Galatian Victories and Other Studies into the Agency and Identity of the Galatians in the Hellenistic and Early Roman Periods (Colloquia Antiqua, 33) 9042946083, 9789042946088

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Galatian Victories and Other Studies into the Agency and Identity of the Galatians in the Hellenistic and Early Roman Periods

Edited by Altay Coşkun

PEETERS

GALATIAN VICTORIES AND OTHER STUDIES INTO THE AGENCY AND IDENTITY OF THE GALATIANS IN THE HELLENISTIC AND EARLY ROMAN PERIODS

COLLOQUIA ANTIQUA Supplements to the Journal ANCIENT WEST & EAST

SERIES EDITOR

GOCHA R. TSETSKHLADZE (UK) EDITORIAL BOARD

A. Avram (†) (Romania/France), Sir John Boardman (UK), J. Hargrave (UK), M. Kazanski (France), A. Mehl (Germany), A. Podossinov (Russia), N. Theodossiev (Bulgaria), J. Wiesehöfer (Germany) ADVISORY BOARD

S. Atasoy (Turkey), L. Ballesteros Pastor (Spain), S. Burstein (USA), J. Carter (USA), B. d’Agostino (Italy), J. de Boer (The Netherlands), A. Domínguez (Spain), O. Doonan (USA), A. Kuhrt (UK), J.-P. Morel (France), M. Pearce (UK), D. Potts (USA), A. Rathje (Denmark), R. Rollinger (Austria), A. Snodgrass (UK), M. Sommer (Germany), M. Tiverios (Greece), C. Ulf (Austria), J. Vela Tejada (Spain)

Colloquia Antiqua is a refereed publication

For proposals and editorial and other matters, please contact the Series Editor: Prof. Gocha R. Tsetskhladze The Gallery Spa Road Llandrindod Wells Powys LD1 5ER UK E-mail: [email protected]

COLLOQUIA ANTIQUA ————— 33 —————

GALATIAN VICTORIES AND OTHER STUDIES INTO THE AGENCY AND IDENTITY OF THE GALATIANS IN THE HELLENISTIC AND EARLY ROMAN PERIODS

Edited by

ALTAY COŞKUN

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT

2022

A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN 978-90-429-4608-8 eISBN 978-90-429-4609-5 D/2022/0602/64 © 2022, Peeters, Bondgenotenlaan 153, B-3000 Leuven, Belgium No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval devices or systems, without prior written permission from the publisher, except the quotation of brief passages for review purposes.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Series Editor’s Introduction – Gocha R. Tsetskhladze . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

VII

Preface – Altay Coşkun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

IX

List of Illustrations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

XIII

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

XV

PART I INTRODUCTION CHAPTER 1

A Survey of Recent Research on Ancient Galatia (1993–2019) Altay Coşkun. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3

PART II ENEMIES, ALLIES, AND RULERS: GALATIAN POLITICS AND WARFARE IN HELLENISTIC ASIA MINOR CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

Beating the Galatians: Ideologies, Analogies and Allegories in Hellenistic Literature and Art Thomas J. Nelson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

97

When Galatians Attack: A Re-Evaluation of the Impact of the Galatians on the International Affairs of 3rd-Century Hellenistic Asia Minor William D. Burghart. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

145

The Eunuch Philetairos: Pergamene Founding Father and Galatian-Slayer Elizabeth Kosmetatou. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

163

When Galatians Unite? A Geopolitical Evaluation of the Impact of the Alleged Galatian Unity in the 2nd Century BC Germain Payen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

193

VI

CHAPTER 6

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Pessinus, Kleonnaeion and Attalid Administration in Eastern Phrygia in Light of a Recently-Found Royal Letter from Ballıhisar Altay Coşkun. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

213

PART III CULTURE, SOCIETY AND HISTORICAL GEOGRAPHY OF HELLENISTIC-ROMAN GALATIA CHAPTER 7

Linguistic and Cross-Cultural Relations in and around Galatia (3rd Century BC–3rd Century AD) Wojciech Sowa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

235

Inscriptions of the Tavium Area Christian Wallner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

257

The Imperial Estate Choria Considiana and ‘Zeus of the Seven Villages’ in North-West Galatia Hale Güney. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

277

Pauline Churches in South Galatia Felix John . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

293

Pauline Churches in the Galatike Chora: A New Plea for Their Location in North Galatia Altay Coşkun. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

323

List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

365

Index of Citations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

367

Index of Names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

379

CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11

SERIES EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION

Ancient Galatia is still one of the least studied regions of Anatolia. Ancient written sources yield little information about it, and what they do provide is fragmentary, full of contradiction and open to various interpretations. Stephen Mitchell’s Anatolia (2 volumes, 1993) and later Karl Strobel’s Die Galater (1996) not only summarised our knowledge of Hellenistic and Roman Galatia, they masterfully highlighted the numerous problems we face in studying this region. The situation is not, however, as hopeless as it may first seem to be. Each year brings new archaeological, epigraphic and numismatic evidence, which, used in combination, helps us to write a ‘New History of Galatia’. The present volume has been long in preparation. Several chapters are based on presentations at a workshop held in Waterloo, Ontario, which was organised by the volume’s editor, Prof. Altay Coşkun. These have been updated and revised for publication, where they are fortified by several other chapters especially commissioned for the volume in order to provide an overall picture. Thus, this volume takes serious steps forward towards writing that ‘New History of Galatia’ that we seek. There is no person better able to supervise this than the present volume’s editor: he is both half-Galatian by origin, and author of numerous published articles and edited volumes on the region, in which he seeks to approach the subject from an innovative perspective, combining all the available evidence of whatever form. I have found myself in the midst of modern Galatian studies since 2009, which is when I took over the direction of the excavation at Pessinus. I was very pleased to receive Prof. Coşkun when he paid the site a short visit during my 2013 field season. He has since contributed several publications on Pessinus, both to my publications and to those of others. Finally, I would like to offer my sincere thanks to Prof. Coşkun for submitting this volume to Colloquia Antiqua, and to all participants for their contributions. Dr James Hargrave has, as ever, been instrumental in preparing this difficult volume for publication. My thanks to Peeters, especially to Mr Bert Verrept, for their help in seeing it to fruition. Gocha R. Tsetskhladze

PREFACE

῏Ω ἀνόητοι Γαλάται – ‘O ye foolish Galatians!’ The opening of Galatians 3:1 is still resonating in my ears some 30 years after I attended the ‘Introduction to the New Testament’ at the Katholische Fakultät Trier in 1991. As the most memorable of my theology professors, Reinhold Bohlen combined the highest level of humanity, international scholarship and theatricality in the classroom. I thus first learned about the Galatians in Asia Minor when surveying the letters of St Paul. It is to Bohlen’s lecture, not to my courses in ancient history or classical philology, that my first impressions of the ‘wild’ Celts of Anatolia go back. And likewise I learnt from him about the dispute among German and Anglophone scholars, who disagreed on the location of Paul’s churches either in Central Anatolia around Ankyra or in the southern parts of the Roman province Galatia – long before I developed into a Roman historian with a (still growing) sense of the Roman provincial organisation. Since my undergraduate and doctoral studies in (ancient) history and classics focused on different areas, my curiosity about the Galatians was reignited only 11 years later, when I returned to the University of Trier for my second postdoctoral position. From 2002 to 2008, I investigated Roman friendship diplomacy within the Collaborative Research Centre ‘Strangers and Poor People’ (SFB 600), which was sponsored by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG). My former supervisor and then project director Heinz Heinen was well aware that I had been alienated from my Turkish roots. In wise foresight, he encouraged me to begin by reading Cicero’s speech Pro rege Deiotaro. Very soon, my interests in the Galatians by far exceeded the friendship relations, and I dedicated a series of studies to the history of the Celtic tribes of Anatolia from the 3rd century BC to the 2nd century AD. Scrutinising the historical geography of Galatia, I realised that my father’s place of birth (Sarıkent in Yozgat province) had been on the soil of the former Galatian Trokmoi (Trokmians), and the maps that I produced (see Figs. 1 and 8 in chapter 1) were the first fruits of my classical studies that he could ever relate to. Under Heinen’s supervision, my Galatian research yielded my habilitation thesis Von der ‘Geißel Asiens’ zu ‘kaiserfrommen Reichsbewohnern’. Sudien zur Geschichte der Galater unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der amicitia

X

PREFACE

populi Romani und der göttlichen Verehrung des Augustus (3. Jh. v.–2. Jh. n.Chr.) (2007). Although some parts (as the fasti of the governors and the analysis of Roman veteran colonies) are still unpublished, the thesis has been the seminary for dozens of article publications, as listed in the bibliography of chapter 1. A Humboldt Fellowship enabled me to elaborate on my Galatian work at the University of Exeter for several months each in 2009 and 2011. My hosts there were Anthony Harding and Stephen Mitchell. In co-operation with the latter, I could finally clarify some remaining problems regarding the Ankyra Priest List (I.Ankara I 2). Much of my time was devoted to the first century of Galatian and Seleukid History, for which I enjoyed the support of Kyle Erickson, then Mitchell’s doctoral student and soon a dear friend and co-initiator of the Seleukid Study Days series. When moving to Canada in 2009, a seed grant of the University of Waterloo (2009/10) was followed by a Standard Research Grant awarded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Council of Canada (SSHRC) (2011–15). With these resources, I could continue working towards a ‘New History of Ancient Galatia’, including travels to ancient sites between 2012 and 2014. Unfortunate developments in Turkey were the main reason for discontinuing my trips to Anatolia, but I am grateful for the inspiriting visits to plenty of sites in LyciaPamphylia, Pisidia, Gordion, Ankyra and Yozgat, and for the warm hospitality that I received there, among others, from Mustafa Adak, Sencer Şahin, Eda Akyürek Şahin, Brian Rose, Kutalmış Görkay, Yücel Kumandaş, Hacer Kumandaş Yanmaz, Lutgarde Vandeput (at the British Institute at Ankara – always a most rewarding base) and Hale Güney. I single out my hospitable reception in Ballıhisar by Gocha Tsetskhladze in 2013, which further spurred my interest in the cult history of Pessinus. Another high point of my Galatian Studies was the workshop ‘Towards a New History of Ancient Galatia’ held at Waterloo in March 2014. Earlier versions of six papers included in this volume (by Thomas Nelson, William Burghart, Elizabeth Kosmetatou, Christian Wallner, Wojciech Sowa and Felix John) go back to this event; over the years, they developed further and underwent final revisions in May 2020. I would like to express my sincere apologies for the delayed publication of these wonderful papers. The chapters by Hale Güney and Germain Payen are very recent additions, as are my own contributions, likewise revised by May 2020. All URLs were last revised in late April or early May 2020. I owe much gratitude to all of the aforementioned individuals and institutions for their generous support. From among my students, I am grateful to Alexander Buchholz for his help with library tasks (2018–20) as well as to

PREFACE

XI

Mae Fernandez (in fall 2018) and Jess Russell (officially 2017–19, though in fact to this very day, well beyond her graduation from Waterloo) for their support with language editing. Particular thanks go to my parents Brunhilde and Süleyman for my older and to my wife Dorothea for my younger debts, none of which can ever be repaid, but at least acknowledged with deep gratitude. Altay Coşkun

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Chapter 1 Fig. 1: The province of Galatia from Augustus to Gallienus. Fig. 2: The Sebasteion of Ankyra in the 1930s. Fig. 3: Genealogical table of Deiotaros (I) Philorhomaios, king of the Galatians. Fig. 4: Settlement areas and zones of influence of the Galatians in the 3rd (and early 2nd) centuries BC. Fig. 5: Genealogical table of Domnekleios and the Tosiopan dynasty. Fig. 6: Settlement areas and zones of the Galatians in the 3rd(?) century BC according to Pliny NH 5. 146. Fig. 7: Settlement areas of the Galatians around 100 BC. Fig. 8: The Galatina-Pontic kingdom of Deiotaros Philorhomaios, 64–40 BC. Fig. 9: Byzantine empire: themata around AD 650. Chapter 2 Fig. 1: Relief stele from Kyzikos, Dedicated by the Strategos and Phylarchs, ca. 277/6 BC. Istanbul, Archaeological Museum, 564 (Mendel 858). Fig. 2: Detail from the East Frieze of the Pergamene Great Altar, exterior relief, ca. 180–160 BC. Apollo stands over his defeated opponent. Berlin, Pergamonmuseum; Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz. Fig. 3: Naples Dying Gaul. Roman marble copy of Pergamene original from ca. 200 BC. Naples National Museum, 6015. Fig. 4: Capitoline Dying Trumpeter. Roman marble copy of Pergamene original from ca. 230–200 BC. Rome, Capitoline Museum, 747. Chapter 8 Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig.

1: 2: 3: 4: 5: 6: 7:

Map of Tavium and environs. Tombstone of Kostantinos. Funerary monument of Theodoros. Funerary stele of Bellon. Funerary stele of Bellon – inscription on shaft. Funerary stele of Grimitalos. Honorary inscription of the family of the Iulii Severi.

XIV

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Chapter 9 Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig.

1: 2: 3: 4: 5:

Dedication to Zeus Ordobanenos. Dedication to Zeus from Ağaçhisar. Dedication to Zeus from Ağaçhisar. Drawing of votive altar from Rosia Montana, territory of Alburnus Maior. A tentative map showing the seven villages.

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

AA

Anatolia Antiqua.

ACS

A. Holder, Alt-celtischer Sprachschatz, vols. 1–3 (Leipzig 1896– 1907).

AE

L’Année Épigraphique.

AJPh

American Journal of Philology.

AM

Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Institut, Athenische Abteilung.

AMS

Asia Minor Studien.

ANMED

ANMED: News Bulletin on Archaeology from Mediterranean Anatolia/ Anadolu Akdenizi Arkeoloji Haberleri Bülten (e-journal).

ANRW

H. Temporini-Gräfin Vizthum et al. (eds.), Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt (Berlin/New York 1972– ).

APR

A. Coşkun (ed.), Amici Populi Romani. Prosopography of the Foreign Friends of Rome (Trier 2007–2008 and Waterloo, ON 2010– ) .

ArchF

Archäologische Forschungen.

AS

Anatolian Studies.

AST

Araştırma Sonuçları Toplantısı.

BCH

Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique.

BE

Bulletin Épigraphique.

BIAA

British Institute [of Archaeology] at Ankara.

BJRL

Bulletin of the John Rylands Library.

BMCR

Bryn Mawr Classical Review.

BNJ

I. Worthington (ed.), Brill’s New Jacoby (Leiden 2006– ) .

BNP

H. Cancik et al. (ed.), Brill’s New Pauly, several vols. (Leiden 2002–14).

CA

I.U. Powell (ed.), Collectanea Alexandrina: reliquiae minores poetarum Graecorum aetatis Ptolemaicae, 323–146 A.C., epicorum, elegiacorum, lyricorum, ethicorum (Oxford 1925).

CIG

A. Boeckh, Corpus Inscriptiorum Graecarum (Berlin 1828–77).

CIJud

J.B. Frey, Corpus Inscriptionum Judaicarum. II: Asie-Afrique (Sussidi allo studio delle antichità cristiane 3) (Rome 1952).

XVI

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

CIL

T. Mommsen et al. (eds.), Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, 17 vols. in multiple parts (Berlin 1862– ).

CIPP

C. Brixhe and M. Lejeune, Corpus des inscriptions paléophrygiennes (Paris 1984).

DNP

H. Cancik et al. (ed.), Der Neue Pauly (Stuttgart 1996–2012).

EA

Epigraphica Anatolica.

EDAK

Epigraphische Datenbank zum antiken Kleinasien (Hamburg 2009/13–16) .

EDH

Epigraphic Database Heidelberg .

ErgTAM

Ergänzungsbände zu den Tituli Asiae Minoris.

EWA

A.L. Lloyd and R. Lühr, Etymologisches Wörterbuch des Althochdeutschen. 5: iba – luzzilo (Göttingen 2014).

FD

Fouilles de Delphes. III.2 G. Colin, Inscriptions du trésor des Athéniens (Paris 1909– 13). III.3 G. Daux and A. Salac, Épigraphie, Inscriptions depuis le trésor des Athéniens jusqu’aux bases de Gélon (Paris 1932–43).

FGE

D.L. Page (ed.), Further Greek Epigrams (Cambridge 1981).

FGH

F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker (Leiden 1923– ).

GEW

H. Frisk, Griechisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch (Heidelberg 1960).

GPh

A.S.F. Gow and D.L. Page (eds.), The Greek Anthology: The Garland of Philip and some Contemporary Epigrams, 2 vols. (Cambridge 1968).

GUPEDA

Ghent University Pessinous Excavations Digital Archive (n.d.) .

HE

A.S.F. Gow and D.L. Page (eds.), The Greek Anthology: Hellenistic Epigrams, 2 vols. (Cambridge 1965).

I.Ankara

S. Mitchell and D. French, The Greek and Latin Inscriptions of Ankara, 2 vols. (Munich 2012; 2019).

I.Central Pisidia

G.H.R. Horsley and S. Mitchell, The Inscriptions of Central Pisidia: Including Texts from Kremna, Ariassos, Keraia, Hyia, Panemoteichos, The Sanctuary of Apollo of the Perminoundeis, Sia, Kocaaliler, and Döseme Bogazi (IGSK 57) (Bonn 2000).

I.Ilion

P. Frisch, Die Inschriften von Ilion (IGSK 3) (Bonn 1975).

I.İznik II

S. Şahin, Katalog der antiken Inschriften des Museums von İznik (Nikaia) II.1–3 (IGSK 10) (Bonn 1981–87).

I.Pergamon

M. Fränkel, Inschriften von Pergamon, 2 vols. (Berlin 1890; 1895).

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

XVII

I.Perge I

S. Şahin, Die Inschriften von Perge. I: Vorrömische Zeit, frühe und hohe Kaiserzeit (IGSK 54) (Bonn 1999).

I.Pessinous

J. Strubbe, The Inscriptions of Pessinous (IGSK 66) (Bonn 2005).

I.Sultan Dağı I

L. Jonnes, The Inscriptions of the Sultan Dağı. I: Philomelion, Thymbrion/Hadrianopolis, Tyraion (IGSK 62) (Bonn 2002).

I.Yozgat

C. Wallner, Die Inschriften des Museums in Yozgat (Tyche Sonderband 6) (Vienna 2011).

IC

M. Guarducci, Inscriptiones Creticae, 4 vols. (Rome 1935–50).

ICG

C. Breytenbach et al. (eds.), Inscriptiones Christianae Graecae: A Digital Collection of Greek Early Christian Inscriptions from Asia Minor and Greece (Berlin 2016) .

ID

F. Dürrbach et al., Inscriptions de Délos, 7 vols. (Paris 1926–72).

IDR III.3

I.I. Russu, Inscriptiones Daciae Romanae. III: Dacia Superior. 3: Zona centrală (teritoriul dintre Ulpia Traiana, Micia, Apulum, Alburnus Maior, Valea Crișului) (Bucharest 1984).

IG

Inscriptiones Graecae: II.1.12 J. Kirchner, Inscriptiones Atticae Euclidis anno posteriores. Pars 1: Decreta continens. Fasc. 1: Decreta annorum 403– 229 a.Chr., 2nd ed. (Berlin 1913). II.1.22 J. Kirchner, Inscriptiones Atticae Euclidis anno posteriores. Pars 1: Decreta continens. Fasc. 2: Decreta anno 229/8 a.Chr. posteriora. Accedunt leges sacrae, 2nd ed. (Berlin 1916). II.3.22 J. Kirchner, Inscriptiones Atticae Euclidis anno posteriores. Pars 3: Dedicationes, titulos honorarios, titulos sacros, titulos sepulcrales continens. Fasc. 2: Tituli sepulcrales. Tituli memoriales. Insunt tabulae duae, 2nd ed. (Berlin 1940). XI.2 F. Dürrbach, Inscriptiones Deli liberae. Tabulae archontum, tabulae hieropoeorum annorum 314–250 (Berlin 1912). XI.4 P. Roussel, Inscriptiones Deli liberae. Decreta, foedera, catalogi, dedicationes, varia (Berlin 1914).

IGR

R. Cagnat, Inscriptiones Graecae ad res Romanas pertinentes, III (Paris 1906).

IGSK

Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien.

ILS

H. Dessau, Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae, 3 vols. (Berlin 1892– 1916).

IstMitt

Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts (Istanbul).

JDAI

Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts.

JRS

Journal of Roman Studies.

JSNT

Journal for the Study of the New Testament.

LEIA

J. Vendryes, E. Bachellery and P.Y. Lambert, Lexique étymologique de l’irlandais ancien: Lettres T–U (Paris/Dublin 1978).

XVIII

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

LGPN

A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names: V.A T. Corsten (ed.), Coastal Asia Minor: Pontus to Ionia (Oxford 2010). V.B J.-S. Balzat, R.W.V. Catling, É. Chiricat and F. Marchand (eds.), Coastal Asia Minor: Caria to Cilicia (Oxford 2013). V.C J.-S. Balzat, R.W.V. Catling, É. Chiricat and T. Corsten (eds.), Inland Asia Minor (Oxford 2018). LGPN online: .

LIMC

Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae, 16 vols. (Zürich 1981–99).

MAMA

Monumenta Asiae Minoris Antiqua: IV W.H. Buckler, W.M. Calder and W.K.C. Guthrie, Monuments and Documents from Eastern Asia and Western Galatia (Publications of the American Society for Archaeological Research in Asia Minor 4) (Manchester 1933). V C.W.M. Cox and A. Cameron, Monuments from Dorylaeum and Nacolea (Publications of the American Society for Archaeological Research in Asia Minor 5) (Manchester 1937). VII W.M. Calder, Monuments from Eastern Phrygia (Publications of the American Society for Archaeological Research in Asia Minor 7) (Manchester 1956). VIII M.H. Ballance and W.M. Calder, Monuments from Lycaonia, the Pisido-Phrygian Borderland, Aphrodisias (Publications of the American Society for Archaeological Research in Asia Minor 8) (Manchester 1962). XI P. Thonemann, Monuments from Phrygia and Lykaonia. Recorded by M.H. Ballance, W.M. Calder, A.S. Hall and R.D. Barnett (Journal of Roman Studies Monograph 12) (London 2013). XI online .

MPKÖAW

Mitteilungen der Prähistorischen Kommission der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften.

ÖAWDPHK

Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Denkschriften der Philosophisch-Historische Klasse.

OGIS

W. Dittenberger (ed.), Orientis Graeci inscriptiones selectae, 2 vols. (Leipzig 1903; 1905).

PIR

E. Groag et al. (eds.), Prosopographia Imperii Romani. Saec. I. II. III., 2nd ed. (Berlin 1933– ).

PMG

D.L. Page (ed.), Poetae Melici Graeci (Oxford 1962).

RC

C.B. Welles, Royal Correspondence in the Hellenistic Period (New Haven, CT 1934).

RE

G. Wissowa et al. (eds.), Pauly-Wissowas Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft (Stuttgart 1894–1980).

RECAM

Regional Epigraphic Catalogues of Asia Minor: II S. Mitchell, The Ankara District – The Inscriptions of North Galatia (BAR International Series 135) (Oxford 1982).

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

XIX

IV B.H. McLean, Greek and Latin Inscriptions in the Konya Archaeological Museum (London 2002). V G.H.R. Horsley, The Greek and Latin Inscriptions in the Burdur Archaeological Museum (London 2007). RIG

Recueil des inscriptions gauloises, sous la direction de Paul-Marie Duval (Paris): II.1 M. Lejeune, Textes gallo-étrusques. Textes gallo-latins sur pierre (Paris 1988). II.2 P.-Y. Lambert, Textes gallo-latins sur instrumentum (Paris 2002). IV J.-B. Colbert de Beaulieu and B. Fischer, Les légendes monétaires (Paris 1998).

RPC

Roman Provincial Coinage: I A.M. Burnett, M. Amandry and P.P. Rippollès, parts 1–2 (London 1992). Roman Provincial Coinage online, Ashmolean Museum (Oxford 2019– ) .

RPC online RRMAM

D. French, Roman Roads and Milestones: III.2 Galatia (Ankara 2012) . III.5 Asia (Ankara 2014) . III.9: An Album of Maps (Ankara 2016) .

SEG

Supplementum 1923– ).

SH

H. Lloyd-Jones and P.J. Parsons (eds.), Supplementum Hellenisticum, 2 vols. (Berlin 1983).

SSH

H. Lloyd-Jones (ed.), Supplementum Supplementi Hellenistici (Berlin 2005).

Syll.3

W. Dittenberger (ed.), Sylloge inscriptionum Graecarum, 3rd ed. in 4 vols. (Leipzig 1915–24).

TAPA

Transactions of the American Philological Association.

TIB

Tabula Imperii Byzantini.

Epigraphicum

Graecum

(Leiden/Amsterdam

TIRP

Tavium International Research Project.

TrGF

B. Snell, R. Kannicht and S. Radt (eds.), Tragicorum Graecorum fragmenta, 5 vols. (Göttingen 1971–2004).

WUNT

Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament.

ZPE

Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik.

PART I

INTRODUCTION

A SURVEY OF RECENT RESEARCH ON ANCIENT GALATIA (1993–2019)*

Altay COŞKUN

Abstract Once poorly neglected by scholars of the classical world, Galatia in the heartland of Anatolia has developed into one of the most productive areas of ancient history, Graeco-Roman epigraphy and classical archaeology in the last few decades. The debt that the scholarly community owes to Stephen Mitchell is enormous: his two-volume work on the history, society and geography of ancient Galatia (1993) covers a full millennium from the Early Hellenistic to the Early Byzantine period and continues to be the most authoritative point of reference. It already served as the starting point of an earlier version of my research survey (in German, published in Anatolica 39, 2013), which concluded with the monumental collection Inscriptions of Ankara I by Mitchell and French (2012). This new version presents a revised, translated and substantially extended text and bibliography, framed by many further landmark publications: these include the Lexicon of Greek Personal Names (LGPN V.C, 2019), the reporting on the Pessinus excavations published by the director, Gocha Tsetskhladze (2018–19) and I.Ankara II (2019). Altogether, the survey facilitates access to over 700 titles.

1. INTRODUCTION: RECENT MILESTONES OF GALATIAN SCHOLARSHIP Galatia in Anatolia’s heartland, once a lamentably neglected area of the Classical world, has developed into one of the most productive fields of Ancient History, Epigraphy and Archaeology over the past generation. Two outstanding milestones set the chronological frame for a first version of my Galatian survey, which I wrote in German in 2012 and which was published in

* The overview offered here attempts at broad and fairly even-handed coverage, but is admittedly guided by my own research interests to some degree. There is no claim of being exhaustive; for some omissions, see the indications at the top of the bibliography. I could draw on a previous survey in German (Coşkun 2013b), of which Tanner Rudnick produced a preliminary English translation in 2014, though the current version has been largely rewritten and extended. I am grateful for encouraging feedback and additional references by Eda Akyürek-Şahin and Vera Sauer.

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Anatolica 39 (2013): at the one end, Stephen Mitchell’s magisterial Anatolia (1993) and, at the other, the massive first volume of the Inscriptions of Ankara (2012), which he co-published with David French. In this first overview, I reported on some 250 books and articles, most of which had been printed within those 20 years of buoyant scholarship on either Hellenistic Galatia located roughly in between the bend of the rivers Sangarios (Sakarya) and Halys (Kızılırmak) or the much-extended territory of the Roman province established by Augustus in 25 BC, which reached as far south as the Mediterranean coast (see Fig. 1 for a map of the Roman province).1 When I was composing that first survey, both the significant progress and the number of ongoing international research projects stimulated my optimism that our knowledge would advance swiftly and thoroughly. I did not yet foresee the difficult times that were awaiting Turkey. This country has been undergoing severe political, social and economic challenges, including military involvements, diplomatic disruptions and most recently the Corona (COVID19) pandemic. International co-operation in exploring and preserving Turkey’s ancient heritage suffer(ed) as a result. While it is impossible to predict how the overall situation will develop, there are nevertheless some positive signs that deserve highlighting: some old collaboration continued through the ‘storms’, some teams have recently resumed their work and many new ones have just been formed. Particularly noteworthy is the constant increase of Turkish colleagues involved in surveys and excavations, a trend that is also reflected in the significant rise in numbers of their publications in national and international journals and conference volumes. The percentage of their contributions has multiplied at an astounding pace and added very substantially to the bibliography, which has nearly tripled compared to my 2012 survey (with more than half of the additions postdating 2012).2 I wonder whether the recent challenges on the ground have accelerated the completion of several opera maxima by relegating many scholars to their desks. The output of books with direct or indirect relevance for Galatian studies, such as those that investigate the historical landscapes of Roman Asia Minor, Byzantine archaeology and Early Christianity (mostly from the Berlinbased ‘Excellence Cluster Topoi’) is overwhelming and has been averaging some five volumes a year since 2012.3 But 2019 has set a new record: 1

Coşkun 2013b; Mitchell 1993; Mitchell and French 2012. Cf. the popular books on Galatian history by Mu. Arslan (2000) and Salman (2010), or the most recent collection of scholarly essays on Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minor edited by Tekin (2019). 3 Southern Asia Minor: Summerer, Ivantchik and von Kienlin 2011 (Kelainai, Apameia Kibotos); Huttner 2013 (Christianity of the Lykos Valley); Lanckoronsky 2016 (Pisidia); 2

Fig. 1: The Province of Galatia from Augustus to Gallienus (A. Coşkun; cartographer: M. Grün) , map 2.

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particularly noteworthy are two volumes edited by Gocha Tsetskhladze, director of the Melbourne excavations in Pessinus.4 The same year likewise marked the noteworthy conclusion of the subproject on Asia Minor of the Lexion of Greek Personal Names (LGPN): its third part finally covers inland Anatolia with most of the province of Galatia. Also released from the press was volume II of the Inscriptions of Ankara (I.Ankara), again owed to the editors Mitchell and French. Regrettably, the latter passed away in 2017, but not without leaving behind an eminent legacy for the study of Roman roads and milestones, to which he contributed ten volumes between 2012 and 2016 (RRMAM). They are now accessible online at the British Institute at Ankara, as is French’s collection of some 8000 squeezes.5 Immense progress at the digital front goes beyond that, since we can celebrate the release of several further open-access resources of the highest quality. Most useful are the Epigraphische Datenbank zum Antiken Kleinasien (EDAK) produced by Helmut Halfmann at the University of Hamburg and the Epigraphic Database Heidelberg (EDH) by the Heidelberg Academy as well as the Inscriptiones Christianae Graecae (ICG) by the Berlin ‘Excellence Cluster Topoi’. Add to this the near namesake ToposText sponsored by the Aikaterini Laskaridis Foundation, which complements the valuable Perseus Collection of Greek and Roman Materials and the Internet Sacred Text Archive run by John Hare. Among the many numismatic pages, the most relevant for Breytenbach and Zimmermann 2018 (Early Christianity in Lykaonia); P. Pilhofer 2018 (Kilikia and Isauria); Şimşek and Kaçar 2018 (Lykos Valley). Northern Asia Minor (general): Tsetskhladze 2012; Winther-Jacobsen and Summerer 2015 (Paphlagonia and Pontos); Sökmen 2016 (Pontos). Paphlagonia: French 2011; Bricault and Delrieux 2014 (Gangra); BekkerNielsen et al. 2015 (Neoklaudiopolis); Sørensen 2016 (Paphlagonia); J. Koch 2018 (Pompeiopolis); Summerer, Johnson and Koch forthcoming (Pompeiopolis). Central Anatolia, Phrygia (and Pisidia): Sivas and Sivas 2012 (broad approach, many survey chapters); Rose 2012 (Gordion); Thonemann 2013a (Roman Phrygia); 2013b (Attalid kingdom); Verlinde 2015b; Bru 2017 (Hellenistic–Roman Phrygia Paroreios and Pisidia); see also next note. Galatia: Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011 (Ankyra); I.Tavium (2011); John 2016 (the only book on Paul’s Galatians that I single out for its survey on Galatian history and scholarship; otherwise, see below, section 12, with nn. 187–90); Botteri 2018 (Ankyra). Asia Minor in general: Bru and Labarre 2013 (ethnics and regions); Bru, Labarre and Tirologos 2016 (Roman colonies); Ameling 2017 (Late Antique Christianity); Niewöhner 2017 (Byzantine archaeology); Breytenbach and Ogereau 2018 (Early Christianity); Jacobs and Elton 2019 (6th century); Mitchell and P. Pilhofer 2019 (Early Christianity); Tekin 2019 (Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minor); Rojas 2019 (reception history). Add to these the books below in nn. 4–5 as well as those on Hellenistic kingdoms (see below, section 10) and on Byzantine theologians or saints (see below, section 13). 4 Tsetskhladze 2018a; 2019a; 2019c. 5 LGPN V.A, V.B, V.C. I.Ankara II. Among the volumes published by French, the ones most relevant are RRMAM III. 2 (Galatia) and III. 5 (Asia), but see also the collection of maps (III. 9). All ten volumes can be downloaded at BIAA Electronic Monographs. And see the Epigraphical Squeeze Collection.

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ancient Galatia is the recent release of the Roman Provincial Coinage (RPC) online at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. For mapping and cartography, the web site Pleiades now combines many of the resources of the Barrington Atlas by Richard Talbert (2000) and Google Maps. These are only tips of the iceberg. We are truly experiencing a period that is transformative for the study of Classical Studies and Historical Geography in general and in particular of the landscape and peoples of ancient Galatia. 2. PIONEERS OF GALATIAN RESEARCH Before Mitchell’s Anatolia had been released from the press, someone who wished to study Galatian history or archaeology was, to a large degree, depending on the pioneers of the late 19th century, most of all Felix Stähelin for the Hellenistic and (Sir) William Mitchell Ramsay for the Roman periods.6 David Magie’s monumental Roman Asia Minor (1950) constituted a new milestone in the field, but references to Galatia remained selective and scattered throughout his work.7 For a long time, the central publications on Ankyra and Pessinus, the two most important cities of the Galatians, were respectively the source compilation by Emin Bosch (1967)8 and the two-volume excavation report by John Devreker and Marc Waelkens (1984).9 Documentation of the epigraphic evidence was dispersed over journals, MAMA volumes and excavation reports, before Mitchell’s catalogue RECAM II facilitated access to the inscriptions of North Galatia. The study of coinage was even more difficult; while a few specialised catalogues by Hans von Aulock provided some selective insights, the situation began to improve notably with the publication of RPC I in 1992. We can now welcome its digital version, which went online in 2019.10 Besides these, studies and surveys on Galatia were above all owed to Biblical Studies dedicated to Paul’s Letter to the Galatians: following in the footsteps of Ramsay, F.F. Bruce (1969–73) produced a series of publications that were also of interest for the historical geography of the area.11 6 Cf. especially Perrot 1867; Ramsay 1900; 1939 (see Mitchell 2004 for a short biography); Stähelin 1907. For a concise survey, see I.Ankara I, pp. 39–45. Cf. Young 2018, 388–401. 7 Magie 1950. Mitchell 2007c sheds light on the contributions of B. Levick (cf. Levick 1967). 8 Bosch 1967. For a biography of this influential scholar, see Türker Tekin and Tekin 2007. More on Ankyra below, sections 8–9. 9 Devreker and Waelkens 1984. More on Pessinus below, section 7. 10 RPC I and RPC online. Cf. Bosch 1967 (Ankyra); von Aulock 1968 (Germa); 1976 (Lykaonia); 1977 and 1979 (Pisidia); Devreker 1984 (Pessinus); Stumpf 1991 (Roman governors). For more on numismatics, see below with nn. 78, 94 and 124. 11 Bruce 1969; 1970; 1971; 1972; 1973. More on Paul’s Galatians below, section 12.

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3. STEPHEN MITCHELL’S LANDMARK CONTRIBUTIONS: ANATOLIA, EPIGRAPHY AND PISIDIA Mitchell produced the first – and until now only – comprehensive description of Galatian history in the Hellenistic, Roman and Early Byzantine periods. The subtitle Land, Men and Gods in Asia Minor heralded a broad panorama through the inclusion of geography, culture and religion of the Galatians. This promise was fulfilled through close attention to the literary and epigraphic sources, but likewise under extensive consideration of the numismatic evidence and archaeological finds known at the time. A particular advantage lies in the author’s ability to take a synthetic view and present individual phenomena in their larger historical contexts. Mitchell begins his work with the arrival of the Celts in Hellenistic Asia Minor and follows up their history until the establishment of the Roman province in 25 BC. Thereafter, his study develops into the regional history of Greater Galatia stretching from Paphlagonia in the north to Pamphylia in the south. Until today, this two-volume work has remained the main point of reference not only for Galatian history, but also for the west of inland Central Anatolia in Roman and Early Byzantine times.12 Preceding this publication was a variety of smaller and larger studies to which Mitchell dedicated his doctoral research, for much of which he used the British Institute [of Archaeology] at Ankara as his base (1970–74). Among these, the above-mentioned catalogue of inscriptions found outside the main urban centres should perhaps be called the most important individual contribution for the area of northern Galatia (a revised and substantially extended version is currently in preparation).13 Early on, however, much of Mitchell’s work touched on the south of the Roman province as well, above all Pisidia,14 where his focus shifted back for much of the past three decades.15 Thus, soon after his Anatolia followed – now as collaborative efforts – the first significant books on Kremna (1996) and Antioch (1998), the latter being the most important Roman veteran colony in Asia Minor.16 Leadership within the Pisidia 12 Mitchell 1993. Cf. the very complementary reviews, for example, by Clive Foss, JRS 85 (1995), 301–02; Peter Herrmann, Historische Zeitschrift 261.2 (1995), 494–96; Raymond Van Dam, BMCR 95.02.02; Bernard Rémy, L’Antiquité Classique 65 (1996), 466–68; Thomas Corsten, Klio 78.2 (1996), 535–38; Maurice Sartre, Latomus 55.2 (1996), 482–84; Biagio Virgilio, Athenaeum 84 (1996), 579–91; Léopold Migeotte, Les Études Classiques 65.3 (1997), 272–73; Margherita Cassia, Rivista di cultura classica e medioevale 41.1 (1999), 140–45. 13 Mitchell 1974c and RECAM II. Further influential studies include Mitchell 1974a; 1979; 1986. 14 Mitchell 1974b; 1976 (but now see Lemcke and Coşkun 2013; cf. Lemcke 2012); 1978; 1979 (on Roman colonies, see below, section 11); 1992. 15 For example, Mitchell 1994a; 2002; 2003b, 21–22; 2008c. 16 Mitchell 1996; Mitchell and Waelkens 1998.

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Survey Project passed to Lutgarde Vandeput in 1998 before its conclusion in 2012. A comprehensive digital documentation of this project is available online.17 As a senior member of the largest collaborative research centre for the ancient world, the Berlin Excellence Cluster Topoi, Mitchell contributed to the collection of early Christian inscriptions in Phrygia, Lykaonia and Isauria. Under the directorships of Ulrich Huttner, Cilliers Breytenbach and Klaus Hallof, it yielded a uniquely rich digital resource, the Inscriptiones Christianae Graecae, from 2008 to 2016.18 Besides, Mitchell was actively involved in the interdisciplinary study of the spread of Christianity in Asia Minor (with Christoph Markschies among many others).19 An ecclesiastical focus is already visible in Anatolia, almost the entire second volume of which pertains to early church history. His interest in both Early Christianity and Late Antiquity has yielded many other works, such as his handbook on the later Roman empire or more specialist studies on the Montanist and Jewish influences in Ankyra.20 Pagan cults remained likewise of interest to him, most of all the imperial cult, and, linked to this, the history and epigraphic documents from Ankyra, as manifested in the aforementioned two-volume corpus.21 4. THE WORK OF KARL STROBEL: TERROR GALLICUS, ETHNOGENESIS AND TAVION In intense dispute with the traditional views on the earliest Galatian history contained in Mitchell’s Anatolia, numerous new impulses were incited by the research of Strobel. Both of his essays in the volume Forschungen zu Galatien (1994) are paradigmatic: in one he presents an attempt at a detailed description of the landscape as the basis for a multi-dimensional investigation of that 17 See the web site of the Pisidia Survey Project, 2012. Cf. Vandeput, Köse and Aydal 1999; Vandeput and Köse 2003 and 2004. For more on Pisidia, see below, section 11 with nn. 160–62. 18 Formerly announced as Inscriptiones Christianae Asiae Minoris Antiquae = Datenbank der frühchristlichen Inschriften Kleinasiens. Cf. the project report at http://www.topoi.org/project/ b-5-3/. See also Breytenbach et al. 2016; Mitchell 2017d. 19 See also below, section 13. 20 Mitchell 1993 II; 2005a and 2013 (Montanism); 2014 (handbook); 2008c (pagan and Christian votive monuments); 2017c (Christianity after AD 325); 2017d (Christian epigraphy); Mitchell and P. Pilhofer 2019. 21 Pagan cults: Mitchell 2002 (Mên Askaenos); 2008c (votives); 2017a. Imperial cult (and Roman rule): Mitchell 1986; 2007a; 2008a; 2008b; 2017b; 2017c. More on Ankara: Mitchell 2000 (map); Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011; I.Ankara; 2014 (Trajanic tondo). Early Hellenistic colonisation of Asia Minor: Mitchell 2017e; 2018b; 2019. Food in ancient Asia Minor: Mitchell 1993 I, 241–55; 2005b; 2009; 2015.

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historical area; many more articles followed to specify the geomorphology and historical geography as well as the development of territorial boundaries and Roman roads.22 Besides this, already in 1994, Strobel produced a profound revision of Galatian history in view of the massive instrumentalisation of images of Celts by their Hellenistic neighbours. Under these auspices stands his monograph Die Galater (1996), heretofore the most comprehensive study of the eastern migration of the Celts, including their settlement in Central Anatolia. As additional benefits of this work, one might cite the inclusion of modern research on ethnogenesis, but also the consideration of climate change in Central Anatolia in the Mid-Byzantine period.23 The fear of the Galatians and the gain of prestige through a victory over these people are subjects that have been taken up frequently by others and stimulated many critical debates. We shall return to this below.24 From 1997 to 2009, Strobel placed his focus on the territory of the Trokmoi to the east of the Halys bend, particularly on its urban centre Tavion. Located in the modern province of Yozgat, it continued the Hittite city of Tawinija and found its golden age in the Early Byzantine period. Strobel’s surveys there, conducted alongside the archaeologist Christoph Gerber, sought to illuminate the settlement history both in a long-term chronological and complex geospatial perspective.25 The scholarly community expects with much anticipation the publication of a comprehensive corpus comprising several hundred (mostly Late Antique) inscriptions. After Strobel began editing the milestones of Tavion,26 more recent publications of the epigraphic materials, especially the diligently annotated catalogue of the inscriptions from the Yozgat Museum, are owed to Christian Wallner. The same has also contributed to the present volume a description of the Tavium project (TIRP), including some hitherto unpublished inscriptions (Chapter 8 in this volume).27

22 Strobel 1994a. Milestones: Strobel 2007c. More on historical geography and cartography, see below, section 11. 23 Strobel 1994b; 1996 (published as volume I; I have no news that the long-awaited second volume might appear soon); 1999; 2002a; 2002b. Cf. an earlier rudimentary approach in Strobel 1991. Strobel’s deconstruction of the distorted image of the Galatians has its debts to Nachtergael 1977. 24 See below, section 10. 25 Strobel and Gerber 2000; 2003; 2007; 2010; Gerber 2009. Cf. Weber-Hiden 2003 (systematic study of ceramic finds); Christof and Koiner 2010 (imperial architecture). 26 Strobel 2007c. See Wallner, Chapter 8 in this volume, n. 6, for further references. 27 I.Yozgat. See also Wallner 2015; 2016; 2017; 2019b; 2019c. Cf. Yılmaz 2019. C. Wallner informed me that the project was officially transferred to the University of Graz but unfortunately could not be continued.

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5. GORDION – A MELTING POT PHRYGIANS AND GALATIANS?

OF

In the 1990s, archaeological research in the urban centres of the Sangarios basin also found new impetus. Gordion had once been the royal city of the Phrygians, then underwent a decline in the period of Galatian rule, before it developed much later into the minor Galatian-Roman city of Vindia. Excavations had once begun there by Alfred Körte in 1893 and were resumed – after a half-century of neglect – under the custody of the University of Pennsylvania Museum. Building on the systematic foundation by Rodney Young (1950–73), the project was renewed in 1988: annual excavations were hence conducted by Mary Voigt, Keith DeVries and Kenneth Sams until 2014, while accompanying surveys were led by Lisa Kealhofer and Andrew Goldman (1999–2002).28 Unsurprisingly, the focus of the excavations were on the Early Iron Age marked by Phrygian kingship, but the most distinguished site besides Midas Mount is the citadel, whose occupation extends into the Hellenistic period.29 In this latter phase, the quality of urban architecture declined. The import of trade goods was interrupted even before the advent of the Galatians and resumed only at a much lower level in the 230s BC, as is reflected in the pottery examined by Mark Lawall and Shannon Stewart.30 There has been a debate whether Galatian nobles settled in 3rd-century Gordion and even rendered this place a cultural melting pot, as Strobel suggests.31 But the linguistic classification of graffiti potentially attesting one Celtic personal name remains

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See the rich materials at the project web site Digital Gordion (cf. Darbyshire and Pizzorno 2009), although it is difficult to reconstruct the younger project history on this basis. The directorship of Voigt is dated to 1988–2006, though largely overlapping with the ‘project directorships’ of DeVries and Sams. Other references indicate that the project ended in 2012, though the article collection shows brief abstracts of annual excavation reports for 2011–14, mentioning a ‘renewal’ of the campaign in 2013, the year in which I was cordially welcomed on site by Brian Rose. The web site includes a large bibliography, seemingly updated in 2018, though it is incomplete as of 2013 and has only one last title for 2014. For publications presenting the main results, see next note. 29 See, for example, Voigt 1994; Voigt et al. 1997; Voigt and Henrickson 2000; Darbyshire and Pizzorno 2002; Kealhofer 2005, 1–8; Sams 2005; Voigt 2005; Rose and Darbyshire 2011; Sams and Voigt 2011; Voigt 2012a; Marsh and Kealhofer 2014. 30 Architecture: L. Roller 1987. Pottery: Lawall 2008; 2010; 2012; S. Stewart 2010; 2013. On the overall decline of Gordion after the arrival of Alexander the Great, see Dusinberre 2019. Cf. Thonemann 2013b, 20; and see also previous note. 31 Strobel 2002a; 2002b, followed, for example, by Voigt 2003. Cf. Darbyshire, Mitchell and Vardar 2000, 84–85; Selinsky 2005; Thonemann 2013b, 20 (n. 79), who explains the absence of monumental architecture in the Hellenistic period with the presence of Galatian nobles. Contra Coşkun 2012c, especially n. 37; 2014c. A similar argument as Strobel’s is now proposed by Parachaud 2018, though without reference to Strobel or Coşkun 2014c. See also next notes.

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quite uncertain.32 The claim of an interethnic mix of the imagery of Kybele through the addition of a torque lacks physical evidence.33 Likewise, the development of a mixed Phrygian-Galatian pottery type is based on a misunderstanding: commonalities between European wares attributed to Celts and Phrygian-Anatolian pottery are due to the influence of Hellenistic styles on both La Tène and Phrygian-Anatolian types. The alleged ‘Galatian Ware’ was produced in Gordion long before the arrival of the Galatians. Its centre soon moved to Central Pontos, as Mehmet and Nezrin Özsait have shown, while its use is attested only very sparsely among the Galatians.34 Moreover, remains of potential human sacrifices or ritual killing were discovered at a necropolis close to the citadel of Gordion. They have been drawn on for the claim of a continued Galatian occupation of the site after the destruction inflicted by Cn. Manlius Vulso in 189 BC. The appeal of such a sensationalist interpretation is obvious,35 but the level of circularity is problematic. While the ethnic reading of the finds may be in line with a literary tradition blaming Gauls and Galatians of human sacrifice, the details simply do not add up. Comparative material evidence from Europe is absent, whereas there is a similar site known from Asia Minor, the Kaman Kalehöyük in the province 32 Grafitti: L. Roller 1987, 129 on Kantyix, acknowledged as Celtic, for example, by Freeman 2001, 36, who compares with Gallo-Roman Cantorix, followed by Delamarre 2007, 56 and Parachaud 2018, 34. But this is quite speculative, given the insertion of R and the uncertainty of the vowal Y. The name is not considered by Sowa 2008; it is listed in LGPN V.C, p. 210, though without classification or comment in the introduction (see p. ix, n. 10 on Gordian graffiti). A single name scribbled on a pot that might be etymologised as Celtic after correction – this is truly an insufficient base for claiming Galatian inhabitants in Gordion. For more on onomastics, see the next section. 33 Strobel 2002a, 241, 254–55, 261–65. Contra Coşkun 2014c, 146–47, discussing the illustrations in Romano 1995, especially figs. 33 and 108. Strobel is followed, for example, by Yörükan 2009, 140–41. See also Parachaud 2018, 35–36 and 42, with fig. GO II reproducing a female figurine from Gordion with traces of a painted necklace, which is identified with ‘une forme de torque laténien’ (referenced as S. Stewart 2010, 421 [non iam vidi], who, however, told me in Pessinus in August 2013 that she does not see any evidence for Kybele statuettes with torques). Parachaud’s main argument is the relative proximity of Pessinus, which, however cannot yet have been the cult centre of Kybele. I would also want to see better arguments to accept that all female figurines from Gordion have to be representations of Kybele, even if they are devoid of the typical attributes, such as the lions, cymbal, tympanon, or her companion Attis. 34 Already Maier 1963 acknowledged chronological difficulties, though maintained the doubtful terminology. Özsait and Özsait 2003 locate the production centres in Gordion and Pontos, thus outside the main Galatian settlement areas. For further specification, see Coşkun 2014c, 134–38. Pace Zahn 1907; Bittel 1976, 247, 249; Pohlenz 1978; Strobel 2002a, 268–69; Gerber 2003, 247; Laflı 2003; Weber-Hiden 2003, 255–57; Yörükan 2009, 142. Note that Kealhofer (2005) and S. Stewart (2013) safely ignore the notion of Galatian ceramics. 35 Strobel 2002a, 250–51; 263–65; 2002d; Dandoy, Selinsky and Voigt 2002; Voigt 2003; 2012b; Selinsky 2005; Sams 2005, 13–14; Matsumura 2011. Cf. Sams 1994, 436; Darbyshire, Mitchell and Vardar 2000, 85.

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of Kırşehir. But this area seems to have been occupied by Galatian Trokmoi only as late as about 100 BC (see below, Fig. 7). Without denying the possibility that Galatians engaged in human sacrifice, it is quite unsafe to ascribe the mentioned bone finds to them. We should rather assume that both sites reflect some kind of – admittedly still beriddling – Phrygian-Anatolian ritual practice.36 At any rate, the assumption of a continuous Phrygian or Galatian-Phrygian occupation of Gordion rests on insufficient evidence. Lately, the Gordion excavation team seems to have settled on the idea that the Roman intrusion into Galatia, as reported by Livy, sealed the fate of the Phrygian royal city for good in 189 BC.37 The ethnicity of the village population that Strabo (12. 5. 3) mentions there for the later 1st century BC cannot be ascertained. However, onomastic evidence supports the view of a sharp discontinuity. At some point, the place name changed to Celtic Vindia, which is recorded by Ptolemy (5. 4. 7) in the 2nd century AD and again in the Itinerarium Antonini (201. 5) in the 3rd. Moreover, the name of the river Tembris (Porsuk), which merges into the Sangarios by Gordion/Vindia, has undergone partial Galatisation in the form of Tembrogios, as attested by Pliny (NH 6. 4).38 The late and limited process of urbanisation was likely fostered through the presence of a Roman military camp between the time of Nero and Trajan. Although not located on the main roads that connected Ankyra with either the Hellespont via Juliopolis or with Ephesos via Pessinus, the fertile area was used for agricultural production to safeguard the provisioning of the army stationed at the Cappadocian-Armenian border or operating even further east. The colony of Vindia could likewise

36 Yörükan 2009 remains undecided, but voices several concerns (150, 180–84), with reference to ‘Lecture Notes’ of Raimund Karl (University of Bangor, UK, 2003). For the evidence from Kaman Kalehöyük, see Matsumura 2011, although he does not question a Galatian interpretation; cf. the web site Kaman Kalehöyük. On the discrepancy between literary sources reproaching Celts of human sacrifice and the lack of material evidence, see, for example, Maier 2004, 110–12 and Kaenel 2013, with further references on p. 110. More generally on human sacrifice, see Nagy and Prescendi 2013; Bonnechère and Gagné 2013; Prescendi 2015. 37 For example, S. Stewart 2013; Digital Gordion: ‘the inhabitants of Gordion abandoned the site in the face of a Roman punitive expedition into Galatia led by the consul Manlius Vulso’. On the campaign of Vulso, see Grainger 1995; Behrwald and Brandt 2016, 150, n. 20; also Payen, Chapter 5 in this volume, pp. 195–98. 38 On Vindia, see Delamarre 2003, 320–21; 2012, 270 (‘la Blanche, la Belle’); Sowa, Chapter 7 in this volume, with n. 53. On Tembrogios, see the discussion and references in Coşkun 2009c, 246, pace Freeman 2001, 87 and Sims-Williams 2006, 272, who claim Celtic etymology from the beginning, whereas Sowa, Chapter 7 in this volume, with nn. 55–58, prefers an Anatolian or Phrygian interpretation. The name of the river god Temrogeios is classified as NeoPhrygian by Obrador Cursach 2018, 288.

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serve for the recruitment of new soldiers and the settlement of veterans, most of which are attested in Ankyra though.39 6. MATERIAL CULTURE, LOCAL CULTS, NAME STUDIES AND ETHNIC CONSTRUCTS IN GALATIA The controversy over matters of intercultural contacts, cultural change and ethnogenesis as addressed in the previous section invites some further reflection. There is an old tradition of equating the users of La Tène-style objects in Europe with later Iron Age Celts. It appeared to be a fair assumption that the sparsely found La Tène items in Asia Minor were markers of Galatian ethnicity. According fibulae, weapons and jewelry have thus been catalogued and attributed to a Galatian context. This line of scholarship is headed by Kurt Bittel; important work on the fibulae has been contributed especially by Andreas Müller-Karpe, whereas the latest catalogue has been put forward by Kevin Parachaud.40 For the most part, the same syntheses include the socalled ‘Galatian Ware’ and most recently also a reference to the bone finds from Gordion, allegedly attesting to human sacrifice conducted by the Galatians.41 The methodological difficulties for the latter two categories have already been addressed in the preceding section on Gordion, but it is worthwhile pointing out once more the strong inclination of scholars to see what appears to be so obvious, an inclination that has also guided John Koch when he drew his map of the Celtic heritage of Galatia.42 Generally surprising is how little affected the discussion of potentially Galatian artefacts has been from the broader scholarly debates on the relation between material objects and legitimate inferences on the ethnic identity of their users. Carol Kramer’s sound principle ‘Pots are not people’ seems to have found wide acceptance even in popular discussion by now, but little consideration in Galatian matters.43 The same holds true for the more specifically ‘Celtologist’ debate, which Patrick 39 Goldman 1997; 2005; DeVries 2005; Goldman 2005; Darbyshire, Harl and Goldman 2009; Bennett and Goldman 2008; 2009; also Coşkun 2009c, 248; Marston 2012. Strobel (1998b, 744) argues that Vindia was established early under Augustus. Soldiers in Ankyra: Mitchell in Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011, 57–68; I.Ankara I 156–190. 40 Bittel 1942; 1976; Polenz 1978; Müller Karpe 1988; 2006; Yörükan 2009. Parachaud 2018 has some further additions, but omits the works of Müller-Karpe, Strobel and Coşkun in his bibliography. 41 On the ‘Galatian Ware’ and bone finds, see the references above in section 5. 42 J.T. Koch 2007, § 19. 2, with Coşkun 2014c, 131–33, who criticises arbitrary territorial boundaries and unwarranted location of unprovidenced materials. 43 Kramer 1977. Cf. Wikipedia.com s.vv. ‘Artifact’ and ‘Migrationism and Diffusionism’.

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Sims-Williams’s article ‘Celtomania and Celtoscepticism’ neatly summarises.44 In other words: we need to be cautious not to confuse rare prestige objects or widely traded goods with ethnicity markers. At the same time, it is questionable to claim any object as a sign of an ethnic identity, if it is absent from most of the area inhabited by the according population. Serious difficulties have barely been addressed: that all of the La Tène evidence from Asia Minor seems to date from around 200 to the early 1st century BC and that it was found for the most part outside the areas known to have been inhabited by Galatians at the time. A lot of territorial or chronological inaccuracy or special pleading was necessary to still relate the material to the Galatians of Central Anatolia. But since not even those who invaded Greece in 279 BC left behind traces of a La Tène culture, we should not claim that the Galatians of Asia Minor were familiar with it either. Such an assumption would at least require long-term trade relations between Galatia and the European Keltike, but the various geographical clusters of La Tène fibulae are always confined to a very limited time range. The evidence is thus compatible with the recruitment of European mercenaries by the Attalid, Seleukid or Mithradatid kings, though leaves it open whether those migrants spoke a Celtic language.45 An alternative path to identifying ethnicity is a study of the local cultic traditions, but the documentation for the Galatians is extremely scarce. The semilegendary story of the Artemis priestess Kamma (around 100 BC) cannot be adduced without the risk of circularity.46 However, at least we have a few inscriptions that witness Celtic epithets for Zeus, namely Bussurigios (‘With Royal Mouth’) and Suolibrogenos (‘Keen Watcher of the Territory’).47 Until recently, Zeus Bussumaros (‘With Big Mouth’) was added to this group: though attested only in Dacian Apulum, it was assumed to go back to migrants from Galatia. These are, in fact, well attested in the Lower Danube basin, together with other Phrygian and Celtic divine epithets. Ioan Piso has now argued against this connection after tracing another example of Juppiter 44

Sims-Williams 1998. Cf. Harding 2007, 1–6; J.T. Koch 2007 (Introduction). See Coşkun 2014c for a full argument. Cf. Campbell 2009, who even goes as far as denying Celticity to the hords of Brennos. 46 Kamma: Hofeneder 2004. See also Hofeneder 2005; 2008; 2011, a bilingual, commentated edition of literary sources on the most important aspects of Celtic religious matters, including Galatia. 47 Bussurigios: RECAM II 203 (Akçataş), 204 (Karahüyük) (cf. 201, Hasayaz). Suolibrogenos: RECAM II 191 (Kızılcahamam). Cf. Mitchell 1993 I, 137; 1993 II, 18 with n. 53; Freeman 2001, 80; Coşkun 2012, 59, n. 34. On etymologies, see Delamarre 2003, 90–91: ‘brogi“territoire …”’ (with many examples from Galatia, though not Suolibrogenos); 94–95: ‘bussu“lèvre” (ou pénis?)’; ‘suli- (/soli-) “(bonne) vue”’ (without my interpretation). 45

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Bussumarius from Vindobona.48 This correction notwithstanding, the more recent identification of the Celtic epithet Erusenos both in Dacia and Galatia by Mitchell holds ground, although its etymology remains unclear to date.49 In Chapter 9 of the present volume, Hale Güney attests to the Celtic epithet Ordobanenos: this is derived from the name of a village *Ordobana (‘Hammer Summit’?) and thus follows the Phrygian tradition of toponomastic epithets.50 It is uncertain in how far any of these divine titles reflect a Gaulish tradition cherished by the Galatian migrants and their descendents, only to resurface in the epigraphic material of the later 2nd and 3rd centuries AD. That this is at least a theoretical possibility may well be argued with respect to the similar epithets Bussurigios and Bussumaros, though I am more inclined to suspect a cultural transfer during Roman Imperial times. As long as our source basis does not improve further, we should better keep an open mind. At any rate, the use of linguistically Celtic divine epithets until the early 3rd century is by all means noteworthy. Galatian language can barely be distinguished from Gaulish, as J.F. Eska’s synthesis of Galatian morphology has shown.51 Evidence for its utilisation is still the best criterion for identifying Galatian people and differentiating them from Phrygians, Greeks or Romans. But since the Galatians did not leave texts or inscriptions composed in their own language behind, we are largely depending on proper names that were normally transmitted in Greek or occasionally also Latin texts.52 Historians tend to rely on the dated, yet useful Alt-Celtischer Sprachschatz (ACS) compiled by Alfred Holder and, more recently, also on Philip Freeman’s collection. But there are now many more expert tools available, most of all the Dictionnaire de la langue gauloise as well as the corpora of personal and place names prepared by Xavier Delamarre.53 A panhoply of resources has been produced in Aberystwyth, Wales: Marilynne Raybould and Patrick SimsWilliams investigated Celtic personal names in Latin inscriptions; the latter studied Celtic place names together with Graham Isaac in Claudius Ptolemy

48 Bussumarios: CIL III 1033 (Apulum, Dacia), with Mitchell on RECAM II 203; Freeman 2001, 80, n. 173; Avram 2016b, 77; contra Piso 2018, 48–49. Cf. Delamarre 2003, 94–95, 217– 18: ‘maros “grand”’. 49 Erusenos: Mitchell 2017a, without etymology, accepted by Piso 2018, 50. Cf. Delamarre 2003, 165: ‘eri- “autour, alentour, peri-”’ and 269–70: ‘seno- “ancien, vieux”’ – so perhaps ‘Who Has Been Around For Long’? 50 Güney, Chapter 9, cat. no. 1, with reference to Delamarre 2003, 66, 242–43. 51 Eska 2013. 52 On this criterion, see also Strobel 1996, 139–61; Coşkun 2013e, 91, n. 17; 2014c, 134. 53 ACS; Freeman 2001; Delamarre 2003; 2007; 2012.

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and the Antonine Itinerary. Alexander Falileyev prepared a dictionary of Celtic place names, besides several onomastic case studies.54 In total, relatively few investigations have been devoted specifically to Celtic place names in Asia Minor.55 Celtic personal names have found more attention, not least because new evidence is constantly coming to light also beyond the confines of the Galatian territory, whether thanks to new epigraphic finds or improved readings.56 I have presented various studies to delineate sociocultural trends and improve the use of names for dating purposes: Celtic anthroponyms remained in use until the 2nd century AD, after beginning to decline in popularity compared to Greek and Roman names since the Augustan age. Moreover, I have pleaded that onomastic research should not be limited to monolinguistic attributions, but also that scholars be sensitive to the influence of multilinguistic contexts. Many names were meant to function in more than one language, either through translation (for example, Rufos) or phonetic adaptation (for example, Domnos).57 The study of Phrygian owes a lot to Claude Brixhe, Michel Lejeune and Günther Neumann, though as of 2018, the prime reference work is by Bartomeu Obrador-Cursach. For personal names, we can further draw on the latest synthesis by Alexandru Avram.58 In Chapter 7 of the present volume, Wojciech Sowa pursues intercultural onomastics from the perspective of an expert of Phrygian, thus complementing his monographic study of the Phrygian language.59 For the Anatolian languages, the monographs composed by Ladislav Zgusta remain the main point of reference.60 The LGPN has developed into far more than only a collection of anthroponyms identified as Greek. The three volumes on Asia Minor, the latter of which now includes Galatia, try to document every single name attested from 54 Isaac 2002; 2004; Sims-Williams 2006; 2008; Falileyev 2010, with a map published in 2006–07; also Falileyev 2005; 2012. Rayboud and Sims-Williams 2007a; 2007b. Cf. J.T. Koch 2007. 55 Luján 2005; Coşkun 2009c; 2013a. 56 New evidence: for example, Jonnes and Ricl 1997 (Brennos); Walser 2013, no. 7 = SEG LXIII 1180 (Deietaros) and 39 (Detaros); Avram 2015, 200 (Brogimaros); Akyürek Şahin and Uzunoğlu 2019a, no. 10 and also Güney 2018c, no. 14 (Gaizatoris); Güney 2019a, no. 7 (Dobedon); Güney 2020a, no. 1 (Leitomaros); Wallner, Chapter 8 in this volume, p. 286, no. d (Grimitalos, cf. Sowa 2017, 633–37). New readings: for example, Coşkun 2013c, 84, n. 15; 2013d; forthcoming a; in preparation b. 57 Coşkun 2012c (cf. AE 2012, 1557); 2013c; 2013d; forthcoming a; in preparation b. Most detailed for the methodology is Coşkun and Zeidler 2005. Cf. P. Pilhofer 2011, 98–102, whose minimalistic approach only counts ten Celtic names in Ankyra and its environs. 58 Brixhe and Lejeune 1984; Brixhe 2013a; 2013b; Neumann 1988; 1995; Avram 2019. 59 Cf. Sowa 2008; 2017. 60 Zgusta 1964a; 1964b; 1984.

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the archaic to the Early Byzantine period (LGPN V.A–C). The introduction to each volume contains useful context and statistics; the related web site allows for quick searches and further statistical analysis, though unfortunately does not provide source references. Another disadvantage of the overall concept is the lack of a linguistic classification, let alone an attempt at etymologising. Analytical works such as the dated study by Bechtel and Fick or the more recent etymological dictionaries by Heinrich Chantraine and Robert Beekes remain essential tools. Fortunately, the latter dictionaries are now also accessible online, as is Julius Pokorny’s Indo-European Lexicon thanks to the effort of Jonathan Slocum.61 For Roman onomastics, we can still rely on the Finnish linguists Iiro Kajanto, Heikki Solin and Olli Salomies, who have produced the relevant corpora, besides some pertinent case studies on onomastic formulae or practices. These works are complemented by the Latin etymological dictionary of Michiel de Vaan.62 Speaking a Celtic language must have been important for the self-perception as ethnically distinctive Galatians. Common opinion has it that this continued to be the case at least until the later 4th century, when Jerome made the following passing note in his Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Galatians (2:3): ‘Except for the Greek langue, which the whole East speaks, the Galatians have nearly the same language as the Treviri’.63 I hesitate, however, to accept this statement as the testimony of a contemporary eye (or ear) witness.64 Caution is advised, since Jerome’s broader context dwells on stereotyping the Galatians as barbarians, a strategy supported by the claim that Gauls and Galatians spoke the same language. Moreover, we should be alert to the fact that the Church Father was actually comparing the language of Treveri (Trier) with the metropolis Ankyra, the most Roman city of inland Anatolia, 61 LGPN online; Bechtel 1894; Chantraine 1999; Beekes 2010; Pokorny 1972; Slocum 2012–20. 62 Corpora: Kajanto 1965; 1966; Solin and Salomis 1994; Solin 2003. Studies: Solin 1990; 1992; Salomies 1993; see also Chaniotis 2013; Coşkun forthcoming a; in preparation b. And de Vaan 2008. 63 Galatas, excepto sermone Graeco, quo omnis oriens loquitur, propriam linguam paene habere quam Treviros (ed. Patrologia Latina 26, 357). I only mention in passing the folly of 19th-century nationalists who claimed German ethnicity for Paul’s Galatians by combining the testimony of Jerome with that of Tacitus Germania 28. Cf. the rebuke by Stähelin 1907, 8, n. 5, as well as by Sowa, Chapter 7 in this volume, n. 8. For a more recent argument suggesting a closer affinity to German than Celtic, see Durham and Goormachtigh 2012; but caution is advised: the article is housed on a web site arguing that British English predates the AngloSaxon migration of the 5th century. 64 Pace Mitchell 1993 I, 50 with n. 84 (cf. Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2010, 72); Freeman 2001, 9–12; Strobel 2007a, 356–57; John 2016, 60–61, who also lists Lukian Alexander 51; Gregory of Nyssa Letter 20. 1; Jerome Commentary on Galatians 2. 3; Basil of Caesarea Letter 207. 1; Life of S. Euthymios 147.

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though at the same time also the ‘Hot-Base of Heresy’. It is problematic to refer Jerome’s dubious testimony to some remote villages of the countryside.65 The linguistic evidence warrants further scepticism. No Celtic text from Galatia has survived. The list of potentially Celtic appellatives collected in Greek or Latin authors shrinks to only one (trimarkisia – ‘fighting unit of three horses’), if we exclude the words that Greek writers classify as ‘Galatian’, i.e. ‘Gaulish’, without further connection to Anatolia. The trimarkisia is certainly derived from Hellenistic scholarship on the Galatians, as is Strabo’s toponym for the assembly place of the Galatian nobles, Drynemeton (‘Oak Forest’), whose previous appellative nature is still apparent.66 The Celtic element in Galatian anthroponymy was already very low early in the 2nd century AD and faded away by the 3rd. The traditional tribal names of the Tolistobogioi, Tektosages and Trokmoi celebrated a revival in the later 1st and continued to be used on coin legends until the mid-3rd century.67 Only a few place names with a Celtic etymology survived into the 4th century. They would have been as obscure to the people of Galatia as those of Phrygian or Anatolian roots.68 I suggest concluding that Jerome’s statement is better explained by an old literary tradition, unless it is a pure literary fiction, designed for rhetorical purposes, just as the allegation of autopsy had become a standard device of historiography since Herodotos. Where does this leave us for the ethnic awareness or even pride that Strobel has proposed for the Galatians? He puts much weight on material evidence, such as the alleged Kybele statuettes with painted torques, a golden torque in the tomb of Deiotaros II Philopator and the Celtic physiognomy of a statue meant to represent Adobogiona, the sister of the Trokmian tetrarch Brogitaros. None of these proofs stands up to a reality check.69 And even if it did, it would be confined to the Late Hellenistic period and thus pre-date the re-organisation of the tribes as poleis and the creation of the cult of Theos Sebastos as the centre piece of their Roman provincial identities.70

65

See Coşkun, Chapter 11 in this volume, with n. 7 (quoting Hofmann 2017, 397). See Freeman 2001, 13–18 for a catalogue, largely based on Hesychios (discussed by Sowa, Chapter 7 in this volume, with nn. 15–17), with a more optimistic assessment, referencing Pausanias 10. 19. 11 for trimarkisia (cf. Sowa, nn. 18–25; also Nelson, Chapter 2 in this volume, with n. 34). Further, Freeman 2001, 83–84 with Strabo 12. 5. 1 for Drynemeton. 67 Coşkun 2009a; 2014a; Vitale 2012, 122–29; Edelmann-Singer 2015, 96. 68 See Belke 1984; Belke and Mersich 1990; Luján 2005; Coşkun 2009c. 69 Strobel 2007a. Cf. Strobel 2002a; 2002b; 2009. Contra Coşkun 2014c, and APR s.v. ‘Adobogiona – addendum’ (2010) with reference to Fittschen 2001. On the visual and material evidence, see also above, n. 31. 70 For further details on the Sebasteion, see below, sections 8, 9 and 11. 66

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This is not to deny that the Celtic name Deiotaros had its appeal well into the 2nd century AD, as much as Galatian-Roman noblemen were proud to remember their powerful royal or tetrarchic ancestors. The prolonged recollection of tribal names likely served a similar purpose: to extend their civic identities back into the Hellenistic period, when their ancestors had still been lacking an urban centre. We may further understand them in the context of cities rivalling their neighbours for prominence, a phenomenon well known from Imperial Asia Minor.71 All such references thus reflect strategies of claiming status in the networks of Roman imperial elites or the provincial cityscape respectively.72 Hellenistic culture had been affecting Galatian society only slowly before the 1st century BC. Greek language and customs began taking root more quickly in combination with the Romanisation of the province. This process started at a low pace under the first Roman governor M. Lollius (25 BC) and gained pace in the later Augustan years, when the imperial cult materialised as a new cultural, social and religious centre for the three Galatian tribes. The process of urbanisation took off under Nero and the Flavians, before Roman citizenship spread ever more quickly among the provincial elites and the military veterans in the 2nd century AD. The sweeping citizenship grant through the Constitutio Antoniniana in AD 212 transformed civic identity even further, as is reflected in the massive rise of Roman names, especially the imperial nomen Aurelii and the gradual return from the Roman naming formula to the Graeco-Roman single names by the end of the 3rd century AD.73 By then, the first typically Christian names emerge in our evidence, before they prevailed yet another century later. The sociopolitical and cultural developments among the Phrygians, Celts, Greeks and Romans had begun to converge in the 1st century BC; occasional traces of their distinct ethnic backgrounds were still visible in the 2nd century AD, but even those quickly faded away in the 3rd. When Themistios remembered the process of Galatian Romanisation in AD 383, this was ‘ancient history’ for him. Apart from social differentiation according to wealth or education, the new dividing lines were defined by Christian denomination.74 71

Cf. Burrell 2004 (on neokoriai); Heller 2006; Dalaison 2014. See Coşkun 2009a; 2013a, 104–06. A good example from Syria would be Dexandros: see Coşkun 2014d. 73 See Coşkun 2013c and LGPN V.C, xiv–xvi; Blanco Pérez 2016b on the nomen Aurelii; and below, sections 10–13 for the development. 74 See Corsten 2017 for the Christianisation of names, with a somewhat later chronology as Coşkun 2013c, 102–04. For snapshots of ethnic divisions still in the 2nd century AD, see Coşkun 2012c and 2013d. For Themistios Oratio 16. 19 (211c–d), see Coşkun 2013e, 89–90. And see below, section 13 on Late Antiquity and Christianity. 72

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7. PESSINUS For a long time, the excavations in Pessinus were under the auspices of the University of Ghent. They began with the directorship of Pieter Lambrechts (1967–73) and were resumed by Devreker (1986/88–2008). Their work concentrated on the great Roman temple on the slope atop the Roman city, much of which is still covered by the modern village of Ballıhisar. Excavations of the city also uncovered the monumental road: it was seen as paving the canal of the Gallos River, whose bed has migrated to the other side of the village, but is now largely dry. More easily accessible have been the theatre and four necropoleis, besides a Byzantine fortress that developed on the northern cemetery.75 The two-volume catalogue by Devreker and Waelkens (1984) remained the most important publication for decades, complimented by a comprehensive documentation of the fortress in 2003.76 Many article publications on epigraphic finds were eventually superseded by Johan Strubbe’s I.Pessinous volume of 2005, which also assembles the literary evidence from the 2nd century BC to the 8th century AD.77 The numismatic evidence has been updated and made accessible with high-quality photographs in the Ankara Museum of Anatolian Civilisation by Melih Arslan and Hacer Kumandaş Yanmaz.78 Soon after Devreker’s retirement, he co-published a handy, richly illustrated archaeological guide with Inge Claerhout. This was accompanied by a web-site presentation and an open-access archive of maps and photographs, also produced in collaboration with Claerhout. Most impressive is the short documentary film, for which Angelo Verlinde bore main responsibility.79 75

For a survey of their work, see Krsmanovic 2018, concluding with the criticism that there has been too narrow an ‘emphasis on Cybelism’. 76 Lambrechts et al. 1972; Devreker and Waelkens 1984; Devreker, Thoen and Vermeulen 2003. 77 The volume is soundly designed and furnishes useful commentaries, but it is surprising that Strubbe dates two of the most important inscriptions (nos. 17–18), the honours of the koinon high priest Ti. Claudius Heras and his son Ti. Claudius Attis Deiotaros (awarded by the cult association of Kybele), not to the Flavian period, as correctly proposed by Körte 1897 and 1900 (= OGIS 540–541) and endorsed by Mitchell 2008a, but rather (with Ritterling 1925, 1509) to the end of the 2nd century AD. Vitale 2012, 124 remains undecided. The continued divisions between Phrygian and Galatian priests of Kybele, the use of the dynastic name Deiotaros, the combination of the praenomen Tiberius and the nomen gentile Claudius all speak for the earlier date: Coşkun 2007, 397–406. Later epigraphic publications of the Ghent team include Devreker and Verreth 2006 as well as Devreker, Laes and Strubbe 2010. 78 Me. Arslan 2006; Kumandaş Yanmaz 2016. They superseded the coin catalogue included in Devreker and Waelkens 1984. For a revision of the minting authorities and chronology, see Coşkun 2009a; cf. also Strobel 2004. 79 Claerhout and Devreker 2008; Pessinous Excavation Project 2006–20 (if I can trust my older notes, the web site was set up first in 2006; the bibliography ends with 2010, but there are various links to the documentary: Verlinde 2012); GUPEDA, including a detailed bibliography

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While these resources form useful and stimulating starting points for studying the ancient site, some omissions are noteworthy. A Tiberian date of ca. AD 32/3 for the inauguration of the Roman temple was considered as firmly established since the 1980s, but began to be challenged in 2007. It was hinging on the priest list from Ankyra (see Fig. 2), which was carved into the left anta of the Sebasteion and mentions the dedication of a divine statue (sc. of Theos Sebastos) in Pessinus under the priest […]llios. But the latter’s tenure is now firmly dated to AD 8.80 An Augustan date for the construction of the Pessinuntine temple has also been argued for by Verlinde on the basis of ceramics. His painstaiking documentation of the temple complex was released from the press in 2015.81 Neither of this is considered in Devreker’s 2018 survey of the sacred places of Pessinus. He also insists on defending the traditional view that Pessinus had housed major sanctuaries of Kybele Agdistis in Phrygian and Hellenistic times, although they have not yet been located. The Roman temple first excavated by Lambrecht was originally believed to continue its Phrygian and Hellenistic predecessors, while it is now mostly (though not unanimously) identified as a Sebasteion. Besides, barely anyone holds on to the idea that the Phrygian, Achaemenid or Hellenistic structures underneath the only known temple from Ballıhisar belonged to a sanctuary of Kybele.82 Devreker rebukes Strobel’s

including titles until 2010. For a concise overview of the Ghent Excavation Project, see now also Krsmanovic 2018. 80 I.Ankara I 2. 57–62, especially p. 29, n. 3 with reference to Coşkun 2007; now see Coşkun 2014a (cf. SEG LXIV 1293); also Coşkun 2008; 2009a, 176, n. 8; 2009b (cf. AE 2009, 1476); 2012b (cf. AE 2012, 1557); 2013c (cf. SEG LXIII 1174; AE 2013, 1584); Cooley 2009, 12, n. 60; Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011; Wörrle 2014, 444; Edelmann-Singer 2015, 96–97; John 2016, 100–02. Old chronology: Mitchell 1986; 2007a; Halfmann 1986; I.Pessinous 33–34; Strubbe 2006; P. Pilhofer 2011, 111–25. For more on the temple, its priests and its historical implications, see below, sections 7, 8 and 11. 81 Verlinde 2015a; 2015b. Verlinde and I had come to an Augustan date independently of each other; we corresponded on this 2012–14. However, Verlinde (2018, 282–84) still draws on pottery analysis from a foundation fill to support an either Augustan or Tiberian date for the beginning of the construction; ‘the temenos foundation framing the focal cult building’ is dated to the second half of the 1st century AD. The impressive visualisation of the temple and the city (Verlinde 2012) still dates the temple to Tiberius. Devreker (2018, 249) is unaware of Verlinde 2015a and 2015b (the mention in n. 19 is an editorial addition), as is the Internet presentation of the Pessinous Excavation Project. 82 See Lambrechts 1972; Verlinde 2010, 199 (against Devreker, Thoen and Vermeulen 2003, 144). Verlinde 2010, 113–16 discusses two Ionian palm capitals of Hellenistic date that were found dislocated in nearby Dinek, suggesting that they might have formed part of the Attalid temple or stoa. See also Devreker 2018, 248, who rejects the idea of Pensabene 2004 that the Roman temple might be a continuation of the Hellenistic temple of Kybele. But I would rather suggest identifying the Roman temple with a new sanctuary for Kybele as the main temple of the Roman provincial city. See below, with n. 91.

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Fig. 2: The Sebasteion of Ankyra in the 1930s (after Krenker and Schede 1936, pl. 13, with additions by A. Coşkun 2010/20).

suggestion that the tomb of Attis should be looked for in Tekören, which is situated about 7 km to the north of Ballıhisar. Instead, he assumes that the Phrygian settlement was closer by on the north-western foothill of Mt Arayıt, which he identifies with Mt Dindymos. He locates a Phrygian (or Anatolian?) sanctuary of ‘Meter Kubeleya’ at Tavuk Pınarı near Kuzören.83 But the debate is much more complex than Devreker acknowledges. As early as the 1990s, Lynn Roller began to doubt that the cult of Kybele had a distinguished pre-Attalid past in Pessinus, basing her scepticism on the scarcity of material evidence in the Gallos Valley and the lateness of our literary evidence.84 And just as Strobel, Tsetskhladze, the director of the Melbourne excavations at Pessinus (2009–13), identifies Mt Dindymos with the Günyüzü Dağı near the modern village of Tekören. For this, the two scholars refer to 83 Devreker 2018, 246–47 (cf. Vassileva 2018), pace Strobel 2010. On Tekören, see also Claerhout and Devreker 2008, 148–51 (though without the conclusion). 84 L. Roller 1994; 1999, 247–55 (on Anatolian versus Phrygian features) and 257 (on Pessinus); see also L. Roller 2009; 2012; 2018.

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a nearby step-throne altar carved into the mountain sometime between the 8th and 6th centuries BC, besides a few other rock-cut monuments. Close by, traces have been found that are indicative of a substantial settlement, with (as yet) unstratified sherds encompassing a period from the Late Bronze Age to the Roman period. Verlinde is considering instead Hamamtepe as a possible candidate, located some 6 km to the east of Pessinus on Mt Arayit, where various rock-cut remains are found as well.85 But perhaps we are looking in vain for a pre-Attalid sanctuary of any major significance. I have recently been able to specify that Pessinus was conquered by Pergamene troops in 207 BC. This provided Attalos I with an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the Romans, who were keen on bringing home their ‘forgotten Mother’ in 205 BC, in a hope to end the war against Hannibal. Since the Ilian League was not co-operating with Attalos, he redirected the Roman ambassadors from the Troad to eastern Phrygia. They were given a sacred meteorite from Pessinus, but the cult rites had been designed in Pergamon, just as the rise of the Pessinuntine sanctuary was an Attalid creation according to Strabo.86 The Attalids had been fostering the cult of the Mother Goddess since the early 3rd century BC. These Hellenised roots thus defined the rituals for the new Roman branch of the cult.87 Several recent studies have improved our understanding of the complex Anatolian, Phrygian and Hellenistic roots of the Mother cults in Asia

85 Tsetskhladze 2009, 706: ‘Thus, all monuments demonstrating Phrygian cultic practices lie to the north of Ballıhisar, as do the settlements with evidence of Phrygian occupation that have been identified so far’; Tsetskhladze 2013, 50, 63–65 (with previous scholarship). Tsetskhladze (2018b, 1) still seems to believe that the history of the temple state goes back to the Phrygian period, whereas he argues in more detail (2019b, 29–35) that the history of Pessinus as a Phrygian settlement began under the Achaemenids and that it became sacred to Kybele only much later. And Strobel 2010, 209; Verlinde 2015a. 86 Livy 29. 10. 4–11. Conquest in 207 BC: Coşkun 2016b, drawing on Mileta 2010. RomanPergamene diplomacy: Coşkun 2018a (cf. Tsetskhladze 2019b, 33), drawing especially on Burton 1996 (pace Gruen 1990; cf. Bowden 2012); Erskine 2001; Leigh 2004; Russo 2014. See also Agelidis 2011 on the importance of the Kybele cult sites in and around Pergamon; Russo 2015, 139–54 on the role of the Scipio clan; Verlinde 2015b, 20–24 on the temple state beginning in the 3rd century BC (cf. Verlinde 2010); Coşkun 2018b and 2019c on the external rulers over Pessinus in the Hellenistic period; 2019a on the role of Ilion in 205 BC. Very problematic are the speculations of Stark 2007, who posits a Gaulish context of the Roman quest and a Galatian(ised) nature of the cult of Pessinus. 87 See Varro De lingua Latina 6. 3. 15: Megalesia dicta a Graecis, quod ex Libris Sibyllinis arcessita ab Attalo rege Pergama; bi prope murum Megalesion, [in] templum eius deae, unde advecta Romam; Strabo 12. 5. 3 (567–68C); Servius ad Vergilii Georgica 2. 394: hymni Libero apud Graecos Graeca, apud Latinos Latina uoce dicuntur; hymni uero Matris Deum ubique propriam, id est Graecam, linguam requirunt. See Leigh 2004; Coşkun 2018a, 219–23; 2019c, especially 610–14, pace Rolle 2017, 104–16. Cf. Kruip 2011.

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Minor, most of all those by Roller.88 While we had been depending for long on the seminal article by Garth Thomas for the city of Rome, the recent studies on Varro by Alessandra Rolle and most of all the archaeological and epigraphic research conducted by Françoise van Haeperen have substantially refined our understanding of Kybele in the West.89 Returning to Pessinus, we should also consider the arguments put forward by Barbara Burrell: nothing actually proves that the Roman temple was dedicated to Theos Sebastos. That the city was never awarded a prestigious neokoria (an official title acknowledging the presence of a sanctuary of regional importance, mostly dedicated to the imperial cult) raises indeed serious doubts. I have added to the debate by pointing out that the temple depicted on Pessinuntine coins could well be the Sebasteion of Ankyra, which belonged to all Galatian tribes collectively. Later elements of mystery cults in the imperial cult of Ankyra and Pessinus also seem to result from the cult community between the Galatians and the Pessinuntines, as further documented on the priest list of Ankyra. The currently available evidence thus favours the view that the divine emperor was a synnaos theos (‘co-habiting god’) for the sanctuary’s principal divinity.90 This is admittedly still only an outsider’s opinion, but I hope to reignite the debate and encourage a reevaluation of the evidence.91 Agreement thus only goes as far as to expecting that the ruins of an Attalid temple are still awaiting their discovery close to or even under Ballıhisar. Under the directorship of Tsetskhladze, every year new discoveries came to light, especially regarding the expansion of the settlement centres as well as the hinterland from the Iron Age into the Early Byzantine period.92 Many insights were also gained for the High Imperial city: the aforesaid colonnaded main road no longer appears as a canal belonging to a monumental sluice system, but rather was a paved street ‘equipped to deal with occasional flooding’.93 88 L. Roller 1999; also Roller 2009; 2018. Besides, see Borgeaud 1996; 2004; Lancellotti 2002. Cf. Coşkun 2018, 210–16; also Coşkun Abuagla 2013. 89 Rolle 2017; van Haeperen 2019a, 220; also van Haepern 2011; 2012; 2015; 2018a; 2018b; 2019b. Cf. Desbat 1998; Bremmer 2004; Alvar 2008; Latham 2012; Beard 2012; Belayche 2016; L. Roller 1997; Klöckner 2017; Anagnostou-Laoutides 2018 (on Venus Erycina). The works of Pedrucci 2009 (see Scirpo 2012) and Dubosson-Sbriglione 2018 (see van Haeperen 2018c) should be used with caution. 90 Burrell 2004, 170–72. And Coşkun 2009a, 184–85 on Pessinuntine coinage; 2014a on the cult community (which was converted into a koinon only under Nero); and Coşkun, in preparation a for mystery cult elements. 91 For other views, see above, n. 82. For the equation of the Pessinuntine temple with a Sebasteion, see also Verlinde 2015a; Tsetskhladze 2018b, 2; Krsmanovic 2018, 475. 92 Cf. Tsetskhladze 2009; 2013; Tsetskhladze et al. 2019a; 2019b. 93 Young 2018, 390–91 (see also 387–405 on the road system). Cf. Meyer 2018, 374–76.

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Besides, Edward Dandrow showed the decreasing importance of the Kybele cult by analysing the urban coinage.94 New epigraphic finds of the Melbourne team were mainly published by Alexandru Avram, who has also made important contributions to Greek, Roman and especially Phrygian onomastics in the area.95 Most interesting is a new Attalid letter from Sivrihisar, which is our only evidence for a colony named Kleonnaeion. In the editio princeps, Avram and Tsetskhladze date the letter to around 160 BC. Peter Thonemann argues for the later 180s BC and further suggests identifying Kleonnaeion with a military settlement in Pessinus itself. As I shall unfold in Chapter 6 of the present volume, a year soon after the Peace of Apameia is most likely for the drafting of the letter (188/85 BC), though Kleonnaeion is better looked for within the larger Attalid administrative district around Pessinus.96 Seven other letters by Attalid kings mainly addressing the high priest Attis had been known for many years. For a long time, the edition by Biagio Virgilio was the standard. It was complemented, though not replaced, by Strubbe’s above-mentioned corpus. Christian Mileta has demonstrated that the first letter can no longer be dated to the 160s BC, but surely belongs to 207 BC. The whole dossier was probably published when the asylia status of sanctuaries was checked throughout the Roman empire in AD 22/3.97 The dynamism of the Melbourne team, its good relation with the Australian Embassy and the Turkish authorities inspired much hope of quick further progress, especially since the resettlement of the villagers of Ballıhisar seemed to be a realistic expectation in 2013, when I visited the team on site.98 It is therefore all the more lamentable that frictions with the administration at Melbourne resulted in an abrupt end of the campaigns in spring 2014.99 The evaluation of the new evidence, much of which is accessible in three substantial volumes to this date, is ongoing and will continue sparking debates.100

94

Dandrow 2018. Cf. Coşkun 2009a for similar observations. Avram 2012; 2019a; Avram and Avram 2019. Phrygian names: Avram 2019b. See also Avram 2016a and 2016b on Greek inscriptions from other areas of Phrygia, the latter of which is an important collection of Roman imperial names, but also relevant for the study of toponyms and ethnics. On onomastics, see below, section 6. 96 Avram and Tsetskhladze 2014; Thonemann 2015; Coşkun 2019, 625–30. 97 Virgilio 1981; Mileta 2010, with Tacitus Annals 3. 60–63, 4. 14. Cf. Coşkun 2016b on the date. 98 I would like to thank Gocha Tsetskhlaze and his team, especially Edward Dandrow, for my hospitable reception on 9–10 August 2013. I was appointed associate team member in spring 2014. 99 Tsetskhladze et al. 2019a, especially 1–4. 100 Tsetskhladze 2018a; 2019a; 2019c. For a summary of all activities, see Tsetskhladze 2019b. 95

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8. ANKYRA

AND ITS

27

SEBASTEION

The origins of Turkey’s capital Ankara lie in the dark. The name is believed to be Old Anatolian, but nothing proves that it is identical with the Ankuva mentioned in Hittite sources. We are on safer ground only with the arrival of Alexander the Great in Phrygia in 334 BC. The city may have undergone a similar fate as Gordion when confronted by the Romans under Cn. Manlius Vulso in 189 BC. The geographer Strabo, who wrote under Augustus and the early Tiberius, but drew on slightly older sources, addresses Ankyra as a fortress (phrourion). To him, it was not even amongst the most prestigious residences of the last Galatian kings or dynasts prior to the provincialisation in 25 BC. Ankyra’s growth to the most important city of Central Anatolia in the Roman empire is thus clearly a Roman development.101 Regardless of its historical importance, the former metropolis was neglected in modern scholarship for a long time. Even the surge of attention paid to Galatia since the 1970s did not immediately change this. Notably excluded from this lack of interest was the Sebasteion (see above, Fig. 2), which had been in continued use as temple, church and then mosque, to intrigue Western ambassadors to the Sublime Porte since the 16th century.102 Atatürk ordered the restitution of the temple, which provided Daniel Krencker and Martin Schede with an opportunity for a profound investigation in the 1930s. They assumed that the naos of Ionic style had been dedicated to Mên under Attalid rule, so that Theos Sebastos was later introduced merely as a synnaos theos. According to the same scholars, the sanctuary was thoroughly refurbished in Corinthian style and completed for the first time as late as the 2nd century AD.103 This reconstruction was immediately called into question by Edmund Weigand, as the architecture and decor suggest a building from the late Augustan period.104 The Augustan date has finally asserted itself only in more recent years. A revision of the priest list from the temple’s left anta, combined with the numismatic evidence, now suggests an exact construction date of 2 BC to

101 See Bennett 2003; 2006b; Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011, 19–32; I.Ankara I, pp. 1–6. On urban decline in Central Anatolia, see Coşkun 2013a. On Galatian fortresses, see Mitchell 1974a; Vardar and Akyürek Vardar 1996; Darbyshire, Mitchell and Vardar 2000. See also Cross and Leiser 2000 for a brief history; Batuman 2005 for Turkey’s dealing with the ancient heritage of Ankara. 102 See, for example, I.Ankara I, pp. 39–40. More scholarship is quoted below. 103 Krenker and Schede 1936, followed, for example, by Bosch 1967, 40; Bennett 2003, 5 (but discarded by Bennett 2006, 206–08, who has the construction begin in AD 14); Me. Arslan 2004, 184. 104 Weigand 1937. Cf. Mitchell 1986; 1993 I, 86–88, 100–07; Rumscheid 1994 I, 6; and see below.

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AD 14.105 This conclusion was drawn just in time to inform a large-scale project on ancient Ankyra, which has led to the publication of the first comprehensive monograph on the history of Roman Ankara. The initiative goes back to Nalan Akyürek Vardar, who supervised Susan Cooke’s MA research, the compilation of the first systematic inventory of Roman-era architectural finds. The thesis was completed in 1998, but the investigation was not continued after the untimely death of Akyürek Vardar in 2002. The results initially only fed into the brief overviews produced by Julian Bennett.106 Eventually, Musa Kadıoğlu and Kutalmış Görkay, two archaeologists from the University of Ankara, took up the task of sifting through and documenting the archaeological remains of the Roman city (2002–07). Their focus was laid on the great buildings: the Sebasteion, stadium, theatre and baths, along with the roads.107 Mitchell became involved only in the later course of this project, while he was investigating the Sebasteion for I.Ankara I. The inscriptions formed the primary basis for his historical introduction to the collaborative work, wherein he placed special emphasis on the chronology of the temple’s history and offered a new account of the Galatian aristocracy during the High Imperial period. Building on their work, an Italian team under the direction of Paula Botteri has produced the most comprehensive documentation of the design, history and restauration of the temple in 2018.108 9. METROPOLIS ANKYRA AND URBANISATION

IN

GALATIA

It is a widely held view that the annexation of Galatia in 25 BC resulted in an impetus toward urbanisation throughout the Roman province, although most of the traceable epigraphic and architectural remains date to the later 1st and 2nd centuries AD. The Sebasteion of Ankyra and the aforementioned temple of Pessinus are strikingly early outliers. As sanctuaries of regional importance, they followed a different logic and did not serve a primarily civic function, at

105

For the new chronology, see I.Ankara I 2 and Coşkun 2007; 2009b; 2014a. And see

below. 106 Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011, 13–16 on the history of the project. Cf. Mitchell and French 2012, VII–IX. Pieces of additional information were scattered throughout the web site of the Anatolian Museum of Civilisation, Ankara (consulted 2012, no longer available in January– April 2020). See also Cooke 1998; Bennett 2003; 2006b; also Bennett 2009a. 107 Kadıoğlu 2004; Görkay 2006; Kadıoğlu and Görkay 2007; Görkay 2012. Cf. Kaytan 2008 on the water supply of imperial Ankara. 108 Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011. See also Mitchell 2007a; 2008a; 2008b; 2014; Mitchell and French 2012; and Botteri 2018. On the Galatian aristocracy, see also below, section 9, with nn. 133–34.

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least not initially. But even those temple constructions started more than 20 years after the provincialisation. The study of these developments is now standing on a much stronger foundation than only a generation before, especially thanks to the increasing availability of the epigraphic and numismatic evidence. As mentioned above in section 1, the contributions on the inscriptions (not only from Ankyra) by French and Mitchell have been paramount. Besides his numerous publications of Roman milestones throughout Asia Minor, French has also paved the way towards I.Ankara with his bilingual selection of mainly Late Antique documents from the Galatian metropolis (2003). However, the major credit for the production of the Ankara corpus itself has to go to Mitchell. The first volume (2012) contains 314 titles with detailed introductions and commentaries; the second (2019) adds 180 Late Roman inscriptions, besides an additional 41 items from the High Empire, further Greek and Latin inscriptions on Ankyranoi or Galatians from outside Ankyra (including an impressive number of 84 inscriptions from Athens).109 There are further important addenda and corrigenda to volume I, most prominently on one of the longer name lists.110 The Monumentum Ankyranum of the Res Gestae Divi Augusti (see above, Fig. 2), dubbed the ‘Königin der Inschriften’ by Theodor Mommsen, constitutes the most extensive individual title.111 Due to the meticulous epigraphic coverage of the text, it has superseded the recent editions by John Scheid (2007) and Alison Cooley (2009), whose commentaries remain important nevertheless.112 Peter Thonemann (2012) has identified an epigraphic fragment from Sardeis as part of another text copy,113 which complements the better known ones from Antioch and Apollonia. All fragments have been surveyed once more by Paula Botteri in the introduction to her new edition of the Greek text with an Italian translation and commentary (2018).114 Among the other epigraphic sources from Ankyra, four inscriptions stand out as particularly revealing for the history of the city and the province. I have 109 I.Ankara I (cf. AE 2012, 1578) and II, includes 71 inscriptions from Athens on Ankyranoi and 11 on Galatians; a further 17 Greek and 21 Latin inscriptions on Ankyranoi from abroad. Regarding the preparatory work, reference ought to be made especially to Mitchell 1977; 2008b; French 2003. 110 I.Ankara II, pp. 316–19 on I.Ankara I 9 contains new readings and discussions. For further updates, see below, especially nn. 116–19, 123. Yet unpublished is Coşkun 2007, 361–66 on the ‘Bauinschrift’ mentioning the high priest Kokkeios Seleukos probably under Trajan (I.Ankara I 4). I 69 on Eutychus has been corrected in AE 2015, 1519. 111 I.Ankara I 1, pp. 66–138. For a more popular selective edition, cf. Mitchell 2008b. 112 Scheid 2007; Cooley 2009. Cf. Eck 2016; also Güven 1998 on the architectural setting. 113 Thonemann 2012, republishing Buckler and Robinson 1932, no. 201. 114 Botteri 2018b, especially 23–35 on the various copies; 2018c, new edition based on I.Ankara I 1, with very good photographs.

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treated them comprehensively in an article surveying the history of personal names as lenses through which to view the history of Central Galatia.115 I also dedicate(d) individual studies to each of them. (1) Regarding the priest list of the Sebasteion (see above, Fig. 2), Mitchell and I agree now on its beginning in 5/4 BC (though the inscription itself dates to AD 14/5 and 18).116 (2) The longest name list from Galatia represents a cult association for Antoninus Pius (AD 138–161) in the eyes of Mitchell, whereas I identify the individuals as council members of the Galatian koinon in AD 98.117 (3) According to Mitchell, the Galatian noblewoman Lateinia Kleopatra was honoured by all 12 civic tribes anytime under Hadrian (AD 117–138), whereas I suggest narrowing down the timeframe to AD 134–138.118 (4) Mitchell dates the second-longest name list from Ankyra to the mid-2nd century AD (perhaps Hadrian), for which I propose the same century’s third quarter.119 Decisions for the higher or lower dates of those inscriptions will have a major impact on the chronology of many other documents attesting to provincial governors or members of the Galatian nobility in Ankyra and beyond.120 Except for the priest list (1) that reflects the early cult activities of the Galatian confederation, there is only one inscription honouring the (not yet high) priest Rossolittanos in the environs of Ankyra (Sinanlıköyü) under Claudius (AD 41–54).121 From Pessinus, we know some descendants of king Deiotaros, who were (high) priests in Ankyra multiple times and also involved in the temple administration of Pessinus in the 1st century AD (see Fig. 3 for

115 Coşkun 2013c (SEG LXIII 1174; AE 2013, 1584). See also above, section 6 on onomastics. 116 I.Ankara I 2 = Coşkun 2014a (cf. SEG LXIV 1293; AE 2014, 1324 and 1328); for a full prosopographical and onomastic commentary, see Coşkun 2007, 369–94. Cf. Bosch 1967, no. 51; P. Pilhofer 2011, 111–25 (for other Greek-German editions with commentaries). On the chronology of the inscription, temple and province, see above, n. 80, and below, n. 120, and further section 11, with n. 177. 117 I.Ankara I 8 = Coşkun forthcoming a (cf. SEG LXIII 1174). Cf. Bosch 1967, no. 98: benefactors in AD 102. 118 I.Ankara I 81 = Coşkun 2013d (SEG LXIII 1176). Cf. Bosch 1967, no. 117. 119 I.Ankara I 9 (‘List of Dedicants’) = II, pp. 316–18 (unclear, perhaps donors) = Coşkun, in preparation b. Cf. Bosch 1967, no. 174: koinon councillors in AD 166; Coşkun 2013c, 97 (cf. SEG LXIII 1174). 120 Prosopographical works on Roman governors and Galatian aristocrats are largely based on the ‘old’ chronology: Sherk 1979; 1980; Rémy 1989. Cf. Marek 1993; 2003; 2010; 2017; 2019; Sartre 1995; Adak and Wilson 2012; Eck 2007; 2013; Halfmann 2007; 2008; Mitchell 2007a; 2008a for the provincial history. But see Coşkun 2007, 212–314; 2013c; 2014a for revisions; also below, section 10. Further see Wörrle 2014, 441–56 on the career of M. Plautius Silvanus; also Adak 2013a; Vitale 2015 (on Phrygia). For Galatian nobles, see below, nn. 122–23. 121 I.Ankara I 3 (Rossolitanos). Cf. Mitchell 2008a; Vitale 2012, 122. See also below, with n. 180.

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Fig. 3: Genealogical table of Deiotaros (I.) Philorhomaios, king of the Galatians (A. Coşkun, 2008/18) .

31

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a genealogical table).122 Other than that, honorary inscriptions of Galatian noblemen date to Nerva (AD 96–98) or later.123 Local coinage can now be studied comfortably thanks to the rich catalogue produced by Melih Arslan. Based on the available evidence, I have suggested that the first mint was not under the auspices of a polis government but rather the temple authorities. The earliest datable coins from Ankyra were issued at the very end of Augustus’ life, while Pessinus soon followed suite under Tiberius.124 Regardless of the lateness of the epigraphic and numismatic evidence, the view that Roman rule automatically fostered urbanisation continues to prevail. For example, Musa Kadıoğlu and Kutalmış Görkay (though not Mitchell) tend to date the high-quality architectural elements from Ankyra, including those without conclusive decor, inscriptions, or coins, to the Augustan period. But this would significantly predate the general trend of monumentalisation that affected most cities in the empire during the second half of the 1st century AD.125 Rudolf Haensch, who has done outstanding work on the gubernatorial residences of the Roman provinces, on the one hand, warns of anachronistic assumptions concerning ancient ‘capitals’ or permanent residences of governors before the late 1st century AD; on the other hand, he remains bound to

122

I.Pessinous 17–18, with my comments above in n. 77. On the prosopography and genealogy of Galatian aristocrats, see – besides above, n. 120 – Mitchell 1993 I; Mitchell in Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011, 35–55; Kubinska 1995; Hayward 1998; Settipani 2000, 454–67 (with a genealogical table); Thonemann 2010; APR; Coşkun 2011a; 2013c; 2013d; 2013e; 2014a; forthcoming a; forthcoming b; in preparation a; in preparation b. 123 Mitchell in Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011, especially 42–43; I.Ankara I, p. 507 (index). I.Ankara I 80 (= Bosch 1967, no. 75) and I 123 (= Mitchell 1977) are now dated correctly to the 2nd century AD rather than the 1st. The chronological list in I.Ankara I, p. 7 needs some modification. I.Ankara I 207 is dated to the first quarter of the 1st century AD, but it is neither from Ankyra proper nor is the lack of a cognomen a sufficient reason for such an early date, especially when the dedication formula D(is) M(anibus) mostly points to the 2nd century AD. At any rate, Arpinas is not necessarily the origo, but might well be a cognomen, as Eck 2012, 477 thinks (cf. I.Ankara II, p. 320). And not much is gained if we concede I.Ankara I 32 a date of AD 20/40 (despite the concerns of Rémy 1989, 172, no. 139; cf. Coşkun 2007, 237– 38): this is a fragmentary attestation of a governor somewhere in Ankyra and does not reveal much about the urban development. Further doubtful is that I.Ankara I 70 for C. Iulius Cornutus, belongs to the third quarter of the 1st century AD; his son C. Iulius Severus was senator under Trajan, suffect consul in AD 138 or 139 and proconsul Asiae in AD 152/3 (see Coşkun 2013c, 104–06); this rather points to a date around AD 100 for the inscription. On the Iulii Severi, see also CIL III.1.222 from Tarsos. Cf. S. Pilhofer 2006, 161–62, though with the unlikely suggestion (quoted from D. Feissel) that the noble from Ankyra and his namesake, a centurion from Tarsos, were related by adoption. 124 Me. Arslan 2004. See Coşkun 2009a for a discussion of dates and minting authorities. Cf. also Strobel 2004. 125 Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011. Contra Coşkun 2014b.

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the traditional viewpoint in the case of Ankyra without conclusive evidence. Conspicuously, however, the title metropolis is attested for Ankyra only beginning with Hadrian.126 A similar case can be made with reference to the phylai of Ankyra. No one will nowadays follow Clemens (Emin) Bosch’s inference that the name of the phyle VI Sebaste implies a pre-Roman polis organisation that subdivided its population into five tribes. Ursula Kunnert claims the establishment of six or even 12 tribes as an immediate effect of Roman provincialisation, which is not very convincing either.127 More cautious is Mitchell, who emphasises that our documentation only starts in the 2nd century AD. He suggests ‘that the number of Ancyra tribes increased progressively through the first century, as the population increased’, the phyle XI Nea Olympias was probably associated with Hadrian, who fostered the cult of Zeus Olympios.128 One may thus believe that the tribal system was introduced under Nero (with regards to the phyle VIII Claudia Athenaia), simultaneously with the inauguration of the koinon of the Galatians (treated below, section 11), then extended under Nerva (phyle [X?] Nerva) and once more under Hadrian, when the number of 12 is eventually attested firmly.129 Alternatively, we may even go down to Nerva (AD 96–98) for the initial subdivision of the populace into ten tribes, allowing for the addition of two neai phylai under Hadrian, when Ankyra became metropolis. This would require us to understand the first nine tribal names as geographical rather than reflecting dynastic succession in chronological order. For now, this appears as the likeliest solution to me. Future epigraphic finds will probably help us confirm or modify this reconstruction.130

126

Haensch 1997; 2006. Contra Coşkun 2007; 2008a; 2009a, 194 with n. 63. Pre-Roman: Bosch 1967, 143–46; contra Mitchell in Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011, 43. Early provincial: Bennett 2006b, 194–97, 219; Kunnert 2012, 153–65, 326–28. 128 Mitchell in Kadıoğlu 2011, 41–44. 129 I.Ankara I 81 attests that Lateinia Kleopatra was honoured by all 12 phylarchai. The editors Mitchell and French date to AD 117–138, while Coşkun 2013d suggests AD 134–138. 130 Mitchell in Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011, 42 explains the names of I Maruragene, II Pakalene and IV Hiermene with toponyms; of III Menorizeiton (see below, nn. 191–92 on Mên), V Dios Trapezon and XII (no name preserved) and further IX Hiera Boulaia as based on sanctuaries or the location of the city council, while the VI Sebaste and VIII Claudia Athenaia were meant to honour Augustus and a Julio-Claudian emperor. But it is quite possible that they refer to two further sanctuaries as toponymic markers, namely to the Sebasteion and to a temple of Athena (perhaps a variation of the Magna Mater?, see Coşkun 2009a, 195, n. 67), who might at some point have been equated with a female member of the Julio-Claudians. Such a reconstruction would better account for the lack of the Flavians and Trajan, although it would be dangerous to press this silence too much. 127

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At any rate, our evidence implies a considerable disinterest of the first emperor (and his successors) in the creation of an urban infrastructure among the Galatians (and many other subjects). I have thus proposed to speak of a ‘soft provincialisation’, at least for the heartland of Galatia, a concept that will be explained in more detail below.131 This is not to deny that we should reckon with an increase of the population and also their gradual concentration in urban centres. But it was a slow process and administrative reforms to acknowledge this development seem to have been delayed further until the 2nd half of the 1st century AD. The strongest push towards urbanisation in Central Anatolia may well be as late as the reigns of Nero and Vespasian, when first the war against the Parthians and then a durable eastern frontier needed to be resourced effectively from Asia Minor. This reconstruction aligns with the intensification of agriculture in Central Anatolia, Flavian road construction, a rising number of towns throughout the Galatian countryside, a growing monumentalisation of the three polis centres, increasing use of local coinage and the eventual ‘awakening’ of an epigraphic habit on the verge from the 1st to the 2nd century AD.132 The first attestation of Roman soldiers or veterans in Gordion/Vindia under Nero smoothly fits into this picture as well. It is also under this emperor that the Sebasteion administration was re-organised and henceforth entrusted to a koinon of the Galatians. The names of the council members of this koinon were inscribed in Ankyra in AD 98. They constitute an impressive gathering of noblemen drawn from the Galatian tribes and their extensions, such as the Phrygian aristocracy from Pessinus.133 Trajan’s march into the Parthian war (AD 113–117) led him through Ankyra and was used by C. Iulius Severus, the young son of the less prominent C. Iulius Quadratus, to ingratiate himself with the imperial court and begin a senatorial career that would lead him to the suffect consulship. His son even achieved one of the rare ordinary consulships not much later. These proud descendants of king Deiotaros (see above, Fig. 3) had thus made their way into the senatorial elite.134

131

See below, section 11. Coşkun 2007; 2008a; 2009a; 2009c; 2013a; followed by John 2016, 33–132; also Chapter 10 in this volume, n. 62. Dąbrowa (2013, 355) independently concludes that Ankyra ‘was but a small defensive settlement’ before the Flavian period. 133 I.Ankara I 8, with Coşkun forthcoming a, as above, with n. 117. See also above, section 5, on Gordion/Vindia. And see below, section 11, on the koinon. 134 Coşkun 2013c, 104–06 and above, nn. 115–22 for further references. 132

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10. HISTORY OF THE GALATIANS IN THE HELLENISTIC ERA: CELTIC MIGRATION TO THE KINGSHIPS OF DEIOTAROS AND AMYNTAS135

FROM THE

Many new studies on the Celtic movements and settlements in the Balkan and Danube region have been inspired by Strobel’s work (introduced above in section 4). Very useful is the excellent collection of sources by Kurt Tomaschitz, an ideal starting point for further research thanks to the meticulous commentaries. Add to this the profound work on our major literary texts, such as the commentaries on Livy (by John Briscoe), Memnon of Herakleia (by Uwe Heinemann as well as Arthur Keaveney and John Madden) and Strabo (by Stefan Radt and Duane Roller).136 Most provocative is the doctoral dissertation by D.R.J. Campbell, who tries to disconnect the raids of Macedon and Central Greece in 280–279 BC from eastward movements of the Celts, rather identifying the attackers of Delphi with Illyrians from the Danube basin. Fernando López Sánchez now understands the invasion of the Galatians into Macedon and Greece in a similar way as their intrusion into Asia Minor of 278 BC: they were called in by rivalling Hellenistic pretenders.137 Instead of the Thracian Black Sea coast, some scholars have recently suggested locating Tylis, the capital of the easternmost Celtic (Galatian) kingdom in Europe, further to the south, perhaps on the Thracian Chersonesos.138 Among the many new books on the Hellenistic kingdoms and armies,139 the contributions by Luc Baray stand out: his work provides easy access to all 135 For short recent summaries, see, for example, John 2016 (German); Coşkun 2019b (English); Chiabà 2019, 115–20 (Italian, though with several inaccuracies: for example, she calls Brennos the chieftain of the Tolistobogioi and dates the accusation of Deiotaros to 47 instead of 45 BC). 136 Migration of Celts: Falileyev 2005; Salman 2010; Müller 2013; Coşkun 2013e; Touratsoglou 2016; Kruta 2018; Sankot 2018, besides next note. Literary sources: Tomaschitz 2002. Livy: Briscoe 2008 and 2012. Memnon: Heinemann 2010; Keaveney and Madden 2011; cf. Billows 2016 on Nymphis of Herakleia. Strabo: Radt 2002–11; as well as D. Roller 2014; 2018. 137 Campbell 2009; López Sánchez 2018. More traditional, but still with a succinct political analysis is Spickermann 2010, 355–63, who suggests that everyone was surprised about Ptolemy Keraunos not paying off the invaders. 138 Emilov 2010; Vagalinski 2010; Megaw 2011. I owe these references to Oleg Gabelko, Moscow, whose various conference papers on the topic are still unpublished. On the Black Sea coast and related Galatian matters of the 3rd century BC, see also Heinemann 2010 (Herakleia); Gallotta 2010 (Northern League); Dumitru 2013 (Thrace). 139 See especially Grainger 1997; 2010; 2014; 2015 (Seleukids); Chaniotis 2005 (warfare); 2018 (all kingdoms); Thonemann 2013c (Attalids). Esposito 2019 is written for a general audience; its strength are the good photographs of modern reproductions of armour, but the narrative is brief and rather uncritical (for example, pp. 41, 43 on the early Galatians). Much more coverage of the Galatians has Matyszak 2019 (despite their omission in the index): while following a traditional narrative, he shows good awareness of the discrepancies between military

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aspects of Gaulish or Galatian ‘mercenary’ engagements; by systematically studying their methods, goals and achievements, he argues against their perceived exceptionalism. For an innovative approach that credits Galatians with more agency and distinctive military goals, see Chapter 3 in the present volume by William Burghart.140 Even more indebted to Strobel’s work is the bulk of scholarship that analyses the ideological distortions and political messages encapsulated in the visual or literary representation of Galatians.141 Craige Champion drew our attention to the initial role that the Aitolians had in instrumentalising their Galatian victory of 279 BC. Silvia Barbantani published a milestone study devoted to Hellenistic poetry, before Clemens Koehn compared victory ideologies among Hellenistic dynasties. The most systematic investigation is now by Erich Kistler.142 Scholars devote much attention to the (mainly Pergamene and Athenian) sculptures that show fighting or dying Galatians.143 Besides, future research should also take into account Sven Rausch’s study on the northern barbarians.144 Two contributions to the present volume continue these discussions: Thomas Nelson (Chapter 2) engages closely with the literary and artistic traditions glorifying victory over the Galatians, exploring the wide range of analogies that were employed in different contexts to represent both the victors and the vanquished. Elizabeth Kosmetatou’s case study (Chapter 4) detects Attalos I’s invention of a Galatian-slayer among his ancestors. Regarding the historical developments in Asia Minor, scholarship is divided. Some publications continue the stereotyped tradition that the Galatians were in the first place mercenaries fighting for whoever paid them.145 But Strobel’s alternative approach has also met with much success: he argues that Antiochos I Soter defeated the Galatians in the so-called ‘Elephant Battle’ (which he

accounts and propaganda (for example, p. 99 on the ‘Elephant Victory’, on which see below, with nn. 146–47). 140 Cf. Baray 2014; 2017. 141 See above, section 4 on Strobel. 142 Champion 2005; Barbantani 2001 (cf. 2007, 89–108); Koehn 2007, especially 89–127; Kistler 2009. Cf. Kremer 1994; Mitchell 2003a; Strootman 2005; Coşkun 2005; 2012a; 2013e; Gabelko 2006; Michels 2009, 50–53, 69–70; Campbell 2009; Gruen 2011; Lampinen 2013. 143 Besides Kistler 2009, see Schmidt-Dounas 2000, 232–44, 293–319; Marszal 2000; Michels 2004; A. Stewart 2004; Queyrel 2005; 2017; Cain 2006; Massa-Pairault 2007; Schalles 2011; Winkler-Horaček 2011; B. Demandt 2013; Pirson 2014; Taylor 2016; Papini 2016; Cassibry 2017. Coşkun (2014c, 148–52) argues that Attalid iconography must have been inspired by the Aigosages hired by Attalos I from Europe in the 220s BC, since they were bearers of La Tène culture, whereas the Galatians of Central Anatolia were not. 144 Rausch 2013, for example, 32–35 on the Galatians. See also Bridgeman 2005 on the Hyperboreans (often identified with Celts) and Gerstacker et al. 2015 on the Scythians. 145 See the responses by Baray 2014; 2017; and Burghart, Chapter 3 in this volume.

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dates to around 268 BC); rather than destroying or expelling them, the king settled them in Central Anatolia and integrated them into the Seleukid Kingdom, not as subjects and taxpayers, but as paid soldiers. Strobel regards them as largely loyal until the Romans conquered Antiochos III with his Galatian allies at Magnesia in 190 BC.146 I share Strobel’s view that the Tolistobogioi were the strongest group from the beginning and controlled many minor tribes for a long time, probably also the Trokmoi. We can tentatively identify the Tolistobogioi and the Trokmoi (or their ancestors) with the Galatians whom Leonnorios and Lutarios led over into Asia Minor in 278 BC, to become allies of Nikomedes I of Bithynia. However, in my opinion, the ‘Elephant Battle’ took place in 275 BC and was only of limited effect, since Antiochos did not expel the Galatians from Asia, as his propaganda had it, but ceded a substantial part of the northern plateau of Central Anatolia to them, or perhaps better simply acknowledged the conquest of the area by those Galatians. Neither Antiochos I nor his successors were able to establish firm control over them, but henceforth had to pay high prices to enlist their support. Their hegemony in Western Asia Minor was first checked to some degree by Attalos I around 241 BC, but ongoing rivalries between Seleukid kings and internal pretenders, combined with attacks by the Ptolemies and the Attalids, allowed the Tolistobogians to maintain their hegemony over Bithynia, Paphlagonia and Eastern Phrygia.147 Philetairos, the founder of the Attalid dynasty, had already played an active role in the defence of the Aiolian cities against Galatian raiders, but his achievements were only of a local and temporary scale.148 The kingdom of Pontos should be understood as the protector of the Tektosages, who established themselves in the Ankyra region at the beginning of the Third Syrian War (246–241 BC). The Tolistobogioi supported Seleukos II, when he confronted his insurgent brother Antiochos Hierax. They only changed sides when rumors spread that he had died in a surprise attack by Mithradates II and his Galatian (Tektosagian) allies at Ankyra. Seleukos thus lost all his stakes in Asia Minor and Syria by October 246, but was able to recruit fresh forces in his eastern territories, with which he returned to Syria in 245/4 BC. Around the same time, he also married off his sister to Mithradates II, who received eastern Phrygia as a dowry – apparently an acknowledgment that the Pontic king was

146 Strobel 1996, partly in accord with Wörrle 1975 on the ‘Elephant Victory’. Cf. Michels 2009, 50–53. 147 Coşkun 2011b; 2012a; 2019b; 2019c. Kosmetatou, Chapter 4 in this volume, with n. 39 suggests a date in the 230s. 148 See Manganaro 2000; Orth 2008; Kosmetatou, Chapter 4 in this volume.

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Fig. 4: Settlement areas and zones of influence of the Galatians in the 3rd (and early 2nd) centuries BC (A. Coşkun; cartographer: S. Chen, 2020) , map 7.

holding occupied the Ankyra region after his victory.149 The Tektosages must have held this position for him against Antiochos Hierax and his Tolistobogian allies. Livy’s attribution of Asia Mediterranea to the Tektosagian zone of interest only makes sense as of the mid-240s BC. His assignment of the Hellespontic area to the Trokmoi and further of Aiolia and Ionia to the Tolistobogioi had not changed substantially since the 270s BC (see Fig. 4). These attributions also show the strong dominance of the Tolistobogioi. Whether they henceforth were on peaceful terms with the Tektosages largely depended on the ability of the Seleukids to avoid usurpations and thus to keep a firm grip on the Anatolian dynasties. Eventually, Antiochos III Megas had all but one major Galatian tribe fighting for him at Magnesia. Eposognatos, one of the four Galatian kings named by Livy around that time, remained neutral out of friendship to Pergamon. He may have ruled the Tosiopoi, whose tetararch Eporedorix would later head a revolt against Mithradates VI Eupator 149 Coşkun 2011b on Galatian-Seleukid relations; Coşkun 2016a and 2018c on the Battle of Ankyra, with Coşkun 2011b and 2016c for further details; Coşkun 2011b and 2019c for a revision of settlement areas and alliances through the Hellenistic periods; Coşkun 2011b and 2019b for a summary. Without such differentiations, but with a sober perspective on the dynastic conflicts, see Grainger 2010; 2014.

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in Pergamon in 86 BC (see Fig. 5 for a genealogical table). Pliny does not know this tribe, although he lists the names of seven peoples altogether for a time that we cannot specify (see Fig. 6). This is an important reminder of the fact that many details of Galatian history simply escape us. The invasion into Galatian territory by Cn. Manlius Vulso in 189 BC reveals, among other things, Galatian independence from the Seleukids. They

Fig. 5: Genealogical table of Domnekleios and the Tosiopan dynasty (A. Coşkun, 2008/18) .

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Fig. 6: Settlement areas and zones of the Galatians in the 3rd(?) century BC according to Pliny NH 5. 146 (A. Coşkun; cartographer: S. Chen, 2020) , map 8.

Fig. 7: Settlement areas of the Galatians around 100 BC (A. Coşkun; cartographer: S. Chen, 2020) , map 9.

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did not feel bound by the truce terms imposed by L. Cornelius Scipio in 189 BC. The level of military success that the Romans achieved in Central Anatolia was a novelty, but Vulso withdrew too soon to turn two victorious combats into a permanent subjugation of the Galatians. Perhaps this may not even have been the purpose of his campaign, which must have aimed primarily at weakening Seleukid allies, while rewarding Roman soldiers and their Pergamene supporters. Galatian leadership in those years lay with the successive Tolistobogian kings Ortiagon (the leader of the war against the Romans), Kassignatos and Solovettios (who renewed the war against Pergamon in 168 BC). The evidence for them has been collected and discussed in according articles in Amici Populi Romani (APR). In Chapters 5 and 6, Germain Payen and I treat the first half of the 2nd century BC with an emphasis on Galatian independence.150 The settlement of the Trokmoi in the area east of the Halys likely took place not in the early 3rd century BC, as the traditional view has it, but rather as late as around 100 BC (see Fig. 7), when Mithradates VI Eupator extended his hegemony over several parts of Asia Minor and even occupied Galatia.151 He was the king who first granted the title of tetrarch to previous tribal king(let)s. Strabo posits a total of 12 Galatian tetrarchs, thus four in each of the three tribes that he knows, surmising that this was in accordance with a more widespread Celtic tradition. Despite the strong advocacy of Strabo’s view first by Mommsen and later by Strobel, the Geographer appears to be rationalising contrary to the facts. Scholars had been sceptical of his account for a long time. During the 20th century, the view prevailed that the tetrarchic system was an Early Hellenistic (mostly Seleukid) imposition, as first suggested by Arthur Zwintscher. Yet others, such as Mitchell, vaguely assume a mixture of Celtic and Hellenistic traditions. A systematic study of the title in the eastern Mediterranean world has brought to light that, after its first attestation for Galatian tribal monarchs around 100 BC, it was not before the Battle of Philippi (42 BC) that Mark Antony started to bestow it on non-Galatian rulers, irrespective of any fourfold geopolitical structure.152 150 On the campaign of Vulso, see Grainger 1995; Coşkun 2007; Payen 2016; 2020, 75–76. On the kings, see APR s.vv. ‘Ortiagon’, ‘Kassignatos’ and ‘Solovettios’, also ‘Gaizatorix’. Mitchell 1993 I, 26, n. 155 considers that Solovettios might have issued silver coins, but the evidence (a no-longer extant silver coin from Pisidia with the legend Soloettou) is questionable, see my discussion in APR. Behrwald and Brandt 2016, 149 have suggested that perhaps the same king established Galatian garrisons in Pisidia, but the evidence is flimsy; see Coşkun 2020c. 151 Coşkun forthcoming b; also Coşkun 2007; 2011a; 2019b; 2019c. 152 Coşkun 2015; also Coşkun 2007; 2011a; 2013d; 2014a; 2019b; cf. Payen, Chapter 5 in this volume, with n. 3. Celtic origin: Mommsen 1884; Birkhan 1997, 141; Strobel 2002a, 235– 36, 273–78; 2007a, 390–95; cf. Strobel 2009. Hellenistic origin: Zwintscher 1892, 3–4. Mix of Celtic and Hellenistic policies: Mitchell 1993 I, 27; Mitchell, Darbyshire and Vardar 2000, 81–82. I no longer want to ascribe the introduction of the tetrarchy to Pompey, as I did in 2004.

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The hegemony of the Tolistobogian Deiotaros Philorhomaios (ca. 120– 41/40 BC) has undergone a similarly profound reassessment: his great esteem in Rome, his political talent and his historical success are difficult to explain with moralising characterisations that present him as an opportunist or a bloodthirsty barbarian. Some scholars, admittedly, still believe that the high reputation he enjoys in Cicero’s speech Pro rege Deiotaro or in Lucan’s war epic Pharsalia are bare of true sentiment and mere rhetorical or ideological constructions within inner-Roman political debates. Without denying multiple functions of the literary figure Deiotaros, we should concede the historical king the role of a charismatic leader, able not only to resist the Great King Mithradates VI over decades, but also to command the trust and gain the gratitude of Roman governors such as Sulla, Lucullus, Pompey and Cicero.153 This unique constellation allowed him to gradually extend his control from his inherited Tolistobogian territory to north-east Pontos, Armenia Minor and Pessinus, which he ruled as a rex amicus populi Romani (see Fig. 8).154 He was certainly ruthless enough to survive and even thrive for about half a century in power, but the conflicts with his Trokmian rival (and son-in-law) Brogitaros and his Tektosagian rival (and son-in-law) Kastor Tarkondarios no longer support his accusation as a cruel barbarian. Cicero would barely have entrusted him his son and nephew while campaigning in Kilikia in 51/50 BC. At any rate, without the military achievements of Deiotaros, the history of the Roman empire in the East would have to be thoroughly rewritten, since his intervention was crucial in the First, Second, Third and Fourth Mithradatic Wars as well as in the response to Crassus’ defeat by the Parthians in 53 BC. Likewise, his role in the first decade of the Roman Civil Wars unleashed in 49 BC was substantial, although he found himself on the losing side at Pharsalos in 48 BC. Caesar stripped him of Armenia Minor and the Trokmian territory, the latter of which he purchased back after the dictator’s death in 44 BC. He 153 Botermann 1992 denied that Cicero had an interest in Deiotaros and rather used his defence as an opportunity to criticise Caesar. A negative view on Deiotaros is also underlying V. Parker 2018. Aspects of Cicero’s rhetorical strategy were convincingly analysed by Saddington 1993 (on the Romanness of Deiotaros in Cicero’s presentation); Loutsch 1994 (on the overall rhetorical strategy); Hanchley 2015 (on the impact of Cicero’s contemporary philosophical writings on the speech). For a Turkish edition of the speech, see Akdoğu Arca 2017. Tracy 2016 considers Deiotaros’ role in Lucan’s epic as mostly fictional. 154 Strabo 12. 3. 13 (547C). The most detailed discussion of his territory is now Coşkun 2021a and 2021b, whereas the political disputes in Rome relating to those land grants is yet to be published (Coşkun 2007). For older but still useful discussions, see Hoben 1969; Mitchell 1993 I; Syme 1995. On the acquisition of Pessinus, see Coşkun 2018b. On Cassius Dio 42. 45. 3 and Armenia Minor, see also Coşkun 2019d; forthcoming c. For the view that Deiotaros’ indirect control also extended into Kolchis, see Coşkun APR s.v. ‘Aristarchos, Dynast von Kolchis’; Coşkun 2021a.

Fig. 8: The Galatian Pontic kingdom of Deiotaros Philorhomaios, 64–80 BC (A. Coşkun; cartographer: S. Chen, 2020) , map 10.

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probably lost his son Deiotaros II at Philippi (42 BC), but since his contingent changed sides and joined Mark Antony before the second battle, the new territorial arrangements were in his favour: he exchanged the remote coastal stretch of Pontos by inland Paphlagonia and further got permission to seize the Tektosagian land around Gordiukome.155 The Galatians that entered the camp of Mark Antony at Philippi were under the command of Deiotaros’ secretary Amyntas, who could then also make a name for himself. The Triumvir thanked him with the grant of a Phrygian kingdom, which was gradually extended to include Pisidia, Pamphylia and Kilikia Tracheia. After the death of king Brigatos (rather than Kastor II), a grandson of Deiotaros, Galatia and Paphlagonia were also entrusted to Amyntas. All was at risk when Antony fled from the naval Battle at Actium, but Amyntas did not hesitate to surrender to Octavian and could thus preserve his kingship. A new inscription from Pisidia published by Mitchell as well as my own research on the genealogy of the Galatian royal families (see above, Fig. 3) and their territories have allowed for a clearer reconstruction of his rule. The most detailed description of his gradual territorial gains is now owed to Marco Vitale.156 11. AUGUSTUS AND THE ‘SOFT PROVINCIALISATION’

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When Amyntas died in 26/5 BC, his composite realm was annexed by the Romans. The territory of the Trokmoi east of the Halys remained autonomous until ca. 21/20 BC, so that it may have been ruled by a tetrarch in the meantime.157 Paphlagonia to the north had been under independent kings after the death of Deiotaros, but was attached to the Roman province after the death of 155 The most comprehensive re-assessment is Coşkun 2007, with a particular focus on Deiotaros’ military campaigns, territorial acquisitions and personal network. See Coşkun 2020a for the latest summary account on Deiotaros; also Coşkun 2005 (political and rhetorical analysis of Cicero Pro rege Deiotaro); APR s.vv. ‘Brogitaros’, ‘Deiotaros I Philorhomaios’, ‘Deiotaros II Philopator’, ‘Kastor I Tarkondarios’, ‘Kastor II’ (cf. Coşkun 2018d); Coşkun 2013a (fortresses and city foundation; cf. Mitchell 1974a); Coşkun 2013e (reception of Deiotaros, on which see also above, n. 153); Coşkun 2014e (diplomacy with Rome, Galatian court); Coşkun 2015 (royal and ethnarchic titles, on which see also above, n. 152); Coşkun 2018b (Brogitaros and the conflict over Pessinus; summarised in 2019c, 635–40); 2019d (his role in the Fourth Mithradatic War = invasion of Pharnakes II in 48/7 BC); 2021a and 2021b; forthcoming b (his early relation with Brogitaros and Mithradates VI); forthcoming c (Caesar and the loss of Armenia Minor). See also Engels 2008 on Cicero’s proconsulship 51/50 BC. Deiotaros closely co-operated with Caesar’s legate Cn. Domitius Calvinus in 48–47 BC, they lost the Battle of Nikopolis against Pharnakes (cf. Carlson 2008). 156 Mitchell 1994a; 1994b; Coşkun 2007; 2008a; 2015; 2018d; APR s.vv. ‘Amyntas I–II’, ‘Brigatos’, ‘Kastor II–IV’; Vitale 2012, 93–115; see also Erol-Özdizbay 2009 on his coinage. 157 For this suggestion, see Coşkun 2007; 2008a; APR s.v. ‘Amyntas II’. Cf. Leschhorn 1992.

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Deiotaros III Philadelphos in 6/5 BC.158 The Pontos Galatikos around Amaseia, Zela and Karana/Sebastopolis followed suite in 3/2 BC after the death of the Tosiopan (?) ruler Ateporix, whereas his brother Dyteutos controlled Komana Pontike/Hierokaisareia until AD 34/5.159 The strongest research emphasis has been on Pisidia,160 famous for its Hellenistic-Roman colonies and prolific in the production of Greek inscriptions.161 Its northern parts with Antioch as its foremost city stayed with Galatia,162 when southern territories were connected with Lykia-Pamphylia under Vespasian.163 Adjacent was Phrygia Paroreios, with Laodikeia Katakekaumene and Ikonion/Klaudikonion, which remained in Galatia, as did the northern stretches

158 Hadrianopolis: Laflı and Christof 2005 (temple); Laflı, Christof and Metcalf 2012; Christof and Laflı 2013 (inscriptions). Pompeiopolis/Taşköprü: Dalaison 2010 (coinage); Summerer 2011; Summerer and von Kienlin 2013; J. Koch 2018 (funerary monuments); Summerer, Johnson and Koch in preparation (urban development). Gangra-Germanikopolis/ Çankırı: Bricault and Delrieux 2014. Neoklaudiopolis/Vezirköprü: Bekker-Nielsen 2012–13 (research survey); Dalaison and Delrieux 2014; Bekker-Nielsen et al. 2015 (guide); Sørensen 2015 (imperial oath, cf. AE 2015, 1520–24); Sauer and Olshausen 2018 (era); Sauer and Olshausen 2019 (curses on tombstones); Sauer and Olshausen in preparation (epigraphic themes). Cf. Matthews and Glatz 2009; Laflı and Kan Şahin 2011; Patacı, Kazım Oz and Laflı 2012; Barat 2013; Sørensen 2016; Marek and Adak 2016; Sauer 2016; Manoledakis 2019; Chiai 2019. On the last (Galatian) dynasty, see also below, n. 182. 159 Essential for Roman Pontos are the works by Marek 1993 and 2003; Dalaison 2014; 2016; Winther-Jacobsen and Summerer 2015. For the chronology and the Galatian dynasts, see APR s.vv. ‘Ateporix’, Dyteutos’. 160 Hellenistic history: Kosmetatou 1997. Adada: Büyükkolancı 1998; 2013. Komama: Becks, Polat-Becks and Metin 2015; Becks and Polat-Becks 2018. Konana: Iversen 2012; Hürmüzlü and Hecebil 2015. Kremna: Metin et al. 2015; Metin, Soslu and Çidem 2018; see also above, n. 16. Parlais and Prostanna: Brandt 2005; Labarre, Özsait and Özsait 2005. Pednelissos: Vandeput and Köse 2003; Laufer and Lipps 2014; Behrwald and Brandt 2016. Sagalassos: Martens et al. 2012; Lemcke 2012; Poblome 2013; Lemcke and Coşkun 2013 (on SEG XXVI 1392); Stroobants and Poblome 2015; Waelkens 2015a; 2015b; Talloen and Poblome 2016; Claeys and Poblome 2017; Talloen, Albayrak and Poblome 2018; Vandam et al. 2018; Talloen 2019. Seleukeia Sidera: Hürmüzlü et al. 2018. Timbriada and Tynada: Özsait, Labarre and Özsait 2009. Tymandos: Coşkun Abuagla 2014. Northern Pisidia: Özcan 2015; 2018. Pisidian villages: Lanckoronski 2016. Pisidian colonies: Baz 2015; Labarre et al. 2015; Bru, Labarre and Tirologos 2016. See also below, n. 171 on Roman colonies and above, n. 17 on the Pisidia Survey Project. 161 I.Central Pisidia; Byrne and Labarre 2006; RECAM V; MAMA XI online. See also Christol and Drew-Bear 1998; Le Roy 2000; Özsait, Labarre and Özsait 2011; Labarre et al. 2011; Iversen 2012; 2013; Wallner 2019a. For the Res Gestae fragments from Antioch, see above, n. 114. 162 Archaeology and history: Nollé 1995; Mitchell and Waelkens 1998; Ossi 2005; Halfmann 2007; Gazda and Ng 2011; Rubin 2011; Özhanlı 2013; 2015a; 2018a; 2018b; Bru 2017, 144– 63 (territoire) and 185–214 (culture and society). For inscriptions, see the previous note. For the cult of Mên, see below, n. 192. For Antioch in Late Antiquity, see below, nn. 209–10. 163 (Lykia and) Pamphylia: I.Perge I; Lanckoronski 2005; Adak and Wilson 2012 (bibliography). Cf. Bennett 2011b; Adak 2013b; F. Kolb 2019. See also next note.

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of Lykaonia, in which the cities Lystra and Derbe were situated.164 The southern parts were initially forged into the province of Isauria, which was soon absorbed into Kilikia albeit.165 The historical geography of these areas owes much to the aforementioned works by Ramsay, Magie and Mitchell, to which the useful monographs of Bernard Rémy have to be added. The prime reference should now be Marco Vitale’s book.166 For the topography and cartography, the according volumes of the Tabula Imperii Byzantini (TIB) by Klaus Belke and Norbert Mersich are still essential. Among the many resources that have been added recently, I single out the Barrington Atlas of the Ancient World and its recent online version, both edited by Richard Talbert, and French’s volume of maps on Roman Roads.167 Besides these monographs, much progress has also been made regarding individual sources on the geography and toponymy of the ancient world, such as Strabo of Amaseia, Claudius Ptolemy, the Antonine Itinerary, the Tabula Peutingeriana and the Ethnography of Stephanos of Byzantium.168 I have briefly introduced my concept of a ‘soft provincialisation’ of Galatia above in section 9. Augustus was not induced to assume control of Central Anatolia due to a military crisis in the south (despite Amyntas’ violent death), nor is there reason to believe that the last king willed the territory to the first emperor. It was rather the need to assign farmland to hundreds of thousands of veterans after two decades of civil war. The southern territories of Amyntas’ kingdom, especially Pisidia, offered ideal conditions for this purpose, whereas 164

Bru 2017, especially 15–30 (Phrygia Paroreia as part of the provinces Galatia and LyciaPamphylia). Epigraphic corpora: RECAM IV (cf. Probst 2007); I.Sultan Dağı I 393 (cf. Jonnes and Ricl 1997). For the territorial divisions, see also the next two nn. 165 Schmitt 2005; Vitale 2012, 307–48; Hoff and Townsend 2013; P. Pilhofer 2018. See also Coşkun, Chapter 11 in this volume, pp. 343–46. 166 Ramsay 1900; Magie 1950; Rémy 1986; 1989; Mitchell 1993; Vitale 2012. Cf. Coşkun 2007; 2008a. 167 Belke 1984; Belke and Mersich 1990; Talbert 2000; Pleiades; Mitchell 2000 on Galatia. For French, see RRMAM III.2, pp. 15–16, 254–60; III.9. See also Rémy 1986; Strobel 1999, 395–96; Marek 2010, with maps between pp. 480–81 (cf. 2017); 2019; Coşkun 2012c. For the mapping of Celtic archaeology and toponymy, see, for example, Haywood 2001, 39, 41; Luján 2005; Falileyev 2006–07; 2010; J.T. Koch 2007 (on which see above, n. 42); Coşkun 2009c. The Atlas historique et archéologique de l’Asie Mineure antique is in preparation under the direction of Hadrien Bru and Guy Labarre. 168 Strabo: Radt 2002–11; D.W. Roller 2014; 2018. Ptolemy: Isaac 2004; Stückelberger and Graßhoff 2006 (with maps drawn on the basis of Ptolemy’s coordinates). Antonine Itinerary: Isaac 2002. Tabula Peutingeriana: Talbert 2010, besides the excellent digital facsimile on the web site Tabula Peutingeriana (with further digital resources). Stephanos of Byzantium: Billerbeck 2006: Billerbeck and Zubler 2010; Billerbeck et al. 2014; 2016; Billerbeck and Neumann-Hartmann 2017.

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Augustus does not seem to have interfered with the homeland of the Galatian tribes, which remained under the rule of their nobles. The central government must have been involved in the redefinition of the Galatian tribes as poleis, though the slow process of singling out Phrygian-Tolistobogian Pessinus and Trokmian Tavion from Tektosagian Ankyra reflects that the development was largely left to Galatian initiative.169 My reconstruction conflicts with Strobel’s view of a hostile Roman takeover. He believes that Central Galatia was occupied by the legio V (Macedonica) and VII (Claudia Pia Felix), whereas the autochthonous elite force later known as legio XXII Deiotariana was immediately removed to Egypt out of fear they might resist the Romans. This line of events is highly speculative and to a large degree depending on the assumption that the three Galatian poleis Ankyra, Pessinus and Tavion had been established in 25 BC. But the available evidence clearly points to later years for this development. The most plausible historical context for the dislocation of a Galatian army to Egypt is AD 18, when Germanicus marched through Central Anatolia on his way to the southeastern provinces.170 Another potential problem of my ‘soft provincialisation’ theory pertains to the establishment of Roman colonies in Asia Minor. The number of relevant studies is constantly growing, although crucial questions such as the demographic consistency prior to and after the arrival of Roman settlers continue being debated. Spatial implications of the divisions into two or even more politeumata yet have to be investigated. Discussions tend to concentrate on the dates of the settlements commissioned by Augustus (or later emperors), especially of the colonies outside of Pisidia. The latter is the only region within the province of Galatia that Augustus actually singles out in his Res Gestae (28) as a new home for his retired soldiers.171 169 Coşkun 2007; 2008a; 2014a, followed by John 2016, 99. Bennett (2019) agrees on the importance of gaining farmland in 26/5 BC, though also motivates the annexation with the plan ‘to maintain Augustus’ “New Model” Army as established between 30 and 25 BC’, which seems less likely to me so soon after Actium. The account of Vitale (2012, 117–21) does not yet engage with the new chronology. 170 Strobel 1998, 744; 2000; 2002c. Cf. Bennett 2019, who prefers an earlier date under Augustus for the conversion of the legio XXII Deiotariana. Coşkun 2008b discusses the Galatian origin of many members of the legio III Cyrenaica and XXII Deiotariana in Egypt. For documentation of the latter, see also Daris 2000. On later recruitment of Galatians into Roman army units, see Eck 2009 and Mitchell and French, I.Ankara II, pp. 312–14, no. L19. Military diploma: Eck and Pangerl 2018. Balkan: Mihăilescu-Bîrliba and Piftor 2005; Matei-Popescu 2010; also Petolescu 1978. 171 Mitchell 1979; Leschhorn 1992; Syme 1995, 225–41; Strobel 2000; 2002c; Bennett 2006a; 2006c; 2007; 2011; Coşkun 2007; Halfmann 2007; Valvo 2007; Esch 2008; Bru 2009; 2017; de Georgi 2011; Sweetman 2011; Kunnert 2012, 160–65; Bennett 2019. For a larger

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Critical for my argument is the foundation of the Colonia Julia Felix Germa,172 which most scholars date to the beginning of Roman provincial rule. It is located near Babadat north of the Arayıt/Dindymos? Mountain, shortly before the roads from Dorylaion (west) and Pessinus (south) merge into one major road continuing towards Ankyra (north-east). The early date is supported, for example, by Mitchell, although he admits that this would have meant a ‘severe truncation of the Tolistobogian territory’. This assessment would be easily compatible with Strobel’s view of a hostile occupation of Galatia upon Amyntas’ death.173 But, besides the aforesaid difficulties of such a violent reconstruction, the coinage and inscriptions from Germa only begin in the Flavian period, if not later.174 The above-mentioned silence of the Res Gestae induced Barbara Levick to suggest a foundation under the Flavians, explaining the name with Julia, the daughter of Titus and later Augusta under Domitian.175 Without addressing such difficulties, Andreas Viktor Walser maintains the early (Augustan) chronology, though is confronted with yet another difficulty: a new inscription from Dutlu (on the northern slope of Mt Arayıt) records an honorary decree for L. Pontius Varronius Seneca, a citizen of Pessinus and a highly decorated veteran of Vespasian, by the council and people of the Sebastenoi Tolistobogioi. Walser admits that Dutlu had normally been attributed to Germa, but now suggests its reassignment to Pessinus due to the new epigraphic document. I would rather conclude that the colony of Germa had not yet been established when the decree was passed early under Vespasian. This way, we may explain the establishment of the colony as a status upgrade of part of the Tolistobogian-Pessinuntine territory, further connecting it with the Flavian road construction under Domitian.176 My theory of a ‘soft provincialisation’ draws another critical argument from the chronology of the often-quoted Ankyra priest-list: contrary to the earlier view, the first attested Sebastos priest was not appointed in AD 19, but in 5/4 BC, geographical context, see Mitchell 1994b; Cohen 1995; Schuler 1998; Sartre 2001; 2007; Salmeri, Raggi and Baroni 2004; Brélaz 2004; Alcock 2005; Sugliano 2005; Filges 2011; 2019; Kadıoğlu, Görkay and Mitchell 2011, 57–68; Gagliardi 2014; Labarre 2016; Dąbrowa 2020. For further references on Antioch, Kremna and other Pisidian colonies, see also above, nn. 17, 160–62. 172 See RECAM II 95–96 for the full name. 173 Mitchell 1993 I, 87–88. Cf. Vitale 2012, 127–28; Marek 2019, 266. 174 von Aulock 1968; Coşkun 2007, 282 and see below. 175 Levick 1967, 199. I regarded this as a possibility previously, though inclined towards a date under the Emperor Gaius (Caligula), who was a Julius, too: Coşkun 2007, 216, 271–86 (cf. 2008a, 153–54; John 2016, 99). I now think that Levick got it right: see below. 176 Walser 2013, 534 and no. 1 (inscription from Dutlu: AE 2013, 1600). Cf. French 2012, A4, A7 on the road.

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a full generation earlier, and yet also one generation after the death of Amyntas. The same inscription further reveals that the site on which the temple of Augustus still stands was assigned to the construction of the Sebasteion in 2/1 BC. This has many important implications for the history of the cult, the city and the province. For example, the inscription can now be regarded as documenting the cult history from its very beginning. Therefore, the formalised adoration of Thea Roma and Theos Sebastos (Augustus) was not imposed by the first governor M. Lollius in 25/21 BC. It rather took the Galatians twenty years to open up to the concept of an imperial cult.177 The fact that its foundation followed their own initiative constitutes an important parallel to the move of the koinon of Asia, which had requested permission to build an imperial temple in 29 BC. The cult centres of Western Asia Minor would be models for the sanctuary of Ankyra in many regards.178 Moreover, the higher chronology of the priest list also challenges the view that the koinon of the Galatians was established at the beginning of Roman provincial rule. The traditional premise, however, is still taken for granted by Vitale: he distinguishes between an original koinon of the Galatians and its later version, the koinon of Galatia, which is supposed to have included all parts of the Roman province except for the citizen colonies. But his argument fails to apply a consistent chronology.179 In theory, Babett Edelmann-Singer shares Vitale’s premise and normally expects the establishment of a provincial koinon to be one of the first administrative measures under Roman rule. In the given case, however, she accepts the new date of the priest inscription to provide a safe terminus a quo for the inauguration of the cult in 5 BC. She then argues that this was also the year in which the koinon for the whole province of Galatia was established. This downplays the fact that the priest Rossolittanos did not yet bear the title ‘high

177

On the chronology of the Sebasteion and I.Ankara I 2, see above, nn. 80, 116 and 120. On the imperial cult, especially in Asia, see, for example, Cancik and Hitzl 2003; Herz 2003; Burrell 2004; Campanile 2006; Kantiréa 2007; Schuler 2007; Lozano Gómez 2010; Frija 2012; Koortbojian 2013; Wörrle 2014; Edelmann-Singer 2015; A. Kolb and Vitale 2016. 179 Vitale 2012, 122–31, especially 125: ‘Ihre titulare Aufwertung zu “Hohepriestern” erfolgte letztlich längs der Wandlung in der Selbstbezeichnung des Landtags von “Koinon der Augusteischen Galater” zu “Koinon von Galatia”. … Möglicherweise war auch das galatische Koinon anfangs zweigeteilt in “Galater” und “Hellenen” bis es unter der Leitung der erwähnten “Hohepriester” als einheitlicher Landtag auftrat.’ Vitale dates the titular and administrative change to sometime between Claudius and Trajan, but does not take into account that the earliest koinon coinage dates to Nero: RPC I 3562–3564; Coşkun 2009a, 185. Neither is it correct to claim that the later title was consistently based on the geographical term Galatia instead of the ethnic Galatians. For exceptions, see the Flavian inscription for Heras (see above, n. 77) or the honorary decree for Klaudios Kaikilios Hermianos in AD 253/4 (I.Ankara I 117. 5). 178

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priest’ (archiereus) under Claudius.180 Edelmann-Singer prefers to regard the cult as provincial from its inception, although she admits that the Paphlagonians had their own koinon.181 The latter exclusion is somewhat surprising, considering that Paphlagonian kingship had been transferred to Kastor III, a grandson of Deiotaros, soon after the Battle of Philippi. The close connection between the traditional Paphlagonian royal lineage and Galatian leadership is also reflected in the dynastic name of Amyntas’ son Pylaimenes, the fourth and twelfth Sebastos priest of Ankyra, who sponsored the ground for the erection of the temple.182 If Paphlagonia had its own koinon regardless, we should be hesitant to claim the inclusion of less closely related areas of the south into the Galatian koinon. For a province-wide organisation, Edelmann-Singer particularly points to the monumental display of the Res Gestae both in Ankyra and Antioch, but this argument is undermined by the existence of similar fragments from Apollonia and Sardeis, which are located in the province of Asia. The admittedly lacunose epigraphic documentation rather speaks in favour of a gradual extension of the cult community around the sanctuary of Ankyra. But the assumption that the whole province or at least most of its parts were eventually included into the koinon remains problematic. It largely rests on the parallel of the province of Asia. But there seem to have been two or even more Pontic koina, which weakens the argumentative force of the model Asia.183 As long as positive evidence for the inclusion of Pamphylia, Pisidia, Lykaonia or Phrygia Paroreios is missing, the onus probandi lies with those who claim their inclusion. At any rate, the koinon of the Galatians continued to exist well into the 3rd century.184 180 On Rossolittanos, see above, n. 121, with I.Ankara I 3. Mitchell (1986, 18) assumed that a lost line at the top of I.Ankara I 2 mentioned the koinon; contra Coşkun 2007, 338–39; 2014a, 44; cf. P. Pilhofer 2011, 114, n. 92. In a different context, Edelmann-Singer 2013 argues (with Thonemann 2010) for dating Tatia, the archiereia from Akmoneia, to AD 6/7. This would be quite early, though Akmoneia belonged to the province and koinon of Asia. 181 Edelmann-Singer 2015, 95–98. Yet differently, Vitale 2012, 205–29 assumes that Paphlagonia was an independent province. On the koinon of Paphlagonia, see also Sørensen 2016; Mitchell 2017b. 182 See Coşkun 2008a; 2014a, 50, 61–62; APR s.vv. ‘Deiotaros III’, ‘Deiotaros IV’, ‘Pylaimenes, son of Amyntas’. Cf. P. Pilhofer 2011, 116, n. 100. 183 On Pontos, see Marek 1993; Vitale 2012, 174–203; Sørensen 2016; Mitchell 2017b. 184 The question of its duration is not addressed by Edelmann-Singer 2015, whereas Vitale (2012, 130) takes for granted that the attestation of two neokoriai (cf. Burrell 2004, 172–74; Coşkun 2009a, 196; Dalaison 2016) for Ankyra under Gallienos implies the existence of the koinon. Vitale 2012, 124–25 leaves open the chronology of the inscriptions honouring Ti. Claudius Heras, high priest of the koinon of the Sebastenoi Galatai (I.Pessinous 17), although a Flavian date is almost certain; see above, n. 77. The latest explicit koinon coinage can be dated to AD 98/100 (Coşkun 2009a, 192–94; Vitale 2012, 123), thus in close proximity to I.Ankara I 8,

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ON THE

CULTS OF URBAN

AND

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RURAL GALATIA

There are many further implications of the epigraphic and numismatic evidence for the imperial cult in Ankyra (and beyond). The religious community, originally organised in three sub-tribes, seems to have played an important role in the process of Ankyra developing into a polis, as in the case of other ‘temple states’ of Asia Minor.185 At the same time, the cult offered a new centre around which to build a Galatian-provincial identity.186 Based on the abundant evidence from Ankyra and Pessinus, but also other cities such as Antioch in Pisidia, one may easily settle on the imperial cult as the most influential religious innovation in the first century of Roman rule. Ever more scholars now regard the dominance of the imperial cult as crucial for the background to the ‘crisis’ in the Christian communities established by Paul in Galatia. Imperial cult rituals went along with lavish banquets and gladiatorial games, which are attested in Ankyra as early as under Augustus.187 We can easily understand their high popularity, perhaps paired with some social pressure, which made consistent decisions difficult for early Christians.188 But there was no compulsion other than temptation in the mid-1st century and Paul’s Letter to the Galatians appears very unconcerned with such attractions. It clearly addresses Judaising tendencies as the central problem. Thus far, Felix John’s and my own ‘Pauline’ chapters (10 and 11) in this volume are in unison. But they disagree on the location of those Christian communities: John holds a ‘South Galatianist’ view when defending Antioch in Pisidia as the centre of Paul’s evangelisation in Asia Minor. I, in contrast, have reformulated a ‘North Galatianist’ position, though without arguing for Ankyra or Pessinus as the centre(s) of the Galatian churches. Instead, the indications in Luke’s Acts and Paul’s letter point to a foundation of those churches during on which see above, n. 117. The best evidence for the koinon’s existence well into the 3rd century are the attestations of archiereis: see especially I.Ankara I 119, honouring Tertullus Varus, an archiereus of the koin[on of the Galatians]; see p. 509 for further high priests and cult personnel, besides p. 507 for the Galatarchai. 185 So Coşkun 2009a, 179 with a view to the numismatic findings; Rowe 2012, 3 in reference to I.Ankara I 2: ‘Augustan Ankara thus emerges as a sort of temple state, in which the sons of the Galatian dynasts have become priests of the imperial cult, and the priests sponsor separate spectacles and distributions at Ankara, Pessinus, and [Ta]vium.’ On ‘temple states’, see also Boffo 1985; 2007; Sökmen 2009. 186 See Coşkun 2009a for Ankyra; Rubin 2011, 48–49 for Antioch. Cf. Edelmann-Singer 2015, 96. 187 On gladiatorial games in Galatia, see, for example, Bennett 2009; Coşkun 2014a, 49–50, with I.Ankara I 2 and further references. For evidence from Pisidia, see Rens and De Cupere 2015. 188 See Witulski 2000; Hardin 2008; Kahl 2010; Harker 2018. Cf. B. Winter 2015; Witulski 2007.

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the apostle’s second mission, when crossing rural Galatia on his way from Ikonion to Greece in AD 50.189 John and I further share our reservations against explanations of the ‘Galatian crisis’ with assumed Phrygian cultic practices, no matter how intense they have been in the area.190 This is not to deny that these local traditions maintained their appeal or even flourished from the 1st to the 3rd century AD. Most of our numismatic, epigraphic and archaeological evidence for Kybele and Attis in Pessinus, Zeus in Tavion and Mên in Ankyra effectively dates to the Imperial period, with a preponderance on the later 2nd and earier 3rd centuries. Their continued popularity notwithstanding, new Graeco-Roman gods (or sometimes perhaps reinterpretations of traditional divinities through the imperial lens) found their ways into the local panthea by the 2nd century AD.191 Much scholarly effort has been invested into the study of the sanctuary of Mên Askaenos at Pisidian Antioch, which continued to be important even after the establishment of Roman colonists on its estates. Particularly remarkable are the testimonies for the related cult association of the Xenoi Tekmoreioi, who concentrated around Antioch.192 The majority of our sources for the spirituality and rituals of the Phrygians and Galatians hails from the countryside. It is not easy to distinguish which elements of the rituals were introduced in the Hellenistic period or even before and which were imperial innovations. Most of them became visible to us thanks to the growth of material wealth in the Roman empire, which went along with a substantial increase of stone monuments in the Anatolian hinterland, often adorned with reliefs and Greek inscriptions. The most prominent emanation of Zeus was that of Zeus Bronton, with an entire land- or rather mountainscape dedicated to him around the Türkmen Dağları between Eskişehir (Dorylaion) and Kütahya (Kotyaion).193 A bit

189 On the reception of Paul’s letter, now see Riches 2013; on its larger historical context John 2016, with many debts to Sänger 2016, who also advocates the South Galatian hypothesis. For the chronology of Paul’s biography, Riesner 1994 remains the most important starting point; Schäfer 2004 can only be recommended for her exhaustive bibliography. 190 John (Chapter 10 in this volume, nn. 109–14) and Coşkun (Chapter 11 in this volume, n. 30) arguing against Arnold 2005 and Elliott 2008. On Phrygian religiosity, see the epigraphic studies of Ricl 2003; 2017; Chiai 2008; 2009a; 2009b. 191 The main source type for cults is coinage, see the references above, especially nn. 78 and 124. 192 Mên in general: Labarre 2009. Ankyra and Pessinus: Coşkun 2009a, 183, 196–97. Mên Askaenos in Antioch: Le Dinahet 2002; Labarre and Taşlıalan 2002; Khatchadourian 2011; Raff 2011; cf. Labarre et al. 2011. Xenoi Tekmoreioi: Blanco Pérez 2016a; Wallner 2016; Hallmannsecker 2018; cf. Ramsay 1906. 193 Haspels 1971 I, 164, 192–204, 342–58 (nos. 115–154).

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further west, but still within the bend of the Sangarios is where Hale Güney, in her contribution to the present volume (Chapter 9), locates the cult centre of Zeus Heptakomeiton. This and previous studies on Zeus Sarnendenos, Zeus Akreinenos and Potamos are useful additions to a quickly growing body of scholarship on divine epithets and epicleses in Anatolia.194 Recent surveys are owed to Gianfranco Chiai, Alexandru Avram and Marijana Ricl.195 Some of the evidence actually derives from Dacia, which attracted miners and soldiers from Central Anatolia. It has most recently been revisited by Mitchell and Piso.196 The epigraphic material also includes very few epithets which are Celtic, although we have no means of telling whether these reflect older Celtic traditions, are translations of Phrygian themes or represent completely new characteristics of Roman time.197 Perhaps the most popular among the common people throughout Phrygia and Galatia was the cult for the divine couplet Hosios kai Dikaios. Judging by the highest concentration of votive offerings, this, too, seems to originate from the area around Dorylaion and Kytaion. While the evidence from Lydia implies the belief that Hosios kai Dikaios were two epithets of a single divinity, the more numerous attestations from Phrygia reveal that Hosios kai Dikaios were normally adored as two distinct though closely associated gods. Most often, they appear in the company of Helios and Apollo, more rarely also of Zeus or Mên. Ricl documented and analysed the evidence systematically in the early 1990s and added a substantial update in 2008. There are now some more recent articles with new materials or nuanced interpretations, mostly drawing on evidence derived from the Eskişehir province.198 Haspels’s Highlands of Phrygia and Mitchell’s above-mentioned RECAM II are still the most comprehensive source collections to start with, irrespective of their urgent need of updating. Major studies have been contributed by Georg Petzl (on the peculiar ‘Beichtinschriften’) as well as by Thomas DrewBear, Christine Thomas and Melek Yıldızturan (on votive monuments).199 The 194 See also Güney: 2019a on Zeus Sarnendenos and Akreinenos; 2019b on Potamos; 2020b on ‘Zeus of the Cedar Tree’. 195 Chiai 2009a, 151–55; 2009b, 85–98; Avram 2016a; Ricl 2017. Cf. Harland 2014, 143– 49; Mitchell 2017a; Piso 2018. 196 Mitchell 2017a; Piso 2018. Cf. Petolescu 1978; Avram 2016a. See above, section 6, with nn. 47–48. 197 For the evidence, see above, section 6, with nn. 46–50. 198 Ricl 1991; 1992a; 1992b; 1994; 2008; Lochmann 2003; Akyürek Şahin 2004; Erten and Sivas 2011; Corsten and Ricl 2012; Erten 2018; Güney 2018a (cf. 2019c); Akyürek Şahin and Uzunoğlu 2019a; 2019b; 2020; Coşkun 2020b. On solar gods, now see also Moga 2019. 199 Petzl 1994; Drew-Bear, Thomas and Yıldızturan 1999. Cf. Lochmann 2003; Belayche 2006.

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standard work on the peculiar rock-cut doorstone tombs by Waelkens has been complemented by Tomas Lochmann, Strubbe and Ute Kelp as well as Alexandru and Suzana Avram.200 Phil Harland has produced a major synthesis on associations and a useful source collection with commentaries.201 Recent surveys have brought forth much new material in the north-western corner of the Tolistobogian territory, which reaches into Phrygia Epiktetos and Bithynia. Fatih Onur has published the inscriptions from Juliopolis, the former Gordioukome, which Augustus attached to the province of Bithynia.202 To the south-east of Juliopolis lies the modern Mihalıççık district, a western part of the Turkish province of Eskişehir. Güney’s survey of the area has yielded new inscriptions from the 2nd-century imperial domain, the Choria Considiana, which was famous for its marble quarries. Güney’s contribution to the present volume further elucidates the domain’s village structure.203 Andreas Viktor Walser has published the new inscriptions from Germa and Germia.204 The latter is especially known for its St Michael’s Church excavated by Philipp Niewöhner.205 13. GALATIA

IN

LATE ANTIQUITY

The preponderance of Late Roman or Byzantine stone monuments and inscriptions is by no means limited to the aforementioned city of Germia in the west or to Tavion in the east, as indicated by Wallner, but is representative for the Galatian countryside and (even if to a somewhat lesser extent) the metropolis Ankyra. This accounts for the strong focus on those later centuries in Mitchell’s RECAM II, his second volume of Anatolia (The Rise of the Church) and I.Ankara II. This city remained a political, cultural and religious centre in the heartland of Anatolia and thus continues to be the object of various studies, especially on religious controversies since the gradual rise of Christianity in

200 Waelkens 1984; Lochmann 2003; Strubbe 2005; Kelp 2015; Avram and Avram 2019. Cf. Thonemann 2013a. 201 Harland 2013 and 2014, also including important material on Jewish diaspora communities. 202 Onur 2014a; 2014b; also Avcu and Doğan 2014; Marek and Adak 2016, 25–29. Cf. Coşkun 2018d, 212, 212, 226 on the dynast Kleon. Julipolis returned to Galatia by the 3rd century AD: Mitchell 1993 II, 160. 203 Güney 2016; 2018b; 2018c; 2020a; and Chapter 9 in this volume on the Choria Considiana. Cf. RECAM II 34; Mitchell 2007, 161–64; Avram 2016b on this and other large estates in the area. For new inscriptions from the Eskişehir Museum, see also Akyürek Şahin and Uzunoğlu 2019a; 2020; Karabulut 2020. 204 Walser 2013. See above, section 11, with n. 176 on Germa. 205 Niewöhner 2010; 2017, chapter 32; Niewöhner and Rheidt 2010.

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the High Empire.206 Of particular importance as an historical source for northwest Galatia is the Life of Saint Theodore of Sykeon, now also accessible through the study of Jean-Louis Mattei.207 The above-mentioned Excellence Cluster Topoi has made further vigorous contributions to the field, beginning with the online database Inscriptiones Christianae Graecae (ICG), followed by substantial monographs, though mostly on areas to the south of Galatia that had been separated from the large Augustan province in the course of the centuries (cf. section 11). While the scholarly community still needs time to digest them, yet further major works are in the pipe of the Topoi research network.208 Another centre of Early Christianity in Asia Minor was Pisidian Antioch.209 The city had been part of the province of Galatia, until major administrative reforms began under Diocletian and it became the capital of the newly carvedout province of Pisidia. Ankyra remained the metropolis of Galatia (I), which stretched from Juliopolis to Tavion (Tabia). The same city also housed the vicarius of the Pontic diocese and thus continued the province’s orientation to the north since it had been given access to the Black Sea under Trajan or Hadrian. Its south-western parts including Pessinus and Amorion were singled out in AD 399 to yield Galatia II Salutaris.210 The broader historical and archaeological context of Byzantine Anatolia has been the object of several edited volumes: Tasha Vorderstrasse and Jacob Roodenberg concentrate on rural Anatolia, whereas Ine Jacobs and Hugh Elton focus on the 6th century AD.211 Perhaps the most relevant for our endeavour is the collection by Philip Niewöhner: he not only assembles surveys on several cities, including Ankyra and Germia, but also aims at synthesising larger-scale historical developments. Niewöhner significantly modifies the traditional view

206 Inscriptions: see also French 2003; Thonemann 2014 (cf. AE 2014, 1325); Krumm 2018. Theology and church matters: Mitchell 2005a and 2013 (Montanism); Frenkel 2015 (Theodotos of Ankyra); Bringmann 2017 (the emperor Julian’s visit of Ankyra); Hofmann 2017 (heresies). 207 Mattei 2013. The edition of Festugière 1970 remains essential; cf. Mitchell 1993 II, 122–50. 208 Breytenbach and Zimmermann 2018; P. Pilhofer 2018. Cf. Destephen 2010; Huttner 2013; Ameling 2017 (especially with Zimmermann 2017); Breytenbach and Ogereau 2018; Mitchell and P. Pilhofer 2019 (also for an outline of further works to come). 209 Antioch: Demirer 2002; 2017; Herring-Harrington 2011; Yılmaz Usta 2019. For more on Antioch, see above, nn. 160–62. 210 Mitchell 1993 II, 151–57 (for the provincial order until the 3rd century) and 158–63 (for the later period). On the provincial boundaries before Diocletian, see also n. 120. On the administration of the later Roman empire, see also A. Demandt 2007; Mitchell 2014; Elton 2018. 211 Vorderstrasse and Roodenberg 2009; Jacobs and Elton 2019. Cf. Akurgal 2011; WintherJacobsen and Summerer 2015.

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Fig. 9: Byzantine themata ca. AD 650 (map labelled as ‘Spartan 117 and G CHPderivative work: Dipa 1965’, provided by the US Military History Archives [2012], now in the public domain) .

which argued for a relatively stable urban culture until the 7th century, ensued by a phase of slow but steady decline. Instead, he suggests that there was a tendency of ‘ruralisation’ in the 5th century AD, which went along with an impressive increase of churches and monasteries until the 6th. A repopularisation of fortified urban centres in the 7th to the 9th centuries AD resulted from Persian and Arab incursions. The situation was slowly reversed again through another drive to the countryside in the 9th to 11th centuries AD, before Seljuk invasions triggered a further period of urbanisation.212 By then, the last traces of a specifically Galatian identity among the population of Central Anatolia had vanished for centuries. The last stage of this development was the administrative reform of the emperor Heraklios (AD 610–641), who returned to the pre-Diocletianic principle of uniting administrative and military powers in one hand. The changes left Ankyra with most of 212 Niewöhner 2017. The latter observation converges with the results of Talloen (2019) regarding Sagalassos, for which he claims a rather late Christianisation in the course of the 4th and 5th centuries. For Rough Kilikia, cf. P. Pilhofer 2018, 131, 135–37. Note that Mitchell (1993 II, 239–41) already emphasised the ‘Resilience of the Countryside’.

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the earlier Pontic Diocese in the Thema Bukellaria, whereas Pessinus and the southern districts of Phrygia and Pisidia then formed the Thema Anatolike (see Fig. 9). In due course, the last recollection of the earstwhile glorious past of the Galatian warriors faded away. With this, we have reached a natural end point of Galatian studies.213

BIBLIOGRAPHY The present list of references does not claim to be complete. Titles included in the List of Abbreviations in the front-matter (especially epigraphic collections) do not appear below here, again. I have tried to be close to exhaustive as far as synthetic studies and further literary, epigraphic and numismatic research on Central Galatia are concerned, though I did not include all potentially relevant publications of edited volumes and Festschriften or journals (see in particular AE, EA, Gephyra, Philia, SEG and ZPE). My focus is on historical relevance. I have been more selective with survey and excavation reports (for which see especially AA, Adalya, Anatolica, ANMED, AS, AST, Colloquia Antiqua, KST, Olba and Phaselis), especially the farther away their focus moves from the Galatian heartland. See also GUPEDA for a rich bibliography of the Ghent excavation team (Pessinus). Adak, M. 2013a: ‘Claudia Iasonis, eine Asiarchin aus Lykien’. Hermes 141, 459–75. —. 2013b: ‘Names, Ethnicity and Acculturation in the Pamphylian-Lycian Borderland’. In R. Parker 2013, 63–78. Adak, M. and Wilson, M. 2012: ‘Das Vespasiansmonument von Döşeme und die Gründung der Doppelprovinz Lycia et Pamphylia’. Gephyra 9, 1–40. Agelidis, S. 2011: ‘Kulte und Heiligtümer in Pergamon’. In Grüßinger, Kästner and Scholl 2011, 175–83. Akarca, A. 1960: ‘Hellenistik çağda Yerli Pontus Keramiği’. V. Türk Tarih Kongresi (Ankara), 142–46. Akdoğu Arca E.N. 2017: Pro Rege Deiotaro-Kral Deiotaros Savunması (Istanbul). Akurgal, E. 2011: Ancient Ruins and Civilizations of Turkey, 11th ed. (Istanbul). Akyürek Şahin, N.E. 2004: ‘Neue Weihungen für Hosios kai Dikaios’. Gephyra 1, 135–48. Akyürek Şahin, N.E. and Uzunoğlu, H. 2019a: ‘Neue Inschriften aus dem Museum von Eskişehir’. Gephyra 18, 137–91. —. 2019b: ‘New Inscriptions from the Museum of Bursa’. Gephyra 18, 239–85. —. 2020: ‘Neue Weihungen an Hosios und Dikaios aus dem Museum von Eskişehir’. Gephyra 19, 189–230. Alcock, S. 2005: ‘Roman Colonies in the Eastern Empire: A Tale of Four Cities’. In Stein, G. (ed.), The Archaeology of Colonial Encounters: Comparative Perspectives (Santa Fe), 297–329.

213 Cf. Ensslin 1953; Haldon 1999; Elton 2018. For the transformation of Galatian identity in previous times, see above, section 6.

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Voigt, M.M. and Henrickson, R.C. 2000: ‘Formation of the Phrygian State: The Early Iron Age at Gordion’. AS 50, 37–54. Vorderstrasse, T. and Roodenberg, J.J. (eds.) 2009: Archaeology of the Countryside in Medieval Anatolia (Uitgaven van het Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten te Leiden 113) (Leiden). Waelkens, M. 2015a: ‘Hadrian and the “Neokoria” of Sagalassos’. In Metin et al. 2015, 177–214. —. 2015b: ‘The Library of Titus Flavius Severianus Neon at Sagalassos’. In Metin et al. 2015, 215–59. Wallner, C. 2015: ‘Die Inschriften des Museums in Yozgat – Addenda’. Tyche 30, 173–91. —. 2016: ‘Xenoi Tekmoreioi. Ein neues Fragment’. EA 49, 157–75. —. 2017: ‘Die Grabinschrift für Palladion aus Tavium’. EA 50, 27–43. —. 2019a: ‘Ramsays Fragmente. Ein Lokalaugenschein im Depot von Antiocheia ad Pisidiam’. In Harter-Uibopuu, K. (ed.), Epigraphische Notizen. Zur Erinnerung and Peter Herrmann (Hamburger Studien zu Gesellschaften und Kulturen der Vormoderne 6) (Stuttgart), 143–56. —. 2019b: ‘Neue Inschriften aus Tavium. Die Sammlung von Büyüknefes’. Philia 5, 138–48. —. 2019c: ‘Grabinschriften aus Tavium’. In Lafer, R., Dolenz, H. and Luik, M. (eds.), Antiquitates variae. Festschrift für Karl Strobel zum 65. Geburtstag (Internationale Archäologie – Studia Honoraria 39) (Rahden), 347–55. Walser, A.V. 2013: ‘Kaiserzeitliche und frühbyzantinische Inschriften aus der Region von Germia in Nordwestgalatien’. Chiron 43, 527–619. Weber-Hiden, I. 2003: ‘Keramik aus hellenistischer bis frühbyzantinischer Zeit aus Tavium/Büyük Nefes: Bemerkungen und Übersicht über das Begehungsmaterial der Kampagnen 1998–2000 aus drei ausgewählten Bereichen des Stadtgebietes’. AA 11, 253–322. Weigand, E. 1937: Review of Krencker and Schede 1936. Gnomon, 414–22. Winkler-Horaček, L. 2011: ‘Sieger und Besiegte – Die großen Schlachtenanatheme der Attaliden’. In Grüßinger, Kästner and Scholl 2011, 138–43. Winter, B.W. 2015: Divine Honours for the Caesars: the First Christians’ Responses (Grand Rapids, MI). Winter, E. (ed.) 2008: Vom Euphrat bis zum Bosporus: Kleinasien in der Antike. Festschrift für Elmar Schwertheim zum 65. Geburtstag (AMS 65), 2 vols. (Bonn). Winther-Jacobsen, K. and Summerer, L. (eds.) 2015: Landscape Dynamics and Settlement Patterns in Northern Anatolia in the Roman and Byzantine Periods (Geographica Historica 32) (Stuttgart). Witulski, T. 2000: Die Adressaten des Galaterbriefes: Untersuchungen zur Gemeinde von Antiochia ad Pisidiam (Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments 193) (Göttingen). —. 2007: Kaiserkult in Kleinasien: Die Entwicklung der kultisch-religiösen Kaiserverehrung in der römischen Provinz Asia von Augustus bis Antoninus Pius (Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments 63) (Göttingen). Wörrle, M. 1975: ‘Antiochos I., Achaios der Ältere und die Galater. Eine neue Inschrift in Denizli’. Chiron 5, 59–87. —. 2014: ‘Neue Inschriften aus Aizanoi VII: Aizanoi und Rom III: Der julischclaudische Herrscherkult in Aizanoi’. Chiron 44, 439–511.

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Yılmaz, F. 2019: ‘New Christian Epitaphs from Yozgat’. Philia 5, 149–65. Yılmaz Usta, N.D. 2019: ‘Pisidia Antiokheia Aedilicus Kilisesi’nden Bebek ve çocuk İskeletlerinde Saptanan Patolojilerin Antropolojik Açıdan Değerlendirilmesi’. Antropoloji 37, 90–106. Young, S.J. 2018: ‘Pessinus in the 2nd Century AD: a Monumental City with an Elusive City Plan’. In Tsetskhladze 2018a, 379–427. Yörükan, G. 2009: A Study on Celtic-Galatian Impact on the Settlement Pattern of Anatolia before the Roman Era (Dissertation, Middle East Technical University, Ankara). Zahn, R. 1907: (untitled report of his paper to the Archäologische Gesellschaft zu Berlin, Februar-Sitzung). JDAI 1907, 222–34. Zgusta, L. 1964a: Kleinasiatische Personennamen (Československá akademie věd. Sekoe jazyka a literatury. Monografie Orientálního ústavu 19) (Prague). —. 1964b: Anatolische Personennamensippen (Dissertationes orientales 2) (Prague). —. 1984: Kleinasiatische Ortsnamen (Beiträge zur Namenforschung Beiheft 21) (Heidelberg). Zimmermann, K. 2017: ‘Zeugnisse privater christlicher Religiosität im kaiserzeitlichen und spätantiken Kleinasien’. In Ameling 2017, 491–514. Zwintscher, A. 1892: De Galatarum tetrarchis et Amynta rege quaestiones (Dissertation, Leipzig). Selection of Relevant Web Sites The links to the following web sites can be found in the List of Abbreviations in the front-matter: APR, EDAK, EDH, GUPEDA, ICG, MAMA XI online, RPC online. Atlas historique et archéologique de l’Asie Mineure antique, in preparation by H. Bru, Institut des Sciences et Techniques de l’Antiquité (Besançon 2010): . BIAA Electronic Monographs, BIAA (Ankara 2013– ): . Digital Gordion, University of Pennsylvania, Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology (Philadelphia 2018): . Epigraphical (Squeeze) Collection, BIAA (Ankara): . Excellence Cluster Topoi, Free University and Humboldt University (Berlin 2019): . Internet Sacred Text Archive, ed. J.B. Hare (Santa Cruz, CA 1999– ): . Kaman Kalehöyük, Excavation and General Survey, Japanese Institute of Anatolian Archaeology (Kaman, Kırşehir/Tokyo 2007–10): . Perseus Collection of Greek and Roman Materials, ed. G.R. Crane, Tufts University: . Pessinous Excavations Project. Universiteit Gent (Ghent 2006–2020): . Pisidia Survey Project (without place, 2012): .

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Pleiades. A Community-Built Gazetteer and Graph of Ancient Places, ed. R. Bagnall and R. Talbert, published by the Ancient World Mapping Center and the Institute for the Study of the Ancient World (Chapel Hill, NC/New York 2006–19): . Tabula Peutingeriana (without place or year): . ToposText, ed. by the Aikaterini Laskaridis Foundation (2015–19): .

PART II

ENEMIES, ALLIES, AND RULERS: GALATIAN POLITICS AND WARFARE IN HELLENISTIC ASIA MINOR

BEATING THE GALATIANS: IDEOLOGIES, ANALOGIES AND ALLEGORIES IN HELLENISTIC LITERATURE AND ART*

Thomas J. NELSON

Abstract Hellenistic literature and art commemorated victories over the Galatians through a variety of analogies and allegories, ranging from the historical Persian Wars to the cosmic Gigantomachy: each individual victory was incorporated into a larger sequence in which order constantly quelled the forces of chaos. This paper explores this analogical phenomenon by setting it within a larger Hellenistic context. The first section analyses the various analogies and allegories employed by the Aitolians, Ptolemies and Attalids, comparing these with their 5th-century Athenian precedent and reassessing the case for a Galatian allegory in the Pergamene Great Altar’s Gigantomachy frieze; the second examines how Kallimachos manipulated the common Greek-barbarian antithesis with possible intercultural and metapoetic elements; and the third asks how Seleukid ideology relates to this larger pattern, focusing on Lukian’s account of Antiochos’ ‘Elephant Victory’ (Zeuxis 8–11). Although Lukian’s account probably derives from a prose source and not directly from Simonides of Magnesia’s court epic on the subject, I contend that the Syrian writer is likely indebted to the Seleukids’ own self-presentation in portraying Antiochos as the heir of the Achaemenids through a distinctly orientalising motif: the deployment of an exotic secret weapon. The Greekbarbarian dichotomy so prominent elsewhere thus collapses: the Seleukid king was depicted as the ideal blend of East and West, a worthy successor of Alexander the Great.

* I would like to thank audiences in Waterloo, Oxford and Cambridge for their helpful comments on various parts of this paper, as well as those who have read and commented upon earlier drafts, including Altay Coşkun, Caitlin Duschenes, Richard Hunter, Marijn Visscher, Tim Whitmarsh, Alan Woolley and, above all, Gregory Hutchinson, who supervised the dissertation from which this paper emerged. The project was supported by the Arts and Humanities Research Council.

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The Galatians left an indelible mark on the cultural memory of Hellenistic Greece.1 During the 3rd and 2nd centuries BC, a vast output of literature and sculpture commemorated numerous victories over the marauding barbarians, assimilating these events of the recent past into pre-existing historical and mythological traditions.2 Just as the Athenians had integrated their 5th-century victory over the Persians into a larger mythological nexus stretching back to the Trojan War, so too did the collective Hellenistic world – kings and cities alike – frame their victories over the Galatians as the latest chapter in the monumental narrative of Greek victory over the barbarian ‘outsider’. By thus aligning their successes with the celebrated achievements of 5th-century Athens, parvenu Hellenistic powers confirmed their Greekness and legitimacy. This equation of the Persian and Galatian Wars has become a commonplace in modern scholarship,3 reflecting a broader interest in the representation of these Hellenistic ‘barbarians’,4 and in the concept of identity and alterity in Antiquity.5 Yet few studies have gone beyond this basic parallel to explore in depth the complex array of analogies and allegories employed in the commemorative literature and art of the period. This is perhaps understandable, given that many works celebrating these achievements survive today only in fragments, copies or second-hand accounts. Nevertheless, from what survives, it is still possible to examine further the parallels that were employed to represent both the victors and the vanquished. In this paper, I shall explore how this analogical drive manifests itself in different media and in different places throughout the Hellenistic world. We shall begin with the frequent assimilation of the Galatians to the Persians of history and the Giants of myth, comparing this phenomenon with earlier Athenian precedent. We shall then turn to Alexandrian poetry and examine how 1 For accounts of the Galatians’ invasion of or migration to Asia Minor and the ensuing propaganda, see Nachtergael 1977, 1–205; Mitchell 1993, 13–26; Hannestad 1993; SchmidtDounas 2000, 293–312; Barbantani 2001, 188–223; Strootman 2005; Koehn 2007, 88–129. On issues of nomenclature, see Strobel 1996, 123–35. For further discussion and references, see Coşkun (Chapter 1), Burghart (Chapter 3) and Kosmetatou (Chapter 4) in this volume. For clarity, I refer to these Celtic invaders throughout as ‘Galatians’ to avoid any artificial divide between those of the East and the West. 2 Little literary commemoration is extant; see Barbantani 2001, 181–88. For the Galatians in art, see Bienkowski 1908; 1928; Marszal 2000; Cain 2006; Kistler 2009; Coşkun 2014; Queyrel 2016, 193–233. 3 For example, Mitchell 2003, 287. 4 Strobel 1994; Kremer 1994; Mitchell 2003; Kistler 2009; Rausch 2013; Lampinen 2013; 2014; Baray 2017. All of these studies emphasise the distortion of historical reality in GraecoRoman representations of the Galatians. Cf. Cassibry 2017 on the lingering effects of this distortion. 5 Hall 1989; Cohen 2000; T. Harrison 2002; Cartledge 2002; Isaac 2004; Gruen 2011a; 2011b; Vlassopoulos 2013.

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Kallimachos manipulated the common division with possible intercultural and metapoetic elements. And we shall close by asking how the ideology of the Seleukid kingdom relates to the larger patterns that we have traced. The result, I hope, will be a richer picture of the range of ways in which Hellenistic authors and artists exploited the analogical potential of the Galatians. COSMOS AND CHAOS Throughout the Hellenistic period, individual defeats of the Galatians were incorporated into a larger mythico-historical tradition, celebrating the continual triumph of civilisation over chaos. An early example of this phenomenon is a stele relief from Kyzikos (Fig. 1), which commemorates the city’s victory over the barbarians around 277/6 BC. It depicts Herakles slaying a Galatian, identified as such by his oblong shield and sword scabbard. The composition of the scene, however, iconographically parallels Herakles’ mythical conflict with the Hydra,6 while the local setting may also recall Herakles’ earlier battle with Giants at the city’s harbour, Chytos (Apollonios Rhodios Argonautika 1. 989–1011). Through such echoes, the relief aligns Kyzikos’ defeat of the barbarians with the hero’s past civilising exploits: distant myth and recent history are blurred into one. The clearest example of this analogical tendency, however, is the Attalid dedication on the Athenian Acropolis, probably dedicated by Attalos I around 200 BC, which included four vignettes: the Gods’ defeat of the Giants, the Athenians’ victory over the Amazons, the defeat of the Persians at Marathon and the Attalids’ triumph over the Galatians at Myrina (Pausanias 1. 25. 2).7 The original monument does not survive, but Pausanias’ description indicates that it presented Attalos’ Galatian victory as the latest example of civilisation’s victory over chaos. Indeed, Stewart’s study of the Roman replicas highlights the numerous cross-references between the vignettes, which reinforced this sense of continuity from the age of myth to the recent past, as well as the various allusions to the Parthenon, which created a ‘Pergamene-Periklean alliance across time and space’.8 The dedication thus presented Pergamon as the new Athens and the Attalids as the latest vanquishers of discord.

6

Hannestad 1993, 21. Compare, for example, Boardman et al. 1990, nos. 2009, 2058, 2076. See especially Stewart 2004, 181–236; Osborne 2017. Some prefer an attribution to Attalos II: see Hansen 1971, 311–14 and the further bibliography amassed in Habicht 1990, 563, n. 9. 8 Stewart 2004, 200; cf. Schmidt-Dounas 2000, 232–44. 7

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Fig. 1: Relief Stele from Kyzikos, Dedicated by the Strategos and Phylarchs, ca. 277/6 BC. Istanbul, Archaeological Museum, 564 (Mendel 858) (photograph: W. Schiele 1968, Neg. D-DAI-IST-68-3. With permission). Marble; height: 0.70 m. Herakles – naked and with raised club – attacks a collapsing Galatian warrior who holds a sword; his oval shield lies to the right and Herakles’ lion-skin hangs from a tree above it.

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Athenian Precedent Attalos’ dedication clearly followed local Athenian idiom, echoing the use of analogies in literary and artistic commemorations of the Persian Wars.9 Polygnotus’ mural in the Stoa Poikile, for example, juxtaposed the victory at Marathon with Theseus’ and Herakles’ defeats of the Trojans and Amazons (Pausanias 1. 15. 3), while the Parthenon’s reliefs portrayed scenes from the Trojan War alongside struggles with Giants, Amazons and Centaurs. The juxtaposition of such episodes implies their equation as part of an ongoing clash between order and chaos, an equation made all the more emphatic in 334 BC, when Persian shields from Alexander the Great’s victory at the Battle of the Granikos were hung on the Parthenon’s eastern architrave, directly under the Gigantomachy metopes.10 Indeed, the significance of these mythical comparanda was so great that even their individual appearances could implicitly recall the events of recent history. The Amazonomachy on metopes of the Athenian treasury at Delphi, for example, has been interpreted as an analogy for the victory over Persia, since it was dedicated from Marathonian spoils (FD III.2 1; Pausanias 10. 11. 5) and depicted Amazons in Persian attire.11 Pheidias’ Athena Parthenos, meanwhile, was decorated with numerous symbolic images, including an Amazonomachy on her shield’s exterior, a Gigantomachy on its interior, and a Centauromachy on her sandals’ soles, echoing the analogies of the Parthenon reliefs (Pliny NH 36. 18). As Evelyn Harrison has suggested, various elements of the shield’s Amazonomachy may even have alluded to specific episodes from the Persian Wars, including Marathon and the sack of Athens, a possibility which further demonstrates the myth’s analogical potential.12 Classical literature also displays this pattern, although with greater emphasis given to the Trojan War parallel, reflecting the literary dominance of Homeric epic.13 A prime example outside Athens is Simonides of Keos’ elegiac commemoration of the Battle of Plataia, which treats the Homeric Achilles as a model for the victorious Greeks, and equates Simonides with Homer as a bestower of

9

For these commemorations, see Castriota 1992. Literary evidence only claims that Alexander sent 300 Persian shields (Plutarch Alexander 16. 17–18) or panoplies (Arrian 1. 16. 7) to Athens, but this has been connected with the archaeological traces of shields visible on the Parthenon: see G. Stevens 1940, 64–66; Hurwit 1999, 253–54. 11 See Devambez 1976, 273; Gauer 1980; Neer 2004, 77. For the increasing presentation of Amazons in ‘Persising’ dress after Xerxes’ invasion, see Miller 1997, 171 with n. 132. 12 E. Harrison 1981. 13 Cf. Erskine 2001, 61–92. 10

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everlasting κλέος (‘glory’, fr. 11. 15, 28 ed. West).14 Yet the same phenomenon is also visible within an Athenian context: in three herm inscriptions, Kimon’s defeat of the Persians at Eion in 475 BC is compared to the Athenians’ exploits at Troy under Menestheus (‘Simonides’ Epigram 40 FGE [839– 52], cf. Iliad 2. 546–56),15 while Aischylos’ now-fragmentary Memnon apparently went even further in rewriting one aspect of the Trojan War to accentuate the parallel. The Athenian tragic playwright presented the traditionally Ethiopian hero and Trojan ally Memnon as a resident of Persian Susa and his mother Dawn as a native Kissian (fr. 405 TrGF = Strabo 15. 3. 2; Pausanias 10. 31. 7). Achilles’ defeat of the warrior thus became a direct foreshadowing of the Persian Wars, projecting the clash of Greece and Persia back into the mythical past.16 Nor was such a mapping of the two wars restricted to poetry; it also underlies Herodotos’ Histories. His opening chapters present the Persian Wars as the latest in a series of clashes between the East and West over women (including Helen of Troy), while Artayktes’ plundering of Protesilaos’ house is perceived as due punishment for Protesilaos’ invasion of Asia (Herodotos 9. 116. 3).17 Given this string of examples, it is also likely that other treatments of the Persian Wars no longer extant would have contained still more analogies, such as Choirilos’ hexametric Persika (SH 314–23), Empedokles’ treatment of Xerxes’ invasion (mentioned by Diogenes Laertios 8. 57), and Pindar’s dithyrambic celebration of Athens’s victory at Artemision (fr. 76–77 edd. Snell and Maehler). These comparisons thus emphasised the significance of the Persian Wars, placing them on a par with the great conflicts of the mythical past. In both the art and literature of the 5th century, the Persians were implicitly connected with the Amazons, Centaurs, Trojans and Giants and their defeat was memorialised as the latest instance of civilisation’s victory over chaos. When set against this background, Attalos I’s dedication on the Athenian Acropolis makes perfect sense. Hellenistic Developments However, Attalos’ dedication also fits into a broader Hellenistic context. After Alexander the Great’s invasion of Persia, the juxtaposition of past and present became even more prominent, with the Persian Wars themselves often forming 14

Kowerski 2005, 96–106; Rawles 2018, 77–106. Boedeker 2001, 126; Shapiro 2012, 162–69. 16 Sommerstein 2008, 128–31. Cf. Robert 1923, 1183: ‘So war die Handlung zugleich ein mythisches Spiegelbild der Schlacht von Marathon.’ 17 Boedeker 1988, 42–43. 15

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the vehicle of comparisons.18 An epitaph for an Athenian killed at Salamis in the 240s BC, for example, compares the deceased to those who fought the Persians in the 5th century, drawing a clear link between past and present (IG II.3.22 11960). The Hellenistic kingdoms, meanwhile, were also increasingly perceived as equivalents of the Achaemenid empire: the Athenians equated the Macedonian Antigonos Gonatas to the former Persian threat in the Chremonidean decree (IG II.1.12 687. 7–13), while Lysimachos was presented as a new Xerxes in his attack on the Thracian Dromichaites (Diodoros 21. 12).19 The Romans too could be compared with Persian precedent, such as in Alkaios of Messene’s contrast of Xerxes and the general T. Flamininus (Epigram 5 HE [34–37] = Palatine Anthology 16. 5).20 The most prominent victims of this analogical rhetoric, however, were the Seleukids, unsurprisingly given their geographical overlap with the former Achaemenid empire. They were equated with the Persians not only in Ptolemaic epigraphy (such as the Adulis Inscription and Kanopos Decree),21 but also in Rhodian and Roman polemic.22 Attalos’ analogies, therefore, did not just follow local Athenian traditions, but also participated in a broader, international idiom that stretched across the Hellenistic world. Indeed, other commemorations of victories over the Galatians provide ample evidence that the parallels he used were common in celebratory propaganda. The Amazonomachy, admittedly, was little used; the only other hint of its appearance is Stewart’s suggestion that a lost Pergamene source presented the Kaikos river as the limit of the Amazonian queen Myrina’s campaign to parallel Attalos I’s defeat of the Galatians at the very same river (cf. Diodoros 3. 55. 5).23 But for Attalos’ two other analogies, the Persianomachy and Gigantomachy, there are many comparative examples. Let us examine each of these in turn.

18

Cf. Priestley 2014, 157–86: ‘The Persian Wars: New Versions and New Contexts’. Cf. Tuplin 2014, 246–47. 20 See too Almagor 2019, 105–18. The connection between Rome and Persia was later reflected in the terms used to describe Roman offices: for example, Dio Chrysostom’s talk of Roman ‘satraps’ and ‘kings’ (7. 66); cf. Philostratos Lives of the Sophists 1. 22. 3 (524), 2. 11. 2 (592); Mason 1974, 83. 21 Funk 1996. Brumbaugh (2016) and Visscher (2017; 2020, 136–53) also identify an antiSeleukid strain in Alexandrian poetry, foreshadowed by Strootman (2010, 35–36). Cf. Kosmin 2014a, 317, n. 32. 22 See Russo 2013; 2014; Barbantani 2014, 37, n. 58; Almagor 2019, especially 90–94; cf. Florus Epitome 1. 24. 13: in Antiocho vicimus Xerxen. Both Republican and Augustan Rome also used the Persian War analogy more widely to characterise their wars with the Carthaginians, Parthians and others: see Russo 2010; 2018; Spawforth 2012, 103–41; Bridges 2015, 160–62; Giusti 2018, especially 88–147. 23 Stewart 2004, 234 with n. 214. 19

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Persian Wars The comparison of the Persian and Galatian Wars was a familiar topos by the end of the 3rd century. To commemorate their victory over Brennos’ attack on Delphi in 279/8 BC, the Aitolians placed Gallic shields in the metopes of the west and south sides of Apollo’s Pythian temple to complement the Persian shields fixed to the east and north sides after Marathon, equating their achievements with the Athenians’ previous success (Pausanias 10. 19. 4).24 Similarly, the tales of supernatural weather and divine intervention associated with the Delphic victory (Pausanias 10. 23. 1–9; Justin 24. 8. 3–7) recalled Apollo’s legendary defence of his shrine against Xerxes (Herodotos 8. 35–39).25 The same parallel also appears implicitly in two Athenian paeans to Apollo inscribed at Delphi for the Pythaïs festival, a ceremony inaugurated after the Battle of Plataia (CA, pp. 141–59). These do not mention the Persian Wars explicitly, but both refer to the defeat of Brennos’ invasion, implying a connection between Plataia and the events of 279/8 BC.26 Although the two paeans are dated to the 2nd century (138 and 128 BC), their similar structure and language suggest that they are variations of a traditional Athenian ‘national paean’, of which the implicit Persian-Galatian comparison may well have been a long-standing set theme.27 Yet it was not only events at Delphi which were associated with the Persian Wars. Antigonos Gonatas’ own victory over the Galatians near Lysimacheia in 277 BC was also celebrated with the same analogy: the king’s association with Pan through his coinage and Aratos’ hymn to the god (SH 115) has been interpreted as a pointed echo of Pan’s involvement before the Athenians’ victory at Marathon (Herodotos 6. 105),28 while the stele celebrating his victory seems to have been strategically located in the temple of Athena Nike on the Athenian Acropolis to resonate with material commemorating earlier victories over the Persians.29 More explicitly, meanwhile, the Galatians are directly compared with the Persians in an elegiac papyrus fragment dated to the 3rd or 2nd century BC, a poem which in all likelihood celebrated a Ptolemaic victory over the barbarians (SH 958. 13–17):30 24

Amandry 1978. For these supernatural events, see Parke and Wormell 1956 I, 255–59; Champion 1995, 214–17. 26 Furley and Bremer 2001 I, 129–38; II, 84–100; see especially I, 132: the defeat of the Galatians ‘perhaps perceived as analogous to the defeat of the Persians’. 27 Thus Furley and Bremer 2001 I, 130–31. 28 Usener 1874, 43–47. 29 Schmidt-Dounas 2000, 311. 30 See Barbantani 2001 for supplements and commentary; and also Barbantani 2002–03, 36–39 for a summary of her arguments for the Ptolemaic connection. 25

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The impetuous Galatian man does not certainly | [follow a way of life similar] to the rich Medes; | for he does not recline in purple garments, nor does he ... , | anointing his delicate skin with unguents, | but rests on the ground and lives in the open [all year round].31

Although the ‘Medes’ here might be another slighting reference to the Seleukids, I follow Barbantani in seeing a reference to the Persians defeated by Alexander, which would also recall the Persian Wars of the 5th century, the pretext of Alexander’s invasion.32 Notably, the Medes here offer not so much a parallel as a contrast to the Galatians, yet this fits the king’s rhetoric, diminishing the Galatians’ apparent threat: he has already defeated ‘others who are more courageous’ (καὶ ἀρεί[ονας ἄλλους], SH 958. 11). Nevertheless, the lines still demonstrate that the Persians and Galatians were closely connected in thought, and this is even clearer in the vocabulary used to describe the Galatians: just like the Persians, they are ‘hybristic and mindless’ (ὑβρισταί τε καὶ ἄφρονες, SH 958. 9).33 This comparison with the Persian Wars permeated the Greeks’ collective cultural memory to such an extent that later historians often mentioned the battles against the Persians and Galatians together as if they were a single concept (Polybios 2. 35; Plutarch Cimon 1. 1). Pausanias also exploits the parallel in his Periegesis, making a number of explicit comparisons between the Persians and Galatians, as in the appearance of their shields (10. 19. 4) and their battle tactics (the Galatian trimarkisia resembling the Persian ‘Immortals’, 10. 19. 11). He also models his account of the Galatian conflicts at Thermopylai and Delphi on Herodotos’ narrative of the Persian invasion.34 By the later 3rd century, therefore, a clear tradition had developed equating the Persian and Galatian Wars, to which Attalos I, like later historians, could both appeal and contribute. Indeed, Attalos’ Athenian dedication offers us the most elaborate example of the parallel. Strikingly, however, this recurrent comparison tends to skate over the significant differences between the eastern Persians, often regarded as effeminate and luxurious, and the north-western Galatians, figures known for their reckless ferocity.35 Ethnographical reality was downplayed for the sake of rhetorical synkrisis.

31

Trans. Barbantani 2014, 23. Barbantani 2001, 162–76; 2002–03, 44. 33 Hybristic Persians: Theognis 775; Herodotos 1. 89; Aischylos Persians 821. Mindless Persians: Philip Epigram 57. 1 GPh [3015] = Palatine Anthology 9. 708. 1. Cf. Kallimachos Aitia fr. 114. 7 ed. Harder, where the ἄφρονας ὑβρ[ are also foes of Apollo. 34 Cf. Nachtergael 1977, 21–22, 147–50; Bearzot 1989; Ameling 1996, 145–58; Alcock 1996, 256–58. 35 Cf. Strootman 2005, 118–21. 32

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Gigantomachy Attalos’ final parallel of the Galatians and Giants was highly effective. Not only were the Giants θεομάχοι (cf. Xenophanes fr. 1. 21–22 ed. West) and ὑβρισταί τε καὶ ἄγριοι (‘hybristic and savage’, Apollonios Rhodios Argonautika 1. 942), just like the sacrilegious Galatians, but this comparison also offered victorious Hellenistic kings an opportunity to equate themselves with both the triumphant Olympian gods and their ‘ancestor’ Herakles.36 Within Hellenistic literature, however, we find few references to the Gigantomachy.37 Besides Kallimachos’ designation of the Galatians as ‘late-born Titans’ (Hymn 4. 174, see below) and a number of passing mentions elsewhere (for example, Kallimachos Hymn 1. 3, Hymn 5. 7–8, fr. 119 ed. Harder), we only have a fragmentary attribution of the story to Euphorion (fr. 57 ed. Lightfoot = SSH 454C) and the remains of a papyrus mentioning the ‘very mighty tribes of giants’ (κρατερώτατα φοῖλα [= φῦλα] γιγάντ[ω]ν) and the ‘savage race of men’ (γένος ἄγριον ἀνδρῶν, P. Chicago MS inv. 1061 = P. Lit. Goodspeed 2 = CA, pp. 82–89: col. VI 13–14). Such texts may well have employed the Gigantomachy as a parallel for contemporary events,38 but we should not speculate further. The same cannot be said of the world of art, however, where the interpretation of the Pergamene Great Altar’s Gigantomachy as an implicit celebration of victory over the Galatians, first proposed by Koepp,39 has become almost universal scholarly dogma. Von Salis, for example, claims that ‘die Gigantomachie ist ein Symbol der Gallierkämpfe’, while Mitchell asserts that the Giants were ‘represented iconographically in the guise of northern barbarians, with thick manes of unkempt hair and full beards, an unmistakable allusion to the Galatians’.40 Despite such claims, however, this connection never appears to have been fully argued for: most scholars merely point to the vague similarities between the frenzied nature of the Giants and Galatians,41 or note the 36

Cf. Strootman 2005, 133–34, 138; Queyrel 2017. For a full survey, see Prioux 2017, especially 156–72. 38 Suggested for Euphorion by Primo 2009, 100 and Barbantani 2014, 39; for the papyrus fragment, see Barbantani 2001, 198. 39 Koepp 1883, 32: quis dubitabit quin non sine tacita Gallorum ab Attalo atque ab ipso Eumene non semel superatorum significatione in ara illa Pergamena ... Gigantomachia sit expressa. 40 Von Salis 1912, 21 and Mitchell 2003, 286. Other supporters of the identification include Fränkel 1952, 146, n. 10; 1968, 157–58; Webster 1964, 190–91; Hansen 1971, 319–20; Robertson 1975, 539; Callaghan 1981, 115; Strobel 1991, 110–11, n. 67; 1994, 89; Moreno 1994, 430–31; Radt 1999, 175–76; Stewart 2000, 40; 2004, 234; Green 2000, 175; Strootman 2005, 131, n. 110; Chaniotis 2005, 191; Queyrel 2005, 130–36; Courtieu 2011, 10; Demandt 2013, 33–39. 41 Queyrel 2005, 134. For such general similarities, see Kistler 2007; 2009, 192–243. 37

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possible context of the Roman-Pergamene defeat of the Galatians in 189 BC at the foot of Phrygia’s Mt Olympos.42 Yet the identification has been contested in recent years by Junker, who insists that there is no positive evidence in its favour, arguing that the commonly cited parallels (Kallimachos’ Hymn to Delos and Attalos’ Athenian dedication) are not sufficiently close (in time or place) and that the depiction of the vanquished Giants is too vague to merit such an allegorical interpretation.43 When we examine the frieze closely, it is indeed true that the Giants have no distinctively Galatian attributes: no Giant wears a torque or carries the Galatian oval shield. In fact, the representation of the Giants seems traditional, besides the new variety of animalistic forms. The mixture of hoplite and unarmed Giants, for example, is already visible in the north frieze of the Siphnian Treasury at Delphi,44 as well as the Gigantomachy reliefs from the temple of Athena Polias at Priene.45 Given that other historical connections in the frieze have also been challenged recently,46 it might seem that scholars’ certainty about a Galatian allegory was misplaced. However, I would argue that it is still possible to uphold the connection between the Galatians and the Giants of the frieze, especially if we approach the problem from a perspective of ‘reader/viewer-response’, rather than just ‘authorial intent’. The Gigantomachy had long been used as a comparison for conflicts on the human plane, reflecting the common Greek preference for indirect allegory over direct treatments of historical events.47 In art, we have already noted the Gigantomachy on the Parthenon’s East Metopes, but we could also add the Athenian Hephaisteion, whose east frieze appears to have represented Theseus’ Pallantid enemies as Giants.48 Given the Attalids’ imitation of Athens elsewhere on the Pergamene acropolis and the echoes of the Athenian Parthenon in the Altar itself,49 it would hardly be surprising if some viewers saw the same allegorical parallel underlying Eumenes’ monument.

42

Moreno 1994, 430–31. Junker 2003, 428–33. Cf. the similarly sceptical Ridgway 2000, 58, n. 53; and Prignitz 2008, 73, n. 476. 44 See Vian 1988, no. 2. 45 Carter 1983, 94–95; pls. XXa–b, XXII–XXIII. 46 For example, the anti-Macedonian element identified by Ritter 1981; Kunze 1990, 137; Yfantidis 1993; Moreno 1994, 429–30; Stewart 2000, 40; challenged by Ehling 2000; de Grummond 2000, 260; Ridgway 2000, 36. 47 Napp 1936, 4–5. Compare epinician poets’ frequent deployment of mythical analogies. 48 Thus Reber 1998, 42–46. 49 For example, the chariot group of Helios on the south frieze quotes from the Parthenon frieze, while the images of Zeus and Athena on the east frieze echo Poseidon and Athena on the Parthenon’s west pediment: see Robertson 1975, 539–40; Smith 1991, 161; Stewart 1993, 165. 43

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In literature, meanwhile, the Gigantomachy was even more firmly established as an analogue of human conflicts. The contrast between Hippomedon and Hyperbios in Aischlyos’ Seven Against Thebes is enacted by the emblems of their respective shields, Typhon and Zeus, presenting the human encounter as a replay of Zeus’ battle in heaven (491–520). In Lykophron’s Alexandra, the hybristic Persian Xerxes is explicitly called a ‘giant’ (γίγαντα, 1414), and in Apollonios’ Argonautika, Polydeukes’ fight with Amykos is similarly mapped onto the clash of Olympian and chthonic forces through the explicit comparison of the latter with ‘a son of Typhoeus or a Giant’ (2. 38–40).50 Perhaps the clearest example of the Gigantomachy parallel, however, comes in Pindar’s first Pythian Ode, in which Hieron’s victories over the Carthaginians and Etruscans are compared with Zeus’ imposition of order on the monstrous Typhon. By calling the Carthaginians ‘Phoenician’ (ὁ Φοίνιξ, Pythian 1. 72), Pindar parallels them with Typhon’s crimson flames (φοίνισσα ... φλόξ, Pythian 1. 24); and by locating Typhon’s prison at Kyme, rather than the Homeric country of the Arimoi (εἰν Ἀρίμοις: Iliad 2. 783), he recalls Hieron’s Etruscan victory at the same site (Κύμας: Pythian 1. 18, 72).51 By the midHellenistic period, there was thus a long tradition in art and literature of paralleling the Gigantomachy with clashes against ‘barbarians’ on earth.52 And indeed, this tradition would have been reinforced by contemporary Euhemerist interpretations of the Gigantomachy, in which the Giants were simply another barbaric tribe, further facilitating their analogical potential.53 Given this established pattern, any viewer of the Great Altar may well have been pre-disposed to detect a contemporary reference in the frieze’s general design even without a direct visual cue. Upon renewed inspection, however, such a cue may in fact be present. Among the numerous allusions in the Gigantomachy, it has been noted that Apollo’s opponent on the east frieze (Fig. 2) echoes the pose of both the Naples Dying Gaul (Fig. 3) and (in inverse) the Capitoline Dying Trumpeter (Fig. 4), two statues which are linked with the Attalids’ Galatian dedications.54 The pose could be nothing more than an iconographic convention for portraying a dying warrior, but given the absence

50 Hunter 1991, 87–90 with n. 25. For the struggle between Olympian and chthonic forces as a ‘recurrent theme in the epic as a whole’, see Lawall 1966, 133, n. 21. 51 Skulsky 1975, 21. Note also the comparison with Salamis and Plataia at Pythian 1. 75–80; cf. Bakchylides 15. 57–63, where the Giants are a negative exemplum of hybris. 52 For Roman receptions of this tradition, see Hardie 1986. 53 Vian 1952b, 10–15. 54 Moreno 1994, 475; Stewart 1993, 163; Schmidt-Dounas 2000, 241, n. 415; Coarelli 2014, 78. Demandt (2013, 33–39) goes too far in precisely identifying this figure as Brennos, the leader of the attack on Delphi: see Schwemmer (2014) for a criticism of her methodology.

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of precisely comparable sculptures,55 alongside the ‘allusions’ present elsewhere in the frieze, this link may well be deliberate. Apollo’s opponent, prominently pictured on the east frieze (the first visible to any approaching viewer), would then be a key marker of the Altar’s larger significance, just as a Homeric hapax legomenon or ‘Alexandrian footnote’ might mark a literary allusion.56 The general context of the Altar on the Pergamene Acropolis strengthens this suggestion, for it was located directly below the Athena Sanctuary, which included an array of prominent Galatian dedications. Other features of the Altar, moreover, also interacted with the Attalids’ ideology: many gods depicted on the frieze represent the major recipients of Pergamene cult; the divine mother/son groups evoke the Attalids’ highly prized family solidarity;57 and the sea gods may allegorically represent Pergamene naval supremacy.58 If these aspects of the Altar are carefully tailored to the Attalids’ ideology, it seems likely that an ancient viewer could have also interpreted the Gigantomachy as a reflection of the Attalids’ recent historical conflicts. Of course, one must still ask why comparison with the Galatians should be privileged over the Attalids’ other opponents, such as the Seleukids, who are also mentioned a number of times in the Athena sanctuary dedications. Given the mixture of spoils in the sanctuary’s weapons relief,59 and the variety of opponents visible in the Pergamene bronze plaque (Galatians, Macedonians, and Anatolians),60 some scholars may shrink from prioritising one ‘identification’ above all others. And we must acknowledge, too, that some ancient viewers may have interpreted the frieze as a simple celebration of the divine order at the heart of the Attalids’ city, without any precise historical reference. But even so, given the prominent depiction of Galatians elsewhere in Pergamon,61 and the attractiveness of the Galatians as an easily demonisable foe,62 it is likely that some viewers would have prioritised the Gallic connection. Given the literary, artistic and Euhemeristic precedent for paralleling Giants and barbarians, as well as the ‘signpost’ allusion in Apollo’s opponent and the general context of the Pergamene acropolis, it certainly seems that the Galatians are a key element lying below the surface of the Pergamene Gigantomachy. 55

The closest parallels (none very precise) are Roman images of Adonis (see Servais-Soyez 1981, nos. 38b, 39b) and the Archaic Aphaia Temple warriors. 56 For such literary markers, see Wills 1996, 15–41; Hinds 1998, 1–3; Nelson forthcoming. 57 Stewart 2000, 36–37; Junker 2012, 187. This theme is also reflected in Pergamene literature: Nelson 2020, 7–8. 58 Junker 2003. 59 Moreno 1994, 422–23, figs. 541–43. 60 Courtieu 2011, 12–15. 61 Marszal 2000, 205. 62 Cf. Polybios 21. 40. 2 on the far greater impact on local inhabitants of a Galatian victory rather than a defeat of Antiochos III.

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Cosmos and Chaos: The Pattern Established From the foregoing discussion, therefore, it is clear that Attalos I’s dedication on the Athenian Acropolis engaged with both classical Athenian and contemporary traditions. Hellenistic victories over the Galatians were represented through a variety of mythico-historical analogies. The Aitolians, Pausanias and the Ptolemaic poet of SH 958 employed the Persians as a key parallel, while the Pergamene Great Altar’s Gigantomachy could be interpreted by at least some viewers as an implicit celebration of the Attalids’ defeat of the Galatians. We should note, however, the absence of the Trojan War as a point of comparison for these events – a notable omission, especially given its analogical prominence for the Greeks of the 5th century. It seems that the Persian Wars were more firmly imprinted on the Greeks’ collective memory and could thus serve as the primary parallel and authorising precedent for the successes of most Hellenistic kings and cities. Their victories over the Galatians, both great and small, were written into a larger mythico-historical cycle in which the forces of barbarous chaos were repeatedly quelled.

Fig. 2: Detail from the East Frieze of the Pergamene Great Altar, exterior relief, ca. 180–160 BC. Apollo stands over his defeated opponent. Berlin, Pergamonmuseum; Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz (photograph: CoDArchLab, www.arachne.uni-koeln.de, FA-SPerg003746-04. With permission). The defeated opponent reclines in the middle of the scene in a pose similar to the Naples Dying Gaul and Capitoline Dying Trumpeter.

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Fig. 3: Naples Dying Gaul. Roman marble copy of Pergamene original from ca. 200 BC. Naples National Museum, 6015 (photograph: Neg. D-DAI-ROM-93.545. With permission). Marble copy; height: 0.57 m; length: 1.07 m. Roman replica of a figure from Attalos I’s dedication on the Athenian Acropolis.

Fig. 4: Capitoline Dying Trumpeter. Roman marble copy of Pergamene original from ca. 230–200 BC. Rome, Capitoline Museum, 747 (photograph: Singer, Neg. D-DAIROM-70.2116. With permission). Marble copy; height: 0.93 m; length: 1.85 m. Replica of one of the ‘large’ Attalid Galatians, likely dedicated at Pergamon or Delphi.

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In the sections that follow, we shall see how these larger patterns were manipulated and adapted in the literary celebrations of two specific victories: Ptolemy II Philadelphos’ defeat of rebellious Galatian mercenaries (ca. 275 BC) and Antiochos I’s famous ‘Elephant Victory’ (ca. 275 or 268 BC). Together, these two case studies will highlight the extent to which both local and literary contexts could re-shape the overarching narrative of the clash between Greek order and barbarian chaos. CULTURAL HYBRIDITY AND METAPOETICS: KALLIMACHOS’ HYMN TO DELOS The longest extant literary celebration of victory over the Galatians occurs in Kallimachos’ Hymn to Delos, when the unborn Apollo pronounces a ‘prophecy’ to prevent his mother from settling on Kos since the island is reserved for ‘another god’, Ptolemy II Philadelphos (Hymn 4. 162–95).63 As Fantuzzi and Hunter observe, this speech is a rewriting of the ‘“not Telphousa, but Delphi” episode of the Homeric Hymn [to Apollo]’, a key intertext for this poem.64 Yet here this motif is combined with a contemporary political flavour, as Apollo predicts Philadelphos’ victory over the Galatians, and elevates this event to the same level as the god’s defeat of those foes at Delphi in 279/8 BC (Hymn 4. 171–88): And now at some later time a common struggle will come to us, when late-born Titans will raise up a barbarian dagger and Celtic war against the Hellenes, and rush from the farthest west like snowflakes or equal in number to the stars, when they graze most closely together upon the aether ... and the plain of Krisa and the glens of Hephaistos will be hard pressed on all sides, and they shall see the rich smoke of their burning neighbour, and no longer only by hearsay, but already beside the temple they will perceive phalanxes of the enemy, and already beside my tripods they will behold the swords and the shameless belts and the hated shields that will line the evil path of the Galatians, a crazed tribe. Some of these shields will be my reward, others will be set by the Nile, having seen their bearers breathe their last in the fire, the prizes of a much labouring king. O Ptolemy who will be, these are Phoibos’ predictions for you.65

Our only other historical evidence for this Egyptian conflict, generally dated to around 275 BC, is the scholion to this passage (ad vv. 175–87) and Pausanias’ 63 For other evocations of the Galatians in Hellenistic poetry, cf. Pfeiffer 1949, 304–06 and Cameron 1995, 281–82 on Kallimachos’ Galateia (fr. 378–79 ed. Pfeiffer); and Livrea 2004 on the prominence of their ancestors Polyphemos and Galateia in Poseidippos and Theokritos. For this genealogy, see also Anello 1984. 64 Fantuzzi and Hunter 2004, 355. 65 Trans. adapted from Stephens 2015, 176.

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Periegesis (1. 7. 2), which report that 4000 Galatian mercenaries, employed to fight Philadelphos’ half-brother Magas of Kyrene, rebelled against the Ptolemaic king and were promptly slaughtered. The details of the incident remain uncertain: according to the scholion, the Galatians were lured to an island in the Nile and burned to death, whereas Pausanias claims that the mercenaries killed one another or died of starvation. The Hymn, however, hyperbolically transforms this potentially humiliating episode into a momentous victory, enshrouded in the ornate and ambiguous terms of oracular prophecy. A large part of this hyperbole results from Kallimachos’ appropriation of the analogies that we have encountered above. Greek vs Barbarian From the start of Apollo’s account, Ptolemy’s victory is cast in the stark terms of a Greek-barbarian dichotomy through the direct juxtaposition of Ἑλλήνεσσι and μάχαιραν βαρβαρικήν (Hymn 4. 172–73), recalling the terms used to describe the 5th-century Persian Wars.66 This is one of just two occasions on which Kallimachos uses the Hellenic ethnic in his extant work. The other also occurs in the context of the Galatian Wars, as part of the opposition between Ἕλληνες and the Celtic leader Βρέννος (fr. 379 ed. Pfeiffer). It seems that Kallimachos reserved this loaded word for describing the stark opposition between the Greeks and Galatians. His use of βαρβαρικός is also striking, not only because βάρβαρος itself never occurs in Hellenistic poetry,67 but also because the adjective is largely prosaic, occurring only once elsewhere in verse in an epitaph for a combatant at Salamis attributed to ‘Simonides’ (Epigram 19a FGE [760–63]). Although it would be hazardous to posit a direct intertextual relationship between these two works on the basis of the adjective alone, this epigram nevertheless illuminates how similar Kallimachos’ rhetoric is to that deployed after the Persian Wars. The juxtaposition of Ἕλληνες Μήδοις in its second verse closely parallels that of Ἑλλήνεσσι μάχαιραν βαρβαρικήν in the Hymn (4. 172–73). Kallimachos universalises Ptolemy’s minor achievement into a Panhellenic victory, similar to the Persian Wars. In this regard, Kallimachos echoes the Aitolian rhetoric surrounding the victory at Delphi, which was similarly cast in universalising terms,68 and 66 Cf. the opposition of ἡ μὲν Ἑλλάδα | ... ἡ δὲ βάρβαρον in Aischylos’ Persai (186–87), alongside the messenger’s contrast of terrified βάρβαροι and courageous Ἕλληνες (391–93). 67 Hunter 1991, 84–85. 68 Cf. Syll.3 398 (Cos) celebrating the σωτηρία of the Greeks against the βάρβαροι.

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throughout the passage he blurs the distinction between events in Egypt and Delphi. Not only are Ptolemy and Apollo explicitly said to be engaged in a ‘common struggle’ (ξυνὸς ... ἄεθλος, Hymn 4. 171), but Kallimachos also evokes elements of the propaganda surrounding the Delphic victory. The reference to Philadelphos as ‘the most high lineage of the Saviours’ (Σαωτήρων ὕπατον γένος, Hymn 4. 166) echoes not just the title of Philadelphos’ parents, but also the Delphic institution of the Soteria festival, established to celebrate the σωτηρία of the Greeks at Delphi.69 The metonymical use of Κελτόν with Ἄρηα (Hymn 4. 173) evokes a common formula associated with the Galatian Wars.70 And the simile comparing the Galatians to snowflakes (Hymn 4. 175) recalls the legendary halting of the Gallic attack on Delphi by Apollo’s snowstorm (cf. Pausanias 10. 23. 4; Justin 24. 8. 10). In constructing Ptolemy’s victory as parallel to the recent success at Delphi, Kallimachos is presumably echoing contemporary Ptolemaic propaganda, since the Callimachean scholion’s implausible claim that the Galatian rebels came from Brennos’ army seems to imply other adaptations of the story to emphasise the connection with events at Delphi.71 Indeed, a similar parallel was constructed by the Attalids, who celebrated their Galatian victory by imitating the Aitolians in constructing a Stoa at Delphi; Kallimachos’ poem is a literary equivalent of their architectural project.72 What is most striking, however, is that within about five years, the Aitolians’ Galatian victory had already joined the likes of the Persian Wars and Gigantomachy as a parallel to be employed by victorious kings. Besides alluding to the recent past, Kallimachos’ account also makes use of more traditional analogies. The Galatians are not initially mentioned by name (besides the periphrastic Κελτὸν ... Ἄρηα), but are instead metaphorically introduced as ‘late-born Titans’ (ὀψίγονοι Τιτῆνες, Hymn 4. 174).73 Just as the Pergamene Great Altar implicitly celebrated the Attalids as the defenders 69 Cf. Fantuzzi and Hunter 2004, 356–57. For the Ptolemaic title, see also Giuseppetti 2012, 479. For the Soteria, see Nachtergael 1977; Champion 1995. 70 Γαλατᾶν Ἄρης (Delphic Paean I 21, CA, p. 141); βάρβαρος Ἄρης (Delphic Paean II [Limenius] 32, CA, p. 150); cf. Κελτῶν ... Ἄρης (Anyte Epigram 23.4 HE [755] = Palatine Anthology 7. 492. 4); Κελτὸς Ἄρης (SH 969. 6, suppl. Maas). See Barbantani 2001, 108. This formula might also evoke the discourse surrounding the Persian Wars: compare the Persian facing [Ἕ]λλαν’ ... Ἄρ[η in Timotheos’ Persians (PMG 791. 118). 71 Hutchinson 1988, 39, n. 24. For a link to Aitolian propaganda also in fr. 379 ed. Pfeiffer, see Petzl 1984. 72 For the Attalid Delphic monuments’ parallels with previous Aitolian and Athenian commemorations, see Gruen 2000, 24–25; Koehn 2007, 90; and especially Schalles 1985, 104–27. 73 The names of Titans and Giants were readily interchangeable: see Vian 1952a, 173, n. 9. Mineur (1984, 170–71) suggests that Kallimachos chose the former here to evoke the Galatians’ use of gypsum (τίτανος) to whiten their hair.

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of Olympian order, this metaphor similarly casts Ptolemy and Apollo as defenders of civilisation. Indeed, the Galatians’ threat is emphasised by their apparent subversion of traditional Greek religion. Not only do they wield a ‘barbaric knife’ as a weapon (μάχαιραν βαρβαρικήν, Hymn 4. 172–73), in stark contrast to the use of the Pythian sacrificial dagger (Δελφικὴ μάχαιρα),74 but they will also tread an ‘evil road’ (κακὴν ὁδόν, Hymn 4. 184), an inversion of the holy road which leads to the sanctuary (ἱερὰ ὁδός: for example, Herodotos 6. 34).75 The Galatians thus represent the inverse of religious order, truly deserving the title of ‘modern-day Titans’. This contrast of cosmic order and unruly chaos is enhanced further, however, by an implicit analogy prompted by the apparent timing of the event. Pfeiffer has plausibly suggested that the fragmentary verses 177a–b (‘...’ in the translation above) conceal a reference to the Dorian procession sent to the valley of Tempe every eight years as part of the Septerion festival. The defeat of the Galatians would then coincide with the ritual celebration and re-enactment of Apollo’s mythic victory over Python, a key episode in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo.76 The fiery death of the Galatians in Kallimachos’ Hymn (ἐν πυρί, 4. 186) acts as a close parallel to Python’s death in the sun’s heat (Homeric Hymn to Apollo 363–74) and the Septerion’s ritual burning of a hut thought to re-enact his death (see Ephoros, BNJ 70 F 31b). By connecting Ptolemy’s victory with Delphi, therefore, Kallimachos aligns it with both the Aitolians’ recent achievements and Apollo’s defeat of the primeval serpent Python, incorporating Ptolemy’s achievement into a never-ending chain of Hellenic and Olympian victories. Seeing Double? As many scholars have suggested, the Egyptian context of Ptolemaic Alexandria might permit a further frame of reference for this conflict in the form of Pharaonic ideology.77 In the Egyptian conception of the world, the Pharaoh was the corporeal incarnation of Horos (who was himself identified with Apollo, cf. Herodotos 2. 144, 156), so that Ptolemy’s (and Apollo’s) victory over the barbarous Galatians could also be viewed as a re-enactment of Horus’ victory over Seth, adhering to the Egyptian tradition of a new Pharaoh revanquishing Seth’s representatives on earth. Indeed, the use of fire to defeat 74

Giuseppetti 2013, 161. Gigante Lanazara 1990, 131. 76 Pfeiffer 1953, 24; Bing 1988, 130–31. 77 Koenen 1983, 174–90; 1993, 81–84; Mineur 1984, 13; Bing 1988, 131–39; SchmidtDounas 2000, 297–99; Stephens 2003, 114–21; Laukola 2012. 75

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the Galatians evokes not only Apollo’s slaying of Python, but also ‘the traditional method by which the Egyptian Pharaoh destroyed his enemies’.78 Especially striking in this regard is the parallel between the Gallic mercenaries and the evil ‘Typhonians’ of the famous ‘Oracle of the Potter’.79 The oracle predicts that, like the Galatian mercenaries, the Typhonians will be destroyed in flames, while they also wear girdles (ζωνοφόροι), just as Kallimachos’ Galatians wear ‘shameless girdles’ (ζωστῆρας ἀναιδέας, Hymn 4. 183). Given these similarities, we could thus also posit an intercultural analogy within Kallimachos’ Hymn: the defeat of the Galatians as a parallel to the re-establishment of Egyptian ma’at (‘order’). Despite these similarities, however, we should be wary of giving excessive prominence to this Egyptianising interpretation due to its inherent methodological problems.80 As Heerink has noted, ‘Most of the evidence for Ptolemaic interest in Egyptian culture postdates Philadelphus’ reign, and to use this material to study the situation under Philadelphus could be dangerously anachronistic.’81 Moreover, this Egyptianising interpretation provokes questions about Kallimachos’ intended audience and Greek awareness of indigenous myths. Those scholars who argue for an Egyptian connection never assert that Kallimachos was composing for a primarily native audience, but rather assume that a Greek audience would be familiar with Egyptian myths, despite the fact that, as Goldhill notes, ‘Plutarch (many years later) still has to collect, explain and analyse [these] for his highly learned Greek audience’.82 Most significant, however, is the fact that many elements in the poem are not so uniquely ‘Egyptian’ as to mandate a Pharaonic interpretation. Kallimachos’ account of the invading Galatians, for example, fits a larger pattern of barbaric assaults on Greek sanctuaries within a purely Greek literary and historical framework: we have already noted the foiled Persian attacks on Delphi (Herodotos 8. 35–39, cf. 9. 42), but we could also add the threat of the serpentine Kadmos and Harmonia’s barbarous hordes in Euripides’ Bacchae 1330–39, as well as the Kimmerians’ assault against the sanctuary of Artemis in Kallimachos’ Hymn to Artemis (Hymn 3. 251–58). In these cases, too, the barbarians are a countless mass and will suffer a painful return home.83 Kallimachos’ Hymn thus makes 78

Bing 1988, 134 with n. 81. See especially Laukola 2012, 92–93. 80 For a balanced discussion of these issues, see Hunter 2003, 46–53. 81 Heerink 2010b, 384. Heerink never adequately addresses this obstacle in his own argument that Theokritos’ Idyll 17 systematically translates Egyptian, Pharaonic ideology into Greek terms. 82 Goldhill 2005, 102. 83 See ἀναρίθμῳ στρατεύματι (Euripides Bacchae 1335) and ψαμάθῳ ἴσον (Hymn 3. 253); cf. ἰσάριθμοι τείρεσιν (Hymn 4. 175–76). And νόστον ἄθλιον (Bacchae 1337); οὐ γὰρ ἔμελλεν ... νοστήσειν (Hymn 3. 255–58); cf. κακὴν ὁδόν (Hymn 4. 184). 79

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complete sense within pre-existing Greek traditions of sanctuary-raiding barbarians.84 Already in the 5th century, moreover, we should recall that Pindar’s first Pythian Ode equated a king’s victory over barbarian foes with the establishment and maintenance of Olympian order, offering clear Greek precedent for Kallimachos’ encomium of Ptolemy. Indeed, Kallimachos appears to acknowledge this debt by alluding to Pindar’s ode in the Hymn, particularly in the Ares-Briareos simile (Hymn 4. 133–47), where Briareos, the giant trapped beneath Mt. Aetna, recalls the Pindaric Typhon (Pythian 1. 15–28), especially with the repeated mention of Hephaistos (Pythian 1. 25–26, Hymn 4. 144).85 Kallimachos may even offer a metaliterary hint towards this intertext with the phrase πυρὶ τυφομένοιο (‘smouldering with fire’, Hymn 4. 141), teasingly evoking the name of Pindar’s giant.86 The wider importance of Pythian 1 for Kallimachos and his Hymns, meanwhile, is also clear from the echo of its opening in Kallimachos’ Hymn to Apollo: Kallimachos’ description of the sea, Thetis and Niobe being lulled to silence by the power of Apolline song (Hymn 2. 18–24) is readily reminiscent of the soothing effect of Apollo’s lyre at Pythian 1. 1–12.87 The assimilation of poetic and divine order in Kallimachos’ Hymn to Delos is thus completely comprehensible against the background of earlier Greek literature. Besides such external parallels, however, the defeat of the Galatians also fits within a larger contrast between order and disorder in Kallimachos’ poem and the Hymns as a collection: the whole poem contrasts the chaos of the preApollonian world with the order instated by his birth,88 including his defeat of Python and the Niobids (Hymn 4. 90–97). It ends with the figure of Theseus, who escaped ‘Pasiphae’s wild son’ and the ‘coiled seat of the crooked labyrinth’ (Hymn 4. 310–11), offering another example of the defeat of a monstrous beast. Elsewhere in the Hymns, moreover, we find similar defeats of primordial chaos, with Zeus’ vanquishing of the ‘Pelagonians’ at Hymn 1. 3 and Apollo’s defeat of Python at Hymn 2. 97–104.89 If we regard the Hymns as a carefully arranged ‘Poetry Book’,90 Apollo’s prophecy seems integral to the collection’s wider thematic concerns. 84 See Bing 1988, 129–30, n. 67. Cf. the Phleguai who attacked Delphi (Pherekydes, BNJ 3 F 41e) and the foiled attack on Zeus Panamaros’ sanctuary (Roussel 1931). 85 Bing 1988, 123; Giuseppetti 2013, 191–96; Lechelt 2014, 98. 86 Cf. Giuseppetti 2013, 194. 87 I thank Prof. Richard Hunter for drawing my attention to this further parallel. 88 Bing 1988, 112–13; Laukola 2012, 87–88. 89 Acosta-Hughes and Stephens 2002, 245. For the ‘Pelagonians’, cf. Hunter and Fuhrer 2002, 170, n. 67. 90 For the Hymns as a ‘Poetry Book’, see Hopkinson 1984, 13; Haslam 1993, 115; Hunter and Fuhrer 2002, 176–78; Ukleja 2005, 89–107; Giuseppetti 2013, 76–83; Stephens 2015, 12–14.

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Given that the ideas embedded in the Hymn to Delos make sense within their own Greek and literary context, therefore, we should be wary of exaggerating the prominence of any Egyptian parallels. In saying that, however, we do have some evidence that the Ptolemies actively sought to make Egyptian kingship more understandable to their Graeco-Macedonian subjects, such as in the case of Manetho’s Aigyptiaka, which charted a history of the pharaohs in Greek, assimilating Egyptian gods to their traditional Greek equivalents.91 We thus cannot entirely rule out the possibility that some of Kallimachos’ audience may have been familiar with at least the basics of Egyptian ideology, but the inexplicit and indirect nature of the Egyptianising features in the Hymn surely demands caution and tells against the existence of any large-scale crosscultural programme in this poetry. The clash of Horos and Seth remains one further potential analogy underlying Kallimachos’ Hymn, but it is neither the most emphatic nor the most pronounced. Metapoetics Before leaving the Hymn, let us explore whether Kallimachos’ depiction of the Galatians has any further significance. Returning to Pindar’s first Pythian, we should note that Hieron’s concord was paralleled not only with Zeus’ political order, but also with Apollo’s poetic and musical harmony (Pythian 1. 1–12). An interest in poetics also surfaces in Kallimachos’ Hymn, where scholars have long regarded Delos as a metapoetic allegory for Kallimachos’ poetry: as Bing notes, her ‘characteristics (her diminutive size and slender, delicate stature; her purity and love of song; her freedom from violence and war) allowed Callimachus to see in her ... a metaphor for [his] poetic principles’.92 Especially significant here is the description of the island as ‘slender’ at Hymn 4. 191 (νῆσος ἀραιή), an adjective which the scholia gloss with λεπτή, that most Hellenistic of ‘buzzwords’.93

91 It is worth noting that the same Manetho played an important role (according to Plutarch Isis and Osiris 28) in the introduction (under Soter) of the cult of the new god Sarapis, another instance of the conflation of Egyptian and Greek ideas. 92 Bing 1988, 94, cf. 110–28; Slings 2004; Lechelt 2014, 97–103. For scepticism of metapoetic readings, see Zanker 1999; Asper 1997, 224–34. For a defence, see Heerink 2010a, 9–13, condensed as 2015, 19–21. They cannot, of course, supersede other interpretations, but usefully complement them. 93 Cf. Kallimachos Aitia fr. 1. 24 ed. Harder; Epigram 27. 3 ed. Pfeiffer; Aratos’ acrostic at Phainomena 783–87; Hedylos Epigram 5. 2 HE [1854]; Leonidas Epigram 101.1 HE [2573] = Palatine Anthology 9. 25. 1; Poseidippos Epigram 1. 4 edd. Austin and Bastianini; Ptolemy SH 712. 4; Nelson 2018, 260 with n. 154.

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However, scholars have been less interested in identifying elements in the poem that are opposed to Delos and Kallimachean poetics, the possible equivalents of the Aitia Prologue’s ‘Telchines’, Kallimachos’ malignant detractors. Bing briefly noted Ares’ martial presence, followed by Slings who also highlighted the contrast between the small Delos and the other large, mountainous islands.94 To this we could add the presence of the Telchines themselves, associated with the unstable world prior to Apollo’s birth (Hymn 4. 30–32), just as they appear with negative associations elsewhere in Kallimachos’ poetry (Aitia fr. 75. 64–69 ed. Harder). But we should perhaps consider whether the Galatians also form part of this rhetorical dichotomy. They immediately precede the description of Delos as ‘slender’ (Hymn 4. 191) and their very nature marks them as anti-Kallimachean figures: their warlike associations (Κελτὸν ... Ἄρηα, Hymn 4. 173) and military gear (swords, belts and shield, Hymn 4. 183–84) match the Telchines’ preference for martial subject matter (Aitia fr. 1. 3–5 ed. Harder), just as their monstrously large size and countless numbers (ἰσάριθμοι τείρεσιν, ‘equal in number to the stars’, Hymn 4. 175–76) stand in sharp contrast to Kallimachos’ preference for slenderness and brevity (Aitia fr. 1. 9–12, 23–24 ed. Harder).95 Moreover, they are also described as a foolish tribe (ἄφρονι φύλῳ, Hymn 4. 184), a phrase which not only recalls the irrationality which Aristotle had already associated with peoples of the west (Nichomachean Ethics 3. 1115b) and which characterises the Galatians and Persians elsewhere,96 but also marks them as a foil to Apollonian discipline and order, similar to the ‘ignorant’ Telchines of the Aitia Prologue (νήιδες, Aitia fr. 1. 2 ed. Harder).97 Within the poem, therefore, the Galatians fit into a larger cosmic pattern which sets harmonious Kallimachean poetic concord and Ptolemaic political harmony, both centred on the island of Delos, against the discord of war and barbarians. In this respect, the hymn’s metapoetic dichotomy is very similar to that identified by Ambühl in the Aitia Prologue, where the equation of the 94 Ares: Bing 1988, 122–24; Slings 2004, 292–93. Island contrast: Slings 2004, 287–90. Cf. Stephens 2015, 189–90, who notes how Hera is figured as a ‘braying’ enemy (ἐπεβρωμᾶτο, Kallimachos Hymn 4. 56) like the Telchines of the Aitia Prologue (fr. 1. 30–31 ed. Harder). 95 For the Galatians’ size, see, for example, Pausanias 10. 20. 7: ‘The Keltoi as a race are far taller than any other people.’ On the issues at stake in the Aitia Prologue, see Harder 2012 II, 6–87, especially 6–11. 96 See SH 958. 9 and n. 33 above. 97 In this regard, it might be significant that the Telchines themselves are also called a ‘tribe’ in the Aitia Prologue (φῦλον α[, Aitia fr. 1. 7 ed. Harder; cf. ἄφρονι φύλῳ, Kallimachos Hymn 4. 184). Of course, ἄφρον will not fit metrically into the lacuna at the end of the Prologue’s line (the closest parallel among current suggestions is Wilamowitz’s ἄ[μουσον], apud Maas 1928, 130), but both the Telchines and Galatians are clearly presented as combative bands of people. The noun only occurs once elsewhere in Kallimachos’ extant work (Aitia fr. 75. 51 ed. Harder).

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Telchines with braying donkeys (an animal sacred to Seth) is opposed by the Apollonian and Kallimachean cicada.98 In our Hymn, the Galatians can similarly be read as a partial allegory of the Telchines’ lack of sophistication and culture. In the complex web of Kallimachos’ poetry, the Galatians are not only represented through the standard analogies with other barbaric forces (both Greek and Egyptian), but also serve allegorically as a foil for Kallimachos’ poetic principles. COLLAPSING THE OPPOSITION: ANTIOCHOS’ ELEPHANT BATTLE AND LUKIAN’S ZEUXIS Having explored the various means by which Hellenistic kings, cities and poets mapped their victories over the Galatians onto a recurring Greekbarbarian dichotomy, we should finally ask how Seleukid ideology might fit into this picture. No Seleukid treatment of the Galatian invasion survives, yet we know that at least one existed, since the Suda (σ 443) claims that the otherwise unknown Simonides of Magnesia wrote an epic poem on Antiochos I’s ‘Elephant Victory’ of around 275/68 BC (SH 723 = BNJ 163 T 1), the same battle which Lukian narrated several centuries later in one of his ‘preliminary chats’ (prolaliai), the Zeuxis or Antiochos.99 Beyond these traces, however, there is no other certain mention of the event (except perhaps for passing references in Appian’s Syriake100 and Lukian’s A Slip of the Tongue in Greeting).101 The only other hints of the victory come in the form of terracotta figurines from Myrina which depict an elephant trampling a warrior whose oval shield

98 Ambühl 1995, 211; cf. Harder 2003 on the Aitia’s interest in the development of civilisation and order. 99 The date and context of the battle are contested, as are Simonides’ date and the identity of ‘Antiochos’. I follow Ceccarelli 2008 in regarding the poet as a contemporary of Antiochos III who celebrated the achievements of Antiochos I, thereby contributing to the legitimising construction of a ‘Seleukid past’ (cf. Cameron 1995, 284–85; Primo 2009, 87–88; Visscher 2020, 162–67). For alternative views, see Coşkun 2012, 59–60, 67–68; Ryan 2020. 100 Appian Syriake 65. 343: ‘[Antiochos I] who was even hailed “Saviour” after driving out the Galatians who had invaded Asia from Europe.’ This probably refers to the ‘Elephant Battle’, but Appian’s failure to mention elephants explicitly leaves some scholars uncertain. For recent views, see Brodersen 1989, 193–96; Tomaschitz 2002, 164–67; Coşkun 2012, 62, n. 17. 101 Lukian A Slip of the Tongue in Greeting 9: ‘When Antiochos Soter was about to engage the Galatians, he dreamed that Alexander stood over him and instructed him to give the army the password “Health”; and it was with this word that he won that (ἐκείνην) extraordinary victory.’ As with Appian, there is no explicit mention of elephants, but the use of the demonstrative ἐκείνην seems to imply a specific well-known success, presumably our ‘Elephant Battle’. For other literary sources that have on occasion been linked to the battle, see Brodersen 1989, 196– 97; Primo 2009, 256, n. 335.

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and thick mane of hair mark him as a Galatian.102 From what survives, however, we can still gain some understanding of how the Seleukids’ clashes with the Galatians were represented and what analogies, if any, they employed. To do so, let us first examine Lukian’s narration of the event, before considering his potential sources and the significance of his narrative. Lukian’s Zeuxis Lukian’s account of the ‘Elephant Victory’ occurs in the second half of the Zeuxis (8–11), an introductory piece on the topic of innovation.103 The first half uses the example of a painting by Zeuxis whose novelty has distracted audiences from its technical accomplishments, just as Lukian’s innovations (he fears) have distracted his audiences from his true skill. The second half recounts Antiochos’ battle with the Galatians and the king’s reliance on a new military stratagem: the deployment of war elephants. Lukian begins by contrasting the well-prepared Galatian force and Antiochos’ hastily prepared troops. While the former comprised a 24-deep phalanx, 20,000 cavalry, 80 scythed chariots and 160 ordinary war chariots, Antiochos had a small force, largely skirmishers and light-armed troops, half of whom lacked defensive armour. The king was thus disposed to negotiate rather than fight (Zeuxis 8). However, Theodotas of Rhodes advised Antiochos to employ his sixteen elephants as a surprise weapon, concealing them before the engagement and sending them against the Galatian cavalry to frighten the horses into trampling the Galatian infantry (Zeuxis 9). The king did exactly this, and since the Galatians and their horses had never seen an elephant before, they panicked, causing chaos on the battlefield (Zeuxis 10). Most of the Galatians were killed or captured, while Antiochos’ troops sang the Paean and proclaimed him kallinikos. Yet the king, in tears, was ashamed that their victory had relied on sixteen beasts, and ordered that only an elephant be carved on the trophy (Zeuxis 11). Notably, this account does not stress the significance of the Galatians as Antiochos’ opponents, except for the fact that they are a mighty obstacle to overcome. Rather than emphasising their barbaric ferocity, Lukian instead 102 S. Reinach and Pottier 1885, pl. XI. The connection of these figurines with the ‘Elephant Battle’ seems likely, although Coşkun (per litteras) advises some caution given the widespread nature of elephant representations in the Seleukid kingdom (see Kosmin 2014a, 1–3) and of Galatian defeats throughout the Hellenistic world. The presence of the mahout and trampled Galatian also indicates that the terracottas cannot be a precise reproduction of the trophy mentioned by Lukian, which only included an elephant (Zeuxis 11): cf. Coşkun 2012, 65. 103 On Lukian’s prolaliai, see Branham 1985; Nesselrath 1990; Billault 2006.

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focuses on their military strength (ἀλκίμους, καρτερῶς, Zeuxis 8) and large numbers (πλήθει παμπόλλους, Zeuxis 8). Unlike Attalid, Aitolian and Ptolemaic propaganda, therefore, Lukian’s account of Antiochos I’s victory does not subscribe to the dichotomies that we have explored above; it lacks any connection to the larger mythico-historical pattern, except perhaps for the passing mention of the typically Persian scythed chariot. Moreover, Antiochos’ desire for nothing but an elephant on his trophy contrasts with the prominence of defeated Galatians in Attalid monuments. One could perhaps ascribe these oddities to Lukian’s rhetoric, with its emphasis on novelty. However, Koehn has regarded the lack of focus on the Galatians as an indication that Antiochos was not interested in exploiting his Galatian victory in the same manner as his rivals.104 If he is right, we should ask why this might be. But we must first assess the reliability and possible origins of Lukian’s account. Lukian’s Reliability and Source(s)? Lukian’s description of the ‘Elephant Battle’ has often been treated with scepticism by scholars who question its historical accuracy and deem his account ‘clearly largely fantastic’ and ‘höchst misstrauisch’, its details ‘worthless rhetoric’ and ‘unglaubwürdig’.105 Although Lukian has found occasional defenders,106 recent voices have added to the chorus of doubt.107 Critics highlight, for example, the apparently high number of Galatian warriors, which drastically exceeds Livy’s total of the 20,000 Galatians who crossed into Asia Minor in 278 BC (38. 16. 9), and ask why Antiochos would have risked his life and realm in facing them with such a small force of his own. The Galatians’ presentation as a hybrid foe also attracts attention, the combination of the Greek phalanx technique, Persian scythed chariot and Galatian cavalry deemed a Lukianic invention. Others query the claim that the Galatians had never seen an elephant before, despite the fact that some Galatians are said to have encountered at least one elephant when facing Ptolemy Keraunos (Memnon of Herakleia, BNJ 434 F 1. 8. 8),108 while MacLeod questions the mention of Theodotas of Rhodes, which he believes ‘looks suspiciously like a mistake’ 104

Koehn 2007, 119–22. Mitchell 1993, 18, n. 67; Stähelin 1907, 12, n. 2; Tarn 1926, 157; Tomaschitz 2002, 165, n. 683. 106 Above all, Bar-Kochva 1973, 2–3; cf. Scullard 1974, 122: ‘his outline of the battle may well have a good pedigree’. 107 Especially Coşkun 2011, 89–95; 2012, 62–65. 108 Though we may doubt Memnon’s claim that Ptolemy Keraunos rode an elephant against the Galatians: this detail is absent from all other accounts of his death (Justin 24. 5. 6; Pausanias 1. 16. 2, 10. 19. 7; Diodoros 22. 3. 2) and Coşkun has plausibly suggested (per litteras) that it is 105

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for Theodotos of Aitolia, a general of Antiochos III involved in the capture of Sardeis (Polybios 7. 15–18).109 Given that Lukian is fond of fantastical elements in his battle descriptions, and has elsewhere been treated cautiously as a historical source,110 it may seem that his account is too inaccurate to inform us about anything other than his own fertile imagination. Tangled up in this argument, however, are two interrelated but ultimately distinct issues: the degree of the account’s historicity, and the degree of Lukianic invention. Although the first is not my principal concern here, it is still worth stressing that many elements in Lukian’s account are not as implausible as they are often made out to be. The Galatians’ numbers, although high, are not as incredible as they might at first seem: Livy’s total of 20,000 has been questioned by modern scholars,111 so should not be used as the objective criterion against which to judge Lukian’s figure; and indeed, when compared with the numbers of Galatians recorded in mainland Greece (for example, Pausanias’ 152,000 infantry and 20,400 cavalry: 10. 19. 9),112 Lukian’s figures seem less extraordinary, especially if we imagine more Galatians crossing to Asia Minor after the first batch mentioned by Livy. The mis-conceptualisation of a barbaric force as an ordered phalanx, moreover, finds a parallel not only in Kallimachos’ Hymn to Delos (φάλαγγας, Hymn 4. 181), but also in Caesar’s account of the Germans (Germani celeriter ex consuetudine sua phalange facta, Gallic War 1. 52), while it is worth stressing that the Galatians were not a uniform, homogeneous mass, so those who faced Antiochos were not necessarily the same as those who had previously faced Ptolemy Keraunos’ elephant (if it existed: n. 108). Even if they were, however, facing one elephant is very different to a squadron of sixteen. The insufficient size and preparation of Antiochos’ army could be explained by the revolt he suffered in Syria after his succession (cf. OGIS 219), while the Theodotos mentioned by Polybios need not preclude the existence of a namesake under Antiochos I. Indeed, we have epigraphic evidence that the name Theodotos or Theodotas was connected with Rhodes from the 4th century.113 Alongside the other historically accurate

a fabrication, reflecting a Seleukid source’s moralising construction of Keraunos as a tyrant and anti-Antiochos figure. 109 Macleod 1991, 281. 110 Anderson 1976, 36–39; Borg 2004. 111 Darbyshire et al. 2000, 78. 112 Mitchell (1993, 14–15) notes that ‘These figures are high but not necessarily far from the truth.’ Cf. Diodoros 22. 9. 1 (150,000 infantry, 10,000 cavalry, 2000 wagons, alongside camp followers and traders) and Justin 25. 1 (15,000 infantry, 3000 cavalry). 113 Bradeen 1974, no. 651 (4th century BC); ID 380, 385, 439, 442 (ca. 198–179 BC); ID 461 (ca. 169 BC); ID 421 (ca. 190 BC); cf. LGPN.

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details noted by Bar-Kochva,114 the majority of Lukian’s account thus seems historically plausible. The most suspect elements remain the size of the Galatian force and their hybridity. As for the second issue, the degree of Lukianic invention, there is good reason to think that Lukian is largely drawing his account from some other source. It is unlikely on both historical and literary grounds that the account is Lukian’s complete invention, given the Suda’s mention of Simonides’ epic and the Myrina terracottas’ apparent allusion to the same event. Moreover, the λέγεται (‘it is said’, Zeuxis 8) and ὥς φασιν (‘so they say’, Zeuxis 11) which frame his entire account seem to acknowledge some debt to a pre-existing tradition in the manner of ‘Alexandrian footnotes’.115 Indeed, the passing mention of Antiochos’ battle in A Slip of the Tongue in Greeting 9 suggests that Lukian expected his audience to be familiar with the topic, while Nesselrath has noted how the story does not fit precisely with its broader rhetorical context in the Zeuxis.116 This suggests that it was not merely invented for this occasion. Lukian’s other treatments of Seleukid history reinforce this impression: the only other Seleukid episode in the Lukianic corpus for which we have any other evidence, the romance between Antiochos and Stratonike (On the Syrian Goddess 17–18), has also plausibly been connected to earlier sources,117 and its general fidelity to these is suggested by the fact that its details are ‘all attested in other versions’.118 Given such behaviour elsewhere, we would naturally expect at least the basics of Lukian’s account in the Zeuxis to reflect the details of a larger tradition. 114

Bar-Kochva 1973, 2–3, noting the number of elephants, the Galatians’ use of cuirasses and two-horse chariots, as well as the Seleukid battle tactics. 115 For the ‘Alexandrian footnote’, see Hinds 1998, 1–3; Nelson forthcoming. Admittedly, such phrases may also conceal innovations (see Horsfall 1990, 55–59; 2016, 127–31), but other Lukianic examples clearly do point to earlier literature: for example, Dialogues of the Sea-Gods 1. 5 on the Cyclops eating strangers (ὥς φασι, cf. Hopkinson 2008, 204: ‘has Doris been reading Homer?’). See also Nigrinus 18 (verbatim quotation of Iliad 11. 164 introduced with φασίν) and On Salaried Posts in Great Houses 1 (echo of Odyssey 9. 14 marked by φασί): cf. BouquiauxSimon 1968, 153–55, 233–34. 116 Nesselrath 1990, 130–31, n. 31. 117 Almagor 2016 connects the tale with Seleukid propaganda: see p. 77, n. 41 for possible Hellenistic sources (Hieronymos, Phylarchos or Duris). The authenticity of On the Syrian Goddess has been questioned (see Lightfoot’s summary: 2003, 184–208), but I am persuaded by arguments for Lukianic authorship. The two other extended treatments of Seleukid history in Lukian are the poetic contest to praise Stratonike’s hair (Essays in Portraiture Defended 5: Nelson 2021) and Stratonike’s relationship with Kombabos (On the Syrian Goddess 19–27). The latter’s debts to Near Eastern traditions and Stratonike’s assimilation with Aphrodite again suggest that Lukian is drawing on Hellenistic sources and (at least indirectly) on the Seleukids’ own propaganda: see Engels and Erickson 2016, 47–59, 63–64. 118 Lightfoot 2003, 377.

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Of course, we cannot expect Lukian to offer us unmediated access to whatever sources he used: his prolaliai were an important site of programmatic self-fashioning, and he would have artfully tailored his material to his literary needs.119 Yet even if nuances might be embellished, it certainly seems, from both the evidence of the text and his other treatments of Seleukid history, that the basics of his account are historically reliable and likely derive from earlier description(s) of the battle. In that case, we are faced with two main alternatives for the account’s origin: (1) that Lukian derived his tale from Simonides of Magnesia’s epic on the subject; or (2) that he used some other, perhaps historiographical, source(s).120 These options are not mutually exclusive, since Lukian may have employed multiple sources, but let us first explore each possibility in turn. Epic/Simonides of Magnesia? As the only other known treatment of the ‘Elephant Battle’, Simonides’ epic recorded in the Suda is a natural candidate for Lukian’s source. Indeed, many modern scholars have proposed that it was, but rarely with any argumentation.121 Some talk vaguely of ‘epic’ elements in Lukian’s account,122 but on closer inspection it is in fact difficult to identify anything that is distinctively ‘epic’. Some words might appear to suggest a poetic source, such as μεγαλωστί (Zeuxis 8), which occurs in traditional epic (Homer Iliad 16. 776, 18. 26; Odyssey 24. 40; Apollonios Rhodios Argonautika 2. 838, 4. 557) and the heavily epicising fragment of Sappho (fr. 44. 18 ed. Voigt); however, it also occurs in Herodotos, Plato and elsewhere in Lukian (for example Essays in Portraiture Defended 19). The compound χαλκοθώρακας (Zeuxis 8) might seem a likelier ‘poetic’ candidate, since it occurs elsewhere only in passages of lyric and tragic poetry, yet its scansion makes it incompatible with epic

119 Branham 1985; Coşkun 2012, 64–65; cf. Billault 2006, 57: Lukian is ‘the main character of his prolalia. He is talking about himself.’ 120 A third option, proposed by A. Reinach (1913, 193–202), is that Lukian was inspired by a fresco of an elephant at Pergamon painted by Pytheas of Boura (Stephanos of Byzantium s.v. βοῦρα). Given the fresco’s Pergamene location, however, a link with Antiochos’ victory seems unlikely. 121 Supporters of the connection include: Wernsdorf 1743, 42–43; T. Reinach 1889, 125–26; A. Reinach 1913, 194; Goukowsky 1972, 490, n. 63; Bar-Kochva 1973, 2; Mitchell 1993, 18; Tomaschitz 2002, 165, n. 684; Barbantani 2002–03, 42; Primo 2009, 256–57; Coşkun 2012, 67, n. 33; Almagor 2019, 101, n. 69. 122 For example, Bar-Kochva 1973, 2; Tomaschitz 2002, 165, n. 684.

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hexameter.123 The closest we in fact come to ‘epic’ in Lukian’s account is the double quotation of the Iliad at the battle’s height: δίφροι δ᾿ ἀνεκυμβαλίαζον (‘the chariots crashed over’, Zeuxis 10 ≈ Iliad 16. 379) κείν᾿ ὄχεα κροτάλιζον (‘they rattled empty chariots’, Zeuxis 10 = Iliad 11. 160)

The first is a slight misquotation from Patroklos’ artisteia in Iliad 16, the latter an exact quotation from Agamemnon’s aristeia in book 11.124 If these epicisms did derive from Simonides’ poem, we could see Antiochos’ victory being assimilated to that of famous epic heroes. Yet this is highly implausible, since the first quotation is explicitly flagged as such by the phrase τὸ τοῦ Ὁμήρου, which suggests that Lukian was drawing directly on Homer’s text, rather than on another epic source, especially given Homer’s central educational role in this period and his prominence throughout Lukian’s work.125 Both quotations, moreover, contain Homeric hapax legomena (ἀνακυμβαλίαζον and κροτάλιζον), the bread-and-butter of Second Sophistic education. There seems little reason, therefore, to support the opinion of most scholars who regard Simonides as the main source for Lukian’s account. Rather, as Bienkowski noted almost a century ago, ‘le langage de Lucien ne trahit pas l’influence d’une œuvre poétique. Il faut supposer par conséquent qu’il s’est inspiré soit d’une source intermédiaire en prose, soit qu’il a changé à dessein la langue poétique de Simonide’.126 Of these alternatives, one cannot deny the possibility of the latter, but there are good reasons for favouring the former. Prose Historian? Many of the features of Lukian’s account are far more evocative of a prose historian’s work than that of a panegyric epicist. The close attention to troop arrangement and numbers in Zeuxis 8 is a common feature of military history,127 and differs from the epic norm. Although the Iliadic ‘Catalogue of Ships’ carefully lists the various Greek contingents, it presents a static scene and is far less concerned with precise numbers and configurations. The transition in 123 Instances of χαλκοθώραξ include Pindar fr. 52b. 1 edd. Snell and Maehler; Bakchylides 11. 123; Sophokles Ajax 179. Though note the comparable Homeric dis legomenon χαλκεοθώρηξ, which occurs at Iliad 4. 448 and 8. 62. 124 Cf. Bouquiaux-Simon 1968, 166 and 153 respectively. 125 See Householder’s statistics on Homer’s dominance in Lukian (1941, 41); BouquiauxSimon 1968, especially the catalogue of Homeric references at 378–411; and Kim 2010. The phrase τὸ τοῦ Ὁμήρου recurs four times in Lukian, including Zeuxis 2; cf. Bouquiaux-Simon 1968, 41–52 for Lukian’s various similar phrases for introducing Homeric citations. 126 Bienkowski 1928, 149. 127 For example, the extensive detail in Diodoros’ description of the Battle of Paraitakene (19. 26–34).

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Theodotas’ advice from indirect to direct speech (Zeuxis 9), moreover, resembles the writing style of a prose historian rather than that of an epicist, while the narrative’s conclusion lacks the eulogistic elements common to panegyric epic. Instead, the final image of a tearful Antiochos (δακρύσας, Zeuxis 11) lamenting his reliance on the sixteen elephants evokes a common motif of Greek (and especially Hellenistic) historiography: the weeping king.128 Although Antiochos is not bemoaning the fate of his defeated opponents, as is usual in such scenes, he still laments the fragility of human success. Of course, these apparently ‘historiographical’ elements could simply reflect Lukian’s adaptations of Simonides’ poem, especially under the influence of Battle Progymnasmata, such as that of Libanios. Libanios’ sample πεζομαχία has a vaguely similar structure to Lukian’s account, including a description of the troop arrangements (1. 5), rout (1. 10–11) and victory celebrations (1. 12).129 Yet the similarities stop there: whereas Lukian spends considerable time on the initial formation of Antiochos’ tactics, with direct speech and specifically named individuals, followed by a more distanced description of the battle as a whole, Libanios’ account shows little interest in preliminary tactics or identifiable individuals and instead plunges his audience into the midst of the carnage with a list of anonymous warriors’ gruesome death wounds (1. 7–9). Although we cannot rule out some Lukianic embellishment, therefore, the nature of the passage strongly recalls that of historiographical prose, which would suggest that Lukian was indebted, at least in part, to an historical source.130 The lack of extant historiographical references to the battle (except Appian’s passing mention at Syriake 65) might challenge this conclusion, but the silence is unsurprising given the fragmented nature of Hellenistic historiography, and it would be easy to posit various possible sources. Pompeius Trogus’ history included ‘how the Gauls entered Asia and waged war with king Antiochos and Bithynia’, which suggests that Antiochos’ battle against the Galatians was part of the larger Hellenistic historiographical tradition.131 One potential source for 128 Hornblower 1981, 104: ‘The victor weeping over the vanquished is a motif of Hellenistic historiography’, citing, for example, Hieronymos of Kardia’s account of Antigonos Gonatas’ tearful reaction when shown Pyrrhos’ head (ἐδάκρυσεν, Plutarch Pyrrhos 34. 4). Also compare Antiochos III’s reaction to the defeat of Achaios (δακρῦσαι, Polybios 8. 20. 9–10). 129 See Gibson 2008, 428–33. 130 An historical source is also suggested by Jacoby in FGH 2 (Zeitgeschichte. D: Kommentar zu Nr. 106–261), 594; Scullard 1974, 122; Primo 2009, 257. 131 Pompeius Trogus, Prologues 25: ut Galli transierunt in Asiam bellumque cum rege Antiocho et Bithunia gesserunt. This is usually taken as a reference to the ‘Elephant Victory’ (Brodersen 1989, 195, n. 12; Tomaschitz 2002, 165, n. 685). For an alternative view, see Coşkun 2012, 61–62, n. 15.

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Trogus (and also Lukian) would be Hieronymos of Kardia, as suggested by Scullard,132 but his Antigonid background would not lead us to expect an account of Antiochos’ military achievement as positive as that in the Zeuxis. We might thus do better to look to the Seleukid court itself, where the Galatians appear to have been a recurring topic of interest: Euphorion calls them Γαιζῆται (‘Land-searchers’) and identifies them by the gold torque around their necks (fr. 42 ed. Lightfoot = fr. 38 CA, p. 37), while Hegesianax is said to have described their visit to Ilion in search of a stronghold (BNJ 45 F 3).133 In such a climate, it would be easy to imagine an historiographical account of the ‘Elephant Battle’ written during Antiochos III’s reign (or perhaps even earlier) as a prose counterpart to Simonides’ epic.134 And if we wanted to identify a potential author, Hegesianax himself would be a plausible candidate.135 A Seleukid source for Lukian, moreover, would also account for his narrative’s remaining historical ‘inaccuracies’: by exaggerating the Galatians’ numbers, hybridity, and thus threat, Antiochos’ subsequent victory would have appeared all the more glorious. Despite our limited evidence, it thus seems likely that the ‘Elephant Battle’ was subjected to historiographical treatment both within and beyond the Seleukid court. Lukian’s account should therefore be traced back at least in part to a prose account of the battle, although the subordinate influence of Simonides’ epic, either directly or via this prose source, still remains possible. Given Lukian’s likely reliance on a prose historian, the absence of analogies in his account could thus perhaps simply be explained as the result of a generic difference between historiographical prose and celebratory verse. Seleukid Ideology: An Orientalising Motif? This ‘generic’ explanation, however, is unlikely to be the whole story. Given that Lukian’s sources must include one, or some combination, of a Seleukid court historian, Simonides’ encomiastic epic and another Hellenistic historian

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Scullard 1974, 122. For Seleukid writers, see Primo 2009, 53–108, especially 90–95 for Hegesianax, and Visscher 2020. If Hegesianax’s treatment of the Galatians occurred in his Troika, it is tempting to speculate whether it involved an analogy between the Trojan War and the Gallic invasion. 134 For Antiochos III’s concern with, and reconstruction of, a legitimising ‘Seleukid past’, cf. Ma 1999, 26–33; Ceccarelli 2008; Visscher 2020, 154–99. On the historiographical focus of court literature under Antiochos III, see also Primo 2009, 24–28; Kosmin 2018, 87–88. 135 Cf. Primo 2009, 95: ‘non può escludersi che Egesianatte, citando le peregrinazioni dei Galati, cogliesse l’occasione per menzionare la vittoria di Antioco Soter contro i Galati nella “battaglia degli elefanti”.’ 133

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(many of whose accounts seem to echo Seleukid propaganda),136 it is worth asking whether Lukian’s tale might also reflect aspects of Seleukid ideology. Antiochos’ victory fits into the common pattern of the intelligent Greek outwitting the barbarian,137 but it is also remarkably similar to an episode in Book 1 of Herodotos’ Histories, in which Kyros defeats Kroisos’ cavalry by exploiting his own novel weapon: camels (Herodotos 1. 80). As in Lukian’s account, this stratagem is prompted by a fear of the enemy’s numbers and cavalry and it is suggested to the king by a subordinate officer (in this case, Harpagos the Mede: 1. 80. 2). Furthermore, it is the unfamiliar sight and smell of the camels which sends the cavalry into disarray (1. 80. 5), just as the sight and sound of the elephants panic the Galatian cavalry in the Zeuxis (10). In both accounts, it is this innovative deployment of an untraditional ‘weapon’ which secures victory. Given such similarities, it is tempting to identify a direct connection between these two passages, Kyros’ former deeds acting as a kind of model and prototype for Antiochos’ own successes.138 However, upon closer inspection, both accounts appear to be individual attestations of a larger pattern in which Eastern forces deploy exotic beasts against their enemy. In Ktesias’ Persika, for example, the Assyrian Queen Semiramis used camels disguised as elephants to terrify the troops of the Indian king Stabrobates. In the adaptation by Diodoros of Sicily, it is the unfamiliar odour of the beasts which sends the Indian cavalry into disarray (2. 19. 3). Elsewhere in Lukian’s works, meanwhile, the Parthians deploy serpents against the Romans (How to Write History 29) and Dionysos routs the Indians and their elephants with his own secret weapon, his maenads (Dionysos 1–4), an ironic reversal of the Zeuxis’ motif: here, the elephants do not rout the enemy, but are routed themselves.139 This theme of terror caused by an unfamiliar beast thus clearly interested Lukian, as he varied and redeployed the motif throughout his work.140 However, the motif’s origins can be traced back at least as far as the 5th century, 136 A principal argument of Primo 2009, for example, in the cases of Nymphis of Herakleia Pontike (pp. 111–12, 116) and Polybios: ‘Polibio sembra aver condensato una fonte apertamente partigiana proveniente dagli ambienti della corte siriaca’ (p. 134). 137 Cf. Hall 1989, 122–23. 138 Cf. Levene 2011, 1–2 (summarising arguments from Levene 2010, 82–163) on how such allusions in historiography invite us ‘to see not merely a relationship between texts, but simultaneously a real-life connection between different events’, with the ‘implication that the later people are actively aware of and responding to the actions of their predecessors’. 139 The irony is heightened by the identical words in which the rout is described in both texts: ἐκκλίναντες/ἐγκλίναντες σὺν οὐδενὶ κόσμῳ ἔφευγον (‘they turned and fled in utter disorder’, Zeuxis 10 = Dionysos 4). 140 See Anderson 1976 on Lukian’s ‘ingenious variations on a handful of themes’ (quotation from p. 1).

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given its occurrence in Ktesias and Herodotos. Indeed, it may also have been exploited by Alexander the Great, who commemorated his victory over Poros’ Indian troops (and 85 elephants) at the Battle of Hydaspes (326 BC) with coins depicting the Macedonian king on horseback attacking a large elephant with two riders (likely Poros and a mahout).141 Most striking, however, is the manner in which this military tactic is repeatedly associated with Eastern peoples and rulers: Parthians, Persians, Assyrians, Indians and the exotic Dionysos. By attributing such a military manoeuvre to Antiochos, Lukian’s account thus appears to present the Seleukid king as the latest in a series of Eastern warriors, assimilating Antiochos’ victory into a common oriental pattern.142 Such a presentation of Antiochos as an eastern warlord is striking and may at first seem incompatible with the Seleukids’ own self-representation. Although they inhabited the former territory of the Achaemenid empire, making such oriental associations natural,143 the Seleukids sometimes appear to have presented themselves as distinctly Greek rulers, just like other Hellenistic kings: not only did they patronise culture and learning like the Ptolemies and Attalids, participating in Greek games, making donations to Panhellenic sanctuaries, and supporting poets and scholars such as Aratos and Euphorion, but they also on occasion presented themselves as specifically ‘anti-Persian kings’, pointedly returning to Miletos and Athens the statues and books which Xerxes had stolen.144 Yet even so, the identities of Hellenistic kings were never monochrome: their self-presentation constantly shifted to blend into local idioms,145 and recent scholarship has highlighted how the Seleukids did in fact interact with eastern traditions. The Seleukid empire’s structural and political continuities with the Achaemenid past have long been noted,146 yet scholars have also 141 Cf. Holt 2003. Alexander admittedly possessed an increasing number of elephants during his reign and became associated with elephants in later Hellenistic iconography, but he never deployed them in battle (cf. Curtius 9. 2. 21). 142 Admittedly, elephants were increasingly deployed in Hellenistic warfare (cf. Pausanias 1. 12. 3; Scullard 1974, 76–145). However, Antiochos’ victory differs from the usual Hellenistic pattern in which both sides employ elephants or the opposition is familiar with elephants and lays traps for them (for example, at Megalopolis and Gaza). The closest parallel is Antigonos’ victory over Alketas in 319 (Diodoros 18. 44–45), yet Antigonos had a numerical advantage and his cavalry, not his elephants, were the decisive factor. 143 Compare the Ptolemaic, Roman and Rhodian polemic discussed earlier at nn. 21–22. 144 Athens: Aulus Gellius 7. 17; Pausanias 1. 8. 5. Miletos: Pausanias 1. 16. 3, 8. 46. 3. See Barbantani 2014 for the Seleukids’ Greekness. 145 Ma 2003, 179–83. Cf. Lightfoot 2003, 390: the Seleukids ‘preferred to present themselves in traditional ways and frameworks that were comprehensible to each local culture’. 146 Briant 1990; Sherwin-White and Kuhrt 1993; Engels 2011; 2017a, especially 23–100; 2017b. For challenges to the significance of these continuities, see Tuplin 2008; 2014; Chrubasik 2016, 239–43.

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begun to stress the Seleukids’ appropriation of Achaemenid and oriental royal iconography in their self-representation. Hoover has demonstrated how Seleukos I’s taurine iconography not only recalls the Greek god Dionysos, but also evokes ‘the context of imperial (Achaemenid) Zoroastrianism and popular Iranian religion’;147 Kosmin has argued that the official discourse of the Seleukid court, reflected in the Ilion decree for Antiochos I (OGIS 219. 2–12), displays the ‘influence of Achaemenid succession traditions’, given the ‘similarity of the decree’s narrative and ideology to the great Behistun inscription of the Persian king Darius I’;148 and multiple scholars have explored how the Seleukid coin type of Apollo seated on the omphalos holding a bow or arrow(s) (introduced by Antiochos I) is situated within an Eastern tradition, following the iconography of Achaemenid Darics and sigloi and anticipating later Arsakid coinage.149 There is a growing body of evidence, therefore, that points to the Seleukids’ active and purposeful exploitation of eastern traditions in their own self-fashioning.150 This appropriation of eastern ideology by Antiochos I is perhaps unsurprising considering his eastern heritage and upbringing (his mother Apama was Iranian and he spent fourteen years in the east as his father’s co-regent). But it is still less so given the fact that 5th-century Athens had already co-opted Persian discourses of luxury and power,151 and even Ptolemaic poetry appears to have exploited elements of Achaemenid ideology.152 Given the likely connection of Lukian’s narrative with Seleukid propaganda via an historian or Simonides, therefore, it seems tempting to trace this orientalising presentation of the ‘Elephant Victory’ back to the Seleukids themselves,153 as part of a larger cultural policy by which they cast themselves as the true heirs not only of Alexander, but also of Eastern rulers, especially the Achaemenids.154 The 147

Hoover 2011, 197. Kosmin 2014a, 86. 149 Iossif 2011; Erickson and Wright 2011. 150 See also Kosmin 2014b and K. Stevens 2014 on Antiochos I’s Borsippa Cylinder, and Erickson 2019 on Seleukid coinage. 151 Miller 1997, especially 218–42 on Perikles’ Odeon. 152 See Petrovic 2014 on how the emphasis in Poseidippos’ Lithika on subject lands’ raw materials coming to Egypt echoes Persian imperial ideology. One could challenge her thesis by claiming that this is a universal imperial topos and not distinctively Achaemenid, but the prominence of Persia in the poems is striking: five of the 19 stones mentioned come from Persia, while Darius appears twice (4. 2, 8. 3 edd. Austin and Bastianini), alongside Mandene (4. 6). Could Poseidippos be self-consciously highlighting the Ptolemies’ Achaemenid debt? 153 It is worth stressing that this orientalising is a core element of the episode, based on Antiochos’ use of elephants, and thus cannot merely be attributed to Lukian’s embellishment of his sources. 154 Cf. Kosmin 2014a, 124–25 on how the Seleukids assimilated their territory to the Greek concept of ‘Asia’, with all its Achaemenid associations. This policy might also be reflected 148

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frequent denigration of the Seleukids as ‘New Persians’ in Ptolemaic and other sources would then not be a spiteful invention, as often believed, but rather a response to and subversion of the Seleukids’ own self-presentation.155 In that case, Lukian’s failure to demonise the Galatians and Antiochos’ choice of an elephant trophy would reflect key aspects of the Seleukid king’s self-presentation. As the geographical heir of the Achaemenid Great King, Antiochos could not simply cast the Galatians as barbaric Persian figures. Instead, on the evidence of Lukian, he appears to have exploited his victory over them to emphasise his own cultural flexibility, as a Greek king who had also mastered the military tactics of the East. The stark dichotomy constructed and upheld by other kings and cities thus seems to have collapsed: Antiochos was rather the ideal blend of East and West, the true successor to both Alexander the Great and the Achaemenid Great King.156 CONCLUSION Hellenistic kings and cities conceptualised their clashes with the Galatians through a variety of analogies, ranging from the distant world of myth to the historical recent past. In commemorative art and literature, the Galatians were compared to numerous predecessors, including the Amazons, Titans, Giants, Typhonians and – above all – the Persians. Yet in Alexandrian poetry, they could also be employed allegorically as the negative side of a larger metapoetic dichotomy, while in a Seleukid context the traditional antithesis appears to have collapsed, resulting in Antiochos I’s representation as a modern-day Graeco-oriental monarch. As we have seen, there had already been a long tradition of employing such analogies, especially in 5th-century Athens, where the Persian Wars had been indirectly in Polybios 7. 15–18, where Antiochos III’s sacking of Sardis follows the same pattern as Kyros’ defeat of the identical city in the Herodotean episode we were discussing above (1. 84). In both instances, a subordinate soldier spots an unguarded wall segment, which provides access to the city (Polybios 7. 15. 2–10; Herodotos 1. 84. 2–4). Perhaps also significant is the fact that the Seleukids attack the ‘Persian Gate’ (Polybios 7. 17. 6), a name which potentially recalls Kyros’ former attack on the city. I thank Boris Chrubasik for drawing my attention to this parallel. 155 Cf. Almagor 2019, 94–98. For a similar subversion of Seleukid ideology, compare Kosmin’s suggestion (2014a, 218) that Jewish sources’ ‘hostile assimilation of Antiochos IV to Nebuchadnezzar II’ might actually reinterpret a ‘positive identification promoted by the Seleucid court’. 156 Indeed, if Alexander’s dream appearance in Lukian’s A Slip of the Tongue in Greeting (see above, n. 101) can be traced back to Seleukid propaganda surrounding the ‘Elephant Battle’, the Seleukids would also appear to have stressed Alexander’s legitimising precedent in their commemoration of the victory.

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celebrated with repeated comparisons to the Trojan Wars. Yet with both Hellenistic approaches, perhaps the most immediate inspiration came from Alexander the Great. Not only was he the great victor over the Persians (the Πέρσαισι βαρὺς θεός, Theokritos Idyll 17. 19) and apparently already connected with the Gigantomachy,157 but he was also the first man to rule both East and West, a key model for the Seleukids’ cultural hybridity. The Galatian Wars were thus memorialised as the latest chapter in the long clash between chaos and order, and they could even be recalled centuries later as a display of Greekness: in threatening potential plunderers of his sanctuarytomb with the punishment suffered by the Galatians at Delphi, the Late Hellenistic king Antiochos I of Kommagene subscribed to the same chain of analogies.158 Ultimately, however, it was the Persian Wars that would live longest in the Greek cultural memory, recurring as a parallel for contemporary events in encomia of even the 5th and 6th centuries AD.159 The Galatians were thus eventually consumed by the larger analogical dichotomy of which they had formed a part, as their menace and threat became consigned to the annals of history.

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Stewart, A.F. 1993: ‘Narration and Allusion in the Hellenistic Baroque’. In Holliday, P.J. (ed.), Narrative and Event in Ancient Art (Cambridge), 130–74. —. 2000: ‘Pergamo ara marmorea magna: on the Date, Reconstruction, and Functions of the Great Altar of Pergamon’. In de Grummond and Ridgway 2000, 32–57. —. 2004: Attalos, Athens, and the Akropolis: The Pergamene ‘Little Barbarians’ and Their Roman and Renaissance Legacy (Cambridge). Strobel, K. 1991: ‘Die Galater im hellenistischen Kleinasien: historische Aspekte einer keltischen Staatenbildung’. In Seibert, J. (ed.), Hellenistische Studien: Gedenkschrift für Hermann Bengtson (Münchener Arbeiten zur alten Geschichte 5) (Munich), 101–34. —. 1994: ‘Keltensieg und Galatersieger. Die Funktionalisierung eines historischen Phänomens als politischer Mythos der hellenistischen Welt’. In Schwertheim, E. (ed.), Forschungen in Galatien (AMS 12) (Bonn), 67–96. —. 1996: Die Galater. I: Geschichte und Eigenart der keltischen Staatenbildung auf dem Boden des hellenistischen Kleinasien (Untersuchungen zur Geschichte und historischen Geographie des hellenistischen und römischen Kleinasien 1) (Berlin). Strootman, R. 2005: ‘Kings against Celts: Deliverance from Barbarians as a Theme in Hellenistic Royal Propaganda’. In Enenkel, K.A.E. and Pfeijffer, I.L. (eds.), The Manipulative Mode: Political Propaganda in Antiquity. A Collection of Case Studies (Mnemosyne Suppl. 261) (Leiden/Boston), 101–41. —. 2010: ‘Literature and the Kings’. In Clauss, J.J. and Cuypers, M. (eds.), A Companion to Hellenistic Literature (Oxford/Malden, MA), 30–45. Tarn, W.W. 1926: ‘The First Syrian War’. Journal of Hellenic Studies 46, 155–62. Tomaschitz, K. 2002: Die Wanderungen der Kelten in der antiken literarischen Überlieferung (Mitteilungen der Prähistorischen Kommission der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 47) (Vienna). Tuplin, C.J. 2008: ‘The Seleucids and Their Achaemenid Predecessors: a Persian Inheritance?’. In Darbandi, S.M.R. and Zournatzi, A. (eds.), Ancient Greece and Ancient Iran: Cross-Cultural Encounters (1st International Conference, Athens, 11–13 November 2006) (Athens), 109–36. —. 2014: ‘The Military Dimension of Hellenistic Kingship: an Achaemenid Inheritance?’. In Hoffman, F. and Schmidt, K.S. (eds.), Orient und Okzident in hellenistischer Zeit (Beiträge zur Tagung ‘Orient und Okzident – Antagonismus oder Konstrukt? Machtstrukturen, Ideologien und Kulturtransfer in hellenistischer Zeit’, Würzburg 10.–13. April 2008) (Vaterstetten), 245–76. Ukleja, K. 2005: Der Delos-Hymnus des Kallimachos innerhalb seines Hymnensextetts (Orbis antiquus 39) (Münster). Usener, H. 1874: ‘Ein Epigramm von Knidos’. Rheinisches Museum 29, 25–50. Vian, F. 1952a: La guerre des Géants: Le mythe avant l’époque hellénistique (Études et commentaires 11) (Paris). —. 1952b: ‘La guerre des Géants devant les penseurs de l’antiquité’. Revue des Études Grecques 65, 1–39. —. 1988: ‘Gigantes’. LIMC IV.1, 191–270; 2, 108–58. Visscher, M.S. 2017: ‘Imperial Asia: Past and Present in Callimachus’ Lock of Berenike’. In Harder, M.A., Regtuit, R.F. and Wakker, G.C. (eds.), Past and Present in Hellenistic Poetry (Hellenistica Groningana 21) (Leuven/Paris/Bristol, CT), 211–32.

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—. 2020: Beyond Alexandria: Literature and Empire in the Seleucid World (Oxford). Vlassopoulos, K. 2013: Greeks and Barbarians (Cambridge). Voigt, E.-M. (ed.) 1971: Sappho et Alcaeus (Amsterdam). Webster, T.B.L. 1964: Hellenistic Poetry and Art (London). Wernsdorf, M.G. 1743: De republica Galatarum: liber singularis in quo cum gentis origo, status regiminis, mores et res gestae fide scriptorum et numismatum antiquorum exponuntur tum Galatiae regio describitur adjecta eiusdem tabula geographica cum indice locupletissimo (Nuremberg). West, M.L. 1989; 1992: Iambi et elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum cantati, 2 vols. (Oxford). Wills, J. 1996: Repetition in Latin Poetry: Figures of Allusion (Oxford). Yfantidis, K. 1993: ‘Beobachtungen an zwei pergamenischen Köpfen in Schloss Fasanerie bei Fulda’. AM 108, 225–38. Zanker, G. 1999: ‘Metapoetics, or Leaving the Poetry Behind’ [= review of Seiler 1997]. Classical Review 49, 13–15.

WHEN GALATIANS ATTACK: A RE-EVALUATION OF THE IMPACT OF THE GALATIANS ON THE INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS OF 3RD-CENTURY HELLENISTIC ASIA MINOR*

William D. BURGHART

Abstract ‘When Galatians Attack’ challenges scholarly assertions that the Galatians were subordinate actors in the interstate relations of 3rd-century BC Hellenistic Asia Minor. Scholars such as Karl Strobel and Stephen Mitchell present the Galatians as dependents of the surrounding kingdoms in part due to Galatian mercenary service in Hellenistic armies. Mitchell even argues that the Galatians could have been easily removed from Asia Minor if the neighbouring kingdoms had desired. In contrast, this paper argues that the Galatians themselves used the conflicts of Asia Minor to further their own goals of obtaining loot and land. Further, the conflicts of 3rd-century Asia Minor ensured Galatian autonomy as the continual fighting meant that few kingdoms could mobilise the resources required to campaign against the Galatians. Hellenistic victories that scholars point to as being decisive were defensive in nature and do not demonstrate that the kingdoms could conquer Galatia. Thus, Galatians bands were independent actors who engaged in the affairs of Asia Minor for their own profit, and they were protected by those same conflicts.

IN

INTRODUCTION: THE GALATIANS EARLY-HELLENISTIC ASIA MINOR

This paper will argue that the continual conflicts of 3rd-century BC Asia Minor ensured the independence of the Galatian tribes from the surrounding Hellenistic powers. When their forebears, descendants of Gallic war bands from the Balkans, crossed the Hellespont into Asia Minor in 278/7 BC, they

* I would like to thank my doctoral advisor Arthur Eckstein for his assistance with the initial paper submission for the 2014 conference; the Graduate School at the University of Maryland, College Park, for providing travel funds to attend the conference; the conference participants for their helpful comments and suggestions; and Dr Altay Coşkun for his patience and assistance in the drafting of this chapter.

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entered a region already filled with conflict as various kingdoms and cities sought independence from the Seleukid kings or power over each other. The Galatians voluntarily participated in these wars to pursue their own agenda of obtaining land and loot, and as a result they helped perpetuate them. The constant struggles amongst Hellenistic powers, in turn, protected the autonomy of the Galatian tribes because the surrounding powers were too distracted to assemble the resources necessary to conquer Galatia. Hellenistic kings could repulse Galatian attacks, but when it came to controlling them, the kings chose diplomacy over conquest. Scholarly evaluations of the Galatians debate their agency in the international affairs of 3rd-century Asia Minor. Karl Strobel and Stephen Mitchell present the Galatians as autonomous, but ultimately subordinate to the surrounding Hellenistic kingdoms. Altay Coşkun rejects these opinions and contends that some of the Galatian tribes, specifically the Tolistobogioi, were independent at least in the 3rd century BC.1 This paper supports Coşkun in asserting Galatian independence. First, it will review the scholarship on the role the Galatians played in the affairs of 3rdcentury BC Asia Minor. Second, it will argue that the Galatians participated in the conflicts of Anatolia during that time for their own purposes and that their employment is not proof of subordination as Mitchell and Strobel assert. Third, it will show that the same conflicts prevented the Hellenistic kingdoms from completely subduing the Galatians. Campaigning against the Galatians was prohibitively difficult, and victories over the Galatians that scholars point to as being decisive in curbing Galatian power were defensive in nature. They do not indicate that Hellenistic kingdoms could eliminate the Galatians from Anatolia. Thus, the wars of 3rd-century Asia Minor ensured Galatian independence as opposed to subjugating them to the whims of Hellenistic rulers. Before beginning, I will note that while I use the term Galatians throughout the paper, I do not mean to imply that the Galatians acted as a cohesive unit or functioned as a single geo-political entity in the 3rd century BC. Even before crossing into Asia Minor, the Gauls were divided into numerous smaller groups that acted independently of each other; after entering Asia Minor they remained divided until the 1st century BC. I use the term Galatians to indicate when a group of Celts took action in Asia Minor; I am not suggesting that all the Celtic-speaking people of Asia Minor acted in unison.2

1 2

Strobel 1994, 76; Mitchell 2003, 289; Coşkun 2011, 102. Coşkun 2011, 86.

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SCHOLARSHIP Scholars have long debated the relationship that the Galatians had with the rest of Hellenistic Asia Minor. As early as Theodor Mommsen and continuing into the 20th century, scholars characterised the Galatians as brigands and raiders who terrorised their neighbours and then retreated into their mountain fortresses.3 They lived in primitive communities, and ‘Galatia’, i.e. the northwestern stretches of Central Anatolia, was merely the area where they stored their plunder and women.4 According to such views, the Galatians were outside of the control of the Hellenistic kingdoms, but they were not significant actors in the affairs of Asia Minor either. In the 1990s, Strobel argued against such earlier depictions of the Galatians and touted the dynamic nature of Gallic society, but in the process he minimised their agency in the affairs of 3rd-century Asia Minor. In his 1994 article, he challenged the representation of the Galatians as plunderers in the literary sources as propaganda, and he presents them as being tools in the greater politics of Hellenistic Asia Minor. For Strobel, they were not the terror of the Hellenistic world as the sources portray them; instead, they were warriors employed by Hellenistic monarchs, who were also a convenient source of propaganda to reinforce Greek support for the regimes. The Gallic movement into Asia Minor was the result of the actions of Nikomedes of Bithynia, who brought the first war bands over in 278/7 BC to help him in his war against his brother Zipoitas. Afterwards, other kings in Asia Minor realised their effectiveness and began to employ them as well. These same kings who needed Galatian assistance on the battlefield also publicised their victories over the Celts as the victory of civilisation over the forces of chaos. Strobel bases part of his analysis on Polybios’ account of the Aigosagai, a Gallic tribe brought over by Attalos I in 218 BC to help in his war against the Seleukid pretender Achaios (Polybios 5. 78, 111).5 For Strobel, then, the Galatians were instruments in the war machines and propaganda campaigns of the Hellenistic kingdoms, not actors in their own right.

3 Mommsen 1884, 321 began the trend, but it became established through Stähelin 1907. And for surveys, see Strobel 1994, 68; Darbyshire et al. 2000, 75. 4 Jones 1971, 121; Hansen 1971, 31. 5 Strobel 1994, 75–76; 1996, 241–43. Following up on Strobel’s work, López-Sánchez 2018, 196–97 argues that the Galatian attack on Macedon in 279 BC was not caused by a Celtic migration, but rather happened as a result of Gallic mercenaries attacking Macedon after a dispute over pay for their service in the Macedonian civil war initiated by Ptolemy Keraunos in 280 BC. On the notion of Galatian victory, also see Coşkun (Chapter 1) and Kosmetatou (Chapter 4) in this volume.

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Similarly, Mitchell presents the Galatians as autonomous but subordinate actors to the surrounding Hellenistic kingdoms. In his 1993 work, Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods, he characterises the Galatians as largely autonomous from the surrounding kingdoms. After they had initially terrorised Asia Minor, Hellenistic kings pushed them into the territory that became known as Galatia through several military victories, such as Antiochos’ victory in the ‘Elephant Battle’ or the victories of Attalos I of Pergamon. Within Galatia, the Celts remained independent.6 In his 2003 chapter ‘The Galatians: Representations and Reality’ in A Companion to the Hellenistic World, Mitchell declares that, while the Galatians acted on their own accord, their survival depended on the good graces of the surrounding kingdoms. According to him, it was well within the ability of the neighbouring Hellenistic kingdoms to eradicate the Galatians, but the kingdoms refused to do so because the invaders were a convenient source of mercenaries. His evidence is Prusias of Bithynia’s annihilation of the Aigosagai mercenaries mentioned above.7 So, Mitchell recognises the military ability of the Galatians, but he still portrays their survival as dependent on the whims of their neighbours. Coşkun challenges Strobel’s and Mitchell’s characterisation of the Galatians as subordinate to other Hellenistic powers. In his chapter ‘Galatians and Seleucids: A Century of Conflict and Cooperation’ in Seleucid Dissolution: The Sinking of the Anchor, he emphasises the autonomy of the Galatians. He rejects Strobel’s and Mitchell’s assertions that they became dependents of the Seleukids after Antiochos I’s ‘Elephant Victory’. The battle was a Seleukid victory over some of the Celtic groups that had crossed into Asia Minor, but there is not enough evidence to justify the claim that the Galatians became subjects of the Seleukids as a result of the battle. He concedes that they were used as mercenaries and allies in Hellenistic armies, but he asserts that they also acted independently from other kingdoms in the 3rd century BC. For Coşkun, Memnon’s history indicates Galatian autonomy when it records that they attacked the territory of Herakleia after failing to obtain adequate loot from a campaign for Ziaelas, a contender for the throne of Bithynia.8 Scholarship, thus, continues to debate the role that the Galatians played in the affairs of 3rd-century BC Asia Minor.

6

Mitchell 1993, 18–22. Mitchell 2003, 289. 8 Coşkun 2011, 86, 95–96; 2012, 58–61; also see Coşkun 2019 and his Chapter 1 in this volume, pp. 36–37. 7

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OF

The literary sources portray the Galatian tribes as taking advantage of 3rdcentury conflicts in Asia Minor to accomplish their own goals of obtaining land and plunder. To start, in the descriptions of their migration into Asia Minor, classical authors portray the Celts as seeking for a way to cross the Hellespont and that they found the means through Nikomedes. Some scholars, including Paul Moraux, Karl Strobel and Stephen Mitchell, emphasise Nikomedes’ role in bringing the Galatians into Asia Minor, and thus credit Nikomedes for introducing them to the territory. In contrast, both John Briscoe and Kurt Tomaschitz assert that Livy and Memnon accurately present the Galatians as having an active role in crossing the Hellespont and Bosporus. I agree that the kings wanted to bring the Galatians over, but I will also highlight their agency in wishing to cross.9 Memnon and Livy provide the most extensive accounts on how the Galatians arrived in Asia in 278/7 BC; both say that they were driven by a desire for wealth and that Nikomedes offered to assist them (Livy 38. 16. 1; Memnon 13. 11. 4). In the fragments of Memnon, the ancestors of the Galatians wanted to cross the Hellespont, but they were prevented by the city of Byzantion (13. 11. 2). While they were attacking the city of Byzantion, Nikomedes offered to help them cross into Asia Minor in return for service in his army (13. 11. 2–3). According to Livy, stories about the wealth of Asia Minor inspired the Galatians to seek passage across the Bosporus (38. 16. 4). Livy adds that the Galatians entered into negotiations with an unnamed Macedonian governor in order to make the passage before they gained the assistance of Nikomedes (16. 5). Some of them even crossed before Nikomedes transported the rest when a leader named Lutarius stole a few ships from Macedonian agents and used them to ferry his warriors to Asia Minor (16. 6). The Celts, then, were not passive agents brought over by a Hellenistic monarch; they wanted to cross into Asia Minor, and some of them found the means through Nikomedes. After crossing, the Galatians raided up and down the western coast of Asia Minor before settling the land that became known as Galatia. Strobel and Mitchell treat the initial Galatian settlement as a gift from Nikomedes and other kings for military service, but both Greek and Roman authors suggest a more nuanced picture.10 Greek writers assert that the Galatians took the

9 Pace Moraux 1957; Strobel 1994, 76; 1996, 242; 2002, 5; Mitchell 2003, 288; Tomaschitz 2002, 157; Briscoe 2008, 72. 10 Strobel 2002, 5; Mitchell 2003, 288.

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territory that became known as Galatia with the permission of the local kings. Memnon says that after helping Nikomedes conquer Bithynia, the invaders moved into territory that they chose for themselves, which became known as Galatia (Memnon 13. 11. 6). Strabo states that after attacking territories controlled by Attalos and Nikomedes, the Galatians took (elabon) the land, which the kings voluntarily ceded, that would become Galatia (12. 5. 1). A fragment of Apollonios of Aphrodisias states that Galatian allies of Mithradates of Pontos defeated some Ptolemaic forces and settled (labontas) on the land around Ankyra as a reward for their service.11 The reliance on forms of lambano, elabon and labontas, makes Galatian agency in the process of settling Galatia ambiguous, since the words can be translated as either to receive or to take, but the terminology still implies a degree of autonomy. The Hellenistic kings either gave the land as a gift to the Galatians in return for services rendered, or the latter seized the land as payment. In either scenario, they agreed to live on the land which became Galatia; they were not forced onto it.12 The Greek narratives, then, do not present the kings as planting the Galatians on unwanted land, rather they chose for themselves to live there and the kings acquiesced to their desires. Roman authors are more direct in suggesting that the Galatians took land in Asia as opposed to being given it. Livy notes that after helping Nikomedes, they dispersed into Asia and divided all of it west of the Taurus between three tribes (Livy 38. 16. 11).13 Justin states that after helping Nikomedes win his kingdom, the Galatians divided Bithynia with him (25. 2. 11). Livy’s account presents the Celts as more independent than Justin, but both portray them as having agency in choosing where to settle in Asia Minor. On the whole, then, the sources indicate that the newcomers exercised a high degree of selfdetermination in choosing where they settled; they either took territory as payment for services rendered or of their own volition. When discussing the settling of the Galatians in Asia Minor, none of the above sources indicate that Antiochos helped define the boundaries of Galatia as a result of the ‘Elephant Battle’; in fact, none of them mention the battle. As Coşkun lays out in his 2012 article on the so-called ‘Elephant Victory’, classical authors do not discuss this defeat of the Galatians until the first centuries AD, and then the most elaborate account appears to be a work of 11 For the fragment of Apollonios as demonstration of Galatian settlement pattern, see Coşkun 2011, 88; on a new historical contextualisation of Galatian settlement around Ankyra, see Coşkun 2018; 2019. 12 Tomaschitz 2002, 158. 13 In his commentary on Book 38, Briscoe (2008, 75) states that while scholars assumed that the kings gave the Galatians land, the sources themselves are unclear.

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rhetoric, not reality. Even if Thomas Nelson is right to trace on historiographical tradition back to the time of Antiochos III, he still concedes its highly panegyrical nature and limited factual accuracy.14 Antiochos I probably defeated a band of Galatians somewhere in south-western Asia Minor in the 270s or 260s BC in order to defend cities still loyal to the Seleukid house. This victory may have established a limit of Galatian territory or at least a defensive boundary demarcated by military colonies (more on this later), but there is no direct indication that the Seleukids claimed sovereignty over any or all of the newly arrived Galatians as a result.15 After taking possession of their new home territory, the Galatians participated in the conflicts of Asia Minor through mercenary service and independent military action. They used their military ventures to extract money from Hellenistic states. Following the death of Nikomedes, Ziaelas, a contender for the Bithynian throne, enlisted the aid of the Tolistobogioi to try to conquer Bithynia (Memnon 13. 14. 2). Though Ziaelas lost, the Galatians took the opportunity to attack and plunder the territory of Herakleia (14. 3). In the 240s and 230s BC, certain Galatian groups, which Coşkun identifies as the Tolistobogioi, fought for Antiochos Hierax as either mercenaries or allies; either way, they used their relationship to profit themselves. Justin notes that after the Galatians helped Antiochos Hierax defeat his brother, Seleukos II, they turned on him, forced him to pay a ransom and to make them allies (Justin 27. 2. 12). Justin’s account is problematic as it includes such inaccuracies as identifying Eumenes as the king of Bithynia, but it attests to the fact that mercenary service did not limit Galatian freedom of action.16 The Galatians also attacked the people of Asia Minor of their own accord. Memnon notes that, soon after the Bithynian war of succession, the Galatians were at war with Ariobarzanes of Pontos (13. 16. 1). The Herakleiots sent aid to Pontos, and the Galatians retaliated by pillaging their territory until they agreed to pay tribute (16. 3). Inscriptions from Pergamon further attest to Galatians, specifically the Tolistobogioi, operating independently of other Hellenistic powers when they attacked Pergamon (OGIS 269, 276).17 The Aigosagai, a Gallic group brought over from Europe into Asia Minor by Attalos I in 14

Coşkun 2012, 62–65 and Nelson, Chapter 2 in this volume, pp. 125–28. Pace Strobel 1996, 257–64. Coşkun (2011, 86, n. 4; 2012, 69) supports the idea that Antiochos did not contribute to defining the borders of Galatia. 16 Mitchell admits that Hierax ‘had no authority over his Celtic hirelings’, implying a great deal of autonomy on the part of the Galatians (1993, 20); on the troubles of Justin’s account, see Coşkun 2011, 97. For identification of the Galatian tribe serving Hierax and a re-evaluation of Galatian participation in the Brothers War and the Third Syrian War, see Coşkun 2018. 17 Hansen 1971, 37–38; Coşkun 2011, 98. 15

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218 BC, besieged the town of Ilion after Attalos released them from his service (Polybios 5. 77. 2; 111. 1–2). After being driven off by a force from the city of Alexandria on the Troad, they raided the territory of Abydos until they were eradicated by Prusias in 217/6 BC (5. 111. 4–5).18 On the eve of Manlius’ campaign in 189 BC, the Galatians remained independent. Though certain Galatian groups had fought for Antiochos III at the Battle of Magnesia, these same Celts did not feel obligated to obey the terms of the armistice between Rome and Antiochos (38. 16. 15).19 These vignettes indicate that the Galatians were not subordinate to their Hellenistic kings; rather they were groups that functioned independently from them. Further proof of Galatian independence was their ability to demand money from various powers, including the Seleukids, in return for the Galatians not attacking. In Memnon, during the war between the Tolistobogioi and Pontos that followed the death of Ariobarzanes of Pontos, the Galatians pillaged Herakleia until the city agreed to pay 5000 gold pieces to the army and an additional 200 to each of its leaders (13. 14. 2–3). In his account of the Galatians, Livy states that the Galatians exacted a stipendium from neighbouring powers, including the Seleukids and Pergamon, until Attalos I refused to pay (38. 16. 12–13). Mitchell believes that the Seleukids did not pay until after the defeat of Seleukos II in the War of Brothers during the 240s BC, but he admits they still paid.20 The meaning of stipendium ranges from mercenary payments to payments from a defeated foe, so, in his account, Livy could be referring to the payments the Galatians received as mercenaries or to payments made to keep them from attacking. In context, however, it seems to refer to money that the Galatians extorted from surrounding communities to prevent the Galatians from attacking, similar to the abovementioned payment made by Herakleia. Such a reading of stipendium parallels how the word is used in earlier books of Livy, when it denoted payment demands made by Rome against defeated enemies.21 It would follow, then, that Livy deployed the word to discuss the payments Galatians imposed on the cities and kingdoms of Asia Minor. This is not to suggest that the Galatians had conquered the cities of Asia Minor. 18 The date is unclear: Mitchell (2003, 289) puts it at 217 BC, Coşkun (2011, 100) at 212 BC. Polybios does not give a specific date, but he notes that Prusias’ defeat of the Aigosagai happened around the time when Gaius Terentius Varro and Lucius Aemilius Paulus were elected consuls and when Philip V fled from a Roman squadron near Apollonia (5. 110. 1–111. 1). 19 Coşkun 2011, 101; also see Payen, Chapter 5 in this volume, p. 196; Payen 2020, 110–13. 20 Mitchell 1993, 20. 21 Boren 1983, 428–31.

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Rather, the Galatians had proved themselves competent enough on the battlefield that the surrounding powers found it easier to pay the Galatians to keep them from attacking than to face them in battle. Finally, as opposed to the Galatians helping the Hellenistic kings control Asia Minor, Memnon portrays the Galatians as counter-weights against the kings. He notes that they protected the democratic governments of the Greek cities because they drove off the forces of the kings that wanted to enslave the cities (13. 11. 4).22 Such assertions challenge the notion that the Galatians were the tools of imperialism for the Hellenistic kings. As opposed to helping the kings rule Asia Minor, Galatian tribes at least at times helped keep the cities free. Memnon’s testimony should thus not be regarded as anti-Galatian propaganda, because it is actually favourable to the Galatians. His account alone, then, indicates that Greek authors understood that the Galatians were independent operators, who at times helped challenge the power of the Hellenistic monarchs.23 The ready availability of Galatian mercenaries perpetuated the chaos of 3rd-century BC Asia Minor, because they were always willing to be hired by the weaker side of any conflict (Justin 27. 3. 5). Thus, while the Galatians served specific Hellenistic states at certain points, they were by no means at the mercy of their employers. Nikomedes might have brought some of them over into Asia Minor, but the sources portray them as seeking a way in before he gave them the opportunity. After crossing into Anatolia, they took possession of what was to become Galatia of their own accord and not as a settlement plan of a Hellenistic monarch. They served in the armies of the Hellenistic kings, such as Ziaelas of Bithynia or Antiochos Hierax, but they did so for their own enrichment. Their existence provided a counter balance against the ambitions of neighbouring kings, and prevented any individual king from dominating Asia Minor. They attacked kingdoms or cities, such as Herakleia, on their own initiative and at times demanded money from those cities. These are not the actions of a subordinate people. These are the actions of an autonomous people who used their position and military prowess to achieve their own goals. In emphasising Galatian militancy, I do not mean to suggest that the Galatians were just robbers or pirates, as earlier scholars characterised them. Their chosen means of attaining a living does not reflect on the complexity of their society. Nor were the Galatians inferior to the surrounding kingdoms because they chose at times to be employed as mercenaries. They simply had different 22 Moraux 1957, 70 points to this line as an explanation for why Nikomedes brought the Galatians over into Asia Minor. 23 Tomaschitz 2002, 157.

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objectives from the surrounding powers. The kings of Pergamon, Pontos and Bithynia as well as the Seleukids, or challengers to the respective thrones, all desired formal control over territory. They wanted to exert, protect and possibly expand their political influence over as much of Asia Minor as possible. Such traditional motives were not a priority for the Galatians. They wanted wealth and, in order to achieve that goal, they willingly worked with whoever offered the most money while still maintaining their autonomy. THE ANARCHY PROTECTING THE GALATIANS Not only did the Galatians voluntarily participate in the conflicts of 3rd-century Asia Minor to enrich themselves, the same conflicts prevented most Hellenistic states from concentrating the necessary resources, in terms of logistics or troops, to conquer the Galatian heartland. Even without the Galatians, 3rdcentury Asia Minor was full of conflict, and kings had to deal with both external threats and internal rivals. Such competition meant that the kings were more concerned with holding on to their own thrones or expanding power locally than investing the resources to subdue a Galatian tribe. Livy’s account of Manlius Vulso’s campaign of 189 BC shows the difficulty of such an endeavour, and only a great power, such as Seleukid Syria or Ptolemaic Egypt, had the resources necessary to undertake such a venture. Yet when the opportunity presented itself in the 190s BC, Antiochos III chose to deal with the Galatians through diplomacy rather than a military campaign. The battles by which scholars want to prove that Hellenistic kingdoms could conquer the Galatians, such as Antiochos I’s ‘Elephant Battle’ or Attalos I’s victories, were defensive in nature. The battles resulted in Hellenistic kings repelling Galatian attacks, not Hellenistic kings conquering Galatian territory. So, while Hellenistic powers could defeat raiding Celts, they failed to mount the offensives necessary to curb their autonomy. Manlius Vulso’s expedition of 189 BC demonstrates the difficulty of invading the territories of the Galatians.24 It is the best-recorded campaign against them, and can therefore serve as a model for what was necessary to conquer Galatia. There are several factors, however, that made the operation unique. First, it took place during an exceptional time of calm in Asia Minor. The Battle of Magnesia had resulted in a general armistice across Anatolia that allowed Manlius to focus on the Galatians without worrying about being attacked by a Hellenistic king. Second, Vulso received material support from both the 24 For a bibliography of Manlius’ expedition, see Payen, Chapter 5 this volume, nn. 10–12; Payen 2020, 75–76.

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Attalids and the Seleukids, who had been fighting each other for the better part of the previous 50 years. Third, Manlius led an army that was generally larger than the armies of most Hellenistic kingdoms. These conditions reveal why conquering Galatia was beyond the capabilities of most kingdoms in the 3rd century. Before the Battle of Magnesia, Asia Minor was filled with conflict. Without taking into account the activity of the Galatians, Hellenistic kings faced challenges to their authority both externally and internally. Externally, the Seleukids, the Ptolemies and regional powers, such as Bithynia, Pergamon and Pontos, fought for control over all or parts of the peninsula. In 281, Seleukos Nikator could claim to control most of Anatolia. After his assassination, Seleukid control was challenged by both the Ptolemies and local dynasties. In regard to the Ptolemies, the Seleukids fought a series of wars against them in the course of the 3rd century, in which Asia Minor was a major battle ground. In regard to local dynasties, a coalition of cities on the north-western coast and the kingdom of Bithynia broke away from Seleukid control as early as 280 BC. In 262 BC, Pergamon, a city formerly loyal to the Seleukids, also declared its independence, and became the Seleukid’s largest regional competitor for power. From the 240s onward, the city’s ruling dynasty, the Attalids, fought with the Seleukids or Seleukid pretenders, such as Hierax and Achaios, for power in Central Asia Minor.25 Not only did Hellenistic kings compete with each other, they also feared being overthrown by family members. Justin notes that, after moving into Asia Minor, the Galatians became an indispensable part of the armies of Hellenistic kings, and that Galatia became a refuge for any monarch who lost his throne (25. 2. 9–10). Other accounts support this view. Nikomedes brought the first group of Gauls over in order to deal with his brother Zipoitas, who was fighting for the Bithynian throne with support from the Seleukids (Memnon 13. 11. 2). After Nikomedes’ death, one of his sons, Ziaelas, enlisted the Tolistobogioi to challenge Nikomedes’ appointed successor (13. 14. 2). Asia Minor repeatedly provided a base of support for Seleukid usurpers. Antiochos Hierax relied on his control of Asia Minor when he revolted against his brother Seleukos.26 25 For greater discussion of the Syrian Wars, including the fighting in Asia Minor in the 3rd century BC, the rise of Pergamon and the impact on Seleukid control of the region, see Hansen 1971, 22; McShane 1964, 42; Ma 1999, 33–52, Grainger 2010; 2015, 129–213; Evans 2012, 14–22; Chrubasik 2013, 97–98; Coşkun 2016; 2018; 2019. 26 When this happened has recently come under scrutiny. The traditional timeline has Antiochos Hierax breaking from his brother in the 230s BC, but Coşkun (2018, 204–11) argues for a readjustment to this chronology, placing Antiochos’ revolt in the 240s BC. Either way, Antiochos relied on his control of Asia Minor to revolt.

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In the 210s BC, it was Achaios’ centre of power when he revolted against Antiochos III. The prevalence of these conflicts meant that Hellenistic kings were more concerned with warding off neighbours or family members than trying to subdue the distant Galatian heartland. It would be wrong to infer that since the Galatians were not directly involved in these conflicts that they were not important to the affairs of Asia Minor. As demonstrated earlier, they played key roles through their service as mercenaries. The conflicts between the Ptolemies, Seleukids, or regional kingdoms, however, meant that the kingdoms had more immediate threats to deal with than the Galatians, a reality that allowed the Galatians to engage in the affairs of Asia Minor as they desired, not based on the orders of a particular Hellenistic monarch. In addition to the external and internal threats to a king’s power, the regional kingdoms of Asia Minor, specifically Attalid Pergamon, Prusiad Bithynia and Mithradatic Pontos, could not marshal the troops needed to campaign in Galatia. Livy records that Manlius defeated at least 70,000 Galatian warriors (38. 23. 8; 26. 3), with a consular army of four legions plus auxiliaries from Pergamon and other allies.27 The armies of local dynasties, such as Pergamon, were smaller. John Ma puts the strength of Pergamon’s army in the 3rd century BC at 12,000, including the field army, mercenaries and garrison troops.28 Polybios puts the strength of a Bithynian force sent to deal with the Aigosagai besieging Ilion in 217/6 BC at 4000 (5. 111. 4). Given that Pergamon did not completely dominate its neighbours in the 3rd century BC, it can be inferred that its field army was comparable in size to that of the Bithynians. The localised powers of Asia Minor, then, would have been hard pressed to field an army equal to Manlius’. The only powers that could at least in theory field armies of that size were the Seleukids and the Ptolemies. Despite having the capability of attacking the Galatians, there is no clear record of either the Ptolemies or the Seleukids attempting to conquer Galatia. Evidence suggests that Ptolemaic and Seleukid forces were defeated in the territory that became part of Galatia, but these were not attempts to conquer Galatia. A fragment of Apollonios records that a Ptolemaic army was driven off from the area around Ankyra by a combined Galatian and Pontic force, and 27 Estimation based on Livy’s numbers for the Roman army at Magnesia (Livy 37. 39) as he does not give numbers for Manlius’ army at the start of the campaign. Instead, he simply says that Manlius assumed command of L. Scipio’s army at Ephesos (Livy 38. 12). Grainger (1995, 26) puts the army at around 40,000, but this number is achieved by including troops that neither Livy nor Appian attest to being at Magnesia (Livy 37. 39, Appian Syriake 31. 157–59). 28 Ma (2013, 61–62), McShane (1964, 166–68) and Hansen (1971, 224–33) do not provide numbers for Pergamon’s army.

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as a result of that battle, Mithradates gifted the land to his Galatian allies.29 The army, however, was marching against Pontos and not the Galatians themselves.30 Eusebios and Justin both record that Seleukos II lost a battle near Ankyra to Galatians allied with, or employed by Antiochos Hierax (Justin 27. 2. 10–12; Eusebios Chronicle 1. 40. 8). Again, this campaign was not directed specifically against the Galatians; Seleukos had been campaigning in Asia Minor against Ptolemaic forces, and Mithradates and his Galatian allies attacked him.31 Thus, the evidence of the greater Hellenistic powers operating in Galatia demonstrates that they were not trying to conquer the territory and that they were driven back by the Galatians. Further proof of Hellenistic kings’ reticence to march against Galatia can be seen in Antiochos III’s Anatolian campaign of the 190s BC. Antiochos III was the greatest Seleukid king after Seleukos Nikator. In the 190s, he had almost completely restored – and in some territories even extended – the control of the Seleukid house with the partial exception of Asia Minor. In order to reassert control over the latter, he marched his forces across the southern coast of Anatolia in a coordinated land and sea campaign, removing the remaining Ptolemaic garrisons and re-establishing Seleukid suzerainty. Instead of trying to conquer the Galatians, however, he chose instead to secure their allegiance through diplomacy. Appian states that, in 194 BC, Antiochos treated with the Thracians, then the Byzantines, next the Galatians, before returning to Ephesos (Syriake 6. 22). The necessity of the diplomatic mission demonstrates that Antiochos did not have control of the region.32 It further reveals Antiochos’ reluctance to send a military expedition into Galatia. The fact that one of the greatest Seleukid monarchs at the height of his power chose to settle with the Galatians through diplomacy attests to how difficult such an undertaking would have been. Coşkun concedes that the mission could imply some form of Seleukid control over the Galatians as long as the kings paid the stipendium, but he also points out that some Galatians chose to ignore Antiochos’ request for troops.33 A Galatian tribe under a leader named Eposognatos chose not to ally with Antiochos because of his friendly relations with Eumenes of Pergamon (Livy 38. 18. 1). So, even if Antiochos had some power over the Galatians, it was by no means formal control over the entire territory. What power he could exert, he had to exert it through diplomacy, not direct commands. 29 Apollonios in Stephanos of Byzantion s.v. ‘Ankyra’ = FGH 740 F 14 = Tomaschitz 2002, T 55; Coşkun 2011, 88. 30 Tomaschitz 2002, 169, n. 705. 31 Coşkun 2018, 204–09. 32 Ma 1999, 92, n. 145; Coşkun 2011, 101. 33 Coşkun 2011, 101.

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Thus, even on the eve of Vulso’s campaign, Hellenistic kings found campaigning against Galatia arduous and something to be avoided. Overall, the constant warfare of Asia Minor, the small size of the armies of local Hellenistic kingdoms and the unwillingness of the great powers to conquer Galatia, despite having the capability and opportunity, disproves the notion that the Hellenistic kingdoms could have wiped out the Galatians easily, had they only chosen to do so. Finally, the battles which scholars identify as decisive proof of Galatian subordination to Hellenistic monarchs only prove that the Galatians could be fended off, not that they could be conquered. The first significant victory that scholars point to is Antiochos I’s ‘Elephant Battle’. As Coşkun points out, the evidence for the battle is problematic, as all the sources that discuss the ‘Elephant Battle’ in detail date to the common era. The general narrative, however, is that the Celtic invaders raided cities in Asia Minor controlled by the Seleukids, and Antiochos I fulfilled his obligations to defend these cities by assembling a force and defeating the barbarians through the use of elephants at some undetermined location in Western Anatolia sometime in the 270s or early 260s BC.34 I emphasise here that Antiochos only repelled the Galatians. There is no evidence that he followed up his victory with a campaign against them. Nor is there direct evidence that Antiochos retained any suzerainty over the Galatian heartland as a result of the battle. Dokimion, the nearest Seleukid colony in the area, existed on the periphery of Galatia, probably to protect the royal road; such a placement suggests that the Seleukids took a defensive stance against the defeated enemies they remained suspicious of.35 So, while Antiochos I won the battle, there is nothing to suggest he subdued any Galatian tribe, let alone all of them. The next great victory that scholars highlight as being decisive against the Galatians is Attalos I’s victory around 241/0 BC. In recording the accomplishments of Attalos, Polybios notes that the king defeated the Galatians in battle, and then he reigned for 44 years (18. 41. 7–8). Livy notes that Attalos I refused to pay the stipendium to the Galatians, and then he defeated them in battle

34

Coşkun 2012, 61–62, arguing for 275 BC. See above, n. 14 for further references. Cohen 1978, 12, 16; Coşkun 2011, 95, n. 35; Grainger 2015, 139–40 – p. 164 states that, after the battle, Antiochos ‘probably’ made a treaty with the Galatians, but he acknowledges that the Galatians still raided Seleukid territory and that the Seleukids responded by founding and re-founding fortified cities along the royal road. Even if Mitchell 2018 is right that Dokimeion and other Macedonian colonies were founded under Alexander, this does not necessarily speak against the enhancement of this line of defence under Antiochos I, just as there is evidence for a similar activity under Eumenes II, for which see Payen, Chapter 5 in this volume, with n. 22; Payen 2020, 219–23. 35

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(38. 16. 14).36 Neither author indicates where the battle took place, but the implication of Livy is that as a result of Attalos refusing them tribute, the Galatians attacked and were defeated. Inscriptional evidence from Attalid victory monuments suggests that the battle which Livy cites occurred at the mouth of the River Kaïkos, within Pergamon’s territory (OGIS 269).37 The location of the battle supports the notion that it was a defensive battle. Attalos did not invade Galatian territory; he protected the territory of Pergamon against a Galatian attack. Other Attalid victories over the Galatians that are recorded on monuments, such as Attalos’ victory over Antiochos Hierax and the Galatians near the sanctuary of Aphrodite close to the city’s walls, attest to victories occurring within territory subject to Pergamon (OGIS 275).38 None of these campaigns affected Galatia proper. Another event used to prove Galatian subordination is Prusias of Bithynia’s annihilation of the Aigosagai in 217/6 BC, which I mentioned earlier. Mitchell points to this victory as proof that the Hellenistic kings could wipe out the Galatians if they wanted.39 The circumstances of the Aigosagai, however, were substantially different from the Galatians in Central Anatolia. First, the Aigosagai were only one band as opposed to the collected tribes of Galatia. Polybios recounts that Prusias broke the Aigosagai’s siege of Ilion with a Bithynian army of 4,000 (5. 111. 4). Unless the Bithynians were woefully outnumbered, which Polybios does not suggest, the Aigosagai probably had an equivalent number of troops. Second, the Aigosagai were invaders seeking territory and were geographically closer to the Hellenistic kingdoms than the Galatians in Galatia. After Prusias’ expeditionary force broke the siege of Ilion, the Aigosagai retreated to Arisba and began to terrorise the territory around Abydos. Prusias later marched out with another army and defeated them in battle. The city of Abydos was located on the Hellespont and was situated between Pergamon and Bithynia. It was accessible to either power without much difficulty. Prusias did not risk being far away from his kingdom in order to attack. The situation of the Aigosagai, then, is not comparable to the Galatian tribes, and therefore should not suggest to modern scholars that the Hellenistic kingdoms could easily have eradicated the Galatians. Overall, then, while the Hellenistic kingdoms could defeat raiding Galatians in battle, there is no evidence that they could conquer Galatia. The anarchy of 36 Probably drawn in part from Polybios 18. 41, but Polybios does not mention there that Attalos stopped paying tribute to the Galatians. 37 Mitchell 1993, 21. 38 McShane 1964, 60–61; Hansen 1971, 31–34. See Coşkun, Chapter 1 in this volume, with nn. 141–44. 39 Mitchell 2003, 289.

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Asia Minor made campaigning against the Galatians prohibitively dangerous. A king risked not only an attack by his neighbours, but also a rebellion at home, if he tried to conquer the Galatians. Kingdoms such as Pergamon or Bithynia could occasionally defeat Galatians in battle or protect other cities from attacks, but such kingdoms could not marshal the resources to conquer the Galatian heartland. The greater Hellenistic kingdoms, the Ptolemies and the Seleukids, distracted by other conflicts, or with rebellious family members, never tried to conquer Galatia; when they did campaign in Galatia, they were often defeated. When Antiochos III had the opportunity, he chose to deal with the Galatians through diplomacy. Thus, the anarchy of 3rd-century Asia Minor protected the Galatians from any serious threat to their autonomy. CONCLUSION In the course of this paper, I have argued against the idea that the independence of the Galatian in Asia Minor existed only due to the good graces of neighbouring Hellenistic monarchs. The sources portray the Galatians as independent actors who, upon entering Asia Minor, sought loot and land through any means possible. At times, this meant serving in the armies of Hellenistic monarchs as mercenaries. Other times, this meant functioning independently by raiding cities or exacting a stipendium. Galatian employment as mercenary soldiers should not preclude their agency in such campaigns. They chose to be mercenaries. The sources never give the impression that the Galatians were at the mercy of their employers. The sources do say that the availability of troops provided by the Galatians only exacerbated the conflicts between kingdoms, cities and usurpers, with the result that, for most of the 3rd century BC, the powers in Asia Minor were too embroiled in local conflicts to attempt or exert the kind of power over Galatians that scholars such as Strobel or Mitchell surmise. The only king who managed to gain such supremacy in Asia Minor was Antiochos III, and he chose to deal with the Galatians through diplomacy rather than armed conquest. Even then a Galatian tribe openly defied him. In turn, the Galatians were protected from retribution not just by virtue of their employment, but due to the difficulties of waging war against them. Galatia was geographically removed from the kingdoms, and the difficulties involved in mounting such a campaign meant that few kings could even risk it. Hellenistic kings could repel Galatian raids, but they could not spare the resources required to extend and maintain political control over them. Thus, through their willingness to fight for any side as long as it paid well, the Galatians added to the anarchy of 3rd-century Asia Minor, which, in turn, allowed them to flourish.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Baray, L. 2017: Celtes, Galates et Gaulois, mercenaires de l’antiquité: Représentation, recrutement, organisation (Antiquité/Synthèses 18) (Paris). Boren, H. 1983: ‘Studies Relating to the Stipendium Militum’. Historia 32, 427–60. Briscoe, J. 2008: A Commentary on Livy, Books 38–40 (Oxford). Campbell, D.R.J. 2009: The So-Called Galatae, Celts, and Gauls in the Early Hellenistic Balkans and the Attack of Delphi in 280–79 BC (Dissertation, University of Leicester). Cohen, G. 1978: ‘The Seleucid Colonies’. Historia 30, 1–95. Coşkun, A. 2011: ‘Galatians and Seleucids: A Century of Conflict and Cooperation’. In Erickson, K. and Ramsey, G. (eds.), Seleucid Dissolution: The Sinking of the Anchor (Philippika 50) (Wiesbaden), 85–106. —. 2012: ‘Deconstructing a Myth of Seleucid History: The So-Called “Elephant Victory” Revisited’. Phoenix 66.1–2, 57–73. —. 2016: ‘Laodike I, Berenike Phernophoros, Dynastic Murders, and the Outbreak of the Third Syrian War (253–246 BC)’. In Coşkun, A. and McAuley, A. (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women. Creation, Representation and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire (Historia Einzelschriften 240) (Stuttgart), 107–34. —. 2018: ‘The War of Brothers, the Third Syrian War, and the Battle of Ankyra (246– 241): A Re-Appraisal’. In Erickson, K. (ed.), War within the Family: The Seleukid Empire, 281–222 BC (Swansea), 197–252. —. 2019: ‘The “Temple State” of Phrygian Pessinus in the Context of Seleucid, Attalid, Galatian and Roman Hegemonial Politics (3rd–1st Centuries BC)’. In Tsetskhladze, G.R. (ed.), Phrygia in Antiquity: From the Bronze Age to the Byzantine Period (Proceedings of the International Conference ‘The Phrygian Lands over Time: From Prehistory to the Middle of the 1st Millennium AD’, held at Anadolu University, Eskişehir, Turkey, 2nd–8th November, 2015) (Colloquia Antiqua 24) (Leuven/Paris/Bristol, CT), 607–48. Darbyshire, G., Mitchell, S. and Vardar, L. 2000: ‘The Galatian settlement in Asia Minor’. AS 50, 75–97. Evans, R. 2012: A History of Pergamum: Beyond Hellenistic Kingship (London/New York). Grainger, J.D. 1995: ‘The Campaign of Cn. Manlius Vulso in Asia Minor’. AS 45, 23–42. —. 2002: The Roman War of Antiochos the Great (Mnemosyne Suppl. 235) (Leiden/ Boston). —. 2010: The Syrian Wars (Mnemosyne Suppl. 320) (Leiden/Boston). —. 2015: The Rise of the Seleukid Empire (323–223 BC) (Barnsley). Hansen, E.V. 1971: The Attalids of Pergamon, 2nd ed. (Cornell Studies in Classical Philology 36) (Ithaca, NY/London). Jones, A.H.M. 1971: Cities of the Eastern Roman Provinces (Oxford). López-Sánchez, F. 2018: ‘Galatians in Macedonia (280–277 BC): Invasion or Invitation?’. In López-Sánchez, F. and Ñaco del Hoyo, T. (eds.), War, Warlords, and Interstate Relations in the Ancient Mediterranean (Impact of Empire 28) (Leiden/ Boston), 183–203.

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Ma, J. 1999: Antiochus III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor (Oxford). —. 2012: ‘The Attalids: A Military History’. In Thonemann, P. (ed.), Attalid Asia Minor: Money, International Relations, and the State (Oxford), 49–82. McShane, R. 1964: The Foreign Policy of the Attalids of Pergamum (Illinois Studies in the Social Sciences 53) (Urbana). Mitchell, S. 1993: Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor. I: The Celts in Anatolia and the Impact of Roman Rule (Oxford). —. 2003: ‘The Galatians: Representations and Reality’. In Erskine, A. (ed.), A Companion to the Hellenistic World (Oxford/Malden, MA), 280–93. —. 2018: ‘Disspelling Seleukid Phantoms: Macedonians in Western Asia Minor from Alexander to the Attalids’. In Erickson, K. (ed.), War within the Family: The First Century of Seleucid Rule (Swansea), 11–35. Moraux, P. 1957: ‘L’établissement des Galates en Asie Mineure’. IstMitt 7, 56–75. Payen, G. 2020: Dans l’ombre des empires. Les suites géopolitiques du traité d’Apamée en Anatolie (Suppléments francophones de la Revue Phoenix 1) (Québec). Stähelin, F. 1907: Geschichte der kleinasiatischen Galater, 2nd ed. (Leipzig). Strobel, K. 1994: ‘Keltensieg und Galatersieger. Die Funktionalisierung eines historischen Phänomens als politischer Mythos der hellenistischen Welt’. In Schwertheim, E. (ed.), Forschungen in Galatien (AMS 12) (Bonn), 67–96. —. 1996: Die Galater. I: Geschichte und Eigenart der keltischen Staatenbildung auf dem Boden des hellenistischen und römischen Kleinasien (Untersuchungen zur Geschichte und historischen Geographie des hellenistischen und römischen Kleinasien 1) (Berlin). —. 2002: ‘State Formation by the Galatians of Asia Minor’. Anatolica 28, 1–46. Tomaschitz, K. 2002: Die Wanderungen der Kelten in der antiken literarischen Überlieferung (Mitteilungen der Prähistorischen Kommission der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 47) (Vienna).

THE EUNUCH PHILETAIROS: PERGAMENE FOUNDING FATHER AND GALATIAN-SLAYER

Elizabeth KOSMETATOU*

Abstract IG XI.4 1105 from Delos preserves the complete text of an epigram inscribed on a large honorific monument to a Philetairos, who is praised for victories against the Galatians and is identified either with the founder of the Attalid dynasty or the third son of king Attalos I of Pergamon. This paper will associate it with Attalos I’s activities in Greece during the late 3rd century BC and will discuss Pergamon’s relationship with Galatian tribes in the early 3rd century BC. Philetairos is referred to as anax whose deeds were celebrated by sculptors and poets. Epigraphic evidence suggests that the base was set up during Attalos I’s celebration of his predecessor as founder of the dynasty after 210 and before 207 BC. Additionally, evidence on Galatian activity during Philetairos’ rule suggests that Attalos I’s references to his ancestor’s military victories against Galatian invaders are exaggerated, as Philetairos regularly paid off Galatian tribes to avoid fighting them. His presumed victories were therefore part of Attalos I’s newly introduced Pergamene royal fiction that projected his own successes against the Galatians to Philetairos, in order to create a foundation story for his dynasty and legitimise his own power and relatively recently acquired royal title.

1. INTRODUCTION Through the ages rulers and leaders of all sorts, from ancient kings to feudal lords and monarchs, to democratic presidents and heads of government, have justified their power to both their audiences and themselves by constructing their own political spectacle. This staged drama should not be considered as

* I owe a debt of gratitude to Andrej Petrovic, to whom credit should be given for recognising in Sosikrates one of his poeti vaganti. Earlier versions of this paper were given at the University of Heidelberg at the kind invitation of Angelos Chaniotis, the University of Cologne at the kind invitation of Werner Eck, and to various other audiences over the years whose input is much appreciated. Finally, words cannot express my indebtedness to Altay Coşkun for inviting me to speak to the workshop he organised on ‘Recent Research on Ancient Galatia’ in 2014 and for discussing extensively this material with me.

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the presentation of a set of facts anchored in reality. Rather, it promotes a narrative, shaped by a ruler’s interpretation of his/her world, is informed by his/ her self-conceptualisation, and reflects the complexity of its social and political context, as well as the language and symbols with which audiences are familiar. Rituals, dramatisations and rhetoric give meaning to events, everyday challenges and leadership, and constructed enemies with the intent to legitimise and rationalise political decisions and ideologies. In constructing their image, rulers have always used every medium possible, from architecture and coinage, to etiquette, sculpture and portraiture, to literature, public inscriptions and performance. The full range and implications of this kind of politics as symbolic action, which can aim both at self-legitimation and be part of a competition for acceptance in the eyes of others, has increasingly received the attention of historians, political scientists and political psychologists. For a long time, ancient historians focused on political propaganda that aimed at self-legitimation, with Galatian and Attalid interaction being one of the best documented area of interest as the large number of old and more recent relevant studies reveal.1 Indeed, scholars of the Hellenistic world have long considered the Attalids of Pergamon (281–133 BC) as great masters of the theatricality of public life. Ruins of the impressive monuments they sponsored still bear testimony to their activities in a turbulent period, as they sought to preserve and expand their domain that was sandwiched between powerful enemies, including Macedon and Syria.2 This paper will examine how the dynasty defined its controversial origins by examining the activities of the early Attalid rulers, focusing particularly on the charm offensive of its first crowned king, Attalos I (241– 197 BC) on Delos in the late 3rd century BC. EARLY HONOURS FOR PHILETAIROS ON DELOS Attalid involvement on Delos predates Attalos I’s activities, and the sanctuary appears to have been a choice location of the early Pergamene rulers. Indeed, Philetairos (281–263 BC), the universally accepted founder of the Attalid 1 For example, Edelman 1988; Chaniotis 1997; Barker 2001; Kistler 2009; Papini 2016; also Coşkun (Chapter 1) and Nelson (Chapter 2) in this volume. 2 The bibliography on the history of the Attalids is vast, starting from the 1st edition of E. Hansen’s essential book published in 1947 (2nd ed. 1971); further McShane 1964; Hopp 1977; Allen 1983. The most recent comprehensive work is a volume edited by Thonemann (2013b), with his own hefty introduction (2013a) on the Attalid state. For an overview of the Attalid dynastic propaganda, see Schalles 1985; Gruen 2000; Kosmetatou 2003, 166–73; Koehn 2007. For the most recent work on Pergamene art, see Kistler 2009; Grüßinger, Kästner and Scholl 2012; Picón and Hemingway 2016.

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dynasty, who enjoyed qualified autonomy from the Seleukid kingdom but never rose to royal rank, was probably the sponsor of at least two choruses at an unknown date before 263 BC. In commemoration of these events, he dedicated two phialai measuring about one foot; they stood on rectangular wooden blocks and were most likely inscribed χορεῖα ἐπιδόντος Φιλεταίρου Ἀττάλου:3 φιά[λας τρεῖς?] ἐμ πλαισίωι ὡς ποδιαίας τὰς ἀ[ν]ατε[θεί]σας ὑπὸ τοῦ δή[μου ἀπὸ?] τν προσόδων χορεῖα ὧν [ἀνέθηκ]αν Νικίας Νικ[ηράτου Ἀθη]ναῖος καὶ βασιλεὺς Πτολεμ[αῖος] καὶ βασίλισ[σα Κλεοπάτρα?] καὶ Φιλέταιρος Ἀττάλου· ἄλ[λας] τρ[εῖς ἐμ] πλα[ισίωι τὰς ἀνα]τεθείσας ὑπὸ τοῦ δήμου [ἀπὸ τῶν προσόδων? χορεῖα] ὧν ἀνέθηκεν Νικίας Νικ[ηράτου Ἀθηναῖος καὶ βασιλεὺς] Πτολεμαῖος καὶ Φιλέταιρο[ς Ἀττάλου.]4 Three phialai on a stand, about a foot, which were dedicated by the demos from the choreia revenue dedicated Nikias, son of Nikeratos, Athenian and king Ptolemy and queen Kleopatra and Philetairos, son of Attalos; another three on a stand, dedicated by the demos from the choreia revenue of those dedicated Nikias, son of Nikeratos, Athenian and king Ptolemy and Philetairos son of Attalos.

These dedications appear only once in an inventory of items that had recently entered the temple of Apollo about 156/5 BC and are mentioned alongside similar earlier offerings by the Athenian general Nikias, son of Nikeratos (ca. 470–413 BC) during his legendary pilgrimage to Delos,5 and a king Ptolemy 3 The significant and relatively well dated early Delian material suggests that several dedications did not necessarily make it to the annual inscribed inventories. See discussions in Linders 1988, 40; Dignas 2002, 17; Hamilton 2003. 4 φιά[λας - - - ] / ἐμ πλαισίωι ὡς ποδιαίας τὰς ἀ[ν]ατε[θεί]σας ὑπὸ τοῦ δή[μου ἀπὸ?] / τν προσόδων χορεῖα ὧν [ἀνέθηκ]αν Νικίας Νικ[ηράτου Ἀθη-] / ναῖος καὶ βασιλεὺς Πτολεμ[αῖος] καὶ βασίλισ[σα - - - - -] / καὶ Φιλέταιρος Ἀττάλου· ἄλ[λας] τρ[εῖς ἐμ] πλα[ισίωι τὰς ἀνα-] / τεθείσας ὑπὸ τοῦ δήμου [- - - - - χορεῖα] / ὧν ἀνέθηκεν Νικίας Νικ[ηράτου Ἀθηναῖος καὶ βασιλεὺς] / Πτολεμαῖος καὶ Φιλέταιρο[ς Ἀττάλου]. ID 1421, B, col. I, l. 3–10 (ca. 156/5 BC). The proposed restorations in the main text are mine. 5 Plutarch Nikias 3. 5–8: μνημονεύεται δ’ αὐτοῦ καὶ τὰ περὶ Δῆλον ὡς λαμπρὰ καὶ θεοπρεπῆ φιλοτιμήματα. τῶν γὰρ χορῶν, οὓς αἱ πόλεις ἔπεμπον ᾀσομένους τῷ θεῷ, προσπλεόντων μὲν ὡς ἔτυχεν, εὐθὺς δ’ ὄχλου πρὸς τὴν ναῦν ἀπαντῶντος ᾄδειν κελευομένων κατ’ οὐδένα κόσμον, ἀλλ’ ὑπὸ σπουδῆς ἀσυντάκτως ἀποβαινόντων ἅμα καὶ στεφανουμένων καὶ μεταμφιεννυμένων, ἐκεῖνος ὅτε τὴν θεωρίαν ἦγεν, αὐτὸς μὲν εἰς Ῥήνειαν ἀπέβη, τὸν χορὸν ἔχων καὶ τὰ ἱερεῖα καὶ τὴν ἄλλην παρασκευήν, ζεῦγμα δὲ πεποιημένον Ἀθήνησι πρὸς τὰ μέτρα καὶ κεκοσμημένον ἐκπρεπῶς χρυσώσεσι καὶ βαφαῖς καὶ στεφάνοις καὶ αὐλαίαις κομίζων, διὰ νυκτὸς ἐγεφύρωσε τὸν μεταξὺ Ῥηνείας καὶ Δήλου πόρον, οὐκ ὄντα μέγαν· εἶθ’ ἅμ’

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and his queen, possibly Epiphanes and Kleopatra I.6 While it might be unclear at first glance whether Philetairos, identified as Φιλέταιρος Ἀττάλου, is the founder of the Attalid dynasty or king Eumenes II’s brother by the same name, the reference in ID 1421 corresponds to the wording of the dedicatory inscriptions on the phialai. In surviving material from other localities, the first ruler of Pergamon is mentioned as Φιλέταιρος Ἀττάλου,7 while the son of Attalos I appears in inscriptions as Φιλέταιρος βασιλέως Ἀττάλου, as did his three brothers.8 Subsequent Attalid activity on Delos includes the modest dedication of a portrait of Philetairos whose base was discovered in the theatre. Its fragmentary text reads (IG XI.4 1106): Εὐμένης [- - - ] Φιλέταιρον τ[ὸν - - ]

Boeckh associated a second fragment with the inscription [ἀ]δελφόν with this base following an early transcription by Koehler, but Homolle, who visited Delos a few decades later, never located it and therefore doubted its existence, an opinion that modern scholars appear to accept.9 Le Bas and Boeckh suggested the extant fragmentary base supported a portrait of Philetairos, founder of the Attalid dynasty, that was sponsored by his nephew and successor Eumenes I (263–241 BC), an opinion shared by Roussel based on the 3rdcentury BC lettering of the inscription. On the other hand, Homolle proposed this was a dedication of Eumenes II (197–158 BC) in honour of his brother ἡμέρᾳ τήν τε πομπὴν τῷ θεῷ καὶ τὸν χορὸν ἄγων κεκοσμημένον πολυτελῶς καὶ ᾄδοντα διὰ τῆς γεφύρας ἀπεβίβαζε. μετὰ δὲ τὴν θυσίαν καὶ τὸν ἀγῶνα καὶ τὰς ἑστιάσεις τόν τε φοίνικα τὸν χαλκοῦν ἔστησεν ἀνάθημα τῷ θεῷ, καὶ χωρίον μυρίων δραχμῶν πριάμενος καθιέρωσεν, οὗ τὰς προσόδους ἔδει Δηλίους καταθύοντας ἑστιᾶσθαι, πολλὰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ Νικίᾳ παρὰ τῶν θεῶν αἰτουμένους· καὶ γὰρ τοῦτο τῇ στήλῃ ενέγραψεν. ἣν ὥσπερ φύλακα τῆς δωρεᾶς ἐν Δήλῳ κατέλιπεν. ὁ δὲ φοῖνιξ ἐκεῖνος ὑπὸ τῶν πνευμάτων ἀποκλασθεὶς ἐνέπεσε τῷ Ναξίων ἀνδριάντι τῷ μεγάλῳ καὶ ἀνέτρεψε. On Nikias’ activities on Delos, see also Chankowski 2008, 68–70, 76, 93–109, 122, 284–86, 346. 6 The two references probably involve the same Ptolemaic king who is mentioned first as βασιλεὺς Πτολεμ[αῖος] καὶ βασίλισ[σα - - -] (ID 1421, B, col. I, l. 6) and a few lines further down as [βασιλεὺς] Πτολεμαῖος (ID 1421, B, col. I, ll. 9–10). The king may be Ptolemy V Epiphanes and his queen, Cleopatra I who is also mentioned as the dedicant of a φιάλη ἐπιγραφὴν ἔχουσα· Δηλιάδες, χορεῖα Ἀπόλλωνι Ἀρτέμιδι Λητοῖ ἐπιδόντος βασιλέως Πτολεμαίου καὶ βασιλίσσης Κλεοπάτρας in ID 442, B, l. 139–40, dedicated in 182 BC according to the inscription (καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς αὑτῶν ἀρχῆς ὃ ἔφασαν ἀνενεχθῆναι Εὐβοεὺς καὶ Παρμενίων, l. 137). 7 See CIG 3527 (Philetairos’ dedication to Apollo Chresterios at Aigai); OGIS 748 (Philetairos’ gifts to Kyzikos after the Galatian war, 280/79–276/5 BC); Barth and Stauber 1989, 928 (Philetairos’ dedication to Meter Theon); and Jacobstahl 1908, 405, no. 34 (Philetairos’ dedication of a portrait statue of his adopted son and successor Eumenes I). 8 See IG II.1.22 2314, ll. 87–92 (182/1 BC). 9 See, for example, Sosin 2014, 135.

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Philetairos.10 Besides the fact that Eumenes II always appears as βασιλεὺς Εὐμένης in inscriptions, in my opinion, there is no reason to doubt the existence of the second, presumably now-lost fragment transcribed by Koehler and published by Boeckh, and I agree with Roussel’s 3rd-century BC date. Additionally, based on the wording of the inscriptions of the slightly later Attalid Progonoi monument, the following restoration is proposed: Εὐμένης [Ἀττάλου] Φιλέταιρον τ[ὸν ἀδελφόν].11

Philetairos’ presumably lifetime portrait would thus have been dedicated by his brother and designated successor Eumenes, who may have predeceased him before 263 BC, paving the way for his son and ultimately Philetairos’ adopted son and successor Eumenes I.12 According to an inscribed homologia between Eumenes I, identified as ‘son of Philetairos’, and a group of mercenaries shortly after 263 BC, the succession might not have been very smooth. The soldiers mentioned in the inscription had revolted against the Pergamene ruler in support of a Eumenes, son of Attalos, probably the ruler’s cousin, with whom they had taken reciprocal oaths. The rebellious leader may have either been Eumenes I’s father or, more likely, a cousin, and, after prevailing, the dynast paid off the troops who swore loyalty to him. Interestingly, the agreement was considerably significant and was set up in four major sanctuaries, including Delos.13 10 See Le Bas 1836, 47, no. 4 (erroneously stating the inscriptions was located in Melos); CIG 2324; Homolle 1879, 46, no. 7. 11 Even if there had been no mention of the second fragment, the restorations Εὐμένης [Εὐμένους] Φιλέταιρον τ[ὸν πατέρα], or Εὐμένης [Φιλεταίρου] Φιλέταιρον τ[ὸν πατέρα] are unlikely, as the fragment makes it obvious that the patronymic of the dedicant Eumenes was included in the inscription. The adoption of Eumenes I by Philetairos must have taken place after the former’s death, so that the dedication of Eumenes I’s statue by Philetairos, where he is referred to as his son (Φιλέταιρος Ἀττάλου Εὐμένη τὸν υἱόν; see Jacobstahl 1908, 405, no. 34) must postdate IG XI.4 1106. 12 Philetairos’ brother Eumenes was prominent in the Pergamene court and may even had played an advising role to his brother, judging from their joint appearance in key inscriptions, including a dedication of a temple and altar of Demeter on behalf of their mother Boa (Φιλέτα[ιρος καὶ Εὐμένης ὑπὲρ τῆς μητρ]ὸς Βόας Δήμητρι). See Dörpfeld 1910, no. 22 (temple); Dörpfeld 1912, no. 5. On a detailed study of the sanctuary of Demeter at Pergamon, see Zanon 2009. 13 OGIS 266 = I.Pergamon I 13; Virgilio 1983, 127–28, n. 80; Couvenhes 2012. Virgilio and Couvenhes reviewed all proposed theories for the identification of Eumenes, son of Attalos, and the reconstruction of the events that led to the revolt and its resolution. Besides Delos, copies of the inscribed homologia between Eumenes I and the mercenaries were set up at the Sanctuary of Athena at Pergamon, the Sanctuary of Asklepios in Mitylene and Gryneion. In my opinion, it is more likely that another Eumenes close to Philetairos, also a son of an Attalos and perhaps a cousin of Eumenes I, revolted in a quest for the rulership of Pergamon, rather than Eumenes I’s own biological father.

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As ruler of Pergamon, Eumenes I (263–241 BC) also kept a low profile in the international relations of the Hellenistic world. Continuing his predecessor’s policy of careful emancipation from the Seleukid empire, he prepared the ground for eventual revolt and declared Pergamene independence without ever taking the diadem.14 According to current scholarly consensus, immediately upon his accession as master of Pergamon, Eumenes I may have also funded an endowment for the annual Philetaireia that included the dedication of a phiale invariably inscribed χορεῖα ἐπιδόντος Φιλεταίρου in the tradition of prominent royal and commoner eponymous donors.15 Considering the currently available evidence of the inscribed inventory lists, it appears that, of all sanctuaries, Delos had a higher concentration of endowments and eponymous festivals than any other Hellenistic city, although this picture may be inaccurate due to the state of survival.16 After all, there is good evidence that ancient sanctuaries kept inventories, but few actually inscribed them in stone on a regular basis.17 This flood of Delian information makes it difficult to distinguish festivals from simpler rituals, but, in a recent study, Sosin has convincingly argued that the eponymous celebrations which appear referenced in the Delian inventories were modest annual rituals underwritten by endowments.18 In support of his conclusion, he cites the rich epigraphic information that sheds light in the process: donors lent the endowment funds to the sanctuary at interest of ten percent, the income of which, 400 drachms, was used to fund the ritual and/or the dedication of a phiale or related object. The inventories mention the dedication of the phialai, records of lending and collection, as well as further financial arrangements that include the activities of ritual administrators.19

14

For a brief overview of Eumenes I’s reign, see Ma 2013, 51–52 (with bibliography). The following Delian inventories mention the Philetaireia phialai, with the description χορεῖα ἐπιδόντος Φιλεταίρου (in the 3rd-century BC inventories): IG XI.2 224, B, l. 22 (258 BC); 287, B, 119–24 (250 BC); 313, fr. B, l. 72; 320, B, l. 39 (229 BC); 338, B, l. 52 (224 BC); described as φιάλη Φιλεταιρείων (in the later 3rd and early 2nd century BC inventories): ID 346, l. 14 (ca. 225–210 BC); 366, A, ll. 55–79 (207 BC); 396, B, l. 28 (194 BC); 421, l. 79 (ca. 190 BC); 424, l. 11; 435, l. 5; 442, B, l. 54 (179 BC); 455, Bb, l. 18 (173 BC); described as χορεῖα ἐπιδόντος Φιλεταίρου again during the period of Athenian domination: ID 1432, B, fr. a, col. I.1, l. 3 (153/2 BC). Information on the disbursement of funds for the Philetaireia is provided by ID 224, A, l. 4 (258 BC); 287bis, col. II, l. 16 (ca. 250 BC); 320, B, l. 78, 84 (229 BC); 366 A, l. 132 (207 BC); 438, l. 2 (ca. 185 BC); 449, A, l. 42 (175 BC). For more financial details, see, for example, ID 366, A, ll. 131–34. See also Ziebarth 1917, 433; Sosin 2014, 131–32. 16 Bruneau 1970, 670–71; Sosin 2014, 121–22. 17 See Kosmetatou 2013, 65. 18 Sosin 2014, especially 122–23. 19 Sosin 2014, 123, nn. 11–14, which include extensive citations of texts. 15

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Commemorative phialai of the Delian Philetaireia are well attested in the inventories from 262 BC during the archonship of Elpinos, were clearly sponsored by Eumenes I and continued well into the reign of Eumenes II.20 This group appears to have been kept together, distinct from the two undated phialai inscribed Φιλέταιρος Ἀττάλου that were presumably dedicated by the founder himself, and to have consistently born a slightly different inscription, χορεῖα ἐπιδόντος Φιλεταίρου. Some scholars, including McShane, Hansen, Bruneau and Schalles, had already argued that the endowment for the Philetaireia may have been supplied by Philetairos himself towards the end of his life, seeing that he was credited in the inscriptions as the sponsor of the chorus. However, Homolle, Bringmann and more recently Sosin identified Eumenes I as the original donor, pointing out that similar royal endowments seem to be dated to just after the honouree’s death.21 I would not exclude, regardless, the possibility that Philetairos had only funded choruses on occasion, while Eumenes I established the endowment for their annual celebration, perhaps renaming it Philetaireia himself, as he may have viewed this as an opportunity to establish and advertise dynastic continuity.22 The last recorded phiale in the long list preserved in ID 366 was dedicated during the archonship of Epikydes and dates to ca. 207 BC, around the time, as it will be argued in this article, the celebration of Philetairos’ life was reorganised.23 ATTALOS I DEFINES PHILETAIROS’ HISTORICAL ROLE ON DELOS It was around that time that Attalos I (241–197 BC) renewed Pergamene activity on the island, as he sought to incorporate his ancestor Philetairos (281–263 BC), the former servant of the Persians and the Macedonians, into his dynastic fiction. By honouring Philetairos, Attalos I introduced his new dynastic myth that he hoped to turn into a firm belief among his contemporaries. In constructing the new version of Attalid dynastic history, past events and actions on the

20 For the most recent article on the Delian maidens, see Nagy 2013, who also gives an overview of the bibliography. On the chronological sequence of the Delian archons, see Homolle 1887, 102–09; Dürrbach 1916, 298–352; Tréheux 1976, 87–95. 21 Cf. McShane 1964, 40, 43; Hansen 1971, 19; Bruneau 1970, 571; Schalles 1985, 38; contrast Homolle 1887, 61; Bringmann and von Steuben 1995, 182 [E], 226; Sosin 2014, 135. 22 On the function of the Delian inventories, see Linders 1988; Hamilton 2003; Constantakopoulou 2015. 23 ID 366, A, ll. 55–79.

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part of the Pergamene rulers had to be reinterpreted to fit the expectations of his contemporary society. Serious modifications were therefore necessary.24 Even though the Attalids often figure as the Greek dynasty par excellence, becoming instrumental in diffusing Hellenism both in Asia Minor and among the Romans, their rise to such extraordinary power was an anomaly.25 Philetairos, the dynasty’s founder, was half-Greek at best: born in ca. 343 BC in Teion, a Paphlagonian backwater of civilisation on the Black Sea, whose inhabitants the satirist Lukian would deride centuries later as ‘superstitious, simpletons and idiots’, Philetairos was reportedly a eunuch, son of an Attalos and Boa, reputedly a flute-player and a courtesan.26 Scholars generally tend to agree that the name of his father points to a Macedonian origin, but one may wonder at Macedonian presence at Teion as early as 344 BC, the possible date of his conception, which would be before Philip II and Alexander the Great came into the picture.27 One may even wonder further whether the original name of Philetairos’ father was not closer to the attested indigenous Attales, or a derivative name from the same root that was conveniently Hellenised in the aftermath of Alexander’s campaign. While this supposition must remain conjecture at the current state of the evidence, it would be a mistake to assume that the population of Asia Minor was homogenous and Greek. Its diversity is a topic that deserves to be further explored.28 Even if the Attalid family was not originally Greek, however, Greek presence in the area, as well as attested intercultural practices, may 24 There is some evidence that not everybody bought the Attalid royal fiction. The poet Daphitas, who may have lived in the 2nd century BC, became something of a genealogy police and reviled the kings of Pergamon, presumably for their origins, and paid with his life for this. Cf. Strabo 14. 1. 39: πορφύρεοι μώλωπες, ἀπορρινήματα γάζης Λυσιμάχου, Λυδῶν ἄρχετε καὶ Φρυγίης; Montanari 2006, citing earlier bibliography. 25 Kosmetatou 2003, 159–61. 26 Lukian Alexander 9: ὁ δὲ Ἀλέξανδρος ἔμπαλιν τὰ οἴκοι προὔκρινεν, λέγων ὅπερ ἀληθὲς ἦν, πρὸς τὴν τῶν τοιούτων ἀρχὴν καὶ ἐπιχείρησιν ἀνθρώπων δεῖν παχέων καὶ ἠλιθίων τῶν ὑποδεξομένων, οἵους τοὺς Παφλαγόνας εἶναι ἔφασκεν ὑπεροικοῦντας τὸ τοῦ Ἀβώνου τεῖχος, δεισιδαίμονας τοὺς πολλοὺς καὶ πλουσίους, καὶ μόνον εἰ φανείη τις αὐλητὴν ἢ τυμπανιστὴν ἢ κυμβάλοις κροτοῦντα ἐπαγόμενος, κοσκίνῳ τὸ τοῦ λόγου μαντευόμενος, αὐτίκα μάλα πάντας κεχηνότας πρὸς αὐτὸν καὶ ὥσπερ τινὰ τῶν ἐπουρανίων προσβλέποντας. 27 Teion was reputed to be a Milesian colony, founded in the 7th century BC, a report that is by no means certain: see Öztürk 2013. 28 In his review of Erskine 2003 and of my own article on the Attalids in particular (Kosmetatou 2003, 160), Habicht 2004 attributed the dispute of Philetairos’ origins to me. Although I remain sceptical about Philetairos’ presumed Macedonian origins, this theory was actually originally introduced by Billows 1995, 306, n. 32, whom I cited in my article, along with other authors who discussed ethnicity and Greek names in the region. See Masson 1962, 131; Zgusta 1964, 105–08. Guyot (1980, 99, 103) and Tougher (2002, 146–47) also believe that Hellenistic eunuchs were not Greek.

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account for Attalos and Boa’s choice to give their children Greek names, a practice that was quite common in Asia Minor.29 Be that as it may, Philetairos’ personal ambition, perhaps cultivated by the presumed upstart pretentions of his family, as well as his undeniable political shrewdness, landed him in high positions in the Persian and later Macedonian courts. Historical circumstances offered him even greater opportunities. It was a well-known fact that eunuchs were highly valued by the Persian kings for their presumed trustworthiness as administrators with no ambitions for selfaggrandisement, since they could never have offspring to whom they might bequeath wealth and power. Of course, events sometimes proved their masters wrong.30 Since eunuchs continued to assume high positions in court, thereby raising the fortunes of their kinsmen, Philetairos’ family may have chosen this cruel path for him, in the hopes that they opened him great avenues for a brilliant career. Even though the ancient sources are silent on this issue and the Persians did exact boys for castration as tribute from some subject peoples, the potential of service at court may have been the reason that some ambitious families voluntarily contributed their offspring to the ranks of countless, highly-valued eunuchs in the service of the Persians.31 Following Alexander’s conquest of the Persian empire, parts of the administration continued to serve their new Macedonian masters, who seem to have shared local ideas on the value of eunuch administrators. Philetairos, who was about twenty years old when Alexander died, became an officer of Antigonos Monophthalmos, serving under his general Dokimos, whom he followed in 302 BC to join the ranks of Antigonos’ rival, Lysimachos of Thrace. Under Lysimachos, he was eventually stationed at Pergamon, in charge of the Thracian treasury of 9,000 talents. Historical circumstances, as well as personal ambition, led Philetairos to a policy of gradual but steady and careful 29 The name Boa occurs in the epigraphic record in the 2nd/1st century BC in Myrina, Aiolis (Βόα Ἑρμοκράτους; LGPN V.A, 102) and Tenedos (Βόα Ἀπολλωνίου Τενεδία; LGPN I, 102). Its masculine form Βοας also occurs in Roman contexts in Hierapolis, Phrygia and Tymbriada, Pisidia (LGPN V.C, 89). Besides Ἄτταλος, names such as Ἀτταλῆς also occur in Thasos (5th/4th centuries BC; LGPN I, 94). Names such as Αττα, Ατταης, Ἀτταλᾶς, Ἀττάλης, Ατταος, Αττας, Αττασαρβας (?), Αττατης and Αττης are also found in Phrygian, Pisidian, Galatian, Lykaonian, Lydian, Ionian, Mysian, Pontic, Kilikian, Karian, Pamphylian and Isaurian contexts, as well as in Kobyratis-Kabalis (LGPN V.A, 87, 89; V.B, 75–77; V.C, 72, 75–76). 30 See, for example, the story of Hermotimos in Xenophon Cyropaedia 7. 5. 62–63. 31 This is obviously speculation on my part. For a good comparative overview of castration in Antiquity, see Bullough 2002. For a study of eunuchs in Achaemenid Persia, see Llewellyn-Jones 2002; Briant 2002, 268–77. On eunuchs and their status in Antiquity, especially in Late Antiquity, see Schlinkert 1996, 237–84, especially 243, which includes a discussion on earlier periods and important earlier bibliographic citations. For an overview on the archaeology of castration, see also Reusch 2013.

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emancipation. The ancient sources mention the struggles and intrigue in Lysimachos’ court, which culminated to the murder of his son and heir Agathokles in 283 BC, following his step-mother Arsinoë’s machinations, a story upon which Carney plausibly casts doubt. Several of Lysimachos’ officers who were particularly attached to Agathokles, including Philetairos, declared themselves inconsolable following the wrongful death of such a brilliant and promising young man, and so concerned about Arsinoë’s schemes, that they formed a conspiracy and defected to Seleukos I of Syria.32 The Thracian and Syrian armies met at Korupedion in 281 BC, where Lysimachos lost the battle and his life. It turned out that Philetairos did betray him: as a eunuch, he could perhaps have no children of his own, but nothing in the world could prevent him from having a nephew, Eumenes I, who succeeded him in power in 263 BC. During his rule, Philetairos delicately cultivated his relationship with his Seleukid overlords, Seleukos I and Antiochos I, thereby achieving qualified autonomy for Pergamon, details of which are largely unclear. He certainly received the right to issue coinage in his name, even though the obverse featured the posthumous portrait of Seleukos I.33 He also initiated the brilliant policy of forging non-threatening neighbourly ties with city-states: he reportedly assisted Kyzikos in its struggle against the Galatians by sending a gift of grain and advertised his patronage of Apollo Chresterios at Mysian Aigai. Sometime either in ca. 280–278 or 270 or early in the 260s BC, he also became a benefactor of Kyme by sending, among other things, a gift of 600 shields at the request of the city. Given the evidence, one would call him an excellent neighbour if not a great warrior and Galatian-slayer. Whether he ever fought significant battles with the Galatians is unknown, and it looks like he may have opted to pay them off in order to avert any attacks against Pergamon.34 Of course, Philetairos was not the first eunuch to assume a certain degree of autonomy in the area: Hermias of Atarneus, the philosopher-ruler of parts of Mysia, had set his own domain in the middle of the 4th century BC, but had been executed by the Persian king Artaxerxes III on charges of treason.35 Philetairos was certainly more careful, and the time was probably ripe for his own bid for power that allowed him to write his own ‘rags to riches story’. 32 Pausanias 1. 10. 3–4; Strabo 13. 4. 1 (623 C); Justin 17. 1; Memnon, BNJ 434 F 1. 5. 6–7 = Photios Bibliotheke 224. 225b. On Arsinoë, see Carney 2013, 31–48. 33 On the Pergamene Philetairoi, see Westermark 1961; de Callataÿ 2013, 207–14 (with bibliography). On Philetairos’ acquisition of Seleukos I’s body for burial, see more recently Kosmin 2014, 103–05. 34 OGIS 748 (Kyzikos); SEG XXXVI 1110 (Apollo Chresterios); SEG L 1195; SEG LIII 1365; SEG LIV 1230; SEG LVIII 1369 (Kyme). Cf. Manganaro 2000; Gruen 2000, 20–21; Kosmetatou 2003, 160–61; Gauthier 2003; Orth 2008; Ma 2013, 51. 35 Trampedach 1994, 66–79; Green 2003.

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Nevertheless, unlike our era, Antiquity would hardly consider these to be glorious origins, and they were duly jeered by poets like Daphitas, who virtually called the early Attalids slaves and paid with his life for his insolence. For the ancients, a eunuch was first and foremost synonymous to perfidy and treason, as well as homosexual love.36 The presence of eunuchs in oriental courts always captured the imagination of travellers and observers who associated it with oriental despotism and the decadence of oriental courts. Obviously, Persia did not escape this stereotype. Philetairos’ origins looked less than stellar, then, not least because he was not exactly a noble descendant of some Macedonian general or other, preferably with a tie to Alexander the Great. It therefore became necessary for the Attalids to clean up their origins, and the problem was promptly taken care of by Eumenes I and Attalos I: a fragmentary inscription from Pergamon, dated to the Roman period, informs us that a sufficiently aristocratic pedigree was attached to the Attalids, who were thus incorporated into the genealogies of the previous masters of Pergamon (OGIS 264). Surprisingly, rather than attempt to hide the fact that the dynasty’s founder was a eunuch, with all the ensuing demeaning associations with slavery and sexual exploitation, the early Attalids boldly put Philetairos forward as Pergamon’s founding father. Their predecessor’s portrait, whose face bore the typical characteristics of an obese eunuch, graced Attalid coinage continuously for more than 70 years.37 A sad story was attached to the founding father’s fate. He supposedly became a eunuch following a tragic accident: while still an infant, Philetairos was taken by his nurse to a large funeral. Caught in a terrible crowd, he was crashed! In a flash of genius, his family realised that the only career option open to their accidentally incapacitated son was to be trained among other eunuchs as a royal administrator.38 The theme Attalos I used to establish his own royal identity was the defeat of fear-inspiring enemies, the Galatians, against whom he scored significant victories possibly sometime in the 230s BC, thereby earning the diadem.39 To 36 In Achilles Tatius’ 2nd-century-AD novel Leukippe and Kleitophon (5. 25), the terms εὐνοῦχος καὶ ἀνδρόγυνος have a derogatory meaning. 37 Kawadias 1946, 501; JAMA 1946, 215. 38 Strabo 13. 4. For modern interpretations, see James 1997, 176. In his review of my article in Erskine 2003 (Kosmetatou 2003, 167), Habicht 2004 seems to disagree with my dispute of the ‘accidental compression story’, which is not even a medical term describing an injury or disease. Doubts were previously cast by Guyot (1980, 219–20), Ogden (1999, 199–201) and Tougher (2002, 147), and I agree with their assessment. Not being a medical expert on the matter, I mentioned it to a medical doctor and he enjoyed a good laugh when he heard Strabo’s story. 39 Polybios 18. 41–42. The date for Attalos’ victories against the Gauls remains uncertain. More recently, Ma 2013, 52 accepts the 230s–220s BC. On the Attalid victories against the Galatians and especially the expansion of Pergamon under Attalos I, see Koehn 2007, 110–35.

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uphold his new identity as king and saviour of his region, he therefore went even farther by attributing a foundational significance to his Galatian victories, which he associated with his predecessors as well, including his distant unglamorous ancestor Philetairos. His activities on the sacred island of Delos reflect this new royal fiction perfectly. As has been discussed above, the Pergamene dynast Philetairos had had limited exposure on Delos, and most surviving Attalid monuments on the island seem to be associated with Attalos I and slightly predate the more famous and magnificent so-called ‘Lesser Attalid Dedication’ in Athens.40 Royal presence on Delos had been long-standing, and the Antigonids in particular had funded the construction of several buildings after 314 BC, including the Stoa of Philip V and perhaps the so-called ‘Neorion’ or ‘Monument of the Bulls’, which its French excavators associated with Demetrios Poliorketes. Attalos’ activities were not as elaborate as that. Although the yet unpublished South Stoa, which dates to the middle of the 3rd century BC, was associated with the Attalids in the past, this theory is by no means supported by the evidence beyond any doubt. The only argument in favour of an Attalid connection is based on its proximity to at least three possibly contemporary sculptures that were dedicated by Attalos I. A fourth sculptural Familiengruppe, the socalled Attalid Progonoi Monument, may have also been set up near the Stoa.41 Attalos I is therefore associated with the following dedications on the island: a) A statue of Epigenes, Attalos I’s general, possibly on horseback, that was set up to the south end of the South Stoa. Bringmann and von Steuben dated it to 228 BC.42 b) A large, elaborate base with an inscribed epigram that once supported a bronze monument in honour of Philetairos, which will be discussed at greater length below (IG XI.4 1105). c) A smaller base, possibly a portrait statue of Attalos I, that commemorated the king’s victories against the Galatians and stood on a low, pedestrianlevel base, to the left of the Philetairos base.43

40

Pausanias 1. 25. 2; Stewart 2004. On Epigenes, see Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 125. Vallois 1944, 65–68; Bruneau 1975, 281–82; Schalles 1985, 60–68; Bruneau and Ducat 2005, 168; Dillon and Baltes 2013, 211, n. 9; Constantakopoulou 2017, 96–97. Four bases of the Progonoi Monument have been discovered out of context so far. 42 IG XI.4 1109: [β]ασιλεὺς Ἄτταλος Ἐπιγένην Ἄνδρωνος Τήιον Ἀπόλλωνι. See Bringmann and von Steuben 1995, 198–99; Marszal 2000, 206; Constantakopoulou 2017, 95. 43 IG XI.4 1110: vacat / - ς τοὺ[ς] / Γαλά[τας] / - τας / Ἀπόλλω[νι] / vacat / - - - ἐπόει. A second statue of Attalos I appears to have been commissioned after the king’s death in 197 BC and took at least two years to be completed (195–194 BC). See ID 399, A, ll. 36–38, 47–48 (192 BC). 41

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d) The so-called Attalid Progonoi or Teuthrania monument, which featured members of the Attalid dynasty standing next to their presumed heroic ancestors. Hintzen-Bohlen dated it to 211 BC, when Pergamon joined the First Macedonian War, and it clearly belonged to similar elaborate sculptural groups that echoed Archaic aristocratic Familiengruppen, and which were en vogue in the Hellenistic period, especially in the 3rd century BC.44 e) An elaborate (silver?) phiale with relief decoration, now lost, that is mentioned in the inventory lists of the Delian Artemision: φιάλην ἀπότυπον, ἐπιγραφή· βασιλεὺς Ἄτταλος Ἀπόλλωνι Δηλίωι χαριστήρια, Δηλιάδων χορεῖα, ἐπ᾿ ἄρχοντος Ἀντικράτου, ὁλκὴ ΗΔ𐅂ΙΙΙ45 A (silver?) phiale with relief decoration, inscription: King Attalos to Delian Apollo Thanksgiving, Deliades choreia, during the archonship of Antikrates; weight 111 drs., 3 obols

Although the exact date of Antikrates’ archonship remains regrettably elusive, he likely held office after Epikydes, perhaps in 209 BC, which was also the date that Attalos I came to Greece at the time of the First Macedonian War. Of the five Attalid dedications above, only the bases of the statues of Epigenes and Attalos I, as well as the silver phiale, are associated with the first king of Pergamon with certainty. Additionally, the silver phiale is the only one for which we have a reasonably reliable date. Although more than one lettercutters carved the surviving inscriptions, all appear to be firmly dated to the late 3rd century BC on the basis of their lettering, and they were probably dedicated at the same time, between 211 and 209 BC. THE PHILETAIROS BASE SOSIKRATES’ EPIGRAM

AND

The Philetairos base, whose lettering also suggests a late 3rd-century BC date, was arguably the most impressive of all Attalid donations, dwarfing Attalos I’s own contemporary portrait statue on its left. I am sceptical about the accepted 44 On Hellenistic royal Familiengruppen, especially of the Ptolemaic dynasty, see Kosmetatou 2004. The surviving bases of the Progonoi or Teuthrania Monument are IG XI.4 1107, 1108, 1206, 1207 and 1208. See Schalles 1985, 127–35; Hintzen-Bohlen 1990, 140; 1992, 146, 159, 190, 197, 202, 230, no. 37; Williamson 2016, 75–77; Kosmin 2018, 89. 45 This dedication is mentioned in the following Delian inventory lists of the Artemision: ID 367, l. 6; ID 385bis, l. 8; ID 396, B, ll. 67–68 (195 BC); ID 399, B, ll. 116–17 (193 BC); ID 439, b, l. 26 (181 BC); ID 442, B, l. 183 (179 BC); ID 443, B, ll. 107–08 (178 BC); ID 444, B, ll. 25–26 (177 BC); ID 461, Bb, ll. 17–18 (169 BC); ID 469, l. 11; ID 1443, B, col. I, l. 93 (ca. 145–141 BC). The phiale is mentioned within a group of vessels designated as gold and silver. Gold vessels are identified as such, so I am assuming that the rest, including Attalos I’s, were made of silver. See ID 396, B, ll. 58–87.

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theory that it supported several bronze statues of members of the Attalid dynasty or divinities, including Philetairos himself accompanied by a Nike. Its dedicatory inscription, an epigram, survives in its entirety and refers to Philetairos only, while the size of the base would not fit a group.46 Scholars originally interpreted its text as reference to a presumed sponsorship of a Sosikrates, otherwise unknown.47 However, the text that is reproduced below together with a new translation, points to a different direction (IG XI.4 1105): ὦ μάκαρ ὦ Φιλέταιρε, σὺ καὶ θείοισιν ἀοιδοῖς καὶ πλάστηισιν ἄναξ εὐπαλάμοισι μέλεις· οἳ τὸ σὸν ἐξενέπουσι μέγα κράτος, οἱ μὲν ἐν ὕμνοις, οἱ δὲ χερῶν τέχνας δεικνύμενοι σφετέρων, ὥς ποτε δυσπολέμοις Γαλάταις θοὸν Ἄρεα μείξας ἤλασας οἰκείων πολλὸν ὕπερθεν ὅρων· ὧν ἕνεκεν τάδε σοι Νικηράτου ἔκκριτα ἔργα Σωσικράτης Δήλωι θῆκεν ἐν ἀμφιρύτηι μνῆμα καὶ ἐσσομένοισιν ἀοίδιμον· οὐδέ κεν αὐτὸς Ἥφαιστος τέχνην τῶν γε ὀνόσαιτ’ ἐσιδών. Happy Philetairos, you are well-known, my lord, equally among divine-inspired poets and ingenious sculptors. Your great might both proclaim; these with hymns, the others through a display of their cunning handicraft. This is how you once joined swift Ares against the Celts, unfortunate in war, and drove them far beyond the borders of your land, for which deeds let these picked-out works of Nikeratos be yours. Sosikrates dedicated a memorial on wave-washed Delos to be famously sung even by future generations; not even Hephaistos himself, beholding these would censure their craft.

The candidates that have been proposed as the honouree of this monument are the dynasty’s founder or the younger brother of Eumenes II, and its proposed dates thus range from the 3rd to the 2nd centuries BC. However, the language used to describe the honouree can only be associated with Philetairos, the founder of the Attalid dynasty, who, according to the epigram, wielded μέγα κράτος and who reportedly successfully fought and drove away the invading Galatians οἰκείων πολλὸν ὕπερθεν ὅρων, a phrase that clearly denotes the territory of Pergamon as controlled by the honouree himself. The date for the dedication of the Philetairos monument on Delos has also been the subject of scholarly dispute. Chamoux considered this a lifetime portrait of the dynast Philetairos and therefore dated it before 263 BC arguing that the acclamation of Philetairos as anax would suggest he was still alive. On the 46 47

Ridgway 2001, 296, n. 30 (with bibliography); Marszal 1998; 2000, 206. Cf. Chamoux 1988, 498–99.

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other hand, Tréheux and Queyrel suggested a date around 250 BC, and Tréheux noted a similarity of the lettering of the Philetairos base and of the inventory list IG XI.2 287, which is firmly dated to 250 BC.48 Nevertheless, a careful comparison of the lettering of the inscriptions in question tells a different story. The only similarity between IG XI.2 287 and IG XI.4 1105 (the Philetairos base) is that the lettering of both is pretty elaborate. In the case of IG XI.2 287, this is quite unusual, as most Delian inventory lists were written in minuscule letters of 5 mm height and are thus often extremely hard to read. IG XI.2 287 and IG XI.4 1105 were also certainly produced by two different masons. Examples of their differences include their phis and the tips of the horizontal hastae of sigma, which meet the diagonal ones under the tip in IG XI.2 287. Similarly, the omicron in IG XI.2 287 tends to be smaller than the one in IG XI.4 1105. Above all, the horizontal hasta of the alpha in IG XI.2 287 is horizontal, while the mason of IG XI.4 1105 breaks it in two. On the other hand, there are striking similarities in the lettering of the Philetairos base (IG XI.4 1105) and an Athenian decree (IG II.1.22 1309), which is firmly dated to 208/7 BC.49 These similarities make it possible that the two inscriptions were produced by the same mason, though this is by no means certain given the small sample of surviving inscriptions. Be that as it may, the lettering of IG XI.4 1105 suggests a date in the late, rather than the middle of the 3rd century BC, and its lettering also presents obvious similarities to the lettering of the bases of the Progonoi or Teuthrania Monument. A late 3rd-century-BC date for IG XI.4 1105 is further suggested by the style of its mouldings. In their valuable study of the bases from the so-called ‘Lesser Attalid Dedication’ on the Athenian Acropolis, which was probably sponsored in 200 BC, Stewart and Korres noted the architectural similarities between the Acropolis monument and the Delian Philetairos base, as well as of a few bases that were plundered from Oreos in 199 BC.50 Until recently, scholarly consensus interpreted the Philetairos base as the remains of a monument that had been sponsored by a certain Sosikrates, perhaps an Attalid philos, who presumably also commissioned the bronze statue it supported to the sculptor Nikeratos.51 A closer reading of the text advises otherwise however, shedding light onto the sculpture and epigram competitions

48

Queyrel and Tréheux in Queyrel 1989, 278–96. On the lettering of IG II.1.22 1309, see Tracy 1990, 80–81. Given that the specific inscription is fragmentary and the lettering unique, I would be cautious before attributing the Philetairos base to the same mason. 50 Stewart 2004, 192; cf. Korres 2004. 51 Marcadé 1970, 310; Stewart 1990, 302; Ridgway 2001, 310, n. 30; Marszal 2000, 206. 49

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in Antiquity, most recently studied in depth by Andrej Petrovic.52 According to the same scholar, the Delian Philetairos epigram was composed by the otherwise unknown epigrammatist Sosistratos, a presumed winner of an Attalidsponsored competition. His winning entry was presumably sung annually by the Delian Maidens in a re-enactment choral performance for as long as the endowment, perhaps the original one that was set up by Eumenes I in 262 BC, permitted it.53 The unusually elaborate silver phiale king Attalos I dedicated, which is mentioned in several inventory lists, probably commemorated the first Deliades chorus associated with the dedication of the Philetairos monument in the last decade of the 3rd century BC.54 In Sosikrates’ epigram Philetairos is addressed as makar and anax, both Homeric words. Scholars who supported an early date for the monument implausibly concluded from them that Philetairos was alive at the time the monument was dedicated on Delos, even though Chamoux cautioned that this was not necessarily the case. As a matter of fact, Homeric language is ubiquitous. The dynast is a makar, a Greek concept that is somehow related to the English word ‘happy’ but whose meanings in both languages cannot be identical. De Heer pointed out that the modern notion of ‘happiness’ refers to an individual’s sense of well-being, joy or contentment. However, for the Homeric aristoi, the object of their life was the achievement of their kleos. This could only be achieved through the incessant pursuit of virtue and excellence, as they competed with their peers, maintained their reputation, and gained the eternal fame and admiration of future generations. Excellence in war and all other departments of heroic life was therefore the only road that could lead to their happiness.55 As a great warrior and victor of the Galatians, and consequently the subject of important literary works (σὺ καὶ θείοισιν ἀοιδοῖς ἄναξ εὐπαλάμοισι μέλεις· οἳ τὸ σὸν ἐξενέπουσι μέγα κράτος, οἱ μὲν ἐν ὕμνοις), Philetairos had earned then the rare distinction of being a makar, an epithet that great heroes like Achilles retained even after death, and which was usually reserved for the immortal gods.56 His deeds and memory would therefore be legitimately celebrated (μνῆμα καὶ ἐσσομένοισιν ἀοίδιμον) by poets and future 52 See Petrovic 2009. Petrovic’s convincing interpretation of the Philetairos epigram is published here with his kind permission. 53 On the choral performances by the Delian Maidens, see more recently Nagy 2013. 54 See above, n. 43. 55 De Heer 1969, 1–11. 56 See Homer Odyssey 11. 483–486: σεῖο δ’, Ἀχιλλεῦ, / οὔ τις ἀνὴρ προπάροιθε μακάρτερος οὔτ’ ἄρ’ ὀπίσσω·/ πρὶν μὲν γάρ σε ζωὸν ἐτίομεν ἶσα θεοῖσιν / Ἀργεῖοι, νῦν αὖτε μέγα κρατέεις νεκύεσσιν.

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generations that would be performing their poetry, as was the case with the Homeric heroes. Sosikrates thus echoes Helen lamenting Troy’s certain fate to her brother-in-law Hektor, expecting that future generations were going to compose and perform poetry about them (ὡς καὶ ὀπίσσω ἀνθρώποισι πελώμεθ’ ἀοίδιμοι ἐσσομένοισι; Iliad 6. 357–358). Similarly, when Telemachos discussed with Nestor the fate of Orestes, who killed his mother Klytemnestra to avenge his father’s death, he found consolation in the thought that Orestes’ fame would become even greater through song (Odyssey 3. 202–204): ὦ Νέστορ Νηληϊάδη, μέγα κῦδος Ἀχαιῶν, καὶ λίην κεῖνος μὲν ἐτείσατο, καί οἱ Ἀχαιοὶ οἴσουσι κλέος εὐρὺ καὶ ἐσσομένοισιν ἀοιδήν. Nestor, son of Neleus, great glory of the Achaians, he truly avenged himself, and the Achaians shall spread his fame far and wide, also to be sung by future generations.

Finally, as book 8 of the Odyssey comes to a close, Odysseus bursts into tears after hearing the bard Demodokos sing about the Trojan War. This prompts the king of the Phaiakians Alkinoos to ask his guest for the reason of his distress, while comforting him at the same time about the fame great deeds bring to great men that are destined to become the subject of song (Odyssey 8. 579–580): τὸν δὲ θεοὶ μὲν τεῦξαν, ἐπεκλώσαντο δ’ ὄλεθρον ἀνθρώποισ’, ἵνα ᾖσι καὶ ἐσσομένοισιν ἀοιδή. This the gods wrought, and spun the skein of ruin for men, that there might be a song for those yet to be born. (Translated by A.T. Murray)

In his epigram, and in keeping with Homeric tradition that exercised such influence in his poetry, Sosikrates further addresses Philetairos as anax, a title of Mycenaean origin (wanax). Linear B tablets suggest that the term originally referred to rulers or kings or highest dignitaries of the Mycenaean kingdoms around the late 13th century BC. In Homer, it was used as a title applied to a god or a ruler like Agamemnon, who was greater than his royal peers (βασιλῆες). A great king was more often than not addressed as anax by his inferiors and especially in salutation or conversation or by a poet in narration.57 It eventually became a synonym of basileus, a title that Philetairos never assumed during his rule.

57 Out of the numerous examples, see Homer Iliad 1. 7: Ἀτρεΐδης τε ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν. The bibliography on (w)anax is vast. See, for example, Palaima 1995; Yamagata 1997; Brixhe 2002; Nakassis 2012.

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Although few examples of Pergamene literary production have survived, and some scholarly attributions are debated, we may still partially reconstruct Attalid literature. The fragmentary Hymn to Attalos, a panegyric that was composed in honour of either Attalos I or his grandson Attalos III, allows us a tantalizing glimpse into royal propaganda. In it, the poet replicates Alexandrian encomiastic strategies, which he repurposes in order to create a unique view of the honoree as semi-divine. His interest in Attalid mythical genealogy, as well as his allusive use of obscure words and Homeric hapax or dis legomena echo Attalos I’s activities on Delos in the late 3rd century BC, his Progonoi Monument and Sosikrates’ epigram in honour of Philetairos.58 In praising Philetairos’ presumed victories against the Galatians, Sosikrates describes his foes as ‘unfortunate in war’ (δυσπόλεμοι), echoing Aischylos’ Persians (1008–1013): {Ξε.} πεπλήγμεθ’ οἵᾳ δι’ αἰῶνος τύχᾳ· {Χο.} πεπλήγμεθ’·εὔδηλα γάρ· {Ξε.} νέᾳ νέᾳ δύᾳ δύᾳ· {Χο.} Ἰαόνων ναυβατᾶν κύρσαντες οὐκ εὐτυχῶς. δυσπόλεμον δὴ γένος τὸ Περσᾶν. Xerxes: Oi, we have been struck down from our age-old good fortune, Chorus: We have been struck down, that is all too plain, Xerxes: by new agony, new agony! Chorus: by an ill-starred encounter with Ionian sailors. The Persian race is luckless in war. (Translated by A.H. Sommerstein)

Already during Eumenes I’s rule, Pergamon had begun to establish its claim as cultural heir of Classical Athens, a policy that was intensified under Attalos I and Eumenes II. This new Pergamene identity was reflected on the city’s monumental urban planning and architecture, as well as on royal gifts, such as the so-called ‘Lesser Attalid Dedication’ that was installed on the Athenian Acropolis in ca. 200 BC. This massive victory monument consisted of four historical and mythological battles of the gods, the Greeks, and the Attalids against Giants, Amazons, Persians at Marathon, and Galatians.59 Placed in close proximity to the Parthenon, the four groups contributed to the forging of the Attalid image that emphasised historical and cultural continuity, from the glorious 58 See Nelson 2020, especially his overview of our evidence for the Attalid literary production. 59 Pausanias 1. 25. 2. The bibliography on the Pergamene victory monument in Athens is large. See Marszal 1998; 2000; Stewart 2004 (listing previous bibliography); Volioti 2009. Remains of the monument include at least 60 bases of statues.

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Classical Athens to the aspiring new centre of Greek culture that Pergamon aspired to be. In this context, Pergamene real and imagined victories against the Galatians were equated in importance to significant mythological and historical battles between the order of civilisation and of the powers of chaos. The latter included the Greek legendary victories against the Persians at Marathon, as already depicted on Athenian and Pergamene monuments and at Salamis, as celebrated in The Persians, Aischylos’ masterpiece tragedy, and alluded to in Sosikrates’ Delian epigram in honour of Philetairos. Just like the Attalids became the cultural heirs of Athens then, the δυσπόλεμοι Galatians of the Attalids became the δυσπόλεμοι heirs of the Persians of the 5th century BC. During his reign, Attalos I elevated his predecessor in importance, even going so far as virtually awarding him the diadem posthumously. The founding father’s portrait had graced the silver Attic-weight tetradrachms of Pergamon, the so-called Philetairoi, at least since the reign of Eumenes I, and the dynast was always depicted on the obverse wearing a laurel crown. However, it is the Philetairoi Series VIB struck by Attalos I that depicted Philetairos for the first time wearing the diadem.60 In addition to the competition for an epigram in honour of Philetairos, now cast by Attalos I in exaggerated terms as great warrior and founding father, a second one was reportedly held for the sculpture that was going to be set up on the elaborate base. We are to understand that there were several undisclosed entries, but the one that eventually prevailed was won by Nikeratos (ἔκκριτα ἔργα). Nikeratos is a somewhat elusive figure, known from the literary and epigraphic sources due to his work for the Attalids and to his occasional collaboration with the sculptor Phyromachos. His attested work for the Attalids now confirms his floruit in the late 3rd century BC.61 The structure and language of Sosikrates’ epigram, as it comments on Nikeratos’ sculpture, are clearly reminiscent of earlier epigrams, including the ones carved on the bases of the Dioskouroi statues that had been set up by the Spartan Lysander in Delphi at the end of the Peloponnesian War (404/400 BC), to celebrate his victory against the Athenians: εἰκόνα ἑὰν ἀνέθηκεν [ἐπ’] ἔργωι τῶιδε ὅτε νικῶν ναυσὶ θοαὶς πέρσεν Κε[κ]ροπιδᾶν δύναμιν Λύσανδρος, Λακεδαίμονα ἀπόρθητον στεφανώσα[ς], Ἑλλάδος ἀκρόπολ[ιν, κ]αλλίχορομ πατρίδα. ἐάμο ἀμφιρύτ[ου] τεῦσε ἐλεγεῖον ⋮ Ἴων. 60 Cf. Homer Iliad 3. 182; also see Chamoux 1988, 499; Stewart 1990, 302. For the most recent bibliography on the Attic-weight coinage of the Attalids, see de Callataÿ 2013. 61 Cf. Ridgway 1990, 275–312; Marszal 2000; Stewart 2004, 16–17, 68, 70, 72, 176, 213–17, 232, 287. All cite earlier bibliography.

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Lysander dedicated his image having conquered with swift ships in these deeds of war the power of the Athenians and having crowned unassailable Sparta, the citadel of Greece, his fatherland with its fair dancing-grounds. Ion from wave-washed Samos made this elegy. [Παῖ Διός, ὦ] Πολύδευ[κ]ες, Ἴων [καὶ τοῖσ]δ’ ἐλεγείοι[ς] [λαϊνέαν] κρηπῖδ’ ἐστεφάνωσ[ε τεά]ν, [ἀρχὸς ἐπ]εὶ πρῶτος, πρότερο[ς δ’ ἔ]τι τοῦδε ναυάρ[χου] [ἔστας ἁγ]εμόνων Ἑλλάδος εὐρ[υχ]όρου. Son of Zeus, Polydeukes, Ion crowned your marble base with this elegy too, when you, even before this admiral, were made to stand first of all the leaders of vast Greece.62

WANDERING POETS: THE CONTEXT, DATE AND PURPOSE OF THE PHILETAIROS MONUMENT Interest in the wandering poets like Sosikrates who mainly functioned as local historians has recently been surging. These poets were mostly involved in the composition of public epigrams and routinely took part in epigrammatic contests. Details on the competitions are scarce, but it is certain that these were taking place at least as early as the 5th century BC, may have been in existence since the late 6th century BC, and that they were not excluded from the arena of oral performance during public festivals and of public commissions, as Petrovic has convincingly argued.63 Beyond performance, however, these epigrams also reflected a local sense of history and of local perceptions of historical events, while they became known more widely through their inclusion in epigram collections.64 It is also noteworthy that the wandering poets of Delos belonged to a long tradition already mentioned in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo, which extensively discusses the Delian Maidens portrayed as the local Muses of Delos. The famed singers are described as having the power to make a mimesis of the voices of all people extending to Homer himself, with whom Sosikrates may be indirectly associating himself as he composed his epigram in honour of Philetairos whom he interestingly praised in language befitting a Homeric 62 FD III.1 50–51 = Hansen 1983, no. 819 ii–iii. Cf. Pausanias 10. 9. 7–10 (404/400 BC); Petrovic 2009, 200–01. 63 Life of Aischylos 8; Petrovic 2009, especially 203–06, who cites numerous examples of early epigrammatic competitions among the ancient poetae vagantes. Indeed, the epigraphic and literary evidence for wandering poets is very rich. 64 Petrovic 2009, 213–16 cites numerous examples.

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hero.65 In encountering the Deliades, the poet thus transforms the story of Philetairos into a legendary figure known throughout the world and secondary himself into Homer. The Philetairos epigram is tantalisingly brief but presupposes the viewers’ or readers’ knowledge of the context of this celebration of Philetairos’ life. The lost Deliades hymn in honour of Philetairos would have undoubtedly thrown more light in how the Pergamene founding father fit into the Delian tradition. Things given as they are, the above interpretation must remain plausible conjecture. The Philetairos monument was probably dedicated between after 210 and before 207 BC, about two years after the fateful entrance of Attalos I into the First Macedonian War. It was dedicated during an elaborate ceremony that was probably financed by Eumenes I’s endowment with additional assistance from Attalos I, but the annual celebration does not seem to have continued beyond the 170s BC. Philetairos’ monument was set up significantly higher than the comparatively humble statue of Attalos I himself, which is on the same level as its viewers thereby rendering the king more approachable and perhaps even more likeable. At the same time, the Philetairos monument’s position and location provided visual evidence for the elevation of the Attalid founding father into a giant in the political arena of the 3rd century BC. Through the Philetairos monument and his own adjacent portrait on Delos, Attalos I presented himself as the uncontested victor over the Galatians and projected his own achievements on his ancestor, whose exact role in this longstanding Galatian conflict was dubious at best. The two monuments were probably part of a larger group of dedications that included the contemporary Attalid Progonoi monument and became a visual representation of Pergamene royal fiction. THE GALATIANS: FRIENDS OR FOES? NEITHER OR BOTH? The Attalids were no Macedonian princes and had no dynastic claim on Pergamon. In forming their public image, however, they took into account the peculiarities of their origins and rise to power to create a very original dynastic fiction that they often presented to their contemporaries as a public performance. The fearsome Galatians, who had terrorised Greece and Asia Minor since the early 3rd century BC, had also been cast as the enemies to civilisation and organised society. This image of the Galatians was consistently exploited throughout the Hellenistic period by the propaganda of the Aitolian 65

Nagy 2013. On the afterlife of Homer in the Hellenistic period, see Chaniotis 2010.

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League and virtually of all Hellenistic kingdoms.66 The Attalids of Pergamon were perhaps the most successful in being permanently associated in collective memory with Galatian victories, because they were arguably the most active builders and propaganda masters. Additionally, the survival factor enabled their monuments, like the 2nd-century BC Pergamene Altar, to become flagships of their era, thereby distorting somewhat the larger picture and influencing our understanding of Hellenistic art after the majority of their contemporary works perished. Be that as it may, the picture is more complex and deserves further discussion.67 Ongoing excavations in Phrygia, especially in Pessinus, have both shed light on questions regarding Galatian settlements and Galatian identity and led us to re-evaluate the relationship of the Galatians and Pergamon. At around the time that Attalos I was celebrating his and his great uncle’s presumed victories against the people everyone sweepingly considered as barbarians, he also exaggerated his influence over the Galatians and his role as intermediary between them and the Romans, when they sought to introduce the cult of Magna Mater from that region. Through his Galatian monuments, he constructed a narrative that appears to have shaped the imagination of the Galatian barbarians among the Greeks and Romans for centuries to come and arguably among modern scholars as well.68 Surviving correspondence between Attalos II and Attis, the chief priest of Kybele at Pessinus, suggests that Pergamon, by now a virtual client-kingdom of Rome, and the Galatians had established a working relationship.69 It is for this reason perhaps that references to Attalid military deeds, which had originally been celebrated in connection with the ‘evil’ Galatian marauders, were significantly toned down in the mid-2nd century BC in an increasingly dangerous world. Gone were the massive Galatomachies and explicit inscriptions relating the Attalid victors’ prowess, real or imagined. Monuments like the Altar of Pergamon that features an admittedly spectacular Gigantomachy used symbolism to make a subtle point of propaganda.70 66 See, for example, Polybios 18. 37. 9. For a good overview, see Strobel 1994; Strootman 2005; Coşkun, Chapter 1 in this volume, with nn. 141–144. 67 See recent studies by Russo 2014; Coşkun 2018; 2019b with a view to the relation between Rome and Attalos I on the one side and Ilion with Antiochos III on the other. 68 Livy 38. 8. 9–12; Coşkun 2018; 2019a. On the influence of the Attalid narrative on the Galatians on modern historians, see Kosmetatou 2003, 173–74. 69 More recently, see Avram and Tsetskhladze 2014 (with bibliography). See also Payen (Chapter 5) and Coşkun (Chapter 6) in this volume. 70 For a continuation of anti-Galatian stereotypes, see Coşkun 2013; for a new discussion of the nature of the Gigantomachy, see Nelson (Chapter 2) in this volume.

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Naturally, a more detailed, holistic discussion of the complicated relationship between the Attalids and the Galatians is beyond the scope of this paper, which has mainly focused on the role of everyone’s Public Enemy number one in the early Attalid dynastic propaganda. Attalos I’s activities on Delos are fortunately well attested in the primary sources and offer a unique opportunity to better understand the early struggles of the new kingdom that was surrounded by so many enemies. In this context, the Hellenistic World’s most unlikely dynasty asserted itself by promoting its state mythology and celebrating its origins. APPENDIX: KNOWN WORKS OF THE SCULPTORS PHYROMACHOS AND NIKERATOS FROM ATHENS a) Nikeratos alone – Asklepios and Hygieia in bronze, later taken to Rome (Pliny NH 34. 80) – The Spartan king Demaratos and his mother sacrificing, in bronze (Pliny NH 34. 88) – Glaukippe, later in Rome (Pliny NH 7. 34; Tatian Against the Greeks 33) – Telesilla, later in Rome (Pliny NH 7. 34; Tatian Against the Greeks 33) – Philetairos dedication, Delos, in bronze (IG XI.4 1105) – A statue (Nike or a portrait) at Pergamon (I.Pergamon I 132) – Various portraits, athletes, philosophers in bronze (Pliny NH 34. 88) b) Nikeratos and Phyromachos together – Alkibiades in a chariot, in bronze (Pliny NH 34. 80, 88) – A bronze statue on Delos (IG XI.4 1212) – A dedication to Athena at Pergamon (I.Pergamon I 134) – A statue at Kyzikos (Marcadé 1957, no. 82). c) – – – –

Phyromachos alone Asklepios in the Pergamene Asklepieion (Polybios 32. 15; Diodoros 31. 35) Priapos dedicated by one Anaxagoras to the Graces (Stewart 1990, T 152) Antisthenes in bronze, in Ostia (Zevi 1969–70, 110, 113, pl. 20) Celtic battle-groups, in bronze (Pliny NH 34. 84)

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WHEN GALATIANS UNITE? A GEOPOLITICAL EVALUATION OF THE IMPACT OF THE ALLEGED GALATIAN UNITY IN THE 2ND CENTURY BC

Germain PAYEN

Abstract ‘When Galatians Unite?’ re-evaluates the notion of Galatian unity in the first half of the 2nd century BC, between the campaign of Manlius Vulso in Galatia down to the Roman proclamation of Galatian autonomy (189–166 BC). Even though the division of Galatian peoples between several political unities is well known, the mirage of a Galatian cultural and political non-differentiation transpires from literary and epigraphic sources. But such ancient assertions only transmit the way Hellenistic and Roman authorities publicised their hostile or friendly contacts with Galatian authorities. The Galatians were probably dealt with in accordance with their political divisions for purposes of direct relations, but the differentiation between tribes or kingdoms tended to disappear when it came to making public declarations about them. This lack of distinction may have been a cause for the lack of integration within the Anatolian political framework, and led to the Galatians furthering their own interests in Asia Minor by indistinctively becoming friends of Rome and autonomous opponents to Attalid hegemony. The fiction of Galatia as a single political entity needs to be understood as an ideological creation which had an impact on the relations between the authorities of the different tribes and the Hellenistic and Roman powers.

THE PROBLEMATIC CONCEPT OF GALATIAN UNITY In the political history of Hellenistic Anatolia, the case of the Galatian region and people(s) stands out as a challenging subject to study. Difficulties arise for a variety of reasons: a lack of self-produced evidence before the final century BC; long-lived hostile relations with many cities, from where much of our ancient sources derive; a reputation of barbarism among the Hellenised world, propagated by ancient authors writing in Greek. The very term ‘Galatians’ is problematic to use for modern historians. First, I shall use it in this investigation only for the Celtic population of Central Anatolia, not for European Celts which bear the same name in ancient Greek sources. More importantly, the

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non-differentiation between distinct Galatian communities of Anatolia seems to have engendered a shared understanding in modern times: the concept of a Galatian political and cultural unity. It is only since the 1980s that some scholars have begun to question such a view.1 The present study aims at developing this analytical trend further. To understand the political aspects of Hellenistic Galatia and the gap between fiction and reality, we can start with the Galatian political system before it was turned into three tetrarchies in the first century BC. The evidence is quite puzzling here, as these peoples are only known through Greek and Roman prisms, thanks to ancient authors as well as civic and royal inscriptions. Anatolian Hellenised cities and dynasts considered the Galatians a paragon of barbarism, and were mostly followed in their judgment by Roman authorities. Unsurprisingly, this resulted in a much-distorted image of the Galatians.2 Recent archaeological discoveries and new historical interpretations have changed the understanding historians have on this matter, especially on the cultural evaluation of the Galatian people as a purely Celtic element in an alien environment.3 Nonetheless, there are still few studies on the Galatian state formation.4 Only one piece of evidence presents a description of the Galatian political formation before their incorporation into the Roman empire. It is a passage from Strabo (12. 5. 1), written about a generation after the aforesaid incorporation. The Pontic author describes three large tribal units, otherwise known as the Tolistobogioi, Tektosages and Trokmoi, each divided into four tetrarchies, taking important political decisions in common, especially on matters of foreign policy. Most scholars have identified this constitution as the prolongation of a specific social-political order, shared with some Celtic communities of the time.5 Nevertheless, this theory overestimates the credibility of a source written in the Imperial period, especially since it is composed by an author influenced by late Hellenistic developments of the Galatian political system. As 1 See Schalles 1985, 51–127; Hannestad 1994, 26–33; Strobel 1994, 67–69, 90–94; 1996, 55–115, with a short presentation of the historiography, 55–60; Étienne 2003, 362–68; Mitchell 2004, 371–78; Coşkun 2009, 196–99; 2011, 97; 2014, 147–48; John 2016, 59–63. See especially Coşkun 2011, 97: ‘I wish to repeat my claim that a differentiation among “the Galatians” is key to a more convincing reconstruction of the events and diplomatic relations.’ 2 Kistler 2009, 11–29. 3 Coşkun 2014, 129–48, aimed at revisiting the scholarly opinions on ethnic identity of the Anatolian Galatians through alleged La Tène artefacts found in Asia Minor. 4 For a first outlook, see Mitchell 1993 I, 27–41. Strobel (1996 and 2002, 7–36) established a more critical understanding of the written evidence and used archaeological sources more extensively. See Coşkun, Chapter 1 in this volume, p. 49 for further discussion. 5 Lately, Strobel 2002, 273–78, for parallels with Celtic systems in Europe. Contra Coşkun 2013, 92, n. 28.

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Altay Coşkun has pointed out, the tetrarchies seem most likely to be Hellenistic and Roman tools for political control, rather than Celtic heritage.6 All other sources from the Hellenistic period, although neither very clear nor explicit, tend to assume a different political division of the Galatian tribes, picturing them as dynasties or even autonomous kingdoms. The notion of tetrarchy does not appear before the very late 2nd century BC under Mithradates Eupator’s rule. In his narration of Manlius Vulso’s campaign, Livy (38. 18. 1, 38. 19. 2) mentions four Galatian leaders, one from the Trokmoi, one from the Tektosages, one from the Tolistobogioi and a fourth one without ethnic attribution, whom modern scholars have attributed to either the Tolistobogioi or the Tosiopoi. This does not tie in with Strabo’s pattern. Moreover, Diodoros writes about Galatian βασιλεῖς, which points towards a sort of Hellenistic dynasties.7 All in all, nothing points to a unified foreign policy among the different Galatian tribes before the 1st century BC at the earliest. The well-known split into three main Galatian tribes reflects a reality of this later period and may not have existed before. One fourth tribe, in particular, could have existed until the early 1st century BC: the Tosiopoi (Plutarch Moralia 239a). Besides, we cannot even take for granted that the main tribes had always been unified under a single leader. There is an apparent gap between the roles these Galatian communities played in the Anatolian geopolitical order, on the one hand, and the lack of consideration they were given by most other political actors, on the other.8 Their distorted reputation had an impact on the very development of the Galatian political history, as the period between the Roman expedition of Manlius Vulso (189 BC) and the Senate’s declaration of Galatian autonomy (166 BC) shows. The objective of this paper is to find out in which proportions the different Galatian communities shared common political and diplomatic interests, even if this was only for a limited time in a specific historical situation. I shall further explore how the alleged unity or unification of the Galatian peoples influenced their treatment by the Roman and Anatolian authorities.

6 7 8

Coşkun 2013, 80–82; 2015, 168–71. Polybios 21. 37. 1–2; Diodoros 29. 12. For a short overview, see Marszal 2000, 192–97 and 204–12.

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MANLIUS VULSO AND THE ROMAN EXPEDITION INTO GALATIA IN 189 BC At the beginning of the 2nd century BC, the Roman legions made their first encounter with the Galatian peoples, during and after the war against the Seleukid king Antiochos III. The latter counted most of the Galatians among his allies. In the decisive battle of this war at Magnesia, 3,000 Galatian infantry and 2,500 Galatian cavalry fought on the Seleukid side (Livy 37. 40. 10, 14).9 Only one Galatian leader, Eposognatos, possibly from the Tosiopan tribe, remained loyal to Eumenes (Polybios 21. 7. 1, 8–9; 21. 20; Livy 38. 18. 1, 3, 13).10 Even if Livy does not make any precise differentiation, we can guess that the other tribes fought on Antiochos’ side, likely the Tolistobogioi, Tektosages and Trokmoi, precisely those which later had to deal with Manlius Vulso. After his defeat, Antiochos sued for peace and concluded a truce with the Roman generals (Livy 37. 45. 4–20), but his allies were not part of the agreement and had to make their own peace, leaving the Galatians – and king Ariarathes of Kappadokia – still officially at war with Rome.11 In the aftermath of the Roman victory of Magnesia, the consul Manlius Vulso led an expedition into Central Anatolia and defeated Galatian forces from several tribes in two major battles.12 Livy’s testimony is the main source on this campaign, supplemented by the extant fragments of Polybios, besides the short accounts of Appian and Dio Cassius.13 From Antiquity to the modern day, this expedition has often been depicted as an opportunistic operation aiming at increasing the soldiers’ loot and Vulso’s prestige. While such predatory and personal considerations need not be ruled out, the operation against the peoples of Central Anatolia was strategically and geopolitically sensible. The main objective was to pacify the region by reducing the remaining enemies to

9

See Bar-Kochva 1976, 6–19. The Galatian leaders named by Livy are Eposognatos, Ortiagon, Komboiomaros and Gaudotos. On Eposognatos’ possible identification as a leader of the Tosiopoi, see Coşkun 2011; APR s.vv. Eporedorix, Eposognatos. Previously, Eposognatos had been regarded as one of various Tolistobogian rulers: Hansen 1971, 52; Mitchell 1993, 23; Strobel 1999, 398. Some even claimed him to have been in control of Pessinus, which was convincingly rejected by Körte 1897, 15–16. On the status of Pessinus, now see Coşkun 2018; 2019; Chapter 6 in this volume. 11 Grainger 1995, 30–31. 12 On this campaign, see Körte 1897; Frank 1914, 177; Gruen 1984, 230 and 549 (on the Roman perspective); Hansen 1971, 88–92; Will 2003 II, 220–21; Grainger 1995, 33–39; 2002, 340–45; Payen 2020, 75–76 (on a more global geopolitical perspective); Mitchell 1993 I, 23–24 (on the Galatian perspective). 13 Polybios 21. 33–40; Livy 38. 12–27; Appian Syriake 42. 219–223 (only describing the battles at Mount Olympos and the encirclement of the Trokmoi and Tektosages); Zonaras 9. 20. On Vulso’s expedition in Livy’s literary rendering, see Pagnon 1982. 10

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submission, to the advantage of Eumenes, the main Roman ally in the area, and to maintain the pressure on the Seleukid side during peace negotiations.14 Vulso needed to ensure that the Seleukids could not muster another army and re-open the conflict, while the Galatians had proved dangerous opponents in the recent war. Furthermore, the Galatians had fought as allies or mercenaries together with the Seleukid army, receiving high payment from Antiochos for their support. Since they were not his subjects, they were not bound by the king’s capitulation (Appian Syriake 6. 22; Livy 38. 18. 1 and 10–15; Polybios 21. 37. 1).15 The Attalid king in particular wanted to ensure that the control of Anatolia would safely transition from the Seleukids to himself, by reassuring the cities of his ability to check the Galatians. To this aim, their leaders as well as the Kappadokian king had to be compelled to negotiate. These strategic goals transpire through the itinerary followed by the Roman and Attalid forces: they marched through Pisidia and Phrygia, i.e. along the new Seleukid border.16 Such geopolitical prospects did not conflict with Manlius Vulso’s personal ambition of defeating the Galatians (Livy 37. 50. 1–8; 38. 12. 2–8; 38. 51. 10). This aim was eventually achieved after various skirmishes and two major siege battles, by which the Roman and Attalid forces overwhelmed the Galatian armies in their hillforts (Livy 38. 19. 1–38. 23. 11; 38. 24. 1–38. 27. 9). The three main Galatian tribes, the Trokmoi, Tektosages and Tolistobogioi, are mentioned by Livy, but his description is very factual, probably drawn from the campaign diary of one of the Roman military commanders.17 The first battle was fought behind mount Gordion against the Tolistobogioi. The second major operation took place near Ankyra, where the Tektosages were confronted; these were in alliance with some Trokmoi, Kappadokians and Paphlagonians. Livy’s account is clear in that even those large alliances had to take defensive approaches, since they were no match for Roman legions in open combat, but not even their fortifications or uphill positions saved them from defeat. The victim numbers given by the annalist are surely exaggerated, so that it is difficult to assess their manpower realistically. At any rate, we should accept that the Galatians were hampered by their internal divisions. The Tolistobogioi, the most powerful tribe of the time, largely fought on their own, with only a limited Trokmian contingent coming to their aid. Moreover, Manlius 14 15 16 17

Grainger 1995, 39–41. See Coşkun 2007, 60–65; 2011, 101. Grainger 1995, 33–39. On Livy’s sources, see Grainger 1995, 33.

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Vulso deployed effective intelligence and diplomacy, ensuring that the Pessinuntines and other local authorities in or near Galatia remained neutral or were even friendly to the invading force (Polybios 21. 37. 1–3, 8–9; Livy 38. 10. 1–3, 10). To summarise: Vulso’s expedition was directed against several Galatian tribes, and these were not united into one alliance, let alone that they formed a political unity.18 In fact, Livy’s report of the Galatian campaign shows that the Roman authorities knew about the divisions between the different Galatian tribes and used it in their best interest. Nonetheless, the campaign had been advertised by Manlius Vulso as a war against ‘the Galatians’ as a whole. After his victory, he ordered the Galatians to send ambassadors to Ephesos, where they would be given peace terms by Eumenes. The fact that Vulso opted for a collective treatment of all Galatians underlines that he lacked interest in dealing with the complex situation of the Celtic peoples of Asia Minor. This task was assigned to the Attalid king, presumably an expert of Anatolian matters, who also had sufficient personal interest to invest into arrangements that would allow the control of the Galatians. TOWARDS A NEW GEOPOLITICAL ORDER: DEFINING THE STATUS OF THE GALATIANS IN EPHESOS AND APAMEIA During the peace negotiations following Manlius Vulso’s campaign, Galatian emissaries met with the Roman officials. Unfortunately, the treatment reserved to Galatia is not explicitly given by our literary sources and is still a matter of debate. Polybios mentioned the fact that the Roman commissioners had decided to settle the matter later, but the corresponding text passage is lost (Polybios 21. 46. 12). Diodoros states that Manlius Vulso, at the end of his expedition, declared to the Galatian ambassadors that peace would be granted when the Galatian kings would come to him (29. 12). Last but not least, Livy wrote that the Galatians were ordered to make peace with Eumenes and to stay peacefully in their own territory. As said by Livy (38. 40. 1–2): … [Manlius with the ten commissioners set out for the Hellespont], summoning thither the chiefs of the Gauls, and stated the terms on which they should observe peace with Eumenes, and warned them that they should discontinue their habit of wandering about under arms and should keep themselves within the boundaries of their own lands.19 18

Coşkun 2007, 60–63; 2011, 101. … evocatis eo regulis Gallorum, leges quibus pacem cum Eumenes servarent dixit; denuntiavit ut morem vagandi cum armis finirent agrorumque suorum terminis se continerent. Adapted from the edition with translation by E.T. Sage (London 1936). 19

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It has often been overlooked that this condition actually seems to imply Galatian autonomy.20 The wording is, admittedly, quite vague and raises questions about the effective geopolitical consequences. But there are additional arguments in favour of Galatian autonomy. Most of all, their territories are not included in the Treaty of Apameia among the lands given to Eumenes.21 Furthermore, the map of Attalid colonies shows that the Galatian territories were deliberately avoided. These military settlements rather seem to have been deployed as part of a defensive strategy against the Galatian threat.22 That, after Apameia, such a strategy was actively pursued along the Galatian border is further supported by a recently published inscription from Pessinus. It is a letter of Attalos (II) to Sosthenes and Heroïdes.23 The document has been convincingly dated to the 180s, either shortly after the peace of Apameia or after the war of Eumenes against Prusias and Ortiagon.24 As the king’s brother, Attalos dealt with the request of a certain Aribazos, commander of a seemingly militarised settlement, populated by Galatians – mercenaries? – in Kleonnaeion, and by the katoikoi – military settlers? – of Amorion (ll. 4–5). While the former place is otherwise unknown, the latter was located 40 km south of Pessinus. Not even the Phrygian sanctuary of Pessinus itself was situated in Galatia by this time, but attached to or affiliated with the Pergamene kingdom, as Coşkun has recently argued.25 The settlement of royal soldiers on the Attalid side of the Galatian border provides thus another clue of the defensive stance Eumenes took in this region. In the end, the most likely solution is that he dealt with the Galatian leaders by concluding separate treaties, taking into account their political distinctiveness as well as their variegated diplomatic relations with other local dynasts. If there was a Roman statement to confirm Galatian autonomy, it must have been 20

Mitchell 1993 I, 24, accepted this testimony but considered that it was a pro-Attalid decision from the Roman authorities. It seems to be an overstatement from indecisive evidence, inferred from later developments. It is also possible that Livy himself anticipated the later declaration of Galatian autonomy of 166, as the expression used here reflects that of Polybios 30. 28. 21 It is irrelevant that the Galatians had not been subjects of the Seleukids previously, as is shown by Coşkun 2011, 92–101. 22 On this subject, the maps of Hellenistic colonies in Cohen 1995, 488–96 are the common reference. This argument, used for the Seleukids by Coşkun 2011, 95, is also valid for the Attalids, who maintained a consistent colonial activity after the peace of Apameia. See also Coşkun, Chapter 6 in this volume. Further, see Dmitriev (1999, 405–11) on the defensive nature of the colonies. 23 Avram and Tsetskhladze 2014, 153; Ricl 2014, 141–42; Thonemann 2015, 117; BE 2015, 658. 24 Thonemann 2015, 122; Coşkun 2019, 625–30; and Coşkun, Chapter 6 in this volume; Payen 2020, 149–54. 25 Coşkun 2016 (on the first conquest of Pessinus by Attalos I in 207 BC); 2017 (on the establishment of Tolistobogian control as late as ca. 60 BC); 2019, 623–30 (for a comprehensive synthesis); Chapter 6 in this volume (on Kleonnaeion).

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specified as conditional. It may have been an informal decision of Vulso, but was barely an official declaration, since we do not know of a confirmation by the Senate. At any rate, if there was such a decree or policy, the Romans would certainly have left its details and its implementation to Eumenes. He, in turn, would have benefited a state of ambiguity. At all events, he sure knew how to take advantage of the political divisions among the Galatians. AFTER APAMEIA: THE GALATIANS, PONTOS AND PERGAMENE HEGEMONY Whatever the outcome of the negotiations at Ephesos and Apameia, Attalid hegemony was not – or not for long – respected after the Romans withdrew from Asia Minor in 188 BC. In 184/3 BC, the Bithynian king Prusias I waged war against the Eumenes and the city of Herakleia. This conflict produced an inscription by the Attalid city Telmessos, which honoured Eumenes for having ‘fought to the end against Prusias and Ortiagon and the Galatians and their allies’.26 The Celts of Central Anatolia are thus listed among the enemies of Pergamon, not as disloyal subjects, let alone allies. It may seem irrelevant to assess the Galatians’ political status on the basis of an honorific inscription from Lykia. But, as subjects, the Telmessians probably echoed the king’s official proclamation. Ortiagon is also mentioned by Polybios (21. 22. 21), as an ambitious individual aiming – but failing – at unifying the Galatians under his authority.27 This additional piece of evidence not only lends support to the credibility of the Telmessian inscription, but further shows both the divisions among the Galatians and the fact that they were not subjected to Attalid sovereignty. The Galatians who fought under Ortiagon’s authority against Eumenes were (at least in the first place) Tolistobogians, as we know from Livy (38. 19. 2) and Polybios (21. 38. 1–7). It seems that between the Treaty of Apameia and the end of Eumenes’ war against Prusias and Ortiagon, the Galatians had effectively maintained their autonomy. Their status was, however, impinged on by neighbouring kings, both through military intervention and diplomacy that showed little respect for the autonomy of the distinctive tribes. Ethnic specifications were erased from official proclamations, when they were simply referred to as ‘Galatians’, rather than Tolistobogians, Tektosages or Trokmians. 26 Segre 1932, 446–49. This decree is dated from December 184: Habicht 1956, 99–100; Mitchell 1993 I, 24–25. Ll. 11–13: καὶ διαγωνισάμενος πρός τε Προυσίαν καὶ Ὀρτιάγοντα καὶ τοὺς Γαλάτας καὶ τοὺς συμμάχους αὐτῶν. 27 Obituary for Ortiagon, who died in AD 183.

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Eumenes’ victory of 184/3 BC further strengthened the marginalisation of the Galatians in the political field. The Telmessian decree presents the Attalid king as the saviour and benefactor of Asia, and as the defender of Hellenic civilisation against barbarian threat. His honours reflect dynastic self-confidence and ambition, as developed on a larger scale in two ideological schemes. Firstly, Eumenes restructured a festival closely related to his dynasty, the Nikephoria, by granting it a panhellenic and isolympic statute.28 Secondly, he may have started the construction of the Pergamon Altar at this moment.29 The dating and interpretation of this monumental architecture is still a matter of debate, but its understanding as an allegory advertising Attalid victories over the Galatians, especially those led by Ortiagon, is largely accepted in modern historiography.30 Galatomachias – representations of victories against the Galatians – had been a common theme in the dynastic ideology of the Attalids beforehand, but it took a more grandiose turn with this masterpiece.31 Another ramification of Eumenes’ victory was the involvement of Pharnakes I, king of Pontos, whose intervention offered the Galatians yet another option rather than submitting to Pergamon.32 The two kings were already at conflict with each other, since Pharnakes had conquered Sinope in 183 BC. Matters became more complex when they were intermingled with the fates of the Galatian tribes of Anatolia.33 Eumenes reasserted his influence over them in 180 BC. When he and his brothers were leading troops to (or through) the Galatian region, they were met by the emissaries of two Galatian dynasts, 28

Three inscriptions attest the recognition of the new statute of the Nikephoria inside the Greek world: Syll.3 629 (decree of the Aitolian koinon); Syll.3 630 (decree from Delphi); Segre 1948, 104 (decree from Kos, see BE 1949, 129). See Robert 1930, 332–38. Concerning the rhythm followed by the restructured festival, see Segre 1948, 105; Jones 1974, 186–88; BE 1974, 466; Allen 1983, 127–29; Rigsby 1996, 363–77; Virgilio 1999, 355–57; Jones 2000, 11–12. Concerning the Attalid propaganda developed through the Nikephoria’s reorganisation, see Will 2003 II, 287; Allen 1983, 125–27; Thonemann 2013, 36–37. 29 On the Altar’s discovery and its main studies, see Queyrel 2005, 21–48. 30 Queyrel 2005, 123–36; Massa-Pairault 2007, 123–57. 31 Concerning the development of an original ideology by the Attalid dynasty after the Peace of Apameia, see Thonemann 2013, 30–44. About Galatomachias or Celtomachias, see Kistler 2009, 30–87; also Coşkun, Chapter 1, Nelson, Chapter 2, and Kosmetatou, Chapter 3, all in this volume. 32 Some scholars, however, claimed the domination, if not occupation, of Galatia by the Pergamene troops as a result of this victory: Stähelin 1907, 61–74; Hansen 1971, 98–106. With more caution, Mitchell 1993 I, 25, rather speaks of a Pergamene influence starting in the late 180s BC. 33 Polybios 23. 9. 2–4; 24. 1. 1–3; 24. 5. 1–8; 24. 14. 1–11; 24. 15. 12–13; 25. 2; Strabo 12. 3. 11; Diodoros 29. 22–24. On this conflict, see McShane 1964, 161–63; Will 2003 II, 288–90; Petković 2012, 360–64; Payen 2020, 161–85.

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Kassignatos and Gaizatorix.34 The first one was a Tolistobogian leader, while the second may have belonged to the Trokmian tribe.35 The Trokmoi may have been involved in the Pontic attack against Kappadokia in the same year, given that they were settled in the area between Pontos and Kappodokia.36 In 180, however, both requested their reintegration into the Attalid alliance, but they were repelled because of their recent disloyalty. The term ἀθεσία does not presuppose a direct Attalid suzerainty, and rather refers to an existing treaty of alliance, probably concluded after the war against Prusias and Ortiagon. This is confirmed by the text of the treaty concluded by the end of the Pontic War in 179 BC: all the treaties (συνθῆκαι) previously concluded between Pharnakes and the Galatian dynasts were then cancelled and forbidden for the future (Polybios 25. 2. 4). Such a decision clearly shows that the Anatolian protagonists kept close political contacts with the Galatian authorities, and further that they took advantage of their divisions and of the lack of recognition they found. The absence of any Galatian leader as a recognised political authority in the text of the treaty is a sign of the disregard they were held in. Eumenes was able to strengthen his influence over the Tolistobogian and Trokmian kinglets. The role of the Tektosages is less certain: they may have stayed neutral, remained loyal allies of Eumenes or perhaps likewise had to accept Attalid over Pontic hegemony, unless they were permitted to maintain their alliance with Pharnakes despite the generalising wording of Polybios.37 THE GALATIAN REVOLT EUMENES II IN 168–166 BC

AGAINST

The Anatolian balance of powers shifted once again after the Roman victory over Perseus of Macedonia in 168 BC, even though this conflict took place in Greece. Eumenes and the city of Rhodes,38 the two oldest allies of the Romans 34 Polybios 24. 14. 6–7. See Walbank 1979, 267–68; Mitchell 1993 I, 25, underlining the divisions among the Galatian people, between several leaders supporting one side or the other. 35 See APR s.vv. Gaizatorix, Kassignatos. 36 Polybios 24. 14. 1–2. See Panichi 2018, 22; Coşkun forthcoming. 37 Coşkun (forthcoming) suggests that the Tektosages remained close to the Pontic rulers. Considering Polybios’ version of the outcome of the war and the fact that no source clearly supports this theory, it can alternatively be assumed that this Pontic influence was temporarily shut down, only to reappear either with the declaration of Galatian autonomy (see below) or even as late as under Mithradates VI Eupator’s rule. 38 Polybios 30. 4–5; 30. 21; 30. 23. 4; 30. 31; Livy 45. 10; 45. 20–25; Periochae 46; Diodoros 31. 4–7; Zonaras 9. 24. See Schmitt 1957, 163–65; Will 2003 II, 297–301; Gruen 1984, 39–42; Bresson 1999, 118–19; Wiemer 2002, 317–25 and 328–39.

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in Asia, were exposed to a deeply dissatisfied Senate. As far as the Attalid king was concerned, this turning-point must be put in relation with a major uprising of the Galatians that shook Pergamene rule in Phrygia in 168–166 BC. Before the end of the Third Macedonian War, Eumenes II had to leave Macedon with a fraction of his forces to confront an alliance of Galatian troops and dynasts. That such a coalition attacked the Attalid kingdom was to Polybios a manifestation of Tyche, a totally unpredictable event that would strike a king who had been favoured by fortune thus far (Polybios 29. 22. 1–4). Nonetheless, it is possible to find some factors that may have led to this turn of event. In 171 BC, Kassignatos, an influential Galatian leader, died in the battle of Kallinikos while serving under the command of Eumenes.39 Not much later, in 168 BC, 35 Attalid transport ships fell victim to the Macedonian fleet and were sunk, together with their load of Galatian soldiers and horses.40 We can assume that the Galatian soldiers sent to Greece belonged to the same tribe as Kassignatos, who had become either a trusted or a hired officer in the Attalid army, making the Tolistobogioi the main Galatian contingent of Eumenes. These losses among the Galatian people recently subdued or hired by Eumenes must have caused major resentment and bitterness against Attalid authority among the Tolistobogioi.41 Most likely, the balance of powers back in Galatia was also affected, probably favouring other tribes or factions, such as the Tektosages. It would not even be an abject speculation that weakening the Tolistobogioi had been a strategic goal of Eumenes in the first place. But there was tremendous backlash for the Pergamene kingdom as well. In 168 BC, numerous cities and katoikiai were assaulted. A recently published inscription reproduces Eumenes’ answer to a petition from a katoikia called Apollonioucharax; this was located near Sardeis and had sustained damages during the war.42 That the royal residence city of Sardeis itself came under threat is attested by a Delphic decree celebrating an Attalid victory near Sardeis in face of great dangers in 166 BC.43 Other epigraphic evidence points to

39

Livy 42. 57. 9. See APR s.v. ‘Kassignatos’. See Livy 44. 28. 7–16: 800 Galatians were allegedly killed, 200 taken prisoners, and all the horses lost. 41 For discussion, see, for example, Cardinali 1906, 107–13; Stähelin 1907, 66–72; Magie 1950, 21–23; Hansen 1971, 120–24; Hopp 1977, 51–52; Walbank 1979, 395–96, 415 and 442; Virgilio 1981, 88–90; Will 2003 II, 291–23, 380; Allen 1983, 142; Gruen 1984, 573–78; Mitchell 1993 I, 25; Thonemann 2011, 172–73; APR s.vv. ‘Kassignatos’, ‘Solovettios’; Payen 2020, 200–01. 42 Herrmann and Malay 2007, 49–58, no. 32 = SEG LVII 1150. 43 FD III.3 241 = OGIS 305. 40

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military operations near Apameia during a Galatian war waged by Eumenes II.44 Less certain is an inscribed honorific decree found in Ayvatlar, in the Upper Hermos region: it mentions an enemy incursion, but date and geographical context are unclear.45 To the danger of the Galatian invasion were added some revolts among the Attalid subject communities, such as that of Amlada, a small Pisidian town. This one is known thanks to a royal letter by Attalos II, co-ruler, mentioning it several years later.46 Eumenes looked for help among his allies, sent his brother to the Senate and mustered his troops. The Roman Senate only sent a commission, which did not help, however, and may even have incited the Galatians to continue the fight (Polybios 30. 1–3; Livy 45. 19–20).47 When he came to Italy himself, Eumenes was not even allowed to enter Rome, while his Bithynian rival was favourably received in the Senate.48 Roman hostility was explained by the king’s conduct during the war against Perseus, but an additional reason may have been the disappearance of the Macedonian power, which made the Attalid kingdom the most powerful state in the Aegean basin. This may also be the reason why other Anatolian allies of the Attalids refused to help, except for some cities which regarded the Galatians as much more dangerous.49 Neither the literary nor the epigraphic evidence specifies the Galatian tribes that were at war with Pergamon. Polybios and Livy remain very allusive and convey the picture of unified Galatians.50 One of their leaders is identified by Livy as Solovettios, probably the successor of Kassignatos and thus king of the Tolistobogioi. He met Roman officials in Synnada in 167 BC.51 Diodoros

44

Drew-Bear 1975, 357; Thonemann 2003, 104–05. SEG XLIX 1552. Cf. Thonemann 2003, 105–06. 46 OGIS 751 = RC 54. See Will 2003 II, 292; Gruen 1984, 574, n. 12. 47 Kallet-Marx 1995, 573–78 mistrusts Polybios’ interpretation; the Roman demand that the Galatians cease their attacks may simply have been half-hearted. 48 Polybios 30. 19. 1–14 (the senators reject Eumenes); Polybios 30. 18; Livy 45. 44 (Prusias is received in the Senate). Despite this favourable treatment, Prusias was not given satisfaction by the Senate. See Habicht 1957, 1111–13; Fernoux 2008, 238; Payen 2020, 201. For a different view, see Gruen 1984, 574–76, who considers that it was not a decision against Eumenes, but against all foreign kings, a statement that does not concord with the different treatment of both kings albeit; Braund 1984, 55–56, with a similar, yet more nuanced approach. 49 Guizzi 2006 (= SEG LVII 1109) reproduces a letter from Eumenes II to the Tabenoi, honouring a philos, citizen in this community, for his behaviour in the recent Galatian war. Thonemann (2013, 15–16) thinks that royal letter addressed the city of Tabai; contra Ma (2013, 60, n. 44), who questions this identification. 50 Polybios 29. 22; 30. 1. 1; 30. 3. 7–9; 30. 19. 12; 30. 18–19; 30. 30. 2; Livy 44. 20. 7; 45. 19. 3; 45. 34. 10–14; 45. 44. 11. 51 Livy 45. 34. 12: Solovettius dux Gallorum, on whom see APR s.v. ‘Solovettios’. 45

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mentions a ‘general of the barbarous Galatians’,52 probably the same man, who seems to have been the main Galatian leader in this war. The impression of such a single leadership, even though hypothetical, suggests that the war was mainly sustained by the Tolitobogioi. As the Trokmoi and the Tolistobogioi had a history of shared interests and alliance since the early 3rd century BC, it is a plausible assumption that they participated in this war. At any rate, the military superiority and geographical position of the Tolistobogioi implies that the Trokmoi were, at best, a secondary actor of the conflict. Tektosages, however, were less likely to accept Tolistobogian leadership without any need. Their location to the east, around Ankyra, allowed them to remain neutral. The Galatian forces were thus largely confined to the Tolistobogioi, and that their initial successes relied on the element of surprise, as most Attalid forces were engaged overseas in the Third Macedonian War. Further to their advantage was a good knowledge of the eastern Attalid territories. Solovettios was also helped by the disaffection of the Romans and of other major Attalid allies. Eventually, however, the Attalids prevailed: the Tolistobogian resources were insufficient to defeat the then greatest military power of Asia Minor.

OF

THE ROMAN PROCLAMATION GALATIAN AUTONOMY IN 166 BC

The main novelty in the context of the Galatian uprising of 168–166 BC was how the Romans reacted. When Eumenes defeated his enemy (Diodoros 31. 14. 1), they prevented him from harvesting the fruits of his success. Instead, ‘the autonomy of their country was granted by the Senate to the Galatian envoys on condition that they remained in their own settlements and did not cross their frontier in arms’.53 This decision is usually understood as being against Eumenes’ interests, as he was then in a position to extend his authority over the Celtic communities of Anatolia.54 S. Mitchell and E. Gruen disagree, assessing the decision as rather advantageous to Eumenes and directed against Galatian interests. They contradict Polybios’ opinion that the Romans had lent diplomatic support to the Galatians

52 Diodoros 31. 13. 1: ὁ τῶν βαρβάρων Γαλατῶν στρατηγός. Edited and translated by F.R. Walton (London 1957). 53 Polybios 30. 28: Ὅτι τοῖς παρὰ τῶν ἐκ τῆς Ἀσίας Γαλατῶν πρεσβευταῖς συνεχώρησαν τὴν αὐτονομίαν μένουσιν ἐν ταῖς ἰδίαις κατοικίαις καὶ μὴ στρατευομένοις ἐκτὸς τῶν ἰδίων ὅρων. Edited and translated by W.R. Paton (London 1927). Cf. Walbank 1979, 454 on the uncertain date of the Attalid victory (late 167 or early 166 BC). 54 Cf. Allen 1983, 142–43; Ferrary 1988, 184; Will 2003 II, 291–93.

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in 167 BC. This would be an erroneous conclusion from a failed attempt at mediation, neither the first nor the last such case.55 The decision taken in 166 BC appears to them as a threat to the Galatians, who were firmly ordered to stay inside their own territory. Accordingly, the mention of autonomy only reflected the status quo of Galatia before a potential invasion by the Attalids and was the good that they might lose if they did not obey. Such a pro-Roman or pro-Attalid interpretation is, however, hardly compatible with the well-documented mistrust of Eumenes,56 or with the later overly defensive policy of the Attalids towards the Galatian border.57 All in all, Mitchell’s and Gruen’s theory does not fit the geopolitical situation in 166 BC: the revolting Galatians were defeated and the Romans wanted to protect their autonomy, which was currently under threat after the Attalid victory. A passage from Diodoros (31. 14. 1) implies that Eumenes aimed at seizing control of Galatia after his victory, which presupposes that Eumenes’ influence on the Galatian communities, or at least on some of them, was still neither total nor official. What Diodoros understood as ‘Galatia’ is hard to say, but there is little doubt that he did not have enough knowledge of the political situation of Central Anatolia in the mid-2nd century to differentiate between the tribes threatened and those unconcerned. The declaration of Galatian autonomy was not against the principles promulgated in the peace of Apameia, but rather completed them. After two decades of political ambiguity, the Galatians were at least officially recognised as autonomous by Rome, although without concern for ethnic subdivisions. In theory, this decree of autonomy implied unity as well and thus affected not only the Tolistobogioi as the main opponents of Eumenes therefore mostly in need of Roman protection, but also the other Galatian peoples. Nonetheless, due to the passivity of the Roman Senate in enforcing the proclamation and since the other tribes were not directly affected by Eumenes’ victory, they might have been left alone in practice. Perhaps they did not even take notice of their new status.

55

Gruen 1984, 574–75 and 577–78; Mitchell 1993 I, 26. The Senate refused to receive Eumenes (Polybios 30. 19. 1–14); a letter of Attalos II explicitly mentions Roman mistrust of his predecessor: OGIS 315 = RC 61 = Virgilio 1981, no. 6 = I.Pessinous 7. Cf. Magie 1950, 27 and 776; Virgilio 1981, 31–34; Gruen 1984, 591, n. 87; Mitchell 1993 I, 26. 57 Dmitriev 1999, 410–11. 56

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THE AFTERMATH OF THE ROMAN PROCLAMATION OF GALATIAN AUTONOMY Evidence to shed light on the further development is rare. In the aftermath of the Roman proclamation of Galatian autonomy, down to the end of the 2nd century and the coming of Mithradates VI Eupator, only one source identifies a particular Celtic tribe. It comes from Polybios, who narrates a territorial conflict between the Trokmoi and the king of Kappadokia, Ariarathes IV, ca. 164/3 BC. After their failure, the Trokmoi sent an embassy to Rome to enforce their claims through the authority of the Senate (Polybios 31. 8, 15).58 Although Polybios does not specify the nature of their arguments, we can assume that the recent declaration of autonomy was put forward in favour of the Trokmians. Indeed, no Galatian embassy is known to have been sent to Rome before 166 BC, whereas this year saw the first of three or four attested within six years. Two other ones date to 164/3 and 161/0 BC, with unidentified Galatian envoys accompanying the Bithynian king Prusias II, who attempted to hamper the reputation of the Attalids in Rome (Polybios 31. 1. 2–3; 31. 32. 1–2). Prusias had conducted another such embassy in 165/4 BC, with allegations of Attalid interference in Galatia, although Polybios does not mention Galatian emissaries in this occurrence (Polybios 30. 30. 2–4). The former alliance between Prusias I and Ortiagon and the much older history of co-operation between Bithynians and Tolistobogioi suggest that those Galatians siding with Prusias were Tolistobogioi.59 In order to conclude this short study, we can try to identify the political evolution for the different Galatian tribes after 166 BC, or the lack thereof. The Tolistobogioi got the most of it, escaping Attalid conquest and even ending their indirect control strongly established between 183 and 179 BC. However, the three documented embassies made by Prusias to Rome show that Eumenes may have kept on interfering in Galatian affairs. Prusias’ accusation, that Eumenes ‘disobeyed the decrees of the Senate, continuing to strengthen his own partisans there and to weaken by every means in his power those who were favourable to Rome, and who desired to act in accordance with the

58

See Mitchell 1993, 26; Coşkun 2007, 65. The first known occurrence of an alliance or mercenary recruitment among the Tolistobogian tribe by a member of the Bithynian royal family took place in the Bithynian War of Succession (ca. 255–253 BC). The pretender Ziaelas fought against his brother Zipoites II with Tolistobogian soldiers as the linchpin of his army: Memnon of Herakleia FGH 434 F 14. 1–2 = Photios 228b. Cf. Stähelin 1907, 15–18; Habicht 1972, 389; Mitchell 1993 I, 19; Michels 2008, 33; Coşkun 2011, 96. 59

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decrees of the Senate’,60 may be a reference to the Tosiopoi, the main supporters of the Attalids among the Galatians. Perhaps the Tosiopoi remained under Attalid influence, while the Tolistobogioi escaped it and re-established cooperation with the Bithynian king.61 Concerning the Trokmoi, as mentioned before, the declaration may have been received and used against the Kappadokian king, with few results albeit.62 Due to this failure, they may have rebuilt political alliances with either the Tolistobogioi or the Tektosages, in order to deal with their own isolation, but nothing certain can be inferred from the flimsy evidence. Lastly, the Tektosages were probably not affected by the declaration of autonomy, perhaps they were not even aware of it. They most likely remained under the influence of the Pontic king, until the rule of Mithradates VI.63 If the king of Pontos, either Mithradates IV or still Pharnakes in the 160s BC, acknowledged the declaration of 166 BC, he may have done so with mixed feelings: on the one hand, this decree might in the future be used against his authority; on the other hand, it targeted primarily, if not exclusively, Attalid influence in Galatia. Given the rivalry between the two kingdoms, a weakening of the Attalid position was certainly welcomed in Pontos. At any rate, Roman intervention against the Attalids could well be understood as ending the limitations that Eumenes had imposed on Pontic involvement in Galatia in 179. All of this suggests that the decree of 166, on the one hand, revived the highly competitive climate of before 180 BC in Anatolia; on the other hand, the declaration of autonomy was an unambiguous point of reference for the next generations prior to the unique expansion of Mithradates VI Eupator.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Allen, R.E. 1983: The Attalid Kingdom: A Constitutional History (Oxford). Avram, A. and Tsetskhladze, G.R. 2014: ‘A New Attalid Letter from Pessinus’. ZPE 191, 151–81. Bar-Kochva, B. 1976: The Seleucid Army (Cambridge). 60 Polybios 30. 30. 3: … ἀλλὰ τοὺς τὰ σφέτερα μὲν φρονοῦντας σωματοποιεῖν, τοὺς δὲ τὰ ‘Ρωμαίων αἱρουμὲνους καὶ βουλομένους πολιτεύεσθαι τοῖς τῆς συγκλήτου δόγμασιν ἀκολούθως κατὰ πάντα τρόπον ἐλαττοῦν. Edited and translated by W.R. Paton (London 1927). 61 Although speculative, the participation of the Tosiopoi in the revolt of 86 BC against Mithradates VI might support the theory of a long-lasting proximity between the Attalid kings and this Galatian tribe. See APR s.vv. ‘Eporedorix’, ‘Eposognatos’ (with stemma). 62 Panichi 2018, 27. 63 See Coşkun forthcoming.

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Magie, D. 1950: Roman Rule in Asia Minor to the End of the Third Century after Christ (Princeton). Marszal, J. 2000: ‘Ubiquitous Barbarians. Representations of the Gauls at Pergamon and Elsewhere’. In de Grummond, N.T. and Ridgway, B.S. (eds.), From Pergamon to Sperlonga: Sculpture and Context (Hellenistic Culture and Society 34) (Berkeley/London), 191–234. Massa-Pairault, F.H. 2007: La gigantomachie de Pergame ou l’image du monde (BCH Suppl. 50) (Paris). Michels, C. 2008: Kulturtransfer und monarchischer ‘Philhellenismus’: Bithynien, Pontos und Kappadokien in hellenistischer Zeit (Schriften zur politischen Kommunikation 4) (Göttingen). Mitchell, S. 1993: Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods. I: The Celts in Anatolia and the Impact of Roman Rule (Oxford). —. 2004: ‘Les Galates: représentation et réalité’. In Erskine, A. (ed.), Le Monde hellénistique: Espaces, sociétés, cultures, 323–31 av. J.-C. (Rennes), 367–82. Pagnon, B. 1982: ‘Le récit de l’expédition de Cn. Manlius Vulso contre les GalloGrecs et de ses prolongements dans le livre 38 de Tite-Live’. Les Études Classiques 50, 115–28. Panichi, S. 2018: La Cappadocia ellenistica sotto gli Ariaratidi ca. 250–100 a.C. (Florence). Payen, G. 2020: Dans l’ombre des empires: Les suites géopolitiques du traité d’Apamée en Anatolie (Suppléments francophones de la Revue Phoenix 1) (Québec). Petković, Ž. 2012: ‘The Aftermath of the Apamean Settlement: Early Challenges to the New Order in Asia Minor’. Klio 94, 357–65. Queyrel, F. 2005: L’autel de Pergame: images et pouvoir en Grèce d’Asie (Antiqua 9) (Paris). Ricl, M. 2014: ‘A New Royal Letter from Pessinus: Some Corrections and Suggestions’. EA 47, 141–46. Rigsby, K.J. 1996: Asylia: Territorial Inviolability in the Hellenistic World (Hellenistic Culture and Society 22) (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London). Robert, L. 1930: ‘Notes d’épigraphie hellénistique XXXVII. Sur les Nikephoria de Pergame’. BCH 54, 332–46. Schalles, H.-J. 1985: Untersuchungen zur Kulturpolitik der pergamenischen Herrscher im 3. Jh. v.Chr. (Istanbuler Forschungen 36) (Tübingen). Schmitt, H.H. 1957: Rom und Rhodos: Geschichte ihrer politischen Beziehungen seit der ersten Berührung bis zum Aufgehen des Inselstaates im römischen Weltreich (Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtsgeschichte 40) (Munich). Segre, M. 1932: ‘Due nuovi testi storici’. Rivista di filologia 60, 446–62. —. 1948: ‘L’institution des Nikephoria de Pergame’. In Robert, L. (ed.), Hellenica V (Paris), 101–28. Stähelin, F. 1907: Geschichte der kleinasiatischen Galater, 2nd ed. (Leipzig). Strobel, K. 1994: ‘“Keltensieg und Galatersieger”. Die Funktionalisierung eines historischen Phänomens als politischer Mythos der hellenistischen Welt’. In Schwertheim, E. (ed.), Forschungen in Galatien (AMS 12) (Bonn), 67–96. —. 1996: Die Galater. I: Geschichte und Eigenart der keltischen Staatenbildung auf dem Boden des hellenistischen und römischen Kleinasien (Untersuchungen zur

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PESSINUS, KLEONNAEION AND ATTALID ADMINISTRATION IN EASTERN PHRYGIA IN LIGHT OF A RECENTLY-FOUND ROYAL LETTER FROM BALLIHISAR

Altay COŞKUN

Abstract The so-called ‘secret correspondence’ from Sivrihisar near Pessinus, i.e. seven fragmentary letters authored at the Attalid court, is normally dated to the mid-2nd century BC and read as evidence for treacherous exchanges with the High Priest Attis. In an eighth letter found only recently in Ballıhisar, Attalos II orders his officials Sosthenes and Heroïdes to take action to satisfy the request of Aribazos, the leader of the military settlers in Amorion and Kleonnaeion. According to the editio princeps (Avram and Tsetskhladze 2014; cf. BE 2015, 658; SEG LXIV 1296), the document was composed around 160/59 BC, and thus belongs to the same historical context as the royal correspondence known previously. But P. Thonemann now argues for a date around 183 BC, which marks to him the beginning of the short period of direct Pergamene rule over Galatia and Pessinus until 166 BC. He goes on to claim that the military settlement Kleonnaeion was located in and perhaps merged with Pessinus, and at some point even enjoyed polis status. However, there is no solid source basis for the assumption that Pessinus had ever been subjected to the Galatians in the 3rd or 2nd century BC. As a result, Pessinus was most likely ceded to Eumenes together with eastern Phrygia in 188 BC. The royal letters addressing Attis should thus no longer be interpreted as secretive and treacherous, but as correspondence between the high priest and his king. The new document, in fact, attests to Pessinus’ subjection to Attalid administration, and probably dates as early as 188/85 BC. A revision of the evidence will further show that the identification of the cult site in the Gallos Valley with Kleonnaeion is not warranted.

INTRODUCTION1 It is largely taken for granted that the Tolistobogian Galatians took control of major parts of eastern Phrygia on both sides of the Sangarios bend soon after 1 The history of Phrygian, Hellenistic, Roman and Byzantine Pessinus has been put on a new foundation through the combined efforts of the Ghent and Melbourne excavation teams, see most recently the edited volumes by Tsetskhladze 2018 and 2019, superseding many previous summary versions such as Devreker and Claerhout 2010 or Tsetskhladze 2013. The important new

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their arrival in Asia Minor in 278 BC. Their territory is supposed to have extended at least as far as Pessinus (Ballıhisar) in the valley of the Gallos, which merges into the Sangarios in its southernmost slope. Some nuances have been offered, though: while a majority regards Pessinus as the centre of the Tolistobogian Galatians from the 3rd century onwards, others prefer to speak of ‘influence’, but this may have gone so far as an amalgamation of the Phrygian and Galatian elites in the temple state. Reservations have been voiced here or there, most often in chronological terms, namely that Galatian direct or indirect control postdates 189 BC. But the overall picture now is that the Pessinuntine sanctuary of Kybele Agdistis should be regarded as the most prominent cult site of the Galatians since the 3rd century BC.2 Exceptions were only made for the immediate aftermath of the Battle at Magnesia, in which the Scipio brothers defeated Antiochos III (190). Their victory was followed by the Galatian campaign of Cn. Manlius Vulso (189) and the Peace of Apameia (188). The terms that the Romans imposed not only inscription from Ballıhisar (editio princeps by Avram and Tsetskhladze 2014) has barely been dealt with in the same volume, except for some passing mentions (Tsetskhladze 2018, 5; Roller 2018, 87, n. 27) and a summary of the argument presented here in more detail (Coşkun 2019a, 625–30). 2 Pessinus is largely believed to have belonged to the Tolistobogioi from early on. See, for example, Stähelin 1907, 41–42, 53–54; Hansen 1971, 31, 52; Arslan 2006, 127–28; Marek 2010, 282, 266; Payen 2016, 150–51; Roller 2018, 85–91. Differently, Körte 1897, 15–16 (cf. Moraux 1957, 63, n. 16) argued that it was not yet under Tolistobogian control during the campaign of Manlius Vulso in 189 BC, but was taken over by the time that Attalos II had become king (I.Pessinous 2); see below, with n. 3, on similar views on the royal correspondence from Pessinus. Devreker (1984a, 14) suggests that the arrival of the Galatians in Asia Minor separated Pessinus from Seleukid control, but gave them the independence to lean towards the Attalids (until 166 BC). Mitchell (1993, 15–23) cautiously avoids specifying early settlement areas but concentrates his account of the early presence of the Galatians in Asia Minor on their operations in the north and west; he mentions Pessinus for the first time as part of the Galatian territory in the context of 189 BC. Roller (1999, 194) speaks of ‘an independent state in Galatian territory, which the Pergamenes wished to control’ as of the 2nd century BC. Darbyshire et al. (2000, 79, n. 9) say that it ‘was not constitutionally a part of Galatia in the Hellenistic period, although increasingly it came under Galatian influence’. Strobel 2002, 10 (cf. 1994, 38; 2000) specifies that Pessinus was independent, although by a grant of the Tolistobogioi after adopting the cult of Kybele (see Coşkun 2014b for cautions); he goes on to claim that Attis was a ‘tetrarchic prince’ as early as the 3rd century BC. Similarly, Verlinde 2015, 20; cf. Young 2018, who speaks of Pessinuntine ‘independence despite their presence’ (p. 381) and that ‘the Attalids viewed the “temple state” as sovereign and were united in a common cause: their continuing struggle against the Galatians’ (p. 384); also Krsmanovic 2018, 483. Previously, I conceded a possible impact of Pessinus on the tetrarchic structure of the Galatian territory, while still rejecting the view that the Attis priest ever was a tetrarch himself (Coşkun 2004, 692–93, n. 23). At any rate, Pessinus did not become a part of a Galatian territory prior to 129 BC, if not only in the 1st century BC (Coşkun 2018b; 2019a; forthcoming; cf. John 2016, 63). The title of tetrarch is now much better understood as well; it was probably introduced around 107/102 BC: see Coşkun 2015; forthcoming; cf. John 2016, 60–61.

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required all Seleukid troops to retreat beyond the Taurus Mountain into Kilikia, but also seemed to have subdued all Galatians to Eumenes II of Pergamon. The Roman Senate is believed to have ended their subject status by declaring the independence of the Celtic people in 166 BC. As a result, Pessinus would have been subtracted from Attalid control as well. The famous letters3 in which the Attalid prince (or king) Attalos (II) addresses Attis, the high priest of Pessinuntine Kybele, is therefore typically regarded as a ‘secret correspondence’ with a vassal of the Galatian enemy. Attis, as per the common understanding, was keen to revolt, if only his Pergamene conspirator would come forth and lend active military support to him. As we know from hindsight, he held back out of fear of the Romans.4 This outline of Attalid-Galatian tensions is the backdrop against which the most recently found letter from Pessinus has been interpreted: in this, prince Attalos (the later Attalos II) addresses his officials Sosthenes and Heroïdes to convey privileges to the strategos Aribazos. In the commentary attached to the editio princeps, Alexandru Avram and Gocha Tsetskhladze have argued for a date around 160/59 BC and claimed the letter as evidence for administrative reforms in the Attalid countryside neighbouring the regional cult site of Pessinus. A very different interpretation has been put forward by Peter Thonemann. He dates the document to ca. 183 BC and claims it as evidence for the identity of Phrygian Pessinus and the Hellenistic-Galatian military settlement Kleonnaeion, for which he further assumes polis status sometime during the Hellenistic period.5 In what follows, I would like to question the latter identification, suggesting instead that the new document reflects Attalid administrative reforms in eastern Phrygia following immediately upon the Peace of Apameia. My argument 3 For publications, see OGIS I 315; RC 241–53, nos. 55–61; Virgilio 1981; 2003, 302–08, no. 33; I.Pessinous 1–7. 4 See, for example, I.Pessinous, p. 1: ‘they reveal conspiratorial efforts of the Attalids to gain control over Galatian territory, acting through the high-priest of Pessinous, who was their secret ally’ (Strubbe). Cf. RC, p. 246; Stähelin 1907, 75–85, especially 84: ‘Heimlichkeit’, also 77: ‘das Amt [sc. of the High Priest Attis, who is regarded as Galatian by birth – AC] war stärker als das Blut, und so sehen wir denn diesen geborenen Galater in seiner Eigenschaft als Priester der Göttermutter durchaus pergamenische, antigalatische Politik treiben’; Virgilio 1981, 88–93; Boffo 1985, 36–37; Mitchell 1993, 26: ‘private, and indeed secret, letters ... They date to 163– 156 BC and reveal a conspiratorial preoccupation with the political control over the region’; Strobel 2000, 659; Claerhout and Devreker 2010, 53; Verlinde 2010, 117; 2015, 21; Marek 2010, 281: ‘der ursprünglich geheime Charakter dieser Korrespondenz’; Ma 2013, 50, 54, 56; Avram and Tsetskhladze 2014, 151, 162; Thonemann 2015, 121. For a nuance, see Roller 2018, 91–92, who conceives the addressee of the correspondence as the Pessinuntine Galatians allied with Pergamon. 5 Avram and Tsetskhladze 2014; cf. Ricl 2014. And Thonemann 2015; cf. BE 2015 [2018], 658 (P. Hamon); SEG LXIV 1296 (T. Corsten).

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will begin by summarising most recent progress in the reconstruction of Tolistobogian and Pessinuntine history, much of which has so far remained unconsidered in the discussion of the new Attalid letter; this will also include a brief revision of the allegedly ‘secret’ correspondence with Attis. Next, I shall present the Greek text and an English translation of the new inscription, and address a variety of historical questions. Thereafter, I shall deal with the chronological implications more systematically, before revisiting the evidence for Kleonnaeion. Although I shall discourage locating this colony in Pessinus, the letter for Aribazos endorses the view that the Gallos Valley directly depended on Pergamon from 189/8 BC to the end of the kingdom in 133/30 BC. A NEW OUTLINE OF PESSINUNTINE HISTORY IN THE HELLENISTIC PERIOD Recent work on Hellenistic Asia Minor has challenged nearly all aspects of the traditional reconstruction of Hellenistic history in the Phrygian-Galatian territories of Anatolia. In a series of articles, I have tried to show that the betterknown conditions of the mid-1st century BC have misled generations of scholars. Only around the 60s BC, Pessinus is for the first time attested as controlled by a Tolistobogian ruler, Deiotaros I Philorhomaios. Under Augustus, the amalgamation of the Tolistobogian Galatians and Pessinuntine Phrygians continued, but the progress was still ongoing in the Flavian period and the development concluded only in the 2nd century AD. There is nothing to prove that the Galatians ruled the Gallos Valley anytime in the 3rd or 2nd centuries BC, even though occasional raids would have been likely in certain years. We should, at all events, assume that the Seleukids laid at least nominal claim to the area until 190 BC.6 A noteworthy change occurred in 207 BC, when Attalos I gained control of the sanctuary either by conquest or bribery. I.Pessinous 1 conveys valuable glimpses into the time immediately preceding the take-over. Attalos clearly had access to Pessinus in 205 BC, when he led the Roman embassy into the Gallos Valley to take possession of the sacred meteorite of the goddess.7 6 On the Hellenistic period as a whole, Coşkun 2019a. On Pessinus, Brogitaros and Deiotaros, see Coşkun 2018b; forthcoming. On the provincialisation of Galatia and the inclusion of Pessinus into the Tolistobogian territory, Coşkun 2008a; 2008b; 2009a; 2014a. For a research survey on all of these topics, see my Chapter 1 in this volume. 7 See Coşkun 2016b, following (with slight modifications) Mileta 2010 on I.Pessinous 1 of 207 BC; and Coşkun 2018a on 205 BC; see also Coşkun 2019a, 623–25. This new interpretation of I.Pessinous 1 undermines the many studies that reject the Pessinuntine origin of the sacred meteorite based on the assumption that Attalos had no control over the Gallos Valley: for example, Gruen 1990; Bowden 2012; Rolle 2017, 112–13.

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Sometime between 204 BC, when Antiochos III returned from his famous anabasis to the eastern satrapies, and 192 BC, when most independent powers in Western Asia Minor had been brought back under the king’s sway, the leader(s) of Pessinus would have acknowledged Seleukid suzerainty again. This, however, was quite short termed, since the Roman-Pergamene alliance crushed the army of Antiochos III in 190 BC and, as a result, drove him out of most of Asia Minor.8 Pessinus must have returned to Pergamon as a gift from the Romans in 189 or 188 BC. While this is not mentioned explicitly in Polybios’ detailed account of the negotiations in Apameia (21. 43–46), it would have been subsumed under the notion of ‘Great Phrygia’ that was passed on to Eumenes II (21. 46. 10).9 Germain Payen has recently pointed out that Galatia was not occupied by Pergamene troops after 189 BC, as the most widespread view still holds. Admittedly, the Roman chief negotiator Cn. Manlius Vulso may have envisioned Eumenes as a pro-Roman hegemonic leader over the Galatian tribes, just as the same king was securing the loyalty of the Kappadokians even further to the east. But there is no talk of Pergamene garrisons or taxation of the Tolistobogioi or other Galatian tribes as a result of Vulso’s victories in 189 BC.10 On the contrary, in the immediate aftermath of Apameia, Ortiagon, the king of the Tolistobogioi, and Prusias of Bithynia waged war against Eumenes (ca. 186–184/3 BC). When they were defeated, Kassignatos, the successor of Ortiagon, and his ally Gaizatorix, who may have been the king of the Galatian Trokmoi, turned to Pharnakes I of Pontos as a counter-weight to Pergamon. This fuelled the Pontic War which was fought for the hegemony over Asia Minor. In 180 BC, Kassignatos and Gaizatorix had been drained by their ally Pharnakes, and surrendered to Eumenes. The latter prevailed by force, but the Romans, afraid of Pergamon becoming too powerful, brought about a diplomatic solution of the Pontic War.11 Pharnakes was spared and could keep his conquests in Paphlagonia, but had to evacuate newly occupied Galatian 8 For recent surveys of Antiochos’ anabasis, see Engels 2017, 307–47; Feyel and GraslinThomé 2017. For the conflict with Antiochos, see Hansen 1971, 74–88; Grainger 2002; 2015, 115–86; Dreyer 2007; Coşkun 2019b. 9 No Galatian territory was granted to Eumenes II by the Romans, as none of them had been subject to Antiochos III before. For a detailed discussion of the Treaty of Apameia, see Payen 2016, 70–124, especially 114–15, although he still follows the general trend of attaching Pessinus to Galatia (150–51). He has changed his mind in Payen 2020, 127–28, 121–22, and in Chapter 5 of this volume, with n. 25. 10 See Payen, Chapter 5 in this volume. On Vulso’s campaign, see also Körte 1897; Hansen 1971, 88–92; Pagnon 1982; Grainger 1995. 11 On the conflicts between Pergamon and the Galatian Tolistobogioi (also involving Bithynia and Pontos), see Hansen 1971, 98–106, 122–24; APR s.vv. ‘Eumenes II’, ‘Gaizatorix’, ‘Kassignatos’, ‘Ortiagon’ and ‘Solovettios’. Cf. Petković 2012. For further references, see below, nn. 34–35.

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territory. And Kassignatos had to accept the supreme command of Eumenes. His Tolistobogian tribe revolted once more after his death in 169 BC. We only know of glimpses of the new conflict, such as the famous encounter of the Roman ambassador P. Licinius with king Solovettios in 167 BC and the Senate’s declaration of Galatian autonomy after their defeat by Eumenes in 166 BC. Following Payen’s interpretation, however, this decision should not be seen as a major turn in Roman foreign policy (which the Senate’s hostility to Eumenes as of 168 BC certainly was), but rather as largely consistent with the reorganisation of Asia Minor after Apameia. Until very recently, common opinion held that the previously known seven royal letters from Sivrihisar near Pessinus were written sometime in the later 160s or 150s BC.The first one, however, has now been vindicated for 207 BC and did not actually address a representative of the temple state.12 But even for the other six, the notion of ‘secret correspondence’ has become obsolete, once official Attalid lordship is acknowledged for the same time.13 Add to this that the late publication of those letters under Augustus or more likely under Tiberius responded to a need of a later generation without implying that the original recipient had something to conceal. After all, most areas of Phrygia had not yet developed an epigraphic culture in the mid-2nd century BC.14 Admittedly, as in most communications, discretion was advised. At least one letter was a call for help against Galatian threats or oppression. Such a request would not have surprised anyone in times of open hostilities; more embarrassing was the evasiveness of the response, which left the Pessinuntines without the strong support they had hoped for as long as the initiative did not enjoy the endorsement of the Roman Senate. While the king is critical of the superpower’s attitude, the Romans would still have liked his decision not to make a major move without consulting with them first (I.Pessinous 7). What do we learn, at least from letters 2–6, for the relation between the king (or his brother) and the high priest? For the 160s and 150s BC (if we accept the traditional dates),15 they certainly reflect the high degree of respect that Attis enjoyed in the eyes of the king, but, politeness notwithstanding, the priest clearly appears as subordinate to the king, not as a diplomatic partner of equal 12 The most important publications are RC 241–53, nos. 55–61; Virgilio 1981; I.Pessinous 1–7. For no. 1, see Mileta 2010 and Coşkun 2016b. 13 See above, n. 4, for references. 14 For a date under Augustus, see I.Pessinous, p. 1. More convincingly, Mileta (2010, 110– 12) suggests dating the dossier’s publication after AD 22/3, when the privileges held by sanctuaries were revised empire-wide. 15 Avram and Tsetskhladze (2014, 151, n. 2) as well as (Thonemann 2015, 121) assign them to 163–156 BC, though dating I.Pessinous 1 to 163 BC.

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standing. True enough, there is no indication of a Pergamene garrison stationed in the Gallos Valley (although Attalid forces were conducting military operations nearby), nor do we hear about tax obligations to the king or the existence of a local cult for the monarch. None of this, however, impedes the view that Pessinus was part of the Attalid kingdom, as long as we understand that Hellenistic monarchies (and not only those) consisted of heterogeneous networks of interpersonal and institutional relations, giving room to various degrees of local autonomy.16 THE CASE

OF

ARIBAZOS

In 2003, a fragment of an eighth royal letter was discovered in Ballıhisar.17 We owe its first publication to Avram and Tsetskhladze (2014), but I here reproduce the slightly improved text and translation as presented by Thonemann (2015):18 Ἀγαθῆ(ι) τύχηι Ἄτταλος Σωσθένει καὶ Ἡρωΐδε[ι] χαίρειν· ἐντυχὼν ἡμῖν Ἀρίβαζος 4 ἡγεμὼν τῶν ἀπὸ Κλεονναείου Γαλατῶ[ν] καὶ τῶν ἀπὸ Ἀμορίου κατοίκων ἔφησε[ν] ἀναφέρεσθαι ἐν τοῖς vac. ἐν τῶι Κλεονναε[ίωι] [κ]αὶ διὰ τῶν ἐν τῶι τόπωι ὄντων πρότερ[ον] 8 [μ]ισθοφόρων μηθὲν διατετάχθαι τοῖς [δὲ] ἡγεμόσιν, φιλάνθρωπον γεγραφέναι ἡμᾶ[ς]19 [ἃ] δεῖν ἑκάστους ἔιν20 τῶν τὰς ὑποκάτω [ἡ]γεμονίας ἐχόντων, περὶ δὲ ἑαυτοῦ μηθὲ[ν] 12 [γ]εγονέναι, καὶ ἠξίου ἐπιγραφῆναι στρατηγία[ι] 16 The correspondence between king and priest could be compared to the intensive exchange of letters between Antiochos III and the Greek cities of Western Asia Minor (cf. Ma 1999). 17 See the notifications in I.Pessinous, p. 1, n. 1; SEG LV 1401 (P. Gauthier); Mileta 2010, 109, n. 8; Ma 2013, 64, 72–73. 18 Changes to the Greek text of the editio princeps (Avram and Tsetskhladze 2014) by Thonemann 2015 are given in italics. The (rough) line break of the translation is mine, the comments in brackets are Thonemann’s. The two aforementioned editions come with English translation and lavish epigraphic, philological and historical commentaries, which can only be considered here insofar as they serve the narrow purpose of this chapter. See also the edition of Ricl 2014, who has suggested, among other things, similar corrections as Thonemann in ll. 13 and 17, as well as the brief commentary in BE 2015, 658 (P. Hamon), which largely follows Thonemann’s text and interpretations. The most recent edition and condensed commentary in SEG LXIV 1296 (T. Corsten) generally favours the readings of Thonemann and Hamon, though follows Ricl for ll. 9–10. Some variations are considered in the subsequent footnotes. 19 Hamon (BE 2015, 658) suggests ἡμᾶ[ς | δ᾿ ἃ]. 20 Thus the correction of Thonemann (2015, 119, who reads ΕΧΩΝ on the stone) and (Ricl 2014, 142), followed by Hamon (BE 2015, 658) and Corsten (SEG LXIV 1296). The editio princeps reads {ΕΧΟΝ} τῶν, corrected from the transmitted ΕΧΟΝΤΩΝ.

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[καὶ] τοὺς κλήρους ἐαθῆναι ἔχειν οὓς προκ[α][τέ]χει ⟨ὄ⟩ντας ἡγεμονικούς, τά τε ἄλλα ὑπά[ρ][χει]ν αὐτῶι, ἃ καὶ τοῖς στρατηγοῖς συνκεχω16 [ρήκαμε]ν· ἐπ(ε)ὶ vac. οὖν ἔν τε τῆ(ι) ἀ[ρ]χαίαι κ{ι}αὶ νῦν [χρείας καὶ πλε]ίονας [π]αρείσχηται καὶ ἐν[.....] With good fortune! Attalos to Sosthenes and Heroïdes, greetings. Aribazos, 4 hegemon of the Galatians from Kleonnaeion and the katoikoi from Amorion, has come before us and said that he is registered among those at Kleonnaeion,21 8 and that no instructions have been given 7 concerning the former mercenaries stationed at the locality.22 (He also says) that we (i.e. Attalos) have written an edict (lit. a benefaction) to the hegemones concerning what (privileges) each of those holding subordinate23 hegemoniai should have,24 but that concerning Aribazos himself, none of [these things 12 have in fact come to pass. And Aribazos has requested that he be enrolled in [a strategia and that he be permitted to possess the kleroi which he already in fact holds from former times – being, as they are, hegemonikoi kleroi – and that he should receive all the other (privileges) which we have also granted to the strategoi. 16 And since both in olden times and now he has provided [many good services] and …

This letter was written by Attalos (II) before he bore the royal title. He is not addressing Attis, but two of his own officials called Sosthenes and Heroïdes.25 The prince responds to the request of a certain Aribazos, ‘commander of the Galatians from Kleonnaeion and of the settlers from Amorion’ (ll. 3–5: ἡγεμὼν τῶν ἀπὸ Κλεονναείου Γαλατῶ[ν] καὶ τῶν ἀπὸ Ἀμορίου κατοίκων). 21 Cf. Hamon (BE 2015, 658): ‘il dit qu’il était enregistré parmi ceux (sc. qui sont en poste) à Kleonnaeion’. 22 Cf. Hamon (BE 2015, 658), with Ricl 2014, 144: ‘ἐν τῶι τόπωι se rapporte à Kleonnaeion, et non à Amorion, pace A. et Ts.’. 23 ὑποκάτω has been interpreted variously. The notion of ‘subordinate’ has been suggested by Avram and Tsetskhladze (2014, 157) after excluding a geographical meaning (‘upper’ versus ‘lower’ territory, but see Hamon in BE 2015, 658 on this possibility), and accepted by Thonemann 2015, 119 (followed by T. Pleket in SEG LXIV, p. 446). Ricl (2014, 145) takes it to mean ‘listed below’, understanding that the complete letter (and inscription) was followed by such a list of hegemoniai. If I understand Ricl correctly, she seems to be thinking of a list of topographical units, each of which came with certain privileges for its commanders. I do not feel on safe ground to make a decision. 24 Cf. Hamon (BE 2015, 658): ‘Th. ponctue après διατετάχθαι, R. après φιλάνθρωπον, ce qui est préférable: “et que, à cause (διὰ + gén.) des mercenaires qui étaient précédemment dans cet endroit, aucun privilège n’a été assigné aux (vel à leurs) commandants”.’ 25 Avram and Tsetskhladze (2014, 164) suggest regarding Sosthenes as the regional commander and Heroïdes as financial administrator of the king. See below on the latter.

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The latter town is located about 40 km south of Pessinus, the former is here attested for the first time, and it is also the community where Aribazos was registered (l. 6) (and owned property: ll. 13–14). He had complained to Attalos that he and the other hegemones residing in Kleonnaeion were not yet benefiting from any privileges due to their rank, although Attalos had already given orders specifying the benefits for lower-ranking officials (ll. 5–12). In order to achieve them, too, Aribazos requested to be enrolled into a strategia, which must be the term for a territorial unit in the Attalid administration that included a number of settlements (l. 12), perhaps similar to the smaller Seleukid unit called topos.26 This way, he also hoped to achieve the confirmation of his former possessions, estates appropriate for his status (ll. 13–14). However, in addition, he asked for the privilege of enjoying the benefits due to the rank of strategos (ll. 14–16). Unfortunately, the response by Attalos breaks off in the midst of the initial causal clause. But the very fact that this correspondence was published, and this perhaps prominently near the Attalid temple of Kybele,27 indicates that his request was granted. This view is further supported by the (fragmentary) reference to previous and present services by Aribazos (ll. 16–17), as is generally accepted.28 The inscription is an important source in many regards. It acquaints us with a bearer of a Persian name who had first served in the military of Antiochos III and then of Eumenes II. In addition, it provides another epigraphic testimony to the important role that Galatian mercenaries or settlers played under both of these kings – even though it is practically impossible to specify the origin of these Galatians.29 Further on, the inscription reveals an intensification of military settlements in eastern Phrygia probably under the same two rulers, and this time much closer to the Galatian territories than the aforementioned more famous colonies along the ‘highway’ connecting Sardeis with Syria. Next, the reference to the strategia implies a more systematic appropriation and organisation of the eastern-most acquisitions of the Attalid realm. 26

Examples for similar strategoi are presented by Ma 2013, 72–73. Note, however, that the text was carved into a local granular marble, thus not the highquality stone that should be expected for the main temple and adjacent porticoes, which Strabo claims have been of ‘white marble’ (12. 5. 3 [567 C]). 28 Hamon (BE 2015, 658) adds that, most likely, Aribazos also ordered the carving of the inscription in Pessinus. 29 Ricl (2014, 144), followed by Hamon (BE 2015, 658), speculates that Aribazos and his subordinates had previously commanded unruly mercenaries, whom the king subdued with the help of Galatians that were called in and settled there. These were then put under the command of Aribazos, but he remained excluded from the general privileges owed to his status, before receiving them later upon special request. I do not think that this is a very plausible context, but rather suggest looking to the period following the Peace of Apameia, see below. 27

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THE DATE OF THE NEW ATTALID LETTER While there is little controversy about these points as such, a major bone of contention is the date of the letter. All editors or commentators prior to Peter Thonemann were inclined to accept a date near the previously-known epigraphic dossier from Ballıhisar, thus around 160 BC. A full argument for this has only been developed in the editio princeps by Avram and Tsetskhladze: terminus ad quem is the death of Eumenes II (158/7 BC), or rather the appointment of his brother Attalos as co-ruler (ca. 159 BC). In view of the recent settlement of veterans (at least) in Kleonnaeion, they identify the famous defeat of the Galatians in 166 BC as a firm terminus post quem, although they are inclined to accept Virgilio’s suggestion that another war was fought with the Galatians from 162 to 160 BC. Avram and Tsetskhladze thus believe that Attalos (II) decided the case of Aribazos after this later conflict and before he travelled to Rome or was promoted to co-ruling king (both in 159 BC).30 Thonemann, in turn, is now advocating a date around 183 BC. He starts by challenging a premise of Avram and Tsetskhladze, a recent military victory after which Amorion and Pessinus came under Attalid control: That certainly cannot have been the case in the late 160s. We are explicitly told by Polybios that the Galatians were granted independence by Rome at the close of the war of 168–166, and the tone (and secrecy) of the secret correspondence between the Attalid kings and the Pessinountian high-priest Attis (c. 163–158/156 BC) indicates that Pessinous was not under Attalid control during this period.31

Readers will not be surprised that I cannot accept this part of Thonemann’s argument, after having shown that there is no evidence that Pessinus belonged to Galatia, however defined, before the end of the Attalid kingdom in 133/129

30 For a detailed argument, see Avram and Tsetskhladze 2014, 160–63, with reference to Virgilio 1981, 101–02 on I.Pessinous 3–5, which are supposed to have been written ‘by Attalos from his encampment to the priest of Pessinus’, and to Polybios 32. 1. 5–7 mentioning the opposing embassies of ‘the Galatians’ and Attalos in Rome in 159 BC. Avram and Tsetskhladze mention 185 BC as a first terminus a quo, the earliest known year in which Attalos effectively acted with regal powers without yet bearing the title basileus. The same scholars argue for a later date considering that Attalos was making decisions without prior consultation with his brother. We have to keep in mind, however, that the request of Aribazos was about some administrative and fiscal matters that barely required the involvement of Eumenes, unless one might also concede the possibility that the lost part of the letter granted polis status to Kleonnaeion; see below, with n. 45, on such a theoretical possibility. A similar date is further accepted by Ma (2013, 64), who regards the administrative measures as part of the ‘preparations in the run-up to the war against Prousias’. 31 Thonemann 2015, 121, with reference to Polybios 30. 28 and 30. 30. 2. Also see p. 126, where he dates the loss of Attalid control over Pessinus to 168 BC, the year of the renewed Galatian revolt against Pergamon.

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BC.32 I have further tried to show that the royal correspondence does not form part of a diplomatic exchange with an independent power or treacherous subject of the enemy, but rather political communication with a vassal of the Attalid king. In particular, the notion of ‘secrecy’ of the correspondence has been evinced as misleading: while difficult conditions required discretion and confidentiality, nothing in the texts constitutes treason. Accordingly, we have no reason to assume that Pessinus was directly affected by the declaration of Galatian autonomy. At any rate, Thonemann suggests that we look at a time when Phrygia Epiktetos and Galatia ‘came under firm Attalid control’, just after the war of Pergamon with Prusias I of Bithynia and the Tolistobogian Ortiagon, which he dates to around 187–184 BC. Thonemann thus dates the letter to ca. 183 BC.33 However, we cannot be sure when the war with Ortiagon was effectively over (184/182 BC),34 but we do know that his successor, most likely Kassignatos, refused to submit to Eumenes and turned to Pharnakes I instead, together with a certain Gaizatorix, whom I tentatively identify as the leader of the Trokmoi. It is only in 181/80 BC that the anti-Pergamene coalition broke apart and the two aforementioned Galatian leaders implored Eumenes for help against Pharnakes, who had their territories ravaged. In 180 BC, Pergamon prevailed over Pontos, and the subsequent peace of 179 BC forbade Pharnakes to enter ‘Galatian’ territory. Uncertain remains the effective status of the Galatians – or rather of the four major tribes that we know from the campaign of Manlius Vulso, each of which needed to be dealt with individually. Two, three or all of them were forced into an alliance with Eumenes, though we have no proof for an occupation of their territory. Be this as it may, Pessinus and Amorion are not attested to have formed part of any Galatian territory proper. As a result, we lack a terminus a quo for the new inscription other than the Peace of Apameia.35

32

See below on I.Pessinous 7. Thonemann 2015, 120–22. He is followed by Hamon (BE 2015, 658) and Payen (2016, 151). Similarly, already Ma 2013, 64, n. 65 with reference to Riet van Bremen. 34 The death or capture of Ortiagon and Pergamene domination of Galatia are often dated to 183 BC, a condition supposed to have lasted until 166 BC. See, for example, Stähelin 1907, 61–74; Hansen 1971, 98–106. Others see 183 or 180 BC as the year of the Galatian subjection and thus as a terminus a quo for the erection of the Attalid temple in Pessinus mentioned by Strabo 12. 5. 3: for example, Devreker 1984a, 15; Boffo 1985, 39; Verlinde 2015, 21. More cautiously, Mitchell 1993, 25 limits the time of Pergamene ‘influence’ (not occupation) to ca. 180–168 BC, ‘as had been intended by the terms dictated by Manlius Vulso in 188’. 35 Polybios 25. 2, with Heinen 2005 (on the date and context, also see Avram 2016) and APR s.vv. ‘Kassignatos’, ‘Gaizatorix’. Note that some scholars prefer a date in the 150s BC, as Payen 2016, 162, 170–73, 185, 254–59, although he is less decided in 2020, 162–67. 33

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Much more convincingly, Thonemann compares the new document with a letter from Attalos (II) to the katoikoi near the sanctuary of Apollo Tarsenos in the Kaïkos Valley: this was composed in 185 BC, opens with the same epistolary formula and also deals with the fiscal status of the veterans.36 In a similar vein, Eumenes’ correspondence with the settlers of Toryaion is quoted: it had been established under Antiochos III, but it was Eumenes who granted polis status in or shortly after 188 BC, together with some material benefactions. The latter involved the ‘Heroïdes’ nicknamed the ‘One-and-a-Half’ (῾Ηρωίδης ό ἡμιόλιος), who was ‘surely identical to the Attalid financial official’ mentioned beside Sosthenes.37 Since we are not bound to maintain Thonemann’s terminus a quo of 183 BC, we may think of a year even closer to the Peace of Apameia (188 BC), say 185 BC (which is around the same time when the letter to the settlers in the Kaïkos Valley was drafted), if not earlier. I agree with Thonemann that Aribazos, together with the former mercenaries, had previously served under Antiochos III, who rewarded them with land lots. Aribazos was then seeking his privileges to be confirmed, if not enhanced, by the new ruler(s).38 The Persian name gives further credence to this reconstruction, since, in combination with time and place, it clearly hints at a recruitment by Antiochos III, who had just strengthened his control of the Iranian satrapies and mobilised new eastern units. Such a reconstruction is certainly more probable than the assumption of a continued presence of a Persian garrison in Western Asia Minor since the Early Hellenistic, if not Late Achaemenid, period.39 Aribazos’ services of old and young mentioned vaguely in the last readable half-sentence of the inscription most likely refer to military service both under Antiochos III and Eumenes II. The Attalid king might have benefited from the Persian’s support as early as 189 BC, when he was escorting Manlius Vulso into Galatia.40 If this is accepted, Attalos’ letter for Aribazos might even go back to later 188 BC. 188/185 BC thus seems to be a safe and likely timeframe for the drafting of the royal letter to Sosthenes and Heroïdes. 36

Thonemann 2015, 121–22, with reference to RC 47 = Chandezon 2003, 191–96, no. 50. Thus Thonemann 2015, 122, with reference to the inscription of Toryaion (I.Sultan Dağı I 393 l. 44; cf. Jonnes and Ricl 1997 for a full-scale commentary) from 188 BC or shortly after. Note that Avram and Tsetskhladze (2014, 164) consider the identity likely despite the time gap, whereas Ricl (2014, 143) rejects it, probably because of her low chronology. 38 Thonemann 2015, 122. For a different view, see Ricl 2014, 114: previous (Attalid) mercenaries garrisoned at Kleonnaeion had revolted and were thus disbanded and replaced by Galatian mercenaries. 39 On further Aribazoi attested as Achaemenid or Seleukid commanders or as citizens of Seleukid colonies in Asia Minor, see Avram and Tsetskhladze 2014, 163–64. For further Persians or Iranian name-bearers at the court of the Seleukids, see Engels 2017, 81–89, especially 87–88 for Antiochos III. And see above, n. 8 for his anabasis. 40 Similarly, Thonemann 2015, 122. 37

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PESSINUS AND KLEONNAEION Next, Thonemann suggests that the toponym Kleonnaeion is best explained as being derived from an otherwise unknown Macedonian leader *Kleonnas. Comparing this with the colonies of Dokimeion ( Ø (? via intermediate stages *φ and *h?) * r, l > *ri, li / C * r, l > *ar, al / {s, u} *Dh > *D (= all IE voiced aspirates lose the aspiration and become merely voiced)11 b) Point a above logically entails typically Celtic phonological systems, both as regards isolated sounds and as regards their possible phonotactic combinations. Any language material has to conform to these systems in order to be classified as Celtic. The individual Celtic phonological systems, however, do not have to be typologically similar, like Lepontic and Old Irish. c) Typically Celtic morphemes. d) A language may be called Celtic if its core vocabulary generally corresponds to that of other Celtic languages. e) A proof of Celticity can only be reached cumulatively, i.e. a number of the above criteria have to be fulfilled. Note that points b and c logically follow from point a. In the specific case of a fragmentary language, information by ancient authors on the presence of a Celtic language in general as well as on individual Celtic personal and place names becomes extremely important.12 The use of typically Celtic morphemes and onomastic patterns can be observed, so there should be no doubt that there were Celts living around Ankyra and Pessinus and that they left some traces of their presence in other language systems as well. 10 11 12

Stifter 2006. For more detailed discussion see Schumacher 2004; McCone 1996. Cf., for example, criteria listed in Anreiter 2001, 147.

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It is quite obvious that the different languages and cultures attested for those regions in the Hellenistic and Imperial periods must have been in close contact with one another. Even if the Greek κοινή formed a strong superstratum accepted widely for cultural-political reasons, there is no doubt that in some contexts (for example, religion, local cults/mysteries) local ‘ethnolects’ were still in use. Their employment reflects the belonging to a specific cultural or linguistic community. It is, then, quite natural that we may assume several directions of linguistic contact or interchange, starting from substratum with an impact on Galatian (vocabulary, perhaps also morphology) on the one hand, and from Galatian as a source for the surrounding languages on the other; then the influence of Greek must be considered as very probable, and maybe of other ad-/superstrata as well (Iranian languages, Latin, especially in Roman times). If we consider such a model, we may then – hypothetically – assume the following types of interactions: a) substratum and Galatian: in the attested material, we can probably find some examples of Galatian lexical influence upon Phrygian, but the scanty Galatian material does not yield any words that might directly or indirectly be ascribed to an Anatolian language. b) superstratum and Galatian: various Greek authors use certain word forms in specifically Celtic or Galatian contexts. It is, however, implausible to speak of a Celtic dialect of Asia Minor. The term Galatai was used to designate Celts from either (continental) Europe or Asia Minor. Besides, other languages with a strong political or cultural influence could have had an impact on the dialects spoken by the Celts in Asia Minor, such as Iranian dialects, especially in the periods of increasing power of the Parthians and other Iranian tribes. While there is no positive evidence for forms borrowed directly from Iranian languages, the possibility of indirect penetration of Galatian vocabulary by Iranian elements still remains. The material attested in ancient glosses is quite peculiar. This is the case with both Greek dialectal material and glossed foreign words. The most extensive source is of course the already mentioned Lexicon of Hesychios of Alexandria, dated to the 5th/6th century AD,13 based on earlier works, especially on a lexicon by Diogenianos from Herakleia ‘Παντοδαπὴ λέξις’ (quoted by Hesychios under the name ‘Περιεργοπένητας’), which has not been preserved; among others, the glosses by Aristarchos, Apion, Heliodoros, Kyrillos and the orthographical works by Herodianos were also used.14 The Lexicon of 13 14

The oldest manuscript is the 15th-century Codex Marcianus Graecus 622. Cf. Latte 1953, XLII–XLVII.

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Hesychios is of great importance as far as the exegesis of classical texts is concerned, but it may be doubted that these works form reliable sources for dialects or foreign languages, or that the glosses adequately represent spoken forms, let alone regional variations. At least, the lexical material attested in the glosses does not often fit the epigraphic evidence, as it is often quoted from the Greek literary sources and not directly from the inscriptions. At any rate, it must be analysed according to the various conventions and traditions of the period: for example, Hesychios may refer to anything from Asia Minor by the term ‘Phrygian’ (in geographical, not linguistic terms), irrespective of whether a form comes from Phrygian or Phrygian Greek; one may relate the usage of the label ‘Phrygian’ to that of ‘Trojan’ in Greek literature. This said, the Lexicon of Hesychios includes five glosses labelled as ‘Galatian’ (Hesychios B 225): βαρδοί·ἀοιδοὶ παρὰ Γαλάταις; Κ 842 κάρνυξ· τὴν σάλπιγγα Γαλάται; Λ 538 λειούσματα ἢ λεγούσματα· εἶδος καταφράκτου Γαλάται; Λ 713 λεύγη· μέτρον τι Γαλατικόν; Ε 3403 ἔντριτον· τὸ διονίου ἔμβρωμα, ὃ Γαλάται ἔμβρεκτὸν φασιν. From these forms the name of a ‘poet’ is one of the best-known Celtic forms in ancient times, cf. Old Irish bard, ríg-bard ‘royal poet’, Welsh bardd ‘poet’, Gaulish *bardos – cf. attested compounds as bardocucullus (Martial), Bardomagus (place-name around Milan), personal names as Σκενοβαρδος, Bardus, Bardo, etc.;15 the name of a ‘trumpet’ can be referred to Gaulish carnon, ‘horn, trumpet’, probably attested in the names of different Gaulish tribes: Carni, Carnutes, Carnonacae, cf. also Gaulish-Greek inscription from Montagnac (G-224) with a dative καρνονου of a theonym Carnonos (‘Horned God’), with a typical -no suffix (cf. also with other vocalism Cernunnos, RIG II.1 166–69), also Gaulish-Latin adj. carnuātus ‘horned’.16 The name of a measure λεύγη· μέτρον τι Γαλατικόν is actually a typical distance of 2.4 km, cf. leucas (St Jerome), leugas, leuvas (> French lieue, English league) mensuras viarum nos miliaria dicimus, Graeci stadia, Galli leuvas ... (Isidor Origines 15. 15. 3), the word lacks insular parallels.17 As we can easily see, such forms do not help us understand the Celtic idiom spoken in Asia Minor. Although it is highly improbable that Hesychios could draw on any real Galatian material, some of the words clearly point to Gaul. Of course, one would need to check the sources used by Hesychios, but it is quite certain that in many cases we will not reach the ultimate origin of the gloss. 15 16 17

Delamarre 2003, 67. Vendryes 1925, 221–22; Delamarre 2003, 106–07. Delamarre 2003, 200.

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CASE STUDY OF CELTIC WORDS

AND INTERCULTURAL INFLUENCE

Considering these various circumstances of chronology, text tradition and other problems, we can try to look at several examples of forms which might testify to the aforementioned different linguistic or cultural contacts between Galatian and other languages in and around Galatia from the Hellenistic to the Imperial period. a) markan (trimarkisian) In the 2nd century AD, Pausanias attests to the Galatian term for a special combat formation consisting of three horses, *trimarkisia- (10. 19. 11): Γαλάταις δὲ ὑπ’ αὐτὴν τοῦ ἔργου τὴν ἀκμὴν ὁ ἀριθμὸς ἀπεπληροῦτο τῶν ἱππέων. τοῦτο ὠνόμαζον τὸ σύνταγμα τριμαρκισίαν τῇ ἐπιχωρίῳ φωνῇ· καὶ ἵππῳ τὸ ὄνομα ἲστω τις μάρκαν ὄν τὰ ὑπὸ τῶν Κελτῶν.18 The form marka seems to be really of Celtic origin, cf. the examples from Middle Irish and Welsh: marc, march, also Old Cornish march (glossed with Latin equus) < *marko- ‘horse, war horse’ (IEW 700).19 The Middle Irish form is a rare, poetic word, but the derivative marcach ‘horseman’ occurs as early as in Old Irish. The o-stem variant *marko- was used in several Gaulish personal- and place-names, cf. Marco-sena ‘old-horse’, Marco-marus, Marcomanus, Marcus, Marcunus, Marcula, etc., also Marco-durum (Düren), Marcomagus, etc.20 It has also been the derivational base for the Gaulish verb marcosior, cf. RIG II.2 L-117 (Autun, Saône-et-Loire): marcosior maternia, a third-person sg. passive in *-or(o), not a first-person sg. in *-ōr, which would instead yield -ūr in a final and -ār in a non-final syllable (for example, if < * -ōro).21 Since the Gaulish evidence outside of Pausanias only contains the o-stem form *marko-, it seems quite strange that the form quoted by Pausanias represents the accusative sg. of an ā-stem, μάρκαν, a detail which has not yet been 18

Pausanias seems to be insinuating that the Galatians borrowed a term from the Keltoi. Proto-Celtic *markos has been considered a ‘Wanderwort’ of Eastern origin, which established itself in Celtic and Germanic (cf. Old High German marah, Old English mearh) alongside the inherited Proto-Indo-European word for ‘horse’, *h1ek’uos (Old Irish ech), cf. non-IndoEuropean a-vocalism of *marko-. Mikhailova considers the form a special expression for a ‘saddle horse’, which could have been borrowed from a substratum by the Proto-Celts and ProtoGermanic peoples somewhere in Central Europe, the hypothesis of Nostratic isogloss seems quite improbable, just as the assumed possibility that it was through the Galatians that the word came to Gaul (cf. Mikhailova 2007, 4–24). 20 Matasović 2008, 257; Delamarre 2003, 217; 2012, 191; Falileyev 2010, 156–57. 21 Cf. McCone 1996, 59–61. For a contrary opinion, see Peters 1999, 305–14. 19

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explained. It is worthwhile considering Greek or even Phrygian influence on the formation. Greek language distinguishes between the existence of ā- and o-stems of the same lexeme: for example, πομπός (m./f.) represents a nomen agentis and πομπή (f.) a nomen actionis; furthermore, some such forms can be of either grammatical gender, as Greek σορός ‘cinerary urn, coffin’. The latter word was borrowed from Greek by the Phrygians, cf. Middle Phrygian soros ‘urn, sarcophagus’ (dative soroi cf. Dokimeion Inscription line 2: sa soroi mati makran: blaskon ke takris ke loun/iou), Neo-Phrygian σορος (cf. no. 21: ιος σα σορου κακον αδδακετ).22 Besides, we should take into consideration two additional phenomena: that /o(:)/ was likely to narrow to /u/, thus paralleling the Late Phrygian development; the latter left traces also in the Greek-speaking communities, as well as the remodelling of the feminine markers of vocalic stems (especially forms in -ās) in oblique cases to the dental shape (-αδος). Such a local κοινή environment may well have influenced Gaulish dialects in Anatolia as well. Moreover, we should neither forget gender confusion, as attested, for example, in Greek in Pessinus at the time of Pausanias: Παριην υπο κειονα τονδε… (I.Pessinous 60, ll. 1–2, 2nd century AD) for expected κείονα τήνδε or τῇδε. Also the orthographical substitution of alpha for omicron seems to be attested epigraphically (I.Pessinous 69, l. 10: Αθηναδωρου for Αθηνοδορου), the tendency found often in late inscriptions and papyri (for example, I.Pessinous 187: πραπιναρεα < Latin popina, Διαδωρος for Διοδωρος, etc.).23 So, the surprising evidence of Pausanias, who reads markan instead of markon, might then be explained by the influence of either the local κοινή or the epichoric Phrygian substrate.24 b) Phrygian τευτωσι The best example of possible interactions between the Phrygian substrate and the Celtic idiolect of the Galatian newcomers could be the form of a dative pl. τευτωσι, as attested in the New Phrygian inscription no. 116.8. The context is quite obscure: δεοποκγονιον τευτωσι ιε...25 We might tentatively propose the 22

Brixhe 2004b, 18. Cf. Sowa 2008, 74; Obrador-Cursach 2018, 283. Cf. Gignac 1976, 287–88. 24 Of course, one could also argue for an existence of a feminine noun of the type Gaulish gnatos/gnata ‘son/daughter’, or auos/aua ‘descendant’, but this would be a form not attested elsewhere in Celtic. If one follows the reading of Pausanias’ markan as Gaulish and not specifically Galatian, then the explanation of an ā-stem instead of attested Celt. o-stem *markobecomes even more complicated. 25 See Brixhe and Neumann 1985, 168, 177. 23

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interpretation of τευτωσι as ‘to the communities’; cf. the parallel Phrygian datives ζεμελωσι ‘to the men’. One may refer this to the Celtic forms Old Irish túath ‘people, tribe’, Middle Welsh tut ‘people, country’ < Proto-Celtic *touta:- or *teuta:- from Proto-Indo-European *teuteh2 with the same meaning ‘people, tribe’.26 The word is widely attested in Celtic onomastics: cf., for example, Ambi-toutus, Contoutos, Coriono-tota, Daco-toutus, Ollo-totae matres, Tautanus, Tautinnus, Tautissa, Teuta, Teutalus, Teuta-gonus, Teutamatos, Teutana, Teuto-boduus, Teuto-malius, Teutomatus, Tata, Tatia, Totulo, Totus, Touta, Toutanno-rix, Toutatis/Teutates (‘God of the Tribe’), Toutedo, Toutiacus, Toutilla, Toutio-rix, Toutissa, Toutissia, etc.27 Of course, those Celtic forms continue the Indo-European element *teuteh2-, which is also found outside the Celtic- or Gaulish-speaking areas: cf., for example, Oscan touto ‘city’, Umbrian tota ‘urbs, civitas’, Gothic þiuda ‘nation, tribe’ or even Lithuanian tauta ‘nation’ (connected with so-called Western Indo-European).28 One may therefore ask if Phrygian τευτωσι is really a borrowing from the Galatian, or if its Indo-European roots are independent from Celtic, though perhaps owed to Hittite tuzzi ‘army’.29 We may further adduce the name of the famous Illyrian queen Teuta from the 3rd century BC: should we explain it as one manifestation of Balkan Indo-European, and thus conclude the Phrygian nature of τευτωσι? More likely, however, would be to consider the queen’s name as Celtic, especially if we further take into account the Illyrian king Gentius, for his name seems to have the same root as Celtiberian gentis ‘son’.30 For contemporary Balkanic Celtic dialects as the source for the dynasty’s names, we may refer to the Scordisci or Tylenians. The number of Phrygian documents is very limited, so we need not be surprised that there is only this one attestation of τευτωσι. We can observe, however, that the borrowed form has been affected by Phrygian morphology. First of all, the forms of dative pl. (originally a locative) in *-si, as in Mycenaean Greek do-e-ro-i /doheloihi/, Albanian malesh, Neo-Phrygian ζεμελωσι is typical for the Balkan dialectal community (cf. non-Balkan variant *su- in other languages Old Indian sūnuṣu, Old Church Slavonic synŭxŭ, or *-bh in Latin 26 The change eu > ou is probably not of Proto-Celtic time, cf. attested forms like Teuta, Teutalus, Teutates. 27 Delamarre 2003, 295. 28 Pedersen 1909, 54; Mallory and Adams 1997, 288, 437, 631; Delamarre 2003, 295. Interestingly, the non-Indo-European speakers of Hungarian (Magyars) used such a form to denote Slavonic people, more precisely Slovaks, cf. Tóth (nowadays obsolete). 29 Cf. the discussion in Obrador-Cursach 2018, 288–89, who interprets τευτωσι as a verbal form. 30 Eichner 2004, 93, 114.

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regibus, Venetic lo.u.derobo.s ‘liberis’, Messapian logetibas, etc.).31 In addition, the morphological pattern has also changed, since Celtic teuta/touta is an -ā stem, while its Phrygian form appears to be athematic.32 Note, however, that Neo-Phrygian also has other lexemes denoting ‘community, house, religious community’: δουμος, as attested in the New Phrygian inscription no. 48….. δουμ(ε) κε ου(ε)βαν αδδακετ ορουαν which seems to translate the Greek texts παρεθεμην το μνημειον τοις προγεγραμμενοις θεοις κε τη κομη. While, at first sight, this might seem to be a borrowing from Greek, the Old Phrygian inscriptions G-01 containing dumeyay suggests otherwise. For this seems to be related to the original Phrygian notion of ‘tribe’, ‘folk’ or ‘nation’. Besides, there is yet another Old Phrygian variant that parallels Greek λαός, and denotes ‘armed folk’, cf. the dedication of the Midas Mount at Gordion (M-01a): ates arkieavais akenanogavos midai lavagtaei vanaktei edaes (‘Ates the a. has erected for Midas, the king and military leader’, CIPP 8). c) Celtic Forms in Armenian? The attested forms yield only a few examples of Celtic linguistic presence in the New Phrygian epigraphic material.33 It seems, however, that Celtic influence could have reached some regions outside the heartland of Galatia and Phrygia. At least hypothetically, I would like to venture the suggestion that the Galatians (or other Celts) might have impacted other cultures in the eastern 31 For the historical explanation of the ‘Balkan’ -si ending of locative (dative) pl., one may assume the analogical modification of the original *-su after the singular morphem *-i. But it is also possible to analyse the Indo-European locative plural ending as *-s+i or *-s+u, as two variants existing already in the parent language (see Klingenschmitt 1994c, 314 n. 7). 32 Cf. also other examples of the same lexeme τευτους in New Phrygian no. 33 (cf. Haas 1966, 118–19): Μειρος τεκτων και Αμμια η συμβιος αυτου τεκνω ιδιω | Μαρκω τεκτονι και ζωγραφω αωρω μνημης ενεκεν | εποιησαν και ζωντες εαυτοις | ιος νι σεμουν κνουμανει κακουν αδδακετ | γεγειμεναν εγεδου τιος ουταν | ακκε οι βεκος ακκαλος τιδρεγρουν ειτου | αυτος κε ουα κ εροκα γεγαριτμενος ας Βα ταν τευτους. Or no. 36: Δουδα ιδιω ανδ[ρι και ε]αυτη μνημης χαρ[ι]ν | ιος κε σεμουν κνουμανι κακουν αδακετ | ερα γεγρειμεναν εγεδου τιος ουταν | αυτος κε ουα κ οροκα γεγαριτμενος | α Βα ταν τευτους. 33 Cf. also the Christian sect of the Τασκοδρουγῖται in Epiphanios of Salamis (AD 374/5), quoted in a Phrygian geographical-cultural context, next to the Montanists, which according to the Church Fathers were a typical ‘Phrygian’ sect (for references, see Coşkun, Chapter 11 in this volume, n. 4). The name may be interpreted as ‘Badger-snouts’ or ‘Peg-noses’, referring to the attitude of the members of the sect at prayer, with a pointed finger touching the nose (cf. ACS II, 1745–48: *tascŏ-drŭgī, Weisgerber 1931, 162–64) and seems to contain Celtic elements – the noun denoting ‘nose’ δροῦγγος (cf. Welsh trwyn) and Proto-Celtic *taSKo- ‘badger’, as found in Gaulish personal names Tasgo, Tasco, Tasgoduno, Tascouano, Irish Tad(h)g or British Taximagulus. For further analysis of the ‘badger’ word in Celtic and Indo-European (for example, Hittite tašku-), see Katz 1998.

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parts of Anatolia. Those regions were the home of another Indo-European people, namely the Armenians, who certainly migrated from the Balkans and at some time settled in the areas of the former Urartian kingdom. Armenian proto-history cannot be reconstructed easily, though. According to a Greek literary tradition, the Armenians were settlers who had migrated from Phrygia and their language is very close to Phrygian.34 Traditional Armenian (and Soviet) scholarship connects the Armenians (called Hayk‛, an ethnonym of unknown origin) with the name of the region to the east of the Hittite empire, near Lake Van, cf. the name Hayasa in Hittite archives.35 This is known as a member of an anti-Hittite confederation, the socalled Azzi-Hayasa, and for being a vassal state after its defeat by Suppiluliuma. There has also been an attempt to connect the mentioned Hittite kingdom of URUte-ga-ra-ma (Assyrian Til-Garimmu in Melitene) with the biblical Togarmah (Genesis 10:3), son of Gomer. Accordingly, he was even regarded as the father of Hayk, the founder of the Armenian nation.36 Linguistically, Armenian is considered to be an independent Indo-European language. Its postulated close affinity to Greek or Phrygian has been challenged in recent works, though it seems quite probable that Armenian shares a number of features with other languages of ‘Balkanic’ descent, such as, for

Cf. Stephanos of Byzantion 123. 3–11: Ἀρμενία, χώρα πλησίον τῶν Περσῶν, … οἱ οἰκήτορες Ἀρμένιοι, ὡς Εὔδοξος πρώτῃ γῆς περιόδου Ἀρμένιοι δὲ τὸ μὲν γένος ἐκ Φρυγίας καὶ τῇ φωνῇ πολλὰ φρυγίζουσι. … καὶ Ἀρμενία τὸ θηλυκὸν παρὰ Ξενοφῶντι... ‘Armenia is the land close to the Persians … the inhabitants are called Armenians the Armenians are the nation from Phrygia and their language is very similar to Phrygian and (the form) Armenia is feminine according to Xenophon’. Cf. Hekataios of Miletos (ex Stephanos of Byzantion FGH F 204): Χάλυβες· παρὰ τὸν Πόντον ἔθνος ἐπὶ τῶι ποταμῶι Θερμώδοντι ... καὶ Χάλυβοι παρ’ Ἑκαταίωι·“Χαλύβοισι πρὸς νότον Ἀρμένιοι ὁμουρέουσι”. ‘Chalybes: the nation at the Black Sea, in the vicinity of the Thermodon river and, according to Hekataios, “to the south, the Armenians neighbour the Chalybes”.’ Further see the classical account in Herodotos (7. 73): Οἱ δὲ Φρύγες, ὡς Μακεδόνες λέγουσι, ἐκαλέοντο Βρίγες χρόνον ὅσον Εὐρωπήιοι ἐόντες σύνοικοι ἦσαν Μακεδόσι, μεταβάντες δὲ ἐς τὴν Ἀσίην ἅμα τῇ χώρῃ καὶ τὸ οὔνομα μετέβαλον ἐς Φρύγας. Ἀρμένιοι δὲ κατά περ Φρύγες ἐσεσάχατο, ἐόντες Φρυγῶν ἄποικοι. ‘As the Macedonians say, these Phrygians were called Briges as long as they dwelt in Europe, where they were neighbours of the Macedonians; but when they changed their home to Asia, they changed their name also and were called Phrygians. The Armenians, who are settlers from Phrygia, were armed like the Phrygians’. 35 For example, the annals of Muršilis II (1338–1290 BC), ed. Forrer 1920, p. 29, l. 25: nu-wa beli-ni ina URUHayasa le pāisi nu URUHayasa ūl pāun (‘Our lord, do not go to H.! and I did not go to H.’). 36 Cf. Movses Khorenatsi Patmowt‛iwn Hayoc‛ 1. 5. The name Armina (land) and Arminiya (name of a land, or citizen) has been brought to the Western tradition through a Persian filter (cf. Behistun inscription); cf. also Urartian Urumu, Urme, Arme; also consider the Urartian suffix -(i)ni-. It seems, however, probable that the Armenians were already present at Lake Van about 600 BC. 34

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example, Albanian, so that it seems to have formed part of so-called ‘Balkan Indo-European’ in prehistoric times.37 The number of loanwords is quite high in this language, which is attested in the large corpus of literature from the 4th century AD onwards. The most obvious strata of borrowed vocabulary include Greek, Syriac and especially Iranian words. But there is a certain number of forms which have not been explained so far. Naturally, some of these may be indigenous formations still awaiting a satisfactory analysis, while others may be Iranian. The rest will be loanwords from other sources, be they Semitic, Caucasian, Hurro-Urartian or other ‘Wanderwörter’.38 Because of the relative geographical proximity between the Armenians and Galatians in historical times, we may assume a sort of cultural exchange between two nations.39 Such a conclusion would be quite plausible, if we could identify some words of Celtic origin in Old Armenian. Despite all practical obstacles, such as the lack of Galatian texts, there are some forms which might support such an assumption. One of the best candidates is the Armenian noun kaṙk῾, meaning ‘wagon, chariot’, genitive karac῾. Hübschmann40 was the first to consider the possibility that this word is of Celtic origin: ‘Kann kaṙk῾ von den Galatern (Anfang des 3 Jhdt. v.Chr. nach Kleinasien einwandernd) zu den Armeniern gekommen sein?’. Alternatively, one may point to Latin carrus, carruca, even though this should ultimately be interpreted as a Celtic loanword, too (cf. Old Irish carr, cf., for example, EWA 5, 418). It is true that the Gauls in Europe and Britain used chariots in their war tactics at some time, and the Latin ‘wagon’ vocabulary seems to have been borrowed almost entirely from Gaulish.41 But since the use of Latin in the Eastern Provinces was limited to the military and juridical sphere, and the earliest traditions of Armenian translations of Christian

37 For the term used, see Klingenschmitt 1994a, 244–45; 1994b; Matzinger 2005, 375–94; Hajnal 2003; Sowa 2005, 611–28. 38 Olsen 1999, 935. 39 Especially in the period after the destruction of the Seleukid empire, with the emergence of so-called Lesser Armenia, Armenia Minor or Inferior and with the constant expansion of Greater Armenia under the rule of the Artaxiad dynasty (190 BC–AD 1). Cf. also the existence of toponyms in Armenia Minor (such as Sinorigia, Sinatos), which Coşkun (2013, 156–59) attributes to Deiotaros Philorhomaios, who ruled the area from 64 to 48 BC. 40 Hübschmann 1897, 459. 41 Cf., for example, benna, carpentum, carrus, cisium, covinnus, essedum, petorritum, pilentum, plaustrum, raeda (Sowa 1998, 192). There is not even reliable evidence for the use of chariots in combat in Asia Minor, if we exclude Lukian’s fictitious account of the Elephant Victory, on which see Coşkun 2012 and Chapter 1 in this volume, with n. 147; cf. also Nelson, Chapter 2 in this volume.

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literature include Greek and Syriac exclusively, the influence of Latin, as everywhere in the East, seems quite improbable to me.42 An interesting form is also the noun maneak ‘necklace, bracelet’, which, according to Olsen, should be interpreted as a borrowing from Greek μανιάκης, pl. μανιάκαι, which the Suda (M 150) explains as follows: Μανιάκης: ὁ περιαυχένιος κόσμος. μανιάκαις καὶ περιχείροις ἦσαν κατακεκοσμημένοι. The word is interesting, especially due to the fact that the form μανιάκαι attested in Polybios (2. 29. 8) has been considered a Galatian word, designating the golden necklace of the Celts (or Persians): torques. It seems, however, that the ultimate source is Iranian after all, especially due to the suffix -aka, as also attested in ἀκινάκης and Old Persian bandaka. And yet it seems that we are dealing here with an example of multiple contact – one may hypothetically assume that the form could be borrowed from Celtic via Greek to Iranian and then, as an Iranian element, to Armenian. The examples of μανιάκαι in Greek are limited (Polybios, Gregory of Nyssa, the Suda), and are attested in Celtic or Iranian contexts. It seems that the background for such a formation could be the Celtic word for ‘neck’, cf. Old Irish muince, muin, muin-torc (‘necklace’), the vocalism /a/, however, and the typical Iranian suffix would challenge the hypothesis of a Galatian or Gaulish provenance of the word.43 In Old Iranian, we can find corresponding forms derived from Old Iranian *mani- (‘Halsschmuck’), cf. Avestan zərənu-mani (‘with a golden necklace’), Old Persian baramani- (‘wearing the necklace’, Persepolis), cf. also Vedic maṇí- (‘necklace’) < Indo-European *monh2-i-. The Old Iranian *mania- or secondary thematic i-stem *mani-a has been extended with the common suffix -ka- and maniaka/ā. It has then been borrowed into Armenian, directly from Iranian.44 As a foreign element of the Greek vocabulary, it seems to have been falsely ascribed to Galatian. Among the numerous unexplained Armenian forms, we can find three which, due to their phonetic shape, seem to have been borrowed from an unknown Indo-European language. Armenian is an example of a satem-language, i.e. the language in which the Proto-Indo-European tectals (palatalised velars) have been replaced by fricatives, cf. Indo-European *k`ērd- (Latin cōr, cordis, Old Irish cride < *k`rd-, Attic καρδία, Ionic καρδίη), Armenian sirt (‘heart’), cf. 42 Cf. Neumann 1994, 317. Latin never became the vernacular language in Asia Minor, as the Roman veteran colonies which had been founded by Augustus in the south of the province of Galatia (for references, see Coşkun, Chapter 1 in this volume, with n. 171), rapidly abandoned their Latin idiom (Zgusta 1980, 121–23). 43 Cf. the almost homophonic Greek μανδάκης or μανδάκιον (‘bond, necklace’), which is interpreted as an Iranian loanword by Brust 2008, 418. 44 Brust 2008, 429.

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Lithuanian šerdìs (‘heart of wood, pith’), accusative šérdį < *k`ērd-ø. There are, however, three examples which yield a pure velar consonant instead of the expected spirant, cf. bowrgn ‘tower, pyramid’ (to Indo-European *bherg`h‘high’), cf. late Latin burgus from Germanic, Greek πύργος (GEW II 629– 630), dowrgn (‘potter’s wheel’) and herk (‘furrow’). Due to the parallels from other Indo-European languages, such as, for example, Gothic baurgs, Greek πύργος (Hittite parkuš) or τρέχω, Old Irish droch, German Furche, Latin porca, we can easily conclude that all three examples must have been borrowed from another ‘centum’ language. It is, however, impossible to identify this language: we can name Hittite, Phrygian, Celtic (Galatian) and maybe also Latin as possible candidates. Of all these, Hittite is the most problematic for chronological reasons: the Hittite empire existed until ca. 1200 BC, and Luwian is already a satem language. The question of possible Phrygian-Armenian isoglosses (i.e. the isoglosses, apart from the common Balkan Indo-European features) provides only negative evidence.45 Iranian, like Luwian, is a satem language, and respective forms do not seem to be borrowed from Greek. Should we consider them to be of Celtic (Galatian) origin? In all three cases, we can point to the Celtic parallels in Old Irish or Welsh; cf. Indo-European *bherg`h- ‘high’, which appears in the Continental-Celtic onomastic element -briga (*bhrg`h-), hence in Galatian names like Brigatos,46 or Galatian Ekkobriga and Gaulish Eburobriga;47 IndoEuropean *dhreg’h- in Old Irish droch ‘wheel’ and *perk`- ‘dig, open’ in Welsh rhych, Old Irish -rech ‘furrow’, but it seems hazardous to claim Celtic origin of the Armenian word. Bowrgn and dowrgn are problematic per se, as far as their word formation is concerned.48 On the one hand, we cannot find the respective forms in the Galatian material, as the Celtic examples of *bherg`h- are exclusively attested in the zero or full grade (bergusia, bergono-, bergo- ‘mountain’;49 the Lowland Scottish broch seems to be of Germanic origin and is attested first around 1870). On the other hand, Armenian herk is of course related to Welsh rhych and Gaulish rica ‘furrow’, but still continues the full grade *perk`- (cf. Lithuanian peršėti ‘to ache’, also Vedic parśana- ‘hollow, cavity’), since the Celtic and other ‘west Indo-European’ evidence yields the zero grade *prk`-h2-.50 45

Matzinger 2005, 375–94. Cf. Coşkun 2010, 157–58. 47 See Delamarre 2003, 87 for documentation. 48 Cf. Olsen 1999, 954–55: ‘as for the vocalism *ōr- problematic would be a morphological unexplained lengthened o-grade of an otherwise unknown Schwebeablaut variant ...’. 49 See Delamarre 2003, 73. 50 See Olsen 1999, 950–54; Martirosyan 2010, 245–46. 46

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EXAMPLES OF INTERCULTURAL ONOMASTICS IN GALATIA As is usual for languages attested only in fragments, the most important source type consists of proper names. In fact, in the case of Galatian, most occurring personal names sound like their Gaulish counterparts; they belong to all four morphological types of known Celtic names; compare the typical compound formations with the -rix element < *rigo-, as, for example, in Olorix and Adiatorix, or with *epo- ‘horse’, as in the theonym Epona.51 The names of the three Galatian tribes Tektosages, Tolistobogioi and Trokmoi are doubtless of Celtic origin. The place-names include common types, found also in other regions inhabited by Celts. Examples for possessive types are Acitorīgiāco (‘place/settlement of Akitorix’) and Artikniākon (‘settlement of Artiknos’, whose onomastic theme refers to the ‘bear’); for a compound, we can adduce Δρυνέμετον, the name of the holy place, the meeting place of Galatian judges and tetrarchs. One would assume a high degree of continuity for place-names, as often attested elsewhere in Anatolia,52 but there is evidence for frequent renaming in Galatia. Some of the ancient Phrygian cities were simply given new Celtic names, the most notable example being the Phrygian capital Gordion: it was destroyed by the Romans in 189 BC and resettled by Galatians only much later, whence it seems to have been renamed to Οὐινδία (Ptolemy 5. 4. 7), following the Gaulish adjective uindos (‘white, shining’), which is one of the most frequent elements in Celtic onomastics, especially in compounds, both in anthroponymy and in toponymy. As examples for personal names, I list Uinda, Uindama, Uindus, Uindius, Ουινδια (coin RIG IV 305), Ουινδιακος (G-118), Uindaticius, Uindelicus, Uindedo, Uindemialis, Uindilla, Uindillus, Uindona, Uindonissa, Uindulos, Uinduro, Aico-uindo, Alco-uindus, At-uindi, Contuuinda, Macio-uindi, Penno-uindos (‘With White Head’), Uindo-bius, etc. As a selection of place-names, I quote Uindo-ialum, Uindo-briga, Uindo-bona, 51 For example, full compound names of two (‘zweistämmige Vollnamen’) or more (‘mehrstämmige Vollnamen’) components, such as Gaulish Epomaros ‘having great horses’ or ‘being great in horses’; or full uncompounded names (‘einstämmige Vollnamen’), for example, Gaulish Maros (‘big’) < *māro-, Gaulish Boccos (‘He-Goat’) < *bokko-, Gaulish Cocca (‘Red One’) < *kokko-. Uncompounded derived names with suffixal formation, such as Gaulish Suadulla (‘Sweety’) < *s.ādu- (‘sweet’) or Celtiberian katunos < *katu- (‘battle, war’) were nicknames. Short names (‘Kurznamen’) are typically derived from full compounded or uncompounded names by mechanical shortening, for example, Gaulish Adnema < *Adnamata (‘Greatly Inimical’) < *ad- (‘very’) + nāmant- (‘enemy’) or Gaulish Bouda < a compound of *bo;-di(‘victory, bounty’). 52 Cf., for example, Hittite Apasa – Greek Ephesos, Hittite Milawanda – Greek Miletos, Hittite Tuwanuwa – Greek Tyana, etc.

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Uindonissa, Uindo-cino, Uindo-bala, Uindo-cladia, Uindo-landa, Uindomagus, Uindilis, Uindiacus. For river names, see *Uinda, *Uindeda, *Uindena, etc.53 We do not know why the Galatians substituted the inherited Phrygian name. There is no case of translation of semantics, since Gordion (which is not attested in Phrygian inscriptions, as neither is king Gordias)54 should be related to °gordo (‘city’). One may compare Manegordum, also Slavic gradъ, Hittite (E) gurta (c.) (‘town, citadel, acropolis’), Latin hortus < IE *ghor-to/*ghr-dho-. What seems odd is that the form Οὐινδία looks more like a personal and not a place-name. We can assume a back formation from the full compound name ‘White City’, maybe a Celto-Phrygian hybrid **uindo-gordo-, which was later shortened to the first member and marked with *-iio- suffix. For similar compounds, we may refer to the Gaulish toponyms Uindo-briga or Uindo-bona. Another good example of language contact in Western Anatolia is the reformation of the inherited epichoric river name Tembris or Tembrios (Turkish Porsuk) in Phrygia. The name certainly predates the Greek expansion into Asia Minor. We cannot precisely state, however, whether the name should be classified as Anatolian or Phrygian.55 The etymology is obscure.56 It seems that the name of the river is attested in the quasi-bilingual New Phrygian-Greek

53 See Delamarre 2003, 320–21. There is an extensive discussion as to whether Uindia was really situated at the site of the ancient Phrygian city – mentioned as polis of the Galatian Tolistobogioi in Ptolemy, and as a statio in the Itinerarium Antonini 201. 5, where the distance between Uindia and Colonia Germa is the same as between Gordion and the mentioned settlement (Belke 1984, 171; French 1978, 294, Mitchell 1993, 50). It seems, however, that parts of the ancient citadel were reused by the Roman military under Nero or the Flavian emperors. However, the excavations undertaken at Gordion (since 1989) have shown that the settlement was inhabited during the Hellenistic period, though the assessment of Celtic influence remains highly controversial and the date of the renaming is disputable (see Voigt 2003; BennetGoldmann 2009, 35–45; Coşkun 2013, 153–54; 2014; and his Chapter 1 in this volume, with nn. 28–39, for further bibliography and discussion). Likewise, the cuneiform variations quoted by Zgusta 1984, 459 (after Forlanini, Studi micenei ed egeo-anatolici 18 [1977], 222 – non vidi), Winda or Wenda remain highly uncertain; Zgusta admits that the location is unknown. Whether the epiklesis from Ikonion (Lykaonia, cf. SEG VI 401) Οὐινδιεινῷ should be related to Οὐινδία cannot be decided either on the basis of available evidence. 54 Cf., however, garḍ[… on a graffito from Gordion: CIPP 165. 55 The name of the river appears in several variants (cf. Haas 1976, 68), but we can distinguish two major groups: the short form Tembris, Tembros (coins from Midaion), Thymbris (Livius), Thybris (Johannes Kinnamos, 12th century), Tembrios (Orphic Argonautika), and the long form Tembrogius (Pliny NH 6. 4), Tenbrogioς (Petrie 1906, 127). It seems likely that the original name was lacking the velar element and sounded probably *Temroς, whence Temris, Thymbris, whereas the term Temrogeioς was probably used for the land around the river and later again for the river itself (Lubotsky 1998b, 122; cf. also Coşkun 2009, 246). 56 Tischler 1977, 144.

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inscription no. 48, which is undated, but roughly belongs to the 2nd or 3rd century AD: ε[(-)-]γ/τεντουμενος νιοισιος ναδροτος ειτου Μιτραφατα κε Μας Τεμρογειος κε Πουντας Βας κε ενσταρνα [vac.] δουμ(ε) κε οι ου(ε)βαν αδδακετ ορουαν [Gr.] παρεθεμην το μνημειον τοις προ γεγραμμενοις θεοις κε τη κομη ταυθ` ο πατηρ Ασκλεπιος57

We here find the theonym of a river god. It seems that the phonetic development of the form *temro- > *tembri- could cause the association with a Celtic element brogi- < *mrogi (Indo-European *morg`- [‘frontier’], cf. Latin margo, Gothic marka, Avestan marəza), with a methatesis of Proto-Celtic *morg` to mrog- and then brog-. The element is often represented in onomastics: cf. Allobroges, Nitiobroges, Brogi-marus, Brogi-taros (also attested as a king of Galatian Trokmoi), Galatian Βρογορις; also see Juvenal (8. 234): brogae Galli agrum dicunt.58 The attested Μας Τεμρογειος can exhibit an already reinterpreted form with a voiced velar (probably due to Celtic influence), which was established before the beginning of the 2nd century AD, which would be compatible with the Tembrogius as attested by Pliny (NH 6. 1) and Τενβρογιος attested epigraphically. The use of the ‘Celticised’ form in the above-quoted Greek and Phrygian document could imply that Galatian influence was already well integrated into the vernacular systems. Not least in view of the uncertain date of the inscription, we better leave open the question whether the text was still vernacular and used in every-day speech or rather represents a formulaic substratum, employed only in funerary contexts.

57 The Greek text reads as follows: ‘Father Asklepios has placed this monument under the protection of the abovementioned gods and of the community.’ For the interpretation of the Phrygian part, see Lubotsky 1998b, 124–28. There is no consensus on the chronology: according to Haas, one should date the inscription to AD 224/5, but this is incompatible with the palaeographic evidence (Lubotsky 1998b, 117–20). At any rate, note that ll. 7–14 were added later to the stone. 58 See Delamarre 2003, 91.

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EPILOGUE As I stated at the beginning, both Phrygian and Galatian are attested only in fragments, and our knowledge of the Phrygian system is very limited. Among the inscriptions, only a few are understandable to any extent and many words and forms still remain obscure. As to Galatian, we do not even have a single written document. In the present chapter, I have tried to show, that, despite a large margin of uncertainty, linguistic and cultural contacts between the Galatians and other inhabitants of Asia Minor can be assumed with a high plausibility. The observations made above do not presume to be the last word in this discussion. As already mentioned, the entire picture of assumed contacts and their directions is difficult to interpret. We have to keep in mind the potentially strong influence of Greek on both Galatian and Phrygian in the Hellenistic and especially in the Imperial period. It is yet to be decided whether the New Phrygian inscriptions provide evidence for a ‘real, living’ language or were artificially (re-)introduced into the Greek environment of Asia Minor as a sort of manifestation of local character. And was Galatian really still spoken in the time of Jerome? Only after careful and systematic research of all the available material, including the secondary evidence, will we hopefully be able to formulate reliable conclusions that may demystify these linguistic enigmata. BIBLIOGRAPHY Anreiter, P. 2001: Die vorrömischen Namen Pannoniens (Archaeolingua 16) (Budapest). Belke, K. 1984: Galatien und Lykaonien (TIB 4; ÖAWDPHK 172) (Vienna). Bennet, J. and Goldman, A. 2009: ‘A Preliminary Report on the Roman Military Presence at Gordion, Galatia’. In Morillo Cerdán, A., Hanel, N. and Martín, E. (eds.), Limes XX: Roman Frontiers Studies (Anejos de Gladius 23) (Madrid), 1605–16. Brixhe, C. 2004a: ‘Phrygian’. In Woodard, R.D. (ed.), The Cambridge Encyclopaedia of the World’s Ancient Languages (Cambridge), 777–88. —. 2004b: ‘Corpus des inscriptions paléo-phrygiennes. Supplement II’. Kadmos 43, 1–130. Brixhe, C. and Neumann, G. 1985: ‘Découverte du plus long texte néo-phrygien: l’inscription de Gezler Köyü’. Kadmos 24, 161–84. Brust, M. 2008: Die indischen und iranischen Lehnwörter im Griechischen (Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Sprachwissenschaft 118) (Innsbruck). Coşkun, A. 2009: ‘Interkulturelle Ortsnamen in Zentralkleinasien und Galatische Geschichte’. In Ahrens, W., Embleton, S. and Lapierre, A. (eds.), Names in MultiLingual, Multi-Cultural and Multi-Ethnic Contact (Proceedings of the 23rd International Congress of Onomastic Sciences [ICOS XXIII], August 17–22, York University) (Toronto), 243–53.

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—. 2012: ‘Deconstructing a Myth of Seleucid History: the So-Called “Elephant Victory” Revisited’. Phoenix 66.1, 57–73. —. 2013: ‘War der Galaterkönig Deiotaros ein Städtegründer? Neue Vorschläge zu einigen kleinasiatischen Toponymen auf Sin-/Syn’. Gephyra 10, 152–62. —. 2014: ‘Latène-Artefakte im hellenistischen Kleinasien: ein problematisches Kriterium für die Bestimmung der ethnischen Identität(en) der Galater’. IstMitt 64, 129–62. Delamarre, X. 2003: Dictionnaire de la langue gauloise. Une approche linguistique du vieux-celtique continental, 2nd ed. (Paris). —. 2012: Noms de lieux celtiques de l’Europe ancienne (– 500 / +500) – Dictionnaire (Paris/Arles). Eichner, H. 2004: ‘Illyrisch – die unbekannte Sprache’. In Die Illyrer. Katalog zu einer Ausstellung von archäologischen Funden der albanischen Eisenzeit (12.–4. Jh. v.Chr.) (Asparn/Zaya), 92–117. Eska, J. 2006: ‘Galatian Language’. In Koch, J.T. (ed.), Celtic Culture: A Historical Encyclopedia. II: Celto–F (Santa Barbara, CA). Falileyev, A. 2010: Dictionary of Continental Celtic Place-Names: A Celtic Companion to the Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World (Aberystwyth). Forrer, E. (ed.) 1920: Keilschifttexte aus Boghazköy, Heft IV (Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft 30.4) (Leipzig). Freeman, P. 2001: The Galatian Language: A Comprehensive Survey of the Language of the Ancient Celts in Greco-Roman Asia Minor (Lewiston, NY). French, D.H. 1978: ‘Roman Roads in Central Anatolia’. In Akurgal, E. (ed.), Proceedings of the Xth International Congress of Classical Archaeology I (Ankara), 293–94. Gignac, F.T. 1976: A Grammar of the Greek Papyri of the Roman and Byzantine Periods. I: Phonology (Milan). Haas, O. 1966: Die phrygischen Sprachdenkmäler (Balkansko Ezikoznanie 10) (Sofia). —. 1976: ‘Die Sprache der spätphrygischen Inschriften I’. Balkansko Ezikoznanie 19.3, 49–82. Hajnal, I. 2003: ‘Methodische Vorbemerkungen zu einer Paleolinguistik des Balkanraums’. In Bammesberger, A. and Vennemann. T. (eds.), Languages in Prehistoric Europe (Heidelberg), 117–45. Hübschmann, H. 1897: Armenische Grammatik. I: Armenische Etymologie (Leipzig). Katz, J.T. 1998: ‘Hittite tašku- and the Indo-European Word for “Badger”’. Historische Sprachforschung 111.1, 61–82. Klingenschmitt, G. 1994a: ‘Das Albanische als Glied der indogermanischen Sprachfamilie’. In Rasmussen, J.E. (ed.), In Honorem Holger Pedersen (Kolloquium der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft vom 26. bis 28. März in Kopenhagen) (Wiesbaden), 221–33. —. 1994b: ‘Die Verwandtschaftsverhältnisse der indogermanischen Sprachen’. In Rasmussen, J.E. (ed.), In Honorem Holger Pedersen (Kolloquium der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft vom 26. bis 28. März in Kopenhagen) (Wiesbaden), 235–51. —. 1994c: ‘Das Tocharische in indogermanistischer Sicht’. In Schlerath, B. (ed.), Tocharisch (Akten der Fachtagung der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft, Berlin, September 1990) (Reykjavik), 310–411. Kramer, J. 2003: ‘Der Name der Stadt Trier’. Kurtrierisches Jahrbuch 43, 27–35.

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Latte, K. (ed.) 1953: Hesychii Alexandrini Lexicon 1–2 (A–O) (Heidelberg). Lubotsky, A. 1998: ‘New Phrygian Metrics and the δεως ζεμελως Formula’. In Jasanoff, J., Melchert, H.C. and Olivier, L. (eds.), Mír curad. Studies in Honor of Calvert Watkins (Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Sprachwissenschaft 92) (Innsbruck), 413–21. —. 1998b: ‘New Phrygian Inscription No. 48: Palaeographic and Linguistic Comments’. In Gusmani, R., Salvini, M. and Vannicelli, P. (eds.), Frigi e Frigio (Atti del 1o Simposio internazionale, Roma, 16–17 ottobre 1995) (Rome), 115–30. McCone, K. 1996: Towards a Relative Chronology of Ancient and Medieval Celtic Sound Change (Maynooth Studies in Celtic Linguistics 1) (Maynooth). Mallory, J. and Adams, D.Q. 1997: Encyclopedia of Indo-European Culture (London). Martirosyan, H. 2010: Etymological Dictionary of the Armenian Inherited Lexicon (Leiden Indo-European Etymological Dictionary Series 8) (Leiden/Boston). Matasović, R. 2008: Etymological Dictionary of Proto-Celtic (Leiden Indo-European Etymological Dictionary Series 9) (Leiden/Boston). Matzinger, J. 2005: ‘Phrygisch und Armenisch. Sprachkontakt und Sprachwandel’. In Meiser, G. and Hackstein, O. (eds.), Sprachkontakt und Sprachwandel (Akten der XI. Fachtagung der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft, 17.–23. September 2000, Halle an der Saale) (Wiesbaden), 375–94. —. 2006: ‘Interpretation sprachlicher Daten aus Rest- und Trümmersprachen. Das Fallbeispiel der Streitfrage um eine phrygische Lautverschiebung’. Historische Sprachforschung 119, 190–210. Mikhailova, T. 2007: ‘Macc, Cailín and Céile – an Altaic Element in Celtic?’. In Tristram, H.L.C. (ed.), The Celtic Languages in Contact (Papers from the Workshop within the Framework of the XIII International Congress of Celtic Studies, Bonn, 26–27 July 2007) (Potsdam), 4–24. Mitchell, S. 1993: Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods. I: The Celts in Anatolia and the Impact of Roman Rule (Oxford). Neumann, G. 1994: ‘Die Sprachen im Römischen Reich der Kaiserzeit. Kleinasien’. In Badali, E., Nowicki, H. and Zeilfelder, S. (eds.), Ausgewählte Kleine Schriften (Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Sprachwissenschaft 77) (Innsbruck), 302–20. Norton, T. 2013: A Question of Identity: Who Were the Galatians? (Dissertation, University of Wales, Lampeter). Obrador-Cursach, B. 2018: Lexicon of the Phrygian Inscriptions (Barcelona) . Olsen, B.A. 1999: The Noun in Biblical Armenian: Origin and Word Formation (Trends in Linguistics 119) (Berlin/New York). Pedersen, H. 1909: Vergleichende Grammatik der keltischen Sprachen. I: Einleitung und Lautlehre (Göttingen). Peters, M. 1999: ‘Gall(o-lat.) marcosior’. In Anreiter, P. and Jerem, E. (eds.), Studia Celtica et Indogermanica. Festschrift für Wolfgang Meid (Archaeolingua 10) (Budapest), 305–14. Petrie, A. 1906: ‘Epitaphs in Phrygian Greek’. In Ramsay, W.M. (ed.), Studies in the History and Art of the Eastern Provinces of the Roman Empire (Aberdeen University Studies 20) (Aberdeen), 119–34. Rance, P. 2004: ‘Drungus, δροῦγγος, and δρουγγιστί: A Gallicism and Continuity in Late Roman Cavalry Tactics’. Phoenix 58.1–2, 96–130.

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Schumacher, S. 2004: Die keltischen Pimärverben: Ein vergleichendes, etymologisches und morphologisches Lexikon (Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Sprachwissenschaft 110) (Innsbruck). Sowa, W. 1998: ‘Keltské výpožički v latinčine’. In Nábĕlková, M. (ed.), Varia VII (Zborník materiálov zo VII. kolokvia mladých jazykovedcov, Modra-Piesok 03.– 05.12.1997) (Bratislava), 186–94. —. 2005: ‘Anmerkungen zum Balkanindogermanischen’. In Schweiger, G. (ed.), Indogermanica. Festschrift Gert Klingenschmitt: Indische, iranische und indogermanische Studien (Studien zur Iranistik und Indogermanistik 3) (Taimering), 611–28. —. 2008: Studien zum Phrygischen (Göttingen). Stifter, D. 2008: ‘I. General Information’. The Old Celtic Languages. University of Vienna Summer Term 2008, Classroom Materials, 1–23 . Tischler, J. 1977: Kleinasiatische Hydronymie: Semantische und morphologische Analyse der griechischen Gewässernamen (Wiesbaden). —. 2001: Hethitisches Handwörterbuch, mit dem Wortschatz der Nachbarsprachen (Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Sprachwissenschaft 102) (Innsbruck). Vendryes, J. 1925: ‘Périodiques III’. Revue Celtique 42, 221–22. —. 2003: ‘Celts at Gordion: The Late Hellenistic Settlement’. Expedition 45, 14–19 = Expedition Magazine Penn Museum 45.1 . Weisgerber, L. 1931: ‘Galatische Sprachreste’. In Natalicium Johannes Geffcken zum 70. Geburtstag 2. Mai 1931 gewidmet von Freunden, Kollegen und Schülern (Heidelberg), 151–75. Whatmough, J. 1944: ‘Keltika: Being Prolegomena to a Study of the Dialects of Ancient Gaul’. Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 55, 1–85. Zgusta, L. 1980: ‘Die Rolle des Griechischen im römischen Kaiserreich’. In Neumann, G. and Untermann, J. (eds.), Die Sprachen im römischen Reich der Kaiserzeit (Kolloquium vom 8. bis 10. April 1974) (Bonner Jahrbücher Beih. 40) (Cologne), 121–46. —. 1984: Kleinasiatischen Ortsnamen (Beiträge zur Namenforschung Beih. 21) (Heidelberg).

INSCRIPTIONS OF THE TAVIUM AREA

Christian WALLNER

Abstract The field research conducted in and around the Galatian city of Tavium since 1997 as part of the Tavium International Research Project (TIRP) concluded with the 2009 campaign. During those surveys under the direction of Karl Strobel with the assistance of Christoph Gerber, about 400 monuments containing inscriptions have been found. Tombstones make up the biggest part of the discovered material. Originating from the 5th or 6th century, almost all of them show the same iconographic peculiarities as well as the same formula of the inscription. Besides tombstones, many milestones and some tituli of Imperial times were detected. All in all, the inscriptions provide a much broader evidential base for reconstructing the history of Tavium in the first six centuries AD than the literary sources. From those epigraphic texts we gain more detailed knowledge of members of the Galatian aristocracy, the road system around the caput viae Tavium and – above all – the people who lived in that area. The honorary inscriptions and gravestones, in particular, deserve scholarly attention, since they offer a great quantity and variety of personal names. Based on these findings, further research on Galatian identity as well as intercultural anthroponomy is possible. The publication of the inscriptions of Tavium is still a work in progress. However, its completion will considerably improve our knowledge of that part of Asia Minor. After a general introduction to the area of Tavium and the field research conducted there, five inscriptions (published as well as unpublished) are presented and analysed.

INTRODUCTION: HISTORY AND EPIGRAPHIC RESEARCH IN TAVIUM In 1997, Karl Strobel (Alpen Adria University, Klagenfurt) began to conduct surveys in the area of the Galatian city Tavium with the assistance of Christoph Gerber (Ruprecht Karls University, Heidelberg). The main aim of this field research was to explore the urban centre and the surrounding territory as well as to collect all archaeological relics, especially in the villages adjacent to the ancient city. These annual campaigns came to an end in the summer of 2009.1 1

For information on the campaigns, see Strobel and Gerber 2000; 2003; 2007a; 2010.

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Tavium was undoubtedly one of the most important Anatolian settlements east of the River Halys (Kızılırmak).2 Referred to as Tawinija in sources of the 2nd millennium BC, it can be recognised as a place of worship for the Hittite god Teššop. During the following centuries, this sanctuary was transformed to one of Zeus Tavianos, which gained international importance during Hellenistic times. In the course of the Galatian settlement in Central Asia Minor, Tavium became the tribal centre of the Trokmoi. It is well known that Tavium was not organised as a polis until Augustan times; Strabo (12. 5. 2) describes it specifically as a fortified place (phrourion). When Galatia was incorporated into the Roman empire, Tavium became an autonomous polis and – alongside with Ankyra and Pessinus – one centre of the koinon. On coins issued in the 1st and 2nd centuries AD, the community called itself Sebastēnoi Trokmoi Tavianoi,3 in an inscription from the beginning of the 3rd century Sebastē Trokmōn Taouia.4 In Late Antiquity as well as in the Early Byzantine period, the eastern Galatian metropolis, then referred to as Tabia in the sources, more and more became an important Christian centre. After the city was conquered by the Arabs in AD 727, it remained a stronghold until the 12th century, although the population of the city and the surrounding territory considerably decreased. The above-mentioned surveys in the north-eastern part of Galatia have been extended to several fields of research year by year and all scientific activities were combined under the title Tavium International Research Project (TIRP). In the course of those campaigns, many inscriptions have been found. This is mainly because research teams did systematic work over the course of several years: village by village, surveys were carefully carried out and all findings thoroughly documented (see Fig. 1). The main aim of this part of the research project was to collect and document new stones with inscriptions, as well as to revisit former findings. At the end, there should be a corpus containing all known inscriptions of Tavium, comparable to that recently published by Stephen Mitchell and David French for Ankyra or that established by Johan Strubbe for Pessinus.5 Continuing in this way towards an overall collection, Strobel published all milestones of the area and reconstructed the road system around the caput viae 2 For a detailed report on the history of Tavium from the 2nd millennium BC until Late Antiquity, see Strobel and Gerber 2000, 215–24; for a short overview, see Strobel 2002; 2009a, 131–32. On the Trokmoi in Late Hellenistic and Early Roman times, cf. Coşkun 2014a; 2014b; 2014c; and further the synthesis in Chapter 1 in this volume, pp. 10, 37–49. 3 For the coins of Tavium, see Arslan 2006, 146–54 (general overview), 164–70 (catalogue), 177–81 (photographs). Cf. Strobel 2009a, 131, n. 76; Drew-Bear and Labarre 2002, 74–76. 4 Drew-Bear and Labarre 2002, 72, no. 2, ll. 7–9. 5 I.Ankara I–II; I.Pessinous. For further epigraphic collections, see Coşkun 2013b and Chapter 1 in this volume, pp. 6–10, 21, 28–30.

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Fig. 1: Map of Tavium and environs (after Strobel and Gerber 2003, 132, with permission) (original dimensions: 9.7 × 10.6 cm).

Tavium.6 In addition to that, a catalogue of the inscriptions in the museum of Yozgat was completed.7 This city is the capital of the Turkish province of the same name, where Tavium and its territory are located nowadays. In the museum are stones not only originating from Tavium, but also from northern Kappadokia or southern Pontos. This catalogue can be seen both as a contribution to the preservation of monuments and as a collection of studies leading to the intended corpus of the inscriptions of Tavium. 6 Strobel and Gerber 2003, 162–77; 2007a, 617‒20; Strobel 2007a; 2007b, 311–12, 331–32, 339–40. Cf. I.Yozgat IV 1–2. See now the summary by French in RRMAM III.3 44–50, 45(C), 63(A)–64. 7 I.Yozgat (2011).

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Epigraphic research in the area began prior to the launch of TIRP. In the 19th century, William John Hamilton (1777–1859), William Mitchell Ramsay (1851–1939) and John Robert Sitlington Sterrett (1851–1914) travelled through that region and published their findings.8 Their journey reports contain the earliest references to inscriptions, most of them now lost. More research was carried out in the 20th century, beginning with a British team led by M. Linton Smith, who published inscriptions in co-operation with Marcus Niebuhr Tod.9 During the 1930s, an Italian team under the direction of Giulio Jacopi followed.10 A generation later, Mitchell and French visited northern Galatia, primarily with the intention of collecting milestones. One of the results of these surveys was the publication of the second volume of the Regional Epigraphic Catalogues of Asia Minor (RECAM II), which collects the inscriptions of northern Galatia outside Ankara. Although in urgent need of updating, this volume still forms the basis of all epigraphic research in that area. I would like to close this brief introductory survey with a few numbers, most of them approximate. Until now, about 400 inscriptions have been found in and near Tavium. Epitaphs make up by far the largest group, they date predominantly to the Early Byzantine period (5th/6th century AD). Only up to one third of the entire material has been published so far. First of all, Mitchell’s aforementioned RECAM II volume includes 89 inscriptions attributed to the Tavium area.11 Some of the stones published there appear to be lost and could not be revisited during the TIRP campaigns. The catalogue of the Yozgat Museum features at least 22 stones that unmistakeably belong to Tavium.12 A few addenda have been published since 2015 in various periodicals as well as books.13 Some other smaller monuments with inscriptions have received short descriptions in the reports of the annual surveys.14 And last but not least, all of the abovementioned 16 milestones have been published by now.15 This progress notwithstanding, the larger part of the inscriptions of the Tavium area is yet unpublished.

8

Hamilton 1842; Ramsay 1883; 1941; Sterrett 1888. Smith and Tod 1912. 10 Jacopi 1937. 11 RECAM II 411–499. 12 I.Yozgat I 5, 10, 11, 17, 19, 20; II 1–11, 13; IV 1–2; VI 3, 10. 13 Wallner 2015; 2017; 2019a; 2019b. 14 For example, Strobel and Gerber 1998, 302, 309 (Figs. 7–8); 2001, 4, 8 (Fig. 6) (cf. SEG LII 1244); Strobel et al. 2005, 362–63 (cf. below nos. c and d); Strobel and Gerber 2006, 16–17; 27–28, Abb. TI1–TI3 (cf. SEG LVIII 1485–86); 2007a, 617–20; 2007b, 434; 442 (Abb. 12); 2010, 295; Wallner 2010. 15 See above, n. 6. 9

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THE INSCRIPTIONS – A REPRESENTATIVE SELECTION In the following, I shall discuss five monuments that are more or less representative for the whole of the material found in the territory of Tavium. The well-documented milestones and small fragments will be omitted. a) Tombstone of Kostantinos (Fig. 2) Description: white marble tombstone, broken at the top and below, shaped from a reused, re-cut column, the original surface of which is preserved at the back. The surface and letters are slightly worn. The lettering is lunate (epsilon, sigma, omega), alpha with broken cross-bar. Dimensions: H (hight): 49.5 cm; W (width): 29 cm; D (depth): 11 cm; L (letter size): 1.9–4 cm. Edition: I.Yozgat II 4

4

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[Ἔνθα] κατάκιτε ὁ δοῦλος τοῦ Θε(οῦ) Κοσταντῖνος πρεσ(βύτερος) τῶν ἀποστώλον vac.

ll. 7–9: ἀ|ποστώλο|ν: sc. ἀ|ποστόλω|ν.

Translation: Here lies Kostantinos, the servant of God, the presbyter of the apostles. Date: 5th/6th century AD. The text starts with the typical, standardised formula Ἔνθα κατάκιτε ὁ δοῦλος / ἡ δούλη τοῦ Θε(οῦ), followed by the name of the deceased and his profession. In this case, Kostantinos was presbyter of the apostles. From this account, we can draw the conclusion that there was a church of that dedication in Tavium in the 5th and 6th centuries. For there is no doubt that this tombstone – like all the others with the same formula – was set up in that time.16 In this context, two aspects have to be stressed. First of all, nearly all Christian epitaphs of the area of Tavium show the same formula. Funerary monuments of Byzantine times with a divergent scheme are extremely rare. Termini 16 See the detailed discussion in I.Yozgat, pp. 60–65. Regarding iconographic features of those funerary monuments, cf. Mitchell 1993 II, 119–20; Strobel 2009b.

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Fig. 2: Tombstone of Kostantinos (photograph by author, 2009).

Fig. 3: Funerary monument of Theodoros (photograph by author, 2013).

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like ἀνάπαυσις, θήκη, μνῆμα or κοίμησις, followed by the genitive case of the deceased, appear only on a small scale.17 Secondly, the large number of epitaphs discovered in that territory is remarkable. About 70% of all inscriptions we found in that area belong to tombstones and follow the standardised formula mentioned above. There should be no doubt that one reason for the large number of Byzantine epitaphs indicates that Tavium was an early Christian centre. Another explanation for this phenomenon might be the lack of systematic excavations. Archaeological work carried out within the terrain of the ancient city would bring to light many monuments in situ, whereas mainly reused stones were found in the course of the surveys conducted by TIRP. It is therefore no surprise that monuments of the last period of the long history of Tavium appear to a much larger extent. From the epigraphic point of view, we have to assume that a large number of inscriptions datable to Imperial times are still underneath the ground. b) Funerary Monument of Theodoros (Fig. 3) Description: funerary plaque of white marble, broken below, chipped at all sides. The inscription is cut beneath simple geometrical figures, incised more or less symmetrically. Setting lines visible. The letters are very clear. Their forms include alpha with a broken cross-bar, lunate sigma, omicron, omega and epsilon. In lambda and delta, the right oblique stroke rises higher than the left. The middle stroke of theta is extended beyond the round parts of the letter. Dimensions: H: 47.5 cm; W: 45.5 cm; D: 6 cm; L: 2.5–4 cm. Edition: unpublished.

4

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Δρόμον θεάρεστον ἀγονισάμενο[[ε]]ς κὲ τὸ στάδιον vac. τοῦ βίου διεξελθὸν ὁ δοῦλος τοῦ Χ(ριστο)ῦ Θεώ- vac. δορος προς –––––––

l. 3: ἀγονι|σάμενο[[ε]]ς: The stone-cutter erroneously wrote epsilon instead of sigma. Hence he made a second attempt to carve the right letter carefully. l. 5: τοῦ βίου: omicron and ypsilon in ligature. ll. 5–6: διεξελ|θὸν: sc. διεξελ|θὼν. l. 7: Χ(ριστο)ῦ: The abbreviation is indicated by a horizontal stroke above ypsilon. ll. 7–8: Θεώ|δορος: sc. Θεό|δωρος. l. 8: προς: preposition or prefix? 17

Cf., for example, RECAM II 467–469, 497.

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Translation: Having finished his race pleasing God and completed the circuit of life Theodoros, the servant of Christ, … . Date: 5th/6th century AD. According to the director of Yozgat Museum, the plaque was found in the yard of a house in Büyüknefes and brought to the museum. The deceased’s life is represented as a race in a stadium. The epitaph is so far the only funerary inscription from Tavium with an agonistic theme. Agonistic metaphors occur very often in early Christian texts, especially in the context of martyrdom. There, martyrs win the palm through their deaths, gaining victory over their executioners in a hostile, non-Christian environment.18 Furthermore, Theodoros is said to have lived a good life according to Christian ideals,19 perhaps he held a leading position in a church in Tavium. Be this as it may, the inscription is comparable to that of an anonymous person of high official rank from the Yozgat Museum (I.Yozgat II 2): the text as well as the letter forms show noticeable similarities. That anonymous man was buried in a special place, having acquired a so-called depositio ad sanctos. Perhaps the epitaph of Theodoros can be seen in the same context. It may well be that a formula like ἔνθα κατάκιτε is lost. At least, the abovementioned anonymous epitaph from Yozgat ended with the words ἐνθάδε ἀναπαύετε (sc. ἀναπαύεται) κτλ. (ll. 8–9). Finally, it should be emphasized once again that literary flourish in epitaphs as in that of Theodoros is rare in Tavium. It is an exception to the rule, which is better represented by the tombstone of Kostantinos (a). c) Funerary Stele of Bellon (Figs. 4–5) Description: a pedimented stele of white marble, probably of Parian origin; the triangular pediment has stylised acroteria with half palmettes at each corner and a rosette in the centre, carved in relief. Below the pediment, the inscription is cut at the top of the shaft, the surface of which is slightly soiled. There is a tenon at the bottom. The letters have not been cut very carefully. Their forms include alpha with a straight cross-bar, lunate sigma, lunate omega, square epsilon. 18 See the detailed analysis of that phenomenon by Merkelbach 1975, and the commentary of Youtie 1975. Cf. the lucid study about the martyrdom of Perpetua by Robert 1989, especially 819–39; Marek 2010, 625–26. 19 The adjective θεάρεστος is obviously not attested in inscriptions of the Christian era. Θεάρεστος as a personal name appears rather seldom, for example, in Crete: IC II, 25 (Sulia), 2, l. 1. Cf. LGPN I 211, s.v. ‘Θεάρεστος’ (3rd/2nd century BC).

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Dimensions: H: 132; W: 58; D: 18 cm; L: 1.8–2 cm. Edition: Strobel in Strobel et al. 2005, 362–63, 375 (Fig. 11); Strobel 2009a, 136–38 (with Fig. 4). Cf. SEG LVI 1427 (without Greek text).

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Βέλλων Γουτουμαρου, ἥρως χρηστέ, χαῖρε· Γριμιταλος καὶ Ἀνδρόμαχος τὸν ἑατῶν πατέρα ἀρετῆς ἕνεκεν vac.

Translation: Bellon, son of Goutoumaros, farewell good deceased! Grimitalos and Andromachos (honour) their father for his virtue. Date: 1st/2nd century AD. This stele was obviously part of a necropolis, as Strobel pointed out in the editio princeps of this monument. It was erected in a cemetery which belonged to a big estate. The funerary monument of Grimitalos (see inscription d, below) was also part of that necropolis. Both steles were found in Çamdibi, a village in the area north-west of Tavium, during a farmer’s work. They were recorded by researchers of TIRP in August 2004.20 The inscription provides evidence for members of an upper-class family of eastern Galatia. We state a mix of Celtic and Greek names, different onomastic traditions from one generation to the next and also within the same generation; this phenomenon, typical for the Galatian nobility, can be recognised very distinctly in this text.21 The name of the grandfather, Goutoumaros, is Celtic. The suffix mā-romeans ‘big’ or ‘important’, this element occurs in names like Indutiomarus, known from the Gallic wars of C. Iulius Caesar, or Miletumarus.22 The prefix *gu-tu-, according to Alfred Holder, means ‘voice’.23 So, the name Goutoumaros can be interpreted as ‘big voice’, ‘important speaker’, or the like. It is worth mentioning that the inscription provides the one and only record of that Celtic anthroponym. His son was called Bellon. In contrast to Goutoumaros, this name is attested not only in Asia Minor (Ephesos, Priene, Pergamon, Milet, Gagai, Ankyra,

20

Strobel in Strobel et al. 2005, 362. For Greek names among Galatian aristocrats and the variation of Celtic and Greek names, see Coşkun 2012; 2013a. 22 ACS II, 432–33, s.v. ‘mā-ro-’, and Delamarre 2003, 218–19, s.v. ‘maros’. 23 ACS I, 2045–46, s.v. ‘gutu-atro-s’. Cf. Delamarre 2003, 184–85, s.v. ‘gutuater-’, who offers the explanation ‘un prêtre (Maître des invocations ?)’. He obviously assumes a sacred context. 21

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Fig. 4: Funerary stele of Bellon (photograph by K. Strobel, 2004, with permission).

Fig. 5: Funerary stele of Bellon – inscription on shaft (photograph by K. Strobel, 2004, with permission. Cf. Strobel 2009a, 136, fig. 4).

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Pessinus and an unknown place in Kappadokia),24 but also in Sparta.25 At first sight, the origin of the personal name Βέλλων seems to be problematic: it was interpreted as Lydian by William Buckler, and Louis Robert drew a connection to the Greek word βέλος (which means ʻweaponʼ or ʻarrowʼ).26 However, it is also possible to assume a Celtic origin: the elements bello-, belo- or biloare common onomastic features, for example in the personal name Bellorix or the ethnonym Bellovaci, a tribe again known from the Gallic wars of Julius Caesar.27 Whatever the origin of the name, Βέλλων can be seen as an example of intercultural anthroponomy: on the one hand, as a local name with a potential Anatolian connection (one of Robert’s noms indigènes), on the other, as a name with Greek or Celtic roots. In his analysis of similar names, Altay Coşkun states that we ‘should not presume any intention of deceiving anyone by such names. According choices rather responded to a desire to express a belonging to more than one “ethnic” group.’28 Intercultural anthroponomy becomes manifest also in the names of the sons of Bellon, i.e. the grandsons of Goutoumaros: Andromachos (‘Man-Fighter’) is typically Greek, Grimitalos Celtic. Hence, we see an example for the mentioned alternation of onomastic traditions within the same generation. d) Funerary Stele of Grimitalos (Fig. 6) Description: a pedimented stele of white marble, probably of Phrygian origin; the triangular pediment has simple stylised acroteria, in the centre a simple circle. The lower part of the stele is soiled, the inscription in the upper part of the shaft, immediately below the pediment.

24

LGPN V.A 100; V.B 83; V.C 88, s.v. ‘Βέλλων’ (with further references). LGPN III.A 90, s.v. ‘Βέλλων’ (all cited epigraphic documents belong to the 1st and 2nd centuries AD). 26 Robert 1963, 287 (with references and discussion). Cf. Zgusta 1964, 122, §160, s.v. ‘Βέλλων’: ‘Der Name Βελλων ist in dieser Gegend unklar. Sein einheimischer Charakter wurde verteidigt von Stein (…) durch Hinweis auf Κω-βελλις. Es könnte sich aber vielleicht auch um eine Erweiterung des keltischen Namens Bellus, Bella (…) handeln; Βελλα (f) ist belegt MAMA VII 321, 333, 490 (O. Phr-Gal); MAMA VIII 368 (Gal). Oder doch griechisch?’ For the concentration of the names Bella or Bellas in Galatia, see Coşkun 2014b, 6 (with all references). 27 ACS I, 391, s.v. ‘bello-’; ‘Bello(n)’; 395, s.v. ‘belo-, bilo-’. Cf. Delamarre 2003, 72, s.v. ‘belo-, bello- (“fort, puissant”)’. Strobel (2009a, 133) specifies the name Bellon as Celtic. A Βέλλων appears in an inscription of the 1st/2nd century AD found in Dodurga (north of Ankara): French 2003, 135, no. 34, with the comment that ‘Bellon is probably, but not certainly, a Celtic name’. Cf. now I.Ankara II 512 (with further comments). 28 Coşkun 2012, 59. 25

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The letters have not been carved carefully. They include alpha with a straight cross-bar, square epsilon, four-barred sigma and majuscule omega. Dimensions: H: 94 cm; W: 23 cm; D: 18 cm; L: 2.5–3 cm. Edition: Strobel in Strobel et al. 2005, 362–63, 375 (Fig. 12); SEG LVI 1428.

4

Γριμιταλε Βέλλωνος, ἥρως χρηστέ, χαῖρε

Translation: Grimitalos, son of Bellon, farewell good deceased! Date: 1st/2nd century AD (about one generation later than inscription c). It is very likely that the individuals of this inscription are the same as those in the previous text (inscription c). In that regard, however, it should be taken into account that the style and material of the monument, as well as the lettering of the inscription, are quite different. The son of Bellon is so far the only individual for whom the name Γριμιταλος has been attested. The suffix -talos is Celtic, as it appears in names like the Galatian Dyïtalos or the Gaulish Dotalos or Viriotalos.29 There is every reason to assume that the first element Grimi- is Celtic, too.30 Of course, it is not possible to date the steles of Bellon and Grimitalos with precision. Strobel supposes that the epitaph of Bellon probably dates to the late 1st century BC or the beginning of the 1st century AD. In his opinion, the stele of Grimitalos was erected one generation later, i.e. most probably during the first half of the 1st century AD.31 The comparative evidence from Ankyra would suggest a slightly later time, i.e. during the later 1st or at the beginning of the 2nd century AD. Funerary inscriptions are otherwise extremely rare in Galatia during the earliest Imperial period.32 Concerning the monument of Bellon, we should draw a parallel to the stele of Diopeithes and Timokrates of the Yozgat Museum: their stele obviously derives from Hellenistic times, but the inscription was added later, approximately during the 1st or 2nd 29 Cf. LGPN V.C 103, s.v. ‘Γριμιταλος’. ACS II, 1711, s.v. ‘talŏ-s’ (with explanations and references) offers the German translation ‘Stirn’. Cf. Delamarre 2003, 288–89, s.v. ‘talu-, talamon-’. 30 See now the detailed linguistic analysis of Sowa 2017, 633–37. 31 Strobel 2009a, 138. Cf. Strobel et al. 2005, 363: ‘Für die Datierung der Grabstele des Bellon kommen die späthellenistische Zeit des 1. Jh. v.Chr. (Mitte / 2. Hälfte) und das frühe 1. Jh. n.Chr. in Frage. Für die Datierung der Grabstele des Grimitalos ist wahrscheinlich die 1. Hälfte des 1. Jh. n.Chr. anzunehmen.’ 32 See, for example, I.Ankara I 246 (1st or 2nd century) and 248 (2nd century). Cf. I.Ankara I 123 (mid-2nd century) and the honorary inscription of Lateinia Kleopatra (I.Ankara l 81: AD 135–138) with the detailed onomastic analysis of Coşkun 2013c.

INSCRIPTIONS OF THE TAVIUM AREA

Fig. 6: Funerary stele of Grimitalos (photograph by K. Strobel, 2004, with permission. Cf. Strobel et al. 2005, 375, fig. 12).

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century AD.33 At any rate, both texts have to be counted among the earliest inscriptions found in the area of Tavium.34 In that context, it has to be mentioned that the so-called epigraphic habit of Tavium – like that of Ankyra – is closely linked to the impact of Roman rule.35 Until now, no monument with an inscription has been found in eastern Galatia that might be dated to the pre-Augustan era with certainty.36 Hence, the steles of Bellon and Grimitalos are of particular importance: together with the epitaph of Amyntas in Haydarbeyli,37 they mark the beginning of the epigraphic habit in and around Tavium, the centre of the Trokmoi. e) Honorary Inscription of the Family of the Iulii Severi (Fig. 7)38 Description: large block of grey marble broken on all sides, chipped and damaged in some spots of the inscription. The letters are sharp and clear. The forms include alpha with broken cross-bar, four-barred sigma, square epsilon, and the uprights of phi project above and below the line. Dimensions: H: 58 cm; W: 87 cm; D: 23 cm; L: 4 cm (phi: 9 cm). Edition: Wallner 2015, 183–86, no. A.1. Cf. AE 2015, 1525; BE 2016, 497; SEG LXV 1228.

4

8

33

----------------------------------[- πρεσβευτὴν] Σεβ(αστοῦ) ἀντιστ[ράτηγον - - - - -] [- - - - -] Παλαιστείνης καὶ . . [- - - - - - - - - - - - - -] [- - -]ΟN Ἀριστέα ἱερέα τοῦ Διὸς [- - - - - - - - - - -] [- - ] γυναῖκα αὐτοῦ καὶ Ἰ(ούλιον) Ῥουφεῖν[ον? - -] [- -] Σεουῆρον πατέρα αὐτοῦ· Φ[ - - - - - - - - - - - -] [- - - Π]αλαιστείνης τῆς ἱερᾶς [- - - - - - - - - - - - - -] [- - - - - -]τοῦ καὶ γυμνασιαρχ . [- - - - - - - - - - - - -] [- - - - - - - - Π]ολεμαίου Μαξί[μου? - - - - - - - - - -] ------------------------------------

I.Yozgat no. I 11 (with comments and reference to the steles of Bellon and Grimitalos). Another early monument is the stele of Amyntas, the son of Saton, established by Athenais and her husband Deiotaros, found in Haydarbeyli (RECAM II 498): Ἀμύντᾳ Σα|τωνος τῷ | ἑαυτῆς πα|τρὶ | Ἀθηναῒς ἡ | θυγάτηρ | καὶ | [Δ]ηιόταρος. In this text, we face an onomastic system comparable to that of the steles of Bellon and Grimitalos. Saton and Deiotaros are both Celtic names, whereas Amyntas and Athenais are Greek. Cf. Strobel 2009a, 138; Coşkun 2012, 56; 2013a, 85–86 (on the name Deiotaros); and Mitchell’s comments in RECAM II 498 (p. 360). 35 Concerning the epigraphic habit in Ankyra from the 1st to the 3rd century AD, see I.Ankara I, pp. 7–9. Cf. Coşkun 2012, 54, who states that ‘the Galatians did not adopt epigraphic habits prior to the imperial period’. 36 The earliest Greek inscription from Galatia is the epitaph of Deiotaros II. Philopator, found in Blukion (Karalar): RECAM II 188 = French 2003, 82–83, no. 1 (41/40 BC). For the person, see APR s.v. ‘Deiotaros II. Philopator (I.)’. 37 See above, n. 34. 38 For a detailed commentary, see the editio princeps: Wallner 2015, 183–86, no. A. 1. 34

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Fig. 7: Honorary inscription of the family of the Iulii Severi (photograph by author, 2013).

Translation: … legatus Augusti pro praetore of (Syria) Palaestina and … Aristeus, priest of Zeus … his wife and Iulius Rufinus(?) … his father Severus … of Palaestina … divine … and the (former?) gymnasiarch … Polemaios Maximus(?) … . Date: ca. AD 159–169. The block was found in Büyüknefes in spring 2011 and brought to the Yozgat Museum. The monument was evidently part of a public building in ancient Tavium. Although the text is very fragmentary, it can be recognised as an honorary inscription for the family of the Iulii Severi: the first two lines mention the governorship C. Iulius Severus the younger held in Syria Palaestina in the late 150s, after his consulate in AD 155. His whole career is known from an honorary inscription set up in Ankyra, which is now lost and only preserved in the shape of a squeeze in Vienna.39 In the fifth line of our fragmentary text, the father Severus is mentioned, i.e. C. Iulius Severus the elder, a prominent 39 I.Ankara I 77. For the cursus honorum of C. Iulius Severus the younger, see – besides the comments of Mitchell ad locum – PIR2 I 574; Halfmann 1979, 165–67, no. 81; Rémy 1989, 224–26, no. 174.

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member of the Galatian aristocracy of the 2nd century AD. In honorary inscriptions from Ankyra, he is called ‘descendant of kings and tetrarchs’ (βασιλέων καὶ τετραρχῶν ἀπόγονος). In recognition of the service he had performed for the empire during Trajan’s Eastern campaign, he was adlected into the Senate by Hadrian. His career culminated in a suffect consulship (138 or 139) and the proconsulship in the province of Asia in AD 152/3.40 There is no doubt that the C. Iulii Severi were the most prominent citizens of Ankyra in the first half and middle of the 2nd century AD. Furthermore, the third line of the text deserves attention, as a priest of Zeus is mentioned here (it is not possible to decide whether Ἀριστέα is the name of the priest in accusative case or his father’s name). The temple of Zeus Tavianos was undoubtedly one of the most important religious centres of Galatia in Imperial times. The famous statue of this god is also represented on the city’s coinage.41 Until the appearance of this fragmentary inscription, there was no epigraphic evidence of this cult in Tavium itself. This document offers one name of a priest of Zeus Tavianos in the 2nd century AD. There are some passages that still remain enigmatic. First of all, the inscription offers no hint at the individual or institution that was responsible for the erection of this honorary monument: was it the people (dēmos) of Tavium, the assembly (koinon) of the Galatians or a member of the local aristocracy? In the fourth line, the wife mentioned (γυναῖκα αὐτοῦ) is supposed to be that of C. Iulius Severus the younger;42 but her name is lost. The personal name at the end of the same line cannot be reconstructed with certainty, but Ἰ(ούλιον) Ῥουφεῖν[ον?] seems to be a good solution. And what is the context of Π]αλαιστείνης in line 6? Since no parallel to Π]αλαιστείνης τῆς ἱερᾶς is known, one may well question that τῆς ἱερᾶς refers to Π]αλαιστείνης. Concerning the end of the preserved text, one should suppose that the person mentioned in genitive case, Π]ολεμαίου Μαξί[μου?, is either the only person or one of those responsible for the erection of the honorary monument.43

40 For the whole career of C. Iulius Severus the elder, see PIR2 I 573; Halfmann 1979, 151– 52, no. 62; Rémy 1989, 50–52, no. 34; Mitchell 1993 I, 154–55; as well as the detailed commentaries by Mitchell in I.Ankara I 72–76. Cf. Strobel 2009a, 136–37; Coşkun 2013a, 104–06. 41 For Zeus Tavianos, see Strabo 12. 5. 2 (mentioning the colossal statue and the temenos of the god); Strobel and Gerber 2000, 217–18; and I.Ankara I 205–206 (with further references). For the numismatic evidence, see Arslan 2006, 164–65, nos. 46–52 (with p. 177, figs. 46–52); 166, no. 61 (with p. 178, fig. 61) (Antoninus Pius); 167, no. 64 (with p. 178, fig. 64) (Septimius Severus); Coşkun 2009, 187–89. 42 Cf. the parallel passage Σεουῆρον πατέρα αὐτοῦ in the following line. 43 The exact personal name is uncertain, Π]ολεμαίου Μαξί[μου? exempli gratia. He presumably should be seen as a citizen of Tavium or a provincial governor.

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The date of the text seems quite clear, since well-known Galatian citizens and their offices are mentioned. After his consulship, C. Iulius Severus the younger was governor of Syria Palaestina (ca. AD 156–159).44 In the first half of the 160s, he is supposed to have been one of the leading generals during the Parthian campaign of the emperor Lucius Verus. The office he held in Syria Palaestina, mentioned at the beginning of the text, offers a terminus post quem: we can assume that the honorary monument was set up in Tavium in the course of the 160s AD. EPILOGUE For a long time, Galatia was quite poorly represented in terms of epigraphic corpora. A brief look at the SEG is proof of this fact. Nevertheless, some essential collections from northern Galatia have been published within the last decades. The publication of the inscriptions of Tavium, the third centre of northern Galatia, is still a missing link. But it is in progress, and its completion will considerably improve our knowledge of that part of Asia Minor. From those epigraphic texts we learn about members of the Galatian aristocracy, the road system around the caput viae Tavium, and, above all, the people who lived in the area. The honorary inscriptions and epitaphs particularly deserve scholarly attention, because they offer a great number and variety of personal names. Based on these studies, further research on Galatian identity as well as anthroponomy will be viable. BIBLIOGRAPHY Arslan, M. 2006: ʻPessinus ve Tavium Sikkeleriʼ. In Anadolu Medeniyetleri Müzesi 2005 Yıllığı (Ankara), 125–81. Coşkun, A. 2009: ‘Der Ankyraner Kaiserkult und die Transformation galatischer und phrygisch-galatischer Identitäten in Zentralanatolien im Spiegel der Münzquellen’. In Coşkun, A., Heinen, H. and Pfeiffer, S. (eds.), Identität und Zugehörigkeit im Osten der griechisch-römischen Welt. Aspekte ihrer Repräsentation in Städten, Provinzen und Reichen (Inklusion/Exklusion 14) (Frankfurt), 173–210. —. 2012: ʻIntercultural Anthroponomy in Hellenistic and Roman Galatiaʼ. Gephyra 9, 51–68. —. 2013a: ‘Histoire par les noms in Ancient Galatia’. In Parker, R. (ed.), Personal Names in Ancient Anatolia (Proceedings of the British Academy 191) (Oxford), 79–106. —. 2013b: ‘Von Anatolia bis Inscriptions of Ankara: Zwanzig Jahre Forschungen zum antiken Galatien (1993–2012)’. Anatolica 39, 69–95. 44

Cf. Rémy 1989, 225 (‘sans doute ca 156/57–158/59’) and the references given above in n. 39.

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—. 2013c: ‘Romanisierung und keltisches Substrat im hadrianischen Ankyra im Spiegel der Gedenkinschrift für Lateinia Kleopatra (Bosch 117 = Mitchell and French, I.Ankara I 81)’. ZPE 185, 171–84. —. 2014a: ‘Neue Forschungen zum Kaiserkult in Galatien. Edition der PriesterInschriften des Ankyraner Sebasteions (Dittenberger II 1903/70, 533 = Bosch 51) und Revision der frühen Provinzialgeschichte’. In Fischer, J. (ed.), Der Beitrag Kleinasiens zur Kultur- und Geistesgeschichte der griechisch-römischen Antike (Akten des internationalen Kolloquiums, Wien, 3.–5. November 2010) (ÖAWDPHK 469; ErgTAM 27; ArchF 24) (Vienna), 35–73. —. 2014b: ‘Vier Gesandte des Königs Deiotaros in Rom (45 v.Chr.). Einblicke in den galatischen Hof der späthellenistischen Zeit auf onomastischer Grundlage’. Philia 1, 1–13. —. 2014c: ‘Latène-Artefakte im hellenistischen Kleinasien: ein problematisches Kriterium für die Bestimmung der ethnischen Identität(en) der Galater’. IstMitt 64, 129–62. Delamarre, X. 2003: Dictionnaire de la langue gauloise. Une approche linguistique du vieux-celtique continental, 2nd ed. (Paris). Drew-Bear, T. and Labarre, G. 2002: ʻLes trois statues de la concorde à Antioche de Pisidieʼ. EA 34, 71–92. French, D.H. 2003: Roman, Late Roman and Byzantine Inscriptions of Ankara: A Selection (Ankara). Halfmann, H. 1979: Die Senatoren aus dem östlichen Teil des Imperium Romanum bis zum Ende des 2. Jahrhunderts n.Chr. (Hypomnemata 58) (Göttingen). Hamilton, W.J. 1842: Researches in Asia Minor, Pontus and Armenia, 2 vols. (London). Jacopi, G. 1937: ʻMissione archeologica Italiana in Anatolia. Relazione sulla prima campagna esplorativaʼ. Bollettino del reale Istituto di Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte 15, 3–26. Marek, C. 2010: Geschichte Kleinasiens in der Antike (Munich). Merkelbach, R. 1975: ‘Der griechische Wortschatz und die Christen’. ZPE 18, 101–48. Mitchell, S. 1993: Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, 2 vols. (Oxford). Ramsay, W.M. 1883: ʻInscriptions de la Galatie et du Pontʼ. BCH 7, 15–28. —. 1941: The Social Basis of Roman Power in Asia Minor (Aberdeen). Rémy, B. 1989: Les carrières sénatoriales dans les provinces romaines d’Anatolie au Haut-Empire (31 av. J.-C.–284 ap. J.-C.): Pont-Bithynie, Galatie, Cappadoce, Lycie-Pamphylie et Cilicie (Varia Anatolica 2) (Istanbul/Paris). Robert, L. 1963: Noms indigènes dans l’Asie-mineure gréco-romaine (Paris). —. 1989: ‘Une vision de Perpétue martyre à Carthage en 203’. In Robert, L., Opera minora selecta V (Amsterdam), 791–839. Smith, M.L. and Tod, M.N. 1912: ʻGreek Inscriptions from Asia Minorʼ. Liverpool Annals of Archaeology and Anthropology 4, 35–44. Sowa, W. 2017: ‘Im Schatten des Zwittergottes. Interkulturelle Onomastik aus Kleinasien (Phrygien/Galatien)’. In Németh, M., Podolak, B., and Urban, M. (eds.), Essays in the History of Languages and Linguistics. Dedicated to Marek Stachowski on the Occasion of His 60th Birthday (Cracow), 625–42. Sterrett, J.R.S. 1888: An Epigraphical Journey in Asia Minor (Boston). Strobel, K. 2002: ‘Tavium’. DNP 12.1, 61.

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—. 2007a: ʻDie Meilensteine aus Tavium und aus seinem Stadtterritoriumʼ. In Mayer i Olivé, M., Baratta, G. and Almagro, A.G. (eds.), Acta XII congressus internationalis epigraphiae Graecae et Latinae: Provinciae imperii Romani inscriptionibus descriptae (Barcelona, 3–8 Septembris 2002) (Monografies de la Secció Històrico-Arqueològica 10) II (Barcelona), 1405–19. —. 2007b: ʻBeiträge zur historischen Geographie Zentralanatoliensʼ. In Fellmeth, U., Guyot, P. and Sonnabend, H. (eds.), Historische Geographie der Alten Welt: Grundlagen, Erträge, Perspektiven. Festgabe für Eckart Olshausen aus Anlass seiner Emeritierung (Spudasmata 114) (Hildesheim), 309–51. —. 2009a: ʻThe Galatians in the Roman Empire: Historical Tradition and Ethnic Identity in Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minorʼ. In Derks, T. and Roymans, N. (eds.), Ethnic Constructs in Antiquity: The Role of Power and Tradition (Amsterdam Archaeological Studies 13) (Amsterdam), 117–44. —. 2009b: ‘Städtebau und Kunstschaffen im römischen und byzantinischen Tavium’. In Gaggadis-Robin, V., Hermary, A., Reddé, M. and Sintes, C. (eds.), Les ateliers de sculpture régionaux: techniques, styles et iconographie (Actes du Xe colloque international sur l’art provincial romain: Arles et Aix-en-Provence, 21–23 mai 2007) (Aix-en-Provence), 369–79. Strobel, K. and Gerber, C. 1998: ‘Tavium (Büyüknefes). Feldforschungen des Jahres 1997’. AST 16.1, 297–313. —. 2000: ʻTavium (Büyüknefes, Provinz Yozgat) – Ein regionales Zentrum Anatoliens. Bericht über den Stand der Forschungen nach den ersten drei Kampagnen (1997–1999)ʼ. IstMitt 50, 215–65. —. 2001: ‘Feldforschungen in Tavium 2000 – Vorbericht’. AST 19.2, 1–8. —. 2003: ʻTavium (Büyüknefes, Provinz Yozgat) – Bericht über die Kampagnen 2000–2002ʼ. IstMitt 53, 131–95. —. 2006. ‘Das internationale Tavium-Project. Bericht über die Kampagne des Jahres 2005’. AST 24.2, 15–34. —. 2007a: ʻTavium (Büyüknefes, Provinz Yozgat) – Bericht über die Kampagnen 2003–2005ʼ. IstMitt 57, 547–621. —. 2007b: ‘Das internationale Tavium/Tawinija-Projekt. Bericht über die Kampagne 2006’. AST 25.2, 429–42. —. 2010: ʻTavium (Büyüknefes, Provinz Yozgat) und seine Region – Bericht über die Kampagnen 2006–2009ʼ. IstMitt 60, 291–338. Strobel, K., Gerber, C., Luciani, M. and Christof, E. 2005: ʻFeldforschungen in Tavium 2004 – Bericht über die Kampagne 2004ʼ. AST 23.2, 359–76. Wallner, C. 2010: ‘Inscriptions in the Museum of Yozgat’. AST 28.1, 365–72. —. 2015: ‘Die Inschriften des Museums in Yozgat – Addenda’. Tyche 30, 173–91. —. 2017: ‘Die Grabinschrift für Palladion aus Tavium’. EA 50, 27–43. —. 2019a: ‘Neue Inschriften aus Tavium. Die Sammlung von Büyüknefes’. Philia 5, 138–48. —. 2019b: ‘Grabinschriften aus Tavium’. In Lafer, R., Dolenz, H. and Luik, M. (eds.), Antiquitates variae. Festschrift für Karl Strobel zum 65. Geburtstag (Internationale Archäologie – Studia Honoraria 39) (Rahden), 347–55. Youtie, H.C. 1975: ‘Commentary’. ZPE 18, 149–54. Zgusta, L. 1964: Kleinasiatische Personennamen (Československá akademie věd. Sekoe jazyka a literatury. Monografie Orientálního ústavu 19) (Prague).

THE IMPERIAL ESTATE CHORIA CONSIDIANA AND ‘ZEUS OF THE SEVEN VILLAGES’ IN NORTH-WEST GALATIA*

Hale GÜNEY

Abstract The cult of Zeus Heptakomeiton, ‘Zeus of the Seven Villages’, is attested in the territory of the Choria Considiana, an imperial estate located to the north-west of Galatia. New epigraphic and archaeological evidence encourages us to enquire into this Zeus, who presumably presided over the seven villages in the Choria Considiana. The aim of this paper is to evaluate old and new discoveries made in the region, identify the names of the seven villages and offer suggestions for their possible locations.

A NEW TESTIMONY FOR ZEUS

FROM

ORDOBANA

A new inscription found in the village of Ağaçhisar in a 2019 survey provides a new epithet of Zeus: Ordobanenos (Fig. 1). It refers to the name of the village Ordobana, as the suffix -ηνός is usually attached to a toponym, such as in Sarnendenos (< Sarnenda), Akreinenos (< Akreina), and Narenos (< Nara).1 These are all documented in the same neighbourhood. The new inscription encourages us to enquire into ‘Zeus of the Seven Villages’, Zeus Heptakomeiton. A cult for this god has previously been attested in the territory of the Choria Considiana, an imperial estate located to the north-west of Galatia.

* The epigraphic survey project in the counties of Mihalıççık, Mahmudiye, Alpu, Çifteler, Beylikova and Sivrihisar (Eskişehir province) was approved by the Turkish Ministry for Culture and Tourism. I would like to express my sincere thanks to the Ministry and to its representatives for their interest and contribution to the seasons’ successful outcome. I am also grateful for the European Union’s Horizon 2020 Research and Innovation Programme under the Marie Skłodowska Curie Grant (agreement no. 754513), the Aarhus University Research Foundation and Aarhus Institute of Advanced Studies (AIAS). I would further like to thank Erman Yanık (Research Assistant) for all his help in recording the inscriptions during the survey and the local people for their help and warm hospitality. I am much obliged to Altay Coşkun for his comments and assistance in improving the content and the language of this article. For all remaining errors and shortcomings, I take sole responsibility. 1 See below, nn. 4–5, for more detail and documentation.

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The aim of the present paper, therefore, is to evaluate old and new discoveries made in the area and to propose the names of the seven villages and their possible locations. I hope that this may be a useful contribution to the historical geography of the (north-western) Galatian countryside. THE EVIDENCE FOR ‘ZEUS OF THE SEVEN VILLAGES’ An inscription previously found in Yukarı İğde Ağaç, a village in Beylikova county to the south of Mihalıççık county, bears the name of the Choria Considiana, an imperial estate in the province of Galatia located north-east of the ancient cities of Dorylaion (modern Eskişehir), Midaion and Akkilaion.2 The inscription dates to the time when Marcus Aurelius and his son Commodus were co-rulers, as is implied by another inscription found nearby (RECAM II 36), i.e. AD 177/180. It records the erection of a temple, without, however, specifying the divinity to which it was dedicated (RECAM II 34): Eutyches, the bailiff (oikonomos) of the two Augusti of the Considian Estates (Choria Considiana), together with his sons, the ‘house-born slaves’ Faustinus and Neikerotianos, constructed the temple with the statues, when the most powerful procurator Claudius Valerianus was priest.3

Another inscription, also discovered earlier in Yukarı İğde Ağaç and thus on the same estate, bears traces of a vow for an altar of Zeus Heptakomeiton by a priest and a priestess (Cat. no. 3 = RECAM II 37). This may imply that the abovementioned temple was consecrated to Zeus Heptakomeiton. The estate under consideration therefore comprised the territory of at least seven villages and was run by an imperial slave serving as oikonomos. Two recently published votive inscriptions from Kayı, a village nearby Yukarı İğde Ağaç, provide some further context. They inform us that an imperial slave called Chryseros and his fellow villagers jointly made dedications to Apollo, Hosios and Dikaios.4 Our next piece of evidence comes from the province of Dacia. It is a small altar from the area of the Rosia Montana gold mines on the territory of Alburnus Maior and attests another epithet for Zeus. In the editio princeps by

2 Talbert 2000: Phrygia, Map 62. Cf. http://pleiades.stoa.org/places/609442 (consulted 12 February 2020). 3 RECAM II 34: τὸν ναὸν σὺ[ν] | (2) τοῖς ἀγάλμ[α]- | σιν κατεσ[κεύ]- | (4) ασεν Εὐτύχη- | Σεββ. οἰκόνο- | (6) {ν}μος χωρίων | Κωνσιδιανῶ[ν] | (8) [σὺν Φα]υστε[ί]- | νῳ καὶ Νεικε| (10) ρωτιανῷ οὐ- | έρναις [υ]ἱοῖς | (12) αὐτοῦ, ἀπο[ι]- | [ε]ροῦντος Κλα[υ]- | (14) δίου Οὐαλερια- | νοῦ το[ῦ] κρατί[σ]- | (16) τοῦ ἐπιτρόπ[ου]. Translation adapted from Mitchell. 4 See Güney 2018a, 103–04, nos. 2–3; cf. no. 1. Cf. Coşkun 2020, nos. L–M.

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Constantin Daicoviciu, it is rendered ‘Zeus Sittakomikos’ (Cat. no. 4). Stephen Mitchell has recently reinterpreted this inscription and emended the reading of the epithet to Heptakomikos (‘of the Seven Villages’).5 THE EVIDENCE FOR THE ‘MOTHER OF THE SEVEN VILLAGES’ A fragmentary inscription from the Eskişehir Museum provides us with our next trace. It was part of a little monument, an altar or stele devoted to the Mother of the Gods. The stone is originally from Alpu county, about 35 km from Yukarı İğde Ağaç (Cat. no. 5). The inscription is of interest to us, since its last word is an ethnic. The first stonecutter forgot to write it after the (now mostly lost) naming formula of the dedicant. It was therefore added later at the bottom of the stone. In the editio princeps, Marijana Ricl read the last line as Ἠτοκωμήτης or Ιητοκωμήτης, but there seems to be a ligature to justify the reading Ἡ(π)τοκωμήτης. The first letters are probably a garbled version of Ἑπτα-. The similarity to the name Ἑπτακωμήτης right in the neighbourhood of the ‘Seven Villages’ is barely coincidental. Some of the abundant evidence for the cult of Meter in Phrygia can be of further help in our quest. Ricl’s publication includes an inscription from Güce village, now in the Eskişehir Museum as well. It consists of a votive offering to a Meter with two toponymic epithets, again ending on the suffix -ηνός, Paitaene and Eissindene (Cat. no. 7).6 However, in Paitaene, alpha after pi rather seems to be a lambda. As Ricl has seen herself in a later publication, there is a perfect match with another votive inscription to Meter Plita(…) from Korucu village, adjacent to Güce (RECAM II 54a).7 The epithet is therefore Plitaene and the according toponym Plita. The other place name, Eissinda, may have the same etymology as Isinda, a toponym known from other areas in south-west Asia Minor. Where may Plita and Isinda have been located? IN SEARCH OF THE ‘SEVEN VILLAGES’ We do not know which villages exactly were the ones under the protection of Zeus Heptakomeiton or Meter Heptakomeiton. Inscriptions rarely reveal the names of the local villages or communities.8 This said, there is an unusual accumulation of positive evidence in our area, thanks to the following epithets 5 Daicoviciu 1937–40, 303, no. 5; IDR III.3 409; Mitchell 2017, 17–18, with Piso 2018, 42–43. 6 Ricl 1994, 173, no. 31. 7 Ricl 1997, 40, n. 42. Cf. Macpherson 1958, no. 64, who suggested the reading Plitandene. 8 Cf. Coşkun 2020, 118, 122–23.

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for Zeus: Ordobanenos (< Ordobana, Cat. no. 1, Fig. 1; cf. Cat. no. 2), Sarnendenos (< Sarnenda), Akreinenos (< Akreina), Ilarenos (< Ilara, Cat. no. 6) and Narenos (< Nara). These epithets have been the object of several studies, and I could contribute to the documentation thanks to new epigraphic finds.9 As regards the sanctuary of Zeus Sarnendenos, we are in the lucky position that it has most recently been discovered. It was located on Kızıltepe, the summit of the Sündiken Mountains.10 As listed above, five villages (Ordobana, Sarnenda, Akreina, Ilara and Nara) worshipping Zeus have been identified in the region so far. Two other village names, Plita and Eissinda, are known from dedications to Meter and Zeus Bronton. Perhaps there was a cult of Zeus in Plita and Eissinda, too. It is possible that all of these seven villages once unified around one cult for Zeus Heptakomeiton. Such groups of villages were a common phenomenon around Dorylaion and Nakoleia.11 It is not certain when this unification emerged. The dedication to Zeus Heptakomeiton found in Yukarı İğde Ağaç apparently dated to the 2nd century AD. The earliest evidence for the period that the Choria Considiana passed into imperial hands is the time of Hadrian (RECAM II 35). Moreover, the earliest date for the votive inscription to Zeus Heptakomikos found in Dacia can be the early 2nd century AD, or perhaps a bit later. We can thus tentatively date the foundation of the cult of Zeus Heptakomeiton to about the first quarter of the 2nd century AD, though a date as early as Nero or the Flavians is likewise possible.12 Perhaps, once unified under Zeus Heptakomeiton, Zeus cults of all the above-mentioned villages formed the basis of the common cultic identity of the new imperial estate, the Choria Considiana. A similar case in Laodikeia on the Lykos has recently been described by Ryan Boehm.13 9

Güney 2019. Cf. Avram 2016a; 2016b; Ricl 2017; Mitchell 2017; Piso 2018. Güney 2019, 156 (maps), 157–59 (inscriptions), 164–67 (site). 11 See Mitchell, commentary on RECAM II 37; cf. MAMA V 87. I note in passing the new discovery of Διὶ ἀπὸ Κέδρου from Diközü village in Mihalıççık county. Until more compelling evidence is found to show that this epithet is derived from a village name, we should understand it as ‘Zeus of the Cedar Tree’; see Güney 2020. 12 With much caution, one may point to the beginning of marble quarrying in the areas of Synnada and Dokimeion not far to the south of the Choria Considiana (see Dalla Rosa 2016, especially 223–24). This date converges with the beginning of the office of procurator Phrygiae, a special position for an imperial freedman in control (at least) of all imperial assets in Phrygia Epiktetos. A recently found inscription attests a freedman of a Julio-Claudian Emperor, Ti. Claudius Anicetus, as the first procurator (see Türktüzün-Ünan 2017; Takmer 2018). A Flavian date would also be compatible with the construction of Roman imperial roads and the eastern limes under Vespasian, which, in turn, fostered a process of urbanisation throughout Central Anatolia (see Coşkun 2009; RRMAM III.2 and III.5). 13 Boehm 2018, 170. 10

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SUGGESTED LOCATIONS OF THE ‘SEVEN VILLAGES’ Having surveyed the area as well as the available epigraphic evidence, I would suggest identifying the seven villages as follows (see the map Fig. 5): 1) Sarnenda (> Zeus Sarnendenos) should be looked for around the village of Gürleyik, as the sanctuary of this cult was discovered near that village.14 Our team observed a large necropolis area dispersed in and around Gürleyik.15 There is also a Byzantine hillside settlement. It was unearthed during the construction of the State Hydraulic Works in a place called Karabayır. The Eskişehir Council for Conservation of Cultural and Natural Heritage recorded all of these necropolis areas and settlements as archaeological sites.16 2) Based on one votive inscription for Zeus Akreinenos, the village *Akreina was identified with İkizafer by John Anderson over a century ago. He based his interpretation on the traces of an ancient settlement near the village.17 However, there was no further epigraphic evidence to support this claim.18 In the course of my ongoing survey project, five inscriptions attesting to dedications for Zeus Akreinenos have been discovered. They have been used as spolia in the village of Kozlu, which is 2 km from İkizafer. Locals told me that these votive inscriptions came from an area called Öreniçi, which is located 750 m to the south and south-west of the village. Architectural blocks, pottery and tile fragments are still present there. It is thus possible that the sanctuary of Zeus Akreinenos and perhaps the village of Akreina, too, was located in Öreniçi near Kozlu.19 3) Nara (> Zeus Narenos) should be looked for near Bozan in Beylikova county, based on the dense epigraphic evidence from this area.20 Two more votive inscriptions for Zeus Narenos have been documented in Bozan, a town about 30 km from the other find-spots centred on Beylikova; these were

14 Güney 2019. For votive inscriptions at Gürleyik: Güney 2019, 159–60; at İkizafer: RECAM II 76; at Emremsultan: Marek 2000, 131–32; at Ağaçhisar: Ricl 1994, no. 23; at Beyyayla: I.İznik II.1 1128. 15 Güney 2018c, 169–72. 16 Çalçak Roman necropolis: Güney 2016; Örençallık and Karabayır: https://korumakurullari.ktb.gov.tr/TR-133450/mihaliccik.html. 17 Anderson 1899, 73–74; Belke 1984, 175–76. Votive inscriptions: RECAM II 75; Ricl 1994, nos. 6–7. 18 Note, however, that two rock-cut churches have been recorded in northern İkizafer: https:// korumakurullari.ktb.gov.tr/TR-133450/mihaliccik.html. 19 Güney 2019, 168. Other recently-found inscriptions from İkizafer and surroundings have been published by Güney 2018b. 20 RECAM II 11–12 (Beylikova), 70 (Yarıkçı), 42 (Yukarı Dudaş), 53 (Güce), 67 (Mihalıççık), 86 (Güreş).

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unearthed during illegal excavations.21 Votive offerings to Zeus Narenos were found together with panels from a church as well as pottery. There is one doorstone stele which was reused in the church. Perhaps the dedications to Zeus Narenos were also reused here. Without a detailed examination of the site, it is difficult to reach a firm conclusion. Nonetheless, these new discoveries indicate that the sanctuary of Zeus Narenos may have been located in the vicinity of Bozan.22 Moreover, a large mound and a necropolis were identified outside Bozan.23 Therefore, the settlement of Nara might also be located in this area. 4) Ilara (> Zeus Ilarenos, Cat. no. 6): A votive inscription to Zeus Ilarenos is reported to have been found in the village of Yukarı İğde Ağaç.24 Perhaps the village of Ilara was very close to Yukarı İğde Ağaç. This is also the place where the inscriptions mentioning Zeus Heptakomeiton and the Choria Considiana were discovered. Moreover, the abundance of marble stone blocks used as spolia in every corner of the village houses, school and modern cemetery indicates that a settlement with a necropolis cannot have been very far away. Villagers have mentioned that they discovered some funerary inscriptions during the construction of houses in the village. Some of them are now standing in front of the village café.25 5) Ordobana (< Zeus Ordobanenos, Cat. no. 1, Fig. 1; cf. Cat. no. 2). The inscription providing a new epithet of Zeus, Ordobanenos, was documented in Ağaçhisar in 2019. It indicates a toponym, Ordobana, one of the villages in the region. This ancient village should not be far away from Ağaçhisar. A mound located 2.5 km to the south-west of the village of Ağaçhisar was recorded.26 6) Plita. The toponyms Plitaene (