest Evidence for the Plot to Poison Alexander’, in Alexander’s Empire: Formulation to Decay, ed. W. Heckel, L. A. Tritle, and P. V. Wheatley (Claremont, CA: Regina Books, 2007); L. Depuydt, ‘The Time of Death of Alexander

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Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn the Great: 11 June 323 B.C. (-322), ca. 4:00–5:00 PM’, Die Welt des Orients 28 (1997): 117–35; A. B. Bosworth, ‘Ptolemy and the Will of Alexander’, in Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, ed. A. B. Bosworth and E. Baynham, 207–41 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000); E. Baynham, ‘A Baleful Birth in Babylon: The Significance of the Prodigy in the Liber de Morte – An Investigation of Genre’, in Bosworth and Baynham, Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, 242–62; E. Borza and J. Reames-Zimmerman, ‘Some New Thoughts on the Death of Alexander the Great’, Ancient World 31 (2000): 22–30; L. Schep, ‘The Death of Alexander the Great: Reconsidering Poison’, in Wheatley and Hannah, Alexander and His Successors, 227–36; and K. Hall, ‘Did Alexander the Great Die from Guillain-Barré Syndrome?’, Ancient History Bulletin 32.3–4 (2018): 106–28. This is made clear by the way in which this connection to Alexander was frequently exploited after his death. It was prestigious and advantageous to have any sort of connection to the former king, and officers who had served under Alexander were much sought after and held in the highest esteem: cf. Diod. 19.51.1; 19.69.1; 19.82.1; 20.40.1; see J. Roisman, ‘Ptolemy and His Rivals in His History of Alexander’, Classical Quarterly 34 (1984): 373 and R. A. Billows, Kings & Colonists: Aspects of Macedonian Imperialism (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 34. Another example of this is seen in 311, when Seleucus intended to reclaim Babylonia and enter the war as an equal among the other Successors. He therefore reminded his men that they had campaigned with Alexander in order to encourage them and used a dream of Alexander to show that the omens were favourable for his own leadership: Diod 19.90.3–4; with Stewart, 265, 313; D. Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus: Kingship, Narrative and Mythmaking in the Ancient World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 64–66. Similarly, when Demetrius took control of Macedonia in 294 bc, he made a speech that highlighted his father’s services to Philip II and Alexander, indicating the importance of the connection and loyalty to the Argead dynasty: Just. 16.1.12; cf. Plut., Demetr. 37.3 and A. B. Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander: Politics, Warfare and Propaganda under the Successors (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 251. Thonemann, 18. See n. 3. Stewart, 93; Sheedy, 42–43; and see Thonemann for the phenomenon of ‘posthumous’ coinages (pp.  10–11). The new coinage types may have been introduced alongside Alexander’s public declaration of his sovereignty, as preserved in Arr., Anab. 2.14.4–9; cf. Diod. 17.39.1; Just. 11.12.1–2; Plut., Alex. 29.7–8; and Curt. 4.1.7–10; 2.25.1–3, although there have also been arguments against this claim that Alexander struck no coinage in his own name before 333; see, for example, O. H. Zervos and M. J. Price, ‘The Earliest Coins of Alexander the Great’, Numismatic Chronicle 142 (1982): 190. The gold and silver coinage may have been introduced at different dates, and Zervos and Price suggest that the new gold types were issued between 332 and 331 bc, or else earlier, perhaps even prior to the launch of the Asiatic campaign in 334 (‘The Earliest Coins’, 175); cf. Thonemann, 11. Finally, it is worth noting that even seemingly small stylistic conventions found on the coinage of Philip II are later disregarded by Alexander for his own types, making them truly distinctive from the coinage of the previous reign: Zervos and Price, ‘The Earliest Coins’, 172n24, 174. It should be noted that although these new gold types were introduced, Philip II’s gold continued to be struck down to c. 315 bc as well: G. le Rider, Alexander

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the Great: Coinages, Finances, and Policy, trans. W. E. Higgins (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 2007), 37–43, 107–08; and Thonemann, 11. Zervos and Price, ‘The Earliest Coins’, 181. Drachms on the Attic standard weighed 4.3g. The gold weight standard remained the same as that Philip II had used (8.6 grams), which was in itself based on that of the Chalcidian League. See A. R. Bellinger, who notes how this would have inevitably caused problems in covering the cost of manufacturing (Essays on the Coinage of Alexander the Great (New York: The American Numismatic Society, 1963), 1–2). The most probable way to counteract this would have been for the mint to reduce the weight of each coin, although they could not have allowed a huge discrepancy between the nominal value and intrinsic value. Nonetheless, it is easy to understand why mercenaries, for example, might want to be paid on a heavier standard and would need to be accommodated by ambitious commanders. On ancient Greek weight standards, see J. R. Melville Jones, A Dictionary of Ancient Greek Coins (London: Seaby, 1986), 240–42. E. A. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander, Zeus Ammon, and the Conquest of Asia’, Transactions of the American Philological Association  121 (1991): 204; Stewart, 94; Carmen Arnold-Biucchi, Alexander’s Coins and Alexander’s Image (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Art Museums, 2006), 33; and Melville Jones, ‘The Coinage of Alexander and his Successors: A “Common Hellenic Coinage”?’, in Sheedy, Alexander and the Hellenistic Kingdoms, 30. In c. 329 bc, the title ‘BASILEWS' was added and adopted by many of the mints. The Successors later used their names as well as their titles, a practice which was then continued by their descendants, see further below (endnotes 27, 67, 100, and 107), O. Mørkholm, Early Hellenistic Coinage: From the Accession of Alexander to the Peace of Apamea (336–188 BC) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 29. Coins minted on behalf of Philip III Arrhidaeus, for example, frequently have both his name and title as well: M. J. Price, The Coinage in the Name of Alexander the Great and Philip Arrhidaeus, 2 vols. (London and Zurich: Swiss Numismatic Society in association with British Museum Press, 1991), ii Pl. CXVI–CXX. Bellinger, 1. The most common form of this more localised coinage was a head of Heracles similar to that on the silver, with Alexander’s name on the reverse and either a bow and case, or a club, bow, and quiver, Bellinger, 21. L. Müller, B. V. Head and Baron A. von Prokesch-Osten, The Coins of Alexander the Great, ed. Al. N. Oikonomides (Chicago: Ares, 1981), xvii–xviii. Other denominations do exist including decadrachms, didrachms, triobols, and obols. It appears that these less common denominations originate from the Eastern mints. On the Argead connection to Heracles, see Plut., Alex. 2; Diod. 17.1.5. The royal family claimed descent through Caranus, although this name is not listed in Herodotus’ account of Alexander I’s genealogy, which begins instead with Perdiccas I, Hdt. 8.137 ff. Alexander I had advanced the association between his dynasty and Heracles from an early stage, and this was later exploited by Alexander the Great. For Alexander I and Heracles, see, for example: Hdt. 5.22; 8.137–39; E. Borza, ‘Athenians, Macedonians and the Origins of the Macedonian Royal House’, in Studies in Attic Epigraphy, History and Topography, Presented to Eugene Vanderpool (Princeton, NJ: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1982), 11n17; J. R. Hamilton, Plutarch Alexander: A Commentary, 2nd ed. (1969; repr., Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999), 2; R. Fleischer, ‘True Ancestors and False Ancestor in Hellenistic Ruler’s Portraiture’, in Images

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Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn of Ancestors, ed. J. M. Højte (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2002), 61; and Carney, 60. Bellinger, 11. Diod. 17.4.1–2. Alternatively, Just. 11.3.1–2 states that Alexander won over the Thessalians through Philip’s previous support and his connection to them through the Aeacid line of Olympias. See J. F. C. Fuller, The Generalship of Alexander the Great (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1960), 28–29. For example, Arr., Anab. 3.1 notes that Alexander desired to visit the oracle of Ammon particularly because Perseus and Heracles had previously consulted it and is even said to have settled Mallus on the grounds that it was a colony of Argos, and ‘he himself claimed to be descended from the Argive Heracleidae’ (Arr., Anab. 2.5.9). Alexander also wished to take the rock of Aornus in 326 bc because there was a story that it had been unsuccessfully besieged by Heracles. Although Arrian states that he does not believe the myth is true, he claims that it did influence Alexander’s decision to undertake the assault: Arr., Anab. 4.28; with A. B. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), 198 and A. B. Bosworth, Conquest and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 282. Bellinger, 11. On Alexander’s notional affinity with Heracles, see Heckel, ‘Alexander, Achilles, and Heracles: Between Myth and History’, in East and West in the World Empire of Alexander, ed. P. V. Wheatley and E. J. Baynham, 21–33. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). That the portrait was always intended to be Alexander: E. M. Cousinéry, Voyage dans la Macédoine, vol. 1 (Paris: Imprimerie Royale, 1831); G. Kleiner, Alexanders Reichmünzen. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1949); and K. Lange, ‘Zur Frage des Bildnis gehaltes bei Köpfen auf Münzen Philips II und Alexanders III, des Großen, von Makedonien’, in Wissenschaftliche Abhandlungen des deutschen Numismatikertages in Göttingen, 1951, ed. E. Boehringer, 27–33 (Göttingen: Musterschmidt, 1959). That it was never intended as a royal portrait: J. Echkel, Doctrina Numorum Veterum, part 1, vol. 2 (Vienna: Vindobonae Volke, 1839); F. Imhoof-Blumer, Portraitköpfe auf antiken Münzen hellenischer und hellenisierter Völker (Leipzig: Teubner, 1885); and T. Schreiber, Studien über das Bildnis Alexanders des Großen (Leipzig: Teubner, 1903). That the portrait may have changed over the course of Alexander’s reign to more closely resemble the king, either on the king’s authority or on the initiative of the die-engravers: E. Q. Visconti, Iconographie grecque, vol. 2 (Paris: Didot, 1811); L. Müller, Numismatique d’Alexandre le Grand, (Copenhagen, 1855); G. F. Hill, Historical Greek Coins, (London: Constable & Co., 1910); E. T. Newell, Royal Greek Coin Portraits (New York: W. Raymond Inc., 1937); and E. Sjöqvist, ‘Alexander-Heracles: A Preliminary Note’, Bulletin of the Museum of Fine Arts 51, no. 284 (1953): 30–33. For a summary of the older scholarship and arguments see Bellinger, 11–16. It has generally been accepted now that the Heracles image lacks the particular personal characteristics of portraiture, but this does not of course exclude a strong association between Alexander and Heracles: Price, Coinage in the Name of Alexander, 33; Mørkholm, 27; Sheedy, 14; and Thonemann, 12. One of the ‘elephant medallions’, or Porus coins, appears to show an image of Alexander on the reverse; see F. L. Holt, Alexander the Great and the Mystery of the Elephant Medallions, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003): 126–28. O. Bopearachchi and P. Flandrin have suggested that a coin found in a hoard in Bactria shows Alexander’s portrait with an elephant skin headdress, predating those of the Successors (Le Portrait d’Alexandre le Grand. Historie

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D’une Découverte Pour l’Humanité (Monaco: Éditions de Rocher, 2005), 186– 93), although the authenticity of this coin has been debated; cf. W. FischerBossert’s review (Review of Le Portrait d’Alexandre le Grand: Histoire d’une Découverte pour l’Humanité, by O. Bopearachchi and P. Flandrin, ANS Magazine 5.2 (2006): 62–65). Stewart argues that Ptolemy’s coin featuring Alexander wearing an elephant scalp should be taken to infer that the Heracles image was not considered a representation of Alexander (pp.  158–59n3). B. R. Brown argues that since Heracles was the declared ancestor of the Macedonian royal family, in Macedonian coinage his image always referred to the reigning king (Royal Portraits in Sculpture and Coins: Pyrrhos and the Successors of Alexander the Great (New York: Lang, 1995), 25). As would be expected, Alexander had paid homage to both Zeus and Heracles on multiple occasions during his reign (Arr., Anab. 1.4.5; Diod. 17.16.3), and both deities had featured prominently at the outset of the campaign. See also Zervos and Price, ‘The Earliest Coins’, 190. Alongside altars for Athena and Heracles. Plutarch only speaks of sacrifices to Athena specifically but notes that Alexander also poured ‘libations to the heroes of the Greek army’ (Plut., Alex. 15.7–8, trans. Duff). See Bosworth, A Historical Commentary, 101. There are a number of variants in this design across the types stuck at different mints, perhaps suggesting that there was no one single prototype or form of Zeus intended. See Zervos and Price, ‘The Earliest Coins’, 190. Badian, ‘The Deification of Alexander the Great’, in Ancient Macedonian Studies in Honor of Charles F. Edson, ed. H. J. Dell, 27–71 (Thessalonica: Institute for Balkan Studies, 1981) and Thonemann, 13. This image appears on the coins minted by the Persian satrap Mazaeus in Cilicia: H. A. Troxell, Studies in the Macedonian Coinage of Alexander the Great (New York: American Numismatic Society, 1997), 87–89; O. Casabonne, La Cilicie à l’époque achéménide (Paris: De Boccard, 2004), 207–36; ArnoldBiucchi, 53; and Thonemann, 13. See also the discussion of Zervos and Price, ‘The Earliest Coins’, 169–70. Bellinger, 18. Thonemann, 13. Müller, Head, and von Prokesch-Osten, xvii. Distaters, as well as half, quarter, and eighth staters, also exist. These also have a head of Athena, although there is slightly more variation on the reverses, including types with a club and bow, as well as a fulmen. Bellinger, 4. At the beginning of the campaign, Alexander had sacrificed to Protesilaus, the first Greek to disembark and be killed in the Trojan war: Arr., Anab. 1.11.5–7; cf. Hom., Il. 2.701. Alexander was also the first to disembark from the ship, throwing his spear in order to demonstrate that he had received Asia from the gods as ‘spear won land’: Diod. 17.17.2; Just. 11.5.10. We are also told that during this time, a prophecy from Athena was communicated to Alexander, predicting victory during a cavalry battle: Diod. 17.17.6; Stewart, 233; and G. Squillace, ‘Consensus Strategies under Philip and Alexander: The Revenge Theme’, in Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, ed. D. Carney and D. Ogden (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 77. After making his sacrifice to Athena, some sources claim that Alexander then visited the tomb of Achilles, anointing it with oil and crowning it with a wreath and conducting a race with his companions. These actions suggest that the honouring of Troy was a protracted, public affair and that Alexander made much

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Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn of the opportunity to connect his campaign closely with the epic Trojan war: Plut., Alex. 5.8–9. For other sources concerning Alexander’s actions at Troy, see, for example: Plut., Mor. 59B, 331D; Arr., Anab. 1.12.1; Ael., VH. 7.8; 12.7; with Stewart, 80–81n35 and Heckel, ‘Alexander, Achilles, and Heracles’. This highly symbolic arrival on the shores of Asia is referred to as ‘un bel effort de mise en scene’ by G. Courtieu, ‘La visite d’Alexandre le Grand à Ilion/Troie’, GAIA 8 (2004): 124. Such actions demonstrate a clear awareness on the part of Philip and Alexander of how to promote the campaign to their best advantage. Bellinger, 5. Polyb. 3.6.12–13 states that Philip knew the Persians had an inferior military and was tempted by the potential riches that could be gained through victory over them. He therefore had to put forward an excuse (πρόφασις) for the campaign in order to gain the support of Greece, and this pretext was continued by Alexander; cf. Squillace, 76n54. On the Panhellenic theme of the campaign, see: Arr., Anab. 1.16.7; Plut., Alex.16.17–18; and Ael., VH. 13.11. Alexander was named ‘στρατηγὸς αὐτοκράτωρ’ of Greece: Diod. 17.4.9; Bosworth, A Historical Commentary, 47; and M. Flower, ‘Alexander the Great and Panhellenism’, in Bosworth and Baynham, Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, 98. A third possibility has been suggested that the figure might represent Athena Parthenus instead: see Bellinger, 3; cf. E. Poddighe, ‘Alexander and the Greeks: The Corinthian League’, in Heckel and Tritle, Alexander the Great, 99–120 and Thonemann, 11–12. Melville Jones, Ancient Greek Coins, 2–3, 218–19; V. Sergueenkova, ‘The Stylis on the Gold of Alexander the Great’, Numismatica e Antichità Classiche 35 (2006): 165–78 and Thonemann, 11–12. Thonemann, 12. P. Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2002), 817–71; R. J. Lane Fox, ‘Alexander the Great: Coinage Last of the Achaemenids?’, in Persian Responses: Political and Cultural Interaction With(in) the Achaemenid Empire, ed. C. Tuplin, 267–311 (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2007); and Thonemann, 13. K. Dahmen, The Legend of Alexander the Great on Greek and Roman Coins (New York: Routledge, 2007), 6. On this, see, in particular, Holt with a survey of earlier research. This is suggested by the irregular denominations and erratic weights of the coins. They also bear signs of hurried, poorly supervised minting as they have irregular edges and blemishes. These medallions were probably localised within the actual army which had defeated Porus. See Holt, 109, 140–41, 143. Holt, 140. Dahmen, The Legend of Alexander the Great, 7–8. The rank and file of the Macedonian army remained particularly loyal to the Argead dynasty after Alexander’s death and demanded an Argead king. See Curt. 3.6.17; 10.7.15; Baynham, ‘Continuity and Ambition’, 25–26; and Sheedy, 40. Sheedy, 43. He was declared King by the army under the name Philip in 323 bc; see Curt. 10.7.1–7; Diod. 18.2.2,4; Just. 13.2.6–8, 3.1, 4.2; Arr., Succ. 1.1; Paus. 1.6.2; and App., Syr. 52 [261]. Baynham, ‘Continuity and Ambition’, 26. Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image’, 247. See also Stewart, 264. That this was Cassander’s policy is demonstrated by the fact that he also took steps to associate himself closely with the Argead family. He married Alexander’s half-sister Thessalonice, daughter of Philip II, and two of his sons were given Argead names, Philip and Alexander. Admittedly, these were very common Macedonian names, but by this time they must have been

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especially associated with the famous members of that dynasty. On Cassander’s political actions and attempts to associate himself with the Argeads, see, for example, Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image’, 248–50. Plut., Demetr. 37; with Stewart, 264. Arrhidaeus: Diod. 19.11.4–5; Just. 14.5.10; Oros. 3.23.30; and Paus. 1.11.4. Alexander IV: Diod. 19.105.2–4 and Just. 15.2.3; cf. Trogus, Prol. 15. See Brown, 12 and P. Wheatley, ‘The Date of Polyperchon’s Invasion of Macedonia and Murder of Heracles’, Antichthon 32 (1998): 12–23. Brown, 1–2, 9. The small images on coins stylistically followed those of large art and are somewhat similar to those portraits of Alexander found in sculpture and other artistic media. R. R. R. Smith, Hellenistic Royal Portraits (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 1; Brown, 1; and Sheedy, 11–12. Sheedy, 16. Brown, 15; Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image’, 248. On Ptolemaic coinage, see now the definitive C. Lorber, Coins of the Ptolemaic Empire, 2 vols. (New York: American Numismatic Society, 2018). On the progressive stages of Ptolemy’s currency reforms, see now the nuanced treatment of C. Lorber, ‘The Currency Reforms and Character of Ptolemy I Soter’, in Ptolemy I Soter: A Self-Made Man, ed. T. Howe, 60–87 (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2018); cf. Stewart, 242. Stewart, 231–33; Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 67–70. Zeus and Zeus–Ammon are sometimes argued to be separate deities, but it appears that for Alexander and his contemporaries, Ammon at Siwah was considered to be a Greek god and the local manifestation of Zeus and had been identified as such for some time: cf. Pindar, Pyth. 4.16; frag. 36; A. B. Bosworth, ‘Alexander and Ammon’, in Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory, ed. K. H. Kinzl, 51–75 (Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1977); and Fredricksmeyer, 199–200. The mitra was depicted as sitting below the hairline, unlike the diadem which sat above the hairline. It is the diadem which is usually depicted on the portraits of the Successors; see Stewart, 233; K. Dahmen, ‘Alexander und das Diadem – Die archäologische und numismatische Perspektive’, in Das Diadem Der Hellenistischen Herrscher, ed. A. Lichtenberger, K. Martin, H.-H. Nieswandt and D. Salzmann, 281–92 (Bonn: Habelt, 2012). Stewart, 233n13; cf. in general Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 67–70. The first instance connecting Alexander with Dionysus occurs in 329 bc while pursuing the Saca cavalry force over the borders of Sogdiana. There Alexander and his men found a set of stone monuments, said to mark the extent of Dionysus’ travels in the East. Thus it was said that Alexander had now surpassed the god himself: Curt. 7.9.15; with Bosworth, Alexander and the East: the Triumph of Tragedy (New York: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1996): 141–46. Notably, however, Dionysus is not included in the list of gods Ephippus claims Alexander emulated: Ephippus ap. Athen. 12.537e (FGrH 126 F 5 = BNJ 126); with Stewart, 234–35. Stewart, 234–35. Ptolemy has traditionally been thought to have had ‘separatist’ ambitions from an early stage. Among other evidence, this is indicated by the way in which Ptolemy reduced the weight of his coin issues as early as 310 bc. His coins went from the standard maintained in many other parts of the empire, c. 17.2g, down to c. 14.3g by 290 bc. This served to create a specific coin standard used in Ptolemy’s kingdom alone. He also taxed all foreign coin entering his domain and imposed the exchange of Attic tetradrachms for his own lighter types, so that he was making a profit. See Mørkholm, 9–10; S. Kremydi, ‘Coins and

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Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn Finance’, in Brill’s Companion to Ancient Macedon, ed. R. J. Lane Fox (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 170; and Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 74–77. On the ‘separatist’ vs ‘centralist’ paradigm through which the Diadochoi period has traditionally been analysed, see Wheatley, ‘The Diadochi, or Successors to Alexander’, in Heckel and Tritle, Alexander the Great, 55–59; and the counter-theories of Lund, Lysimachus: A Study in Early Hellenistic Kingship, (London: Routledge, 1992), 51–52; R. Strootmann, ‘“Men to whose rapacity neither sea nor mountain sets a limit”: The Aims of the Diadochs’, in Hauben and Meeus, The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 BC), 307–22; A. Meeus, ‘The Territorial Ambitions of Ptolemy I’, in Hauben and Meeus, The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 BC), 263–306; and now for a restatement of orthodoxy, E. Anson, ‘Ptolemy and the Destruction of the First Regency’, in Howe, Ptolemy I Soter, 20–35; cf. the remarks of Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 67–70, 81–82. Stewart, 235–36; A. B. Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot: Ptolemy, Alexander and the Elephants’, in Sheedy, Alexander and the Hellenistic Kingdoms, 20. Alexander’s individual facial characteristics, as they were depicted in portraiture, would not have been easily recognisable. Instead, it has been suggested that many would have recognised Alexander’s portrait on the basis of its Heraclesstyle associations or other divine symbols; see Brown, 24–25; Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot’, 20. Stewart, 236, also notes the significance of the theoretical size of an elephant’s scalp – only a being of superhuman size such as a god would have been able to wear it. Thonemann, 19. It is usually thought that these coins were created somewhat earlier, around 305 bc: see for instance Sheedy, 114–15, but cf. now Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 77–79. Notably, there are strong stylistic similarities between these coins and the Porus decadrachms minted by Alexander, which may have influenced the Ptolemaic designs. On the regalia, see Holt, 118–23. J. N. Svoronos sees the figure as simply a heroic nude wearing the aegis (Die Münzen der Ptolemäer, 4 vols. (Athens: Sakellarios, 1904), ii 19). Stewart interprets the figure similarly (Faces of Power, 233–37, 260, 435); see also Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot’, 17. This iconography already had a precedent in Apelles’ painting of Alexander with the thunderbolt (Plut., Alex. 4.1; Mor. 335A, 360D; and Pliny, NH 35.36.92), which was commissioned during his lifetime and placed on display in the temple of Artemis. It is probable then that such a symbol would be readily associated with Alexander and the identity of the figure on the reverse would be easily recognisable: Stewart, 99 and Sheedy, 114–15. Sheedy, 110 and Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 70–74. This figure of a striding Athena was most probably introduced a little before Ptolemy’s victory over Demetrius at Gaza in autumn 312 bc, as it appears on a dated Sidonian tetradrachm from the following minting year. On that issue, see P. Wheatley, ‘The Year 22 Tetradrachms of Sidon and the Date of the Battle of Gaza’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 144 (2003): 268–76. M. M. Austin, The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest: A Selection of Ancient Sources in Translation (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 14. Brown, 16. Alexander’s image on the reverse also appears to be wearing a diadem: Brown, 16 and Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot’, 19. Generally, the diadem is thought to have been a band of flat white cloth, worn around the head and bound with a reef knot, the ends of which were left hanging

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78 79

80 81

82 83 84 85 86

87 88 89 90

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free; see Smith, 34 and B. Virgilio, Lancia, diadema e porpora: Il re e la regalità ellenistica (Pisa: Giardini editori e stampatori in Pisa, 2003). There has been much discussion over the origins and meaning of the Hellenistic diadem. However, it does seem that its significance increased following Alexander’s death, as a way in which to visually connect the later kings with Alexander’s kingship. The diadem was also sometimes associated specifically with Dionysus. See especially Smith, 34–38 and the definitive Dahmen, ‘Alexander und das Diadem’. Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot’, 19. Sheedy, 118. This coin type is also attributed to Ptolemy II Philadelphus, but the eagle had a special significance for Ptolemy I as well, appearing in stories which suggested he was the son of Zeus. For example, a rumour is preserved in Aelian (F 285, perhaps originating during Ptolemy’s lifetime), where Ptolemy is said to have been exposed at birth but rescued by an eagle, clearly intended to connect him with Zeus. Sheedy, 121. Lysimachus was born c. 362 bc and possibly was already a somatophylax for Philip II, although later traditions appear to have made him a coeval of Alexander, which in itself may have been an attempt to link him more closely with Alexander. On Lysimachus see, for example: Just. 15.3; App., Syr. 64; F. Landucci Gattinoni, Lysimaco di Tracia: un sovrano nella prospettiva del primo ellenismo (Milan: Jaca Books, 1992); W. Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006), 153–55; and Lund. For his satrapy in Thrace, see Curt. 10.10.4; Diod. 18.3.2; Arr., Succ. 1.7; Dexippus, FGrH 100 F 8 §3 = BNJ 100; Just. 13.4.16; Paus. 1.9.5; Liber de Morte 111. For his coinage, see M. Thompson, ‘The Mints of Lysimachus’, in Essays on Greek Coinage Presented to Stanley Robinson, ed. C. M. Kraay and G. K. Jenkins, 163–82 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968); C. A. Marinescu, ‘Making and Spending Money along the Bosporus: The Lysimachi Coinages Minted by Byzantium and Chalcedon’ (PhD diss., Columbia University, 1996); and Sheedy, 127–49. Sheedy, 128. These portraits are stylistically related and are referred to as being in the dramatic style: high relief, with light and shadow for extreme contrast; see Brown, 11–13, 21. Lund, 163–64. App., Syr. 64 and Just. 15.3. On Seleucid coinage, see the comprehensive treatment of A. Houghton and C. Lorber, Seleucid Coins: A Comprehensive Catalogue, 2 vols. (New York: American Numismatic Society, 2002); for discussion of the symbols found on Seleucus’ coins and their relation to the legends and stories concerning the Seleucids, see especially Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 270 ff. On the iconography on the Seleucid coinage, see in particular Houghton and Lorber, 5–9. A. Mehl, Seleukos Nikator und sein Reich (Leuven: Peeters, 1986), 6–12; Ogden, Alexander the Great: Myth, Genesis and Sexuality (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2011), 95; and see now Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 50–53n102, 104. Sheedy, 93–95. They may have been intended to celebrate Seleucus’ acquisition of 500 elephants from the Indian king Chandragupta: App., Syr. 55.281–2; Just. 15.4.11– 21; Plut., Alex. 62.4, 9; Mor. 542D; Oros. 3.23.44–46; and Strabo 15.1.10 C689; 15.2.9 C724 = Eratosthenes F III B 23. These elephants played a decisive role in the battle of Ipsus in 301 bc, as did Seleucus himself. See Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot’, 21 and, on Ipsus, J. C. Yardley, P. V. Wheatley and W.

192

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92

93

94

95

96 97

Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn Heckel, Justin: Epitome of the Philippic History of Pompeius Trogus, vol. 2, Books 13–15: The Successors to Alexander the Great (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 297–301 and see now Wheatley and Dunn 2020. Seleucus, despite the location of his domains, still seems to have retained a certain ‘Macedonian’ focus, as evident from the fact that many of the cities established in the Seleucid kingdom were named after Macedonian cities. Depicting traditional Macedonian deities on his coins, therefore, must have been an appropriate choice. See Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot’, 22. For discussion see, for example: R. A. Hadley, ‘Deified Kingship and Propaganda Coinage in the Early Hellenistic Age: 323–280 B.C.’ (PhD diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1964); Hadley, ‘Royal Propaganda of Seleucus I and Lysimachus’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 94 (1974): 50–65; G. Marasco, Appiano e la storia dei Seleucidi fino all’ascesa al trono di Antioco III (Florence: Università degli studi di Firenze, Istituto di filologia classica ‘Giorgio Pasquali’, 1982), 77–79; Mehl, 97–101; K. Broderson, Appians Abriss der Seleuckidengeschichte (Syriake 45,232–70–70,369): Text und Kommentar, Münchener Arbeiten zur alten Geschichte Band 1 (Munich: Maris, 1989), 136–40; Houghton and Lorber, 5–6; and Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 44–50, 272–74. Houghton and Lorber date the anchor coin types to c. 311 bc (p. 6). If indeed Antigonus also used the anchor on his coins, Seleucus may have borrowed this iconography; see the discussion in Ogden, Alexander the Great, 100–01; and cf. Ogden, now rejecting the position and accepting that the inauguration of the anchor symbol belongs to 311 bc, when Seleucus had full control of Northern Syria (The Legend of Seleucus, 49–50). Ogden, does, however, suggest that the symbols on Seleucus’ coins had other origins and did not predate the development of the legends associated with these symbols (The Legend of Seleucus, 273–74). Hadley, on the other hand, argued that the imagery must have been contextualisable by its intended audience (‘Royal Propaganda’, 57–58), and so Seleucus’ connection to this symbol should already have been established. Others also take this view: C. Bearzot, ‘A proposito di alcuni prodigi relative a Seleuco I Nicatore’, Giornale filologico Ferrarese 6 (1983): 11–13; P. Goukowsky, Essai sur les origins du mythe d’Alexandre, 2 vols. (Nancy: Université de Nancy, 1978), 1:127–28; L. Capdetrey, Le pouvoir séleucide: Territoire, administration, finances d’un royaume hellénistique (312–129 avant J.-C.) (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2007), 38–39; and see the comments of Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 271–72. E. T. Newell, The Coinage of the Western Seleucid Mints from Seleucis I to Antiochus III (New York: American Numismatic Society, 1941), 192–93n4; Broderson, 138–39; Ogden, Alexander the Great, 100; and Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 48–50n93. Various interpretations have been suggested, including that it might be a youthful Seleucus made to resemble Alexander, with the panther skin reinforcing his connection to India, a portrait of Alexander as Dionysus, or else a general male hero: Hadley, ‘Royal Propaganda’, 52–53; O. D. Hoover, Coins of the Seleucid Empire (New York: American Numismatic Society, 2007); Houghton and Lorber, 6; and Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 271. There was certainly an established precedent for divinised lifetime portraits by this time, even if Seleucus himself was not fully recognised as divine until after 281 bc. See also Hadley, ‘Deified Kingship’, 47; and Sheedy, 96. Houghton and Lorber, 6–7. Seleucus was later portrayed with bull’s horns for a statue erected in Antioch, as well as on posthumous portrait coins minted by Antiochus I: Libanius, Or. 11.93; Houghton and Lorber, 6n20.

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98 Houghton and Lorber, 6. 99 Sources for the assumption of the kingship: Plut., Demetr. 17.2–18.7; Diod. 20.53.1–2; App., Syr. 54.275–7; Just. 15.2.10–14; Heidelberg Epit., FGrH 155 F 1.7; Oros. 3.23.40; Nep., Eum. 13.2–3; de Regibus 3.1; I Maccabees 1.7–9; Parian Marble, FGrH 239 F B23 = BNJ 239; Porph., FGrH 260 F 2.2, 9 = BNJ 100; and Syncellus, Chron. 32–1, 329. For a survey of the literature: J. Seibert, Das Zeitalter der Diadochen (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftl. Buchges, 1983), 136–40; cf. Yardley, Wheatley and Heckel, 241–49. 100 E. T. Newell, The Coinages of Demetrius Poliorcetes (London: Oxford University Press, 1927), 14–15; Billows, Kings & Colonists, 292; Mørkholm, 77; Stewart, 264–65; and Brown, 17, 29. Alexander-type issues which also bear Antigonus’ name are thought to be either modern forgeries or else much later issues belonging to the reign of Antigonus II Gonatas; see Stewart, 264. 101 Demetrius did continue to issue the Alexander coin types, however, and these will have played an important role in financing his planned Asian campaign in 289 bc (Plut., Demetr. 43.3). Ultimately, even Demetrius saw the value in continuing to maintain at least some Alexander coinage. See Stewart, 264 and Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image’, 246–47. On the coinage of Demetrius in general Newell (Coinages of Demetrius Pliorcetes) remains the benchmark. 102 Newell, Coinages of Demetrius Poliorcetes, 24–25. 103 Newell, Coinages of Demetrius Poliorcetes, 33. 104 Kremydi, 171. 105 This is hinted at by Plut., Demetr. 41.5, in the context of praising Pyrrhus of Epirus. He remarks that the Epirote king’s victory over Demetrius prompted the Macedonians to claim that Pyrrhus alone had displayed Alexander’s courage, while the rest of the kings (especially Demetrius) only copied Alexander superficially, as though they were actors on a stage. Such comments appear to indicate that the Successors did indeed try to present themselves as ‘Alexanders’ and were not always successful. On Alexander’s appearance, see Plut., Alex. 4.1–4 with Stewart, 341–58. 106 Antigonus and Demetrius had been subjects of deification at Athens in 307 bc, when the Athenians officially recognised them as ‘Saviour-Gods’ (Plut., Demetr. 10.4), and the ithyphallic hymn composed in 290 suggests that the promotion of Demetrius’ divinity was accepted (Demochares, FGrH 75 F 2; Duris, FGrH 76 F 13; and Athen. 6.253b-f). He was also lodged in the back room of the Parthenon during his stay in 304–302 (Plut. Demetr. 23.5). On Demetrius, see Wheatley and Dunn 2020. 107 This could also have referred to a superhuman power in general, instead of an attribute of a specific deity; cf. Mørkholm, 27; Lund, 161–62; Brown, 18; and K. Ehling, ‘Stierdionysos oder Sohn des Poseidon: Zu den Hörnern des Demetrios Poliorketes’, Göttinger Forum für Altertumswissenschaft 3 (2000): 153–60.

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Smith, R. R. R. Hellenistic Royal Portraits. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988. Squillace, G.‘Consensus Strategies under Philip and Alexander: The Revenge Theme’. In Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, edited by D. Carney and D. Ogden, 69–80. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Stewart, A. Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993. Strootman, R. ‘“Men to Whose Rapacity Neither Sea Nor Mountain Sets a Limit”: The Aims of the Diadochs’. In Hauben and Meeus, The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 BC), 307–22. Svoronos, J. N. Die Münzen der Ptolemäer. 4 vols. Athens: Sakellarios, 1904–8. Thompson, M. ‘The Mints of Lysimachus’. In Essays on Greek Coinage Presented to Stanley Robinson, edited by C. M. Kraay and G. K. Jenkins, 163–82. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968. Thonemann, P. The Hellenistic World: Using Coins as Sources. Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2015. Troxell, H. A. Studies in the Macedonian Coinage of Alexander the Great. New York: American Numismatic Society, 1997. Virgilio, B. Lancia, diadema e porpora: Il re e la regalità ellenistica. Pisa: Giardini editori e stampatori in Pisa, 2003. Visconti, E. Q. Iconographie grecque. Vol. 2. Paris: Didot, 1811. Wheatley, P. ‘The Date of Polyperchon’s Invasion of Macedonia and Murder of Heracles’. Antichthon 32 (1998): 12–23. ———. ‘The Diadochi, or Successors to Alexander’. In Heckel and Tritle, Alexander the Great, 53–68. ———. ‘The Year 22 Tetradrachms of Sidon and the Date of the Battle of Gaza’. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 144 (2003): 268–76. Wheatley, P. and C. Dunn. Demetrius the Besieger. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020. Wheatley, P. and R. Hannah, eds. Alexander and His Successors: Essays from the Antipodes Claremont, CA: Regina Books, 2009. Yardley, J. C., P. V. Wheatley and W. Heckel. Justin: Epitome of the Philippic History of Pompeius Trogus. Vol. 2. Books 13–15: The Successors to Alexander the Great. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Zervos, O. H. and M. J. Price. ‘The Earliest Coins of Alexander the Great’. Numismatic Chronicle 142 (1982): 166–79.

Index

Abulites (satrap of Babylon) 139 Achaean League 95 Achaeans (of Phthiotis) 77 Achaemenids (Persian royal house) 108, 109, 112–16, 129, 133, 136–40, 170 Achilles (Greek hero) 15, 16, 24, 175 Actê 77 Aeacides (king of Epirus) 151 Aegae 17, 36, 156–7 aegis (goat skin cloak) 174, 176–8 Aelian (Claudis Aelianus, historian) 94, 98 Aenianians 77 Aeschines (Athenian politician) 112 Aetolia 86, 155 Aetolians 76, 77, 86 Afghanistan 170 Agartharchides of Cnidus (historian) 71 Agesilaus II (Spartan king) 15, 19 Agis III (Spartan king) 77, 78 Agrianians 58, 60–2 Ahura Mazda (Persian supreme god) 1, 3, 107 akinakes (Persian short sword) 110 Alcyoneus (son of Antigonus II) 98 Aleuads (Thessalian family) 109 Alexander I (Macedonian king) 109–10 Alexander III (King of Macedon: “the Great”): adoption of Persian dress 17, 129–35, 140–1; awareness of public image 4–5, 14, 162, 172; coinage of 9, 162, 163–72; coin portraiture of 173–4, 176–7; death of 79; divinity of 19, 20, 21, 22–4, 171–2, 176–8; dressing as gods 17; emulation of gods 17–18, 180; entourage of 5; generosity of 135; gold staters of 168–70; imitation of

heroes 14, 16, 17, 166, 176, 180; kingship of 21, 129, 136, 138, 140–1, 150, 164; panhellenic crusade of 109, 116, 140; policy towards Persians 108, 111–13, 131–2, 135–41; pothos of 18, 20; promotion of Trojan War 169; pursuit of Bessus 58–64; silver coinage of 165–8; visits to Achaemenid tombs 108, 113–14; Western reception of 140–1; youth of 110–11, 139 Alexander IV (son of Alexander the Great, Successor king) 40, 151, 165, 173 Alexander V (son of Cassander) 152 Alexander Aetolus (Greek poet) 97 Alexander Helios (son of Cleopatra VII and Mark Antony) 130, 135 Alexander Lyncestis (son of Aëropus) 112 Alexander Romance 21, 24, 39, 116 Alexander “Vulgate” 14, 35, 64 Alexandria (city foundation in Egypt) 7, 34, 35, 36, 41, 129 Alexandropolis (city foundation in Thrace) 14 Alyzaeans 77 Amazon queen see Thalestris (or Miniytha) (Amazon queen) Ammon (Egyptian god) 17, 20, 21, 22, 24, 33, 34, 37, 114, 174, 177–8 Amon-Re 39, 40 Amyntas I (Macedonian king) 109 Amyntas III (Macedonian king) 165 anastole (cow lick) 174 Anaxarchus (courtier of Alexander) 5 anaxyrides (Persian trousers) 133 Anchiale 107 anchor (coinage symbol) 178–9

200

Index

Antagoras of Rhodes (Greek poet) 97 Antigonids (Hellenistic dynasty) 17, 73 Antigonus (or Antigonos) I Monopthalmus (Successor king to Alexander) 64, 73, 75, 152, 163, 178; coinage of 178–80, 182 Antigonus II Gonatas 8, 73, 74, 96, 98, 156–7; as philosopher king 94, 95, 99 Antioch 178 Antipater (Alexander’s regent) 8, 71–5, 76, 78, 79–86, 96 Antipater the Younger (son of Cassander) 152–3 Antiphilus (Athenian general) 81, 84, 86 Antonius (Marcus Antonius, Mark Antony) 96, 129–30, 135 Aornus (rock fortress) 17, 57 Apelles (Greek painter) 4, 5, 14, 167 Apis (sacred bull of Egypt) 114 Apollo 173, 179 Aradus 179 Aratus of Sicyon (Greek statesman) 96 Aratus of Soli (Greek poet) 97 Arcesilaus of Pitane (Greek philosopher) 98 Archelaus I (Macedonian king) 16, 165 Areus I (Spartan king) 99 Argeads (Macedonian royal house) 17, 36, 108–12, 116, 151–3, 178; coinage of 110, 163, 165, 172 Argives 77, 178 Argyraspids (“Silver Shields”, Alexander’s elite troops) 80 Aristander (Alexander’s seer) 17 Aristobulus of Cassandreia (historian of Alexander) 24, 33, 34, 40, 56, 59, 108, 132, 138 Aristotle (philosopher, tutor of Alexander) 5, 15, 23, 140 Armenia 130 Arrian (L. Flavius Arrianus): on Alexander’s adoption of Persian dress 134; on the foundation of Alexandria 35; “Great Digression” of 132; intratextuality of 54; literary originality of 56; narrative construction of 56, 57; on Persian/ Macedonian relations 111; promotion of Ptolemaic propaganda 7, 34, 54, 61–4; substitute king ritual 138; use of imitatio Alexandri 58

Artabazus (or Artabazos) (Persian satrap) 60–1, 110 Artaxerxes II (Persian king) 136 Artaxerxes III Ochos (Persian king) 111 Artaxerxes V see Bessus (or Bessos) (satrap of Bactria) Artemis 17, 18 Aryptaeus (Arybbas) 77, 78 Athamanians 77 Athena 1, 3, 168, 178 Athena Alkidemos 176 Athenaeus of Naucratis (sympotic author) 137–8 Athena Ilias 169 Athena Promachus 169 Athenian Acropolis 169 Athenian Naval Confederacy 110 Athenian Owl 164 Athenians 72, 73, 75, 76, 77, 79, 98, 99, 110 Athens 74, 86, 99, 111; coinage of 9, 164 Augustus (first Roman emperor) 1, 3–4, 36, 130, 135 Aulis 15 Aurelius (Marcus Aurelius, Roman emperor) 95 Australian Museum 4 Australian Society for Classical Studies (ASCS) 4 Ba’al (Semitic god) 168 Babylon 8, 15, 21, 79, 115, 135–9, 178 Babylon Settlement 176 Bactria 54, 60 Bagoas (Persian vizier) 9, 135 Bagistanes (Babylonian noble) 60 Barsaentes (Persian satrap) 60–1 Barsine (daughter of Artabazus) 111 Batis (governor of Gaza) 16 Behistun inscription 1–3 Beroea 153–4 Bessus (or Bessos) (satrap of Bactria) 7, 54, 58–63, 113, 131–2 Bion of Borysthenes (Greek philosopher) 98 Boeotia 77–8 Boeotians 77–8 Browne, Dik (cartoonist) 1 Bubares (Persian noble) 109 Bucephala (city foundation in India) 14 Bucephalas (Alexander’s horse) 14 Byzantium 111

Index Caesar (Gaius Julius) 130 Caesarion (son of Cleopatra VII) 129–30 Caligula (Gaius: Roman emperor) 64, 135 Callias (Cassander’s general) 151 Callisthenes (Kallisthenes) of Olynthus (historian of Alexander) 5–6, 8, 14, 18, 20, 21, 22–3, 33, 34, 37, 40, 56, 114–15 Cambyses II (Persian king) 34, 114, 136 Cardia 74 Carrhae 4 Carystians 77 Caspian Sea 133 Cassander (Successor king of Alexander) 8, 64, 96, 150–3, 173, 176 Cassius Dio (historian) 129 Castor and Pollux (twin sons of Zeus) 18 Catherine II (Empress of Russia; “the Great”) 4 Cersobleptes (Thracian king) 111 Chaeronea 96; battle of 72 Chares (historian of Alexander) 56, 115 Chersonese 74 Chremonidean War 8, 99 Chremonides 99 Cicero (Marcus Tullius: Roman statesman) 140 Cilicia 79, 112, 130, 168 Claudius I (Tiberius Claudius: Roman emperor) 135 Cleanthes of Assos (Greek philosopher) 98 Cleitarchus of Alexandria (historian of Alexander): date of 35; promotion of panhellenic crusade 115; theme of Alexander’s moral deterioration 130 Cleopatra VII (Ptolemaic queen) 129–30 Clitus (or Cleitus) (general of Alexander) 9, 153 Coele Syria 130 Coenus (or Koinos) (Macedonian officer) 60; “Companions” see hetairoi (Macedonian “Companion” aristocrats) coinage: Attic weight of 164; coinage of the Successors 173–82; continuity of 163–5; Elephant coinage (see Porus (Indian king), so-called medallions of); as propaganda 162, 182

201

Corinth: coinage of 169; League of 169 Crannon, battle of 72, 73, 80, 86 Crassus, Marcus Licinius (Roman politician) 4 Craterus (general of Alexander) 79, 85–6 Cretans 178 Crete 17 Curtius (Quintus Curtius Rufus) 17, 64, 131, 134; on Alexander’s rewarding of flatterers 18; on Darius’ throne at Susa 136–8 Cyprus 130 Cyrus II (founder of Persian empire: “the Great”) 8, 17, 108, 136–7; as role model for Alexander 113–15 Darius I (Persian king) 1, 2–3, 116, 136; campaign against Scythians 109; tomb at Naqsh-e Rostam 3, 8, 107–8, 114 Darius III (Persian king) 19, 21, 22, 54, 58, 59, 60, 61, 112–13, 133, 136–8, 164; coinage of 113; comparison with Alexander 63–4 Dataphernes (Persian noble) 58, 59 Delphi, oracle of 20, 21 Demades (Athenian politician) 72 Demaratus of Corinth (friend of Philip II) 136, 139 Demetrius Poliorcetes (Successor king of Alexander) 9, 73, 94, 96, 98, 150, 154, 156, 173; coinage of 180–2; loss of popularity of 155; propaganda of 152–3, 181–2 Demosthenes (Athenian politician) 72, 84, 111–12 diadem (coinage symbol) 174–7, 180–2 Dinarchus (Athenian politician) 112 Diodorus Siculus (historian) 57, 64, 83–6, 95, 107, 130–1, 136, 163, 166; on Alexander’s Persian dress 133, 135; nature of his work 73, 74; on Olympias 151–2; sources of 71; theme of tyche (Fortune) in 74; use of Hieronymus of Cardia 7, 71, 73; on the worship of Hephaestion 23 Diogenes Laertius (Greek doxographer) 97–8, 114 Dion of Syracuse 19 Dionysus 17, 18, 23, 134, 174–5, 180, 182

202

Index

Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Greek historian) 73 Dodona, oracle of 20, 21 Dolopians 77 Dorians 77 Duris of Samos (historian) 96 eagle (coinage symbol) 165, 167, 176, 178 Eleans 77 Elephantine (Egypt) 3 elephant scalp (coinage symbol) 174–5, 178 Elis 17 Ephesus 17, 18, 19 Ephippus of Olynthus (pamphleteer) 17 Epigoni (“inheritors”) 132 Epirus 151, 153, 156 Eratosthenes of Cyrene (Greek mathematician) 133–5 Erectheium (Athenian temple) 169 Eresus 17, 19 Erigyius (or Erigyios) (Macedonian officer) 59, 61 Euboea 77 Euia 151 Eumenes (Alexander’s secretary) 64, 73–5, 80 Euphant of Oynthus (Antigonus Gonatas’ tutor) 98 Eurydice-Adea (wife of Philip III Arridaeus) 150–2 Exiles’ Decree 86 Fars 116 Father Liber see Dionysus Gabiene, battle of 80 Gaugamela, battle of 6, 8, 18, 22, 115, 130, 135, 140 Gauls 156–7 Gaza 16 Gedrosian desert 17, 115 Gordian knot 18; Elephantine 3 Hadrian (Roman emperor) 64 Hagnon of Teios 134 Harpalus (Alexander’s boyhood friend and treasurer) 76, 84, 112 Hephaestion (general and friend of Alexander) 16, 23 Heraclea 77

Heracles (Greek hero) 6, 15–18, 20, 23, 37, 175–6, 178 Heracles type (coins) 165–8, 173, 175, 178, 180 Heraclides (Heracleides) of Cumae 137 Hermes 17 Hermolaus (page of Alexander) 6, 8, 9 Herodotus of Halicarnassus (historian) 114–15 hetairoi (Macedonian “Companion” aristocrats) 19, 59, 62, 134 Hieronymus of Cardia (historian) 7–8, 71; bias of 71, 73, 75, 78–83, 86, 96; patrons of 73, 85, 96; propaganda of 80, 97; service with Eumenes 80 historiographical narrative “mechanics” 55–7 Homer 14 Horus (Egyptian god) 21 Hydaspes 170 Hyperides (Athenian politician) 72, 83, 112 Hyphasis 16, 17 Hyrcania 129, 131, 133–4, 136, 140 Illyrians 19, 77–8 imitatio Alexandri (imitation of Alexander) 54 India 17, 23, 38, 113 Indus 16, 24 intertextuality, theory of 55 Ione 178 Ionians 109 Ipsus, battle of 176, 180–1 Iraq 170 Isis (Egyptian goddess) 130 Issus, battle of 19, 112 Justin (Marcus Junianius Justinus, epitomist) 95, 131; on Antipater 86; on collusion of Siwah priests 22; on the murder of Alexander V 152; on Olympias 151; preface of 57 kandys (Persian coat) 133 King’s Table (Persian) 137–8 kitaris (Persian headdress) 130, 132 Lake Mariout 19 Lamia 77–8, 86; siege of 8, 72–5, 80, 81, 83–4

Index Lamian War 71, 75, 85, 86, 112 Laodice (mother of Selecus) 179 Larisa 109, 152 Leonnatus (Alexander’s bodyguard) 85–6, 134 Leosthenes (Athenian general) 72, 73, 74, 76, 78–84 Leucadians 77 Libanius of Antioch (Greek rhetorician) 178 Libya 130 Locrians 77 Luxor 21 Lysander (Spartan commander) 19 Lysimachaea 177 Lysimachus (Alexander’s tutor) 15 Lysimachus (or Lysimachos) (Successor king of Alexander) 64, 74, 84, 150, 152–6; coinage of 165, 176–7 Lysippus (Greek sculptor) 4, 14, 167 Marathon, battle of 169 Mardonius (Persian general) 109 Marduk (Babylonian god) 115 Mars Ultor 4 Medes 133 Media 115, 130 Megabazus (Persian general) 109 Memphis 7, 34, 36, 37, 39, 41 Menedemus of Eretria (Antigonus Gonatas’ tutor) 98 Messenians 77 Minithya see Thalestris (or Miniytha) (Amazon queen) mitra (headdress) 174, 178 Molossians 77 Nabarzanes (Persian satrap) 60–1, 131 Naqsh-e Rostam 107–8, 115–16, 136 Nearchus (Nearchos) of Crete (historian of Alexander) 56, 115 Nemea 17 Nicaea (city foundation in India) 14 Nike (Victory) 168–71, 178, 180–1 Nora, siege of 74–5, 80 numismatics see coinage Nysa 134 Octavian see Augustus (first Roman emperor) Oeta 72 Oetaeans 77

203

Olympia 17, 19 Olympian Games 110 Olympias (mother of Alexander) 151–2 Olympus (mountain) 167 Onesicritus of Astypalaea (historian of Alexander) 8, 107–8, 115–16 Opis 134 Oxos 58 Oxyrhynchus Papyrus 72 Paraetonium 34 Parmenio (general of Alexander) 9, 132 Parthenon (Athenian temple) 3 Parthia 64, 130–1, 133–4 Pasargadae 108, 112, 136, 140 Patroclus (friend of Achilles) 16 Pausanias (Greek travel writer) 72, 74, 97, 156, 169 Peleus (father of Achilles) 15 Pelinnaeum 77 Pella (Macedonian capital) 15, 97–8, 110 Perdiccas (Macedonian officer, Alexander’s chiliarch) 173, 178 Perdiccas II (Macedonian king) 110 Perdiccas III (Macedonian king) 165 Perinthus 111 Persepolis (Persian city) 8, 9, 108, 114, 130, 136 Perseus (Greek hero) 20 Perseus of Citium (Greek philosopher) 98 Persian Gates, battle of 57 pezhetairoi (Macedonian infantry soldiers) 19 Pheidias (Greek sculptor) 169 Phila (Antipater’s daughter) 8, 96–7 Philip II (Macedonian king, father of Alexander the Great) 15, 17, 18, 24, 75, 108, 110, 116, 139, 150, 180; alliance with Persian king 111; coinage of 163–5, 172–3; as enemy of Persia 111; heroic honours for 18 Philip III Arrhidaeus (Successor king of Alexander) 39, 173; coinage of 173 Philip V (grandson of Antigonus Gonatus) 95 Philonides of Thebes 98 Philotas (general of Alexander) 58, 61, 132, 134 Philotas (satrap) 79 Phocians 77 Phocion (Athenian general) 85 Phoenicia 168

204

Index

Phthiotis (Thessaly) 77 Phyrgia 79, 180 Pindar 20, 33 Pixodarus (satrap of Caria) 139 Plataea 78; battle of 110 Plutarch of Chaeronea 57; on Alexander’s armour 171; on Alexander’s birth 18–19; on Alexander’s generosity 135; on Alexander’s Persian dress 133; on Alexander’s portraiture 167; on Antigonus Gonatas 95–6; on Antonius’ honours for Cleopatra VII 130; appreciation of Xenophon 114; on foundation of Alexandria 35; on luxury of Alexander’s marshals 134–5; on the murder of Alexander V 152–3; on Persian enthronement rituals 140; use of Callisthenes 6 Polyaenus (military writer) 137 Polybius (historian) 6, 72, 85, 95 Polyperchon (regent of Macedonia) 150–1 Pontius Pilate 1 Porus (Indian king) 5, 170–1; so-called medallions of 5, 6, 170–2 Poseidon 3, 180–2 Potidaea 18 propaganda: against Antonius 129–30; in ancient historiography 55–6; definitions of 1–2, 162; panhellenic 113, 115; propriety as a term used for the ancient world 2 Propylaea (Athenian monument) 169 proskynesis (Persian ceremony) 5–6, 22–3, 24, 138 Pseudo-Callisthenes see Alexander Romance Pseudo-Demosthenes 111 Ptolemy I Soter (historian, Successor king of Alexander) 6, 7, 132, 153, 178; coinage of 37–8, 165, 174–6; connection with Alexander 38, 175–6; coronation of 40; history of 57, 115; legitimization of rule 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 40, 175; pharaoh of Egypt 39; role in capturing Bessus 54–63; selfpromotion of 57–8, 61–4, 176; state cult of 38; theft of Alexander’s body 36, 40 Ptolemy II Philadelphus 35, 37, 38, 99; coinage of 176 Ptolemy IV Philopator 35

Ptolemy Philadelphus (son of Cleopatra VII and Mark Antony) 130 Pydna 152 Pylos 17 Pyrgoteles (gem carver) 14 Pyrrhus (king of Epirus) 9, 96, 152–7 Rhagai (city in Media) 60 Rhodians 75 Riefenstahl, Leni (film director) 1 Romans 95, 129, 133, 140 Rome 75, 135 Romulus (founder of Rome) 4 Roxane (Alexander’s wife) 132 Salamis 181 Sardanapalus (Assyrian king) 108 sarissa (Macedonian lance) 171 Satrap Stele 39 Scamander 16 Seleucus I Nicator (Successor king of Alexander) 5, 153; coinage of 165, 178–80; connection with Alexander 178; portraits of 180 Semiramis (Babylonian queen) 17 Seneca the Younger (Annaeus Seneca) 135 Seuthes (Thracian king) 84–5 Sicyonians 77 Sippas (Macedonian general) 79 Spitamenes (Bactrian rebel) 58, 59 State Hermitage Museum (St Petersburg, Russia) 4 Statira (wife of Darius III) 115 Stobaeus (anthologist) 94 Stoic/Stoicism 94, 98 Strabo (geographer) 6, 113, 133 stylis (staff) 169 Suetonius (Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus: Roman biographer) 135 Susa 8, 113, 129, 136, 138–9 Swat Valley 62, 64 Syracusans 19 Syria 130 Taenarum 76 Tarsus 168 Teles (Cynic philosopher) 157 Temenus of Argos (ancestor of Argead dynasty) 178 Thalestris (or Miniytha) (Amazon queen) 131, 133–4

Index Thebae (Thessaly) 77 Thebans 112 Thebes (Boeotia) 77, 112 Thermopylae 72, 78 Thessalians 75, 77, 79, 80, 85, 166 Thrace 84, 109, 111, 153, 176 Thracians 77–8 Thutmose III (Egyptian pharaoh) 38 tiara (royal headdress) 130, 133 Tiberius (Roman emperor) 4 Timon of Phlius (Greek philosopher) 98 Trajan (Roman emperor) 64 Triballians 15 Trogus (Pompeius Trogus) 95

205

Trojan War 169 Troy 15, 16, 167 Tyre 16 Xenophon (historian) 112–15 Xerxes (Persian king) 109, 110, 114–16, 140 Zeno of Citium (Greek philosopher) 98 Zeus 3, 5, 6, 7, 15, 18, 20, 21, 23, 24, 33, 38, 115, 167, 169, 171, 174, 176, 178 Zeus Ammon, oracle at Siwah 6, 7, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 41, 138