Reflections of Roman Imperialisms 1527506258, 9781527506251

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Reflections of Roman Imperialisms

Reflections of Roman Imperialisms Edited by

Marko A. Janković and Vladimir D. Mihajlović

Reflections of Roman Imperialisms Edited by Marko A. Janković and Vladimir D. Mihajlović This book first published 2018 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2018 by Marko A. Janković, Vladimir D. Mihajlović and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-5275-0625-8 ISBN (13): 978-1-5275-0625-1

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Illustrations .................................................................................... vii List of Tables ............................................................................................... x Reflecting Roman Imperialisms .................................................................. 1 Vladimir D. Mihajloviü & Marko A. Jankoviü Lost and (re)found? The Biography of Some Apparently Roman Artefacts in Ireland .................................................................................... 30 Michael Ann Bevivino Rural Society on the Edge of Empire: Copper Alloy Vessels in Roman Britain Reported through the Portable Antiquities Scheme ....................... 51 Jason Lundock Amicitia, Gift-Exchange and Subsidies in Imperial Roman Diplomacy ... 85 Joanna Kemp The Curious Case of the Iceni and their Relationship with Rome ........... 106 Andrew Lamb In Search of Romanitas: Literary Construction of Roman Identity in Silius Italicus’ Punica.......................................................................... 128 Elina Pyy Of Brooches and Barrows: Romanisation in Slovenia ............................ 148 Bernarda Županek Cognitive Constraints on Religious Identity: Religious Change in the Roman Dalmatia – The Case Study of Mercury ............................ 165 Josipa Luliü

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Table of Contents

Roman Imperialism and the Construction of Dardanian Collectivity ...... 181 Vladimir D. Mihajloviü Roman Pottery from Kosmaj: Being About Something or Being About Somebody ..................................................................................... 214 Tatjana Cvjetiüanin Archaeology of Taste: Board and Dice Games of Moesia Superior ........ 236 Marko Jankoviü Military Fashion in the Context of 'Regionalization: The Case of Roman Dacia ....................................................................... 264 Monica Gui Thracians, Greeks or Romans? The Inhabitants of Ancient Thrace and their Identity Based on Funerary Inscriptions ................................... 288 Petra Janouchová Nationality and Ideology in the Roman Near East .................................. 307 Benjamin Isaac From War to Peace (Euphrates Frontier in 60-s AD) .............................. 335 Albert Stepanyan and Lilit Mynasian The Image of Romans in the Eyes of Ancient Chinese: Based on the Chinese Sources from the Third C. CE to the Seventh c. CE .................. 346 Qiang Li Afterword: A View on 'Romanization 2.0' from the Ultimate Periphery ................................................................................................. 370 Danijel Džino Contributors ............................................................................................. 378 Index ........................................................................................................ 382

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Fig. 1-1. Marble panel with a relief representing the scene from the upper frieze of Gema Augustea, part of the Petroviü-Vesiü collection. © by Verica Dettmar-Scherler Fig. 2-1. The Bohermeen Bog dipper (© National Museum of Ireland) Fig. 2-2. Detail of repair on the Bohermeen Bog dipper (© National Museum of Ireland) Fig. 2-3a-c. a) The Bog of Cullen Figurine (© National Museum of Ireland); b) Illustration of the Bog of Cullen Figurine from Vallancey’s Collectanea de Rebus Hibernicus (1786); c) Illustration of the Bog of Cullen Figurine from the Dublin Penny Journal (1833) Fig. 3-1. Finds spots of copper alloy vessels of Roman date reported through the PAS Fig. 3-2. Finds spots of structured deposits of copper alloy vessels of Roman date Fig. 3-3. Number of objects reported through the PAS at sites that also had copper alloy vessels Fig. 3-4. Types of objects found in relation to find spots of copper alloy vessels Fig. 4-1. RIC III, 110, no.620. Reproduced courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group Inc., (Electronic Auction 244, lot 442) (www.cngcoins.com). Fig. 4-2. RIC III, 110, no.619. Reproduced courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group Inc., (Mail Bid Sale 84, lot 1035) (www.cngcoins.com) Fig. 5-1. Simplified map of the ethnonyms/communities of Late Iron Age Britain (source: author) Fig. 5-2. Percentage of Iceni coin hoard by Phase of deposition Fig. 5-3. Phase E hoards according to contents Fig. 5-4. The location of the Iron Age sanctuaries mentioned in the text (source: author) Fig. 09-1. Map of pre-Roman Dardania according to Papazoglu (1978) Fig. 10-1/a-c Gomilice necropolis – examples of burial types Mala Kopašnica-Sase I: a-grave 190; and II: b-grave 280 and c- grave 287 Fig. 10-2. Grave 269 of Mala Kopašnica-Sase II type Fig. 10-3/a-d Common pottery types at Gomilice

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List of Illustrations

Fig. 10-4/a-b Glazed pottery from Gomilice Fig. 10-5. Finds from grave 139 at Gomilice Fig. 11-1. Distribution of board game’s accessories in province of Moesia Superior Fig. 11-2. Ludus latrunculorum fragmented board, Rajiüeva st. Singidunum Fig. 11-3. Nine Men’s Morris fragmented board, Rajiüeva st. Singidunum Fig. 11-4. Bone counters from Naissus burial, by courtesy of National Museum Niš Fig. 11-5. Bone counters and dice from Dunjiü Collection, by courtesy of National Museum Belgrade Fig. 11-6. Bone dice from Dunjiü Collection, by courtesy of National Museum Belgrade Fig. 12-1. Funerary assemblages. A. Apulum (after Ciugudean 2010, Fig.. 1); B. Bruiu (after Petculescu 1995a, pl. 3); C. Apulum (after Ciugudean and Ciugudean 2000, Fig.. 1); D. Romula -not to scale (after Babe‫ ܈‬1970, Fig.. 11); E. Obreja -not to scale (after Protase 2002, pl. LXIX/210) Fig. 12-2. A. Ringschnallen from Apulum (after Ciugudean 2011, pl.III); B. statue from Apulum (source: ubi-erat-lupa.org); C. belt from Drobeta grave (after Petculescu 1995b, Pl. 8/7); D. belt from Apulum grave (after Lux, util, estetic 2011, nos. 183-184, 222) Fig. 12-3. ƔMilitary site (fort, vicus or town next to fort), żrural site, Ŷurban site. A. 1. Porolissum; 2. Romita; 3. Gherla; 4. Obreja; 5.Apulum; 6. Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa; 7. Viminacium; 8. Romula; 9. Sucidava. B. 1. Porolissum; 2. Valea Chintăului; 3. Potaissa; 4. Criste‫܈‬ti; 5. Obreja; 6. Apulum; 7. Copăceni; 8. Bumbe‫܈‬ti; 9. Mehadia; 10. Viminacium; 11. Eno‫܈‬e‫܈‬ti; 12. Romula; 13. Novae (+ DuraEuropos -not on the map) Fig. 12-4. ƔMilitary site (fort, vicus or town next to fort), żrural site, Ŷurban site. A. 1. Porolissum; 2. Ili‫܈‬ua; 3. Buciumi; 4. Potaissa; 5. Apulum; 6. Micia; 7. Feldioara; 8. Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa; 9. Copăceni; 10. Mehadia; 11. Viminacium; 12. Drobeta; 13. Răcari; 14. Urluieni; 15. Ghioaca; 16. Slăveni; 17. Oescus (+ Dura-Europos -not on the map). B. 1. Brigetio; 2. Aquincum; 2. Porolissum; 4. Buciumi; 5. Valea Chintăului; 6. Potaissa; 7. Războieni-Cetate;8. Obreja; 9. Apulum; 10. Mănerău; 11. Cumidava; 12. Tibiscum; 13. Bumbe‫܈‬ti; 14. Mehadia; 15. Viminacium; 16. Răcari; 17. Romula; 18. Cioroiul Nou; 19. Novae (+ Dura-Europos, Chersonesos -not on the map) Fig. 12-5. ƔMilitary site (fort, vicus or town next to fort), żrural site. 1. Brigetio; 2. Intercisa; 3. Criste‫܈‬ti; 4. Micia; 5. Feldioara; 6. Rittium; 7. Târg‫܈‬or; 8.Diana (+Dura-Europos, Volubilis, Banasa-not on the map)

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Fig. 14-1. Map of Roman Palestine Fig. 16-1. Sihai Huayi Zongt u (Map of China and Foreign Lands in the world), dated 1532 Fig. 16-2. Image of Da-qin people kept in the work of San-cai-tu-hui, a Chinese encyclopedia for daily life published at the beginning of 17th century

LIST OF TABLES

Table 3-1. Copper alloy vessels of Roman date reported through the PAS Table 10-1. Gomilice vessels number Table 10-2. Overview of grave offerings at Gomilice - sample (cv – ceramic vessel, gv – glass vessel, l – lamp, c – coin, kn – knife, m – mirror) Table 11-1. List of board game’s accessories findings from Roman sites in Moesia Superior Table 11-2. List of burials with gaming accessories from Roman sites in Moesia Superior

REFLECTING ROMAN IMPERIALISMS VLADIMIR D. MIHAJLOVIû AND MARKO A. JANKOVIû

The object on the cover of this book (and Fig. 1) is a marble panel with a relief representation from the Petroviü-Vesiü collection owned by Verica Dettmar-Scherler who we thank for the kind permission to use her photographs in this volume. According to Ivana Popoviü (2006, 15), the first publisher of the object who had an opportunity to closely examine it, the tablet has a shape of a tabula ansata with maximum dimensions of 47.5 x 26 cm and the relief field of 38 x 18.5 cm, which gives it an impression of a framed picture. The most prominent fact about the relief is it closely follows the well-known scene from the upper frieze of the Gemma Augustea, a sardonyx cameo curetted at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. However, as Popoviü (2006, 16-17) puts it, contrary to the Augustan cameo which can be regarded as "the work of a first-class artisan intended for imperial propaganda," the marble relief panel "was made by a stonecutter of mediocre quality originating from some local workshop." Style, proportions, details, execution, etc. "drastically deviate from the canons… on the official works of Roman art in the time of Augustus, thus the marble tablet relief composition looks like the naïve work of some unskilled provincial artisan" (Popoviü 2006, 17). Whereas there is a problem in this view as it implies a value-laden judgment of the object understood as a copy of the superb work of art, accompanying classification of official/unofficial, first-/second-/etc- class of art(ists), and relying on the Roman elitist comprehension of taste and visual preferences (cf. Scott and Webster eds. 2003), the marble panel could indeed be regarded as some sort of an echo of the famous scene in Gemma Augustea. This, of course, does not mean that the object is in any regardless valuable than the "original" - quite the opposite, it poses as many, complicated and interesting questions as the Augustan cameo itself. To begin with, there is a problem of chronology, i.e. the period of creation of the relief. Taking into account the manner of completion, probable provenance of the Petroviü-Vesiü collection (approximately the

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area of modern Serbia, especially major Roman urban sites such as Sirmium, Naissus, Viminacium) and presumed historical context, Popoviü (2006, 7, 15-19, 98-99) suggested the representation was made at the beginning of the third decade of IV c. and had something to do with Constantine's stay in Sirmium. According to her view, the explanation can be found in Constantine's propaganda efforts to fashion himself as a new Augustus: …[the] reason for production of the marble relief could be recognized in Constantine's attempt to find the support for his rule in the representations of so-called good emperors from earlier times on the monuments erected in his honor… The reign of this emperor was characterized by prominent aspiration for a retrospective, which could be the reflection of the nostalgic notion for the past but also the testimony about cultural continuity… Such a cultural climate was very favorable for reproduction of ancient works of art, first of all, those from the already idealized time of Augustus. In such a way Constantine's political and propagandist concept imitatio Augusti was established. (Popoviü 2006, 18).

Fig. 1-1. Marble panel with a relief representing the scene from the upper frieze of Gema Augustea, part of the Petroviü-Vesiü collection. © by Verica DettmarScherler

Popoviü presumed that the Gemma Augustea was in the treasury carried by Constantine's court and thus could have served as a model for carving the relief in Sirmium on the occasion of the emperors' stay there (although she did not exclude the possibility of existence of a sketch

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model according to which both the cameo and marble relief were made Popoviü 2006, 19). While this interpretation stems from a problematic authoritative heritage discourse of contemporary Roman archaeology in Serbia which focuses on big historical events and especially the emperors (see Jovanoviü 2006; Koraü, Goluboviü and Mrÿiü 2009; and Kuzmanoviü and Mihajloviü 2015 for critical review and ideological implications), it does make excellent points on the usage of older visual models and ideologemes in chronologically, geographically and socially diverse contexts of the Roman world. In this particular case, it is worth noting that the Gemma Augustea was probably made to commemorate Tiberius' celebration of triumphs in Illyricum and Germania, and there is a chance that its lower frieze depicts captured leaders of the Dalmatian-Pannonian revolt (6-9 CE) together with personifications of seized Dalmatia and Pannonia (Jeppesen 1994). In other words, the content of the cameo was directly related to what could be defined as the 'local imperial' history of Pannonia/Sirmium since the region/town was straightforwardly implicated in the events of the Batonian rebellion (for which see Džino 2009; Radman Livaja and Dizdar 2010; Šašel Kos 2011). If the relief was really carved and used in Sirmium or the area of Srem, it could bear the symbolism of local memory and reflection of Augustus'/Tiberius' victory and the "bringing of order", which indicate that the imperial version/tradition of events was the one alive and utilized as historical heritage a few centuries after the affairs took place. This could suggest that the reflections of imperial discourse were recreated in local context (cf. Woolf 1996a; Ferris 2000, 39-48, 69-70; Jiménez 2010), pushing aside or appropriating parallel mytho-histories of the event and becoming the dominant or more visible tale of the past, the one which was welcomed for display and reference - to some people at least. In other words, the intersection of regional/local and imperial (conflicting) affairs eventually resulted in the expression of a local past in an imperial way/standard by using the dominant ideological discourse and iconographic matrix. Besides this possibility, it is perhaps not farfetched to presume there occurred the combining of stories and knowledge from the local/regional background with those of the imperial level (cf. Carroll 2002; Roymans 2009; Woolf 2009; 2011, 8-58; Luliü, this volume), in a way that the imperial narrative was specifically internalized/adapted and then attached to this kind of representations. This would mean that the representation did follow imperial visual and, to some extent, historical discourse but modified with the flavour of local tradition and readings of the episode. On the other hand, we also cannot exclude the possibility of a purposefully

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distorted representation on the relief which could serve as a kind of subversive or parodic reflection of a dominant narrative of the imperial history (cf. Jiménez 2010, 47-49, 52-53). The blurring of the iconic image could have signified the relativization of the "official" message/ideology it was initially intended to convey, for whatever imaginable reason: refashioned or reemerged "local-patriotism", perceived irrelevance of the official imperial narrative, its marked contradiction in comparison to the current state in the provinces, revision of the role of the Empire's founding father, awareness of excessive over-idealization of the Augustan "golden age", etc. In this light it is very regrettable that we do not know if the panel was accompanied by a piece inspired by the lower frieze of Gemma Augustea, and how the images of subjugated and overpowered "locals" (which might have represented leaders and personifications of the mastered territories) were reflected upon centuries later in the very same area where the episode originally took place. In any case, the point is that the representation could act as a reflection of the Gemma Augustea's image in more than one way ranging from interpretation offered by Popoviü to suggestions briefly put forth here. Nevertheless, there is also another instructive possibility to explain the meaning and the part played by this intriguing object. Since the exact origins and contexts of artefacts from the Petroviü-Vesiü collection are unfortunately not known and they were successively acquired during the eight decades of XX c. (Popoviü 2006, 6-7), the authenticity of the marble tablet is not completely certain. Popoviü (2006, 6) had presumed that the panel originated in antiquity on the grounds of the not so common forging and trading of antiquities in the period when the collection was formed, and the information provided by the current owner that the objects were still covered in dirt at the moment she inherited them. Crucially, however, Popoviü (2006, 17) points to the fact that the relief still bears elements of the image which are missing in the cameo due to damage the left upper corner suffered centuries ago (most probably before XVII c. when it was fixed in the golden frame). Since the marble relief has preserved the wing of the goddess Victoria and an object(s) in the right hand of the figure which steps out of a chariot (Tiberius), which are now absent in the Gemma Augustea, Popoviü rightly suspects the marble panel had to be made before the breakage took place. Instead of a commonly presumed missing figure in the cameo, who was supposedly holding Tiberius' right hand, in the marble panel there is a depiction that Popoviü recognized as a lying palmette and a miniature trophy Tiberius is carrying to Augustus and Roma (apparently a model of the tropaeum erected in the lower frieze of the cameo). As a result of this difference, there is a good chance that the

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tablet was created by direct referring to an undamaged picture of the cameo or a sketch that existed in antiquity (Popoviü 2006, 17). While this reasoning is right in underlining that the fully preserved image in the tablet could be used in assessing its authenticity, there is still no guarantee that we are dealing with an artefact from the Roman period. As the photograph at the cover shows (and Fig. 1-1.), the object in the hand of the figure stepping out from a chariot is not completely clear or immediately recognizable (though on a second look does resemble a trophy), which can raise suspicion that the obscuring was done purposefully. Namely, exactly because of a full awareness of the missing part of the Vienna cameo and the content of its lower frieze, there might have been a tendency to mask the forgery with making the appearance of the relief as authentic as possible by including something (i.e. a trophy) in Tiberius' hand, but smudging it in order to avoid precise definition of the objects' shape. Although there is the question of why would the forger acquainted with the subject of Gemma Augustea have gone to such lengths but not include the prevailingly assumed missing figure, for the sake of academic honesty it is not possible to completely exclude the option of a modern provenance of the panel. At any rate, even if the marble tablet was made recently, it opens a series of questions as to why it was produced, what inspired its making, why it was important to recreate the Gemma Augustea image in the form of "provincial" Roman art, and what aim(s) it tried to achieve. In other words, this artefact poses a question of reception of Roman imperial past and the relations that diverse social contexts and groups create with its understanding/image, from the supposed forger to the owners of the tablet, academic community, and the general public. This somewhat long consideration of the marble panel serves as an introductory note to the topic of this volume as it epitomizes the main lines of thought sparked by the theme of reflections of Roman imperialisms. Thus, the first of the abovementioned interpretative possibilities is instructive for realizing that reflections of Roman imperialistic discourse could have been domineering and had large affordance thanks to their privileged position inside the imperial symbolic system comprised of beliefs, myths, words and pictures employed in constant, repetitive and nearly omnipresent manner. In this context, "official" imperial tradition, deeds and power served as perpetual frames of reference, legacy, and inspiration, and were reassessed in various contexts and occasions with diverse purposes and ideas. Secondly, as the other two interpretative options suggest, these reflections could have been quite different and even the opposite of what was intended by their affirmative and positive evaluation. The imperial symbolic system, or rather some of its elements,

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could have been inverted to suite quite the contrasting intentions of mockery, subversion, irony, resistance or opposition of some aspects of imperial order and discourses. Lastly, in the case that the panel is a recent creation, it tells the story of modern reflection of how Roman imperialism is understood, connoted and related to. In all three ways of understanding the matters in question, the common denominator is the relation of some individuals/groups with the idea of the Roman world, and this is exactly what the contributions in this book are dealing with. To make our guiding ideas clearer, the next sections review the basic concepts we utilize in more detail.

Imperialism(s): useful term and approach? The research perspective focusing on the problem of Roman imperialism has been at the forefront of Roman studies since their beginnings, albeit the relations and reevaluations of the meaning and utility of the term have been changing continually. Apparently, in recent times there has been a tendency to question whether the imperial order in Roman times was as encompassing as previously thought and if the term imperialism and the concepts it implies are at all fit for contemporary studies of the Roman and surrounding worlds. For instance, Greg Woolf expressed his doubts about the straightforward and strong impact of imperialistic discourse on ethnographic writings, suggesting that this link was much more complex and much less direct than usually presumed (2011, 59-88). According to his remarks, the works of ancient scholars were not guided by imperial priorities; their views were not formed through the experience of ruling the world more than using existent writings in libraries; they did not consult army commanders or provincial governors for their literary constructions as these types of knowledge were mutually incommensurable; Roman expansion did not put imperial vision at the center of ethnographic writing, but only reactualized some of the existing topics and made the acquiring of information easier (Woolf 2011, 60, 71, 76, 78). Following this reasoning, Woolf also negated the direct connection between literary ethnographic contents on the one hand and triumphal iconography, ceremonial/monumental art and administrative organization on the other, pointing out the limited scope of their precise overlapping and danger of analytical blurring of the limits between literary-ethnographic, administrative and propagandist orderings of space and people (2011, 79-85). However, we are inclined to join the scepticism expressed towards the nature of ethnographic discourse seen in such way (Bjornlie 2011; Mattingly 2017, 155), as the thesis of compartmentalization

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of the ethnographic knowledge in several separate and mainly unrelated spheres seems too harsh. Although the idea about full semantic levelling of literature, propaganda-art, and imperial administration is indeed a simplifying one, it is equally harmful to negate the cohesion of the general socio-political and cultural context inside which all of these practices were taking place. To understand and cross-reference them better, imperialistic perspective (in the sense of specific attitudes of mind - Isaac 2004) and ethnographic imagination have to be taken as compatible aspects of Roman imperial culture, among which various ideas could easily and mutually spillover, merge and act in synergic ways. Since the members of groups in power were relatively well connected and limited in number, and the preserved written, iconographic and material evidence shows the existence of basically homogenous imperial elite culture (Woolf 1998, 5476; Huskinson 2000; Hingley 2005, 49-90; Wallace-Hadrill 2008), both of these aspects can be viewed as an indication of commonly shared (elitist) cognitive dispositions, value systems, and worldviews. Thus, can we really imagine that figures such as Caesar, Pliny, Tacitus, Cassius Dio, etc. had "knowledge-balkanization" (as somewhat inappropriately defined by Woolf 2011, 37, 111) and clearly distinguished their writings from practical attitudes and behaviours towards social, ethnographic or cultural others? We think this scenario is not plausible and that the manners of speaking, writing and visual expression cannot be divorced from the ways of thinking and acting in the world. Such states of mind, with accompanying biases and stereotypes, must have had some impact on shaping relations which elite groups built towards different kinds of alterities in the Roman and neighbouring worlds. An even greater amount of criticism can be addressed to the suggestion to "do away" with imperialism as an adequate term and interpretative framework (Versluys 2014, 8-10; Pitts and Versluys 2015: 20-21; Pitts 2015: 80), and instead embrace some kind of cleansed concept of Romanization (Versluys 2014) or theories of globalization (Pitts and Versluys 2015; Van Oyen and Pitts 2017, 16-17). While such views are well aware of the importance of power relations, they tend to see previous scholarship as too much relied upon and oriented towards imperialism as a top-down generalizing model that made the picture only seemingly clear but actually more obscure. Admittedly, an invitation to delve into the insights that globalization theories have to offer could really enrich our analytical tools and put us in previously unsuspected perspectives, which is why they are worthwhile as a source of ideas and inspiration. However, even with an emphasis on what are the difficulties and shortcomings of the utilization of globalization theories (Pitts and Versluys 2015, 21, 25; Pitts

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2015, 92; Versluys 2015, 162-163), and even with the rightfully stated need to review the Roman past through a globalization perspective exactly because we live in an era of globalization and cannot separate the ideas of present from those about the past (Gardner 2013, 8; Hingley 2015), we think the danger implicit in the globalization viewpoint is not fully realized. Despite the claims that globalization as a concept is more suitable than imperialism since it does not presuppose centrally enforced socioeconomic and cultural processes in the Roman Empire, nor does it favor certain social structures and mechanisms as explanations for various sorts of changes and consumption practices (Pitts and Versluys 2015; Pitts 2015; Van Oyen and Pitts 2017), using the concept of globalization actually depersonalizes all of these processes, empties them from power and domination relations and implicitly makes them teleologically inevitable historical courses with no visible cause or driving forces. In broad strokes, although apparently more neutral and open to modifications as it does not presuppose one and essentialist form, this perspective in reality resembles western-capitalism common logic according to which economic flows are unstoppable, not decisively dependent on other social, cultural and economic factors, and people always behave in the manner "business/consumption as usual" regardless of specific contexts. Of course, we are not saying that economic, cultural or social aspects of life in the Roman world were centrally conducted by imperial entrepreneurship, but that the globalization perspective, as it now stands, generally downplays the importance of relationships of power structures (and groups that control them) within economic, cultural or any other sphere of life. All of these aspects were unavoidably interdependent, have mutually impacted each other and were deeply intertwined within the markedly hegemonic social order. Hence, even the mass consumption or "spontaneously" emergent sociocultural practices, behaviours, beliefs or categories of objects/materialities cannot be separated from the overall context of centrally and vertically structured relations in the Roman Empire. This kind of social organization was the overall setting which, at least indirectly, enabled the processes of connectivity and homogenization (or even, to some extent, unification) and provided the means for maintaining such unfolding. Connections and connectivity are unavoidably associated with power distribution which is why they cannot be explained with globalization without taking into account the geometries of power which pervaded them in so many ways. Therefore, it is very hard to imagine that organization of production, distribution of goods and ways/mechanisms of exchange (of technology,

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knowledge, ideas or objects) had nothing to do with interconnectedness of individual/collective influential/ powerful actors who possessed greater socio-political and economic capacities, not to mention that some categories/kinds of goods (i.e. their manufacture, spread, and consumption) as well as practices/ behaviors/habits, were intimately linked to various levels of imperial elite-networks (cf. Morley 2015; Wallace-Hadrill 2008; Parkins ed. 1997). The entanglement of a variety of apparently autonomous spheres of the imperial structure can be comprehended well by using just a few brief examples. For instance, such is the case of the transportation system and toll service in which the imperial agencies and other power actors were directly involved in so many ways and levels that it can be even said the whole mechanism directly depended on them (cf. van Tilburg 2007). In turn, the functioning of roads, accompanying organization, support and custom service has to be taken into account as crucial if any of our globalization-scenarios are supposed to work as explanatory models. Another illustrative example of the degree to which imperial(istic) intervention could affect the great number of people in the apparently selfreliant domain of everyday consumption or routine practices can be found in the system of metals exploitation. Monopolized by imperial authority and under jurisdiction of the Emperor, organizational constitution of mining districts dictated specific administrative-juridical profile, particular economic dynamics, peculiar social composition, uncommon behavior of governmental actors, engaging of army and its staff, involvement of local municipal and peregrine entities, distinct immigration trends, tributary/ forced/slave labor, specific supplying logic, etc. (see Dušaniü 1989; 2000; 2003; Orejas and Sánchez-Palencia 2002; Hirt 2010; 2015; Mattingly 2011, 167-199). While the regular employment of these mechanisms and exact depth and extent of their reach is debated, there is little doubt they hit and defined the scopes of a considerable number of lives and could be judged as remarkably pervasive. In this light, they are excellent illustrations of both the seriousness and reality of imperialistic ideology/policy and its impact on seemingly independent aspects of everyday "ordinary people's" economic strategies, mass consumptions and choices (see Cvjetiüanin, this volume). Something similar could be said about the variety of types of interference the powerful senatorial and equestrian families /individuals had throughout the Empire (including the mining business - Dušaniü 2008; 2009), just like the negotiatores and entrepreneurial Roman citizens had a great potential to influence local affairs even before a given political entity was incorporated into the Empire (e.g. Shaw 2000; Purcell 2005; Ando 2006; Erskine 2010, 46, 75-76; Morley 2010, 26-33, 76). Additionally, the decisions, permissions, and prohibitions issued by the orders of emperors

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or some lower officials have tremendously influenced the creations of networks of social/economic connectivity as well as the flows and circulations of what we now recognize as material indices of globalization. One telling example, among many prominent others, is Marcus Aurelius' politics towards the defeated Marcomanni, Quadi, and Iazyges who were allowed or denied certain privileges in respect of the settlement of land, trade, and travel (Burns 2003, 240-241), that must have impacted the patterns of connectivity and globalization, including the distribution and consumption of goods. Thus, the interference in peoples' lives was not accomplished by interventionist force in the sense of direct meddling in everybody's particular businesses, but through (more or less standard) imperialistic practices of land and population categorization, landscape control, redefinition of social positioning, census records, taxation, appropriation of resources, employment and exploitation of human labor, organized (re)settlements of people, grants of privileges, sale of concessions, etc. All of these, even if regarded as unconscious, accidental and unintentional, created specific environments for many (if not all) life activities, and must have resonated in patterns and logic of (mass) consumption or other globalizing issues. Another problematic dimension of the suggested employment of globalization theories manifests in its inevitable projections of the dominant conceptual framework of the present into the Roman past. By this, we primarily have in mind the contemporary subconscious axioms of free/open market economy, profit-chasing, the standard of living, levels of development and accompanying ideas of "Western democratic capitalism" (or even neoliberal ideology). As an illumination of this shortcoming we briefly cite the case studies discussed by Martin Pitts (2015, 76-88) in which he heuristically compares the modes of contemporary consumption of oils and fats and the spread of Chinese porcelain by the Dutch and English East India Companies (in XVII-XVIII c.) with the supply /consumption (statistic) patterns of certain types of Roman period ceramic vessels in Britain, implying a formal analogy between the two. What we see as an obstacle here is that the former instances, originating from the pre-modern and modern world, clearly operated by a profit-driven marketeconomy logic which cannot be used as a ruling modus operandi in the latter case, no matter how close statistical results resemble. The contexts of distribution of resources in the global capitalist world or the activities of the early-capitalism entrepreneurial organizations in their efforts to win over the market clearly cannot belong to the same level of comparison as the (territorial/political) spread of the Roman Empire or distribution logic/mechanisms which existed within its socio-political setting (which

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Pitts 2015, 86 in a sense hints but does not take in serious consideration). Therefore, we believe that the making of this association creates problems to otherwise relevant and rightly made points in Pitts' study. Namely, the comparison of the Roman London's modes of consumption to the late XX c. Western nations and the simultaneous correlation of Roman rural settlements with modern developing countries (Pitts 2015, 76), although tentative, immediately indicate that the idea of development (and the whole ideological baggage it carries) existed and operated in a similar manner in the Roman Empire as it does today. This is not the case, as the concept of development and related perspective of globalization belong to a contemporary, specific, value-burdened, ideologically infused, power related and politically connoted worldview (cf. Hobson 2014). Of course, knowing the sophistication and subtleness of Pitts' work in general, we doubt he has intended to convey this conclusion, and there is a good chance that we misunderstood the intended messages. But this is exactly the point: by using a globalization analogy many contemporary cognitive matrices are unwarily slipped into comprehension of the past creating a string of impressions of similarity between current and ancient contexts (cf. Gardner 2013, 6-11; Witcher 2015; Hingley 2015), and when M. Pitts could be (mis)read in that way we can only imagine what it would mean if someone not as informed tried to put the globalization theory to work. The process of contemporary globalization is deeply power-rooted, and it is, without doubt, a discourse of power, which is exactly why it is so notably contested and ambiguously defined (Massey 2005). The phenomena, agencies, and mechanisms that keep it running are inextricably linked to (economic and symbolic) capital distribution and socio-political dispositions of might, meaning that with the directly borrowed toolkit from theories of globalization, we would also have to import an immensely great portion of questions about power, rule, domination, and control which cannot be separated from other aspects that globalization covers. It is therefore not wise to do away with imperialism. Nor we can do it under the overstated impression that every mention or discussion of it automatically entails overemphasized and uncritical anticolonial discourse/feelings of contemporary scholars (Versluys 2014) because that is simply not the case. The issue is also not "only" of a terminological nature or how we conceptualize the content of the term. It is first and utmost about reifications of hegemony that (certainly and beyond any reasonable doubt) did exist in the Roman world and which have to be addressed in one way or another and by one name or another. Hence, in the spirit of the Balkan saying "you may even call me a jug but don't break me", we would be fine with switching the term from

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imperialism into "controlism" or any other suitable abstraction without "ism", as long as we do not "throw the baby out with the bathwater".

So - imperialism(s), after all? What the proponents of "leaving imperialism behind" are right about is the question of defining what is meant by the term power and how we exactly conceptualize its reifications, since the word itself, its connotations and reasons of usage are not neutral and value-free (Versluys 2014, 9-10). Therefore we wish to point to the possible ways of comprehending the Roman Empire's structure of power that we still further call imperialism(s) as the offered criticism and alternatives do not provide convincing argumentation for its abandonment. First, we do not see Roman imperialism(s) as continual, planned and interventionist politics made by decision makers and power brokers who sat in some obscured and secretive rooms in Rome leaning over the map of orbis terrarum developing methods to win and control the world. The nature of Roman imperialisms was very different than this obsolete iconic image, much more haphazard, more complicated and notably less stable, as many recent studies consensually indicate (Richardson 2008; Morley 2010; Erskine 2010; Mattingly 2011; Hoyos ed. 2013). In other words, it is impossible to talk about a single Roman imperialism but rather a multiplicity of phenomena under the term, with a variety of manifestations, channels, and ways of operating throughout time, space and social contexts. What remained relatively steadily present, even though changeable and vibrant, is the idea of peoples' inherent inequality and hence variously determined individual/group identifications and positionings (cf. Shaw 2000; Isaac 2004). The differentiation of humans according to socio-political, economic and cultural capacities by birth, gender, age, status, ethnicity or other imagined entitlements to some and deprivations of other kinds of life and social roles, was the underlying social texture that was articulated in different manners from the Republic to late Antiquity. This ideology was especially held as generally valid by ruling groups and had a key role in structuring social relations in a spectrum from freedom/slavery and status distinctions to seemingly benign cultural preferences. In short, what we regard as a relative constant in the Roman social order is the centralized system of institutionalized power/rule-sharing which was (re)negotiated by different participants in a variety of means. In short, life in the Empire was going on inside a structure of (if not more than at least loosely) determined social potentials and positions through value systems, conceptual frameworks, and

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principles of behaviour which were (physically and symbolically) imposed by the imperial elites of different provenances and ranks. These leading individuals/groups were multilayered and functioned as interrelated and interdependent shareholders who acted in their spheres of influence but also mutually intersected and merged through a network of multidirectional connections. This, of course, does not mean that such groups were totally nonporous and strictly determined in the sense of their social immutability, but rather signifies the dynamic developments of individual/collective social trajectories and positionings inside what was a comparatively and only basically defined system. The imperial order was changing previous social, political, cultural and economic arrangements by shifting relations in the direction of their vertical structuring and establishing new ties which functioned according to the "scale" of individual/collective social agency. These relationalities have resonated in various ways with the local/regional settings into which they were internalized and reflected key aspects of life (cf. Woolf 1995; 1996b; 1998; 2005; Huskinson 2000; Erskine 2010, 69; Morley 2010, 5059). Hence, the Empire was constantly reemerging thanks to the everrenewing frame of rule and web of power that included vertical power distribution and horizontal dissemination within the social levels/layers comprised of mutually similar power holders. Consequently, the practices of domination were reproduced starting from the network of higher layers of the imperial elite structure by their spread and absorption from the part of diverse levels of powerful persons/groups throughout temporal, spatial and societal settings. These practices of domination were reified in different ways, from legislation, administrative and political ordering to the spheres of physical or symbolic violence/domination, production of space (i.e. landscapes, settlements, and architecture) and economy. The point is that the driving force of many processes was the mindset of domination and specific ideology which affected a wide span of aspects in the Roman and surrounding worlds, at least indirectly if not directly. This kind of nesting imperialism(s) was of course not oriented only towards enemies and (as usually imagined) the "conquered natives." Rather, it should be problematized as generated through the attitudes of the sociopolitically empowered (in any sense) towards the ones who were weaker, i.e. had more limited capacities to influence the courses of their choices and life. By accepting such a perspective we actually start to deal with strings of particularized, localized and modified reflections of general imperialistic discourse, which opens the opportunity to contextualize diverse levels and mediators of such relationalities, from central authorities and high imperial administration to regional, local, professional, status,

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gender, age and other socio-cultural dimensions. In other words, we do not claim there was an awareness of the residents of the Roman Empire that they lived in this imperialism nor that the imperial authorities were interventionist in all domains of life. What we speculate is that the overall socio-political and cultural context was strongly associated with (and was determining) the setting in which life was going on, i.e. that the specific structure of power was producing, in more or less penetrating, invasive and visible ways, circumstances for the unfolding of different processes and aspects of reality. Seen in this way, the privileges of some individuals/collectives in the Roman world are not masked nor are the ruling/controlling formations blurred by referring to the process of accelerated connectivity as a deus ex machina or spontaneous development.

Why reflections? The title of this book draws upon a very handy metaphor of reflection, and in this particular case invites the reader to think about reflections of Roman imperialisms. What we think of this term is of course not merely an exact mirror image of some strictly defined phenomenon of Roman imperialism or a sort of a "copy" of the stable social structure. As the exemplary marble panel has illustrated in a plastic way, we instead think of these reflections in the sense of various kinds of adaptations, redefinitions, and particular responses to the general socio-political framework set by and intimately connected to the Roman imperial structure and its gradual emergence and change. Reflections in our metaphoric shell of thinking stand for the almost infinite and multinuanced specific manifestations of relational links between the driving forces of overall socio-political structure and individual /collective actors who were joining it in the course of what Woolf (1995; 2005) has defined as the simultaneous formation of Empire both within its power-core and parts which were incorporated in the course of the last three centuries BCE. To push the argument further with an aid of another well known and elegantly named concept, what we mean by "specific manifestations of relational links…" could be also regarded as discrepant experiences which stand for the diversity (and often even ambiguity) of life courses and affairs within the Roman imperial structure (Mattingly 2011). Building on these ideas, as well as on the thoughts of interplay between global and local trends in the Roman Empire (Hingley 2005; Pitts and Versluys eds. 2015), we would explain our perspective as follows: reflections of Roman imperialisms refer to specific internalizations of different influences which came (from a variety of sources and directions) as the outcomes of

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constitution and perpetuation of imperial network built by heterogeneous elite layers. These reflections, seen as reactions to a pervasive sociopolitical setting, considerably varied and hence produced very different manifestations and articulations of the general/dominant template of the order of power, social roles and positionings. However, there is much more to the concept of reflections than yet another metaphor for the ties between general and particular social contexts in the Roman Empire. For some decades now the problem of reflecting and reflexivity has been in the focus of sociology and anthropology, making a significant impact on the ways we comprehend human individuals and groups in different societal environments, from contemporary "western" societies to the so-called traditional communities at the fringes of (post) modernity. The main idea is that individual and collective actors learn many things about themselves and their sociopolitical and cultural milieu by reflecting on self, the position they occupy or the role they play in particular socio-cultural surroundings or practice. This realization occurs in reaction to "inner dialogue," self-recognition and consideration of capacities, social localizations and relations with other entities inside the society, and produces self-awareness, consciousness as well as critical assessment of the social order and individual's/group's place inside the greater structure. The crucial thing about the reflexive assertion of an individual or collective self (in relation to other actors and social contexts) is it creates a response in the light of newly acquired cognition, which in turn can impact the future understandings, behaviors, and actions (see e.g. Adams 2006; Archer ed. 2010; Holmes 2010). As M. Holmes (2010, 139) finely puts it "reflexivity refers to the practices of altering one’s life as a response to knowledge about one’s circumstances." The field of reflexivity inevitably poses a question about relations and character of ties between actor and structure (Archer 2010), illuminating that even the practices usually seen as almost completely structureconditioned, such as consumption and related habits, are actually intimately linked to reflexive perspective one has both towards self and in relation with others (Garcia-Ruiz and Rodriguez-Lluesma 2010). In this way, reflexivity emerges as central to questions of tensions and conflicts that persons and groups could have in respect to their socio-political and cultural surroundings, opening up the field of how and what answers arise to perceived and acknowledged roles/positions. Hence, the concept of reflections and reflexivity as an interpretational framework (or potential inspiration for developing more elaborate approaches) in studying the past invites us to consider some of the following questions (inspired by the literature cited in the previous

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passage): in what ways and contexts did the general socio-political structure or institutions affect individuals and groups of a given society; how were the impulses from overall societal order imported/appropriated in self-conceptualizations of individuals and cognitive maps shared by groups; did they spark some effects and of what kind; what was the range and nature of reactions to various social stimuli; what thoughts, attitudes, and practices were constituted (and "exported" back) in response to impetuses and how exactly; were they adopted, adapted, altered or rejected; etc. In all of these processes of reflection and their possible outcomes, various modes of reactions could have occurred, from those which were not immediately apparent and left no traces behind, to those which triggered more visible and tangible changes. For example, the responses could fall in domains of appearance, body posture/action, and verbalization which are observable only in a direct interaction/contact, but they could also encompass more permanent reactions reified by transformation of self through the involvement of revised verbal or textual discourses, visual means, and objects. Therefore, our aim should be to investigate the available evidence from the past as elements of relationalities imbued with diversified, multidirectional, multifaceted and changeable reflections of various social actors (both individual and collective). For the sake of clarity, if we envision the social relationalities as a wave connecting two or more entities, the reflections should be seen as vibrancies or dynamics which made the relations possible and gave them qualitative features (i.e. nature/character). Reflections could be then regarded as (re)negotiations, (re)confirmations, (re)inventions, (re)evaluations, (re)definitions or (dis)continuations of relationships and ties some entity builds and lives within society. When understood in this way, it becomes clearer where the material, visual or verbal evidence from the past comes into the picture: reflective relationalities are created/conducted with and through them, and they (i.e. things, images and words) constitute inseparable fibers of any imaginable sort of links in the socio-cultural sphere (between humans, things, natural and supernatural entities, concepts, institutions, structures, ideologies or however we define them - cf. Olsen 2010; Hodder 2012; Van Oyen and Pitts eds. 2017). Since all of these categories of phenomena (material, visual, verbal) constitute the data-pools of Roman historians, philologists, art historians, and archaeologists, reflexivity perspectives come not only as relevant but very useful to us (as already pointed out by Morley 2015, 59-65). This is especially the case having in mind the abovementioned deep impact of the Roman imperial structure in the sense of its (in)direct interference in peoples' lives by favouring and establishing

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specific power relations through the imperial network of privileged social categories/actors. It is therefore not hard to imagine that social changes and reactions had to come through and with reflections and awareness of one's position, not only in cases of the "native resistance" (which is possibly somewhat overemphasized in recent decades - see Versluys 2014), but also in terms of the vertical social mobility (cf. Woolf 1996b; Hope 2000) and the wide scope of other identity changes in the Roman Empire (cf. contributions of Isaac, Janouchova, Mihajloviü in this volume). Of course, there are serious limitations to the full-fledged application of the concept of reflexivity for studying the Roman world. First what comes to mind is the fact that we, unlike sociologists and anthropologists, are not able to make inquiries and interviews with people of the past in order to get their reflective experiences and thoughts (except, to some extent, in the cases of written narratives - e.g. The Golden Ass and Satyricon immediately come to mind, but see also the contributions of Kemp, Li, Stepanyan & Mynasian and Pyy in this volume), and any speculation about this sphere could be regarded as extremely slippery and uncertain. On the other hand, this does not prevent us from looking at our circumstantial evidence taking the aforementioned perspective into account, not least because the contexts and mutual association of our data (in qualitative and quantitative terms) could and do suggest the reflexive ties among some individuals or collective entities and towards their social environment (cf. contributions of Gui, Lamb, Jankoviü, and Županek in this volume). The marble relief which opened this paper (if genuine) is the closest association that springs to mind as it shows how the "simple schematic" representation which refers to "high-quality work of imperial propaganda-art" actually launches very perplexing questions of reevaluation of past, present, history, myth, ideology, etc. Even if regarded as a "naïve provincial copy of the masterpiece" it unravels the set of immensely complex ideas that stood behind it. However, if we think beyond the immediate example, it could be claimed that the reflexivity is already in the focus of our studies though, admittedly, not explicated in such a way and not directly informed with current social and anthropological theory (save for Morley 2015). Many case studies and topics in recent scholarship clearly demonstrate how we could additionally benefit from theorizing reflective relationalities: engendered objects and the roles they indicate, age and social positionings (e.g. Revell 2016, 105146), status and professional positionings (e.g. Gardner 2013; Collins 2017), lived religion (e.g. Rüpke 2016), epigraphic, monumental and memorizing practices (e.g. Hope and Huskinson eds. 2011; Carroll and Rempel eds. 2011), relations between actors and structure (e.g. Revell

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2009), agency of particular categories of objects (Taylor 2008), and a variety of other instructive cases (e.g. Matiü 2014), indicate that this strand of thinking is not futile but a promising exercise. Another very important line of reasoning which springs from the reflexivity theory takes into serious consideration the critical reviews of the academic process of investigation and interpretation of the social and cultural sphere. This aspect of reflexivity was (unsurprisingly) initiated in anthropology and sociology where investigators started to revise their role, influence, and participation in the process of acquiring data from informants and the subsequent production of interpretation and knowledge (e.g. Aunger 2004; McLennan 2006). In simple words, the complex reconsideration of positions, presumptions, and manners we use as academics in interpreting social phenomena under study could inform us about our own prejudices, an impact which we unconsciously make to the final form and content of our conclusions, and subjectively constructed images we are creating for the use of general public. All of these reflexive realizations can help us to achieve interpretations of higher quality and clean our analytical tools, at least in terms of identifying the most problematic elements or sequences within the interpretational chain we perform. Unlike the previously mentioned connotation of the reflections/reflexivity perspective, this one is more widely used in studies of the past in general (see e.g. Kuzmanoviü and Vraniü 2013 with bibliography), and Roman studies in particular (e.g. Hingley 2000; 2015; see contributions of Lundock and Bevivino in this volume). It is markedly important and necessary for the studies of Roman imperialisms because it can help us to refine interpretational elements which are biased and coopted from recent or current (neo)imperial experiences and shape our understandings of the Roman past. By employing the honest and elaborated reflexive approach, we could develop constructive selfcriticism and evaluation of our world-views and standpoints to avoid projecting into past perspectives, experiences, and emotions of the present, of course to the extent to which such an endeavour is possible.

Reflecting the IIERW origins The first IIERW conference was held in September 2012, and at the time none of us could foresee where this conference was going to take us. Now, after five years, we have the score of three successfully organized conferences (in 2012, 2014 and 2016) and two published volumes – The Edges of the Roman World (2014) and this very one – Reflections of Roman Imperialisms (2018). Until this moment more than 160 scholars

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directly participated in the work of the IIERW, by presenting their papers and debating on various issues raised by those same presentations. Most of the participants came from the European universities and institutes, but scholars from other parts of the world were also involved – North America (USA), Asia (Lebanon, Russia, Armenia), Africa (South African Republic) and Australia. What is more interesting regarding the scholar’s academic background, is a variety of their fields of expertise – most of us were Roman archaeologists, but during the years papers were also presented by ancient historians, art historians, philologists, and scholars dealing with the ancient law. By widely spreading the general topics of the conference, we also ensured to keep the conference open for all kinds of theoretical and methodological approaches. We were guided by the idea that variety of those viewpoints will ensure the quality of the debate among the scholars involved in the conference. We think that it is safe for us to say that we fulfilled the basic aim we set up in 2012, and that was “…to bring together experts from different disciplines, different theoretical perspectives, and different research areas and connect them within the same research problem – social and cultural relations within the Roman Empire and its fringes.” (Babiü et al. 2012, 7)

As organizers (together with Professor Staša Babiü for the first IIERW conference), we felt an obligation to explain the very beginnings of the IIERW conference to the broader audience, especially to academic communities which are not familiar with the specifics of our local academic circumstances and contexts. Thanks to some scholars, the conference and the first volume (Jankoviü et al. 2014) acquired some very positive attention in the past few years within local and regional academic publications (Luliü 2014, Ragoliþ 2015, Cvjetiüanin 2015) but also with a wider international audience (eg. Hingley 2014; 2017). Each and every one of those reviews and mentions were pretty much laudable, and we were very much satisfied with such appraisals. Still, some of those reviews made us decide to write about our intentions, aims and attempts considering the IIERW conference. In a recent publication (González & Guglielmi 2017), Richard Hingley dedicated a part of his paper to “influences of TRAC” and wrote: „The international influence of TRAC is indicated by two further ventures, the 'Critical Roman Archaeology Conference' (CRAC) held in Stanford (California, USA) and the 'Edges of the Roman World Conference' (EREC) held in Serbia in 2012 and 2014. Both initiatives

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Reflecting Roman Imperialisms drew on TRAC for their critical and theoretical agendas (Hingley 2014a).“ (Hingley 2017, 1)

Although that mention in the paper was fully positive on the IIERW conference, we thought that it is necessary to correct those lines to make sure that our audience gets the right perspective on the events that made IIERW possible. Archaeology in Serbia and the former Yugoslavia was heavily burdened with very traditional frameworks of interpretations, especially within the field of Roman archaeology. As archaeology students (not so long ago) we were mostly trained to think in such traditional frameworks with very limited knowledge of theory. Nevertheless, we were very fortunate to meet and work with our professors and mentors who largely encouraged our critical thinking and pointed us into directions of a very different spectrum of archaeological methodology and theory – professors of the Belgrade Faculty of Philosophy Staša Babiü and Aleksandar Palavestra (neither of them are romanists). Their support in our efforts, even when our opinions were not completely in line with theirs, was crucial in defining our methodological and theoretical viewpoints and mostly thanks to them, we were able to reach out for different issues in Roman archaeology and to try to understand them in fashions extremely different to most of our other colleagues. Of course, we were not alone on that road, and many other colleagues were encouraged to embrace other theoretical concepts, which only expanded the generation of scholars very able to cope with various issues in different fields of the discipline. Both of them are "guilty" of supplying us with valuable publications and advice, both as mentors and senior colleagues, but also for our introduction to a broader world of international archaeological community. Back in 2011, all of the organizers (Babiü, Mihajloviü, and Jankoviü) participated in the Fingerprinting the Iron Age (Approaches to Identity in the European Iron Age. Integrating South-Eastern Europe into the debate) conference, held in Cambridge, MacDonald Institute. If any, that conference was the direct inspiration for organizing the first IIERW conference. Despite some tensions lifted by the very concept of the conference, which implied that scholars from South-Eastern Europe had to become “integrated” in the archaeological mainstream (Babiü 2014), we became aware of opportunities that such an environment could provide for our local academic community. The other important thing was the “revelation” that our local academic context was not so unique and different in comparison to other European countries. The basic idea was to bring our colleagues from all over the world to debate their viewpoints

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with one another, regardless of whether they are “mainstream” or not. We deeply believed, and we still do, that it is crucial to have different perspectives on the issues we are debating. Otherwise, the debate is doomed to be futile, to say the least. On the other hand, we believe that nothing else but geographical and even economic circumstances influenced the fact that IIERW had gathered more scholars from Central, East and South Europe than TRAC ever did. Furthermore, the major group of scholars is, now traditionally, coming from UK based universities (see Babiü et al. 2012, Jankoviü & Mihajloviü 2014; 2016). So Hingley's remark that „...EREC (i.e. IIERW, authors' comment) continues to act as a valuable context for discussions that draw together archaeologists and ancient historians from Central, Eastern, and Western Europe.“ (Hingley 2017, 1)

is accurate, but it had to be taken with full awareness of the specific conditions in which the conference is actually organized. While TRAC is defined (even by its name) as a strictly theoretical conference, IIERW is much more open to other topics which could be positive fuel for the debate, and not exclusively from an archaeological perspective. Basically, we are trying to encourage those papers and presentations which try to implement different theoretical concepts in their own research and argues on the practicality and effectiveness of such methodology. On the other hand, IIERW is also a place where one can find such papers that deal with extremely rare but important topics, like the papers by Stepanian & Mynasian or Li in this very volume. Unfortunately, none of us organizers participated in TRAC before 2013, which is obviously the year after we organized the first conference. Naturally, we were fully aware of TRAC and its proceedings and programs, but it was never our intention to draw on TRAC for any of its agendas. Furthermore, we tried to expand the IIERW program throughout the theoretical perspective as much as possible, including even “more traditional” viewpoints in working with the Roman past. By reading the introduction of the first TRAC proceedings (Scott 1993) we were able to recognize the problems with which organizers of TRAC were confronted at the time, and further on to recognize the resemblance with conditions that led us to organize IIERW. Discontent with the contemporary state of affairs in Roman archaeology, neglecting and ignoring the theoretical issues and the need to make a different place for scholars with different affinities and concerns within their fields of expertise were reasons pretty much mutual for both events. The major difference is, however, that the

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first TRAC happened a little over 20 years before the IIERW was established. This does not simply mean that our archaeological community was „running late“ but that it took different events to take place in order to introduce some novelties on the scene of Roman archaeology in Serbia. As argued in Babiü' text, different circumstances, from the very formative periods of the discipline led to different responses and actions toward theoretical challenges in the last couple of decades (Babiü 2014). In the end, we are not trying to outline the difference between the TRAC and IIERW because we have an issue with such comparison. On the contrary, comparing a newly initiated conference like the IIERW with one of the longest and most influential Roman conferences in the world is highly flattering. But we thought that explaining the circumstances of its initial organization (and of all the others) could be valuable for understanding the different contexts and circumstances in which local academic communities are practising their scholarly research.

Acknowledgments We would like to express our immense gratitude to all of our colleagues that participated in organizing the conference and making this volume. First of all, special gratitude is kept for the people of Petnica Science Center who made the IIERW conferences possible and especially to Senka Plavšiü and Marija Kreþkoviü, both Ph.D. students and colleagues of ours from the Belgrade Faculty of Philosophy. People like Charles Barnett and Vladana Ivanov deserves our thanks for making this volume much better by working on a proofreading of the papers. We also give thanks to all the scholars whose expertise on the papers helped the quality of the volume - Alexandru Avram (University of Le Mans, France), Staša Babiü (University of Belgrade, Serbia), Anna Collar (Aarhus University, Denmark), John Creighton (University of Reading, UK), Tatjana Cvjetiüanin (National Museum Belgrade, Serbia), William J. Dominik (University of Otago, New Zealand), Danijel Džino (Macquarie Univeristy, Australia), Mariana Egri (University of Babes-Bolyai, Romania), Peter Garnsey (University of Cambridge, UK), Michal Gawlikowski (University of Warsaw, Poland), Patrick J. Geary (Princeton University, USA), Vedrana Glavaš (University of Zadar, Croatia), Thomas Grane (University of Copenhagen, Denmark), Richard Hingley (University of Durham, UK), Fraser Hunter (National Museum of Scotland, UK), Aaron Irvin (Murray State University, USA), Benjamin Isaac (Tel Aviv University, Israel), Blanka Mišiü (Champlain College

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Lennoxville, Canada), Henrik Mouritsen (King's College London, UK), John Nicols (University of Oregon, USA), Martin Pitts (University of Exeter, UK), Nicholas Purcell (Worcester College Oxford, UK), Ivan Radman-Livaja (Archaeological Museum Zagreb, Croatia), Ligia Ruscu (University of Babes-Bolyai, Romania), Charles Santf (University of Tennessee, USA), Koenraad Verboven (University of Ghent, Belgium) and Greg Woolf (Institute of Classical Studies, University of London, UK). Finally, we would like to thank all contributors of the volume for their support and patience during the long process of editing.

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Collins, R. 2017. Soldiers in life and death. Material culture, the military, and mortality. In Van Oyen A. and Pitts, M. (eds.). 2017. Materialising Roman Histories, 31-46. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Cvjetiüanin, T. 2015. Marko A. Jankoviü, Vladimir D. Mihajloviü, Staša Babiü (editors), The Edges of the Roman World, (prikaz). Zbornik Narodnog muzeja XXII-1: 431-434. Dušaniü, S. 1989. The Roman Mines of Illyricum: Organization and Impact on Provincial Life. In: Domergue, C. (ed.). 1989. Mineria y Metalurgia en las Antiguas Civilizaciones Mediterraneas y Europeas, coloquio internacional asociado, 148-156. Madrid: Ministerio de Cultura, Direccion General de Bellas Artes y Archivos, Instituto de Conservacion y Restauracion de Bienes Culturales. —. 2000. Army and Mining in Moesia Superior. In: Alföldy, G. et al. (eds.). 2000. Kaiser, Heer und Gesellschaft in der Römischen Kaiserzeit, Gedenkschrift für Eric Birley, 343-363. Stuttgart: Steiner. —. 2003. Roman mining in Illyricum: historical aspects, In: Urso, E. (ed.). 2003. Dall’ Adriatico al Danubio, L’Illirico nell’ età greca e romana. Atti del convegno internazionale Cividale del Friuli 25-27 settembre 2003, 247-270. Fondazione Niccolò Canussio. —. 2008. Prosopographic Notes on Roman Mining in Moesia Superior: the Families of Wealthy Immigrants in the Mining Districts of Moesia Superior. Starinar 56: 85-102. (in Serbian with English summary) —. 2009. The Valle Ponti Lead Ingots: Notes on Roman Notables’ Commercial Activities in Free Illyricum at the Beginning of the Principate. Starinar 58: 107-118. Džino, D. 2009, The Bellum Batonianum in contemporary historiographical narratives. In a search for the post-modern Bato the Daesitiate, in “Arheološki radovi i rasprave,” 16, pp. 29-45. Erskine, A. 2010. Roman Imperialism. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Ferris, I. M. 2000. Enemies of Rome: Barbarians through Roman Eyes. Stroud: Sutton Publishing. Garcia-Ruiz, P. and Rodriguez-Lluesma, C. 2010. 'Reflexive consumers': a relational approach to consumption as a social practice. In: Archer, M. (ed.) 2010. Conversations About Reflexivity, 223-242. London and New York: Routledge. Gardner, A. 2013. Thinking about Roman Imperialism: Post colonialism, Globalisation and Beyond? Britannia 44: 1-25. Gonzalez Sanchez, S. & Guglielmi, A. (eds.). 2017. Romans and Barbarians Beyond the frontiers: Archaeology, Ideology and Identities in the North, 1-7. Oxford: Oxbow books.

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Hingley, R. 2000. Roman Officers and English Gentlemen: the Imperial Origins of Roman Archaeology. London: Routledge. —. 2005. Globalizing Roman Culture: Unity, Diversity and Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. 2014. Struggling with a Roman inheritance. A response to Versluys. Archaeological dialogues 21(1): 20-24. —. 2015. Post-colonial and global Rome: the genealogy of empire. In: Pitts, M. and Versluys, M.J. (eds.). 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World. World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 32-46. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. 2017. Introduction: imperial limits and the crossing of frontiers. In Gonzalez Sanchez, S. & Guglielmi, A. (eds.). 2015. Romans and Barbarians Beyond the frontiers: Archaeology, Ideology and Identities in the North, 1-7. Oxford: Oxbow books. Hirt, Alfred Michael. 2010. Imperial Mines and Quarries in the Roman World: Organizational Aspects 27 bc –ad 235. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —. 2015. Mines and Economic Integration of Provincial ‘Frontiers’ in the Roman Principate. In: Roselaar S. T. (ed.). 2015. Processes of cultural change and integration in the Roman world, 201-221. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Hobson, M. S. 2014. A Historiography of the Study of the Roman Economy: Economic Growth, Development and Neoliberalism. In: Platts, H. et al. (eds.). 2014. Proceedings of the 23rd Annual Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference, 11-26. Oxford: Oxbow Books Hodder, I. 2012. Entangled An Archaeology of the Relationships between Humans and Things. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell. Holmes, M. 2010. The Emotionalization of Reflexivity. Sociology 44(1): 139-154. Hope. V. 2000. Status and identity in the Roman world. In: Huskinson, J. (ed.) Experiencing Rome: Culture, Identity and Power in the Roman Empire, 125–152. London: Routledge and The Open University. Hope, Valerie M. and Huskinson, J. (eds.). 2011. Memory and Mourning: Studies on Roman Death. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Hoyos, D. (ed). 2013. A Companion to Roman Imperialism. Leiden: Brill. Huskinson, J. 2000. Élite culture and the identity of empire. In: Huskinson, J. (ed.). 2000. Experiencing Rome: Culture, Identity and Power in the Roman Empire, 95-121. London: Routledge and The Open University. Isaac, B. 2004. The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press.

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Jankoviü, A. M., Mihajloviü, V. D. and Babiü, S. (eds.). 2014. The Edges of the Roman World. Newcastle u.T: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Jankoviü, A. M. and Mihajloviü, V. D. (eds.). 2014. Imperialism and Identities at the Edges of the Roman World. Book of abstracts. Valjevo: Petnica. —. 2016. Imperialism and Identities at the Edges of the Roman World. Book of abstracts. Valjevo: Petnica. Jeppesen, K. K. 1994. The identity of the missing togatus and other clues to the interpretation of the Gemma Augustea, in “Oxford Journal of Archaeology”, 13, 3, pp. 335-355. Jiménez. A. 2010. Reproducing difference: mimesis and colonialism in Roman Hispania. In: B. Knapp and P. van Dommelen (eds.). 2010. Material Connections. Mobility, Materiality and Mediterranean Identities, 38-63. London: Routledge. Jovanoviü, A. 2006. Serbia, Homeland of the Roman Emperors. Belgrade: Princip Bonart Pres. Koraü, M., Goluboviü, S. and Mrÿiü, N. 2009. Itinerarivm Romanvm Serbiæ: Road of Roman Emperors in Serbia. Belgrade: Center for New Technologies Viminacium. Kuzmanoviü, Z. and Mihajloviü, V.D. 2015. Roman emperors and identity constructions in modern Serbia. Identities: Global Studies in Culture and Power 22(4): 416-432. Kuzmanoviü, Z. and Vraniü, I. 2014. On the reflexive nature of archaeologies of the Western Balkan Iron Age: a case study of the "Illyrian argument." Anthropologie (Brno) 51(2): 249-259. Luliü, J. 2014. Kriza jedne paradigme. Zarez 440. Dvotjednik za kulturna i društvena zbivanja. (www.zarez.hr/clanci/kriza-jedne-paradigme). Massey, D. 2005. For Space. London: SAGE. Matiü, U. 2014. Headhunting on the Roman Frontier: (Dis)respect, mockery, magic and the head of Augustus from Meroe. In: Jankoviü, A. M. Mihajloviü, V.D. and Babiü, S. (eds.). 2014. The Edges of the Roman World, 117-134. Newcastle u.T: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Mattingly, D. 2011. Imperialism, Power and Identity: Experiencing Roman Empire. Princeton: Princeton University Press. —. 2017. Conclusion and Final Discussion: A View from the South. In: Gonzalez Sanchez, S. and Guglielmi, A. (eds.). 2017. Romans and Barbarians Beyond the frontiers: Archaeology, Ideology and Identities in the North, 152-156. Oxford: Oxbow books. McLennan, G. 2006. Sociological cultural studies: reflexivity and positivity in the human sciences. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan.

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Richardson, J. 2008. The Language of Empire Rome and the Idea of Empire from the Third Century BC to the Second Century AD. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Roymans. N. 2009. Hercules and the construction of a Batavian identity in the context of the Roman Empire. In: Derks, T. and Roymans, N. (eds.). 2009. Ethnic Constructs in Antiquity: The role of power and tradition, 219-238. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Rüpke, J. 2016. On Roman Religion. Lived Religion and the Individual in Ancient Rome. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Scott, E. 1993. Introduction: TRAC (Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference) 1991. In Scott, E. (ed.), Theoretical Roman Archaeology: First Conference Proceedings. Aldershot: Avebury/Ashgate. Scott, S. and Webster, J. (eds.) 2003. Roman Imperialism and provincial art. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shaw, B.D. 2000. Rebels and Outsiders. In: Bowman, A. K. Garsney P. and Rathbone D. (eds.). 2000. The Cambridge Ancient History XI, Second Edition: The High Empire, A.D. 70 – 192, 361-403. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Šašel Kos, Marjeta. 2011. The Roman conquest of Dalmatia and Pannonia under Augustus – some of the latest research results. In: Moosbauer G. und Wiegels, R. (Hrsg). 2011. Fines imperii – imperium sine fine? Römische Okkupations- und Grenzpolitik im frühen Principat Beiträge zum Kongress‚ Fines imperii – imperium sine fine?‘ in Osnabrück vom 14. bis 18. September 2009, 107-117. Rahden/Westf: Verlag Marie Leidorf GmbH. Taylor, R. 2008. The Moral Mirror of Roman Art. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. van Tilburg, C. 2007. Traffic and Congestion in the Roman Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Van Oyen, A. and Pitts, M. 2017. What did objects do in the Roman world? Beyond representation. In: Van Oyen A. and Pitts, M. (eds.). 2017. Materialising Roman Histories, 3-20. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Van Oyen A. and Pitts, M. (eds.). 2017. Materialising Roman Histories. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Versluys, M. J. 2014. Understanding objects in motion. An archaeological dialogue on Romanization. Archaeological Dialogues 21(1): 1-20. —. 2015. Roman visual material culture as globalising koine. In: Pitts, M. and Versluys, M.J. (eds.). 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World. World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 141-174. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Wallace-Hadrill, A. 2008. Rome's Cultural Revolution. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Witcher, R. 2015. Globalisation and Roman cultural heritage. In: Pitts, M. and Versluys, M.J. (eds.). 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World. World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 198-222. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Woolf, G. 1995. The formation of Roman Provincial Cultures. In: Metzler, J. et al. (eds.), Integration in the Early Roman west: The Role of Culture and Ideology, 9-18. Luxembourg: Dossiers d’Archéologie du Musée National d’Historie et d’Art IV. —. 1996a. The uses of forgetfulness in Roman Gaul. In: Gehrke H.-J. and Moller A. (eds). 1996. Vergangenheit und Lebenswelt. Soziale Kommunikation, Traditionsbildung und Historisches Bewußtsein, Scripta Oralia, 90361-381. Tubingen: Narr. —. 1996b. Monumental Writing and the Expansion of Roman society in the Early Roman Empire. The Journal of Roman Studies 86: 22-39. —. 1998. Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. 2005. Provincial Perspectives. In: Galinsky, K. (ed.). 2005. The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus, 85-105. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. 2009. Cruptorix and his kind. Talking ethnicity on the middle ground. In: In: Derks, T. and Roymans, N. (eds.). 2009. Ethnic Constructs in Antiquity: The role of power and tradition, 207–217. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. —. 2011. Tales of the Barbarians: Ethnography and Empire in the Roman West. Oxford: Wiley-Blacɤwell.

LOST AND (RE)FOUND? THE BIOGRAPHY OF SOME APPARENTLY ROMAN ARTEFACTS IN IRELAND MICHAEL ANN BEVIVINO

This paper looks at some objects from the Roman world that have been found in Ireland.1 Many of Ireland’s Roman objects have been studied in the past as individual examples of an intrusive material culture. Despite previous attempts to understand the significance and meaning of Roman material in Ireland, adequate explanations of it have proved difficult. Can in-depth analyses of objects and their “artefact biographies” get us closer to understanding how and why these enigmatic items ended up there? Dating back to the chaîne opératoire theories of French archaeologists in the 1960s, and now common in anthropological discourse, the artefact biography provides a framework through which we can view the entire life of the object, including its modern life as a museum object (see, for example, Gosden and Marshall 1999, Ashby 2011). Objects undergo a fundamental shift when placed in a museum collection, and another when they are placed on display in a museum or gallery setting, all of which form part of an artefact’s ongoing biography. As more recent archaeological objects may better lend themselves to this type of study (indeed, much of the theoretical background for artefact biographies lies in archaeological research in post-colonial societies especially in Polynesia and Micronesia, as evidenced by the references cited in Gosden and Marshall 1999, 177–8), is this a useful tool for dealing with Roman objects

1

Many readers will be familiar with the problems of using the term ‘Roman’ to denote a vast geographical and political landscape, and the peoples who lived in these areas. There are also issues surrounding the identification of objects as ‘Roman’ or ‘native’ (a problem of which Bateson and other commentators were well aware). However, in the interest of brevity and due to the lack of adequate terminology for the Irish material, I will here use the term ‘Roman’ as shorthand for a much more complex idea.

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in Ireland? Using a number of brief case studies, this paper addresses this question. Generally considered to have been “outside the Empire,” Ireland did, of course, have contact with the Roman world (Discovery Programme Report 8 2014, 11–58). As in other places officially beyond the Empire, like parts of Scotland and Denmark, material culture indicative of this contact has been found in Ireland. Nonetheless, many previous studies of the Iron Age in Ireland did not consider the Roman material as intrinsic to the debate; the traditional approach to Roman material in Ireland has been to see it as an “intrusive” element in the archaeological record, rather than as evidence of wider interaction (Cahill Wilson 2012, 15–18). Previous investigations of Roman artefacts in Ireland have ranged from detailed catalogues to isolated one-line references in larger works. One of the first publications that can rightfully be viewed as a “catalogue” is Francis Haverfield’s “Ancient Rome and Ireland,” published in the English Historical Review (Haverfield 1913). This was followed in the 1940s by Seán P. Ó Ríordáin’s “Roman Material in Ireland” (Ó Ríordáin 1945–8). The most complete catalogue of Roman material in Ireland to date, however, is that produced by Donal Bateson in 1973 in a contribution to the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy (Bateson 1973). This work was updated in 1976 (Bateson 1976). Bateson’s catalogue has yet to be surpassed in terms of scope and content and endures as the baseline for studies of Roman material in Ireland. In the forty years since Bateson’s contributions, however, our understanding of communities on the periphery of the Roman Empire has changed greatly, into a much more nuanced field, led by David Mattingly, Peter Wells and Richard Hingley and other scholars (see, for example, Hingley 2005 and 2010, Wells 1999 and Mattingly 2004, 2007, 2010 and 2011). In Ireland’s case, the economic boom of the late 1990s to the late 2000s led to a remarkable increase in archaeological material (due largely to development-led projects such as motorways and housing estates), and some new Roman material has come to light as a result of this. As mentioned above, however, the significance of Roman material in Ireland has long perplexed scholars, and it is not within the scope of this paper to attempt to explain the wider interaction between Ireland and the Roman Empire.

The Irish case It is worth including a summary of some of the things we do know about contemporary Roman imports into Ireland here. Firstly, it is important to remember that, even if one considers the complete corpus of

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material from the entire island, we are dealing with a very small body of objects (indeed, this corpus is smaller than those produced by many individual excavations of Roman sites around Europe). What in other contexts might be regarded as mundane, common objects (such as undecorated coarse wares) may take on an elevated modern meaning when considered within such a small pool. This elevated status might bias the actual significance of the object, and it is therefore important for commentators to remain quite cautious in how we assess the Irish material (Evans 2008, 123). Conversely, the rarity of Roman objects in ancient Ireland may have made them significant items to Iron Age people, imbuing them with a status they may not have had elsewhere. The generally accepted corpus of contemporary Roman imports into Ireland comprises a variety of artefact types, including coins, pottery, items of personal adornment and jewellery and toilet implements. Coins make up a large portion of the assemblage, and these include copper, bronze, silver and gold examples. They have a wide geographic distribution across the island (Cahill Wilson 2014, Fig. 2.20). There are many stray coins finds and a number of large provenanced hoards, including the well-known hoard from Ballinrees, Co. Derry that contained over 1,500 coins, with the latest dating to the early fifth century (Raftery 1994, 215; Bateson 1973, 41–3; Edwards 1990, 4). The most common objects associated with personal adornment are brooches in a range of shapes and sizes (see, for example, Bateson 1973, 43, 63, 74; Cahill Wilson 2014, 38–9; Warner 2009, 512–13, Fig. 3); but the largest number found in any one place are from Lambay (an island off the Dublin coast), where five fibulae of different types were found with a group of Iron Age burials in 1927 (Rynne 1976, 240–1; Raftery 1994, 200; Macalister 1929, 240; Bateson 1973, 18–20). A fine gold plate brooch was also found at Newgrange, the great passage tomb complex in Co. Meath (Raftery 1994, 210–11). Other pieces used for personal adornment include a bronze bracelet from Freestone Hill in Co. Kilkenny (Raftery 1994, 213; Bateson 1973, 67) and a number of other objects from Newgrange including a gold chain, a gold bracelet and finger rings (Bateson 1973, 70– 1). There are also numerous toilet implements from around Ireland (although the “Romanness” of some of these is still debated) (see, for example, Bateson 1973, 64–5, 67–70, 80–2; Cahill Wilson 2014, 38). There is a range of ceramic types present, but the most prevalent seems to be pieces of Samian ware (as discussed in Bateson 1973, 26–7, 67–8). There are sherds of Severn Valley ware (such as the examples from the relatively large Roman pottery assemblage from the Rath of the Synods, Tara; Evans 2008, 124–5), Arretine ware (including the piece from

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Ballinderry 2, Co. Offaly; Bateson 1973, 27–9, 66), and various coarse wares that have yet to be identified. There is also increasing evidence for Late Antique ceramics (see, for example, Kelly 2010), but these are outside the scope of this paper. The large late Roman silver hoard from Ballinrees, Co. Derry, included silver ingots (Bateson 1973, 42–3, 63–4; Raftery 1994, 216), and the wellknown hoard from Balline in Co. Limerick contained a number of cuts of silver cowhide-shaped ingots and hacksilber, including a beautiful dish showing a hunting scene (Bateson 1973, 73–4; Raftery 1994, 216). Romano-British-type copper ingots have also been found at Bunmahon in Co. Waterford (Cahill Wilson 2014, 34), Damastown in Co. Dublin (Raftery 1994, 208; Warner 1995, 27) and elsewhere. Finally, some other items of interest include a collyrium stamp from Golden, Co. Tipperary (Raftery 1994, 218; Daffy 2002), the lead sealing from a seal box (Bateson 1973, 69, 72) and a barrel padlock from the Rath of the Synods on Tara (Velzian Donaghy 2008, 113–14), a gold torc end from Newgrange inscribed with Latin lettering (Bateson 1973, 71), a bronze ladle found in a bog at Bohermeen in Co. Meath (discussed below) and a strap tag from Rathgall in Co. Wicklow (Raftery 1994, 120, 128, 213). Unfortunately, many of the Roman objects in Ireland have not been recovered from known archaeological sites; rather, many of them are stray, single finds. There are exceptions to this, however, particularly the items from major multi-period sites like Tara (especially the Rath of the Synods), Freestone Hill, Newgrange, and Drumanagh. The latter site, situated in north Co. Dublin is widely thought to have served as an important port-of-trade connecting group in Ireland to Roman Britain (Raftery 1994, 207–8; Dowling 2011, 227). The publication of the Drumanagh material (currently being undertaken by the National Museum of Ireland (NMI)) has the potential to alter our perception of the entire corpus of Roman material from Ireland, given its relatively large scale.

The provenancing of Roman material in Ireland Ireland’s Roman material can be considered in two categories: that which reached Ireland during the late Iron Age/Roman period, and that which was imported subsequently. Bateson’s catalogue is predicated on his acceptance or rejection of some objects as “genuine” contemporary imports. The criteria used for these judgments are not always clear (Cahill Wilson 2014, 21) and it is possible that some objects he rejected can be

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repositioned into the main corpus of contemporary imports (or vice versa) with more detailed research. While some Roman material was undoubtedly brought into Ireland in the medieval period (see, for example, arguments regarding the importation of Samian ware as relics from holy sites, including Bradley 1983, 196–7), the largest jump in material occurred from the late seventeenth to the mid-nineteenth century, when Irish aristocrats became enthusiastic participants in the Grand Tour. As in Britain and elsewhere, the landed gentry in Ireland often lived on estates with large country houses, many of which were adorned with classical objects acquired in Greece and Rome as part of their tour. Some of these great houses and their estates remain intact (many in the shape of high-end hotels and golf courses), but most of the collections they once held have now been dispersed. Many of the Grand Tourists were the predecessors of Ireland’s first antiquarians and archaeologists and, in a trend that was paralleled across much of Europe, their private collections often formed the core of what would become Europe’s public museums (the other major source was, of course, royal collections from various ruling families (Bourke 2011, 14–16)). The growth of antiquarianism, especially in the nineteenth century, saw the development of societies and academies with collections of their own. The Royal Irish Academy (RIA) began to collect Irish antiquities and eventually built up what would become the core of the NMI’s collection; indeed, what was to become one of the premier societies for the study of Irish antiquity was started by, among others, Lord Charlemont (himself a Grand Tourist and avid classical collector) (for more information on Charlemont, see McCarthy 2001). When the Dublin Museum of Science and Art (which became the NMI) opened in 1890, the treasures of the RIA were transferred to the new museum (Bourke 2011, xxvi). Similarly, the Royal Dublin Society and the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland had established collections of objects (largely gathered by their members) that eventually devolved to the NMI. Marie Bourke’s recent publication (Bourke 2011) details much of this process and is the most comprehensive volume on the subject to date (although Crooke 2010 also discusses some of the same material). As a consequence of this collections process, many of the Roman objects made their way into the national collections without the type of provenance information we might expect today. It is not uncommon to find them classified as “provenance unknown” or “possibly from Ireland.” Information is not always lost forever, however, and some of it can be pieced back together with careful detective work. What may seem to be scraps of information can sometimes transform our understanding of

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individual objects. The work of Raghnall Ó Floinn, for example, has highlighted the amount of knowledge that can be gained by detailed research into Iron Age objects and their associated documentation (Ó Floinn 2009, 199–210). Today, provenance and documentation research is considered to be an integral part of the work of museums and galleries, with many Irish institutions engaged in the process. The NMI recently undertook a major inventory of its core collections that aimed to document each object in accordance with international best practice (Anderson et al. 2013). The Inventory Project began in 2009, and many of the discoveries made by the team are showcased on the “Documentation Discoveries” section of the NMI website.

Case studies In order to develop the artefact biographies of Roman material in Ireland, the LIARI Project worked to “chase” individual objects and studied them in detail. Integral to this has been an assessment of the socalled “topographical files” in the NMI. Arranged by townland (the smallest territorial unit in Ireland), these files contain correspondence, notes, and reports on archaeological finds from around the country and number in the thousands. Also, some of the objects have been hunted down in antiquarian sources. The reliability of antiquarian sources must always be considered with a healthy dose of scepticism; but in the case of building artefact biographies, they can provide interesting and very useful information. Of course, even our modern sources can be misleading. For example, an iron sword from Silver Island, Lough Derg, Co. Donegal (NMI reg. 1989:104) is described in the NMI’s database as an “iron bayonet or late Roman gladiator’s sword.” Although it is a tempting proposition that a Roman gladiator’s sword might appear in Ireland, a cursory glance at the sword (even by a non-specialist eye) shows that it is much more likely to be an early modern duelling sword. It is worth remembering, therefore, that provenance research and the compilation of artefact biographies can add to our understanding of a period not only by adding objects to the corpus, but also by removing them: by removing these objects from the study of “genuine” contemporary Roman imports into Ireland, we can create a firmer, more trust-worthy dataset.

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The Bohermeen Bog dipper The usefulness of reassessing old finds is borne out in the case of the Bohermeen Bog dipper (NMI reg. P1000:Wk3 or 1270:Wk003). A relatively well-known object, reference is made in numerous works to this copper-alloy artefact that was found in a bog at Bohermeen, Co. Meath, in 1848, but few accounts discuss it in any detail (it is mentioned in, for example, Raftery 1997, 217; Thomas 1981, 298). The dipper (sometimes inaccurately referred to as a patera, whereas dipper, scoop or ladles are all more accurate identifications) falls into Hans Jürgen Eggers’ Type 160 classification (Eggers 1951, T. 13). It would have been part of a dipper/strainer set, but unfortunately, no evidence of the strainer survives. These bronze dipper/strainer sets are relatively common ‘outside the Empire’ (Curtis and Hunter 2006, 202) and are often associated with the Roman army. Petrovsky’s recent reassessment dates these bronze vessels to the first and second centuries AD but, as noted by both Curtis and Hunter, they may well have had longer use-lives. The Bohermeen scoop consists of a single piece of relatively thin copper alloy. The everted rim is 6.7mm wide and is turned outwards from the bowl at an angle of ninety degrees that turns downwards again to create a lip that is 1.1mm thick. The rim is bent and cracked in a number of places, but most obviously in a section nearly directly opposite the handle. In profile, the bowl is straight-sided and only tapers very near to the bottom. The exterior of the bowl has two sets of concentric circles (roughly 6.8mm apart) incised on it. The bowl measures 140.4mm in diameter at its top, and 127.9 mm at its base. The dipper has a simple, solid handle with two protrusions approximately one-third of the length of the handle from where the handle meets the rim of the bowl. The handle flares towards the end and is now bent slightly upwards from the bowl, but it is likely to have been in line with the bowl originally. The object weighs 179.9 g. The base of the bowl shows signs of repetitive use, and there are a number of small pin-prick-like holes where the bronze seems to have worn through. Blackening on the outside of the bowl indicates exposure to an open flame or intense heat, which would be in keeping with this object’s function as a form of ladle or scoop for food service. The cracks where the handle meets the bowl (including a section that appears to have been repaired in antiquity) are consistent with use and likely formed due to the weight of the bowl and its contents versus the thinness of the handle. The ladle bears no obvious maker’s marks or stamps. It was obviously considered a fine (or valuable, or indispensable) enough object to merit a

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repair during its original life (Fig. 2-2). On the underside of the rim is a small piece of copper alloy that has been riveted in place to seal a crack. Although obvious from the bottom of the object, the repair is practically invisible from the top and is unlikely to have been noticed during use. There are other hairline cracks around the rim that have not been repaired. Although Bateson calls the ladle “undecorated” (Bateson 1973, 66), the concentric circles around the bowl are clearly decorative elements, even if they are partly a result of the spinning process used to create the dipper. Equally, the knobs on the handle may have served simply to hang the ladle, as in the case of modern pots and pans. This type of analysis may well describe the technicalities of the object, but they ignore its more artistic aspects. From an aesthetic point of view, these details add to what is already a balanced, well-proportioned (and functional) object, and make it a fine piece of craftsmanship.

Fig. 2-1. The Bohermeen Bog dipper (© National Museum of Ireland)

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Fig. 2-2. Detail of repair on the Bohermeen Bog dipper (© National Museum of Ireland)

The Bohermeen dipper is mentioned and illustrated in E.C.R. Armstrong’s important 1923 paper on the La Tène period in Ireland (Armstrong 1923, 26 and Plate IV), in which he refers to the great Swedish archaeologist Oscar Montelius’ suggested dating for a similar piece to the third century AD. The object that Montelius illustrates is the closest parallel to the Bohermeen ladle that this author has found, but there are many other examples of this type that can shed more light on the Bohermeen find. In fact, in terms of artefact biography, the more recent life of the Bohermeen scoop is closely mirrored by the two bronze vessels from Stoneywood near Aberdeen in Scotland. These vessels were investigated by Neil G.W. Curtis and Fraser Hunter in their 2006 contribution to the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland (Curtis and Hunter 2006, 199–214). Illustrated in an antiquarian journal and held in the collections of the Marischal Museum, the Stoneywood dipper and strainer are also Eggers’ Type 160. Like the Bohermeen scoop, the Stoneywood vessels appear never to have ever been ‘lost’ in modern times, but they are ‘old’ finds where modern research has done much to aid our understanding of them. The Stoneywood vessels come from an

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area that was outside the Roman Empire and had a general lack of Roman objects, and the same can be said of the Bohermeen object. Much of Curtis and Hunter’s appraisal of the use and function of the Stoneywood vessels may also apply to the Bohermeen one (discussed further below). Apart from the typological similarity, there are two important points shared by the modern lives of the Bohermeen scoop and the Stoneywood vessels. Firstly, there is the shifting of collections and their objects between institutions: in the case of the Stoneywood vessels, what began as the Marischal Museum eventually became the University of Aberdeen’s Anthropological Museum in Marischal College; in the Bohermeen ladle’s case, the collections of the Royal Irish Academy went through various iterations before becoming part of the National Museum of Ireland. Secondly, details of the provenance of these objects survived separately to the catalogues of the collections (although information on the Stoney-wood vessels’ provenance seems to have been completely separated from the objects, whereas the Bohermeen object always retained its assignation to that area of Co. Meath). Both of these examples highlight the possibility for the loss of provenance of museum objects over a relatively short period. In 1973, Bateson noted that the circumstances of the discovery of the Bohermeen ladle were not known (Bateson 1973, 66); while the exact details of discovery are indeed unknown, we know more about the finding of this object than we do about many mid-nineteenth-century finds. W.G. WoodMartin, in his 1886 The Lake Dwellings of Ireland; or Ancient Lacustrine Habitations of Erin, Commonly Called Crannogs, provides the following: [The Bohermeen ladle] represents an artistically formed ladle of extremely thin bronze, measuring in all 11½ inches, the internal diameter of the bowl being five inches. This ladle was discovered by turf-cutters in the bog of Bohermeen, county Meath, in close proximity to a large number of pointed stakes and other remains of timber, doubtless portion of the framework of a crannog; but in 1848—the date of its discovery—very little was known about lake dwellings, and few particulars of the “find” can now be chronicled. This vessel was bought at the time by W.F. Wakeman, and by him (together with a beautiful bronze pin found with it) presented to the late well-known antiquary [George] Petrie, amongst whose collection, deposited in the R.I.A., it may now be seen (Wood-Martin 1886, 82).

Although brief, Wood-Martin’s description is a mine of information when dissected into its component parts. First, he gives a description (including measurements) that definitively tells us that this object and the NMI Bohermeen ladle are one and the same (this may seem like a statement of the obvious, but it removes any degree of doubt or confusion with a second object). We can also trace the beginning of its modern life,

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through its purchase by Wakeman, presentation to George Petrie (often considered one of the “founding fathers” of Irish archaeology) and deposition in the RIA collection. Perhaps most importantly, we are given details of the object’s discovery in 1848. Contrary to Bateson’s statement, we are told that the ladle was found in Bohermeen Bog, by turf-cutters, near to timber remains that may have been part of a crannog. Unfortunately, very little information is available on this possible wetland settlement; if the dipper had been found in direct association with a crannog, we may be able to discard our views of it as a lost object or ritual deposition and instead see it as the one used for cooking and food preparation on a regular basis. Again, the Stoney-wood vessels and their recent assessment can guide us on these issues. The ladle is unlikely to have been manufactured in the local area, given the relative lack of Roman material and settlement in Ireland. Equally unlikely is the possibility that the ladle was brought with the Roman army to Bohermeen, as this would lean towards the problematic suggestion of a large-scale presence of the Roman military in Ireland. Hunter has put forward the idea of Roman material becoming ‘socially important’ in Iron Age societies (Curtis and Hunter 2006, 206). As with the vessels from Stoney-wood, the Bohermeen ladle is likely to have been an object of some prestige that was brought into the area. The Bohermeen ladle may have been socially important to a native group living in the area of Bohermeen Bog in late prehistory; in this case, the deposition of an unusual high-prestige foreign object into a bog makes sense, as does the ancient repair on what elsewhere might be considered an everyday object. The Recent geophysical survey has informed our understanding of the landscape in which Bohermeen Bog stands, and gives further credence to the possibility of the ladle being a ritual deposition into an important landscape. According to Conor Newman (Newman 2005, 367–70, 400–3, as discussed in Dowling 2015, 70–1), this bog forms the topographical boundary between two discrete landscapes. The so-called “focal points” of these landscapes are Teltown and Tlachtga, two of Ireland’s most important late prehistoric sites. Wood-Martin tells us of a “beautiful bronze pin” found with the dipper, and the records and collections of the NMI list three stone axeheads (NMI reg. 1929:1705, 1929:1706 and 1941:399) and a bronze sword (NMI reg. 1271:Wk004) as coming from the bog. Dowling briefly discusses a “spiral armlet or bracelet of possibly second-century AD date” found beside the Phoenixtown holy well, all of which reaffirm this area as one of high archaeological potential. But perhaps most significantly, Bohermeen Bog lies only 2km south of Faughan Hill. Known from early Irish sources as the burial place of Niall

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of the Nine Hostages (one of the main figures of Irish mythology), Faughan Hill was one site targeted as part of a campaign of geophysics run by the LIARI Project. An impressive series of large hilltop enclosures was revealed by this work (discussed in detail in Dowling 2015). Dowling has tentatively interpreted some of the features to be Late Bronze Age or possibly Iron Age, although this is impossible to know for certain without some form of excavation or dating programme. He sees the enclosures on Faughan Hill as “focal centres for relatively large social groups, each possibly comprising a number of discrete communities” (Dowling 2015, 80) that would have presumably lived in the region. In the light of this significant complex at Faughan Hill, the other material found in Bohermeen Bog, the reputed finding of the ladle near a crannog-type site and the abundant archaeological material discovered in Irish bogs, it seems unwise to consider the Bohermeen dipper as a stray find that was simply lost by its owner, but rather to revert to the idea of it as a ritual deposit. The Bohermeen ladle is deeply entangled with the history and developing the story of the landscape in which it was found, and is kept in storage in the NMI.

The Bog of Cullen “Cupid” Another object with modern associations with George Petrie is the small winged figure that is said to have been found in the Bog of Cullen, Co. Tipperary2. Now housed in the NMI (NMI reg. P753, Fig. 2-3a.), this bronze figurine does not have any obvious Irish parallels of which the author is aware. While there are no exact “Roman” parallels either, the depiction of a small cherubic winged figure with its right arm raised is in keeping with classical depictions of Eros/Cupid, the god of desire and the companion of Venus, the goddess of love. What singles out this object in antiquarian terms is its early publication date: a drawing of it appears as early as 1786, in number fourteen (“A Vindication of the Ancient History of Ireland”) of Col. Charles Vallancey’s Collectanea de Rebus Hibernicis (Fig. 2-3b). This rambling account (that switches from English to Latin to Irish in the same sentence) is full of musings on ancient Ireland that were largely discredited even by the nineteenth century when antiquarianism in Ireland had begun to develop into a proper discipline. By modern standards, the Collectanea is by no means an academic work. This does not, however, take away from 2

I am indebted to Patrick Gleeson, who ‘found’ this object in the NMI topographical files and kindly sent word of it to the LIARI Project.

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the fact that it contains a late eighteenth-century account of numerous important Irish artefacts that still loom large in the Irish consciousness today (such as the stone carvings at Newgrange and Late Bronze Age gold gorgets). Like Wood-Martin’s account of the Bohermeen ladle, it appears to give us some otherwise unobtainable details about the bronze figurine. In a section dealing with Irish pagan versus Christian images, Vallancey states: One is here represented, which I was think was Anu or Nanu. (See Pl. 7) it is of brass, near 4 inches high; it was found in the bog of Cullen, County of Tipperary, and is now in possession of Captain Ousley.” (Vallancey 1786, 224)

The Collectanea, therefore, gives us a terminus ante quem for the finding of the Bog of Cullen figurine, as it was in possession of Captain Ousley by the publication of the volume in 1786. Not much can be said on Vallancey’s identification of the figure as “Anu,” as this seems to have been stated without much evidence on the writer’s part. Crucially, however, it gives us an important name that can help track the object: Ousley.3

Fig. 2-3a-c. a) The Bog of Cullen figurine (© National Museum of Ireland); b) Illustration of the Bog of Cullen figurine from Vallancey’s Collectanea de Rebus Hibernicus (1786); c) Illustration of the Bog of Cullen figurine from the Dublin Penny Journal (1833) 3

I must record my thanks to Aideen Ireland (National Archives of Ireland) for bringing to my attention the antiquarian sources discussed here that relate to the Bog of Cullen figurine, and to Mary Cahill (National Museum of Ireland) for assistance in accessing and understanding this material.

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The Ouseleys (also spelt Ousley and Owsley) were a prominent landholding family in Ireland from the seventeenth to the nineteenth century, whose pedigree can be found in Debrett’s Baronetage of England (Landed Estates Database; Debrett and Courthope 1835, 341–2). The family had numerous branches in different parts of Ireland, but concentrations of them lived in the region of Limerick and Galway. Vallancey is referring to the Sir Ralph Ouseley that died in 1803, father of the two famous Orientalists, Sir Gore Ouseley (1770–1844) and Sir William Ouseley (1767–1842) (Dictionary of National Biography, 985). Ralph was a known collector of antiquities (Cooper Walker 1788, Appendix ii; although this catalogue does not discuss or illustrate the bronze figurine, presumably because it is not an “implement of war”), and was engaged in an active trade of ancient objects. Following the life of this figurine with the Ouseley family, William Ouseley’s Commonplace Book (that might today be called a scrapbook) of 1788–90 (Ouseley 1788–90) contains a drawing of the bronze item along with six other illustrations. By 1790, the figurine can be found in Edward Ledwich’s Antiquities of Ireland (Ledwich 1790, 463 and pl. xxxvii) and in 1791 it is mentioned in the diary of Charles Etienne Coquebert de Montbret, a Frenchman who visited Ouseley in Limerick. Coquebert calls it “a statue de cuivre found in the Bog of Cullen, Co. Tipperary, 1759” (Coquebert de Montbret 1789–91). It is from this diary entry that we derive the earliest date associated with the figurine (1759). Coquebert’s diary also mentions, for example, “a figure of a woman of Gaul en cuivre, 3½ inches, weighs 6 ozs” and other enticing notes that could be followed up in future studies (for more information on Coquebert’s travels in Ireland, see Conroy 2012). Some forty years later, the winged figurine resurfaced, this time in possession of the well-known antiquarian George Petrie. Petrie discusses this object, which “has frequently been engraved” in a contribution to the Dublin Penny Journal called a “Historic sketch of the past and present state of the fine arts in Ireland.” Petrie considers it to be a “rude but interesting” imitation of Romano-British types (Petrie 1833, 308). It is worth noting that the drawing that appeared in the Dublin Penny Journal (Fig. 2-3c), while closer in some ways to the actual object than the Vallancey drawing, has transposed the figure so that his left arm is raised, his right arm is by his side, his left knee is flexed and his right knee rests on the ball. While this image shows the same object as the other drawing and the photograph, it highlights the lack of a scientific approach to drawing that was common in the antiquarian period. In 1867, the figurine appears in the catalogue of the Petrie collection, compiled by William

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Wakeman (who was also involved in the modern history of the Bohermeen objects discussed above) in possession of the NMI (Wakeman 1867, P753), where it still resides today. The Bog of Cullen has yielded numerous artefacts and has long been considered an important archaeological landscape (see, for example, Wallace 1938; NMI topographical file, “Bog of Cullen”). In fact, by the time the bronze figurine was illustrated in the Collectanea, the Bog of Cullen had already been credited with a number of objects, mostly made of gold, but material that might be considered “Roman” is scarce. Apart from the oculist’s stamp found at Golden, Co. Tipperary (some 25 km from the Bog of Cullen), and the silver hoard discovered at Balline, Co. Limerick, there are few finds from this region of Ireland that have been widely accepted as contemporary Roman imports. Given the lack of good provenance information, then, is it possible that the attribution of “Bog of Cullen” was simply added to this figurine when it was in Ouseley’s collection to give it credence and importance (Mary Cahill pers. comm.)? A close examination of the style of the object (similar to that discussed for the Bohermeen dipper, above), leads to further scepticism of the identification of the object as genuinely Roman. Catherine Johns, formerly of the British Museum and a leading expert on Romano-British material culture, looked at this figurine previously and came to the conclusion that based on its style and lack of parallels it is more likely to belong to the seventeenth or eighteenth century than to the Roman period (Catherine Johns pers. comm.). While a quick glance at this object might lead the viewer to interpret this as a genuine, contemporary Roman import, there is very little to support this. Despite its early identification and publication, and its possible provenance in a known archaeological landscape, the bronze figurine cannot be considered as a genuine Roman object. While the elucidation of the object’s biography has not helped us bring another object into the accepted corpus of Roman material in Ireland, it has clarified the biography of what is likely to be a seventeenth- or eighteenthcentury object. It has also given us another insight into early collecting practices and objects in the national collections.

Conclusion As the majority of Roman objects uncovered in Ireland are uncontexted or antiquarian finds, is it possible to differentiate between “genuine,” contemporary imports and later ones? Unfortunately, for most of the objects, we will never know for certain. We can, however, move closer to

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making an informed decision with dedicated research into the biography of each object, as evidenced by the above case studies. These examples prove the usefulness of antiquarian sources, but also remind us that they cannot be fully relied upon as statements of fact. It is the author’s view that the study of Roman material in Ireland will best be advanced by assessing the artefact biographies as completely as possible. Before the significance of the “genuine,” contemporary imports brought to Ireland in the Roman period can be accurately assessed, the data set must be as trustworthy as possible. By building a comprehensive picture of the lives of these objects, we may be able to confirm or deny the objects as contemporary imports. As in the case of the ladle from Bohermeen Bog, in-depth research has given weight to the hypothesis that this object was brought to Ireland during the late Iron Age. On the other hand, all of the evidence points to the Bog of Cullen “Cupid” as a relatively modern object with no “Roman” history. At the risk of stating the obvious, completing artefact biographies for individual objects is a worthwhile endeavour. Whether ancient or modern, these objects and the research related to them helps to build a more accurate picture of both Ireland’s contacts with the Roman world in the first five centuries AD, and the collecting practices of the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries that have so influenced the national collections today.

Acknowledgments The research for this paper was undertaken as part of the Discovery Programme’s Late Iron Age and ‘Roman’ Ireland (LIARI) Project. The Discovery Programme is an archaeological research institute based in Dublin, Ireland, that was established in 1991 with the intention of answering long-standing questions about Ireland’s past through dedicated research programmes and innovative technologies. The LIARI Project commenced in late 2011 and finished in March 2015, with the aim of gaining a more holistic understanding of what Ireland was like during the first five hundred years AD and understanding the impact of the Roman world on Ireland. More information can be found in Late Iron Age and ‘Roman’ Ireland, Discovery Programme Reports 8, 2014.

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RURAL SOCIETY ON THE EDGE OF EMPIRE: COPPER ALLOY VESSELS IN ROMAN BRITAIN REPORTED THROUGH THE PORTABLE ANTIQUITIES SCHEME JASON LUNDOCK

The following paper will offer an analysis of copper alloy vessels of Roman date reported through the Portable Antiquities Scheme in England and Wales in order to develop an understanding of the use and development of this aspect of material culture by the peoples of Britain during the Roman period. This use of material culture, in turn, reflects upon the construction and expression of identity; allowing a unique perspective in the development of these concepts among the provinces’ inhabitants. As the data in this paper will make evident, the rural population of Britain during the Roman period was pluralistic and complex in its composition, preventing any ‘unified theory’ to be offered concerning culture and identity in the province as a whole; instead, copper alloy vessels reported through the Portable Antiquities Scheme show a multiplicity of behavioural patterns expressed by many people who likely were motivated by diverse cultural impetus to utilize these objects in their daily lives.

The Portable Antiquities Scheme Initially, it will prove useful to offer a brief outline of what the Portable Antiquities Scheme is and how it functions, so that the reader may better understand the material comprising the data-set of this study. The Portable Antiquities Scheme, or PAS, is a government supported the project in the UK which allows for the reporting and recording of objects of archaeological interest found by the public. The PAS operates in England and Wales, with Scotland and Northern Ireland having separate methods for object reporting (Hunter 2010, 102). It was designed in accordance with the Treasure Act of 1996, which replaced the outdated

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Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

Treasure Trove Law which had been in effect since the Middle Ages (Moorhead 2013, 3). It was launched in six pilot schemes in 1997 before being expanded to include all of England and Wales by 2003 (Bland 2010, v.). Objects found by the public are taken to their local Finds Liaison Officer, who identifies and records the objects into the PAS database, assessable through their website at finds.org.uk. This database is operated on a Fully Open Source Software basis (FOSS) which allows for open and unrestricted access to the database and also provides multiple means to conduct objects searches which enables a variety of research methods to be applied (Pett 2010, 1-18). At the time of publication, over a million finds have been recorded on the database, spanning the entire scope of human settlement of from the Palaeolithic to pre-Industrial (Lewis 2014). This wealth of data has been catalogued and processed with an appropriate level of consistency and accuracy that it is suitable for archaeological research and provides a resource of great potential for scholars (Doshi 2010, 60-61). Most finders are amateur metal detectorists, though finds discovered while gardening, dog walking or other common activities also find their way into the database and are made available for study and investigation by the scholarly community and layperson alike (Ochota 2013, 8-9). Additionally, these objects are found outside of normal archaeological practice and come from locations which generally show no immediate evidence for architectural or archaeological remains. The vast majority of this data, therefore, comes from the countryside; largely from plough fields and other remote areas which otherwise have avoided the attention of organizing archaeological examination. The importance of this will be discussed later in this paper.

Discussion of vessels in Roman Britain reported on the PAS database In total, some 211 copper alloy vessels of Roman date reported through the PAS are included in the data-set of this study. I would first like to highlight some particularly noteworthy finds before offering analysis of the material as a whole in indicating patterns in distribution and consumption. In this discussion, I will cite the catalogue number of the objects on the PAS; for example PAS WILT-92B052. These numbers may be searched on the PAS online database. Additionally, Table 3-1 at the end of this article lists all of the PAS numbers for the objects included in this study. As this is an online database, records can be updated, and therefore some slight changes may occur between my research and a

Jason Lundock

53

Fig. 3-1. Finds spots of copper alloy vessels of Roman date reported through the PAS

54

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

reader’s accessing of a record. Information in this paper is based on material accessible prior to the submission of this paper for publication, March 1st, 2015. One of the most unusual vessels to be reported through the PAS is a leopard handled jug from Llantilio Pertholey in Monmouthshire, Wales (PAS NMGW-9A9D16). Fortunately, the finder was quick in notifying local authorities of the discovery and excavation of the find spot revealed that this was part of a burial assemblage, with fragments of bone and ceramics recovered. Though not as prevalent in grave assemblages as ceramics or jewellery, copper alloy vessels are attested in graves across the Roman Empire (Nuber 1973, 1-232; Cool 2004, 373-380 & 463-468; Pearce 2013, 130-136; Mihajloviü 2014, 194-218); this is currently the western-most Roman burial which includes a copper alloy vessel as part of its grave furniture. The body shape of this jug is not common across the Roman world, the best examples coming from Pompeii (Tassinari 1993 B1252, B1250, B1261, B1262), and the ornate handle adds to the unusual nature of this object. Parallels to this handle can be drawn from other objects, such as the tigress handle from the Late Roman Hoxne Hoard (Johns 2010, 62-69 [30]) and an unprovenanced handle currently in the museum collection of Rouen (Espérandieu & Rolland 1959, 63-64 [127]). It is additionally worth mention that this jug was discovered near the Roman fort at Abergavenny (Ochota 2013, 104), making it likely that this burial belonged to a migrant or local with close ties to the Roman military or administration. It is notable that other prominent examples of graves with copper alloy vessels also may be associated with migrant or military communities (Cool 2004; Mihajloviü 2014). While it is true that some objects in the PAS database likely originate from disturbed Structure Deposits (Brindle 2011, 64-68), it is rare for an assemblage to be found intact and reported effectively enough to identify it as such. This is the case with the Structured Deposit from Kingston Deverill (PAS WILT-92B052). This assemblage likely dates to the early Roman period as it comprises handled pans of a type dating from the early Empire to the time of the Severans (Eggers type 140-142) as well as two Rose Ash type bowls, which take their name from a parallel object found as part of an Iron Age assemblage (Fox 1961, 186-198). They were found in what has been described as a ‘semi-circular’ landscape feature, but it is impossible to reconstruct the significance if any, of this fact at this distance. No other objects were found associated with this assemblage. It is a common feature of structured deposits of copper alloy vessels that they comprise solely of this material to the exclusion of other forms of material wealth such as coinage or bullion (Lundock, forthcoming). A

Jason Lundock

55

tendency for hoard assemblages to be comprised of specific materials within a limited object class is also evident in structured deposits of precious metal (Hobbs 2006, 120-274). Epigraphy is rare among copper alloy vessels generally and as such is not common among PAS finds of these objects. The Ilam Pan is worth mention here for its testimony to the epigraphic habit in Roman Britain (PAS WMID-3FE965; Jackson 2012, 41-60). It belongs to a type of handled pan which I classify as ‘Rudge Cup’ type, named for the earliest and probably most famous example of such a vessel ever found (Lundock, forthcoming). These vessels are typically enamelled, which current research indicates is something of a British craft tradition during the Roman period (Breeze 2012, 107- 112). Several examples, including the Ilam pan, also bear inscriptions around the rim which almost certainly refers to forts along Hadrian’s Wall. This has led David Breeze to call these objects ‘the first souvenirs,' and it is probable that a commemorative or souvenir value and function was ascribed to these objects, most likely by veterans of military service along the northern frontiers of the province of Britain (Breeze 2012, 107-112). There are six other examples of Rudge Cup type handled pans reported through the Scheme (PAS SF-0349E2, PAS SUR-4DE0E1, PAS FAKL9900E3, PAS NLM-F50443, PAS NMS-47B176, and PAS NMS7BC635). One possible example of such is a small enamelled handle from Gunthorpe in Norfolk which bears the inscription ‘BEBE SESE’ (PAS NMS-7BC635). This could be roughly translated as ‘drink yourself’ and could be a formula of a toast to good-health or fortune (Worrell 2012, 7184). Inscriptions self-referencing the act of imbibing are well known throughout the Roman world, including on black-slipped ware found in Roman Britain (Mudd 2014, 86-104). Alternately, it could be a gift-giving inscription, which would make this a wholly unique object in the corpus of copper alloy vessel material across the Roman Empire (this in and of itself making it unlikely to be the case). A feature of copper alloy vessel material reported through the PAS is the high proportion of figural iconography which is present when compared to objects discovered and reported through more traditional means with fifteen featuring in the data-set of this study. This bias has largely to do with the manner by which objects are recognized and reported through the PAS; members of the public are much more likely to identify an object as being of archaeological importance if it is decorated. Additionally, embellishment may at times be the only way to identify a time of manufacture for a decontextualized object. With copper alloy vessels particularly, manufacturing techniques varied relatively little until

56

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

Fig. 3-2. Finds spots of structured deposits of copper alloy vessels of Roman date

the 19th century. As such, a decontextualized fragment of a lathe-finished copper alloy vessel lacking decoration may not be able to be identified more specifically than as ‘of pre-industrial manufacture.' As such, it may be expected from these variables that a bias towards decorated material would emerge in the PAS data. Nevertheless, that decorated metal ware is

Jason Lundock

57

this visible in British countryside is telling and indicates an availability of this elaborated design outside of urban centres or areas that show architectural signs of affluence in the archaeological record, as will be further discussed presently.

Distribution of copper alloy vessels Before continuing, I would like to address a question which may be on many of your minds; ‘how representative might copper alloy vessels be of the consumption of material culture in Britain and how applicable may this specific dataset be in the understanding of identity more generally.’ To this concern I would answer; though copper alloy vessels do not have the sheer numerical representation in the archaeological record that ceramics or brooches may possess, they are widely distributed across site types and are found in settings that are characterized as military, civilian, urban, villa, small rural settlement, and rural shrines. They are found in high-status contexts as well as in small settlements with no overt evidence of affluence; it must be remembered, most if not all of these finds come from sites with no architectural remains to indicate opulent structures or settlements during the Roman period. These are objects of utilitarian use, as my doctoral thesis argues mostly for ablutions (Lundock, forthcoming), but they are also objects of aesthetic value whose embellishment and care in their construction indicates that they were meant to be seen and appreciated. As such, copper alloy vessels represent a luxury object of use and display which seems to have been available to a comparatively large segment of Romano-British society and that people in the diverse class, cultural and economic circumstances chose to utilize these vessels in the construction of their cultural practice. This explanation in itself gives away one of the key components of the data, which is that these objects had a wide distribution across the rural landscape of Britain, as Map 1 helps to illustrate. Of course, the numerical distribution of copper alloy vessels pales when compared with the distribution pattern of a common object such as Roman coins (Walton 2012), but the broad geographic spread is interesting as it covers practically every region of the Roman provinces of Britain. The heavy distributional bias to the south-east, principally East Anglia, could be in part due to ancient rural settlement patterns, but is more likely reflective of the bias of metal detectorists to frequent this area of Britain; thereby leading to an increased occurrence of reported finds (Brindle 2011, 70-71). Of course, one of the reasons metal detectorists frequent this area of Britain is because of their success rate in finding objects in this locale; this

58

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

line of discussion can quickly lead to a circular ‘chick-or-egg’ conundrum. The preferences of metal detectorists may also help account for the blanks spots on the map, such as the south-west and the Pennines; though it must also be kept in mind that neither of these regions is rich in Roman period finds discovered through more traditional means of archaeological investigation. This region has provided several notable finds to the PAS more generally (Ochota 2014, 98-143) coin data from this area has helped to identify several new potential settlements of Roman date (Moorhead 2014, 4-7).

Fig. 3-3. Number of objects reported through the PAS at sites that also had copper alloy vessels

To offer perspective and appreciation for how the PAS data influences the distribution patterns of copper alloy vessels in Roman Britain, a quick review of structured deposits of copper alloy vessels in Britain will prove useful. ‘Structured deposits’ is used here as a somewhat more neutral term for what is commonly referred to as ‘hoards’, though also includes deposits of single objects in ritualised contexts and has been used by several other scholars to characterise this sort of material (Richards & Thomas 1984, 189-218; Needham 1988, 229-248; Hill 1993, 53; Hingley 2006, 213-257; Hatzaki 2009, 19-30)). In my recent study of copper alloy vessels in Britain (Lundock, forthcoming), 48 structured deposits were examined. Map 2 shows the distribution of the deposits across the landscape; an immediate contrast to the PAS data becomes evident. For

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59

instance, the Midlands are almost empty of hoards while PAS finds occur throughout this area. Also, the clusters of structured deposits in the north of England are not paralleled in PAS finds, though this may reflect that much of this area is national parkland and therefore off-bounds to metaldetector hobbyists (Brindle 2011, 32-57). The broad difference which is apparent is the wider distribution of finds among the PAS than structured deposits would indicate; this has relevance to understanding the depositional processed behind both PAS material and structured deposits. As PAS material is more broadly distributed, and is generally viewed as being most closely relatable to rural consumption patterns in Britain (Brindle 2011), it is likely that the distribution of these vessels reflects more sporadic loss than purposeful deposition of the material and could be more directly reflective of habitation and transportation networks in the province. Structured deposits, which tend to have more geographically localised clusters, could be more reflective of ritual activity than of general habitation or the typical distribution or usage patterns of copper alloy vessels during the Roman period (Lundock, forthcoming). The broad geographic distribution of copper alloy vessels reported through the PAS is noteworthy and enlightening, but masks a plurality of regional variations in the forms and types of copper alloy vessels reported through the PAS. These include the data from the south-west and Wales being dominated by mounts from buckets and hanging vessels dating from the 3rd to 4th centuries CE, a high proportion of an Eggers type 139-145 handled pans in Yorkshire manufactured in the 1st and 2nd centuries, and a notable cluster of avian iconography on vessel mounts between Sussex and Wessex centred on the environs of Hampshire that would seem to have been manufactured as late as the 4th century. The patterns of forms in the area of south-west England and Wales, as well as Yorkshire, are surprising, as they are almost the exact opposite of the patterns evident in these regions from site finds and traditional archaeological recording (Lundock, forthcoming). To word it more precisely, sources other than the PAS show a significant bias in Wales and the south-west for handled pans of Eggers type 139-145 and bias in much of the north, including Yorkshire, for buckets and hanging vessel mounts. Why this seeming contradiction? Why were the handled pan users of Wales likely to lose their vessels in manners reported through excavation, but bucket users to lose their mounts in fields that would furnish finds for the PAS? One explanation could be the influence and dispersal of the Roman military. Indeed, the networks determining interaction within and surrounding military communities was highly complicated and likely led to multi-faceted cultural interchange

60

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

between individuals from multiple different backgrounds; this being especially true in the case of auxiliary forts, which were peopled by contingents from across the empire (Walas 2014, 72-85). It would seem that handled pans of Eggers type 139-145 can be associated with the military in Britain in the first two centuries CE and buckets with general consumption of the 3rd century CE (Lundock, forthcoming). Perhaps the change in which vessels were available for loss in these two regions reflects the changing of army postings and economic exchanges between military and civilian populations in Britain.

Fig. 3-4. Types of objects found in relation to find spots of copper alloy vessels

The local phenomenon of ‘sitting duck’ jug-lid statuettes in southern England and the presence of three bovine vessels spouts, both of which are relatively rare in Britain and on the continent, are indicative of regional variation and a diversity of material practice in rural Britain during this time. The diversity of rural identity within Roman Britain has begun to become evident in contemporary scholarship (Mattingly 2006, 453-490), and is evidenced by localised pottery manufacturing patterns as well as with divergent practices in agricultural production (Gerrard 2004, 65-76; Taylor 2013, 171-190). All of this helps to indicate a multi-faceted lived experience in the Romano-British countryside, characterised by local customs and diverse expression influenced by the multiple groups who came into contact with the inhabitants of the island during this time.

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61

Contextualising PAS finds The brief comment must be made to the contextualization of these objects. The reader may ask: how can an unstratified object be contextualized? Most PAS finds do not exist in a vacuum but are from areas where other finds have been found and reported. It is possible with broad-spectrum analysis of objects in the surrounding landscape to develop a sense of wider trends in object distribution and site characteristics which may not have been possible through more traditional targeted excavation methods (Levick & Sumnall 2010, 45). This allows for some analysis of the broad find assemblage of an area and can help to characterise the site within which an object was found. Tables 1 and 2 illustrate respectively the number of finds associated with find spots of copper alloy vessels reported through the PAS and the types of objects found. The most common object associated with find spots of copper alloy vessels are Roman coins, which should come as no surprise as Roman coins are the single most common find reported through the PAS (Moorhead 2010, 143); accounting for some 82% of the total objects reported in 2012 alone (Worrell & Pearce 2013, 345). In a far second place are objects of personal adornment, predominantly brooches. It has been suggested that areas that have produced 20 coins represent previously unknown settlements and areas with 100 or more coins could represent sites of some considerable cultural or economic significance, at least locally (Moorhead 2010, 157; Moorhead 2013, 4). Looking at this selection of objects, one might be struck by how similar to a general site assemblage they appear, suggesting that many of these sites are indeed previously unknown rural settlements. In fact, the PAS has proved very useful in developing our understanding of how dense and complicated the rural population of Britain during the Roman period, in fact, was (Brindle 2010, 117-129). However, recent research at votive sites in Britain such as Bath (Cousins 2014, 52-64), Coventina’s Well (Allason-Jones & McKay 1985, 6-11), Rothwell Haigh (Cool & Richardson 2013, 191-217) and the river crossing at Piercebridge (Walton 2008, 286-294) suggest that quite a wide range of miscellanea was likely utilized for ritual deposition during the Roman period. In all likelihood, some of these sites were farmsteads, some rural shrines, some small rural settlements with further investigation on the ground necessary to make further comment on the classification of individual sites. What is important for the present paper is that copper alloy vessels reported through the PAS appear to be part of large finds assemblages for the rural consumption and distribution of material during the Roman period and that they do not represent anomalies of loss that are

62

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

incomparable to the more general patterns of finds distribution evident in more traditional mediums of archaeological investigation.

Conclusion In conclusion, the distribution of copper alloy vessels across the landscape of Britain is indicative of a wider usage of this commodity by the rural population that may have been previously assumed in scholarship. That there is a wide distribution of this material in the landscape and that it appears on the macro level to form something comparable to the site assemblages from excavated settlements brings into question how discrepant was the experience between the town and rural dweller of Britain when it came to accessing to the trappings of Roman material culture. Additionally, regional variations are evident, indicating varying manners in which this material was adopted and adapted to the material practice of the population and used in the formation and display of identity. The relation of these objects, which were rare prior to the Roman period, to ‘identity’ regarding the inhabitants of Britain suggests that the rural inhabitants were very keen to ‘get on board’ with the rising materiality of life under the Roman yoke and were happy to express their identities as taking part in this system. Of course, the relation of power exchanges and the construction and display of identity within imperial systems is quite a complex and controversial subject, as the papers in the first volume of this series demonstrate. I would like to close this paper with the simple statement that copper alloy vessels, as objects of consumption and display, play a unique part in our understanding of identity and that objects reported through the Portable Antiquities Scheme offer great insight into the rural population of Britain. A contribution to the previous volume in this series argued that the presence of imported copper alloy vessels in Late Iron Age burials in the Lower Danube and Sava valleys was indicative of active players between ‘local’ and ‘Roman’ social spheres, leading to an integration of the region within the greater Roman social order (Mihajloviü 2014, 194-218). The evidence from the distribution of copper alloy vessels in rural Britain demonstrated through finds in the PAS database demonstrates in a similar way that rural areas, in what may have previously been considered both the cultural and geographic ‘edges of the Roman world’, were much more fully integrated within the practice of Roman material culture than was previously thought.

Castleton

Dorset

East Sussex

Handled Pan (handle)

SUR-4DE0E1

Rudge Cup Type

East Sussex

Bucket (fragment)

Southease

St. Ann Without

Etchingham

East Sussex

SUSS-85A5E2

Compton Abbas

Dorset

Vessel (fragment) Jug (handle)

Stoke Abbott

Dorset

SOMDORB23561 SUSS-C411A6

SOMDOR53DF91

Corfe Castle

Dorset

Jug (fragment) Bucket (fragment)

Nether Compton

Ripley

Derbyshire

Dorset

Chieveley

Site

Berkshire

County

AW-4B7FA1

SOMDOR0FE673

DOR-2DCB21

Eggers 128

Eggers 139144

Vessel (mount) Vessel (fragment) Jug (fragment) Handled Pan (handle)

ERK-291567

ENO-D72802

Type

Form

No.

Jason Lundock

Handle fragment from handled pan with etched decoration in diamonds and triangles

A jughandle decorated with a cherub wearing a Phrygian cap A fan-shaped bucket foot

Zoomorphic bull's head mount

A bucket fragment consisting of a bucket foot with guilloche decoration

A small, circular lid to a globular jug

Fragment of jug handle decorated with anthropomorphic feet Handle fragment from handled pan with concentric circle decoration

Small zoomorphic mount of a nonaquatic bird Rim fragment of bowl or pan

Brief Description

63

Fordham Fingringhoe

Essex Essex Essex Essex

Bowl

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Vessel (fragment)

ESS-45C445

ESS-333B24

ESS-2B77F7

ESS-874B53

Elsenham

Essex

Vessel (fragment) Manningtree

Roxwell

Broxted

ESS-E58103

Essex

Coptic

Handled Pan

Steeple Bumpstead

ESS-1D3342

Essex

Eggers 154155

Handled Pan (handle)

SF-9C7EA4

ESS-6BE383

Great Bentley

Essex

ESS-332F71 Essex

Wix

Essex

Eggers 160

Birch

Essex

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Handled Pan (handle)

BH-118825

ESS-7F6EB2

Greenstead Green And Halstead Rural Ugley

Essex

Bucket (fragment)

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

ESS-8C8A14

64

Suspension hook for a bucket or hanging basin in the shape of a duck or swan's head

Leaf-shaped mount

Suspension hook for a bucket or hanging basin in the shape of a duck or swan's head

Coptic' type folding handled pan

Zoomorphic handle terminal of either a lion or bear

Hilted handle from a handled pan

Sub-triangular mount

Sub-triangular mount

Pelta shaped bucket foot

Fridaythorpe

East Riding of Yorkshire East Riding of Yorkshire East Riding of Yorkshire East Riding of Yorkshire

East Riding of Yorkshire East Riding of Yorkshire East Riding of Yorkshire

Coptic

Eggers 139144

Handled Pan (handle)

Vessel (mount)

Handled Pan

Handled Pan

Jar

Bowl

Vessel (mount)

AKL-58F455

SWYOR53D721

RESEARCH230A51

SWYOR8F20A5

YORYM103E35

NCL-55ECD6

NCL-B86E85

NLM-596735

East Riding of Yorkshire

Ardleigh

Essex

ESS-A61324

North Dalton

Thwing

Shipton Thorpe

Shipton Thorpe

Hayton

North Cave

Humbleton

Good Easter

Essex

ESS-DD8738

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Vessel (handle)

Jason Lundock

Pelta shaped vessel foot

‘Coptic’ type folding handled pan

Fan-shaped mount

Handle in shape of a swan's head

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Leaf-shaped mount

65

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (fragment) Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount)

AMP-D685D2

SUR-2D6151

SUR-934DA8

SUR-411370

Handled Pan (handle)

AMP-D46597

AMP-258E52

King's Worthy Broughton Ropley Ropley

Hampshire Hampshire Hampshire

Ropley

Hampshire

Hampshire

Leaf-shaped mount

Leaf-shaped mount

Vessel lid with a small bird mount

Leaf-shaped mount

Jug lid with small duck mount on top of it Handle from handled pan with ram's headed terminal

Pelta shaped bucket foot

Beaulieu

AMP-EFA6E4 Medstead CP

Oxhead mount

Sudeley

GLO-63AEF2

Hampshire

Duck shaped mount

Leigh

WAW-C7F0F1

Eggers 123126 Eggers 154155

Dragonesque mount

Twyning

Gloucestershir e Gloucestershir e Gloucestershir e Hampshire

WAW-CE0AC5

Flint

Flintshire

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Bucket (fragment) Jug (lid)

Pelta shaped vessel foot

ESH-A0AE36

North Dalton

East Riding of Yorkshire

Vessel (mount)

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

YORYM6A0083

66

BH-5D2737

Clothall Ashwell

Hertfordshire

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount)

BH-231086

Watton-at-Stone

Clothall

Hertfordshire

Hertfordshire

Jug (lid)

BH-57C9D5

Eggers 123126

Hertfordshire

Clothall

Hertfordshire

Vessel (mount)

St. Michael

BH-C89753

BH-FB17E1

BH-5EC1F6

Hertfordshire

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount)

HAMP336

Wherwell

Corhampton And Meonstoke

Hampshire

HAMP2278

Hampshire

Owslebury

Hampshire

HAMP3382

Owslebury

Hampshire

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (fragment) Vessel (fragment)

FASW-4CB045

Damerham

Hampshire

Vessel (fragment)

WILT-149137

Jason Lundock

Bird-shaped mount

Bird-shaped mount

Leaf-shaped mount

Anthropomorphic bust, possibly satyr or Pan

Triangular mount

Handle fragment in shape of a swan's head Vessel mount with circular decoration

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Duck shaped mount

Small handle fragment with etched lines as decoration

67

Bird-shaped mount Anthropomorphic mount of a reclining male banqueter

Newport Bembridge

Kent Kent

Eggers 160161

Handled Pan (handle)

Bowl

Jug

ENT-8DAE18

ENT-6E89B4

ENT-6E5FE6

Kent

Kent

Eggers 154155

LON-B47821

ENT-9604E7

Vessel (mount) Handled Pan (handle)

IOW-2F7DD1

IOW-BDD755

Kent

Crescent-shaped bucket foot

Newport

The Isle of Wight The Isle of Wight The Isle of Wight

IOW-9CE336

Wymondley

Hertfordshire

Vessel (mount) Vessel (fragment) Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount)

Chislet, Upstreet Chislet, Upstreet

Lenham

Eynsford

Lyminge

Jug with anthropomorphic handle decoration

Hilted handle fragment

Handle fragment from handled pan with a ram's head handle terminal

Sub-triangular mount

Bull's head hanging vessel mount

Anthropomorphic bust, possibly Diana

BH-1729A7

Much Hadham

Hertfordshire

Vessel (mount)

Crescent-shaped bucket foot

ESS-C55282

Albury

Hertfordshire

Bucket (fragment)

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

BH-4FF557

68

Leire Ancaster

Leicestershire Lincolnshire

SWYOR8E4C25

Lincolnshire

Thonock

Lincolnshire

LIN-D5C4E1

Bowl

Nettleton

Lincolnshire

LIN-565C52

Nettleton

Lincolnshire

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (fragment) Handled Pan (handle)

LIN-567032

Scotter

Torksey

Lincolnshire

Bowl

North Thoresby

Scotton

Gaddesby

Leicestershire

Lincolnshire

Slyne with Hest

Lancashire

SWYOR-54B841

Eggers 155

Eggers 160161

Lincolnshire

Handled Pan (handle) Vessel (fragment) Vessel (fragment) Vessel (fragment) Handled Pan

Vessel (fragment)

SWYORFB6262 NLM-D01851

WMID-E86F58

LEIC-055A12

LANCUM101193 LEIC-92A461

Jason Lundock

Handle fragment in the shape of a swan's head Handle fragment in the shape of a duck's head

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Handle fragment in shape of duck or swan's head

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Hilted handle fragment

69

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (mount) Vessel (fragment)

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (fragment) Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount)

NLM-5DF5D6

LVPL-1244

NLM-AEA444

LIN-40CE20

LIN-85A3A3

NLM-224

NLM-4255

Eggers 139144

Handled Pan (handle)

Marston Spilsby Caistor

Lincolnshire Lincolnshire Lincolnshire

Stainton By Langworth

Lincolnshire Gate Burton

Crowland

Lincolnshire

Lincolnshire

Wickenby

Keelby

Lincolnshire

Lincolnshire

Lincoln

Lincolnshire

LIN-3EED71

LIN-51C7A7

Bilsby

Vessel (fragment) Jug (handle)

LIN-F8BC42

Folkingham

Weston

Lincolnshire

Lincolnshire

Jug (lid)

LIN-6C2E02

Eggers 123126

Lincolnshire

Vessel (fragment)

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

SWYORA88651

70

Anthropo-morphic mount, probably Diana or Luna

Vessel spout in the shape of a bull's head

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Fragment of a vessel loop

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Dolphin shaped vessel mount

Vessel spout in the shape of a bull's head

inscription (…)VG

Shell shaped mount

Vessel spout in the shape of a bull's head

Jug lid

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Monmouthshi re

Monmouthshi re Monmouthshi re Monmouthshi re Monmouthshi re Newport

Vessel (fragment)

Jug (lid)

PUBLIC749A73

PUBLICCF7051 PUBLIC-699346

Bucket

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Bowl

NMGW-9A9D16

NMGW-07F2B4

NMGW-F4A3F6

NMGWDBBD23 NMGW9C0216;Worrell 2009, 285-287

NMGW-2FC205

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (mount) Jug

Rose Ash

Mathern

Monmouthshi re

PUBLIC74C930

Eggers 123126

Rainham

London

ESS-1DAE38

Newport

Langstone

Caerleon

Newport

Anthropo-morphic mount of a reclining male banqueter Oxhead shaped mount

Globular jug with a silver leopard handle

Llantilio Pertholey Langstone Langstone

Boar shaped mount

Caerwent

Newport

Vessel spout in the shape of a bull's head

Jug lid

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Dragonesque vessel mount

Sub-triangular mount

Trefoil hanging vessel mount

71

Llantrisant Fawr

Usk

Usk

Revesby

Lincolnshire

NCL-249C60

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount)

Jason Lundock

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (mount)

NLM-F3AA42

NLM-52F093

Handled Pan

Vessel (mount) Rudge Cup Type

Eggers 125

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (fragment) Jug (handle)

North Lincolnshire North Lincolnshire

North Lincolnshire

North Lincolnshire North Lincolnshire North Lincolnshire North Lincolnshire

North Lincolnshire

Rudge Cup Type

Handled Pan (fragment)

Newport

Newport

Rose Ash

Vessel spout in the shape of a bull's head Sub-triangular vessel mount

Holme

Enameled handle pan

Hanging vessel mount in the shape of a duck's head

Jughandle decorated with lion

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Handled pan with triskele decoration

Scawby

Winterton

Winteringham

Appleby

Winteringham

Winteringham

Crowle

Langstone

Langstone

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

Strainer

Bowl

NLM-F50443; Worrell 2009, 294-295

SWYORE54DB2 SWYOR-1707E1

NLM-A2CB67

NLM-E3E502

MGW9C0216;Worrell 2009, 285-287 MGW9C0216;Worrell 2009, 285-287 FAKL-9900E3

72

Shouldham Cawston

Norfolk Norfolk Norfolk Norfolk

Vessel (mount)

Jug (handle)

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Handled Pan (handle)

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (fragment)

NMS-900741

NMS-7E2C22

NMS-28C680

NMS-8D0814

NMS-E52C90

NMS-57CB72 Eggers 139144

Rudge Cup Type

NMS-23D975

NMS-47B176

SF-5FE041

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Handled Pan (handle)

Fincham Beeston with Bittering

Norfolk

Beachamwell

Attlebridge

Southrepps

Reepham

Norfolk

Norfolk

Norfolk

Brettenham

Scawby

Brigg

NLM-75A127

North Lincolnshire North Lincolnshire Norfolk

Scawby

Jug (lid)

North Lincolnshire

NLM-C883E2

Eggers 139144

Handled Pan (handle)

NLM-B0A171

Jason Lundock

Handle fragment, possibly decorated with dolphin

Fragment from vessel base

Handle from handled pan

Anthropomorphic mount, perhaps Pan

Anthropomorphic female mount

Handle decorated with dolphin and floral design

Handle from enamelled handled pan

Hanging vessel mount in the shape of a swan's head Anthropomorphic female mount

Duck shaped mount

Handle fragment with inscription reading 'CIPI'

73

Norfolk

Norfolk

Norfolk Norfolk

Jug (handle)

Vessel (fragment)

Vessel (mount) Handled Pan (handle)

Handled Pan (handle)

NMS-0F88B4

NMS-0EBFE1

NMS-20B842

NMS-1562

NMS-1518

Norfolk

Attlebridge

Norfolk

Jug (fragment)

NMS-D5C680

Eggers 154155

Narford

Norfolk

Handled Pan (handle)

NMS-9AA877

Kenninghall

Beeston with Bittering

Beeston with Bittering

Beeston with Bittering

East Walton

Hockwold cum Wilton

Norfolk

Jug (handle)

Ringstead

Norfolk

NMS-388DD6

NMS-F47791

Feltwell

Norfolk

Jug (fragment) Vessel (mount)

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

NMS-FFBFB1

74

Handle from handled pan with a ram's head terminal

Handle fragment from handled pan

Sub-triangular hanging vessel mount

Jughandle with floral decoration

Handle fragment from handled pan

Jughandle with floral decoration

Sub-triangular mount

Jughandle with floral decoration

Norfolk Norfolk

Jug (handle)

Handled Pan (handle)

Vessel (fragment) Vessel (mount) Jar

Handled Pan

Handled Pan

NMS1924

NMS-7BC635; Worrell 2012

DENO-CCC324

NCL-335745

SWYORE51F57

NCL-33CC76

DENO-149754

Eggers 139144

Nottinghamsh ire Nottinghamsh ire Northumberla nd Northumberla nd North Yorkshire

Themelthorpe

Norfolk

NMS-DA1851

Rudge Cup Type

Stanfield

Norfolk

NMS1310

Aldeby

Norfolk

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Jug (handle)

NMS-D75F24

Rim fragment Leaf-shaped mount Leaf-shaped mount

Collingham Whittington

Linton

Whittington

75

Handle fragment from enamelled handled pan; inscription reads 'BEBE SESE'

Jughandle with floral decoration

Triangular hanging vessel mount

Triangular hanging vessel mount

Anthropomorphic female mount

Handle fragment from handled pan

Hawton

Gunthorpe

Colkirk

Hockwold cum Wilton

Norfolk

Tacolneston

Vessel (mount)

Norfolk

NMS-134

Eggers 150

Handled Pan (handle)

NMS-199

Jason Lundock

LVPL-F1C917

HESH-9774C3

Vessel (mount)

Shropshire

Shropshire

Eggers 123126

Vessel (mount) Jug (lid)

BERK-C01546

Vessel (fragment) Jug (lid)

Oxfordshire

Vessel (mount)

BH-2DA8C6

Rhondda Cynon Taf Shropshire

Oxfordshire

Vessel (mount)

DUR-E1D6C7

Eggers 123126

North Yorkshire

Vessel (mount)

DUR-510214

NMGW2EECF6 HESH-02FED3

North Yorkshire North Yorkshire

Handled Pan

LVPL-F9BE12

Eggers 139144 Eggers 139144

North Yorkshire North Yorkshire North Yorkshire

Handled Pan (handle)

Handled Pan

Bowl

Whitchurch

Sheinton

Hordley

Pont Y Clun

Letcombe Regis

Adwell

Bedale

Claxton

Hawkswick

Brough with St. Giles

Malton

Linton

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

NCL-782251

SWYORE4D7D0 NLM-6A7473

76

Oxhead shaped vessel mount

Jug lid

Fragment of vessel base

Jug lid

Bacchus vessel mount

Duck shaped mount

Mount of cherub

Sub-triangular mount

Handle from handled pan

Suffolk

Vessel (fragment)

Vessel (mount) Handled Pan (handle)

SF-7CE6C1

SF-4E5A43

SF-0349E2

Rudge Cup Type

Suffolk

Vessel (mount) Jug (handle)

WAW-342131

SF-8182F7

Rudge Cup Type

Handled Pan

WMID-3FE965

Suffolk

Suffolk

Staffordshire

Staffordshire

Eggers 139144

Handled Pan (handle)

WMID-6C2FE3

Staffordshire

Combs

Hacheston

Kettlebaston

Thorpe Constantine Pettistree

Ilam

Brewood

Fisherwick

Staffordshire

WMID-26ACD7

Shenstone

Staffordshire

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount)

WMID-6553C1

Edlington

South Yorkshire

Handled Pan (handle)

SWYOREA9393

Jason Lundock

Handle from enamelled handled pan

Leaf-shaped vessel mount

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Jughandle

Enameled handled pan; inscription reads MAISCOGGABATAUXELODUNUMC AMMOGLANNARIGOREVALIAELIU SDRACO Oxhead shaped vessel mount

Circular handle medallion from a handled pan

Anthropomorphic mount of a reclining male banqueter Anthropomorphic mount

Handle from handled pan

77

Vessel (mount) Jug (handle)

SF-DF4933

SF-452BA2

Mildenhall Brockley

Suffolk

Freckenham

Mendham

Lowestoft

Chediston

Arwarton

Combs

Barking

West Stow

Hoxne

Suffolk

Suffolk

Suffolk

Vessel (mount) Jug (lid)

NMS-C40776 Eggers 123126

Suffolk

Jug (handle)

NMS-2E4838

SF-210633

Suffolk

Handled Pan (handle)

NMS-7F1BE6

Eggers 140142

Suffolk

Vessel (mount)

Suffolk

SF-2BC393

Eggers 139144

Suffolk

Vessel (fragment) Handled Pan (handle)

SF-A72D31

SF-3DCCA7

Suffolk

Vessel (mount)

Suffolk

SF-040874

Eggers 139144

Handled Pan (handle)

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

SF-3C6B04

78

Jughandle decorated with female face wearing headdress

Duck shaped vessel mount

Jug lid with duck shaped mount

Dolphin shaped vessel mount

Jughandle with floral decoration

Handle fragment from handled pan, inscription reads 'CIPIPOL[…]'

Sub-triangular vessel mount

Handle fragment from handled pan

Anthropomorphic mount, possibly Minerva

Handle from handled pan

Vessel (mount) Jug (lid)

Vessel (fragment)

SF-9646

SF10490

SF10041

SF-9054

Eggers 123126

Eggers 123126

Jug (lid)

SF-9063

Eggers 139144

Vessel (fragment) Handled Pan (handle)

SF-9012

Suffolk

Suffolk

Suffolk

Suffolk

Suffolk

Combs

Bredfield

Otley

Bradfield Combust With Stanningfield

Freckenham

Wattisham

Great Glemham

Suffolk

SF-8924 Suffolk

Horringer

Suffolk

NMS2676

Linstead Magna

Suffolk

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount) Vessel (fragment)

SF-2AE0A6

Yaxley

Hitcham

Suffolk Suffolk

Market Weston

Suffolk

Vessel (mount)

Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount)

SF-EB55A2

SF-B0DC84

SF-1D1EA1

Jason Lundock

Vessel lid

Jug lid with duck mount

Swan's head shaped vessel mount

Jug lid

Handle fragment from handled pan

Pelta shaped vessel foot

Fragment of vessel base

Bird-shaped mount

Leaf-shaped mount

Bird-shaped vessel mount

Anthropomorphic vessel mount

Leaf-shaped hanging vessel mount

79

Tanworth In Arden Alcester Eartham

Warwickshire

West Sussex

Leigh Codford

Wiltshire Wiltshire

Vessel (fragment) Jug (handle)

NMGWC46CB4 WILT-7E0308

Avebury

Wiltshire

Vessel (mount)

Warwickshire

Stoke Ash

WILT-D5EBB5

SUSS-37ADE6

WAW-5036D6

WAW-FFE863

Suffolk

Vessel (mount) Vessel (fragment) Vessel (fragment) Vessel (mount) Vessel (mount)

LANCUMD2F870 SUR-17AA03 Surrey

Bury St. Edmunds Charlwood

Suffolk

Handled Pan (handle)

SF-110494

Mildenhall

Suffolk

Vessel (mount)

SF-8C12D5

Sutton

Suffolk

Jug (fragment)

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

SF10415

80

Vessel fragment decorated with a horse and a bird Jughandle decorated with female face

Duck shaped vessel mount

Duck shaped vessel mount

Leaf-shaped mount

Vessel foot

Vessel foot in the shape of a canine foot

Mount of Sol Invictus

Handle from handled pan

Sub-triangular vessel mount

Fragment of enamelled jug with floral decoration

Wiltshire Wiltshire Worcestershir e Worcestershir e

Eggers 140142

Handled Pan

Strainer

Strainer

Vessel (fragment)

Vessel (fragment)

WILT-92B052

WILT-92B052

WILT-92B052

WAW-18C577

WAW-07FEC3

Leigh

Inkberrow

Kingston Deverill

Kingston Deverill Kingston Deverill

Kingston Deverill

Kingston Deverill

Table 3-1. Copper alloy vessels of Roman date reported through the PAS

Wiltshire

Wiltshire

Eggers 140142

Handled Pan

WILT-92B052

Wiltshire

Eggers 140142

Handled Pan

WILT-92B052

Jason Lundock

Fragment from vessel base

Pelta shaped vessel foot

the inscription read 'CIPI POLIBI'

81

82

Rural Society on the Edge of Empire

Bibliography Allason-Jones, L. & McKay, B. 1985. Coventina’s Well: A shrine on Hadrian’s Wall. Oxbow Books: Oxford. Bland, R. 2010. Foreword. In Worrell, S. et al. (eds). 2010. A Decade of Discovery: Proceedings of the Portable Antiquities Scheme Conference 2007. BAR British Series 520. Breeze, D. 2012. Conclusions. In Breeze, D. (ed). 2012. The First Souvenirs: Enamelled Vessels from Hadrian’s Wall. Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society: Kendal. 107112 Brindle, T. 2010. The Portable Antiquities Scheme and Roman Rural Settlement: some preliminary work on Wiltshire. In Worrell, S. et al. (eds) A Decade of Discovery: Proceedings of the Portable Antiquities Scheme Conference 2007, 117-129. BAR British Series 520. Cool, H. 2004. The Roman Cemetery at Brougham, Cumbria. Britannia Monograph Series 21. Cool, H. & Richardson, J. 2013. Exploring Ritual Deposits in a Well at Rothwell Haigh, Leeds. Britannia 44: 191-217 Cousins, E. 2014. Votive Objects and Ritual Practice at the King’s Spring at Bath. In Platts, H. et al. (ed.). 2014. TRAC 2013: Proceedings of the Twenty-Third Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference King’s College, London 2013. Oxbow Books: Oxford. 52-64. Doshi, N. 2010. An Assessment of the Archaeological Research Dividends of the Portable Antiquities Scheme: a case study of Bronze Age metalwork from East Anglia. In Worrell, S. et al. (eds.). 2010. A Decade of Discovery: Proceedings of the Portable Antiquities Scheme Conference 2007, 47-66. BAR British Series 520. Fox, A. 1961. An Iron Age Bowl from Rose Ash, North Devon. Antiquaries Journal 41: 186-198. Gerrard, J. 2004. How late is late? Pottery and the fifth century in southwest Britain. In Collins, R. & Gerrard, J. (eds.). 2004. Debating Late Antiquity in Britain AD300-700, 65-76. BAR British Series 365. Hatzaki, E. 2009. Structured Deposition as Ritual Action at Knossos. Landscape Archaeology in Southern Epirus, Greece I. Hesperia Supplements 42: 19-30. Hill, J. 1993. Can we recognize a different European past? A contrastive archaeology of late Prehistoric settlements in Southern England. Journal of European Archaeology 1: 57-75.

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Hingley, R. 2006. The Deposition of Iron Objects in Britain during the Later Prehistoric and Roman Periods: Contextual Analysis and the Significance of Iron. Britannia 37: 213-257. Hunter, F. 2010. Changing Objects in Changing Worlds: dragonesque brooches and beaded torcs. In Worrell, S. et al. A Decade of Discovery: Proceedings of the Portable Antiquities Scheme Conference 2007, 88104. BAR British Series 520. Jackson, R. 2012. The Ilam Pan. In Breeze, D. (ed.). 2012. The First Souvenirs: Enamelled Vessels from Hadrian’s Wall. Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society: 41-60. Levick, P. & Sumnall, K. 2010. Metal Detecting Rallies and Landscape Archaeology: recreating lost landscapes on the Berkshire Downs. In Worrell, S. et al. (eds.). A Decade of Discovery: Proceedings of the Portable Antiquities Scheme Conference 2007, 39-46. BAR British Series 520. Lewis, M. 2014. Portable Antiquities Scheme records one-millionth find. finds.org/news Mattingly, D. 2006. An Imperial Possession: Britain in the Roman Empire. Penguin Books, New York. Mihajloviü, V. 2014 Objects in action: Towards the anthropology of exchange of Roman bronze vessels in the middle Danube region. In Jankoviü, A. M. Mihajloviü, D. V. & Babiü, S. (eds.). 2014. The Edges of the Roman World, 194-218. Newcastle u.T: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Moorhead, S. 2010. Expanding the Frontiers: how the Portable Antiquities Scheme database increases knowledge of Roman coin use in England. In Worrell, S. et al. (eds). 2010. A Decade of Discovery: Proceedings of the Portable Antiquities Scheme Conference 2007, 143-160. BAR British Series 520. Mudd, S. 2014. Vinum vires: Trier Black-Slipped wares and constructive drinking in Roman Britain. In Jankoviü, A. M. Mihajloviü, D. V. & Babiü, S. (eds.). 2014. The Edges of the Roman World, 86-104. Newcastle u.T: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Needham, S. 1988. Selective Deposition in the British Early Bronze Age. World Archaeology 20.2: 229-248. Nuber, H. 1973. Kanne und Griffschale. Ihr Gebrauch im täglichen Leben und die Beigabe in Gräbern der römischen Kaiserzeit. Bericht der Römisch-Germanischen Kommission 1972: 1-232 Pearce, J. 2013. Contextual Archaeology of Burial Practice: Case studies from Roman Britain. BAR British Series 588.

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Pett, D. 2010. The Portable Antiquities Scheme’s Database: its development for research since 1998”. In Worrell, S. et al. (eds.). 2010. A Decade of Discovery: Proceedings of the Portable Antiquities Scheme Conference 2007, 1-18 BAR British Series 520. Richards, C. & Thomas, J. 1984. Ritual Activity and Structured Deposition in Later Neolithic Wessex. In Bradley, R. & Gardiner, J. (ed.). 1984. Neolithic Studies: A Review of Some Current Research, 189-218. BAR British Series 133. Taylor, J. 2013. Encountering Romanitas: Characterising the Role of Agricultural Communities in Roman Britain. Britannia 44: 171-190. Walton, P. 2008. The Finds from the River. In Cool, H. & Mason, D. (eds.). 2008. Roman Piercebridge: Excavations by D.W. Harding and Peter Scott 1969-1981, 286-294. The Architectural and Archaeological Society of Durham and Northumberland Research Report 7. Walton, P. 2012. Rethinking Roman Britain: Coinage and Archaeology. Moneta: Wetteren. Worrell, S. 2012. Enamelled Vessels and Related Objects Reported to the Portable Antiquities Scheme 1997-2010. In Breeze, David (ed.). 2012. The First Souvenirs: Enamelled Vessels from Hadrian’s Wall, 71-84. Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society: Kendal.

AMICITIA, GIFT-EXCHANGE AND SUBSIDIES IN IMPERIAL ROMAN DIPLOMACY JOANNA KEMP

The relationships between the emperor, Rome, and the rulers and peoples on the edges of the empire have long been debated. David Braund highlighted how the relationship between Rome and ‘friendly kings’ was mutually beneficial as kings gained the protection and security of Rome, while Rome benefitted from an intermediary on the fringes of the empire who was able to contribute troops and supplies (Braund 1984). Braund’s focus was on the eastern part of the empire, as the established monarchies of this region fitted into Rome’s administrative system. However, as Rome began to expand its Empire to the north and west, it came into contact with new forms of societies such as Germanic tribes. These did not seem to have fixed notions of kingship, and their chieftains changed with time and circumstance (Wallace-Hadrill 1971, 1-16). Braund highlighted that the best model by which to study these relationships was that of friendship, which did not presuppose that the Roman party was higher in status, as had previously been argued by Ernst Badian (1958). Therefore, using the model of amicitial, this chapter examines how the Romans interacted with kings along with their frontiers during the first two centuries AD when conducting what we today call diplomacy. A number of important works on friendship were written by Roman authors, and Cicero’s Republican Era De Amicitia and De Officis, Seneca’s Julio-Claudian period De Beneficis, and Sallust’s Republican period De Coniuratione Catilinae are of great significance. These authors wrote about ideal friendship in similar ways. Cicero claimed that friendship was based on ‘fellow feeling as to all things human and divine with mutual good-will and affection’ rather than personal gain (De Amicitia, 20). Reflecting the Stoic tradition, Seneca stated that helping and being of service showed nobility, and that true friendship was born out of virtue (De Beneficiis, 3.15.4). Sallust also asserted that friendship was based on consensio - agreement or harmony (De Coniuratione Catilinae, 20.4).

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Amicitia, Gift-Exchange and Subsidies in Imperial Roman Diplomacy

Using these texts, Koenraad Verboven (2002, 35-48; 2011, 405-411) outlined the ethics of Roman friendship: goodwill (benevolentia) and love (amor) were essential according to Cicero (De Amicitia, 19). When this goodwill was put into action, it became benignitas or liberalitas – generosity (Sallust, De Coniuratione Catilinae, 7.6). This was expressed by doing favours or giving gifts (beneficia or munera) to friends voluntarily (Cicero, De Officiis, 1.20; cf. Sallust, De Coniuratione Catilinae, 7.6). Seneca wrote that whoever gave beneficia imitated the gods and whoever asked for a return on them imitated usurpers (De Beneficiis, 3.15.4; cf. Cicero, De Amicitia, 31). Each act of kindness was expected to be met with gratia. This was a tremendously important part of the reciprocity of Roman friendships which would ensure that the favour would be returned, regardless of a friend’s material ability. After Pliny the Younger gave financial aid to Artemidorus, the latter often praised him, displaying gratia and increasing his reputation (Pliny the Younger, Epistulae, 3.11.1). Cicero (De Officiis, 1.48) claimed that no duty was more imperative than that of returning gratia. Therefore, gratia was an officium (duty) and an integral part of Roman friendship. However, time should not have been an issue in the returning of a gift or favour, since each party would have fides (trust) that the other would return the kindness (Cicero, De Amicitia, 65; De Inventione, 1.47). There was also the importance of reputation: friendships were public, and, thus, participants were expected to honour each other openly with gifts, or risk being seen as ungrateful by their peers. Roman amicitia was a complex relationship based on reciprocity, affection, and loyalty, with advantage and altruism intertwined (Verboven 2011, 408). Thus, there was a strong set of rules and established behaviours associated with friendship. Cicero and Seneca stressed that the key aspects of this were goodwill and love, rather than exchange. However, the fact that these authors felt the need to point this out suggests that they were writing about an idealised friendship against the background of a system in which amicitia was used for personal gain. Cicero was strongly opposed to the ‘Epicurean’ notion that the best friends were those from whom the greatest benefit could be gained (De Amicitia, 79). However, in the eyes of Romans, friendship could not exist without such exchanges of gifts and services (Cicero, De Amicitia, 26; Sallust, Coniuratio Catilinae, 7.6). Marcel Mauss’ Le Don states that such exchanges are still vital to friendship since they are the only available evidence that the relationship exists (1967, 3-13). Miriam Griffin (1993, 92-113) has illustrated how these reciprocal gift exchanges were seen as crucial to the working of Roman society. As friendship was the chief bond of human civilisation (Seneca, De Beneficiis, 1.4.2; Cicero, De Officiis,

Joanna Kemp

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1.22), there was little stopping the Romans from incorporating giftexchange and amicitia into dealings with foreign rulers and peoples, making it an empire-wide phenomenon (Burton 2003, 341): Cicero (De Officiis, 2.27) spoke of the Romans’ patrocinium orbis terrae – protection over the whole world – then immediately discussed personal amici, implying that in this context, patrocinium does not refer to ‘patronage’ but Rome’s international friends (Burton 2003, 340). Therefore, Roman international relations could be cast as friendships with the state in Republican times (Burton 2011). Past studies of amicitia have not been without change. In the twentieth century, the term amicitia was described by Ronald Syme (1939) and Lily Ross Taylor (1949) as a weapon of politics, the language of which was used to hide factio relations in Republican Rome. P. A. Brunt challenged this, pointing out that amicitia was derived from amo, I love, and thus must have had connotations of affection (Brunt 1965, 3). Matthias Gelzer (1969, 86-101) and Richard Saller (1982), however, placed clientele ties at the centre of social relations between the Roman elite. In an influential study, Badian argued that patron-client relationships “comprise relations admittedly between superior and inferior” whereas friendships, described as amicitia were “relationships between equals” (Badian 1958, 11). Thus, because the Roman state often defeated other nations to form new states, Badian saw all relations with the kings on the edges of the empire as asymmetrical, with Rome being the stronger power. Consequently, the language of amicitia was simply used out of politeness as Rome’s power grew (Badian 1958, 6-7, 12-13). However, recent scholarship has shown that amicitia is a far more flexible model for international relations and has room for ideas of both reciprocity and utility, through the associated gift exchange (Verboven 2002), as well as altruism, emotion, and honour (Burton 2011, 22; Williams 2008, 34). Using modern International Relations Constructivist theories, Paul Burton has argued that international cooperation trumped divisions imposed by ideas of ‘nations,' and that friendship was as important as military strength when dealing with Rome’s neighbours (Burton 2011, 18-27; 2003, 333369). Michael Snowdon, in his examination of senatus consulta set up in the Greek East, has argued that amicitia/philia were commonly used in international relations as well as in internal disputes, and that friendship with the Roman People was used by Greek city-states to negotiate and manipulate their dealings with one another (Snowdon 2014, 422-444). Thus, the discursive focus of Roman diplomacy is shifting away from Badian’s model and towards investigations of the use of the language and more flexible model of amicitia. The Strangeness and Poverty project

88

Amicitia, Gift-Exchange and Subsidies in Imperial Roman Diplomacy

(`Fremdheit and Armut. Wandel von Inklusions and Exklusions formen von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart’) based at Trier University, identified that since the third century BC, amicitia populi Romani was an essential element of Roman foreign policy, and offered a way to be included into the Mediterranean world, as well as the Roman state (Coúkun and Heinen 2004, 45; Coúkun 2016). This chapter examines the developments in diplomatic friendships after the advent of the Roman imperial system, with a focus on the northern frontier in the first two centuries AD. Previous studies of amicitia have focused upon the Greek East with its pre-existing notions of philia, but it is not clear whether such notions existed in the Northern Kingdoms. Due to a lack of written evidence from the perspective of the peoples beyond Imperial frontiers, most evidence for amicitia relations and gift exchanges instead comes from Graeco-Roman sources, allowing the Roman construction of international friendships to be investigated (Burton 2011, 24-25). This paper will examine how the concentration of power in the Roman emperor induced a change in the presentation of amicitia relationships with foreign kings. It will be argued that while some relationships between emperor and king became personal, there was still room for the continuation of the amici Populi Romani saw in the Republic. However, the Senate largely disappeared from these dialogues, and instead, whole nations became friends of the emperor, in the same way, that foreign kings became friends of the Roman People. The chapter then investigates how the payment of subsidies by Rome was presented using the language of friendship.

Friendship under the Republic Foreign nations used the language of friendship long before the Principate (Burton 2011) when friendship appears to have been between peoples. Snowdon (2014, 428) provides a good example of this in the form of a senatus consultum dealing with a land dispute between Melitaia and Narthakion in 140 BC. Both sides began their speech by claiming their ownership of the land since they had entered into the friendship of the Roman people (Sherk 1969, no.9, lines 21-22 cf. lines 46-48 = SIG2, I (1898) 307): ȝİș’ ‫ݞ‬Ȣ ȤȫȡĮȢ İ‫ݧ‬Ȣ IJ‫ޣ‬ȝ ijȚȜȓĮȞ IJȠࠎ/ [įȒȝȠȣ IJ]Ƞࠎ ‘ȇȦȝĮȓȦȞ ȞȞ ʌĮȡİȖȑȞȠȞIJȠ... [țĮ‫ ޥ‬Ȗ‫ޟ‬ȡ] ȝİIJ‫ ޟ‬IJĮ[ȪIJȘȢ]/ IJ[߱]Ȣ ȤȫȡĮȢ İ‫ݧ‬Ȣ IJ‫ޣ‬Ȟ [ij]ȚȜȓĮ[Ȟ] IJ[Ƞࠎ įȒ]ȝȠȣ [IJȠࠎ ‘ȇȦ]/[ȝ]ĮȓȦ[Ȟ] ȃĮȡșĮțȚİ߿Ȣ ʌĮȡĮȖ[İȖȠȞȑȞ]ĮȚ... Here the friendship (philia) was not mentioned by the Romans, but by the people of the cities themselves. The inscription shows that the Senate took little notice of these claims when making its decision over who got the land. Yet

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throughout the Republic, the formula in amicitia populi Romani or İ‫ݧ‬Ȣ IJ‫ޣ‬Ȟ ijȚȜȓĮȞ IJȠࠎ įȒȝȠȣ IJȠࠎ ‘ȇȦȝĮȓȦȞ was common in territorial disputes. Evidently being a friend of Rome was seen to bring great benefits to people (Snowdown 2014, 439-444). The gift exchange was invoked by the Narthikans, who claimed that the Romans had given them their laws as if it was the gift of a friend. While the Greek civilizations to the East already had notions of gift exchange and reciprocity, Rome had been extending northwards and westwards from the first century BC. Nicols (2011a, 2011b) highlighted that hospitium was a practice common in Punic regions, even before the advent of Rome. This saw peoples from two states entering into a guestfriendship which, according to tokens found in the Iberian Peninsula, were interchangeable with patron-client relationships. The evidence of such tokens raises questions about Badian’s claims (1958) that amicus was used to mask an unequal relationship (cf. Cicero, De Officiis, 2.69 on clients as clientelae). It is not a great leap to suggest that amicitia was also used with foreign kings in the northern regions. The written sources record many such relationships or gift exchanges, especially when dealing with kings. For instance, Julius Caesar wrote of his dealings with Ariovistus during his Gallic Wars. He spoke of how he convinced the Senate of his beneficia towards Ariovistus and the language used is one of friendship: “Caesar initio orationis sua senatusque in eum beneficia commemoravit, quod rex appellatus esset a senatu, quod amicus, quod munera amplissime missa; quam rem et paucis contigisse et pro magnis hominum officiis consuesse tribui docebat; illum, cum neque aditum neque causam postulandi iustam haberet, beneficio ac liberalitate sua ac senatus ea praemia consecutum. … omni tempore totius Galliae principatum Haedui tenuissent, prius etiam quam nostram amicitiam adpetissent. Caesar commemorated at the beginning of his speech the benefits given to Ariovistus by himself and the Senate: that he was called king and friend by the Senate and that gifts had been sent most lavishly. Caesar was making him aware that this had only been held by a few and that it was usually conferred on account of great personal services of men. Ariovistus, although he had no right to an audience nor just cause to request it, obtained these privileges through the kindness and generosity of Caesar and the Senate. … For all time the Aedui had held primacy in all of Gaul, even before they had sought our friendship (Caesar, De Bello Gallico, 1.43.5-7).”

This passage contains words such as beneficia and officia, the key aspects of Roman friendship. It also speaks of munera, the gifts or services

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associated with amicitia. Ariovistus and his people supposedly sought Rome’s friendship via the Senate, though Caesar acted as a go-between, showing that personal relationships were possible alongside friendship with the Roman state. Rome was displaying her benignitas, stressing that Ariovistus’ kingship itself was a gift. The king then showed his gratia through loyal service, for which he was again rewarded by the Senate through decrees and honours. Both sides benefited from this arrangement, and it was cast as the traditional amicitia.

Amicitia under the Principate From 27 BC onwards, emperors ruled Rome, yet amicitia remained a diplomatic pathway. According to Claude Eilers, the Romans used the same practices for all foreign peoples, allies, and subjects (2009, 12). Augustus’ Res Gestae (31-33) described how friendship was sought with the Roman people in several different ways: through envoys, kings, sending children to Rome, and by granting kings to nations. When examining Rome’s relationships with kings on the Empire’s fringes, the fact that Rome now had an individual ruler meant that some friendships started to develop from institutional to more personal relationships. In the early Principate, Philokaisar was used as an epithet alongside Philorhomaios by kings in the Hellenic East, and this practice continued. In many cases, this appears to have been a standard formula which appeared in over 100 instances in the Bosporan kingdom alone. In AD 75 Vespasian had sent a force to fortify the town of Harmozica in the Iberian region and the inscription which commemorated it refers to the king Mithridates as ‘friend of Caesar and of the Romans’: ijȚȜȠțĮȓıĮȡȚ țĮ‫ޥ‬ ijȚȜȠȡȦȝĮȓȦ (Sherk 1988, no.85, pp.128-129 = OGIS 379). ‘Friend of Caesar’ and ‘friend of the Romans’ existed side by side. This combination helps place the Roman emperor on the same level as the people of Rome. However, in some cases, friendship with the emperor was directly sought. This is well attested by Herod of Judaea’s close friendship with Augustus and Agrippa, and Salome’s with Livia. Josephus, (Antiquitates Judaicae, 18.31) reported that Salome left much to her friend, Livia, in her will and the Jewish author called Herod the Great ijȓȜȠȢ țĮ‫ ޥ‬ıȣȝȝȐȤȠȢ of Augustus (Antiquitates Judaicae, 17.9.6), though there are doubts as to whether he officially held this title. In comparison, Herod Agrippa I minted ĭǿȁȅȀǹǿȈǹȇ on his coinage (Madden 1881, 133f). Herod the Great is often seen as the archetype of a friendly king, honouring Augustus throughout his kingdom (Gruen 2009; Richardson 1996; Smallwood 1981; Netzer 2009; Holfhelder 2000; Roller 1998; Goodman 1996). However,

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the king’s actions could also be mapped onto the gift exchange associated with amicitia. Caesarea Maritima, founded in 22 BC and dedicated in 10 BC with an amphitheatre and theatre, palaces and a temple to Rome and Augustus (Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae, 15.331-341, 16.136-141), was an example of Herod’s gratia for Augustus’ beneficium in extending Herod’s lands to include Trachontis, Batanaea and Aurantis in 24/23 BC (Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae, 15.343). Augustus responded in turn with gratia when he and Livia sent equipment for the town’s inaugural festival (Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae, 16.138-9). As time went on, the Herods’ personal relationships with the Julio-Claudian family helped form the basis for relations with the Near East. However, such exchanges between those in power were already in evidence before the advent of imperial Rome: a fortress in Jerusalem was previously named Antonia in 37 BC (Josephus, De bello Judaico, 1.401; Antiquitates Judaicae, 15.292, 15.409) after Mark Antony helped Herod take the city. In the West, Caesar previously claimed that he had convinced Ariovistus to enter into a friendship with Rome (De Bello Gallico, 1.43.5-7). Personalised rather than official State friendships for diplomatic reasons were developing before 27 BC, but this does not mean that relationships with peoples and nations ceased, as will be explored below. Personal relationships continued long into the Imperial period. In texts such as the fourth-century SHA, there is evidence of Hadrian dealing with rulers on the edges of his empire such as Pharasmanes II, the king of the Iberians in Transcausica. Tacitus (Annals, 12.44) shows the importance of this region to Rome because of its relationship with the neighbouring Parthian Empire. Rome’s relationship with this region had been positive since the time of Augustus, with whom friendship had also been sought (Res Gestae, 31; Cassius Dio, 49.24.1) and Nero increased the kingdom of Pharasmanes I (Cassius Dio, 58.26.4, 60.8.1). Yet according to the SHA, the relationship between Pharasmanes II and Hadrian was much cooler, with almost petty behaviour. While this text is not the most reliable, it does imply that diplomacy was being described in terms of the personal relationship between Hadrian and the foreign king, of which gift exchange was a key characteristic: “regibus multis plurimum detulit, … multis ingentia dedit munera, sed nulli maiora quam Hiberorum, cui et elephantum et quinquagenariam cohortem post magnifica dedit dona. cum a Pharasmane ipse quoque ingentia dona accepisset atque inter haec auratas quoque chlamydes, trecentos noxios cum auratis chlamydibus in arenam misit ad eius munera deridenda.

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Amicitia, Gift-Exchange and Subsidies in Imperial Roman Diplomacy He brought so much to many kings, … he gave huge gifts to many, but none were greater than to the king of the Hiberi, to whom he gave an elephant and a cohort of fifty men after magnificent gifts. After he had himself also received huge gifts from Pharasmanes, and among these were golden cloaks, he sent into the arena three hundred criminals with the golden cloaks in order to mock the gifts of the king (SHA, Hadrian, 17.10).”

Though Hadrian’s insult in this passage has been seen as fictitious as Pharasmanes was too far away in the Iberian kingdom to be embarrassed (Syme 1984, 1443), the use of ingentia… munera and ingentia dona imply that this was a reciprocal exchange as described by Cicero and Seneca above, with both parties giving equal gifts. Indeed, there was a precedent for this type of gift between emperor and king: Herod left Augustus gold clothing in his will (Braund 1984, 141). This was a traditional example of amicitia, but it was now a personal relationship between an emperor and a king being used to conduct diplomatic practices, with no mention of the Senate. Elsewhere the author of the SHA stated that Hadrian outdid all other monarchs in terms of his gifts: omnes reges muneribus suis vicit (17.5). The emperor’s benignitas may have been exaggerated to praise his character, but it again shows that gift exchange was the norm between emperor and monarchs (contra Benario 1980, 108-109). In the Iberian kingdom silver drinking vessels depicting Antinous have been discovered which could have been gifts from Hadrian (Braund 1991, 214; Braund 1984, 35 on gifts of silver vessels among rulers; Kuttner 1998, 9-12 on gifts of tableware among friends; Mihajloviü 2014, 194-218 examined the changing meaning of such objects as part of diplomatic exchanges on the Middle Danube). Evidently, diplomacy was portrayed as personal relationships in either the second or fourth century AD, or both. The SHA also claimed that Hadrian personally made a friend of Pharasmanes through such gifts: “Albanos et Hiberos amicissimos habuit, quod reges eorum largitionibus prosecutus est, cum ad illum venire contempsissent. He held the Albani and Iberi as the greatest friends, the kings of whom he adorned with generosity, although they had scorned to come to him (SHA, Hadrian, 21.13).”

This part of the text describes Hadrian’s foreign policy. A desire to portray Hadrian in a positive light may be glossing over tensions seen in the previous passage, or the author may have exaggerated the tension

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between Hadrian and Pharasmanes. Their relationship could instead have been a typical emperor-king friendship, which would explain the use of amicissimus. Cassius Dio (69.15.1-2) described the invasion of the Alani into Media in AD 135 and claimed that the Parthian king complained to Rome about Pharasmanes, implying that Hadrian had influence over the king. SHA Antoninus Pius, 9.6 also stated that under the next emperor Pharasmanes visited Rome with his wife and son and sacrificed on the Capitoline (Cassius Dio, 69.15.3) as friendly kings had done during the Republic (Braund 1984, 25). The final section of the SHA described Hadrian’s policy and all of the peoples are described through their rulers (21.11): Hadrian removed the Parthian king; he permitted the Armenians to have their own king; he gave gifts to the Albanian and Iberian kings, and friendship was sought by the Bactrian kings. Here, Hadrian is a friend of the peoples, rather than of the kings. The Armenians are given a king as a gift from Hadrian. Thus, there were different ways in which amicitia could be expressed in the Roman Empire. Amicitia could be between the Roman people and foreign peoples, or between rulers and the Roman peoples, or between the Roman emperor and foreign peoples, as seen in the Res Gestae. Furthermore, coinage from the time of Antoninus Pius seems to publicise friendship between the Roman emperor and different peoples of the world. Sestertii bear the legend REX QUADIS DATUS (Fig. 4-1: RIC III, 110, no.620) on the reverse, referring to the Quadi along the empire’s northern border. The design depicts a togate Antoninus Pius holding a scroll in his left hand and placing a diadem in the hand of the king of the Quadi, whose identity cannot be stated with certainty. The king’s left hand is then stretched out with its palm upwards. While the king appears to be closer in size to Antoninus Pius than other kings on similar coinage discussed below, the Roman emperor is still visually raised above the king. Antoninus Pius stands straight, and the king has his left knee bent. This difference in height and stance of the two individuals makes it appear that, despite amicitia not presupposing that one party was more powerful, the Romans here are the stronger party. These coins were minted at Rome, and such imagery is to be expected; under Trajan, coins depicted the emperor sat on a curule chair on a platform, crowning the Parthian king who stood below (RIC II, 291, no.668). However, the legend of this coin does not state that the king of the Quadi was given his kingdom as a gift, as Ariovistus had been by Julius Caesar and the Senate. Rather, it reveals that the king himself was the gift, from the Roman emperor to the Quadi. Rather than simply showing an

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unequal power relationship between two individual rulers, the legend and design combine to illustrate the beneficium of the Roman emperor to the tribe on the fringes of the Empire. Under the Principate, in Rome at least, diplomacy could be depicted as relationships with both the rulers and the peoples of the Empire, rather than just interpersonal relationships as seen in the SHA when discussing Hadrian and Pharasmanes.

Fig. 4-1. RIC III, 110, no.620. Reproduced courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group Inc., (Electronic Auction 244, lot 442) (www.cngcoins.com).

On other coins with similar legends, the emperor is depicted much larger than the king. For instance, sestertii that celebrate REX ARMENIIS DATUS (Fig. 4-2: RIC III, 110, no.619) show Antoninus Pius crowning the much smaller king, leaving no doubt as to who was the superior power in this relationship (cf. RIC III, 322, nos.1374-1375 under Lucius Verus). Lynne Pitts (1989, 49) posited that the different representations of the kings show different attitudes to Eastern and Western kings in the second century AD. It is true that the Armenians could not withstand the Parthians without Roman support, while the Quadi were somewhat more independent at this time. However, such a statement would be odd in Rome. Rather than examining the imagery on the coins as evidence for patronus-cliens relations, considering the legends against the backdrop of amicitia and gift exchanges reveals a way in which international diplomacy could be conducted in the Roman Principate. While scholars such as Badian saw diplomacy as being conducted between a patronus and cliens, amicitia allowed for different statuses to exist between them. Roman diplomacy perhaps was not always so ‘imperialistic’ with the Roman players seeing themselves as superior to their foreign counterparts

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(Mihajloviü 2014, 194); there was room for a changing of roles depending upon who was in need at the time.

Fig. 4-2. RIC III, 110, no.619. Reproduced courtesy of Classical Numismatic Group Inc., (Mail Bid Sale 84, lot 1035) (www.cngcoins.com)

For example, Tacitus’ Annals provide further evidence of the traditional exchange-relationship between two rulers under the reign of Tiberius, but true to form, Tacitus used this to show the emperor’s cruelty. When dealing with Maroboduus, Tiberius supposedly refused the king support as he had not previously come to Rome’s aid: “in Marcomanos concessit misitque legatos ad Tiberium oraturos auxilia. Responsum est non lure eum adversus Cheruscos arma Romana invocare, qui pugnantis in eundem hostem Romanos nulla ope iuvisset. Maroboduus fell back into the Marcomani and sent messengers to Tiberius begging for help. The response was that he had no right to invoke Roman arms against the Cherusci since he had offered no help to the Romans when fighting the same enemy (Tacitus, Annales, 2.46).”

This text does not use the language of friendship, but it is describing officium, the duty of one friend towards another. Tiberius, according to Tacitus, refused to help Maroboduus because he had not aided Rome: i.e. Tiberius had no officium towards the Germanic chieftain because no beneficium/munus had first been offered. Tacitus showed Tiberius to be lacking the liberalitas associated with friendship. However, this passage also illustrates that Rome had previously required the aid of Maroboduus. Tiberius was not immediately placed in the position of patronus and

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Maroboduus as cliens: the relationship depended upon need, rather than status. Tacitus’ Germania also gives evidence of gift exchange between individuals, though not necessarily between rulers, as a common diplomatic practice under Trajan. Little is known for certain about Germanic tribal rulers and how they ruled (Wallace-Hadrill 1971, 1-16). Tacitus gave some hints as to what could be considered Roman diplomatic policy; the Germania (5.3) speaks of gifts being given to the Germanic peoples: “Est videre apud illos argentea vasa, legatis et principibus eorum muneri data, non in alia vilitate quam quae humo finguntur. There are silver vessels seen amongst them, given to their ambassadors and chiefs for service, but these are not treated in other value than those from the ground (Tacitus, Germania, 5.3).”

The rest of this passage describes how the Germani were unimpressed by gold or silver, probably to show their simple nature (Rives 1999, 133) but also their nobility and how they had not yet been corrupted by luxury. Legatis et principibus eorum muneri data is a casual aside to this main point and shows Romans granting beneficia to the envoys of the German peoples, displaying benignitas and perhaps gratia as services had been performed by the Germanic legates. Elsewhere Tacitus (Germania, 15.2) also described how Germanic rulers took pleasure in the gifts of neighbouring tribes and highlighted that these were not necessarily sent by individuals, but by the entire people. He described the beneficia associated with gift-giving, but no evidence of reciprocity is given. Yet it does show that friendship could be between entire communities rather than just rulers. The Hildesheim Treasure, found in 1868 some 280 km away from the Rhine Frontier, could originally have been a gift to a local ruler or people, as suggested by Letta (1990, 322 cf. Von Ernst Künzl 1996, 75-81; Nierhaus 1977, 211-220). These texts show that while gift-giving was a common part of what we today call diplomacy and foreign policy when examined against the background of the moral code associated with amicitia, the relationships became far more personal and a way to ensure lasting peace with border kings. Where possible, relationships were struck with the emperor himself, but peoples such as the German tribes who had no fixed notion of kingship made this difficult. The friendship between an emperor and a foreign nation, or between foreign nations and foreign chieftains were also a possibility. The casual asides mentioning gift-exchange show how

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ingrained in Roman thought was this belief that such relationships based on reciprocity held society together.

Subsidies Thus, diplomacy depended upon gift exchange and amicitia. However, was it just goodwill that kept these peoples in check? While there were different circumstances for each people, and a desire for peace was a perfectly valid one, the dispute between Tiberius and Maroboduus shows another reason for peace along the border zones: Rome’s military strength. Either fear of retribution or the idea that Rome would come to their aid could easily have kept these rulers and their peoples placid. Under the Flavians, large numbers of troops were stationed in the Danube region. Lynne Pitts (1989, 4) believed that this meant that the kings in the region became more subservient and increasingly dependent upon Rome for their position. However, over time it would appear that Rome’s key motivator switched from military force to payment of subsidies. In the later Empire cash payments were made to the Sassanian Empire to ensure the protection of the frontiers from Arab tribes, especially around the Caspian Gates (Joshua the Stylite, 8; Dignas and Winter 2007, 194). There is, therefore, the question of how the Romans represented these payments in comparison with other gifts. There are many references to Romans giving out cash as gifts to friends (e.g. Pliny the Younger, Epistulae, 1.19). The emperor had granted sums of money to Rome’s neighbours since the foundation of the Principate. Literary sources cast subsidies in various ways: gifts showing the power and generosity of the emperor; effective ways to buy peace from barbarian kings; or bribes unbefitting of Rome. While many sources made references to Romans giving gifts to kings and peoples on the edges of the empire, money was not mentioned until Suetonius described how Caligula restored Antiochus of Commagene to his kingdom and gave a vast amount of money in exchange for loyalty (Suetonius, Gaius, 16.3). Here the money was not cast as a payment or part of diplomacy but as an example of Caligula’s goodwill and generosity. Tacitus also described how Claudius gave money to Arminius’ nephew, Italicus, so that he could take up the throne of the Cherusci (Annals,11.16). This was a gift of money made to a Roman citizen rather than a subsidy paid to a foreign ruler in exchange for neutrality or loyalty. In his Germania Tacitus again mentioned Rome making cash payments to the Germanic peoples. The first was a remark about how Rome taught Germans to accept money (15.2): iam et pecuniam accipere docuimus. This is from the same passage above in which Tacitus described gifts

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granted to the Germanic tribal chiefs from other rulers. However, rather than portraying it as an attempt to buy the favour of the bellicose Germanic leaders as the other tribes had done (Rives 1999, 191), Tacitus instead depicted the Romans as in control of the money. As well as commenting upon the corrupting influence of Rome, Tacitus cast the Romans as teaching the Germani to accept cash, rather than paying them not to invade. In his Historiae, during the reign of Titus and the Batavian war with Civilis, Tacitus described the Germans as being controlled by gifts and money through a speech given by Tutor (4.76): “nam Germanos, qui ab ipsis sperentur, non iuberi, non regi, sed cuncta ex libidine agere; pecuniamque ac dona, quis solis corrumpantur, maiora apud Romanos, et neminem adeo in arma pronum ut non idem pretium quietis quam periculi malit. For the Germans, who are hoped for by us, are not obedient nor led, but always act out of desire; money and gifts are the only things by which they are corrupted and the Romans have more, and no man is so inclined to arms that he does not prefer quiet to danger for the same price (Tacitus, Historiae, 4.76).”

Here, the Germans were portrayed as greedy rather than acting on morals; they had been corrupted by Rome’s influence. Yet Tacitus also depicted Tutor as aware of Rome’s great monetary wealth; there was an idea that foreign nations saw Rome as a source of riches as well as – or instead of - military protection. In Tacitus’ works, money in the early Principate was the prerogative of Rome. It was a way to show benignitas and to control the barbaric peoples who could easily be bought. However, Cassius Dio (62.2), writing about the same period in the third century AD, depicted such payments very differently. When describing Boudicca and the Iceni, he claimed that she revolted because subsidies were recalled and loans were forced upon the Britons. Dio’s words could reflect the situation in the third century rather than at the time such subsidies were made, but he described payments not as the prerogative of the Romans but as a key part of international relations on which the peace of Rome’s newly conquered peoples and neighbours depended. In Pliny’s Panegyricus, another view of subsidies is given. Trajan was praised for receiving hostages, instead of buying them (12): accipimus obsides ergo, non emimus. This is a not-so-veiled comment upon Domitian’s payment of a subsidy to Decebalus in AD 88, for which the emperor was still being criticised in the third century AD when Cassius

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Dio claimed that Domitian experienced heavy losses, gave large sums of money to Decebalus, and promised the continuation of these payments in the future (67.7.4). Dio portrayed money as commonly given out under Domitian and there is no hint in these texts of it being a gift. Domitian’s bribe to Decebalus was depicted both by Pliny and Cassius Dio as a disgraceful act, not befitting the emperor of Rome. It is in sharp contrast with Tacitus’ or Suetonius’ depictions of payments, which show the emperor’s goodwill - or the greed of a barbarian people - and cast Rome and the emperor in control of the money. However, with Domitian, Decebalus was in control, and the payment was an embarrassment to Rome, explaining why in AD 100 Pliny urged Trajan not to use subsidies in diplomatic relations, showing that some did not want the emperor giving money to foreign kings. Yet by now, this cash payment seems to have become standard practice. Cassius Dio (69.9) described how Hadrian would use subsidies combined with perceptions of military effectiveness to ensure peace from foreign nations and the SHA (17.10) claimed that Hadrian bought peace from kings. At some point, payment became a key part of the defence of the Roman Empire. The Roxolani to the east of Dacia were another people with whose king Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius had dealings. They had not always been ‘allied’ with Rome, and it is known that Hadrian had fought the Sarmatians as legatus pro praetore of Lower Pannonia in AD 107 (SHA Hadrian, 3.9). The SHA claimed that Hadrian gave subsidies to the Roxolani after negotiating a treaty with them in AD 117: “cum rege Roxolanorum, qui de inminutis stipendiis querebatur, cognito negotio pacem composuit. He made peace with the king of the Roxolani, who complained about the diminution of his subsidy, after hearing the complaint (SHA, Hadrian, 6.668).”

This has been seen by some scholars as relating to border protection: i.e. Hadrian was paying them not to invade the Roman land, especially as there is no evidence of the Roxolani serving alongside the Roman legions (Gordon 1949 60-69; Klose 1934, 129). There is no hint that the cash was a gift of Hadrian to the Roxolani. It is a bland description of events, suggesting that, by the second or fourth century, this practice was the norm when dealing with foreign rulers. Hadrian had secured peace which was important for the security of Dacia, but one of the conditions was a subsidy paid to the Roxolani. This tribe was being used as a ‘buffer,’ but Hadrian was paying for the privilege

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instead of relying on the promise of Roman protection in exchange for loyalty and assistance in the event of an external threat (cf. Klose 1934, 128 who believed that Hadrian’s negotiating with the king of the Roxolani in person might be evidence of a pre-existing relationship). Furthermore, the king felt bold enough to demand this cash from the Roman emperor. Evidently, Rome’s perceived military strength was declining. By the time of Marcus Aurelius’ Marcomannic Wars (AD 167-180), the emperor apparently relied too much on cash payments to keep his enemies at bay. Cassius Dio (71.11-13) related how Marcus Aurelius gave gifts of money as well as horses and cattle to some barbarian embassies, but others, such as Tarbus were demanding money from Rome. Tarbus had invaded Dacia and consequently threatened war if he did not receive his money. Yet the Astingi and the Lacringi supposedly came to Marcus Aurelius’ aid, hoping for money and land in return for their service. Whether the cash was demanded, or requested in exchange for services, these foreign chieftains sought money at a time when Marcus Aurelius’ resources were stretched, and he was unable to utilise his army. These events suggest that Rome was perceived as a source of wealth rather than military power. The money was not a gift which Rome could bestow upon worthy friends but was freely sought by many tribes. This could be the result of different perspectives of the authors rather than a true change in outlook, but numismatic archaeology does confirm that subsidies were being paid to the Germanic tribes on the northern frontier, with a greater concentration around the time of Marcus Aurelius (Berger 1996, 59; 1992, 157). Cassius Dio also implied that this became defensive policy from the second century onward (72.11.1, 74.6.1, 78.14.1). The combination of literary and numismatic evidence suggests that by the late second century money was no longer seen or portrayed as a beneficium that could be controlled by Rome to reward or assist a king at the emperor’s choosing; now it was being demanded by nations, and it would appear that when Roman military strength had lost its reputation, Rome had little choice but to hand over the cash.

Conclusions Diplomacy with foreign nations was a complicated process in the first and second centuries AD. In the Republic, formulae amicorum were used to describe friendship with the Roman people, but under the Principate, these were supplemented with personal relationships between emperor and ruler, or emperor and the people. The two titles of Philorhomaios and Philokaisar were often used in conjunction with one another. When

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dealing with kings from both the East and West, there were practices such as grants of citizenship, or kings sending their children to Rome or sacrificing on the Capitoline as described by David Braund. But gift exchanges and amicitia also played a part. Not all kings (or emperors) followed the rules of beneficia, gratia and officia, as Tacitus and the SHA described. While previous lines of thought have seen such language as masking a patron-client relationship, amicitia relationships come with notions of equality and interchangeable needs for beneficia. The Roman Empire was a source of intimidation or protection under the early Principate, but this changed around the second century AD. Cash payments had been described by Roman authors as beneficia from the emperor to needy kings or Roman citizens, illustrating Rome’s or the emperor’s benignitas. Early on the money was seen as controlled by Rome and the peoples to whom it was granted were greedy and easy to control through financial means. However, as time went on this became a key method of diplomacy along the northern frontier. But while Hadrian may have been able to maintain good relations through a mixture of cash and perceived force, when friendship broke down then the Roman Empire was seen by its neighbours more as a source of wealth that could be demanded, rather than a great military force.

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THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE ICENI AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH ROME ANDREW W. LAMB

“But the person who was chiefly instrumental in rousing the natives and persuading them to fight the Romans, the person who was thought worthy to be their leader and who directed the conduct of the entire war, was Buduica, a Briton woman of the royal family and possessed of greater intelligence than often belongs to women…In stature she was very tall, in appearance most terrifying, in the glance of her eye most fierce, and her voice was harsh; a great mass of the tawniest hair fell to her hips; around her neck was a large golden necklace; and she wore a tunic of diverse colours over which a thick mantle was fastened with a brooch. This was her invariable attire.” Cassius Dio, LXII: 2

The image painted by Cassius Dio of the Iceni leader Boudica, has, along with the other two sources who describe the Boudican uprisings of AD 61, Tacitus and Suetonius, long since coloured the picture which historians held of the Iceni and their relationship with Rome. In the 19th century, a statue of chariot-riding Boudica and her daughters, complete with scythed wheels based on archaeologically unsound descriptions by the 1st century AD writer Pomponius Mela, was erected in London. To the Victorians, Boudica whose name may be translated as “victorious,” was an Iron Age antecessor of Queen Victoria; her anti-Roman sentiment and sex interpreted in line with the image of a Protestant Britannia. Archaeological excavations in the next century, with their lack of Roman imports and abundance of indigenous “Celtic” metalwork, appeared to confirm the idea that the Iceni were opponents, not allies of Rome. A variety of recent studies (Davies and Gregory 1991; Davies and Williamson 1999), in particular, those focusing on numismatics (Chadburn 2006; Hutcheson 2007; Talbot 2011), are, however beginning to alter our perception of the Iceni and their relationship with Rome. Rather than view the Iceni as Rome’s great enemy, it is now possible to argue that they were, in fact, one of Rome’s strongest British allies.

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The ethnonym Iceni As with all ethnonyms for British Iron Age communities, the identity of the Iceni is known from Roman authors of the 1st centuries BC and AD. The earliest known mention of the “Iceni” is Tacitus (Annals 13.31-39). However, it may be that a group from south-east Britain that Caesar recorded in 54BC, the Cenimagni, are in fact the same people. As early as William Cambden’s 1607 edition of Britannia (1722, 432) and William Stukely’s map of Roman Britain in his 1776 Itinerarium Curiosium (Stukely 1776), the Cenimagni have been equated with Iceni (Chadburn 1999, 163; Hutcheson 2006, 41). This view is now accepted by several authorities on the subject (Chadburn 1999; 2006; Davies 1999; Hutcheson 2003, 6). Further support comes from the Ravenna Cosmography where Venta Icenorum, the civitas of the Iceni, is referred to as Venta Cenomum (Rav.Cos. 31.103; Allen 1970). In this sense, Cenimagni would translate as the Great Iceni, although this interpretation carries with it the problem that magnus is Latin, whereas a Brythonic spelling would be *Cenimagon1. Despite this linguistic problem, however, it seems reasonable to argue that the Iceni had undergone/were undergoing what might be termed an ethnogenesis in the 1st century BC. The use of classically sourced ethnonyms is not without problems (see Moore 2011). However, the archaeological and historical evidence does suggest that within Iceni territory, there existed an ontologically self-aware identity (Davies 1999, 39; Hutcheson 2003, 22). This identity is reflected in the archaeological record in a variety of ways (described in greater detail below), depositional patterns and settlement patterns.

The History of the Iceni This history of the Iceni and events which pertain to them, as recorded by classical authors are listed below. 54BC The Cenimagni are listed among the British tribes who surrender to Julius Caesar during his second invasion (BG 5:21). 30BC Horace considers post-Caesarean Britain as part of the wider Roman world (Epode VII, 7-8).

1 University of Wales, “Celtic Lexicon” http://www.wales.ac.uk/en/Centrefor AdvancedWelshCelticStudies, accessed 10/05/16

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27BC-AD20 Strabo (4.5.1-3) records that several British dynasts journeyed to Rome to agree to treaties of friendship with Augustus and set up dedications on the Capitol. AD43 Claudius invades Britain. His main opponents are the Catuvellauni led by the brothers Caratacus and Togodumnus. Tacitus (Annals 13.31-39) records that Iceni were allies of Rome around this time, presumably during this campaign. AD47/8 P. Ostorious Scapula commands auxiliary troops to put down a revolt among Iceni and their allies the Trinobantes (Annals 13.31-39). AD61 Prasutagus, king of the Iceni, dies. He names his daughters and Emperor Nero as co-heirs. The Roman governor of Britain ignores the king’s wishes and annexes the Iceni kingdom. An open revolt led by the widow of Prasutagus, Boudica, erupts. The Iceni are joined by the Trinobantes. The British alliance destroys Legio XI Hispania and sacks Camulodunum (Colchester) and Londinium (London). The revolt is ultimately defeated but is serious enough to be mentioned in three surviving texts from this period (Tacitus, Annals 14.29-39; Tacitus, Agricola, 5:16 and 32; Suetonius, Nero 39).

Fig. 5-1. Simplified map of the ethnonyms/communities of Late Iron Age Britain (source: author)

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Contextualising the Iceni in Late Iron Age Britain The 1st century BC, when the Cenimagni enter the historical record, is a period in British archaeology sometimes referred to as the Late Iron Age. In order to contextualise the Iceni within the broader region of southeastern Britain, it is necessary to quickly summarise the nature of the Late Iron Age in this region. The start of this period is traditionally dated to c. 120 BC (Hill 2007, 25), and applies predominantly to southern Britain (Hill 1999, 186) where it is closely associated with Aylesford type cremation burials (Fitzpatrick 2007, 123). This period witnesses a reinvigoration of contacts with northern Gaul and incorporates a variety of traits, although these are not exclusive to the Aylesford zone. These traits include the production of coinage (Haselgrove 1987, 75-102) the adoption of new cremation mortuary rites (Fitzpatrick 2007, 129-131), wheel turned ceramics (Hawkes and Dunning 1931), continental types of metalwork (Stead 2006; Mackreth 2011) and the development of oppida at the expense of earlier hillfort settlements. Several political developments also occur in the Late Iron Age. Perhaps the most significant of these is the emergence of communities ruled by dynasties of, supposedly related, men. Exactly what terminology we employ to describe such communities is a matter of much debate. This debate is not helped by the fact that classical authors employ differing terminologies, with the rulers of these communities variously described either by Strabo as “dynasts” (4.5.1-3), or by Caesar as “kings” (BG V:22). A simplified map of the distribution of the Late Iron Age communities’ mentioned in this paper is provided by Fig. 5-1. As well as the aforementioned reinvigorated links between southern Britain and northern Gaul, this period also sees the first recorded instances of contacts between the Britons and Rome. Initially, this is in the form of mercenaries fighting for Gallic and Belgic masters (Caesar BG IV:20) or defending their homeland (BG IV:24). However, after the Gallic Wars, these encounters transformed into high-level diplomatic contacts between Rome and the rulers of the various new British dynastic communities (Creighton 2006, 35-46).

The Territory and Material Culture of the Iceni On the basis of Ptolemy’s Geographica, the location of the civitas Venta Icenorum, and coinage attributed to them, the Iceni territories were likely located in the modern region of East Anglia. This territory appears to have covered the entirety of the county of Norfolk, the main focus of

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Iceni archaeological data. Additionally, it incorporated parts of modernday Leicestershire, Cambridgeshire, and Suffolk (Cunliffe 2005, 197). Between c. 300 BC until the 1st century AD, open villages composed of roundhouses and stock enclosures dominated the settlement record (Hill 2007, 19, 34). The settlement evidence suggests that from c. 200 BC there was population growth, with more settlements created than were abandoned (Davies 1999, 18; Hill 2007, 19). Only three to five settlements which may be considered comparable in the role to the hillforts of Wessex, or territorial oppida of southeastern England, have been identified (Davies 1999, 33-36; Hutcheson 2003, 6; Cunliffe 2005, 19). The ceramic record suggests a culinary tradition of communal meals served in large pots, whilst a large number of Late Iron Age tankard handles may indicate an increasing importance of beer at this time (Hill 2007, 34). However, it should be noted that an emphasis on beer consumption is observed among contemporary communities to the south and north also (Pitts 2005, 157). There also appears to have been an emphasis on equestrianism among the Iceni; with horse related equipment accounting for a much higher than average (British) proportion of the archaeological record for the Iron Age (Hutcheson 2003, 22). Beginning c. 120 BC, or possibly even a century earlier (Garrow et al. 2009, 105), it is possible to detect a series of temporally and regionally distinct changes in the deposition patterns of metalwork within Norfolk (see Hutcheson 2003; 2007). These developments may be summarised as commencing with the deposition of hoards or individual gold torcs in the north-west around a coastal marshland, the Solent, notably at the site of Snettisham. By c. 70/60 BC the hoarding of torcs appears to have ceased (Hutcheson 2007, 363) and instead gold Gallo-Belgic coins are found in a variety of new landscapes, but still with the original geographical focus in the west of Norfolk. Circa 50-20 BC Gallo-Belgic gold coins were replaced in hoards by British gold issues, which were, in turn, replaced c. 20 BC by hoards of British silver coins. The distribution of silver hoards is much more even across the county, and once again employs a variety of locations for deposition. Unlike earlier gold hoards, there was an increase in the association between silver hoards and other types of Iron Age artefacts (Hutcheson 2003, 59). These developments have been interpreted by Hutcheson (2007, 369) as evidence of social transformation; the original gold torc hoarding community of the north-west ultimately supplanted by a new section of society which possessed access to more silver than gold. Although hoarding of coins was practised among contemporary British communities, the scale of hoarding among the Iceni is unique and occurs nowhere else in southern Britain to the same extent

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(Hill 1999, 187). Although bordering the Catuvellauni and Trinobantes to the south, the Iceni were highly selective of the new Late Iron Age cultural practices which they chose to incorporate into their society (Hill 1999, 186-187; 2007, 34). For example, the Iceni did not employ Aylesford type cremation burial rites (Martin 1999, 71) or Roman-inspired imagery on their coinage. Likewise, technologies, such as wheel turned ceramics, were adopted in this region several decades after they had been in the south (Hill 2007, 34). Whereas among the Catuvellauni and Trinobantes we find evidence for dynastic rulers, it is difficult to detect stratification among the Iceni during this period. Although high-quality metalwork was being produced, the manner in which it was deposited, coupled with the settlement and ceramic record, as well as the broad distribution of post- c. 50 BC hoards are not the pattern we would expect to see for a society with a great degree of social inequality. Rather, as is the case among the dynastic communities to the south, we should expect to find high-status burials, large settlements capable of supporting a population in excess of that of typical rural settlements, and possibly a concentration of coinage and industrial activities around such centres. The historical evidence for Prasutagus does indicate that, following the Roman invasion of AD 43, there was a royal leader, but prior to this the evidence for dynastic rulers is less clear. A variety of names, ANTED, ECEN, ED, EDIV, ECE, AESV, and SAENV do appear on earlier Iceni coinage (Cunliffe 2005, 197). It is suggested that these are abbreviated personal names (Chadburn 2006, 60), although who these individuals were is unclear. They may represent issuing authorities, such as the Argantodannos or Argantocemeterecus attested on Gaulish coinage (Fichtl 2004, 117). Their 1st century AD date would make them contemporary with historically attested Trinobantes, Catuvellauni and Atrebates rulers who minted coinage bearing their names; although prior to Prasutagus no other Iceni rulers are historically recorded. The Iceni archaeological record is likewise lacking in the sort of high-status burials associated with Late Iron Age dynastic rulers. It is also worth noting (Hill 2011, 258-60) that if these names represent rulers, we should not assume that a dynastic system operated, and power may have been retained and transferred by a variety of other means. Significantly, and in stark contrast to much of the rest of southern Britain in the late 1st century BC and 1st century AD, Roman imports to this region are limited (Davies 2011, 103). A hoard from Crowthorpe, composed of a set of seven Italian bronze vessels related to wine consumption, is exceptional for its presence in this area (Davies 1996). At the fortified site of the Burgh and elsewhere, continental ceramics from

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Roman Gaul (Gallo-Belgic wares) have been recovered (Martin 1999, 60). However, examples of such ceramics from the Iceni region represent a fraction of the number recovered from counties to the south. Even after the Roman conquest there continued to be a lack of uptake of Mediterranean influences (Davies and Gregory 1993, 91). Recent excavations have shown that even Venta Icenorum possessed only a limited number of Roman buildings after the conquest. There is, however, one Roman import which does not subscribe to this pattern: silver denarii, of which the Iceni appear to have had access to greater quantities than any other Late Iron Age British society (Chadburn 2006, 169).

Iceni coinage A brief overview is required of Iceni coin development in order to understand how this dataset may be interpreted in the context of IceniRoman relations. For the sake of ease of description, Amanda Chadburn’s (2006, Table 16) 5 phases (A-E) are employed below. The earliest (Phase A) evidence for coins in use in Iceni territory (aside from a few exotic oddities from the Mediterranean) date to c. 80 BC, when gold GalloBelgic coins were imported, either directly from the continent or from the communities in the south. Likewise, potins (high tin cast issues) were also imported at this time. As with other aspects of the Late Iron Age in East Anglia, production of coinage commenced later than it did to the south. Although other communities had begun to mint coinage by c. 100 BC, it was not until 70/60 BC that the first Iceni issues were produced, in this instance gold issues (Hill 2007, 34). The first period of indigenous coin production (Phase B – 60-50 BC) saw the production of gold coins with “Celtic” designs influenced by Gallo-Belgic examples. Phase C (50-20 BC) continued the practice of minting uninscribed Iceni gold coinage, although Gallo-Belgic coinage is no longer found in hoards dating to this period. The final two phases of coin production account for the largest number of non-ceramic artefacts recovered from Norfolk: silver coins (Chadburn 1999, 163). Phase D (20 BC-AD 10) saw the end of gold issue production and the first Iceni silver examples being deposited in hoards. These new silver issues bear no apparent stylistic links with the earlier gold types. In some cases, such as Talbot’s Large Flan A, sudden stylistic changes were rapidly adopted across all the dies in Iceni territory (Talbot 2011, 72). By Phase E (AD 10 - AD 60) gold coinage had ceased to be produced entirely. Instead, several silver issues inscribed with the afore-mentioned names were produced alongside the earlier uninscribed issues. In contrast

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to the communities to the south, who had incorporated Roman imagery into their coins since the second half of the 1st century BC, it was only with the production of the late inscribed issues of the 1st century AD that the Iceni incorporated such imagery into their dies. Instead, the imagery on Iceni coins remained “Celtic” until very late in their history, a pattern shared with the Corieltauvi to the north. Nevertheless, there are apparent stylistic links with southern coinage links in Phase D and E coinage (Talbot 2011, 78). Iceni coin hoards, with the exception of two (Saham Toney and Stonea Grange), are always mutually exclusive in terms of the types of metal the Iceni coins contained within are produced from. Likewise, they are typical of a tight date range (Chadburn 2006, 131). In contrast to their southern neighbours in post- c. 20 BC (Farley 2012, 180), the Iceni (and Corieltauvi) never adopted a trimetallic system of coinage (gold, silver and potin/copper alloy issues). Rather, for much of their numismatic history, a monometallic system was employed. The absence of a trimetallic coinage system has been argued (Chadburn 1999, 163) to reflect that the Iceni did not mint coinage for monetary purposes. Instead, as discussed in greater detail below, coinage was a means of storing precious metals, rather than facilitating market transactions. The evidence from metallurgical analysis reveals some interesting patterns. Between 20 BC-AD 20/30 in East Anglia (Iceni territories) and the East Midlands (Corieltauvi) “gold” coinage was minted with 35-40% Au with the addition of Ag-Cu alloy debasement Farley (2012, 129) has termed this the “northern standard.” This differs from the “southern” dynastic standard (40-50% Au) in use at the time (Farley 2012, 129). Likewise, there is a degree of similarity in the amount of silver contained within silver issues. In East Anglia, there is a range of 90-40% Ag, with increasing debasement over time, whereas in the East Midland there is a range of 75-95% Ag (Cowell 1992; Northover 1992). By contrast, the southern dynasties chose to maintain 98-99% Ag in their silver coinage (Cowell 1992; Northover 1992).

Phase E Hoards: Iceni silver and the Roman denarius During Chadburn’s Phase E Roman denarii first begin to appear in Iceni hoards. A brief note should, therefore, be made of the characteristics of these Iceni-Roman hoards. Although the Iceni issues recovered associated with denarii fit within a restricted date range (c. 20 BC-AD 60), the Roman denarii contained within Iceni hoards date to a much broader date range either side of the Iceni coins (Chadburn 2006, 152). The

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composition of hoards containing Roman denarii is not uniform, with some hoards containing only a single denarius, whilst others are entirely denarii (Chadburn 2006, 152). Among the Iceni silver hoards, however, there is a strong tendency for the coins included being high quality (Chadburn 2006, 115). Only rarely, such as the Fring I hoard (Chadburn and Gurney 1991, 220) do we find possible examples of plated issues, in this case only three coins out of a total of 193. During this period, and the preceding Phase D, Iceni silver issues show remarkable weight standardisation at 1.25 gm (Chadburn 1999, 168). This standardised weight is significant as the mean weight of a denarius is 3.7 gm, thereby resulting in a ratio between Roman and Iceni silver issues of 1:3. In terms of the silver content (92-98% Ag for Roman denarii, c.50% for Iceni issues) the ratio is 1:6. This standardization of weight and silver content emerged c. 20 BC, and remained until the Roman conquest (Chadburn 2006, 497).

Analysis As the subject of analysis, this study employs the extensive datasets of Iron Age coin hoards collated by Chadburn (2006) and de Jersey (2014). The former dataset forms part of a specific study of Iceni depositional practices, whilst the latter sought to compile hoard data for the entirety of Iron Age Britain. Chadburn ceased collecting data in the mid-1990s, with de Jersey ceasing data collection in 2010. The data analysed comes primarily from Chadburn’s dataset (N=54 hoards), with hoards overlooked by Chadburn or discovered /published since 1995 (N=14) being from de Jersey. In both cases, Chadburn and de Jersey omitted Roman coinage not associated with Iron Age issues (due to unsecure dating). De Jersey differs from Chadburn in that his dataset also included hoards dated to post- AD 43 (N=1 for the study area). Combined, these datasets represent a suitably comprehensive view of Iceni coin hoards in the 1st centuries BC and AD. This analysis is primarily concerned with the hoards which date to the period of pre-conquest Roman-Iceni interaction when silver coinage was in production; 20 BC-AD 43; Chadburn’s Phases D and E, with emphasis on the latter phase in particular. Phase E accounted for 39 hoards (61% of the total dataset). Of these, the majority were composed solely of Iceni silver issues (13 hoards, 33%), 11 hoards (28%) were composed of Iceni silver issues and Roman denarii of either Republican or Imperial date, five hoards (13%) contained a mixture of Iceni silver, Roman denarii and nonIceni British types of either gold or silver. A further five hoards contained Iceni silver and silver or gold non-Iceni British issues. The remaining three

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hoards were represented by three hoards of Iceni gold, two hoards of gold staters of the Catuvellauni king Cunobelinus, and one mixed hoard of Iceni silver and Roman bronze dupondii. The first thing of note is the high number of hoards containing Roman denarii, with Roman denarii more prevalent than any other type of nonIceni coinage. Indeed, it has been noted that the prevalence of Roman denarii in Iceni hoards is higher than for any other region of Britain (Chadburn 2006, 175). Unfortunately, it is not possible to quantify the total number of coins represented in these hoards, as many of them were recovered illegally and quickly dispersed. In the instances where it is possible to quantify the total number of Roman and Iceni coins in a hoard, there is no clear pattern, with some hoards containing a majority of denarii, whilst others contain a majority of Iceni issues. Having quantified the data, the question may be asked what these silver hoards were intended for. Chadburn (2006, 174) has interpreted the Phase E silver hoards as being savings hoards; non-monetary hoards in which the intrinsic metal of the coins was valued. She does not consider them to be votive hoards. This interpretation is supported when one considers the datasets from the contemporary sanctuaries of Hayling Island and Wanborough (ascribed to the Atrebates), Harlow (CatuvellauniTrinobantes) and Snettisham (Iceni). At Hayling Island (c. 50 BC - 2nd century AD) 165 Iron Age coins and 330 Roman coins recovered. Interestingly, the percentage of Gallic coins (29.9%) is well above the average for a British ritual site, as is the proportion of insular types pre-dating AD 20 (Haselgrove 2005, 386). As in Iceni hoards, the number of Roman coins is well above the average for a pre-conquest hoard in Britain. However, the Hayling Island dataset is different from Iceni hoards of the same period, firstly in terms of the number of Gallic issues contained within it, as well as the fact a high percentage of the Iron Age silver types (61.8%), along with 36 Roman coins, were plated (Haselgrove 2005, 386). Sometime after the start of the 1st century AD, the nature of Roman offerings changed. Instead of denarii (plated and genuine), there was a shift to bronzes, many of them halved (Haselgrove 2005, 396). Hayling Island also produced numerous other artefacts, including a wide variety of late La Tène brooches, animal bones and examples of broken weaponry. At the heavily looted site of Wanborough (AD 1/20 - 50/60), an admixture of British types and Roman issues were recovered, with 1,022 British and 172 Roman coins now in the British Museum. Of the Roman coins, it is possible to distinguish three groups – 68 denarii up the reign of Claudius, 37 mostly base metal issues of Flavian to Antonine date, and 57

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late Imperial issues, of which 75.8% are posting 4th century AD in date. Haselgrove (2005, 404) has argued that the Roman denarii were deposited associated with British gold and silver issues, and are thus distinct from the later Roman coins. Of the coins which date to the Iron Age, two thirds (69.5%) were minted post AD 1/20, with no coins predating 50 BC. Only a handful of British issues from Wanborough show evidence of plating. The date range, number and composition of coins at Wanborough has been interpreted (Haselgrove 2005, 407) as representing several instances of deposition, rather than a single hoard. As at Hayling Island, these were accompanied by a variety of other artefacts including chains, sceptre handles, broken weaponry and curated Middle Bronze Age artefacts (Haselgrove 2005, 402).

Fig. 5-2. Percentage of Iceni coin hoard by Phase of deposition

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Fig. 5-3: Phase E hoards according to contents

The data from Harlow (c. 50 BC - ? AD 400) is likewise unlike that observed in the Iceni Phase E hoards. By 1983, 236 Iron Age and 159 silver and bronze Roman coins had been recovered from the site (Haselgrove 2005, 410). Of the Roman coins, 50% are pre-Flavian issues although none of these pre-date the Claudian invasion. It is also worth noting that only 8.6% of the coinage which predates the construction of the temple (c. AD 50) is Roman. Along with this were recovered Middle Iron Age (c.450-100BC) ceramics and a bronze chape or shield fitting, brooches and toilet equipment, as well as high quantities of animal bone. All the Roman coins recovered from Harlow are post-conquest in date. In the case of this dataset, plated examples accounted for 23.5% of issues.

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Fig. 5-4. The location of the Iron Age sanctuaries mentioned in the text (source: author)

Finally, there is the Romano-British sanctuary of Snettisham in Iceni territory (c. 120 BC - ?AD 70), where votive activity commenced with the aforementioned torc deposition c. 120 BC and likely ended sometime around the Boudican revolt. The coin assemblage from Snettisham has parallels with each of the three sanctuaries described above. At Snettisham the number of Roman coins recovered was much smaller than British issues (Marsden 2011, 49), with non-Iceni coins constituting a significant proportion of the coins recovered; in particular, a high number of imported continental bronze types and Trinobantian potins dating to c.100BC (Marsden 2011, 53). Of the Roman issues recovered, none were denarii (Marsden 2011, 56). As at Hayling Island, there was also a high prevalence of plated coins. Likewise, in a similar vein to the Middle Iron Age material from Harlow and Bronze Age Material from Wanborough, curated items, including bronze coins from Miletus and Massalia and a late 4th century/early 3rd century BC example from Carthage, were deposited (Marsden 2011, 52). The above overview of Late Iron Age ritual sites highlights some interesting parallels. In the case of each of these sites, the period of deposition is a protracted one, in some cases lasting over a century. Although the Phase E hoards contain denarii dating to different periods,

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the standardized nature of the Iceni coins within these hoards suggests that they represent a single act of deposition or multiple depositions within a short time period. At each of the above sites, the types of coins deposited were highly variable. Although there are important differences between the above sites, the general picture is one in which foreign (Gallo-Belgic and non-local British) types were favoured, with no apparent preference for certain types. The starkest contrast between these temple hoards and the Iceni examples, however, is the metallurgy of these coins themselves. At each of these temple sites, there is a clear preference for coins which were either composed of base metals or else plated. By contrast, the Iceni hoards are dominated by coins with a high silver content and a lack of plated issues. In both cases, coins were removed from circulation and deposited. However, in the instance of temple deposits, the coins were selected from foreign and low-value examples and deposited over a protracted period. This pattern of deposition, coupled with the nature of the location at which they were deposited, suggests that such coins were not intended to be recovered and that their removal from circulation did not signify a significant loss of precious metal. By contrast, the restricted timescale of most Phase E Iceni hoards, combined with their high silver content, suggests that these were likely intended to be recovered; a single act of deposition is easier to remember than many performed over the years, whilst uniform contents are easier to remember than an eclectic hoard. These coins, whether they be a source of bullion, like the denarii, or Iceni silver coins, were issues which would have operated within the social networks of the Iceni, something which cannot be said for the Mediterranean examples from Snettisham. Removing them from circulation would have had a far more measurable effect on the amount of bullion present in the Iceni community than those foreign, plated and potin coins which were deposited at the temple sites. We may, therefore, suggest (as per Chadburn 2006) that the Phase E hoards were savings hoards; deposited with the intention of being recovered at a later date.

Interpretation Assuming survival rates are an indication of production, then the final phase of Iceni coin hoarding (Phase E) production was the greatest (Talbot 2011, 79), with the penultimate stage of production likewise being in excess of those periods in which gold coinage was minted. The Roman denarius was first minted c. 200 BC and was, for centuries, the standard currency of the Roman Republic (Farley 2012, 176). Its appearance in

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Iceni hoards, in levels higher than anywhere else in pre-Roman Britain (Chadburn 2006, 169), decades after the initial encounter between the Iceni and Rome, should, therefore, be interpreted as a deliberate policy of the Roman state. The sheer quantity of silver coinage in Iceni hoards post c. 20 BC and the high proportion of hoards which contain denarii are in line with Farley’s (2012, 346) argument that much of the silver used to produce Iceni coinage came from Rome. This is further reinforced by the fact nowhere in the Iceni territories is it possible to find natural deposits of silver (Chadburn 1999, 165). The Iceni may not have developed a taste for Roman cuisine like their southern neighbours, but they were certainly not isolated from, nor opposed to, the Roman monetary system. The numismatic data compliments the Roman military data – with only two forts dating to the period AD 43-68. Both forts are located in the south of Iceni territory, away from the main concentration of settlements (Jones and Mattingly 1990, Map 4:23). This is in stark contrast to the territory of the neighbouring Catuvellauni, Trinobantes, and Corieltauvi. The only other region of southeastern Roman Britain with a similar lack of Roman military installations is the client dynastic community of the Atrebates. Braund (1995), Creighton (2000) and Chadburn (2006) have all advocated that the Iceni were a client community of the Roman Empire prior to AD 43, and this is supported by the numismatic and military data. Hill (2007, 37) has argued the kingship of Prasutagus was, in fact, an anomaly, the result of an opportunistic strongman. I would go so far as to suggest Prasutagus owed his throne to Roman military might; by the 1st century AD, Rome was the kingmaker of the ancient world par excellence. If it is the case then that the Iceni were a Roman client, how to explain the dearth of Roman imports? It could be that, like the 1st century BC communities of Flanders and the Netherlands (Haselgrove 2007, 493-494), the Iceni actively rejected Mediterranean imports in order to distinguish themselves from their southern neighbours. Based on what is theorised of Iceni society during the Late Iron Age, it seems more likely that the Iceni were simply not interested in Roman goods, other than silver. Hill (2007, 17) has argued this for some southern British communities at this time, with Fitzpatrick (1993, 235) noting that we should not assume Mediterranean culture to have had universal appeal to other societies. The settlement record and absence of mortuary rites from East Anglia makes it very difficult to detect social stratification. The culinary traditions of communal meals, with stews and beer being served to large groups, is in contrast to the data in Catuvellauni-Trinobantes territory where ceramics suggest a culture of individualized, high-status meals. Likewise, the distribution of silver hoards from this period, and the rapid uptake of some

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numismatic styles across Iceni territory does not suggest any regional concentration of power. Iceni society, therefore, did not need the highly stratified nature of Roman cultural norms; a set of Italian bronzes and wine strainer is of limited use when trying to serve the stew. The sheer quantity of denarii recovered from East Anglia is unlike anything from contemporary British communities (Chadburn 2006, 175). However, when contextualized within the broader European dataset, we can view the data from East Anglia as part of a broader Roman practice of dealing with allies. Tacitus’ assertion that Germanic peoples were gifted silver objects by Roman authorities (Germania V) is borne out by the numerous finds of hacksilber from Germany (Voß 2013, 314) and Scandinavia (Rau 2013, Illustration 21.4). Likewise, gifts of silver were later employed at the Scottish hillfort of Traprain Law, likely in an effort to enlist the support of the inhabitants against hostile Pictish tribes to the north (Hunter 2013, 8). When we consider the established tradition of metalwork hoarding, gifts of silver make perfect sense as they fitted into an indigenous practice long predating a Roman presence in the area. How then to account for the uprising of AD 61 for which the Iceni are famed? Tacitus states the Iceni were incensed by having been annexed, against the will of Prasutagus, his wife flogged and daughters raped. Cassius Dio cites Roman money lenders as the cause. As with any such episode, it is likely that such an event /events catalysed longstanding tensions into an outright rebellion. A more recent comparison would be that of the 1610 war between English settlers and Powhatan Indians (Mallios 2006). In this instance, trading rights between the English and indigenous population were the catalyst, with the English refusing to trade firearms, preferring instead to restrict their trade to copper, a high status for the Powhatan elite. However, there were contributory factors, such as the English destabilising the indigenous elite exchange system with a glut of copper, questions regarding the status of the Powhatan chief to the English crown, whether as an ally or a client ruler and skirmishes between English settlers and Powhatan Indians over issues of land use. The Boudican revolt has remained so prominent in accounts of the Iceni and their relations with Rome because it represented such a rupture in relations between these two groups. A contemporary example of this is the revolt of the Batavi, which occurred only a few years later from AD 69-70. As with the Boudican revolt in southern Britain, this uprising resulted in widespread turmoil for the Romans in the Lower Rhine region. Like the Iceni and their allies, the Batavi enjoyed several military successes before ultimately being defeated. But just as with the Iceni, the revolt of the Batavi represented a break in normal relations between this

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community and the Romans. Tacitus reports that the Batavi and Rome enjoyed two centuries of amicable relations, yet the eighteen-month-long revolt of the Batavi was subsequently used to define the character of the Batavi and by extension the early Dutch state (González Sánchez 2014, 15). It is interesting to note that the Batavi, in whose politics Rome did not greatly interfere (Drinkwater 1983, 194), ultimately appear to have been integrated into the Roman Empire to a greater extent than the Iceni (Millet 2003, 100-1), whose contribution to the imperial administration is uncertain. Within the broader context of later Iron Age Europe, we find parallels in the way that Rome struggled to control communities which appear to have lacked social stratification. In Italy, for example, the two societies which Rome found the most obstinate, the Samnites and Ligurians, were lacking in such stratification. Likewise in Gaul, Rome found incorporation of the culturally unified, yet socially egalitarian communities of Provence, Aquitania, and Armorica to be the most difficult part of their conquests (Jorda et al. 1990, 23-24). Finally, there are the examples of the egalitarian hillfort societies of Cantabria and Asturia, which were incorporated into the Roman Empire more than a century after the rest of Iberia, and even then after ten years of campaigning (García et al. 2011, 285-301). The same may also have been the case for the Batavi, with the archaeological record for the Iron Age of the Lower Rhine producing few indications for social stratification before the Late Iron Age (Roymans 2007, 486-489).

Conclusion The above review has sought to demonstrate that, when considering Late Iron Age communities in Britain, the archaeological data provides a more holistic view than the scant historical sources we possess. It is argued here that the abundance of silver coinage in circulation from c. 20 BC until the conquest was a direct result of the Roman foreign policy. In this sense, the Iceni, although highly selective of which Late Iron Age cultural traits they chose to adopt, were very similar to their southern neighbours in terms of the degree to which they were involved in the Roman world. Indeed, although Roman-Iceni relations may be distinct from other Romano-southern British relations, they show great similarities with relations that existed between contemporary Germanic tribes and Rome, as well as later Roman foreign policy in the north of Britain. The Roman approach of patronising local elites with Mediterranean luxuries, as happened in central Gaul in the 1st century BC, and in southeastern England following the Caesarean invasion, was not employed among the Iceni. If the names we find on late Iceni coins are in fact those of local

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elite, then it appears that patronising occurred overwhelmingly in the form of gifts of silver denarii. Although these gifts of denarii are without parallel elsewhere in Iron Age Britain, they are comparable to the use of silver donations, albeit with hacksilber, which Rome used with communities in the Rhineland. In both cases, a lack of dynastic elite and social stratification necessitated the use of alternative means of diplomacy to those employed when dealing with some of Rome’s other neighbours. The policy of providing gifts of denarii appears to have been particularly effective among the Iceni, as there existed a long established indigenous tradition of hoarding precious metals, a practice which may date back to the 3rd century BC (Garrow et al. 2009, 105). The lack of Roman imports recovered from pre-conquest deposits in East Anglia is not reflective of an anti-Roman sentiment among the Iceni, contra the accounts of historical sources as the numismatic evidence demonstrates. Instead, it reflects an Iron Age social organisation which had no use for the imagery and material culture of Rome. There is no doubt that the rebellion of Boudica was the most serious uprising Rome faced in southern Britain. However, a year-long rebellion should not colour how we view over a century of possible diplomatic contact. When, as Dio Cassius describes, Boudica rallied her people, she did so in an area of Britain with very high levels of Roman denarii and one of the smallest permanent Roman military presences. It was not an area which the Romans had hitherto considered to be hostile.

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—. 2006. Aspects of the Iron Age coinages of Northern East Anglia with especial reference to the hoards. University of Nottingham: Unpublished Ph.D. thesis. Cowell, M. 1992. “An analytical survey of the British Celtic gold coinage.” In Celtic Coinage: Britain and Beyond edited by Mays, M., 207–233. Oxford: BAR British Series 222. Creighton, J. 2000. Coins and Power in Late Iron Age Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Cambridge. —. 2006. Britannia: the creation of a Roman province. London: Routledge. Cunliffe, B. 2005. Iron Age Communities in Britain. London: Routledge. Davies, J. A. and Gregory, T. 1991. Coins from a Civitas: a survey of the Roman coins found in Norfolk and their contribution to the archaeology of the Civitas Icenorum. Britannia 22, 65-101. Davies, J. and Williamson, T. 1999. Land of the Iceni: the Iron Age in Northern East Anglia. Norwich: Centre for East Anglian Studies. Davies, J. 1996. Where Eagles Dare: The Iron Age of Norfolk. Proceedings of Prehistoric Society 62, 63-92. —. 1999. Patterns, Power and Political Progress in Iron Age Norfolk. In Davies, J. & Williamson, T. (eds.). 1999. Land of the Iceni: the Iron Age in Northern East Anglia, 14-44 Norwich: Centre for East Anglian Studies 14-44. —. 2011. Closing Thoughts. In Davies, J. A. (ed.). 2011. The Iron Age in Northern East Anglia: New work in the land of the Iceni, 103-105. Oxford: B.A.R British Series 549. Drinkwater, J. F. 1983. Roman Gaul: the Three Provinces, 58BC-AD260. London: Croom Helm. Farley. J. 2012. At the Edge of Empire: Iron Age and early Roman metalwork in the East Midlands. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis: University of Leicester. Fitzpatrick, A. P. 1993. Ethnicity and Exchange: Germans, Celts and Romans in the Late (Pre-Roman) Iron Age. In Scarre, C. & Healey, F. (eds.). Trade and Exchange in Prehistoric Europe, 233-244. Oxford: Oxbow Books. —. 2007. The Fire, the Feast and the Funeral Late Iron Age Mortuary Practices in South-Eastern England. Revue du Nord 11, 123-142. García, F. J. G. Parcero-Oubiña, C. and Vila, X. A. 2011. Iron Age Societies against the State: An Account of the Emergence of the Iron Age in North-Western Iberia. In Moore, T. and Armada, X-L. (eds.). Atlantic Europe in the First Millenium BC: Crossing the Divide, 285301. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Jorda, M. Leveau, P. and Provansal, M. 1990. L’arrière pays Marseillais: Paysages et peuplements. In Voyage en Massalie: 100 ans d’archeologies en Gaule du Sud, 19-26 Marseille: Musées de Marseille/Edisud. Hunter, F. 2013. Hillfort and Hacksilber. In Hunter, F. and Painter, K. (eds.). 2013. Late Roman Silver: The Traprain Treasure in Context, 311. Edinburgh: Society of Antiquaries of Scotland. Mackreth, D. F. 2011. Brooches in Late Iron Age and Roman Britain. Volume 1 & 2. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Mallios, S. 2006. The deadly politics of giving: Exchange and Violence at Ajacan, Roanoke, and Jamestown. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press. Marsden, A. 2011. Iron Age coins from Snettisham. In Davies, J.A. (ed.). 2011. The Iron Age in Northern East Anglia: New Work in the Land of the Iceni, 49-58. Oxford: BAR British Series 549. Martin, E. 1999. Suffolk in the Iron Age. In Davies, J. and Williamson, T. (eds.). 1999. Land of the Iceni: The Iron Age in Northern East Anglia, 45-100. Norwich: Centre for East Anglian studies. Millet, M. 2003. The Romanization of Britain: An Essay in Archaeological Interpretation (7th Ed.). Cambridge Cambridge University Press. Moore, T. 2006. Iron Age Societies in the Severn-Cotswolds: Developing narratives of the social landscape. Oxford: B.A.R British Series 421. —. 2011. Detribalizing the later prehistoric past: Concepts of tribes in Iron Age and Roman studies. Journal of Social Archaeology 11(3), 332360. Northover, J. P. 1992. Material issues in the Celtic coinage. In Mays, M. (ed.). 1992. Celtic Coinage: Britain and Beyond, 235–299. Oxford: BAR British Series 222. Pitts, M. 2005. Pots and Pits: Drinking and deposition in Late Iron Age South-East Britain. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 24(2), 143-161. Rau, A. 2013. Where did the late empire end? Hacksilber and coins in continental and northern Barbaricum c.AD 340-500. In Hunter, F. and Painter, K. (eds.). 2013. Late Roman Silver: The Traprain Treasure in Context, 339-357. Edinburgh: Society of Antiquaries of Scotland. Roth, N. M. 2010. Regional Patterns and the Cultural Implications of Late Bronze Age and Iron Age Burial Practices. University of Sheffield: Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis. Roymans, N. 2007. Understanding social change in the Late Iron Age Lower Rhine region. In Haselgrove, C. and Moore, T. (eds.). 2007. The Later Iron Age in Britain and Beyond, 478-491. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

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Stead, I. 2006. British Iron Age Swords and Scabbards, London: British Museum Press. Stukely, W. 1776. Itinerarium Curiosum, 2nd Edn. London: Baker and Leigh, Covent Garden Talbot, J. 2011. Icenian Coin Production. In Davies, J. A. (ed.). 2011. The Iron Age in Northern East Anglia: New work in the land of the Iceni, 69-83. Oxford: B.A.R British Series 549. The University of Wales, “Celtic Lexicon,” University of Wales. http://www.wales.ac.uk/en/CentreforAdvancedWelshCelticStudies/Rese archProjects/CompletedProjects/TheCelticLanguagesandCulturalIdent ity/CelticLexicon.aspx Voß, H-U. 2013. Roman silver in ‘Free Germany’: Hacksilber in context. In Hunter, F. and Painter, K. (eds.). 2013. Late Roman Silver: The Traprain Treasure in Context, 3-11. Edinburgh: Society of Antiquaries of Scotland.

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IN SEARCH OF ROMANITAS: LITERARY CONSTRUCTION OF ROMAN IDENTITY IN SILIUS ITALICUS’ PUNICA ELINA PYY

Literary constructions of Roman identity have been a popular topic of research for a few decades. By examining how the relationship, the differences and the similarities between Romans and Others are depicted in poetry and prose, we can deepen our understanding of the Roman ways of defining identity in the vast, multicultural Empire (see e.g. Habinek 1998, Burck 1981, O’ Gorman 1993, McNeill 2001, Dewar 2003). A particularly fruitful source group for these purposes is imperial war epic from the Augustan to the Flavian period. War epic is, from the outset, a genre that attempts to explain the historical past and the expansion of the Empire – this is why it can offer us valuable insight in our attempt to examine how Roman-ness as a phenomenon was defined in the Principate (see Hershkowitz 1998, Keith 2000, Syed 2005). The historical context should not be overlooked when analysing each of the Roman war epic’s ways of defining and constructing Roman identity. Whereas Virgil’s definition of collective, cultural Roman-ness is strongly Italo-centred, Lucan’s Pharsalia has the social chaos and the civil discord as its starting points (Toll 1991 & 1997; Syed 2005; Bartsch 2010; Eigler 2010). The Flavian war epics, for their part, are “imperial epics” par excellence. In the works of Statius, Valerius Flaccus and Silius Italicus, we can observe an ongoing discourse concerning the relationship between the centre and the periphery, Romans, and Others, and between the concepts of “civilised” and “barbarian” (Augoustakis 2010, 21-29, Bessone 2013, 89-92, Penwill 2013, 29-54). In this respect, the Flavian epics reflect the ethos of their time. The Flavian era can be considered a period of time when the relative civil peace – and, on the other hand, several minor conflicts and uprisings in the provinces – created optimal circumstances for the deliberation of Roman cultural identity. In the literature of the period, the effort to define Roman-ness and its relationship

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to other cultures are repetitive themes (see e.g. Cody 2003, 104-23, Evans 2003, 269-276, Brunt 1990, 9-52, 282-288, Woolf 2001, Morgan 2006). Silius Italicus’ Punica is one of the few Roman war epics that have survived in their entirety. Written in the 80s and the 90s CE, it belongs to the Flavian trend of composing heroic war epic that is built on the Virgilian ground (Marks 2010, 188-189.) However, whereas Silius’ coevals Statius and Valerius Flaccus composed a mythological epic, Silius’ choice of topic is more unusual for his time; he looked into the recorded past of Rome (Wilson 1993; Marks 2010, 191). The Punica is a historical epic that relates the events of the Second Punic War. As such, it is strongly indebted to Ennius’ Annals and Lucan’s Pharsalia (Marks 2010, 188-189). However, Silius averts from the Lucanian model by stressing the role of divine agents in his epic (Dominik 2003, 473, 485). The Punica is an intriguing hybrid of historical and mythological epic, where the poet freely mixes supernatural elements with the recorded historical past. Because of Silius’ choice of topic, the Punica can be considered a prime example of Roman patriotic poetry. It depicts the origins of the Roman world dominion – this is why it has been examined as a piece of literature that aims at constructing a powerful, imperial identity for the Roman people. It has been argued that Silius draws a distinct line between the Romans and the Others, and defines Romanitas in contrast to the outsiders of the Empire (see e.g. Prandi 1979, Keith 2009). To some extent, this opinion is justifiable. Silius admittedly often juxtaposes the traditional Roman values with those of “the foreigners” – usually Carthaginians, but sometimes also Greeks or the distant barbaric peoples from the edges of the known world. Nevertheless, when we examine more closely Silius’ way of constructing Roman identity, there is more than meets the eye. The Punica’s representation of Roman identity is not clear-cut or unproblematic, just like its interpretation of Roman history is not. Under the virtual celebration of the Roman grandeur, there lies uncertainty about what constitutes the essence of Romanitas, or whether “Roman” can even be clearly distinguished from “the Other.” The problem is aptly phrased by Antony Augoustakis who notes that, in Silius’ epic, the periphery appears, on the one hand, as a dangerous, different and uncivilised area that the Roman culture needs to reform (Augoustakis 2010, 93). On the other hand, however, Silius constantly blurs the line between the Romans and the Others, relocating the qualities of Romanitas in the periphery (Augoustakis 2008, 55-56; see also Spentzou 2008). As a result, the defining

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characteristics of Roman-ness become ambivalent, when they appear in barbaric others. This phenomenon has been examined in other genres of imperial literature. In her study of Tacitus’ Germania, Ellen O’Gorman calls it the “shifting of Roman-ness,” and argues that it is a quality typical of the ethnographic literature of the first century (O’Gorman 1993, 148). In the Germania, for instance, the barbaric tribes are often depicted as possessing moral qualities that, according to the author, were once typical of the Romans but that, by the present day, have been long forgotten in the capital (O’Gorman 1993, 146-149). From the ideological perspective, this shifting of Roman-ness serves two purposes: First of all, it is used to criticise the morals and customs of the present-day Romans, whose moral decay is depicted in contrast to “the noble savages.” Secondly, it attempts to undermine Rome’s position as caput mundi (O’Gorman 1993, 148) – and, one might add, as the centre that dictates the moral and ideological norms, in particular. When the periphery becomes the area where the “true” Romanitas can be found, the “identity-difference distinction” that is very typical of ethnographic texts is subtly undermined (O’Gorman 1993, 149). Tacitus and Silius, of course, represent two literary genres very different from each other and therefore, O’Gorman’s perceptive notices concerning the Roman ethnographical tradition cannot be straightforwardly applied to the study of a war epic. Nevertheless, as Augoustakis shows in his study of Flavian epic, the shifting of Roman-ness and the ambiguity concerning Roman identity are clearly present in hexameter, too (Augoustakis 2010, 21-29). In effect, they appear to be something that strongly marks the Punica from the beginning to the end. In this paper, I discuss this phenomenon through a few select episodes, attempting to clarify how Silius both constructs and deconstructs Roman imperial identity. The ambiguity of ideas concerning Roman-ness can be most clearly observed in the episodes that take place in “the margins,” both geographically and considering their significance to the overall narrative. Like all the Flavian war epics, the Punica, too, shows an overwhelming interest in the border areas of the Empire (Bessone 2013, 89-92, 101-105, Penwill 2013, 29-54, Augoustakis 2010; 2013). Most of the action in the poem takes place in the periphery, at the edges of the “civilised” world. I will scrutinise a little more closely two episodes where marginality and liminality appear as crucial themes. The first is the story about Saguntum; the siege and fall of the allied city of Rome cover the first two books of the poem. The second takes place in book four, where Hannibal’s wife Imilce

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protests against the Carthaginian practice of child sacrifice – in her speech, she ends up discussing many of the qualities that define Romanitas in Silius’ epic.

Saguntum: More Roman than Rome? Considering the construction of Roman identity, Saguntum has an important role in the Punica. As William Dominik observes, at the beginning of the poem the city appears as an altera Roma. It is a loyal ally of Rome, its people have Graeco-Latin origins (Sil. Pun. 1.271-295, 1.6659), and their traditional qualities and value systems very much reflect those of the Romans (Dominik 2003, 474). Throughout the Saguntum story, fides, in particular, is depicted as the defining quality of the Saguntine people (Dominik 2003, 745, 477, 480, Augoustakis 2010, 113). The city is called Fidei domus inclita (1.598), and when Hercules calls for goddess Fides to Saguntum’s help, he refers to it as tua Saguntum (2.487). Fides, of course, is one of the traditional virtues that are considered the building blocks of Roman identity, along with virtus, pietas, iustitia, and clementia (see e.g. Toll 1997, 50-54, Putnam 1995, 134-245). Therefore, by stressing the fides of the Saguntine people, Silius deliberately creates a link that connects them to Rome and encourages the audience to assess their behaviour in respect of the Roman value system. Furthermore, for Hannibal, Saguntum appears as a stand-in for Rome (Dominik 2003, 475-476). In his mind, the destruction of the city is in the first place, a rehearsal for a greater war to come and secondly, a clear message to the Capitol. This is made clear by many little remarks. At the beginning of the story, Silius states that Hannibal chose Saguntum as his first opponent, belli maioris amore (1.272). Later on, the idea of sequentia bella is what excites Hannibal’s troops to attack the city (1.346; see also 1.338-340). And, when Hannibal kills Murrus, one of the greatest Saguntine warriors, he calls him Romani Murrus belli mora (1.479). Hence, to Hannibal, Saguntum per se holds no significance. The city is merely the first step and an inevitable hindrance in his predestined march for Rome. From the very beginning of his epic, Silius, therefore, represents Saguntum as a mirror image of Rome – as a laboratory where we can observe the effects of war on Rome beforehand. The first two books of the Punica have often been considered “a mini-epic,” an embedded narrative that has programmatic function concerning the poem as a whole (Dominik 2003, 469,472, Augoustakis 2010, 95). Similarly, at the beginning of the epic, the city itself is introduced to the reader as “a mini-Rome,”

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practically indistinguishable from the capital, even to the Carthaginian aggressor. As the story proceeds, the reader is, however, gradually invited to question this virtual similarity between Rome and Saguntum. Intriguingly, this is not because the people of Saguntum would fail in their attempt to uphold the traditional Roman qualities – it is because the Romans do. It is important to notice that it is not only the external narrator that characterises Saguntum as an altera Roma. In effect, the Saguntines themselves strongly define their people and their culture in respect of Rome. They are extremely proud of their alliance with Rome and their Rutulian origins. In the midst of the war, they accept their forthcoming doom with pride, thinking of it as “death worthy of Italy, for Saguntum to fall with her loyalty preserved” (1.332-333). This impression – that the Saguntine identity is based on the alliance with Rome – is strengthened further in the following battle scene. When a Saguntine warrior Daunus mocks the origins of Carthage, he defines his own city, in contrast, as fundamenta deum Romanaque foedera (1.447). Furthermore, when the Saguntines send a word to Rome asking for help, they send the envoys on their way stating that “[g]o with speed; lament our loyalty and our crumbling walls, and bring us a better fortune from pour ancient home” (1.571-572). It appears that the alliance with Rome, together with the idea of their common ancestry, is the main thing that upholds the Saguntines’ morale in their desperate situation. This loyalty, however, turns out to be a one-way street. In Saguntum’s hour of need, Rome turns its back to its ancient ally. From the Roman point of view, this is a reasonable thing to do. It is not in the best interests of Rome to begin the war too hastily; as Fabius reminds the senators, the least they can do before declaring war is to find out whether it is the Carthaginian senate or Hannibal alone who is behind the war (1.679-694). Fabius’ reasoning is convincing and his tactic clever – intriguingly, Silius does not really focus on that. What he does focus on, instead, are the disastrous results of this decision to Saguntum. Heartbreakingly, the poet depicts the disappointment and the desperation of the Saguntines, when they realize that Rome has left them to stand alone: By now the beleaguered enemy was growing feebler, and time sapped the strength of the citizens, while they looked in their extremity for the Eagles and troops of their ally. At last, they turned their gaze away from the delusive sea, and gave up the shore as hopeless, and saw their doom at hand (2.457-461. Transl. J.D. Duff, LCL).

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Silius utilises a shift of viewpoint to create a dramatic narratological effect. By making the Saguntines the focalizers of his story, the poet encourages the audience to identify themselves with them and to observe the events through their eyes. It goes without saying that this does not make the Romans appear in a flattering light. As Dominik points out, by denying its help, Rome betrays the traditional values of Roman-ness – the values that the Saguntines so courageously uphold (Dominik 2003, 484485, 490). I consider this a crucial moment in the epic. So far, Saguntum has appeared as a mini-Rome in all respects. Now, the difference between Saguntum and Rome is made evident for the first time, as if to create identity through distinction. Perhaps surprisingly for a patriotic war epic, Rome does not measure up in this comparison. This is something that Silius stresses throughout the Saguntum episode. The poet implies that even though fides is a traditional quality of the Roman people, it is a virtue they fail to uphold. The Saguntine envoys address the Roman senators as sacrata gens clara fide (1.634). Moreover, when mentioning the famous story of the death of Regulus in the first Punic War, Silius states that fidei dat magna exempla Sagunto (2.436). Considering Rome’s desertion of their allies, comments like these appear in an ironic light. Silius implies that as the head of the Empire, Rome should give an example of virtue to its friends and allies – however, somehow the roles are reversed. Now, it is Saguntum who is about to teach a lesson in fides to the Romans. This is a prime example of the “shifting of Roman-ness” that O’Gorman observes in the Germania and that Augoustakis argues to be a crucial element in the Punica (Augoustakis 2010, 96). The absence of Roman-ness in Rome is highlighted by its presence in the periphery. This decline of the Roman fides is among the first occasions in the Punica where one can observe the cynicism that underlies the virtual patriotism of Silius’ epic. This cynicism has been widely noticed in earlier studies. Tipping, Spentzou and Marks, for instance, point out that while Silius’ epic, on the surface, is a poem about Roman imperial power, on a deeper level it is also a poem about civil discord and tyranny (Tipping 2009, 195-198, 201-203, 209-118, Tipping 2010, 35-44, Spentzou 2008, 135-137, 143-44, Marks 2005a, 252-256, 267-276, see also Fucecchi 2009). There are strikingly Lucanian nuances in themes and motifs of the Punica, especially when it comes to discussing the decline of the Roman virtues. In this respect, Silius, of course, takes part in a long literary tradition. The idealised picture of the past and the idea of the “modern decay” were fundamental parts of Roman identity from the Republican period onwards

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(Harrison 2005, 294, Levene 281, 286, see e.g. Cat. 64.397–408; Lucr. 3.1057–67, Liv. Praef. 11). In Roman historiography, the beginning of the decline is usually dated to the second century BCE; in particular, the phenomenon is associated with the Punic wars (Harrison 2005, 287-88, see e.g. Val. Max. 7.2.3, Sall. Cat. 10.1, 11.4-8, Iug. 41.1-5, Vell. Pat. 1.12.27, 2.1-3, Plin. NH 17.244). Silius, too, seems to consider the destruction of Carthage as the origin of the decay (Dominik 2003, 495). In book ten, he explicitly states that haec tum Roma fuit. post te cui vertere mores/si stabat fatis, potius, Carthago, maneres (10.657-8). It is crucial to notice, however, that in Silius’ mind, the Punic wars are just the final nail in the coffin, and the process of moral decay has begun long before. This can be observed in book three, right after the Saguntum episode. When Jupiter explains why he lets Rome be threatened by the devastating war, he states that “A people, once steadfast in battle and triumphant over hardships, are forgetting by degrees the ancient glory of their sires. Then they never spared their blood in honour’s cause, and ever thirsted for fame; but now they pass their time in obscurity and inaction, and spend their lives amid inglorious silence, though my blood is in their veins; and their manliness is slowly sapped and weakened by the seductive poison of indolence.” (3.757-581)

From this passage we can observe, first of all, that the Romans’ moral decay has begun long before the Hannibalic war and secondly, that fides is not the only traditional virtue that the Romans are forsaking – their virtus is gradually weakening, too. And even though Jupiter seeks to revive the Roman manliness by means of war, Silius implies that it is only a temporary release. Rome’s victory in the war is represented as its moral peak, followed by the inevitable decline. In book fifteen, the final defeat of virtus Romana is foreseen, when goddess Voluptas, forsaken by young Scipio in favour of Virtus, claims that venient, venient mea tempora quondam,/cum docilis nostris magno certamine Roma/serviet imperiis, et honos mihi habebitur uni (15.125-127). This is as close as Silius ever gets to directly criticising his contemporary society – but it is a powerful statement that confirms the reader’s doubts about the grim future of Romanitas. Therefore, it is clear that the Saguntum episode has a very important function in the Punica. As the story that opens the epic, it raises numerous issues that are crucial to the poem as a whole. The moral decay of Rome and the consequent crisis of Roman-ness are certainly the most important of these. When Rome turns its back to the Saguntines in their hour of need

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and Saguntum becomes an exemplum of fides to the Romans, the concept of Romanitas slips from our grasp. And the rest of the poem offers no release from this constant insecurity that is evoked in the first two books.

Nemo insons: The breakdown of the Saguntine fides As the story of Saguntum proceeds, it gradually becomes clear that the moral decay and the ambiguity of identity do not concern Romans alone. At the end of book two, Hannibal’s siege of the city has lasted for so long that the Saguntines are beginning to starve (2.461-474). At this moment of despair, the divine sphere intervenes. First, Hercules speaks in favour of Saguntum and asks goddess Fides for help. Fides, however, denies her help, claiming that the humans have long ago forgotten about her and abandoned her worship. Now, all she can do to help is encourage the Saguntines to seek a glorious death in the battle (2.507-520). Upset by this, Juno, in turn, orders Fury Tisiphone to take action and to drive Fides away from the hearts of the Saguntines (2.526-545). The Fury descends on Earth and takes the form of Tiburna, one of the elite matrons of the city. Tiburna is a young widow; her husband Murrus has been killed by Hannibal in a battle outside the gates (1.508-517, 2.555-556). Disguised as Tiburna, Tisiphone storms through the city and excites the people to a mass suicide: “How long?” she cried. “We have done enough for the sake of Loyalty and our forefathers; my own eyes have seen the bleeding form of my loved Murrus, have seen him startling my nights with his mangled body and speaking fearful words: ‘Save yourself, dear wife, from the calamities of this hapless city; and, if the victory of the Carthaginian leaves no land for refuge, seek safety, Tiburna, with my ghost.’” (2.559-566)

Then, acting frantic and furious, she encourages the Saguntines to more abhorrent deeds – to take the life of their family members: “But you, young men, whose conscious valour has denied that you can ever be taken captive, you who have in death a mighty weapon against misfortune, rescue your mothers from slavery with your swords. Steep is the path that makes virtue seen. Hasten to be the first to snatch a glory that few can attain to, a glory unknown till now!” (2.575-579)

And the people of Saguntum obey. Overcome by desperation, they gather the most valuable treasures of the city, the heirlooms of their past, and throw them on top of a huge pyre (2.599-608.). The purpose of this is

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to make sure that the conqueror will not find any booty or spoils in the destroyed city. Then, the men begin their abhorrent task, turning their blades against their wives, mothers, fathers, and brothers. Tiburna – or, actually, Tisiphone – rages amongst them, encouraging the weak and the hesitating. Silius states that Against their will men stain their hands with kindred blood; they marvel at the crime they have committed with loathing and weep over the wickedness they have wrought. (2.617-619)

The episode is one of the goriest and macabre in the whole of the Roman epic tradition, and it is deliberately designed to evoke horror in Silius’ Roman audience. However, what seems more significant than the scandalising nature of the episode is how it overturns everything that we have learnt of the Saguntine people so far in the Punica. This is supposed to be a people whose fides overcomes even that of the Romans, a city where we can find the defining qualities of Romanitas that are lacking in Rome itself. The fact that the Saguntines are able to turn their backs on Fides confirms what the goddess states: that there is no loyalty left among the human race, nemo insons (2.506). In this altera Roma, in this stand-in for the capital, we witness the most horrible ravaging of the Roman values and virtues – multiple parricides and the destruction of the relics of the city. What makes matters even more uncomfortable is the crucial role of Tiburna in this nefas – after all, she is an honourable elite matron, who in all respects (including her name) recalls Saguntum’s strong connections to Rome (Dominik 2003, 486, Dietrich 2005, 83, Augoustakis 2010, 130). Augoustakis considers the Saguntines’ mass suicide a particularly significant moment concerning the construction of cultural identity: He suggests that their eagerness to burn their heirlooms is actually a desperate attempt to delete their identity and to eliminate all traces of Roman-ness (Augoustakis 2010, 96, 114, 129). According to Augoustakis’ reading, the pyre, on which the Saguntines drag their treasures, becomes a tomb, “in which Roman identity is incinerated” (Augoustakis 2010, 131). Augoustakis’ interpretation is convincing; however, I would suggest that what Silius really wants his audience to notice, is not so much the Saguntines’ attempt to eliminate their connections to Rome but rather, their failure to do so. Ironically, when the people of Saguntum forsake Fides and give in to the allure of the Fury, they do exactly what Silius blames the Romans for doing. They fail to uphold the traditional Roman virtues and, instead of fighting to the death, choose the less virtuous way. Therefore, it seems that at the moment when the Saguntines attempt to erase their connections to Rome, they are linked to it more strongly than

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ever. Their desertion of Fides is final proof that the traditional virtues are lacking everywhere – that the Roman Empire, along with the surrounding periphery, is on its way to moral corruption. This is one of the first moments in the Punica where this general decay of the human race is implied; in the course of the following books, it grows into one of the crucial themes of the poem. The paradoxical nature of the Saguntum episode is emphasised in a passage where the narrator laments the pitiable fate of the people: Who could command his tears when recounting the dreadful fate of the city, the crimes that deserve praise, the penalty paid by Loyalty, and the piteous doom of pious souls? - - A city, that was long the abode of Loyalty and that claimed a god as the founder of her walls, is falling now, disregarded by the injustice of Heaven, amid the treacherous warfare of the Carthaginians and horrors committed by her own citizens; fire and a sword run riot, and any spot that is not burning is a scene of crime. (2.650-658)

In this passage, particularly intriguing are the multiple layers of Silius’ moral rhetoric. What appears, at first sight, to be a lamentation over this deplorable massacre seems, on the second reading, like a distorted praise of the courage and the integrity of the Saguntines. The narrator speaks of laudanda monstra, horrendous deeds worthy of praise (2.650). The same idea can be observed in Tiburna-Tisiphone’s speech, where she speaks of nec facilem populis, nec notam laudem (2.579). The poet also describes the massacre as a deed that toto quod nobile mundo/aeternum invictis infelix gloria servat (2.612-613), and apostrophises the people of Saguntum, calling them decus terrarum (2.697). This rhetoric that mixes elements of praise and blame implies that there is something glorious and admirable in the Saguntines’ mass suicide – something that the sinfulness of their actions cannot quite erase. The moral ambivalence of the episode has been noted by scholars before. Alison Keith observes that Silius simultaneously “praises the Saguntines of their fidelity, and abhors the carnage” (Keith 2000, 92). Dominik perceives a “juxtaposition of gestures of devotion with acts of desperation” (Dominik 2003, 487-490). And Augoustakis states that despite the deeds of apparent bravery, the result of the Saguntines’ suicide, as well as the poet’s assessment of it, remains highly ambiguous (Augoustakis 2010, 134). Clearly, this ambiguity is enhanced by the poet’s unwillingness or inability to locate the responsibility for the tragedy on one side or the other. In his lamentation, the narrator blames the injustice of Heaven, the treacherousness of the Carthaginians and the cruelty of the Saguntines themselves. Moreover, the part played by Rome is, although

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not mentioned, strongly implied. Therefore, the shared guilt of all the parties stresses the basic message of the episode – that the human race as a whole is on its way to moral corruption. It should be pointed out that the moral ambiguity that marks the episode can be partly explained by the complex ideas concerning suicide in the Roman culture. The line between virtue and vice in Roman thinking is rarely as fine as when it comes to suicide. Indisputably, suicide was a matter that carried with it certain glory. It was a way of taking control over one’s fate and avoiding unnecessary humiliation (Grisé 1982, McGuire 1997, 185-189, see e.g. Sen. Ep. 13.14, 14.6-8, Ira 3.15.3-4). In the war, escaping slavery by means of suicide was morally acceptable, even recommendable – provided that the battle was really lost and there was nothing to be done. Therefore, in a sense, the desperate deeds of the Saguntines can be considered heroic: they take control over their lives and deaths, thereby stripping the conqueror of his triumphant entry into the city. Be that as it may, when the Saguntines turn their blades against their family members, it gets more difficult to praise them. With this unexpected turn, Silius reveals the fine line that goes between virtue and vice. The heroic suicide of the Saguntines is turned into a massacre and a parricide, a horror that strongly echoes the nefas of the civil war (see e.g. Dietrich 2005, 85, Marks 2005b, 134). Furthermore, the episode is darkened by the shadow of cowardice. After all, the Saguntines do not choose suicide as their last option – they kill themselves in order to avoid meeting the Carthaginians in an open battle, which is contrary to what Fides wants them to do. Before the Fury interferes, the goddess is encouraging the Saguntines to seek death in the battle – not through suicide, let alone a parricide (2.507-520). Therefore, Silius’ depiction of the lamentable fate of Saguntum is loaded with moral ambiguity. While it opens a window to the complexities of the Roman philosophical thinking, it also raises a number of issues from the Roman history. One of the most important historical events behind the episode is the mass suicide of the Jewish Sicarii in Masada in 73/74 CE (see Jos. 7.389-406). As Dominik notices, this tragic and relatively recent event appears to have strongly influenced Silius’ way of discussing the fate of the Saguntines (Dominik 2003, 488). Other literary paragons can be found within the Roman epic tradition. The mass suicide of the Pompeians in the Pharsalia is perhaps the most obvious example – in this story, Lucan depicts the blurring of the line that separates heroism from cowardice, and virtus from nefas (Luc. Phar. 4.558-73). Moreover, Statius’ depiction of the mythological Lemnian massacre certainly affected

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Silius’ way of discussing the parricide of the Saguntines (Stat. Theb. 5.207-261; see also Val. Flacc. Arg. 2.82-241). Furthermore, the Saguntum episode can be observed as a beginning of a series of self-destructive defeats in the Punica; as Raymond Marks points out, Rome’s selfdestructive tendencies mark the epic until the infamous battle of Cannae (Marks 2005b, 131-134; see e.g. 4.454-471, 5.655-666, 6.649f., 9.66-177). In the end, the episode concerning the death of the Saguntines remains morally ambiguous, and deliberately so. For Silius, Saguntum becomes an arena where self-sacrifice, hunger for glory and selfless patriotism conflict with parricide, cowardice and the desertion of Fides. Therefore, Saguntum is not only a marginal area – an allied city far from the centre of the Empire – but also a liminal space between virtue and vice, and between the Roman and the Other. In the end, Saguntum is doubly a stand-in for Rome – whereas, for Hannibal, the city serves as a rehearsal enemy, for the poet, it serves as a laboratory where he can test and question the definitions and standards of Roman-ness, and to introduce the crucial moral themes of his epic.

Maenadic matrons as representatives of Romanitas The line that separates Romans from Others is blurred further in book four of the Punica. There, Hannibal’s wife Imilce has an important role, as she protests against the Carthaginian ritual practice that demands child sacrifice (see Azize 2007, Marks 2005b, 140). With Hannibal out of the country, Imilce is driven mad by terror when their son is chosen by lot as the sacrificial victim. In her effort to save her son, Imilce touches upon numerous moral and religious issues that are significant considering Roman culture and identity (4.573-806). Imilce’s speech begins with cultural stereotypes, as she raises the wellknown issue of Punica fides – treacherousness that various Roman authors, independent of the genre, blame Carthaginians for (see e.g. Prandi 1979, 90-97, Syed 2005, 143-145, Gruen 2011, 115-140). Imilce begins her speech by apostrophising her absent husband and by questioning the Carthaginians’ loyalty towards their great general (4.779-790). She lists the sacrifices that Hannibal has made for his country, and claims that his deeds are not sufficiently appreciated by his people: “What boots it to ravage the homes of Italy with the sword, to march by ways forbidden to man, and to break the treaty which every god was called to witness? Such is the reward you get from Carthage, and such the honours she pays you now! “(4.787-790)

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It is important to notice that Imilce herself is culturally in a liminal position – she is Spanish-born, and therefore, as Augoustakis notices, “the constant Other” to the Carthaginians and the Romans alike (Augoustakis 2010, 208-209, see Sil. Pun. 3.97-107.). In her speech, Imilce exploits this position. Her status as an outsider gives her an opportunity to severely judge the morals and the customs of the Carthaginians. What is intriguing is that, while doing so, she becomes the voice of the Roman prejudices concerning the Carthaginian culture. In the words of this respectable matron, Silius constructs Roman identity by comparing it with the treacherous Punic people, ungrateful and treacherous even towards their own general. Moreover, Imilce does not stop there – next, the anxious mother attacks the ritual practice that demands human sacrifice: “What sort of religion is this that sprinkles the temples with blood? Alas! Their ignorance of the divine nature is the chief cause that leads wretched mortals into crime. Go ye to the temples and pray for things lawful, and offer incense, but eschew bloody and cruel rites. God is merciful and akin to man. Be content with this, I pray you – to see cattle slaughtered before the altar.” (4.791-796)

From the cultural stereotypes, Imilce moves on to discuss more complex philosophical questions. While doing so, she ends up raising moral issues that form the very core of Roman identity: pietas, humanitas, and the appropriate cult practice. As Augoustakis notes, in her argumentation, one can hear echoes of the Roman philosophical discourse (Augoustakis 205, 208-209; see e.g. Cic. Rep. 3.15, Ov. Fast. 1.337-338, Met. 15.173-175, 13.461). Thus, not only does Imilce attempt to defend her own case with these rhetorical points, but she adopts a voice of a philosopher that condemns nefas in general. (Augoustakis 2008, 56, Augoustakis 2010, 196, 205-207). As Jessica Dietrich points out, Silius’ Imilce, as a model of family values, clearly reflects and recalls the virtuous Roman matrons of Lucan’s Pharsalia (Dietrich 2005, 81-83). In effect, the content and the composition of Imilce’s outburst are so characteristically Roman that for a second, it is easy to forget that it is actually Hannibal’s wife speaking. Imilce’s speech is a prime example of a good rhetoric practice in Roman epic (see Fuhrer 2010, von Albrecht 1999, 283-284). The passionate yet rational speech begins as a textbook example of the Roman cultural prejudices and develops into a philosophical discussion concerning religious rightfulness and the relationship between the man and the god. This is a speech that the poet could have put in the mouth of a Roman senator, a philosopher or a general – instead, he places it here, in the

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margins of the narrative and the margins of the civilised world, in the mouth of “the constant Other.” A question remains – why? To answer this question, it is useful to have another look at the Saguntum episode. The same ambivalence concerning the defining aspects of Romanitas and the blurring of the line that separates Romans from the Others that marks the story of Saguntum can be observed here in book four. With Imilce’s speech, Silius defines the most crucial values and ideals of Romanitas and juxtaposes them with the Carthaginian Other. However, by expressing these through the voice of exotic Other, the poet simultaneously undermines the difference between the centre and the periphery, civilised and barbarian, “us” and “them.” In a similar manner as in the Saguntum episode, Silius establishes a firm basis for Roman identity – only to tear it down by showing that first of all, the line between virtue and vice is fine and volatile and secondly, that none of the Roman virtues or vices is reserved exclusively for the Romans but can be found in the marginal areas, at the edges of the Empire. In the Punica, Roman identity is constantly in the making, and its differentiation from the Other is severely questioned. This is a theme that dominates the first two books of the epic – in book four, the message is strengthened further when the poet lays down the definitions of Romanitas in the speech of Hannibal’s Spanish-born wife. Therefore, the fall of Saguntum and Imilce’s speech can, and should, be read as parallel episodes that stress the volatile nature of Roman imperial identity. In delivering this message, the poet’s choice of protagonists holds particular significance. It is noteworthy that in both cases, Silius gives a voice to a respectable, foreign matron in the margins of the Empire. At first sight, the characters of Imilce and Tiburna might seem to serve rather different purposes; one speaks against human sacrifice, the other excites the people to sacrifice themselves at the altar of war. One defends piety and loyalty, the other argues for their futility in this world. On a deeper level, however, these two matrons are very similar characters – as Dietrich notices, both lamenting female figures are closely connected to Roman values and can even be considered symbolic of the threatened state of Rome in the epic (Dietrich 2005, 75, 82-83). Moreover, driven out of their minds by grief and worry, they become border areas where the lines between right and wrong, virtue and vice, and Roman and the Other can be redefined. The fading of these lines is stressed by the strong Bacchic, even chthonic, elements in the appearances of Tiburna and Imilce. They are maenadic matrons, strongly built on the example of Virgil’s Amata and Dido, Statius’ Polyxo and Jocasta and the anonymous maenadic matron in

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the Pharsalia (Augoustakis 200-201, Dietrich 2005, 79-82; see e.g. Verg. Aen. 7.376-384, Stat. Theb. 7.474-490 11.315-28, 5.85-129, Luc. Phar. 1.673-695). Like their literary paragons, Imilce and Tiburna too are depicted as unmindful of the social mores that dictate their behaviour. After the mass suicide of the Saguntines, Tiburna takes her own life at the tomb of her beloved husband. This time, it is actually her, and not the Fury disguised in her form – however, it is difficult to tell, due to the overwhelming amount of chthonic elements in the episode: “In the midst of madness and murder, unhappy Tiburna was seen. Her right hand was armed with her husband’s bright sword, and in her left hand she brandished a burning torch; her disordered hair stood on end, her shoulders were bare and she displayed a breast discoloured by cruel blows. She hurried right over the corpses to the tomb of Murrus. Such seems Alecto, when the palace of the Infernal Father thunders doom, and the monarch’s wrath troubles and vexes the dead; then the Fury, standing before the throne and terrible seat of the god, does service to the Jupiter of Tartarus and deals out punishments. Her husband’s armour, lately rescued with much bloodshed, she placed on the mound with tears; then she prayed to the dead to welcome her, and applied her burning torch to the pile. Then, rushing upon death, “Best of husbands,” she cried, “see, I myself carry this weapon to you in the shades.” And so she stabbed herself and fell down over the armour, meeting the fire with open mouth. “(2.665-680)

It has been noticed before that Tiburna’s death is clearly fashioned after Aeneid IV, where Dido takes her own life in the midst of Aeneas’ armaments by stabbing herself with his sword (Augoustakis 2010, 134; Dietrich 2005, 80; see also the connection with Valerius Flaccus’ Hypsipyle, Dietrich 2004, 13). However, Silius takes the darkness and the desperation of the Virgilian model and turns it into a hellish ritual where Tiburna metaphorically sacrifices herself to the gods of the underworld in order to appease them for the nefas of the Saguntine people. It seems that for Silius, it is not enough to depict Tisiphone raging maenadically in the form of Tiburna. In order to connect the irrational and the threatening elements more closely to this respectable matron, Silius needs to depict Tiburna herself as taken by chthonic fury. As Dietrich points out, not only does this behaviour link Tibruna strongly to Virgil’s bacchic Amata, but it recalls the tradition that blurred the line between female lamentation and mindless frenzy and furor (see Dietrich 2005, 79). The poet recalls this episode in his depiction of Imilce. When she rushes to argue her case, Silius relates that

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“Their fear was heightened by Imilce, who tore her cheeks and hair and filled the city with woeful cries. As a Bacchant in Thrace, maddened by the recurring festival, speeds over the heights of Mount Pangaeus and breathes forth the wine-god who dwells in her breast, Imilce, as if set on fire, cried aloud among the women of Carthage - -. “(4.774-779)

Considering the rational and reasonable content of her speech and its careful composition, Imilce’s maenadic appearance seems disturbing. This conflict is examined by Augoustakis, who ends up downplaying the significance of maenadic elements to Imilce’s character. According to his reading, Imilce is, despite her Bacchic appearance, a completely reasonable character – moreover, he considers her different from her literary paragons, the other maenadic matrons of Roman epic, since her fury is not affected by the divine sphere (Augoustakis 2010, 202-203, see also Dietrich 2005, 82). According to Augoustakis, Imilce is simultaneous “a non-Roman woman-Bacchant and a Roman matrona,” “a civilised figure and a barbarian,” “an insider and an outsider” (Augoustakis 2010, 209, 212). Intriguingly, Augoustakis concludes that due to this ambiguity in her character, Imilce’s “Romanization” is left inadequate – instead of properly becoming the voice of the Roman value system, she remains in “the semiotic female chôra”, incapable of adopting the moral code dictated from the centre (Augoustakis 2010, 213). Sophisticated as this reading is, I would call to question the basic nonRoman-ness of the character of a woman-Bacchant and stress the strong roots that this character has in the Roman literary tradition, instead. In the episodes concerning Imilce and Tiburna, Silius takes the ritual weeping of women that was a fundamental part of the Roman death culture and combines it with the chthonic elements familiar from the epic and the tragic tradition (see e.g. Keith 2008, Dutsch 2008, Erker 2009, 135-160, 86-98). The result is these confusing characters that are simultaneously the archetypes and the travesties of the respectable Roman matron – in the margins of the narrative, in the midst of the Others, they embody the best and the worst of Roman culture and the Roman value system. The fact that the characters of Tiburna and Imilce are depicted as maenadic matrons strengthens the impression of liminality that the audience has learned to associate with the episodes where they appear. In the end, what marks the characters of Tiburna and Imilce is constant liminality – they are located somewhere between the respectable matron and the maenadic fury, between virtuous and impious, and between Roman and the Other. Their liminality has an important function concerning the overall narrative of the poem and Silius’ way of constructing Roman identity. By depicting the defining elements of

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Roman-ness (at their best and their worst) in these marginal places and these marginal characters, the poet shows that the borders of cultural identity are volatile and that Roman-ness constantly overlaps with the Other.

Conclusion In many aspects, the Punica is an epic obsessed with Roman identity. The relationship between the centre and the periphery, and between Roman and the Other, is the central theme of the poem – this is a phenomenon typical of Flavian poetry in general. However, Silius’ ways of constructing Roman identity are much more complex than they might seem at first sight, and more open-minded than he has often been given credit for. Instead of constructing a powerful imperial identity in contrast to the foreign, barbaric Other, Silius does exactly the opposite. He is not afraid to enter the periphery – the marginal, liminal areas of the Empire – and to question the defining characteristics of Romanitas. By making the gradual decline of Roman virtues one of the main themes of his historical epic, the poet tears down the basis of Roman identity – the identity based on the heroic deeds of the past. Moreover, by representing the Roman virtues and their downfall in the “outsiders,” he shows that this moral decay does not concern Rome alone, but the Empire and mankind in general. In the Punica, the centre and the periphery constantly influence each other’s self-perceptions, and as a result, the concept of Romanitas is deconstructed and blurred. In the end, Silius shows us that there are no virtues that would belong to the Romans alone – or that could not easily turn into vices. The lines between the centre and the periphery, and between Roman and the Other, are just as fine and volatile as the line that separates virtue from vice in the Roman thinking.

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Fucecchi, M. 2009. The Shield and the Sword: Q. Fabius Maximus and M. Claudius Marcellus as Models of Heroism in Silius’ Punica”. In Augoustakis, A. (ed.). 2009. Brill’s Companion to Silius Italicus, 19239. Leiden-Boston: Brill. Furher, T. 2010. Vergil’s Aeneas and Venus Acting with Words: Miscarried Dialogues. In Fuhrer, T. & Nelis, D. (eds.). 2010. Acting with Words. Communication, Rhetorical Performance and Performative Acts in Latin Literature, 63-78. Heidelberg: Winter. Grisé, Y. 1982. Le suicide dans la Rome antique. Montreal-Paris: Bellarmin-Les Belles Lettres. Gruen, E. 2011. Rethinking the Other in Antiquity. Princeton-Oxford: Princeton University Press. Habinek, S. 1998. The Politics of Latin Literature: Writing, Identity, and Empire in Ancient Rome. Princeton-New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Harrison, S. 2005. Decline and Nostalgia. In Harrison, S. (ed.). 2005. Blackwell Companion to Latin Literature. Malden-Oxford-Carlton: Blackwell Publishing. Hershkowitz, D. 1998. The Madness of Epic. Reading Insanity from Homer to Statius. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Keith, A. M. 2000. Engendering Rome: Women in Latin Epic. CambridgeNew York: Cambridge University Press. —. 2008. Lament in Lucan’s Bellum Civile. In Suter, A. (ed.). 2008. Lament: Studies in the Ancient Mediterranean and Beyond, 233-257. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —. 2009. Engendering Orientalism in Silius’ Punica. In Augoustakis, A. (ed.). 2009. Brill’s Companion to Silius Italicus, 355-373. LeidenBoston: Brill. Levene, D. S. 2007. Roman Historiography in the Late Republic. In Marincola, J. (ed.). 2007. A companion to Greek and Roman Historiography”, 275-289. Malden-Oxford-Chichester: Blackwell Publishing. Marks, R. 2005a. From Republic to Empire. Scipio Africanus in the Punica of Silius Italicus. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. —. 2005b. Per vvlnera regnvm: Self-Destruction, Self-Sacrifice and Devotio in Punica 4-10. Ramus 34: 127-151. —. 2010. The Song and the Sword: Silius’ Punica and the Crisis of Early Imperial Epic. In Konstan, D. & Raaflaub, K. A. (eds.). 2010. Epic and History, 185-211. Malden-Oxford-Chichester: Blackwell Publishing.

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McGuire, D.T. 1997. Acts of Silence: Civil War, Tyranny and Suicide in the Flavian Epics. Hildesheim-Zürich-New York: Georg Olms Verlag AG. McNeill, R. L. B. 2001. Horace: Image, Identity and Audience. BaltimoreLondon: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Morgan, G. 2006. 69 A.D.: The Year of Four Emperors. Oxford: Oxford University Press. O’Gorman, E. 1993. No Place like Rome: Identity and Difference in the Germania of Tacitus. Ramus 22: 135-154. Penwill, J. 2013. Imperial Encomia in Flavian Epic. In Manuwald, G. & Voigt, A. (eds.). 2013. Flavian Epic Interactions, 29-54. BerlinBoston: De Gruyter. Prandi, L. 1979. La fides Punica e il pregiudizio anticartaginese. In Sordi, M. (ed.). 1979. Conoscenze etniche e rapporti di convivenza nell’antichità, 90-97. Milan: Vita e pensiero. Putnam, M. 1995. Virgil's Aeneid: Interpretation and Influence. Chapel Hill-London: The University of North Carolina Press. Spentzou, E. 2008. Eluding Romanitas: Heroes and Anti-heroes in Silius Italicus’ Roman History. In Bell, S. & Hansen, I. L. (eds.). 2008. Role Models in the Roman World: Identity and Assimilation, 133-146. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Syed, Y. 2005. Vergil's Aeneid and the Roman Self: Subject and Nation in Literary Discourse. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Tipping, B. 2009. Virtue and Narrative in Silius Italicus’ Punica”. In Augoustakis, A. (ed.). 2009. Brill’s Companion to Silius Italicus, 193218. Leiden-Boston: Brill. —. 2010. Exemplary Epic: Silius Italicus’ Punica. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Toll, K. 1991, The Aeneid as an Epic of National Identity: Italiam laeto socii clamore salutant. Helios 18.1: 3-14. —. 1997. Making Roman-ness and the Aeneid. Classical Antiquity 16.1: 34-56. Wilson, M. 1993. Flavian Variant: History. Silius’ Punica. In Boyle, A. J. (ed.). Roman Epic, 218-236. London-New York: Routledge. Woolf, G. 2001. The Roman Cultural Revolution in Gaul. In Keay, S. & Terrenato, N. (eds.). 2001. Italy and the West: Comparative Essays in Romanization, 173-186. Oxford: Oxbow.

OF BROOCHES AND BARROWS: ROMANISATION IN SLOVENIA BERNARDA ŽUPANEK

Numerous articles published in Slovenian monographs and journals over the last three decades prove the popularity of research into both the period of transition from the Late Iron Age to Early Roman times and the Early Roman period itself. The articles concerned (Horvat 1993, Horvat 1997, Viþiþ 1994, Vidrih Perko 1996, Gaspari 1998, Miškec 2003, Stokin, Karinja 2004) often make use of the term ‘Romanisation,' reflecting the relevance of this concept in Early Roman archaeology in Slovenia. It is worth noting, though that the concept, despite its frequency and relevance, is not once defined. Its meaning is often expressed implicitly by way of phrases such as: “Roman influence”; “a strong influx of Roman pottery”; “broadening of Roman influence by trade”; and “the ever stronger Roman influence can be observed in the material culture.” Romanisation in Slovenian archaeology thus means the expansion of Roman culture, in particular, Roman material culture. This idea is neither new nor exceptional; in this regard, Slovenian archaeology simply follows the tradition of archaeologists and ancient historians of the Western world who, over the past 100 years, have often referred to the term 'Romanisation' to explore the spread of Roman culture. Here is a brief outline of the development of the concept of Romanisation, followed by an account of its adoption in Slovenia.

About Romanisation in the West Knowledge about the classical past was a significant element in the creation of what today constitutes ‘Europe’ and ‘the West.' The very concept of the West originates from the division between the eastern and western halves of the empire, and the religious aspects that defined the West as Christian, the East as Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist (Hingley 2005, 19). The ideas about ancestors and roots have drawn upon the Roman Empire directly since its fall in the 5th century. The past, in

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particular, the classical past, has been deployed by peoples of the Western world to construct identities. The classical past had thus conferred a sense of difference, or otherness, which was later used in defining and associating various groups of people in western Europe. Hingley (2005, 19–29) defined two myths of origin that have drawn upon the classical past, thereby decisively influencing the West. The first is ‘civilisation’: an account of the civilising role played by the classical culture, an account of the Roman culture, having performed in passing on the classical values to the modern world. Thus, from the middle of the 9th century onward, the Holy Roman Empire, which included a large part of modern Italy, was regarded as the successor to Rome. The second, and complementary, the myth of the origin of the West is that of ‘barbarity,' which is similarly related to ancient Greece and Rome. Positive renditions of barbarians came to serve particular roles from the 16th century onwards since they provided powerful images that were of direct value for the bringing into being of modern nations across western Europe (Hingley 2005, 22–29). The classical past exerted a decisive influence on languages, politics, education, philosophy, science, art and architecture of the modern Western world. In particular, during the 19th and 20th centuries people in the West often created a past that served their own nationalist and imperialist aims. Thus, for example, the Fascist imaginary drew heavily on classical Rome, starting with the fasces. It was in this context of thought that classical archaeology as a special discipline evolved. It came to life in the late 19th and early 20th centuries as a result of an increasing specialisation of particular topics within the broad field of classical and historical studies. There was a very early distinction between written sources and the archaeological record, a distinction in which the former were privileged, and the latter was completely subordinated to them. Modern European imperialism, which in broad popular terms was understood as a civilising force, at the same time also provided an environment in which Roman provincial archaeology grew. Much in the same vein, the rise of the concept of Romanisation owed much to the imperial background, drawing in particular on accounts of the Roman society and empire, which were created during the late Republic and early Empire in writing, art and rhetoric; at its core lies the idea of a divinely sanctioned empire with a mission to civilise the barbarians. It was then, i.e. in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, that the concept of Romanisation was first formulated. It was the intellectual product of a group of contemporary historians, the most significant of whom were Theodor Mommsen, Francis Haverfield, and Camille Jullian. The term

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itself was initially used by Mommsen in The Provinces of the Roman Empire, first published in 1885. A more profound use of the concept can be found in Haverfield’s The Romanization of Roman Britain, first published in 1906. Initially, the concept of Romanisation was largely based on the contemporary concepts of nationhood and empire, at the same time deriving its inspiration from classical texts (Hingley 2005, 16). Romanisation was an account of one culture spreading at the expense of its neighbours. Early in the process of studying Romanisation, the cultural change following the Empire’s expansion – i.e. the spread of artistic styles, technologies, cults and customs which, in this process, were said to substitute the pre-Roman ones or push them aside – was seen as a linear progress from the simple to the complex, from barbarianism to civilisation. The scholars following this tradition usually did not define the term ‘Romanisation,' considering it as providing an account of a spontaneous process that requires no explanation, a description of ‘what really happened,' free of any conscious bias. The concept was focused on creating cultural homogeneity along with the central role of the West in human history. Moreover, it was – as a predominant concept of progress in modern thought – teleological. Over time, the concept of Romanisation started to change. Thus, the period since the 1960s has seen an increasing critique of the teleological and progressive aspects of the traditional model of Romanisation. Especially since the 1970s, many new views have come into existence which not only differs from those of Mommsen’s circle but also significantly contradicts each other. Several strands, or ‘schools of thought,' developed at that time: whereas some of them have altered the original concept of the late 19th and early 20th centuries and adapted it in order to make it correspond to the changed contexts of exploration, others have rejected it completely. Ever since then, Romanisation has been considered in a number of different and rapidly changing ways. The 1970s and 1980s brought a key turning point in understanding the changes the expanding Roman Empire brought about: in particular, this was the time of the emergence of the “nativist” approaches. In this context, the established Romano-centrist perspective was supplanted by a new perspective, one that might be used by the Empire’s subjugated peoples, i.e. the natives. Thus, the post-colonial insights helped launch the investigation of the role played by the conquered and subjugated, predominantly local, elites (Van Dommelen 2001; Webster, Cooper 1996). Some authors have investigated Romanisation through power relations, i.e. through domination and resistance (see Mattingly 1997a; Purcell 1990).

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Discussions about power relations involved such concepts of Romanisation which draw upon Marxist theories; particularly influential in this context was Gramsci with his concept of hegemony (e.g. Forcey 1997; Mattingly 1997b). The mid-1990s were a time of particularly animated debates about Romanisation, debates which have created many crucial insights: that the study of Romanisation had only been focused on elites, and that the concept itself is closely related to the colonial, Romano-centrist and teleological approaches to cultural change (e.g. Shanin 1997, Mattingly 1997a). Critics of the traditional approach to Romanisation argued that the latter was conceived as a sudden, thorough and an absolute process of assimilation rather than as a gradual and selective one and that it implied a unilateral adoption of a previously composed package of culture. Unlike this, Jane Webster (1996; 1997; 2001) in the same period proposed a farreaching model of Romanisation as Creolisation, i.e. a process of mutual adaptation taking place in many various ways. A fundamental presumption of nearly all of the approaches mentioned above is the fact that Romanisation is acculturation occurring through the interaction between two cultures, i.e. the Roman culture and the native one. As a result, scholars were caught in a circle of dualistic views involving the ‘Roman’ and the ‘native,' eventually forming two camps. There was a lively debate between them in the 1980s and 1990s, which to some extent remains active even today. In this debate, the so-called interventionists have argued that Rome sought to actively promote Roman administrative institutions, language, customs, etc., thereby encouraging local elites to adopt them (Forcey 1997; Hanson 1997; Whittaker 1997). Unlike this, the non-interventionists have believed that Rome’s policy of Romanisation was not a conscious act, claiming instead that the indigenous elites actively participated in the process in order to retain their privileged social position. Apart from this, the Roman administration model promoted the social mobility of individuals (Mattingly 1997b). One of the most influential works of non-interventionists is Martin Millet’s The Romanization of Britain (1990), putting forward a model of Romanisation in which the Roman attributes were gradually adopted by the natives through a self-generating process. In this context, the term “selfRomanisation” is often used (e.g. Häussler 1998, 15). There was a new change in the understanding of Romanisation following the mid-1990s: the previously clearly defined oppositions between the protagonists of the historical process gave way to a reconsideration of Romanness as identity (Woolf 1998), of Romanisation as a social discourse (Grahame 1998), and of the language used in

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archaeology. The issues frequently mentioned involving the meanings of the very word “Roman.” A naïve interpretation which equates it with the culture of Rome is problematic for two reasons. First, Roman culture was not homogeneous, but multifaceted and subject to change, and it is, therefore, wrong to view ‘Roman culture’ as an unalterable, easily recognisable entity. The second problematic issue is the simplified opposition created by the use of the terms “Roman” and “native”: whereas ‘Roman’ in itself is an imprecise construct, the meaning of ‘native’ is even more difficult to capture. Even if it is conceivable to define what ‘native’ meant prior to the advent of Rome, it is much less so to determine what it meant at the time following it. Both terms are ever-altering concepts, with blurred boundaries between them. At the turn of the millennium, the debate about Romanisation was strongly influenced by the Greg Woolf’s work Becoming Roman, the origins of provincial civilisation in Gaul (1998), in which the duality of the ‘Roman’ and the ‘native’ was ultimately overcome. Woolf views the changes of that time as giving rise to a new imperial culture which supplanted both former cultures, i.e. the Roman and the native. For Woolf, Romanisation is a cultural genesis rather than acculturation. Woolf defines Romanisation not as a goal to be achieved in the process of interaction between the two cultures, but as a process of forming an altogether new culture. Nicola Terrenato (1998; also see Roth, 2003) suggested that the concept of Romanisation be approached with the idea of cultural bricolage, defining it as a process in which new cultural items are obtained by means of attributing new functions to previously existing ones. Terrenato argues that what he calls “cultural patchworks” may be made up of different elements: old, new, local, imported; each community reacts in a different way, thereby creating a different bricolage (Terrenato 1998). The end of the previous millennium and the beginning of the new one saw a radical deconstruction of Romanisation in the Anglo-Saxon world. Those criticising the concept of Romanisation argue that it is something that has been and still is created in the present moment. As such, it cannot only (or cannot at all) be a tool for understanding the past. Many scholars now completely refuse to use the term Romanisation, preferring terms such as “identity” and “cultural change” (e.g. Roth, Keller 2007; Revell 2009; Mattingly 2011) instead. As noticed by M.J. Versluys (2014), this seems to be a dead end, and he proposes two alternative and possibly more fruitful perspectives: globalisation theory and material culture studies. Versluys’ article, together with the responses in Archaeological Dialogues, may be a new impetus for the field.

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Romanisation and Slovenian archaeology Like in the West, where Roman archaeology is one of the least developed in theoretical terms (cf. Barret 1997), in Slovenia there are few texts on Roman archaeology dealing with concepts and interpretative tools when compared to those in prehistoric archaeology. In any case, there is a shortage of texts studying Romanisation from conceptual and epistemological aspects. One of the reasons is the fact that Roman provincial archaeology in Slovenia came to life relatively late. Slovenian archaeology as a discipline emerged in the second half of the 19th century within the Austrian institutional and organisational framework (Novakoviü 2005, 139), especially the Vienna-based Central Commission for the Study of Monuments. In particular, scientific archaeology in Slovenia came into existence in 1875 with Dežman’s excavations in the Ljubljana Marshlands, ushering in a period of intense explorations of numerous, largely prehistoric, sites. Archaeology only started to be taught at the University of Ljubljana – i.e. the then University of the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenians in Ljubljana – in the second decade of the 20th century; it was formerly only available in Vienna or Graz. To a great extent, the lectures covered classical archaeology and ancient art (Novakoviü 2004, 11–12). During that time, archaeology was mainly considered an auxiliary subject in the training of future secondary school teachers of history or classical languages (Novakoviü 2005, 140). In the first years after the 2nd World War, despite an understandable focus on Slavic studies, the importance of pre-Slavic settlers, as well as social relations and material remains from Roman era was explicitly recognised (Niška Banja resolution, Korošec 1950b, 213-215). Although Roman archaeology in Slovenia had started early to deal with regional and local topics, the new subject Roman provincial archaeology was only established within the Classical Archaeology Sub-Department in the 1970s (Novakoviü 2004, 13). A sub-department of Roman provincial archaeology was established in the mid-1980s. In terms of both the methods applied and the extent studied, Roman provincial archaeology in Slovenia has always been closely linked to the old Austria-Hungarian tradition and the contemporary German school. A review published by Peter Petru (1964–1965) in the 1960s provided a concise outline of Roman provincial explorations previously undertaken in Slovenia and the planned extent of future studies. However, the plans have not been achieved in several problematic parts. Thus, during the entire second half of the 20th century, the focus of Roman provincial archaeology in Slovenia was mainly on the explorations of towns and the systematic study of small

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finds (Horvat 1999, 247), with a special emphasis on typological and chronological issues. This focus only slowly and at a relatively late point (in the second half of the 1990s) shifted from urban to rural areas and to what was termed the settlement pattern. This shift was largely brought about by the use of various technical means facilitating field surveys (cf. Guštin et al., 1996). This was also the prime time of Roman provincial archaeology in Slovenia which, however, was somewhat outshone by the contemporary methodological and theoretical boom of Slovenian prehistoric archaeology. Broadly the same time also saw intensified research into the change brought by contacts with the Empire and by the conquest. We should, however, note, that the research into change brought about the Roman conquest and the Roman-Native relationship was put forward as one of the crucial questions of Roman archaeology already in 1950 (Korošec 1950a, 11). In 1990-ties and later, these processes are referred to as Romanisation (cf. Vidrih Perko 1996). In short, Romanisation in Slovenia is almost exclusively dealt with in the context of early Roman archaeology, i.e. by specialists focused on the Roman conquest and the developments of the first century following it. Similar terms and phrases are also used with reference to the changes taking place prior to the Roman conquest: “…the earliest Roman influence…a strong influx of Roman pottery…the range of Roman influence gradually expanding….” (Horvat 1999, 218), “broadening of Roman influence by trade” (Miškec 2003, 377), “Roman merchants advancing to new markets” (Kos, Šemrov 2003, 385), “…the ever stronger Roman influence can be observed in the material culture….” (Viþiþ 1994, 36). These references show that the researchers share the idea of Romanisation as an expansion of what is Roman at the expense of what is not Roman. Romanisation in Slovenian archaeology is observed, almost without exception, through the prism of the expansion of Roman material culture and, in accordance with this idea, the existing data are interpreted, and new data are being searched for. The presence of ‘Roman’ objects is understood as an indication of cultural change. The expansion of objects is made equal with the arrival of the people: objects are viewed as ‘fossil indicators’ bearing witness at least in the presence of the Roman way of life if not the Romans themselves. This belief is so strong that certain Roman objects have come to be referred to in pre-Roman contexts as “index fossils” (Horvat 1997, 118). Other changes of that time and space – that is, the changes other than the import of pottery and metal objects and the spread of coins – are hardly ever mentioned when observing

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Romanisation. As a result, the spread of Roman material culture seems to be the key change in the space and time concerned. Interpretations of the changes observed are often based on teleological premises. For instance, the transition from the native to the Roman is often portrayed as a clear and direct transition, with an emphasis on the improvement of certain aspects from primitive to civilised being seen as having encouraged the change. Thus, Roman imports brought into what is today Slovenia during the Late Iron Age are inevitably viewed in the light of what followed in the Augustan period and even later. Imported goods are considered as a factor facilitating the process of Romanisation or making it essentially easier, even as a logical prelude to the Roman conquest. They are dealt with within the framework of Roman studies only, with scholars tracing the spread of Roman influences and the Roman state (Horvat 1993, 3; Miškec 2003, 377f.). There are no studies analysing imported materials with the aim of exploring the Late Iron Age itself. This has led to an implicit assumption that Roman material elements (pottery, coins, architecture) were always considered as the preferred option and, as such, were always adopted and that no other alternatives were ever opted for. To put it briefly, Roman culture is said to be inherently attractive to various groups of the population, and it was, therefore, able to spread homogeneously. Along with this, there is a complete lack of the opposite, i.e. the nonRoman perspective. The predominant existing models, thus disregard the native population, confining it entirely to a passive and accepting role. This partial and Romano-centric perspective is extremely persistent, letting in few works that deal with the change from the point of view of the natives (Slapšak 2003; Mason, unpublished). Teleological formulations such as a “degree of Romanisation” (Vidrih Perko 1996, 317; Horvat 1995, 189) often prove that Romanisation in Slovenian archaeology is used to determine the extent to which a certain provincial culture had come close to the presumably ‘pure’ culture of Rome. In scientific papers, Roman elements discovered in a site are often given precedence over other elements; they are described in detail, regularly drawn, and analogies are sought for them, whereas native elements are played down, dealt with in less detail and generally interpreted as residual finds. Apparently, an artefact or structure can be either entirely Roman or entirely native. These two seem to constitute two highly distinct categories, with a clear line between them.

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Opportunities and challenges: brooches and barrows To sum up, the concept of Romanisation in Slovenia is relatively vague, providing several clues for improvements. First, decades of debates about Romanisation have brought profound insights into the language used in the studies of classical and provincial Roman archaeology, along with the realisation that this language should be used with much more caution. Second, we have started to expose the role played by archaeology in nationalist and imperialist agendas (Hingley 2001; Novakoviü 2002, 87s); as a result, the idea of the political use of archaeology has made us realise that, in our attempted interpretations of Roman society, the relationship between the present, the past and the future (which are all connected by our interpretations) must be given a special place in this context. Moreover, the debates in question have resulted in an increased number of theoretical texts in the field of Roman archaeology along with more considerations about what we are doing, how and why. Last but not least, they have also led to the realisation that the well-established ways of considering Romanisation are, to a considerable extent, anachronistic, thereby freezing past life into pre-determined frames. Based on past research and interpretations, the account of the Romanisation occurring in what is today Slovenia seems to be brief and straightforward: the wave of Roman pottery vessels spreading gradually across Slovenia from the West to the East, cities are being established, then political changes occur, followed by social changes reflected in the altered settlement patterns, architecture, language, funeral customs, religious practices. Is this picture really that homogeneous? Why do we tend to notice the similarities, while disregarding differences? Could some well-known and documented phenomena – such as, for example, imported vessels within the native contexts or the continuity of old religious practices in Ig – be viewed from a different perspective? One such attempt can be made regarding the interpretation of the socalled Norican-Pannonian style of dress. This constituted the typical female costume in some parts of the provinces of Noricum and Pannonia; in both towns and rural areas (cf. Garbsch 1965). It consisted of a longsleeved undertunic and a sleeveless overdress, fastened together with one characteristically shaped brooch on each shoulder. A distinction can be made between the women’s fashion and the girls’ fashion, with further regional variants. Whilst matrons wore a special headpiece typically called a bonnet (Germ. Haube), girls were often depicted holding a mirror in one hand and a box/jug/towel in another; they wore a belt of a typical shape around their waist. This type of traditional costume dates to the 1st –early

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3rd century (Garbsch 1965). The Norican-Pannonian style of dress has been interpreted as a native costume, i.e. as the clothing worn by conservative old inhabitants of the provinces (Garbsch 1965, 3–4; 23). If judging by the Late Iron Age materials present in this region, however, this correspondence seems to be weak: in formal terms, the elements of the Norican-Pannonian costume lack any direct precursors in the La Tène culture. The Norican-Pannonian costume is a very distinct style of dress, yet – as it might be suggested – not in relation to the ‘Roman’ but in relation to representations of the opposite gender, i.e. to ‘manhood.' The latter, although quite indistinct in the archaeological record of this period and space, is clearly recognisable on tombstones: sitting next to a woman wearing a Norican-Pannonian costume is usually a man in a toga. This traditional Roman piece of clothing is often considered an important marker of a man’s Roman status, his civil rights, and position. Moreover, it is clearly an item relating to males only, i.e. an item of clothing worn only by – elite – males (for instances of the infames, such as prostitutes, wearing a toga, see Gardner 1986, 251–252). Therefore, the Norican-Pannonian style of dress as an expression of the provincial elite females’ conservatism is not the only possible explanation: it might have been part of these females’ demonstration of both status and gender in provincial Roman terms only and without any reference to the pre-Roman tradition. Traditional interpretations of the Norican-Pannonian costume rely upon the assumption that those women preferred to think of themselves as of the natives or, in other words, within the native vs. Roman dichotomy. What if these women mainly viewed themselves as respectable women of their space and time, whose clothing clearly marked the distinction between the unmarried (marriageable?) and the married, which was one of the crucial distinctions in a Roman society where there was hardly an unmarried person after a certain age? If this is true, then the Norican-Pannonian costume would have amply served as an external manifestation of the correct and proper female identity in that space and time; most probably part of a female’s ceremonial, extraordinary image, just like the toga for males. The costume represents the power and status enjoyed by a provincial matron. What is involved here is thus not a revolt, but a particular way of compliance with Roman society. Turning again to the opportunities and challenges in the study of Romanisation in Slovenia: Can we consider this period from a slightly more anthropologically-oriented perspective? How were the changes adopted by various pre-Roman societies living in that area? How was the identity of individuals created and altered? Can this identity truly be either

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native or Roman only? Taking once more the example of the NoricanPannonian style of dress, we can now presume – for the sake of argument – that it did express conservatism and revolt or resistance (cf. Garbsch 1965, 133–134), emphasising the past and the native origin. In this case, too, it might be more reasonable to rely upon gender-related notions than ethnos-related ones. Being a woman in the Roman Empire constituted an altogether different experience from being a woman in the pre-Roman Celtic world. In Roman society, a woman was clearly subordinated to a man, i.e. to her father, husband, brother or son (cf. Harlow and Laurence 2002, 36ff). A girl – unlike a boy – grew up overnight, through a marriage which conferred a new identity upon her, an identity which, in Roman society, was mainly related to reproduction (Harlow and Laurence 2002, 79ff). The position of pre-Roman women in what is today Slovenia has not yet been studied in detail. There is, however, understanding that elite females, at least in the Early Iron Age in Dolenjska, i.e. one part of later Pannonia, had a significant political role linked with the possible matrilineality of the ruling rank (Turk 2005, 31). It should be asked first whether the conquest was the only moment provoking major changes in Slovenia in Roman times; are there no other moments motivating a redefinition of the understanding of what it meant ‘to be Roman’? Can we employ epigraphic knowledge about those individuals who were obviously what Woolf (1998, 15) calls cultural brokers, regardless of whether they were members of the traditional authorities or middlemen in commercial-mediating terms (Vepo, Cesernii; cf. Šašel 1992a and b)? How did – along with the new towns – the old villages and farms live? The cemetery associated with the inhabitants of a small settlement situated close to the village of Podlipoglav to the northeast of Ljubljana (the Roman colony of Emona) may be mentioned by way of example. Judging by the results of an analysis of the structure of grave goods and of the burial pattern (Županek, Sivec 2013, 13–19), it can be viewed as a bricolage, an eclectic assembly of various traditions, i.e. old, new, local, imported (cf. Terrenato 1998). With new meanings attributed to the pre-existing cultural items under Roman power, new cultural patchworks come into being. In the new context, the known elements take on new functions and meanings; each community reacts in a different fashion, thereby creating a different bricolage, i.e. using different parts and integrating them into a different narrative (Terrenato 1998). These clearly varying responses to the impulses coming from the Roman conquest are what is usually termed provincial Roman culture. How can continuity in the use of older cemeteries or the mortuary traditions (Mason 2012) be explained? Barrow burial is typical of some

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parts of the Roman provinces of Noricum and Pannonia. Can it be seen as a direct recourse (in formal terms) to the prehistoric, Early Iron Age tumuli? Many Hallstatt tumuli must have still been clearly discernible in Roman times (Masaryk 2011, 15; Mason 2012, 391ff). Most recently, the active reuse of prehistoric monuments as foci for cemeteries or ritual activity has been discovered and interpreted as referring to the ancestors and the ancient right to tenure in certain lands (prim. Mason 2012). Interestingly, if symbolic places were used and the reference was to the ancestors, then what is referred to is thus not the direct pre-Roman past but the Hallstatt past which predates it significantly.

Conclusion After a brief description of the concept of Romanisation in the West, which had a profound impact on Slovenian archaeology, an account followed of the process of adopting and transforming the concept of Romanisation in Slovenia. The somewhat narrow view was widened by putting forward some suggestions as to possible topics to be studied, i.e. the Norican-Pannonian style of dress, the bricolage discovered in the cemetery of the old settlement at Podlipoglav, and the Norican-Pannonian barrows. The first of the three topics was traditionally interpreted as a native, i.e. Celtic, tradition. Attributing certain non-Roman manifestations to the preRoman tradition seems to be the easiest and most straightforward solution which, however, brings about the non-productive dichotomy between the ‘Celtic,' on one side, and the ‘Roman,' on the other. It is now suggested that certain other options might be examined as well, and the NoricanPannonian dress style should be considered as a gender-related provincial Roman phenomenon. Similarly, the burial rite involving what are termed Norican-Pannonian barrows should be reconsidered. Elements in the grave goods from some small-scale rural cemeteries can be viewed as a reference to the ancestors and the ancient right of tenure during the time of rapid political and social changes brought about by the Roman conquest. The process in which this strong native aspect was mixed with the other, more ‘Roman’ components can be seen as cultural bricolage. In this way, we can move beyond the plain natives/newcomers, old/new, nonRoman/Roman dichotomies, viewing cultural and social changes in Roman times without relying on paradigms such as invasion and revolt. The instances mentioned above are seen as belonging to several local or regional phenomena that emerged – both at the time of political and social changes occurring in the wake of the Roman conquest of the area under

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consideration and, to some extent, even before – in the process of creating and transforming identities of groups and individuals through contacts. Today, both across the former Empire and in what is today Slovenia, there are many social discourses about what ‘to be Roman’ might amount to. However, not all of the said discourses are converging: some of them, such as the political organisation, is typical of the entire Empire and, as such, are global. Others again are regional or local. They might be specific to a certain civitas (e.g. the house urns from the Civitas Latobicorum; Mason 2012, 399), to a status, gender and/or something else. Accordingly, they are not monolithic, clearly defined or homogeneous, but a hybrid, with moving boundaries. What is involved here are local and regional responses to a changed socio-political situation or the changing identities of both individuals and groups. Thus, the Romanness in what is today Slovenia was not uniform but had many different faces, which is much in accordance with the varied Roman Empire as a whole.

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COGNITIVE CONSTRAINTS ON RELIGIOUS IDENTITY: RELIGIOUS CHANGE IN THE ROMAN DALMATIA – THE CASE STUDY OF MERCURY JOSIPA LULIû

For a long time, religion in the provinces was regarded as an indicator of the level of “Romanization” (Barrett 1997, Freeman 1997, Haverfield 1923). In the meantime, that concept was critically re-examined, based on several strong shifts in the paradigm of the study of Roman society. For one, Roman religion, especially that of republican times, was in the last decades studied extensively in the theoretical framing of polis religion (Woolf 1997, Bendlin 2000, Rüpke 2011, Linder, Scheid 1993). The term was coined primarily through the study of Greek religion in the work of Christiane Sourvinou-Inwood, and it concentrates on the role of the polis as a conceptual frame for religion (Sourvinou-Inwood 2000, Kindt 2009, Kindt 2012). Religion was, in this line of thought, embedded in the polis structure, and could not function outside or without it (Nongbri 2008). As opposed to today, it did not exist as a separate category, until the arrival of “oriental” religions. The problem this conceptualization creates for the study of the religions of the Empire is that we have to redefine the concept of religion in the provinces. If we regard Roman religion primarily as the religion of the city of Rome, its transplantation to other geographical areas is difficult: it is strongly localised (Lipka 2009, Rüpke 2011, Ando 2011), it doesn't have a coded belief system or orthodoxy, and it does not have strong proselytising tendencies (with the exception of the imperial cult) (Goodman 1994). Moreover, because of the embeddedness of the religion in the structure of the polis community, the religion in that conceptualization does not really exist outside the physical, social/cultural, and political reality of the city of Rome, and thus cannot be transferred to a different context unchanged. The second important paradigm shift that prompted the critical re-examination of religion in the provinces is the deconstruction of the concept of Romanization in the light of postcolonial theory, where the

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agency of local people starts to play an ever more important role for understanding the experiences and institutions of provincial life (Millett 1990, Mattingly, Alcock (ed.) 1997, Webster 2001). Because of this, more and more scholars conceptualize religion in the provinces as series of unique religious systems that should be studied in their own right (Rowan 2012, Woolf 2001, Ando 2011, Rüpke 2011). In that regard, Clifford Ando posits that Roman administration helped to create the identity of a province (versus the identity of the Empire or smaller local identities) through the use of local identities and the encouragement of new loyalties and affiliations (Ando 2010, 36). In the world of embedded religion in antiquity, religion necessarily played an important role in the construction of new provincial identities: we can see that from numerous dedications by travellers in the provinces of the Roman Empire, who would highlight their provincial identities with a dedication to a local deity, especially in the context of the Roman army (Bober 1951, Linduff 1979, Dobson, Mann 1973, Heldeland 1978). This kind of end-result, the creation of religion in the provinces as a specific sub-system, is predicted by a cognitive model of religion as well. The research on cognitive bases of creation and transmission of religious concepts has resulted in the creation of the field of cognitive theory of religion. This field studies religious institutions using the bottom-up approach, the basic starting points being the characteristics of human cognitive functions: thinking and communication (Atran 2004, Andresen (ed.) 2001, Barrett, Lanman 2008, Boyer 2001, Mackey 2009, Whitehouse 2002). The basic premise of the cognitive model of religion is that the religion is just one more cultural institution, and cultural institutions are products of the human mind and human communications, so it is ultimately subject to the rules and mechanisms of human cognition (Barrett 2000, Barrett 2001, Pyysiäinen 2001, Andresen (ed.) 2001, Atran 2004). From the point of view of the cognitive model, we cannot separate the study of religious transmission from general psychological mechanisms of learning: humans never learn a new concept in isolation, but always as a part of a network, and they unconsciously adopt, alongside the concept they were supposed to memorize, a great number of connected information (Davies 1989, Lamberts (ed.) 1997, Pyysiäinen 2001). Memory is the main element of Harvey Whitehouse's cognitive theory of religion, which recognizes two main modes of religiosity (Whitehouse 2002). Whitehouse points out that the character of religious ideas depends on a number of variables that are set along socio-political and psychological axes, and that those ideas can be divided into doctrinal or imagistic modes. Doctrinal religions (like Abrahamic religions) are characterized by orthodoxy and

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easy communication of belief, but for the imagistic religions that is not the case. They are practised in tightly-knit communities and spread slowly and organically. However, recent research also shows that doctrinal religions can change in contact with a new religious stratum – for example, some aspects of Christianity in Brazil (Bastide 2007) or Islam in some parts of Turkey (Williams 2001) significantly different compared to the dogmatic understanding of the religion. For the imagistic religions (and religion in antiquity, in general, was closer to that end of the spectrum) such a change of some aspects of the religious reality in contact with another religious system is an ontological necessity: it is a part of the way the belief system is organized (Martin, Pachis (eds.) 2009). By investigating the cognitive underpinnings of the religious belief systems we can create predictions of the character of religious thought in the provinces of the Roman Empire: since it has no typical orthodoxy, the religious thought in the provinces would depend on local understanding and interpretations of the elements of distributed cognition in the Roman religious network that the provincials had access to (sculpture, rituals, texts, individual agents' beliefs). Since some of those elements were often inaccessible (Ando 2009), it would necessarily be different from the religion of Rome: it would be embedded in a different cultural and political context, and it would organically alter the character of religious concepts. Thus, cognitive science, when applied to Roman provincial religion, predicts a model for religion in the provinces as a separate subsystem. The interpretative possibility of such a theoretical framework will be tested on the example of Mercury in Roman Dalmatia. The name of this Roman deity is one of the few with a known etymology: it comes from the word merx (genitive case mercis) meaning goods, merchandise – a word that corresponds to Mercury's area of influence. The name of his Greek counterpart, Hermes, is connected to herms that were marking the roads, and it also points out to his area of influence: communication. Although both main aspects (as the patron of merchants, and the messenger between different levels of existence – goods and humans, living and dead) are present in Greek as well as in the Roman incarnation of the deity, there is a difference in the level of importance placed on each aspect (Benoît 1959, 147, Feeney 2011, 135, Combet Farnoux 1981). The cult of Mercury was introduced to Rome in the same period when the triad of Ceres, Liber, and Libera arrived at the city; his temple was placed near the Aventine triad, and Circus Maximus (Wissowa 1912, 248), and consecrated in 495 B.C. Mercury’s basic iconographic characteristics come from the Etruscan Turms and Greek Hermes: caduceus or kerykeion (a special staff), and the money-bag, are

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some of his main permanent attributes. He is usually depicted as a young boy, with winged hat (petasos) and sandals (talaria), often accompanied by a rooster and a turtle.

Mercury in Dalmatia There are twenty-three sculpted depictions of Mercury in Roman Dalmatia, which amounts to approximately eight percent of the total number of religious sculpture in the province (Luliü 2015, 157). But that number is much smaller if we take into account only sculpture in stone (marble and local limestone): small bronze figurines are predictably frequent in Dalmatia, especially in large ports such as Salona (BarrSharrar 1990). Out of the remaining sculpture, we can isolate a group of six depictions of Mercury with some common characteristics. They are all reliefs in local limestone, and Mercury is depicted as a young man, draped only in a cape, which is thrown over the deity's left shoulder. In his left hand, he holds a caduceus, doesn't have the money bag, but does wear a winged hat on his head. The position of the body is mostly frontal, sometimes slightly leaning on his right leg. The most striking common characteristic of the depictions in the group is that Mercury holds the second rod in his right hand, which is, unlike the caduceus, plain and straight. The earliest example is a sarcophagus fragment kept in the Archaeological Museum in Zadar, dated to the early 2nd century (Sanader 1986, 116, no. 140, fig. 140, Cambi 1980, 137, tab.17, Patsch 1899, 505, fig. 1, Hirschfeld, Schneider 1885, 50-51; Sanader 1994, 90, no. 9, Patsch 1900, 93, no. 1, fig 65). On this fragment, we can see two arcades with undecorated arches stemming from plain-shaft pilasters with capitals decorated in schematized acanthus leaves. Neckings are decorated with two astragals, and abaci carry fleurons. On the far right-hand end of the fragment, above the arch, we can see a vegetable motif, which points to it being the end of the arcade, and probably the far right edge of the front side of the sarcophagus. Under the arches, there are two male figures on pedestals. In the first naked beardless male figure of strong musculature, with lion skin over his left shoulder and a leash in his right hand, we can easily recognize Hercules depicted in the scene of capturing the Cerberus (Cerberus has not been preserved). In the second arcade, we see a naked male figure in a travel cloak, with caduceus and petasos, easily identifiable as Mercury. Both figures are in low relief, standing on pedestals (in that way alluding that they represent statues depicted in relief). One of the arches on the fragment has been preserved completely,

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and the other one (the one with Hercules underneath it) is three quarters. If we were to reconstruct the sarcophagus with five arcades equally wide on the front side, the width of the sarcophagus would come to approximately 2.5 m, which corresponds to typological characteristics of the columnar sarcophagi (an uneven number of arches, usually five), as well as to the average size of Dalmatian sarcophagi (Koch 1933, 27 – 32, Lawrence 1932, 150, Cambi 2010). The sarcophagus was most likely produced in local workshops of Narona. Although the sarcophagi from Salona (both imported and locally produced ones) are well known, we only have a few examples from Narona, since the swampy terrain under which the necropolis lies prevents archaeological research (Cambi 1975, 1980, 1988, 2010).There is no preserved inscription on the fragment, but the patron of the sarcophagus was without a doubt a wealthy person. The only known source for determining the price of sarcophagi is an inscription on a sarcophagus from Salona (Cambi 2010, 46): in the late third century one would have to pay fifteen solids for a medium size sarcophagus without decoration, and that is the amount of money that suffices for basic life needs of a person for five years (Russell 2010, 122, Jongman 2007). The prices obviously varied depending on whether the sarcophagus was locally produced or imported, and how rich the decoration was. We can also assume that a sarcophagus with atypical motifs which required a special order, was more expensive than the one that could be sold directly from the warehouse. In this case, the choice of a local workshop might have been made due to the need to supervise the production and arrange the iconography of the scene directly (Toynbee 1996, 274; Russell 2010, 122). Other than on the Narona sarcophagus, we find Hermes with petasos and caduceus on a fragment of the short side of a sarcophagus from the Archaeological Museum of Split, but the damage to his right hand prevents us from deducting if he also had a short rod, even though this is implicated by the position of the hand - it is an exact iconographical match to the Mercury from Narona (Cambi 2010, 119, no. 111, tab. LXIV,2). In the Split museum there is another depiction of Mercury with the same attributes, and it is even more similar in his body position to the Narona fragment (Cambi 2010, 115, no. 91, tab. LIII, 2, Buliü 1885, 41, no. 120; Cambi 1960, CIL III 13943 (9291)). This is the front side of a limestone sarcophagus, with a tabula ansata and putti (that could be regarded as personifications of seasons) on the left-hand side. At the bottom of the fragment, next to the feet of the figure, there is a small relief depicting Mercury with all of the attributes already mentioned in the above examples. While personifications of Seasons and putti are a commonplace in sarcophagi production of the Roman Empire (Lawrence 1958), the

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interjection of Mercury in a scene which has no iconographic connection to him speaks about the patron's intervention in adding Mercury to a generic theme that bears no symbolic implications, maybe as a votive for a safe journey to the underworld. Another Mercury in funerary context can be found on a small pillar of a funerary precinct near Salona, with Eros on the corresponding pillar (Abramiü 1932, 62-63, tab.VI, fig. 4). Other examples of Mercury with the second rod from Roman Dalmatia were accidental finds, and we cannot determine their context (Patsch 1914, 194, fig. 82; Patsch 1894, 54, fig. 3; Imamoviü 1977, 390, no. 140, fig. 140). We can find a depiction of Mercury holding a second rod in Greek and Roman antiquity, but they are extremely rare: there are more examples in (second and third centuries) Roman Dalmatia than in all of the other known examples in Greco-Roman antiquity combined. This iconographic particularity was recognized in the scholarship relatively early (Patsch 1900, 93), but the attempt of interpretation has never been made. The earliest example is from classical Greece: a lekythos from the Jena museum. On it, Hermes holds the kerykeion in his left hand and his right a simple rod. In front of him, two winged souls fly out of the funerary urn, while the third one is just making its way out of it (Schadow 1897, 16-17). The second example is from Milan, Italy, where we see Hermes/Mercury on a funerary altar, holding a caduceus with the left, and a simple rod with the right hand (Dütschke 1882, 398, no 970). On the opposite side, there is Hades, and Charon is depicted on the rear side. There is a depiction of Mercury with the second rod in Rome as well: on the sarcophagus lid from the Capitoline museums (Schadow 1897, 25). The lid is dated to the middle second century. On the lid, there are also depictions of Hades and Persephone on the throne, as well as the three Parkas. A similar depiction of the deity is the Hecate statue from Sibiu museum in Romania (Petersen 1881). On one of the Hecate’s three sides, there is a rich iconographic representation in multiple registers, with the Helios in the centre of her chest. In the first register, we see Mercury depicted almost identically to the ones in Roman Dalmatia, with animals on his left - a rooster, a horse and a turtle – and a woman with a veil and a dog on its right. In scholarship, the only interpretation of the strange iconography of the Dalmatian group comes in the form of the attribution of the type to Hermes Psychopomp, without closer analysis (Imamoviü 1977, Patsch 1894). If we start from that claim, some clues for the interpretation of the depiction might be found in the arcane traditions that were kept in Orphism (Bikerman 1939, Alderink 1981, Bernabé Pajares, San Cristóbal, et al. 2008). Already in the Greek world, Hermes was seen as a chthonic deity, as important for the underworld as Hades and Persephone (Waele

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1927, 31; Pausanias 1, 38, 7). The Homeric hymn to Hermes (HH, 13) mentions his role as the bearer of dreams and the guardian of the night, the Orphic hymn 57 to Chthonian Hermes invokes the power of his wand to wake the sleeping/dead, and his role between the worlds is often highlighted in Homer (Homer, Iliad XXIV, 333; Homer, Odyssey V, 28; XXIV,1). He is also a necromant who uses magic to invoke the Earth goddess (Waele 1927, 56). Hermes was always portrayed carrying a magic rod that he used to navigate the worlds: it could be used to wake someone up or to put them to sleep (Waele 1927, 34). In Homeric poetry, the rod in question was consistently referred to as to the ૧ȐȕįȠȢ: the same word that was used for the Circe’s magic wand (Homer, Odyssey: X, 238), as well as for the one used by Athena to transform Ulysses' appearance (Homer, Odyssey: XVI, 172). Moreover, it is used by Pindar to describe Hades' rod that he uses to lead the deceased (Pindar, Olympian 9, 33), and by Herodotus who describes the willow wands used for divination (Herodotus, 4, 67). The term kerykeion was used for the first time in relation to Hermes in the writings of Herodotus and Thucydides (Waele 1927, 35). There is an interesting correlation between the double linguistic sign for the Hermes' rod and the depiction of two different rods in Mercury's hands in Dalmatian examples. The Orphic tradition might have been the vehicle that transported some of the more arcane symbolic knowledge throughout the chronologic, geographic and linguistic barriers to the Mercury in Roman Dalmatia: could we entertain the thought of Mercury as a “real magician”, who would, in the Orphic tradition of Hermes Psychopomp, re-awaken the deceased? Mercury’s connection to magic is well attested (Apuleius, Apologia, 2, 31). Although this is appealing as an intellectual exercise, it is hard to be satisfied with that explanation for Dalmatian Mercury. We can trace some elements of iconography in their longue durée, but we must wonder what information, and in which form, was available in the second and third century Dalmatia. Because of the number and distribution of the finds, and the fact that they were made in local limestone, we can reject the proposition that this was a unicum, or a coincidence – that those were objects found in Dalmatia by chance, with no greater role in the wider cultural network of the province. We could perhaps search for the source of the image, the entry point of the idea, in the Narona sarcophagus. The patron(s) of the sarcophagus had most likely ordered the images on the sarcophagus with a clear purpose in mind. They might have been part of an Orphic community, but the image might have been spread through the province without the same meaning. The Dalmatian Mercury was clearly understood by a larger social group. If we accept the hypothesis that the religion in antiquity was embedded in the

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social, political and cultural reality of the local community, we must also check the wider picture to find some corresponding phenomena in the Dalmatian context. If the depiction of Mercury holding a simple rod was hard to encounter, a sight of a person holding a rod and using it for magic must have been relatively common. There are accounts which show that travelling magicians were frequent in the streets of the Roman towns, especially in the provinces (Dickie 2003). They would use magic formulae to make a person die in front of the crowd; then they would bring them back to life, so they could question them about the secrets they were privy to, once back from the realm of the dead. That kind of a show was used as a marketing trick that would secure the magician a private hire to showcase their counselling, healing and divination skills (Beard, North et al. 1998, 152). Even if the image of Mercury as a divine Orphic necromant entered the Roman Dalmatia, it most likely lost its complex symbolic meaning which, as we know, could not be supported without the cognitive underpinning of a wider system (Barrett, Tugade et al. 2004, Smith, DeCoster 2000, Sun 2002), and was left as a magical amulet, perhaps contaminated with the image of traveling magicians. The fact that Mercury was depicted in isolation supports that explanation: not only do we not have complex narrative structures like the ones on the contemporary Hecate from Dacia, but we don't even have the patience of his magical actions like we have on the Jena vase. The process of emptying a concept from its multilayered religious meaning and its transformation into a magical symbol is often encountered, especially in the context of cultural encounters (HerbertBrown (Ed.) 2002, Scheid 1993). In cognitive terms, the concept of Mercury is weighted down in the computational network by corresponding concepts of cultural institutions: the weights are responsible for the activation of the concept in different circumstances, and the activation reinforces the existing connections (Fodor, Pylyshyn 1988, Davies 1989). If the activation of a nod in the connectionist network does not activate other concepts (if the sight of Mercury stops activating the complex Orphic idea of the immortal soul, for example), it is left “floating,” and can be anchored in other parts of the network. In other words, if we take the religious concept that is embedded in a specific cultural context away from it, it will lose its significance, and it will be transformed. This is rarely a case with doctrinal religions, because they presume the existence of an independent field of religion, and the related religious identity separate from other identities, but the religious identity in imagistic, embedded religions of antiquity, cannot be seen outside of someone's political and social role in the network. In that case, the research of the

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“original” meaning of a certain iconographic depiction will often not help with understanding the place that concept has in a new system. The local variant of Mercury is thus used in a funerary context, but outside of a big narrative, and as an addition to the main theme of the monument, not as a central motif. In conclusion, Mercury in Dalmatia is a different deity than Mercury in Rome. This was made evident by the analysis of iconographic representation (the use of the second rod, and the omission of the classical attribute – the money purse), as well as by the funerary function of the known examples from the group. The Mercury in the context of the Dalmatian group has developed probably as an apotropaic amulet on the journey to the other world, through the permutation of some Orphic and magical concepts in the cultural system of Roman Dalmatia. This is not the only Mercury in Dalmatia – there are depictions of Mercury with classical attributes (Giunio 2004), as well as (although rare) depictions of classical Roman Mercury even in funerary context (Fadiü 2004). The theoretical models of Romanization and resistance used so far in the analysis of religious sculpture in Dalmatia failed to recognize this group as a specific concept and had trouble in general to use a more nuanced approach to the development of religious concepts in the spaces of cultural encounters. The analysis of the case of Mercury through a new theoretical lens shows that in the province of Dalmatia we encounter a cluster of representations of Roman religious ideas that can be on the one hand categorized as a specific group but are also recognizable enough to be seen as a part of Roman religious thought. Mercury is not the only such example. Another one is Silvanus, the deity with the largest number of visual representation in Roman Dalmatia (Luliü 2014, Dzino 2014). His name is epigraphically confirmed, but his iconography is that of Pan: he has goat legs and horns and carries pedum and syrinx. We can also recognize some representations of Liber, Diana, and Nymphs, just to name a few examples, as having some unique characteristics in the comparison to the rest of the Roman Empire (Luliü 2015). These traits, within the larger umbrella of Roman religious concepts, are also visible in other provinces of the Roman Empire. They can benefit from the conceptualization of local religious systems within the main interpretative framework as well. If Roman religion was perceived as a separate field, not embedded in cultural, social and political institutions, and as a doctrinal religion, we would have a much harder time understanding such discrepancies. If we, on the other hand, approach religion as a network of different agents, objects, rituals, and texts, embedded in social, cultural, and political structures, that conceptualization predicts the construction of

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specific religious meanings in local and provincial frameworks. The use of new approaches – from the cognitive theory used here to the network theory (Collar 2014), allow us to bring forth new conclusions in answer to the known material.

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Rowan, C. 2012. Under divine auspices: Divine ideology and the visualisation of imperial power in the Severan period. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press. Rüpke, J. (ed.). 2011. A Companion to Roman Religion. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing. —. 2008. Roman Religion - Religions of Rome. In Rüpke, J. (ed.). 2008. A Companion to Roman Religion, 1–9: Malden, MA: Blackwell Pub. —. 2011. Roman religion and the Religion of Empire: Some Reflections on Method. In North, J. A. and Price, S. R. F. (eds.). 2011. The religious history of the Roman Empire: Pagans, Jews, and Christians, 9–36. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press. Rüpke, J. and Cancik, H. (eds.). 2009. Die Religion des Imperium Romanum: Koine und Konfrontationen. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Russell, B. 2010. The Roman sarcophagus 'industry': a reconsideration. In Elsner, J. and Huskinson, J. (eds.). Life, Death and Representation: Some New Work on Roman Sarcophagi. Berlin: De Gruyter. Sanader, M. 1986. Kerber u antiþkoj umjetnosti. Split: Logos. —. 1994. O kultu Herkula u Hrvatskoj. Opuscula Archaeologica 18 (18): 87–114. Schadow, P. 1897. Eine attische grab lekythos. Jena: G. Neuenhahn. Scheid, J. 1993. Myth, cult and reality in Ovid's Fasti. The Cambridge Classical Journal 38: 118–31. Scheidel, W. Morris, I. and Saller, R. P. (eds.). 2007. The Cambridge economic history of the Greco-Roman world: Cambridge University Press Cambridge. Smith, E. R. and De Coster, J. 2000. Dual-process models in social and cognitive psychology: Conceptual integration and links to underlying memory systems. Personality and social psychology review 4 (2): 108– 31. Sourvinou-Inwood, C. 2000. What is polis religion? In Buxton, R. G. A. (ed.). 2000. Oxford readings in Greek religion, 13–37 Oxford: Oxford University Press. Spickermann, W. (ed.). 2001. Religion in den germanischen Provinzen Roms. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Sun, R. 2002. Duality of the mind a bottom-up approach toward cognition. Mahwah, N.J: L. Erlbaum Associates. Toynbee, J. M. C. 1996. Death and Burial in the Roman World. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Versnel, H. S. 1991. Some Reflections on the Relationship MagicReligion. Numen 38 (2): 177–97.

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Walsh, J. (ed.). 1990. Small bronze sculpture from the ancient world. Papers delivered at a symposium. Malibu: The Museum. Webster, J. 2001. Creolizing the Roman Provinces. American Journal of Archaeology 105 (2): 209–25. Whitehouse, H. 2002. Modes of religiosity: towards a cognitive explanation of the sociopolitical dynamics of religion.” Method & Theory in the Study of Religion 14: 293–315. Whitemarsh, T. (ed.). 2010. Local knowledge and Microidentities in the Imperial Greek World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Williams, B. G. 2001. Mystics, Nomas and Heretics: A History of the Diffusion of Muslim Syncretism from Central Asia to the TurcoByzantine Dobruca. International Journal of Turkish Studies 7 (1-2): 1–24. Wissowa, G. 1912. Religion und Kultus der Römer. München: C.H. Beck. Woolf, G. 1997. “Polis-religion and its alternatives in the Roman provinces.” In Cancik, H. and Rüpke, J. (eds.). 1997. Römische Reichsreligion und Provinzial religion, 71–84: Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. —. 2001. Representation as cult: the case of the Jupiter columns. In Spickermann, W. (ed.). 2001. Religion in den germanischen Provinzen Roms, 118-136: Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.

ROMAN IMPERIALISM AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF DARDANIAN COLLECTIVITY VLADIMIR D. MIHAJLOVIû

This paper aims to review academic perspectives and interpretations of Dardania, the ancient Central Balkans area which first was a part of the province of Moesia Superior and in the late Roman Empire a province in its own right (Fig. 9-1). What was Dardania and who were the Dardanians (also referred to as Dardani)? Had these notions originally existed in the forms imagined and the meanings ascribed to them by scholars of XIX and XX century? May we talk about Dardanian ethnicity as a stable, continual sense of common belonging? What is the role of the Roman imperialistic practices in creating the concept of Dardania? Can we entertain the possibility of the Roman imperialistic construction of Dardanian collectivity, under which circumstances and in what respect exactly? The widespread academic standpoint about Dardanians /Dardania, dominant to this day, has been defined by the eminent historian Fanula Papazoglu, in her elaborated (re)construction of the history of the (socalled) ‘Central Balkan tribes’ (1978, 131–187)1. Summarized, in Papazoglu’s own words, it runs: Not one of the peoples with whom we have to deal in this book has such a claim to the epithet “Balkan,” as the Dardanians. Not only because their territory lay in the heart of the Balkans, but also because they appear as the most stable and most conservative ethnic element in the area where everything was exposed to constant change, and also because they, with their roots in the distant pre-Homeric age, and living on the frontiers of the Illyrian and Thracian worlds, retained their individuality and, alone among the peoples of that region, succeeded in maintaining themselves as an ethnic unity even when they were militarily and politically subjugated by the Roman arms. (1978, 131, emphasis mine) 1

The cited volume is an English translation of the original published in SerboCroatian in 1969 (see Literature under Papazoglu 1969).

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Papazoglu’s interpretation was an offspring of its age, leaning heavily on theoretical and methodological postulates of the cultural-historical paradigm, ethnic determinism, and the full confidence in and valorization of the ancient sources’ views of the world (in terms of geography, ethnography, and cultural values systems). Her academic construction of the Dardanians as a fully defined ethnic tribe, continuously existing from the alleged Balkans-Asia Minor migrations (XII c. BCE) to the late Roman Empire, represents an interpretative framework adopted in all subsequent historical and archaeological dealings with the matter, at least within academia in Serbia/ex Yugoslavia (Mihajloviü 2014).

Fig. 09-1. Map of pre-Roman Dardania according to Papazoglu (1978)

However, the problems inherent to this view are many, starting from the biased theoretical perspectives on the nature of ethnicity, involving methodological deficiencies of anachronic projection of the ethnonym

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back into the past and onto archaeological material, and resulting in a flawed conclusion about the continual existence of Dardanian ethnic identity, territory, and socio-political and cultural features (Mihajloviü 2014, 101–104; 2015, 98–117; Matiü 2015). Instead of striving to find the Dardanian ethnic continuity at any price, it is certainly better to ask if we, at all, can talk about ethnic identification under the heading of ‘Dardanians,' especially given the character of our evidence. It is also wiser to presume a dynamic and changeable instead of static and stable nature of collectivity in this, as in many other cases of ancient and modern worlds. To put it simply, this paper first tends to grasp if the evidence at our disposal allow us to talk about pre-Roman Dardanian ethnicity (or even a proto-state tribal kingdom – in terms of Papazoglu 1978, 131–187, 442–445, 456– 457; 1988), and afterwards aspires to show the Roman imperialistic influence on the creation of Dardania and Dardanian collectivity.

General theoretical perspectives I first turn to existing ancient textual evidence on Dardanians/Dardania by investigating the chronological setting of their (i.e. the evidence’) appearance and usage. By doing so, the intention is to review the ‘semantic coating’ of the term, whose mentions in the ancient written sources are not understood here as reliable ‘field-reports’ on a specific ethnic tribe, but as an outcome of Hellenistic and Roman practice of ‘othering’ and literary representations (compare e.g. Romm 1992; Isaac 2004; Dench 2005; Woolf 2011; Gruen 2011). In other words, I try to reevaluate the notion of Dardanians/Dardania by using a critical approach to ancient written accounts and the methodological perspective of imagology. The former, in general terms, regards the ancient literary texts (especially of historiographic and ethnographic nature) as discursive devices conditioned by a specific socio-political context and derived from peculiar cultural practices (as shown in e.g. Potter 1999; Grant 2003; Yarrow 2006; Hedrick 2006; Marincola ed. 2007; Pitcher 2009). The latter in this discussion stands for literary (or by other means) constructed mental images of foreigners (not exclusively in ethnic but also cultural, class, sex, gender, etc. terms), created from the perspective of dominant/normative cultural discourse (see e.g. Leerssen 2007; Blaževiü 2012). In short, to approach the question of Dardanian collectivity and how it can be understood, I will examine the content of the term in various contexts of its utilization. All the aims of this paper are directly linked to the question of ethnic identity. In order to examine if it ever existed in the case of Dardania, it is

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necessary to discuss briefly what is actually meant by the term ethnicity and how it can be defined. By now, it is common knowledge what Jones (1997; 2007) and Lucy (2005) have concluded about ethnicity and its relations to historical and archaeological evidence. There is no need to repeat the well known constructivist positions, and critiques addressed to traditional (essentialist) views of ethnic identity as an almost natural way of group belonging. The literature stemming from theoretically wellinformed approaches is growing, even in the field of Roman studies which is a somewhat passive in paradigm-shifts (among many others compare Wells 2001; Roymans 2004; Derks and Roymans eds. 2009; Džino 2010a; McInerney ed. 2014). It is, nevertheless, important to point to the increasing need to bring the issue of ethnicity back into the discussion after previous scepticism towards its crucial importance among pre-modern societies. Instead of doubting the decisive social significance of ethnic belonging, some authors are now inclined to underline both its unquestionable existence and focal role in the past, as well as to consider the possibilities of how to determine it by using historical and archaeological evidence (as e.g. Reher and Fernández-Götz 2015). This renewed enthusiasm about ethnicity is accompanied by the wider trend in archaeology and anthropology of (post)colonial contexts, proclaiming the usage of the theoretically cleansed concept of ethnogenesis as a ‘dynamic model of identity formation that encompasses both change and continuity’ (Voss 2015, 656; see also Hu 2013). Although many of the points made in such perspectives are compelling insights and further elaborate the debate on the nature of ethnic identifications, there is a general problem of applying the revived concept of ethnogenesis to older periods of the past. Contrary to the (post)colonial contexts and their (generally speaking) more extensive and higher quality categories of evidence suitable for nuanced interpretations (compare Voss 2008 for a variety of available information in her study of Californio ethnogenesis), studies of the ancient past are rarely privileged with abundant and extensively informative data pools. It is specifically so regarding direct testimonies of people’s experiences of belonging, and information on daily social and cultural practices by/through which identities are structured, performed, maintained and changed (about the crucial importance of these features of identifications see Jenkins 2008a). Consequently, considering ethnogenesis in the ancient world, and particularly in the cases of ‘proto-historic populations’ (i.e. the Iron Age societies outside the Mediterranean littoral), is still reduced to listings of cultural templates of different origins, whose mixing, combinations and intertwining are often seen as the emergence of new or ‘hybridized’ ethnic

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identities, despite declaratively enlightened theoretical approaches (Pitts 2007; Versluys 2014). In other words, studies of the ancient past often lack the sense that ‘the relevance of these ascribed ethnicities to the communities under study needs to be demonstrated, not assumed’ as Voss rightly notes (2015, 665). As the same author emphasizes, the problem lies in the question if all transformations of identity are to be considered as ethnogenesis, and how do we tell apart emergence of ethnic from other types of identifications and socio-cultural changes (Voss 2015, 659). The difficulties are evident when it comes to the application of the concept of ethnicity to written and archaeological material from antiquity (compare Moore 2011; Gruen 2013). Namely, although there are several definitions of what ethnic identification is, and which social and cultural features/practices make it, none of them offers the secure way to claim the unequivocal existence of ethnicity within society under consideration. The main shortcoming lies in the fact that for every criterion we use as a marker of ethnicity, there are (almost always) several other equally possible explanations not having anything to do with ethnic belonging (compare Jones 1997, 61–62). So, when we analyze frequently used definitions of ethnic identification (even as heuristic devices), it becomes obvious that the features they stress as peculiar to ethnicity can be related to other forms of social groupness. For example, the (much relied upon) notion of ‘consciousness of cultural differences’ as a prominent quality of ethnicity constitution (Jones 1997, XIII; Lucy 2005, 95; Jenkins 2008b, 12; Voss 2008, 27; 2015, 658) is a perceptive practice employed for the constructions of status, class, professional, generational, gender, sexual, local or regional identifications as well. This is simply because the recognition of difference (with a simultaneous sense of similarity within a group) is necessary at any level of social identification, from individual up to variously defined collectives (Jenkins 2008a). Since there is no such thing as a specific normative culture which is valid for all the people of some geographical area, and independent of other types of their social positionings, it is futile to call upon ‘consciousness of cultural differences,' for it is an over-generalized explanation of ethnic identity. Hence, as any truism, it lacks specific meaning needed for analytical applicability in particular case studies. Indeed, some of the features of habitus, shared by the majority of peoples in some geographical area, could be used for the construction of ethnicity and assertion of differences towards ‘others’ (Jones 1997; 2007; Lucy 2005; Voss 2008), but they certainly do not have to be exploited exclusively, in every particular case, or each historical situation in such a manner. Additionally, shared habitual features are not the reflection,

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common denominator or sum of all cultural matrices, practices, and behaviours that are going on inside a certain area, and their existence does not automatically indicate articulated ethnic belonging (Jones 2007, 51). In the case of discussing ethnicity in antiquity it is of utmost importance to remember that except for the rare occasions of emic testimonies of somebody’s sense of belonging, we are usually dealing with mute archaeological records and/or ambiguous written accounts. In other words, we simply do not know in what way the observed (i.e. from our perspective supposed) similar habitual dispositions (often simplistically equated with similar material culture) were constructed. Nor, even if they were articulated as ethnicity, can we tell reliably whether this articulation had strong resonance within the general social setting (i.e. wider society), was it a stable and continual point of reference and how that kind of identification worked in relation to other types of positioning (compare Jenkins 2008b, 49). Similar critiques can be levelled at the aspect of ethnicity definition which invokes perception of common descent, shared ancestry, kinship, history, and cultural tradition (Jones 1997, XIII; Voss 2008, 27; 2015, 658; Hu 2013, 372; Knapp 2014, 35). All of these can be called upon in various other cases of collectivity constructions, and are not specifically reserved for the process of ethnic identification (see Jenkins 2008a; 2088b, 78). For example, how can we differentiate ethnicity from collectivities based on kin groups such as lineage, clans, family alliances, kinship ‘tribes’ or any other form of imaginable ‘bloodline’ connections? To put it differently, is any type of shared ancestry and kinship to be considered as ethnic identification or, if not, at which point do one qualification end and another begin? The same goes for (no matter if anchored in reality or fiction) common historical experience as a cohesive factor of ethnicity creation. Shared historical memory can be traced to various forms of collectivities, and who is to tell for the distant past if such memories involved a sense of ethnic belonging. Furthermore, definitions of ethnicity, although they do not explicate, still imply the question of the group’s scale as a factor of ethnicity existence. It seems that similar habitual/cultural matrices, ancestry, kinship, historical experience and memory, cultural traditions, etc., as indices of ethnicity apply only for large-scale groups. In other words, current theoretical views tacitly consider these features as characteristics of ethnicity only for collectivities beyond kinship groups, i.e. in the cases of so-called imagined communities inside which members do not know (and directly interact with) each other, but share the feeling of togetherness based on ideology of ancestral, cultural and historical sameness (sensu

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Anderson 2006). This might resolve the problem of what we think when we say ethnicity, but how we are going to define the threshold between some ‘lower’ level of collectivity and ethnic group (see Jenkins 2008b, 44–45)? Again, that might be possible in the cases of modern and contemporary times, but it is extremely hard or impossible for the older periods of human history. Even if we find (in some study material) all of the previously discussed features, there is no way to decide if a certain group in the ancient past shared a feeling of ethnic or some other type of common belonging, especially because it is highly probable that our understanding of the concept differs greatly from comprehensions of collectivity in the past (Lucy 2005, 100). Current definitions of ethnicity are too general and vague, as they are, of course, the direct consequence of the changeable, fluid, situational character of this kind of belonging, which in particular cases (throughout space, time and socio-historical contexts) can acquire very specific forms and meanings (Jenkins 2008b, 52–53). And from here stems one of the crucial truths about ethnicity: it is a performative, situational, relational and subjective sense which can be comprehended only with the help of the direct testimonies and experiences’ descriptions of its ‘practitioners.' It is also possible to understand it only if we are familiar with other types of collectivities’ constructions (of the same society under study, of course) and how people lived them, which could be used as points of reference in telling the difference between ethnic and some other group feeling. To put it simply, the relationality of ethnic identification and performance inevitably dictates taking into account evidence of emic experiences, as well as the framing of referential comparisons with other sorts of collectivities inside a given society. Exactly because of these arguments, to grasp, define, and interpret ethnic belongings in proto-history and antiquity is a hardly reachable objective, one that is often not sustainable given the character of available evidence on the one hand, and theoretical, methodological and analytical potentials for their treatment on the other. The attempts to get closer to ancient ethnicities are always tightly knit with speculations, while extreme viewpoints (existence and importance vs. nonexistence and irrelevance of ethnicity) do not help, for they are reduced to subjective projections instead of being methodologically compelling case studies sustained by the evidence. Having all said in mind, I now turn to reviewing the data which previously were utilized to claim the existence of Dardanian ethnic collectivity in pre-Roman times.

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Dardanians/Dardania in IV and the first half of III c. BCE? In this discussion, I leave aside old perspectives of the Dardanians as an ethnic tribe directly connected with ‘Thraco-Phrygian’ migration, the homonymous area in Asia Minor, Homeric epics and Bronze Age ‘origins’ (see Papazoglu 1978, 131–135). Since they rest on the culture-historical paradigm of ethnic belonging as the most important and stable sort of identification in continual existence throughout history, it is sufficient to underline their purely speculative character supported only by circumstantial and methodologically underdeveloped conjectures. For the purposes of this paper more important than the historiographically and archaeologically imagined ‘prehistory of the Dardanians’, is to stress the questionable nature of the claim that the tribe surely existed starting from the period of Philip II and Alexander the Great. Literary evidence of Philip’s and Alexander’s submission of the unnamed or vaguely defined northern neighbours are treated as indicators of the existence of the Dardanian ethnic group (and political organization) in the period of Macedonian expansion (Papazoglu 1978, 136–138; Heckel 2008, 86; Worthington 2014, 129). However, the problem is only Pompeius Trogus (via Justin VIII, 6, 2; XI, 1, 6) mentions them by name, all the other sources remaining completely silent about Dardanian involvement in the kings’ dealings with northern populations. Hence, instead of accepting such a historical scenario by uncritically supposing the Dardanians must have been there, and by extension that they must have acknowledged Macedonian supreme authority (Papazoglu 1978, 138), we should remind ourselves that Trogus was creating historicizing narratives of the Augustan Empire, construing the whole range of wide geographical, ethnic and eventful conjectural connections, which did not have to be supported in historical reality at all (see Woolf 2011, 8–58). In other words, the picture of Dardanians as a fully formed and historically attested ethnic tribe in Philip II’s and Alexander III’s times is based on fragile, en passant, short words with a specific intention, created by the author of the Augustan era and modified by another one two centuries later. Sure, I am not claiming that the notion ‘Dardanians’ (whatever its meaning might have been) could not have possibly existed in the IV c. BCE, but I do strongly emphasize the obvious lack of reliable information testifying in favour of an entity by that name. Consequently, it is highly questionable if Dardanians/Dardania were constructed as a reference of identification (no meter if emic or in the Macedonian imaginarium) in the second half of the IV c. BCE. Simply, there are no proofs to support the existence and usage of the entry in the

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time of the most powerful Macedonian rulers, let alone to suggest the meaning of the term and nature of its content. The situation is equally dim for the period after Alexander the Great since none of the ancient sources mentions Dardanians /Dardania for any of the events in the Balkans until the 280’s BCE (Papazoglu 1978: 138). This silence alerts for caution in treating Dardanians/Dardania as ‘historical fact’ all the way down to III c. BCE, and even for that period full critical attention is advised. Namely, the single utilization of the term in descriptions of turbulent times of Alexander’s successors is the story about a Paeonian prince who escaped to the land of Dardanians in front of Lysimachus in 284 BCE. This is known from the writings of Polyaenus (IV, 12, 3), II c. CE author who could easily project current geographical knowledge back to the past. Similarly, despite Papazoglu (1978, 139–142) enthusiastically accepting the trustworthiness of the story of the Dardanian king offering military help to the Macedonian king Ptolemy Keraunos in the wake of Gallic danger (280–279 BCE), there is again the shortcoming of the source. As in the previous case of ‘Dardanian older history,' it is Justin’s (XXIV, 4, 9–11) epitomisation of Trogus, other sources providing no information on this episode or anything even remotely close. More precisely, except Livy (XXXVIII, 16, 1) who tells us that the Gauls marched into the country of Dardanians on their way to Delphi, and Diodorus Siculus (XXII, 9, 3) who says the Gauls withdrew after Delphi and perished as they were going through the country of the Dardanians, no other writer dealing with the ‘Celtic invasion’ (Polybius, Poseidonius, Pausanias) refers to them directly or otherwise. Additionally, as Papazoglu herself has pointed out (1978, 144), there is (again) no mention of the term in any of the accounts speaking about the subsequent period of the rule of Antigonus II Gonatas (276–239 BCE). This scarcity of evidence leaves us to wonder if the discussed data (linking Dardanians with events of the late IV and early III c. BCE) are in fact anachronisms made up by the authors of the Roman Empire2. As they often combined various motives and events in their ‘tales of the barbarians’, blurring the lines between reality, fiction, time and space (see Woolf 2011; compare Dench 2005; Gruen 2011), it would be no surprise if the whole ‘Dardanian history’ of the IV–III c., together with the explanation

2

Judging by the commentary in Papazoglu 1978, 443, n. 6; 1988, 188, n. 26, the trustworthiness of the notices connecting Dardanians to events of IV and the first half of III c. was doubted already by R. Mack in 1951.

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of their origin (Diod. V, 48, 3)3, is, in fact, a later historiographical fabrication. This kind of invented tradition could have been created in the specific context of the emergence of the Augustan Empire (sensu Woolf 1995; 1998; 2001; Hingley 2005; Mattingly 2011) and could have been linked to the incorporation and administrative establishment of Dardania exactly in this period. Simply, by entering the imperial system, Dardanians/Dardania could be ‘invested with history’ (compare Carroll 2002, 111), which was imagined and adjusted in a way to fit the imperial elite’s knowledge and ideas about the order of the past, geography, and people. This may explain not only why is the ‘ancient past’ of the Dardanians narrated specifically by the Augustan authors (Trogus, Diodorus, and Livy), but also the reasons of their (i.e. Dardanians’) inclusion in current ethno-historiographical discourses. Of course, it is possible that some sort of collectivity and a political organization named ‘Dardanians’ was indeed created in the period of increased instability in the first quarter of the III c., when the crisis (with its culmination in 281–279 BCE) affected both the Eastern Mediterranean and the neighbouring worlds4. The breakup of previous political arrangements, the power vacuum it generated, and the process of ‘tribalization’ (sensu Wells 1999, 116–119) that was possibly happening in the Balkans’ hinterland of the Hellenistic imperial framework, could have resulted in the constitution of some kind of collective entity which started to interact with the Macedonian kingdom. However, the total of six short pieces of written evidence on Dardanians in IV and the first half of III c., provided centuries later by the authors of the Roman Empire, is hardly convenient to corroborate this view, particularly in the light of our complete ignorance of archaeological evidence from the period. As pointed out elsewhere (Mihajloviü 2014, 104), all we think we know about pre-Roman Dardanians/Dardania rests exclusively on ancient literary sources and their modern reinterpretations (embedded in culture-historical ethnic determinism), with the archeological picture being almost completely unknown due to the lack of extensive research and extremely limited potential for reliable conclusions (see Tasiü 1998, 163–189; Vraniü 2012, 57–58, 61–68; 2014; Berisha 2012, 33–56). Summarized, although I do not exclude the 3

Telling the Dardanians were the colonists set forth by Dardanus, the mythical founder of the homonymous city and kingdom, who ruled over many people in Asia Minor. 4 For the chain effect of the crisis, the reaction of communities on the margins of the Hellenistic world, and evidence for instability see: Will 1984, 109–117; Mitchell 2003, 283; Emilov 2005; 2007; 2010; Džino 2007; Mitrevski 2011; Rustoiu 2013, 215–216.

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possibility, for now, there are no strong arguments to understand Dardanians/Dardania as a politically and ethnically singular and stable entity in IV and the first half of III c. BCE as it is done in traditional interpretations.

Dardanians/Dardania in the second half of III and II c. BCE The situation is somewhat clearer starting from the second half of the III c. BCE. Not only are the Dardanians mentioned by the Roman period authors (Pomp. Trog. Prol. XXVIII; Just XXVIII, 14; Liv. XXXI, 28, 1–3) as the enemies of Demetrius II (239–229) and Antigonus III (229–221), but they also figure in Polybius’ (II, 6, 4) note on Illyrian queen Teuta’s recall of her troops from Phoenice in 230 BCE. Furthermore, in historical accounts of Philip V’s and Perseus’ reigns, the Dardanians are represented as the Kings’ active enemies and Roman allies in both Macedonian wars. Episodes of the last Macedonian kings’ fights against the Dardanians are told by a number of writers (starting from nearly contemporary Polybius) and in details (Papazoglu 1978, 144–174, 552–562), leaving little room to question if the entity thus named really operated in the period 221–167 BCE. Moreover and crucially, besides literary evidence, for the first time, there are contemporary epigraphic data. The inscription from Oleveni commemorating Philip V’s war against the Dardanians is dated to 206 BCE (Papazoglu 1999; Arena 2003), while the Lindian chronicle (made in 99 BCE according to older accounts of the temple) lists the dedication of gifts to Athena bestowed in the name of Philip V’s victory over them (Papazoglu 1978, 152–153). These epigraphic pieces are invaluably significant as they directly echo the events of the age, demonstrating that Macedonian perception of foreigners genuinely identified some population(s) as ‘Dardanians.' In other words, the term was a reified category of collective ‘other,' which both in the imaginings and reality of the Macedonian kingdom played the role of the northern enemy. In this light, Philip V’s reign could be regarded as the first period for which the utilization of the ethnonym Dardanians is proven by the evidence originally created in the historical context associated with the term. Consequently, taking into account all the aforementioned, the entity by the name of Dardanians certainly came into existence during the second half of III c. BCE, sometime between the end of the reign of Antigonus II (276–239) and the beginning of the rule of Philip V (221). Nevertheless, the fact Dardanians existed as an identification marker for somebody/something in this period does not give us a secure position

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to speculate of whom or what. Both literary and epigraphic sources omit to offer any solid reference to what kind of collective the Dardanians actually were. As expected for the ancient ‘othering’ narratives, Dardanians are represented in general (even without usual stereotyped socio-political or cultural specificities), as a hostile ethnic group of ‘barbarians’ vaguely placed in the area north of Macedonia and Paeonia5. Besides this information, there are only few recorded persons identified as Dardanian leaders and associated with the titles of reguli and principes (Bato son of Longarus; Etuta daughter of Monunus), which gave the reason to presume the existence of ‘Dardanian kingdom’ and speculate its dynastical order (Papazoglu 1978, 442–444; 1988). Still, it is not certain if these individuals actually were in monarchial succession and, even more importantly, if they really were at the head of some unified and centralized ethnopolitical entity. Bato was simply titled as a prince/leader (among principes et reguli of other populations) who came to the Roman camp in 200 BCE to represent the Dardanians, and whose father was fighting king Demetrius II in his own name (Liv. XXXI 28, 1–3); and Monunus was characterized only as a Dardanian leader with no additional specifications (princeps – Liv. XLIV, 30, 4). While these persons probably were important and influential political/military players in the region, they were not referred to as the rulers and, unlike Macedonian, Paeonian, Illyrian and some other leaders, were not regarded as kings (a fact Papazoglu was well aware of – 1978, 443–444). In short, although there is a good chance some kind of aristocratic structure operated among the entity/-ies named Dardanians6, the leaders known from the sources did not necessarily have to be supreme rulers (i.e. the kings) of a single ethnic tribe, nor did Livy (i.e. Polybius who was his source) give any hint in that direction. Actually, with the exception of the individuals noted by Livy, no other source ever mentioned, let alone named, any Dardanian leader or prominent figure. Hence, both the ethnonym Dardanians and the names of their leaders could stand for various socio-political phenomena and types of collectivity. The term could have denominated an entity which (constituted by actors with similar interests) acquired its collective articulation when faced with a common enemy or ally (Macedonian kingdom, Illyrian kingdom, Roman Republic). This kind of identification could be highly situational and

5

Approximately to the north and northwest of the line linking modern Sveti Nikole/Štip and Struga in FYR Macedonia. 6 Judging by invocation of Bato’s ancestry (i.e. his father Longar), as well as the arranged betrothal of Monunus’ daughter Etuta first to Pletor, and then the princess’ marriage with his brother Gentius, the last Illyrian king.

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primarily relevant to a limited circle of regional elites7, although it might have been (and if existed probably was) founded on commonalities /similarities and shared political, cultural, economic, military, etc. practices/templates in the region. Having these basic notions in mind the range of possibilities for further interpretation is wide: loose confederation of smaller socio-political polities; league of warlords or interest groups of ‘military aristocracy’; alliance of hierarchically structured clans; ‘personal union’ of mutually distinct communities; ephemeral entity shortly centralized under the influence of one or more families/kin groups; Macedonian (and afterwards Roman) pseudo-ethnic labeling of warrior bands caused by specific appearance, tactics, formation or language; denominator for status/elite group with no ethnic connotation; or some mixture of several previous suggestions (for theoretical frameworks of these possibilities see e.g. Wells 2001; Sastre 2002; Hill 2006; 2007; Thurston 2009; 2010; Moore 2011). Whatever scenario or variable we could conceive in this spectrum, all are actually (more or less plausible) speculations enabled by the vague and unspecified nature of ancient written sources. Since we have neither emic testimonies saying what or who the Dardanians were nor, at the moment, archaeology can provide some light on III-II c. BCE inner social relations/dynamics in the region, all current ‘conclusions’ on Dardanian ethnicity, political organization and tribal territory (e.g. Papazoglu 1988; Sokolovska 2003; Shukriu 2008) are in fact ethno-deterministic imaginings (construed by combining reinterpreted views of ancient writers with modern ideas of an equally prejudiced nature). Shortly, there are no certain indications of any sort what lay behind the nominal value of the notion Dardanians, which means we will have to do much of the hard and theoretically-methodologically well developed archaeological work in order to narrow down the possibilities, at least a little bit.

7

Agatharchides’ information (given by Athenaeus VI, 103) that ‘Dardanians had great numbers of slaves (douloi), some of them having a thousand, and some even more; and that in time of peace they were all employed in the cultivation of the land; but that in time of war they were all divided into regiments, each set of slaves having their own master for their commander’ (Papazoglu 1978, 483–488; 1997; who interprets these douloi as dependent peasantry), could be taken as the supportive evidence for this view – if one is to trust its reliability. However, it is highly questionable whether the notice was founded in reality or it was yet another imagological (fictional) curiosity about the barbarian ‘other’.

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Pre-Roman Dardanians/Dardania After the Roman conquest of Macedonia and subsequent creation of the province, there is again a suspicious lack of information on Dardanians until the end of the II c. BCE (Papazoglu 1978, 174). Moreover, ancient authors’ notes on events in the second half of II and I c. refer to them in short and in general, with no comments on the political and military organization, cultural features, religion, prominent individuals or any other type of data common to ancient ethno-historiographical narratives. Roman expansion to the north in the I c. BCE left no detailed written echo, at least in surviving sources, and except for the general listing of key clashes between the Roman commanders and the Dardanians, we possess no evidence for the course and nuances of the process (Papazoglu 1978, 174– 187; 563–567). The note that Dardanians were defeated in 97 BCE is given by Julian Obsequens (IV c.) and therefore not completely reliable, while the dealings of Sulla, L. Hortensius, and C. Scipio Asiagenus in the middle of the 80’s are mentioned en passant. According to surviving notes, all three of them successfully fought the Dardanians who, together with other central Balkans ‘barbarians,' were invading Macedonia (Papazoglu 1978, 177–179, 563–564 for the sources; Delev 2012). Except for this, literary tradition has it that Dardanians were subjected by Scribonius Curio with numerous troops engaged in his 75–73 BCE operations (when he reached all the way to the Danube). This war is considered as decisive military and political mastery over Dardanians after which they recognized Rome’s supreme rule and entered semi-dependent relations with the Empire (Papazoglu 1978: 179–183). Other pieces of written narratives inform us only of two Macedonian governors’ unfortunate actions involving Dardanians, their participation in Pompey’s army, and an expedition Marcus Antonius instructed against them in order to keep his troops occupied (Papazoglu 1978, 183–186). Finally, the war Marcus Crassus fought with various populations of the central and northern Balkans in 29–28 probably ended with Dardania (along with Moesia) being incorporated into the Empire (Papazoglu 1978, 186–187). The listed evidence is all we have on Dardanians/Dardania for the period of Roman expansion in the interior of the Balkans, and it is obvious they are barely sufficient to reconstruct even the general historical outline of the process. Again, no source offers detailed descriptions or refers to the specifics of what exactly Dardanians were, while the lack of emic evidence and archaeological insight remind us of almost complete ignorance and call for high scepticism towards traditional ethnodeterministic interpretations. It is beyond doubt that the Roman elite

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accepted and continued to use the ethnonym, but what was its meaning and had it been changed in comparison to Macedonian utilization of the notion is in the sphere of unknown. In other words, although a nominal value of the term survived transformation of the region under the Roman hegemony (starting in 168 BCE), the problem remains whether the population(s) for which it was used had also undergone profound sociopolitical and identity changes (since the time of Philip V and Perseus), and what kind of world was it in the moment of Roman annexation. For example, Caesar’s notice (De bell. civ. III, 4, 6) that Dardanians and Bessi in Pompey’s army were partly mercenaries, partly obtained by power (imperium) and alliance (gratia) indicate various relations with people behind the terms used as single collective signifiers. Likewise, Strabo (VII, 5, 7) records that Galabrii and Thunatae belong to the Dardanians, which can be of great relevance for considering an interpretation different from the one involving a single ethnic tribe.8 To conclude this section, I should only repeat that the available evidence neither tells what the Dardanians were nor if the ethnic/tribal feeling/organization stood behind the word at all. Although such probability of course exists, it is very far from being certain, and the fairest conclusion is to admit we do not know anything for sure and should stay open-minded for various other, more complex, possible explanations. Ultimately and most importantly, it is necessary to be constantly aware that collective terms and their vague and unspecified meaning/use in ancient sources served a purpose very different from our need to classify human societies and precisely define the character of their collectivities. In ancient narratives on ‘barbarian others’ (pseudo)ethnic generalizations were quite adequate/sufficient for a role in the imagology of different, unknown, foreign and hostile, but this does not give us any right to project our own notions of collectivity into the sources and back to the past, or to fill the gaps in evidence in an uncritical and arbitrary manner.

Roman Dardania: creating a frame for collective reference The province of Moesia Superior was created at an unknown moment between 27 BCE and 14 CE (Mirkoviü 1968; Mócsy 1974, 33–52; Mladenoviü 2012) with Dardania as its southern part (which remained so 8

Strabo’s information was interpreted by Papazoglu as an indication of the Dardanian kingdom’s composite structure formed of various tribes and tribal groups (of different ethnic origins) to whom the inclusion in the Dardanian people was carried out by force and strong central rule (1978, 445).

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until it was organized as a separate province in the time of Aurelian). It is still unknown what was the status of Dardania during the Julio-Claudian dynasty, i.e. when and how it was established as a sub-provincial administrative unit (as it existed from the time of the Flavians). For the earliest imperial notion of Dardania, we have no direct testimonies of a literary or epigraphic nature, and it is highly speculative how the area was organized in the first half of I c. CE. The indirect evidence is the inscription from Aphrodisias’ Sebasteion (the accompanied representation is unfortunately not preserved), which gives the name of ǼĬȃȅȊȈ ǻǹȇǻǹȃȍȃ (Smith 1988, 55, no. 7; Pl. IX, 5). This inscription is important as the ethne in Aphrodisias’ Sebasteion represent territories and peoples who were defeated, added or brought back to the Empire by Augustus, and they could stand for administrative and ethnic units of the rank between the cities and the provinces (Smith 1988, 57–59). Since the Sebasteion was under construction from Tiberius to Nero, and there is strong probability it closely followed an iconographical and ‘ethnical’ matrix created under Augustus for his victories (Smith 1988, 71–77; Nicolet 1991, 46–47; Kuttner 1995, 81–82), it is possible that Dardania (i.e. the ethnos of Dardanians) was conceived as some sort of ethnogeographical unit already in the time of the first emperor, in the course of the establishment of the province of Moesia (Mócsy 1974, 69). For now, we have no other evidence to support the notion, and it is beyond current understanding if Dardania was organized as a certain kind of large civitas peregrina, or (more probably) was composed of several civitates peregrinae (compare Dušaniü 1977a, 70, n. 96; 2000: 345). In any case, judging by Aphrodisias’ inscription, it can be presumed that the central government treated the southern part of Moesia as an ‘ethnic’ territory from its very inclusion in the imperial structure. Furthermore, since ethno-geographical logic could have been crucial in imperialistic ordering of the conquered world, Dardania could also acquire the character of an administrative unit already in the first half of I c. (compare Ando 2010, 35; and Nicolet 1991, 189 stating that ‘geographical space in the Empire was also and perhaps above all administrative space’). Leaving aside speculations about the status of Dardania during the Julio-Claudians, it surely existed as a distinct administrative entity in the period of the Flavians. Save for Pliny’s (Nat. Hist. III, 149) listing of Dardanians among other populations of Moesia9 (Mócsy 1974, 66–68), four lead ingots found in Caesarea Maritima bear on their lateral sides 9

Which seems to echo the division of the province into civitates pereginae or groups of them named by wider ethnonyms (i.e. Dardani, Celegeri, Triballi, Timachi, Moesi) – compare Dušaniü 2000, 344–345.

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stamp Met(alla) Dard(aniae) (or Metalli Dardanici) together with stamps naming emperor Domitian (Ann. ép. 1999, 1683; Dušaniü 2008, 87–89). This seems to confirm Dušaniü’s interpretation of the specific fiscal status of Dardania as the complex of imperial mining estates certainly in use from the period of the Flavians (1977a, 69–76; 1995; 2004). Although the extent of a supposed Dardanian administrative-territorial mining district is not clear (see Dušaniü 1971; 1977a, 69–76; 2004, 257–260; Hirt 2010, 56– 67), the fact remains that some area was certainly established as a separate administrative unit and signified with the ethnonym that acquired legal and official relevance in imperial organization of the province of Moesia. It is not known whether this was done with respect to pre-Roman collective affiliation of the people in the area or if it was a new creation imposed as the result of the imperial perception of natural resources, geography, and ethnography10. Roman imperial authorities did not necessarily follow older collective and territorial divisions and, instead, were creating new administrative units (according to current interests) by merging several previous entities, splitting large ones into smaller groups or forming completely novel administrative communities11. If this was the case, Dardania could have been an administrative establishment with an ‘ethnic’ connotation designated to territory and people who previously did not refer to themselves in such a manner, nor functioned with the consciousness of this type of collectivity (compare Ando 2006, 183). Actually, I am trying to open the possibility that Dardania, as a territorial and collective determinant, might have been the outcome of administrative categorization implemented by the imperial government, i.e. it was not a self-identification signifier which existed and had been used prior to integration with the Roman Empire in the way it was after. Following Jenkins’ definition of categorization as external collective identification (2008a, 102–109), I presume it was the core process of creating affiliations with determinant Dardanians/ Dardania. By naming specific territory in this manner and bonding some population(s) both to

10

E.g. Dušaniü thought ‘Dardania of I–III cent. A.D. naturally covered a much wider territory than the Dardani as a purely ethnical unit’ (1977a, 69, n. 93) as well as it ‘may have included even some ethnically non-Dardanian civitates’ (1977a, 70, n. 96). 11 See: Orejas and Sastre 1999, 171, 175–176; Orejas and Sánchez-Palencia 2002, 590; Wells 1999, 33, 57; 2001; Ando 2000, 353–354; 2010, 20, 31–35; Laurence 2001; Carroll 2002, 109; Curchin 2004, 26, 53–56; Roymans 2004, 4, 205, 209, 253–258; Whittaker 2009, 196; Džino 2010a, 18–19, 22, 116, 161, 163–167, 181– 182; 2014; Moore 2011, 347, 349; Roncaglia 2013.

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the name and designated area12, the imperial government enabled the means for perception and construction of a new sense of belonging. In other words, the new administrative entity provided the frame for collective reference whose form, content, meaning, the ways of experiencing, performing and communicating (such identification) were new in comparison to the pre-Roman state of affairs.13 Although it had nominal continuity with the previous period and, as every categorization, could not be completely arbitrary (it had to be based on some similarities among the people in the area designated thusly – compare Jenkins 2008, 109–111), it is highly doubtful whether the concept of Dardania/Dardanians was the same before and after Roman intervention. The cause can be found in general Roman imperialistic practice of classifying and then dealing with the conquered people as civitates peregrinae, ethnic, administrative, regional or some other sort of collective units, which transformed not only previous socio-political structure but also the self-perception of the people in question (see n. 11). Hence, I presume the sense of Dardanian collectivity was (for the first time in such a manner) generated thanks to the emergence and development of the Roman imperial structure (starting from Augustus) and administrative arrangements which defined the stable point of reference, association, and identification. In other words, it is only by entering the Empire that Dardania became defined territory whose native inhabitants were (administratively) classified as Dardanians and were referred to as such in official interaction with imperial authorities. No matter if some sort of Dardanian collectivity existed in pre-Roman times, changed and newly formed historical context of the Empire set conditions for new ways to construct and perform collective belonging. Even if some sort of consciousness about Dardanian group identity operated before, it certainly transformed its features to fit emerging social, political, economic and cultural settings within the Roman Empire.

12

Which could have been the subject of official, more or less precise, delimitation judging by the number of toll stations in the area (Dušaniü 1977a, 70, n. 97; 2004, 256, n. 48; contra Hirt 201,: 60–67) and an inscription mentioning Dardanian borders (IMS VI, 220). 13 Although there is no evidence of it, we should not exclude the possibility the census was conducted in Dardania, which was an effective means to label and control the local population in the ways the imperial government saw fittest (compare Nicolet 1991, 125–169; Ando 2000, 353–354; 2010, 21; Claytor and Bagnall 2015). This is especially plausible if the aforementioned interpretation of Dardania as an administrative unit composed of imperial mining districts rests upon some truth.

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The establishment of a delimited administrative unit signified with the ethnonym was not the sole way of enabling identification with the notion of Dardania and Dardanians. The creation of auxiliary units which bore the name further supported the practice of affiliating with this collective determinant. Ala I Vespasiana Dardanorum is known in many inscriptions from Moesia Inferior (see Roxan 1997; Matei-Popescu 2007), while the creation of two cohorts Aureliae Dardanorum (with epigraphic evidence – IMS III/2; IV) is dated to the reign of Marcus Aurelius (Dušaniü 1977b). Irrespective of when the establishment of such a unit first took place (under Vespasian or maybe even earlier) and if it entirely followed the logic of ‘ethnic’ recruitment (i.e. was constituted only of Dardanians), the point is it provided a means, at least to some of its members, to identify in such way (compare Roymans 2004; 2014). In a similar logic, with potentially even broader consequences to practices of collective identification, was the naming of newly founded colonia and municipium in the region. Sometimes under the Flavians, most probably during the reign of Domitian, Colonia Flavia Felix Dardanorum Scupinorum (nowadays Skopje) was founded in the south of the province as the first settlement in Moesia to receive the status of a Roman colony (see IMS VI; Jovanova 2015). Some decades later, at an unknown time during the II c., another settlement (nowadays Soþanica near Kosovska Mitrovica) received municipal rights along with the name of Municipium Dardanorum (ýerškov 1970; Dušaniü 2004). The consequences of such practice are clear: the ‘tribal’ name, used to signify an administrative territory and its population, was now ‘localized’ for the denomination of newly established towns, whose inhabitants thereafter acquired (officially at least) the identification of the Dardanians. The creation of Dardania was followed by interesting developments in the symbolic sphere as well. The already mentioned inscription of Dardanian ethne in Aphrodisias was almost certainly followed by figural personification, as in the preserved cases of the Sebasteion (Smith 1988). This suggests that the (administrative?) entity of Dardania, maybe already in the time of Augustus, was provided with a female figure to symbolically represent the whole people and territory the name stood for. What the iconographical content of the figure was, and whether it was strictly defined and codified from Augustus onwards is not known, but the fact it was utilized since the early Empire is of great importance here. Additionally, perhaps in the time of Domitian, and most certainly in the reign of Trajan, the personification of Dardania was depicted on one of the types of so-called mining coins (nummi metallorum) along with the inscription (Metalli) Dardanici (Dušaniü 1971; 2009; Hirt 2010, 64–67).

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This confirms that Dardania was, more or less consistently throughout the I c., imagined and represented in a manner usual for provinces, regions, and peoples of the Empire (compare Kuttner 1995, 73–86; Rodgers 2003; Hughes 2009; Vitale 2012). The praxis could have substantially supported the imagining /picturing of the ethno-geographical concept of Dardania both among the locals and Empire-wide and could aid (at least) some people to more easily identify with the collective determinant. In other words, the forming of the personification contributed to the creation of a cognitive map which included Dardania defined as an (pseudo)ethnicgeographical/administrative category, and provided the tool for a repetitive symbolic pattern that could have strengthened the feeling of common belonging by continuous usage of and reference to the motif (i.e. as a constant reminder of an identificational category). This is further supported by the appearance of the epigraphic and iconographic evidence of Dea Dardanica, the goddess of whom the earliest known certain attestation is dated to 206 CE, and whose image closely followed the model of provincial /regional/ethnic figures (IMS I, 167; IV, 104; Bărbulescu 1997, 553; Popoviü 2008; Shukriu 2011; Ferri 2011; 2012; Dobruna-Salihu 2012). It is possible that the creation of the goddess was inspired by the Dardanian personification, with her appearances derived from existing visual matrices of Dardania, but the line of its emergence is very hard to follow with the scarce evidence at the disposal. In any case, the worship of the deity which symbolized the territory and population defined by an ‘ethnic’ logic, could empower the affiliation with Dardania/ Dardanians, as performative activities (i.e. the cult) took place within a very specifically defined framework (i.e. under the aegis of the goddess who embodied and reified the collectivity). To put it simply, the cult of Dea Dardanica had the potential to mobilize the feelings of collectivity among some people, and by doing so it repeatedly recreated the concept of Dardania/Dardanians, like other discussed practices, also did (i.e. naming of the administrative entity, military units and settlements, official listing of population, correspondence between imperial government and local communities/officials etc.). All of the aforementioned processes must have had some resonance amongst the population of Dardania, in terms of the modes of individual/group identification. In a number of cases known from epigraphic evidence14 personal names were derived from Dardania/ 14

Epigraphic database Clauss/Slaby (EDCS http://db.edcs.eu/epigr/epi_en.php, accessed October 2015), under the search entry ‘dardan’, gives 55 cases of personal names of different social, chronological and contextual backgrounds: EDCS- 67400431; 06100559; 50300282; 24700194; 26400054; 26400060;

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Dardani/Dardanus, which in some of the examples could suggest a geographical origin or the sense of belonging to the Dardanian collectivity (at least among those who gave the names if not for the persons who bore them). However, it is very difficult to distinguish such instances, for the logic of personal naming could be variously inspired and not directly (or even indirectly) linked to the region of the Balkan Dardania15. The detailed study of the material is yet to be conducted, and until then it suffices to keep in mind that some of the names could echo the feeling of connection to the Dardanian homeland or group affiliation16. The mentioned possibility is somewhat higher in the cases of explicit statements of origin. The EDCS database provides 11 examples of this sort, the majority of which are proclamations of soldiers’ backgrounds17. This, of course, does not mean we have the emic confirmations of Dardanian ethnic belonging since the origo or natio stated on the monuments refers to the legal administrative unit the individuals were born and registered into, and did not necessarily have to indicate an intimate sense of group belonging (compare Ricci 1993 for origin entries of the people from the Balkans at 67400462; 24900112; 29700254; 30100812; 26000476; 24300523; 04201941; 18400003; 19800410; 19300026; 19300386; 19100632; 17200931; 17201407; 15400312; 13800380; 18600644; 07800244; 17700353; 11501692; 11501762; 19400193; 19400355; 23001805; 22900985; 36900508; 47900674; 10600789; 43701298; 43701031; 43701032; 08900025; 03300362; 39900593; 38302011; 32802333; 38801165; 33101460; 09701419; 47700100; 09801988; 10000669; 10101008; 13100029; 08601108; 08601586; 02600048; 06100119; 01200143 15 In a number of cases the people who bore the name were slaves or freedmen/women which warns against jumping to conclusions about their origin and, particularly, group/’ethnic’ feelings. Additionally, as the town of Dardanus existed in Asia Minor and a homonymous mythological character (Aeneas’ forefather) had some relevance in legendary Roman ancestry, it is very hard to tell whether the name might have reflected some sort of homeland/native identification with Balkan Dardania/ Dardanians (see Papazoglu 1978, 222–224). 16 As in the case of e.g. EDCS-01200143 where one Romanus Atti f(ilius) Dardanus bore the paternal name specific to the Balkan provinces of the Empire – Papazoglu 1978, 226–227; IMS IV, p. 34); or EDCS-29700254 where certain I. L. Dardanus erected the tombstone to his father Gaius Iulius Longinus who was settled in Scupi as a veteran. I am not implying that these persons inevitably had Dardanian ethnic feeling, but they certainly could have some consciousness about a geo-administrative /collective category their names were derived from and which distinctively labeled them. 17 7 of them are military personnel (EDCS-22900175; 12100832; 01600176; 18900624; 11000872; 51600765; 30300415), one is most probably connected to the army (EDCS-23201539), one is a male civilian (01200210), and two inscriptions mention three women born in Dardania (EDCS-14500594; 20402130).

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Rome, all of which correspond to various types of Roman administrative establishments). In other words, the expression of origin was articulated through invocation of imperial administrative formations (vicus, pagus, civitas, municipium, colonia, regio, provincia) which leaves open the question if individuals really felt some strong (ethnic) connection with them, or were just following the stipulated (or customary) way of public identification. However, by (officially) linking the region/civitas/ administrative entity of Dardania to names and other identification markers these people were defined in a very particular manner, which certainly contributed to the expression of their distinctiveness (from others), and could play a notable role in their identificational practices/performances. It is not without significance that 8 out of 11 cited inscriptions stating the origin (excluding 3 military diplomas which are not indicative in this respect: EDCS- 12100832; 51600765; 30300415), 54 of cases with names derived from Dardania (excluding only EDCS29700254), and two votive icons of Dea Dardanica (EDCS-11200904; 11200905) came from the areas out of Dardania and Moesia. These are the social contexts of ‘foreign country’ where the strong emphasis of specific individual/group identities could be important due to potential diasporic experiences and the need to differentiate oneself from ‘others’ by fixing crucial points of personhood (see Hope 1997, 250, 254–258; Derks 2009; Džino 2010b; Ivleva 2011). In such socio/cultural settings to bring out some sort of uniqueness might have come handy, and these were the situations when the sense of Dardanian belonging could have accelerated and clearly profiled. In conclusion, there are a few crucial points to be underlined. I purposefully avoided the term Dardanian ethnicity as I am not convinced we can employ it with confidence. For the pre-Roman times there is no evidence which could be (even remotely) considered conclusive, and although the possibility exists, there is no stable ground to talk about Dardanian ethnic feeling and what was the content of the term. Regarding the Roman Empire, the data are more abundant and of higher quality, which gives the basis to presume that the sense of belonging to a Dardanian group did actually exist. However, it is not clear if we can safely characterize it as ethnic. By creating the legally and geographically defined administrative unit of Dardania, the concept certainly entered the consciousness of the population affected by the imperial agency. This cognition and life within such setting provided the stable frame of collective/homeland reference in situations of need, and also provided the opportunity for the people to mutually connect by this criterion. Nevertheless, it was yet another among many diverse ways of

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identification in the Empire, which might have been important to some but largely irrelevant to other individuals administratively signified as Dardanians. Furthermore, it is not known how exactly this identity marker was fashioned, practised and lived, and if we could consider it similar to modern experiences of ethnic belonging. Respectively, I am inclined to think that the imperial context indeed enabled the frame for shared Dardanian collectivity, but it is still unknown whether it fell under the definitions of ethnicity discussed at the beginning of the paper and, more importantly, if it worked in such a mode at all (i.e. as a very important collective social positioning). It should be remembered the terms we encounter in ancient sources could have different and changeable meanings, not coming even close to our own concepts of ethnic belonging or its salient relevance for social performance and interaction (see Noy 2010, 15; Gruen 2013; Isaac this volume). So, what exactly it meant to be Dardanian is highly questionable, given that we do not have conclusive testimonies about the notion, and the concept could have been employed by different individuals in various ways, social contexts and periods. For example, it is said in Historia Augusta that Emperor Claudius Gothicus was proud to be of Trojan blood, the information explained by arguing he was born in Balkan Dardania, which was believed to have ancestral ties with the famous homonymous region in Asia Minor (Papazoglu 1978, 133; Jovanoviü 2006, 50). For people like Claudius (who exploited the narratives of Trojan relation to self-promote and affirm their status) being Dardanian probably had different relevance and meaning then for (say) Aurelia Dardana who was buried in Rome at age 22 (EDCS-38801165), or Antonius Dardanus Cursor who participated in the commemoration of a fellow speculator legionis in Britannia (EDCS-07800244).

Acknowledgments I am very grateful to Charles Barnett who kindly helped me with careful English editing of the text. The paper is the result of the project Region of Vojvodina in the context of European history funded by the Ministry of education, science and technological development of the Republic of Serbia.

Abbreviations Ann. ép. - L’Année épigraphique IMS - Inscriptions de la Mésie Supérieure:

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I – Dušaniü, Slobodan. 1976. “Le Nord-Ouest de la Mésie Supérieure“, In Inscriptions de la Mésie Supérieure I. Singidunum et le Nord-Ouest de la Province, 95-163. Beograd: Centre d’Études Épigraphiques et Numismatiques. III/2 – Petroviü, Petar. 1995. Inscriptions de la Mésie Supérieure III/2. Timacum Minus et la Vallée du Timok. Beograd: Centre d’Études Épigraphiques et Numismatiques. IV – Petroviü, Petar. 1979. Inscriptions de la Mésie Supérieure IV. Naissus, Remesiana, Horreum Margi. Beograd: Centre d’Études Épigraphiques et Numismatiques. VI – Dragojeviü-Josifovska, Borka. 1982. Inscriptions de la Mésie Supérieure VI. Scupi et la région de Kumanovo. Beograd: Centre d’Études Épigraphiques et Numismatiques.

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ROMAN POTTERY FROM KOSMAJ: BEING ABOUT SOMETHING OR BEING ABOUT SOMEBODY TATJANA CVJETIûANIN

Roman imperial mines at Mt. Kosmaj, rich with silver, copper and, partly, gold, are among the oldest in Upper Moesia,1 organized since the very institution of Roman power. Direct management of imperial governor had been established there in the 1st century, and the exploitation reached its peak in the 2nd century (Veliþkoviü 1958, 115), from the time of Emperor Trajan, and particularly at the time of Marcus Aurelius and Commodus. An administrative centre was in a castrum in the village of Stojnik, at the site known as Grad or Gradište, whose Roman name was probably Demessus (Dušaniü 1977, 169, 171; Kondiü, Popoviü 1986, 2). Later it was the military centre as well: special rather large military units were organized to defend the mine, guard the transport and maintain discipline, including cohorts II Aurelia Nova milliaria equitata civium Romanorum and I Aurelia Nova Pasinatum civium Romanorum milliaria, created during the reign of Marcus Aurelius (Kondiü, Popoviü 1986, 2), and II Aurelia nova Sacorum, V (Callaecorum) Lucensium or I Ulpia Pannoniorum milliaria equitata (Dušaniü 1976, 97, 104) that were from time to time engaged to defend the mines. Nikola Vuliü has carried out the first excavations at the Roman fortification at Stojnik and its surroundings between 1911 and 1913. The walls of Stojnik fortification and a section of the interior, with the hospital, various residential structures, storehouse or stable near the south gate, were discovered (Veliþkoviü 1958, 103–109). Unfortunately, documentation 1

Upper Moesian mines (Metalla Moesiae Superioris) consisted of four units: metalla Dardaniae, with mines in south and south-west of the province with the centre a Municipium DD; metalla Pincensia with mines in the valleys of the Pek and Mlava rivers; civitas Moesorum at the territory of Moesi, in the eastern Serbia, and metalla Tricornensia with mines in the nowadays Šumadija (central Serbia), especially Mt. Kosmaj.

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and finds from those campaigns are not preserved. Intensive archaeological research in this region started around the middle of the 20th century when the National Museum in Belgrade carried out a field survey in the area between the villages Babe, Stojnik, and Guberevac. The huge complex of mining installations and shafts, equipment for ore refining, settlements, fortifications, and necropolises were confirmed in that region (Veliþkoviü 1958, 97), and more than 50 sites were discovered, and some of them investigated.2 Numerous mining necropolises were spotted at the core territory of the Roman mine in the triangle between mentioned villages, most of them necropolises with cremation burials. Pottery finds from Gomilice, the only excavated necropolis in this mining region, with graves a étage belonging to the Mala Kopašnica–Sase type that is identified as an indigenous form, and those from devastated necropolises in this area, housed in the Dunjiü collection of the National Museum in Belgrade, and gifts of Sofija and Milojko Dunjiü from the Belgrade City Museum collection (Cvjetiüanin et al. 2013), are used here to study the impact of Roman administration and the army, and influence of different cultural contacts. In what follows, the particular value of pottery in multiple, socially constructed contexts and as a mediator of burial practices is discussed. Additionally, previous considerations, underlying all interpretations of the imperial metalla of Kosmaj (Dušaniü 2010, 473–773), about the existence of a strong indigenous element opposed to Roman and visible transformation of local identity, especially in burials of Mala Kopašnica-Sase assigned to ‘Romanized’ population are questioned. Pottery studies are more often than not restricted to classification and analytical techniques usually used to create typologies, for dating and to establish economic aspects (models and organization of production, technology transfer, and trade). Pottery – a key part of everyday life, so common in archaeological records – is usually seen as a huge archaeological 2

From 1953, when small-scale excavations had been conducted at Pruten, Kosmaj territory was in the focus of investigations: a late Roman building with mosaic pavement of which nine votive inscriptions are preserved was discovered in the vicinity of the south gate of the Roman fortification, at the site Grad in Stojnik (Dušɚniü 1974, 93–105); an almost completely destroyed necropolis at Rt, small hill in Guberevac, was excavated in 1959 and 1960 (Vɟliþkɨviü 1964, 130–133); the same types of cremation burials have been recorded at the systematically investigated necropolis Gomilice, and finally, between 1983 and 1988, tombs were discovered along Guberevac-Sopot road via Babe, and the segment of the civil settlement next to fortification at the site Grad in Stojnik (Kɨndiü, Pɨpɨviü 1986: 3–4).

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resource, offering supporting evidence to various research directions and positions, especially concerning proposals about cultural, ethnic or economic assemblages and groupings. Data on production and consumption, and for the research of the Roman pottery overall similarity and relative homogeneity, are commonly supporting arguments about cultural diffusion, or is sometimes presented as an index of Romanization, and spread of particular classes is seen as a result of Empires’ uniformity (Greene 1997, 27). Significant agents in a pottery production are usually recognized in Roman army, administration, and cities – urban centres, testifying about superiority of the Roman culture and Romanization. But pottery can say so much more, especially when we move one step beyond pure production and distribution, and typical circulation or rare appearances could give significant data about its use in provincial contexts. The interpretation of the ceramic evidence from the Gomilice necropolis in the imperial mining region and other pottery finds from Mt. Kosmaj, could establish the supply mechanisms of imperial operations and recognize ceramic vessels that could have played an important role in the construction of their owners' identities. Besides social meaning and burial practices, the particular value of objects – in this case, pottery – in multiple, socially constructed contexts could be studied, and assumption about pottery as an expression of Roman domination and superiority, or of an indigenous autonomy could be tested.

Gomilice necropolis: evidence review The necropolis with cremations at the site Gomilice, in Guberevac, is situated in the vicinity of Stojnik fortress. During excavations that lasted with brief interruptions from 1960 to 1978 (Veliþkoviü 1964, 131; Glumac 2009, 5–6), 370 graves were discovered, and two ustrina. Only in one case, the remains of deceased were placed in a ceramic urn, and in two cases in lead sarcophagi, and all other burials are with cremated remains placed directly in the grave pit. Unfortunately, remains of the deceased were not preserved, so we cannot speak about their age and gender structure. Various grave offerings, ceramic and glassware, jewellery, coins, lamps, toilet utensils, different tools, and terracotta, date necropolis into the period from the second half of the 1st to the middle of the 3rd century. The results of these excavations are not jet published,3 apart from

3 The publication on Gomilice necropolis is in preparation by Mirjana Glumac and Tatjana Cvjetiüanin, in the National Museum’s edition Kosmajske sveske, aimed to

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a small number of finds from particular graves (Glumac 2005; Glumac 2009; Glumac 2009a).4 Gomilice necropolis belongs to the necropolises with cremation burials from the early Imperial period with graves consisting of rather wide and shallow rectangular pit (type I) where the remains of cremated individual and grave goods had been directly deposited, or with wide pit with smaller, also mostly rectangular pit dug in the centre – graves a étage or stepped graves (type II).5 Both pits were beforehand scorched by intense fire. The graves belong to the Mala Kopašnica-Sase burials (Fig. 10-1/a-c), well-known type in the region, recognized as an autochthonous form characteristic for the Moesian-Dardanian area from the 1st century to the 3rd century and very rarely at the beginning of the 4th century (Jovanoviü 1984, 100-110; Jovanoviü 2000, 209-210). To the type I ascribed are 90 graves, while to the type II belong 250 graves. Necropolis is situated on a slope, denser near the northwestern rock border, with a small hiatus around the middle of the cemetery. Type I is more numerous in the southwestern part of the necropolis (68 graves). Approximately one-third of the graves had a stone as a grave marker, and sometimes the graves were surrounded by a square or circular wall (8 graves). Six graves with libation pipes were discovered (Glumac 2011, 231–242). Grave goods are of two different types, those which had been burned together with the deceased, at two identified ustrina, mostly coins and jewellery, and those placed in the grave after deposition of cremated remains, secondary offerings, like pottery or glass vessels, lamps, terracotta figurines, tools, and implements. Grave goods are found in 306 graves (82.7%). Limited published information, as one of the main characteristic of the necropolis, and of the Kosmaj region, emphasize constructing an indigenous vs. Roman relationship, expression of Roman domination, and acceptance of the Roman culture but with still strong indigenous elements.

publish all finds form the Kosmaj district. The first in series is Cvjetiüanin at al. 2013. 4 Finds from necropolis, 941 objects, housed in the National Museum in the Kosmaj Collection were recently analyzed and discussed in the Ph.D. thesis of the curator Mirjana Glumac, Roman Necropolis Guberevac-Gomilice at Kosmaj. Social Structure of the population from the 1st to the 3rd century (2015), University of Belgrade. 5 Exact type of Mala Kopašnica-Sase burial is not known for 25 graves, of which 14 have grave offerings.

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a

b

c

Fig. 10-1/a-c Gomilice necropolis – examples of burial types Mala Kopašnica-Sase I: a-grave 190; and II: b-grave 280 and c- grave 287

Pottery played an important part in Gomilice funerary rites and burials, being used in different stages of the ceremony, as well as grave inventory – offerings placed inside graves, similar to other Mala Kopašnica – Sase necropolises (cf. Jovanoviü 1984, 104; Zotoviü-Jordoviü 1990, 10–11; Pešiü 2005, 37–38). Pottery is placed in 221 graves (c. 60% of all of the graves, c. 72% of the graves with grave goods), both in Mala KopašnicaSase I and II grave types (Fig. 10-2). In the most cases, pottery is placed in the upper part of the pit, along walls, on one half of the grave, or on the whole surface of the grave. The forms and types are limited: flagons and jug are the most common (367 vessels), second is cups and beakers (82), while bowls (43) and censers or tazze – turibula (43) appear in smaller numbers. Plates (5), pots (11), lids (3) and amphoriskoi (1) are very rare. Only one amphora fragment was found, probably used as libation pipe, and one bowl with lid was used as a cremation urn. Majority of graves with ceramic vessels, based on the coin finds, is dated to the 2nd century, from Trajan to Marcus Aurelius, though pottery appears in the four graves with the coins of Nero and Claudius and Flavian dynasty (9 graves), as well as until the middle of the 3rd century. In total 556 ceramic vessels and 141 typologically non-sensitive fragments of vessels were found, the sum of 697 finds. To the second half of the 1st century or very beginning of the

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2nd century 40 vessels are dated, 586 to the 2nd century, and 71 to the end of the 2nd and 3rd century or 2nd–3rd centuries.

Fig. 10-2. Grave 269 of Mala Kopašnica-Sase II type

Identified are 66 types of vessels with 29 variants. The most diverse are flagons and jars with 36 types and variants than beakers and cups with 25 forms. Bowls are registered in 15 forms, and other functional groups do not have developed and various forms. However, the diversity that could be observed in typology is actually very misleading: numbers are suggesting developed and elaborated production with a complex repertoire of tableware, but in reality almost half of the vessels (273) belong only to 5 types /variants of jugs, and together with one type of censer and one type of beaker (74) make roughly 62% of vessels (Fig. 10-3a-c). The most common are jugs with trefoil opening, oinochoe, with oval or spherical body (Cvjetiüanin 2013, K33, K33a, K 36), and oval and spherical jugs with triangularly profiled rim (Cvjetiüanin 2013, K 7, K7a, K 17), typical for the 2nd and the first half of the 3rd century pottery production in Upper Moesia (Zotoviü, Jordoviü 1990; Nikoliü-Ĉorÿeviü 2000, VII/15; Raiþkoviü 2007, XII/10, XII/25).

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a

b

c

d Fig. 10-3/a-d Common pottery types at Gomilice

Oval beakers with the ribbon-like rim, rectangular in section (Cvjetiüanin 2013, P1, P1a), as well as conical censers (Cvjetiüanin 2013, Ka 2, Ka 2a), are second numerous. To this group, simple calotte-shaped

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bowls (Cvjetiüanin 2013, Z 12, Z 12a) can be added. All forms are common in Upper Moesian production, usually of the 2nd and 3rd centuries (Jevremoviü 1987, 49–50; Nikoliü-Ĉorÿeviü 2000, 11–244; Raiþkoviü 2007). Other types are usually represented by one example.6 Production attributes are uniform, and red fired vessels dominate, or in the case of beakers and bowls occasionally grey fired ones. Pottery is of poor quality, and most of it, contrary to common characteristics of the tableware, without any surface treatment and decoration. Rare are examples of red (34) and black (6) colour coated pottery: a small biconical dish decorated with applied floral ornament (Fig. 10-3d), echoing thinwalled northern Italic pottery, calotte-shape dish with horizontal rim, oval beaker with unprofiled rim, or forms typical for Gomilice, such as beaker with ribbon like rim, oval oinochoe, and jug with triangular rim, have red colour coated surface but of rather poor quality. The most interesting are rough cast beakers with surface sprinkled with dry clay, all three examples found in one grave, from the beginning of the 2nd century, generally rare in Moesia. Black colour coated vessels are a semi-spherical bowl with rounded rim accented with grooves, and oval cup with sloped, slightly curved rim. The colour coated pottery appears in only 29 graves dated mostly in Hadrian time or generally the 2nd century, with the exception of two graves where coins of Nero were found. The Early Roman glazed pottery makes the only other group with specific surface treatment, with 28 examples (Fig. 10-4a-b). Several forms are identical with unglazed Kosmaj pottery, such as oval flagons with rectangular, triangular and sloped rim or trefoil opening, and oval cups (Cvjetiüanin 2013, P 10). Others are typical only for the glazed pottery, and unique for the Gomilice necropolis, such as urn with two handles, semi-elliptical skyphos, amphoriskos, small bottle and flagons with two handles, some of them decorated with applied scale decoration or floral ornament (Cvjetiüanin 2001, 44–53). Glazed pottery is found in 18 graves of the 2nd century, from Hadrian times onwards, in only one case together with colour coated pottery. Fine imported wares, such as terra sigillata, are completely absent. In total, only 68 vessels and fragments (9.74%) differ from the rest of the pottery of Gomilice necropolis, coarse red pottery.

6

Cups with sloped rim and one handle (Cvjetiüanin 2013, P10), oval cup with sloped and slightly curved rim (Cvjetiüanin 2013, P 11), plate in Drag. 36 form (Cvjetiüanin 2013, T 2), as well as carinated bowls (Cvjetiüanin 2013, Z 5 and Z 6) are exception: each type of beakers and plates has 4 examples, while bowls are represented by 3 examples each.

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a

b

Fig. 10-4/a-b Glazed pottery from Gomilice

Gomilice necropolis: analysis of data The most striking feature of Gomilice pottery is its production quality and absence of traces of usage. For the most part, the pottery at Gomilice was produced specifically for burial, for food offerings and other rites (and this goes for the colour coated pottery as well). It was funerary pottery, which was straight away withdrawn from use (Pop-Laziü 2002, 56) and utilized in the canonized ritual. Vessels used in burial, as said, are usually drinking vessels, and rarely bowls, kitchen and storage wares were used as containers for solid food. Probably they contained alimentary offerings, but exact rites and practise are unknown. Their placement in the grave discloses loose pattern: during the whole time of the existence of the necropolis vessels were mostly placed along the walls of the grave, and occasionally on the whole surface or one half of the pit, standing or purposely lay down. The majority of graves have three vessels (84), while graves with one (31), 2 (41) or four vessels (31) were less common, and an even smaller number of graves (14) has five vessels (Table 10-1). Graves with more than five vessels are rare, and there is in total only 20 of them, with three graves that contained nine vessels,7 and just one each that contained 10

7 One grave had flagons, beakers and censers, three of each, indicating possible multiple burials.

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and 11 vesssels. While att the end of the t 1st centuryy mainly two o or three vessels weree placed in graves, g with the exception of two gravees with 4 vessels and only one withh 6 wares, forr the 2nd centuury, although a variety of number iss present in alll of 172 graves, the most ccommon are th hose with three vesselss as grave gooods (66), whille graves withh one (21), tw wo (27) or n with four veessels (26) aree pretty numeerous. For the end of the 2nd and the rd first half of tthe 3 centuryy usual are thrree vessels wit ithin the gravee (6).

Table 10-1. Gomilice vesssels numberr w recorded : if it is the caase of one Differennt combinationns of vessels were vessel offerred, it is usuaally a flagon, though beakkers, censers and even plate and poot were found in graves in i several casses. If two veessels are placed in thee grave, they are almost alw ways two flaggons or two beeakers, or combinationn of each. In tw wo cases flag gon is paired w with a censer, and once with a plate.. Only in one case plate and d censer were placed togeth her within the grave. T Three vessels in the grave commonly m mean three flaagons, or rarely two fllagons and beaker. Hardly ever e flagons aare paired with h censers, and only in one case, twoo flagons are placed p with a bowl. For mo ost of the graves that have four and a more vesssels, three fllagons are a common feature, veryy rarely there is a combinattion of two flaagons and two o beakers (for graves w with four vesssels) or two flagons with tw wo bowls or beeaker and censor. Onlly in one case flagons aree not placed iin the grave, but four

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bowls and that is one of the Mala Kopašnica-Sase I type, from the 2nd century. Such a case does not exist for graves with five vessels and more: flagons are always the feature. It seems that homogeneity in form does, in the case of Gomilice necropolis, equate with homogenous meaning once in the hands of the consumers. It is safe to assume that pottery, particular functional groups and types of drinking vessels and tableware, have had, from the second half of the 1st century until the middle of the 3rd-century same purpose and meaning in the funeral practice. Usually, three flagons in each grave8 were used for three sorts of liquids, or as a symbolic meal, in a ritual that is not possible to reconstruct (Jovanoviü 1984, 104). Differences cannot be observed between two types of burial, Mala Kopašnica-Sase I and II types. To continue to explore physical manifestations of the Gomilice necropolis it seems valuable to analyse other objects placed in the graves, secondary offerings as well as personal belongings of a deceased or gifts by mourners, and possible pattern, if any, among them (Fig. 10-5). Merely 19 graves contained only pottery. Others, apart from pottery, contained coins, lamps, glass vessels (unguentaria, balsamaria, beakers), jewellery, mirrors, toilette and/or medical instruments, keys and parts of the lock, iron and bronze frames of wooden boxes, writing utensils, some knives, and in very few cases terracotta, crystals and lead plaques with inscriptions – tablets of cursed (Glumac, Ferjanþic 2009, 225–235). But this apparent uniformity, when the structure of finds is in question, reveals multiple combinations – just with pottery, there are more than 90 various groupings – and diversity. Grave, even in consequently executed ritual, as it seems the Mala Kopašnica-Sase burials are, is both a private place of personal expression and a social arena of both the dead and the living (Pearson 2003, 28). However, the rate of graves where pottery is offered with just coins (29), or glass vessels (15), or with lamps (11), or any of a combination of these, and finally pottery, coins, glass vessels and lamps together (19) is higher than others (Table 10-2). There are 115 of these graves, again, probably reflecting particular rites connected with this type of burials.

8

In the nearby Singidunum, also three flagons which have been placed in the cremation burials (Pop-Laziü 2002, 52).

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Fig. 10-5. Finds from grave 139 at Gomilice

Table 10-2. Overview of grave offerings at Gomilice - sample (cv – ceramic vessel, gv – glass vessel, l – lamp, c – coin, kn – knife, m – mirror)

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There are no specifics observed, patterns within a particular timeframe, and the only spotted difference is between types I and II of Mala Kopašnica-Sase: in the graves belonging to the type I there is a smaller number of finds, but then again assemblages are diverse. In this homogeneity, with uniform pottery in Roman forms and fabrics, specific objects are the only category we could use to analyse social structure, probable occupation or origin of deceased. Previous investigations, based mostly on the epigraphic evidence, and to an extent on archaeological records, recognized within a population of Kosmaj people of different origin. Besides the miners who had been brought as specialists, possibly even by imperial order from all over the Roman world (Dušaniü 1975, 135; Dušaniü 1977, 166; Dušaniü 1980, 23, 28, 32; Dušaniü 2004, 265), tradespeople and artisans of different origin also came to Kosmaj. The monuments indicate a population of Illyrian, Celtic, Liburnian (Dalmatia) and to a considerable extent of Thracian origin (Dušaniü 1976, 108–111). The oriental element was also rather prominent among the inhabitants, and there is confirmation about a population from the eastern part of the Empire in the inscriptions discovered throughout the Kosmaj area, on votive altars and in shrines (Dušaniü 1976, 109; Petkoviü 1997, 185–187). Gomilice is recognized as one of the miners' necropolises that yielded various data about the social and economic structure of the Kosmaj miners and other inhabitants (Veliþkoviü 1964, 129–140; Dušaniü 1976, 111–117; Glumac 2009; Glumac 2011, 231–242). Some of the finds indicate the higher status of the deceased in the mining administration (for example grave No. 126, by number and type of offerings), a possible connection with the medical profession (grave No. 22), former occupation as a carpenter (chisel in the grave No. 137) among different crafts and trade developed, literacy (inkpots in graves No. 312, 359, 259, 266), while others indicate Dalmatian (particular forms of glass vessels) or Eastern origin (libation pipes, terracotta, cf. Glumac 2005, 361–374). But pottery, except glazed one, is not allowing any differentiation, or recognition of status or provenance of the Kosmaj population. Neither is signifying “Romanized” population nor is suggestive of native beliefs. Pottery from Gomilice necropolis is, in terms of fabric and form, Roman, and together with other ceramic evidence from Kosmaj, and Dunjiü collection, is showing overall similarity with other ceramic assemblages in Upper Moesia, and even wider, middle and lower Danube provinces. Most of it is funerary pottery, locally produced, and it is very hard (or impossible) to identify its consumers by status, gender, origin, or

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to understand only by pottery differences observed in burials and social meaning they maybe have had. Still, some of the pottery classes, so call imported pottery, distributed in the whole Empire, and recognized as carrying Roman identity, such as terra sigillata, deserve attention. Terra sigillata could be about somebody, and it is certainly about something, about supply mechanisms. Exchange of terra sigillata could be seen “as a mechanism for both spreading and defining a ‘Roman’ material culture and indeed a Roman identity” (Hingley 2005, 100), and it could be part of the larger supply operation characteristic for the centralized Roman administration and army. At Kosmaj terra sigillata was not recorded in a significant number (Vasiü 1967: 179–184; Bjelajac 1990; Cvjetiüanin 2013: 78–79). There is one example of the North Italic terra sigillata (Consp. 20.4.4) from Flavian times; two of the Central Gaulish sigillata from the middle of the 1st century and one of the production typical for the for the last third of the 1st century; middle Gaulish/Lezoux production is registered by 11 examples dating from the middle of 2nd century to the end of the 2nd century; eastern Gaulish/Rheinzabern products dating from the middle of 2nd century to the end of the 2nd century occur with 9 specimens, while Westendorf manufacture from the first half of the 3rd century is represented by three examples. This is not typical for Upper Moesian sites were plain late Padanian sigillata, as well as relief decorated South Gaulish sigillata and especially Rheinzabern production, are numerous and distribution is equal to different settlement, cities, and military installations.9 Especially locally produced sigillata from Viminacum-Margum centre (Bjelajac 1990, 143– 172), typical for the second half of the 2nd century, are numerous in the northern part of the province. Some of the terra sigillata ware certainly reached Kosmaj by usual trade routes and connections established as a result of Roman conquest and Roman rule, mostly to supply the army, and the administration as well. However, terra sigillata distribution in the case of Kosmaj does not indicate imperial supply systems, visible for example at Limes. It is known that Rome did not have a single, centralized office for the management of mines, but only local posts (Mattingly 2011: 169), and although some similarities in regional practice could be expected, were nonexistent. A comparable situation is at mining necropolises in the region of Alburnus Maior, in Dacia, especially Tau Corna cemetery recognized as Illyrian 9

For example, at Diana, one of the fortresses on the Danube limes, 275 specimens of imported terra sigillata were found during the excavations from 1978 until 1990 (Kondiü, Cvjetiüanin 1993, 49–62; Kondiü, Cvjetiüanin 1994, 149–161) as opposed to total of 26 terra sigillata vessels registered at Kosmaj district.

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(Illyrian miners, recorded as miners from Dalmatia, brought into Dacia for the gold exploitation immediately after the Roman conquest of Dacia). Imported pottery is absent, perhaps as a reflection of the social status of the colonists (Rusu-Bolindet 2014, 243–244). It could be that terra sigillata was expensive, but some of other offerings were luxurious and pricey and withdrawn from circulation. It seems that here terra sigillata did not play an important role in the construction of their owners’ status identities in this mining region. Glazed pottery, another interesting class, with some examples imported, seems to be more relevant for the complex identity of consumers. The Early Roman glazed ware found at Kosmaj is the most numerous group of this class in Upper Moesia. Few vessels - four bowls and beakers from the end of the 1st - the beginning of the 2nd century, belong to the Central Gaulish production. Majority of glazed ware, more than 80 vessels, mainly flagons, jugs, beakers and cups in very diverse types, red fired, glazed in the shades of green or yellow, decorated with applied stylized floral ornaments, belong to the locally produced pottery (Cvjetiüanin 2001, group F, 107–117). They appear, for now, strictly in the Kosmaj region. We recognize the reasons for their production in the population of the Eastern origin – vessels were either made by artisans from the East or the consumers were of Eastern origin (Cvjetiüanin 2001, 123–126). Migration from the East to the mining regions of the Balkan provinces and Dacia left many traces, indicating controlled movement, according to written sources, from Bithynia, Phrygia and Syria, especially from the Hadrianic period onward (Dušaniü 1975, 131–137; Dušaniü 1976, 103– 109, monuments cat. 104, 105, 114, 125bis, 154; Dušaniü 1980, 23, 28, 32, with notes 107, 144, 180; Petkoviü 1997, 185–187). Colonists were forming a new group of consumers acquainted with and demanding glazed vessels. The example of Kosmaj is not unique: the glazed pottery workshop at Ampelum, in Dacia, is also situated in a mining region (Lipovan 1990, 273–280; Lipovan, Baluta 1995, 137–146). The quantity of glazed ware in Gomilice is very small: only 15 graves contained glazed pottery, usually combined with coarse wares. Eight graves have four vessels each, three of them three each, and two are in the rare group of 6 vessels placed in the grave. The contents of graves with glazed vessels, aside from the one that is the richest on the necropolis (G 126, with 2 lamps, 11 glass vessels, mirrors, bronze chain, plaques from wooden box), are neither specific nor distinctive for any population (or gender), except maybe better off class. While glass vessels and lamps are

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common for almost all, four of the graves had just pottery. Mirrors were found in three graves and arrows in one. Another remarkable vessel from Kosmaj is a glazed vessel decorated with applied medallion, a representation of bust of god/goddess originated from site Glaviþine near Guberevac (Cvjetiüanin 2001, ERGW 24). It belongs to a group of vessels with medallions and applied snake decoration which is more common at military sites and usually are ascribed to the presence of troops recruited in the Eastern part of the Empire (Ulbert 1963, 66; Benea 1976, 5–61) or, in general, with the presence of the Hellenophonic population ordained in mystical Oriental cults (Schmid 1991, 68). The initial impulse for diffusion of these cults in Upper Moesia is of the same character and can be ascribed to the immigrants from the East, both civilian and military.10 To this group of pottery developed under the Eastern, Hellenophonic influence, a mould for ceremonial cookies with the representation of Frigian goddess Cybela and the other of goddess Tellus, i.e. Telura or Magna Mater (Glumac 2009, 221–232) could be added. Miners’ pantheon, in relation to pottery, includes Dionysus as well, as face-pots from Dunjiü collection indicate, worshipped probably as Liber Pater (Cvjetiüanin 2013, 30–31).

Concluding considerations The region of Kosmaj has great potential for understanding of the complex interactions and social relationship between Roman and the indigenous population, and different outcomes visible in the archaeological record. Nevertheless, in interpretations of the Kosmaj finds for the most part recognize two opposed entities, the existence of the strong autochthonous element alongside the Roman one (Veliþkoviü 1958, 116), and the survival of local attributes.11 Gomilice necropolis as well is believed to show autochthonous taste in notion and concept (Veliþkoviü 10 At Gomilice terracotta figurines related to the Asia Minor cultural circle have been found (Glumac 2005, 361–374), and terracotta figurines (Isis, Sol/Mithras) and two rattles in the Dunjiü Collection suggest the same relationship (Glumac 2013, 109–113). Graves with libation pipes were ascribed to Hellenophonic population as well, but scholars are of opinion that on the Upper Moesian territory that sepulchral practice has certain indigenous character and that libation was basically connected with Greek traditions, but had local evolution (Jovanoviü 1984, 105; Glumac 2011: 240). 11 Ropkiü 2012, 90 – “indigenous population that has retained its autonomy, as can be seen on the ceramic material”.

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1964, 133) and records suggestive of the native beliefs (Bartel 1989, 186). Otherwise, Kosmaj material is seen as the result of a systematic and standardized Romanization, acculturation process that was initiated by the state (Veliþkoviü 1977, 9), simplifying a complex process that accompanied the integration of the Roman world (Mattingly 2011, 39). Pottery is not suggesting opposites between the Romans and the indigenous population, or transformation of indigenous culture to Roman culture. Nor is giving supporting arguments for the imperial supply systems and intentional, targeted cultural diffusion. It is "Roman" in fabric and form (i.e. usual for the Roman period pottery repertoire in the central Balkans), not saying much about individual consumers and their identities, construction of the social persona, or essentially much more about the mechanisms of production and supply. Specific, local circumstances have to be considered: pottery form Kosmaj is the outcome of the blend of the imperial domain and effects of Rome’s imperial politics, and funerary customs, the key areas of public performance (Pearson 2003, 83–84). Mentioned relocation of people and different cultural contacts among the local population, immigrants, and Roman army or administration resulted in a cultural mix visible to some extent in the pottery. The process of dissolution of local identities and construction of new ones and new cultural models is hard to observe, as well as relations between two relatively autonomous given 'systems,' one Roman, the other indigenous, as seen by some of the authors. The main problem remains that we actually do not know much about pre-Roman Kosmaj and its inhabitants, the Iron Age communities in the region of Kosmaj,12 and funerary practices of those societies, about their artefacts and assemblages that represent self-identification markers. Therefore, it is not really easy to observe complex change that happened under the Roman rule, nor it could be diminished to one-dimensional, simple acceptance of the Roman culture. Religion represents the main area of life in which communities define their identities, as Mattingly wrote, “at times in ways that associate them with others and at other times creating social distance between them and others” (Mattingly 2011, 226). At Gomilice, the physical manifestations of beliefs seem pretty standardized and the community heterogeneous. The research on not just differences in the material culture, but of patterns in behaviour, placement and grouping of pottery, and combinations of pottery and other offerings, did not yield much. The example of just one 12

Existence of different prehistoric settlements is confirmed at Kosmaj, but little is known about the Iron Age settlements and especially necropolises: Šljivar 2013, 166.

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cemetery certainly is not sufficient enough to reveal probable patterns and possible identities associated. The only certainty is that pottery, as well as other objects found in graves, does not speak about opposed Roman and strong indigenous element. Yet, burial forms are considered to be indigenous and connected with particular importance of MoesianDardanian territory (Jovanoviü 1984, 110; Jovanoviü 2000, 210). This mixture that exists (or survives) for two centuries – and in other places even longer – use Roman material culture by the set of values and rules connected to the culture and social context of those settled at Kosmaj (cf. Mihajloviü 2012, 720). We cannot say anything about how and when autochthonous form of burial was transformed, or if it is indigenous at all, or – more correctly – who were the natives recognized as still practising Mala Kopašnica-Sase burial forms, and when local identities dissolved allowing the diffusion of new cultural models, or do we have two or more – and it certainly seems more – cultural traditions amalgamated. Native, sometimes labelled with general ‘Illyrian speaking’ groups (Bartel 1989, 184), or more correct ‘population of Kosmaj in Roman times,' certainly had different changeable identities. Unfortunately, the ceramic evidence is not allowing recognition of the variety of identities. The only identity recognized is placed under one umbrella of immigrants from the East, or Hellenophonic population. Are the glazed pottery and other classes connected with the East manifestation of ethnic identification or, more probably, of other kinds of identity transformations, is an open question. The existence of the major military camp at Stojnik, in the centre of the mining region, as well as established military presence in the district, has implications for the nature of the workforce. We can assume a combination of free labour, and primarily slaves and forced labour, particularly criminals condemned to the metalla for serious offences (Mattingly 2011, 172). The mining population comprised, as a result of broader imperial perspective, relocated miners and craftsman as well. All considered, they were a population at the fringes of the Roman elite’s social networks. For future research, it will be valuable to explore the degree of differences of this region and, for example, necropolises at the capital of Upper Moesia, Viminacium (Zotoviü, Jordoviü 1990; Koraü, Goluboviü 2009, 23–259). Pottery from Gomilice and the generally Kosmaj region is, for the most part, a local product, manufacture developed accordingly to the needs of the local consumers. Even though we have the imperial domain and imperial operations, almost non-existent imported pottery, especially terra sigillata, is not showing the supply mechanisms of imperial administration,

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or systems seen by the military, that could lead to the breakdown of indigenous embedded exchange-networks (Jones 1997, 192). The demographic, economic, and social impacts of the Empire were different across Moesia. The one recognizing at Kosmaj a complex strategy of colonial enclaves or week imperialism through metallurgical production (Bartel 1989, 183–187), the enclave model of interaction, that sees a low level of social interaction between Romans and native, even though the native population was living in proximity to the Roman fortress, and indigenous population limited in their cultural exposure and retain their native values (Bartel 1989, 186) seems not plausible. Set of patterns defining the character of Roman imperialism at Kosmaj district certainly is the loose one with limited influence of the Roman central authority (Mihajloviü 2012, 715). It is clear that under the same colonial system of dominance, or even for groups of individuals from one specific society, rates of change differ. Unfortunately, social dynamics and the transformation of identities, negotiations, are very hard to observe in the case of Kosmaj pottery. We hope that future studies will be more informative when complex identities of mining population or carriers of Mala Kopašnica-Sase burial are in question.

Acknowledgments I am very thankful to Mirjana Glumac, curator of the Kosmaj Collection of the National Museum in Belgrade for information on Gomilice necropolis. Drawings and photographs from excavations at Gomilice and Kosmaj Collection are used with permission of the National Museum in Belgrade. I am very grateful to Archer Martin for the proofreading of the paper.

Bibliography Bartel, B. 1989. Acculturation and ethnicity in Roman Moesia Superior, In Champion, T.C. 1989. Centre and Periphery. Comparative Studies in Archaeology, 177–189. London: Routledge, 1989. Benea, D. 1976. Citeva fragmente de vase votive discoperite la Drobeta, Drobeta 2: 55– 61. Bjelajac, Lj. 1990. Terra sigillata u Gornjoj Meziji, Beograd: Arheološki institute. Consp. = Conspectus formarum terra sigillatae italico modo confectae, Materialien zur römisch-germanischen Keramik Heft 10, Bonn:

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Römisch-germanische Kommission des Deutschen archäologischen Instituts zu Frankfurt a.M, 1990. Cvjetiüanin, T. 2001. Glazed Pottery from Upper Moesia = Gleÿosana keramika Gornje Mezije, Beograd: Narodni muzej. —. 2013. Keramiþke posude, In Cvjetiüanin, T. (ed.). 2013. Pokloni Sofije i Milojka Dunjiüa, 27–92. Beograd: Narodni muzej. Cvjetiüanin, T. (ed.). 2013. Pokloni Sofije i Milojka Dunjiüa. Beograd: Narodni muzej. Dušaniü, S. 1974. Mozaþki natpisi Stojnika i kosmajska rudniþka oblast u poznoj antici, Spomenica Georgija Ostrogorskog. Zbornik Filozofskog fakulteta XII-1: 93-105. —. 1975. Dve Rimske stele iz Srbije, Zbornik Narodnog muzeja VIII/1: 131-137. —. 1976. Le Nord-Ouest de la Mésie Superieure, In: Inscriptions de la Mesie Superieure I, 95-162. Belgrade: Centre d'études épigraphiques et numismatiques. —. 1977. Iz istorije rimksog rudarstva u Gornjoj Meziji, Arheološki vestnik XXVIII:163–177. —. 1980. Organizacija rimskog rudarstva u Noriku, Panoniji, Dalmaciji i Gornjoj Meziji, Istorijski glasnik 1-2: 7–55. —. 2004. Roman mining in Illyricum: Historical aspects, In Dall' Adriatico al Danubio-L'Illirico nell'età greca e romana, Atti del convegno internazionale, Cividale del Friuli, 25-27 settembre 2003, 247–270. Pisa: Edizione Elettronica. —. 2010. Selected Essays in Roman History and Epigraphy. Beograd: Zavod za izdavanje udžbenika – Balkanološki institut. Glumac, M. 2005. Terakote sa nekropole Guberevac-Gomilice, Zbornik Narodnog muzeja XVIII-1: 361–374. —. 2009. Kalupi sa nekropole Guberevac-Gomilice, Zbornik Narodnog muzeja XIX-1: 221–230. —. 2009a. Antiþki Kosmaj. Beograd: Centar za kulturu Sopot – Narodni muzej. —. 2011. Grobovi sa libacionim cevima na kosmajskoj nekropoli, Zbornik Narodnog muzeja XX-1: 231–241. —. 2013. Terakote, In Cvjetiüanin, T. (ed.). Pokloni Sofije i Milojka Dunjiüa, 109–114.Beograd: Narodni muzej. Glumac, M. Ferjanþiü, S. 2009. Tabellae defixionvm iz groba 109 kosmajske nekropole „Guberevac- Gomilice“, Glasnik Srpskog arheološkog društva 25: 225-235.

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Greene, K. 1997. Defining the Romano-British economy: the Significance of Pottery and the Army, Rei Cretaria Romanae Fautores Acta 35: 27– 32. Hingley, R. 2005. Globalizing Roman Culture. Unity, diversity and empire, London: Routledge. Jevremoviü, N. 1987. Keramika južnog i zapadnog bedema lokalitea Diana Karataš, Ĉerdapske sveske I: 49–70. Jones, G. D. B. 1997. From Brittunculi to Wounded Knee: a study in the development of ideas, In Mattingly, D. (ed.). 1997. Dialogues in Roman Imperialism. Power, discourse, and discrepant experience in the Roman Empire, 185–200. Portsmouth, Rhode Island: International Roman Archaeology Conference Series /Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 23. Jovanoviü, A. 1984.Rimske nekropole na teritoriji Jugoslavije, Beograd: Filozofski fakultet, Univerzitet u Beogradu. —. 2000. Romanization and Ethnic Elements in Burial Practice in the Southern Part of Pannonia Inferior and Moesia Superior, In Pearce, J. Millet, M. and Struck, M. (eds.). 2000. Burial, Society and Context in the Roman World, 204–214. Oxbow Books: Oxford. Kondiü, Jelena and Cvjetiüanin, Tatjana. Terra Sigillata from Castrum Diana (part I), Starinar XLII/1991-92 (1993), 49–62. —.Terra Sigillata from Castrum Diana (part II), Starinar XLIII/1993 (1994), 149–161. Kondiü, V. Popoviü, I. 1986. Arheološko blago Kosmaja. Beograd: Narodni muzej. Koraü, M. and Goluboviü, S. 2009. Viminacium: Više Grobalja 2, Beograd: Arheološki institut. Lipovan, I. T. 1990.Cu privire la ceramica cu glazura plombifera din Ampelum. Studi si Cercetari de Istorie Veche 41/3-4: 273–291. Lipovan, I. T. and Baluta, C. L. 1995. La céramique à glacure plombifère d'Ampelum (Dacia), Rei Cretariae Romanae Fautores Acta 34: 137– 146. Mattingly, D. J. 2011. Imperialism, Power, and Identity. Experiencing the Roman Empire. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Mihajloviü, V. D. 2012. Koncept romanizacije u arheologiji: uspon i pad paradigme, Etnoantropološki problemi n.s. 7/3: 709–729. Nikoliü-Ĉorÿeviü, S. 2000. Antiþka keramika Singidunuma. Oblici posuda, Singidunum I :11–244. Pearson, M. P. 2003. The Archaeology of Death and Burial, Stroud: The History Press Ltd.

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Pešiü, J. 2005. Grnþarija sa nekropole u Maloj Kopašnici. Iskopavanja 1960-1964, Leskovaþki zbornik XLV: 37-83. Petkoviü, Ž. 1997. =(86 681+126 on the Kosmaj inscription, Starinar XLVIII: 185–187. Pop-Laziü, S. 2002. Nekropole rimskog Singidunuma, Singidunum 3: 7– 100. Raiþkoviü, A. 2007. Keramiþke posude Zanatskog centra iz Viminacijuma, Beograd: Centar za nove tehnologije – Arheološki institut. Ropkiü, A. 2012. Romanization of Kolubara Region, In: Jankoviü, A. M. And Mihajloviü, D. V. (eds.). 2012. Imperialism and Identities at the Edges of the Roman World. Book of Abstracts, 90–92. Petnica Science Centre, September 20-203rd. Rusu-Bolindet, V. 2014. Pottery in Funerary Context – Some Aspects of Conviviality in Roman Dacia, Banquets of Gods, Banquets of Man. Conviviality in the Ancient World, Studia Universitatis ‘Babes-Bolyai’, Historia 59/1: 239–284. Schmid, D. 1991. Die römische Schlangentöpfe au Augst und Kaiseraugst. Forchungen in Augst 11. Augst: Römermuseum. Šljivar D. 2013. Dunjiü u praistorijskim zbirkama Narodnog muzeja u Beogradu, In Cvjetiüanin, T. (ed.). 2013. Pokloni Sofije i Milojka Dunjiüa, 195–205.Beograd: Narodni muzej. Ulbert, T. 1963. Römische Gefäße mit Schlangen- und Eidechsenauflagen aus Bayern, Bayerische Vorgeschichtsblätter 28: 57–66. Vasiü, M. R. 1967. Tera sigilata u Narodnom muzeju u Beogradu, Zbornik Narodnog muzeja : 179–184. Veliþkoviü, M. 1958. Prilog prouþavanju rimskog rudarskog basena na Kosmaju, Zbornik radova Narodnog muzeja I/1956-57: 95–118. —. 1964. Nadgrobna statua Amora iɾ Guberevca, Zbornik Narodnog muzeja IV: 129–140. —. 1977. Arheološka zbirka Dunjiü, Beograd:Narodni muzej. Zotoviü, Lj. Jordoviü, ý. 1990. Viminacium: Nekropola Više Grobalja, vol.1, Beograd: Arheološki institut – Republiþki zavod za zaštitu spomenika kulture.

ARCHAEOLOGY OF TASTE: BOARD AND DICE GAMES OF MOESIA SUPERIOR MARKO A. JANKOVIû

For almost thirty years, the traditional framework of Romanization was criticized, deconstructed and almost completely dismantled, while some new perspectives were introduced into archaeological theories and were more or less successfully accepted within scholarly communities dealing with the Roman past (e.g. Martin 1990; Woolf 1998; Webster 2001; Hingley 2005; 2015). Interpretations of cultural changes that occurred in various contexts of interactions between the “Romans” and local populations evolved from mere measuring and scaling of material culture to some new fields of interactions, where engagement of all elements was acknowledged, and where the importance of chronological, geographical, political, social and every other context was recognized. Instead of searching for different “degrees” of Romanization of the people, the focus was moved towards negotiating different identities within the Empire (see Wells 2001; Revell 2009; Mihajloviü 2012), or further on, towards dealing with the Roman past within the frameworks of globalization (e.g. Pitts and Versluys 2015). This paper aims to recognize specific contexts of accepting and maintaining social practices which are related mostly to personal choices, and ways of spending leisure time in the newly formed social context of the Roman province – in this specific case, that of Moesia Superior. I am not suggesting that newly established social practices were solely the result of personal affinities. Instead, I am trying to investigate in which way some of them were preferred over others. The topic of various “Roman” identities has been discussed in a number of papers already (e.g. Jones 1997; Wells 2001; Cassella & Fowler 2004; Roymans 2004; Revell 2009; 2016; Mattingly 2011), so it is not my intention to outline just another example which will fit nicely into existing narratives, but rather to single out a social practice which was new in the territory of a newly

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formed Roman province and to try to explain its importance and relative popularity among the population of the province. Previous attempts at interpretations of such practices (including my own – Jankoviü 2009) were heavily burdened with traditional scholarly training, which taught us that everything in the past must have had a practical purpose; however, when it comes to the field of leisure, we do have to acknowledge that some of those things were actually intended just for pleasure (Laurence 2009, 2). In such cases, we need to assume that some “cultural changes” (or an introduction of a new material culture or new practices) had nothing to do with the stereotypic perspective that they had to serve some practical role. Nevertheless, we also need to bear in mind that the same material culture features or social practices could have different purposes and meanings when transferred into a new context (Jankoviü 2014), thus making our work even harder if we try to interpret some provincial occurrences by using simple analogies within the Empire.

Before the Romans The pre-Roman population living in the area of the Central Balkans has been the topic of debate in modern archaeology during this last decade (Vraniü 2011; 2012, Kuzmanoviü 2013, Babiü 2010, Mihajloviü 2014). For more than fifty years, Greek and Roman accounts of the late Iron Age people were treated as objective and faithful, so archaeologists were almost exclusively trying to fit the results of their archaeological research into pre-existing written narratives. That inevitably led to using differences in material culture for describing “tribes and nations” marked by different names in those accounts. In the last several years, such viewpoints were severely criticized, and information available from those accounts was scrutinized (cf. Kuzmanoviü 2013, Jankoviü 2014, Vraniü 2014, Mihajloviü 2016). So, despite the fact that we do have some written accounts, we do not have much useful data on populations that lived in the late Iron Age in the Central Balkans (cf. Mihajloviü 2016), area that would become the Roman province of Moesia in the early 1st century AD (and the province of Moesia Superior later in the same century). Most of the texts deal with Roman military campaigns and mention the local populations only when it was necessary to explain the context of a described event to the reader (Papazoglu 1978). At the same time, those texts provided us with no valid information concerning the everyday life of the populations involved. Most of the information was written from the writer’s own point of view, which was sometimes rather distant in both a geographical and

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chronological sense, so we have to read them with great caution (Jankoviü 2014).

Fig. 11-1. Distribution of board game’s accessories in province of Moesia Superior

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What we do know from these accounts is that before the Roman conquest of the Balkans, the Roman army and administration had a long history of interactions with people living in the area. Most of those contacts were initiated through different conflicts and military campaigns (e.g. Dzino 2012, Mihajloviü 2014). Nevertheless, the late Iron Age sites in the Central Balkans have been excavated for a long period of time, so we are now able to reconstruct some portion of their pre-Roman existence within the area. We are familiar with the settlements and burials and, of course, with the great amounts of material culture finds from that period. Without delving into a field completely different than this paper’s subject, I will only say that, according to information available so far, we can safely assume that those populations, as expected, had different social and political organizations, customs, language, and of course ways of spending leisure time (e.g. Jevtoviü 1990, Tasiü 1992, Guštin & Jevtiü 2011). The Roman conquest brought so many changes to the organization of those populations on an everyday level – from political and administrative changes, through changes of the landscape to those in everyday routines. Furthermore, incorporation into the Roman Empire assured that a great variety of different goods was now available for the population of Moesia Superior. That opened a vast new field of possibilities for making new definitions of leisure or luxury. New ways of constructing and maintaining social positions within the society were introduced, so it is not surprising that some social practices found their way into the population of the newly formed province. Board and dice games and accessories used for playing were discovered in various late Iron Age contexts throughout Western Europe. A great part of those objects was actually found within large and luxurious tombs and burials, sometimes in considerable amounts (Jovanoviü 1977). When speaking of Roman games, we are still not completely certain about their origins, due to the fact that such objects were found in different Iron Age sites on the Apennine Peninsula (Tilley 1892, Jovanoviü 1977). Some scholars even assume that Roman games were just a continuation of Iron Age traditions in some territories (e.g. Britain), but with “Roman fashioned” accessories (Schädler 2007). Unlike the Western European sites, there is not a single piece of evidence that such traditions were present in the Iron Age Balkans, so far1. On a great number of systematically excavated sites, there are no traces which could point us to 1

There is, in fact, the possibility that knucklebones found on various sites were simply not recognized as gaming pieces, but there is no valid research on the topic which would address this assumption.

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the existence of games in any form. Judging from such data, we can only assume that board and dice games were “discovered” in the Balkans during the Roman era.

Playing the game Roman board games studies are not a new topic within scholarly communities of Roman archaeologists and ancient historians (cf. Tilley 1892, Dellatre 1910, Austin 1934; 1935, Murray 1952). Dice, boards, and counters are rather common finds at Roman sites throughout the Empire and as such have been published relatively frequently. Still, merely a few papers have attempted to explain the importance of those finds in a broader social context, especially when it comes to provincial Roman sites. Mostly, dice and counters were used as good illustrations of everyday Roman life and as one from a great number possibilities of what the Romans would do in their leisure time2. Within the Roman archaeology of Moesia Superior, these kinds of papers are even fewer, and gaming objects are usually published in various catalogues with no further interpretations discussing the context of social life of the province (Zotoviü and Jordoviü 1990, Petkoviü 1995, Petroviü & Jovanoviü 1997, Vasiü & Miloševiü 2000, Drþa 2004, Jeremiü 2009, Koraü & Goluboviü 2009, Kruniü 2013). More detailed research has given us better insight into the amount, distribution and contexts where these small finds occurred and helped us focus on their importance in everyday routines and practices. Gaming accessories (counters, dice, and boards) were found on a great number of Roman sites in Moesia Superior. Still, it is hard not to notice that most of these finds came from those sites which were excavated in long campaigns and thoroughly published3. Therefore, it is quite possible that we actually have a distorted map of distribution (Fig. 11-1), because not all of the finds were published. Nevertheless, we have data from more than forty different Roman sites in Moesia Superior, where various 2

There is simply not enough space to cite all the works dealing with daily life in ancient Rome (e.g. Spaeth 1924, Carcopino 1941, etc.). 3 Excavations of the Ĉerdap valley (Iron Gates) were conducted as part of a Yugoslavian-Romanian state project for building the hydro-power plant on the Danube, in the 1970s and 1980s. Most of the sites were later flooded, so that was the last opportunity to investigate them. Those excavations were some of the most extensive in scope and also some of the best published so far. On the other hand, there are some sites (Mediana, Viminacium, Singidunum) where archaeologists were excavating for decades and a number of reports, exhibition catalogues and papers were published.

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numbers of counters, dice, and boards were found (Table 11-1). Most of the counters and dice were made of animal bones, but we also have objects made of marble (Naissus), seashell (Viminacium), glass (Horreum Margi) or limestone (Singidunum), while all known boards were carved in previously used tiles (Singidunum, possibly Saldum, Fig. 11-2/3). The spectrum of contexts in which gaming accessories were found, is much more varied. Hence, we have them discovered within burials, sacrificial areas, civilian houses, garbage pits and dumps, public baths, military objects, etc. However, the majority (cca. 70%) was discovered in burials. Unfortunately, we do not have all the data relating to the burial contexts (Table 11-2), and according to available documentation, we can assume that there is no strict connection between those objects and any other burial “feature” – age or sex of the deceased, burial rites, grave design or type, associations with other objects from grave inventories (Jankoviü 2009). Gaming objects are more or less equally often found in graves of children and adults, male and female alike, so we can’t draw a connection between dice and counters with either sex or age of the deceased (see Zotoviü and Jordoviü 1990; Simiü 1997; Pop-Laziü, 2002). Also, they were found in both inhumation and incineration burials (Tables 11-1/2). However, these conclusions are based on incomplete data, so we have to allow the possibility that some of the relations might be somewhat different. Due to associations with other objects within burial and grave designs, we are inevitably stepping into the area of the social status of the deceased. Gaming accessories were found together with a lot of pottery jugs, glass vessels, and jewellery, but also along with nothing more than a few copper coins (Vasiü 1908). Also, they were discovered within lead and marble sarcophagi, brick-built graves and pit graves. The main problem when considering grave finds is that they belong to a vast time span – from the end of the 1st century to the beginning of the 4th century AD. Most of the published objects were dated simply into the 1–4th century AD (which is the period of the Roman presence in this area). The majority of finds was noted in graves belonging to the 2nd and 3rd century AD. Most papers dealing with gaming accessories generally have attempted to recognize and reconstruct the games (and usually board games) for which they were used. In cases where the boards were found the task was a bit easier (in the sense of recognizing the possible games played with it), but in other cases, researchers usually could not point out a specific game. Some papers even suggest that Roman gaming assemblages may have been used for unknown local games (Schädler 2007). Thanks to several boards discovered on the territory of Moesia Superior (Singidunum, maybe

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Saldum), we can assume that games of draughts and latrunculi were played, but only for those specific cases. What we don’t have, and it is crucial in reconstructing the games, are “gaming sets,” common for most of the Empire (Schädler 1998; 2001). The number of dice and counters, found in separate contexts, varied from 1 to 60, so we are not able to determine whether they were used for a specific game or not. The only possible exception is a burial assemblage from the Naissus necropolis, dated to the 4th century AD.

Fig. 11-2. L. latrunculorum fragmented board, Rajiüeva st. Singidunum

Within the brick-built grave, 20 bone counters, two marble counters, and two bone dice were discovered4. The marble counters were both flat; however, half of the bone counters were incised with a different number of circular markings (Fig. 11-4). It can be assumed that an even number of counters and the same numbers of marked and unmarked counters actually represented a gaming set, but I am not able to determine which one as 4

The grave was excavated during the 1960s and there is no surviving data in the original documentation, to tell for certain whether there were signs of a possibly decomposed board. Together with the gaming objects, a ceramic glazed jug and a glass cup were found. The glass cup was originally interpreted as frittilus – cup used for shaking the dice (Jovanoviü 1977).

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there are no analogies from the Roman Empire so far. On the other hand, all of the graves contained a different (mostly odd) number of counters, which allows a presumption that they were not put there as game sets. The other possible example is a grave from Viminacium, where 60 counters were discovered, but they were all made from different raw materials (bone, stone, and shell) and in different colours, so it is quite possible that they were not placed in the grave as part of one specific set5.

Fig. 11-3. Nine Men’s Morris fragmented board, Rajiüeva st. Singidunum

5

These objects were never published, so only partial documentation was available on them.

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Fig. 11-4. Bone counter, Naissus burial, by courtesy of National Museum Niš

The other two groups of contexts come from “military” and “civilian”6 objects (Fig. 11-5/6). Although it is hard to determine the specific context, I was able to separate them roughly, for heuristic purposes. The first group of objects consists of dice, counters, and boards discovered within military installations – forts, towers, and gates. Most of these sites were positioned at the Danube Limes (Singidunum, Castrum Novae, Diana, Pontes, Saldum, Smorna), the area from which we have most of the data, but some of those sites were also within the hinterland of the province (Ulpiana, Timacum Minus). On every one of those sites, only a small number of objects were recovered, so there are no grounds to discuss gaming sets; however, several findings of boards could indicate which games those counters were used for. The boards were fragmented, but it was possible to reconstruct the tables for Nine Men’s Morris and Ludus Latrunculorum (Jankoviü 2009). Both games were very common at Roman sites throughout the Empire, so it was not surprising to find them within the borders of Moesia Superior.

6 The term “civilian” is used here in the lack of a more appropriate term. It is used for marking both the public and private contexts.

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Fig. 11-5. Bone counters and dice from Dunjiü Collection, by courtesy of National Museum Belgrade

Gaming accessories from the “civilian” group consist of counters and dice unearthed in various public (baths, post stations, imperial residences) and domestic contexts (domestic houses, garbage pits). Unexpectedly, objects from this group proved to be rather rare – only five counters and four dice were ever confirmed on these kinds of sites.7 Nevertheless, even four out of five gaming boards from Moesia Superior were found within civil objects – three were discarded and unearthed from garbage pits, while the precise contexts of the last one are unknown (Singidunum boardJankoviü 2008). Despite the small number of finds, their immediate contexts show us the diversity of their popularity. One of the dice was uncovered from an imperial residence in Mediana and one from the area of the Felix Romuliana temple, but at the same time counters and dice were confirmed in the public baths of Mansio Idimum (Vasiü & Miloševiü 2000) and a 4th century domestic house hearth in Singidunum (Simiü & Miüoviü 2009). A similar situation is noted in the rest of the Empire, so we can only assume that gaming sets were not always made of permanent materials8 or that they were not available (or even popular) to most of the population. 7

We should keep in mind the Dunjiü Collection, consisting of 37 pieces, but with no definite contextual infromation. 8 Examples of graffitti boards incised in different public places all over the Empire could imply that standard “gaming sets” were not necessary for playing the games.

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Fig. 11-6. Bone dice from Dunjiü Collection, by courtesy of National Museum Belgrade

In pursuit of the players In order to reconstruct the games, their rules, and possible strategies, previous authors sought answers in copious amounts of ancient texts (Austin 1934, Purcell 1995, Schädler 2001), but without much results. However, since most of the information was given only tentatively through different poetic or metaphorical forms while describing different situations, authors were able to draw conclusions about the role of games in everyday life (Purcell 1995). Despite the fact that most of the texts were “hostile” towards board games, and depicted them in a negative tone as something that was a display of bad habits to say the least, some of the texts showed us that playing games were in some cases socially acceptable – for people of different ages and sexes, for those enjoying games strictly as a leisure time (with no money involved) or during public festivals. The same texts also assured us that people of different social status were judged in a different manner (Purcell 1995). Still, strategic aspects of the games, their mathematical and geometrical implications, relations to literacy (to some degree) put the games in focus when talking about social status and social mobility. Involvement of risk and the possibility of profit were also important for people playing games in Roman cities because they might provide (or lose) money needed for procuring different goods. Boards and counters were easily improvised and therefore not always needed (Schädler 1998).

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In those cases, dispute and violence were sometimes involved in playing games, as we can see in scenes depicted on the walls of Caupona of Salvius at Pompeii (Clarke 2003). Finally, ancient texts show us that people of different social strata were involved in playing. On the one hand, playing as part of otium “came to bear a lot more of the weight of elite self-expression and definition” (Purcell 1995, 11), while on the other, it was described as a plebeian activity in the cities of the Roman Empire. The metaphor of a game being the miniature version of war is also a topic that should be considered, especially if we bear in mind that a lot of gaming accessories was discovered within military installations. First of all, some of the pieces used in games were given names heavily related to a military/war context – latro, miles, bellator. Despite the interpretation that those terms were used simply as literary descriptions with no relation to archaeological findings, it is obvious that military terms were actually used, which tells us more of the nature of the game (Schadler 2001). Furthermore, some of the known rules for playing XII scripta bear witness to the fact that strategy was needed for being successful in playing those games (Schädler 1994; 1995). Gaming boards for XII scripta discovered throughout the Empire tell us about the connection between military victories and leisure in the Roman cities9. However, among ancient texts available there was no mention of any burial practices that involved using parts of game sets.

Roman games in Moesia Superior If we compare our corpus of finds with those from neighbouring provinces, the amount of gaming objects from Moesia Superior is relatively small (e.g. Bíró 1994; Kovaþ 2012). Nevertheless, the number of different sites and, at the same time, different contexts, allowed us to outline a picture of gaming practices in the province. As we saw above, games and gaming accessories were most probably brought to the Balkans after the Roman conquest and formation of the provinces, at least in the form and shape in which we know them from the Roman era sites. In such a context, it is interesting to discuss those findings and their role in everyday life at the outer edges of the Empire.

9

Gaming boards for XII scripta sometimes consisted of six rows of six letters which would form inscriptions, e.g. PICTOS VICTOS HOSTIS DELETA LUDITE SECURI – The Picts defeated, the enemy wiped out, play without fear (Horn 1989). Still, not a single XII scripta board has been found in the territory of Moesia Superior so far.

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In a technical sense, we can address the issue with an attempt to identify and recognize the games (“Roman” or local), reconstruct them and eventually explain the specific sets of objects within the context of the game(s). The lack of ancient texts and, more importantly, of gaming boards and gaming sets, makes this task very hard, at least for the territory of Moesia Superior. Simple relative analogies with other parts of the Empire simply do not suffice to understand the social contexts of such finds, because they do not share the same histories and, essentially, not even the same archaeological contexts. The most numerous group of findings came from burials, and gaming pieces were not related to any other features of those burials. Age, sex, burial rite, grave design, and architecture or other objects within the burials were mutually too varied to draw a clear relation between them (Table 11-2). Burial finds were the only contexts of these objects discussed so far (Jovanoviü 1977; 2007; Jankoviü 2008), and the author who was dealing with them was inclined to connect gaming accessories with religious aspects of the burial. Counters and dice were treated as parts of the religious inventory of the graves of the deceased who were worshipping Venus, specifically one of her aspects – Venus Funeraria (Jovanoviü 2007, 148-9). Still, no solid argument was made on their relation – the simple statement that objects which could be brought into connection with the cult of Venus (bone needles with Venus’ head, bronze mirrors, images of dolphins and rosettes, etc.) are substitutions for Venus’ statues (Jovanoviü 2000), is, to say the least, problematic. In another place, the same author (again, with no specific arguments), states that Venus Funerariae is represented in the graves by shells, usually in combination with dice and counters (Jovanoviü 2007). Again, such an interpretation does not offer solid enough arguments to draw any relation between gaming pieces and the cult of Venus (or any other religious practice). Another attempt to explain the findings from Roman burials was made by the same author in trying to relate the “nature” of the game with perspectives of Roman 2nd century stoicism (Jovanoviü 2003). Comparing passages of ancient texts (fragments of Heraclitus, which presumably inspired Roman Stoics) with archaeological contexts, Jovanoviü presented them as a result of stoic beliefs that we cannot control our own lives, or change the inevitability of our destiny since Fate is guiding our every move (Jovanoviü 2003). Still, it is possible to assume that the author’s personal affinities and interests in Roman philosophy and religion strongly influenced his interpretation in this case and that we cannot simply apply those beliefs to aspects of material culture, despite the fact that they fit nicely into the interpretation.

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Discussion and concluding remarks Most of the objects from Moesia Superior came from burial contexts10, while a smaller number was discovered within military objects, public buildings, and private houses. We were unable to establish a connection between the accessories and any other burial feature– age, sex, architecture, and design of the grave, or any other object in grave inventories. Despite the circumstance that some of the graves (pit graves) in Moesia Superior were considered as “poor” due to a lack of any visible architecture, some lately made discoveries showed that the lack of an architectural structure is not connected to the lack of luxurious finds (Naissus necropolis – Jeremiü 2013) and that we have to search in areas other than socio-economic inequality for answers about different grave types. We can also see that the role of games and gaming accessories could vary in different social circumstances in everyday life, but also that it could be tied to different social “skills” like strategic thinking, literacy, obtaining money, regardless of the social status of the players – as Nicholas Purcell put it, “ars aleatoria is essentially a cultural skill” (Purcell 1995). So, where do we go from here? If we look carefully at the corpus of finds from Moesia Superior, we will see that people with different social, economic, professional, maybe even religious affinities used game accessories in their everyday life, or took them along in their death. We could possibly use different aspects of games and gaming and link them to different people (e.g. strategies – military contexts; race and hunt – public buildings, etc.), but that would not take us far in explaining specific cases; hence, I would like to delve further in another direction. If we follow Purcell’s analysis of ancient texts, we will note that games were played within different social groups, but that the perception of the practice also varied respectively. While playing was perceived as related to otium and as ars (with some exceptions, of course) in higher social status groups, engaging in games within a plebeian context was usually depicted as something negative (Purcell 1995). In such a context, we can assume that playing games and possessing game accessories was used for displaying, defining or maintaining a person’s social status. Specific “tastes” were constructed within different social groups, and some of the goods and practices were used for defining those tastes in order to make a distinction between those groups. Here, we would like to draw attention to the work of French sociologist Pierre 10 Objects from burials make for cca. 70% of all contexts, or 82% of clearly defined contexts.

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Archaeology of Taste: Board and Dice Games of Moesia Superior

Bourdieu, whose book Distinction: A Social Critique of Judgment of Taste (1984) is of great value for this topic. In this book, he introduced the idea that cultural differences between classes have an important role in creating tensions between classes. He argues that the taste cannot be “natural, ” but to the contrary, it is always arbitrary and at the same time related to the very structure of the class. The taste is used by classes for self-defining, and specific choices of different goods like clothing, food, but also affinities toward specific types of art, literature or music are used for constructing specific tastes (Bourdieu 1984).Therefore, if we observe newly accepted goods (games and accessories) and practices (playing the games) on the territory of Moesia Superior, perhaps we can recognize them as a means of constructing different tastes within its population. The different status of the practice of playing within different social groups could be perceived as attempts at achieving or maintaining certain positions within those groups. In that case, to take a step further, gaming objects from the Roman sites of Moesia Superior could be explained as one of the material means of communicating and living different social statuses. Playing games, as symbols of otium, the leisure of higher social groups, could be represented, on a symbolical plane, as mimicking the world that the deceased had aspirations to belong to. Regardless of the real social and economic status of the deceased (in the case of burials), playing games could have been the practice that defined leisure time, which was perceived as a habit of those who didn’t have to worry about anything else. However, such interpretation is a bit problematic due to a lack of strong evidence in archaeological records of Moesia Superior of the clear relation between the funerals of presumed high status/economic wellbeing and gaming accessories. While some of the graves with gaming pieces could be perceived as burials of wealthy citizens (Viminacium / G1-398, G1415, G1-461, G-279), a great deal of the rest of them is then (using the same arguments for economic differentiation) extremely poor (Singidunum, Viminacium G-400, G-418). In other words, judging by the funeral data, there are no chronological, spatial or contextual regularities that could suggest exclusive relation of gaming to upper classes and its subsequent spread down the social scale by means of emulating elite practices. Consequently, this situation takes us to the possibility that board games' accessories were used among people of various social and economic statuses. The same body of finds within different types of burials favours this assumption over the possibility of exclusive connection of some parts of provincial society and the practice of playing games. This is also supported by differentiation of materials used for making counters and dice, as variations in their quality and value could

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point to different social statuses of the people using the objects. While some objects were made of simple, unornamented pieces of bone and sandstone, others were crafted very deliberately with incised markings or used more expensive material (e.g. marble). These variations could lead to the assumption that the objects used in certain games were made out of different materials, depending on the social and economic circumstances of the players, but there is also another explanation that allows the possibility that differently crafted counters were actually used for different games. The cases of the Naissus and Viminacium burials could point to the possibility that different games were popular among different social groups within provincial society. Those two burials show that counters and dice were used for the games which are otherwise unconfirmed within the province in Moesia Superior, especially in the case of Naissus, where a carefully made gaming set is probably used for a game that has no analogy in the archaeological record within the Empire, so we cannot exclude the possibility that some of the “Roman” games actually originated in local contexts and were associated only with certain social groups, i.e. did not have wide popularity (Jankoviü 2009). At last, we cannot neglect the possibility of a symbolic meaning of board game accessories within the burial rites of the province. In almost half of the graves which contained the gaming objects, only one counter was detected. Perhaps, we can assume the practice of “pars pro toto” where only one piece symbolized the whole, which would, in this case, be presented as one counter instead of the whole set. If we follow the line that board games and objects used for playing them were in strong connection with leisure, then the practice of “pars pro toto” could be perceived as a certain assurance or even a wishful hope of those organizing the funeral, that the deceased would use them in the afterlife. In that context, gaming objects continue to be “used” in death and the deceased is equipped for the afterlife where she/he could enjoy the deserved leisure time, acquitted of earthly worries. Unfortunately, we do not have direct explanations of such practices within the surviving sources of classical authors. Descriptions of the afterlife mainly consist of very vague and general remarks on Hades, the Elysium fields or Isles of the Blest, focusing on rewards and punishments for deeds in life. Mostly philosophical and poetic, the sources give us few details of afterlife “activities.” On the other hand, those surviving texts provide almost nothing of general beliefs among ordinary citizens, while epitaphs show that those beliefs could vary from one case to another (Hope 2007; 2009). Grave goods and offerings strongly suggest a great number of different beliefs and respectively different practices during the funeral, but it is impossible to point to specific ones in order to

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explain different types of goods, in this case, board games objects. On the other hand, if we take into account funeral monuments with motifs of the deceased feasting, which are also present in Moesian context (e.g. IMS I/34, 55; IMS VI/43,132,138), the conceptualization of death and the afterlife as leisure time becomes more probable. In turn, this could serve as circumstantial evidence for problematizing pieces of gaming accessories in a similar symbolic framework or, at least, as a starting point for further elaboration of this possibility. In any case, if we go along the same vein as Bourdieu, we can see that taste is almost never formed from a single practice, but from endless combinations of different ones; if that was the case here, we cannot answer the question of what other practices or commodities were used for such activities. As archaeologists, our knowledge is often limited to specific contexts which could be related to some, but not all aspects of the life of the people from the past. Playing games could be perceived as one of many practices used for self-defining and achieving a certain social status, but it was certainly not the only one. Still, this explanatory framework could be used for interpreting finds which are so common, but at the same time, not related to some other visible archaeological records. At the same time, we have to bear in mind that specific customs and practices were the result of many different elements, especially within provincial society – social, economic, regional, religious, professional, chronological, based on different individual identities like age and gender or related to previous traditions and inclusion of contemporary novelties. I tried to present various outcomes based on data I had at my disposal and to offer different possibilities for the interpretation of board game objects. The lack of written evidence, more specific archaeological contexts and the state of documentation were great limitations to work on this paper, but I had to emphasize the complexity and importance of board game pieces in everyday life in Moesia Superior. The proposed solutions are most likely not the only possible ones, but they may help to trace the path for a better understanding of the roles that such objects had in everyday life (and in the afterlife) in the past.

Acknowledgments This paper is a result of the research project Archaeological culture and identity at the Western Balkans (No. 177008), funded by the Ministry of Education, Science and Technological Development of the Republic of Serbia.

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I would like to thank Jelena Vitezoviü and Charles Barnett for proofreading, but also my colleagues Vesna Crnoglavac from the National museum Niš, and also dr Miomir Koraü and dr Sofija Petkoviü from the Archaeological Institute of Belgrade, for providing important pieces of documentation. Site Castrum Novae Diana

Specific context Castrum Unknown

Counters 2 2

Dice

Dunjiü Collection

Unknown, multiple sites Temple area Northern tower Unknown Burial Public baths Imperial residence Castrum area Burial Castrum area Castrum area Burial/ Majke Jevrosime st.28 Burial/Kosovska st.47 Hearth/Cincar Janka st. Garbage pit/Cincar Janka st. Garbage pit/Studentski trg st. 9 Garbage pit/ Rajiüeva st. Unknown

35

2

Felix Romuliana Felix Romuliana Guberevac Mala Kopašnica Mansio Idimum Mediana Mora Vagei Naissus Pontes Saldum Singidunum11 Singidunum Singidunum Singidunum

Singidunum

Singidunum Singidunum 11

Board

2

Other 1 gaming piece

1 1 1 1 2 1 1 22 2

2 1 1?

1 2 1 1

1

2 1

Different sites were excavated in the territory of Roman Singidunum for more than a century. Names in brackets are actually the names of the streets within modern city of Belgrade.

254

Archaeology of Taste: Board and Dice Games of Moesia Superior

Smorna Timacum minus Ulpiana Viminacium/Više grobalja12 Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više

Castrum area Castrum area Castrum areanorthern gate Burial/ G1-30

1

5 1 1

4

1

Burial/G1-118

1

Burial/G1-245

4

Burial/G1-303

7

Burial/G1-379

4 2

Burial/G1-398

1

Burial/G1-413

1

Burial/G1-415

1

Burial/G1-432

1

Burial/G1-454

1

Burial/G1-461

2

Burial/G1-798

2

Burial/G1-1119

7

Burial/G-53

2

Burial/G-279

1

Burial/G-349

1

Burial/G-398

1

Burial/G-400

3

1

Burial/G-418

2

2

12 Gaming objects from Viminacium necropolises were separated for each individual burial (G1 – inhumation; G – incineration).

Marko Jankoviü grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Više grobalja Viminacium/Peüine Viminacium/Peüine Viminacium/Peüine Viminacium/Peüine Viminacium/Peüine TOTAL

255

Burial/G-939

3

4

Burial/G-1022

3

5

Burial /C-7594 Burial /C-1297 Burial /C-3892 Burial /C-4751 Burial /C-9064

1 5 1 60 1 185

41

5

1

Table 11-1. List of board game’s accessories findings from Roman sites in Moesia Superior

Mala Kopašnica Naissus

Singidunum

Singidunum

Viminacium/ Više grobalja

Viminacium/ Više grobalja

No.

3

4

5

6

2

Site

1

/ Adult

I I I

Lead sarcophagi Step grave

Step grave

Burial/G1-118

I

Adult

/

/

Brick build

C

Burial/ Majke Jevrosime st.28 Burial/Kosovska st.47 Burial/ G1-30

/

Brick build

Specific context

Burial

Burial type Step grave

Burial rite C

Age

Burial

Sex F

/

/

/

/

/

Anthropological data Gaming accessories 4 counters, 1 die 1 die

2 dice

2 dice, 22 counters 1 counter

1 die

Pottery vessels 4

/

/

/

1

/

Grave Inventory

2

/

/

/

/

/

Pottery lamps

Context

2

1

2

4

/

/

Coins

Archaeology of Taste: Board and Dice Games of Moesia Superior

1

/

/

1

1

/

Glass vessels

256

/

/

/

/

/

Iron knife

Varia

Step grave

Step grave

Step grave Step grave

Step grave Step grave Step grave Step grave

Burial/G1-245

Burial/G1-303

Burial/G1-379

Burial/G1-398

Burial/G1-413

Burial/G1-415

Burial/G1-432

Burial/G1-454

I

I

I

I

I

I

I

I

/

Adult

/

Adult

/

Adult

Adult

/

/

M

/

M

/

M

/

/

1 counter

1 counter

1 counter

1 counter

1 counter

7 counters, 4 dice 2 dice

4 counters

1

/

1

/

/

2

3

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

1

/

2

/

/

/

3

/

1

/

/

/

3

1

1

/

2

/

Iron knife, Bronze plate

Bronze mirror, bone hairpin and box Bronze wire ring 3 bone pins, gilded stand Clay bead

/

/

/

257

There was no complete documentation on some graves from Viminacium (G1-245, G-349, G-398, G-939, G-1022, and finds from Viminacium /Peüine site). At the time of writing this paper, those finds and graves were not published, so only a short inventory list was available for me.

1

14

13

12

11

10

Viminacium/ Više grobalja Viminacium/ Više grobalja Viminacium/ Više grobalja Viminacium/ Više grobalja

Viminacium/ Više grobalja Viminacium/ Više grobalja

9

8

Viminacium/ Više grobalja1 Viminacium/ Više grobalja

7

Marko Jankoviü

23

22

21

20

19

18

Viminacium/ Više grobalja

Viminacium/ Više grobalja Viminacium/ Više grobalja Viminacium/ Više grobalja

Viminacium/ Više grobalja Viminacium/ Više grobalja Viminacium/ Više grobalja Viminacium/ Više grobalja

16

17

Viminacium/ Više grobalja

15

258 Step grave

Step grave Step grave Pit grave Pit grave

Pit grave Pit grave Pit grave

Pit grave

Burial/G1-461

Burial/G1-798

Burial/G1-1119

Burial/G-53

Burial/G-279

Burial/G-349

Burial/G-398

Burial/G-400

Burial/G-418

C

C

C

C

C

C

I

I

I

Child

Adult

/

/

Child

Child

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

3 counters, 1 die 2 counters, 2 dice

1 counter

1 die

7 counters 2 counters 1 counter

2 dice

2 counters

/

/

/

/

/

3

/

/

/

Archaeology of Taste: Board and Dice Games of Moesia Superior

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

1

/

/

/

1

1

/

/

1

/

/

/

/

/

1

/

/

/

Bronze button

4 glass beads

/

Bronze ringlet Bone pixid, 9 bone pins, 18 shells, Bone tool /

/

Fibula, Heart shaped pendant 9 glass beads, Iron spear /

Viminacium/ Više grobalja

Viminacium/ Peüine Viminacium/ Peüine Viminacium /Peüine Viminacium/ Peüine Viminacium/ Peüine

25

26

Pit grave

Pit grave

/ / / / /

Burial/G-939

Burial/G-1022

Burial /C-7594

Burial /C-1297

Burial /C-3892

Burial /C-4751

Burial /C-9064

/

/

/

/

/

C

C

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

60 counters 1 counter

5 counters 1 counter

3 counters, 4 dice 3 counters, 5 dice 1 counter

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

Table 11-2. List of burials with gaming accessories from Roman sites in Moesia Superior

30

29

28

27

Viminacium/ Više grobalja

24

Marko Jankoviü

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

259

260

Archaeology of Taste: Board and Dice Games of Moesia Superior

Abbreviations IMS I - Inscriptions de la Mésie Supérieure, vol. I, Singidunum et le NordOuest de la province, eds. Mirkoviü, M. & S. Dušaniü, Beograd: Centre d’Études Épigraphiques et Numismatiques de la Faculté de Philosophie de l’Université de Beograd, 1976. IMS VI - Inscriptions de la Mésie Supérieure, vol. VI, Scupi et la région de Kumanovo, ed. Dragojeviü-Josifovska, B. Beograd: Centre d’Études Épigraphiques et Numismatiques de la Faculté de Philosophie de l’Université de Beograd, 1982.

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—. 1995. XII Scripta, Alea, Tabula – New Evidence for the Roman History of „Backgammon.“ In de Voogt, A. J. (ed.). 1995. New approaches to board game research, 73-98. University of Michigan: IIAS. —. 1998. Mancala in Roman Asia Minor? Board Games Studies 1: 10-25. —. 2001. Latrunculi, A Forgotten Roman Game of Strategy Reconstructed. Abstract Games 7: 10-11. —. 2007. The Doctor’s game – New light on the history of the ancient board games. In Crummy, P. et al. (eds.). 2007. Stanway: An elite burial site at Camulodunum. Brittania Monograph Series no.24, 359375. London: Roman Society Publications. Simiü, Z. 1997. Rezultati zaštitnih arheoloških istraživanja na prostoru jugoistoþne nekropole Singidunuma. Singidunum 1: 21-56. Simiü, Z. Miüoviü, N. 2009. Rezultati zaštitnih arheoloških istraživanja prostora u bloku izmeÿu ulica Cincar Janka i Uzun Mirkove. Nasleÿe X: 223-232. Spaeth, J. W. Jr. 1924. The daily life of Roman gentlemen in the first century A. D. The Classical Weekly 17/12: 90-95. Tasiü, N. (ed.) 1992. Scordisci and the native population in the middle Danube region. Belgrade: Institute of Balcanology. Tilley, A. 1892. Ludus Latrunculorum. The Classical Review 6/8: 335-336. Vasiü, M. & Miloševiü, G. 2000. Mansio Idimum: Roman post station near Medveÿa. Beograd: Arheološki institut. Vasiü, M. 1908. Narodni muzej 1908. godine. Godišnjak srpske kraljevske akademije XXII: 167. Vraniü, I.2011. „Ranoantiþka naselja“i gvozdeno doba centralnog Balkana: pitanja etniþkog identiteta. Issues in ethnology and anthropology 6/3: 659-678. —. 2012. Urbanizacija u arheološkim interpretacijama. Primer “helenizovanih” naselja u unutrašnjosti Balkana. Issues in ethnology and anthropology 7/3: 731-746. —. 2014. “Hellenisation” and Ethnicity in the Continental Balkan Iron Age. IN Poppa, C. and Stoddart, S. (eds.). 2014. Fingerprinting the Iron Age, 161-172. Oxford: Oxbow books. Webster, J. 2001. Creolizing the Roman Provinces. American Journal of Archaeology 105: 209-225. Wells, S. P. 2001. Beyond Celts, Germans and Scythians: Archaeology and Identity in Iron Age Europe. London: Duckworth. Woolf, G. 1998. Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Zotoviü, Lj. & Jordoviü, ý. 1990. Viminacium I. Beograd: Arheološki institut.

MILITARY FASHION IN THE CONTEXT OF ‘REGIONALIZATION’: THE CASE OF ROMAN DACIA MONICA GUI

The surprising uniformity of the Roman soldiers' equipment and dress, especially in a period for which a centralized control over these aspects is out of the question, has often been remarked upon (e.g. Coulston 2004, 143-146; James 2004, 251-254; Bishop and Coulston 2006, 233-240; James 2014, 96-98). At the same time, it was acknowledged that, within this uniformity, there was also room for variation at different levels: at the level of the individual, of the unit or type of unit, provincial army or region (Bishop and Coulston 2006, 253-256). However, detecting and deciphering patterns in the distribution of military equipment is not an easy task, partly because the things that do differ can be obscured by the multitude of things that are the same, but surely also because of the uneven state of research and finds publication from different areas of the Empire. Consequently, the material has the potential of revealing different dynamics of the Roman army across space and time. One phenomenon that can be recognized is the increasingly localized distribution of certain military artefacts, especially starting from mid-2nd century AD onwards. Concerning the Danube area and especially Dacia, much has been done in this direction by L. Petculescu, who showed that not only belt fittings, but also other pieces of equipment conform to this general pattern (see Petculescu 1980; 1991a; 1991b; 1993; 1995a; 1995b; 1998). Twenty years ago, he drew the general lines of the evolution of the military belt in Dacia (Petculescu 1995a, 123), so the present paper builds very much on his work. Taking into consideration the new evidence that has steadily increased since then, it aims to put into perspective, primarily the appearance of the soldiers from Dacia between the late 2nd and first part of the 3rd century, as well as to search for some of the reasons behind their stylistic choices. At this stage, it was decided to settle on a handful of belt fitting which is distinctively well represented in the archaeological record of Roman Dacia, as it is hoped that they might have a slightly

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greater statistical relevance. The underlying assumption is that being such small finds, easily lost or deteriorated and more frequently replaced, they were subjected to fashion to a greater degree and at a more rapid pace than other militaria. It is redundant to state that, unfortunately, this image remains (largely) incomplete. Before actually discussing the aforementioned fittings, some short introductory sections regarding the importance of the belt for military men and the general historical background are perhaps useful. These accounts will be necessarily brief and selective in the aspects that have been singled out.

‘Fashion' and the Roman military: The significance of the belt Basically, military identity could be advertised in life through elements of equipment and dress, and in death by figured monuments representing the deceased in his attire. The soldiers did not walk around all day fully equipped, but other elements that made up their general appearance had the potential of conveying a message regarding their socio-professional status (see Coulston 2004; Speidel 2009). The military belt and later also the baldric were especially important signifiers for Roman soldiers due to their strong association with the men's most important 'tools of the trade' (i.e. swords). Clearly, an effort was invested in attracting attention to these particular items. They were fitted with an array of variously embellished metallic elements (some functional, some purely decorative, some playing both roles), and carefully depicted on funerary monuments, and all this because they ultimately represented the means to visually construct and publicize military identity (Hoss 2010; Hoss 2012). From this point of view, fashion ceases to be such a trivial subject in the context of the Roman army. In fact, the factors that determine trends can be significant. The points made by Ellen Swift in her book on regionality in dress accessories, although referring to a later period, with its specific problems and historical developments, are, I believe, also valid for other time frames. The author concludes that there were two basic ways in which a fashion was disseminated: either top-down, imposed by the upper ranks, entailing a centralized control over production and investing the objects with symbolic authority, or bottom-up, started from the lower echelons and determined by peer pressure (Swift 2000, 232-233), in other words, the pressure to conform to certain social expectations (Hoss 2010, 122-124; Hoss 2012, 42-44). The second model can be illustrated by the changing appearance of military men, who gradually adopted various

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'barbaric' elements in their costume and the 3rd century started to be represented (emperors included) clad in their sagum and wearing the Ringschnallencingulum (see James 2014, 95-99). There is a possibility that this ring-buckle was of Oriental origin and brought into fashion by the troops fighting in the eastern campaigns (James 2006, 371; Hoss 2012, 3940). The shifts the Roman armies underwent through the ages, from the monarch's instruments of power and control to entities that made and broke emperors, as well as the social and economic ramifications of this change are well-known (MacMullen 1963; Alföldy 1987; Mócsy 1974, 183-212; Campbell 1984). The present paper attempts to investigate further how this situation is reflected by the material culture of the army, specifically by a category of material that had a certain meaning for the soldiers, being so closely linked with the act of creating one's image.

Historical background It was on the occasion of the Marcomannic wars that the power of the armies on the Danube became evident, as this area hosted a large concentration of troops in relative proximity to Italy. The reconstruction following the devastation led to a gradual build-up of a sense of 'Danubian' identity (Mócsy 1974, 194). Its shaping up is demonstrated by the use of the term 'Illyricum' to designate the Danubian provinces starting with Septimius Severus, a term which is, in fact, devoid of ethnic or linguistic connotations. This is, of course, closely related to the military support offered by these provinces to Severus, and the subsequent rewards which included the recruitment of the new praetorian guards from the Danube legions; also, the ranks of the newly created Legio II Parthica stationed at Albano Laziale were filled with Danubian soldiers (Mócsy 1974, 200201). Dacia, obviously, was not part of Illyricum, not in a geographical, historical, or even cultural sense, but became somewhat attached to it through a shared military subculture. Serious troubles which arose in the area, like those at the beginning of Hadrian's reign or during the Marcomannic wars witnessed close co-operation between the provincial armies of the Dacian, Moesian and Pannonian provinces. The situation is evidenced by joint provincial commands, like the one held by Q. Marcius Turbo in 118 over Pannonia Inferior and Dacia (Piso 2013, 67-109), or that held during the reign of Marcus Aurelius by M. Claudius Fronto over Moesia Superior and the three Dacias (Piso 1993, 94-102). Later on, both of Dacia's legions actively supported Septimius Severus' bid for power (Piso 2005, 415-416, 426), so soldiers from Dacia can be counted among

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the 'Illyriciani' who flooded the streets of the Urbs after his accession to power. The two legions became involved in the subsequent power struggles and, towards the middle of the century, vexillations are attested in northern Italy and at Poetovio (Piso 2005, 416-418). In what follows, the situation greatly deteriorated in Dacia. The literary sources speak of the loss of Dacia by Gallienus, and it was argued that having lost its strategic importance in the new defensive system of the Empire, units from the province began to be transferred in hotspots like Poetovio, Sirmium, etc. (Ruscu 1998; Ruscu 2000). Even before that, there are clues to troop movements within Dacia and also of detachments leaving it, some accompanying Valerian in the Orient (Dana and Nemeti 2001, 244-254). This period is, however, a little beyond the scope of this paper. Leaving aside the sequence of events, a phenomenon that developed roughly in this time frame and is worth noting is the appearance of burials with belts. They are often referred to as 'graves with military equipment' in the literature (e.g. Petculescu 1995a). It is perhaps a useful complication to try to separate these from earlier and later burials with fighting and/or hunting equipment, which are attributed to indigenous Iron Age, respectively Germanic traditions and customs (for some classifications along these lines see e.g. Petculescu 1995a, 121; Márton 2002, 134-144) and seem to reflect different cultural traditions altogether (Haynes 2013, 254ff). The 'belted' burials are concentrated along the Danube (Fischer 2012, 122), and this distribution seems to support the idea of a common cultural background. Still, examples are known from elsewhere, such as Chersonesos (Kostromichyov 2005; 2006; Treister 2001, 113-116), where a Danubian connection cannot be excluded, nor necessarily argued for. What is important for the present paper is evidently the (military) belt included in the funerary inventory. Whether the deceased were actually soldiers, or aspired to be, or simply wanted to be associated somehow with the army, the symbolism is apparent. The so-called 'equipment graves' seemed rare in Dacia (see Petculescu 1995; 1997), but recent discoveries from Apulum have increased the number of 'belted' burials by a few (Ciugudean and Ciugudean 2000; Ciugudean 2010; 2011; 2012) and the apparently (and hopefully!) imminent processing and publication of the cemeteries pertaining to the site will shed some light on the scale of such enterrements in the environs of this very important legionary base (rather disparate belt plates and buckles from the necropoles can be seen in: Lux, util, estetic 2011, nos. 183, 184, 222, 221, 224, 226). It must also be mentioned that some burials, although published, have not been particularly emphasized and thus have gone relatively unnoticed (e.g. Babe‫ ܈‬1970, 185-186, Abb. 11; Damian 2008, 177-178, pl. 167/7-8;

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Protase 2002, pl. LXIX/210, LXXI/228), while others were not deemed worthy of further discussion because they contained only isolated belt fittings (Petculescu 1995a, 105), so the total number could be greater. To sum up, behind the existence of graves like these probably lies a rather complex interplay of factors, among which we can count the burial customs of the Norico-Pannonian population, but also the ever-growing influence of the Roman army (Haynes 2013, 263-256).

Patterns of distribution for belt fittings – a progressive localization The belt plates and fittings from 2nd century Dacia are of types that would not seem out of place anywhere in the Empire. The situation is easily explained by a higher mobility of units in this period. For instance, at the beginning of Hadrian's reign, military diplomas testify not only to an inflow of auxiliary troops in the province but also to the 'knock-on effect' (Holder 2003, 102-104) caused by the well-known troubles in the area. The turmoil during the rule of Marcus Aurelius marks another moment of intensive military activity when the Troesmis-based Legio V Macedonica is brought in after its return from the Oriental front (Bărbulescu 1987, 2224; Piso 2005, 414-415). To take just one example, quite popular in Dacia was a rectangular openwork plate with a baluster-shaped central bar, detachable or cast in one piece, dated to the last half of the 2nd century. Variants of it occur all along the Danube, but some also crop up in Britain or North Africa (for complete references, see Petculescu 1995a, 110-112, 134-137; Ciugudean 2012, 112-114). According to L. Petculescu, they represented Danubian variants of the narrow military belt in fashion at that time (Petculescu 1995a, 123-124; Petculescu 1998, 155). An even clearer pattern emerges when one looks at the so-called Lyon type belts (i.e. adorned with letter mounts, usually, but not exclusively, spelling VTERE FELIX), whose regional distribution has not gone unnoticed (Oldenstein 1977, 88; Petculescu 1991a: 393-394). These are dated between the 2nd half of the 2nd and the first half of the 3rd century, and, despite the fact that quite a few new finds were added to the list, the overall picture has not changed: they do concentrate on the Middle and Lower Danube and are rather well represented in the northern territory of Dacia (see the lists in Hoss 2006; Galiü and Radman-Livaja 2006; Redžiü 2008; more unpublished finds mentioned by Petculescu 1991, 393; 1995a, 119; some more recent examples from Potaissa: Bărbulescu 2012, nos. 58-62, figs. 141-145, from Apulum: Haynes 2014, 91, fig. 11.2; unknown find spot: Fischer 2012,

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127, Abb. 139 etc.). The ones that stand out, from Lyon (Wuilleumier 1959, 141-148) and Dura-Europos (James 2004, 79, no. 78), can be explained by the presence of contingents from the Danube area (Oldenstein 1977, 88; James 2004, 24-25; Bishop and Coulston 2006, 183184). These letter mounts come in different variants and are provided with different buckles, but are usually fairly small, which means they were fitted with narrower belts. However, in Dacia, in addition to the small letters, there are also bigger (3.25 – 4.5 cm) and more embellished specimens which were obviously suited for broader belts; in the case of the mid 3rd century burial from Bruiu (Fig. 12-1/B) they are interestingly associated with a Rahmenschnalle (Petculescu 1991a, 393-393, fig. 74/4, 5; Petculescu 1995a, 118-121, pl. 3). The recently published 'L' from the Liber Pater sanctuary area in Apulum (Haynes 2014, 91, fig. 11.2) fits well in the series in terms of tendril decoration and large size. Close parallels from outside Dacia have not yet been noted, except for a similar letter originating from the middle Imperial to late the Roman necropolis at Vindenis (Gllamnik/ Glavnik) in Moesia superior (information kindly provided by F. Teichner, R. Dürr and A. Drăgan, who will publish the piece in the Proceedings of the 23rd Limeskongress, Ingolstadt, 2015). Starting from the 3rd century, iconic for the soldiery is the ring-buckle (Coulston 1987, 141-146; Coulston 2007; cf. Von Schnurbein 1995). Ringschnallen is notoriously difficult to identify in the archaeological record, except for when finding in funerary contexts, because they much resemble other utility rings such as those used in harnesses. This has led to a curious situation: despite the numerous depictions of soldiers with ringbuckles, in terms of actual finds, they appear to be outnumbered by the much seldom illustrated frame-buckles (Von Schnurbein 1977, 90; Fischer 2012, 126-127). Commenting on 3rd-century representations of soldiers, J. Coulston suggests that the large, broad and flat ring-buckles exhibited on some gravestones are exaggerations designed to attract attention to them (Coulston 2007, 533). The fact that the figural ring-buckle tombstones concentrate on the Middle Danube (namely Pannonia) and in Rome (Coulston 1987, 146; Coulston 2007, 535-536) can be viewed as foreshadowing the rise of the 'Illyriciani' (Coulston 2007, 549). The ostentatious display of the Ringschnallen cingulum in Rome can thus be linked with a sense of otherness these Danubian soldiers must have felt once they found themselves in the capital, but also with the feeling of belonging to the increasingly powerful and influential Illyrian armies (Coulston 2007, 545). There are not so many monuments in Dacia of soldiers wearing the ring-buckle. Nevertheless, a pair of statues from Apulum, the headquarters

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of Legio XIII Gemina, is especially noteworthy (Moga, Blăjan 1992, fig. 1-3; Radu 1968, 438-441, fig, 2-3; Ciugudean 2011, pl. V). These men in 'camp dress' (Fig. 12-2/B), presumably governors or high officials, in any case, wear a very distinctive type of ring-buckle, not dissimilar to the one worn by a praetorian from Rome recalled by Coulston (Coulston 2007, fig. 1). In fact, this type of grooved ring-buckle has been identified in actuality, thanks to a couple of funerary inventories from Apulum (Fig. 12-1/A, C) dated to the first half of the 3rd century (Ciugudean and Ciugudean 2000; Ciugudean 2010; Ciugudean 2011). Daniela Ciugudean pointed out that similar pieces were noted before in Dacia, but scholars failed to recognize them for what they really were. Apart from the ones from Apulum (Ciugudean 2011, pl. I/6, II/4, III/1-2, 4-5), specimens are also known from Gherla (Protase et al. 2008, 88, no. 1, pl. XLIV/1), Porolissum (Gudea 1989, 699, nos. 2-3, pl. CCXXXV/2-3), Romita (Matei and Bajusz 1997, 130, pl. XCIII/1, 2), Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa (Alicu et al. 1994, 102, no. 647, pl. 29/647), Romula (Babe‫ ܈‬1970, 186, fig. 11/e) probably also Obreja (Protase 2002, 123, pl. LXII/97; 144, pl. LXIX/210), as well as from Sucidava (Popilian and Bondoc 2012, pl. CXCV/2). The 14 enumerated pieces (Fig. 12-3/A) known to date suggest a Dacian bias, but a number of similar, grooved specimens were discovered at Viminacium (Redžiü 2013, 99-101, nos. 150a, 151-152, 155a, 159a, 160, T. XIX/150a, 151, 152, 155a, T. XX/159a, 160). Furthermore, recent finds, as well as a reconsideration of the old collections from Apulum, mark the site as an important point of concentration for ring-buckles (Ciugudean 2011, 105; Lux, util, esthetic 2011, 113-114, nos. 219-222), with more specimens of various types. Despite the dearth of soldier representations from Dacia, the funerary assemblages mentioned before show that the style of wearing the belt did not diverge from what is generally known, including the domed studs and in one case the split belt end with terminals. The framed pelta mount (Fig. 12-1/C) from one of the graves from Apulum was interpreted by the publishers as a possible baldric fitting, and the lack of other elements might be explained by the fact that it was a cremation (Ciugudean and Ciugudean 2000, fig. 1). However, an inhumation grave excavated later at the same site included a very similar inventory, only instead of a rectangular pelta-decorated plate, it included a pelta-shaped mount (Fig. 12-1/A) of the type usually considered as harness mounts (Ciugudean 2010, fig. 1). Therefore, the extra mounts could have been fitted on the cingulum as well. This is a recurring composition. The small framed pelta plate does not seem that important, but the exact same association with a grooved Ringschnalle found in a cremation burial from Romula (Babe‫܈‬

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1970, 186, Abb. 11/d-e) might be significant (Fig. 12-1/D). Another example originates from near Apulum, from the cemetery at Obreja (Fig. 12-1/E), and this assemblage also includes a piece similar to a balteus pendant, though the description is extremely telegraphic and the photo of modest quality (Protase 2002, 144, pl. LXIX/210; for balteus pendants resembling the openwork fragment, see Oldenstein 1977, 160, pl. 43/425, 426; Boube-Piccot 1994, 133-134, pl. 22/210, pl. 83/210). In conclusion, there are three different burials (i.e. Apulum, Obreja, and Romula) which include a grooved Ringschnalle and an openwork pelta-decorated square mount, and the first two also a pair of fungiform studs as well as an extra (flat) stud. The fourth grave from Apulum contains a pelta-shaped mount instead. These would point to a more or less fixed visual grammar so to speak (see also Gui 2015). A further point can be made about the third stud which was also noted in the case of the Bruiu burial (Fig. 12-1/B) mentioned before. Petculescu presumed that it was meant for attaching a flint steel or that maybe it was just the one recovered from a pair used for the suspension of a knife sheath (Petculescu 1995b, 119). It now seems clear that there was just one extra stud, whatever its function. The rectangular plate with openwork pelta is a kind of mount very frequent in Dacia, especially in and around military installations, but also in rural areas (Fig. 12-3/B). It appears at Apulum (Lux, util, estetic 2011, 102, no. 179; Drîmbărean, Rustoiu 2003, 242, pl. IV/2), Bumbe‫܈‬ti (Marinoiu 2004, 126, no. 1, pl. LXVIII/8), Copăceni (Amon 2004, 226, no. 13, pl. XXXVI/5), Criste‫܈‬ti (Man 2011, 197, nos. 22-23, pl. CXLVIII/22-23), Eno‫܈‬e‫܈‬ti (Amon 2004, pl. XXXVI/8), Mehadia (Macrea et al. 1993, 105, no. 1, pl. XXV/1), Porolissum (Gudea 1989, 644-, nos. 27-31, pl. CCVI/27-31; Gudea et al. 1992, fig. 9/14), Potaissa (Bărbulescu 1997, fig. 29/4), Valea Chintăului (Alicu et al. 1995: 621, no. 3, fig. 5/8). Outside the province, I know of a specimen from Bulgaria, at Novae (Genþeva 2009, fig. 5/3) and two others from Viminacium (Redžiü 2013, 222, nos. 516-517, T. LIII/516-517). There are two other examples from Dura-Europos (James 2004, 80, nos. 94-95, fig. 38/94-95) and maybe the same case can be made in this instance, as to the Lyon type mount found at the site. It was argued that the garrison there had been reinforced with troops from the Danube at some point before its final siege by the Sasanians (James 2004, 24-25). The specimens from Potaissa indicate a post-Marcomannic wars date. The few pieces that could be dated more precisely are placed in the first part of the 3rd century, as also suggested by their presence at Dura-Europos. Surprising is the consistency observed in size (3 by 3 cm) and design, but then again, it is a very modest fitting after all.

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A similar distribution pattern can be detected for another type of rather a similar mount (roughly 2.5 by 3.5 cm), this time decorated with four kidney-shaped apertures, dating from the same period (Fig. 12-4/B). Due to its small size and simple shape, this could be easily overlooked if it were not for the large numbers in which it appears in Dacia: Apulum (Lux, util, estetic 2011,102, no. 178), Buciumi (Chirilă and others 1972, 73, nos. 1-2, pl. LXXVI/7-8), Bumbe‫܈‬ti (Amon 2004, 215, no. 2, pl. XXXVIII/5), Cioroiul Nou (Bondoc 2010, 50, no. 84b, pl. XXIX), Cumidava (Gudea and Pop 1971, pl. LVIIa/1), Mănerău (Buday 1913, 125, fig. 8), Mehadia (Bozu 2000, 224, nos. 1.14-15, pl. II/1-2), Obreja (Protase 2002, LXXI/228), Porolissum (Gudea 1989, 644, nos. 32, 34, 36-37, pl. CCVI/32, 34, 36-37), Potaissa (Bărbulescu 1997, fig. 29/5; Nemeti 2004, 93, no. 55, pl. 5/55; Bajusz 1980, 382, no. 589, pl. III), Răcari (Bondoc and Gudea 2009, 214-215, nos. 547, 549, 550, pl. XCIX/547, 549, 550), Războieni-Cetate (Nemeti 2004, 90, nos. 19-20, pl. 2/19-20), Romula (Amon 2004, 252, no. 36, pl. XXXVI/19), Tibiscum (Nemeth 1991, 209, no. 36, Abb. 3/36), Valea Chintăului (Alicu 1994, 547, no. 6). Admittedly, its design is not as uniform as that of the previous mount, and some variants are provided with a loop, which is a quite common feature on contemporary cingulum fittings (e.g. on letter mounts). Outside Dacia, there are isolated examples from the neighbouring provinces: Novae (Genþeva 2009, fig. 5/5), Viminacium (Redžiü 2013, 221-222, nos. 511a, 512b, 513-515, T. LII/511a, T. LIII/512b, 513-515), Aquincum (Zsidi 2001, 82, fig. 5), Brigetio (Sey 2010, 9, nos. 5-6, Taf. 1/5-6), but also from Dura-Europos (James 2004, 80, no. 96, fig. 38/96) and Chersonesos (Kostromichyov 2006, 105, no. 27, fig. 10/7). The presence of Danubian contingents in the 3rd century is known at the last site (Treister 2001, 115116). Another grave from Apulum (Fig. 12-2/D) exhibits an altogether different style, although it is constructed around the same ring-buckle. In this instance, the Ringschnalle is of a common type but is complemented by two crude plates (Lux, util, estetic 2011, 103, nos. 183-184, 114, no. 222). Plates of this kind, rather large (4.5-5 cm), mostly squarish, simplistically decorated with variously arranged apertures and fixed by four rivets at the corners are well-known in the province (Petculescu 1995a, 117). The combination with the ring-buckle is, however, unusual. It was always assumed that these were used in conjunction with rectangular buckles, as attested by a grave assemblage from Drobeta (Fig. 12-2/C) dated to the first half of the 3rd century and by other hinged specimens (e.g. Bărbulescu 1997, fig. 29/2). L. Petculescu remarked that the fittings from Drobeta were not exactly a match. There is an obvious discrepancy between

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the carefully executed buckle and the plates, which might have been replacements or additions manufactured by the owner himself (Petculescu 1995a: 117-118, pl. 8/7). As mentioned, the crude plates are represented substantially in Dacia (Fig. 12-4/A), at Apulum (Lux, util, estetic 2011, 103, nos. 182-185; Haynes 2014, 91, fig. 11/4, 5), Copăceni (Tudor 1982, 57, no. 26, fig. 3/12), Feldioara (Gudea 2008, 219, no. 9, pl. LXVI/9), Ili‫܈‬ua (Protase and others 1997, pl. LXXIX/1), Mehadia (Macrea and others 1993, 105, no. 2, pl. XXV/2), Porolissum (Gudea 1989, 641-642, nos. 6-7, 10-12, pl. CCV/6-8, 10-12; and one unpublished, with rectangular buckle, mentioned by Petculescu 1995a, 117), Potaissa (Bărbulescu 1997, fig. 29/2; Cătina‫܈‬ and Bărbulescu 1979, 119, fig. 13/5), Răcari (Bondoc and Gudea 2009, 213-214, nos. 537, 543, pl. XCVIII/537, XCIX/543), Ghioaca (Amon 2004, 273-274, nos. 12-13, pl. XLVI/11-12), and some unpublished finds of this type are also known from Buciumi, Micia, Slăveni, Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa and Urluieni (see Petculescu 1995a, 117). While many lack a clear context, the ones that could be dated point to the first half of the 3rd century, a period also suggested by the association with a Ringschnalle mentioned above. Outside Dacia, isolated examples were noted at Oescus (Genþeva 2009, fig. 2/13) and Dura-Europos (James 2004, 91-92, fig. 38/91-92) and some more at Viminacium (Redžiü 2013, 68, no. 99a-c, 6970, no. 101, 223, no. 520, T. XIV/99a-c, 101, T. LIII/520). The last item that will be briefly discussed is a variant of a presumably balteus fastener. This is generally smaller than the usual types (ranges through 4.7 to 6.5 cm) and is cast in one piece together with the fastening loop on the back side, which is attached directly to the flat disc (Petculescu 1980, 60-61). The disc is decorated with openwork motifs, usually peltabased. A handful of these were found in Dacia (Fig. 12-5), most in auxiliary forts, at Micia (Petculescu 1980, 58, no. 6, fig. 2/4), Feldioara (Gudea 2008, 218, nos. 2-3, pl. LXV/2-3) and Criste‫܈‬ti (Man 2011, 197-198, no. 24, pl. CXLVIII/24). Also from the territory of Romania, one was found at Târg‫܈‬or, in Barbaricum (Petculescu 1980, 58, no. 7, fig. 3). Good parallels are found along the Danube, in Serbia at the ancient sites at Rittium and Diana and other unknown find spots (Vujoviü 2003, T. I/4-7), possibly in Hungary at Intercisa (Sellye 1940, Taf. XXXVII/4) and Brigetio (Sellye 1941, pl. XX/4), and also at Dura-Europos (James 2004, 74, nos. 18-20, 26, fig. 36/18-20, 26). Interestingly, similar pieces were noted in North Africa, at Volubilis and Banasa (Boube-Piccot 1980, 156, nos. 199-201; 258-260, nos. 428-429) and this was linked with the circulation of troops between this area and Moesia (Vujoviü 2003). So there is a rather different pattern from the rest of the pieces discussed above.

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Conclusions But what is the meaning of this regional patterning in the material? The model in which military equipment was produced, repaired and traded (Oldenstein 1985; Gschwind 1997) implies that, in theory, the premises for a great variety were all there, especially in the case of belt mounts that didn't generally require great skill and specialization. However, the constant exchange of ideas meant that a common repertoire of designs would more or less ensue, at least among army groups, and thus an evidently distinct equipment would suggest a certain isolation (Oldenstein 1985; although referring to 1st century AD fabricae, see also Bishop 1985, 12-16). Contemporary with this apparent province confined pieces presented above, we also find in Dacia items that display an empire-wide distribution, like the OPTIME MAXIME CON(SERVA) baldric fittings (Petculescu 1991a, 394-395) or the millefiori plates with peltiform extremities (Bishop and Coulston 2006, 184; e.g. Oldenstein 1977, 195– 197, Taf. 63/809–812; from Apulum: Lux, util estetic 2011, 111, no. 212). This can be explained by the fact that their manufacture required some skill and was thus more centrally-produced, although not necessarily in just one place, and distributed by means of commerce or circulation of troops or individuals (Oldenstein 1985, 86-88; Gschwind 1997, 623). Evidently, Dacia was not cut off. However, a more detailed view of the material manifestations of its army appears to break down the generic image of the Roman soldier somewhat. Smaller or larger squarish belt plates are known from a lot of sites across the Empire. Due to the mode of production just mentioned, is it really relevant to go so far as to group them by the decorative patterns, since these depended, after all, on the local craftsmen's skills and imagination? (see the discussion in Bishop 1987). Probably not so much, but the fact that some fairly consistent types of fittings are encountered all over Dacia and hardly anywhere else might offer some clues on the circulation of ideas within and without this province in the 3rd century. It is hard to understand, for instance, the preference of the soldiers from Dacia for crude plates with rudimentary motifs. The men that manufactured them (quite probably the soldiers' themselves) had a rather distorted and vague 'mental template' (see Bishop 1987, 111-112, fig. 1) of how a military belt should look like and reproduced it as well as they could. Maybe it has come to be that, in the visual language employed to communicate military identity, it was not the exact vocabulary (i.e. specific decorative motifs) that mattered, but mainly the grammar (e.g. large metallic plates with ring-

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buckle, the details of their execution and appearance being largely unimportant). One more in the series of qualms should be addressed. Admittedly, the approach used in this paper is rather simplistic, and there is always the problem of how representative the material really is because the samples are in fact small. Quite probably, there are more fittings with a limited distribution, just as it is possible that the Dacian bias observed in some cases owes more to the state of research and publication, as they are not spectacular pieces and are usually mentioned (if at all) in obscure reports written in national languages (Romanian, Serbian, Bulgarian, Hungarian). Despite the difficulties of getting a general picture of the area in terms of fittings and 'military fashion', if we take into account all the distribution patterns presented in this paper, we do end up with some material that would seem a bit out of place on the obergermanisch-raetische limes, for example, an area from which we have a wealth of information regarding the smallest of military finds (see Oldenstein 1977; the Limesforschungen series etc.). The gradual process of continuous reduction of the distribution areas further emerges. Needless to say, localized distributions are not restricted to the 3rd century. Differences in the equipment of army groups (e.g. for the Rhineland and Britain groups see Bishop 1987, 120-122) have been noted, and sometimes patterns can even be related to almost named places or troops (Bishop 1987, 123-125). A consideration of the units associated with all of the sites mentioned above could have produced some results, although maybe not too conclusive, as most of the auxiliary forts were garrisoned by a succession of troops and detachments that is not always clear-cut, not to mention the legionary vexillations attested in Dacia throughout the existence of the province (for the former, see Petolescu 2002; for a list of the latter, see Piso 2005). To be able to get a more accurate picture and make sense of all the different phenomena which appear to be reflected by the materials in question, a much larger quantity of militaria must be computed, though unfortunately, a database of military equipment is probably a too ambitious project for the time being.

Acknowledgements This work was supported by a grant from the National Authority for Scientific Research, CNCS-UEFISCDI, Project no. PN-II-PT-PCEE– 2013-3-0924.

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Mannheimer Geschichts blätter 19: 97-110. —. 2012. The Roman military belt. In Nosch, M. L. (ed.). 2012. Wearing the Cloak. Dressing the Soldier in Roman Times, 29-44.Oxford and Oakville: Oxbow. James, S. 2004. The Excavations at Dura-Europos conducted by Yale University and the French Academy of Inscriptions and Letters 1928 to 1937. Final Report VII. The Arms and Armour and other Military Equipment, London: British Museum Press. —. 2006. The Impact of Steppe Peoples and the Partho-Sasanian World on the Development of Roman Military Equipment and Dress. 1st to 3rd Centuries AD. In Mode, M. And Tubach, J. (eds.). 2006. Arms and Armour as Indicators of Cultural Transfer. The Steppes and the Ancient World from Hellenistic Times to Early Middle Ages, 357-377. Wiesbaden: Reichert. —. 2014.The 'Romanness of the Soldiers': Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core? In Brody, L. R. and Hoffman, G. L. (eds.). 2014. Roman in the provinces: art on the periphery of Empire, 93-109. Boston: McMullen Museum of Art, Boston College. Kostromichyov, D. 2005. Ɍɪɢ ɩɨɝɪɟɛɟɧɢɹ ɪɢɦɫɤɢɯ ɫɨɥɞɚɬ ɢɡ ɧɟɤɪɨɩɨɥɹ ɏɟɪɫɨɧɟɫɚ (Three burials of Roman soldiers from the necropolis of Chersonesos). Materials in Archaeology, History and Ethnography of Tauria 11: 93-118. —. 2006. Ɋɢɦɫɤɨɟ ɜɨɟɧɧɨɟ ɫɧɚɪɹɠɟɧɢɟ ɢɡ ɏɟɪɫɨɧɟɫɚ (Roman military equipment from Chersonesos. Materials in Archaeology, History and Ethnography of Tauria 12 (1): 43-128. MacMullen, R. 1963. Soldier and Civilian in the Later Roman Empire. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. Macrea, M. et al. 1993. Praetorium. Castrul úi aúezarea romană de la Mehadia. Bucureúti: Editura Academiei Române. Man, N. 2011. AЮezarea romană de la CristeЮti. Cluj-Napoca: Mega. Márton, A. 2002. Roman burial with a weapon from the Bécsi road cemetery (Aquincum - Budapest). Communicationes Archaeologicae Hungariae 2002: 117-152. Marinoiu, V. 2004. Romanitatea în nordul Olteniei. Craiova: Rhabon. Matei Al. and Bajusz, I. 1997. Castrul roman de la Romita-Certiae. Zalău. Mócsy, A. 1974. Pannonia and Upper Moesia. London and Boston: Routledge. Moga, V. and Blăjan, M. 1992. O nouă statuie portret descoperită la Apulum. Studii Юi Cercetări de Istorie Veche Юi Arheologie 43 (2): 201205. Nemeth, E. 1991. Römische Ausrüstungsgegenstände aus Tibiscum. Dacia

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n. s. 25: 205-210. Nemeti, S. 2004. Piese romane de bronz din Dacia. Revista BistriĠei 18: 89-100. Oldenstein, J. 1976. Zur Ausrüstung römischer Auxiliareinheiten. Studien zu Beschlägen und Zierat an der Ausrüstung der römischer Auxiliareinheiten der obergermanisch-raetischen Limesgebietes aus dem zweiten und dritten Jahrhundert n. Chr., Frankfurt am Main (Sonderdruck aus BerRGK 57, 50-284). —. 1985. Manufacture and supply of the Roman army with bronze fittings. In Bishop, M. C. (ed.). 1985. The Production and Distribution of Roman Military equipment, BAR IS 275, 82-94. Oxford: Archeopress. Petculescu, L. 1980. Închizătoare de balteus din Dacia. Potaissa 2: 55-62. —. 1991a.'VTERE FELIX' and 'OPTIME MAXIME CON(SERVA)' mounts from Dacia. In Maxfield, V. A. and Dobson, M. J. (eds.). 1991. Roman Frontier Studies 1989. Proceedings of the XVth International Congress of Roman Frontier Studies, 392-396. Exeter: University of Exeter Press. —. 1991b. Bronze spearheads and spear butts from Dacia. Journal of Roman Military Equipment Studies 2: 35-58. —. 1993. Miniature spearhead fittings of military equipment in Roman Dacia. Dacia n. s. 37, 181-196. —. 1995a. Military equipment graves in Roman Dacia. Journal of Roman Military Equipment Studies 6: 105-145. —. 1995b. Bronze Miniature Weapons and Armour in the Equipment of Roman Soldiers from Dacia in the Second and Third Centuries AD. In Mols, S. T. A. M. et al. (eds.). 1995. Acta of the 12th International Congress on Ancient Bronzes, Nijmegen, 409-412. Nijmegen: Provinciaal Museum G.M. Kam; Amersfoort: Rijksdienst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek. —. 1997. Mormântul cu echipament militar roman din cimitirul de sud-est al oraúului Romula. In Bărbulescu, M. (ed.). 1997. CivilizaĠia romană în Dacia, 215-223. Cluj-Napoca: Funda‫܊‬ia Culturală Română. —. 1998. The equipment graves from Tomis. Thraco-Dacica 19 (1-2): 153-156. Petolescu, C. C. 2002. Auxilia Daciae. Bucure‫܈‬ti: Ars Docendi. Piso, I. 1993. Fasti provinciae Daciae. Die senatorischen Amtsträger. Bonn: Habelt. —. 2005. Les légions dans la province de Dacie. In Piso, I. (ed.). 2005. An der Nordgrenze des Römischen Reiches. Ausgewählte Studien (19722003), 401-428. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Piso, I. 2013. Fasti Provinciae Daciae. Die ritterlichen Amtsträger. Bonn:

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Drobeta 5: 49-77. Vujoviü, M. 2003. Ʉɚɫɧɨɪɢɦɫɤɟ ɩɨʁɚɫɧɟ ɮɚɥɟɪɟ ɧɚ ɬɥɭ ɋɪɛɢʁɟ (Late Roman belt phalerae from the territory of Serbia). Ɋɚɞ Ⱦɪɚɝɨɫɥɚɜɚ ɋɪɟʁɨɜɢʄɚ ɧɚ ɢɫɬɪɚɠɢɜɚʃɭ ɚɧɬɢɱɤɟ ɚɪɯɟɨɥɨɝɢʁɟ, 211-223, Ʉɪɚɝɭʁɟɜɚɰ. Wuilleumier, P. 1959. XVe circonscription. Gallia 8: 146-153. Zsidi, P. 2001. Research in the territory east of the Aquincum Civil Town. In Zsidi, P. (ed.). 2001. Excavation and rescue work in the Aquincum Museum in 2000, 76-84. Budapest.

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Fig. 12-1. Funerary assemblages. A. Apulum (after Ciugudean 2010, fig. 1); B. Bruiu (after Petculescu 1995a, pl. 3); C. Apulum (after Ciugudean and Ciugudean 2000, fig. 1); D. Romula - not to scale (after Babe‫ ܈‬1970, fig. 11); E. Obreja - not to scale (after Protase 2002, pl. LXIX/210)

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Fig. 12-2. A. Ringschnallen from Apulum (after Ciugudean 2011, pl. III); B. statue from Apulum (source: ubi-erat-lupa.org); C. belt from Drobeta grave (after Petculescu 1995b, Pl. 8/7); D. belt from Apulum grave (after Lux, util, estetic 2011, nos. 183-184, 222)

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Fig. 12-3. Ɣ Military site (fort, vicus or town next to fort), ż rural site, Ŷ urban site. A. 1. Porolissum; 2. Romita; 3. Gherla; 4. Obreja; 5. Apulum; 6. Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa; 7. Viminacium; 8. Romula; 9. Sucidava. B. 1. Porolissum; 2. Valea Chintăului; 3. Potaissa; 4. Criste‫܈‬ti; 5. Obreja; 6. Apulum; 7. Copăceni; 8. Bumbe‫܈‬ti; 9. Mehadia; 10. Viminacium; 11. Eno‫܈‬e‫܈‬ti; 12. Romula; 13. Novae (+ Dura-Europos - not on the map)

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Fig. 12-4. Ɣ Military site (fort, vicus or town next to fort), ż rural site, Ŷ urban site. A. 1. Porolissum; 2. Ili‫܈‬ua; 3. Buciumi; 4. Potaissa; 5. Apulum; 6. Micia; 7. Feldioara; 8. Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa; 9. Copăceni; 10. Mehadia; 11. Viminacium; 12. Drobeta; 13. Răcari; 14. Urluieni; 15. Ghioaca; 16. Slăveni; 17. Oescus (+ Dura-Europos - not on the map). B. 1. Brigetio; 2. Aquincum; 2. Porolissum; 4. Buciumi; 5. Valea Chintăului; 6. Potaissa; 7. Războieni-Cetate; 8. Obreja; 9. Apulum; 10. Mănerău; 11. Cumidava; 12. Tibiscum; 13. Bumbe‫܈‬ti; 14. Mehadia; 15. Viminacium; 16. Răcari; 17. Romula; 18. Cioroiul Nou; 19. Novae (+ Dura-Europos, Chersonesos - not on the map)

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Fig. 12-5. Ɣ Military site (fort, vicus or town next to fort), ż rural site. 1. Brigetio; 2. Intercisa; 3. Criste‫܈‬ti; 4. Micia; 5. Feldioara; 6. Rittium; 7. Târg‫܈‬or; 8. Diana (+Dura-Europos, Volubilis, Banasa - not on the map)

THRACIANS, GREEKS OR ROMANS? THE INHABITANTS OF ANCIENT THRACE AND THEIR IDENTITY BASED ON FUNERARY INSCRIPTIONS PETRA JANOUCHOVÁ

This article aims to present and discuss the identity of the inhabitants of Thrace, together with changing trends in the portrayal of social structure as preserved by epigraphic evidence. Apart from ethnic affiliations, I am also interested in the way people presented their public image and particularly which characteristics they valued enough to be publicly displayed for eternity. The available material is divided into two chronological groups in order to analyse the patterns of social behaviour in the pre-Roman and the Roman period respectively. I focus on selfidentification and identity as a part of the conscious presentation of some parts of the population of Thrace. So far, the study of epigraphic material focused on relevant descriptions of Thracian society as a whole has been limited in coverage. The epigraphic material was likely produced by the upper to middle classes for the most part, and as such does not represent the entire ancient social demographic. As a matter of fact, the evidence comes only from the epigraphically active facets of society (Bodel 2001, 16-35; Morris 1992, 158). This partial production of permanent epigraphic records may be due to limited levels of literacy among the population, and the relatively high cost of the production process. Nevertheless, the fact that epigraphic evidence represents the sociological values of a specific demographic group does not diminish its significance as a unique source of information presenting aspects of community identity from its own members. I approach the epigraphic as a direct source of information, representing the emic standpoint, also known as the internal or domestic (Pike 1954, 10; Goodenough 1970, 104-112). The emic standpoint and its conscious presentation lead to a better understanding of any social construction from within a community. In other words, it offers valuable

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insight into a community as presented by its own members. Inscriptions in general are, thus, an excellent example of the emic standpoint. In contrast to Greek and Roman historiographical sources, which represent the etic standpoint, also known as external, the epigraphical material comes from the region itself and from people who inhabited the area. The study of inscriptions thus enables a direct insight into the life of the community and via the medium of language members of the society can manifest and share their values with other members of the social group. Additionally, the message carried by inscriptions has also special significance because the inscriptions were consciously published on permanent media to last for eternity. Therefore, they often contain information relevant and, in a particular way, important to the publisher at the time of publication. For this reason, the analysis of changes in communally shared values over time helps to understand the changing patterns of social behaviour manifested in inscriptions. Therefore, inscriptions can be used to study the epigraphically active part of a population, including their specific needs and reasons for publishing inscriptions, whether it is a death of a relative, a dedication to a deity, any recognition of social status, or legitimisation of property rights. Amongst the different types of epigraphic monuments, funerary inscriptions are the most informative about contemporary demography. They were erected to mark the place of a grave and to commemorate the deceased while leaving specific messages for public viewership. The texts of funerary inscriptions provide information about the deceased, and they can also include information about the person’s identity, the closest kin, the origins of the family and many other sociologically relevant nuances. Moreover, they are one of the most numerous types of epigraphical material: more than one-third of all preserved inscriptions, or in some cases even two thirds, were funerary in nature (Bodel 2001, 30). It is this abundance that makes funerary inscriptions a highly relevant corpus of data for meaningful statistical analyses. The analytical basis for this study is a database of variously sourced inscriptions created for the Hellenisation of Ancient Thrace project (Janouchová 2014), which is also the empirical foundation for my dissertation, ‘Hellenisation of Ancient Thrace based on epigraphical evidence.' The development of this database was carried out at the Institute for Greek and Latin Studies at the Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague, and the Hellenisation of Ancient Thrace (henceforth HAT) dataset combines all major corpora of Greek inscriptions from SE Thrace, modern-day Bulgaria, Greece, and Turkey, from: Mihailov 1956-1997, Loukopoulou et al. 2005, Krauss 1980, Sayar 1998, and Lajtar 2000. The

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main aim of the doctoral project was to collect a statistically relevant sample of inscriptions in order to study the sociological trends and development of the society over time. The intention was not, however, to create a collection of all existing inscriptions from Thrace. The task would be suitable for a large team of researchers, rather than for a single Ph.D. student (for more detailed discussion and methodology, see Janouchová 2014). For the present study, only inscriptions of the corpora mentioned above are analysed. The inscriptions found recently are to be entered into the database in late 2015, and the database will be in the future accessible to the interested public.1 By September 2015, the database contained over 4200 inscriptions, thus covering the geographic region of ancient Thrace with a statistically significant sample (see Fig. 13-1). Funerary inscriptions with 1523 items represent 36% of the whole HAT dataset and will be the subject of the current analysis. The chronological span of the analysed funerary inscriptions ranges from the 6th c. BC to the 6th c. AD, with almost 63% of dated funerary inscriptions (955 items) narrowed down to at least a century’s precision. The chronological developments across the region can be seen in Fig. 13-2, where the data for each century is presented by individual column. The usual methodological problem with the date of inscriptions and the time span that often covers multiple centuries was resolved the following way: every inscription ‘dated’ to multiple centuries has been given a weighted value corresponding to the number of respective centuries, e. g. an inscription dated only to the 2nd c. BC is assigned a value of 1, whereas an inscription dated to the 4th -1st c. BC is given a value of 0.25 for each century it spans. For the distribution of exact values, see Fig. 13-2. Therefore, the numbers presented in Fig. 13-2 are subjected to this weighed normalisation in order to better represent the ratio of inscriptions in particular centuries, rather than represent the total number of all inscriptions.

1

The database is still work in progress, but if you wish to access and consult the database, please contact me at my email address petra.janouchova @gmail.com. The recently found inscriptions published in the recent volumes of SEG, Manov 2008, Gyuzelev 2013 etc. are yet to be entered into HAT database.

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Fig. 13-1. Spaatial distribution of all funerary inscriptions inn Thrace

Fig. 13-2: Chhronological diistribution of dated d funerary inscriptions; normalised n data

In the foollowing chappters, I will outline o the chaaracteristic feeatures of the funeraryy inscriptions used in Thracce in pre-Rom man and Rom man times,

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focusing on their presentation of cultural identity, and the potential underlining reasons for this practice.

Pre-Roman Thrace A Greek presence in the Thracian region is attested already by the Bronze Age, but permanent settlements started to appear only during the period of intensive Greek Colonisation from the 8th to 7th c. BC. Greek settlers became interested in new sources of raw materials in the Thracian region and coveted the acquisition of new fertile lands and the greater potential for trade in this region (Isaac 1986, 279-282). Greek settlements were mainly concentrated along the coast while native Thracians occupied the inland territories, limiting their contacts mostly to commercial exchange. The changes in behavioural patterns begin to emerge in the material culture of the newcomers and to some extent of the local population as well. One of the signs of change visible in the material culture is the spread of funerary monuments in the hinterland of Greek colonies (Tiverios 2008, 124-129, Tsetskhladze 1996, li-lxii). The typical funerary inscription from pre-Roman Thrace was a simple stele with or without relief decoration, commemorating the deceased and marking the place of his or her grave. The texts often mentioned the personal name of the deceased, their closest of kin, and their relationship. The characteristics are very similar to the majority of funerary inscriptions from the Greek-speaking world in this same period. Inscriptions appeared for the first time in Thrace at the same time as the appearance of the first Greek colonies on the coasts of the Northern Aegean and the Black Sea. The first funerary inscriptions in the research area are dated to the 6th c. BC and they come from the territory of the Greek cities on the Northern Aegean coast (Petrova 2015). In the 5th c. BC we encounter funerary texts also in the Greek cities along the Western Black Sea Coast, such as Apollonia Pontica, Mesambria Pontica, and Odessos, and in the Propontic region around Perinthos. The find-spots are located mostly up to 10 km around the ancient city centres, and the distance from the coast generally do not exceed 30 km. In the 4th c. BC the areas around Byzantion, Selymbria, and Maroneia also on the Thracian Chersonesos appear for the first time in the epigraphic record. From the 3rd c. BC, the first funerary inscriptions start spreading along major communication routes, such as the Tonzos and Hebros Rivers connecting the Ainos and SE inland Thrace, on the place of future Hadrianopolis. The 2nd c. BC demonstrates a large concentration of funerary inscriptions in Byzantion and the areas of Selymbria and Perinthos, maintaining a similar trend into the 1st c. BC.

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The total number of normalised inscriptions dated from the 6th to the 1st c. BC is 573, which represents 60% of all dated funerary inscriptions. The total number of funerary inscriptions is likely to be higher, especially when considering new finds from Apollonia Pontica and Mesambria which are yet to be added to the HAT database (e.g. Gyuzelev 2013, max. 60 new texts). The character of these newly discovered inscriptions is very similar to the current presented material, and as such do not radically change the general outcomes of this study. The recent detailed study on Greek funerary reliefs from the Western Pontic area confirms existing strong bonds with the Greek colonies and continuation of artistic tradition all over the Western Black Sea coast (Petrova 2015). Petrova points that every city had its own artistic peculiarities and style, reflecting different character of the local inhabitants (Petrova 2015, 160). From the simple stelae of the 6th c. BC, the grave monuments evolved into decorated grave markers with paintings and reliefs. As for the HAT database, the two major types of stelae are recorded, covering 92% of the total number of funerary inscriptions from this period. The first type consists of mostly simple stelae, decorated with floral ornaments (14% of this type dated to the pre-Roman period), a naiskos-like structure (18%), or without any decorations. The second type is relief-decorated, often with the representation of funerary scenes (23%). Painted stelae are attested in six cases from Apollonia Pontica and Odessos on the Black Sea coast, and from Byzantion, dated to the 5th – 3rd c. BC. The typologies of funerary stelae demonstrated are similar in distribution to those from the rest of the Greek-speaking world, as attested to by either the stelae themselves, or by their representations on funerary lekythoi (Oakley 2004, 191-203; Kurtz, Boardman 1971, 68-90). Stelae from the pre-Roman period were mostly made of marble (82%) and limestone (11%), with a minority constructed of porous stone, granite, syenite, and sandstone. In the case of the Northern Aegean region, Thasos has been determined as the likely source of marble. In the case of Byzantion, the source was likely the island of Prokonessos, a factor which is attested to in inscriptions from the 2nd c. BC. Poros was used mainly around Zone, Loutra, and Didymoteichon in the 5th – 4th c. BC. Sandstone inscriptions came from Apollonia Pontica on the Black Sea coast and are mostly dated to the 5th – 4th c. BC. It is likely that in most cases, the closest source of material was used, suggesting a certain degree of conservativism and regionalism. The extent of the texts of inscriptions is rather short: the texts up to two lines represent 70%) of the total number. The texts longer than six lines represent only 5% of all dated inscriptions. The texts of the short funerary

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inscriptions are often very simple, consisting mainly of personal names and patronymics, representing the deceased and his or her closest of kin. The nuclear family is represented by the name of the parent, partner or children who dedicated the text, as is common for this period in the rest of the Greek-speaking world (Saller 2001, 99). The identity of the deceased is often not specified, apart from the inclusion of their personal name and familial relationships. Inscriptions where only one individual is mentioned prevail in this period. There is a clear decrease in the number of inscriptions when the number of individuals mentioned in a single funerary inscription rises (e.g. 17% in the case of two to three individuals, and 15% for four or more individuals). This signifies that funerary inscriptions from this period were rather individualistic; family graves represented only one-fifth of the dataset. According to the onomastic corpora, personal names of these individuals belong mostly (in 77% of inscriptions dated to the pre-Roman period) to the Greek cultural environment (Fraser, Matthews 2005; Parissaki 2007). Thracian names are present sporadically (only about 1.5%), and their pertinence to the Thracian cultural environment is sometimes questionable even in the already existing onomastic corpora (Dana 2015; Dana 2011, 24-36; Sartre 2007, 199-201). Roman names form approximately 3% of the dataset, and the rest are names of other or unknown origin. The prevalence of Greek names fully corresponds with the spatial distribution of funerary inscriptions from this period, see Fig. 13-3. The find-spots are concentrated mainly around Greek cities along the Northern Aegean, Bosporos and the Black Sea coast. The onomastic record shows that the epigraphically active populations in these areas were bearing Greek names and only occasionally the Thracian ones. Thus, we can presume that the custom of displaying funerary inscription was executed mainly by Greek-speaking inhabitants of these cities, and was not adopted by the local peoples during the pre-Roman period. The geographical origins of deceased individuals or their relatives were either represented by mentions of a specific geographical term (six occurrences), or by mentions of the community of a particular city or region (17 occurrences). All mentions of geographical locations describe the cases where foreigners who have settled in a new homeland have attested to their origins, presumably to maintain a link to these places. The majority of these statements come from settlements on the Northern Aegean coast, such as from Abdera, Maroneia, Ainos, Amphipolis and Byzantion from Bosporos (e.g. I AegThrace 465, a funerary epigram of Apollonios from Babylon dated to the first half of the 4th c. BC, found in Didymoteichon next to the Tonzos River). These geographic mentions

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demonstratee existing linnks between the find-spotts and the respective r places. The links with more distant regions are quitte rare, repressented by cities such aas Apameia, Babylon, B Myllassa, Lysimaacheia, and Galatia, G to name a few.. The prevalennce of links with w not distannt places may suggest a certain consservatism andd regional chaaracter of the society. Migrration, on the other hannd, existed, buut not as a com mmon phenom menon.

Fig. 13-3. Spaatial distribution of dated funeerary inscriptionns in Thrace

Interestinngly, there is no textual meention of ethniic affiliation except e for one inscription from Messambria. In IG G Bulg I2 3444, the deceased Ariston was killed dduring fights with w the Bessoi tribe, one oof the largest Thracian tribes. In thhis case, the group affiliaation was useed to demonsstrate the deceased’s ooppositional iddentity, the ho ostile Bessoi ((Barth 1969, 9-38). 9 We can presume the text waas aimed at the t local Greeek-speaking audience, hence the unnimportance of o stressing Ariston’s A own ethnic affiliaations. On the other haand, this description of Besssoi attests too the existencee and the maintenancee of certain cultural c boun ndaries betweeen the two respective r communities.

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The communities of the pre-Roman period were aware of existing boundaries and did not transverse them regularly, at least not in the world of epigraphy. The inscriptions from this period typically do not communicate with foreign cultures and do not aim to draw the interest of foreign audiences in their declarations of the fates of the deceased. The invocation formulae are not usually present, except for the simple formula ȤĮ૙ȡİ (“be well off”). The texts were thus presumably aimed for the close of kin, e.g. family members or inhabitants in the immediate area, who likely knew the deceased personally and may not have necessitated specific details identifying the individuals any further. The life achievements or the social status of the deceased are mentioned only rarely, probably because there was no social need to publicly present one’s identity beyond that close demographic circle (clan, village, neighbourhood, etc.). The discussed evidence from the 6th to the 1st c. BC shows that the available funerary inscriptions from the area of Thrace come mostly from the Greek-speaking population. There were mutual, mostly commercial, contacts with the local inhabitants, but this factor had not permeated into the epigraphic evidence yet. The custom of displaying funerary inscriptions and the way this was achieved showed Greek tendencies in its nature; this was evidenced by the shape of the funerary monuments and in the decoration and usage of onomastics. The spatiotemporal distribution of the available evidence shows clear clustering around major Greek colonies and along the main communications routes, but always within reach of the nearest settlement. The relative conservatism and impenetrability of the Greek community are manifested by the frequent use of local materials, the limited presence of foreigners in the epigraphic record and the limited adoption of new trends. As it appears, the publication of inscriptions was aimed at a local, small-scale and well-known audience to the deceased, confirmed by the lack of identification markers and invocation instruments in the HAT dataset.

Roman period The onset of Roman power during the 1st c. AD brings a radical change of epigraphic funerary habit to Thrace. The new period is marked by growing uniformity in the epigraphic record, with some globally recognisable patterns added to the commemorative customs of the region. The typical funerary inscriptions of this period included the name of the deceased, family connections, the relationship to the dedicator, the age at the time of death, and the social status of the deceased (Seller 2001, 100).

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These features were almost uniform in all Latin or Greek funerary inscriptions originating from the Roman Empire in the first centuries AD. As the official language of the province, Thracia was Greek, the vast majority of texts were also written in Greek (Sharankov 2011, 139; Minkova 2000, 1), leaving Latin script on only about 5-20 % of the total inscriptions produced. The transition from the pre-Roman to Roman period was gradual and different in every area. The onset of Roman political power in Thrace is traditionally dated to 46 AD when the last Thracian king died, and the Provincia Thracia was established (Ivanov 2012, 379; Haynes 2011, 7; Lozanov 2015, 75-80). Nevertheless, Romans had already operated in the area for a few centuries, though Thrace had not been fully incorporated into the Roman Empire yet. Solely for the purposes of this study, the beginning of the Roman period has arbitrarily been set to the start of the 1st c. AD. It must be noted that in a portion of the epigraphic evidence, a Roman influence in the publication customs could already be seen in earlier records, such is the case of certain inscriptions from multicultural Byzantion during the 2nd c. BC. As a general rule, however, major changes in the character of the evidence are visible from the 1st c. AD onwards, with the major increase of epigraphic monuments during the 2nd and the 3rd c. AD. The spatial distribution of inscriptions in the HAT database during the 1st c. AD follows trends already set in the 1st c. BC, with a large concentration along the Black Sea and Aegean coasts, and occasional findspots around the Hebros River. On the contrary, the 2nd and 3rd c. AD show changes in the spatial distribution of funerary inscriptions, many of which are found in new areas in the Thracian inland, especially around major centres such as Nicopolis ad Istrum, Augusta Traiana, Philippopolis, Partihicopolis, and Serdica. Inscriptions are found mostly on the territory of these main centres or along the main roads, such as the Via Diagonalis and Via Egnatia. From the 4th to 6th c. AD the number of funerary inscriptions decreases and they almost disappear from the inland Thracian region, concentrating mostly on the Aegean and Propontic coasts. As to funerary and publication habits during the Roman period, we can see that the public display of funerary inscriptions also spread to inland Thrace. Main clusters can be found near the main cities such as Philippopolis, Serdica, and Odessos, as well as clusters along the banks of the Tonzos and Hebros Rivers, and by major Roman roads (Slawisch 2007, 46-49). The analysis of geographic terms used in the text of inscriptions shows two developing tendencies. On the one hand, it is a sense of growing regionalism, documented by links to regional centres, mostly cities such as

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Abdera, Alopekonnesos, Byzantion, Maroneia, and Anchialos. On the other hand, links to the Greek-speaking Eastern parts of the Empire were continuing in the same manner as in the previous period, as evidenced by the presence of geographic terms such as Efesos, Galatia, Ankyra, Nikaia, and Smyrna. The geographic patterns in some sense reflect the multiculturalism of the Roman army, the multicultural presence in the region, and the closeness of contacts with the East, marked by population increase during 2nd c. AD by people from Asia Minor. These links to the hometown of individuals are represented in many epigraphic records, and are demonstrated by statements of the deceased individual’s origins, despite their settlement in Thrace (Fernoux 2004, 267; Sharankov 2011, 143; Avram 2013a, xvi-xxi), along with similar trends in the vocabulary usage of specific commemoration rites (Avram 2013b, 287). The normalised total number of funerary inscriptions from the HAT database dated to the Roman period is 382 (40% of all dated inscriptions). As the main material, marble was used in 95% of cases, but unfortunately further information about the exact origins of these materials is not available; presumably, the local source was used. The form of the funerary stele was used in 245 cases, which accounts for 73% of all funerary inscriptions from this time. Compared to the previous period, the number of stelae dropped from 93%, and new shapes such as the altar started appearing. The detailed typology of funerary monuments from Thrace was already created by Slawisch (2007). The stelae can be simple or decorated with reliefs and painting, in the form of naiskos or aediculum, in the form of the altar or the form typical of Roman funerary monuments, e. g. imagines clippeatae (Slawisch 2007, 53-55). The typical relief motives are the scene from the funeral feast, various free-standing figures, busts and funerary portraits, but the most common motive is the representation of socalled ‘Thracian Rider’ (Slawisch 2007, 165-170). As to the size and extent of these markers, the inscriptions appear to have become longer and more informative. Text one or two lines in length still existed in one-fourth of the cases, but texts longer than six lines numbered almost half of the preserved inscriptions (44%). The texts became not only longer, but also often covered the whole family history of the individual. In contrast to the previous period, there is a substantial increase in texts mentioning multiple individuals during the Roman period (e.g. 53% for two or three individuals, and 78% for four or more individuals). These numbers possibly reflect the developing trend of building family graves, and the public declaration and clear articulation of extended familial connections, as is confirmed by a recent study of Mario Ivanov (2008, 140-141). In this manner, family funerary inscriptions may

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have aided the maintenance of aspects of social cohesion and helped to clarify the social hierarchy and affiliations to particular social groups (Jenkins 2008, 17-18). These new emphases are a marked development in the self-identification process and reflect the significance of familial ties as a main tenet and function of this process. The presentation of kinships and family connections has often been explained as a tendency towards a public legitimisation of inheritance rights, and so inscriptions can thus be interpreted and studied as public documents validating the ownership and bestowal of property and social status to the rightful heirs (Meyer 1990, 77-78; Ivanov 2008, 141). These inscriptions demonstrate a move away from the previous emphasis on the origins of the deceased, a factor which may not have affected the attainment of inheritance rights. The notion of ethnicity is also not particularly emphasised in the text of funerary inscriptions. Only in some special cases, people mention their ethnic origins, such as the example of the Thracian gladiators in I Aeg Thr 466 and 484 (Thrax). The notion of ethnicity can be, however, deduced from the onomastics or from stating the city of origin. The analysis of available personal names dated to the Roman-period shows an abrupt decrease of Greek names in the corpora (from 77% to 32%; from numbers from 503 to 272), and an increase in Roman names (3% to 45%; in numbers from 21 to 386). This fact mirrors the historical situation, where the population of other Roman provinces settled in Thrace for a multitude of reasons (e.g. establishment of the military and a provincial government or economic reasons; Sharankov 2011, 149-151) and the population became multicultural, rather than bicultural. Moreover, epigraphic and onomastic records confirm substantial immigration from Asia Minor during 2nd c. AD that had a broad cultural and economic effect on the whole population of Thracia (Slawish 2007, 171). To distinguish between the onomastics of the local Thracian inhabitants and the newcomers from Asia Minor is almost impossible unless they state their city origin, e. g. Nikaia or Nikomedeia. That was the case of migrants from Bithynia who settled in Serdica and around Philippopolis (Topalilov 2012, 173). These newcomers were often intellectuals, philosophers, traders, but also artists and artisans eager to adopt the way of life of Roman urban elites, either for socio-economic profit or ulterior motives. One of the signs of the transition to the new social order that can be traced in the epigraphic record is the change of onomastic habits. The local as well as the new coming population adopted Roman onomastic customs and often combined Roman nomina with Thracian onomastics (Topalilov 2013, 186; Dana 2013, 239-245). The increase of Thracian names (from 1.5% to 9%) reflects a more frequent engagement of the local population

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with their own epigraphic ideas, and thus reflects a potential change in the social organisation. There are a few examples of individuals bearing Thracian names who were incorporated into the hierarchy of the state or had held any office. An example from the Roman site at Dymi, I Aeg Thr 387, mentions a strategos Roimetalkas, the son of Diasenis, to his Thracian wife Besoula, daughter of Moukaporis, and probably to their children Kaproubebos and Daroutourme; an inscription from Paradeisos near Topeiros in I Aeg Thr 87 belonged to “strategos Zykouleses, son of Tyrelses,” and was dedicated by Tyrelses, son of Zykouleses, also holding the position of strategos. Another example can be found in IG Bulg 3.2 1852 from Golyamo Bukovo in the Anchialos region, which mentions the son of Aulouzenis holding the office of kleronomos. Thus it appears that rather than building on one’s ethnic affiliations in this period, there was a tendency instead towards the integration into the newly established system. The trend of re-establishing and inserting one’s public image into the social hierarchy by defining a position is common to the whole population, no matter the group affiliation. The social status of an individual was often well articulated, either by listing membership to collective groups and stressing the collective identity or by stating one’s life achievements. Various details of the lives of the deceased or their family members stand on the prominent position of many of the inscriptions in the Roman world (Bodel 2001, 39-41). One’s longevity, aristocratic bloodline, and affiliations with prominent personae, origin and exceptional achievements are the most common categories of funerary inscriptions of the Roman period. We encounter priests (e.g. ੂİȡİઃȢ in IG Bulg 12 186ter, Odessos), various magistrates (ਕȖȠȡĮȞȠȝ੾ıĮȢ “held the office of agoranomos” in IG Bulg 2 691, Nicopolis ad Istrum), honoured citizens (ਕȞįȡ੿ ʌȠȜİ઀IJૉ ijȣȜોȢ ਝʌȠȜȜȦȞȚ੺įȠȢ “to the citizen of the phyle Apollonias” in IG Bulg 2 692, Nicopolis ad Istrum), people of an aristocratic origin (ਕʌઁ ʌȡȠȖંȞȦȞ İ੝ȖİȞ઀įĮ “of a good birth” in IG Bulg 12 228bis, Odessos) or people of extraordinary virtues (ਵʌȚȠȢ, ਲįઃȢ ੁįİ૙Ȟ, ıİȝȞંȢ, ਚʌĮıȚ ij઀ȜȠȢ “kind, handsome, revered, everyone’s friend” in IG Bulg 3.1 1023, Philippopolis). These self-proclamations serve to illustrate the deceased’s social status within the social hierarchy of a particular community. Similarly to the Roman citizenship serving as a prestige marker in the Roman West, the presentation of life’s achievements was a key element of the epigraphic habit in the Roman East (or term used by Meyer, the self-aggrandizement, Meyer 1990, 95-96). Under the influence of Roman social organisation, the visible presentation of life achievements and public proof of social

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status became an important part of social behaviour, in Thrace and elsewhere. The limitation of this phenomenon was not geographic but rather demographic: only certain classes of society were epigraphically active and interested in publishing inscriptions. Lozanov (2015, 86) points out the acceptance of Roman standards spread mostly among elites. The inhabitants of rural regions encountered a Roman way of life through service in the Roman army, which can be demonstrated by recent finds of military diplomas in the rural region (Dana 2013; Dana 2015, lv-lvi). Slawisch also documented the grave markers of soldiers and veterans (Slawisch 2007, 168-169), but with surprisingly low numbers. She states only 37 grave stelae where she identifies the direct connection to a soldier or veteran, which forms approximately 15% of all analysed grave stelae from Thracia. It has to be said that indirect connection with the military was possibly higher but very difficult to prove by epigraphic means, e. g. when someone did not describe himself as soldier or veteran, but his name was a combination of Thracian and Roman onomastics. This onomastic combination was typical for Thracian soldiers and veterans (Topalilov 2013). Unfortunately, the exact ratio of military personae interested in publishing inscriptions is very hard to establish, as some of the tria nomina bearers may have been second or third generation after the name appeared in the family for the first time. Ivanov correctly points out, that inscriptions were published mostly by the provincial middle-class, formed by soldiers, veterans, gladiators, and artisans respectively (Ivanov 2008, 142-145). The spatial distribution of funerary monuments around major cities suggests the middle class was concentrated around these urban units and formed a new social group, missing in the pre-Roman period. The phenomenon of publishing inscriptions was rather limited to the middleclass urban elites, but their presence in the landscape had side effects on the population. The missing personal motives for publication of inscriptions did not restrict people from the passive adoption of the epigraphic culture at the time. While certain people may not have had this interest, they might have on the other hand been able to read and understand them, as is evidenced by the growing occurrence of invocation formulae and the so-called eloquent or speaking inscriptions (Bodel 2001, 16-18). In contrast to the pre-Roman period when the funerary texts were mostly short and laconic, in the Roman period they become eloquent reminders of the common past. The texts were meant to be seen and read by unknown people passing by the grave. Travellers were invited to mourn the dead by the traditional formula ੯ҕ ʌĮȡȠįİ૙IJĮȚ, ȤĮ઀ȡİIJİ, “Be well off, passers-by”. The purpose of

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these invocation formulae was not only to wish good luck to the readers, but also to invite people to read about the fate of the dead. This fact is manifested in the vocabulary of addressing unknown strangers, e.g. in IG Bulg 12 346 from Mesambria: ĭȜĮȕ઀Ƞȣ ĭ੾ȜȚțȠȢ IJંįİ ıોȝĮ İੁıȠȡઽȢ, ੯ ʌĮȡȠįİ૙IJĮ¸”You are looking at the grave of Flavius Felix, you - the one who passes by”; or in IG Bulg 3.2 1022 from Philippopolis: IJ઀ ıȠȚ ʌȜ੼ȠȞ ੯ ȟ੼Ȟİ, İ੅ʌȦ, “What else should I tell you, stranger?,”. The ability of inscriptions to speak did not limit itself to the invocation formulae but was also communicated in the form and details of the physical appearance of the grave itself. Some texts specifically mentioned burial mounds, sarcophagi, urns, etc., often with various details of their shape and the prices for their erecting (Avram 2013a, 282-287; Fernoux 2004, 250). Furthermore, as sometimes stated in the graves that were situated not far from the roads where travellers could approach and read the texts, “And you, as is customary for humans, mourn for me and honour my fate with tears, when passing the grave from the back of your packasses” (IG Bulg 3.2 1022). These statements fully correspond to the spatial distribution of those inscriptions (see Fig. 13-3) found not far from the roads, or those clustered around main population centres. The gradual emergence of these ‘speaking inscriptions’ reflects the multiculturalism of the population and the expanding migration processes within the realm. Thracian society under the Roman rule may have become more open to an influx of new ideas arriving with the new population, and developments in epigraphy may have reflected similar processes of adaptation seen in other parts of the Roman Empire.

Conclusion As I was trying to demonstrate by the analysis of the HAT dataset of funerary inscriptions from Thrace, the Roman presence in the region caused a remarkable shift in the local society and consequently in the epigraphic habit. The unification of certain epigraphic customs and forms of identity presentation can be interpreted as a result of the pervasive Roman influence on the inhabitants of Thrace. Contrastingly to the pre-Roman period, the society became less conservative and opened to multicultural presence. Differences between ethnic groups in the use of Greek written funerary inscriptions during the Roman era were not apparent in the available evidence. The categorisation of individuals as being Greek, Roman or Thracian becomes blurry and permeable in many cases depending on their particular context. The mixing of onomastic nomenclature suggests a society becoming more

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open to social contact between various groups, along with migration and multiculturalism. Moreover, as a result of this unification tendency, similar characteristics of epigraphic monuments can be found not only in Thrace, but also in other places of the Roman Empire, or at least in the Eastern provinces. Roman funerary inscriptions of Thrace became increasingly public monuments, often placed along frequented public spaces and aimed to be read not only by members of the close community but also by unknown foreigners to whom the texts often spoke. The invocation formulae invited strangers to read about the fate of the deceased, their life achievements and their positions within the social hierarchy held while they were alive. The public distinction and formulation of one’s own social prestige became one of the prominent features of funerary inscriptions, serving to the families of the deceased in their maintenance of social status within their communities. The purpose of the funerary inscription changed in the Roman period from being a commemorative monument and grave marker, to an instrument of promoting identity and status. The funerary inscriptions thus formed an indispensable element of public space in the Roman world.

Acknowledgements The study was supported by the Grant Agency of the Charles University in Prague, Faculty of Arts, project GA UK No. 546813.

Bibliography Avram, A. 2013. Quelques remarques sur la terminologie grecque de la tombe dans les inscriptions de Thrace et de Mésie inférieure. In Maria, G. G. (ed.). 2013. Thrakika Zetemata II. Aspects of the Roman Province of Thrace, 271-287. Athens: Diffusion de Boccard. —. 2013b. Prosopographia Ponti Euxini Externa. Colloquia Antiqua 8. Leuven, Paris, Walpole, MA: Peeters Barth, F. 1969. Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social of Culture Difference. Boston: Little, Brown and Company. Bodel, J. 2001. Epigraphy and the ancient historian. In Bodel, J. (ed.). 2001. Epigraphic Evidence: Ancient History from Inscriptions, 1-56. London, New York: Routledge. Dana, D. 2011. Onomasticon Thracicum (Onom Thrac). Répertoire des noms indigènes de Thrace, Macédoine Orientale, Mésies, Dacie et Bithynie. Ancient Civilizations from Scythia to Siberia 17 no. 1: 25–45.

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—. 2013. Les Thraces dans diplômes militaires. Onomastique et statut des personnes. In Maria, G. G. (ed.). 2013. Thrakika Zetemata II. Aspects of the Roman Province of Thrace, edited by Maria G. G. (Athens), 219-269. Athens: Diffusion de Boccard. —. 2014. Onomasticon Thracicum (OnomThrac). Athens: Diffusion de Boccard. Fernoux, H-L. 2004. Notables des cités de Bithynie aux époques hellénistique et romaine (IIIe siècle av. J.-C- IIIe siècle apr. J.-C). Lyon: Maison de l'Orient et de la Méditerranée. Fraser, P. M. Matthews, E. 2005. A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names: Vol IV: Macedonia, Thrace, Northern Regions of the Black Sea. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Goodenough, W.. H. 1970.Description and Comparison in Cultural Anthropology. Chicago: Aldine Publishing Company. Gyuzelev, M. 2013. Tituli Sepulcrales in Necropoli Antiqua Locis Dictis Kalfata and Budzaka Prope Urbem Sozopolim Reperti in Effosionibus Annorum MMIV et MMV. Il Mar Nero 7: 115–48. Haynes, I. P. (ed.). 2011. Early Roman Thrace: New Evidence from Bulgaria. JRA Supplement 82. Isaac, B. H. 1986. The Greek Settlements in Thrace until the Macedonian Conquest. Leiden: Brill. Ivanov, M. 2008. Social Status and Cultural Identity in Roman Thrace: (Grave Stelai and Altars). Ancient West & East 7: 135–50. Ivanov, R. T. (ed.). 2012. Tabula Imperii Romani, K 35/2 Philippopolis. Sofia: Tendril Publishing House. Janouchová, P. 2014. Database of Greek inscriptions ‘Hellenisation of Ancient Thrace’: a final report on investigations during 2013-2014. Studia Hercynia XVIII: 67-74. Jenkins, R. 2008. Social Identity. London, New York: Routledge. Krauss, J. Die Inschriften von Sestos und der Thrakischen Chersonesos. Bonn: Rudolf Habelt. Kurtz, D. C. Boardmann, J. 1971. Greek Burial Customs. Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press. Lajtar, A. 2000. Die Inschriften von Byzantion I. Bonn: Rudolf Habelt. Loukopoulou, L. D. et al. 2005. Inscriptiones Antiquae Partis Thraciae Quae ad Ora Maris Aegaei Site Est: Praefecture Xanthes, Rhodopes et Hebri. Athens: Diffusion de Boccard. Lozanov, I. 2015. Roman Thrace. In Valeva, J. Nankov, E. and Graninger, D. (eds.). 2015. A Companion to Ancient Thrace, 75–90. Malden, Oxford & Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell.

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Manov, M. 2008. Selishnijat Zhivot v dolinata na Sredna Struma spored antichnite epigrafski pametnitsi ot IV/III v. pr. Ch. - III v.sl.Ch. Sofia: BAN – NAIM. Meyer, E. A. 1990. Explaining the Epigraphic Habit in the Roman Empire: The Evidence of Epitaphs. Journal of Roman Studies 80: 74-96. Mihailov, G. Inscriptiones Graecae in Bulgaria Repertae. Sofia: BAN, vol 1. 1956, 1970; vol. 2. 1958; vol. 3.1. 1961; vol. 3.2. 1964; vol. 4. 1966; vol. 5. 1997. Minkova, M. 2000. The Personal Names of the Latin Inscriptions in Bulgaria. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Land. Morris, I. 1992. Death-Ritual and Social Structure in Classical Antiquity. Cambridge, New York, Melbourne: Cambridge University Press. Oakley, J. H. 2004. Picturing Death in Classical Athens. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Parissaki, M. G. 2007. Prosopography and Onomasticon of Aegean Thrace. Athens: Diffusion de Boccard. Petrova, A. 2015. Funerary Reliefs from the West Pontic Area (6th-1st Centuries BC). Colloquia Antiqua 14. Leuven, Paris, Bristol: Peeters. Pike, K. L. 1954. Language in relation to Unified Theory of the Structure of Human Behavior. Glendale, CA: Summer Institute of Linguistics. Saller, R. 2001. The family and society. In: Bodel, J. (ed.). 2001. Epigraphic Evidence: Ancient History from Inscriptions, 95-117. London, New York: Routledge. Sartre, M. 2007. The Ambiguous Name: The Limitations of Cultural Identity in Graeco-Roman Syrian Onomastics. In Matthews, E. (ed.). 2007. Old and New Worlds in Greek Onomastics, 199-232. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press. Sayar, M. H. 1998. Perinthos-Herakleia (Marmara Ere÷lisi) und Umgebung. Geschichte, Testimonien, griechische und lateinische Inschriften. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenchaften. Sharankov, N. 2011. Language and society in Roman Thrace. In Haynes, I. (ed.). 2011. Early Roman Thrace: New Evidence from Bulgaria, 135155. JRA Supplement 82. Slawisch, A. 2007. Die Grabsteine der römischen Provinz Thracia. Aufnahme, Verarbeitung und Weitergabe überregionaler Ausdruckmittel am Beispiel der Grabsteine einer Binnenprovinz zwischen Ost und West. Langenweissbach: Beier & Beran. Tiverios, M. 2008. Greek Colonisation in the Northern Aegean”. In Tsetskhladze, G. (ed.). 2008. Greek Colonisation. An Account of Greek colonies and Other Settlements Overseas, vol. 2, 1-154. Leiden, Boston: Brill.

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Topalilov, I. 2011. Roman Veterans and the City Institutions of Philippopolis, Thrace. In Rotaru, F. (ed.). 2011. Travaux de symposium international Le livre. La Roumanie. L’Europe, Tome IV: Latinité orientale, 536-581. Bucarest: Éditeur bibliothèque de Bucarest. —. 2012. Rimskijat Filipopol, Tom 1: Topografia, gradoustroistvo i architektura. Sofia: Faber Publisher. —. 2013. The Veterans and their Descendents in the Elite of Philippopolis, Thrace. In Rufin Solas, A. (ed.). 2013. Armées grecques et romaines dans le nord des Balkans, 185 – 198. Gdansk: Fondation traditio Europae. Tsetskhladze, G. R. 2006. Greek Colonisation: An Account of Greek Colonies and Other Settlements Overseas. Leiden, Boston: Brill.

NATIONALITY AND IDEOLOGY IN THE ROMAN NEAR EAST BENJAMIN ISAAC

Various peoples have a term indicating all foreigners collectively, but few of those concepts have had such a long history as the ancient Greek ‘barbaros’ which is still in use in many western languages. Its meaning varied over time. The term occurs first, once only, in Homer in the Iliad (2.867) where the Carians are called ‘barbarophonoi’ that is: ‘of foreign speech’ (Kelly 2011; Mc Inerney 2011; for two recent articles from an unusual perspective: Yang 2013; 2010). This may or may not be derogatory. In either case, it has often been misinterpreted as indicating an original linguistic basis for the term ‘barbaros’ itself. This, however, is by no means obvious; for in the Iliad the term may mean no more than that the people mentioned spoke a foreign (barbarian) language. Generally speaking, all barbaroi are undoubtedly barbarophonoi, but that does not mean that the essence of being a barbaros is the difference in language. It may be just one of the characteristics of barbaroi. Indeed, the meaning and usage of the term varied over time to such an extent that the Romans, at an early stage, were prepared to accept the Greek view and consider themselves or their ancestors’ barbarians, as, for instance, and expressed by Cicero (de Republica 1.58):1 “Scipio: Was Romulus, then, king of a barbarian people? Lælius: Well, yes, if we say, as do the Greeks, that all people are either Greeks or barbarians, I am afraid that we must confess that he was a king of barbarians; but if this name refers to customs rather than to languages, then I think the Greeks were just as barbarous as the Romans.”

1

Cedo, num, Scipio, barbarorum Romulus rex fuit? {L.} Si, ut Graeci dicunt omnis aut Graios esse aut barbaros, vereor, ne barbarorum rex fuerit; sin id nomen moribus dandum est, non linguis, non Graecos minus barbaros quam Romanos puto. Cf. Walbank 1985, 68. Barbaros exists as a Roman cognomen, neither very rare nor very common: see CIIP 2. no. 1130: dedication to Kore with comments on p.41.

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The present paper will trace similar shifts and variations in the contents of specific ethnic, geographic and administrative appellations in the Roman Near East. In considering geographical, ethnic and administrative names in the Roman Near East, we are faced with problems at several levels. First, there is a certain obscurity in the general usage of terminology in ancient texts. This is true for all periods and regions of antiquity. Second, for the Near East specifically, there is confusion regarding the meaning and content of individual names. Third, there are developments over time that affect or compound the first two problems.2 Let me start with an example of the first problem. Ethnicity is a popular topic, as already noted. We all know where the term comes from. We all know the meaning of the Greek word ethnos. Yet Cassius Dio uses it as a term for a Roman province, and that is how we find it in an inscription mentioning a beneficiarius of the governor țĮIJ‫݋ ޟ‬șȞާȢ ĭȠȚȞަțࠛȞ. The Phoenician people, if there was such an entity, had no governor, the Province of Syria-Phoenice had one. Also, we know what a nation is, or rather, what Latin natio stands for. However, Tacitus uses it at least once as a term for a Roman province as well and so does Jerome3 (vita Malchi 42, PL xxiii 54). In some cases it is hard to decide whether a province or people is meant, for instance when the Historia Augusta calls Camsisoleus, Gallienus’ general an Egyptian “natione” (SHA Tyr. Trig. 26: sed per Gallieni ducem Camsisoleum, natione Aegyptium…). Next, an example of the second problem. Assyria: in the narrower sense this is understood as the heartland of the Assyrian empire to the west and, above all, to the east of the Tigris (today approximately northern Iraq); in post-Assyrian times the term is often used in a wider sense. The Medes may have already taken over “Assyria” as the name of the conquered non-Babylonian regions of the former Assyrian empire.4 However, in Pseudo-Skylax’s Periplous of the fourth century BC Assyria

2

This paper, therefore, focuses on various specific problems concerning nomenclature and terminology. It is no attempt to advance the subject of ethnicity, or deal with broad questions of identity and self-identification that are treated in various recent works, notably Andrade 2013. See in general Mattingly 2011. 3 Who says of Malchus that he was Syrus natione et lingua, “a Syrian by natio and language”. Malchus spoke Syriac rather than Greek this is not surprising. His belonging to the Syrian natio here indicates that he was a native of the province of Syria. 4 Wiley-Blackwell’s Encyclopedia of Ancient History; Brill’s New Pauly, s.v.

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is people in northern Asia Minor (Shipley 2011, 89).5 For Pausanias, Assyrians can be Syrians in Ascalon. Meleager of Gadara describes the city where he was born as lying in Assyria. Lucian of Samosata on the Euphrates describes the local dress there as “Assyrian style.” It is clear then that Greek-writing authors of the Hellenistic and Roman period who knew the region very well used both names, Syria and Assyria interchangeably. Third, changes over time. The Roman province of Judaea was renamed Syria-Palaestina. As we know very well, that was a measure taken by Hadrian after the Bar Kokhba war. A name referring to an ethnic element, namely associated with Jews, was replaced by the purely geographic appellation Syria-Palaestina.6 That the name Palaestina was originally associated with the Philistines is obvious. Less immediately obvious is the fact that in the second century “Palaestina” had no ethnic association. However, two texts of the late fourth century mention ‘Palaestini’ as a clearly identified group. Thus following the regular pattern of this period, the inhabitants of a province became identified in ethnic terms.7 An apology is called for: it will not be possible to discuss these matters as systematically as would be desirable, for many or most of the sources involved are relevant for more than one of the phenomena to be discussed while repetition had best be avoided. A further point to mention here is that we frequently encounter a lack of consistency or even internal logic in the ancient texts. We have to recognize this for what it is without trying to impose consistency where it lacks in the ancient texts.

Syria; Assyria; Coele-Syria According to Herodotus (1.105), Scythians in 604 pillaged the temple of Celestial Aphrodite in Ascalon. “… they marched forward with the design of invading Egypt. When they had reached Palestine, however, Psammetichus the Egyptian king met them with gifts and prayers and prevailed on them to advance no further. On 5

Josephus cites Alexander Polyhistor as stating that “Assyria received its name from Soures“ (Jos. Ant 1.241). 6 In this paper I will use the English “Jews” as the most appropriate translation of Greek Ioudaioi and Latin Judaei. 7 Scriptores Historiae Augustae, Niger 7.9: idem Palaestinis rogantibus ut eorum censitio levaretur idcirco quod esset gravat respondit …. Severus 14.6; 17.1: Palaestinis poenam remisit quam ob causam Nigri meruerant. Not. Dig. Or. 34.28: Equites primi felices [sagittarii indigenae] Palaestini, Sabure sive Veterocariae.

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Nationality and Ideology in the Roman Near East their return, passing through Ascalon, a city of Syria, the greater part of them went their way without doing any damage; but some few who lagged behind pillaged the temple of Celestial Aphrodite. Having investigated the matter, I conclude that the temple in Ascalon is the most ancient of all the temples to this deity; for the one in Cyprus, as the Cypriotes admit themselves, was built in imitation of it; and that in Cythera was established by the Phoenicians who belong to this part of Syria.”8

Aphrodite Ourania is a Greek interpretation of the local form or variant of the ‘dea Syria’: Atargatis or Aštart. At Ascalon the goddess was Astarte in the shape of a fish with the head of a woman; fish and doves were sacred to her (Asheri et al. 2007, 154-155 with references).9 Herodotus here refers to Palestine as a geographical entity. Ascalon is both in “Palaestina Syria” and “a city of Syria.” Pausanias (1.14.7.4), writing in the second century AD, disagrees with Herodotus and claims that “the first men to establish her cult [sc. of Heavenly Aphrodite] were the Assyrians, after the Assyrians the Paphians of Cyprus and the Phoenicians who live at Ascalon in Palestine; the Phoenicians taught her worship to the people of Cythera.”10

Are these Assyrians = Syrians? Undoubtedly they were, as will be clear again when we consider Meleager’s description of Gadara in Assyria. Thus Pausanias distinguishes between Syrians and Phoenicians and is one of the authorities for the presence of Phoenicians in the Hellenistic/Roman 8 ਫȞșİ૨IJİȞ į੻ ਵȚıĮȞ ਥʌૃ ǹ੅ȖȣʌIJȠȞ. ȀĮ੿ ਥʌİ઀IJİ ਥȖ੼ȞȠȞIJȠ ਥȞ IJૌ ȆĮȜĮȚıIJ઀Ȟૉ Ȉȣȡ઀ૉ, ȌĮȝȝ੾IJȚȤંȢ ıijİĮȢ ǹੁȖ઄ʌIJȠȣ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ ਕȞIJȚ੺ıĮȢ įઆȡȠȚı઀ IJİ țĮ੿ ȜȚIJૌıȚ ਕʌȠIJȡ੼ʌİȚ IJઁ ʌȡȠıȦIJ੼ȡȦ ȝ੽ ʌȠȡİ઄İıșĮȚ. ȅੂ į੻ ਥʌİ઀IJİ ਕȞĮȤȦȡ੼ȠȞIJİȢ ੑʌ઀ıȦ ਥȖ઀ȞȠȞIJȠ IJોȢ Ȉȣȡ઀ȘȢ ਥȞ ਝıț੺ȜȦȞȚ ʌંȜȚ, IJ૵Ȟ ʌȜİંȞȦȞ Ȉțȣș੼ȦȞ ʌĮȡİȟİȜșંȞIJȦȞ ਕıȚȞ੼ȦȞ, ੑȜ઀ȖȠȚ IJȚȞ੻Ȣ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ਫ਼ʌȠȜİȚijș੼ȞIJİȢ ਥı઄ȜȘıĮȞ IJોȢ ȅ੝ȡĮȞ઀ȘȢ ਝijȡȠį઀IJȘȢ IJઁ ੂȡંȞ. ਯıIJȚ į੻ IJȠ૨IJȠ IJઁ ੂȡંȞ, ੪Ȣ ਥȖઅ ʌȣȞșĮȞંȝİȞȠȢ İਫ਼ȡ઀ıțȦ, ʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ ਕȡȤĮȚંIJĮIJȠȞ ੂȡ૵Ȟ, ੖ıĮ IJĮ઄IJȘȢ IJોȢ șİȠ૨· țĮ੿ Ȗ੹ȡ IJઁ ਥȞ Ȁ઄ʌȡ૳ ੂȡઁȞ ਥȞșİ૨IJİȞ ਥȖ੼ȞİIJȠ, ੪Ȣ Į੝IJȠ੿ Ȁ઄ʌȡȚȠȚ Ȝ੼ȖȠȣıȚ, țĮ੿ IJઁ ਥȞ Ȁȣș੾ȡȠȚıȚ ĭȠ઀ȞȚț੼Ȣ İੁıȚ Ƞੂ ੂįȡȣı੺ȝİȞȠȚ ਥț IJĮ઄IJȘȢ IJોȢ Ȉȣȡ઀ȘȢ ਥંȞIJİȢ. 9 For the association of Atargatis with Ascalon: Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae, 8.37. See also Diodorus 2.4.2-6 with comments and explanations. Philo, de providentia 2.64, tells that doves are sacred and forbidden food in Ascalon. For the cult of Atargatis-Derketo see also Fischer et al. 1995, 146. 10 ʌȡઆIJȠȚȢ į੻ ਕȞșȡઆʌȦȞ ਝııȣȡ઀ȠȚȢ țĮIJ੼ıIJȘ ı੼ȕİıșĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ȅ੝ȡĮȞ઀ĮȞ, ȝİIJ੹ į੻ ਝııȣȡ઀ȠȣȢ Ȁȣʌȡ઀ȦȞ ȆĮij઀ȠȚȢ țĮ੿ ĭȠȚȞ઀țȦȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਝıț੺ȜȦȞĮ ਩ȤȠȣıȚȞ ਥȞ IJૌ ȆĮȜĮȚıIJ઀Ȟૉ, ʌĮȡ੹ į੻ ĭȠȚȞ઀țȦȞ Ȁȣș੾ȡȚȠȚ ȝĮșંȞIJİȢ ı੼ȕȠȣıȚȞ· Trans. Jones and Ormerod (Loeb).

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period in coastal Palestine. Another text mentioning Ascalon is relevant, namely an inscription from Egypt: “Zeus Helios, Great Sarapis of Canopus, of the god of my fatherland, Heracles-Belus, invincible made by me, Marcus Aurelius Maximus, a Syrian from Ascalon…” (Bernard 1970, 242-244, no. 1411) It is dated to 12/4/228. Here then we see that a thirdcentury citizen of Ascalon calls himself a Syrian on an inscription in Egypt, declaring that Heracles-Belus is the god of his fatherland (see also Maiuri 1925, no.161: ǹʌȠȜȜȦȞ઀Ƞ(ȣ) ਝıțĮȜȦȞ઀IJȠȣ; no. 162: ǼੁȡȘȞĮȢ ਝıțĮȜȦȞ઀IJȚįȠȢ; no. 175: ȆȜȠȣı઀Į ਝıțĮȜȦȞ૙IJȚȢ, the wife of ਝȞIJĮ૙ȠȢ ȁĮȠįȚțİ઄Ȣ.). Matters are more complicated than that, however. An Ascalonian banker on Delos, Philostratos the son of Philostratos, dedicated an altar to “Astarte the Palestinian Aphrodite” deity in honour of his city, himself, his wife and children (Roussel, Launey 1937, 1719: ਝıIJ੺ȡIJȘȚ ȆĮȜĮȚıIJȚȞોȚ ਝijȡȠį઀IJȘȚ; The same man dedicated an inscription ਝʌંȜȜȦȞȚ țĮ੿ ੉IJĮȜȚțȠ૙Ȣ (1718) and ȆȠıİȚį૵ȞȚ ਝıțĮȜ[ȦȞ઀IJૉ] (1721-2). See also no. 2305. Cf. Bruneau 1970, 474.). Whatever the date of the inscription, it is worth noting that the Ascalonian banker refers to Astarte, identifying her with Aphrodite, as a Palestinian which can only be regarded here as an ethnic concept, the first such use of “Palestine” in any ancient text, as far as I know.12 Another relatively early Greek source also mentions the town of Ascalon, namely Pseudo-Scylax’s Periplus of the fourth century (Shipley 2011, 104.1-3; 89; see Stern 1974-1984, no. 558; comm. pp. 10-12). There are several points in this text we should note. First, Syrians are mentioned here as a people and Syria as a geographic concept which is broader than the area inhabited by the Syrians, for it includes that inhabited by the Phoenicians, living in the coastal plain. In this connection, we should note the identification of Dor as Sidonian and Ascalon as Tyrian (for Sidonians in Judaea see Isaac 1991, 132-144, reprinted with a postscript in Isaac 1998, 3-20). This is the first text that prefers to call this part of the Near East “Coele-Syria” rather than Syria or Palestine (in Syria). The text gives the additional information that Coele-Syria extends from Thapsakos River (presumably the Orontes) as far as Ascalon (Shipley 2011, 104.3, 179; for

11

ǻȚ੿ ਺[Ȝ઀૳] ȝİȖ੺[Ȝ૳] ȈĮȡ੺ʌȚįȚ ਥȞ ȀĮ[Ȟઆȕ૳] șİઁȞ ʌ੺IJȡȚ[ંȞ] ȝȠȣ ਺ȡ[Įț]Ȝો ǺોȜȠȞ ਕȞİ઀țȘIJȠȞ Ȃ(੺ȡțȠȢ) ǹ(੝ȡȘȜȚȠȢ) Ȃ੺ȟȚȝȠ[Ȣ Ȉ઄ȡȠȢ] ਝ[ı]țĮȜȦȞİ઀IJȘ[Ȣ... 12 It is not fanciful to assume that gods have an ethnic affiliation. Greek gods can even be called barbarians. Cf. Aristophanes, Aves 1573, where Poseidon addresses Triballus: “Ugh! you cursed savage! you are by far the most barbarous of all the gods.”: ȅ੅ȝȦȗİ· ʌȠȜઃ Ȗ੹ȡ į੾ ıૃ ਥȖઅ ਦંȡĮțĮ ʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ ȕĮȡȕĮȡઆIJĮIJȠȞ șİ૵Ȟ.

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Coele Syria see Bikerman 1947, 256-268; Sartre 1988, 22-25).13 CoeleSyria thus is associated with the coastal region of Syria which somehow links it with the region of the Phoenicians who are said to live “upon a narrow front less than up to 40 stades from the sea, and in some places not even up to 10 stades in width.” Finally, it is worth noting that the source does not mention Jews. Moving on to the Hellenistic period, we see that the Ptolemaic kingdom included a satrapy of ‘Syria and Phoenice.’ This was conquered by the Seleucids around 200 BC and renamed ‘Koile-Syria and Phoenice’ (thus, for instance, in the Aristeae Ep.12). In the second century BC the poet Meleager describes himself as a native of Gadara (across the Jordan, SE of the Sea of Galilee - Gow, Page (eds.) 1965, 216, no.2 (Anthologia Palatina 7.417)): “Island Tyre was my nurse, and Gadara, an Attic fatherland which lies in Assyria (sc. Syria) gave birth to me. From Eucrates I sprung, Meleager, who first by the help of the Muses ran abreast of the Graces of Menippus. What wonder if I am a Syrian? Stranger, we all inhabit one fatherland, one world. Once Chaos gave birth to all mortals…”14

The importance of this text and the following lines in the identity of the author: a Hellenized Syrian, referring to himself and his cultural environment. Meleager wrote in the 2nd–1st c. BC (Isaac 2011a, 494-495). As already noted above, Assyria is here obviously used as a synonym for Syria, for that is the region in which Gadara lies. No local person would confuse the name Syria with what we now call Assyria, east of the Euphrates. While Assyria/Syria is here a geographical notion, “Syrian” is here used as an ethnic adjective by Meleager himself. Gadara was his Attic fatherland not in terms of descent, but because of its language and culture. There was no pretence here that the citizens were actually descendants of Athenians, as is shown immediately by the author’s question whether it is a wonder that he is a Syrian. There are two points to be made here: a) he is a Syrian by origin and, b) the question indicates that this is indeed an ambivalent status for someone who is so clearly a Hellenistic poet. So, to 13

We may note that scholars disagree about the meaning and significance of the term. Some see ”Coele” as deriving from Greek țȠ૙ȜȠȢ, hollow, or from the Aramaic “kul” = all. For the latter: Schalit 1954, 64-77. 14 ȃ઼ıȠȢ ਥȝ੹ șȡ੼ʌIJİȚȡĮ ȉ઄ȡȠȢ· ʌ੺IJȡĮ į੼ ȝİ IJİțȞȠ૙ / ਝIJș੿Ȣ ਥȞ ਝııȣȡ઀ȠȚȢ ȞĮȚȠȝ੼ȞĮ īĮį੺ȡĮ· / Ǽ੝țȡ੺IJİȦ įૃ ਩ȕȜĮıIJȠȞ ੒ ıઃȞ ȂȠ઄ıĮȚȢ ȂİȜ੼ĮȖȡȠȢ / ʌȡ૵IJĮ ȂİȞȚʌʌİ઀ȠȚȢ ıȣȞIJȡȠȤ੺ıĮȢ ȋ੺ȡȚıȚȞ. / İੁ į੻ Ȉ઄ȡȠȢ, IJ઀ IJઁ șĮ૨ȝĮ; ȝ઀ĮȞ, ȟ੼Ȟİ, ʌĮIJȡ઀įĮ țંıȝȠȞ / ȞĮ઀ȠȝİȞ, ਨȞ șȞĮIJȠઃȢ ʌ੺ȞIJĮȢ ਩IJȚțIJİ ȋ੺ȠȢ… /. For the reading īĮį੺ȡĮ see Gow, Page 1965, 2.607.

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summarize: we have seen that Assyria, Syria, and Coele-Syria are all three used as geographic synonyms, while Syrian and Assyrian represent ethnic synonyms as well (for more sources referring to Coele-Syria in this period: Sartre 1988, 22-25). In another poem by Meleager “Syrian” and “Phoenician” are used as ethnic terms, but also associated with language as is emphasized by a call for what we now call “multiculturalism” in a culture that did not cherish this phenomenon as an ideology (Gow, Page (eds.) 1965, 217, no. 4 (Anthologia Palatina 7.419)). A variant combination occurs in an inscription from Italy, apparently of the second century AD: “The tomb of Diodorus the son of Heliodorus from Gadara of the Syrian Decapolis” (Gatier 1990, 204). Given the find spot, it is clear that “Syrian” represents here geographic clarification.15 Next, we should consider Strabo of the late first century BC – early first century AD. “We set down as parts of Syria, beginning at Cilicia and Mt. Amanus, both Commagene and the Seleucis of Syria, as the latter is called; and then Coele-Syria, and last, on the seaboard, Phoenicia, and, in the interior, Judaea. Some writers divide Syria as a whole into Coele-Syrians and Syrians and Phoenicians, and say that four other peoples are mixed up with these, namely, Jews, Idumaeans, Gazaeans, and Azotians, and that they are partly farmers, as the Syrians and Coele-Syrians, and partly merchants as the Phoenicians” (Strabo 16.2.2 (749)).

The first description is exclusively geographical, dividing Syria into three parts: Coele-Syria, Phoenicia, and Judaea; the second refers to ethnic groups: “Coele-Syrians,” which is distinguished from Syrians, Phoenicians and the others mentioned here: Jews, Idumaeans and the inhabitants of two cities (including ethnic stereotypes). This shows that, for Strabo, the reference by name to a region or people may have no more force than a variation in terminology. Many or most regions are not named in terms of geography, but of inhabitants, such as the “Coele-Syrians,” except in cases where the intention is quite obvious, as in the following instance. To be noted is that here “Coele Syria” for the first time is unambiguously given as a subdivision of Syria. Strabo has more to say that is interesting for us:

15

Gatier 1990, 205 refers for comparison to Josephus, Vita 341: IJ੹Ȣ ਥȞ IJૌ Ȉȣȡ઀઺ į੼țĮ ʌંȜİȚȢ; to 410: Ƞੂ ʌȡ૵IJȠȚ IJ૵Ȟ IJોȢ Ȉȣȡ઀ĮȢ į੼țĮ ʌંȜİȦȞ. and to IGRR, 3, 1057 from the Thracian Chersonnesus: ǻİțĮʌંȜİȦȢ IJોȢ ਥȞ Ȉȣȡ઀઺, for which see Isaac 1998, 313-321.

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Nationality and Ideology in the Roman Near East “Now the whole of the country above the territory of Seleucis, extending approximately to Egypt and Arabia, is called Coele-Syria, but the country marked off by the Libanus and the Antilibanus is called by that name in a special sense. Of the remainder the seaboard from Orthosia to Pelusium is called Phoenicia, which is a narrow country and lies flat along the sea, whereas the interior above Phoenicia, as far as the Arabs, between Gaza and Antilibanus, is called Judaea” (Strabo 16.2.21 (756); also: 16.2.16 (755)).

Strabo is perfectly clear. He is aware of Coele-Syria in the narrow sense of the Valley between Libanus and Antilibanus but also uses the term for all of the Near East from Seleucis to Arabia and Egypt. He calls the entire coastal strip Phoenice. Judaea is for him the strip of land between Phoenice (the coastal strip) and Coele-Syria (i.e. the Jordan Valley). Coele-Syria in the broader sense is for him Syria east of the coastal strip. All this is geographic, not ethnic apart from “the Arabs” (for the Arabs and Scenitae see Strabo 16.2.11 (753); for Arabs/Arabians see below; for the terms ਲ ਙȞȦ Ȉȣȡ઀Į and “Seleucis” see Sartre 1988, 19-20). In the late first-early second century Plutarch uses “Syrians” once in a context indubitably associated with language, as well as “Hebraioi.” Cleopatra spoke in their own languages to various peoples, including Hebraioi, Arabs, and Syrians (Plutarch, Ant 27.4). From the second century, the first to be mentioned is Appian: “In this way, the Romans, without fighting, came into possession of Cilicia, inland Syria and Coele-Syria, Phoenicia, Palestine, and all the other countries bearing the Syrian name from the Euphrates to Egypt and the sea. The Jewish nation alone still resisted and Pompey conquered them….” (Appian, Syr. 251-2, also: Mithr. 16.106 (498)). Appian sees Syria in the broadest geographical sense as subdivided into the parts he mentions. Palestine is clearly more than the Jews and the region they control. It is the entire province of that name in Appian’s days. Inland Syria presumably means here the eastern part; Coele-Syria is here used in an unspecified narrow sense. The terminology here is geographic, apart from “the Jewish nation” (ਨȞ į੻ Ȗ੼ȞȠȢ ਩IJȚ, IJઁ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀ȦȞ). The term is still encountered in the inscription on an altar dedicated to an Emperor who is probably Marcus Aurelius (161-180) by the people of Scythopolis (Beth Shean) one of IJ૵Ȟ țĮIJ੹ ȀȠ઀ȜȘȞ Ȉȣȡ઀ĮȞ ਬȜȜȘȞ઀įȦȞ ʌંȜİȦȞ. Thus the city of Nysa-Scythopolis is here referred to as “one of the Hellenic cities in Coele-Syria” (Foerster, Tsafrir 1986-1987, 53-58;

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Gatier 1990, 204-206)16. Scythopolis belonged to the province of SyriaPalaestina, but that is not an entity mentioned on the inscription, for the Hellenic cities referred to, were in three separate provinces by this time. Clearly, Coele-Syria is here used in a broader (intermediate) sense, which approaches that of “The Decapolis” the cities of which, originally, all were assigned to the province of Syria (Gatier 1988, 162-163). “Hellenic” is used as Meleager does in the case of Gadara: it refers to culture and language, not to the origin. There is an important conclusion here to be drawn concerning Roman policy: when the region was incorporated into the Empire in 63 BC, it was regarded as desirable to include Hellenic cities into the Roman province of Syria, under the authority of a Roman governor and not to leave them under the rule of client kings. This is true for all of the cities of the Decapolis, but also for some Palestinian cities, such as Gaza and Ascalon. With the incorporation of Judaea and, afterwards, Arabia into the Empire as provinces, there was no reason to leave those cities part of Syria. The essence of Roman policy was that the cities should be part of the immediate responsibility of Roman governors, not that they should belong to one and the same province. The inscription from Scythopolis, however, shows that cities like Scythopolis in spite of these administrative rearrangements still considered themselves as belonging to a specific group, separate from the non-Hellenic environment. An inscription from Dhunaybeh (Danaba) in Trachonitis in Southern Syria reinforces this impression: ȅੂ ਥȞ ǻĮȞĮȕȠȚȢ ਰȜȜȘȞİȢ ȂȘȞȠij઀Ȝ૳ İ੝ȞȠ઀ĮȢ ਪȞİțİȞ (‘the Hellenes in Danaba…’ - Sartre in Calbi (ed.) 1993, 133-135; AE 1993, 1636). Just like “Hellenic” in the previous inscription, “Hellenes” is used here as a cultural marker. It must refer to language, as in the case of Meleager, but also to intellectual life and cult practices. Another Greek author from the Roman Near East of interest is Lucian of Samosata (125-180) (Isaac 2011a, 499-502). In The Fisherman (Reviviscentes sive Piscator 19.6) we read: “I am a Syrian, Philosophy, from the banks of the Euphrates. But what of that? I know that some of my opponents here are just as barbarian as I”. “Syrian” is used as an ethnic term, further qualified by geography and associated with a lack of culture. A passage in Lucian’s The Double Indictment seems to contain elements of an autobiographic dialogue or at least of a scene taken from real life. 16

Gatier points out that the meaning of the phrase is not entirely clear, signifying either “the Hellenic cities of Coele-Syria” or “those cities of Coele-Syria that are Hellenic”. For the meaning of Coele-Syria, see Gatier 1990, 204-206 and Gatier 1988, 164. For a different view Rey-Coquais 1981, 25-31; Sartre 1988, 15-40; the latter see the term as and administrative one, associated with the imperial cult. See also Bikerman 1947.

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The speaker here is Rhetoric accusing her husband, a Syrian before a court of justice: “When this man was a mere boy, gentlemen of the jury, still speaking with a foreign accent and I might almost say wearing a caftan in the Assyrian [sc. Syrian] style. Accented Greek and foreign dress are typical of a Syrian. (Bis Accusatus 27)

Damascus is given at least once as a form of origin, a subdivision of Syrians: “We Syrians are, men from Damascus men by birth” (Podagra 265). However, there is also “A Syrian from Palestine” (Philopseudes 16.4-5: IJઁȞ Ȉ઄ȡȠȞ IJઁȞ ਥț IJોȢ ȆĮȜĮȚıIJ઀ȞȘȢ). The second-century texts cited here appear to be rather free in their usage of ethnic and geographic terminology, while various cultural aspects are associated with those terms without obvious consistency: language, accent, culture, clothing all appear as frequent and important elements. Syrians are still recognized – or stigmatized – as a separate ethnic group in the fourth century as is clear from a passage in the Historia Augusta on Severus Alexander which describes him as being ashamed at being called a Syrian (SHA, Sev. Alexander 28. 7). To sum up: Syria is, first, a geographic concept, then an administrative term while neither is necessarily restricted to the region inhabited by ethnic Syrians. It is sometimes, confusingly, called Assyria and CoeleSyria, just as Syrians may also be called Assyrians. This is not a matter of ignorance, for Meleager of Gadara and Lucian of Samosata also refer to Assyria and Assyrians. The Phoenicians are described as a people inhabiting the coastal plain from the Orontes to Ascalon in the South, including a number of Palestinian cities. When considering subdivisions, the picture may be even more confusing. Coele-Syria can be used in a broad sense as almost the equivalent of Syria, and in a narrow sense, for the Beqa and Jordan valleys, or in an intermediate sense as covering the coastal region of Syria from the mouth of the Orontes to Ascalon, roughly the equivalent of some instances in the use of “Phoenice”. Regarding the ethnic indications, it remains to be observed that these can, but need not point very specifically to origin: the Greek poet Meleager of Gadara calls himself a Syrian, for instance, but his city of origin is Attic because of its culture. Often, however, ethnicity, language, dress, and culture go together. The term Hellenic is used for and by communities that definitely did not claim to descend from Greeks in Greece or Asia Minor. Professions such as farming and trading may also be regarded as ethnic features, e.g. by Strabo.

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Palestine In Greek and Latin texts the name Palestine (Ȉȣȡ઀Ș ਲ ȆĮȜĮȚıIJ઀ȞȘ or ȆĮȜĮȚıIJ઀ȞȘ Ȉȣȡ઀Ș) occurs first in the fifth century BC in several passages in the work of Herodotus (Herodotus 1.104-5; cf. 2.106 for which cf. Asheri 2007, 484-5; Herodotus 4.39; 7.89.). One of these, in Book I, has already been cited above. In Herodotus’ work, it is a geographic concept referring to the coastal plain from Phoenicia to Gaza. It is an open question how the name Palaestina got associated with all of the coastal areas up to Phoenicia in the north, or how the name reached a Greek author in the fifth century, for the Philistines had disappeared as a people centuries earlier. Herodotus does not use Ioudaia/Judaea as a term. Of the existence of Jews, he is unaware unless he refers to them when he mentions “the Phoenicians and Syrians of Palestine who acknowledged having learnt the custom of circumcision from the Egyptians” (Herodotus 2.104.3). ‘Palaistine’ is originally a Greek transliteration of the Hebrew Plšth, ‘the land of the Philistines,’ the name itself being a subject of modern controversy. The Philistines lived in the southern part of the coastal plain but had disappeared by fifth century BC. Note that, clearly, the name Palestine is not quite familiar, for Herodotus speaks of ‘the land called SyriaPalestine’ or, when referring to the inhabitants, of ‘the so-called Syrians of Palestine’ (3.5.3: Ȉȣȡ઀ȦȞ IJ૵Ȟ ȆĮȜĮȚıIJ઀ȞȦȞ țĮȜİȠȝ੼ȞȦȞ). It is for Herodotus purely a geographic term: there is a part of Syria that is called Palestine or, rather Palestinian Syria. There is no ethnic term ‘Palestinians’ in Herodotus, for there is no such ethnic group known to him. The inhabitants of the region are ‘Syrians of Palestine’ as already noted, or Syrians in Palestine (Herodotus 7.89.3: Ȉȣȡ઀ȠȚıȚ IJȠ૙ıȚ ਥȞ IJૌ ȆĮȜĮȚıIJ઀Ȟૉ). In the fourth century BC Aristotle also uses the name, but only on one occasion, clearly as a geographic concept (Aristotle, Meteorologica 359a.16). In the Hellenistic period, the Ptolemaic satrapy of ‘Syria and Phoenice.’ was conquered by the Seleucids around 200 BC and renamed ‘Koile-Syria and Phoenice.' It included all of what is known to us as Palestine or Judaea in the broader sense. It is significant that side by side with this administrative nomenclature, ‘Palestinian Syria’ continued to be used as a geographical term without ethnic (or administrative) implications. Ioudaia/Judaea still was used in its narrow sense, for “the Land of the Jews” at this stage. The Jewish author Philo, discussing the Biblical period, equates ‘Syria Palaestina’ or, rather “Palestinian Syria” with Biblical Canaan as a geographical and ethnical term. He uses contemporary geographical terms: “Phoenicia, Coele-Syria and Palestine which then was called Canaan” (Philo, de Abrahamo 133; for Canaanites

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as an ethnic designation - de Virtutibus .221.1: Ĭ੺ȝĮȡ ਷Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ ਕʌઁ IJોȢ ȆĮȜĮȚıIJ઀ȞȘȢ Ȉȣȡ઀ĮȢ Ȗ઄ȞĮȚȠȞ, “Tamar was a woman from Palestinian Syria”). Judaea became the name of a political entity only under the Hasmonaeans. Under Roman rule, Judaea was the name first of Herod’s kingdom and, after annexation, of a province attached to the larger province of Syria. Thus Strabo uses the name Judaea (Strabo 16.1.1; 16.2.2; 16.2.21:ਲ įૃ ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ IJĮ઄IJȘȢ ȝİıંȖĮȚĮ ȝ੼ȤȡȚ IJ૵Ȟ ਝȡ੺ȕȦȞ ਲ ȝİIJĮȟઃ ī੺ȗȘȢ țĮ੿ ਝȞIJȚȜȚȕ੺ȞȠȣ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀Į Ȝ੼ȖİIJĮȚ.), except when he cites an earlier source (Strabo 16.4.18). Some authors, such as Pomponius Mela (1.11.623.) and Pliny (NH 5.66; cf. Stern 1974-1984, 472 and for a different interpretation Sartre 1988, 20-21), are not quite clear regarding the relationship between Syria, Palestine, and Judaea as geographical terms. However this may be, Judaea was the name of the province from its annexation until the reign of Hadrian. It is the usual name in e.g. Josephus (Ant. 20.105)17 Philo (Legatio 299: ȆȚȜ઼IJȠȢ ਷Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ ਫ਼ʌ੺ȡȤȦȞ ਥʌ઀IJȡȠʌȠȢ ਕʌȠįİįİȚȖȝ੼ȞȠȢ IJોȢ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀ĮȢ), Tacitus (Annales 12.23), and in inscriptions (Année Épigraphique 1999, 1681; Boffo 1994, 219; 303; 317; CIL 16.33, a military diploma of AD 86). Following the suppression of the Bar Kokhba revolt, the province was renamed Syria Palaestina. The change of the name is neatly illustrated by inscriptions mentioning Julius Severus as governor of Judaea (ILS 1056)18 but of Syria Palaestina on an inscription of AD 134 (AE 1904, 9)19. In nonChristian texts, the old name, Judaea, is still used occasionally although rarely. However, still in the second century, Ptolemy uses both names without distinction (Ptolemy, Geographia 5.C.16.1; 5.15.8.14; 5.16.1.2; 5.17.1.3.). Thus Rome removed from the nomenclature the name Judaea derived from the Jewish people, replacing it with the traditional, geographic Graeco-Latin “Syria-Palaestina,” familiar since the fifth century, obviously one of the steps taken as a reaction after the Bar Kokhba Revolt. The name “Judaea” was, at the time, clearly associated 17

ȈIJ੺ıİȦȢ įૃ ਥȝʌİıȠ઄ıȘȢ IJૌ IJ૵Ȟ ੊İȡȠıȠȜȣȝȚIJ૵Ȟ ʌંȜİȚ ȀȠȣȝĮȞȠ૨ IJ੹ țĮIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀ĮȞ ʌȡ੺ȖȝĮIJĮ įȚȠȚțȠ૨ȞIJȠȢ ਥijș੺ȡȘıĮȞ ਫ਼ʌઁ IJĮ઄IJȘȢ ʌȠȜȜȠ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀ȦȞ. Note that Josephus does not usually see a need to clarify whether he means the Kingdom/Province of Judaea or Judaea in the narrow sense, for which, e.g. BJ 3.51-6. 18 …. leg. pr. pr. [pr]ovinciae Iudeae, [l]eg. pr. pr. [provi]nciae Suriae. Huic [senatus a]uctore [imp. Tra]iano Hadrian[o Au]g. ornamenta triu[mp]halia decrevit ob res in [Iu]dea prospere ge[st]as. [D.] d… 19 Cn(aeo) Iul(io) S[evero] / co(n)s(uli) le[g(ato) Aug(usti)] / pr(o) pr(aetore) pr[ovinciae] / Syriae Pa[laestinae] / triunf[alib(us)! ornamen]/tis [honorato ------

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Fig. 14-1. Map of Roman Palestine

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with the Jewish people. It was not a purely geographic concept. In the case of Palestine, however, the emphasis must be laid on ‘geographic.' In the second century, there was no ethnic group that called itself ‘Palestinians.’ A few texts of the late fourth century mention ‘Palaestini’ which, according to the regular pattern of this period, identifies the inhabitants of a province in ethnic terms.20 As already noted, the Greek term for a province can be ethnos (਩șȞȠȢ), and a Latin variant is sometimes natio (Mitthof 2012, 61-72). The Islamic conquest in the thirties of the seventh century marks the end of this survey – but not, of course, of the use of the name Palestine which, soon after the Islamic conquest, was organized by the Moslems as ‘Jund Filastin,’ ‘the military district of Palestine.’ To sum up: from the fifth century BC onward “Palestina / Palestine” is common in Greek as a geographical term for a part of Syria. It became an administrative appellation only under Hadrian and had no ethnic connotations in antiquity until the period when the inhabitants of provinces came to be regarded as such.

Judaea The name of Ioudaia/Judaea was the Greek rendering of the Persian satrapy of Yahud (538-332 BC) which, in turn, somehow indicated the formal tribal area of Judah of biblical times (Betylon 1986, 633-642). The earliest appearance of the name in Greek occurs in Hecataeus of Abdera (300 BC) “the land now called Judaea” (Stern 1974-1984, no.11 Hecataeus of Abdera, Frg. 3a, 264, F.6*: ੒ į੻ ʌȠȜઃȢ ȜİઅȢ ਥȟ੼ʌİıİȞ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ Ȟ૨Ȟ țĮȜȠȣȝ੼ȞȘȞ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀ĮȞ, Ƞ੝ ʌંȡȡȦ ȝ੻Ȟ țİȚȝ੼ȞȘȞ IJોȢ ǹੁȖ઄ʌIJȠȣ, ʌĮȞIJİȜ૵Ȣ į੻ ਩ȡȘȝȠȞ Ƞ੣ıĮȞ țĮIJૃ ਥțİ઀ȞȠȣȢ IJȠઃȢ ȤȡંȞȠȣȢ; cf. Jos. Contra Apionem 1.195-9.). It is clear that he means Judaea in the original, narrower sense: the land of the Jews (Stern 1974-1984, no.12 - Hecataeus, Fr. 3a, 264, F.21.43: ਲ Ȗ੹ȡ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀Į IJȠıĮ઄IJȘ ʌȜોșંȢ ਥıIJȚȞ). In other words: the land is named after the people rather than the reverse. In the same period Clearchus of Soli states the opposite: the people are named after the land they inhabit, but he also claims that they, the Jews, are descendants from Indian philosophers (Stern 1974-1984, fr. 14; Jos. Contra Apionem 1.179.) an interpretation based upon theory only, rather upon information transmitted through other authors. 20 Historia Augusta, Niger 7.9: idem Palaestinis rogantibus ut eorum censitio levaretur idcirco quod esset gravat respondit ….; Severus 14.6: Palaestinis poenam remisit quam ob causam Nigri meruerant. 17.1: In itinere Palaestinins plurima iura fundavit. Not. Dig. Or. 34.28: Equites primi felices [sagittarii indigenae] Palaestini, Sabure sive Veterocariae.

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In the third century BC Manetho twice mentions “what is now called Judaea” (Manetho, FHG 2 42.90: ਥȞ IJૌ Ȟ૨Ȟ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀઺ țĮȜȠȣȝ੼Ȟૉ; this refers to the foundation of Jerusalem; 54.8; FHG 609 F 10a (Josephus, contra Apionem 1.228)). Lysimachus of Alexandria (undated, perhaps 2nd or 1st cent. BC) gives the Egyptian version of the exodus story as found later in Tacitus and says that the Jews “came to the country now called Judaea” (Ap. Josephus, contra Apionem 1.310, Stern 1974-1984, fr. 158.). In the first half of the first century Apion, as cited by Josephus, uses the same expression (Ap. Josephus, contra Apionem 2.21; Stern 1974-1984, fr. 165). Hellenistic authors apparently use Judaea as a contemporary name while lacking information concerning an older name for the country. Another early reference occurs in the Letter of Aristeas (third-second cent. BC), which is a Jewish text and therefore represents a different perspective from the others which derive from non-Jewish authors discussing Jewish history. It uses the name in the sense of ‘the country of the Jews’ (Aristeae Epistula 4.3; 11.4; 184.3; also: 12.4; 318.2) as in the phrase: ‘When we arrived in the land we saw the city situated in the middle of the whole of Judea on the top of a mountain of considerable altitude’ (Aristeae Ep. 83-84). The name is here used in the narrow sense, excluding Samaritis and Idumaea (Samaritis: Aristeae Ep. 107; Idumaia: Aristeae Ep. 107.4). Elsewhere the Letter speaks of “those who had been transported (to Egypt) from Judaea” or “from the country of the Jews” (Aristeae Ep. 12). Thus “Judaea” and “the country of the Jews” are synonyms. In the books of the Maccabees “Judaea” is, naturally, used in the narrow sense – there was no extended Judaea at the time (1 Macc. 5.23: it excludes the Galilee; 9.50: Bacchides builts fortresses in Judaea in sites, all of them in Judaea proper; 10.38 and 11.334: three districts transferred from Samaritis to Judaea: Apheraima, Lydda, and Ramathaim). Note also the opening sentence of 2 Macc 1.1: “To their brothers, the Jews in Egypt, (greetings,) their brothers in Jerusalem and those in the land of Judaea a perfect peace” (2 Macc. 1.1: Ƞੂ ਥȞ ǿİȡȠıȠȜ઄ȝȠȚȢ ǿȠȣįĮ૙ȠȚ țĮ੿ Ƞੂ ਥȞ IJૌ Ȥઆȡ઺ IJોȢ ǿȠȣįĮ઀ĮȢ İੁȡ੾ȞȘȞ ਕȖĮș੾Ȟ·). Judaea is here mentioned as the territory (chora) of Jerusalem a fact which, incidentally, should be taken into account when considering whether Jerusalem was a polis (Tcherikover 1964, 61-78 argued that it did not have the characteristics and institutions required. If it had a territory, that would, in principle, make it a polis in ancient terms). In the later Hellenistic period the Hasmonaeans became Kings of Judaea. Under Roman rule, Judaea became the name, first of Herod’s kingdom and, after annexation, of the province which was attached to the larger province of Syria. It is clear that ‘Judaea’ as an administrative and

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political name originated in the period when it was a Roman client kingdom. As such it covered a much wider area than the original Judaea in the narrow, ethnic sense, and included numerous non-Jewish inhabitants. Thus Strabo uses the name Judaea for this region, except when he cites an earlier source. He does so also when referring, e.g. to the activities of Pompey in 63 BC (Strabo, Fragm. 2a, 91, F.14.8 (Jos. Ant. 14.35; Stern 1974-1984, no. 103)). However this may be, Judaea was the name of the province from its annexation until the reign of Hadrian. Strabo notes that the western parts of Judaea “towards Cassius” and by the lake are occupied by the Idumaeans. He states that the north of Judaea “is inhabited in general, as is each place in particular, by mixed groups of people from Aegyptian and Arabian and Phoenician tribes; for such are those who occupy Galilee and Hiericus and Philadelphia and Samaria, which last Herod surnamed Sebaste. But though the inhabitants are mixed up thus, the most prevalent of the accredited reports regarding the temple at Jerusalem represent the ancestors of the present Jews, as they are called, as Aegyptians” (Strabo 16.2.34 (761); cf. Stern 1974-1984, 304-305). Strabo also refers to Judaea as (the country of) the Ioudaioi which there, clearly, does not mean “Jews,” but “the people of Judaea,” all of them, Jews and others. This is clear, for instance, when he writes: “The first people who occupy Arabia Felix, after the Syrians and Ioudaioi, are farmers” (Strabo 16. 4.2 (767)). Here then Ioudaioi are not just Jews, but “all of those living in Judaea.”21 To be also observed is Strabo’s frequent use of “those called now…” (IJ૵Ȟ Ȟ૨Ȟ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀ȦȞ ȜİȖȠȝ੼ȞȦȞ..). That is a term reserved for a precise, contemporary ethnic appellation. It is clear that Strabo always refers to Judaea as a geographic term in the broad sense. He describes its inhabitants as mixed. The “present-day Jews” are identified with the Temple in Jerusalem and were originally descendants of the Egyptians in his work. This is the hostile version, also 21

This is no idiosyncracy of Strabo. Below we see the same in the case of Plutarch. This is one of various reasons why I do not accept the claim that Jews in antiquity had better be called “Judaeans” than “Jews.” Cf. Mason 2007, 457-512; the original idea has been discussed extensively by Cohen 1999, chapter 3, and Schwartz 2007, 3-28. From Pompey to Hadrian Judaeans were all the peoples inhabiting the kingdom, later the province of Judaea. Note also the fact that Dio 37.16-17, discussed below, explicitly contradicts the theory that “Judaeans” would be a more suitable appellation than “Jews”. One could argue that Strabo’s and Plutarch’s “Ioudaioi” ought to be translated as “Judaeans” because they include all inhabitants of Judaea, including those who were not Jews in a religious or ethnic sense.

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represented by Celsus, Diodorus (34-35.1)22 and Chaeremon (Stern 19741984, 305), but not found in Hecataeus and Clearchus. Strabo omits the claim that the Jews were lepers expelled from Egypt, a tradition that is found in an early (and nuanced) version in Hecataeus (Ap. Diodorus 40.3; Stern 1974-198, fr. 11). However, a little further on Strabo refers to Judaea as “being ruled by tyrants,” so here it is indicated as a political entity (Strabo 16.2.40). There are also clear instances in Strabo’s work of the use of the name Judaea in a purely geographical sense, e.g. where it is described as a country suitable for the growing of palms (Strabo 17.51.6 (818). Plutarch mentions Judaea in the time of Pompey as a kingdom (Plutarch, Pompey 39.2). In enumerating the triumph of Pompey he mentions “… Mesopotamia and the region of Phoenice, Palestine, Judaea, Arabia…” (Plutarch, Pompey 45.2). For rhetorical effect, both Palestine and Judaea are mentioned, but that should not be taken as meaning there was a difference between the two. Plutarch several times speaks of Ioudaioi when he clearly means (all of) Judaea in a political or geographical sense, for instance when he calls Aristoboulos “King of the Jews” (Plutarch, Pomp 45.4.5). He was, however, in fact, the king of Judaea, i.e. all peoples living in Judaea, Jews, and non-Jews. In 37-36 Antony gave Cleopatra the following addition to her dominions, as Plutarch formulates it: “Phoenicia, Coele Syria, Cyprus, and a large part of Cilicia; and still further, the balsam-producing part of the Ioudaioi, and all that part of Arabia of the Nabataeans which slopes toward the outer sea” (Plutarch, Ant. 36.3; for the chronology, see Stern 1974-1984, 569-572). It is not quite certain what Coele Syria here means, but obviously, the balsam-producing part of the Ioudaioi here is a geographical idea. It is clear that Ioudaioi, normally indicating a people, here stands for Ioudaia in a geographical sense, a region. “While in my time (i.e. Appian’s time, ca. 95–ca. 165) when the Roman Emperor Trajan was exterminating the Jewish people in Egypt (IJઁ ਥȞ ǹੁȖ઄ʌIJ૳ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀ȦȞ Ȗ੼ȞȠȢ)…” (Appian, BC 13.90). Here, therefore we have “The Jewish people; those of Jewish origin (genos) in Egypt.” There is a very clear distinction between ethnos and genos. As already noted, ethnos can be the Greek term for Latin provincia (cf. the complex use of

22 One of the most negative passages regarding Jews, where it is reported that a majority of the advisors of Antiochus Sidetes favoured completely wiping out the Jewish people. Chaeremon is cited by Josephus, contra Apionem 1.288; see Stern 1974-1984, no.178, with comments on p. 420 and a discussion of the related papyrus PSI no.982 = CPJ no. 520.

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ethnic terminology in Herodotus as analyzed by Jones 1996, 315-320). Genos here explicitly refers to those of Jewish origin, living in Egypt. A variant may be found in Tacitus (Tacitus, Annales 12.23)23 where, instead of Ituraea and Judaea he writes “the Ituraeans and Jews” who were “added to [the province of Syria]” This refers to the people rather than the region and suits the common phenomenon whereby peoples rather than territories are indicated as subject to authority (Isaac 1992, 394-397), but at the same time reinforces the point made here, that ethnic and geographic appellations often are used interchangeably because the distinction is not seen as essential. Occasionally we find an eponymous ancestor for the Jews in Hellenistic authors, notably Alexander Polyhistor (Stephanus Byzantius, s.v. ੉ȠȣįĮ઀Į), who refers to the “children of Semiramis, Juda, and Idumaea”, and Plutarch who reports with disapproval a tradition that Typon was the father of Hierosolymus and Judaeus (Plutarch, de Iside et Osiride 31, Stern 1974-1984, no 259). An important passage of Cassius Dio (37.16.-17) deserves full consideration: “This happened at that time (68 BC) in Palestine; for this has long been the name of the whole province [ethnos] extending from Phoenicia to Egypt along the inner sea. They (plural) have also another name that they have acquired: for the land (chora) has been named Judaea, and the people themselves Jews (Ioudaioi). I do not know how they acquired this appellation, but it applies also to all the other people who follow their customs even if they are of other origin (alloethneis; Cary, Loeb: of an alien race). This group exists also among the Romans, and though often repressed has increased very much and has gained a right of freedom in its observances”.24

23 Ituraeique et Iudeaei defunctis regibus Sohaema atque Agrippa provinciae Suriae additi. For the usual terminology in Tacitus, e.g. Hist. 5.1: Eiusdem anni principio Caesar Titus, perdomandae Iudaeae delectus a pater… For the extent of the province of Judaea: Hist. 5.5: Terra finesque qua ad Orientem vergunt Arabia terminantur, a meridie Aegyptus obiacet, ab occasu Phoenices et mare, septentrionem e latere Syriae longe prospectant. 24 IJĮ૨IJĮ ȝ੻Ȟ IJંIJİ ਥȞ IJૌ ȆĮȜĮȚıIJ઀Ȟૉ ਥȖ੼ȞİIJȠ· Ƞ੢IJȦ Ȗ੹ȡ IJઁ ı઄ȝʌĮȞ ਩șȞȠȢ, ੖ıȠȞ ਕʌઁ IJોȢ ĭȠȚȞ઀țȘȢ ȝ੼ȤȡȚ IJોȢ ǹੁȖ઄ʌIJȠȣ ʌĮȡ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ș੺ȜĮııĮȞ IJ੽Ȟ ਩ıȦ ʌĮȡ੾țİȚ, ਕʌઁ ʌĮȜĮȚȠ૨ ț੼țȜȘIJĮȚ. ਩ȤȠȣıȚ į੻ țĮ੿ ਪIJİȡȠȞ ੕ȞȠȝĮ ਥʌ઀țIJȘIJȠȞ· ਸ਼ IJİ Ȗ੹ȡ ȤઆȡĮ ੉ȠȣįĮ઀Į țĮ੿ Į੝IJȠ੿ ੉ȠȣįĮ૙ȠȚ ੩ȞȠȝ੺įĮIJĮȚ· ਲ į੻ ਥʌ઀țȜȘıȚȢ Į੢IJȘ ਥțİ઀ȞȠȚȢ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੝ț Ƞੇįૃ ੖șİȞ ਵȡȟĮIJȠ ȖİȞ੼ıșĮȚ, ij੼ȡİȚ į੻ țĮ੿ ਥʌ੿ IJȠઃȢ ਙȜȜȠȣȢ ਕȞșȡઆʌȠȣȢ ੖ıȠȚ IJ੹ ȞંȝȚȝĮ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ, țĮ઀ʌİȡ ਕȜȜȠİșȞİ૙Ȣ ੕ȞIJİȢ, ȗȘȜȠ૨ıȚ. țĮ੿ ਩ıIJȚ țĮ੿ ʌĮȡ੹ IJȠ૙Ȣ ૮ȦȝĮ઀ȠȚȢ IJઁ Ȗ੼ȞȠȢ IJȠ૨IJȠ, țȠȜȠȣıș੻Ȟ ʌȠȜȜ੺țȚȢ, Į੝ȟȘș੻Ȟ į੻ ਥʌ੿ ʌȜİ૙ıIJȠȞ, ੮ıIJİ țĮ੿ ਥȢ ʌĮȡȡȘı઀ĮȞ IJોȢ ȞȠȝ઀ıİȦȢ ਥțȞȚțોıĮȚ.

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Dio uses the regular name of the province in his days, Palaestina – he says it has long been the name, presumably aware of its appearance as a geographic concept from Herodotus onward – and then the term ethnos is given here as the equivalent of the Latin Provincia, as already noted twice above. Dio refers to it as an administrative unit within a specific territory. He then moves on smoothly to consider the Jews as a people, as is clear from his use of the plural “they also have another name. He says that “their land was called ‘Judaea’”25 and they themselves “Ioudaioi,” but the origin of the name is unknown to him. However, and this is essential, he recognizes them as a people and observes what an anomaly was in his days: those who are of different descent, but adopt their customs are also called Jews. Dio thus recognizes an exception to the rule that people could not change their ethnicity, except in so far as they received the Roman citizenship – which undoubtedly formed a conceptual basis for the idea. Anyone could become a Jew who accepted Jewish customs, as he formulates it.26 The fact that this phenomenon could be a social reality was seen much earlier by Strabo in connection with the conversion of the Idumaeans (Strabo cited by Josephus, Ant. 13.319). The separation of the concepts of descent, ethnic identity and religion had tremendous consequences for Jewish history and, no less, for the growth of Christianity. To sum up our considerations of the use of “Judaea” in ancient sources: to begin with it was the name of an Achaemenid satrapy. In the Hellenistic period, it could imply: a) the name of “the Land of the Jews” in its narrow sense, and b) an administrative district. In the Books of the Maccabees, it is also used in its former sense. Then, when the Jews gained political and military control, it naturally, became the name of the and Herodian kingdoms successively and thereafter of the Roman province. The Hasmonaeans and Herod expanded their control over neighbouring peoples and cities. As a result of these conquests and gains, it became a term indicating a wider region than the original Jewish area in the narrow sense. Consequently, it included various peoples and not just the Jews of Judaea in the original, narrow sense. Paradoxically the non-Jews are also included among the “Ioudaioi” in several sources (Strabo, Plutarch). Thus “Ioudaioi,” can be a term for all the inhabitants of the province, or of the region of Judaea only. We may take this argument one step further: Plutarch, at least, also writes “Ioudaioi” when he actually means “Ioudaia” 25

For the use of ȤઆȡĮ in this connection, see also 2 Macc. 1.1 cited above: Judaea was the chora of Jerusalem. 26 I disagree with the interpretation of Mason 2007, 509-510. This is not a proper occasion to discuss Jewish proselytism and what Tacitus has to say about proselytes in Hist. 5.5.

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in a geographical sense. When used thus the term has lost both its religious and its ethnic content. After the province was renamed Syria-Palaestina, the name of Judaea is still found, but, often, as in the case of Cassius Dio, it refers again to the “Land of the Jews” within the Province of Palaestina. The bottom line: Judaea can mean various things in different periods, depending on the context - geographical, administrative, ethnic, and social. In other words, in any interpretation, we need to take into account that ideas concerning ethnicity in the Roman Near East were highly flexible.

Hebraioi This appellation was in common use for Jews in the Septuagint (Gen. 39.17: ੒ ʌĮ૙Ȣ ੒ ǼȕȡĮ૙ȠȢ; Exodus 1.22; Reg. 1.4.9.2: IJȠ૙Ȣ ǼȕȡĮ઀ȠȚȢ). Thus we find it also in the books of the Maccabees (2 Macc. 7.31; 11.13; 15.37). The first non-Jewish author to use it is Alexander Polyhistor (2nd-1st cent. BC - Stern 1974-1984, no. 51a, 29). It is used by Plutarch in a context of language: Cleopatra “made her replies to most of (the barbarians) herself and unassisted, whether they were Ethiopians, Troglodytes, Hebrews, Arabs, Syrians, Medes or Parthians” (Plutarch, Ant. 27.4. IJȠ૙Ȣ į੻ ʌȜİ઀ıIJȠȚȢ Į੝IJ੽ įȚૃ Įਫ਼IJોȢ ਕʌİį઀įȠȣ IJ੹Ȣ ਕʌȠțȡ઀ıİȚȢ, ȠੈȠȞ ǹੁș઀ȠȥȚ ȉȡȦȖȜȠį઄IJĮȚȢ ਬȕȡĮ઀ȠȚȢ ਡȡĮȥȚ Ȉ઄ȡȠȚȢ Ȃ੾įȠȚȢ ȆĮȡșȣĮ઀ȠȚȢ). We then find it in the work of Statius (Statius, Silvae 5.1.213: Palaestini simul Hebraeique liquores first occurence in Latin literature, second half of the first century AD), Antonius Diogenes (Porphyrius, V. Pythagorae 11, Stern 1974-1984, no.250), Tacitus (Hist. 5.2.3: Hebraeae terrae), Charax of Pergamum (II c. – Stephanus Byz. 259.6: ਫȕȡĮ૙ȠȚ. Ƞ੢IJȦȢ ੉ȠȣįĮ૙ȠȚ ਕʌઁ ਝȕȡ੺ȝȦȞȠȢ, ੮Ȣ ijȘıȚ ȋ੺ȡĮȟ. cf. Stern 1974-1984, no.335, p.161), Appian (BC 2. 10.71.294 who refers here to the Jews as Hebraioi in the present), and others (Stern 1974-1984, 161 for references). Could it be the case that this name became more widespread after the Jewish revolts?

Arabs/Arabians In Semitic languages in antiquity “Arab” is a term for nomads rather than an ethnic or linguistic designation.27 The question here is therefore

27

For the meaning of the term ‘Arab’ indicating ‘nomadic’ or ‘of nomadic origin’ in the sense of a way of life, see Zadok 1977, 192; Eph'al 1976, 225-235; Eph'al 1982. B. Aggoula 1991 translates ‘ARABY’ as «Bédouins» , e.g. nos. 336; 343. This is anachronistic.

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whether an ethnic appellation or a social one (nomads) is meant in the Greek and Latin sources. We may start with Strabo (16.2.21 (756)): “…whereas the interior above Phoenicia, as far as the Arabs, between Gaza and Antilibanus, is called Judaea.” All this is geographic, not ethnic, apart, perhaps, from “the Arabs” which here indicates territory inhabited by a named group (for the Arabs and Scenitae, see 16.2.11 (753) and also Herodian 3.1.3). The next passage is decisive: “Bordering on the country of the Apameians on the east is the Parapotamia, as it is called off the Arabian chieftains, as also Chalcidice, which extends down from Massyas, and all the country to the south of the Apameians, which belongs for the most part to Scenitae. These Scenitae are similar to the nomads in Mesopotamia. And it is always the case that the peoples are more civilized in proportion to their proximity to the Syrians, and that the Arabs and Scenitae are less so, the former having governments that are better organized” (Strabo 16.2.11 (753)). Clearly “Scenitae” is a social term, roughly the same as “nomads,” as Strabo says (besides the nomads in Syria, Strabo also mentions them (scenitae) in Mesopotamia: 16.3.1 (765)). They are here mentioned as distinct from “the Arabs.” The only possible interpretation of the distinction between scenitae and Arabs is that the latter is an ethnic term, representing a named people with a slightly better reputation than the anonymous “tent-dwellers.” Only slightly, as is clear from the next passage: “Now all the mountainous parts are held by Ituraeans and Arabs, all of whom are robbers, but the people in the plains are farmers; and when the latter are harassed by the robbers at different times they require different kinds of help. These robbers use strongholds as bases of operation” (Strabo 16.2.18 (755)). A famous inscription records the Roman subjugation of an Ituraean fortress in the Lebanon Mountains (CIL 3.6687; ILS 2683; Boffo 1994, no.23: Q. Aemilius Secundus….missu Quirini adversus Ituraeos in Libano monte castellum eorum cepi). In due course of time, Ituraeans came to serve the Empire in their own capacity, as archers in the Roman army.28 Again it is clear that “Arabs” here is an ethnic term, like “Ituraeans” but one that is, for Strabo, immediately 28 Caesar, BA 20: sagittariisque ex omnibus navibus Ityraeis Syris et cuiusque generis ductis in castra compluribus frequentabat suas copias. Diploma of AD 110: CIL 15.57 - cohors I Augusta Ituraeorum sagittaria. Arrian, Acies contra Alanos 1.9; 18.3 includes ੉IJȣȡĮ૙ȠȚ among his mounted archers. See also Cicero, Phil. 2.8.19; 2.44.112; to Cicero’s fury Antony brought intimidating Ituraean archers to a session of the Senate in Rome: “homines omnium gentium maxime barbarous”. Also: 13.8.18; Lucan, BC 7.230; 7.514.

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associated with an irregular lifestyle. Here the emphasis is not on nomadism but the contrast between productive farming and unproductive, rapacious and destructive mountain-dwelling (cf. Isaac 2004, chapter 10, esp. 407-409; for the image of nomads in the literature of late antiquity: Isaac 2011b, 237-258). Strabo, referring to Eratosthenes (3rd c. BC), states that Arabia consists of two parts: the northern which is the Syrian Desert, inhabited by nomads, and the southern, Arabia Felix, which is settled. The northern part is bordered by “the Coele-Syrians and the Ioudaioi. “The first people who occupy Arabia Felix, after the Syrians and Ioudaioi are farmers” (Strabo 16.4.2 (767)). Above we saw that, according to Strabo, Judaea is inhabited by various peoples, so here Ioudaioi are not only Jews but all the “people of Judaea.” He uses the ethnic appellations, rather than the names of the regions, perhaps because the difference is considered relevant as an indication of lifestyle and culture since the subject here is the difference between settled people, farmers, and nomads. Plutarch (Ant. 27.4) once uses the term Arabs in a context clearly associated with language. Elsewhere he mentions “Arabia of the Nabataeans” (Plut. Ant., 36.3: IJોȢ ȃĮȕĮIJĮ઀ȦȞ ਝȡĮȕ઀ĮȢ) which shows that the Nabataioi owned at least part of Arabia (here Arabia Petraea is meant). Ptolemy of Alexandria, in the middle of the second century, has three chapters on regions called Arabia (5.17 - ਺ ȆİIJȡĮ઀Į ਝȡĮȕ઀Į); 19 - ਲ ਯȡȘȝȠȢ ਝȡĮȕ઀Į; 6.7 - ਺ Ǽ੝įĮ઀ȝȦȞ ਝȡĮȕ઀Į; cf. Bowersock 1988, 47-53). Noteworthy is further the importance of the cavalry and archers, said to be Arabs, for instance in connection with the city of Hatra (Dio 75.11.2. for the relationship between Hatra and the nomads in the region see Dijkstra 1990 with references to earlier discussion on pp. 90-3, nn. 26-31; for Hatra see now Dirven (ed.) 2013). Cassius Dio (75.12) refers to the Arabs of Hatra in an ethnic sense as is clear from a statement that Septimius Severus expected ‘the Arabs to come to terms.' Dio obviously means the Hatrene ruler and his people, the citizens of the city of Hatra. They were not nomads, but urban and settled. In local inscriptions, the rulers of Hatra are described as sovereigns of Hatra and Arabs.29 Arabs were therefore understood to be non-urban Hatreni, or rather, nomads, the usual meaning in the languages of the region, as already noted. The name of the province of Arabia, Arabia Provincia, established in Trajan’s reign also indicates that the Romans understood this to be an ethnic designation, for they were well aware that the Nabataeans in Petra 29 The king, Sanatruq, and his his son are called “mlk‘d‘arab”, king of Arabia e.g, in Hatra inscriptions nos. 79; 195-9; 373; 378.

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and Bostra were no nomads. There is no obvious reason why they refrained from calling the new province ‘Nabataea.’ It is not unlikely that the name ‘Arabia’ had broader associations than ‘Nabataea.’ The Province of Arabia then had a grandiose name, like the two provinces of Germania which somehow conveyed the message that Rome controlled all of Germania. Note that Strabo, for instance, calls Nabataea “Nabataea of the Arabs” (Strabo 17.21 (803)). So, if the province annexed was de facto “Nabataea of the Arabs” it is no giant step to call the province simply “Arabia.”30 As noted, in Semitic languages in antiquity “Arab” is a term for nomads rather than an ethnic or linguistic designation. Clearly, this is not the case in the Greek and Latin literature. “Arabs” or “Arabians” is an ethnic (and geographic) designation, people with a language of their own, to be distinguished from nomads, who were called scenitae or nomads.

Conclusions We have seen that there can exist several names for the same entity without an obvious reason: Syria, Assyria, and Coele-Syria may mean the same thing. That is not necessarily always true, for Coele-Syria may also indicate one of two specific regions within the larger area of Syria. There are also changes over time: Herodotus speaks of Ascalon in a geographic region “Palaistine Syria” while he also calls it simply “a city in Syria.” In the second century AD, the name of the Roman province of Judaea became Syria Palaestina. Syria is, first, a geographic concept, then an administrative term, while neither is necessarily restricted to the region inhabited by speakers of Syriac. Syria covered a very broad area, including many peoples and cities. Thus it included Phoenicia until the reign of Septimius Severus. Judaea was, obviously, “the Land of the Jews,” but it was also an administrative district in the Achaemenid Empire, a Hellenistic kingdom and, subsequently a Roman province until Hadrian’s reign. As such it included non-Jews (who might yet be called Ioudaioi in Greek sources). Jews, however, are sometimes called Hebraioi. Cassius Dio says that the name “Jews” applies not only to those who are so by origin but also to all the other people who follow their customs even if they are of another origin. After the province was no longer called Judaea, we still encounter the name as indicating the “Land of the Jews” within the 30

For a different explanation, see Bowersock 1988, 51-52, where it is argued that the omission of the Nabataeans in the name must be due the unofficial damnatio accorded to a defunct dynasty, to rulers who have been overthrown. For a recent paper with yet another approach: Retsö 2012, 73-79.

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Province of Palaestina. The bottom line: Judaea can mean various things in different periods also depending on the context - geographical, administrative, ethnic, and social. There is another related varying factor, insufficiently recognized in some modern studies: names can have different content that is not always specified: geography, ethnic, cultural, linguistic, administrative and even economic. Palestine was, originally, a geographic concept (although in a distant past it derived from an ethnic name, the Philistines). In the second century AD, it became an administrative unit without ethnic associations. However, there are instances, in the case of Palestine as in other cases, where a Roman administrative term became an ethnic name (Palaestini). A related phenomenon is that there appears to be little consistency in the use of ethnic names or territorial ones: “the Syrians” can refer to “Syria” and the reverse. One reason for this is that the ancient texts are more interested in peoples than in territories (Isaac 1992, 394-401). Another reason may be that the Greeks and Romans were far less focused on maps and the graphic representation of geography than we are. The Greek writing author Meleager calls himself an Assyrian, meaning he is of Syrian origin and his city is in Syria, yet his city, like he himself is Attic (in language and culture). The term Hellenic is used for and by communities that definitely did not claim to descend from Greeks in Greece or Asia Minor. Professions such as farming and trading may also be regarded as ethnic features, e.g. by Strabo. Here too there are complications. In ancient Semitic languages “Arab” is a term for nomads; in Greek and Latin texts it is an ethnic appellation for the non-nomadic Arabs and not used for nomadic groups, as nomads are indicated by other terms. Only later do we encounter the ethnic “Saracens” as a name for ethnic nomads. The case of the Jews was even more complicated than that of other peoples because it was recognized at least by some authors, in some periods, that they attracted foreigners in a manner that was not usual or generally acceptable at the time. When we try to understand questions of ethnicity in the Roman Near East we have to recognize that things are not necessarily what they might seem to us at first glance. We need to take into account that ideas concerning ethnicity in the Roman Near East were highly flexible (see Gruen 2013, 1-22). The reason for this is clear: in the ancient texts, we are faced with what was in many respects a different approach to group identity from our contemporary concepts. Categories and definitions that seem clear to us, often do not apply in antiquity.

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Bibliography Aggoula, B. 1991. Inventaire des inscriptions Hatréennes, Paris: Institut français d'archéologie orientale. Andrade, N. J. 2013. Syrian Identity in the Greco-Roman World, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Asheri, D. L. A. and Corcella, A., 2007. A Commentary on Herodotus Books I-IV, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bernard, A. 1970. Le Delta égyptien d’après les textes Grecs I: les confins libyques, Cairo: Institut français d'archéologie orientale du Caire. Betlyon, J.W. 1986. The Provincial Government of Persian Period Judea and the Yehud Coins. Journal of Biblical Literature 106: 633-642. Bikerman, E. 1947. La Coelé-Syrie: Notes de Géographie Historique. Revue Biblique 54: 256-268. Bruneau, P. 1970. Recherches sur les cultes de Délos à l’époque Hellénistique et à l’époque impériale. Paris: Editions E. de Boccard. Boffo, L. 1994. Iscrizioni greche e latine per lo studio della bibbia. Brescia: Paideia Editrice. Bowersock, G.W. 1988. The Three Arabias in Ptolemy’s Geography. In Gatier, P-L. Helly, B. and Rey-Coquais, J-P. (eds.). 1988. Géographie Historique au Proche Orient: Syrie, Phénicie, Arabie, grecques, romaines, byzantines, 47-53, Paris: Editions du CNRS. Calbi, A. Donati, A. Poma, D. (eds.). 1993. L’epigrafia del villaggio. Actes du VIIe colloque international Borghesi à l’occasion du cinquantenaire d’Epigraphica (Forli, 27-30 septembre 1990). Faenza. Cohen, S. J. D. 1999. The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties. Berkeley: University of California Press. Dirven L. (ed.). 2013. Hatra: Politics, Culture and Religion between Parthia and Rome. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Dijkstra, K. 1990. State and Steppe: The socio-political implications of Hatra inscription 79. Journal of Semitic Studies 35: 81-98. Eph'al, I. 1976. ’Ishmael’ and ‘Arabs’: a transformation of ethnological terms. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 35: 225-235. —. 1982. The Ancient Arabs. Nomads on the Borders of the Fertile Crescent 9th-5th Centuries BC. Leiden: Brill. Fisher, M. with contributions by Krug, A. and Pearl, Z. 1995. The basilica in Ascalon: marble, imperial art and architecture in Roman Palestine. In Humphrey, J. (ed.). 1995. The Roman and Byzantine Near East, 121-150, Ann Arbor: Journal of Roman Archaeology, Supplementary Series 14.

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Foerster, G. and Tsafrir, Y. 1986-7. Nysa-Scythopolis - A New Inscription and the Titles of the City on its Coins. Israel Numismatic Journal 9: 53-58. Gatier, P.-L. 1988. Philadelphie et Gerasa du Royaume Nabatéen a la Province d’Arabie. In Gatier, P-L. Helly, B. and Rey-Coquais, J-P. (eds.). 1988. Géographie historique au Proche Orient Syrie, Phénicie, Arabie, grecques, romaines, byzantines, 159-170. Paris: Editions du CNRS. —. 1990. Décapole et Coelé-Syrie: deux inscriptions nouvelles. Syria 67: 204-206. Gatier, P.-L. Helly, B. and Rey-Coquais, J-P. (eds.). 1988. Géographie historique au Proche Orient: Syrie, Phénicie, Arabie, grecques, romaines, byzantines. Paris: Editions du CNRS. Gow, A.S.F and Page, D. L. (eds.). 1965. The Greek Anthology: Hellenistic Epigrams. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gruen, E. 2013. Did Ancient Identity depend on Ethnicity? A Preliminary Probe. Phoenix 67: 1-22. Isaac, B. 1991. A Seleucid Inscription from Jamnia-on-the-Sea: Antiochus V and the Sidonians. Israel Exploration Journal 41: 132-144. —. 1992. The Limits of Empire: The Roman Army in the East. Oxford: Clarendon Press. —. 1998. The Near East under Roman Rule: Selected Papers. Leiden: Brill. —. 2004. The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity. Princeton: Princeton University Press. —. 2011a. Attitudes Towards Provincial Intellectuals in the Roman Empire. In Gruen, E. (ed.). 2011. Cultural Identity and the Peoples of the Ancient Mediterranean, 491-518, Los Angeles: Getty. —. 2011b. Ammianus on Foreigners. In Kahlos, M. (ed.). 2011. The Faces of the Other: Religious and Ethnic Encounters in the Later Roman World, 237-258, Turnhout: Breplos. Jones, C.P. 1996. ਩șȞȠȢ and ȖȑȞȠȢ in Herodotus. Classical Quarterly 46: 315-320. Kelly, A.D. 2011. Barbarians. In Finkelberg, M. (ed.). 2011. The Homer Encyclopedia, 3 vols. 123. Oxford: Wiley. Mattingly, D. 2011, Imperialism, Power and Identity: Experiencing the Roman Empire. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Maiuri, A. 1925. Nuova silloge epigrafica di Rodi e Cos. Firenze: Le Monnier.

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Mason, S. 2007. Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient History. Journal for the Study of Judaism 38: 457-512. McInerney, J. 2011. Ethnicity. In Finkelberg, M. (ed.). 2011. The Homer Encyclopedia, 3 vols. 265-267. Oxford: Wiley. Mitthof, F. 2012. Zur Neustiftung von Identität unter imperialer Herrschaft: Die Provinzen des Römischen Reiches als ethnische Identitäten. In Pohl, W. Gantner, C. and Payne, R. E. (eds.). 2012. Visions of Community in the Post-Roman World: The West, Byzantium and the Islamic World, 300 – 1100, 61-72, Farnham: Ashgate. Pohl, W. Gantner C. Payne, R.E. (eds.). 2012. Visions of Community in the Post-Roman World: The West, Byzantium and the Islamic World, 3001100. Farnham: Ashgate. Retsö, J. 2012. The Nabataeans – Problems of Defining Ethnicity in the Ancient World. In Pohl, W. Gantner, C. and Payne, R. E. (eds.). 2012. Visions of Community in the Post-Roman World, 73-79. Farnham: Ashgate. Rey-Coquais, J.-P. 1981. Philadelphie de Coelesyrie. Annual of the Department of Antiquities Jordan 25: 25-31. Roussel P. Launey M. 1937. Inscriptions de Délos. Paris: Librairie Ancienne Honore Champion. Sartre, M. 1988. La Syrie Creuse n’existe pas. In Gatier, P-L. Helly, B. and Rey-Coquais, J-P. (eds.). 1988. Géographie historique au Proche Orient: Syrie, Phénicie, Arabie, grecques, romaines, byzantines, 15-40, Paris: Editions du CNRS. Schalit, A. 1954. ȀȠ઀ȜȘ Ȉȣȡ઀Į from the Mid-Fourth Century to the Beginning of the Third Century BC. Scripta Hierosolymitana 1: 64-77. Schwartz, D. R. 2007. ’Judaean’ or ‘Jew’? How should we translate ioudaios in Josephus? In Frey, J. et al. (eds.). 2007. Jewish Identity in the Graeco-Roman World. 3-28, Leiden: Brill. Shipley, B. 2011. Pseudo-Scylax’s Periplous: The Circumnavigation of the Inhabited World, Text, Translation and Commentary. Exeter: Bristol Phoenix Press. Stern, M. 1974-1984. Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism vol. 3, Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities. Tcherikover, V. 1964. Was Jerusalem a Polis? Israel Exploration Journal 14: 61-78. Walbank, F. 1985. Nationality as a Factor in Roman History. In Selected Papers: Studies in Greek and Roman History and Historiography, 5776. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Yang, H. 2010. Invention of Barbarian and Emergence of Orientalism: Classical Greece. Journal of Chinese Philosophy 37: 556-566. —. 2013. Perceptions of the Barbarian in Ancient Greece and China. Research Bulletin 2 (Center for Hellenic Studies). Zadok, R. 1977. On West Semites in Babylonia during the Chaldaean and Acheaemenian Periods. An Onomastic Study. Jerusalem.

FROM WAR TO PEACE (EUPHRATES FRONTIER IN 60-S AD) ALBERT STEPANYAN AND LILIT MINASYAN

For centuries, the Euphrates River served as the border, separating Rome from the East – Iran, India, and China. The areas around the border facilitated various forms of exchange between the two regions, including economic, technological, trade, military, artistic, and religious. The two worlds interacted via the local civilizations inhabiting the regions of Nabataea, Syria, North Mesopotamia, Asia Minor (Chapot 1907, 3-38; Miller 1969, 34-109; Jones 1974, 140-150; Ball 2000, 129-138; Edwell 2008, 7-30; Stark 2012, 160-188) and Greater Armenia, which deserves special attention. This paper focuses on the events that unfolded in North Mesopotamia and particularly in Greater Armenia, leading to the ten-year war (54-64) for domination over the region. Specifically, we discuss the military action and diplomacy tactics used in AD 50–60s, during the reign of Nero in Rome and Vologeses I in Parthia. These events are well recorded in primary sources, particularly in Tacitus, Cassius Dio, and Suetonius, and numerous studies have focused on different aspects of this war (Henderson 1903, 151-196; Schur 1923, 62-81; Schur 1925, 75-96; Schur 1926, 215222; Hammond 1934, 81-104; Debevoise 1968, 179-202; Chaumont 1974, 101-123; Heil 1997, 11-140). Our aim in this paper is to interpret the events that framed Rome’s policy towards the East by adopting a contemporary perspective of the problem. From AD 37 to AD 52 Rome controlled Greater Armenia via the appointed heads of the Georgian royal house – Mithridates of Armenia and Rhadamistus, who were possibly descendants of the extinct Armenian dynasty, Artaxiad. This administrative arrangement, however, did not find favour with the Armenian nobility, who were keen to oust the Roman nominees. The Armenians found their opportunity at the beginning of the 50s when Vologeses I (51–79) came to the throne of Parthia. To end the domestic strife and restore the former security of his empire, Vologeses I wanted to revamp the domestic and foreign policy of Parthia. With a view

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to this end, he established an army, under his own leadership, to defeat Rome. He enlisted the support of key countries in the region, such as Atropatene, Greater Armenia, Adiabene and (presumably) Albania. This marked the birth of the trans-Euphratean league, which formed a council that gave every participant an equal say in the decision-making process (Stépanian 1976, 205-207). The Armenian nobility joined hands with the Parthian king, and the two sides came to the understanding that the Armenian throne had to be secured for the younger brother of Vologeses I, Prince Tiridates. To act on this plan, the Parthian troops entered Armenia and exiled Rhadamistus with the support of the Armenians. In 54, Tiridates Arsacid was declared as the new king of Greater Armenia (Tacitus, Annales 12.50; Cf: Josephus Flavius, Antiquitates Judaicae 20.3.4). In response, Nero’s regime in Rome, ready to engage in military action, dispatched one of its most capable generals, Gn. D. Corbulo, to the East as the legate of Galatia and Cappadocia. Despite military preparations, however, a war was averted. In 55, the sides came to a truce, apparently because the Roman side was not certain of its victory (Kudriavtsev 1950, 83-951). In accordance with the truce, Tiridates released the Roman hostages and renewed his friendship with the Romans, which “(…) meant to pave the way to further kindness (beneficiis locum aperiret)” (Tacitus, Annales 13.37). Meanwhile, Corbulo continued the training of his legions, closely monitoring the domestic conflicts in Parthia. On his advice, the Romans formed an alliance with the opponents of Vologeses I (see Heil 1997, 8688; Bivar 1983, 82)2, and the fragile peace achieved in the region was disrupted. Vologeses I was immersed in the conflict on his home turf and therefore was unable to lend support to Tiridates. Taking advantage of the situation, in 58, the Roman army, led by Corbulo, and supported by the Roman allies – Commagene, Iberia and the Moschi tribesmen – attacked Armenia. With limited resources at his disposal, Tiridates failed to defend his kingdom and instead tried to end the conflict through talks. Corbulo asked him to acquiesce to Nero, surrender his membership in the transEuphratean league and serve as a titular king under the Roman empire 1

The author offered a new interpretation of the confrontation. He believed that the rivals did not want to occupy Armenia but they did not want the other to do so either. 2 The Hyrcanians were very active and they “sent to the Roman emperor, soliciting an alliance and pointing as a pledge of friendliness, to their detention of Vologeses” (Tacitus, Annales 14.25.2). Apparently, the Hyrcanians found support from the KushƗns.

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(Henderson, 161-163, who uses the term “nominal suzerainty”) – the last condition was offered possibly on account of his popularity in Armenia. Finding the terms unacceptable, Tiridates fled the country. Corbulo then proceeded to capture and plunder Artaxata, the capital of Greater Armenia. He then declared Tigranocerta as the new capital of the country and appointed Tigranes, a prince of the Cappadocian descent and possibly an Artaxiad by maternal lineage (Mommsen 1883, 116; Chaumont, 1979, 107), to the Armenian throne. Soon, Corbulo left Armenia and went to Syria, in order to serve as the governor of the province, fully aware that the Armenian conflict had not been fully settled (Heil 1997, 86 describes the situation as der vermeintliche Sieg - imaginary victory). The subsequent events came to prove this. Tigranes invaded Adiabene at the instigation of the Romans.3 This led Vologeses I to act resolutely against him: he recognised the independence of Hyrcania to focus his resources on retaining Greater Armenia and Adiabene under the Parthian influence. In 61, a new Parthian army entered North Mesopotamia, Armenia and captured Tigranes in Tigranocerta. Corbulo dispatched two armed legions to support Tigranes and reinforce the Euphrates frontier. At the same time, he initiated talks with Vologeses, reminding him of “his old and deep-seated principle to avoid the Roman arms” (Tacitus, Annales 15.5). Vologeses agreed “to send ambassadors to the Roman emperor to discuss his application for Armenia and the establishment of peace on a firm footing” (Adler 2003, 200-207 who describes the extent to which the Parthian and Roman concepts of peace were comparable). Meanwhile, both the Parthian and Roman forces left Greater Armenia, reputedly returning to the terms of the settlement in effect in 55.

Paetus’ campaign in Armenia Nero and his allies rejected Vologeses’ proposal for peace. The Roman emperor readied a new army to annex Armenia, and L. C. Paetus was appointed as the head of the operation and tasked with the following instruction: “(…) to impose on the conquered tributes, laws, and Roman 3

Primary sources provide no information about the motives or the aims of this invasion. However, it is clear that Tigranes was not the sole independent decisionmaker, and the invasion cannot be regarded as his mistake alone. Eremyan (1971, 742) argues that Tigranes’ motive behind the invasion was to regain the southwestern regions of Greater Armenia (Nisibin) annexed by Parthia and joined to Adiabene by the terms of the treaty of 37. Thus, the Romans hoped to win the loyalty of the Armenians.

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jurisdiction in place of a phantom king” (Tacitus, Annales 15.6; Mommsen, 1999, 1504). In 62 Rome had two armies in the East – one each under Corbulo and Paetus. Predictably, the two legates did not consult one another about the co-ordinated military or diplomatic action. Corbulo convinced that Syria was Vologeses’ main target of the invasion, crossed the Euphrates and occupied important strategic points along the opposite bank (Tacitus, Annales 15.9). Curiously, historical records do not clarify why Vologeses moved to Armenia instead of encountering the enemy in North Mesopotamia. Did he know that Corbulo’s move was futile? Corbulo’s opponents explained this (and other similar questionable actions) by clarifying that everything was predetermined “(…) so that Vologeses might be pitted against another antagonist than Corbulo, and Corbulo risk no further the laurels earned in the course of so many years” (Tacitus, Annales 15.6; See Heil, 37-38.).5 Meanwhile, Paetus invaded Armenia via the so-called southern route from Cappadocia. He led his legions to Sophene, passing through the Taurus Mountains to advance towards Tigranocerta. However, the Roman troops were forced to abandon their plan as soon as they encountered the well-trained Parthian army. They were routed in several combats. Paetus turned to Corbulo for support, who agreed to help reluctantly. Corbulo did not want to intervene in the Armenian affairs actively; therefore, he only commanded “a thousand men from each of the three legions, with eight hundred auxiliary horses, and a body of similar strength from the cohorts, to prepare themselves for the road” (Tacitus, Annales 15.12). Paetus suffered heavy losses, and many dispirited soldiers deserted him. Soon the Parthian and Armenian troops attacked the Roman camp in Rhandea, in the valley of the Arsanias River. Paetus pressed Corbulo for further assistance, asking him to rescue the eagles and standards of his army. Paetus’ men on their part feared a repeat of the disaster of Caudine Forks, which occurred during the Second Samnite War (327-304 BC) (Tacitus, Annales 15.13). Completely defeated, Paetus sought reconciliation 4

Mommsen interprets the original phrase as a plan to reduce Greater Armenia into a Roman province. However, such an interpretation would amount to Nero violating the traditional Roman policy in effect since Augustus: ‘When Artaxes, king of Greater Armenia, was killed, though I could have made it a province (cum possem facere provinciam), I preferred, by example of our elders, to hand over that kingdom to Tigranes, son of king Artavasdes and grandson of Tigranes (…)’ (Caesar Augustus, Res Gestae Divi Augusti, 5.27). 5 The sources of this (and similar) information were A. M. Celsus and C. L. Mucianus who “in Armenia res proxime cum Corbulone gessere” (Plinius Secundus, Naturalis Historia 6.40).

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with the Parthian king. Interestingly, over negotiations, it was learnt that the Parthians were also aware of the Caudine disaster, and intended to pursue a similar strategy, on the basis of “the lessons” learnt from that event.6 Vologeses intensified the pressure, and in response, Paetus wrote him a letter, proposing to settle the conflict on terms of pacem aequam (Tacitus, Annales 15.13). When the proposal was rejected, Paetus asked for an audience with Vologeses. However, Vasaces, Parthia’s cavalry-commander conducted the talks, and the two parties arrived at the following agreement: “the blockade of the legions should be raised, the whole of the troops withdrawn from Armenian territory, and the forts and supplies handed over to the Parthians. When all this had been consummated, Vologeses was to be accorded leave to send an embassy to Nero” (Tacitus, Annales 15.14). In his records on Corbulo, Tacitus detailed other points of the arrangement: “(…) a sworn guarantee was given by Paetus, in the face of the standards and the presence of witnesses deputed by the king, that not a Roman would enter Armenia until Nero’s dispatch came to hand intimating whether he assented to the peace” (Tacitus, Annales 15.16). According to Tacitus, the Romans also yielded to other demands in silence: “Rumor added that the legions had been passed under the yoke, and other particulars were given, harmonizing well enough with our unfortunate position, and indeed paralleled by the behaviour of the Armenians. For not only did they enter the fortifications before the Roman column left, but they lined the roads, identifying and dragging off slaves and sumpter-animals which had been captured long before; even clothing was snatched and weapons detained, our terrified troops offering no resistance, lest some pretext for hostilities should emerge” (Tacitus, Annales 15.15). These events shaped the policy of the trans-Euphratean league. The league pursued two different approaches: on the one hand, it pursued peace between the two superpowers – “aequitate quam sanguine, causa quam armis” (Tacitus, Annales 15.2), and on the other hand, it called for the use of military prowess. The aphoristic formula offered by the Parthian king outlined the idea more distinctly: “He had sufficiently demonstrated 6

Groups of Hellenistic intellectuals lived and worked at the Parthian and Armenian courts since the II-I century BC. In Parthia, the most prominent of them was Apollodorus of Artemita, author of “Parthica” and other works of historical and geographical significance (Strabo 2.5.12). The philosopher Metrodorus of Scepsis and orator Amphicrates of Athens provided accounts of academic life in the court of Tigranes II (Plut., Crassus 33.23).

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his power; he had also given an example of clemency” (Tacitus, Annales 15.24).

Innovative proposals for the settlement of the conflict Vologeses and his allies adopted new approaches for realising their strategic plan. The subsequent events proved that the Romans were ready to follow suit. After the Rhandean disaster, in the spring of 63, Vologeses sent a message to Nero demanding once more to recognise his brother Tiridates as the legitimate king of Greater Armenia. His epistle carried a principally new proposal: “Nor would Tiridates have declined to come to Rome and receive his diadem, were he not detained by the scruples attaching to his priesthood, he would visit the standards and effigies of the emperor (signa et effigies principis), there to inaugurate his reign in the presence of the legions” (Tacitus, Annales 15.24).

Nero’s council members found the proposal of the Parthian king ironic as he seemed to be “asking for a thing which he had already taken” (Tacitus, Annales 15.25). While the state council declined his offer of “ignominious peace,” Nero’s court also delivered the following unofficial message: “(…) presents leaving room for hope that Tiridates would not make the same request in vain, if he brought his suit in person (si preces ipse attulisset).” This, in fact, was Nero’s true response to the Vologeses’ innovative proposal. It is important to distinguish between Vologeses’ proposal and Corbulo’s terms to Tiridates in 58 (Schur 1926, 216-217)15. While the two propositions may seem identical, a crucial difference underlies them. Throughout the conflict and peace negotiations, Vologeses emphasised his position as the leader of the league of trans-Euphratean countries. In fact, in his response to Paetus at the beginning of the truce, Vologeses expressed interest in consulting his brothers, Pacorus and Tiridates, before deciding on the fate of Armenia (Tacitus, Annales 15.14). Nero, on the other hand, had demanded that Tiridates enter into a relationship with Rome on behalf of Vologeses and the league. Later, Corbulo clarified the other part of the demand: “(…) Vologeses would better consult the interest

7

After Mommsen, the prominent advocates of this idea were Schur and his followers. Hammond (1934, 100-101) attributed the idea and its fulfillment exclusively to Corbulo.

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of the Parthian nation by an alliance with Rome than by a policy of reciprocal injury” (Tacitus, Annales 15.27).

Semantic code of the Rhandean peace ceremony Nero and his court preferred war over the terms proposed by Vologeses, and Corbulo was appointed as the commander-in-chief of all the Roman forces in the East. He gathered his grande armée in Melitene to enter Greater Armenia. At his disposal were four legions (III, VI, V, XV), detachments from Illyricum and Egypt on horse and foot and auxiliary support from the tributary princes (Tacitus, Annales 15.25). The Parthians also showed fierce readiness to restart the conflict. In 63 Corbulo entered Armenia. However, the tension did not escalate into a military clash. The sides decided to settle their issues through negotiations. The Roman embassy adopted a seemingly conciliatory tone, expressing the view that both Parthia and Rome had learnt a lesson on arrogance (documento adversus superbiam) (Tacitus, Annales 15.27). The embassy spoke of the equal status of Rome and Parthia in settlement of the conflict.16 On the appointed day of the settlement, the Romans arrived at Tiridates’ camp in Rhandea. In contrast to Dio Cassius, Tacitus specified that only Tiridates participated in the Rhandean talks and the ceremony. Vologeses, Pacorus, and Monobazus supervised the proceedings from a distance. The Rhandean ceremony was conducted over several days and consisted of three distinct stages. The prologue. With his proxies and guards, Corbulo arrived at Tiridates’ camp to discuss the details of the forthcoming ceremony. After descending from their horses, they gripped each other’s hands (et pedes uterque dexteras miscuere) (Tacitus, Annales 15.28), a gesture that was a well-known ceremonial expression of friendship (Herman 1987, 50-54). During the talks Corbulo emphasised the need to follow “the safe and salutary course,” and Tiridates agreed and confirmed his readiness to receive the emblem of royalty (insignae regium) from the hands of Nero. The two men ended the dialogue with a kiss (osculo) (Tacitus, Annales 15.29) that signified equality in their social status, in accordance with both Roman and Iranian traditions (Herodotus, Historia, 1.134.1; Plinius,

8

An understanding of equality in status had been arrived at between Gaius Caesar and Phraataces at a summit conference in AD 2: “cum duo inter se eminentissima imperiorum et hominum coirent capita” (Velleius, Historia, II, 101, 2).

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Panegyricus Traiano 71.4.). Thus, both Eastern and Western traditions were honoured to underscore the significance of the talks. The process represented an unprecedented event – a joint contio of the Parthian, Armenian and Roman troops (Dio Cassius 62.23.3). The highlight of the ceremony was Nero’s symbolic presence in the form of a statue placed on a curule chair at the centre of a tribunal (Tacitus, Annales, 15, 29). Tiridates approached the chair, and, after the traditional sacrifice of victims, lifted the diadem from his head and placed at the feet of the statue. The second part of the coronation ritual was to be performed at Rome: Tiridates would receive the diadem back from the hands of Nero. The event bears obvious similarities to the coronation of Tigranes II, king of Greater Armenia, by Pompey the Great in the Roman camp in 66 BC. While entering the camp, Tigranes II wore both a tiara and a diadem, the symbols of his royal rank. He approached Pompey and set aside the diadem, ready to prostrate on the ground. In response, Pompey swiftly stood up on his feet, replaced the diadem and moved him to occupy the adjacent seat. (Dio Cassius 36.52.3-4). Pompey then articulated the meaning of the ritual in the following words: “(…) he had not lost the kingdom of Armenia, but had gained the friendship of the Romans (IJ੽Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ ૮ȦȝĮȓȦȞ ijȚȜȓĮȞ ʌȡȠıİȚȜȘijઅȢ İ੅Ș)” (Dio Cassius 36.52.3-4). The kings of Greater Armenia received two crowns, each bearing unique historical significance. The kings received the tiara (IJȚȐȡĮ) from the state assembly, and it symbolised their supreme authority in Armenia. The diadem (įȚȐįȘȝĮ), which had its origins in the Hellenistic state practice, symbolised the legitimacy of the kings’ power from the point of view of international standards (Lemosse 1961, 455-468; Stepanyan 2012, 312317; Champlin 2003, 22). Tiridates wore the tiara while travelling to Rome, probably having received it in 54 after being recognised as the lawful sovereign of Greater Armenia by the Armenian nobility and assembly. He also received the diadem from Vologeses I in 61, when the Roman nominee Tigranes was still on the Armenian throne. Vologeses I convened the council of the trans-Euphratean league, accused the Romans of injustice and bound the diadem to Tiridates’ head (simul diademate caput Tiridatis evixit) (Tacitus, Annales, XV, 2, 3). Presumably, it was the same diadem that was later placed at the feet of Nero’s statue. The epilogue. To commemorate the occasion of the coronation, Corbulo hosted a banquet (epulasque). Tiridates was impressed by what he saw and filled with admiration for the ancient Roman customs (Tacitus,

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Annales 15.30.5).7 The banquet was likely arranged to initiate Tiridates into the Roman friendship, similar to the banquet (įİîʌȣȠȣ) hosted by Pompey in the Roman camp after the coronation of Tigranes II (Dio Cassius 36.53.4; Stepanyan 2012, 122-123). The ceremony was soon followed by diplomatic action: Vologeses I sent the Romans a note in which he outlined the conditions of Tiridates’ voyage to Rome. He wanted to ensure that the king’s status was respected in accordance with the Roman political and symbolic axiology: “Tiridates should be exposed to none of the outward signs of vassalage (imaginem servitii), should not give up his sword, should not be debarred from embracing of the provincial governors or be left to stand and wait at the doors, and in Rome should receive equal distinction with the consuls (consulibus honor esset)” (Tacitus, Annales 15.31). In return, the Romans demanded the release of all the hostages held across all the regions of the trans-Euphratean league: Parthia, Athropatene, Greater Armenia and Adiabene (Dio Cassius 63.1.1). Dio’s account of Tiridates’ travel to Rome offers details that support the demands made by Vologeses: “Three thousand Parthian horsemen and numerous Romans besides followed in his train. They were received by gaily decorated cities and peoples who shouted many compliments” (Dio Cassius 63.2.1). The procession was strikingly similar to the well-known Roman ceremony of adventus – the arrival of a high-ranked magistrate (proconsul) to a province. It aimed to establish consensus omnium (see Mac Cormack 1979, 722-723 for details of the ceremony and axiology of adventure). In other words, Tiridates “carried his friendship” from the eastern borders into the centre of the Roman world.

Conclusion A unique model of international relations was established in the Rhandean negotiations: without discontinuing his membership in the transEuphratean league, the Armenian king forged a friendly alliance with Rome and was recognised by amicus populi Romani. Greater Armenia’s status back then is best expressed in a semiotic algorithm of equivalent elements – both … and (both Parthia … and Rome). The Rhandean negotiations led to a fundamentally new resolution of the Armenian 9

See Konstan 1997, 137-140 for the significance of banquets in the Roman amicitia ceremonies. It is important to note that banquets were hosted to establish not only unity but also hierarchical relations among the attendees. From the Roman point of view, it marked the combination of two contrasting (but very important) social practices – beneficia and gratia (Inwood 2005, 69).

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problem, achieved through the ebbs and flows of the ten-year war. The Rhandean treaty succeeded in securing the interests of all parties to the conflict by guaranteeing stability on the Euphrates frontier and ensuring peace for about fifty years. Paradoxically, this resolution coincided with times of great domestic instability in Rome – economic crisis, uprisings and unrest in the provinces, scams by the nobility and philosophers, fire in the city and persecutions of the Christians. Nero’s artistic and rhetorical gesture was likely a response to these events. It is believed that for Tiridates’ grand coronation at Rome, Nero spent an enormous sum totalling to more than 400.000.000 H.S.8

Bibliography Adler, E. 2003. Vergil’s Empire: Political Thought in Aeneid. Lanham. Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield. Ball, W. 2000. Rome in the East: The Transformation of an Empire. London, New York: Routledge. Bivar, A. D. H. 1983. The Political History of Iran under the Arsacids. Vol. 3/1. In Yarshater, E. (ed.). 1983. Cambridge History of Iran, 21– 99. London, New York, New Rochelle, Melbourne, Sydney: Cambridge University Press. Champlin, E. 2003. Nero. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Chapot, V. 1907. La frontier de l’Euphrate de Pompée à la conquête arabe. Paris: Geuthner. Chaumont, M.-L. 1979. L’Armémenie entre Rome et l’Iran. De l’avènement d’August a l’avènement de Dioclétien. In Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt (ANRW) II 9.1, 71-194. Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter. Debevoice, N. 1968. A Political History of Parthia. New York: Greenwood Press. Edwell, P. M. 2008. Between Rome and Persia: The Middle Euphrates, Mesopotamia, and Palmira under Roman Control. London, New York: Routledge. 10

Nero spent on Tiridates’ coronation – voyage, ceremonies, banquets and entertainment – an enormous sum amounting to at least 200.000.000 H.S. (Cassius Dio 63.1.1). This was in addition to the 200.000.000 H.S that Tiridates received from the emperor in the form of “various kinds of gifts” (Dio Cassius 63.6.5). According to Suetonius, the expenses totaled to more than 300.000.000 H.S. Interestingly, the yearly budget of Roman Empire was nearly 800.000.000 H.S. See Champlin 2003, 227.

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Eremyan, S. 1971. Armenia in the Contest of Rome and Parthia. In Agayan, C. et al. (eds.). 1971. History of the Armenian Nation (in Arm.), 703-836. Yerevan: Publ. Acad. of Science. Hammond, M. 1934. Corbulo and Nero’s Eastern Policy, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 45: 81-104. Heil, M. 1997. Die orientalisch Aussenpolitik des Kaisers Nero. München: Tuduv Vrlg. Henderson, B. W. 1903. The Life and Principate of Emperor Nero. London: Methuen & Co. Herman, G. 1987. Ritualized Friendship and Greek City. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jones, A. H. M. 1974. The Asian Trade in Antiquity. In Brunt, P. A. (ed.). 1974. The Roman Economy, Studies in Ancient Economic and Administrative History, 140-150 Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Konstan, D. 1997. Friendship in Classical World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kudriavtsev, O. V. 1950. Eastern Policy of Roman Empire at the Beginning of Nero’s Reign (in Rus.). Vestnik drevnej istorii 1: 83-95. Lemosse, M. 1961. Le couronnement de Tiridate. Remarques sur le statut des proctectorats Romains. In Mélanges en l’honneur de G. Gidel, 455468. Paris: Libraire Sirey. Miller, I. J. 1969. The Spice Trade of the Roman Empire, 29 BC-AD 641. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Mommsen, T. 1999. A History of Rome under the Emperors. London, New York: Routledge. —. 1883. Res Gestae Divi Augusti. Ex Monumentis Ancyrano et Apolloniensi. Berlin: Berolini, Weidmannos. Schur, W. 1926. Zur neronischen Orientpolitik. Klio 20: 215-222. —. 1923. Die Orientpolitik des Kaisers Nero. Klio 15: 62-81. —. 1925. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der Kriege Corbulos. Klio 19: 75-96. Stark, F. 2012. Rome on the Euphrates: The Story of a Frontier. New York: Tauris Parke Paperbacks. Stépanian, A. 1976. Le traité de Randée et le couronnement de Tiridate l'Arsacide à Rome. Revue des Études Arméniennes 9: 205-218. Stepanyan, A. 2012. Metamorphoses of History in Greater Armenia: The Age of Artaxiads (in Arm.). Yerevan: S. Khanchents, Printinfo.

THE IMAGE OF ROMANS IN THE EYES OF ANCIENT CHINESE: BASED ON THE CHINESE SOURCES FROM THE THIRD C. CE TO THE SEVENTH C. CE QIANG LI

The Roman world and China had long-term communications which have been proved by written sources (Hirth 1975; Kordosis 1991; Chen 1994; Leslie and Gardiner 1996; Zhang 1998/2012; ȈIJȑijĮȞȠȢ 2012; Yu 2013 etc.), as well as increasing discoveries of the archaeological evidence1. In the aspect of written sources, Western accounts (mainly the Roman-Byzantine sources) provide only some fuzzy information about China2 but, on the other hand, Chinese sources contain relatively abundant information about the Roman world. Ancient China had a good tradition of historiography and left quite a number of historical works dealing with the exotic scenery. Among these records, there is also a vivid image of an extreme west country named Da1 Through archaeological excavations, plenty of Roman glass wares and coins have been found in China (the coins were in particular from the later Roman period). Though it is not sure if they were brought to China by the Roman merchants or other intermediaries, at least they can be regarded as evidence of the influence of the Roman commerce in China, see (Guo 2005; Lin 2006; Zhang 2012; Li 2015 etc). 2 Although M. Kordosis believes that: “It is a little curious to speak about GreekChinese studies, since, except for some details about the commerce of Chinese silk and some geographical information given by Ptolemy, there is almost nothing else in the Western sources” (Kordosis 1991, 143). In reality, from the Classical period until the end of the early Eastern Roman empire, a great Far East state named Seres, Thinae (or Sinae), Tzinitza (or Tzinista), and Taugast was recorded in Greek and Latin sources with little and unclear information. The Western sources on these names have been collected, translated and well researched by (Coedes 2010; Schoff 1912; Yule/Cordier 2009; Raschke 1978; Leslie and Gardiner 1996 etc.). These scholars believe that the foregoing names in Western sources should be identified with China but with different explanations on their meanings.

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qin3 and its relations with China. Since the abundant and detailed accounts on this country show much information in common with some characteristics of the Roman world, different scholars (the majority of whom are Sinologists) almost consistently identified it with the Roman Empire. Nevertheless, with many confusions and misunderstandings regarding the geography, linguistics, and products which are present in the written narratives, the debates on this subject continues. Thus, it is necessary to introduce the Chinese image of Da-qin to all and examine to what extent the elements of the Roman world are shown there, and also how and why Chinese created it. I believe that this work will be more significant than dealing with the identification of Da-qin. Hence, this essay intends to provide the image of Da-qin people as it stood within Chinese perception/understanding, which is the matter not given enough attention in the previous studies. The main content of this essay consists of three parts: first, summarizing the basic research and conclusions for Da-qin; second, reconstructing the image of Da-qin people in the Chinese sources and comparing it with the "real" Romans; and third, with the help of the Imagological theories, analysing the causes of image’s construction. The initial notice and research on Da-qin happened in the 17th century. At the beginning of the 17th century, the “Nestorian Stele” was discovered in Xi’an, a city in the west of China, which used to be a capital and metropolitan since the 7th century. The stele was erected in 781 recording the 150 years of the presence, development, and decline of the Nestorianism in China, and it mentions Da-qin as the birthplace of the Jesus. Due to the significance of the monument for the question of spreading of Christianity, the stele, and its epigraphy have been introduced and examined by Jesuits, later on attracting more attention from international and Chinese scholars (Saeki 1928; Xiang-lin Luo 1966; Qian-zhi Zhu 1993; Wu-shu Lin 2003; Kordosis 2008). Under such circumstance, special attention was given to identification of the term Daqin, for which scholars subsequently found abundant accounts in ancient Chinese literature. In the extant ancient Chinese texts, Da-qin appeared in the narratives from the second century BCE until the 19th century CE (Chen 1994, 12), and was regarded as a state situated in the extreme west of ancient China. To be more specific, it features most prominently in the written or compiled sources dating from the first century to the seventh century CE, which record the history of Da-qin from the first century until 3

The term Da-qin is also transliterated by scholars as Da-ch’in, Ta-ch’in, Ta-ts’in etc. Here I follow the Chinese Pinyin system, which has been recognized internationally; meanwhile, as to other Chinese terms, I will follow the same system in this essay.

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the sixth century. For the period from the sixth century on, the name was still but infrequently used, giving the place to another term Fu-lin which referred to the same state (Hirth 1909, 1913; Kordosis 1994; Zhang 1998). In the sources, Da-qin (Fig. 16-1) is found to be recorded as a great state located to the west of the state An-xi, which has been certainly identified with the Parthian empire4, and even west of the Xi-hai, which means the Western Sea5; it was the largest state to the west of ancient China, governing more than four hundred cities; the state was abundant in treasures and all kinds of products, but the people wore "barbarian" clothing and used the "barbarian" (or foreign) language. In considerations of the detailed descriptions of Da -qin and its position in geography and time, it is mostly agreed that the land should be identified with the Roman Empire or part of it. Nevertheless, concerning its specific meaning of the pronunciation and exact location in different sources, the intensive debates still exist, and dozens of different viewpoints have been made. The most popular views are following: Armenia (Allen 1886: 89-97, 204-208); the Roman Empire in its full extent with Rome as its capital (Richthofen 1877, 469-473; Leslie and Gardiner 1996, xxv, 279; Yu 2013, 1-42); Macedonia; Arabia Felix (Hermann 1927/28, 196-202); Roman Orient (Paravey 1836; Wylie 1855, 277-336; Pauthier 1857, 1858; Hirth 1975, 6; Shiratori 1956; Kordosis 1991, 160; Zhang 2012, III); Egypt (Pelliot 1915, 690-691). Among these views, the most influential one is put forward by the German scholar Frederic Hirth, in his fundamental work China and Roman Orient first published in 1885. Based on detailed studies on the Chinese sources, he assumed that Da-qin in Chinese sources is the Roman Orient, including the regions of Syria, Egypt and Asia Minor, but Syria in the first instance (Hirth 1975, vi.). Although the information on Da-qin is scattered in different works (and different parts within them) of Chinese literature, in general, they include its location, scale, capital, governmental organization, the rule of the emperor, people, customs, daily life, plants, products, the routes connecting with China, etc. Among them, the image of Da-qin people, which was narrated in detail, is of special interest since it reflects the 4

State of An-xi being identified with the Parthian empire has been almost regarded as a final conclusion, and the view assumes that An-xi is the transliteration of “Arsaces”, after the dynasty's eponymous founder. See (Hirth 1975, 138-141; Chavannes 1907, 177; Leslie and Gardiner 1996, 251; Wang 2007, 90 etc). 5 The identity of Xi-hai or the Western Sea is still in debate, and the most popular views include Persian Gulf, Caspian Sea, Mediterranean Sea, Euphrates and Tigris Rivers etc., the detailed study see (Kordosis 1991, 181-192).

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Chinese perception of this extreme western state. Here, by using the sources and with the help of results achieved by previous scholarship, I review the image of Da-qin people and its characteristics and examine the causes of its construction.

Fig. 16-1: Sihai Huayi Zongtu (Map of China and Foreign Lands in the world), dated 1532

The sources used in the discussion are mainly the Chinese literature from the third century CE to the seventh century. The types of the sources quoted and referred to include official historical texts, private writings, and religious texts, such are the following: Wei-lue6 Hou-han-ji7, Hou-hanshu8, Tai-qing-jing-ye-shen-dan-jing9, Wu-shi-wai-guo-zhuan10, Wei-shu11,

6

It is a private written historical source compiled by Langzhong, Yu Huan, who lived in the third century during the “San guo” period (Three Kingdoms). Though the time of its writing is still in debate, the most acceptable one is 239-265. 7 It was a private text written by Yuan Hong in the period of 351-354 recording the history of the Eastern Han from 23 to 222. 8 It was regarded as standard history compiled by Fan Ye (398-445) covering the history of the later Han Dynasty from the years 25 to 220.

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Jin-shu12, Bei-shi13, and Tong-dian14. The authoritative English versions of these sources are in the works of Hirth, Chen Zhi-qiang, and Yu Tai-shan (Hirth 1975; Chen 2004; Yu 2013), and the quotations in the essay always refer to them with few corrections.

The image of Da-qin people As mentioned above, in Chinese literature, the descriptions on Da-qin people are pieces of information scattered around different works, which are however always repeated in the same or similar content within the narratives from different periods. This phenomenon reflects the ancient Chinese historiography's tradition of (later) authors and works customary copying or imitating earlier works. In the following discussion, the early sources are given priority, but the later sources will also be referred to from time to time. According to the content of the descriptions of Da-qin people, the image of the people will be presented in the following perspectives: their appearance, clothing, agricultural life, business activities, performances of magicians and jugglers.

Appearance In the sources which contain the information on Da-qin, a piece of description showing the general appearance about its population is quoted quite often as it records that “the people of this country are tall and strong, and well-proportioned” (Wei-lue, Hou-han-ji, Hou-han-shu, Wei-shu, Beishi, Jin-shu, Tong-dian), “resembling Chinese” (Wei-lue, Hou-han-ji, Hou9

It is a Taoist text probably written in the period spanning from the end of the Western Han to the beginning of the Eastern Han (the end of the first century BCE to the beginning of the first century CE). 10 It was a record of travelling written by Kang Tai in the second half of the third century. 11 It was a standard history written by historian Wei Shou (507-572), recording the history of the Northern Wei from the fourth to the sixth century. 12 It was a standard history compiled in 648 by a number of officials commissioned by the imperial court of the Tang Dynasty, covering the history of the Jin Dynasty from 265 to 420. 13 It was standard history compiled by Li Yan-shou from 643 to 659, covering the history of the Northern Wei, the Western Wei, the Eastern Wei, the Northern Zhou, the Northern Qi, and the Sui dynasties from 386 to 618. 14 It was composed by Du You in 801, however the information included are mostly copied from much earlier period, here especially for Da-qin.

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han-shu, Bei-shi, Jin-shu, Tong-dian). This description is always followed by the name of Da-qin, “whence it is called Da-qin” (Hou-han-shu, Weishu, Bei-shi) or “they say that they used to be a branch of China” (Weilue), or both of characterizations are combined (Hou-han-ji, Tong-dian). This is the first impression of Da-qin people recorded in the sources. A geographical work written in the period of the Eastern Han (25 CE-220), provides a description of the height of Da-qin people: “the men and women are all of height one zhang15, and well-proportioned.” The similar description also appears in a Taoist text of the fourth century CE: “white, tall and strong, some of them are of height one zhang” (Tai-qing-jing-yeshen-dan-jing). The above-mentioned information provides us with the following impression of Da-qin people: they are tall and strong, well-proportioned, resembling Chinese. The state is called Great Qin either because of the people’s appearance because they say that they are a branch of China, or because of both. Indeed, nothing special can be found in these descriptions, and they are in accordance with the general characteristics of the people from the West: tall and strong. Hence, it is clear that ancient Chinese actually had a very basic impression of the Da-qin people which was in accordance with the general Chinese trope of the people who lived to the west, while the mistakes, such as obvious exaggeration of these “people’s height of 1 zhang”, show inaccurate Chinese knowledge of Daqin people. The most debated issue here is the credibility of the statement that the Da-qin people resemble Chinese or were a branch of China. Since the Romans and Chinese belong to different human phenotypes, it is unlikely for them to share strong similarities in appearance. Hence, some scholar interprets this statement of similitude as "puerile perversion" (Yule 2009: lvi) or a Utopian imagination.

Clothing The clothes cover a minor portion of Da-qin people's narrative depictions within Chinese sources. Firstly, a piece of general description exists in Wei-lue according to which Da-qin people wear the clothes of “Hu” (Wei-lue, Jin-shu, etc.).16

15 Zhang was the length unit of ancient China: 1 zhang |2.3 meters (Twitchett and Fairbank 2008, xxxviii). The description here is surely exaggerated; in some Chinese sources, such height appears very often in describing mythical people. 16 "Like Chinese but in hu clothing", Xi-rong-zhuan in Wei-lue (Chen 2004, 279; Yu 2013, 91-92)

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Fig. 16-2. Im mage of Da-qin people, kept in n the work of SSan-cai-tu-hui, a Chinese encyclopedia for daily life puublished at the beginning of 177th century

In ancient C China “Hu” (㜑 㜑) was a Chiinese characteer that was asscribed to the “barbariian” groups who w were min norities on thee northern and d western frontiers, buut later on, its meaning covered all the foreign elements

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appearing in China.17 Having in mind the meaning of “Hu” it is very likely that this information came from the Silk Road. Thus, it can be supposed that ancient Chinese regarded the Da-qin clothing as the same as that of the “barbarians” who lived on the western frontier of China. A detailed description of the clothing of Da-qin people exists in Wu-shi-wai-guo-zhuan, which was written at the same period of Wei-lue (third century CE). It is mentioned that the author of this work had travelled to Southeast Asia as an ambassador so, in theory, the information on Da-qin given by him should originate from South China or Southeast Asia. Nevertheless, his information seems different. It records that “Da-qin people all wear "Kuzhe" (㻤㽦) (Fig. 16-2) with belts” (Wu-shi-wai-guozhuan, in Yu 2013, 154). "Kuzhe" was a Chinese term used for a clothing style which consists of a short coat and trousers, the way of dressing which originates from the northern tribes of China. Compared with the old clothing styles, this pattern is the most comfortable for horse riding and working. The style was popular between the period from Han to Tang Dynasties in China (206 BCE to 907 CE), and in particular prevailed as daily clothing in the time of the Northern Dynasties (386-581) (Wang 1961, 1069-1113). Compared to the first record of the Da-qin clothing as “Hu,” it can be clearly seen that the later record provides more specific information on clothing although it still belongs to “Hu” attire type. Based on these two pieces of information, it can be summarized that the impression of Chinese on the Da-qin clothing was merely limited to “Hu” style, and it possibly suggests that ancient Chinese regarded Da-qin as a barbarian country, which is the impression formed in the third century.

Agricultural life Agriculture is an important part of the Da-qin life preserved in the written narratives such as: “the customs are that they plant Wugu, and raise the silkworms with mulberry” (Chen 2004, 279; Yu 2013, 91-92); and “they also plant a number of trees” (Chen 2004, 271; Yu 2013, 66-67) such as “pine trees, cypresses, locust trees, catalpas, bamboos, willows, parasol trees”. Additionally, the animals of transportation include “horses, 17 Hill believes that “It was commonly used for people of Persian, Sogdian, Turkish, Xianbi, Indian and Kushan origin and, occasionally, for the Xiongnu (probably because of their connections with the Tonghu or Eastern Hu – a separate tribe conquered by the Xiongnu)” (Hill 2009, 192). The explanation of Hill is obviously based on his research of Hou-han-shu, but the history and range of the use of “Hu” in China largely exceed his definition (Barfield 1989, 32; Di Cosmo 2002, 127-130).

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mules, donkeys, camels” (Chen 2004, 279; Yu 2013, 91-92). These accounts are from the fourth-century works, but the records from the second and third-century history demonstrate a vivid and rich countryside life of Da-qin people. The same kind of cultivating practices did exist in the eastern part of the Roman Empire. Thanks to the works of the Western Classical writers, the agricultural richness of the Roman Orient is well known to us. The fourth-century Expositio totius mundi et gentium pictures Syria as a land “overflowing with grain, wine, and oil” (West 1924, 161). In his article Commercial Syria under the Roman Empire, Louis C. West examined the economic condition of Syria from the beginning of the empire to the end of the fifth century. Through tables, he shows us the abundant agricultural products in Syria recorded in the works of the Classical writers, e. g. Strabo, Pliny Elder, Dio, etc. (West 1924, 159-189). Meanwhile, another scholar F. M. Heichelheim reminds us that, in Syria, wheat, rice, millet, hemp and many other kinds of grain were planted; besides, the breeding of horses, donkeys, mules, and camels was also an important part of life there. Apamea and Arabia were famous for their horses, Babylonia for its mules, Petra and the region of Gaugamela for their camels (Heichelheim 1938, 127-130). As regards to detail, it is said that the cypress mentioned in the plants of Da-qin was common in the territory of Antioch and its exploitation was even regulated by the Roman law18; Pine trees were easily found in Asia Minor, especially the timber of Mount Ida (Broughton 1938, 617; Hoppál 2011, 286). Nonetheless, apart from the same products, animals, and plants found in the eastern part of Roman Empire, some Chinese elements in the description should be cleared up. The term “Wugu” is a typical Chinese term which means five kinds of cereals. They are a group of five farmed crops of immense importance in ancient China. Sometimes the crops themselves were regarded as sacred, whereas other times their cultivation was regarded as a sacred boon from a mythological or supernatural source. More generally, “Wugu” can be employed in Chinese as a synecdoche referring to all grains or the staple crops whose end product is of a granular nature. In ancient China, the planting of “Wugu” was always regarded as the symbol of a happy and peaceful life, an idealization that could not be realized without difficulties. The most interesting issue of the agricultural life of Da-qin concerns silkworms breeding and silk-making. For a long time, scholars have debated on the question “if the silkworms and sericulture existed in the 18

“De cupressis ex luco Daphnensi vel Perseis per Aegyptum non excidendis vel vendendis”, Codex Justinianus, 11.78.1.

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Roman Empire.” The Chinese description indicates that a practice of raising silkworms with mulberry indeed existed in Da-qin. However, in another place, it is recorded that Da-qin people also bought the Chinese silk from An-xi (Parthian Empire) and rewoven it. Therefore, if sericulture really existed in Da-qin, the question arises why did they still need to buy the silk from the neighbour? It seems that these two descriptions are in contradiction. Shiratori believes that this disagreement is due to the mixture of the real facts with pure figments of imagination by the Chinese authors.19 Whereas the idea of Shiratori is mainly based on the Chinese sources, and Western authors provide valuable information which should be given proper attention. Both the writings of Aristotle (History of Animals, V, 19, 551, b 10) and Pliny the Elder (Hist. Nat. XI, 26-27) mention the wild silkworms' cultivation on the island of Cos, which could strongly suggest the possibility of silk-making tradition in the Roman Empire. Based on this evidence, the above-mentioned contradiction in Chinese sources can be given a logical explanation: being produced from wild silkworms the fabric made in Da-qin (or the Roman Empire) was inferior, while the Chinese silk was of good quality. Consequently, Da-qin people bought the Chinese silk and rewove it with the local silk from the wild silkworms (Yu 2013, 219). On accepting this view, the question remains why the procedure of raising wild silkworms and silk-making in the writings of Aristotle and Pliny the Elder is not in accordance with the Chinese description. Some scholars provide very convincing assumption that the Chinese authors imagined the silkworms were being raised in Daqin in the same manner as in Chinese tradition, i.e. they have envisioned this activity by using the known Chinese model of silk production (Hudson 1931, 120-121; Yu 2013, 219).

Business activities It is recorded that Da-qin people were very active in business and trade: they “trade by sea with An-xi (Parthian Empire) and Tian-zhu 19

“As we have already seen, they began depicting the Da-Ch’in people as an offshoot of the Chinese race; conferring upon them, therefore, the honourable title, Da-Ch’in; and represented them as enjoying ideal political systems worthy of the imaginary ancient emperors of China, symbolising Chinese political ideals, a variety of material blessings enviable in Chinese eyes, natural vegetation associated with ideas of health, vigour and pleasure to Chinese taste. Now it would have been hard for them to refrain from letting them also participate in the precious art of sericulture, the knowledge of which the Chinese must have held as their own privilege” (Shiratori 1956, 67-68).

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(India), the profit is tenfold. The people are honest and frank; there are no two different prices in the market” (Hou-han-ji, Hou-han-shu). Another source mentions that Da-qin merchants often went to trade in Southeast Asia, and in 226 one of them even came to the Chinese court of Wu in South China through Vietnam: “The people of the country are traders and often visit Fu-nan, Ri-nan, and Jiao-zhi.…In the fifth year of the Huangwu reign-period of Sun Quan (226), a merchant of Da-qin named Qin Lun came to Jiao-zhi. The prefect of Jiao-zhi Wu Miao, sent him to visit Sun Quan. Sun Quan asked him questions about his native country and its people’s customs, and Qin Lun replied in great detail (Liang-shu)”.

Apart from these clear descriptions of the business activities of Da-qin people, there are also records of several Da-qin envoys with abundant tributes to China (166, 281, 284): “In the ninth year of the Yanxi period of the Emperor Huan (166), the king of Da-qin, An Dun (supposedly Marcus Aurelius Antoninus), sent an embassy who came through Ri-nan, outside of our frontier to offer ivory, rhinoceros’s horns and tortoise shell, which was the first time they communicated with us (Xi-yu-zhuan in Hou-han-shu)”. “In the second year of Tai-kang period of Emperor Wu (281), the country of Da-qin offered their gems to our court (Wu-di-ben-ji in Jin-shu)”. “In the fifth year of the Tai-kang period of Emperor Wu (284 CE), the country of Da-qin sent an embassy to offer tribute to our court (Wu-di-benji in Jin-shu)”.

First of all, these records provide us with such basic facts: Da-qin people engage in business through the Indian Ocean; their customers and counterpart are people from An-xi (Parthian Empire), Tian-zhu (India), Funan, Ri-nan, Jiao-zhi (the regions in Southeast Asia), even from China. Da-qin envoys had been to China with products which are strange. Among the information given up, the most debated issue is the identity of the so-called envoys. It is known that all these envoys came through South Asia and Southeast Asia, possibly all by the sea.20 The identity of 20

Since the envoys of 166 came from Ri-nan which nowadays is Vietnam, it can be sure that they came through the sea route; The envoys of 281 came through Guangzhou that is south China connecting with the South Asia, and hence, they should also have traveled by the sea route; As the envoys of 284 came to offer

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the envoys is in suspense, and most researchers are inclined to believe that they are Da-qin merchants (Yule 2009, lxii; Hirth 1975, 176).21 Since the tributes offered by them are common products which can be easily found in the South and Southeast Asia, even the author who recorded this visit believed that “the list of their tributes contained no jewels or special things whatsoever, something that makes us suspect that the people who brought the information of Da-qin exaggerated” (Xi-yu-zhuan in Hou-han-shu). The possible explanation for them pretending to be envoys could be found in Chinese court's tradition to offer gifts and trading privileges to the envoys from surrounding principalities. At this point, it is relevant to focus on the issue of the Roman Empire’s commercial exchanges with the East (especially India), which could be characterized as developed economic activities corroborated by the writings of the ancient Western authors. For example, Strabo mentioned that by the time of Augustus up to 120 ships were sailing from Myos Hormos to India, whereas during the rule of Ptolemies only a few were undertaking such voyage (Strab. II, 5.12). Additionally, the author of the ȆİȡȓʌȜȠȣȢ IJ߱Ȣ ‫ݑ‬ȡȣșȡȐȢ ĬĮȜȐııȘȢ (Periplus Maris Erythraei) provided information about the bulk commodities sold by the Greco-Roman merchants in Barbaricum of India: “Thin clothing, figured linens, topaz, coral, storax, frankincense, vessels of glass, silver and gold plate, and a little wine in exchange for costus, bdellium, lycium, nard, turquoise, lapis lazuli, Seric skins, cotton cloth, silk yarn, and indigo (ȆİȡȓʌȜȠȣȢ IJ߱Ȣ ‫ݑ‬ȡȣșȡȐȢ ĬĮȜȐııȘȢ, 49)”.

The deep commercial communications with India also went on through the Indian harbour Barygaza, as well as other harbours in the western and southern region and the eastern side of Indian Peninsula, such as Myziris: “It is a village in plain sight by the sea. Muziris, of the same Kingdom, abounds in ships sent there with cargoes from Arabia, and by the Greeks; it is located on a river, distant from Tyndis by the river and sea five hundred stadia, and up the river from the shore twenty stadia (ȆİȡȓʌȜȠȣȢ IJ߱Ȣ ‫ݑ‬ȡȣșȡȐȢ ĬĮȜȐııȘȢ, 54)”.

tribute accompanied by those from the state of Lin-yi which is nowadays the middle of Vietnam, the sea journey is again indicated. 21 Leslie and Gardiner hold a different view that “it is likely that these travelers, whether merchant or envoys coming like the Indians via the Chinese outposts in Vietnam, had replenished their stock on the way, in India or South-east Asia.” (Leslie and Gardiner 1996, 154).

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Pliny the Elder mentioned a large amount of the Roman expenditure on the goods from India, the Seres and Arabian Peninsula, measured with almost one hundred million sesterces that were poured in the East every year (Hist. Nat., XII, 41). Along with written testimonies about the frequent and blooming trade activities between the Roman Empire and the East, there is also valuable archaeological evidence about this kind of communications. Hoards of Roman coins dated to the period of RomanIndian trade have been found in southern India, and Roman objects have been discovered in the seaside port city of Arikamedu22, which was a centre of trade during this era (Haywood 2000, 46). Additionally, a few Roman coins seem to have been carried further east, but the contexts of these finds are not clear. They include the well-known second century CE medallions of Marcus Aurelius, and Antoninus Pius found at Oc Eo23, a third-century copper coin of Victorinus from U-Thong in Thailand, and another Roman coin (too worn to be properly identified) found at Khuan Lukpad in Peninsular Thailand (Bellina and Glover 2004, 71), etc. Finally, archaeological excavations in China provided many Roman glass wares and coins, in particular from the later Roman period. Though it is not sure if they were brought to China by the Roman merchants or some other intermediaries, they can be at least regarded as the evidence of the indirect influence of the Roman commerce (Lin 2006; Guo 2005; Zhang 2012). Through the comparison of the Chinese descriptions of the trading enterprise of Da-qin merchants, the commercial activities of the Roman merchants in the East, and mentioned archaeological evidence, it is highly likely that Da-qin merchants could be regarded as traders from the Roman Empire, probably its eastern parts. From the first century CE on they have been departing from Egypt, sailing through the Indian Ocean, arriving to the Indian sub-continent and Southeast Asia for trade (in particular the region of present Vietnam), and possibly followed on the sea route which could have played an important role in the connection between Da-qin and China (similar to that of Tokaristan on the land road). Probably some of them, as merchants, magicians or even sometimes pretending to be envoys came to China, alone or together with other people from these regions, carried the information about Da-qin that afterwards entered 22

Arikamedu is an archaeological site in Kakkayanthope, Ariyankuppam Commune, Puducherry, India. It was a trading port in the first century CE, and many Roman artifacts have been excavated there. 23 It used to be a harbour and trade center in Southwest of nowadays Vietnam, where lots of products from the Greco-Roman world arrived here. It is believed to be the harbour known to the Romans as Kattigara (van der Meulen 1975, 17).

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Chinese sources.24

Performances of magicians and jugglers The magic and juggling performances are frequently conceptually mixed in Chinese sources. Regardless, the people who knew the magic and juggling performances came to China from the Western Regions and are mentioned in many Chinese accounts. It seems there was a tradition in the principalities of Western Regions to welcome them to China. The earliest record of a foreign magic and juggling performance appeared in the first Chinese official work Shi-ji, written around 100 BCE. It records that “the people of Tiao-zhi are good at magic and juggling”; “they offered to the Chinese court huge bird-eggs, and jugglers from Li-kan” (Da-yuan-liezhuan in Shi-ji). Both Tiao-zhi (Seleucid Empire or Characene Mesene, or Babylonia) and Li-kan (Alexandria or Seleucid Empire) are recorded to be located to the west of An-xi, in the region of the present Near East, which is the farthest region mentioned so early in Chinese sources. Yan Shi-gu (581-645), a historian from the Chinese Tang Empire (618-907) explained that the magic and juggling performance in the Chinese text means “swallowing swords, spitting fire, planting melons and trees, killing persons, and cutting horses, etc” (Zhang Qian zhuan in Han-Shu, annotated by Yan Shi-gu). After the first record of the tribute of magicians and jugglers, numerous times such tribute had been paid by Tiao-zhi, Lixuan, An-xi (Parthian Empire), Tian-zhu (India), Shan (an ancient kingdom in the region of the present Shan State in Burma) etc. as was recorded in the later periods. Among them, the magicians and jugglers from Da-qin were also mentioned, and that happened for the first time in 120 CE: “Their customs are endowed with magic. They can spit fire from mouths, bind and release themselves, juggle 12 (20) balls with their feet in a very smart way (Xi-rong-zhuan in Wei-lue)”. “When in the middle of the Yuanchu period of Emperor An (114-120), the state of Shan in Ri-nan from beyond the southern frontier of China offered

24

We cannot deny the possibility that some people from the Indian subcontinent or Southeast Asia pretended to be the Da-qin merchants or envoys, although such scenario would be difficult to convincingly perform. However, if this could have been the case, these people should have got the knowledge from the population of Roman Empire, and hence there is no need to be highly skeptical about the authenticity of information on Da-qin presumably arriving from the sea route.

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The Image of Romans in the Eyes of Ancient Chinese magicians and jugglers who could perform transformations, spit fire, release themselves and also were skilled in juggling with up to ten balls. They said: ‘We are people of the west of the sea.’ That is Da-qin (Xiaoshang-huang-di-ji in Hou-han-ji)”. “There are magicians and jugglers who can let the fire burn on their foreheads, make water in their hands, lift up their feet and have pearls and jades fall from them, open their mouth and have banners and tufts of feathers come out at random... San-yue, or juggler, and tz’a-hsi, or conjuring, are mostly combined with the skill of magic. They were introduced from the western countries, and this started with the coming of conjurers to China (Yue in Tong-dian )”.

The subject of Da-qin magicians and jugglers is an interesting issue which has attracted the scholars’ attention for a long time (Pelliot 1915, 690-691; 1926, 21-22; Duyvendak 1949, 7-8; Dubs 1957, 2-3, 28; Leslie and Gardiner 1996, 222). Due to the different descriptions in the sources, many different viewpoints have been made. The outstanding French Sinologist Pelliot puts forward the most popular view that the magicians are from Alexandria in Egypt. This view is based on his conclusion that Li-xuan, Da-qin, and Hai-xi-guo, which are kept as synonyms in the Chinese sources, is the Roman Empire with Alexandria as its capital; since the Chinese sources mention that the magicians are from Li-xuan and Haixi-guo, accordingly, the magicians are from Alexandria. However, there are also opinions which are in the minority. Japanese scholar Miyazaki Ichisada argues that juggling balls are one of the Roman arts. An image of Romans juggling balls is found on a diptych in the museum of Verona, so he proposes the magicians are from the Italian peninsula (Ichisada 1939, 55-86.). D. D. Leslie and K. H. J. Gardiner partly agree with the idea of Pelliot: since “the offer of Shan” is from the sea route it could have been difficult for the magicians to come from Syria, but much easier from Egypt. Nevertheless, they still keep a cautious attitude, as they believe that the Da-qin magicians in Wei-lue possibly came by land route (Leslie and Gardiner 1996, 222). In consideration of the scholars’ research, though it is difficult to make a conclusive remark on the subject, it can be admitted that the records on Da-qin magicians and jugglers are in accordance with what existed in the Roman Empire, and probably these people were from its eastern part. With all of the aforesaid evidence, the full image of the Da-qin people could be defined as follows: Da-qin people are tall and strong, wellproportioned; they wear the clothing of Hu, to be specific, Kuzhe; they live on agriculture, planting five cereals and raising silkworms; some of them engage in trading activities with the people of An-xi (Parthian

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Empire), Tian-zhu (India), and they also sail to Fu-nan, Ri-nan, and Jiaozhi (the region of Southeast Asia), some of them came through Ri-nan and Jiao-zhi to China in the second and third centuries; these people are skilled in magician performances and juggling. Through the above Chinese information, discussions, and analyses, it can be concluded that the basic features of the Da-qin people’s image in Chinese literature are a mixture of reality and imagination. On the one hand, it shows real elements matching with the phenomena known to exist in the eastern part of the Roman empire, especially Syria and Egypt, such as their height, their agricultural life, business activities, and magicianjuggling performances. However, several features in the image do not belong to the Romans but are typically Chinese, such as the clothing, silkworms raised with the mulberry trees, and many trees such as cypresses, locust trees, catalpas, and bamboos. Furthermore, several elements in the image of Da-qin are believed to originate from the Chinese myths and ideals, such as Xi Wangmu (Queen Mother of the West), Ruoshui (Weak Water), and Liusha (Moving Sands)25. Henry Yule has expressed a similar viewpoint in his work that “a variety of what read to us as vague or puerile notices of the constitution and the productions of the state, including, however, a detailed and apparently correct enough account of the coral fisheries of the Mediterranean” (Yule 2009, lvii).

Explanations of the image’s construction Through the image of Da-qin people provided above, it can be said that this image is a mixture of the facts, misunderstandings, and fancy. The causes for its construction are mainly twofold: the influence which came from the sources of information and the reshaping made by Chinese authors who wrote down the information. Since the long distance and natural obstacles between the Roman Empire and China, there was hardly a direct connection between the two, and the information on Da-qin is known to Chinese through the reports of envoys, businessmen, and religious people, who can be called the transmitters of the information. The earliest transmitters of the scenery of the West in Chinese sources are Zhang Qian and Gan Ying. The knowledge on Da-qin and its past (Lixuan, the old name for the region which was later named Da-qin ) brought 25

Ying Lin mentions that “Most literature in the Han Dynasties, refers the Weak Water to the fairy world where the immortals live…The Moving Sands seems lie between the human world and fairyland… In the fairy world lives Xi Wangmu, the goddess of west, who holds the medicine for immortality.” (Lin 2004, 338).

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back to China is especially attributed to these two given that they are the earliest envoys who arrived in the region near to Da-qin. The second group of the transmitters should be the so-called Da-qin envoys and merchants; it is probable that they, through the sea route, brought abundant knowledge on Da-qin, which was kept in Chinese sources. Apart from them, there were different foreign envoys and merchants from other states such as Tian-zhu (India), An-xi (Parthia), Fu-nan (Cambodia), etc. who could have also brought the knowledge of Da-qin, since the land supposedly had close relations with them. Hence, the information from these transmitters formed the basic construction of the Da-qin image. However, the issue to be discussed is the unreal information included in the image. First to be noticed is the account gained through the report of Gan Ying: although he arrived in the regions near the Da-qin at the end of the first century, he actually never reached the land. Thus the information provided by him was mainly from the intermediaries, i.e. the people whom Gan Ying met on the way to Da-qin. Because of that, the accuracy and authenticity of the information from them are in suspense; the proper example is the words from the sailors on the western borders of An-xi (Parthian Empire), who told Gan Ying that it was impossible to cross over the great sea to Da-qin: “The sea is vast and great; it is impossible for a traveler to cross it within three months with favourable wind; but if one meets with slow wind, it may also take him two years. It is for this reason that those who go to sea all take on board a supply of three years’ provisions. Life at sea is apt to make home-sick, and several passengers have thus lost their lives (Xi-yuzhuan in Hou-han-shu)”.

Obviously, the information told by the sailors was exaggerated, but the question is why the sailors of An-xi gave false information to Gan Ying. Perhaps the reasonable explanation could be provided by the records in other sources: “Their kings (of Da-qin) had always desired to send embassies to the Han Empire, but An-xi wished to continue trade with them in Chinese silks, and it is for this reason that they were cut off from communication and could not reach China (Xi-yu-zhuan in Hou-han-shu).”26

Hence, the above text informs us that the intermediaries' activities between the Roman Empire and China, for their own purpose, limited the 26

The existence of obstacle made by the Parthians is debated. Although most scholars incline to accept it, there is also skepticism (Raschke 1978, 641-642).

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direct communication and mutual understanding of the two. Besides, the knowledge brought by the so-called Da-qin envoys and merchants also has to be cautiously treated. Since in ancient China the tradition was that the envoys from other states offer tribute, and they were always treated in high regard and given priorities, it is reasonable to presume that alleged Da-qin people who desired to trade in China, in fact, pretended to be the envoys of Da-qin27. Accordingly, how much of their knowledge on Da-qin is credible is also in suspense. Compared with the so-called Da-qin people, the knowledge from the other foreigners is reasonably problematic, such as for example that given by the people from An-xi (Parthian Empire), who were the main intermediaries on the Silk Road and great opponent to the Roman Empire. In any case, it is sure that the knowledge on Da-qin people by the aforesaid transmitters is only the basic construction of the image, whereas its final form was in the hands of the authors who compiled the source material. The study of the image of alien populations is part of Imagology which is an active branch of the Comparative Literature. In imagological theory, the image of ethnic alterity is not always the true reflection of alien’s realities, but a work-piece recreated by the authors in relation to their own understandings and customs, reflecting local emotion and perception. In the Chinese image of Da-qin people, the authors added much of their consciousness and understanding. Besides, traditionally, Chinese literature was always made for the purpose of providing a frame of reference to the rulers or later generations so they could make betterordered society and government. A majority of such works was composed under the order of the emperors, such as the official historical collection Er-shi-si-shi, which was used by the emperors as a kind of bible for the rule. Meanwhile, since the authors of private works also wished their writings to be useful and praised by the rulers, and to be remembered in history for their contributions, hence, their works always tried to follow the interests and tastes of the rulers, which resulted in their similar narratives. Therefore, as argued by Shiratori (1956), the image of Da-qin was mixed with the idealized elements that show the perfect mythical society and governance of the Chinese predecessors. These elements are in accordance with Confucianism as the leading Chinese philosophy in governance, but they also reflected Taoism as a popular philosophy of the third-fourth century. Both of the philosophies advocate peaceful and 27

This can be proved by the record that nothing is special among the tributes offered by the so-called Da-qin envoys in 166: the list of their tributes contained no jewels or special things whatsoever, which makes us suspect that the people who brought the information of Da-qin exaggerated (Xi-yu-zhuan in Hou-han-shu).

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perfectly governed society. Under the influence of these philosophies, the traditional authors compiled the history adding many Chinese mythical elements and rewriting it in accordance with their perception, which led to the final “Utopian” image of Da-qin people. Meanwhile, the Da-qin people were also described as barbarians (Hu) which reflects a centric perspective on the order of the world (Sinocentrism): even though the Roman Empire was a great civilized state, in Chinese world order it was still counted among the barbarians. In order to resolve the contradiction between the images of flourishing civilization and barbarian status, Chinese authors used sinicization to describe Da-qin or declared it as a branch of the Chinese.

Conclusions The essay pays attention to the image of Da-qin people in Chinese literature and identification of Da-qin with the Roman Empire or at least eastern part of it. Through summarizing and analyzing the Chinese descriptions of Da-qin people, the causes of the construction of the image and its character are discussed. Drawing on the research of previous scholars, it has been concluded that the land of Da-qin (in the period I-VI c. CE) indeed closely resembled the Roman Empire, while the image of Da-qin people can be related to some aspects of life in the Roman east. However, this image also contains real and mythical elements typical of Chinese tradition, which made it Utopian-like (such as e.g. the idea of “Wugu,” paradise life). The causes for such perspective are twofold. First, the origin of the information: long distance, rare communication, and language obstacle kept Chinese far away from the real Da-qin, and made available only indirect knowledge from envoys’ reports and foreigners’ hearsays which distorted the line between reliable information and fantasy. The second reason for the specific mental picture of Da-qin is interventions of the authors who recorded available accounts: under the influence of the Confucianism and Taoism, Chinese authors reconstructed the image according to their own expectations and the ideal of perfect and happy society. Robert Andre Lafleur’s proclaims that Da-qin accounts are not merely a collection of factual statements concerning far-away lands, a "model of a distant reality," but, though exceedingly terse, they represent a strategy, a "model for" perfect rule (Lafleur 1998: 45). Besides, the description of Da-qin people as similarity to barbarians shows a Sinocentric cognitive system according to which all the people who lived away from China were barbarians.

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In general, while the image of Da-qin people actually shows some reality it combines it with mistakes, misunderstandings and elements of Chinese philosophical thought. The construction of the image reflects how ancient Chinese step by step got to know the rest of the world, especially how they regarded themselves and their relations with the rest of the world. After the sixth century, according to the Chinese sources, frequent comings of the embassies, merchants, and Nestorians from the West brought more detailed information on the Roman Empire to China, and at that time, the name of the Roman Empire was changed from Da-qin to Fulin (Kordosis 1995; Zhang 1998). Combining with the earlier information on Da-qin, the image of the Roman Empire (now to be the eastern Roman Empire) in Chinese literature showed a tendency to become more factual.

Acknowledgments This essay is based on the part of my dissertation research. I would like to appreciate Dr. Marko A. Jankoviü for inviting me to take part in the conference “Imperialism and Identities at the Edges of the Roman World 2”. Though for some reasons, I missed the conference, he still kindly recommended my essay to be included in this collection. Meanwhile, I also appreciated the help from Dr. Stefanos Kordosis and Dr. Vladimir Mihajloviü for the English proofreading. Any potential omissions or mistakes remain mine.

Bibliography Allen, H. J. 1886. Where was Ta-ts'in? Journal of the North China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society vol. XXI: 89-97. —. 1886b. Ta-ts'n and dependent states. Journal of the North China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society vol. XXI: 204-208. An, Jia-yao. 1984. The Early Glass Vessels of China [Zhongguo de zaoqi boliqimin]. Acta Archaeologica Sinica 04: 414-448. Barfield, T. J. 1989. The perilous frontier: nomadic empires and China, Cambridge. Mass: Blackwell. Bellina, B. Glover, I. 2004. The archaeology of early contact with India and the Mediterranean World, from the fourth century BC to the fourth century AD. In Glover, I. and Bellwood, P. (eds.). 2004. Southeast Asia: From Prehistory to History, 68-87. London & New York: Routledge. Blaževiü, Z. 2012. Imagining Historical Imagology: possibilities and

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perspectives of transdisciplinary/translational epistemology. In Dukiü, D. (ed.). 2012. Imagologie heute: Ergebnisse, Herausforderungen, Perspektiven = Achievements, challenges, perspectives, 101-113. Bonn: Bouvier. Broughton, T. R. S. 1938.“Roman Asia Minor. In Frank, T. (ed.). 1938. An Economic Survey of Ancient Rome, vol. 4, 499–916. Baltimore. Chavannes, E. 1907. Les Pays d’Occident d’après le Heou Han chou”, T’oungpao, 8: 149-234. Chen, Zhi-qiang. 1994. ȂİȜȑIJȘ IJȘȢ ȚıIJȠȡȓĮȢ IJȦȞ ǺȣȗĮȞIJȚȞȩ-țȚȞİȗȚțȫȞ ıȤȑıİȦȞ (4ȠȢ—15ȠȢ), ǻȚįĮțIJȠȡȚțȒ įȚĮIJȡȚȕȒ, Thessaloniki. —. 2004. The Sources of the Roman-Greek World in Ancient and Medieval Chinese texts. Graecodinica-Graecoserica 6: 257-434. Coedes, G. 2010. Texts of Greek and Latin authors on the Far East: from the 4th c. B.C.E. to the 14th c. C.E, texts revised and translated by John Sheldon, Turnhout: Brepols Publishers. Cosmo, di N. 2002. Ancient China and Its Enemies: The Rise of Nomadic Power in East Asian History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dubs, H. H. 1957. A Roman City in Ancient China. London. Duyvendak, J. J. L. 1949. China’s Discovery of Africa. London. Guo, Yun-yan. 2005. A General Overview of Byzantine Coins & Their Imitations Found in China. Eirene (Studia Graeca et Latina) XLI: 109111. Harada, Y. 1971. East and West (II). MRDTB 29: 57-79. Heichelheim, F. M. 1938. Roman Syria”, in Frank, T. (ed.). 1938. An Economic Survey of Ancient Rome, vol. 4. 121–257. Baltimore. Hermann, A. 1927/28. Die Lage des Lands Ta Ts’in. Ostasiatische Zeitschrift 14: 196-202. Hirth, F. 1909. The Mystery of Fulin (Part I). Journal of the American Oriental Society 30/1: 1-31 —. 1913. The Mystery of Fulin (Part II). Journal of the American Oriental Society 33: 193-208. —. 1975. China and the Roman Orient: Researches into Their Ancient and Mediæval Relations as Represented in Old Chinese Records, Shanghai& Hong Kong: Ares Publishers Inc, 1885, unchanged reprint Chicago: Ares Publishers Inc. Hoppál, K. 2011. The Roman Empire According to the Ancient Chinese Sources. Acta Antiqua 51(3): 263-306. Hudson, G. F. 1931. Europe and China: a survey of their relations from the earliest times to 1800. Boston: Beacon Press. Ichisada M. 1939. Tiao-zhi, Da-qin, and West Sea. Shi-lin 24-1: 55-86. Jacques, A. and Filliozat, J. 1980. Pline L’ancien: Historire Naturelle, vol.

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AFTERWORD: A VIEW ON ‘ROMANIZATION 2.0’ FROM THE ULTIMATE PERIPHERY DANIJEL DZINO

The research of the structures of the Roman empire, the cultures, and identities which were formed and reshaped within this imperial conglomerate of power and overlapped networks is entering a new era. More than two decades of postmodern criticism has challenged and seriously undermined modernistic notions of the Roman empire. This criticism has shaken firm beliefs in the reliability of the written sources, improving understanding of the cultural contact, identity-shifts and overall functioning of this empire. This postmodern ‘spring cleaning’ of the Roman history and archaeology also incited debate regarding the metanarrative of romanization, which for a long time explained cultural changes taking place throughout the empire as a gradual establishment of cultural uniformity. This debate broke the long-lasting dichotomy between previously separated concepts of the centre and periphery, by decentring Rome (Nederveen Pieterse 2015) and acknowledging the imperial provincial periphery as an equally important agent of historical change in tune with postcolonial theory.1 This debate on romanization began and remained prevalent in the Anglo-Dutch scholarship, as opposed to Italian, French or German scholarship, which has their own Romanization-debates, not necessarily with the same agendas (Versluys 2014a: 3-4). Yet, increasing availability of information and mobility of scholars has resulted in the slow spread of those debates on the European continent, which includes the scholarly ‘periphery’ of Eastern and South-eastern Europe (Hingley 2014: 21). This is well demonstrated by Županek’s paper on Slovenian archaeology in this volume, which could be applied to many other European countries. While older scholars usually ignore these new approaches, the younger

1 Bibliography is rather long, and debate is in no way concluded, see recent reflections in Versluys 2014a; Pitts & Versluys 2015b or Van Oyen 2015.

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generation is keen to reassess the existing narratives and start to participate in the existing post-colonial dialogue on the Roman empire. An important factor in the dissemination of this debate out of AngloDutch scholarship has undoubtedly been the series of biannual conferences entitled “Imperialism and Identities at the Edges of the Roman World“(IIERW) and the publications which are its outcomes. IIERW conference projects are the result of the work of two scholars, friends and enthusiasts from Serbia – Marko Jankoviü and Vladimir Mihajloviü. Researching the Roman imperial periphery and (let me be blunt) living and working in a country perceived as peripheral in wider Anglo-centric and western scholarship, they came up with the idea of bringing scholars from the ‘centre’ to ‘periphery’ to facilitate wider dialogue about the Roman periphery. Acting in real postcolonial fashion (combined with practical organisational considerations) Jankoviü and Mihajloviü pushed boundaries even further, playing with the terms ‘periphery’ and ‘centre’ on both practical and symbolic grounds. They decided to host the conferences, not in metropolitan Belgrade, but in the picturesque Serbian countryside, which represents the perceived cultural periphery of the Serbian periphery. Therefore, IIERW conferences are set in an ultimate cultural edge, which symbolically decentres the dialogue about the edges of the Roman world, in the same way as recent scholarship decentred Rome in the postcolonial discourse on the Roman empire. The result, after three conferences and two published volumes, is that IIERW has been already shaped into an established event that brings together promising young (and young in heart) scholars from the West, Central and Eastern Europe into the Serbian countryside, together with western scholarly super-stars such as: Richard Hingley, Jane Webster, Nico Roymans, David Mattingly, Benjamin Isaac, Ton Derks, Martin Pitts, etc. IIERW conferences started in the 2010s at a time when the debates on the Roman empire struggle to find efficient and fulfilling theoretical grounds which could replace the grand-narrative of Romanization. Justified criticism of Romanization in the 1990s and 2000s resulted in the introduction of new concepts, which remained on the level of description, without being effectively integrated as an alternative explanation of cultural changes (Millett 2003/04; Versluys 2014a; Pitts & Versluys 2015b: 20-23). Under the influence of metamodernism, and its push for reconstructions to follow postmodern deconstructions,2 the debate 2

Metamodernism is hailed as the successor to postmodernism. It is characterised by merging of modernist narratives and postmodern criticism, being both and neither of them at the same time (Vermeulen & Van den Akker 2010; Van den Akker, Gibbons & Vermeulen 2017). Applying to research of history, metamodernist

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regarding the Roman empire is slowly moving away from criticism of Romanization towards searching for viable theoretical concepts rooted in postcolonial perspectives. This search for firmer theoretical grounds was recently termed by Miguel J. Versulys (2014a) 'Romanization 2.0', named in true metamodernist fashion by using at the same time the modernistic concept ‘Romanization’ and its postmodern criticism. It seems for the moment that 'system upgrades' to Romanization 2.0 (or whichever term the reader wishes to apply to it) should be sought in further testing of the theory of globalization and network-theory through case-studies and synthetic accounts related to the Roman empire (Versluys 2014b: 52-55; Pitts & Versluys 2015b: 22-23; Hodos 2015: 250-52).3 The term 'imperialism' embedded in the title of IIERW conferences and consequential publications, remains a bit controversial as it did not find a place in the earlier mentioned manifesto for Romanization 2.0. Versulys’ (2014a: 7-10) argument against discussion of imperialism is based on the premises that recent research of Roman imperialism is masking anticolonial rather than post-colonial sentiments and perpetuating a divide between the 'Native' and the 'Roman,' masked in a more contemporary guise. It is impossible to deny that there are major weaknesses in the concepts of imperialism and colonialism as 'deceptive archetypes' rooted in 19th-century nation-state discourses and their 20th-century deconstructions. Also, it would be wrong not to acknowledge that research on power-relationship in the Roman empire, especially in provincial settings, often hides anti-colonial sentiments and some papers in this volume are certainly not immune to this. Still, I do not think that we need to get rid of imperialism in the quest for Romanization 2.0. Imperialism, in its modern interpretation as an aspect of a globalized political supernetwork of power created by empires, is a viable framework which should be integrated into the research of Roman empire. The empire embeds the discourse returns to the reconstruction of historical narratives, by accepting the premise that the past is impossible to reconstruct because it is impossible to separate research of the past from the present (e.g. Lafrenz Samuels 2008: 88-89; Hingley 2015), and accepting both as major analytical tools (e.g. Roman cities being 100% local and 100% global at the same time – Laurence & Trifilò 2015). 3 Globalization is not generally accepted as a useful framework for analysis of the Roman empire (e.g. Naerebout 2008). However, the criticism of the concept is based on semantics as the Roman empire was not global in the modern sense of the term, so that use of this term as a buzzword certainly does not help in the debate. However, the critisism does not address mechanisms of cultural transformation, which is actual the reason for applying globalization theory as an overarching framework in research of Roman empire (cf. also Pitts & Versluys 2015b: 21; Morley 2015: 65-66).

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patterns of social inequality in the core of its existence by the initial establishment of a centre-periphery relationship between the imperial metropole and the provinces, which empowered some social groups and disempowered others (Mattingly 2011). This state of inequality impacted on the development of different imperial identities and subcultures within and across provincial borders equally, as did mobility, connectivity and globalizing processes (Revell 2016). Thus, we can say that inequality, mobility, connectivity and globalizing processes jointly transformed the existing cultural patterns on global and local levels, which resulted in countless identities being constructed between local and global patterns. So, it is very clear that empire acted as one of the agents in this process which rearranged pre-existing cultural forms into pluriform imperial cultures that were 100% imperial and 100% local at the same time. Saying this, we need to be aware that the Roman empire was not multicultural, as Isaac eloquently puts it, because, in contrast to the modern West, ancient 'multiculturalism' did not cherish this phenomenon as an ideology. The contributions to this volume invite the reader to think about the empire, its functioning and maintenance by looking towards its edges and providing new pieces of the puzzle for future metamodern reconstructions of the Roman past. The theory of Roman imperialism is not explored directly, except in the paper of Kemp who reflects on the long-discussed topic which was shaped by the seminal works of Ernst Badian and David Braund. However, the issues concerning the establishment and formation of the Roman empire are constantly invoked, either by exploring the ways in which the empire was transforming local identities directly and indirectly, how the empire imagined itself and its edges, and even how the Roman empire was imagined as a faraway semi-legendary land from another imperial centre. Perhaps the most important segment of the volume is related to the provinces, especially to local recontextualisations of global/imperial patterns as seen in the papers of Lamb, Jankoviü, Lundcock, or Cvjetiüanin. While addressing different topics, these papers jointly move towards a metamodern postulation of identity as both/and, observing the formation of local identities developing in imperial frontierzone or provinces, as 100% local and 100% global. It seems premature to reject provincial archaeologies as a concept contributing towards Romanization 2.0 (as suggested by Versylus 2014a: 10-13, 18) because if interpreted in the right way, they provide important evidence for the establishment of specific local networks within the empire. These regional networks are the direct results of active imperial intervention in the rearrangement of space by the establishment of provincial borders and the development of brand new provincial

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landscapes in contemporary perceptions (Ando 2000: 61-62, 351-56). The formation of provincial networks and their integration into the wider imperial system are essential for an understanding of the globalization processes and therefore theoretical framework that belongs to the Romanization 2.0 package. The dynamics between global/imperial templates, shaped into a recognisable ‘cultural package’ with the Augustan imperial program (Wallace Hadrill 2008) and the existing local cultural patterns, resulted in the production of distinct glocal societies throughout the empire (Witcher 2000; Hingley 2005: 111; Sommer 2013; Versylus 2015; etc.), not limited only to the provinces, but also to regional subcultures, such as the Roman army in Dacia, as shown by Gui. The formation of provincial cultures, intersected with subcultural and subaltern narratives that crossed provincial borders, transgressed the dichotomy of Roman vs. Native, by creating new identity-systems as shown by Luliü and Janouchova. Ancient identities and disputed histories are the topics touched on by Mihajloviü and Isaac, who examine herein the examples of Dardania and the Roman Near East. Both papers reach similar conclusions to the effect that ancient identities are very difficult to understand because of the complexity and contextual meaning of the ethnonyms, which switch their meaning in the ‘local knowledge’ (as defined by Geertz 1983) from being depictions of ethnic groups to geographic designations and administrative units of different empires. They both also present examples of the metamodernist paradigm which sees identities as both/and, stretching beyond defined identity-labels into ‘third spaces’ that could be understood only with a correct understanding of the context in which they are used. Unfortunately, simplified and one-sided readings of those terms are often utilised by modern nationalism and integrated into disputed histories of the Near East or Central Balkan Peninsula. Roman imperialism is a multifaceted concept, understood differently in different periods. As argued above, this concept is necessary for understanding the Roman empire, because empire could not be built and maintained without imperialism. The drive for empire was reflected in its acquisition, construction, maintenance, perception, functioning, emulation or opposition to it. Imperial networks of power created a core, periphery, and frontier-zones, not as a static geography of power but as a fluctuating and shifting concept in the remarkably long life of the Roman empire. Acknowledging imperialism together with connectivity, networks, not to forget integration (de Klein & Benoist 2014), as the most important research avenues is a necessity in re-establishing deconstructed narratives of the Roman empire. The search for theoretical approaches that would

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support new narratives is rooted in post-colonial discourse, but not immune itself from colonial architectures of power. The debates on Romanization 2.0 are still very much nested in the Anglo-Dutch scholarly ‘core,' which disempowers the scholarly ‘periphery’ and excludes it from the dialogue. For that reason, reflecting on reflections of Roman imperialism from the ultimate periphery represents an important step towards decolonisation of the Roman empire, in theory, and in practice.

Bibliography Ando, C. 2000. Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire. Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press. Geertz, C. 1983. Local knowledge: Further essays in interpretative anthropology. New York: NY Basic Books. Hingley, R. 2005. Globalizing Roman Culture: Unity, Diversity and Empire. London: Routledge. —. 2014. Struggling with a Roman inheritance. A response to Versluys. Archaeological Dialogues 21(1): 20-24. —. 2015. Post-colonial and global Rome: the genealogy of empire. In Pitts, M. & Versluys, M. J. (eds.) 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 32-46. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hodos, T. 2015. Global local and in between: connectivity and the Mediterranean. In Pitts, M. & Versluys, M. J. (eds.) 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 240-253. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. de Klein, G. & Benoist, S. (eds.). 2014. Integration in Rome and in the Roman World. Proceedings of the Tenth Workshop of the International Network Impact of Empire (Lille, June 23–25, 2011). Leiden & Boston: Brill. Lafrenz Samuels, K. 2008. Value and significance in archaeology. Archaeological dialogues 15(1): 71–97. Laurence, R. & Trifilò, F. 2015. The Global and the local in the Roman Empire: connectivity and mobility from an urban perspective. In Pitts, M. & Versluys, M. J. (eds.) 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 99-122. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mattingly, D. M. 2011. Imperialism, power and identity. Experiencing the Roman Empire. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Millett, M. 2003/04. The Romanization of Britain. Changing perspectives. Kodai 13–14: 169–73.

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Morley, N. 2015. Globalisation and the Roman economy. In Pitts, M. & Versluys, M. J. (eds.) 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 49-68. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Naerebout, F. G. 2008. Global Romans? Is globalisation a concept that is going to help us understand the Roman empire? Talanta 38-39, 149170. Nederveen Pieterse, J. 2015. Ancient Rome and globalisation: decentring Rome. In Pitts, M. & Versluys, M. J. (eds.) 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 225-239. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pitts, M. & Versluys, M. P. 2015a. Globalisation and the Roman World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015. —. 2015b. Globalisation and the Roman world: perspectives and opportunities. In Pitts, M. & Versluys, M. J. (eds.) 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 3-31. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Revell, L. 2016. Ways of Being Roman: Discourses of identity in the Roman West. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Sommer, M. 2013. Glocalising an Empire: Rome in the 3rd Century AD. In De Angelis, F. (ed.). 2013. Regionalism and Globalism in Antiquity: Exploring Their Limits, 341-52. Leuven: Peeters. Van den Akker, R. Gibbons, A. & Vermeulen, T. (eds.). 2017. Metamodernism: Historicity, affect and depth after Post modernism. London: Rowman & Littlefield. Van Oyen, A. 2015. Deconstructing and reassembling the Romanization debate through the lens of postcolonial theory: From global to local and back? Terra Incognita 6: 205-226. Vermeulen, T. & Van den Akker, R. 2010 Notes on metamodernism. Journal of Aesthetics & Culture 2: 1-13. Versluys, M. P. 2014a. Understanding objects in motion. An archaeological dialogue on Romanization. Archaeological Dialogues, 21(1): 1-20. —. 2014b. Getting out of the comfort zone. Reply to responses. Archaeological Dialogues 21(1): 50-55. —. 2015. Roman visual material culture as globalising koine. In Pitts, M. & Versluys, M. J. (eds.) 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World: World History, Connectivity and Material Culture, 141-174. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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CONTRIBUTORS

Michael Ann Bevivino is a Doctoral Candidate in the School of Art History and Cultural Policy at University College Dublin. She was awarded an Irish Research Council Postgraduate Employment Scheme award (2015–2019) for her Ph.D. project entitled Breaking the mould: Ireland’s replicas of cultural objects from the historic to the digital. Prior to this, she was a Research Assistant on the Discovery Programme’s Late Iron Age and Roman Ireland (LIARI) Project, for which the research presented in this volume was undertaken. She holds a Masters in Classics from University College Dublin and a Bachelor of Arts in Art History and Archaeology from the University of Virginia. Tatjana Cvjetiüanin is the curator of the Late Roman and Early Byzantine collection of the National Museum in Belgrade. She holds Ph.D. in archaeology from the Belgrade University and is an alumna of the fellowship programme of the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation. Research interests include Roman pottery, Roman frontier studies, and archaeology in museums. Major publications: Glazed Pottery from Upper Moesia (2001); Late Roman Glazed Pottery. Glazed Pottery from Moesia Prima, Dacia Ripensis, Dacia Mediterranea and Dardania (2006); Kasnorimska keramika Ĉerdapa (Late Roman Pottery in the Iron Gates) (2016). Currently, as co-author, working on a book on Roman necropolis Gomilice. Danijel Dzino is Lecturer at Macquarie University in Sydney. His publications include: Illyricum in Roman Politics 229 BC-AD 68 (2010); Becoming Slav, Becoming Croat: Identity transformations in post-Roman and early medieval Dalmatia (2010); Rimsko osvajanje Ilirika. Povijesni anti-narativ (2013) co-authored with Alka Domiü Kuniü, and the co-edited volumes Studies in Emotions and Power in the Late Roman World (2010) and Byzantium, Its Neighbors and Its cultures: Diversity and Interaction (2014). Monica Gui is an assistant researcher at the Institute of Archaeology and Art History of the Romanian Academy in Cluj-Napoca. She holds a Ph.D. from the Babe‫܈‬-Bolyai University in Cluj-Napoca, awarded for a thesis

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themed on the social and daily life aspects of the Roman army in Dacia. The Roman army constitutes her main area of research, and particularly military equipment, although small finds, material culture, and social phenomena, in general, are also included among her interests. She published several papers concerning pieces of equipment and other finds, as well as various aspects of the military life as disclosed by its material traces. Benjamin Isaac is Lessing Professor of Ancient History Emeritus at Tel Aviv University, a member of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities and the American Philosophical Society; Corresponding Member of the Deutsches Archäologisches Institut. His books include: The Limits of Empire: The Roman Army in the East (Oxford, 1990), The Near East under Roman Rule (Leiden, 1998) and The Invention of Racism in Antiquity (Princeton, 2004. He is one of the editors of the Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae / Palaestinae (Volume 4 is now in print). Marko A. Jankoviü is the director of Archeological Collection of Faculty of Philosophy, Belgrade University. He is interested in subjects concerning everyday life in the Roman era, especially in provincial contexts. He is co-editor of The Edges of the Roman World volume (2014) and co-organizer of biannual conference Imperialism and Identities at the Edges of the Roman World. He is engaged in Archeological Culture and Identities at the Western Balkans research project. Petra Janouchová is a Ph. D. candidate at the Charles University, Prague and a Research Associate at the Macquarie University, Sydney (https://cuni.academia.edu/PetraJanouchova). She is currently working on mapping a cultural change and patterns of behaviour in the epigraphic production of the ancient Thrace as a result of changing social complexity. Her recent publications include an article The Ancestral Apollo Cult in Ancient Thrace: A Result of InternalColonisation? (2016). Her research interests include cross-cultural contact, social change related to the epigraphic habit of the Eastern provinces, as well as data management and dissemination of information in ancient and modern societies alike. Joanna Kemp is a Ph. D. candidate at the University of Warwick, UK. She holds a master's in Classics and Ancient History from the same university. She is currently working on a research project concerning interactions between peoples along the Rhine-Danube frontier. Recent publications include an article: Movement, the Senses, and Representations of the Roman World: Experiencing the Sebasteion in Aphrodisias (2016).

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Andy Lamb is a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Leicester, having previously obtained a Master of Science in archaeology from the University of Edinburgh, and a Bachelor of Science in archaeology and palaeoecology from Queen’s University Belfast. He is presently examining mortuary data for southern Britain within an insular and near continental context. Recent publications include The Rise of the Individual in Late Iron Age Southern Britain and Beyond (2016). Qiang Li is Lecturer in the Institute for the History of Ancient Civilizations (IHAC) at the Northeast Normal University, China. He holds BA and MA (Byzantine Studies) from the same university and a Ph.D. (Byzantine Studies) from the University of Ioannina, Greece. His research interests include early Byzantine literature, ethnography, law, Byzantine Empire and the East. Now he is working on the Chinese translation and annotation of the Byzantine historical work Agathias’ History. Josipa Luliü holds a Ph.D. from the University of Zagreb where she also works as a postdoctoral researcher. She teaches courses in theory of art history, as well as in Roman antiquity at the Department of Art History, Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences. Her research interests include the theory of visual culture, distributed cognition, art and religion of antiquity, as well as the intersection of those. Her book on religion in Roman province of Dalmatia is forthcoming. Jason Lundock completed his doctoral studies at King's College London, where he researched the deposition and distribution of copper alloy vessels in Roman Britain. Having conducted work with the British Museum, the Portable Antiquities Scheme and the Appleton Museum of Art, he is currently a Research Associate with Gulf Archaeology Research Institute, where he works on the archaeology of imperial colonial environments. Vladimir D. Mihajloviü is an Assistant Professor at the Department of History (Faculty of Philosophy) at the University of Novi Sad. He works with the courses of the late Iron Age and Classical archaeology and cultural heritage, mainly with the focus of the Balkans and southern Pannonia. His research interest involves transition the late Iron AgeRoman period transition, the relation of ancient written sources and archaeological interpretation, theoretical archaeology, and perception and usage of the past. Along with participation in several national research projects, he is co-organizer of the Imperialism and Identities at the Edges of the Roman World biannual conference.

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Lilit Minasyan is an Associate Professor in the Chair of World History at the Yerevan State University and Vice-president of the Armenian Association of World History. Research interests include the period of crisis of Roman Republic and transformation of Rome from a republic into an empire, Roman policy in the East, in particular, the relations between Greater Armenia and Rome. Her publications include New format of the relations between Greater Armenia and Rome (A remark about the Artaxata treaty) (2009; in Armenian), The Artaxata treaty of 66 BC From the history of Armenian Diplomacy (2013; in Russian), The Collaboration between Pompey the Great and Cicero and their ideal of Rome (2013, in Armenian), Publius Clodius Pulcher Tribune of the people and Roman urban plebs (2017; in Armenian) Elina Pyy is a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Helsinki and holds a Ph.D. from the same university. She is an ancient historian specialized in Roman imperial poetry, gender studies and reception studies. Her recent research includes several articles on the construction of Roman identity in the imperial epic. At the moment, she is working on a research project “To Be Roman, Be a Man? Constructions of Masculinity in Imperial Poetry. “ Albert A. Stepanyan is a full professor of Classical history of the Yerevan State University, head of the Chair of World History, President of the Armenian Association of World History. Author of 5 monographs and 120 articles in Armenian, English, Russian, French and Italian. More significant publications: Athens of the 6th century and Solo's Reformation (1985, in Armenian), Historical Thought in Ancient Armenia: Myth, Rationalism, Historiography, (1991, in Russian), Plotinus, De ratione: Translation, comments, study (1999, in Armenian), Metamorphoses of History in Ancient Armenia, v.1 Artaxiad Epoque (2012, in Armenian), The Trace of History: Deeds, Writings, Essence (2014, in Armenian). Bernarda Županek is a curator for Classical Antiquity at the Museum and Galleries of Ljubljana. Her research interests include archaeology and anthropology of Roman period, museology, and heritage communication. Most recent papers include Emona: a city of the Empire (2014) and The town as a machine: space syntax analysis of Emona (2017; with D. Mlekuž). She was co-editor of Emona MM: urbanisation of space – beginning of a town (2017) and Emona: between Aquileia and Pannonia (2012).

INDEX Abdera, 294, 298, 320 Adiabene, 336, 337, 343 Ainos, 292, 294 Albania, 336 Alexander the Great, 188, 189, 207, 212 Alopekonnesos, 298 amicitia, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 96, 97, 101, 102, 105, 343 Amphipolis, 294 Anchialos, 298, 300 Ancient China, 346, 366 Antigonus II Gonatas, 189 Antigonus III, 191 Antioch, 354 Antiochus of Commagene, 97 Antoninus Pius, 93, 94, 358 An-xi, 348, 355, 356, 359, 360, 362, 363 Apamea, 354 Apameia, 295 Aphrodite, 309, 310, 311 Apollonia Pontica, 292, 293 Apulum, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 277, 278, 279, 281, 283, 284, 285, 286 Aquincum, 272, 279, 282, 286 Arabia, 314, 315, 322, 323, 324, 328, 348, 354, 357 Arabs, 314, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330, 331 Archaeology of Taste, 236 Ariovistus, 89, 90, 91, 93 Armenia, 19, 335, 336, 337, 338, 339, 340, 341, 342, 343, 345, 348, 381 Armenians, 93, 94, 335, 337, 339 Arsanias River, 338

Artaxata, 337, 381 Artaxiad, 335, 337, 381 artefact biographies, 30, 35, 45 Ascalon, 309, 310, 311, 315, 316, 329, 331 Asia Minor, 178, 182, 188, 190, 201, 203, 229, 263, 298, 299, 309, 316, 330, 335, 348, 354, 366 Assyria, 145, 308, 309, 310, 312, 316, 329 Astarte, 310, 311 Astingi, 100 Atropatene, 336 Augusta Traiana, 297 Augustus, 1, 2, 3, 4, 26, 27, 28, 29, 90, 91, 92, 102, 103, 104, 108, 196, 198, 199, 208, 278, 338, 357 Babylon, 294 Babylonia, 334, 354, 359 Bar Kokhba war, 309 barbaros, 307 Barygaza, 357 Bei-shi, 350 beneficia, 86, 89, 96, 101, 343 Bessoi, 295 Board and Dice Games, 236 Bosporos, 102, 294 Boudican revolt, 118, 121 Boudicca, 98 Brigetio, 272, 273, 281, 286, 287 Britons, 98, 109, 176 Byzantion, 292, 293, 294, 297, 298, 304, 369 C. Scipio Asiagenus, 194 Caligula, 97 Camulodunum, 108, 263

Reflections of Roman Imperialisms Carthaginians, 129, 137, 138, 139, 140 Cassius Dio, 7, 91, 93, 98, 99, 100, 106, 121, 127, 308, 324, 326, 328, 329, 335, 344 Castrum Novae, 244, 253 Catuvellauni, 108, 111, 115, 120 Cenimagni, 107, 109 Central Balkans, 181, 212, 237, 239 Chersonesos, 267, 272, 279, 286, 292, 304 Cherusci, 95, 97 child sacrifice, 131, 139 Cicero, 85, 86, 89, 92, 307, 327, 381 civitas peregrina, 196 Claudius, 97, 108, 115, 146, 203, 218, 266 clementia, 131 Coele-Syria, 309, 311, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317, 329 Commagene, 313, 336 copper alloy vessels, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 380 cultural bricolage, 152, 159, 163 Cumidava, 272, 286 Dacia, 99, 100, 172, 227, 228, 234, 235, 264, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 276, 278, 279, 280, 374, 378, 379 Danube, 62, 83, 92, 97, 103, 104, 194, 209, 226, 227, 240, 244, 263, 264, 266, 267, 268, 269, 271, 273, 379 Danube legions, 266 Da-qin, 347, 348, 350, 351, 352, 353, 354, 355, 356, 357, 358, 359, 360, 361, 362, 363, 364, 365, 366 Dardania/Dardanians, 198, 200 Dea Dardanica, 200, 202, 205, 210, 211 Decebalus, 98, 99 Demessus, 214 Demetrius II, 191, 192

383

Diana, 68, 70, 173, 174, 227, 234, 244, 253, 273, 287 Diplomacy, 85, 100, 102, 381 Domitian, 98, 99, 197, 199, 206, 208 Dura-Europos, 269, 271, 272, 273, 279, 285, 286, 287 Eastern Han, 349, 350, 351 Egypt, 309, 311, 314, 321, 323, 324, 341, 348, 358, 360, 361 epigraphic evidence, 199, 200, 226, 288, 296, 297 ethnicity, 12, 29, 181, 182, 184, 185, 186, 187, 193, 202, 210, 212, 232, 299, 308, 316, 325, 326, 330 ethnogenesis, 107, 184 Euphrates, 309, 312, 314, 315, 335, 337, 338, 344, 345, 348 Felix Romuliana, 245, 253 fides, 86, 131, 133, 134, 135, 136, 139, 147 Fu-lin, 348, 365, 367, 368 Fu-nan, 356, 361, 362 Funerary Inscriptions, 288 funerary practices, 230 Gadara, 309, 310, 312, 313, 315, 316 Galatia, 295, 298, 336 Gaugamela, 354 German tribes, 96 Gift-Exchange, 85 Gn. D. Corbulo, 336 Gomilice necropolis, 216, 217, 218, 221, 222, 224, 226, 229, 232 Grand Tour, 34 Greek Colonisation, 292, 305, 306 Hadrian, 55, 82, 83, 84, 91, 92, 93, 94, 99, 101, 104, 205, 211, 221, 266, 268, 278, 309, 318, 320, 322, 329 Hadrianopolis, 292 Hai-xi-guo, 360 Han Empire, 362 Hannibal, 130, 131, 132, 135, 139, 140, 141, 145

384 Hasmonean, 325 Hebraioi, 314, 326, 329 Hebros, 292, 297 Herod the Great, 90, 103, 104 Homer, 146, 171, 307, 332, 333 Horreum Margi, 204, 241 Hou-han-ji, 349, 350, 356, 360 Hou-han-shu, 349, 350, 353, 356, 357, 362, 363 Hyrcanians, 336 Iberia, 27, 122, 124, 209, 211, 336 Iberians, 91 Iceni, 98, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127 Iceni coinage, 111, 112, 115, 120 Iceni hoards, 113, 115, 119, 120 Idumaeans, 313, 322, 325 Iliad, 171, 307 Illyrian, 26, 181, 191, 192, 226, 227, 231, 269 Imagology, 208, 363, 365, 368 Imilce, 130, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143 Indian Ocean, 356, 358, 368 Italicus, 97, 128, 129, 145, 146, 147 iustitia, 131 Jerome, 308 Jesuits, 347 Jews, 103, 104, 178, 179, 309, 312, 313, 314, 317, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 328, 329, 330, 333 Jiao-zhi, 356, 361 Jin-shu, 350, 351, 356 Judaea, 90, 309, 311, 313, 314, 315, 317, 318, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324, 325, 327, 328, 329 Julius Caesar, 89, 93, 107, 123 Juno, 135 Khuan Lukpad, 358 L. Hortensius, 194 Lacringi, 100 Latrunculi, 262, 263 leisure time, 236, 239, 240, 246, 250, 251

Index Li-kan, 359 Li-xuan, 359, 360, 361 Londinium, 108 Lucan’s Pharsalia, 128, 129, 140 Lucian, 309, 315, 316 Lyon, 268, 271, 304 Lysimacheia, 295 Macedonia, 192, 194, 204, 208, 304, 348 Mala Kopašnica-Sase, 215, 217, 218, 219, 224, 226, 231, 232 Marcomannic Wars, 100 Marcus Antonius, 194 Marcus Aurelius, 10, 99, 100, 199, 214, 218, 266, 268, 311, 314, 356, 358 Marcus Crassus, 194 Maroboduus, 95, 97 Maroneia, 292, 294, 298 Medes, 308, 326 Mediana, 210, 240, 245, 253 Meleager, 309, 310, 312, 313, 315, 316, 330 Mercury, 165, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173 Mesambria Pontica, 292 Mesopotamia, 323, 327, 335, 337, 338, 344 Micia, 273, 286, 287 military belt, 264, 265, 268, 274, 279 Military Fashion, 264 mining population, 231, 232 Mithridates of Armenia, 335 Moesia Superior, 24, 181, 195, 205, 206, 208, 209, 232, 234, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 244, 245, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 255, 259, 266 Monobazus, 341 Moschi tribesmen, 336 Mt. Kosmaj, 214, 216 Mylassa, 295 Myos Hormos, 357 Myziris, 357 Nabataea, 329, 335

Reflections of Roman Imperialisms Naissus, 2, 204, 241, 242, 244, 249, 251, 253, 256, 260 natio, 201, 308, 320 National Museum of Ireland, 33, 37, 38, 39, 42, 46, 47, 48, 49 nefas, 136, 138, 140, 142 Nero, 91, 108, 127, 196, 218, 221, 304, 335, 336, 337, 338, 339, 340, 341, 342, 344, 345 Nestorian Stele, 347 Nicopolis ad Istrum, 297, 300 Norican-Pannonian barrows, 159 Norican-Pannonian style, 156, 157, 158, 159 Novae, 271, 272, 285, 286 Odessos, 292, 293, 297, 300 Oescus, 273, 286 Orphic tradition, 171 Pacorus, 340, 341 Paeonia, 192 Paetus, 337, 338, 339, 340 Palestine, 102, 309, 310, 311, 314, 316, 317, 319, 320, 323, 324, 330, 331 Pannonia Inferior, 234, 266 Parthia, 331, 335, 336, 337, 339, 341, 343, 344, 345, 362, 368 Partihicopolis, 297 Pausanias, 171, 189, 309, 310 Perinthos, 292, 305 Perseus, 191, 195 Petra, 288, 328, 354, 379 Pharasmanes II, 91 Philip II, 188, 212 Philip V, 191, 195 Philippopolis, 297, 299, 300, 302, 304, 306 Philistines, 309, 317, 330 Phoenicians, 310, 311, 313, 316, 317 pietas, 131, 140 Plutarch, 314, 322, 323, 324, 325, 326, 328 Poetovio, 267 Pontes, 244, 253

385

Porolissum, 270, 271, 272, 273, 278, 285, 286 Potaissa, 268, 271, 272, 273, 276, 277, 280, 285, 286 Prasutagus, 108, 111, 120, 121 Pre-Roman Thrace, 292 Ptolemy Keraunos, 189 Punica, 128, 129, 130, 131, 133, 134, 136, 137, 139, 141, 144, 145, 146, 147 Quadi, 10, 93, 94 Religious Change, 165 Religious Identity, 165 Rhadamistus, 335 Rhandea, 338, 341 Ri-nan, 356, 359, 361 Rittium, 273, 287 Roman Britain, 33, 49, 51, 52, 55, 58, 60, 83, 84, 107, 120, 123, 125, 126, 150, 160, 177, 209, 380 Roman Dalmatia, 165, 167, 168, 170, 171, 172, 173, 177 Roman imperial mines, 214 Roman military, 40, 54, 59, 100, 120, 123, 237, 265, 277, 279, 281 Roman Military Equipment, 276, 277, 279, 280 Roman Near East, 307, 308, 315, 326, 330, 374 Roman Orient, 348, 354, 366 Roman pottery, 32, 148, 154, 156, 216, 378 Romanization, 7, 28, 126, 143, 147, 150, 151, 160, 161, 162, 163, 165, 173, 174, 176, 177, 178, 205, 211, 216, 230, 234, 235, 236, 262, 370, 371, 372, 373, 375, 376 Roman-ness, 128, 130, 133, 134, 136, 139, 143, 144, 147 Romans and Others, 128 Rome, 12, 23, 24, 25, 28, 29, 31, 34, 47, 48, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 93, 94, 95, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102,

386 103, 104, 106, 108, 109, 120, 121, 122, 123, 127, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 136, 137, 139, 141, 144, 145, 146, 147, 149, 151, 152, 155, 161, 165, 167, 170, 173, 175, 177, 179, 194, 202, 203, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 227, 230, 240, 260, 261, 262, 269, 270, 276, 318, 327, 329, 331, 335, 336, 338, 340, 341, 342, 343, 344, 345, 348, 366, 370, 371, 375, 376, 381 Romula, 270, 272, 276, 280, 283, 285, 286 Romulus, 205, 307 Roxolani, 99 Saguntum, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 141 Saldum, 241, 242, 244, 253, 261 Sarmatians, 99 Sarmizegetusa, 270, 273, 276, 285, 286 Scribonius Curio, 194 Scythians, 212, 263, 309 Scythopolis, 314, 332 Sebasteion, 196, 199, 211, 379 Selymbria, 292 Serdica, 297, 299 Silius Italicus, 147 silk production, 355 Silk Road, 353, 363, 367 silkworms, 353, 354, 360, 361 Singidunum, 204, 224, 234, 235, 240, 241, 243, 244, 245, 250, 253, 256, 260, 262, 263 Sirmium, 2, 3, 267 Slovenia, 148, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 163 Slovenian archaeology, 148, 153, 154, 155, 159, 370 Smorna, 244, 254 social status, 228, 241, 246, 249, 252, 289, 296, 299, 300, 303, 341 Sophene, 338

Index speaking inscriptions, 301, 302 Statius, 128, 129, 138, 141, 146, 326 Subsidies, 85, 97, 102 Sucidava, 270, 281, 285 Suetonius, 97, 99, 106, 108, 127, 335, 344 Sulla, 194 Syria, 228, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317, 318, 320, 321, 323, 324, 326, 327, 329, 330, 332, 335, 337, 338, 348, 354, 360, 361, 366, 368 Syria-Palaestina, 309, 315, 318, 326 Tacitus, 7, 91, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 101, 104, 106, 107, 108, 121, 122, 127, 130, 147, 308, 318, 321, 324, 325, 326, 335, 336, 337, 338, 339, 340, 341, 342, 343 Tai-qing-jing-ye-shen-dan-jing, 349, 351 Tang dynasty, 367 Tarbus, 100 Taurus Mountains, 338 Thracian, 181, 226, 288, 292, 294, 295, 297, 298, 299, 301, 302, 313 Tiao-zhi, 359, 366 Tiberius, 3, 4, 5, 95, 97, 102, 196 Tibiscum, 272, 279, 286 Tiburna, 135, 136, 137, 141, 142, 143 Tigranes, 337, 338, 339, 342, 343 Tigranes II, 339, 342, 343 Tigranocerta, 337, 338 Tigris, 308, 348 Timacum Minus, 204, 244 Tiridates, 336, 337, 340, 341, 342, 343, 344 Tisiphone, 135, 136, 137, 142 Tokaristan, 358 Tong-dian, 350, 360 Tonzos, 292, 294, 297 Trajan, 93, 96, 98, 99, 199, 214, 218, 323, 328

Reflections of Roman Imperialisms Trinobantes, 108, 111, 115, 120 Troesmis, 268 Ulpiana, 244, 254 U-Thong, 358 Valerius Flaccus, 128, 129, 142 Vasaces, 339 Vietnam, 356, 357, 358 Viminacium, 2, 26, 231, 234, 235, 240, 241, 243, 250, 251, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 261, 263, 270, 271, 272, 273, 281, 285, 286

387

Vindenis, 269 virtus, 131, 134, 138 Vologeses I, 335, 336, 337, 342, 343 war epic, 128, 129, 130, 133 Wei-lue, 349, 350, 351, 353, 359, 360 Wei-shu, 349, 350 William Ouseley, 43, 49 Wu-shi-wai-guo-zhuan, 349, 353 Xi-hai, 348