Rome and the Seleukid East: Selected Papers from Seleukid Study Day V, Brussels, 21-23 August 2015 9042939273, 9789042939271

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COLLECTION LATOMUS VOLUME 360

Altay Coşkun and David Engels (eds.) – ROME AND THE SELEUKID EAST

360

Rome and the Seleukid East Selected Papers from Seleukid Study Day V, Brussels, 21–23 August 2015 Altay Coşkun and David Engels (eds.)

Bruxelles, 2019

Seleukos I (312–281) was the strongest among the Successors of Alexander the Great, and his territory extended as far as Thrace in the West and Pakistan in the East for over a century. His kingdom reached a new pinnacle under Antiochos III (223–187), who combined military vigour with political skill, but also bears responsibility for its harsh defeat at the hands of the Romans, the ascending superpower in the Mediterranean. This failure did not yet trigger the dynasty’s collapse albeit. It was resilient and re-established itself as the leading power in the Near East under Antiochos IV (175–164), who was able to maintain friendship with Rome. Gradually, however, Seleukid rule was reduced to Syria or parts thereof by 129. The book tries to redress the balance of Seleukid weaknesses and strengths. Case studies either focus on power, politics and ideology of the Seleukid centre, or on continuity and change in 2nd-century Anatolia, Judaea and Babylon, before trying to integrate into a broader picture the factors that led to Seleukid disintegration.

SOCIÉTÉ D’ÉTUDES LATINES DE BRUXELLES – LATOMUS 2019

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COLLECTION LATOMUS

VOL. 360

ROME AND THE SELEUKID EAST

LATOMUS www.latomus.be

La Revue Latomus, ainsi que la Collection Latomus, sont publiées par la « Société d’études latines de Bruxelles – Latomus », A.S.B.L. La Revue paraît quatre fois par an. Elle forme annuellement un tome de 1000 à 1200 pages. Chaque article est signé et l’auteur en est seul responsable. Tout ouvrage intéressant les études latines adressé à la Revue fera l’objet d’un compte rendu dans la mesure du possible, mais aucune réplique ne pourra être insérée. Président honoraire de la Société : Carl Deroux. Conseil d’Administration de la Société : Pol Defosse (secrétaire), Marc Dominicy, Emmanuel Dupraz (président), Alain Martin (trésorier), Ghislaine Viré. Membres de la Société : La liste complète des membres effectifs et adhérents figure sur le site internet : www.latomus.be/membres. Comité de rédaction de la Revue et de la Collection : Pol Defosse, Marc Dominicy, Emmanuel Dupraz, Alain Martin, Ghislaine Viré, avec la collaboration de Anthony Álvarez Melero, Altay Coşkun, Jacques Elfassi, Philip Hardie, Alex McAuley, Dennis Pausch, Benoît Sans, Liana Tronci, Hélène Vial. Présentation des manuscrits pour la Revue et pour la Collection : Les auteurs sont priés d’envoyer une version électronique de leurs articles ou monographies au Prof. Emmanuel Dupraz et de leurs notes de lecture ou comptes rendus au Prof. Marc Dominicy . Nous les invitons à se conformer aux recommandations énoncées dans un document accessible sur le site internet, à partir de la rubrique « Infos & contacts » : www.latomus.be/infos-contact. Les articles, monographies et notes de lecture seront soumis à une expertise selon le principe de l’évaluation par les pairs (« peer review »). Contact postal : Les ouvrages pour compte rendu doivent être envoyés à : Prof. Marc Dominicy, Latomus, c/o Éditions Peeters, Kolonel Begaultlaan 61, B-3012 Leuven, Belgique. — Pour toute autre question relative à la Revue ou à la Collection, prière de s’adresser par voie électronique à : . Abonnements et commandes : Éditions Peeters, Bondgenotenlaan 153, B-3000 Leuven, Belgique  ; site internet : www.peeters-leuven.be. — Pour l’achat des tomes I-LI de la Revue : Schmidt Periodicals GmbH, Dettendorf, D-83075 Bad Feilnbach, Allemagne  ; site internet : www.periodicals.com. — La série complète de la Revue (à l’exception des dernières années) est accessible à partir du site internet de JSTOR : www.jstor.org/journal/lato. Droits de reproduction, de traduction et d’adaptation réservés pour tous pays. © Société d’études latines de Bruxelles – Latomus, 2019

COLLECTION LATOMUS VOLUME 360

Altay COŞKUN and David ENGELS (eds.)

Rome and the Seleukid East Selected Papers from Seleukid Study Day V, Brussels, 21–23 August 2015

SOCIÉTÉ D’ÉTUDES LATINES DE BRUXELLES — LATOMUS 2019

ISBN 978-90-429-3927-1 eISBN 978-90-429-3928-8 D/2019/0602/27 Droits de traduction, de reproduction et d’adaptation réservés pour tous pays. Toute reproduction d’un extrait quelconque, par quelque procédé que ce soit et notamment par photocopie ou microfilm, de même que la diffusion sur Internet ou tout autre réseau semblable sont strictement interdites.

Table of Contents

Preface and Acknowledgements Altay Coúkun and David Engels

9

Introduction Altay Coúkun and David Engels

11

I.

The Seleukid Empire under Antiochos III

1.

Which Seleukid King Was the First to Establish Friendship with the Romans? Reflections on a Fabricated Letter (Suet., Claud. 25.3), amicitia with Antiochos III (200–193 BC) and the Lack thereof with Ilion Altay Coúkun

27

Poets and Politics: Antiochos the Great, Hegesianax and the War with Rome Marijn S. Visscher

61

Echoes of the Persian Wars in the European Phase of the RomanSyrian War (with an Emphasis on Plut., Cat. Mai. 12–14) Eran Almagor

87

Where are the Wives? Royal Women in Seleukid Cult Documents Kyle Erickson

135

2.

3.

4.

II.

After Apameia: Seleukid Recovery and Disintegration in the Shadow of Rome

5.

The Seleukid Elephant Corps after Apameia Nicholas Victor Sekunda

159

6

6.

7.

8.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Antiochos IV and Rome: The Festival at Daphne (Syria), the Treaty of Apameia and the Revival of Seleukid Expansionism in the West Rolf Strootman

173

Reading Backwards: Antiochos IV and his Relationship with Rome Benjamin Scolnic

217

With Enemies Like This Who Needs Friends? Roman Intervention in the Hellenistic East and the Preservation of the Seleukid Patrimony Richard Wenghofer

255

III.

Asia Minor in the Transition from Seleukid to Roman Hegemony

9.

L’influence séleucide sur les dynasties anatoliennes après le traité d’Apamée Germain Payen

279

L’ombre lointaine de Rome : La Cappadoce à la suite de la paix d’Apamée Alex McAuley

309

Unlike any Other? The Attalid Kingdom after Apameia Christoph Michels

333

10.

11.

IV.

The Fading Power of the Seleukids, Roman Diplomacy, and Judaea’s Way to Independence

12.

Triangular Epistolary Diplomacy with Rome from Judas Maccabee to Aristobulos I Altay Coúkun

355

The Seleukids, Rome and the Jews (134–76 BC) Edward Dąbrowa

389

13.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

7

V.

Long-Term Perspectives on Babylonia

14.

Mais où sont donc passés les soldats babyloniens ? La place des contingents « indigènes » dans l’armée séleucide David Engels

403

Generals and Cities in Late-Seleukid and Early-Parthian Babylonia Gillian Ramsey

435

Epilogue. Rome, the Seleukid East and the Disintegration of the Largest of the Successor Kingdoms in the 2nd Century BC Altay Coúkun

457

Index nominum

481

Index locorum

489

15.

Preface and Acknowledgements Altay COùKUN and David ENGELS

It was exactly ten years ago, at the conference ‘Seleukid Dissolution’ (Exeter, July 2008), that we began exploring the potential of collaborative research in the field of Hellenistic imperial history. As we shall set out in more detail in the Introduction, a joined conference panel on Antiochos I soon followed suit (Waterloo, December 2010), paving the way for a numbered series of Seleukid Study Days. Our shared interest in the intersection of the Seleukid and Roman Empires bore its first fruits in the form of several articles on Seleukid kings which D.E. contributed to A.C.’s database Amici Populi Romani (http:// www.altaycoskun.com/apr) as of summer 2008. The present volume manifests a more substantial result of our cooperation. It includes revised and extended versions of 14 (of the 22) papers given at the workshop ‘Rome and the Seleukid East’ (Seleukid Study Day V), hosted at the Université libre de Bruxelles, 21–23 August 2015. We have added three chapters to enhance the value of this book as a reference work for Seleukid-Roman relations: a study on the beginning of Seleukid-Roman friendship under Antiochos III (by A.C.), an investigation of the effective or perceived influence of the Seleukids in the areas after they had been lost during the war with Rome, 192–188 BC (by Germain Payen), and a discussion of the disintegration of the Seleukid Empire that tries to balance the impact of Roman Imperialism, Seleukid dynastic rivalries and independence movements in the eastern territories (by A.C.). Seeing this volume coming together, we would like to express our gratitude to all who have lent us their support. First of all, we feel deeply indebted for all of the inspiration and support that our project ‘Rome and the Seleukid East’ has been enjoying over the past years. We would therefore like to thank the many young and established colleagues who have been enriching the interdisciplinary Seleukid network, especially those who gave presentations and contributed to the vivid discussions in Brussels, but most of all those who submitted their written papers and patiently went through the editorial stages with us. Among them, we name first Kyle Erickson and Gillian Ramsey, not least in appreciation for the long-term effect of their Seleukid Dissolution conference. In their continued concern for the subsequent Seleukid Study Days, they have been joined by Alex McAuley and Richard Wenghofer. We are as thankful to them

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and the other repeating contributors (Eran Almagor, Rolf Strootman) as we are to those who joined our caucus for the first time in Brussels (Edward Dąbrowa, Christoph Michels, Benjamin Scolnic, Nicholas Sekunda, Marijn Visscher). Special thanks go to Babett Edelmann-Singer (Regensburg / Munich), Ryan Johnson (Oxford), Germain Payen (Waterloo), Jess Russell (Waterloo) and – most of all – Henrikus Van Wijlik (Peking): they could not attend the workshop, but have been generous with their time in supporting the editorial process. We can release no book manuscript from our desks without cordial thanks to our wives, Dorothea and Rachel, who shouldered many of our duties, to allow us to concentrate on pursuing and finalizing this project. It requires not only inspiration and sweat for the Arts to blossom, but also a great deal of material resources. We thankfully acknowledge the generosity of the Société d’études latines de Bruxelles ‘Latomus’ (together with its new director, Emmanuel Dupraz, for the inclusion of the present volume in the Collection Latomus), the Université libre de Bruxelles, the University of Waterloo as well as the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. July 2018

Altay Coskun Waterloo, ON

David Engels Brussels / PoznaĔ

Introduction Altay COùKUN and David ENGELS

1. The Rise and Fall of an Empire The Seleukid Kingdom (312–64 BC) emerged from the Diadoch Wars as the largest of the successors to the Empire of Alexander the Great (†323). A series of conquests allowed its founder Seleukos I Nikator (312–281) to dominate most of the north-eastern Mediterranean basin, Mesopotamia and parts of Central Asia (temporarily at least) as far as the Indus River. While repeatedly attacked by the Antigonids, Ptolemies and Anatolian middle powers, and while occasionally disrupted by insurrections in Baktria and Parthia, Seleukid rulers were able to reassert their supremacy throughout the 3rd century. With one or two exceptions, it was only in times of inner-dynastic strife that they had to worry about Syria, Mesopotamia and Media, the core regions of their realm. On balance, usurpations happened rarely, did not last long, and failed without exception, at least prior to 162. Antiochos III (223–187) even had a realistic chance of reuniting nearly all the territories that Alexander had formerly brought under his sway. Through the 190s, the prestige of the victorious king was second to none: the northern and eastern territories had returned into vassal status in the course of his glorious anabasis; Ptolemaic Egypt was curtailed and bound into an uneven alliance; the kingdoms, leagues and cities of Asia Minor were either his loyal allies or afraid of imminent subjection; and the strongest force in the Greek Motherland, the Aitolian League, was keen on accepting his overlordship. True enough, with the dust of the Hannibalic and the First Macedonian Wars settling, the Romans were gradually becoming visible on the western horizon. Having crushed the naval empire of the Carthaginians, they had established themselves as the new hegemon of the western Mediterranean. Through waging war on King Philip V of Macedon, they had demonstrated themselves as a force to be reckoned with. Along with military prowess came diplomatic skill and energy, the effects of which were manifesting themselves in a growing network of alliances. These included, amongst others, the Achaian League and the Pergamene Kingdom, lest to forget a long-standing friendship with the Ptolemies. Even before the victory of Kynoskephalai in 197, the Romans showed self-confidence by demanding the – hitherto unstoppable – Antiochos to stay out of Egypt. While they did not prevent him from annexing Koile Syria or expelling Ptolemaic garrisons from Asia Minor, their intervention

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nevertheless seems to have been the ultimate reason for Antiochos to hold back from occupying the land of the Nile. Admittedly, around the year 200, the king would not have conceived the idea that his strength might be inferior to Rome; but he was aware of the potential risk that Roman Italy might join the Ptolemies in an effective alliance, and that such an opposition stood a good chance of being reinforced by Pergamon and other players of central and southern Greece. He avoided that risk, and opted for negotiations. The outcome was the conclusion of formal amicitia, the last of its kind that the Romans offered unrequested.1 The Seleukids and Ptolemies also joined in friendship, which was sealed through the betrothal of his daughter Kleopatra and the child king Ptolemy V. The reconciliation of the former enemies did not stand in the way of good Roman-Seleukid relations, on the contrary, everyone seemed to be satisfied, and fears of a major conflict were dispersed. Antiochos had rightly understood that the Romans would not go to war for Koile Syria and Anatolian territories, for whose annexation he could even present some reasonable claims. With those territories changing hands, however, the effective balance of power was gradually changing. Time was playing into the hands of the Seleukid King. Friendship with Rome cooled down as of 196, when Antiochos fortified Lysimacheia on the Thracian Chersonesos. With this act, he was demonstrating that he had set his mind on more of Europe.2 Seizing what seemed to him a splendid occasion, Antiochos accepted the invitation of the Aitolians and set over the Aegean in 192. Although he only brought small military forces with him, probably lest to provoke the Romans beyond the point of no return, his move changed the fate of his prospering kingdom, and also of the Eastern Mediterranean at large. Irrespective of the military strength and political brilliance he had shown so far, he clearly underestimated the Romans’ willingness to bring back their armies, which they had withdrawn in 194 as a sign of good-will to the Greek world. He likewise overestimated his popularity among the Greeks, who were more than hesitant to support him. The battles at Thermophylai (191) and Magnesia (190) once more demonstrated that he had miscalculated the speed, vigor and determination of the Romans. The victors dictated harsh conditions for the truce, and even worsened them somewhat for the Peace of Apameia (188). Antiochos accepted, and this revealed to everyone that he believed the Romans could crush his

1 The first friendship relation between the Romans and a Seleukid King should be dated to those negotiations in 200/198, see COùKUN (Friendship with Rome) in this volume. 2 Modern scholars have frequently evoked the ‘Cold War’ for those transitional years; esp. BADIAN (1959), cf. BURTON (2011). But historical comparisons have their limitations: one should not forget that the official friendship between Antiochos and Rome held until 193, if not beyond; and while the ancient crisis escalated in 192, it did not come to a major confrontation in the 20th-century.

INTRODUCTION

13

kingdom, if only they wanted to – a prudent decision, though a dangerous message which probably triggered the autonomist hopes of his subjects, vassals and neighbours. According to the set terms, Antiochos ceded the territories north and west of the Taurus range in south-eastern Asia Minor, handed over most of his fleet as well as his war elephants – the emblem of Seleukid power since the Battle of Ipsos (301)3 –, offered hostages, including one of his sons, and agreed to pay huge indemnities, part of them on the spot, and more to come in 12 yearly instalments, adding up to over 15,000 talents.4 The loss of territory and prestige was damaging, as were the required payments and other limitations. All of them surely had negative effects. Modern scholarship has repeatedly pointed to Apameia as the most crippling event that not only weakened the kingdom, but destroyed it in the long run.5 How painful the loss of tax income and royal lands from wealthy Asia Minor was, remains controversial. The fact that Antiochos III and his successor Seleukos IV are said to have been killed while or after pillaging temple treasures has reinforced the impression of financial despair,6 especially since 2 Maccabees draws an explicit connection between the stripping of the Judaeans and the need to pay off the required indemnities.7 Others have pointed to the inner-dynastic strife as a result of holding back the legitimate successor Demetrios in Rome. Yet others claim that the damage to Antiochos’ reputation of invincibility encouraged the vassals in the eastern territories to seek independence.8 All of this may well be true to a certain degree, but, since Seleukid kingship endured for more than a century after Apameia and even seems to have recovered to a surprising extent under the rule of Antiochos IV, something must be missing in this picture.

3

See KOSMIN (2014b); COùKUN (2012c) and SEKUNDA in this volume. The terms of Apameia have most recently been re-examined by PAYEN (2016); cf. ELVIDGE (2017), and see SEKUNDA, SCOLNIC, WENGHOFER and COùKUN (Epilogue) in this volume. 5 Cf. e.g. BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913/1914), p. 220–222: ‘Jamais souverain n’avait été plus cruellement humilié qu’Antiochos […]. En somme, Antiochos devait recommencer, avec moins de forces […], la tournée qui lui avait valu le surnom de Grand, s’il voulait prévenir l’écroulement de total de l’édifice élevé par Séleucos Nicator.’ 6 Antiochos III: DIOD. SIC. 28.3; 29.15; JUST. 32.2.1–2. Seleukos IV: APP., Syr. 45. Also see TAYLOR (2013), p. 152–158. 7 2Macc 8.11 explains the pillaging of the Seleukid governour Nikanor under Antiochos IV with the debts to Rome; generally on the greed of Seleukos IV (contrasting though with 3.2) and Antiochos IV (contrasting with 4.37f., cf. 3.7–4.25; 5.21; 9.2; also 1Macc 1.16–24. There are good reasons for caution, see the discussion by COùKUN (Epilogue, section 3, with further references). 8 E.g., CAPDETREY (2007), p. 439. 4

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2. The Study of the Seleukid Empire I: From Seleukid Dissolution to the Series of Seleukid Study Days Nearly a decade ago, the conference Seleukid Dissolution. The Sinking of the Anchor (Exeter 2008) had been organized to shed new light on the factors that weakened or even crippled the kingdom. In the course of the conference, however, it became clear that not only weakness and decline should find more pertinent descriptions and cogent analyses; but, first of all, the strengths of Seleukid rule need to be understood better, in order to allow for a fairer assessment of Seleukid imperial history.9 Scholars of Classical Studies traditionally focus on the empire’s western territories, especially the Greek cities of Asia Minor with their rich epigraphic evidence and the Levant with its wealth of coinage, besides the unique literary sources that exist for Judaea under the Maccabees. This concentration created a certain imbalance in the modern perception, as it led to the view that the kingdom was weak and declining ever since the death of its founder Seleukos Nikator. Such perspectives were further reinforced through the negative bias of the literary sources: their authors were often hostile to the Seleukids, or simply more impressed by the successful Romans.10 The Exeter conference emphasized the advantage of adopting a broad geographic approach that duly considers the Mesopotamian and Iranian parts of the Empire. This had previously been claimed most forcefully by S. SherwinWhite and A. Kuhrt (1993), in the wake of which a number of substantial studies on the eastern satrapies appeared, especially on Persia, Baktria, Parthia and Babylonia.11 Some more narrowly themed studies can be added that combine

9

See the introduction of the proceedings, ERICKSON / RAMSEY (2011), p. 13–18. Major accounts with stronger coverage of the west and the understanding that the kingdom was doomed to inevitable failure due to the moral shortcomings of the epigones or because of the lack of cohesion: e.g., BEVAN (1902); BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913/14); WOLSKI (1999); GRAINGER (2014). Preponderance on the western areas: e.g., WILL (1979/1982); GRAINGER (1990a); DĄBROWA (2011); FEYEL / GRASLIN-THOMÉ (2014). Such a preference is less surprising for studies focussing on diplomacy and inscriptions, e.g., ORTH (1977); MA (1999), or concentrating on the conflicts with the Ptolemies, e.g., GRAINGER (2010), or Rome, e.g., SCHMITT (1964); GRAINGER (2002); DREYER (2007); also see BURTON (2011); GRAINGER (2015b). The distortion in our literary sources have been studied, e.g., by PRIMO (2009); J. ENGELS (2011); CECCARELLI (2011). 11 Persia: LERNER (1999); ROUGEMONT (2012); ENGELS (2013); PLISCHKE (2014); ENGELS (2017a); STROOTMAN / VERSLUIS (2017). Baktria: POSCH (1995); HOLT (1999); LERNER (1999); COLORU (2009); WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016); WENGHOFER (ca. 2018). Parthia: WIESEHÖFER (1998); DĄBROWA (2014). Babylonia: FINKEL / VAN DER SPEK (2004/2006); KOSMIN (2014a); ERICKSON (2011); ERICKSON / RAMSEY (2011); MONERIE (2014); PIRNGRUBER (2017). Also see ENGELS (2017b) for an overview over recent publications. 10

INTRODUCTION

15

East and West,12 if not try an assessment of the Empire as a whole.13 The Exeter conference reinforced this trend: D. Ogden exemplified the creativity visible in the foundational myths;14 contrasting the factual side of the ‘Elephant Victory’ of Antiochos I, A. Coúkun showed that the Seleukids effectively lost control over parts of Asia Minor, but that they had, at the same time, the ability to contain losses and even integrate former enemies such as the Galatians into their own networks;15 K. Erickson and P. Kosmin exemplified how closely interwoven Seleukid ideology and Babylonian cultic traditions were;16 D. Engels argued for a paradigm change showing that the process away from a centralized administration to a more feudalized network controlled by a ‘King of Kings’ had started under the Achaimenids and continued, after some delays, under the Seleukids and later also under the Parthians; but even so, the change towards more indirect rule should not be confused with growing weakness.17 On the negative side, the notion of dissolution was emphasized by G. Ramsey by pointing to the ‘competitive political culture prevailing among top officials at the royal court’.18 On balance, however, it became apparent that not Seleukid decline, but rather the diverse foundations of Seleukid strength and resilience deserve better exploration, and that an interdisciplinary cooperation was the best way to achieve this. Three of the Exeter participants agreed on a more systematic cooperation at a Hellenistic conference at Waterloo (2010). Besides the organization of various conference panels, so far six numbered Seleukid Study Days followed suit which tried to foster collaborative agendas. Locations alternated between Europe and Canada (Exeter 2011, Waterloo 2011, Bordeaux 2012, Montreal 2013, Brussels 2015, North Bay, Ontario 2017). The declared intention is to include all suband neighbouring disciplines of Classical Studies, such as Philology, Epigraphy, Numismatics and Archaeology. It is especially beneficial to that enterprise that ever more participants command languages of the ancient Near and Middle East, such as Babylonian, Persian, Aramaic and Hebrew, besides Greek and Latin. Seleukid Study Day I (2011) showed a particular interest in King Antiochos I (294/281–261): his personal roots and close involvement with the Iranian satrapies, his utilization of Apolline cults to establish links with local traditions, and the discrepancy between his poor achievements against the Galatians on the

12

E.g., HELD (2002); KOSMIN (2014b); STROOTMAN (2014) and STROOTMAN (2017). BRODERSEN (1999); MEHL (1999); CAPDETREY (2007). 14 OGDEN (2011); cf. OGDEN (2017); also ERICKSON (2013) and ERICKSON (2014). 15 COùKUN (2011); cf. (2012c). 16 ERICKSON (2011); KOSMIN (2014a) (published outside the conference volume). 17 ENGELS (2011); cf. ENGELS (2013); STROOTMAN (2013); ENGELS (2014a); ENGELS (2014b); ENGELS (2017a); ENGELS (2018). 18 RAMSEY (2011); quotation from ERICKSON / RAMSEY (2011), p. 15. 13

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one hand, and his propagandistic exploitation of the alleged victory on the other.19 Seleukid Study Days II (2011) and III (2012) were dedicated to open questions on the development of the Seleukid Kingdom in the 3rd century.20 Examined were inner-dynastic rivalries21 and the emergence of new kingdoms in Asia Minor and the Iranian territories. Most importantly, it was argued that upheavals in Baktria and Parthia were only temporary, and that Seleukid suzerainty was quickly re-established, albeit under a different form. Once again, not weakness and fragmentation, but strength and resilience of the ruling house was underlined.22 Seleukid Study Day II also exemplified the need to study more systematically the female counterparts of the kings, and to investigate the functions they had both for the construction of royalty and the development of feudalistic structures. Accordingly, the creation of the role of queen and the paramount phenomenon of inter-dynastic marriage were chosen as topics for Seleukid Study Day IV (2013). This workshop became the forum not only for comparing substantial studies on prosopography and genealogy, but also for analyzing propagandistic and literary constructs of the ‘good’ and ‘evil queen’ respectively.23 After having paid much attention to the establishment and repeated defence of the Empire through the 3rd century, the Seleukid Study Group moved its focus to the 2nd century for the fifth gathering (Brussels 2015), whose proceedings are here presented. The impact that the various diplomatic and military encounters with Rome had was investigated from multiple perspectives (see next section). One of the conclusions was that not only the creative construction of Seleukid royal ideology deserves attention, but also the subtle ways of its reception and modification as well as its outspoken rejection by subjects, vassals and rivals need to come under systematic scrutiny. This is the theme that Seleukid Study Day VI (North Bay ON 2017) has most recently been dedicated to.24

19 Studies on Antiochos I: ERICKSON (2011); COùKUN (2012c); ENGELS (2013); (2017b). Report: COùKUN (2011b). 20 Reports: COùKUN (2012a), (2012b). Proceedings of Seleukid Study Day III: ERICKSON (ca. 2018) is currently at the proof stage. 21 E.g., COùKUN (ca. 2018a); D’AGOSTINI (ca. 2018); ERICKSON (ca. 2018b); MCAULEY (ca. 2018); HOLTON (ca. 2018). Now also see CHRUBASIK (2016). 22 E.g., ENGELS (2017a); STROOTMAN (2017b); WENGHOFER (2017); also COùKUN (ca. 2017a). 23 Reports: COùKUN (2012a); COùKUN / MCAULEY (2013). Proceedings: COùKUN / MCAULEY (2016). 24 Seleukid Study Day VI: Reception, Response, and Resistance: Reactions to Seleukid Claims to Territorial Hegemony. URL: http://www.altaycoskun.com/ssd06.

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3. Rome and the Seleukid East Seleukid Study Day V was convened on the assumption that the observations made at the previous workshops remain relevant for the later period as well, despite the comet-like rise of Roman hegemony all over the Mediterranean coast line: the importance of the eastern territories as a source of military recruits, taxes and prestige for the SeleukidsWKHFRQVWDQWDZDUHQHVVRIWKHQHHGWRDGDSW DQGUHFRQVWUXFWWKHLPDJHRIWKHUR\DOSHUVRQDH DQGWKHFRPSOH[LQWHUPDUULDJH strategies, which then, however, triggered dynastic conflicts to a degree unexperienced before. Although the Romans forcefully demonstrated their dominance at Magnesia and Apameia (190/188), the Seleukids continued to be a power to be taken into account.25 Seleukos IV managed to stabilize the kingdom after the death of Antiochos III, and Antiochos IV was still considered the most powerful king of his time, and this irrespective of his humiliation by Pompilius Laenas at Eleusis near Alexandria (168).26 Despite the turmoil at the beginning and the end of Demetrios I’s rule (162–150), he was, for the most part, capable of firmly controlling the Empire. Only when Ptolemy VI Philometor gave his support to the usurper Alexander I Balas (150), sealing this alliance with the hand of his daughter Kleopatra II, the infighting became dramatic. The incessant dynastic wars triggered the loss of Persia, Media and Mesopotamia to the Parthians by 142. The disaster was exacerbated by the capture of Demetrios II in 138. And yet, the success of Antiochos VII Sidetes, first against Diodotos Tryphon, second against the Judaeans, and third even against the Parthians, at least initially, demonstrated for the last time the unique potential of resilience inherent in this dynasty – regardless of the fact that his campaign ended in total failure in 129. With this, the loss of the territories east of the Euphrates was permanent, and the spiral of disintegration accelerated.27 But even so, Seleukid scions continued to claim, and fight for, their royal inheritance until Pompey deposed the last wouldbe king of this family with Antiochos XIII. Even so, this late sequence of petty kings shows that the dynasty managed until its very end to win the support of parts of the former Empire’s subjects. This process of disintegration may truly be dubbed ‘dying hard’.28 In addition, we should not forget the many neighbouring or successive dynasties who not only continued aspects of Seleukid ideology, but even boasted Seleukid blood in their veins: there was barely a Hellenistic king as far north as the Bosporan Kingdom, as far south as 25

See esp. PAYEN in this volume. Seleukos IV: MILETA (2014); ELVIDGE (2017). Antiochos IV: MITTAG (2006); FEYEL / GRASLIN-THOMÉ (2014). And see PAYEN, SEKUNDA, STROOTMAN and SCOLNIC in this volume. 27 EHLING (2008); GRAINGER (2015b); also WENGHOFER in this volume. 28 HOOVER (2007); EHLING (2008); DUMITRU (2012) and (2016). 26

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Egypt and as far east as Baktria who was not a descendent of Antiochos III.29 Hence, Roman military prowess and the damaging conditions of Apameia cannot be the decisive factors for the gradual decline of the erstwhile most powerful ‘Successor’ Kingdom. Other causes need to be taken into consideration as well. Most of all, Roman diplomacy in the East needs to be studied closely, particularly the quite flexible and at times perilous ‘friendship’ relations of the Romans.30 They not only involved the Seleukids into the inner logic of their diplomatic network, but also other communities in the eastern Mediterranean world that gradually gained freedom from Seleukid control sometime after Apameia, such as Kommagene, the Phoinikian cities and Judaea. The latter is of the highest interest, given the unique insights into the triangular diplomacy with Seleukids and Romans that the First and Second Book of Maccabees and Flavius Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities provide.31 Those losses notwithstanding, the most deleterious turned out to be the secession of the Parthians, who gradually absorbed the Iranian satrapies before invading Mesopotamia. A question that has not yet found a commonly accepted answer though is whether Parthian success was the reason for Seleukid decline or the other way round. At least, recent research has suggested that the Seleukids’ growing retreat from the ‘Upper Satrapies’ was not the result of a barely contained popular UHVHQWPHQW DJDLQVW +HOOHQLVWLF RSSUHVVLRQ WR WKH contrary, the Seleukids seem to have been able to command the loyalty not only of the Baktrians,32 but also the Persian Frataraka dynasts33 for much longer than initially presumed. Another group of negative factors were inner-dynastic rivalries that resulted partly from polygamy and partly from intermarriage with other ruling houses, most dangerously with the Ptolemies of Egypt, who had their share in absorbing the resources of the Seleukid Empire. Incestuous marriages and blood spilled by kin fuelled the disdain for the descendants of Seleukos among ancient historiographers and modern scholars alike. Those misdeeds seemed to justify moralizing concepts such as ‘debauchery’ or ‘degeneration’, which were viewed as typical for the oriental ‘race’ then and until recently. But a better understanding of nuptial practices at Hellenistic courts and of the often-distorted representation of powerful queens, as discussed

29 MCAULEY (2011); COùKUN / MCAULEY (2016) and Seleukid Study Day VI (above, n. 25). 30 BADIAN (1958); BRAUND (1984); GRUEN (1984); COùKUN (2005), (APR), (2008), (2015), (2017b); BURTON (2011). 31 Recent treatments of the Maccabean dynasty: DĄBROWA (2010); REGEV (2010); GRAINGER (2012); ECKHARDT (2013). For a particular focus on the relations with Rome: SEEMAN (2013) and (only with much caution) ZOLLSCHAN (2017); also DĄBROWA and COùKUN (Triangular Diplomacy) in this volume. 32 WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016); WENGHOFER (2017). 33 See now PLISCHKE (2014) and ENGELS (2017a).

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at Seleukid Study Day IV, should caution us against overly rash conclusions.34 In sum, it is timely to reconsider – in a collective and pluri-disciplinary effort – the complex factors that brought about Seleukid decline in the 2nd century. The present volume pursues the following questions: what defined the strength of Seleukid rule before the defeat at Magnesia?35 How were the Seleukids and their soldiers perceived by their contemporaries, and how did the Seleukid kings integrate different population groups into the army which enabled them to resist for such a long time against the Ptolemies and Parthians alike?36 How damaging were the peace conditions of Apameia meant to be, which immediate effects did they have, and to what degree were the successors of Antiochos III bound to the stipulations of the treaty?37 How destructive was Roman diplomacy after Apameia, what were its mechanisms, and what were its aims?38 How influential were the rulers of Asia Minor (esp. the Attalids and Ariarathids) and Ptolemaic kingdoms in the further course of Seleukid dissolution?39 How long did the vassal kings and satraps show loyalty, and when did the (well documented, but perhaps overestimated) Judaeans elapse the grip of the Seleukids?40 And finally: was the series of dynastic infighting more a symptom or a cause of the existential crisis?41 While following up on these questions, it turns out once more that a shift of perspective is needed: away from focusing on decline towards accounting for the persistent appeal of the dynasty, its capability of gathering resources and remaining active in eastern Mediterranean politics and warfare for generations after Apameia.

Bibliography BÉRENGER, A. / PERRIN-SAMINADAYAR, É. (eds.) (2009), Les entrées royales et impériales: histoire, représentation et diffusion d’une cérémonie publique, de l’Orient ancien à Byzance, de l’archéologie à l’histoire, Paris. BEVAN, E.R. (1902), The House of Seleucus, 2 vols, London (repr. Chicago 1985). BOIY, T. (2007), Between High and Low. A Chronology of the Early Hellenistic Period, Frankfurt a.M. BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ, A. (1913/1914), Histoire des Séleucides, Paris. 34 OGDEN (1999); WHITEHORNE (2001); COùKUN / MCAULEY (2016); WENGHOFER in this volume. Also see STROOTMAN (2014). 35 See VISSCHER, ALMAGOR, ERICKSON and ENGELS in this volume. 36 See ENGELS and STROOTMAN in this volume. Also see HOULE (2015). 37 See above, n. 4. 38 See above, n. 5–7. 39 Attalids: MICHELS in this volume. Ariarathids: MCAULEY in this volume. Ptolemies: see above, n. 34, also WENGHOFER in this volume. 40 Babylonia: RAMSEY in this volume. Judaea: see above, n. 31. 41 See CHRUBASIK (2016) as well as WENGHOFER and SCOLNIC in this volume.

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BRIANT, P. (2003), Darius dans l’ombre d’Alexandre, Paris. BRODERSEN, K. (ed.) (1999/2000), Zwischen West und Ost. Studien zur Geschichte des Seleukidenreichs, Hamburg. BURTON, P.J. (2011), Friendship and Empire: Roman Diplomacy and Imperialism in the Middle Republic (353–146 BC), Cambridge. CAPDETREY, L. (2007), Le pouvoir séleucide: territoire, administration, et finances, Rennes. CHRUBASIK, B. (2013), The Attalids and the Seleucid Kings, 281–175 BC, in P. THONEMANN (ed.), Attalid Asia Minor: Money, International Relations, and the State, Oxford, p. 83– 119. – (2016), Kings and Usurpers in the Seleukid Empire: The Men Who Would Be King, Oxford. COLORU, O. (2009), Da Alessandro a Menandro: Il Regno Greco di Battriana, Pisa. COùKUN, A. (APR), Amici Populi Romani (APR). Prosopography of the Foreign Friends of Rome. Trier 2007–2008; Waterloo 2010ff. URL: http://www.altaycoskun.com/apr/. – (2011a), Galatians and Seleukids, in ERICKSON / RAMSEY (2011), p. 85–106. – (2011b), Report on the first ‘Seleucid Study Day’, in H-Soz-Kult, 27.10.2011. – (2012a), Report on the ‘Seleucid Study Day II’, in H-Soz-Kult, 9.1.2012 . – (2012b), Report on the ‘Seleucid Study Day III’, in H-Soz-Kult, 22.10.2012. – (2012c), Deconstructing a Myth of Seleucid History: the So-Called ‘Elephant Victory’ over the Galatians Revisited, in Phoenix 66.1–2, p. 57–73. – / MCAULEY, A. (2013), Report on ‘Seleucid Study Day IV’, in H-Soz-Kult, 1.5.2013. – (2015), Die Tetrarchie als hellenistisch-römisches Herrschaftsinstrument, in E. BALTRUSCH / J. WILKER (eds.), Amici – Socii – Clientes, Berlin, p. 161–197. – / ENGELS, D. (2015), Report on the ‘Seleucid Study Day V’, in H-Soz-Kult, 16.12.2015. – / MCAULEY, A. (eds.) (2016), Seleukid Royal Women. Creation, Representation and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart. – (2016a), Laodike I, Berenike Phernophoros, Dynastic Murders, and the Outbreak of the Third Syrian War (253–246 BC), in COùKUN / MCAULEY (2016), p. 107–134. – (2016b), Ptolemaioi as Commanders in 3rd-Century Asia Minor and Some Glimpses on Ephesos and Mylasa during the Second and Third Syrian Wars, in B. TAKMER et al. (eds.), Vir doctus anatolicus. Studies in Memory of Sencer Sahin, Istanbul, 257–279. – (2018), The War of Brothers, the Third Syrian War, and the Battle of Ankyra (246–241 BC): a Re-Appraisal, forthcoming in ERICKSON (2018). – (2017), Amicitia, fides und Imperium der Römer aus konstruktivistischer Perspektive. Überlegungen zu Paul Burton’s Friendship and Empire (2011), in Latomus 76.4, p. 910–924. D’AGOSTINI, M. (2018), Achaios the Younger and the Basileia of Anatolia: Observations on the Historiographical Tradition, forthcoming in ERICKSON (2018). DĄBROWA, E. (ed.) (2010), The Hasmoneans and their State, Kraków (= Electrum 16). – (ed.) (2011), New Studies on the Seleucids, Kraków (= Electrum 18). DREYER, B. (2007), Die römische Nobilitätsherrschaft und Antiochos III. (205 bis 188 v.Chr.), Hennef. DUMITRU, A.G. (2012), La fin des Séleucides (129–64 av. J.C.): Structures d’autorité centrale et autonomies locales, unpubl. PhD, Paris / Bucure‫܈‬ti.

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– (2016), Kleopatra Selene – A Look at the Moon and Her Bright Side, in COùKUN / MCAULEY (2016), p. 253–272. ECKHARDT, B. (2013), Ethnos und Herrschaft. Politische Figurationen judäischer Identität von Antiochos III. bis Herodes I, Berlin. EHLING, K. (2008), Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der späten Seleukiden (164–63 v.Chr.). Vom Tode des Antiochos IV. bis zur Einrichtung der Provinz Syria unter Pompeius, Stuttgart. ELVIDGE, M. (2017), Seleukos IV Philopator, MA Thesis, Waterloo ON. URL: https://uwspace.uwaterloo.ca/handle/10012/11840. ENGELS, D. (2011), Middle Eastern ‘Feudalism’ and Seleucid Dissolution, in ERICKSON / RAMSAY (2011), p. 19–36. – (2013), A New Frataraka Chronology, in Latomus 72, p. 29–80. – (2014a), Antiochos III. der Große und sein Reich. Überlegungen zur ‘Feudalisierung’ der seleukidischen Peripherie, in F. HOFFMANN / K.S. SCHMIDT (eds.), Orient und Okzident in hellenistischer Zeit, Vaterstetten, p. 31–75. – (2014b), Überlegungen zur Funktion der Titel ‘Großkönig’ und ‘König der Könige’ vom 3. zum 1. Jh. v.Chr., in V. COJOCARU et al. (eds.), Interconnectivity in the Mediterranean and Pontic World during the Hellenistic and the Roman Periods, Cluj-Napoca, p. 333–362. – (2017a), Benefactors, Kings, Rulers. Studies on the Seleukid Empire between East and West, Leuven. – (2017b), Neue Studien zum hellenistischen Osten – ein Forschungsüberblick, in Latomus 76.2, p. 481–496. – (2018), Iranian Identity and Seleucid Allegiance – Frataraka and Early Arsacid Coinage, forthcoming in ERICKSON (2018). ERICKSON, K. (2011), Apollo-Nabû: the Babylonian Policy of Antiochus I, in ERICKSON /RAMSEY (2011), p. 51–66. – / RAMSEY, G. (eds.) (2011), Seleucid Dissolution, Wiesbaden. – (2013), Seleucus I, Zeus and Alexander, in L. MITCHELL / C. MELVILLE (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies in Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds, Leiden, p. 109–127. – (2014), Zeus to Apollo and back again: Shifts in Seleucid Policy and Iconography, in S. KRMNICEK / N. BAYLOR (eds.), Art in the Round, Tübingen, p. 97–108. – (ed.) (2018), War within the Family – the First Century of Seleukid Rule. Proceedings of Seleukid Study Day III, Bordeaux Sept. 2012, Swansea, forthcoming. – (2018), Antiochos Soter and the Third Syrian War, forthcoming in ERICKSON (2018). FEYEL, Ch. / GRASLIN-THOMÉ, L. (eds.) (2014), Le projet politique d’Antiochos IV, Nancy. FINKEL, I. / VAN DER SPEK, R.J. (2004–2017), Babylonian Chronicles of the Hellenistic Period (BCHP). Preliminary online edition (2004–2017) at Livius.org. (17 Apr. 2017). GRAINGER, J.D. (1990), Seleukos Nikator, London / New York. – (2002), The Roman War of Antiochos the Great, Leiden. – (2010), The Syrian Wars, Leiden. – (2012), Wars of the Maccabees: the Jewish Struggle for Freedom, 167–37 BC, Barnsley. – (2013), Rome, Parthia, & India: The Violent Emergence of a New World Order, Barnsley. – (2014), The Rise of the Seleukid Empire (323–223 BC), Barnsley.

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– (2015a), The Seleukid Empire of Antiochus III (223–187 BC), Barnsley. – (2015b), The Fall of the Seleukid Empire (187–75 BC), Barnsley. – (2017), Great Power Diplomacy in the Hellenistic World, London. GRUEN, E.S. (1984), The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, 2 vols., Berkeley CA. HAUBEN, H. / MEEUS, A. (eds.) (2014), The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms (323–276 B.C.), Leuven. HELD, W. (2002), Residenzstädte der Seleukiden, in JDAI 117, p. 217–249. HENGEL, M. (1988), Judentum und Hellenismus, 3rd ed., Tübingen. HOLT, F. (1999), Thundering Zeus. The Making of Hellenistic Bactria, London. HOLTON, J.R. (2018), The Ideology of Seleukid Joint Kingship: The Case of Seleukos, Son of Antiochos I, forthcoming in ERICKSON (2018). HOULE, D.J. (2015), Ethnic Constructions in the Seleucid Military. MA Thesis, Waterloo ON. URL: https://uwspace.uwaterloo.ca/handle/10012/9582. HONIGMAN, S. (2014), Tales of High Priests and Taxes: The Books of the Maccabees and the Judean Rebellion against Antiochus IV, Berkeley CA. – (forthcoming), Diverging Memories, Not Resistance Literature: The Maccabean Crisis in the Animal Apocalypse and 1 and 2 Maccabees, forthcoming in P. KOSMIN / I. MOYER (eds.), The Maccabean Moment. Resistances to Hellenistic Empires. HOOVER, O.D. (2007), A Revised Chronology for the Late Seleucids at Antioch, in Historia 56, p. 281–301. HOUGHTON, A. / LORBER, C. (2008), Seleucid Coins: A Comprehensive Catalogue, New York, Part I, 2002; Part II (with O. Hoover). KOSMIN, P.J. (2014a), Seeing Double in Seleucid Babylonia: Rereading the Borsippa Cylinder, in A. MORENO / R. THOMAS (eds.), Patterns of the Past. Epitedeumata in the Greek Tradition, Oxford, p. 173–198. KOSMIN, P.J. (2014b), The Land of the Elephant Kings: Space, Territory, and Ideology in the Seleucid Empire, Cambridge MA. LANDUCCI, F. (2005), La tradizione su Seleuco in Diodoro XVIII–XX, in C. BEARZOT / F. LANDUCCI (eds.), Diodoro e l’altra Grecia, Milano, p. 155–181. LERNER, J. (1999), The Impact of Seleucid Decline on the Eastern Iranian Plateau, Stuttgart. MA, J. (1999), Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. MASON, S. (2016), A History of the Jewish War, A.D. 66–74, New York. MCAULEY, A. (2011ff.), The Genealogy of the Seleucids: Seleucid Marriage, Succession, and Descent Revisited. Montreal. URL: http://www.seleucid-genealogy.com. – (2018), The House of Achaios: The Missing Piece of the Anatolian Puzzle, forthcoming in ERICKSON (2018). MITTAG, P.F. (2006), Antiochos IV. Epiphanes. Eine politische Biographie, Berlin. MONERIE, J. (2014), D’Alexandre à Zoilos: dictionnaire prosopographique des porteurs de nom grec dans les sources cunéiformes, Stuttgart. MUCCIOLI, F. (2013), Gli epiteti ufficiali dei re ellenistici, Stuttgart. OGDEN, D. (1999), Polygamy, Prostitutes and Death. The Hellenistic Dynasties, London. – (2011), Seleucid Dynastic Foundation Myths: Antioch and Seleuceia-in-Pieria, in ERICKSON / RAMSEY (2011), p. 140–160.

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OGDEN, D. (2017), The Legend of Seleucus: Kingship, Narrative and Mythmaking in the Ancient World, Cambridge / New York. ORTH, W. (1977), Königlicher Machtanspruch und städtische Freiheit, München. PAYEN, G. (2016), Les conséquences géopolitiques du traité d’Apamée en Asie Mineure, Université Laval / Université Paris-Sorbonne (PhD). PIRNGRUBER, R. (2017), The Economy of Late Achaemenid and Seleucid Babylonia, Cambridge. PLISCHKE, S. (2014), Die Seleukiden und Iran, Wiesbaden. PRIMO, A. (2009), La storiografia sui Seleucidi da Megastene a Eusebio di Cesarea, Pisa. RAMSEY, G. (2011), Seleucid Administration: Effectiveness and Dysfunction, in ERICKSON / RAMSEY (2011), p. 37–50. RAMSEY, G. (2016), The Diplomacy of Seleukid Women, in COùKUN / MCAULEY (2016), p. 87–104. REGEV, E. (2010), The Hasmoneans: Ideology, Archaeology, Identity, Göttingen. ROUGEMONT, G. (2012), Inscriptions grecques d’Iran et d’Asie centrale, London. SCHMITT, H.H. (1964), Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Antiochos des Großen und seiner Zeit, Wiesbaden. SCOLNIC, B. (2007), Thy Brother’s Blood: The Maccabees and the Morality of Kinship, Lanham. SCOLNIC, B. (2010), Judaism Defined: Mattathias and the Destiny of His People, Lanham. SEEMAN, Chr. (2013), Rome and Judea in Transition, New York. SEKUNDA, N.V. (2012), Macedonian Armies after Alexander: 323–168 BC, Oxford. SHERWIN-WHITE, S. / KUHRT, A. (1993), From Samarkand to Sardis, London. STROOTMAN, R. (2013), Babylonian, Macedonian, King of the World: The Antiochos Cylinder from Borsippa and Seleukid Imperial Integration, in E. STAVRIANOPOULOU (ed.), Shifting Social Imaginaries in the Hellenistic Period: Narrations, Practices, and Images, Leiden, p. 67–97. – (2014), After the Achaemenids: Courts and Elites in the Hellenistic Empires, c. 330–64 BCE, Edinburgh. – (2018), The Coming of the Parthians: Crisis and Resilience in the Reign of Seleukos II, forthcoming in ERICKSON (2018). STROOTMAN, R. / VERSLUYS, M.J. (eds.) (2017), Persianism in Antiquity, Stuttgart. TAYLOR, M.J. (2013), Antiochus the Great, Barnsley. VIRGILIO, B. (2003), Lancia, Diadema e porpora. Il re e la regalità ellenistica, 2nd ed., Pisa. WENGHOFER, R. / HOULE, D.J. (2016), Seleucid Blood in Bactrian and Indo-Greek Genealogy, in COùKUN / MCAULEY (2016), p. 191–207. – (2018), Rethinking the Relationship between Hellenistic Baktria and the Seleukid Empire, forthcoming in ERICKSON (2018). WHITEHORNE, J.E.G. (2001), Cleopatras, London / New York. WIESEHÖFER, J. (ed.) (1998), The Arsacid Empire: Sources and Documentation, Stuttgart. WILL, E. (1979 / 1982), Histoire politique du monde hellénistique, 2 vols., 2nd ed., Nancy. WOLSKI, J. (1999), The Seleucids: The Decline and Fall of Their Empire, Kraków.

I. The Seleukid Empire under Antiochos III

Which Seleukid King Was the First to Establish Friendship with the Romans? Reflections on a Fabricated Letter (Suet., Claud. 25.3), amicitia with Antiochos III (200–193 BC) and the Lack thereof with Ilion* Altay COùKUN Abstract Suetonius, Claud. 25.3 has preserved the summary of an obscure Roman letter to Seleucus Rex, offering him amicitia et societas in return for exempting the citizens of Ilion, their own ‘relatives’, from taxation. While previous generations of scholars had been inclined to reject this letter as a forgery, more recently, its authenticity has been claimed, and the king been identified with Seleukos II, Seuleukos III or Antiochos III. But neither Seleukos II nor III seems to have exerted effective control over Ilion to qualify. And Antiochos III became an amicus populi Romani probably in 200 BC. Rome was then, however, concerned about the Ptolemaic and the Attalid Kingdoms. Moreover, Antiochos gained the loyalty of Ilion in 198 BC. When the Romans began to advocate the freedom of some Greek cities in 196 BC, the sources repeatedly specify Lampsakos and Smyrna, which defied the king, never Ilion. The later annalistic tradition presents a polished version of the relation between Rome and Ilion: the city figures among the allies in the peace treaty of Phoinike in 205 BC; its citizens went over to Rome in the war with Antiochos, as soon as the first Roman commander C. Livius Salinator set foot on the Ilian coast in 190 BC; Salinator and soon after him L. Scipio chose to sacrifice to Ilian Athena; and Ilion is rewarded at Apameia with immunity and territorial gains. But this tradition is belied by the telling silence of Polybios and Strabon. The latter, in fact, specifies Caesar as the authority that granted tax exemption and a territorial extension. The second half of the 1st century BC thus emerges as the most likely time both for the upgrade of the proIlion annalistic tradition and the fabrication of the Suetonian letter.

1. Introduction: Seleukid-Roman Relations and a Letter from the JulioClaudian Period The beginning of friendly relations between the Seleukid court and the Roman Republic is still awaiting a satisfactory reconstruction. It is well-known that the diplomatic contact became intensive on the verge from the 3rd to the 2nd century BC, when Antiochos III Megas prevailed over Ptolemy V Epiphanes in the Fifth * For critical feedback on previous drafts, I would like to thank David Engels, Germain Payen, Jess Russell, Lothar Willms and Andreas Zack. All remaining shortcomings are of course my own.

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Syrian War (202/201–194/193 BC). He occupied Koile Syria (201/198 BC) and successfully campaigned along the Karian (ca. 202 BC), Kilikian (198 BC) and then Aegean coastline of Asia Minor (197 BC). In 196 BC, he began rebuilding Lysimacheia on the Thracian Chersonesos as the first Seleukid royal residence in Europe. His relentless progress inspired awe and respect in many of his contemporaries, but likewise triggered repeated interventions of the Romans. At some point of their negotiations, it seems, he concluded friendship with them.1 There is only one – isolated – source that points to a much earlier opportunity for establishing amicitia between the two major powers of the Mediterranean World. In his Diuus Claudius, the biographer Suetonius writes: He (Claudius) waived for good the taxes for the citizens of Ilion, as if they were the origin of the Roman tribe, after an old Greek letter by the Senate and Roman people had been recited; this promised King Seleukos friendship and alliance finally under the conditions that he would release their relatives the citizens of Ilion from every burden.2

There is no reason to doubt that such a document was produced in the mid-1st century AD, to the effect that the Ilienses were exempted from taxation.3 This is also confirmed by Tacitus, according to whom prince Nero held a speech in their support while still at a tender age.4

1 For general surveys of Antiochos’ campaigns and diplomacy after his return from his anabasis in 205/204 BC, see, e.g., BADIAN (1959); SCHMITT (1964); WILL (1982); GRUEN (1984); MEHL (1990); MA (1999); DREYER (2007); ECKSTEIN (2008); GRAINGER (2002) and (2015a); ENGELS (2012). For a discussion of his friendship diplomacy with Rome, see below. For the ideological representation of Antiochos’ westward campaigns, also see Visscher and Almagor in this volume. 2 SUET., Claud. 25.3 (adapted from the transl. by K.R. BRADLEY, Loeb): Iliensibus quasi Romanae gentis auctoribus tributa in perpetuum remisit recitata uetere epistula Graeca senatus populique R. Seleuco regi amicitiam et societatem ita demum pollicentis, si consanguineos suos Ilienses ab omni onere immunes praestitisset. 3 This is not the place to discuss the nuances between direct and indirect taxation and their relation to formal autonomy or effective independence; see BERNHARDT (1971), p. 209 n. 71 for the case of Ilion under Claudius; and cf. more generally BERNHARDT (1998) and (1999) as well as ENGELS (2017), p. 433–435. 4 TAC., Ann. 12.58: Vtque studiis honestis [et] eloquentiae gloria enitesceret, causa Iliensium suscepta Romanum Troia demissum et Iuliae stirpis auctorem Aeneam aliaque haud procul fabulis uetera facunde executus perpetrat, ut Ilienses omni publico munere soluerentur. (adapted from the transl. by J. JACKSON, Loeb: Desirous to shine by his liberal accomplishments and by a character for eloquence, he took up the cause of Ilion, enlarged with grace on the Trojan descent of the Roman nation; on Aeneas, the progenitor of the Julian line; on other traditions not too far removed from fable; and secured the release of the community from all public obligations.) Cf. SUET., Nero 7.2: Apud eundem consulem pro Bononiensibus Latine, pro Rhodiis atque Iliensibus Graece uerba fecit. The exact date is uncertain: see ERSKINE (2001), p. 172 n. 41; BATTISTONI (2010), p. 86 n. 27. For more context, see JONES (2001), p. 180f. and ELWYN (1993), p.

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2. ‘King Seleukos’, Ilion and Rome It is more problematic to accept that the Romans might ever have addressed such a request to a Seleukid king, specifically to Seleukos II Kallinikos, who is regarded most widely as the recipient of the letter. As far as I see, Bernhard Niese was the first to question the authenticity of the document in the 19th century, charging the Romans with fabricating it for ideological purposes.5 The most detailed criticism has been unfolded by Maurice Holleaux.6 He emphasizes that evidence for any renewal of amicitia with the successors of Seleukos II is lacking: only the ambassadors of Antiochos III are said to have aimed for concluding a treaty of friendship and alliance in 193 BC. Holleaux rejects all friendship terminology applied to the king’s earlier interactions with the Romans as ‘des relations d’amicale courtoisie, qualifiées par abus d’amicitia’. Otherwise, the ‘langage si sévère’ used by the Roman ambassadors in their negotiations at Lysimacheia appears to him incompatible with a preexisting friendship. Moreover, he shows that it is unlikely that Ilion began to be protected by Rome as of 237 BC, since the Lampsakenoi, when looking for support from Rome in 197 BC, took the detour to Massalia, rather than trusting the value of their syngeneia with reference to Ilion. Next, Rome intervened only for Alexandria Troas, Lampsakos and Smyrna,7 but Antiochos found even that demand outrageous, given that he was neither interfering in Italy; how much more strongly would Seleukos II have reacted to a much weaker Rome in 237 BC? Following the authority of Niese or Holleaux, generations of scholars have either endorsed their verdict or passed over Suetonius’ testimony in silence altogether when discussing early Roman-Seleukid relations.8 A minor nuance 280, who also refers to TAC. Ann. 4.55.4: the Ilienses drew on their shared ancestry with Rome in a mission to the Senate in AD 26. 5 NIESE (1899), p. 153 n. 4 and p. 281 (quoted after MAGIE 1950, vol. 2, p. 943); cf. TÄUBLER (1913), p. 203; FERRARY (1988), p. 25 n. 81. 6 HOLLEAUX (1921), p. 46–58, esp. 49f. (on friendship diplomacy in 193 BC); 50f. (quotation on friendship terminology used for 197 BC); p. 51–53 (on negotiations in Lysimacheia: wording of POLYB. 18.50.5–9 too severe; and DIOD. SIC. 28.15.2 incompatible with the intention to renew friendship; cf. LIV. 34.57.7–9, on which see below, section 3); p. 53–57 (on relations with Ilion and Lampsakos, on which also see p. 47 and see my discussion below, including the next note); p. 56f. (comparison with the situation in 237 BC). Also see below, esp. ns. 6, 24f., 44f. on Holleaux. 7 For Lampsakos, see esp. Syll.3 591 = I.Lampsakos 4 = AUSTIN2 197 = CANALI DE ROSSI (1997), p. 194–198, no. 237 e). For Lampsakos and Smyrna (also: TAC., Ann. 4.56.1), see the references to Polybios, Diodoros, Livy and Appian as below, and cf. MA (1999), p. 95–97. The case of Alexandria is more problematic, see the appendix below. 8 E.g., BEVAN (1902); BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913/14); WALBANK (1979), p. 182; MA (1999); JONES (2001); ENGELS (2017). Cf. BERNHARDT (1998), p. 91f., who does not even

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was added only by David Magie, who put the blame for forging the letter not on the Romans, but on the Ilienses.9 But the pendulum swung back a few decades ago, not least because some of Holleaux’ assumptions on diplomatic friendship were regarded as outdated.10 Some of the most distinguished Hellenistic and Roman Historians of our times are now willing to accept the above-quoted letter as a reliable document. A recurring argument in favour of the Suetonian tradition is the well-known example of the friendship with Ptolemy II Philadelphos that the Romans embarked on in 273 BC.11 It is widely believed that Seleucus Rex can only be Seleukos II Kallinikos: Seleukos I Soter barely ruled in western Asia Minor, since he was killed only a few months after his victory at Koroupedion in 281 BC; Seleukos III Keraunos died in 225 BC before reconquering the Aegean parts of Asia Minor, and when Seleukos IV Eupator succeeded his father in 187 BC, Asia Minor had largely been forfeited in the Peace of Apameia.12 The identification with Kallinikos has not remained uncontested. Andrew Erskine, for instance, observes that he barely had an opportunity to deal with address the topic when discussing the rivalry between Ilion and Skepsis; ERRINGTON (2008), p. 209, who seems to be avoiding deliberately any commitment regarding the beginning of Roman-Seleukid friendship. 9 MAGIE 1950, vol. 2, p. 943. 10 HOLLEAUX (1921), p. 47 n. 1 and p. 49f. insists on a formal foedus for societas et amicitia, – the main argument of GRUEN (1984), vol. 1, p. 65 n. 57 for rejecting Holleaux’s argument; RIZZO (1974), p. 84f.; 87. The current discussion is, however, much more complex than any of them foresaw: see, e.g., on the one hand, the contributions by ZACK, esp. (2015a) and (2017), and, on the other hand, by COùKUN, esp. (2008) and (2018), all with further references. 11 Besides the next n., also see PFEIFFER / THIJS (2007), § 2 for Philadelphos and Rome (with references). 12 See, e.g., SCHMITT (1964), p. 291, emphasizing the old age of the Roman version of the Trojan descent; GRUEN (1984), vol. 1, p. 64f. and 612, calling the rejection of the letter as a falsification ‘understandable but unnecessary’: the Romans did not invest anything, and were happy to grant informal friendship, as in the case of Ptolemy II Philadelphos. For a defense of the authenticity, also see RIZZO (1974), p. 83–88, esp. p. 86f. (depicting a vague historical context between the Third Syrian War and War of Brothers, avoiding years, sources and most scholarship); BRISCOE (1981), p. 343f.; BATTISTONI (2010), p. 86f.: ‘Sarebbe davvero ironico se proprio il più “antiquario” degli imperatori fosse stato ingannato con un falso. Al contrario questo contatto con Ilio costituisce un precedente importante per giustificare l’inclusione della polis nella pace di Fenice (205 a.C.)’; DMITRIEV (2011), p. 105; 128f. Cf. BURTON (2011), p. 107; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 171. Undecided remain ELWYN (1993), p. 280–283; DREYER (2007), p. 283 n. 221 (only a passing reference); ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 31: ‘It is also possible that sometime in the 240s or 230s Seleukos II initiated an informal amicitia with Rome; but the historicity of this interchange has been challenged as well, and in any case it clearly had no international repercussions.’ Also see his qualification of Rome’s request in n. 6: ‘an impossibly arrogant Roman response’. For the exclusion of some Seleukoi, also see the discussion of ERSKINE (2001), p. 173.

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Rome: he came to power in 246 BC, but lost control of Asia Minor around 240 BC, not as late as about 237 BC, as previous generations of historians had believed; at the same time, the Romans were absorbed by the First Punic War until 241 BC.13 In fact, the chronological problem is even more pressing, if my new chronology for the War of Brothers is accepted. As I have recently suggested (in a different context), Kallinikos’ control of Anatolia collapsed long before 240 BC: within days after the death of his father Antiochos II Theos in ca. July 246 BC, Ptolemaios Andromachos, the admiral of Ptolemy III Euergetes in the Aegean, stretched out his hands for Ephesos; by August of the same year, Laodike I, Kallinikos’ mother, had been killed in her resistance to Ptolemaic encroachment; when Kallinikos finally arrived in Ionia in September, his brother Antiochos Hierax and his uncle Alexander had already changed sides, they took possession of Sardeis and Magnesia-on-the-Sipylos. About the same time, Mithradates II of Pontos invaded central Phrygia, another fleet from Egypt captured Kilikia in storm, and Euergetes landed in Seleukis. The famous Battle of Ankyra, which Seleukos II barely survived, can now be dated firmly to September or October 246 BC (with Porphyry), rather than around 240 BC (with Justin). The king escaped to his eastern satrapies, whence he returned to Syria in 244 BC after his ‘Beautiful Victory’ won at the Euphrates. There were, admittedly, a few Anatolian powers that changed sides to him in 244 BC, most prominently Olympichos in Karia, the city of Smyrna and the aforementioned king of Pontos, but their success against the combined forces of Andromachos and Hierax was limited. In about 242 BC, Kallinikos made a concession to his brother, offering him Asia Minor (except for Kilikia) in return for betraying Euergetes. There is no hint in our sources that he ever regained the control of Ionia or Aeolia during his lifetime.14 Accordingly, there is not even a theoretical chance that Seleukos II Kallinikos might have negotiated with Rome over Ilion.15 13 Thus ERSKINE (2001), p. 172–176, 173: ‘Even before his defeat de facto control of Ilion and Asia Minor as a whole was in the hands of his brother Antiochos.’ Cf. Grainger (2002), p. 11: ‘In the 240s Rome was fully occupied in the First Punic War, and Ilion was not endangered.’ Also see below on their conclusions. 14 The main source is PORPHYR., FGrHist 260 F 32.8, which is to be preferred over JUST. 27.1–3. Also see APP., Syr. 65.346 (cf. PORPHYR. / HIERON., FGrHist 260 F 43); P.Gourob = FGrHist 160 = AUSTIN2 266; I.Kildara = SEG 42, 1992, no. 994 AUSTIN2 267 (with the new interpretation that the dynastic ideology expressed here reflects the aggressive take-over of Seleukid possessions by Ptolemy III Euergetes, not the protection of his sister’s or nephew’s interests). For the chronology of 253–246 BC, see COùKUN (2016a); for 246–225 BC, see COùKUN (2018b); for local events in Western Asia Minor, 246–241 BC, also see COùKUN (2016b). The relevance of this new chronology for SUET., Claud. 25.3 has been expressed for the first time in COùKUN (2015), p. 731. 15 That he had not done so explains why the Romans did not at least intercede diplomatically for their socius et amicus, requesting Euergetes to leave the Seleukid territory alone, as they later did in the Fifth Syrian War in support of Ptolemy V.

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For partly different reasons, John Grainger prefers Seleukos III Keraunos (225–223 BC) as the letter’s addressee. On the one hand, he questions that Rome had any concerns with the Eastern Mediterranean during the First Punic War (264–241 BC); on the other hand, he views Rome’s interest in the Greek World initiated through the Illyrian Wars (229–219 BC). Grainger, however, does not make a case for Keraunos ever having controlled Ilion in his short rule.16 One may in fact seriously doubt the beginning of friendly relations between Rome and the Seleukids prior to Antiochos III’s return from his anabasis in 205/204 BC. There is no plausible reason why any previous Seleukid ‘Great King’ should have made such a concession for a far-away power such as Rome. As far as I see, only Sue Elwyn has yet proposed an at least hypothetical identification of the mysterious Seleucus Rex with Seleukos IV Eupator. At least in theory, he could have negotiated with Rome as a representative of the Seleukid court, especially after the death of his brother Antiochos, the co-ruling son of Antiochos III (193 BC), and before the outbreak of the war with Rome (192 BC) or possibly even somewhat later, namely until the Seleukid defeat at the Battle of Magnesia (190 BC).17 But, ultimately, this would not be a credible solution: his royal title is not attested before 188 BC,18 and even if it should be 16 GRAINGER (2002), p. 10–13, 12: ‘inventing it either by the Emperor Claudius or the historian Suetonius – is such an unlikely idea that the easiest course is to accept it’. For Seleukos III, also see ENGELS (2008); cf. RIZZO (1974), p. 85. The letter is not yet mentioned in GRAINGER (1997), nor has it been reconsidered in his more recent publications: GRAINGER (2010); (2014); (2015a); (2017). 17 ELWYN (1993), p. 281 does not refer to Antiochos, the Son of Antiochos III, and only considers a time between 189 and 175 BC: ‘This was a period in which Rome acknowledged her kinship with Ilium several times, and was closely involved with affairs in Asia Minor. It seems unlikely, however, that there would be any need for Rome to intercede with a Seleucid monarch on behalf of Ilium after 188.’ This leaves open if Elwyn regards 189/188 as a possibility for the letter or not. The next section (p. 281f.) is inclined towards accepting a forgery, but likewise remains undecided. 18 Admittedly, it is often assumed that he was elevated to kingship immediately after his brother’s death in 193/92 BC; see GRAINGER (1997), p. 63f.; (2015a), p. 143; 145; 148; (2015b), p. 2; COùKUN (2016), p. 857; ELVIDGE (2017), p. 10. An indication of this might be Livy’s mention of Lysimacheia as his residence, although it had been assigned to him even prior to his brother’s death (LIV. 31.15). However, the (negative) evidence of the Babylonian King list, in combination with the (positive) attestation for the co-rule of Antiochos the Son (SACHS / WISEMAN 1954, esp. p. 207f.), is sufficient reason to hesitate conceding any co-rule of Seleukos IV with his father. And yet, the Babylonian Astronomical Diaries mention Seleukos as co-ruler in 188 and 187 BC (SACHS / WISEMAN 1954, esp. p. 324f. and 326f.). Accordingly, it is most often understood that he was given the diadem by his father in 189 BC, that is soon after the defeat at Magnesia and thus during a time of challenges, in which it was important to herald dynastic stability; see HABICHT (1989), p. 338; cf. ERRINGTON (2008), p. 223; MILETA (2014), p. 173; ELVIDGE (2017), p. 16f. One might also think that Seleukos’ role as chief negotiator with Cn. Manlius Vulso in 189/188 BC would be strengthened this way, although he lacks the royal title in Livy’s account (LIV. 38.13: Seleucus, Antiochi filius; otherwise, he

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conceded to him as of 193/192 BC, it would be unusual to find him negotiating with the Romans in his own name, without his father even being mentioned. Would the Senate not rather have offered amicitia to Antiochos III or at least to both reges? However, in case one is willing to grant this peculiarity, immunity of Ilion would have been a ridiculously low price for friendship with Rome anytime since the Romans had begun negotiating the fate of the Greek cities in the Aegean world in 196 BC: the status of Pergamon and Smyrna were of much higher concern than that of Ilion.19 So, indeed, Seleukos IV cannot be the king mentioned by Suetonius.

3. Antiochos III and the Beginning of Seleukid-Roman Friendship For somewhat different reasons, but at least in part following the argument of Holleaux, Erskine proposes 195 BC as a terminus a quo for the first conclusion of friendship between the mysterious Seleukid king with the Roman Republic. Instead of rejecting the Suetonian letter as a forgery, Erskine suggests that merely the king’s name was confused, so that it is Antiochos III to whom the Romans specified the conditions for the grant of their friendship: ‘Perhaps a Seleukos was much the same as an Antiochos. It would not after all have mattered in the first-century AD Roman Senate which long-dead king of a defunct dynasty received the letter.’20

Erskine identifies the mission of Menippos and Hegesianax to Rome in 193 BC as the most suitable context for the (conditional) Roman offer of friendship; these ambassadors were handed a letter for their king, who had been asking for amicitia since about 195 BC. This reconstruction overstrains credibility. First, the assumed confusion may well be possible, but I would claim: only in a fictitious letter written centuries later, not in a document by which the Senate and the Roman people were addressing the most powerful king on Earth. Other difficulties relate to the Roman demands: Erskine is of course aware that much more was at stake in the 190s than taxation of a relatively insignificant polis; so he suggests that only the

is simply called Seleucus in LIV. 38.13 and 38.15). While the evidence remains inconclusive on the one hand, it appears safe to say that Seleukos (IV) does not seem to have figured as co-ruling king in his interactions with Rome. 19 Differently, however, ERSKINE (2001), p. 205: ‘In Suetonius’ letter there is only one demand, but that is the only demand which is relevant to Claudius’ decision on Ilion. No doubt there were others.’ 20 ERSKINE (2001), p. 172–176 (with no reference to LIV. 29.10), esp. p. 174: ‘Various possibilities can be imagined. Perhaps the letter was addressed to King Antiochos, son of Seleukos, and at some stage, either in translation or later transmission Antiochos disappeared.’ And see below on the diplomacy.

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one condition that mattered to the Ilienses under Claudius is mentioned by Suetonius. While this is a possibility, it is not an intuitive reading of amicitiam et societatem ita demum pollicentis. Most importantly, Erskine fails to address the evidence that seems to indicate the existence of a friendship relation between Rome and Antiochos as early as 200 (or 198 BC).21 More attractive is therefore the argument of Paul Burton, who proposes a context of around 198 BC for the Suetonian letter.22 This was the year when King Attalos I of Pergamon begged the Romans to intercede against Antiochos (Liv. 32.8.9–12). They responded, however, that they could not simply go against the king, who was a socius et amicus populi Romani (Liv. 32.8.13); instead, they would send an embassy to mediate on the basis aequum esse socios et amicos populi Romani reges inter se quoque ipsos pacem seruare (Liv. 32.8.16). The ‘friendly’ king apparently complied with the request (Liv. 32.27.1). There is, admittedly, barely any detail in Livy’s account of SeleukidRoman relations that has not yet come under suspicion,23 but Livy’s causation is so complex that strong evidence would be needed to reject it. While Livy may have distorted the representation of Antiochos one way or another, there seems

21 ERSKINE (2001), p. 174–176, with n. 51, with reference to LIV. 34.25.2 for 195 BC, and see below on 193 BC. Also cf. DMITRIEV (2011), p. 127, according to whom Antiochos wanted to reassert his friendship with Rome when seeing their amicitia with Nabis breaking down in 195 BC. – Traditionally, the beginning of Roman diplomacy with Antiochos III is dated to 200 BC, following the king’s victory at the Paneion in the north of Koile Syria and the subsequent conquest of Gaza. This line of events was based on the reconstruction by HOLLEAUX (1908); cf., e.g., GRUEN (1984), vol. 1, p. 65. But there has been occasional criticism of Holleaux’ chronology, and a systematic study of the numismatic evidence now compels us to date the Battle of Paneion to ca. spring 198 BC; see LORBER (forthcoming), with a full bibliographical survey. She therefore believes that diplomacy with Rome started only in the course of 198 BC. This is possible, but would require that Livy’s account on 200 is partly fictitious. But in combination with the evindence of Sallust (discussed below), I would like to suggest that Roman diplomatic intervention followed sometime upon the first occupation of Koile Syria by Antiochos III in 202/201 BC, and might have granted his territorial gains, which where then taken back by the Ptolemaic general Skopas in ca. 200 BC. This said, I foresee that Lorber’s argument will solicit further discussion, which may help us better understand the complex events around 200 BC. 22 BURTON (2011), p. 105–107 in fact wavers between Seleukos II and Antiochos III for the king mentioned by Suetonius, but he seems to be inclined towards the latter. He has confirmed this in an email to me, in which he further calls himself ‘agnostic’ regarding the authenticity of the Suetonian letter (8 Feb. 2017). 23 Ever since NIESE (1899), p. 607 n. 4 (quoted after SCHMITT 1964, p. 269 n. 5) scholars have denied that Antiochos invaded Pergamene territory in 198 BC; cf. MA (1999), p. 279–281 and DREYER (2007), p. 283–290 (with further literature in n. 221). This does not, however, mean that there was no urgent threat against which Attalos was seeking Roman protection; probably, Zeuxis was already operating from Sardeis in 198 BC, see, e.g., SCHMITT (1964), p. 267–276; WILL (1982), p. 179; ENGELS (2012), § 2.

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to be nothing wrong with the king’s characterization as a Roman amicus.24 Additional evidence can be adduced from Livy’s narrative for the year 197 BC: in his dealings with a Rhodian embassy that was concerned about Antiochos’ naval campaign along the Kilikian coast, the king ensured them that his actions would not infringe on his friendship with the Romans, with whom he was in close contact, and by whom he was held in the greatest respect.25 Such a plausible context notwithstanding, previous scholars have put more emphasis on the fact that Antiochos seems to have been seeking Roman friendship.26 Most prominent is the mission of Menippus and Hegesianax to the Senate in 193 BC: Menippos and Hegesianax were the leaders of the king’s embassy. On their behalf, Menippos said that he did not see what there was in their embassy that was so difficult, since they had come merely to ask for friendship and conclude an alliance. There were three kinds of treaties, he said, by which states and kings concluded friendships: one, when in time of war terms were imposed upon the conquered; for when everything was surrendered to him who was the more powerful in arms, it is the victor’s right and privilege to decide what of the conquered’s property he wishes to confiscate; the second, when states that are equally matched in war conclude peace and friendship on terms of equality; under these conditions demands for restitution are made and 24 The evidence of Livy is fully accepted by BRISCOE (1973), p. 183, and more recently by DMITRIEV (2011), p. 104 and 126: ‘The senators’ appeal to Antiochus III in 198 reflected one of the basic principles of Roman foreign policy, and there is no reason to join Holleaux in doubting Livy’s information.’ Livy probably drew on an old source to be convinced of the existence of a friendship relation; cf. COùKUN (2008), p. 222f. GRUEN (1984), vol. 2, p. 538f. and 617 defends the transmission, though without specifying the conditions under which friendship had been concluded, pointing out that both Rome (for her intercessions) and Antiochos (for his concessions) had good reasons of her/his own to invest in an amicable relation. Differently, HOLLEAUX (1921), p. 49–51 regards earlier friendship terminology as contradicted by the later negotiations; likewise, MA (1999), p. 279. DREYER (2007), p. 285 suspects the reference to amicitia to be part of an apologetic construction, designed to excuse Rome’s failure to intercede for one socius, because the opposing side was pretended to be a socius, too; this, in turn, contradicts Dreyer’s view that Antiochos only tried to become a Roman socius as of 197 BC. But see below against this view. 25 LIV. 33.20.8: Nam Romanorum amicitiam se non uiolaturum argumento et suam recentem ad eos legationem esse et senatus honorifica in se decreta responsaque. BRISCOE (1973), p. 183; 287. This is among the passages rashly dismissed by HOLLEAUX (1921), p. 50f., see above, n. 5. 26 Esp. HOLLEAUX (1921), p. 50f., referring to LIV. 34.57.6–11; 58.1–3; 59.2; DIOD. SIC. 28.15.2; APP., Syr. 6. Cf. LIV. 34.59.1–2a: Cum haesitaret Hegesianax nec infitiari posset honestiorem causam libertatis quam seruitutis praetexi titulo, ‘quin mittimus ambages?’ inquit P. Sulpicius, qui maximus natu ex decem legatis erat, ‘alteram ex duabus condicionibus quae modo diserte a Quinctio latae sunt legite aut supersedete de amicitia agere.’ (adapted from the translation by J.C. YARDLEY, Loeb: At this Hegesianax hesitated, and could not deny that it was more honourable to go out under the banner of liberty than of slavery, and Publius Sulpicius, the eldest of the ten commissioners, said: ‘Why not stop beating around the bush? Choose one of the two conditions so clearly stated by Quinctius a while ago, or cease to talk of friendship.’)

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granted by mutual agreement, and if the ownership of any property has been rendered uncertain by the war, these questions are settled according to the rules of traditional law or the convenience of each party; the third exists when states that have never been at war come together to pledge mutual friendship in a treaty of alliance; neither party gives or accepts conditions; for that happens when a conquering and a conquered party meet. Since Antiochos was in this last class, he wondered on what account the Romans deemed it right to impose terms upon him, prescribing what cities of Asia he was to leave free and independent and what he was to make tributary to him, and what cities they forbade the king’s armies and the king to enter. For in that way it was proper to make peace with Philip, an enemy, but not a treaty of alliance with Antiochos, a friend.27

These passages have induced Holleaux and others to reject the idea of a previous friendship between Antiochos and Rome. But this conclusion is in no way necessary, for it is largely agreed that Livy was very vague in applying diplomatic friendship terminology: he often uses socius et amicus to denote either a socius in the narrow sense or an amicus with no other obligation than maintaining a friendly neutrality. His wording rarely allows us to see whether the mentioned relation was based on a foedus or a less formal ritual, or whether it involved a military alliance, be it binding or effective.28 Such uncertainties notwithstanding, a close reading of the context normally reveals the nature of the friendship relation. Accordingly, against the background of the abovequoted sources for the year 198 BC, the evidence for 193 BC clearly conveys the impression that Antiochos already was an amicus of the Romans. He had stayed neutral in the Second Macedonian War, so that he was obviously not what we would call an ‘ally’, whether bound to deliver military assistance (as was the duty of the Italian socii) or through effective military aid (which Attalos gave). Two passages of the Menippos speech make it pretty clear that Antiochos, being a friend, also wanted to be a socius, that is: he coveted a treaty that would spell out the specific conditions of his relation with Rome. First, he was asking for 27 LIV. 34.57.6–11 (adapted from the transl. by J.C. YARDLEY, Loeb): Menippus et Hegesianax principes regiae legationis erant. ex iis Menippus ignorare se dixit quidnam perplexi sua legatio haberet, cum simpliciter ad amicitiam petendam iungendamque societatem uenissent. Esse autem tria genera foederum quibus inter se paciscerentur amicitias ciuitates regesque: unum, cum bello uictis dicerentur leges; ubi enim omnia ei qui armis plus posset dedita essent, quae ex iis habere uictos, quibus multari eos uelit, ipsius ius atque arbitrium esse; alterum, cum pares bello aequo foedere in pacem atque amicitiam uenirent; tunc enim repeti reddique per conuentionem res et, si quarum turbata bello possessio sit, eas aut ex formula iuris antiqui aut ex partis utriusque commodo componi; tertium esse genus cum qui nunquam hostes fuerint ad amicitiam sociali foedere inter se iungendam coeant: eos neque dicere nec accipere leges; id enim uictoris et uicti esse. Ex eo genere cum Antiochus esset, mirari se quod Romani aequum censeant leges ei dicere quas Asiae urbium liberas et immunes, quas stipendiarias esse uelint, quas intrare praesidia regia regemque uetent; cum Philippo enim hoste pacem, non cum Antiocho amico societatis foedus ita sanciendum esse. 28 See, e.g., DAHLHEIM (1968), p. 163–274; ZACK (2015a); cf. COùKUN (2008), p. 218.

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amicitia sociali foedere inter se iungenda (Liv. 34.57.9); and second, he was requesting this while already enjoying the status of a friend: cum Antiocho amico societatis foedus ita sanciendum esse (Liv. 34.57.11).29 It seems obvious to me that Antiochos wanted to formalize his relation with Rome through a foedus, less so for the need of military assistance than with the intention of firmly and unambiguously defining each other’s spheres of interest.30 This territorial implication is made explicit in the response that T. Quinctius Flamininus, the chief negotiator of the Senate, gave Menippos: Quinctius replied thus: ‘Since it is your pleasure to discuss the matter systematically and to enumerate the different ways of establishing friendships, I shall set forth two conditions without which you may report to the king that there is no way to form a friendship with the Roman people: first, that if he wishes us to have no interest in what concerns the cities of Asia, he too must himself keep entirely out of Europe; second, that if he does not keep himself within the limits of Asia, but crosses into Europe, the Romans, too, shall have the right both to defend their existing friendships with the cities of Asia and to add new treaties of alliance.’31

Diodoros’ shorter version echoes the same altercation. Although its tone is somewhat sharper, Polybios must have been the common source for both later historiographers.32 Antiochos’ desire of a firm territorial arrangement with the Romans is confirmed further by Appian’s brief report at the conference of Ephesos, which immediately preceded the outbreak of the war: in this, Appian lets the king specify precisely which cities he was willing to grant autonomy and which cities he was not.33 Livy’s work, complemented by those of Polybios, Diodoros and Appian, thus clearly implies that the negotiations about Egypt provided an opportunity for Antiochos and Rome to embark on a friendship in 200 BC. There is yet another 29 Cf. BRISCOE (1981), p. 139: ‘Antiochus is already an amicus’. Similarly, DMITRIEV (2011), p. 127 for 195 BC (see above, n. 20). 30 On the context of geopolitics and rhetoric of the 190s BC, see MA (1999), p. 97– 102, though without a connection to the debate on amicitia et societas. 31 LIV. 34.58.1–3 (adapted from the transl. by J.C. YARDLEY, Loeb): Ad ea Quinctius: ‘quoniam uobis distincte agere libet et genera iungendarum amicitiarum enumerare, ego quoque duas condiciones ponam, extra quas nullam esse regi nuntietis amicitiae cum populo Romano iungendae: unam, si nos nihil quod ad urbes Asiae attinet curare uelit, ut et ipse omni Europa abstineat; alteram, si se ille Asiae finibus non contineat et in Europam transcendat, ut et Romanis ius sit Asiae ciuitatium amicitias et tueri quas habeant et nouas complecti.’ 32 DIOD. SIC. 28.15. Note, however, that Diodoros puts the Roman response into the mouth of the more famous T. Quinctius Flamininus, a typical literary device. – Also cf. ZACK (2015a), p. 38f. for Polybios as the common source. 33 APP., Syr. 12 (45). Somewhat more ambiguous is APP., Syr. 6 (24f.) on the previous embassy to Rome: part of the report seems to imply that friendship pre-existed, part of it that it was yet to be obtained, with or without an additional foedus; Appian was obviously not interested in terminology, but the importance of territorial boundaries is also prevalent in this report.

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piece of evidence to be adduced. In the Letter of Mithradates, a composition with which Sallust spices his account of the Third Mithradatic War (73–63 BC), the king of Pontos addresses the Parthian king Arsakes, blaming Roman infidelity as follows: In fact, the Romans have one inveterate motive for making war upon all nations, peoples and kings; namely, a deep-seated desire for dominion and for riches. For this (desire) they at first began the war with Philip, king of Macedon. While they were hard pressed by the Carthaginians, they craftily diverted Antiochos, when he was coming to his aid, from this purpose by the surrender of Asia, by pretending friendship (amicitiam simulantes), and then, after Philip’s power had been broken, Antiochos was robbed of all the territory this side of the Taurus, and of ten thousand talents.34

Modern scholars understand this text section differently: by relating amicitiam simulantes to the previous sentence, they regard Philip as the (first) victim of dishonest Roman friendship.35 But such a reading raises a number of grammatical and historical problems that have not found satisfactory explanations.36 My translation implies that Sallust’s tendentious historical construction collapses the Second Illyrian War (219–217 BC) with the First (214–205 BC) and Second Macedonian Wars (200–197 BCE) into one war against Philip, so that the war against the Carthaginians (i.e. Second Punic War, 218–201 BC) was fought during that ‘Macedonian War’. This is what I would call an intuitive reading that is largely in line with the established historical facts, with the mild exception that the Peace of Phoinike is ignored here. Such a 34 SALL., Hist. 4.67.5f. = 4.69.5f. (ed. MAURENBRECHER 1891/1966): Namque Romanis cum nationibus, populis, regibus cunctis una et ea uetus causa bellandi est, cupido profunda imperi et diuitiarum; qua primo cum rege Macedonum Philippo bellum sumpsere dum a Carthaginiensibus premebantur amicitiam simulantes{.} i subuenientem Antiochum concessione Asiae per dolum auortere ac mox fracto Philippo Antiochus omni cis Taurum agro et decem milibus talentorum spoliatus est. 35 The brackets in my previous note allow the reader to compare my interpretation with that which seems to be agreed on among generations of scholars, as reflected in the editiones Teubnerianae (MAURENBRECHER 1891/1966; AHLBERG 1919; KURFESS 1972), Oxoniensis (REYNOLDS 1991) and Loeb (ROLFE 1921), as well as in thelatinlibrary.com and the Perseus Database. According to them, the Romans pretended friendship with Philip during the Hannibalic War, thus explicitly ROLFE (1921), p. 435: ‘Therefore they first began a war with Philip, king of Macedonia, having pretended to be his friends as long as they were hard pressed by the Carthaginians.’ Likewise, e.g., LAMBERT / HOWALDT 1978/1991; MCGUSHIN, P. (1994), p. 48; cf. 180f. 36 It may seem that ZACK (2015b), p. 156f. deviates from this tradition: his quotation is ambiguous in that, on the one hand, the full stop after simulantes is missing, but, on the other hand, the subsequent Ei remains capitalized; more importantly, he is – as far as I see – the only one to adduce this source as evidence for Roman friendship diplomacy with Antiochos around 200 BC. This notwithstanding, in an email (8 Feb. 2017) he explains to me that his argument was not based on amicitiam simulantes, which he continues to relate to the Roman relation with Philip, understanding that the Peace of Phoinike necessarily resulted in amicitia. But see below, n. 38.

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choice, however, can be seen as common practice (not only) in (ancient) historiography. One may only think of the Archidamian (431–421 BC) and Dekeleian Wars (413–404 BC), which Thukydides conceives as the one ‘Peloponnesian War’. In contrast, the traditional reading subordinates amicitiam simulantes to bellum sumpsere. A grammatically precise reading which requires the action of simulare to be ongoing at the time of sumere would render the whole sentence absurd. There might seem to be two ways around this problem: either one assumes that the Macedonian War had started before the Carthaginian, and that the Romans paused their hostilities with Philip to concentrate on Hannibal first; or one surmises that, after fighting two wars simultaneously, the Romans interrupted hostilities with Philip through the Peace of Phoinike in 205 BC, thus ‘feigning friendship’ with him for a while, before resuming the war after the defeat of Carthage. We can safely ignore the first option, given that no one has advocated this – grossly a-historical – scenario. The second variant, however, seems to be the common opinion.37 I am willing to grant this reconstruction some historical plausibility, although it implies more difficulties than anyone has so far admitted: there is at least an odd tension with primo (‘initially, first’), given that everyone knows that the Romans had been at war with Philip before the end of the Hannibalic War. Moreover, referring amicitiam simulantes to Philip implies yet another problem: we have no reason to assume that the Treaty of Phoinike stipulated amicitia besides pax, two concepts that the Romans were quite able to distinguish.38 Even so, there is another, more serious, grammatical challenge. The mainstream interpretation silently accepts that simulantes does not express an action simultaneous to bellum sumpsere, as would be the norm (‘waged war, while feigning friendship’), but rather that the Romans first deceived Philip and then went to war with him. Such a loose employment of the tenses is not covered by archaic and classical grammar, and upon closer inspection, even the examples that might be adduced for a laxer post-classical usage are sufficiently distinct.39 37

See above, n. 34. In his report of the peace negotiations at Phoinike, LIV 29.12 speaks about a dozen times of pax, not a single time of amicitia. There was no friendship relation between Philip and the Romans prior to the end of the Second Macedonian War. Pace A. Zack (see above, n. 36), there was no automatism between pax and amicitia; although the Romans were later inclined to grant amicitia to most of its defeated opponents, the situation in 205 BC was different, since Philip had not been defeated and accepted all Roman demands, a condition for the imperial practice of granting amicitia. Also see my discussion of 1Macc 8.17–32 for the same terminological distinction (COùKUN 2018b). 39 KÜHNER / STEGMANN (1976/1992), Part II, vol. 1, p. 756f., § 136.3–4: ‘Erst später finden sich sichere Stellen, wo die Schriftsteller kein Bedenken getragen haben, das Part. Praes. von einer vor der Haupthandlung vergangenen Handlung zu gebrauchen, also geradezu zum Ersatz des Part. Perf. Act.’ The earliest examples given (poetry: VERG., 38

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Last, but not least, the traditional interpretation results in an (even extended) version of the most-resented epic clausula: amícitiám simulántes. While in itself not an impossible choice, it does all but support the communis opinio.40 I thus doubt that the traditional interpretation matches the meaning intended by Sallust. We should rather accept that the first sentence ends after sumpsere, and that amicitiam simulantes specifies the condition under which the Romans managed to induce Antiochos to abort his campaign in support of Philip. Sallust thus only chooses slightly arbitrary interpretations of Antiochos’ motivation for campaigning in Asia Minor in 197 BC and of the Roman offer of friendship, but he avoids any serious conflict with classical grammar or canonical historiography.41 This new reading shifts the whole emphasis on the relation between Rome and Antiochos. Such a stress is in fact what we may expect from the Letter of Mithradates: in this, the king of Pontos is represented as addressing the king of the Parthians, who was not only the successor of the Seleukids in the Middle East, but also enjoying amicitia with the Romans. In his despair to gain new allies, Mithradates was trying to convince him that friendship with the Romans would not protect him against their greed in the future, with their lack of honesty expressed twice (amicitiam simulantes … per dolum). Hence, the Parthians should act as long as Mithradates (represented by Philip in the historical comparison) was available as an ally. Accordingly, in Sallust’s historiographic construction, Antiochos quite clearly emerges as an amicus populi Romani before the outbreak or perhaps during the Second Macedonian War. Sallust therefore provides the oldest Aen. 1.305; prose: LIV., 27.43.3) not only date one or two decades after SALL., Hist., but they also persistently add adverbials of time to help avoid confusion; and still the much later example of TAC., Ann. 12.48, which can do without such specification, puts the participial clause before the main predicate, never thereafter. – Note besides that KÜHNER / STEGMANN, in the same paragraph, address the possibility that the part. pres. act. replaces the part. fut. act., which would be a requirement for the alternative interpretation of simulantes amicitia as following upon bellum sumpsere. But such a usage, attested as of LIV. 4.9.1 (legati ueniunt auxilium implorantes), is strictly limited to cases where the participle depends on a verb of movment and expresses a purpose. At any rate, this latter interpretation would further suffer from the problem that the subsequent subuenientem Antiochum would be rendered implausible: Philip enjoying friendship with the Romans, even if under dishonest conditions, would not have been in need of military assistance. 40 Be it admitted that Sallust did not fancy the Ciceronian clausulae, and that even Cicero rarely admits the heroic cadence: KÜHNER / STEGMANN (1962/1971), Part II, vol. 2, p. 622–625, § 248. And yet, some ‘Ciceronian’ instances have been rejected as interpolations (based also on historical and grammatical considerations: BARTLETT 2016, esp. p. 49 and 72–76), while others have been identified as deliberate choice to mark a distinguished historical event (KLOSS 2009). 41 Two (asyndetic) participle constructions (amicitiam simulantes ei subuenientem Antiochum) at the beginning of a period are nothing unusual, see, e.g., KÜHNER / STEGMANN (1976/1992), Part II, vol. 1, p. 782f., § 140.4, with reference to CAES., Bell. Gall. 1.24.5 etc.

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explicit testimony to the conclusion of friendship in ca. 200 BC. He, too, must have drawn on Polybios’ Histories.42 Burton’s consideration has thus found sufficient corroboration, and I agree with his interpretation that the Roman requests for the sake of Attalos and Ptolemy were granted ‘because his obligations arising from amicitia compelled him to do so’.43 The only problem I see with Burton’s argument is that he regards 200/198 BC as the potential historical context for the letter attested by Suetonius.44 On this reckoning, the Romans’ request for Ilion’s tax exemption

42 There is a broad scholarly discussion as to whether Sallust drew on documentary or at least historiographical evidence from the court of Mithradates, but none of the arguments produced in favour of such a view has much weight: neither do they require any knowledge that Sallust could not have drawn from, say, Poseidonios of Rhodes (or Polybios), nor do they make it believable that he made an effort to include material from the opponents of Rome. Differently, e.g., BALLESTEROS PASTOR (2018), 291–294, with ample bibliography. At any rate, the problem of Sallust’s direct source(s) is of limited relevance to our present problem, for even if he should have based his version of the letter on an original composed by Mithradates or his court, or else on a now-lost pro-Pontic historiographical account, it is likely that, ultimately, even those would have been informed by Polybios, as far as the hard facts of the Punic, Macedonian and Syrian Wars are concerned. 43 BURTON (2011), p. 106f. with n. 61, referencing POLYB. 16.27.5 and further scholarship on those negotiations; for the latter, also see above, n. 1. For the same conclusion, see already DAHLHEIM (1968), p. 258 n. 72; BRISCOE (1973), p. 183; cf. BADIAN (1959), 82; ZACK (2015b), p. 156f. – Skeptical remains GRUEN (1984), vol. 1, p. 65: ‘It is of course possible that the amicitia dates only to 200 when Roman envoys were allegedly sent to Syria and Egypt [...]. But what they accomplished there (if anything) is quite uncertain, and no evidence that they concluded an amicitia with Antiochus.’ Yet differently, DMITRIEV (2011), p. 128, who suggests that Rome established a network a friendships in the East following the succession of Ptolemy V in 204 BC (including Antiochos III, Attalos I and perhaps Rhodes): ‘Since Egypt was a Roman friend, Antiochus received the same status. This would have been logical from the Roman view that friends of Rome were obliged to keep peace with each other and settle their conflicts with the help of Roman mediation. Establishing friendships thus offered the Romans their only justifiable grounds for interfering in Hellenistic politics at the turn of the second century.’ I remain unconvinced, but Dmitriev’s further observation carries some weight: ‘Antiochus was not honored with the status of a Roman friend for changing his policies: he still controlled Ptolemaic cities in the mid-190s.’ But Rome may have valued partial concessions more highly before than after the Second Macedonian War and following the declaration of the freedom for the Greek cities by T. Quinctius Flamininus in 196 BC. Further problematic is the following assumption (p. 129, cf. 130): ‘The Romans simply granted him their “friendship”, for which he had not necessarily asked: the only way he could have received it from the Romans without making a formal treaty with them was in the form of a gift. His status then obliged him, in Roman eyes, to abide by the rules of Roman politics and to have the same friends and enemies as Rome.’ Such conclusions from an arbitrary definition of Roman diplomatic practices are without any force. 44 See above, n. 21, for Burton.

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would have been the smallest favour they asked for. Remains to wonder what, if all of this were accepted, would have been in for Antiochos. Moreover, the wording of the letter (amicitiam et societatem ita demum pollicentis) clearly seems to imply some hesitation on the side of the Romans in granting friendship.45 True enough, they had just overcome Hannibal, but the war in Cisalpine Gaul continued and the confrontation with Philip was about to reignite. Antiochos, in turn, had not only united the Upper Satrapies and several vassal kingdoms behind himself, but also achieved more against Ptolemaic Egypt in Koile Syria than any of his predecessors. What is more, the Romans were the ones who approached him, asking him for leniency with Attalos and Ptolemy V. Considering this, the years 200/198 BC do not provide a fitting context for the Suetonian letter, even if we should allow for the slip with the addressee’s name. The proposals of Erskine and Burton involve yet another difficulty: they seem to be taking for granted that Ilion was among the protégés of Rome around 193 or 200/198 BC respectively. As we shall see in the next section, this assumption – though widespread – implies further problems, since the city is not mentioned in the detailed accounts of Livy for the Roman-Seleukid negotiations, and likewise missing in the fragmentary testimonies of Polybios and Diodoros.

4. The Shared Trojan Ancestry of Rome, Ilion, and Lampsakos, and the Agency of Pergamon In his attempt to refute the Suetonian tradition, Holleaux elaborated on a ramification that comes with an early acknowledgment of the syngeneia between Rome and Ilion. If Ilion had been able to instrumentalize this anytime under Seleukos II or III, one should truly wonder about the course of action that the Lampsakenoi took, when rallying support against the emerging Seleukid threat in 197 BC.46 Their ambassador Hegesias made a detour to Massalia, to enlist 45 Likewise, HOLLEAUX (1921), p. 48 n. 3 concluded that Seleukos is represented as having taken the initiative; he is followed by GRUEN 1984, vol. 1, 65 n. 56; that much is also conceded by RIZZO (1974), p. 84. I add that the formulation further seems to imply a higher status of the Romans. When the letter was composed, it was apparently a remote idea that the conclusion of amicitia with Rome should have been initiated without addressing a humble request to the Senate. Differently, DMITRIEV (2011), p. 105 with n. 8: ‘There is no reason to accept Suetonius’ view that the king petitioned the Romans for friendship [...] The Romans typically presented foreign powers as having asked to be acknowledged as Roman friends.’ 46 HOLLEAUX (1921), p. 53–57 rejects as unlikely the idea that Ilion began to be protected by Rome as of 237 BC, the assumed date for the treaty of friendship (p. 47), since the Lampsakenoi, when looking for support for their request to Rome in 197 BC, took the detour to Massalia, rather than trusting the value of their syngeneia, with

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support for his mission to the Senate, which he beseeched to intercede against Antiochos.47 For a member of the Ilian League, if the league was existing at all and functioning at the time,48 this is surprising. Had Ilion indeed been enjoying a special relation with Rome, one would have expected it to endorse the Lampsakene request. Otherwise, in case Ilion was ill-disposed to Lampsakos, Hegesias would nevertheless have wanted to mention the favourable treatment of the Ilienses thanks to their syngeneia with the Romans – the same blood relation that the Lampsakenoi were about to draw on. Holleaux’ argument has been questioned, in most detail, by Hatto Schmitt: on the one hand, he says that Ilion was occupied by Antiochos III in the course of 197 BC, before Hegesias had left Lampsakos;49 on the other hand, he suggests much more plausibly that Ilion had submitted to Antiochos without any immediate violence, responding to the diplomacy that Zeuxis started to deploy from Sardeis in 198 BC.50 The latter is indeed a very plausible assumption,

reference to Ilion (p. 53–56); and Rome intervened only for Lampsakos and Smyrna (LIV. 35.16.10), but even that demand Antiochos found outrages, given that he would neither interfere in Italy: POLYB. 18.52. Differently, SCHMITT (1964), p. 291 n. 8: ‘Bezeichnend ist übrigens, daß in der lampsakenischen Inschrift die Art der Verwandtschaft mit den Römern nicht eigens erklärt wird. Sie war also offenbar eine längst bekannte Größe’; even weaker is the counter-argument by RIZZO (1974), p. 88. For a traditional argument that simply ignores the concerns of Holleaux, see, e.g., MAGIE (1950), vol. 2, p. 943: ‘In 197 B.C. the envoys of Lampsacus based their plea for Roman protection […] on the ground of their syngeneia with Rome, a “kinship” evidently founded on the theory that Lampsacus, as a member of the Ilian Federation […], was “akin” to Ilium and so to Rome.’ 47 I.Lampsakos 4 = SIG3 591; cf. ELWYN (1993), p. 273f. 48 For the dispersed evidence for the Ilian League, MAGIE (1950), vol. 2, p. 869–871; FRISCH (1975), p. XIff.; 1–55. The number of its member poleis was unstable, and it is uncertain when exactly Lampsakos belonged to the league. 49 SCHMITT (1964), p. 284 (cf. p. 291–293): ‘[...] Ilion, das wie Alexandreia und Lampsakos im J. 218 in die Einflußsphäre des Attalos gekommen war, wurde wahrscheinlich bereits 197 besetzt [...].’ And p. 293: ‘[...] Trifft diese Überlegung das Richtige, so wäre die Abreise des Hegesias aus Lampsakos der terminus ante quem für die Unterwerfung Ilions unter Antiochos’ Oberhoheit. Wann reiste Hegesias ab? Er traf die Zehnmännerkommission wohl im Frühjahr oder Frühsommer 196 in Korinth; da er vorher beim römischen Flottenprätor bei Korfu Station gemacht hatte, dann die weite Reise nach Massalia unternahm, von dort nach Rom, nach der Senatsaudienz nach Korinth fuhr, so ist seine Abreise nicht später als Herbst 197 anzusetzen.’ 50 SCHMITT (1964), p. 293: ‘Wenn von einer solchen Initiative der Ilier nichts bekannt ist, wenn kein llier die lampsakenischen Gesandten begleitet, wenn die llier nicht einmal erwähnt werden, so dürfte der Grund dafür wohl sein, daß Ilion damals bereits die Oberhoheit des Seleukiden hatte anerkennen müssen, so daß eine Bitte um Anerkennung der Selbständigkeit durch Rom, die sich naturgemäß gegen Antiochos’ Interessen gerichtet hätte, den Iliern nicht mehr möglich war. [...] Spätestens im Herbst 197 war Ilion also — vermutlich ohne Gewaltanwendung — unter die Oberhoheit des Seleukiden gekommen.’ Cf. WALBANK (1979), p. 167. Differently, but without sufficient evidence,

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especially when we see that Lampsakos and Smyrna were still free to send embassies to Rome in 197/196 BC. Schmitt further underlines that there is no firm evidence that either of the cities had gotten under the Seleukid sway in the ensuing years.51 At least the detailed narrative of Livy for 190 BC does not convey the impression that Smyrna or Ilion hosted a garrison of Antiochos.52 But it begs the question why Ilion should have preferred Antiochos over the Romans in 198 or 197 BC, since they were then actively fighting Philip in Greece, the most imminent threat to the freedom of the cities in Western Asia Minor. Choosing Antiochos would have been astonishing, if Ilion had developed close bonds with Rome or Attalos beforehand. Only one source attests to a previous relation between Ilion and Rome: the Livian account of the peace treaty of Phoinike dating to 205 BC – a tradition that involves yet further problems.53 Before dealing with the immediate context of 205 BC, we should explore one further implication of the doubtful letter to Seleucus Rex. If indeed the Senate had supported Ilion due to consanguinitas under either Seleukos II or III, the Romans would not only have embraced the idea of their own Trojan descent, but also have used it, and – what is more – allowed it to be used in diplomatic affairs by others. Positive evidence for any such practice is, however, quite late, and clearly points to the time of the Hannibalic War.54 The earliest attested case ENGELS (2012), § 2 includes Ilion among the opposition to Antiochos that turned to Rome in 197/196 BC. 51 SCHMITT (1964), p. 283 (Smyrna) and 293: ‘Lampsakos war vor 197 v. Chr. frei [...] und sträubte sich auch in den folgenden Jahren gegen die syrischen Eroberungsgelüste [...]. Daß die Stadt erobert worden wäre, läßt sich ebensowenig beweisen wie im Fall Smyrnas.’ Cf. p. 290, where he downplays any military threat to Lampsakos in 197 BC. Yet, in contradiction to his previous claim, he states on p. 295: ‘Smyrna und Lampsakos wurden, nachdem die Verhandlungen ergebnislos verlaufen waren, noch vor Beginn der Feldzugszeit 196 zerniert’. The latter is not attested for 197/196 BC (LIV. 33.38, cf. MA 1999, p. 173). According to BADIAN (1959), p. 84f., Antiochos passed on laying siege to Lampsakos and Smyrna, lest to halt his march into Thrace and gain further ground before the Romans would interfere once more. The two cities continued to resist at least until early in 192 BC (LIV. 35.42.2, quoted below in the appendix on Alexandria Troas). And yet, it may well be that Lampsakos gave in to the pressure in 192 or 191 BC, see below, with n. 68. 52 More on the events of 190 BC below. 53 LIV. 29.12.14. 54 Pace SCHMITT (1964), p. 291: ‘Die römische Propaganda hat wohl schon damals (sc. around 240 BC) eifrig für die Idee geworben, daß die Römer Abkömmlinge des Aeneas und somit ein altes, in den griechischen Kulturkreis gehörendes Volk seien. In den folgenden Jahrzehnten mehren sich die Nachrichten, die hierfür sprechen’. BRISCOE (1981), p. 343 goes as far back as Pyrrhos (PAUS. 1.12.1), but apart from the fact that the evidence is late, it does not prove that the Romans had embraced their Trojan past. More to the point is ELWYN 1993, p. 267–271, who discusses kinship terminology (homophylia, consanguinitas) that later literary sources occasionally adduce for the Roman negotiations with the Mamertines, Saguntines and Capuani. She not only points to doubts concerning the historicity of the evidence, but also argues convincingly that none of the

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in which the Trojan connection played a role in Roman politics dates to 212 BC, when the Carmina Marciana were recited from the Sibylline Oracles.55 More famous is, of course, the quest for the ‘forgotten’ Magna Idaea Mater, which was undertaken in 205/204 BC, also at the behest of the Sibylline Oracles. This time, Attalos I of Pergamon got involved.56 He did not take the Roman ambassadors to Ilion, as one might have expected, but to Pessinus, a remote and yet barely-known place in eastern Phrygia.57 Intriguingly, our main source Livy specifies that, when the oracle was discussed in the Senate, the Romans did not yet have any city in Asia Minor among their ‘(friends and) allies’ (Liv. 29.10): nullasdum in Asia socias ciuitates habebat populus Romanus. We cannot ultimately decide whether Livy is drawing on a reliable tradition for this negative statement or presenting his own conclusion based on the uncertainty that the Romans apparently felt: they chose to consult the oracle of Delphi twice before approaching Attalos in Pergamon – bypassing Ilion, which remains unmentioned in the account. It deserves emphasis that the search for the forgotten Mother took place in 205/204 BC, and thus at least in part simultaneously with the peace negotiations at Phoinike. Remarkably, Livy lists Ilion among the allies of the Romans that were included in the peace treaty with Philip. If this annalistic tradition is accepted, we would have to do with a last-minute addition, just as in the potential case of Athens. It is, however, not too bold to follow the majority of scholars who reject the authenticity of that list: neither Ilion nor Athens had fought on the Roman side in the First Macedonian War. The inclusion of Athens in the Roman historiographical tradition is immediately obvious, when considering the

cases had any Trojan connotation. At any rate, she cautions us (p. 274; 283f.) that this Greek concept was received only very slowly in Roman diplomacy; see especially her judgment on Rome’s response to the plead of Lampsakos: ‘it is clear form the inscription itself that Rome, as WILL (1982), p. 185 has pointed out, has only “indifference polie et bonnes paroles” for this kindred state; the claim of kinship has little effect on Rome’s policies and actions in the Greek East.’ Also cf. COùKUN (2008), p. 20–23; VISSCHER in this volume with ns. 25f. 55 LIV. 25.10; see ERSKINE (2001), p. 39: ‘Since prophecies and oracles are usually cryptic and enigmatic, one could equally maintain that the occurrence of the term Troiugena is evidence for the lack of familiarity with the myth in Rome’; RUSSO (2005) and (2014), p. 596. Note that WALBANK (1979), p. 182 dates the carmina Marciana to the 2nd century (on flimsy ground albeit). 56 See RUSSO (2014); (2015), p. 139–154, mainly arguing for P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus promoting the notion of Trojan ancestry in Rome and pushing for the acquisition of the Magna Mater prior to his African campaign; also see p. 142–144 on the involvement of Attalos. 57 See COùKUN F (2018a); (ca. 2019); cf. BURTON (1996); ERSKINE (2001), p. 169–176; ENGELS (2007) RVW 132.

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city’s part in the justification of the Second Macedonian War: Philip’s impinging on Athens offered one of the reasons to reopen the war in 200 BC.58 Much less clear is the case of Ilion: if indeed it played a role during the negotiations in Phoinike, it would have owed its privileged status as a Roman ally to the patronage of Attalos.59 But an alternative seems much more likely: in the quest for the Magna Idaea Mater, Attalos instigated the detour to Pessinus in order to bind Roman loyalty to him and his kingdom, rather than to the Ilian League, which does not seem to have been under his control.

5. Ilion, Antiochos and Rome The events of 205 BC also shed a different light on the behaviour of the Lampsakenoi in 197 BC: asking for Roman protection effectively meant distancing oneself from Ilion and its league, which must have been siding with Antiochos. Perhaps the Ilienses felt they had better reason to fear Attalos than the Seleukids, who were certainly offering good terms until 198/197 BC. Against this background, one can understand much better why, in their negotiations with Antiochos in 196 BC, the Roman ambassadors made claims for Lampsakos, Smyrna and Pergamon, but not for Ilion. Antiochos was, in fact, an apparent choice for Ilion, especially at a time when the outcome of the war between Rome and Philip was yet uncertain. It is easy to imagine that the Seleukid king was wooing the Greek cities long before his ships would reach their harbours in 197 BC, and it is neither an abject speculation that Ilion could expect a privileged status under his rule. No one could foretell how much weight the Romans would give to a shared Trojan ancestry. In contrast, the prestige that Ilion had enjoyed under previous Hellenistic kings is well documented. Our main source, Strabon, attests Alexander the Great’s fascination with that place, the immunity he granted and the several promises he added. But it was Lysimachos who effectively took care of the city walls and also of the temple of Athena.60 An inscription from ca. 275 BC allows us to add Antiochos I Soter to the list of the city’s benefactors.61 Another small epigraphic 58 LIV. 29.12.14 on Phoinike. Against the inclusion of Ilion and Athens, see, e.g., WALBANK (1967), p. 552 (with reference to the case of Lampsakos in 197 BC, see below); ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 113f. with bibliography in n. 147. 59 Thus, e.g., ERSKINE (2001), p. 174f.: ‘Ilion had been included among the adscripti to the Peace of Phoinike in 205, most probably because of its kinship with Rome, though whether the initiative came from Rome, Attalos, or Ilion is uncertain.’ Cf. SCHMITT (1964), p. 291. 60 STRAB., Geogr. 13.1.26f. (594C). 61 The honorary inscription capitalizes repeatedly on the cult for Athena, and further attests Antiochos’ role as saviour and benefactor, which may, however, simply relate to overcoming the Galatian crisis by 275 BC, see esp. OGIS 219 (Sigeion) = FRISCH (1975),

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fragment confirming previous privileges and promising goodwill and honour has convincingly been ascribed to Antiochos III;62 it should be dated to 198 or 197 (if not around 202)63 BC. The latter king’s awareness of the ideological potential is revealed by his sacrifice to Ilian Athena just before he set sail to Greece in 192 BC.64 We may add a reference to Hegesianax of Alexandria Troas here: he has been mentioned before as the king’s ambassador to Rome in 193 BC, but he also had been his delegate to Korinth in 196 BC and participated at the conference of Lysimacheia in the same year.65 His hometown Alexandria was one of the cities of the Troas that smoothly accepted Seleukid suzerainty in 197, if not 198 BC, together with Ilion. It is of some bearing that he quickly became a most-trusted philos of the king. He is recognized to be behind the pseudonym Kephalon of Gergis, to whom a History of Troy is generally ascribed. Although only fragments of this work have been preserved, their subtle nuances to the narratives that were then gaining currency in the Mediterranean World are apparently designed to strengthen the ideological link between the Seleukid dynasty and Troy at the cost of Pergamon and Rome. Such an intention is revealed by having Aineias die in Thrace, so that he never reached Latium; in addition, Rhomos (Remus?), not Romulus is named as the founder of Rome.66 Ilion and its league members were faring well in the first year of renewed Seleukid presence in Western Asia Minor. When only Lampsakos felt the need to resist, one may speculate either about tensions within the league or machinations of the Attalids, who were trying to build a pro-Roman network in the area headed by themselves.67 Conditions changed quickly in 191 BC. Both

I.Ilion no. 32 = MA (1999), p. 254–259 = AUSTIN2 162, ll. 36–38: ੘ įોȝȠȢ ੒ ੉ȜȚ੼ȦȞ ȕĮıȚȜ੼Į ਝȞIJ઀ȠȤȠȞ / ȕĮıȚȜ੼ȦȢ ȈİȜİ઄țȠȣ İ੝ıİȕİ઀ĮȢ ਪȞİțİȞ IJોȢ İੁȢ IJઁ ੂİȡંȞ, İ੝İȡȖ੼IJȘȞ țĮ੿ ıȦIJોȡĮ / ȖİȖȠȞંIJĮ IJȠ૨ į੾ȝȠȣ. ‘The people of [Ilium (honours) King Antiochus] son of King Seleucus for his piety towards the sanctuary (and) for being [the benefactor and] saviour of the people.’ For the date, see COùKUN (2012), p. 61 n. 14. Note that I.Ilion 31 seems to be attesting a cult for Seleukos I late in 281 BC. 62 WELLES, RC 42, cf. SCHMITT (1964), p. 293; the reference in DREYER (2007), p. 357 n. 172 remains unclear. 63 For Seleukid military operations in Karia around the time, which also resulted in diplomacy with Ionian cities, see DREYER (2007), p. 272–282. If so, diplomacy with Aiolian cities would be a similar possibility, especially when those were under threat from Philip (or Attalos). And see above, with n. 49 for 198 BC. 64 LIV. 35.43.3: priusquam solueret naues, Ilium a mari escendit ut Mineruae sacrificaret. See VISSCHER in this volume, section 2, for more details. 65 Korinth: POLYB. 18.47.14. Lysimacheia: POLYB. 18.49.2–18.50.3. Rome: LIV. 34.57.1–6. 66 See DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.44.3–71 and 1.72.1f., with VISSCHER in this volume, section 1, also referring to BNJ 45 = FGrHist 45. Note, however, that VISSCHER hesitates to accept an openly hostile attitude towards Rome. 67 Cf. RUSSO (2014); COùKUN (2018a).

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the speed and the efficiency of Rome’s response to Antiochos’ expansion into Greece probably exceeded everyone’s expectations. The defeats that Antiochos suffered at the Thermopylai and in the Aegean shook his reputation. It also became clear that he had not thought about a second defense line at his back: no one was there to prevent the Romans from landing in the Troad in winter 190 BC. In fact, Pergamon had even operated against Antiochos throughout the war, and quickly joined the first Roman general in the ‘Harbour of the Achaians’: Already Livius68 from Kanai, with his own thirty ships and seven quadriremes which King Eumenes had brought with him was on his way to the Hellespont, that he might make everything ready for the crossing of the army, which, he thought, would come by land. He first brought the ships into what they call the ‘harbour of the Achaians’, thence he went up to Ilion, and after sacrificing to Minerva gave a gracious audience to embassies from Elaios and Dardanos and Rhoiteion offering to entrust their cities to his good faith.69

While it is hard to establish what precisely the conditions were under which the Ilian League had been held by Antiochos, we can be sure that he had not garrisoned them, trusting that his charisma would suffice to hold his new subjects in awe. A possible exception might be Lampsakos, whose traces are lost for the years 196–188 BC: a Seleukid garrison would at least explain why the city did not send a delegation to welcome Livius Salinator, or soon thereafter the consul L. Cornelius Scipio (Asiaticus).70 With the latter’s arrival in the Troad a few months later, the Ilian spectacle was repeated according to Livy: When everything was ready for the execution of his designs and when he had moved from his base, the consul first advanced to Dardanos and then to Rhoiteion, and both peoples thronged to meet him. Then he went on to Ilion, and encamping on the level ground which lies below the walls, he went up to the city and the citadel and offered sacrifice to Minerva, the guardian of the citadel; the people of Ilion, on their part, 68

C. Livius Salinator (MRR I, p. 357). LIV. 37.9.7–8 (adapted from the transl. by J.C. YARDLEY, Loeb): Iam Liuius a Canis cum triginta nauibus et septem quadriremibus, quas secum Eumenes rex adduxerat, Hellespontum petebat, ut ad transitum exercitus, quem terra uenturum opinabatur, praepararet, quae opus essent. In portum, quem uocant Achaeorum, classem primum aduertit; inde Ilium escendit, sacrificioque Mineruae facto legationes finitimas ab Elaeunte et Dardano et Rhoeteo, tradentis in fidem ciuitatis suas, benigne audiuit. 70 Add to this that Lampsakos is not singled out in the list that Livy provides for the post-war regulations (LIV. 38.39, in part quoted below); it is likewise missing in Polybios’ account (POLYB. 21.46). Should we blame both authors for incompleteness, as WALBANK (1979), p. 164 does? There is the alternative that Lampsakos then seen among the cities partisan or even tax-paying to Antiochos. At least, we do not read of any support for the Roman campaign in 190 BC. Antiochos’ offer to forsake his claims to Smyrna and Lampsakos in 190 BC (POLYB. 21.13.3) does not reveal its current status. For uncertainty during these years, but without this explanation, see WILL (1982), p. 185. Inconsistent are the positions of SCHMITT (1964), p. 290–295, see above, n. 50. GRUEN (1984), vol. 2, p. 619 supposes its successful resistance. DREYER (2007), p. 357 n. 172 only addresses the (likewise uncertain) post-war regulations. 69

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with every mark of honour in deed or word proclaiming the Romans as descendants, and the Romans rejoicing in their descent.71

Ilion and the other league members seem to have been lucky: if we can trust Livy (whose account has been further expanded by Justin),72 the Roman leaders were as fond of the Homeric traditions as the Hellenistic kings from Alexander to Antiochos III. The same is implied in the preferred treatment which Ilion received in the peace negotiations of Apameia in 189/88 BC. It is worthwhile to read what the historiographer has to say more broadly on the treatment of the Aiolian and Ionian cities: Those which had been tributaries to King Antiochos but had sided with the Roman people were granted freedom from taxation; those which had been partisans of Antiochos or tributaries to King Attalos were all ordered to pay tribute to Eumenes. In addition, they granted freedom from taxation expressly to the Kolophonians who live in Notion, to the Kymaians and the Mylasenians; to the Klazomenians, in addition to immunity, they gave the island of Drymussa as a gift, and to the Milesians they restored what they call the ‘sacred land’, and to the people of Ilion they added Rhoiteion and Gergis, less as a reward for recent services than in recognition of their descent. This was also the reason for liberating Dardanos. The Chians, Smyrnaians and Erythraians, because of the extraordinary loyalty they had displayed in the war, were rewarded with lands and in addition were treated with every mark of honour. To the Phokaians they both gave back the lands which they had held before the war and permitted them to live under their ancient laws.73

The preferential treatment of Ilion was not only substantial, but the additional comment is quite noteworthy, especially in contrast with the merits of the other beneficiaries: non tam ob recentia ulla merita quam originum memoria. This seems to imply that the Ilienses had not made the least effort to support Rome; they did nothing but opportunistically changing sides as late as 190 BC, but not 71 LIV. 37.37.1–3 (adapted from the transl. by J.C. YARDLEY, Loeb): Consul omnibus praeparatis ad proposita exsequenda cum ex statiuis mouisset, Dardanum primum, deinde Rhoeteum utraque ciuitate obuiam effusa uenit. Inde Ilium processit, castrisque in campo, qui est subiectus moenibus, positis in urbem arcemque cum escendisset, sacrificauit Mineruae praesidi arcis et Iliensibus in omni rerum uerborumque honore ab se oriundos Romanos praeferentibus et Romanis laetis origine sua. 72 JUST. 31.8.1–4, cf. RUSSO (2005), p. 144. 73 LIV. 38.39 (adapted from the transl. by J.C. YARDLEY, Loeb): Quae stipendiariae regi Antiocho fuerant et cum populo Romano senserant, iis immunitatem dederunt; quae partium Antiochi fuerant aut stipendiariae Attali regis, eas omnes uectigal pendere Eumeni iusserunt. Nominatim praeterea Colophoniis, qui in Notio habitant, et Cymaeis et Mylasenis immunitatem concesserunt; Clazomeniis super immunitatem et Drymussam insulam dono dederunt, et Milesiis quem sacrum appellant agrum restituerunt, et Iliensibus Rhoeteum et Gergithum addiderunt, non tam ob recentia ulla merita quam originum memoria. Eadem et Dardanum liberandi causa fuit. Chios quoque et Zmyrnaeos et Erythraeos pro singulari fide, quam eo bello praestiterunt, et agro donarunt et in omni praecipuo honore habuerunt. Phocaeensibus et ager, quem ante bellum habuerant, redditus, et ut legibus antiquis uterentur permissum.

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even then providing any military assistance. This said, there is no reproach of Ilion’s disloyalty either, something the Romans notoriously responded to with harshness. As a result, we should understand this last Livian passage as further support for the view that the Romans had neither requested tax exemptions for the Ilienses from any Seleukid king nor extended the protection of the Peace of Phoinike to them. One serious problem remains, however. In his Histories, at least in their fragmentary state, Polybios fails to mention that C. Livius Salinator or L. Cornelius Scipio jumped on the opportunity to sacrifice to Athena of Ilion. What is more, he does not even note any preferential treatment the city might have received in Apameia.74 Most scholars nevertheless find the Livian tradition credible.75 One might think to find further confirmation in a marginal note in Polybios’ account of the complex negotiations at Apameia: he tells us that the Ilienses interceded in support of the Lykians ‘because of the syngeneia with themselves’. The wording is somewhat ambiguous, but I am willing to grant that this relation was meant to involve all three: the Ilienses, the Romans and the Lykians. There is no reason to question Polybios’ statement that the ambassadors received a friendly reply’, and were given hope that the Lykian confederation might escape punishment. And yet, the Romans passed on their territory to Rhodes as a gift.76 Against this background, I suggest we take Polybios’ previous silence on Ilion seriously. In fact, there is further reason to mistrust Livy’s testimony, since we can also enlist Strabon as a witness against the annalistic tradition. In his very detailed account of the benefactions granted to Ilion, he ignores any advantage that the city might have enjoyed in the aftermath of the Roman War against Antiochos. This argumentum e silentio is of some weight: while the Geographer is addressing the Roman take-over, his emphasis is on the insignificance of the little town at the time. Next, he says that, some unspecified time later, Ilion ‘enjoyed great improvements’, only to be annihilated by Fimbria in the First Mithradatic War. Sulla tried to make good for the damage, but the real benefactor, so Strabon goes on, was Julius Caesar, a descendant of Aineias

74

POLYB. 21.46; cf. WALBANK (1979), p. 183. Thus, e.g., MAGIE (1950), vol. 2, p. 950f. n. 50 (rejecting the suspicion of a later annalistic insertion as put forward by Mommsen and NIESE 1899, p. 760 with n. 2); SCHMITT (1964), p. 292 (cf. p. 284); WALBANK (1979), p. 165 and 182; CANALI DE ROSSI (1997), p. 208. Also ERSKINE (2001), p. 175f., who, however, downplays the significance of the Trojan connection for the Romans, but regards it as an opportunity for Ilion and Dardanos in times of turmoil. Erskine adds in n. 57: ‘Either Livy introduced material from another source or the Byzantine excerptor of Polybios omitted this section’. BRISCOE (1981), p. 305; 343 does not even comment on the sacrifices offered by Salinator and Scipio. 76 POLYB. 22.5.1–4. Cf. ZIMMERMANN (1993), p. 115 with n. 26. 75

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through Ilos. It was he who granted freedom and immunity, besides increasing their territory.77 Preferring the versions of Polybios and Strabon does not result in denying any Ilian claims of kinship voiced to the Roman conquerors in 190 BC. Neither do we have to regard the Romans as entirely deaf towards the ideological potential that the control of Trojan locations might bring with it. Yet their zeal to do good to all their fellow descendents would have been limited by the fact that the Ilienses had willingly offered their ideological advantage to Antiochos, and we should perhaps add that his pompous sacrifice to ‘their’ Athena had not helped him much, but ended in disaster. Various conclusions could possibly be drawn: instead of abandoning the idea of Trojan descent altogether,78 the most pragmatic reaction would have been simply to distrust Ilion’s claim. After all, that is what a few years later a neighbour of the city did: Demetrios of Skepsis, the author of the Troikos diakosmos. This was the main source for Strabon’s lengthy digression dedicated to the rejection of the lofty claim of Ilion.79

5. Conclusions After setting out the different responses to Suetonius’ testimony for the beginning of Roman friendship with Seleucus Rex in the introduction, we first explored (and rejected) Seleukos II, III and IV as potential addressees of the letter. Next, we examined the evidence for Antiochos III, confirming his status as the first amicus populi Romani among the Seleukids and dating the beginning of this relationship to 200 BC. This year, however, is incompatible with the conditions implied in the Suetonian letter: namely, that the king took the initiative and begged for friendship, and that the Romans granted it after some hesitation and only (or mainly) under the condition that he would grant tax exemption to Ilion. The year 200 BC rather saw the Romans concerned about the survival of the Ptolemaic and Attalid kingdoms, besides the upcoming Second Macedonian War, whereas their attention for individual cities (Smyrna and Lampsakos) was aroused only in 197/196 BC. The letter summarized by Suetonius is thus no fit for a situation in which the Romans were keen on

77

STRAB., Geogr. 13.1.27 (594f.C). And thus offending the powerful Magna Idaea Mater once more. 79 STRAB., Geogr. 13.1.27–45 (595–604C); cf. RADT (2008), vol. 7, p. 480; cf. 481f.; 487f.; 495f. The problem is certainly worth further exploration. Some ideas deserving consideration are the following: 1) it is a possibility that the freedom of Dardanos might have come at the cost of Ilion in 189/188 BC. 2) Livy names no patron of Ilion, which would have given more credibility to his claim; the sections quoted above attest plenty of opportunities to have done so. 78

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ensuring the king’s friendly neutrality on the eve of the Second Macedonian War. In another step, the relation between Rome and Ilion came under scrutiny. It has some bearing that the Romans did not even consider contacting Ilion during their quest for the ‘forgotten Mother’ in 205 BC. Instead, they entrusted their concern to Attalos I, and saw their needs served well with the meteorite from Phrygian Pessinus rather than with any cult statue from the Troad. Even Livy confesses that the Romans did not have any other friends in Asia Minor at the time, which once more excludes the possibility that they had previously interceded on behalf of Ilion. The city’s inclusion in the Treaty of Phoinike as an ally of the Romans is questionable on the ground that it had not been involved in the conflict with Philip V at all. Further suspicion is aroused by its absence from the literary source for nearly the next fifteen years. Nothing indicates that the Ilienses were close to Attalos. On the contrary, they rather chose to join the Seleukid side in 198 BC. This affiliation yields an obvious reason for why the Romans were not concerned with Ilion, but instead with Smyrna and Lampsakos during the negotiations with Antiochos between 196 and 193 BC. Ilion was treated well by the king and neither needed nor wanted Roman patronage. After he had suffered defeat in Europe and the first Romans showed up on their shores, Ilion and its league members were, however, quick to change sides, at least if we can trust Livy’s account in this regard (Alexandria Troas abandoned the king a bit earlier).80 For this reconstruction, we do not have to accept that C. Livius Salinator or L. Cornelius Scipio sacrificed to Ilian Athena (whether to imitate Alexander or Antiochos). While such actions cannot be excluded entirely, the silence of Polybios and Strabon combined render them unlikely. Perhaps Salinator or Scipio showed signs of interest, which were later embellished into offering a sacrifice, and the narration of a Roman sacrifice at Ilion was later duplicated in the literary tradition. Either way, not even Livy reports that those rituals came with privileges or promises thereof. And yet, the Ilienses may well have taken any friendly gesture as a hint that their glorious ancestry might gain them a particular esteem among the Romans. Ilian ambassadors put this to a test in 189/188 BC, but failed miserably: although they interceded to deflect punishment from Lykia in Apameia, the Romans ‘gifted’ that territory to Rhodes. While a fragment from Polybios has preserved much of the story, Livy or the intermediate source got rid of the embarrassing incident.81 80

See above, n. 6, on Alexandria. LIV. 37.55.4f. seems to be subsuming their delegation under ‘other delegations’: Auditae deinde et aliae legationes ex Asia sunt. Quibus omnibus datum responsum decem legatos more maiorum senatum missurum ad res Asiae disceptandas componendasque; summam tamen hanc fore, ut cis Taurum montem, quae intra regni Antiochi fines fuissent, Eumeni attribuerentur praeter Lyciam Cariamque usque ad Maeandrum 81

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This omission requires us once more to acknowledge that the tradition preserved in Livy is not only inconsistent, but also underwent a pro-Ilion revision. We should perhaps even hesitate to accept that Ilion changed sides before the Battle of Magnesia, since the city and its league were conspicuously absent from among the Roman allies in the decisive battle. Neither should we believe Livy’s allegation that Ilion was richly rewarded for its glorious ancestry in Apameia: according to Strabon’s quite detailed account, tax exemption and territorial expansion were granted only by Caesar. With the latter’s control over Asia Minor as of 48 BC, we also gain a terminus a quo for the aforementioned major ‘upgrade’ of Ilion’s history in the later annalistic tradition. Sometime in the second half of the 1st century BC, the partisanship of the Ilienses for Antiochos against the Romans was felt to be embarrassing, and someone undertook to obliterate that inglorious political choice. Livy himself is not a likely candidate for this manipulation, for if so, he would at least have omitted some comments that caused inconsistency. As so often, he is a largely reliable but not overly critical preserver of a pluriform tradition. We may next ask the question if Caesar’s dictatorship does not also yield a plausible terminus a quo for the composition of Suetonius’ uetus epistula Graeca? If this should date to the 40s BC, the letter would be about a full century old when later produced in the Senate under Claudius: it could rightly be seen as ‘ancient’. Accepting that the letter is a fabrication, we may finally consider the king’s identity once more: whom would the forger have had in mind? He chose to avoid Antiochos III, the most powerful king the Romans ever encountered, given that he had broken friendship with Rome and started a major war – at least, from the Roman perspective. This requires us to look once more around among his predecessors called Seleukos. Understanding that the author did not draw on positive evidence for diplomatic relations with any of them, he probably thought of the most prestigious bearer of that name, the founder of the dynasty: Seleukos I Nikator. This said, he who phrased the Suetonian letter is likely to have been at least in part inspired by the reports of Roman-Seleukid diplomacy of the years 196 to 192 BC, where the treatment of some Greek cities by the king was a condition for the Romans to offer a foedus of amicitia et societas – a condition that was, however, not met. Nearly one and a half centuries later, the Ilienses were not amnem; ea ut ciuitatis Rhodiorum essent. (Adapted from the transl. by J.C. YARDLEY, Loeb: Then other embassies also from Asia were heard. To all these the same reply was given that the Senate, in the fashion of their forefathers, would send ten commissioners to adjudge cases arising in Asia and to settle the differences; yet the general principle would be this, that on this side of the Taurus mountains the districts which had been within the boundaries of the kingdom of Antiochos should be assigned to Eumenes, with the exception of Lykia and Karia as far as the Maeander river; that these should be given to the Rhodian state.) Contrast this brevity with the detail of POLYB. 22.5.1–4, on which see above, with n. 75. Also cf. LIV. 38.39.10.

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concerned with such historical detail, nor were Claudius or Nero, who fully supported their request for tax exemption a quarter-millennium after the RomanSeleukid War.82

6. Appendix: The Role of Alexandria Troas during the Run-Up to the RomanSyrian War There is a nearly ‘canonical’ list of three Greek cities in Western Asia Minor which enjoyed Roman diplomatic support between 197/196 BC in Korinth or Lysimacheia and Ephesos on the eve of the Roman-Syrian War in 193/192 BC: Smyrna, Lampsakos and Alexandria Troas. To many scholars, this seems to be a well-established ‘fact’, for which source references are superfluous.83 Holleaux (1921), p. 56f. presents references, but none of them mentions Alexandria. They do cover Rome’s intervention for Lampsakos and Smyrna at the conference of Lysimacheia, 196 BC (Polyb. 18.52), the conference in Rome, spring 193 BC, with Menippos and Hegesianax representing the Antiochos III (Liv. 34.57–59), and the conference in Ephesos, fall 193 BC, with Minnio as the king’s negotiator (Liv. 35.15f.). Add to this Liv. 35.17.7, where Smyrna and Lampsakos are mentioned as defying Antiochos.84 Likewise, Canali de Rossi (1997), p. 197 and 199 includes Alexandria into the list of cities appealing for Roman support in 196 BC, although, under the lemma Alexandria Troas (p. 199f., no. 239), he dates the beginning of the city’s diplomacy with Rome to 193 BC. Note that not even our sources for the negotiations in Korinth in 196 BC mention Alexandria, while they do attest to the embassies of ‘Smyrna, Lampsakos and others’ (App., Syr. 2.5); the same two cities are further mentioned as raising the court’s concern: their attitude, if unchecked, might arouse further defiance in Aiolis and Ionia as well as the Hellespontic region (Liv. 33.38 on 197/96 BC). But Canali de Rossi (1997), p. 194 and 199 adds two additional pieces of evidence: Polyb. 21.13.3 and the corresponding section in Diod. Sic. 29.7. Both of them mention Alexandria among the three cities hostile to Antiochos, claims 82 HOLLEAUX (1921), p. 58: ‘Elle a pour objet d’établir, d’une part, que les Romains, toujours fidèles au souvenir de leurs ancêtres troyens, ont, sitôt qu’ils l’ont pu, entouré de soins pieux la ville d’Ilion, leur metropole; et, d’autre part, que, dès les temps les plus anciens, les plus grands rois de la terre se sont fait honneur de rechercher et d’obtenir leur “amitié” publique. […] Pour le faussaire érudit, auteur de la vetus epistula Graeca, ce “Seleucus” était impersonnel et son règne flotterait dans le lointain des âges: c’était simplement le “roi d’Asie”.’ 83 E.g., SCHMITT (1964), p. 284 and DREYER (2007), p. 289 (cf. 357 n. 172); also WALBANK (1979), p. 164f. 84 More evidence for Smyrna and Lampsakos is collected above, in n. 6. DMITRIEV (2011), p. 126f. is either following Holleaux or Canali de Rossi.

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to which he was ready to give in for peace with Rome. But this report refers to early 190 BC. The first mention of Alexandria dates to the eve of Antiochos’ European campaign in 192 B: Three cities were detaining him, Smyrna and Alexandria Troas and Lampsakos, which he had up to that time been able neither to take by assault nor to win over to friendship by negotiations, nor was he willing to leave them in his rear when he crossed to Greece.85

Ma (1999), p. 90 n. 235 (cf. p. 96) comments: ‘Alexandreia Troas only appears alongside Smyrna and Lampsakos in 192 (Liv. 35.42.2), but may have resisted Antiochos from the start: Liv. 33.38.1–7 does not say that Smyrna and Lampsakos were the only non-Seleukid cities in 197, but the most important ones.’ While this may be correct, it does not have to be so, or at least Livy’s testimony does not require Alexandria to have entertained diplomatic relations with Rome. This is what may also be implied in Polybios’ wording (Polyb. 21.13.3 on 190 BC): ‘instructions to offer to surrender the territories of Lampsacus and Smyrna as well as Alexandria (Troas), which were the original cause of the war’.86 Antiochos apparently hesitated more regarding Alexandria, it presented a different case than the other two cities, which – I assume – had persistently enjoyed Roman advocacy since 197/196 BC. Alexandria, in contrast, may have managed to maintain its independence through a friendly diplomacy with Antiochos, without ever recognizing his sovereignty. This success may have been owed to Hegesianax of Alexandria Troas, the king’s philos, on whom see above, section 5. Antiochos may have tolerated this splendid isolation of the Alexandrians as long as they did not turn to Rome, or perhaps as long as he felt to have the loyalty of his Alexandrian friend. But his patience ended in 192 BC.87

Bibliography Sources Greek texts have been adapted from the Perseus Database, Latin texts from the latinlibrary.com, English translations from the Loeb editions. Significant deviations from 85 LIV. 35.42.2 (adapted from the transl. by J.C. YARDLEY, Loeb): Tres eum ciuitates tenebant, Zmyrna et Alexandria Troas et Lampsacus, quas neque ui expugnare ad eam diem poterat neque condicionibus in amicitiam perlicere, neque ab tergo relinquere traiciens ipse in Europam uolebat. 86 POLYB. 21.13.3: ੖IJȚ ʌĮȡĮȤȦȡİ૙ IJોȢ IJİ IJ૵Ȟ ȁĮȝȥĮțȘȞ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ ȈȝȣȡȞĮȓȦȞ, ਩IJȚ į੻ IJોȢ ਝȜİȟĮȞįȡȑȦȞ ʌȩȜİȦȢ, ਥȟ ੰȞ ੒ ʌȩȜİȝȠȢ ਩ȜĮȕİ IJ੹Ȣ ਕȡȤȐȢ. 87 Also see CANALI DE ROSSI (1997), p. 200 for older scholarship according to which Rome began to support Alexandria only in 192 BC (cf. WILL 1982, p. 200).

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those versions have been accounted for in the notes. The following are the printed editions, besides the commentaries, that have been consulted: AHLBERG, A.W. (1919), C. Sallusti Crispi. Catilina, Iugurtha, Orationes et Epistulae Excerptae de Historiis, Leipzig (Teubner ed.). BRISCOE, J. (1973), A Commentary on Livy, Books XXXI–XXXIII, Oxford. BRISCOE, J. (1981), A Commentary on Livy, Books XXXIV–XXXVII, Oxford. IHM, M. (1978), C. Suetoni Tranquilli Opera, vol. 1: De Vita Caesarum. Editio stereotypa editionis prioris (MCMVIII), Stuttgart (Teubner ed.). KURFESS, A. (1972), C. Sallusti Crispi Catilina, Iugurtha, Fragmenta Ampliora, ed. stereotypa editionis tertiae. Post A.W. Ahlberg edidit A. Kurfess, Leipzig (Teubner ed.). LAMBERT, A. / E. HOWALD (1978/1991), Sallust, Historische Schriften: Catilina, Jugurtha, Fragmente aus den Historien. Übersetzt von A. Lambert. Mit einer Einführung von Ernst Howald, München. MAURENBRECHER, B. (1891/1966), C. Sallusti Crispi Historiarum Reliquiae, ed. stereotypa editionis primae (MDCCCXCI–III), Stuttgart (Teubner ed.). MCGUSHIN, P. (1994), Sallust, The Histories. Translated with Introduction and Commentary, vol. 2, Oxford. RADT, S. (2004), Strabons Geographika, vol. 3: Buch IX–XIII: Kommentar, Göttingen. RADT, S. (2008), Strabons Geographika, vol. 7: Buch IX–XIII: Kommentar, Göttingen. REYNOLDS, L.D. (1991), C. Sallusti Crispi Catilina, Iugurtha, Historiarum fragmenta selecta, appendix Sallustiana, Oxford (Oxford ed.). ROLFE, J.C. (1921), Sallust. With an English Translation, London (Loeb). SAGE, E.T. (1935), Livy. Books XXXI–XXXIV. With an English Translation, Cambridge MA (Loeb). SAGE, E.T. (1935), Livy. Books XXXV–XXXVII. With An English Translation, Cambridge MA (Loeb). WALBANK, F.W. (1967/1979), A Historical Commentary on Polybius, Oxford, vols. 2– 3. Scholarly literature AUSTIN, M (2006), The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest. A Selection of Ancient Sources in Translation, 2nd ed., Cambridge. BADIAN, E. (1959), Rome and Antiochus the Great: a Study in Cold War, in CPh 54, p. 81–99. BALLESTEROS PASTOR, L. (2018), Salustio, Casio Dión y la tercera guerra mitridática, in O. DEVILLERS / B.B. SEBASTIANI (eds.), Sources et modèles des historiens anciens, Bordeaux, p. 281–294. BARTLETT, B. (2016), A Revised Text of Cicero’s Pro Lege Manilia, MA Thesis, Waterloo ON. URL: https://uwspace.uwaterloo.ca/bitstream/handle/10012/ 10516/Bartlett_Brett. pdf?sequence=3. BATTISTONI, F. (2010), Parenti dei Romani. Mito troiano e diplomazia, Bari.

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BERNHARDT, R. (1971), Imperium und Eleutheria. Die römische Politik gegenüber den freien Städten des griechischen Ostens, Diss. Hamburg. – (1998), Rom und die Städte des hellenistischen Ostens (3.–1. Jahrhundert v.Chr.). Literaturbericht 1965–95, München. – (1999), Entstehung, immunitas und munera der Freistädte. Ein kritischer Überblick, in MedAnt 2.1, p. 49–68. BEVAN, E.R. (1902), The House of Seleucus, 2 vols, London (repr. Chicago 1985). BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ, A. (1913/1914), Histoire des Séleucides, Paris. BURTON, P.J. (1996), The Summoning of the Magna Mater to Rome (205 B.C.), in Historia 45, p. 36–63. – (2011), Friendship and Empire: Roman Diplomacy and Imperialism in the Middle Republic (353–146 BC), Cambridge. CANALI DE ROSSI, F. (1997), Le ambascerie dal mondo greco a Roma in età repubblicana, Roma. COùKUN, A. (ed.) (2007ff.), Amici Populi Romani (APR). Prosopography of the Foreign Friends of Rome. Trier 2007–2008; Waterloo 2010ff. URL: http://www.altaycoskun.com/apr/. – (2008), Rückkehr zum Vertragscharakter der amicitia? Zu einer alt-neuen Forschungskontroverse, in ID. (ed.), Freundschaft und Gefolgschaft in den auswärtigen Beziehungen der Römer (2. Jh. v.Chr. – 1. Jh. n.Chr.), Frankfurt a.M., p. 209–230. – (2012), Deconstructing a Myth of Seleucid History: the So-Called ‘Elephant Victory’ over the Galatians Revisited, in Phoenix 66.1–2, p. 57–73. – (2015), Rev. of F. Battistoni, Parenti dei Romani. Mito troiano e diplomazia, Bari 2010, in Gnomon 87, p. 727–733. – (2016a), Laodike I, Berenike Phernophoros, Dynastic Murders, and the Outbreak of the Third Syrian War (253–246 BC), in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women. Creation, Representation and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart p. 107–134. – (2016b), Ptolemaioi as Commanders in 3rd-Century Asia Minor and Some Glimpses on Ephesos and Mylasa during the Second and Third Syrian Wars, in B. TAKMER et al. (eds.), Vir doctus anatolicus. Studies in Memory of Sencer Sahin, Istanbul 2016, p. 257–279. – (2016c), Attalos I and the Conquest of Pessinus. I.Pessinus 1 Reconsidered, in Philia 2, p. 53–62. – (2018a), The Temple State of Kybele in Phrygian and Early Hellenistic Pessinus: a Phantom?, in G.R. TSETSKHLADZE (ed.), Pessinus and Its Regional Setting, vol. 1, Leuven, p. 205–243. – (2018b), The War of Brothers, the Third Syrian War, and the Battle of Ankyra (246–241 BC): a Re-Appraisal, forthcoming in K. ERICKSON (ed.), War within the Family – the First Century of Seleukid Rule. Proceedings of Seleukid Study Day III, Bordeaux Sept. 2012, Swansea, ca. p. 197–252. – (2018c), Amicitia, fides und Imperium der Römer aus konstruktivistischer Perspektive. Überlegungen zu Paul Burton’s Friendship and Empire (2011), in Latomus 76.4, p. 910–924. – (ca. 2019), The ‘Temple State’ of Phrygian Pessinus in the Context of Seleukid, Attalid,

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Galatian and Roman Hegemonial Politics (3rd–1st Centuries BC), forthcoming in G.R. TSETSKHLADZE (ed.), The Phrygian Lands over Time (from Prehistory to the Middle of the 1st Millennium AD). Proceedings of the International Conference, Anadolu University, Eskiúehir, 2nd – 8th November, 2015. DAHLHEIM, W. (1968), Struktur und Entwicklung des römischen Völkerrechts im dritten und zweiten Jahrhundert v.Chr., München. DMITRIEV, S. (2011), Antiochus III: A Friend and Ally of the Roman People, in Klio 93.1, p. 104–130. DREYER, B. (2007), Die römische Nobilitätsherrschaft und Antiochos III. (205 bis 188 v.Chr.), Hennef. ECKSTEIN, A. (2008), Rome Enters the Greek East: from Anarchy to Hierarchy in the Hellenistic Mediterranean, 230–170 BC, Malden MA. ELVIDGE, M. (2017), Seleukos IV Philopator, MA Thesis, Waterloo ON. URL: https://uwspace.uwaterloo.ca/bitstream/handle/10012/11840/Elvidge_Mitchell.pdf? sequence=3&isAllowed=y. ELWYN, S. (1993), Interstate Kinship and Roman Foreign Policy, in TAPA 123, p. 261– 286. ENGELS, D. (2007), Das römische Vorzeichenwesen, Stuttgart. – (2008), Seleukos III. Soter Keraunos, König des Seleukidenreichs, in COùKUN (2007ff.). – (2012), Antiochos III. Megas, König des Seleukidenreichs, in COùKUN (2007ff.). – (2017), Studies on the Seleukid Empire. Between East and West, Leuven. ERRINGTON, R.M. (2008), A History of the Hellenistic World: 323–30 BC., Malden MA. ERSKINE, A. (2001), Troy between Greece and Rome: Local Tradition and Imperial Power, Oxford. FERRARY, J.-L. (1988), Philhellénisme et impérialisme. Aspects idéologiques de la conquête romaine du monde hellénistique. De la seconde guerre de Macédoine à la guerre contre Mithridate, Roma. FRISCH, P. (1975), Die Inschriften von Ilion, Bonn. GRAINGER, J.D. (1997), A Seleukid Prosopography and Gazeteer, Leiden. – (2002), The Roman War of Antiochos the Great, Leiden. – (2010), The Syrian Wars, Leiden. – (2014), The Rise of the Seleukid Empire (323–223 BC), Barnsley. – (2015a), The Seleukid Empire of Antiochus III (223–187 BC), Barnsley. – (2015b), The Fall of the Seleukid Empire (187–75 BC), Barnsley. – (2017), Great Power Diplomacy in the Hellenistic World, London. GRUEN, E.S. (1984), The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, 2 vols., Berkeley CA. HABICHT, Ch. (1989), The Seleucids and Their Rivals, in A.E. ASTIN et al. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. VIII: Rome and the Mediterranean to 133 B.C., Cambridge, 2nd ed., p. 324–387. HOLLEAUX, M. (1908), Études d’histoire hellénistique: La chronologie de la Cinquième Guerre de Syrie, in Klio 8, p. 267–281.

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– (1921), Rome, la Grèce et les monarchies hellénistiques au III siècle avant J.-C. (273– 205), Paris (repr. Hildesheim 1969). JONES, C.P. (2001), Diplomatie et liens de parenté: Ilion, Aphrodisias et Rome, in V. FROMENTIN / S. GOTTELAND (eds.), Origines gentium, Bordeaux, p. 179–186. KLOSS, G. (2009), Von Zeiten und Rhythmen. Zu Tac. ann. 3,55, in Wiener Studien 122, p. 125–144. KÜHNER, R. / C. STEGMANN (1976/1992), Grammatik der lateinischen Sprache. Part II: Satzlehre, vol. 1, 5th ed. by A. THIERFELDER, Hannover 1976, repr. Darmstadt 1992. – (1962/1971), Grammatik der lateinischen Sprache. Part II: Satzlehre, vol. 2, 4th ed. by A. THIERFELDER, Hannover 1962, repr. Darmstadt 1971. LORBER, C. (forthcoming), Numismatic Evidence for the Chronology of the Fifth Syrian War, in S. HONIGMAN et al. (eds.), The Long Third Century in Judea: The Transition from the Persian to the Hellenistic Period. MA, J. (1999), Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. MAGIE, D. (1950), Roman Rule in Asia Minor to the End of the Third Century after Christ, 2 vols., Princeton NJ. MEHL, A. (1990), Zu den diplomatischen Beziehungen zwischen Antiochos III und Rom 200–193 v.Chr., in C. BORKER / M. DONDERER (eds.), Das antike Rom und der Osten, Nürnberg, p. 143–155. MILETA, C. (2014), Seleukos IV. Eupator – Ein zu normaler Herrscher?, in Ch. FEYEL / L. GRASLIN-THOMÉ (eds.), Le projet politique d’Antiochos IV, Nancy, p. 165–180. NIESE, B. (1899), Geschichte der griechischen und makedonischen Staaten seit der Schlacht bei Chaeronea, vol. II, Gotha. PFEIFFER, S. / S. THIJS (2007), Ptolemaios II. Philadelphos, König von Ägypten, in COùKUN (2007ff.). RIZZO, F.P. (1974), Studi Ellenistico-Romani, Palermo. RUSSO, F. (2005), I carmina Marciana e le tradizioni sui Marcii, in PdP 60, p. 7–35. – (2014), The Function of the Trojan Myth in Early Roman Expansionism in Greece and Asia Minor, in V. COJOCARU et al. (eds.), Interconnectivity in the Mediterranean and Pontic World during the Hellenistic and Roman Periods, Cluj-Napoca, p. 581–604. – (2015), L’odium regni a Roma tra realtà politica e finzione storiografica, Pisa. SACHS, A.J. / WISEMAN, D.J. (1954), A Babylonian King List of the Hellenistic Period, in Iraq 16.2, p. 202–212. SCHMITT, H.H. (1964), Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Antiochos des Großen und seiner Zeit, Wiesbaden. TÄUBLER, E. (1913), Imperium Romanum. Studien zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Römischen Reiches, vol. 1, Leipzig (repr. Roma 1964). WELLES, C.B. (RC), Royal Correspondence in the Hellenistic Period, London, 1934 (repr. Chicago 1974). WILL, É. (1982), Histoire Politique du Monde Hellénistique (322–30 av. J.-C.), vol. 2, Nancy. ZACK, A. (2015a), Das Thema, der Begriff des ‘Vertrages’, die Opposition der Abhandlung, Rückblick auf die Teile III und IV der ‘Forschungen’ und die Thesen des VI. Teils der ‘Forschungen’, in GFA 18, p. 27–82.

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Poets and Politics: Antiochos the Great, Hegesianax and the War with Rome Marijn S. VISSCHER

Abstract In 198 BC, a century after Seleukos I’s ill-fated Macedonian campaign, Antiochos marched his army west as part of an expansionist war to incorporate mainland Greece into the Seleukid Empire. He aimed to connect lands that had not been united since the reign of Alexander the Great. His plans destabilised the balance of power between the Hellenistic kingdoms and, inevitably, led to conflict and war. In addition, Antiochos’ plans of a west-ward expansion made him cross paths with the Romans, which ultimately resulted in the biggest crisis for the Seleukid Empire since its founding: the treaty of Apameia in 188 BC and the loss of Asia Minor. Throughout his campaigns, Antiochos performed royal acts influenced by the literary culture at his court, as expressed, for example, by Hegesianax of Alexandria Troas and Euphorion. These literati constructed a narrative of empire, similar to Megasthenes’ Indika or Patrokles’ Periplus of the Caspian Sea. Such narratives created Seleukid space and time and scripted Antiochos’ actions. This paper explores four key moments during the campaign: Antiochos’ visit to Ilion, the (re-)foundation of Lysimacheia, the royal wedding on Euboia, and the first decisive combat at Thermopylai. The first act was the restoration of Lysimacheia, which was in various ways a key point in Antiochos’ expansionist plans. There was much more at stake for Antiochos than the conquest of a strategic point though: in order for the city to become the royal residence for his son, Antiochos presented himself as the new founder of the city. The second important moment was Antiochos’ visit to Ilion and sacrifice to Athena. This act is part of a long tradition of marking the transition from Asia to Europe (or vice versa). The third act focussed on stability and the grounding of Empire and took place on Euboia, where the king married a local girl and renamed her ‘Euboia’. This was the first conquest of Antiochos that was not based on hereditary claims and warranted an extraordinary performance of conquest and appropriation. The fourth act to look at is the Battle of Thermopylai. The king’s defeat by the Romans, and its location, were steeped in history.

1. Introduction 1.1. Looking West: Rome and Troy At the turn of the third century BC, Antiochos III marched west with his army as part of an expansionist war to incorporate mainland Greece into the Seleukid Empire. A century after Seleukos I’s ill-fated Macedonian campaign, Antiochos

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III was the first Seleukid king to set foot on the Greek mainland.1 He aimed to connect lands that had not been united since the reign of Alexander the Great. Antiochos’ expansionist plans, however, destabilised the region, not least because they caused him to cross paths with the Romans who were a relatively new rival on the Hellenistic stage.2 Inevitably, this led to conflict and war. In this article, I will look at developments in the literary programme of the Seleukids in this period of political change and conflict. In the first half of the third century the literary rivalry of the Seleukids was primarily directed at the Ptolemies, but in the reign of Antiochos III this changed when both Rome and Pergamon became competitors in both military and cultural terms.3 I first explore one particularly important point of interaction: the legacy of Troy, which gave rise to a literary engagement that coincided with military and ideological battles for control over Greece, Macedon and Asia Minor. The main representative in this interaction on the Seleukid side was the historian Hegesianax of Alexandria Troas, who wrote a history of Troy. Following up on my analysis of the political dimension of Hegesianax’ literature, I go on to address the poetics of kingship displayed by King Antiochos himself during the conflict with Rome. Taken together, I believe these two case studies attest to a subtle interplay between politics and poetics at the Seleukid court during this period, which deserves more attention than it has received in previous scholarship.

1.2. Hegesianax of Alexandria Troas and the Origins of Rome According to his biography in the Suda, Hegesianax of Alexandria Troas became one of Antiochos’ philoi by impressing the king with his wit and his 1 Seleukos I died on his campaign in Macedonia having been betrayed by Ptolemy Keraunos in 281 BC. Later Antiochos II and Antiochos Hierax both campaigned in Thrace but they never reached Greece. Antiochos II: POLYAEN. 4.16; cf. BEVAN (1902), p. 2.176. Antiochos Hierax: JUST. 27.3.9–11; PORPH., FGrHist 32 F8; POLYAEN. 4.17. 2 The Romans had been involved in the affairs of the eastern Mediterranean, and specifically with the Seleukids, since the 220s BC. Interactions between the Romans and the various Hellenistic kings became more intense after Ptolemy IV Philopator died in 205 BC leaving his infant son Ptolemy V as heir (GRAINGER (2002), p. 20–21). For a more extensive historical narrative of the events leading up to the war, and a discussion of Antiochos’ relation with the Romans, see ALMAGOR in this volume; cf. BADIAN (1959), p. 81–99; BROWN (1964), p. 124–136; MCDONALD (1967), p. 1–8; MASTROCINQUE (1983); PIEJKO (1988), p. 151–165; ERRINGTON (1989), p. 244–289; MEHL (1990), p. 143–155; WARRIOR (1996), p. 43–51; WALSH (1996), p. 344–363; GRAINGER (1996), p. 329–343; GRAINGER (2002); DREYER (2007); DMITRIEV (2011b); GRAINGER (2015); ENGELS (2017). For contact between Rome and Greece in general, see BRISCOE (1972), p. 22–53; DEROW (1979), p. 1–15; GRUEN (1984); ECKSTEIN (2008); ERSKINE (2010), p. 22–29; DMITRIEV (2011a); WATERFIELD (2014). 3 For Ptolemaic and Seleukid literary rivalry, see VISSCHER (forthcoming).

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poetry. The story goes that once, when he performed for King Antiochos, he was asked to join in the armoured dance of the king and his soldiers; Hegesianax refused and replied Do you wish, O king, to see me dance badly, or would you prefer hearing me recite my own poems very well? Subsequently he delivered a poem praising the king, and this pleased the king so greatly that he made Hegesianax his philos.4 Although the story may not be historically accurate, it indicates that Hegesianax was a respected author of poetry as well as prose and was invited to join the Seleukid court in that capacity. Subsequently he also became an important agent in the political events of his time: during the cold war that preceded the conflict with Rome, Hegesianax was a member of at least two Seleukid embassies to the Romans.5 We do not have a precise chronology for Hegesianax’ life, but he must have been at least 30 years old when he was sent to Rome on diplomatic duty. Hence it is reasonable to assume that he was born at the latest around 230–225 BC. Hegesianax is credited with at least two rhetorical-grammatical works: On the Style of Demokritos (Ȇİȡ੿ IJોȢ ǻȘȝȠțȡȓIJȠȣ ȜȑȟİȦȢ); and On Poetical Words (Ȇİȡ੿ ʌȠȚȘIJȚț૵Ȟ ȜȑȟİȦȞ). His authorship of these two treatises shows that, like the scholars of Alexandria and Pergamon, Hegesianax was an all-round intellectual. His main work, however, was the Troika or Histories, an extensive work on the history of Troy.6 Since Hegesianax was from the Troad himself, his writings could be seen as something more than a scholar of poetic language espousing an interest in the quintessentially poetic city and its population;7 on the subject of Troy, Hegesianax could also claim the standing of a local expert. Indeed, he seems to have gone further and invented a uniquely knowledgeable alter-ego for himself. Several authors quote early myths of Troy as narrated by a certain Kephalon or Kephalion, a scholar of great antiquity and high

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ATHEN. 4.155a–b, quoting Demetrios of Skepsis. The embassy to Flamininus in Corinth in 196 BC (POLYB. 18.47.14, cf. LIV. 32.8.15– 16 who does not mention Hegesianax by name) and the embassy in 194/193 BC to Rome (LIV. 34.57.1–6). He was also present as ambassador at the meeting between Antiochos III and the Roman delegates in Lysimachia (POLYB. 18.49.2–18.50.3). His visit to Rome undoubtedly provided Hegesianax with information about Roman customs and places. Hegesianax’ mention of the Palatine in Festus is significant in this regard. Antiochos also sent envoys to Rome in 198 BC, but their names are not reported. For further discussion, see: BRISCOE (1972), p. 22–53; OLSHAUSEN (1974), p. 191–193; PIEJKO (1988), p. 151– 165; MEHL (1990), p. 143–155; GRUEN (1992), p. 42 and n. 166; WALSH (1996), p. 344– 363; GRAINGER (2002), p. 127–128. 6 For the fragments of Hegesianax see BNJ 45 (FGrHist 45). 7 Overlap between Homeric scholarship and the history or geography of Troy was not uncommon, cf. Aristarchos of Samothrake’s Ȇİȡ੿ ੉ȜȚȐįȠȢ țĮ੿ ੗įȣııİȓĮȢ (On the Iliad and the Odyssey) and Ȇİȡ੿ IJȠ૨ ȞĮȣıIJȐșȝȠȣ (On the Camp of the Ships). For other Hellenistic writers from the Troad who wrote about Troy, see Demetrios of Skepsis (who wrote a commentary on Book 2 of the Iliad on the Trojan forces) and Polemon of Ilion, who wrote a ʌİȡȚȒȖȘıȚȢ ੉ȜȓȠȣ (A guide to Ilium), cf. ANGELUCCI (2003), p. 165–184; ENGELS (2014). 5

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reputation.8 Athenaios, however, informs us that this Kephalon is none other than Hegesianax himself. If he is correct, Hegesianax created an elaborate charade in the interest of maximising his authority: he told the oldest history of Troy, it would seem, through the voice of his alter-ego, Kephalon of Gergis.9 From the transmitted fragments, it seems clear that the Troika covered Troy’s history from the earliest mythological times to the third century BC. Significantly, this means that the work included the foundation of Rome after the Trojan War. Hegesianax’ interest in Troy and in the foundation of Rome came at a politically opportune time. In the late 3rd and early 2nd centuries BC, Antiochos III was deeply involved with the cities of Western Asia Minor and the Troad, and looked even further westward. The political climate at the Seleukid court, especially Hannibal’s alleged friendship with Antiochos and the planned invasion of Thrace and Macedonia, brought the Seleukids into closer contact with Rome than ever before. The Troad, moreover, was the place where the histories of Rome, the Attalids and the Seleukids intersected. At a local level, Hegesianax’ Troika served an important symbolic function. As part of his western campaign, Antiochos showed a keen interest in the cities of Asia Minor, as demonstrated by inscriptions and letters from the king to the poleis.10 As Hegesianax was a member of the Seleukid court, the Troika demonstrated that the king also had a stake in local history. By mapping out the history of Troy, Hegesianax professes his knowledge and thereby his control over the area, and, moreover, he shows that he was in a position to make authoritative claims about the most iconic polis in the region. In this regard, Kephalon, Hegesianax’ alter-ego, plays an important role as he provides a source of authority that is external to the Seleukid Empire, while bestowing power on the Seleukids in the form of superior knowledge of the past. An example of how this worked in practice can be found in the story of Dardanos, founding father of the Trojan peoples, a Greek ante-diluvian hero:11 8 STRAB. 13.1.19; DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.49.1, 1.72.1; PHOT., Bibl. 68, p. 34a Bekker; PARTHEN., Erot. Path. 4.1–7, 34; STEPH. BYZ., s.v. ਝȡ઀ıȕȘ and s.v. īȡĮȚțંȢ; FEST., De uerb. sign. p. 326.28–33 Lindsay. For further discussion, see: COSTA in BNJ 45. 9 Of the fragments that Jacoby attributed to Hegesianax, all but one are in the ancient sources attributed to Kephalon. The only fragment attributed to Hegesianax himself deals with the invasion of the Galatians in the third century BC and thus describes very recent history. Unfortunately, the fragments we have do not indicate in what ways Hegesianax introduced Kephalon and integrated his account of history into the Troika. He might have presented himself as a transmitter of Kephalon’s old manuscripts or paraphrased him less directly. For similar constructions of an ancient authorial persona, see, for example, Philon of Byblos’ purported translation of the pre-Trojan War, Phoinikian author Sanchuniathon and the Greek and Latin accounts of the Trojan War by Diktys of Crete, allegedly a soldier in this war. 10 See MA (1999) for a collection and discussion of the relevant inscriptions. 11 Dardanos featured as a founding father of the Trojans in several Greek writers before Hegesianax: HOM., Il. 20.215–217; HDT. 7.43; PLAT., Leg. 682a.

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Arisbe: city in the Troad, colony of the Mitylenaians, whose founders were Aeneias’ sons Skamandrios and Askanios. [...] Kephalon says that Dardanos came to the Troad from Samothrake and married Arisbe, daughter of the Cretan Teukros.12

The passage is quoted in Stephanos of Byzantion, in the context of discussing the city of Arisbe in the Troad. It is unclear whether Arisbe was the focus of interest in Hegesianax as well, or Dardanos himself. Unfortunately, we cannot discover from the fragment above whether Hegesianax discussed Dardanos’ origins in Arkadia or simply his journey from Samothrake to the Troad.13 It is, however, not unlikely that Hegesianax knew and discussed Dardanos’ links with Arkadia, which also played an important role in Dionysios of Halikarnassos’ argument that the Romans were historically Greeks.14 If he did, Hegesianax must have stressed the antiquity of Dardanos as an ante-diluvian hero. After founding Dardania as his royal capital in the Troad, Dardanos established a kingdom and a royal line that would found Troy two generations later. The antiquity of Dardanos lent prestige not just to Troy and the other cities of the Troad but also to the Seleukids as patrons of the area and, through Hegesianax/Kephalon, the masters of its history. Unfortunately, it is unclear whether Hegesianax drew any direct connections between the Seleukids and Troy (and hence Rome). A possible point of contact would be his discussion of the Galatian occupation of Troy. This episode is set during a Galatian invasion of the Troad in 278/277 BC. The 3rd century poet Simonides of Magnesia wrote an epic poem celebrating the victory of one King Antiochos (probably the First) over the Galatians, and it is not unlikely that Hegesianax linked the two narratives in his history, since both writers were attached to the court of Antiochos III.15 12 STEPH. BYZ., s.v. ਝȡȓıȕȘ (Text and translation adapted from BNJ 45 F4): ਝȡȓıȕȘǜ ʌંȜȚȢ IJોȢ ȉȡȦ੺įȠȢ, ȂȚIJȣȜȘȞĮȓȦȞ ਙʌȠȚțȠȢ, ਸȢ ȠੁțȚıIJĮ੿ ȈțĮȝ੺ȞįȡȚȠȢ țĮ੿ ਝıț੺ȞȚȠȢ ȣੂઁȢ ǹੁȞİȓȠȣ. [...] Ȁİij੺ȜȦȞ įȑ ijȘıȚȞ ੖IJȚ ǻ੺ȡįĮȞȠȢ ਕʌઁ ȈĮȝȠșȡ੺ȚțȘȢ ਥȜșઅȞ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȉȡȦ੺įĮ IJ੽Ȟ ȉİ઄țȡȠȣ IJȠ૨ ȀȡȘIJઁȢ șȣȖĮIJȑȡĮ ȖĮȝİ૙ ਝȡȓıȕȘȞ. Stephanos of Byzantion ends his note on Arisbe in the Troad with the remark that Hellanikos (BNJ 4 F24) call the city Batia, for a recent edition and commentary on Stephanos of Byzantion, see BILLERBECK (2006), p. 252–253. 13 ERSKINE (2001), p. 25. 14 DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. book 1 and book 7, esp. 1.5–13 and 7.72–74. For discussion of this facet of Dionysios’ political programme, see HILL (1961), p. 88–89; GABBA (1991), p. 106–109, 134–138; ASCHERI (2011), p. 65–85. 15 As Paola CECCARELLI has pointed out in her discussion of this passage in BNJ, almost every aspect of Simonides’ biography is problematic; cf. CECCARELLI (2008) in Brill’s New Jacoby Online (BNJ 163). In particular, there has been uncertainty over which Antiochos was the subject of Simonides’ poem. Some scholars place him under Antiochos I, assuming that Simonides wrote an encomium for the living king and not for a dead predecessor, e.g. BARBANTANI (2001), p. 183–184. COùKUN (2012), p. 67–68, stresses that it is unclear both for which and about which Antiochos Simonides wrote, and that dating and details about this so-called ‘Elephant Victory’ itself are also very uncertain. Here I follow CECCARELLI’s suggestion that Simonides was active during the reign of Antiochos III, but that he wrote about Antiochos I’s victory against the Galatians

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Local history and politics, however, were not the only elements of Hegesianax’ Troika. In the second half of the third century, the Seleukids competed with the Attalids over control of Asia Minor.16 During the reign of Antiochos III, the two dynasties vied for cultural, as well as political, control over the different regions of Asia Minor in general and the Troad in particular.17 The Attalids, unlike the Seleukids, had rooted their kingdom in the history of

some fifty or so years earlier. Simonides’ ‘battle of the elephants’ would, in this case, have been a historic epic commemorating the deeds of an earlier dynast; cf. PRIMO (2009), p. 87–88, 257. This dating fits well with the context of conflicting Seleukid and Attalid claims on Asia Minor. 16 From the start of his reign, Antiochos III showed an interest in recovering and retaining Asia Minor. He first sent a general, Achaios, to reclaim the region from the Attalids. When Achaios rebelled and proclaimed himself king in Sardeis, Antiochos himself crossed the Taurus in 216 BC to regain control; see POLYB. 5.107, 7.15–18, 8.17– 23; cf. HANSEN (1971), p. 43; HEINEN (1984), p. 440; CHRUBASIK (2013), p. 83–120. In conjunction with his military concerns, Antiochos displayed a continued interest in the Greek cities in Asia Minor. To support his claim to Asia Minor, he defined it as part of Seleukos’ ‘spear-won land’, as Ma and others have shown; see MA (1999) and cf. BIKERMAN (1938), p. 15; WALBANK (1984), p. 64–68; MEHL (1980–1981), p. 173–212; AUSTIN (2001), p. 91. Yet, this alone was not sufficient: Antiochos III also brought into play a third idea, that of defeating the Galatians as a means of claiming legitimacy, both on the political stage and in literature and art. Antiochos I had already used his victory over the Galatians in the 270s to strengthen the Seleukid position in Asia Minor; but for a more cautious approach to the importance and dating of the Galatian Victory, see COùKUN (2012), p. 58–65. In a similar vein, the Attalids, the Seleukids’ main rivals in the region, used victories over the Galatians to legitimise their own position in various ways. This can be seen most clearly in the case of Attalos I, who ruled from 241–197 BC and assumed the title of King and Soter after defeating the Galatian tribe of the Tolistoagii at the Kaikos River; see for a longer discussion STROOTMAN (2005), p. 121–136. Antiochos III stimulated literature and political acts that would remind the world that the Seleukid kings were the first to defeat the Galatian hordes and that the Attalids were merely aping his ancestors. On the Galatian victory as propaganda tool for the Hellenistic kings in general, see STROOTMAN (2005), p. 101–141; KOEHN (2007); KISTLER (2009); COùKUN (2014), p. 148–151 and COùKUN (2012), p. 57–73. 17 In 199 BC, after his conquest of Gaza and Sidon, Antiochos marched north to Asia Minor to strengthen Seleukid power there in the aftermath of Achaios’ rebellion and take possession of the Ptolemaic possessions in Asia Minor (GRAINGER (2002), p. 30). Antiochos’ advances prompted King Attalos of Pergamon, until then an ally of Antiochos, to accuse him before the Roman senate of invading Attalid lands (LIV. 32.8.9– 16). For a discussion of Livy’s account see BEVAN (1902), p. 2.36; HOLLEAUX (1942), Études III, 331–335; BADIAN (1959), p. 82–83; SCHMITT (1964), p. 269–276; WILL (1982) p. 2.153–154; GRUEN (1984), p. 2.538–539; MEHL (1990), p. 146–147; MA (1999) 279–281; GRAINGER (2002), p. 32–35; DREYER (2007), p. 90 n. 174, 209 n. 27, 272–291. In response, the senate sent out another embassy to discuss matters with Antiochos which was in turn followed in 197 BC by an embassy from Antiochos to Rome (LIV. 32.8.15– 16 and 33.20.8). Although Antiochos’ ambassadors assured the Romans of the king’s good intentions towards the Roman people, Attalos’ intervention meant that the Romans had become directly involved in the struggle for Asia Minor.

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Asia Minor by connecting their dynasty specifically to the Trojan royal house.18 In order to substantiate this connection they invoked two ancestral heroes: Pergamos and Telephos. Pergamos, after whom the capital of the Attalids was named, was the son of Neoptolemos and Andromache and so represented both Trojan royalty and a noble Achaian lineage. Telephos had the parallel function of linking the Attalids to Arkadia, Herakles and the kingdom of Mysia in Asia Minor. The Seleukids could not boast the same degree of local rootedness, but they could nonetheless take possession of the region, at Attalid expense, by enlisting local experts like Hegesianax and annexing its history, beyond the two Pergamene ancestors all the way back to Dardanos. With Hegesianax’ work, Antiochos could hope to outflank Pergamene royal ideology both geographically and chronologically. The Troika, then, was important not just for the Seleukids’ relationship with the Greek cities of Asia Minor but also for their struggle with the Attalids. Beyond that, it enabled them to engage with the rising power of the Roman Republic. The Attalids and Romans had long invoked their shared Trojan ancestry for diplomatic purposes.19 On the other hand, for both the Seleukids and the Attalids, controlling the history of the Troad became a potential mechanism for keeping the Romans on side, or in check, by taking charge of their past.20 The Romans, for their part, may have been receptive to such manipulations. By the late 3rd century BC, they had developed a strong interest in historical links with the Trojan metropolis, according to Quintus Fabius Pictor, who wrote

18 See for a more extensive discussion: ERSKINE (2001), p. 219–224. The Attalids also patronised the temples at Ilion, I.Ilion 41, 42 (RC 62). Compare the Seleukid patronage of Didyma, that started with Seleukos I: he restored Apollon’s cult statue to Didyma that the Persians had taken to Susa (HDT. 1.157.3, 6.19.3) and provided money for the restoration of the temple; see TARN (1922), p. 63–64; PARKE (1985), p. 60–64, cf. PAUS. 1.16.3 and 8.46; I.Didyma 479 = OGIS 213; I.Didyma 480 = SEG 4.442. A body of stories, similar to those told about Alexander and Zeus-Ammon, sprung up about Apollon of Didyma and his relationship with Seleukos I, including an anecdote according to which the oracle at Didyma predicted Seleukos’ kingship of Asia when he was still a general (APP., Syr. 56). See also HADLEY (1974), p. 53, 58; GRAINGER (1990), p. 2–4, 163–164; SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 27; FRASER (1996), p. 35–39; KOSMIN (2014a), p. 98; KOSMIN (2014b), p. 179–180; ENGELS (2017), p. 455-484. 19 See ERSKINE (2001), p. 219–253 for a general discussion and bibliography; see RUSSO (2014), p. 594–598 and COùKUN (2016a), p. 53–62, on the Attalids’ agency to provide a ‘Trojan seal’ of approval to the Roman expansion in Asia Minor, especially in the context of the Romans’ quest for their Mater Idaea. Cf. RUSSO (2015). 20 RUSSO (2014), p. 581–590, for the local Greek responses to the idea of the Romans’ Trojan descent. He argues that several poleis, both in mainland Greece and in Asia Minor, used the Trojan heritage of the Romans to establish kinship links. Especially the cities in the Troad, such as Lampsakos and Ilion itself, evoked consanguinity with the Romans in order to elicit their support against Antiochos III.

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a history of Rome from its origins to at least the 2nd Punic war.21 He himself had fought in this war, which implies that he was an adult in 225 BC.22 In 216 BC, he was sent out to Delphi as ambassador of the Roman state to ask the oracle for a resolution of the war.23 He was well-versed in Greek, and originally wrote his history of Rome in Greek, although he may later have made a copy of the same work in Latin.24 Although it is unclear how far back the historiographical tradition of Rome’s Trojan origins went, the turn of the 3rd to the 2nd century seems to have been an important moment in its development.25 Fabius Pictor is credited with the first formal development of several themes that were to become important for Rome’s foundation narratives: the prophecies of Aineias’ deeds, Askanios’ founding of Alba and the birth and upbringing of Romulus and Remus.26 For the Seleukids, then, there was a lot at stake when it came to engaging with the origins of Rome in Asia Minor. Most fragments attributed to Hegesianax’ Troika deal with Aineias’ travels and the foundation of Rome. To some extent, this will reflect the bias of our sources, but there may be more to it. Hegesianax, after all, was involved in at least two embassies to the Romans including one that took him to Rome itself. This has led scholars to deliberate about whether Hegesianax had a political motive for focussing on Rome to the extent that he apparently did and, if so, to ask if he was pro- or anti-Roman. The question may well be unanswerable, but the fact is that Hegesianax, as a Seleukid writer, engaged with Roman traditions at a time when Rome’s interest in its own history was becoming much more pronounced. This was hardly a coincidence, and even though the Troika may not have been overtly political in tone and content, Hegesianax must have been aware that it carried political significance at a time of growing political tension with Rome. At the very least, he will have considered carefully what to say about the early history of Troy, and Rome. To elaborate on this, let me now introduce two important fragments from the Troika. The first, transmitted by Dionysios of Halikarnassos, relates the death 21 The most recent edition of the fragments of Q. Fabius Pictor is The Fragments of the Roman Historians by CORNELL (ed.) (2013), p. 1.13–49 and p. 2.32–103. See also PETER (1914), p. 69–100; WISEMAN (1995), p. 1–2; CHASSIGNET (1996); BECK / WALTER (2001), p. 55–136; MEHL (2011), p. 43–48. 22 LIV. 22.7.4; EUTR. 3.5; OROS. 4.13.6. He was thus around 30 years older than Hegesianax. 23 LIV. 22.57.4–5; 23.11.1–6; PLUT., Fab. 18.3; APP., Hann. 27.116. 24 MEHL (2011), p. 43–48; CORNELL (ed.) (2013), p. 163–165. 25 MEHL (2011), p. 9–17; RUSSO (2014), p. 583; cf. ERSKINE (2001), p. 23–43, who puts the Trojan ancestry myth more strongly at the Iulii and the Augustan writers. There are indications that the myth already played a role in the wars against Carthage and Pyrrhos in the 3rd century, see further PERRET (1942), p. 479; GALINSKY (1969), p. 170– 178. 26 CORNELL (ed.) (2013), p. 1.13–49 and p. 2.32–103. For a discussion on the relevant prodigy lists linking Rome to the East, see ENGELS (2007).

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of Aineias in Thrace. Aineias’ link with Thrace is apparent in several ancient sources. Hellanikos of Mytilene and Hegesippos tell us that Aineias took refuge for a while at Pallene in Thrace.27 Lykophron’s Aineias even founded a city in northern Greece, called Aineia, as part of his Thracian wanderings.28 However, no ancient author, except Hegesianax and Hegesippos, claim that Aineias died in Thrace, thus cutting his life short before he even reached Italy. Hegesianax must have been aware that in choosing this version of the myth he weakened the bond between the Romans and their founding figure.29 This is not Hegesianax’ only deviation from the narratives that we find in the Roman historians. The subsequent foundation of Rome, after the Trojan exiles buried Aineias in Thrace, is also attested in Dionysios of Halikarnassus. He refers to Hegesianax’ Troika as the source for the foundation of Rome by Rhomos, son of Aineias: Since there is a great controversy both about the date of foundation and the founders of the city (sc. of Rome), I have also considered it my duty not to merely give a brief account of these things, as if they were universally agreed on. As Kephalon of Gergis says, a very ancient historian, the city was founded two generations after the Trojan War by the men escaped from Troy together with Aineias. As the founder of the city he names the leader of the colony, Rhomos, one of Aineias’ sons. He reports that Aineias had four sons, Askanios, Euryleon, Rhomylos, and Rhomos.30

In this passage, Dionysios claims that there were many different stories about the foundation of Rome. One of these stories, by Kephalon (as we have seen, Hegesianax’ nom de plume), attributes the foundation of Rome to Rhomos, one of the four sons of Aineias, who seems to correspond to Remus known from other sources. According to Kephalon, he was the brother of Rhomylos, 27 Cf. Hellanikos: FrGHist 4 F 31 (DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.47–48.1); Hegesippos, BNJ 391 F 5 (DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.49.1). Hellanikus of Mytilene (or of Lesbos) was a Greek logographer from the 5th century BC, who wrote, among other works, a Troika. Hegesippos’ only known work is a local history of Pallene in the Chalkidike, which he wrote around the fourth century BC. 28 LYCOPHR. 1236–1238. In connection with this fact, Strabo also mentions Aineias’ foundation of Skepsis. 29 For the Roman Aineias legend, see: ENNIUS, Book 1, FABIUS PICTOR, FRHist F 1 and 3; VARR., Ling. Lat. 5.144; LIV. 1.1–3; DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.44.3–71; DIOD. SIC. 7.5.1–12, and of course Virgil, Aeneid. For a discussion of the development of the Roman Aineias and founding myths: PERRET (1942), p. 325–334; HORSFALL (1974), p. 111; HORSFALL (1986), p. 11–17; FARROW (1992), p. 354–357; MILES (1995); FOX (1996); CASALI (2010), p. 43–50. 30 DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.72.1–2 (Text and translation adapted from BNJ 45 F9): ਕȝijȚıȕȘIJ੾ıİȦȢ į੻ ʌȠȜȜોȢ Ƞ੡ıȘȢ țĮ੿ ʌİȡ੿ IJȠ૨ ȤȡંȞȠȣ IJોȢ țIJȓıİȦȢ (sc. IJોȢ ૮આȝȘȢ) țĮ੿ ʌİȡ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ȠੁțȚıIJ૵Ȟ IJોȢ ʌંȜİȦȢ Ƞ੝į੻ Į੝IJઁȢ ફȝȘȞ įİ૙Ȟ ੮ıʌİȡ ੒ȝȠȜȠȖȠ઄ȝİȞĮ ʌȡઁȢ ਖʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ ਥȟ ਥʌȚįȡȠȝોȢ ਥʌİȜșİ૙Ȟ. Ȁİij੺ȜȦȞ ȝ੻Ȟ Ȗ੹ȡ ੒ īİȡȖȓșȚȠȢ ıȣȖȖȡĮijİઃȢ ʌĮȜĮȚઁȢ ʌ੺Ȟȣ įİȣIJȑȡĮȚ ȖİȞİ઼Ț ȝİIJ੹ IJઁȞ ੉ȜȚĮțઁȞ ʌંȜİȝȠȞ ਥțIJȓıșĮȚ ȜȑȖİȚ IJ੽Ȟ ʌંȜȚȞ ਫ਼ʌઁ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȟ ੉ȜȓȠȣ įȚĮıȦșȑȞIJȦȞ ıઃȞ ǹੁȞİȓ઺. ȠੁțȚıIJ੽Ȟ į੻ Į੝IJોȢ ਕʌȠijĮȓȞİȚ IJઁȞ ਲȖȘı੺ȝİȞȠȞ IJોȢ ਕʌȠȚțȓĮȢ ૮૵ȝȠȞǜ IJȠ૨IJȠȞ įૃ İੇȞĮȚ IJ૵Ȟ ǹੁȞİȓȠȣ ʌĮȓįȦȞ ਪȞĮ. IJȑIJIJĮȡĮȢ įȑ ijȘıȚȞ ǹੁȞİȓ઺ ȖİȞȑıșĮȚ ʌĮ૙įĮȢ, ਝıț੺ȞȚȠȞ Ǽ੝ȡȣȜȑȠȞIJĮ ૮Ȧȝ઄ȜȠȞ ૮૵ȝȠȞ.

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Askanios and Euryleon, about whom we hear no more.31 What strikes one about this narrative is that he describes Rhomos, rather than Romulus (Rhomylos), as the founder of Rome, thus effectively reversing the Roman narrative.32 Here, Hegesianax builds on the received Greek tradition that a figure called Rhomos (or a female equivalent figure RhomƝ) was the eponymous founder of the city.33 In earlier Greek sources, this figure sometimes appears by itself and sometimes together with Romulus. At the same time, however, the figure of Remus, as brother of Romulus was also known to the Greeks at the end of the third century BC.34 Hegesianax, therefore, made a conscious choice: by blending two existing traditions he subverts the Roman story, in a way that reflects earlier Greek accounts of the foundation of Rome. Previous scholars have suggested that Hegesianax’ account contains overt anti-Roman propaganda. Perret, for example, argues that Hegesianax consciously subverts Roman state ideology by letting the founding hero die before reaching Rome.35 I agree that Hegesianax’ story downplays the role of Aineias by making him die in Thrace. Some aspects of Perret’s argument, however, are not without problems.36 In particular, other scholars have focussed on the fact that if Rhomos was indeed Aineias’ son, Hegesianax’ account cannot be anti-Roman to the extent that Perret alleges. Farrow in particular stresses that Hegesianax creates a more direct line between Aineias and the foundation of Rome than Virgil does.37 Although Farrow is right that Hegesianax does not deny Rome’s Trojan descent, he ignores the way in which the narrative asserts Hegesianax’ power over the history of Rome. Indeed, it is Hegesianax’ role as 31 Another Roman source, Festus, reports Hegesianax’ narrative differently. According to Festus’ summary, Hegesianax said that Rhomos was not Aineias’ son but merely his companion. However, Festus seems to think that, according to Hegesianax, Aineias made it to Italy, a suggestion which, as we have seen above, contradicts other fragments. Although it is hard to determine which story was originally in Hegesianax, Dionysios of Halikarnassos seems to be the more reliable source. 32 See also the fragment of Dionysios of Chalkis on the foundation of Rome (FGrHist 1773 F 13). According to Dionysios of Halikarnassos, he also names Rhomos as founder of Rome and that this Rhomos was either the son of Askanios or of the Trojan prince Emathion. This presents us with yet another version of Rome’s foundation myth, and although Dionysios’ biographical details are unclear, it seems likely to place him within the 3rd century, in the context of Greek discussions of Rome’s history. See ENGELS’ commentary in FGrHist 1773 F 13 for further discussion of Dionysios of Chalkis’ reference to the foundation of Rome. For the received Roman story, see: LIV. 1.6–7; DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.72.90. For an extensive analysis of the myths concerning Remus, see WISEMAN (1995). 33 WISEMAN (1995), appendix. 34 SEG 16.486, an inscription from Chios dating from the late 3rd or early 2nd century BC, cf. BIKERMAN (1952), p. 65–81. 35 PERRET (1942), p. 511–513; he further argues that Hegesianax was influenced by anti-Roman hawks like Hannibal (PERRET (1942), p. 513). 36 FARROW (1992), p. 354–357; TRACHSEL (2007), p. 186–199. 37 FARROW (1992), p. 354–357.

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arbiter of Roman history rather than any straightforward pro- or anti-Roman bias that makes his account such a remarkable example of Seleukid court literature.38 Focussing on Hegesianax’ confident and idiosyncratic portrayal of Rome and its links with Troy, a more rewarding reading emerges, one which moves beyond the dichotomy between pro- and anti-Roman sentiments. For Hegesianax, there was little to be gained by alienating Rome. His work sought rather to impress upon his readers the intellectual supremacy and undisputable authority of the Seleukid narrative in a way that could potentially appeal even to Romans. For this purpose, the pseudo-archaic Kephalon figured as a crucial witness, diverting attention away from any specifically Seleukid bias that could otherwise have been read into the text.

2. The Poetics of Propaganda As we have seen, the literature of Hegesianax had a clear political dimension, witnessing to the author’s link with the Seleukid court. In the second section of this article, I explore the interaction between politics and literature from the point of view of the political power, focussing specifically on the agency of the king during the years of 198–192 BC. I will argue that Antiochos performed acts of kingship that display a subtle interaction with history, myth and Seleukid literary motives.39 38 This ‘neutral’ stance might point to a relatively early date, before the relationship between Antiochos and Rome worsened from 194 BC onwards (On the friendship between Antiochos and Rome see: COùKUN in this volume; COùKUN (2008), 63–70; BURTON (2011). This dating of the Troika, before 194 BC would fit well in the context of Seleukid-Attalid rivalry to appropriate the Trojan link with the Romans, see n. 20 and 21, cf. RUSSO (2014). However, Hegesianax’ only confirmed embassy to Rome was in 194/193 BC (LIV. 34.57.1–6; Antiochos also sent envoys to Rome in 198 BC, but their names are not reported), and it seems plausible to assume that his visit to Rome provided Hegesianax with first-hand information about Roman history and geography that he used in his work (cf. the mention of the Palatine hill in BNJ 45 F 10). Although the precise might never be resolved, I consider it more likely that Hegesianax finished the Troika after he had been to Rome, at some point after 193 BC. Of course, it might be possible that Hegesianax was part of the embassy at 198 BC and the Troika was written between 198 and 194 BC, which is the neatest solution to this dating question although there is no secure evidence for this suggestion. 39 Much theoretical work has been done on cultural poetics and performative acts of kingship. For some key contributions and further bibliography see CALAME (1990), p. 275–341; DOUGHERTY (1993); DOUGHERTY / KURKE (ed.) (1993), p. 1–6; BONNELL et al. (ed.) (1999), p. 1–32; DOUGHERTY / KURKE (ed.) (2003), p. 6–13; for a theory of cultural poetics which interprets texts as events and events as texts (GEERTZ (1983), p. 121–146); see GEERTZ (1973) (contra GEERTZ see: SEWELL (1999)) for a theoretical framework of the concept of culture and the performance of power. Especially important to the argument here is the inextricable connection between culture and art on the one hand and political power on the other (DOUGHERTY / KURKE (2003), p. 6). See also CHANIOTIS

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This literary turn was not unprecedented in Seleukid history: during the formative period of the Seleukid Empire, just after (and during) the crisis of the successors’ wars, Kings Seleukos I and Antiochos I had expanded their realm and consolidated its eastern borders by constructing new protocols of royal authority and maps of imperial unity.40 Those maps and protocols can be recognised both in the literature of the time and in the actions of each king. One hundred years later, the unprecedented western expansion of Antiochos the Great created a similar demand for imperial scripts. The thriving literary culture of his court provided Antiochos with many opportunities to disseminate such scripts in the interest of the stability and legitimacy of his reign. Conversely, the active literary production at the court of Antiochos provided an excellent context for political engagement with literary motifs. Although direct evidence is lacking, it is plausible to assume that the king’s literati directly shaped some of his military and political performances. Throughout his reign, Antiochos III shows in his actions that he has a flair for the dramatic and a clear sense of the power of ideological acts. In these royal dramas, Antiochos engaged with key moments of Seleukid history and important literary motifs attached to them, paying tribute to the past while also laying claim to the future.41 The first act of kingship that I would like to consider in this connection took place at Lysimacheia, during Antiochos’ Thracian campaigns of 197/196 BC. In 197 BC, Antiochos crossed the Hellespont to Thrace and restored Lysimacheia, which had been destroyed by Thracians.42 Several things came together for Antiochos in Lysimacheia: refounding the city as a western capital of the empire was significant in its own right, but also provided an elegant way of staging negotiations with the Romans concerning the Greek cities and the wider issue of control over Asia Minor. Since Antiochos’ actions at Lysimacheia were aimed at multiple audiences, from Roman senators to the Greek cities, they needed to be carefully scripted. According to Livy events unfolded as follows: (1997), p. 219–259; CHANIOTIS (2011), p. 186–189 on theatricality and statesmen (and the king as performer). CHANIOTIS focusses especially on Demetrios Poliorketes, but his general conclusions seem relevant here (cf. WALBANK (1996), p. 120; BELL (2004), p. 116–150); see BARTSCH (1994) for a discussion of similar issues in the Roman Empire. 40 Based on VISSCHER (unpublished PhD thesis); see also KOSMIN (2014), esp. p. 31– 76. 41 A good example from the beginning of his reign, that also shows his awareness of Seleukid history, is Antiochos’ wedding to Laodike III at Zeugma-on-the-Euphrates, directly after his coronation, which took place in Antioch-on-the-Orontes. Zeugma connected twin cities Seleukeia and Apameia on opposing banks of the Euphrates that Seleukos founded to monumentalize his marriage with Apama. It is no coincidence that Antiochos decided to marry his own queen Laodike III in precisely the place that was built to celebrate the first Seleukid couple; cf. ENGELS (2017), p. 171. This historicizing policy is also apparent in Antiochos’ numismatic program (ERICKSON (2009), p. 194– 205, cf. MA (1999), p. 26–33; HOUGHTON / LORBER (2002)). 42 POL. 18.51.7; LIV. 33.38.10–14; cf. PIEJKO (1988), p. 151–165; I.Ilion 45. On the location and the geopolitical importance of Lysimachia, see SAYAR (2014), p. 363–382.

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From there he proceeded with all his forces, navy and army alike, to Lysimacheia. When he found it almost entirely abandoned and in ruins (the Thracians had captured, plundered, and burned it a few years before), he was seized by the desire of rebuilding a city so famed and so advantageously situated. Therefore, he undertook everything at once; to rebuild the houses and walls, to ransom some of the Lysimacheians who were in slavery, to seek out and bring back some of those who had scattered in flight through the Hellespont and Chersonesos, to attract new colonists by the prospects of advantage held out to them, and to populate the city in every possible manner. At the same time, in order to dispel their fear of the Thracians, he set out in person with half his land forces to devastate the neighbouring parts of Thrace, leaving the rest and all the naval allies engaged in the work of rebuilding the city.43

Livy’s narrative focusses on Antiochos’ role in the founding of Lysimacheia, as he repairs buildings, restores the scattered population and ransoms citizens who have become slaves. Antiochos emerges from this description as the perfect benefactor in the tradition of his illustrious predecessor, Seleukos I, who strove to conquer Thrace and Macedonia, but was murdered near Lysimacheia by Ptolemy Keraunos. Antiochos’ successful campaign contrasts with Seleukos’ failure, while at the same time fulfilling his ambition, a perfect example of intradynastic emulation. In Livy’s passage, we also recognise a script that earlier Seleukid writers used, according to which a city is founded by the Seleukid king, then destroyed by barbarians and finally refounded by the king or one of his successors. This pattern may be observed in the works of the Seleukid geographers writing for King Seleukos I on the eastern borders of the Empire.44 Seleukid imperial discourse, as reflected by Livy, turned Thrace into a mirror image of the northeastern steppes, connecting the two outlying regions of the empire through shared narratives of conquest and restoration.45 Lysimacheia, as the empire’s new, western royal capital, fittingly became 43 LIV. 33.38.10–14 [Text from Briscoe’s edition (1973), translation adapted from HEINEMANN (1935)]: Lysimachiam inde omnibus simul naualibus terrestribusque copiis uenit. Quam cum desertam ac stratam prope omnem ruinis inuenisset – ceperant autem direptamque incenderant Thraces paucis ante annis – cupido eum restituendi nobilem urbem et loco sitam opportuno cepit. Itaque omnia simul est aggressus et tecta murosque restituere et partim redimere seruientes Lysimachenses, partim fuga sparsos per Hellespontum Chersonesumque conquirere et contrahere, partim nouos colonos spe commodorum proposita adscribere et omni modo frequentare; simul, ut Thracum summoueretur metus, ipse parte dimidia terrestrium copiarum ad depopulanda proxima Thraciae est profectus, partem naualesque omnes socios reliquit in operibus reficiendae urbis. 44 Demodamas’ account of his Baktrian campaign, and to a lesser extent in Megasthenes’ Indika ; cf. KOSMIN (2014), p. 66, 215; ENGELS (2017), p. 157–212. 45 In addition to the narrative pattern of destruction and restoration, Livy’s story also echoes some of the themes and language of Babylonian kingship ideology. Although we do not know his source for these details of Seleukid imperial discourse, the literary circle at Antiochos’ court provides good candidates, especially Hegesianax, who was present at Lysimacheia and participated in the negotiations.

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the centre for further negotiations with the Romans. These negotiations did not focus solely on Lysimacheia and Thrace, but paid special attention to the Greek cities of Asia Minor. In 196 BC Rome sent an embassy to Antiochos in Lysimacheia demanding his departure from Europe and the freedom of the Greeks in Asia Minor.46 These demands were in accordance with Flamininus’ proclamation at the Isthmian Games in Corinth earlier that year that all Greek cities were to be free, without garrisons, subject to no tribute and allowed to enjoy their ancestral constitutions.47 In Lysimacheia, Antiochos made clear that he would not comply with Roman demands, declaring that Thrace and Asia Minor were his by ancestral right and that the cities of Asia Minor would be granted freedom by him, and not by Rome. In 192 BC Antiochos marked his crossing from Asia Minor to Greece by visiting Ilion and sacrificing to Athena Ilias, just as Alexander had done when making the journey in the opposite direction to battle the Persians.48 Before setting sail, he [Antiochos] went up to Ilion from the sea in order to offer sacrifices to Minerva.49 In this brief remark, Livy describes how Antiochos ascended to Troy and sacrificed to Athena, before he went back to his fleet that lay waiting to invade Greece. In addition to its associations with Rome and the Attalids, the ideological importance of Ilion at the time of Antiochos III rested partly on its associations with Homer as the representative par excellence of Greek literature and culture, and partly on its location between Asia and Europe, already exploited by Alexander, as well as the Persian king Xerxes: After the army reached the Skamander, […] Xerxes ascended into the Pergamos of Priam, since he had a longing to behold the place. When he had seen everything, and inquired into all particulars he made an offering of a thousand oxen to the Trojan Athena, while the Magi poured libations to the heroes.50

46 ‘Freedom for the Greeks’ was a slogan that went back more than two centuries. It was already employed during the Persian and Peloponnesian wars, and during the age of Alexander and the successors became an important diplomatic means of negotiating the relationship between the kings and the Greek cities. For extensive discussion, see: GRUEN (1993), p. 340–343; DMITRIEV (2011a). 47 LIV. 33.32. cf. WALSH (1996), p. 344. 48 PLUT., Alex. 15: ਕȞĮȕ੹Ȣ į੻ İੁȢ ੍ȜȚȠȞ ਩șȣıİ IJૌ ਝșȘȞઽ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਸ਼ȡȦıȚȞ ਩ıʌİȚıİ. IJ੽Ȟ į੻ ਝȤȚȜȜȑȦȢ ıIJȒȜȘȞ ਕȜİȚȥȐȝİȞȠȢ ȜȓʌĮ țĮ੿ ȝİIJ੹ IJ૵Ȟ ਦIJĮȓȡȦȞ ıȣȞĮȞĮįȡĮȝઅȞ ȖȣȝȞઁȢ, ੮ıʌİȡ ਩șȠȢ ਥıIJȓȞ, ਥıIJİijȐȞȦıİ, ȝĮțĮȡȓıĮȢ Į੝IJȩȞ ੖IJȚ țĮ੿ ȗ૵Ȟ ijȓȜȠȣ ʌȚıIJȠ૨ țĮ੿ į੻ IJİȜİȣIJȒıĮȢ ȝİȖȐȜȠȣ țȒȡȣțȠȢ ਩IJȣȤİȞ. (Alexander went up to Troy, sacrificed to Athena and poured a libation to the heroes. At the tomb of Achilles, after anointing himself with oil and taking part in a race naked with his Companions, as is the custom, he deposited crowns and remarked how fortunate Achilles was to have had a faithful friend while he was alive and a great herald of his fame after his death.) 49 LIV. 35.43.3 [Text from Briscoe’s edition (1981), translation adapted from HEINEMANN (1935)]: Priusquam solueret naues, Ilium a mari escendit, ut Mineruae sacrificaret. 50 HDT. 7.43.1–2 [Text from VAN GRONINGEN (1949), translation adapted from RAWLINSON (1996)]: ਕʌȚțȠȝȑȞȠȣ į੻ IJȠ૨ ıIJȡĮIJȠ૨ ਥʌ੿ ʌȠIJĮȝઁȞ ȈțȐȝĮȞįȡȠȞ, […] ȄȑȡȟȘȢ,

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By sacrificing to Athena Ilias, Antiochos follows both Xerxes’ and Alexander’s example and thus holds an ambivalent position as both defender of the Greek cities (as hegemon of the Aitolian league) and conqueror from the East. It was a potent mix. For Antiochos III, the first Seleukid ruler after Seleukos I who made a serious effort to reunite all parts of Alexander’s empire, Ilion was a landmark of chief significance. In a strikingly multifocal act of conquest and homecoming, Antiochos both acknowledged Troy’s importance for Greece, Asia Minor and the world at large, and claimed it for himself. The significance of Antiochos’ act is emphasized by the fact that the Romans repeated it soon after: in 190 BC, during the Roman campaign against Antiochos in Asia Minor, L. Scipio went up to Ilion and sacrificed to Athena. On the eve of their final showdown with Antiochos, the Romans ostentatiously recognised Troy as Rome’s metropolis and the people of Ilion as their kinsmen.51 The final act of kingship to be discussed in this article does not concern Antiochos’ interests in Asia Minor, but was directed toward mainland Greece. It took place when Antiochos landed on Euboia and conquered Chalkis, one of the key cities for controlling mainland Greece. During the winter that followed, the king married a local girl and renamed her after the island. In his analysis of these events, Kosmin stresses that Euboia was the first conquest of Antiochos that was not based on hereditary claims.52 Antiochos thus had to abandon his familiar rhetoric of restoring his ancestral kingdom. This warranted an extraordinary performance of conquest and appropriation. The ideological power of Antiochos’ marriage is shown in the work of anti-Seleukid writers, such as Polybios, who writes in his account of the notorious ‘winter of love’: Antiochos the Great, after arriving at Chalkis in Euboia, conducted this marriage when he was fifty years old and had taken on the two most important of his deeds, the liberation of Greece, as he himself called it, and the war with Rome. However, having fallen in love with a young woman from Chalkis, he desired to marry her even though it was still the due time for the war; as he was a wine lover and rejoiced in getting drunk. She was a daughter of Kleoptolemos, a man of rank, and surpassed all other women in beauty. He celebrated the marriage in Chalkis and remained there throughout the winter, utterly regardless of the pressing business of the time. He also gave the girl the name Euboia. After his defeat in the war, he fled with his new bride to Ephesos.53 ਥȢ IJઁ ȆȡȚȐȝȠȣ ȆȑȡȖĮȝȠȞ ਕȞȑȕȘ ੆ȝİȡȠȞ ਩ȤȦȞ șİȒıĮıșĮȚ: șİȘıȐȝİȞȠȢ į੻ țĮ੿ ʌȣșȩȝİȞȠȢ ਥțİȓȞȦȞ ਪțĮıIJĮ IJૌ ਝșȘȞĮȓૉ IJૌ ੉ȜȚȐįȚ ਩șȣıİ ȕȠ૨Ȣ ȤȚȜȓĮȢ, ȤȠ੹Ȣ į੻ Ƞੂ ȂȐȖȠȚ IJȠ૙ıȚ ਸ਼ȡȦıȚ ਥȤȑĮȞIJȠ. 51 LIV. 37.37.1–3 and JUST. 31.8.1–3 (for an earlier Roman visit to Troy by Livius Salinator, see LIV. 37.9.7). For Ilion’s diplomatic overtures to Rome, see: SUET., Claud. 25 [Roman treaty with ‘King Seleukos’; see GRAINGER (2002), p. 10–13; GRUEN (1984), p. 64–65]; LIV. 29.12.14 (treaty Rome and Philip V); LIV. 38.39.10 (treaty of Apameia). SCHMITT (1964), p. 291–293; ERSKINE (2001), p. 162–197. 52 KOSMIN (2014), p. 139. 53 POLYB. 20.8 [Text from Teubner edition (1899–1905) edited by T. Büttner-Wobst (republished in 1993–1995), the translation is my own]: ਝȞIJȓȠȤȠȢ į੻ ੒ ȝȑȖĮȢ, ʌĮȡİȜșઅȞ

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According to Polybios, Antiochos III wasted an entire winter with excesses and festivities, while ignoring the war and his own project of liberating the Greeks.54 Polybios was not alone in his assessment: our extant sources unanimously condemn Antiochos’ ‘winter of love’ as an indication of sexual licentiousness and moral decline typical of an Eastern king.55 In particular, Antiochos’ opulence and decadence were interpreted as indications of Eastern despotism and moral corruption. Modern scholars, however, have convincingly argued that this anti-Seleukid gloss opportunistically depicts Antiochos as the heir of the Persian kings and misrepresents what was in reality a display of Seleukid euergetism and royal power.56 The marriage itself was a carefully orchestrated and scripted performance of Seleukid kingship.57 In line with a well-attested broader Hellenistic trend, the royal Seleukid couple in many ways represented the unity of the empire. In his marriage to a local Greek girl Antiochos reinterpreted this template to forge a bond of affection with ‘old Greece’, the land he had set out to liberate. The key to understanding the full significance of Antiochos’ act is the fact that the king renamed his bride ‘Euboia’. Kosmin stresses the ideological implications of this act.58 Not only does the marriage of a local girl constitute a bond between the king and the land, it also re-enacts Greek foundation narratives wherein a foreign male (and often divine) founder subdues the local female element of the land.59 In renaming the girl ‘Euboia’ Antiochos shows that he is aware of this symbolism. In fact, Kosmin takes the argument a step further and reads the İੁȢ ȋĮȜțȓįĮ IJોȢ Ǽ੝ȕȠȓĮȢ ıȣȞİIJȑȜİȚ ȖȐȝȠȣȢ, ʌİȞIJȒțȠȞIJĮ ȝ੻Ȟ ਩IJȘ ȖİȖȠȞઅȢ țĮ੿ įȪȠ IJ੹ ȝȑȖȚıIJĮ IJ૵Ȟ ਩ȡȖȦȞ ਕȞİȚȜȘijȫȢ, IJȒȞ IJİ IJ૵Ȟ ਬȜȜȒȞȦȞ ਥȜİȣșȑȡȦıȚȞ, ੪Ȣ Į੝IJઁȢ ਥʌȘȖȖȑȜȜİIJȠ, țĮ੿ IJઁȞ ʌȡઁȢ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȣȢ ʌȩȜİȝȠȞ. ਥȡĮıșİ੿Ȣ Ƞ੣Ȟ ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȣ ȋĮȜțȚįȚțોȢ țĮIJ੹ IJઁȞ IJȠ૨ ʌȠȜȑȝȠȣ țĮȚȡઁȞ ਥijȚȜȠIJȚȝȒıĮIJȠ ȖોȝĮȚ Į੝IJȒȞ, ȠੁȞȠʌȩIJȘȢ ੫Ȟ țĮ੿ ȝȑșĮȚȢ ȤĮȓȡȦȞ. ਷Ȟ įૃ Į੢IJȘ ȀȜİȠʌIJȠȜȑȝȠȣ ȝ੻Ȟ șȣȖȐIJȘȡ, ਦȞઁȢ IJ૵Ȟ ਥʌȚijĮȞ૵Ȟ, țȐȜȜİȚ į੻ ʌȐıĮȢ ਫ਼ʌİȡȕȐȜȜȠȣıĮ. țĮ੿ IJȠઃȢ ȖȐȝȠȣȢ ıȣȞIJİȜ૵Ȟ ਥȞ IJૌ ȋĮȜțȓįȚ Į੝IJȩșȚ įȚȑIJȡȚȥİ IJઁȞ ȤİȚȝ૵ȞĮ, IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞİıIJȫIJȦȞ Ƞ੝įૃ ਲȞIJȚȞȠ૨Ȟ ʌȠȚȠȪȝİȞȠȢ ʌȡȩȞȠȚĮȞ, ਩șİIJȠ į੻ țĮ੿ IJૌ ʌĮȚį੿ ੕ȞȠȝĮ Ǽ੡ȕȠȚĮȞ. ਲIJIJȘșİ੿Ȣ Ƞ੣Ȟ IJ૶ ʌȠȜȑȝ૳ ਩ijȣȖİȞ İੁȢ ਯijİıȠȞ ȝİIJ੹ IJોȢ ȞİȠȖȐȝȠȣ. 54 Cf. LIV. 36.11.1–2; ATHEN. 439e–f; APP., Syr. 16. 55 On Eastern kings and sexual licentiousness and extravagance see: MASTROCINQUE (1983), p. 140; SANCISI-WEERDENBURG (1987), p. 38, 43; BRIANT (2002), p. 281–285; LLEWELLYN-JONES (2013), p. 96–97, 116–120, 128–133. Cf. XEN., Cyr.; PLAT., Leg. 694b–696a. 56 MASTROCINQUE (1983), p. 140–144; KOSMIN (2014), p. 136–137; HAUBOLD (forthcoming). For love as the motivation of a royal marriage in a hostile tradition, see also ALMAGOR (2016), 67–86. 57 KOSMIN (2014), p. 137. 58 KOSMIN (2014), p. 139. 59 Ancient sources on the feminization of the land: PIND., Pyth. 9.5–75; Isthm. 8.16– 23; PAUS. 7.4.8, 9.29.1; colonization as marriage: JUST. 43.3.8–11; ATHEN. 13.576a–b; cf. PLUT., De mul. uirt. 255a–e. See also CALAME (1990) 301–304, 320–321; DOUGHERTY (1993), p. 63–67, on colonization narratives. On sex and agriculture and colonization, see: ROUGÉ (1970); GRAHAM (1981/2); VAN COMPERNOLLE (1983); DUBOIS (1988), p. 39–85.

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whole story as a metaphor for the marriage between Antiochos and the land ‘Euboia’, personified as a beautiful woman.60 According to Kosmin, no actual marriage with any real girl was involved. Although I accept that the marriage was indeed highly symbolic, I do not agree that Antiochos’ marriage at Euboia was, in any sense, unreal.61 Marriage alliances were a well-known tool for conducting diplomacy in the Hellenistic world, as we have seen, and it seems likely that Antiochos did indeed marry the daughter of a local aristocrat. At a local level, this provided him with the opportunity to establish diplomatic ties with Greek elite families. On the level of imperial policy, the union of Antiochos and Euboia shows the king’s lasting commitment to Greece, and announces the making of a new, Graeco-Seleukid dynasty. In addition to evoking the image of the royal couple as a unifying bond, Antiochos’ marriage at Chalkis also evoked the well-known myth of the arrival from the East of the god Dionysos. Dionysos returning in triumph from his conquests in the East had become a popular narrative after Alexander’s conquest of India, and was immediately recognisable throughout the Hellenistic world.62 The Ptolemies, for their part, drew on it in their state processions, traced their ancestry to Dionysos and went so far as to identify themselves as new Dionysoi.63 In religion, Dionysian processions and celebrations were typically seen following an absence of the god and were common throughout Greek history, as attested in both literature and art.64 For Antiochos, the image of the returning Dionysos would have been particularly useful as a way of negotiating his complex relationship with mainland Greece. For one thing, it helped him sidestep the language of military oppression that had bedevilled the Antigonids, under whom Chalkis had become known as one of the three ‘Fetters of Greece’.65 These three cities, Demetrias, 60

KOSMIN (2014), p. 136–137. KOSMIN (2014), p. 137 argues that Antiochos’ marriage to Laodike and the honours he bestowed upon her both before and after the Greek campaign, rule out a marriage to any other women. However, Ogden has argued, convincingly in my view, that polygamy was normal for most Hellenistic kings of Macedonian descent; see OGDEN (1999); COùKUN (2016b), p. 112–118; HARDERS (2016), p. 30–35. 62 For Alexander the Great and Dionysos, see: BOSWORTH (1996a), 123–125; BOSWORTH (1996b); BOSWORTH (1999), p. 1–2; FREDRICKSMEYER (2003), p. 264–265. 63 Ptolemy II Philadelphos staged a great procession in Alexandria, which celebrated the triumphal return of Dionysos from India (RICE (1983); GREEN (1990), p. 158–160; ERSKINE (1995), p. 43–45; THOMPSON (2000), p. 365–388; SEAFORD (2006), p. 23). For the close association between the Ptolemies and Dionysos, see the Adulis Inscription; Satyros (FHG 3, 165); ATHEN. 7.726a–c; Both Ptolemy IV and Ptolemy XII were called Neos Dionysos (for the former: CLEM. ALEX., Protrep. 4.54.2, cf. PLUT., Cleom. 33.2, 34.2; for the latter: OGIS 186.9–10, 191.1, 741.1, SEG 8.408). 64 See EUR., Bacch., esp. the prologue; cf. the advent of Dionysos in a ship-cart at the Anthesteria (SEAFORD (2006), p. 18–20, 40–41). For linking the processions of Dionysos with triumphal processions, see: DIOD. SIC. 3.65.8; ARR., Anab. 6.28.2. 65 POLYB. 18.11.5; LIV. 32.37; PLUT., Flam. 10.1. BRADFORD WELLS (1938), p. 252– 260; ERRINGTON (1990), p. 162–163, 236–237; SEKUNDA (2012), p. 4. For the Antigonid 61

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Corinth and Chalkis, formed the key to controlling mainland Greece, for Antiochos as much as for the Antigonids before him. However, in a situation where the ‘liberation of Greece’ had become the rallying call for all warring parties, it was vital that Antiochos and his Seleukid script-writers found a way of casting his Greek campaign as a peaceful union.66 That is arguably what Antiochos sought to achieve with his ‘winter of love’. This time, he styled himself not as a conqueror who brought with him more powerful ‘fetters’ than the Antigonids had managed to impose, but as a Dionysiac lover.67 To be sure, Antiochos was perfectly capable of grand military gestures.68 But when he arrived in Greece, he wrote himself in an altogether more Kallimachean key: like a true Hellenistic poet, he did not focus on his big elephants and epic battles but instead on the romantic love he felt for a Greek girl.

3. Conclusion When trying to gain a better understanding of Seleukid literature during the reign of Antiochos III, and how it related to imperial politics, it is instructive to look at works written in the context of Seleukid interactions with Rome, the new rival garrison at Chalkis, see: HATZOPOULOS (1996), p. 396–406; HATZOPOULOS (2001), p. 24– 31. See ERRINGTON (1990), p. 249, for the implications of Philip’s description of these cities as fetters. 66 Here it is also worth noting that Antiochos had only taken a small force to Greece after the Aitolians had requested his help. According to Appian, Antiochos was urged by the Aitolians to make haste and not to wait for the main army from Syria. Moreover, the Aitolians exaggerated their own strength to encourage a rapid response (APP., Syr. 3.12) Hence, it is arguable that Antiochos placed too much trust in his allies and that crossing with a small army was a mistake. However, it is also possible that Antiochos made a conscious decision to bring a smaller army to avoid the logistics of maintaining a larger force through the winter. In addition, traveling with a small army could add credibility to Antiochos’ message that he came as liberator of Greece, avoiding the impression of a Persian conqueror (COùKUN, personal communication). 67 Seaford writes that: ‘his [Dionysos] entry into the community is not just an arrival. It is associated with his victory over disappearance or rejection or capture, with the unity of the community (envisaged as its “purification” from disease), and / or with the arrival of spring’; cf. SEAFORD (2006), p. 45. Compare for example the processional entry of Demetrios Poliorketes into Athens; CHANIOTIS (2003), p. 431–433; CHANIOTIS (2011), p. 157–195. Compare also the bull horns on the Seleukid coinage from Seleukos I onwards which evoke the god Dionysos; see HADLEY (1974), p. 56; HOOVER (2011), p. 201–203; but compare ERICKSON (2009), p. 71–74 who also stresses the Near Eastern connotation of the bull’s horns to explain the potency of the symbol for Seleukos I. 68 Antiochos showed that he could employ both registers in one campaign at the battle of Thermopylai (APP., Syr. 4.17–18). In 192/191 BC, after the events in Euboia, Antiochos engaged the Romans in combat in that ravine, re-enacting not only the famous last stance of the Spartans against Xerxes’ army, but also the Aitolian league’s defence of Greece against the Galatians in 278 BC. Appian specifically mentions how Antiochos guarded himself against the tricks with which Xerxes had defeated the Spartans.

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of the Seleukids in Macedonia and Greece. The work of Hegesianax of Alexandria Troas is of particular interest in this connection, since he was active on both the political and literary stages. What his work shows is that Seleukid literature could have a clearly defined political dimension, without becoming overt royal propaganda: Hegesianax’ history of the Troad included an elaborate and measured account of the foundation of Rome and its alleged links with Troy, not overtly anti-Roman, but clearly seeking to appropriate the past on behalf of Seleukid intellectual traditions. In the second part of this article, I showed how these intellectual traditions also came to exert a strong influence on the agency of the King during this period. Specifically, I explored Antiochos’ political actions during the RomanSeleukid wars, focussing on some of the ways in which he used literary motifs to frame this conflict. Put bluntly, Antiochos painted the Romans as the new barbarians from the west, and himself as a Dionysian liberator from the east. However, the way in which he chose to convey this message was anything but blunt. Instead of focussing on military supremacy or ancestral right, King Antiochos chose to frame his claims in part using a love story, exploiting the wider Hellenistic preoccupation with the theme of royal love. Taken together, the case studies that have been presented here bring the relationship between Seleukid court literature and royal ideology into sharper focus, demonstrating considerable mutual influence between the two, particularly during the Roman-Seleukid wars. Bibliography ALMAGOR, E. (2016), Seleukid Love and Power: Stratonike I, in COùKUN / MCAULEY (2016), p. 67–86. ANGELUCCI, M. (2003), Polemone di Ilio: fra ricostruzione biografica e interessi antiquari, in SCO 49, p. 165–184. ASCHERI, P. (2011), The Greek Origins of the Romans and the Roman Origins of Homer in the Homeric Scholia and in POxy. 3710, in F. MONTANARI / L. PAGANI (eds.), From Scholars to Scholia: Chapters in the History of Ancient Greek Scholarship, Berlin, p. 65–85. AUSTIN, M.M. (2001), War and Culture in the Seleucid Empire, in T. BEKKER-NIELSEN / L. HANNESTAND (eds.), War as a Cultural and Social Force: Essays in Warfare in Antiquity, København, p. 90–109. BADIAN, E. (1959), Rome and Antiochus the Great: A Study in Cold War, in CPh 54, p. 81–99. BARBANTANI, S. (2001), ĭȐIJȚȢ ȞȚțȘijȩȡȠȢ: Frammenti di elegia encomiastica nell’età delle Guerre Galatiche, Milano. BARTSCH, S. (1994), Actors in the Audience: Theatricality and Doublespeak from Nero to Hadrian, Cambridge MA. BECK, H. / WALTER, U. (eds.) (2001), Die frühen römischen Historiker. Band 1: Von Fabius Pictor bis Cn. Gellius, Darmstadt.

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Echoes of the Persian Wars in the European Phase of the Roman-Syrian War (with an Emphasis on Plut., Cat. Mai. 12–14)* Eran ALMAGOR To the memory of Israel Shatzman Abstract The Roman-Syrian War, which the Roman Republic fought against the Seleukid kingdom, was not merely a military clash, but also implied propaganda battles, stirred by the need to sway public opinion in the Greek speaking world felt on either side. Part and parcel of this war of images was a continued use (and abuse) of the memory of the Graeco-Persian Wars that took place almost three hundred years earlier. Thus, while the Romans depicted Antiochos as another Xerxes, the Seleukids portrayed the Romans as foreign invaders. An intriguing remnant of this war of words is to be found in three of Plutarch’s Lives (Cato Major, Philopoemen and Flamininus): the biographer appears to be moving constantly between the arguments used on both sides. Three dimensions of this political instrumentalization of the past will be explored by focusing on Cato Major 12–14 and the Comparatio: (1) the motifs actually used in this clash (e.g., Thermopylai, liberation, autonomy, Greek language, royal features, parrhesia, eastern stereotypes); (2) the manner the Persian Wars of old aligned with the self-images of the Seleukids and the Romans and their imperial ideologies, not least because of the unique blends of Greek culture and non-Greek elements that subsisted in both powers and the almost inevitable road that led them to a conflict in the middle ground of Greece; (3) the literary mode in which Plutarch portrays both Cato and Antiochos by using this propaganda war; thereby, allusions to Herodotos and 4th-century BC Greece as well as the specific memory of the Roman-Syrian War that was cherished in the Imperial period will be taken into account.

1. Introduction Antiochos the Great’s Campaign in Greece lasted only several months (ca. November 192 – ca. May 191 BC).1 Yet, it was eventful in many respects, for * I would like to thank David Engels and Altay Coúkun for organizing this beautiful conference and for their valuable comments on an earlier version of this paper. 1 For the campaign, see GRAINGER (2002), p. 192–246; GRAINGER (2015), 162–168; ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 306–330. For the dates of the engagement in Greece, see ZONAR. 9.19 (winter 192); BEVAN (1902a), p. 1.82; KROMAYER (1907), p. 2.220–227; Cf. WALBANK (1940), p. 329–331 (‘late April, April 24th, if one accepts the statement [= PLUT., Cat. Mai. 13.2] that it was at the time of the new moon’); BRISCOE (1981), p. 28

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his own kingdom, for Rome and for the Mediterranean, as the pinnacle of a hegemonic war, which undoubtedly reshaped the very idea of an Empire.2 It was not only a military clash, but also involved propaganda as part of psychological warfare.3 This aspect should not be discarded, since propaganda is never marginal, but rather central to any diplomatic effort or military conflict.4 It compensates for the weaknesses of the belligerent parties, and it sometimes dictates policies, and even military moves. That the specific clash here under consideration involved an element of propaganda is undeniable; it was part of the activity made to avert the war or to influence the Greek city states and political units before or when it was waged.5 Indeed, Rome made an excessive

(‘October 192’) on Antiochos’ arrival; ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 327; GRAINGER (2002), p. 252. Cf. DEROW / FORREST (1982), p. 90, n. 22 (March 191). 2 See POLYB. 21.16.8; 21.23.4; LIV. 36.17.15; 36.41.5; 37.25.5; 37.45.7–9; 37.54.15– 16; 38.60.5. GRAINGER (2002), p. 350–357. Cf. DEROW (2003), p. 65–66; ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 307 and 328. It was first visible perhaps in the treaty of 189 BC with the Aitolian League; cf. POLYB. 21.32.2; LIV. 38.11.2; GRUEN (1984), p. 279. ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 336: ‘from the power-transition crisis [… emerged] what the political scientists call a situation of “unipolarity”. That is: Rome was now the sole remaining superpower […] this was a large step forward on the road […] towards empire.’ 3 Propaganda is the attempt to persuade public opinion into adopting a positive or a negative attitude and thereby gain a political advantage. See BERNAYS (1928); LUMLEY (1933), p. 137–156; ELLUL (1973 [1965]); COMBS / NIMMO (1993), p. 63–103; CUNNINGHAM (2002), p. 100–102. 4 See LINEBARGER (1954), p. 37–47; DAUGHERTY / JANOWITZ (1958), p. 2; ENENKEL / PFEIJFFER (2005). 5 For diplomacy before the war, see HOLLEAUX (1913) and HOLLEAUX (1957). For the use of propaganda, MASTROCINQUE (1977–78); GRUEN (1984), p. 1.145–150. For the notion of a ‘Cold War’ between Rome and the Seleukids see BADIAN (1959), who treats the period as ‘a study in diplomacy and propaganda’; cf. GRAINGER (2002), p. 2, 87 and the discussion in BURTON (2011), p. 7–15 and 343. The main diplomatic events are as follows. First Roman embassy to Antiochos (200 BC): POLYB. 15.20.5–6; 16.27.5. A request to Antiochos to depart from Pergamon was given to king Attalos’ ambassadors in Rome (198 BC): LIV. 32.8.15–16, cf. 27.1. First Roman message to Antiochos in Corinth (196 BC): POLYB. 18.47.1–3; LIV. 33.34.1–3. Meeting at Lysimacheia (196 BC): POLYB. 18.50–51; LIV. 33.39–40 with WALSH (1954), p. 111; APP., Syr. 1.3; DIOD. SIC. 28.12; HAMMOND / WALBANK (1988), p. 443–447. Second meeting in Corinth (LIV. 34.25.2). Secret negotiations in Rome (194 / 3 BC): LIV. 34.57.1–59.2; DIOD. SIC. 28.15. Public declaration in Rome: LIV. 34.59.3–8; GRUEN (1984), p. 626–627. Meeting in Pergamon and Ephesos (193 BC, Antiochos not attending): LIV. 35.13.6–10; 16.1–17.2. Meeting at Apameia (193): LIV. 35.15.1–2; APP., Syr. 3.12. On the mutual unwillingness to compromise: GRUEN (1984), p. 629–630; MA (1999), p. 97; GRAINGER (2002), p. 135, 139; but cf. GRAINGER (2015), p. 138–139; 144; 158. See also BRISCOE (1972), p. 32–52. On the meeting in Rome, BADIAN (1959), p. 86: ‘the negotiations were conducted [...] largely with a view to propaganda effect outside the conference room’. T. Quinctius Flamininus sent to Greece (Spring 192 BC) to reinforce support for Rome; LIV. 35.31– 32; PLUT., Flam. 15.1–4; ZONAR. 9.19. The Aitolian strategos Thoas was sent to Antiochos (Winter 192 BC) to ask for his intervention (LIV. 35.32.4). P. Villius Tappulus,

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use of this device in Greece as part of its diplomacy, to such an extent that it was (wrongly) interpreted by Antiochos as a sign of Rome’s weakness and its inability or unwillingness to interfere militarily in Greece.6 Similarly, the Romans ridiculed Antiochos’ resort to propaganda. Famous is Cato’s jibe during the war (ORF fr. 12 = Rufinianus, De figuris 6):7 Antiochus epistulis bellum gerit, calamo et atramento militat (Antiochos wages war with letters, he fights with pen and ink). The present paper will address one aspect of the propaganda warfare of Rome and Antiochos III, that is, its Persian Imperial overtones. While this aspect has been studied,8 it is my contention that the picture is more complex than previously presented in scholarly literature. Not only was Antiochos portrayed negatively as resembling the ancient Persians, but the Romans were also marked in this manner in Seleukid propaganda. At the same time, both Rome and Antiochos viewed themselves as associated with the Persians, and to a certain extent, even as their successors. Methodologically, arriving at the true nature of this propaganda warfare is difficult: many sources have been lost, and the extant ones are all late and display the image dictated by the winning side, the Romans. I would like to propose a way to bypass these difficulties with the help of four means: (1) The first is to paint a picture with a broad brush, as it were; this will allow us to form an idea about the general tendency, even if we lack specific details. (2) The second is to acknowledge that in order for propaganda to succeed, there has to be a grain of truth to it; this element is what we should explore. (3) The third is the acknowledgment that propaganda tends to be inconsistent when it conflicts with reality. This inconsistency results in the adoption of contradictory propagandist lines by each party. (4) Lastly, when it comes to fine and sophisticated literary sources, we should read them first and foremost as literature, allowing scope for irony and implicit meanings; such a close reading of the text may then give us access to the deeper historical relevance of the passages. Since we deal with

one of the members of Flamininus’ delegation, was sent to persuade the citizens of Demetrias to change their decision of joining the Aitolian League, but was rejected (LIV. 35.39.3–8). Propaganda was used after the war and during the peace negotiations by delegates from Pergamon and Rhodes: POLYB. 21.18–24; LIV. 37.52–56; RAWLINGS (1976), p. 12–13. Cf. BURTON (2011), p. 209–230; 276–277 and 340–345. 6 See GRAINGER (2002), p. 186–187 and 191. Cf. GRUEN (1984), p. 462–467; ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 323–325. Rome’s withdrawal: LIV. 34.48.2–34.25.12; ZONAR. 9.18. This withdrawal may have been the result of the success of the Aitolian propaganda against Rome: POLYB. 18.45.1–9; LIV. 33.31.1–3; PLUT., Flam. 10.2 and BADIAN (1959), p. 89. 7 Perhaps part of his address in Athens (below), as listed by Rufinianus (Apud Athenienses). See ASTIN (1978), p. 149; GRUEN (1992), p. 57. 8 E.g., recently, RUSSO (2014) and bibliography. See MASTROCINQUE (1977–78), p. 12–13.

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images, the last section of this paper will be devoted to a historical understanding of this event through a literary treatment of one of its important depictions, namely, Plutarch’s biography of Cato the Elder (chs. 12–14).

2. The Seleukids as Persians 2.1. The Persians are Coming! Predictably, Antiochos’ campaign was later compared by Roman authors to Xerxes’ expedition (481/480 BC).9 The first contemporary party to make use of this imagery was presumably the Rhodians (in 197 BC), in their attempt to limit Antiochos in the Aegean by alluding to the so-called Peace of Kallias between Athens and Persia.10 Indeed, the Seleukids controlled the geographic area in Asia that was once tantamount to the Persian Empire,11 and in 192 BC Antiochos

9 FLOR. 1.24.12: in Antiocho uicimus Xerxen. (Transl. FORSTER: in Antiochos we defeated a Xerxes.) Cf. also 1.24.1: Non aliud formidolosius fama bellum fuit; quippe cum Persas et orientem, Xerxen atque Darium cogitarent, quando perfossi inuii montes, quando uelis opertum mare nuntiaretur (Report never represented any war as more formidable than this, as the Romans bethought them of the Persians and the East, of Xerxes and Dareios). ENN., F 369 Skutsch: isque Hellesponto pontem contendit in alto (and he stretched a bridge over deep Hellespont), which VARRO (Ling. Lat. 7.21) cites to substantiate an allusion to Xerxes. See SKUTSCH (1985), p. 535–536 and ELLIOT (2013), p. 278; RUSSO (2014), p. 311. The allusion is to Xerxes’ bridge of boats (HDT. 7.33–35; CTES., FGrHist 688 F 13.27; DIOD. SIC. 11.2.4, 3.6). The contemporary Alkaios of Messene stresses the difference between Flamininus’ liberation of Greece and Xerxes’ wish to enslave it (AP 16.5), probably insinuating Antiochos (but cf. RUSSO [2014], p. 307–308); KUIJPER (1972), p. 255. If Alkaios is not ironic, PLUTARCH (Flam. 11.3–7) painfully is, pace BREMER (2005), p. 262. 10 Cf. LIV. 33.20.2: legatos ad regem miserunt ne Chelidonias – promunturium Ciliciae est, inclutum foedere antiquo Atheniensium cum regibus Persarum – superaret (transl. ROBERTS: The Rhodians [...] defending the liberties of Greece [...] sent a message to the king forbidding him to sail beyond the promontory of Chelidonia in Cilicia, a place rendered famous by its being mentioned in an ancient treaty between the Athenians and the kings of Persia). The Persian king’s warships remained east of Phaselis and the Chelidonian Islands. See DEMOSTH. 19.273; ARISTODEMOS, FGrHist 104 F 13; PLUT., Cim. 12.2; 13.4–5. Cf. ISOCR. 4.118–20; 7.80; 12.59; LYC., Leocrat. 73; DIOD. SIC. 12.4.4–6. Cf. THUC. 8.56.4. It is debated whether this was part of the Peace of Kallias (probably sworn 449 BC), or whether this was a de facto limit to his empire. See EDDY (1973), p. 245; BOSWORTH (1990). The result was the same: the king recognized the autonomy of many political entities along the western coast of Asia Minor, which were now members of the Delian Confederacy. Cf. THOMPSON (1971) on the Livian passage. For the Rhodian precedence, see SEAGER (1981), p. 110 n. 36; MA (1999), p. 83. 11 See RUSSO (2014), p. 318. This image is used and elaborated also for the latter phase of the war, in Asia: in the Battle of Magnesia (LIV. 37.41.5–12), Antiochos is depicted

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brought war from Asia to Europe.12 By asserting that Antiochos is another Xerxes, it was insinuated by contemporaries and by later authors that Antiochos was a foreigner, and not really Greek.13 In other words, Antiochos’ aim was portrayed as being designed to conquer Greece, or at least to gain a political advantage for a foreign (barbarian) entity at the expense of the Greeks. Appian’s depiction (Syr. 6.28) of Antiochos after his defeat at the Sea Battle of Myonnesos (190 BC), according to which he felt that a divine power had conspired against him (Įਫ਼IJ૶ IJઁ įĮȚȝȩȞȚȠȞ ਥʌȚȕȠȣȜİȪİȚȞ), echoes the Herodotean forewarning of Artabanos to Xerxes (7.10e) that out of jealousy, the deity acts against creatures that stand above the rest;14 this portrayal surely ultimately stems from an anti-Antiochene or pro-Roman propaganda.15 The catchphrase ‘Freedom of the Greeks’ was used during the Syrian-Roman conflict against Antiochos.16 It had already been used previously as a panhellenic slogan, notably by Agesilaos (and Lysander) in their fateful expedition to Asia Minor (396 BC), and utilized ever since by different forces, not necessarily against Persians.17 The most recent employment of the slogan using the typical Persian scythed chariots; on this see XEN., Cyr. 6.1.27–30; Anab. 1.7.10–12; 1.8.10; CURT. RUF. 4.9.5, ARR., Anab. 3.8.6; cf. GLOVER (1950), p. 5–8. 12 Cf. POLYB. 11.34.16. Antiochos was already portrayed by Africanus as crossing into Europe in 194 BC according to LIVY (34.43.4). Cf. HDT. 1.4; 1.209; 2.103; 7.33; 7.174. Cf. Choirilos ap. ARIST., Rhet. 3.14.1415a18: ਸ਼Ȗİં ȝȠȚ ȜંȖȠȞ ਙȜȜȠȞ, ੖ʌȦȢ ૃǹıȓĮȢ ਕʌઁ ȖĮȓȘȢ / ਷ȜșİȞ ਥȢ Ǽ੝ȡઆʌȘȞ ʌંȜİȝȠȢ ȝȑȖĮȢ (transl. ALMAGOR: Lead me with another story, how from the land of Asia came into Europe a great war) and HOLLIS (2000); MACFARLANE (2009). Asia as demarcated from Europe is one of the main themes of Roman propaganda (cf. POLYB. 18.50.8–9; LIV. 33.39.7; 34.58.2–3), and may be reflected in the circulation of stories like the oracle given to Seleukos I (APP., Syr. 12.56). See RUSSO (2014), p. 327–335 and below. 13 An elaboration of this propaganda line is that Antiochos intended to arrive in Italy. Cf. LIV. 35.23.2. See HARRIS (1979), p. 221–223. Flamininus may have previously presented the threat of Philip V as resembling that of Persia: FERRARY (1988), p. 86; BRIDGES (2013), p. 260–261. 14 Or indeed, attempt to rule Asia and Europe (HDT. 8.109). 15 Cf. POLYB. 21.13.2. See PIEJKO (1988), p. 156, n. 11. In this context one should mention another epigram of Alkaios of Messena (AP 16.8) on Marsyas’ ill-advised and ill-fated musical competition with Apollon. Marsyas’ hybris was proverbial (PLAT., Symp. 215b) and some scholars tend to find in this poem an echo for anti-Antiochene propaganda (with Marsyas the Phrygian representing the eastern monarch): see COPPOLA (1998), p. 472 and RUSSO (2014), 309. If this is so, the use of this myth was surely meant to counter-balance the Seleukid association with Apollon (below). 16 From 196 BC the slogan was used in negotiations with Antiochos. See POLYB. 18.44.2 (from the Senatus Consultum of 196), 18.47.1–2 (first Roman message to Antiochos in 196), 18.50.5–7 (second message in 196), LIV. 34.58.8–13 (secret negotiation in Rome, 193), cf. LIV. 36.17.13. 17 See SEAGER / TUPLIN (1980), p. 144–146 and SEAGER (1981), p. 109–112; cf. GRUEN (1984), p. 2.132–57; DMITRIEV (2011a), p. 26–151. Agesilaos: ISOCR. 6.11; CAWKWELL (1976), p. 66–68. See POLYB. 3.7.3 [Aitolians]; 18.465–7; POLYB. 18.41;

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was by the Romans against Macedon.18 The celebrated and orchestrated declaration by Flamininus during the Isthmian Games in Corinth (196 BC) on the freedom of Greece was designed to commemorate the Roman victory over Philip one year earlier, and to seal the political arrangements of postMacedonian Greece. It was also used to instill an impression in the minds of contemporaries that Rome guaranteed freedom against any contrary claim from other powers. In particular, it was intended against Antiochos.19 In the anti-Antiochene propaganda, the king was presented as causing upheaval through the use of local demagogues, probably paid with eastern money.20 We also have evidence in our sources of actual promises made by the Aitolians, according to which Antiochos would bring gold into Greece.21 Needless to say, this rhetoric and this image go back to the hostile depiction of the Persian king as stirring up the Corinthian War in Greece via Persian gold.22

LIV. 33.20.1–3; RAWLINGS (1976), p. 9–16 [Rhodes]; POLYB. 18.46.5–10. Cf. HEIDEMANN (1966); BERNHARDT (1971); FERRARY (1988), p. 45–218. 18 See GRUEN (1984), p. 132–157; ECKSTEIN (1990); DMITRIEV (2011a), p. 151–199. Cf. POLYB. 18.46.14; LIV. 33.30–35; PLUT., Flam. 10.3–5; APP., Mac. 9.3–4; JUST. 30.4.17–8; VAL. MAX. 4.8.5; ZONAR. 9.16. 19 See BRISCOE (1972), p. 45; CARAWAN (1988) and DMITRIEV (2011a), p. 197–198, 211. Cf. LIV. 33.31, which goes back to Polybios, and admittedly written with hindsight. Cf. LIV. 33.13, 19 and 27. The decem legati advised, on the contrary, for garrisons to be placed in several places in Greece for fear of Antiochos: POLYB. 18.45.10; LIV. 33.31.10; PLUT., Flam. 10.1. Cf. ECKSTEIN (1987), p. 309 and 313–314 on Scipio’s view. 20 PLUT., Cat. Mai. 12.3: țĮ੿ ıȐȜȠȞ İ੝șઃȢ ਲ ਬȜȜ੹Ȣ İੇȤİ țĮ੿ ȝİIJȑȦȡȠȢ ਷Ȟ, ਥȜʌȓıȚ įȚĮijșİȚȡȠȝȑȞȘ ȕĮıȚȜȚțĮ૙Ȣ ਫ਼ʌઁ IJ૵Ȟ įȘȝĮȖȦȖ૵Ȟ (transl. PERRIN, Loeb: Greece was at once a stormy sea of hopes and fears, being corrupted by her demagogues with expectations of royal bounty). Cf. LIV. 35.34.3–4; 50.4–5. 21 LIV. 35.32.5: […] impleuerant omnium aures terrestres naualesque copias commemorando: ingentem uim peditum equitumque uenire, ex India elephantos accitos, ante omnia, quo maxime credebant moueri multitudinis animos, tantum aduehi auri ut ipsos emere Romanos posset (transl. ROBERTS: [Thoas and Menippos] declared that a great host of infantry and cavalry were on their way, elephants had been brought from India and – what they thought would most of all impress the popular mind – he was bringing gold enough to buy up the Romans themselves). 22 See XEN., Hell. 3.5.1: ੒ ȝȑȞIJȠȚ ȉȚșȡĮȪıIJȘȢ [...] ʌȑȝʌİȚ ȉȚȝȠțȡȐIJȘȞ IJઁȞ ૮ȩįȚȠȞ İੁȢ ਬȜȜȐįĮ, įȠઃȢ ȤȡȣıȓȠȞ İੁȢ ʌİȞIJȒțȠȞIJĮ IJȐȜĮȞIJĮ ਕȡȖȣȡȓȠȣ, țĮ੿ țİȜİȪİȚ ʌİȚȡ઼ıșĮȚ ʌȚıIJ੹ IJ੹ ȝȑȖȚıIJĮ ȜĮȝȕȐȞȠȞIJĮ įȚįȩȞĮȚ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌȡȠİıIJȘțȩıȚȞ ਥȞ IJĮ૙Ȣ ʌȩȜİıȚȞ ਥij’ મIJİ ʌȩȜİȝȠȞ ਥȟȠȓıİȚȞ […] (transl. BROWNSON: Tithraustes [...] sent Timokrates the Rhodian to Greece, giving him gold to the value of fifty talents of silver, and bade him undertake, on receipt of the surest pledges, to give this money to the leaders in the various states on condition that they should make war […]). Cf. XEN., Hell. 10.2 and 21.1; PLUT., Art. 20.6; PAUS. 3.9.8; RUNG (2004). On Persian Gold in Greece see HDT. 9.2.3, 41; cf. THUC. 8.46.1–4; LEWIS (1989).

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We may discern here the stereotype of the abundant wealth in the East that is to be employed by the Seleukid king in his war.23 Hand in hand with the image of gold coming from Persia or the East at large24 are the descriptions of luxury and debauchery.25 The accusation of decadence appears in the story of Antiochos’ infatuation with and marriage to the daughter of Kleoptolemos, a local magnate from Chalkis; this girl was more than half his age, and Antiochos reportedly named her Euboia, after the island.26 In the version told by Appian (Syr. 3.16), Antiochos gave a public festival, and allegedly allowed his army to spend the whole winter in idleness and luxury (ਥȢ ʌ઼ıĮȞ ਕȡȖȓĮȞ țĮ੿ IJȡȣij੽Ȟ).27 Similar reproachments were found in the ancient moral criticisms of Persian behaviour.28 In truth, they are so reminiscent of stock stereotypes of the Persians in Greek literature that one may wonder whether the story of the marriage to Euboia is real at all, and its historicity has been previously doubted in research.29 23 On Seleukid gold and luxury see POLYB. 25.4–19; 26.1 and 9; LIV. 41.20.9 (Antiochos IV), DIOD. SIC. 29.2; LIV. 36.11.1–2; ATHEN. 10.439ef; 12.540c; 1Macc 11.57–8. Cf. SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 63–65, 115 and 132. Cf. LIV. 36.17.13– 14 on the Roman expectations of booty from Antiochos’ camp. 24 On Persian gold see the following examples. In court: HDT. 7.54, 83, 119 and 190; 9.20–21, 80 and 82; [ARIST.], De Mundo, 398a; THEOPOMP., FGrHist 115 F 263a; POLYB. 10.27; STRAB. 15.3.21 (cf. HDT. 3.96); NEP., Dat. 3.1; CURT. RUF. 3.13.7–11, 13 and 17; 4.7.3–4; PLUT., Art. 20.1; 24.9–10; Alex. 20.12–13; ARR., Anab. 3.11.5; 3.19.5; 6.29.5–6; AEL., Var. Hist. 2.14; ATHEN. 4.145c; 11.781f; 12.514e–f; 12.538c. Cf. HDT. 9.22; PLUT. Them., 13.1 (Xerxes on golden throne). Cf. XEN., Hell. 1.5.3; CTES., FGrHist 688 F 16.13; ATHEN. 12.514a; 539f; Esther 1.6–7; Ezra 6.5; HDT. 4.166 (Gold coinage). As gifts from the king: ARISTOPH., Acharn. 103–113; HDT. 3.130; 7.11.7; 7.29; 7.119; 8.120; CTES., FGrHist 688 F 13.26; XEN., Anab. 1.3.27; Cyr. 8.2.7–8; LYS. 19.25; PLUT., Alex. 69.2 (cf. Mor. 246a–h); Art. 5.4; 15.1; LUC., Hist. Conscr. 39; AEL., Var. Hist. 1.32; ATHEN. 2.48d– f; XEN., Cyr. 8.2.7–8; 8.3.14–16; Anab. 1.7.27; 1.8.29. 25 On Persian decadence see PLAT., Leg. 3.697c–698a; cf. 695a; XEN., Cyr. 8.8.15–16 and ISOCR. 4.150–152. Cf. BRIANT (2002b), p. 193–196. 26 See POLYB. 20.8.1–5 (ATHEN. 10.739e–f), LIV. 36.11.1–2; 36.17.7; DIOD. SIC. 29.2 (in Demetrias); PLUT., Phil. 17.1; Flam. 16.1–2; APP., Syr. 3.20. 27 On the stereotype of Syrian license and effeminacy see JUV., Sat. 1.102–11, ATHEN. 5.210ef; 12.527c–f; 12.540b–c and ISAAC (2004), p. 336–350. 28 On the licentiousness of the Great King, evidenced by his luxury, see HDT. 1.188; XEN. Ages. 9.3; POLYAEN. 4.3.32; ATHEN. 4.144bc and 146c; 12.513e–f; 514f; 528d; 539b; 545d–f; CURT. RUF. 3.3.17. See BRIANT (2002a), p. 286–297. Kyros the Younger fell in love with a young Greek captive woman and named her Aspasia (PLUT., Per. 24.11; ATHEN. 13.576d, cf. AEL., Var. Hist. 12.1; PLUT., Art. 26.5; XEN., Anab. 1.10.2). On the decadence of Persian soldiers and their lack of exercise for love of wine and indulgence see XEN., Cyr. 8.8.6, 8, 12 and 26 and ISOCR. 4.150–151. 29 Pace VISSCHER in this volume. See HEYDEN (1873), p. 29–30; KROMAYER (1907), p. 2.135 and 222 (on chronological grounds, cf. GRAINGER (2002), p. 220); ROBERT (1949), p. 15–16; HOLLEAUX (1957); BAR-KOCHVA (1976), p. 95–96 and 401; WALBANK (1979), p. 75; KOSMIN (2014), p. 137. One of the arguments against its truthfulness is that Laodike was still alive: OGIS 237; ROBERT (1949), p. 5–22; MA (1999), p. 196–198 and

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Bearing in mind the motif of women kidnapped from Asia to Europe and vice versa as the cause for the disturbances between the two continents (Hdt. 1.1–5), one may wonder whether the entire story did not spring up as a witty reference to Antiochos’ role in the chain of historical intercontinental troublemakers; Antiochos did not carry ‘Europa’, but rather ‘Euboia’ (the island), causing the Romans to pursue him to Asia. What we have may be a development and embellishment of a pointed allegorical quip, perhaps in a brief lost epigram that was subsequently misread as a literal wedding.30 2.2. Antiochos the Achaimenid? Is there any historical grain of truth in this presentation of Antiochos as associated with Xerxes’ campaign? Presumably, it is the Seleukid affiliation with the Achaimenid kingdom, its practices and its administration, especially in Asia and in the eastern regions.31 Enemies of Antiochos III may have reminded the Greek world that there was also Iranian blood flowing in the royal Seleukid veins.32 Moreover, Antiochos married into Iranian nobility: in c. 222/221 BC he

329–335; cf. GRAINGER (2015), p. 156; the cult in her honour was established 193 BC: IEOG 271– 272, 277– 278 and SEG 50.1103. Cf. a Babylonian Astronomical Diary dated to 182 BC: SACHS / HUNGER (1989), 181 rev. 7–12, and a decree dated to 177 BC (SEG 7.2). See SHERWIN-WHITE and KUHRT (1993), p. 204–205. Yet, the practice of polygamy among the Seleukid is known; see OGDEN (1999), p. 136–137. WALBANK points at a similar legend of Hannibal’s stay at Capua. Alternatively, this story may have some historicity, that was distorted in anti-Seleukid propaganda. 30 With another subtle irony alluding to the practice of intermarriages with the Ptolemies, the name of the girl’s father (Kleo-ptolemos) is telling. Antiochos’ alleged non kingly demeanour does bring glory (kleos) to the Ptolemies, his rivals. 31 See STRAB. 11.13.5 for the Seleukid employment of the Achaimenid palaces in Ekbatana. Cf. SHERWIN-WHITE (1987), p. 16–17 and 24–25; MCKENZIE (1994), p. 64 and 68. The Achaimenid titles survived (e.g., ‘king of lands’, šar mƗtƗti, LUGAL KUR.KUR: cf. Antiochos Cylinder ii.24 with Cyrus Cylinder, 20); STEVENS (2014), p. 73; BRIANT (1990), p. 47; KUHRT / SHERWIN-WHITE (1991) p. 83; SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 38–39; KUHRT / SHERWIN-WHITE (1994); HAUBOLD (2013), p. 130, n. 25; BARBANTANI (2014), p. 33–37; ENGELS (2017), 55, n. 69, 73–100. Cf. 1Macc 8.7–8. For an opposite view, according to which the Seleukids did not portray themselves as Persians, cf. DEL MONTE (2001), p. 154; AUSTIN (2003), p. 128. On the return of the Seleukids to established Near Eastern traditions, especially with respect to nominal overlordship over territories, under the rule of Antiochos III, see ENGELS (2017), p. 307–347. 32 Antiochos I was the offspring of Seleukos and his Sogdian wife Apama (ARR., Anab. 7.4, 6; APP., Syr. 9.57. Cf. PLIN., Nat. 6.31.132; PLUT., Demet. 31). See MACURDY (1932), p. 78, ALMAGOR (2016b), p. 80. SHERWIN-WHITE (1987), p. 7: ‘Not only was Seleucus’ son by Apama half–Iranian, but his descendants adopted the policy of arranging dynastic marriages with contemporary Iranian dynasties of Anatolia, so that the Seleucids kept up a constant blood link with the Iranian classes surviving Alexander.’

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married Laodike, the daughter of Mithradates II king of Pontos,33 and in 212 BC he married his sister Antiochis to a certain Xerxes, who was king of Armenia.34 It would appear that Antiochos adopted the designation ‘Great’ (megas) after c. 200 BC precisely in order to present himself as the Great King, that is, as an overall ruler of regions within his power, even those not necessarily directly controlled by Seleukid officials and agents.35 His repeated success against the Ptolemies, although not strictly speaking in Egypt, may have been employed to call to mind the Achaimenid control of that country, and he may have had designs on Egypt itself.36 He also got a foothold in Thrace through conquest or alliances.37 Antiochos’ expansionist policy was repeatedly legitimized by the 33 POLYB. 5.43.1–4. The original name of Antiochos IV Epiphanes was Iranian: Mithradates. Cf. COùKUN (2016), p. 850–858, with LIV. 33.19.9. 34 POLYB. 8.23 and 25. Cf. COùKUN (2016), p. 851–853 and 860–861. This Xerxes died in 202 BC. See GRAINGER (2015), p. 96–97. 35 On the date, after the victory at the Battle of Panion, see HOLLEAUX (1930), p. 262. On the title ‘Great King’ see SEG 29.1613; 33.867; 43.707; OGIS 230, 237.12–13; 239, 240; 246.7; 746; on the personal designation see APP., Syr. 1.1; POLYB. 4.2.7; SEG 41.1003; OGIS 245 and 246. See BEVAN (1902b); HOLLEAUX (1942), p. 159–160 amd 180–181; SPRANGER (1958), 29–30; SCHMITT (1964), 92–95; JONES (1993), p. 86–87. ENGELS (2014), p. 338–339; ENGELS (2017), p. 49–51 and 340–342. MA (1999), p. 260– 265 and 272–276, also apropos of similar claims by Ptolemy II (ATHEN. 5.201e) and Ptolemy III (OGIS 54). Cf. TUPLIN (2008), p. 119. 36 See, however, GRAINGER (2010), p. 201, 245 and 263–264: ‘[Antiochos] never showed any wish to invade [Egypt], still less to conquer it. The most convincing interpretation of his career is that he was intent on restoring his family’s kingdom to its widest extent. This necessarily entailed a recognition of the existence of the rival kingdoms in Macedon and Egypt... In the “secret agreement” made with Philip one of the few items generally agreed to have been included was that neither king claimed Egypt itself.’ Cf. GRAINGER (2015), p. 116-118. Yet, Antiochos attached importance to the possession of Acre (Ptolemais) surrended to him by Theodotos, the Ptolemaic general who defected (POLYB. 5.61.6–62.2) in 219 BC. See BEVAN (1902a), p. 1.313–314; BARKOCHVA (1976), p. 124. Acre was the basis for Artaxerxes II’s attempt in 374 BC to regain Egypt (DIOD. SIC. 15.41.3; NEPOS, Dat. 5.5; STRAB. 16.2.25; JUST., Prol. 10; POLYAEN. 3.9.56). The engagement (POLYB. 18.51.10; LIV. 33.40.3; DIOD. SIC. 28.12; APP., Syr. 1.3) and marriage (LIV. 35.13.4; APP., Syr. 1.5; ZONAR. 9.18.7) of Antiochos’ daughter, Kleopatra, to Ptolemy V Epiphanes in 196 BC is interpreted by ENGELS (2017), p. 337 as intended to incorporate Egypt into Seleukid sphere of influence. The Ptolemies, on their part, presented their clash with the Seleukids as a continuation of the old feud of Egypt and Achaimenid Persia: the Adoulis Inscription of ca. 245 BC (OGIS 1.54.18–22) celebrating the conquests of Ptolemy III in the Third Syrian War to retrieve items taken by the Persians; cf. HIERON., In Daniel. 11.8; the trilingual Kanopos Decree from 238 BC (OGIS 1.56.10–11), and the Satrap Stele of 311 BC. See DEVAUCHELLE (1995); BARBANTANI (2001), p. 162–176; BARBANTANI (2002–2003), p. 43–44; BARBANTANI (2014), p. 24–25; MUCCIOLI (2004), p. 129; GRAINGER (2010), p. 261–262. 37 POLYB. 18.39.3; 50.9; LIV. 33.38–40; 34.58.5. See LEUZE (1923), p. 205–222; GRUEN (1984), p. 624–625; GRAINGER (1996) and GRAINGER (2002), p. 125; DELEV (2015), p. 65–66. Cf. DUMITRU (2011), p. 355–356.

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claim of inherited rights to territories lost.38 While we must distinguish here a dynastic claim of the Seleukid kings related to the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Kouroupedion (281 BC), we should acknowledge that Antiochos may have built in some way on the memory of the former Persian Empire and its territorial extent to strengthen his argument.39 This may be the grain of truth in the Roman propaganda.40 The account of Livy (35.48.3–5) indirectly reports a speech delivered by Antiochos’ envoy before the Achaian League (192 BC), in which the king tries to persuade his audience to join his cause: An innumerable mass of cavalry was crossing the Hellespont into Europe; some were clad in coats of mail, they were called ‘cataphracti’; others were bowmen, and against them nothing was safe, their aim was surest when their enemy was galloping away from them. Although this cavalry force alone could overwhelm the massed armies of Europe, he went on to talk about bodies of infantry many times as numerous and startled his hearers with names they had hardly ever heard of – Dahai, Medes, Elymaians and Kadusians.41

If indeed Antiochos’ ambassador listed such ethnic military units to impress the Achaians, this could have served the purpose of Seleukid association with the former eastern power, while at the same time it succeeded in creating the impression of distance from Persia of old, due to the different composition of

38 See LIV. 33.38.1: in antiquam imperii formulam. Cf. POLYB. 18.51.3–6; LIV. 33.40.4–5; 35.16.6, 9–10; APP., Syr. 1.3. 39 Cf. APP., Syr. 3.12 (transl. WHITE): He would not release the Aiolians and the Ionians, since they had long been accustomed to obey the barbarian kings of Asia; cf. 1.1. Conversely, this representation may be understood as a distortion of Seleukid propaganda. See BADIAN (1959), p. 98, n. 78. TUPLIN (2008), p. 123 notices that ‘[Antiochos’] notion of Achaemenid heritage was formulated in terms of the King’s Peace of 387/6 and so limited to Asia’. Cf. BEVAN (1902b); MA (1999), p. 276. The argument is structurally the same as the Great King’s claim to Asia Minor (cf. THUC. 8.52). 40 If this is true, it is parallel to the identification of Antiochos IV with Nebuchadnezzar II which was positively promoted by the Seleukid court [the use of NeoBabylonian models in the Borsippa Cylinder, SACHS / HUNGER (1989), 187A rev.11, SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 216] but negatively presented in 1Macc. 1.24b (cf. 1Esdras 1.41). Cf. KOSMIN (2014), p. 218. 41 LIV. 35.48.3–5 (transl. ROBERTS): Equitum innumerabilem uim traici Hellesponto in Europam, partim loricatos, quos cataphractos uocant, partim sagittis ex equo utentes et, a quo nihil satis tecti sit, auerso refugientes equo certius figentes. His equestribus copiis quamquam uel totius Europae exercitus in unum coacti obrui possent, adiciebat multiplices copias peditum et nominibus quoque gentium uix fando auditis terrebat, Dahas Medos Elymaeosque et Cadusios appellans. Cf. also LIV. 35.49.5 (the understanding of Flamininus). This impression is also shared by JONES (2014a), p. 47, n. 29: ‘Antiochus’ ambassadors to the Achaean League described Antiochus and his army in terms reminiscent of Herodotus’ Xerxes and the catalogue of his forces.’ Perhaps from Polybios: see BRISCOE (1981), p. 231. Cf. also D. ENGELS in this volume.

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the army.42 Herodotos never mentions the Kadusians; they only appear from the writings of Ktesias and Xenophon onward;43 the Elymaians from southwestern Persia are first mentioned by Nearchos in our extant sources.44 The Dahai (as Daoi), who like the Kadusians dwelt in the Caspian area, are only briefly mentioned by Herodotos in a different context, which is not the Persian War.45 The speech of Antiochos’ envoy should be seen to some degree as a later literary creation. Yet surely, Antiochos must have mentioned his forces that would come to support his expedition, in persuading the Greek allies into choosing the strong side in this conflict and to reassure the Greeks that the Romans would never intervene. That this propagandistic image was impressive46 can be seen in Flamininus’ retort, as described in the sources, comparing the situation to a meal prepared by his friend. Although this meal marvelously displayed various kinds of meat, the host revealed that they were all made from a swine, only differently cooked and dressed. Similarly, claimed Flamininus, the armies of Antiochos are all Syrians, who differ only in the way they are armed.47 Antiochos landed in Greece with a relatively small force (ten thousand men, 500 cavalry and six elephants, according to Livy),48 before reinforcements 42 Some of the groups are mentioned by Polybios as participating in the Battle of Raphia (217 BC). See POLYB. 5.79.3. BAR-KOCHVA (1976), p. 49–50 and 229 with n. 127. Reality was probably more complicated than that depicted by TUPLIN (2008), p. 125, n. 38: ‘The ambassador… was spinning the truth, not affirming his royal master’s Persian credentials’. See HOULE (2015) for the persuasive idea that ethnonyms in the Seleukid army marked traditional military disposition and designated military units, and not solely descent or ethnicity. 43 CTES., FGrHist 688 F 1b.2.2.3; 2.33.1–6; cf. NIC. DAM., FGrHist 90 F 66; XEN., Cyr. 5.2.25; 5.3.22–3; 5.3.38–42; 5.4.15–22; 6.1.8; 7.5.51 and 53; 6.3.18; 8.7.11; STRAB. 11.6.1; 11.7.1; 11.8.1; 11.8.8; POMP. MELA 1.2.13. Cf. AMM. MARC. 23.6.13; PLUT., Art. 24–25; DIOD. SIC. 15.8.5; 10.1 [Artaxerxes II]; 17.6.1 [Artaxerxes III]; ARR., Anab. 3.8.4; 11.3; 19.3–7; DIOD. SIC. 17.59.5; CURT. RUF. 4.12.12 [Dareios III]; SHA, Carac. 6.4; Valen. 2.1. See SYME (1988), p. 143–144. 44 STRAB. 2.13.6 (Nearchos); 15.3.12; 16.1.17. Cf. LIV. 37.40. 45 HDT. 1.125 (ǻ੺ȠȚ). The sequence mentioned in the speech attributed to Antiochos’ envoy is probably meant to echo the Herodotean one (ǻ੺ȠȚ Ȃ੺ȡįȠȚ ǻȡȠʌȚțȠ੿ ȈĮȖ੺ȡIJȚȠȚ). Cf. LIV. 37.38.3, 40.10 (in the Battle of Magnesia, 190 BC, as mounted archers, cf. APP., Syr. 6.32). These were light cavalry. See BAR-KOCHVA (1976), p. 49, 51, 166, 168, 170 and 212, n. 36. 46 Yet cf. RUSSO (2014), p. 319. 47 LIV. 35.49.5–8; PLUT., Flam. 17.7 (cf. Mor. 197c). This sentiment may have influenced LIVY’s mention of ‘Syrians’ in the Seleukid army: 36.17.5 and 37.40.10. See HOULE (2015), p. 44–45. Cf. BAR-KOCHVA (1976), p. 50 and 52, as well as BILLOWS (1995), p. 157. For the stereotypes associated with Syrians see RUSSO (2014), p. 319, n. 50 and ENGELS in this volume. 48 LIV. 35.43.2–3 and 6; 36.19.11; APP., Syr. 3.12. If KELLY (2003), p. 198–202, 206– 207 is correct, Antiochos’ propaganda was in stark opposite to that of Xerxes, who wished to present an image of an inflated size of his army. According to Valerius Antias

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would follow (Liv. 35.44.5). Since his army was not yet large enough for the purpose of a long-term campaign and occupation, Antiochos was capable of presenting himself as a mere arbiter in the conflict between Rome and the Aitolian League. This was indeed how he was first invited to Greece.49 The role of an eastern king acting as an umpire between conflicting powers in Greece is similar to that of the Persian king who granted the ‘Common Peace’ early in the 4th century BC.50 Presumably, this was a state of affairs which Greek poleis and leagues would much more readily accept than direct eastern occupation.51 Antiochos was, after all, in friendly terms with both the Aitolians and with the Romans (as a ‘friend of the Romans’) – apparently, at least, until the cross-over to Greece.52 2.3. A Western Threat We mentioned above that propaganda tends to be inconsistent when it conflicts with reality. One example of this conflict is Antiochos’ reported visit to Troy before he embarked on his journey to Greece, and his sacrifice at the temple of Athena Ilias.53 Antiochos may be easily perceived as emulating Xerxes (Hdt. 7.43) on the verge of crossing into Europe. Conversely, he may be seen as

(ap. LIV. 37.19.2), Antiochos had 60,000 men, of whom 40,000 fell, and above 5,000 taken. But this can hardly be true (and seems to come from Roman propaganda, cf. LIV. 35.49.9). See LIV. 38.55.8, and HOWARD (1906), p. 172 and 175. 49 LIV. 35.33.6: ad… disceptandum inter Aetolos et Romanos. Cf. LIV. 35.45.3. See MATTHAEI (1908), p. 260. Cf. BURTON (2011), 202–205. Mediators for the Aitolians were already proposed in the Second Macedonian War, but rejected by Rome. LIV. 28.7.14; APP., Mac. 1.3. Cf. GRAINGER (2015), p. 161, 168. 50 According to XENOPHON (Hell. 5.1.31; cf. 5.1.25), the Persian king and the parties to the peace agreement of 386 BC are responsible for its implementation. Cf. DIOD. SIC. 14.110.3–4; PLUT., Ages. 23.3, JUST. 6.6.1. See IG II2, 34, 43. That a foreign barbarian power would guarantee peace among the Greeks was a salient feature of the treaty. See ISOCR. 4.175; 8.16; THEOPOMP., FGrHist 115 F 103.5; DEMOSTH. 15.9, 29; DIOD. SIC. 14.117.8; 15.9.5. The legal status of the king and of Persia in the ‘King’s Peace’ is unclear; see MARTIN (1944), p. 29; RYDER (1965), p. 40 n.1; CAWKWELL (1981), p. 77. 51 Cf. Pyrrhos’ presentation of himself as a mediator in DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 19.9.2; PLUT., Pyrrh. 16.4; CASS. DIO Fr. 9.40.13 = ZONAR. 8.3. On arbitration in ancient diplomacy see MATTHAEI (1908), esp. p. 254. That the circumstances which brought Antiochos to Greece were preceded by Pyrrhos’ position was suggested by BICKERMAN (1947), p. 144. 52 Cf. LIV. 33.20.8; cf. 32.8.9–16; 32.27.1; 33.20.8; 34.57.6–11. See ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 338, who suggests that it was Antiochos’ decision not to attack Egypt that led the Senate to declare him an amicus sociusque populi Romani; DMITRIEV (2011b). Cf. APP., Syr. 7.38; COùKUN (2008), p. 222–223 and in this volume (Which Seleukid King…); BURTON (2011), p. 230 and 339; cf. 345 on the end of the amicitia; ENGELS (2012). 53 See LIV. 35.43.3; BRISCOE (1981), p. 207; ERSKINE (2011), p. 226–227. See also VISSCHER in this volume.

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imitating Alexander on his campaign against Persia.54 Both of Antiochos’ precursors emphasized Trojan heroes,55 and all three persons alluded to the clash of East and West, or more specifically, to the crossing of one continent to another.56 Antiochos’ interest in Troy is observed in the output of Hegesianax of Alexandria Troas, who was the king’s philos57 and acted as his ambassador to the Romans.58 Hegesianax wrote a work called Troika under the pseudonym of Kephalon of Gergis,59 and seems to have claimed that Aineias did not reach Italy, but died in Thrace,60 leaving four sons – Askanios, Euryleon, Rhomylos (= Romulus), and Rhomos (= Romus) – the latter being the founder of the city of Rome, after the latter two established Capua in Italy.61 The position is close to the popular claim in Rome for Trojan origins.62 In fact, however, it slightly undermines it, since it presents a demonstrable middle position, in which Rome is rather separated from the actual heroes of Troy, while still remotely associated with the city of Aineias.63 In his visit to Troy, Antiochos may have displayed to 54 ARR., Anab. 1.11.7–8; cf. 6.9.3, 10.2, and DIOD. SIC. 17.18.1, 21.2. See ERSKINE (2001), p. 105 and 226. Cf. PLUT., Alex. 15. 7–9. INSTINSKY (1949) claims that Alexander imitated Xerxes. Cf. BOSWORTH (1980), p. 102; ZAHRNT (1996). One should not ignore the relevance of Persia in this scene: DIOD. SIC. 17.17.6–18.1 reports that in front of the temple a toppled statue of Ariobarzanes, a former satrap of Phrygia, was construed as a favourable omen. 55 GEORGES (1994), p. 64–5. Cf. HAUBOLD (2007). For Herodotos’ presentation of the association of Persians and Trojans, HDT. 9.120–1. This emphasis is also in line with the Athenian interpretation; see ISOCR. 4.159; ERSKINE (2001), p. 61–92, esp. 85: ‘Xerxes may have been deliberately exploiting Greek myths in order to win over the Greeks of Asia Minor who felt a strong affinity with their Trojan predecessors’. Alexander the Great sacrificed for the Achaian as well as Trojan heroes. See ERSKINE (2001), p. 228– 229. 56 ERSKINE (2001), 227: ‘The visit and the sacrifice could have acted as a form of liminal ritual, marking the transition from one continent to another.’ 57 ATHEN. 4.155a–b. Cf. 3.80d. See DREYER (2011), p. 47–48. 58 POLYB. 18.47.4; 18.50.3; LIV. 33.34.1–4; 34.1–4; 34.57–59; APP., Syr. 2.6. Also see Visscher in this volume. 59 ATHEN. 9.393d. 60 DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.49.1. See GRUEN (1992), p. 39 and 42. Cf. STEPH. BYZ., s.v. ǹ੅ȞİȚĮ. 61 DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.72.1–2. 62 On its popularity at this point see KRETSCHMER (1909); BICKERMAN (1952); GRUEN (1992), p. 26–51; ERSKINE (2001), p. 15–43, 145 and 149. Cf. DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.74.1 (Fabius Pictor); SERV., Ad Aen. 1.273 (Naevius, Ennius); POLYB. 12.4b–12.4c.1; PLUT., Flam. 12.6–7; CATO, FRHist 5 F 4–12; PAUS. 1.12.1–2. To the considerations elaborated in the chapter of VISSCHER in this volume, add the following: portraying Aineias’ death in Thrace could be set in a framework, whereby Thrace is part of the same geopolitical unit as Troy, but is different from the unit which includes Italy and Rome. This corresponds to Antiochos’ designs in 196 BC. 63 Cf. DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.73.3. Cf. GRUEN (1992), p. 42: ‘Hegesianax [...] was surely not producing hostile propaganda’ and ‘If Hegesianax wanted to appease the Romans, why leave Aeneas in Thrace…?’. Cf. GABBA (1974), p. 631; FARROW (1992),

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the Greek-speaking world his actual overlordship over this city, and by implication, over the western nation associated with it. Antiochos may have presented Rome, his current enemy, as a northern or western danger. The incompatibility he was seemingly advertising was not between Greek and Eastern (or Persian) cultures, but rather one between the civilized part of the world (containing both Greece and the East) and the northern or western tribes, traditionally uncivilized in Greek imagination. Prominent among these were the Celts (or Gauls or Galatians).64 The portrayal of Celts as the new barbarians65 served the Seleukid reluctance to portray the Persians and the East as outright enemies of the Greeks. Rather, the old GreekPersian polarity was echoed in the presentations of this conflict of Greeks and Celts.66 A Seleukid defensive stand against the Celts can be attributed to the position of one of the dynasty’s prominent figures, i.e., Antiochos I, against the threat of the Celts or Galatians in the so-called Battle of the Elephants (275 or 269 BC) – if indeed it ever occurred.67 According to Appian (Syr. 11.65), after this victory, p. 349–359; and on the other hand, PERRET (1942), p. 14–19, 309–320 and 511–513; CORNELL (1975), p. 26–27; ERSKINE (2001), p. 96–97. Cf. the close position of Hegesippos of Mekyberna ap. DION. HAL., Rom. Ant. 1.49.1. See ENGELS (2007), p. 298. 64 On the Celts’ savagery see POLYB. 3.49.2; 18.37.9; CIC., ad Quint. fratr. 1.1.27; DIOD. SIC. 5.32–33; STRAB. 4.43; PAUS. 10.19.12; 10.22.2. Promiscuous behavior and public display of sexual intercourse: DIOD. SIC. 5.32.7; CAES., Bell. Gall. 5.14. Human sacrifice: DIOD. SIC. 5.31.3; CAES., Bell. Gall. 6.16; ATHEN. 4.160e; LUC., Pharsal. 1.444–446. Head trophies: LIV. 23.24; STRAB. 4.4.5. Compared to wild beasts: DIOD. SIC. 5.29.5; cf. WIEDEMANN (1986); KREMER (1994), p. 502–504. Cf. ISAAC (2004), p. 411– 426; STROOTMAN (2005), p. 118–121; ALMAGOR (2013), p. 155–160; LAMPINEN (2013), p. 87–111. Cf. TIERNEY (1960); NASH (1976) and LACEY (1976). 65 Cf. PRIMO (2009), p. 88; BARBANTANI (2014), p. 53. Cf. APP., Syr. 2.6. 66 Cf. POLYB. 2.35.7; PLUT., Cim. 1.1. In the stoa funded by the Pergamene Attalids in Athens (c. 200 BC), a group of bronze statues depicting the clash of Athenians and Persians was set up alongside figures representing the conflict of Pergamon and Galatians. Cf. PAUS. 1.25.2; KISTLER (2009), p. 85–87 (in general p. 81–82, 251 and 359); COùKUN (2014), p. 151. PAUSANIAS himself (10.19.11) claims that the Celts used the same principles as the Persian Immortals concerning replacement during military engagement. He also relates (10.19.4) that the Aitolians dedicated the Celtic arms in the metopes of Apollon’s Pythian temple as the Athenians did with the Persian shields after Marathon. Also AMANDRY (1978). PAUSANIAS also mentions that the Celtic shields are similar to the Persian wicker ones. The Galatians use the typical Persian scythed chariots against Antiochos I Soter (LUC., Zeux. 8). See MITCHELL (2003), p. 287; STROBEL (1994). Against the use of scythed chariots see COùKUN (2012). 67 APP., Syr. 11.65; LUC., Zeux. 8–11. See BEVAN (1902a), p. 1.142–144; GLOVER (1944), p. 260; BAR-KOCHVA (1973); KUHRT / SHERWIN-WHITE (1993), p. 32–34. 275 BC: TARN (1926), p. 157; OTTO (1928), p. 22–23. 269 BC or later: WÖRRLE (1975), 65– 69, based on an inscription from Denizli/Laodikeia dated to c. 268 BC, BRODERSEN (1989), p. 196; MITCHELL (1993), p. 1.18; STROBEL (1996), p. 257–258; MA (1999), p. 34; PRIMO (2009), p. 87; BARBANTANI (2001), p. 208–213; (2007), p. 89–94. Yet, cf.

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Antiochos I assumed the epithet Soter (saviour), which the grateful cities bestowed upon him.68 This defensive role and this position against the Celts played a part in the ensuing Seleukid ideology and imagery,69 although the Galatians in fact settled in Eastern Phrygia (renamed Galatia),70 and served as mercenaries to the Seleukids and to others.71

COùKUN (2012), who claims that the victory (dated to 275 BC) was diplomatic in stabilizing western Anatolia, and not a military triumph. 68 Cf. LUC., Zeux. 8; Laps. 9 and the Ilion decree, OGIS 219.36–38. The latter may not be related to this victory: JONES (1993), p. 92 and PIEJKO (1991). See HABICHT (1956), p. 83–85, 91–99, 102–103 and 156–159. Cf. the inscriptions OGIS 222 (Klazomenai, 267–262? BC) and Syll.3 1.426, 20–22 (Bargylia, after 270 BC). In this context, the title also evokes the Aitolian organization of the panhellenic festival of Soteria celebrating the salvation of Delphi by Apollon Pythios and Zeus Soter: ROUSSEL (1924), p. 101–109; FLACELIÈRE (1928); (1937), p. 133–177; PARKE / WORMELL (1956), p. 1.259; NACHTERGAEL (1976), p. 62–78; (1977), p. 295–327; SCHOLTEN (2000), p. 99, 100–102, 106, 236–240, 247 and 260–261; CHAMPION (1995). Cf. Syll.3 378. Antiochos was worshipped with Zeus Nikator and Apollon Soter: OGIS 245.11–12 and 34–36 (Seleukia in Pieria, 187–175 BC). See also the previous honour given to Antigonos, in a decree of Eretria, proposed by Menedemos in 276 BC (DIOG. LAERT. 2.141–2). It was presumably connected with the similar title bestowed on the Attalids: HANSEN (1971), p. 31 with n. 27 on Attalos I. The title was also taken by the latter’s son Eumenes II for victory over Prusias of Bithynia and the Galatians: SEGRE (1932), p. 446–452 (Telmessos, 184/3 BC); ALLEN (1983), p. 79, 101 and 150–151 with n. 26; cf. also COùKUN (2014). 69 See the lost epic of Simonides of Magnesia, who according to the SUDA (s.v. ȈȚȝȦȞȓįȘȢ, ı 443 Adler), lived in the time of Antiochos III. Cf. CAMERON (1995), p. 284– 285; PRIMO (2009), p. 87–88 and CECCARRELLI (2008); also Visscher in this volume. See, however, COùKUN (2012), p. 59–60 and 67–68 and BARBANTANI (2014). Simonides’ poem may have been the source of Loukianos’ Zeuxis. On graphic depictions see LUC., Zeux. 10–11 and perhaps Pytheas of Boura’s lost painting of the elephant: STEPH. BYZ. s.v. ǺȠ૨ȡĮ; BIENKOWSKI (1929), p. 142–150; KOSMIN (2013), p. 105–106; also the 2ndcentury BC terracotta from Myrina, Lemnos, depicting a war elephant over a Celtic soldier: REINACH and POTTIER (1885). 70 See MORAUX (1957), p. 56–75; MITCHELL (1993), p. 1.13–26; HANNESTAD (1993); DARBYSHIRE et al. (2000); STROBEL (2002). 71 See PAUS. 1.4.5; STRAB. 12.5.1; MEMNON, FGrHist 434 F 1.20.2. Cf. NACHTERGAEL (1977), p. 166–167; PRÉAUX (1978), p. 139; RANKIN (1987), p. 188–207; COùKUN (2011). Also LIV. 38.16.13–38.17; STRAB. 13.4.2; JUST. 25.2.7–11. Other examples: Antigonos Gonatas: POLYAEN. 4.6.17 (as tribal units); POMP. TROG., Prol. 26; Pyrrhos: PLUT., Pyrrh. 26.2; Ptolemy II: PAUS. 1.7.2; CALLIMACHUS, Hymn to Delos, 185–188; in the Chremonidean War: WELLES (1970); Antiochos Hierax: JUST. 27.2; 27.3.12; King Ziaelas of Bithynia: ATHEN. 2.58c; POMP. TROG., Prol. 27; Seleukos III: POLYB. 4.48.8. The Galatian Lysimachos was a high official of Antiochos III: POLYB. 5.79.11; cf. LIV. 37.8.4; 40.5.10–11.13 (in the Battle of Magnesia); the rebellious satrap Molon: POLYB. 5.53.8; Ptolemy IV: POLYB. 5.65, 82; Berenike, sister of Ptolemy III and widow of Antiochos II: POLYAEN. 8.50. Even Attalos I: POLYB. 5.77–78. For the pre-hellenistic tradition see XEN., Hell. 7.1.20–23, 28–31.

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Although he did co-operate with the Celts and employed Celtic mercenaries throughout his campaigns,72 Antiochos III was utilizing memories of the great conflict of the Greek world with the Celts, to influence Greek public opinion in Asia Minor and Greece. This can be seen in the stress he placed on certain historic images and places that were associated with this clash. One location was the city of Lysimacheia, at the neck of the Thracian Chersonese, which was the site of a major battle of Antigonos Gonatas against the Celts (277 BC).73 This place lay in ruins after recent Thracian sacking, and Antiochos invested a great deal of energy and resources in rebuilding it, even at the cost of arousing the Romans’ suspicions as to his intentions.74 As well as practical aims, his activities seem to have had propagandistic designs.75 This image was assisted by his collaboration with the Aitolian League, which had fought in the 3rd century BC against the invading Celts in Greece.76 When forced by the circumstances into fighting the Romans at Thermopylai (lit. ‘Hot Gates’), the narrow coastal pass between the mountains (and the thermal spring at their base) and the sea (Gulf of Malia), the Seleukid propaganda may have stressed the tale of the Greek resistance against the Celtic invasion at that place. An indecisive battle had taken place there in 279 BC, as part of the fight to protect the road to Delphi, shortly before the conclusive clash took place near the religious centre itself.77 Seleukid assistance in the latter incidence is recorded (Paus. 10.20.5), and its memory was perhaps alluded to by Antiochos III.78 Moreover, the Seleukid king may have 72 See APP., Syr. 2.6. these were Celts/Galatians in Thrace. See GRAINGER (2015), p. 133. Mercenaries: POLYB. 5.53.2–3 and 5.39.6; LIV. 37.40.5 and 13. 73 See DIOG. LAERT. 2.141; cf. JUST. 26.2. See TARN (1913), p. 165; HEICHELHEIM (1943); BURSTEIN (1979); HAMMOND / WALBANK (1988), p. 256–257 and 581. See GABBERT (1997), p. 27, 38, 68. 74 Ruins: LIV. 33.38.10. Sacked: LIV. 33.38.10–12. Rebuilding: POLYB. 18.51.7; LIV. 33.38.12 and 14; 33.40.6; 34.58.5 (restituere, reficiendae Vrbis, condere, ingentibus impensis aedificauerit). Cf. DIOD. SIC. 29.12.1; APP., Syr. 1.3. Cf. PIEJKO (1988), p. 151– 165. 75 Especially given the short-term Roman presence in Thrace after Philip V’s defeat. 76 IG II2 680; II3 1.1005; PAUS. 1.4.4; 6.16.1; 10.15.2; 10.16.4; 10.18.7; 10.19.4; 10.20.4 and 9; 10.22.2–3, 5–6 and 13; 10.23.12–13; see FLACELIÈRE (1937); NACHTERGAEL (1977), p. 15–125 and 401–422; SCHOLTEN (2000), p. 29–45; CHAMPION (1995, 1996). 77 On this battle see DIOD. SIC. 22.9.1–5; PAUS. 1.4.1–2. See RANKIN (1987), p. 91– 100; SCHOLTEN (2000), p. 31–37. On the protection of Delphi see JUST. 24.6–8; 29.6.8 and n. 91 above. 78 Evidence that this propagandistic line was effective may be, perhaps, the probable later conflation of the actions attributed to Antiochos I and Antiochos III in Loukianos’ Zeuxis. MACLEOD (1991), p. 281, may be correct in suspecting that Loukianos’ ‘Theodotas of Rhodes’ (Zeux. 9) echoes Theodotos of Aitolia, Antiochos III’s general, who occupied Sardeis (POLYB. 7.15–18. Yet, cf. NELSON (forthcoming), who believes Loukianos relied on the account of a prose historian (perhaps Hegesianax); cf. SCULLARD (1974), p. 122; PRIMO (2009), p. 257.

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operated within a world of images propagated by Attalos I of Pergamon, who claimed to have saved Asia from the Celts79 by winning an impressive victory over the Phrygian Galatians in 241 BC at the Caÿcus Valley.80 It may be presumed that Antiochos’ projection of his expedition as defending Asia (and especially western Asia Minor) from a western threat was in some way competing with Attalid imagery.81 Our sources mostly tell us one story, namely, that the Romans reacted to Antiochos’ aggression. But in fact, the Roman declaration of war against Antiochos was almost simultaneous with his landing in Greece and did not follow it.82 A military force under the praetor M. Baebius Tamphilus was already sent to Apollonia in September or October of 292 BC.83 This does not contradict but rather strengthens the possibility that Antiochos initially presented his expedition as defensive.84 In this line of propaganda, far from shying away from associations with Asia and the eastern Empire of old, Antiochos was advancing an image of himself as heading Asian forces to oppose a western or northern threat. In other words, Antiochos was giving Asia a defensive role within Europe. The Celts in the West were traditionally grouped together with northern nations in the Greek ethnographic framework,85 and they were linked to and associated with the foreboding Skythians.86 Furthermore, Herodotos gives the impression that when Dareios’ expedition in Skythia failed, the Skythians reached the Thracian

79 Cf. the prophecy allegedly issued by the oracle of Zeus at Dodona, claiming that the Celts will ravage Asia but that Attalos will destroy them: PAUS. 10.15.2–3 (prophecy made one generation before the Celts invaded Asia Minor). Cf. DIOD. SIC. 34/35.13; SUDA, s.v. ਡIJIJĮȜȠȢ Į 4316 Adler; ZOSIM. 2.36–37. 80 See OGIS 269; POLYB. 18.41.7–8 ; LIV. 33.21.3; 38.16.13; STRAB. 13.4.1–2 ; FRONT. 1.1; 1.15; 2.13.1; PAUS. 1.4.5–6, 1.8.1; POLYAEN. 4.20. For the date see WILL (1982), p. 1.266–7. 81 See ENGELS (2014), esp. p. 88. 82 Cf. ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 327: ‘The declaration of war was not a response to Antiochus’ landing at Demetrias, since this news could not have been known at Rome yet.’ Cf. DEROW (2003), p. 64, who maintains that this shows the Roman declaration of war had nothing to do with aggressive moves of Antiochos. Pace BURTON (2011), p. 342 and 345. 83 LIV. 35.20.12; 35.23.5; 35.24.7; 36.1.6. See n. 1 above. 84 Of course, this rhetoric would be effective only if the news reached Demetrias by that time, and the Roman force was large enough to be seen as being a threat to mainland Greece. Pace GRAINGER (2015), p. 161–162. 85 See De aër. aqu. et loc. 22; HDT. 4.106; ARIST., Pol. 7.1327b18–33l. 86 STRAB. 11.6.2: ȀİȜIJȠıțȪșĮȢ (Celtic Skythians); HDT. 4.49.3: the Ister connects the Celts and Skythians. Herakles of Pontos ap. PLUT., Cam. 22.3 saw the Celts as Hyperboraians. See BRIDGMAN (2005). DIOD. SIC. 5.32 connects the Celts with the Kimmerians, ‘who in ancient times overran the whole of Asia’, probably based on HDT. 1.104 and 106; 4.12, 28 and 100–101; 7.20.

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Chersonese.87 Antiochos’ expedition may indeed have been presented not as an expansionist assault, but as a defensive war, to prevent such a thing from recurring. It is possible that the defensive position Antiochos seems to have adopted was aimed at linking this past struggle against the Celts with the present conflict with the Romans, whom Antiochos now presented as an imminent danger. Indeed, the threats made by the envoy Villius to the people of Demetrias (Liv. 35.39.7) sounded real. One may assume that the prophecies circulating later on, of a kingdom coming from Asia that would be the successor of the Romans (as the fifth kingdom)88 or would destroy Rome,89 ultimately began with this projection of Antiochos as leading an Asian army to Europe to repel the western menace.90 Indeed, Phlegon of Tralles, a freedman of Hadrian, in his Mirabilia (FGrHist 257 F 36 III = Codex Palatinus Graecus 398.216 r 1), quotes such a prophecy preserved in the work of Antisthenes the philosopher (probably the historian of Rhodes, FGrHist 508, a rough contemporary of the Roman-Syrian War).91 The date of the creation of the story is hard to ascertain, yet the dramatic time is set to the immediate aftermath of the battle of Thermopylai.92 One of the fallen Syrian cavalry commanders (called Bouplagos) suddenly appeared and forewarned the Romans that Zeus would send an army, brave of heart, into their land, to end their empire and avenge their deeds (1–4).93 87 HDT. 6.40.1–2. Cf. CTES., FGrHist 688 F 13.21; STRAB. 13.1.22. See VASILEV (2015), p. 68–76, 117 and 138–139. 88 See SWAIN (1940); cf. MENDELS (1981). 89 Cf. HOR., Epod. 16.11–14. Cf. TAC., Hist. 5.13.2; JOS., Bell. Jud. 6.312; SUET., Nero 40.2; Vesp., 4.5. 90 See the so called ‘Oracle of Hystaspes’ (first century BC?) on the fall of Rome: LAC., Div. Inst. 7.15.19; 7.18.2; cf. JUST., Apol. 1.20.1 and 44.12; CLEM. AL., Strom. 6.5.1. SWAIN (1940), p. 15–16 believes these prophecies emerged in the wake of Pompey’s campaign. See MCGING (1986), p. 103. See BUELENS (2014) who speculates that their spread in Greek historiography had some connection with Mithradates VI. They may, however, have originated earlier, perhaps ultimately during or immediately after Antiochos’ expedition. See WINDISCH (1929), p. 196; PERETTI (1943); FLUSSER (1972) and FLUSSER (1988), p. 416–418. See WINDISCH (1929) p. 13 and 55–56 for the Persian origins of the prophecy (as evident in the name Hystaspes, the name of the father of Dareios I). Cf. the prophecies concerning the East in Rev 16.12; Matt 24.27; 4 Esdras 12.11–12. 91 See POLYB. 16.14; SCHWARTZ (1894); HANSEN (1996), p. 103; CHAMPION (2007). But cf. FERRARY (1988), p. 250–263; cf. PLIN., Nat. 36.17.79. 92 See HOLLEAUX (1930); FUCHS (1964 [1938]), p. 5–7 and 29–30; PARKE (1939), p. 282; SANFORD (1950), p. 30; HANSEN (1996), p. 32–37 and 102–112. See FERRARY (1988), p. 238–257; CHAMPION (2004), p. 49–50. 93 Cf. Syb. Orac. 3.350–362 and 652–56, probably from the period after the Mithridatic Wars; see BUITENWERF (2003), p. 272–275. Compare the same prophecies merged with the expected return of Nero; cf. Syb. Orac. 4.119–122 and 137–139; 5.143–

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Another story added by Antisthenes relates that when the Romans arrived at Naupaktos in Aitolia, a general named Publius prophesied in prose and in verse that an army would come, strong and brave, from distant Asia. The nucleus of these stories and images was probably told not long after the Roman victory over Antiochos and the Aitolians.94 If this is so, the Persian context of some of these images (e.g., a king who would ‘tread across the Hellespont’s narrow path’ and ‘Nesaean horses’ which would tread on Europe) is doubly significant. It strengthens the impression that Persian motifs were in circulation already during the Roman-Syrian War. As a defensive campaign against the danger from the west,95 Antiochos’ expedition appears to make sense in several aspects. While the considerations dictating the decision to fight at Thermopylai were exclusively strategic (since this was the only way for an army to get into mainland Greece), one may nevertheless point out some possible propagandistic implications. Thermopylai had a connotation of a heroic stand, of an army holding against an invading enemy, a significance we shall now explore.96

3. Romans as Persians Both parties to the conflict claimed to restore the ‘Freedom of the Greeks’.97 Antiochos followed Aitolian propaganda and depicted the Romans themselves as an alien force which was enslaving Greece – contrary to the Romans’ own words.98 The contradiction in Antiochos’ lines of propaganda seems evident. Antiochos embodied, as it were, both a would-be Agesilaos as a fighter for liberty and a would-be Artaxerxes as an umpire of matters in Greece (as we saw above). It may be that the propaganda of Philip V directed at the Greeks of the mainland had already identified the Romans with the Persians and consequently

148 and 361–364, the Christian Syb. Orac. 8.49–66, 71–72 and 203; cf. SANFORD (1937), p. 443. 94 See CHAMPION (2007). Cf. See HANSEN (1996), p. 102–113 and 106. SANFORD (1937), p. 438 and GABBA (1974), p. 634–6 believe the story comes from Aitolia. Cf. RUSSO (2014), p. 330. 95 Contrary to the impression from LIV. 35.51.10. 96 One should also mention several other engagements over the pass in 352, 323, 317, and especially in 207 BC (between Philip and the Aitolians). See STÄHLIN (1934); PRITCHETT (1985), p. 191–193. 97 For Antiochos, see PIEJKO (1988), p. 159. See POLYB. 3.7.3; 20.8.1; LIV. 35.16.2– 4; 35.32.10–13; 35.33.8; 35.38.9; 35.44.6; 35.46.5–6; 36.9.4. See MA (1999), p. 100. 98 See LIV. 34.23.5.

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placed the Macedonian king as the liberator of Greece.99 In a mirror image to Roman propaganda, Antiochos could claim before the Greeks of Asia that there was a political body residing in one continent (Europe) having an interest in another (Asia). This state of affairs closely resembles the situation of Persia overseeing Greece from afar under the terms of the King’s Peace. Antiochos was thus harping on the bad memories of the treaty, still considered shameful by many.100 It would appear almost certain that when it became clear that battle is to take place in Thermopylai, Antiochos’ propaganda directed at the Greek-speaking world enhanced the well-known connotations of the place, in particular, the story of Leonidas and the Spartans courageously fighting a lost battle against the Persians.101 The contradictory reality in which a foe of Greece (or one which is portrayed as such) becomes its defender has an interesting echo in one of the folkloristic stories associated with the fight against the Celtic invasion.102 Antiochos must have been aware of the prospect of this campaign ending in a military loss (which happened in the first Thermopylai, 480 BC). Yet by evoking these memories of the Persian Wars he succeeded in presenting the Romans as aggressive barbarians. He also stressed the defensive Seleukid position at a site sacred to Apollon, the dynasty’s patron and ancestor,103 thereby strengthening

99 WALBANK (1943), p. 10 n. 9: ‘As the true descendant of Philip II, Philip V may have attempted to represent the Romans as a second Persian invader, against whom he would rally Greece.’ See PLUT., Flam. 7.3 and RUSSO (2014), p. 308, n. 21. 100 For the bad memory of the ‘King’s Peace’ among contemporaries see ISOCR. 4.106, 175–177 and 179–180; LYS. 2.33, 57–59; XEN., Hell. 5.1.25. In later generations: DIOD. SIC. 15.19.4–5; PLUT., Art. 21.6; Ages. 23.1. 101 See LIV. 36.15.11–12; 36.16.6–7; APP., Syr. 4.18 for the association. On the 480 BC battle as depicted by Herodotos and remembered later see KROMAYER / VEITH (1931), p. 4.21–63; GRANT (1961); BURN (1968), p. 88–92; GREEN (1970), p. 109–120; HOPE SIMPSON (1972); CLARKE (2002), p. 68–72; VAN WEES (2004), p. 180–183; ALBERTZ (2006); CARTLEDGE (2006). With Diodoros’ account (11.8.4–11.10.4): cf. HAMMOND (1996); FLOWER (1998). As a land battle that may have been subordinate action to the naval action at Artemision: see MEYER (1899), p. 2.208; HOW / WELLS (1912), p. 2.371; BURY (1895/1896), p. 84–97; HIGNETT (1963), p. 115, 141; as part of a combined land and sea operation: LAST (1943), p. 64; EVANS (1969); MATTHEW (2009); cf. HDT. 1.175. Among the defenders under Leonidas Herodotos (7.222) includes also Thespians and Thebans (allegedly compelled: 7.233.1, cf. DIOD. SIC. 11.4.7 and PLUT., De Herod. malign. 865a–f). 102 It is reported that a former enemy and spoiler of the Temple, the hero Neoptolemos or Pyrrhos (cf. PAUS. 10.7.1) turned later into ally as he rose from the dead (PAUS. 1.4.4; 10.23.2, recasting HDT. 8.38–39); the same might thus be imagined to be true of the new force from the East. 103 OGIS 212.13–14; 213; 214; 219.26–27; 227; 237. Apollon was the protector of Antioch: LIB., Or. 11.94–99 (Temple of Apollon at Daphne); STRAB. 16.2.6; he reportedly was the ‘father’ of Seleukos Nikator: JUST. 15.4.2–9; I.Erythrai 205 ll.74–6. Cf. SEG 46.557. From the reign of Antiochos I onward, Apollon appears on the reverses

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the Greek character of his campaign.104 This image was probably thought to be helpful in his continued struggle, whether in Asia, or in Greece, should the circumstances change.105 3.1. The Roman-Persian Parallel In Antiochos’ council of war (193 BC), some (Livy 35.17) are said to have claimed that the issue of the freedom of the Greek cities requested by the Romans was an unimportant and inconsequential ground for war. Livy then quotes those members as drawing a historical parallel: unjust demands always began with small matters, unless indeed they were to suppose that when the Persians demanded ‘earth and water’ from the Spartans, they were actually in need of a clod of earth and a draught of water (nisi crederent Persas, cum aquam terramque ab Lacedaemoniis petierint, gleba terrae et haustu aquae eguisse). A similar attempt was now being made by the Romans. The rhetorical comparison is surely not accidental. Interestingly, when Polybios (3.6.4–5) discusses the difference between the beginning and the cause of wars, he draws comparison between Alexander’s crossing to Asia against Persia and Antiochos’ landing at Demetrias against Rome.106 The comparison of these campaigns directed at the Achaimenids and the Romans respectively may have its distant origins in the propaganda of Antiochos, comparing Romans and Persians. Modern scholars also tend to of Seleukid coinage; see HOUGHTON / LORBER (2002), p. 115–116. RUSSO (2014), p. 309, n. 25. Cf. FLOR. 1.24.3. 104 Probably based on this propagandistic line was the story of the return to Athens of the first group sculpture of the tyrannicides (made by Antenor) which was allegedly taken by Xerxes to Persia. See MOGGI (1973), p. 40. PAUS. 1.8.5 claims an ‘Antiochos’ returned them. According to another version it was Seleukos (VAL. MAX. 2.10.ext.1) – perhaps a derivative account making Antiochos a generic ‘Seleukos’. Another story has a ‘Seleukos’ returning books that Xerxes carried away from Athens (GELL. 7.17.2) – probably a development of this story. A different version has Alexander returning the group sculpture (ARR., Anab. 3.16.7–8; 7.19.2; PLIN., Nat. 34.19.70). This may stem from a conflation between Antiochos Megas and Alexander Megas. Alternatively, all versions sprang independently. They all seem to be rhetorical variations on the favourite declamatory subject related to tyrannicide (cf. TAC., Dial. 35; cf. SEN., Contr. 2.5 and 3.6), here presumably a paradoxical one of ‘a king celebrating tyrannicide.’ These statues were probably never really removed from Athens, and the description seems to conflate HDT. 1.183. See HABICHT (1989), p. 7–8. Pace GAFFORINI (1989) and RUSSO (2014), p. 323–325, this story is not part of the Seleukid propaganda during the Syrian War, but rather ultimately stems from one strand of it. 105 See BRISCOE (1981), p. 291. Antiochos’ detachments in Demetrias and Elis remained for a short while (LIV. 36.31.1–3, 33.1–7). Cf. LIV. 36.26.1: the Aitolians send messengers to invite Antiochos again (or at least to procure money) shortly before the fall of Herakleia. Cf. 36.41.1; BEVAN (1902a), p. 2.88; GRAINGER (2002), p. 251–254. 106 WALBANK (1957), p. 309.

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compare Antiochos III and Alexander.107 This linkage has obvious consequences for the presentation of Rome as Persia. 3.2. Plutarch’s Cato Maior: the Romans as Successors of the Persians Fragments of the propaganda of the belligerent parties in the Roman-Syrian War thus entered into later extant sources and rhetorical presentations. These fragments and attitudes resurfaced in Imperial times, with new sigficance, either signalling the continued clash of Rome and its enemies in the East in continuation of the old Roman propaganda, or else pointing at the condition of Greeks under Roman sway – reverberating the old Seleukid propaganda. The last section of this chapter will be devoted to the relics of this propaganda in the Imperial period, especially with regard to the theme of the Romans as the new Persians. This theme is noted in some subtle presentations of the Romans by Greek Imperial authors.108 A case in point is Plutarch’s project of the Parallel Lives. Apart from the Flamininus, the actual passages which describe Rome’s Syrian War in Greece are to be found in the biography of Cato the Elder (234– 149 BC), aptly paired with that of Aristeides, in the context of the Persian Wars.109 The comparison is made explicit in the Synkrisis at the end of the pair: Aristeides was not the foremost man in any one of his victories […]. Cato, on the other hand […] at Thermopylai, when he was but a tribune in the army and another was consul, got the glory of the victory […]. That victory was manifestly the work of Cato, and it […] drove Asia out of Greece (ਥȟȒȜĮıİ IJોȢ ਬȜȜȐįȠȢ IJ੽Ȟ ਝıȓĮȞ) […].110

107 See ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 328: ‘Antiochus Megas was the greatest Hellenistic king since Alexander, with spectacular conquests to his credit, and he had proclaimed himself Alexander’s heir’. Cf. MA (1999), p. 276. 108 See SPAWFORTH (1994), p. 237–243. The choice of terminology and use of the literary devices of analogy and juxtaposition show this phenomenon among the Greeks. For instance, the word ‘up’ (ਙȞȦ) when referring to a travel to Rome (PLUT., Praec. reip. 814C) echoes the way classical writers would describe going to Persia (Cf. ARR., Diss. Epict. 1.10.2), or descriptions of Roman imperial institutions in the terms ‘satraps’ or ‘Great King’. See DIO CHRYS., Or. 7.66; 7.93; 33.14; 47.9; 50.6; PHILOSTR., Vit. Soph. 524. See BOWIE (1970), p. 33 n. 95; MASON (1970), p. 157; SWAIN (1996), p. 176 and 321; WHITMARSH (2005), p. 66–67; ALMAGOR (2016a), p. 114; ALMAGOR (2017), p. 329. 109 Theoretically, Plutarch’s Cato Maior could have been composed c. AD 109/110, on the occasion of the three hundredth anniversary of this battle of Thermopylai. It is possible that this date was specifically marked with the honour of making C. Julius Antiochus Epiphanes Philopappus, the grandson of the last king of Kommagene and descendant of the Seleukids, a suffect consul (AD 109). Cf. BIRLEY (1997), p. 216 on this as a ‘symbolic coming together of the western and eastern elites.’ 110 PLUT., Comp. Arist. Cat. Mai. 2.2–3 (transl. P ERRIN, Loeb).

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Cato and Aristeides are not only presented by Plutarch as competing for glory separately,111 but are also subtly pitted against each other for the fame of getting rid of an eastern invader into Greece.112 Gradually, in a very sophisticated manner, the two move from being rivals over glory to parties posited on different sides of the dividing line, when the Romans resemble the Persians. There is a hint in the name of Aristeides’ deme, namely, ‘Antiochis’ (Plut., Arist. 1.3, 5.4– 5), echoing Cato’s adversary. The allusions to the Persian Wars are cleverly included in the Cato Maior, in a way that portrays the Romans (and Cato in particular) not only as removed from the Greeks and the Greek cause, but also as following in the footsteps of the Persians. In the first instance Plutarch does so by presenting a certain parallelism between Antiochos and Cato, before the battle of Thermopylai:113 He [Antiochos] crossed into Greece with an army, making the freeing of the Greeks a specious ground for war. This they did not need at all, since they had recently been made free and independent of Philip and the Macedonians by grace of the Romans […]. He [Cato] also spent much time at Athens. And we are told that a certain speech of his is extant, which he addressed to the Athenian people in Greek, declaring that he admired the virtues of the ancient Athenians, and was glad to behold a city so beautiful and grand as theirs. But this is not true. On the contrary, he dealt with Athenians through an interpreter.114

111

A point overlooked by DUFF (1999), p. 261–262. See RUSSO (2014), p. 309–310. It is a play on Herodotos’ presentation of Aristeides’ rivalry with Themistokles, wehre the latter receives only ‘second honours’ for valour (8.123: IJઁȞ įİ઄IJİȡȠȞ) in the Battle of Salamis. On the Aristeides, see also MARINCOLA (2016). 113 For the following passages, Plutarch seems to have relied on the lost depictions of Polybios and Cato himself in his Origines or the speech De consulate suo; see ASTIN (1978), p. 299–301; CORNELL (2013), p. 3.153–154. Pace SMITH (1940c), 109 and SMITH (1940b), p. 5, 6 n. 1, 8, 10 n. 1. If so, the campaign against Antiochos could have been described in Origines 6. See VON GUTSCHMID (1894), p. 5.525, SCHANZ / HOSIUS (1927), p. 1.187–189. KLOTZ (1935), p. 51–52, believe that Plutarch was dependent on Livy and Cicero for some details concerning Cato; cf. PETER (1865), p. 17–28, 51–57 and 74–89; SCARDIGLI (1979), p. 32–42 and 52–60; CORNELL (2013), p. 1.106–107, and cf. ASTIN (1978), p. 302–307, but see SMITH (1940c), p. 108 n. 6 and p. 111–112. For Plutarch’s knowledge of Latin see JONES (1971), p. 81–87. For Cato’s Origines see ASTIN (1978), p. 211–239; GRUEN (1992), p. 59–61 and 82–83; GOTTER (2009), p. 109–122 and CORNELL (2013), p. 1.195–218. 114 PLUT., Cat. Mai. 12.3–5 (transl. PERRIN, Loeb): İ੝ʌȡİʌો į੻ IJȠ૨ ʌȠȜȑȝȠȣ ʌȠȚȘıȐȝİȞȠȢ ĮੁIJȓĮȞ IJȠઃȢ ਰȜȜȘȞĮȢ ਥȜİȣșİȡȠ૨Ȟ, Ƞ੝į੻Ȟ įİȠȝȑȞȠȣȢ, ਕȜȜ’ ਥȜİȣșȑȡȠȣȢ țĮ੿ Į੝IJȠȞȩȝȠȣȢ ȤȐȡȚIJȚ IJૌ ૮ȦȝĮȓȦȞ ਕʌઁ ĭȚȜȓʌʌȠȣ țĮ੿ ȂĮțİįȩȞȦȞ ȞİȦıIJ੿ ȖİȖȠȞȩIJĮȢ, įȚȑȕȘ ȝİIJ੹ įȣȞȐȝİȦȢ [...] ʌȜİ૙ıIJȠȞ į੻ ȤȡȩȞȠȞ ਥȞ ਝșȒȞĮȚȢ įȚȑIJȡȚȥİ, țĮ੿ ȜȑȖİIJĮȚ ȝȑȞ IJȚȢ Į੝IJȠ૨ ijȑȡİıșĮȚ ȜȩȖȠȢ ੔Ȟ ਬȜȜȘȞȚıIJ੿ ʌȡઁȢ IJઁȞ įોȝȠȞ İੇʌİȞ, ੪Ȣ ȗȘȜ૵Ȟ IJİ IJ੽Ȟ ਕȡİIJ੽Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ ʌĮȜĮȚ૵Ȟ ਝșȘȞĮȓȦȞ, IJોȢ IJİ ʌȩȜİȦȢ įȚ੹ IJઁ țȐȜȜȠȢ țĮ੿ IJઁ ȝȑȖİșȠȢ ਲįȑȦȢ ȖİȖȠȞઅȢ șİĮIJȒȢ· IJȠ૨IJȠ į’ Ƞ੝ț ਕȜȘșȑȢ ਥıIJȚȞ, ਕȜȜ੹ įȚ’ ਦȡȝȘȞȑȦȢ ਥȞȑIJȣȤİ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਝșȘȞĮȓȠȚȢ [...]. 112

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False presentation appears in the case of both parties; Antiochos professes to be freeing the Greeks and Cato is said to speak in Greek, but the two claims are reported to be equally untrue.115 The falsehood indicates that the adoption of a Greek cause by both parties might truly be a sham. It conceals real imperial and expansionist ambition by two entities which are not Greek. The implication that the Romans are not Greek is implicitly given from Antiochos’ point of view (Cat. Mai. 12.2): having subjected many warlike nations of barbarians (਩șȞȘ IJİ ʌ੺ȝʌȠȜȜĮ țĮ੿ ȝ੺ȤȚȝĮ ȕĮȡȕ੺ȡȦȞ ਫ਼ʌ੾țȠĮ ʌİʌȠȚȘȝ੼ȞȠȢ), he was eager to engage the Romans, whom he deemed the only worthy foemen left for him (that is, one would read, of the barbarians). In the expressions ascribed to Cato there are verbal allusions to the wellknown epigram in memory of the fallen Spartans at Thermopylai (F 22b Page, AP 7.249),116 commonly ascribed to Simonides, but not unambiguously so by Herodotos (7.228).117 Compare the report of Cato’s words (the interpreter would convey…, IJઁȞ ਦȡȝȘȞȑĮ … ਕʌĮȖȖȑȜȜİȚȞ) with the famous epigram (ਕȖȖ੼ȜȜİȚȞ). To Cato is ascribed a belief that the words of the Greeks were born on their lips, but those of the Romans in their hearts (Ƞ੅İıșĮȚ IJ੹ ૧ȒȝĮIJĮ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȝ੻Ȟ ਰȜȜȘıȚȞ ਕʌઁ ȤİȚȜ૵Ȟ, IJȠ૙Ȣ į੻ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȚȢ ਕʌઁ țĮȡįȓĮȢ ijȑȡİıșĮȚ: Cat. Mai. 12.7). The words (૧ȒȝĮIJĮ) of the Greeks allude to Herodotos’ version (૧੾ȝĮıȚ). This allusion may have an added touch of irony. If the reading ʌİȚșȩȝİȞȠȚ ȞȠȝȓȝȠȚȢ (‘obey the laws’)118 was the original version of the epigram and was changed to ૧੾ȝĮıȚ 115 On Cato’s knowledge and use of Greek at this age see AUR. VICT., Vir. 3. 47.1. In old age: CIC., Rep. 5.2; Acad. 2.5; De sen. 3.26; cf. 38; NEPOS, Cat. 3.2; VAL. MAX. 8.7.1; QUINT., Inst. 12.11.23; PLUT., Cat. Mai. 2.5; 8.14; 9.3; 23.2. Cf. PLIN., Nat. 29.7.14. See SMITH (1940a), p. 156–157; ASTIN (1978), 147–149, 153, 157–170 and 174–180; GRUEN (1992), p. 52–83; HENRICHS (1995), p. 244–250; KREBS (2006), p. 95–96. Other rough contemporary cases for the employment of an interpreter: Scipio Africanus: POLYB. 15.6.3; LIV. 30.30.1; Flamininus: POLYB. 18.46.4; LIV. 33.32.5; VAL. MAX. 4.8.5; PLUT., Flam. 10.3; Glabrio: POLYB. 20.9.11–12; 10.2–9; LIV. 36.27.8 and 28; Aemilius Paulus: LIV. 45.8.5; VAL. MAX. 5.1.8. On the use of Latin by Roman officials in Greece and in the East, see VAL. MAX. 2.2.2, who may refer to this event. Cf. DUBUISSON (1982); as an assertion of authority and superiority: ADAMS (2003), p. 198 and 205. On Cato’s stay in Greece, see NEP., Cat. 1.4; LIV. 36.3.14; 20.1; 21.2; 30.5; 37.4.1. 116 Another version is SUDA, s.v. ȁİȦȞȓįĮȢ, Ȝ 272 Adler. 117 See PAGE (1981), p. 231–232. Cf. MOLYNEUX (1992), p. 175–179. Another poem by Simonides (531 PMG = DIOD. SIC. 11.11.6) may have been on Thermopylai, since it mentions Leonidas; see BOWRA (1933); DILLERY (1996), p. 247–248, but see also WEST (1975), p. 308–309; PODLECKI (1960), p. 257–262. 118 LYC., In Leocr. 109.6; DIOD. SIC., 11.33.2; STRAB. 9.4.16 ; CONST. PORPHYR., De Sententiis 307; cf. CIC., Tusc. 1.101. ZIOGAS (2014), p. 8–9 with n. 30 believes this is the later, ‘and pretty clumsy’, version of the original inscription, pointing out, like GRANT (1961), p. 15, that no laws would have been broken by Leonidas’ withdrawal. Yet, the laws in question may apply to the respect for the dead, as evidenced by the contrast with the description of Xerxes’ desecration of Leonidas’ body (HDT. 7.238; cf. 9.78), and cf. HDT. 7.104: Law is the despot of the Spartans.

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ʌİȚșંȝİȞȠȚ119 by Herodotos, the latter version may have the meaning ‘we believe their words’120 (i.e., what the Spartans say they did).121 In this case, Cato’s jibe at the Greek insincerity echoes this interpretation. Plutarch may thus give us reason to believe Cato is not a champion of the Greeks and in fact should not be compared with the Spartans. His sneer directed at the Greeks as well as his use of an interpreter show him to be alien.122 Cato’s jibe insinuates that the Greeks are deceitful. It appears to mean that the Greeks are merely uttering words, or else paying a mere lip service, while the Romans are more sincere.123 However, there may be a play here on the word țĮȡįȓĮ (and note the use of the singular) to imply Kardia, the place in the Thracian Chersonese on the Melas Gulf. If true, the allusion seems to insinuate the Persian Wars. After Xerxes’ army crossed the Hellespont over the bridge of boats, it passed near Kardia, as Herodotos relates (7.58.2: ਥȞ ਕȡȚıIJİȡૌ į੻ ȀĮȡį઀ȘȞ ʌંȜȚȞ). That this interpretation is what Plutarch had in mind is strengthened by the mention of Roman presence in Thrace at the beginning of the chapter (Cat. Mai. 12.1: IJ੹ ʌİȡ੿ Ĭȡ઻țȘȞ țĮ੿ ੍ıIJȡȠȞ ਫ਼ʌĮIJİȪȠȞIJȚ… ıȣȖțĮIJİȚȡȖȐıĮIJȠ, he assisted the consul [in subduing] the regions in Thrace and the Danube), alluding to Lucius Stertinius’ short-term presence in ‘the cities of Thrace’ (Polyb. 18.42.2, LIV. 33.35.2).124 By uniting the Roman diplomatic and military activity in Greece before the war and after Antiochos’ landing in Demetrias, Plutarch makes the two references form a literary closure, giving the impression of an advance from Thrace to Greece. Plutarch thus voices the respective propagandas of the belligerent parties. He obviously cannot explicitly conform to Antiochos’ claims that the Romans resemble the Persians, but he insinuates that this may be so. Evidence for the correct reading intended in this allusion is supplied by one instance: He poked fun at Postumius Albinus, who wrote a history in Greek, and asked the indulgence of his readers. Cato said they might have shown him indulgence had he

119

PAGE (1981), p. 233–234. Cf. PETROVIC (2007), p. 249. 121 Or ‘what they said they would do’. See the close interpretation of TUELLER (2010), p. 58 for a possible reading that implies that the promised Spartan reinforcements (cf. HDT. 7.206) failed to arrive. 122 In fact, the employment of an interpreter evokes the practice of the Persians, especially the Great King. See HDT. 3.140.3. Cf. PLUT., Them. 28.1; CURT. RUF. 5.13.6– 7, XEN., Anab. 4.4.5. See PLUT., Them. 6.3 (in Athens). 123 The difference is found in some Greek expressions: see Il. 15.102; 22.495; ARISTOPH., Ra. 678. This is almost reminiscent of the biblical division between the lips and the hearts. Cf. Isaiah 29.13; Ps. 12(11).2; Prov 16.3; 24.2; 26.4; MT 15.8; MK 7.6. 124 He freed the cities of Ainos and Maroneia from Philip V’s garrisons during the summer of 196 BC. These were captured later (between 196 and 190 BC) by Antiochos: LIV. 37.33.1 and 37.60.7. See GRAINGER (1996), p. 337, 341; GRAINGER (2015), p. 148– 149. 120

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undertaken his task in consequence of a compulsory vote of the Amphictyonic Assembly.125

Cato criticizes a fellow Roman, Aulus Postumius Albinus (cos. 151 BC), who wrote a history in Greek and asked the indulgence of his readers, presumably for stylistic inadequacy.126 The argument of Cato suggests that Albinus was not obliged to write in Greek.127 This particular taunt was also present in Polybios’ text (39.1.5–9).128 When we remember the fact that the Amphictyonic Assembly also met at Thermopylai,129 we may assume that Plutarch is using Cato’s sneer at this anachronistic point to further distance Cato and Rome from the Spartan position of Leonidas. Indeed, the following chapter in the biography shows how the Romans, led by Cato, followed the Persians and used a natural circuit leading to the pass of Thermopylai to gain victory over the Seleukids (Plut., Cat. Mai. 13.1).130 This presentation insinuates that the only way for Romans to succeed was to follow in the footsteps of the Persians, not the Greeks. Interestingly, Cato used the Greek text of Herodotos131 to help him become more like the barbarian 125 Cat. Mai. 12.5–7 (transl. PERRIN, Loeb): ȆȠıIJȠȪȝȚȠȞ ȖȠ૨Ȟ ਝȜȕ૙ȞȠȞ ੂıIJȠȡȓĮȞ ਬȜȜȘȞȚıIJ੿ ȖȡȐȥĮȞIJĮ țĮ੿ ıȣȖȖȞȫȝȘȞ ĮੁIJȠȪȝİȞȠȞ ਥʌȑıțȦȥİȞ, İੁʌઅȞ įȠIJȑȠȞ İੇȞĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ıȣȖȖȞȫȝȘȞ, İੁ IJ૵Ȟ ਝȝijȚțIJȣȩȞȦȞ ȥȘijȚıĮȝȑȞȦȞ ਕȞĮȖțĮıșİ੿Ȣ ਫ਼ʌȑȝİȚȞİ IJઁ ਩ȡȖȠȞ. 126 See CIC., Brut. 81; GELL. 11.8.2; CORNELL (2013), p. 1.185–190; 2.124–133; 3.59– 62. 127 Cf. WALBANK (1979), p. 3.727. It is also a clever sneer directed at Aulus’ role as a member of an embassy of ten to aid Lucius Mummius in reorganizing Greece (146 BC, IvO 322). See WALBANK (1979), p. 3.726–728; BROUGHTON (1951), p. 1.448, 450–451, 454–455 and 467. In one inscription from Delphi (SEG 1.152) at the basis of an equestrian statue, Aulus is mentioned as the ‘patron and benefactor’ on behalf of the Greeks and for Apollon the Pythian. ਖ ʌંȜȚȢ IJ૵Ȟ ǻİȜij૵Ȟ ȆȠ[ıIJંȝȚȠȞ ਝȜ] || ȕİ૙ȞȠȞ, IJઁȞ ਦĮȣIJ઼Ȣ ʌ੺IJȡȦҕ[ȞĮ țĮ੿ İ੝] || İȡȖ੼IJĮȞ v ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ IJ઼Ȣ IJ૵Ȟ ਬȜȜҕ[੺ȞȦȞ ਥȜİȣ] || [șİȡ]઀ĮȢ vv ਝʌંȜȜȦȞȚ vv Ȇȣ[ș઀ȦȚ]. See POMTOW (1921), p. 162–163, n. 147. 128 Polybios’ Greek text is corrupt at the mention of the name. There are two other versions in GELL. 11.8.1 (from Nepos); MACR., Sat. Praef. 14, and SUDA, s.v. Aulus Postumius, Į 4446 Adler, which do not mention the Amphyctionic assembly. Cf. PLUT., Reg. et Imp. Apoph. 199e–f. See ASTIN (1978), 168; HENRICHS (1995), p. 246. 129 One should only compare the abovementioned passage of Herodotos recounting the epigrams composed in memory of the Spartans fallen at Thermopylai, and the assertion that they were set up by the Amphictyons (7.228.4: ਝȝijȚțIJ઄ȠȞİȢ İੁı੿ ıij੼ĮȢ Ƞੂ ਥʌȚțȠıȝ੾ıĮȞIJİȢ). 130 The Roman outflanking was along the steep slopes of Mt. Kallidromon. See KRAFT et al. (1987), p. 183; PRITCHETT (1965), 71–82. On the Persian flanking route (HDT. 7.216) see PRITCHETT (1982), p. 176–233; PRITCHETT (1985), p. 190–216 and MACKAY (1963), p. 243, 254–255 pace WALLACE (1980): from the head of the Malian plain at the foot of Mt. Kallidromon up its western edge and through the Anopaian trail down to the Gulf of Malia. Cf. HDT. 7.175. 131 See KREBS (2006); COHEE (2007). According to LIVY (36.17.1), presumably from Polybios, the initiative was of the consul Glabrio and there is no allusion to Herodotos’ story.

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Persians.132 The description continues to contain verbal echoes of Herodotos’ depiction. The Romans’ despair of forcing a direct passage (IJઁ ȝ੻Ȟ țĮIJ੹ ıIJȩȝĮ ȕȚȐȗİıșĮȚ) is perhaps a play on the willingness of Herodotos’ defenders to fight with their hands and teeth (Hdt. 7.225: ਕȜİȟȠȝ੼ȞȠȣȢ […] țĮ੿ Ȥİȡı੿ țĮ੿ ıIJંȝĮıȚ). The perplexity of the Romans (Cat. Mai. 13.3: ਕʌȠȡȓĮ) is preceded by that of Xerxes (Hdt. 7.213: ਕʌȠȡ੼ȠȞIJȠȢ į੻ ȕĮıȚȜ੼ȠȢ), before Epialtes came to his rescue. Cato’s planned descent (Cat. Mai. 13.3: țȐIJȦ)133 is mirrored in the Persian action (HDT. 7.223: ਲ țĮIJ੺ȕĮıȚȢ, cf. 7.217). The speed involved (Cat. Mai. 12.4: IJȐȤĮ, cf. 13.5: IJȐȤȠȣȢ) evokes that of the Persians in their descent (Hdt. 7.218: țĮIJ੼ȕĮȚȞȠȞ IJઁ ੕ȡȠȢ țĮIJ੹ IJ੺ȤȠȢ). Most importantly, when we compare Herodotos with non-Herodotean versions, namely those found in Diodoros (11.10.1–4, from Ephorus?), Justin (2.11.12–18, from Pompeius Trogus) and Plutarch (De Herod. Malign. 866a), which relate a final Spartan night attack on Xerxes’ camp and tent (with the intent to kill him),134 the correspondence becomes clearer. In the latter version, the Greeks operate at night while the Persians take the initiative at daybreak and triumph; Herodotos claims that the Persians outflanked the Greeks at night.135 Similarly, Plutarch’s Cato begins the attack from the rear at night (Cat. Mai. 13.3).136 All these allusions are hardly accidental; they further distinguish Cato from Leonidas and link him more closely to the Persians.137 Indeed, in the Synkrisis to the pair, Plutarch claims (Comp. Arist. Cat. Mai. 5.1) that Antiochos is not worthy of comparison with Xerxes (țĮ੿ Ƞ੝ț ਙȟȚȠȞ įȒʌȠȣ ʌĮȡĮȕĮȜİ૙Ȟ IJ૶ Ȅȑȡȟૉ IJઁȞ ਝȞIJȓȠȤȠȞ). One ironic understanding of this judgment is that it is really Cato who should resemble the Persian king.

132 One may consider comparing this with Cato’s presumed use of DEMOSTHENES’ speech (4.30) against Philip in his Athenian address (above), as suggested by FRAENKEL (1968), p. 130; cf. ASTIN (1978), p. 149. Demosthenes was known to favour an antiMacedonian, even a pro-Persian policy (as opposed to Aischines, see PHILOSTRATOS, Vit. Soph. 507. On Demosthenes as pro-Persian see AESCHIN. 3.156, 173, 209, 239, 250 and 259 (cf. 164). See CAWKWELL (1969), p. 176–178. 133 Note the play on the protagonist’s Latin name. 134 Cf. the so-called ‘Doloneia’ of Il. 10, Odysseus’ and Diomedes’ night expedition to slay the spy Dolon, the Thracian Rhesus and his men, and to capture Rhesus’ horses. 135 FLOWER (1998), p. 374: ‘In short, night favours the Greeks and daylight the Persians. In Herodotus the order is partially reversed.’ One should remember that the name of the Greek traitor, Epialtes, literally means ‘nightmare’ (LSJ s.v.), and cf. ORIBASIUS (7.26.177: specifically at night). 136 Cf. KREBS (2006), p. 102–103 on a different scene in Cato’s Origines. 137 Another allusion may be considered here. In Cicero’s Cato or De Senectute his main character, Cato, finds an example to emulate (9.30; cf. 10.32) in XENOPHON’s older ‘Kyros’ (Cyr. 8.7.6), to the effect that he had never felt that his old age was any less vigorous than his youth had been. On the allusions to Xenonophon cf. also CIC., Planc. 66; ASTIN (1978), p. 158–159.

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The Roman victory at Thermopylai completely changed the meaning of this place.138 No longer was it to be considered a location of great heroic defeat against an invading army, as was reiterated by the Greeks ever since the Persian Wars. The heroes were from now on not the defenders but rather the victors. Cato ridicules the small number of the Aitolian defenders (Cat. Mai. 13.7: țĮIJĮijȡȠȞȒıĮȢ IJોȢ ੑȜȚȖȩIJȘIJȠȢ, and with a play on the same word, is made to mention their carelessness: ੑȜȚȖȦȡȓĮȢ). The use of this expression immediately calls to mind the well-known fact that the defenders against the Persians were few (Hdt. 7.207: ੪Ȣ ਥંȞIJȦȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ੑȜ઀ȖȦȞ ıIJȡĮIJઁȞ IJઁȞ Ȃ੾įȦȞ ਕȜ੼ȟĮıșĮȚ, cf. 2.208, 210, 212),139 and Xerxes’ laughter at Demaratos’ claim (7.102) that the Spartans will fight regardless of their numbers.140 There could be no greater divide between Cato and Leonidas. Herodotos mentions a stone lion (Leon) at the hill, at the place of the defenders’ last stand, in memory of Leonidas (7.225: ੒ Ȝ઀șȚȞȠȢ Ȝ੼ȦȞ ਪıIJȘțİ ਥʌ੿ ȁİȦȞ઀įૉ). Yet, the image suits the Romans much more. In Cato’s words to his soldiers (Cat. Mai. 13.5), he likens the Roman action in the battle to the sprint of a lion: the task demands the swift and bold leap of lions fearlessly rushing all unarmed upon the timorous beasts on which they prey (IJઁ į’ ਩ȡȖȠȞ ਚȡʌĮıȝĮ įİ૙ IJȐȤȠȣȢ ȖİȞȑıșĮȚ țĮ੿ IJȩȜȝȘȢ, ઞ țĮ੿ ȜȑȠȞIJİȢ ਙȞȠʌȜȠȚ șĮȡȡȠ૨ȞIJİȢ ਥʌ੿ IJ੹ įİȚȜ੹ IJ૵Ȟ șȘȡȓȦȞ ȕĮįȓȗȠȣıȚ).141 The animal imagery is now cast anew, reasonably celebrating the aggressor rather than the victim. As the victor is more praiseworthy than the vanquished, the hall of fame is now occupied by a Leon and not by a Leonidas. Thus, during the clash with the Romans, Antiochos and his men, who are defeated, are portrayed negatively (Cat. Mai. 14.1). Consequently, instead of the Persians treading on one another and perishing (Hdt. 7.223: įȚİijșİ઀ȡȠȞIJȠ […] țĮIJİʌĮIJ੼ȠȞIJȠ ȗȦȠ੿ ਫ਼ʌૃ ਕȜȜ੾ȜȦȞ),142 now Antiochos’ men are compressed and destroying themselves (ıȣȞȦșȠ૨ȞIJİȢ ਕȜȜȒȜȠȣȢ [...] Įਫ਼IJȠઃȢ įȚȑijșİȚȡȠȞ).143 The condition in Greece under the direction of the new victors is alluded to by Plutarch. The Seleukid king is virtually muted by the Romans when a stone

138

See RUSSO (2010). Cf. DIOD. SIC. 11.4.36; JUST. 2.11.10. There may be a play also in the previous mention of Antiochos’ near success to recover all of Seleukos’ empire in Asia, Cat. Mai. 12.2: ȈȑȜİȣțȠȢ İੇȤİȞ ੑȜȓȖȠȣ įİ૙Ȟ ਚʌĮıĮȞ ਥȟ ਫ਼ʌĮȡȤોȢ. 140 This is because, as Herodotos mention, the Persians believe ‘multitude is strength’ (1.136); cf. 7.210. 141 The Delphic oracle HERODOTOS cites (7.220) as given to the Spartans before the war, and referring, according to his interpretation, to the battle at Thermopylai, actually has the following two lines: A dead king shall be mourned by broad Lakedaimon, for him the might of bulls or lions will not hinder (ʌİȞș੾ıİȚ ȕĮıȚȜો ijș઀ȝİȞȠȞ ȁĮțİįĮ઀ȝȠȞȠȢ Ƞ੣ȡȠȢ|| Ƞ੝ Ȗ੹ȡ IJઁȞ IJĮ઄ȡȦȞ ıȤ੾ıİȚ ȝ੼ȞȠȢ Ƞ੝į੻ ȜİંȞIJȦȞ || ਕȞIJȚȕ઀ȘȞ). Grammatically, the ‘him’ may refer to the king (= presumably, Leonidas). Yet, cf. MACAN (1908), p. 1.326. 142 Cf. DIOD. SIC. 11.9.2–10.4; JUST. 2.11.11–19. 143 Cf. LIV. 36.19.1–6. 139

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knocks his teeth out (੒ ȝ੻Ȟ ਝȞIJȓȠȤȠȢ İੁȢ IJઁ ıIJȩȝĮ Ȝȓș૳ ʌȜȘȖİȓȢ, ਥțIJȚȞĮȤșȑȞIJȦȞ Į੝IJȠ૨ IJ૵Ȟ ੑįȩȞIJȦȞ). Earlier on, as mentioned above, Cato does not wish to speak directly to the Athenians; he derides Greek speech and Greek talkativeness. Athenian parrhessia has no place in the new world,144 similar to its absence in representations of the oriental court.145 Antiochos is implicitly depicted as the fleeing Persian monarch (Xerxes or Dareios III),146 but by the use of a certain allusion he now also resembles a Medizing Greek. Note that in Polybios’ account, Antiochos is said to have lost his teeth in his Baktrian campaign (208–206 BC).147 Since it is hard to believe Polybios would have the same motif twice, either the Megalopolitan appropriated Cato’s description to another scene, or (more likely), Plutarch transfers this image from Polybios’ Baktrian scene to the Roman-Syrian War. This way, Plutarch seems to evoke Herodotos’ portrayal of Hippias, who led the Persians into Greece and lost a tooth near Marathon.148 Yet, at the very moment Antiochos appears Greek, he loses that most distinctive quality of Greekness – speech. So, ironically, Antiochos, who arrives in Greece to repulse those he claimed to be foreign

144

Ironically, Antiochos is depicted as generally silent in Livy’s portrayal: FLAMERIE (2012). 145 Frank and free speech was deemed essential to the democratic process (EUR. Hipp. 422; PLAT., Rep. 8.557b and 562a–564a; POLYB. 2.38.6; THUC. 2.40.2, cf. ISOCR. 8.4). Its absence was a mark of the tyrannical regime, and especially of the Persian world. See AESCH., Pers. 584–594, 694–696 and 700–702. Cf. HDT. 7.101–2 and 8.65.4–5 for caution needed in conversations with the Great King. 146 Xerxes: HDT. 8.102–103, 115; Dareios III: Issos: DIOD. SIC. 17.34.5–7; CURT. RUF. 3.11.11; PLUT., Alex. 20.10.10; ARR., Anab. 2.11.5–7; JUST. 11.9.9; Gaugamela: DIOD. SIC. 17.66.4; CURT. RUF. 4.15.30–32; PLUT., Alex. 33.8–9; ARR., Anab. 3.14.4–6; JUST. 11.14.3. Cf. the ‘Alexander Mosaic’. BADIAN (2000), p. 260 n. 36. 147 POLYB. 10.49.14: Į੝IJઁȞ į੻ ʌȜȘȖȑȞIJĮ įȚ੹ IJȠ૨ ıIJȩȝĮIJȠȢ ਕʌȠȕĮȜİ૙Ȟ IJȚȞĮȢ: IJ૵Ȟ ੑįȩȞIJȦȞ, țĮșȩȜȠȣ į੻ ijȒȝȘȞ ਥʌૅ ਕȞįȡİȓ઺ ʌİȡȚʌȠȚȒıĮıșĮȚ IJȩIJİ ȝȐȜȚıIJĮ (transl. PATON: [Antiochos] himself received a wound in the mouth and lost several of his teeth, having in general gained a greater reputation for courage on this occasion than on any other). 148 HDT. 6.107: ȠੈĮ į੼ Ƞੂ ʌȡİıȕȣIJ੼ȡ૳ ਥંȞIJȚ IJ૵Ȟ ੑįંȞIJȦȞ Ƞੂ ʌȜİ૨ȞİȢ ਥıİ઀ȠȞIJȠǜ IJȠ઄IJȦȞ ੯Ȟ ਪȞĮ IJ૵Ȟ ੑįંȞIJȦȞ ਥțȕ੺ȜȜİȚ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȕ઀ȘȢ ȕ੾ȟĮȢǜ ਥțʌİıંȞIJȠȢ į੻ ਥȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȥ੺ȝȝȠȞ Į੝IJȠ૨ ਥʌȠȚ੼İIJȠ ıʌȠȣį੽Ȟ ʌȠȜȜ੽Ȟ ਥȟİȣȡİ૙Ȟ. ੪Ȣ į੻ Ƞ੝ț ਥijĮ઀ȞİIJં Ƞੂ ੒ ੑįઆȞ, ਕȞĮıIJİȞ੺ȟĮȢ İੇʌİ ʌȡઁȢ IJȠઃȢ ʌĮȡĮıIJ੺IJĮȢ “ਲ Ȗો ਸ਼įİ Ƞ੝ț ਲȝİIJ੼ȡȘ ਥıIJ઀, Ƞ੝į੼ ȝȚȞ įȣȞȘıંȝİșĮ ਫ਼ʌȠȤİȚȡ઀ȘȞ ʌȠȚ੾ıĮıșĮȚǜ ੒țંıȠȞ į੼ IJȚ ȝȠȚ ȝ੼ȡȠȢ ȝİIJોȞ, ੒ ੑįઅȞ ȝİIJ੼ȤİȚ.” (transl. MACAULAY: Then since he [Hippias] was advanced in years, most of his teeth were shaken thereby, and one of these teeth he cast forth by the violence of the cough: and the tooth having fallen from him upon the sand, he was very desirous to find it; since however the tooth was not to be found when he searched, he groaned aloud and said to those who were by him: ‘This land is not ours, nor shall we be able to make it subject to us; but so much part in it as belonged to me the tooth possesses’.). Hippias began to strengthen his relations with Persia while still a tyrant, through the marriage with the daughter of Hippoklos, tyrant of Lampsakos (HDT. 5.63–65; THUC. 6.59.2–3), one of the Great King’s vassals (HDT. 4.138, cf. 5.70–76, 96).

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invaders, eventually acts as Hippias and brought barbarians into Greece – his own soldiers surely, but also the Romans.149 Cato is the hero of the day150 and he celebrates his own glory in his writing, as Plutarch soon informs us (Cat. Mai. 14.2): Cato, […] generous […] in his own praises, does not hesitate to follow up his great achievements with boastings equally great (੒ į੻ ȀȐIJȦȞ […] IJ૵Ȟ ੁįȓȦȞ ਥȖțȦȝȓȦȞ ਕijİȚį੽Ȣ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ਙȞIJȚțȡȣȢ ȝİȖĮȜĮȣȤȓĮȞ ੪Ȣ ਥʌĮțȠȜȠȪșȘȝĮ IJોȢ ȝİȖĮȜȠȣȡȖȓĮȢ Ƞ੝ț ਩ijİȣȖİ). There seems to be no limit to Cato’s self-exaltation.151 This is a complete reversal of the memory of the first battle at Thermopylai. Instead of praise in remembrance of the fallen by others, namely, Simonides’ poem (PMG 531), actually called ਫȖțȫȝȚȠȞ by Diodoros (11.11.6), there is now an encomium of the victors by the victors themselves. Leonidas and the defenders did not return home, but received their glory (țȜ੼ȠȢ: PMG 531).152 Cato, however, does return. In this he even excels Achilles, who had to choose between his return homeward without glory and renown in battle without return (Il. 9.412–416); Cato achieves both his kleos and his nostos.153 Plutarch toys with the distinction between Cato the historical agent and Cato as writer,154 drawing a parallel between his lack of selfrestraint in both roles.155 The manner in which Cato blows his own trumpet evokes the memory of the Persian king in his own inscriptions.156 This is especially true given that the Romans, like the Persians, had just won at Thermopylai, and nothing seemed to halt them. Thus, Plutarch makes Cato 149 Cf. HDT. 7.6 (and Xerxes). This allusion evokes the wish of Antiochos IV to complete the Temple of Zeus Olympieum in Athens (VITR. 7. Praef.; IG3 1.561), begun by the Peisistratids, but never finished (PLUT. Sol. 32.2) until the time of Hadrian (PAUS. 1.18.6; PHILOSTR., Vit. Soph. 533; CASS. DIO 69.16.1; SHA, Vit. Hadr. 13.6). 150 Presumably following Cato’s account, Plutarch omits the role of L. Scipio as another messenger the consul Glabrio sent to report the victory at Rome: cf. LIV. 36.21.7– 8, as he earlier omits the (failed) attempt of L. Valerius Flaccus to outflank the enemy: cf. LIV. 36.17.1; 19.1; APP., Syr. 4.18. See TATUM (2001), p. 392–393. 151 Compare Livy’s characterization of him (34.15.9): Cato ipse, haud sane detractator laudum suarum (Cato, who certainly does not depreciate his own merits…). Cf. LIV. 39.40.5 and CIC. (De Sen. 82). See RUEBEL (1977), p. 169: ‘It is instructive to read the sober appraisal of Livy (36.18.8, based on Polybios) after the breathless rendition of Plutarch (13–14), which undoubtedly derives from Cato himself.’ 152 See FLOWER (1998), p. 372; ZIOGAS (2014), p. 12. 153 This presentation may imply that the kleos is undue. 154 Cf. SALL., Cat. 2.9–3.2 with LEVENE (2000), p. 172. 155 Note the subtle play with Ƞ੝ț ਩ijİȣȖİ, ‘not shying away from’ applied to his writings and which corresponds to Cato’s actual behaviour in battle. 156 E.g., DB 1.48–71, 81–83, 90–96; 2.1–5, 18–29, 64–91; 3.49–52, 4.2–7, 31–32, 40– 43; 5.1–14, 20–30; DNa 20–55, and even the narration of the events itself: DB 4.88–92. Like the Herodotean Xerxes, Cato combines the roles of the histor and the historical agent; cf. GRETHLEIN (2009), p. 207–208. Add to that the well-known fact that Cato did not include the names of the Roman generals: NEP., Cat. 3.4; PLIN., Nat. 8.5.11; ASTIN (1978), p. 232–233.

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display an imitatio Xerxis in his conduct and in his writings.157 By highlighting that all roles are fulfilled by one person, Plutarch insinuates the gradual encroachment of eastern monarchical practices into republican Rome. While Cato resembles the Great King, he also appears somewhat Greek – in his uninhibited laudatory loquacity, a trait derided by him earlier. Similarly, the Romans resemble the picture they projected of their opponent Antiochos. Those who claimed to be the liberators of Greece ended up not only dominating the land, but also monopolizing speech and controlling images in the public sphere. The fact that some Romans of the political elite at this period were acquainted with Greek culture did not make them more prudent.158 On the contrary, the battle transformed them, as illustrated by the change that happened to Cato.159 They combined their natural barbarian lack of inhibition thinly covered by Hellenic education160 with Greek vices of verbosity and unbridled speech. The victory brought about the exact same dangers the real Cato warned against in his speech in defense of the Rhodians (167 BC, ap. Gell. 6.3.14), namely, arrogance, insolence and extravagant joy (superbia, ferocia, luxuriose).161 Cato acted against what he himself preached, and brought about this very result by his call to destroy Carthage (Cat. Mai. 27.2).162 Plutarch appears to cleverly place this disturbing long-term effect not after the destruction of Carthage but rather during Cato’s lifetime, after the victory over Antiochos. Plutarch seems to portray the victory at Thermopylai as erasing all boundaries by which the Romans had been restrained previously, and exposing their true temper. One notes Plutarch’s play with the mention of the hot flushes of both Cato and the consul Manius, once Thermo-pylae had been taken (Cat. Mai. 14.2): the consul Manius himself, hot from the victory, threw his arms about him, still hot with his own victory, and embraced him […] (Į੝IJȩȞ IJİ ȂȐȞȚȠȞ IJઁȞ ੢ʌĮIJȠȞ șİȡȝઁȞ ਕʌઁ IJોȢ ȞȓțȘȢ ਩IJȚ șİȡȝ૶ ʌİȡȚʌȜĮțȑȞIJĮ […] ਕıʌȐȗİıșĮȚ). This picture matches the general feeling in Rome that it was then able to master every land and sea, since no opponent could curb its power.163 157

Antiochos’ uanitas (cf. LIV. 36.22.1) has found its match. As Cato himself predicted: PLUT., Cat. Mai. 23.2–3, cf. 20.8. Cf. SWAIN (1990), p. 126–128. 159 On Cato’s complex character see SMETHURST (1949), p. 11–12. 160 Cf. RUSSELL (1966), p. 145, n. 1; RUSSELL (1973), p. 132; SWAIN (1990); SWAIN (1996), p. 140–144. Cf. PLUT., Flam. 20–21; Marc. 28.6. This is presumably what Cato called the Roman ‘heart’. See Cat. Mai. 23.1–3; Mar. 2.2–4. 161 See CORNELL (2013), p. 2.132–135. It was included in book 5 of the Origines (GELL. 6.3.15). 162 BRISCOE (1969), p. 68; ASTIN (1978), p. 176–180. 163 Incidentally, note that Romans without inhibitions are exactly like the stereotyped Celts, as Aristotle (EN 3.7.7.1115b) shows (transl. RANKIN, slightly modified): Anybody would be mad or without sensitivity if he feared nothing, neither earthquake nor the wave of the sea, as they say of the Celts; cf. RANKIN (1987), p. 55–56. Cf. STRAB. 7.3.8; ARR., Anab. 1.4.7. Cf. PAUS. 10.21.2–3; cf. LIV. 38.17.8–9. 158

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The Persians insisted on the image of their rule as extending over land and sea, as witnessed in their demand for ‘Earth and Water’ (symbolizing acknowledgment of vassalage to the Great King)164 and in the inscriptions.165 One may compare the Greek image of the Persian hybris as ruling both land and sea.166 The Romans were now following in the footsteps of the Persians by using a similar imagery for the portrayal of their dominion – but unlike the Persians, the Romans were able to incorporate Greece in it as well. Note that the same metonomy is also used by other authors to depict unlimited Roman might.167 This development culminated in Augustus’ justification for the closing of the Temple of Janus (Res Gestae 13) with reference to the Roman rule over land and sea (totum imperium populi Romani terra marique, ʌȐıȘȢ ȖોȢ IJİ țĮ੿ șĮȜȐııȘȢ).168 This theme probably first appeared after the defeat of Antiochos.169

164 See KUHRT (1988); RUNG (2016). Cf. HDT. 4.126–132; 5.18; 5.73; 6.48–49; 7.32; 7.131; 7.133; 8.46; 8.136. See MOMIGLIANO (1942), p. 62–63. 165 Dareios crossing to Skythia-Beyond-the-Sea (DB 5.20–30) and defeating the Skythians. Cf. the notional difference between the Greeks who are by the sea and those who are across the sea (DSe 27–29: Yaunâ tyaiy drayahyâ utâ tyaiy paradraya, cf. XPh 23–24). Similarly, there is a difference between the Skythians Beyond the Sea (Sakâ tyaiy paradraya: DNa 28–29; A2P 24). See AESCH., Pers. 867–77. See also ARISTOPH., Hipp. 1086–1089. The ‘sea’ in relation to the Skythians may be the Caspian; see HUDSON (1924), p. 162, but cf. THOMAS (1906), p. 188. It may be lake Maiotis: HELLANIC., FGrHist 4 F 69; see BALCER (1972), p. 125. See SEAGER / TUPLIN (1980), p. 148–149; DOGNINI (2000); TUPLIN (2010), p. 295–298. 166 Cf. HDT. 1.141; 8.68. Xerxes’ bridge over the sea and his branding and flogging of the sea (HDT. 7.35; 8.109) are thus typical of his hybris. See DUBOIS (1982), p. 84–87 and HIRSCH (1986). 167 Cf. POLYB. 1.3.9. In treaties, e.g.: 1Macc. 8,23 and 32 (with Judaea 161 BC). Examples in MOMIGLIANO (1942), p. 63. See Alpheios of Mytilene (1st century AD) with relation to the Roman control of land and sea (AP 9.526), an imitation of the 3rd/2nd centuries BC poet Alkaios of Messene (see above). Cf. KING (1952), p. 222–223 on parag. 25 of the Res Gestae in the Greek version. 168 Cf. MOMIGLIANO (1942), p. 63–64, with LIV. 1.19.3; SUET., Div. Aug. 22. 169 See LIV. 38.48.3–4. In the Alexandra, a poem attributed to Lykophron (a scholarpoet at the court of Ptolemy II), certain lines (lines 1226–1282 and 1446–1450), relate to Rome. These are suggested by JONES (2014a) to stem from the Antiochene War; thus, either these lines are interpolations or the entire poem is to be dated to a later time (cf. ZIEGLER, 1927). JONES bases his suggestion on the occurrence of themes and ideas in the historiographical traditions of the war with Antiochos, in particular Roman domination of land and sea (v. 1229). See also KOSMETATOU (2000), who opts for an Attalid provenance, between 196 and 194 BC. For these lines as an Augustan interpolation see also WEST (1983); WEST (1984). See a similar praise by Alkaios of Messene of Philip V (AP 9.518); see EDSON (1934); MOMIGLIANO (1942); WALBANK (1942); WALBANK (1943). The ‘land and sea’ motif may go back to an epigram thought to be the Rhodians’ dedication on the base of the Colossus (AP 6.171). See, however, JONES (2014b), who persuasively reverses the chronological relationship between the epigrams.

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4. Conclusion The clash of Rome with Antiochos III can be seen as the first solid instance in the resurrection of the conflict between East and the West.170 From the middle of the second century BC onward, this clash of East and West was to become integral in the Roman vision of history, making the Roman-Syrian war a crucial junction to all subsequent (political and moral) changes.171 It is therefore not surprising to find echoes of the Graeco-Persian Wars in the descriptions accompanying the Roman-Syrian War, facilitated by the notion that the Seleukid kingdom was perceived as a successor state of the Achaimenids. What is interesting to see is the extent and rapidity in which Persian imagery was associated with the Romans.172 As suggested above, these associations were presumably part of Antiochos’ propaganda, and they began to circulate during this clash. These connotations later found their unique and subtle literary expression in the works of the Imperial Greek author Plutarch, as explored here. Since the Romans were the final champions of the war in Greece, they were not reluctant to associate themselves with the previous victors in Thermopylai. Yet, precisely by adopting this attitude, they proved Antiochos’ propaganda correct. It is fascinating to compare the use of the Persian Wars by Antiochos and the ensuing transformation of their significance in Rome with the employment of the Trojan War in Xerxes’ expedition and the following metamorphosis of this clash in the mind of the Greeks. According to Georges and Haubold,173 it was the Persians who first appropriated the narrative of the Greek epic to justify their invasion into Europe, as champions of Asia and of Troy. Only after the Persian defeat, this theory continues, were the same allusions put into the complete reverse use by the Greeks to characterize the Graeco-Persian confrontation as a recurrence of the Trojan War. Crossing over to Asia in the second phase of the war against Antiochos, the Romans started adopting the Persian association, and were claiming to be champions of the East.174 It should not be ignored that the

170 It is no wonder that the model of a ‘cold war’ between a western power and an eastern Empire for periods on non active conflict, applicable for Athens and Persia in the years 448–412 BC – EDDY (1973) –, resurrects in the depiction of this period of tension between Rome and the Seleucids; cf. BADIAN (1959); DREYER (2007), p. 203–238. 171 Cf. the well known quip in FLOR., Ep. 1.47.7: Syria prima nos uicta corrupit, ‘first conquered Syria corrupted us’... Cf. PLIN., Nat. 34.8.14 (L. Piso); LIV. 39.6.6–9. See LINTOTT (1972), p. 628–629. 172 Cf. POLYB. 1.2 and WALBANK (1963), p. 8. See POLYB. 29.21 (cf. LIV. 45.9.2). 173 GEORGES (1994), p. 47–95; HAUBOLD (2007). 174 It is surely no coincidence that, assuming this new role, the Romans proceed to clash with the Galatians in Cn. Manlius Vulso’s campaign of 189. Assuming a position of a new ‘saviour’, the Romans indeed matched the conclusion of GRAINGER (1995), p. 37: ‘He [Vulso] had picked off several of the Seleukid allies, and had demonstrated to others that in the event of a renewal of the war the Seleukid forces would be unable to

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sacrifices for Athena enacted by the naval commander Gaius Livius Salinator and Lucius Cornelius Scipio (cos. 190 BC)175 were ultimately also emulations of the deed of the Persian king of Asia with its imperial connotations.176

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MARINCOLA, J. (2016), History without Malice: Plutarch Rewrites the Battle of Plataea, in J. PRIESTLEY / V. ZALI (eds.), Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Herodotus in Antiquity and Beyond, Leiden, p. 101–119. MARTIN, V. (1944), Le traitement de l’histoire diplomatique dans la tradition littéraire du IVe siècle avant J.-C., in MH 1, p. 13–30. MASON, H.J. (1970), The Roman Government in Greek Sources, in Phoenix, 24, p. 150– 159. MASTROCINQUE, A. (1977–1978), Roma e Antioco III. Guerra di propaganda e propaganda per la querra, in Atti Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti 136, p. 1– 17. MATTHAEI, L.E. (1908), The Place of Arbitration and Mediation in Ancient Systems of International Ethics, in CQ 2, p. 241–264. MATTHEW, C.A. (2009), The Strategy of the Thermopylae-Artemisium Line in 480 BC, in Ancient History: Resources for Teachers 39, p. 1–24. MCGING, B.C. (1986), The Foreign Policy of Mithridates VI Eupator, King of Pontus, Leiden. MCKENZIE, L. (1994), Patterns in Seleucid Administration: Macedonian or Near Eastern?, in Mediterranean Archaeology 7, p. 61–68 MENDELS, D. (1981), The Five Empires. A Note on a Propagandistic Topos, in AJPh 102, p. 330–337. MEYER, E. (1899), Forschungen zur Alten Geschichte, vol. 2, Halle. MITCHELL, S. (1993), Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods, vol. 1: The Celts in Anatolia and the Impact of Roman Rule, Oxford. - (2003), The Galatians: Representation and Reality, in A. ERSKINE (ed.), A Companion to the Hellenistic World, Malden MA, p. 280–293. MOGGI, M. (1973), I furti di statue attribuiti a Serse e le relative restituzioni, in ASNP 3, 1–42. MOLYNEUX, J.H. (1992), Simonides: A Historical Study, Wauconda IL. MOMIGLIANO, A. (1942), Terra Marique, in JRS 32, p. 53–64. MORAUX, P. (1957), L’Etablissement des Galates en Asie Mineure, in Istanbuler Mitteilungen 7, p. 56–75. MUCCIOLI, F. (2004), ‘Il re dell’Asia’: ideologia e propaganda da Alessandro Magno a Mitridate VI, in Simblos 4, p. 105–158. NACHTERGAEL, G. (1976), L’Archonte athénien Polyeuctos et la périodicité des Sôtéria étoliennes, in Historia 25, p. 62–78. - (1977), Les Galates en Grèce et les Sôtéria de Delphes. Recherches d’histoire et d’épigraphie hellénistique, Bruxelles. NASH, D. (1976), Reconstructing Poseidonios’ Celtic Ethnography, in Britannia 12, p. 111–126. NELSON, T.J. (forthcoming), Beating the Galatians: Ideologies, Analogies and Allegories in Hellenistic Literature and Art, in A. COùKUN (ed.) Recent Research on Ancient Galatia (Central Turkey) in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods. OGDEN, D. (1999), Polygamy, Prostitutes and Death. The Hellenistic Dynasties, London.

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Where are the Wives? Royal Women in Seleukid Cult Documents Kyle ERICKSON

Abstract In 193 BC Antiochos III appointed a series of high-priestess for his wife Laodike across his empire. The epigraphic record for these appointments gives us the bulk of our evidence for the Seleukid ruler cult. This has led to the documents being used largely for an exploration of the existence of royal cults for male Seleukids, but not yet for royal women. This paper examines the evidence for an official cult for Laodike, wife of Antiochos III, and how the lack of her priestesses in other documents where they should be expected requires us to question our understanding of the nature of Seleukid royal cults.

1. Introduction In early 193 BC, Antiochos III appointed officials to supervise the cult of his wife, Laodike. This moment is particularly significant for our understanding of the governance and existence of a cult for the Seleukid monarchs as a modification along Ptolemaic lines. As the letters of appointment for the officials for his wife’s cult also refer to a cult of himself and his ancestors, the documents appear to presuppose a centralised cult for the Seleukid monarchs. While there is disagreement over the date of the establishment of the cult for Antiochos, this series of appointments clearly marks the creation of a new equivalent system for Laodike. This paper argues that there are problems with the traditional assessment of a Seleukid royal cult, with its very clear division between civic and central cults. It will be explored how Laodike and other Seleukid queens more generally fit into our view of the empire and might disrupt our understanding of the strict divisions between civic and royal. Following Habicht’s seminal work on the divinity of the Hellenistic kings,1 scholars have tended to divide ruler cults into civic and royal categories. Traditionally imposition of central control over a cult marks the division between civic and royal cults, with those centrally controlled designated as royal. Since, for the Seleukid kings, the epigraphic evidence for a royal cult is 1

HABICHT (1970).

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limited outside the reign of Antiochos III, some scholars have suggested that the Seleukids did not have a centralised cult until his reign, well after a similar introduction in the Ptolemaic kingdom.2 The major implication of this new approach is that, contrary to previous scholarship, the Seleukids lacked a systematic approach to ruler cult both before and after the reign of Antiochos III. To many scholars, the introduction of a cult by Antiochos III for his wife marks the turning point to a centralised system in which the king appoints high priests of the ruler cult across the empire.3 I argue instead that while this was an attempt to introduce order into a chaotic system, it is unclear as to whether it was ever repeated or expanded after the reign of Antiochos III. Therefore, instead of marking a turning point in the Seleukid court’s acceptance of divine kingship, it marks a blip in Seleukid organisation that had relatively little lasting impact on the presentation of the dynasty.

2. Royal Women It is the lack of evidence for the female members of the dynasty, ‘royal women’, who otherwise play such an important role in our understanding of the establishment of a Seleukid royal cult that this lack of evidence in itself emphasizes the temporary success of Antiochos’ innovation. Traditionally, only a limited number of Hellenistic women received significant scholarly attention, e.g. the famous Cleopatras and Olympias. However, more recently, attention has been turned to other royal women, as is evidenced by a number of recent books appearing on Arsinoe II, Berenike and an edited volume on Seleukid Royal Women.4 The term ‘royal women’, both in the title of the recent Seleukid volume and in the title of this paper, is significant: while I will focus mostly on the official wives of the kings, we need to remember the large number of women who circulated in the courts, from the queen mother, unmarried sisters and daughters to the king to a number of women generally classed as courtesans or lovers of the kings.5 If these women did not achieve some form of notoriety for 2

See GRUEN (1999) for a rejection of this view. CHANIOTIS (2004), p. 436–437; DEBORD (2003), p. 281–308; MA (2000), p. 64; SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 203; VAN NUFFELEN (2004), p. 278–279; VIRGILIO (2003), p. 39–50. For a Seleukid ruler cult in general, all of which prefer a date during the reign of Antiochos III for the creation of a central ruler cult see: BEVAN (1901); BIKERMAN (1938); LE BOHEC-BOUHET (2002); BOSWORTH (1999); CARNEY (2000); HABICHT 1970; HAZZARD 2000; LATTEY 1917; MA (1999); NOCK (1928); NOCK (1930); VAN NUFFELEN (1999); VAN NUFFELEN (2001); VAN NUFFELEN (2004); PRICE (1980); PRICE (1984); SCOTT (1928). 4 CARNEY  CLAYMAN  COùKUN / MCAULEY (2016). 5 OGDEN (1999) remains the fundamental study of the martial relations of the Hellenistic dynasts. 3

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their so-called ‘mis-deeds’ or for their support for their husbands, our extant, albeit limited, historical accounts often ignore their very existence, or they are only mentioned briefly in passing.6 Nonetheless, their role in establishing and maintaining royal power was significant, as evident by the appointment of otherwise unknown women to the position of high-priestess. This makes their relatively limited appearances in official capacity all the more important for our understanding of royal functions. Just as her husband is the best documented of the Seleukid kings, Laodike III is among the best epigraphically documented of the Seleukid queens,7 particularly in relation to the divine honours and cults established for her. However, as is the case for many of the other queens, her existence in the literary record is far from complete: Polybios 5.43 gives us an extended description of how she was handed over to the Seleukid house at the Pontic court, but little else. Even in Polybios’ recounting of Antiochos’ next marriage to the girl he renamed Euboia, Laodike, who was still alive, as we now know, is not mentioned.8 This fact has led to a variety of suggestions. Ma has argued that the lack of evidence for her was the result of her disgrace.9 However, there is no evidence that this was in fact the case, and given the relative invisibility of these royal women outside of very particular contexts or specific dedications, it is equally likely that she remained at the court, and we do not need to invent disgrace in order to explain her disappearance from the sources. Thankfully, we are much better informed about Laodike’s actions, and her fairly prominent role within Antiochos’ court through the epigraphic record, mostly from the cities of Asia Minor. From a series of epigraphic decrees originally inscribed on the entrance to the Metroon of Sardeis, later reused in a Roman synagogue, we learn that the Sardeians established a sacred enclosure called the LaodiNHLRQ ZLWK DQ DOWDU each year they held a panegyris called the Laodikeia, which was first established

6 An interesting further study would be into the nature of the reputation of these women in the context of women’s roles in Greek historiography in general. LARSON (2006) makes an interesting argument concerning the suppression of female names in Herodotos as indicative of his desire to preserve their virtue. Without a systematic study, it is impossible to say whether this tradition would have continued into our later authors, or if the royal status of these women removed the necessity of their removal from the spot-light. The best study of the marital status and the relationship with their children and husband/lovers remains OGDEN (1999). 7 D’AGOSTINI (2013). 8 POLYB. 20.IRUKHUVWLOOEHLQJDOLYHLQWKHUHLJQRIKHUVRQVHHSEG WELLES RC, nos. 159–SCHMITT (1964), p. 11–OGDEN (1999), p. 137. Contra GRAINGER (1997), p. 49. MACURDY (1932), p. 92 without knowledge of the inscription assumed that she had died. 9 MA (1999), p. 335.

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in 213 BC.10 The emphasis in the choice of honours for Laodike as connected to her family, both her husband and her children, is a re-occurring theme in her honours. Furthermore, the Sardeians were not unique in their honours: in about 203 (or possibly 197/198), the Teians followed suit and first dedicated sacred statues of the king and queen,11 then established a festival for them, subsequently established an altar, and finally built a fountain which they dedicated to and named after the queen for use in sacrifices and by brides.12 The final city that we know of in Asia Minor to honour Laodike was Iasos, in c. 196. The Iasians, in response to benefactions received from the Queen, established an altar for her and established the role of a maiden of ‘Queen Aphro[dite Lao]dike’ who took part in both formal processions and those following marriages.13 Within the confines of this paper, I am not interested in the root causes of these dedications to the queen by the cities, as Ma has done an excellent job of placing them in their context of mutual euergetistic exchange. What I would like to note though, is how different the view we receive from the fragmentary epigraphic record is, where we can begin to see a far more active queen than the one whom we have glimpsed through the pages of Polybios. According to our normal interpretation, these decrees should have been separated from the ‘imperial’ ruler cult. As Ma states: ‘one should merely observe that the royal prostagma creates a high priesthood of Laodike in the context of the central, ‘imperial’ ruler cult, which has no influence on the ‘municipal’ ruler cult, administered by the city within its own boundaries’.14

It is this firm distinction which I wish to question.

10 SEG 39.1284 = GAUTHIER (1989), no. 2 = BRINGMANN / VON STEUBEN (1995), no. 260 II = Ma (1999), no. 2. 11 SEG 41.1003. See MA  QR-DQG/ROBERT, BE BE 69, 495– GAUTHIER (1985), p. 51–PIEJKO (1991a), p. 13–37. See AUSTIN (1981), no. 151 for translation. 12 SEG 41.1003. See MA  QR-DQG/ROBERT, BE BE 69, 495– PIEJKO (1991), p. 37–48. 13 PUGLIESE-CARRATELLI, ASAA 29/30 (1967/8), p. 445–453, no. 2 = I. Iasos MA (1999), no. 26. Cf. SEG 26.1226. The further decrees from the Iasians which further specify rituals for the royal family should also be included in the list of divine honours received by Laodike (LEVI / PUGLIESE-CARRATELLI, ASAA 23/24 (1961/2), p. 578, no. 5 = I.Iasos 5 = J. and L. ROBERT BE 71, 621 (now lost) and OGIS 237 = MA (1999), no. 27. See also: SOKOLOWSKI (1972)CROWTHER (1989)AGER / HARDIMAN  S KOTSIDOU (2000), no. 283 [E] and 284 [E]. 14 MA (1999), p. 335.

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3. A Cult for Laodike, Wife of Antiochos III To do so let us now begin at the end with Antiochos’ decree for the state cult for Laodike: [...] just as high-priests of us are appointed throughout the kingdom, so there should be established, in the same places, high-priestesses of her also, who will wear golden crowns bearing her image, and be inscribed in the contracts after the high-priests of our ancestors and of us.15

Three copies of a decree, dated to 193, dealing with the establishment of a cult for Laodike along the same lines as that for the king and his ancestors, have been found and published, one from Phrygia and two from Iran. The Phrygian decree appointed Berenike, daughter of Ptolemy the son of Lysimachos, as highpriestess for the queen (for the rights/shrines) in the satrapy, and Laodike daughter of Laodike was appointed to this role in Media.16 This phrase, as shown by the difficulty in translating, IJોȢ ȕĮıȚȜ઀ııȘȢ [ਕ]ȡȤȚ੼ȡİȚĮȞ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞ IJોȚ ıĮIJȡĮʌİ઀ĮȚ, has proved difficult in determining the scope for the new highpriestess’ activities, and raises our first problem with the traditional view of Seleukid cult stated eloquently by Ma above. The difficulty is due to the two genitive articles, in particular the genitive plural IJ૵Ȟ. Welles attempted to solve this problem providing IJંʌȦȞ and interpreting the passage as ‘high-priestess of the queen in the satrapy’.17 Ma rejected this interpretation and adopted the vaguer ‘high-priestess of the queen for the rites in the satrapy’.18 However, Van Nuffelen resurrected the suggestion of Robert and supplied ੂİȡ૵Ȟ, understanding the passage as ‘grande-prêtesse de la reine et des temples dans la satrapie.’19 Welles

IJોȢ ȕĮıȚȜ઀ııȘȢ ਕȡȤȚ੼ȡİȚĮȞ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞ IJોȚ ıĮIJȡĮʌİ઀ĮȚ high-priestess of the queen in the satrapy

Robert (revived by Van Nuffelen)

IJોȢ ȕĮıȚȜ઀ııȘȢ ਕȡȤȚ੼ȡİȚĮȞ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞ IJોȚ ıĮIJȡĮʌİ઀ĮȚ

Ma

IJોȢ ȕĮıȚȜ઀ııȘȢ ਕȡȤȚ੼ȡİȚĮȞ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞ IJોȚ ıĮIJȡĮʌİ઀ĮȚ

high-priestess of the queen for the temples in the satrapy

high-priestess of the queen for the rites in the satrapy

15 MA (2000), no. 37. OGIS 224. WELLES RC 37. HGIUe II 462: ...țȡ]઀ȞȠȝİȞ į੻ țĮș੺ʌİȡ [ਲȝ]૵Ȟ [ਕʌȠ]įİ઀ț[Ȟ]ȣȞ[IJĮȚ ț]ĮIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ȕĮıȚȜİ઀[ĮȞ ਕ]ȡ[Ȥ]Țİȡİ૙Ȣ, țĮ੿ IJĮ઄IJȘȢ țĮș઀ıIJĮıșĮȚ [ਥȞ] IJȠ૙Ȣ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ IJંʌȠȚȢ ਕȡȤȚİȡİ઀ĮȢ, Į੄ ijȠ[ȡ੾]ıȠȣıȚȞ ıIJİij੺ȞȠȣȢ ȤȡȣıȠ૨Ȣ ਩ȤȠȞIJĮȢ [İੁțંȞĮȢ Į੝]IJોȢ, ਥʌȚȖȡĮij੾ıȠȞIJĮȚ į੻ țĮ੿ ਥȞ [IJȠ૙Ȣ] ıȣȞĮȜȜ੺ȖȝĮıȚ ȝİIJ੹ IJȠઃȢ IJ૵Ȟ [ʌȡȠȖંȞ]૵Ȟ țĮ੿ ਲȝ૵Ȟ ਕȡȤȚİȡİ૙Ȣ. 16 See IOSSIF / LORBER (2007), p. 63–65. 17 WELLES RC 163–164 n. 15. 18 MA (2000), p. 355. 19 VAN NUFFELEN  SFIROBERT (1949), p. 18, n. 4.

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While the differences in interpretation are small, they are significant as they define a differing scope for the high-priestess’ role and how we should understand what Antiochos has ordered to be created for his wife. Only in Robert’s interpretation, the areas in which the priestess can act are clearly defined. Here, her position is one of control over the temples in the region in which she is high-priestess. On the other hand, in both Welles’ and Ma’s interpretations, we do not see the kind of limits that one might otherwise expect. I will argue that it is sensible to propose a combination of Ma’s and Robert/Van Nuffelen’s interpretation of the second genitive article: IJ૵Ȟ would refer to all instances where Laodike received cult or divine honours in the region, whether this was as a goddess in her own right, as a temple-sharing goddess, or in rituals, possibly such as the ones at Teos. This would have given the high-priestess a wide, but still importantly limited, oversight of the activities in the region. In order to justify this approach, it may be useful to give a brief summary of our knowledge of ruler cults in the Seleukid Empire. The general consensus is that there were two types of ruler cult: those initiated and administered by the cities (the ‘municipal’ cults referred to by Ma), and those created and administered by the royal court, either called ‘state’, ‘central’, or ‘imperial’ cults. Under this conception of Seleukid divinity, cults for living kings were established only by individual cities until the reign of Antiochos III, whereas posthumous cults had been established already by the reign of Antiochos I. The same appears to have applied to queens, although there is much less evidence for either living or posthumous deification. Despite this lack of evidence, our understanding of the creation of a centralised ruler cult for the Seleukid kings is based nearly entirely on the documents for the establishment of the highpriestess of Laodike. As I have already mentioned, there are several areas in which these documents are poorly understood.

4. The Office of High Priestess The first major question that needs to be addressed is the role that Berenike is appointed to, i.e. the high-priestesshood. Here again, the relevant passage reads: Just as high-priests of us are appointed throughout the kingdom, so there should be established, in the same places, high-priestesses of her also, who will wear golden crowns bearing her image, and be inscribed in the contracts after the high-priests of our ancestors and of us.20

This passage establishes several principles to work from, although it gives us very limited information on the functioning of the role. First, that the method of appointment and therefore the office of high-priestess are parallel to the office 20

MA (2000), no. 37 (note 13).

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of high-priest of the king. Second and related to it, the honours which are granted to the high-priestess are parallel but subordinate to that of the high-priest for the king. We also gain some information concerning the other honours the highpriestess receives, namely the right to wear golden crowns with the image of the queen. Sadly, we have not uncovered any pictorial evidence for these crowns, although they may have been similar in form to those found in Palmyra from the 2nd/3rd AD or to those crowns worn by the Archigallus in the cult of Cybele.21 From these series of letters, we can firmly establish that, by 193, there were high-priests of the royal cult, and that these roles should be comparable to that of the newly appointed high-priestesses. As we do not have any evidence that specifies the appointment of a high-priest for the king it is difficult to know exactly what that role would have entailed. However, during the reign of Antiochos III we have evidence for the appointment of Nikanor to ‘the office of high-priest of the sanctuaries in the region beyond the Taurus’,22 and that his role entails that: […]he will carry out both the business concerning the sacrifices and the rest in a manner worthy of the zeal which we have concerning these matters’ and that he ‘should also be in charge of the sanctuaries, and that their revenues and the other matters should be administered by him.23

The letter of Antiochos to Zeuxis from 209 BC also points to a historical precedent, as a certain Dion held the same office under Antiochos II. The office that Nikanor held does not appear to be unique, as Ptolemy, son of Thraseas, also held a similar office in Koile Syria.24 The relationship of the office that Nikanor held with that of the high-priest of Antiochos (i.e. the high-priest of Seleukid ruler cult) has been both denied and fully endorsed by scholars. However, Müller has convincingly demonstrated that the high-priest assumed the role both as high-priest over the sanctuaries in the satrapy for which he was confirmed but also served as high-priest of the central royal cult rather than being separate offices.25

21

FINLAYSON (1988). See also AGER / HARDIMAN (2016), p. 160. SEG 37.1010: ਕʌȠįİįİ[઀ȤĮ]ȝİȞ ਥȞ IJોȚ ਥ[ʌ੼]țİȚȞĮ IJȠ૨ ȉĮ઄ȡȠȣ ੮ıʌİȡ Į੝IJઁȢ ਱ȟ઀ȦıİȞ ਕȡȤȚİȡ੼Į IJ૵Ȟ ੂİȡ૵Ȟ ʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ. 23 MA (2000), no. 4 ll 28–42. MALAY (1987) (SEG 37.1010); GAUTHIER BE 89, 276. [...] ਕʌȠįİį[İ઀ȤĮ]ȝİȞ ਥȞ IJોȚ ਥ[ʌ੼]țİȚȞĮ IJȠ૨ ȉĮ઄ȡȠȣ ੮ıʌİȡ Į੝IJઁȢ ਱ȟ઀ȦıİȞ ਕȡȤȚİȡ੼Į IJ૵Ȟ ੂİȡ૵Ȟ ʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ, ʌİʌİȚıȝ੼ȞȠȚ țĮ੿ įȚ੹ IJઁ ਷șȠȢ ਥȟ੺ȟİȚȞ IJ੺ IJİ țĮIJ੹ IJ੹Ȣ șȣı઀ĮȢ țĮ੿ IJ੹ ȜȠȚʌ੹ ਕȟ઀ȦȢ IJોȢ ਲȝİIJ੼ȡĮȢ ıʌȠȣįોȢ, ਴Ȟ ਩ȤȠȝİȞ ʌİȡ੿ IJĮ૨IJĮ, ʌȡȠĮȚȡȠ઄ȝİȞȠȚ Į੡ȟİȚȞ ੮ıʌİȡ ʌȡȠıોțંȞ ਥıIJȚȞǜ ੩ȚંȝİșĮ į੻ įİ૙Ȟ İੇȞĮȚ Į੝IJઁȞ țĮ੿ ਥʌ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ੂİȡ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ IJ੹Ȣ ʌȡȠıંįȠȣȢ IJȠ઄IJȦȞ țĮ੿ IJਛȜȜĮ įȚİȟ੺ȖİıșĮȚ ਫ਼ʌ’ Į੝IJȠ૨ țĮș੹ țĮ੿ ਥʌ੿ IJȠ૨ ʌ੺ʌʌȠȣ ਲȝ૵Ȟ ਫ਼ʌઁ ǻ઀ȦȞȠȢǜ 24 OGIS ROBERT / ROBERT  SQGDWHùIEHIùUH DVHDUO\DV 201: GERA (1987), p. 66–PIEJKO (1991b), p. 245–VAN NUFFELEN  S GRAINGER (1996), p. 333. 25 MÜLLER (2000). 22

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This creates the interesting situation concerning the parallel role for the highpriestess of the queen particularly given the lack of evidence. If we follow the instructions for the priestesshood of Laodike, then the royal document should have taken the form: King Antiochos, Seleukid era, Macedonian month, high-priesthood of Antiochos III and his ancestors (Regional official), high-priestesshood of Laodike (Regional official, here Berenike).

Ma proposes as counter-hypothesis that if the establishment of the ruler cult for Antiochos III and his ancestors only shortly predated (or was contemporary with) the establishment of the cult for Laodike, then ‘one could imagine that Nikanor remained the ‘high-priest’ with a general purview over the shrines’, but was not the high-priest of the royal cult. Under this formulation, Ma proposes that a document would have the following preamble: King Antiochos, Seleukid era, Macedonian month, (general) high-priesthood of Nikanor, high-priesthood of Antiochos III and his ancestors (not Nicanor), highpriesthood of Laodike.

We have not yet found any documents of either type which would definitively GHFLGHWKHGHEDWHKRZHYHULQDGHFUHHIURP;DQWKRV WKHVDPH1LNDQor we have been discussing is the eponymous priest, and his name precedes that of the priests of the municipal cult. He is also named high-priest in the pre-amble to documents from Amyzon (in 202 and 201). In the analysis of the Xanthos document, Jeanne and Louis Robert have argued that his role was similar to that of the high priest of the central royal cult.26 Unfortunately, these documents all date to before the introduction of a highpriestess for Laodike, but they do, I believe, hint at the form of the office Berenike and Laodike were appointed to could take. She would have been in a position of supervision over the rites and the sanctuaries devoted to the Queen, and her name would be included before that of the municipal priests. On this parallel, I think we should accept Robert’s and Van Nuffelen’s argument to understand as the terms of reference for Berenike’s office. If one accepts my proposal, namely that the office of high-priestess is parallel to the office of high-priest and therefore has essentially the same purview, then we must address the question of what she was meant to be high-priestess of. The general assumption seems to be that the creation of a high-priestess for Laodike directly resulted from the establishment of a central cult created for her. I will instead argue that her task was to act as the overseer of the pre-existing cults, temples, or sacrifices and rites for the queen (including as a temple-sharing goddess): that is the civic cults of the types that we have seen were established for the Queen at Teos, Iasos, Sardeis and perhaps elsewhere. 26

ROBERT / ROBERT (1983), p. 146–VAN NUFFELEN (2004), p. 280.

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Since the inscription for the Laodike priestesshood refers directly to the existence of the cult of Antiochos III, some have argued that Antiochos likewise created a cult for himself and his ancestors. While, in this present paper, I am unconcerned with when during his reign Antiochos would have created this cult, I still feel the need to explore the form that it would have taken. It has often been assumed that the various priest lists for the deified Seleukid kings are evidence for this centralised ruler cult. If this is the case, then I wish to ask why Laodike and every other Seleukid queen are notably absent from these lists, and how their absence helps us understand these lists.

5. A Brief Summary First, a brief summary of the lists may be helpful. There are three sets of priest lists for Seleukid kings, and they have been found in various locations across the empire: Antiocheia-in-Persis, Seleukeia-in-Pieria, and Teos. A somewhat surprising element in these lists, which highlights an important aspect of the nature of Seleukid cults, is that their superficial similarity hides significant variation which should cause us to question the centralised nature of any of these lists. The list from Teos poses the greatest number of difficulties, not least the inclusion of Ptolemaic kings, but also as Mastrocinque argues it may be a private dedication rather than a cultic calendar.27 Nevertheless, if under Antiochos III, there was in fact a consolidation and centralisation of cults for the Seleukid kings, then some consistency may be expected even for private dedications. The lists all date to during or after the reign of Antiochos III, which has been taken both as confirmation of the lack of a centralised cult before his reign and as confirmation of a Seleukid royal cultic system after it. The decree from Antiocheia-in-Persis lists priests of Seleukos Nikator, Antiochos Soter, Antiochos Theos, Seleukos Kallinikos, King Seleukos, Antiochos Theos, and Antiochos the son.28 This document must date after the association of Antiochos the son as joint-ruler with Antiochos III, and the lack of the epithet Megas for Antiochos III suggests a date before his assumption of the title in 204.29 The inclusion of Antiochos the son is rather interesting, particularly given that where he was included in the civic cults for the Seleukid royal family, his mother was also included.30

27 MASTROCINQUE

(1984), p. 83–85. OGIS 233 = DE ROSSI (2004), no. 252. 29 C. 208–205. 30 SEG 39.1284; OGIS 237; I.Iasos 5; SEG 37.659. See also IOSSIF / LORBER (2007). See also the Ionian Koinon decree for Antiochos I and his family, where Stratonike is likewise included: I.Erythrae 504 = OGIS 222. 28

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The inscription from Seleukeia-in-Pieria lists two sets of priests for the royal ancestors under Seleukos IV:31 these include a priest of Seleukos Zeus Nikator, Antiochos Apollon Soter, Antiochos Theos, Seleukos Kallinikos, Seleukos Soter, Antiochos and Antiochos Megas, and a priest of King Seleukos. The second of the Seleukeia-in-Pieria lists is nearly identical to the first, except that it elides Seleukos Kallinikos. The elision of Seleukos II does not appear to be an act of deliberate policy, but rather an error caused by the repetition of the name Seleukos which confused the inscriber.32 This list differs from the other lists by the inclusion of Zeus and Apollon with Seleukos I’s and Antiochos I’s epithets. This is an important local variation which is suggestive of a general inconsistency of divine titles across the empire. This list clearly dates to after the appointment of a high-priest of Laodike, and her exclusion seems to be notable. The third of the decrees comes from Teos, and its list of divine Seleukid kings is as follows: Seleukos Theos, Antiochos Megas, Antiochos Soter, Seleukos Theos, Antiochos Theos, Seleukos Theos, Antiochos Megas, Antiochos Theos, Seleukos Theos, Antiochos Theos Epiphanes, and Demetrios Theos Soter.33 Once again, any Laodike (whether the wife of Antiochos III or the wife of Seleukos IV/Antiochos IV) is missing. This is problematic, especially as she is the only Seleukid for whom we have evidence concerning a centrally appointed high-priestess. This means that the lists, which we have from during and after the supposed codification by Antiochos III, neither list his wife, whose priestess’ appointment is attested epigraphically, nor are they consistent amongst themselves, thus suggesting either that a centralised cult as normally defined did not exist, or perhaps better that this variation should be considered a normal feature of the less centralised Seleukid Empire which was reflected in administrative terms.34 Before returning to the question of the nature of these cults, we need to explain the omission of Laodike from these lists. One explanation is that Laodike fell from grace and was removed from the central royal cult, but as a brief summary of the evidence of cults for Seleukid queens will show, she is not the only queen who could have been included in the Seleukid ancestor lists. Nor is it at all clear that Seleukid kings who may have fallen from grace have been 31

OGIS 245. Cf. VAN NUFFELEN (2004), p. 292. 33 OGIS 246. As the end of the Teos decree appears to also include several Ptolemaic kings, it has been proposed that it is a reconstruction of Teos’ idealised relationships with the various kings, see VIRGILIO (2003). If the list is a creation of the Teians then I find it surprising that Laodike, wife of Antiochos III, who had received civic cultic honours from the city, is not mentioned. See MA (2000), p. 308–321 for the epigraphic dossier and interpretation. 34 ENGELS (2011) and ENGELS (2017); see also ERICKSON (2018) for an argument for a less centralised cult system based on numismatic evidence. 32

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excluded from these lists, as the list from Teos may include Seleukos son of Antiochos I, or could even include Antiochos Hierax hiding behind an epithet (most likely theos).35 As this list of epithets differs significantly from our normal understanding of Seleukid epithets, it is nearly impossible to determine with certainty which kings were originally honoured. In all cases, the most notable ‘Seleukid’ king excluded is the rebel king Achaios who was never accepted by later Seleukid courts as part of the dynasty.

6. Cults for Seleukid Queens If one were to set a list of Seleukid women who received cults,36 then Apame, wife of Seleukos I and mother of Antiochos I, would have been a candidate for inclusion. Tarn considered that she might have provided the link between the Seleukids and Alexander for Kommagene at Nemrut Da÷ı,37 although there is little other evidence for a cult or even divine honours having been established for her. While her memory was preserved through city foundations in her honour, little is heard of her after her death. Her husband’s second wife and the wife of her son, Stratonike, did receive cults in Asia Minor. Sherwin-White suggested that Stratonike’s titles in the Borsippa cylinder were reserved for goddesses.38 Furthermore, Kosmin has argued that we should see the translation of her name in the cylinder as linked with that of Astarte.39 At Smyrna, Antiochos II and his mother Stratonike were both revered as gods: șİઁȞ ਝȞIJ઀ȠȤȠȞ țĮ੿ IJ੽ȝ ȝȘIJ੼ȡĮ IJ੽Ȟ IJȠ૨ ʌĮIJȡઁȢ șİ੹Ȟ ȈIJȡĮIJȠȞ઀țȘȞ ੂįȡ૨ıșĮȚ ʌĮȡ’ ਲȝ૙Ȟ IJȚȝȦȝ੼ȞȠȣȢ.40 Again in Teos, she appears to be linked to the cult of her husband and/or son. Thus, Stratonike would have been an excellent candidate for inclusion in the list of Seleukid ancestors. However, as we have seen above, in the lists of priests of the Seleukid kings, neither Stratonike nor her predecessor is named. The wives of Antiochos II, Laodike and Berenice, both appear to have good reasons not to have been honoured by their children, given the fratricidal strife they helped engender, although the prominent position both women played would have made it possible for either of the women, but more likely Laodike to have been honoured. If Coúkun is correct in his new chronology of the Third Syrian War, then Laodike’s vigorous defense of Seleukos II would have made it 35

HOLTON (forthcoming). AGER / HARDIMAN (2016), p. 151–153 collect the epigraphic evidence for sculptural representations of the queens in cult before Laodike IV, as none of their sculptures survives. 37 TARN (1929), p. 141. Rejected by ENGELS / ERICKSON (2016), p. 42; STROOTMAN (2016), p. 217, n. 22. 38 SHERWIN-WHITE (1991), p. 84. 39 KOSMIN (2014), p. 187; ENGELS / ERICKSON (2016), p. 59–63. 40 OGIS 299.9 = CIG 3137.9 = I.Smyrna 573.I.9. See note 48. 36

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more likely that she was honoured by him.41 Her absence is particularly LQWHUHVWLQJJLYHQthe later role she played elsewhere in the empire. She granted land to the Babylonians alongside her children, and subsequently received honours there. Furthermore, after her husband’s death, she played a brief but significant role in the turmoil that ensued. Perhaps, it was the nature of Antiochos II’s marriages that reduced the possibility of honours for either of the women. I do not mean to suggest that Antiochos divorced Laodike, but the status of both women would have been less than straightforward. Both came from prominent families: Laodike from the house of Achaios with its strong ties to WKH IRXQGDWLRQV RI 6HOHXNLG SRZHU LQ $VLD 0LQRU42 Berenike daughter of Ptolemy Philadelphos and sister to Ptolemy Euergetes. I have, however, suggested elsewhere, that we may see hints of honours for Berenike in the controversial Soter coinage, which I would rather date to the reign of Antiochos II Theos, than to the period of conflict following his death.43 In the case of these two women then, it may be the aftermath of the conflict between the Ptolemaic and Seleukid houses that deprived them of honours. The wives of Hierax44 and Seleukos II45 are equally anonymous as their mother-in-law was notorious and the civil war between the brothers may have presented a reduced opportunity to glorify them. When looking back to Stratonike as a possible model for Seleukid royal women, it is perhaps surprising that Laodike II, wife of Seleukos II, is not similarly honoured by either of her sons, Seleukos III and Antiochos III. The queens following Laodike III, the wife of Antiochos III, appear to have been treated as divine with greater frequency than their predecessors. Thus, Laodike IV wife of Seleukos IV and Antiochos IV appeared on bronze coinage dressed as a goddess.46 This may be evidence for viewing the reign of Antiochos

41 COùKUN

(2016), p. 132–133; COùKUN (Forthcoming). See COùKUN   D’AGOSTINI )RUWKFRPLQJ  MCAULEY )RUWKFRPLQJ  MCAULEY - Seleukid Genealogy. 43 ERICKSON (Forthcoming). 44 Hierax married the daughter of Prusias of Bithynia in c.233 B.C. We are uncertain as to her name, but it may have been Laodike. (EUS., Chron. 1.40.10, BEVAN [1902a], p.  LWLVXQFOHDULIPOLYB. 5.74.5 refers to his wife or daughter, MACURDY (1932), p. 91. See MCAULEY (2013), s.v. Antiochus Hierax. 45 Seleukos II’s primary wife was Laodike, who seems to be related to the family of Achaios: POLYB. 4.51.4, 8.33.1, POLYAEN. 4.17. He may also have had a wife/concubine/mistress, Mysta: POLYAENUS DOWKRXJKOGDEN (1999), p. 132 rejects the marriage. MCAULEY (2013), s.v. Seleucus II. 46 SC 1421–1422; See HOOVER (2002) for the discussion of the identity of the Laodike on this coinage, and the rejection of it as an image of Laodike wife of Antiochos III. IOSSIF / LORBER (2007) on the other hand provide a convincing argument that the coinage should represent Laodike III. If this is the case, then I believe this is significant further evidence for the continuation of cults for Laodike III which makes her exclusion from 42

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III and Laodike in particular as a turning point in the presentation of Seleukid cult. Beginning with the reign of Antiochos IV, divine epithets began to appear with regularity on Seleukid coinage, and with Kleopatra Thea, we have a wonderful series of coins which portray her and one of her husbands or children as jugate busts. She is always portrayed with the polos, and clearly falls into the traditional image of a Ptolemaic queen. The introduction of these Ptolemaic women into the Seleukid house clearly changed the nature of the representation of these women.47 I will now turn back to the cults that had been established by the cities of Asia Minor for Laodike III. Before the establishment of a high-priestess for the cults of Laodike, she had received cultic honours from several cities in Asia Minor, including Teos, Sardeis, Iasos, as we have seen above. She had also received a variety of cults alongside her husband and children. Despite the spotty epigraphic record, there does seem to be an increase in the number of cults for Laodike established by the cities during her lifetime. However, there is no evidence outside the inscriptions discussed above for a centralised cult for her. Rather than looking for evidence of this centralised cult for Laodike, of which Berenike is but one of the officials, I believe that it is the supervision of these local cults which now fell under her control. This seems to be a similar situation to the one that developed in Xanthos, where Nikanor is listed before the priests of the municipal cult. Thus, as we would expect from the instructions concerning Berenike’s appointment, the high-priest of the King is listed before the other priests. Before attempting to assess how the lack of evidence for priestesses of the deified Seleukid Queens should influence our understanding of Seleukid cults more generally, it is useful first to examine the nature of deification of royal women in the empire.

7. Syncretism and Seleukid Queens As we can see with the cult of Laodike at Iasos and of Stratonike at Smyrna, the queen can be associated with the goddess Aphrodite.48 It is unclear to me what the significance of the order of the names in which the queen is associated with Aphrodite is, either ‘Aphrodite – Queen’ or ‘Queen – Aphrodite’, nor is it clear if one or the other is of lesser status. As such, for the time being, I will not differentiate between them. The syncretism between Hellenistic queens and the lists of rulers all the more problematic. See AGER / HARDIMAN (2016) for the problematic representation of Seleukid queens prior to Laodike IV. 47 AGER / HARDIMAN (2016), p. 164–171. 48 I, like IOSSIF / LORBER (2007), reject RIGSBY (1996), p. 95–99’s view that the cultic epithet at Smyrna is anything more than accidental. He shows no evidence that the title predates Seleukid influence on the city.

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Aphrodite was fairly common, not only in Ptolemaic Egypt where at the very least Berenike I and II, Arsinoe II and various Kleopatras were assimilated to the goddess in various contexts,49 but also some of Demetrios’ courtesans were honoured with cults linked to Aphrodite.50 If Kosmin’s supposition that the translation of Stratonike’s name into Akkadian hid an association with Astarte and to Aphrodite is to be believed, it is possible that these associations should be seen in a wider context. Roller has argued that the cult of Kybele could be associated with the power of the state, and that Attis originally functioned as high-priest/king who participated in a hieros gamos rite.51 And, most famously, Lucian associated Stratonike with the building of her temple at Hierapolis.52 It is unclear how complete the syncretism between the prominent female goddess was in this period, but it appears as if the queen could be linked to the appropriate manifestation of the divine consort. Iossif and Lorber offer up the equally important syncretism between Aphrodite, the queen and the goddess Nikephoros who became particularly significant for Antiochos IV.53 As noted above, Stratonike and Laodike are the only two purely Seleukid queens that have an association that we know of with Aphrodite. However, the association does seem to have been extremely common in the Hellenistic period: Phila, daughter of Antipater and wife of Krateros and subsequently Demetrios, DQGWKXV PRWKHURI 6WUDWRQLNH ZDVKRQRXUHGDV$SKURGLWH3KLOD54 Ptolemaic queens, Berenike wife of Ptolemy Soter, Arsinoe II, Berenike wife of Ptolemy Euergetes were likewise honoured. Cheshire has argued that many of the bronze statues found in both Egypt and Syria with the image of Aphrodite may in reality reflect the continuity of these pairings beginning with the long reign of Kleopatra II of Egypt (170–115 BC with various breaks).55 The general discussion concerning the establishment of these associations for the queens have been linked either to their womanly virtues and patronage of typical rituals for women: births, marriages, etc. as we see with both Phila and with Laodike III, wife of Antiochos III, or for their beauty and support for their husbands. But is it really as straightforward as Cheshire suggests, when she states: ‘the 49 Berenike, wife of Ptolemy Soter, is deified by Aphrodite (THEOCR., Id. 17.50ff; Idyll 15.106–108) there is also evidence of a joint shrine for Aphrodite-Berenike in the Fayum P.Enteux. 13; ROWLANDSON (1998), p. 28–30. Berenike II, wife of Ptolemy III, dedicates her famous lock of hair (Kallimachos Aetia 4 / Coma Berenices and Catullus 66) at a temple of Arsinoë-Aphrodite, and is herself then connected with the god. See GUTZWILLER (1992) and CLAYMAN (2014), p. 97–104 for analysis of Berenike’s connection with Aphrodite. 50 ATHEN. 253a–253b. 51 ROLLER (1999), p. 111–112. 52 LUC., Dea Syr. 384–402. 53 IOSSIF / LORBER (2007). 54 ATHEN. 254a and 255c. 55 CHESHIRE (2007), p. 157ff.

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emphasis of the religious propaganda of the Hellenistic queens was, not surprisingly, based on the tenet that “sex sells, beauty sells”.’?56 Would the portrayal of these women as both desirable and loyal have helped secure either their own power or that of their consorts? What impact did the polygamous relationships have on the choice to honour an individual queen as an aspect of Aphrodite? To look at these Aphrodite pairings in a bit more detail, we must step outside the Seleukid realm and look first at Phila, the daughter of Antipater. Athenaios notes that in a symposium, Phila was toasted as ‘Aphrodite Phila’ and that ‘flatterers’ established a cult to her as Phila Aphrodite with the erection of a sanctuary, the Philaion, during her lifetime.57 It is possible that we should see these titles conferred on her for similar activities to those for which Laodike would later be honoured. Thus, Diodoros states that Phila established dowries for the ‘sisters and daughters of the poor’.58 It is not at all clear that we should link Phila’s charitable activities with her cult, but given our normal understanding of the establishment of cults for Hellenistic rulers as part of a euergetic exchange between unequal powers, and the subsequent honours for Laodike clearly defined along these same lines, it seems highly likely. If Phila was the only woman who was associated with Demetrios and with Aphrodite, then perhaps we could suggest that the association of the queen with the goddess marked her out for special status within the royal court. But we also see the hetaira Lamia honoured as divine by both the Athenians and the Thebans, with a temple built by the latter to Aphrodite Lamia.59 Further honours were also bestowed on his other courtesans.60 In addition to his liaisons with courtesans, Demetrios had several other wives who bore him children, including Eurydike, Deidameia, Ptolemais, Lanassa.61 None of these women appear to have been honoured in the same way as Phila and Lamia. Since Phila seems to have obtained some form of special status within Demetrios’ court, as did Lamia, perhaps we should consider their associations with Aphrodite as special markers of their status. Furthermore, as both women were notably older than the king, perhaps their association with Aphrodite did indicate or further enhance their reputation. Stratonike,62 the first Seleukid queen to receive honours of this type, was Phila’s daughter. It is therefore interesting that she eventually received the same 56

CHESHIRE (2007), p. 164–165; cf. ATHEN. 566a–e. ATHEN. 254a. 105; ATHEN. 255c. 58 DIOD. SIC. 19.59.4–5. 59 ATHEN. 253a–b. 60 OGDEN (2009). See OGDEN (1999), p. 232ff. for the discussion of the roles, status and careers of these women. 61 OGDEN (1999), p. 173. 62 For Stratonike see now: HARDERS (2016); ENGELS / ERICKSON (2016); ALMAGOR (2016); RAMSEY (2016). 57

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titulature as her mother. While the desirable nature of Stratonike is clear from Antiochos’ desire for her, we do not have clear evidence for her cult until the reign of her grandson. I believe that the association between Stratonike and Aphrodite extends back into the reign of her second husband Antiochos I. Owing to the context of the inscription in which we find Aphrodite Stratonikis, we do not have any information concerning the reasoning behind her deification. Should we assume that Stratonike was honoured at Smyrna for benefactions which were specifically associated with women’s status in society or perhaps with specific reference to the goddess, as might be possible with her mother? Or should we see her deification linked to a different model that stresses her other virtues? For the Ptolemaic queens, again we have limited information. The clearest association between a queen and Aphrodite that goes some way to explaining the relationship can be found in Kallimachos’ Lock of Berenike (ǺİȡİȞȓțȘȢ ʌȜȩțĮȝȠȢ).63 Here Berenike’s devotion to her husband provides the cause of the link between the Queen and the goddess. Arsinoë II’s honours, although far grander than the other queens, may have been generated along the same lines, emphasising her relations and equal status with her brother-husband. Another model might have been provided by the courtesans of Ptolemy Philadelphos: e.g., Bilistiche who was honoured as Aphrodite Bilistiche.64 Ogden has suggested that the advertisement of Ptolemy II’s courtesans may have been part of an effort to show that he was not only sleeping with his sister-wife to a Graeco-Macedonian audience.65 Looking at the evidence for these women for whom cults were established in the first three generations after Alexander, we can divide up the reasons behind their honours into three general categories. First, the women provided some benefaction within an area related to one of the spheres of Aphrodite’s influence. Here, the examples of Laodike and Phila fit well. The second seems to be related to their devotion to their family and in particular their husbands. Here, once again Laodike fits as does Berenike. The final category seems to be developed out of their own equation with Aphrodite and their desirability. This is particularly true for the courtesans, but also for queens such as Stratonike. So, to return to the establishment of the high-priestess for Laodike by her husband, Antiochos highlights a range of these virtues: a loving consort, devoted to the gods, and loved by her husband.66 These reasons seem to capture the reasons for 63

VAN OPPEN (2015), p. 71–115. PLUT., Mor. 753e–f. 65 OGDEN (2009), p. 350–351. 66 MA (2000): įȚ੹ IJઁ [ȝ੽ ȝ]ંȞȠȞ ਲȝ૙Ȟ ijȚȜȠıIJંȡȖȦȢ țĮ੿ țȘįİȝȠȞȚ[ț૵Ȣ] Į੝IJ੽Ȟ ıȣȝȕȚȠ૨Ȟ, ਕȜȜ੹ țĮ੿ ʌȡઁȢ IJઁ șİ[૙][ȠȞ İ]੝ıİȕ૵Ȣ įȚĮ[ț]İ૙ıșĮȚ, țĮ੿ IJ੹ ਙȜȜĮ ȝ੻Ȟ [੖ıĮ ʌȡ]੼ʌİȚ țĮ੿ į઀țĮȚંȞ ਥıIJȚ ʌĮȡ’ ਲȝ૵Ȟ Į੝IJોȚ [ıȣȞĮ]ȞIJ઼ıșĮȚ įȚĮ[IJ]İȜȠ૨ȝİȞ ȝİIJ੹ ijȚȜȠı[IJ]Ƞ[ȡ]Ȗ઀ĮȢ ʌȠȚȠ૨ȞIJİ[Ȣ (since she not only is a loving and caring consort, but also is piously disposed 64

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which the individual cities had honoured the queen, but they also fall into the wider range of ways in which the kings honoured their associated women.67 Furthermore, does this tendency to link the deified queen to a goddess also have implications for how the priestesshood should be established? It seems plausible that officials may have normally been appointed under the auspices of existing deities rather than only in light of the creation of a new royal deity. However, the establishment of a high priestess for Laodike’s cult provided the impetus to create a new office to incorporate the other pre-existing cults in various regions across the empire.

8. Conclusion In summary, what I have argued is that rather than the establishment of a new cult for Laodike, Antiochos III created a new official who was entrusted with overseeing the activities of the existing local cults. Thus, instead of establishing a new centralised cult at the court, Antiochos appointed a number of officials who could intervene into the local affairs of sanctuaries dependant on the circumstances (although it seems unlikely that they would have done so regularly). These officials received the honour of being placed at the head of documents. However, it appears that at least for the male branch of the Seleukid royal cult, this office could go unoccupied in a region for a length of time (as it had after Dion until the appointment of Nikanor in Asia Minor, undoubtedly owing to Seleukid military setbacks). If this model is correct, then much of the variation of the cults for the Seleukids can be explained. Firstly, there was no new cult for the royal family established as there was in Alexandria. Secondly, the cults for which the new high-priestess was appointed did not differ from the civic cults for the queen. This model allowed for greater flexibility for the Seleukid royal family in establishing its relationship with the divine and with individual city states under its control. This flexibility would have been particularly important with regards to the inclusion of royal women who could prove to be problematic or fall out of favour. Contrary to what would be expected if Antiochos III was successful in establishing a centralised cult of himself and his family, this is the case both before and after his reign. It is not until the reign of his son, Antiochos IV, that symbols of divinity (either in the legend or the iconography) became common on Seleukid coinage. This suggests that Antiochos III’s reforms had relatively little impact on the presentation of ruler across the empire.

towards the divine, we continuously do, with love, the things which it is fitting and just that she should receive from us). 67 RAMSEY (2011).

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In light of the evidence concerning Laodike’s cult, I propose a slightly different option: there was never a fully-centralised cult of the Seleukid kings, but there were interventions into what have previously been considered only civic cults. This does not mean that the Seleukids did not attempt at various points, particularly in the reign of Antiochos III, to bring local cults under central control, but rather that they were never fully successful. The defeat inflicted by the Romans on Antiochos not only severed the cities of Asia Minor from the Seleukid king’s grasp, but they will have also disrupted his administrative reforms elsewhere as the king worked to re-establish his authority. The full extent of this change is that the ruler cults for the Seleukid kings that already existed as polis-initiated cults could be and were recognised by the Seleukid state during the reign of Antiochos I (e.g., the Nicatoreum), and this pattern of acceptance of local cults was partially re-organised by Antiochos III, who may have given the supervisory duties for the local royal cults to a single official in each administrative unit. If this is the case, then what do we learn concerning the status of these royal women? First, if Berenike only took over the role of overseer, this would explain the lack of specification of her new role. She is allowed particular honours, but would have had little impact on the running of the municipal cults. This system makes it nearly impossible to tell from our limited evidence if the role of the high priestess included supervision of the cults for the female ancestors, as it did for the high priest. This more limited role for high-priestesses does not completely explain the lack of evidence for the cults for these women after Laodike, it may provide a new way to look for evidence of their existence.

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II. After Apameia: Seleukid Recovery and Disintegration in the Shadow of Rome

The Seleukid Elephant Corps after Apameia Nicholas Victor SEKUNDA

Abstract Immediately after the battle of Magnesia, the Roman general Scipio negotiated terms of peace with Antiochos. Substantial further clauses, absent in the original agreement, were included in the final Treaty of Apameia. One of the most important of these further clauses was that Antiochos was to give up all the elephants he had then and not keep any in the future. According to our sources, the elephants were handed over to the Romans, who in turn gave them to Eumenes II of Pergamon as a present (Livy 38.39.5). A passage in Polyainos (4.21) tells us that Antiochos IV supplied the Romans with Indian elephants, but this testimony is generally discounted as spurious. According to 1Macc 1.17, the army with which Antiochos invaded Egypt in 170 BC included elephants. Elephants also took part in the Daphne Parade in 165 (Polyb. 30.25). When news of the premature death of Antiochos reached Rome, the Senate sent out an embassy to Syria, to hamstring the elephants, which took place in 162 BC. Some elephants, however, may have escaped the slaughter. We are told (2Macc 15.20) that the Seleukid army led by Nikanor ‘the Elephantarch’ included a number of elephants at the Battle of Adasa in March 161 BC. Any surviving elephants were killed by Demetrios I in an attempt to appease the Romans. The only way to reconcile the sources is to suggest that one of the later Seleukid kings had obtained a fresh supply of elephants. The solution proposed is that Seleukos IV had received a number of elephants as a gift from Demetrios I of Baktria (189–167 BC), following the extension of Baktrian rule into parts of India.

1. Introduction The army of Antiochos III was decisively defeated at the battle of Magnesia which took place in 190 BC. Immediately after the battle peace was agreed on terms dictated by the consul L. Cornelius Scipio, brother of Scipio Africanus, who had commanded the Roman forces at the battle. At the beginning of 189 the ambassadors of Antiochos and delegates from a number of interested Greek states appeared in Rome, where the terms of the agreement dictated by Scipio after the battle were approved by the Senate and ratified by the people. Ten delegates (legati) were sent to Asia in order to implement the terms of the peace, which was done at a conference in the Phrygian city of Apameia early in the year 188 BC. Polybios, in quoting the text of the resultant ‘Treaty of Apameia’, implies that the peace in its final form corresponded to the original conditions

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negotiated by Scipio immediately after the Battle of Magnesia, following their ratification in Rome.1 According to the terms of the ‘Treaty of Apameia’, Antiochos III had to surrender all his elephants. Elephants do, however, re-appear in the Seleukid army at various points later on in the second century BC. It will be suggested that a fresh supply of elephants for the Seleukid army had been furnished by a member of the Euthydemid royal house after their conquest of India, all other elephants in Seleukid possession having, indeed, been surrendered by Antiochos III in 188 BC.

2. The Terms of the Treaty of Apameia Although some of the further clauses merely constitute elaborations of the rather vague terms of the original agreement, substantial further clauses, absent in the original agreement, were included in the final treaty, as has been demonstrated by Mørkholm.2 The most important of these further clauses were as follows. Antiochos was to give up all the elephants now in Apameia and not keep any in the future. He was also to surrender all his warships together with their tackle, and in the future he was not to possess more than ten warships.3 Furthermore the King was banned from hiring mercenaries from the lands within the Roman sphere of influence.4  According to Appian (Syr. 39), the extra clauses were added by the Senate, but Mørkholm casts doubt on his reliability on this detail.5 Perhaps these supplementary clauses were added on the instigation of Manlius Vulso, head of the Roman delegation, who had adopted a position quite hostile to the Seleukids throughout the previous year. According to Briscoe, ‘[…] there is no reason to think that any changes to the treaty agreed in Rome were made by Vulso and the ten legati. Polybios’ ıȣȞ੾įȡİȣİ ʌİȡ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ʌȡĮȖȝ੺IJȦȞ (21.42.9) may mean nothing more than that Vulso and the ten legati sat to discuss the situation, and resolved to ratify the treaty which had been sent from Rome.’6

1 Cf. MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 25. For further details see also DUMITRU and PAYEN in this volume. 2 MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 26–27. 3 The details of this naval clause are obscured by textual problems, concerning which see WALBANK (1979), p. 159–160, and McDONALD / WALBANK (1969), p. 30–39. 4 POLYB. 21.42.12–15; cf. LIV. 38.38.8–10; DIOD. SIC. 29.10; APP., Syr. 38. 5 MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 27, n. 26.

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The extra clauses constituted an act of duplicity on the part of the Romans, and Polybios’ silence is telling. He is not a favourable source when it comes to the Seleukid monarchy.  There is a difference in the details of the treaty as contained in the texts of Polybios and Livy. Following Polybios, he [Antiochos] shall surrender all the elephants now in Apameia and not keep any in future,7 whereas the text of Livy runs: He shall surrender all his elephants and shall acquire no more.8As Livy used Polybios as his principal source for Roman relations with the Hellenistic monarchs, the text of Polybios is to be preferred in cases where it differs from the text of Livy.  The city Apameia mentioned is presumably not the city of that name in Phrygia where the peace conference was taking place, but the Syrian city of Apameia where, according to Strabo, Seleukos Nikator kept his 500 elephants and the greater part of the army, as did also the later kings.9 Briscoe appears to be thinking of the Phrygian Apameia, where the conference was taking place, when he writes: ‘Antiochos was to surrender to Rome all the elephants present at Apameia, and to dispose of the rest. L. does not mention Apameia, implying that Antiochos is to surrender all his elephants, and not to acquire any replacements […]. One may wonder what Antiochos was meant to do with them.’10

Whichever Apameia Polybios may have had in mind, and it really does not matter for the purposes of the present discussion, this part of the peace agreement falls into two clauses, first that Antiochos shall hand over all the elephants he has at present, and second that he should not acquire any elephants in the future. The terms of the treaty as preserved in both Polybios and Livy do not specify if the heirs of Antiochos were also banned from acquiring any elephants. Polybios and Livy go on to describe the doings of Gnaeus Manlius Vulso later on in Asia Minor, including the burning of a Seleukid fleet of some fifty decked ships, anchored at Patara in Lycia.11 After that, according to Livy, when among the other things which were to be received from Antiochos, [he] had received the elephants also […], he […] presented them all to Eumenes as a

7 POLYB. 21.43.12 (transl. W.R. PATON, rev. F.W. WALBANK / C. HABICHT, Loeb): țĮ੿ IJȠઃȢ ਥȜȑijĮȞIJĮȢ IJȠઃȢ ਥȞ ਝʌĮȝİȓ઺ ʌȐȞIJĮȢ, țĮ੿ ȝȘțȑIJȚਙȜȜȠȣȢ ਥȤȑIJȦ. 8 LIV. 38.38.8: elephantos tradito omnis neque alios parato. 9 STRAB. 16.2.10 (transl. H.L. JONES, Loeb): ਥȞIJĮ૨șĮ į੻ țĮ੿ ੒ ȃȚțȐIJȦȡ ȈȑȜİȣțȠȢ IJȠઃȢ ʌİȞIJĮțȠıȓȠȣȢ ਥȜȑijĮȞIJĮȢ ਩IJȡİijİ țĮ੿ IJઁ ʌȜȑȠȞ IJોȢ ıIJȡĮIJȚ઼Ȣ țĮ੿ Ƞੂ ੢ıIJİȡȠȞ ȕĮıȚȜİ૙Ȣ. 10 BRISCOE (2008), p. 135. 11 POLYB. 21.43.3; LIV. 38.39.2–3.

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gift.12 It is possible that if the elephants were in Syrian Apameia that they would have had the time to march to meet Vulso to be handed over to Eumenes, before the former departed for Rome. It seems, therefore, that the first clause in the agreement was executed, and that by the end of 188 BC the Seleukid army did not possess any elephants. Nevertheless, as has been stated, elephants re-appear in the Seleukid army at various points later on in the second century BC.  3. Elephants in the Seleukid Army after Apameia A passage in Polyainos13 dealing with the countermeasures Perseus took against the elephants used by the Romans during the Third Macedonian War, informs us that the latter not only used African elephants supplied by Masinissa,14 but were also supplied with Indian elephants by Antiochos. This passage is generally discounted as spurious, though no concrete arguments are given as to why the information should be treated as false.15 It would certainly be in Antiochos’ political interest to supply the Romans with at least a token number of Indian elephants, which were more powerful than the smaller elephants which were presumably supplied by Masinissa.16 However, doubt is cast on the passage by Livy’s17 statement that Seleukid ambassadors to Rome in 168 BC congratulated the Romans on their victory at Pydna that year, and asserted that Antiochos would have contributed his aid if any demands had been made upon him. This statement makes it seem unlikely that any elephants were, in fact, sent. On the contrary, when the Third Macedonian War broke out in 171 BC, Antiochos took advantage of the opportunity offered by Rome’s engagement in this war to take action. According to the First Book of Maccabees, Antiochos assembled a powerful force and advanced with chariots, and elephants, and horsemen, together with a great fleet18 against Ptolemaic Egypt. Towards the end of 170 BC, Eulaios and Lenaios, the royal regents, led out the Ptolemaic 12 LIV. 38.39.5 (transl. E.T. SAGE, Loeb): inter cetera, quae accipienda ab Antiocho erant, elephantos quoque accepisset donoque Eumeni omnis dedisset. 13 POLYAEN. 4.21. 14 LIV. 42.29.8. 15 SCULLARD (1974), p. 182. 16 Presumably Masinissa would only have had access to the African ‘Forest’, which was smaller than the Indian elephant, and not the African ‘Bush’ elephant, which was larger. See the description of fighting between the ‘Libyan’ Forest elephants and the Indian elephants at the battle of Raphia in POLYBIOS 5, 84, 5–6 and the comments of WALBANK (1957), p. 614 and SCULLARD (1974), p. 61–63, 143. 17 LIV. 45.13.1. 18 1Macc 1.17. BIKERMAN (1938), p. 60 n. 13 judges the mention of scythed chariots to be ‘rhétorique biblique’; cf. BAR-KOCHVA (1976), p. 83–84.

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army. So confident were they of victory, they took along with them the majority of the royal treasury and precious items from the palace. The latter were intended as presents for those who would surrender the cities of Koile Syria to them.19 Antiochos, however, pre-empted them by marching into Egyptian territory in a vigorous counter-invasion. The two armies met between Pelousion and Mount Kasios towards the end of November 170 BC. Unfortunately, no details of the battle of Mount Kasios are preserved in the ancient sources, and even the strength and composition of the two armies is unknown. We may perhaps presume that Antiochos was planning to fight a mobile battle in the generally flat desert country which lay on the coast between Gaza and Pelousion.  If this passage in the First Book of Maccabees is to be believed, and no-one has cast doubts on it so far, elephants were present in the army of Antiochos IV in 170 BC, even before his invasion of Egypt. So it is not necessary to accept Grainger’s speculation that the elephants that appear later in Antiochos’ reign, at the Daphne Parade in 165 BC, were acquired in Egypt,20 though, of course, he may have augmented their number. At the Daphne Parade in 166 BC, thirty-six single war elephants participated, followed by a first chariot drawn by four elephants, and then a second chariot drawn by two elephants, a total of 42 beasts.21 Bar-Kochva has suggested that these elephants harnessed to chariots may have been young or in some other way unsuitable for combat.22 Following these two elephant chariots came 36 elephants with their equipment. After Daphne, we are told23 that Antiochos was regarded as the most powerful of the Hellenistic kings. Even the Roman Senate was somewhat unnerved, and sent out an embassy under Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus to establish what the intentions of the king were. Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus was the father of the homonymous social reformer. He was ‘extremely well-disposed towards the Hellenistic States’ and opposed to Senatorial policies in the East.24 Reuter pointed out that Antiochos would have formed numerous contacts whilst resident in Rome, and could have convinced many of them that his activities should not necessarily be seen as hostile to Rome.25 Conceivably he already knew Gracchus. At any rate, he greeted him affably and courteously, and threw open the royal palace to the embassy. A favourable report was sent back to Rome, assuring the Senate that Antiochos had no hostile intentions towards 19

DIOD. SIC. 30.16. GRAINGER (1990), p. 126, n. 24: ‘he may have got them from Egypt in his campaign there’. 21 Cf. SCULLARD (1974), p. 186: ‘Thus Antiochus had got together over 40 elephants in defiance of the treaty which his father had signed with the Romans’. 22 BAR-KOCHVA (1989), p. 235 n. 35. 23 DIOD. SIC. 30.17a. 24 BRISCOE (1969), p. 49–70 at p. 62. 25 REUTER (1938), p. 43. 20

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Rome. Antiochos left the suppression of the Jewish revolt to Lysias with half his forces and the elephants,26 and marched east. According to 2 Maccabees,27 Lysias with an army that included 80 elephants was defeated by the Jewish forces at Bethsuron in 164 BC. When word of the death of Antiochos IV reached him, Lysias made peace with the Jewish rebels, but the peace soon broke down. We are told28 that at the battle of Beth-Zacharia in 162 BC the Seleukid army fielded 32 elephants, though our source for this number is not entirely trustworthy.29 Therefore the Romans did not attempt to re-implement the terms of the Treaty of Apameia while Antiochos Epiphanes was alive: this point has recently been re-emphasized.30 According to Appian, however, when news of the king’s death reached Rome, the Senate Learning that there were many elephants in Syria and more ships than had been allowed to Antiochos in the treaty, sent ambassadors thither, to kill the elephants and burn the ships. It was a pitiful sight, the killing of these gentle and rare beasts and the burning of the ships, and a certain Leptines of Laodikeia was so exasperated by the sight that he stabbed Cn. Octavius, the chief of this embassy, while he was anointing himself in the gymnasion, and Lysias buried him.31

According to Gruen, ‘[…] the version of Zonaras, for what it is worth, implies even that Octavius’ decision to destroy the fleet and elephants came only after he arrived in Syria.’32

According to Polybios33 as well as Gnaeus Octavius, the Senate appointed Spurius Lucretius and Lucius Aurelius as legates,34 and dispatched them to Syria to manage the affairs of the kingdom as the Senate determined. This statement 1Macc 3.34: IJ੹Ȣ ਲȝ઀ıİȚȢ IJ૵Ȟ įȣȞ੺ȝİȦȞ țĮ੿ IJȠઃȢ ਥȜ੼ijĮȞIJĮȢ. 2Macc 11.5. 28 1Macc 6.30. 29 BAR-KOCHVA (1989), p. 307. 30 By BERNHARDT (2014), p. 136–161 at p. 161 and MITTAG (2014), p. 117–135 at p. 135. 31 APP., Syr. 46 (transl. H. WHITE, Loeb): ʌȣȞșĮȞȩȝİȞȠȚ įૃ ਥȞ Ȉȣȡȓ઺ ıIJȡĮIJȩȞ IJૃ ਥȜİijȐȞIJȦȞ İੇȞĮȚ țĮ੿ ȞĮ૨Ȣ ʌȜİȓȠȞĮȢ IJ૵Ȟ ੪ȡȚıȝȑȞȦȞ ਝȞIJȚȩȤ૳, ʌȡȑıȕİȚȢ ਩ʌİȝʌȠȞ, Ƞ੄ IJȠઃȢ ਥȜȑijĮȞIJĮȢ ıȣȖțȩȥİȚȞ ਩ȝİȜȜȠȞ țĮ੿ IJ੹Ȣ ȞĮ૨Ȣ įȚĮʌȡȒıİȚȞ. ȠੁțIJȡ੹ į੻ ਲ ੕ȥȚȢ ਷Ȟ ਕȞĮȚȡȠȣȝȑȞȦȞ șȘȡȓȦȞ ਲȝȑȡȦȞ IJİ țĮ੿ ıʌĮȞȓȦȞ, țĮ੿ Ȟİ૵Ȟ ਥȝʌȚʌȡĮȝȑȞȦȞ: țĮȓ IJȚȢ ਥȞ ȁĮȠįȚțİȓ઺ ȁİʌIJȓȞȘȢ IJ੽Ȟ ੕ȥȚȞ Ƞ੝ț ਥȞİȖțȫȞ, īȞĮ૙ȠȞ ੗țIJȐȠȣȚȠȞ IJઁȞ IJ૵Ȟįİ IJ૵Ȟ ʌȡȑıȕİȦȞ ਲȖİȝȩȞĮ, ਕȜİȚijȩȝİȞȠȞ ਥȞ IJ૶ ȖȣȝȞĮıȓ૳, įȚİȤȡȒıĮIJȠ. KĮ੿ IJઁȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ੗țIJ੺ȠȚȠȞ ਩șĮʌIJİȞ ੒ ȁȣı઀ĮȢ. 32 GRUEN (1976), p. 73–95 at p. 82, n. 67. Cf. GRUEN (1984), p. 664: ‘The act came with stunning suddenness – and defies explanation. What needs stress is that Octavius’ outburst is an aberration, rather than representative of Roman policy. The Senate had ignored Seleucid military buildup in the past and would do so in the future. Octavius perhaps took his instructions more literally than his senatorial colleagues had intended’. 33 POLYB. 31.2.9. 34 BROUGHTON (1951), p. 441. 26 27

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of Polybios seems to go against the argument of Gruen that Octavius only took the decision to destroy the elephants when he had already arrived in Syria. Obsequens puts the death of Gnaeus Octavius in 162 BC.35 The symbolic nature of the killing of the elephants has been highlighted by Kosmin, who, in his book on the Seleukid Empire, took the elephant as a symbol of Seleukid power:36 hence the desperation of Leptines. The death of Gnaeus Octavius presumably took place in Laodikeia, the home port of the Seleukid Navy. In this context, it is worth noting the exact words of Polybios that Gnaeus and his colleagues thereupon left [Rome], with orders in the first place to burn the decked warships, and next to hamstring the elephants, and by every means to cripple the royal power.37

So they might have been engaged in burning the ships at Laodikeia as a priority, and only started to kill these gentle and rare beasts, based at Apameia, after that.  Meanwhile Demetrios, the son of Seleukos IV, had fled Rome, where he had been held as hostage, and was engaged in seizing power in Syria, ousting the infant king Antiochos V Philopator and his regent Lysias.  Some elephants may have escaped the slaughter of 162 BC.38 Even if the entire stud at Apameia had been exterminated, some elephants may have been dispersed throughout the provinces of the Empire. In fact, even after the seizure of power by Demetrios, elephants are still mentioned in the Seleukid army. The army was, significantly, led by Nikanor ‘the Elephantarch’. This Nikanor should be distinguished from Nikanor son of Patroklos,39 and Nikanor the companion of Demetrios in Rome.40 We are told that, at the Battle of Adasa, fought in March

35

OBSEQ. 15; WALBANK (1979), p. 478. KOSMIN (2014), p. 3, 21, 258. 37 POLYB. 31.2.11 (transl. W.R. PATON, rev. F.W. WALBANK / C. HABICHT, Loeb): ȅੂ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੣Ȟ ʌİȡ੿ IJઁȞ īȞ੺ȚȠȞ ਥȟઆȡȝȘıĮȞ, ਩ȤȠȞIJİȢ ਥȞIJȠȜ੹Ȣ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ IJ੹Ȣ ȞĮ૨Ȣ IJ੹Ȣ țĮIJĮijȡ੺țIJȠȣȢ įȚĮʌȡોıĮȚ, ȝİIJ੹ į੻ IJĮ૨IJĮ IJȠઃȢ ਥȜ੼ijĮȞIJĮȢ ȞİȣȡȠțȠʌોıĮȚ țĮ੿ țĮșંȜȠȣ Ȝȣȝ੾ȞĮıșĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ȕĮı઀ȜİȚȠȞ į઄ȞĮȝȚȞ. 38 Cf. GRUEN (1976), p. 82: ‘Moderns have generally overlooked the fact that elephants reappear in Syrian forces in 161.’ 39 SAVALLI-LESTRADE (1998), p. 60, no. 58. 40 SAVALLI-LESTRADE (1998), p. 71, no. 71. 36

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161,41 the Seleukid army contained a number of elephants. Our source42 is, however, not a particularly reliable one, and doubts have been expressed as to the credibility of this information.43  Demetrios was very eager to be accepted at Rome as legitimate king. According to Appian: […] when he was firmly established in the kingdom he sent a crown valued at 10,000 gold pieces to the Romans as a gift of their former hostage, and also delivered up Leptines, the murderer of Octavius. They accepted the crown, but not Leptines, because they intended to hold the Syrians responsible for the crime.44

In the parallel account of Polybios, who places the embassy in the year 160 BC: Demetrios […] at once sent envoys to Rome conveying a present of a crown, as well as the murderer of Gnaeus Octavius and the critic Isocrates.45

If the embassy took place in 160 BC, and if we believe that some elephants took part in the battle of Adasa in 161 or 160 BC, then one could envisage a situation in which the end for these particular animals who participated in the battle of Adasa only came later in the reign of Demetrios, when they were killed by Demetrios in order to appease the Romans.46 41

Modern commentators disagree on the dating the battle of Adasa. According to 1Macc 7.43 the battle of Adasa was fought on the thirteenth day of the month Adar, which according to J. BARTLETT (1973), p. 103 falls on 17 March 160 BC. His calculation is based on the premise that the campaign of Bacchides took place in summer 161 BC, and that Nikanor would have arrived in the autumn of the same year (p. 99). According to DANCY (1954), p. 125 ‘Theoretically therefore Adasa might be March 161’; EHLING (2008), p. 130–137, opts for 161 BC too. I am not competent to pass judgment, but even if we take the earlier of the two dates calculated for the battle, it still took place after the slaughter of the elephants at Apameia in 162 BC. 42 2Macc 15.20–21. 43 Thus BAR-KOCHVA (1989), p. 366: ‘[…] but it is certain that no elephants took part in this battle for the entire Seleucid elephant force had been destroyed by Gnaius Octavius on the eve of Demetrius’ accession […]. Consequently the II Maccabees description of the Seleucid deployment must be regarded as imaginary’; SCULLARD (1974), p. 188: ‘[…] but since it is difficult to where he could have obtained any, this alleged addition to his forces must be highly suspect’; cf. BIKERMAN (1938), p. 62: ‘Mais Démétrios II les employa encore contre les Juifs’. 44 APP., Syr. 47 (transl. H. WHITE, Loeb): țȡĮIJȣȞȐȝİȞȠȢ į੻ IJ੽Ȟ ਕȡȤ੽Ȟ ੒ ǻȘȝȒIJȡȚȠȢ ıIJȑijĮȞȩȞ IJİ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȚȢ ਕʌઁ Ȥȡȣı૵Ȟ ȝȣȡȓȦȞ, ȤĮȡȚıIJȒȡȚȠȞ IJોȢ ʌȠIJ੻ ʌĮȡૃ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ੒ȝȘȡİȓĮȢ, țĮ੿ ȁİʌIJȓȞȘȞ IJઁȞ ਕȞįȡȠijȩȞȠȞ ੗țIJĮȠȣȓȠȣ. Ƞੂ į੻ IJઁȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ıIJȑijĮȞȠȞ ਥįȑȤȠȞIJȠ, ȁİʌIJȓȞȘȞ į੻ Ƞ੝ț ਩ȜĮȕȠȞ, ੪Ȣ įȒ IJȚ IJȠ૨IJૃ ਩ȖțȜȘȝĮ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȈȪȡȠȚȢ IJĮȝȚİȣȩȝİȞȠȚ. 45 POLYB. 31.33.5 (transl. W.R. PATON, rev. F.W. WALBANK / C. HABICHT, Loeb): ੘ į੻ ǻȘȝ੾IJȡȚȠȢ IJȣȤઅȞ IJોȢ ʌȡȠİȚȡȘȝ੼ȞȘȢ ਕijȠȡȝોȢ İ੝ș੼ȦȢ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ૮આȝȘȞ ਩ʌİȝʌİ ʌȡİıȕİȣIJ੹Ȣ ıIJ੼ijĮȞંȞ IJİ țȠȝ઀ȗȠȞIJĮȢ țĮ੿ IJઁȞ Į੝IJંȤİȚȡĮ IJȠ૨ īȞĮ૘Ƞȣ ȖİȖȠȞંIJĮ țĮ੿ ıઃȞ IJȠ઄IJȠȚȢ IJઁȞ țȡȚIJȚțઁȞ ੉ıȠțȡ੺IJȘȞ. 46 Fragment 9 of P.Herc. 1044, a life of the Epicurean philosopher Philonides, who was a citizen of Laodikeia, has been restored by some authorities to refer to the wish of

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4. Explaining the Inconsistency Given that the Seleukid elephant corps had been abandoned in accordance with the Treaty of Apameia, the presence of elephants in the Seleukid army at the Daphne Parade in 165 BC, or even earlier during the invasion of Egypt in 170 BC, seems to be an inconsistency in the sources, or else one of the later Seleukid kings chose deliberately to break the terms of the Peace of Apameia. Paltiel has argued that the provisions of the Treaty of Apameia were only binding on Antiochos III but not on his sons.47 If this had been the case, however, it would be hard to imagine on what legal grounds the Roman Senate sent ambassadors to burn the ships and kill the elephants on learning that there were many elephants in Syria and more ships that had been allowed to Antiochos in the treaty.48 One solution to this apparent paradox is to believe that not all the elephants were handed over to Cn. Manlius Vulso in 188 BC. This is the solution adopted by Walbank. ‘The elephants were not all handed over, and the Romans took steps to hamstring them only in 163/2’,49 and also by Sherwin-White and Kuhrt.50 This solution would, however, seemingly go against the statement of Livy that, when Vulso among the other things which were to be received from Antiochos, had received the elephants also […] (he) […] presented them all to Eumenes as a gift.51 It is surely preferable to believe, along with Briscoe,52 that (only) ‘The second part of the requirement was not carried out, (i.e. the requirement not to acquire more elephants), as elephants remained for Octavius to hamstring in 163/2’, or, with Scullard, that ‘Clearly, therefore, the Romans must have turned a blind eye for some time to this rearming by Syria’.53 This an unspecified Seleukid monarch (presumably Demetrios) to make the city a ruin, presumably to appease the Romans. The city is saved through ‘an extraordinary service’ presumably of Philonides. For a different restoration, putting the action outlined in the papyrus back to the years 178–175 BC, see GERA (1999), p. 77–82, who treats fragment 9 on p. 81–3, with the earlier literature listed at p. 81 n. 26. 47 PALATIEL (1979), p. 30–41. 48 APP., Syr. 46 (transl. H. WHITE, Loeb): ʌȣȞșĮȞȩȝİȞȠȚ įૃ ਥȞ Ȉȣȡȓ઺ ıIJȡĮIJȩȞ IJૃ ਥȜİijȐȞIJȦȞ İੇȞĮȚ țĮ੿ ȞĮ૨Ȣ ʌȜİȓȠȞĮȢ IJ૵Ȟ ੪ȡȚıȝȑȞȦȞ ਝȞIJȚȩȤ૳. It has been suggested, however, that the actions of Octavius were an ‘improvisation beyond his mandate’ which would explain the subsequent passivity of the Senate; cf. GRUEN (1976), p. 83. For a discussion of the question whether the treaty remained in force after the death of Antiochos III, see the Introduction to this volume. 49 WALBANK (1979), p. 159. 50 SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 215: ‘[…] not implemented until the reign of Antiochus V in 163/162 when the Romans hamstrung the Seleucid elephants’. 51 LIV. 38.39.5. 52 BRISCOE (2008), p. 135. 53 SCULLARD (1974), p. 185.

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entails that one of the Seleukid kings reigning after Antiochos III, either Seleukos IV or Antiochos IV, had access to a fresh re-supply of elephants. Given the animosity that governed relations between the Seleukid and Ptolemaic dynasty, Egypt can presumably be ruled out. Scullard has pointed out that where the Seleukids got the re-supply of elephants from ‘[…] is a problem, since the growth of the Parthian kingdom is generally thought to have cut off the supply from India for the Seleucids, but apparently he had succeeded in getting round the Parthians, physically or metaphorically.’54

Precisely at what date the Parthian expansion cut off the Seleukid Kingdom from the ‘Greek Far East’ is difficult, if not impossible, to establish with any certainty.

5. The Baktrian Connection According to Strabon,55 Demetrios, son of Euthydemos, the king of the Baktrians, subdued some of the Indian tribes. It is generally believed that Demetrios extended Baktrian rule over substantial parts of northern India. On his coins Demetrios appears with his head adorned with an elephant-scalp crown alluding to his conquests. The relevant sources dealing with these events have recently been gathered together and re-studied by Wenghofer and Houle.56 The Mauryan dynasty is thought to have collapsed in about 185 BC, overthrown by the Mauryan general Pusyamitra, precipitating the invasion of Demetrios, who had taken over the Baktrian throne from Euthydemos only shortly before. Demetrios was in turn succeeded by Euthydemos II, who is believed to have ruled Baktria briefly before being deposed and killed by the usurper Eukratides I around 170 BC.  In 206 BC, Euthydemos I of Baktria, the father of Demetrios, who had been defeated in battle by Antiochos III and had been shut up inside the city of Baktra for more than a year, sent his son Demetrios to negotiate with the Seleukid king Antiochos III. This one, impressed with the kingly conduct of Demetrios, in the first place promised to give him one of his own daughters in marriage, and next gave permission to his father Euthydemos to style himself king.57 It is not known whether the marriage of one of the daughters of Antiochos to Demetrios actually took place,58 but there is no reason to think it did not. Polybios59 describes Demetrios as being a neaniskos in 206 BC. At the point of the meeting, 54

SCULLARD (1974), p. 186. STRAB. 11.11.1. 56 WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016), p. 191–207 at 203–207. 57 POLYB. 11.34.9. 58 WALBANK (1967), p. 313. 59 POLYB. 11.34.9. 55

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Antiochos himself was not old. Born around 242 BC he was married to Laodike, daughter of Mithradates of Pontos, in 221 BC. So it is probable that the wedding of the daughter of Antiochos with Demetrios did not take place immediately after 206 BC. We do not know exactly when Demetrios was born, but he might have had to wait for marriage, and Antiochos may not yet have had any daughters available who were yet of a marriageable age.60 But, if such a marriage did, in fact, take place, it is likely that it would have occurred sometime before 200 BC. On a series of coins issued by the usurper Eukratides shortly after 170 BC, the head of Eukratides appears on the obverse accompanied by his name and title ‘Great King’, while on the reverse appear a jugate bust of an aged man and a similarly aged and diademed woman together with the legend ‘of Heliokles and Laodike’. It is widely accepted that Heliokles and Laodike are the parents of Eukratides, and it has been suggested that Laodike is a Seleukid princess. Tarn thinks she was a daughter of Seleukos II,61 Hollis thinks that she is the daughter of Antiochos III in accordance with the text of Polybios.62 Recently, Wenghofer and Houle have suggested that she is the daughter of Laodike, daughter of Antiochos III, and Demetrios, son of Euthydemos of Baktria,63 reanimating a suggestion seemingly originally put forward by Rawlinson.64 Narain has pointed out that there is no evidence to connect the Laodike on the coins with the Seleukid family, and suggests that Eukratides was ‘[…] probably born of a princess of royal blood whose claim to the throne had been by-passed. We do not know whether she was a daughter of Diodotos II or of Euthydemos I, but she gave locus standi to Eucratides in Baktria.’65

Coloru thinks she is a sister of Euthydemos I.66 Whichever way the personage of Laodike, whose head appears on the coins of Eukratides, is interpreted, it seems likely that a marriage of Demetrios, son of Euthydemos of Baktria and a daughter of Antiochos III, did, in fact take place. In such case, then, Demetrios would have been brother-in-law to both Seleukos IV and Antiochos IV. I suggest that a fresh supply of elephants for the Seleukid army had been furnished by a member of the Euthydemid royal house after the conquest of India, all other elephants having been surrendered by Antiochos III in 188 BC. The Seleukid re-supply of elephants presumably took place before 170 BC, the

60

Notwithstanding the recent observation of COùKUN (2016) that Antiochos may have had a second wife. 61 TARN (1951), p. 195–196. 62 HOLLIS (1996), p. 161–164; see also WIDEMANN (2009), p. 161. 63 WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016), p. 206–207. 64 RAWLINSON (1912), p. 155–156. 65 NARAIN (1957), p. 55, 57. 66 COLURU (2009), p. 211.

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date at which elephants are first mentioned as reappearing in the Seleukid army when it invaded Egypt. 

6. Epilogue The slaughter of 162 BC was not the complete end of elephants in the Seleukid army. Ptolemy VI Philometor took African elephants with him on his Syrian expedition in 147 BC, and following his death in 145 BC at the battle of the River Oinoparas, and the subsequent collapse of the Ptolemaic army, these elephants fell into the hands of Demetrios II, but not for long. A little later on, a former supporter of Balas, named both Diodotos and Tryphon, revolted in Apameia ‘and thus won the royal arsenals and the elephants’.67 The son of Balas was proclaimed king as Antiochos VI Dionysos. Later on in the same year of 145 BC, Tryphon brought up his elephants and made himself master of Antioch, but no numbers are given.68 Tryphon was later defeated by the brother of Demetrios II, Antiochos VII Sidetes. ‘Sidetes presumably took over any of the elephants that survived, but as they gradually became too old for fighting, the later Seleucid rulers must have conducted their quarrels without such help.’69

Bibliography BAR-KOCHVA, B. (1976), The Seleucid Army. Organization & Tactics in the Great Campaigns, Cambridge, 1976. - (1989), Judas Maccabaeus. The Jewish Struggle against the Seleucids, Cambridge. BARTLETT, J.R. (1973), The First and Second Books of the Maccabees Commentary, Cambridge. BERNHARDT, J. (2014), Antiochos IV. und der Blick nach Rom, in Chr. FEYEL / L.GRASLINTHOMÉ (eds.), Le project politique d’ Antiochos IV, Paris, p. 136–161. BIKERMAN, E. (1983), Institutions des Séleucides, Paris, 1938. BRISCOE, J. (1969), Eastern Policy and Senatorial Politics, 168–146 B.C., in Historia 18, p. 49–70. BRISCOE, J. (2008), A Commentary on Livy Books 38–40, Oxford. BROUGHTON, T.R.S. (1951), Magistrates of the Roman Republic, Volume I, London. COLURU, O. (2009), Da Alessandro a Menandro: Il Regno Greco di Bactria, Pisa.

67

SCULLARD (1974), p. 189. 1Macc 11.56; cf. BAR-KOCHVA (1976), p. 81. 69 SCULLARD (1974), p. 189. 68

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COùKUN, A. (2016), Philologische, genealogische und politische Überlegung zu Ardys und Mithradates, zwei Söhnen des Antiochos Megas (Liv. 33,19,9), in Latomus 75, p. 849–861. DANCY, J.C. (1954), A Commentary on I Maccabees, Oxford. EHLING, K. (2008), Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der späten Seleukiden (164–63 v.Chr.), Stuttgart, 2007–63 v. Chr.) Vom Tode des Antiochos IV. bis zur Einrichtung der Provinz Syria unter Pompeius, Stuttgart. GERA, D. (1999), Philonides the Epicurean at Court: Early Connections, in ZPE 125, p. 77–82. GRAINGER, J.D. (1990), The Cities of Seleukid Syria, Oxford. GRUEN, E. (1976), Rome and the Seleucids in the Aftermath of Pydna, in Chiron 6, p. 73– 95. GRUEN, E. (1984), The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, vol. 2, Berkeley CA et al. McDONALD, A.H. / F.W. WALBANK, F.W. (1969), The Treaty of Apamea (188 B.C.) The Naval Clauses, in JRS 59, p. 30–39. HOLLIS, A.S. (1996), Laodike Mother of Eukratides of Bactria, in ZPE 110, p. 161–164. KOSMIN, P. (2014), The Land of the Elephant Kings. Space, Territory, and Ideology in the Seleucid Empire, Cambridge MA / London, 2014. MITTAG, P. (2014), Die diplomatischen Beziehungen zwischen Antiochos und Rom, in Chr. FEYEL / L. GRASLIN-THOMÉ (eds.), Le projet politique d’Antiochos IV, Paris, p. 117–135. MØRKHOLM, O. (1966), Antiochus IV of Syria, København. NARAIN, A.K. (1957), The Indo-Greeks, Oxford. PALTIEL, E. (1979), The Treaty of Apameia and the Later Seleucids, in Antichthon 13, p. 30–41. RAWLINSON, H.G. (1912), Bactria. The History of a Forgotten Empire, London. REUTER, F. (1938), Beiträge zur Beurteilung des Königs Antiochos Epiphanes, Münster (PhD). SAVALLI-LESTRADE, I. (1998), Les philoi royaux dans l’Asie hellénistique, Genève. SCULLARD, H.H. (1974), The Elephant in the Greek and Roman World, London. SHERWIN-WHITE, S. / KUHRT, A. (1993), From Samarkand to Sardis. A New Approach of the Seleucid Empire, London. TARN, W.W. (1951), The Greeks in Bactria and India, Cambridge. TILLY, M. (2015), 1 Makkabäer, Freiburg i.Br. WALBANK, F.W. (1957), A Historical Commentary on Polybius. Volume I. Commentary on Books I–VI, Oxford (1970 reprint). - (1967), A Historical Commentary on Polybius. Volume II. Commentary on Books VII– XVIII, Oxford. - (1979), A Historical Commentary on Polybius. Volume III. Commentary on Books XIX– XL, Oxford. WENGHOFER, R. / HOULE, D.J. (2016), Marriage Diplomacy and the Political Role of Royal Women in the Seleukid Far East, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleucid

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Royal Women. Creation, Representation and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleucid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 191–207. WIDEMANN, F. (2009) Les successeurs d’Alexandre et leur héritage culturel. Essai, 3rd ed., Paris.

Antiochos IV and Rome: The Festival at Daphne (Syria), the Treaty of Apameia and the Revival of Seleukid Expansionism in the West Rolf STROOTMAN

Abstract This paper takes as its point of departure the Roman elements in Antiochos IV’s procession at Daphne in ca. 165 BC. It will revisit the alleged aim of rivaling the festival celebrated by Paullus at Amphipolis sometime before. I argue that Antiochos, after his two Egyptian campaigns, no longer was in awe of Rome, and that he was conducting (or preparing to conduct) a policy of imperial restoration aimed not only at Iran and Central Asia, but at Asia Minor and Greece as well. The aggressive dynamics of Seleukid imperialism, and the ferocious interstate competition that characterized the world of the Hellenistic dynasties, left no room for balances of power or voluntary admittance of secondary political status: Antiochos still had behind him the vast military and financial resources of Asia. The Daphne Procession conveyed to an audience of ambassadors sent by the Aegean poleis a confident image of a most powerful, military successful and universalist empire capable of resuming its role as protector of Greek freedom. At the heart of the procession was the probable self-presentation of King Antiochos, Theos Epiphanes, as the New Dionysos—the victorious conqueror god who brings happiness to the West. Taken together with the king’s imperial activities in Asia Minor and mainland Greece, and his open disregard of the military clauses of the Treaty of Apameia, these ideological ‘messages’ add up to the likelihood that Antiochos was aiming to restore Seleukid power in the Aegean region—the 5,000 Roman-style infantrymen marching at Daphne may have been incorporated into the Seleukid main army in consideration of a possible military confrontation with Rome.

1. Introduction The famous festival hosted by Antiochos IV Epiphanes at Antioch and Daphne in c. 166 BC was connected to Rome in three respects.1 First, the festival is 1 All dates are BC, unless otherwise specified. I am grateful to the editors, Altay Coúkun and David Engels, for their many useful comments on the first draft of this paper. I also wish to express my appreciation for the critical assessment and generous suggestions by the anonymous reviewer from the press. All remaining errors and heresies are mine.

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reported to have been organized as a response to the festival at Amphipolis appropriated by Aemilius Paullus in c. 167, after the Roman conquest of Macedon. Second, among the many troops said to have marched in the sacrificial procession were 5,000 professional infantrymen armed as Roman legionaries. Third, the ostensible presence of army units from western Asia Minor, as well as a strong force of 64 fully equipped war elephants, seems to defy the ‘military clauses’ of the Treaty of Apameia.2 The sacrificial procession that led from Antioch to the sacred grove of Daphne, is described in relative detail by Polybios.3 He mentions a splendidly outfitted army of more than 40,000 infantry and c. 10,000 cavalry. Half of the footmen were Macedonian phalangites, including a royal infantry guard of 5,000 Argyraspides (‘Silver Shields’), and 5,000 shock troops wearing breast-plates and chain armor ‘after the Roman fashion’; they were likely part of the Argyraspides regiment, which usually numbered 10,000. Furthermore, there were troops identified as Thrakians, Mysians, Kilikians, and Galatians.4 The 2 The date of the festival can be established by the fact that it was a reaction to Paullus’ festival at Amphipolis, which had been proclaimed and organized after the Battle of Pydna (June 168) and probably was held in 167; since Antiochos too needed time to prepare and send out sacred embassies to the poleis of Greece and Asia Minor, the Daphne Festival can be dated to the late Summer of 166, but not later; see, conclusively, MITTAG (2006), p. 282–283, and now also ERSKINE (2013), p. 166; cf. WALBANK (1996), p. 125 with n 39. Polybios (30.26.9) moreover associates the festival with the end of the Sixth Syrian War (Summer 168), but the assumption that it took place immediately after the Seleukid army’s return from Egypt in late 168 or early 167 misapprehends this religious happening as a secular ‘victory parade’, or even an imitation of a Roman triumphus; so e.g. MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 97–98, who nevertheless dates the festival to Sept./Oct. 166 in an attempt to also interpret the alleged ‘parade’ as prologue to Antiochos’ expedition to the Upper Satrapies in 165. Possible connections to the abortive campaign of 165 were treated at greater length by BUNGE (1976), p. 56–57, and BARKOCHVA (1989); the latter dates the festival to August 165, discarding the association in the Ancient sources with both the Egyptian campaign of 168 and the Amphipolis Festival of 168/7; GELLER (1991), by contrast, dates the festival to 169, which must also be rejected because this would place the festival before Paullus even won the Battle of Pydna. 3 POLYB. 30.25–26 ap. ATHEN. 5.194–195; DIOD. SIC. 31.16. The Daphne Festival has attracted much scholarship, often considering it in tandem with Kallixeinos’ account of the first celebration of the Ptolemaia Festival in Alexandria, a century or so earlier (which bears many similarities to the Daphne Festival). Extensive examinations of the festival’s date, significance, and its connection to Rome include BUNGE (1976); BAR-KOCHVA (1989); BELL (2004), p. 138–150; JOHNSON (1993); WALBANK (1996); EDMONSON (1999); CARTER (2001); MITTAG (2006), p. 281–295; STROOTMAN (2007), p. 308–314 and (2014a), p. 251–253; IOSSIF (2011); ERSKINE (2013); and MARI (2017). 4 When Kallixeinos in the late third century compiled his much lengthier description of the so-called Grand Procession of Ptolemy Philadelphos, which was part of the Ptolemaia, he had at his disposal detailed (illustrated) documentation commissioned by the royal court and dispatched across the Mediterranean; see MOEVS (1993) and KUTTNER

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horsemen included such prestigious units as the cataphracts, ‘Nisaean’ (sc. Iranian) heavy cavalry, ‘selected thousand’ (ਥʌȓȜİțIJȠȚ ȤȓȜȚȠȚ), companions, and the royal horse guard, most of whom wore dresses adorned with purple to emphasize their close connection to the dynasty. Directly associated with the court were c. 1,000 philoi and 600 (basilikoi) paides, or royal pages. The 250 pairs of monomachoi that were also present have in the past been believed to have been ‘gladiators’, and thus proof for Antiochos’ admiration for Rome; but they were, more likely, athletes, probably from the poleis.5 There were 1,000 sacrificial cattle and 300 more cattle provided by the sacred embassies from the Aegean poleis. Finally, Polybios mentions 140 horse-drawn chariots, two chariots drawn by elephants, and the 64 war elephants already mentioned. Both Polybios and Diodoros mention games and feasts which lasted an entire month. They write selectively about the banqueting that took place after the sacrifices, and both do so specifically to expose Antiochos’ alleged unkingly behavior in front of his many guests. Concerning the festival in general, Diodoros writes for this occasion that Antiochos: […] brought together the most distinguished men from virtually the whole inhabited world (oikoumenƝ), adorned all parts of his palace in magnificent fashion, and, having assembled in one spot and, as it were, having put his entire monarchy (basileia) upon a stage, he revealed everything and left [his enemies] ignorant of nothing […]. In putting on these lavish games and stupendous festival Antiochos outdid all earlier rivals.6

Diodoros then says that the Senate became wary of Antiochos’ political ambitions, and sent an embassy led by Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus to speak

(1999); Polybios may have used such an ‘official’ accounts of the festival, too. On previous relations of Seleukids and Galatians see COùKUN (2011). The ‘Macedonians’ of course were troops armed and organized in the Macedonian manner, but likely they also had a Macedonian identity—still a strong focus for group cohesion and transregional ‘imperial identity’ that moreover connected these individuals directly to the dynasty and thus to the reigning king: STROOTMAN (2007), p. 272–274 and 324 with JANSEN (1984), p. 56; also see n. 45, below. For discussion of the Seleukid ‘legionaries’ see SEKUNDA (1997) and SEKUNDA (2001), arguing i.a. that Roman military success against the classic Macedonian phalanx compelled the Seleukids and Ptolemies to reform their armies. 5 CARTER (2001), suggesting, however, that they were local athletes from Syria; GÜNTHER (1989) argues that the monomachoi were inserted into the Polybian text by Athenaios. On traveling athletes and connectivity in the Hellenistic and early Roman eastern Mediterranean see most recently VAN NIJF / WILLIAMSON (2015). 6 DIOD. SIC. 31.16.1 (transl. C.H. OLDFATHER, Loeb, with adjustments: ਥȞĮȞIJ઀ĮȞ ȜĮȕઅȞ įȚ੺șİıȚȞ ıȣȞ੾ȖĮȖİȞ ıȤİįઁȞ ਕʌઁ ʌ੺ıȘȢ IJોȢ ȠੁțȠȣȝ੼ȞȘȢ IJȠઃȢ ਥʌȚijĮȞİıIJ੺IJȠȣȢ ਙȞįȡĮȢ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ʌĮȞ੾ȖȣȡȚȞ, țĮ੿ ʌ੺ȞIJĮ IJ੹ IJȠ૨ ȕĮıȚȜİ઀Ƞȣ ȝ੼ȡȘ įȚĮijİȡંȞIJȦȢ ਥțંıȝȘıİȞ, İੁȢ ਪȞĮ į੻ IJંʌȠȞ ਕșȡȠ઀ıĮȢ țĮ੿ țĮș੺ʌİȡ ਥʌ੿ ıțȘȞ੽Ȟ ਕȞĮȕȚȕ੺ıĮȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȕĮıȚȜİ઀ĮȞ ਚʌĮıĮȞ ਥʌȠ઀Șıİ ȝȘį੻Ȟ ਕȖȞȠİ૙Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ ʌİȡ੿ Į੝IJંȞ. On the ‘theatricality’ of Hellenistic kings see STROOTMAN (2014), p. 42–53; cf. earlier CHANIOTIS (1997) and HESBERG (1999).

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with the king. Antiochos’ ambitions apparently had been expressed quite openly at this international event, and from what we read in the sources, the power pageantry and cosmopolitan symbolism of the procession indeed reaffirmed the Seleukid dynasty’s place at the heart of an expansionist, universalistic empire.7 The king, however, […] held such friendly conversations with them, that they caught no hint of intrigue on his part, nor anything to indicate such enmity as might be expected to exist covertly after the rebuff that he had received in Egypt. His true policy was not, however, what it appeared to be; on the contrary he was deeply disaffected towards the Romans.8

Antiochos, I argue, remained on friendly terms with Rome because he first needed to reassert his authority in the Iranian highlands by making a tour through the Upper Satrapies, similar to the one earlier made by his father, Antiochos III. The aim of this ritualized progress-cum-military campaign was to reorganize the eastern vassal monarchies, recruit troops and collect tribute and 7 For this author’s view of the nature of the empire see my entries s.v. ‘Seleukid Empire’ in the online Encyclopaedia Iranica (2008) and Encyclopedia of Ancient History (2012). Following the seminal work of MANN (1986), and recent studies of pre- and early modern Eurasian empires, I approach the Seleukid Empire not as an impersonal ‘state’ in Weberian terms but as a shifting transcultural network of exchange and exploitation that loosely united a diversity of polities and local elites; cf. STROOTMAN (2013b) and STROOTMAN (2014a), with references. The idea of state borders was unknown beyond the level of the ‘city state’; like most preceding and succeeding Eurasian world empires, the emic conceptualization of the Seleukid polity saw king’s reach as stretching to the very limits of the civilized, human world: the ‘Ocean’ to the north and south, the Inner Asian steppe and Pamir Mountains to the east—and war in the west; cf. STROOTMAN (2014b) and, for a slightly different interpretation of these – to my mind – symbolic world borders, KOSMIN (2014). On universalistic ideology as a means to overcome diversity in the Seleukid Empire see STROOTMAN (2010); STROOTMAN (2017b) and BANG (2012); and cf. ENGELS (2014b) and ENGELS (2017). Empires, though founded on conquest are essentially negotiated enterprises in which interactions with local elites are key: local elites sat on top of communities and often were entangled horizontally with other local elites, and vertically with the imperial court, viz., the dynastic household; see STROOTMAN (2011a); STROOTMAN (2013a) and STROOTMAN (forthcoming a); cf. MA (2000), who perhaps overestimates the power of the Seleukid court to impose its will on cities but does allow for a limited measure of civic-imperial negotiation after the integration of a city into the imperial framework. The (mobile) court functioned as a ritualized contact zone were power relations were (re)negotiated and where the empire’s imagined universalistic sovereignty was assumed to reside (as we will see, the Daphne Festival functioned as a ‘great event’ of the court, i.e. a widely publicized occasion meant to attract representatives of local polities over large geographical distances). On the integrative agency of the court in the Seleukid Empire see HERMAN (1997); STROOTMAN (2011b) and STROOTMAN (2014a). 8 DIOD. SIC. 31.17 (transl. C.H. OLDFATHER, Loeb): ȠੈȢ ੒ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ ੪ȝ઀ȜȘıİ ijȚȜȠijȡંȞȦȢ, ੮ıIJİ ȝȘį੻Ȟ ਫ਼ʌȠʌIJİ૨ıĮȚ ʌİȡ੿ Į੝IJȠ૨ ʌȡĮȖȝĮIJȚțઁȞ ਲ਼ įȚĮijȠȡ઼Ȣ ਩ȝijĮıȚȞ ਩ȤȠȞ IJોȢ įȠțȠ઄ıȘȢ ਫ਼ʌȠȚțȠȣȡİ૙Ȟ ਥț IJોȢ țĮIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ǹ੅ȖȣʌIJȠȞ ȖİȞȠȝ੼ȞȘȢ ʌȡȠıțȠʌોȢ. Ƞ੝ț ਷Ȟ į੻ IJૌ ʌȡȠĮȚȡ੼ıİȚ IJȠȚȠ૨IJȠȢ, ਕȜȜ੹ țĮ੿ IJȠ੝ȞĮȞIJ઀ȠȞ ਕȜȜȠIJȡȚઆIJĮIJĮ įȚ੼țİȚIJȠ ʌȡઁȢ ૮ȦȝĮ઀ȠȣȢ.

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war elephants. The Upper Satrapies were still pivotal to Seleukid military power, and in being accepted there as ‘great king’ the actual presence of the ruler was all-important. During Antiochos’ absence in the east, a conflict with Rome obviously had to be avoided. After a successful return from the east, marching into Asia Minor would have been a logical next step to take. At the beginning of this paper, I drew attention to the 5,000 infantrymen in the Daphne procession who had been outfitted with breast-plates and chain armor ‘after the Roman fashion’. The introduction of ‘legionaries’ into the Seleukid army is usually taken as evidence for Epiphanes’ admiration for Rome, or at least as military innovation following Roman successes in war. We cannot exclude, however, the possibility that an additional objective of this innovation was to be better able to fight the Romans if necessary. Diodoros unambiguously states that Antiochos was hostile towards Rome, and Antiochos’ own universalistic and militaristic representation at Daphne was not very peaceful either. Conventional historiography has ignored this, and prefers to think of Antiochos as subservient to Rome—as if he could foresee that one or two generations later Rome would become, and remain, the sole hegemonic power in the eastern Mediterranean. According to modern scholarly views, Antiochos respected the limitations imposed on his empire by the Treaty of Apameia, and did all he could to avoid antagonizing Rome. If we follow Polybios, a new ‘world order’ had come into existence, and Antiochos knew his place. It has even been suggested that the king, like Polybios himself, was an admirer of Rome.9 But would Antiochos IV, the Great King of Asia, really have believed that Rome was unbeatable? Diodoros paraphrases Polybios,10 but his tone is more neutral. He likely used an additional source. In fact, Diodoros describes Antiochos as the most powerful king of his day at the end of his reign, which is a far cry from Polybios’ derogative portrayal of the king.11 In this paper, I intend to take Diodoros seriously. In the passage cited above, Diodoros makes quite clear that the real objectives of Antiochos were, in fact, obvious. My aim is to find out what Antiochos’ ‘true policy’ was. In answering this question, I revisit a suggestion from my 2007 dissertation on court culture, ideology and royal rituals in the Hellenistic empires. This is the idea that the principal aim of the Daphne Festival was to reposition the Seleukid Empire as the leading power in the Aegean. This followed directly from another argument, namely that the annual festival at Daphne was a New Year Festival, and that the procession, as described by Polybios, was rich in Dionysiac and 9

See below. POLYB. 30.27.1–4. On (the reappraisal of) Diodoros as an historian see now RATHMANN (2016), and specifically on his historical method RATHMANN (2014). 11 DIOD. SIC. 31.17a; cf. 30.15; APP., Syr. 45 (234); 2Macc 1.13. On Polybios’ partiality see below, section 2. 10

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universalistic imagery. The ‘message’ conveyed at Daphne was therefore not merely one of military strength but also one of imperial ideology. The king’s association with Dionysos suggests that he, the self-proclaimed Theos Epiphanes, had arrived to bring the Greeks good tidings of a Golden Age of peace and abundance. In what follows, the evidence will be reviewed from three perspectives. First, I will examine if it is at all true that Antiochos respected the Treaty of Apameia. I will then examine what Antiochos’ aims were regarding the west by looking at his actual policies in the important region where Seleukid and Roman ambitions could potentially collide: the Aegean. Finally, I will return to the festival and procession at Daphne and reinterpret the accounts by Polybios and Diodoros in light of the foregoing exploration. What was the message sent out to the world by the highly evocative symbolism of the procession, and how can we understand the festival’s purpose from the contemporary geopolitical context? But first, a critical assessment will be made of the principal historical source for the proposition that Rome’s superiority was already universally acknowledged in the 160s: Polybios of Megalopolis.

2. Romans and Seleukids in Polybios’ World View Until the disruption of the Seleukid Middle East by inter-dynastic conflicts, the revolts of Tryphon and Timarchos, and the expansion of the Parthians in Iran— all of which occurred after the death of Antiochos IV in 164—the Seleukid Empire remained, in essence, an empire. The dynasty still controlled the vast resources of the Fertile Crescent and exercised nominal suzerainty over the Upper Satrapies. Antiochos IV restored Seleukid hegemony in Armenian lands and, like his predecessor, Seleukos IV, strengthened or rebuilt imperial networks in Asia Minor and across the Aegean. But how can we reconcile these imperialist activities with Polybios’ portrayal of Antiochos as a ‘castrated king’, to use U. Gotter’s term?12 I would suggest that the problem here is simply Polybios’ exceedingly prejudiced view of Antiochos, as well as his Rome-centered bias. In the introduction I mentioned that conventional historiography perceives Antiochos IV and his empire as somehow subordinate to Rome—as if Antiochos already expected Rome to become the world’s sole hegemonic superpower for all time. This assumption is more than a legacy bequeathed by past generations of Classicists who wrote late Hellenistic history from hindsight, since they were interested, above all, in tracing the inevitable rise of Rome. It is also based on the authority of Polybios. The basic assumption is that during his ten-year

12

GOTTER (2013).

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residence in Rome as a hostage (188/187–178),13 Antiochos was impressed by the stability and power of the Roman Republic, and it was there and then that he realized that Rome had acquired dominance over the entire Mediterranean.14 This view is clearly based on an analogy with Polybios himself. It was, after all, Polybios who was impressed by Rome while staying there as a hostage, according to his own writings. Polybios was the first to recognize Roman supremacy in the Hellenistic Mediterranean, which he famously described as ‘unique in history’.15 The fragmentarily preserved Books 30 and 31 of Polybios’ Histories, moreover, constitute the principal source for Antiochos’ reign apart from 1 and 2 Maccabees. It will therefore be useful to briefly discuss this analogy, as well as the reliability of Polybios’ appraisal of Antiochos’ reign and the relative position of his empire vis-à-vis the Roman Republic. Notably, Polybios wrote about Antiochos at least two decades after the king’s death.16 Most of what inspired Polybios to devise his grand theory of a Romanled symplokƝ of the Mediterranean (in fact a limited geopolitical scope: see below) occurred after Antiochos’ stay in Rome. The destruction of the kingdom of Macedon and the defeat of Polybios’ own Achaian League in 168–167, the sack of Carthage and Corinth in 146, the disruption of the Seleukid Empire by internal dynastic strife after Antiochos’ death, and growing Roman influence at the Hellenistic courts: most of it post-dates the reign of Antiochos IV.17 Some of these events impressed Polybios because they were part of his personal biography, and he always describes them from a Roman or (mainland) Greek perspective. The rather limited Roman interventions in the eastern Mediterranean between Polybios’ arrival at Rome in 167 and his death around 118 clearly interest him more than the earth-shattering Seleukid-Parthian wars of 150–129, in which the Seleukids lost control over Iran and Mesopotamia. These losses, and not the half-hearted Roman encroachments in the western

13 For Antiochos’ stay at Rome consult MITTAG (2006), p. 37–40, and see Scolnic in this volume. 14 The hypothesis was first put forward by ABEL (1941) – who argued that Antiochos picked up a republican ethos while he was in Rome – and was further developed by VAN ‘T HOFF (1955); it is accepted by BELL (2004), p. 146. MITTAG (2006), p. 39, rightly notes that if Antiochos learnt about the Republic’s strengths while he was in Rome, he surely must have become acquainted with its weaknesses as well. 15 POLYB. 1.1.5. 16 Books 30 and 31 of the Histories, devoted to the 153rd and 154th Olympiads (168/167–160/159), were composed after 146; see WALBANK (1990), p. 18–20. 17 On the role of hindsight in Polybios’ construction of Seleukid failure see HELLER (2008); cf. n. 24, below. See now also the important reappraisal of Polybios’ biased views of Ptolemaic kings by FISCHER-BOVET (2016).

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Seleukid periphery, effectively terminated the kingdom’s status as an Eurasian world empire.18 Polybios’ personal experience is the first of three noteworthy biases in his assessment of what was going on in the world. The second bias that makes it problematic to assume that Antiochos perceived Rome in the same way that Polybios did, is Polybios’ conceptualization of the Mediterranean as the world’s geographical center. His grand theory of global history was that Roman expansion from c. 220 integrated the lands bordering on the Mediterranean into a single system of interaction – a process he described as the symplokƝ (‘interweaving’) of ‘almost the whole inhabited world (oikoumenƝ)’.19 I am not claiming that Polybios was wrong or that he made it all up. As an historian, Polybios was a far stride ahead of Livy and his annalist sources because he ‘considered history in its universality’;20 and his proposition that the Mediterranean had become a Roman inner sea proved to be a correct assessment in hindsight. Polybios, however, had relatively little interest in, or knowledge of, lands beyond the Levantine coasts. Regions like Mesopotamia, Iran and Central Asia that we now think of as integral parts of the Hellenistic World are peripheral in Polybios’ world view. The historian habitually associates the Seleukids with Syria (sc. the Levant). ‘Syria’, it is true, serves as pars pro toto for the entire Seleukid realm; but it is revealing that the part chosen to represent the empire in its entirety is its westernmost province. By thinking of the Mediterranean as the heart of the inhabited world, Polybios pushes Mesopotamia, Iran and Central Asia to the back of the historical stage. This Rome-centered view is often uncritically reproduced in modern historical narratives.21 18 As expressed by the appropriation of the Seleukid imperial title Basileus Megas by the victorious Arsakid king Mithradates I (‘the Great’) after c. 147; see STROOTMAN (2017b); cf. SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 218–219. 19 POLYB. 4.28.1–6 and 1.1.6; on universal history and the concept of symplokƝ as an ideological and ideological strategy in the Histories see QUINN (2013); cf. KLOFT (2013). 20 BICKERMAN (1945), p. 148. 21 See e.g. GRAINGER (2002), p. 351, maintaining – against his own emphasis on continued Seleukid military strength (p. 350) – that after Apameia, ‘Rome was clearly the one and only superpower in the known world’; the same is true of Polybios’ all-too schematic claim that the so-called ‘Day of Eleusis’, with the Battle of Pydna, marked the completion of the Roman conquest of the oikoumenƝ in 168 (POLYB. 29.27.1–8); the unreliability of Polybios’ account of ‘Eleusis’ has already been pointed out by GRUEN (1976), p. 73–75, and SHERWIN-WHITE (1977), p. 62–65; see most extensively MORGAN (1990). It is clear that even though the Sixth Syrian War did not result in the capture of Alexandria and the fall of the Ptolemaic Dynasty, the war was hardly a failure, as already Porphyry knew: He will overrun the richest districts of the province (sc. Egypt) and succeed in doing what his fathers and forefathers failed to do, distributing spoil, booty and property to his followers (In Dan. 11.21–4 = FGrHist 260 F 49a; transl. BURSTEIN), with Dan 11.43: He will gain control of the treasures of gold and silver and all the riches

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Polybios’ Mediterranean perspective is not as obvious as it may seem. For Greek historians of the Classical period, from Herodotos to Xenophon, the ‘wider’ world beyond the Aegean had been Asia. The first generations of Hellenistic historians who preceded Polybios had used the conquests of Alexander and the ventures of the Diadochs as their works’ main organizing principle.22 They were more interested in India than in Italy. Like them, Polybios primarily addressed an Aegean, Greek audience.23 By making Rome the focal point of his narrative, however, and shifting attention away from the east and towards the west, he broke with the Greek historiographical tradition of looking east. This is not the place to discuss whether the establishment of Roman hegemony in the Mediterranean created a first Great Divergence of west and east, terminating a more extensive form of Afro-Eurasian globalization that had existed since c. 550 under the continuous political domination of successive Persian and Macedonian dynasties; neither can we discuss here whether Roman expansion created an altogether new form of Mediterranean interconnectivity or that it merely intensified a much older process of the longue durée. We do, however, need to be aware that Polybios’ notion of symplokƝ describes, in fact, the interweaving of a rather limited geographical space. What historians now think of as the ‘Hellenistic World’ remained largely outside of Roman-led symplokƝ. It is noteworthy in this respect that sources from the Near East until c. 150 reveal no awareness of the existence of a Roman world empire at all!24 of Egypt, with the Libyans and Kushites in submission (NIV Translation); cf. MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 97; HEINEN (1972), p. 657–658; MORGAN (1990); MITTAG (2006), p. 222–223. The opposite view, viz., that frustration about Roman intervention in Egypt triggered Antiochos’ alleged crazy behavior, including the persecution of Judaism, is defended by VAN ‘T HOF (1955), p. 74–81; this point has been further developed by GRUEN (1993). 22 USHER (1985), p. 100–105; also see MEISSNER (1992); PRIMO (2009). Polybios’ approach is foreshadowed by that of Timaios of Tauromenion, who wrote Mediterranean history because he made his native land Sicily the focal point of Hellenic history; see BARON (2013), p. 43–57. 23 MILLAR (1987); CHAMPION (2004); QUINN (2013). Polybios’ Hellenocentricity is evident also from his adoption of Timaios’ use of the four-year Olympiad as the principal unit of chronology; see USHER (1985), p. 104; MCGING (2010), p. 19. Polybios never thought of the Romans as quasi-Greeks, but neither were they seen by him as barbarians: on the ambivalence of Polybios’ image of the Romans as civilized barbarians see ERSKINE (2000). 24 To my best knowledge, Rome is conspicuously absent from the rich corpus of Babylonian cuneiform texts from the Hellenistic period. In the book of Daniel – a source contemporary with Antiochos IV’s reign and in its final redaction focused on events in the Seleukid west, viz., Judea – Rome is excluded from the two prophecies about the succession of empires, sc. Nebuchadnezzar’s dream of the composite statue (Dan 2) and Daniel’s vision of the four beasts rising up from the sea (Dan 7); though of course part of an anti-Seleukid rhetoric, the presentation of the Seleukid Empire as the last great power in human history would have made no sense had the author(s) of Daniel thought of Rome as the most powerful empire of their time (in fact, apart from a brief reference

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The third and last bias distorting Polybios’ assessment of Antiochos’ achievements is his political partiality regarding Seleukid intra-dynastic conflicts. In the eyes of his personal enemies, Antiochos IV had usurped the kingship that rightfully belonged to the minor king known as Antiochos the Child, the son of Antiochos’ elder brother, Seleukos IV (187–175).25 Polybios was one of those enemies. In Rome, the historian from Megalopolis was a member of the circle of friends surrounding the Seleukid prince Demetrios. This Demetrios was an elder son of Seleukos IV and, in the eyes of some, was a more rightful claimant to the Seleukid succession than his uncle, the reigning king Antiochos IV. Demetrios had arrived in Rome in 178 to replace Antiochos as hostage, probably in an agreement meant to take the pressure off rising tensions caused by Seleukos IV’s imperialistic activities in Asia Minor (to which we will return shortly).26 In his writings, Polybios does not conceal that he was a staunch supporter of Demetrios’ claims to the Seleukid diadem.27 In 162, Demetrios secretly left Rome with the help of Polybios, among others.28 He sailed to Phoinikia and the following year was able to capture and execute his uncle’s son and successor, the minor king Antiochos V, together with the boy’s regent, Lysias. He thereupon assumed the diadem and reigned as Demetrios (I) Soter until his death in battle in 150.29 Demetrios and his circle likely constituted Polybios’ main source of information for events related to the Seleukid court (about which Polybios is

in Dan 11.18 to a ‘commander’ who defeated and humiliated Antiochos III, Romans are absent from Daniel). 25 Antiochos may have been held responsible by his contemporaries for the young king’s death in 170; see MITTAG (2006), p. 47–48. 26 APP., Syr. 45 (232); cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 40, arguing that the exchange had been demanded by the Senate. Note, however, that Scolnic (in this volume) is now suggesting that the exchange happened only in 175. 27 POLYB. 31.19; for the court-like nature and international connections of Demetrios’ household in Italy see POLYB. 31.14–15; DIOD. SIC. 31.18.1; for references and further sources consult EHLING (2008), p. 122–123. On Polybios’ participation in an internationally-oriented Greek elite community in Rome see WALBANK (1990), p. 74– 77, with SOMMER (2013) on philia in Polybios’ self-presentation, and ECKSTEIN (1995), on the importance of aristocratic values in the Histories in general. 28 POLYB. 31.11–15; DIOD. SIC. 31.18. Polybios’ unfavorable portrayal of the senators who refused to acknowledge Demetrios’ claims implies that another senatorial faction, presumably led by Aemilius Paullus, supported the ‘escape’ of the prince; cf. WALBANK (1990), p. 9, n. 42; GRUEN (1976), p. 73–74. Polybios seems to have functioned as gobetween; cf. MCGING (2010), p. 140–141. Also note Polybios’ unfavorable portrayal of Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus, a friend of Antiochos who advocated the king’s cause in the Senate after the Daphne Parade (POLYB. 30.27.1–3 and 30.7–8); cf. MORGAN (1990), p. 47, n. 47. 29 1Macc 7.1; 2Macc 14.1; JOS., Ant. Jud. 12.389; LIV., Per. 46; EUSEB., Chron. I col. 253 Schoene.

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very knowledgeable). Polybios’ philia with the exiled pretender explains his exceptionally hostile depiction of the ‘usurper’ Antiochos IV.30

3. Antiochos IV and the Treaty of Apameia It has often been noted that Antiochos IV ignored the military clauses of the Treaty of Apameia.31 The treaty had been concluded in 188 by a Roman delegation and the king’s father, Antiochos III the Great, following the latter’s defeat against a combined Attalid-Roman army in the Battle of Magnesia, one year earlier. The treaty obliged Antiochos III to pay a war indemnity of 15,000 talents, to retreat his forces from Asia Minor, and send twenty hostages to Rome.32 Severe restrictions were imposed on the possession of war ships and elephants, at least in the Levant. A highly ambiguous clause furthermore disallowed Antiochos III to recruit troops among people who were ‘under the sovereignty of the Roman people’ (sub dicione populi Romani).33 Antiochos IV however had at his disposal a ‘forbidden’ force of war elephants, which he marched to Egypt, and were later used in combat during the Makkabean War.34 More significantly, the king self-confidently paraded these elephants at Daphne for all the western world to see.35 Apparently, the elephant was still a common emblem of Seleukid power (and also to be associated with Dionysos, as we will see shortly).36 The existence of a substantial force of war

30 BUNGE (1976), p. 53; cf. P OLYB. 26.1.1–14 and 30.26.9, questioning Antiochos’ legitimacy by stressing his purported unregal behavior (a similar aim and procedure is at the heart of 1 and 2 Maccabees); pace VIRGILIO (2008), arguing that Polybios’ negative portrayal of Antiochos aimed at justifying the rise of Rome. Also see POLYB. 31.12, defending the legitimacy of Demetrios’ claims. On Polybios appraisal of Antiochos in general see WELWEI (1963), p. 68–76. 31 Most compellingly by PALTIEL (1979); also see MORGAN (1990), p. 47–48; MITTAG (2006), p. 224. 32 The treaty furthermore regulated the delivery of 540,000 modii of grain to Rome, the payment of 477 talents and 1,208 drachms to Eumenes II; the treaty’s content is paraphrased by POLYB. 21.17.1–8, and cited in more detail by LIV. 38.38.1–17. 33 LIV. 38.38.10. On the imprecise territorial aspects of the Treaty of Apameia see MITTAG (2006), p. 50 n. 1, with further references. 34 1Macc 1.17, 3.34, 6.30, 6.34–37, and 6.43–46; 2Macc 11.4, 13.2, and 15; JOS., Ant. Jud. 12.295, 366, 371–374; JOS., Bell. Jud. 1.41–44. 35 POLYB. 30.25.11; see SEKUNDA, in this volume. 36 For the image of the elephant as a symbol of the Seleukids see COùKUN (2012); KOSMIN (2014), p. 1–3. Antiochos IV used the image of an elephant on bronze coinage, as did previously his brother, Seleukos IV (SC II, no. 1353–1356); perhaps best known are the elephant heads on Antiochos’ coinage from Ptolemais-Ake, a Mediterranean port (SC II 1477; SNG Spaer 963–972), and to be dated to c. 169/168; cf. SPAER (1976) and MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 125–130. After Antiochos’ death, elephants still figure on the

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elephants, moreover, is attested by Polybios’ and Appian’s accounts of the failed mission of the legates Gnaeus Octavius, Spurius Lucretius, and Lucius Aurelius, who arrived at Laodikeia on the Sea in 163, after Antiochos’ death, and ordered the burning of the Seleukid Mediterranean war fleet and the crippling of the elephants stationed there.37 Octavius got himself killed doing this, and the absence of a Roman reaction to his death suggests that the Senate was divided about the mission, or that Octavius had no mandate for these radical actions to begin with.38 In 150, Demetrios I still fielded 25 elephants against Alexander Balas in Syria.39 Since elephants do not breed well in captivity, this relatively late date indicates that in the reign of either Demetrios or his predecessor, Antiochos IV, the elephant corps had been replenished from Baktria or India,40 something that the Treaty of Apameia expressly forbade.41 Antiochos may have employed troops from beyond the Taurus, as units of Mysians, Thrakians, and Galatians presented themselves at Daphne.42 Although formulated somewhat ambiguously, the treaty seems to have disallowed this;43 1 Maccabees claims that the majority of the troops led by Lysias against the Makkabean forces in 163 consisted of hired soldiers ‘from the isles of the sea’ (sc. from the Aegean) as well as allied forces.44 Whether the troops at Daphne were really drawn from Asia Minor must remain uncertain: Polybios mentions ethnicity, not countries.45

coinages of Demetrios I (SC II 1646; 1745), Alexander I (SC II 1791; 1872; 1876), Antiochos VI (SC II, Nr. 2243), and lastly Alexander II (SC II, Nr. 2243). 37 POLYB. 31.2.9–11; APP., Syr. 46 (240). The location is given by Appian; for the date see GRUEN (1976), p. 81, and for discussion and references consult EHLING (2008), p. 120–121. 38 GRUEN (1976), p. 81–82. 39 SACHS / HUNGER III Nr. 149, obv. ll. 8–11, dated to 23 SimƗnu 162 SE; for the date of the battle – June or March 150 – see VAN DER SPEK (1998); EHLING (2008), p. 152– 153. 40 Cf. JUST. 38.9.4; for the enduring integration of Baktria in the Seleukid fabric of empire until c. 140 see WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016); STROOTMAN (2017a) and ID. (in press). 41 POLYB. 21.42.12; LIV. 38.38.7–8. 42 POLYB. 30.25.4–5; cf. BAR-KOCHVA (1989), p. 468–469, arguing that they were recruited for Antiochos’ planned eastern campaigns. 43 LIV. 38.38.9–10; cf. SION-JENKIS (2001), showing that in contrast to formerly held views, Asia Minor remained an important recruiting ground for mercenaries after 188, as also the Attalids and Ptolemies continued to hire troops there. 44 1Macc 6.29: țĮ੿ ਕʌઁ Ȟ੾ıȦȞ șĮȜĮıı૵Ȟ ਷ȜșȠȞ ʌȡઁȢ Į੝IJઁȞ įȣȞ੺ȝİȚȢ ȝȚıșȦIJĮ઀. Cf. EHLING (2008), p. 114 with n. 21 and 22, for discussion and references. 45 Soldiers could adopt ‘ethnic’ regimental identities even if not having these from birth; on ethnic denominations and esprit de corps in the Seleukid army see now HOULE (2015). Also see ENGELS in this volume, who persuasively argues that the ‘Macedonian’ phalanx of the Seleukids may have consisted in large part of troops recruited among Babylonians.

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Furthermore, there is evidence that Antiochos maintained a fleet in defiance of the clause that forbade his father to possess more than ten small warships.46 Antiochos’ two desert marches into Egypt in the Sixth Syrian War obviously had to be supported by a fleet,47 and according to 1 Maccabees this fleet was a large one .48 Around 169 these ships defeated the Ptolemaic navy in a sea battle off Pelousion.49 In the second year of the conflict, Antiochos sent a fleet to Cyprus, which again was victorious in a naval engagement.50 Antiochos’ apparent lack of concern for the treaty begs the question of whether the treaty’s military clauses were at all binding to him. The Senate at least did nothing to enforce them upon him. Nor was he ever so much as reprimanded. It has been suggested that Rome did not correct Antiochos because the Senate trusted him,51 or that the military clauses took effect ‘only if the king showed signs of moving into Asia Minor, Europe or the Aegean, [but] that there was no ban on such weaponry when it was pointed in other directions’,52 or that Rome simply did not know what was going on in the east.53 All this seems to be tantamount to ascribing superpowers to the Senate: the basic assumption in each case is that the Romans somehow would have been able to control Antiochos, if they had wished to do so, without actually being present in the Levant. The answer to the question of whether Antiochos was bound to his father’s agreement with the Romans is readily available in both versions of the treaty that have been preserved: there was no such thing as a Seleukid ‘state’ and both Polybios and Livy unequivocally declare that the treaty was concluded – in accordance with Hellenistic practice, we may add – between ‘Antiochos’ (III) and ‘the Roman people’.54 The arrival in 163 of the embassy of Octavius at Laodikeia to (unsuccessfully) try and enforce the military terms of the treaty retroactively, sometimes is cited as evidence that there existed a kind of regular, internationally accepted Staatsrecht.55 But the point is that the uneven 46

For the ‘naval clause’ see LIV. 38.38.8–9. This is corroborated by LIV. 45.12.1. 48 1Macc 1.17; also see POLYB. 22.7.4, recording for 188/187 that Seleukos IV promised the Achaian League ten ‘long ships’ (sc. war galleys). 49 LIV. 44.19.9; cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 165. 50 LIV. 45.12.7; cf. 11.9. Nothing in the Treaty of Apameia forbade cities like Tyre, Arados or Tarsos to have navies, and military contractors could theoretically place privately owned warships at the king’s disposal. 51 NIESE (1903), p. 171–172. Cf. SCOLNIC in this volume. 52 MORGAN (1990), p. 48 n. 49, following WILL (1982), p. 224. 53 EHLING (2008), p. 119–120. 54 POLYB. 21.17.8 and LIV. 38.38.1–2; and rightly highlighted by PALTIEL (1979), whose conclusion that the treaty applied only to Antiochos because that is what the treaty says, usually is rejected without much discussion. 55 E.g. MITTAG (2008), p. 224 n. 43; cf. MORGAN (1990), p. 48, n. 49. So also the vague statement of DIOD. SIC. 29.24 that in c. 179 Seleukos backed away from moving his army into Asia Minor and against Eumenes II because he suddenly ‘remembered’ the 47

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diplomatic relation between an institutionalized civic community (a populus or dƝmos) and a person was au fond ambiguous—not to mention the complications of intercultural diplomacy over large geographical distances. The Octavius embassy more likely was sent ad hoc because the unexpected death of Antiochos and the accession of his minor son, Antiochos V, offered Rome an opportunity to destabilize the Seleukid dynasty.56 B. Meißner has rightly pointed out the fundamental distinction between the highly formalized Roman conception of peace treaties and the more differentiated and ad hoc customs prevalent among Hellenistic kings.57 E. Gruen emphasized the Senate’s readiness to adapt to Hellenistic practices as well as, more importantly, the elasticity with which agreements could be interpreted, especially decades after their conclusion.58 Furthermore, if there was a universal custom governing treaties between Hellenistic dynasties, it must have been that they lasted no longer than the lifespan of the individuals who had made the agreement. This is an important dynamic behind the so-called Syrian Wars, as J. Grainger showed: individual kings scrupulously honored agreements but warfare between Ptolemies and Seleukids resumed as soon as one of the kings involved in the last peace had died.59 For example, after the peace that ended the Fourth Syrian War in 217, Antiochos III, even though it was he who had lost the war, could campaign with his field army in Anatolia, Armenia, Iran and even Central Asia for years without having to fear a Ptolemaic attack from Koile Syria, knowing that his adversary, Ptolemy IV, was bound by an oath. But just one year after the accession of Ptolemy V Philadelphos in 204, the notorious anti-Ptolemaic pact with Philip V had been concluded, and in 202 Antiochos III violently attacked the Ptolemies in Koile Syria. It is probably significant that the only part of the treaty that was inherited by Antiochos III’s successor, Seleukos IV, was the promise to deliver part of the indemnity in annual payments of 1,000 talents for the duration of twelve years; that apparently was a pledge that could not be broken until it was fulfilled.60

agreement his father had made with the Romans: he more plausibly reconsidered because Roman legates had arrived on the scene in support of Eumenes’ claims (DIOD. SIC. 29.22), which presumably entailed the possibility of a direct military confrontation with Rome, a war for which Seleukos at that time apparently had no appetite. 56 SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 222. 57 MEIßNER (1992). 58 This is one of the main arguments in GRUEN (1984), emphasizing also ensuing misunderstandings, particularly regarding the (non-)equivalency of the Greek concept of interstate philia and Roman amicitia. On meaning and use of amicitia in Greek cities see more recently COùKUN (2008), with WILLIAMS (2008). On the similarities between philia as alliance between individuals and philia as alliance between polities in the third-century Aegean see now STROOTMAN (forthcoming a). 59 GRAINGER (2010). 60 POLYB. 21.17.4–5; LIV. 38.38.13; cf. 42.6.6–7.

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In sum, from Antiochos’ point of view he was not bound by oaths his father had sworn; the Romans, for their part, approached the Seleukid kings with the usual flexibility that reflected shifting power relations within the divided Roman elite. But apart from the Octavius incident after Antiochos’ reign, and perhaps the Day of Eleusis five years earlier, the Senate refrained from antagonizing the Seleukid court. I suggest that this is the important point here: though the Day of Eleusis, if at all historical, may have been a Cuba Crisis of sorts, the Romans from their side, too, avoided armed conflict with the King of Asia.

4. Seleukid Imperialism in Asia Minor and Greece after Apameia Today, the most conspicuous legacy of Antiochos IV—not counting his appearances in 1 and 2 Maccabees and the book of Daniel—is not to be found in the Middle East but in Greece: the Olympieion in Athens. Replacing a smaller, derelict building of the Peisistratid era, Antiochos commissioned the temple’s construction around 175. It was still unfinished at the king’s death in 164,61 and would not be completed until the reign of the philhellene Roman emperor, Hadrian, who finally dedicated the sanctuary in 132 CE. Vitruvius described the colossal temple built by Antiochos and his architect, Cossutius, even in its unfinished form as ‘a work not only universally esteemed, but counted among the rarest specimens of magnificence’, and equated the Olympieion with the Temple of Artemis at Ephesos and the Temple of Apollon at Didyma.62 The costs of the columns alone amounted to c. 700 talents of silver.63 The building of the Olympieion has been dismissed as merely ‘cultural’ patronage, and thus as a non-political activity.64 But can the construction of the biggest Pan-Hellenic temple ever built, located in the symbolic heart of Greece, and meant to house a gigantic statue of the most powerful of all the gods really 61 VITR., VII praef. 17; cf. POLYB. 26.1.11; STRABO 9.1.17; VELL. 1.10.1. PAUS. 1.18.6 highlights Hadrian’s additions. 62 VITR., VII praef. 15; LIV. 41.20 comments on the unique magnitude of the monument, and PLUT., Sol. 32.2 later counted it with Plato’s Krition among ‘the many beautiful works to remain unfinished’. The temple’s colossal size – the ground plan measured 41 x 108 m. and the naos was surrounded by a double row of in total 104 Corinthian columns, all of them 17 m. high and 2 m. in diameter – can therefore be seen as an expression of the power and wealth of Antiochos IV; cf. TÖLLE-KASTENBEIN (1994), p. 213. On Cossutius see ABRAMSON (1975). 63 MITTAG (2006), p. 116 n. 102. 64 Skeptical is already MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 55–63, followed by SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 221. MATTERN (2008), p. 618–619, groups the Olympieion with the third-century Artemis Temple at Sardeis and the Zeus Temple at Lebadeia in Boiotia, commissioned by Antiochos IV too – and like the Olympieion unfinished at the king’s death (PAUS. 9.39.3), in a category of Hellenistic (Seleukid) ‘giant temples’.

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be seen as a politically neutral act? Royal euergesia, and especially the patronage of sanctuaries and cults, was a forceful and well-tested instrument of empire-building in the Hellenistic Aegean. The religious sphere, moreover, was the principal ‘contact zone’ wherein ‘global’ empire and local community interacted.65 For the Senate, the construction of a temple of course was no casus belli. Athens, like most poleis, was an autonomous polity. But this huge building project reveals that Antiochos reactivated, and presumably expanded, Seleukid philia and xenia networks across the Aegean and into mainland Greece.66 Under Antiochos’ rule, the longstanding Seleukid connections to Milesian elite families were as strong as they had been in the third century.67 The existence of imperial networks in the Aegean region are also apparent from Antiochos’ funding of a theater in Tegea, a city wall in Megalopolis, and a huge temple of Zeus Basileus in Lebadeia.68 It has been suggested that Antiochos included ‘little towns like Tegea among the beneficiaries [because] perhaps he simply built wherever he was allowed to do so’.69 But Tegea was not insignificant, and neither was Megalopolis. Quite the contrary: these were not only important centers of the Achaian League, but most of all strategically located, heavily fortified cities.70 Their geopolitical significance was military above all, and there is archaeological evidence that the fortifications in Megalopolis were actually constructed at this time.71 Antiochos’ other 65

STROOTMAN (2013a); STROOTMAN (2017c); also WRIGHT (2012). Cf. e.g. MERRITT (1967), p. 61–63, on an Athenian honorific decree of c. 170 BC awarding citizenship to Menodoros, a representative of ‘King Antiochos’ (IV), also mentioning an honorific statue of Antiochos in Athens. On the Seleukids’ good relations with Athens before and after the reign of Antiochos IV see respectively HABICHT (1989) and WRIGHT (2008). 67 HOMMEL (1976); HERMANN (1987); QUASS (1993), p. 106–107. 68 LIV. 41.20.6; Lebadeia: BRINGMANN / VON STEUBEN (1995), no. 396, cf. MATTERN (2008), p. 619–620. 69 LAUTER (1986), p. 17: ‘Warum er unter die Empfänger seiner Gaben Städtchen wie Tegea und Lebadeia einbezog, bleibt gleichwohl rätselhaft. Vielleicht baute er einfach dort, wo man ihn gewähren ließ?’; the translation cited here is by BRINGMANN (1993), p. 15–16, who is skeptical of the image of a rather random choice of sites. 70 MATTERN (2008), p. 624–625, emphasizing also the strategic and symbolic importance of Lebadeia in Boiotia, which was moreover home to a famous oracle. In the second century CE, Pausanias (9.39.2) praised the grandeur of Lebadeia, and ranked the city ‘among the most prosperous in Greece’. Mattern’s suggestion that with his building activities Antiochos IV may have aimed at presenting himself as heir of Alexander the Great is very unlikely: between 305 and 150 BC, Alexander is entirely absent from Seleukid royal representation, and for the reign of Antiochos IV too there is no evidence that ever associated himself with Alexander; STROOTMAN (2017b). 71 That is, the reign of Antiochos IV as the precise date of the donations to Tegea and Megalopolis is unknown; for the evidence see BRINGMANN / VON STEUBEN (1995), no. 55. 66

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benefactions were also substantial and directed at important cities and sanctuaries: Rhodes,72 Miletos,73 Kyzikos;74 and, last but not least, the PanHellenic Apollon sanctuary on Delos, perhaps the main hub of ‘international’ connectivity in the Aegean.75 With his benefactions to Megalopolis and Tegea, Antiochos continued a policy of rapprochement with the Achaian League that his brother, Seleukos IV, had initiated. In 185, Seleukos had asked the Achaians for an alliance, and offered them ten warships.76 The hostility of Seleukos IV towards Rome has often been noted.77 He had openly entered the stage of Aegean politics by reclaiming the Seleukids’ role as suzerains of the Anatolian dynasties, and by giving his daughter, Laodike, in marriage to Perseus.78 It is hard to see this marriage as anything else but the establishment of an alliance between the two the dynasties.79 Seleukos’ activity in the Aegean may have worried, or angered, the Senate and it may have prompted the otherwise unexplainable crippling of Rhodian power shortly thereafter.80 Around 180/79, Seleukos assembled a vast army to assist his kinsman, Pharnakes I of Pontos, in a war against Ariarathes IV and Eumenes II, but retreated when Roman delegates arrived in Asia Minor to support Eumenes.81

72 LIV. 41.20.7; Syll.3 644/645 Z. 12–27 = BRINGMANN / VON STEUBEN (1995), no. 210; cf. MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 57; MITTAG (2006), p. 105–106 n. 45. 73 SEG 36 (1986), 1046 = BRINGMANN / VON STEUBEN (1995), no. 283; cf. MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 56; MITTAG (2006), p. 106 n. 47. 74 LIV. 41.20.7 = BRINGMANN / VON STEUBEN (1995), no. 240; cf. MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 57; MITTAG (2006), p. 106 n. 46. 75 POLYB. 26.1.11; LIV. 41.20.9; ATHEN. 5.194a = BRINGMANN / VON STEUBEN (1995), no. 170; cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 105 n. 44, also drawing attention to the decrees in honor of Antiochos found on Delos. It is possible but uncertain that Antiochos donated an expensive purple curtain for the entrance to the sanctuary of Zeus at Olympia, and funded the restoration of the famous cult statue; see MITTAG (2006), p. 107 with n. 49. 76 POLYB. 22.7.4, using the term ijȚȜȓĮ (a ritualized obligation of mutual aid) and at 22.7.1 writes ıȣȝȝĮȤȓĮ (military alliance) in a similar context. Seleukos’ pact with the Achaian League is seen as a violation of the Treaty of Apameia by BEVAN (1902), p. 123 n. 2; BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913/1914), p. 229; MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 33; and GRUEN (1984), p. 645, n. 164. The Achaian Council accepted the alliance but declined the ships. 77 BEVAN (1902), p. 124; BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913/1914), p. 228; WILL (1982), p. 303. 78 The marriage is usually thought to have taken place at Perseus’ accession, probably in 178; cf. POLYB. 24.5.8; LIV. 42.12.3; APP., Mac. 11.2; SIG3 689. MORGAN (1990), p. 49, argues that Seleukos asked the Rhodians to provide a flotilla to escort his daughter though the Aegean to Macedon in order not to antagonize the Romans. 79 Pace SEIBERT (1967), p. 44. 80 POLYB. 25.4.4–8; LIV. 41.6.8–12; cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 113 with n. 88 for further references. 81 DIOD. SIC. 29.22 and 24. See PAYEN in this volume.

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Like his predecessor, Antiochos maintained good relations with several of the middle powers in the Aegean, including Rhodes,82 the Achaian League,83 the Attalid king Eumenes II,84 and probably Pharnakes I of Pontos and Perseus, King of the Macedonians. Ariarathes IV of Kappadokia was a blood relative who was married to his sister, Antiochis;85 as ruler of a Seleukid satellite kingdom, Ariarathes had sent his army to fight for his father-in-law, Antiochos III, in the Battle of Magnesia in 190 (though he became a friend of the Romans after 188 and sided with Eumenes II against Pharnakes I in the PonticPergamene war of 183–179).86 With his policy of (re)building dynastic networks in Asia Minor, Antiochos continued a policy of his predecessor, his brother Seleukos IV. Nor did this form of empire-building come to an end after the death of Antiochos IV. His successor, Demetrios I, married the widow of Perseus of Macedon, his own sister Laodike,87 and around 161/160 gave Antiochos IV’s daughter, Nysa, in marriage to Pharnakes of Pontos.88 Demetrios supported his cousin Orophernes III against Ariarathes V in the Kappadokian fraternal war of c. 160,89 and still in the 130s the energetic Antiochos VII Sidetes gave financial support to Ariarathes V of Kappadokia.90 Antiochos also restored and expanded his family’s network of friends in the Greek poleis. Direct control of cities, particularly in the contested arena of the Aegean, was impractical, if not impossible, for empires; empire in the Aegean therefore had in the past predominantly taken the form of hegemony by means of diplomacy and force, rather than territorial conquest and state formation.91 As 82

WIEMER (2002), p. 291–292. MITTAG (2006), p. 110–111. 84 MITTAG (2006), p. 107–110. See MICHELS in this volume. 85 APP., Syr. 1.5; Cf. PAINITSCHEK (1986–1987); GÜNTHER (1995); MCAULEY in this volume. 86 LIV. 37.31.4; APP., Syr. 6.32. For his alliance with Eumenes see POLYB. 24.1, 5, 8; 25.2. On marriage alliances and Seleukid client kings in Asia Minor see GABELKO (2009); MCAULEY (2017); cf. SULLIVAN (1990). Also see MICHELS, MCAULEY and PAYEN in this volume. 87 EHLING (2008), p. 88–89. 88 MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 54; EHLING (2008), p. 140. 89 On the conflict between Orophernes and Ariarathes see BALLESTEROS PASTOR (2008). 90 As follows from the largescale import of tetradrachms of Antiochos VII; see LORBER / HOUGHTON (2006). Imitative tetradrachms in the name of Antiochos VII were struck at several Kappadokian mints during the reign of Nysa, a granddaughter of Antiochos III, who was regent for her minor son Ariarathes VI Epiphanes from c. 131/130 to 126, as well as by several later Kappadokian rulers well into the first century BC; see for Nysa’s coinage KRENGEL / LORBER (2009), and for the later issues LORBER / HOUGHTON (2006). 91 STROOTMAN (2011a); STROOTMAN (forthcoming a). From the fourth century, cities increasingly were protected by defensive walls and elaborate fortifications; poleis in the Hellenistic period moreover often disposed of their own, independent military 83

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a result, several competing imperial projects had been active in this region simultaneously. No Roman provinces, moreover, had yet been created in Greece or Asia Minor, and all Roman legions had returned to Italy even after the Third Macedonian War.92 The Greek poleis were still autonomous polities and they had a long history of maintaining philia with a number of imperial dynasties at the same time, and despite the presence of an abundance of oracular shrines, no one in Greece was actually able to foresee the future. There is no indication that Antiochos’ imperial activities in Asia Minor and Greece worried the Senate. Certain powerful Senators may have been friends of Antiochos. He had after all been in Rome long enough to build up personal alliances. It was only with his conspicuous military successes in the second year of the Sixth Syrian War that the Senate acted; the Senators probably did so because they realized that direct control of Egypt by the Seleukids could cause a shift in the power balance in the eastern Mediterranean, a shift that would again make the Seleukid Empire the only superpower in the region. Although the Polybian account of Popilius Laenas’ alleged humiliation of Antiochos is no longer universally accepted as truthful, the significance of the so-called Day of Eleusis is still debated. All we can say with certainty, is that Antiochos at that time had no desire to have a conflict with Rome. He also may have been satisfied with the military defeat of the Ptolemies. After all, he had successfully fenced off an unprovoked attack by the old enemy, and had made the aggressors pay dearly. Also, the booty and slaves taken during the campaigns probably were sufficient to satisfy his military leaders with gifts and repay his money-lenders, as well as expand his military capabilities and show his magnanimity to the peoples of his empire.93

capabilities, and when threatened by an imperial power could invoke the help of a rival empire; on the vitality of civic military culture and defensive capabilities in Hellenistic Asia Minor see MA (2004); MIGEOTTE (2008); BOULAY (2014). 92 See especially KALLET-MARX (1995), showing how the establishment of Roman rule in Greece and Asia Minor was not suddenly and irreversibly imposed after the spectacular victories over Philip V and Antiochos III; instead it was a prolonged and differentiated process that took place mostly after the sack of Corinth (i.e. in the time that Polybios developed his views on Rome’s role in world history); cf. also SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 218: ‘The dates of 188 (Peace of Apamea), 168 (Battle of Pydna) and 146 (sack of Corinth) mark significant phases in Rome’s eastward expansion, but are of relatively slight significance for understanding the end of Seleucid rule.’ Kallet-Marx’s distinction between ‘hegemony’ and ‘empire’ however is misleading since it a priori assumes that ‘hegemony’ is not a form of empire – indirect rule in fact is the most common form of empire in pre- and early modern Eurasia; cf. e.g. DOYLE (1986), p. 45; MORRISON (2001), p. 5–6; BARKEY (2008), p. 9; BANG / BAYLY (2011), p. 6–7; on indirect rule in the (later) Seleukid Empire see below, n. 144. 93 Whether the permanent conquest of Egypt was the aim of the campaigns is an open question; see however FISCHER-BOVET (2014), arguing forcefully that Antiochos did intend to occupy Egypt. Antiochos did capture Memphis, the provincial capital of Egypt,

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Another reason may have been that his primary aim at that time was to reaffirm his dynasty’s control over the Upper Satrapies. A prolonged campaign to Baktria and India could only be undertaken if Rome was not hostile, and the hostile Ptolemies were beaten.

5. A Hellenistic New Year Festival Because of the participation of the army, previous scholarship has reduced the procession at Daphne to a military parade, a ‘spectacle’, and sometimes the festival has even been rendered a victory celebration or indeed an attempt to imitate the Roman triumphus ritual.94 The religious aspects of the festival are often underestimated or ignored. The sources make it very clear, however, that the celebrations at Daphne were religious and had an eastern Mediterranean, Hellenistic form: Antiochos sent out sacred ambassadors to invite the Greek poleis to participate, and the festival comprised a procession (pompƝ), sacrifices, and his troops advanced southward to the Thebaid; cf. MITTAG (2008), p. 171. For a detailed account of the events during the Sixth Syrian War see GRAINGER (2010), p. 291– 308. 94 E.g., GRUEN (1974), p. 76; WALBANK (1996), p. 126–127; EDMONDSON (1999), p. 87; and BELL (2004), p. 146–148. BOULEY (1986) heaps conjecture upon conjecture by supposing that Antiochos was mocking a Roman triumph. The notion that Hellenistic imperial pompai such as the so-called Grand Procession of Ptolemy Philadelphos or the procession at Daphne were modeled on the Roman triumph was dismantled already by VERSNEL (1970), p. 250–254, who more convincingly argued the opposite to explain similarities, namely that the late Republican ritual of triumphus and comparable Hellenistic celebrations had a shared background in older Mediterranean festivals; also see JOHNSON (1993) and ERSKINE (2013), p. 47–48. RICE (1983) argued that the Hellenistic custom of including troops in pompai goes back to the reign of Alexander, specifically the ‘military procession’ organized at Soloi (ARR., Anab. 2.5.8) because there only soldiers had been present to observe the periodic rites of the Macedonian koinon and basileia (but misses the point that these warriors were the people, and that Macedonian kingship was a military and religious office). In fact, the participation of men-at-arms in processions may have had older, Macedonian roots, on which see now MARI (2017); also see DILLERY (2004), p. 271, arriving at a similar conclusion for different reasons. Though the festival at Daphne can be connected with the Egyptian campaigns, the conceptualization of the procession as a (military) ‘parade’, viz., essentially a secular event, is rooted in the now obsolete presumption that in the Hellenistic period Greek religion ‘declined’, and moreover undervalues the religious and ritualistic aspects of kingship. See for instance WALBANK (1996), p. 120, who admits that processions ‘were basically religious’, but a priori assumes that in the Hellenistic period processions had lost most of their cultic character ‘even in the polis’. BAR-KOCHVA (1989) argues in a similar vein that the procession was not religious but a parade marking the beginning of Antiochos’ campaign to the east (and therefore should be dated to 165); but Daphne was located in the west of the Seleukid Empire and an unlikely point of departure for a march to the Upper Satrapies.

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sacrificial meals and ritualized feasting, as well as games. The festival at Amphipolis hosted by Aemilius Paullus, that Antiochos’ wished to outdo, was a Hellenistic, Pan-Hellenic festival, too.95 The procession cannot have been a ‘spectacle’ because the soldiers in the procession were not hired actors giving a show but the principal participants. Furthermore, citizens of Antioch and representatives of other poleis participated in the celebrations. The festival at Daphne had been a repetitive festival and it most likely took place annually, sometimes in the presence of the king.96 Some ten years ago I proposed to understand the celebrations at Daphne as new year celebrations.97 Several aspects of the procession are indicative of this, in particular the attendance of (images of) ‘all the gods […] worshipped by men and all of the demigods’, as well as Ge (Earth) and Ouranos (Sky), Nyx (Night) and Hemera (Day).98 These primordial deities can be associated with Creation, which in turn is the type of myth associated with the AkƯtu-type of new year ritual in the Near East. Above all, the erratic behavior of Antiochos that Polybios ridicules may, in reality, have been a form of ritualized role reversal. New year festivals in the Mediterranean and the Near East often comprise rites of reversal.99 The wellknown Mesopotamian AkƯtu festivals, adopted in various local forms in the Levant during the Neo-Babylonian period, focused on the person of the king; during the festival, the temporary abdication and humiliation of the king coincided with a period of ritual anomy in which social order collapsed so that the world could be recreated, and order restored.100 Diodoros even says about Antiochos, that ‘if his diadem had been removed, no one would have believed that he was the king and the master of all.’101 Immediately preceding this remark, Diodoros writes that Antiochos ‘rode on an inferior horse by the side of the procession, ordering one part to advance, and another to halt, as occasion required.’ The skinny horse and the deliberate creation of chaos evoke

95 As emphasized by JOHNSON (1993) and ERSKINE (2013). GRUEN (1986), p. 660, and still BELL (2004), p. 139–140, confuse the festival at Amphipolis in 167 with Paullus’ later triumphus at Rome. PELLIKAN PITTINGER (2008), p. 272–274, emphasizes the Greek character of the Amphipolis festival but undervalues its religious aspects. 96 LIV. 33.48.4–6 and 49.6 has recorded the celebration of the festival in the presence of a Seleukid king in 195 or 196 BC; cf. ATHEN. 12.540a; OGIS 248 l. 52–53. 97 STROOTMAN (2007), p. 308–310; cf. STROOTMAN (2014a), p. 251–252. 98 POLYB. 30.25.12–19 ap. ATHEN. V 195a. 99 See VERSNEL (1993), p. 1–14. 100 See generally BIDMEAD (2002); for Babylonian new year festivals in the Hellenistic period consult LINSSEN (2004), p. 71–87; Seleukid rulers sometimes performed the role of Babylonian kings in the festival AkƯtu in Babylon: see SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 130–131; STROOTMAN (2013a), p. 70–80; RISTVET (2015), p. 153–210. 101 DIOD. SIC. 31.16.2; the king’s subservient role during the sacrificial feasts, too, is revealingly described by Polybios as behavior unworthy of a king (30.26.1–8).

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associations with Dionysos and with Dionysiac processions.102 That too suggests the coming of a new year or new age. The Dionysian aspect is important and we will return to it shortly. The occasion may be tentatively identified with the Autumn equinox at the beginning of the month Dios/TašrƯtu (Sept.-Oct.), which is the date of the Macedonian new year and new year in Late Bronze Age Ugarit and Iron Age Israel (as well as for the smaller, mid-year AkƯtu of Mesopotamian calendars).103 As a sacred place the sanctuary at Daphne had a pre-Hellenistic origin.104 Drawing on the age-old East Mediterranean custom of deity-translation, its cults deliberately amalgamated local Syrian and migrant religions to create a communal focus for identity formation.105 It is also clear that Antiochos enlarged and changed the festival, creating, at least for this occasion, a massive event with a substantially extended geographical impact. The enlarged festival seems to have been organized to attract sacred embassies specifically from the Aegean poleis: This same king (sc. Antiochos IV) when he heard of the games celebrated in Macedonia by Aemilius Paullus the Roman general, ambitious of surpassing Paullus in magnificence sent out envoys and sacred embassies (theoroi) to the poleis to announce the games he was about to give at Daphne, so that the Greeks were very eager to visit Daphne then.106

102 STROOTMAN (2007), p. 310, and (2014a), p. 251–252; also rightly stressed by IOSSIF (2011). KÖHLER (1996), p. 156, conjectures that Antiochos did not create chaos, but, on the contrary, felt personally responsible for the flawless execution of the festival: ‘Die Sorge um den planmäßigen Festablauf ist aber sicher positiv zu verstehen, der Herrscher demonstrierte durch das persönliche Eingreifen sein Verantwortungsbewusstsein.’ 103 Conversation with Jan Wagenaar, March 2006; cf. WAGENAAR (2005); the Macedonian and Babylonian calendars had been synchronized by the early Seleukids; as a result of this, the Macedonian new year fell halfway through the Babylonian year about the time of the autumn equinox; see SAMUEL (1972), p. 142; HANNAH (2005), p. 82–97; cf. PARKER / DUBBERSTEIN (1956). TašrƯtu means ‘Beginning’ in Akkadian, and the month was associated with the solar deity Shamash, who could be identified with the Greek Golden Age deity Chronos (Saturn), whose festival contained elements of ritual reversal, too; see VERSNEL (1993), p. 89–135. I hope to treat these matters at more length in a future publication. Incidentally, at Ugarit the Autumn equinox also marked the start of the harvest of wine grapes. On the correlations of Babylonian AkƯtu and the Syrian festival see also RISTVET (2014). 104 STROOTMAN (forthcoming b). 105 Ibidem. On the widespread East Mediterranean practice of Göttergleichungen, and the varying degrees of what he called the transcultural Übersetzbarkeit of local deities (i.e. the measure of translatability of a god from one cultural area or community to another), see ASSMANN (2003), p. 28–37; cf. BACHMANN-MEDICK (2014), exploring what in cultural exchanges is translatable and what is not. 106 POLYB. 30.25.1/31.3.1 (transl. E.S. SHUCKBURGH, Loeb): ੒ įૃ Į੝IJઁȢ Ƞ੤IJȠȢ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ ਕțȠȪıĮȢ IJȠઃȢ ਥȞ IJૌ ȂĮțİįȠȞȓ઺ ıȣȞIJİIJİȜİıȝȑȞȠȣȢ ਕȖ૵ȞĮȢ ਫ਼ʌઁ ǹੁȝȚȜȓȠȣ

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For the practice of empire, visibility and presence of the ruler was key.107 Since premodern empires were first negotiated enterprises, the constant interaction with elites was of vital importance for their success and survival.108 The Daphne Festival, in its new Pan-Hellenic and imperial form, was organized well in advance to attract representatives of lesser polities, particularly from Greece and Asia Minor. Diodoros, as we have seen, wrote that Antiochos ‘brought together the most distinguished men from virtually the whole inhabited world’.109 The word that Diodoros uses here, oikoumenƝ, usually refers to the world of interconnected Greek and Hellenized poleis.110 The specific mention by Polybios of sacred embassies indicates also that delegations from poleis were overrepresented; these embassies together offered no less than 300 cattle, adding up to an even bigger herd of 1,000 that was also part of the procession, and presumably were supplied by the king.111 The presence of these animals in the procession implies that the theoroi were not spectators but participants.112 The crucial event at the conclusion of the procession, after all, was sacrifice. Sacrifice was followed by communal feasting in which the sacrificial meat was distributed among the participants.113 These feasts play a major part in the ancient narratives of the Daphne Festival.114

ȆĮȪȜȠȣ IJȠ૨ ૮ȦȝĮȓȦȞ ıIJȡĮIJȘȖȠ૨, ȕȠȣȜȩȝİȞȠȢ IJૌ ȝİȖĮȜȠįȦȡȓ઺ ਫ਼ʌİȡ઼ȡĮȚ IJઁȞ ȆĮ૨ȜȠȞ ਥȟȑʌİȝȥİ ʌȡȑıȕİȚȢ țĮ੿ șİȦȡȠઃȢ İੁȢ IJ੹Ȣ ʌȩȜİȚȢ țĮIJĮȖȖİȜȠ૨ȞIJĮȢ IJȠઃȢ ਥıȠȝȑȞȠȣȢ ਕȖ૵ȞĮȢ ਫ਼ʌૃ Į੝IJȠ૨ ਥʌ੿ ǻȐijȞȘȢ, ੪Ȣ ʌȠȜȜ੽Ȟ ȖİȞȑıșĮȚ IJ૵Ȟ ਬȜȜȒȞȦȞ ıʌȠȣį੽Ȟ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ੪Ȣ Į੝IJઁȞ ਙijȚȟȚȞ; cf. DIOD. SIC. 31.16.1, quoted above. 107 HEKSTER (2004); specifically for the Seleukid Empire see KOSMIN (2014), p. 142– 180. 108 See note 7, above. On the importance of local elites for the Seleukid Empire see GORRE / HONIGMAN (2013) for Jerusalem; ENGELS (2013) for the Syrian Tetrapolis; and STROOTMAN (2013a); STROOTMAN (2017a); STROOTMAN (forthcoming a) for Babylon, the Iranian highlands, and the poleis of Asia Minor respectively. 109 DIOD. SIC. 31.16.1. 110 See below. 111 POLYB. 30.25.12 ap. ATHEN. 5.195a. 112 Neither were the soldiers simply there to put on a show before a passive audience: they too were participants in communal rituals; for them, ritual marching and feasting will have strengthened regimental identity, and reaffirmed their bonds with their benevolent, charismatic leader. 113 On the significance of meat eating in ancient Greek feasting rituals see EKROTH (2011); MCINERNEY (2010), p. 173–195; MCINERNEY (2014); VAN DEN EIJNDE (2017a). Also see below, n. 128. 114 POLYB. 30.26.3–8; DIOD. SIC. 31.16.2–3. Polybios (30.26.3) says that the banquets organized by the king for his personal guests ‘sometimes 1,000 tables were laid and sometimes 1,500’ (਩ıIJȡȦIJȠ į੻ İੁȢ İ੝ȦȤȓĮȞ ʌȠIJ੻ ȝ੻Ȟ ȤȓȜȚĮ IJȡȓțȜȚȞĮ, ʌȠIJ੻ į੻ ȤȓȜȚĮ ʌİȞIJĮțȩıȚĮ ȝİIJ੹ IJોȢ ʌȠȜȣIJİȜİıIJȐIJȘȢ įȚĮıțİȣોȢ). Feasting likewise takes pride of place in the preserved account of the Alexandrian Ptolemaia festival organized by Ptolemy Philadelphos; see CALANDRA (2011) for the material aspects of the banqueting pavilion.

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6. Ritualized Feasting and the Seleukid Court It is tempting to try to determine the number of participants on the basis of the number of sacrificial cattle. This is not possible. Even if we assume that only the 300 animals supplied by the poleis were slaughtered, this could still have nourished up to 120,000 people if the cattle were fat and the meat distributed in minimal portions of 0.25 kg; if however the cattle was meagre, and the meat divided into big portions of 2 kg, a mere 10,000 people could have been provided with meat.115 Some general observations may nonetheless be made. It has been estimated that the hecatomb sacrificed at the Greater Panathenaia in Classical Athens yielded 20,000 to 30,000 portions of edible meat (but here the uncertain factor is the actual number of cattle in a given hecatomb).116 Following these estimations, the 300 cattle supplied by the theoroi of the poleis could have fed c. 60,000 to 90,000 people. The 1,000 cattle in the king’s herd represented an additional number of portions ranging from at least 32,000 to at most 400,000 portions, or an intermediary range of 200,000–300,000 if we follow the figures of the Panathenaia. There can be little doubt that the 300 animals of the sacred embassies were there to be sacrificed. It would be rash, however, to infer from this round number that there were also 300 delegations, representing the same number of poleis. Rather, numerous delegations will have contributed to a total of three hecatombs, or ritual groupings nominally consisting of 100 sacrificial cattle (citizens of Antioch and Seleukeia in Pieria will have contributed to these civic hecatombs). But even if comprising exactly 3 x 100 pieces of cattle in actuality, the three hecatombs together were hardly sufficient for the court, its numerous guests, and the c. 50,000 troops (not counting non-combatants such as groomsmen, muleteers or, indeed, cattle-drivers). It certainly was not enough to also distribute portions among the citizens of Antioch and Seleukeia, who we

115 Here I use the recent estimates by MCINERNEY (2010), p. 175–176, and NAIDEN (2012), p. 65–66. Drawing on earlier calculations on the basis of epigraphical evidence by M. H. Jameson, R. Osborne and R. Rhodes, and following EKROTH (2008) in assuming that at most Greek festivals it was the norm that participants received equal, or nearly equal, portions (though of course not of equal quality), Naiden proposes a high figure of 2 kg and a low figure of 0.25 kg for one portion; assuming that a full hecatomb of 100 cattle yielded between 6,400 and 10,000 kg of edible meat, this would be sufficient for at least c. 3,200 and at most 40,000 people per hecatomb. McInerney reckons with 220 kg of edible meat for one ancient cow and with average portions of 0.5 kg; in his view, a full hecatomb would ideally yield 44,000 portions of meat, but on average only 30,000 because in practice hecatombs usually comprised less than the prescribed 100 pieces of cattle. The bigger portions probably were meant to nourish families. 116 See resp. NAIDEN (2012), p. 66; and MCINERNEY (2010), p. 176.

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know also participated in the rituals.117 Moreover, it is very unlikely that the troops were nourished by anyone else but the king. Indeed, a festival like this provided the king with a pre-eminent occasion, and also obligation, to demonstrate his capability of taking care of his followers, nourishing them from his own livestock in a majestic gesture of ‘Homeric generosity’.118 The enormous scale of the feasting hosted by the king – the entire festival at Daphne lasted a whole month119 – illustrates the important role of sanctuaries and festivals in what I would like to call the Mobile Court Model of imperial integration. Like the preceding Assyrian, Achaimenid and Argead courts, the Seleukid court was a contact zone where the dynasty interacted with various local communities and interest groups. Representatives of local elites were continuously drawn to the imperial center by the gravitational force of the socalled great events of the court (in particular inaugurations and weddings), while the court itself – consisting of the king, his household and friends, and often accompanied by the army – almost continuously moved from place to place. It can be shown that these movements took into account religious calendars to a significant degree, so that the king would be in time to attend local or regional festivals.120 The movements of the itinerant courts were, of course, also determined by military considerations and the fortunes of war. Antiochos’ elevation of the Daphne Festival to imperial status accords with his well-known efforts to elevate Antioch to a higher status as an imperial center.121 With Mesopotamia and West Iran still firmly under Seleukid control, Antiochos’ apparent policy of strengthening the strategically located Seleukis region in NW Syria suggests a policy aimed at the west. This crossroads of land

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POLYB. 30.25.6 (civic horsemen) and 20.25.12 (ephebes). STROOTMAN (2007), p. 327–328, cf. STROOTMAN (2014), p. 187–188. On nourishing and leadership in Homeric epic see VAN DEN EIJNDE (2017b); cf. HITCH (2009), p. 141–143. Antiochos VII Sidetes is said to have provided huge amounts of food for his guests, too: Poseidonios ap. ATHEN. 5.210d. 119 POLYB. 30.26.1. 120 See STROOTMAN (2013a) for the Near East and STROOTMAN (2017c) for mainland Greece. On the mobile court as an instrument of imperial rule in the Hellenistic world see generally STROOTMAN (2013b). From Hellenistic Greece, some instances are known of festival dates being adapted to the travel schedules of Macedonian kings; in 290, the Pan-Hellenic Pythian Games were held at Athens to allow Demetrios Poliorketes to preside over them and attract representatives of the poleis to his court, for Delphi at that time was controlled by the Aitolians, with whom Demetrios was at war (PLUT., Demetr. 40.4). 121 STRAB. 16.2.4; on the urban expansion and monumentalization of Antioch under Antiochos IV see DOWNEY (1961), p. 55–63; MITTAG (2006), p. 145–149. Human occupation and cultivation of the fertile Amuq Valley north of Antioch increased after the Macedonian conquest and reached a peak in the first part of the second century BC, which is probably to be connected with Antiochos IV’s investments in the region: see DEGIORGIO in GERRITSEN et al. (2008), p. 250; cf. HANNESTAD (2013), p. 251–252. 118

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and sea routes had earlier been developed as an imperial hub by Seleukos I, who thereby aimed to connect the Near East with the Aegean (by sea) and inner Asia Minor (by the Royal Road).122 The expanded Daphne Festival was meant to rival the games at Amphipolis hosted by Paullus.123 The festival at Amphipolis had been aimed at the cities and kings of Asia Minor, as well as the poleis of mainland Greece,124 and it had likewise attracted sacred embassies from the cities bringing sacrifices (legationes cum victimis, sc. șİȦȡ઀ĮȚ).125 Amphipolis was far from insignificant: it was a well-connected port city, a hub of Aegean networks of exchange and interaction. Amphipolis, furthermore, had strong links with the Macedonian monarchy and aristocracy from the fourth century BC,126 and the Artemis Temple at Amphipolis was one of the sanctuaries singled out in Alexander’s posthumous hypomnemata for major investments, next to such sites as Delphi, Dodona, Delos and Ilion.127 Though not a Pan-Hellenic sacred place per se, Amphipolis was to all accounts a major contact zone of the Hellenistic world. The Greek embassies were drawn to Antioch for a more important reason than their being subjected to a great show of monarchical pomp and circumstance. They had come as participants, not spectators, as we have seen. Ritualized feasting has long been recognized as an important setting for the creation of group cohesion and the negotiation of power relations.128 In particular, royal courts, with their flexible but highly ritualized modes of behavior, were key venues for the integration of the various local elites into the fabric of ‘global’ empire through collective participation in solemn rituals, communal consumption of drink and food, and ritualized gift exchange.129

122 On the early Seleukid development of the Seleukis as an ‘imperial’ region see recently KOSMIN (2014), p. 93–119, and STROOTMAN (2014a), p. 68–72, with differing interpretations of the region’s significance for the Seleukid imperial project. 123 LIV. 45.32.8–33.7; PLUT., Aem. 28.3–29.1. 124 LIV. 45.32.8: Ab seriis rebus ludicrum, quod ex multo ante praeparato et in Asiae ciuitates et ad reges missis qui denuntiarent, et, cum circumiret ipse Graeciae ciuitates, indixerat principibus, magno apparatu Amphipoli fecit. 125 LIV. 45.32.1. 126 AEL. ARIST., Symmachikos A, 38.14, p. 715 D; already in 422, the Amphipolitans had institutionalized a cult with yearly sacrifices and games for their ‘liberator’ and latterday hƝrǀs ktistƝs, the Spartan commander Brasidas (THUC. 5.11.1). 127 DIOD. SIC. 18.4.4–5. 128 See generally WIESSNER / SCHIEVENHÖVEL (1998); DIETLER / HAYDEN (2001); HAYDEN (2014); BLOK et al. (2017). I am grateful to Floris van den Eijnde for drawing my attention to the publications of Dietler and Hayden. 129 On ritualized feasting and gift exchange at the Hellenistic courts see STROOTMAN (2014a), p. 188–191. At the Daphne Festival, booty from the last war against the Ptolemies may have been distributed among military leaders and entrepreneurs; cf. n. 21, above.

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In a preceding section we have looked at Antiochos’ reaching out to the Aegean. This section, in addition, focused on the converse movement: the attraction of representatives of Aegean polities to the Seleukid court. The last section of this paper will now consider the ideological implications of the procession.

7. The Symbolism of the Procession: World Empire and Golden Age We already saw that Diodoros uses the word oikoumenƝ to describe the radius of the Daphne Festival.130 Universalistic imagery was also a noticeable element in the procession, which included images of Earth and Heaven, Night and Day, and Dawn and Noon.131 Among the troops were units from various parts of the world, including Thrakians, Galatians, Mysians and Iranians. P. Iossif has argued that the various ‘ethnic’ units in the procession at Daphne also had symbolic meaning; they presented Antiochos as a ruler of all nations, and reanimated the dynasty’s claims to Asia Minor and Thrace as Seleukid doriktƝtos chǀra.132 At Antioch, Antiochos had issued a new type of victory coinage in 173/172. The new tetradrachms with the image of Zeus Nikephoros on the obverse reached back to the dynasty’s founder, Seleukos I Nikator,133 which may have entailed a claim to Seleukos’ far-stretching doriktƝtos chǀra in east and west. There is also the probable association of the king with Dionysos. Such an association is best known from the Ptolemaic context: most of all, the Dionysiac imagery in the Grand Procession of Ptolemy Philadelphos a century earlier had associated the advent of the victorious king with Dionysos’ triumphant return from India.134 It is of course no coincidence that scholars have frequently examined the processions of Ptolemy I and Antiochos IV in tandem. They are similar in many respects. But in the Hellenistic world, royal entries were

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DIOD. SIC. 31.16.1. POLYB. 30.25.16. 132 IOSSIF (2011), p. 136–143, following BRIANT (1999); also see STROOTMAN (2007), p. 313, n. 195. 133 See e.g. SNG Spaer 977, 1004, 1005 (Antioch); cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 142–143. Since direct references to Alexander are absent from Seleukid self-presentation between c. 305 and 150, it is improbable that this coinage was also meant to evoke the memory of Alexander, as assumed by BEVAN (1900); cf. SVENSON (1995), p. 171. 134 The Dionysiac procession is described in full detail by Kallixeinos of Rhodes, FGrHist 627 F 2 ap. ATHEN. 5.196a–203b. The association of Dionysos with India was not an exclusively Ptolemaic idea, as we find it also around 300 with Megasthenes, viz., in a Seleukid context (STRAB. 15.1.6); on Megasthenes and Seleukid myth-making see KOSMIN (2013). There is no hint in either the written or the numismatic evidence that a secondary reference to Alexander lies hidden behind the references to Dionysos. 131

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commonly shaped like a divine parousia.135 Dionysiac imagery at Daphne included the king’s disorganizing behavior, discussed above, the presence of 800 ivory tusks as votive offerings,136 and chariots drawn by elephants. Dionysos featured on Seleukid coinage since the reign of Seleukos IV (187–175 BC), who had struck bronze coins at Ekbatana showing quite consistently Dionysos on the obverse and an Indian elephant on the reverse.137 Antiochos IV was the first Seleukid to portray himself wearing an elephant scalp.138 Dionysos was der kommende Gott, the epiphany deity par excellence.139 For this and other reasons he became a powerful symbol of ideal kingship: as the conqueror of Asia, Dionysos was a victorious god and a savior whose arrival in the west signaled the beginning of a golden age of plentitude and good fortune.140 There may be a link with the enigmatic inscription OGIS 253, dated to 167/166 but of unknown provenance, in which Antiochos IV is hailed as the ‘Savior of Asia.141 A promise of liberation and peace was thus conveyed at 135 STROOTMAN (2007), p. 289–305 and STROOTMAN (2014), p. 233–246; cf. VERSNEL (1970), p. 250–253. On royal entries also BRIANT (2009); PERRIN-SAMINADAYAR (2009); KOSMIN (2014), p. 151–157; MITTAG (2015) [n.v.]. 136 POLYB. 30.25.12. 137 SC II, no. 1353–1356. Antiochos IV used images of elephants on his bronze coinage too (SC II, no. 1554 f.), as did some of his successors: Demetrios I (SC II, no. 1646; 1745), Alexander I (SC II, no. 1791; 1872; 1876), and Antiochos VI (SC II, no. 2243). The last time elephants feature on Seleukid (bronze) coinage is in the reign of Alexander II Zabinas (SC II, no. 2243), who also had himself portrayed wearing an elephant scalp (see below). The image of triumphant Dionysos was known in Greece already in the pre-Hellenistic period (see e.g. HDT. 2.146); but it was only after the death of Alexander that he became associated with India, and elephants became part of Dionysiac processions, first of all in early Ptolemaic Alexandria; see GOUKOWSKY (1978), p. 11–15; KÖHLER (1996), p. 111–112; BOARDMAN (2014), p. 10–13. Dionysian symbolism was adopted most abundantly by Antiochos IV’s grandson, Mithradates VI Eupator. 138 SC II, no. 1533: Susa. On the association of the elephant scalp with Dionysos, viz., the conquest of India—first encountered on Ptolemaic coins—see KÖHLER (1996), p. 112 with n. 394. Elephant scalps are later also worn by Demetrios I (SC II, no. 1696; Seleukeia on the Tigris), Demetrios II (SC II, no. 1989: Seleukeia on the Tigris), and finally Alexander II (SC II, no. 2234: Antioch). 139 BURKERT (1994), p. 162, with n. 6 on p. 412. 140 TONDRIAU (1953); VERSNEL (1970), p. 250–253; HEINEN (1983). On Golden Age imagery in Hellenistic royal ideology and representation see ALFÖLDI (1977); PRÉAUX (1978), p. 201–238; STROOTMAN (2014c). 141 OGIS 253: ǺĮıȚȜİ઄ȠȞIJȠȢ ਝȞIJȚંȤȠȣ ș[İȠ૨ ਫʌȚijĮȞȠ૨Ȣ IJȠ૨] | ıȦIJોȡȠȢ IJોȢ ਝı઀ĮȢ țĮ੿ țIJ઀ı[IJȠȣ țĮ੿ İ੝İȡȖ੼IJȠȣ] | IJોȢ ʌંȜİȦȢ, ਩IJȠȣȢ ıȝ࢝ țĮ੿ҕ [ȡ࢝ ਥȞ IJ૵Ț ıȣȞIJİȜȠȣȝ੼ȞȦȚ] | ਕȖ૵ȞȚ ȋĮȡȚıIJȘȡ઀ȠȚȢ ਫ਼ʌઁ [- - - - - - - - - - - - - -] | ਕʌȚંȞIJȠȢ ੥ʌİȡȕİȡİIJĮ઀Ƞȣǜ (ll. 1–5; emendations Dittenberger). Already KÖHLER (1900), p. 1105, rejected Dittenberger’s suggestion that the inscription came from Babylon, as did SHERWIN-WHITE (1982); cf. VAN DER SPEK (1986), p. 72. For interpretations see ZAMBELLI (1960), p. 378; BUNGE (1976), p. 63; PIEJKO (1986). MUCCIOLI (2006) connects the inscription to Antiochos’ departure to Iran in 165–164.

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Daphne by a king who already in 172/173 had styled himself Theos Epiphanes and in c. 169/168 had adopted, in addition, the epithet Nikephoros, bringer of victory, to commemorate his Egyptian campaigns.142

8. Conclusion: the Dynamics of Empire It is clear that the Treaty of Apameia, and the loss of Asia Minor, cannot have caused the eventual decline of Seleukid power in the Middle East.143 There remained a huge empire, comprising at its core the entire Levant, Mesopotamia and West Iran, with nominal suzerainty over Armenia and the Upper Satrapies.144 The dynasty’s military and financial resources were still enormous. Antiochos IV reorganized his empire, restored Seleukid hegemony in Armenia, and defeated the Ptolemies on land and at sea. This paper began by quoting Diodoros’ statement that at Daphne in 167/6, Antiochos made clear before an audience of envoys from the Aegean poleis what his political ambitions were. Which, then, were those ambitions? Evidence has been adduced to substantiate the hypothesis that the Seleukid Empire under Antiochos IV was still an expansive, imperialistic polity with a vigorous universalistic ideology, and that Antiochos actively rebuilt his dynasty’s power networks in Asia Minor and Greece in an attempt to reestablish Seleukid hegemony in the Aegean region. First it was shown that Antiochos not only discarded the military and territorial clauses of the Treaty of Apameia, but likely was not even bound to the oaths sworn by his father. The leading Senators in Rome seem not to have minded, either. Second, we saw how Antiochos, following the example of his predecessor, Seleukos IV, continued the preApameia imperial policy of maintaining bonds with civic elites in Asia Minor 142 MØRKHOLM (1963), p. 37 and 72; cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 118–119. These epithets were mainly used in Antioch, Ptolemais, Seleukeia on the Tigris, and Ekbatana, and the three types of tetradrachms on which all three appear (with the head of Zeus, the king and Apollon on the obverse) apparently were used to pay troops during Antiochos’ eastern campaigns: cf. DE CALLATAŸ / LORBER (2011), p. 424, who emphasize that the self-proclamation by a living king as Theos Epiphanes, an innovation of Antiochos IV, ‘was in no way a timid move’. 143 See esp. SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 215–216; cf. GRAINGER (2002), p. 350, claiming that the loss of Asia Minor with its geographical and political fragmentation was in fact advantageous to the Seleukids; there was however considerable loss of prestige, cf. e.g. GERA (1998), p. 93. 144 For the emerging new view of the Seleukid Empire as increasingly a system of vassal kingdoms held together by kinship, friendship diplomacy, and the charismatic overlordship of the imperial suzerain see ENGELS (2011); ENGELS (2014a); WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016); ENGELS (2017); STROOTMAN (2011b; 2017a; 2017b); for the pervasiveness of diverse forms of indirect rule in premodern/early modern Eurasian empires in general see also n. 92, above.

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and Greece by means of euergetism and philia, as well as with local dynasties by means of marriage diplomacy and, more importantly, the kinship bonds resulting from these marriages. As the New Imperial History teaches us, all this network-building must be understood as imperialistic activity.145 Third, we looked at the political aspects of the Daphne Festival, and saw how this event was staged to attract embassies from the Aegean poleis and facilitate negotiations between them and the empire. Fourth, the ideology of the festival was considered, and it was argued that it conveyed an image of the empire as very powerful, splendid, and cosmopolitan. In addition, the probable association of the ruler with Dionysos, in combination with the festival’s new year imagery, presented Antiochos IV Theos Epiphanes as one who had come to liberate and bring peace. Antiochos’ Aegean policies were an elaboration of a common Hellenistic rhetoric of empire that can be traced back to the third and fourth centuries. As a source of manpower, wealth and prestige, the world of the Aegean poleis had always been pivotal for the rival superpowers of the Hellenistic world, and until the rise of Antiochos III and the coming of Rome, the Seleukid, Antigonid and Ptolemaic dynasties had simultaneously competed for the favor of the same poleis. The Fifth and Sixth Syrian War had reduced the Ptolemaic basileia from a world empire to a mere kingdom of Egypt, and with the Antigonid dynasty gone and Roman power not yet firmly established, the Aegean had become a power vacuum in the eyes of many – particularly in the eyes of the only monarch of imperial rank left standing: Antiochos IV. He, moreover, had become the only legitimate heir to the title King of the Macedonians since the dethronement of Perseus in 168, at least theoretically.146 In his bid to outdo Aemilius Paullus’ games at Amphipolis by his own show of force at Daphne, Antiochos propagated his own greater ability to support the poleis and protect their autonomy. If anything, Antiochos IV was a warlord in an honor-driven aristocratic milieu, surrounded by powerful military leaders whose prestige and social position depended on their king’s ability to lead them to military success.147 145 The number of recent titles is substantial; new studies that have successfully used a network approach to empire include BARKEY (2008); HÄMÄLÄINEN (2008); BURBANK / COOPER (2010); FARUQUI (2012); BALLANTYNE (2012). 146 The title had been the prize of his ancestor Seleukos I, when he defeated Lysimachos at Koroupedion in 281. Antiochos IV descended from Antigonos I and Demetrios I in the matriline; on the matrilineal transmission of royal titles in the Hellenistic dynasties see STROOTMAN (2010); cf. CARNEY (2000), p. 4–8; MITCHELL (2007), p. 62–63; STROOTMAN (2016). 147 For the predominance of war and victory in the ideology and practice of Macedonian, viz., Seleukid monarchy GEHRKE (1982/2013), GROPP (1984) and GRUEN (1985), are fundamental, with earlier BICKERMAN (1938), p. 11–30; see now also EHLING (2001) and CHANIOTIS (2005), p. 57–77. For (differing) analyses of the underlying

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This of course is not to say that Antiochos actively sought a direct confrontation with Rome. It is clear that until the outbreak of the Sixth Syrian War, he aimed at reorganizing his power base without antagonizing Rome. In 172, still at the beginning of his reign, he may even have assured a Roman embassy of his compliance with Roman wishes.148 But as a political and military force, Rome was still of little consequence in the Middle East; the now accepted idea of Roman supremacy in this period was constructed only afterwards by Polybios, and moreover restricted to the Mediterranean. At the end of the Sixth Syrian War, Antiochos’ financial and military resources must have been considerable, as the Daphne Festival aimed to show.149 Antiochos was realistic in his assessment of the military strength of Rome, and Rome’s system of alliances in the Aegean. But he had no reason to think of his own power and overlapping alliances as inferior, as Polybios from hindsight claimed they were.150 Recently, some scholars have made a case to reinterpret Antiochos’ allegedly erratic behavior as in fact ‘rational’ statesmanship.151 It has not been my intention to make a similar argument. On the contrary: despite the fact that the dynamics underlying Hellenistic imperialism can be rationalized by historians in retrospect (e.g. that wars of conquest were partly motivated by the wish to obtain the resources needed for the gift distribution that bound elites to the dynasty), I assume that Antiochos IV’s motivations were to a considerable degree cultural, viz. ideological and honor-driven (e.g. that wars were also motivated by the very real obligations placed upon the king’s shoulders to uphold the public image of a charismatic and victorious war leader).152 Though incentives for the pervasiveness of war see AUSTIN (1986); ECKSTEIN (2006), p. 79–117; STROOTMAN (2014a), p. 49–53. 148 Reported only by LIV. 42.26.7–8, with even more hindsight as regards Rome’s eventual Mediterranean dominance than Polybios had. 149 As Livy, following Polybios, said: a man who knew how to arrange a banquet and organize games could also conquer in war (LIV. 45.32.8–10). A substantial resurgence of Seleukid power under Antiochos IV is also manifest from the increased quality of the king’s tetradrachms; cf. MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 51–63. 150 History in a sense proved Polybios wrong. The post-Seleukid ruler, Mithradates VI, had a considerably weaker power base than his grandfather Antiochos IV; but he was not exactly a ‘castrated king’, and fear of Rome did not withhold him from empirebuilding in Asia Minor and ‘liberating’ the poleis of Greece, even though by then the Romans had become a far more powerful presence in the region than they had been in Antiochos’ time (as Mithradates eventually found out). Compare the contrasting evaluation of Antiochos’ reign in Dan 11.40–44, a contemporaneous source from the Near East itself: He will invade many countries and sweep through them like a flood. […] He will extend his power over many countries; […] and he will destroy and annihilate many (NIV Translation); as was stressed above, the book of Daniel shows no awareness of Rome as a power of any significance in the Near East. 151 See e.g. MITTAG (2006) and FEYEL / GRASLIN-THOMÉ (2014). 152 STROOTMAN (2007), passim, and see n. 147, above.

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admittedly a little speculative, I hold that the humiliating defeat of Antiochos III in the Battle of Magnesia cannot but have implanted into his son an urge, if not a social obligation, to retaliate. At the beginning of Antiochos’ reign, Seleukid control of Syria and Mesopotamia was unchallenged. After the two Egyptian campaigns, and the festival at Daphne, Antiochos campaigned successfully in Armenia, forcing the rebellious king Artaxias into subsidiary status again.153 At that time, Diodoros writes, Antiochos’ power ‘was unmatched by any of the other kings’.154 The Daphne procession showed that he had a huge campaigning army at his disposal, an army which at that time may well been the strongest military force in the world.155 The following year, Antiochos followed in his father’s footsteps and marched eastward from Babylonia to reaffirm his dynasty’s supremacy in the Upper Satrapies, the military power house of the Seleukid Empire. His untimely death in 164, while still only in West Iran,156 annulled any plans he may have had for Asia Minor and the Aegean after his return to the west.

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Reading Backwards: Antiochos IV and his Relationship with Rome Benjamin SCOLNIC1

Abstract Antiochos IV Epiphanes’s persecution of the Judaeans in the 160s BC is perceived as an enigma in Hellenistic history. The restrictions on the observance of Judaism seem to constitute the first known persecution of a people and its religion in its own land. The most popular theories state that the king himself was not the initiator of the attack on Judaism. If, however, we see this persecution not as an isolated event but in the context of his life, the event may make more sense. Antiochos IV’s hostage-ship in Rome in the 180’s BC as one of the provisions of the Treaty of Apameia structured his life and influenced his ambitions and policies. It was his special relationship with Rome that may be read into many events in his life including his rise to power, and the Day of Eleusis, and may help explain Roman actions after his death. As Goldstein suggested, Antiochos IV may have modelled his persecution of the Judaeans on one against the Bacchants in Rome and Italy when he was a hostage there. Antiochos could have learned a great deal about religious persecution as a means of defining a society and achieving greater power for the state. What primarily motivated Antiochos IV, as both Bringmann and Gruen have emphasized, was the assertion of power in a chaotic situation and so he responded to political instability in Judaea with a show of force that would resound throughout his huge and politically-restless kingdom.

1. Introduction Antiochos IV Epiphanes’ persecution of the Judaeans in the 160s BC is perceived as an enigma in Hellenistic history. The restrictions on the observance of Judaism seem to constitute the first known persecution of a people and its religion in its own land. Some of the most popular theories avoid the issue by stating that the king himself was not the initiator of the attack on Judaism. If, however, we see this persecution not as an isolated event but as one incident in the context of Antiochos IV’s life, we may gain a different perspective. Antiochos IV served as a principal hostage in Rome for twelve years as the fulfillment of one of the provisions of the Treaty of Apameia. I will suggest that this hostage-ship structured his life and influenced his ambitions 1 My thanks to Altay Coúkun and David Engels for help in the clarification and modification of many points in this paper.

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and policies. The special relationship with Rome that resulted from those years can be read into many events in his life including his rise to power and the ‘Day of Eleusis’, and may help explain a dramatic Roman action after his death. I will follow a suggestion by Goldstein and state that while the current theories about the persecution of the Judaeans all are useful, Antiochos IV may have modeled his persecution of the Judaeans on one against the Bacchants in Rome and Italy when he was a hostage there. Antiochos IV’s relationship with Rome affected most of the events in his career and changed the history of the Seleukid kingdom from that point forward. I would like to approach this subject in an unusual way. In Backwards and Forwards: A Technical Manual for Reading Plays, the standard script analysis textbook for the past quarter century,2 David Ball points out that we always think about a play as a series of actions. This is reading forward, as we always do. Ball teaches us to read backwards. This process of reasoning backwards in time from the end of a situation is often called ‘backward induction’ in other fields. Reading backwards exposes that which is required: How did we get to this situation? How did the actions and events bring us to this point? I would like to apply the method of reading backwards to events involved in and surrounding the life of Antiochos IV and to suggest that many of these events were connected to his relationship with Rome that was structured by, and a result of the Treaty of Apameia in 188.3 I will briefly outline some of the events that affected Antiochos IV’s life in the usual chronological order: 1. After the Roman victories on the sea and at Thermopylai (191) and Magnesia (190), Antiochos III swears to the Treaty of Apameia in 188, agreeing to: abandon Europe and Asia west of the Taurus, surrender all elephants, reduce his warships to no more than twelve, give twenty hostages including one of his sons, and pay tribute over the next twelve years (Polyb. 21.42; App. Syr. 39).

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BALL (1983). At the Seleukid Study Day V, there was a great deal of discussion about the implications of the Treaty of Apameia. Did the treaty hold for just Antiochos III or his successors, too? Did the treaty mean the same things to the Romans and the Seleukids? Most participants are what I will call ‘Minimalists’ who do not believe that most of the provisions were in effect after the death of Antiochos III. Some participants were in the middle, saying that only the territorial provisions were still in effect. I am what I will call a Maximalist. I believe that all of the treaty’s provisions were still ‘in effect’, meaning that Rome could enforce them if it so chose during the reigns of Antiochos III’s successors, too. I would break the provisions of the treaty into these elements: Territorial, elephants and warships, hostages and tribute. For me, this explains why Seleukos IV turns around in 181 when he ‘remembers’ the treaty; why Antiochos IV left Egypt after the Day of Eleusis; why Antiochos IV and then Demetrios were still held as hostages; why tribute was still paid and why the Roman envoys burned the ships and hamstrung the elephants in the reign of Antiochos V. For further discussion, also see the articles of N. SEKUNDA, R. STROOTMAN and R. WENGHOFER as well as the Epilogue in this volume. 3

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2. In 175, Rome releases Antiochos IV and brings Demetrios, eldest son of Seleukos IV, Antiochos III’s successor, to Rome as the new principal hostage. 3. While Antiochos IV is in Athens on his way home, Seleukos IV is assassinated (September 175); over the next five years, Antiochos IV emerges as sole king after murdering the young King Antiochos, second son of Seleukos IV. 4. Once his power is consolidated, Antiochos IV invades Egypt, first in 170/169 and then in 168, only to leave after the ‘Day of Eleusis’, on which a Roman legate commands him to forego his conquest of almost all of Egypt and return to his own kingdom. 5. Upon hearing a false rumor that Antiochos IV had died at Eleusis, Jason, who had bribed his way into the High Priesthood and displaced his older brother Onias III, only to be displaced by Menelaos, attacks Jerusalem with a small force. 6. In a show of power in 168–167, Antiochos IV persecutes at least part of the Judaeans and prohibits many of their religious rituals. 7. In another show of power before an invasion of the East in 166, Antiochos IV stages a huge procession at Daphne, which includes elephants. 8. In 163, Antiochos IV dies and is succeeded by his young son, Antiochos V. Despite Demetrios’ impassioned speech to the Senate that the Romans should restore him to his kingdom, which belonged to him by a far better right than to the children of Antiochos (Polyb. 31.12), the Senate refuses to release Demetrios. Instead, it sends emissaries to make sure that Antiochos V is compliant with Rome’s demands. 9. In 162, after a dramatic event involving these Roman emissaries shakes Antiochos V’s power, Demetrios, without official permission, escapes from Rome and soon becomes the Seleukid king.

2. Hamstringing Elephants I will start reading backwards with the dramatic incident that occurred shortly after Antiochos IV’s death in 164. Ancient and modern historians agree about what happened in this event, but disagree about why it happened. I will present a theory about why it happened and read this theory back into earlier events in Antiochos IV’s life. When Antiochos IV died, his successor was his nine-year-old son Antiochos V. He was controlled by the chief minister Lysias, who had served under his father. Demetrios, son of Seleukos IV and the legitimate heir to the throne appeared before the Roman Senate, asking to be released from his hostage-ship so that he could return to Antioch and become king. The Senate refused, preferring the nine-year-old Antiochos V to the twenty-three year old Demetrios.4 Very soon thereafter, Rome sent an embassy to a number of 4 POLYB. 31.2.7 says that: ȝ઼ȜȜȠȞ į੻ țȡȓȞĮıĮ ıȣȝijȑȡİȚȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ıijİIJȑȡȠȚȢ ʌȡȐȖȝĮıȚ IJ੽Ȟ ȞİȩIJȘIJĮ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ਕįȣȞĮȝȓĮȞ IJȠ૨ ʌĮȚįઁȢ IJȠ૨ įȚĮįİįİȖȝȑȞȠȣ IJ੽Ȟ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȞ (transl. W.R. PATON, Loeb: they thought that the youth and incapacity of the boy who had succeeded to the throne would serve their purpose better).

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countries in its Eastern sphere of influence.5 According to Polybios, the Senate sent legates […] with orders in the first place to burn the decked warships, next to hamstring the elephants, and by every means to cripple the royal power.6

Polybios’ account is supplemented by the corresponding passage in Appian, who states: Learning that there were many elephants in Syria and more ships than had been allowed to Antiochos in the treaty, they (the Senate) sent ambassadors thither, to kill the elephants and burn the ships. It was a pitiful sight, the killing of these gentle and rare beasts and the burning of the ships, and a certain Leptines of Laodikeia was so exasperated by the sight that he stabbed Gnaeus Octavius, the chief of this embassy, while he was anointing himself in the gymnasium, and Lysias buried him.7

According to Polybios, Appian, and Cicero, Octavius was ordered by the Senate to uphold the treaty and to destroy the elephants and the ships; the Senate is therefore responsible for the violence of the mission.

5

Macedonia, Galatia, Kappadokia, the Seleukid kingdom and Egypt. POLYB. 31.2.9–11: İ੝șȑȦȢ Ȗ੹ȡ țĮIJĮıIJȒıĮȞIJİȢ ʌȡİıȕİȣIJ੹Ȣ IJȠઃȢ ʌİȡ੿ īȞȐȚȠȞ ੗țIJȐȠȣȚȠȞ țĮ੿ ȈʌȩȡȚȠȞ ȁȠțȡȒIJȚȠȞ țĮ੿ ȁİȪțȚȠȞ ǹ੝ȡȒȜȚȠȞ ਥȟȑʌİȝȥĮȞ, IJȠઃȢ įȚȠȚțȒıȠȞIJĮȢ IJ੹ țĮIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȞ, ੪Ȣ Į੝IJ੽ ʌȡȠૉȡİ૙IJȠ įȚ੹ IJઁ ȝȘįȑȞĮ IJઁȞ ਥȝʌȠįઅȞ ıIJȘıȩȝİȞȠȞ İੇȞĮȚ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਥʌȚIJĮIJIJȠȝȑȞȠȚȢ, IJȠ૨ ȝ੻Ȟ ȕĮıȚȜȑȦȢ ʌĮȚįઁȢ ੕ȞIJȠȢ, IJ૵Ȟ į੻ ʌȡȠİıIJȫIJȦȞ ਕıȝİȞȚȗȩȞIJȦȞ ਥʌ੿ IJ૶ ȝ੽ ʌĮȡĮįİįȩıșĮȚ IJ੹ ʌȡȐȖȝĮIJĮ IJ૶ ǻȘȝȘIJȡȓ૳: ȝȐȜȚıIJĮ Ȗ੹ȡ IJȠ૨IJȠ ʌȡȠıİįȩțȦȞ. Ƞੂ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੣Ȟ ʌİȡ੿ IJઁȞ īȞȐȚȠȞ ਥȟȫȡȝȘıĮȞ, ਩ȤȠȞIJİȢ ਥȞIJȠȜ੹Ȣ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ IJ੹Ȣ ȞĮ૨Ȣ IJ੹Ȣ țĮIJĮijȡȐțIJȠȣȢ įȚĮʌȡોıĮȚ, ȝİIJ੹ į੻ IJĮ૨IJĮ IJȠઃȢ ਥȜȑijĮȞIJĮȢ ȞİȣȡȠțȠʌોıĮȚ țĮ੿ țĮșȩȜȠȣ ȜȣȝȒȞĮıșĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ȕĮıȓȜİȚȠȞ įȪȞĮȝȚȞ (transl. W.R. PATON, Loeb: For they at once named as legates Gnaeus Octavius, Spurius Lucretius, and Lucius Aurelius and dispatched them to Syria to manage the affairs of that kingdom as the senate determined, there being no one likely to oppose their orders, since the king was a child and the principal people were only too glad that the government had not been put in the hands of Demetrios, as they had been almost certain it would be. Octavius and his colleagues thereupon left, with orders in the first place to burn the decked warships, next to hamstring the elephants, and by every means to cripple the royal power.) 7 APP., Syr. 46 (transl. WHITE, 1988): ʌȣȞșĮȞȩȝİȞȠȚ įૃ ਥȞ Ȉȣȡȓ઺ ıIJȡĮIJȩȞ IJૃ ਥȜİijȐȞIJȦȞ İੇȞĮȚ țĮ੿ ȞĮ૨Ȣ ʌȜİȓȠȞĮȢ IJ૵Ȟ ੪ȡȚıȝȑȞȦȞ ਝȞIJȚȩȤ૳, ʌȡȑıȕİȚȢ ਩ʌİȝʌȠȞ, Ƞ੄ IJȠઃȢ ਥȜȑijĮȞIJĮȢ ıȣȖțȩȥİȚȞ ਩ȝİȜȜȠȞ țĮ੿ IJ੹Ȣ ȞĮ૨Ȣ įȚĮʌȡȒıİȚȞ. ȠੁțIJȡ੹ į੻ ਲ ੕ȥȚȢ ਷Ȟ ਕȞĮȚȡȠȣȝȑȞȦȞ șȘȡȓȦȞ ਲȝȑȡȦȞ IJİ țĮ੿ ıʌĮȞȓȦȞ, țĮ੿ Ȟİ૵Ȟ ਥȝʌȚʌȡĮȝȑȞȦȞ: țĮȓ IJȚȢ ਥȞ ȁĮȠįȚțİȓ઺ ȁİʌIJȓȞȘȢ IJ੽Ȟ ੕ȥȚȞ Ƞ੝ț ਥȞİȖțȫȞ, īȞĮ૙ȠȞ ੗țIJȐȠȣȚȠȞ IJઁȞ IJ૵Ȟįİ IJ૵Ȟ ʌȡȑıȕİȦȞ ਲȖİȝȩȞĮ, ਕȜİȚijȩȝİȞȠȞ ਥȞ IJ૶ ȖȣȝȞĮıȓ૳, įȚİȤȡȒıĮIJȠ. CIC., Phil. 9.4, in his praise of Octavius, states: Nam cum esset missus a senatu ad animos regum perspiciendos liberorumque populorum maximeque, ut nepotem regis Antiochi, eius, qui cum maioribus nostris bellum gesserat, classis habere, elephantos alere prohiberet, Laudiceae in gymnasio a quodam Leptine est interfectus (transl. YONGE, Loeb: For having been sent by the senate to investigate the dispositions of kings and of free nations, and especially to forbid the grandson of king Antiochos, the one who had carried on war against our forefathers, to maintain fleets and to keep elephants, he was slain at Laodikeia, in the gymnasium, by a man of the name of Leptines). 6

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Yet modern scholarship seems to disagree. Gruen thinks that Octavius acted on his own and says that, ‘the act came with stunning suddenness — and defies explanation. What needs stress is that Octavius’ outburst was an aberration, rather than representative of Roman policy.’8

Gruen’s notion that Octavius was a lone wolf clashes with Polybios’ and Appian’s explicit descriptions of his orders.9 If one accepts Gruen’s view of this event, it is just an isolated incident that has little to tell us. It is not only Gruen, with his overarching thesis that pleads for Roman disinterest in the East, but also the less tendentious Green who dismisses Polybios’ testimony, saying that Polybios wants to make Rome look worse by blaming the Senate for these terrible instructions, and that Zonaras has it right when he says that Octavius decided to do this on the spot.10 Green thinks that Zonaras says that Rome did not order the destruction of the elephants and the ships. If one looks at Zonaras’ statement, however, one may come to a different conclusion: Antiochos subsequently died, leaving the kingdom to a child of the same name, whom the Romans confirmed in possession of it and to whom they sent three men ostensibly to act as his guardians, as he was very young. The commissioners, on finding elephants and triremes contrary to the compact, ordered the elephants all to be slain and administered everything else in the interest of Rome.11

Contrary to Green, Zonaras does not say that Octavius and the others did anything on their own. Zonaras says that the legates were going to be the new king’s guardians and control all his actions. They did these things because what they found was contrary to the treaty they had been sent to enforce. The embassy, as it had done elsewhere, fulfilled its assignment. 8 GRUEN (1984), p. 664. Gruen states that ‘Rome’s attention to the East was unsteady and intermittent’ and that ‘informal rather than formal relationships predominated’; GRUEN (1984), p. 10. 9 According to Polybios, the Senate had ‘learned’ about Antiochos V’s military strength and sent an embassy to deal with it. Cicero indicates that no one suspected any trouble. For the incident, see P.Herc. 1044 col. 9, 1ff. and GALLO (1980), p. 115–117. We have Livy’s testimony about the successful mission to Kappadokia that was an earlier leg of the same mission. At that stop in Kappadokia, according to Polybios, the embassy gets encouragement and offers of military assistance from King Ariarathes for what it is going to do to the Seleukid king (LIV. 46). Octavius certainly had a brilliant career, rising from nowhere to become praetor in 168 and consul in 165 and to create a distinguished dynasty. We have a document from Argos in 170 honoring him for his friendship: SHERK (1993), p. 22–23. 10 ZONAR. 9.25. Green says that Polybios had his own axe to grind. This is a reasonable suspicion, because Polybios was personally involved in the escape of his friend Demetrios; cf. GREEN (1990), p. 436–437, 884. 11 ZONAR. 9.25 (transl. E. CARY, Loeb): Antiocho rege mortuo Romani filio eiusdem nominis regnum confirmarunt, eique ob teneram aetatem scilicet tres curatores miserunt, qui cum praeter pacta et conuenta triremes et elephantos inuenissent, belluas occidi iusserunt, ac caetera ex Romanorum utilitate administrarunt.

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To re-frame the question: Did Octavius act on Senatorial orders when he hamstrung or killed the elephants and burned the ships? If the answer is no, we cannot learn anything about what the Senate was attempting to do to the Seleukid kingdom. But if the Senate had already learned of these infringements and sent Octavius to deal with them, then the Senate was intentionally acting differently to Antiochos V than it had to Antiochos IV.12 Octavius was not a lone wolf; he fulfilled the explicit wishes of the Senate and thereby, as Walbank and McDonald say, re-enforced the provisions of the Treaty of Apameia.13 I disagree with Gruen and Green and maintain that Octavius and the others did what they were mandated to do. Rome felt that it needed to re-assert its control over the Seleukid kingship because it was unsure about what the young Seleukid king Antiochos V and his regent Lysias might do. The Roman mission was sent at a particular time for a particular purpose: to show who was in political control. The mission was meant to be demonstrative, violent, powerful and symbolic. The elephant was the symbol of Seleukid might, as Kosmin reminds us in The Land of the Elephant Kings,14 and the anchor, representing naval might, was a second symbol of the kingdom’s power, and the symbolism would have been clear to everyone. There was a violent reaction to it, not from the Seleukid king, but from his subjects. The event was quite significant, especially because of the political implications. The people were no doubt shocked and angry. They had thought 12 Gruen states that since the Senate did not execute the assassin, they were not responsible for Octavius’ actions. Our sources are split on who was responsible for the assassination, with some indicating it was a single assassin and the others seeing that the assassin was just the point man for the Syrian mob that had been aroused to rage by Lysias. In Polybios, Appian and Cicero, just one individual, not a mob aroused by Lysias, is responsible for the assassination; in fact, Lysias buries the Roman legate. But in Obsequens 15 and Zonaras it was Lysias who incited the populace to kill Gaius Octavius. Rappaport has argued that Lysias’ diplomacy and governing style seems to have been based more on realpolitik, on power and on practical considerations, rather than on ideology; cf. RAPPAPORT (2007), p. 169–176. This kind of politician does not seem to be the type to rouse the rabble against Roman officials, a dangerous move at best. A different explanation as to why Rome did not execute the assassin is that Demetrios saw the assassination as another opportunity to convince the Senate to let him seek his kingship, but Rome did not want to encourage his ambition, and executing the assassin would have been taken as a condemnation of Antiochos V and Lysias, whom they wanted to retain power, at least for a time (POLYB. 32.13). The Senate’s understanding of the usefulness of the assassination to Demetrios was correct. When the Senate turned Demetrios down despite the assassination of Octavius, Demetrios escaped and used the assassination as a political rallying cry against Lysias, falsely claiming that Rome had sent him to avenge that murder (ZONAR. 9.25). 13 MCDONALD / WALBANK (1969), p. 30–39. Rome left Antiochos III with some naval shipping for the purpose of local defense but restricted warships to limit his means of military movement by sea. 14 KOSMIN (2014).

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that their kingdom was independent and thriving and not under the control of Rome and subject to its restrictions. The Seleukids had possessed elephants and warships for a long time and the Romans had known it.15 We know that Antiochos IV had warships and elephants. Antiochos IV won a naval battle at Pelousion in the conquest of Egypt16 and used his fleet at Cyprus.17 Antiochos left Alexandria with his fleet in 168.18 Forty-two elephants took part in Antiochos IV’s Daphne procession in 16619 and he even gave elephants from Africa and India to Rome for his war against Perseus.20 Shortly after the games ended, a Roman mission arrived with the mandate of inspectors and certainly saw the elephants and ships; they would have been hard to miss.21 The diplomats had a peaceful visit and there were no warnings of any kind.22 The Treaty of Apameia had been ignored as long as Antiochos IV was in charge but not after he died. One might have thought the opposite, that they would have been more worried about a conqueror possessing these weapons of war than finding them in the possession of a boy. What had changed?23 Reading backwards, we see that while Antiochos IV’s successor was dramatically and symbolically forced to conform to the provisions of the Treaty of Apameia, Antiochos IV had been allowed to break them. If Rome felt unsure about the loyalty or compliance of Antiochos V and Lysias, reading backwards shows us that the Senate was sure about the loyalty and compliance of Antiochos IV. What we require, to use Ball’s word, is an explanation as to why Rome did not mind Antiochos IV’s military buildup in direct contradiction to the provisions of the Treaty of Apameia.24 15 See now N. SEKUNDA in this volume. DE SANCTIS (1923), p. 3, 113 states: ‘di far eseguire gli articoli del trattato concluso dopo la battaglia di Magnesia, concernenti le navi e gli elefanti da guerra che Antioco Epifane, con la tacita tolleranza del senato romano, aveva dimenticati’. But why did the Senate tolerate this and look the other way? I do appreciate De Sanctis’ general theme that Rome’s policy of hidden domination caused uncertainty and instability and eventually led to a policy of open domination. 16 LIV. 44.19.9. 17 LIV. 45.11. 18 See the summary on the Archive of ‫ۉ‬or below. 19 POLYB. 30.25.11. 20 POLYAEN. 4.21. 21 POLYB. 30.27. 22 If they were looking for any disaffection Antiochos felt toward Rome, they did not find any hard feelings whatsoever. 23 It is fair to assume that Antiochos V had not built up his elephants and ships immediately after his succession. 24 Just as Rome acted against Antiochos V in the incident of the hamstrung elephants, it acted against Demetrios in 162. Rome conferred a political relationship on the Judaeans who had been so rebellious against the Seleukid kingdom (1Macc 8.17 and JOS., Ant. Jud. 12.417–419). Rome had not been in touch with the Judaeans during Antiochos IV’s reign. So we have two events that indicate something very positive about Rome’s attitude

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I will read backwards into Antiochos IV’s relationship with Rome during the years he was in control of the Seleukid kingdom, which was from the autumn of 175 to his death in 164. In the Third Macedonian War between Rome and Macedonia in 169, Perseus sought Antiochos’ support but the latter reassured Rome of his support.25 Rome did not insist on timely payment of the tribute prescribed by the Treaty of Apameia,26 which may suggest that there was a certain understanding with Antiochos. In this passage in Livy, it does not seem like the Senate had been concerned about the tribute at all. Here is the crucial statement: The Romans never had any kind of conflict with Antiochos IV as long as he lived. Again, why not?

3. The ‘Day of Eleusis’ Reading backwards, I now turn to the Sixth Syrian War. In 170–169, Antiochos’ first campaign was a great victory; he conquered Pelousion, Memphis, Thebes and Cyprus, with only Alexandria under the rule of Ptolemy VIII still to be taken. He left most of Egypt under the control of Ptolemy VI who was supposed to act as his vassal. Antiochos had left Ptolemy VI as nominal king in 169 only to see his plans ruined by the reconciliation of the three heirs and with it Alexandria and the rest of Egypt. Antiochos’ intentions now were re-defined by the actions of the Ptolemaic siblings; in the second invasion of 168, he could no longer pose as the protector of Ptolemy VI and so he had no choice but to make himself king. When the three Ptolemaic heirs, Ptolemy VI, Kleopatra II and Ptolemy VIII re-united to form an anti-Seleukid coalition, Antiochos invaded again in 168, receiving the submission of Memphis and all Egyptians except the three heirs and the Alexandrians, and in what Livy describes as a series of unhurried marches, moved toward that city.27 Four miles from Alexandria, Antiochos meets an entourage from Rome led by Gaius Popillius Laenas,28 who, finding Antiochos at the climax of his conquest of Egypt, literally stops him in his tracks, handing over a Senatorial decree demanding the immediate withdrawal of Seleukid forces from Ptolemaic territory. In the modern debate about this event near Alexandria, all scholars accept its historicity, pointing to the accounts or references in Polybios, Livy, Justin, Cicero and Daniel.29 The question is not whether Antiochos IV left Egypt

toward Antiochos IV. 25 LIV. 42.29. 26 LIV. 42.6.6–12. 27 LIV. 45.12. 28 Consul in 172 and in 158. 29 POLYB. 29.27; LIV. 45.12; JUSTIN. 34.3 and CIC., Phil. 8.8. For a comparison of the different accounts in Polybios and Livy, see MCGING (2010), p. 205–210.

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because of a Roman ultimatum. The question is why, and how Antiochos really felt about this and if there are implications for his persecution of the Judaeans in the years that followed. Following Daniel and Polybios, historians had seen the ‘Day of Eleusis’ as a terrible humiliation for Antiochos, thinking that Antiochos was in such a rage and feeling so vulnerable that this was the cause of his persecution of the Jews, as the Book of Daniel states: Ships from Kittim will come against him. He will be checked, and will turn back, raging against the holy covenant. Forces will be levied by him; they will desecrate the temple, the fortress; they will abolish the regular offering and set up the appalling abomination.30

Less dramatically, Polybios agrees that Antiochos was very unhappy about leaving Egypt: So, as a fixed number of days were allowed to him, he led his army back to Syria, deeply hurt and complaining indeed, but yielding to circumstances for the present.31

Following Polybios, the ‘Day of Eleusis’ has been called ‘a turning point’ demonstrating ‘the extension of Roman dominion in the Hellenistic empire’.32 The event has also been seen as a personal turning point for Antiochos IV.33 Walbank concludes that Antiochos IV was ‘severely weakened by the ultimatum’ delivered at Eleusis.34 Gruen states that Antiochos was so humiliated that he felt the urgent political need to show his empire that he still retained great power. Whatever his personal feelings, whether he was humiliated or just coldly calculating, how better to show his kingdom that he was still its master than by persecuting the religion of those who were seen in the region as the most tenacious adherents of their religion?35 The very different viewpoint of many scholars in recent years, however, is that of Morgan who staked the position that Antiochos IV was quite happy to submit to the Roman threat and leave Egypt.36 Many historians no longer accept the idea that Rome exercised so much influence in the East at that point in time

30 Dan 11.30–31. The verses from Daniel are cited from the NJV translation. See GOLDINGAY (1989), p. 301. I have tried to demonstrate Dan 11’s historical accuracy in several recent articles; including SCOLNIC (2012), (2013), (2014a), (2014b), and (2014c). 31 POLYB. 29.28.8 (transl. W.R. PATON, Loeb): įȚઁ țĮ੿ įȠșİȚı૵Ȟ Į੝IJ૶ IJĮțIJ૵Ȟ ਲȝİȡ૵Ȟ, Ƞ੤IJȠȢ ȝ੻Ȟ ਕʌોȖİ IJ੹Ȣ įȣȞȐȝİȚȢ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȈȣȡȓĮȞ, ȕĮȡȣȞȩȝİȞȠȢ țĮ੿ ıIJȑȞȦȞ, İ੅țȦȞ į੻ IJȠ૙Ȣ țĮȚȡȠ૙Ȣ țĮIJ੹ IJઁ ʌĮȡȩȞ. 32 MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 11; GOLDINGAY, (1989), p. 301. 33 The most extreme view was that of Otto, who stated that the ‘Day of Eleusis initiated Antiochos IV’s descent into madness’: OTTO (1934), p. 84. 34 WALBANK (1992), p. 225. 35 GRUEN (1993), p. 238–264, and see the valuable discussion by MORGAN et al., p. 264–274. 36 MORGAN (1990), p. 37–76. Green seems to entertain both views: Antiochos wanted to leave but it still was a humiliation; GREEN (1990), p. 431–32, 843, n. 180.

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that a mere order of the Senate would be enough to send the great king of Asia running. Mittag states that Antiochos never meant to destroy the Ptolemaic dynasty or annex Egypt.37 He did want a weakened Egypt that would not attack him from the rear when he campaigned to regain the Upper Satrapies. Antiochos decided that if the Romans liked the status quo as it was, that same equilibrium would protect Seleukid claims on Koile-Syria and Phoinikia. He had taken huge spoils from Egypt and Cyprus, and could claim great glory from his invasion, and that constituted great prestige that would obscure any that was lost on the ‘Day of Eleusis.’38 Yet Mittag does think that Antiochos was crowned pharaoh in Memphis.39 I will stop to ask: How logical is it to say that Antiochos had himself crowned king of Egypt but did not want to annex, or at least claim suzerainty, over Egypt and the Ptolemaic dynasty?40 But my larger question is: What made Antiochos run? Why was Antiochos so compliant in the midst of a second successful invasion? I would defend the first view: I do not think that Antiochos wanted to leave before conquering Alexandria and I do think that the Day of Eleusis was a humiliation. I suggest that the Day of Eleusis might be an indication that Antiochos IV was heavily in Rome’s debt and/or that the Roman legate played what I will call ‘the Demetrios card.’41 Morgan and those who follow him emphasize how smart Antiochos was to leave Egypt as he did. This rationality is taken to show that, contrary to Daniel and Polybios, he did not act emotionally in spite of his humiliation. I would respond, following Gruen, that Antiochos, no matter how he felt, would have understood that the Day of Eleusis might be seen throughout his kingdom as a humiliation and thus undercut his power, encouraging many already rebellious subjects. He might have responded just as Gruen says, by persecuting the Jews, demonstrating his still substantial power. Both invasions were great successes; in the first Antiochos won almost all of Egypt except Alexandria, and in the second he was about to conquer that last city as well. 42 Livy states that: 37

MITTAG (2006), p. 223–224. Mittag also claims that by leaving Egypt, Antiochos could continue to ignore the provisions of the Treaty of Apameia and maintain his fleet of warships and his war elephants; cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 224. 39 MITTAG (2006), p. 173. 40 See n. 34. Portier-Young agrees that the ‘Day of Eleusis’ was not humiliating for Antiochos and that he was actually quite ready to leave Egypt. Her thesis re-translates key phrases in the Polybios and Daniel texts and claims that they should never have been interpreted to mean that Antiochos was angry; PORTIER-YOUNG (2011), p. 130–136. 41 On Rome manipulating Seleukid succession also see R. WENGHOFER’s paper in this volume. 42 I am puzzled by Seth Schwartz’s recent description of Antiochos’ conquests as ‘two failed Seleucid expeditions in Egypt’: SCHWARTZ (2014), p. 42. 38

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Antiochos had won a naval battle at Pelousion and, after leading his forces across the Nile on a hastily-constructed bridge, was overawing Alexandria with his siege and seemed to be on the very point of laying his hands on a very rich kingdom.43

The seriousness of the endeavor is underlined by the fact that this was his second invasion in two years. Antiochos celebrated his successes by issuing victory coins.44 The evidence of the Archive of ‫ۉ‬or is crucial here; these documents give us a rare window into the historical moment when Antiochos is about to conquer Alexandria.45 ণor has a dream that he transmits on July 11, 168 in which he predicts that Antiochos will leave on the 31st of that same month. His dreams predict that Ptolemy VI and then his son and descendants will reign. The dynasty will be secure again, having been endangered by Antiochos who had assumed the Egyptian kingship for himself.46 ণor emphasizes the Ptolemaic dynastic line because it had been supplanted by the Seleukid line and was at least in terrible jeopardy of being destroyed altogether. ণor had been afraid that if Antiochos had taken Alexandria, he would have killed all the heirs and destroyed the Ptolemaic dynasty.47 I understand that the idea of Antiochos as king of Egypt remains

43 LIV. 44.19.9 (transl. Rev. CANON ROBERTS): Antiochus Syriae rex […] gerens et ad Pelusium nauali proelio fuerat et tumultuario opere ponte per Nilum facto transgressus cum exercitu obsidione ipsam Alexandream terrebat, nec procul abesse, quin poteretur regno opulentissimo, uidebatur. 44 HOUGHTON et al. (2008), p. 44–45. 45 RAY (1976), esp. p. 7–32, 125–129. Seven ostraka in Demotic include a petition addressed to Ptolemy VI by the priest ণor of Sebennytos. We learn a great deal from this archive about the period of the invasions of Egypt by Antiochos IV. From an Egyptian perspective, we see that this was a huge, cataclysmic war. For a remarkable first-hand dispatch concerning a battle from the first invasion with a reference to the Antiochians, see P.Köln IV 186 and see the translation and comments in BAGNALL / DEROW (2004), p. 85–87. On July 11th, 168, ণor has an interview with Eirenaios, the general of Ptolemy VI and Kleopatra in which he recites a dream about Isis, who walks on ‘the Syrian sea’ and reaches the harbor of Alexandria. Isis says: Alexandria is secure against the enemy…. The eldest son of Pharaoh wears the diadem. His son wears the diadem after him… The text continues that the dynasty will rule far into the future. ণor also dreams that Antiochos would leave by sea by the Egyptian equivalent of July 30, 168; RAY (1976), p. 18. Eirenaios does not believe the dream on July 11th but he comes to believe it by July 30th because Antiochos has left Egypt. Again, as of July 11th it was still beyond belief to an Egyptian general that Antiochos might leave. 46 ণor writes Antiochos’ name in a cartouche consistently, which may or may not be significant, as he was a king anyway. In another text, written during Antiochos’ control over Egypt, ণor offers messages of comfort and encouragement to Ptolemy VI; RAY (1976), p. 54–55. 47 I am not sure that ণor was correct in his prediction; Antiochos might have continued to prop one of the Ptolemies on the throne, especially because he wanted to turn to other fronts.

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controversial.48 We have good evidence, however, to see that Antiochos had full administrative control over Lower Egypt. As Ray stated, ‘a regime which installs military governors, and renames whole provinces while striking coins, is surely not indulging in the histrionic.’49

It may have been precisely this assumption of the kingship of Egypt that prompted the Romans to stop him at Eleusis before he gained control of all of Egypt including Alexandria.50 Now I return to the literary accounts of the ‘Day of Eleusis’. Antiochos is moving toward a long siege and is in no rush, because he has no idea that the Romans are on the way.51 When he happily greets the Roman legate, he is completely surprised by the content of his message. After all, the Treaty of Apameia did not prohibit the Seleukid conquest of Egypt. If Popillius could not say that this ultimatum was based on the treaty, what did he say?52 The arrogant behavior of the Roman legate, emphasized by the historians, was in itself unexpected. It is clear that Antiochos and Popillius had a close relationship; I even wonder if the Roman politician had not been involved in what I will call the conspiracy to place him on the Seleukid throne. Who better than one of his patrons to tell him that he could not have Egypt? Popillius’ very presence may have reminded Antiochos of his debt to Rome, the power that had released him from hostage-ship and perhaps aided and abetted his road to the 48 Those who do not think that Antiochos IV was crowned king include MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 82–83; MOOREN (1979), p. 78–86; HÖLBL (2010), p. 147. The assertion that Antiochos was king of Egypt was made by Porphyry as found in Jerome: Porro Antiochus parcens puero, et amicitias simulans, ascendit Memphim, et ibi ex more Aegypti regnum accipiens […]. (PORPH., FGrHist II 260 F 49a–b, in HIER., In Daniel. 11.21; transl. G.L. ARCHER: He went up to Memphis and there received the crown after the Egyptian manner […]). We have two references to Antiochos’ control over Memphis, at his coronation according to Porphyry and in the prophecies of ণor that were found at Saqqara near Memphis and refer to the Antiochene governor of that city and its area; BEVAN (1927), p. 286 ff.; BERGMAN (1968), p. 95. What is especially intriguing is that there is a tradition that Alexander the Great was crowned there – SKEAT (1969), p. 27, n. 1 –; factual or not, it might have been very exciting for Antiochos to emulate the great king in this way. P.Tebtunis III 698 gives the heading of an edict from Antiochos who has renamed the entire province of the Fayyum the Krokodilopite nome: ȕĮıȚȜȑȦȢ ਝȞIJȚȩȤȠȣ ʌȡȠıIJȐȟĮȞIJȠȢ· / IJȠ૙Ȣ ਥȞ IJ૵Ț ȀȡȠțȠįȚȜȠʌȠȜȓIJȘȚ țȜȘȡȠȪ/[ȤȠȚȢ – ca. 21 –]İҕĮҕ transl. BURSTEIN (1985), p. 53–54: By order of King Antiochus, to the kleruchs of the Krokodilopolite (nome). 49 RAY (1976), p. 127. 50 RAY (1976), p. 127; SKEAT (1961), p. 112. 51 LIV. 44.12.13 tells us of Antiochos’ ‘unhurried marches’: […] ad Alexandream modicis itineribus descendit (transl. Rev. CANON ROBERTS: […] came down at a moderate pace to Alexandria). 52 Perhaps the conquest of Egypt was within the limits of the letter of the treaty but was against the spirit of the private deal with Antiochos IV, which was that he could do anything he wanted until it bothered Rome. Then he must heel.

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Seleukid throne, as I shall discuss. I believe that Antiochos was in Rome’s debt, but I do not believe that gratitude would have moved a king like Antiochos IV to give up one of the great achievements of any Seleukid king, the conquest of Egypt. Again, what was the ultimatum? The threat of Roman military force? Perhaps, but I am not so sure. The Romans had not responded to Egyptian entreaties to intervene in 169 and were reluctant to provoke another war with a major power so soon after Pydna.53 But even if military force were threatened, it could have taken a long time to carry out after Pydna; conceivably, Antiochos could have consolidated his control over Alexandria by the time Rome could come calling. Instead, the ultimatum, explicitly or implicitly, could have been something like this: ‘Just as we released you, to break the succession from Seleukos IV to his son Antiochos, the boy king that you assassinated, we will now release Demetrios, Seleukos IV’s older son and the true and legitimate heir to the throne.’ I mentioned above that after Antiochos IV’s death, his son Antiochos V succeeded him, but when Demetrios, eldest son of Seleukos IV escaped from Roman hostage-ship and returned to Syria in 162, he displaced Antiochos V without a fight; in fact, his own army killed the child-king. My suggestion is that the populace was always aware that Antiochos IV was himself a usurper, the younger brother and not the heir of Seleukos IV, who only rose to power through the assassination of the king, Seleukos IV’s son Antiochos (see at length below). Always cognizant of his father’s defeat at Magnesia by, and the everincreasing military might of, Rome (especially after Pydna), tempered by hostage-ship, bound by debt for his kingship, aware of the conflicts he would face to the East, and, I would emphasize, afraid of the possible release of Demetrios, the true heir to the throne who at least could divide his base in Syria, Antiochos did what he was told at Eleusis. So far, I have looked at two events involving two Roman commissions, one in 164/163 and one in 168, that both point to a special relationship between Rome and Antiochos IV. The former event shows that Rome had not monitored Antiochos IV’s warships or elephants because they were not concerned about them. As I read backwards, I will suggest that Antiochos IV, the hostage, was not only sent back to rule the Seleukid kingdom but was given leeway under the treaty. Once he died, however, Rome became concerned about the loyalty and submissiveness of his son Antiochos V and the regent Lysias, and came to Antioch to demonstrate who was firmly in control. Why did Lysias and his boyking submit to the humiliation of burning ships and shrieking elephants? Because they were terrified, not just of Roman might, but of the always-present threat of the return of Demetrios. The latter event some six years earlier shows 53

HÖLBL (2010), p. 146; GRUEN (1984), p. 690.

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the same thing, that the threats of Roman might and the return of Demetrios were quite sufficient to send Antiochos back to Antioch without more than a moment’s hesitation.

4. When Did the Future Antiochos IV Arrive in Athens? I now want to read backwards from July 168 to September 175. This section is a quick summary of an article I published on an inscription from Athens, dated with certainty to 178 B.C.E.54 Tracy made this inscription the basis for the theory, which has often been accepted as fact,55 that the man we call Antiochos IV resided in Athens for a few years, from the time of the hostage exchange for Demetrios, Seleukos IV’s eldest son, until the assassination of that king on September 3, 175. This theory conflicts with the statement by Appian, that when the future Antiochos IV arrived in Athens on his way back to Syria, he heard that his older brother Seleukos IV had been killed.56 While Appian says that the future Antiochos IV had recently arrived in Athens when his brother was killed, modern scholarship, based on Tracy’s reconstruction of the Athenian inscription, claims that he had lived in Athens for at least three years, from 178 to 175. In my article I show that if one removes Tracy’s reconstructions of this very fragmentary inscription, the legible words of the inscription yield very little information.57 The text does state that it was written in what we call 178, and it 54

SCOLNIC (2014a). Cf. TRACY (1982), p. 61–62; SEG 32.131. GRUEN (1984), p. 646, n. 172; MATTINGLY (1997), p. 124–125; HABICHT (2006), p. 161; MITTAG (2006), p. 41–42; GERA (1998), p. 111; KOTSIDU (2000), p. 25. 56 APP., Syr. 45: ਝȞIJȚȩȤȠȣ įૃ ਥʌĮȞȚȩȞIJȠȢ ਥț IJોȢ ੒ȝȘȡİȓĮȢ țĮ੿ ੕ȞIJȠȢ ਩IJȚ ʌİȡ੿ ਝșȒȞĮȢ, ੒ ȝ੻Ȟ ȈȑȜİȣțȠȢ ਥȟ ਥʌȚȕȠȣȜોȢ ਺ȜȚȠįȫȡȠȣ IJȚȞઁȢ IJ૵Ȟ ʌİȡ੿ IJ੽Ȟ Į੝Ȝ੽Ȟ ਕʌȠșȞȒıțİȚ, IJઁȞ įૃ ਺ȜȚȩįȦȡȠȞ Ǽ੝ȝȑȞȘȢ țĮ੿ ਡIJIJĮȜȠȢ ਥȢ IJ੽Ȟ ਕȡȤ੽Ȟ ȕȚĮȗȩȝİȞȠȞ ਥțȕȐȜȜȠȣıȚ, țĮ੿ IJઁȞ ਝȞIJȓȠȤȠȞ ਥȢ Į੝IJ੽Ȟ țĮIJȐȖȠȣıȚȞ, ਦIJĮȚȡȚȗȩȝİȞȠȚ IJઁȞ ਙȞįȡĮ: ਕʌઁ Ȗ੹ȡ IJȚȞ૵Ȟ ʌȡȠıțȡȠȣȝȐIJȦȞ ਵįȘ țĮ੿ Ƞ੆įİ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȣȢ ਫ਼ʌİȕȜȑʌȠȞIJȠ. Ƞ੢IJȦ ȝ੻Ȟ ਝȞIJȓȠȤȠȢ ੒ ǹȞIJȚȩȤȠȣ IJȠ૨ ȝİȖȐȜȠȣ ȈȣȡȓĮȢ […] (My translation: While Antiochos was returning, released from his position as hostage, and he was still near Athens, Seleukos died as a result of a conspiracy of Heliodoros, a member of the court. But Eumenes and Attalos drove out Heliodoros, who had seized power by force, and they settled it on Antiochos, gaining his goodwill to their cause; because of some quarrels, they now looked with distrust on the Romans. Thus Antiochos, son of Antiochos the Great, became master of Syria […].). 57 Here is the text without Tracy’s reconstructions: 55

1

5

ǼȆǿĭǿȁȍȃȅȈ ǹȇȋȅȃȉ ȌǿȍȃȅȈǼȃǹȉǼǿǿȈȉ ȉǾȈ ȆȇȊȉǹȃǼǿǹȈ ǼǻȅȄǼȃȉǼǿ ǹȇǿȈȉȅīǼǿȉȍȃȆȅȁȊ ǹȃȉǿȅȋȅȈ ȅ TOȊ Ǻǹ

During the archonship of Philon ninth of [Pyano]psion of Prytany it pleased… Aristogeiton Poly… Antiochos the of the ki(?)…

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does mention an Antiochos who is not a king. But Antiochos IV probably did not bear this dynastic name in 178; Mithradates was his name at birth; Antiochos was the name of his older brother who died in 193/192.58 He probably did not take this name until he became king or regent, that is, not before at least late 175. There are, therefore, several possibilities for what and whom the inscription is about (see Appendix). The interpretation of this inscription and the reconstruction of this seemingly minor scenario have surprisingly large implications for an important sequence in Hellenistic and Roman history. If one cannot be certain that the future Antiochos IV was in Athens in 178, one cannot know when the hostage exchange between Rome and Seleukos IV for Demetrios took place, and it could have been as late as 175. Thus Appian, who provides us with our only ancient historical account of these events, may have been correct in saying that the future Antiochos IV was released by Rome in 175, and the assassination of Seleukos IV and the rise of Antiochos IV could have been, as some have suggested and as I believe, parts of an elaborate international conspiracy that was executed in a very narrow time range in 175. The first step in the plan would have been the exchange of Mithradates/Antiochos IV for Demetrios as the prize Seleukid hostage59 in Rome.60 I believe that Rome was very much a part of the plans to put their former hostage on the Seleukid throne and, with the overt and dramatic help of Pergamon, was in some way complicit in the assassination of Seleukos IV by the Seleukid minister Heliodoros.61 It is the perfect timing that I find so persuasive. According to the Babylonian King List,62 Antiochos IV moved from the status of a former hostage-prince in Athens to that of at least regent of the kingdom within nineteen days, from

10

[]Ǽ ȈǼȁǼȊȀȅȊ TȅȊ ȆǹȇǼǿȁǾĭȍȈ TǾȃ []īǹĬȅȈ ȍȃ ǼȂ [ ]ǹȇȋǾȈ ȊȆ ǹȁȁǹ Ȁ

of Seleukos the… having received the… being good (?)…” ????? but a[lso(?)]

58 GRAINGER (1997), p. 22. The consensus thinks that Mithradates was given the name Antiochos, a dynastic name, after his older brother Antiochos died in 193; see COùKUN, 2016, p. 857. If so, it would have been a unique move and one that would make him a rival to Seleukos IV. There is no other evidence of anyone other than a new king taking on or being given a new name. 59 For Rome’s demands for a hostage who is the son of the king, first the future Antiochos IV and then Demetrios I, see the texts of the treaty in POLYB. 21.42; APP., Syr. 39. 60 WILL (1982), p. 304–305; cf. ZAMBELLI (1960), p. 363–389; WALBANK (1979), p. 285. For different opinions, see GRUEN (1984), p. 646; GREEN (1990), p. 429; ERRINGTON (1972), p. 253. 61 WALBANK (1979), p. 285. 62 SACHS / WISEMAN (1954), p. 209. The text also confirms what we know from astronomical diaries that it was only in 169 that Antiochos IV became sole king.

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September 3, 175 until the end of that month, Sept. 22, 175. This text tells us that in a matter of a few weeks, Antiochos IV was ruling with his nephew, Seleukos IV’s son Antiochos, who he killed a few years later. A coup would need to move swiftly; it would be better for the future Antiochos IV to be neither in Rome, nor in Syria for that matter, but some place in between, such as Athens, apparently innocently on his way back to Antioch when his brother the king was killed, exactly the way that Appian tells the story.63 As I said in my earlier article, the theory of the conspiracy is not dependent on my interpretation of the inscription. If the future Antiochos IV spent years in Athens, spurned by his older brother, he may have become a willing participant or even the initiator of a conspiracy with Pergamon and his friends back in Rome (as I shall explore below). I asked two questions: ‘Why did Rome feel so confident about Antiochos IV that it did not make him follow the restrictions of the Treaty of Apameia?’ and ‘Why did Antiochos leave Egypt after the Day of Eleusis?’ By reading backwards, I conclude that Antiochos was beholden to Rome for exchanging him for Demetrios, the true heir to the Seleukid throne, and that he always knew that Rome controlled Demetrios and could, at the slightest provocation, send him home. I would like to elaborate on my theory that Rome played its Demetrios card with seriousness and ingenuity. Two challenges to this theory are that Demetrios might not have been an important card to play and that to claim that Rome was involved in a conspiracy to place Antiochos IV on the Seleukid throne makes a secret conspiracy seem like an official policy. I will respond to these two questions in turn. First, I am aware of the argument that as a son of Antiochos III who could now claim Egypt as ‘spear-won land’, Antiochos IV might not have seen Demetrios, who had been a hostage in Rome and thus did not have a ready power-base as a substantial threat. I would counter that Antiochos IV always knew that Demetrios was the legitimate heir and that he was not; legitimate succession from Antiochos III to his oldest surviving son Seleukos IV to the latter’s oldest surviving son trumped Antiochos IV’s victory. It was Antiochos IV’s concern for the power of hereditary legitimacy in the minds of the courtiers and the populace that forced him to proceed cautiously and slowly over five years (175–170) before he assassinated Demetrios’ younger brother, the young king Antiochos, son of Seleukos IV and claimed total power, only becoming sole king in 170/169 (BKL). Evidence of the ongoing power of hereditary succession in the Seleukid kingdom can be seen at the next historical juncture. When Antiochos IV died in

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164 and his own son Antiochos V became king, the Senate refused to allow Demetrios to return home. The Senate did not let him go either time he asked (163 after the death of Antiochos IV and 162 after the incident with Octavius) because it also believed he could gain power on the basis of his rightful claim.64 Demetrios tried to leave Rome because he believed that he would rise to power upon his return. Lysias and Antiochos V had feared the possibility of Demetrios’ return, which was at least one reason why they did not defy the Romans after the incident with the elephants and the ships described above. The Seleukid nobles, Polybios tells us, were expecting Demetrios to gain control of their government. When Demetrios escaped and came to Antioch, without Senate permission, the populace immediately greeted him as king and the army swiftly killed Antiochos V and Lysias, who clearly were not seen as legitimate rulers.65 It thus is not just my speculation that Antiochos IV feared that Rome would play the Demetrios card. The Senate did not release Demetrios either time he asked; Lysias, Antiochos V and the Seleukid courtiers dreaded his return; Demetrios himself knew that his right to the throne would be recognized; finally, all of these fears and hopes were confirmed when Demetrios was acclaimed king upon his arrival in Syria. When Demetrios himself played his card, he was immediately successful in claiming his rightful throne. Legitimacy in succession was indeed important in the Seleukid kingdom, just as I am suggesting Antiochos IV had feared when Rome played the Demetrios card at Eleusis. I will now attempt to refine what I mean by the participation of Rome in the conspiracy to bring Antiochos IV to the throne. While I do not mean to imply that the Senate as a body was involved in a conspiracy to place Antiochos IV in charge of the now-weakened power structure of the Seleukid kingdom, I also do not think that there are any coincidences in this scenario. So when I say Rome was involved in what I do think was a well organized and well-executed conspiracy, it is worth speculating on who precisely was.

5. Who Was Involved in the Conspiracy? I will start with the Roman ally, Pergamon. The fact that Eumenes II sent a Pergamene force to escort Antiochos IV to the border of Syria demonstrates Attalid involvement in the fall of Seleukos IV and the rise of Antiochos IV.66 Pergamon preferred a new Seleukid king who would be beholden to it rather than Seleukos IV, who had never had any love for what he saw as a rival

64

POLYB. 31.12. 1Macc 7.1. 66 APP., Syr. 45; GRUEN (1984), p. 646–647; GREEN (1990), p. 429. 65

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kingdom.67 In 190, Seleukos attacked Pergamon and besieged it.68 In 189, Antiochos III sent his son Seleukos to Manlius Vulso’s camp near Antioch-inPisidia to deliver the rations following the terms of the Treaty of Apameia. When Seleukos arrived willing to provide the prescribed rations to the 25,000 Roman soldiers but not to the 1,500 Attalid troops, Vulso insisted that the rations also be delivered to the Pergamene soldiers.69 Seleukos acquiesced, but the incident was highly symbolic and again shows the antipathy and rivalry between the Seleukids and the Attalids. Indeed, in the long run, Seleukos’ lack of respect for the Attalids might have been a fatal mistake. The last straw may have been that the Attalids were no doubt angry that Seleukos allied with Pharnakes in the Pontic war in 182–179. Despite Roman warnings, Pharnakes of Pontos’ expansion within Anatolia had brought him into acute conflict with Pergamon.70 Pharnakes offered five hundred talents for Seleukos IV’s assistance in this war. In 181, Seleukos IV marched with a large army to assist Pharnakes against Eumenes.71 The purpose of Seleukos IV’s involvement was to damage the power of his Attalid enemy. En route, however, Seleukos IV decided to return to Antioch and dismiss his forces. The ancient and modern explanation of this unusual behavior is that he retreated when he realized that if he passed Mount Taurus, he would be in violation of the line set up by Rome in the Treaty of Apameia for the range of Seleukid activities.72 But this explanation seems doubtful at best: is it reasonable to think that Seleukos IV did not know the provisions of the treaty before he started out and only remembered them on the way? Besides, Seleukos had broken other aspects of that treaty; ‘he ignored the clauses that required him to give up his war elephants and reduce the size of his fleet’.73 To assemble and then dismiss an army would be expensive and embarrassing. 67

On Eumenes’ grudges, see GREEN (1990), p. 417. LIV. 37.18.12. 69 LIV. 38.13.8–10. 70 Pharnaces had invaded Sinope, Kappadokia, Paphlagonia and Galatia; cf. GREEN (1990), p. 425. 71 McGing suggests that P OLYB. frg. 113 might refer to the possibility that Pharnakes was counting on Seleukos IV when he invaded Kappadokia; MCGING (1986), p. 28. On the latter’s role in the Pontic War, also see Ch. MICHELS and G. PAYEN in this volume. 72 DIOD. SIC. 29.24.1; POLYB. frg. 97; cf. BEVAN (1966), p. 124; GRUEN (1986), p. 646. 73 HOUGHTON / LORBER / HOOVER (2008), II, 1, 1. Whether the offer to the Achaian confederacy of ten warships was accepted (POLYB. 23.4, 9 says they were not, DIOD. SIC. 29.17 says they were), the offer matches the limit the Seleukids were allowed under the treaty (POLYB. 21.43.13; LIV. 38.38.8) and shows that Seleukos IV had many more such ships. This view opposes that of Green who states that Seleukos IV observed ‘the terms of the treaty of Apamea with scrupulous correctness’; GREEN (1990), p. 424. For elephants on coins, perhaps indicating that the Seleukids still had elephants, see SC II.1.1, as well as N. SEKUNDA in this volume. 68

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So why did he retreat? Though Gruen denies this, saying that we have no record of a Roman embassy, it may have been because of a Roman threat from Flamininus (Polyb. 23.5.1).74 We may even have a parallel to the way that a Roman legate stopped Antiochos IV, Seleukos IV’s brother and successor at the famous Day of Eleusis incident near Alexandria, though without the high drama of that famous story. The irony is that while Seleukos IV backed off, his maneuver might have been enough to enrage the Attalids who participated in a conspiracy against him. Who else might have been involved? It could be that certain senators (rather than the entire Senate) were part of the conspiracy to send Antiochos IV back to Antioch. I base this possibility on reading backwards again from my discussion above concerning the actions and assassination of Octavius in 162. The patres thought that as long as they controlled Demetrios, Lysias and Antiochos V would have to listen to their orders. The Romans hamstrung elephants and burned ships to demonstrate their power over the Seleukid kingdom. Yet, ironically, the dilemma that they created for Antiochos V and Lysias of whether to counter or passively accept their actions, made those leaders look very weak and undermined their popular support, creating a power vacuum. It was when Demetrios’ former tropheus Diodoros told him of these events in Syria that Demetrios and his allies and friends began planning his escape.75 Polybios gives himself the credit for the plan, 76 and he certainly was involved, judging from the vivid details in his account.77 What is, however, of more interest here is the question why Polybios was involved and why he was not more concerned for his own welfare in defying the explicit wishes of the Senate that Demetrios stay in Rome. Many scholars think that his patrons, the Scipios, were also involved, providing political cover for Polybios.78 By ‘the Scipios’ I mean not only the famous brothers but also their faction and those connected to it. Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus (born 217) served in

74 POLYB. 23.5.1. LIEBMANN-FRANKFORT (1969) p. 77–78. Gruen says that Flamininus’ embassy in 183 to Prusias was to include a stop with Seleukos, but with no agenda; the embassy in POLYB. 23.5.1 was ‘probably little more than a courtesy call’ and too early to be in connection with Seleukos’ near participation in the war between Pharnakes and Eumenes; GRUEN (1984), p. 646, n. 169. BURSTEIN (1980), p. 9, n. 13 also does not think that it was Roman intervention that led to Seleukos IV’s decision to withdraw. WALBANK (1979), p. 221 thinks that the visit was too early to be involved, but it does place Flamininus in the area around the time of these events, and it is difficult to think that he was merely on a courtesy tour. Something made Seleukos IV turn around abruptly in a quite humiliating way. 75 POLYB. 31.12.3–6. 76 POLYB. 31.11.5. 77 POLYB. 31.12.7–31.15.6. 78 VOLKMANN (1925), p. 382–386; WALBANK (1972), p. 9, n. 42; GERA (1998), p. 291, etc.

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the army under the Scipios. The generals sent him to Philip in Pella in 190.79 As tribune in 187, his oratory and veto seem to have saved P. Scipio from prosecution. Perhaps as a result, he eventually married P. Scipio’s daughter Cornelia. Gracchus was very powerful and respected throughout this period.80 When Demetrios escapes, three commissioners are appointed to follow him into Asia and evaluate […] the result of Demetrios’ action […] the reason why they appointed Tiberius Gracchus was that he had personal knowledge of all these subjects.81

What might ‘personal knowledge’ imply? Reading backwards, I would suggest a possible parallel between the involvement of some senators with Demetrios’ escape in 162 and the involvement of some senators in the conspiracy to help Antiochos IV in 175. From the fact that Antiochos IV received Gaius Popillius Laenas as a friend at Eleusis, we may infer that this Roman notable might have been involved. It is intriguing to draw a line from Popillius to the Scipios. In 172, Gaius Popillius Laenas helped to thwart the enemies of his brother Marcus who was tried for his violent and independent actions in Northern Italy. The Scipios and the Popillii might have found common cause in being independent actors who were quite willing to operate according to their own thinking of what was best for Rome. Gaius Popillius Laenas later would be elected with Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica Corculum in 159. It is not speculative to state that the Scipios had their own history with the Seleukid royal family through the extended negotiations after Magnesia and that Antiochos III had released Scipio’s son without conditions and that Scipio sent a message to the Seleukid king with earnest gratitude.82 I am suggesting that the Scipios maintained some relationship with the hostage son of Antiochos III, Antiochos IV, who was brought to Rome in the treaty that they signed. Would it not be quite honorable and human of Scipio to look out for the son of the man who had saved his own son? Here I would invoke Burton’s corrective to the idea that Rome only acted from realpolitik but also that the ideology and ideal of friendship with allies and vassal states was quite important to the Roman mind.83 My discussion here applies this idea to a real-life representative of one of those kingdoms, Antiochos IV, who saw himself and who was seen as a friend of Rome. While Rome always 79

LIV. 37.7. He was elected Praetor in 179 and repressed uprisings but also negotiated peacefully with tribes in Spain. He was awarded a triumph upon his return. He served as consul in 177 and 163, and as censor in 169. In 175, he returned to Rome and was honored with a second triumph. In 163, Tiberius was elected consul again. 81 POLYB. 31.12. 82 LIV. 37.37. 83 BURTON (2011). 80

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acted out of self-interest,84 would it not have been perfect for Roman interests to send Antiochos IV home to rule? Antiochos IV in Rome did no one involved any good at all. Antiochos on the Seleukid throne, however, might be a friend indeed and the killing of Seleukos IV would be a chance to remove an enemy of the Roman friends, the Attalids. If I am correct, one may gain a small window on Rome and its strategy concerning the Hellenistic kingdoms of the eastern Mediterranean at this time. Remember that we are speaking of a point in time seven years before Rome’s crushing victory over Macedon at Pydna in 168. As Polybios emphasizes,85 the decline of the Ptolemaic dynasty changed the long-existent balance of power between the three Hellenistic kingdoms, creating what modern political scientists call ‘a power-transition crisis’.86 Rome, Pergamon, Rhodes, and Athens especially were concerned with the possibility that Egypt would come under the sway of the Seleukids who would thus become the pre-eminent power in the region.87 To place a grateful Seleukid prince on the throne in Antioch would accomplish more than several wars. Indeed, the plan worked out beautifully for Rome.

6. The Persecution of the Bacchants88 Reading further backwards, I turn my attention to Antiochos’ years in Rome and to one particular event that he witnessed, an event that I believe is at least an element in explaining one of the great enigmas in Hellenistic and Jewish history. We move back to the 180s, to Antiochos IV’s time as the primary hostage in Rome under the provisions of the Treaty of Apameia. If I am right that Antiochos IV’s relationship with Rome affected the events in his life that I have looked at so far, then I think it is a modest proposal to say that Rome’s persecution of the Bacchants in the 180s could have provided background for his persecution of Judaism in the 160s. As a hostage in Rome at the time of this event, Antiochos could have learned a great deal about religious persecution as a means of defining a society and achieving greater power for the state. The Roman Senate’s decision to suppress the Bacchanalia in 186 BC constituted the largest systematic persecution of a religious group to that point 84

BURTON (2011), p. 330. WALBANK (1967), p. 414, 434–435. 86 ECKSTEIN (2006), p. 103. 87 ECKSTEIN (2006), p. 107. 88 The bibliography on the Bacchanalian affair is voluminous; notable contributions include ADAMIK (2007); BEARD et al. (1998); LIMOGES (2009); MILLAR (1984); NAGY (2002); NIPPEL (1997); NORTH (1979); PAGAN (2004) 50–67; PAILLER (1988); PAILLER (1995); PETTAZZONI (1954); RIEDL (2012); SALVATOR (1968); STEK (2009); TAKÁCS (2000); CANCIK-LINDEMAIER (1996); FLOWER (2000). 85

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in history (as we know it). Livy informs us that the rapid spread of the Bacchic cult, which he claims indulged in all kinds of crimes and political conspiracies at its secret meetings, led in 186 BC to the Senatus consultum de Bacchanalibus, by which the Bacchanalia were prohibited throughout all Italy (39.8–18). According to Livy, the measures against the Bacchic cult were conducted over a span of five years, took the lives of seven thousand people, the majority through execution, and caused great terror inside and outside of the city, numerous suicides, and a mass flight from Rome. According to Cicero, the measures even included military action.89 Gruen states that the real conspiracy involved was not of the seditious Bacchants but of the Roman Senate that conducted the persecution for the purpose of developing and enhancing its political and religious powers.90 Many scholars, however, consider Gruen’s interpretation of the motivation for the Senate’s persecution of the Bacchants to be controversial at best.91 The mainstream approach states that the persecution was pursued because the cult of the Bacchants was seen as anti-’Society’.92 From the perspective of religious history, some suggest that the leading men in Rome may have seen the Bacchanalia as a religious revolution, the formation of religious organizations on the basis of a principle of individual membership.93 In Rome, religion and the state were one, and as Livy presents it, this new Dionysian religion could have become a political power that would undermine family, class and gender distinctions. While Bacchus/Dionysos/Liber was a respected part of the Roman/Italian pantheon, the passage in Livy emphasizes that the Senate objected to cult rituals and crimes that came with ecstasy, such as sexual deviation and even murder, and to what it saw as a culture of secrecy and conspiracy.94 The Senate may have persecuted the Bacchants because it saw the

89 CIC., Leg. 2.15.37. We have substantial evidence that Livy’s account of this persecution is at least in the main historical; SALVATOR (1968), p. 240; BEARD (1998), p. 93); PAILLER (1988); STEK (2009), p. 19–21; but see BAUMAN (1990), p. 334–348. 90 GRUEN (1990), p. 34–78. The Senate used the persecution to display its supreme power to the Italian allies as well as competitors within the Roman political system, such as individual victorious generals whose popularity made them a threat to the Senate’s power. It is interesting to note that the future Antiochos IV was in Rome in 181 when the son of Marcus Acilius Glabrio dedicated a temple to Pietas (‘Piety’) in fulfillment of a vow made before a victorious battle against Antiochos III, Antiochos IV’s father (LIV. 40.34.4). 91 Riedl calls Gruen’s theory, ‘an extreme case of Realpolitik-interpretation’; RIEDL (2012), p.128, n. 2. See also Takács who emphasizes the domestic political goal of maintaining the Senate’s power; TAKÁCS (2000), p. 30. 92 BEARD (1998) p. 73–113; NORTH (2000), p. 85–103. 93 NORTH (2000), p. 66. 94 I thank David Engels for this formulation.

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group as a cult that seemed to challenge the very meaning of political existence within the republic.95 I prefer this consensus theory about the threat that the Senate saw in the Dionysian cult to Gruen’s theory that the persecution was a move to gain more political power.96 The suppression of the Bacchants was a reaction by the Roman Senate to a cult that seemed to challenge the meaning of political existence within the republic. The Bacchanalian affair was a clash of two kinds of religiosity, the political/communal religiosity of the public cult and the apolitical/orgiastic religiosity of the very secretive and private Bacchic cult. The Bacchants seemed conspiratorial and thus could be seen as possibly plotting against Rome and its control of Italy. While I disagree with Gruen and think that the Senate did take the threat of the Bacchants seriously, the fact remains that the Senate enhanced its authority and emerged politically stronger than ever as a result of the affair.97 The future Antiochos IV, for whom Rome may have been a living school, may have thought deeply about these events and may have absorbed the lesson that a persecution of adherents of suspect cult practices can demonstrate and consolidate power. There is substantial evidence that Antiochos had a positive and rich relationship with Rome and its ways. Antiochos IV seems to have been quite appreciative of his treatment and status; he later sent envoys to Rome with a flattering message of gratitude for the way he was treated as a prince more than a hostage.98 Antiochos came to Rome not as a child but as an ambitious

95

PETTAZZONI (1954), p. 206. Gruen explains the basis for the persecution of the Bacchants as the Senate’s power and honor, and he explains the basis for the persecution of the Jews as Antiochos IV’s honor and power; GRUEN (1993), p. 262–264. He does not relate these two persecutions that occurred in the same era. 97 Livy presents the political results that Gruen emphasizes. Despite its limitations, Livy’s account is ‘a carefully composed meaningful entity’ – RIEDL (2012), 115 – that may represent the official Roman perspective on what their authorities did. That is, the account may exaggerate or overly-dramatize what the Bacchants did, but it no doubt reflects how it was presented to the Romans in justifying the persecution. Whatever its motivations, the Senate would have presented its attack on the Bacchanalian cult as responding to an anti-Roman threat posed by the cult. 98 LIV. 42.6.6–11. Polybios tells us that after Antiochos was released from his hostage-ship and eventually assumed the throne, he wore a toga, and seemed to campaign like a Roman candidate for office. As if he had won, he sat on an ivory curule chair, after the fashion of the Romans [...] (POLYB. 26.1.1, transl. E.S. SHUCKBURGH: țĮ੿ țĮșȓıĮȢ ਥʌ੿ IJઁȞ ਥȜİijȐȞIJȚȞȠȞ įȓijȡȠȞ țĮIJ੹ IJઁʌĮȡ੹ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȚȢ ਩șȠȢ). He behaved like a Roman magistrate in Antioch (POLYB. 26.1.5–6; DIOD. SIC. 29.32; LIV. 41.20.1). He reviewed the soldiers armed in Roman fashion in Roman triumphal processions as at Daphne (POLYB. 30.25.3–26.1). He put on a gladiatorial exhibition according to Roman custom; POLYB. 30.26.1; LIV. 41.20.11 but see the doubts of CARTER (2001), p. 45–62 and STROOTMAN in this volume. He employed a Roman architect, D. Cossutius, to complete the Peisistratid 96

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man, a smart survivor who was skilled in warfare and diplomacy. He was an adult who could integrate his experiences in Rome in sophisticated ways.99 The Roman persecution of the Bacchanalia is relevant to understanding the enigma of the Antiochene persecution of Judaism because it taught Antiochos an important lesson: it may become necessary or useful to a state to persecute a cult that seems to undermine the values of the society or to threaten the stability of a government. Antiochos IV may have used the model of the persecution of the Bacchants to manifest his power at a crucial time in his kingdom’s history. While scholars have dismissed the theory of the Antiochene persecution as an imitation of what happened in Rome, it provides a contemporary parallel of a religious persecution. Antiochos IV’s persecution of Judaism was not the first religious persecution in history; he had witnessed one himself. While Hume and others have claimed a strong interrelationship between monotheism and religious persecution,100 polytheistic societies, too, seem to be quite ‘capable of systematic religious exclusion and persecution.’101 Despite ingenious and brilliant scholarship, both persecutions remain mysteries. The Bacchant rites had been around for a long time and Jewish rites had been performed for many centuries. Why did these persecutions happen and why at these particular points in time? I would like to connect the two events by emphasizing that Antiochos IV was in Rome during the first persecution and that, despite many differences, it might have provided a suggestive model for his persecution of orthodox Judaism.

7. The Roman Persecution of the Bacchants and Antiochos IV’s Persecution of the Jews For most modern scholars, it does not make sense that Antiochos IV, a polytheist who publicly demonstrated respect for different gods,102 persecuted the religion temple to Zeus Olympios in Athens and to build an aqueduct in Antioch; VITR., De Arch. 7, praef. 15 and 17. 99 GRUEN (1984), p. 62, n. 241 states: ‘The king did not employ Rome as a mentor or model. […] Seleucid traditions, not Roman practices, provide the context for his actions.’ It is true that gladiatorial games and togas should not obscure the point that the longstanding ambitions of the Seleukid monarchy, especially those of his father Antiochos III, as opposed to the practices of the Roman Republic, determined many of Antiochos IV’s actions. Still, it was perfectly logical for Antiochos to imitate what he had seen and to dream of creating his own Rome by radically altering the Seleukid political system; GRAINGER (1990), p. 156; see also ALLEN (2006), p. 159. At the very least, it is plausible that he integrated aspects of his experience in Rome into his view of how the power of a state can be applied. 100 See WOLLHEIM (1964), p. 65, and, more recently, ASSMANN (2009). 101 RIEDL (2012), p. 113. 102 See, recently, ERICKSON (forthcoming).

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of one of his subject peoples, which is completely contrary to the explicit respect and support of previous Seleukid kings, including his father Antiochos III.103 The descriptions of Antiochos IV’s role in the persecution in 1 Maccabees 1104 and 2 Maccabees 5105 are explicit, and these sources were written within decades of the events they describe. Dan 11, written during the persecution under Antiochos,106 presents the sequence of events that led to the persecution. After the Day of Eleusis when the Romans stop his invasion of Egypt, Antiochos comes to Judaea and begins to persecute Judaism. There are many famous theories that attempt to explain this historical puzzle, and they have been reviewed many times.107 Bickerman thought that it was not Antiochos IV but leading Judaeans who initiated the persecution.108 Tcherikover saw nothing in Antiochos’ biography that could have led him to become a persecutor of Judaism.109 Bringmann wrote that Antiochos IV persecuted the Jews for political and economic motives. It was Menelaos who instigated the persecution and Antiochos wanted to support his appointee and ensure his ability to retain power and produce money.110 Mittag states that the origins of the persecution are to be found in the interplay between Seleukid officials and Jewish groups; Antiochos’ role was limited.111 Mittag is in good company; recent scholarship has emphasized the importance of Seleukid officials and dependent dynasts in the administration of the core regions of the kingdom.112 Scholars state that we should not think about a king with absolute control but a 103 For Antiochos III and the Judaeans, see JOS., AJ 12.129–153; BICKERMAN (1980), p. 44–85; ID., p. 86–104; GRUEN (1999), p. 24–53, esp. 47. 104 Translation by GOLDSTEIN (1976), p. 206. 105 BERTHOLET (2007), p. 45–60; DORAN (1981); GOLDSTEIN   KAMPEN (2008) p. 11–30; SCHWARTZ (2008); ZSENGELLÉR (2005), p. 181–196. 106 MILLAR (1978), p. 16–17; BICKERMAN (1967), p. 131. 107 APERGHIS (2011), p. 67–83, esp. 79. There are many reviews and comparisons of these theories, including WEITZMAN (2004), p. 219–234; GRUEN (1993), p. 250–256; TCHERIKOVER (1959), p. 175–185; WILL / ORRIEUX (1986), p. 145–157; HARRINGTON (1988), p. 92–97; GRABBE (1991), p. 247–256; HAYES / MILLER (1977), 562–564. For the latest comprehensive review, see HONIGMAN (2014). 108 Bickerman claimed that 1Macc 1.41ff. is historically false; the impetus for the persecution came not from Antiochos IV but from the ‘Jewish Hellenists’ Menelaos and the Tobiads who wanted to change the very nature of Judaism. See BICKERMAN (1937), p. 127; BICKERMAN (1962), p. 106–111; HENGEL (1974), p. 284; MILLAR (1978), p. 1– 21; STERN (1970), p. 94a–99b; KEEL (2000), p. 87–121. For a recent review and approval of Bickerman’s theory, see APERGHIS (2011), p. 79. For a negative view, see BAUMGARTEN (2007), p. 149–179. See, most recently, ENGELS (2014), p. 43–71. 109 TCHERIKOVER (1959), p. 175–203. 110 BRINGMANN (1983), p. 120–140; HYLDAHL (1990), p. 199; WEITZMANN (2004), p. 219. 111 MITTAG (2006), p. 225–281. 112 BICKERMAN (1938), esp. p. 46–50; SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 120; CAPDETREY (2007); GEHRKE (1982), p. 247–277; RAMSEY (2011), p. 37–49.

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king who was an important figure in an incredibly complex network of political relationships.113 In my view, this is true but the scholarly pendulum now has swung too far from the formerly naïve view of Seleukid monarchs ruling with absolute power. In recent years, the Heliodoros Stele114 has inspired new thoughts about what Gera has called the ‘Seleukid road towards the religious persecution of the Jews’. The stele is a copy of correspondence written in Greek between Seleukos IV and his officials within a period of a few days in August 178 BC. It concerns the collection of revenues from temples in Koile Syria and Phoinikia, including Judaea. This stele may mark the beginning of a process of Seleukid interference in Jewish religious affairs that culminated in the decrees of Antiochos IV Epiphanes and would result in the outbreak of the Maccabaean revolt.115 But I want to carefully distinguish between financial procurement and religious persecution. If there was a Seleukid road to the persecution, there was also a Roman background. My modest goal is to say that for all of the other factors described in all the famous theories, Antiochos’ experience in Rome may have informed his action in the persecution of the Jews. A theory which generally has been dismissed and even modified by its author, Goldstein’s initial theory was that it was indeed Antiochos IV who commanded the persecution and that he learned about religious persecution from witnessing such an event in Rome.116 As we have seen, the years during which the future Antiochos IV lived in Rome were as Goldstein says ‘epoch-making in the history of the development of Roman civic and religious institutions’.117 I believe that Goldstein was correct that the Roman persecution of a religion gave Antiochos IV a model for such actions in his own realm. Antiochos IV primarily was motivated to assert power in a chaotic situation and so he responded to political instability in Judaea with a show of force that would resound throughout his huge and politically-restless kingdom. I support the very unpopular theory of Gruen, who basically follows what Dan 11 says, namely

113

RAMSEY (2011), p. 42. COTTON-WÖRRLE (2007), p. 191– GERLA (2007), p. 125–GERA (2014). 115 In an interesting analysis of the Heliodoros stele using the insights of MA (1999) and in an attempt to combine the evidence of the Heliodoros Stele and 2Macc 3, PortierYoung emphasizes the hidden vocabulary of domination and violence involved in this correspondence and reminds us that we are reading the words of a king who is forcibly taking the funds of his subjects right out of their temple treasuries; PORTIER-YOUNG (2011), p. 80. 116 GOLDSTEIN (1976), p. 104–160. Goldstein later modified this theory, suggesting that the garrison of the Akra, made up of Jewish soldiers from outside Judaea who practiced heterodox Judaism, were the instigators of the persecution; GOLDSTEIN (1983), p. 104–112. Goldstein does continue to maintain his first theory that Antiochos witnessed and was influenced by the persecution of the Bacchants. 117 GOLDSTEIN (1976), p. 105. 114

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that Antiochos persecuted the Jews as a means of demonstrating his power after the humiliation of the Day of Eleusis. While Antiochos IV might have acted, as Bickerman and others have suggested, with the counsel of certain leading Judaeans, the king also could have seen traditional Judaism as undermining of his kingdom and thus deserving of persecution, explaining his seemingly mysterious actions.

8. The Day of Eleusis and the Persecution of the Judaeans In a previous section, I emphasized the ‘Day of Eleusis’ as a turning point in Antiochos IV’s life, and now I want to discuss the event’s specific consequences for the history of Judaea. For it was immediately after the event in 168 that the deposed High Priest Jason heard the false rumor that Antiochos was dead and attacked the Temple and the High Priest who had replaced him, Menelaos.118 Jason was so successful that strong actions were taken.119 Jason’s rebellion brought the wrath of Antiochos IV on Jerusalem. Menelaos, with the full support of a very-alive Antiochos, punished the city and was re-confirmed in his authority (1Macc 1.20–28; 2Macc 5.1–23). Sympathetic to the entreaties of the beleaguered Antiochenes led by Menelaos, Antiochos sent Apollonios the Mysarch on an expedition to punish the pious Jews of Jerusalem, who were massacred in Nisan 167 BC.120 New punitive taxes were imposed. Troops manned the Akra north of the Temple. Shortly thereafter, Antiochos IV decreed that all Jews in Judaea should stop observing the laws of the Torah. Instead, they were to follow a new ‘purified’ Judaism with a polytheistic cult.121 This decree was sporadically and then gradually enforced until on 15 Kislev 167 the ‘Abomination of Desolation’ representing three gods of the imposed cult was placed on the altar for sacrifice in the Temple.122 The religious persecution was now in full swing throughout Judaea and the Antiochene republic. In late 167 or 118 Antiochos IV had first replaced Onias III with his brother Jason as the high priest of Judaea because he promised larger sums of money (2Macc 4.8–9) only to replace Jason with Menelaos, a non-priest, who offered even more revenue. It is helpful to see the appointments of Jason and especially Menelaos in the broader context of Antiochos IV’s actions at other places in his kingdom; FEYEL / GRASLIN-THOMÉ (2013), p. 46: ‘Antiochus IV […] abandons the de facto alliance between his predecessors and the traditional elites, and delegates some of the local responsibilities to new men, different from those on whom the early Seleukids relied. Jason, then Menelaos obtained the office of high priest at Jerusalem; the citizens of Babylon became the privileged recipients of the royal letters; a family of notables who had granted a good part of the local powers to Uruk is discarded in favor of newcomers’. 119 2Macc 5; JOS., Ant. Jud. 12.239–240. 120 1Macc 1.29–40; 2Macc 5.23–27. 121 1Macc 1.44–51. 122 1Macc 1.54.

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166, Mattathias and his Hasmonaean family began to lead a revolt. This is the account as we can reconstruct it from our important sources. And yet, in what seems to be the introduction to 2Macc 1.1–10a, we have a quite remarkable, archival letter from the Jews of Judaea to the Jews of Egypt, asking them to observe the days of Tabernacles of the Month of Kislev of the year 148 (SE 188 = 144 BC), what later would be called the Feast of Lights or the holiday of Hanukkah. The brief narrative explains that the holiday commemorates the people’s salvation from the crisis that had happened in that year, referring to: […] the oppression and the crisis which came upon us in these years, beginning when Jason and those who were with him rebelled against the Holy Land and the kingdom. And they set fire to the gate and spilled innocent blood, and we prayed to the Lord and He hearkened unto us, and we brought sacrifices and fine flour. And we lit the lamps and presented the showbreads.123

This letter reflects a pro-Seleukid understanding of the crisis. It is important to see what we do not find in this description of the crisis of the 160s. There is no reference to the decrees of Antiochos IV and the persecution of Judaism or to the pagan pollution of the Jerusalem Temple as are vividly described in the narratives of 1Macc and 2Macc. There is no reference to the Hasmonaeans/Maccabees, who fought successfully to win renewed religious autonomy for Judaeans. If we only had this letter, we would think that some Jews, led by their deposed high priest Jason, revolted against the Jewish authorities and the Seleukid kingdom. The Antiochene persecution was Jason’s fault. Thus in this letter, Judaeans thread a needle, seeing traditional Judaism as good, Jason as bad, and ‘the kingdom’ as good. For them, when Jason was defeated, he was immediately de-coupled from their Judaism. For Antiochos, however, traditional Judaism remained identified with Jason as he associated traditionalist, Temple-centered Judaism with Jason’s attempted coup. He thus saw traditional Judaism in a negative light and as a threat to his kingdom. Instead, he wanted a politically compliant Judaism that would pose no threat to him. If so, Antiochos may have seen Jason’s revolt as the Roman Senate saw the Bacchant rites, as seditious and a threat to the state. The future Antiochos IV may have learned that a group that is seen as dangerous to the rulers of the state must be put down with severity and violence. The Senate and Antiochos were not persecuting a ‘religion’ as such but were adamant about a politically 123 2Macc 1.7–8 (Translation by SCHWARTZ [2008], p. 129): ȕĮıȚȜİȪȠȞIJȠȢ ǻȘȝȘIJȡȓȠȣ ਩IJȠȣȢ ਦțĮIJȠıIJȠ૨ ਦȟȘțȠıIJȠ૨ ਥȞȐIJȠȣ ਲȝİ૙Ȣ Ƞੂ ǿȠȣįĮ૙ȠȚ ȖİȖȡȐijĮȝİȞ ਫ਼ȝ૙Ȟ ਥȞ IJૌ șȜȓȥİȚ țĮ੿ ਥȞ IJૌ ਕțȝૌ IJૌ ਥʌİȜșȠȪıૉ ਲȝ૙Ȟ ਥȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਩IJİıȚȞ IJȠȪIJȠȚȢ ਕij’ Ƞ੤ ਕʌȑıIJȘ ੉ȐıȦȞ țĮ੿ Ƞੂ ȝİIJ’ Į੝IJȠ૨ ਕʌઁ IJોȢ ਖȖȓĮȢ ȖોȢ țĮ੿ IJોȢ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȢ. țĮ੿ ਥȞİʌȪȡȚıĮȞ IJઁȞ ʌȣȜ૵ȞĮ țĮ੿ ਥȟȑȤİĮȞ ĮੈȝĮ ਕș૵ȠȞ țĮ੿ ਥįİȒșȘȝİȞ IJȠ૨ țȣȡȓȠȣ țĮ੿ İੁıȘțȠȪıșȘȝİȞ țĮ੿ ʌȡȠıȘȞȑȖțĮȝİȞ șȣıȓĮȞ țĮ੿ ıİȝȓįĮȜȚȞ țĮ੿ ਥȟȒȥĮȝİȞ IJȠઃȢ ȜȪȤȞȠȣȢ țĮ੿ ʌȡȠİșȒțĮȝİȞ IJȠઃȢ ਙȡIJȠȣȢ.

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dangerous group. If the Jews in the Akra complied, they would not be punished. If the Samaritans who practiced the same religion claimed that they were not to be associated with the Jews, this claim was accepted.124 The practice of the cultic rites in the case of the Bacchanalia or study of the Torah and circumcision in Judaism were prohibited, but only because they were associated with political insurgency. It could also have been a factor that the Bacchants and the Jews were different in their beliefs and practices from the persecutors, and difference was taken as threatening and bizarre. These persecutions cut across religious and political lines, asserting and expanding the power of the government into all aspects of life.125

9. Epilogue I have read backwards and forwards along a chain of events related to the life of Antiochos IV. I have suggested a theory that emphasizes Antiochos’ experience as a hostage in Rome, where he witnessed a severe religious persecution. He was released by Rome to become the Seleukid king and in that capacity remained subservient to the wishes of Rome for the rest of his life, which explains why he meekly left Egypt after conquering it twice in two years, and why, after he died, Rome burned Seleukid warships and elephants, to warn the new king Antiochos V that it expected the same compliance it had received from his father. Just as Rome played its hostage-card in sending Antiochos IV back, it played its Demetrios card against him and his son to keep them in line. When Demetrios escaped against Rome’s wishes, the ensuing split between the heirs of Seleukos IV and Antiochos IV would prove to be a major factor in the dissolution of the Seleukid monarchy. Rome was brilliant in creating this split and playing it whenever it felt necessary. Antiochos IV was made by Rome and held in check by Rome, not because he loved his former captors so much, but because he had sold his soul to the Devil and knew the Devil’s game.

Appendix Following Appian, scholars such as Will and Walbank thought that Antiochos IV only stayed in Athens on the way back to Antioch. Tracy’s reconstruction of the tablet (1982) led to a consensus that Antiochos was in Athens from at least 178 to 175. I have challenged this consensus by questioning the reconstruction of the tablet, suggesting a few other possibilities. Most recently, the consensus

124 JOS., Ant. Jud. 12.5. 125 GRUEN (1990), p. 42–43.

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has been defended and extended back to c. 180 by Knoepfler.126 The latter has added another piece of evidence to the discussion, which has an Antiochos (without another word or any other information at all) in a list of Athenian horse racers. Knoepfler admits that this list gives the results of horse races reserved for Athenian competitors. There is no special note about this Antiochos and the list could refer to an Athenian named Antiochos. From this reference, however, Knoepfler speculates that Antiochos IV was a wealthy noble who was a benefactor and an honored personage on the Athenian scene for five years. But if he were so important, why did he not return to Antioch? It is claimed that since, after he became king, he was a benefactor to Athens, he must have spent years in Athens, but these benefactions were reflections of a tradition of Seleukid generosity to Athens and could have been gratitude for the city’s help in securing the throne. In order for Antiochos IV to be a great benefactor in his years in Athens, Seleukos IV would have needed to lavishly support his brother there. To think that Antiochos stayed for three or more years in Athens is to ignore everything that we know about the importance of Seleukid royal sons, brothers, daughters and sisters. Was Antiochos so important that he was showered with honors in Athens, but not important enough to have any role in the Seleukid kingdom? Knoepfler himself states that ‘[…] the resources of this prince without a kingdom could not have been unlimited, the proof of which is that, in order to be able to return to Syria, he was obliged to accept not only the political and military but also the financial support of the Attalids’ (my translation).

Why would an insignificant prince be honored and celebrated in Athens in 178? Antiochos IV, an extraordinarily ambitious man, was in his prime during the years he supposedly stayed in Athens. Would he have been content with this sojourn? Why did he not marry and have children? The consensus also believes that Antiochos IV became king immediately after his return to Syria. This ignores the fact that Antiochos, son of Seleukos IV, became king upon his father’s death. A study of the Babylonian King List and the coinage of Antiochos son of Seleukos IV and Antiochos IV shows that Antiochos IV’s rise to the kingship and full power was one that took years after his return in 175, and was not complete until he had the rightful king, Antiochos son of Seleukos IV assassinated, c. 170/169. We have a significant amount of coinage with the portrait of the child-king. Coinage with the portrait of Antiochos IV did not start for three-five years, probably after Antiochos IV assassinated his nephew.127 Antiochos IV may have been regent, or co-king (as BKL seems to indicate), but he was not king in his own right until the death of

126 127

KNOEPFLER (2014), p. 75–116. HOUGHTON / LORBER / HOOVER (2008), II, I, p. 35–39; SCOLNIC (2014c).

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the child. Certainly, Antiochos IV was not king in any way before late 175.128 Knoepfler, citing Goukowsky,129 emphasizes the point that in speaking to the Senate, Demetrios says that he has been in Rome since he was a toddler.130 I think that this is taking his rhetoric literally and that Demetrios simply means that Rome was the nurturer who had raised him. In c. 180, Demetrios was too young to be a hostage. Again, there is no other evidence about Rome ever being sent or demanding a baby-hostage. I maintain that most of the evidence for the consensus is now presented by Knoepfler’s reconstruction of two broken tablets that can be reconstructed in various ways. I have suggested that this very fragmentary inscription may refer to the boy Antiochos, son of Seleukos IV131 or to a Seleukid official.132 Since, however, a broken tablet with a fragmentary inscription should not allow for certainty, I devoted the last two pages in my earlier article to the possibility that the inscription does indeed refer to the future Antiochos IV. I 128 OGIS 248 states that a stele for the Attalid allies is to be erected next to the ones that had been dedicated to ‘King Antiochos’. There is no indication, however, that the statues had stood in the Agora for three years by 175/174. Seleukos IV was assassinated on September 3, 175. It took at least some time after that assassination for Antiochos IV to become the regent for the rightful heir, the boy Antiochos. Since the statues refer to ‘King Antiochos’, and not simply ‘Antiochos’, statues dedicated to King Antiochos IV could not have been there before late 175 at best. Alternatively, one may wonder whether the statues had been dedicated to King Antiochos III. In any case, the dedication of such statues in 175 does not indicate that the future Antiochos IV had been living in Athens for three years prior to being dedicated. 129 GOUKOWSKY (2007), p. 55–56. 130 POLYB. 31.2.5. 131 The consensus thinks that there was a special meeting held in honor of Antiochos IV on a festive day based on Tracy’s discussion of the specific day involved: A meeting on the 9th of the month Pyanopsion, a festival day, is not heretofore certainly attested and was surely unusual. We may suppose that an extraordinary meeting called for the 9th, the day of the Stenia, a festival for women, and the day following the Theseia (the 8th day), provided a suitably special occasion to honor Antiochos, a philhellene and scion of the house of the Seleukids. Pyanopsia was an Athenian festival for Apollon held annually on the 7th day of Pyanopsion (October). Thesmophoria, an annual three-day festival in honor of Demeter Thesmophoros, was held on the 12th-14th of Pyanopsion. I mention these other festivals to show how packed the calendar was during the harvest season. Why was the day of a women’s festival a ‘suitably special occasion’ to honor this prince? We are left to wonder what would make it so urgent that there should be such a specific need to honor Antiochos on this particular day. If Knoepfler is right that the prince had been in Athens for a few years before 178, why should there be ‘an extraordinary meeting’ at this particular time? Why could there not just have been a gift given in honor of the boy Antiochos on that day in addition to the already-prescribed festival? Referring to the birth of this boy on an Athenian festival of fertility seems at least plausible. 132 Antiochos is an extremely common name, and it may well be, for instance, the name of an envoy, a friend, an official of some kind, of Seleukos IV (e.g., IJઁ ȕĮ[ıȚȜȑȦȢ ijȓȜȠȢ], IJઁ ȕĮ[ıȚȜȑȦȢ ʌȡİıȕİȣIJȒȢ], etc.), not the name of a member of the Seleukid dynasty.

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suggested that Mithradates’ assumption of this name might have indicated his ambitions and angered Seleukos IV so much that he did not allow his brother to return, or that since Seleukos had not allowed him to return, he had nothing to lose by taking a dynastic name. Perhaps Mithradates had decided to change his name with the consent of his Roman captors and Athenian friends who were suspicious of Seleukos IV’s growing alliance with Perseus of Macedon, cemented by an event the latter’s marriage to Laodike, daughter of the former, in the same year as the inscription, 178. For my larger purpose here, the theory that Mithradates/Antiochos was involved in a conspiracy to win the Seleukid kingship can be maintained whether he came to Athens in 178 or 175, or, for that matter, in 180. Bibliography Sources APPIAN (1988), Syrian Wars, trans. H. White, Cambridge MA. Jerome’s Commentary on Daniel (1958), trans. by Gleason L. Archer, Grand Rapids. Scholarly Literature ADAMIK, T. (2007), Livius über die Bacchanalienverschwörung, in Acta Antiqua 47, p. 329–339. ALLEN, J. (2006), Hostages and Hostage-Taking in the Roman Empire, Cambridge. APERGHIS, G.G. (2011), Antiochus IV and his Jewish Subjects: Political, Cultural and Religious Interactions, in ERICKSON / RAMSEY (2011), p. 67–83. ASSMANN, J. (2009), The Price of Monotheism, Palo Alto. BAGNALL, R.S. / DEROW, P. (eds.) (2004), The Hellenistic Period, Malden MA. BALL, D. (1983), Backwards and Forwards: A Technical Manual for Reading Plays, Carbondale. BAUMAN, R.A. (1990), The Suppression of the Bacchanals: Five Questions, in Historia 39, p. 334–348. BAUMGARTEN, A.I. (2007), Elias Bickerman on the Hellenizing Reformers: A Case Study of an Unconvincing Case, in JQR 97, p. 149–179. BEARD, M. et al. (1998), Religions of Rome 1: A History, Cambridge. BERGMAN, J. (1968), Ich bin Isis. Studien zum memphitischen Hintergrund der griechischen Isisaretalogien, Stockholm. BERTHOLET, K. (2007), The Biblical Conquest and the Hasmonaean Wars, in XERAVITS / ZSENGELLÉR, p. 45–60. BEVAN, E.R. (1966), The House of Seleucus, 2 vols., London.

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– (1927), The House of Ptolemy: A History of Egypt under the Ptolemaic Dynasty, London. BICKERMAN, E.J. (1937), Der Gott der Makkabäer: Untersuchungen über Sinn und Ursprung der makkabäerbuch Erhebung, Berlin. – (1938), Institutions des Séleucides, Paris. - (1962), Ezra to the Last of the Maccabees, New York. - (1967), Four Strange Books of the Bible, New York. - (1980), Le Charte séleucide de Jérusalem, in Studies in Jewish and Christian History 2, Leiden, p. 44–85. - (1980a), Une proclamation séleucide relative au temple de Jérusalem, in ibid., p. 86– 104. - (1982), Chronology of the Ancient World, Ithaca NY. BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ, A. (1913), Histoire des Séleucides (323–64 avant J.-C.), vol. 1, Paris. BRINGMANN, K. (1983), Hellenistische Reform und Religionsverfolgung in Judäa: eine Untersuchung zur jüdisch-hellenistischen Geschichte (175–163 v. Chr.), Göttingen. BRISCOE, J. (1989), A Commentary on Livy, Books XXXI–XXXIII, Oxford. BUNGE, J.G. (1974), Münzen als Mittel politischer Propaganda: Antiochos IV. Epiphanes von Syrien, in Studii Clasice 16, p. 43–52. - (1974), Theos Epiphanes: Zu den ersten fünf Regierungsjahren Antiochus’ IV. Epiphanes, in Historia 23, p. 57–85. BURSTEIN, S.M. (1980), The Aftermath of the Peace of Apamea: Rome and the Pontic War, in AJAH 5, p. 1–12. - (1985), The Hellenistic Age from the Battle of Ipsos to the Death of Kleopatra VII, Cambridge. BURTON, P.J. (2011), Friendship and Empire: Roman Diplomacy and Imperialism in the Middle Republic (353–146 BC), Cambridge. CANCIK-LINDEMAIER, H. (1996), Der Diskurs Religion im Senatsbeschluss über die Bacchanalia von 186 v.Chr. und bei Livius (B. XXXIX), in H. CANCIK (ed.), Geschichte - Tradition - Reflexion, II. Griechische und Römische Religion, Tübingen, p. 77–96. CAPDETREY, L. (2007), Le pouvoir séleucide. Territoire, administration, finances d’un royaume héllenistique (312–129 avant J.C), Rennes. CARTER, M. (2001), The Roman Spectacles of Antiochus IV Epiphanes at Daphne, 166 BC, in Nikephoros 14, p. 45–62. COHEN, S.J.D. (1989), From the Maccabees to the Mishnah, Philadelphia. COùKUN, A. (2016), Philologische, genealogische und politische Überlegungen zu Ardys und Mithradates, zwei Söhnen des Antiochos Megas (Liv. 33,19,9), in Latomus 75, p. 849–861. COTTON, H. / WÖRRLE, M.M. (2007), Seleukos IV to Heliodoros. A New Dossier of Royal Correspondence from Israel, in ZPE 159, p. 191–205. DE SANCTIS, G. (1923), Storia de Romana IV.1: La fondazione dell’Impero: dalla battaglia di Naraggara alla battaglia di Pidna, Milano / Torino.

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DORAN, R. (1981), Temple Propaganda: The Purpose and Character of 2 Maccabees, Washington. ENGELS, D. (2014), Da richteten sie in Jerusalem ein Gymnasion her, wie es auch die Heiden hatten: Das Gymnasion von Jerusalem und der Aufstand der Makkabäer: Sport, Religion und Politik, in Electrum 21, p. 43–71. ERICKSON, K. / RAMSEY, G. (eds.) (2011), Seleucid Dissolution: The Sinking of the Anchor, Wiesbaden. - (2014), From Zeus to Apollo and Back Again: Shifts in Seleucid Policy and Iconography, in S. KRMNICEK / N. T. ELKINS (eds.), Proceedings of Art in the Round: New Approaches to Ancient Coin Iconography. University of Tübingen, Institut für Klassische Archäologie 15–16, Tübingen, p. 97–108. ERRINGTON, R.M. (1972), The Dawn of Empire: Rome’s Rise to World Power, Ithaca. - (1986), Antiochos III, Zeuxis und Euromos, in EA 8, p. 1–8. FEYEL, Chr. / GRASLIN-THOMÉ, L. (2014), Le projet politique d’Antiochos IV, Paris. - (2014), Antiochos IV, un Réformateur Méconnu du Royaume Séleucide?, in IID. (2014), p. 11–47. FLOWER, H. I. (2000), Fabula de Bacchanalibus: the bacchanalian Cult of the Second Century B.C. and Roman Drama, in G. MANUWALD (ed.), Identität und Alterität in der frührömischen Tragödie, 3, Altertumswissenschaftliche Reihe 1, Würzburg, p. 23– 35. GALLO, I. (1980), Frammenti Biografici da Papiri, Roma. - (2002), Studi di papirologia ercolanese, Storie e testi 13, Napoli, p. 59–205. GEHRKE, H.-J. (1982), Der siegreiche König. Überlegungen zur hellenistischen Monarchie, in AKG 64, p. 247–277. GERA, D. (1998), Judaea and Mediterranean Politics, 219 to 161 B.C.E., Leiden. - (2014), The Seleucid Road towards the Religious Persecution of the Jews, in M.-F. BASLEZ / O. MUNNICH (eds.), La mémoire des persécutions. Autour des livres des Maccabées, Leuven, p. 21–57. - (2007), Olympiodoros, Heliodoros, and the Temples of Koile Syria and Phoinike, in ZPE 169, p. 125–152. GOLDINGAY, J. (1989), Daniel, Nashville. GOLDSTEIN, J.A. (1976), I Maccabees, Garden City NY. - (1983), II Maccabees; Garden City NY. GOUKOWSKY, P. (2007), Appien, Histoire romaine. Livre XI. Le livre syriaque, Paris. GRABBE, L. (1991), Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian, Minneapolis. GRAINGER, J.D. (1990), The Cities of Seleucid Syria, Oxford. - (1997), A Seleukid Prosopography and Gazeteer, Leiden. GREEN, P. (1990), Alexander to Actium: The Historical Evolution of the Hellenistic Age, Berkeley CA. GRUEN, E. (1984), The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, Berkeley CA. - (1990), The Bacchanalian Affair, in ID., Studies in Greek Culture and Roman Policy, Berkeley CA, p. 34–78. - (1993), Hellenism and Persecution: Antiochus IV and the Jews, in P. GREEN (ed.),

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Hellenistic History and Culture, Berkeley CA, p. 238–264. - (1999), Seleucid Royal Ideology, in SBLSP 38, p. 24–53. HABICHT, C. (2006), Athens and the Seleucids, in ID., The Hellenistic Monarchies: Selected Papers (transl. P. Stevenson), Ann Arbor, p. 155–173. HARRINGTON, D.J. (1988), The Maccabean Revolt: Anatomy of a Biblical Revolution, Wilmington. HAYES, J.H. / MILLER, J.M. (1977), Israelite and Judean History, London. HENGEL, M. (1974), Judaism and Hellenism 1 Eugene, Oregon. HOLBL, G. (2010), A History of the Ptolemaic Empire, London. HOLLEAUX, M. (1942), Études d’épigraphie et d’histoire grecques 3, Paris. HONIGMAN, S. (2014), Tales of High Priests and Taxes, Oakland. HOUGHTON, A. / LORBER, C. / HOOVER, O. (eds.) (2008), Seleucid Coins. Part II. Vol. I, New York. HYLDAHL, N. (1990), The Maccabean Rebellion and the Question of ‘Hellenization’, in P. BILDE et al. (eds.), Religion and Religious Practice in the Seleucid Kingdom, Aarhus, p. 188–203. KAMPEN, J. (2007) The Books of the Maccabees and Sectarianism in Second Temple Judaism, in XERAVITS / ZSENGELLÉR, Books of the Maccabees, p. 11–30. KEEL, O. (2000), Die kultischen Maßnahmen Antiochus’ IV. in Jerusalem: Religionsverfolgung und / oder Reformversuch?: eine Skizze, in O. KEEL / U. STAUB (eds.), Hellenismus und Judentum: Vier Studien zu Daniel 7 und zur Religionsnot unter Antiochus IV, Freiburg, p. 87–121. KNOEPFLER, D. (2014), L’ami princier de la plus démocratique des cités: Antiochos IV, Athènes et Délos à la lumière du nouveau recueil des décrets attiques (IG II3 1, 5), in FEYEL / GRASLIN-THOME, p. 75–116. KOSMIN, P. (2014), The Land of the Elephant Kings: Space, Territory, and Ideology in the Seleucid Empire, Cambridge, Mass. KOTSIDU, H. (2000), TIME KAI DOXA: Ehrungen für hellenistische Herrscher im griechischen Mutterland und in Kleinasien unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der archäologischen Denkmäler, Berlin. LE RIDER, G. (1993), Les ressources financières de Séleucos IV (187–175) et le paiement de l’indemnité aux Romains, in S. PRICE et al. (eds.), Essays in Honour of Robert Carson and Kenneth Jenkins, London, p. 49–67. LIEBMANN-FRANKFORT, T. (1969), La frontière-orientale de la politique extérieure de la République romaine, Bruxelles. LIMOGES, S. (2009), Expansionism or Fear: The Underlying Reasons for the Bacchanalia Affair of 186 B.C., in Hirundo 7, p. 77–92. MA, J. (2002), Antiochos III and the Cities of Asia Minor, Oxford. MARSHALL, B.A. (1985), A Historical Commentary on Asconius, Columbia. MATTINGLY, H.B. (1997), Athens between Rome and the Kings: 229/8 to 129 B.C., in P. CARTLEDGE et al. (eds.), Hellenistic Constructs: Essays in Culture, History and Historiography, Berkeley CA, p. 120–144. - (1971), Some Problems in Second Century Attic Prosopography, in Historia 20, p. 26– 46.

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With Enemies Like This Who Needs Friends? Roman Intervention in the Hellenistic East and the Preservation of the Seleukid Patrimony Richard WENGHOFER Abstract Between 311 and 282 BC Seleukos I Nikator succeeded in acquiring the lion’s share of Alexander’s empire. In order to maintain their rule over this great empire the successors of Seleukos had to confront the challenges of constant regional revolt from ambitious officials as well as competition from other imperial powers such as Egypt, Parthia, and Rome. Indeed, Roman intervention in Seleukid affairs after the Battle of Magnesia in 190 BC is often viewed as a critical factor in the long, slow decline of Seleukid fortunes. The objective of this paper is to contest the view that Roman intervention in Seleukid affairs played a major role in the decline of Seleukid power. The argument that will be advanced here is that the general impact of Roman involvement in Seleukid affairs in the second and first centuries BC was both limited and in fact salutary to the extent that it ameliorated one of the central flaws that beleaguered Seleukid rule, namely the failure of the Seleukid kings to transform their private patrimony into a state. As will be demonstrated, a direct consequence of this failure was endemic dynastic conflict, which in turn undermined the ability of the Seleukid house to effectively face the challenges of regional revolts and competition from imperialistic neighbors. The Roman demand for royal hostages under the Peace of Apameia of 188 BC had the unintended consequence of reducing the intensity of dynastic struggle in the Seleukid house for about thirty years. However, when the Roman senate lost interest in Seleukid affairs and stopped demanding royal hostages, dynastic struggle once again undermined the Seleukid capacity to protect its territorial integrity and curb the ambitions of rebellious officials.

1. State vs. Government Although there were many factors contributing to the decline of Seleukid power in the second and first centuries BC,1 such as pressure from foreign powers2 (i.e. Rome, Parthia, Egypt) and centrifugal tendencies inhering in the structure of Seleukid rule3 (i.e. the feudal structure of the Seleukid polity, regional revolts 1

See most recently GRAINGER (2015), passim. FERGUSON (1963), p. 210–214; SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 222; WOLSKI (1999), passim; SHIPLEY (2000), p. 325. 3 BICKERMAN (1938); ENGELS (2011); RAMSEY (2011); ENGELS (2014); ENGELS (2017). 2

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by ambitious officials), more attention must be paid to the significance of the Seleukid failure to develop the institutions and ideologies that comprise a formal state as opposed to merely a government.4 There is no scholarly consensus on the definition of ‘the state’.5 A common if somewhat dated view defines the state as a political organization, hierarchically arranged and maintaining a monopoly on the legitimate use of force within a geographically defined space, and whose integrity is maintained by the ability to extract surplus wealth in order to maintain its activities as a state.6 This view, however, is often criticized as being more appropriate as a definition of government rather than of a state. A state must therefore be more than its institutions of coercion. Jack Goldstone and John Haldon argue that a key factor in state formation must surely be the ability for governments to reproduce themselves regardless of central dynastic considerations and ties of personal loyalty.7 Francis Fukuyama notes in The Origins of Political Order, that the creation of an ‘impersonal’ authority is a crucial feature of state formation.8 In other words, a state must exist independently of its rulers for it to be properly considered a state. Goldstone and Haldon further observe that the coercive power of the state must rest on a sense of legitimacy that is derived from a shared identity on the part of the ruled.9 Such an identity does not necessarily have to rest on shared ethnicity, language, or culture, however, some basis for communal identity is prerequisite for the formation of a state. Political coercion (i.e. the use of force) must therefore give way to an ideological participation in that coercion on the part of the ruled, or to what John Nye refers to as ‘soft power’.10 As Fukuyama notes, the ruled must have a shared identity as the subjects of a legitimately constituted authority over them for a state to be said to exist.11 A state is thus more than a series of institutions of coercion and wealth extraction. The state is, as Foucault had observed, a ‘reified’ or ‘mythologized’ abstraction.12 This notion of the state as a reified construct is what gives it stability and resilience even as the formal distribution of coercive power within it changes hands. As will be demonstrated below, these formal characteristics of a state were rather underdeveloped in the Seleukid Empire.

4

Cf. ROBINSON (2013) on the distinction between ‘state’ and ‘government’. VINCENT (1987), p. 8. 6 D’ENTRÈVES (1967), p. 1–2; VINCENT (1987), p. 19–20. 7 GOLDSTONE / HALDON (2009), p. 8. 8 FUKUYAMA (2011), p. 101; cf. also VINCENT (1987), p. 21. 9 GOLDSTONE / HALDON (2009), p. 8–9. 10 Cf. NYE (2004). 11 FUKUYAMA (2011), p. 116. 12 FOUCAULT (1994), p. 220. 5

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2. The Private Character of Seleukid Hegemony While the Seleukid Empire did indeed have many of the structural features of a ‘government’, including a hierarchically arranged bureaucracy and the power to coerce and extract wealth,13 the Seleukids never succeeded in transforming the patchwork of polities under their rule into a community that thought of itself as in some sense ‘Seleukid’. The Seleukid dynasty was just that – a dynasty, whose hegemony David Engels describes as ‘feudal’ in structure, by which he means, ‘an institutional model in which, on the one hand, a central power has only very restricted possibilities of controlling and influencing local administrators, whose power often becomes hereditary and who sometimes achieve complete independence, even if they are often dependent on their own subordinates, and, on the other hand, rural populations that tend to become the literal property of regional landowners.’14

In such a feudal arrangement atomizing forces can only be avoided by strong rulers who can command the personal loyalty of officials and subjects.15 But when royal power in a polity resides in the person of a king rather than the office of king and when there is no communal identity beyond loyalty to a particular royal dynasty, then the fate of that polity is tied to the fate of the family itself. For the Seleukids, there was no impersonal authority that existed separately from individual Seleukid kings. Seleukid kingship thus closely resembled Aristotle’s fifth mode of monarchy in Politics: A fifth type of kingship is whenever there is one master of all, just as each ethnos and each polis [is master] of its common affairs, [and] rules after the fashion of household management. For just as the management of a household is a monarchy, so an absolute monarchy is the management of a single polis and ethnos, or of many of these.16

Aristotle’s definition emphasizes the private character of this form of kingship, where the king is not the acknowledged head and representative of a putative kingdom that has an existence that is independent of the king himself, but one where the kingdom is effectively the private, personal possession or pragmata (affairs) of the king.17 Seleukid kings sat at the centre of negotiated networks of personal, bilateral relationships with a plethora of polities, dynasts, and ethne18 13 Cf. SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 40–51; MA (1999), p. 121–148; CAPDETREY (2007), ch. 3. 14 ENGELS (2011), p. 20. 15 ENGELS (2011), p. 29. Cf. also in general ENGELS (2017). 16 ARIST., Pol. 3.1285b: ʌȑȝʌIJȠȞ įૃ İੇįȠȢ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȢ, ੖IJĮȞ ઝ ʌȐȞIJȦȞ țȪȡȚȠȢ İੈȢ ੭Ȟ, ੮ıʌİȡ ਪțĮıIJȠȞ ਩șȞȠȢ țĮ੿ ʌȩȜȚȢ ਦțȐıIJȘ IJ૵Ȟ țȠȚȞ૵Ȟ, IJİIJĮȖȝȑȞȘ țĮIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ȠੁțȠȞȠȝȚțȒȞ. ੮ıʌİȡ Ȗ੹ȡ ਲ ȠੁțȠȞȠȝȚț੽ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮ IJȚȢ ȠੁțȓĮȢ ਥıIJȓȞ, Ƞ੢IJȦȢ ਲ ʌĮȝȕĮıȚȜİȓĮ ʌȩȜİȦȢ țĮ੿ ਩șȞȠȣȢ ਦȞઁȢ ਲ਼ ʌȜİȚȩȞȦȞ ȠੁțȠȞȠȝȓĮ. All translations in this paper are the author’s. 17 STROOTMAN (2014), p. 12; cf. EHRENBERG (1969), p. 159–179 on the personal character of Hellenistic monarchies in general. 18 RAMSEY (2011), p. 37; STROOTMAN (2013), p. 68.

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and their power to either seduce (i.e. through acts of benefaction) or coerce (i.e. through threat of violence) loyalty rested upon the dynasty’s ability to leverage their private capital, mainly, though not exclusively, in the form of royal land.19 This provided the resources the Seleukids required to raise armies, provide benefactions, and attract powerful dynasts as philoi, which were all fundamental instruments of power in any Hellenistic monarchy.20 In spite of the highly personal character of Seleukid hegemony, however, Seleukid kings did indeed try to create a sense of political legitimacy for themselves that entailed more than the quid pro quo of realpolitik described above.21 One such strategy that must have created a degree of political cohesion was the establishment of ruler cults.22 Seleukid kings also went to great lengths to associate both themselves and the gods with whom the Seleukid kings bore a special kinship (esp. Apollon) with local deities and their associated cults.23 Seleukid kings developed a royal iconography both on their coin issues24 and in their use of architecture and town planning in order to project their power and legitimacy.25 Finally, Seleukid kings attempted to create a ‘court mythology’ in order to forge a royal identity and to establish their rule as legitimate in local contexts. 26 Appian, for example, records several prophecies foreshadowing the rule of Seleukos I in Asia,27 as well as miraculous portents relating to Seleukos’ city foundations, all of which no doubt originated in the Seleukid court itself.28 But the focus of all of these measures was squarely on either individual Seleukid kings or on the Seleukid dynasty itself and not upon some abstract notion of a Seleukid state with its own identity. The purpose of such propaganda was to create ties of a personal and private character with the Seleukid dynasty itself. The private character of Seleukid kingship can be readily identified in the diplomatic arrangements between Seleukid kings and the various Greek poleis in the western sphere of Seleukid influence. In these agreements the people of a given polis are never subjects of the king, but are autonomous, politically sovereign communities with their own identities, engaging in diplomatic relations, in theory, as equals with a powerful dynasty.29 Thus in 275 BC 19

MA (1999), p. 130–131; APERGHIS (2004), p. 88–89. EHRENBERG (1969), p. 226ff. 21 See KUHRT (1996); KOSMIN (2014). 22 SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1999), p. 116–118; MA (1999), p. 37; cf. OGIS 245 (AUSTIN 177). 23 SHERWIN-WHITE (1991); ERICKSON (2011). 24 For a general discussion of Hellenistic monarchs’ use of coinage to create a sense of political legitimacy see FLEISCHER (1996). 25 KOSMIN (2014), Ch. 7 and 8. 26 HADLEY (1969), passim; MEHL (1986), p. 95–103. 27 APP., Syr. 56. 28 APP., Syr. 58. Cf. OGDEN (2011), passim; KOSMIN (2014), p. 211–218. 29 Contra MA (1999), p. 152–154. 20

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Antiochos I wrote a letter to Meleagros, satrap of Phrygia, notifying him that he had given a parcel of royal land to his philos Artistodikides, who could join it to any city he wishes in the chora and in the alliance (ʌȡઁȢ ਴Ȟ ਗȝ ȕȠ઄ȜȘIJĮȚ ʌંȜȚȞ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞ IJોȚ ȤઆȡĮȚ IJİ țĮ੿ ıȣȝȝĮȤ઀ĮȚ).30 The vocabulary here is quite significant. Antiochos’ relationship with the cities in the environs of Ilion and Skepsis is a ıȣȝȝĮȤȓĮ or military alliance. This does not suggest subordination to a king but an agreement between equals. Similarly, OGIS 233, 50–51 describes the relationship between Magnesia and Antiochos III as one of İ੡ȞȠȚĮ and ijȚȜȓĮ, terms which hardly suggest subordination or subjection. Moreover, the parties to such agreements are always careful to distinguish the separateness of the interests (pragmata) of the king and those of the polis. OGIS 229 (ca. 244–241 BC) testifies to the character of relations between Seleukos II and the citizens of Smyrna and Magnesia at Mt. Sipylos.31 The document in question is a decree of the people of Smyrna to send ambassadors to Magnesia in order to bring the Magnesians into an alliance with both Smyrna and Seleukos II. John Ma notes that this decree does not imply recognition of Seleukid rule, but seeks to promote Smyrna’s sovereign and diplomatic interests.32 Line 15 explicitly states that Seleukos II had sent a certain Dionysios to the Magnesians so that Dionysios might encourage them to safeguard their friendship and military alliance with King Seleukos (ਪȞĮ ǻȚȠȞ઄ıȚȠȞ IJઁȝ ʌĮȡĮțĮȜ੼ıȠȞIJĮ Į੝IJȠઃȢ įȚĮ[ijȣ]Ȝ੺ııİȚȞ IJ੽ȝ ijȚȜ઀ĮȞ țĮ੿ ıȣȝȝĮȤ઀ĮȞ ȕĮıȚȜİ૙ ȈİȜİ઄țȦȚ).33 The inscription makes it quite clear that Magnesia and Smyrna are themselves sovereign states, not subjects of the king. Moreover, Seleukos’ objective is the protection of his ʌȡ੺ȖȝĮIJĮ, which I take to mean his ‘private affairs’, to be distinguished from those of Smyrna and Magnesia, and although the king in turn guaranteed to the people their autonomy and democracy (ਥȕİȕĮ઀ȦıİȞ IJ૵Ț į੾ȝȦȚ IJ੽Ȟ Į੝IJȠȞȠȝ઀ĮȞ țĮ੿ įȘȝȠțȡĮIJ઀ĮȞ), we ought not to read too much into the granting of autonomy and democracy. After all, in 193 BC, Marcus Valerius Messala wrote a letter to the Teans granting them asylia, autonomia, and declaring them aphorologetoi,34 although these things were, strictly speaking, not the Roman People’s to give.

30

Cf. AUSTIN 180; RC 13, 10–12; OGIS 221; I.Iion no. 33. AUSTIN 182; OGIS 229; Staatsv. III 492. For a date of 244 BC for the sympoliteia between Smyrna and Magnesia see COùKUN (forthcoming). 32 MA (1999), p. 49–50. 33 OGIS 229 (AUSTIN 182). 34 Cf. AUSTIN 157; Syll.3 601; SHERK no. 34. 31 Cf.

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3. Marriage Diplomacy as a Tool of Hegemony If Seleukid hegemony can be understood as a private enterprise, resting as it did mainly on the private resources of the Seleukid dynasty itself, it is not surprising that strategic marriages should have played such a crucial role in the establishment and protection of that hegemony and sense of legitimacy.35 Marriage diplomacy was thus the preferred strategy by which Seleukid kings either secured or even expanded their pragmata. Examples are numerous. Seleukos I married a daughter to Chandragupta Maurya in 305 BC in order to solidify his influence at the eastern extremities of his empire and acquire muchneeded war elephants.36 In 275 BC Antiochos I married a daughter, Apame, to Magas of Kyrene in a bid to secure an ally for an attack on Egypt.37 Antiochos II contracted several important dynastic marriages. Between 260 and 255 BC he married his sister Stratonike to Demetrios II, the Antigonid king of Macedonia.38 In 252 BC, Antiochos II married Berenike (Phernephoros), daughter of Ptolemy II, although he was already married to a certain Laodike by whom he had two sons, Seleukos and Antiochos.39 The purpose of the marriage to Berenike for both Antiochos and Ptolemy was no doubt to secure their respective positions after the Second Syrian War.40 Then around 250 BC he married off one daughter, Stratonike, to Ariarathes of Kappadokia41 and, at roughly the same time, he likely married off another daughter (Apame?), to Diodotos I, satrap of Baktria, in a bid to prevent the total loss of the satrapy which was at this time threatening revolt.42 When Antichos II died in 246 BC, the Seleukid house was confronted with both an invasion from Egypt and a power struggle between the designated heir, Seleukos II, and his younger brother, Antiochos Hierax. Thus in ca. 245 BC Seleukos II married off his sister Laodike to Mithradates II of Pontos,43 no doubt in a bid to secure allies amidst a troubled succession.44 Antiochos III, likewise amidst a troubled succession owing to a revolt of his general Achaios in Asia Minor45 and of his satrap Molon in Media,46 married 35 Cf. HARDERS (2016); ENGELS / ERICKSON (2016); RAMSEY (2016); WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016). 36 APP., Syr. 55; STRAB. 15.2.9. For a discussion on the significance of the marriage Cf. MAIRS (2006), p. 52–55; COLORU (2009), p. 142–144; KOSMIN (2014), ch. 1; WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016), p. 192–193. 37 PAUS. 1.7.1–3. 38 JUST. 28. 1; EUSEB., Chron. 2.249. 39 Cf. APP., Syr. 65. 40 GRAINGER (2014), p. 180–185; COùKUN (2016), p. 112–115. 41 DIOD. SIC. 31.19.6. 42 WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016), p. 194–201. 43 JUST. 38.5.3; EUSEB., Chron. 140.6. 44 For a discussion of the events from 246 to 241 BC see COùKUN (Forthcoming). 45 Cf. POLYB. 4.51. 46 POLYB. 5.43–50.

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Laodike, daughter of Mithradates II of Pontos in 222 BC.47 In an attempt to regain Seleukid control of the upper satrapies that had been lost under Seleukos II, Antiochos marched into Baktria around 210 BC where the satrap Euthydemos had proclaimed himself king. After a fruitless siege of the capital Baktra, Antiochos secured his eastern interests by engaging an unnamed daughter to Euthydemos’ son, Demetrios.48 After returning from his anabasis, Antiochos successfully wrested Koile Syria from Ptolemy V in the Fifth Syrian War and, in order to secure his gains, he gave his daughter Kleopatra Syra to Ptolemy V.49 But perhaps the finest expression of the personal character of Seleukid rule comes from the bizarre marriage of Antiochos III to the daughter of Kleoptolemos of Chalkis, to whom he gave the name Euboia in 192 BC.50 Paul Kosmin suggests that this marriage was symbolic, whereby Antiochos III effectively married the island of Euboia itself in a bid to declare his legitimate claim over it.51 More importantly, however, Antiochos’ marriage to Euboia is a clear indication of the personal character of Seleukid rule. Whether or not the marriage actually took place,52 what is significant here is that the episode suggests that the Seleukid kings knew of no other way as smooth as marriage to exercise a formal patrimonial claim over a region’s pragmata. Strategic marriages played such a significant role in the establishment, preservation, and extension of Seleukid hegemony because the Seleukid ‘kingdom’ was nothing more than the private estates of the king and his designated heirs. Omar Coloru notes that: ‘The king legitimizes the assumption of the title basileus by a military victory, which also ratifies his right to enjoy the full ownership of royal land because it was won by the spear, or, in the case of a successor, because that land had been conquered by his ancestors and consequently had become part of his inheritance.’53

The Seleukid kingdom was ‘the personal property’ of the king. Seleukid kings thus tried to protect and expand their private estates, as any head of an oikos was expected to do, in part by securing advantageous marriages. However, while such dynastic connections might have proven effective as tools for the preservation and extension of Seleukid hegemony in the short term, in the long run and in the absence of formal succession laws that functioned independently of the Seleukid dynasty itself, they were potentially problematic because they frequently created multiple claims upon Seleukid pragmata.

47

POLYB. 5.43.1–4. POLYB. 11.24.8–10. Cf also WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016), p. 202–204. 49 APP., Syr. 3 and 5; POLYB. 18.51.10 and 28.20.9; LIV. 43.40.3 and 35.13.4. 50 Cf. POLYB. 20.8.1–5 from ATHEN. 10.439. 51 KOSMIN (2014), p. 136–139. 52 See KOSMIN (2014), p. 137–139. 53 COLORU (2013), p. 85. 48

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4. Contested Successions and Their Consequences That Seleukid kingship was personal has, of course, been long established.54 But the implications of this fact are not fully appreciated. The power of Seleukid kings clearly rested upon the personal loyalty and fear they could generate, and these in turn rested on their private resources. The division of those resources would thus necessarily result in the diminution of a Seleukid king’s ability to wield private influence. Indeed, if one takes a birds-eye view of the over-all shape of Seleukid history from the start of the Seleukid era to the final demise of the kingdom in the first century BC, one can discern a recurring pattern: the death of a king who left more than one potential heir was typically followed by dynastic conflict, regional revolts, and the encroachment of neighboring powers on Seleukid territory. Only when a succession was uncontested, and the Seleukid patrimony thus undivided, could the Seleukid house direct its resources effectively enough to maintain its grip over its vast domains. In other words, there is a direct correlation between dynastic conflict, which must have entailed the division of royal estates, on the one hand, and the gradual atomization of Seleukid rule on the other. This tendency toward dynastic conflict and subsequent atomization appeared the very first time there was more than one potential heir to the diadem. Seleukos I and Antiochos I both appointed sons as co-rulers while they were still alive, thus providing for a peaceful transition of power from father to son. But, as noted above, when Antiochos II died in 246 BC, although his son Seleukos II was likely already the heir designate at the time,55 he nonetheless left behind a confused succession, as a three-way struggle erupted between Seleukos II, his brother Antiochos Hierax, and Ptolemy III, uncle to the son of Antiochos’ Ptolemaic wife, Berenike Phernephoros.56 As a result of the War of Brothers, Ptolemy’s armies were able to penetrate deep into the Seleukid heartland, occupying Babylon.57 If Justin is to be believed, the empire might have dissolved right here, had not Ptolemy been forced to withdraw owing to revolts in Egypt.58 But regardless of the reason for Ptolemy’s retreat, Strabon, echoed by Justin,59 cites this conflict

54

AYMARD (1948); See especially COLORU (2012). See COùKUN (2016), p. 118–119. 56 On the simultaneity of the War of the Brothers with the Third Syrian war see COùKUN (Forthcoming). 57 OGIS 54, AUSTIN 221; APP., Syr. 65; JUST. 27.1; See also BCPH 11 and P.Gourob, I.1–23 with commentary in HOLLEAUX (1906), p. 330–348; For a discussion of Ptolemy Philadelphos’ motivations for invading Seleukid territory upon the death of Antiochos II, see COùKUN (2016), p. 130–132. 58 JUST. 27.1. 59 JUST. 27.3. 55

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specifically as the reason for the loss of Seleukid control over the upper satrapies. But when there were revolutions outside the Taurus because the kings who held Syria and Media stood against one another, first some trusted men around Euthydemos caused Baktria and the country near it to revolt. Then Arsakes, a Skythian of the Dahai, bringing some nomads called Parnoi who dwell along the Oxos, attacked Parthia and became master over it.60

Although Strabon mentions Euthydemos as the author of the revolt in Baktria, his claim that this revolt was soon followed by that of Arsakes, an event conventionally dated to ca. 246 BC,61 suggests that Strabon or his source has simply erred, substituting Euthydemos for Diodotos.62 If this dating is correct, then direct Seleukid control over Baktria and Parthia was effectively lost because of this dynastic conflict. There is no reason to assume that Seleukos II could not have commanded sufficient military resources to adequately defend the upper satrapies from nomadic incursions and local revolts. However, a divided central authority, with a divided patrimony, afforded the opportunity for revolt and incursion by nomadic tribes and ambitious satraps eager to establish their own patrimonies.63 But the family conflict between two brothers and an uncle over the pragmata of Antiochos II no doubt diverted attention and the resources necessary for maintaining control over the further limits of the family patrimony. According to Justin, the only reason the empire survived was because Ptolemy had to surrender what he gained in order to quell a revolt at home.64 After losing direct control over the Upper Satrapies and parts of Western Asia Minor, along with their resources, owing to the War of Brothers and Third Syrian War, which were both, in effect, dynastic struggles, Seleukos II died in 226 BC, leaving behind two sons, the elder Seleukos and the younger Antiochos. The elder Seleukos succeeded as Seleukos III. Shortly after his accession Seleukos III marched into Asia Minor in order to recover territories lost during the War of Brothers to Attalos I, but, according to Appian, his friends plotted against Seleukos with poisons, since he was weak and needy and had a disobedient army […] (ȈİȜİȪț૳ ȝ੻Ȟ į੽ ਕıșİȞİ૙ IJİ ੕ȞIJȚ țĮ੿ ʌİȞȠȝȑȞ૳ țĮ੿ 60 STRAB., Geog. 11.9.2: ȞİȦIJİȡȚıșȑȞIJȦȞ į੻ IJ૵Ȟ ਩ȟȦ IJȠ૨ ȉĮȪȡȠȣ įȚ੹ IJઁ ʌȡઁȢ ਙȜȜȠȚȢ İੇȞĮȚ IJȠઃȢ IJોȢ ȈȣȡȓĮȢ țĮ੿ IJોȢ ȂȘįȓĮȢ ȕĮıȚȜȑĮȢ IJȠઃȢ ਩ȤȠȞIJĮȢ țĮ੿ IJĮ૨IJĮ, ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ IJ੽Ȟ ǺĮțIJȡȚĮȞ੽Ȟ ਕʌȑıIJȘıĮȞ Ƞੂ ʌİʌȚıIJİȣȝȑȞȠȚ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ਥȖȖઃȢ Į੝IJોȢ ʌ઼ıĮȞ, Ƞੂ ʌİȡ੿ Ǽ੝șȪįȘȝȠȞ. ਩ʌİȚIJૃ ਝȡıȐțȘȢ ਕȞ੽ȡ ȈțȪșȘȢ IJ૵Ȟ ǻĮ૵Ȟ IJȚȞĮȢ ਩ȤȦȞ IJȠઃȢ ȆȐȡȞȠȣȢ țĮȜȠȣȝȑȞȠȣȢ ȞȠȝȐįĮȢ ʌĮȡȠȚțȠ૨ȞIJĮȢ IJઁȞ ੷ȤȠȞ, ਥʌોȜșİȞ ਥʌ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ȆĮȡșȣĮȓĮȞ țĮ੿ ਥțȡȐIJȘıİȞ Į੝IJોȢ. 61 APP., Syr. 65; EUSEB., Chron. 207c; HIER., Chron. 1769. For a discussion of the dating of the revolt of Arsakes see MUSTI (1984), p. 175–200 and BRODERSEN (1986), p. 378–381, STROOTMAN (2018). 62 STRAB., FGrHist 782 F 3; See also BRODERSEN (1986), n. 7. 63 Cf. RAMSEY (2011), passim. 64 JUST. 27.1. For a different explanation, see COùKUN (Forthcoming).

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įȣıʌİȚșો IJઁȞ ıIJȡĮIJઁȞ ਩ȤȠȞIJȚ ਥʌİȕȠȪȜİȣıĮȞ Ƞੂ ijȓȜȠȚ įȚ੹ ijĮȡȝȐțȦȞ).65 What role, if any, Antiochos III played in his brother’s murder is impossible to say. However, the only figure to have benefited directly from Seleukos’ murder was Antiochos III himself and we might reasonably conjecture that Antiochos engineered his brother’s death, although this cannot be proven. Thus, though it appears that Antiochos III donned the diadem without a dynastic conflict, it is possible, though not provable, that he owed his succession to precisely that. In any case, shortly after the murder of Seleukos III, the centrifugal forces that beleaguered Seleukid rule at times of dynastic struggle emerged almost immediately. In 222 BC Molon, the satrap of Media and Persis led a revolt,66 while at the same time Achaios, the general sent by Seleukos III to roll back Attalid gains in Asia Minor, proclaimed himself king over the territories he had reconquered.67 Molon would not be subdued until 220 BC and Achaios would remain at large as a king in his own right until 213 BC. By 205 BC Antiochos had only succeeded in regaining the losses that were the direct result of the dynastic struggle that followed the death of Antiochos II. It is important to note that these conflicts were not the result of interference from Rome. Rather, it is clear that when the Seleukid house was unified under a single, capable patriarch such as Antiochos III, the ambitions of satraps, dynasts, and other would-be kings were held at bay with considerable success. But when the Seleukid house was divided against itself, ambitious satraps and dynasts seized the opportunity for self-aggrandizement and imperialistic neighbors attempted to occupy Seleukid territory. This pattern of dynastic conflict followed quickly by revolt suggests quite clearly that neither the officials nor the ‘subjects’ of the Seleukid Empire had any allegiance to a putative Seleukid state,68 which did not of course exist, but to individual Seleukid kings personally. Contested successions were thus an opportunity for local officials, dynasts, and powerful neighbors to try and realize their own ambitions.

5. Roman Intervention and Seleukid Stability After his reconquista, Antiochos III attempted to expand his pragmata, seizing Koile Syria by 200 BC and crossing into Thrace in 196 BC. His occupation of Thrace ultimately set him on a collision course with Rome whose legions had just defeated the armies of Philip V. The details of the conflict do not concern us. Rome’s legions defeated Antiochos at Magnesia and he was saddled with the Peace of Apameia in 188 BC. The impact of the treaty on Seleukid military and 65

APP., Syr. 66. POLYB. 5.43. 67 POLYB. 5.57. 68 Cf. CHRUBASIK (2012). 66

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economic capacity has been largely exaggerated,69 as evidenced by Antiochos’ IV repayment of the money owed under the treaty in 174 BC70 and his display of military might at Daphne in 166 BC.71 Curiously, Sherwin-White and Kuhrt note that the ‘ultimately insidious outcome of the Peace of Apamea’ was the clause demanding that Antiochos III send his son Antiochos (IV) to Rome as a hostage, a provision, they claim, that sowed: ‘[…] the seeds of a split in the succession which was to prove extremely debilitating with two branches of the Seleukid family repeatedly contending against each other for possession of the throne.’72

This claim is demonstrably incorrect. To be sure, dynastic conflict did indeed cripple the Seleukid house, unleashing the atomizing tendencies across the Empire inhering in its feudal structure. But as we have already observed, the tendency toward dynastic conflict plagued Seleukid affairs well before Apameia. Moreover, the truly debilitating dynastic conflict did not appear again for another thirty-six years after Apameia, precisely when Rome no longer demanded Seleukid hostages. It is actually one of the ironic features of the Peace of Apameia that Rome’s demand for royal hostages under the treaty actually helped to stave off the recurrence of Seleukid dynastic conflict. When Antiochos the son died in 193 BC, Antiochos III had two sons left, Seleukos (IV) and Mithradates, who was renamed Antiochos (IV). The latter was sent to Rome as a hostage in 188 BC. So when the king died in 187 BC, Seleukos IV, his only son remaining in the kingdom, donned the diadem without any immediate rivals. Seleukos IV thus ruled a stable and prosperous empire. In 178 BC, however, after arousing Roman suspicions by marrying his daughter Laodike to Perseus of Makedon, the senate demanded that Seleukos send his son Demetrios as a hostage in exchange for his brother Antiochos,73 a demand which in and of itself suggests that the Roman senate was acutely aware of the Seleukid modus operandi, that is to say extending their power through expanding kinship connections. In 175 BC Seleukos IV was assassinated by one of his officials, Heliodoros.74 Antiochos, who was in Athens at this time, also seems to have married Seleukos’ wife Laodike75 and ascended the throne as Antiochos IV. Antiochos killed Heliodoros the same year, and five years later he killed the young son of 69 GRUEN (1984), p. 642–643; for a measured discussion of the impact of the territorial losses imposed on the Seleukids at Apameia see PAYEN in this volume. 70 Cf. LIV. 42.6.6–8.e 71 POLYB. 30.25; cf. STROOTMAN in this volume. 72 SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 221–222. 73 LIV. 42.12. For a slightly different reconstruction, see SCOLNIC in this volume. 74 APP., Syr. 45; cf. STROOTMAN in this volume. 75 For the controversy surrounding the identification of the Laodike IV as wife of Seleukos IV and Antiochos IV see AGER / HARDIMAN (2016), p. 145–146.

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Seleukos IV as well, all with little reaction from the Roman senate. In fact, Livy notes that, And at the same time envoys from Antiochos arrived. The leader of whom, Apollonios, when led before the Senate, excused the king with many and just reasons, because the tribute was later than the appointed day. [He said] that he had brought all of it, so that nothing except the indulgence of time should be granted his king. Moreover, he brought as a gift, gold vessels, five hundred pounds weight; and that the king petitioned that the alliance and friendship which had existed with his father, be renewed with himself.76

This passage is highly significant. First, it suggests that the Seleukid house was not impoverished by the reparations owed under Apameia as noted above. Moreover, the passage also underscores the personal character of Seleukid kingship in that it appears that the amicitia that existed between the populus Romanus and Antiochos III lapsed with the death of the Seleukid king. The fact that Antiochos IV felt compelled to renew the relationship thus suggests that this amicitia did not constitute friendly relations between Rome and another state, but with a private individual. Finally, as noted above, Antiochos’ IV reign was both stable and prosperous. In fact, Antiochos even sought to expand his reach, conducting campaigns in Cyprus, Armenia, and Judea77 with little interest or reaction from the Roman senate. The only exception to this was Antiochos’ ambitions in Egypt. As is well known, in 168 BC Antiochos was on the verge of seizing rule in Egypt when he was turned aside by the Roman ambassador Popilius Laenas, who conveyed the senate’s message that Antiochos should leave Egypt alone.78 Antiochos complied because he did not wish to alienate a major state with whom he enjoyed friendly diplomatic relations. The senate’s concern was for the Ptolemaic house with whom they enjoyed amicitia, as they did with Antiochos himself. The senate had no desire and made no move to weaken or destabilize the Seleukid dynasty.79 With his brother Demetrios held securely in Rome, Antiochos IV could thus enjoy a stable and prosperous reign.

76 LIV. 42.6.6–8: Et ab Antiocho rege sub idem tempus legati uenerunt. Quorum princeps Apollonius in senatum introductus multis iustisque causis regem excusauit, quod stipendium serius quam ad diem praestaret; id se omne aduexisse, ne cuius nisi temporis gratia regi fieret. Donum praeterea afferre. Vasa aurea quingentum pondo. Petere regem, ut, quae cum patre suo societas atque amicitia fuisset, ea secum renouaretur […]. 77 APP., Syr. 66. 78 POLYB. 29.27.1–8. 79 Cf. GRAINGER (2015), ch. 2; also SCOLNIC in this volume

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6. Roman Indifference and the Demise of Seleukid Hegemony Roman policy toward the Seleukids seems to have been characterized largely by indifference after the reign of Antiochos IV. Rome certainly refrained from interfering in Seleukid affairs in any material way. When Antiochos IV died in 164 BC, he left behind a minor, Antiochos V, who assumed the diadem peacefully under the regency of his father’s friend, Lysias.80 Upon the death of his brother Antiochos, however, Demetrios asked the senate’s permission to return to Syria and assume the diadem, a request the senate repeatedly denied. Demetrios thus had to resort to escape.81 Polybios’ narrative of these events makes it appear as though the senate was uninterested or unconcerned with Demetrios’ escape or his ambitions. When a search was made for Demetrios four days after he departed, what had happened was suspected […].They [i.e. the Senate] decided against pursuit, assuming on the one hand that his voyage was well advanced and that he had a favorable wind, and foreseeing on the other hand that they were powerless to stop him doing as he wished: After a few days they appointed as envoys Tiberius Gracchus, Lucius Lentulus, and Servilius Glaucia, first to look into what was going on among the Greeks, then passing on to Asia to await the outcome of matters concerning Demetrios and to examine the intentions of the other kings, and then to the Galatians to scrutinize the accusations against their intentions.82

Demetrios thus returned to Syria and made short work of Lysias, defeating him and killing Antiochos late in 162 BC. But the contest destabilized the kingdom. First, Timarchos, the satrap of Media appointed by Antiochos IV, revolted and proclaimed himself king. Diodoros indicates that the senate, after receiving heavy bribes, passed a decree recognizing Timarchos as king in Media,83 although it never sent any concrete aid in the form of money or troops.84 Demetrios thus overthrew and killed Timarchos by 160 BC, winning eight years of relative stability, unchallenged by rival claims, as well as recognition, albeit grudgingly, from Rome.85 80

APP., Syr.46. APP., Syr. 66. 82 POLYB. 31.15.6, 8–10: ਥʌȚȗȘIJȠȣȝȑȞȠȣ į੻ IJȠ૨ ǻȘȝȘIJȡȓȠȣ țĮIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ IJİIJȐȡIJȘȞ ਲȝȑȡĮȞ ਕijૃ ਸȢ ੮ȡȝȘıİȞ, ਫ਼ʌİȞȠȒșȘ IJઁ ȖİȖȠȞȩȢ […]. IJઁ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੣Ȟ įȚȫțİȚȞ ਕʌȑȖȞȦıĮȞ, ਚȝĮ ȝ੻Ȟ ਫ਼ʌȠȜĮȝȕȐȞȠȞIJİȢ Į੝IJઁȞ ʌȠȜઃ ʌȡȠİȚȜȘijȑȞĮȚ țĮIJ੹ IJઁȞ ʌȜȠ૨Ȟ, țĮ੿ Ȗ੹ȡ ਩ıȤİ ijȠȡઁȞ ਙȞİȝȠȞ, ਚȝĮ į੻ ʌȡȠȠȡȫȝİȞȠȚ IJઁ ȕȠȣȜȘșȑȞIJİȢ țȦȜȪİȚȞ ਕįȣȞĮIJોıĮȚ: ʌȡİıȕİȣIJ੹Ȣ į੻ țĮIJȑıIJȘıĮȞ ȝİIJȐ IJȚȞĮȢ ਲȝȑȡĮȢ IJȠઃȢ ʌİȡ੿ ȉİȕȑȡȚȠȞ īȡȐțȤȠȞ țĮ੿ ȁİȪțȚȠȞ ȁȑȞIJȜȠȞ țĮ੿ ȈİȡȠȣȓȜȚȠȞ īȜĮȣțȓĮȞ, Ƞ੆IJȚȞİȢ ਩ȝİȜȜȠȞ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥʌȠʌIJİȪıİȚȞ IJ੹ țĮIJ੹ IJȠઃȢ ਰȜȜȘȞĮȢ, İੇIJૃ ਥʌȚȕĮȜȩȞIJİȢ ਥʌ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ਝıȓĮȞ IJȐ IJİ țĮIJ੹ IJઁȞ ǻȘȝȒIJȡȚȠȞ țĮȡĮįȠțȒıİȚȞ țĮ੿ IJ੹Ȣ IJ૵Ȟ ਙȜȜȦȞ ȕĮıȚȜȑȦȞ ʌȡȠĮȚȡȑıİȚȢ ਥȟİIJȐıİȚȞ țĮ੿ IJ੹ ʌȡઁȢ IJȠઃȢ īĮȜȐIJĮȢ ਕȞIJȚȜİȖȩȝİȞĮ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌȡȠİȚȡȘȝȑȞȠȚȢ įȚİȣțȡȚȞȒıİȚȞ. 83 DIOD. SIC. 31.27. 84 GRAINGER (2015), p. 47. 85 POLYB. 32.3.13; DIOD. SIC. 31.30; cf. GRUEN (1984), p. 665–666. 81

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But in 152 BC Timarchos’ brother Herakleides, a former official of Antiochos IV, brought forth a certain Alexander who he claimed was a son of Antiochos IV and with this the Seleukid world slid into dynastic conflict once again. The causes of the conflict were, as is to be expected, personal, private, and familial. Demetrios I overthrew his own cousin, while Timarchos proclaimed himself king in Media but was defeated and his death was avenged by his brother Herakleides, who advanced the claims of the aforementioned Alexander. Polybios tells us that Herakleides successfully prevailed upon an equivocating senate to support Alexander as the Seleukid heir.86 What Polybios does not tell us, however, is what this support entailed or if it was ever delivered. It does not seem to have gone beyond moral support. Once again, the Roman senate showed little interest in Seleukid affairs.87 More significant for Alexander Balas was the support he received from Ptolemy VI, who in 152 BC supplied him with ships, troops, and cash, so that by 150 BC Alexander succeeded in defeating Demetrios I. Significantly, in order to solidify his relationship to, or perhaps even gain control over, the Seleukid house, Ptolemy VI then married his daughter Kleopatra Thea to Alexander, once again underscoring the private character of Seleukid affairs. Alexander’s position was contested by Demetrios II, son of Demetrios I. In the dynastic conflict that ensued between Alexander Balas and Demetrios II, Ptolemy VI, alienated from his son-in-law Alexander, transferred his support to Demetrios II and the hand of his daughter Kleopatra Thea along with it. Ptolemy, repenting of the marriage of his daughter to Alexander and the alliance against Demetrios, dissolved his kinship with him [i.e. Alexander]: and having taken his daughter he sent for Demetrios right away, establishing an alliance and friendship, promising to give to him his daughter as a wife and to establish him in his patrimonial rule.88

The final clause in the above passage clearly indicates that sovereignty was indistinguishable from family pragmata. It is difficult to avoid the conclusion, though not provable, that Ptolemy, being fully aware of this weakness in Seleukid hegemony, deliberately married Kleopatra to several Seleukid heirs with the specific intent of creating succession struggles, hopefully to his own advantage. Rome, it should be noted, remained completely aloof from this struggle, which was nothing more than a feud between two powerful families over a private patrimony. No doubt Ptolemy VI believed that he could secure 86

POLYB. 33.18.13. GRUEN (1984), p. 667; GRAINGER (2015), p. 57. 88 JOS., Ant. Jud. 13.4.7 (109–110): ȆIJȠȜİȝĮ૙ȠȢ į੻ ȝİȝȥȐȝİȞȠȢ Įਫ਼IJઁȞ IJȠ૨ IJİ ıȣȞȠȚțȓıĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ șȣȖĮIJȑȡĮ ਝȜİȟȐȞįȡ૳ IJોȢ IJİ ıȣȝȝĮȤȓĮȢ IJોȢ țĮIJ੹ ǻȘȝȘIJȡȓȠȣ įȚĮȜȪİIJĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡઁȢ Į੝IJઁȞ ıȣȖȖȑȞİȚĮȞ: ਕʌȠıʌȐıĮȢ Ȗ੹ȡ IJ੽Ȟ șȣȖĮIJȑȡĮ ʌȑȝʌİȚ ʌȡઁȢ ǻȘȝȒIJȡȚȠȞ İ੝șઃȢ ʌİȡ੿ ıȣȝȝĮȤȓĮȢ țĮ੿ ijȚȜȓĮȢ ıȣȞIJȚșȑȝİȞȠȢ, IJȒȞ IJİ șȣȖĮIJȑȡĮ įȫıİȚȞ Į੝IJ૶ ਫ਼ʌȚıȤȞȠȪȝİȞȠȢ ȖȣȞĮ૙țĮ țĮ੿ țĮIJĮıIJȒıİȚȞ Į੝IJઁȞ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ʌĮIJȡ૴ĮȞ ਕȡȤȒȞ. 87

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control over the Seleukid pragmata through a marriage connection, or at least destabilize his Seleukid rivals. In any case, political relations, and tensions, between the Ptolemies and Seleukids clearly turned on personal ties of kinship. The most fatal development of all for the Seleukids was thus the marriages of Kleopatra Thea who would ultimately come to bear four sons to three different Seleukid kings, ensuring relentless dynastic conflict for several generations, while Rome remained uninterested and uninvolved in Seleukid matters. The marriages of Kleopatra Thea sowed the seeds for the demise of the Seleukid Empire as the dynastic struggles between the husbands and the children of Kleopatra Thea so weakened the Seleukid house that it was unable to counteract the centrifugal tendencies already inhering in the feudal structure of their hegemony or defend its marches against the encroachment of neighboring powers. Thus with the loss of Ptolemaic support, Alexander Balas was defeated and killed in 145 BC. But within a year, Diodotos, one of the officials of Alexander Balas, proclaimed Alexander’s son from Kleopatra Thea as Antiochos VI, and so the atomization of the dynasty marched relentlessly onward. By 140 BC Antiochos VI was dead, either from illness or skullduggery at Diodotos’ hands.89 In either case Diodotos now proclaimed himself King Diodotos Tryphon.90 According to Appian, by 139 BC, as a consequence of these conflicts, the Parthian king Mithradates seized control of Mesopotamia. […] in those years many powers arose in Syria, all short-lived [and] of royal lineage, [and] many revolutions and uprisings over the kingship. And the Parthians, having seceded from Seleukid rule, stripped off Mesopotamia for themselves, which used to submit to the Seleukids.91

Parthian advances were thus opportunistic, exploiting the Seleukid dynastic crises in order to make territorial gains. Demetrios II marched east to face Mithradates in 138 BC but he was captured in battle and taken hostage. Diodoros of Sicily describes a situation of near anarchy following the capture of Demetrios II.92 This chaotic situation was rendered all the more intractable when, with Demetrios II a hostage among the Parthians,93 Kleopatra Thea then married Demetrios’ brother Antiochos VII.94 Antiochos defeated Diodotos Tryphon in 138 BC, and although he would have commanded seriously

89 JOS., Ant. Jud. 90 APP., Syr. 68.

13.6.1 (187); JUST. 36.1.

91 APP., Syr. 48: ਥȞ ȠੈȢ ʌȠȜȜĮ੿ ȝ੻Ȟ ਕȡȤĮ੿ ȈȪȡȠȚȢ ਥț IJȠ૨ ȕĮıȚȜİȓȠȣ ȖȑȞȠȣȢ ੑȜȚȖȠȤȡȩȞȚȠȚ ʌȐȝʌĮȞ ਥȖȑȞȠȞIJȠ, ʌȠȜȜĮ੿ į੻ IJȡȠʌĮ੿ țĮ੿ ਥʌĮȞĮıIJȐıİȚȢ ਥʌ੿ IJ੹ ȕĮıȓȜİȚĮ. ȆĮȡșȣĮ૙Ƞȓ IJİ ʌȡȠĮʌȠıIJȐȞIJİȢ ਕʌઁ IJોȢ IJ૵Ȟ ȈİȜİȣțȚį૵Ȟ ਕȡȤોȢ ȂİıȠʌȠIJĮȝȓĮȞ ਥȢ ਦĮȣIJȠઃȢ ʌİȡȚȑıʌĮıĮȞ, ਴ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȈİȜİȣțȓįĮȚȢ ਫ਼ʌȒțȠȣİȞ. 92 DIOD. SIC. 33.28. 93 APP., Syr. 68; JUST. 38.9. 94 JOS., Ant. Jud. 13.7.1–2 (222–223); APP., Syr. 68; Cf. OGDEN (1999), p. 149–150; WHITEHORNE (2001), p. 154.

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diminished resources when compared to his predecessors, he nonetheless enjoyed a relatively prosperous and stable reign owing to a lack of rival claimants. The success of his rule suggests that even at this late date, the Seleukid house still possessed sufficient resources to remain a major power in the East provided that there was but one undisputed patriarch of the family. Rome appeared uninterested in Syria throughout this time. Notably, when Antiochos VII marched on Phraates II in 129 BC and was prevailing, the Parthian released his captive brother Demetrios, perhaps hoping to incite disunity in the royal family; as we know, Antiochos died before this plan came to full fruition. Even beforehand, Phraates II had been trying to create dynastic confusion by marrying Demetrios’ daughter and giving his sister Rhodogyne to him as his wife.95 Demetrios II was later killed in 125 BC fighting Alexander II Zabinas, yet another usurper advancing a bogus claim to the diadem. What followed Demetrios’ death was chaos as the children of Kleopatra Thea battled each other for the remains of the Seleukid kingdom between 125 and 96 BC.96 We can get a glimpse of exactly what these conflicts meant for the ability of the Seleukids to maintain control over their patrimony. Josephus, for example, notes that it was precisely this internecine conflict that allowed Johannes Hyrkanos to establish a stable independence for Judea. Hyrkanos spent this entire time in peace: for after the death of Antiochos he revolted from the Macedonians, nor did he have to submit to them as subject or as friend, but was quite free in his affairs and at peace during the times of Alexander Zabinas, and especially under the brothers. For their war with one another provided Hyrkanos with peace to enjoy Judea in security.97

In the final analysis, Johannes Hyrkanos did not need to avail himself of Roman assistance in wresting Judea from the Seleukid grasp, not that the senate ever contemplated sending any. Hyrkanos received all the assistance he needed from the Seleukids themselves. By 95 BC the children of Kleopatra succeeded in splitting what remained of the Syrian kingdom in two – a Northern half under Antiochos VIII Grypos from the line of Demetrios II and a southern half under Antiochos IX Kyzikenos from the line of Antiochos VII, brothers who fathered rivals through the same mother, 95 JUST. 96 For a

38.9. discussion of the chronology of the later Seleukid kings see HOOVER (2007); EHLING (2008); DUMITRU (2016). 97 JOS., Ant. Jos. 13.10.1 (272–273): ੥ȡțĮȞઁȢ į੻ ʌȐȞIJĮ ਥțİ૙ȞȠȞ IJઁȞ ȤȡȩȞȠȞ ਥȞ İੁȡȒȞૉ įȚોȖİȞ: țĮ੿ Ȗ੹ȡ Į੝IJઁȢ ȝİIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ਝȞIJȚȩȤȠȣ IJİȜİȣIJ੽Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ ȂĮțİįȩȞȦȞ ਕʌȑıIJȘ țĮ੿ Ƞ੡IJİ ੪Ȣ ਫ਼ʌȒțȠȠȢ Ƞ੡IJİ ੪Ȣ ijȓȜȠȢ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ Ƞ੝į੻Ȟ ਩IJȚ ʌĮȡİ૙ȤİȞ, ਕȜȜૃ ਷Ȟ Į੝IJ૶ IJ੹ ʌȡȐȖȝĮIJĮ ਥȞ ਥʌȚįȩıİȚ ʌȠȜȜૌ țĮ੿ ਕțȝૌ țĮIJ੹ IJȠઃȢ ਝȜİȟȐȞįȡȠȣ IJȠ૨ ǽĮȕȚȞĮȓȠȣ țĮȚȡȠȪȢ, țĮ੿ ȝȐȜȚıIJૃ ਥʌ੿ IJȠȪIJȠȚȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਕįİȜijȠ૙Ȣ. ੒ Ȗ੹ȡ ʌȡઁȢ ਕȜȜȒȜȠȣȢ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌȩȜİȝȠȢ ıȤȠȜ੽Ȟ ੥ȡțĮȞ૶ țĮȡʌȠ૨ıșĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ੉ȠȣįĮȓĮȞ ਥʌૃ ਕįİȓĮȢ ʌĮȡİ૙ȤİȞ. See Coúkun in this volume for further context and the hesitation of Rome to get involved.

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Kleopatra Thea. As we have already seen, Appian noted that 55 years of more or less continuous, if sporadic, dynastic conflict left the Seleukid kingdom easy prey for the Parthians. But it would be the Armenian King Tigranes who would ultimately annex control of Syria in 75 BC. Justin’s analysis of this annexation is thus perhaps insightful: Since the kings and the kingdom of Syria had been exhausted with interminable wars, by the mutual hatred of brothers and by the succession of parents by hostile sons, the people rushed to foreign assistance and began to look about for foreign kings for themselves.98

Ironically, even after the invasion of Tigranes, the Seleukid kingdom continued, though in a much reduced state, because of Roman intervention, rather than in spite of it. In 69 BC the Roman general Lucius Lucullus drove the Armenian king out of the Seleukid kingdom and recognized Antiochos XIII Asiaticus. But even so, old habits die hard. In 67 BC Philip II Philorhomaios (the epithet is telling!), a cousin of Antiochos XIII, claimed the diadem and ejected Antiochos from his seat in Antioch. Asiaticus would regain his crown in 66/5 BC just in time to surrender his kingdom to Pompeius Magnus the following year.99

7. Conclusion Dynastic conflict seems to have been an endemic problem in Hellenistic kingship in general.100 When examining the reign of Attalos I, Livy noted that He [i.e. Attalos] left a reign so stable and strong, that its possession passed down to the third descendant.101 Livy clearly felt this to be a remarkable achievement. It is thus perhaps unsurprising then that it was precisely in the third generation that we see the first dynastic struggles emerge in the Seleukid house. Indeed some scholars have argued that the Seleukid Empire began to dissolve in the middle of the third century BC.102 Antiochos II, the first Seleukid king to leave behind more than one son when he died, also left behind a dynastic conflict that was nearly fatal to the empire. Antiochos III rescued the empire from total collapse. After Antiochos’ defeat at Magnesia in 190 BC, Rome’s policy of exacting hostages unwittingly strengthened the Seleukids by removing several heirs from contention for the diadem. But as the perceived threat to Roman 98 JUST. 40.1: Mutuis fratrum odiis et mox filiis inimicitiis parentum succedentibus cum inexpiabili bello et reges et regnum Syriae consumptum esset, ad externa populus auxilia concurrit peregrinosque sibi reges circumspicere coepit. 99 APP., Syr. 70. 100 EHRENBERG (1969), p. 166–168. 101 LIV. 33.21.5: regnum adeo stabile ac firmum reliquit, ut ad tertiam stirpem possessio eius descenderit. 102 Cf. WILL (1979), p. 264; MUSTI (1984), passim.

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interests abated after Magnesia, the senate gradually lost interest in the Seleukid house. The critical moment for the Seleukids came when Ptolemy VI married Kleopatra Thea to three different contenders for the diadem and for whom she produced four potential heirs. These must surely be the fratres and the filii to whom Justin refers. The division of vast swathes of territory between rival claimants must have hampered the Seleukid’s ability to suppress regional revolts or resist Parthian incursions,103 which served to diminish yet further the resources available to Seleukid kings for maintaining their hegemony. Caught in this vicious circle, Appian notes that when Pompey finally annexed Syria to Rome he was robbing an unarmed king.104 What ultimately doomed the Seleukid Empire then was not Roman policy, but Seleukid failure to evolve into a fully-fledged state which could exist independently from the Seleukid house both ideologically and structurally. John Grainger has recently noted that ‘[…] the integrity of the royal family was the one element which held the kingdom together’.105 Seleukid kingship was thus never impersonal and there was never a shared Seleukid identity among those over whom the dynasty ruled. As a result of these structural defects, when a Seleukid king died leaving more than one potential successor, there was often a dynastic struggle followed by revolt and territorial losses to foreign powers. As would-be successors multiplied, the kingdom atomized accordingly. Rome’s role in the Seleukid decline was at most incidental. In fact, the Roman policy of demanding royal hostages unintentionally helped preserve the integrity of the Seleukid hegemony in Syria by removing rival claimants to the diadem. It was only when Rome no longer insisted on these hostages, that the dynastic struggles for control of Seleukid pragmata, so endemic to the Seleukid house, were allowed to play themselves out unchecked. In light of the private/patrimonial character of Seleukid kingship then, perhaps the more interesting question is not what caused the Seleukid Empire to dissolve, but how it managed to sustain itself as long as it did. Part of the answer to this question must surely, if ironically, be Roman intervention.

Bibliography AGER, S. / HARDIMAN, C. (2016), Female Seleukid Portraits: Where Are They?, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women: Creation, Representation, and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 143–172.

103 WOLSKI (1999), p. 106 acknowledges the instrumental role played by dynastic conflict after the death of Antiochos V, but treats those conflicts as symptomatic of external pressures. 104 APP., Syr. 49. 105 GRAINGER (2015), p. 15.

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APERGHIS, G.G. (2004), The Seleukid Royal Economy: The Finances and Financial Administration of the Seleukid Empire, Cambridge. AUSTIN, M.M. (1981), The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest. A Selection of Ancient Sources in Translation, Cambridge. AYMARD, A. (1948), Le protocole royal grec et son évolution, in RÉA 50, p. 232–263. BICKERMAN, E. (1938), Institutions des Séleucides, Paris. BRODERSEN, K. (1986), The Date of the Secession of Parthia from the Seleucid Kingdom, in Historia 35.3, p. 379–381. CAPDETREY, L. (2007), Le pouvoir séleucide. Territoire, administration, finances d’un royaume hellénistique (312–129 av. J.-C.), Rennes. CHRUBASIK, B. (2012), Tyrants or Kings? The Communication between Cities and Usurpers in the Seleukid Empire, in C. FEYEL et al. (eds.), Communautés locales et pouvoir central dans l’Orient héllenistique et romain, Paris, p. 65–83. COLORU, O. (2009), Da Alessandro a Menandro: Il Regno Greco Di Battriana, Pisa. – (2012), The Language of the Oikos and the Language of Power in the Seleucid Kingdom, in R. LAURENCE / A. STROMBËRG (eds.), Families in the Greco-Roman World, London, p. 84–94. COùKUN, A. (2016), Laodike I, Berenike Phernephoros, Dynastic Murders, and the Outbreak of the Third Syrian War (253–246 BC), in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women: Creation, Representation, and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 107–134. – (forthcoming), The War of the Brothers, the Third Syrian War, and the Battle of Ankyra (246–241 BC): A Re-Appraisal, in K. ERICKSON / A. COùKUN (eds.), War in the Family: the First Century of Seleucid Rule, Exeter. D’ENTRÈVES, A.P. (1967), The Notion of the State. An Introduction to Political Theory, Oxford. DUMITRU, A.G. (2016), Kleopatra Selene – A Look at the Moon and Her Bright Side, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women: Creation, Representation, and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 253–272. EHLING, K. (2008), Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der späten Seleukiden (164–63 v.Chr.). Vom Tode des Antiochos IV. bis zur Einrichtung der Provinz Syria unter Pompeius, Stuttgart. EHRENBERG, V. (1969), The Greek State, London. ENGELS, D. (2011), Middle Eastern ‘Feudalism” and the Seleucid Dissolution, in K. ERICKSON / G. RAMSEY (eds.), Seleucid Dissolution: The Sinking of the Anchor, Wiesbaden, p. 19–36. - (2014), Antiochos III. der Große und sein Reich. Überlegungen zur „Feudalisierung“ der seleukidischen Peripherie, in F. HOFFMANN / K.S. SCHMIDT (eds.), Orient und Okzident in hellenistischer Zeit, Vaterstetten, p. 31–75. - / ERICKSON, K. (2016), Apama and Stratonike – Marriage and Legitimacy, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women: Creation, Representation, and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 39–65. - (2017), Benefactors, Kings, Rulers, Studies on the Seleukid Empire between East and West, Leuven. FERGUSON, W.S. (1963), Greek Imperialism, New York.

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FLEISCHER, R. (1996), Hellenistic Royal Iconography on Coins, in P. BILDE et al. (eds.), Aspects of Hellenistic Kingship, Cambridge, p. 28–40. FOUCAULT, M. (1994), Power, vol. III, Trans. R. Hurley, New York. FUKUYAMA, F. (2011), The Origins of Political Order from Prehuman Times to the French Revolution, New York. GOLDSTONE, J.A. / HALDON, J.F. (2009), Ancient States, Empires, and Exploitation. Problems and Perspectives, in I. MORRIS / W. SCHEIDEL (eds.), The Dynamics of Ancient Empires. State Power from Assyria to Byzantium, Oxford, p. 3–29. GRAINGER, J.D. (2013), Rome, Parthia, & India: The Violent Emergence of a New World Order, 150–140 BC, Barnsley. – (2014), The Rise of the Seleukid Empire, 323–223 BC, Barnsley. – (2015), The Fall of the Seleukid Empire, 187–75 BC, Barnsley. GRUEN, E. (1984), The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, vol. II, Berkeley CA. HABICHT, C. (1989), The Seleucids and their Rivals, in Cambridge Ancient History, vol. VII, p. 324–387. HADLEY, R.A. (1969), Hieronymus of Cardia and Early Seleucid Mythology, in Historia 18, p. 142–152. HARDERS, A-C. (2016), The Making of a Queen – Seleukos Nikator and his Wives, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women: Creation, Representation, and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 25–38. HOLLEAUX, M. (1906), Remarques sur le Papyrus de Gourob, in BCH 30.1, p. 330–348. HOOVER, O. (2007), A Revised Chronology for the Late Seleucids at Antioch, in Historia 56.3, p. 290–301. JACOBY, F. (1956), Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker III, Leiden. KOSMIN, P.J. (2014), The Land of the Elephant Kings: Space, Territory, and Ideology in the Seleukid Empire, Cambridge MA. KUHRT, A. (1996), The Seleucid Kings and Babylonia: New Perspectives on the Seleucid Realm in the East, in P. BILDE et al. (eds.), Aspects of Hellenistic Kingship, Cambridge, p. 41–54. MA, J. (1999), Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. MEHL, A. (1986), Seleukos Nikator und sein Reich. 1. Teil. Seleukos’ Leben und die Entwicklung seiner Machtsposition, Leuven. MUSTI, D. (1984), Syria and the East, in CAH VII.1, p. 175–220. MAIRS, R. (2006), Ethnic Identity in the Hellenistic Far East, Cambridge (PhD). NYE, J. (2004), Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics, Cambridge MA. OGDEN, D. (1999), Polygamy, Prostitutes, and Death: The Hellenistic Dynasties, Swansea. – (2011), Seleucid Dynastic Foundation Myths: Antioch and Seleuceia-in-Pieria, in K. ERICKSON / G. RAMSEY (eds.), Seleucid Dissolution: The Sinking of the Anchor, Wiesbaden, p. 155–167. RAMSEY, G. (2011), Seleucid Administration – Effectiveness and Dysfunction among Seleucid Officials, in K. ERICKSON / G. RAMSEY (eds.), Seleucid Dissolution: The Sinking of the Anchor, Wiesbaden, p. 37–50.

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– (2016), The Diplomacy of Seleukid Women: Apama and Stratonike, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women: Creation, Representation, and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 87–104. ROBINSON, E.H. (2013), The Distinction Between State and Government, in Geography Compass 7/8, p. 556–566. SHERWIN-WHITE, S. (1991), Aspects of Seleucid Royal Ideology: The Cylinder of Antiochus I from Borsippa, in JHS 111, p. 71–86. – / KUHRT, A. (1993), From Samarkhand to Sardis. New Approaches to the Seleucid Empire, Berkeley CA. SHIPLEY, G. (2000), The Greek World After Alexander, 323–30 BC, London. STROOTMAN, R. (2013), Babylonian, Macedonian, King of the World: The Antiochos Cylinder from Borsippa and Seleukid Imperial Integration, in E. STAVRIANOPOULOU (ed.), Shifting Social Imaginaries in the Hellenistic Period: Narrations, Practices, and Images, Leiden, p. 67–97. – (2014), Courts and Elites in Hellenistic Empires: The Near East after the Achaemenids, c. 330 to 30 BCE, Edinburgh. – (2018), The Coming of the Parthians: Crisis and Resilience in the Reign of Seleukos II, in K. ERICKSON (ed.), War in the Family: the First Century of Seleucid Rule, Swansea. VINCENT, A. (1987), Theories of the State, Oxford. WALBANK, F.W. (1981), The Hellenistic World, London. WENGHOFER, R. / HOULE, D.J. (2016), Marriage Diplomacy and the Political Role of Royal Women in the Seleukid Far East, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women: Creation, Representation, and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 191–207. WHITEHOLME, J. (2001), Cleopatras, London. WILL, E. (1979), Histoire Politique du Monde Hellénistique, vol 1, Nancy. WOLSKI, J. (1999), The Seleucids: The Decline and Fall of their Empire, Kraków.

III. Asia Minor in the Transition from Seleukid to Roman Hegemony

L’influence séleucide sur les dynasties anatoliennes après le traité d’Apamée Germain PAYEN

Abstract In 188 BC, the treaty of Apameia forced the Seleukid king Antiochos III to withdraw from Cistauric Asia. This retreat proved to be definitive as far as military and direct political control are concerned, but the threat of a Seleukid return to Anatolia was maintained until the middle of the second century, as long as this dynasty’s influence continued to determine the decisions of the regional authorities of Anatolia. The Mithradatid, Ariarathid and Attalid dynasts maintained close, although shifting, connections with the Seleukid house, while the Armenian Orontids, recognised as legitimate kings when the treaty of Apameia was concluded, had to deal with a Seleukid return in the 160s. All in all, the Seleukid threat and influence decreased in Anatolia after 188, as is attested by two Attalid interventions in Syria, but this overall decline of prestige and power did not exclude short periods of diplomatic recovery in the region and an ongoing political presence for decades.

1. Introduction L’année 188 est souvent décrite comme un point de non-retour dans l’histoire des rapports entre l’Anatolie et la dynastie séleucide, lorsque Rome contraignit Antiochos III à abandonner ses domaines cistauriques. Il est vrai qu’après cette date, les troupes séleucides ne s’aventurèrent plus jamais en terres anatoliennes, ni ne participèrent à aucun conflit militaire entre puissances de la péninsule. Tout se déroula donc comme si la clause limitant la sphère d’influence séleucide vers l’Ouest avait mis fin aux ambitions et à l’influence de la dynastie dans cette direction. Néanmoins, de récentes études concourent à mettre en doute l’idée d’un recul séleucide acté et définitif en 188. En effet, l’impact direct du traité d’Apamée sur la puissance séleucide et les objectifs poursuivis par les autorités romaines lors du règlement du conflit ont été discutés par de nombreux historiens, comme en témoigne le présent ouvrage. De même, la question des rapports entre les successeurs d’Antiochos III et les rois attalides, dynastes dominants de la péninsule anatolienne, a été largement réévaluée par B. Chrubasik en faveur d’une persistance de l’influence et de la menace séleucides dans les destinées

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politiques des rois de Pergame.1 La politique étrangère des successeurs d’Antiochos III a été récemment revue par différents auteurs, en particulier P. F. Mittag, K. Ehling ou en dernier lieu J. D. Grainger, c’est pourquoi l’accent sera mis ici sur le point de vue des dynastes anatoliens.2 Le présent article se donne pour objectif de poursuivre le travail de M. Chrubasik, en étudiant l’évolution, après 188, des rapports entre les rois séleucides et les dynasties anatoliennes qui leur étaient liées avant le traité d’Apamée, du point de vue de ces dernières.

2. Le traité d’Apamée et les conséquences du recul séleucide Le texte de Polybe, complété par la version de Tite-Live, nous renseigne sur les clauses dictées par les Romains à Antiochos III après leur victoire, ainsi que sur le règlement territorial et les tractations politiques qui suivirent la ratification du traité d’Apamée.3 Ainsi, le traité soustrayait à l’autorité des Séleucides les « territoires soumis à l’autorité des Romains », soit l’ensemble de l’Europe et de l’Asie en-deçà du Taurus.4 Cette région se trouvait désormais libérée de la présence séleucide. Rome ne s’empara pas des terres retirées à Antiochos, mais les distribua à ses plus proches alliés locaux, la cité de Rhodes et surtout le roi attalide Eumène II. À court terme, le recul séleucide ne se fit pas sans causer de réalignements diplomatiques au sein de la péninsule anatolienne. Ariarathe IV de Cappadoce, souverain d’un royaume situé au carrefour de l’Anatolie et de l’Asie, entretenait des rapports particuliers avec les rois séleucides depuis le IIIe siècle. Ces derniers avaient suivi une politique de conciliation en raison de la position de carrefour du territoire tenu par les rois de Cappadoce, qui occupaient les portes ciliciennes, passage principal entre Antioche et Sardes.5 Au début du IIe siècle, 1

CHRUBASIK (2013), p. 105–116. MITTAG (2006) a réévalué les objectifs et accomplissements politiques d’Antiochos IV (175–164); EHLING (2008), p. 111–154, s’est intéressé à la politique séleucide pendant la période allant de 164 à 150 en usant d’un large éventail de sources, en particulier des sources numismatiques; GRAINGER (2015), p. 1–65, a revu la période allant de 187 à 150, dans le cadre d’une étude sur le déclin de la puissance séleucide après la mort d’Antiochos III. 3 POLYB. 21.42 et LIV. 38.38 (le traité d’Apamée) ; POLYB. 21.46.2–12 et LIV. 38.39.7–17 (règlement territorial). 4 POLYB. 21.43.15 : IJોȢ ਫ਼ʌઁ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȣȢ IJĮIJIJȠȝȑȞȘȢ (trad. ROUSSET, 2003). Voir WALBANK (1979), p. 160–161. LIV. 38.38.10 ; APP., Syr. 39, 202. 5 C’est approximativement en 260–250 que les rois séleucides abandonnèrent leurs tentatives de mise sous contrôle direct de la Cappadoce au bénéfice d’une alliance matrimoniale : DIOD. SIC. 31, Test. PHOT., Bibl. 382a ; STRAB. 12.1.2. Voir WILL (1979– 1982), p. 1.292–293 ; CAPDETREY (2007), p. 242–243 ; ENGELS (2014a), p. 58–61. Concernant le context general, cf. ENGELS (2017). 2

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les liens diplomatiques entre les deux dynasties avaient été renforcés par une alliance matrimoniale. Lors de l’opposition à Rome, Antiochos III comptait Ariarathe IV parmi ses alliés.6 Suite à la défaite séleucide, Ariarathe se retrouvait isolé et ne fut vaincu qu’au cours de l’expédition menée par le consul Manlius Vulso, en 189, alors qu’il résistait au côté de certains chefs galates.7 Le principal retournement politique d’importance concerna ce roi, qui profita des négociations de paix pour acheter l’alliance romaine et la moitié de ses dettes de guerre par le truchement d’une nouvelle alliance matrimoniale, contractée cette fois-ci avec Eumène II. Celui-ci épousa la fille d’Ariarathe, récupérant ainsi l’amitié du souverain dominant les portes ciliciennes.8 D’autres autorités politiques de la région se trouvèrent impactées par le règlement du traité d’Apamée. Il en fut sans doute ainsi des chefs galates qui combattirent Manlius Vulso, même si leur sort ne se déduit pas aisément des sources littéraires. Polybe ne fait que mentionner la volonté romaine affichée de régler le problème galate lors des entretiens de paix de 189/188, sans que la décision finale n’apparaisse dans les parties conservées de son œuvre.9 TiteLive, pour sa part, évoque la déclaration de l’autonomie de la Galatie, en des termes qui semblent anticiper la déclaration par sénatus-consulte de 166.10 Néanmoins, s’il n’y eut peut-être pas de règlement définitif dès 188, les événements des années suivantes suggèrent le maintien d’une autonomie de fait pour les différentes tribus galates, dont les orientations diplomatiques divergèrent dans les années suivantes, malgré la tentative d’unification amorcée alors par Ortiagon.11

6

APP., Syr. 5. Voir GRAINGER (2002), p. 116–117. POLYB. 21.33–40 ; LIV. 38.12–27 ; APP., Syr. 42.219–223 ; ZONAR. 9.20. Sur le déroulement de cette campagne, voir GRAINGER (1995), p. 33–39. 8 LIV. 38.39.6 (trad. A.-M. ADAM) : Le roi Ariarathe, à qui Eumène avait fait grâce de la moitié des sommes dues parce qu’il venait de lui promettre sa fille, fut admis dans l’amitié dans l’amitié de Rome (Et Ariarathes rex parte dimidia pecuniae imperatae beneficio Eumenis, cui desponderat per eos dies filiam, remissa, in amicitiam est acceptus). Voir aussi POLYB. 21.40.4–7 et 21.44 ; cf. WALBANK (1979), p. 153 et 164. 9 POLYB. 21.46.12. 10 LIV. 38.40.1–2. Le texte de la déclaration d’autonomie, donnée par POLYB. 30.28 mais perdu chez Tite-Live, présente une formulation proche. 11 POLYB. 22.21 : oraison funèbre pour Ortiagon, mort en 183, évoquant ses tentatives d’unification. En ce qui concerne le sort réservé à la Galatie et son autonomie de fait, voir MITCHELL (1993), I, p. 24–25, qui ne remettait pas en cause le passage de Tite-Live sur le règlement régional et le mettait en rapport avec le rôle dévolu par Rome à Eumène en tant que dynaste dominant des peuples galates. Voir aussi la thèse non publiée PAYEN (2016), p. 111–117. Pour une analyse des rapports entre les Galates et les Séleucides sous le règne d’Antiochos III, voir ENGELS (2014a), p. 61–62. 7

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Au Nord et à l’Est de la péninsule, les régions de Bithynie, de Cappadoce pontique et d’Arménie furent également touchées.12 Le règne de Prusias Ier (230–182) avait permis à la dynastie bithynienne de stabiliser sa situation avant la guerre d’Antiochos, par des alliances militaires et matrimoniales avec les rois antigonides et séleucides, mais aussi avec la cité de Rhodes.13 Au début du IIe siècle, Prusias apparaissait comme un dynaste au pouvoir stable et reconnu localement, appuyé par le soutien des grands royaumes voisins et justifié par le philhellénisme de la maison royale. Si le retour d’Antiochos III et la résistance d’Attale Ier puis d’Eumène II offraient une possibilité de renforcement décisif contre cette dynastie rivale, l’expansion de l’influence dynastique bithynienne risquait de subir de plein fouet le renforcement de l’autorité régionale séleucide. Ainsi, malgré l’alignement des autorités romaines sur les intérêts du rival attalide, la défaite séleucide représentait sans doute une victoire pour l’image et la sécurité de Prusias. Le roi mithridatide Pharnace Ier, souverain de Cappadoce pontique ou Pont, qui n’avait pas participé à la guerre entre son allié et parent Antiochos III et Rome, pouvait voir le recul du premier comme une confirmation de sa propre autorité, mais aussi comme une fragilisation de son réseau d’alliance local. En effet, il ne profita pas de l’occasion pour entrer dans l’amicitia romaine. En revanche, l’année 189/188 eut une importance historique considérable pour le peuple arménien, puisque ce fut le moment de ses premières affirmations d’indépendance reconnues.14 Artaxias et Zariadris, stratèges séleucides placés à la tête de l’Arménie Majeure et de la Sophène après l’Anabase d’Antiochos et la destitution des dynastes en place, profitèrent de la défaite séleucide pour prendre le titre royal et se faire reconnaître comme souverains légitimes, d’après Strabon.15 L’étendue exacte des royaumes de Sophène et d’Arménie Majeure devait être assez réduite dans les deux cas : le territoire d’Artaxias était basé sur

12 Voir ENGELS (2014a) au sujet du statut des territoires périphériques de l’empire séleucides sous le règne d’Antiochos III, en particulier p. 37–41 sur l’Arménie. 13 VITUCCI (1953), p. 30–32 ; HANNESTAD (1996), p. 79–83 ; FERNOUX (2004), p. 32– 33. 14 Les ouvrages de synthèse historique sur l’Arménie font toujours grand cas de cette déclaration d’autonomie. Voir GROUSSET (1984), p. 79–104 ; DÉDÉYAN (2004), p. 114– 116 ; MAHÉ / MAHÉ (2012), p. 41–64. Pour plus de détails, voir TRAINA (1999/2000), p. 59–63. 15 STRAB. 11.14.5 : L’Arménie fut ensuite divisée en deux par Artaxias et Zariadris, les stratèges d’Antiochos le Grand (IJ૵Ȟ ਝȞIJȚȩȤȠȣ IJȠ૨ ȝİȖȐȜȠȣ ıIJȡĮIJȘȖ૵Ȟ), celui qui fit la guerre aux Romains. Ils y exerçaient le pouvoir par délégation du roi, mais après la défaite de celui-ci, ils passèrent dans le camp des Romains et acquirent l’un et l’autre un statut d’autonomie avec le titre de roi (ȕĮıȚȜİ૙Ȣ ʌȡȠıĮȖȠȡİȣșȑȞIJİȢ). [Trad. F. LASSERRE, modifiée (les ıIJȡĮIJȘȖȠȓ ne sont pas ici des « généraux », mais des stratèges territoriaux].

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la vallée de l’Araxe, au nord, tandis que celui de Zariadris, au sud, était en contact avec la Médie Atropatène et la Cappadoce.16 Le récit de Strabon laisse de grandes zones d’ombre. À commencer par l’identité du ou des dirigeants de l’Arménie avant la nomination de ces stratèges par Antiochos III. Polybe mentionnait un roi nommé Xerxès, dont Antiochos confirma la légitimité, en 212.17 Strabon évoquait, pour sa part, un certain Orontès, qui aurait régné sur l’Arménie orientale au moment de la conquête séleucide.18 Puisque, par la suite, la région fut divisée en deux stratégies, il est possible de concilier les deux versions en considérant que la séparation en deux entités politiques avait précédé l’envoi de stratèges. Un passage de l’historien arménien Moïse de Khorène complique le tableau : ce dernier évoquait un certain Yerwand, qui se serait emparé du trône après la mort du roi Sanatrouk, mais fut ensuite vaincu par un fils de Sanatrouk, Artachês, dans lequel il faut reconnaître le stratège d’Arménie Majeure Artaxias.19 Si le récit de Moïse de Khorène dans son ensemble comporte des éléments légendaires et est contaminé par une tradition issue de la propagande artaxiade, l’origine arménienne d’Artaxias ne fait pas de doute, et son appartenance à la dynastie des Orontides était prétendue par le roi de son vivant, comme l’attestent des bornes territoriales inscrites en araméen où Artaxias apparaissait comme le fils de Zariadris et se revendiquait Orontide (Arwandakan).20 En définitive, il semble qu’après la confirmation des dynastes arméniens par le pouvoir séleucide, un complot de palais ait mis aux prises des prétendants au trône d’Arménie Majeure, dont Artaxias sortit vainqueur. Au même moment, Zariadris succéda au souverain de Sophène. Leur nomination au rang de stratège aurait donc été de la part du roi séleucide un moyen de confirmer le fait établi en assurant le respect formel de son autorité supérieure.21 Cette dernière dépendait néanmoins de la capacité de coercition du pouvoir central, et la défaite de Magnésie révéla la fragilité de la construction impériale d’Antiochos III. Bien qu’ayant eu lieu à la limite de l’aire 16 Sur la situation de l’Arménie Majeure, voir HEWSEN (1985), p. 57–58 ; FACELLA (2006), p. 190–192. Sur la Sophène, voir FRANKFORT (1963), p. 181–184 ; HEWSEN (1985), p. 58–60 ; SYME (1995), p. 51–57. 17 POLYB. 8.23. Au sujet des stratégies matrimoniales utilisées par Antiochos III dans la construction de l’espace royal, voir CAPDETREY (2007), p. 130. 18 STRAB. 11.14.15. 19 Moïse de Khorène, 2. 37. 20 PERIKHANIAN (1966), p. 18 : « [Partagea la terre entre les] villages [de ?] ArtašƝs, roi, Orontide, le Bon, fils de Zareh, Vainqueur de ce qui engendre le Mal(?), Porteur de couronne, l’Allié de Xšașra » ([q‫ ۄ]ۊ‬qry[‘ / t’ (?) zy (?)]‫]‘[ ۄ‬rtতš[sy]‫ ۄ‬mlk ‘rwnd [kn]‫ ۄ‬৬b br‫ ۄ‬zryhr‫ ۄ‬wnqpr‫ ۄ‬q৬rbr‫‘ ۄ‬তštrsrt). Le nom Zareh est une forme araméenne de Zariadris, mais une autre forme plus commune, Zariadrès, apparaît dans d’autres inscriptions du même type. Voir PERIKHANIAN (1971), p. 170–174 ; KHATCHADOURIAN (2007), p. 51– 52. Sur les rapports entre les Séleucides et l’Arménie au IIIe siècle, voir SCHOTTKY (1989), p. 96–108 ; FACELLA (2006), p. 164–184. 21 CAPDETREY (2007), p. 131–132.

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anatolienne, en-dehors de l’Asie cistaurique, ce phénomène devait prendre une importance certaine dans l’évolution géopolitique de la région au cours des décennies suivantes. Le retrait séleucide fut donc suivi de réaménagements politiques et diplomatiques complexes en Anatolie, où les dynastes durent assurer leur position au gré des modifications dans l’ordre local, mais aussi dans l’équilibre plus global du monde hellénistique et méditerranéen. Malgré la promotion à court terme du statut régional d’Eumène II, l’instabilité et les incertitudes géopolitiques demeuraient après le départ des légions, puis s’amplifièrent avec la mort d’Antiochos III, dès 187, en l’absence de clauses assurant le maintien des décisions prises à Apamée après le décès du souverain concerné.

3. Séleucos IV et l’Anatolie : l’intervention avortée Suite aux retraits conjugués de l’autorité séleucide et des troupes romaines, il restait aux dynastes anatoliens à intégrer le nouvel ordre promulgué par le Sénat. Les conflits ne tardèrent pas à éclater entre les tenants de l’autorité locale, mais non sans concerner des puissances extérieures. Une première guerre opposa Eumène, allié à la cité d’Héraclée du Pont, à Prusias Ier de Bithynie, allié à Ortiagon, le chef des Galates Tolistobogioi.22 Rome n’intervint que sous la menace d’une intervention macédonienne, qui fut empêchée par une mission diplomatique, tandis que le roi attalide parvenait à assurer son nouveau statut de monarque dominant en emportant la victoire.23 Cet épisode ne vit pas l’intervention le nouveau roi séleucide, Séleucos IV, mais fut l’occasion pour Hannibal de conduire sa dernière aventure, au côté de Prusias. Après la défaite de Magnésie en 190, le Carthaginois avait quitté la cour séleucide et voyagé dans la région, en Crète, puis chez le souverain d’Arménie Majeure Artaxias avant de terminer sa vie en Bithynie.24 Dans le cas du roi d’Arménie Majeure, il est possible d’y voir un signe d’émancipation à l’égard de la souveraineté séleucide récemment rejetée, doublé d’une forme d’intégration dans le cercle des rois hellénisés. 22 POLYB. 21.22.14 et 21.46.10 ; LIV. 38.39.15 ; STRAB. 12.8.12 ; MEMN., Frag. 19. 1–3 et 20. 1 ; TROG. PROL. 32 ; SEGRE (1932), p. 446–452 ; OGIS 298. Voir HABICHT (1956), p. 90–100 ; WILL (1979–1982), II, p. 228–229 ; FERNOUX (2008), p. 232–233 ; DMITRIEV (2007), p. 135–137 ; PETKOVIû (2012), p. 356–360. 23 POLYB. 23.1.4 et 23.3.1 ; LIV. 39.46.9. Voir DMITRIEV (2007), p. 133–135 ; PETKOVIû (2012), p. 357. 24 PLUT., Flam. 20.4 ; LIV. 37.60 et 39.51 ; NEP., Hann. 10.1 et 23.10–11 ; PLUT., Luc. 31–32 ; STRAB. 11.14.6 ; JUST. 32.4.2 ; APP., Syr. 11. Voir HABICHT (1956), p. 94–97 ; MCSHANE (1964), p. 160 ; BRIZZI (1983) ; GÜNTHER (1989), p. 242–246 et 249–250 ; SYME (1995), p. 348–355 ; SEIBERT (1997), p. 522–529 ; INVERNIZZI (1998), p. 97 ; TRAINA (1999/2000), p. 63–64 ; PETKOVIû (2012), p. 358.

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Un deuxième conflit majeur secoua la péninsule anatolienne entre 182 et 179, auquel Séleucos IV se trouva directement mêlé. La guerre opposait Eumène de Pergame, allié à Ariarathe de Cappadoce et à Prusias II de Bithynie, à Pharnace, allié à Mithridate d’Arménie [Mineure] ou de Sophène et à des chefs galates.25 Au cours des hostilités, probablement après que la situation se soit envenimée et que le théâtre d’opération se soit étendu, en 180, Pharnace fit appel à son neveu, Séleucos IV, d’après un court extrait attribué à Polybe et une note de Diodore. D’après ce dernier, Séleucos avait levé une armée considérable, (et) s’avança avec l’intention de franchir le Taurus pour aller secourir Pharnace. Mais, ayant pris en considération les stipulations de l’accord conclu par son père avec les Romains, en vertu desquelles il n’était pas permis [...].26

Le fait qu’il se ravisa ne retire pas toute pertinence à l’idée que les rois séleucides n’avaient pas fait le deuil de leurs ambitions anatoliennes.27 De fait, la raison invoquée par l’auteur sicilien ne convainc pas et semble suivre l’objectif de l’auteur davantage que ses sources. L’extrait polybien ne fait pas mention du traité d’Apamée, évoquant une raison psychologique souvent attribuée aux rois par l’auteur achéen dans une optique de moralisation de l’histoire.28 Certains auteurs ont proposé de voir dans ce renoncement une conséquence de l’intervention de Flamininus à Antioche.29 Néanmoins, les sources restent très peu explicites quant à cette supposée mission diplomatique, même si les envois épisodiques de commissions sénatoriales en Asie Mineure ont pu pousser le roi séleucide à la prudence. En réalité, si Séleucos avança jusqu’au Taurus avec son armée, c’est bien qu’il avait pris sa décision, auquel cas un changement de plan peut suggérer que la situation militaire avait changé entre l’appel à l’aide de Pharnace et l’arrivée de Séleucos à la frontière cappadocienne. J.D. Grainger supposait que la défaite pontique fut consommée avant la traversée du Taurus par Séleucos, événement qui aurait rendu caduque une intervention séleucide.30 De fait, le texte de Polybe suggère une soudaine accélération des opérations

25 Sur cette guerre, voir MCSHANE (1964), p. 161–163 ; WILL (1979–1982), II, p. 288– 290 ; PETKOVIû (2012), p. 360–364 ; CHRUBASIK (2013), p. 109. 26 DIOD. SIC. 29.27 (trad. P. GOUKOWSKI): ੖IJȚ ੒ ȈȑȜİȣțȠȢ ਕȟȚȩȜȠȖȠȞ įȪȞĮȝȚȞ ਕȞĮȜĮȕઅȞ ʌȡȠોȖİȞ ੪Ȣ ਫ਼ʌİȡȕȘıȩȝİȞȠȢ IJઁȞ ȉĮ૨ȡȠȞ ਥʌ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ȕȠȒșİȚĮȞ IJȠ૨ ĭĮȡȞȐțȠȣǜ ਩ȞȞȠȚĮȞ į੻ ȜĮȕઅȞ IJ૵Ȟ ʌȡઁȢ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȣȢ IJ૶ ʌĮIJȡ੿ ȖİȞȠȝȑȞȦȞ ıȣȞșȘț૵Ȟ, țĮș‫ ތ‬ਘȢ Ƞ੝ț ਥȟોȞ . 27 CHRUBASIK (2013), p. 105–116. 28 Le passage attribué à Polybe se trouve dans la Souda : POLYB., Fr. 96 Büttner-Wobst = SOUDA, s. v. ਕțȑȡĮȚȠȢ. 29 HOPP (1977), p. 34 ; MCGING (1986) ; WILL (1979–1982), II, p. 289 ; PETKOVIû (2012), p. 362, ont tous fait de Flamininus l’agent de cette volte-face de Séleucos. Sur le sujet, voir la remarque prudente de CHRUBASIK (2013), p. 109. 30 GRAINGER (2015), p. 6–7.

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militaires par Eumène en 180/179, peut-être provoquée par l’appel de Pharnace.31 La participation de Mithridate d’Arménie [Mineure] ou de Sophène, ainsi que les mentions d’Artaxias d’Arménie Majeure, signèrent l’élargissement du champ géopolitique anatolien vers l’est.32 Artaxias, en particulier, apparaissait pour la première fois sur la scène régionale, après la reconnaissance romaine de son titre royal en 190/188. L’identité de Mithridate d’Arménie, en revanche, n’est pas claire. Il est simplement paré du titre de « satrape d’Arménie », sans autres précisions.33 Il pourrait s’agir du dynaste de Sophène, qui aurait succédé à Zariadris.34 Cette identification, qui repose notamment sur la correspondance entre ce Mithridate et l’agent séleucide pressenti au remplacement de Xerxès de Sophène, pose néanmoins une difficulté importante : si ce dernier était déjà présent en 212 et se retrouvait au pouvoir en 179, que serait venu faire Zariadris entre temps ?35 Le titre même de satrape ne correspond pas à celui donné par les auteurs anciens au roi de Sophène à partir de Zariadris, qui fut reconnu roi. Néanmoins, aucun passage de Polybe ne mentionne le titre de Zariadris, il se pourrait donc que cet auteur ait conservé pour les membres de cette dynastie un terme institutionnel séleucide. Mithridate pourrait aussi avoir gouverné l’Arménie Mineure, connue pour avoir été conquise par le roi du Pont Mithridate VI plusieurs décennies plus tard.36 Celle-ci se situait à la frontière commune entre les royaumes du Pont, de Cappadoce et d’Arménie Majeure, au bord de la Galatie, et s’avérait donc bien placée pour que des contacts se soient noués avec Pharnace.37 Appien précisait que le terme d’Arménie Mineure 31 POLYB. 25.2.1 évoque une offensive aussi puissante que soudaine (ਥȟĮʌȚȞĮȓȠȣ țĮ੿ ȕĮȡİȓĮȢ Į੝IJ૶ IJોȢ ਥijȩįȠȣ) [traduction de ROUSSEL (2003)]. 32 POLYB. 25.2.11–13. 33 POLYB. 25.2.11. Pour WALBANK (1979), p. 271–273, le Mithridate du début du traité n’était pas le satrape d’Arménie Mineure, mais le fils et probablement le successeur de Pharnace, Mithridate IV Philopator Philadelphos ; cette thèse est restée peu suivie et semble très improbable. 34 C’est la thèse défendue par MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 29, n. 35, suivi par P ATTERSON (2001), p. 156, n. 6. WALBANK (1979), p. 272–273, se prononçait pour l’Arménie Mineure. Si aucun ne s’impose de manière sûre, le choix opéré a des conséquences sur l’évaluation de la place de la Sophène dans la scène géopolitique locale et sur l’existence d’une dynastie d’Arménie Mineure en 179. 35 POLYB. 8. 23. 3 sur Antiochos et Xerxès d’Arménie, identifié au satrape d’Arménie de 179 par REINACH (1890), p. 41, n. 1 et WALBANK (1979), p. 99–100, identification rappelée par PATTERSON (2001), p. 156, n. 6 pour justifier le choix de la Sophène plutôt que de l’Arménie Mineure. 36 STRAB. 12.3.1 ; 12.3.28 ; APP., Mith. 15.69 ; JUST. 38.7.2. 37 Cette région est peu attestée dans les sources relatives au IIe siècle, représentées essentiellement par STRAB. 12.3, et donc très peu étudiée. On peut néanmoins se reporter à HEWSEN (1985), p. 60–65, qui s’est intéressé au territoire de l’Arménie Majeure, mais mentionnait également l’Arménie Mineure ; SYME (1995), p. 137–143, qui s’appuyait essentiellement sur Strabon et l’époque de Pompée.

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n’avait été inventé pour désigner cette région que dans un passé récent à son époque, ce qui expliquerait que Polybe ne l’ait pas utilisé.38 En définitive, si les deux possibilités sont défendables, l’identification de l’Arménie Mineure comme domaine de ce satrape paraît plus probable, du fait de l’originalité du titre, qui étonne dans un texte évoquant l’égal de Zariadris, Artaxias, sous un titre plus habituel, mais aussi de la position géographique de cette région. Une reconstruction, due à A. Coúkun, identifie ce Mithridate avec un neveu d’Antiochos III et demi-frère d’Artaxias d’Arménie Majeure,39 ce qui rattacherait ce personnage aux mises en place séleucides de la fin du IIIe siècle, mais peut-être aussi aux prises d’indépendance consécutives à la bataille de Magnésie. Le traité de paix qui suivit la victoire d’Eumène consacra l’équilibre régional, assura la prépondérance de l’autorité attalide et rejeta l’influence des grandes puissances extérieures en ne les incluant pas parmi les adscripti. En définitive, l’autorité lointaine et peu intrusive des Romains ne semble pas avoir été un facteur sûr de la non-intervention séleucide au-delà du Taurus moins d’une décennie après la conclusion du traité d’Apamée, ou, à tout le moins, n’était pas lue comme tel par les souverains concernés. Ainsi, la dynastie mithridatide, liée depuis le milieu du IIIe siècle à la dynastie séleucide,40 voyait encore chez ce voisin un allié puissant et capable d’influer sur les destinées régionales. Les autorités sénatoriales, absente du traité, se trouvaient sur place pendant les négociations de paix et semblent en avoir profité pour étendre leur réseau d’amitié dans le Pont-Euxin.41 L’intégration probable de Pharnace dans l’amicitia romaine, même si elle ne rendait pas caduque les liens partagés avec les Séleucides, constituait un revers pour Séleucos, puisque le roi mithridatide pouvait désormais jouer sur deux fronts diplomatiques entre deux grandes puissances étrangères. D’autre part, la conservation de la cité de Sinope, conquise en 183 et promue au rang de capitale dynastique, engagea la royauté

38 APP., Mithr. 90. Voir BALLESTEROS PASTOR (2013), p. 284, qui proposait d’y voir un terme créé après le règne de Mithridate VI. 39 COùKUN (à paraître). 40 POLYB. 5.74.5 ; 8.20.11; 5.43.1–4 : Mithridate II avait épousé la sœur d’Antiochos II, tandis qu’Antiochos III avait épousé la fille de Mithridate. Voir MCGING (1986), p. 21–23 ; BALLESTEROS PASTOR (1996), p. 26–27. 41 La conclusion d’un traité entre Pharnace et le Sénat est déduite d’une inscription dont la datation reste incertaine : IOSPE I², 402. Longtemps située en 179, cette datation a été remise en cause par BURSTEIN (1980), p. 7 et MCGING (1986), p. 30, qui ont proposé la date de 155. Les tenants et aboutissants du débat, encore en cours, ont été résumés par HØJTE (2005), p. 140–147 et MÜLLER (2010), p. 93–95. En dernier lieu, HEINEN (2005), p. 37–42 et AVRAM (2016), p. 216–223 ont réaffirmé la validité de la datation traditionnelle en 179, dans le cadre des négociations de paix de la guerre entre Pharnace et Eumène, tout en minimisant l’impact de cette date sur le poids diplomatique réellement exercé par Rome sur la scène pontique à cette époque.

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mithridatide dans une orientation politique davantage tournée vers la mer Noire, éloignant l’axe séleucide des intérêts du roi.

4. Rapprochement séleucide et intervention préventive attalide Avec la mise en place du nouvel équilibre anatolien dans la décennie 180, le roi attalide s’était assuré une place de choix dans les réseaux d’alliances régionaux. Cette décennie avait été marquée par l’absence d’intervention des grands royaumes hellénistiques voisins dans les affaires anatoliennes. Pourtant, les avancées politiques des puissances extérieures eurent ensuite des répercussions importantes sur la situation régionale, preuve de la porosité des frontières dans le domaine géopolitique. L’accession au trône de Persée, en Macédoine, semble avoir été l’élément déclencheur d’un remaniement des réseaux diplomatiques hellénistiques qui toucha l’Anatolie. Par le biais d’une alliance matrimoniale, les maisons royales antigonide et séleucide renouvelèrent un axe diplomatique ouvert par Antiochos III et Philippe V à la fin du IIIe siècle. En effet, en 177, Persée reçut à sa demande la main de Laodice, fille de Séleucos IV. À ce rapprochement s’ajouta celui de Prusias II de Bithynie, lequel s’allia avec Persée en épousant sa sœur Apama, tandis que la cité de Rhodes exprimait son soutien politique en escortant Laodice jusqu’en Macédoine.42 Il n’est pas étonnant que cette situation nouvelle ait été décriée par Eumène, comme l’a librement relayé Tite-Live : les changements apportés à l’échiquier géopolitique avaient tout pour l’inquiéter, surtout en l’absence d’une réaction énergique de la part de Rome.43 En effet, pour le roi attalide, il ne restait comme allié majeur, en Anatolie, qu’Ariarathe de Cappadoce, dont l’épouse était une sœur de Séleucos IV et qui ne pouvait être considéré comme sûr. Rhodes, fidèle à sa politique de neutralité à l’égard des grandes puissances hellénistiques, craignait la montée en puissance attalide, comme l’avait indiqué la brouille récente avec Eumène II pendant la guerre contre Pharnace,44 guerre conclue sans tenir compte des intérêts rhodiens. En ce qui concerne Prusias II, il s’agissait d’un retour à la normale dynastique après une courte période d’alliance avec

42 POLYB. 25.4.8 et 10; LIV. 42.12.3 ; APP., Mac. 11.2. GRUEN (1984), p. 404, n. 31, niait le caractère hostile à Rome parfois prêtée à cette coalition en formation, qui ne dénotait que d’un « standard Hellenistic move » (p. 404). 43 LIV. 42.12.3 : ce n’est certes qu’en 172 qu’Eumène évoquait ces événements passés dans le récit de Tite-Live, et la réalité historique d’un tel discours est difficile à apprécier ; néanmoins, la réalité de la pression exercée sur Eumène et décrite par ce discours est évidente. Cf. WILL (1979–1982), p. 2.260–262 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 417–419. 44 POLYB. 27.7.5.

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Pergame.45 La menace pontique écartée, le royaume attalide représentait à nouveau pour le Bithynien le rival majeur sur le plan régional, et le rapprochement avec Persée lui permettait de contrarier Eumène dans la région stratégique des détroits de l’Hellespont. Les autres puissances anatoliennes représentaient des alliés de moindre influence, comme Cyzique et d’autres cités, ou peu fiables, comme les chefs galates ou les dynastes anatoliens orientaux et septentrionaux, dont certains restaient intégrés au réseau d’alliances séleucide. Le roi lagide étant mort en 181/0, il n’y avait pas d’aide à trouver en Égypte : la reine-mère et régente Cléopâtre était la sœur et l’alliée de Séleucos IV.46 Enfin, les ligues influentes en Grèce étaient alors ciblées par la propagande macédonienne, ainsi que par les tentatives de rapprochement lagides et séleucides, qui fragilisaient l’influence attalide.47 Sans intervenir directement dans la région, Séleucos avait donc su s’immiscer dans la politique anatolienne, à la faveur des inimitiés entre dynastes de la péninsule, des avancées de Persée et de la passivité du Sénat. Devant cette situation dangereuse, Eumène réagit. Plutôt que de persévérer dans ses appels à Rome, il joua son propre jeu. Prenant avantage de la mort inopinée de Séleucos en 175, il mena une expédition militaire pour installer Antiochos, le frère du défunt résidant à Athènes, sur le trône d’Antioche,48 malgré l’existence d’un successeur légitime au trône. Ce fils de Séleucos IV, alors présent à Rome où il avait remplacé Antiochos comme otage, se nommait Démétrios.49 Cette expédition occasionna la production d’une inscription honorifique à Athènes.50 Peu couvert par les sources littéraires, cet épisode militaire fut peut-être plus important qu’il n’y paraît : afin d’amener Antiochos dans son royaume et de lui 45 Cette alliance, bien que courte, a laissé quelques traces épigraphiques : Syll.3 628 et 632 (statues équestres consacrées de concert par le koinon des Étoliens à Eumène II et Prusias II, respectivement) ; OGIS 341 (dédicace honorifique consacrée par Prusias II à Abdère, cité crétoise alliée d’Eumène II). Cf. HABICHT (1957), col. 1108–1109 ; WILL (1979–1982), p. 2.290 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 189–191. 46 DIOD. SIC. 29.32, évoquait l’attention portée par Ptolémée Épiphane à la Cœlé-Syrie avant sa mort, voir MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 33 et 66. 47 Sur la nouvelle composition de la ligue amphictionique en 178 : Syll.3 636 ; voir DAUX (1936), p. 304–315 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 32, n. 100 ; LEFÈVRE (1998), p. 125. Les Étoliens et la dynastie macédonienne avaient retrouvé la majorité car des peuples de leur obédience représentaient 12 membres du conseil sur 23. Sur le débat de l’assemblée achéenne à propos de Persée : LIV. 41.23–24 ; cf. GRUEN (1984), p. 500–502. Sur les tentatives de Séleucos IV auprès de la ligue achéenne : POLYB. 22.7.4 ; sur le rejet de l’alliance attalide par la ligue achéenne : POLYB. 22.7.3. 48 APP., Syr. 45.233 ; GLASSNER (2005), 4, rev. 9 et rev. 11–12 ; OGIS 248. Voir MITTAG (2006), p. 42–45. Une bibliographie des discussions sur cet épisode, jusqu’en 1980, est disponible chez WALBANK (1979), p. 284–285. 49 L’échange des otages : APP., Syr. 45.232 ; POLYB. 31.2.1–2. 50 OGIS 248. Voir MØRKHOLM (1966), p. 42 ; MITTAG (2006), p. 42–45.

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fournir des troupes, il était nécessaire de s’entendre avec Ariarathe pour franchir les Portes ciliciennes, ou bien de monter une expédition navale conséquente.51 Cette manœuvre permit à Eumène de tuer dans l’œuf le danger d’une gigantesque coalition hellénistique à son encontre, et de ne garder de rivaux importants que vers le Nord et dans la région des Détroits de l’Hellespont. En effet, l’aide apportée par la famille attalide à Antiochos IV fut monnayée par le renouvellement de l’amitié entre les deux dynasties, donnant naissance à des « liens de reconnaissance ».52 La forte proportion de monnaies civiques frappées par des cités d’Asie Mineure dans les trésors enterrés en territoire séleucide à cette époque peut être liée au même épisode. Il est possible que le roi attalide, dont les monnaies cistophoriques, si elles existaient déjà, n’avaient pas cours hors de son territoire, ait dû utiliser pour cela des liquidités d’étalon attique.53 Tous les soucis géopolitiques attalides ne se trouvaient pas réglés pour autant, et cette ingérence dans les affaires séleucides pouvait même déboucher sur de nouvelles difficultés en Anatolie ou vis-à-vis de Rome. Néanmoins, par une expédition militaire d’envergure limitée et sans engager de combat, le souverain de Pergame avait réussi à obtenir l’alliance de la grande puissance de Méditerranée orientale. Il s’agissait donc d’un retournement diplomatique majeur. Le fait qu’Eumène ait choisi d’agir de la sorte plutôt qu’en s’en prenant à Prusias ou en s’opposant à la montée de Persée, ses deux adversaires directs, est significatif. L’occasion représentée par la mort de Séleucos IV doit être considérée comme un facteur décisif, mais ne rend pas pour autant caduque l’idée d’une influence diplomatique et politique séleucide perçue comme majeure par le roi attalide à cette époque.

5. Antiochos IV et la nouvelle donne séleucide en Anatolie Antiochos IV héritait d’un royaume qui avait su se relever de la défaite de Magnésie et restait dominant en Cœlé-Syrie et en Iran. En revanche, les hésitations de Séleucos, la présence de Démétrios à Rome et le rôle joué par Eumène dans la succession au trône limitaient les possibilités dans l’orientation politique extérieure d’Antiochos. Fragilisé dans sa légitimité dynastique, le roi 51 APP., Syr. 45. 233 est la seule source littéraire conservée qui évoque cet événement, sans s’y attarder. 52 OGIS 248, l. 3–4 : IJઁ țĮIJĮ[șȑı]șĮȚ ȤȐȡȚȖ. 53 PSOMA (2013), p. 289–294, privilégie la solution commerciale comme cause de l’appropriation de ces monnaies civiques par le roi attalide avant l’introduction des cistophores, mais compare la situation ultérieure avec celle concernant la Thrace à l’égard des puissances antigonide, puis romaine, où les cités frappaient monnaie par devoir envers leurs protecteurs (les trésors monétaires de Syrie contenant des tétradrachmes d’étalon attique issus de cités d’Asie Mineure sont référencés dans l’appendice 2, p. 298– 299).

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pouvait difficilement se mettre à dos l’allié local de Rome en maintenant une politique en faveur de Persée et de Prusias, ou en essayant lui aussi de regagner du terrain en Cappadoce et en Cappadoce pontique, royaumes dirigés par des dynasties parentes. En tout état de cause, la situation devenue instable en Judée54 et sur le front égyptien55 ne lui en laissa pas l’opportunité. Pour les dirigeants d’Anatolie, le changement d’orientation diplomatique séleucide laissa place à la crise politique macédonienne. En réponse aux avancées diplomatiques du roi antigonide en Grèce continentale et en Thrace, Eumène réagit au danger que représentait ce monarque allié à Prusias II en poussant le Sénat à intervenir.56 Comme en 192, Rome en vînt à entrer en guerre, en 172.57 À nouveau, Eumène et Rhodes se rangèrent à ses côtés, tandis que Prusias restait neutre. Si ces puissances d’Anatolie occidentale eurent le loisir de se concentrer sur les événements égéens, l’éloignement de l’influence séleucide n’y fut pas étranger : Antiochos se trouvait alors occupé à envahir l’Égypte lagide. La conclusion presque simultanée de ces deux conflits, en 168, prit une forme inattendue en réunissant les deux scènes géopolitiques, par l’intermédiaire des autorités sénatoriales. Peu après la victoire des légions à Pydna, tandis que la royauté macédonienne était abolie, un sénateur fut envoyé auprès d’Antiochos afin de le sommer d’évacuer les terres lagides au moment où son armée stationnait devant Alexandrie.58 Il est difficile de pénétrer les projets égyptiens du roi séleucide, et peut-être que sans cette intervention, connue sous le nom de journée d’Eleusis, il n’aurait pas poussé son avantage jusqu’à tenter de déposer la royauté ptolémaïque. Toujours est-il que Rome assuma alors sa prépondérance sur l’ensemble de la scène méditerranéenne, puisqu’Antiochos obéit à son commandement.59 À l’inverse de ce qui s’était produit en 189/188, les deux alliés anatoliens de Rome, Eumène et Rhodes, subirent après Pydna les conséquences du mécontentement du Sénat. Ainsi, la Lycie et la Carie, cédée aux autorités rhodiennes en 188, furent déclarées libres, tandis que Délos devenait un portfranc, ce qui portait un coup au commerce rhodien.60 Eumène, forcé de défendre

54

MITTAG (2006), p. 225–281 (en particulier, p. 279–281) ; GRAINGER (2015), p. 21–

22. 55

GRAINGER (2015), p. 19–20. LIV. 42.11.14 ; APP., Mac. 11. 1–2. 57 LIV. 42.15–18. Voir WALBANK (1979), p. 290–305 ; WILL (1979–1982), p. 257– 260 et 262–268 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 411–413. 58 POLYB. 29.27 ; LIV. 45.12 ; APP., Syr. 66.349–351 ; Jos., Ant. Jud. 12.244 ; JUST. 34.3.1–4 ; ZONAR. 9.25. 59 Voir WILL (1979–1982), p. 2.320–325 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 114–115 et 658–663 ; MITTAG (2006), p. 214–224 ; GRAINGER (2015), p. 26. 60 POLYB. 30.4–5 ; 30.21 ; 30.23.4 ; 30.31 ; LIV. 45.10 ; 45.20–25 ; Periochae, 46 ; DIOD. SIC. 31.3–4 ; CASS. DIO 20.68 ; ZONAR. 9.24. Voir SCHMITT (1957), p. 163–165 ; 56

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ses domaines contre un soulèvement majeur de plusieurs tribus galates entre 168 et 166, ne reçut pas le soutien de Rome. Au contraire, le Sénat tenta de retourner son frère contre lui, libéra les cités d’Ainos et Maronée qu’il convoitait depuis 188 et encouragea peut-être les Galates dans leurs tentatives, avant de les soustraire à l’autorité du vainqueur une fois la guerre remportée par le souverain attalide.61 Le prétexte utilisé pour justifier ces décisions concernait le manque d’entrain des deux puissances dans la guerre contre Persée et leurs tentatives de médiation de paix. Pourtant, si la neutralité avait été proscrite par les autorités sénatoriales, Prusias II aurait dû subir un sort moins enviable que ses voisins, ce qui ne fut pas le cas. Un retournement contre des puissances régionales dont la puissance avait perdu de son utilité en l’absence d’un danger antigonide est certes plus vraisemblable. Néanmoins, le facteur séleucide put également joué : Rhodes échangeait des rapports cordiaux avec cette dynastie depuis la guerre contre Antiochos III, tandis qu’Eumène avait joué un rôle de premier plan dans la prise de pouvoir d’Antiochos IV. Cet aspect de la politique étrangère attalide n’échappa guère aux rivaux anatoliens du roi attalide, puisque Prusias et des envoyés galates se plaignirent à deux reprises des liens partagés entre Eumène et Antiochos devant le Sénat entre 165 et 163.62 Après la journée d’Eleusis, Antiochos se trouvait dans une situation stable du côté occidental, le Taurus et la frontière égyptienne séparant son royaume de territoires alliés et incapables de le menacer à court terme. Néanmoins, la situation orientale devenait préoccupante, les rois de Parthie et de Bactriane ayant profité des dernières décennies pour repousser la tutelle réaffirmée nominalement par Antiochos III entre 212 et 205. D’autre part, une affirmation renouvelée de l’autorité du pouvoir central par l’intermédiaire d’une expédition militaire d’envergure permettait de rehausser la renommée du roi. C’est pourquoi son attention se porta dans cette direction et qu’il organisa une expédition militaire majeure vers les terres iraniennes. Comme son illustre père, il commença son anabase dans les terres arméniennes, où le roi d’Arménie Majeure Artaxias fut réintégré dans l’autorité impériale, au moins de manière nominale.63 Si sa mort en Perside l’année suivante empêcha le Séleucide de confirmer cette reprise en main, l’itinéraire suivi en Orient montre que WILL (1979–1982), II, p. 297–301 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 39–42 ; BERTHOLD (1984), p. 203– 209 ; BRESSON (1999), p. 118–119 ; WIEMER (2002), p. 317–325 et 328–339. 61 POLYB. 30.1–3, 30.19.1–14 et 30.28 ; LIV. 45.19–20. Voir ALLEN (1983), p. 142– 143 ; FERRARY (1988), p. 184 ; WILL (1979–1982), II, p. 291–293, en faveur d’une politique galate inverse aux intérêts attalides de la part du Sénat. À l’inverse, voir les réserves exprimées par GRUEN (1984), p. 574–575 et 577–578 ; MITCHELL (1993), I, p. 26. Sur les tentatives de détournement d’Attale par le Sénat, voir COùKUN (2011), p. 94– 101. 62 POLYB. 30.30.2–4 (165/164) ; 31.1.2–3 (164/163). Voir WALBANK (1979), p. 456 et 463–464 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 580–582. 63 MITTAG (2006), p. 296–298.

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l’autonomie arménienne n’en était pas à un point de non-retour dans la vision politique séleucide. La région était restée présente dans l’horizon politique des successeurs d’Antiochos III entre le traité d’Apamée et la campagne de 165/164 : ainsi des colonies furent-elles fondées en Arménie méridionale.64 Rome, qui avait affirmé avec force sa volonté de repousser la puissance séleucide d’Égypte, ne réagit pas à la reconquête d’un royaume pourtant reconnu par le Sénat lors de la victoire de Magnésie. Les autorités anatoliennes, qui partageaient des liens politiques avec Artaxias depuis la paix de 179, ne répondirent pas davantage à cet épisode, ce qui se comprend puisqu’Antiochos, contrairement à son prédécesseur, ne montrait pas d’intérêt politique pour l’Anatolie : l’Arménie restait un territoire marginal, dominé par des dynastes orontides liés à l’autorité séleucide. L’échec de l’expédition confirma néanmoins la situation : Artaxias reprit rapidement son indépendance, et les Parthes en profitèrent pour reprendre leur expansion, autrefois stoppée par Antiochos III, puis relancée après Apamée.65 Après la mort du roi séleucide Antiochos IV, en 164/163, son neveu Démétrios lui succéda, mais se heurta à une situation instable dans laquelle Artaxias joua un rôle bien différent de celui de dynaste soumis à l’autorité centrale. En effet, après la mort d’Antiochos, son agent Lysias s’empara du pouvoir, au nom du fils du roi défunt, encore mineur. Démétrios, successeur légitime au trône, se trouvait toujours retenu en otage à Rome. Le Sénat refusa de le libérer, mais il parvint à s’enfuir et à prendre le contrôle de ses domaines.66 Néanmoins, après la mise à mort de Lysias et du prétendant mineur, Timarchos, gouverneur des Hautes Satrapies, se souleva contre Démétrios et put trouver un allié : Artaxias.67 Ce dernier tenta d’attirer dans leur camp le roi de Cappadoce Ariarathe V, mettant à profit ses relations diplomatiques en Anatolie, mais se vit opposer un refus. La victoire rapide de Démétrios, finalement reconnu par Rome, n’empêcha pas une certaine fragilisation du pouvoir séleucide sur les marges du royaume : non seulement Artaxias ne semble pas s’être soumis à

64

CHAUMONT (1993), p. 434–436 ; MITTAG (2006), p. 202–205. Voir WOLSKI (1993), p. 79–80. Il faut noter que les premières conquêtes arsacides du temps de Mithridate Ier (171–138/137) vers l’Occident ne se firent qu’après 148, en Médie, comme le prouve une inscription de Behistun mentionnant un gouverneur séleucide des satrapies iraniennes en 148 : ROBERT (1967), p. 291. MITTAG (2006), p. 328–331. 66 POLYB. 31.2.1–8 et 11–15 ; LIV., Per. 46 ; APP., Syr., 46.238 et 47.241–242 ; JUST. 34.3.6–9 ; ZONAR. 9.25. Cf. WALBANK (1979), p. 465–466 et 478–483 (bibliographie p. 478); GRUEN (1984), p. 664–665, qui soulignait le manque de réaction de la part du Sénat, tout en mettant la fuite de Démétrios sur le compte, non de sénateurs, mais d’amis grecs, dont Polybe mais aussi des représentants du pouvoir lagide, intéressés à retirer le trône séleucide de l’influence attalide pour le placer sous celle des Ptolémées. 67 DIOD. SIC. 31.41 ; APP., Syr. 47.242 ; JUST. 34. Voir LE RIDER (1965), p. 332–334 ; GRUEN (1976), p. 85–87 ; WILL (1979–1982), II, p. 367–369. 65

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l’autorité centrale, mais Ptolémaios, le gouverneur séleucide de Commagène, au Sud-Ouest de l’Arménie, se révolta également contre le trône.68 Ce gouverneur, dont les descendants revendiquèrent l’appartenance à la dynastie orontide, était peut-être lié à Artaxias et Zariadris. De fait, la Commagène faisait partie du territoire arménien dominé par les Orontides avant la reprise en main d’Antiochos III dans la région, mais avait ensuite été détachée de la Sophène et ne fut jamais tenue par le roi de cette dernière région. Néanmoins, il est possible que la revendication dynastique ultérieure des rois de Commagène ait eu pour optique de renforcer leur légitimité régionale, par l’inscription artificielle dans la continuité d’un lignage renommé localement.69 Le fragment de Diodore susmentionné nous apprend également que Ptolémaios mena une attaque contre le roi de Cappadoce, ce qui montre une fois de plus que la frontière entre affaires séleucides et affaires anatoliennes n’était pas totalement étanche. Le sort de cette région après la déclaration d’autonomie de son souverain n’est pas clair, mais il est possible que Démétrios ait pu ramener le dirigeant de Commagène sous sa tutelle.70 Certes, le fils de ce dernier lui succéda vers 130 en tant que roi, et l’ère dynastique choisie plus tard devait démarrer en 163, ce qui suggère une indépendance conservée après la prise du titre royal par Ptolémaios.71 Néanmoins, il n’est pas impossible que le titre royal ait été conservé par les Orontides de la région en dépit d’une reconnaissance de la souveraineté séleucide : cette situation avait été celle du souverain orontide d’Arménie méridionale Arsamès, ancêtre revendiqué de Ptolémaios, au IIIe siècle.72 L’attaque de Ptolémaios contre la Cappadoce, impossible à situer exactement d’après le texte de Diodore, pourrait s’inscrire dans le cadre du conflit ultérieur entre Démétrios et Attale au sujet de la succession ariarathide, ce qui suggérerait une expédition commanditée par le roi séleucide. Quoi qu’il en soit, l’accroissement d’une région frontalière regroupant l’Arménie Majeure, la Sophène et la Commagène sous l’autorité de rois revendiquant des origines communes semble indiquer que l’influence séleucide ne pouvait s’appliquer que de manière de plus en plus indirecte dans cette direction. Néanmoins, cette 68

DIOD. SIC. 31.34. HEWSEN (1985), p. 347–348, attribuait une grande proximité dynastiques entre les souverains de Commagène, d’Arménie Majeure et de Sophène ; FACELLA (2006), p. 199– 205, restait prudente et jugeait que le manque de source ne permettait ni de confirmer ni d’infirmer cette théorie. 70 CAPDETREY (2007), p. 245–246, supposait un retour dans le giron séleucide après l’assaut contre Ariarathe V. 71 Voir FACELLA (2006), p. 205–208, qui revenait sur les difficultés de datation et sur le manque de renseignements directs concernant ces deux rois et leur règne après la déclaration d’autonomie de Ptolémaios. Les reconstructions historiques sur le sujet reposent en grande partie sur une inscription du Ier siècle a.C. : WAGNER / PETZL (1976), l. 7–9. 72 Voir FACELLA (2006), p. 174–183 ; GRAINGER (2015), p. 54–56. 69

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influence restait réelle, appuyée sur des liens diplomatiques et familiaux qui ne se limitaient pas aux dynasties arméniennes.

6. Démétrios Ier et le retour diplomatique séleucide en Cappadoce Tout comme la montée sur le trône séleucide d’Antiochos IV avait marqué un changement de positionnement stratégique pour l’Anatolie dans les réseaux d’alliances entre grandes familles royales, l’avènement de Démétrios Ier rebattit les cartes, dans le prolongement de la disparition de la dynastie antigonide. Dans un premier temps, toute l’attention du nouveau roi dut se concentrer sur l’élimination des résistances internes à son autorité, ainsi que sur l’affirmation de sa légitimité à destination des puissances extérieures.73 Ces objectifs atteints, Démétrios put se tourner vers les frontières du royaume, signant alors un réel retour dans le grand jeu diplomatique en Asie cistaurique. L’implication d’Eumène II dans la prise de pouvoir du prédécesseur de Démétrios, malgré le statut de successeur légitime de ce dernier, pouvait pousser le nouveau roi séleucide à ne pas entretenir l’alliance attalide contractée par Antiochos IV. D’autre part, la défiance exprimée par le Sénat à l’égard d’Eumène ouvrait des possibilités de ce côté. Une confrontation directe restait difficilement envisageable après les récentes démonstrations de force de Rome, mais la situation cappadocienne donna l’occasion aux deux dynastes de se mesurer l’un à l’autre.74 La Cappadoce était sous Antiochos III une alliée des Séleucides, et sa position en faisait un allié stratégique dans l’échiquier anatolien. Démétrios était monté sur le trône séleucide à peu près au moment où Ariarathe V, fruit de l’union entre Ariarathe IV et la fille d’Antiochos III, Antiochis, succédait à son père, vers 163.75 Démétrios tenta un rapprochement en proposant une alliance matrimoniale, que le nouveau souverain cappadocien refusa. Ce dernier donnait probablement plus d’importance à sa position en Anatolie, garantie par l’alliance attalide, qu’aux bénéfices incertains d’une alliance avec une autorité royale qui ne s’était plus aventurée au-delà du Taurus depuis trente ans.76 Les bonnes relations maintenues avec Rome pesèrent sans doute dans la balance : Démétrios n’était pas monté sur le trône par la grâce du Sénat, et l’épouse proposée n’était autre

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GRAINGER (2015), p. 36–49. MCSHANE (1964), p. 187–188 ; WILL (1979–1982), II, p. 371–373 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 584–585. 75 POLYB. 31.3.1–5. Cf. WALBANK (1979), p. 468–469. 76 DIOD. SIC. 31.42 ; JUST. 35.1.2. 74

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que la veuve de Persée. Il se trouve qu’une ambassade sénatoriale envoyée en Syrie passa par la Cappadoce et félicita officiellement le roi pour son refus.77 La situation s’envenima à la faveur d’une rivalité dynastique entre Ariarathe et son frère, Oropherne. En 158, Démétrios prit le parti de s’avancer plus avant dans la politique anatolienne, en soutenant financièrement et politiquement Oropherne, qui prit le trône par la force.78 Le Sénat proposa aux deux frères de régner ensemble sur un domaine divisé. Contre cet avis, Attale II, seul roi depuis peu mais corégent depuis plusieurs années, réagit énergiquement. Il rétablit Ariarathe seul sur le trône, contre les intérêts séleucides et sans le soutien de Rome.79 Comme le notait Polybe, c’était pour Attale donner une première preuve de ses dispositions et de son énergie,80 mais aussi de son esprit d’initiative et de sa capacité à outrepasser l’avis du Sénat pour faire valoir ses intérêts dans les oppositions majeures. L’attaque menée par Attale et Ariarathe contre la cité de Priène, alliée d’Oropherne mais aussi du Sénat, à qui elle fit appel, est un indice de l’audace d’Attale, autant que de la relative passivité du Sénat à l’encontre des développements géopolitiques dans cette région.81 Une fois de plus, l’influence séleucide avait déstabilisé l’équilibre anatolien sans que Rome ne daigne intervenir. Le succès de l’intervention attalide ne mettait pas définitivement fin à la menace, mais poussait Démétrios à adopter une position plus défensive sur le seul front où il avait pu mener une politique extérieure agressive. Il est possible que la modération de l’implication séleucide dans la confrontation avec Attale, où Démétrios ne répondit pas militairement au défi proposé par celui-ci, soit due à ses autres difficultés politiques : la scène 77 POLYB. 31.2–3, 31.8, 32. Cf. HOPP (1977), p. 64–65 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 582–583, qui notait avec justesse que rien n’indique que le refus opposé par Ariarathe à Démétrios ait été ordonné en amont par les ambassadeurs romains, contre l’opinion exprimée par HOPP (1977), p. 39. 78 DIOD. SIC. 31.46 ; POLYB. 33.6.2 ; APP., Syr. 47 ; JUST. 35.1.1–2 ; LIV., Per. 47 ; ZONAR. 9.24. Voir SANTI AMANTINI (1972), p. 32–38 ; WALBANK (1979), p. 547–548 ; GRAINGER (2015), p. 55–56. 79 DIOD. SIC. 31.50 ; POLYB. 32.10.1–8 ; APP., Syr. 47 ; ZONAR. 9. 24. Voir BOUCHÉLECLERCQ (1913–1914), II, p. 324–328 ; GRUEN (1976), p. 88–90 ; WALBANK (1979), p. 529–531 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 584–585 et 665–666, qui soulignait une fois encore la passivité romaine à l’égard aussi bien des avancées diplomatiques séleucides que de la réaction militaire attalide. 80 POLYB. 32.12 (trad. D. ROUSSEL) : ੖IJȚ ਡIJIJĮȜȠȢ ੒ ਕįİȜijઁȢ Ǽ੝ȝȑȞȠȣȢ ʌĮȡĮȜĮȕઅȞ IJ੽Ȟ ਥȟȠȣıȓĮȞ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ ਥȟȒȞİȖțİ įİ૙ȖȝĮ IJોȢ Įਫ਼IJȠ૨ ʌȡȠĮȚȡȑıİȦȢ țĮ੿ ʌȡȐȟİȦȢ IJ੽Ȟ ਝȡȚĮȡȐșȠȣ țĮIJĮȖȦȖ੽Ȟ ਥʌ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȞ. Voir WALBANK (1979), p. 529–534 : les fragments de l’œuvre de Polybe n’ont pas été placés correctement. 81 POLYB. 31.6 ; DIOD. SIC. 31.46 ; OGIS 331 et 351 ; RC 63. Cet épisode eut lieu vers 155. OGIS 331 est une lettre de soutien envoyée par le Sénat à Priène après coup, par courtoisie, puisque Polybe (31. 6. 1–8) montrait que Rome n’était pas intervenue. Pourtant, Priène était dans l’amicitia romaine avant cet événement, comme le prouve l’inscription OGIS 351. HOPP (1977), p. 65–68, datait cet épisode de 153/152 plutôt que de 155. Voir aussi MCSHANE (1964), p. 188, n. 38 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 585.

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anatolienne restait un axe secondaire et risqué d’un programme royal plus porté vers des priorités internes. Dans le même temps, les tentatives de Démétrios pour contrer l’influence attalide en Cappadoce montrent qu’il gardait des ambitions en Anatolie même, quitte à emprunter –diplomatiquement– le chemin le plus direct, par les portes ciliciennes. Attale II se trouvait prévenu dès le début de son règne.

7. Le renversement de Démétrios Ier et l’inversion des rapports de force Après la confrontation entre les deux prétendants au trône cappadocien, Attale II dut faire face à une attaque de Prusias II de Bithynie. Les affaires ne semblent pas avoir été liées, mais toutes deux purent se développer à la faveur de l’absence de réaction romaine, le Sénat ayant été appelé à intervenir par Oropherne puis Prusias contre Attale, avant que le roi de Bithynie n’en vienne aux armes. Le roi attalide sortit une nouvelle fois vainqueur de cette guerre, en 154, et Prusias fut réduit à traiter sous la pression conjuguée des armes ennemies et des envoyés du Sénat – lesquels limitèrent les exigences attalides, semble-t-il.82 Si l’opposition en cours entre Démétrios et Attale ne pouvait qu’encourager Prusias à passer à l’action, le roi de Bithynie ne chercha pas à profiter du facteur séleucide dans sa tentative contre le roi attalide. En effet, à partir de l’entrée de Prusias Ier dans l’amicitia romaine pendant la guerre contre Antiochos III, les Nicoménides furent les dynastes anatoliens les moins intégrés au réseau d’alliances et aux secteurs d’intérêt séleucides. En dehors de l’épisode du mariage de Prusias II avec une fille de Persée, qui fit entrer le premier dans une coalition incluant Séleucos IV, les souverains bithyniens restèrent tournés vers leurs alliés occidentaux, à savoir la Macédoine, puis Rome. De fait, les seules mentions des rois séleucides dans les extraits de Polybe concernant Prusias évoquent les accusations du roi de Bithynie à propos des rapports diplomatiques entre Eumène et Antiochos IV,83 marquant ainsi le détournement des Nicoménides par rapport aux Séleucides après le traité d’Apamée et, surtout, après la disparition de la royauté antigonide. Libéré de la menace nicoménide au Nord, Attale se tourna vers un autre facteur de danger majeur : son rival séleucide. En réponse à l’épisode cappadocien, et dans une réplique de l’avènement d’Antiochos IV, Attale participa entre 154 et 151 au renversement de Démétrios Ier. Un type particulier 82 L’intervention romaine et le traité de paix : POLYB. 33.13.4–10. GRUEN (1984), p. 589, considérait que le traité était la meilleure conclusion possible pour Attale. Pourtant, si le retour au status quo ante n’était pas une mauvaise affaire à la vue des difficultés militaires rencontrées par le roi attalide au début de la guerre, la situation était bien différente en 154, quand Attale se trouvait en position de force. 83 POLYB. 30.30.2–4 (165/164) ; 31.1.2–3 (164/163) ; 31.32.1–2 (161/160).

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de sources révèle peut-être l’ampleur des préparatifs d’Attale pour ce coup de main : les monnaies à la couronne utilisées en Syrie et frappées par des cités autonomes d’Asie Mineure occidentale.84 Celles-ci semblent avoir été frappées à partir de 154, à la suite de la guerre contre Prusias II, par des cités alliées d’Attale. Le plus probable est qu’Attale ait commandité et usé de ces liquidités d’étalon international pour financer son expédition en territoire séleucide, en particulier pour payer des mercenaires85, des transferts massifs de numéraire sur une période bien identifiée s’expliquant mal par le seul commerce86. La mise en branle des opérations militaires semble avoir suivi une période de confrontation périphérique longue de plusieurs années, en simultané avec la crise de succession cappadocienne et la guerre de Bithynie. Des contacts avaient été établis avant 154 entre le trône attalide et Herakleides, frère de Timarchos et ancien agent séleucide destitué, principal opposant de Démétrios, qui avait présenté à son allié Alexandre Balas, un fils présumé d’Antiochos IV.87 Dans l’incapacité d’agir directement l’un contre l’autre, Démétrios et Attale semblent avoir engagé des dynastes de la frontière anatolienne, à savoir Ptolémaios de Commagène pour les Séleucides et Zénodotos de Cilicie88 pour les Attalides, tandis que la dispute pour l’alliance cappadocienne se poursuivait peut-être à ce moment.89 Avec la confirmation de la position d’Ariarathe V sur le trône cappadocien, la victoire bithynienne d’Attale, mais aussi le mauvais calcul politique de Démétrios, qui soutint un complot à Chypre en 154 et incommoda ainsi le souverain lagide, la situation politique se retourna contre le roi séleucide. Dans un contexte général d’impopularité du souverain séleucide, en Égypte, en Anatolie comme dans son propre royaume, Attale put présenter Alexandre Balas comme l’héritier légitime au trône, ce qui revenait à déclarer la guerre au roi en place. Attale obtînt l’accord de principe du Sénat et la reconnaissance officielle 84 Voir LE RIDER (2001), p. 56–58 ; PSOMA (2013), p. 265–267 et 278–280 ; DE CALLATAŸ (2013), p. 232–236. Les sources numismatiques sont suffisamment nombreuses pour que des études de coins aient été menées, comme celle de MEADOWS / HOUGHTON (2010), p. 203–204 pour la cité d’Alabanda. 85 POLYB. 33.18.13–14 évoquait le recrutement de mercenaires à Éphèse par Herakleides, transfuge séleucide. 86 La thèse du commerce a été avancée par SEYRIG (1973), p. 76 ; JONES (1979), p. 98– 99 ; SACKS (1985), p. 26–29 ; LE RIDER (2001), p. 54–58. Elle est réfutée par HOOVER / MCDONALD (1999–2000), p. 115–116 ; PSOMA (2013), p. 272–275 ; DE CALLATAŸ (2013), p. 234–235. En ce qui concerne la répartition des frappes et la possibilité d’un programme centralisé, voir déjà ROSTOVTZEFF (1939), p. 295–297 ; KINNS (1987), p. 107. Voir la carte proposée par DE CALLATAŸ (2013), p. 234, Carte 4. 87 DIOD. SIC. 31.47 ; POLYB. 33.15.1–2, 33.18.6–13 ; APP., Syr. 45, 47. 88 DIOD. SIC. 31.32. 89 GRAINGER (2015), p. 54–56, a mis en relation le complot attalide contre Démétrios et le conflit concernant la Cappadoce en supposant que le premier dura une décennie entière, ce qui ne se déduit pas des sources, très imprécises. Il reste néanmoins probable que les deux affaires furent liées et purent se dérouler en partie simultanément.

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de son protégé par Ariarathe V et Ptolémée VI. Attale prouva que le rapport de force entre les deux royaumes s’était inversé depuis Apamée : soutenu par les souverains rivaux des Séleucides, il put mener une expédition en Cilicie, au-delà du Taurus, puis un débarquement en Phénicie, d’où son protégé remonta vers Antioche et s’empara du trône après avoir défait et tué Démétrios.90 Il est vrai que les dissensions dans l’armée royale et les affaires juives fragilisaient considérablement les positions du roi séleucide. Il demeure que ce succès attalide représentait un nouveau tournant majeur dans l’histoire des relations entre les Séleucides et l’Anatolie, mais aussi dans l’évolution de la place de cette dynastie dans l’histoire politique hellénistique, tant les dissensions et les troubles dynastiques qui suivirent limitèrent son influence extérieure. Du côté du roi attalide, la prise de risque représentée par cette campagne met en lumière l’importance ressentie des liens encore forts qui existaient entre les Séleucides et l’Anatolie. En effet, la prise en charge et l’escorte offerte à Alexandre Balas signifiaient un éloignement temporaire du roi et d’une partie de son armée hors du cœur du royaume, loin des frontières thrace, bithynienne et galate, dont la stabilité restait incertaine.91 Plus encore, l’incertitude d’Attale quant à la réaction romaine dut pousser le roi à considérer ses options. En effet, malgré l’amélioration des relations entre le Sénat et Pergame depuis la mort d’Eumène II, le climat de suspicion n’était pas oublié, tandis que les récentes démonstrations d’intérêt pour la Méditerranée orientale et le développement du réseau d’alliances romain plaçaient le royaume attalide en position de rival régional : un abaissement de la position séleucide pouvait rendre Attale inutile et dangereux aux yeux des Romains.92 Malgré cela, le souverain sut convaincre le Sénat de ne pas intervenir, au moins dans un premier temps, puis mena l’opération à son terme en se mettant lui-même en retrait, laissant le rôle principal à son protégé. L’expérience des pratiques romaines accumulée depuis des décennies d’alliance avec le Sénat ont sans doute joué sur cette prise de décision : Rome avait peu de sympathies pour Démétrios et n’avait ni la capacité ni la volonté d’intervenir rapidement à une telle distance, comme l’avait montré 90 POLYB. 33.5.3, 33.18.14 ; 1Macc 10.1–58 ; JOS., Ant. Jud. 13.35–61, 13.80–83 ; STRAB. 13.4.2 ; APP., Syr. 67 ; LIV., Per. 52. Voir WILL (1979–1982), p. 2.369–371 et 373–376 ; GRUEN (1984), p. 586. 91 Le problème bithynien nécessita une nouvelle intervention d’Attale dès 150/149, lors de laquelle Prusias II fut renversé par le roi attalide : POLYB. 36.14–15 ; DIOD. SIC. 32.21–22 ; 33.14–15 ; LIV., Per. 50 ; STRAB. 13.4.2 ; APP., Mith. 4–7.9–22 ; ZONAR. 9.28 ; JUST. 34.4 ; OGIS 299, 327. En Thrace, le roi Diegylis détruisit la cité de Lysimacheia en 145, forçant Attale à mener une expédition dans la région : DIOD. SIC. 33.18–19 ; STRAB. 13.4.2. 92 OGIS 315 = WELLES (1934), 61. Dans cette lettre, datée c. 156, Attale faisait référence à « la jalousie, [au] ressentiment et [à] une défiance fâcheuse » (ijșȩȞȠȞ țĮ੿ ਕijĮȓȡİıȚȞ țĮ੿ ਫ਼ijȠȥȓĮȞ ȝȠȤșȘȡȐȞ, l. 14) de la part du Sénat, que son prédécesseur avait connu et qu’il voulait éviter.

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le manque d’intérêt du Sénat pour Alexandre Balas et son épouse lors de leur présentation officielle. Attale sut attendre le moment le plus propice pour mener les opérations rapidement et sans en subir les contrecoups dans le concert des puissances, réglant le sort du seul rival d’envergure auquel il avait encore à faire face.

8. Conclusion : les Séleucides, figures idéologiques mais alliés politiques de second ordre À partir de l’intervention attalide, laquelle fut suivie d’une période d’instabilité dynastique et de conflits internes en Syrie, le pouvoir séleucide ne revint jamais au premier plan dans la scène politique hellénistique. Dès le début des années 140, et surtout à partir de 129, la puissance arsacide prit définitivement l’avantage dans le rapport de force entre les royaumes se disputant l’hégémonie sur l’Asie.93 Tandis que les domaines contrôlés par les descendants de Séleucos se réduisaient comme peau de chagrin, les différents prétendants au trône se trouvèrent trop occupés par leurs luttes intestines et par l’avancée parthe pour peser dans les affaires anatoliennes. La perte de poids diplomatique ne signifia pas l’oubli des Séleucides en Anatolie. En effet, plusieurs dynasties de la région restaient liées à la famille séleucide, en particulier les Mithridatides, les Orontides et les Ariarathides.94 Dans les deux premiers cas, la revendication d’une ascendance séleucide devînt même un aspect important de l’identité dynastique, à la fin du IIe ou au début du Ier siècle. Ainsi, Mithridate VI du Pont comptait encore un roi séleucide parmi ses alliés en 102/101, puis lors de son entrée en guerre contre Rome, et mettait

93 Conquête arsacide de la Médie, en 148 : JUST. 41.4.6–7 ; STRAB. 16.1.19 ; DIOD. SIC. 33.22 ; OROS. 5.4.16. Voir JENKINS (1951), p. 6–17 ; WILL (1979–1982), p. 2.400– 404 ; WOLSKI (1993), p. 80 ; DĄBROWA (2011), p. 40–41 et 62. Conquête d’une partie de la Babylonie en 141 : SACHS / HUNGER (1996), -140A, Rev. vv. 7–9 ; DEL MONTE (1997), p. 244 ; OROS. 5. 4. 16. Échec de l’expédition orientale de Démétrios II : JUST. 36.1.2– 6 ; 38.9.2–3 ; APP., Syr. 67.356. Voir SANTI AMANTINI (1972), p. 65–72; SALOMONE (1973), p. 53–63 ; Will (1979–1982), II, p. 407–410 ; SCHUOL (2000), p. 270–272 ; WOLSKI (1993), p. 80–82 ; DĄBROWA (2011), p. 59–72; SHAYEGAN (2011), p. 68–72. Échec de l’expédition d’Antiochos VII : JUST. 38.9 – 39.1 ; DIOD. SIC. 34.37–35, Frag. 4 ; APP., Syr. 68.359 ; JOS., Ant. Jud. 13.249–251. Voir FISCHER (1970), p. 39–48 ; SALOMONE (1973), p. 63–73 ; WILL (1979–1982), II, p. 413–416 ; WOLSKI (1993), p. 84– 85 ; WOLSKI (2003), p. 72–74 ; LEROUGE-COHEN (2005), p. 247–250 ; DĄBROWA (2011), p. 67–71 ; SHAYEGAN (2011), p. 121–137. 94 Sur le rôle des structures sacerdotales, les légendes concernant l’origine de ces dynasties et les revendications d’ascendance remontant aux Mages perses, voir GOTTER (2008), p. 95–96 et 100 ; LEROUGE-COHEN (2013), p. 107–114.

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en avant cette alliance.95 Plus encore, le passage de Justin retranscrivant un discours, prétendument prononcé par le roi à son armée en 69, révèle sans doute l’importance que la propagande royale pontique portait à la reconnaissance d’une ascendance séleucide de Mithridate.96 En ce qui concerne les Orontides, le roi de Commagène Antiochos Ier, monté sur le trône vers 69, rendit hommage à ses ancêtres séleucides au sein de son culte royal, tandis que son nom rappelait le lien familial qu’il partageait avec l’ancienne dynastie hégémonique.97 Enfin, la reprise des titres de Grand Roi et de Roi des Rois par les Arsacides, mais aussi par les Mithridatides et les Orontides, à la fin du IIe et au début du Ier siècle avant notre ère, témoigne d’une influence majeure dans la culture politique asiatique et anatolienne après l’effacement de l’influence diplomatique séleucide.98 En réalité, il n’y a probablement pas de hasard à ce que ces démonstrations d’inscription dans la mémoire séleucide se soient faites plus explicites après la perte d’influence politique de cette dynastie, puis après sa disparition. En cessant de représenter une force politique influente dans la région anatolienne, la dynastie séleucide resta présente en tant que figure idéologique d’autorité. En définitive, l’histoire des relations politiques entre les rois séleucides et les dynastes d’Anatolie n’a pas pris fin avec le traité d’Apamée. Les ambitions anatoliennes des successeurs d’Antiochos III elles-mêmes restèrent réelles et suivies de faits pendant plusieurs décennies, bien qu’elles ne prirent que la forme d’occasions manquées ou de tentatives diplomatiques semblant incohérentes. Les circonstances ont empêché un retour assumé et durable de l’influence et des armées séleucides en Asie cistaurique, davantage que les conditions imposées par Rome en 188, tandis que l’affaiblissement de l’influence de cette dynastie en Anatolie, indéniable dès le milieu du IIe siècle, suivit une évolution instable, entrecoupée de périodes de renforcement. Pour les rois dominant cette 95 I.Delos, 1552 : roi Antiochos Épiphane Philomètor Kallinicos, fils du roi Dèmètrios et de la reine Cléopatra, figure parmi les médaillons de l’hèroôn de Mithridate à Délos. Voir DURRBACH (1921), p. 221–223 ; CHAPOUTHIER (1935), p. 32–34 ; KREUZ (2009), p. 136–137. Discours de Pélopidas mentionnant l’alliance entre le roi séleucide et Mithridate : APP., Mith. 2.13 et 3.15–16. Voir COUVENHES (2009), p. 423–425. 96 JUST. 38.7.1 (trad. E. CHAMBRY / L. THÉLY-CHAMBRY) : lui dont les aïeux, du côté de son père, remontent à Cyrus et à Darius, fondateurs du royaume perse, et du côté de sa mère à Alexandre le Grand et à Séleucos Nicator, fondateurs de l’empire macédonien (Se autem, seu nobilitate illis conparetur, clariorem illa conluuie conuenarum esse, qui paternos maiores suos a Cyro Darioque, conditoribus Persici regni, maternos a magno Alexandro ac Nicatore Seleuco, conditoribus imperii Macedonici, referat, seu populus illorum conferatur suo, earum se gentium esse, quae non modo Romano imperio sint pares, sed Macedonico quoque obstiterint). Sur ce texte et ses enseignements, voir MCGING (1986), p. 106–107 et 160–162 ; BALLESTEROS PASTOR (2006), p. 585–586 ; BALLESTEROS PASTOR (2013), p. 275–280. 97 FACELLA (2006), p. 270–275. 98 Sur le sujet, voir ENGELS (2014b), p. 342–345 (concernant les Parthes), 345–348 (le Pont), 348–351 (l’Arménie).

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péninsule, le facteur séleucide restait fondamental dans la gestion des relations extérieures, bien que les stratégies suivies dépendirent des circonstances du moment et des choix opérés par les dynastes en question, ainsi que de leur situation dans le concert des puissances méditerranéennes. Les Attalides, ennemis d’Antiochos III et acteurs politiques les mieux connus de la région, développèrent leurs liens avec la couronne séleucide, permirent l’accession au trône de deux prétendants par le biais d’opérations militaires et entretinrent avec eux des relations parfois conflictuelles, parfois amicales, toujours actives. Leurs rivaux bithyniens, à l’inverse, s’éloignèrent sensiblement de la sphère diplomatique séleucide, se tournant vers les Antigonides, puis vers Rome. Il s’agissait d’un calcul de la part de Prusias II, qui tenta de profiter de la suspicion du Sénat à l’égard des souverains attalides en prenant fait et cause contre une alliance anti-romaine supposée entre Pergame et Antioche. L’éloignement géographique entre la Bithynie et le territoire séleucide explique aussi cette orientation. La politique des rois du Pont suivit une trajectoire comparable : de parent et proche allié de Séleucos IV dans les années 180, Pharnace mit cette axe diplomatique au second plan une fois accepté dans l’amicitia romaine, tandis que l’orientation maritime du royaume se renforçait au détriment des ambitions terrestres du souverain. La royauté mithridatide restait liée diplomatiquement et surtout idéologiquement à la dynastie séleucide, à l’instar des rois de Cappadoce. Ceux-ci cherchèrent à rester dans l’alliance attalide et du côté de Rome, mais les liens familiaux partagés avec les Séleucides ne manquèrent pas de créer des tensions lorsque ces derniers cherchèrent à réaffirmer leur influence sur le trône ariarathide. Enfin, les différentes branches de la dynastie orontide, qui repoussèrent la tutelle séleucide à la faveur des défaites ou des troubles dynastiques subis par le pouvoir central, se trouvaient dans une position ambivalente, exprimant leur autonomie par rapport à Antioche tout en restant des alliés, voire de potentiels dynastes sous tutelle. La position particulière de ces rois orontides les liaient davantage à la sphère séleucide qu’à l’Anatolie, bien qu’ils aient pu endosser un rôle d’intermédiaire entre les deux scènes.

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HABICHT, Ch. (1956), Über die Kriege zwischen Pergamon und Bithynien, in Hermes 84.1, p. 90–110. – (1957), art Prusias (2), in RE 23.1, col. 1107–1127. HANNESTAD, L. (1996), ‘This contributes in no Small Way to One’s Reputation’: The Bithynian Kings and Greek Culture, in P. BILDE et al. (éds.), Aspects of Hellenistic Kingship, Aarhus, p. 67–98. HEINEN, H. (2005), Die Anfänge der Beziehungen Roms zum nördlichen Schwarzmeerraum. Die Romfreundschaft der Chersonesiten (IOSPE I², 402), in A. COùKUN (éd.), Roms auswärtige Freunde in der späten Republik und im frühen Prinzipat, Göttingen, p. 31–54. HEWSEN, R.H. (1985), Introduction to Armenian Historical Geography IV: the Boundaries of Artaxiad Armenia, in RÉArm 19, p. 55–84. HØJTE, J.M. (2005), The Date of the Alliance between Chersonesos and Pharnakes (IOSPE I², 402) and its Implications, in V.F. STOLBA / L. HANNESTAD (éds.), Chronologies of the Black Sea Area in the Period c. 400–100 BC, Aarhus, p. 137– 152. HOOVER, O.D. / MCDONALD, D. (1999–2000), Syrian Imitations of New Style Athenian Tetradrachms Struck over Myrina, in Berytus 44, p. 109–117. HOPP, J. (1977), Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der letzten Attaliden, München. INVERNIZZI, A. (ed.) (1998), Ai piedi dell’ Ararat. Artaxata e l’Armenia ellenisticoromana, Firenze. JENKINS, G.K. (1951), Notes on Seleucid Coins, in NC 11, 41, p. 1–21. JONES, N.F. (1979), The Autonomous Wreathed Tetradrachms of Magnesia on Maeander, in ANSMN 24, p. 63–109. KHATCHADOURIAN, L. (2007), Unforgettable Landscapes. Attachments to the Past in Hellenistic Armenia, in N. YOFFEE (éd.), Negotiating the Past in the Past. Identity, Memory and Landscape in Archaeological Research, Tucson, p. 43–75. KINNS, Ph. (1987), Asia Minor, in A.M. BURNETT / M.H. CRAWFORD (éds.), The Coinage of the Roman World in the Late Republic, Oxford, p. 105–119. KREUZ, P.-A. (2009), Monuments for the King: Royal Presence in the Late Hellenistic World of Mithridates VI, in J.M. HØJTE (éd.), Mithridates VI and the Pontic Kingdom, Aarhus, p. 131–144. LEFÈVRE, F. (1998), L’Amphictionie pyléo-delphique : histoire et institutions, Paris. LE RIDER, G. (1965), Suse sous les Séleucides et les Parthes, Paris. – (2001), Sur un aspect du comportement monétaire des villes libres d’Asie Mineure occidentale au IIe siècle, in A. BRESSON / R. DESCAT (éds.), Les cités d’Asie Mineure occidentale au IIe siècle a.C., Bordeaux, p. 39–61. LEROUGE-COHEN, Ch. (2005), Les guerres parthiques de Démétrios II et Antiochos VII dans les sources gréco-romaines, de Posidonios à Trogue/Justin, in Journal des Savants 2, p. 217–252. MAGIE, D. (1950), Roman Rule in Asia Minor to the End of the Third Century after Christ, Princeton. MAHÉ, A. / MAHÉ, J.-P. (2012), Histoire de l’Arménie des origines à nos jours, Paris. MCGING, B.C. (1986), The Foreign Policy of Mithridates VI Eupator King of Pontos, Leiden.

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L’ombre lointaine de Rome : La Cappadoce à la suite de la paix d’Apamée Alex MCAULEY

Abstract This article re-considers prevailing scholarly stereotypes on the impact of the Peace of Apameia of 188 B.C. on Asia Minor by examining in detail the case study of Kappadokia. The pre-war relationship between the Kappadokian kings and the Seleukids is considered, followed by a detailed examination of the precise stipulations of the peace and Roman negotiations with Kappadokia. Several events in the decades following the peace are then considered in order to evaluate whether Rome was tangibly engaged in the local administration of this region and its Anatolian contemporaries. By an examination of the Pontic War and the Senate’s response thereto, along with the mysterious dynastic intervention of the Queen Antiochis recounted by Diodoros and the succession dispute between Ariarathes V and his brother Orophernes, this paper argues that Rome was a distant, often ineffectual power whose decisions regarding the region were often ignored. The most prominent consequence of the peace of Apameia is thus not the beginning of Roman dominion in Asia Minor, but the emergence of a local dynastic network in which previous vassals of the Seleukids interacted and competed with one another beneath a loose Attalid hegemony.

1. Introduction La paix d’Apamée, conclue en 188 av. J.-C., qui a mis fin à la célèbre guerre antiochique entre le roi Antiochos III et ses alliés d’une part et la république romaine de l’autre, est souvent considérée comme le début de la fin de l’empire séleucide ainsi que de l’indépendance des royaumes hellénistiques en Anatolie.1 Depuis lors, selon l’opinio communis de nos sources littéraires, les rois et les cités grecques de cette région, dépourvus de leur autonomie dans le domaine de la politique étrangère et affaiblis par les contraintes économiques et militaires du traité, auraient souffert sous la dominance de la république romaine, devenant 1

Nous verrons les divers avis des savants modernes sur le sujet infra. Les sources anciennes pour le traité et la fin de la guerre sont les suivantes : POLYB. 21.16–17 sur les négociations entre Antiochos et Scipion, le texte de la paix est fourni par POLYB. 21.42, et le règlement d’Asie mineure par les légats romains : POLYB. 21.45. Cf. aussi le récit de Tite-Live, qui a clairement utilisé le texte de Polybe : LIV. 38.37–38, et APP., Syr. 38– 39 avec l’analyse de MCDONALD (1967).

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rien de plus que des États clients à la merci de la seule puissance subsistant dans la région méditerranéenne. Surtout en Asie Mineure, les anciens liens de vassalité entre les dynastes locaux et leurs souverains, les rois séleucides, ont cédé la place à l’administration de ces divers territoires de l’Anatolie par le sénat romain – au moins en théorie.2 Les auteurs anciens aussi bien que les savants contemporains sont généralement d’accord sur le fait suivant : même Eumène, le partisan le plus ardent des Romains tout au long de la guerre contre Antiochos III, s’est vu réduit à un état de servitude selon un fragment de Salluste. En effet, dans une lettre prétendument écrite par Mithridate à Arsace de Parthie, l’historien nous détaille comment les Romains, par les indignités et les dépenses que lui ont été exigés, ont transformé le roi en un véritable esclave.3 Les commentateurs modernes ont généralement retenu la dérision de Salluste et Mithridate : E. Hansen a conclu que, pendant cette période, « it was to the senate that Eumenes had to appeal in order to obtain his reward. Power, thus acquired not by his own resources but as a gift, was hardly more than a semblance of power », tandis que Tarn et Griffith y ont ajouté une accusation de trahison en écrivant « to the nationally-minded Greeks, Eumenes was Judas, the arch-traitor to Hellenism ».4 Plus récemment, en 2012, Evans a décrit Eumène et sa dynastie comme « the instrument of Roman hegemony » en Asie Mineure.5 Cette qualification s’applique évidemment aux autres rois de la région : si l’allié principal des Romains a été tellement diminué par ses maîtres, il pourrait s’ensuivre logiquement que les 2 Dans cet article j’emprunte la définition de « vassalité » dans le cadre du royaume séleucide proposée par ENGELS (2011), p. 28 : « Whereas the Achaemenid rulers mercilessly pursued usurpers and traitors, pardon and grand gestures of kings stylised as merciful divinities became more and more common during the late Hellenistic period and unconsciously seemed designed to provide – as in the Middle Ages – a moral code protecting the vassals as well as their suzerains, permitting to the former great autonomy, but assuring the latter the loyal submission of their subordinates without needing to administrate their territories themselves. » Cf. aussi ENGELS (2017). 3 SALL., Hist. 4, fr. 69 : Eumenen, quoius amicitiam gloriose ostentant, initio prodidere Antiocho pacis mercedem, post, habitum custodiae agri captiui, sumptibus et contumeliis ex rege miserrumum seruorum effecere. (Trad. DUROISOIR : Eumène, dont l’amitié a été glorieusement vanté par les romains, au début ils l’avaient trahit à Antiochos comme un prix de la paix, ensuite, en le gardant comme le surveillant des terres saisis, l’ont transféré d’un roi en le plus pitoyable esclave par les indignités et les bénéfices que lui ont été exigés.) 4 HANSEN (1971), p. 97 ; TARN / GRIFFITH (1952), p. 164. Pour d’autres analyses modernes, voir les travaux de SHERWIN-WHITE (1977) et MCSHANE (1964). 5 EVANS (2012) p. 34, bien qu’il nuance cet avis un peu plus tard en ajoutant (p. 35) que ses activités, durant la période d’après-guerre, « clearly show an independence of action, although, because there was no official Roman presence in Asia Minor, his neighbours were equally quick to regard Rome as a distant and somewhat disengaged power ». Il note aussi, de manière très lucide, « it is plain at once that the treaty of Apamea did not bring peace to Asia Minor ».

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autres dynastes moins puissants de l’Anatolie ont dû être encore plus assujettis à Rome. Bien que ce constat ait été nuancé au fil des décennies passées avec les travaux de Thonemann, Kay, et Ashton, parmi d’autres érudit(e)s, la conclusion demeure la même : après la paix d’Apamée, les Séleucides furent rapidement remplacés par les Romains en tant que puissance dominante dans la région.6 Désormais, les anciens vassaux s’adressaient au sénat pour la résolution de leurs querelles internes, et le tribut antérieurement destiné au roi est versé à Rome, selon l’opinio communis.7 Ce profond changement dans la situation stratégique de l’Asie Mineure fut désastreux pour l’intégralité de l’empire séleucide : selon les premiers grands chroniqueurs moderne de l’histoire du royaume séleucide, Edwyn Bevan et Auguste Bouché-Leclercq, Rome a rivé le dernier clou du cercueil de l’ambition occidentale des Séleucides avec la paix d’Apamée dont les termes ont accéléré le déclin inhérent à l’empire.8 Ce point de vue a été également adopté par les historiens de la république romaine, qui ont partagé l’avis que le traité signifie la concrétisation de l’influence orientale de Rome.9 En revanche, plus récemment, Sherwin-White et Kuhrt ont mis en cause le déclin envisagé par Bevan et Bouché-Leclercq, en suggérant que ce processus s’est déroulé de manière nettement plus progressive au fil du IIe siècle av. J.-C., et que la paix d’Apamée n’était donc pas un moment de rupture fondamentale.10 J. Grainger a également soutenu, en 2002, que la victoire romaine contre Antiochos III n’avait pas été une victoire aussi nette et totale que l’on l’avait 6 THONEMANN (2013) ; KAY (2013) et ASHTON (2013), et aussi les autres contributions au même volume. Sur l’historiographie des Attalides, voir aussi la contribution de PAYEN à ce volume. 7 Sur la question du tribut et l’état légal de plusieurs villes de l’Asie Mineure immédiatement après la guerre, voir le travail très précis de BARONOWSKI (1991), p. 458– 461. Quant à la tradition scolaire concernant les Attalides, voir ALLEN (1983), 73–82, qui est l’un des premiers avocats de la réhabilitation de ce royaume après la guerre, notamment à p. 80 : « those inclined to dub Eumenes a lackey of Rome and a traitor to Hellenism are reminded that he now assumed responsibility for Galatia despite evident Roman disapproval ». 8 BEVAN (1902), premier tome, p. 76, en se servant de la métaphore esthétique, mais fausse, selon laquelle « The empire, a magnificent tour de force, had no natural vitality. Its history from the moment it misses the founder’s hand is one of decline. It was a ‘sick man’ from its birth ». Sur la paix d’Apamée, BEVAN (1902), p. 2.115–120, cf. BOUCHÉLECLERCQ (1913–1914), p. 320–328. Cette perception d’un déclin inhérent à l’empire séleucide a été également partagée par BIKERMAN (1938). 9 Pour l’historiographie du traité parmi les savants de la république romaine, voir ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 333–335, qui cite à son tour les ouvrages d’ERRINGTON (1972) ; SHERWIN-WHITE (1984) et DEROW 2003. Ce dernier, DEROW (2003), p. 65 considère que le traité signifie la naissance de l’empire romain dans l’Est de la Méditerranée. ECKSTEIN (2008), p. 336 lui-même soutien que ce moment indique l’émergence de la puissance « unipolaire » de Rome, qui mènera éventuellement à l’empire. 10 SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 30–36.

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considéré, notant qu’Antiochos III, en fait, avait conservé une influence importante sur l’Anatolie.11 Dernièrement, un autre modèle de l’empire séleucide a été développé, notamment par les travaux de D. Engels, K. Erickson et M. D’Agostini, selon lesquels la structure du royaume séleucide était essentiellement caractérisée par un réseau de vassalité, composé de divers degrés de liens de loyauté, renforcés par des mariages dynastiques entre les clients et leurs suzerains.12 Dans le cadre de ce modèle, les concessions de territoire et d’influence faites par les Séleucides aux Romains n’auraient pas été catastrophiques pour l’intégrité de l’empire, car les rois ne concevaient pas leur pouvoir en termes de domination directe et exclusivement géographique, mais plutôt en termes d’ascendant politique régional et de prestige.13 Cependant, toutes ces interprétations traitent l’enjeu de la paix d’Apamée comme le résultat d’une opposition essentiellement binaire, les deux côtés considérés étant les Séleucides d’une part, et, de l’autre, les Romains. Mais dans le contexte de l’histoire hellénistique, la réalité s’avère toujours plus compliquée, et on oublie facilement les autres parties politiques qui ont joué un rôle, certes, plus humble, mais néanmoins significatif dans la résolution des affaires après la paix. Il me semble que la meilleure façon de juger de l’impact pratique et concret de la victoire romaine après la guerre antiochique sur le monde levantin est de nous tourner plutôt vers eux, les autres combattants, cités et royaumes qui ont été aspirés par ce grand tourbillon. Parmi ces régions touchées par la défaite d’Antiochos, nous trouvons notamment la Cappadoce, un petit royaume peu étudié par les savants, mais ce fait n’implique guère un manque d’importance.14 L’étude érudite de L. Ballesteros Pastor, l’une des seules consacrées à la région, a commencé à préciser l’évolution de ce royaume sous la domination romaine, mais bien que son travail soit extrêmement utile, l’auteur se focalise surtout sur la période précédant directement les guerres Mithridatiques durant le premier siècle av. J.11 GRAINGER (2002), p. 350–355. Pour une considération détaillée de l’Anatolie dans un sens plus large après la Paix d’Apamée, voir la contribution de PAYEN à ce volume. 12 Plusieurs modèles de la structure de l’empire séleucide sont apparus au fil de la décennie passée, y compris celui de CAPDETREY (2007), qui propose une structure quasiféodale, p. 122–152 et 283–294 ; ENGELS (2011), STROOTMAN (2011) et ENGELS (2017) proposent un modèle plutôt de vassalité et les ouvrages qui seront bientôt publiés sous la direction de K. ERICKSON contiennent plusieurs études de cas. D’AGOSTINI (2013 et 2016) appui cette structure féodale en étudiant le cas de Pont. 13 Une observation qui ressort naturellement du processus de « feudalisation » envisagé par ENGELS (2011), p. 22, ENGELS (2014b) sur l’utilisation du titre de « grand roi » dans le cadre de la dynastie séleucide (spécifiquement p. 336–341) et, plus récemment, ENGELS (2017). 14 Sur le caractère spécifique du royaume et son peuple qui jouait un rôle assez distinct dans les enjeux politiques, cf. POLYB. 24.14.9 ; 31.7; STRAB. 12.2.9 (539c) ; JUST. 37.1.5 ; 38.5.9 ; 38.2.8; POLYB. 31.7.1 ; CIC., Att. 6.1.3 ; cités par BALLESTEROS PASTOR (2008), p.46–47.

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C. et traite de la période succédant à la Guerre de Syrie qu’en passant seulement.15 Ses conclusions au sujet des conséquences de la paix d’Apamée pour la Cappadoce s’accordent parfaitement avec l’opinio communis citée cidessus : « […] after the Treaty of Apamea, the Ariarathid kings strove to strengthen their position through the support of Rome and its allies: if there is something characteristic of the Cappadocian monarchy in the IInd and Ist centuries B.C., it is no doubt its weakness, because its rulers could hardly maintain the throne with their own forces, but repeatedly had to ask their Roman friends and their further allies for support. »16

Dès lors, une fois de plus, nous constatons la perception d’une faiblesse et impuissance de la part des anciens alliés d’Antiochos sous la domination de Rome, et il est intéressant de noter comment les jugements assez sévères des Anciens tous comme des historiens du XXe siècle demeurent influents aujourd’hui. Mais ce constat d’impuissance est-il vraiment crédible ? Il vaut mieux, il me semble, apporter une nouvelle perspective à la situation d’aprèsguerre et reconsidérer cette interprétation dominante en ré-examinant, à titre d’exemple, l’expérience locale d’une région donnée. Nous tenterons ici de traiter de la Cappadoce comme étude de cas pour déterminer les effets pratiques de la nouvelle domination de Rome en Anatolie, et nous laisserons guider par les questions suivantes. Comment cette dynastie se comportait-elle sous son nouveau souverain ? Comment les Romains s’impliquaient-ils dans leurs nouveaux territoires ? Les conséquences de ce transfert d’allégeance furent-elles aussi graves que l’opinio communis nous laisse croire ? De plus, il faut également se rappeler que ce processus avait commencé déjà avant la conclusion de la paix en 188 : certains dynastes et cités avaient déjà sollicité l’amicitia de Rome après la défaite d’Antiochos lors de la bataille en Magnésie ; il se peut dès lors que le transfert de pouvoir confirmé par le traité était inévitable.17 Mais comment ce processus s’est-il déroulé au niveau local, c’est-à-dire, au niveau de chaque région d’Anatolie ? Ces questions domineront notre analyse de la situation de cette région après la paix d’Apamée : tout d’abord, nous placerons la situation dans son contexte élargi afin de comprendre l’expérience de Cappadoce sous l’impérialisme 15 Il a traité le royaume de Cappadoce en même temps que celui de Pont, donc la Cappadoce n’a pas occupé que la moitié de son étude publiée en 2008. Voir aussi BALLESTEROS PASTOR (à paraitre) sur les « crimes » alléguées de Nysa, la reine de la Cappadoce une génération plus tard. 16 BALLASTEROS PASTOR (2008), p. 46. 17 Une observation soulignée par BARONOWSKI (1991), dans son étude de l’état des cités grecques après 190. Il convient aussi de souligner le fait que, en 189 et même pendant les négociations de la paix, Ariarathe continuait à combattre Morzeus de Paphlagonie et, comme nous constaterons infra, avec les Tectosages contre Manlius Vulso. La situation est donc beaucoup plus compliquée qu’une opposition simple entre les romains et le bloc séleucide.

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séleucide. Ensuite, nous examinerons les négociations des rois de Cappadoce avec les délégués romains avant d’énumérer les stipulations précises de la paix envers la région. Pour conclure, nous chercherons les conséquences à long terme de la paix et de la domination romaine en Cappadoce, afin de voir si les Romains se sont engagés pleinement dans l’administration quotidienne de leur nouveau domaine. Je proposerai l’hypothèse que, en dépit des mots dramatiques de nos sources anciennes et des commentaires drastiques des historiens modernes, la domination de Rome n’a pas eu un impact fondamental sur le terrain : l’ombre de Rome demeurait aussi distante après la paix qu’avant, et probablement trop distante pour influencer vraiment la poursuite des préoccupations politiques locales quotidiennes.

2. Avant la guerre : la Cappadoce et les rois Séleucides Pendant la première moitié du IIIe siècle av. J.-C., la région de la Cappadoce, située en Anatolie centrale, était minée par des luttes intestines parmi ses familles aristocratiques débutées depuis les campagnes d’Alexandre le Grand et la chute de l’empire perse ; une période turbulente qui avait laissé l’équilibre de pouvoir dans la région aussi incertain qu’instable. L’une de ces familles élites, connue par la suite sous le nom des Ariarathides, a pu graduellement consolider son pouvoir dans la région, subjuguant ses rivaux en émergeant comme la dynastie la plus influente.18 Selon la tradition des Ariarathides eux-mêmes, dans une généalogie racontée par Diodore, leur origine remonte à la fois à Cyrus et à l’un des sept aristocrates perses qui ont tué le mage usurpateur Smerdis avant l’accession de Darius.19 Il est donc évident que cette dynastie voulait baser sa 18 Voir aussi la discussion d’ENGELS (2014b), p. 58–61 au sujet de l’intégration de la Cappadoce dans l’empire séleucide pendant le règne d’Antiochos III, cf. les études de cas d’autres régions contemporains dans le même article. 19 L’archéologie de la Cappadoce selon DIOD. SIC. 31.19 : ੖IJȚ Ȝ੼ȖȠȣıȚȞ ਦĮȣIJȠઃȢ Ƞੂ IJોȢ ȀĮʌʌĮįȠț઀ĮȢ ȕĮıȚȜİ૙Ȣ İੁȢ Ȁ૨ȡȠȞ ਕȞĮij੼ȡİȚȞ IJઁ Ȗ੼ȞȠȢ IJઁȞ ਥȞ Ȇ੼ȡıĮȚȢ, įȚĮȕİȕĮȚȠ૨ȞIJĮȚ į੻ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ਦʌIJ੹ Ȇİȡı૵Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ IJઁȞ ȝ੺ȖȠȞ ਥʌĮȞİȜȠȝ੼ȞȦȞ ਦȞઁȢ ਫ਼ʌ੺ȡȤİȚȞ ਕʌંȖȠȞȠȚ. țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ȝ੻Ȟ ਕʌઁ Ȁ઄ȡȠȣ ıȣȖȖ੼ȞİȚĮȞ Ƞ੢IJȦ țĮIJĮȡȚșȝȠ૨ȞIJĮȚ. țĮȝȕ઄ıȠȣ IJȠ૨ Ȁ઄ȡȠȣ ʌĮIJȡઁȢ ਕįİȜij੽Ȟ ਫ਼ʌ੺ȡȟĮȚ ȖȞȘı઀ĮȞ ਡIJȠııĮȞ. IJĮ઄IJȘȢ į੻ țĮ੿ ĭĮȡȞ੺țȠȣ IJȠ૨ ȀĮʌʌĮįȠț઀ĮȢ ȕĮıȚȜ੼ȦȢ ȖİȞ੼ıșĮȚ ʌĮ૙įĮ ī੺ȜȜȠȞ, țĮ੿ IJȠ઄IJȠȣ ȖİȞ੼ıșĮȚ Ȉȝ੼ȡįȚȞ, Ƞ੤ ਝȡIJ੺ȝȞȘȞ, IJȠ૨ į੻ ਝȞĮij઼Ȟ, ੔Ȟ țĮ੿ įȚİȞİȖțİ૙Ȟ ȝ੻Ȟ ਕȞįȡİ઀઺ țĮ੿ IJંȜȝૉ, ȖİȞ੼ıșĮȚ į’ ਪȞĮ IJ૵Ȟ ਦʌIJ੹ Ȇİȡı૵Ȟ. IJ੽Ȟ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੣Ȟ İੁȢ Ȁ૨ȡȠȞ ıȣȖȖ੼ȞİȚĮȞ Ƞ੢IJȦ ȖİȞİĮȜȠȖȠ૨ıȚ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ İੁȢ ਝȞĮij઼Ȟ, મ ijĮıȚ įȚ’ ਕȞįȡİ઀ĮȞ ıȣȖȤȦȡȘșોȞĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ȀĮʌʌĮįȠț઀ĮȢ įȣȞĮıIJİ઀ĮȞ, ੮ıIJİ ȝ੽ IJİȜİ૙Ȟ ijંȡȠȣȢ Ȇ੼ȡıĮȚȢ. Ƞ੤ IJİȜİȣIJ੾ıĮȞIJȠȢ ੒ȝઆȞȣȝȠȢ ȣੂઁȢ ਙȡȤİȚ. ȝİIJ੹ į੻ IJ੽Ȟ IJȠ઄IJȠȣ IJİȜİȣIJ੽Ȟ ਕʌȠȜİȚijș੼ȞIJȦȞ įȣȠ૙Ȟ ȣੂȠ૙Ȟ, ǻĮIJ੺ȝȠȣ țĮ੿ ਝȡȚȝȞĮ઀Ƞȣ, įȚĮį੼ȟĮıșĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ਕȡȤ੽Ȟ ǻĮIJ੺ȝȘȞ, ਙȞįȡĮ țĮ੿ țĮIJ੹ ʌંȜİȝȠȞ țĮ੿ țĮIJ’ ਙȜȜĮ ȝ੼ȡȘ IJોȢ ȕĮıȚȜİ઀ĮȢ ਥʌĮȚȞȠ઄ȝİȞȠȞ, ੔Ȣ Ȇ੼ȡıĮȚȢ įȚ੹ ȝ੺ȤȘȢ ਥȜșઅȞ țĮ੿ ȜĮȝʌȡ૵Ȣ țĮIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ȝ੺ȤȘȞ ਕȖȦȞȚı੺ȝİȞȠȢ ਥȞ Į੝IJૌ IJİȜİȣIJ઼. (Trad. HOEFER : Les rois de Cappadoce font remonter leur origine à Cyrus, et ils affirment aussi qu’ils descendent d’un des sept Perses qui ont fait mourir le mage (Smerdis). Voici comment ils établissent

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légitimité sur cette double lignée perse. Cependant, le fait que cette tradition achéménide soit racontée uniquement par Diodore, qui la transmet avant son récit des événements du IIème siècle, me mène à conclure qu’il s’agisse plutôt d’une élaboration hellénistique.20 Le roi perse, il me semble, n’aurait jamais toléré une telle prétention par un de ses satrapes.21 En tout cas, quelque temps vers 260, le chef de cette famille, Ariamnès II, avait gagné suffisamment d’autorité régionale pour attirer l’attention du roi séleucide, Antiochos II, qui, voyant le dynaste cappadocien comme un allié utile, l’a reconnu comme l’un de ses vassaux. Pour sceller l’accord, le roi séleucide offrit la main de sa fille, Stratonice, au fils d’Ariamnès II, Ariarathe III, et ce lien dynastique fut entériné quelque temps avant 250.22 Désormais, les chefs de cette famille ont porté le titre de basileus, en toute probabilité grâce à cette reconnaissance de leur pouvoir par le pouvoir séleucide ainsi que le privilège accordé à la dynastie par

leur généalogie à partir de Cyrus : Atossa était sœur légitime de Cambyse, père de Cyrus ; elle eut de Pharnace, roi de Cappadoce, un fils appelé Gallus qui engendra Smerdis, père d’Artamne, lequel eut un fils nommé Anaphas, homme courageux, entreprenant, et l’un des sept Perses [meurtriers de Smerdis]. C’est ainsi qu’ils font remonter leur origine à Cyrus et à Anaphas qui, selon eux, avait obtenu la souveraineté de Cappadoce sans payer de tribut aux Perses. Anaphas eut pour successeur un fils de même nom. Celui-ci laissa en mourant deux fils, Datame et Arimnée. Datame prit le sceptre ; c’était un homme distingué par son courage guerrier et loué pour son gouvernement ; il combattit brillamment les Perses et mourut sur le champ de bataille.) 20 Étant donné que les rois de Cappadoce ne se sont pas identifiés avec le titre de basileus avant le IIIe siècle, il s’ensuit logiquement qu’ils ont ultérieurement essayé de « royaliser » leurs propres racines, peut-être après la paix d’Apamée. Il convient aussi de notre que les Ariarathides ne sont pas les seuls rois de cette période qui ont avancé ce lien avec les sept aristocrates perses, comme ENGELS (2014a), p. 342–350 l’a noté. 21 Sur la base de l’idéologie élaborée par COOK (1983), p. 134–135 et BROSIUS (1996), p. 71, 80–81. Il se peut aussi que le titre de basileus attribué par Diodore était plutôt « satrape » durant la période achéménide, et le titre porté par la dynastie a changé dès cette alliance séleucide. La tradition achéménide est assez compliquée en ce qui concerne les filles du roi : de l’un côté, elles jouissaient d’une proéminence et visibilité à la cour et sont souvent mariées avec les aristocrates perses, mais de l’autre, nous ne voyons pas la même utilisation de ces femmes en les mariages «diplomatiques», c’est-à-dire, interdynastiques, que nous constatons parmi les séleucides. L’observation de LLEWELLYNJONES (2013), p. 121 sur ce point est très pertinente : « As kings and nobles married each other’s sisters, daughters, and cousins, the process of marriages kept Achaemenid royalty and Persian nobility within a confined group, strengthening and re-strengthening its dynastic rule through its off spring. » 22 DIOD. SIC. 13.19.6 ; GRAINGER (2010), p. 131 ; SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 32–36 ; MACURDY (1932), p. 83 ; BEVAN (1902), p. 2.55–59 ; VAN DAM (2002), p. 20– 28, et GRAINGER (1997), p. 67–68 ; EUS., Chron. 1.40.6. Avec l’attestation de son mariage avant 250, nous pouvons supposer qu’elle est née entre 270–260, tandis que COùKUN (2016) propose une chronologie radicalement différente de cette période qui, si elle s’avère correcte, se peut changer cette reconstruction.

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le mariage de Stratonice.23 À partir de cette alliance, les rois de Cappadoce ont commencé à imiter les coutumes et les habitudes royales de leurs souverains : les monnaies frappées dans la région pendant le règne d’Ariarathe III marquent le début de ce processus avec leur combinaison d’éléments «grecs» et «orientaux», tandis que les monnaies de son fils, Ariarathe IV, sont pleinement grecques avec leurs portraits du roi avec diadème sur l’avers, et les images de culte au verso.24 Cette imitatio regis entraîne aussi l’adoption des mécanismes de succession élaborés par les premières générations des Séleucides, notamment la corégence du père avec son fils afin de rendre clair à tous les partis concernés qui sera le prochain roi. Dans le même passage où Diodore détaille cette corégence nous trouvons aussi la première attestation du diadème comme utilisé par les rois de Cappadoce impliquant que, peu après son intégration dans l’empire séleucide, la dynastie ariarathide aurait emprunté les insignes royaux ainsi que l’iconographie et l’idéologie dynastique de ses souverains. Ces liens entre les Ariarathides et les Séleucides furent encore resserrés lors de la prochaine génération de souverains : dans le cadre de sa consolidation de pouvoir en Asie mineure au début de sa règne, Antiochos III donna sa fille Antiochis en mariage au jeune roi Ariarathe IV ; un mariage symbolisant la continuité de l’amitié et de la loyauté entre les deux dynasties.25 Il faut noter que, selon le récit d’Appien, ce mariage ainsi que celui entre Cléopâtre ‘la Syrienne’ et Ptolémée V Épiphane servit à regrouper les alliances du jeune roi séleucide en préparation pour sa guerre éventuelle avec Rome.26 Pourtant, la 23 L’adoption de ce système de corégence est attestée par DIOD. SIC. 31.19.5–6 : ੔Ȣ ਥʌȚȖĮȝ઀ĮȞ ʌȡઁȢ ਝȞIJ઀ȠȤȠȞ ʌȠȚȘı੺ȝİȞȠȢ IJઁȞ ਥʌȠȞȠȝĮıș੼ȞIJĮ ĬİંȞ, IJ੽Ȟ IJȠ઄IJȠȣ șȣȖĮIJ੼ȡĮ ȈIJȡĮIJȠȞ઀țȘȞ ıȣȞ૴țȚıİ IJ૶ ʌȡİıȕȣIJ੼ȡ૳ IJ૵Ȟ ȣੂ૵Ȟ ਝȡȚĮȡ੺șૉ. ਫ਼ʌ੺ȡȤȦȞ į੻ ijȚȜંIJİțȞȠȢ įȚĮijİȡંȞIJȦȢ ʌİȡȚ੼șİIJȠ IJ૶ ʌĮȚį੿ įȚ੺įȘȝĮ, țĮ੿ ıȣȞ੺ȡȤİȚȞ ʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ IJ૵Ȟ IJોȢ ȕĮıȚȜİ઀ĮȢ ʌȡȠIJİȡȘȝ੺IJȦȞ ਥʌ’ ੅ıȘȢ ȝİIJĮį઀įȦıȚ. (Trad. HOEFER : Ce dernier, Ariamnès, contracta avec Antiochus, surnommé le Dieu, une alliance de famille en obtenant pour l’aîné de ses fils, Ariarathès, la main de Stratonice, fille d’Antiochus. Ariamnès, aimant beaucoup ses enfants, ceignit du diadème son fils Ariarathès et l’associa à l’empire.) 24 HANSEN (1971), p. 68–75 ; DNP s.v. Ariarathes [4]. Cf. aussi APR s. v. ‘Ariarathes IV’. Pour ses monnaies, voir les notes infra ainsi que le corpus de SIMONETTA avec l’analyse de VAN DAM (2002), p. 20–28. 25 APP., Syr. 5 ; DIOD. SIC. 31.19.6–7 ; POLYB. 31.17.2 ; HANSEN (1971), p. 68–73 ; MA (2000), p. 92–3. Selon DIOD. SIC. : ਝȡȚĮȡ੺șȘȢ ȕĮıȚȜİ઄İȚ țĮș’ ਦĮȣIJંȞ, țĮ੿ ȝİIJĮȜȜ੺ııȦȞ IJઁȞ ȕ઀ȠȞ țĮIJ੼ȜȚʌİ IJ੽Ȟ ȕĮıȚȜİ઀ĮȞ ਝȡȚĮȡ੺șૉ IJ૶ ȣੂ૶, ȞȘʌ઀૳ ʌĮȞIJİȜ૵Ȣ ੕ȞIJȚ IJ੽Ȟ ਲȜȚț઀ĮȞ. Ƞ੤IJȠȢ į੻ ਩ȖȘȝİ șȣȖĮIJ੼ȡĮ IJȠ૨ ȂİȖ੺ȜȠȣ țȜȘș੼ȞIJȠȢ ਝȞIJȚંȤȠȣ, ੑȞȠȝĮȗȠȝ੼ȞȘȞ ਝȞIJȚȠȤ઀įĮ, ʌĮȞȠ૨ȡȖȠȞ ȝ੺ȜȚıIJĮ. (Trad. HOEFER : À la mort de son père, Ariarathe régna par lui-même, et, en mourant, il laissa le trône à son fils Ariarathès, encore en bas âge. Ce dernier épousa la fille d’Antiochos le Grand ; elle s’appelait Antiochis. C’était une femme très astucieuse.) 26 L’idée qu’Antiochos II aurait déjà planifié la guerre contre Rome au moment de ces divers mariages, il semble, est un téléologique, pour une analyse plus réaliste de cette situation dans l’entier de l’empire, voir ENGELS (2014b).

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datation assez ambigüe du mariage d’Ariarathe et les liens déjà étroits entre ces deux dynasties me portent à penser qu’il s’agisse d’un renouvellement de cette alliance plutôt qu’un nouvel accord réalisé spécifiquement contre les Romains. Quoi qu’il en soit, le vassal cappadocien est resté fidèle à son souverain tout au long de la guerre, même si sa contribution à l’effort de guerre a été humble : d’après Tite-Live (37.4.10), le roi de Cappadoce a contribué un corps de 2.000 soldats à l’armée d’Antiochos III ; rappelant l’estimation de J. Grainger que l’armée séleucide comprenait entre 40.000 et 50.000 combattants, cette contribution n’aurait pas été décisive.27 Après la victoire des Romains contre Antiochos lors de la bataille en Magnésie, Ariarathe demeurait, sinon encore loyal à Antiochos, au moins anti-romain dans sa disposition stratégique générale. Cette opposition s’est manifestée pendant la guerre menée par Cn. Manlius Vulso contre les Galates en 189 : même après Magnésie, le roi de Cappadoce a fourni des troupes pour porter assistance aux Tectosages dans leur lutte contre le consul afin d’entraver l’influence croissante de Rome en Asie Mineure.28 Mais les défaites décisives de cet effort et le pillage subséquent de la région par les Romains victorieux pendant l’hiver de 189–188 devaient avoir convaincu Ariarathe qu’il était inutile de poursuivre la lutte. Il ne lui restait qu’une seule option : demander la paix de Rome.

3. La Cappadoce et le règlement d’Asie mineure par les Romains Je propose que la manière de laquelle la réorganisation de la région fut mise en place révèle le caractère bref et intermittent de l’intervention de Rome après la guerre, ainsi que l’établissement de Pergame comme le principal pouvoir en Anatolie au lieu des Séleucides. Selon les récits de Polybe et Tite-Live, au printemps de 188, Ariarathe a réclamé la paix avec Rome en se rendant à Manlius Vulso.29 La paix fut conclue avec la Cappadoce en même temps qu’avec plusieurs d’autres parties impliquées dans la guerre. Ainsi, la demande d’Ariarathe a été acceptée par Manlius Vulso, qui, à son tour, l’a obligé à fournir 27

Selon les estimations par GRAINGER (2002). HANSEN (1971), p. 88–90, suivant le récit de LIV. 38.19.2 et 38.26. 29 LIV. 38.37.5–6 : Et ab Antiocho legati et ab ipsis Gallis, ut pacis leges dicerentur, et ab Ariarathe rege Cappadocum uenerunt ad ueniam petendam luendamque pecunia noxam, quod auxiliis Antiochum iuuisset. Huic sescenta talenta argenti sunt imperata ; Gallis responsum, cum Eumenes rex uenisset, tum daturum iis leges. (Trad. NISARD : Antiochos et les Gaulois eux-mêmes avaient aussi envoyé des députés pour prendre les conditions du vainqueur ; et Ariarathe, roi de Cappadoce, pour s’humilier et pour expier à prix d’argent la faute dont il s’était rendu coupable en donnant des secours à Antiochos. Il fut taxé à six cents talents d’argent. Pour les Gaulois, on leur répondit qu’à l’arrivée d’Eumène ils sauraient à quoi s’en tenir.) 28

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une indemnité de 600 talents avant d’être accepté dans l’amitié de Rome. Étant donné l’échelle assez petite de son engagement dans la guerre, cette indemnité représente une somme assez élevée, et le montant indique probablement aussi l’ampleur de la colère de Rome envers les alliés d’Antiochos.30 Eumène, de son côté, a largement profité des conditions de la paix, gagnant plusieurs cités et territoires en récompense pour son soutien de Rome, mais il ne faut pas oublier qu’il n’a pas été le seul pouvoir dans la région à avoir bénéficié de la largesse de Rome. Ainsi, bien que l’on suppose qu’Eumène soit devenu l’homme le plus fort en Anatolie, Rhodes se voit également renforcé dans son rôle politique au niveau régional : les Rhodiens ont réclamé et obtenu la « liberté » de la Lycie, afin que cette région ne tombe pas sous l’influence des Attalides.31 En réalité, cette décision se traduit par le contrôle rhodien de la Lycie, et pour le reste de la décennie à venir, Rhodes demeura un acteur clé en Asie Mineure ainsi que dans l’est de la mer Égée grâce à son hégémonie commerciale et sa grande flotte fédérale.32 Ni la domination de Rome, ni l’hégémonie des Attalides dans la région ont été totales, en vue de cette division d’influence parmi quelques acteurs régionaux. Pour leur part, les anciens souverains de la région, les Séleucides, ne figurent plus sur la scène politique, et nous devons avouer que ceci est un grand changement dans l’état de choses. Dans ce contexte, la Cappadoce a eu un peu plus de marge de manœuvre qu’il ne semblait à première vue. La prochaine initiative d’Ariarathe témoigne de cette réorientation stratégique. Après avoir confirmé sa loyauté à Rome, le roi de Cappadoce se tourna vers son nouveau voisin le plus puissant, le roi Eumène, et, d’après le témoignage de Polybe, lui offrit sa fille Stratonice en mariage pour confirmer la nouvelle alliance.33 Nous avons déjà vu ce mécanisme diplomatique : créer une nouvelle alliance et arranger un mariage entre les deux pouvoirs, ce qui correspond précisément à la manière dont les Séleucides avaient organisé leur royaume auparavant, avec la Cappadoce tout comme avec plusieurs autres régions, et il est notable de souligner l’adoption de ce processus de légitimation par les anciens vassaux des Séleucides qui se retrouvent alors indépendants. Nous voyons aussi dans ce mécanisme comment les Attalides se sont rapidement engagés dans le rôle involontairement déserté par les séleucides. L’absence 30

POLYB. 21.40.1–3, HANSEN (1971), p. 90. Selon l’analyse très érudite de BARONOWSKI (1991), p. 455–460, et les données de POLYB. 21, 19.5–12, 46.2–3 et, un peu plus tard, sa liste de citées classifiées comme autonoumenoi en 179, POLYB. 25.13. 32 Pour les arguments des ambassades envoyées à Rome par Pergame et Rhodes, respectivement, voir POLYB. 21.21.7–11 et 21.19.5–12 ; 21/22/7–8 ; 21.23, ainsi que l’analyse de BARONOWSKI (1991), p. 454–455, qui a vu la décision du sénat comme un genre de compromis pour les deux parties. Les commissaires envoyés par le sénat sont arrivés en Anatolie l’année prochaine pour juger l’état légal de chaque cité de la région. 33 POLYB. 21.16.5 ; LIV. 38.26.3, 39.6 ; BEVAN (1902), p. 2.121. 31

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totale de Rome dans ces négociations est également significative : même pendant les années qui ont immédiatement suivi la Paix d’Apamée, Rome ne figure pas comme l’arbitre des alliances dynastiques conclus par ses nouveaux clients. Cette indépendance nous mène à mettre en doute l’état de servitude attribué aux Attalides par Salluste, car un tel « esclave » n’aurait jamais pu créer ses propres alliances sans l’approbation de son maître.34 La structure de pouvoir en Anatolie demeura quasiment inchangée après l’intervention romaine, et bien qu’un nouveau souverain ait pris la place occupée auparavant par les Séleucides, cette région restait toujours une zone d’interaction parmi plusieurs dynastes, marquée par un discours de pouvoir typiquement hellénistique.35 Mais l’Anatolie n’existait jamais en isolation, et l’avenir de Rome pendant la guerre antiochique servit à introduire un nouvel acteur important dans la région, même s’il jouait un rôle assez distant. Les dynamiques internes de l’Asie Mineure, je soutiens, demeuraient plus ou moins intactes dans le sens où la région était toujours marquée par une délicate négociation entre les intérêts de ses cités et les ambitions de ses dynastes, alors qu’il faut aussi noter que la scène internationale avait profondément changé avec l’intrusion de Rome. À partir de la Paix, la dynastie de Pergame jouait le rôle d’intermédiaire entre les dynasties anatoliennes et le sénat à Rome. Ainsi, c’est grâce à l’intervention d’Eumène que le roi de Cappadoce a obtenu la remise de la moitié de sa dette due à Rome : après avoir payé seulement 300 talents du total de 600 talents demandé par Manlius Vulso, le roi de Cappadoce a été confirmé comme un ami de Rome par le sénat, et la Cappadoce admise à l’alliance romaine.36 Quoique les Attalides soient rien de plus que l’homme de paille de Rome en Anatolie dans l’analyse de Tarn, Griffith, et Hansen, cette dynamique de patronage et d’intervention entre les Attalides et la Cappadoce nous révèle que la situation sur le terrain est plus nuancée. R. McShane, décrivant l’alignement politique en Anatolie après la Paix d’Apamée, a conclu que nous pouvons y apercevoir l’émergence de deux blocs de pouvoir : d’un côté, une coalition de cités et dynasties grecques et quasi34 Cependant, il faut noter que cet état d’esclavage attribué à Eumène par Salluste s’agit plutôt d’une critique qui remonte après la bataille de Pydna. 35 À cet égard, il se peut que la région joue le rôle d’une zone tampon entre la sphère de Rome et celle des Séleucides en Syrie. 36 LIV. 38.39.5 : Cn. Manlius cum inter cetera, quae accipienda ab Antiocho erant, elephantos quoque accepisset donoque Eumeni omnis dedisset, causas deinde ciuitatium, multis inter nouas res turbatis, cognouit. Et Ariarathes rex parte dimidia pecuniae imperatae beneficio Eumenis, cui desponderat per eos dies filiam, remissa in amicitiam est acceptus. (Trad. NISARD : Cn. Manlius, entre autres objets dus par Antiochus, avait reçu les éléphants et en avait fait cadeau à Eumène ; il s’était ensuite occupé des griefs des cités et des troubles occasionnés par la dernière révolution. Le roi Ariarathe dut en même temps la remise d’une moitié des sommes auxquelles il avait été taxé, à la protection d’Eumène, qui venait d’épouser sa fille, et fut reconnu ami du peuple romain.)

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grecques, y compris Pergame, ses alliés en Asie Mineure et les cités de la Cappadoce; de l’autre, les États dits « barbares », comprenant les Galates, le Pont, la Bithynie, et peut-être l’Arménie, qui se seraient tous alliés contre les États « grecs ».37 Bien que cette analyse soit largement dépassée de par sa distinction stricte entre les Grecs et les barbares, elle a néanmoins certaines avantages, une fois débarassée de sa classification culturelle, et en interprétant cette coalition «grecque» plutôt comme les Attalides et leurs alliés, les cités grecques et les dynastes tels que les rois de Cappadoce, et la coalition « barbare » comme le contre-pouvoir qui l’alliance attalide a involontairement généré. Ainsi, l’opposition entre les Attalides et les rois du Pont et les Galates, telle que constatée par McShane, bien que ce modèle soit assez simplifiée, demeure, sinon correcte, au moins pertinente à la lumière des premiers conflits régionaux attestés après la Paix.38 Comme nous venons de voir, les liens entre la Cappadoce et Pergame, et non pas Rome, ont été étroitement établis après la Paix d’Apamée, et les Attalides sont devenus le principal allié et bienfaiteur des Ariarathides. L’intervention de Rome dans la région était, au mieux, distante et, au pire, inefficace ; dans ce vide politique, un autre roi a rapidement tiré avantage de la vacance du pouvoir pour gagner du terrain. À peine huit ans après la Paix et la réorganisation de la région par Rome, Pharnace du Pont est passé à l’offensive : tout d’abord, il a ciblé la ville de Sinope, au grand désarroi de Rhodes, ensuite, il a envahi une partie de la Galatie avant de se tourner vers les domaines d’Eumène et d’Ariarathe en commençant par la Cappadoce en 183–182.39 Ces manœuvres étant clairement 37 MCSHANE (1964), p. 199–200, et son résumé à p. 200 : « It was Eumenes rather than Rome who became the main power in the eastern Aegean and Asia Minor after 188, the Romans as well as most of the Greeks of Asia Minor were pleased to have Pergamene power enlarged, especially after they defeated two large ‘barbarian’ coalitions’ ». 38 Selon lui, le roi de Cappadoce aurait pris parti pour les Attalides contre ses voisins en Bithynie et Pont. Cependant il faut noter que la situation n’a pas été aussi nette que cette opposition binaire, bien que le modèle soit utile pour comprendre le développement ultérieur de l’Anatolie. Les études prosopographiques de Coúkun, APR s.v. ‘Ortiagon’, ‘Kassignatos’, ‘Gaezatorix’, ‘Solovettios’, qui démontrent la diversité d’intérêts et factions parmi les Galates. L’Arménie aussi s’avère assez complexe, avec deux blocs de pouvoir, et la Bithynie n’a pas été un ennemi constant des Attalides. 39 Sur la perspective d’Eumène dans cette affaire, voir l’analyse de P AYEN dans ce volume. L’engagement de Pharnace en Galatie est aussi très complexe quand nous considérons les divers groupes qui luttaient dans la région. Selon COSKUN, APR s.v. ‘Gaezatorix’ et ‘Kassignatos’ certains groups des galates auraient pris parti pour Pharnace contre la Cappadoce, mais leur allié les a exploité en tentant d’étendre sa domination dans la région. Nous trouvons aussi certains rois galates qui agissent comme des alliés d’Eumène, il est donc difficile de parler d’une seule Galatie. Pour une analyse de ces divers groupes, voir COùKUN (2015), p. 167–171. Sur cette guerre pontique et la paix qui l’a mis fin, voir HEINEN (2005) et AVRAM (2016), qui propose une date différente du traité romain avec la Chersonèse. Ce dernier fait remonter le traité à 179, donc dans le cadre des événements que nous traitons ici, au lieu de la date de 159 proposée par

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en contradiction avec les termes de la Paix, les rois engagés dans ce conflit ont porté la situation à l’attention du Sénat par une ambassade envoyée à Rome en été 182. Il convient de noter que les Attalides ont également représenté les intérêts du roi de Cappadoce : Polybe et Tite-Live rapportent l’arrivée de seulement trois délégations à Rome, celle des Rhodiens, celle d’Eumène et celle de Pharnace, ce qui nous amène à conclure qu’Eumène a représenté les intérêts de son client en Cappadoce.40 D’autres préoccupations étaient plus prioritaires aux yeux des Romains, et le sénat décida d’envoyer une ambassade en AsieMineur dont la mission était de se renseigner sur la situation à Sinope et les disputes parmi les rois. Polybe restitue le rapport de cette délégation au Sénat réuni en présence d’Eumène, Ariarathe, et Pharnace, qui se sont rendus à Rome afin d’assister personnellement à l’arbitrage. Selon les légats, Eumène se serait comporté avec mesure et dignité, tandis que Pharnace se serait avéré rapace et belliqueux.41 En dépit de ce rapport évidemment clair et bien informé, le sénat a décidé de ne rien faire, préférant envoyer encore une autre délégation dans la région afin de s’informer davantage et avec plus de diligence des dispositions de ces trois rois – une décision équivoque et très ambigüe. Pour quelque raison d’autres commentateurs. Sur l’engagement de Rome en cette affaire, voir AVRAM 2016, 228–230, avec le texte du traité à 231–232. Le récit de POLYB. 23.9.2–4 : ਸțȠȞ į੻ țĮ੿ ૮ȩįȚȠȚ ʌȡİıȕİȪȠȞIJİȢ ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ IJોȢ ȈȚȞȦʌȑȦȞ ਕIJȣȤȓĮȢ. IJȠȪIJȠȚȢ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੣Ȟ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌĮȡૃ Ǽ੝ȝȑȞȠȣȢ țĮ੿ ĭĮȡȞȐțȠȣ ʌȡİıȕİȪȠȣıȚȞ ਲ ıȪȖțȜȘIJȠȢ ਕʌİțȡȓșȘ įȚȩIJȚ ʌȑȝȥİȚ ʌȡİıȕİȣIJ੹Ȣ IJȠઃȢ ਥʌȚıțİȥȠȝȑȞȠȣȢ ʌİȡȓ IJİ ȈȚȞȦʌȑȦȞ țĮ੿ ʌİȡ੿ IJ૵Ȟ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȕĮıȚȜİ૨ıȚȞ ਕȝijȚıȕȘIJȠȣȝȑȞȦȞ. (Trad. BOUCHOT : Il [le sénat] reçut aussi une ambassade de Rhodes, au sujet du malheur qui avait frappé Sinope. On répondit aux Rhodiens et aux députés d’Eumène et de Pharnace qu’on enverrait des commissaires pour connaître l’état de cette ville et l’objet du débat soulevé entre les deux rois Pharnace et Prusias.) Cf. l’analyse de HANSEN (1971), p.98–102. Il est remarquable que les anciens ennemis de Rome, les Séleucides, se soient conformés aux termes du traité, alors que les alliés de Rome les ont négligés ! Cf. DIOD. SIC. 29.24. 40 LIV. 40.2.7 : Legationes deinde transmarinae in senatum introductae sunt, primae Eumenis et Pharnacis regum et Rhodiorum querentium de Sinopensium clade. Philippi quoque legati et Achaeorum et Lacedaemoniorum sub idem tempus uenerunt. iis prius Marcio audito, qui ad res Graeciae Macedoniaeque uisendas missus erat, responsa data sunt. Asiae regibus ac Rhodiis responsum est legatos ad eas res uisendas senatum missurum. (Trad. NISARD : Puis vint le tour des envoyés de Philippe, des Achéens et des Lacédémoniens. On ne leur répondit qu’après avoir entendu Marcius, qu’on avait chargé d’aller examiner la situation des affaires en Grèce et en Macédoine. On déclara aux rois d’Asie et aux Rhodiens que des commissaires iraient de la part du sénat prendre des informations sur les lieux.) Cf. aussi POLYB. 23.9.1–4. 41 POLYB. 25.2 ; LIV. 40.20 : Legationes deinde in senatum introduxerunt, regum primas Eumenis et Ariarathis Cappadocis et Pharnacis Pontici. nec ultra quicquam eis responsum est quam missuros, qui de controuersiis eorum cognoscerent statuerentque. (Trad. NISARD : Ils présentèrent ensuite au sénat diverses ambassades ; ils commencèrent par celles d’Eumène, d’Ariarathe roi de Cappadoce et de Pharnace roi de Pont. On se contenta de leur répondre qu’on enverrait des commissaires pour connaître de leurs démêlés et statuer à cet égard.) Cf. DIOD. SIC. 29.22–23.

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que ce soit, Rome ne s’est pas engagé dans cette situation assez grave qui menaçait ses principaux alliés dans cette région nouvellement acquise, et vu que son inaction a dû être perçu comme encouragement à Pharnace, les alliés de Rome, Eumène et Ariarathe, ont été graduellement poussés à prendre les choses en main.42 La situation se répéta encore une fois l’année prochaine, quand Pharnace est passé de nouveau à l’offensive en envahissant la Galatie et ensuite les territoires d’Ariarathe, violant la décision du Sénat et les termes de la Paix. La réponse de ces deux derniers rois à cette incursion pontique jette encore plus de lumière sur le caractère de l’influence romaine dans la région. Polybe nous explique que, lorsqu’ils attendaient l’arrivée des légats de Rome, les rois alliés à Rome auraient mobilisé leurs armées afin de freiner l’avance de Pharnace.43 Une fois arrivés à Mocissus, Eumène et Ariarathe auraient appris que les légats de Rome étaient arrivés afin de conclure une paix entre les rois guerriers. Défiant l’autorité de ces légats, Eumène aurait alors envoyé son frère Attale afin de les recevoir (et évidemment dans le but de les retarder), alors qu’entre-temps, Eumène aurait doublé ses forces et les aurait entrainé publiquement afin de montrer aux légats qu’il était bien capable de défendre ses territoires contre Pharnace même sans l’assistance de Rome.44 Les prochains développements sont très significatifs : les légats, selon les mots de Polybe, auraient ordonné (ʌĮȡĮțĮȜȠȪȞIJȦȞ 24.15.1) que les rois cessent ces hostilités aussitôt que possible. Polybe nous restitue ensuite une longue série de discussions entre les 42 Celle-ci, à mon avis, s’agit de la conclusion la plus pertinente à tirer de la guerre pontique : comme AVRAM (2016) et HEINEN (2005), p. 37–47 l’ont bien montré, les dates spécifiques de la guerre et de sa résolution subséquente sont difficiles à déterminer avec précision. Ces dates ne doivent pas nous préoccuper ici ; dans le cadre de notre investigation de la Cappadoce, il suffit de noter que la situation en Anatolie, surtout parmi les voisins de la Cappadoce, était très instable dans l’absence d’une claire puissance centrale. 43 POLYB. 24.14–15, en particulier 24.14.1–2 : ੖IJȚ țĮIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ਝıȓĮȞ ĭĮȡȞȐțȘȢ ੒ ȕĮıȚȜİȪȢ, ʌȐȜȚȞ ੑȜȚȖȦȡȒıĮȢ IJોȢ ȖİȖİȞȘȝȑȞȘȢ ਥʌ੿ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȣȢ ਕȞĮijȠȡ઼Ȣ, ȁİȫțȡȚIJȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ਩IJȚ țĮIJ੹ ȤİȚȝ૵ȞĮ ȝİIJ੹ ȝȣȡȓȦȞ ıIJȡĮIJȚȦIJ૵Ȟ ਥȟĮʌȑıIJİȚȜİ ʌȠȡșȒıȠȞIJĮ IJ੽Ȟ īĮȜĮIJȓĮȞ, Į੝IJઁȢ į੻ IJોȢ ਥĮȡȚȞોȢ ੮ȡĮȢ ਫ਼ʌȠijĮȚȞȠȪıȘȢ ਸ਼șȡȠȚȗİ IJ੹Ȣ įȣȞȐȝİȚȢ, ੪Ȣ ਥȝȕĮȜ૵Ȟ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȀĮʌʌĮįȠțȓĮȞ. (Trad. BOUCHOT : Le roi Pharnace, sans s’inquiéter davantage que le débat eût été soumis aux Romains, envoya pendant, l’hiver Léocrite avec dix mille hommes dévaster la Galatie, et lui-même, au commencement du printemps, rassembla ses troupes pour envahir la Cappadoce.) 44 POLYB. 24.14.11 : ੰȞ ਕțȠȪıĮȢ ੒ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ Ǽ੝ȝȑȞȘȢ ਡIJIJĮȜȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥȟĮʌȑıIJİȚȜİ IJȠȪIJȠȣȢ ਥțįİȟȩȝİȞȠȞ, Į੝IJઁȢ į੻ IJ੹Ȣ įȣȞȐȝİȚȢ ਥįȚʌȜĮıȓĮȗİ țĮ੿ įȚİțȩıȝİȚ ijȚȜȠIJȓȝȦȢ, ਚȝĮ ȝ੻Ȟ ਖȡȝȠȗȩȝİȞȠȢ ʌȡઁȢ IJ੹Ȣ ਕȜȘșȚȞ੹Ȣ ȤȡİȓĮȢ, ਚȝĮ į੻ ȕȠȣȜȩȝİȞȠȢ ਥȞįİȓțȞȣıșĮȚ IJȠ૙Ȣ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȚȢ ੖IJȚ įȚૃ Įਫ਼IJȠ૨ įȣȞĮIJȩȢ ਥıIJȚ IJઁȞ ĭĮȡȞȐțȘȞ ਕȝȪȞĮıșĮȚ țĮ੿ țĮIJĮʌȠȜİȝİ૙Ȟ. (Trad. BOUCHOT : Eumène, qui le sut le premier, envoya, Attale pour les recevoir, puis il doubla le nombre de ses troupes, et mit tous ses soins à les bien équipper» afin de faire face aux éventualités de la guerre et surtout de montrer aux Romains qu’il était par lui-même en état de réduire et de punir Pharnace.)

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légats et les deux partis intéressés qui n’ont pas porté leurs fruits.45 Malgré les plaintes et les menaces de Rome, Pharnace et ses alliés décidèrent de poursuivre la lutte contre Eumène et Ariarathe, et l’historien achéen déplore que, par la suite, l’état de guerre entre les deux blocs soit devenu permanent.46 L’importance de cette longue affaire pour notre réévaluation des conséquences de la paix d’Apamée est claire : bien que Rome ait organisé les termes de la paix dans le but de prévenir ce genre de conflit régional dans ses nouveaux domaines d’influence, son désintérêt pour la situation en Asie Mineure aussi bien que son manque de soutien pour ses alliés dans la région ont créé un climat quasiment de « chacun pour soi ». Étant donné l’indifférence du Sénat à ses demandes, même les Attalides ont agi indépendamment de Rome dans la défense de leurs nouveaux clients en Cappadoce.

4. Divisions internes ? La cour royale en Cappadoce durant les décennies suivant la paix. Nous avons vu que, sur le plan international, c’est-à-dire au niveau d’interaction entre les États, royaumes, et dynasties de la région, Rome ne figure pas comme une présence immédiate dans les années qui ont suivi la paix d’Apamée. Dans le vide de pouvoir laissé par la défaite d’Antiochos, les rois d’Anatolie se sont disputés entre eux pour gagner un morceau du territoire de leurs concurrents ; les Romains, de leur part, une fois consultés, se sont contentés d’envoyer quelques légats dans la région en question pour essayer de régler la situation sans un engagement direct – une attitude passive identifiée par E. Gruen en 1984 que nous voyons souvent dans plusieurs d’autres régions de leur empire naissant.47 Comme nous venons de le voir dans le cas de la Cappadoce, cette ‘intervention’ a été minimale, et Rome ne semblait pas intéressée à préserver la Paix qu’elle avait elle-même imposé en cette partie du monde hellénistique. Ceci est déjà très différent de la situation d’après-guerre telle que décrite par Tarn, Hansen et d’autres érudits, mais dans le but d’évaluer encore mieux la réponse de la Cappadoce à la prétendue domination romaine, il faut également analyser

45

Décrit dans toute la section 24.15. POLYB. 24.15.12 : ੖șİȞ ਕʌȡȐțIJȠȣ ȖİȞȠȝȑȞȘȢ IJોȢ țȠȚȞȠȜȠȖȓĮȢ, țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ૮ȦȝĮȓȦȞ ਕʌĮȜȜĮȖȑȞIJȦȞ ਥț IJȠ૨ ȆİȡȖȐȝȠȣ, țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ʌĮȡ੹ IJȠ૨ ĭĮȡȞȐțȠȣ ʌȡȑıȕİȦȞ ਕʌȠȜȣșȑȞIJȦȞ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȠੁțİȓĮȞ, ੒ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌȩȜİȝȠȢ ਥȖİȖȑȞȘIJȠ țĮIJȐȝȠȞȠȢ, Ƞੂ į੻ ʌİȡ੿ IJઁȞ Ǽ੝ȝȑȞȘ ʌȐȜȚȞ ਥȖȓȞȠȞIJȠ ʌİȡ੿ IJ੹Ȣ İੁȢ IJȠ૨IJȠȞ ʌĮȡĮıțİȣȐȢ. (Trad. BOUCHOT : Le colloque fut donc sans résultat. Les députés romains sortirent de Pergame, ceux de Pharnace regagnèrent leurs foyers : la guerre continua et Eumène fit de nouveaux préparatifs.) 47 Cette tendance a été élaborée par GRUEN (1984), p. 96–131 et 529–568. 46

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la situation politique à l’intérieur de la région, et surtout la réponse de la cour et de la famille royale à l’arrivée de Rome sur la scène politique locale.48 Tout comme il serait malavisé de supposer que le contrôle de Rome en Asie Mineure fut total et non contesté, il serait également naïf de présumer que tous les membres d’une dynastie donnée, telle que les Ariarathides ou les Attalides, soient complètement d’accord avec un changement d’allégeance apporté par le roi régnant. En effet, on oublie facilement la possibilité du même genre de désaccord au sein des familles et dynasties « secondaires » que l’on aperçoit si bien au sein des grandes dynasties « primaires » de la période.49 Pourquoi une princesse séleucide, comme Antiochis, mariée à Ariarathe par une manœuvre diplomatique de son père, aurait-elle mise de côté ses origines dynastiques et sa loyauté envers sa famille originelle, simplement parce que son mari aurait récemment conclu un pacte avec le nouveau pouvoir dans la région ?50 Je soutiens que certains épisodes dans l’histoire ultérieure de la Cappadoce indiquent la résistance tenace de certains membres de la dynastie à la domination romaine, qui se manifestent dans nos sources sous forme d’affaires scandaleuses (et assez bizarres) dont le contexte politique a été complètement négligé jusqu’à maintenant. Ainsi, Diodore relate une curieuse histoire illustrant le caractère manipulatoire d’Antiochis, fille d’Antiochos le Grand et femme d’Ariarathe, roi de Cappadoce. Le passage mérite d’être cité intégralement : Ariarathe régna par lui-même, et, en mourant, il laissa le trône à son fils Ariarathe, encore en bas âge. Ce dernier épousa la fille d’Antiochos le Grand ; elle s’appelait Antiochis. C’était une femme très astucieuse : n’ayant pas d’enfant, elle en supposa deux à Pinsû de son mari, Ariarathe et Holopherne. Quelque temps après, elle devint enceinte, et donna, contre toute attente, le jour à deux filles et à un fils nommé Mithridate. Elle découvrit alors à son mari sa supercherie à l’égard des enfants supposés ; elle fit envoyer, avec une faible pension, l’aîné à Rome, et le cadet en Ionie, afin qu’ils ne disputassent pas le trône au rejeton légitime. Ayant atteint l’âge viril, Mithridate changea aussi son nom en celui d’Ariarathès ; il avait reçu une éducation grecque, et se distingua par ses qualités personnelles. Il aimait beaucoup son père, dont il était de même très aimé. Cette affection était si grande que le père voulait lui remettre l’empire, mais le fils s’y refusa, disant qu’il ne régnerait jamais du vivant de

48 Sur la cour hellénistique en général, voir les nombreux ouvrages de STROOTMAN, notamment (2014). 49 En ce qui concerne le rôle des femmes séleucides, voir les diverses contributions réunies dans le volume publié sous la direction de COSKUN / MCAULEY (2016). Pour une discussion plus générale du concept de femme « sécondaire » et son rôle au sein de la dynastie : MCAULEY (à paraitre), ainsi que MCAULEY (2016) examinant le cas d’Apama de Cyrène. 50 Au sujet de la loyauté persistante des femmes séleucides à leur famille de naissance, même après plusieurs années de mariage, cf. CARNEY (2011), p. 201, et MCAULEY (2016), p. 175–180.

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ses parents. Ariarathe mort, Mithridate hérita de la royauté, et mérita, par sa conduite et ses progrès en philosophie, les plus grands éloges.51

Pris au pied de la lettre, cette anecdote fait preuve de la malice d’Antiochis et de ses ruses contre son pauvre mari, menant Bevan à conclure que ce dernier « was no mate for one of those tigresses whom the old Macedonian blood continued to produce. »52 L’épisode serait donc rien de plus qu’un énième témoignage de la malveillance typique des reines hellénistiques (surtout celles de la famille séleucide), confirmant ainsi l’avis généralement négatif que porte cet auteur sur les femmes de pouvoir.53 Mais comme nous l’avons déjà affirmé ailleurs, dans le cas d’Apama, mère de Bérénice II à Cyrène, il vaut mieux prendre ces témoignages comme une indication de l’influence de ces femmes plutôt que d’un exemple moralisateur de leur impudicité.54 Diodore n’a pas été le premier auteur ancien à décrier (et à craindre) l’influence de telles femmes puissantes.55 Si nous nous débarrassons des préjugés de Diodore contre les femmes au pouvoir, il devient évident qu’Antiochis exerçait une influence profonde sur la scène dynastique, et que son engagement dans cette affaire aurait été lié à la question lequel de ses fils accéderait au trône de la Cappadoce. Je propose donc une différente reconstruction de la situation en la plaçant plus explicitement dans le contexte de la paix d’Apamée. Ainsi, il faut se rappeler tout d’abord qu’Antiochis fut mariée à Ariarathe avant la guerre antiochique afin de concrétiser le renouvellement de l’alliance entre les deux dynasties, comme nous avons pu le voir ci-dessus. La princesse séleucide, je crois, a dû être assez perturbée de voir le royaume de son mari passer sous la domination de Rome, l’ennemi principal de son père et de sa famille originelle. Comme nous le voyons dans plusieurs autres cas dans le royaume séleucide, les princesses séleucides mariées aux dynasties «secondaires» dans la cadre de la diplomatie impériale souvent n’hésitent pas à 51 DIOD. SIC. 31.9.6–8 (trad. HOEFER) : Ƞ੤IJȠȢ į੻ ਩ȖȘȝİ șȣȖĮIJ੼ȡĮ IJȠ૨ ȂİȖ੺ȜȠȣ țȜȘș੼ȞIJȠȢ ਝȞIJȚંȤȠȣ, ੑȞȠȝĮȗȠȝ੼ȞȘȞ ਝȞIJȚȠȤ઀įĮ, ʌĮȞȠ૨ȡȖȠȞ ȝ੺ȜȚıIJĮ. IJĮ઄IJȘȞ į੻ ȝ੽ ȖȚȞȠȝ੼ȞȦȞ IJ੼țȞȦȞ ਫ਼ʌȠȕĮȜ੼ıșĮȚ į઄Ƞ ʌĮ૙įĮȢ ਕȖȞȠȠ૨ȞIJȠȢ IJȠ૨ ਕȞįȡઁȢ ਝȡȚĮȡ੺șȘȞ țĮ੿ ੘ȜȠij੼ȡȞȘȞ. ȝİIJ੹ į੼ IJȚȞĮ ȤȡંȞȠȞ IJોȢ ij઄ıİȦȢ ਥʌȚįİȟĮȝ੼ȞȘȢ ਕȞİȜʌ઀ıIJȦȢ IJİțİ૙Ȟ Į੝IJ੽Ȟ į઄Ƞ ȝ੻Ȟ șȣȖĮIJ੼ȡĮȢ, ȣੂઁȞ į੻ ਪȞĮ IJઁȞ ੑȞȠȝĮıș੼ȞIJĮ ȂȚșȡȚį੺IJȘȞ. ਥȟ Ƞ੤ IJȠઃȢ ਫ਼ʌȠȕȠȜȚȝĮ઀ȠȣȢ ਕȞĮįȚįĮȟĮȝ੼ȞȘȞ IJਕȞįȡ੿ IJઁȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌȡİıȕ઄IJİȡȠȞ ȝİIJ੹ ıȣȝȝ੼IJȡȠȣ ȤȠȡȘȖ઀ĮȢ İੁȢ ૮આȝȘȞ ਕʌȠıIJĮȜોȞĮȚ ʌĮȡĮıțİȣ੺ıĮȚ, IJઁȞ į੻ ȞİઆIJİȡȠȞ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ੉ȦȞ઀ĮȞ Ȥ੺ȡȚȞ IJȠ૨ ȝ੽ įȚĮȝijȚıȕȘIJİ૙Ȟ ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ IJોȢ ȕĮıȚȜİ઀ĮȢ IJ૶ ȖȞȘı઀૳. IJȠ૨IJȠȞ į੻ ਕȞįȡȦș੼ȞIJĮ țĮ੿ ਝȡȚĮȡ੺șȘȞ ijĮı੿ ȝİIJȠȞȠȝĮıșોȞĮȚ, ʌĮȚįİ઀ĮȢ IJİ ਬȜȜȘȞȚțોȢ ȝİIJĮıȤİ૙Ȟ, țĮ੿ țĮIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ਙȜȜȘȞ ਥʌĮȚȞİ૙ıșĮȚ ਕȡİIJ੾Ȟ. 52 BEVAN (1902), p. 2.57 ; BALLESTEROS PASTOR (2008), p. 46–47. 53 CARNEY 1995. Pour d’autres exemplaires de l’attitude assez misogyne de Diodore, et le danger posé par une femme de pouvoir, voir : DIOD. SIC. 16.64.2–3 ; 17.72 ; 36.2.2– 5. Le danger de ces femmes est peut-être mieux indiqué par l’interprétation de la vertu féminine par cet auteur, illustrée par l’exemple de Lucrèce à 10.21.1–3. 54 MCAULEY (2016), p. 181–189. 55 CARNEY (1995) et MCAULEY (2016).

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agir afin de maintenir la loyauté de leur famille maritale envers le souverain.56 Une telle intervention dynastique pouvait prendre plusieurs formes, soit discrète, soit manifeste, comme nous l’apprend l’exemple de la Cyrène, de l’Arménie et de la Syrie, et il est plus que probable que la prétendue malfaisance d’Antiochis ne soit rien d’autre qu’une nouvelle manifestation de ce motif dans la sphère de la succession cappadocienne. Le but spécifique de son intervention devait être la volonté de (ré)orienter le royaume vers les Séleucides (et donc vers les anciens souverains des rois de Cappadoce) et d’annuler les nouveaux liens avec Rome et les Attalides établis par Ariarathe, en remplaçant le dauphin qu’il avait choisi par un autre candidat, soit un fils, soit un prétendant, plus en accord avec les intérêts de la princesse séleucide et de sa famille d’origine. Par l’envoi de ces deux princes (Ariarathe et Oropherne) à Rome et en Ionie sous prétexte d’illégitimité, Antiochis les a retiré de la cour et donc de la ligne de succession d’un seul coup, créant une nouveau place pour son héritier préféré, l’homme qui deviendra Ariarathe V après la mort de son père. Malheureusement pour Antiochis, son manœuvre dynastique n’a réussi que partiellement : elle a bien remplacé les deux autres fils d’Ariarathe par un autre héritier au trône, mais l’homme qu’elle avait choisi est devenu un allié de Rome plus ardent que son père, faisant donc échouer la tentative de rétablir la Cappadoce comme client des rois séleucides. Nous ne saurons jamais si cet échec a été le produit de certaines tensions au sein de la famille et de la cour, ou tout simplement été le fruit de la perception de la réalité stratégique par le jeune Ariarathe ; mais toujours est-il que l’effort de la princesse séleucide demeure significatif. Il est difficile de préciser la date de cet événement, pourtant nous pouvons le dater à la période entre la paix d’Apamée et l’accession d’Ariarathe V, soit 188 – 163, plus probablement entre 180–170.57 Cette intervention et la dérision avec laquelle elle est décrite par nous sources littéraires nous rappelle aussi l’histoire de Nysa, une autre reine de Cappadoce quelques décennies plus tard, qui, selon le récit de Justin, a tué cinq sur six de ses propres fils. Mais le contexte élargi de cet épisode dans le cadre de la tension 56 MCAULEY (à paraitre), utilisant les études de cas d’Apama de Cyrène et surtout Antiochis, fille d’Antiochos qui a été mariée à Xerxes d’Arménie. Elle a assassiné son mari après sa tentative de rébellion contre son père selon Jean d’Antioche fr.53 = FGrHist 558 F 4; GRAINGER (2010), p. 283, et voir aussi la discussion de CHAHIN (2001), p. 188– 192. 57 La méthodologie de cette datation par extrapolation, imprécise et approximative soit-elle, est pourtant utile. Si l’on suppose qu’Antiochis était mariée avec Ariarathe au début du règne de son père, donc entre 210–200, il s’ensuit que les premiers fils du couple sont nés entre 200–190, au moment de la paix ils auraient été des enfants. La référence faite par Diodore au très petit montant fourni pour la tutelle de ses fils suppose qu’ils étaient encore mineurs, peut-être des adolescents lors de cette intervention, alors quelque temps pendant la décennie entre 180–170 me semble la date plus probable pour l’intervention d’Antiochis.

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entre la provincialisation romaine et les rivalités dynastique en Anatolie vers la fin de siècle a été clairement élucidé par une autre étude de L. Ballasteros Pastor, et nous pouvons en tirer le fait qu’Antiochis n’a pas été la dernière reine à intervenir dans le milieu dynastique.58 Il y a un autre épisode concernant la prochaine génération de la dynastie que nous devons considérer brièvement avant de conclure notre analyse : la contestation du trône par le frère du roi, Oropherne, et l’intervention romaine dans cette affaire.59 Après avoir refusé la proposition de Démétrios de le marier avec sa fille, Ariarathe fut renversé en 159 par son frère Oropherne – le même frère que sa mère avait jadis envoyé en Ionie. Avec le soutien de Démétrios, Oropherne s’est établi sur le trône cappadocien, alors que son frère s’est rendu à Rome afin de plaider sa cause devant le sénat en été 158. Bien que nos sources littéraires se contredisent sur quelques détails particuliers, il est néanmoins évident que la décision du sénat, selon laquelle les deux frères devaient se partager le trône, fut largement ignorée par les deux concurrents et même par leurs alliés, et ce sera uniquement grâce à l’intervention d’Attale qu’Ariarathe V pourra arracher le trône à son frère usurpateur. Encore une fois, nous constatons que Rome n’exerçait pas beaucoup d’influence directe dans cette région de l’Anatolie, et que les affaires locales restaient dans les mains des pouvoirs régionaux.

5. Conclusions : Aucun changement ? Dans l’ensemble de cet article, j’ai brossé un tableau assez minimaliste des effets de la réorientation de la Cappadoce vers Rome entreprise par Ariarathe après la guerre antiochique, tout en tentant de donner une réponse claire à la question ce qui a effectivement changé en Cappadoce après la Paix d’Apamée. Si l’influence de Rome dans la région est aussi distante et inefficace que je l’ai soutenu, quels sont les effets tangibles de ce renversement d’alliance sur l’histoire ultérieure de cette région ainsi que de toute l’Anatolie ? Certes, l’avenir de Rome sur la scène politique a eu des répercussions pour l’Asie Mineure, et la plus importante, il me semble, est l’accélération d’un processus d’hellénisation qui avait déjà commencé avant la paix, menant à l’intégration des royaumes tels que la Cappadoce dans la fabrique «hellénique» de l’Asie mineure. Cependant, il est très difficile de trouver une date précise pour les divers vecteurs de cette hellénisation en vue de nos données 58

BALLASTEROS PASTOR (à paraître), analysant le récit de JUST. 37.1.2–5. Les sources antiques pour cette affaire : POLYB. 3.5.2 et 32.10 ; DIOD. SIC. 31.19.7– 8 ; ZONAR. 9.24.8–9 ; APP., Syr. 47 ; JUST. 35.1.2–4 ; LIV., Per. 46. Voir la discussion détaillée de BALLESTEROS-PASTOR (2008), p. 47–49 et n. 7–8, et la discussion d’ENGELS (2014b), p. 39–43. 59

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numismatiques ambigües ainsi que du fait que trois rois de Cappadoce ont porté le nom « Ariarathe Eusèbe ». Pourtant, dans l’ensemble, nous pouvons constater que ce processus coïncide approximativement à la fin de la guerre entre Rome et Antiochos, et à la ratification de la paix d’Apamée. Surtout après la paix, nous trouvons plusieurs exemplaires des monnaies frappées par Ariarathe IV et V qui sont typiquement grecques, avec des légendes en grec, des portraits du roi avec la tête ceinte d’un diadème sur l’avers, et des images des dieux grecs au revers.60 C’est aussi pendant cette période d’après-guerre que plusieurs villes auraient été fondées en Cappadoce, comme partout en Anatolie, par les rois et dynastes de la région. Les dates de fondation sont toujours imprécises, mais selon l’analyse de Cohen, les villes d’Ariaratheia et Eusebeia remontent à cette époque – c’està-dire, au règne d’Ariarathe IV ou V.61 La cour du royaume devient de plus en plus grecque dans sa composition et son rôle, et nous trouvons le même genre d’intrigues dans les coulisses du pouvoir lors des années suivant la paix comme nous les voyons ailleurs parmi les lagides et les séleucides. Ce processus s’est achevé, d’une certaine manière, avec l’accession au trône d’Ariarathe V au lieu de son frère Oropherne, un évènement rendu possible par l’intervention de sa mère Antiochis. Ce roi qui reçut une éducation grecque, selon Diodore, et qui mérita les plus grands éloges pour ses progrès en philosophie, s’est engagé dans le monde grec au point de recevoir le don de citoyenneté de la part d’Athènes pour sa largesse.62 Ce n’est donc guère surprenant de trouver autant d’attestations épigraphiques de ses bienfaits ici et ailleurs. 60 Le corpus de ces monnaies a été rassemblé par SIMONETTA pendant les années 1960–1970 et publié en 1977. Quelques exemplaires de ces éléments grecs sont : SIMONETTA 2, 5, 6a, 7v, 8, 8a, 11, 12, 13a, avec l’image d’Athéna et Nike sur le revers. Pour les monnaies du règne d’Ariarathe IV : SIMONETTA 12v, 16a, 18b, 20a. Ces monnaies portent l’image du roi avec diadème ; par contre, le portrait d’Ariarathe III, sur l’avers de ses monnaies (SIMONETTA 2a–b, 4, 20.8), est couronné d’une tiare, alors qu’au revers, il y a un portait du roi à cheval. 61 COHEN (1995), p. 376 s.v. ‘Ariaratheia’, la ville est attestée par IG II2 980.11 et IG II2 837.8a ; pour d’autres références voir COHEN (1995), p. 375–376. Il y a deux villes appelées Eusebeia qui sont attestées en Cappadoce, tous les deux datant du règne d’Ariarathe V selon COHEN (1995), p. 377–380. Il se peut aussi que la ville de Nyssa ait été fondée en hommage de la femme d’Ariarathe, Nyssa, mais cette conclusion reste imprécise. 62 Décret de citoyenneté : Syll.3 666, IG II2 3781 il a aussi fait un don aux technitai de Dionysos à Athène, qui ont reconnu sa générosité avec le décret OGIS 353 (SEG 45.131). DIOD. SIC. 31.19.18–19 sur son éducation grecque : țĮ੿ ੒ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌĮIJ੽ȡ ijȚȜȠʌ੺IJȠȡȚ ੕ȞIJȚ IJ૶ ȣੂ૶ ਩ıʌİȣįİȞ ਕʌȠįȠ૨ȞĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ IJȠ૨ ijȚȜȠIJ੼țȞȠȣ ıʌȠȣį੾Ȟ, țĮ੿ ਥʌ੿ IJȠıȠ૨IJȠȞ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌȡȠ੼ȕȘ IJ੹ IJોȢ ʌȡઁȢ ਕȜȜ੾ȜȠȣȢ İ੝ȞȠ઀ĮȢ ੮ıIJİ ੒ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌĮIJ੽ȡ ਥȟ઀ıIJĮıșĮȚ IJોȢ ੖ȜȘȢ ਕȡȤોȢ ਱ȖȦȞ઀ȗİIJȠ IJ૶ ʌĮȚį઀, ੒ į੻ ਕį઄ȞĮIJȠȞ ਥįİ઀țȞȣ į੼ȟĮıșĮȚ Įਫ਼IJઁȞ ʌĮȡ੹ ȖȠȞ੼ȦȞ ਩IJȚ ȗઆȞIJȦȞ IJ੽Ȟ IJȠȚĮ઄IJȘȞ Ȥ੺ȡȚIJĮ. Ƞ੤IJȠȢ IJઁȞ ʌĮIJ੼ȡĮ IJȠ૨ ʌİʌȡȦȝ੼ȞȠȣ țĮIJĮȜĮȕંȞIJȠȢ įȚİį੼ȟĮIJȠ IJ੽Ȟ ȕĮıȚȜİ઀ĮȞ, IJ੾Ȟ IJİ ਙȜȜȘȞ ਕȖȦȖ੽Ȟ IJȠ૨ ȕ઀Ƞȣ ਕȟȚȠȜȠȖȦIJ੺IJȘȞ ਥȞįİȚțȞ઄ȝİȞȠȢ țĮ੿ ijȚȜȠıȠij઀઺ ʌȡȠıĮȞ੼ȤȦȞ, ਥȟ Ƞ੤ țĮ੿ ਲ ʌĮȡ੹ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਰȜȜȘıȚȞ ਕȖȞȠȠȣȝ੼ȞȘ ʌ੺ȜĮȚ ȀĮʌʌĮįȠț઀Į IJંIJİ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌİʌĮȚįİȣȝ੼ȞȠȚȢ ਥȝȕȚȦIJ੾ȡȚȠȞ ਫ਼ʌોȡȤİȞ. ਕȞİȞİઆıĮIJȠ į’ Ƞ੤IJȠȢ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡઁȢ ૮ȦȝĮ઀ȠȣȢ ijȚȜ઀ĮȞ IJİ țĮ੿

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C’est précisément ce processus d’hellénisation qui me mène à la conclusion de cette étude : le changement d’allégeance de la Cappadoce qui s’est produit pendant le règne d’Ariarathe IV n’a pas signalé le début de l’intervention romaine dans la région, ou l’imposition d’une forte présence romaine en Anatolie. Il a plutôt catalysé et accéléré l’émergence d’un réseau de pouvoir régional, un réseau qui s’inspira du modèle séleucide en particulier ou bien hellénistique en général, bien que ce soit le pouvoir attalides qui prit la place des anciens souverains séleucides comme hégémon dans l’arène dynastique. La Cappadoce s’est éloignée de son ancien souverain, les Séleucides, et s’est réorientée vers la dynastie de Pergame, confirmant ce nouvel accord par des liens de mariage et de vassalité en même temps que les rois contemporains du Pont, de la Bithynie et d’autres régions trouvaient leur propre place dans ce nouveau monde d’après-guerre. Ce ne fut pas par l’intervention du Sénat à Rome, qui s’avérait distant et, souvent désintéressé, que les nombreuses épreuves et déséquilibres caractérisant ce nouveau monde ont été résolu, mais plutôt par l’interaction des rois d’Anatolie entre eux, finalisant ainsi eux-mêmes la réorganisation de cette région du monde hellénistique après la Paix d’Apamée.

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- (2017), Benefactors, Kings, Rulers. Studies on the Seleukid Empire between East and West, Leuven. ERICKSON, K. (éd.) (à paraître), War Within the Family: A Re-Appraisal of the First HalfCentury of Seleukid Rule, Swansea. ERRINGTON, R.M. (1972), The Dawn of Empire, London. EVANS, R. (2012), A History of Pergamon, London. GRAINGER, J.D. (1997), A Seleukid Prosopography and Gazeteer, Leiden. – (2002), The Roman War of Antiochos the Great, Leiden. – (2010), The Syrian Wars, Leiden. GRUEN, E.S. (1975), Rome and Rhodes in the Second Century BC: A Historiographical Inquiry, in CQ 25, p. 58–81. – (1984), The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, 2 tomes, Berkeley CA. HANSEN, E.V. (1971), The Attalids of Pergamon, 2e éd., Ithaca / London. HEINEN, H. (2005), Die Anfänge der Beziehungen Roms zum nördlichen Schwarzmeerraum: Die Romfreundschaft der Chersonesiten (IOSPE I2 402), in A. COùKUN (éd.), Roms auswärtige Freunde in der späten Republik und im frühen Prinzipat, Göttingen, p. 75–90. KAY, P. (2013), What Did the Attalids ever Do for Us? The View from the Aerarium, in P. THONEMANN (éd.), Attalid Asia Minor, Oxon, p. 121–148. MA, J. (2000), Antiochus III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. MACURDY, G.H. (1932), Hellenistic Queens: A Study of Woman-Power in Macedonia, Seleucid Syria, and Ptolemaic Egypt, Boston. MCAULEY, A. (2016), Princess and Tigress: Apama of Kyrene, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (éds.), Seleukid Royal Women, Stuttgart, p. 175–191. – (à paraître), Once a Seleukid, always a Seleukid : Seleukid Princesses and their Nuptial Courts, in A. ERSKINE et al. (éds.), The Hellenistic Court, Swansea. MCDONALD, A.H. (1967), The Treaty of Apamea (188 B.C.), in JRS 57, p. 1–8. MCGING, B.C. (1986), The Kings of Pontus: Some Problems of Identity and Date, in RhMus 129, p. 246–59. – (1998), The Origins of the Pontic House, in JHS 118, p. 155–164. MCSHANE, R. (1964), The Foreign Policy of the Attalids of Pergamum, Chicago. SHERWIN-WHITE, A.N. (1977), Roman Involvement in Anatolia, 167–88 B.C., in JRS 67, p. 62–75. – (1984), Roman Foreign Policy in the East, 168 B.C. – A.D. 1, Norman, OK.S. SHERWIN-WHITE, A.N. / KUHRT, A. (1993), From Samarkhand to Sardis: A New Approach to the Seleucid Empire, Berkeley CA. SIMONETTA, B. (1977), The Coins of the Cappadocian Kings, Typos 2, Fribourg. STROOTMAN, R. (2011), Hellenistic Court Society: The Seleukid Imperial Court under Antiochos the Great, 223–187 BCE, in J. DUINDAM et al. (éds.), Royal Courts in Dynastic States and Empires: A Global Perspective. Rulers and Elites 1, Leiden, p. 63–89. – (2014), Courts and Elites in the Hellenistic Empires, Edinburgh.

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THONEMANN, P. (2013), The Attalid State, 188–133 B.C., in ID. (éd.), Attalid Asia Minor, Oxon., p. 1–48. TARN, W.W. / GRIFFITH, G.T. (1952), Hellenistic Civilization, 3rd ed., London.

Unlike any Other? The Attalid Kingdom after Apameia Christoph MICHELS

Abstract After the Peace of Apameia, the Roman Republic was decidedly reluctant to exert direct control over the former Seleukid possessions. It relied rather on its ‘friends’, mainly Eumenes of Pergamon and the Rhodians, to represent its interests. The result, however, was not a stable post-war order. In a particularly paradoxical constellation, the diverse kingdoms (and cities), on the one hand, competed for the benevolence of the Roman senate, while, on the other hand, they also showed themselves to be surprisingly oblivious to the demands and threats of Roman embassies when waging war against one another. The present paper focuses on the Attalid kingdom and discusses the repercussions that its new status as the most important kingdom of Asia Minor entailed. While it has been claimed that the Attalids’ philhellenic and civil image constituted an ideological ‘Sonderweg’ that separated this monarchy from all the other Hellenistic dynasties, this paper argues instead that the similarities with other Anatolian kingdoms should be emphasized: notwithstanding some peculiarities, Attalid self-representation remained in line with the rest of the Hellenistic World.

1. Introduction The Treaty of Apameia fundamentally transformed the political landscape of Asia Minor.1 While Seleukid power was banished from all districts west of the Taurus range, Rome, now the only remaining ‘superpower’, was more than reluctant to exert direct control over the territory of her conquered foe.2 Although Anatolia had become part of the Republic’s sphere of interest, from the Roman point of view the treaty was ‘her ticket for withdrawal’, as Erich Gruen rightly put it.3

1

HOPP (1977), p. 105–106; GRUEN (1984), p. 641, n. 145; MITTAG (2006), p. 50–51, n. 1; BURSTEIN (1980); PETKOVIĆ (2012). The outcome of the battle of Magnesia also led to the rise of the Artaxiad dynasty in Armenia, cf. PATTERSON 2001; MITTAG (2006), p. 51–52. 2 Cf. ECKSTEIN (2012) uses the term ‘unipolarity’ to describe the new international system in the Eastern Mediterranean. 3 GRUEN (1984), p. 550.

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In order to prevent further conflicts in Asia Minor and prohibit the Seleukids from restoring their position, the Roman senate relied on its allies, Eumenes II of Pergamon and the Republic of Rhodes, to represent its interests in the future. As a reward for continued loyalty, the Rhodian peraia was considerably enlarged by territories in Karia and Lykia.4 Even more significant was that the Attalid kingdom of Pergamon was inflated virtually overnight into the most important realm of Asia Minor.5 Prior to this conflict, it had been one of several small kingdoms in Anatolia which either, like Bithynia and Pontos, had managed to avert Macedonian invasion or, like Pergamon and Kappadokia, had once been part of the Seleukid Empire but had emancipated themselves during the third century.6 Recently, Chrubasik interpreted the fact that the Seleukids did not reconquer these realms in the course of the third century as a conscious decision on their part.7 In his view, the Pergamene kingdom fulfilled ‘local functions in the Seleukid periphery’ as the most important ‘semi-autonomous kingdom’ of this region.8 The continued existence of these principalities, however, rather implies that the Seleukids were not able to permanently control these territories directly, as it has been traditionally interpreted.9 That Rome entered the Hellenistic East and soon came to dominate it had an overwhelming impact on the political orientation of the cities and kingdoms of the whole region.10 In the following, I will focus on the repercussions of this upheaval on the Attalid kingdom and draw comparisons to the neighbouring kingdoms of Northern and Eastern Anatolia. In this way, I will, on the one hand, illustrate the specific features of Attalid monarchy but will also, on the other hand, show the similarities and thus put into perspective the often-postulated exceptionality of the Pergamene kingdom with regard to other Hellenistic monarchies. The other Roman ally that profited from the peace, Rhodes, is excluded here due to its different political organization as a city-state.11 The Attalids had consciously stirred up the conflict between Rome and the Seleukid monarch Antiochos III – Livy states that Eumenes had been cupidus belli aduersus Antiochum12 – and they would continue to try to enlist Rome’s 4

POLYB. 21.24.7–8; LIV. 37.55.5–6; cf. WIEMER (2002), p. 251–288. POLYB. 21.18–24, 46; LIV. 37.52–56; 38.39.8. 14–17; STRAB. 13.4.2. 6 KOBES (1996); MICHELS (2009). 7 CHRUBASIK (2013), p. 117–119. 8 CHRUBASIK (2013), p. 118: ‘semi-autonomous kingdom, which fulfilled local functions in the Seleukid periphery as the largest of a number of local rulers’. 9 HEINEN (1984), p. 421–432. ENGELS (2014) argues that Antiochos III not only tolerated small kingdoms in the periphery of his empire but instituted a system of ‘client kingdoms’ in various regions. 10 GRUEN (1984); ECKSTEIN (2012); cf. also chapter 2 of PAYEN’s article in this volume. 11 On Rhodes as hegemonic power see WIEMER (2002), p. 235–288. 12 LIV. 35.13.7: cupidus belli aduersus Antiochum Eumenes erat. 5

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help to further their own goals in the coming decades as the ‘greatest opportunists of the Hellenistic World’.13 To simply characterize Pergamon as Rome’s watch- or lapdog would thus fall short of grasping the sometimes fierce competition between the Anatolian kingdoms.14 Eumenes’ authority over the new-won territories, however, depended entirely on Rome in the beginning. This is illustrated by an inscription from Toriaion in south-eastern Phrygia.15 When this settlement which consisted of local Phrygians or Galatians and the descendants of Seleukid colonists asked Eumenes II shortly after 188 BC for the privilege to become a polis, the Attalid king granted this request rather reluctantly and stressed that he had the authority to do so because: ‘I exercise unchallenged possession (of the land) having received it from the Romans who have prevailed in war and through treaties.’16 At the same time, Eumenes pointed out that unnamed others did not have the power to do so,17 thereby most likely referring to (and distancing himself from) Toriaion’s former suzerain, Antiochos III. The Seleukid king had probably tried to ensure the settlers’ loyalty prior to the battle of Magnesia by promising to grant them this privilege.18 Eumenes’ position was, in fact, not undisputed. While Ariarathes IV of Kappadokia, who had stood on Antiochos’ side in the battle of Magnesia, became a loyal ally of Pergamon and Rome, apparently neither the Bithynian king Prusias I nor Pharnakes I of Pontos saw the Attalids as masters of Asia Minor.19 Both were willing to test Rome’s patience by pursuing an expansionistic policy as their predecessors had already done under Seleukid suzerainty. The result of the peace of Apameia was thus not a stable post-war order.20 As early as 186 Eumenes II was locked in war with Bithynia and the Tolistobogian Galatians, followed only shortly thereafter by a war against Pharnakes.21 While 13

ALLEN (1983), p. 76. Rightly stressed by MA (2013), p. 58. Pergamon is characterized as caretaker of Rome’s interests e.g. in HANSEN (1971), p. 96–97 and HOPP (1977), p. 55–56. Also see MCAULEY and PAYEN in this volume. 15 JONNES / RICL (1997); SCHULER (1999); JONNES, IK 62 Sultan DaЂi, no. 393; AUSTIN (2006), no. 236. 16 JONNES, IK 62 Sultan DaЂi, no. 393, l. 19–23: țĮ੿ Ȗ੹ȡ Ȟ૨Ȟ ਫ਼ȝ[૙Ȟ] ȖȑȞȠȚIJ’ ਗȞ ȕİȕĮȓĮ ʌĮȡ’ ਥȝȠ૨ įȠșİ૙ıĮ, ਥțIJȘȝȑȞȠȣ țȣȡ[ȓ]ȦȢ įȚ੹ IJઁ ʌĮȡ੹ IJ૵Ȟ țȡĮIJȘıȐȞIJȦȞ țĮ੿ ʌȠȜȑȝȦȚ țĮ੿ ı[ȣȞ]șȒțĮȚȢ İੁȜȘijȑȞĮȚ ૮ȦȝĮȓȦȞ, (…) 17 JONNES, IK 62 Sultan DaЂi, no. 393, l. 23–24: ਕȜȜ’ Ƞ੝ț ਲ ȖȡĮijİ૙ıĮ ਫ਼ʌઁ IJ૵Ȟ ȝ੽ țȣȡȚİȣȩȞIJȦȞǜ țİȞ੽ Ȗ੹ȡ ਲ ȤȐȡȚȢ Į੢IJȘ țĮ੿ įȩȜ[Ț]Į țȡȓȞȠȚIJ’ ਗȞ ਫ਼ʌઁ ʌȐȞIJȦȖ ਕȜȘș૵Ȣ. 18 JONNES / RICL (1997), p. 18–19; SCHULER (1999), p. 131. 19 On the policy of the Kappadokian king Ariarathes IV see Hopp (1977), p. 389–39; on Pharnakes see BALLESTEROS-PASTOR (2000–1); on Prusias see HABICHT (1957); DMITRIEV (2006). 20 Cf. PETKOVIû (2012). 21 On the dating of the war between Pergamon and Prusias I of Bithynia see WÖRRLE (2009), p. 426–427, n. 74 with literature; on the war against Pontos see HOPP (1977), p. 14

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both conflicts were, in the end, checked with the help of Roman diplomacy, the Pontic king in particular had ignored Rome’s half-hearted attempts at mediation for a long time.22 Eumenes could, therefore, not rely solely on Roman assistance and had to prove himself capable of enforcing the settlement of Apameia if he did not want to be replaced by one of the other kings who were eager to display pro-Roman zeal when it suited them.23 Polybios explicitly mentions that during the Pontic War Eumenes aimed to show the Roman legates that he would be able to win the war without Roman help.24 While the Antigonids posed the more immediate threat to Pergamene interests, the Seleukids were still a potential risk. A rather isolated note in Diodoros informs us that Seleukos IV had already been marching with an army to assist Pharnakes I of Pontos in his war against Pergamon and its allies when he remembered (after Roman threats?) that this would violate the treaty of Apameia.25 It was a major success for the Attalids that they later managed to install Antiochos IV as Seleukid king.26 An inscription informs us that Eumenes’ brother Attalos personally (at the head of an army) led Antiochos ‘up to the boundaries of his own kingdom’.27 It is not necessary to go into more detail regarding the history of events. I will instead pursue the question of whether the new position of the Attalids resulted in fundamental changes in the structure and the ideology of their state. My 44–48; BURSTEIN (1980); ALLEN (1983), p. 79; MCGING (1986), p. 26–31. A defensive alliance between Pharnakes and Chersonesos Taurica (IOSPE I2 402 = BURSTEIN [1991], no. 77) possibly illustrates Rome’s influence in the year 179 (discussed with regard to the potential implications on the Pontic war by HEINEN [2005]). Its date, however, is controversial. There are valid arguments to date the treaty to 155, cf. HØJTE (2005); MICHELS (2009), p. 95–96. But cf. now AVRAM (2016) who argues that the era used in the document, on which the dating depends, may be a Sinopean era starting from the equinox of autumn 336. In this reconstruction, the treaty would date to spring 179. 22 GRUEN (1984), p. 111–114, 553–554. 23 PRIMO (2006) convincingly argues against the view taken by some scholars (based on JUST. 38.6.1–4) that Rome was aiming at replacing the Attalid ruler with Pharnakes. 24 POLYB. 24.14.10–11: ਙȡIJȚ į੻ țĮIJİıIJȡĮIJȠʌİįİȣțȩIJȦȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ʌȡȠıȑʌİıİ ʌĮȡĮȖİȞȑıșĮȚ IJȠઃȢ ਥț IJોȢ ૮ȫȝȘȢ ʌȡİıȕİȣIJ੹Ȣ ਥʌ੿ IJ੹Ȣ įȚĮȜȪıİȚȢ. ੰȞ ਕțȠȪıĮȢ ੒ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ Ǽ੝ȝȑȞȘȢ ਡIJIJĮȜȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥȟĮʌȑıIJİȚȜİ IJȠȪIJȠȣȢ ਥțįİȟȩȝİȞȠȞ, Į੝IJઁȢ į੻ IJ੹Ȣ įȣȞȐȝİȚȢ ਥįȚʌȜĮıȓĮȗİ țĮ੿ įȚİțȩıȝİȚ ijȚȜȠIJȓȝȦȢ, ਚȝĮ ȝ੻Ȟ ਖȡȝȠȗȩȝİȞȠȢ ʌȡઁȢ IJ੹Ȣ ਕȜȘșȚȞ੹Ȣ ȤȡİȓĮȢ, ਚȝĮ į੻ ȕȠȣȜȩȝİȞȠȢ ਥȞįİȓțȞȣıșĮȚ IJȠ૙Ȣ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȚȢ ੖IJȚ įȚૃ Įਫ਼IJȠ૨ įȣȞĮIJȩȢ ਥıIJȚ IJઁȞ ĭĮȡȞȐțȘȞ ਕȝȪȞĮıșĮȚ țĮ੿ țĮIJĮʌȠȜİȝİ૙Ȟ (transl. PATON, Loeb: Just after they had encamped there the news reached them that the legates from Rome had arrived to arrange a peace. On hearing this King Eumenes sent off Attalos to receive them, but himself doubled his forces and energetically drilled them; both for the purpose of meeting actual exigencies and to show the Romans that he was capable without any assistance of defending himself against Pharnaces and overcoming him.). 25 DIOD. SIC. 29.24; POLYB. fr. 96; cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 40, n. 42; MITTAG (2014), p. 120 n. 10 and also chapter 3 of Payen’s article in this volume. 26 MCSHANE (1964), p. 163–164; MITTAG (2006), p. 42–48. See also chapter 4 of PAYEN’s paper in this volume. 27 I.Perg. 160 = OGIS 248, l. 15–16: ȝȑȤȡȚ IJ૵Ȟ ੒ȡȓȦȞ IJોȢ ੁįȓĮȢ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȢ.

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starting point is a recent study on this subject by Peter Thonemann who speaks of an ‘exogenous process of state-formation between 190 and 188 BC’,28 that is, the aforementioned aggrandisement of the Attalid realm not by its own doing but through a gift of Rome. According to Thonemann, Attalid rule over the former Seleukid possessions resulted in: ‘[…] (a) mass administrative decentralization and the co-option of local elites into the Attalid bureaucracy; (b) the progressive devolution of large parts of a state-run tributary economy to civic actors; and (c) the promotion of ‘consensual’ royal ideologies which emphasized horizontal alliance rather than vertical dominance. In ideal-type terms, the traditional ‘despotic/federal’ power structure of Near Eastern imperial states was replaced by a new ‘consensual/bureaucratic’ structure.’29

It is certainly arguable as to whether the Seleukid state had, as Thonemann sees it, ‘hovered balloon-like in mid-air’ while the Attalids followed a strategy of ‘power-sharing’ and thus their administration followed fundamentally different lines.30 Due to the limited number of sources for Seleukid control over Asia Minor and the vastness of the Seleukid empire with different methods and principles of control over its respective parts, it is a comparison that seems problematic in the first place.31 While Thonemann’s observations concerning points (a) and (b) are at least discussable, point (c), the repercussions of the rise to a hegemonic power on Attalid ‘state ideology’, is particularly questionable, in my view, and I will thus discuss this aspect in the following section in greater detail.

2. An Attalid Ideological ‘Sonderweg’? Thonemann starts with Eumenes’ correspondence with Toriaion. He sees the king’s reference to the power of Rome as evidence for the ‘insecurity of Eumenes’ position’.32 Yet it is, in my view, mistaken to say that Eumenes ‘concedes’ that his authority comes from Rome. The Attalid rather boasts with his powerful friends to discourage any hopes of a return of Seleukid rule.33 That Eumenes was not ashamed of Roman patronage as such is reflected in a decree of the Delphic Amphictyony in honour of Eumenes II from 182. After his successful war against Prusias, Eumenes had enlarged the Pergamene festival for Athena Nikephoros, and sent theoroi into the Greek world advertising the Nikephoria 28

THONEMANN (2013), p. 47. THONEMANN (2013), p. 47. 30 THONEMANN (2013), p. 4, cf. 12. 31 CAPDETREY (2007), p. 210–214 on the Seleukids and the cities of Asia Minor. Cf. also the review of THONEMANN (2013) by ERRINGTON (2013). 32 THONEMANN (2013), p. 6; similar KAY (2013), p. 140. 33 Cf. SCHULER (1999), p. 131. 29

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and requesting asylia.34 The amphictyony responded by granting his request and decreeing honours for him. His accomplishments which justified this are described as follows: [(…) Since King] Eumenes [having inherited] from his father King Attalos [his piety towards the gods and his] good will towards the Amphictyons, and preserving his friendship [towards the Romans] always continues to be responsible for [some] good to the Greeks, [and having participated] in the same [dangers] for the sake of their common safety has made gifts to many [Greek cities] in order to preserve [their] existing autonomy, for which reason the [Romans] seeing his policy [have] increased his kingdom, believing that all the kings who plot [against the Greeks should] meet the appropriate punishment, while those who have not been [responsible] for any evil deserve to enjoy their highest trust. 35

That Eumenes’ close connections to Rome are stressed is significant and probably reflects the wording of his letter to the Delphic Amphictyony.36 Thonemann is surely right, though, that a close connection to Rome could not be the only legitimizing factor for the Attalid who was in the awkward situation of being able to claim neither that he had conquered his realm himself nor that his ancestors had done so – a standard argument of Hellenistic monarchs. In Thonemann’s view, the Attalids, therefore, developed a ‘highly innovative royal ideological programme’, of which the cistophoric coinage was the visual expression.37 The notorious problems and questions surrounding this coinage, perhaps the most radical of Attalid innovations, cannot fully be discussed here.38 Deviating from the common Attic weight standard (c. 12.20g instead of c. 16.80g), the cistophori (tetradrachms, didrachms and drachms) constituted a closed currency system that was perhaps oriented on the Ptolemaic example but

34 Syll.3 630 = FdD III 3.261, BURSTEIN (1980), p. 87, cf. GRUEN (1984), p. 552–553; cf. JONNES / RICL (1997), p. 18. 35 Syll.3 630 = RIGSBY (1996), no. 179; transl. AUSTIN (2006), no. 237, l. 1–10: [(…) ਥʌİȚį੽ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ | Ǽ੝ȝ੼ȞȘȢ ʌĮȡİȚȜȘij]અȢ ʌĮȡ੹ IJȠ૨ ʌĮIJȡઁȢ ȕĮıȚȜ੼ȦȢ ਝIJIJ੺ȜȠ[ȣ IJ੾Ȟ IJİ ʌȡઁȢ IJȠઃȢ șİȠઃȢ] | İ੝ı[੼ȕİȚĮȞ țĮ੿ IJ੽]Ȟ ʌȡઁȢ IJȠઃȢ ਝȝijȚțIJ઀ȠȞĮȢ İ੡ȞȠȚĮȞ țĮ੿ įȚĮIJȘ[ȡ૵Ȟ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡઁȢ ૮ȦȝĮ઀ȠȣȢ] | ijȚȜ઀ĮȞ ਕİ઀ [IJȚȞȠȢ ਕȖ]ĮșȠ૨ ʌĮȡĮ઀IJȚȠȢ ȖȚȞંȝİȞȠȢ įȚĮIJİȜİ૙ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਰȜȜȘı[ȚȞ țĮ੿ ȝİIJİıȤȘțઅȢ] | IJ૵Ȟ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ț[ȚȞį઄]ȞȦȞ ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ IJોȢ țȠȚȞોȢ ਕıijĮȜİ઀ĮȢ ʌȠȜȜĮ૙Ȣ IJ૵[Ȟ ਬȜȜȘȞ઀įȦȞ] ʌં[ȜİȦȞ] | įȦȡİ੹Ȣ į੼į[Ȧț]İȞ ਪȞİțİȞ IJȠ૨ įȚĮIJȘȡİ૙ıșĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ਫ਼ʌ੺ȡȤȠȣı[ĮȞ Į੝IJȠȞ]Ƞȝ઀ĮȞ įȚ’ ਴Ȟ | ĮੁIJ઀ĮȞ țĮ੿ ૮Ȧ[ȝĮ૙]ȠȚ șİȦȡȠ૨ȞIJİȢ Į੝IJȠ૨ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡȠĮ઀ȡİıȚȞ ਥʌİȣȟ[੾țĮıȚȞ IJ]੽ȝ ȕĮıȚȜİ઀ĮȞ | ȞȠȝ઀ȗȠȞIJİȢ [įİ૙]Ȟ țĮ੿ IJ૵ȝ ȕĮıȚȜ੼ȦȞ ੖ıȠȚ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥʌȚȕȠȣȜİ઄ȠȣıȚȞ [IJȠ૙Ȣ ਰȜȜ]ȘıȚȞ IJȣȖȤ੺Ȟ[İȚȞ] IJોȢ țĮșȘțȠ઄[ıȘȢ] ਥʌȚʌȜ੾ȟİȦȢ, ੖ıȠȚ į੻ ȝȘșİȞઁȢ Ȗ઀ȞȠȞIJĮȚ țĮțȠ૨ [ʌĮȡĮ઀IJȚȠ]Ț IJȠ઄IJȠȣȢ IJ[ોȢ] ȝİȖ[઀]ıIJȘȢ [ਕȟȚȠ]૨ıșĮȚ ʌĮȡ’ ਦĮȣIJȠ૙Ȣ ʌ઀ıIJİȦȢ. 36 HOLLEAUX (1968a), p. 70–72. 37 THONEMANN (2013), p. 34. 38 SZAIVERT (2008), esp. p. 41 doubts whether it is a continuation of Attalid royal coinage at all since it completely deviates from earlier iconography.

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remained much more open.39 There is still a lively debate on the dating of its introduction. It was either introduced in the 190s/180s or after 167 BC.40 Be this as it may, of principal significance to the present argument is the iconography of these coins, since they are remarkable insofar as they show neither a portrait of the king nor do they mention him in the legend as we see it on most of the other Hellenistic royal coinage. As other authors before him, Thonemann regards these coins as tools designed to propagate a confederation of cities like the Achaian League rather than a monarchy. He then links them to the supposedly new royal ‘persona’ of the late Attalids that, in his view, consisted of ‘two main strands’.41 Before I treat these in detail, though, a few remarks are called for regarding the message of these coins, which Thonemann calls ‘pseudo-federal’.42 The iconography of the cistophoric coins certainly represents a departure from common royal motifs. This becomes clear if one compares them to the coins of the other Anatolian kingdoms: adapting Seleukid practice, they continued to place the portrait of the living ruler on the obverse and introduced royal epithets towards the middle of the second century.43 The royal coinage of the Attalids, however, had already deviated from the coins of their neighbours long before Apameia. Both Eumenes I and Attalos I had only depicted the posthumous portrait of the dynasty’s founder, Philetairos, on their coinage (fig. 1) and had also put only the name of their ancestor on their coins. This did not even change after Attalos had declared himself king 238/37 or 234/33 BC.44 The only exception was minted under Eumenes II. This rare coin type shows the living ruler on the obverse and the Dioskouroi on the reverse accompanied by the title ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ ǼȊȂǼȃȅȊ. It dates either to the beginning or the end of Eumenes’ 39 MEADOWS (2013), p. 204–205 stresses that the introduction of the cistophoric coinage did not imply that all other coinage was ‘ejected’ from the kingdom. He believes that the cistophori were meant to serve as epichoric coinage, i.e. a ‘closed’ currency system for local usage within the new civic structures of the Pergamene kingdom; cf. also ASHTON (2013). 40 MEADOWS (2013) argues for an introduction ca. 167 BC, while ASHTON (2013), p. 245–249 prefers (with good arguments) an early date in the late 190s or the 180s. SZAIVERT (2005), however, argues that the literary evidence (which is the main basis for ASHTON) for an early date of the cistophoric coinage is no evidence after all and should be excluded from the discussion. 41 THONEMANN (2013), p. 35. 42 THONEMANN (2013), p. 33. 43 The first kings of these dynasties to carry an epithet were Nikomedes II Epiphanes of Bithynia, Mithradates IV Philopator Philadelphos of Pontos and Ariarathes V Eusebes Philopator of Kappadokia; cf. MICHELS (2009), p. 233, n. 1217. On the royal epithets of the Hellenistic kings see now MUCCIOLI (2013). On the coins of the kings of Bithynia, Pontos and Kappadokia see MICHELS (2009). See FLEISCHER (1996) for the iconography of Hellenistic royal coinage. 44 MARCELLESI (2010). On the date see SCHALLES (1985), p. 51 with n. 323

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reign (fig. 2).45 Besides, the Attalids were not the only dynasty to avoid the image of the living ruler on its coins. After Demetrios Poliorketes, no Antigonid king minted his portrait on coins until Philip V.46

Fig. 1: AR Tetradrachm, Eumenes I (262–241), in the name of Philetairos. Av.:Head of Philetairos right, wearing laurel wreath entwined with diadem. Rv.: Athena enthroned left, right hand resting on shield set at her feet, left elbow resting on small sphinx seated right; transverse spear in background, ivy leaf above knee, monogram on throne, bow to right, ĭIȁETAIPOY.

Fig. 2: AR Tetradrachm,Eumenes II (197–158). Av.: Draped bust of Eumenes II with diadem right. Rv.: The two Dioskouroi, naked except of chlamys standing frontal and holding lances, stars above their heads, left thyrsus, in field A P,ǺǹȈǿȁǼȍȈ ǼȊȂǼȃȅȊ.

45

Cf. e.g. QUEYREL (1999): beginning of reign; MARCELLESI (2010): end of reign. SMITH (1988), p. 13. THONEMANN (2013), p. 32, n. 80 mentions this, but states that this hesitation of the Antigonids had ‘rather different reasons’ from that of the Attalids. That the Antigonids did not refrain from putting their royal title on the coins is of course an important difference to the cistophori but also from the previous Attalid coins. 46

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Fig. 3: AR Tetradrachm, cistophoric standard, Ionia, Ephesus, c. 138/137 BC. Av.: Cista mystica with serpent emerging; all within ivy wreath. Rv.: Gorytos between 2 snakes, in field left city ethnic ǼĭǼ, regnal date of Attalos III and right small bust of Artemis Ephesia.

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Fig. 4: AR Didrachm, cistophoric standard, Phrygia, Laodikeia, c. 160–145 BC. Av.: Lion skin draped over club; all within wreath. Rv.: Grape bunch on vine; leaf in background; on the right bow case, above small wolf standing right; left city ethnic [ȁ]ǹȅ.

Furthermore, and contrary to Thonemann’s view,47 there are clear links to the dynasty even if these deviate from the iconography of the earlier coins that had shown Athena Nikephoros on the reverse (fig. 1). The name-giving cista mystica on the obverse of the cistophoric tetradrachms (fig. 3) as well as the grape bunch on vine on the reverse of the didrachms (fig. 4) point to Dionysos, a deity closely linked both to the Attalid dynasty and to the mystery cults in Pergamon.48 The bow case on the reverse of the tetradrachms with the two snakes and especially the club and lion skin on the didrachms point to Herakles, father of the mythical founder of Pergamon, Telephos. The myth of Telephos as founder of Pergamon was probably introduced by the Attalids.49 An Athenian honorary decree for Attalos I shows that by 200 BC the Attalids claimed Herakles as their ancestor.50 The hero Telephos was propagated especially in the time of Eumenes II, most famously so in the small relief of the so-called Great Altar of Pergamon.51 This notwithstanding, there were also clear links on the cistophori to the individual cities where the mints were based. One such example (fig.1) is the 47 THONEMANN (2013), p. 31: ‘In neither case is there any explicit reference to the Attalid royal house, and only by means of some rather tortuous arguments can the iconography of the coinage be connected to the dynasty at all.’ The skepticism of SZAIVERT (2008) seems to me to be mistaken and results from limiting himself mainly to numismatic sources. 48 OHLEMUTZ (1968); MUSTI (1986); MICHELS (2011); the Attalids, however, did not claim descent from Dionysos, as is often presumed – e.g. KOSMETATOU (1998), p. 19 –, see MICHELS (2011), p. 137. 49 SCHEER (1993), p. 98–128. 50 IG IV² 2, 747. Cf. NICANDER OF COLOPHON frg. 104. 51 SCHEER (1993), p. 98–149; HUTTNER (1997), p. 175–190, cf. also MICHELS (2004), chapter 2.2.

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depiction of a small bust of Artemis Ephesia on the reverse of cistophori from Ephesus (cf. the city ethnic ȠȰȠȌ. The cistophori are, therefore, not easy to classify as either ‘royal’ or ‘federal’. The so-called ‘pseudo-municipal’ coinage minted in the Pontic realm under Mithradates VI should caution against the interpretation of the cistophori as reflecting or even propagating a league of equal partners.52 The cistophori do, however, constitute a highly complex and innovative aspect of Attalid rule. Let us now return to two strands of the ‘persona’ of the late Attalids that Thonemann identified. The first is their role as common benefactor through gifts but especially as defenders of Greek poleis against barbarians, that is, the Galatians of inner Anatolia.53 This motif already shows in the cited decree of the Delphic Amphictyony and appears even more explicitly in a letter of Eumenes to the Ionian League from the winter of 167/66 in which the king responds to honours voted for him by the league. Eumenes repeats the reasons for these honours that had been communicated to him: […] I had chosen from the start the finest deeds and showed myself the common benefactor of the Greeks, that I had faced many great battles against the barbarians, displaying all zeal and care to make sure that the inhabitants of the Greek cities should always live in peace and enjoy the best state of affairs.54

Conceding that euergetism had been part of Hellenistic diplomacy long before, Thonemann nevertheless stresses that Eumenes II was the first monarch to proclaim his support of Greek cities as ‘principle of his rule and justification of his royal title’.55 Thonemann’s second strand is an equally well-known feature of Attalid representation: family solidarity.56 This concerns, on the one hand, the good relations between Eumenes and his three brothers who were entrusted with important tasks; on the other hand, it relates to the importance of female family members, namely Eumenes’ mother Apollonis and his wife Stratonike, who were advertised on various occasions.57 Thonemann regards it as especially important that Apollonis, the wife of Attalos I, did not stem from a royal dynasty 52

MICHELS (2009), p. 203–205. STROBEL (1994); STROOTMAN (2005); KOEHN (2007), p. 110–135; KISTLER (2010); cf. CO‫܇‬KUN (2014), p. 148–151 with thoughts on the relation between the depiction of the Galatians in Pergamene victory monuments and their real appearance. 54 RC 52 = OGIS 763; transl. AUSTIN (2006), no. 239, l. 6–13: (…) (…) IJ੹Ȣ țĮȜȜ઀ıIJĮȢ ਕʌઁ IJ[ો]Ȣ | ਕȡȤોȢ ਦȜંȝİȞȠȢ ʌȡ੺ȟİȚȢ țĮ੿ țȠȚȞઁȞ ਕȞĮįİ઀ȟĮȢ | ਥȝĮȣIJઁȞ İ੝İȡȖ੼IJȘȞ IJ૵Ȟ ਬȜȜ੾ȞȦȞ ʌȠȜȜȠઃȢ ȝ੻Ȟ | țĮ੿ ȝİȖ੺ȜȠȣȢ ਕȖ૵ȞĮȢ ਫ਼ʌ੼ıIJȘȞ ʌȡઁȢ IJȠઃ[Ȣ] | ȕĮȡȕ੺ȡȠȣȢ, ਚʌĮıĮȞ ıʌȠȣį੽Ȟ țĮ੿ ʌȡંȞȠȚĮȞ ʌȠȚȠ઄[ȝİ]|ȞȠȢ, ੖ʌȦȢ Ƞੂ IJ੹Ȣ ਬȜȜȘȞ઀įĮȢ țĮIJȠȚțȠ૨ȞIJİȢ ʌંȜ[İȚȢ] | įȚ੹ ʌĮȞIJઁȢ ਥȞ İੁȡ੾Ȟૉ țĮ੿ IJોȚ ȕİȜIJ઀ıIJȘȚ țĮIJĮıIJ੺ı[İȚ] ਫ਼ʌ੺ȡȤȦıȚȞ, (…); cf. HOLLEAUX (1968b). 55 THONEMANN (2013), p. 35. Starting point for studies on the euergetism of Hellenistic monarchs is now BRINGMANN (2000). 56 LESCHHORN (1996). 57 LESCHHORN (1996), esp. p. 81–82; VAN LOOY (1976). 53

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but was a citizen of the polis Kyzikos. In his view, this expressed a consciously propagated contrast to the other dynasties. That the Attalid women were honoured for their affection – philostorgia – and that family values figured as the basis of a good rule constituted for Thonemann a ‘new ethical discourse of monarchy’.58 Thonemann summarizes the emerging ideological picture, in which the ‘individual charismatic authority of the king was dramatically played down’, as follows: ‘In the years after 188, as we have seen, Eumenes was unable to legitimize his rule by reference to his own personal charisma. In the absence of the traditional ideological justifications for rule, the late Attalid monarchs necessarily sought to establish an alternative, non-charismatic, non-absolutist state ideology. In this particular institutional sphere, Eumenes used the model of the Achaean League to project a federal ideology of free and equal alliance, not a basileia or an archƝ but a koinon.’59

This risks going too far in several respects. Concerning the first strand, it is important to stress that, although the Attalids did emphasize their roles as defenders of Greek civilization more than other dynasties (famously so on the Great Altar and the Athenian Acropolis), they were not alone in doing so. We know of parallels already in the third century.60 Even Prusias I of Bithynia whose grandfather Nikomedes had once invited the Galatians as mercenaries to Asia Minor in the first place, seems to have propagated a victory against them in the year 216 as a benefaction for the Hellespontine cities.61 Like other monarchs, the Attalids also cooperated with the Galatians. Prusias’ victory was achieved against former mercenaries of Attalos I.62 Attalos, of course, had taken the title basileus on the occasion of a victory over the Galatians of central Anatolia and proclaimed this in several dedications in Pergamon, Delphi and Delos.63 Thus, the theme of ‘victor over barbarians’ was not created under Eumenes and was therefore not a consequence of the Attalids’ new hegemony.

58

THONEMANN (2013), p. 38. THONEMANN (2013), p. 34. 60 STROBEL (1994), p. 76–86; STROOTMAN (2005), p. 112–121; CO‫܇‬KUN (2012). KOEHN (2007), p. 110–135 argues that the Attalids in fact developed a specific form of ideology concerning the Galatians. Cites THONEMANN (2013) none of these publications. 61 POLYB. 5.111.7: ʌȡ੺ȟĮȢ į੻ IJĮ૨IJĮ ȝİȖ੺ȜȠȣ ȝ੻Ȟ ਕʌ੼Ȝȣıİ ijંȕȠȣ țĮ੿ țȚȞį઄ȞȠȣ IJ੹Ȣ ਥij’ ਬȜȜȘıʌંȞIJȠȣ ʌંȜİȚȢ, țĮȜઁȞ į੻ ʌĮȡ੺įİȚȖȝĮ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਥʌȚȖȚȞȠȝ੼ȞȠȚȢ ਕʌ੼ȜȚʌİ IJȠ૨ ȝ੽ ૧઺į઀ĮȞ ʌȠȚİ૙ıșĮȚ IJȠઃȢ ਥț IJોȢ Ǽ੝ȡઆʌȘȢ ȕĮȡȕ੺ȡȠȣȢ IJ੽Ȟ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ਝı઀ĮȞ įȚ੺ȕĮıȚȞ (transl. PATON, Loeb: By this exploit he freed the cities on the Hellespont from a serious menace and danger, and gave a good lesson to the barbarians from Europe in future not to be over ready to cross to Asia.). Cf. STROBEL (1994), p. 69 with n. 19. On the context, which remains unclear, s. MICHELS (2009), p. 67–71. 62 HABICHT (1957), p. 1091–1092. 63 STROBEL (1994), p. 86–87 and SCHALLES (1985) passim. 59

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Thonemann stresses the idea that Eumenes did not only style himself as benefactor of individual cities but as koinos euergetes of all poleis. While this idea is seldom attested prior to the second century and then becomes linked especially to the Romans, as Erskine has shown, there are earlier parallels of which I would like to mention only two.64 In an inscription from Teos from 204/3 BC it is said about Antiochos III that he decided to be the common [benefactor] both of the other Greek [cit|ies and] of our city. This clearly reflects the wording of a royal letter.65 Even more programmatic was the statement of the Bithynian king Ziaëlas when granting the Koans asylia in 242/1 BC: We do in fact exercise care for all the Greeks who come to us as we are convinced that this contributes in no small way to one’s reputation.66

The second strand, family values and the ‘blurring of the public and private spheres’,67 is known from other dynasties as well, especially from the Ptolemies and later from the Seleukids.68 When Eumenes’ brother Attalos II took the title philadelphos, this finds a parallel in the Pontic king Mithradates IV who was philopator kai philadelphos.69 Antiochos III had introduced a state cult for his queen and ‘sister’ Laodike.70 The exceptionality of the Attalids lay in the circumstance that the propagated ideal largely corresponded with reality.71 One aspect, however, needs to be stressed. While Attalos I had married a citizen of a Greek polis, Eumenes II did not do so but rather married the daughter of the Kappadokian king Ariarathes IV. We do not know who initiated this dynastic link – Rome certainly did not.72 Eumenes’ goal may not have been primarily to secure his eastern border but rather to make use of Stratonike’s prestigious bloodline as she was the daughter of Antiochis, daughter of Antiochos III. The Seleukid claim to rule in Asia Minor was thus incorporated into the Attalid dynasty.73

64

ERSKINE (1994). I.Teos 30 = BURSTEIN (1991), no. 33, l. 6–8: țȠȚȞઁȢ [İ੝]|[ਥȡȖ੼IJȘȢ ʌȡ]Ƞİ઀ȡȘIJĮȚ Ȗ઀ȞİıșĮȚ IJ૵Ȟ IJİ ਙȜȜȦȞ ਬȜȜȘȞ઀įȦȝ [ʌં]|[ȜİȦȞ țĮ੿ IJ]ોȢ ʌંȜİȦȢ IJોȢ ਲȝİIJ੼ȡĮȢ (...). 66 TAM IV,1 1 = RC 25, l. 11–17: ਲȝİ૙Ȣ į੻ ʌ੺Ȟ|IJȦȞ ȝ੻Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ ਕijȚțȞȠȣȝ੼ȞȦ[Ȟ] | ʌȡઁȢ ਲȝ઼Ȣ ਬȜȜ੾ȞȦȞ IJȣȖȤ੺ȞȠ|ȝİȞ IJ੽Ȟ ਥʌȚȝ੼ȜİȚĮȞ ʌȠȚȠ઄ȝİ|ȞȠȚ, ʌİʌİȚıȝ੼ȞȠȚ ʌȡઁȢ įંȟĮȞ Ƞ੝ | ȝȚțȡઁȞ ıȣȝȕ੺ȜȜİıșĮȚ IJઁ ȝ੼ȡȠȢ | IJȠ૨IJȠ; cf. HANNESTAD (1996); MICHELS (2009), p. 56– 65. 67 THONEMANN (2013), p. 40. 68 Cf. MÜLLER (2009). 69 E.g. OGIS 304. 70 Cf. MA (2002), p. 354–356 with text, translation and commentary on the respective inscription; cf. NUFFELEN (2004). 71 LESCHHORN (1996). 72 Roman involvement was deduced by HOPP (1977), p. 38, but see GRUEN (1984), p. 550, n. 92, followed by MÜLLER (1991), p. 399, n. 39. 73 GÜNTHER (1995), p. 50–51; cf. also MÜLLER (1991). 65

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Especially problematic is Thonemann’s conclusion that the Attalids chose a decidedly non-charismatic style of rule, as this somewhat touches the essence of Hellenistic kingship. Concerning the militaristic dimension of Pergamene kingship,74 it is noteworthy that the Attalids personally led their armies into battle. At Magnesia, Eumenes II and his 800 Pergamene cavalry played an important role.75 In the course of the various conflicts the Attalid kings put themselves, time and again, in personal danger.76 Attalos I had assumed the title of king after a great victory over the Galatians.77 The picture of the charismatic and victorious military commander apparently continued to be an important element after Apameia; when Attalos III returned to Pergamon after a successful military expedition of which we do not know any details, the king was greeted by his subjects as a conquering hero and the Pergamenians decreed among other honours that ‘a cult image of him shall also be consecrated, five cubits high, showing him in his armour as he tramples upon the booty of war’.78 This monument which has not survived but is unambiguously described in the inscription shows that an Attalid ruler could be imagined as ‘warrior king’. His agalma was to be erected in the temple of Asklepios, to make him a synnaos of this god.79 This last-mentioned piece of evidence is particularly noteworthy, as it points to an aspect which has – surprisingly – been excluded from Thonemann’s study: the Attalid ruler cult. Stricto sensu, the inscription attests civic honours and not an Attalid state cult. Pergamon was not just another polis, though, but the centre of the kingdom. The boundaries between ‘civic’ and ‘state’ cult blur in this

74

On the importance of war for the Attalids cf. MA (2013), p. 75–77. LIV. 37.39.9–10; APP., Syr. 34. Taylor (2016) – not entirely convincingly, in my view – identifies a lost plaque from Pergamon as a depiction of this engagement. 76 An anecdote set in a conflict with the Galatians told by POLYAEN. 4.8.1 illustrates this: Ǽ੝ȝ੼ȞȘȢ ਫ਼ʌઁ īĮȜĮIJ૵Ȟ ਥįȚઆțİIJȠ IJȠ૨ ıઆȝĮIJȠȢ ਕȡȡઆıIJȦȢ ਩ȤȦȞ, țȠȝȚȗંȝİȞȠȢ ਥȞ ijȠȡİ઀૳ҕ. ȕȡĮįİ૙ĮȞ į੻ IJ੽Ȟ ijȣȖ੽Ȟ ʌȠȚȠ઄ȝİȞȠȢ țĮ੿ ਵįȘ țĮIJĮȜĮȝȕĮȞંȝİȞȠȢ, ੁįઅȞ ਥȞ IJૌ ʌĮȡંį૳ ȖİઆȜĮijȠȞ ʌȡȠı੼IJĮȟİ IJȠ૙Ȣ țȠȝ઀ȗȠȣıȚȞ ਥʌ੿ IJȠ૨IJȠȞ șİ૙ȞĮȚ IJઁ ijȠȡİ૙ȠȞ. Ƞੂ ȕ੺ȡȕĮȡȠȚ IJȜȘı઀ȠȞ ੕ȞIJİȢ țĮ੿ ȞȠȝ઀ıĮȞIJİȢ Ƞ੝ț ਙȞ ʌȠIJİ IJȠ૨IJȠ ʌȠȚોıĮȚ IJઁȞ Ǽ੝ȝ੼ȞȘ ȝ੽ Ƞ੝Ȥ੿ ȝİȖ੺ȜȘȞ ਩ȤȠȞIJĮ ȕȠ੾șİȚĮȞ ਥȖȖઃȢ ਕʌȠțİțȡȣȝȝ੼ȞȘȞ IJȠ૨ įȚઆțİȚȞ ਕʌ੼ıIJȘıĮȞ (transl. KRENTZ / WHEELER: Eumenes was being pursued by Galatians while he was physically ill and travelling in a litter. He was proceeding slowly and was almost overtaken when he ordered the bearers to set his litter down on a hill he saw next to the road. The barbarians, who were close behind him, thought that he would never do this without having a large force hidden nearby and stopped their pursuit.). 77 ALLEN (1983), p. 31–32; STROBEL (1994), p. 86. In an appraisal of Attalos’ personality POLYB. 18.41 stresses the military achievements of the Attalid ruler. 78 IPerg. 246 = OGIS 332, l. 7–8: țĮșȚİȡ૵ıĮȚ į੻ Į੝IJȠ૨ țĮ੿ ਙȖĮȜȝĮ ʌİȞIJ੺ʌȘȤȣ IJİșȦȡĮțȚȢȝ੼|ȞȠȞ țĮ੿ ȕİȕȘțઁȢ ਥʌ੿ ıț઄ȜȦȞ (…). 79 IPerg. 246 = OGIS 332, l. 8: ਥȞ IJ૵Ț ȞĮ૵Ț IJȠ૨ ȈȦIJોȡȠȢ ਝıțȜȘʌȚȠ૨, ੆ȞĮ ਷[Ț] ı઄ȞȞĮȠȢ IJ૵Ț șİ૵Ț. 75

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case.80 Various cultic honours are mentioned in the Pergamene decree and P. Hamon has argued that the priests mentioned in the text closely resemble their Ptolemaic and Seleukid counterparts.81 I can only briefly touch upon the subject here.82 At any rate, it would seem that the Attalid ruler cult was further developed after Apameia and not reduced to meet a more ‘civic’ image; only after 188 were dead members of the dynasty called theoi.83 Queen Stratonike (probably) and her son Attalos III (certainly) had priests in Pergamon during their life.84 In contrast to the Seleukids, though, no living member of the dynasty received the epithet theos.85 Another aspect to be mentioned is directly linked to the Seleukids. While it was clear that the Attalids adopted elements of Seleukid administrative structure after Apameia, epigraphic evidence now shows that they also adopted the office of the archiereus.86 This priestly office played a central role in the new and centrally organized ‘state cult’ of the Seleukid dynasty established by Antiochos III.87 The Attalids apparently carried this position over when they received the Seleukid possessions in Asia Minor.88 It is not known, though, whether the Attalid archiereus had the same competences as the same official had had under the Seleukids.89 While many details may remain uncertain, it should not be disputed that cultic honours rendered the persona of the Attalid rulers decidedly more similar to those of fellow Hellenistic monarchs after 188.

80 HAMON (2004), p. 170: ‘Nous sommes donc plutôt à la frontière entre le culte ‘civique’ et le culte ‘d’État’ (...)’. For an approach to overcome the strict and at times artificial distinction between the two types see ERICKSON in this volume. 81 HAMON (2004), p. 184. 82 On Attalid ruler cult(s) see MÜLLER (1989); SCHWARZER (1999); HAMON (2004); MICHELS (2011). The eponymous magistrate of Pergamon had the title ʌȡ઄IJĮȞȚȢ țĮ੿ ੂİȡİઃȢ ĭȚȜİIJĮ઀ȡȠȣ probably from the time of Eumenes I onwards, cf. WÖRRLE (2000), p. 544, l. 1–2 a. 22. 83 ALLEN (1983), p. 145, 148. 84 The fragmentary inscription concerning Stratonike (I.Perg. 178 = OGIS 313) leaves room for doubt. In Teos Stratonike certainly had a priestess; cf. OGIS 309 (= McCabe Teos 45), l. 5. Attalos III: I.Perg. 246 = OGIS 332. 85 TAEGER (1957), p. 350–351. 86 On the inscription attesting the archiereus see MÜLLER (2000), p. 536–537. On the reforms in the administration, see ALLEN (1983), p. 85–98 and THONEMANN (2013) with p. 8–9 on the archiereus. That the Attalids retained this priestly office is not linked to their royal persona or the ruler cult by Thonemann. 87 See only VAN NUFFELEN (2004). 88 An archiereus was also honored as the first of several royal dignitaries and next to the Attalid dynasty by an association in the hinterland of Pergamon; cf. MÜLLER / WÖRRLE (2002), p. 192, l. 9–10. SEG 52, 1197. 89 HAMON (2004), p. 182 stresses that the archiereus is not attested for the capital Pergamon.

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3. Conclusion A further quote from Thonemann’s study in which he insists on a fundamental difference between the Attalid realm after 188 and the other monarchies illustrates the problem that stood in the centre of my article: ‘The Attalids aside, all three of the major Hellenistic imperial states (Seleukids, Ptolemies, Antigonids) and most of the smaller principalities on the fringes of Seleukid rule (the Bactrian and Indo-Greek kingdoms; the monarchies of Pontos, Media, Armenia, Bithynia, Cappadocia) were the direct linear descendants of the Achaemenid Persian empire. None of these Persian ‘successor states’ had any reason to make significant innovations to the Near Eastern imperial koine.’90

While it is certainly fruitful to elaborate on the peculiarities of every individual dynasty, Thonemann draws the dividing lines too strictly. It is, of course, already highly problematic to call the Ptolemies and especially the Antigonids ‘direct linear descendants of the Achaemenid Persian empire’. But it would in my mind also fall short of adequately describing the Seleukids’ ideology throughout their large and diverse empire.91 To single out the Attalids as fundamentally different from all the other monarchies seems to overstate their peculiarity. Their mode of expansion as consequence of the treaty of Apameia certainly was unique. As argued above, however, there is no all-pervasive tendency that came into being after Apameia, and in some regards (ruler cult) the Attalid monarchy seems to have evolved rather in a way opposite to the ‘un-charismatic’ persona that Thonemann has argued for. In part, the Attalid stress on a philhellenic image may result rather from their humble beginnings as rogue dynasts and from the fact that their rule was for a long time closely based on a single city.92 Although their role as protégés of the Romans was of fundamental importance to them, the inspirations for royal self-representation still came from the multipolar Hellenistic world. That the Attalids significantly contributed to its collapse by repeatedly involving the Romans in the conflicts of the East is a different story.

90

THONEMANN (2013), p. 46. The continuities from Achaimenid to Seleukid rule have been stressed by SHERWINWHITE / KUHRT (1993); cf. however the articles collected in BRODERSEN (1999). On various aspects of Seleukid ideology cf. now also ENGELS (2017). 92 Cf. SCHEER (1993), p. 129–133 with regard to the elaboration of the myth of Telephos. 91

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Illustrations Fig. 1: London, British Museum, Coins & Medals, GC14p115.31. Fig. 2: Numismatik Lanz München, Auction 156 (2 June 2013), no. 177. Fig. 3: Dr. Busso Peus Nachfolger, Auction 400 (22 April 2010), no. 157. Fig. 4: Classical Numismatic Group, Auction 87 (18 May 2011), no. 561.

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CO‫܇‬KUN, A. (2012), Deconstructing a Myth of Seleucid History: the So-Called ‘Elephant Victory’ Revisited, in Phoenix 66, p. 57–73. - (2014),Latène-Artefakte im hellenistischen Kleinasien: ein problematisches Kriterium für die Bestimmung der ethnischen Identität(en) der Galater, in IstMitt 64, p. 129– 162. DMITRIEV, S. (2007), Memnon on the Siege of Heraclea Pontica by Prusias I and the War between the Kingdoms of Bithynia and Pergamum, in JHS 127, p. 133–138. ECKSTEIN, A.M. (2012), Rome Enters the Greek East: From Anarchy to Hierarchy in the Hellenistic Mediterranean, 230–170 BC., Malden MA / Oxford / Chichester. ENGELS, D. (2014), Antiochos III. der Große und sein Reich. Überlegungen zur ‚Feudalisierung‘ der seleukidischen Peripherie, in F. HOFFMANN et al. (ed.), Orient und Okzident – Antagonismus oder Konstrukt? Machtstrukturen, Ideologien und Kulturtransfer in hellenistischer Zeit, Vaterstetten, p. 31–75. - (2017), Benefactors, Kings, Rulers. Studies on the Seleukid Empire between East and West, Leuven. ERRINGTON, R.M., Rev. of THONEMANN, P. (ed.) (2013), Attalid Asia Minor. Money, International Relations, and the State, Oxford, in: sehepunkte 13, Nr. 11 [15.11.2013]. URL: http:// www.sehepunkte.de/2013/11/23753.html. ERSKINE, A. (1994), The Romans as Common Benefactors, in Historia 43, p. 70–87. GRUEN, E.S. (1984), The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, 2 vols., London. - (2000), Culture as Policy: The Attalids of Pergamon, in N.T. de GRUMMOND (ed.), From Pergamon to Sperlonga. Sculpture and Context, Berkeley CA et al., p. 17–31. GÜNTHER, L.-M. (1995), Kappadokien, die seleukidische Heiratspolitik und die Rolle der Antiochis, Tochter Antiochos’ III., in Studien zum antiken Kleinasien III, Bonn, p. 47– 61. HABICHT, Chr. (1957), art. Prusias I., in RE 23.1, col. 1086–1107. HAMON, P. (2004), Les prêtres du culte royal dans la capitale des Attalides: note sur le décret de Pergame en l’honneur du roi Attale III (OGIS 332), in Chiron 34, p. 169– 185. HANNESTAD, L. (1996), ‘This Contributes in no Small Way to One’s Reputation’: The Bithynian Kings and Greek Culture, in P. BILDE et al. (eds.), Aspects of Hellenistic Kingship, Aarhus, p. 67–98. HANSEN, E.V. (1971), The Attalids of Pergamon, 2nd ed., Ithaca / London. HEINEN, H. (1984), The Syrian-Egyptian Wars and the New Kingdoms of Asia Minor, CAH 7.1, p. 412–445. - (2005), Die Anfänge der Beziehungen Roms zum nördlichen Schwarzmeerraum. Die Romfreundschaft der Chersonesiten (IOSPE I2 402), in A. COùKUN (ed.), Roms auswärtige Freunde in der späten Republik und frühen Kaiserzeit, Göttingen, p. 31– 54. HØJTE, J.M. (2005), The Date of the Alliance between Chersonesos and Pharnakes (IOSPE I2, 402) and its Implications, in V.F. STOLBA / L. HANNESTAD (eds.), Chronologies of the Black Sea Area in the Period c. 400–100 BC, Aarhus, 137–151. HOLLEAUX, M. (1968a), Décret des Amphictions de Delphes relatif à la fête des Niképhoria, in ID., Études d’Epigraphie et d’Histoire Grecques, Tome II: Études sur la Monarchie Attalide, Paris, p. 63–72.

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- (1968b), Le décret des Ioniens en l’Honneur d’Eumènes II, in ID., Études d’Epigraphie et d’Histoire Grecques, Tome II: Études sur la Monarchie Attalide, Paris, p. 153–178. HOPP, J. (1977), Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der letzten Attaliden, München. HUTTNER, U. (1997), Die politische Rolle der Heraklesgestalt im griechischen Herrschertum, Stuttgart. JONNES, L. / RICL, M. (1997), A New Royal Inscription from Phrygia Paroreios: Eumenes II Grants Tyriaion the Status of a Polis, in EA 29, p. 1–30. KAY, P. (2013), What Did the Attalids ever Do for Us? The View from the Aerarium, in P. THONEMANN (ed.), Attalid Asia Minor: Money, International Relations, and the State, Oxford, p. 121–148. KISTLER, E. (2010), Funktionalisierte Keltenbilder! Die Indienstnahme der Kelten zur Vermittlung von Normen und Werten in der hellenistischen Welt, Berlin. KOBES, J. (1996), ‚Kleine Könige’. Untersuchungen zu den Lokaldynasten im hellenistischen Kleinasien (323–188 v.Chr.), St. Katharinen. KOEHN, C. (2007), Krieg – Diplomatie – Ideologie. Zur Außenpolitik hellenistischer Mittelstaaten, Stuttgart. KOSMETATOU, E. (1998), Cistophori and Cista Mystica. A New Interpretation of the Early Cistophoric Types, in Revue Belge de Numismatique 144, p. 11–19. LESCHHORN, W. (1996), Die Königsfamilie in der Politik. Zur Mitwirkung der Attalidenfamilie an der Regierung des Pergamenischen Reiches, in ID. et al. (eds.), Hellas und der griechische Osten: Studien zur Geschichte und Numismatik der griechischen Welt, Festschrift für Peter Robert Franke zum 70. Geburtstag, Saarbrücken, p. 79–98. MARCELLESI, M. (2010), Le monnayage royal et ses interactions avec les monnayages civiques: L’exemple du royaume attalide, in I. SAVALLI-LESTRADE / I. COGITORE (eds.), Des rois au prince: Pratiques du pouvoir monarchique dans l’Orient hellénistique et romain (IVe siècle avant J.-C.-IIe siècle après J.-C.), Grenoble, p. 193–206. MEADOWS, A. (2013), The Closed Currency System of the Attalid Kingdom, in P. THONEMANN (ed.), Attalid Asia Minor: Money, International Relations, and the State, Oxford, p. 149–205. MA, J. (2002), Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford et al. - (2013), The Attalids: A Military History, in P. THONEMANN (ed.), Attalid Asia Minor: Money, International Relations, and the State, Oxford, 49–82. MCGING, B.C. (1986), The Foreign Policy of Mithridates VI Eupator King of Pontus, Leiden. MCSHANE, R.B. (1964), The Foreign Policy of the Attalids of Pergamum, Urbana. MICHELS, C. (2004), Der Pergamonaltar als „Staatsmonument“ der Attaliden. Zur Rolle des historischen Kontextes in den Diskussionen über Datierung und Interpretation der Bildfriese, Berlin et al. - (2009), Kulturtransfer und monarchischer ‘Philhellenismus’. Bithynien, Pontos und Kappadokien in hellenistischer Zeit, Göttingen. - (2011), Dionysos Kathegemon und der attalidische Herrscherkult. Überlegungen zur Herrschaftsrepräsentation der Könige von Pergamon, in L.-M. GÜNTHER / S. PLISCHKE (ed.), Studien zum vorhellenistischen und hellenistischen Herrscherkult, Berlin, p. 114–140.

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MITTAG, P.F. (2006), Antiochos IV. Epiphanes. Eine politische Biographie, Berlin. - (2014), Die diplomatischen Beziehungen zwischen Antiochos und Rom, in Chr. FEYEL / L. GRASLIN-THOMÉ (eds.), Le projet politique d’Antiochos IV, Paris, p. 117–136. MUCCIOLI, F. (2013), Gli epiteti ufficiali dei re ellenistici, Stuttgart. MÜLLER, H. (1989), Ein neues hellenistisches Weihepigramm aus Pergamon, in Chiron 19, p. 499–553. - (1991), Königin Stratonike, Tochter des Königs Ariarathes, in Chiron 21, p. 393–424. - (2000), Der hellenistische Archiereus, in Chiron 30, p. 519–542. - (2002), Ein Verein im Hinterland Pergamons zur Zeit Eumenes’ II., in Chiron 32, p. 191–235. - (2003), Pergamenische Parerga, in Chiron 33, p. 419–445. MÜLLER, S. (2009), Das hellenistische Königspaar in der medialen Repräsentation. Ptolemaios II. und Arsinoe II., Berlin. MUSTI, D. (1986), Il dionismo degli Attalidi: antecedenti, modelli, sviluppi, in L’association dionysiaque dans les sociétés anciennes, Actes de la table ronde organisée par l’École française de Rome (Rome 24–25 mai 1984), Roma, p. 105–126. OHLEMUTZ, E. (1968), Die Kulte und Heiligtümer der Götter in Pergamon, 2nd ed., Darmstadt. ORTH, W. (2008), Der Dynast Philetairos von Pergamon als Wohltäter, in Vom Euphrat bis zum Bosporus, Bonn, p. 485–495. PATTERSON, L. E. (2001), Rome’s Relationship with Artaxias I of Armenia, in AHB 15– 4, p. 154–162. PETKOVIû, Z. (2012), The Aftermath of the Apamean Settlement: Early Challenges to the New Order in Asia Minor, in Klio 94.2, p. 357–365. PRIMO, A. (2006),Il ruolo di Roma nella guerra pontico-pergamena del 183–179: Giustino, XXXVIII, 6, 1, in B. VIRGILIO (ed.), Studi Ellenistici XIX, Pisa / Roma, p. 617– 628. QUEYREL, F. (1999), Le portrait monétaire d’Eumène II: problèmes d’interprétation et de datation, in M. AMANDRY / S. HURTER (ed.), Travaux de numismatique Grecque offerts a Georges le Rider, London, p. 323–336. RIGSBY, K.J. (1996), Asylia. Territorial Inviolability in the Hellenistic World, Berkeley CA et al. SCHALLES, H.-J. (1985), Untersuchungen zur Kulturpolitik der pergamenischen Herrscher im 3. Jahrhundert vor Christus, Tübingen. SCHEER, T.S. (1993), Mythische Vorväter. Zur Bedeutung griechischer Heroenmythen im Selbstverständnis kleinasiatischer Städte, München. SCHULER, C. (1999), Kolonisten und Einheimische in einer attalidischen Polisgründung, in ZPE 128, p. 124–132. SCHWARZER, H. (1999), Untersuchungen zum hellenistischen Herrscherkult in Pergamon, in MDAI(I) 49, p. 249–300. SHERWIN-WHITE, S. / KUHRT, A. (1993), From Samarkand to Sardis. A New Approach to the Seleucid Empire, London. SMITH, R.R.R. (1988), Hellenistic Royal Portraits, Oxford.

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STROBEL, K. (1994), Keltensieg und Galatersieg. Die Funktionalisierung eines historischen Phänomens als politischer Mythos der hellenistischen Welt, in E. SCHWERTHEIM (ed.), Asia Minor Studien 12, Forschungen in Galatien, Bonn, p. 67–96. STROOTMAN, R. (2005), Kings against Celts. Deliverance from Barbarians as a Theme in Hellenistic Royal Propaganda, in K.A.E. ENENKEL / I. PFEIJFFER (eds.), The Manipulative Mode, Political Propaganda in Antiquity. A Collection of Case Studies, Leiden et al., p. 101–141. SZAIVERT, W. (2005), Der Beitrag der literarischen Quellen zur Datierung des Beginns der Kistophorenprägung, in H. EMMERIG (ed.), Vindobona docet. 40 Jahre Institut für Numismatik und Geldgeschichte der Universität Wien 1965–2005, NZ 113–114, p. 51–64. - (2008), Kistophoren und die Münzbilder in Pergamon, in NZ 116–117, 29–43. TAEGER, F. (1957 / 60), Charisma. Studien zur Geschichte des antiken Herrscherkultes, 2 vols., Stuttgart. TAYLOR, M.J. (2016), The Attalid Victory at Magnesia on a Lost Plaque from Pergamon, in Anatolian Studies 66, 81–90. THONEMANN, P. (2013), The Attalid State, 188–133 BC, in ID. (ed.), Attalid Asia Minor: Money, International Relations, and the State, Oxford, 1–47. VAN LOOY, H. (1976), Apollonis reine de Pergame, in AncSoc 7, p. 151–165. VAN NUFFELEN, P. (2004), Le culte royal de l’empire des Séleucides: une réinterprétation, in Historia 53, p. 278–301. WIEMER, H.-U. (2002), Krieg, Handel und Piraterie. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des hellenistischen Rhodos, Berlin. WÖRRLE, M. (2000), Pergamon um 133 v. Chr., in Chiron 30, 542–576. - (2009), Neue Inschriftenfunde aus Aizanoi V: Aizanoi und Rom I, in Chiron 39, p. 409– 444.

IV. The Fading Power of the Seleukids, Roman Diplomacy, and Judaea’s Way to Independence

Triangular Epistolary Diplomacy with Rome from Judas Maccabee to Aristobulos I* Altay COùKUN Abstract Scholarly opinions tend to converge towards accepting that Roman commitment to Judaea was very limited: sources attesting treaties of friendship and alliance are either seen as fabricated or not reflecting the real intentions of the Romans. Their inactivity is thus mostly blamed for the discontinuation of friendship by the end of the 2nd century BC. The present study questions these views, not least by demonstrating how highly amcitia populi Romani was appreciated both by the Author (140 BC) and Continuator (128 BC) of 1Macc. The methodological novelty is to accept the historicity of the diplomatic documents in 1Macc and Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities, and to systematically correct their narratives on this basis. Accordingly, Judas’ ambassadors made the first alliance (161 BC), which was renewed under Simon (142 BC) and again under John Hyrkanos I (128 BC). Another mission to Rome under John Hyrkanos was headed by Straton (107 BC). The alliance was also renewed under Aristobulos (104 BC) and Alexander Jannaios (by 100 BC). The evidence allows us to describe the mechanism of Judaean diplomacy: ambassadors were sent from Jerusalem to the Senate, put forward their concerns, expected and normally received official letters that told third parties, especially Seleukid kings, what to do. This kind of ‘triangular diplomacy’ was particularly successful under Simon and John Hyrkanos. Gradually, however, the largescale changes in the eastern Mediterranean World diminished Roman interest and influence in the Near East, also ending the high tide of Roman epistolary diplomacy.

1. Introduction: a New Approach to the Study of Judaean-Roman Diplomacy under the Maccabees Given the complexity of the sources on the one hand, and their relevance for Roman, Hellenistic and Judaean politics on the other, the letters documenting Judaean-Roman relations from Judas Maccabee (166–161 BC) to Hyrkanos II * I am grateful to Germain Payen, Jess Russell and Andreas Zack for their feedback on an earlier draft. I here present for the first time a synthesis of my research on Judaean– Roman relations in the 2nd century BC. I shall discuss the ancient sources and scholarly positions in much more detail in my book on the genesis and the chronological problems of 1Macc (COùKUN, in prep.). For an in-depth study on the embassy under Judas, see COùKUN (2018c); for an investigation into the rule of Simon, see COùKUN (2018a).

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(76–30 BC) have been studied intensively for centuries by Classical and Biblical scholars. And yet, no consensus is in sight: the historicity, dates and legalpolitical relevance of these texts remain highly contested. This controversy notwithstanding, scholarly opinions tend to converge towards accepting that Roman commitment was very limited, whether the sources (which tell us otherwise) have been fabricated or the Romans never had the intentions to get involved closely (despite granting treaties of friendship and alliance). Roman inactivity is thus often blamed for the discontinuation of this interstate friendship later under John Hyrkanos I (135–105/104 BC) or Aristobulos I (105/104–104/3 BC). Alternatively, scholars explain that the Judaeans lost Roman favour due to their growing aggressiveness and expansionism around the same time. The present study is going to question these views in various ways. An important starting point will be the fact that at least the Author (ca. 140 BC) and Continuator (ca. 128 BC) of the First Book of Maccabees (1Macc) highly appreciated amicitia populi Romani, and represent it as one of the pillars on which the power and legitimacy of the Maccabaean (or Hasmonaean) dynasty rested. This should limit the scope for a negative historical assessment of Roman interstate friendship. Next, the diplomatic history is in need of a thorough revision. An innovative methodology promises much more reliable results than previous studies achieved. Those were depending too much either on the problematic narratives of our main sources, 1Macc and Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities, or instead on preconceived ideas on Roman or Judaean politics. A novel approach that focuses on the rich documentary evidence dispersed in 1Macc and Josephus Jewish Antiquities permits us to reconstruct a coherent account, solidly grounded in the ancient sources and consistently designed without special pleading. On this basis, I have reasserted elsewhere 1Macc 8 as a reliable report of the first Judaean embassy to Rome. The mission of Eupolemos and Jason in 161 BC is further attested by the letter of the Consul Fannius, asking the Koans to assist the ambassadors on their way home. Next, the embassy to Rome and Sparta under Jonathan will be evinced as an erroneous construct. The dispersed traces of Simon’s diplomacy can be configured to one Roman mission of Numenios and Antipatros in 142 BC. The documentary evidence is twofold: it is mentioned in the Constitutional Document of 140 BC, and further attested by the letter of the Consul Lucius (Caecilius Metellus Calvinus) to King Ptolemy (VIII Euergetes Physkon). Later on, John Hyrkanos I sent an embassy to renew friendship with the Romans in ca. 128 BC; the Decree of the Praetor Lucius Valerius lists Alexander, the son of Jason, Numenios, the son of Antiochos, and Alexander, the son of Dorotheos, as the envoys. A second delegation of the same ruler left Jerusalem in 107 BC; for this, Straton, the son of Theodotos, Apollonios, the son of Alexander, Aineias, the son of Antipatros, Aristobulos, the son of Amyntas, and Sosipatros, the son of Philippos are named in the

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Pergamon Decree. As far as I see, I am the only one who prosposes to read the Fannius Decree as evidence for a renewal of Judaean-Roman friendship under Aristobulos I in 104 BC. Finally, I have interpreted a dedicatory inscription attested by Strabon as revealing a continuation of this practice under Alexander Jannaios around 100 BC.1 We are now well prepared to survey the historical interpretations of JudaeanRoman friendship diplomacy in modern scholarship (2) and confront the prevailing views with the problems that they cause (3). Next, I shall reconstruct Simon’s dealings with Rome, on which basis the mechanisms of ‘triangular epistolary diplomacy’ can be illustrated (4). Thereafter, I shall demonstrate that the same strategies were in place under Judas and John Hyrkanos I (5). The final section rehearses the evidence for the later rule of John Hyrkanos, Aristobulos I and Alexander Jannaios. It will be shown that friendship diplomacy continued for a longer time than scholars have previously admitted, but, at the same time, symptoms of the decline of epistolary diplomacy will be highlighted and contextualized within the broader geopolitical changes in the Mediterranean and Near Eastern World (6).

2. A Survey of Scholarly Positions on Judaean-Roman Diplomacy Modern reconstructions of Judaean-Roman diplomacy vary widely, and this relates to nearly every single aspect of the embassies themselves, their political context and their outcomes. The degree of controversy becomes most obvious when one tries to establish only a tentative timeline. At all events, most scholars accept an early Roman initiative in ca. 164 BC, followed by the first Judaean embassy to Rome under Judas in 161 BC, while others deny a treaty, if not the dispatch of envoys, prior to Simon, John Hyrkanos I or even Aristobulos I. At any rate, a mission to the Senate under Jonathan is mostly dated to ca. 144/43 BC, and under Simon to 142 or/and again to 140/38 BC. John Hyrkanos I is believed to have dispatched his first ambassadors around 134/33 or 129/25 BC. Irrespective of such discrepancies, nearly all scholars at least agree on the view that friendship and alliance was not renewed under Aristobulos I, Alexander Jannaios and Salome Alexandra. Accordingly, diplomacy with Rome is considered to have ceased about half a century before the arrival of Pompey in Syria in 63 BC.2 1

See sections 4–6 for sources and arguments. The sources are unfolded below, esp. in sections 4 and 5. There is no need to discuss the speculation of ZOLLSCHAN (2004) and (2017), p. 206 on the beginning of diplomacy in 174 BC (though accepted by ROCCA 2014, p. 265), since nothing of this kind is implied in 2Macc 4.11b. I further consider the Roman letter addressing the Judaeans in 164 BC as a forgery, together with WILLRICH (1924), p. 50–58; GAUGER (1977), p. 264f.; MITTAG 2

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When it comes to legal interpretations of Judaean-Roman relations under the Maccabees, we can identify largely three trends in modern scholarship: 1) Hugo Willrich launched the most radical ‘attack’ on the historicity of the treaties of friendship and alliance. According to him, John Hyrkanos I began a loose kind of friendship diplomacy with Rome around 129/28 BC, and finally concluded a treaty of alliance around 110/108 BC.3 Likewise, Adrian Sherwin White rejects the idea that Judas, Jonathan or Simon ever sent embassies to Rome; if the Romans had taken interest in affairs beyond the Taurus, they would have sent envoys themselves; a change is admitted only for John Hyrkanos I, although he received nothing but ‘ineffective’ letters.4 2) Ludwig Mendelsson, Benedikt Niese and many others accept the missions to Rome as factual, but downplay their outcome, claiming that they yielded no more than informal and non-obliging declarations of friendship. Jörg-Dieter Gauger, for instance, suggests for 161 BC: ‘Rom reagiert – wie auch in anderen Fällen – zunächst nur mit einer rechtlich nichtssagenden, politisch nicht allzu wirkungsvollen, aber für Rom selbst propagandistisch effektiven

(2006), p. 276f. See COùKUN (in prep.) for further discussion. At the other end of the time spectrum, I mention ROCCA (2014), p. 272–293 as a noteworthy exception arguing for a continuity of friendship diplomacy: while the time was too short for Aristobulos to renew friendship, Alexander Jannaios did so to legitimize his conquests; Salome Alexandra might have done so, because Tigranes was a common enemy of Rome and Judaea; and Aristobulos II renewal of friendship seems to be implied in his reaching out to Pompey. The argument is difficult to follow and suffers from an overdose of speculation, e.g., p. 282f.: ‘the fact theat King Alexander Jannaeus fought against two powers, whose ‘neutrality’ favored Mithradates more than it did Rome, can be interpreted as being a proRoman stand.’ 3 WILLRICH (1900), p. 70–76. In a highly speculative argument, WILLRICH further ascribes the treaty of 1Macc 8.23–30 to (Judas) Aristobulos I, and the letter of the Consul Lucius on behalf of Simon to the brother of Aristobulos, (Simon) Antigonos; cf. the criticism by TÄUBLER (1913), p. 251 n. 1. Neither the assumption of a regular dyarchy since the days of Jonathan/Simon nor the onomastic premises hold ground. The Hebrew name of Antigonos has not been transmitted. ILAN I (2002), p. 263 Antigonos no. 1 leaves it open, whereas the Hebrew name of King Antigonos (40–37 BC) is known to have been Matthathias (no. 2). In my opinion, this is also the most likely choice for the brother of Aristobulos I, see COùKUN (ca. 2018b). Also see WILLRICH (1895), p. 71–74; (1924), p. 44–50 for the beginning of Judaean-Roman diplomacy in the second phase of Demetrios II (129/25 BC), based partly on JUST. 36.3.9, partly on the conviction that the treaty with Rome postdated the conquest of Joppa under Simon, as seems to be implied in JOS., Ant. Jud. 14.10.6 (205). This argument is followed by GRAETZ (1906), p. 660; GAUGER (1977), p. 337–339; ZACK (2018b), p. 1043; for a rejection, see COùKUN (ca. 2018d) and (in prep). 4 SHERWIN-WHITE (1984), p. 77–79, admitting the first Judaean embassies to Rome in ca. 133 BC.

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Freiheitserklärung auf die Judas-Gesandtschaft.’5 Most recently, Linda Zollschan has even gone further, concluding that Roman amicitia brought no guarantees on the one hand, but ultimate subjection to the superpower on the other.6 3) The first major attempt to defend the literary tradition of formal treaty relations can be assigned to Eugen Täubler; Erich Gruen and Ernst Baltrusch are more recent representatives of this trend. While there continues to be disagreement regarding the ceremonial formalities (was the treaty ratified by oath on either side, or simply endorsed by a senatus consultum?), the three aforementioned scholars concur (with many others)7 that Rome’s intentions of backing Judaean interests against the Seleukids were limited from the outset. Nearly all of them point to a ‘back-door stipulation’, the so-called ‘escape clause’ or ‘kairos clause’, which some read as making military support dependent on mere convenience.8 As far as the political purpose of Judaean-Roman friendship diplomacy is concerned, a majority of scholars would now regard it as leverage against 5 MENDELSSON (1875a), p. 99f.; NIESE (1906), p. 824–829; GRAETZ (1906), p. 659f; GAUGER (1977), p. 263–269; 337 (quotation on p. 273); ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 209–212; cf. GOLDSTEIN (1976/79), p. 364f. (inability of the Judaeans to make a treaty). 6 ZOLLSCHAN (2017), e.g., p. 1; 7; 204; friendship with Rome was a ‘one-sided agreement to supply military aid’. Note, however, that her book is marred with inconsistencies; see AMELING (2018); ZACK (2018b); COùKUN (ca. 2018c). Similar to ZOLLSCHAN, however, DORAN (1996), 107 infers ‘de facto an acknowledgment of Roman suzerainty’. And ROCCA (2014), p. 267 follows various of Zollschan’s main arguments expressed in previous publications. 7 Cf., e.g., DANCY (1959), p. 128: ‘He may of course have believed the sort of propaganda that appears in 8.12 (cp. 14.40), and himself also been temporizing in his negotiations with Nicanor (7.27 n.) until help arrived. If so, he died disillusioned. More probably he was shrewd enough to expect nothing more than he got, namely a letter from Rome to Antioch; but that might well have been sufficient to stay the hand of a weaker king than Demetrios.’ 8 Thus, e.g., TÄUBLER (1913), p. 253 and 254, followed by SORDI (1952), p. 509, though with a much more idealistic view of Roman interventionism for ‘i piccoli popoli in lotta contro il dispotismo delle monarchie ellenistiche’ (p. 518). Also see GAUGER (1977), p. 208-210: kairos clause implies support ‘nach Möglichkeit’; GRUEN (1984), p. 42: ‘That document [...] has even induced some to brand it as fictitious. The surprise, however, depends on an erroneous assumption: that the treaty’s terms were to be taken seriously or interpreted literally. They were not.’ Also p. 44: ‘The customary loophole also reappears: implementation of the terms will take effect only if circumstances permit’; DORAN (1996), p. 107: the Romans could use the ‘loophole’; the treaty gave them options without binding them; GERA (1998), p. 312f.: ‘escape clause’; BALTRUSCH (2002), p. 95: ‘Einschränkungsklausel’; p. 153: ‘Denn mehr als diplomatische Beziehungen waren die Verträge und ihre Erneuerungen nicht.’ Contra ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 155f. and 203; COùKUN (2018c). – Yet differently, FISCHER (1980), p. 104– 116 first argues for the historicity of the treaty text, but then claims that it did not come into effect, because it was not ratified by the Judaeans.

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domestic opponents of the Maccabees.9 After all, the new priestly dynasty was in need of bolstering its legitimacy. In respect of its strategic impact, however, opinions now tend to converge towards the assumption that the Maccabees got increasingly frustrated with their Roman partners: either John Hyrkanos I or his successors are said to have understood that the very high costs for entertaining their friendship relation no longer paid off.10 Particularly telling are the positions of those who are, in principle, ready to admit dense interactions between the Maccabees and Romans, and are further willing to assess Roman favour for the Judaeans as relatively high. One of them is Dov Gera, who acknowledges that Judas achieved a treaty of alliance, but points to various limitations, most of all that Rome was shunning military campaigns in the East, and that Hellenistic monarchs reckoned with this reluctance: ‘Thus it is possible that Demetrius was unaware of the Jews’ powerful ally, but in any event, it is unlikely that knowledge of the Jewish-Roman alliance would have prevented him from sending an army against the Jews. The Roman policy in 161 was intended to break up the Seleucid kingdom and deny Demetrius his throne. While Rome did not recognize Demetrius as king, the Republic did award such status to Timarchus, and concluded an alliance with the (former) Seleucid subjects, the Jews. Demetrius’ only recourse was to establish his rule by force of arms, and to present the 9 See, e.g., FISCHER (1980), p. 120: ‘das gute Verhältnis zur westlichen Großmacht [bildet] einen Eckstein der Hasmonäerherrschaft überhaupt!’; GRUEN (1984), p. 45: ‘some international recognition might be a valuable element in their struggle’; SEEMAN (2013), p. 125f.: even the embassy under Judas was less concerned with its freedom from the Seleukids than with gaining a political edge over those Judaeans favouring the controversial High Priest Alkimos; p. 130; 133. Cf. WILKER (2011), p. 244; SHATZMAN (2012), p. 69: ‘they may have had more symbolic than practical character, but it would be wrong to infer that for the Romans they were devoid of any significance’; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 217. Most problematic is the explanation of BERNHARDT (2017), p. 370f.: ‘Vor dem Hintergrund von Judas’ Bündnisschluß lassen sich die Ziele Jonathans bei der Bündniserneuerung ziemlich präzise bestimmen. Denn zum einen muß 144 v.Chr. jedem klar gewesen sein, daß sich die Seleukiden durch ein Bündnis mit Rom in ihrem Vorgehen in Judäa nicht einschränken ließen; zum anderen wußte nun auch Jonathan, daß Rom nicht aktiv in die Auseinandersetzungen eingreifen würde. Die Erneuerung des Bündnisses kann somit nur auf die Situation in Judäa abgezielt / haben’. Also see pp. 373f. on the alleged ‘Putsch’ of Simon against Jonathan, which leads to the curious assumption that the embassy dispatched by Simon intended to avoid Roman intervention in favour of Jonathan. 10 GRUEN (1984), p. 750: ‘The contents of the letter to Ptolemy are, to be sure, suspect, as are some of the places to which it was addressed. Whatever one makes of the document, however, this “renewal” had no more tangible consequences than the previous negotiations’; p. 751: ‘The pattern of Roman affirmations on the one hand and lack of implementation on the other has a remarkable regularity. The senate sent pro forma messages – and let the recipients work matters out for themselves.’ ROCCA (2014), p. 267 echos this wording (also p. 271), but contradicts himself on p. 268 by conceding much influence to Roman diplomatic letters. More positions are quoted below.

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Republic with irreversible facts, and that is what he eventually did. … Even if Judas Maccabaeus and other adversaries of the Seleucid kingdom deluded themselves that Rome would extend military assistance, they were bound to realize that on the short term at least, Roman military help would not be effective. Because of the distance and the time involved, Roman responses, both political/and military, to the affairs of the eastern Mediterranean could not but lag behind actual events.’11

Although Gera favours an interventionist attitude of the Romans in general, he regards their actions as defined by the interests of various aristocratic factions. His view does ultimately not differ much from Erich Gruen’s picture of Roman ‘indifference’ towards the East,12 Mendelsson’s explanation that the Senate only showed diplomatic courtesy without taking on any legal obligations, or the even more blunt expressions of Roman utilitarianism, according to which Judas’ insurrection was coming in handy when Demetrios I needed to be pressured into obedience to Rome. Chris Seeman and Edward Dąbrowa surmise a somewhat higher expectation of Roman support among the Judaeans. Seeman, for instance, emphasizes the readiness of the Romans to ‘endorse the idea of Judaean territorial integrity’, and their interest in being seen as a ‘benevolent superpower’. At the same time, however, he admits not only the lack of sanctions, but also the ‘shelving’ of the first request by the Judaeans that the Romans might ‘put legates on the ground’.13 And Dąbrowa rightly cautions us not to make much of the failure to assist Judas, since his ambassadors returned too late to the Levant to prevent his defeat at Elaza.14 And he further points to the repeated effort of the Maccabees 11 GERA (1998), p. 312 and 313f. Also see his analysis of Roman foreign policy towards the Seleukids, resulting in the acceptance of the fait accompli, if ‘friendly’ diplomacy could not trigger the expected results (pp. 314–318). 12 Cf. ECKSTEIN (2000), p. 165 (in his review of GERA 1998, also referencing GRUEN 1984): ‘From this perspective, the famous treaty of alliance … was only a gesture (perhaps merely a polite response to the unexpected arrival of a Hasmonean embassy in Rome). The Romans in fact never helped the Maccabees [...] Gera wishes in general to see the Senate engaged in a far more interventionist diplomacy in the Greek East than the frequent passivity underlined by Erich Gruen […]; but in practical terms Gera’s conclusions are often quite similar to Gruen’s (see p. 320). Certainly Rome had no intention of going to war against the Seleukid empire even the suddenly weakened Seleucid empire after 163 on behalf of so unimportant a people as the Jews.’ Also see DANCY (1959), p. 130: ‘If the Senate actually sent the letter (sc. to Demetrios I – A.C.), we must suppose that Demetrios did not receive it until too late, i.e. spring 160. For later in that year he at last won their recognition, if not their love.’ 13 SEEMAN (2013), esp. p. 201 on John Hyrkanos I. Also see p. 135: the Romans intended ‘to prod Demetrios into demonstrating his goodwill to the Republic’ (which he then did with his embassy of 160/159 BCE). It is, at any rate, unconvincing to claim that the letter to Demetrios (1Macc 8.31f.) implies the recognition of Seleukid sovereignty over Judaea (p. 119). 14 DĄBROWA (2010), p. 41: ‘Judah’s decision to seek support in Rome could conceivably be of great impact. In case his plan succeeded, the friendship and support of

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to seek Roman support, which underlines its high appreciation on the one hand; on the other hand, he thinks that Roman commitment could be seen as lacking over time regardless: ‘This demonstrates the Jewish leaders’ profound faith in the Roman senators’ ability to exert any kind of pressure on the Seleukid court. However, although the Senate openly took the side of the Jews represented by Judas and his successors, active support, striking as it may have been at times, only went as far as verbal declarations with limited effect. Furthermore, we do not have persuasive evidence that the letters sent by the Senate throughout the Eastern Mediterranean on behalf of the Jews (1Macc 15.22–24) had any tangible result. Such diplomatic support would leave the strongest impression on the leaders of Judaea that were potentially opposing the Maccabees.’15

Dąbrowa further undermines the potentially strong impact of Roman intervention by questioning the effect that senatus consulta may or may not have had on Seleukid kings, as long as, e.g., Demetrios II and Antiochos VII regarded at least formal sovereignty over the Judaeans as existential for their own rule.16 Dąbrowa then addresses the ambivalence of the Maccabees’ experience with Rome more explicitly for John Hyrkanos I: ‘Each of these missions resulted in declarations on the part of the Roman Senate that met John Hyrkanos’ expectations, but none of them translated into concrete actions. Neither Rome nor its allies made the slightest effort to make the Seleukids respect the

Rome, an unfriendly power vis-à-vis the Seleucids, might have become a weighty factor in persuading the Syrian rulers to modify their stance toward Judah. However, the initiative came too late to have real impact on the course of events. Nor can we be too sure if Judah indeed believed Rome to be ready to engage actively in defending the rebellion.’ Also cf. SORDI (1952), p. 510; DANCY (1959), p. 130, quoted above, n. 12. Differently, EHLING (2008), p. 143f. understands that Demetrios simply refused to pay attention to the Roman threat. Surprisingly, GRAINGER (2012), p. 48 denies ‘even any diplomatic assistance. Rome was not about to become involved in a war in the eastern end of the Mediterranean on behalf of rebels’. Likewise, ECKSTEIN (2000), p. 165: ‘The Romans in fact never helped the Maccabees – not even diplomatically – during their long struggle for independence.’ 15 DĄBROWA in this volume. 16 DĄBROWA (2010), p. 59: ‘According to 1Macc, Demetrius’ stance was influenced by news of Simon’s recognition by the Romans as a friend and an ally, a dubious claim since Demetrius’ behavior shows not the least suggestion of his fears of Simon’s powerful political partner. Ever since Jason first received appointment as high priest of the Jerusalem temple, from Antiochus IV Epiphanes, Syrian kings treated the right to name successive high priests as an important political act naturally derived from their dominion over Judea. In this context, Demetrius II confirming the legality of Simon’s high priesthood (which he had been given by his assembled subjects), as well as the honors the king granted him, do not seem a sign of weakness or fear. Rather, they were clearly political gestures to remind the Judean that he was still a vassal of the Seleucids.’ Cf. p. 59 for a similar interpretation of the perception of Antiochos VII (although there is a contradiction, when his letter is said to have sought no more than ‘neutrality’).

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Senate’s decree in favour of Judaea. Rome’s passive stance was no doubt a source of disappointment for John Hyrkanos.’17

Dąbrowa finally concludes that it was the same John Hyrkanos I, who, after (allegedly) three embassies to the Senate, was induced both by Roman inactivity and Seleukid weakness, ‘to take matters into his own hands’.18 While this may sound compelling at a first glance, my concern is that no Maccabee beginning with Matthatias and Judas had ever hesitated ‘to take matters into their own hands’. They were never slow to respond with force to challenges to their cult or fellow Judaeans, or even to seize opportunities for expansion. Diplomacy with Rome often followed such actions, in a hope to consolidate or further improve what had already been achieved. It is therefore likewise difficult to agree with the analysis of Israel Shatzman. He assumes that John Hyrkanos embraced the model of Judas and maintained both a more positive and a more realistic attitude towards the Roman superpower: The lesson is sharp and clear: given Rome’s overwhelming power and supremacy, a player in the international arena should co-operate with her and consistently keep her friendship in order to succeed politically. That such a lesson indeed guided Hyrcanus can be inferred from his attempts to get Rome’s reconfirmation of the Judaean-Roman friendship alliance, as well as backing for his political and military goals and ventures.19

Shatzman specifies his view by admitting that John Hyrkanos’ first embassy for help against Antiochos IX Kyzikenos did not meet with success,20 and that he was experienced enough to wait until the interests of the Romans, who are said to have favoured Antiochos VIII Grypos during the dynastic conflict, aligned with his own. In the end, he concludes: The Romans were indeed far away geographically, … but from the point of view of John Hyrcanus no major decision or action concerning foreign policy could be taken without first getting the blessing of Rome.21

Such a subservient attitude reminds me of the policy of Attalos II. But his kingdom was a special target of Roman anger after his brother Eumenes II had been lacking in loyalty during the Third Macedonian War (171–168 BC).22 This kind of submissiveness was otherwise not typical of a 2nd-century ruler in Asia 17

DĄBROWA in this volume. DĄBROWA in this volume. 19 SHATZMAN (2012), p. 56, also referring to the message of the laus Romanorum (1Macc 8.13): ‘those whom they wish to help and to make kings, they let be kings, and those whom they wish – they remove’. 20 Following JOS. Ant. Jud. 13.9.2 (p. 259–266), SHATZMAN identifies the Fannius Decree as the result of the first Roman embassy dispatched by John Hyrkanos I. But this document is better ascribed to the diplomacy of Aristobulos I, see below, section 6. 21 SHATZMAN (2012), p. 67–70. 22 See OGIS 315 VI = Welles, RC 61 = Sherk, RGEDA 29; cf. PAYEN (in prep.). 18

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Minor,23 let alone of the Levant. May it be sufficent to say that Shatzman’s chronological reconstructions are most questionable, since he persistently reverses the order of military achievement and mission to Rome. Military action came first, and only after some important success had been achieved, envoys were dispatched to Rome. This is at least the pattern emerging from our literary tradition for Judas, Simon and John Hyrkanos, and I see no reason to doubt it.24 At any rate, Rome was no more called upon for help when Demetrios III and the Pharisees fought Alexander Jannaios, or during the unexpected Judaean campaign of Antiochos XII prior to his attack of the Nabataeans. Dąbrowa thus describes the end of Judaean-Roman friendship as growing indifference between the two peoples, following a long history of insufficient commitment of the Romans to their allies.25 In contrast to such a silent end of friendship, an increasing incompatibility of Roman and Judaean foreign policy has often been put forward. Some have pointed to the aggressions of the Maccabees against their neighbours, others against their domestic rivals. Yet others find that the Judaeans’ involvement with piracy or the enforced circumcision of conquered peoples in Idumaea and Ituraea were unacceptable to the Romans and thus led to an alienation of the two peoples. But the evidence for such dramatic scenarios is simply not there, as Dąbrowa has pointed out convincingly.26 In a similar vein, Seeman concludes: 23

See PAYEN (2016). It is, by the way, also the assumption of the Continuator of 1Macc regarding the embassy under Jonathan; and it is likewise compatible with the cases of Aristobulos I and Alexander Jannaios, whose kingships began with nearly immediate military conquests; these probably preceded those kings’ embassies to Rome, on which see below, section 6. 25 DĄBROWA in this volume. Cf. GOLDSTEIN (1976/79), p. 64: ‘Josephus missed a later instance, probably of 113–112, because he wrongly supposed the document dealt with Hyrcanus II, not with John Hyrcanus I. Thereafter, however, there is no trace of benevolent intervention by Rome. John Hyrcanus and his heir might well be grateful for the support he received from the superpower, but after three decades of no Roman action whatever, what Hasmonaean propagandist would have praised Rome so highly?’ DĄBROWA and GOLDSTEIN thus extend the period of no communication also to the War of Scepters (ca. 107–101 BC), for which, however, I have identified three Judaean embassies to Rome; see below, sections 5–6. – ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 3; 10; 155f.; 215 interprets the lack of military support as proof against the existence of a treaty of alliance. 26 BALTRUSCH (2002), p. 153: ‘Die zunehmende Hellenisierung des Hasmonäerstaates insbesondere in der Außenpolitik unter Aristobul, Alexander Jannaios und Salome Alexandra machte Rom dann allerdings nicht mehr mit, jedenfalls nicht mit vertraglicher Unterstützung.’ One wonders why BALTRUSCH does not mention John Hyrkanos I. SEEMAN (2013), p. 9f. explains that the Hasmonaeans were afraid of rival embassies that would counteract their claim of being liberators, such as happened in 63 BC according to DIOD. SIC. 40.2 (on this episode, also see COùKUN ca. 2018d). BAR-KOCHVA (1989), p. 164: ‘the Hasmonaean state no longer had need of any patronage and diplomatic help. There are also indications of Jannaeus’ anti-Roman policy; at any rate, in contrast to his 24

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it is precisely at this juncture – the transition from ethnarchy to kingship – that evidence of Judean relations with Rome ceases. Confronted by dangerous dissidents who regarded their rule as nothing less than slavery, the later Hasmoneans may have preferred to steer clear of a diplomatic tradition steeped in the language of liberation.27

3. Fundamental Criticism The amount of previous scholarship on Maccabaean-Roman relations is enormous, and it would be presumptuous to deny that several pertinent observations have been made. This notwithstanding, I have not found a single approach that is fully consistent and conclusive. A first indicator that something is wrong with most views is the fact that 1Macc is the most expressive among all of our ancient sources on the value of Roman amicitia. Scholars tend to date the composition of the work to either the final years of John Hyrkanos I or to Alexander Jannaios – thus to a time when, according to common opinion, Judaean-Roman friendship was yielding to either cool indifference or hostility. 28

predecessors, he did not renew the pact with Rome, nor did the interests of the great power now coincide with his aims.’ Cf. RAPPAPORT (1968); ROCCA (2014), p. 271 (though rejecting involvement in piracy on p. 291); ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 258–268 (with further references), who suggests that the Judaean-Roman relations disintegrated when Alexander Jannaios got closer to the Parthians and collaborated with the pirates; the latter engagement she views as the reason for the Romans not to involve the Judaeans into their anti-piracy alliance, which I find counterintuitive. – DĄBROWA in this volume cautions against the notion that the Judaeans under the Hasmonaeans had allied with the Parthians or engaged in piracy: ‘We may thus conclude the following: either nothing that threatened Roman interests had taken place under them, or Pompey had no knowledge of any such threats. Whichever of these we deem more likely, it is at least safe to assume that the Romans did not perceive Alexander Jannaios and Alexandra Salome’s lack of interest in renewing diplomatic relations as indicating a hostile attitude.’ Also see SEEMAN (2013), p. 229f., who does not regard Alexander Jannaios involved into piracy, but explains that he deliberately withheld from joining the collaborative effort to curb piracy under Roman (and Rhodian) leadership. Further see below, n. 71, on piracy. 27 SEEMAN (2013), p. 372f.; cf. 241–243. Also see SEEMAN’s conclusion on the politics of John Hyrkanos I (pp. 200–202), whom he regards as responsible for the change after his confrontation with the Pharisees later in his life. Surprisingly, however, SEEMAN dates this as preceding the siege of Samaria, which conflicts with the narrative of Josephus. 28 The positive view of the Romans is also emphasized by SORDI (1952), p. 515f. (also with reference to the Constitutional Document and the laus Romanorum, as below) and ROCCA (2014), p. 269f., although the latter undermines his point by the assumption of indirect criticism: there is no mention of ‘the Roman law system or … Roman justice … and Pax Romana’. But to expect them to be mentioned is quite anachronistic for a date under John Hyrkanos I, which Rocca suggests. For a date under John Hyrkanos I, see, e.g., BICKERMANN (1937), p. 146 (middle); SCHUNCK (1980), p. 292 (ca. 120 BC); SHATZMAN (2007), p. 238f. (late); SCOLNIC (2010), p. 230f. and REGEV (2010), p. 26 (early); WILKER (2011), p. 223; SHATZMAN (2012), p. 56; HONIGMAN (2014), p. 6;

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In contrast, I suggest that the Hebrew Urversion dates to 140 BC. As such it was contemporary to the Constitutional Assembly, in which ‘friendship’ and ‘brotherhood’ with the Romans are said to have induced Demetrios II to acknowledge Simon as high priest and leader of the Judaeans (1Macc 14.40). Even more remarkable is the conviction of the Continuator, who wrote the laus Romanorum (1Macc 8.1–16), together with all other passages relating to Judaean diplomacy with Rome, in 129/28 BC. He praised the loyalty of the Romans towards their friends, and also their power to protect them. Moreover, he represented the friendly reception of the ambassadors dispatched by Judas, Jonathan and Simon as pinnacles of their careers. Josephus (or his source) may have slimmed down those reports, but he, too, can be called upon as a witness for the high reputation that Roman diplomacy meant for the first three Maccabees; besides, he adds further evidence for John Hyrkanos I. A major difficulty is that even the most scrupulous investigations have so far fallen short of presenting a compelling reconstruction of the events. The tensions, contradictions and at times carelessness of our ancient sources, most of all 1Macc and Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities, result in a real dilemma for their readers. By sticking closely to the literary traditions, one runs the risk of reproducing inconsistent accounts that at best harmonize or gloss over the many contradictions. At the other end of the spectrum are those who feel obliged to make radical choices; their problem is that they are inclined to admit only those pieces of the evidence that fit into their preconceived images of Roman Imperialism or assumed Judaean needs. In other words, they are prone to fall prey to circularity. But a systematic scrutiny into our sources of Maccabaean history allows for a more precise reconstruction of Judaean diplomatic history. My methodology is founded on the conviction that, while the Continuator of 1Macc is at times appallingly ignorant of extra-Judaean matters and also Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities (or his sources) are full of serious misunderstandings, they do show the utmost respect for Roman documents. It seems that they believed not only in the authenticity of all pieces they quote, but also that these could be checked on inscriptions or in archives. As a result, they were most scrupulous in citing them exactly as they encountered them, and thus provide us with independent historical evidence, allowing us in part to complement, in part to correct the

BERTHELOT (2017), p. 67–69; D. SCHWARTZ (2017) (middle). For a date under Jannaios, see, e.g., SCHÜRER et al. III.1, (1986), p. 181 (‘writing some two generations after the events connected with the Maccabee brothers’, first decades of 1st century BC); GOLDSTEIN (1976/79), p. 62–64; NICKELSBURG (1981), p. 117; DORAN (1996), p. 22. For a date towards the end of the 2nd century BC, see MITTMANN-RICHERT (2000), p. 23; MILLAR (2006), p. 52, 57; KAMPEN (2007), p. 19; BORCHARDT (2014), p. 185. SEEMAN (2013), p. 217f. dates the incorporation of Roman materials to after the death of John Hyrkanos I.

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narratives. In the present paper, I cannot unfold the theoretical background in too much detail, since this task is reserved for a book project. I thus foresee that some readers will be skeptical of my premises, especially those who have convinced themselves that 1Macc was written by a single author or those who believe that the documents quoted in 1Macc and Judaean Antiquities were largely composed or at least adapted for those very works. May these readers consider my approach an experiment: while I am asking much as regards the assumed incompetence of the writers or editors who inserted the documentary evidence into our narrative sources, my approach will abstain from claiming textual corruption or gross misunderstandings by those who wrote the documents, even in the edited and shortened versions that have come down to us. I further hope that the consistency of my historical reconstruction and the plausibility of its interpretation will further be to the credit of my approach.29 In the introduction to this paper, I have given a concise outline of JudaeanRoman friendship diplomacy from Judas to Alexander Jannaios.30 If this reconstruction is accepted, there will be some immediate conclusions to draw. A first point has been made by many others before, but deserves to be repeated: the tight chronology of the embassy of Eupolemos and Jason in 161 BC barely leaves room for Demetrios I to know about the treaty of friendship and alliance between the Romans and the Judaeans. The ambassadors returned to the Levant after Judas had been killed, and with him resistance to Seleukid rule had largely

29 My methodology owes much to the literary critics of 1Macc, especially to those who have used Roman diplomatic passages as a key to identifying different hands in the genesis of the book: LAQUEUR (1927), who rightly points out (against WILLRICH 1924) that ‘interpolations’ (i.e. later insertions of certain text passages) do not automatically qualify those additions as unauthentic; MARTOLA (1984), the pioneer of the systematic analysis of 1Macc through the study of narrative strategy; WILLIAMS (1999), who has identified most of the Simon narrative as a later extension of 1Macc by considering the change of ideological messages; BORCHARDT (2014), who has further refined the narrative analysis. Despite certain disagreements, especially when it comes to historical or chronological conclusions, the monograph I am currently preparing (COùKUN, in prep.) is highly indebted to their methodology. Analogously, I have learnt a lot from how PUCCI BEN ZEEV (1998) and EILERS (2003) and (2008) have approached the documentary evidence in Josephus. They rightly claim the use of documentary sources, whereas most others believed (e.g. MOMMSEN 1875; MENDELSSON 1875a; 1875b; WILLRICH 1924) and continue believing (e.g., RAJAK 2007; SEEMAN 2013; TILLY 2015; ZOLLSCHAN 2017) that those letters were arbitrarily created or manipulated. Note, however, that I go much further with my claim that there was no systematic adaptation of the documentary evidence for their narrative contexts. I add a reference to the useful studies of PARKER (2007) and (2013), which not only reveal much of the incompetence reflected in 1Macc, but also allow for a contrast with some fabricated letters in 2Macc. I have, as I hope, successfully drawn on similar methodology to elucidate aspects of Maccabaean literary, dynastic and diplomatic history: COùKUN (2018a); (ca. 2018c); (ca. 2018d). 30 See above, with n. 1.

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collapsed.31 We should thus concede that the value of the alliance, besides the Roman letter urging Demetrios to leave the Judaeans in peace, should not be judged as worthless due to the untimeliness of the mission. I add that the Senate had not been asked for immediate military aid. Either way, we cannot say how they might have responded, but it is historically questionable to surmise Roman indifference based on the later recognition of Demetrios in 160/59 BC. This was at a time when the Judaean community represented by Eupolemos and Jason had ceased to exist as a political entity. Domestic power had returned to the High Priest Alkimos, who was loyal to King Demetrios, and therefore not at all interested in autonomous (and thus treacherous) diplomacy with Rome.32 This is not to deny that different historical judgments may be formed regarding Roman imperial policy. But they should take into account that the Author of the Urversion and the Continuator of 1Macc, both devout courtiers of the young priestly dynasty of Jerusalem,33 did not feel at all that the Romans had fallen short of their duty. And precisely this understanding is implied in the fact that Simon made an ambitious attempt to reconnect with Rome in 142 BC, this time with a very expensive gift, a golden shield worth 1,000 mines (1Macc 15.18). It was costly enough to demonstrate that Simon was not an ephemeral leader, as Judas had been, but could be reckoned with in the future as a state leader, worthy of Roman friendship. My reconstruction of the continuation of friendship diplomacy both under Aristobulos I and Alexander Jannaios has some further implications. Since the evidence seems quite firm to me, the discussion of the motivation that turned John Hyrkanos or Aristobulos away from the Romans appears obsolete. We should rather ask ourselves what those rulers continued to appreciate in their friendship with Rome, only admitting a gradual change in the course of the rule of Alexander Jannaios.

31

See above, n. 14. 1Macc 7.5–25 presents Alkimos as appointed by Demetrios I, thus late in 162 BC, but this was probably a reappointment since he had first been appointed by Antiochos V (2Macc 14.3–13) and then probably deposed. See SCOLNIC (2005), p. 143–147; cf. EHLING (2008), p. 116. For his machinations, also see 2Macc 14.15–15.30. 33 The pro-Maccabaean or pro-Simonid ideology of 1Macc is largely admitted (in contrast to 2Macc), see BICKERMANN (1937), p. 145; GOLDSTEIN (1976/1979), p. 64: ‘First Maccabees is pro-Hasmonaean propaganda and the work of Jason an antiHasmonaean reply’; SCHÜRER et al. III.1, (1986), p. 180f.; NICKELSBURG (1981), p. 114; STONE (1984), p. 172–174; S. SCHWARTZ (1991), p. 91; KAMPEN (2007), p. 14–16; SCOLNIC (2007), p. 149–154; (2010), p. 9; 98; 223f.; REGEV (2010), e.g., p. 103; SHATZMAN (2012), p. 56; MENDELS (2013), p. 31–55; 65–77; BERTHELOT (2017), p. 77; 109–118; D. SCHWARTZ (2017) and forthcoming. And yet, slight or even strong criticism of Simon or his successors seems to be implied in various verses of 1Macc to, e.g., LAQUEUR (1927), p. 246f.; DORAN (1996), p. 22; MENDELS (2013), p. 88; 127f.; 143; SEEMAN (2013), p. 212. Contra, e.g., REGEV (2010), p. 102; COùKUN (in prep.). 32

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This leads us to a final question: what actually was it that the Judaean leaders expected from Rome? While political support against Seleukid oppressors is explicit in our sources starting with 1Macc 8, we have to acknowledge that a request of military aid is nowhere attested. This, too, has some bearing on the scholarly discourse, since the lack of armed support has repeatedly been the basis for negative modern judgments.34 At the same time, however, we should hesitate to accept the view that the treaty was largely seen as having only symbolic meaning, designed to aggrandize the prestige and legitimacy of the Maccabaean rulers in the face of inner-Judaean opposition. I would counter that treaties of alliance might serve such a political function only as long as they were seen as effective tools to achieve certain foreign-policy goals. And this required the belief that those treaties were backed up by a true commitment; at least in the worst case, this would potentially result in military assistance. In other words: had the ancients shared the belief that senatus consulta and foedera were ultimately no more than courteous or honorific statements, these would have failed to have their desired effect both on foreign relations and domestic politics. Instead, our sources convey the impression that at least most Judaean embassies in the 2nd century BC were successful. Typically, the ambassadors approached the Senate with two requests: first, to conclude or renew (or remember the pre-existing) friendship and alliance, and second to issue letters advising or even threatening Seleukid opponents, sometimes also addressing other parties on behalf of the Judaeans. This kind of ‘epistolary diplomacy’ can best be illustrated with the case of Simon.35

4. Triangular Epistolary Diplomacy under Simon (142 BC) The embassy under Simon is, on the one hand, the most complicated, since the Continuator of 1Macc was incapable of piecing together the various news he had about it. He spreads out the evidence over four different sections of the book, getting it wrong in three of them. On the other hand, this failure does have an advantage, namely that we can acquit the Continuator of any suspicion of having 34 ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 3; 10; 155f.; 215 regards the lack of Roman assistance for Judas as proof for the non-existence of a treaty. Others (see above, n. 14) do not deny the treaty, but understand Roman inactivity as symptomatic for the lack of commitment. 35 Differently, ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 206 suggests that the wording of the speech of the ambassadors in 1Macc 8.20 can be ascribed to them rather than the narrator of 1Macc. Also see p. 217: ‘The senate did not need to give the Jews a letter, as their diplomatic relations were based on declarations and not a formal treaty text. Therefore, a record of the senatorial declarations was made, as is the conclusion reached here, by the envoys themselves.’ Similarly, ZOLLSCHAN (2005), p. 124–145, as followed by SEEMAN (2013), p. 117 with ns. 19f. (p. 425).

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fabricated documentation. He was rather at pains to integrate into the preexisting narrative whatever additional piece of diplomatic information he had found. Fortunately, the Urversion provides a largely reliable account of the rule of Simon. Together with the dispersed documentary evidence, we are in a strong position to deduce a firm and coherent sequence of events, which will then form the basis of our historical interpretation. Our investigation begins with the embassy that Jonathan is said to have sent to Sparta and Rome. The narrative context dates the dispatch of Numenios and Antipatros to ca. 143 BC, a time when Jonathan had successfully fought against Demetrios II, shortly before his ally Diodotos Tryphon betrayed him. The documentary evidence that induced the Continuator to believe in the mission appears to be a letter written in the name of the High Priest Jonathan and the Judaean people, addressing their Spartan ‘brothers’ (1Macc 12.6).36 Among other things, the two envoys are said to have been charged with renewing friendship and alliance with Rome, besides refreshing their friendship with the Spartans underway (1Macc 12.16f.).37 A first problem is that the alleged historical context of the embassy is most improbable, because Jonathan was officially the strategos of Antiochos V, and as such he controlled an area that went far beyond the confines of Judaea. Embarking on treacherous diplomacy with Rome would have been political nonsense, unless he might have been suspicious that Tryphon was trying to eliminate him. But precisely this was not the case: Jonathan was completely taken by surprise by his capture later in 143 BC (1Macc 14.39–53). As of then, however, he had no means to communicate with Jerusalem, let alone Rome. There is no other documentary evidence for the arrival of Jonathan’s ambassadors in Rome or Sparta. Apart from some dubious allegations in the narrative claiming the success of the embassy (1Macc 12.2–4; cf. 14.16–19), the document quoted next is a letter of the Spartans addressing the High Priest Simon and the Judaean people (1Macc 14.20).38 Further suspicious is that the same Numenios and Antipatros are named as the Judaean ambassadors of Simon (1Macc 14.22). The most plausible conclusion is that Simon had sent out these envoys to Rome and Sparta, but in the name of his brother Jonathan, while this one was held captive by Tryphon in winter 143/42 BC. It further seems that the ambassadors learnt about the death of Jonathan soon after their departure, so that 36 1Macc 12: (6) ૅǿȦȞ੺șĮȞ ਕȡȤȚİȡİઃȢ țĮ੿ ਲ ȖİȡȠȣı઀Į IJȠ૨ ਩șȞȠȣȢ țĮ੿ Ƞੂ ੂİȡİ૙Ȣ țĮ੿ ੒ ȜȠȚʌઁȢ įોȝȠȢ IJ૵Ȟ ૅǿȠȣįĮ઀ȦȞ ȈʌĮȡIJȚ੺IJĮȚȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਕįİȜijȠ૙Ȣ ȤĮ઀ȡİȚȞ. 37 1Macc 12: (16) ਥʌİȜ੼ȟĮȝİȞ Ƞ੣Ȟ ȃȠȣȝ੾ȞȚȠȞ ૅǹȞIJȚંȤȠȣ țĮ੿ ૅǹȞIJ઀ʌĮIJȡȠȞ ૅǿ੺ıȦȞȠȢ țĮ੿ ਕʌİıIJ੺ȜțĮȝİȞ ʌȡઁȢ ȇȦȝĮ઀ȠȣȢ ਕȞĮȞİઆıĮıșĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡઁȢ Į੝IJȠઃȢ ijȚȜ઀ĮȞ țĮ੿ ıȣȝȝĮȤ઀ĮȞ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡȠIJ੼ȡĮȞ. (17) ਥȞİIJİȚȜ੺ȝİșĮ Ƞ੣Ȟ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ țĮ੿ ʌȡઁȢ ਫ਼ȝ઼Ȣ ʌȠȡİȣșોȞĮȚ țĮ੿ ਕıʌ੺ıĮıșĮȚ ਫ਼ȝ઼Ȣ țĮ੿ ਕʌȠįȠ૨ȞĮȚ ਫ਼ȝ૙Ȟ IJ੹Ȣ ʌĮȡૅ ਲȝ૵Ȟ ਥʌȚıIJȠȜ੹Ȣ ʌİȡ੿ IJોȢ ਕȞĮȞİઆıİȦȢ țĮ੿ IJોȢ ਕįİȜijંIJȘIJȠȢ ਲȝ૵Ȟ. 38 1Macc 14.20: ȈʌĮȡIJȚĮIJ૵Ȟ ਙȡȤȠȞIJİȢ țĮ੿ ਲ ʌંȜȚȢ Ȉ઀ȝȦȞȚ ੂİȡİ૙ ȝİȖ੺Ȝ૳ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌȡİıȕȣIJ੼ȡȠȚȢ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ੂİȡİ૨ıȚ țĮ੿ IJ૶ ȜȠȚʌ૶ į੾ȝ૳ IJ૵Ȟ ૅǿȠȣįĮ઀ȦȞ ਕįİȜijȠ૙Ȣ ȤĮ઀ȡİȚȞ.

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they then conducted negotiations in the name of Simon, who had been the effective authority behind their mission anyway. This suggestion may appear quite speculative at the present stage, but will soon gain shape. As we shall see, Simon’s embassy travelled to and back from Rome in 142 BC, which supports the view that Jonathan had still been alive when they had been dispatched.39 The mission of Numenios as Simon’s ambassador to Rome is narrated only in the middle course of 140 BC, after the departure of Demetrios II on his Parthian campaign (1Macc 14.1–3), and before the Constitutional Assembly that took place in Jerusalem in September 140 BC (1Macc 14.25–49). Strangely, this embassy is said to have been solicited by the Spartans and Romans when hearing of Jonathan’s death (1Macc 14.16–19). Why should they have waited over two years after his murder to react as they are then said to have done? At any rate, there is an apparent reason why the Continuator tells us about the embassy of Numenios (and Antipatros) immediately before the Constitutional Assembly: Simon’s connections with Rome and Demetrios enhanced the legitimacy of his monarchical role.40 The relevant passage reads as follows (1Macc 14.38–42): (38) King Demetrios also confirmed him in the high priesthood according to those things, (39) and made him one of his friends, and honoured him with great honour. (40) For he had heard that the Romans had called the Jews their friends and confederates and brethren, and that they had entertained the ambassadors of Simon honourably; (41) also that the Jews and priests were well pleased that Simon should be their governor and high priest for ever, until there should arise a faithful prophet; (42) moreover that he should be their captain [...].41

The reference to Demetrios does not mean that the king had formed part of the ceremony in Jerusalem, not least because the departure on his eastern campaign preceded the assembly. The Constitutional Document rather seems to be quoting from the letter which Demetrios had issued previously. In this, he was apparently responding to the request that Simon be acknowledged as high priest (of the

39 For 142 BC, also see BROUGHTON, MRR I p. 476 n. 1; GRUEN (1984), p. 749f.: ‘The most economic solution is here preferable: to refer both acounts to the same event’; DORAN (1996), p. 160; 169; DĄBROWA (2010), p. 58 n. 5. Also see GIOVANNINI / MÜLLER (1971), p. 160–165: although they reject the letter of the Consul Lucius as forgery, they still date the embassy to 142 BC. 40 Note that the first causal connection between diplomatic success and consolidation of Simon’s rule is made in 1Macc 14.25: ૽ȍȢ į੻ ਵțȠȣıİȞ ੒ įોȝȠȢ IJ૵Ȟ ȜંȖȦȞ IJȠ઄IJȦȞ, İੇʌĮȞǜ IJ઀ȞĮ Ȥ੺ȡȚȞ ਕʌȠįઆıȠȝİȞ Ȉ઀ȝȦȞȚ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȣੂȠ૙Ȣ Į੝IJȠ૨; 41 1Macc 14.38-42: (38) țĮ੿ ੒ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ ǻȘȝȒIJȡȚȠȢ ਩ıIJȘıİȞ Į੝IJ૶ IJ੽Ȟ ਕȡȤȚİȡȦıȪȞȘȞ țĮIJ੹ IJĮ૨IJĮ (39) țĮ੿ ਥʌȠȓȘıİȞ Į੝IJઁȞ IJ૵Ȟ ijȓȜȦȞ Į੝IJȠ૨ țĮ੿ ਥįંȟĮıİȞ Į੝IJઁȞ įંȟૉ ȝİȖ੺Ȝૉ. (40) ਵțȠȣıİ Ȗ੹ȡ ੖IJȚ ʌȡȠıȘȖંȡİȣȞIJĮȚ Ƞੂ ૅǿȠȣįĮ૙ȠȚ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȇȦȝĮ઀ȦȞ ij઀ȜȠȚ țĮ੿ ı઄ȝȝĮȤȠȚ țĮ੿ ਕįİȜijȠ઀, țĮ੿ ੖IJȚ ਕʌ੾ȞIJȘıĮȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌȡİıȕİȣIJĮ૙Ȣ Ȉ઀ȝȦȞȠȢ ਥȞįંȟȦȢ. (41) țĮ੿ ੖IJȚ Ƞੂ ǿȠȣįĮ૙ȠȚ țĮ੿ Ƞੂ ੂİȡİ૙Ȣ İ੝įȩțȘıĮȞ IJȠ૨ İੇȞĮȚ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ȈȚȝȦȞĮ ਲȖȠȪȝİȞȠȞ țĮ੿ ਕȡȤȚİȡȑĮ İੁȢ IJઁȞ Įੁ૵ȞĮ ਪȦȢ IJȠ૨ ਕȞĮıIJોȞĮȚ ʌȡȠijȒIJȘȞ ʌȚıIJઁȞ (42) țĮ੿ IJȠ૨ İੇȞĮȚ ਥʌ’ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ıIJȡĮIJȘȖȩȞ [...].

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Temple of Jerusalem) and also as the (political and military) leader42 of the Judaeans. This reconciliation of the Maccabees with Demetrios II has been narrated in an earlier chapter of the book and dated precisely to year 170 of the Seleukid Era (1Macc 13.41). Assuming the Judaean-Babylonian style, the year began in late March (Nisan) 142 and ended in late March (Adar) 141 BC. Simon sought contact with Demetrios only after his brother had been killed early in 142 BC (1Macc 13.23–26). He further built or, more likely, started building monuments for his deceased brothers and father at Modeïn (1Macc 13.27–30), and also began intensifying fortifications in Judaea (1Macc 13.33). These were his preparations before he sent out ambassadors to the Seleukid court (1Macc 13.34). This sequence of events suggests that the negotiations took place later in 142 BC, or perhaps extended into early 141 BC. Admittedly, the letter of Demetrios that is quoted in the narrative (1Macc 13.35–40) does not mention the Romans, whereas it does speak out the recognition of Simon’s new position as a semi-autonomous vassal of the king.43 There is more. Chapter 15 begins with the rise to power of Antiochos VII Sidetes. He thus responded to the capture of his brother Demetrios II early in 138 BC, as mentioned above (1Macc 14.3). Before landing in the Levant, he granted even fuller autonomy to the Judaeans, confirming the high priesthood to Simon and also bestowing the new title of ethnarch on him (1Macc 15.1–10).44 The plot continues with Antiochos chasing down Tryphon and besieging him in Dora in 137 BC (1Macc 15.10–15). During this time, we are told that Numenios came back from Rome, delivering important letters to Simon (1Macc 15.15–24): (15) In the mean season came Numenios and his company from Rome, having letters to the kings and countries, wherein were written these things: (16) Lucius, Consul of the Romans, to King Ptolemy, greeting. (17) The Judaeans’ ambassadors, our friends and allies, came to us to renew the old friendship and alliance, being sent from the High Priest Simon, and from the people of the Judaeans. (18) And they brought a shield of gold of a thousand pound. (19) We thought it good therefore to write to the kings and countries, that they should do them no harm, nor fight against them, their cities, or countries, nor yet aid their enemies against them. (20) It seemed also good to us to receive the shield of them. (21) If thus there be any pestilent fellows that have fled from their country to you, deliver them to the High Priest Simon, so that he may punish them according to their own law. (22) The same things he likewise wrote to Demetrios the King, and Attalos, to Ariarathes, and Arsakes, (23) and to all the countries and to Sampsames, and the Lacedemonians, and to Delos, and Myndos, and Sikyon, and Karia, and Samos, and Pamphylia, and Lykia, and Halikarnassos, and

42 The title ethnarch of the Judaeans would only be coined in 138 BC: 1Macc 15.1f., on which see COùKUN (2018a) (pace SHARON 2010). 43 There is no reason to surmise that the cited letter is complete. 44 See above, n. 42, for references.

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Rhodes, and Phaselis, and Kos, and Side, and Arados, and Gortyn, and Knidos, and Cyprus, and Kyrene. (24) And the copy hereof they wrote to Simon the High Priest.45

If we could trust the chronology of the narrative, we should assume that Numenios arrived in later spring or summer 137 BC, which is about three years after his (misdated) departure, as we have been told in chapter 14. Such a duration would be quite exceptional and dysfunctional, so that most scholars have tried to reduce the timeframe to 140–138 BC, if not to ca. 139 BC.46 But such approaches are based on an outdated Seleukid chronology, according to which Demetrios II was captured and Antiochos VII usurped power in 139 BC.47 Choosing 139 BC means rejecting the documentary and narrative evidence of 1Macc, whereas the years 140–138 BC imply an overly long travel time, something that the uninformed Continuator of 1Macc does not seem to be aware of. There is at least no mention of Numenios having been delayed in Rome or underway, or having been missed back in Jerusalem. The Continuator once more reveals his lack of familiarity with interstate diplomacy, or, say, extra-Judaean matters at large. But he did show respect for the documentation that he found. Otherwise, if he had been willing and capable of fabricating a Roman letter (which he is often accused of), would he not rather have drafted an epistle addressing Simon himself, or at least one of the Seleukid kings? Instead, he 45 1Macc 15: (15) ȀĮ੿ ਷Ȝșİ ȃȠȣȝ੾ȞȚȠȢ țĮ੿ Ƞੂ ʌĮȡૅ Į੝IJȠ૨ ਥț ȇઆȝȘȢ ਩ȤȠȞIJİȢ ਥʌȚıIJȠȜ੹Ȣ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȕĮıȚȜİ૨ıȚ țĮ੿ IJĮ૙Ȣ ȤઆȡĮȚȢ, ਥȞ ĮੈȢ ਥȖ੼ȖȡĮʌIJȠ IJ੺įİǜ (16) “ȁİ઄țȚȠȢ ੢ʌĮIJȠȢ ȇȦȝĮ઀ȦȞ ȆIJȠȜİȝĮ઀૳ ȕĮıȚȜİ૙ ȤĮ઀ȡİȚȞ. (17) Ƞੂ ʌȡİıȕİȣIJĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ૅǿȠȣįĮ઀ȦȞ ਷ȜșȠȞ ʌȡઁȢ ਲȝ઼Ȣ, ij઀ȜȠȚ ਲȝ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ ı઄ȝȝĮȤȠȚ, ਕȞĮȞİȠ઄ȝİȞȠȚ IJ੽Ȟ ਥȟ ਕȡȤોȢ ijȚȜ઀ĮȞ țĮ੿ ıȣȝȝĮȤ઀ĮȞ, ਕʌİıIJĮȜȝ੼ȞȠȚ ਕʌઁ Ȉ઀ȝȦȞȠȢ IJȠ૨ ਕȡȤȚİȡ੼ȦȢ țĮ੿ IJȠ૨ į੾ȝȠȣ IJ૵Ȟ ૅǿȠȣįĮ઀ȦȞǜ (18) ਵȞİȖțĮȞ į੻ ਕıʌ઀įĮ ȤȡȣıોȞ ਕʌઁ ȝȞ૵Ȟ ȤȚȜ઀ȦȞ. (19) ਵȡİıİȞ Ƞ੣Ȟ ਲȝ૙Ȟ Ȗȡ੺ȥĮȚ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȕĮıȚȜİ૨ıȚ țĮ੿ IJĮ૙Ȣ ȤઆȡĮȚȢ ੖ʌȦȢ ȝ੽ ਥțȗȘIJ੾ıȦıȚȞ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ țĮț੹ țĮ੿ ȝ੽ ʌȠȜİȝ੾ıȦıȚȞ Į੝IJȠઃȢ țĮ੿ IJ੹Ȣ ʌંȜİȚȢ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ȤઆȡĮȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ ੆ȞĮ ȝ੽ ıȣȝȝĮȤ੾ıȦıȚ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌȠȜİȝȠ૨ıȚȞ Į੝IJȠ઄Ȣ. (20) ਩įȠȟİ į੻ ਲȝ૙Ȟ į੼ȟĮıșĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ਕıʌ઀įĮ ʌĮȡૅ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ. (21) İ੅ IJȚȞİȢ Ƞ੣Ȟ ȜȠȚȝȠ੿ įȚĮʌİijİ઄ȖĮıȚȞ ਥț IJોȢ ȤઆȡĮȢ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ʌȡઁȢ ਲȝ઼Ȣ, ʌĮȡ੺įȠIJİ Į੝IJȠઃȢ Ȉ઀ȝȦȞȚ IJ૶ ਕȡȤȚİȡİ૙, ੖ʌȦȢ ਥțįȚț੾ıૉ ਥȞ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ țĮIJ੹ IJઁȞ ȞંȝȠȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ.” (22) ȀĮ੿ IJ੹ Į੝IJ੹ ਩ȖȡĮȥİ ǻȘȝȘIJȡ઀૳ IJ૶ ȕĮıȚȜİ૙ țĮ੿ ૅǹIJIJ੺Ȝ૳, ૅǹȡȚĮȡ੺șૉ țĮ੿ ૅǹȡı੺țૉ (23) țĮ੿ İੁȢ ʌ੺ıĮȢ IJ੹Ȣ ȤઆȡĮȢ țĮ੿ ȈĮȝȥ੺ȝૉ țĮ੿ ȈʌĮȡIJȚ੺IJĮȚȢ țĮ੿ İੁȢ ǻોȜȠȞ țĮ੿ Ȃ઄ȞįȠȞ țĮ੿ ȈȚțȣ૵ȞĮ țĮ੿ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȀĮȡ઀ĮȞ țĮ੿ İੁȢ Ȉ੺ȝȠȞ țĮ੿ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȆĮȝijȣȜ઀ĮȞ țĮ੿ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȁȣț઀ĮȞ țĮ੿ İੁȢ ૽ǹȜȚțĮȡȞĮııઁȞ țĮ੿ İੁȢ ȇંįȠȞ țĮ੿ İੁȢ ĭĮıȘȜ઀įĮ țĮ੿ İੁȢ Ȁ૵ țĮ੿ İੁȢ Ȉ઀įȘȞ țĮ੿ İੁȢ ૓ǹȡĮįȠȞ țĮ੿ İੁȢ īંȡIJȣȞĮȞ țĮ੿ ȀȞ઀įȠȞ țĮ੿ Ȁ઄ʌȡȠȞ țĮ੿ Ȁȣȡ੾ȞȘȞ. (24) IJઁ į੻ ਕȞIJ઀ȖȡĮijȠȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ਩ȖȡĮȥĮȞ Ȉ઀ȝȦȞȚ IJ૶ ਕȡȤȚİȡİ૙. 46 E.g., MENDELSSON (1875b), p. 419 and RITSCHL (1875), p. 428 (139 BC); SCHÜRER et al. I (1973), p. 194–197 (proposing identity with L. Valerius Flaccus cos. 131 BC); BERNHARDT (2017), p. 371. With different arguments, others reduce the time of the embassy even further to ca. 139 BC: REINACH (1899), p. 169; GRAETZ (1906), p. 658; 660f.; ETTELSON (1925), p. 283–285; D. SchwARTZ (1993); CANALI DE ROSSI (1997), no. 600, p. 551–554 (ca. 140 BC); NODET (2005), p. 160; 239 (ca. 140 BC); EILERS (2008), p. 212, with n. 9. Yet others assume two embassies under Simon, one in ca. 142 BC, the other ca. 140/138 BC: TIMPE (1974), p. 146f.; 149; DĄBROWA in this volume. 47 DĄBROWA (1999), p. 13–17; EHLING (2008), p. 182–190; also ENGELS (2010); cf. BICKERMANN (1937), p. 175.

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quotes the copy of the letter to Ptolemy (VIII), because this is what he found, and what was his only proof for the success of Simon’s ambassadors.48 But the chronological problem can be overcome, because the name of the Consul Lucius seems to be a clear (while unintended and unacknowledged) reference to L. Caecilius Metellus Calvus, consul of 142 BC, the last with the praenomen Lucius for several years to come. There is an additional hint in the list of letters. The only Seleukid king named there is Demetrios, and not Antiochos, although the latter had been ruling (with the assent of the Judaeans) for over a year. The list has often been rejected as fabricated, although it cannot be explained plausibly as a fiction springing from the mind of the Continuator.49 The naming of Demetrios does not follow the logic of the (composite) narrative as we have it, because the dispatch of Numenios is told only after the departure of Demetrios on his eastern campaign (in fact, only after his capture). Even without knowing the disastrous outcome, it would have been pointless to ask the Romans for a letter addressing Demetrios as of spring 140 BC. The epistle for this king must have been solicited before that time. This is further implied in the above-quoted Constitutional Document, especially if combined with the (Author’s) narrative that reports Simon’s recognition by Demetrios in 142/41 BC. Surveying the full evidence, we can be confident that there was only a single embassy to the Senate under Simon, conducted by Numenios (probably together with Antipatros), beginning in spring 142 BC and ending in fall or early winter 142/41 BC. Possibly the same Judaean envoys next attended the court of Demetrios II. They were ‘armed’ with a letter composed by the Roman consul, urging the king to make peace with ‘their friends, allies and brothers’, the Judaeans under the High Priest Simon. Thanks to the fragment of the letter that Demetrios wrote in response and was later quoted in the Constitutional Document, we get a clear picture not only of how triangular epistolary diplomacy was supposed to work in the orbit of the Roman Empire, but also of the fact that it did work. The success of Simon’s ambassadors to Rome had impressed both Demetrios and the Judaeans, and the ensuing correspondence fostered the legitimacy of Simon’s rule from within and outside Judaea. As such, it was noted pertinently by the composer of the Constitutional Document, which the Author of 1Macc quoted as the pinnacle of his book. It found much further emphasis (rather than a historically correct treatment) by the subsequent dynastic historian, the Continuator of 1Macc. 48 There is endless debate as to whether we should identify the Consul Lucius with the Praetor Lucius Valerius, and thus also regard the present letter as either a forgery inspired by the Valerius Decree or a largely original document that was composed in the same context as the Valerius Decree. Either is inadmissible speculation, since the details of the letters are too different. See below, with n. 57. 49 Or of the Author, as unitarians might prefer to say.

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At any rate, we may call the mission of Numenios (and Antipatros) of 142 (or 142/41) BC the ideal type of ‘triangular epistolary diplomacy’: initiated at the high priestly court in Jerusalem, ambassadors travelled to the Roman Senate and solicited political support for their concern; this resulted in a senatus consultum, which gave shape to the authoritative letters composed by a consul or another official empowered to do so. One of the letters would normally address an opponent of the Maccabees, most likely a Seleukid king, who would be encouraged, if not urged or even threatened, to behave as the Senate had conceded to the Judaean envoys. Whenever there was need to hurry, the ambassadors would probably go straight to Antioch or Damaskos, before returning to Jerusalem. Ideally, they would bring with them not only a Roman letter addressing the high priest directly, and copies of further letters that the Romans had written on his behalf, but possibly also another document issued by the third party, here, King Demetrios II, addressing the High Priest Simon (1Macc 13.36–40). In fact, the case of Simon goes beyond this one remarkable case of triangular diplomacy. Consul Lucius is said to have composed no less than 25 letters in support of Simon and the Judaeans. The historicity of the list is once more controversial, but I am inclined not only to accept that the Continuator found it, but also that it was largely authentic, although modern commentators have not been able to fully explain the purpose of every single addressee.50 Be this as it may, this correspondence seems to be the most energetic diplomatic response that a minor community had been able to solicit from an imperial power in antiquity. For such a number, it is hard to say if the envoys would try to deliver them all on their way back to Jerusalem, and only keep copies for the high priestly archive, or if only the most pressing letter(s) would be taken to its/their destination first. We should allow for a high degree of pragmatism, so that addressees in Greece, Western and Southern Asia Minor and Syria could largely be attended before reaching Jerusalem, whereas Alexandria and Kyrene (as well as Samsama, if identical with Amisos,51 Kappadokia and Parthia) may have been left to other delegates.52 Be this as it may, every single case would be another example of triangular epistolary diplomacy: the high priest of Jerusalem was trying to induce a certain behaviour by drawing on the authority of their Roman ‘friends’. Ideally, the 50 See the commentaries on the list by DANCY (1954), p. 190; GOLDSTEIN (1976), p. 496–500; DORAN (1996), p. 170; BALTRUSCH (2002), p. 99–105, who accept its historicity; it is rejected by SEEMAN (2013), p. 169f. and TILLY (2015), p. 292–294. GRAINGER (2012), p. 69 remains uncertain, emphasizing that the Roman intervention remained without effect anyway. 51 See GOLDSTEIN 1976, 498–500, followed by DORAN 1996, 170. 52 We cannot even be sure that all letters were copied. Alternative possibilities are that only summaries or lists existed. I am hesitant to draw a conclusion from the fact that the Continuator only had a copy of the letter to King Ptolemy to draw on.

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magistrate would produce specific letters for each destination that the Judaeans were about to go to. The abovementioned Spartan decree in honour of Simon, which the Continuator has placed into the narrative of 140 BC (1Macc 14.20– 23), seems to belong to same epistolary context, although it does not mention the Judaean contact with Rome. Since it is free from Hebraïsms,53 we have good reason to assume its authenticity. Given that the Lacedemonians are listed among the recipients of the letters by Consul Lucius (1Macc 15.23), it is quite possible that Sparta, too, had been encouraged to give at least moral support to Simon. Interestingly, the letter calls the addressees Spartiatai, whereas the letter list names them Lakedaimonioi in a classicizing fashion. This supports the view that the Continuator was drawing on heterogeneous materials, which he was unable to integrate into a coherent account. He would have been even less capable of forging such correspondence, had he wished to do so.

5. More Epistolary Diplomacy between Rome and Judaea While the embassy of Numenios (and Antipatros) yielded the most impressive result in terms of ‘triangular epistolary diplomacy’, similar patterns can be observed for most other Judaean embassies. The mission of Eupolemos and Jason not only yielded one or more hearings in the Senate and the formal conclusion of friendship and alliance, but also one letter summarizing the senatus consultum that defined the conditions of the treaty (1Macc 8.23–30), another letter warning Demetrios I to leave the Judaeans in peace, or else face the full military force of the Romans (1Macc 8.31f.), and at least one further letter requesting the inhabitants of Kos to assist the ambassadors on their way home. Only the last epistle is known to have been authored by the Consul Fannius (Jos., Ant. Jud. 14.10.15 [233]), but it is probable that he also composed the other two, if not additional letters drafted to facilitate the envoys’ travel.54

53

At least, none is identified by TILLY 2015, 278f. Most scholars accept the letter of the Consul Fannius to proof the historicity of the embassy of Eupolemos and Jason, see NIESE (1906), p. 818–823; TÄUBLER (1913), p. 249; BROUGHTON, MRR I p. 443 (but differently below); DANCY (1959), p. 129; GIOVANNINI / MÜLLER (1971), p. 167f.; TIMPE (1974), p. 143f.; GOLDSTEIN (1976/1979), p. 346; 366; FISCHER (1980), p. 112f.; GRUEN (1984), p. 43 n. 161; DORAN (1996), p. 102; CANALI DE ROSSI (1997), p. 526; EILERS (2003), p. 194 n. 22; SØRENSEN (2015), p. 26; AMELING (2018). Attempts at maintaining a Caesarian date (as the flawed narrative of Josephus seems to require) do not convince: WILLRICH (1924), p. 46f.; BROUGHTON, MRR II p. 222; 262; 272; 365; 565 (but differently above); SHERWIN-WHITE (1984), p. 73f.; SEEMAN (2013), p. 334–337; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 31; 33; 133–135 (cf. ZOLLSCHAN 2007); BERNHARDT (2017), p. 366 n. 195; ZACK (2018a). PUCCI BEN ZEEV (1998), p. 22 is undecided. For a full discussion, see COùKUN (in prep.). 54

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The strong wording of the letter to Demetrios deserves to be emphasized: the willingness of the Romans to interfere forcefully should not be doubted. That the king never received the epistle was fatal for Judas, but it does not diminish the commitment that the Romans were expressing in 161 BC. Many have suspected this letter to be a forgery, partly because of the Hebraïsms, partly because the threat goes beyond the expectation of many scholars. Neither argument is compelling:55 the first is sufficiently explained with shortening and editing, and the harshness should not surprise us, given that Demetrios had fled from Rome against the explicit ruling of the Senate, and then killed the legitimate King Antiochos V. More importantly, the assumption of a forgery to raise the prestige of Judas would be most counterintuitive due to the (unintended) tension that the insertion of chapter 8 caused: the embassy plays no role in the ensuing chapter 9 dedicated to the final battle and heroic death of Judas. The addition of chapter 8 to the pre-existing plot is therefore best explained by the Continuator’s intention to document what he believed had really happened, irrespective of any literary or ideological designs.56 In contrast to most other scholars, I suggest that we regard the letter of the Praetor Lucius Valerius (also called the Valerius Decree) as the shortened version of the official documentation resulting from the first Roman embassy under John Hyrkanos I (Jos. Ant. Jud. 14.8.5 [143/145–148]). The chronological indications point to 128 BC, which is soon after the death of Antiochos VII. This is also the time for which Josephus reports a Judaean mission to Rome, but for which he quotes a wrong document, a letter by the Praetor Fannius, son of Marcus (the so-called Fannius Decree: Jos. Ant. Jud. 13.9.2 [259–266], to be distinguished from the letter of the Consul Fannius of 161 BC).57 At any rate, 55 See COùKUN (ca. 2018c), drawing, among others, on LAQUEUR (1927). For different positions, see, e.g., SEEMAN (2013); TILLY (2015); ZOLLSCHAN (2017); also see the references above in section 2. Cf. TIMPE (1974), p. 141f., who accepts that the Romans wrote a letter to Demetrios, but considers the transmitted version as ‘literarische Stilisierung, keine authentische Wiedergabe’. 56 Cf. BERNHARDT (2017), p. 367: ‘Da Judas’ Kontakt mit Rom im 130/129 v.Chr. abgefaßten ersten Makkabäerbuch trotz Parteinahme für Simon als Erfolg gefeiert wird, hätte man in der Tat kaum ein wirkungsloses Bündnis erfunden und dann ausgerechnet vor dem Tod des Judas plaziert.’ Also see p. 368: ‘so sinnlos der Zeitpunkt des Bündnisses unter fiktiven Bedingungen ist, so bezeichnend ist er unter historischen’. And p. 364, where he views the Judaean approach of the Romans within the tradition of seeking the support from other imperial powers. 57 Most scholars date the beginning of John Hyrkanos I’s diplomacy with Rome to ca. 134/133 BC, for which they normally adduce the Valerius Decree: e.g., BROUGHTON, MRR I p. 491f.; SCHÜRER et al. I (1973), p. 204; GIOVANNINI / MÜLLER (1971), p. 160– 163; GOLDSTEIN (1976/1979), p. 64, 469; RAJAK (1981), p. 72–81; SHERWIN-WHITE (1984), p. 76; BARTLETT (1998), p. 88; 93f.; ROCCA (2014), p. 269 (132 BC); BERNHARDT (2017), p. 372 with n. 227. Others argue for a beginning after the death of Antiochos VII, for which they normally draw on the Fannius Decree: GRAETZ (1906), p. 661f. (after 128

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the Praetor Lucius Valerius records the Senate meeting in which the Romans received a precious gift from John Hyrkanos I, renewed the pre-existing bond of friendship and also ‘bestow[ed] on them whatsoever they stood in need of’ (§ 148). This grant must relate to their desire ‘that letters might be given them, directed both to the free cities and to the kings, that their country and their harbours might be at peace, and that no one among them might receive any injury’ (§ 147).58 The ambassadors of John Hyrkanos, among whom we find Numenios once more, seem to have been similarly successful in Rome as under Simon, and we should not doubt that they made an effort to quickly disseminate the favourable messages of the Roman Senate. The next Judaean embassy to Rome is attested in the so-called Pergamon Decree (Jos., Ant. Jud. 14.10.22 [247–255]), a civic decree which has adopted much of the Roman letter that the Senator Lucius Pettius had composed (§ 251). One can deduce that the invasion of Antiochos IX Kyzikenos into Judaea had caused the according mission to Rome, and a date of 107 BC seems to be the best fit for all the given chronological indications.59 A crucial part of the text reads as follows (§§ 249f.): BC); TIMPE (1974), p. 148 (before 125 BC); CANALI DE ROSSI (1997), no. 612, p. 561– 563 (ca. 125 BC); cf. GRAINGER (2015), p. 132; 215 n. 32; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 242– 247 (129 BC). Yet others claim embassies at both times: SHATZMAN (2012), p. 57–65 (135/134 and 128/125 BC); SEEMAN (2013), p. 184–194; 200 (134/132 [Valerius Decree + Lucius letter without extradition clause] and 128/125 BC); DĄBROWA in this volume. Previously, a date in the 50s or in 47 BC had been supported (e.g., MOMMSEN 1875; TÄUBLER 1913, 164; WILLRICH 1924, 61f.; contra MENDELSSON 1875b, 424; RITSCHL 1875; SCHÜRER et al. I 1973, 196). 47 BC has been favoured again in some recent publications: PUCCI BEN ZEEV (1998), p. 31–53; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 247–250; ZACK (ca. 2018a). For my interpretation of the Fannius Decree, see below, section 6. 58 JOS., Ant. Jud. 14.8.5 (143–148), esp. 146–148: (146) ʌİȡ੿ ੰȞ ਝȜȑȟĮȞįȡȠȢ ੉ȐıȠȞȠȢ țĮ੿ ȃȠȣȝȒȞȚȠȢ ਝȞIJȚȩȤȠȣ țĮ੿ ਝȜȑȟĮȞįȡȠȢ ǻȦȡȠșȑȠȣ ੉ȠȣįĮȓȦȞ ʌȡİıȕİȣIJĮȓ, ਙȞįȡİȢ ਕȖĮșȠ੿ țĮ੿ ıȪȝȝĮȤȠȚ įȚİȜȑȤșȘıĮȞ ਕȞĮȞİȠȪȝİȞȠȚ IJ੹Ȣ ʌȡȠȨʌȘȡȖȝȑȞĮȢ ʌȡઁȢ ૮ȦȝĮȓȠȣȢ ȤȐȡȚIJĮȢ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ijȚȜȓĮȞ, (147) țĮ੿ ਕıʌȓįĮ ȤȡȣıોȞ ıȪȝȕȠȜȠȞ IJોȢ ıȣȝȝĮȤȓĮȢ ȖİȞȠȝȑȞȘȞ ਕȞȒȞİȖțĮȞ {ਕʌઁ Ȥȡȣı૵Ȟ} ȝȣȡȚȐįȦȞ ʌȑȞIJİ, țĮ੿ ȖȡȐȝȝĮIJૃ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ਱ȟȓȦıĮȞ įȠșોȞĮȚ ʌȡȩȢ IJİ IJ੹Ȣ Į੝IJȠȞȠȝȠȣȝȑȞĮȢ ʌȩȜİȚȢ țĮ੿ ʌȡઁȢ ȕĮıȚȜİ૙Ȣ ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ IJȠ૨ IJ੽Ȟ ȤȫȡĮȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ IJȠઃȢ ȜȚȝȑȞĮȢ ਕįİȓĮȢ IJȣȖȤȐȞİȚȞ țĮ੿ ȝȘį੻Ȟ ਕįȚțİ૙ıșĮȚ (148) ਩įȠȟİȞ ıȣȞșȑıșĮȚ ijȚȜȓĮȞ țĮ੿ ȤȐȡȚIJĮȢ ʌȡઁȢ Į੝IJȠȪȢ, țĮ੿ ੖ıȦȞ ਥįİȒșȘıĮȞ IJȣȤİ૙Ȟ IJĮ૨IJૃ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌĮȡĮıȤİ૙Ȟ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ țȠȝȚıșİ૙ıĮȞ ਕıʌȓįĮ ʌȡȠıįȑȟĮıșĮȚ.’ IJĮ૨IJĮ ਥȖȑȞİIJȠ ਥʌ੿ ੥ȡțĮȞȠ૨ ਕȡȤȚİȡȑȦȢ țĮ੿ ਥșȞȐȡȤȠȣ ਩IJȠȣȢ ਥȞȐIJȠȣ ȝȘȞઁȢ ȆĮȞȑȝȠȣ. 59 The chronology is highly controversial. For an early date (134/125 BC), the transmitted text must be changed, to allow for an identification of Antiochos, son of Antiochos, with Antiochos VII, who was, however, the son of Demetrios I. This correction is accepted by, e.g., SCHÜRER et al. I (1973), p. 204–206, with reference to MENDELSSON (1875a); BROUGHTON, MRR III p. 156; RAJAK (1981), p. 78f. For Antiochos IX Kyzikenos, see REINACH (1899), p. 164–168 (105 or 104 BC); GRAETZ (1906), p. 661f. (113/110 BC); GIOVANNINI / MÜLLER (1971), p. 157–160 (107 BC; cf. SHERWIN-WHITE 1984, p. 76); TIMPE (1974), p. 148 (114/104 BC); GOLDSTEIN (1976/1979), p. 64 (113–112); GRUEN (1984), p. 750f. (107/104 BC); CANALI DE ROSSI

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The Senate thereupon made a decree about what they had desired of them, that King Antiochos, son of Antiochos, should do no injury to the Judaeans, the allies of the Romans; that the fortresses, and the harbours, and the country, and whatsoever else he had taken from them, should be restored to them; and that it be illegal for them (sc. the king and his men) to export any goods out of the harbours; (250) and that no king nor people have the right to export any goods, either out of the country of Judaea, or out of their harbours, without paying customs …60

Since the Roman letter is conflated with the civic decree, it is unclear whether it had addressed John Hyrkanos and the Judaeans, or rather the Pergamenes on behalf of the Judaeans. There is further uncertainty about the way of communication, because the sloppy editing of the civic decree has occasionally maintained the first person plural for the Romans, instead of the third person.61 Otherwise, the first person is reserved to the Pergamenes, whereas John Hyrkanos and the Judaeans appear in the third person. My suspicion is that the original Roman letter addressed John Hyrkanos and the Judaeans, because Pergamon is specified nowhere as the direct correspondent of Lucius Pettius. In addition, neither the report of the Senate’s meeting nor the summary of the actions of Pettius mention the composition of letters. At any rate, we further learn the names of the three Judaean ambassadors to Rome, but they are not identical with the otherwise unknown Theodoros, who approached the Pergamene council and assembly ‘with an epistle’ and ‘the decree of the Senate’ (252).62 I suggest that the senatus consultum is identical with the letter (1997), no. 616, p. 565–567 (105 BC); SHATZMAN (2007), p. 267–269 and (1999), p. 66 (ca. 113 BC); EILERS (2008), p. 214f. (106/105 BC); EHLING (2008), p. 217–227 (ca. 107/106 BC); SEEMAN (2013), p. 194–200; 241 (113/112 BC). ROCCA (2014) ignores a second embassy to Rome under John Hyrkanos I, but admits on p. 269 that Rome would have looked favourably on his conquests due to her hostile relation with the Seleukids (which is quite problematic). 60 The full text is as follows: JOS., Ant. Jud. 14.10.22 (247–255), esp. 249f.: (249) țĮ੿ ʌİȡ੿ IJ૵Ȟ țĮIJ੹ ȝȑȡȘ ਥȝijĮȞȚıȐȞIJȦȞ, ਥįȠȖȝȐIJȚıİȞ ਲ ıȪȖțȜȘIJȠȢ ʌİȡ੿ ੰȞ ਥʌȠȚȒıĮȞIJȠ IJȠઃȢ ȜȩȖȠȣȢ, ੖ʌȦȢ ȝȘį੻Ȟ ਕįȚțૌ ਝȞIJȓȠȤȠȢ ੒ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ ਝȞIJȚȩȤȠȣ ȣੂઁȢ ੉ȠȣįĮȓȠȣȢ ıȣȝȝȐȤȠȣȢ ૮ȦȝĮȓȦȞ, ੖ʌȦȢ IJİ ijȡȠȪȡȚĮ țĮ੿ ȜȚȝȑȞĮȢ țĮ੿ ȤȫȡĮȞ țĮ੿, İ੅ IJȚ ਙȜȜȠ ਕijİȓȜİIJȠ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ, ਕʌȠįȠșૌ țĮ੿ ਥȟૌ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ਥț IJ૵Ȟ ȜȚȝȑȞȦȞ ȝȘįૃ ਥȟĮȖĮȖİ૙Ȟ, (250) ੆ȞĮ IJİ ȝȘįİ੿Ȣ ਕIJİȜ੽Ȣ ઝ ਥț IJોȢ ੉ȠȣįĮȓȦȞ ȤȫȡĮȢ ਲ਼ IJ૵Ȟ ȜȚȝȑȞȦȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ਥȟȐȖȦȞ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ ਲ਼ įોȝȠȢ […]. 61 This is particularly the case in § 250: ਲ਼ ȝȩȞȠȢ ȆIJȠȜİȝĮ૙ȠȢ ੒ ਝȜİȟĮȞįȡȑȦȞ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ įȚ੹ IJઁ İੇȞĮȚ ıȪȝȝĮȤȠȢ ਲȝȑIJİȡȠȢ țĮ੿ ijȓȜȠȢ, țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ਥȞ ੉ȩʌʌૉ ijȡȠȣȡ੹Ȟ ਥțȕĮȜİ૙Ȟ, țĮșઅȢ ਥįİȒșȘıĮȞ IJોȢ ȕȠȣȜોȢ ਲȝ૵Ȟ. Cf. SEEMAN (2013), p. 196, although he goes too far when claiming that the whole senatus consultum has been incorporated ‘verbatim’. Differently, the editor Niese reads țĮșઅȢ ਥįİȒșȘıĮȞ: (251) IJોȢ ȕȠȣȜોȢ ਲȝ૵Ȟ ȁȠȪțȚȠȢ ȆȑIJIJȚȠȢ ਕȞ੽ȡ țĮȜઁȢ țĮ੿ ਕȖĮșઁȢ ʌȡȠıȑIJĮȟİȞ … This is not only stylistically problematic, but would also render Lucius Pettius a councillor of Pergamon, rather than a Roman Senator. For a full discussion, see COùKUN (in prep.). 62 SEEMAN (2013), p. 197f. may be right that this was a Judaean ambassador, although he suggests that the Roman and Pergamene Decrees got merged only by confusion, and that the latter probably dates to the times of Hyrkanos II (also see pp. 338–340). I disagree. See below for my interpretation of how the two texts relate to each other; and

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addressing John Hyrkanos and the Judaeans (or perhaps a copy thereof), and the additional epistle may well have been written by the same Judaean authorities to the Pergamenes. This reconstruction, while uncertain, is further recommended by the reference to friendship between the Judaeans and Pergamenes going back to the ‘days of Abraham’ (255). Such an allegation was more likely to be found in a letter authored by the Jerusalemite court than by a Roman Senator. We thus see an interesting modification of ‘triangular epistolary diplomacy’: a Roman letter documenting the grant of honours or beneficial rulings of all kinds could be taken to any other political player, here an important Greek city, to solicit support for a Judaean cause. The Pergamon Decree itself does not actually specify the action that Theodoros wanted to induce in Asia Minor. Honours for John Hyrkanos were certainly welcome (252–255), but they were probably not the main goal of the embassy. Nor was military aid being asked for, although the conflict with Antiochos Kyzikenos was ongoing. What matters most is implied in the quotation of the Senate’s decree, which bans the king’s illegal pillaging of Judaea. Most likely, Pergamon, as one of the trade hubs in Western Anatolia, promised not to buy any goods either looted by Antiochos or his soldiers, or produced in areas of Judaea that the Seleukid held occupied, but which the Romans had agreed should belong to John Hyrkanos.

6. The End of Epistolary Diplomacy between Rome and Judaea There is controversial, but admissible evidence for the renewal of JudaeanRoman friendship under Alexander Jannaios, although this tells us little about the actual communication.63 The last attestation of epistolary diplomacy leads us to the time of Aristobulos I (105/4 BC). It is the abovementioned Fannius Decree, which Josephus misinterpreted as the document issued for the first embassy dispatched to Rome by John Hyrkanos I (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.9.2 [259– 266]). While many scholars have maintained it in its narrative context (ca. 129/25 BC), or even dated it still to the lifetime of Antiochos VII (ca. 134/33 BC),64 the historical indications clearly speak against such early dates. The

see COùKUN (in prep.) for the suggestion that the ambassador was perhaps Theodoros, the Athenian citizen who proposed the Athenian Decree in honour of John Hyrkanos I (see below, with n. 65 on this document). 63 Strabon in JOS., Ant. Jud. 14.3.1 (34–36), which is normally related to Aristobulos II alone. Thus, e.g., SCHÜRER et al. I (1973), p. 236f.; WHISTON / MAIER (1999), p. 458 n. 1; CANALI DE ROSSI (1997), p. 566f.; contra COùKUN (in prep.). Without this piece of evidence, ROCCA (2014), p. 272–283 also argues for the renewal of friendship under Alexander Jannaios, but see my comments above, n. 2. 64 See above, n. 57.

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document definitely postdates the senatus consultum enshrined in the abovementioned Pergamon Decree. In fact, it even seems to be younger than the Athenian Decree in honour of John Hyrkanos I. Josephus has also misplaced this, adducing it among the documents supposedly written for Hyrkanos II under Julius Caesar (Jos., Ant. Jud. 14.8.5 [149–155]); but most scholars now accept it as dating to 105 BC, based on the Athenian archon Agathokles.65 Shortly after this, the Praetor Fannius led a Senate meeting that dealt once more with Judaean matters. It becomes clear that the partial occupation of Judaea by troops of Antiochos (IX) was ongoing (§ 261–263). That we should consider Aristobulos I as the authority behind the Judaean embassy is revealed by the fact that the mission resulted in yet another renewal of friendship and alliance (§ 264). This cannot have been the case under John Hyrkanos I. Aristobulos is a more likely candidate than his brother Alexander Jannaios, because the military problem seems to have been solved shortly before the latter acceded to the throne in 104/3 BC (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.12.2 [324]). The Fannius Decree stands out among the evidence of Judaean-Roman friendship under the Maccabees in that it documents the only case in which the Senate denied the requested letters of support: (265) But as to the letters desired, their answer was that the Senate would consult about that matter when their own affairs would give them leave; and that they would endeavour, for the time to come, that no like injury should be done to them; and that their Praetor Fannius should give them money out of the public treasury to bear their expenses home. (266) And thus did Fannius dismiss the Judaean ambassadors, and gave them money out of the public treasury; and gave the decree of the Senate to those that were to conduct them, and to take care that they should return home in safety.66

This episode does not yet represent a breakdown of Judaean-Roman friendship, given that the same decree mentions its very renewal (§ 264). In addition, the ambassadors were treated with all formal diligence. The fact that Alexander Jannaios would continue the tradition of friendship diplomacy with Rome not much later further discourages a dramatization of the Roman response to Aristobulos’ request. There is thus no need to explain procrastination as resulting from discomfort with Judaean expansionism or disdain for enforced 65 See ECKHARDT (2013), p. 189 n. 151; EILERS (2003), p. 194 and (2008), p. 214f.; SHARON (2010), p. 475. The Athenian Decree is not accounted for by SCHÜRER et al. I (1973); GIOVANNINI / MÜLLER (1971), p. 163; CANALI DE ROSSI (1997); PUCCI BEN ZEEV (1998); SEEMAN (2013); ZOLLSCHAN (2017); ZACK (2018a) and (2018b). 66 JOS., Ant. Jud. 13.9.2 (259–266), esp. 265f.: (265) ʌİȡ੿ ȝȑȞIJȠȚ ȖȡĮȝȝȐIJȦȞ ਕʌİțȡȓȞĮȞIJȠ ȕȠȣȜİȪıİıșĮȚ, ੖IJĮȞ ਕʌઁ IJ૵Ȟ ੁįȓȦȞ ਲ ıȪȖțȜȘIJȠȢ İ੝ıȤȠȜȒıૉ, ıʌȠȣįȐıİȚȞ IJİ IJȠ૨ ȜȠȚʌȠ૨ ȝȘį੻Ȟ İੁȢ Į੝IJȠઃȢ ਕįȓțȘȝĮ IJȠȚȠ૨IJȠ ȖİȞȑıșĮȚ, įȠ૨ȞĮȓ IJİ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ IJઁȞ ıIJȡĮIJȘȖઁȞ ĭȐȞȞȚȠȞ ȤȡȒȝĮIJĮ ਥț IJȠ૨ įȘȝȠıȓȠȣ, ੖ʌȦȢ ਗȞ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȠੁțİȓĮȞ ਥʌĮȞȑȜșȠȚİȞ. (266) ĭȐȞȞȚȠȢ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੣Ȟ Ƞ੢IJȦȢ ਕʌȠʌȑȝʌİȚ IJȠઃȢ IJ૵Ȟ ੉ȠȣįĮȓȦȞ ʌȡȑıȕİȚȢ ȤȡȒȝĮIJȐ IJİ įȠઃȢ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ਥț IJȠ૨ įȘȝȠıȓȠȣ țĮ੿ įȩȖȝĮ ıȣȖțȜȒIJȠȣ ʌȡઁȢ IJȠઃȢ įȚĮʌȑȝȥȠȞIJĮȢ țĮ੿ ਕıijĮȜો ʌĮȡİȟȠȝȑȞȠȣȢ IJ੽Ȟ Ƞ੅țĮįİ ʌĮȡȠȣıȓĮȞ.

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circumcision.67 If this were the case, one should rather expect to find more direct expressions of dislike, if not action taken against Judaea. I would even question that the Romans were well informed about the realities on the ground. It is hard to see that Idumaeans or Ituraeans turned to the Senate for help against Jerusalem.68 But even if the Romans should have had detailed intelligence from whichever source, are we really to suppose that they were more sympathetic with the notorius cruelties of the latest Seleukids than with Maccabaean politics? All of this notwithstanding, one may still ask whether the denial of 104 BC was only coincidental, or perhaps symptomatic for a friendship in slow decline. Instead of postponing the Judaeans’ concern to another meeting, say, some weeks later, or to look for an alternative but pragmatic solution, the envoys were simply sent home. This surely must have been disappointing to them, if not rude. And we have already concluded from the Pergamon Decree that the Judaean embassy to Rome in 107 BC yielded only a single letter. Although its content was according to wishes, the entirety of the correspondence may be reflective of a reduced Roman engagement. More importantly, the Fannius Decree demonstrates that the previous ruling of the Senate had not brought about the desired results by 104 BC: Joppa, Gezer and Pagai were still occupied by Antiochos Kyzikenos (§ 261). On the verge of the centuries, Seleukid Kings existed only by name, having effectively become reckless warlords. The smaller their remaining territories, the more in numbers they were, fighting for survival from a day-to-day basis. They had learnt before all others that they could expect no help from the Senate. At the same time, they had unlearned to be afraid of Roman intervention.69 Regardless of the king’s disobedience, the Romans even refused new letters to the ambassadors of Aristobulos. Apparently, one can observe a decline of the commitment on the side of the Romans. At the same time, Aristobulos and Alexander Jannaios were showing no hesitation not to embark on bold endeavours without Roman support. One possible explanation might be that the days in which Roman epistolary diplomacy had been influential and functional in the Near East were gradually over. Piracy along the Kilikan and Levantine coasts had been proliferating after the destruction of the Seleukid fleet by the Roman ambassador Cn. Octavius in 163/62 BC.70 A last concerted political move of the Romans in the East before the close of the 2nd century BC was a combined military and diplomatic operation under the command of M. Antonius (102–100 BC): he sacked a few harbours along the coast of southern Asia Minor, and his governourship was followed by a Roman anti-pirate law that tried to bind in many of her eastern 67

See above, n. 26 for references. Similarly, SEEMAN (2013), p. 202. 69 On latest Seleukid History, see EHLING (2008); DUMITRU (2016). 70 See EHLING (2008), p. 120f.; COùKUN (in prep.). 68

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allies. On closer inspection, however, Antonius’ mission was limited in scale and highly under-resourced; Rome quickly withdrew by entrusting the continuation of the war to her eastern allies.71 Much more relevant for the Romans was the immediate threat that the Cimbri, Teutones and Ambrones were posing to them once more after their great victory at Arausio in 105 BC. Roman politics through the years 104–101 BC was largely concerned with the rebuilding and remodelling of the legions, the so-called ‘Marian Reforms’, which deeply impacted Roman society. At the same time, tensions within the Roman Senate, the citizenry and Italian society at large were on the rise, phenomena which ultimately led into the Social War (90–87 BC). We are therefore not bound to explain a decreasing efficiency and commitment on the Roman side with either cynical imperialism in general or disregard for the Judaeans in particular. Hand in hand with this concentration on RomanItalian matters went the fact that the major initiatives in the Near East were left to the Arsakids of Parthia, Tigranes of Armenia, the Orontids of Kommagene and the Mithradatids of Pontos. For one or two generations, those were the rising powers in the region. At least to a lesser degree, Rhodes and Athens were also players of some distinction, and Judaea and Nabataea can be added for a brief period.72 In the unipolar order of the Mediterranean world of the mid-2nd century, Rome had enjoyed the status of a superpower. She could effectively rely on epistolary diplomacy, as long as she showed her willingness and capacity to take action, if needed. Whether her dwindling determination caused the rise of a multipolar world in the Near East or was only its symptom remains open to discussion. But, ironically, when Rome was returning as the major player in the area during the First Mithradatic War (89–85 BC), this action was intertwined with a series of domestic and interstate wars. These affected the whole Mediterranean, and thus limited the scope for peaceful diplomacy. One might think that Roman political authority finally returned in the Augustan principate. But despite all the glamour and achievements of Rome’s first emperor, his nearly ‘divine’ power was ultimately based on the many garrisons all around the Mediterranean. At the high tide of the Republican Senate, the Romans had been able to steer cities, tribes and kings through ‘legions’ of ambassadors ‘armed’ only with letters.

71 See, e.g., EHLING (2008), p. 228–230 and DE SOUZA (2012), p. 59–61; also BROUGHTON, MRR I p. 568, 572, 576; II p. 87, 90f., 94, 101f., 146 on M. Antonius, praetor 102 BC and proconsul 101–100 BC; and CRAWFORD et al., RS I no. 12 (p. 231– 270) = SHERK, RGEDA no. 55 on the lex de piratis persequendis. On piracy under Alexander Jannaios, also see J. ENGELS (2011), p. 190, and see above, n. 26. 72 For solid treatments of Roman foreign policy in the later 2 nd and 1st centuries, see, e.g., SHERWIN-WHITE (1984); KALLET-MARX (1996); PAYEN (2016).

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KAMPEN, J. (2007), The Books of the Maccabees and Sectarianism in Second Temple Judaism, in G. XERAVITS / J. ZSENGELLÉR (eds.), The Books of the Maccabees: History, Theology, Ideology – Papers of the Second International Conference on the Deuteronomical Books, Pápa, Hungary, 9–11 June 2005, Leiden, p. 11–30. LAQUEUR, R. (1927), Griechische Urkunden in der jüdisch-hellenistischen Literatur, in HZ 136.2, p. 229–252. MARTOLA, N. (1984), Capture and Liberation: A Study in the Composition of the First Book of Maccabees, Åbo. MENDELS, D. (2013), Why Did Paul Go West? Jewish Historical Narrative and Thought, London. MENDELSSON, L. (1875a), De senati consulti Romanorum ab Josepho Ant. XIV,8,5 relati temporibus, in Acta societatis philologicae Lipsiensis, Leipzig, 89ff. (non vidi – quoted after MENDELSON 1875b, 419 n. 2 and SCHÜRER et al. I, 1973, 205 n. 7) – (1875b), Nochmals der römische Senatsbeschluß bei Josephus Antiqu. XIV,8,5, in RhM 30, p. 419–428. MILLAR, F. (2006), Hellenistic History in a Near Eastern Perspective: The Book of Daniel, in ID., Rome, the Greek World, and the East, vol. 3: The Greek World, the Jews, and the East, ed. by H.M. Cotton / G.M. Rogers, Chapel Hill NC, p. 51–66. MITTAG, P.F. (2006), Antiochos IV. Epiphanes. Eine politische Biographie, Berlin. MITTMANN-RICHERT, U. (2000), Historische und legendarische Erzählungen, Gütersloh. MOMMSEN, T. (1875), Der Senatsbeschluss bei Josephus, ant. 14,8,5, in Hermes 9, p. 281–291. NICKELSBURG, G.W.E. (1981), Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah. A Historical and Literary Introduction, Philadelphia. NIESE, B. (1906), Eine Urkunde der Makkabäerzeit, in Orientalische Studien. FS Th. Nöldeke II, p.817–829. NODET, É. (2005), La crise maccabéenne: Historiographie juive et traditions bibliques, Paris. PARKER, V. (2007), The Letters in II Maccabees: Reflexions on the Book’s Composition, in Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 119, p.386–402. – (2013), The Date of the Material in ‘II Maccabees’: The Bureaucratic Evidence, in Hermes 141, p.34–44. PAYEN, G. (2016), Les conséquences géopolitiques du traité d’Apamée en Asie Mineure, PhD Université Laval / Université Paris-Sorbonne (thèse). – (in prep.), Attalos II, King of Pergamon, in A. COùKUN (ed.), APR. PUCCI BEN ZEEV, M. (1998), Jewish Rights in the Roman World. The Greek and Roman Documents Quoted by Josephus Flavius, Tübingen. RAJAK, T. (1981), Roman Intervention in a Seleucid Siege of Jerusalem, in GRBS 22, p. 65–81. – (2007), Document and Rhetoric in Josephus: Revisiting the “Charter” for the Jews, in Sh.J.D. COHEN / J.J. SCHWARTZ (eds.), Studies in Josephus and the Varieties of Ancient Judaism. Louis H. Feldman Jubilee Volume, Leiden, p.177–189. RAPPAPORT, U. (1968), La Judée et Rome pendant le règne d’Alexandre Jannée, in REJ 78, 1968, p.329–342. REGEV, E. (2013), The Hasmoneans: Ideology, Archaeology, Identity, Göttingen.

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REINACH, T. (1899), Antiochus Cyzicène et les Juifs, in REJ 38, p.161–171. RITSCHL, F. (1875), Nochmals der römische Senatsbeschluß bei Josephus Antiqu. XIV,8,5, in RhM 30, 419, p. 428–435. ROCCA, S. (2014), The Hasmonean State and Rome: A New Appraisal, in REJ 173, p. 263–295. SCHUNCK, K. (1980), 1. Makkabäerbuch, Gütersloh. SCHÜRER, E. et al. (1973/1986), The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135). A New English Version Revised and Edited by Geza Vermes et al., Parts I and III.1, Edinburgh. SCHWARTZ, D.R. (1993), Scipio’s Embassy and Simon’s Ambassadors (I Maccabees 15), in SCI 12, p.114–126. – (2017), 1 Maccabees 14 and the History of the Hasmonean State, in F. AVEMARIE et al. (eds.), Die Makkabäerbücher, Tübingen, p.69–84. – (forthcoming), The Temple in 2 Maccabees: A Response to Sylvie Honigman, in AJS (Ms. 15 March 2017). SCHWARTZ, S. (1991), Israel and the Nations Roundabout: 1Maccabees and Hasmonean Expansion, in JJS 42, 1991, p. 16–38. SCOLNIC, B.E. (1999), Chronology and Papponymy: A List of the Judean High Priests of the Persian Period, Atlanta. – (2005), Alcimus. Enemy of the Maccabees, Lanham. – (2007), Thy Brother’s Blood: The Maccabees and the Morality of Kinship, Lanham. – (2010), Judaism Defined: Mattathias and the Destiny of His People, Lanham. SEEMAN, C. (2013), Rome and Judea in Transition. Hasmonean Relations with the Roman Republic and the Evolution of the High Priesthood, New York. SHATZMAN, I. (1999), The Integration of Judaea into the Roman Empire, in SCI 18, p. 49–84. – (2007), Jews and Gentiles from Judas Maccabaeus to John Hyrcanus According to Contemporary Jewish Sources, in Sh.J.D. COHEN / J.J. SCHWARTZ (eds.), Studies in Josephus and the Varieties of Ancient Judaism. Louis H. Feldman Jubilee Volume, Leiden 2007, p.237–270. – (2012), The Expansionist Policy of John Hyrcanus and His Relation with Rome, in G. URSO (ed.), Iudaea socia – Iudaea capta. Atti del convegno international Cividale del Friuli, 22–24 settembre 2011, Pisa, p. 29–77. SHERK, R. (1984), RGEDA: Rome and the Greek East to the Death of Augustus, Cambridge. SHERWIN-WHITE, A.N. (1984), Roman Foreign Policy in the Greek East, 168 B.C. to A.D. 1, London. SORDI, M. (1952), Il valore politico del trattato fra i Romani e i Giudei nel 161 a.C., in Acme 5, 509–519. SØRENSEN, S.L. (2015), Identifying the Jewish Eupolemoi – An Onomastic Approach, in Journal of Jewish Studies 66, 24–35. TÄUBLER, E. (1913), Imperium Romanum. Studien zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Römischen Reiches. Vol. 1, Leipzig 1913, repr. Roma 1964. TILLY, M. (2015), 1 Makkabäer, Freiburg i.B.

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TIMPE, D. (1974), Der römische Vertrag mit den Juden von 161 v.Chr., in Chiron 4, p. 133–152. WHISTON, W. / MAIER, P.L. (1999), The New Complete Works of Josephus. Translated by W. Whiston (1st ed. 1737). Commentary by P.L. Maier. Revised and Expanded Edition, Grand Rapids. WILKER, J. (2011), Von Aufstandsführern zur lokalen Elite. Der Aufstieg der Makkabäer, in B. DREYER / P.F. MITTAG (eds.), Lokale Eliten und hellenistische Könige: zwischen Konfrontation und Kooperation, Berlin, p. 216–252. WILLIAMS, D.S. (1999), The Structure of 1 Maccabees, Washington. WILLRICH, H. (1895), Juden und Griechen vor der Makkabäischen Erhebung, Göttingen 1895. – (1900), Judaica. Forschungen zur hellenistisch-jüdischen Geschichte und Litteratur, Göttingen. – (1924), Urkundenfälschung in der hellenistisch-jüdischen Literatur, Göttingen. ZACK, A. (ca. 2018a), C. Iulius Caesar und Hyrkanus II. Überlegungen zur chronologischen Abfolge der Dokumente bei Flavius Josephus ant. 14,10,2–10 [190– 222] und ant. 14,8,5 [145–148], in Electrum. – (2018b), Review of Zollschan 2017, in Göttinger Forum für Altertumswissenschaft 21, p.1027–1047. ZOLLSCHAN, L.T. (2004), The Earliest Jewish Embassy to the Romans: 2 Macc. 4:11?, in JJS 55, 37–44. – (2005), Roman Diplomacy and the Jewish Embassy of 161 BCE, Ph.D. Diss., BenGurion University of the Negev, Beersheva, Israel. – (2007), The Date of the Fannius Letter: Jos. Ant. 14.233, in JSJ 38, 9–38. – (2008), Justinus 36.3.9 and Roman-Judaean Diplomatic Relations in 161 BCE, in Athenaeum 96, 153–171. – (2017), Rome and Judaea, 162–100 BCE. International Law Relations, Abingdon.

The Seleukids, Rome and the Jews (134–76 BC) Edward DĄBROWA Abstract The aim of this paper is to discuss the nature and context of the mutual relations of rulers of Judaea with the Seleukids and Rome in the period of the rule of John Hyrkanos, Alexander Jannaios, and Alexandra Salome. Even though this question has already been addressed several times, there is still a need to research it. In the period in question, the rulers of Judaea had contacts with Rome as well as with the Seleukids. These were especially intensive during the rule of John Hyrkanos, when on at least three occasions he sent delegations to Rome requesting her amicitia and support for his territorial claims against the Seleukids. It is interesting that the embassies coincided with Hyrkanos’ successes at the cost of the Seleukids. Why did Hyrkanos need Roman approval? Another aspect of Hyrkanos’ external policy is his expansion to areas that had formerly been under Seleukid administration. This policy of encroachment into Seleukid territory was continued by Alexander Jannaios. His achievements were quite impressive, but Demetrios III and Antiochos XII posed very serious threats to his rule. Why did he not appeal to Rome for support, and why did he not even try to renew any formal relations with the Romans during his reign? For these questions, and others too, the author offers some responses.

1. Introduction: Judaea, Rome and the Seleukids For generations, the history of the Maccabean revolt and the Hasmonaean dynasty has been of interest to scholars, providing a source of discussion, new hypotheses and interpretations. Among the most frequently tackled questions are the various aspects of the domestic and foreign policies of the leaders of the revolt and later of the Hasmonaean rulers, especially their relations with Rome. The anonymous author of the First Book of Maccabees devoted a great deal of attention to these questions, at the same time identifying Rome as the main power of the Mediterranean world (1Macc 8.1–16).1 However, this source is not sufficiently detailed to cast away doubts as to the actual nature of Jewish-Roman relations of the time. Uncertainty regarding this relation continues in the

1 Scholars have devoted much attention to interpreting this laus Romanorum; see SORDI (1952), p. 512–519; STEMBERGER (1983), p. 6–12; DELCOR (1991), p. 19–28; BALTRUSCH (2002), p. 86–90; p. 180, n. 17; WILKER (2008), p. 195–197; SEEMAN (2013), p. 209–218; COùKUN (2018).

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subsequent period no longer covered by 1 Maccabees, beginning with John Hyrkanos’ coming to power (135/4 BC) and ending with Pompey’s subordination of Judaea to Rome. Although this latter date is an obvious choice from a historical perspective, the year of Alexandra’s death (67 BC) seems a more suitable end for analysing Hasmonaean-Roman relations. Pompey’s interference in Judaean affairs, with all its political consequences, was preceded by several years of rivalry and struggles for power between the sons of the deceased ruler, Hyrkanos (II) and Aristobulos (II). However, the roles played by Roman representatives in the brothers’ power struggle seem to be disconnected from any preceding relations between Judaea and Rome, so it is justified to exclude the events of 67–63 BC from our discussion. The only source for the Hasmonaeans’ relations with Rome between 134 and 67 BC is Josephus. Yet his account is very general and contains a number of chronological errors that render their precise historical interpretation difficult. It is not possible to evaluate adequately the Hasmonaeans’ relations with Rome without considering their relations with the Seleukids. Important to remember is that Judas Maccabee was inclined to open diplomatic relations with Rome in 161 BC during the conflict with the Seleukid power (1Macc 8.17–20).2 This initiative was motivated by the hope that friendship with and possible support from Rome would end Syrian aggression in Judaea and offer lasting protection to its inhabitants in future. Yet the Senate’s declaration of amicitia was not accompanied by any military support (cf. 1Macc 8.24–28) and thus did not stop the Syrian forces. This failure to obtain military assistance did not deter his brothers Jonathan (1Macc 12.1–4) and Simon (1Macc 14.17–24; 15.15–21)

2 It is a common conviction among many scholars that the mission of Judas Maccabee was the first official diplomatic contact between the Jews and Rome. It is not easy to assess this mission categorically. Controversial are both the content of the Roman declaration and its legal character; see SORDI (1952), p. 509–519; LIEBMANN–FRANKFORT (1969), p. 111–120; WIRGIN (1969), p. 15–20; GIOVANNINI / MÜLLER (1971), p. 166–170; FISCHER (1974), p. 92; PIATTELLI (1979), p. 200–206; MANDELL (1988), p. 87–89; MANDELL (1991), p. 202–220; BALTRUSCH (2002), p. 92–98; ZOLLSCHAN (2005), p. 7– 37; WILKER (2008), p. 197–198; ZOLLSCHAN (2012), 217–245; (2017); SHATZMAN (2012), p. 68–69, n. 149; SEEMAN (2013), p. 113–136; ROCCA (2014b), p. 264–268; COùKUN (2018). Some scholars, based on the information in 2Macc 11.34–38, regard the first contact as being that linked with the mission of two Roman senators who in 164 BC travelled to Syria on senate business. During their journey they wrote a letter to the Jews, asking them to present their requests against the king of Syria, i.e. Antiochos IV or Antiochos V (2Macc 11.34–38); see LIEBMANN-FRANKFORT (1969), p. 102–111; PIATTELLI (1979), p. 197–200; GRUEN (1984), p. 745–747; BALTRUSCH (2002), p. 84–85; WILKER (2008), p. 194–195; SEEMAN 2013, 98, 102; ROCCA (2014a), p. 54–55; (2014b), p. 264; cf. STEMBERGER (1983), p. 5–6. This was the only time when the Roman side was the one initiating contact, but its only objective was to exert pressure on Antiochos IV. There is also a hypothesis based on 2Macc 4.11, that the first Jewish embassy to Rome was probably sent in 174 BC, cf. ZOLLSCHAN (2004), p. 37–44.

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from sending their own delegations to Rome. This demonstrates the Jewish leaders’ profound faith in the Roman senators’ ability to exert any kind of pressure on the Seleukid court. However, although the Senate openly took the side of the Jews represented by Judas and his successors, active support, striking as it may have been at times, only went as far as verbal declarations with limited effect. Furthermore, we do not have persuasive evidence that the letters sent by the Senate throughout the Eastern Mediterranean on behalf of the Jews (1Macc 15.22–24) had any tangible result. Such diplomatic support would leave the strongest impression mainly on the leaders of Judaea. That Judaea became largely independent from the Seleukids in 141 BC was owed mainly to the internal weakening of Syria, torn apart by the struggles between the pretenders to the throne. However, the Judaeans’ belief in the permanence of their independence soon faced a stern test. When Antiochos VII Sidetes (138–129 BC) came to the throne, showing determination to return the Seleukid state to its former glory, the autonomy of Judaea was gravely threatened. The danger of its loss became most real with the sudden and unexpected death of Simon following a conspiracy instigated by his son-in-law, and owing to the readiness of the plotters to return to the side of the Seleukids (cf. 1Macc 16.11–18). Simon’s son and heir, John Hyrkanos (135/134–104 BC), first had to face internal threats, and then Antiochos VII himself, who ravaged the territory of Judaea and besieged Jerusalem (134/133 BC) in order to force him to acknowledge Seleukid suzerainty (Jos., Bell. Jud. 1.61; Ant. Jud. 13.236–244). Ultimately, the diplomatically astute John Hyrkanos reached an agreement with the king of Syria. In return for accepting the king’s conditions, he maintained power over Judaea (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.245–247).3 Not much later, Antiochos VII’s defeat during his anabasis weakened the Syrian pressure on Judaea, but it did not fully free it from the dangers that came with its proximity. As long as any of the rulers of battle-torn Syria had sufficiently large forces to attack Judaea, John Hyrkanos was facing the risk of an armed confrontation. Avoiding any open conflict, John Hyrkanos lobbied Rome for help in protecting the vested interests of his state from the Seleukids. His actions demonstrate that, despite the ineffectiveness of the efforts made by his predecessors, he was convinced of the need to maintain good relations with Rome to safeguard Judaea’s independence.

3 Cf. DĄBROWA (2010a), p. 67–69. According to RAJAK (1981), p. 65–81 = RAJAK (2002), p. 81–97, the final results of the Seleukid siege of Jerusalem influenced the Roman intervention in favor of John Hyrkanos. Even if this hypothesis looks attractive, it is pure speculation, not confirmed by any piece of evidence.

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2. Jewish-Roman Relations under John Hyrkanos and Alexander Jannaios Following Josephus, we can state that John Hyrkanos sent delegations to Rome on at least a few occasions. The actual number, dates and objectives of these missions have long been the subject of debate among scholars. There is no need here to cite and analyse all the arguments and interpretations they have yielded.4 According to the arguments recently presented by Israel Shatzman and Chris Seeman, John Hyrkanos sent delegations to Rome three times. The first of these set off shortly after he had come to power in Judaea (134 BC) in the period preceding Antiochos VII’s expedition to Jerusalem, its goal being a renewal of mutual contacts and alliance and obtaining Roman diplomatic support against the king of Syria.5 The second group of envoys was sent after the death of Antiochos VII (c. 128/125 BC). Their mission was to request Roman support against the contemporary king of Syria in order to reclaim Judaean cities and territories seized earlier by Antiochos VII.6 The third delegation took place around the end of the second decade of the 2nd century BC (c. 113/112 BC). When Antiochos IX Kyzikenos (116–96 BC) managed to capture a number of Judaea’s coastal cities, it is likely that John Hyrkanos sought help in recovering them.7 Each of these missions resulted in declarations on the part of the Roman Senate that met John Hyrkanos’ expectations, but none of them translated into concrete actions. Neither Rome nor its allies made the slightest effort to make the Seleukids respect the Senate’s decree in favour of Judaea. Rome’s passive stance was no doubt a source of disappointment for John Hyrkanos. Following the death of Simon in 135/4 BC, Judaea faced a grave threat from Antiochos VII. This aggression was not checked by Rome’s declaration of friendship made with John Hyrkanos. After his return from the Parthian expedition (c. 129 BC), he was facing aggressions by Demetrios II, who sought to restore suzerainty 4 The main problem is to find a convincing date for the so-called ‘Valerius decree’ (JOS., Ant. Jud 14.145–148). Josephus’ seems to point to 47 BC, i.e. to the rule of Hyrkanos II, which, however, causes serious problems. Most scholars ascribe it to John Hyrkanos, cf. GIOVANNINI / MÜLLER (1971), p. 156–165; FISCHER (1974), p. 90–92, 93; (1981), p. 144; GRUEN (1984), p. 749–751; BALTRUSCH (2002), p. 105–110; DĄBROWA (2010a), p. 70, note 12; p. 72, note 22 (with further bibliography in both notes); SHATZMAN (2012), p. 57–68; SEEMAN (2013), p. 184–202; COùKUN (2018). ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 242 and 247–254 analyzes the historical and prosopographical data that the source contains, before arguing for a date under Hyrkanos II. See also RAPPAPORT (1968), p. 330–332. 5 JOS., Ant. Jud. 14.145–148; SHATZMAN (2012), p. 57–61, 68; SEEMAN (2013), p. 189–194, 200; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 247–254. 6 JOS., Ant. Jud. 13.259–266; SHATZMAN (2012), p. 61–65, 68; SEEMAN (2013), p. 184–188, 200; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 242–247. 7 JOS., Ant. Jud. 14.247–255; SHATZMAN (2012), p. 65–68; SEEMAN (2013), p. 194– 200; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 254–258.

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over Judaea (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.267). By coincidence, the competition between the claimants to the throne of Syria prevented Demetrios II from taking action against Judaea. John Hyrkanos is attested for the last time to have solicited Roman support when under threat from Antiochos IX Kyzikenos.8 The Senate was likely to repeat its call to respect the territorial integrity of Judaea, and to leave it at that. So John Hyrkanos decided to take matters into his own hands. The fragmentation of Syria certainly was to his favour. The various pretenders to the throne were worn down by years of fratricidal skirmishes that weakened Seleukid suzerainty throughout. The extent of this disintegration was demonstrated by John Hyrkanos’ attack on the Syrian garrisons in Idumaia and Samaria (Jos., Bell. Jud. 1.62–63; Ant. Jud. 13.254–258). While some of the strongholds were wiped out relatively quickly, others posed a much more serious obstacle.9 The Seleukids never managed to regain permanent control over the lost territories. Preoccupied with their dynastic feuds, they were unable to put in practice their grand political plans. The coincidence of John Hyrkanos’ last delegation to Rome and the beginning of his conquests, which date to around 112/111 BC,10 suggests a significant change of the political and military situation in the Middle East. Consolidation of his rule made it much easier for his successors in their dealings with the Seleukids. This does not mean, however, that Judaea from this point on was free from any external threats. Its independence did in fact come under threat again during the first years of Alexander Jannaios’ rule (103–76 BC), when its territory unexpectedly became a battlefield between the members of the Ptolemaic family. This was provoked by Alexander Jannaios himself, as he was seeking to conquer Ptolemais (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.324). The embattled inhabitants of the city looked for help to the ruler of Cyprus, the son of Kleopatra III, Ptolemy IX Lathyros, who was happy to respond to the call (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.328). However, when he reached the walls of Ptolemais, the defenders changed their minds (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.330). Alexander Jannaios himself was reluctant to risk a confrontation with him, and hatched the plan of dragging in Kleopatra III, the queen of Egypt, who was in conflict with her own son (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.334).11 Before she arrived, Ptolemy IX, having found out about the 8

Cf. DĄBROWA (2010a), p. 72–73. Cf. SHATZMAN (2012), p. 31–45. 10 Josephus is incorrect in his dating of these conquests (Bell. Jud. 1.62–63; Ant. Jud. 13.254–258). We know this thanks to the results of archaeological excavations that took place in some of the cities conquered by John Hyrkanos. On the basis of the coins and ceramics found there, we can date the beginning of his expansion to ca. 113 BC at the earliest, see BARAG (1992/1993), p. 1–12; BARKAY (1992/1993), p. 21–26; SAFRAI (2000), p. 66–78; MAGEN / MISGAV / TSFANIA (2004), p. 12–13; DĄBROWA (2010a), p. 73–74. 11 For more on this conflict, see VAN’T DACK (1981), p. 303–312; VAN’T DACK / CLARYSSE / COHEN / QUAGEBUR / WINNICKI (1989); WHITEHORNE (1995), p. 197–205; 9

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Judaean ruler’s dealing, attacked him and made an incursion deep into Judaea (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.335–347). Only the arrival of Kleopatra III stopped him from going further. Unwilling to risk a conflict with her, he left and headed for defenceless Egypt (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.352). Facing this threat to her power, Kleopatra III made peace with Alexander Jannaios and returned home (Jos., Ant. Jud. 13.354). This collaboration with Kleopatra III remains the only confirmed case of seeking help beyond the borders of kingdom. We cannot exclude the possibility that the rapid pace of events diminished the usefulness of any distant alliances. The next major challenge to Alexander Jannaios’ rule was posed by the expedition of Demetrios III (97/96–88/87 BC). This took place in the context of a domestic war, which he fought against the Pharisees (Jos., Bell. Jud. 1.90–95; Ant. Jud. 13.376–379).12 Seeking allies in their struggle with the king, the Pharisees called upon Demetrios III for help. When the armies met at a battle near Shechem, Alexander Jannaios was defeated, but this did not result in the loss of his power, because some of those fighting on the side of the Pharisees had patriotic afterthoughts and eventually went over to his side (Jos., Bell. Jud. 1.93–95; Ant. Jud. 13.377–378). This rapid change in the balance of power forced the king of Syria to withdraw from Judaea. In this case, too, we do not know of any efforts on the part of Alexander Jannaios to secure the help of Rome or another external partner. Based on Josephos, we can assume that Demetrios III’s intervention was too brief for Alexander Jannaios to hold out for any distant ally. He likewise suffered defeat, when Antiochos XII Dionysos (87–84 BC) embarked on an expedition against the Nabataians, for which he unexpectedly crossed Judaea with his army around 84 BC (Jos., Bell. Jud. 1.99–100; Ant. Jud. 13.389–391).13 This setback notwithstanding, his sovereignty was not affected, and he maintained his ability to deal with his neighbours independently. Neither he nor Alexandra Salome (76–67 BC), who ruled after his death, are known to have sought external allies to protect their rule.

3. Opting out of Roman Friendship Diplomacy between Rome and Judaea from Judas Maccabee up to John Hyrkanos appears to have been intense, especially when compared with a HÖLBL (2004), p. 183–189; DĄBROWA (2010a), p. 86. See also DUMITRU (2016), p. 256– 259. 12 More information on the causes and course of Demetrios III’s expedition to Judaea can be found in DĄBROWA (2010a), p. 87–88; (2010b), p. 175–179. 13 We can determine the date of this event only approximately, on the basis of Antiochos XII’s minting; cf. DĄBROWA (2010a), p. 89, note 24. For more on this expedition by Antiochos XII, see DĄBROWA (2010a), p. 89–91.

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complete lack of contact during the rule of Aristobulos I, Alexander Jannaios and Alexandra Salome. This raises the question whether the friendship relations had ceased before this period, or whether this negative impression results from the scarcity of sources.14 Before attempting to answer this question, however, we should recall the circumstances in which embassies were sent out. It was Judas who first contacted the Senate, and his successors sought to revive and maintain the once-established friendship. The agreements they reached were probably not much different from others concluded by the Roman Senate with further partners seeking its favours. Indeed, nothing seems to suggest an exceptional status of the Hasmonaeans in the eyes of the Romans. The general objective of the embassies sent by the Hasmonaeans was to obtain Roman diplomatic support. The ambassadors asked the Romans to protect them against repressions and territorial claims from the Seleukids as well as to block the Syrian army from marching through Judaea. Such support would have served as a political weapon in the hands of the Hasmonaeans, who wanted to assure their political independence. Roman diplomatic pressure on the Syrian kings, even if only expressed verbally, could then have been interpreted as a warning or even threat. The chronology of the friendship treaties between Judaea and Rome justifies this interpretation. All Hasmonaean delegations that we know of took place when the candidates to the throne of Syria had sufficient power to subdue their Jewish neighbour – an unruly one, albeit sometimes useful as leverage in the struggle for the crown. After losing all its dominions beyond the Euphrates, and often paralysed by internal rivalries, the Seleukid realm shrank to a rather small size and ceased to pose a fundamental threat to the kings of Judaea. As a result, it no longer made sense for the Hasmonaeans to invest precious resources into their friendship with Rome, in order to reshape their relations with the kings of Syria.15 The military force at their disposal allowed them to act fast and independently and to achieve

14 Cf. RAPPAPORT (1968), p. 329–330; ROCCA (2014a), p. 57–61; (2014b), p. 270–272. See now COùKUN (2018). 15 According to ROCCA (2014a), p. 61–66, 68–69; (2014b), p. 274–276, 278–283, 285–287), the reason why Alexander Jannaios and Alexandra Salome did not make any effort to renew contacts with Rome was that they considered the pacts formed by John Hyrkanos to be still binding. Evidence for this interpretation is provided by the conduct of the rulers of Judaea during the conflict of Rome with Mithradates VI, ruler of Pontos, and Tigranes II, king of Armenia. Yet this interpretation is not convincing. Friendly states were bound by the practice of informing Rome of every change on their throne, so that the new ruler could be acknowledged (or not) as an ally or friend of Rome. With this in mind, it seems unlikely that for 25 years the rulers of Judaea made no attempt to contact Rome as they believed the former agreements and alliance in the fight with common enemies to be binding. They could only be sure of this if the Romans confirmed this understanding of their mutual relations.

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significant success without the need to look for support or approval from the Romans. Roman inactivity in the final decades of the second and the first decades of the 1st century BC may have resulted from their own challenges. Owing to the increasing power of the king of Pontos, Mithradates VI Eupator, and the ruler of Armenia, Tigranes II the Great, the priorities of Roman eastern policy shifted towards Anatolia. This area constituted a much more real threat to Rome’s interests than the declining Seleukid kingdom. I would argue that the lack of interest shown by the last Hasmonaeans in maintaining relations with Rome was not just an effect of the weakness of the Syrian kingdom, gradually ceasing to represent a danger for the survival of the Judaean state; the Romans were facing problems that were much more pressing to the Senate than the concerns of the Hasmonaeans. At any rate, it was the kings of Judaea who stopped calling for support. There is thus no reason to suspect Josephus of omitting a diplomatic exchange between Rome and Judaea after the rule of John Hyrkanos. We should therefore trust Josephus’ silence and assume that Alexander Jannaios and Alexandra Salome were simply not interested in maintaining or resuming contacts with Rome. Of course, this does neither mean that they assumed an anti-Roman position,16 nor that Rome was hostile to them. The lack of evidence demonstrating the nature of the mutual relations between Rome and the rulers of Judaea for the half-century following John Hyrkanos’ last embassy to Rome is best explained by a mutual lack of interest rather than any kind of hostility or aversion. We may even doubt that Roman senators had any specific knowledge of Alexander Jannaios and Alexandra Salome’s military, diplomatic or political activities.17 It is important to bear in mind that most information about what was happening in the various regions of the Mediterranean world reached Rome not only with some delay. Pertinent and current information was generally provided by Roman negotiators, legates, and embassies addressed to the Senate by allied states or all those whose leaders were seeking help from

16 That these rulers pursued an anti-Roman policy is the conviction of U. RAPPAPORT (1968), p. 337–345.68, 337- ). 17 For certain scholars, the worsening or loosening of relations with Rome might have been affected by Alexander Jannaios’ relations with the Parthians. Some only refer to these contacts, without assessing them, while others make comments about the king’s decision to engage in political collaboration with the Arsakids of Parthia; cf. DEBEVOISE (1938), p. 94–95; NEUSNER (1969), p. 25–27; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 259–264. Yet we should not overstate the importance of these contacts: references to them in the Talmud (Barachot 7.2; cf. Nazir 5.3) are the only traces for such potential relations, but they provide no information on their nature, time or circumstances. Given the lateness and religious nature of the evidence, we should hesitate to accept any formal relations between Alexander Jannaios and the Arsakids; cf. RAPPAPORT (1968), p. 342–343 = ID. (1989), p. 374, 376; DĄBROWA (2010a), p. 92; ROCCA (2014a), p. 63–65; (2014b), p. 279–280; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 258.

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Rome. Such delegations approached the senators with requests for Roman amicitia and societas, for support against threatening neighbours, or for peaceful resolution of neighbourly disputes. There is no reason to doubt that each of the parties in these conflicts tried to persuade the Romans of their own point of view. The senators used this information to shape their knowledge about the surrounding world, which determined the decisions they then made. Sometimes these decisions were also influenced by the opinions of those who were regarded as experts on the basis of their previous political and military activities in the area. No such interactions are attested for Alexander Jannaios or Alexandra Salome, so that, in this period, Rome was of as little interest to the Judaeans as the Hasmonaeans to the senators. The situation only changed when Pompey reached Syria and had to resolve a complex situation in Judaea, as Hyrkanos II and Aristobulos II’s struggle for power created a real threat to the stability that Rome was just about to restore in the region. But as in previous generations, the Hasmonaeans took the initiative. When Hyrkanos II accused Aristobulos II of plundering the territories neighbouring Judaea and favouring piracy, his objective was to represent his brother as an enemy of Rome.18 It seems, however, that Hyrkanos initially failed to convince Pompey due to his lack of evidence. This is at least suggested by Diodoros’ account: when assessing the Hasmonaeans’ conduct in Damaskos, Pompey thought it likely that it was Hyrkanos II who had caused turmoil in Judaea.19 Notably, his criticism of the conduct of Alexander Jannaios’ sons does not contain any allusions to their father or mother’s rule. We may thus conclude the following: either nothing that threatened Roman interests had taken place under them, or Pompey had no knowledge of any such threats. Whichever of these we deem more likely, it is at least safe to assume that the Romans did not perceive Alexander Jannaios and Alexandra Salome’s lack of interest in renewing diplomatic relations as indicating a hostile attitude.

Bibliography BALTRUSCH, E. (2002), Die Juden und das Römische Reich. Geschichte einer konfliktreichen Beziehung, Darmstadt.

18 JOS., Ant. Jud. 14.43. Some scholars regard the Hasmonaean practice of piracy as another possible reason for the cooling in their relations with Rome; they point especially to the recruitment of mercenaries from Kilikia, an area ill reputed for its seafaring bandits (cf. RAPPAPORT (1968), p. 340–342; ZOLLSCHAN (2017), p. 264–268). Yet the sources do not provide evidence to confirm such a view; cf. ROCCA (2014a), p. 72; ROCCA (2014b), p. 291–292. 19 DIOD. SIC. 40.2. Cf. RAPPAPORT (1968), p. 332–333.

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BARAG, D. (1992/1993), New Evidence on the Foreign Policy of John Hyrcanus I, in Israel Numismatic Journal 12, p. 1–12. BARKAY, R. (1992/1993), The Marisa Hoard of Seleucid Tetradrachms Minted in Ascalon, in Israel Numismatic Journal 12, p. 21–26; COùKUN, A. (2018), Triangular Epistolary Diplomacy with Rome from Judas Maccabee to Aristobulos I, in: A. COùKUN / D. ENGELS (eds.), Rome and the Seleukid East, Brussels. DĄBROWA, E. (2010a), The Hasmoneans and their State. A Study in History, Ideology, and the Institutions, Kraków. - (2010b), Demetrius III in Judaea, in Electrum 18, p. 175–181. DEBEVOISE, N. C. (1938), A Political History of Parthia, Chicago Ill. DELCOR, M. (1991), L’Éloge des Romains d’après I Mac 8, in Henoch 13, p. 19–28. DUMITRIU, A. (2016), Kleopatra Selene – A Look at the Moon and Her Bright Side, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women. Creation, Representation and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 253–272. FISCHER, Th. (1974), Zu den Beziehungen zwischen Rom und den Juden im 2. Jahrhundert v. Chr., in ZAW 86, p. 90–93. - (1981), Rom und die Hasmonäer. Ein Überblick zu den politischen Beziehungen 164– 37 v. Chr., in Gymnasium 88, p. 137–150. GIOVANNINI, A. / MÜLLER, H. (1971), Die Beziehungen zwischen Rom und Juden im 2. Jh. v. Chr., in MH 28, p. 156–171. GRUEN, E. S. (1984), The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, Berkeley CA / Los Angeles CA / London. HÖBL, G. (2004), Geschichte des Ptolemäerreiches. Politik, Ideologie und religiöse Kultur von Alexander dem Großen bis zur römischen Eroberung, Stuttgart. LIEBMANN-FRANKFORT, Th. (1969), Rome et le conflit judéo-syrien (164–161 avant notre ère), in AntCl 38, p. 101–120. MAGEN, Y. / MISGAV, H. / TSFANIA, L. (2004), Mount Gerizim Excavations, vol. I: The Aramaic, Hebrew and Samaritan Inscriptions, Jerusalem. MANDELL, S. R. (1988), Was Rome’s Early Diplomatic Interaction with the Maccabees Legal? in Classical Bulletin 64, p. 87–89. - (1991), Did the Maccabees Believe that They Had a Valid Treaty with Rome? in Catholic Biblical Quarterly 53, p. 202–220. NEUSNER, J. (1969), A History of the Jews in Babylonia, I. The Parthian Period, 2nd ed., Leiden. PITATTELLI, D. (1979), An Enquiry into the Political Relations between Rome and Judaea from 161 to 4 BCE, in Israel Law Review 14, p. 195–236. RAJAK, T. (1981), Roman Intervention in a Seleucid Siege of Jerusalem?, in Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 22, p. 65–81. - (2002), The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome. Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction, Boston / Leiden. RAPPAPORT, U. (1968), La Judée et Rome pendant le règne d’Alexandre Jannée, in RÉJ 127, p. 329–345

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- (1989), The Jews between Rome and Parthia, in D. H. FRENCH / C. S. LIGHTFOOT (eds.), The Eastern Frontier of the Roman Empire. Proceedings of a colloquium held at Ankara in September 1988, vol. 2, Oxford, p. 373–381. ROCCA, S. (2014a), The Late Roman Republic and Hasmonean Judaea, in Athenaeum 102, p. 47–78. - (2014b), The Hasmonean State and Rome: A New Appraisal, in RÉJ 173, p. 263–295. SAFRAI, Z. (2000), The Gentile Cities of Judaea: Between the Hasmonean Occupation and the Roman Liberation, in G. GALIL / M. WEINFELD (eds.), Studies in Historical Geography and Biblical Historiography presented to Zecharia Kallai, Leiden / Boston / Köln, p. 63–90. SEEMAN, Chr. (2013), Rome and Judaea in Transition. Hasmonean Relations with the Roman Republic and the Evolution of the High Priesthood, New York / Bern / Zürich. SHATZMAN, I. (2012), The Expansionist Policy of John Hyrcanus and his Relations with Rome, in G. URSO (ed.), Iudaea Socia – Iudaea Capta. Atti del convegno internazionale Cividale del Friuli, 22–24 settembre 2011, Pisa, p. 29–77. SORDI, M. (1952), Il valore politico del trattato fra i Romani e i Giudei nel 161 a. C., in Acme 5, p. 509–519. STEMBERGER, G. (1983), Die römische Herrschaft im Urteil der Juden, Darmstadt. WHITEHORNE, J. E. G. (1995), A Reassessment of Cleopatra III’s Syrian Campaign, in Chronique d’Égypte 70, p. 197–205. VAN’T DACK, E. (1981), Le Conflit judéo-syro-égyptien de 102/103 av. J.-C., in R.S. BAGNALL et al. (eds.), Proceedings of the Sixteenth International Congress of Papyrology, New York, 24–31 July 1980, Chico CA, p. 303–312; - et al. (1989), The Judaean-Syrian-Egyptian Conflict of 103 – 101 B.C. A Multilingual Dossier Concerning a ‘War of Sceptres’, Bruxelles. WILKER, J. (2008), Unabhängigkeit durch Integration. Zu den jüdisch-römischen Beziehungen im 2. Jahrhundert v. Chr., in M. KARRER / W. KRAUS (eds.), Die Septuaginta – Texte, Kontexte, Lebenswelten. Internationale Fachtagung, veranstaltet von Septuaginta Deutsch (LXX.D), Wuppertal 20.–23. Juli 2006, Tübingen, p. 194–201. WIRGIN, W. (1969), Judah Maccabee’s Embassy to Rome and the Jewish-Roman Treaty, in Palestinian Exploration Quarterly 101, p. 15–20. ZOLLSCHAN, L. T. (2004), The Earliest Jewish Embassy to the Romans: 2 Macc 4: 11?, in Journal of Jewish Studies 55, p. 37–44. - (2005), The Senate and the Jewish Embassy of 161 BCE, in D. GERA / M. BEN-ZEEV (eds.), The Path of Peace. Studies in Honor Israel Friedman Ben-Shalom, Jerusalem, p. 7–37. - (2012), A Bronze Tablet from the Church of San Basilio in Rome, in Classica et Mediaevalia 63, p. 217–245. - (2017), Rome and Judaea: International Law Relations 174–100 BCE, London / New York.

V. Long-Term Perspectives on Babylonia

Mais où sont donc passés les soldats babyloniens ? La place des contingents « indigènes » dans l’armée séleucide David ENGELS

Abstract When it comes to analysing the composition of the Seleukid army, our sources are characterised by a singular peculiarity: whereas all important regions of the Seleukid empire seem to have provided important contingents to the king’s army, there is not a single hint to the presence of soldiers from Babylonia in our documentation. A thorough analysis of the material at our disposition – ancient historians, Greek epigraphy and cuneiform evidence – allows only for two, equally challenging explanations. Either, the Seleukids refrained from recruiting troops from Babylonia, somewhat similar to the Ptolemies who, until the battle of Raphia, avoided recruiting indigenous troops from Egypt – a hypothesis underlining even more the confidence the Seleukids must have had in their Iranian soldiers, present in large contingents in all major battles. Or, quite to the contrary, the Seleukids unrestrictedly integrated their Babylonian soldiers into their army’s core unit, the Macedonian phalanx, up to now always considered as being composed only of Graeco-Macedonian colonists and their descendants – a hypothesis opening a wholly new perspective onto the Seleukids’ way of defining Hellenistic identity, but also leaving us with an embarrassing number of onomastic issues.

1. Introduction Quand, en 192, l’ambassadeur du roi séleucide Antiochos III tenta de dissuader les Achéens de s’engager dans le conflit qui allait bientôt opposer les deux dernières superpuissances méditerranéennes, la République romaine et l’empire séleucide, il s’efforça d’impressionner ses interlocuteurs par une description imposante des troupes que commandait le « grand roi ».1 Si l’on en croit TiteLive, il prit un soin particulier à insister sur le fait qu’Antiochos, rentré victorieux il y avait à peine quelques années de son anabase vers les Hautes Satrapies qu’il avait de nouveau rattachées à l’empire, disposa de troupes

1 Concernant le contexte de la guerre froide entre Rome et les Séleucides et le règne d’Antiochos III, cf. BADIAN (1958) ; SCHMITT (1964) ; WILL (1972) ; GRAINGER (2002) ; DREYER (2007).

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redoutables recrutées partout dans les vastes terres iraniennes et qu’il se préparait à faire déferler sur l’Europe : Beau parleur, comme tous ceux que nourrit la manne d’un roi, celui-ci emplit mers et terres du bruit vide de ses paroles : une masse innombrable de cavaliers était convoyée en Europe par l’Hellespont ; elle comportait pour partie des cavaliers munis d’une cuirasse, qu’ils appellent cataphractes, d’autre part des archers montés qui tiraient des flèches depuis leur cheval en se repliant au galop, avec beaucoup de précision, si bien qu’il n’y avait aucune échappatoire face à eux. Bien que ces forces équestres suffisent à anéantir les armées de l’Europe entière, même réunies toutes ensemble, il ajoutait de multiples armées de fantassins, et inspirait la terreur en nommant des peuplades dont on avait à peine entendu parler, citant les Dahes, les Mèdes, et les Élyméens et les Cadusiens.2

La réponse romaine ne se fit guère attendre : quand l’illustre représentant des Romains, T. Quinctius Flamininus, qui en 196, à l’issue de la Deuxième Guerre de Macédoine, avait proclamé l’indépendance des cités grecques, prit la parole, il rétorqua de manière humoristique : Cela ressemble beaucoup à un dîner offert par mon hôte à Chalcis, un homme excellent à la table excellente, chez qui, accueillis aimablement à l’époque du solstice, nous demandions étonnés d’où, à cette époque, il tirait une telle quantité et une telle variété de gibier; lui, mettant son orgueil à bien autre chose que ceux-là, répondit joyeux que cette variété, ce goût du gibier, c’était du cochon mariné aux aromates. On peut en dire autant, avec justesse, des troupes du roi, qu’on vient de vous vanter : les armements sont variés, et nombreux les noms de peuples dont on n’a jamais entendu parler, les Dahes et les Mèdes, et les Cadusiens, et les Élyméens ; ce sont tous des Syriens, une race plus apte, par son esprit servile, à fournir des esclaves que des combattants.3

Rien que cette opposition entre deux topoi cruciaux de la rhétorique militaire de l’Antiquité, c.à.d. celui de l’immensité des réserves militaires des rois d’Asie 2 LIV. 35.48.2–5 (trad. R. ADAM, CUF) : Is, ut plerique quos opes regiae alunt, uaniloquus maria terrasque inani sonitu uerborum compleuit : equitum innumerabilem uim traici Hellesponto in Europam, partim loricatos, quos cataphractos uocant, partim sagittis ex equo utentes et, a quo nihil satis tecti sit, auerso refugientes equo certius figentes. His equestribus copiis quamquam uel totius Europae exercitus in unum coacti obrui possent, adiciebat multiplices copias peditum et nominibus quoque gentium uix fando auditis terrebat, Dahas Medos Elymaeosque et Cadusios appellans. 3 LIV. 35.49.6–8 (trad. R. ADAM, CUF) : Est autem res simillima cenae Chalcidensis hospitis mei, et hominis boni et sciti conuiuatoris, apud quem solstitiali tempore comiter accepti cum miraremur unde illi eo tempore anni tam uaria et multa uenatio, homo non qua isti sunt gloriosus renidens condimentis ait uarietatem illam et speciem ferinae carnis ex mansueto sue factam.’ Hoc dici apte in copias regis, quae paulo ante iactatae sint, posse ; uaria enim genera armorum et multa nomina gentium inauditarum, Dahas et Cadusios et Elymaeos, Syros omnes esse, haud paulo mancipiorum melius propter seruilia ingenia quam militum genus. Cf. aussi de manière similaire PLUT., Flam. 17. Concernant Flaminius et l’utilisation de ce topos, cf. notamment PFEILSCHIFTER (2005).

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d’un côté et celui de la prétendue faiblesse et lâcheté des orientaux de l’autre,4 éclatant au grand jour lors des divers affrontements entre Est et Ouest de Marathon à Magnésie,5 montre l’importance que revêt l’étude de la composition de l’armée séleucide pour notre compréhension de l’élaboration de l’idéologie royale de cette dynastie hellénistique et de sa réception par ses contemporains. Dès lors, il n’est guère étonnant que, depuis les études séminales de Launey, Bar Kochva ou Sekunda6, la composition de l’armée séleucide ait souvent été étudiée, et il existe un consensus général sur le fait que l’armée séleucide est tributaire de deux influences majeures. D’un côté, il parait évident que les Séleucides7 ont consciemment maintenu le système militaire macédonien traditionnel, basé essentiellement sur la force d’une phalange compacte et lourdement armée, un héritage profondément associé à la notion du miliciencitoyen gréco-macédonien et longtemps lié, à ce qu’il semble, en termes de recrutement, aux vétérans des guerres des diadoques et aux colons installés par les Séleucides partout dans leur immense empire. D’un autre côté, il est aussi indéniable, comme l’a montré Tuplin,8 que l’armée séleucide se trouve dans une certaine continuité avec l’armée achéménide, dont la composition ne suivait pas seulement des impératifs de pure efficacité militaire, mais aussi de représentation idéologique, se servant de la multitude et de l’hétérogénéité des diverses unités recrutées un peu partout dans l’empire afin de suggérer tant à l’adversaire qu’à ses propres soldats l’immensité et la force de l’empire persan. Néanmoins, il y a un point, pourtant crucial pour le débat non seulement sur les réflexions stratégiques et politiques qui ont motivé les Séleucides dans leurs 4 Sur le topos « orient » contre « occident », cf. les contributions réunies dans HOFFMANN / SCHMITT (2014). 5 Sur la représentation des Séleucides comme héritiers des Achéménides, cf. maintenant la littérature réunie dans ENGELS (2017). Sur Magnésie, voir l’opposition entre LIV. 37.39.3–4 et 7 : Nullum umquam hostem Romani aeque contempserunt. conclamatum undique est, duceret extemplo et uteretur ardore militum, qui, tamquam non pugnandum cum tot milibus hostium, sed par numerus pecorum trucidandus esset […]. Romana acies unius prope formae fuit et hominum et armorum genere. Duae legiones Romanae, duae socium ac Latini nominis erant ; quina milia et quadringenos singulae habebant. (trad. J.-M. ENGEL, CUF : Jamais un ennemi n’inspira pareil mépris aux Romains : tous crièrent « de marcher aussitôt et de mettre à profit l’ardeur des soldats », qui ne pensaient pas avoir à combattre tant de milliers d’ennemis, mais avoir à massacrer un même nombre de moutons […]. La ligne romaine était à peu près uniforme pour les hommes et les armes. Il y avait deux légions romaines, deux légions d’alliés et de Latins ; chacune comprenait cinq mille quatre cents hommes.) et LIV. 37.40.1 : Regia acies uaria magis multis gentibus, dissimilitudine armorum auxiliorumque erat, avec la longue description citée plus loin. 6 BICKERMANN (1938), p. 51–105 ; LAUNEY (1949) ; BAR KOCHVA (1976) ; SEKUNDA (1994). 7 Sur les Séleucides, cf. BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913–1914) ; BICKERMAN (1938) ; SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993) ; CAPDETREY (2007) ; KOSMIN (2014), ENGELS (2017). 8 TUPLIN (2014).

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choix militaires, mais aussi sur la conception identitaire que les Séleucides devaient avoir de leur propre empire, qui a souvent été laissé en marge du débat, et qui mériterait d’être réexaminé. Nos sources, pourtant relativement explicites sur les questions militaires et permettant, grâce aux tablettes cunéiformes, un regard de plus en plus nuancé sur la place des peuples orientaux dans l’empire séleucide, sont à peu près muettes quand il s’agit de l’implication militaire d’une région pourtant cruciale dans toute l’architecture du royaume : la Babylonie.9

2. La Babylonie pré-hellénistique – une région démilitarisée ? Le constat d’une absence de soldats babyloniens est d’autant plus étonnant que la Babylonie était loin d’être une province démilitarisée lors de l’arrivée des armées d’Alexandre le Grand : les « journaux astronomiques » mentionnent déjà dans leur première entrée, datée de l’an 651, « les troupes de Babylonie » (ERÍN KUR URIki),10 et nous savons bien que l’empire néo-babylonien était fondé sur une solide ossature militaire probablement inspirée de l’armée néo-assyrienne et profitant de la densité de population de la Babylonie pour mettre sur pied une armée redoutable.11 Ainsi, l’armée fut surtout composée de fantassins armés d’arcs, de lances et de glaives et dirigée par le roi qui contrôle le corps des officiers (ša rƝš šarri). Le service militaire, tout comme une série d’autres corvées (ilku), était en principe dû au roi, mais la participation effective à la guerre pouvait être remplacée par le paiement d’une contribution matérielle. Afin d’assurer la disponibilité permanente de soldats qualifiés, plusieurs solutions furent envisagées. D’abord, des unités spéciales recrutées en dehors de la Babylonie proprement dite pouvaient être installées sur les terres babyloniennes et être obligées, par contrat, de fournir, comme les habitants de BƯt-Dakuru attestés à Babylone encore vers 500 av.J.-Chr., des soldats spécialistes pendant des générations.12 Une autre méthode afin d’éviter une pénurie potentielle de soldats qualifiés et de faciliter une levée rapide en cas de crise fut le maintien d’une armée stable par l’attribution de terres situées sur le domaine du roi ou des grands temples ; une démarche surtout attestée à l’époque achéménide, mais remontant, à ce qu’il semble, déjà à l’époque chaldéenne. L’usufruit du domaine était dépendant de la disponibilité militaire de son tenant ou du moins de la fourniture d’un certain 9 Le terme « Babylonie » sera utilisé ici afin de désigner non seulement la périphérie de la ville de Babylone, mais aussi l’ensemble des terres mésopotamiennes utilisant le cunéiforme. 10 AD -651, col. iv, l. 18 et 19. 11 Sur l’armée néo-babylonienne, cf. YADIN (1963) ; SALONEN (1975). 12 Cf. CT 22.74.29 / 30: … lúERINmeš šá É Da-ku-ru šá ina TIN.TIRkì áš -bu-…, donc « … les soldats de BƯt-Dakuru, qui siègent à Babylone ».

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équipement, comme l’indiquent les catégories de bƯt ritti (maison de la main ; ce type est d’ailleurs controversé), bƯt qašti (maison de l’arc), bƯt sisê (maison des chevaux) ou de bƯt narkabti (maison du char) ; des groupes de fief furent organisés en unités administratives appelées ‫ې‬adru et abondamment étudiées par Joannès, Van der Spek et d’autres.13 Mais là-aussi, des méthodes de désistement s’installèrent rapidement : la responsabilité de fournir les obligations liées aux fiefs ne résidait pas chez le ou les soldats potentiels, mais chez l’administrateur ou, dans le cas des temples, le propriétaire des biens. Dès lors, les fiefs se retrouvèrent, après un certain temps, par le biais de ventes ou d’hypothèques, dans les mains d’autres individus ou entreprises, et les obligations militaires souvent remplacées par des paiements en argent. Après la défaite du dernier roi néo-babylonien, Nabonide, et l’occupation achéménide de la Babylonie, le terme « les troupes de Babylonie » (ERÍN KUR URIki) semble disparaitre dans les journaux astronomiques, car nous ne retrouverons que la mention des « troupes du roi » (achéménide) (LUGAL ERÍNmeš),14 dont la signification exacte ne peut être établie avec certitude. Néanmoins, il semble évident que la Babylonie continuait à fournir non seulement des tributs au Grand Roi, comme représenté par exemple sur les célèbres bas-reliefs de Persépolis, mais aussi des soldats. Ainsi, à en croire les textes grecs, les Assyriens et les Chaldéens firent partie intégrale de l’armée de Xerxès lors de son invasion de la Grèce, comme l’explique Hérodote dans sa longue liste des contingents achéménides : Les Assyriens marchaient coiffés de casques, casques de bronze, casques tressés suivant une mode barbare difficile à décrire ; ils avaient des boucliers, des piques, des poignards pareils à ceux des Égyptiens, et, en outre, des massues de bois garnies de clous de fer, des cuirasses de lin. Les Grecs les appelaient Syriens, les Barbares leur avaient donné le nom d’Assyriens. [Mêlés à eux il y avait les Chaldéens.] À leur tête était Otaspès fils d’Artachaiès.15

13 Sur le système hadru et son lien avec le système économique de la Babylonie, cf. CARDASCIA (1958) ; CARDASCIA (1978) ; JOANNÈS (1982), p. 16–26 ; VAN DER SPEK (1986) ; PIRNGRUBER (2017). 14 AD -330, obv., l. 17. 15 HDT. 7.63 (trad. Ph.-E. LEGRAND, CUF): ਝıı઄ȡȚȠȚ į੻ ıIJȡĮIJİȣંȝİȞȠȚ ʌİȡ੿ ȝ੻Ȟ IJૌıȚ țİijĮȜૌıȚ İੇȤȠȞ Ȥ੺Ȝțİ੺ IJİ țȡ੺ȞİĮ țĮ੿ ʌİʌȜİȖȝ੼ȞĮ IJȡંʌȠȞ IJȚȞ੹ ȕ੺ȡȕĮȡȠȞ Ƞ੝ț İ੝Įʌ੾ȖȘIJȠȞ, ਕıʌ઀įĮȢ į੻ țĮ੿ ĮੁȤȝ੹Ȣ țĮ੿ ਥȖȤİȚȡ઀įȚĮ ʌĮȡĮʌȜ੾ıȚĮ IJૌıȚ ǹੁȖȣʌIJ઀ૉıȚ İੇȤȠȞ, ʌȡઁȢ į੻ ૧ંʌĮȜĮ ȟ઄ȜȦȞ IJİIJȣȜȦȝ੼ȞĮ ıȚį੾ȡ૳, țĮ੿ ȜȚȞ੼ȠȣȢ șઆȡȘțĮȢ. Ƞ੤IJȠȚ į੻ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȝ੻Ȟ ਬȜȜ੾ȞȦȞ țĮȜ੼ȠȞIJĮȚ Ȉ઄ȡȚȠȚ, ਫ਼ʌઁ į੻ IJ૵Ȟ ȕĮȡȕ੺ȡȦȞ ਝıı઄ȡȚȠȚ ਥțȜ੾șȘıĮȞ. [IJȠ઄IJȦȞ į੻ ȝİIJĮȟઃ ȋĮȜįĮ૙ȠȚ.] ਷ȡȤİ į੻ ıij੼ȦȞ ੗IJ੺ıʌȘȢ ੒ ਝȡIJĮȤĮ઀İȦ. Sur la crédibilité de cette énumération, cf. le commentaire dans BOWIE (2007). Néanmoins, il faut remarquer que ȉȠ઄IJȦȞ į੻ ȝİIJĮȟઃ ȋĮȜįĮ૙ȠȚ est considéré, dans certaines éditions, comme un passage interpolé ou vicié et même éliminé (p.ex. éd. Stein) ce qui ne change rien, évidemment, à la présence des Assyriens dans l’armée du Grand Roi.

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De même, à en croire Arrien, l’armée de Darius III à Gaugamèles comportait aussi des Babyloniens, bien que placés en deuxième ligne de la formation : Les habitants des bords de la mer Rouge étaient conduits par Oromobatès, Ariobarzanès et Orxinès ; les Susiens, les Uxiens, par Oxatre ; les Babyloniens, les Sitaciniéns et les Cariens, par Bupare ; les Arméniens, par Oronte et Mithraustes ; les Cappadociens, par Ariacès. […] Les Uxiens, les Babyloniens, les Sitaciniens et les habitants des bords de la Mer rouge étaient rangés derrière sur une seconde ligne.16

Et finalement, lors de la joyeuse entrée d’Alexandre à Babylone, Quinte-Curce décrit la présence de cavaliers babyloniens : À sa suite étaient de riches présents : des troupeaux de bétail et de chevaux, des lions et des léopards enfermés dans des cages ; puis les mages chantant leurs hymnes nationaux. Derrière eux venaient les Chaldéens, et, outre les poètes de Babylone, les musiciens même avec la lyre de leur pays. L’office de ceux-ci est de chanter la louange des rois ; celui des Chaldéens, d’expliquer le cours des astres et les révolutions périodiques des saisons. La marche était fermée par des cavaliers babyloniens, parés, ainsi que leurs chevaux, avec plus de luxe que de magnificence.17

Et en effet, la documentation locale prouve que sous les Achéménides, le système des fiefs militaires continua à fonctionner comme à l’époque néobabylonienne,18 et bien que nos sources émanent presque exclusivement de l’administration des grands temples,19 comme par exemple celui de l’Ebabbara

16 ARR. 3.8.5 et 3.11.5 : IJȠઃȢ į੻ ʌȡȠıȠȓțȠȣȢ IJૌ ਥȡȣșȡઽ șĮȜȐııૉ ੗ȡȠȞIJȠȕȐIJȘȢ țĮ੿ ਝȡȚȠȕĮȡȗȐȞȘȢ țĮ੿ ੗ȡȟȓȞȘȢ ਥțȩıȝȠȣȞ. Ƞ੡ȟȚȠȚ į੻ țĮ੿ ȈȠȣıȚĮȞȠ੿ ਲȖİȝȩȞĮ ʌĮȡİȓȤȠȞIJȠ ੗ȟȐșȡȘȞ IJઁȞ ਝȕȠȣȜȓIJȠȣ. ǺȠȣʌȐȡȘȢ į੻ ǺĮȕȣȜȦȞȓȦȞ ਲȖİ૙IJȠ. Ƞੂ įૃ ਕȞȐıʌĮıIJȠȚ Ȁ઼ȡİȢ țĮ੿ ȈȚIJIJĮțȘȞȠ੿ ıઃȞ ǺĮȕȣȜȦȞȓȠȚȢ ਥIJİIJȐȤĮIJȠ. ਝȡȝİȞȓȦȞ į੻ ੗ȡȩȞIJȘȢ țĮ੿ ȂȚșȡĮȪıIJȘȢ ਷ȡȤİ, țĮ੿ ਝȡȚȐțȘȢ ȀĮʌʌĮįȠț૵Ȟ. […] ȅ੡ȟȚȠȚ į੻ țĮ੿ ǺĮȕȣȜȫȞȚȠȚ țĮ੿ Ƞੂ ʌȡઁȢ IJૌ ਥȡȣșȡઽ șĮȜȐııૉ țĮ੿ ȈȚIJIJĮțȘȞȠ੿ İੁȢ ȕȐșȠȢ ਥʌȚIJİIJĮȖȝȑȞȠȚ ਷ıĮȞ. Voir aussi CURT. 4.12.10 : Hunc Armenii, quos minores appellant, Armenios Babylonii, utrosque Belitae, et qui montes Cossaeorum incolebant, sequebantur. (trad. H. BARDON, CUF : Derrières celles-ci, des détachements de ce qu’on appelle l’Arménie Mineure ; après les Arméniens, les Babyloniens ; après les uns et les autres, les Bélites et les habitants des monts Cosséens). 17 QUINT. CURT. 5.1.23 : Dona eum sequebantur greges pecorum equorumque ; leones quoque et pardales caueis praeferebantur. Magi deinde suo more carmen canentes, post hos Chaldaei Babyloniorumque non uates modo sed etiam artifices cum fidibus sui generis ibant, laudes hi regum canere soliti, Chaldaei siderum motus et statas uices temporum ostendere. Equites deinde Babylonii suo equorumque cultu ad luxuriam magis quam ad magnificentiam exacto ultimi ibant. 18 Pour une discussion plus détaillée de cette question avec analyse critique de la littérature, notamment la question dans quelle mesure le système hatru n’impliqua plus, dès Artaxerxès Ier, que le paiement d’une rente, mais non pas la mise à disposition de soldats (JOANNÈS [1982], p. 19–21 et 25–26 ; aussi CARDASCIA [1951], p. 8), voir BRIANT (1996), p. 1005–1006 ; cf. aussi TUPLIN (1987), p. 153–157. 19 Voir néanmoins AD -369, Rev. 8, suggérant que le roi passait ses troupes en revue, bien qu’il n’est pas explicitement spécifié s’il s’agissait de troupes d’origine mésopotamienne, comme BRIANT (1996), p. 1006 semble l’interprétér, ou non.

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dédié au dieu soleil Šamaš à Sippar,20 et des archives privées, comme les célèbres archives Murašnj de Babylone,21 le recrutement d’unités indigènes ne semble faire aucun doute. Ainsi, l’Ebabbara, somme toute un temple moyen, de 3 à 5 fois plus petit que le temple d’Eanna à Uruk, avait 3000 personnes sous son contrôle direct et encore beaucoup plus qui en dépendaient indirectement par le biais de baux. Notre documentation suggère que ce temple fournissait probablement un petit contingent d’archers à l’armée du Grand Roi, recrutés à la fois parmi les dépendants du temple (essentiellement les pasteurs des troupeaux du temple, aguerris dans la défense de leurs animaux face aux prédateurs ou voleurs), les citoyens libres et ceux qui détenaient un fief militaire du type du bƯt qašti.22 D’ailleurs, parmi ces derniers, il faut aussi continuer à présupposer un certain nombre de personnes venant d’autres régions de l’empire, comme p.ex. Artumazza, un Perse ou Iranien attesté, la première année du règne de Darius, comme détenteur d’un fief militaire à Sippar23 ; une procédure probablement similaire à l’installation bien connue de soldats iraniens en Asie Mineure.24 Néanmoins, il faut se garder de supposer que l’ensemble de ces soldats fut, finalement, d’origine étrangère, car notre documentation nous a légué un grand nombre de personnes au nom indubitablement local, comme par exemple ce Šamaš-Iddin, officier de cavalerie rentrant avec ses hommes en 518 d’une campagne militaire d’Égypte vers Sippar.25 Car en effet, le temple de Šamaš à Sippar livrait aussi des cavaliers et/ou des valets de cavaliers au Grand Roi, dont la provenance, comme le montrent les textes, était également locale.26 Seul les chars ne sont pas explicitement attestés dans l’Ebabbara de Sippar, mais doivent être considérés comme assez probables, parce que toutes les fonctions des équipiers se retrouvent à un moment ou un autre dans les textes. Le nombre d’archers et de cavaliers que ces fiefs pouvaient fournir variait probablement considérablement ; néanmoins, MacGinnis estime la capacité de l’Ebabbara de Sippar de 50 à 100 archers, à une douzaine de cavaliers et peut-être un char, ce qui est loin d’être négligeable, si l’on considère que chaque temple babylonien devait se trouver dans une situation analogue. Ainsi, une estimation récente de la totalité des fiefs militaires de la ville de Nippur, basée sur la documentation tardo-achéménide, propose une capacité d’environ 2000 soldats,27 ce qui montre que la Babylonie dans sa totalité devait être une terre de recrutement au potentiel

20

Cf. MACGINNIS (2010). Sur les archives Murašnj de Babylone, cf. CARDASCIA (1951) ; STOLPER (1985). 22 Cf. MACGINNIS (2010). 23 BM 54107. 24 Sur la diaspora iranienne en Asie Mineure, cf. SEKUNDA (1985) (1988) et (1991). 25 CT 5782. 26 Dar. 253. 27 VAN DRIEL (2002), p. 321. 21

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considérable. Kessler a suggéré que ces unités ne devaient pas avoir une grande valeur militaire, vu leurs occupations civiles la plupart du temps, et que tout au plus, ils étaient aptes à servir de protecteurs des troupeaux, de police ou de garde palatiale.28 Néanmoins, notre documentation suggère que ces soldats ont été effectivement déployés aux confins de l’empire, comme l’unité de cavalerie envoyée en Égypte déjà mentionnée, bien que cela puisse être l’exception, car un éloignement trop long aurait causé des dégâts agricoles considérables, et qu’il n’y avait donc pas de raison pressante d’avantager unilatéralement le remplacement du service militaire par le paiement d’un équivalent financier.

3. La prise de pouvoir de Séleucos I Quand Alexandre le Grand réussit à vaincre Darius III à Gaugamèles le 1er octobre 331, la Babylonie se soumit rapidement au conquérant macédonien. Néanmoins, la vision traditionnelle selon laquelle les Babyloniens auraient été « opprimés » par les Achéménides – supposition basée uniquement sur la révolte de Nidintu-Bel en 522 et d’Araxa en 521, tout au début du pouvoir achéménide, puis celle de Belšimanni en 484,29 150 ans avant l’arrivée d’Alexandre – et auraient accueilli l’arrivée d’Alexandre avec « enthousiasme » doit être prise avec beaucoup de précaution30. Tout d’abord, n’oublions pas que les Babyloniens furent bien présents dans l’armée achéménide à Gaugamèles, et que ni Alexandre, ni les Babyloniens ne devaient, a priori, se sentir comme des alliés nés. De plus, la « joyeuse entrée » des troupes macédoniennes ne fut nullement la preuve d’une profonde sympathie, mais suivit un cérémonial ancestral largement formaliste, d’autant plus que la ville ne se livra pas de son propre accord à Alexandre, mais lui fut offerte par la garnison achéménide placée sous le satrape Mazaios.31 D’ailleurs, le fait qu’Alexandre préférait conserver en place le satrape iranien au lieu d’installer un gouverneur de provenance locale suggère que la prise de la ville fut tout sauf un acte de « résistance antiachéménide », mais plutôt la conséquence collatérale des interactions entre Alexandre et une élite politique achéménide en quête de restructuration.32 Ce rôle, somme toute secondaire, des Babyloniens dans la prise de la ville, explique peut-être aussi pourquoi Alexandre, dans sa reconfiguration de 28 Cf. KESSLER (1999). BRIANT (1996), p. 416–417 parle seulement d’une armée de réserve. 29 HDT. 3.150–160. Pour le contexte, cf. WETZEL / SCHMIDT / MALLWITZ (1957) ; DE LIAGRE BÖHL (1968). 30 Concernant l’accueil d’Alexandre en Babylonie, cf. p.ex. KUHRT (1990). 31 Sur Mazaios, cf. BERVE (1926) et DANDAMAYEV (1992). 32 Sur Alexandre, les transfuges iraniens et l’intégration de traditions iraniennes dans le nouvel empire macédonien, cf. BOSWORTH (1980) ; HAMILTON (1987) ; WIESEHÖFER (1994) ; BROSIUS (2003) ; OLBRYCHT (2010).

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l’« empire d’Asie », dirigea toute son énergie vers une relative réconciliation entre Grecs et Iraniens et vers une valorisation de l’Iran en tant que terre de recrutement militaire fidèle au nouveau pouvoir, et semble avoir laissé de côté les autres régions de l’empire, telles que l’Égypte, la Syrie ou la Babylonie, car nous n’avons aucun témoignage de leur inclusion dans les troupes alexandrines. Les raisons sont évidentes : si Alexandre avait massivement tenté de recruter des unités militaires dans des territoires ayant perdu leur autonomie politique sous les Achéménides, l’absence d’ennemis extérieurs sérieux aurait orienté toutes les énergies locales vers la situation interne de l’empire et aurait pu provoquer une rapide fragmentation de son empire. Les Iraniens, au contraire, qui venaient de perdre brutalement leur empire, devaient être à tout prix politiquement réconciliés et leurs capacités militaires désamorcées par une association étroite avec les troupes macédoniennes, permettant ainsi d’en conserver la force militaire tout en les laissant dans une continuité rassurante de domination impériale.33 Que la Babylonie était loin de pouvoir être considérée comme se soumettant systématiquement de son plein gré à tout pouvoir étranger devient clair si nous analysons maintenant l’époque d’après la mort d’Alexandre en 323 : selon Arrien, certaines régions de Babylonie s’opposaient (toujours ou à nouveau) au régime hellénistique et devaient être combattues par les troupes macédoniennes, impliquant tout de même un certain degré de militarisation de la région34, mais il est très difficile de différencier les révoltes spontanées de celles plutôt en association avec certains des généraux d’Alexandre, préfigurant ainsi leur adhésion future à Séleucos.35 De plus, les conditions du retour de Séleucos en Babylonie après son exil égyptien chez Ptolémée I36 suggèrent une implication babylonienne massive dans la première constitution de ses troupes. En effet, nous apprenons, chez Diodore et Arrien, que Séleucos, en mai 311, put se mettre en possession de la ville de Babylone avec un nombre infime de troupes, 1000 soldats et 300 cavaliers selon Arrien37, 800 soldats et 200 cavaliers selon Diodore : 33 Sur la conception impériale d’Alexandre, cf. p.ex. la plus récente biographie du roi : WORTHINGTON (2014). 34 ARR., FGrHist 156 F 10 (Cod. rescr. Vatic. gr. 495 fol. 230. 235). 35 Sur cette comparaison, voir SCHOBER (1981), p. 38–40. 36 Sur le contexte général du retour de Séleucos en Babylonie, cf. MEHL (1986) ; GRAINGER (1990). 37 APP., Syr. 54.273–274 : ȆIJȠȜİȝĮ૙ȠȢ įૃ Į੝IJȓțĮ IJઁȞ ȈȑȜİȣțȠȞ ਥȢ IJોȞ ǺĮȕȣȜ૵ȞĮ ʌȑȝʌİȚ, IJ੽Ȟ ਕȡȤ੽Ȟ ਕȞĮȜȘȥȩȝİȞȠȞ: țĮ੿ ʌİȗȠઃȢ ਥȢ IJȠ૨IJȠ ਩įȦțİȞ Į੝IJ૶ ȤȚȜȓȠȣȢ, țĮ੿ IJȡȚĮțȠıȓȠȣȢ ੂʌʌȑĮȢ. țĮ੿ ıઃȞ Ƞ੢IJȦȢ ੑȜȓȖȠȚȢ ੒ ȈȑȜİȣțȠȢ IJȒȞ IJİ ǺĮȕȣȜȦȞȓĮȞ, ʌȡȠșȪȝȦȢ Į੝IJઁȞ ਚȝĮ IJ૵Ȟ ਕȞįȡ૵Ȟ ਥțįİȤȠȝȑȞȦȞ, ਕȞȑȜĮȕİ, țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ਕȡȤ੽Ȟ ȝİIJૃ Ƞ੝ ʌȠȜઃ ਥȢ ȝȑȖĮ ʌȡȠȒȖĮȖİȞ. (trad. P. GOUKOWSKY, CUF : Aussitôt Ptolémée envoya Séleucos à Babylone pour y reprendre le pouvoir. Et il lui donna à cette fin mille fantassins et trois cents cavaliers. C’est avec si peu d’hommes que Séleucos recouvra la Babylonie, accueillie

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En Asie, Séleucos, après la défaite de Démétrius à Gaza, en Syrie, reçut de Ptolémée moins de huit cent fantassins et environ deux cents cavaliers avec lesquels il prit la route de Babylone. Il était si transporté d’espoir que, même sans troupes du tout, il serait parti vers les régions supérieures avec ses amis et ses pages. Il pensait, en effet, que les Babyloniens, qui lui avaient été très dévoués auparavant, se rallieraient à lui avec empressement et qu’Antigone, en se retirant loin de là avec son armée, lui avait fourni une occasion favorable pour ses propres entreprises.38

Et en effet, si, dans les mois qui suivirent, Séleucos réussit à occuper militairement la majeure partie de la Babylonie, il paraît évident que des troupes indigènes eurent une importance cruciale dans ces entreprises, bien que Séleucos réussit à accroître le nombre de vétérans gréco-macédoniens de manière marginale. Ainsi, Diodore écrit : Quand sa marche l’eut conduit en Mésopotamie, il persuada ou contraignit les colons macédoniens de Carrhes à prendre part à l’expédition. Quand il pénétra en Babylonie, la plupart des hommes du pays vinrent à sa rencontre et se rallièrent à lui, en affirmant qu’ils l’aideraient, quoi qu’il demandât. En effet, pendant les quatre ans où il avait été le satrape de ce pays, il s’était bien conduit envers tous, provoquant ainsi le dévouement du peuple et s’assurant à l’avance des partisans, si jamais l’occasion lui venait de revendiquer le pouvoir suprême. Il fut également rejoint par Polyarchos, le responsable d’un district administratif, avec plus de mille soldats. Ceux qui restaient du côté d’Antigone, voyant qu’on ne pouvait réfréner l’élan populaire, se réfugièrent dans la citadelle dont Diphilos avait la garde. Séleucos entama le siège et, après avoir pris la citadelle de vive force, il tira de captivité ses amis et ses pages qu’Antigone avait fait emprisonner après son départ en Babylone pour l’Égypte. Cela fait, il rassembla des soldats et, après avoir acheté des chevaux, il distribua à ceux qui savaient s’en servir. Comme il traitait tout le monde avec bonté et qu’il faisait naître d’heureuses espérances, il disposait d’hommes prêts à affronter, avec enthousiasme, n’importe quelle situation. C’est ainsi que Séleucos recouvra la Babylonie.39

avec empressement par toute la population, et peu après il agrandit considérablement son empire.) 38 DIOD. SIC. 19.90 (trad. Fr. BIZIÈRE, CUF) : ȀĮIJ੹ į੻ IJ੽Ȟ ਝı઀ĮȞ Ȉ੼ȜİȣțȠȢ ȝİIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ȖİȞȠȝ੼ȞȘȞ ਸIJIJĮȞ ǻȘȝȘIJȡ઀૳ ʌİȡ੿ ī੺ȗĮȞ IJોȢ Ȉȣȡ઀ĮȢ ਕȞĮȜĮȕઅȞ ʌĮȡ੹ ȆIJȠȜİȝĮ઀Ƞȣ ʌİȗȠઃȢ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੝ ʌȜİ઀ȠȣȢ IJ૵Ȟ ੑțIJĮțȠı઀ȦȞ, ੂʌʌİ૙Ȣ į੻ ʌİȡ੿ įȚĮțȠı઀ȠȣȢ ਕȞ੼ȗİȣȟİȞ ਥʌ੿ ǺĮȕȣȜ૵ȞȠȢ, ਥʌ੿ IJȠıȠ૨IJȠȞ ȝİȝİIJİȦȡȚıȝ੼ȞȠȢ IJĮ૙Ȣ ਥȜʌ઀ıȚȞ ੮ıIJ’ İੁ țĮ੿ ȝȘįİȝ઀ĮȞ İੇȤİ į઄ȞĮȝȚȞ IJઁ ʌĮȡ੺ʌĮȞ, ȝİIJ੹ IJ૵Ȟ ij઀ȜȦȞ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ੁį઀ȦȞ ʌĮ઀įȦȞ IJ੽Ȟ İੁȢ IJȠઃȢ ਙȞȦ IJંʌȠȣȢ ਕȞ੺ȕĮıȚȞ ʌȠȚİ૙ıșĮȚǜ ਫ਼ʌİȜ੺ȝȕĮȞİ Ȗ੹ȡ IJȠઃȢ ȝ੻Ȟ ǺĮȕȣȜȦȞ઀ȠȣȢ įȚ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡȠȨʌ੺ȡȤȠȣıĮȞ İ੡ȞȠȚĮȞ ਦIJȠ઀ȝȦȢ Į੝IJ૶ ʌȡȠıș੾ıİıșĮȚ, IJȠઃȢ į੻ ʌİȡ੿ ਝȞIJ઀ȖȠȞȠȞ ȝİIJ੹ IJોȢ įȣȞ੺ȝİȦȢ ȝĮțȡ੹Ȟ ਕʌİıʌĮıȝ੼ȞȠȣȢ ʌĮȡĮįİįȦț੼ȞĮȚ țĮȚȡઁȞ Ƞੁțİ૙ȠȞ IJĮ૙Ȣ ੁį઀ĮȚȢ ਥʌȚȕȠȜĮ૙Ȣ. 39 DIOD. SIC. 19.91 (trad. Fr. BIZIÈRE, CUF) : ਥʌİ੿ į੻ ʌȡȠ੺ȖȦȞ țĮIJ੾ȞIJȘıİȞ İੁȢ ȂİıȠʌȠIJĮȝ઀ĮȞ, IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞ Ȁ੺ȡĮȚȢ țĮIJ૳țȚıȝ੼ȞȦȞ ȂĮțİįંȞȦȞ Ƞ੠Ȣ ȝ੻Ȟ ਩ʌİȚıİȞ, Ƞ੠Ȣ į’ ਥȕȚ੺ıĮIJȠ ıȣıIJȡĮIJİ઄İȚȞ Į੝IJ૶. ੪Ȣ į’ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ǺĮȕȣȜȦȞ઀ĮȞ ਥȞ੼ȕĮȜİȞ, Ƞੂ ʌȜİ઀ȠȣȢ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȖȤȦȡ઀ȦȞ ਕʌ੾ȞIJȦȞ țĮ੿ ʌȡȠıIJȚș੼ȝİȞȠȚ ʌ઼Ȟ ਩ijĮıĮȞ Į੝IJ૶ IJઁ įȠțȠ૨Ȟ ıȣȝʌȡ੺ȟİȚȞǜ IJİIJȡĮİIJો Ȗ੹ȡ ȤȡંȞȠȞ ȖİȖȠȞઅȢ ıĮIJȡ੺ʌȘȢ IJોȢ ȤઆȡĮȢ IJĮ઄IJȘȢ ʌ઼ıȚ ʌȡȠıİȞ੾ȞİțIJȠ țĮȜ૵Ȣ, ਥțțĮȜȠ઄ȝİȞȠȢ IJ੽Ȟ İ੡ȞȠȚĮȞ IJȠ૨ ʌȜ੾șȠȣȢ țĮ੿ ʌંȡȡȦșİȞ ʌȡȠʌĮȡĮıțİȣĮȗંȝİȞȠȢ IJȠઃȢ ıȣȝʌȡ੺ȟȠȞIJĮȢ, ਥ੹Ȟ Į੝IJ૶ įȠșૌ țĮȚȡઁȢ ਕȝijȚıȕȘIJİ૙Ȟ ਲȖİȝȠȞ઀ĮȢ. ʌȡȠıİȤઆȡȘıİ į’ Į੝IJ૶ țĮ੿ ȆȠȜ઄ĮȡȤȠȢ, IJİIJĮȖȝ੼ȞȠȢ ਥʌ઀ IJȚȞȠȢ įȚȠȚț੾ıİȦȢ, ȝİIJ੹ ıIJȡĮIJȚȦIJ૵Ȟ ʌȜİȚંȞȦȞ ਲ਼ ȤȚȜ઀ȦȞ. Ƞੂ į੻

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Le nouvel ordre séleucide en Babylonie fut très rapidement mis à l’épreuve, car en novembre 311, donc à peine quelques mois après son retour dans son ancienne satrapie, Séleucos dut affronter les satrapes de Médie et de Perse, Nicanor et Euagoras, dans des circonstances troubles.40 En effet, nous pouvons imaginer que leurs troupes étaient probablement déjà parmi les plus nombreuses dans la région, car la Médie fut, depuis les Achéménides, le centre névralgique de recrutement et de rassemblement de troupes du Grand Roi pour l’ensemble des Satrapies Supérieures,41 et nous pouvons imaginer que la Perse, ancien noyau de l’empire achéménide, dut avoir reçu une garnison grecque considérable, d’autant plus que la politique de réconciliation de Peukestas avait échoué depuis son départ de Perse en 315,42 et qu’à cette époque, comme le suggère la Prophétie Dynastique,43 beaucoup de personnes crurent au retour miraculeux du dernier roi perse. De plus, Diodore nous informe que les troupes de ces deux satrapes furent encore renforcées par des contingents venant d’autres satrapies plus orientales, de manière à pouvoir mener en bataille 10.000 fantassins et 7000 cavaliers, si l’on en croit Diodore ; cinq fois plus que Séleucos : Quand Nicanor, stratège pour la région de la Médie, eut réuni plus de dix mille fantassins et environ sept mille cavaliers venus de Médie, de Perse et des autres pays à l’entour, Séleucos se précipita à la rencontre des ennemis avec, en tout, plus de trois mille fantassins et quatre cents cavaliers.44

Ce nombre de 3400 soldats mérite qu’on s’y attarde un peu. D’un côté, il reste nettement plus élevé que la simple addition des 800 fantassins ptolémaïques, des quelques Macédoniens de Carrhes (au maximum quelques centaines), des 1000 įȚĮijȣȜ੺IJIJȠȞIJİȢ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡઁȢ ਝȞIJ઀ȖȠȞȠȞ ijȚȜ઀ĮȞ, ੒ȡ૵ȞIJİȢ ਕțĮIJ੺ıȤİIJȠȞ Ƞ੣ıĮȞ IJ੽Ȟ IJȠ૨ ʌȜ੾șȠȣȢ ੒ȡȝ੾Ȟ, ıȣȞ੼ijİȣȖȠȞ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ਙțȡĮȞ, ਸȢ ij઄ȜĮȟ ਕʌİį੼įİȚțIJȠ ǻ઀ijȚȜȠȢ. ੒ į੻ Ȉ੼ȜİȣțȠȢ ıȣıIJȘı੺ȝİȞȠȢ ʌȠȜȚȠȡț઀ĮȞ țĮ੿ țĮIJ੹ țȡ੺IJȠȢ ਦȜઅȞ IJ੽Ȟ ਙțȡĮȞ ਥțȠȝ઀ıĮIJȠ IJ੹ ijȣȜĮIJIJંȝİȞĮ ıઆȝĮIJĮ IJ૵Ȟ ij઀ȜȦȞ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ʌĮ઀įȦȞ, ੖ıȠȚ ʌĮȡİįંșȘıĮȞ İੁȢ ijȣȜĮț੽Ȟ ʌĮȡ´ ਝȞIJȚȖંȞȠȣ ȝİIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ਥț ǺĮȕȣȜ૵ȞȠȢ İੁȢ ǹ੅ȖȣʌIJȠȞ ਕʌȠȤઆȡȘıȚȞ. ਕʌઁ į੻ IJȠ઄IJȦȞ ȖİȞંȝİȞȠȢ ıIJȡĮIJȚઆIJĮȢ ıȣȞ੾ȖĮȖİȞ țĮ੿ ıȣȞĮȖȠȡ੺ıĮȢ ੆ʌʌȠȣȢ ਕȞİį઀įȠȣ IJȠ૙Ȣ įȣȞĮȝ੼ȞȠȚȢ Ȥȡ઼ıșĮȚ. ʌ઼ıȚ į੻ ijȚȜĮȞșȡઆʌȦȢ ੒ȝȚȜ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ țĮșȚıIJ੹Ȣ İੁȢ ਕȖĮș੹Ȣ ਥȜʌ઀įĮȢ ਦIJȠ઀ȝȠȣȢ İੇȤİ țĮ੿ ʌȡȠș઄ȝȠȣȢ ਥȞ ʌ੺ıૉ ʌİȡȚıIJ੺ıİȚ IJȠઃȢ ıȣȖțȚȞįȣȞİ઄ȠȞIJĮȢ. Ȉ੼ȜİȣțȠȢ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੣Ȟ IJȠ૨IJȠȞ IJઁȞ IJȡંʌȠȞ ਕȞİțIJ੾ıĮIJȠ IJ੽Ȟ ǺĮȕȣȜȦȞ઀ĮȞ. 40 Sur la bataille du bord du Tigres, cf. DIOD. SIC. 19.91 ; pour la chronologie, voir BOIY (2007), p. 59–67 ; CAPDETREY (2007), p. 25–28. 41 Sur la Médie comme centre de recrutement, cf. XEN., Anab. 22.24.5 ; DIOD. SIC. 14.22.1 et le fait que le gouverneur de Médie semble avoir exercé la fonction de karanos des satrapies supérieures ; voir ENGELS (2017), p. 114–126 et 276–281. 42 Sur Peucestas, cf. BERVE (1990). 43 Sur la Prophétie dynastique, cf. NEUJAHR (2005). 44 DIOD. SIC. 19.92 (trad. Fr. BIZIÈRE, CUF) : ȃȚțȐȞȠȡȠȢ į੻ IJȠ૨ ʌİȡ੿ ȂȘįȓĮȞ ıIJȡĮIJȘȖȠ૨ ıȣȞĮȖĮȖȩȞIJȠȢ ਥʌૃ Į੝IJઁȞ ਩ț IJİ ȂȘįȓĮȢ țĮ੿ ȆİȡıȓįȠȢ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ıȪȞİȖȖȣȢ IJȩʌȦȞ ıIJȡĮIJȚȫIJĮȢ ʌİȗȠઃȢ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌȜİȓȠȣȢ IJ૵Ȟ ȝȣȡȓȦȞ, ੂʌʌİ૙Ȣ į੻ ʌİȡ੿ ਦʌIJĮțȚıȤȚȜȓȠȣȢ ੮ȡȝȘıİȞ țĮIJ੹ ıʌȠȣį੽Ȟ ਕʌĮȞIJȒıȦȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌȠȜİȝȓȠȚȢ.

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fantassins de Polyarchos et, peut-être, d’un certain nombre de transfuges antigonides. D’un autre côté, même si nous estimons que ces soldats furent exclusivement d’origine gréco-macédonienne, nous devrions alors croire que Séleucos aurait laissé l’entière Babylonie avec ses nombreuses villes fortifiées totalement dénuée de garnisons et de forces policières d’origine européenne. Les circonstances dans lesquelles Séleucos réussit, contre toute attente, à vaincre les satrapes antigonides sont également troubles. Diodore explique : La nuit venue, comme les hommes de Nicanor n’étaient pas sur le qui-vive et montaient la garde avec négligence, l’attaque soudaine de Séleucos provoqua beaucoup de confusion et de frayeur. Comme les Perses avaient engagé le combat, il arriva que leur satrape Éuagros tomba avec quelques autres chefs. Après cela, la plupart des soldats, soit épouvantés par le danger, soit mécontents des ordres d’Antigone, passèrent du côté de Séleucos.45

Outre le stratagème de Séleucos, ce fut donc la désertion des « Perses », les premiers à ouvrir le combat (ıȣȞĮȥ੺ȞIJȦȞ Ȗ੹ȡ ȝ੺ȤȘȞ IJ૵Ȟ Ȇİȡı૵Ȟ), qui décida la bataille. Cette donnée est hautement intéressante, car à première vue, une approche hypercritique pourrait nous faire croire que ces « Perses » ne désigneraient, finalement, que les contingents gréco-macédoniens du satrape de Perse, tout comme plus tard, les « Bactriens » désigneront les colons grecs et macédoniens installés dans cette satrapie. Néanmoins, nous devons nous souvenir que l’armée levée par Peucestas en 318 dans sa satrapie perse était composée de 10.000 archers et frondeurs perses, 3000 fantassins de provenance diverse, mais armés à la macédonienne, 600 cavaliers grecs et thraces et 400 cavaliers perses,46 suggérant donc une très forte composante iranienne dans les armées des satrapes orientaux. De plus, grâce aux fragments de la chronique des diadoques, texte babylonien contemporain, nous avons la preuve que les « Perses » désignent en effet des Perses ethniques, provenant de Perse proprement dite, le « pays de Guthium », et donc bien distincts des unités grécomacédoniennes antigonides :

45 DIOD. SIC. 19.92 (trad. Fr. BIZIÈRE, CUF) : ਥʌȚȖİȞȠȝ੼ȞȘȢ į੻ ȞȣțIJઁȢ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ʌİȡ੿ ȃȚț੺ȞȠȡĮ țĮIJĮʌİijȡȠȞȘțંIJȦȢ țĮ੿ ૧઺ș઄ȝȦȢ ਥȤંȞIJȦȞ IJ੹ ʌİȡ੿ IJ੹Ȣ ijȣȜĮț੹Ȣ ਥʌȚʌİıઅȞ ੒ Ȉ੼ȜİȣțȠȢ ਙijȞȦ ʌȠȜȜ੽Ȟ IJĮȡĮȤ੽Ȟ țĮ੿ țĮIJ੺ʌȜȘȟȚȞ țĮIJİıțİ઄Įıİǜ ıȣȞĮȥ੺ȞIJȦȞ Ȗ੹ȡ ȝ੺ȤȘȞ IJ૵Ȟ Ȇİȡı૵Ȟ ıȣȞ੼ȕȘ IJંȞ IJİ ıĮIJȡ੺ʌȘȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ Ǽ੡ĮȖȡȠȞ ʌİıİ૙Ȟ țĮ઀ IJȚȞĮȢ IJ૵Ȟ ਙȜȜȦȞ ਲȖİȝંȞȦȞ. Ƞ੤ ıȣȝȕ੺ȞIJȠȢ Ƞੂ ʌȜİ઀ȠȣȢ IJ૵Ȟ ıIJȡĮIJȚȦIJ૵Ȟ IJ੹ ȝ੻Ȟ IJઁȞ ț઀ȞįȣȞȠȞ țĮIJĮʌİʌȜȘȖȝ੼ȞȠȚ, IJ੹ į੻ ʌȡȠıțંʌIJȠȞIJİȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਫ਼ʌ’ ਝȞIJȚȖંȞȠȣ ʌȡĮIJIJȠȝ੼ȞȠȚȢ ȝİIJİȕ੺ȜȠȞIJȠ ʌȡઁȢ Ȉ੼ȜİȣțȠȞ. 46 DIOD. SIC. 19.14.5 : İੇȤİ į੻ IJȩIJİ ȆȑȡıĮȢ IJȠȟȩIJĮȢ ȝ੻Ȟ țĮ੿ ıijİȞįȠȞȒIJĮȢ ȝȣȡȓȠȣȢ, IJȠઃȢ į੻ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȂĮțİįȠȞȚț੽Ȟ IJȐȟȚȞ țĮșȦʌȜȚıȝȑȞȠȣȢ ʌĮȞIJȠįĮʌȠઃȢ IJȡȚıȤȚȜȓȠȣȢ, ੂʌʌİ૙Ȣ įૃ ਰȜȜȘȞĮȢ ȝ੻Ȟ țĮ੿ ĬȡઽțĮȢ ਦȟĮțȠıȓȠȣȢ, ȆȑȡıĮȢ į੻ ʌȜİȓȠȣȢ IJ૵Ȟ IJİIJȡĮțȠıȓȦȞ. (trad. Fr. BIZIÈRE, CUF : Peucestas avait présentement avec lui dix mille archers et frondeurs perses, trois mille hommes d’origines diverses équipés à la macédonienne et, comme cavaliers, six cents Grecs et Thraces, sans comptes plus de quatre cents Perses.)

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Les troupes du pays de Gutium et les troupes du/roi\ [montrèrent de la] gr[atitude au satrape d’Akkad.47

Ce fait est hautement important, car le passage démontre que le nombre de soldats que Diodore attribue aux satrapes de Médie et de Perse ne désigne pas uniquement des troupes grecques et macédoniennes, mais aussi des contingents « indigènes » non négligeables, vu l’effet de leur désertion sur le cours de la bataille ; probablement des archers et des cavaliers, comme le laisse estimer le nombre disproportionnellement haut de la cavalerie et le fait que la Médie était surtout réputée pour ses cavaliers.48 Mais alors, le même constat pourrait être valable pour les unités séleucides et confirmer l’hypothèse selon laquelle, du moins au début de son règne, Séleucos dépendait fortement de recrues locales. Cela ne résout évidemment pas la question de savoir dans quelle mesure ces soldats furent ethniquement des Babyloniens ou descendirent plutôt des soldats installés par les Achéménides et provinrent donc potentiellement d’autres régions de l’empire. Néanmoins, n’oublions pas que Diodore insiste particulièrement sur la bonne volonté des Babyloniens en général de défendre les intérêts de Séleucos qui semble avoir laissé une excellente impression durant ses années de satrape de Babylonie. Probablement que cette popularité de garant des intérêts locaux des Babyloniens, confirmée également par le fait que Séleucos soit resté fidèle à son épouse iranienne, Apama,49 au lieu de la répudier, fut cruciale dans la motivation de la désertion des Perses qui, en effet, devaient en être récompensés par une autonomie locale non négligeable sous la dynastie locale des Frataraka et devenir, pour deux siècles, les piliers du pouvoir séleucide en Iran.50

4. La composition ultérieure de l’armée séleucide selon les sources classiques Nous pouvons donc retenir de ces chapitres précédents que la Babylonie semble avoir été loin d’être un territoire démilitarisé lors des périodes néobabylonienne, achéménide et proto-séleucide. Néanmoins, cette situation semble avoir changé quelque peu par la suite. Examinons d’abord nos sources grecques et latines concernant la composition de l’armée séleucide afin de mieux

47 GRAYSON 1975 (ABC), n° 10 = BCHP 3 (Chronicle of the Diadochoi), 4.12 (trad. sur base de VAN DER SPEK) ; lúERÍN KUR Gu-ti-i ù lúERÍN.MEŠ / LUGAL\ du-u[m-qu] / a-na\ […]. 48 Sur l’importance de la cavalerie mède, grand support de l’armée achéménide, séleucide et parthe, cf. les chapitres respectifs dans LAUNEY (1949) ; BAR KOCHVA (1976), p. 67–75 ; SEKUNDA (1994). 49 Sur Apama, cf. maintenant ENGELS / ERICKSON (2016) avec aperçu de la littérature. 50 Sur les Séleucides et les Perses, cf. WOLSKI (1977) ; BRIANT (1990) ; WIESEHÖFER (1994) ; CALLIERI (2001) ; PLISCHKE (2014) ; ENGELS (2017).

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cerner l’absence de troupes venant de Babylonie hellénistique,51 car il est évident qu’un constat négatif ne peut avoir de réelle valeur analytique que s’il se trouve confronté à un constat positif complémentaire significatif. La composition ethnique des armées séleucides52 nous est essentiellement connue par les descriptions de quelques grandes batailles comme Ipsos, la Guerre contre Molon, Raphia, Magnésie, Beth Horon, Beth Zacharia et la parade de Daphné, bien que, pour notre argumentation, ce soient essentiellement les descriptions liées aux événements de Raphia, Magnésie et de Daphné qui nous intéressent, car les autres récits font généralement l’impasse sur la composition ethnique des armées en question.53 Le 18 juin 217 à Raphia54, selon Polybe, les Séleucides déployèrent les unités suivantes : 5000 soldats légers composés de Dahes, Carmaniens et Ciliciens ; 10.000 Argyraspides, donc soldats d’infanterie d’élite, venant, selon l’auteur mégalopolitain, « de toutes les régions du royaume et armés à la manière macédonienne » (ਥț ʌȐıȘȢ ਥțȜİȜİȖȝȑȞȠȚ IJોȢ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȢ, țĮșȦʌȜȚıȝȑȞȠȚ įૃ İੁȢ IJઁȞ ȂĮțİįȠȞȚțઁȞ IJȡȩʌȠȞ) ; une phalange de 20.000 hommes ; 2.000 archers agriens et persans ; 2.000 Thraces ; 5.000 Mèdes, Cissiens, Cadusiens et Carmaniens ; 10.000 nomades arabes et autres ; 5.000 mercenaires grecs ; 1.500 Crétois ; 1.000 Néocrétois ; 500 lanciers lydiens et 1.000 Cardaces, au total 62.000 fantassins, auxquels il faudra ajouter 6.000 chevaliers et 102 éléphants.55 Très clairement, toutes les régions importantes de l’empire et même au-delà sont représentées – de l’Asie Mineure par l’Arabie et l’Iran jusqu’en Asie centrale – ; seuls les régions babyloniennes manquent à l’appel, tout comme d’ailleurs la Syrie ; un fait ayant toute son importance, comme nous le verrons plus tard. Passons sur la lettre qu’Antiochos III fit parvenir aux Juifs de Babylonie et de Mésopotamie afin d’en inviter 2.000 familles à s’installer en Lydie et Phrygie,56 car rien que le mécanisme de convocation prouve que ces Juifs durent

51 Concernant la Babylonie hellénistique, cf. OELSNER (1986) ; BOIY (2004) et PIRNGRUBER (2017). 52 Il va de soi que ces désignations ethniques sont souvent à prendre avec un certain recul, car nous savons que, surtout dans le domaine militaire, ces désignations ont tendence à désigner de plus en plus un certain type d’armement associé à des groupes ethniques spécifiques. Voir à ce niveau maintenant l’excellente étude de HOULE (2015). Néanmoins, cette question a peu d’importance pour nous, car le problème fondamental – l’absence de troupes babyloniennes ou de types d’armements spécifiquement « babyloniens » – reste le même. 53 Ipsos : DIOD. SIC. 19.83 ; 20.113 ; 33.4a ; les affrontements avec Molon : POLYB. 18.53.2–4 et 18.53.8–9 ; Beth Horon : JOS., Ant. Jud. 12.4.1 ; Beth Zacharia : 1Macc 6.32–33. 54 Concernant la bataille de Raphia, cf. LAUNEY (1949) ; BAR KOCHVA (1976), p. 128– 142 ; SEKUNDA (1994). 55 POLYB. 5.79.3–13 ; voir aussi P OLYB. 5.82.8–13. 56 JOS., Ant. Jud. 12.3.4 (119).

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être considérés comme administrativement et civiquement très différents des Babyloniens proprement dits, et examinons la bataille de Magnésie. Le même problème qu’à Raphia se posera à nouveau lors de la bataille de Magnésie en hiver 190/189,57 dont la description a été conservée chez Tite-Live et Appien, bien que les contradictions entre les deux auteurs soient, jusqu’à ce jour, à l’origine de nombreux débats concernant le nombre précis des diverses unités. Heureusement, ce débat n’est que d’une importance moindre pour notre objectif, car les deux auteurs se rejoignent dans le constat de l’absence de forces babyloniennes, alors qu’au moins Tite-Live se délecte ostensiblement dans l’énumération des nombreuses appellations ethniques des unités séleucides afin de pouvoir donner corps à sa suggestion que l’affrontement entre Romains et Séleucides correspond idéologiquement tout comme politiquement à l’affrontement entre Grecs et Perses lors des Guerres Médiques. Ainsi, Tite-Live mentionne une phalange de 16.000 hommes armés « à la manière macédonienne » (more Macedonum armati) ; 3.000 soldats et 3.000 chevaliers galates ; 2.000 soldats cappadociens ; 3.000 cataphractes ; 1.000 chevaliers de l’agéma, essentiellement composée de Mèdes et d’autres habitants des Satrapies Supérieures ; 1.000 chevaliers de la garde personnelle du roi et armés comme des cataphractes, bien que composés de Syriens, Phrygiens et Lydiens ; une unité d’argyraspides ; 1.200 archers dahes à cheval ; 3.000 Crétois et Tralliens ; 5.000 archers mysiens, elyméens et cyrtiens ; 1.000 Crétois ; 1.500 Cariens et Ciliciens ; 1.500 Tralliens, 4.000 Cétrates, Pisidiens, Pamphyliens et Lydiens; quelques Tarentins ; des chars à faux, très probablement perses ; des cavaliers arabes à dos de chameau, et 2.700 soldats « divers »,58 mais pas de Babyloniens. Ainsi, l’impression générale est la même qu’à Raphia : toutes les désignations ethniques se réfèrent à l’Asie Mineure, à l’Arabie, à la Syrie, aux Satrapies Supérieures et même à la Grèce, mais aucune mention n’est faite des régions babyloniennes ; un constat d’ailleurs confirmé par Appien qui, à part la phalange, « ordonnée toujours à la manière d’Alexandre et Philippe » (ਥȢ IJઁȞ ਝȜİȟȐȞįȡȠȣ țĮ੿ ĭȚȜȓʌʌȠȣ IJȡȩʌȠȞ ਩IJȚ țȠıȝȠȪȝİȞȠȚ), parle de soldats venant de Galatie, de Cappadoce, de Phrygie, de Lycie, de Pamphylie, de Pisidie, de Crète, de Tralles, de Cilicie, de la terre des Dahes, de Mysie, de l’Elymaïde et de l’Arabie,59 mais pas de la Babylonie. Finalement, considérons la description des unités séleucides présentes lors de la parade de Daphné en 165, dont la description nous est transmise par Polybe. Outre la très curieuse légion armée à la romaine, Polybe énumère 5.000 Mysiens, 3.000 Ciliciens, 3.000 Thraces, 5.000 Galates, 20.000 Macédoniens, 500 gladiateurs, 1.000 cavaliers de Nysa et 3.000 d’Antioche, 1.000 cavaliers 57 Concernant la bataille de Magnésie, cf. LAUNEY (1949) ; BAR KOCHVA (1976), p. 163–174 ; SEKUNDA (1994). 58 LIV. 37.40. 59 APP., Syr. 32.

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venant des compagnons royaux, 1.000 des philoi, 1.000 de l’agéma, un nombre indéterminé de cataphractes, 140 chars et 36 éléphants60 : mais une fois de plus, aucun Babylonien. Dans toutes nos sources grecques et romaines, le constat est donc le même : nous possédons une foule d’informations sur la composition des armées séleucides à divers moments de l’histoire, mais aucun auteur de l’Antiquité ne mentionne la participation de contingents venant de la Babylonie.

5. Prosopographie et sources cunéiformes. Heureusement, les sources cunéiformes permettent quelque peu de nuancer cette impression. Certes, alors que des individus venant de Babylonie représentent indéniablement la majeure partie de notre documentation prosopographique, la monumentale, bien que lacunaire « Seleukid Gazetteer » de Grainger61 ne permet pas l’association d’un seul Babylonien au métier d’armes, alors que les divers textes venant essentiellement de Babylone et d’Akkad donnent un échantillon impressionnant de la vie de tous les jours dans les métropoles mésopotamiennes et énumèrent des occupations aussi variées que des pêcheurs, forgerons, brasseurs, ouvriers en construction, scribes, prêtres, charpentiers, etc. Néanmoins, cette impression pourrait être plutôt liée à la nature particulière de notre documentation qu’à la réalité, car le genre littéraire du contrat cunéiforme, essentiellement civil, tout comme celui des journaux astronomiques, hautement formalistes, se prêtent mal à la narration de faits et gestes militaires, tout au contraire de l’épigraphie grecque, souvent soit en lien avec l’impact des actions politiques et militaires sur la vie civique et la composition de la citoyenneté, soit avec la piété personnelle des individus et donc avec leur auto-représentation. Néanmoins, il est notable que les sources grecques attestent de nombreux soldats non seulement d’origine grecque, mais aussi orientale, tout en faisant l’impasse sur des soldats babyloniens.62 Les fragments conservés des « journaux » ne font que très rarement référence à des faits et gestes militaires, et là où c’est le cas, c’est souvent la sécurité immédiate de la ville de Babylone qui est concernée. Nous avons ainsi à peine relevé une demi-douzaine de passages concernant des actions militaires de l’époque hellénistique, et seuls deux sont pertinents pour notre questionnement.

60 POLYB. 30.25.3–11. Concernant la composition des unités présentées à Daphné, cf. GRAINGER (1976). 61 GRAINGER (1997). 62 Concernant l’absence de troupes d’origine babylonienne en Babylonie, cf. aussi BOIY (2004), p. 217–218.

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Dans une notice de l’an 322,63 l’on trouve une référence assez cryptique, due à l’important dommage du passage, aux « troupes » d’un individu non spécifié se rendant en Bactriane dans un contexte de combats contre des troupes grecques (TA lúERÍNmeš-šú áš-šú ‫܈‬al-tu4 ana mu‫ې‬-‫ې‬i lúERÍN ‫ې‬a-ni a-na KUR ba-a[‫]ې‬ň tarʼn G[IN…]); probablement une allusion à la révolte des colons bactriens en 322.64 De manière similaire, en 309,65 une référence à des combats des « troupes d’Antigone » s’est conservée (lúERÍNmeš IAn-ti-gu-nu-su ‫܈‬al-tu4 ina ur[u…]), le texte étant daté non seulement par la référence à la 7e année du règne d’Alexandre IV, mais aussi par la référence à Séleucos, désormais maître de Babylonie et désigné comme « chef des armées » (ISe-lu-ňkuʼn l[úGAL ERÍNmeš]), c.à.d. strategos.66 Seule la notice décrivant des événements survenus en 273, c.à.d. en pleine Première Guerre Syrienne, est un peu plus précise, le texte ne mentionnant pas seulement les « troupes d’Égypte » (lúERÍN mi-‫܈‬ir), mais aussi les activités du satrape de Babylonie. Textuellement, le scribe babylonien note : Mois XII, 24e jour : le satrape de Babylonie apporta beaucoup d’argent, d’habits, de biens et d’ustensils / de Babylon et de Séleucie, la cité royale, et 20 éléphants, que le satrape de Bactriane avait envoyé au roi, en Transpotamie / au roi. Ce mois, le général rassembla les troupes du roi, qui étaient en Babylonie, du début jusqu’à la fin, et allait à l’aide du roi en Transpotamie dans le mois I.67

Très clairement, le rôle du satrape de Babylonie (l]úmu-ma-’i-ir KUR URIki) se confinait à contribuer à l’équipement des armées royales stationnées en Syrie, et un « général » (lúGAL), apparemment un personnage différent du satrape de Babylonie, rassembla des troupes royales (lúERIN LUGAL) décrites comme se trouvant en Babylonie (šá ina KUR URIki). Néanmoins, nous ne pouvons être certains que ces troupes provenaient aussi ethniquement de cette région, ou si elles étaient composées de vétérans et colons gréco-macédoniens. Une autre notice, venant de l’an 249, fait référence à la levée d’unités militaires et de chars (-š]ú u gišGIGIRmeš-šú id-ke-e-ma TA uruAn-tu-k[e- …] : « [...] examinait ses [troupes] et ses chariots et [partit] d’Antioche [...] »68), mais ne précise pas le contexte géographique en dehors d’une vague référence à la ville d’Antioche. Il se pourrait que le passage se réfère au système des fiefs militaires décrits plus haut, d’autant plus que le char ne faisait pas vraiment

63

AD -322 D obv., l. 22. Concernant la révolte bactrienne de 325, cf. CURT. 9.7.1–11 ; DIOD. SIC. 17.99 ; concernant le révolte de 322, cf. DIOD. SIC. 17.7.2–9 et SACHS / HUNGER 1988 (Astrononomical Diaries 1), ad a. 322. Voir en général GOUKOWSKY (1981) et COLORU (2009), 130–134. 65 AD -309 Obv., l. 14. 66 AD -309, Rev., l. 11. 67 AD -273, Obv., l. 30–32. 68 AD -249, Rev., l. 6. 64

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partie intégrale des armées hellénistiques et est plutôt attesté en Babylonie et, sous certaines formes, en Perse ; néanmoins, le texte est trop lacunaire pour pouvoir permettre une quelconque certitude. Pour l’an 237, nous trouvons une référence intéressante à la présence de militaires à Babylone : il semble que dans le contexte des luttes entre Antiochos Hiérax et Séleucos II, il y eut un conflit armé dans le quartier du palais de Babylon impliquant à la fois les troupes stationnées à l’intérieur du palais (lùERÍNmeš TA É-GAL ki È-ni)69 et des unités décrites comme les « troupes du roi » (lùERÍNmeš LUGAL šá EN-NUNmeš) ; un conflit qui, soit, perdura jusqu’en 234, soit éclata à nouveau en cette année, car un autre fragment des « journaux astronomiques » nous informe sur des affrontements avec des unités militaires stationnées dans le palais et s’étant révoltées contre Séleucos II (É-GAL šá ana ISe-lu-ku LUGAL ik-kir […]).70 Malheureusement, il n’apparaît pas clairement que l’une de ces unités puisse éventuellement avoir une assise locale ou être liée aux mercenaires attestés à une date incertaine à Babylone à travers un ostrakon.71 En 178 finalement, les « journaux » attestent de la visite officielle du strategos de Babylonie (lúGAL ERÍN-KUR-URIki) à Babylone72 ; strategos mentionné de nouveau dans un fragment de 17673 et en 171, où une nouvelle visite à Babylon est mentionnée.74 Les autres textes historiques cunéiformes ne sont guère plus concluants. Ainsi, la « chronique des diadoques »75 fait référence à une collecte d’argent organisée par Séleucos I en 318/7 alors qu’il était satrape de Babylonie, et le texte fragmentaire semble suggérer que cet argent était destiné au paiement de troupes désignées comme « les troupes d’Akkad » (lúERÍN KUR URI.KI),76 mais le terme est ambigu et peut évidemment signifier aussi les troupes grécomacédoniennes. L’entrée concernant l’an 317/6 atteste ensuite des affrontements entre les « troupes du roi » (lúERÍN.MEŠ LUGAL77) et les unités de Séleucos I pour le contrôle du palais de Babylone ; probablement dans le contexte de rivalité entre Séleucos et Euménès décrit aussi chez Diodore78 ; malheureusement, l’appartenance ethnique des uns tout comme des autres n’est pas spécifiée. La description de la « Guerre de Babylonie » entre Séleucos et 69

AD -237, Obv., l. 13. AD -234, Obv., l. 13. 71 Ostrakon AA 1941, 815 n° 1. 72 AD -178, Rev., l. 18–22. 73 AD -176, Rev., l. 5. 74 AD -171, Rev., l. 1–8. 75 BCHP 3. 76 BCHP 3, Obv., col. I, l. 30–31. 77 BCHP 3, Obv., col. I, l. 33. 78 DIOD. SIC. 18.73 et 19.12–13. 70

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Antigone qui suit dans la même chronique79 montre bien les grandes difficultés que devaient traverser les habitants de Babylone face aux nombreuses actions guerrières se passant dans et autour de la ville, mais ne mentionne pas une implication indigène dans les affrontements. Une ambiguïté similaire émerge aussi d’une chronique judiciaire traitant d’événements survenus en 27880 : selon le scribe, un vol sacrilège aurait été commis par des « hommes babyloniens, des femmes babyloniennes et des soldats… » (lúe.ki.meš sale.ki.meš ù lúerín.meš [šá…81), mais malheureusement, le texte est endommagé juste après ce dernier mot et ne permet pas de connaître l’origine de ces soldats ni leur implication dans les faits narrés. La chronique babylonienne décrivant la Seconde Guerre Syrienne et l’invasion lagide de la Babylonie en 246/582 décrit en détail le siège de Babylone et précise que le commandant du palais ordonna de fermer les portes de la ville, défendue, selon la formule du scribe, par « l’armée du roi qui était dans Babylone » ([lúGAL sik-kat šá ina É.GAL lúERÍN.MEŠ LU]GAL šá ina E.KI la-IGI mPi-x[x]x[(x)]83), suggérant une fois de plus que ces unités n’étaient pas nécessairement d’origine indigène. Néanmoins, il est intéressant de souligner que les troupes lagides sont décrites comme « les troupes des Hanéens », ne croyant pas dans les dieux et habillés de fer ([l]ú[ERÍN.MEŠ KUR] / Ha-ni-i\ [šá l]a a-dir DINGIR.MEŠ šá AN.BAR [giš]TUKUL84) ; un terme généralement utilisé afin de se référer aux troupes macédoniennes. Ainsi, le scribe insiste sur l’étrangeté de l’assaillant, tout en suggérant ainsi que les forces « séleucides » combattent pour les intérêts locaux, c.à.d. babyloniens. Citons finalement un texte de l’an 163, faisant allusion au « gouverneur de Babylone et gens qui sont dans le pays et se battent (lúšá-kin7ulúUN.MEŠ KUR šá ina E.KI L[Ú.NE GAR.MEŠ]85) ; un texte situé dans le contexte de l’installation d’une communauté grecque en tant que politeuma au milieu de la ville de Babylone, mais qui est malheureusement tellement fragmentaire qu’il est difficile d’en tirer plus d’informations. Cela nous mènerait trop loin de discuter ici l’apparition du terme « général au-dessus des quatre généraux » dans la Babylonie tardo-séleucide86 ; mentionnons seulement que l’une des personnes ayant occupé ce poste fut un 79

BCHP 3, Rev., col. IV. BCHP 17. 81 BCHP 17, 1–2. 82 BCHP 11. 83 BCHP 11, Obv., l. 4. 84 BCHP 11, Obv., l. 6. 85 BCHP 14, Obv. l. 7. 86 Concernant l’apparition du « général au-dessus des quatre généraux » vers la fin de l’époque séleucide (AD -140 A rev. 7–8 : An-ti-’u-uk-su A šá Ar-’a-a-Bu-Zan-na-a LUGAL […] | […] KUR Aš-šurki šá ina IGI-ma? Ar-šá-ka-a LUGAL.), cf. MITSUMA (2007) et l’article de Gillian RAMSEY dans ce volume. 80

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certain « Ar-da-a-a », actif sous Démétrios II en 145,87 et dont le nom a été interprété comme dérivant de Arad-Šamaš88 (nom attesté à l’époque néobabylonienne et achéménide).89 Néanmoins, l’éventuelle existence d’un haut fonctionnaire militaire d’origine mésopotamienne à l’époque séleucide dépasse le cadre restreint de cette étude portant plutôt sur des contingents plus larges, et nous devons également signaler la possibilité de voir dans « Ardaya » un équivalent du nom « Ardys », bien attesté dans la prosopographie séleucide et aux origines (iranienne ou micrasienne ?) débattues.90 En ce qui concerne finalement les textes purement juridiques, nous voyons que, du moins dans les premières décennies de l’époque séleucide, les fiefs militaires continuent d’être attestés, comme l’a analysé Van der Spek, mais sans mention concrète de soldats, de telle manière que ces passage n’attestent pas de la continuité du système de recrutement, mais seulement de celle d’un certain type de bail.91 Dès lors, le constat basé sur les sources cunéiformes est légèrement plus positif que celui tiré des sources grecques et latines, mais le problème principal semble persister.

6. Conclusion : deux hypothèses. L’absence curieuse de soldats clairement identifiables comme d’origine babylonienne dans les armées séleucides est d’autant plus curieuse si l’on considère que la Babylonie n’était pas, comme la Carmanie ou la Gédrosie, une province reculée et peu peuplée, mais au contraire, le véritable noyau économique et démographique de l’empire. En effet, en tout cas si l’on accorde foi aux estimations statistiques basées sur des surveys archéologiques, des considérations agronomiques tout comme sur des sources littéraires, la Mésopotamie (avec la Susiane, mais non l’Élam) semble avoir été peuplée d’environ 4 à 5 millions d’habitants à l’époque séleucide,92 alors que la Syrie septentrionale avec la Cilicie ne comptait que 1,5 à 3 millions de personnes, les Satrapies Supérieurs entre 5,5 et 7 millions, et l’Asie Mineure entre 3 et 4 millions. Ces chiffres sont évidemment à prendre avec beaucoup de prudence ; néanmoins, ils permettent d’établir les vagues contours de ce qui aurait pu être

87

AD -144 obv. 36–37 : lA]r-da-a-a luGAL ERÍNmeš KUR URIki. NCBT 1241 = BEAULIEU (1991), p. 67 n. 23 ; voir aussi KESSLER (1999), p. 178. 89 Cf. l’article de Gillian RAMSEY dans ce volume. 90 Cf. COùKUN (2016). 91 Surtout BRM 2,29 (216/5 av.J.-Chr.) ou TCL 13,242 (213/2 av. J.-Chr.). Voir en général JOANNES (1982), p. 42–43 ; VAN DER SPEK (1986), p. 105–109 ; KESSLER (1999), p. 129–130. 92 APERGHIS (2004), p. 35–58 88

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la proportion entre les différents groupes de population vivant au sein de l’empire séleucide, laissant ainsi supposer que la Babylonie devait représenter plus ou moins un quart de la population globale de cet État hellénistique. Cette estimation est d’ailleurs, dans une certaine mesure, confirmée par les proportions mentionnées dans les listes énumérant les tributs payés par chaque satrapie à l’ancien empire achéménide : la Mésopotamie représentait, avec 1.150 talents, environ un quart du tribut global de 4.370 que percevait annuellement le roi des rois.93 Dès lors, la supposition que la Babylonie comptait plus ou moins un quart de la population de l’empire séleucide dans son ensemble ne semble pas totalement dénuée de sens, ce qui devrait pousser à la conclusion que ce territoire, avec son peuplement dense et sa situation stratégique au cœur de l’empire et donc à égale distance de toutes ses frontières, aurait dû constituer un terrain de recrutement privilégié pour les armées royales. L’apparente décision, de surcroît par une monarchie essentiellement axée sur l’expansion, de ne pas utiliser cet énorme réservoir de soldats devait donc être le fruit d’une analyse très précise de la situation globale de l’empire, dont les raisons sont élusives. Face à ce dilemme, qui semble d’autant plus important qu’il ne semble pas y avoir eu de dissensions fondamentales entre les Séleucides et leurs citoyens babyloniens,94 contrairement, par exemple, aux relations tendues avec les Judéens dès le règne d’Antiochos IV, il y a quatre hypothèses, dont les deux premières semblent pouvoir être mises de côté assez rapidement. La première, défendue essentiellement par Kessler, se focalise sur la situation à l’époque néo-babylonienne et achéménide, où le recrutement à la fois des indigènes et des « colons » militaires eut tendance à être remplacé par le paiement d’une indemnité au trésor royal, permettant ainsi l’engagement de mercenaires. Néanmoins, cette approche se heurte à plusieurs obstacles. Premièrement, la libération du service militaire par le paiement d’une indemnité, pratiquée jusqu’au 19e siècle, ne fut guère une spécificité purement babylonienne et a pu exister dans d’autres régions de l’empire, sans avoir eu pourtant des conséquences similaires. Deuxièmement, cette solution impliquerait une dépendance du mercenariat qui semble quelque peu en désaccord avec la composition volontairement hétérogène des armées séleucides, où le nombre de mercenaires reste, somme toute, relativement restreint, et ceci même dans les grands affrontements contre les Lagides, quand la proximité géographique avec la Babylonie eut dû porter tout naturellement 93

Voir HDT. 3.88ff. ; concernant le contexte, voir ROLLINGER et al. (2008). MEHL (1999), p. 31 : « Diese Gründe kennen wir allerdings nicht, so daß man nur Vermutungen anstellen kann: Tiefgreifende und anhaltende Spannungen zwischen den Seleukidenkönigen und ihren syrischen und babylonisch-mesopotamischen Untertanen hat es jedenfalls nicht gegeben. » 94

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les souverains séleucides à exploiter plutôt ce terroir de recrutement facile au lieu de convoquer des unités venant même de la lointaine Bactriane. Troisièmement, comme nous l’avons vu au début, la présence de contingents militaires représentant toutes les régions d’un empire ne fut pas seulement le résultat d’une volonté de diversification stratégique, mais aussi d’une longue tradition idéologique. L’armée du Grand Roi achéménide, tout comme celle du Grand Roi séleucide, n’était pas seulement un outil de guerre, mais aussi de communication, et était autant destinée à impressionner l’ennemi par sa diversité que les soldats eux-mêmes (tout en diminuant le potentiel de révoltes dans les contrées dont le potentiel militaire était engagé dans l’armée du roi). Que l’on n’ait songé à intégrer, au moins pour des raisons purement idéologiques, quelques unités de Babylonie, pourtant le centre économique et politique de l’immense empire, semble être une décision trop flagrante et excentrique pour simplement émaner d’une contrainte fiscale. Les Babyloniens, tout comme les Syriens, étaient-ils particulièrement inaptes au service militaire, comme on a pu le lire ?95 Déjà Bar Kochva doutait de cette deuxième hypothèse,96 et même si les prédispositions peu guerrières des Babyloniens étaient avérées, les Séleucides n’auraient pas raté l’occasion de se servir au moins d’un contingent de pure représentation. Dès lors, seules deux hypothèses ultérieures semblent émerger, et bien qu’il soit difficile de choisir parmi celles-ci dans l’état actuel de nos connaissances, elles devraient toutes les deux affecter de manière significative notre vision de l’empire séleucide. La troisième hypothèse, favorisée également par Bar Kochva dans la seule phrase qu’il dédie à ce sujet dans son étude fondamentale sur les armées séleucides,97 est celle que les Séleucides s’abstenaient volontairement de recruter des nombres plus importants de soldats babyloniens parce qu’ils craignaient que les indigènes, une fois armés et entrainés comme des Macédoniens, pourraient un jour retourner les armes contre leurs souverains et éjecter les Grecs et Macédoniens de leur pays ; une situation postulée par Polybe pour l’empire lagide, où les phalangistes égyptiens, après la bataille de Raphia, 95 LAUNEY (1949), p. 536 (mais parlant ici des Syriens) : « Le métier militaire a peu d’attraits pour une race dont la mollesse efféminée est proverbiale. » Pour la Babylonie, voir p. 582–583, sans veritable reconnaissance du problème. Sources : LIV. 35.49.8 ; 36.17.5 ; PLUT., Moral. 197c ; PLUT., Flam. 17.5. Voir en general sur le contexte EDDY (1961), p. 105–106. 96 BAR KOCHVA (1976), p. 52: « The current explanation, based on some ancient comments originating in Roman circles, that the Syrians and Mesopotamians were effeminate and ‘soft’, certainly has no substance. Roman propaganda should not obscure the long military traditions of these people. » 97 BAR KOCHVA (1976), p. 52 : « Considerations of Seleucid internal politics are more acceptable reasons: arming the indigenous peoples at the nerve-centre of the empire and developing their military potential was too risky an undertaking. »

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étaient supposés être au cœur des révoltes des pharaons rivaux Hérouennéfer et Ankhmakis menant à 20 années de guerre interne (205–186) : D’autre part, Ptolémée (V), tout de suite après, eut à soutenir une guerre contre les Égyptiens. Ce roi, en armant les Égyptiens en vue de la guerre contre Antiochus, avait pris une décision acceptable pour le moment, mais il avait mal calculé l’avenir : car, enorgueillis par leur succès à Raphia, ils ne pouvaient plus supporter l’autorité et ils cherchaient un chef et une personnalité, se croyant capables de se suffire à euxmêmes. Et c’est ce qu’ils finirent par faire peu de temps après.98

Cela dépasserait le cadre de cette étude de discuter plus en détail des nombreux problèmes de ce passage, car du moins sous Ptolémée Ier, des contingents égyptiens sont bien attestés dans l’armée lagide99 (bien que non nécessairement dans la phalange), de telle manière que l’analyse de Polybe ne semble pas correspondre tout à fait à la réalité. Néanmoins, le témoignage de Polybe en tant que tel est déjà hautement intéressant, car si un contemporain des faits comme l’historien achéen avec ses nombreuses connaissances politiques a cru bon de développer une telle analyse du danger que constituerait le recrutement de troupes indigènes pour les monarchies hellénistiques orientales, d’autres ont dû faire de même. Ceci dit, dans l’hypothèse où les Séleucides auraient adopté une politique inspirée de ce point de vue, se poserait alors la question intéressante de savoir pourquoi les Séleucides, pourtant largement appréciés par la population babylonienne et jouant fidèlement le rôle de « rois de Babylone » lors des diverses cérémonies religieuses du calendrier mésopotamien,100 se méfiaient tant de leurs sujets entre l’Euphrate et le Tigre, alors qu’ils enrôlaient des nombres croissants d’Iraniens dans leurs armées, dont la loyauté pouvait pourtant être mis en doute de manière beaucoup plus forte, si l’on compare l’accueil relativement passif que la population babylonienne semble avoir 98 POLYB. 5.107.1–3 (trad. P. PÉDECH, CUF) : ȆIJȠȜİȝĮȓ૳ Ȗİ ȝ੽Ȟ İ੝șȑȦȢ ਕʌઁ IJȠȪIJȦȞ IJ૵Ȟ țĮȚȡ૵Ȟ ıȣȞȑȕĮȚȞİ ȖȓȞİıșĮȚ IJઁȞ ʌȡઁȢ IJȠઃȢ ǹੁȖȣʌIJȓȠȣȢ ʌȩȜİȝȠȞ. ੒ Ȗ੹ȡ ʌȡȠİȚȡȘȝȑȞȠȢ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ țĮșȠʌȜȓıĮȢ IJȠઃȢ ǹੁȖȣʌIJȓȠȣȢ ਥʌ੿ IJઁȞ ʌȡઁȢ ਝȞIJȓȠȤȠȞ ʌȩȜİȝȠȞ ʌȡઁȢ ȝ੻Ȟ IJઁ ʌĮȡઁȞ ਥȞįİȤȠȝȑȞȦȢ ਥȕȠȣȜİȪıĮIJȠ, IJȠ૨ į੻ ȝȑȜȜȠȞIJȠȢ ਱ıIJȩȤȘıİ: ijȡȠȞȘȝĮIJȚıșȑȞIJİȢ Ȗ੹ȡ ਥț IJȠ૨ ʌİȡ੿ ૮ĮijȓĮȞ ʌȡȠIJİȡȒȝĮIJȠȢ, Ƞ੝țȑIJȚ IJઁ ʌȡȠıIJĮIJIJȩȝİȞȠȞ ȠੈȠȓ IJૃ ਷ıĮȞ ਫ਼ʌȠȝȑȞİȚȞ, ਕȜȜૃ ਥȗȒIJȠȣȞ ਲȖİȝȩȞĮ țĮ੿ ʌȡȩıȦʌȠȞ, ੪Ȣ ੂțĮȞȠ੿ ȕȠȘșİ૙Ȟ ੕ȞIJİȢ Įਫ਼IJȠ૙Ȣ. ੔ țĮ੿ IJȑȜȠȢ ਥʌȠȓȘıĮȞ Ƞ੝ ȝİIJ੹ ʌȠȜઃȞ ȤȡȩȞȠȞ. 99 Cf. p.ex. DIOD. SIC. 19.80.4 : ıȣȞĮȖĮȖઅȞ Ƞ੣Ȟ ʌĮȞIJĮȤȩșİȞ IJ੹Ȣ įȣȞȐȝİȚȢ ਕȞȑȗİȣȟİȞ ਕʌઁ ਝȜİȟĮȞįȡİȓĮȢ İੁȢ ȆȘȜȠȪıȚȠȞ, ਩ȤȦȞ ʌİȗȠઃȢ ȝ੻Ȟ ȝȣȡȓȠȣȢ ੑțIJĮțȚıȤȚȜȓȠȣȢ, ੂʌʌİ૙Ȣ į੻ IJİIJȡĮțȚıȤȚȜȓȠȣȢ, ੰȞ ਷ıĮȞ Ƞੂ ȝ੻Ȟ ȂĮțİįȩȞİȢ, Ƞੂ į੻ ȝȚıșȠijȩȡȠȚ, ǹੁȖȣʌIJȓȦȞ į੻ ʌȜોșȠȢ, IJઁ ȝ੻Ȟ țȠȝȓȗȠȞ ȕȑȜȘ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ਙȜȜȘȞ ʌĮȡĮıțİȣȒȞ, IJઁ į੻ țĮșȦʌȜȚıȝȑȞȠȞ țĮ੿ ʌȡઁȢ ȝȐȤȘȞ ȤȡȒıȚȝȠȞ. (trad. Fr. BIZIÈRE, CUF : Après avoir, donc, rappelé ses troupes de partout, il [i.e. Ptolémée Ier] quitta Alexandrie pour Péluse avec dix-huit mille fantassins et quatre mille cavaliers. Il y avait là des Macédoniens, des mercenaires, et un grand nombre d’Égyptiens, les uns transportant des armes de jet et les autres équipements, les autres étant armés et pouvant participer au combat.) 100 Sur la royauté babylonienne des Séleucides, voir maintenant STROOTMAN (2013) avec littérature.

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réservé à Alexandre le Grand101 avec la résistance acharnée des Satrapies Supérieures à la conquête macédonienne,102 et si l’on considère que les Babyloniens, finalement, ne faisaient que changer de maître, alors que les Iraniens perdaient leur domination impériale.103 Dès lors, si l’on veut maintenir l’hypothèse d’un manque de confiance en la Babylonie, force est de concéder que les Séleucides devaient justement moins douter de la loyauté des Iraniens que de celle des Babyloniens, ce qui irait dans le sens d’un certain nombre de recherches récentes mettant en avant l’ancrage profondément « iranien » de la dynastie séleucide, elle-même d’ailleurs semiiranienne depuis l’avènement d’Antiochos Ier.104 La présence régulière, côte à côte, de soldats grecs et de soldats iraniens, telle que non seulement nos listes historiographiques l’attestent, mais aussi une foule d’autres témoignages littéraires et épigraphiques,105 serait donc, en quelque sorte, un indice supplémentaire que l’empire séleucide, un peu à l’image du dualisme austrohongrois, aurait été structuré comme un genre de dyarchie, où Grecs et Iraniens se partageraient la gestion du pouvoir, tout en écartant la population indigène babylonienne afin de ne pas mettre en péril le bon fonctionnement du noyau économique et donc fiscal de l’empire. La quatrième hypothèse expliquant l’apparent écartement des Babyloniens des armées séleucides impliquerait le contraire exact de la précédente, et a été amenée par Billows.106 En effet, si l’on pense à nouveau aux listes décrivant la composition des effectifs séleucides, force est de constater que non seulement les Babyloniens, mais aussi les Syriens manquent généralement à l’appel, comme souligné déjà par Bar Kochva.107 Ce dernier fait est généralement expliqué par l’argument que ces derniers, largement identiques aux colons gréco-macédoniens installés par Antigone et les Séleucides, devaient constituer le gros des unités d’infanterie lourde et qu’il allait de soi que les phalanges se recrutaient parmi ce que Briant a nommé l’« ethno-classe dominante », donc les habitants hellénophones de Syrie. Mais alors, l’on pourrait avancer l’hypothèse que le même argument pourrait également expliquer l’absence des Babyloniens, ce qui changerait évidemment totalement notre perspective sur le statut de la Babylonie séleucide. Ainsi, au lieu d’être une région consciemment 101

Sur Alexandre le Grand et la Babylonie, voir p.ex. HORNIG (2014). Sur la difficulté de la conquête des Hautes Satrapies par Alexandre (et Séleucos), voir ENGELS (2017), p. 104–114. 103 Sur ce point non sans importance, voir ENGELS (2017), p. 485–516. 104 Sur les Séleucides et l’Iran, voir supra. 105 Pour une liste de l’implication iranienne dans les armées séleucides, voir ENGELS (2017), p. 247–256. 106 BILLOWS (1995), p. 157. 107 BAR KOCHVA (1976), p. 52 : « The striking absentees from the three great performances of the Seleucid army are the people of Mesopotamia and Syria. » 102

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démilitarisée par des Séleucides préférant de se partager pouvoir et richesses avec les Iraniens, la Babylonie deviendrait subitement une terre de recrutement se trouvant sur le même pied que la Syrie, et non pas exclue des armées, mais fournissant, au contraire, ses forces d’élite, c.à.d. les phalangistes de l’infanterie lourde. Il y a d’ailleurs une série d’indices allant dans ce sens : rien que dans le 19e livre de Diodore, traitant des guerres des diadoques, l’historien mentionne à quatre reprises des troupes indigènes décrites comme « armées à la macédonienne ».108 De plus, lors de sa description de la bataille de Raphia, Polybe précise que les 10.000 argyraspides armés à la macédonienne furent recrutés de toutes les parties de l’empire.109 Or, si cela fut pratiqué pour les forces d’élite, il est peu probable qu’on n’ait pas pu procéder de manière similaire pour les phalangistes communs. Dès lors, les argyraspides de Raphia ne représenteraient pas une exception, mais la règle, et nous pouvons supposer que, depuis la première armée improvisée de Séleucos jusque dans les dernières années du pouvoir séleucide en Babylonie, l’apparente absence de contingents de soldats babyloniens renverrait simplement au fait que ceux-ci étaient recrutés, à titre égal avec les Grecs et Macédoniens installés plus tard en Syrie, dans la phalange. 108 DIOD. SIC. 19.14.5 : İੇȤİ į੻ IJȩIJİ ȆȑȡıĮȢ IJȠȟȩIJĮȢ ȝ੻Ȟ țĮ੿ ıijİȞįȠȞȒIJĮȢ ȝȣȡȓȠȣȢ, IJȠઃȢ į੻ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȂĮțİįȠȞȚț੽Ȟ IJȐȟȚȞ țĮșȦʌȜȚıȝȑȞȠȣȢ ʌĮȞIJȠįĮʌȠઃȢ IJȡȚıȤȚȜȓȠȣȢ, ੂʌʌİ૙Ȣ įૃ ਰȜȜȘȞĮȢ ȝ੻Ȟ țĮ੿ ĬȡઽțĮȢ ਦȟĮțȠıȓȠȣȢ, ȆȑȡıĮȢ į੻ ʌȜİȓȠȣȢ IJ૵Ȟ IJİIJȡĮțȠıȓȦȞ. (trad. Fr. BIZIÈRE, CUF : Peucestas avait présentement avec lui dix mille archers et frondeurs perses, trois mille hommes d’origines diverses équipés à la macédonienne et, comme cavaliers, six cents Grecs et Thraces, sans comptes plus de quatre cents Perses.) 19.27.6 : IJȠ૨IJȠȞ į੻ IJઁȞ IJȡȩʌȠȞ ੑȤȣȡȦıȐȝİȞȠȢ IJઁ ȜĮȚઁȞ țȑȡĮȢ ıȣȞોȥİȞ Į੝IJ૶ IJ੽Ȟ ijȐȜĮȖȖĮ. IJĮȪIJȘȢ į੻ IJઁ ਙțȡȠȞ ਥʌİ૙ȤȠȞ Ƞੂ ȟȑȞȠȚ, ʌȜİȓȠȣȢ ੕ȞIJİȢ IJ૵Ȟ ਦȟĮțȚıȤȚȜȓȦȞ, IJઁ įૃ ਦȟોȢ Ƞੂ țĮșȦʌȜȚıȝȑȞȠȚ ȝ੻Ȟ İੁȢ IJ੹ ȂĮțİįȠȞȚțȐ, ʌĮȞIJȠįĮʌȠ੿ įૃ ੕ȞIJİȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਩șȞİıȚȞ, İੁıʌİȞIJĮțȚıȤȚȜȓȠȣȢ. (À côté de l’aile gauche ainsi renforcée, il [i.e. Eumène] disposa la phalange. Six mille mercenaires en occupaient l’extrémité, puis venaient cinq mille hommes environ, armés à la macédonienne, mais originaires de tous pays.) 19.29.3 : […] ȁȪțȚȠȚ țĮ੿ ȆĮȝijȪȜȚȠȚ IJȡȚıȤȓȜȚȠȚ, ʌĮȞIJȠįĮʌȠ੿ įૃ İੁȢ IJ੹ ȂĮțİįȠȞȚț੹ țĮșȦʌȜȚıȝȑȞȠȚ ʌȜİȓȠȣȢ IJ૵Ȟ ੑțIJĮțȚıȤȚȜȓȦȞ, ਥʌ੿ ʌ઼ıȚ į੻ ȂĮțİįȩȞİȢ Ƞ੝ ʌȠȜઃ ਥȜȐIJIJȠȣȢ IJ૵Ȟ ੑțIJĮțȚıȤȚȜȓȦȞ […] ([L’armée d’Antigone:] […] trois mille Lyciens et Pamphyliens, plus de huit mille soldats de toute origine armés à la macédonienne, et, pour finir, à peu près huit mille Macédoniens […]) 19.40.3 : ȝ੻Ȟ ਩IJĮȟİ IJȠઃȢ ਫ਼ʌĮıʌȚıIJȐȢ, İੇIJĮ IJȠઃȢ ਕȡȖȣȡȐıʌȚįĮȢ, ਥʌ੿ ʌ઼ıȚ į੻ IJȠઃȢ ȟȑȞȠȣȢ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ਙȜȜȦȞ IJȠઃȢ İੁȢ IJ੹ ȂĮțİįȠȞȚț੹ țĮșȦʌȜȚıȝȑȞȠȣȢ. (Parmi les fantassins, il [i.e. Eumène] rangea d’abord les hypaspistes, puis les Argyraspides, enfin les mercenaires et ceux des autres soldats, qui étaient armés à la macédonienne.) 109 POLYB. 5.79.4 : ਥț ʌȐıȘȢ ਥțȜİȜİȖȝȑȞȠȚ IJોȢ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȢ. Il faut se garder de présumer que Tite-Live cible la même réalité quand il précise que les 16.000 phalangistes séleucides de la bataille Magnésie ayant été more Macedonum armati (37.40). Certes, dans la mesure où Tite-Live dépend ici probablement de Polybe, il est fort probable que la signification soit la même ; néanmoins, dans l’interprétation que dut en faire Tite-Live, le Macedonum more devait indiquer surtout que les phalangistes n’étaient pas des « vrais » Macédoniens, mais seulement des « Syriens ».

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Les conséquences d’une telle hypothèse seraient lourdes pour notre vision de l’empire séleucide, car l’on devrait désormais attribuer aux Séleucides non seulement une politique de recrutement radicalement opposée à celle que Polybe associa aux Lagides, mais aussi une vision bien différente de l’identité culturelle de leur immense empire. Au lieu de ségréger les populations en tentant de maintenir la supériorité militaire de l’ethnie gréco-macédonienne, les Séleucides auraient, au contraire, dissocié largement provenance culturelle et service militaire et auraient systématiquement équipé les Babyloniens avec des armements typiquement grecs. Tout comme la troisième, cette quatrième hypothèse pose donc un certain nombre de questions. En effet, pourquoi recruter essentiellement des Babyloniens et non aussi d’autres peuples impériaux dans la phalange, vu que ceux-ci conservent leurs unités traditionnelles ? Nous pourrions renvoyer d’un côté au fait que les Babyloniens, contrairement aux Iraniens, avaient peu de prédispositions culturelles à servir dans la cavalerie lourde, traditionnellement populaire en Iran, et se prêtaient donc surtout au rôle de fantassins. De plus, la phalange étant le cœur de l’armée hellénistique, il dût sembler naturel de la recruter dans les régions situées au centre-même de l’empire afin de garantir un accès durable à ce genre de fantassins et de pouvoir les transférer avec une relative économie de moyens vers les divers champs de bataille périphériques, surtout la frontière avec l’empire ptolémaïque. Ceci expliquerait aussi pourquoi les régions potentiellement les plus impliquées dans le recrutement de l’infanterie lourde séleucide ne sont pas présentes dans nos listes, alors que d’autres régions, pourtant fortement hellénisées comme la Phrygie, la Lydie ou la Cilicie, se trouvent régulièrement mentionnés explicitement : les soldats ne faisaient pas partie du terrain de recrutement traditionnel de la phalange principale, contrairement à la Syrie et la Babylonie, et étaient donc mentionnés séparément. Mais alors, si les soldats d’origine babylonienne étaient si nombreux, pourquoi n’apparaissent-ils pas ou seulement de manière si périphérique dans la prosopographie de nos sources cunéiformes ? D’abord, il faut bien préciser que, même à l’époque achéménide, les sources cunéiformes conservées traitent essentiellement d’affaires privées et ne permettent qu’une vue très limitée des réalités militaires. En outre, l’on pourrait considérer que le service militaire de non-Grecs dans la phalange professionnelle pouvait impliquer plus ou moins automatiquement l’accès à la citoyenneté dans l’une des colonies grecques soit après le service, soit, par le système du colonat militaire bien attesté en Syrie séleucide, pendant le service110 ; une hypothèse d’autant plus probable si l’on se souvient du fait que les colonies séleucides furent, depuis le début, peuplées de

110 Concernant la colonisation séleucide, cf. COHEN (1978) ; GRAINGER (1990) ; MILETA (2008).

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groupes ethniques très divers111, de telle manière que l’inclusion de soldats phalangistes d’origine babylonienne ne devait poser aucun problème. La naturalisation de soldats « orientaux » dans des cités de statut grec devait d’ailleurs être assez courante dans l’empire séleucide, comme l’implique, en 244, l’accord de la citoyenneté de Magnésie à un contingent de soldats persans placés sous le commandement d’un officier également iranien, Omanès : Omanès, et les Perses sous Omanès, et les hommes envoyés de Smyrne afin de garder la citadelle, Ménécles et ceux sous son commandement devront recevoir la citoyenneté et les autres privilèges qui ont été votés au profit des autres par Magnésie, et le peuple veillera qu’ils recevront de la part du trésor royal leurs rations et leur solde et tout ce qui leur est normalement dû de la part du trésor.112

L’accès à la citoyenneté aura probablement été lié à l’adoption d’un nom grec, ce qui est d’autant plus probable qu’en Babylonie, de nombreux personnages appartenant à l’élite portaient des doubles noms (babyloniens et grecs), comme par exemple le célèbre Anu-Uballit Kephalon ou – l’on notera la consonance – Aristeas-Ardibelteios,113 expliquant dès lors facilement la « disparition » de ces soldats de notre évidence onomastique babylonienne.114 Nous pouvons d’ailleurs supposer que ce système, bien connu aussi en Égypte ptolémaïque,115 dut également être courant dans d’autres régions du vaste royaume séleucide, même en Iran, dont la relative pauvreté des registres onomastiques est essentiellement due à l’absence d’une tradition épigraphique ou archivistique durable, comme le démontre la récente découverte des riches archives tardoachéménides et alexandrins Khalili, écrites sur du cuir.116 Ainsi, nous savons que même les souverains séleucides portaient, à la naissance, des noms iraniens comme « Mithradates » ou « Ardys » (ce dernier peut-être même d’origine micrasiatique) en adoptant, lors de l’accession au trône, des noms dynastiques comme Antiochos,117 et il est plus que probable que les sujets iraniens, du moins ceux de l’élite, adoptèrent des comportements similaires. 111 Sur la nature composite de la colonisation séleucide, cf. maintenant ENGELS (2017), p. 157–212. 112 I. Magnesia-Sipylos 1 (= OGIS 229 = AUSTIN 1981, 182) : ਫ਼ʌ੺ȡȤİȚȞ į੻ țĮ੿ ੱȝ੺ȞİȚ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ Ȇ੼ȡıĮȚȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਫ਼ʌઁ ੱȝ੺ȞȘȞ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਕʌઁ Ȉȝ઄ȡȞȘȢ ਕʌȠıIJĮȜİ૙ıȚȞ ਥʌ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ijȣȜĮț੽Ȟ IJȠ૨ ȤȦȡ઀Ƞȣ, ȂİȞİțȜİ૙ IJİ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਫ਼ʌ’ Į੝IJઁȞ IJĮııȠȝ੼ȞȠȚȢ, IJ੾Ȟ IJİ ʌȠȜȚIJİ઀Į[Ȟ] țĮ੿ IJਛȜȜĮ ijȚȜ੺ȞșȡȦʌĮ ਘ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਙȜȜȠȚȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਥț ȂĮȖȞȘı઀ĮȢ ਥȥ੾ijȚıIJĮȚ, ț[Į੿] ʌȡȠȞȠોıĮȚ IJઁȞ įોȝȠȞ ੖ʌȦȢ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ įȚį૵IJĮȚ ਥț ȕĮıȚȜȚțȠ૨ IJ੺ IJİ ȝİIJȡ੾ȝĮIJĮ țĮ੿ IJ੹ ੖ȥઆȞȚĮ IJਛȜȜĮ ੖ıĮ İੁઆșİȚ ਥț ȕĮıȚȜȚțȠ૨ į઀įȠıșĮȚ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ. Cf. also GRAINGER (1997), s.v. Omanes. 113 Concernant les doubles noms en Babylonie séleucide, cf. SHERWIN-WHITE (1983) ; sur le contexte général, cf. aussi SARTRE (2007). 114 Cela pose la question de l’utilisation du patronyme et nécessiterait évidemment une analyse détaillée de l’onomastique des soldats « grecs » des Séleucides. 115 Sur l’utilisation des noms doubles en Égypte, cf. maintenant BROUX (2015). 116 Concernant les archives Khalili, cf. NAVEH / SHAKED (2006). 117 Sur le problème d’identification des généraux Ardys et Mithridate, cf. maintenant COùKUN (2016) et la contribution de Ben SCOLNIC dans ce volume.

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Dès lors, comme conclusion, l’on pourrait avancer que l’absence de soldats identifiables comme étant d’origine babylonienne reflète soit l’exclusion de la Babylonie comme terre de recrutement, trahissant ainsi une profonde méfiance des Séleucides face à ce noyau dur de leur empire, pourtant impeccablement loyal à travers les siècles, soit, tout au contraire, l’inclusion systématique des Babyloniens dans l’unité la plus prestigieuse des armées hellénistiques, la phalange macédonienne, ce qui, une fois de plus, contredirait toutes les vieilles thèses sur le prétendu régime colonialiste et ségrégationniste de l’empire séleucide.118 En vue des dernières recherches sur l’ouverture exceptionnelle des Séleucides face à ceux qui ont longtemps été considérés comme leurs ennemis héréditaires, les Perses en particulier et les Iraniens en général, nous serions tentés de souscrire à la seconde hypothèse. Dans ce cas, au fond, T. Quinctius Flamininus aurait eu tout faux : au lieu d’assumer que les citoyens grécomacédoniens de Syrie se seraient déguisés en peuples orientaux afin d’impressionner leurs ennemis, cela aurait justement été les Orientaux comme les Babyloniens qui auraient assumé la fonction de phalangistes grécomacédoniens…

Bibliographie APERGHIS, G.G. (2004), The Seleukid Royal Economy. The Finances and Financial Administration of the Seleukid Empire, Cambridge. BADIAN, E. (1958), Rome and Antiochus the Great. A Study in Cold War, in CPh 54, p. 9–99. BAR KOCHVA, B. (1976), The Seleucid Army. Organization and Tactics in the Great Campaigns, Cambridge. BEAULIEU, P.-A. (1991), Neo-Babylonian Larsa: A Preliminary Study, in Orientalia n.s. 60.2, p. 58–81. BERVE, H. (1990), Das Alexanderreich auf prosopographischer Grundlage, 2 vols., München. BICKERMAN, E.J. (1938), Institutions des Séleucides, Paris. BILLOWS, R.A. (1995), Kings and Colonists: Aspects of Macedonian Imperialism, Leiden. BOIY, T. (2004), Late Achaemenid and Hellenistic Babylon, Leuven / Paris / Dudley. – (2007), Between High and Low: a Chronology of the Early Hellenistic Period, Frankfurt a.M. BOSWORTH, A.B. (1980), Alexander and the Iranians, in JHS 100, p. 1–21. BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ, A. (1913–1914), Histoire des Séleucides (232–64 avant J.-C.), 2 vols., Paris. BOWIE, M. (2007), Herodotus: Histories. Book VIII, Cambridge. 118

Concernant le paradigme « colonial », cf. maintenant ENGELS (2017), p. 485–516.

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BRIANT, P. (1990), The Seleucid Kingdom, the Achaemenid Empire and the History of the Near East in the First Millennium BC, in P. BILDE et al. (éds.), Religion and Religious Practice I the Seleucid Kingdom, Aarhus, p. 40–65. – (1996), Histoire de l’Empire perse. De Cyrus à Alexandre, Paris. BROSIUS, M. (2003), Alexander and the Persians, in J. ROISMAN (éd.), Brills’ Companion to Alexander the Great, Leiden, p. 169–193. BROUX, Y. (2015), Double Names and Elite Strategy in Roman Egypt, Leuven. CALLIERI, P. (2001), L’Iran nel periodo macedone e seleucide, in P. D’AMORE et al. (éds.), Antica Persia, Roma, p. 101–111. CAPDETREY, L. (2007), Le pouvoir séleucide. Territoire, administration, finances d’un royaume hellénistique (312–129 avant J.C.), Rennes. CARDASCIA, G. (1951), Les Archives de Murašnj, une famille d’hommes d’affaires à l’époque perse (455–403 av. J.-C.), Paris. – (1958), Le fief dans la Babylonie achéménide, in Recueils de la Société Jean-Bodin 1.2, Les liens de vassalité et les immunités, Bruxelles, p. 55–88. – (1978), Armée et fiscalité dans la Babylonie achéménide, in Armées et Fiscalités dans le monde antique, Paris, p. 1–10. COHEN, A. (1978), The Seleucid Colonies, Wiesbaden. COLORU, O. (2009), Da Alessandro a Menandro. Il regno greco di Battriana, Pisa / Roma. COùKUN, A. (2016), Philologische, genealogische und politische Überlegungen zu Ardys und Mithridates, zwei Söhnen des Antichos Megas, in Latomus 75, p. 849–861. DANDAMAYEV, M.A. (1992), Iranians in Achaemenid Babylonia, Costa Mesa. DREYER, B. (2007), Die römische Nobilitätsherrschaft und Antiochos III., Hennef. EDDY, S.K. (1961), The King is Dead. Studies in the Near Eastern Resistance to Hellenism, 334–31 B.C., Lincoln. ENGELS, D. (2017), Benefactors, Kings, Rulers. Studies on the Seleukid Enpire between East and West, Leuven. – / K. ERICKSON (2016), Apama and Stratonike – Marriage and Legitimacy, in A. COSKUN / A. MCAULEY (éds.), Seleukid Royal Women. Creation, Representation and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 39–66. GOUKOWSKY, P. (1981), Un aspect de l’administration d’Alexandre dans les hautessatrapies : la première révolte des colons grecs de Bactriane en 325, in La géographie administrative et politique d’Alexandre à Mahomet, Leiden, p. 7–17. GRAINGER, J.D. (1990), The Cities of Seleucid Syria, Oxford. – (1990), Seleukos Nikator: Constructing a Hellenistic Kingdom, New York. – (2002), The Roman War of Antiochos the Great, Leiden / Boston. HAMILTON, J.R. (1987), Alexander’s Iranian Policy, in W. WILL / J. HEINRICHS (éds.), Zu Alexander dem Großen, Amsterdam. HOFFMANN, F. / SCHMITT, K.S. (éds.) (2014), Orient und Okzident in hellenistischer Zeit, Vaterstetten. HORNIG, K. (2014), Alexander, König der vier Weltgegenden, in HOFFMANN / SCHMIDT (éds.), p. 113–142.

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HOULE, D.J. (2015), Ethnic Constructions on the Seleucid Military, MA Thesis, Waterloo ON. URL: https://uwspace.uwaterloo.ca/handle/10012/9582. JOANNÈS, F. (1982), Textes économiques de la Babylonie récente, Paris. KESSLER, K. (1999), Bemerkungen zum Militärwesen im hellenistischen Babylonien, in Isimu 2, p. 173–182. KOSMIN, P.J. (2014), The Land of the Elephant Kings: Space, Territory, and Ideology in the Seleucid Empire, Cambridge, Mass. KUHRT, A. (1990), Alexander and Babylon, in H. SANCISI-WEERDENBURG et al. (éds.), Achaemenid History 5, Leiden, p. 121–130. LAUNEY, M., Recherches sur les armées hellénistiques, Paris, vol. I, 1949. LIAGRE BÖHL, F.M.Th. de (1968), Die babylonischen Prätendenten zur Anfangszeit des Darius I, in Bibliotheca Orientalis 25, p. 150–53. MA, J. (1999), Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. MACGINNIS, J. (2010), The Role of Babylonian Temples in Contributing to the Army on the Early Achaemenid Empire, in J. CURTIS / St J. SIMPSON (éds.), The World of Achaemenid Persia, London, p. 495–502. MEHL, A. (1986), Seleukos Nikator und sein Reich. Teil I: Seleukos’ Leben und die Entwicklung seiner Machtposition, Leuven. – (1999), Zwischen West und Ost / Jenseits von West und Ost. Das Reich der Seleukiden, in K. BRODERSEN (éd.), Zwischen West und Ost. Studien zur Geschichte des Seleukidenreichs, Hamburg, p. 9–43. MILETA, Chr. (2008), Der König und sein Land. Untersuchungen zur Herrschaft der hellenistischen Monarchen über das königliche Gebiet Kleinasiens und seine Bevölkerung, Berlin. MITSUMA, Y. (2002), Offices of Generals in Seleucid and Arsakid Babylonia, in Bulletin of the Society for Near Eastern Studies in Japan 45, p. 26–55. – (2007), “The General in Charge of the Four stratƝgiai”?, in NABU 1.9, p. 9–10. NAVEH, J. / SHAKED, Sh. (2006), Ancient Aramaic Documents from Bactria. Studies in the Khalili Collection, Oxford. NEUJAHR, M. (2005), When Darius Defeated Alexander. Composition and Redaction in the Dynastic Prophecy, in JNES 64, p. 101–107. OELSNER, J. (1986), Materialien zur babylonischen Gesellschaft und Kultur in hellenistischer Zeit, Budapest. OLBRYCHT, M.J. (2010), Macedonia and Persia, in J. ROISMAN / I. WORTHINGTON (éds.), A Companion to Ancient Macedonia, Oxford, p. 342–369. PFEILSCHIFTER, R. (2005), Titus Quinctius Flamininus. Untersuchungen zur römischen Griechenlandpolitik, Göttingen. PIRNGRUBER, R. (2017), The Economy of Late Achaemenid and Seleucid Babylonia, Cambridge. PLISCHKE, S. (2014), Die Seleukiden und Iran, Wiesbaden. ROLLINGER, R. et al. (éds.) (2008), Herodot und das Persische Weltreich, Wiesbaden. SALONEN, E. (1975), art. Heer, in Lexikon der Assyriologie 4, p. 244247.

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SARTRE, M. (2007), Le nom ambigu. Les limites de l’identité culturelle dans l’onomastique de la Syrie gréco-romaine, in Old and New Worlds in Greek Onomastics, Oxford, p. 199–232. SCHMITT, H.H. (1964), Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Antiochos des Großen und seiner Zeit, Wiesbaden. SCHOBER, L. (1981), Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Babyloniens und der Oberen Satrapien con 323–303 v.Chr., Frankfurt a.M. / Bern. SEKUNDA, N. (1985), Achaemenid Colonization in Lydia, in RÉA 87, p. 7–30. – (1988), Persian Settlement in Hellespontine Phrygia, in H. SANCISI-WEERDENBURG et al. (éds.), Achaemenid History 3, Leiden, p. 175–196. – (1991), Achaemenid Settlements in Caria, Lycia and Greater Phrygia, in H. SANCISIWEERDENBURG et al. (éds.), Achaemenid History 6, Leiden, p. 83–143. – (1994), Seleucid and Ptolemaic Reformed Armies 168–145 BC, Volume 1: The Seleucid Army, Stockport. SHERWIN-WHITE, S. (1983), Aristeas Ardubeltaios. Some Aspects of the Use of Double Names in Seleucid Babylonia, in ZPE 50, p. 209–221. SHERWIN-WHITE, S. / KUHRT, A. (1993), From Samarkhand to Sardis. A New Approach to the Seleucid Empire, London. STOLPER, M. W. (1985), Entrepreneurs and empire: the Murašnj Archive, the Murašnj Firm, and Persian Rule in Babylonia, Leiden. STROOTMAN, R. (2013), Babylonian, Macedonian, King oft he World. The Antiochos Cylinder from Borsippa and Seleukid Imperial Integration, in E. STRAVIANOPOULOU (éd.), Shifting Social Imagineries in the Hellenistic Period, Leiden / Boston, p. 67–97. TUPLIN, Chr. (1987), The Administration of the Achaemenid Empire, in I. CARRADICE (éd.), Coinage and Administration in the Athenian and Persian Empires, London, p. 109–166. – (2014), The Military Dimension of Hellenistic Kingship: an Achaemenid Inheritance, in HOFFMANN / SCHMITT (éds.), p. 245–276. VAN DER SPEK, B. (1986), Grondbezit in het Seleucidische Rijk, Amsterdam. VAN DRIEL, G. (2002), Elusive Silver. In Search of a Role for a Market in an Agrarian Environment: Aspects of Mesopotamia’s Society, Leiden. WETZEL, F. et al. (1957), Das Babylon der Spätzeit, Berlin. WIESEHÖFER, J. (1994), Die ‚dunklen Jahrhunderte’ der Persis: Untersuchungen zu Geschichte und Kultur von Fars in frühhellenistischer Zeit (330–140 v. Chr.), München. WILL, É. (1972), Rome et les Séleucides, in ANRW I.1, p. 590–632. WOLSKI, J. (1977), L’Iran dans la politique des Séleucides, in AAntHung 25, p. 149–156. WORTHINGTON, I. (2014), By the Spear. Philip II, Alexander the Great, and the Rise and Fall of the Macedonian Empire, Oxford. YADIN, Y. (1963), The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands in the Light of Archaeological Discovery, New York.

Generals and Cities in Late-Seleukid and Early-Parthian Babylonia Gillian RAMSEY

Abstract When Seleukid rule of Babylonia had ended and the original home of the dynasty’s imperial power belonged to the Parthian kings, the structures of day-to-day royal administration remained the same, and Greeks still served in many important government jobs. Babylonian evidence reveals significant continuities of administration in Babylonia during the latter days of the Seleukid rule there and the transition to Parthian control. One key aspect of this governmental system was the authority of the four generals in Babylonia, a group of regional leaders introduced under the later Seleukids and retained by the Parthians. Holders of this title were instrumental during the years of conflict with Elam and Charakene (140–130s BC), when there was also unrest in Babylonian society due to differences in behaviour by Hellenic and Parthian officials. This paper investigates the history of the four generals as a branch of local government, their relationships to superiors in the midst of the regime change, and their developing place within Babylonian society. The persistence of the four generals as local authorities across a period of rapid and lasting imperial transition challenges the formal view of empire, wherein the structures define and limit the empire. Instead, this examination of the four generals and their context in the midst of political and social upheaval illustrates why the Seleukid regime is an example of informal empire at work, with its utilization of resilient, decentralized, and socially-embedded governmental systems suited to borrowing and perpetuation under later states.

1. Introduction A series of late Babylonian texts dating between 145 and 120 BC, mainly passages from the astronomical diaries and a few chronicle tablets, shed light on the situation during the change from Seleukid to Parthian rule in southern Mesopotamia.1 In particular, the cities of the south appear to cope with an aggressive imperial presence in ways similar to the poleis of the Aegean and western Asia Minor with the Hellenistic kingdoms. They alternate between reproaching and making overtures toward imperial representatives, who 1 References to near eastern materials follow the Abbreviations for Assyriology guide: http://cdli.ox.ac.uk/wiki/abbreviations_for_assyriology, and BCHP refers to I. FINKEL / R.J. VAN DER SPEK, Babylonian Chronicles of the Hellenistic Period: http://www.livius.org/sources/about/mesopotamian-chronicles/.

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themselves experienced rapid changes of fortune, partly due to their own choices, the dictates of kings, and the responses of the cities. In the midst of a highly unstable political situation we can see, firstly, a high degree of mobility among the imperial agents, who in most instances look more like condottieri than partisans for any specific empire, and secondly, a dynamic political culture among poleis at the edge of the Hellenistic world. This makes the Seleukid to Parthian transition in Babylonia compare well to imperial politics in the western Seleukid empire. It was a negotiated process rather than one empire unilaterally supplanting another by the imposition of formal imperial structures. One group of imperial representatives involved in the transition were the generals above the four generals. These generals above held an office introduced by the Seleukids and continued under the Parthians. Common behaviours among these and other Seleukid and Parthian representatives show that the underpinnings of Hellenistic imperial governance in Babylonia endured relatively unchanged. Certain of the generals above the four generals are known by name, but more remain anonymous to us and rarely appear in the extant evidence. This paper traces out the chronology of the generals above the four generals and examines their known characteristics and relationships with the Babylonian cities in the late Seleukid and early Parthian period. Regarding the cities, here we see another area of the Seleukid world where local administrative traditions laid expectations on imperial appointees and so remained a forceful part of the negotiation of imperial power.

2. Antiochos the Accursed On January 6, 140 BC, the politai of Seleukeia-on-the-Tigris placed a curse on Antiochos, general above the four generals. They cursed him because he had betrayed them and joined their enemy, the king of Elam. In December 141, the Elamite army had advanced toward Apameia-on-the-Silhu, whose inhabitants removed to Bit-Karkudi on the Tigris while their city was destroyed by fire. Shortly after news of this, Antiochos departed from Seleukeia-on-the-Tigris with numerous troops against the Elamites, while the citizens of both Seleukeia and Babylon readied their cities’ defences. The astronomical diaries report that people who had sought refuge in Babylon were led south to the sea and that urban brickwork was torn down, including parts of the Marduk Gate in the eastern city wall. Presumably a contingent of Elamites made it as far north as Babylon and accessed part of the city.2

2 AD -140 C obv. 35–43. For the location of the Marduk Gate, BOIY (2004), p. 57, 65 fig. 3.

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Shortly after this, Antiochos returned north, and the Seleukeians cursed him for making common cause with the Elamite. The Seleukeians’ justification for this action was that they had supplied him with troops for the expedition, and he had deployed them very ineffectually.3 Whether or not he actively turned coat and helped the Elamites or simply did nothing to stop them is unclear, but for the Seleukeians it amounted to the same thing. They had a long-standing association with Apameia-on-the-Silhu as part of the network of Hellenistic poleis in Babylonia and the Persian Gulf,4 and so were angry at the poor treatment given their neighbours there as well as at Babylon. Babylon by this period also was home to a community of Hellenic politai, whose meeting place was the theatre (in Akkadian, the house of observation) in the Homera district. They are attested in several diary and chronicle passages, and must have had close contact with the citizens at Seleukeia.5 All in all, the Seleukeians demonstrated the independent spirit of a Hellenic polis when confronted with a corrupt royal official – in a sense the opposite of the euergetistic honours we see handed out elsewhere by Greek poleis. When Antiochos returned to Seleukeia the citizens seized him, but he escaped with his soldiers. Then the people living around Seleukeia looted the possessions he had left behind, probably slaves and the contents of his household and other properties, while the royal soldiers with him began plundering for themselves.6 Events later in January highlight the chaos of that time: a military representative from a general of Antiochos VI, son of Alexander Balas, perhaps Diodotos Tryphon, entered Babylon, and the diarist for March referred to panic of the enemy in the land.7 In addition to his being cursed by the citizens, Antiochos is remarkable for his parentage.8 Naming tradition implies that Antiochos had Seleukid ancestry. The same tablet recording his appointment to general above the four generals contains a fragmentary mention of … Antiochos, queen Laodike …9 The diary editors suggest that this Laodike might be married to Antiochos the general, or that this passage refers to an earlier Seleukid royal couple.10 Normally the Akkadian phrasing would provide the title for king, LUGAL, after Antiochos’ personal name, and that title is absent here. Regarding the first option, it has been argued before that more Seleukid princesses were married out to eastern 3

AD -140 C rev. 31. This city is listed at the end of Antiocheia in Persis’ decree for the Leukophryene festival, OGIS 233. See OPPENHEIMER (1983), p. 29–35; TALBERT (2000), no. 93; POTTS (2016), p. 383. 5 BOIY (2004), p. 207; VAN DER SPEK (2001), p. 446–447. 6 AD -140 C rev. 29–34 7 AD -140 D obv. 11. Cf. SHAYEGAN (2011), p. 64–65. 8 See COLORU (2014). 9 AD -140 A upper edge 4: A]n-ti’u-uk-su fLu-di-qé-e GAŠAN. 10 ADART III, 138. No couple named Antiochos and Laodike is known for this date. 4

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dynasts than are known from the extant literary evidence; perhaps this is another such woman and Antiochos’ mother.11 The name Laodike was closely associated with Seleukid queenship and was prominent in the Mithridatid dynasty of Pontos. In the later second century, contemporary with the period under discussion here, a daughter of Kleopatra Thea and Demetrios II is said to have been married to Phraates II,12 and Laodike daughter of Kleopatra Tryphaina and Antiochos VIII married Mithradates I of Kommagene.13 The astronomical diary for June-July 141 lists Antiochos with a patronym, and his father had a Persian name: in Akkadian Ar’abuzana, or Old Persian *Arya-brzana, Hellenized as Arioba(r)zanes.14 Specifically, the diarist reports hearing a parchment letter from Mithradates I of Parthia being read out to the assembled citizenry: Anti’uksu son of king Ar’abuzana … of Aššur who is before king Arsakes is appointed above the four generals of Akkad.15 There are several dynastic relationships between the Seleukids and kings named Ariobarzanes, one of which may represent Antiochos’ family. Memnon tells us that an Ariobarzanes was king of Pontos in the mid-3rd century, father of Mithradates II of Pontos, related to the Seleukid house through Laodike, daughter of Antiochos II and mother of the famous queen Laodike III, wife of Antiochos III.16 The name Ariobarzanes later belonged to first-century Kappadokian and Armenian kings, both of which dynasties had Seleukid foremothers.17 A territory is associated with Ar’abuzana: Assyria. Rather than the vicinity of Assur in northern Mesopotamia, the scribe likely refers here to a region in the old Achaimenid Așura, The Land Beyond the River, comprising Syria, still in the hands of the Seleukids, and Armenia, ruled at this time by Artavasdes I. Omar Coloru argues that this is a reference to Media Atropatene and that Ariobarzanes and his son Antiochos were descendants of Atropates (contemporary of Alexander the Great) and Artabazanes I (contemporary of Antiochos III). He proposes that an Atropatene-Seleukid dynastic alliance emerged during Antiochos IV’s eastern campaign, consolidated by a marriage per the standard Hellenistic royal model.18 We may consider Antiochos’ case as an example of the career path open to high-ranking individuals in the midHellenistic Near East. A prince of one dynasty is recruited by or seeks 11

See HOLLIS (1996); WENGHOFER / HOULE (2016). JUST. 38.10.10; GRAINGER (1997), p. 48–49 names her Laodike, although she is otherwise unattested as such. 13 OGIS 383 (the Nemrud Dagh inscription); STROOTMAN (2016), p. 218–221. 14 DANDAMAYEV et al. (2011). 15 AD -140 A rev. 7-8: An-ti-’u-uk-su A šá Ar-’a-a-Bu-Zan-na-a LUGAL […] | […] KUR Aš-šurki šá ina IGI-ma? Ar-šá-ka-a LUGAL. 16 MEMNON, FGrHist 434 F 16. 17 Kappadokia: Stratonike (daughter of Antiochos II), wife of Ariarathes III; Antiochis (d. Antiochos III), w. Ariarathes IV; Antiochis (d. Seleukos II) w. Xerxes. 18 COLORU (2014), p. 401, 409–410, 414. 12

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opportunities with another dynasty – here the Parthian Arsakids who were enjoying an expansionary momentum – and then tries to manipulate the political situation with further powers like the Elamites. Made on July 2, 141, Antiochos’ appointment to general above the four generals of Akkad fell right on the cusp of Parthian rule in Babylonia. It is the first act promulgated by the conquering king, the very edict demonstrating his authority over his new territory, and so it is fitting that Mithradates chose a royal prince as his representative. Antiochos also had with him in Babylonia a son, whose name does not survive on the tablet, and who seems to have remained there.19 The presence of his son bears out the generalship being a prestige assignment, intended to demonstrate the courtly authority and power of the new Parthian leaders in Babylonia, not imperial bureaucrats but a new generation of dynasts.

3. The Generals above the Four Generals The Akkadian term for general—luGAL ERÍNmeš or rab uqu, which means leader of troops – parallels the Greek title strategos. In both languages these are generic designations used to describe military commanders dispatched by the Seleukid kings to act on their behalf in particular areas. Examples from earlier astronomical diaries include the rab uqu who brought Babylonian troops to Antiochos I during the 1st Syrian war,20 or those who periodically travelled through Babylon to attend sacrifices.21 The earliest reference to a general of four generals appears in the diary for January-February 229 BC, written as the general of the house of the four generalships.22 Adjacent lines mention rituals at Babylon and the presence of king Seleukos and his sons in Mesopotamia. This tablet supplies all that is known of Seleukos II and the future Seleukos III and Antiochos III for the year 229,23 and it shows that Seleukos II attempted some remedy for the havoc caused by Ptolemy III’s invasion of Babylonia in 246/5. The passage contains an odd phrasing for the title (general of the house of the four generalships), and later attestations were more straightforward, just general above the four generals. Yasuyuki Mitsuma suggests that the É (bit, or house) be read as realm, based on Neo-Assyrian usages, producing general of the realm of four generalships, and proposes that we read it as the Akkadian equivalent of ੒ ਥʌ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ਙȞȦ 19

AD -140 D obv. 13; possible: AD -136 B obv. 14: -ku, son of Antiochos. AD -273 B rev. 32. 21 AD -178 C rev. 18–19; -171 rev 1-upper edge 2. 22 AD -229 B obv. 9: luGAL ERÍNmeš šá É 4 luGAL ERÍNmeš u-tu. 23 The tablet’s date was obtained from the astronomical data combined with the name of the king, and no SE date survives on it, ADART II, 129. 20

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ıĮIJȡĮʌİȚ૵Ȟ, with the four symbolizing the ends of the earth rather than specific lands.24 Potts asserts the existence of: ‘a real, quadripartite division of military responsibility comparable to that seen in the Sasanian period’,25 though he notes the problems with reading a Sasanian structure (over whose veracity scholars have disagreed) directly back into Seleukid times. One school of thought also proposes that the Achaimenids divided their empire into four districts.26 Not discounting the importance of the way imperial structures mirrored the concept of empire reaching to the four corners of the earth,27 the generalship under study here focused on Babylonia itself, and not beyond. Another probable reference to the general above the four generals appears in the diary for early 178, which reports that a general of Akkad above the four satraps entered Babylon.28 This title is also irregular, and indeed Sachs and Hunger translated the preposition in the title differently, rendering the general who is against? the four presidents to make sense of the structural problems inherent in having four satraps overseen by a strategos. Del Monte elides the four satraps, simply translating the title as the commander of Akkad, although elsewhere he translates the line in full following Sachs and Hunger and likens this to the Parthian inscription at Behistun for Gotarzes, satrap of satraps. He suggests that the general of satraps was one of Antiochos III’s introductions after the settlement of 220.29 But Gotarzes was a special case: he was son of Mithradates II, becoming king himself in 91. His title satrap of satraps has more do to with honouring a prince at the premier location for commemorations of Persian monarchy – echoing the title king of kings – than it tells about an administrative hierarchy lasting several centuries.30 It is worth raising the question of whether this diary passage contains the sign for assembly (UKKIN) erroneously instead of troops (ERÍN); it is at least possible that the scribe intended to write general above the four generals.31 Noteworthy in the generals’ titles is that they are often referred to as the generals of Akkad (KUR URIki), both certain individual generals and the general over the four. This indicates that we are dealing with officials tasked specifically with Babylonia’s defence, and not a group of generals responsible for the upper satrapies as a whole, contrary to Mitsuma’s interpretation of the generalship as a supreme command of upper satraps. Del Monte, followed by Capdetrey, 24

MITSUMA (2007), p. 9–10. POTTS (2007), p. 64. 26 ENGELS (2017), p. 118, n. 94. 27 Ibid, p. 43–45, 203. 28 AD -178 C rev. 18: luGAL ERÍN-KUR-URIki meš šá ana UGU 4 luGAL UKKINmeš. The title for satrap is luGAL UKKINmeš, normalized as muma’ir, and translated literally as leader of the assembly. 29 DEL MONTE (1997), p. 54, 72. 30 I.Estremo Oriente 275; OGIS 431, n. 3; ASSAR (2006), p. 143-147. 31 MEA nos. 40 (UKKIN) & 393 (ERÍN). 25

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observes how neatly it would fit for the four generals to be garrison commanders responsible for the four cities Seleukeia, Babylon, Borsippa, and Kutha,32 although this view is complicated by the fact that several of the attested subordinate four generals are named as generals of Akkad, not a specific city. Shayegan understands the general over the four as a vice-regal supervisor of four Babylonian commands: the strategos of Akkad, the muma’ir of Akkad, the pahat of Babylon, and the garrison commander of Babylon.33 It is tempting to read the presence of five generals as a sign of intensified bureaucratization by the late Seleukids, an effort to stem the loss of regional control to the Parthian advance. When faced with evidence for hierarchy – the general over the four generals – and parallel offices – four generals ranked below a supervisor, an interpretation based on formal imperialism would see this as the logical solution to an administrative problem: divide responsibilities and increase accountability and direct control.34 It is plausible that Seleukos II introduced new Babylonian commands in order to seem like he was dealing more effectively with secessionist parties in the eastern empire. Antiochos III’s reorganization of the leadership in Babylonia following the defeat of Molon and Alexander in 220 then continued that effort to stabilize affairs.35 The reappearance in the diaries of the specific title of general above the four generals after Demetrios I had defeated the usurper Timarchos in 161 may indicate another attempt at stronger control.36 In this vein, Shayegan argues for the generalship of the Parthian period, citing the existence of a comparable organization at Dura, and taking it as evidence of a widely utilized command structure for regional government. He also raises the example of the Seleukid organization using princely strategoi as viceroys in Asia Minor and the ones appointed over the upper satrapies as likely templates for later Parthian practice.37 Extrapolating regular policy and administrative habits out of rare and often highly individualized prestige appointments like Zeuxis in Asia Minor or Gotarzes at Behistun, or in our case Antiochos son of Ar’abuzana in Babylonia, needs a great deal of caution. Firstly, what worked in one area of an empire did not necessarily solve problems in another, and few empires in world history have ever imposed identical rules and systems over each of their territories; there was always a case for making exceptions. Secondly, while it remains possible that the generalship was a consistent part of imperial government in Babylonia, the 32

DEL MONTE (1997), p. 55; CAPDETREY (2007), p. 289–290. SHAYEGAN (2011), p. 220–221. 34 See DOYLE 1986 for the classic treatment of this theory. 35 POLYB. 5.54.10–13. 36 For the defeat, see VAN DER SPEK (1997/1998), p. 168. 37 SHAYEGAN (2011), p. 218–221. See especially the recent argument of ENGELS (2017), p. 338–346. 33

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intermittent nature of the cuneiform evidence should give us pause before we assume that there was always a general above the four generals. It is also possible that the generalship was filled only when the king of the day saw a need for it or had a suitable candidate for filling it. Thirdly, what worked for the Seleukids, suited their courtly politics of the time, and fit with wider relations in Babylonia (let alone any other region of the empire) cannot necessarily be assumed to have suited likewise the Parthians, the Neo-Assyrians, Achaimenids, or Sasanians before and after them. Fourthly, the existence of the same or a similar title under more than one empire does not necessarily mean that the same role is being signified. Scribes refer to the general over the four generals under both Seleukid and Parthian kings, but the function of these men within the larger group of imperial representatives and their relationships to the kings may not be the same. As the case of Antiochos shows, the role and effectiveness as general was embedded and defined by his negotiations of power and influence at the court, with other officials, with enemies, and with the cities. After 156 BC the astronomical diaries refer more consistently to the general who is above the four generals.38 In 156 a messenger of the king visits the general bearing a message for the Hellenic politai in Babylon. It addressed the cooperation of the general and the non-Hellenes, and also some goods or people being brought up to the side of the king to Antioch which is on the sea.39 Attestations to the general for 152 are brief with no surviving context.40 Attestations for 150 mention troop movements and the inhabitants of Seleukeiaon-the-Tigris.41 These are all comparable to the gubernatorial and political duties of the earlier Seleukid generals. The next reference is to the appointment of Antiochos, son of Ar’abuzana, just days after Mithradates I’s conquest of Babylonia.42

4. The Known Generals There are several other generals from the later Seleukid through the Parthian period who are mentioned by name in the diaries. For several of them, a few more details about their careers are provided as well. The following summary

38

AD -155 A rev. 13: luGAL ERÍN meš šá ana UGU 4 luGAL ERÍNmeš. Ibid. line 14: lúpu-li-te-e; line 17: lúUNmeš; upper edge, 1–2. 40 AD -152 rev. 14. 41 AD -149 B rev. 11. 42 AD -140 C upper edge; -141 F rev. 26. The Parthian conquest of Babylonia is dated to 141 BC, based on information from these cuneiform tablets. The year-date annotation for a 141/0 tablet lists Arsakes as king, while the diary of 142/1 is annotated as Diary from month VI2 to the end of month XII of year 170, king Demetrios. 39

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lists together the generals of Akkad and generals above the four generals in chronological order. 4.1. Ardaya Ardaya was general of Akkad for king Demetrios II in 145.43 The Babylonian name Ardiya seems to have been a hypocoristic form of the name Arad-Šamaš.44 Bearers of this form of the name appear in a few documents dating to the NeoBabylonian and Persian periods.45 In the month Tasrit (September-October) Ardaya conducted a census of the Babylonians (lúEKImeš), servants of the king (lúIRmeš LUGAL), and the pulitee in Babylon and Seleukeia. In the next month he fought king Kammaškiri of Elam whose troops were plundering the Babylonian countryside.46 4.2. Nikanuru / Nikanor Nikanor, general of Akkad, is mentioned twice in the tablets for 141: on July 12 he offered sacrifices at Babylon for the life of king Mithradates,47 and on October 9 he and Antiochos the general above the four generals travelled together to Seleukeia-on-the-Tigris.48 The name Nikanor is, of course, well known among Seleukid leaders, including Antigonos’ satrap of Media who fought Seleukos I49 and Antiochos III’s friend and high priest of western Asia Minor. Another Nikanuru who seems to have held a high position in the Babylonian government is briefly mentioned in two business letters from Babylon dated to 262 and 256.50

43

AD -144 obv. 36–37: lA]r-da-a-a luGAL ERÍNmeš KUR URIki. NCBT 1241 = BEAULIEU (1991), p. 67 n. 23, (reign of Neriglissar). See also KESSLER (1999), p. 178 for the same point. 45 For Ardiya/Nabu-bani-ahi/Rimut-Ea at Uruk (reign of Kambyses), see COCQUERILLAT (1968), p. 68–74; BEAULIEU (1992), p. 405–408. For Ardiya/Šula at Borsippa (reign of Dareios I), see ZADOK (1998), p. 253. For a son of Ardiya at Borsippa (reign of Dareios I), see ZADOK (1998), p. 275. 46 AD -144 obv. 36–37 & rev. 17–22. 47 AD -140 A rev. 21–upper edge 1. Kugler read this as Nikator, for Demetrios II, but that would not suit the ritual context, since leaders in Babylon regularly offered sacrifices for the king, and Seleukid kings do not appear in the astronomical diaries with cultic epithets, ADART III p. 138. 48 AD -140 B rev. 9–10 49 DIOD. SIC. 19.92. 50 CT 49, 118 & 122=123=182; VAN DER SPEK (1986), p. 62–63; BOIY (2004), 209– 210. 44

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4.3. Pilinu / Philinos By late 138 Antiochos’ replacement as the general over the four generals was Pilinu, read as the Greek name Philinos.51 He remained until 133, when he went to Media to join the king’s brother Bagayaša. During his tenure a dramatic shift occurred: king Hyspaosines of Charax switched sides. In 138 Hyspaosines had assisted the Babylonian forces in repelling Elamites from the south; by 133 he was an enemy of the Babylonians and ally of the Elamites. Philinos’ removal from the generalship occurred by royal proclamation directly in response to an attack by Hyspaosines on Tigris harbour facilities in November 133. 4.4. Te’udisisu / Theodosios Philinos’ replacement in 133 was Te’udisisu, whose name seems to be an Akkadianization of the Greek Theodosios. In the month after he came to office, Theodosios faced the situation of having Elamite rebels live in the Babylonian countryside and even visit the city to make sacrifices.52 Theodosios probably lasted until 129/8, when a tablet from Babylon attests to a return to acknowledging Seleukid kings, following Antiochos VII’s (brief) reclamation of Babylonia.53 4.5. [Artaba]na / Artabanos(?) References to the general over four generals occur in tablets of the 120s and 110s BC, all with the personal names lost.54 The general over four generals appointed in 120 was a certain [...]na son of Bagayasha.55 The latter has been identified as Bakasis, Mithradates I’s brother and governor of Media, the same person into whose service Philinos had gone in 133.56 Bagayasha served as regent after Mithradates was struck ill in autumn 137,57 and reigned briefly as king in 127/6.58 The son has been identified as Artabanos, a suitably royal Parthian name, from reconstructing [Artaba]na in the Akkadian.59 It seems that, in 120, a letter from the king removed him from his role as general over the four generals along with one of his subordinate generals, Urrahshu (about whom 51

AD -137 E rev. 7: dated month IX–XII, SE174 (Dec 138–Mar 137). AD -132 D2 rev. 16–23. 53 SBH no. 25. 54 See also Arsakid-period with the date missing: BCHP 19 rev. 11–12: the general sent a messenger to Babylon resulting in a recruitment of troops. 55 AD -119 C obv. 12. 56 JUST. 41.6.7; ASSAR (2001), p. 25–26; (2006), p. 89–90. 57 AD -134 B obv. 16–17; BCHP 19 commentary. 58 ASSAR (2001), p. 26. 59 Ibid., p. 18. 52

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nothing else is known). The next year an Artabanos, described by the king as my brother, was slain in battle against the Guti, and he may be the same individual. Meanwhile the (unnamed) replacement general of the four generals was at work in Babylonia against incursions of Arabs.60

5. The Political Culture of the Generals The extent to which the astronomical diarists, normally not verbose about current events, recounted the affairs of these and other generals speaks to considerable upheaval in southern Babylonia during the Seleukid to Parthian transition. The scribes make the phrase there was panic in the land a frequent refrain. Marching, plundering, or occupying armies belonged to Demetrios II, the general of Antiochos, son of Alexander (Diodotos Typhon), Antiochos VII, Kamniskires I, Hyspaosines of Charax, Mithradates I and subsequent Parthian kings, and Arabs. Common in the depictions of all these confrontations and changes, however, is a consistent political culture shared by the various imperial representatives and leaders. It is understandable if the diarists painted all imperial representatives with the same brush as a way of subverting, denying, or simply accommodating the presence of a new wave of Parthian agents after decades of familiarity with the Seleukid variety. Taking the generals together, though, we see patterns of identity and behaviour which demonstrate the longerterm impact of Seleukid imperial politics. Not only is there a multi-lateral contest for supremacy among several successor states, but there is also a cadre of ethnically diverse and well-connected military leaders who are charting careers through this complex situation, and, especially, there are the cities demonstrating a distinctly Hellenistic polis identity. 5.1. Modes of Leadership Why would Antiochos, son of Ar’abuzana, marching out with fresh troops, make common cause with the Elamites, and permit them to overrun the very countryside under his supervision? Other than the possibility that he was badly outnumbered, he would avoid a fight if his task as Mithradates’ representative was to consolidate the Parthian presence in southern Babylonia rather than defend the land at all costs. The fight was on several vectors, and the Charakene presence must also be considered. As we see clearly in the Babylonians’ dismay at Hyspaosines’ change in allegiance toward the Elamites between 138 and 133, it was a trilateral conflict during the early phase of Parthian rule over southern Babylonia. Therefore, laying the groundwork for cooperation with the Elamites 60

AD -118 A rev. 18–22; ASSAR (2006), p. 138–140.

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against the Charakenes must have seemed to Antiochos under certain conditions a better option than fighting them no matter what the outcome.61 Antiochos’ behaviour fits well into an informal empire model or (in a slightly different framework) Engels’ feudalization model,62 since his personal background and connections are leveraged for the greater Parthian geo-political gain. The heterogeneity of the various Hellenic, Babylonian, and Iranian generals also fits, and they figure as a network of collaborators motivated by personal interests and advancement more than a shared imperial ideology. Within this arrangement, the individuality of the various generals takes on a particular importance, as the imperial system relies on their own aims and choices. For several of the generals outlined above, we know little more than their names. But these do reveal a certain heterogeneity among them, showing that Hellenes, Babylonians, and Iranians alike were on the imperial circuit, and individuals who cut their teeth in the Seleukid context were finding ways to continue their careers under the Parthians. In doing so they would have brought with them previous political connections and relationships, one way for Seleukid political culture to continue. To this pattern we might also add Hyspaosines of Charax, a successful secessionist from the Seleukids who had come into that region as a governor with a Baktrian family background.63 One feature of their careers common to several of the generals is the proximity to Parthian kings, whether through family relationships or courtly service. This pattern was also very much a feature of the Seleukid system, and to outside observers such as the diarists the two networks of aristocratic military leaders would have appeared as much the same entity. Antiochos was son of a king and prior to arriving in Babylonia served before the king Mithradates. Philinos went on to serve Bagayasha in Media, while Bagayasha’s son later emulated Antiochos in taking up the Babylonian generalship. The presence of the son of Antiochos the general in Babylonia before and after the crisis with his father also fits this pattern, if we understand his activity to be like his father’s and aimed at increasing Parthian dominance in local politics. The same diary outlining the crisis with Antiochos also refers to nobles of the king visiting Babylon in December 141 when he had marched out to meet the Elamites. This seems like an instance of the Hellenistic practice of courtly elites visiting cities as part of imperial interactions, particularly during periods of conflict, and Seleukeia and Babylon clearly served as staging grounds for the southward campaign. This particular group had probably visited Babylon in

61

SHAYEGAN (2011), p. 68; POTTS (2016), p. 385–386. See ENGELS (2011) and ENGELS (2017). 63 SCHUOL (2000), p. 291–293. 62

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order to mitigate against political fall-out from the military clashes to the south, and now were caught up in the flight of people from the advancing Elamites.64 Another military commander in Parthian service was Timarkusu (Timarchos). The diarist for 127 states that Timarchos came from the side of king Arsakes (Phraates II) to serve as guard commander (luGAL EN-NUN) at Babylon but was captured by Hyspaosines. He escaped from Charakene in the summer, then brought back into Babylon Median troops from the side of Indupane (another commander operating in the vicinity of Seleukeia) to continue the fight.65 Timarchos is not a general of Akkad or a general above the four, but his career path and activities place him in that same cohort, and like Philinos, Nikanor, and Theodosios he stands out as another person in Parthian service with a Hellenic name. A second feature of some of the generals’ careers is the way some of their behaviours speak to a desire to emulate and appropriate royal politics and status. It is certainly tempting to attribute these motives to Antiochos the Accursed. If we accept the possibility that he was a son of Ara’buzana and a Seleukid princess, then his actions might reveal a desire to claim his rightful royal autonomy. However the Seleukeians felt about it, we should avoid interpreting any such ambitions as sinister, since they were normal among that class of imperial agents. Strategies could backfire spectacularly, and individuals might face serious political repercussions, but the underlying self-interested accruing of influence and dominance links them together. A good example of the disaster awaiting some of the ambitious leaders is Pittit. He was a rebel leader in Elam, defeated in 125/4 BC by King Artabanos in a battle reported to the Babylonians by two separate royal letters, one from Hyspaosines and one from Artabanos.66 Although Diodoros understood his name to be the relatively rare Greek name Pitthides,67 Zadok and Stolper both identify Pittit as the bearer of a hypocoristic Elamite name. He is indeed described consistently as the Elamite enemy (lKUR NIM-MAki).68 Others propose that Pittit was not just an Elamite general but instead a king, though this remains disputed.69 One point in favour of seeing Pittit as at least a usurper, if not a fully-acknowledged king, is Diodoros’ description of Pittit’s condition in 64 AD -141 C obv. 41–2: That month, the people […] their children, their possessions, and their wives […]| the nobles of the king who had entered Babylon and the few people they led to the sea. 65 AD -126 A obv. 6–rev.3. 66 AD -124 B obv. 19, rev. 12–19. Cf. ASSAR (2006), p. 124. 67 DIOD. SIC. 34/35.19. The name is attested at Eleusis (336/5 or 333/2 BC): IG II2 1673: 41–42 (see LGPN IIa), Pitthides supplied nails for temple repairs, and at Pharsalos (c. 230–200 BC): IG IX,2 234: 94 (LGPN IIIb), Droupylos son of Pitthidas received citizenship. 68 ZADOK (1984), p. 35; STOLPER (2003). 69 QUINTANA (2010), p. 6, 20; SHAYEGAN (2011), p. 118; contra POTTS (2016), p. 389.

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Parthian captivity after his defeat: blinded, degraded, and displayed before ambassadors from Seleukeia-on-the-Tigris as an object lesson in what happened to enemies of the Parthians. It is strikingly reminiscent of the mutilations dealt out to usurpers by Dareios I.70 Interpreting Pittit’s behaviour as that of a usurper fits the pattern where those in high military commands under the Seleukids and Parthians alike are either royalty or would-be kings. This is not to say that all generals of Akkad and their fellows conducted themselves badly. For the most part, the diarists only bother to describe their innocuous visits between Seleukeia and Babylon for the purposes of giving sacrifices and attending festivals, suggesting that people normally accepted the generals’ presence and activities. It was when external political pressures drove up tensions and when the generals and cities clashed with differing expectations for how to maintain regional stability that the diaries take on an unhappy tone. 5.2. Polis Behaviour Seleukeia-on-the-Tigris had a history of run-ins with imperial representatives, and Antiochos, son of Ar’abuzana, was neither the first nor the last official to run afoul of the citizens. In 220 Hermeias demanded that the Seleukeians pay a 1000-talent indemnity, later downgraded to 150 talents, as reparation for their capitulation to Molon. This indicates that the Seleukeians were regarded as at fault to some degree. In Polybios’ view, Hermeias went a little too far in demanding the expulsion of their bouleutic council and condemning citizens to torture and execution, acts guaranteed to enflame the situation. Polybios also notes that royal intervention only just (molis) managed to calm the city.71 The diarist for late summer 163 reports that the general of Akkad fled Seleukeia and was not seen. At the same time in neighbouring Babylon, the people and šaknu governor jointly threatened the pahat and rab sikkati officials, who feared to leave the safety of the royal palace, while other parties plundered the countryside.72 This passage may refer to upheaval driven by Timarchos’ tenure as a usurper in Babylonia. Some of the potential fractures between these officials are highlighted by their titles: the šaknu of the king was a special royal appointee – only a few others are known for the Seleukid period,73 while the pahat of Babylon (Eki) was the regular leader of the city. The rab sikkati was a high-ranking military officer, with a title used as far back as the Ur III period.74 As in the situation with Hermeias and the aftermath of Molon’s revolt, the 70

DIOD. SIC. 34/35.19; SHAYEGAN (2011), p. 119. 5.54.10–13. 72 AD -162 rev. 11–17. 73 Anu-uballit-Nikarchos at Uruk in 244, YOS I 52; anon. in Babylon in summer 282, left behind by Seleukos I, BCHP 9 obv. 7. 74 CAD S s.v. sikkatu B. 71

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conflict in 163 saw division among royal officials as well as hostilities between officials and the people. The diarist for 130 mentions Imerusu (Himeros), head of the royal treasury, in a passage describing the royal appointment of one of the politai of Babylon as pahat of the city.75 Himeros served Phraates II, and was, according to Justin, known for mistreating the people of Babylon and Seleukeia.76 He is also supposed to have launched a brief independent rule as a usurper. Poseidonios of Apameia describes Himeros as tyrant of Babylon and Seleukeia-on-the-Tigris in the aftermath of Phraates II’s victory over Antiochos VII. He highlights Himeros’ association with corrupt luxury with reference to a lavish dinner thrown for him by one Lysimachos of Babylon.77 No mention is made of the citizens’ reactions, but from the western reception of Himeros, we may surmise their displeasure with him and the way he utilized the political instability for his own gain. In Diodoros’ account of Pittit’s degradation in the Parthian court he describes how the Elamite was shown to Seleukeian ambassadors so that they would fear the wrath of Mithradates II. Diodoros informs us that the Seleukeians were visiting the royal court to smooth out relations with the king because they had mistreated Enios, another general in Parthian service. Howorth suggested that this Enios was the general Indates, whom Antiochos VII defeated in a battle at the Greater Zab river in 130.78 The elapsed time between that defeat and Pittit’s activities in 125 indicates that the cause of the Seleukeians’ violence concerned some other crisis than the loss to Antiochos VII, even if it were the same Enios/Indates. The diaries for 124 report episodes of violence, which might be what got the Seleukeians in trouble. A chief of the guard was killed at Babylon in early October, and at the same time there was plundering, displaced people, and panic in the country.79 Another battle occurred at the end of November.80 Diodoros may have missed elements from the story, but the comparison between the Seleukeians’ hostility to Enios and Pittit’s rebellion is intriguing. It suggests that the royal court interpreted pushback from politai groups and rebel generals or usurpers as being the same type of resistance to authority. One way we might understand this is that the Seleukeian envoys were treated as individual power-holders who could be held personally responsible and thus punished on par with rebel nobles for errors committed by their fellow citizens. The king may have had a high estimation of civic polities in his empire; he may also have been manipulating them with strong-arm tactics. We might further speculate whether 75

AD -129 A2 obv. 17–21. 76 JUST. 42.1.3. 77 POSIDON. F 65 = ATHEN. 78 JOS., Ant. Jud. 13.251; 79 AD -123 A rev. 6–7. 80

AD -123 A rev. 23–24.

11.466b–c. HOWORTH (1907), p. 136.

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the royal frustration with the Seleukeians on this occasion echoes Mithradates’ wrath at news of the curse upon Antiochos the general. Shayegan proposes that the diary reference for June 138 to a message from Mithradates I ordering the killing of a general is the death sentence given to Antiochos, implying that the king took very seriously whatever error had provoked the curse.81 It is, however, unclear who the slain general was. The killing comes over two years after the cursing, during a dramatic sequence of events: Demetrios II’s campaign and capture, famine in Elam, and a major insurgency of the Elamites, which was only stopped with Hyspaosines’ help later in December.82 So there was more at play than the aftermath of Antiochos’ behaviour. 5.3. The Polis’ Curse The cursing of Antiochos in 140 is a unique event in what we know of Hellenistic politics. It is very clear that the politai of Seleukeia made the curse, meaning that we should look to Greek tradition for exploring what this curse was and how the process of cursing proceeded. The diarist used a standard Akkadian word for curse, arratu, and, in the absence of any parallel examples, we might assume that the analogous Greek term used at the time was agos. Being under an agos, or to use Herodotos’ phrase held in the agos,83 one might be outlawed or proscribed – declared atimos – and thus made vulnerable to the kind of revenge attacks on person and property that we see took place against Antiochos at Seleukeia.84 The condemnable offence was, at its root, the betrayal of the polis’ sanctity, a crime taking several possible forms, including sacrilege, temple-robbing, tyranny, conspiring with foreign enemies, subverting the city economy, or threatening the healthy ecology of the city. Meetings of the Athenian boule opened with recitation of a curse against any who received bribes to speak against city interests, betrayers, deceivers, and any who conspired with the Medes. The curse’s importance to Athenian political security meant that it made its way into comedy, with Aristophanes adding to this list of criminals also any plotting to establish tyranny or debase the coinage.85 The best direct evidence for cursing enemies of the polis comes from Teos, in an inscription dated c. 470 BC. In it we read that at public festivals the 81 AD -137 B rev. 20: a message from king Arsakes to kill the general ([…ši-pi]š-tú šá Ar-šá-ka-a LUGAL ana GAZ lüGAL ERÍN[…]); SHAYEGAN (2011), p. 66. 82 AD -137 A rev. 7–11 (famine and Demetrios’ capture), D obv. 12–rev. 3 (Elamite defeat). 83 HDT. 6.56: ਥȞ IJ૶ ਙȖİȧ ਥȞȑȤİıșĮȚ, regarding the cursing of any who interfere with royal authority at Sparta. 84 PARKER (1983), p. 191–195; HANSEN (1976), p. 77, on DEMOSTHENES 23.62. 85 ARISTOPH., Thesm. 347–51; RHODES (1972), p. 36–37. See also the discussion in LATTE (1964), p. 68–77.

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timouchoi uttered an imprecation (epara) against anyone who made poisons to be used against the Teians, anyone interfering with grain imports, magistrates who abused their office, anyone who betrayed the Teian territory, any Teian who engaged in piracy or helped pirates, anyone conspiring against Teos with other Greeks or with barbarians. Furthermore, those responsible for invoking the curses would themselves be cursed if they failed in their duties, as would anyone who defaced the stelai inscribed with the curses. The curse itself was expressed by the phrase: he shall be destroyed, both himself and his family.86 As mentioned, the diarist uses the Akkadian word arratu. Sandowicz speculates that, in Late Babylonian (encompassing the Achaimenid and Hellenistic periods), arratu was ‘more of a literary term’87 than its cognate erretu, which appears more frequently in the legal formulae for curses as punishments. She notes that further study is needed to confirm whether this is indeed the case. Nevertheless, we might read the diary scribe’s use of the literary term as evidence that he was describing a traditional Greek imprecatory ritual, and not the typical Akkadian procedure. The epilogue to the Code of Hammurabi contains a list of curses laid upon those who disobeyed the law, akin to the way curses were employed by the Athenians and Teians for crimes against the polis. Hammurabi’s Code lists temple-robbing as a capital crime, as well as many types of fraud, cheating, and mistreatment of others; these could be construed as similar to the Teian condemnation of harming the polis economy or flouting the ethics of office-holding.88 It seems clear from the diarist’s tone that the non-Hellenic inhabitants and Hellenic politai at Seleukeia and Babylon alike shared the same anger toward Antiochos for his actions with the Elamites. Although coming from different legal and ritual traditions, they may have had a common understanding that calling down divine wrath upon him was what justice required. What would have differed is that Babylonian curses invoked both the gods and the king as the ones meting out and enforcing punishment, whereas a polis invoked the gods and relied upon its own autonomy and sanctity for giving impetus and validity to the curse. Magistrates acting on behalf of the collective citizen body invoked political curses, and as at Teos they did so during rituals which were essential to the life of the city, placing this kind of imprecation in a category separate from curses by kings or priests.89 The Teian curses could be levelled against outsiders, non-citizens whose activities undermined the polis, which is the same situation we see at Seleukeia. There the citizens cursed a royal official and someone who had no membership ML 30: ਕʌȩȜȜȣıșĮȚ : țĮ੿ Į੝IJઁȞ : țĮ੿ ȖȑȞȠȢ. SANDOWICZ (2012), p. 110. 88 CH §6: If a man has stolen property from a god or a temple, that man shall be killed. And one who has received stolen goods from his hand shall be killed. 89 VALLOIS (1914), p. 266–267. 86 87

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in that demos, although in his capacity as premier general he had a significant presence for the political life of their community. A comparison may be found in the case of Arthmios of Zeleia, a translator for Persian representatives. He was declared atimos and an enemy (polemios) of the Athenians in the fifth century after he had offended Athenian leadership by transporting Persian money to Sparta. Arthmios is a rare example, like Antiochos, of a polis cursing a high status non-citizen for political crimes. Demosthenes discusses this episode in the third Philippic, saying that Arthmios’ lack of citizenship at Athens meant that the atimia meant not the normal loss of rights but outlawry, whereby anyone who killed Arthmios would be free from blood-guilt.90 For him, the Athenians’ extraordinary action against an outsider confirmed the principle of acting for the good of all Greeks, in this case combatting the kind of bribery and subversion of loyalties which opened the door to tyranny.91 We may see a parallel with the Seleukeians’ case, considering how their move against Antiochos penalized him for a perceived betrayal harming the neighbouring polis Apameia-on-the-Silhu; like the Athenians they found it an alarming threat to regional security. Documentation of polis wrath against officials is rare, especially in the epigraphic record. The honorific inscription of the Samians for Boulagoras provides, in the description of his embassy to the Seleukid court in the 240s, an allusion to the kind of ill-will citizens bore against outsiders and imperial agents who abused their power. The Samians commend Boulagoras for pursuing justice with the king in the face of the most illustrious royal philoi who were in possession of land rightfully belonging to citizens. The fact that the friends’ high status did nothing to hinder justice made Boulagoras’ triumph all the sweeter. The Samians also credit Boulagoras with preventing future injustices because none of these courtiers tried to confiscate property from the citizens again.92 Appropriating citizens’ properties specifically is not on the list of cursable and treacherous offences known from Teos and elsewhere, but it takes the form of threatening the city economy and territorial security. The Samian case thus opens another window on the negative side of empire-polis relations. There are several known episodes of prominent individuals, mostly kings, who ended up dead, and presumably cursed, for temple robbing, one of the cursable crimes. Among the Seleukids are Antiochos III and Antiochos IV, both dead at the hands of the Elamites for attempting to rob the temples of, respectively, Bel in 187 and Anahita in 164.93 Alexander Zabinas stole a statue 90

DEM. 9.42–44. Cf. the discussion of atimia as outlawry in HANSEN (1976), p. 75–

80. 91

DEM. 9.45. IG XII, 6 1.11, ll. 12–20. 93 CM 4 (the Hellenistic King List) rev. 6–7, 14; SHERWIN-WHITE / KUHRT (1993), p. 215 for references. 92

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of Nike and attempted to steal a statue of Zeus from the temple of Zeus in Antioch-on-the-Orontes and was attacked by the citizens. Justin narrates how after fleeing the city he was caught in a storm, abandoned by his soldiers, captured by robbers, and sent to his enemy Antiochos Grypos, a catastrophic chain of events befitting an accursed temple-plunderer.94 The famous tale of Heliodoros, struck down in the act of temple robbing at Jerusalem, epitomizes this type of narrative.95 There are other instances where cities got entangled in inter-kingdom and courtly contests for supremacy and where citizen violence ended up directed against a royal official or their family. Not specifically involving curses, these examples still reveal how tensions between kings, their agents, and cities could escalate, and how one or the other party in the dispute might manipulate or endorse civic violence for further ends. According to Polybios, the women and boys of Apameia stoned to death Hermeias’ wife and sons, after a coalition of other courtiers moved against him with Antiochos III’s backing.96 The people of Antioch killed Alexander Balas’ advisor Ammonios after he attempted to escape their city during a tense period when the citizens were deciding between supporting Alexander or Ptolemy VI.97 On January 29, 140, just three weeks after the Seleukeians cursed Antiochos, a representative of the general of Antiochos VI entered Babylon,98 and this suggests that the political situation was more complicated. The Seleukeians may have been making a bigger statement than only what punishments treacherous officials could expect to receive. The diary at this point is highly lacunose, so it is impossible to clarify whether this newly arrived general was received hospitably or not. The following line describes use of the torture rack,99 and several lines later is a reference to people killing someone or others.100 Obviously, it remained an extremely tense period in the life of the city.

6. Conclusions The diary passages relate a close-up and city-centric view of how high politics worked out on the ground. The diarists depict the generals in particular ways, focusing on obvious reference points like their placement in the network of eastern royalties, and restricting commentary to what bad things happened as a 94 JUST. 29.2.5–6; CHRUBASIK 95 2Macc 3.23–29. 96

POLYB. 5.56.15.

97 JOS., Ant. Jud. 13.106–108; 98 AD -141 C rev. 36–37. 99

(2016), p. 145. CHRUBASIK (2016), p. 185.

AD -141 C rev. 38: gišsim-mil-tu4 š[á…]; CAD S s.v. simmiltu 3. AD -141 C rev. 42.

100

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result of their activity or else neutral reporting on their regularly scheduled comings and goings. The diaries relate a history of Seleukid and Parthian rule over Babylonia which emphasizes continuity of local structures and local titles for magistrates and minimizes the apparent impact of imperial ideology on city life. Nevertheless, compared to epigraphic records from the western Seleukid Empire, the diaries provide much evidence for the frequency of violent episodes in and around the Babylonian cities, sometimes involving citizens, other times seemingly between imperial officials. In this context, Seleukeia-on-the-Tigris stands out as an example of Hellenistic polis assertiveness and autonomy. The astronomical diaries record more intense and frequent interactions with the Parthian kings and their generals than they do for the Seleukids. This indicates that the Parthians took a stronger approach to regional rule in Babylonia than their predecessors. The level of violence in response to this and the diarists’ focus on it also indicate that the stronger tactics were not well received by cities used to a different way of doing things. The citizens had clear expectations for how the well-established rituals of the generalships should be fulfilled. The extent to which the generals of the Parthians in Babylonia were royal or closely connected to royal service compares to the Seleukid habit of restricting the cohort of imperial officials to a small group, keeping the business of ruling an enterprise of family and close friends. The diarists understood the message of power and authority within these close royal relationships, noting whenever a general was dispatched from the side of the king. Administrative continuity of the generals above the four generals in this context is thus the result of political culture as much as the convenience of recycling the previous empire’s organization. Noteworthy is the evidence for the politai groups in Seleukeia-onthe-Tigris and Babylon asserting their autonomy amid the visits of imperial agents and the military preparations of the generals. Even though the appointment of these generals was intended to address problems of instability and territorial erosion (for the Seleukids) or expansion (for the Parthians), they sometimes aggravated those problems. This too is in keeping with the track record of other leaders elsewhere in the Seleukid and Parthian empires. However, the resilience of the local Babylonian political institutions and the continued appointments of the same types of royal officials demonstrate that these were deeply embedded in the political mentality of Near Eastern leaders. The kind of political opportunism displayed by Antiochos, Pittit, or Himeros was both the emulation of Hellenistic successors like Seleukos I and Hyspaosines of Charax, and at the same time the model for lesser officials. Cities and local peoples did their best to demand respect from these opportunistic leaders, offering the traditional forms of interaction with their cities as a pathway to prestige or ignominy. In that respect, the political interplay

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between kings, officials, and poleis continued to define the paths of both Seleukid and Parthian imperialism.

Bibliography ASSAR, G.R.F. (2001), Recent Studies in Parthian History: Part II, in Celator 15.1, p. 17–27, 41. – (2006), A Revised Parthian Chronology of the Period 165–91 BC, in Electrum 11, p. 87–158. BEAULIEU, P.-A. (1991), Neo-Babylonian Larsa: A Preliminary Study, in Orientalia n.s. 60.2, p. 58–81. – (1992), Kissik, Düru and Udanna, in Orientalia n.s. 61.4, p. 400–424. BOIY, T. (2004), Late Achaemenid and Hellenistic Babylon, Leuven. CAPDETREY, L. (2007), Le pouvoir séleucide: Territoire, administration, finances d’un royaume hellénistique (312–129 avant J.-C.), Rennes. COCQUERILLAT, D. (1968), Palmeraies et Cultures de l’Eanna d’Uruk (559–520), Berlin. COLORU, O. (2014), Antiochos IV et le royaume de Médie Atropatène: nouvelles considérations sur un mariage dynastique entre les Séleucides et la maison d’Atropatès, in C. FEYEL / L. GRASLIN (eds.), Le projet politique d’Antiochos IV, Nancy, p. 395–414. CHRUBASIK, B. (2016), Kings and Usurpers in the Seleukid Empire: The Men Who Would be King, Oxford. DANDAMAYEV, M.A. et al. (2011), Ariobarzanes, in Encyclopaedia Iranica, II/4, p. 406– 409 (updated online version: URL: http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/ ariobarzanes-greek-form-of-old-iranian-proper-name-arya-brzana). DEL MONTE, G.F. (1997), Testi dalla Babilonia Ellenistica, Volume I Testi Cronografici, Pisa. DOYLE, M.W. (1986), Empires, Ithaca. ENGELS, D. (2011), Middle Eastern ‘Feudalism’ and Seleucid Dissolution, in K. ERICKSON / G. RAMSEY (eds.), Seleucid Dissolution: The Sinking of the Anchor, Wiesbaden, p. 19–36. – (2017), Studies on the Seleucid Empire Between East and West, Leuven. FINKEL, I. / VAN DER SPEK, R.J. Babylonian Chronicles of the Hellenistic Period. URL: http://www.livius.org/sources/about/mesopotamian-chronicles/. GRAINGER, J.D. (1997), A Seleukid Prosopography and Gazetteer, Leiden. HANSEN, M.H. (1976), Apagoge, Endeixis and Ephegesis against Kakourgoi, Atimoi and Pheugontes: A Study in the Athenian Administration of Justice in the Fourth Century B.C., Odense. HOLLIS, A.S. (1996), Laodice Mother of Eucratides of Bactria, in ZPE 110, p. 161–164. HOWORTH, H.H. (1907), Some Notes on Coins Attributed to Parthia (Continued), in NC, fourth series, 7, p. 125–144. KESSLER, K. (1999), Bemerkungen zum Militärwesen im hellenistischen Babylonien, in Isimu: Revista sobre Oriente Próximo y Egipto en la antigüedad 2, p. 173–182.

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LATTE, K. (1964), Heiliges Recht: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der sakralen Rechtsformen in Griechenland, Tübingen. MITSUMA, Y. (2007), ‘The General in Charge of the Four stratƝgiai’?, in NABU 1.9, p. 9–10. OPPENHEIMER, A. (1983), Babylonia Judaica in the Talmudic Period, Wiesbaden. PARKER, R. (1983), Miasma: Pollution and Purification in Early Greek Religion, Oxford. POTTS, D.T. (2007), Once more on ‘the General Who Is above the Four Generals’ and his Cogeners, in NABU 3.51, p. 63–65. – (2016), The Archaeology of Elam: Formation and Transformation of an Ancient Iranian State, 2nd ed, Cambridge. QUINTANA, E. (2010), Los Reyes de Elam, in Mundo Elamita 1, p. 1–20. URL: http://www.um.es/cepoat/elamita. RHODES, P.J. (1972), The Athenian Boule, Oxford. SANDOWICZ, M. (2012), Oaths and Curses: A Study in Neo- and Late Babylonian Legal Formulary, Münster. SCHUOL, M. (2000), Die Charakene: Ein mesopotamisches Königreich in hellenistischparthischer Zeit, Stuttgart. SHAYEGAN, M.R. (2011), Arsacids and Sasanians: Political Ideology in Post-Hellenistic and Late Antique Persia, Cambridge. SHERWIN-WHITE, S. / KUHRT, A. (1993), From Samarkhand to Sardis: A New Approach to the Seleucid Empire, London. STOLPER, M.W. (2003), Pittit, in RlA, bd. 10, p. 587. STROOTMAN, R. (2016),’The Heroic Company of My Forebears’: the Ancestor Galleries of Antiochos I of Kommagene at Nemrut Da÷i and the Role of Royal Women in the Transmission of Hellenistic Kingship, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women: Creation, Representation and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 209–229. TALBERT, R.J.A. (2000), Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World, Princeton. VALLOIS, R. (1914), Arai (en grec), in BCH 38.1, p. 250–271. VAN DER SPEK, R.J. (1986), Grondbezit in het Seleucidische Rijk, Amsterdam. – (1997/1998), New Evidence from the Babylonian Astronomical Diaries Concerning Seleucid and Arsacid History, in Archiv für Orientforschung 44/45, p. 167–175. – (2001), The Theatre of Babylon in Cuneiform, in W.H. VAN SOLDT et al. (eds.), Veenhof Anniversary Volume: Studies Presented to Klaas R. Veenhof, Leiden, p. 445–456. WENGHOFER, R. / HOULE, D.J. (2016), Marriage Diplomacy and the Political Role of Royal Women in the Seleukid Far East, in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women: Creation, Representation and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 191–207. ZADOK, R. (1984), The Elamite Onomasticon, Napoli. – (1998), Notes on Borsippean Documentation of the 8th–5th Centuries B.C., in S. ISRE’EL / I. SINGER / R. ZADOK (eds.), Israel Oriental Studies XVIII: Past Links, Studies in the Languages and Cultures of the Ancient Near East, Winona Lake IN, p. 249–296.

Epilogue: Rome, the Seleukid East and the Disintegration of the Largest of the Successor Kingdoms in the 2nd Century BC* Altay COùKUN

Abstract Although Antiochos III Megas had been defeated by the Romans in 191/90 BC, his son Seleukos IV managed to consolidate the kingdom, and his youngest son Antiochos IV Epiphanes (175–164) even became the most powerful monarch of his time. After a brief succession crisis (164/162), the kingdom regained strength once more under his grandson Demetrios I Soter (162–150). Only the revolt of Alexander I Balas in 153 resulted in a near-permanent crisis. Dynastic rivalries proliferated and catalyzed the further disintegration of the realm culminating in the Parthian conquests of Media, Mesopotamia and Persia by 140. With the death of Antiochos VII Sidetes (129), the loss of the territories east of the Euphrates became permanent, and Seleukid dissolution continued until Pompey deposed Antiochos XIII in 64/63. Reflecting on the multiple factors that contributed to the disintegration, I shall argue (1) that the heterogeneous nature of the kingdom need not be seen as weakness per se. Also, the negative impact of the Peace of Apameia in general (2) and, especially, the financial needs due to indemnity payments to Rome (3) have been overstated. (4) Roman diplomacy after 188 was harmful, but barely decisive for determining the fate of the Seleukids. (5) Ptolemaic interference was more destructive, but by itself not strong enough to annihilate the Seleukid colossus. The worst enemies of the Seleukids were the Seleukids themselves. Inner-dynastic rivalry got more frequent and more harmful through Roman manipulation and Ptolemaic intervention. (6) The combination of those three factors under Balas finally crippled the realm beyond repair in that it further induced the loss of the Iranian satrapies, and soon thereafter even the Babylonian heartland, the backbones of legitimate Seleukid kingship and resilience.

1. Introduction At the beginning of the 2nd century BC, the Seleukid Empire was thriving under Antiochos III Megas: in the East, territories had returned under his overlordship as far as the Indus during his famous anabasis (212–205); in the South-West, he incorporated Koile Syria (202–198) and had leverage on Egypt by marrying his daughter Kleopatra to the young King Ptolemy V Epiphanes (195); in the West, * I would like to thank Paul Kosmin, Augustine Dickinson and Jess Russel for helpful feedback on earlier drafts.

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he began rebuilding Lysimacheia on the Thracian Chersonesos (197/196) as a stepping-stone for further conquests in Europe. Many of his contemporaries must have believed that he was truly a ‘Great King’ who would soon even surpass the achievements of his greatest ancestor, Seleukos I Nikator.1 In contrast, at the end of the same century, his descendents were only kings in name: they acted as warlords without a firm territorial or institutional base, wearing off the few remaining resources by confronting inner-dynastic rivals or trying to suppress local independence movements. Their radius of action had been reduced to ever-changing and constantly shrinking segments of the Levant and Kilikia.2 Generations of scholars have discussed Seleukid decline from nearly every possible angle, so much that the long list of potential factors leading to the dissolution of the largest of the Successor Kingdoms is well known. And yet, it seems worthwhile to attempt to redress the balance against the background of the new perspectives that the Seleukid Study Days, especially ‘Rome and the Seleukid East’, have provided. To my aid will also be a growing body of exciting new scholarship on Hellenistic and Seleukid Studies, much of which is directly or indirectly relevant for our concern.3

2. A ‘Tumbling Giant’? For a long time, the Seleukid Kingdom was regarded as a ‘tumbling giant’ or even as a ‘sick man’ (obviously playing on the term which Tsar Nicholas I coined for the weakened Ottoman Empire in the mid-19th century) right after

1 For scholarship on Antiochos III, see the contributions by COùKUN (Which Seleukid King), VISSCHER and ALMAGOR (in this volume), with ample bibliographies. On his anabasis, see most recently D. ENGELS (2017), 307–347; on the implication of ‘Great King’ and similar titles, see MUCCIOLI (2013), 395–417; D. ENGELS (2017), 41–71. 2 For references to the latest Seleukids after 129, see the contributions by COùKUN (Triangular Epistolary Diplomacy) and DĄBROWA in this volume. 3 E.g, EHLING (2008) rehearses the complicated line of events from 164 to 63 (cf. HOOVER 2007). A somewhat lighter narrative of nearly the same stories has been written by GRAINGER (2015b). CHRUBASIK (2016) provides the first book-length study on usurpations (cf. HOLTON ca. 2018). ERICKSON / RAMSEY (2011) published the proceedings to the first international conference (Exeter 2008) dedicated to the question of Seleukid dissolution, which foreshadowed many of the ideas developed further on the six subsequent Seleukid Study Days, on which see the Introduction to this book. Also see the surveys on Seleukid scholarship in CHRUBASIK (2016), esp. p. 3–6 and D. ENGELS (2017b), esp. p. 488–492. While writing this Epilogue, I have received a copy of the splendid synthesis of the conquests in the Greek and Near-Eastern worlds from Alexander to Hadrian by CHANIOTIS (2018).

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the death of its founder, only waiting for one decisive blow to let the heterogeneous components fall apart.4 Typical is the judgment of William Tarn: The Seleucid empire was nothing organic, in the sense that the Roman state, up to a point, was organic. The latter resembled a vertebrate animal; it expanded outwards from a solid core, the city of Rome. The Seleucid empire resembled rather a crustacean, not growing from any solid core but encased in an outer shell; the empire was a framework which covered a multitude of peoples and languages and cities. What there really was to the empire, officially, was a king, an army and a bureaucracy – the governing and taxing officials in the several satrapies. It had no imperial citizenship, as the Roman empire had; it hardly even had a unified state worship, for each satrapy had its own cult of the deified kings. Even before the final dissolution, any satrapy could easily set up for itself, as Bactria did for good and Media spasmodically, without endangering the life of the rest …5

The structural weakness of the kingdom is a recurring theme in scholarship, and some historians let its ‘collapse’ begin in the mid-3rd century with the first insurrection of the Parthians, whom Józef Wolski not only considers the heirs of the Seleukids, but also the driving force of their demise.6 Further telling are negative assessments of Antiochos III’s diplomatic approach on his anabasis: rather than commending him for his cautious use of military resources, his incapability of subjecting the Parthians and Baktrians is pointed out.7 A similar tendency can be ascribed to those who qualify the relations of the Seleukids with the eastern elites as strained or hostile.8 As has been explained in the Introduction, however, such views are ceasing to constitute the mainstream. They are gradually yielding to a more appreciative conception of the Seleukid Empire as the strongest realm among the Successor Kingdoms. Besides the military vigor, which has never been doubted (at least for the earlier representatives of the dynasty), a number of recent studies have brought to the fore the ideological and political creativity of the Seleukid court: Andrea Primo has presented a survey of the literary production at the court,

4 BEVAN (1902), vol. 1, p. 76: ‘The empire, a magnificent tour de force, had no natural vitality. Its history from the moment it misses the founder’s hand is one of decline. It was a ‘sick man’ from its birth.’ ‘Homme malade’ is also used by CAPDETREY (2007), p. 11. Note, however, that CAPDETREY calls for a re-evaluation of the early Seleukids (p. 12–15). Also see STROOTMAN (forthcoming c) for discussion. 5 TARN (1951/80), p. 4. 6 Structural weakness: e.g., WOLSKI (1999), p. 32 and 37, though emphasizing Parthian aggression as the most destructive force (p. 40, 113 etc.); ERRINGTON (2008), p. 112; J. ENGELS (2011), p. 189–191; WENGHOFER (in this volume). 7 E.g., WILL (1982), p. 66f.; WOLSKI (1999), p. 67, 75–82. Also implied by ERRINGTON (2008), p. 223; CHANIOTIS (2018), p. 193 (as quoted below, section 2) and 198. Differently, however, BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913), p. 164 acknowledged the value of Antiochos’ diplomacy with Euthydemos of Baktria. For in-depth discussion, see D. ENGELS (2017), p. 307–347, with a brief survey of scholarship on p. 309, n. 6. 8 E.g., BEVAN (1902), vol. 1, p. 2; WIESEHÖFER (2002), p. 115.

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Daniel Ogden a scrutiny of the dynastic legends. Paul Kosmin elucidated the many ways in which the remote and diverse territories were appropriated ideologically. Laurent Capdetrey fully appreciates the governmental practices and Rolf Strootman systematically analyses the royal court, whereas John Ma sheds much light on the construction of power relation through royal diplomacy with the cities within and beyond the reach of regal administration. All of this contributed to the particular resilience with which the Seleukid kingdom was uniquely endowed.9 Decentralized or ‘feudalized’ structures do not necessarily betray weakness: they could in fact be highly functional, as long as the authority and prestige of the king and his family was upheld. This had largely worked under the Achaimenids, and perhaps even more successfully under the Seleukids, at least until the mid-2nd century. In short, skills and strength qualified the royal family for nearly two centuries. They faced challenges since the days of the founder Seleukos I, but regularly overcame them.10

3. The Defeat by the Romans and the Conditions of Apameia After Antiochos III had suffered crushing defeats by the Romans at Thermoplyai in central Greece (191) and near Magnesia in Western Asia Minor (190), he was forced to accept severe peace conditions in Apameia (188).11 First, he had to cede the territories north and west of the Taurus Mountains in south-eastern Asia Minor. Second, he had to demilitarize, handing over most of his fleet and his war elephants – the emblem of Seleukid power since the Battle of Ipsos (301).12 Third, he had to offer hostages, including one of his sons. Fourth, he had to pay substantial indemnities, part of them on the spot, and more coming due in 12 annual instalments, adding up to over 15,000 talents. Antiochos III thus lost part of his territories, treasures, military capacities and prestige. It is an entrenched

9

Literary production: PRIMO (2009); cf. ALMAGOR and VISSCHER (in this volume). Dynastic myths: OGDEN (2017); cf. ERICKSON (2011) and (2014). Ideological geography: KOSMIN (2014a); cf. CAPDETREY (2007), p. 51–85. Diplomacy with cities: MA (1999). Administration and court: CAPDETREY (2007) and STROOTMAN (2014); cf. MEHL (1999); RAMSEY (in this volume). 10 See the Introduction for references, esp. to the works of D. ENGELS and STROOTMAN. Also APERGHIS (2004), p. 298, who emphasizes that the fiscal organization was centralized (in contrast to the satrapal structure) and effective until ca. 129: ‘When the empire eventually succumbed, it was not so much due to internal structural problems, but because it was unfortunate enough to encounter, at the same time, two rising powers, Rome in the west and Parthia in the east, which, in the end, proved too strong for it.’ But see below on my weighing of the external factors. 11 POLYB. 21.42; LIV. 38.38; APP., Syr. 38f. 12 See KOSMIN (2014a), p. 1–3 etc.; COùKUN (2012); SEKUNDA (in this volume).

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view to regard the combined effects of his defeat as the decisive turning point in Seleukid history.13 Most recently, Angelos Chaniotis has phrased it this way: The long twilight of the Seleucids, during which their kingdom, continually reduced in size and torn by internal conflicts, became irrelevant as international power, started immediately after the Peace of Apameia. It lasted for more than a century and cannot be narrated in detail. The efforts of Seleucid kings to retain or regain parts of their realm were futile. Weakened by dynastic conflicts and uprisings, the Seleucids gradually lost not only the eastern satrapies but also most of their kingdom.14

While Chaniotis’ general outline is certainly correct, one may still question the emphasis of his assessment. Do we not have to reckon with too many contingencies for any incident to have a necessary impact to be felt only generations later? As painful as the dictate of Apameia was at its time, one should not overestimate the long-term damage it could inflict. The Romans did not make the kingdom suffer beyond repair,15 which is evident from its splendid recovery under the successors of Antiochos III. His oldest surviving son, Seleukos IV (187–175), has been underestimated for a long time, strangely for his wise decision to hold back on military campaigns that might irritate the Romans. In the meantime, he managed to consolidate the royal treasury despite the loss of the tax income from wealthy Asia Minor. At some point, he also shook off the burden of the indemnity payments to Rome, deciding that he no longer had to pay his father’s debts.16 Even more impressive was the ensuing rule of his brother Antiochos IV Epiphanes (175–164): he was not only able to fend off a Ptolemaic invasion in 170, but also to counter the attack and defeat the Ptolemies repeatedly. He nearly annexed Egypt, had the Romans not interceded on behalf of the Ptolemies. The famous intercession of the ambassador Cn. Popilius Laenas became known as the ‘Day of Eleusis’, the place of his first encounter with the king on a beach near Alexandria. While Epiphanes’ enforced retreat may have been a humiliation, it allowed him to maintain friendship with Rome as well as to carry home a lot of loot – and, indeed, also military glory, since his army had been unbeaten. He thus had much to show off in his procession at Daphne in 166, a celebration of the strength and prosperity of his kingdom as well as an inauguration of his own anabasis planned for the following year. During his life-

13 E.g., FISCHER (1980), p. 152: ‘Seit dem Frieden von Apameia 188 v.Chr. geht das Seleukidenreich „wirklich“ seinem Ende entgegen.’ Cf. DĄBROWA (2005), p. 75. 14 CHANIOTIS (2018), p. 193. 15 Cf. CAPDETREY (2007), p. 15f. – Contrast this with assessments that exaggerate the negative effect of Apameia, such as BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913), p. 220–225. 16 For a positive re-evaluation of Seleukos IV, see MILETA (2014) and ELVIDGE (2017). On the payments, see below, with n. 36.

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time, he was, no doubt, the most powerful of all living kings, and both his political and military achievements were exceptional.17

4. Assessing the Impact of the War Indemnities The indemnities payable to the Romans deserve to be addressed once more. Did they, combined with the loss of Asia Minor, ruin the financial capacities of the Seleukids? This impression may be gained due to the remarkable fact that various sources depict Antiochos III, Seleukos IV and Antiochos IV as temple robbers, so that they could appear to be in desperate need to abide by the stipulations of the Treaty of Apameia.18 Antiochos III is said to have been killed when robbing a temple of Bel in Elymaïs, and Diodoros explicitly mentions his lack of money.19 Seleukos IV was supposedly killed by Heliodoros, the same courtier who had previously inspected the treasury of the temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem (ca. 178), but held back from confiscations due to a ‘miracle’, if the legendary account of 2Macc were to be trusted.20 Antiochos IV is reported to have plundered a temple of Nanaia (also in Elymaïs) shortly before dying under uncertain conditions. According to Polybios, he was ‘smitten with madness’ in retaliation for his sacrilege.21 Judaean sources vary concerning the details, but confirm the view that the king tried to plunder temples, urged by the need to refill his coffers, and that he incurred divine vengeance.22 17 For a positive re-evaluation of Antiochos IV, see, e.g., MITTAG (2006); FEYEL / GRASLIN-THOMÉ (2014a) and (2014b). For his military campaigns and political achievements, also FISCHER-BOVET (2014). Dan 11.40–45 implies that even pious Judaeans saw him as nearly invincible, see COùKUN (2019). See below on the ‘Day of Eleusis’ (n. 48), the conflict in Jerusalem (n. 45) and his procession of Daphne (n. 42). For a less positive assessment, see, e.g., CHANIOTIS (2018), p. 195: ‘Antiochos IV was a master of illusion […]; it required some staging for him to present his humiliation in Eleusis as a triumph. He did this by organizing an impressive military parade of more than 50,000 men at Daphne. […] This demonstration of military power, wealth and exotic weapons was doomed to be the Seleucids’ swansong.’ 18 Thus, e.g., CHANIOTIS (2018), p. 193f. 19 DIOD. SIC. 28.3; 29.15: ਕʌȠȡ૵Ȟ ȤȡȘȝ੺IJȦȞ; STRAB. 16.1.18 (744C); cf. JUST. 32.2.1f.; WIESEHÖFER (2002), p. 110f.; 115; 117, including a digression on the wealth of the temples in Elymaïs; also ERRINGTON (2008), p. 223; GRAINGER (2015a), p. 192f. 20 APP., Syr. 45.233 on the murder and 2Macc 3f. on the miracle of Jerusalem. Cf. BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913), p. 237–240. For a discussion of more or less trustworthy elements of the tale, see SCHWARTZ (2008), p. 181–206. 21 POLYB. 31.9; cf. APP., Syr. 66.352. 22 The second introductory letter of 2Macc (1.14–17) has the king perish while plundering the temple of Nanaia. WIESEHÖFER (2002), p. 111–114 raises doubts against the narrative that implies a hieros gamos, whereas SCHWARTZ (2008), p. 149 defends it. According to 1Macc 3.27–31, Antiochos intended to campaign against Persis to fund the war against Judas; later on (6.1–4), he attacks Elymaïs, ‘a city in Persis famous for its

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To many scholars, this accumulated evidence has appeared compelling. And such an understanding seems to gain further support from the intention that 2Macc 8.34–36 alleges for the military campaigns of Nikanor, Bakchides and Timotheos against the Judaeans: As for that most ungracious Nikanor, who had brought a thousand merchants to buy the Judaeans, he was through the help of the Lord brought down by them, of whom he made least account; and putting off his glorious apparel, and discharging his company, he came like a fugitive servant through the midland to Antioch having very great dishonour, for that his host was destroyed. Thus he who took upon him to make good to the Romans their tribute by means of captives in Jerusalem, told abroad that the Jews had God to fight for them, and therefore they could not be hurt, because they followed the laws that he gave them.23

I do not see a point in denying that Antiochos III must have been short of cash in the aftermath of his defeats: he had to make payments to the Romans and Pergamenes immediately after he had been granted a truce in 190 and more resulting from the peace negotiations in 189/88. Perhaps even worse was the loss of substantial military forces, which required new recruitments without any delay. His financial difficulties may well have continued the year after the conclusion of peace, which also saw the end of his life in Elymaïs. But I hesitate to regard him and his successors, at least until the mid-2nd century, as compelled to rob temples to satisfy harsh Roman demands, or wealth, silver and gold’; a general mention is also made of ‘the very rich sanctuary’ in the city; but the assault failed, and he had to flee to Babylon. The connection with the revolt of Judas allows Yahweh to interfere as protector of a pagan sanctuary. The epitome of Jason of Cyrene (2Macc 9.1f.) locates his attempted temple robbery in Persepolis, whence the king was expelled and moved on to Ekbatana. The Judaean writers were apparently working on some widespread rumors, unaware of the geography of the eastern satrapies, let alone of Antiochos’ specific itinerary. The king seems to have died in eastern Persis, perhaps in Gabai: MITTAG (2006), p. 319f.; differently, ERRINGTON (2008), p. 271, who suggests Ekbatana. But the Judaean writers agree that the intended robbery caused the king’s painful death (1Macc 6.5–16; 2Macc 1.16; 9.5–29). Also see JOS., Ant. Jud. 12.9.1. (354f.); PORPHYR., FGrHist 260 F 53 and 56.1; HIERON., in Dan 718. For further comments, see SCHWARTZ (2008), p. 147–150 (148: ‘our writer’s limited knowledge and lack of interest about such things’). 23 2Macc 8: (34) ੒ į੻ IJȡȚıĮȜȚIJ੾ȡȚȠȢ ȃȚț੺ȞȦȡ, ੒ IJȠઃȢ ȤȚȜ઀ȠȣȢ ਥȝʌંȡȠȣȢ ਥʌ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡ੺ıȚȞ IJ૵Ȟ ૅǿȠȣįĮ઀ȦȞ ਕȖĮȖઆȞ, (35) IJĮʌİȚȞȦșİ੿Ȣ ਫ਼ʌઁ IJ૵Ȟ țĮIJૅ Į੝IJઁȞ ȞȠȝȚȗȠȝ੼ȞȦȞ ਥȜĮȤ઀ıIJȦȞ İੇȞĮȚ, IJૌ IJȠ૨ Ȁȣȡ઀Ƞȣ ȕȠȘșİ઀઺ IJ੽Ȟ įȠȟȚț੽Ȟ ਕʌȠș੼ȝİȞȠȢ ਥıșોIJĮ, įȚ੹ IJોȢ ȝİıȠȖİ઀Ƞȣ, įȡĮʌ੼IJȠȣ IJȡંʌȠȞ, ਩ȡȘȝȠȞ ਦĮȣIJઁȞ ʌȠȚ੾ıĮȢ, ਸțİȞ İੁȢ ૅǹȞIJȚંȤİȚĮȞ ਫ਼ʌİȡ੺ȖĮȞ įȣıȘȝİȡ੾ıĮȢ ਥʌ੿ IJૌ IJȠ૨ ıIJȡĮIJȠ૨ įȚĮijșȠȡઽ. (36) țĮ੿ ੒ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȇȦȝĮ઀ȠȚȢ ਕȞĮįİȟ੺ȝİȞȠȢ ijંȡȠȞ ਕʌઁ IJોȢ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞ ૽ǿİȡȠıȠȜ઄ȝȠȚȢ ĮੁȤȝĮȜȦı઀ĮȢ țĮIJȠȡșઆıĮıșĮȚ, țĮIJ੾ȖȖİȜȜİȞ ਫ਼ʌ੼ȡȝĮȤȠȞ ਩ȤİȚȞ IJઁȞ ĬİઁȞ IJȠઃȢ ૅǿȠȣįĮ઀ȠȣȢ țĮ੿ įȚ੹ IJઁȞ IJȡંʌȠȞ IJȠ૨IJȠ ਕIJȡઆIJȠȣȢ İੇȞĮȚ IJȠઃȢ ૅǿȠȣįĮ઀ȠȣȢ, įȚ੹ IJઁ ਕțȠȜȠȣșİ૙Ȟ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਫ਼ʌૅ Į੝IJȠ૨ ʌȡȠıIJİIJĮȖȝ੼ȞȠȚȢ ȞંȝȠȚȢ. Greek text quoted and English translation adapted from The Greek Word, which reproduces Elpenor’s Bilingual (Greek / English) Old Testament, presenting the official Greek text of the Greek Orthodox Church and the translation of L.C.L Brenton (URL: https://www.ellopos.net/elpenor/ greek-texts/septuagint/default.asp, 28 March 2018).

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otherwise to make good for the losses of the Roman War. To start with the above-quoted lines on Antiochos IV, they obviously contain several fabricated elements, as does the preceding account of the battles (2Macc 8.16–33). A comparison with the much more accurate version of 1Macc would make this apparent immediately. But there is no need to go into detail here. The fact that the Judaean insurgents are said to have already been in control of Jerusalem (2Macc 8.31) and that Antiochos IV was supposed to have advanced as far as Persis on his eastern campaign (2Macc 9.1f.) suggests an (assumed) date around 164. Since we know, however, that Antiochos had repaid the remaining debts of his father in 173 (or possibly shortly thereafter),24 the purported financial motivation for plundering Judaea nearly a decade later has to be rejected. At any rate, the allegations of temple robbery sharply contrast with the Seleukids’ image as sponsors of traditional cults throughout their kingdom. There is noteworthy evidence, not only for Antiochos III, but even still for Seleukos IV, that they contributed substantially to the costs of running the temple of Jerusalem.25 Moreover, the concern of Seleukos IV is explicitly said to have been that the royal treasury had been overpaying for cult expenses: the accumulated surplus thus seems to have been the real target of Heliodoros’ mission.26 Besides, the fact that 2Macc tells us a fanciful story about his ‘conversion’ in the temple of Yahweh does not justify the assumption that his murdering of Seleukos IV had anything to do with Judaea. Either we trust Appian’s statement that he was aiming to rule himself (though this would have been in his role as tutor of the boy Antiochos, son of Seleukos),27 or we consider the possibility of his involvement in a larger conspiracy against Seleukos IV, perhaps involving Antiochos IV,28 unless we reject the literary traditions of his murder and confess agnosticism. Moreover, it is well known that temple treasuries were complex. Specifically for the sanctuary of Yahweh, we learn that it harboured a large fund to support the poor, widows and orphans, besides guarding the treasures owned by the divinity himself and the money used for the cult expenses. It further served as a deposit for the ‘private savings’ of the Tobiads, if that is an adequate label for money made on the side by tax farmers.29 In various ways, Hellenistic kings chose to control the spending or claim part of the income generated by the 24 Differently, SCHWARTZ (2008), p. 544f. considers the claim to be possibly correct. But see below, with n. 36. 25 JOS., Ant. Jud. 12.3.3 (140–142); 2Macc 3.2f. 26 2Macc 3.6, with PARKER (2013), 35–38. 27 Cf. PALTIEL (1979b), p. 43. Differently, BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913), p. 238–240 assumes that Heliodoros planned his coup by the time he was in Jerusalem, and thus tried to keep the temple funds for himself. 28 See SCOLNIC 2016. Skeptical, however, BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913), p. 241f. 29 2Macc 3f. On the complexity of Hellenistic temple economies, also see Aperghis (2004), p. 107–110.

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temples in their territories.30 Kyle Erickson (in this volume) has elaborated on the tendency to centralize the control of temple funds well before Antiochos III’s war against Rome, a trend that Seleukos IV continued, as is well documented by the recently-found inscription of Maresha (Marisa).31 Peter Franz Mittag points out that royal claims to part of temple treasures were more likely to arouse tensions in Near-Eastern than in Greek contexts; in the latter, it was customary that a polis had the prerogative to decide over the properties of its sanctuaries, a role that the king might have taken over in certain areas. At any rate, a ruler was never entitled to random demands.32 Besides, we should be cautious not to accept too easily that the Seleukid Kingdom was broke after the loss of Asia Minor. Let us remember that all the abandoned Anatolian territory had returned to the kingdom only between 204 and 192. Even beforehand, there had been long periods in which cities and rural areas had escaped the grip of the central government.33 Accordingly, no 30 In her study of the temple states of Asia Minor, BOFFO (1985), p. 21f. et al. points to the tradition of regal power over the cult places in all its dimensions, a tradition shared by the Babylonians, Hittites and Achaimenids. APERGHIS (2004) variously addresses the direct (p. 108, 287f.) and indirect (p. 110) income that the Seleukid kings generated from temples. He further claims a general policy of maximizing royal income (p. 297, 299); exceptions prove the rule (p. 299): ‘The numerous tax concessions granted by Seleukid kings …, often for a few years only, are clear indications of a ps.-Aristotelian economic policy. That Sardeis or Jerusalem, for example, should not pay taxes for a while and should receive subsidies for material purchases obviously served the purpose of helping these cities find their feet after a period of troubles. It has been suggested by me that this was not so much a gesture of philanthropy on the part of the king, as a straightforward economic calculation of how soon these cities could start generating revenue again/for the royal treasury, although there were naturally political and social considerations to be taken into account as well.’ See p. 300 for the Seleukids’ motivation to create profit, and p. 302f. for the claim of an active policy of ‘developing infrastructure’. GORRE / HONIGMAN (2014) emphasize strong regional differences as to the tolerance towards royal intervention in temple matters, high in Egypt and low in Babylon (p. 307), higher in the Hellenistic and lower in the previous periods (p. 319); moreover, they regard cultic and economic reforms as barely separable (p. 309). Somewhat differently, however, HOUGHTON / LORBER / HOOVER (2008), II.1, p. 1 state that ‘temple robbery by kings was fairly common’. Also see CAPDETREY (2007), p. 167–189. 31 See SEG 57.1838; COTTON / WÖRRLE (2007); GERA (2009). Cf. CAPDETREY (2007), p. 173; GORRE / HONIGMAN (2014), p. 304f.; 331; ELVIDGE (2017), p. 45f.; CHANIOTIS (2018), p. 194. Even before this inscription was known, APERGHIS (2004), p. 287 suggested that the prostates tou hierou Simon who challenged the High Priest Onias III (2Macc 3) was not a subaltern temple official, but had actually been appointed by the king to report on tax collection. APERGHIS (2011), followed by GORRE / HONIGMAN (2014), p. 332, specified that his particular target were the market dues levied by the temple; Onias III counteracted his effort and likewise prevailed over Heliodoros, who was therefore deposed by Antiochos IV, as was Onias himself. For more context on those agents, see below, with n. 38. 32 MITTAG (2006), p. 309. 33 Cf. CAPDETREY (2007), p. 272; differently, ERRINGTON (2008), p. 123f.; 268f.

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Seleukid king had ever been dependent on income from Asia Minor. Another – somewhat paradoxical – effect of the Treaty of Apameia is that the strict limitation of the Seleukid fleet substantially reduced the number of men on the royal payroll.34 Moreover, the output of silver coinage under Seleukos IV and Antiochos IV was in no way inferior to that of their father, neither in quantitative nor in qualitative terms. Their reforms are now rather understood as responding to new developments of the major Mediterranean currencies.35 The fact that Seleukos IV discontinued indemnity payments to Rome was as much a political choice as it was for Antiochos IV Epiphanes to repay all extant debts,36 besides adding a gift and thus regaining Roman amicitia this way.37 Next, the desire to maximize monetary income from Jerusalem is explained as generated by Judaean dissidents in 2Macc: a ‘jealous’ official called Simon wanted to harm the High Priest Onias III, accusing him of holding illegal funds 34 APERGHIS (2004), p. 198f. estimates that Antiochos’ fleet for the Greek campaign required 20,000 to 25,000 oarsmen, not yet considered the number of those patrolling the coast of southern Asia Minor or the Levant; altogether, he suggests up to 30,000 in wartime and around 10,000 as the peace-time minimum until 191. In contrast, an optimistic total for the permitted ten ‘decked warships’, plus several smaller ships, would not have exceeded 5,000. – Note that further savings were to be made by discontinuing the elephant units. 35 Catharine Lorber emphasized this to me on the 9th Enoch Seminar, Gazzada (near Milan), 13 June 2018. Cf. APERGHIS (2004), p. 231f., who confirms that the quality of Seleukid coins remained unchanged after 188, but suggests that the increased influx of foreign currencies was caused by the massive removal of Seleukid silver coinage; also see p. 232 for an outlook on the later changes under Epiphanes and Balas. HOUGHTON / LORBER / HOOVER (2008), II.1, p. xviii, 1 etc. and ELVIDGE (2017), p. 48f. concede to Apameia only little impact on the minting of Seleukos IV. DOYEN (2014) characterizes the coinage of Antiochos IV as a mix of continuity and innovation; the reduction of the silver content by 2% in the mint of Antioch is explained as an adaptation to the changing standards in the eastern Mediterranean (p. 266f., 295), whereas the reduction of the bronze denominations is explained with the Roman model (p. 292–294). 36 LIV. 42.6 (on year 173): Et Antiocho rege sub idem tempus legati uenerunt; quorum princeps Apollonius in senatum introductus multis iustisque causis regem excusauit, quod stipendium serius quam ad diem praestaret; id se omne aduexisse, ne cuius nisi temporis gratia regi fieret. Donum praeterea afferre, uasa aurea quingentum pondo. This is normally understood as implying the payment of all remaining instalments in one lump sum; cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 99f.; ELVIDGE (2017), p. 48f. Differently, SCHWARTZ (2008), p. 544f. reads Livy’s stipendium as referring to a single annual instalment; if so, then omne also denotes no more than the full payment of one annual rate (of 1,000 talents). The case cannot be decided, since it is not known when Seleukos IV interrupted the payments and on which terms the Roman embassy to Antioch had agreed in 174. At any rate, there is no reason to assume that Seleukos stopped payments immediately in 187 or 186, so that the payment in 173 may well have been the last, or at least close to the last one. At any rate, it is highly improbable that payments continued until 165, as purported by 2Macc 8.36 (quoted above, with n. 23). 37 On Epiphanes’ amicitia with Rome, see MITTAG (2014) as well as BERNHARDT (2014); also STROOTMAN in this volume.

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in the temple treasury (which triggered the abovementioned enquiry of Heliodoros, ca. 178/75); Jason bought his succession to the high priesthood at the cost of his brother Onias by promising to increase the annual payments from Jerusalem to 440 talents (174), only to be outbid by his rival Menelaos by another 300 talents (171).38 While this narrative may be in part distorted for ideological reasons, it should nevertheless have some bearing on our question: the Seleukids are not represented as acting in despair. In fact, they are not even said to do so in the parallel accounts of Daniel and 1Macc, where Epiphanes is acting as the most depraved evildoer, but not out of any kind of weakness, such as financial needs. He is rather posing as the embodiment of hubris in a predetermined divine plan of scrutinizing God’s people and saving the faithful.39 The example of the financial capacities of Jerusalem also serves as a point of comparison, which minimizes the effect that an annual payment of 1,000 talents might have had on the Seleukid treasury.40 At any rate, the very fact that Seleukos IV was able to subsidize the cult of Jerusalem generously – i.e. one of secondary importance from an imperial perspective – speaks to the wealth of the kingdom under his rule. These riches were not only passed on to Antiochos IV, but additional resources poured in through the looting of Egypt. Further on, the spoiling of the temple of Yahweh in 169 must have generated substantial income as well.41 The procession and feasting at Daphne best illustrate the exuberance of the kingdom under Epiphanes.42

38 2Macc 3f. Note, however, that Jason of Cyrene, from whose work 2Macc has been epitomized, had the intention to discredit certain Judaean factions, and may thus have downplayed the role of the king or his court. For the financial implications of those successions, see GORRE / HONIGMAN (2014), p. 333–335. 39 The ‘prophet’ posing as Daniel, a contemporary of Antiochos IV, puts all the blame on the kings (Dan 11.20, 28, 30–32), to call on his fellow Judaeans for courageous resistance (11.31–35). Similarly, though for a different purpose (namely, to unite all Judaean factions behind the dynasty of Simon, the brother of Judas Maccabee), the author of 1Macc (1.20–24) mainly criticizes the Seleukids. For a discussion of the different ideological agendas, see, e.g., SCHWARTZ (ca. 2017); COùKUN (in preparation). 40 Also see APERGHIS (2004), e.g., p. 172–175 for several further examples of indemnities or plunder. 41 1Macc 1.16–20; this is to be distinguished from the sack of Jerusalem in 168 (2Macc 5.11–21), which will have yielded further loot. Cf. Dan 11.28–32; Josephus amalgamates the various traditions: Ant. Jud. 12.5.2 (244)–12.5.3 (246); also Bell. Jud. 1.1.1f. (31– 35). For a discussion, see COùKUN (2019); differently, SCHWARTZ (2008), p. 533–536. 42 See ELVIDGE (2017), p. 47–56. On Daphne, see, e.g., MITTAG (2006), p. 282–295; also IOSSIF (2010), p. 134–151, who concludes (p. 151) that the procession was designed to paint ‘une image du monde séleucide idéal, tel qu’il aurait dû être’ (but note that he suggests dating it to summer 165: p. 126–134).

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Whatever motivated him to seize funds deposited in the temple of Nanaia, financial despair would have been the least likely incentive.43 Mittag plausibly suggests that we take seriously the indication of 1Macc 3.31 that the king’s aim had been to collect overdue taxes.44 In addition, I cannot exclude that Epiphanes felt it timely to demonstrate his sovereignty and, in a certain sense, the limitless of his power – just as we may interpret his religious politics in Jerusalem, which Judaean sources represent as desecration, persecution or ‘Abomination of Desolation’.45 At any rate, Polybios’ narrative is sufficiently transparent for us to see that there was no factual relation between Antiochos’ treatment of the temple of Nanaia and his death. It is no more than a malevolent construction of divine vengeance of sacrilege, a commonplace of political propaganda.46 The financial implications of Apameia on the kingdom were apparently quite limited: while we cannot exclude that they were still pressing in 187, they were quickly balanced out by Seleukos IV, and distant past under Antiochos IV.47

5. The Effect of Roman Diplomacy after Apameia Roman diplomacy after Apameia is another factor that, on balance, caused harm to the Seleukid Kingdom. The first in a series of notorious incidents was the 43 Pace BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ (1913), p. 300, who even claims that the whole eastern campaign had been aimed at the riches of Elymaïs to overcome pressing financial needs. WIESEHÖFER (2002), p. 115 explains Antiochos’ financial needs as ‘bedingt durch die innenpolitischen und wohl auch militärischen Reorganisationsmaßnahmen der ersten Jahre sowie vor allem den erfolglosen Ägyptenzug und die Auseinandersetzungen in Judäa’. I would, however, assume that both conflicts rather generated a surplus for the king. More convincingly, WIESEHÖFER (2002), p.118 adds the argument that Antiochos wanted a demonstration of unlimited loyalty before he moved further east. 44 MITTAG (2006), p. 309f. (cf. p. 320), with reference to 1Macc 3.31: ਥȕȠȣȜİ઄ıĮIJȠ IJȠ૨ ʌȠȡİȣșોȞĮȚ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ Ȇİȡı઀įĮ țĮ੿ ȜĮȕİ૙Ȟ IJȠઃȢ ijંȡȠȣȢ IJ૵Ȟ ȤȦȡ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ ıȣȞĮȖĮȖİ૙Ȟ ਕȡȖ઄ȡȚȠȞ ʌȠȜ઄. 45 Dan 7–12; 1Macc 1; 2Macc 5–7. Historical interpretations of the conflict in Jerusalem are legion, and vary between emphasizing religious, political and fiscal motivations. The most recent and, at the same time, most profuse discussion of previous scholarship is by BERNHARDT (2017), esp. p. 217–274, who has returned to stressing religious intentions. I prefer to see, together with BICKERMANN (1937), most of the problems resulting from inner-Judaean tensions, to which the king responded with growing severity; cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 226–230; 252–268; 274f.; 280f.; D. ENGELS (2017), p. 349–380; COùKUN (in preparation). 46 Cf. MITTAG (2006), p. 309, also 307f., where he points out the diverse and inconsistent nature of the literary tradition; the obvious parallel to his father’s death is seen as further evidence for a fabrication. 47 Also see MITTAG (2006), p. 298–307 on the short- and long-term income that he generated in the Persian Gulf.

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rude treatment of Antiochos IV Epiphanes on the ‘Day of Eleusis’ (168).48 The second was the Senate’s refusal to give Demetrios permission to leave Italy and claim the Seleukid throne (163).49 Perhaps the worst was the embassy of Cn. Octavius, who burnt the fleet and hamstrung the elephants under the weak child king Antiochos V (163/62).50 Some have argued that Octavius was only enforcing the stipulations of the peace treaty of Apameia, but it needs to be pointed out that this was no longer binding: it had defined the condition for peace and friendship with Antiochos III in 188, but did not legally oblige his successors.51 The treaty’s value was at best an expression of the political interest that several Roman senators might endorse. Many of them indeed wanted to see the Seleukids weak, if we can trust the judgment of Polybios.52 And yet, other Roman aristocrats, as those headed by the Scipio family and C. Sempronius Gracchus, were much more sympathetic, especially with Demetrios. Roman politics under the auspices of the multi-headed Republican Senate was certainly not always straightforward and depended on several contingencies. This is why we should be cautious not to assume that the Romans pursued anything close to an anti-Seleukid agenda. Indifference would seem a much more pertinent descriptor, at least as long as they saw no threat coming from Syria.53 Such a view would be in line with the very limited impact of Roman

48 POLYB. 29.27.1–8, LIV. 45.12.3–8, DIOD. SIC. 31.2; JUST. 34.3.1–4; APP., Syr. 66.350f. For more on Eleusis, see MITTAG (2006), p. 214–224 and SCOLNIC in this volume. 49 POLYB. 31.2.1–7 (on 163) and 31.11f. (on 162). Cf. EHLING (2008), p. 119f.; 122. Note, however, that WENGHOFER in this volume suggests that, by holding Demetrios back, the Romans even reduced the potential for domestic strife and ultimately strengthened the kingdom as of 175. Also consider the position of SCOLNIC in this volume, according to whom Popilius Laenas got his way because his threat was that Rome may let loose Demetrios. Similarly, GRAINGER (2017), p. 237 argues that Lysias gave in to Octavius because of the same threat. 50 POLYB. 31.2.8–11; 31.11.1f. For more detail, see EHLING (2008), p. 120f. and GRAINGER (2017), p. 234–239, who question Polybios’ allegation that Octavius was acting according to the instruction of the Senate. On the elephants, also see SEKUNDA in this volume. 51 PALTIEL (1979a) argued convincingly that the terms of Apameia were no longer valid after the death of Antiochos III; cf. COùKUN / D. ENGELS (2015), differentiating between legal and political implications; similarly, the treaty is regarded as no longer binding by GRAINGER (2015a), p. 193; ELVIDGE (2017), p. 18–42; SEKUNDA in this volume. GRAINGER (2017), p. 208, points out that many stipulations were not enforced while Antiochos III was still alive, let alone thereafter. For different views, see EHLING (2008), p. 121; PAYEN (2016); SCOLNIC in this volume, n. 3. 52 See above, with n. 49. 53 Cf. GRUEN (1984), p. 73–95; FISCHER (1980), p. 118f.: the Romans acted ‘vielmehr vorsichtig, zurückhaltend und nachprüfend in der Absicht, die eigene Macht zu behaupten und zu festigen’. Contrast this with the view, e.g., of APERGHIS (2004), p. 298, quoted above, n. 10.

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diplomacy on the Seleukids after 160. One may well debate the degree of indifference or ill-will, but it will be hard to argue that Roman machinations were the decisive factor of Seleukid disintegration. If this should have been the aim, those promoting such a policy in the 160s would have been utterly disappointed of the developments, at least until 153.

6. The Impact of Ptolemaic Interventions and Dynastic Strife in the House of Seleukos The particular roles of the Ptolemies deserve a closer look as well. Their interventions were frequent and particularly deleterious: they repeatedly fuelled dynastic rifts in Syria. And yet, we should perhaps not overestimate their influence, since the first victims of their destructive intercessions were the subjects and even family members of the Ptolemies themselves: dynastic crises paralysed them for nearly a century after 175. That, in the 1st century, they emerged from these power struggles so much better than the Seleukids is at least to a large degree contingent. Another point to keep in mind is that the Ptolemies had been opposing, if not seriously harming, the Seleukids from early on, either through indirect interference or direct military intervention. The first known case is the War of Succession (280–277), to be followed by the series of the so-called Syrian Wars, the first three of which were all the result of Ptolemaic aggression. Even the Sixth Syrian War (170–168), in which Antiochos IV laid siege to Alexandria and had himself inaugurated as pharaoh in Memphis had been started by an attack on the Seleukid Kingdom.54 Ptolemaic hostility was thus not at all new. The question should therefore rather be: what had changed by the mid-2nd century, so that the Seleukids were no longer capable to respond to Ptolemaic encroachments as successfully as before? What about domestic strife amongst the Seleukids? This had been an occasional problem since the (first) War of Brothers (246–242).55 It became the most critical issue when the brothers Seleukos IV and Antiochos IV established 54

See esp. GRAINGER (2010); cf. HÖLBL (1994/2004). The beginning of the revolt of Hierax is normally dated to ca. 242/239 and its end to ca. 228/227, but I have tried to show that this late date is due to a narrative simplification by Justin. This needs to be corrected after Porphyry’s report, which limits Hierax’ war with his brother Seleukos II to 246–242/241. It was thus contemporary to the Third Syrian War, and both the external and internal attack on Seleukos II had been instigated by Ptolemy III Euergetes. See COùKUN (2016a) and (2016b), and soon (ca. 2018) for a full argument, where I also reject (together with DEL MONTE 1997, p. 37, 228) the idea that Seleukos, the son of Antiochos I, had revolted against his father. For alternative accounts, see GRAINGER (2010) or CHRUBASIK (2016). ERRINGTON (2008), p. 112 overstates the importance of usurpations under the early Seleukids. 55

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two rivalling lines, represented by Antiochos V, Alexander I Balas and Antiochos VI on the one hand and Demetrios I, Demetrios II and Antiochos VII on the other (175–125).56 The final chapter of Seleukid history was shaped by the deadly strife between the offspring of Kleopatra Thea (150–122): the sons that she bore to Demetrios II and Antiochos VII, Antiochos VIII Grypos (125– 98/97) and Antiochos IX Kyzikenos (114–97/96) respectively, began wrecking whatever was left of the Syrian kingdom, leaving their sons and grandsons only spoils to fight over before Pompey put an end to the protracted tragedy. Clearly, such ongoing dynastic rifts spring to the eyes of those who study Seleukid history, and one may easily identify them as most destructive factor of all – as did Poseidonios, Strabon and Justin.57 But here, too, some caution is in place: in some way, usurpation was a phenomenon inherent to Hellenistic kingship, which was rooted in military victory and agonism.58 At any rate, we need to ask why such domestic conflicts proliferated as of 153, and, perhaps even more importantly, why the kingdom was no longer able to deal with such strife in a swifter and less costly way. Obviously, in the case of Alexander I Balas’ usurpation against Demetrios I, we have a contingent combination of detrimental factors: most of all, the active interference of Ptolemy VI Philometor gave this insurrection a completely new drive. With the additional support of Attalos II of Pergamon, Ariarathes V of Kappadokia and the Judaean High Priest Jonathan, Balas managed to become the first usurper to successfully challenge a mature and fully established Seleukid king. There is room for speculation as to how important the influence of the Roman Senate was: while the patres gave Balas their blessings, perhaps to please their other allies among his supporters, they did not provide any material resources.59 It would be somewhat speculative to muse about the effective value of this diplomatic move. In other words: how far might friendship for Balas, or better: resentment of Demetrios I,60 have induced Philometor, Attalos and Ariarathes

56 57

Or even 123, if one considers Alexander II Zabinas an offspring of Antiochos IV. See, e.g., JUST. 40.2.5: discordia consanguineorum regum; cf. J. ENGELS (2011),

190f. 58 On usurpations as a general phenomenon of Seleukid or Hellenistic kingship, see CHRUBASIK (2016); also OGDEN (1999). Foundational for the chronological reconstruction of the rifts as of 164 is EHLING (2008). For the 3rd century, see ERICKSON (ca. 2018). On Seleukid militarism, see, e.g., AUSTIN (1999); MUCCIOLI (2013), p. 94– 107. 59 POLYB. 33.15, 18 presents Herakleides, the brother of the usurper Timarchos (162/161), as the driving force behind Alexander Balas’ claim for kingship and also for his success with the Senate. 60 Resentment and mistrust of Demetrios was the driving factor for Jonathan: 1Macc 10.46.

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to go without Roman recognition of Balas?61 The very fact of withholding potential heirs by keeping them hostages in Rome a generation earlier had ultimately caused the existence of two rivalling royal lines. We cannot even acquit the Romans of the reproach of doing such harm on purpose, if we remember that the Senate had denied Demetrios the throne with ill intentions, as Polybios claims. The Romans preferred a weak boy-king (Antiochos V) over a highly gifted and energetic Demetrios.62 More decisive, however, was that Philometor chose to support Balas with both an army and the hand of his daughter Kleopatra Thea. The impact of Ptolemaic endorsement became clear when Ptolemy switched sides and chose to support Demetrios II, son of Demetrios I, in his challenge of Balas (147–145). And that there was no shortage of further sons or reckless governors who would seek their own chance to rule (Diodotos Tryphon, 144/141–137) made the vicious circle perfect. There was no need even for ill-willed Romans to intervene anymore.

7. Babylonia and the Iranian Satrapies: the Backbone of the Kingdom The case of Alexander I Balas reveals that so far one further factor has escaped our attention: Seleukid control of the Eastern territories, which evaporated under his short rule. As has been indicated above (section 1), recent scholarship is gradually abandoning the idea that the kings’ grip on them was weak and ineffective, despite the fact that many satraps had assumed the royal title since the mid-3rd century, and were hence enjoying a higher degree of independence. But they remained – or were soon brought back into – a vassal status, so that the unity of the empire under the King of Kings continued. Loss of direct rule in most of the Iranian satrapies should thus not be confused with an effective loss of their resources for Seleukid warfare.63 In addition, a number of case studies have reduced the periods in which Eastern satraps or kings were fully emancipated from Seleukid sovereignty. We are thus encouraged to believe that the dynasty’s indirect control of Baktria and Persia largely remained firm under Antiochos IV and Demetrios I. Only Parthia may have gained its complete independence under Epiphanes and maintained it,

61 Note, however, the high degree of freedom in their diplomatic and even military actions the kings of Asia Minor were enjoying the half–century after Apameia, not only according to the pioneer study by GRUEN (1984), but also in the eyes of PAYEN, MCAULEY and MICHELS, all in this volume. 62 See above, section 4, with n. 49. 63 The Seleukids are believed to have lost control of the far-eastern territories in the mid-3rd century by, e.g., CAPDETREY (2007), p. 11, despite his emphasis on the importance of the Achaimenid heritage living on in the Seleukid Kingdom (p. 12).

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since the king died on his campaign. But alternative interpretations are likewise possible: Parthia may well have continued to be a Seleukid vassal: Epiphanes ended his life in eastern Persis, which may speak against the assumption that he had perceived a threat from the north; or if his plan was to attack from the east (but failed to do so), it is still feasible that Demetrios I achieved the desired success. Our sources are too patchy to allow us to know for sure. It is certain, however, that Epiphanes had forced Armenia and Media Atropatene back under Seleukid overlordship. Media itself, with its royal residences Susa and Ekbatana, had remained a core part of the kingdom until the beginning of Balas’ rule; its loss to the usurper Timarchos had only been ephemeral (162/161).64 Most of all, it is now widely accepted that Mesopotamia, flanked by the giant cities Babylon and Seleukeia-on-the-Tigris, was not one of the many eastern satrapies, rarely visited by the Syrian kings, but rather represented one of the two main centres of the kingdom, on par with Syrian Seleukis in political terms, though more important financially, as the wealthiest of all parts of the realm.65 Good relations between Seleukos I and the local population had been fundamental in the build-up of his kingdom, and induced Antiochos I to draw exhaustively on old Babylonian traditions in the construction of his royal legitimacy.66 It has thus been an overdue correction that D. Engels (in this volume) has dispelled the myth that Babylonians were either unfit or not trusted to serve in the Seleukid army. Admittedly, the presence of the king, his wife or son (whether co-ruling or not yet) in Babylonia or the Iranian territories got more sporadic after Antiochos III’s return from his anabasis. But we should avoid rash conclusions on the significance of the eastern parts of the realm. First of all, the focus of military conquests or challenges clearly turned to the Mediterranean world as of 204, and 64 Armenia: MITTAG (2006), p. 296–298; D. ENGELS (2017a), p. 311–315; cf. PAYEN (in this volume). Media Atropatene: COLORU (2014); D. ENGELS (2017a), p. 309–311. Persian Gulf/Charakene: MITTAG (2006), p. 298–307; 326f. Elymaïs: WIESEHÖFER (2002); MITTAG (2006), p. 307–310, 316–318; MARTINEZ-SÈVE (2014). Media/Susiana: MITTAG (2006), p. 322; MARTINEZ-SÈVE (2014). Persis/Frataraka: D. ENGELS (2017a), p. 247–306; 329–331; cf. WIESEHÖFER (1994); D. ENGELS (2013) and (2018); MITTAG (2006), p. 310–316; 319f.; PLISCHKE (2014). Parthia: MITTAG (2006), p. 320–323; D. ENGELS (2017a), p. 315–317; STROOTMAN (ca. 2018); cf. ASSAR (2006a) and (2006b); Dąbrowa (2005) and (2009). Baktria: DUMKE (2012); WENGHOFER / HOULE 2016; WENGHOFER (ca. 2018); cf. HOLT (1999); MITTAG (2006), p. 322–326; COLORU (2009); D. ENGELS (2017a), p. 318–322. Further East: D. ENGELS (2017a), p. 317f.; 322–329. Comprehensive approaches: D. ENGELS (2011); (2017a), p. 338–347; STROOTMAN (2017); cf. WIESEHÖFER (2002), p. 118–120. 65 See, e.g., CLANCIER (2014); PIRNGRUBER (2017); also APERGHIS (2004), p. 36–40, 44–46, who assesses the population of Mesopotamia two or three times as high as that of Syria. 66 See, e.g., SCHARRER (1999); CAPDETREY (2007), p. 25–38; ERICKSON (2011); KOSMIN, P.J. (2014b).

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would, for the most part, remain there due to the conflicts with the Romans and Ptolemies. Second, our knowledge of the reigns of Seleukos IV and Demetrios I is very lacunose, perhaps precisely due to their activities far east of the Levant. Third, the demography of the royal house changed significantly after the death of Antiochos III: no Seleukid king was lucky enough to stay in power until his oldest son reached the age of maturity, to be appointed co-ruling king with at least initial responsibility for Babylonia or Media. Against this background, I suggest that the loyalty of the Mesopotamian and Iranian subjects formed the backbone of Seleukid power, besides the Macedonian colonists of the Levant, not only during the first three generations, but effectively until the mid-2nd century. Drawing on their vast recruits and material resources had enabled the legitimate successors of Seleukos I to fend off, sooner or later, every single encroachment of the relentless Ptolemies, maintain military and financial stability after the defeat by Rome and also overcome usurpations such as that of Antiochos Hierax or Achaios.67 Turmoil in the West, violent successions, ineffective child kings and rival claims to kingship had diminished the prestige of the royal family among the eastern vassal kingdoms and satrapies: the Armenians gained independence around 188, the Parthians, Baktrians, Persians and Elymaïens sometime in the ensuing half-century. At the same time, Seleukos IV, Antiochos IV and Demetrios I seem to have worked towards counteracting dissolution. With the continued loyalty of Syria, Mesopotamia and Media, the core of the kingdom was intact and functional, and there is a good chance that most, if not all, of the aforementioned territories were (once more) part of the empire under Demetrios I. It was the victory of Alexander I Balas that changed the power dynamics for good: the Parthians were in a position to intrude into Media in 148/147, the crucial link between the centre and its eastern periphery. The ongoing dynastic war between Demetrios II and Antiochos VI/Diodotos Tryphon then paved the way for the independence of Elymaïs by 145. Even worse, it soon let to the complete breakdown of Seleukid rule east of the Euphrates with the further Parthian conquests of Babylonia (142/141), Persis (ca. 140) and Susa (139/138).68 Quite telling is the bold anabasis of Demetrios II (140–138): although he did not have the resources to defeat Diodotos Tryphon in Syria, he dared to invade Babylonia, rightly trusting that his dynastic prestige would be to his advantage. After Babylonia, he was hoping to also regain control of Media and Persis – an endeavour in which he failed. His capture by the Parthians could well have sealed the end of the Seleukid Kingdom – but, surprisingly, it did not yet. Demetrios’ brother Antiochos VII Sidetes gradually resumed control of Syria

67 68

On usurpations, see above, ns. 3 and 55. For references, see above, ns. 64f.

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and Koile Syria. Coming out of nowhere, he succeeded in unifying the Levant by 37, for the first time after the revolt of Demetrios II in 47. He was the last to also bring back the Judaean army under Seleukid supreme command. His achievements are one of the most remarkable testimonies to Seleukid resilience, and to the military and political capabilities of the dynasty’s greatest representatives. Antiochos VII was thus well prepared for yet another Seleukid anabasis (131–129). He prevailed in Armenia, Mesopotamia and also celebrated his first victories east of the Tigris, when he was ambushed and killed. No further chance of recovery was ever given to the House of Seleukos.69 As of 129, one might consider accepting the derogatory Roman designation rex Syriae for the later Seleukid kings – if only they had controlled Syria. When the last anabasis had ended in disaster, independence movements flared up again throughout the Levant. Best known is the case of Judaea under John Hyrkanos II, but many other tribes and cities were striving to achieve the same. Seleukid kings, beginning with Demetrios II after his return from Parthian captivity in 129, were nearly constantly fighting for their survival, against one or often more rivalling kings or queens. The Romans, Parthians, Baktrians, Persians, Egyptians, Armenians and Judaeans had all contributed to this downward spiral (and the Egyptians and Judaeans continued doing so), but every single one of them played at best a secondary role compared to the long line of dynastic pretenders, who had eroded the kingdom’s resources. Without the annual tax income and fresh recruits from Babylonia and Media, recovery was not sustainable, and there was little chance to put down a rival king, if he could draw on the support of the Ptolemies and had at least some dynastic legitimacy to buttress his claim to rule. A final (and yet unanswered) question to end with is how on Earth it was possible for those remnant Seleukid warlords to renew their claim to rule in some pockets of Syria, Koile Syria or Kilikia time and again, before Pompey finally liberated the Near East of this plague.

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69 Cf. CAPDETREY (2007), p. 16. Tellingly, ERRINGTON (2008), p. 275 titles the last chapter of Seleukid history beginning with 129 ‘Terminal Cancer’.

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ASSAR, G.F (2006a), A Revised Parthian Chronology of the Period 165–91 BC, in Electrum 11, p. 87–158. - (2006b), Moses of Chorene and the Early Parthian Chronology, in Electrum 11, p. 61– 86. AUSTIN, M. (1999), Krieg und Kultur im Seleukidenreich, in K. BRODERSEN (ed.), Zwischen West und Ost. Studien zur Geschichte des Seleukidenreichs, Hamburg, p. 129– 165. BERNHARDT, J. (2014), Antiochos IV. und der Blick nach Rom, in FEYEL / GRASLIN-THOMÉ (2014), p. 138–161. BERNHARDT, J.C. (2017), Die jüdische Revolution. Untersuchung zu Ursachen, Verlauf und Folgen der hebräischen Erhebung, Berlin. BEVAN, E.R. (1902), The House of Seleucus, 2 vols., London (repr. Chicago 1985). BICKERMANN, E. (1937), Der Gott der Makkabäer, Leipzig. BOFFO, L. (1985), I re ellenistici e i centri religiosi dell’Asia Minore, Firenze. BOUCHÉ-LECLERCQ, A. (1913/14), Histoire des Séleucides, Paris. CAPDETREY, L. (2007), Le pouvoir séleucide: territoire, administration, et finances, Rennes. CHANIOTIS, A. (2018), Ages of Conquest. The Greek World from Alexander to Hadrian, Cambridge MA. CHRUBASIK, B. (2016), Kings and Usurpers in the Seleukid Empire: The Men Who Would Be King, Oxford. CLANCIER, P. (2014), Antiochos IV dans les sources babyloniennes, in C. FEYEL / L. GRASLIN-THOMÉ (2014), p. 415–437. COLORU, O. (2009), Da Alessandro a Menandro: Il Regno Greco di Battriana, Pisa. - (2014), Antiochos IV et le royaume de Médie Atropatène : Nouvelles considérations sur un mariage dynastique entre les Séléucides et la Maison d’Atropatès, in FEYEL / GRASLINTHOMÉ (2014), p. 395–414. COùKUN, A. (2012), Deconstructing a Myth of Seleucid History: the So-Called ‘Elephant Victory’ over the Galatians Revisited, in Phoenix 66.1–2, p. 57–73. - / ENGELS, D. (2015), Report on the ‘Seleucid Study Day V, in H-Soz-Kult, 16.12.2015. - (2016a), Laodike I, Berenike Phernophoros, Dynastic Murders, and the Outbreak of the Third Syrian War (253–246 BC), in A. COùKUN / A. MCAULEY (eds.), Seleukid Royal Women. Creation, Representation and Distortion of Hellenistic Queenship in the Seleukid Empire, Stuttgart, p. 107–134. - (2016b), Ptolemaioi as Commanders in 3rd-Century Asia Minor and Some Glimpses on Ephesos and Mylasa during the Second and Third Syrian Wars, in B. TAKMER et al. (eds.), Vir doctus anatolicus. Studies in Memory of Sencer ùahin – Sencer ùahin Anısına Yazıtlar, Istanbul, p. 211–233. - (2018), The War of Brothers, the Third Syrian War, and the Battle of Ankyra (246–241 BC): a Re-Appraisal, forthcoming in ERICKSON (ed.), p. 197–252. - (ca. 2019), The Chronology of the Desecration of the Temple and the Prophecies of Daniel 7–12 Reconsidered, forthcoming in Historia. - (in preparation), A Historical Analysis of 1 Maccabees: Urversion, Continuation, Ideological Layers and Chronology.

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Index nominum (compiled by David Engels)

Achaimenid dynasty: 78–120, 440, 442, 460 Achaios: 66 n. 16–17, 145, 146 with n. 45, 260, 264 Achilles (hero): 74 n. 48 M’. Acilius Glabrio (cos. 191): 116 n. 150, 117, 238 n. 90 M. Aemilius Lepidus (cos. 187): 120 n. 176 L. Aemilius Paulus Macedonicus (cos. 182): 110 n. 115, 174 with n. 2, 182, 193 with n. 95, 194, 198 Agesilaos II: 91 with n. 17, 105 Aineias (hero): 28 n. 4, 44 n. 54, 47, 68, 69 with n. 28–29, 70 with n. 31–32, 99 with n. 62 Aineias (Jewish envoy): 356 Aischines: 113 n. 132 Alexander III the Great (of Macedon): 11, 46, 49, 52, 61–62, 67 n. 18, 74 with n. 46 and 48, 75, 76 with n. 27, 94 n. 32, 99 with n. 54–55, 107 with n. 104, 108 with n. 107, 115 n. 146, 150, 188 n. 70, 192 n. 94, 198, 199 n. 133–134, 228 n. 48, 255, 301 n. 96, 406, 408, 410 with n. 30 and 32, 411 with n. 33, 417, 426 with n. 102, 438, 441, 458 n. 3 Alexander IV (of Macedon): 419 Alexander (Jewish envoy): 356 Alexander of Sardeis: 31 Alexander I Balas: 17, 170, 184 with n. 36, 200 n. 137, 268–269, 298–300, 453, 457, 471–473 Alexander II Zabinas: 184 n. 36, 200 n. 137–138, 278, 452, 471 n. 56 Alexander Jannaios: 355, 357, 358 n. 2, 364 with n. 24 and 26, 365, 366 n. 28, 367–368, 380 with n. 63, 381,

383 n. 71, 389, 392–394, 395 with n. 15, 396 with n. 17, 397 Alkimos: 360 n. 9, 368 with n. 32 Anahita: 452 Andromache (heroine): 67 Ankhmakis: 425 Antigonid dynasty: 11, 77 with n. 65, 78, 202, 260, 340 Antigonos I Monophthalmos: 101 n. 68, 202 n. 146, 412, 414, 421, 426, 427 n. 108, 443 Antigonos II Gonatas: 101 n. 71, 102 Antigonos (Jewish king): 358 n. 3 Antiochis III (wife of Ariarathes IV): 190, 309, 324–328, 438 n. 17 Antiochis (wife of Xerxes of Armenia): 326 n. 56, 438 n. 17 Antiochos I Soter: 9, 15, 46, 47 n. 61, 65 with n. 15, 66 n. 16, 72, 94 n. 32, 100 with n. 66, 101, 102 n. 78, 140, 143–145, 150, 259–260, 262, 426, 439, 470 n. 55 Antiochos II Theos: 31, 62 n. 1, 101 n. 71, 141, 143–146, 260, 262 with n. 57, 263–264, 271, 287 n. 40, 315, 438 Antiochos III Megas: 9, 11–12, 13 with n. 6, 17–19, 27–55, 61–79, 87–120, 135–152, 159–163, 167–169, 176, 182–183, 190, 191 n. 92, 202, 204, 218 with n. 3, 219, 222 n. 13, 230 n. 56, 232, 234, 236, 238 n. 90, 240 n. 99, 241 with n. 103, 247 n. 128, 260, 261, 264–266, 271, 279–280, 281 with n. 11, 282 with n. 12 and 15, 283 with n. 17, 284, 287 with n. 40, 288, 292–295, 301–302, 309, 310– 313, 314 n. 18, 316–318, 323, 324, 326 n. 56, 334 with n. 9, 335, 344,

482

INDEX NOMINUM

346, 403, 416, 438–441, 443, 452– 453, 457, 458 n. 1, 459 with n. 7, 460–462, 464–465, 469 with n. 51, 473–474 Antiochos IV Epiphanes: 13 with n. 7, 17 with n. 26, 93 n. 23, 95 n. 33, 96 n. 40, 116 n. 149, 146–148, 150, 159, 163 with n. 21, 164, 168–169, 173–204, 217–248, 265 with n. 75, 266–268, 280 with n. 2, 290–293, 295, 297–298, 336, 362 n. 16, 390 n. 2, 423, 429, 438, 452, 457, 461, 462 with n. 17, 463 n. 22, 464, 465 n. 31, 466 with n. 35 and 37, 467 with n. 39, 468 with n. 43, 469–470, 471 n. 56, 472, 474 Antiochos V: 167 n. 50, 182, 186, 218 n. 3, 219, 221 n. 9, 222 with n. 12, 223, 229, 233, 235, 267, 272 n. 103, 368 n. 32, 370, 377, 390 n. 2, 469, 471 Antiochos VI Dionysos: 170, 200 n. 137, 269, 378 n. 59, 453, 471, 474 Antiochos VII Sidetes: 17, 190 with n. 90, 197 n. 118, 269–270, 300 n. 93, 362 n. 16, 373, 377 n. 57, 380, 391– 392, 444, 445, 448, 457, 471, 474– 475 Antiochos VIII Grypos: 270, 363, 438, 453, 471 Antiochos IX Kyzikenos: 270, 363, 378, 380–382, 393, 471 Antiochos XII Dionysios: 364, 389, 394 with n. 13 Antiochos XIII Asiatikos: 17, 271, 457 Antiochos Hierax: 31, 62 n. 1, 101 n. 71, 145, 146 with n. 44, 260, 262, 420 Antiochos (son of Antiochos III): 32 with n. 17 and 18, 143, 144 Antiochos ‘the Child’ (son of Seleukos IV): 182 Antiochos I of Kommagene: 301 Antipatros (Alexander’s general): 148– 149 Antipatros (Jewish envoy): 356, 370, 371, 375, 376 Antiochos (general above the four generals): 436–439, 441–443, 445– 448, 450, 452, 454 Antisthenes: 105

M. Antonius (cos. 99): 382, 383 with n. 71 Anu-Uballit Kephalon: 429 Anu-Uballit Nikarchos: 448 n. 73 Apama I (Seleukid queen): 72 n. 41, 94 n. 32, 145, 260, 415 Apama IV (sister of Perseus): 288 Apama of Kyrene: 324 n. 49, 325, 326 n. 56 Aphrodite: 147–150 Apollon: 15, 67 n. 18, 91 n. 15, 100 n. 66, 101 n. 68, 106 with n. 103, 144, 187, 189, 200 n. 142, 247 n. 131, 258 Apollonios (envoy of Antiochos IV): 266 Apollonios (Jewish envoy): 356 Araxa: 410 Ardaya (general of Akkad): 443 Ardiya/Nabu-bani-ahi/Rimut-Ea: 443 n. 45 Ardiya/Shula: 443 n. 45 Ardiya (Borsippa): 443 Ariaramnes II: 315 Ariarathid dynasty: 19 with n. 39, 279, 300, 313–314, 315 n. 20, 320, 324 Ariarathes III: 260, 315–316, 328 with n. 60, 438 n. 17 Ariarathes IV: 189, 190 with n. 90, 280–281, 285, 290, 295, 296 with n. 77, 313 n. 17, 316–320, 321 with n. 41, 322–324, 326 with n. 57, 328 with n. 60, 329, 335 with n. 19, 344 Ariarathes V: 190 with n. 89, 295, 296 with n. 77, 298–299, 309, 326–327, 328 with n. 61, 339 n. 43, 372, 471 Ariarathes VI Epiphanes: 190 n. 90 Ariobarzanes (Achaimenid satrap): 99 n. 54 Ariobarzanes (king of Pontos): 438 Arisbe (heroine): 65 Aristarchos of Samothrake: 63 n. 7 Aristeas-Ardibelteios: 429 Aristeides: 108, 109 with n. 112 Aristodikides: 259 Aristobulos I: 355–356, 357 n. 2–3, 358 n. 3, 363 n. 20, 364 n. 24 and 26, 368, 395 Aristobulos II: 358 n. 2, 380 n. 63, 390, 397 Aristobulos (Jewish envoy): 356

INDEX NOMINUM

Arsakes I: 263 Arsakid dynasty: 300 n. 93, 301, 383, 396 n. 17, 439 Arsames: 294 Arsinoe II: 136, 148, 150 Artabanos II (Parthian king): 447 Artabanos (counsellor to Xerxes): 91 Artabanos (general over the four generals): 444–445 Artabazanes (king of Media Atropatene): 438 Artavasdes I (king of Armenia): 438 Artaxerxes I: 95 n. 36, 408 Artaxerxes II: 97 n. 43, 105 Artaxerxes III: 97 n. 43 Artaxiad dynasty: 283 Artaxias: 204, 282 with n. 15, 284, 287, 292–294 Artemis: 187 with n. 64, 198 Arthmios of Zeleia: 452 Artumazza: 409 Askanios (hero): 65, 68–70, 99 Asklepios: 345 Aspasia: 93 n. 28 Astarte: 145, 148 Athena: 27, 46 with n. 61, 47–48, 50– 52, 61, 74–75, 120, 328, 337, 341 Attalid dynasty: 19 with n. 39, 27, 41, 47, 64, 66 with n. 15 and 17, 67 with n. 18–19, 71 n. 38, 74, 100 n. 66, 101 n. 68, 118 n. 169, 233, 237, 279, 298–299, 302, 311 n. 6–7, 318, 329 with n. 38, 324, 326, 333–347 Attalos I: 34 with n. 23, 36, 41 with n. 43, 43 n. 49, 45, 46 with n. 59, 47 n. 63, 49, 52, 66 n. 16–17, 88 n. 5, 101 n. 71, 103 with n. 79, 230 n. 56, 246, 263, 271, 282, 297 with n. 82, 338, 339, 341, 343–345 Attalos II: 292 with n. 61, 294, 296, 298, 299 with n. 91–92, 300, 322 with n. 44, 326 with n. 24, 344, 363, 372, 471 Attalos III: 341, 345, 346 with n. 84 Augustus (emperor): 118 L. Aurelius (envoy): 164, 184, 220 n. 6 M. Baebius Tamphilus (cos. 181): 103 Bakasis: 444 Bakchides (general of Antiochos IV): 463 Belshimanni: 410

483

Berenike I: 136, 146, 148 with n. 49, 150 Berenike II: 101 n. 71, 148 with n. 49, 325 Berenike (wife of Antiochos II): 145– 146, 260, 262 Berenike (daughter of Ptolemy II of Telmessos): 139, 140, 142, 147, 152 Boulagoras: 452 Bouplagos: 104 L. Caecilius Metellus Calvus (cos. 142): 356, 358 n. 3, 372, 374 with n. 48, 376 Caesar: see C. Iulius Caesar Chandragupta Maurya: 260 Chronos: 194 n. 103 Cicero: see M. Tullius Cicero Claudius (emperor): 28 with n. 3, 32 n. 16, 33 n. 19, 34, 53, 54 Cornelia (wife of Tib. Sempronius Gracchus): 236 L. Cornelius Lentulus (cos. 156): 267 P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus (cos. 205): 45 n. 56, 91 n. 12, 110 n. 115, 159, 236, 309 L. Cornelius Scipio Asiaticus (cos. 190): 27, 48, 50 with n. 75, 52, 116 n. 150, 120, 159–160, 236 P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica (cos. 191): 236, 309 L. Cornelius Sulla Felix (cos. 88): 50 D. Cossutius: 187, 239 Dardanos: 64 with n. 11 Dareios I: 90 n. 9, 103, 104 n. 90, 118 n. 165, 301 n. 96, 314, 443 n. 45 Dareios III: 97 n. 43, 115 with n. 146, 408, 410, 448 Deidameia (wife of Demetrios Poliorketes): 149 Demaratos: 114 Demeter: 247 n. 131 Demetrios I Soter: 13, 17, 148, 165, 166 with n. 43, 169, 182, 184 with n. 36, 190, 200 n. 137 and 138, 202 n. 146, 218 n. 3, 219, 221 n. 10, 222 n. 12, 223 n. 24, 226, 229–230, 231 with n. 59, 232–233, 235–236, 245, 247, 265–268, 289 with n. 45, 290, 293 with n. 66, 294–295, 296 with n. 77, 297, 298 with n. 89, 299, 327, 360, 361 n. 12–13, 367, 368 with n.

484

INDEX NOMINUM

32, 376, 377 with n. 55, 378 n. 59, 412, 457, 469, 471 with n. 60, 472, 474 Demetrios II Nikator: 17, 170, 200 n. 138, 260, 268–270, 300 n. 93, 358 n. 3, 360, 362 with n. 16, 366, 370– 375, 393, 394 with n. 12, 422, 438, 443 n. 47, 445, 450 with n. 82, 471– 475 Demetrios III Eukairos: 389, 394 with n. 12 Demetrios I Poliorketes: 72 n. 40, 78 n. 67, 148–149, 340 Demetrios I (king of Baktrian): 159, 168, 261 Demetrios of Skepsis: 63 n. 4 and 7 Demodamas: 73 n. 44 Diegylis: 299 n. 91 Diktys of Crete: 64 n. 9 Diodotos I (of Baktria): 260, 263 Diodotos Tryphon: 170, 178, 269, 370, 372, 445, 472, 474 Diomedes: n. 113 n. 134 Dion (high-priest): 141 Dionysos: 77 with n. 62 and 64, 78 n. 67, 173, 183, 194, 199 with n. 134, 200, 202, 341 Dionysios (envoy of Seleukos II): 259 Diphilos: 412 Dolon: 113 n. 134 Eirenaios: 227 n. 45 Emathion (hero): 70 n. 32 Enios: 449 Epialtes: 113 with n. 135 Euagoras: 413 Euboia (wife of Antiochos III): 75–77, 78 n. 68, 93, 94, 137, 261 Eukratides: 169 Eulaios: 162 Eumenes (diadoch): 420, 427 n. 108 Eumenes I: 339–340, 346 n. 82 Eumenes II Soter: 48–49, 53 n. 81, 101 n. 68, 159, 162, 183 n. 32, 185 n. 55,189, 190 with n. 86, 230 n. 56, 233–234, 281 with n. 11, 282, 284– 286, 287 n. 41, 288 with n. 43, 289 with n. 45, 290–291, 295, 297, 299, 310, 318, 319 n. 34 and 36, 320 with n. 37, 321 with n. 39 and 41, 322 with n. 44, 323 with n. 46, 333–347 Euphorion: 61

Eupolemos: 356, 376 with n. 54 Eurydike (wife of Demetrios Poliorketes): 149 Euryleon (hero): 69–70, 99 Euthydemos: 168, 169, 261, 263, 459 C. Fannius Strabo (cos. 161): 376 with n. 54 C. Fannius (cos. 122): 377, 381 C. Flavius Fimbria (leg. 86): 50 Frataraka dynasty: 18, 415, 473 n. 64 M. Fulvius Nobilior (cos. 189): 120 n. 176 Gaezatorix: 320 n. 38–39 Ge: 193 Gotarzes: 440, 441 Hadrian: 116 n. 149, 187 with n. 61, 458 n. 3 Hannibal: 11, 38 n. 35, 39, 42, 64, 70 n. 35, 94 n. 29 Hasmonaeans: 244, 355–383, 389–397 Hegesianax: 33, 35 with n. 26, 36 n. 27, 47, 55, 61–79, 99 with n. 63 Hegesias: 42, 43 with n. 49 Hegesippos: 100 n. 63 Heliodoros: 230 n. 56, 231, 265, 453, 464, 467 Hemera: 193 Herakles (hero): 67, 341 Herakleides (brother of Timarchos): 268, 298 with n. 85, 471 n. 59 Hermeias: 448, 453 Herwennefer: 425 Himeros: 449, 454 Hippias: 115, 116 Hippoklos of Lampsakos: 115 n. 148 Hor of Sebennytos: 227 n. 45–47, 228 n. 48 Hyspaosines: 444, 445, 447, 450, 454 Isis: 227 n. 45 C. Iulius Caesar: 27, 50, 53, 381 C. Iulius Antiochus Epiphanes Philopappus: 108 n. 108 Janus: 118 Jason (high priest): 219, 243 with n. 118, 244, 356, 362 n. 16, 367, 467 Jason (Jewish envoy): 356, 376 with n. 54 John Hyrkanos I: 270, 355–358, 360, 361 n. 13, 362, 363 with n. 20, 364 with n. 25–26, 365 with n. 27, 366 n. 28, 368, 377 with n. 57, 378, 379

INDEX NOMINUM

with n. 59, 380–381, 389–390, 391 with n. 3, 392, 393 with n. 10, 394, 395 n. 15, 396, 475 John Hyrkanos II: 355, 364 n. 25, 379 n. 62, 381, 390, 392, 397 Jonathan: 356, 358 with n. 3, 360 n. 9, 363 n. 24, 370–371, 471 with n. 60 Judas Maccabee: 355, 357–358, 360 with n. 9, 361, 362 n. 14, 363–364, 366, 368, 369 n. 34, 377, 394–395, 467 n. 39 Kallias: 90 with n. 10 Kambyses: 443 n. 45 Kamniskires I: 445 Kassignatos: 320 n. 38–39 Kephalon of Gergis: see Hegesianax Kleopatra I Syra: 12, 95 n. 36, 261, 289 Kleopatra II: 17, 148, 224 Kleopatra III: 393–394 Kleopatra Thea: 147, 268, 269–272, 438, 472 Kleopatra Tryphaina: 438 Kleoptolemos: 75, 93, 94 n. 30, 261 Krateros: 148 Kybele: 45–46, 51 with n. 78, 52, 67 n. 19, 141 Kyros: 301 n. 96, 314, 329 n. 62 Kyros the Younger: 93 n. 28 Lanassa (wife of Demetrios Poliorketes): 149 Laodike I: 31 Laodike II: 146 Laodike III: 72 n. 41, 77 n. 61, 93 n. 29, 95, 135–152, 169, 248, 260–261, 288, 344, 438 Laodike IV: 139, 145 n. 36, 146, 265 with n. 75 Laodike V: 189, 190, 265 Laodike (wife of Mithridates I of Kommagene): 438 Laodike of Baktria: 169 Lenaios: 162 Leokritos: 322 n. 43 Leonidas: 106 with n. 101, 110 n. 117– 118, 112, 114 with n. 141 Leptines: 164, 165, 166, 220 C. Livius Salinator (cos. 188): 27, 48 with n. 68, 50 with n. 75, 52, 75 n. 51, 120 Sp. Lucretius (praet. 172): 164, 184, 200 n. 6

485

Lysander: 91 Lysias: 164, 184, 219, 222 with n. 12, 223, 229, 233, 235, 267, 293, 469 n. 49 Lysimachos: 46, 202 n. 146 Lysimachos the Galatian: 101 n. 71 Lysimachos of Babylon: 449 Maccabaeans: 18 n. 31, 355–383 Magas of Kyrene: 260 Magna Mater: s. Kybele Cn. Manlius Vulso (cos. 189): 32 n. 18, 119 n. 174, 120, 160–162, 167, 234, 281, 313 n. 17, 317, 319 Marsyas: 15 Masinissa: 162 with n. 16 Mattathias: 244, 363 Mazaios: 410 with n. 31 Megasthenes: 61, 73 n. 44, 199 n. 134 Meleagros (satrap of Phrygia): 259 Menedemos: 101 n. 68 Menekles: 429 Menelaos (high priest): 241, 243 with n. 118, 467 Menippos: 33, 35 with n. 26, 36–37, 92 n. 21 Menodoros: 188 n. 66 Minerva: s. Athena Minnio: 54 Mithradates I (Parthia): 180 n. 18, 269, 293 n. 65, 438–439, 442–446, 450 Mithradates II (Parthia): 440 Mithradatid dynasty: 279, 300, 302, 383, 438 Mithradates II (Pontos): 31, 95, 169, 260, 287 n. 40, 438 Mithradates IV Philopator: 286 n. 33, 339 n. 43, 344 Mithradates VI Eupator: 38, 40, 104 n. 90, 203 n. 150, 286, 287 n. 38, 300– 301, 310, 358 n. 2, 395 n. 15, 396 Mithradates I (of Kommagene): 438 Mithradates (of Armenia minor): 285– 286 with n. 33 Molon: 101 n. 71, 260, 264, 416 with n. 53, 441, 448 Morzeus: 313 L. Mummius Achaicus (cos. 146): 112 n. 127 Murashu: 409 Mysta: 146 n. 45 Nabis: 34 n. 21

486

INDEX NOMINUM

Nabonidus: 407 Nebuchadnezzar II: p. 96 n. 40, 181 Neoptolemos (hero): 67, 106 n. 102 Nero (emperor): 28, 54 Nidintu-Bel: 410 Nikanor (Antigonid satrap): 413, 443 Nikanor (governor of Antiochos III): 13 n. 7, 141–142, 147, 151, 159, 165, 166 n. 41 Nikanor (general of Antiochos IV): 463 Nikanor (general of Akkad): 443, 447 Nike: 328 n. 60, 453 Nikomedes II Epiphanes: 339 n. 43, 343 Numenios (Jewish envoy): 356, 370– 376 Nysa: 190 with n. 90, 313 n. 15, 328 n. 61 Nyx: 193 Cn. Octavius: 164 with n. 32, 165, 166 with n. 43, 167 n. 48, 184–187, 220– 221, 222 with n. 12, 235, 382, 469 with n. 50 Odysseus: 113 n. 134 Omanes: 429 Onias III: 219, 243 n. 118, 465 n. 31, 466–467 Orontid dynasty: 279, 294, 300–301, 383 Orophernes III: 190 with n. 89, 296, 309, 326–328 Ortiagon: 281 with n. 11, 284, 320 n. 38 Otaspes: 407 Ouranos: 193 Patrokles: 61 Peisistratids: 116 n. 149 Pergamos (hero): 67 Perseus: 162, 189 with n. 78, 190, 202, 223–224, 248, 288, 289 n. 47, 291– 292, 296 L. Pettius (senator): 378, 379 with n. 61 Peukestas: 413 with n. 42, 414 with n. 46, 427 n. 108 Pharnakes I: 189, 190, 234 with n. 71, 282, 285–286, 287 with n. 41, 302, 320, 321 with n. 39 and 41, 322 with n. 43–44, 323 with n. 46, 335, 336 with n. 21 and 23–24 Phila (wife of Demetrios Poliorketes): 148–150

Philetairos: 339, 340 Philinos (general over the four generals): 444, 446–447 Philip II (king of Macedonia): 106 n. 99, 113 n. 132 Philipp II Philorhomaios (Seleukid king): 271 Philip V: 11, 36 with n. 27, 38 with n. 35–36, 39 with n. 38, 40, 42, 44–46, 47 n. 63, 52, 75 n. 51, 78 n. 65, 91 n. 13, 92, 102 n. 75, 105, 106 n. 99, 111 n. 123, 118 n. 169, 186, 191 n. 92, 236–264, 288, 321 n. 40, 340, 417 Philon of Babylos: 64 n. 9 Philonides: 166 n. 46 Phraates II: 270, 438, 447, 449 Pittit: 447–448, 454 Polemon of Ilion: 63 n. 7 Polyarchos: 412, 414 Cn. Pompeius Magnus: 17, 104 n. 90, 271–272, 286 n. 37, 357, 358 n. 2, 365 n. 26, 390, 397 C. Popilius Laenas (cos. 172): 17, 191, 224, 228, 236, 461, 469 n. 49 M. Popilius Laenas (cos. 173): 236, 266 M. Porcius Cato maior (cos. 195): 87, 89, 108, 109 with n. 113, 110 with n. 115, 111–112, 113 with n. 132 and 137, 114–115, 116 with n. 151 and 167, 117 with n. 158 and 160 A. Postumius Albinus (cos. 151): 111– 112 with n. 127 Prusias I: 101 n. 68, 146 n. 44, 235, 282, 284, 335 with n. 19 and 21, 343 Prusias II: 285, 288, 289 n. 45, 290– 292, 297–298, 299 n. 91, 302, 321 n. 39, 337 Ptolemaic dynasty: 11, 14 n. 10, 18, 19 with n. 39, 27, 31, 42, 62 with n. 3, 77, 95, 135, 143–144, 146, 148, 150, 162, 168, 179 n. 17, 180 n. 21, 185– 186, 191, 198 n. 129, 199 n. 134, 200 n. 137, 202, 266, 269, 293 n. 66, 338, 346–347, 403, 421, 423–424, 428–429, 461, 470, 474 Ptolemaios Andromachos: 31 Ptolemaios (Seleukid governor of Kommagene): 294 with n. 71, 298

INDEX NOMINUM

Ptolemais (wife of Demetrios Poliorketes): 149 Ptolemy I Soter: 148 with n. 49, 411 with n. 37, 412, 425 Ptolemy II Philadelphos: 30 with n. 11– 12, 77 n. 63, 95 n. 35, 101 n. 71, 146, 150, 174 n. 4, 192 n. 94, 194 n. 114, 199, 260 with n. 57, 289 n. 46 Ptolemy III Euergetes: 31 with n. 14– 15, 95 n. 35, 101 n. 71, 146, 148 with n. 48, 262, 439, 470 n. 55 Ptolemy IV Philopator: 62 n. 1, 77 n. 63, 101 n. 71, 186 Ptolemy V Epiphanes: 12, 27, 31 n. 15, 40 with n. 43, 41 with n. 32, 42, 62 n. 1, 95 n. 36, 186, 261, 316, 425, 457 Ptolemy VI Philometor: 17, 170, 224, 227 with n. 45–46, 268, 272, 299, 453, 471 Ptolemy VIII Euergetes Physkon: 224, 356, 372, 374, 375 n. 52 Ptolemy IX Lathyros: 393 Ptolemy XII: 77 n. 63 Ptolemy Keraunos: 62 n. 1, 73 Ptolemy II of Telmessos: 139 Ptolemy (son of Thraseas): 141 “Publius”: 105 Pyrrhos: 101 n. 71, 106 n. 102 Pytheas of Boura: 101 n. 68 T. Quinctius Flamininus (cos. 198): 35 n. 26, 37 with n. 32, 41 n. 43, 74, 88 n. 5, 90 n. 9, 91 n. 13, 92, 97, 110 n. 115, 235 with n. 74, 285 with n. 29, 404 with n. 3, 430 Remus: 47, 68, 69 Rhesos: 113 n. 134 Rhome (heroine): 70 Rhomos (hero): 47, 69, 70 with n. 31– 32, 99 Rhomylos: 69, 70, 99 Romulus: 47, 68, 70, 99 Salome Alexandra: 357, 358 n. 2, 364 n. 26, 365, 389–390, 395 with n. 15, 396, 397 Sanatrouk: 283 Sanchuniathon: 64 n. 9 Sasanians: 440, 442 Seleukos I Nikator: 11, 14, 30, 47 n. 61, 53, 62 n. 1, 66 n. 16, 67 n. 18, 72 with n. 41, 73, 75, 78 n. 67, 91 n. 12,

487

94 n. 32, 106 n. 103, 143–145, 161, 198, 199, 202 n. 146, 255, 258, 260, 262, 301 n. 96, 410, 411 with n. 37, 412–415, 419, 420, 426 with n. 102, 443, 454, 458, 473– 475 Seleukos II Kallinikos: 27, 29–31, 34 n. 22, 42, 44, 51, 143–146, 169, 259, 260–263, 420, 439, 441, 470 n. 55 Seleukos III Keraunos Soter: 27, 30, 32, 42, 44, 51, 101 n. 71, 144, 263– 264, 439 Seleukos IV Eupator: 13 with n. 6–7, 17 with n. 26, 30, 32 with n. 18, 33, 51, 144, 146, 159, 165, 168–169, 178, 183 n. 36, 185 n. 48 and 55, 186, 189 with n. 76, 190, 200, 201, 218 n. 3, 219, 229, 230 with n. 56, 231 with n. 58, 232–233, 234 with n. 73, 235 with n. 74, 245–246, 247 with n. 128 and 132, 248, 265 with n. 75, 266, 284, 285 with n. 29, 287– 288, 289 with n. 47, 290, 302, 326, 461–465, 466 with n. 35–36, 467– 468, 470, 474 Seleukos, son of Antiochos I: 145 Tib. Sempronius Gracchus (cos. 177): 163, 175, 182, 235, 236 with n. 80, 267, 469 Servilius Glaucia: 267 Shamash: 194 n. 103, 409 Shamash-Iddin: 409 Simon: 355–376 Simonides of Magnesia: 65 with n. 15, 116 Skamadrios (hero): 65 Skopas: 34 n. 21 Solovettios: 320 n. 38 Sosipatros (Jewish envoy): 356 L. Stertinius (procos. 199): 111 Straton (Jewish envoy): 355–356 Stratonike II (daughter of Antiochos I): 143 n. 30, 145–150, 260, 344 Stratonike (daughter of Antiochos II): 260, 315–316, 438 n. 17 Stratonike (wife of Eumenes II and Attalos II): 342, 346 with n. 84 P. Sulpicius Galba (cos. 211): 35 with n. 26 Telephos (hero): 67, 341, 347 n. 92 Teukros (hero): 65 Themistokles: 109 n. 112

488

INDEX NOMINUM

Theodoros (Judaean envoy): 379, 380 with n. 62 Theodosios (general over the four generals): 444, 447 Theodotos of Aitolia: 95 n. 36, 102 n. 78 Thoas: 88 n. 5, 92 n. 21 Tigranes II (king of Armenia): 271, 358 n. 2, 383, 395 n. 15, 396 Timarchos (usurper): 178, 267–268, 293, 298, 360, 441, 471 n. 59, 473 Timarchos (guard commander of Phraates II): 447 Timokrates: 92 n. 22 Timotheos (general of Antiochos IV): 463 Tithraustes: 92 n. 22 Tobiads: 241 n. 108 Toriaion: 337 M. Tullius Cicero: 40 n. 40, 238 L. Valerius Flaccus (cos. 195): 116 n. 150

L. Valerius Flaccus (cos. 131): 373 n. 46, 378 M. Valerius Messala (cos. 188): 259 P. Villius Tappulus (cos. 199): 88 n. 5, 104 Xerxes I (Achaimenid king): 74–75, 78 n. 79, 87, 90 with n. 9, 91, 93 n. 23, 94, 96 n. 41, 97 n. 48, 98, 99 n. 54– 55, 107 n. 104, 110 n. 118, 111–114, 115 with n. 146, 116 n. 149 and 156, 117, 118 n. 166, 119, 407 Xerxes (Armenian king): 95 with n. 34, 283, 286 with n. 35, 326 n. 56 Yerwand: 283 Zariadris: 282 with n. 15, 283 with n. 20, 286, 294 Zenodotos of Kilikia: 298 Zeus: 67 n. 18, 101 n. 68, 103 n. 79, 104, 116 n. 149, 144, 187 n. 64, 188, 189 n. 75, 199, 200 n. 142, 240 n. 98, 453 Zeuxis: 34 n. 23, 43, 141, 441 Ziaelas of Bithynia: 101 n. 71, 344

Index locorum (Compiled by Germain Payen)

A2P 24: 118

Adulis Inscription 77

AD -651: 406 -369: 408 -330: 407 -322: 419 -309: 419 -273: 419, 439 -249: 419 -237: 420 -234: 420 -229: 439 -178: 420, 439–440 -176: 420 -171: 420 -162: 448 -155: 442 -152: 442 -149: 442 -144: 422, 443 -141: 442, 447, 453 -140: 421, 436–439, 442, 443 -137: 444, 450 -136: 439 -134: 444 -132: 444 -129: 449 -126: 447 -124: 447 -123: 449 -119: 444 -118: 445

AEL. Symm. A 38.14: 198

ADART II 129: 439 III 138: 437, 443

Var. Hist. 1.32: 93 2.14: 93 12.1: 93 AESCHIN. 3.156: 113 3.173: 113 3.209: 113 3.239: 113 3.250: 113 3.259: 113 AESCH. Pers. 584–594: 115 694–696: 115 700–702: 115 867–877: 118 AMM. MARC. 23.6.13: 97 Antiochos Cylinder ii.24: 94 AP 6.171: 118 9.518: 118 9.526: 118 16.5: 90 16.8: 91

490

APP. Hann. 27.116: 68 Mac. 1.3: 98 9.3–4: 92 11.1–2: 291 11.2: 189, 288 Mithr. 2.13: 301 3.15–16: 301 4.9–7.22: 299 15.69: 286 90: 287 Praef. 9: 120 Syr. 1.1: 95 1.3: 88, 95–96, 102 1.5: 95, 190 2.5: 54 2.6: 99–100, 102 3: 261 3.1: 93 3.12: 78, 88, 96–97 4.17–18: 78 4.18: 106, 116 5: 261, 281, 316 6: 35 6.24–25: 37 6.32: 97, 190 7.38: 98 11: 284 11.65: 100 12.45: 37 12.56: 91 16: 76 32: 417 34: 345 38: 160 38–39: 309, 460 39: 160, 218, 231, 280 42.219–223: 281 45: 230, 233, 265, 298 45.232: 182, 289 45.233: 289–290, 462

INDEX LOCORUM

45.234: 177 46: 164, 167, 220, 267 46.238: 293 46.240: 184 47: 166, 296, 298, 327 47.241–242: 293 47.242: 293 48: 269 49: 272 54.273–274: 411 55: 260 56: 67, 258 58: 258 65: 260, 262–263 66: 264, 266–267 66.350–351: 469 66.349–351: 291 66.352: 462 67: 299 67.346: 31 67.356: 300 68: 269 68.359: 300 70: 271 ARISTOPH. Acharn. 103–113: 93 Hipp. 1086–1089: 118 Ra. 678: 111 Thesm. 347–51: 450 ARIST EN 3.7.7.1115b: 117 Pol. 3.1285b: 257 Pol. 7.1327b18–33l: 103 Rhet. 3.14.1415a18: 91

INDEX LOCORUM

[Arist.] De Mundo 398a: 93 ARISTODEMUS FGrHist 104 F 13: 90 ARR. Anab. 1.4.7: 117 1.11.7–8: 99 2.5.8: 192 2.11.5–7: 115 3.8.4: 97 3.8.5: 408 3.8.6: 91 3.11.3: 97 3.11.5: 3, 408 3.14.4–6: 15 3.16.7–8: 107 3.19.3–7: 97 3.19.5: 93 6.28.2: 77 6.29.5–6: 93 6.9.3: 99 6.10.2: 99 7.4: 94 7.6: 94 7.19.2: 107 FGrHist 156 F 10: 411 ATHEN. 2.48d–f: 93 2.58c: 101 3.80d: 99 4.144bc: 93 4.145c: 93 4.146c: 93 4.155a–b: 63, 99 4.160e: 100 5.194–195: 174 5.194a: 189 5.195a: 193, 195 5.196a–203b: 199 5.201e: 95 5.210d: 197 5.210ef: 93 5.253a–b: 148–149 5.254a: 148–149 5.255c: 148–149 7.726a–c: 77

491

9.393d: 99 10.439ef: 76, 93, 261 10.566a–e: 149 10.739e–f: 93 11.766b–c: 449 11.781f: 93 12.513e–f: 93 12.514a: 93 12.514e–f: 93 12.514f: 93 12.527c–f: 93 12.528d: 93 12.538c: 93 12.539b: 93 12.539f: 93 12.540a: 193 12.540b–c: 93 12.545d–f: 93 13.576a–b: 76 13.576d: 76 AUG. Civ. Dei 18.2: 120 18.22: 120 18.27: 120 AUR. VICT. Vir. 3.47.1: 110 AUSTIN² 157: see Syll.3 601 162: see I.Ilion 32 = OGIS 219 177: see I.Ilion 33 = OGIS 245 180: see OGIS 221 182: see OGIS 229 197: see I.Lampsakos 4 = Syll.3 591 221: see OGIS 54 236: see Jonnes / Ricl 1997 = Jonnes, IK 62 Sultan Da÷i, no. 393 237: see Syll.3 630 239: see OGIS 763 = Welles, RC 52 266: see P.Gourob, FGrHist 160 267: see I.Kildara = SEG 42.994 BCHP 3: 415, 420–421 9: 448 14: 421

492

INDEX LOCORUM

17: 421 19: 444 11: 262, 421

Brut. 81: 112 De sen. 3.26: 110 9.30: 113 10.32: 113 82: 116

BM 54107: 409 BRM 2.29: 422

Leg. 2.15.37: 238

CAD S s.v. sikkatu B: 448

Phil. 8.8: 224 9.4: 220

CAES. Bell. Gall. 1.24.5: 40 5.14: 100 6.16: 100

Planc. 66: 113

CALLIM. Hymn to Delos 185–188: 101

Rep. 5.2: 110 Tusc. 1.101: 110

Aetia 4: 148 CALLIX. RHOD. FGrHist 627 F 2: 199 CASS. DIO 9.40.13: 98 20.68: 291 69.16.1: 116 CATO FRHist 5 F 4–12: 99 FRHist 5 F 22b: 110 ORF fr. 12: 89

CIG 3137.9: 145 CLAUD. Cons Stil. 3.159–166: 120 CLEM. ALEX. Protrep. 4.54.2: 77 Strom. 6.5.1: 104

CH 6: 451

CM 4: 452

CIC. Acad. 2.5: 110

Codex Palatinus Graecus 398.216 r1:104

Ad Quint. fratr. 1.1.27: 100 Att. 6.1.3: 312

CONST. PORPHYR. De sententiis 307: 110 CT 22.74.29/30: 406

INDEX LOCORUM

49: 443 118: 443 122: 443 123: 443 182: 443 5782: 409 CTES. FGrHist 688 F 1b.2.2.3: 97 FGrHist 688 F 1b.2.33.1–6: 93 FGrHist 688 F 13.21:104 FGrHist 688 F 13.26: 93 FGrHist 688 F 13.27: 90 FGrHist 688 F 16.13: 93 CURT. 3.3.17: 93 3.11.11: 115 3.13.7–11: 3 3.13.13: 93 3.13.17: 93 4.7.3–4: 93 4.9.5: 91 4.12.10: 408 4.12.12: 97 4.15.30–32: 115 5.1.23: 408 5.13.6–7: 111 9.7.1–11: 419 Cyrus Cylinder 20: 94 Dan 2: 181 2.1–40: 120 7: 181 7–11: 468 7.2–3: 120 11: 241 11.18: 182 11.20: 467 11.21–24: 180 11.28: 467 11.28–32: 467 11.30–31: 225 11.30–32: 467 11.31–35: 467 11.40–44: 203–204 11.43: 180

Dar. 253: 409 DB 1.48–71: 116 1.81–83: 116 1.90–96: 116 2.1–5: 116 2.18–19: 116 2.64–91: 116 3.49–52: 116 4.2–7: 116 4.31–32: 116 4.40–43: 116 4.88–92: 116 5.1–14: 116 5.20–30: 116, 118 DEL MONTE 1997 244: 300 275: 440 DEMOSTH. 4.3: 113 9.42–44: 452 9.45: 452 15.9: 98 15.29: 98 19.273: 90 23.62: 450 DIO CHRYS. Or. 7.66: 108 7.93: 108 33.14: 108 47.9: 108 50.6: 108 DIOD. SIC. 3.65.8: 77 5.29.5: 100 5.31.3: 100 5.32: 103 5.32–33: 100 5.32.7: 100 7.5.1–12: 69 10.21.1–3: 325 11.2.4: 90 11.3.6: 90 11.4.7: 106

493

494 11.4.36: 114 11.8.4–10.4: 106 11.9.2–10.4: 114 11.10.1–4: 113 11.11.6: 110, 116 11.33.2: 110 12.4.4–6: 90 13.19.6: 315 14.22.1: 413 14.110.3: 98 14.117.8: 98 15.8.5: 97 15.9.5: 98 15.10.1: 97 15.19.4–5: 106 15.41.3: 95 16.64.2–3: 325 17.6.1: 97 17.7.2–9: 419 17.17.6–18.1: 99 17.18.1: 99 17.21.2: 99 17.34.5–7: 115 17.59.5: 97 17.66.4: 115 17.72: 325 17.99: 419 18.4.4–5: 198 19.14.5: 414, 427 19.27.6: 427 19.29.3: 427 19.40.3: 427 19.59.4–5: 149 19.80.4: 425 19.83: 416 19.90: 412 19.91: 412–413 19.92: 413–414, 443 20.113: 416 22.9.1–5: 102 28.3: 13, 462 28.12: 88, 95 28.15: 37, 88 28.15.2: 29, 35 29.2: 93 29.7: 54 29.10: 160 29.12.1: 102 29.15: 13, 462 29.17: 234 29.22: 186, 189

INDEX LOCORUM

29.22–23: 321 29.24: 185, 189, 321, 336 29.24.1: 224 29.27: 285 29.32: 239, 289 30.15: 177 30.16: 163 30.17a: 163 31: 280 31.2: 469 31.3–4: 291 31.9.6–8: 325 31.16: 174 31.16.1: 175, 195, 199 31.16.2: 193 31.16.2–3: 195 31.17: 176 31.17a: 177, 204 31.18.1: 182 31.19: 314 31.19.5–6: 316 31.19.6: 260 31.19.6–7: 316 31.19.7–8: 327 31.19.18–19: 328 31.27: 267 31.30: 267 31.32: 298 31.34: 294 31.42: 295 31.46: 296 31.47: 298 31.50: 296 32.21–22: 299 33.4a: 416 33.14–15: 299 33.18–19: 299 33.22: 300 33.28: 269 34.37–35.4: 300 34/35.13: 103 34/35.19: 447–448 36.2.2–5: 325 40.2: 364, 397 DIOG. LAERT. 2.141: 102 2.141–142: 101 DION. CHALC. FGrHist 1773 F 13: 70

INDEX LOCORUM

DION. HAL. Rom. Ant. 1.2.2–4: 120 1.5–13: 65 1.44: 47 1.44.3–71: 69 1.47–48.1: 69 1.49.1: 64, 69, 99–100 1.72: 47, 64 1.72.1–2: 69, 99 1.73.3: 99 1.74.1: 99 7.72–74: 65 7.72.90: 70 19.9.2: 98 Dna 20–55: 116 28–29: 118 DSe 27–29: 118 ENN. F 369 Skutsch: 90 Book 1: 69 1 Esdras 1.41: 96 4 Esdras 12.11–12: 104 Esther 1.6–7: 93 EUR. Bacch.: 77 Hipp. 422: 115 EUSEB. Chron. 1.40.6: 315 1.40.10: 146 1. 253: 182 2.249: 260 140.6: 260 207c: 263

EUTR. 3.5: 68 Ezra 6.5: 93 FABIUS PICTOR FRHist 1 F 1: 69 FRHist 1 F 3: 69 FEST. De uerb. sign. 28–33: 64 FLOR. 1.47.7: 119 1.24.1: 90 1.24.3: 107 1.24.12: 90 FRONT. 1.1: 103 1.15: 103 2.13.1: 103 GELL. 6.3.14: 117 6.3.15: 117 7.17.2: 107 11.8.1: 112 11.8.2: 112 GLASSNER 2005 4: 289 HDT. 1.4: 91 1.104: 103 1.106: 103 1.125: 97 1.136: 114 1.141: 118 1.157.3: 67 1.175: 106 1.183: 107 1.188: 93 1.209: 91 2.103: 91 2.146: 200 3.88ff: 423 3.96: 93 3.130: 93

495

496 3.140.3: 111 3.150–160: 410 4.12: 103 4.28: 103 4.49.3: 103 4.100–101: 103 4.106: 103 4.126–132: 118 4.138: 115 4.166: 93 5.18: 118 5.63–65: 115 5.70–76: 115 5.73: 118 5.96: 115 6.19.3: 67 6.40.1–2: 104 6.48–49: 118 6.56: 450 6.107: 115 7.6: 116 7.11.7: 93 7.20: 103 7.29: 93 7.32: 118 7.33: 91 7.33–35: 90 7.35: 118 7.43: 64, 98 7.43.1–2: 74 7.54: 93 7.58.2: 111 7.83: 93 7.101–102: 115 7.102: 114 7.104: 110 7.119: 93 7.131: 118 7.133: 118 7.174: 91 7.175: 112 7.190: 93 7.206: 111 7.207: 114 7.208: 114 7.210: 114 7.212: 114 7.213: 113 7.216: 112 7.218: 113 7.220: 114

INDEX LOCORUM

7.222: 106 7.223: 113–114 7.225: 113–114 7.228: 110 7.228.4: 112 7.233.1: 106 7.238: 110 8.38–39: 106 8.46: 118 8.63: 407 8.65.4–5: 115 8.68: 118 8.102–103: 115 8.109: 118 8.115: 115 8.120: 93 8.123: 109 8.136: 118 9.2.3: 92 9.2.41: 92 9.20–21: 93 9.22: 93 9.78: 110 9.80: 93 9.82: 93 HEGESIANAX BNJ 45 = FGrHist 45: 47, 63–64 BNJ 45 F 10: 71 HEGESIPPUS BNJ 391 F 5: 69 HELLANICUS BNJ 4 F 24: 65 FGrHist 4 F 31: 69 FGrHist 4 F 69: 118 HIERON. In Dan. 718: 463 Chron. 1769: 263 [HIPPOCR.] De aër. aqu. et loc. 22: 103

INDEX LOCORUM

HOM. Il. 9.412–416: 116 10: 113 15.102: 111 20.215–217: 64 22.495: 111 HOR. Epod. 16.11–14: 104 I.Delos 1552: 301 I.Didyma 479: 67 480: 67 I.Erythrai 205: 106 504: 143 I.Iasos 4: 138 5: 138, 143 I.Ilion 32: 46–47 33: 259 41: 67 42: 67 45: 72 I.Kildara: 31 I.Lampsakos 4: 29, 43 I.Magnesia-Sipylos 1: 429 I.Pergamon 160: 193, 247, 289–290, 336 178: 346 246: 345–346 I.Smyrna 573.I.9: 145

I.Sultan Da÷i 393: 335 I.Teos 30: 344 IEOG 271–272: 94 277–278: 94 IG I3 561: 116 II² 680: 102 II² 837: 328 II² 980: 328 II² 1673: 447 II² 3781: 328 II3 1.1005: 102 IV² 2.747: 341 IX 2.234: 447 XI 2.34: 98 XI 2.43: 98 XII.6.1.11: 452 IOSPE I² 402: 287, 336 Isaiah 29.13: 111 ISOCR. 4.118–120: 90 4.106: 106 4.150–151: 93 4.150–152: 93 4.159: 99 4.175: 98 4.175–177: 106 4.179–180: 106 6.11: 91 7.80: 90 8.16: 98 8.4: 115 12.59: 90 IvO 322: 112 JOH. ANT. FGrHist 558 F 4: 326

497

498 JOS. Ant. Jud. 12.3.3: 464 12.3.4: 416 12.4.1: 416 12.5: 245 12.5.2–3: 467 12.9.1: 463 12.129–153: 241 12.239–240: 243 12.244: 291 12.295: 183 12.366: 183 12.371–374: 183 12.389: 182 12.417–419: 223 13.4.7: 268 13.6.1: 269 13.7.1–2: 269 13.9.2: 363, 377, 380–381 13.10.1: 270 13.12.2: 381 13.35–61: 299 13.80–83: 299 13.106–108: 453 13.236–244: 391 13.245–247: 391 13.249–251: 300 13.251: 449 13.254–258: 393 13.259–266: 392 13.267: 393 13.324: 393 13.328: 393 13.330: 393 13.334: 393 13.335–347: 394 13.352: 394 13.354: 394 13.376–379: 394 13.377–378: 394 13.389–391: 394 14.3.1: 380 14.8.5: 377–378, 381 14.10.6: 358 14.10.15: 376 14.10.22: 378–379 14.43: 397 14.145–14: 392 14.247–255: 392

INDEX LOCORUM

Bell. Jud. 1.1.1–2: 467 1.41–44: 183 1.61: 391 1.62–63: 393 1.90.95: 394 1.93–95: 394 1.99–100: 394 6.312: 104 JUST. / TROG. 2.11.10: 114 2.11.11–19: 114 2.11.12–18: 113 10: 95 11.9.9: 115 11.14.3: 115 15.4.2–9: 106 24.6–8: 102 25.2.7–11: 101 26.2: 102 27.1: 262–263 27.1–3: 31 27.2: 101 27.3: 262 27.3.12: 101 27.3.9–11: 62 28.1: 260 29.2.5–6: 453 29.6.8: 102 30.4.17–18: 92 31.8.1–3: 75 31.8.1–4: 49, 120 31.8.4: 120 32.2.1–2: 13, 462 32.4.2: 284 34: 293 34.3: 224 34.3.1–4: 291, 469 34.3.6–9: 293 34.4: 299 35.1.1–2: 296 35.1.2: 295 35.1.2–4: 327 36.1: 269 36.1.2–6: 300 36.3.9: 358 37.1.2–5: 327 37.1.5: 312 38.2.8: 312 38.5.3: 260

INDEX LOCORUM

38.5.9: 312 38.6.1–4: 336 38.7.1: 301 38.7.2: 286 38.9: 269, 270 38.9–39.1: 300 38.9.2–3: 300 38.9.4: 184 38.10.10: 438 40.1: 270 40.2.5: 471 41.4.6–7: 300 41.6.7: 444 42.1.3: 449 43.3.8–11: 76 JUSTIN. Apol. 1.20.1: 104 1.44.12: 104 JUV. Sat. 1.102–11: 93 LACT. Div. Inst. 7.15.19: 104 7.18.2: 104 LIB. Or. 11.94–99: 106 LIV. 1.1–3: 69 1.6–7: 70 1.19.3: 118 4.9.1: 40 22.7.4: 68 22.57.4–5: 68 23.11.1–6: 68 23.24: 100 25.10: 45 27.43.3: 40 28.7.14: 98 29.10: 33, 45 29.12: 39 29.12.14: 44–45, 75 30.30.1: 110 31.15: 32

32.8.9–12: 34 32.8.9–16: 98 32.8.13: 34 32.8.15–16: 63, 66, 88 32.8.16: 34 32.27.1: 34, 98 32.37: 77 33.13: 92 33.19: 92 33.19.9: 95 33.20.8: 98 33.27: 92 33.20.1–3: 92 33.20.2: 90 33.20.8: 35, 66, 98 33.21.3: 103 33.21.5: 271 33.30–35: 92 33.31: 92 33.31.1–3: 89 33.31.10: 92 33.32: 74 33.32.5: 110 33.34.1–3: 88 33.34.1–4: 99 33.35.2: 111 33.38: 44, 54–55 33.38–40: 95 33.38.1: 96 33.38.10: 102 33.38.10–12: 102 33.38.10–14: 72–73 33.38.12: 102 33.38.14: 102 33.39–40: 88 33.39.7: 91 33.40.3: 95 33.40.4–5: 96 33.40.6: 102 33.48.4–6: 193 33.49.6: 193 34.1–4: 99 34.15.9: 116 34.23.5: 105 34.25.2: 34, 88 34.43.4: 91 34.48.2–25.12: 89 34.57–59: 99 34.57.1–59.2: 88 34.57–59: 54 34.57.1–6: 47, 63, 71

499

500 34.57.6–11: 35, 36, 98 34.58.1–3: 37 34.58.2–3: 91 34.58.5: 95, 102 34.58.8–13: 91 34.59.1–2a: 35 34.59.3–8: 88 35.1.2: 88 35.13.5: 261 35.13.4: 95 35.13.6–10: 88 35.13.7: 334 35.15–16: 54 35.16.1–17.2: 88 35.16.2–4: 105 35.16.6: 96 35.16.9–10: 96 35.16.10: 43 35.17: 107 35.17.7: 54 35.20.12: 103 35.23.2: 91 35.23.5: 103 35.24.7: 103 35.31–32: 88 35.32.4: 88 35.32.5: 92 35.32.10–13: 105 35.33.6: 98 35.33.8: 105 35.34.3–4: 92 35.38.9: 105 35.39.3–8: 89 35.39.7: 103 35.42.2: 44, 55 35.43.2–3: 97 35.43.3: 47, 74, 98 35.43.6: 97 35.44.5: 98 35.44.6: 105 35.45.3: 98 35.46.5–6: 105 35.48.2–5: 404 35.48.3–5: 96 35.49.5: 96 35.49.5–8: 97 35.49.6–8: 404 35.49.8: 424 35.49.9: 98 35.51.10: 105 36.1.6: 103

INDEX LOCORUM

36.3.14: 110 36.9.4: 105 36.11.1–2: 76, 93 36.15.11–12: 106 36.16.6–7: 106 36.17.1: 112, 116 36.17.5: 97, 424 36.17.7: 93 36.17.13: 91 36.17.13–14: 93 36.17.15: 88 36.18.8: 116 36.19.1: 116 36.19.1–6: 114 36.19.11: 97 36.20.1: 110 36.21.2: 110 36.21.7–8: 116 36.26.1: 107 36.27.8: 110 36.27.28: 110 36.30.5: 110 36.31.1–3: 107 36.33.1–7: 107 36.41.1: 107 36.41.5: 88 37.4.1: 110 37.4.10: 317 37.7: 236 37.8.4: 101 37.9.7: 75, 120 37.9.7–8: 48 37.18.12: 234 37.19.2: 98 37.25.5: 88 37.31.4: 190 37.33.1: 111 37.37: 236 37.37.1–3: 49, 75, 120 37.38.3: 97 37.39.3–4: 405 37.39.7: 405 37.39.9–10: 345 37.40: 97, 417, 427 37.40.1: 405 37.40.5: 102 37.40.10: 97 37.40.13: 102 37.41.5–12: 90 37.45.7–9: 88 37.52–56: 89, 334

INDEX LOCORUM

37.54.15–16: 88 37.55.4–5: 52 37.55.5–6: 334 37.60: 284 37.60.7: 111 38.11.2: 88 38.12–27: 281 38.13: 32, 33 38.13.8–10: 234 38.15: 33 38.16.3: 103 38.16.13–38.17: 101 38.17: 120 38.17.8–9: 117 38.19.2: 317 38.26: 317 38.26.3: 318 38.37–38: 309 38.37.5–6: 317 38.38: 280, 460 38.38.1–2: 185 38.38.1–17: 183 38.38.7–8: 184 38.38.8: 161, 234 38.38.8–10: 160 38.38.8–9: 185 38.38.9–10: 184 38.38.10: 183, 280 38.38.13: 186 38.39: 48, 49 38.39.2–3: 161 38.39.5: 159, 162, 167, 319 38.39.6: 281 38.39.7–17: 280 38.39.10: 53, 75 38.39.15: 284 38.40.1–2: 281 38.42.9–10: 120 38.48.3–4: 118 38.55.8: 98 38.60.5: 88 39.6: 318 39.6.6–9: 119 39.8–18: 238 39.39.8: 334 39.39.14–17: 334 39.40.5: 116 39.40.6: 284 39.51: 284 40.2.7: 321 40.5.10–11.13: 101

40.20: 321 40.34.4: 238 41.6.8–12: 189 41.20: 187 41.20.1: 239 41.20.6: 188 41.20.7: 189 41.20.9: 92, 189 41.20.11: 239 42.29.8: 162 42.6: 466 42.6.6–7: 186 42.6.6–8: 265, 266 42.6.6–11: 239 42.6.6–12: 224 42.11.14: 291 42.12: 265 42.12.3: 189, 288 42.15.8: 291 42.29: 224 43.40.3: 261 44.12.13: 228 44.19.9: 185, 223, 227 45.8.5: 110 45.9.2: 119 45.10: 291 45.11: 223 45.11.9: 185 45.12: 224, 291 45.12.1: 185 45.12.3–8: 469 45.12.7: 185 45.13.1: 162 45.19–20: 292 45.20–25: 291 45.26.7–8: 203 45.32.1: 198 45.32.8: 198 45.32.8–10: 203 45.32.8–33.7: 198 Per. 46: 182, 221, 291, 293, 327 47: 296 50: 92, 299 52: 299 59: 35 LUCAN. Pharsal. 1.444–446: 100

501

502 LUC. Dea Syr. 384–402: 148 Hist. Conscr. 39: 93 Laps. 9: 101 Zeux. 8: 100, 101 8–11: 100 9: 102 10–11: 101 LYC. Leocrat. 73: 90 109.6: 110 LYS. 2.33: 106 2.57–59: 106 19.25: 93 LYCOPHR. 1236–1238: 69 1Macc 1: 241, 468 1.16–20: 467 1.16–24: 13 1.17: 159, 162, 183, 185 1.20–24: 467 1.20–28: 243 1.24b: 96 1.29–40: 243 1.41ff.: 241 1.44–51: 243 1.54: 243 3.27–31: 462 3.31: 468 3.34: 164, 183 6.1–4: 462 6.5–16: 463 6.29: 184 6.30: 164, 183 6.32–33: 416 6.34–37: 183 6.43–46: 183

INDEX LOCORUM

7.1: 182, 233 7.5–25: 368 7.43: 166 8: 356, 369 8.1–16: 366, 389 8.2: 120 8.7–8: 94 8.13: 363 8.17: 223 8.17–20: 390 8.17–32: 39 8.20: 369 8.23: 118 8.23–30: 358, 376 8.24–28: 390 8.31–32: 361, 376 8.32: 118 10.1–58: 299 10.46: 471 11.56: 170 11.57–8: 93 12.1–4: 390 12.2–4: 370 12.6: 370 12.16–17: 370 13.23–26: 372 13.27–30: 372 13.33: 372 13.34: 372 13.35–40: 372 13.36–40: 375 13.41: 372 14.1–3: 371 14.3: 372 14.16–19: 370–371 14.17–24: 390 14.20: 370 14.20–23: 376 14.22: 370 14.25: 371 14.25–49: 371 14.38–42: 371 14.39–53: 370 14.40: 366 15: 373 15.1–2: 372 15.1–10: 372 15.10–15: 372 15.15–21: 390 15.15–24: 372 15.18: 368

INDEX LOCORUM

15.22–24: 362, 391 15.23: 376 16.11–18: 391 2Macc 1.1–10a: 244 1.7–8: 244 1.13: 177 1.14–17: 462 1.16: 463 3: 242 3–4: 462, 464, 467 3.2: 13 3.2–3: 464 3.6: 464 3.7–4.25: 13 3.23–29: 453 4.8–9: 243 4.11: 390 4.11b: 357 4.37: 13 5: 241, 243 5–7: 468 5.1–23: 243 5.11–21: 467 5.21: 13 5.23–27: 243 8.11: 13 8.16–33: 464 8.31: 464 8.34–36: 463 8.36: 466 9.1–2: 463, 464 9.2: 13 9.5–29: 463 11.4: 183 11.5: 164 11.34–38: 390 13.2: 183 14.1: 182 14.3–13: 368 14.15–15.30: 368 15: 183 15.2: 159 15.20–21: 166 MACR. Sat. Praef. 14: 112

MT 15.8: 111 24.27: 104 MEA 40: 440 393: 440 MEMNON FGrHist 434 F 1.20.2: 101 FGrHist 434 F 16: 438 FGrHist 434 F 19.1–3: 284 FGrHist 434 F 20.1: 284 MK 7.6: 111 ML 30: 451 MOSES OF KHORENE 2.37: 283 NCBT 1241: 422, 443 NEP. Cat. 1.4: 110 3.2: 110 3.4: 116 Dat. 3.1: 93 5.5: 95 Hann. 10.1: 284 23.10–11: 284 NIC. DAM. FGrHist 90 F 66: 97 NICANDER OF COLOPHON Frg. 104: 341 OBSEQ. 15: 165

503

504 OGIS 54: 95, 262 56: 95 186: 77 191: 77 212: 106 213: 67, 106 214: 106 219: 46–47, 101, 106 221: 259 222: 101, 143 224: 139 227: 106 229: 259, 429 230: 95, 141 233: 143, 259, 437 237: 93, 95, 106, 138, 143 239: 95 240: 95 245: 95, 101, 144, 258 246: 95, 144 248: 193, 247, 289–290, 336 253: 200 269: 103 298: 284 299: 145, 299 304: 344 309: 346 313: 346 315: 299, 363 327: 299 331: 296 332: 345, 346 341: 289 351: 296 353: 328 383: 438 431: 440 741: 77 746: 95 763: 342 ORIBASIUS 7.26.177: 113 OROS. 2.1.6: 120 4.13.6: 68 5.4.16: 300 7.2.4: 120

INDEX LOCORUM

Ostrakon AA 1941, 815 n. 1 : 420 P.Enteux. 13: 148 P.Gourob I: 262 P.Herc. 1044: 166, 221 P.Köln IV 186: 227 P.Tebtunis III 698: 228 PARTHEN. Erot. Path. 4.1–7: 64 4.34: 64 PAUS. 1.4.1–2: 102 1.4.4: 102, 106 1.4.5: 101 1.4.5–6: 103 1.7.1–3: 260 1.7.2: 101 1.8.1: 103 1.8.5: 107 1.12.1: 44 1.12.1–2: 99 1.16.3: 67 1.18.6: 116, 187 1.25.2: 100 3.9.8: 92 6.16.1: 102 7.4.8: 76 8.46: 67 9.29.1: 76 9.39.2: 188 9.39.3: 187 10.7.1: 106 10.15.2: 102 10.15.2–3: 103 10.16.4: 102 10.18.7: 102 10.19.4: 100, 102 10.19.11: 100

INDEX LOCORUM

10.19.12: 100 10.20.4: 102 10.20.5: 102 10.20.9: 102 10.21.2–3: 117 10.22.2: 100 10.22.2–3: 102 10.22.5–6: 102 10.22.13: 102 10.23.2: 106 10.23.12–13: 102 PERIKHANIAN 1966: 283 1971: 283 PHILOSTR. Vit. Soph. 507: 113 524: 108 533: 116 PHLEG. TRALL. FGrHist 257 F 36: 104 PIND. Pyth. 9.5–75: 76 Isthm. 8.16–23: 76 PLAT. Leg. 3.695a: 93 3.697c–698a: 93 682a: 64 694b–696a: 76 Rep. 8.557b: 115 8.562a–564a: 115 Symp. 215b : 91 PLIN. Nat. 6.31.132: 94 8.5.11: 116 29.7.14: 110

34.8.14: 119 34.19.70: 107 36.17.79: 104 PLUT. Aem. 28.3–29.1: 198 Ages. 23.1: 106 23.3: 98 Alex 15: 74 15.7.9: 99 20.10.10: 115 20.12–13: 93 33.8–9: 115 69.2: 93 Arist. 1.3: 109 1.5.4–5: 109 Art. 5.4: 93 15.1: 93 20.1: 93 20.6: 92 21.6: 106 24–25: 97 24.9–10: 93 26.5: 93 Cam. 22.3: 103 Cat. Mai. 2.2–3: 108 2.5: 110 5.1: 113 8.14: 110 9.3: 110 12–14: 87 12.1: 111 12.2: 110, 114 12.3: 92 12.3–5: 109 12.4: 113 12.5–7: 112 12.7: 110

505

506

INDEX LOCORUM

13.1: 112 13.2: 87 13.3: 113 13.5: 113–114 13.7: 114 14.1: 114 14.2: 116–117 20.8: 117 23.1–3: 117 23.2: 110 23.2–3: 117 27.2: 117

Mor. 197c: 97, 424 199e–f : 112 246a–h: 93 255a–e: 76 753e–f: 150 814c: 108 865a–f: 106 866a: 113

Cim. 1.1: 100 12.2: 90 13.4–5: 90

Phil. 17.1: 93

Cleom. 33.2: 77 34.2: 77 Demetr. 31: 94 40.4: 197 Fab. 18.3: 68 Flam. 7.3: 106 10.1: 77, 92 10.2: 89 10.3: 110 10.3–5: 92 11.3–7: 90 12.6–7: 99 15.1–4: 88 16.1–2: 93 17: 404 17.5: 424 17.7: 97 20–21: 117 20.4: 284 31–32: 284 2.2–4: 117 Marc. 28.6: 117

Per. 24.11: 93

Pyrrh. 16.4: 98 26.2: 101 Sol. 32.2: 116, 187 Them. 6.3: 111 13.1: 93 28.1: 111 PMG 531: 116 POLYAEN. 3.9.56: 95 4.3.32: 93 4.8.1: 345 4.16: 62 4.16.17: 101 4.17: 62, 146 4.20: 103 4.21: 159, 162–223 8.50: 101 POLYB. 1.1.5: 179 1.1.6: 180 1.2: 119 1.3.9: 118 2.35.7: 100 2.38.6: 115 3.5.2: 327 3.6.4–5: 107

INDEX LOCORUM

3.7.3: 91, 105 3.49.2: 100 4.2.7: 95 4.28.1–6: 180 4.48.8: 101 4.51: 260 4.51.4: 146 5.39.6: 102 5.43: 264 5.43–50: 260 5.43.1–4: 95, 261, 287 5.53.2–3: 102 5.53.8: 101 5.54.10–13: 441, 448 5.56.15: 453 5.57: 264 5.61.6–62.2: 95 5.65: 101 5.74.5: 146, 287 5.77–78: 101 5.79.3: 97 5.79.4: 427 5.79.3–13: 416 5.79.11: 101 5.82: 101 5.82.8–13: 416 5.84.5–6: 162 5.107: 66 5.107.1–3: 425 5.111.7: 343 7.15–18: 66, 102 8.17–23: 66 8.20.11: 287 8.23: 95, 283 8.23.3: 286 8.25: 95 8.33.1: 146 10.27: 93 10.49.14: 115 11.24.8–10: 261 11.34.9: 168 11.34.16: 91 12.4b–12.4c.1: 99 15.6.3: 110 15.20.5–6: 88 16.14: 104 16.27.5: 88 18.11.5: 77 18.37.9: 100 18.39.3: 95 18.41: 91, 345

18.41.7–8: 103 18.42.2: 111 18.44.2: 91 18.46.5–7: 91 18.46.5–10: 92 18.45.1–9: 89 18.45.10: 92 18.46.4: 110 18.46.14: 92 18.47.1–2: 91 18.47.1–3: 88 18.47.4: 99 18.47.14: 47, 63 18.49.2–50.3: 47, 63 18.50–51: 88 18.50.3: 99 18.50.5–7: 91 18.50.5–9: 29 18.50.8–9: 91 18.50.9: 95 18.51.3–6: 96 18.51.7: 72, 102 18.51.10: 95, 261 18.52: 43, 54 18.53.2–4: 416 18.53.8–9: 416 20.8: 75, 137 20.8.1: 105 20.8.1–5: 93, 261 20.9.11–12: 110 20.10.2–9: 110 20.25.12: 197 21: 318 21.13.2: 91 21.13.3: 48, 54–55 21.16–17: 309 21.16.5: 318 21.16.8: 88 21.17.1–8: 183 21.17.4–5: 186 21.17.8: 185 21.18–24: 89, 334 21.19.5–12: 318 21.21.7–11: 318 21.22.7–8: 318 21.22.14: 284 21.23: 318 21.23.4: 88 21.24.7–8: 334 21.32.2: 88 21.33–40: 281

507

508 21.40.1–3: 318 21.40.4–7: 281 21.42: 218, 231, 280, 309, 460 21.42.9: 160 21.42.12: 184 21.42.12–15: 160 21.43.3: 161 21.43.12: 161 21.43.13: 234 21.43.15: 280 21.44: 281 21.45: 309 21.46: 48, 50 21.46.2–3: 318 21.46.2–12: 280 21.46.10: 284 21.46.12: 281 22.5.1–4: 50, 53 22.7.1: 189 22.7.4: 185, 189 22.21: 281 23.1.4: 284 23.3.1: 284 23.4.9: 234 23.5.1: 235 23.9.1–4: 321 23.9.2–4: 321 24.1: 190 24.5: 190 24.5.8: 189 24.8: 190 24.14–15: 322 24.14.9: 312 24.14.10–11: 336 24.14.11: 322 24.15: 323 24.15.12: 323 25.2: 190, 321 25.2.1: 286 25.2.11: 286 25.2.11–13: 286 25.4–19: 93 25.4.4–8: 189 25.4.8: 288 25.13: 318 26.1: 93 26.1.1: 239 26.1.1–14: 183 26.1.5–6: 239 26.1.1: 187, 189 26.9: 93

INDEX LOCORUM

27.7.5: 288 28.20.9: 261 29.21: 119 29.27: 224, 291 29.27.1–8: 180, 266, 469 29.28.8: 225 30.1–3: 292 30.4–5: 291 30.7–8: 182 30.19.1–14: 292 30.21: 291 30.23.4: 291 30.25: 159, 265 30.25.1: 194 30.25.3–11: 418 30.25.3–26.1: 239 30.25–26: 174 30.25.4–5: 184 30.25.6: 197 30.25.11: 183, 223 30.25.12: 195, 200 30.25.12–19: 193 30.25.16: 199 30.26.1: 197, 239 30.26.1–8: 193 30.26.3: 195 30.26.3–8: 195 30.26.9: 174, 183 30.27: 223 30.27.1–3: 182 30.27.1–4: 177 30.28: 281, 292 30.30.2–4: 292, 297 30.31: 291 31.1.2–3: 292, 297 31.2–3: 296 31.2.1–2: 289 31.2.1–7: 469 31.2.1–8: 293 31.2.5: 247 31.2.7: 219 31.2.8–11: 469 31.2.9: 164 31.2.9–11: 184, 220 31.2.11: 165 31.2.11–15: 293 31.3.1: 194 31.3.1–5: 295 31.3.5: 166 31.6: 296 31.6.1–8: 296

INDEX LOCORUM

31.7: 312 31.7.1: 312 31.8: 296 31.9: 462 31.9.3: 204 31.11–12: 469 31.11–15: 182 31.11.1–2: 469 31.11.5: 235 31.12: 219, 233, 236 31.12.3–6: 235 31.12.7–15.6: 235 31.14–15: 182 31.15.6: 267 31.15.8–10: 267 31.17.2: 316 31.19: 182 31.32.1–2: 297 32: 296 32.3.13: 267 32.10: 327 32.10.1–8: 296 32.12: 296 32.13: 222 33.5.3: 299 33.6.2: 296 33.13.4–10: 297 33.15: 471 33.15.1–2: 298 33.18: 471 33.18.6–13: 298 33.18.13: 268 33.18.13–14: 298 33.18.14: 299 36.14–15: 299 38.22.1–3: 120 39.1.5–9: 112 Frg. 96: 285, 336 97: 234 113: 234 POMP. MELA 1.2.13: 97 POMP. TROG. Prol. 26: 101 27: 101 32: 284

PORPHYR. FGrHist 260 F 32.8: 31, 62 FGrHist 260 F 43: 31 FGrHist 260 F 49a–b: 180, 228 FGrHist 260 F 53: 463 FGrHist 260 F 56: 204, 463 POSIDON. F 65: 449 Prov 16.3: 111 24.2: 111 26.4: 111 Ps 12(11).2: 111 QUINT. Inst. 12.11.23: 110 RAWLINGS 1976 9–16: 92 Res gestae divi Augusti 13: 118 Rev 16.12: 104 RUFINIANUS Apud Athenienses: 89 De figuris 6: 89 SACHS / WISEMAN 1954 207–208: 32 209: 231 324–235: 32 326–227: 32 SALL. Cat. 2.9–3.2: 116 Hist. 4.67.5–6 = 4.69.5–6: 38 4.69: 310

509

510

INDEX LOCORUM

SATYRUS FHG 3.165: 77

SIG3 689: 189

SBH 25: 444

STEPH. BYZ. s.v. ǹ੅ȞİȚĮ: 99 s.v. ਝȡȓıȕȘ: 64, 65 s.v. ǺȠ૨ȡĮ: 101 s.v. īȡĮȚțȩȢ: 64

SEG 1.152: 112 4.442: 67 7.2: 94, 137 8.408: 77 16.486: 70 26.1226: 138 29.1613: 95 32.131: 230 33.867: 95 36.1046: 189 37.659: 143 37.1010: 141 39.1284: 138, 143 41.1003: 95, 138 42.994: 31 43.707: 95 45.131: 328 46.557: 106 50.1103: 94 52.1197: 346 57.1838: 465 SEGRE 1932 446–452: 284 SEN. Contr. 2.5: 107 3.6: 107 SERV. Ad Aen. 1.273: 99 SHA Carac. 6.4: 97 Valen. 2.1: 97 Hadr. 13.6: 116

STRAB. 2.13.6: 97 4.4.5: 100 4.43: 100 7.3.8: 117 9.1.17: 187 9.4.16: 110 11.6.1: 97 11.6.2: 103 11.7.1: 97 11.8.1: 97 11.8.8: 97 11.9.2: 263 11.11.1: 168 11.13.5: 94 11.14.5: 282 11.14.6: 284 11.14.15: 283 12.1.2: 280 12.2.9: 312 12.3: 286 12.3.1: 286 12.3.28: 286 12.5.1: 101 12.8.12: 284 13.1.19: 64 13.1.22: 104 13.1.26–27: 46 13.1.27: 51 13.1.27–45: 51 13.4.1–2: 103 13.4.2: 101, 299, 334 15.1.6: 199 15.2.9: 260 15.3.12: 97 15.3.21: 93 16.1.17: 97 16.1.18: 462 16.1.19: 300 16.2.4: 197 16.2.6: 106 16.2.10: 161

INDEX LOCORUM

16.2.25: 95 FGrHist 782 F 3: 263 SUDA s.v. Akeraios: 285 s.v. Attalos: 103 s.v. Aulus Postumius: 112 s.v. Leonidas: 110 s.v. Simonides: 101 SUET. Aug. 22: 118

4.56.1: 29 12.48: 40 12.58: 28 Dial. 35: 107 Hist. 5.8: 120 5.13.2: 104 Talmud Barachot 7.2: 396 Nazir 5.3: 396

Claud. 25: 27, 28, 31, 75

TAM IV 1.1: 344

Nero 7.2: 28 40.2:104

TCL 13.242: 422

Vesp. 4.5: 104 Syb. Orac. 3.350–362: 104 3.652–656: 104 4.119–122: 104 4.137–139: 104 5.143–148: 105 5.361–364: 105 8.49–66: 105 8.71–72: 105 8.203: 105 Syll.3 378: 101 426: 101 591: 29, 43 601: 259 628: 289 630: 338 632: 289 636: 289 644/645: 189 666: 328 TAC. Ann. 4.55.4: 29

THEOCR. Id. 17.50ff: 148 15.106–108: 148 THEOPOMP. FGrHist 115 F 103.5: 98 FGrHist 115 F 263: 93 THUC. 2.40.2: 115 5.11.1: 198 6.59.2–3: 115 8.46.1–4: 92 8.52: 96 8.56.4: 90 VAL. MAX. 2.2.2: 110 2.10. ext. 1: 107 4.8.5: 92, 110 5.1.8: 110 8.7.1: 110 VARR. Ling. Lat. 5.144: 69 7.21: 90

511

512 VELL. 1.6.6: 120 1.10.1: 187 VERG. Aen. 1.305: 40 VITR. 7 Praef.: 116 7 Praef. 15: 187, 240 7 Praef. 17: 187, 240 WELLES, RC 13: 259 25: 344 37: 139 42: 47 52: 342 61: 299, 363 62: 67 159–160: 137 XEN. Ages. 9.3: 93 Anab. 1.3.27: 93 1.7.10–12: 91 1.7.27: 93 1.8.29: 93 1.10.2: 93 4.4.5: 111 22.24.5: 413 Cyr. 1.8.10: 91 5.2.25: 97 5.3.22–3: 97 5.3.38–42: 97 5.4.15–22: 97

INDEX LOCORUM

6.1.8: 97 6.1.27–30: 91 6.3.18: 97 7.5.51: 97 7.5.53: 97 8.2.7–8: 93 8.3.14–16: 93 8.7.6: 113 8.7.11: 97 8.8.6: 93 8.8.8: 93 8.8.12: 93 8.8.15–16: 93 8.8.26: 93 Hell. 1.5.3: 93 3.5.1: 92 5.1.25: 98, 106 5.1.31: 98 7.1.20–23: 101 7.1.28–31: 101 10.2: 92 21.1: 92 YOS I 52: 448 ZONAR. 8.3: 98 9.16: 92 9.18: 89 9.18.7: 95 9.19: 87, 88 9.24: 291, 296 9.24.8–9: 327 9.25: 221–222, 291, 293 9.28: 299 ZOSIM. 2.36–37: 103