Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia: The Small World of Dion Chrysostomos (Black Sea Studies 7)

URBAN LIFE AND LOCAL POLITICS IN ROMAN BITHYNIA THE SMALL WORLD OF DION CHRYSOSTOMOS

BLACK SEA STUDIES

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

URBAN LIFE AND LOCAL POLITICS IN ROMAN BITHYNIA the small world of dion chrysostomos

by Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

AARHUS UNIVERSITY PRESS a

URBAN LIFE AND LOCAL POLITICS IN ROMAN BITHYNIA © Aarhus University Press 2008 Language revision by Mary Waters Lund Cover design by Lotte Bruun Rasmussen Large photo: Fig. 5. Nikaia seen from the East (author’s photo). Insert: Fig. 31. Inscription from Iznik Museum (author’s photo). Printed in Denmark by Narayana Press, Gylling ISBN: 978 87 7934 350 4 AARHUS UNIVERSITY PRESS Langelandsgade 177 DK-8200 Aarhus N White Cross Mills Lancaster LA1 4XS England Box 511 Oakville, CT 06779 USA www.unipress.dk

The publication of this volume has been made possible by a generous grant from The Danish National Research Foundation, the University of Southern Denmark and the Lerager Larsen Foundation.

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

Preface

My first meeting with Dion Chrysostomos took place on a rainy winter’s evening in the Classics Library of the University of Bergen. While searching for another text, I came across one of Dion’s municipal speeches. This chance encounter led to a deeper interest in this small-town politician. Some years later, the opportunity for a closer study of Dion and his urban environment presented itself as part of a research project on “Greeks under the Roman Empire” under the auspices of the Danish National Research Foundation’s Centre for Black Sea Studies. Within the Centre for Black Sea Studies, I had the good fortune to work with Jesper Majbom Madsen as supervisor of his Ph.D. thesis, soon to be published as Eager to be Roman (Duckworth, 2008). Together, we organized a workshop on Rome and the Black Sea Region (the proceedings of which were published in 2006 as volume 5 of “Black Sea Studies”) and another about Dion himself (published in Danish as Dion af Prusa: En græsk intellektuel mellem Rom og Sortehavet, 2007). I am also grateful for the chance to discuss different aspects of Bithynian life under the Roman Empire with other friends and colleagues, especially Pia Guldager Bilde, Jesper Carlsen, Thomas Corsten, George Hinge, Marit Jensen, Jørgen Christian Meyer, Eckart Olshausen, Rita Rattenborg, Helle Sejersen, Christian Winkle and Greg Woolf, and with students following courses on Roman Bithynia at the University of Southern Denmark, Esbjerg (2004) and the University of Stuttgart (2007). Thanks are also due to the staff of Konuralp and greater Izmit municipalities, and of the National Archaeological Museum, Istanbul as well as the municipal archaeological museums of Bursa, Izmit, Iznik and Konuralp for their assistance. Kolding, January 2008

Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen

Contents

Preface

5

List of Illustrations

11

1. Introduction Hybris and stasis Urban rivalries Formal and informal politics A tale of three cities

13 13 15 16 18

2. Before the Romans Founding fathers Kings and emperors

21 21 26

3. Windows on the Past Townscapes and landscapes Literary sources History Letters Speeches Legal texts Inscriptions Coins

31 31 33 33 34 37 39 40 41

4. The Urban Environment Civic self-perceptions Titles and status City plan and architecture Defenses

45 45 47 49 51

5. Political Institutions The nature of Roman Law Roman annexation and the Lex Pompeia Emperor and senate Civic self-government

61 61 62 64 66

8

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia Liturgies Urban revenues and finances City magistracies The archons The agonothete The agoranomos Advocates, delegates and ambassadors Censors The grammateus and minor officials The gerousia The gymnasion The local level Regional organisation: the koinon Archiereus and Bithyniarch Koinon and governor

69 70 73 73 74 75 77 77 78 79 80 80 82 83 86

6. The Political Class Ethnic composition Roman citizenship Social stratification The local level Some Bithynian careers at the local level The urban level Some Bithynian careers at the urban level The regional level Some Bithynian careers at the regional level The Domitii of Prusias ad Hypium The imperial level Some Bithynian careers at the imperial level The Cassii of Nikaia

97 97 99 100 100 101 101 103 104 105 107 108 108 109

7. A Political Biography: Dion Chrysostomos Family background From imperial favour to exile Return Success abroad Opposition at home Homonoia with Apameia Stasis and katharsis at Prusa Reconciliation Flavius Archippos Resignation and utopianism

119 119 120 122 124 125 127 130 131 133 136

Contents

9

8. The Bithynian Cities under the Later Empire Antonines and Severans Nikomedia’s imperial century Change and crisis in third century Bithynia Reorganisation, Christianity and a new imperial capital

147 147 150 155 159

9. Conclusions: Urban Life and Local Politics Honour Giving and receiving A caste society? A compartmentalized agôn Status The koinon Mutual recognition Politics and the polis

165 165 166 168 169 170 171 172 173

Appendix: The Dates of Dion’s Municipal Orations

177

Abbreviations

181

Bibliography

183

INDICES

197

List of Illustrations

1. Map of Roman Bithynia (Inger Bjerg Poulsen)  18 2a. Nikaian bronze coin showing the city’s founder, Dionysos, returning from India in an elephant quadriga (Tom Vossen)  23 2b. Prusan bronze coin showing “Prusias, the founder of Prusa” (American Numismatic Society)  23 3a. Nikomedian bronze coin of the reign of Commodus (Gorny & Mosch, Giessener Münzhandlung)  24 3b. Nikomedian bronze coin of Philip the Arab, showing a square-rigged ship (Alexandre de Barros collection)  24 4. The southern wall of Prusa (author’s photo)  25 5. Nikaia seen from the east (author’s photo)  32 6. Detail of the Tabula Peutingeriana (Staatsbibliothek, Vienna)  33 7a. Bronze coin of the Bithynian koinon, struck under Hadrian (Münzen und Medaillen Deutschland)  42 7b. Nikomedian bronze coin of Valerian, Gallienus and Valerian II (Classical Numismatic Group)  42 8. Map of Nikaia (Inger Bjerg Poulsen)  49 9. Remains of the southern wall of Nikomedia’s citadel in the Medrese Sokak (author’s photo)  50 10. The course of the late antique east wall (author’s photo)  50 11. Map of Nikomedia (Inger Bjerg Poulsen)  52 12. Map of Prusa (Inger Bjerg Poulsen)  53 13. “Gate 6” may be a remnant of Nikaia’s Hellenistic defense perimeter (author’s photo)  54 14. A negative impression of the Hadrianic walls of Nikaia (author’s photo)  54 15. North (Istanbul) gate of Nikaia seen from the inside (Jesper Majbom Madsen)  56 16. Elevation of the North (Istanbul) gate of Nikaia (Dalman, Fick & Schneider 1938)  57 17. The east (Lefke) gate of Nikaia, seen from the outside (author’s photo)  63 18. The sarcophagus of Aurelius Vernicianus and his wife Markiane. Izmit museum (author’s photo)  102 19. Inscription honouring the emperor Trajan, dedicated by the city secretary (grammateus) T. Flavius Silôn. Bursa Museum (author’s photo)  104 20. Unfinished inscription, now in the garden of Bursa Museum (author’s photo)  106 21. Inscription in honour of Marcus Domitius Paulianus Falco in the ancient theatre of Konuralp (author’s photo)  107 22. The obelisk-like monument of the Nikaian notable Cassius Philiskos (author’s photo)  110

12

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

23. Detail of the monument, showing recesses in the side of the vertical stone face (author’s photo)  111 24. Inscription on the rear face of the monument giving the name, age and filiation of Cassius Philiskos (author’s photo)  111 25. The inscription over the east (Lefke) gate of Nikaia. At the end of the second line, the name of Cassius Chrestos in the genitive (author’s photo)  113 26. The sarcophagus of C. Cassius Chrestos in the garden of Iznik Museum (author’s photo)  113 27. Seated statue of a philosopher, Bursa museum (author’s photo)  123 28. Prusan notable of the Roman period. Bursa museum (author’s photo)  129 29. The theatre of Nikaia (Jesper Majbom Madsen)  137 30. Sesterce from the mint of Rome. The reverse shows the tychê of the city kneeling before the emperor Hadrian, restitutor Nicomediae (Leu Numismatik AG)  148 31. The biography of Flavius Severianus Asklepiodotos, a rich notable of Nikaia in the early third century. Iznik Museum (author’s photo)  153 32. Despite later reconstructions and repair work, the still standing third-century walls of Nikaia give a good impression of the defences of a late Roman city (author’s photo)  157 33. The south gate of Nikaia (author’s photo)  158 34a. Nikaian coin of Gallienus (AD 253‑268) showing the new walls of Nikaia, with large towers flanking the gates (Numismatik Lanz, Munich)  159 34b. Nikaian coin from the brief reign of Macrianus (AD 260‑261) showing a similar bird’s eye view of Nikaia (Classical Numismatic Group)  159 35. Justinian’s bridge west of Nikaia (Jesper Majbom Madsen)  161

1. Introduction

The ancient world as we know it would be unthinkable without the city. The world of classical Greece was a world of city-states; the Roman Empire was an empire of cities. From the fourth century BC onwards, most cities were no longer sovereign, self-governing poleis, but they were still governing on behalf of their Hellenistic or Roman rulers. The administrative functions of the city and the readiness of its elite to participate in its administration were crucial to the success of, and crucial to our understanding of, the Roman imperial project.

Hybris and stasis Aristotle famously defined man as a politikon zôon,1 sometimes translated as “a political animal” and sometimes as “a creature that lives in cities”. The exact meaning lies somewhere between the two: man is not “political” in the modern sense of the English word, but neither is he merely a city-dweller. It would be clumsier, but perhaps more precise to translate politikon zôon as “a being that participates in a city”. To our eyes, ancient Greek cities were characterised by a high degree of citizen participation in the political process, not only because it was perceived as the duty of an adult male citizen, but also because it provided an opportunity for public display of positive personal qualities. For the majority of the male citizens, a large part of the day was spent in public spaces: the street, the agora, the gymnasium, and a correspondingly smaller part within the confines of the nuclear family, the dwelling or the workplace. The public nature of the social environment favoured the creation of an agonistic urban society where the place of the individual within the group and within the citizen body was continually being defined and redefined through ties of family, friendship, loyalty, patronage and clientage, and where visible personal qualities (honour, “face”, bearing, speech, education) were very important, tangible but impersonal status markers (wealth, possessions) less important. As the Book of Proverbs expresses it: “a good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold”.2 The social environment of a Greek city thus placed the male individual in a sink-or-swim situation: his status or “honour” had to be displayed on a regular basis, marking his place within the social hierarchy of the community and

14

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

enabling him to establish advantageous long-term relationships of patronage, clientage, friendship or marriage. On the other hand, the city was not a social jungle where one animal ate another: the agôn took place within a restraining framework of written and unwritten rules, ensuring that conflicts rarely got out of hand. Two central concepts in this connection are hybris and stasis. The familiar meaning of hybris is “intolerable arrogance” but in a wider sense, hybris encompasses violent or anti-social behaviour in general. Sailing off to explore the land of the Cyclopes, Odysseus desires to know “what manner of men live there, whether they are arrogant men (hybristai) that do not have laws, or kind to strangers (philoxenoi) and god-fearing in their hearts”.3 The form of life that he finds there is the exact antithesis of the civilized urban lifestyle: the Cyclops lives alone in his cave, follows no laws and does not fear the gods. As if to underline his disregard for Greek norms of social behaviour, which emphasize hospitality to strangers, the Cyclops not only treats his guests badly; he eats them. Arrogant and self-gratifying behaviour transgressing established norms of social behaviour could not be tolerated within the polis, since it threatened the social cohesion and solidarity of the community, which was vital for survival in a conflict with other poleis. Another threat was stasis, disruptive conflict within the community, which could take the form of extreme factionalism or actual political violence. In the Politics, the clinching argument of Aristotle in favour of his “middle” constitution is that it is “free from stasis” (astasiaskos)4 and according to the Memorabilia of Xenophon, Sokrates defined the “good” citizen as one who “puts an end to stasis”.5 The social structure of republican Rome had a good deal in common with contemporary Greek cities, and Romans shared the Greek horror of civic violence. At an early stage, the Republic adopted the Etruscan fasces as an emblem of public office, symbolic of the magistrate’s authority to impose order and punish transgressors with beating (the rods) or death (the axe). Such a concentration of power in the hands of the state’s leaders ensured stability – but it could be a terrible weapon in the wrong hands. So, firstly, power was always held jointly by two or more magistrates, except in emergencies; secondly, access to the magistracies was restricted to the right sort of people, originally members of certain (“patrician”) families, later those who met a property qualification, the census.6 There might be a census threshold for entering the urban council of an Italian town (the ordo decurionum), there was a higher one for the equestrian order and a still higher one for the senate, the real locus of power in republican Rome. The census was not the only social dividing line, however, and within the Roman senate a distinction between members of established consular families and more recent arrivals (homines novi) lingered well into the early Empire. For all its admirable qualities – and despite the admiration lavished on it by generations of classical scholars – the ancient urban community was a fragile social structure, as its members were well aware. Internal tensions within the

Introduction

15

community were kept in check, after a fashion, by laws and unwritten codes to restrain individualistic behaviour going beyond the bounds of the agôn and threatening the cohesion, hence the survival, of the community. To modern eyes, some of these restrictions may seem peculiar and sometimes comical, for instance, the Athenian institution of ostracism, the Spartan prohibition on embellishing one’s front door7 or Trajan’s refusal to permit a fire brigade in Nikomedia because the city was “plagued by political factionalism” (factionibus vexata).8 But the fear of civil violence among the many or of oppression by the few was real enough, and well founded. Friendly competition and social rivalry within the agôn could easily get out of control and once public order had broken down, it was difficult to restore.

Urban rivalries The agôn of man and his neighbours in the agora and other public spaces was paralleled at the collective level, where cities battled to maintain and reinforce their position vis-à-vis their neigbouring communities. Though the stakes were essentially the same, the arena was different. The province was no face-toface environment: behaviour and actions counted for less, titles and tangible status markers for more. To enjoy the special favour of the ruler, the Roman governor or the emperor himself was important. So was the status of a city within the formal administrative hierarchy of the province. Monuments and great public buildings, too, played their role, but perhaps less for their own value as for the means to an end: the maintenance of status in the eyes of the ruling power. In fact, it is striking how often the city’s place within the agôn appears defined by its relation to the ruling power and its representatives. The rhetor Dion ridicules his fellow Prusans for wanting to preserve an old smithy whose dilapidated condition brings shame on the community on the occasion of the governor’s visit, while his opponents claim that Dion has not done enough to win the emperor’s favour for Prusa, which in that respect is far behind Smyrna.9 Among the visible expressions of the city’s high standing with the Roman authorities were honorific titles, above all that of mêtropolis and “first city within the province”. The sometimes extreme nature of the urban agôn is illustrated by the persistent rivalry between Nikomedia and Nikaia, continually competing for titles and honours (below, p. 47-48). The fields of religion and education provided complementary arenas for the urban agôn. In 29 BC, Nikaia won for herself the imperial cult of the “Romans” in the province, while Nikomedia became home to that of the pere­ grines, i.e. the koinon. In the mid-fourth century AD, Libanios was enticed away from Nikaia by the offer of a teaching post in Nikomedia. At the council of Chalkedon in 451, the bemused delegates spent a whole day listening to bishop Eunomios of Nikomedia and his colleague, Anastasios of Nikaia, disputing the ecclesiastical jurisdiction over the parish of Basilinopolis.10 To some degree, Roman domination acted as a stabilising factor. Jealousy

16

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

and enmity between cities could not be eliminated and indeed might be exploited in the interests of Rome, but at least they could be restrained. Further, the provincial law of Pompey the Great established a minimum age and a census threshold for the city councils, ensuring that urban politics would henceforth be dominated by adult property-owners, the “middle” class so dear to the theories of Aristotle. As we shall see, the census also had the useful side-effect of “compartmentalizing” the political arena and putting a brake on social mobility, and thus on conflict potential, within the city.

Formal and informal politics We know a good deal about formal political life in ancient cities: the names of their leading magistrates as preserved in honorific and funerary inscriptions; visits by or delegations to the emperor; famous sons and daughters who reached high imperial positions; important decisions of their councils that were inscribed on stone for posterity. But we know very little about the day-to-day, face-to-face relationships and conflicts, the undercurrent of urban life. A moment’s reflection will make it clear that the formal, visible aspect of urban politics is really the tip of a much larger iceberg, most of which remains invisible to our eyes. In a city of several thousand inhabitants, not everyone would know everyone else; but the most prominent citizens, those leading in the social agôn and the race for magistracies and places on the city council, would be known to most of their fellow citizens. Since a great part of their social and political interaction took place in public spaces such as streets and squares, their actions and relations to each other would also be known to a wide circle. The street provided a stage for displaying “correct” behaviour. On the other hand, it was also a fertile environment for rumours and stories that could rapidly erode the individual’s position. Because the ancient world assumed that personal qualities were inbred rather than acquired, the personality of a candidate was considered as important as his formal qualifications, and attacks on an opponent’s character was an effective “informal” tactic. The early imperial historians provide many examples of how rumour and denunciation were deployed in the fight for social and political status, and the Apocolocyntosis of Seneca an impression of the innuendo and half-truths circulating in the imperial capital. Taking Suetonius, Tacitus and Seneca as our sources for early imperial slander, the most common topics seem to be sex and drinking habits. As in other societies, a double standard applied in sexual matters; behaviour that would generally be tolerated or ignored might on occasion be denounced and punished. Stories about the heavy drinking of Roman magistrates and emperors were recorded by later writers.11 No doubt similar stories were circulating in the smaller cities, viz. the Pompeiian graffiti stating that “the late drinkers support candidate so-and-so”.12

Introduction

17

Another way to undermine a person’s credibility is to suggest that he is overbearing, quick to anger and has little patience with others, implying at once arrogance and lack of self-control – in one word, hybris. We get a glimpse of this type of innuendo in a letter from Cicero to his younger brother Quintus, who held the governorship of Asia from 61 to 59 BC. At the commencement of Quintus’ third term as governor, Marcus sends him a long letter of advice, warning Quintus that rumours about his conduct as governor are circulating in Rome. According to Marcus, the detractors of Quintus have focused on his iracundia, which Marcus acknowledges as a particularly deplorable weakness in one who exercises summum imperium, the almost unlimited authority of a governor. He goes on to give examples of Quintus’ behaviour which are presumably drawn from rumours circulating in the capital.13 From sources such as these, we know how informal political tactics, as well as personal vanity, petty rivalries, graft and corruption played a role in the political process at Rome. We have no reason to suppose that the hundreds and thousands of provincial urbes were so very different; the difference is that for most of these, we have no evidence to work from. There are a few places, however, where the political process at the personal level can be glimpsed. One is Oxyrhynchus (el-Bahnasa) in Egypt, where verbatim records of council debates of the third to fifth century have been preserved.14 Another is Pompeii, where the eruption of AD 79 has preserved electoral dipinti, political graffiti and other ephemera.15 A third is Bithynia, where we are fortunate to possess a unique collection of municipal speeches by the philosopher-politician Dion Chrysostomos and a contemporary collection of letters to and from the provincial governor, Pliny the younger. These sources provide unique insights into the workings of local politics and administration at the personal and informal level. Dion often needed to defend himself against the stories put about by his opponents. As a young man in Prusa, he faced charges of grain hoarding and lack of public spirit. In the early post-exilic period, the rumours centred on his relationship with the emperor: Dion was not the close friend that he claimed, he had mishandled an embassy to Rome, he had failed to win Prusa the concessions that Trajan granted Smyrna, etc. – an ingenious angle of attack, since it concerned events in far-off Rome that could not be verified or disproved, leaving Dion defenseless. Later, he was accused of tyrannical or demagogical behaviour, and negative rumours were spread about his administration of public projects. He was also taken to task for his too close relationship with the Roman governor and seems to have been suspected of atheism.16 Perhaps because of the pedestrian nature of their subject matter, the municipal speeches of Dion Chrysostomos have not attracted a great deal of scholarly attention; most students of Dion – with the exception of C.P. Jones (1978) and M. Cuvigny (1994) – have directed their attention to other parts of his oeuvre. In this book, however, we will focus on Dion the local politician and on the political, intellectual and social urban environment of Roman Bithynia.

18

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

Fig. 1. Map of Roman Bithynia (Inger Bjerg Poulsen)

To set Dion and his city within their proper historical and geographical context, the narrative will commence with the foundation of the three cities that formed the background to Dion’s career.

A tale of three cities Nikomedia, Nikaia and Prusa were important cities in northwestern Asia Minor, located within a hundred Roman miles of Byzantion  – later to become the imperial capital of Constantinople – and of each other. Together, they commanded the major highways from Europe into Asia Minor and the Levant. As Hellenistic foundations, they share many common characteristics, and from the Hellenistic period onwards, their histories were intertwined in changing relationships of hegemony and subordination, friendly competition, fierce rivalry or obsessive enmity. Each of them vied for the leading position in their region, and in turn, each of them attained it. Nikaia was the oldest city and the first mêtropolis of Roman Bithynia. Later it was eclipsed by Nikomedia, which rose to be an imperial residence under the Tetrarchy.

Introduction

19

A thousand years later, Prusa, too, became an imperial capital and the residence of the Ottoman sultan. During the twentieth century, Prusa and Nikomedia have shared in the industrial growth that has characterized the Marmara region. Whereas a large part of the 34,000 inhabitants of modern Nikaia (Iznik) still nestle within its late Roman walls, Prusa (Bursa) has grown to over a million inhabitants, Nikomedia (Izmit/Kocaeli) to some 300,000. In the scholarly literature and tourist itineraries, on the other hand, little Nikaia looms far larger than her two sister cities. The last decade has seen two monographs on the history of Nikaia (Foss 1996, P. Guinea Diaz 1997) and it is to Nikaia that visitors go for a visual impression of a Roman city, whereas the remains of ancient Nikomedia and Prusa are covered by modern construction. Though some archaeological evidence has come to light accidentally and in the course of rescue excavations, we have no detailed overall picture of these two cities, their topography and their monuments as we do in the case of Nikaia. This does not preclude writing a history of their urban life and development, it merely means that other types of sources and different approaches are required. Notes

1 2 3 4 5 6

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Pol. 1253a1. Proverbs 22.1. Odyssey 9.174‑176. Pol. 1296a7. Mem. 4.6.14. Even Sallust (Bell.Jug. 86), no admirer of the Roman nobility, echoes a familiar Roman prejudice when writing that Marius recruited proletarians into the army due to inopia bonorum, literally “a shortage of good ones” (i.e., of propertyowners). Plutarch, Lyk. 13.5; Link 2000, 77‑80. Pliny, Ep. 10.34. Or. 40.9; 40.13. Foss 1996, 12‑13. Seneca, Ep. ad Lucilium, 83.12‑14; Suetonius, Tib. 42; Titus 7. Mouritsen 1988, 67. Cicero, Ad Q.F. 1.1.37‑38; cf. Braund 1998, 17‑18. In a more positive vein, Pliny (Ep. 9.5) claims to have heard how well his friend Calestrius Tiro is doing as governor of Baetica; but this may merely be a literary formula to open the letter. Coles 1966; Bowman 1971. Some of the later records (from the third century onwards) appear to be verbatim renderings of speeches in the council, probably taken down by a shorthand writer as they were delivered. Mouritsen 1988. Dion, Or. 43.11, but cf. Vielmetti 1941, 98. In Vielmetti’s view, the charge of atheism has no substance but is introduced by Dion to underscore the parallelization of himself with Sokrates in 43.10 and 43.12. Dion evidently intended to answer the charge in 43.13ff, but this part of his oration is not preserved.

2. Before the Romans

Founding fathers Foundation myths or histories were an important element of Greek urban identity. The oldest cities claimed to find their founders among the gods or heroes of mythology, often among those who fought at Troy. Those that were products of the great period of Greek colonization focused their originidentity on the mother city, literally the mêtropolis; for instance, many Greek settlements along the Black Sea coast claimed a Milesian origin. The more recent foundations identified their founder as an historical person, often as not giving his own name to the city. The Hellenistic period was a high season for the foundation of cities. It opened with Alexander the Great, who founded dozens of Alexandrias along his marching route to the east; it closed with the naval victory of Octavian in 31 BC, celebrated by the refoundation of Actium as Nikopolis, “the city of victory”. The city known to antiquity as Nikaia and to present-day Turks as Iznik was founded in 311 BC by one of Alexander’s generals and successors, Antigonos Monophtalmos (“the one-eyed”). It was named Antigoneia to preserve the memory of its founder – not, as it turned out, for very long: by 301 BC it had been captured by another of Alexander’s generals, Lysimachos, who renamed it Nikaia after his queen.1 Bithynia was one of the many minor kingdoms that emerged from the breakup of Alexander’s empire. A Bithynian noble, Zipoites, declared himself king and inaugurated a new royal era.2 In 280, he fell in battle and was succeeded by his son, Nikomedes I. Like his father, the new king was forced to devote most of his energy to wars and dynastic conflicts in an environment of recurrent warfare and constantly shifting alliances. By the 260’s, his foreign policy had proved successful and his dynastic position had been secured by the death of his brothers. In 264 BC, Nikomedes founded a new royal capital bearing his name at the head of what we now know as the gulf of Izmit, easily reached by land or sea from all parts of his kingdom. Such a good position had not gone unnoticed or unexploited, and Nikomedia was not created on virgin soil but through a fusion – synoikism – of existing settlements.3 Its name suggests that the third great city of Bithynia, Prusa, was founded by a Prusias – as claimed by three ancient writers (Strabon, Arrian of Nikomedia and Stephen of Byzantion)4 and on a coin of the late second century

22

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

AD bearing the legend “Prusias the founder (ktistês) of Prusa” (fig. 2).5 But who was he? According to Strabon’s Geography, the city was “a foundation of Prusias who fought against Kroisos”, echoed by Stephen’s identification: “Prusias who fought against Kyros”. According to a fragment of Arrian, Prusa was founded by king Prusias, grandson of Nikomedes. The Natural History of Pliny the Elder names Hannibal as the founder of Prusa6 – thus indirectly supporting the claim of Arrian. Hannibal left Carthage in 195 BC and sought refuge with Antiochos III. When the Romans asked Antiochos to hand over Hannibal, the Carthaginian fled to Armenia and from there to Bithynia, where he served Prusias I as a naval commander in 188‑183 BC. He had previously assisted king Artaxias of Armenia in laying out a new city, Artaxata,7 and may well have advised the Bithynian king on the founding of Prusa. Fearing that Prusias would hand him over to the Romans, Hannibal took his own life in 183 BC. Strabon, on the other hand, identifies Prusa’s founder as “Prusias who fought against Kroisos” which would imply a foundation date in the sixth century BC, but there is no archaeological or epigraphic evidence for such an early date. One way out of this problem is to assume a lacuna in Strabon’s text after “Prusias”, in which case the king who fought Kroisos (or Kyros, as Stephen of Byzantion has it, copying a corrupt version of Strabon) is an entirely different person from the founder of Prusa.8 A more probable explanation is that Strabon was reproducing a popular tradition about the origins of Prusa that was current in Asia Minor during his own lifetime. There is little doubt that Prusa was founded by Prusias I, but the historical identity of the founder may have been overlaid by an accretion of legends about a protohistorical and semi-mythical origin. The notion that the founder battled against Kroisos reflects a Prusan self-perception as a frontier city, and the desire to make the city more respectable by moving its foundation date back in time is easy to understand.9 A parallel process can be observed in nearby Nikaia, where coins and inscriptions proudly identify the city’s founders as Dionysos and Herakles;10 throughout the life span of the Nikaian mint, coins were struck with the image of Dionysos as the ktistês of Nikaia (fig. 2).11 To Greek thinkers of the classical period, the city, hê polis, was also the state, and in a wider sense, society. The founders of a new city could draw on various treatises for advice. Most of these have been lost, but an impression of their content can be gained from a passage in Aristotle’s Politics12 where the practical problems of siting a city are briefly touched upon as prolegomena to a wider discussion about the nature of human society and the relative merits of different constitutions. Aristotle’s advice is worth quoting, not because every later city-founder had a copy of the Politics at his elbow, but because they may be taken to reflect prevalent ideas about “best practice” in city planning during the late Classical and early Hellenistic period. According to Aristotle, the city should be located on sloping ground with easy access “to the sea, the land and its territory”13 and a sufficient supply

Before the Romans

23

Fig. 2 Left: Nikaian bronze coin showing the city’s founder, Dionysos, returning from India in an elephant quadriga. As an assertion of the city’s divine origin and seniority over the other Bithynian cities, Dionysos appears on Nikaian coins from the first century right down to the reign of Gallienus. RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 826 similis (Tom Vossen). Right: Fig. 2b. Prusan bronze coin showing Geta on the obverse and on the reverse a figure identified as “Prusias, the founder of Prusa”: RGMG 1.4 Prusa 116. (American Numismatic Society)

of good water.14 An eastward-facing slope is preferable, a northward orientation acceptable.15 Aristotle discusses the location of the city in relation to the sea at some length: the advantages of being able to transport goods from afar by water are weighed against the corrupting influence of visiting traders and sailors, and he concludes that a city should have a harbour, but at a little distance: not within the city itself yet close enough to be controlled and defended.16 Concerning the city plan itself, Aristotle assumes as a matter of course that it will be based on the familiar “Hippodamian” system of rectangular plots divided by rectilinear streets.17 Walls are indispensable for safety and desirable for the sake of appearance.18 The agora should be at the centre of the city but conveniently located in relation to the gates, with the temples and government buildings close by.19 That this is not idle speculation but reflects contemporary town planning practice can be verified by comparing plans of Hellenistic cities with the precepts of Aristotle. In this respect, a closer look at the map of Nikaia (fig. 8, p. 49) is instructive. Even today, it is possible to discern some basic features of the city’s original plan: the rectilinear main streets of the Hippodamian grid meeting each other at right angles in the centre of the city; the four main gates; the lake harbour located close by, but outside the walls; the Aya Sofya Camii at the central intersection. Located by the edge of the lake, with good, level farmland stretching along its shores, Nikaia had “easy access to the sea” – or at least to water transport – “to the land and to its territory”. That territory stretched far to the east, probably as far as the Sangarios river (mod. Sakarya). Through it ran the southern of the two main routes from Thrace to Anatolia and the Levant. In terms of access, Nikomedia, founded half a century later, enjoyed an even more advantageous position at the eastern extremity of the gulf of Izmit, astride the northern route into central Anatolia, with secondary roads branching southward to Nikaia and northward to the shore of the Black Sea. We

24

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

Fig. 3. Left: Nikomedian bronze coin of the reign of Commodus. The reverse shows a war galley in the city’s harbour, in the background the city’s two temples of the imperial cult (cf. p. 47). RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 165 (Gorny & Mosch, Giessener Münzhandlung). Right: Nikomedian bronze coin of Philip the Arab, showing a square-rigged merchant ship. RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 387 (Alexandre de Barros collection).

may take it for granted that the lower city was laid out on a grid plan with the east-west highway as its baseline and some present street alignments may preserve the imprint of the Hippodamian plan.20 It is not known whether the reticular plan extended onto the slopes – perhaps not: according to Libanios, the residential areas stretched up the hillside “like the branches of a cypress”21 which rather suggests an organic pattern adapted to the contours of the hills. Libanios also catalogues the city’s magnificent buildings destroyed by the earthquake of 358: “colonnades, fountains, squares, libraries, sanctuaries, baths”.22 As at Nikaia, the harbour was located outside the walls, but close to the city. Nikomedia was a major trading port whose ships ranged over the Black Sea and the eastern Mediterranean.23 That water transport played a large role in the economy of the city and the self-perception of the Nikomedians is evident from the recurrence of ships and other marine motifs on Nikomedian coins24 (fig. 3) and from the project, proposed in the early second century AD, to cut a canal from lake Sapanca to the sea.25 Turning to Prusa, we find a number of significant differences. There is little evidence for synoikism, indicating that the founder had a free choice of site. The one actually chosen would have met with the approval of Aristotle insofar as it is located on the cool northward-facing slopes of the Bithynian Olympos (modern Ulu Dağ). Remarkably, however, Prusa is some 20 kilometres, a whole day’s journey, from the Sea of Marmara; nor does it have “easy access by land and to all parts of its territory” – even today, there are few good roads across the Olympos massif to the southeast of the city. Fortunately, the fertility of the low-lying farmland to the north was sufficient to ensure the city’s food supply. The advantages of Prusa’s location were primarily defensive. The acropolis was a rocky plateau c. 600 m across, bounded by steep slopes on three sides and on the fourth by the rising flank of mount Olympos. There are few routes

Before the Romans

25

by which an army can approach by land. The eastern access roads are easily defended where they pass through the hills, while a force landing on the coast would need a day or more to reach the city, giving the defenders sufficient advance warning to deploy their forces in the plain or on the perimeter of the acropolis. (Perhaps Hannibal’s own experience had taught him that with the Roman navy in control of the seas, it was better to be located a little distance inland.) The natural defenses of the acropolis were further strengthened by walls (fig. 4). A further natural advantage of Prusa was its hot springs, situated just over a mile north-west of the acropolis (in the modern suburb of Çekirge). They are mentioned in an inscription of Hadrian’s reign26 and by Athenaios (late second century AD), according to whom they were called basilika, “royal”,27 implying not only that the baths enjoyed some prestige in his time but also that their popularity went back to the period of Bithynian independence. The suburb by the baths was  – and is  – an attractive residential area on a northward-facing slope with a view of the plain below. A Prusan bronze coin of the late Severan period shows a building flanked by two female figures; if Robert’s identification of these as the nymphs of the springs is correct, the edifice in the centre may represent the façade of the bath complex.28 Apart from names and royal epithets, what imprint did the founders leave on their cities? In making Nikomedia his capital, Nikomedes I ensured a steady flow of taxes, gifts and revenues into the city, which along with the

Fig. 4. Though ravaged by time and reconstructed several times (note the column ends and other spolia protruding at the top), the southern wall of Prusa still stands (author’s photo).

26

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

building programme and ancillary facilities required for a Hellenistic royal residence29 would ensure the future growth and prosperity of the city. Existing settlements such as Astakos already had economic ties to the countryside; after synoikism these links will have continued, now within the economic system of the new city. By the time of Nikomedes’ death, Nikomedia was well on its way to becoming a fully fledged Hellenistic city. It furthermore enjoyed the geographical advantage of a location on the main road combined with a saltwater port. For travellers coming from Europe, it would often be more attractive to sail as far as Nikomedia and go on by road, instead of disembarking at the Hellespont or Bosporos. Following the Roman annexation, Nikaia became the residence of the governor and provincial capital (mêtropolis), a status it retained into the first century AD. To these political assets, it could add the advantages of its lakeside location, its large agricultural hinterland and its function as a staging point on the southern highway. By contrast, the early years of Prusa were precarious. There is no evidence that major settlements were incorporated into the new city through synoikism, and while Prusa had its own territory, this did not generate income on the same scale as the tax and revenue flows into the capital of a kingdom or province. The founders themselves could not do much to assist it, occupied as they were with the ongoing war against the neighbouring kingdom of Pergamon; in any case, within five years of the city’s foundation date, both Hannibal and Prusias were dead.

Kings and emperors The Hellenistic monarchs of the second and first century BC have been harshly judged by history. To some extent, this is because their biographies were handed down by Roman historians or by historians who, with the perspicacity that comes of hindsight, saw the expansion of Roman power as inevitable. Even their apologists, however, would have to admit that the foreign policy of late Hellenistic kings was often oriented towards short-term goals, making them easy preys for a policy of divide et impera. The clash of interests in Asia Minor was fueled by the conflicting ambitions of three great powers: Macedonia, the Seleucid kingdom, and Rome, and of ambitious medium-sized powers like Pergamon, Rhodes, and at a later date the Pontic kingdom of Mithradates VI. Little Bithynia was too small and weak to be an independent player in this Great Game, but through shifting alliances, her rulers tried to exploit the tensions between her neighbours to their own advantage. The kingdom of Bithynia was a dynastic monarchy, and violent domestic conflicts were mainly concerned with rival claims to the royal power. Nikomedes I killed his brothers to secure undisputed possession of his throne, and at his death in 255‑253 BC, his sons fought over the succession. A century later,

Before the Romans

27

Prusias II was deposed and killed by his son, Nikomedes Epiphanes, who invaded Bithynia with support from the neighbouring king of Pergamon. Bloody and protracted as such conflicts could be, their impact on the village population and on the artisans and small traders of the cities was mitigated by the fact that in most cases, the aggressor was out to secure or expand a territory for himself. It was not in his interest to alienate his future subjects by excessive brutality, nor to weaken his tax base by slaughtering the population or destroying cities. That this was appreciated by the population, or at least by their leaders, is evident from the behaviour of the Nikomedians when the unpopular Prusias II was besieged in 149 BC. The citizens opened the gates to the soldiers of Nikomedes Epiphanes, in effect declaring Nikomedia “an open city”. Their city was spared the horrors of a long siege and possibly (though the sources do not say so) rewarded in other ways for its change of allegiance. Prusias sought refuge in the temple of Zeus, where his son had him killed in defiance of the traditional right of asylum – parricide and sacrilege were, in the last analysis, less dangerous politically than leaving a rival claimant to the throne alive. By the late second century BC, Rome had emerged as the winner of the Great Game and under the terms of king Attalos’ will, the rich kingdom of Pergamon, Bithynia’s southern neighbour, was incorporated into the imperium as the province of Asia. Anti-Roman feeling and the prospect of territorial gains led Nikomedes III of Bithynia into an alliance with Mithradates VI Eupator of Pontos. Their aim was to take Paphlagonia and Cappadocia, then divide these territories between Bithynia and Pontos; however, Roman intervention and inter-allied rivalry frustrated the plan. The death of Nikomedes III in 94 BC led to a struggle for the succession between Nikomedes IV, leader of a pro-Roman faction and his half-brother Sokrates Chrestos, the nominee of Mithradates VI. This vicarious conflict between Rome and Pontos eventually escalated into the First Mithradatic War. The struggle was protracted and though Bithynia was on the side of the victor, the Roman intervention was not without ugly incidents: in 85 BC, the troops at Nikomedia mutinied and killed their commander, L. Valerius Flaccus, then plundered the city. After the defeat of Mithradates, Nikomedes IV returned from Italy to his kingdom. He was well aware that he owed his throne to the Romans and remained consistently pro-Roman throughout his reign, even following the example of the Pergamene king and bequeathing his kingdom to the Roman people. A young Roman officer, Julius Caesar, was sent by the governor of Asia on a mission to Bithynia c. 80 BC, “to summon the fleet” (ad accersendam classem), according to Suetonius.30 It was probably no diplomatic mission, for which a twenty-year-old would hardly have been chosen; yet he gained access to the royal circles and spent some time at the court of Nikomedes, so much that it gave rise to rumours of a homosexual relationship.31 If there is more to the story than that, Caesar may have been on a fact-finding assignment, to sound

28

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

opinion at the Bithynian court and prepare Rome for the takeover that might come at any moment if Nikomedes IV should die prematurely. The struggle between Nikomedes and Sokrates had revealed the existence of anti-Roman sentiment among the aristocracy, and there was reason to fear that unpleasant memories of the Roman mutiny and pillage might linger in Nikomedia. At the death of Nikomedes IV in 74, Mithradates VI once more tried to place a puppet king on the Bithynian throne, and once again, war with Rome was the result. The Pontic king won control of the Bithynian cities and pushed across the border into Mysia, where the important port and city of Kyzikos (at modern Bandirma) withstood a protracted siege. In 73/72 BC, a Roman army under L. Licinius Lucullus forced Mithradates to adandon the siege of Kyzikos and retreat eastwards, while the Lucullan forces re-established Roman control over the cities of western Bithynia.32 During the last stage of the Third Mithradatic War (66‑63 BC), Pompey the Great commanded the Roman forces, and after the defeat and suicide of Mithradates, the western part of his kingdom was united with Bithynia. Both territories were incorporated into the empire as the province of Bithynia et Pontus and their administrative structure defined in a provincial code, the lex Pompeia. Notes 1 Strabon 12.4.7; Stephen of Byzantion, s.v. Nikaia (Meineke 474); Leschhorn 1984, 255. 2 Marek 1993, 21‑23; Højte 2006, 20. 3 The most important of these was Astakos, on the southern shore of the gulf, which became part of the territory of the new city of Nikomedia but retained its separate identity: in the second century AD, it is named by Ptolemy of Alexandria (Geogr. 5.1) as a separate settlement. For the location of Astakos, see Şahin 1973, 71‑73. 4 Strabon, 12.4.3; Arrian, FGrHist 15.6.29 = Tzetses, Chil. 3.963; Stephen, s.v. Prousa (Meineke 537) 5 For coins bearing the image of the founder Prusias, see IK 40, p. 26‑28. Only in a few cases, however, is the figure specifically identified as “Prusias, the founder of Prusa”, e.g. RGMG 1.4 Prusa 48 (Commodus); 116 (Geta). 6 Pliny, NH, 5.148. 7 Strabon 11.14.6. 8 Corsten (IK 40, p. 22‑26) attempts to reconcile the two conflicting traditions by positing two foundations, first by a prince Prus… in the sixth century BC, then by Prusias I in the second century BC. 9 Cf. Dion’s apologetic remark, Or. 44.9, that Prusa “is not the largest of our cities and has not been settled for the longest time”. 10 RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 54‑55; IK 9.21‑30. 11 Kraft 1935, 111; cf. fig. 2. 12 Pol. 1327a11‑1331b23. 13 Pol. 1330a34. 14 Pol. 1330b8.

Before the Romans

29

15 The view that a southerly or westerly aspect is to be avoided because the city will be too hot, and therefore unhealthy, recurs in the planning advice given by the Roman architect Vitruvius in the first century AD (De arch. 1.4.1). 16 Pol. 1330b32ff 17 Pol. 1330b32ff 18 Pol. 1330b32ff 19 Pol. 1331a30 20 Şahin 1973, 18. 21 Libanios, Or. 61.7. 22 Libanios, Or 61.17. While the preceding quotation contains a specific reference to the topography of Nikomedia, the generalized list of public buildings may be inspired by Aristides’ Monody on Smyrna, Or. 18.6. 23 Mitchell 1983, 138‑139. 24 E.g., RGMG 1.3 Nikomedia 33 (Domitian); 74‑75 (Antoninus Pius); 138 (Commodus); 387 (Philip); also Price and Trell 1977, 213‑215. Stephen of Byzantion identifies Nikomedia as an emporion, Nikaia as a polis. 25 Pliny, Ep. 10.41. The port installations themselves have long since been destroyed or built over: Lehmann-Hartleben 1923, 167 n. 1. 26 For the letter, see Robert 1937, 231. 27 Athen. 2.43a. 28 Robert 1946, 97 and pl. 1. 29 Cf. Nielsen 1999, 25‑26, 214‑215. 30 Suetonius, Divus Julius, 2. 31 Suetonius, Divus Julius, 2; 49. 32 Appian, Mithr. 77.

3. Windows on the Past

As part of the Roman Empire, Bithynia et Pontus was one among many provinces, and the Bithynian cities with which we are primarily concerned in this book were three among hundreds of Roman cities. Any study of urban life in Roman Bithynia will naturally base itself on sources related to Bithynia itself or to Roman Asia Minor, but to interpret them properly, one needs to include evidence from all over the Empire, and to draw on the analogy of other cities and other provinces.

Townscapes and landscapes There are not many monumental remains to inform us about the topography and appearance of ancient Prusa or Nikomedia. Both are now large cities, their ancient cores overlaid by modern construction and roads. In addition, Nikomedia is plagued by frequent earthquakes – by the late fourth century most of the Hellenistic and early Roman city had been destroyed beyond recognition. Fortunately, neither seismic activity nor modern construction could obliterate the characteristic hillside topography of Nikomedia and Prusa, giving the modern observer some “feel” of the relation of the city to its environment and useful pointers for interpreting the written evidence. The Acropolis that formed the centre of ancient Prusa remains an oasis of quiet at the epicentre of Bursa’s bustling traffic and the Acropolis on the crest above modern Nikomedia still dominates the city. Little is left above foundation level, however; for an impression of the splendours of the imperial residence, one must go to the western imperial capital at Trier or to Diokletian’s retirement palace in Split on the Adriatic. On the face of it, it seems much easier to visualize the ancient appearance of Nikaia. The course of the main streets, the theatre and numerous minor monuments all help the modern visitor create a mental image of the ancient city; but she needs to remember that much of what is visible today is not the Nikaia of Pliny or Dion, but later – even the church where the Nicene council was held in AD 325 has been replaced by a later structure, today’s Aya Sofya Camii. Outside the city gates, archaeological evidence is even scarcer, but again it is Nikaia that offers the most complete picture. A visitor approaching Nikaia from the east, cresting the hill and seeing the city spread out on the lakeshore, then following the road that runs parallel to the aqueduct and skirts the mod-

32

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

Fig. 5. Nikaia seen from the east (author’s photo).

ern cemetery, finally entering the city through the east gate of the Roman walls, will have a fairly good impression of what it was like to approach Nikaia from the same direction some 1,700 years ago (fig. 5). Further afield, few ancient farmsteads or villas have been located, but inscriptions found within the city’s territory and naming farm stewards testify to their existence. Even without the bronze sculpture that once adorned it, the extravagant, obelisklike funeral monument of C. Cassius Philiskos to the north-west (figs. 22‑24) is striking evidence of the wealth enjoyed by some Nikaian landowners. Within the territory of Nikomedia and Prusa, evidence for rural settlement is much sparser. From other parts of the empire, we have evidence for a fairly close-meshed pattern of agricultural exploitation close to the cities; that it has not been recorded in Bithynia so far is perhaps mainly due to the absence of systematic investigation. In the hinterland of Sinope on the coast of Pontos, recent archaeological survey1 has revealed a pattern of intensive Roman settlement, and a similar research effort might yield comparable results in Bithynia. But time is running out, and in the ever-expanding suburbs of Bursa and Izmit, housing estates and industrial plants are obliterating all surface traces of ancient habitation and rendering systematic archaeological survey impossible. For the time being, perhaps for all time, we must rely on the example of Nikaia and the literary sources for an impression of the cultural landscape of rural Bithynia. The road network of Roman Bithynia is not well preserved. Although its main outlines are known and key points (city gates, bridges, mountain

Windows on the Past

33

Fig. 6. Detail of the Tabula Peutingeriana (Staatsbibliothek, Vienna)

passes, fords etc.) can be securely located, the roads themselves are rarely preserved in their original state, more often ploughed over or overlaid by modern highways. The third-century Itinerarium Antonini lists only one route through our region, Chalkedon-Nikomedia-Nikaia-Ankyra; the same route is decribed in more detail in the Bordeaux Itinerary of the following century.2 The Tabula Peutingeriana, a medieval copy of a late Roman itinerary in map form (fig. 6) shows several routes through Bithynia. One, coming from Ha­ drianoutherai, passes through Prusa, Prusias ad Mare/Kios (which the carto­ grapher has rendered as two distinct places) and along the southern shore of lake Askanios to the port of Kyzikos (which appears as an inland city on the Tabula). A second route from Anatolia passes through Nikaia and continues eastward along the northern shore of the lake, with a branch road leading north-westwards to the Gulf of Izmit. A third route, coming from Amaseia and Pompeiopolis, leads through Nikomedia to Chalkedon. Some routes can also be identified from remains of late Roman bridges (e.g., fig. 35) and finds of Roman milestones.3

Literary sources History In the late Hellenistic age, corresponding to the last century of the Roman republic, Asia Minor was visible to the Roman eye mainly as a trouble spot, and that is how we encounter it in the narrative history of Appian (The Mith-

34

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

ridatic Wars) and in Plutarch’s biographies of Roman commanders and their adversaries. The early Empire, on the other hand, was a period of comparative tranquility in western Asia Minor, which makes only intermittent appearances in the works of Roman historians. Tacitus or Suetonius tend to focus on events taking place in Italy itself or at the borders of the empire; more detail is sometimes provided by the third-century historian Dion Cassius, who was of Nikaian descent. For the early third century, he is supplemented by Herodian and the notoriously unreliable Historia Augusta. Still, given the emperors-and-battles approach that characterizes most Roman historians, it is not much that we learn about everyday life in distant provinces. It is only with the establishment of a permanent imperial residence at Nikomedia and the transfer of the capital from Rome to Constantinople that Bithynia finds itself within the range of imperial historians such as Lactantius and Ammianus Marcellinus. Letters For more mundane details, we must turn from the sphere of formal historio­ graphy to the slightly less formal sphere of letter-writing. In the Roman world, this was a literary genre in its own right. We possess the collected letters of numerous persons with a direct interest in Asia Minor: M. Tullius Cicero, who served as governor of Cilicia and whose brother, Q. Cicero, was governor of Asia; M. Iunius Brutus, who likewise served as governor of Cilicia;4 and of course the younger Pliny, governor of Bithynia et Pontus. From the fourth century, we have the letters of Basil the Great, bishop of Kaisareia, and his younger brother Gregory of Nyssa; Gregory of Nazianzos; the pagan sophist Libanios;5 the emperor Julian, and others. Imperial rescripts (see below under Legal texts) form a special subcategory that includes some of Trajan’s letters to Pliny. It is worth keeping in mind, however, that ancient letters are, for better or for worse, works of literature and that unlike modern private correspondence, they were composed for a wider audience. It was not uncommon for the recipient of a letter to read it aloud or circulate it among his acquaintances, who might even make copies or excerpts for their own use. For instance, Gregory of Nyssa relates how he has received a letter from Libanios: as I was going to the metropolis of the Cappadocians [Kaisareia], I met an acquaintance, who handed me this present, your letter, as a New Year’s gift. And I, overjoyed at the occurrence, threw open my treasure to all who were present; and all shared in it, each getting the whole of it, without any rivalry, and I was none the worse off. For the letter by passing through the hands of all, like a ticket for a feast, is the private wealth of each, some by steady continuous reading engraving the words upon their memory, and others taking a copy of them upon tablets.6

Windows on the Past

35

Realizing that his letter would come under the close scrutiny of many eyes and ears, the sender would take pains over its composition and perhaps emulate other letter-writers that were considered stylistic models. If he retained duplicates of his correspondence, the writer could later publish the letters, giving himself a second chance to go over their style and content, perhaps even adapting them to changed political circumstances. On the other hand, the awareness that his original letter might have been copied and retained by unknown third parties presumably set a limit on the scope for later revision. If the content of the original letter was politically controversial or cast an unfavourable light on the past activities of its writer, it would be easier and safer to omit it altogether. In short, when writing a letter, the author is projecting a certain image of himself to the recipient and to the recipient’s circle of friends and clients; when editing a collection of his letters for publication, the writer is drawing a selfportrait for posterity. From time to time, the modern reader catches revealing glimpses of the writer’s personality – Pliny’s indecision, the brash arrogance of Basil, Libanios’ hypochondriac worries – but it is naïve to assume that the edited correspondence lays bare the entire character of its author. From a Bithynian viewpoint, the most important of the letter collections at our disposal is the tenth book of Pliny’s Letters. The majority of these were composed in Bithynia et Pontus and deal with provincial concerns; they are complemented by the emperor’s replies to Pliny’s missives. For a detailed discussion of the Letters the reader is referred to the monumental commentary of Sherwin-White (1966) and the recent précis of the main problems by Woolf (2006), but it will be useful to summarize some key questions. The date at which the letters were collected for publication is nowhere indicated, but if the first nine books were collected and edited by Pliny himself, and if he died in office in Bithynia, as is often assumed, then the tenth book must have been published posthumously by another. This would explain why book ten differs from the other nine in several significant respects. The first nine books contain letters from Pliny but not those he received. In the published collection, many of Pliny’s outgoing letters open with a short summary of the incoming letter to which he is replying. This is a conventional way of opening a letter also found in other writers7 but Pliny uses it often – 30 % of the letters in the first nine books are prefaced in with a summary of the correspondent’s previous message.8 This obviously makes it easier for Pliny’s reader to follow the discussion between Pliny and his correspondents. The correspondents themselves would rarely need such prompting, which is sometimes taken to extremes. For instance, in Ep. 4.10, Pliny not only summarizes the missive he has received from Statius Sabinus but even quotes a phrase from Sabinus’ letter which Sabinus, in his turn, had quoted from a legal document.9 One possible explanation is that, intending to publish his correspondence at some future date, Pliny had collected the incoming letters of his friends and copies of his own outgoing letters. He only intended to include the latter in

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Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

his publication, but if the reader were to appreciate their content, some clues to their context were needed. While reworking a letter for the public, then, Pliny sometimes inserted a summary of the incoming letters, to provide the reader with the minimum of background information required to understand Pliny’s replies. In the first half of the collection this is done only sparingly, but in books six, seven and nine, nearly half the letters are provided with such opening summaries, and the trend carries on into the first fifteen letters of book ten. The composition of book ten differs from the other books not only in including letters to Pliny but also in omitting letters from Pliny to family and friends; all letters in the tenth book are directed to, or received from, the emperor Trajan. The first fifteen letters (1‑14) form a separate group antedating the appointment of Pliny to Bithynia, some by as much as ten years; some even antedate the early volumes of private letters.10 This small group includes three letters from Trajan to Pliny (10.3b; 10.7; 10.9) and three letters by Pliny opening with a summary of three other letters (not included in the published collection) received from Trajan. The remainder of book ten has an altogether different character. First, the ingoing and outgoing letters are more evenly balanced (though Pliny’s letters still outnumber those of Trajan by two to one). Secondly, Pliny’s letters are much shorter than in the preceding part of the collection, less “literary” in character and – except for one11 – without the opening formula summarizing the content of the incoming letter. Clearly, from the outset of his publication project, Pliny intended to reserve his correspondence with Trajan for a separate volume, which would in some cases include the emperor’s reply, while in others the main outlines of the imperial letter would be incorporated into the edited version of Pliny’s reply. The scanty material that he collected during the first decade of Trajan’s reign was edited for publication, but the much larger volume of imperial correspondence accumulated during Pliny’s term as governor of Bithynia et Pontus was never dealt with in the same manner. Presumably he fell ill and died while still in office, and one of his friends or collaborators combined the provincial correspondence with the edited imperial letters to form a separate volume, a sequel to the nine that had already been published. On this assumption, the letters from 10.15 onwards have come down to us more or less as their copies were found at the time of Pliny’s death. Central to any interpretation of Pliny’s letters as historical sources is the nature of the relationship between the emperor and his legate. A first reading generates an impression of familiarity between the two correspondents, perhaps even a personal interest in Pliny on the emperor’s part. But these are precisely the images that the respective letter-writers wished to project: the governor as an intimate of the monarch, the emperor as a ruler concerned for the welfare of his subjects and subordinates. That these roles conform to modern positive archetypes render them all the more convincing to our eyes.

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A closer reading of the individual letters and a comparison with the other nine books of Pliny, and with other ancient letter collections (the letters of Cicero, which served later writers as a model, and Fronto’s letters to the Antonine emperors) reveals a rather more asymmetrical relation between the correspondents. First, it is noteworthy that in the entire collection of Pliny’s letters, we find no letters to Trajan that antedate the latter’s accession as emperor. Since his personal relationship with Trajan is at the centre of Pliny’s tenth book, we may take it that if any epistolary evidence of a personal contact prior to Trajan’s elevation existed, it would have been included or at least referred to in the published collection.12 It is not; thus the conclusion imposes itself that Pliny had no prior personal relationship with the emperor. From start to finish, their relation was one of subject and ruler, reflected in Pliny’s consistent use of domine, “lord”, when addressing Trajan. Domine is the form used by a social inferior when addressing his superior, or of a junior addressing a senior.13 When referring to Trajan in the third person (in letters to his other correspondents) Pliny likewise uses formal expressions like princeps, Caesar or imperator noster.14 Writing to Trajan, Pliny takes care to present his ideas as petitions, proposals, suggestions, or queries. This feature and the near absence of personal content is in striking contrast to the style of the letters in books one to nine, where a personal touch is often present. Equally instructive is a comparison with the letters of Fronto: clearly, Fronto enjoyed a closer, less formal relationship with the ruling dynasty than Pliny ever did.15 Speeches Our richest source for the political life of the Bithynian cities is the collection of Orations preserved under the name of Dion Chrysostomos. Dion, a scholar, sophist and philosopher, returned to his native Prusa after an abortive career in Rome and years of exile. He immersed himself in municipal politics and travelled widely across Bithynia and Asia Minor. Dion’s contemporaries valued his rhetorical style highly, and many of his speeches were preserved for posterity by his admirers. They did not, however, succeed in preserving the entire oeuvre of their master. The biography of Dion by Synesios and the tenth-century Suda list works by Dion that were lost at an early stage, since they do not appear in the Bibliothêke of Photios.16 Some of the lost pieces may have been philosophical exercises of a frivolous or sophistic character (e.g., “Encomium of a parrot”) but Dion also wrote a larger work, Getika, presumably based on his own travels and observations among the Getae on the northwestern Black Sea coast. The Dionian corpus that has been handed down to us comprises eighty pieces, in form and style ranging from set speeches to dialogue, myth, and novel, but conventionally all known as “orations”. Their order is not chronological, but loosely thematical: the collection opens with the four so-called

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“kingship speeches” to the emperor Trajan, and the “municipal” orations are grouped between Or. 38 and Or. 51.17 The corpus includes two speeches (37 and 64) that are not by Dion himself, possibly by his pupil Favorinus. One would obviously like to know how the speeches came to be preserved. Were Dion’s municipal orations extempore performances taken down in shorthand by city clerks, or noted down by his admiring pupils sitting among the audience? Though a number of commentators, most recently Cécile BostPouderon (2006), assume that Dion’s orations were taken down in shorthand, the theory is not supported by the evidence of the texts themselves, where we find no traces of different “hands” or misheard phrases that might point to a shorthand original, nor of interruptions by the audience.18 Even a skilled shorthand clerk would have found it difficult to render Dion’s Atticisms and quotations from the classics correctly. A second problem is the assumption that a shorthand writer would always be available. While shorthand may have been used for the senatorial Acta at an early date, there is no good evidence for shorthand records of municipal council proceeedings in the late early or early second century AD19 and we have no reason to believe that small-town council secretaries such as T. Flavius Silôn, grammateus of Prusa in Dion’s time,20 had a team of trained tachygraphers at his disposal. It appears more likely that the texts as they appear in the corpus are based on Dion’s speaking notes. This would explain why some “orations” are mere fragments or introductions to longer speeches, the remainder of which has not been preserved. In these cases, Dion apparently did not require a full manuscript for his speech. He could write out the opening paragraphs and rely on his sophistic training and rhetorical experience to improvise the remainder of the oration and a conclusion tailored to the reactions of his audience. Sometimes, sections of previous orations would be recycled for new occasions, the result being word-for-word correspondence between different speeches;21 if the speeches had been held extempore or from memory, we would expect some devations in their wording. In the corpus, each text has a short descriptive rubric, usually indicating either the subject or the audience of the speech in question (e.g., Or. 4: Peri basileias; Or. 35: en Kelainais tês Phrygias), or both (Or. 36: Borysthenitikos … en tê patridi). Again, we would like to know when the rubrics were inserted and by whom.22 Arnim pointed out that the rubrics of some Bithynian speeches “den thatsächlichen Inhalte der Stücke nicht entsprechen” suggesting that they are the work of a not very efficient “Sammler und Ordner”.23 This argument, however, cuts both ways: even a moderately competent editor could have extrapolated the information required for a short rubric from the content of the oration itself, or replaced a misleading rubric with a better one. Since the imperfect rubrics were retained, they presumably possessed an authority equal to that of the text itself, perhaps being derived from marginal notes by Dion himself or added by a source considered to be reliable, such as Favorinus. Especially important for our purposes are the statements that some Prusan

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orations were held en ekklêsia or en boulê (e.g., Or. 48; 49). Since this information could not be extracted from the text itself, we must assume that it came from a note in the actual manuscript or from a source close to the author. A possible reconstruction of Dion’s modus operandi and the preservation of his municipal speeches is that for most occasions, Dion did not write his speech beforehand. In the council, deliberations had the nature of a discussion with fairly brief interventions by each councillor. As Dion was unable to foresee which course the day’s discussion would take,24 it would be difficult to prepare a text in advance; instead, he would extemporize, perhaps supplementing with scraps of previous orations where appropriate. Taking the evidence of the rubrics at face value, only two of the preserved orations were held en boulê, and one of these consists almost entirely of generalities that have clearly been recycled from an earlier speech by way of an introduction to the point at issue.25 For the longer speeches in the Prusan ekklêsia and in other Bithynian cities, Dion apparently sometimes wrote up his speech beforehand – not necessarily from scratch, but incorporating material from previous occasions; and not necessarily the whole speech, but sometimes only the opening, leaving the rest to be improvised on location or read from another document, such as the letter from the emperor attached to Or. 44 (but now lost). For the modern reader, Dion’s municipal speeches provide a fascinating insight into small-town conflicts, ambitions and trivialities. It needs to be borne in mind, however, that despite their “documentary” appearance, the orations of Dion are literary works, composed or re-composed with a specific public in mind and intended to convey a very specific image of their author. Legal texts When Bithynia was incorporated as a province in the late Republican period, Roman provincial administration was still based on the personal authority of proconsular or propraetorian governors, tempered by the lex Calpurnia of the mid-second century BC which had given provincials the right to file a suit de repetundis at the end of a governor’s term of office. The sphere of action of the governor was further limited by a provincial code – in the case of Bithynia et Pontus, the lex Pompeia – by rules of procedure, by custom and local law and by the governor’s edict (below, p. 63-64), creating a complex of legal sources that varied from province to province. It is useful to distinguish between three main categories of texts that complement the laws themselves: edicts, which are issued on the initiative of the emperor or a magistrate; sententiae or opinions, i.e. jurists’ exposition of existing law; and rescripts, which are the emperor’s response to a specific case or problem which is laid before him. In the imperial period, a gradual process of legal harmonization and standardisation across the Empire can be observed. Important mileposts are the Constitutio Antoniniana extending Roman citizenship to all free provincials

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and Diokletian’s administrative reorganization in the late third century. One aspect of this process is a proliferation of imperial rulings that apply across the empire, creating a common and (at least in theory) consistent legal basis for its administration. These rulings and other sources of law were collected in the Corpus Juris Civilis, which gives us a detailed picture of late Roman law; it also preserves important relics of older law codes and commentaries on non-Roman law, including the peregrine law of Bithynia. Being normative texts, statutes, edicts and rescripts need to be handled with some care when used as historical sources. They do not describe the world as it was, but at best, as the emperor intended it to be. Furthermore, like a letter-writer, the legislator was making a statement that would be read and repeated many times, and like a letter-writer, he was concerned to convey a desirable impression of himself (or of the emperor, if he were a jurist in the imperial chancery). In some cases, the primary motive behind a piece of legislation may have been to project a positive image of the ruling power.

Inscriptions The legal sources in turn provide a frame of reference for interpreting the documentary evidence provided by the epigraphic sources. We are fortunate to possess a significant body of Bithynian inscriptions, of which the two most important categories for our purposes are civic inscriptions and funerary epitaphs. The civic inscriptions are often honorific in character; they record the achievements of individuals or groups of persons and usually include a detailed description of the honorand’s career as well as the names and sometimes also the status and titles of the dedicant(s).26 Funerary inscriptions tend to be less detailed and shorter, but may include family relationships and other information not found in the honorific inscriptions; also, they cover a slightly wider social spectrum. A further advantage of funerary inscriptions is that they provide a complete biography of the person up to his death. Within Bithynia, the civic inscriptions of Prusias ad Hypium (mod. Konuralp) form a special group that must be taken into account in any discussion of Bithynian urban life. In the mid-third century, Prusias ad Hypium was hastily fortified in anticipation of a Gothic siege.27 Numerous inscribed stones and slabs were incorporated into the walls and thus preserved for posterity, providing the most complete epigraphic record for civic life in Bithynia generally. For instance, of the 64 Bithynian archons whose names have been recorded for posterity, 45 are from Prusias ad Hypium; of 26 Bithynian agonothetes, 22; and eight out of ten censors.28 Though Prusias ad Hypium was located some distance from the three cities that are at the focus of this study, its inscriptions are indispensable for a deeper understanding of Bithynian municipal government. This raises the wider question of how, and to what extent, it is possible to draw parallels from one city to another, or even from one province to another.

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Some studies, such as the recent work by Dimitriev (2005), are based on the assumption that city administration followed similar patterns throughout Asia Minor; hence, information about conditions in one city may – in the absence of evidence to the contrary – be taken to cover all cities in the region. The attraction of this approach is that once it is accepted that city power structures were the same throughout, the fragments of information that we possess can be combined into a “standard” civic structure. Two problems, however, need to be taken into account. The first is that although certain legal principles and practical procedures apply throughout the provinces of the Roman Empire (e.g., the right of appeal of a Roman citizen), before the third century there were few serious attempts at harmonization of local and regional administrative structures. The second is that the Roman vocabulary for administrative offices was limited and highly adaptable. The terms legatus, curator, decurio, prafectus or tribunus had a wide range of meanings and could apply to civilian and military positions alike. Unless their nature is specified by the addition of a qualifying noun (e.g., curator civitatis) one cannot be sure that they refer to identical or similar functions. Greek designations for urban offices such as logistês, epimelêtês, prostatês, logothetês etc. likewise cover a fairly wide semantic spectrum; and as noted by Dölger in his study of Byzantine administration, titles persist even when the nature of an office changes over time,29 just as the praetorian prefecture of the fourth century had nothing in common with the office of praetorian prefect under the early empire. It also needs to be remembered that in what we may call biographical inscriptions – a category that includes both honorific and funerary inscriptions – what is recorded may be exceptional rather than typical, and that there is a strong social bias. Inscriptions on stone or bronze were expensive, and we do not find many working-class heroes in the epigraphic record. Finally, formal inscriptions provide an incomplete and one-sided view of Greek perceptions of the ruling power: hostile attitudes could be voiced in the agora or elsewhere, but writing them down was a different matter. Only in exceptional cases we do find hostility expressed in the epigraphical record, for instance by a citizen of Kourion in Cyprus who put a curse on the Roman governor in connection with a court case.30

Coins The ancient world knew only one mass medium: coinage. The main purpose of early coin images and legends was to authenticate the origin, purity and quality of the coin itself, but from the late Republic onwards, Roman moneyers developed and exploited the propagandistic potential of coinage by combining short, abbreviated titles and slogans with images carrying powerful symbolic connotations.31 The imperial mints were large-scale operations producing coins in gold, silver and bronze, which circulated throughout the

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Fig. 7. Left: Bronze coin of the Bithynian koinon, struck under Hadrian (AD 117‑138); the reverse shows the facade of the imperial temple in Nikomedia. RGMG 1.2 Commune Bithyniae 44 (Münzen und Medaillen Deutschland). Right: Nikomedian bronze coin of Valerian, Gallienus and Valerian II (AD 256‑258). The reverse shows a bird’s eye view of the Nikomedian temple precinct with an altar at its centre, flanked by three temples. In the central temple, the artist has omitted two columns, allowing us to see the cult statue inside. RGMG 1.3 Nikomedia 407 = SNG Aulock 860 (Classical Numismatic Group).

empire (with the exception of Egypt, which had its own mint in Alexandria and its own closed currency system).32 At a lower level, regions and cities also struck coins in bronze for local use (fig. 7). From the mid-first to the mid-second century AD, coins were struck in the name of the Bithynian koinon, and the cities of Bithynia continued to strike bronze coins until the mid-third century. Earlier scholars, such as Bosch (1935), assumed that local mints were small-scale counterparts of the large imperial mints, and that each city had its own permanent workshop and mint-master. This would imply the existence of hundreds of local mint workshops in Asia Minor. Since the work of Konrad Kraft (1972), however, it is accepted that most Asian cities had no mints of their own but were supplied from outside, and that at any given time, perhaps no more than a dozen mints were operating in Asia Minor.33 Some of these were itinerant enterprises, moving from city to city in response to local demand.34 Since the obverse die did not wear out as quickly as the reverse die, and as the obverse legend and image were not related to a specific city, a mint-master might sometimes use the same obverse die for coin series struck on behalf of different issuers. For instance, an obverse die of the emperor Gordian was used to strike coins for Nikaia, Nikomedia and Prusias ad Mare, with different reverse designs.35 Like their imperial counterparts, the local moneyers used coinage as a medium to convey a message on behalf of the city or koinon responsible for the issue. Most city coins of Asia Minor follow the same format with a standard portrait of the emperor or another member of the ruling house on the obverse, which thus closely resembles the output of the imperial mints. On the reverse, there was scope for local variation and self-representation. The range of symbols, images and legends on coin reverses reveal how the city elite viewed themselves and their city, and what image they wanted to project. Furthermore, engravers often included depictions of monuments, especially

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temples, and coins thus provide important pointers to the topography and architectural history of individual cities.36 Notes 1 Doonan 2004. 2 It.Ant. 139‑143; It.Burd. 571‑575. 3 For an attempt at reconstructing the road network of Bithynia et Pontus, see Marek 2003, map V. 4 On the authenticity of Brutus’ letters, see, most recently, Moles 1997. 5 Libanios travelled back and forth through Anatolia en route between his hometown Antioch and the capital; he also spent seven years of his life teaching ín Bithynia, first in Nikaia (342‑344) then in Nikomedia (344‑349). Unfortunately from our point of view, none of his letters prior to 350 have survived; Bradbury 2004, 73. 6 Gregory of Nyssa, Ep. 14, adapted from H.C. Ogle’s translation in NPNF. 7 E.g. in Fronto’s correspondence with Marcus Aurelius; also in some of Trajan’s letters to Pliny, cf. Ep. 10.18; 10.34; 10.44; 10.50; 10.66; 10.80; 10.93. 8 For a familiar example, cf. the openings of Pliny’s two letters to Tacitus about his uncle’s death, Ep. 6.16 and 6.20. 9 Sherwin-White 1966, 6‑9, addresses the stylistic aspect of Pliny’s letter-openings, but devotes little attention to their function. 10 In Ep. 10.3a Pliny asks Trajan for permission to act as prosecutor of Marius Priscus in a case de repetundis, c. AD 100; the same case is mentioned in Ep. 2.11 and 2.12. 11 Ep. 10.51. 12 Compare Ep. 2.11, in which Pliny recounts how he has been pleading a case before the emperor and takes pains to emphasize the “interest” (studium), “attention” (cura) and “concern” (sollicitudo) shown him by Trajan, with Dion’s Or. 45.3, where he claims to enjoy the “interest” (spoudê) and “friendship” (philanthropia) of the same emperor. 13 Sherwin-White 1966, 557‑558. 14 E.g., Ep. 2.11; 3.18. 15 Millar 1977, 114‑115. 16 The corpus of eighty speeches known to us was established by the time of Photios, but in the version he used, the speeches were arranged in a different order, e.g. the Euboicus (Or. 7) was known to Photios as the 13th oration, and the “homonoia orations” (Or. 38‑41) as nos. 21‑24. On Photios as a source for the life and oeuvre of Dion, see Schamp 1987, 263‑270; Hägg 1975, 160‑183. 17 For a detailed discussion of the arrangement of Dion’s speeches, see Arnim 1891. 18 Compare, e.g., the lively to-and-fro of the assembly meeting recorded in P.Oxy. 2407 (late third century) 19 Well into the second century, municipal council proceedings were still taken down in note form and rendered in oratio obliqua, Coles 1966b. 20 IK 39.3; see also p. 103-104. 21 E.g., Or. 32.67 and 33.57. 22 They were certainly in place before the time of Photios, who gives the rubrics in more or less the same form that we find them in the mss. of the corpus; cf. Hägg 1975, 161.

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23 Arnim 1891, 368‑369 24 The normal order of speaking in Roman city councils, as in the senate, was according to seniority and the rank of one’s previous magistracies (Digest 50.3.1); as a recent arrival who had not held the archontate, Dion would not be among the first speakers of the day. 25 Or. 49; in 49.1‑13, Dion provides a wide-ranging discussion of philosophical attitudes to the exercise of political power, with examples drawn from faraway places like Persia and Gaul; then in 49.14‑15, he briefly states his reasons for declining the offer of an archontate. The contrast between the two sections is striking. 26 For a discussion of the nature and development of the honorific inscription as a genre, see Quass 1993, 29‑35. 27 Ameling, IK 27 p. 17. 28 Fernoux 2004, 321, tab. 14. 29 Dölger 1927, 10‑11; also 67‑71. Some titles used in the fiscal administration of the fourth and fifth century, such as dioiketês, survived the feudalization of the Byzantine empire and remained in use as late as the twelfth century. 30 IKourion, 127‑145. 31 Hannestad 1986, 21‑27, 56‑58. 32 For the Egyptian coinage see, most recently, Christiansen 2003. 33 Kraft 1972, 90. 34 Kraft 1972, 92‑93. 35 Kraft 1972, Taf. 102, 38a-b. 36 Price and Trell 1977, 99‑106; 201; 213; 215; Kraft 1935, 213‑220.

4. The Urban Environment

Civic self-perceptions To Greeks and Romans of the early imperial period, city life was synonymous with the good life. True, among upper-class Romans, the lifestyle of the country gentleman still enjoyed a certain moral and ideological prestige, but even a self-professed lover of rural life like the younger Pliny spent little time in his Tuscan villa, even less in his native town of Comum, and preferred his villa suburbana at Laurentum, within commuting distance of the capital. Greeks, for their part, regarded the polis and its institutions as the centre of civilized life; regions with a large rural population and few cities – e.g., Boiotia and Cappadocia – were thought to produce sturdy, slow-witted people. This self-perception of town-dwellers versus country folk may seem surprising, given the fact that in the ancient world, the vast majority lived in the countryside. Perhaps for this very reason, the city-dwellers cherished their urban identity. What set the city aside from the country? First, legal status. A city, even an unimportant one, was a polis, a self-governing community, unlike a kômê, village, which was defined by its subjection to a polis. But of course every polis did not enjoy the same prestige; some were so small that they were not much better than kômai. Writing in the second century AD, Pausanias described the once prosperous city of Panopeus as a community that was a polis in name only, having “no government building, no theatre, no agora, no aqueduct and no fountain”.1 To Pausanias and his readers, a true polis was defined not only by its legal status but by possessing public buildings and amenities. The theatre, council house and agora may be taken as a minimum; more important cities would also have monumental temples, a gymnasium and colonnaded streets. The pride that cities took in their public buildings, especially their walls and temples, was reflected in their coinage (figs. 7 and 34). The same dichotomy of town and country, the same fear that the city may sink to the functional level of a rural settlement, is found in the seventh, or “Euboian”, oration of Dion, where a speaker deplores how “men are farming the gymnasium and grazing cattle in the market-place … having made the gymnasium into a ploughed field … the statues of gods and heroes are hidden by the standing corn” and “when strangers first come to our city, they either laugh at it or pity it”.2 It is not the jungle but the farmland that

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is encroaching on the unnamed Euboian polis, which has sunk to the level where strangers deride it as resembling a village, much in the same way that Pausanias mocks Panopeus. In the fourth century, the same theme is taken up by Basil the Great in an impassioned letter to an old friend, Martinianus, whom Basil asks to use his influence with the emperor to prevent a planned reorganization of Cappadocia.3 Under the new scheme, Basil’s episcopal city, Kaisareia (mod. Kayseri) would no longer be a provincial capital, and Basil goes on to describe what consequences the loss of status will have on city life. He paints a depressing canvas of a Kaisareia reduced to the moral and intellectual status of a village. No more “meetings and conversations, the encounters of respected men in the agora”; an “educated man trained in speaking” is a rare sight and instead, the “uncultured lifestyle of Scythians or Massagetes” – proverbial barbarians – pervades the city. The only sounds heard in the agora are usurers arguing with their debtors and the cries of criminals being whipped, “gloomily echoed by the colonnades on either side”. In the struggle for our daily existence, Basil continues, we will hardly notice the “abandoned gymnasia and nights without lights” (nyktas alampeis).4 Clearly Basil is out to make a point and has no time for objectivity in his evocative description of the despondent prospects facing Kaisareia, nor in his dismissive characterization of the rival community Podandus (mod. Pozanti) as a hole in the ground, “emitting noxious fumes”.5 Of greater interest to us is his general comparison of rural and urban life. Urban life is a priori taken to be vastly superior to the half-civilized existence of the country village, where there is little education (paideia) and men are not “trained in speaking”. In Basil’s view, country folk are culturally on a level with barbarian tribes living outside the borders of the empire: Scythians and Massagetes. The sinister gloom of the colonnades surrounding the marketplace symbolizes the penurious state of social organization, and within the agora itself, the cultured intercourse of the past has given way to brutal exploitation (“the arguments of usurers and their victims”) and savage punishment. It is striking how closely Basil’s indicators of urban culture correspond to those of Pausanias and Dion. As in Dion’s Euboian city, the agora and gymnasium of Kaisareia are given over to other purposes or abandoned for beasts to graze in. The phrase “nights without lights” further underscores the urbanrural dichotomy. The juxtaposition of (urban) paideia and (rural) ignorance as light and darkness is a convenient metaphor, and one that would come naturally to a churchman; here, it is elegantly exploited to create the powerful visual image of the dark colonnades. At the same time, “nights without lights” reminds Basil’s reader how the daily cycle of a city sets it apart from rustic villages. In a village, the daily cycle follows the age-old pattern: rising early to tend the fields and the flocks, retiring early as darkness sets in and makes manual chores impossible. In the city, where much of the population earns a

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living as artisans, in the tertiary sector and as hangers-on or slaves of urban households, the daily life cycle has a different rhythm and activity does not cease at sundown but continues well into the evening and night.

Titles and status As Basil’s letter makes clear, titles and administrative functions were important prizes in the agôn between the leading cities of a province. In the second century, the Nikomedians erected a statue to one of their citizens, the athlete T. Aelius Aurelianus Theodotos, at Delphi; the accompanying inscription, enumerating the many games in which Titus had participated, opens with the impressive list of the city’s titles: “The metropolis and first city of BithyniaPontos, Hadrianic, neôkoros, sacred and with the right of asylum, longtime friend and ally of the Roman people”.6 In his speech to the Nikomedians On Concord, Dion ridicules the competition of Nikomedia and Nikaia for “empty names” without substance.7 On another occasion,8 however, Dion enumerates the practical and economic advantages of a city having its own assize district instead of being part of another city’s circuit. In other words, not every title was an “empty name”; some were indicators of important political and cultic functions in the city. The most important function was clearly that of administrative centre or “provincial capital”. Since neither Greek nor Latin writers had a technical term for this function, they used the word mêtropolis, “mother city”.9 In Strabon’s time, Nikaia was the metropolis of Bithynia10 but shortly afterwards,11 it was demoted and the rank of metropolis passed to the Nikomedians.12 Another important epithet was neôkoros, “custodian of the temple”. The word is used in a general sense for the temple of any deity13 but more specifically of a city with a temple to Rome and the emperor. Two imperial cults were established in Bithynia – in Nikomedia and Nikaia – but it would seem that by the mid-first century, that of Nikaia had lapsed.14 From the second century onwards, numerous coin types struck in Nikomedia – both the city’s own issues and those struck on behalf of the koinon – include the title neôkoros and/or depictions of the imperial temple(s). Shortly after the accession of Commodus and thanks to the influence of Saoteros, an intimate of the emperor and native of Nikomedia, the city established a separate temple to Commodus and henceforth styled itself dis neôkoros, “twice neochore”(fig. 3a).15 Within a few years, Saoteros had been eliminated by his rivals at the court; if the new cult survived his fall, it certainly came to an end when Commodus suffered memoria damnata in 193. Within five years, Nikomedia was once again dis neôkoros, having established a cult of Septimius Severus as a mark of its loyalty to the new dynasty; twenty years later a further Severan cult, that of Elagabal, was added and the city now styled itself tris neôkoros. Once again, memoria damnata intervened and

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Nikomedia found itself reduced to two neochorates until the mid-century, when a cult was established in the name of Valerian. Coins struck during his reign bear the legend Nikomêdôn tris neôkorôn and images of the three temples16 (fig. 7b). In the contest with the Nikomedians, Nikaia was down, but not out: the city still styled itself prôtê polis tês eparcheias, “first city of the province”. The earliest known occurrence of this title is a Nikaian coin from the proconsulate of L. Cadius Rufus, AD 47/48.17 Possibly the Nikaians adopted the title “first city” as a compensation for the city’s loss of metropolitan status.18 The claim to proteia reappears throughout the Flavian period on Nikaian coins bearing the legend “first of the province” or “first in Bithynia”. Towards the end of the century, the war of titles escalated. Some Nikaians still resented the city’s loss of metropolitan status and one coin issue, struck at Nikaia in the reign of Domitian, names Rome – not Nikomedia! – as the metropolis and Nikaia as “the first city of Bithynia and Pontos”.19 It was a blow below the belt – “une perfide intention”, in the words of Louis Robert20 – that was not repeated. It did nothing to improve the tense relationship between the two cities. By this time, the Nikomedians had also adopted the title “first” on their coins. We do not know all the details of the conflict that followed. The Nikai­ ans may have been first to protest at this arrogation of “their” title; the Nikomedians may well have responded condescendingly that their city and not Nikaia was the real “first city” of the province. Dion’s proposed solution to the problem – that both cities should be allowed to call themselves “first”21 – reveals that unlike neôkoros and mêtropolis, “first” was not a title granted by the Roman authorities, but as Dion himself describes it, an empty epithet that a city could apply to itself. From the evidence of the coinage – admittedly e silentio – it appears that from the early second century, the Nikaians no longer used the title “first”, whereas the Nikomedians continued to do so into the Severan period. It would seem that Dion’s conciliatory proposal was not followed and the Nikaians were forced to abandon their claim to proteia – at least on their coins. It soon resurfaced, however, in the inscriptions set up c. AD 123 over the north and east gates of the city. Here, Nikaia proudly introduced itself to the visitor as “neôkoros of the imperial cult, founded by Dionysos and Herakles, first city of Bithynia and Pontos, metropolis by the decision of the Emperors and the Senate”. Deliberately ambiguous in its wording, the inscription was not a claim to present status but a historical statement about its glorious past;22 as such it could not be challenged by the Nikomedians and probably remained in place for seventy-five years until it was erased following the civil war of 193‑194 (p. 150).

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Fig. 8. Map of Nikaia (Inger Bjerg Poulsen)

City plan and architecture As we have already seen, a city’s monuments and physical appearance was assumed to reflect the intellectual and cultural superiority of urban life. A regular plan was one of the characteristic features setting the city apart from a village and a regular, harmonious appearance drew positive comments: The city [Nikaia] is sixteen stadia in circuit and is quadrangular in shape; it is situated in a plain, and has four gates; and its streets are cut at right angles, so that the four gates can be seen from one stone which is set up in the middle of the gymnasium (Strabon, first century AD).23 It is difficult to find elsewhere a city plan like that of Nikaia; one would think it a model set for all cities on account of its regularity and beauty, which are such that the tops of all its buildings, adorned with an equal symmetry, appear to offer a splendid view to the beholder. It is decorated and harmonious in every respect (Expositio totius mundi, fourth century AD).24 As one would expect of a Hellenistic city, Nikaia had a Hippodamic street plan laid out around the two main axes described by Strabon, east-west and north-south. Today, the two main streets of Iznik still intersect in the centre of the city, at the site of Strabon’s gymnasium, and it is still possible to see all four gates from this point.

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Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia Fig. 9. Remains of the southern wall of Nikomedia’s citadel in the Medrese Sokak, northwest of the city centre (author’s photo).

Fig. 10. The course of the late antique east wall can still be traced through the gardens and backyards of the Terzebayiri district in north-eastern Izmit (author’s photo).

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The agora was the social and economic centre of the city. In more than one sense, it was also the visual expression of the city’s vitality. A bustling agora surrounded by temples, public buildings or colonnades was the hallmark of a prosperous and cultured urban community and conversely, for Dion or Basil, a deserted or overgrown agora was visible evidence that a community had come down in the world. A monumental agora might be surrounded by stoai, colonnades; in the largest and richest cities, the principal streets might also be lined by columns. Among the Bithynian cities, Dion seems to imply that in his time, Nikomedia possessed a colonnaded street; Libanios also mentions stoai among the monuments of the city.25 Dion undertook to beautify Prusa in a similar manner.26 By the third century Prusias ad Hypium, too, possessed a colonnaded plateia.27 Nikaia – which the fourth-century source quoted above describes as ornata – probably also possessed a street colonnade.

Defenses The city wall and its gates marked the dividing line between town and country and served as visual indicators of urban status. In Dion’s seventh oration, the presence of “a strong wall with square towers”28 is at once a historical testimony to the former greatness of the Euboian city and a mental barrier that separates the wrangling politicians in the city from the pastoral tranquility outside.29 Since only the larger and more important cities were walled, the mural crown, representing a city wall with turrets, was often used as iconic shorthand for “city”, for instance on coin issues showing a goddess – most commonly Tyche – wearing a mural crown to identify her as a city’s protecting deity fig. 30). On the fourth-century Tabula Peutingeriana, the cities are marked with pictographs that illustrate their relative importance; the second highest class – which includes both Nikaia and Nikomedia – is indicated by a stylized silhouette of a city with curtain wall and towers (fig. 6). Under the year AD 123, the seventh-century Chronikon Paschale records how “in Nikomedia and Nikaia, Hadrian erected markets and tetraplateiai (fourstreet intersections) and the walls towards Bithynia”.30 Conversely, tearing down a city’s walls was a severe blow not only to the security of its citizens but to their self-esteem, as when Valens punished the Chalkedonians for supporting the usurper Prokopios by having their walls demolished. In this case, insult was added to injury: the building materials were ferried across the strait and used to build the Carosian baths in Constantinople, the upstart city which had recently eclipsed Chalkedon as the leading settlement on the Bosporos.31 It goes without saying that a royal capital such as Nikomedia was walled, for defense as well as representation. A tight perimeter surrounded the Acro­ polis, presumably the first part of the city to be walled. A larger defensive circuit some 6km in length stretched in a semicircle from the shore west of the city, along the hills and behind the Acropolis to meet the shore again to

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Fig. 11. Map of Nikomedia (Inger Bjerg Poulsen)

the east. As we have heard, Nikomedia was besieged in 149 BC, when the defenders opened the city gates to the forces of Nikomedes Epiphanes and Prusias II took refuge in the temple of Zeus, which must thus have been inside the walls; this suggests that the larger defensive perimeter was in place by then. On the other hand, as noted by Dörner,32 the city’s western necropolis is located to the east of – thus inside – the line of the present walls. This clearly indicates that when the necropolis was in use – that is, well into the third century AD – this area was still outside the pomerium. The most likely explanation is that at some time in the late third century the line of the western wall was shifted some hundred metres westward, perhaps by Diokletian when he made Nikomedia his residence. Around the Acropolis and along the eastern flank of the outer perimeter, remains of the wall are visible in places and even if little of the present fabric is of ancient date, they convey a general impression of the strength of the city’s defenses in the late third century AD. The steep slopes of the Prusan acropolis formed a natural defensive perimeter to the west and north. The weakest section was to the south, facing

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Fig. 12. Map of Prusa (Inger Bjerg Poulsen)

mount Olympos across a broad, level area. Along this line, substantial sections of the ancient and early medieval walls remain standing. Parallel to the southern wall, a subsidiary outer wall (on the model of the Theodosian defenses of Constantinople) was later added. Since the choice of site seems to have been guided by considerations for its defense, the city no doubt possessed a fortified perimeter from its earliest stage. According to Paulus Orosius, writing in the fifth century AD but drawing on the works of earlier historians, by the time of the Mithradatic wars Prusa was already “a strongly fortified city” (munitissima civitas).33 Nikaia’s walls as they stand now are the product of more than a thousand years’ construction, reconstruction and modification. Until c. AD 400, four stages can be dated with reasonable accuracy: a. Hellenistic  – presumably the first walled circuit of the city, nearly 3km in length, which was still standing in the early first century AD and described by Strabon, who gives the length of the wall circuit and testifies to the existence of four gates.34 b. Flavian – new north and east gates dedicated shortly after AD 70, dated by inscriptions over the gates (fig. 25); possibly also new south gate in AD 78/79.35 c. Hadrianic – reconstruction after the earthquake of 120, commemorated by a second set of honorific inscriptions over the north and east gates,36 and mentioned in the Chronikon Paschale (“the wall toward Bithynia”) d. Mid-third century – heightening of the walls, construction of new gates to the south and west, terminus ante quem established by inscription in honour of Claudius Gothicus (268‑270); third-century walls also depicted on coins of Gallienus (253‑268), Macrianus and Quietus (260‑261). Very little remains of the pre-third century walls. A small gate or postern (“Tor 6”) built of dressed stone blocks, now standing alone and half buried some distance northeast of the Lefke gate, has been claimed as Hellenistic

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Fig. 13. Now standing a little distance northeast of the eastern (Lefke) gate of Nikaia, the small “Gate 6” may be a remnant of the Hellenistic defense perimeter (author’s photo).

Fig. 14. The earlier walls of Nikaia have all but disappeared under the massive third-century fortifications, but just west of the north (Istanbul) gate, the later walls were built up against the Hadrianic wall. That is now gone, but a negative impression of its plaster facing, scored to imitate masonry blocks, remains (author’s photo).

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(fig. 13);37 and in a section of wall immediately to the west of the north (Istanbul) gate, the inner face of the wall clearly shows the imprint of its predecessor, a plaster-faced wall scored to imitate masonry (fig. 14). Dalman, Fick and Schneider, who surveyed the defences of Nikaia in the early 1930’s, rejected a Hellenistic date for “Tor 6” because it is constructed from re-used blocks (given the seismic history of Nikaia, hardly a clinching argument)38 and dated the wall imprint by the north gate to the Hadrianic period on stylistic grounds. In the absence of evidence for an earlier building stage, Schneider (1938) tentatively concluded that the Flavian gates were not connected by walls until the Hadrianic period39 while “Tor 6” was not constructed until the third century.40 The chronology proposed by Schneider poses several problems. First, it implies that for half a century the new Flavian gates stood alone, not joined up by walls. Secondly, the fate of the Hellenistic circuit is not discussed by Schneider: was it maintained during this period, with the new gates standing some way outside the enclosed area; or was the Hellenistic perimeter abandoned, leaving the city unwalled? On reflection, neither scenario seems likely. In any case, the archaeological e silentio argument for the absence of a Flavian wall is somewhat dubious, since the investigators likewise failed to find remains of a Hellenistic wall (which is known to have existed). Accepting the dating of Schneider (1938) for the plaster-faced wall at the north gate to the Hadrianic period, a more probable sequence of events is the following: due to the extension of the urban area in the early Flavian period, the Hellenistic defensive circuit was abandoned on three sides of the city (but retained towards the west). The new gates to the north, east and south were joined up by a curtain wall, re-using the building materials from the Hellenistic walls41 (which explains why the older wall circuit is untraceable). Half a century later, the earthquake of 120 caused sections of the Flavian wall to collapse; these were repaired and replastered with financial support from the fiscus, commemorated by additional gateway inscriptions in honour of Hadrian. In the third century, the walls were reinforced and heightened; the gates were provided with flanking towers and a new superstructure to accommodate a portcullis. The small gate or postern (“Tor 6”) remains undated and unexplained; if it is not Hellenistic, then the Flavian-Hadrianic walls must have made an inward deviation (of which no trace remains) along this sector. Another interpretation of “Tor 6” would see it as a – possibly rebuilt – remnant of the Hellenistic perimeter, retained and re-used either in the new wall itself or as the gate of a courtyard. Like the inhabitants of other cities, Nikaians clearly took pride in their walls. Over the gates of the Flavian perimeter, inscriptions declared the loyalty of the city to the régime, without ignoring the chance of a little self-advertisement (fig. 17, 25). They honour the emperor Vespasian, the imperial house “and the first [city] of the province, Nikaia”.42 The ostensible dedicant was the

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Fig. 15. North (Istanbul) gate seen from the inside. Originally, the gates were flanked by statues in the niches on either side. In the third century, the walls were raised and the gate was completely rebuilt, with a new brick superstructure added to accommodate a portcullis and its lifting gear. The slot for the portcullis, which was cut through the existing arch, is visible in the eastern wall of the archway. Compare fig. 17 (p. 63) and fig. 34 (p. 159). (Jesper Majbom Madsen)

provincial governor, M. Plancius Varus, who appears in the nominative case, but the work was done under the supervision of a local notable, C. Cassius Chrestus (of whom we shall hear more below, p. 113-114).

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Fig. 16. Elevation of the north (Istanbul) gate from the outside. (Schneider & Karnapp 1938).

Notes 1 Pausanias, 10.4.1. Panopeus was sacked by Sulla’s troops in 86 BC (Plutarch, Sulla 16.4) and apparently never recovered. 2 Dion, Or. 7.38‑39. 3 Basil, Ep. 74; for the historical background, Van Dam 2002, 28‑31; for the sequel, Courtonne 1973, 366‑367. 4 Ep. 74.2‑3. 5 Ep. 74.3. 6 TAM 4.1.34, reign of Antoninus Pius; the inscription is now lost. For a later variant of the same titulature, see TAM 4.1.25 (AD 214); for a commentary, Robert 1977, 28‑29. 7 Or. 38.24. 8 Or. 35.15. 9 As in the late Roman Notitia Galliarum, where metropolis civitas is used to identify the capitals of the Gallic provinces (Harries 1978). 10 Geo. 12.4.7: Nikaia hê mêtropolis tês Bithynias. 11 Bosch (1935, 224) takes the reorganisation to be the work of Germanicus during the latter’s sojourn in Bithynia on his way to Syria in AD 18‑19. The governorship of L. Mindius Balbus (c. 43‑47) provides a terminus ante quem, cf. RGMG 1.3 Nikomedia 14‑17 and Rémy 1988, 23. 12 In the fourth century, Nikaia became a titular metropolis, but Nikomedia retained the position as provincial and dioecesan capital. 13 E.g., Acts 19.35: neôkoros Artemidos, “guardians of the temple of Artemis”.

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14 Three Nikaian inscriptions mentioning priests of the imperial cult: IK 9.116 (late first century), IK 9.60 (early third century) and IK 9.64 (late third century) probably refer to the imperial temple of Nikomedia; cf. Fernoux 2004, 527. Had the Nikaians won a neochorate for themselves, one would surely have found the title neôkoros on some of the city’s coins. 15 Cassius Dion 72.12; Bosch 1935, 229; for the career of Saoteros, see also SHA Commodus 3‑4. 16 RGMG 1.3 Nikomedia 405‑421. The exact date is not known, probably c. 254; a coin issue in the name of Gallienus as augustus but bearing the reverse legend Nikomêdeôn dis neôkorôn (RGMG 1.3 Nikomedia 414) provides a terminus post quem of October 253. 17 Robert 1977, 4; RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 30. 18 Dräger 1993, 238 claims that prôtos and mêtropolis were official titles introduced under Claudius as an expression of “eine besondere Wertschätzung des Kaisers für die Stadt”, but this accords ill with Dion’s detailed discussion of these two titles in Or. 38.23‑39. Dion makes it quite clear that mêtropolis and prôtos are titles of a different nature, one formal and indivisible, the other informal (38.39); as for prôtos, it is said to be “so petty, so commonplace, things upon which fools might pride themselves” – hardly the words in which Dion would describe a title bestowed by the emperor who had enfranchised Dion’s much-admired maternal grandfather. 19 RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 61. 20 Robert 1977, 4. 21 Or. 38.39. 22 Most modern readers, e.g. Robert 1977, 18‑19, Şahin 1978, 24‑25, Merkelbach 1987, 26, have assumed that the inscription lists the current titles of Nikaia (in 123), of which she was later stripped (in 194): “Es zeigt sich, dass der Stadt drei Ehrentitel aberkannt worden sind … Nikaia war nun nicht mehr Verwalterin des Kaiserkultes, nicht mehr erste Stadt der Provinz Bithynien und Pontos, nicht mehr Metropolis” (Merkelbach). By the early second century, however, Nikaia was no longer a metropolis and Dion explicitly says (Or. 38.39) that this title was reserved (exairetos) for Nikomedia. He is supported by the inscription of Matidianus Pollio at Ephesos (IK 13.627), put up before 193 and naming only Nikomedia, among the three leading cities of Bithynia, as the metropolis. As for a second-century neochorate, this is not mentioned on any Nikaian coin issue; by 123, Nikaia had also ceased to use “first city” on its coinage. The solution to the apparent paradox lies in the phrase “by decision of the emperors and the senate”. As Robert (1977, 18) notes, the plural need not indicate two specific emperors but may refer to past emperors in a more general sense; the inclusion of the senate (somewhat unexpected in the context of the early Hadrianic period) also indicates that the text is not a list of current titles, but an historical overview of past distinctions. 23 Strabon 12.4.7, translated by H.L. Jones. 24 Expositio totius mundi et gentium 49, translation from Foss 1996, 9. 25 Or. 47.17; cf. also Libanios, Or. 61.17: stenôpoi … stoai…. dromoi. 26 Or. 47.16‑17. 27 IK 27.9. 28 Or. 7.22.

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29 Cf. also Or. 36.6, where Dion uses the sorry state of Borysthenes’ walls to illustrate the plight of the city, within which the inhabitants struggle to preserve the last remnants of paideia and urbanitas. 30 Chr.Pasch. 475 (Dindorf). It is not quite clear from the passage (and may not have been clear to the compiler of the Chronikon) whether both cities received new markets, tetraplateiai and walls. A Hadranic reconstruction of Nikaia’s gates is epigraphically attested, but there is no comparable supporting evidence for the walls of Nikomedia. 31 Ammianus, 31.1.4. 32 Dörner 1941, 24‑26. 33 Orosius, Historiae adversum Paganos 6.2.23. 34 Strabon, 12.4.7. 35 The extension will have taken place between the terminus post quem of Strabo’s description and the terminus ante quem provided by the Flavian inscriptions on the north and east gates, dedicated in the proconsulate of M. Plancius Varus (Şahin 1978). A fragment of a monumental architrave discovered in 1986 in the south-eastern sector of the walls bears an inscription in honour of the Flavian emperors, dated to Domitian’s fifth consulate, March 78 to January 79 (Adak 2001; SEG 51 (2001) no. 1709). The eccentric position of the intersection at the Aya Sofya Camii in relation to the present defensive circuit suggests that the walled area was extended on three sides, but – for obvious reasons – not towards the lake; in that case, the inscription of AD 78/79 could belong to the south gate. The present south gate is partially constructed from re-used blocks, which may originate from an earlier, Flavian gate. 36 IK 9.29‑30. For a discussion of the inscription, see note 22. 37 Körte 1899, 398. 38 Schneider & Karnapp 1938, 26 and plate 19b. 39 Schneider & Karnapp 1938, 2‑3. 40 Schneider & Karnapp 1938, 24. 41 The third-century foundation courses of the eastern and northeastern wall are replete with large, squared stone blocks, resembling those used to construct “Tor 6”. These are more likely to originate from the Hellenistic phase than from Schneider’s hypothetical Hadrianic wall. 42 IK 9.25‑28.

5. Political Institutions

The nature of Roman Law In the cities of the Roman Empire, urban administration and finances were regulated within the legal framework that we conventionally refer to as Roman Law. In the traditional and still prevalent view, Roman law is a legal system that is studied on the basis of the legal texts handed down to us from antiquity. This view, which jurists would call a “positivistic” conception of Roman Law, stresses the similarities between Roman Law and modern legal systems based on the principles of equality before the law, predictability, equity and clarity. It has the advantage that we can confidently use legal reasoning and analogy to fill the lacunae of our legal sources. If we know which precepts applied in one case or place, we assume that they also apply to other similar situations elsewhere or in other periods of Roman history. That was the approach of Theodor Mommsen – himself a trained jurist – when in his Römisches Staatsrecht (1887), he reconstructed the governmental structure of the Imperium Romanum. The picture of an empire with a more or less uniform pattern of local and provincial administration that Mommsen and his pupils drew has often been challenged, but some basic assumptions of the Mommsenian model still underlie many studies of provincial administration. Another approach stresses the nature of Roman law as practice, encompassing not only the legal texts themselves but the social context in which they are applied. This context includes unwritten rules, established practice, social discrimination, prejudice and even injustice pure and simple. As Elisabeth Meyer has expressed it, in this view, the world of Roman law was “enjoyably corrupt … old Sicily rather than modern Zurich”.1 This is closer to the legal philosophy known as “realism”. Carried to its extreme, realism claims that the law of any society is essentially the shared ideology of its judges. Such ideas were not entirely foreign to Roman legal minds. In a decree of AD 426, it was laid down that in the event of a dispute over an obscure point of law, the writings of five important jurists should be consulted, and where they disagreed, the majority view should prevail.2 The application of Roman law was thus reduced, if not to the shared ideology of its judges, at least to the shared ideology of its leading interpreters. A second important aspect of Roman law is that the outcome of a decision depends not only on the what of the matter, but on the who and where. The law explicitly allowed for discrimination between social groups (before

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212, citizens and peregrini; after 212, honestiores and humiliores) and local, pre-Roman codes and practices continued to apply in civil suits between provincials. Administrative structures varied from one province to the next and while there are many common points and obvious analogies between local administration in different parts of the Empire, one cannot assume that because a rule is known to have applied in a specific case, it also applied at the other end of Rome’s vast imperium, or at the other end of the social scale. In this respect, Rome was no different from other empires of antiquity. Even in the Ptolemaic kingdom, arguably the most highly centralised and bureaucratised state of the ancient world, there were significant organisational differences in the administration of the different overseas dependencies, reflecting the persistence of pre-existing power structures and the need to cooperate with local elites.3

Roman annexation and the Lex Pompeia The task of restoring civilian administration and creating a lex provinciae for the combined territories of Bithynia and Pontus fell to the victorious Roman commander, Pompey the Great. The title of his provincial code, the lex Pompeia, is known to us from two references in the letters of Pliny,4 but no part of its text has been preserved. For an idea of its scope and provisions, we must look to other provincial codes of the Republican period. The outlines of the lex Rupilia for Sicily, enacted c. 130 BC, are fairly well known to us thanks to Cicero’s prosecution of the Sicilian governor C. Verres on a charge de repetundis in 70 BC. From the references in the Verrine orations, almost contemporary with the lex Pompeia, we can infer that the Rupilian code encompassed judicial and administrative matters as well as local government. The same subjects were covered by the Lex de Gallia Cisalpina of 49 BC, of which a fragment has been preserved.5 The references to the lex provinciae in Pliny’s Letters give us an impression of its scope and content. The provincial code established a framework for inter-polis relations and the administration and political life of the individual poleis, but large areas of daily life continued to be regulated by the laws and codes of the individual cities. The lex Pompeia could not and did not redefine every aspect of provincial life.6 Property rights, and no doubt many other areas of civil law, continued to be governed by the laws of the individual cities or of the erstwhile Bithynian kingdom. Local codes remained in force well into the second century: Trajan advises Pliny that outstanding debts to the cities are to be claimed “by reference to the laws of each city”7 and half a century later, the jurist Gaius comments on the Lex Bithynorum, “the law of the Bithynians” regulating the conditions under which women may enter into contractual obligations.8 Inscriptions constitute another important source for municipal administration, but most of the extant inscriptions deal with honorific decrees, statues in

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Fig. 17. The east (Lefke) gate of Nikaia, seen from the outside. In its original condition, the gate was adorned with statues of the Roman governor and the imperial family. (author’s photo).

honour of the ruler or leading citizens, dedications to the gods or memorials to the deceased. That local administration also involved many day-to-day, hard-core political and judicial decisions is indicated by the analogy of the Rupilian code and confirmed by the municipal orations of Dion. In the republican period and under the early empire, an incoming magistrate had authority to issue an edict laying out the guidelines by which he intended to apply the laws within his sphere of authority. The best known example of a “magistrate’s edict” – known in Latin as ius honorarium, i.e. rules laid down by virtue of the authority vested in an office (honos) – is that of the urban praetor at Rome.9 While the praetor could not promulgate laws in the strict sense, by means of the edict he could “fill in” the broad framework provided by laws (leges), senatus consulta etc. Due to practical considerations and traditional Roman respect for mos maiorum, the edict of each new praetor tended to resemble that of his predecessor, and under Hadrian the practice of issuing new praetor’s edicts annually was abolished. A provincial governor’s authority within his province was similar to that of a magistrate at Rome, and he was likewise expected to issue an edict laying out the general principles of his administration. From Cicero’s correspondence as governor of Cilicia, we know that among other matters, the governor’s edict set the maximum interest on a loan; also, that just as the urban praetor looked to his predecessors for inspiration, so Cicero based his proconsular edict on

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that issued by the eminent jurist Q. Mucius Scaevola Pontifex as governor of Asia in the 90’s BC.10 It would be interesting to know if the limitations on the urban praetor’s discretionary powers set by Hadrian were matched by a similar erosion of the provincial governor’s authority to legislate by edict. Whereas Cicero had been free to fix maximum interest rates within his province – and to bend them when necessary to accommodate Roman speculators11 – Pliny felt compelled to obtain the emperor’s consent in a similar matter.12 Perhaps in the intervening 150 years, the competence of the provincial governors to rule by edict had gradually been circumscribed in the same manner as that of the urban praetor. The relationship of a city to its provincial governor was highly asymmetrical. In his oration 46, Dion likens the relation of the governor to the cities to that of a schoolmaster to his pupils.13 In later orations, he emphasizes how disunity within or among the cities plays into the hands of the governor14 – but given Dion’s eclectic style of argumentation and ambivalent attitude to Roman rule in general, we cannot conclude the converse, that a united front by the cities would pose any serious opposition to the authority of the governor. It was possible to short-circuit the authority of the governor in a variety of different ways. One was through an imperial procurator, whose de facto power might in some respects be on a par with that of the legate, even if formally and socially, he ranked far lower. Maximus, an ex-slave who had advanced to the post of imperial procurator, passed through Bithynia et Pontus on his way to purchase corn supplies in Paphlagonia. Pliny assigned him an escort of ten beneficiarii, the same as, acting on Trajan’s instructions, he had earlier provided for another procurator. Maximus, however, insisted on a further six soldiers; Pliny reluctantly supplied him with five (three foot soldiers and two horsemen) and subsequently wrote to Trajan requesting instructions “for similar cases in the future”. In his reply, Trajan confirmed that Maximus had been entitled to the extra escort.15 Another avenue was through a direct personal lien between the emperor and a provincial citizen, an influential equestrian, a senator or an intellectual.16 Dion, as we shall see, claimed to enjoy the “attention”, spoudê, of the reigning emperor, and to have used this influence for the benefit of his native city.17 In oration 45, speaking about irregularities at a municipal election, Dion claims that if the proconsul should refuse to intervene, Dion could write directly to the emperor and make him take action.18

Emperor and senate In 27 BC, the Roman provinces were divided between the Emperor and the Senate.19 Broadly speaking, the division followed the disposition of the army. In those provinces where few or no troops were stationed, the Senate retained the right to appoint the provincial governor, while those provinces that were

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threatened by internal unrest or external aggression, and consequently housed large contingents of troops, were administered by the emperor himself; so was Egypt. Augustus thus gained direct control of the army command and the corn supply, two factors crucial to the survival of his regime. In the “senatorial” provinces, the senate continued to appoint governors from the ranks of ex-magistrates, selected in the traditional manner by drawing lots, and holding office for a single year. Nominally, the emperor was governor of all “imperial” provinces, exerting his authority through legati – literally, “deputies”  – appointed by himself. Unlike senatorial governors, their term of office was not fixed but could be extended or terminated at the emperor’s discretion. Although as the local representative of the ruling power, a governor had great authority, his formal powers were not unlimited; for instance, he could not pass a capital sentence on a Roman citizen. Within his province, he had to work within the framework laid down in the lex provinciae and (in the imperial provinces) the mandatum principis granted him as the emperor’s deputy. Thus, his primary tasks were to apply existing laws and regulations and to make discretionary decisions in minor matters that were not covered by any existing rules. If there was doubt about how to deal with a matter, the governor was expected to consult the emperor, who would make his decision known in the form of a rescript. The essential distinction between one category of provinces and the other was the right to appoint the governor. In most other respects, the difference between senatorial and imperial governors was not great. For instance, despite their formal status as imperial deputies, the imperial legates could be prosecuted de repetundis (see p.  86) on the same basis as senatorial governors.20 The emperor’s rulings applied in the senatorial provinces, and decrees passed by the senate applied to imperial provinces as well. If the emperor felt that a province required particular attention, he might ask the senate to select a specific candidate citra sortem, “outside the lot”, or take it on himself to select the governor, with or without the consent of the senate.21 Provinces were frequently transferred from one category to another; for instance, the Hellenophile emperor Nero took control of Achaia, but the province reverted to the senate under Vespasian.22 Under the terms established in 27 BC, Bithynia et Pontus became a senatorial province, but at intervals, the emperor assumed control. The first occasion was in AD 18‑19 when Germanicus visited the province. Tiberius had granted his adopted son the imperium proconsulare maius in the eastern provinces, and on his way to take up command of the Syrian legions, Germanicus visited Bithynia et Pontus. In the words of Tacitus, the imperial prince “restored order to those provinces which suffered from internal discord or the injustice of magistrates”.23 Bithynia et Pontus was an imperial province for a short period of Trajan’s reign and again under Hadrian, as evidenced by the occurrence of imperial legati interspersed among the proconsular fasti of the

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province.24 Finally, at some point in the reign of Antoninus Pius, the province was permanently transferred to the group of imperial provinces. It used to be thought that Pliny was especially selected by the emperor and sent to Bithynia with a mission to clean up conditions in Pontus et Bithynia after the chaos created by his predecessors. According to another theory, he was sent to his province with authority as corrector to set the chaotic finances of the cities in order.25 There is little real evidence in the extant sources for either interpretation, based on uncritical acceptance of the image of himself that Pliny attempts to project in his Letters.26 If the new governor had to face real unrest in the province, Trajan would hardly have chosen a candidate without previous experience in provincial administration.27 The notion that Pliny had special powers is belied by the numerous cases in which he consults the emperor on comparatively minor matters;28 and while the finances of the Bithynian and Pontic cities were in far from perfect order, there is no reason to believe that they were significantly worse than elsewhere.29 In fact, the reason for Trajan’s choice of Pliny as governor may have been precisely his lack of distinctive qualities or opinions, making him acceptable to everyone or at least offensive to no one.30 Transfer of provinces from senate to emperor or vice versa was a common enough occurrence in the first and second centuries AD and in itself unexceptional.31 When a senatorial province was taken over by the emperor, however, the transfer was sometimes accompanied by a face-saving measure, as when Nero granted Sardinia to the senate in return for Achaia.32 We might imagine that out of a similar respect for senatorial sensibilities, Trajan, when selecting a governor for Bithynia et Pontus, would look for a middle-of-the-road candidate whose background was senatorial and civilian, rather than imperial and military. From that point of view, Pliny was an obvious choice, with the further attraction that from his recent involvement in several trials de repetundis, he would be familiar with the legal and administrative structure of Bithynia et Pontus.

Civic self-government In any Bithynian city, local government involved a significant proportion of the free male population, who at a given time would be serving either as city councillors for life, or in one of the numerous magistracies and minor offices at municipal or local level. In the Hellenistic period, the cities had governed themselves within the limits set by the laws of the kingdom and the authority of the royal epistates. The structure of local government had three nodes: the archontate, the city council (boulê) and the popular assembly (ekklêsia). Though we have no direct evidence to this effect, it is likely that as in other Greek cities, the boulê of Hellenistic Nikaia, Nikomedia or Prusa was composed of councillors elected annually by the assembly or in electoral districts corresponding to the phylai. The functions of the early Bithynian boulai are equally poorly documented,

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but, in accordance with Greek tradition, their primary purpose is likely to have been probouleutic, i.e. to draft, examine and approve the proposals that were to be placed before the assembly. The Pompeian code transformed the composition of the city councils. From now on, ex-magistrates were entitled to a seat on the council, retaining it until they died, resigned or were struck off the register by the censor (timêtês). The code also established a minimum age of thirty years for holding a magistracy or a seat in the council.33 At the time when the Pompeian code was promulgated, 30 years was the minimum age for holding a quaestorship in Rome. Augustus later lowered the age threshold for a Roman magistracy and likewise reduced the minimum age for an urban magistracy in Bithynia.34 In formal terms, Pompey’s redefinition of the city council was a sharp break with the Greek traditions of civic democracy.35 In practice, by the late Hellenistic period nearly every city found itself under a de facto Honoratiorenregime where the municipal offices and magistracies were monopolized by a small minority of wealthy citizens, the “notables” or “honoratiores”. The restricted membership introduced by the Pompeian code was a de jure affirmation of the existing situation. Elsewhere in the Empire, there was a census requirement for city councillors; in Pliny’s native Comum, the threshold stood at 100,000 HS.36 In Pliny’s Ep. 10.79, the qualifications for Bithynian council membership are discussed in some detail and since a property qualification is not mentioned here, it was clearly not part of the Pompeian code. Property requirements may, however, have been laid down in the codes of individual cities, just as cities are known to have imposed entrance fees for new councillors.37 The two Prusan town councillors whose financial situation is known to us, Flavius Archippos and Dion, both possessed fortunes in excess of 100,000 HS. The formalisation of the timocratic principle apparently aroused little opposition, and in the early second century an elitist discourse is shared by the self-proclaimed champion of Greek values, Dion, and his counterpart, the Roman governor Pliny. One describes the council as “the soundest and most intelligent” part of the city’s inhabitants38 and the other notes that “it is preferable to admit sons from good families to the council, rather than from the common people”.39 Being royal foundations, the Bithynian cities were probably less self-conscious about their democratic heritage than the formerly independent city and island states of the Aegean. Concurrently and as a consequence of the changed composition of the city council, its political role and relation to the ekklêsia was also transformed. The social standing of its members and the fact that the council united almost all the powerful and wealthy men of the city meant that in addition to its probouleutic function, it was often the real locus of decision-making. For instance, when Dion refuses the offer of an archontate,40 he is apparently speaking in the boulê, not in the ekklêsia. Though the actual election presumably took place in the assembly, the candidates were apparently selected and

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approved by the council: perhaps only one candidate for each vacant position, for the ekklêsia to approve or reject.41 How many seats were there in the boulê? In the west, Roman city councils were generally set at 100 members, sometimes even less.42 Greek city councils of the Hellenistic period were much larger – the Athenian boulê counted 500 members – and when they passed under Roman rule, Greek cities apparently retained the tradition of large city councils. Figures ranging from 200 to 600 members are known,43 but unfortunately none of these refer to a Bithynian city.44 In the larger urban communities such as Nikaia and Nikomedia, a council of 300 or 400 members is quite possible. Prusa originally had a smaller council, later increased by the addition of an extra 100 members, bringing it up to the same size as the others.45 The number of councillors in the individual cities was not laid down in the Pompeian code,46 but in the city’s charter. If a city wanted to increase the size of its council, however, the approval of the Roman authorities had to be obtained. Where the number of ex-magistrates exceeded the number of seats in the boulê, the most junior candidates presumably had to wait for a vacancy to occur.47 Among the bouleutai, individual status was determined by previous magistracies and seniority. Writing in the third century AD, Ulpian explains how, if the city’s own laws do not specify otherwise, the list (album) of council members should be drawn up according to the rank of the magistracies held and secondly, within each category, on the basis of seniority.48 When the council was in session, members would speak in the same order.49 In some cities of the Empire, new councillors were required to pay a fee, the honorarium decurionatus, on election to the council. From a letter of Pliny, we learn that there was no such requirement in the Pompeian code nor in the charters of the Bithynian cities. By Pliny’s time, however, it had apparently become customary for certain categories of councillors to pay an entrance fee of 4000 to 8000 HS. This applied to supernumerary councillors and to councillors appointed a censoribus, i.e. to those who had not held any magistracy. Pliny proposed to formalize and systematize this practice by means of an imperial decree that all city councillors must pay a fixed sum on first taking their seat in the council. The emperor, however, refused to issue a general edict, preferring to leave the matter to the individual cities.50 It has been claimed that only citizens who already held a seat in the council could be candidates for the higher magistracies,51 a situation analogous to that in Rome, where only senators could stand for election to the praetorship or consulate. In Bithynia, there is no evidence for a formal requirement to this effect,52 and it would hardly be in a city’s interest to restrict the field of candidates for the higher liturgies, such as the agonothesia.53 In practice, the majority of those known to have held an archontate had previously filled one or more of the minor magistracies.

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Liturgies The concept of leitourgia was as familiar to any ancient observer of local politics as it is strange to modern eyes. Its essence was that a man elected to public office was required to cover a part, or all, of the expenses involved out of his own pockets, and it forms part of the larger complex of social and political relations known as euergetism, where the munificence and benefactions of the elite serve to legitimize an elite monopoly of political leadership. Paul Veyne’s classic study Le pain et le cirque traces the development of euergetism from its origins in the classical Greece to the Roman period. For Veyne, liturgies and honorarium decurionatus form a sub-category of euergetism, “évergétisme ob honorem”.54 Not all public offices were liturgies, and in theory there was a distinction in terminology between a leitourgia proper, where the holder was expected to contribute out of his own pockets, and an archê, where he was not.55 In the real world, the divide between the two was not clear-cut, and the relation between leitourgia and archê was rather in the nature of a sliding scale or continuum. At one extreme we find the liturgies strictu sensu, e.g. the choregiate of classical Athens. In later times, the prevalent form may have been the “mixed” liturgy where basic costs were defrayed by the public chest but the liturgist was expected to pay the remainder (for instance, the city might cover the cost of arranging a series of athletic games, but the agonothete would pay for the prizes). Lower on the scale was the honorary archê, not requiring any financial contribution by the holder, and finally the paid archê where the office-holder received a salary from the city. Within this basic framework, we encounter numerous variations and combinations. For instance, a city clerk (grammateus) of Priene who was entitled to a salary served for 14 years without claiming it, thus saving the city a substantial sum and transforming an archê into a quasi-liturgy.56 As Quass reminds us,57 “mixed” liturgies often had their background in the prosaic fact that the public funds allocated for a given purpose were insufficient to cover the costs; hence the liturgist had to make up the difference. Obviously, the relation between city revenues and expenditure would vary from place to place, and an office that in one city required no outlay on the part of the office-holder might be a burdensome liturgy in the neighbouring community.58 To ease the burden and facilitate the entry of young men into the political class, junior liturgies, such as gymnasiarch or agoranomos, could sometimes be held for less than a full year, or jointly by several persons.59 From the survey of Quass, it is also clear that the sums involved varied greatly from city to city. Some of the liturgies and benefactions recorded in Ephesos were on a very grand scale, but then Ephesos was among the leading cities in one of the Empire’s richest provinces, while its large population meant that there would be numerous contenders for vacant liturgies. In most Asian cities, the liturgies may have been on a much more modest scale, but the inscriptional

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evidence is skewed in favour of the larger and exceptional liturgies, which were more likely to be recorded.60

Urban revenues and finances In the Roman provinces of the early empire, taxation operated on two levels. The collection of the taxes due to the imperial treasury61 was supervised by the provincial governor62 and carried out by private tax-farmers (publicani) or, increasingly, through the magistrates of the cities.63 Thanks to the dubious political activities of some tax-farmers in the last century of the Republic and the New Testament’s references to “publicans and sinners”,64 Roman tax-farming has come to be associated with greed and corruption. However, the tax-farming system, which built on Hellenistic precedents, was perhaps no less efficient than taxation through the cities,65 nor were the tax-farmers always detested by the local taxpayers.66 We are less well informed about tax collection at the level of the individual cities, though enough evidence survives to show that city tax regimes were often quite complex.67 Taxes formed only a part of the city’s revenue, and of these, again, only a part were “general” taxes that could be spent at the discretion of the magistrates. Much city income was earmarked, either because it derived from a tax levied for a specific purpose, or from an endowment or trust, i.e. a sum set aside for a specific purpose by the donor or testator. The institution of the endowment or trust was widespread in the Roman world;68 it reappears in Islamic law as the wakf or vakif. Apart from taxes, bequests and endowments, a city would draw some revenue from its landholdings, from the lease of public property (e.g., market stalls, grazing rights on public land) and from interest on capital. Cities could also levy a toll (portorium) on trade passing through its port or territory, but there is no certain evidence for this tax in any Bithynian city.69 Furthermore, many cities struck coins for local circulation. Since bronze issues were fiduciary, i.e. the nominal value of the coin was greater than its metal value, the production of bronze coinage was a source of profit for the city. Under the early Empire, the relationship between these revenues and the current expenses of the city will have been stable and predictable. The main weakness of the trust system was that it was largely cash-based and thus vulnerable to inflation. When the coinage was debased in the course of the third century, trust funds were eroded to a fraction of their former value or ceased to function altogether. Income from landholdings and leases were less vulnerable in this respect. Thanks to the system of trusts and endowments, numerous items of urban income and expenditure were directly linked. When revenues exceeded expenditure, a surplus was accumulated in the fund (for example, at Prusa, less than expected was spent on the oil for the gymnasts, perhaps because the rundown gymnasium attracted fewer visitors than when it was new; the surplus

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accumulated in the oil fund70) and when expenditure exceeded the resources available, a liturgist might be required to cover the shortfall. Tasks covered by endowments or earmarked taxes did not affect the city’s finances, but apart from these, there remained a large number of routine expenditures for the upkeep of public buildings and city walls, maintenance of aqueducts and public wells, fuel for the baths, food and clothing for the city’s slaves, writing materials for the city administration, entertainment for visiting notables, travelling expenses for delegates and embassies, sacrificial animals and sundry other items. Much of the actual work involved, for instance in cleaning aqueducts and wells, would of course be performed by city-owned slaves rather than wage labourers, and thus required no cash outlay.71 The least predictable item of expenditure, and the one most often cited as a cause of financial distress, was public construction projects. It was exceptional for a city to find a single benefactor capable of financing an entire project from his own resources. (The building activity of the sophist Flavius Damianos in Ephesos is one such exception, that of Herodes Atticus in Athens another). A major construction project had to be financed either from public funds,72 from a combination of public funds and private contributions73 or from the joint contributions of a number of private benefactors.74 In the last two cases, the contributors were expected to make a solemn declaration (pollicitatio) of their intent to contribute. If the cost of construction exceeded the original estimate, or if the contributors failed to make good on their promises, the city faced a serious financial problem. In the Digest, a whole section De pollicitationibus is devoted to cases where a private benefactor, having made a formal promise, fails to meet his obligation.75 The eminent jurists quoted include Pomponius (second century AD), Ulpian and Modestinus (third century AD) – an indication that this was a widespread and persistent problem. They agree that when the benefactor has been honoured by the city in return for a pollicitatio, or the work on his project has commenced, he is obliged to carry out his promise to its full extent. If he does not, the obligation can be enforced by the city authorities in the same way as a debt (debitum), not only against the original donor but against his heirs.76 Other jurists add that when a pollicitatio is made on account of a misfortune to the city (e.g., a promise to rebuild a structure that has been destroyed by fire or earthquake) it is immediately binding.77 Clearly, there was a great deal of unfinished business in the cities of the Roman Empire; and Bithynia was no exception. In two of Dion’s municipal speeches, we hear about a colonnade that is under construction in Prusa but has not yet been completed, because – or so he claims – Dion’s fellow-contributors have not yet lived up to their promises. To keep the work going, the city has been forced to advance money from the public treasury.78 In Nikaia, Pliny found a half-rebuilt gymnasium and an incomplete theatre.79 The theatre itself was under construction at the city’s expense; embellishments such as colonnades and galleries were to be paid by private subscription

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(ex privatorum pollicitationibus) but the donors were naturally reluctant to pay before the core structure had been completed, especially since – or so it was alleged80 – the foundations were showing signs of stress. Nikaia’s neighbours and rivals were not far behind: the Nikomedians had two unfinished aqueducts to show for a public investment of 3.5 million HS.81 In Nikomedia, the problem was not unreliable sponsors but a lack of technicians with the skills required to plan and execute a major construction project such as an aqueduct – and to estimate its cost. The first attempt had proved abortive due to poor surveying work, the second had overrun its budget well before it was completed. Conditions in Prusa were no better, and in his first letters from the province, basing himself on his inspection of the Prusan accounts, Pliny reported that “substantial sums of money could … be recovered from contractors of public works if we had dependable surveys.”82 This problem was not a new one, nor limited to Bithynia.83 In the prologue to the last book of his De architectura (last century BC), Vitruvius discusses the notorious unreliability of cost estimates for private as well as public building projects. He relates how the city of Ephesos had an “ancient law” (lex vetusta) setting out “hard, but fair” conditions: When assuming responsibility for a public building project, the architect must provide a cost estimate. If this estimate is accepted by the city authorities, the architect’s property is taken as surety until the building is finished. If the cost corresponds to the original estimate, the architect is honoured by a decree of the city; should it exceed the estimate by less than 25 %, this excess will be paid by the city treasury; but if the overrun is more than one-fourth of the estimate, the architect is liable for the remainder. Vitruvius approvingly remarks that if such quasi-Draconian measures were employed everywhere, “householders would not be induced to endless additional payments leading to the loss of their fortunes.84 Prusa’s track record of urban finance was not impressive. Early in the city’s history, Prusa was unable to meet the debts incurred to cover current expenses.85 The Prusans may also have been careless about spending money on construction projects; from one of Dion’s orations, we learn that “earlier” (i.e. prior to AD 96) a governor sent the Prusans a rescript concerning city administration (dioikêsis), apparently authorizing some major building project that was never completed.86 It was probably no coincidence that the first major task taken up by Pliny as governor was to inspect the municipial accounts of Prusa.87 Apparently the finances of the Bithynian cities improved over time, for towards the end of the century, we find an Ephesian, M. Aurelius Mindius Matidianus Pollio, holding the post of permanent logistês (curator) of Nikaia, Nikomedia and Prusa concurrently with his main job as overseer of harbour dues in the province of Asia. This arrangement lasted for thirty years, an indication that during this period, the logistês of the three Bithynian cities had no great workload.88

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City magistracies Because office-holding had originally been a prerogative of the propertied élite and remained – through the instition of leitourgeia – associated with positive social behaviour such as generosity and euergetism, urban political offices were important success markers in the social agôn and as such, recorded on the funerary inscriptions that summarized an individual’s life achievements and form our main source for individual careers. This is perhaps easily understood in the case of leading urban magistracies such as the archontate, but as the story of Pythias the agoranome (below, p. 76) illustrates, junior magistrates took pride in their office as well, as did the elected officers of the city wards or phylai. The sense of prestige attached to office-holding at the level of the polis percolated outwards and downwards through society and found expression in a general Titelfreude. The phylê organisation, the gerousia and the gymnasium each had their leading officers, recorded with their names and titles.89 Religious communities, such as the followers of Mithras, had their hierarchy of ranks and offices. Even a small fishing collective in Parion on the Hellespont possessed a formal hierarchy of officers, recorded in a joint dedication to Priapos. The archon heads the list, followed by diktyarchountes and lembarchountes (net-masters and boat-masters), lookouts, fish-watchers, a cork-float-operator, the pilots and the antigraphos (secretary); finally and clearly set apart from the rest, the anonymous synnautai (boatmen).90 This adds up to an impressive total of some twenty officers in all, but the names reveal that several junior officers are sons of the archôn and the whole operation appears to have been dominated by one family of freedman origin. Given that so many members were bound by family ties, a formal organization seems superfluous. Yet the collective had a formal internal organization modelled on that of the polis, either because that was the only form of organization known to them or because titles and offices had an attraction in themselves. The archons At the head of the city administration, we find the archons, hoi archôntes, literally “the leaders”. Their number varied from city to city; Nikaia had three, Prusias ad Hypium had five.91 One of these was the first or senior archon, prôtos archôn.92 According to Fernoux, the archons of Nikaia constituted a “bureau” which also included the city grammateus and an endikos.93 This is based on a single inscription from Nikaia94 naming the archons of the year along with the grammateus and the endikos, but there is no direct evidence in the text that these five formed a collective. The archontate was an annual magistracy and could be held several times. The first archon was normally also the senior archon95 and presumably presided over the meetings of the boulê and the ekklêsia. Being eponymous, he would be known to every citizen by name and to most of them

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by sight; he was the leading and the most visible figure of the city, if only for one term. We have little information about the liturgic aspects of the archontate. Though archons elsewhere could and did function as benefactors of their city,96 there is no evidence that the archons of Bithynian cities were required to contribute on a large scale or a regular basis. The agonothete On the other hand, the agônothetês or magistrate in charge of the agônes was expected to contribute significantly towards the costs of his office. Agônes, athletic contests with associated festivals, were popular in the Greek world since the Archaic period. Besides the famous festivals in, e.g., Athens, Olympia, Corinth, Nemea or Delphi, there were numerous minor agônes, often instituted in honour of a local hero or deity or, from the second century onwards, in honour of the emperor(s). For the individual, the agônes provided a welcome diversion from the tedium of daily life, the kind of diversion that in the West was more often supplied by gladiatorial games; on the collective level, the agônes provided a venue for the inter-city rivalry and competition typical of the Greek world. In the Classical and Hellenistic periods, many poleis granted a victorious athlete the privilege of free meals for the rest of his life; in the Roman period, the winner could still, at the very least, expect a hero’s welcome in his home city.97 The continued popularity of agônes is also attested by the will of Julius Largus, a wealthy Pontic citizen, who left a large bequest to be used “either for the erection of public buildings” or for “establishing quinquennial games”.98 The games that Largus envisaged were to be held in honour of the emperor, and all agônes had a similar aspect, being ostensibly held in honour of the reigning emperor, a deity, a deified emperor or a hero.99 In this respect, the duties of the agonothetês are comparable with those of other cultic officials, but in addition, the agonothesia required administrative and organisational skills,100 since an athletic festival was a major event covering several days and requiring advance planning for the events themselves, for the logistics involved in supplying the spectators and the athletes, and not least for the reception of important guests during the festival. The total cost was considerable. Some of the expenses would be covered by the city or by special funds such as the one that Pliny was asked to set up; others would fall to the agonothete himself, who thus had at one and the same time to enjoy the trust of his fellow-citizens and be a man of considerable means. Since he would be chairing the proceedings throughout the festival and acting as host to the guests of honour, the agonothete must also be a skilled public speaker and possess social and diplomatic skills. In short, a successful agonothete required all the skills of a successful politician.

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The agoranomos For an aspiring local politician, the first step on the political ladder was often the position of agoranomos.101 In classical Athens, the task of the agoranomoi was to maintain order and trading standards in the marketplace.102 In the Athenaiôn Politeia, Aristotle lists the magistrates in charge of the city’s markets: ten agoranomoi (five each for Athens and Piraeus), ten metronomoi or inspectors of weights and measures, 35 sitophylakes or overseers of the grain trade and ten port superintendents “to compel merchants to bring two-thirds of the grain that they import into the city’s market”. The large number of agoranomoi and the selection by lot indicate that the office was no liturgy.103 It is significant that of the sixty-five market officers enumerated by Aristotle, the majority are concerned with the supply of grain. In later times, the supply of grain and other staples remained a chief concern of the cities, and the existence of a separate office concerned with the grain supply is attested in the Bithynian cities as late as the third century AD. From Nikomedia we have the fragmentary sarcophagus of the city councillor Aurelius Eu… Katyl…, who, among other offices, had been sitônês, i.e. grain trade commissioner, and also served as treasurer of the city council;104 in Nikaia, an inscription (fig. 31) honours Fl. Severianus Asklepiodotos, who served as argyrotamias tôn sitônikôn chrêmatôn, “treasurer of the grain fund”.105 So far no similar inscription has been recorded from Prusa, and there is some doubt if and when this city possessed a corresponding fund. In the seventies AD, it clearly did not; but one may have been established at a later date.106 In cases where the grain supply failed and prices rose sharply, an agoranome is known to have intervened, buying grain on his own account and reselling it at lower prices.107 These are probably exceptional cases of euergetism, over and above an agoranome’s liturgical obligations, and commemorated in our sources as such. Indeed, in these cases we may surmise that a rich and already well established citizen has taken the post of agoranome upon himself in an emergency.108 An agoranome might also donate marble tables for the vendors,109 undertake repairs to existing structures110 or finance additional ones.111 Obviously, not every agoranome found himself with a major food shortage or a dilapidated market on his hands. In most towns, the post of agoranomos will have been among the less financially onerous magistracies, within reach of young men entering on a municipal career. In some cities, perhaps to facilitate the entry of aspiring politicians into the municipal cursus, the obligations of the agoranomos were made less burdensome by reducing the term of office to two or four months, or appointing more than one agoranome (Olbia on the northern Black Sea had five, Halikarnassos had nine). On the other hand, it was no sinecure: during his term of office the agoranomos had to be present in the agora on trading days. In the Metamorphoses, Apuleius draws a character sketch of a small-town agoranomos (whom Apuleius, writing in Latin, identifies as an aedilis). Lucius,

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the narrator, has just arrived in Hypata, the leading town of Thessaly. He goes to buy food in the market, macellum, and finds many kinds of fish on sale. After haggling for a while with an old fishmonger over a fish priced at one hundred sesterces he gets it for eighty. Leaving the market, he runs into Pythias, a schoolfellow from Athens, who has embarked on a municipal career: “Congratulations, Pythias! I see that you have attendants and the rods of office and the dress of a magistrate.” “I am administrator of food supplies and market inspector [aedilis], and if you wish to buy any food I am at your service”. “No thanks”, I replied, since I had already provided quite enough fish for supper. But Pythias saw my basket and shook the fish up so that he could see them more clearly. “How much did you pay for this rubbish?” he asked. “I just managed to twist a fishmonger’s arm and he let them go at twenty denarii,” I answered. When he heard this, he instantly grabbed my hand and led me back to the food market. “And from which of these merchants,” he asked, “did you buy that junk?” I pointed to a little old man sitting in a corner, and Pythias immediately began to harangue him in an extremely harsh tone, befitting the authority of his office as market inspector. “Look at you!” he shouted. “You do not even spare my friends, or indeed any visitors to this place. You mark up worthless fish at high prices, and you are reducing this flower of Thessaly to the semblance of a rocky wasteland by the price of your wares. But you will not get away with it, for now I will show you how wrongdoers shall be restrained while I am magistrate.” Then he turned the basket out onto the pavement and ordered his bailiff to trample on the fish and crush them to a pulp with his feet. Content with his display of law and order, my friend Pythias advised me to be off, saying “I am pleased, Lucius, to have shown that old fool who is in charge here.”112 The story of Lucius’ encounter with his friend turns on the contrast between form, symbol and self-perception on the one hand, reality on the other: the friend offers to “help” but leaves Lucius in a worse position than before; as a symbol of the magistrate’s power, the presence of the lictor with the rods highlights the impuissance of Pythias, who can do no more than heap abuse on the fishmonger; Pythias solemnly declares that “wrongdoers” shall suffer the full force of the law, but it is the fish that end up under the lictor’s soles and the innocent buyer who is punished by the loss of his dinner; the aedile sees himself as a leading figure in the city, but his office ranks among the junior magistracies and is perhaps only held for a few months. That the post of agoranomos nonetheless had a certain prestige value was

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due to the fact that, like the archontate, it included a judicial aspect. The lictor accompanying Pythias was not entirely ornamental. An agoranomos was permitted to use force to maintain order in the marketplace, and was expected to adjudicate or arbitrate in minor disputes between buyer and seller. In other words, at an early stage in his career, he might demonstrate leadership qualities of an administrative and judicial character, while a later term as agonothete would give the chance to demonstrate organizational and diplomatic skills. It is no coincidence that successful municipal careers often include the three A’s: agoranomos, agonothete and archon. Advocates, delegates and ambassadors High on the list of prestigious offices and potentially onerous liturgies we find the citizens who are elected to serve as spokesmen of their city in judicial or diplomatic contexts. These are variously identified in our sources as endikos, syndikos, proegoros etc. They were typically appointed on an ad hoc basis for the purpose of a specific embassy to another city or to Rome, to present a petition to the emperor, or to represent the city in court. Sending an embassy was expensive – the annual delegation from Chalkedon, routinely sent to convey the city’s greetings to the emperor, cost 12,000 HS113 – and a wealthy citizen might earn the gratitude of his fellow citizens if he undertook such a task as a liturgy, paying part or all of the expenses out of his own pocket. On the other hand, since the success of a diplomatic mission or a court case would depend on the diplomatic skills, forensic qualifications and eloquence of the person chosen to represent the city, the office would not necessarily go to the most generous liturgist. Dion is an example of an ambassador presumably chosen for his rhetoric skills and diplomatic qualifications (i.e., his friendship with the emperor) since he makes no mention of a financial contribution on his own part. Censors Alone among the municipal offices of Bithynia, the censorate appears to be a Roman innovation. The primary task of a censor, timêtês – the word is derived from timê, “honour” or “value” – was to verify that new council members fulfilled the formal entrance requirements (free status, citizenship of the city, minimum age). The censors were also responsible for maintaining the album or list of councillors. They had authority to strike out persons who were no longer qualified to sit in the council (e.g., because of immorality, a criminal offence or infirmity), but not to appoint new members on their own.114 Unlike their Roman counterparts, who were, inter alia, responsible for putting public works out for tender, the Bithynian city censors apparently had no authority in financial matters. Censors were not elected every year115 but at intervals, probably quinquennially. The formal competence of the censor was limited, but since in effect a censor was at liberty to pass judgment on any of his peers, and being struck

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off the council register endangered a person’s social standing and “face”, the office will have carried considerable weight. The censors known from Bithynia are generally men with a distinguished political career including several of the senior magistracies. Though the censorate was not a liturgy, as men of wealth and social standing the censors could, and on occasion did, undertake costly projects for the benefit or beautification of their cities.116 A related office was that of the politographos, presumably a magistrate responsible for maintaining the register of citizens. At present, we only have evidence for this office in Prusias ad Hypium117 and outside Bithynia. The term boulographos is found in an inscription from Ankyra118 where it appears to be a synonym for timêtês. A third-century inscription,119 now lost, from the territory of Kios named an Aurelius Marcianus, boulo[graphos]. Both boulographos and politographos were clearly high-status magistrates, on a level with the censors (if indeed boulographos is not a synonym for timêtês); this is quite clear from their careers, which typically include other high-level posts such as agonothete or Bithyniarch. One also notes that the boulographoi and politographoi known from Bithynia all hold the Roman franchise. In two cases,120 the office was held for life, indicating that it was not onerous and that it was not a liturgy. The grammateus and minor officials The status of the grammateus and his relation to the other magistrates is not quite clear. His main function was apparently to record the proceedings and decrees of the council and also of the ekklêsia121 and preserve the records for posterity.122 In all but the smallest urban communities, we may assume that the grammateus functioned as chef de bureau and that the actual work was done by trained slaves.123 As overseers of their work, the grammateis had to be fully literate and have some education; they are typically drawn from the same group as the agoranomoi.124 From the limited epigraphic evidence for Bithynian grammateis, it is difficult to judge their social status. At Ephesos in the neighbouring province of Asia, the grammeteis seem to have been held in high esteem; in the Acts of the Apostles, the Ephesian grammateus quiets the riotous multitude.125 A century later, the wealthy sophist Flavius Damianos held the Ephesian grammateia; during his term of office, he undertook the construction of a new portico from the Magnesian gate towards the temple of Artemis, as well as other costly projects. We cannot take it for granted that a grammateus in Prusa (such as T. Flavius Silôn, see below) or Nikaia enjoyed the same prestige; after all, Ephesos was larger than any of the Bithynian cities, and the Ephesian grammateus no doubt had a much larger bureau of slaves under his supervision. While inferior in rank to the archons and other senior magistrates, one should not underestimate the informal power of minor officials such as the grammateus, or even of their subordinate functionaries. That some were of

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low status or slaves does not exclude them from the sphere of power.126 On the contrary, being involved in the daily business of the city on a long-term basis, they would come to know its recent history, its records and its financial obligations better than the annual magistrates, who had other demands on their time than politics and would often be absent. Minor officials also controlled access to the decision-makers. From Rome itself, we hear of imperial servants taking bribes in return for the chance to meet the emperor.127 At the provincial level, things were no better; Aelius Aristides dreamt that a governor’s clerk (grammateus tou hêgemonos) offered to have a verdict changed in Aristides’ favour in return for a bribe of 500 drachmas (2000 HS).128 We have no reason to believe that local city officials and provincial court clerks were less corrupt than their colleagues at higher levels, though the sums involved were presumably smaller. Finally, minor officials may have acted as “patrons” to semi-literate citi­ zens. Even if we assume that the urban lower classes of Asia Minor were literate after a fashion, they would nonetheless find the assistance of an urban clerk helpful when drawing up a formal letter, filing a petition or registering a complaint.129

The gerousia In the archaic period the gerousia, or council of elders, was an important institution in many Greek poleis  – most conspicuously in Sparta. By the late Hellenistic period, in most communities the gerousia had ceased to play any political role, but still enjoyed a certain social status. Though Greek writers sometimes use gerousia as a gloss for senatus, the gerousia of a provincial city is in no way comparable to the senate of Rome. In fact, when the provincial cities were reorganized on the Roman model – in Bithynia, by the lex Pompeia – it was the boulê, not the gerousia that performed the function as a council of ex-magistrates that in Rome was filled by the senatus. The gerousia  crops up from time to time in the epigraphic record for Bithynia, but most often as the dedicant of an honorific inscription or the recipient of a benefaction. When the achievements of a Bithynian politician are recorded – by himself, his family (in an epitaph) or by others (in an honorific inscription) – membership of the gerousia is never mentioned, and offices within a gerousia only rarely.130 Either gerousia membership was rarely combined with an urban politicial career or it was considered too insignificant to include in the overview of a person’s cursus.131 Whichever way, gerousia membership or office-holding clearly did not carry the same prestige or social status as an urban archê or liturgy. Likewise, entry into the gerousia was not restricted to the bouleutic class; a significant proportion of the Bithynian gerousia members known by name do not hold the Roman franchise, and elsewhere in Asia Minor, even ex-slaves found their way into the gerousia.132 In short, the gerousia of a city133 was a circle of elders with no specific political functions and a less

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selective composition than the boulê, yet still enjoying a certain status within the community and with some economic assets at its disposal.134

The gymnasion The gymnasion was originally a venue for physical exercise, but in the Hellenistic cities it developed into an important node in the cultural and social life of the city. It also functioned as a school for children and young adults.135 In the Roman period, the gymnasium may have lost its pre-eminence as a cultural institution, but retained its role as a venue for physical exercise, now supplemented with hot baths in the Roman tradition.136 In larger cities, the personnel of the gymnasium might include professional educators under the supervision of the gymnasiarch;137 in smaller communities the work of training and teaching rested on the shoulders of the gymnasiarch. Some cities had several gymnasiarchs, one for each age-group. The funds set aside by the city were not always sufficient to cover the operating costs: teachers’ salaries, oil for the gymnasts and, in the Roman period, fuel for the baths. The gymnasion buildings themselves also required maintenance and restoration to compensate for the wear and tear of daily use.138 Thus the gymnasiarchate easily developed into a mixed liturgy; in some cities, it may have been the most costly and burdensome of all municipal liturgies. Against this background, it is surprising how few gymnasiarchs are recorded from our three cities, and that none of these go on to senior magistracies such as agonothete or archon.139 Clearly the gymnasiarchate was not as prestigious, and did not present the same opportunities for personal publicity, as the post of agonothete or agoranomos.

The local level It was at the lowest level of polis organization, the phylê, that the impact of the Pompeian code was greatest. In the elective councils of the Hellenistic period, elections had taken place by phylai, each phylê being entitled to an equal share of the seats.140 Under this system, the leading citizen of each phylê, the phylarch, had presumably played a key role. Now that the council was dominated by ex-magistrates and access controlled by the censors, the importance of the phylai and their phylarchs was much reduced. The local organisation of the city by phylai is best documented in the case of Prusias ad Hypium141 and Klaudioupolis;142 a division into phylai is also attested in the other Bithynian cities with the exception of Apameia.143 The origins of the institution go back to the Hellenistic period and presumably formed part of the administrative system of the Bithynian kings. Phylê names like Germanikê, Traianê, Antoninianê and Aurelianê bear witness to the continued existence of the system during the Imperial period, and the numerous phylarchs mentioned in dedicatory inscriptions from Prusias ad Hypium

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indicate that in this city at least, there was lively activity at phylê level in the third century. A Christian funerary inscription found some distance west of Nikaia and now lost144 preserved the memory of the gardener (kêpouros) Aurelius Spoudasis Nikeeus “living in the phylê Aurelianê” and his wife. From the expression “living in” (oikôn en), which is also found in an earlier inscription from Nikomedia,145 it appears that a phylê was a geographical entity – like the demes of Athens, but unlike the voting-tribes of Rome – and that this included not only a section of the city itself but a part of its chora as well. This implies that the number of phylai, once established, remained constant: thus “imperial” phylê names like Faustinianê must be due to renaming of existing phylai, not the addition of new ones.146 It is not known what occasioned renaming of a phylê.147 In the two cases where the complete phylê list has been preserved, their number is twelve; if this was a “canonical” number, it may also have applied in the other Bithynian cities. An inscription from Nikomedia148 records a grammateus tôn phylarchôn, “secretary of the phylarchs”, an argyrotamias (treasurer) and at least three other officers “of the phylarchs”. The use of the plural tôn phylarchôn is intriguing. Either the Nikomedian phylai had more than one phylarch each, or the grammateus “of the phylarchs” was the joint secretary of all the phylarchs of the city. The latter explanation appears more likely. It was not uncommon for the phylai of a city to undertake projects in common, e.g. when setting up honorific inscriptions, which would require some sort of joint organisation. In that case, the Nikomedian inscription lists the officers in the joint bureau of the city phylai. If indeed the phylarchs and their deputies formed a group, this would also go some way towards explaining the continued importance of the phylai and their leaders. Another possibility is that the individual phylarchs functioned as overseers of public order in their districts.149 In addition, even though votes in the Greek assemblies were presumably cast individually (and not, as in Rome, by tribe), it is quite possible that as a prominent citizen and elected leader of the phylê, the phylarch could influence the voting of phyle members in the ekklêsia. The inclusion of a treasurer reveals that the phylai, singly or jointly, had financial resources of their own; this is also indicated by the use of the stock phrase ek tôn idiôn (“from its own resources”) in an inscription set up by the phylê Antoneina of Prusa.150 While the phylarch may thus have been an important person in his own neighbourhood and even exerted some indirect political influence in the city assembly, a phylarchate was no urban magistracy and did not qualify its holder for a seat in the boulê. And while agoranomes, agonothetes, archons and censors were nearly always drawn from the body of Roman citizens, before the Constitutio Antoniniana the phylarchs known to us are almost invariably peregrine.

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Regional organisation: the koinon In 29 BC, so the historian Cassius Dion tells, us, Octavian gave permission for the dedication of sacred precincts in Ephesos and in Nikaia to Rome and to Caesar, his father, whom he named the hero Julius. These cities had at that time attained chief place in Asia and in Bithynia respectively. He commanded that the Romans resident in these cities should pay honour to these two divinities; but he permitted the aliens, whom he styled Hellenes, to consecrate precincts to himself, the Asians to have theirs in Pergamon and the Bithynians theirs in Nikomedia. This practice, beginning under him, has been continued under other emperors, not only in the case of the Hellenic nations but also in that of all the others, in so far as they are subject to the Romans. For in the capital itself and in Italy generally no emperor, however worthy of renown he has been, has dared to do this; still, even there various divine honours are bestowed after their death upon such emperors as have ruled uprightly, and, in fact, shrines are built to them. All this took place in the winter; and the Pergamenians also received authority to hold the “sacred” games, as they called them, in honour of Caesar’s [i.e. Octavian’s] temple.151 The Annals of Tacitus also record the permission to build a temple to Octavian in Pergamon.152 Dion was writing two and a half centuries after the event, and one cannot be certain that the contraposition of “commanded … permitted” (prosetax … efêken) reflects the actual events of 29 BC or whether the distinction is Dion’s, used to open the discussion of cults for living vs. deceased emperors, an important subject for Dion and one which is elaborated in the speech attributed to Maecenas in the following book.153 There are, however, no grounds for rejecting the essential elements of Dion’s story: that an official cult of Rome and Caesar was established in the provincial capital Nikaia, and that  – perhaps in response to the elevation of Nikaia, perhaps with a little prompting from above – a temple to Octavian was established in Nikomedia, though the parallel between the Nikomedian temple and that which the Hellenes of Asia were offering to establish in Pergamon may be a Dionian ex post rationalization. The expression “Hellenes” could be Dion’s synonym for a regional council or koinon. The existence of an Asian koinon is known from two earlier sources, an edict of the 50’s BC and a rescript of Marcus Antonius from the 30’s BC, in which the koinon is identified as to koinon tôn Ellênôn or to koinon tôn apo tês Asias Ellênôn.154 Though we have no comparable evidence for Bithynia155 (apart from the Greek letters ascribed to Brutus, whose authenticity is highly dubious156) it would not surprise us to find a parallel Bithynian koinon tôn

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Ellênôn. Similarly, the group designation “Romans” may be a metonym for the provincial organization. This would account for the choice of location: the “Romans” were to have their sanctuary not in Apameia – the only Roman colony in Bithynia – but in the Bithynian mêtropolis, Nikaia. Although the temple of “the Romans” may have ranked higher,157 the “temple of the Bithynians” in Nikomedia was the concern of the koinon and as such, more often in the eye of the Bithynian elite. After c. AD 20, when Nikomedia had become the provincial capital, its cult completely overshadowed that of Nikaia, which may have lapsed altogether.158 The cult of the ruler evolved into a major concern of the koina in Asia Minor, both of the Bithynian koinon with its temple in Nikomedia and even more so of the Asian koinon, with its multiple centres of emperor worship. It was, however, not the only concern. The existence of a koinon in Asia and presumably also in Bithynia before the principate is evidence that koina served other purposes, and continued to serve them after 29 BC. Before proceeding to a discussion of the activities of the koinon, however, an examination of its leading officers is required. Archiereus and Bithyniarch As a central function of the koinon after 29 BC was the cult of the emperor, one of its most conspicuous figures was the high priest, attested in our sources as the archiereus. The sacerdos or archiereus is a familiar figure of the imperial cult throughout the empire. In the inscriptions of Bithynia, however, we also find another title, that of Bithyniarch – and in neighbouring regions, we correspondingly encounter Asiarchs, Pontarchs and Lesbarchs. Within this group, which we may conveniently call “koinarchs”, the Asiarchs are the best known, not only because they play a supporting rôle in the Acts of the Apostles but also because of the unusually ample documentation for individual Asiarchs.159 That the Asiarchs, no less than the archiereis, were directly linked with the cult of the emperor is indicated by their titulature. As mentioned, Asia had more than one imperial cult, and the titles of archiereis are sometimes modified by naming the city to which they belong, e.g. archiereus Asias naôn tôn en Smyrnêi, archiereus Asias naôn tôn en Sardeis etc.160 A closely similar wording is used for the Asiarchs: Asiarchês naôn tôn en Efesôi, Asiarchês naôn tôn en Smyrnêi.161 But if both offices are related to the same sanctuaries, what is their relationship? One solution, proposed in the late nineteenth century, taken up by Jürgen Deininger in his monograph on Die Provinziallandtage der römischen Kaiserzeit (1965), followed by Walter Ameling in his introduction to the inscriptions of Prusias ad Hypium (1985) and most recemtly restated by Peter Weiss (2002) is that the two terms are synonymous, i.e. that Asiarchês, Pontarchês, Bithyniarchês etc. are alternative titles for archiereus. The crux of Deininger’s argument for the identity of the two offices is a passage of the third-century jurist Herennius Modestinus (fl. c. 240), preserved in the Digest162 and laying down that one who

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holds “a priesthood of an ethnos, that is, the Asiarchate, Bithyniarchate …” is exempt from the liturgy of guardianship during his term of office. Ethnos is in this context taken to be synonymous with koinon.163 Since the text of Modestinus is not preserved in its original context, but only as a quotation in the Digest, we cannot exclude the possibility that the gloss (“that is, …”) has been interpolated later. In any case, Modestinus merely informs us that the Asiarchate or the Bithyniarchate is a priesthood (as already implied by the inscriptions linking the Asiarchês with a specific temple); for all his legal precision, he does not specifically identify the office as that of an archiereus. There are, on the other hand, several arguments against the identity of the two offices, most recently summarized by Stephen J. Friesen (1999a, 1999b). It is striking that while the archiereus appears in the singular, we also encounter Asiarchs in the plural, for instance in Strabon and in the Acts of the Apostles where Paul is advised by “his friends the Asiarchs” not to enter the theatre at Ephesos.164 The explanation offered by Deininger is that Asiarchês was a title that the holder could continue to use after his term of office had ended: once an Asiarch, always an Asiarch.165 Thus some of Paul’s friends will have been former archiereis. There are few parallels for titles being retained by emeriti, and the iteration of koinarchates also speaks against this hypothesis. For instance, in the late second century M. Aurelius Mindius Mattidianus Pollio of Ephesos (see also below, p. 109) was Bithyniarch “three times” according to the inscription recording his achievements.166 Even more difficult to explain is the occurrence of two supposedly synonymous words in the same cursus. Around AD 215, M. Aurelius Alexander from Amastris details his impressive list of offices and liturgies, stating unequivocally that he has served as “archiereus tou Pontou … Beithyniarchês kai Pontarchês”;167 in another, unfinished inscription from Prusa (fig. 20), the unnamed dedicand has served as [Bithyni?]arch, as Pontarch and twice as hiereus tou sebastou.168 Clearly the archiereus tou Pontou and the Pontarchês are two distinct titles and offices. Similarly, an earlier inscription records a T. Flavius of Nikaia as both archiereus and Asiarch169 (though in his case, one cannot exclude the possibility that he he was archiereus of Bithynia, not Asia, just as the Bithyniarch M. Aurelius Mindius Matidianus Pollio served as archiereus of Asia). The above should be sufficient evidence that archiereus and B(e)ithyniarchês cannot be synonymous. As far as Bithynia is concerned, the interpretation of Friesen appears more convincing and is followed by Fernoux (2004) who sees the Bithyniarch as the supreme officer of the koinon, to whom the archiereus is subordinate: “Le koinon Bithynien avait à sa tête un seul et même personage, le bithyniarque. Ce dernier était assisté, pour les questions religeuses, de plusieurs personnages (…) et, surtout, l’archiereus, avec lequel le bithyniarque ne se confondait pas”.170 But did the Bithyniarch officiate “seul et même”? We have seen that his col-

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leagues, the Asiarchs, are mentioned in the plural by Strabon and in the Acts. Also, as both Deininger and Friesen have noted, the number of Asiarchs known by name is surprisingly high.171 It is perhaps significant that for Bithynia, too, we have far more names of Bithyniarchs than names of archiereis.172 From the evidence of Strabon and Acts, it is clear that at a given time, there was more than one Asiarch; thus there may also have been several Bithyniarchs, Pontarchs etc. Deininger hypothesized that an Asiarch retained his title after leaving office; while this would explain the co-existence of several Asiarchs at one point in time, it does not increase the total number of Asiarchs. A more likely explanation is that in a given year, there was more than one Asiarch, and likewise more than one Bithyniarch.173 This will explain several other problems not addressed by Fernoux. Many notables held a koinarchate outside their home koinon. At least four Bithyniarchs also held the Pontarchate;174 one Pontarch also served as Lesbarch;175 a citizen of Nikaia served as Asiarch and a citizen of Pergamon as Bithyniarch.176 The combination in one career of several koinarchates, even of regions as far distant as Pontos and Lesbos, is easier to understand if the koinarchate was shared with one or more colleagues, thus requiring less attention. A further problem is that besides the familiar titles of Bithyniarchês and archiereus, we also find [arxanta] tên megistên archên tou koinobouliou,177 arxanta tou koinou tôn en Beithynia hellênôn,178 archôn  … tês eparchei[as]179 and ethnei Beithynidos archês protôn en’Ellêsin.180 Fernoux interprets these titles as synonyms for Bithyniarch. However, in the cursus of Ti. Claudius Piso of Prusias ad Hypium, the formula archôn tês eparcheias is later followed by the title Bithyniarchês.181 They must be two different functions, as proposed by M.D. Campanile,182 or different ranks: if there was more than one Bithyniarch in a given year, the expression arxas tou koinou and its variants could be intended to distinguish a senior Bithyniarch from his junior or titulary colleagues.183 On this interpretation, Ti. Claudius Piso held the office twice, the second time as senior Bithyniarch. In the passage cited earlier, Strabon describes the city of Tralleis in Asia and notes that some of its citizens are among the “leading persons of the province, who are called Asiarchs”.184 That the Bithyniarchs, too, were “leading persons” of their province is confirmed by their names and careers (see below, p. 105-106). A significant part of the native Bithyniarchs and arxantes tou koinou known to us belong to the equestrian order, while the archiereis are not always Roman citizens.185 In other words, the distinction between Bithyniarch and archiereus is social as well as functional. Parallels to the Bithyniarchs and the other koinarchs are found in the early Ptolemaic empire. When the Nesiotic league of Aegean islands came under Ptolemaic control c. 286 BC, the office of Nesiarch was created.186 A decree of 278 BC mentions a Pamphyli[archês].187 These officials were royal appointees and thus of high social status; they were not elected by the koinon. Otherwise,

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the functions of the Nesiotic koinon resemble those of later koina in the Roman provinces: it issues honorific decrees, sends theoroi to important festivals and gifts as well as congratulatory delegations to the monarchs. It may also have taken a hand in settling inter-island disputes and dispensing justice.188 Some koina had their own mints. Coins were struck in the name of the koinon Beithynias from the early first to the mid-second century (fig. 7a). The actual work was done by the mint of Nikomedia. Since some Bithynian issues are virtually indistinguishable from the city’s own coins, and the same reverse images are found on both, estimating the extent of regional coin production is difficult. Koinon and governor Deininger (1965) assumed a priori that in the Roman period, provincial councils played a leading role in pressing charges of maladministration (de repetundis) against former provincial governors, though this is not borne out by the sources quoted.189 Ameling (1985) follows Deininger but goes one step further to claim that next to the cult of the emperor, repetundae suits were the most important function of the koinon.190 If that were the case, most provincial koina had a very light workload. In the century from AD 10 to 110, Bithynia et Pontus is the province for which the highest number of cases de repetundis is known – seven191 – but even so, forty years elapsed between the conviction of Tarquitius Priscus in AD 61 and the next trial known to us, that of Julius Bassus in AD 102. Furthermore, it is not at all clear that the Bithynian koinon was involved in every one of these cases. In fact, our sources mention the concilium only once, in connection with the trial of Varenus, where the council sent a delegate to Rome with instructions to stop the prosecution.192 In the earliest known case, the prosecution of the governor was instigated by his own quaestor;193 in the other cases, several of which are described in some detail by the younger Pliny or by Tacitus, the plaintiffs are simply referred to as “the Bithynians”.194 While this phraseology does not exclude an active role for the koinon, perhaps even as instigator, such a role is nowhere attested in our sources; nor was it a prerequisite for a charge of repetundae. As Augustus reminded the Cyreneans in an edict,195 anyone was entitled to file a charge de repetundis (and we note that within the century from 10 to 110, the province of Crete and Cyrenaica, though possessing no koinon, prosecuted at least five governors on repetundae charges and obtained convictions in three cases196). A city or a group of cities, for example, could undertake a repetundae suit. In his speech of advice to the Nikaians “On concord”, Dion says that disunity between Nikomedia and Nikaia plays into the hands of unscrupulous governors;197 this remark is more easily understood if repetundae proceedings were normally undertaken by the leading cities of Bithynia. On the other hand, if the decision to prosecute were normally taken in the koinon, the abstention of either Nikomedia or Nikaia out of the twelve Bithynian cities would not prevent the motion being passed.198

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Notes

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5 6 7 8

9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23

24 25

Meyer 2004, 3. CTh. 1.4.3. Bagnall 1976, 244‑245. Pliny, Ep. 10.79: Cautum est …Pompeia lege quae Bithynis data est, “it is laid down in the Pompeian code for the Bithynians”; Ep. 114, Lege … Pompeia permissum[est], “It is allowed by the Pompeian code”. FIRA 1, 170‑175. For a discussion of the content and structure of the lex Pompeia, see Fernoux 2004, 130‑131; Ameling 1984. Pliny, Ep. 109: Quo iure uti debeant Bithynae vel Ponticae civitates in iis pecuniis, quae … debebuntur, ex lege cuiusque animadvertendum est. Inst. 1.193. With good reason, Marshall (1968, 105) rejects Sherwin-White’s (1966, 670) identification of the Lex Bithynorum quoted by Gaius with the Pompeian code. Gaius specifically gives this as an example of legal practice apud peregrinos that is parallel, but not identical, to Roman practice. If Pompey had modified the rules governing the guardianship of women, it is difficult to see why he should have made them similar to, but not congruent with, Roman practice. Furthermore, one might expect a legal commentator to refer to the Pompeian code by its official title. For a more general discussion of surviving indigenous law under the early empire, see Lintott 1993, 156‑159. Robinson 1997, 40‑41. Letters to Atticus, 6.1.15; Badian 1972, 89. Letters to Atticus, 5.21.11‑13; 6.1.6‑7. Ep. 10.54. Dion, Or. 46.14. Dion, Or. 34.9; 38.38; 39.4; Ep. 10.27‑28. Cf. Basil’s attempt to enlist his friend Martinianus, an intimate of the emperor, in his struggle against the demotion of Kaisareia, p. 46. Dion, Or. 45.3. Dion, Or. 45.8. Talbert 1984, 393‑398. In practice, imperial legates had one advantage over their senatorial colleagues. A governor could not be prosecuted while he was still in office and only within a year after leaving it. It was difficult to plan the prosecution of an imperial legate, since the provincials could not predict when his term would end. The longer term of office also left a legate more time to establish counter-alliances against his local critics. Talbert 1984, 396‑397. Talbert 1984, 395 (with further examples). Annales 2.54. Tacitus, who was very sensitive of the senate’s prerogatives, but also an uncritical admirer of Germanicus, has clearly chosen his words with care. As imperial deputy, Germanicus clearly had the authority to overrule the senatorial governor and his subordinates. It may even have been Germanicus who took the decision to relocate the provincial capital from Nikaia to Nikomedia, see Bosch 1935, 224. Rémy 1988, 24‑25; 82‑83. Talbert 1984, 400.

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26 Pace the evaluation of Helmut Krasser (DnP 9.1141) who finds Pliny’s political career “brilliant”, Pliny’s attainments were noteworthy but hardly exceptional for a young man of ability and good family. He served the mandatory stint as tribunus militum required of all upper-class aspirants to political careers, but saw no further active service. He attained a suffect consulate suo anno but neither praetorship nor consulate was followed by appointment to a province. Under Trajan he obtained an augurate (for his request for this office, see Ep. 10.13) and served as one of the curatores alvei Tiberis. 27 Compare, e.g., the careers of P. Paquius Scaeva, sent to Cyprus ad componendum statum in reliquum provinciae (ILS 915) and of Galba, appointed governor of Africa extra sortem  … ad ordinandam provinciam et intestina dissensione et barbarorum tumultu inquietam (Suetonius, Galba 7). Unlike Pliny, Paquius had already served as governor once before, and in the same province. Galba had proved himself as governor in the senatorial province of Aquitania and as legate in the frontier province of Upper Germany. 28 Note also the implication of Trajan’s reply to Pliny concerning the accounts of Apameia (Ep. 10.48) that “in this case” (hoc) Pliny should make a special inspection “at my desire” (ex mea voluntate). 29 Although a number of irregularities are discovered by Pliny, there is no direct mention of Bithynian grandees being charged with maladministration or appropriation of public funds. Only one serious case is mentioned in the correspondence (Ep. 10.110), and that is from Pontus: an illegal grant of 160,000 HS made many years previously by the city of Amisos to one Julius Piso. Trajan advised Pliny to drop the charges (Ep. 10.111). 30 Though Pliny’s adulation of Trajan in the Panegyric contains much implied criticism of Domitian, there is nothing in his earlier career to indicate that Pliny had taken a markedly anti-Domitianic stance; in his province, he was apparently on good terms with the remnants of the pro-Flavian faction including the philosopher and Domitianic protegé Flavius Hipparchos, who hoped to enlist Pliny’s support in his conflict with Dion (Ep. 10.81). Cf. the case of Pliny’s friend Tacitus, who enjoyed a successful career under the Flavians, emerging as a sharp critic of Domitian only after the latter’s death. 31 Talbert 1984, 395‑399. 32 Pausanias, 7.17.3. Although Pausanias – who had probably never been there – calls Sardinia a “very prosperous” (eudaimôn) island, it can hardly have been more than a symbolic compensation. 33 Pliny, Ep. 10.79. 34 Mommsen 1887, 1.570‑572 35 Ameling, IK 27 p. 19. 36 Ep. 1.19. 37 Ep. 10.112. 38 Dion, Or. 50.1 39 Pliny, Ep. 10.79, sit aliquanto melius honestorum hominum liberos quam e plebe in curiam admitti. 40 Dion, Or. 49. 41 Salmeri (2000, 73‑74) who views boulê and ekklêsia as representative of popular and elitist interests, respectively, “two political bodies” locked in a “class conflict” which from time to time erupted into large-scale civil strife. Salmeri cites Dion’s Or. 39 (the “Nikaian”) and homonoia coins of Nikaia and Nikomedia, but

Political Institutions

42 43 44

45 46

47 48

49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60

61

62 63

89

neither Dion’s thirty-ninth oration nor the coins specify the parties in the conflict: they could equally well be two different factions within the boulê or within the ekklêsia. Cf., for instance, the city charter of Parthicopolis in modern Bulgaria, dated to AD 158, where the council was limited to 80 members (Oliver 1958, 52‑53).. Liebenam 1900, 229‑230 (with references). Libanios, Or. 2.33 implies that “in the good old days” 600 members was the normal size of a city council. As Ameling (IK 27 p. 20) points out in his discussion of Prusias ad Hypium, there is a proportional relationship, probably around 1:30, between the number of junior magistracies and the total number of ex-magistrates on the council – but since we do not know the annual number of junior magistrates either, this is not very helpful. Cf. also Guinea Diaz 1997, 214‑215. Dion, Or. 45.7. C.P. Jones (1978, 96) estimates the council of Prusa at “several hundred” before the addition of the extra hundred. Ameling, IK 27 p. 20. Ulpian’s assumption (Digest 50.3.1, cf. note 48 below) that the rank of the councillors is laid down by the city’s laws (ut lege municipali praecipitur) is significant: such matters apparently did not normally come within the scope of a provincial code. Cf. also Trajan’s refusal to establish a provincial rule about summa honoraria. Digest, 50.2.1; 50.2.2.pr. Digest, 50.3.1.pr.: Decuriones in albo ita scriptos esse oportet, ut lege municipali praecipitur: sed si lex cessat, tunc dignitates erunt spectandae, ut scribantur eo ordine, quo quisque eorum maximo honore in municipio functus est: puta qui duumviratum gesserunt, si hic honor praecellat, et inter duumvirales antiquissimus quisque prior: deinde hi, qui secundo post duumviratum honore in re publica functi sunt: post eos qui tertio et deinceps: mox hi qui nullo honore functi sunt, prout quisque eorum in ordinem venit. Digest 50.3.1: In sententiis quoque dicendis idem ordo spectandus est, quem in albo scribendo diximus. Ep. 10.113. E.g., by Paul Veyne (1976, 277). Fernoux 2004, 321. See Quass 1993, 388‑390 for a discussion (with references). Veyne 1976, 251‑253. Cf., for third-century Athens, Gauthier 1985, 118‑119. Quass 1993, 297. Quass 1993, 277‑278. Cf also Magie 1950, 61; 651‑652. Quass 1993, 321‑322; for a Bithynian example, IK 27.4. From the epigraphic evidence, which only records those who performed their liturgies and were subsequently honoured, it is not clear how frequently the urban rich tried to evade their obligations. In his twentieth oration, Dion briefly refers to situations where “someone who has amassed great wealth leaves the city in order to avoid the liturgies” (Or. 20.1). In addition to taxes in cash, the imperial authorities might also impose other duties on the provincials, e.g., corvées, requisitions in kind or the obligation to maintain a road-station for the cursus publicus. Since these do not relate directly to the finances of the cities, they will not be discussed here. Cf. Tacitus, Agricola, 19. Lintott 1993, 78‑79,

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64 Matthew 11.19; Mark 2.16; Luke 5.30; 15.1. 65 Lintott 1993, 96‑97. 66 According to Suetonius (Vespasian, 1) several Asian cities set up statues in honour of T. Flavius Sabinus, collector of customs duties and father of the later emperor Vespasian. It should also be remembered that the alternative to tax-farming was to leave the task in the hands of the city councils, i.e. the local landowners. 67 Lintott 1993, 78. 68 Cf. Pliny, Letters 7.18. The standard work on ancient trust funds remains Laum (1914) which, however, lists only one example from Bithynia. Gabriele Weiler, DnP s.v. Stiftungen (11.994) discusses various possible motives for establishing a fund, though not the practical consideration that, under the law of the early Empire, a city or other corporation could not inherit. One way to circumvent this prohibition was for the testator to stipulate in his will that the heir(s) should create an endowment, of which the city would act as trustee. For examples, see Pliny Ep. 5.7; 10.75. (endowment for the benefit of two Pontic cities). For a (fragmentary) list of Pliny’s own endowments in favour of his home cities, CIL 5.5262 = ILS 2927. Cf. also Digest, 50.8.6 on cases where a bequest is insufficient to cover the cost of the project(s) envisaged by the testator. 69 Contra the assumption of DeLaet (1949, 356), based on Dion, Or. 38.32, that Nikomedia levied local harbour dues on goods passing through the port, see France 1999, 101 n. 27. For a possible alternative interpretation of the passage in question, Jones 1978, 87. 70 Pliny, Ep. 10.23. 71 For the widespread use of municipal slaves in the early Imperial period, see, most recently, Weiss 2004; in Bithynia, Pliny, Ep. 10.19‑20; 31‑32. The use of public slaves later declined: Lenski 2006, 347‑348. 72 E.g., the aqueduct of Nikomedia, Pliny, Ep. 10.37. 73 E.g., the theatre at Nikaia, Pliny, Ep. 10.38. 74 E.g., the colonnade at Prusa, Dion, Or. 48.11. 75 Digest, 50.12. 76 Digest, 50.12.1; 12.3; 12.6; 12.9; 12.14; see also Quass 1993, 211‑212. 77 Digest, 50.12.4 (Marcianus); 50.12.7 (Paulus). 78 Dion, Or. 48.11. In Or. 47.19, Dion moots the possibility of “asking the proconsul to collect”, presumably a euphemism for taking legal action against the recalcitrant donors. 79 Pliny, Ep. 10.39. 80 Pliny states emphatically that the building shows “enormous cracks” (rimae ingentes); he visited Nikaia on several occasions, and his description gives an impression of autopsy. A visual inspection of the theatre as it stands today, however, reveals no traces of cracks or large-scale subsidence. 81 Pliny, Ep. 10.37. 82 Pliny, Ep. 10.17b. 83 For instance, according to Philostratos (VS 548), an aqueduct project at Alexandria Troas overran its budget by more than 130 %. 84 Vitruvius, 10.1‑2. 85 IK 39. 1a. 86 Dion, Or. 45.6. Since Dion explicitly says that he “has heard many tell of this”, the event must have taken place before his return to Prusa. 87 Pliny, Ep. 17a.

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88 IK 13.627. 89 Officers of the gerousia: IK 39.5; 19 (Prusa); the phylai, TAM 4.1.42 (Nikomedia); the gymnasium, IK 10.1209 (Nikaia). 90 IK 25.6; Robert 1950, 80‑93. 91 Compare IK 9.57 and 9.61 (Nikaia), IK 27.38 (Prusias ad Hypium). 92 IK 27, p. 24‑25. 93 Fernoux 2004, 323. 94 IK 9.61. This is not an official inscription of the city, but was set up by a gerousia. 95 In Prusias ad Hypium, a candidate was apparently only elected to the first archontate after serving as ordinary archon; see IK 27, p. 22. 96 For examples, see Quass 1993, 324‑326. 97 Cf. Pliny, Ep. 10.118‑119. In AD 66, Nero, returning from his tour of Greece, invoked the same tradition by entering Rome through a breach in the walls, Suetonius, Nero 25; cf. Plutarch Mor. 639E. 98 Pliny, Ep. 10.75. For the tasks of the agonothete, see also Quass 1993, 303‑317. 99 For the numerous agônes of Nikaia, see Şahin, IK 10.3, pp. 66‑78. 100 Cf. the career of an anonymous Prusan (the subject of IK 39.13) who was logistês, pontarchês and agonothete. 101 E.g., IK 29.16 (Prusias ad Mare). 102 Cf., e.g., Aristophanes, Acharnians 723, 824, 968; Wasps 1407. 103 Ath.Pol. 51.1‑4. 104 TAM 4.1.262 = Şahin 1974, 34. 105 IK 9.60. For further examples, see Quass 1993, 267‑269. 106 Dion’s Or. 46 was given in Prusa during a period of grain shortage; no mention is made of a public fund for purchasing grain, and in fact it is implied (46.8) that if money is to be applied towards that purpose, it will have to be borrowed. It has been argued that Pliny, Ep. 10.24‑25 refers to an “oil fund” in Prusa; see SherwinWhite 1966, 594 (with references). In the context, however, it seems unlikely that either Pliny or Trajan would consider transferring money to a building project from a fund intended to safeguard the provision of basic foodstuffs for the population. In the smaller city of Prusias ad Hypium a grain fund (IK 27.8; 11) as well as an oil fund (IK 27.9) are attested in the third century AD. 107 Quass 1993, 260‑263. 108 Cf. Dion’s proposal, Or. 46.14, to elect “men who are financially able and have not previously performed liturgies” (tous dynamenous cheirotonein kai mê lelei­ tourgêkontas) as overseers of the Prusan market. 109 Laum 1914, no. 70 (Tralleis). 110 De Ruyt 1983, 193 (restoration of a porticus in the market of Tegea). 111 IK 36.146 (Tralleis), see also Bekker-Nielsen 2007. 112 Metamorphoses 1.25‑26, translation adapted from Hanson 1989. 113 Pliny, Ep. 10.43‑44. 114 When Pliny (Ep. 10.79) writes of councillors “admitted by the censors” he is presumably referring to candidates elected by the ekklêsia (no doubt endorsed by the boulê), who required the censors’ approval before being officially admitted to the council. 115 This is clear from Ep. 10.79 where it is the censors-designate who wish to consult Pliny.

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116 For an example from Bithynia, see IK 27.9 (Prusias ad Hypium), recording how M. Aurelius Philippianus Iason financed the construction of a colonnaded street (plateia) during his term as censor. Quass (1993, 214 n. 786) and Ameling (IK 27, p. 61) take the inscription to indicate that Aurelius made the donation as censor (“in dieser Eigenschaft”) but en tôi kairôi tês timêteias, “at the time of his censorate” implies no such connection. On the meaning of plateia, see Robert 1937, 532. 117 IK 27.3; 4; 10; 17; 47. 118 OGIS 549. For a discussion, see Fernoux 2004, 336. 119 IK 29.7 = IK 10.726. 120 IK 27.10; 17. 121 Cf. IK 39.3: grammateus boulês kai dêmou; dêmos presumably as a metonym for ekklêsia. 122 Quass 1993, 297‑298. 123 For a detailed discussion of the role of slaves in Greek city archives of the early Roman period, see Weiss 2004, 78‑84. 124 There was no fixed cursus honorum in the Asian cities (Fernoux 2004, 140 contra Sherwin-White 1966, 671) but the office of grammateus usually comes at the beginning of a man’s career, shortly after or (more often) before the post of agoranomos. 125 Acts 19; for a discussion, Bekker-Nielsen 2006, 113-114. 126 See Weiss 2004, 53 for the career of Gaius, a former city slave who after emancipation attained the position of oikonomos (= vilicus); as Weiss notes, this suggests that Gaius had held “eine gehobenere Verwaltungsposition” in the city administration. 127 Suetonius, Vespasian, 23. 128 Aristides, Sacred tales, 4.81; for the informal power wielded by the governors’ entourage and the corruption to which it exposed them, see Braund 1998. 129 In the late 370’s, Gregory of Nyssa complains that his province, Cappadocia, suffers from “a dearth of persons who are able to write” (Ep. 15). Bithynia was more urbanised than Cappadocia, but even if its population were able to compose short texts, many would no doubt need assistance when addressing the authorities. 130 A third-century inscription set up by the phylarchs of Prusias ad Hypium (IK 27.10) records the achievements of the dedicand in great detail, including his service as “logistês of the sacred gerousia”. 131 Of course, some inscriptions may have been set up before the person reached the minimum age for entry into the gerousia. 132 Quass 1993, 390; Fernoux 2004, 302‑303. 133 Since the gerousia invariably appears in the singular and, unlike phylai, without an identifying epithet, we may assume that as a rule, there was only one gerousia in each city. 134 Cf. IK 39.5 and 39.19, where the treasurer of the Prusan gerousia is mentioned along with the archon. 135 Quass 1993, 286‑287. 136 Quass 1993, 317‑319. 137 Quass 1993, 287. 138 For examples, see Quass 1993, 206‑207. 139 Nikaia: IK 9.61; 9.65; 10.1209. Nikomedia: none. Prusa: IK 39.24; 40.1042.

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140 In some cities outside Pontus-Bithynia – not affected by the timocratic provisions of the Pompeian code – the practice of election by phylai persisted well into the Roman period, e.g. in Athens and Kyzikos (Quass 1993, 385). 141 IK 27.1‑16. 142 Marek 2002. 143 Ameling, IK 27, p. 26‑27; Fernoux 2004, 65‑55. Given the paucity of Apameian inscriptions, the absence of evidence for phylai may be coincidental. 144 IK 9.554. 145 TAM 4.1.60 (AD 98/99). 146 For a detailed discussion of phylê naming practice in Bithynia, see Marek 2002, 43‑46, contra Ameling IK 27, p. 25‑26. 147 One might imagine that imperial visits provided the occasion for renaming phylai in honour of members of the imperial house – but although Prusias ad Hypium and Klaudioupolis are located on the same land route across northern Anatolia, their phylai are named after different emperors; see Marek 2002, 43. 148 TAM 4.1.42 149 In fourth-century Antioch, the epimelêtai tôn phylôn were charged with maintaining public order and holding inquests and on occasion functioned as public prosecutors; Liebeschuetz 1972, 122‑123. 150 IK 39.21. 151 Cassius Dion 51.20.5‑9, trans. Earnest Cary (Loeb). 152 Tacitus, Annals 4.37. 153 Cassius Dion 52.35. 154 IPriene 106; Ehrenberg & Jones 1976, 300. 155 For a detailed but highly hypothetical reconstruction of the origin and stages of development of the Bithynian koinon, see Marek 1993, 77‑79. 156 Cf. the edition of Torraca 1959, no. 59; on the question of authenticity, see most recently Moles 1997. 157 One notes that Dion Cassius mentions the “temples of the Romans” first, with the “temples of the Hellenes” in the nature of an afterthought. 158 The imperial cult in Nikaia is not mentioned by later sources, nor have any remains of the temple itself been located. 159 Friesen 1999a, 304‑305. 160 Deininger 1965, 39. 161 Deininger 1965, 42. 162 Dig. 27.1.6.14. In Scott’s translation, the opening words are rendered “The governorship of a province…”. There are no parallels, however, to support the equation of hierarchia with a governorship; on the contrary, if a provincial governor were meant, we would expect eparcheia in the place of ethnos. 163 Deininger 1964, 44‑45. 164 Strabon, 14.1.42; Acts 19.31. 165 Deininger 1965, 46. 166 IK 13.627. 167 OGIS 531 = Marek 1993, 95. Deininger mentions this inscription in passing (1965, 64 nn. 9‑10) but makes no attempt to explain the co-occurrence of two synonymous words. 168 IK 39.13. 169 IK 10.73; this inscription was not known to Deininger in 1965. 170 Fernoux 2004, 353.

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1 71 Deininger 1965, 42; Friesen 1999b, 283‑284. 172 Fernoux 2004, 350‑352, table 18. Of course, if a person had attained the Bithyniarchate, the less prestigious post of archiereus may sometimes have been omitted from the list of his offices. 173 That Asiarchs were eponymous is no objection. In the late Hellenistic period, the Ainian league had five Ainiarchs, one of whom was eponymous; see Martin 1975, 361; 545. 174 OGIS 531 = Marek 1993, no. 95, IK 27.17; 29; 53. 175 Marek 1993, no. 19. 176 Inschr.Askl. 151. 177 TAM 4.1.33 178 IK 27.3; 9; 10; 51. 179 IK 27.9. 180 IK 31.16. 181 IK 27.9; for a parallel case from Pontos, see Marek 1993, no. 19: pontarchên kai lesbarchên … prôteuonta tôn eparcheiôn: “Pontarch and Lesbarch … the leading man of the provinces” (i.e. Pontos and Lesbos). 182 Campanile 1993, 348. 183 Apart from one inscription in Nikomedia (TAM 4.1.33) the use of these phrases is localized to Prusias ad Hypium and the neigbouring city of Klaudioupolis. The titulature used in Prusias ad Hypium has other peculiarities, such as the title hellenarchês (IK 27.5; 46) in place of the more usual helladarchês. 184 Strabon, 14.1.42, hoi prôteuontes kata tên eparchian, hous Asiarchas kalousin. This definition is dismissed by Deininger (1965, 43) as “freilich ungenau genug” but invoked by Ameling (IK 27, p. 31) in support of the theory that archiereus and Asiarchês are synonymous. 185 On the other hand, Friesen (1999a, 305) found that in Asia, the proportion of Roman citizens among the archiereis was slightly higher than among the Asiarchs (92.6  % and 88.9  % respectively). This difference is unlikely to be statistically significant. The earlier assumption of Ramsay (1941, 6‑7) that imperial priests must be citizens and if they were not, then received the franchise when they were appointed, is clearly untenable. 186 Bagnall 1976, 137; 156‑157. 187 Bagnall 1976, 111, with references. In 204 BC the murderer of Arsinoë III, Philammon, was appointed “Libyarchês of the region of Kyrene” to get him away from Alexandria; it is not clear, however, whether this is a technical term or used in a more general sense by our source, Polybios (15.25.12). 188 Bagnall 1976, 139‑141. 189 For instance, Deininger (1965, 166‑167) analyses the speech of Paetus Thrasea, as paraphrased by Tacitus (Annals 15.21‑22) in great detail as evidence for the actions and scope of authority of “Landtage” (provincial councils), but the word concilium or its equivalents occur nowhere in the text. In fact, Thrasea says that governors were praised or prosecuted ad nutum alicuius, “at anyone’s prompting” (15.22). 190 Ameling, IK 27 p. 30. 191 Brunt 1961, 227, table III. 192 Pliny, Ep. 7.6. 193 Tacitus, Ann. 1.74.

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194 Tacitus, Ann. 12.22 (Cadius Rufus); Cassius Dion, 60.33 (Junius Cilo); Tacitus, Ann. 14.46 (Tarquitius Priscus); Pliny, Ep. 4.9; 6.29 (Julius Bassus); Ep. 5.20; 6.5; 6.13; 7.10 (Varenus Rufus). 195 FIRA 1, 409‑414. 196 Brunt 1961, 224‑226, table I. 197 Dion, Or. 38.36. 198 For a parallel example from Cilicia, see Dion, Or. 34.9, referring to the successful prosecution of several “rulers” (hêgemones) by the city of Tarsos and the reactions this provoked in the province and at Rome; cf. also Or. 34.42. C.P. Jones (1978, 76‑77), basing himself on Deininger (1965, 167‑168), assumes that the hêgemones are provincial governors and that Tarsos acted on behalf of the koinon, “since only this could prosecute a governor”. As, however, this section of the second Tarsian oration is concerned precisely with the city’s claim to be the leading city of the province, one would expect Dion to emphasize how the city had acted on behalf of the koinon – if that were actually the case. For other examples of Dion’s use of hêgemôn as a synonym for governor, see Or. 38.33; 38.36; 39.4; for his use of hêgemôn and stratêgos, Bost-Pouderon comm. ad Or. 34, vol. 2, p. 88‑89.

6. The Political Class

Ethnic composition It is sometimes claimed that in the last century BC, the ruling class of Bithynian landowners – most of them of Thracian descent – were displaced by immigrés of Roman or Italian background; a view that has been restated recently, with variations, by Fernoux (2004: Italians) and Corsten (2006: Romans).1 There is no doubt that during the last century of the Republic, an increasing number of Italians were active in Asia Minor as negotiatores or publicani; it was later claimed that during the “Ephesian Vesper” (88 BC), no less than 80,000 Italians were killed. While the actual figure is open to question – the history of the Mithradatic wars has been written by the victors, and the enemies of Mithradates had every reason to exaggerate the number of his victims – there was a substantial Italian presence in Asia, and presumably also in neighbouring Bithynia. But did the immigrants remain in the region, or did they return to Italy with their profits? Fernoux notes that while Cicero’s correspondence names no less than eight Italians with direct financial interests in Bithynia, only one is known to have settled there.2 That is hardly surprising, since contracting as a publicanus and farming an estate represent very different economic strategies, one oriented towards short-term, the other towards long-term goals. As a way to identify Republican immigrants to Bithynia and their descendants, Fernoux has made a survey of the epigraphic material, focusing on gentilicia that can be assumed to indicate an Italian origin.3 However, of the fourteen gentilicia cited, eight – Caesonii, Granii, Hostilii, Pactumeii, Postumii, Veturii, Vedii, Herennii  – also occur in the Aegean islands or Asia Minor, some as early as the second century BC. Most of the inscriptions cited date from the second or third century AD, and most were found in urban contexts. Thus, many of these “Italians” may be descended from families that had been settled in the Levant for several centuries (or from their freedmen) and not all belonged to the landowning class.4 A recent study by Thomas Corsten (2006) focuses on the Bithynian inscriptions where it is clear from the context that the person named is a landowner: sixteen inscriptions in all (of which one5 recurs in the list of Fernoux). He concludes that “the epigraphic record no longer attests people with Thracian personal names, i.e. Bithynians, as owners of large estates, but we find Romans in their place”.6 Of these “Romans”, however, only one bears a nomen

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gentile – Vedius  – that is distinctively “Italian” according to the criteria of Fernoux,7 while several have purely Greek names (Euangelos, Antipatris) or Roman tria nomina with Greek cognomina (Thraso, Phaedrus). Even among the Roman names, Claudius or Claudia may imply a family whose ancestors received the Roman franchise in the imperial period, rather than Republican immigrants. Another problem with any onomastic analysis is the assumption that names are reliable clues to the ethnic origin or cultural identity of their owner. Onomastics reflect social as well as ethnic identity: as emphasized by Madsen (2006), “the elite were … eager to present themselves as Roman in public by appearing with Latin-sounding names”.8 Composite Graeco-Roman names could belong to “Hellenized” Italians, but equally well to “Romanized” Greeks or Bithynians who had been manumitted or won the Roman franchise for themselves. The disappearance of Thracian names, central to Corsten’s argument, could be a sign of onomastic Hellenisation rather than Italian immigration.9 The limited epigraphical evidence for the ethnic origin of the Bithynian landowning class will hardly support the contention that “most, if not all of the Bithynian land that had been in the hands of indigenous noblemen, had fallen into the possession of Romans”10 by the time of Actium. There is a further argument against the presence of a large group of immigré kulaks of Italian extraction in late Republican and early Imperial Bithynia. It was precisely from such a class of well-to-do landowners that the Roman Empire was accustomed to draw its soldiers, officers, administrators and political leaders. One would therefore expect to find Bithynians well represented in the army, the equestrian order and the Senate – but they are not. From the Julio-Claudian period, not a single Bithynian senator is known and only one Bithynian equestrian11 – significantly, he does not hail from any of the indigenous cities, but from the Roman colony Apameia. Yet in the same period soldiers and senators from the western provinces, notably Gaul, are familiar sights to Roman eyes. By contrast, Bithynians were not integrated into the higher orders or the imperial service on a larger scale until the second century AD.12 Based on the available evidence, a more plausible hypothesis seems to be that large parts of the Bithynian landowning elite – of whatever ethnic origin – survived the Roman conquest and the depredations of the publicani, but that their parochial outlook and insufficient knowledge of Latin (the language of administration and command) kept them out of imperial careers until gradually, through imitation of and intermarriage with families of Italian origin, their descendents came to appreciate the opportunities for social advancement offered by Roman domination.

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Roman citizenship As in every Roman province, an important distinction separated the minority who possessed Roman citizenship from the majority of free non-citizens (peregrines). Citizenship was acquired by descent (from a citizen father), by manumission (by a citizen owner) or by imperial grant. One route to citizen status passed through service in the army auxilia, composed of peregrines who were granted Roman citizenship on discharge, but in the Greek-speaking provinces, the army was not a popular career choice. Citizenship could also be granted collectively to entire communities, e.g., by raising them to the rank of a titular colonia. An intermediate position was the so-called Latin status, under which the members of a community remained peregrine, but the leading officials received the Roman franchise on their election.13 The most complete documentation for Roman citizens in Bithynia comes from Prusias ad Hypium, but since a male citizen is easily identified by his tria nomina, it is also possible to assess the proportion of citizens and peregrines in other cities. Furthermore, where the civitas was acquired by imperial grant, the nomen gentile will be that of the emperor in whose reign the family received the franchise. Fernoux (2004) has studied the occurrence of imperial gentilicia in the seven Bithynian cities, and identified nearly five hundred Roman citizens whose names imply that their family acquired the citizenship from the emperor.14 When the absolute numbers are related to the duration of each dynasty or reign, it is possible to estimate the chances of obtaining the Roman citizenship at different times and in different cities. Nikaia Total

Per year

Nikomedia

Prusa

Total

Total

Per year

All Bithynian cities15 Per year

Total Per year

Julii/ Claudii

8

0.08

9

0.09

17

0.17

69

0.69

Flavii

7

0.26

15

0.55

8

0.29

49

1.81

Ulpii

1

0.05

5

0.26

0

0

19

1.00

Aelii

5

0.24

27

1.30

9

0.43

84

4.00

80

0.43

91

1.13

3

0.04

277

3.50

Aurelii

Two trends emerge. First, some emperors were more generous in the granting of citizenship than others; in all three cities, the liberal policy of the Flavians was followed by Trajan’s more restrictive attitude.16 Second, the presence or favour of the emperor is an important factor. The visit of Hadrian in the early

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120’s is reflected in the high rate of enfranchisements for Bithynia as a whole, and especially in the number of Aelii – twenty-five! – attested in the relatively minor city of Klaudioupolis, the birthplace of Hadrian’s lover Antinoos.17

Social stratification Some cities may have applied a census qualification for membership of the boulê, and members might be required to pay a honorarium on admittance to the council; furthermore, many magistracies were liturgies requiring the holder to contribute from his own purse. Some that were not liturgies, such as grammateus or politographês, would require literacy and administrative skills. All told, these factors ensured that by and large, access to a municipal office and to the city council was restricted to the educated, well-to-do elite; the “soundest and most intelligent”, as Dion puts it;18 and that conversely, holding office was attractive as a status symbol: proof that one belonged to the “soundest and most intelligent” group of citizens. Within the group that was financially and socially eligible, the chances of reaching a municipal office were quite good. In fact, precisely because the pool of potential magistrates was limited, elite members with no political ambitions might be pressed into standing for office. Some groups succeeded in obtaining exemption from serving as city councillors and magistrates. It is significant that one of these groups was philosophers and teachers. Since their profession already marked them out as “sound and intelligent”, municipal office-holding held little attraction for them.19 The less well off, and perhaps less educated, had few chances of breaking into the charmed circle of city politics, but could indulge their ambitions at the local level, either in their phylê, as members of a gerousia, or in one of the numerous cultic and professional associations. In a Bithynian polis, political life mainly concerned those adult males who resided within the polis territory and enjoyed citizen status. Women, peregrines, slaves and minors could not participate directly in the political process; non-resident citizens (such as Dion, who was a citizen of several Bithynian cities) could, but rarely did. Within this group, there were clear internal divisions that sometimes, but not always, correspond to formal division introduced by the Romans (e.g., census requirements for entry into the city council). For analytical purposes, we can divide the “political population” into four sections corresponding to the level of their participation in political life: the local or phylê level; the urban or boulê level; the regional or koinon level; and the imperial level.

The local level With the introduction of the lex Pompeia, the Bithynian phylai had ceased to function as voting-districts, and the phylai are never mentioned as a political

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force in the speeches of Dion or the letters of Pliny.Yet the phylê organisation was maintained and continued to function, as is evident both from the renaming of phylai throughout the second century and from the inscriptions set up by, or in honour of phylarchs. Most of our preserved inscriptions derive from Prusias ad Hypium and Klaudioupolis, but phylai are known to have existed in other cities as well (see below for an example from Nikomedia). A remarkable fact is that, prior to the Constitutio Antoniniana, we know of so few phylarchs who are Roman citizens. Of the 24 phylê officers of Klaudioupolis named in a list from the year 198, only five have Roman names and presumably hold the Roman franchise.20 It is equally striking that while some inscriptions describe urban political careers in great detail, we do not have a single case where the phylarchate is mentioned in the same cursus as urban offices, e.g. agoranomos or archon. It appears that participation in the political life of the local phyle did not attract those who were able to achieve political office at the urban level. Some Bithynian careers at the local level A stone sarcophagus, part of which was discovered in the village of Kayacık north-eat of Nikomedia, had contained the body of a local dignitary whose name is illegible. We read that “he several times accompanied (i.e. the emperor), served as ambassador, and was [illegible] of the phyle Antonianê.” 21 It is not surprising that emperors should visit Kayacik from time to time – a day’s journey from Nikomedia, it provided a convenient overnight stopping-point. But to serve as ambassador and to “accompany” (parapempein) a visiting emperor are honours that usually fall to the leading citizens of the community – in the case of a city, typically someone at the social level of an archon (such as M. Aurelius Augianus Philetianus of Prusias ad Hypium, whom we shall meet below). Perhaps the owner of the sarcophagus was the leading citizen of his small community, even if he held no office beyond the phylê. Aurelius Vernicianus hailed from Apameia in Syria but lived and died in Nikomedia, where he and his wife were buried in an impressive marble sarcophagus that is now in the Izmit museum (fig. 18). The inscription on the sarcophagus relates how Aurelius rose to become phylarch of the phylê hierâ, which is qualified by the adjective kratistês, “the most important”.22 While this is an achievement in its own right, one might expect that as a Roman citizen, Aurelius would have been able to reach an office at a higher level than that of the phylê; perhaps being an outsider worked against his prospects.

The urban level Three urban offices recur in most successful political careers: agoranomos, agonothete and archon (the three A’s), almost invariably in that order. For most, the crowning achievement of an urban career would be an archontate,

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Fig. 18. The sarcophagus of the phylarch Aurelius Vernicianus and his wife Markiane. Vernicianus was a native of Syrian Apameia but rose to become a phylarch of his adopted city, Nikomedia. Izmit museum (author’s photo).

perhaps even as the first (senior) archon, but some careerists used their archontate as a stepping-stone to offices at the regional level of the koinon (see below). While phylê officers, as we have seen, are predominantly peregrine, urban magistrates almost always possess the Roman franchise. In fact, one might be tempted to hypothesize that the Bithynian cities, like those of Spain, enjoyed Latin status with Roman citizenship for their chief magistrates. This is, however, disproved by some recorded careers. Quintus, son of Quintus, was agoranome and archon of Prusa.23 Domitius, son of Aster, served two terms as senior archon of Prusias ad Hypium and in numerous other magistracies, yet remained a peregrine.24 Two peregrine junior archons are known from the same city.25 The conclusion must be that in Bithynia, magistrates did not become citizens; citizens became magistrates. The Roman franchise was a marker defining the “bouleutic class” of well-to-do, literate males who dominated urban politics in the larger communities. In the smaller cities, the circle of potential citizen candidates would be correspondingly smaller, and peregrines would have a better chance of reaching a magistracy at the urban level.

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Some Bithynian careers at the urban level M. Aurelius Augianus Philetianus and M. Julius Gavinius Sacerdos26 both started their careers at the urban level in Prusias ad Hypium, holding the three A’s in their own names as well as those of their sons; they also held various other offices. The inscription honouring Aurelius Augianus was set up by his wife and records that he furnished oil to the city for a period of thirty days, while in the inscription for Julius Gavinius, his nephew describes the uncle’s benefactions in greater detail: money for the restoration of the Domitian baths, 50,000 drachmae for the repair of the agora, a further sum as a contribution to the construction of a new sewer in the city. Their investment in the career of their sons evidently paid off: both saw a son enter the equestrian order. The inscription of Aurelius Augianus identifies him as the “father of an equestrian” while that of Julius Gavinius, with characteristic attention to detail, gives the son’s rank as military tribune, with the qualification “twice”. Both Augianus and Gavinius conserved their energies, and their financial resources, for the political arena of their home town. Nonetheless, both came into direct contact with the emperor, “often” (pollakis) appointed to “accompany” (parapempein) the emperor when he visited their city. This task included receiving the emperor and his entourage at the entrance to the city, arranging for their accommodation and entertainment. Hosting an imperial visit involved considerable expense – for this reason, the task was often shared among a circle of wealthy citizens27 – but in return, it offered the chance to meet the emperor and his officials at first hand and to be seen in public with the emperor, raising one’s prestige in the city. These two careerists did not do badly for themselves or their descendants. The father-in-law of Augianus was a phylarch,28 Augianus himself was an urban councillor and an archon; Augianus junior was an equestrian. In the course of three generations, the family rose through three levels of the political class, from the local to the imperial level. As his name indicates, T. Flavius Phidiskos received the Roman franchise under the Flavians. His son T. Flavius Silôn was grammateus of Prusa in Dion’s time, early in the second century, when he set up a very ornate inscription (fig. 19) in honour of Trajan ek tôn idiôn, “from his own resources”, giving his titles as gymnasiarchos and grammateus, with the somewhat self-conscious addition boulês kai dêmou: “grammateus of the council and of the people”.29 At the time of writing, T. Flavius Silôn was probably still a young man, and we know nothing of his later career. Flavius Severianus Asklepiodotos of Nikaia30 filled a series of administrative offices in his home city: twice agoranomos, treasurer of the corn fund and city treasurer, before being elected first archon. He also served as syndikos, acting on behalf of the city in financial matters involving the emperor or the Roman

104

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia Fig. 19. Inscription honouring the emperor Trajan, dedicated by the city secretary (grammateus) T. Flavius Silôn, a contemporary of Dion Chrysostomos. Bursa Museum (author’s photo).

authorities. When Caracalla visited Nikaia in 215, coming from Nikomedia, Asklepiodotos was elected to “accompany” (parapempein) him; on this occasion he also arranged gladiatorial games and wild beast fights.31 When Elagabal passed through Nikaia three and a half years later, Asklepiodotos once more “accompanied” the emperor and also “arranged for him and his army to winter in the province”. In return, Asklepiodotos was “honoured with the purple” and appointed priest of the imperial cult. His career is known from the inscription on the base of a statue erected by the president of the local gerousia, one Timetianos Poliôn (fig. 31).

The regional level At the regional level, we again find a clear correlation between social standing and career patterns.32 Four careers of Bithynians who had reached the regional council, but not the koinarchate, at the time when the inscription was set up, are epigraphically attested;33 in every case, the route to the provincial council went via a term of office as archon or first archon of their cities. On the other hand, none has served as logistês. All recorded Bithynian koinobouloi held the Roman citizenship.34 Four priests of the regional Imperial cult are known.35 Only for one of these36 is a previous archontate recorded, and one does not hold the Roman franchise.37 To win a place on the regional council, on the other hand, it would seem that citizenship and a previous archontate were quasi-mandatory. Moving up to the level of the Bithyniarchate, the picture becomes more

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complex. Three inscriptions,38 two of which are fragmentary, give no further information about other offices held. Other koinarchs have a longer list of previous positions, which in all but two cases39 include either an archontate, the office of logistês, or both. One path to the Bithyniarchate thus led thrugh the regular urban cursus, including an archontate; but it was also possible for an ex-logistês to move directly to the Bithyniarchate without holding any of the lower offices. Indeed, in the minds of the Bithynian élite, there seems to be a close link between the office of logistês and that of Bithyniarch, which are often mentioned together. A second-century inscription honours the son of Ulpius Titius Aelianus Antoninus who was “Bithyniarch, Pontarch and logistês of the splendid city of Kios”40 while Ulpius Titius Calpurnianus Fado (third century AD) was “descended from a Bithyniarch and from logistai, related to senators and consuls”.41 This nexus between logistês and Bithyniarch is significant in several respects. A logistês (the equivalent of Latin curator rei publicae42) was an imperial appointee, drawn from the equestrian order; and since the time of Augustus, the census for this class had been fixed at 400,000 HS. In other words, those Bithyniarchs who are known to be ex-logistai possessed a sizable personal fortune. Equestrian status was not a precondition for becoming a Bithyniarch: Ti. Claudius Piso from Prusias ad Hypium (whose career will be discussed in more detail below) may have acquired equestrian status after holding the Bithyniarchate. In social terms, however, the status of a Bithyniarch clearly approached that of an equestrian. Some Bithynian careers at the regional level An unfinished inscription from Prusa (fig. 20) gives part of the career, but not the name, of a dignitary who was “[Bithyni]arch and Pontarch, twice priest of the emperor, agonothete and logistês for life of the splendid…”.43 Though the text was never completed, we may take it that our unnamed dedicand held no other urban offices; they would presumably have been mentioned in connection with that of agonothete. The phrase “of the splendid [city]” is parallelled in other inscriptions. Belonging to the equestrian order and the political class of the province, the protagonist of our inscription did not need to go through the stages of a normal urban career to reach the koinarchate, nor to be selected for the post of agonothete. In another inscription, the “Augustan” phyle (phylê sebastênê) of Prusias honours T. Ulpius Aelianus Papianus, “descendant of a senatorial and consular family”, Bithyniarch, Pontarch, hierophant and sebastophant, benefactor of Nikomedia and of the citizens of his native city, politographos for life, dekaprotos, agoranomos during a corn shortage (seitodeia), grammateus, etc., son of Ulpius Titius Aelianus Antoninus, Bithyniarch, Pontarch and “logistês of the splendid city of Kios, having held all other urban offices”.44

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Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia Fig. 20. This unfinished inscription, now in the garden of Bursa Museum, was intended as the base for a statue of a local dignitary who had served as both “[Bithyni]arch and Pontarch” and “priest of the emperor” (author’s photo).

The father of Aelianus Papianus went through the urban cursus before becoming koinarch and logistês. He was of equestrian status and married into a senatorial family.45 The Aeliani are wealthy; the son has served as agoranomos in a time of crisis and undertaken numerous benefactions not only in his own city but in Nikomedia – no doubt a wise move if he was aiming for a Bithyniarchate. It is noteworthy that despite their family’s wealth and social standing, both father and son has filled almost every post in the municipal cursus: a family tradition? The inscription honouring Aurelius Marcianus of Kios46 dates from the reign of Diokletian. He served as “endikos, boulographos, oinoposiarch, Bithyniarch” but did not, it would seem, hold any one of the three A’s. According to the inscription, he was also a “benefactor of the people” and held an office that cannot now be identified (this part of the inscription is illegible) in the tetrakômia or “union of four villages”. Similar local sub-units are known from other provinces in Asia Minor.47 Our inscription was found within the village territory of Keramet on the north shore of lake Askanios, c. 25 km by road from Kios itself and on the very edge of Kian territory. It would appear that Aurelius was a local landowner who, living a whole day’s journey from the centre of the polis, could or would not fill any of the traditional magistracies of an urban cursus. He clearly preferred offices that did not require his presence in the city on a regular basis. Nonetheless, he was able to cap his career with a Bithyniarchate.

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The phrase “benefactor of the people” is not quite clear; does it refer to the local population (of the tetrakômia?) or the city as a whole? The last three lines record that the inscription was set up by one Chrestos, grammateus tou dêmou, which suggests that in this case, dêmos might refer to the city as such. The Domitii of Prusias ad Hypium In 189, the five archons of Prusias ad Hypium dedicated an inscription to the emperor Commodus. T. Domitius Paulianus Falco, member of a prominent Prusian family, was first archon, holding this post for the second time.48 His nephew (or possibly his son) M. Domitius Stratokles likewise served as first archon and went on to become Bithyniarch and Helladarch, epistates and logistês.49 His son M. Domitius Paulianus Falco was honoured by the phylarchs of Prusias with an inscription (fig. 21) acclaiming him as “an intimate of the emperor (sebatognôtos) … of a senatorial and consular family … first archon, priest, agonothete, member of the council for life, the first in every respect”. The phrase “of a senatorial and consular family” (genous synklêtikou kai hypatikou) is somewhat ambiguous. If Domitius Stratokles was a senator, why not say so directly? Perhaps it was not Stratokles himself but one of his brothers or uncles who was of senatorial rank.50 As he had apparently been logistês on more than one occasion,51 Stratokles was certainly an equestrian,

Fig. 21. Marcus Domitius Paulianus Falco was a friend of the emperor and a much respected local notable in Prusias ad Hypium. The inscription in his honour now lies in the ancient theatre of Konuralp, where less respectful modern-day Prusians have overwritten it with spray paint (author’s photo).

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Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia

and his status within Prusian society was high enough for his son Falco to bypass the position of agoranomos and start his urban career as agonothete, moving up to become archon, then a permanent member (koinoboulos tou biou) of the Bithynian council.52

The imperial level An ambitious Bithynian who wanted to pursue a career at the imperial level should be prepared to leave his native province and seek his fortune elsewhere in the empire, in Rome (for a civilian career) or at the frontiers (for a military career). If that were his ambition, he would need to meet the equestrian census of 400,000 HS and be a Roman citizen – ideally, of a family that had been citizens for at least three generations. A score of equestrians (some of whom went on to become senators) and somewhat fewer senators of Bithynian background (among whom the two historians Arrian and Cassius Dion) can be identified.53 Most spent their entire career outside Bithynia, but a few were directly involved in the urban politics of their homeland. Some Bithynian careers at the imperial level The career of Ti. Claudius Piso is described in great detail in an inscription of the early third century54 from his native city of Prusias ad Hypium,55 and it illustrates the routes by which an able and energetic man could work his way up through the political hierarchy: “To the incomparable, Olympian, the first man of the province (prôtos eparcheias) by decree of the council of the koinon, proêgoros, dekaprôtos, poleitographos, archon of his native city and of the province, judge at Rome, agonothete of his city and of the metropolis, Bithyniarch, Helladarch, sebastophant of the grand common temple of the Bithynian koinon and hierophant of the mysteries, grandfather of a senator, logistês of the splendid metropolis Nikomedia … T. Ulpius Papianus, his friend [set this up]”. There are some ambiguities in this text, notably in the use of koinon as against eparch(e)ia. It is not clear how the council of the koinon could name the “first man of the eparchia” since the eparchia (province) also included the Pontic koinon. Perhaps eparchia is here used for the territory of the koinon, i.e. Bithynia; but in that case, archon … tês eparcheias seems redundant as a synonym for Beithyniarchês. On the whole, however, Titus seems to have done a very thorough job of recording his friend’s achievements, and we may take it that no significant political offices have gone unmentioned. The young Tiberius came of an oldestablished citizen family. By virtue of this family’s standing, he was able to bypass the traditional entry-level office as agoranomos, aiming directly for the post of agonothete. As an agonothete he could display his social talents and play the role of euergete; he must also have demonstrated administrative abilities since he went on to fill the posts of poleitographos (registrar of citizens) and dekaprôtos (tax commissioner) as steps on his way to the urban

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archontate. From here he passed on to the regional level, becoming junior priest of the koinon and Bithyniarch. It was presumably at this point in his career that Tiberius decided to make his bid for a position at the imperial level: his legal experience as proêgoros, i.e. counsel of the koinon or province (here confusingly identified as ethnos) qualified him for a place on the list of iudices at Rome. Perhaps he intended to pursue a legal career in the capital but it seems more likely, as suggested by Fernoux,56 that he viewed the post of iudex as a springboard to the equestrian order and the subsequent appointment as equestrian logistês of Nikomedia. The crowning glory of his social anabasis was no doubt seeing his grandson Claudius Piso57 rise to the rank of senator during the reign of Septimius Severus. Towards the end of the second century, during the reign of Commodus, the equestrian M. Aurelius Mindius Matidianus Pollio58 was honoured by the city of Ephesos with a decree recording his services as collector of harbour duties in the province of Asia over a period of thirty years and, during the same period, as “logistês of three cities in Bithynia … of the splendid metropolis Nikomedia, of Nikaia and of Prusa”. Furthermore, he apparently served three terms as Bithyniarch.59 The combination of high office in Asia and Bithynia, the long periods of tenure, and the iteration of the Bithyniarchate are all rather unusual.60 Pollio’s father was of Ephesian descent and his family had probably been enfranchised at the mid-second century. His mother’s family came from Apameia in Bithynia and had presumably been Roman citizens for generations.61 If we take it that he was born in Ephesos and lived there as an adult,62 his success as a tax administrator may have recommended him to the imperial authorities and suggested him as an impartial logistês of the three major Bithynian cities. He clearly performed his task to the satisfaction not only of the Ephesians but of the emperor as well, since he went on to pursue an impressive administrative career in the capital. The appointment of a single logistês for all three cities implies that at this time, there were few serious problems to deal with. So does the fact that Pollio apparently retained his Ephesian and Bithynian posts while at Rome. We may take it that in his case, the office of logistês was in the nature of a sinecure. The Cassii of Nikaia The first member of this prominent Nikaian family known to us is C. Cassius Asklepiodotos, a wealthy Bithynian who in the aftermath of the Vinician conspiracy (AD 66) was dragged down because of his friendship with Barea Soranus, one of the conspirators. Unlike some of Soranus’ other associates, Cassius Asklepiodotos chose to stand by his friend and was punished with relegation and the confiscation of his estates, but survived to be rehabilitated by Galba.63 If he was a near contemporary of Soranus, who was suffect

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consul in 52, Cassius Asklepiodotos will have been born towards the end of Augustus’ reign or early in that of Tiberius. Beyond his rehabilitation in 68, we know nothing of his further career. In an orchard some five kilometers northwest of Nikaia stands a remarkable monument: from a base nearly three metres in height, an obelisk-like stone spike rises seven metres towards the sky (fig.  22). The “obelisk” itself is triangular in cross-section and constructed of large marble blocks; at least one block is missing, so originally the total height of the monument must have been close to 12m. The base is wide in relation to the obelisk, and squared recesses are cut into its top surface. Corresponding holes are found in the sides of the obelisk itself, to a height of 2.5m above the top of the base (fig. 23). Clearly, the obelisk originally did not stand alone but was flanked by life-sized or larger bronze sculptures, whose hands and feet were fixed to metal cramps in the recesses. On the rear face of the lowest block of the obelisk, one reads that it was raised by “C. Cassius Philiskos, son of C. Cassius Asklepiodotos, having lived 83 years”64 (fig. 24). Assuming that Nero’s victim was born c. 12, and his son c. 37, Philiskos will have died around the year 120. There is no mention of any municipal offices held by Philiskos himself or his father. We are not well informed about élite funerary practices in Bithynia (though the remains of a large Hellenistic stone sarcophagus found outside the east-

Fig. 22. Travelling by road from Nikomedia towards Nikaia, a traveller encountered the obelisk-like monument of the Nikaian notable Cassius Philiskos rising from the fields. The “obelisk” still stands, though the top stone has been lost (author’s photo).

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Fig. 23. Detail of the monument, showing recesses in the side of the vertical stone face, intended for lead cramps to hold standing bronze figures. Similar recesses are cut into the top surface of the base (author’s photo).

Fig. 24. The brief inscription on the rear face of the monument gives only the name, age and filiation of Cassius Philiskos (author’s photo).

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ern necropolis suggests that Nikaians were not, in general, averse to funerary ostentation). Still, the combination of obelisk and bronze sculpture sets this monument in a class by itself. His extravagant monument leaves no doubt that Cassius was a leading citizen, perhaps the leading citizen of the city; for any others, a monument of this size and character would have been an intolerable display of hybris. Another Cassius of the first century, C. Cassius Chrestos is known to posterity from the inscriptions in honour of the emperor set up over the north and east gates of the city (fig. 25): “To the emperor and the imperial house and to Nikaia, first city of the province, the proconsul M. Plancius dedicated this through the agency of C. Cassius Chrestos, who set it up”.65 Plancius dedicates his new gates to the emperor Vespasian.66 Over the arched niches flanking the east gate, two additional inscriptions were found, one “to the patron of the city, the proconsul M. Plancius Varus, [from] his friend C. Cassius Chrestos” and an almost identical one from “his friend Ti. Claudius Quintianus”.67 Şahin and Merkelbach hypothesized that niches above one or more of the inscriptions may have held a statue of the proconsul. As patron of the city, the proconsul was clearly its benefactor on a major scale; though no inscriptions are preserved, we may take it that he also paid for the restoration of the west and south gates, and there is other evidence for the proconsul’s generosity elsewhere in the province.68 As the proconsul’s associate, C. Cassius Chrestos must have been a man of some standing within the community as well. His sarcophagus (fig. 26) which was found in the necropolis outside the east gate, is a plain, unadorned stone box. Its inscription69 gives his career as follows: “C. Cassius Chrestos, presbys [ambassador], archiereus and sebastophant, lived 58 years.” In this remarkably terse cursus, none of the traditional municipal offices are mentioned. The three offices that are named all serve to illustrate Chrestos’ close relation to the ruling power, just as the inscription over the side arch of the gate identifies Chrestos as the proconsul’s “friend”. That he was selected as ambassador shows that Chrestos belongs to the highest level of society, while his allegiance to the emperor is attested by the two imperial priesthoods, whose nature is not quite clear. To be worth mentioning in the epitaph, an archiereus is presumably a priest of the provincial cult, either at the temple in Nikaia (assuming that it was still functioning at this late date) or, more likely, in Nikomedia.70 The office of sebastophant may refer to a municipal cult.71 The offices of Chrestos have apparently been listed not chronologically, but in descending order of social status. The sarcophagus of Chrestos is intriguing in two other respects. The first is that despite his expressed pro-Roman orientation, he had himself inhumed and not cremated. The second is its remarkably modest nature, compared to the often ornate sarcophagi typical of the region. Both are easily explained if his sarcophagus was intended to be placed in a pre-existing family tomb. Şahin and others have suggested that Cassius Chrestos was a son or brother

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Fig. 25. The original bronze letters are lost, but the inscription over the east (Lefke) gate of Nikaia can still be deciphered. At the end of the second line, the name of Cassius Chrestos in the genitive (“through the agency of…”). Similar inscriptions were found over other gates of the city (author’s photo).

Fig. 26. The sarcophagus of C. Cassius Chrestos in the garden of Iznik Museum (author’s photo).

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of Asklepiodotos,72 but when the evidence of their burials is taken into account, it is more likely that they belonged to separate branches of the family. Chrestos was buried just east of the city, while Philiskos and his relations were presumably interred near his obelisk, some distance northwest of the city but close to a country mansion of his branch of the Nikaian Cassii. We next hear of the Nikaian Cassii at the mid-century.73 Cassius Apronianus (his praenomen is not known) was born around 140, no later than 145, probably in Nikaia. He followed a senatorial career and became governor of Lycia-Pamphylia around 180; in 182 he transferred to the governorship of Cilicia, where he was joined by his son, the future historian Cassius Dion. He reached the consulate in 185 and was appointed governor of Dalmatia, one of the “home provinces” bordering Italy. L. Claudius Cassius Dion (Cocceianus?74) was born in Nikaia75 around 164 and was not yet twenty when he went to join his father in Cilicia. He pursued a legal and political career in Rome where, as the son of a senator, he quickly rose through the traditional cursus. He spent most of his adult life in the capital, and was approaching sixty when he was appointed to the governorship of his father’s old province, Dalmatia, from which he moved on to the important frontier province of Pannonia Superior. He attained his second consulate, shared with the young emperor Alexander Severus, in 229. From the time we first hear of them, the Cassii belonged to the elite of Nikaia, at the “imperial” level. Asklepiodotos had friends in the inner circles of the imperial court; Chrestos boasts of his friendship with the governor of BithyniaPontus; Apronianus was governor of three provinces in turn; Dion was twice consul. They were also wealthy: even by the standards of the capital, the wealth of Asklepiodotos was important enough to earn a remark from Tacitus, while both Apronianus and Dion were senators. A third point worthy of note is that as far as we know, none of them ever filled any of the traditional magistracies at the urban level – one of the three A’s – nor any offices at the regional level. Admittedly, from the brief mention of Asklepiodotos in Tacitus or the terse style of Philiskos’ epitaphs, we cannot be certain that these two never did. But the epitaph of Chrestos mentions nothing beyond his service as ambassador and imperial priest, while the senatorial careers of Apronianus and Dion, father and son, left them no time for urban careers. Notes 1 Fernoux 2004, 146‑147, 185; Corsten 2006, 88 quoting Fernoux 2004, 185.. 2 P. Rupilius, Cn. Pupius (Ad Fam. 13.9), L. Egnatius Rufus (13.47), Pinnius (13.61), Atilius (13.62), L. Aelius Lamia, M. Laenius (13.63), P. Terentius Hispon (13.65); for a detailed commentary, Fernoux 2004, 147‑155. Cicero’s remark (De lege agraria 2.40, quoted by Corsten 2006, 92) about Bithynia, quod certe publicum est populi Romani factum, is hardly relevant to this issue.

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3 Fernoux 2004, 154, table 9 listing fourteen gentilicia “dont beaucoup sont rarement attestés ailleurs que dans leur berceau géographique d’origine en Italie”. 4 E.g. C. Hostilius Ascanius of Nikaia (IK 9.34) who was probably of Greek servile descent and identifies himself as a banker (trapezeitês). 5 TAM 4.1.70, naming P. Vedius Cornelianus Strato. 6 Corsten 2006, 89; for a more detailed survey and methodological discussion, see Fernoux 2004, 73‑93. 7 Fernoux 2004, 160. 8 Madsen 2006, 74. 9 Fernoux 2004, 73. One also notes the high proportion of Thracian names in the inscription IK 26.7 from Melitoupolis. 10 Corsten 2006, 88. 11 [Ca]tilius Longus, P.f. (PIR L 309); for his biography, Fernoux 2004, 416‑417. 12 Fernoux 2004, 478. 13 Spain, for instance, appears to have received Latin status for its cities under the reign of Vespasian; Pliny, HN 3.30; cf. Richardson 1996, 190‑191. 14 Fernoux 2004, 201, tab. 11. 15 Nikaia, Nikomedia, Prusias ad Hypium, Bithynion-Klaudioupolis, Prusa, Kios, Apameia. 16 Pliny, Ep. 10.10‑11. 17 Fernoux 2004, 205. 18 Or. 50.1. 19 E.g., Flavius Archippos (Pliny, Ep 10.58), or the rhetor Aelius Aristides, who went to great lengths to avoid a priesthood in the province of Asia. For the status of philosophers within the community, cf. IK 39.18. 20 For the text of the list and a discussion of the names, see Marek 2002, 32‑33; 38‑39. 21 TAM 4.1.329. 22 Şahin 1973, no. 32 = TAM 4.1.258. Other phylai also claimed the titles of kratistês for themselves, e.g. the phylê Plotinianê (Şahin 1973, no. 33 = TAM 4.1.238.). 23 IK 39.16. 24 IK 27.2. 25 IK 27.38. 26 IK 27.20; 50; Fernoux 2004, 432‑434. 27 Fernoux 204, 413‑414. 28 IK 27.6; Fernoux 2004, 434. 29 IK 39.3. 30 IK 9.60; commentary in Guinea Diaz 1997, 223‑224. 31 For Caracalla’s love of such displays on his travels, see Cassius Dion 77.9. 32 For a list of officials at the regional level, see Fernoux 2004, 350‑352, table 18. 33 P. Domitius Julianus (IK 27.19); M. Domitius Paulianus Falco (IK 27.7); M. Aurelius Asklepiodotianos Asklepiades (IK 27.11); ignotus (TAM 4.1.42). 34 The name, and thus the legal standing, of the koinoboulos named in TAM 4.1.42 is not preserved, but since he had previously been agoranome and first archon of his native Nikomedia, we can take it that he held the Roman civitas. 35 It is not always possible to say for certain whether a priest is attached to a regional or municipal cult. I have chosen to follow Fernoux 2004, 352‑354. 36 P. Aelius Timotheos from Nikomedia (TAM 4.1.33). 37 Sacerdos, son of Menander, from Prusa (IK 39.24).

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38 Aesquilinus (Inschr. Askl. 151); M. Domitius Iulianus; [?] Moschos. 39 The exceptions are Ti. Claudius Tertullianus Sanctus (IK 27.51) who was agoranome, agonothete and grammateus – but apparently not archon – in Prusias ad Hypium, and Aurelius Marcianus (IK 29.7 = IK 10.726) who was endikos, boulographos and oinoposiarch in Kios or Nikaia. 40 IK 27.17. 41 IK 27.54. 42 CJ 1.54.3 ; Curator rei publicae, qui graeco vocabulo logista nuncupatur. 43 IK 39.13. 44 cf. Fernoux 2004, 474‑476, PIR2 U 537‑538. 45 That is, assuming that the senatorial and consular progonoi claimed by Aelianus junior are maternal ancestors. If they are his paternal ancestors, then the status of the Aeliani has recently been reduced from senatorial to equestrian – a déroute the family would hardly want to advertise in an honorific inscription. 46 IK 29.7. 47 Corsten in IK 29, p. 82. 48 IK 27.38. 49 IK 27.7. 50 Ameling, IK 27 p. 55; Fernoux 2004, 476. 51 Apo logisteiôn, IK 27.7 line 12 and Ameling ad loc., p. 55. 52 There were other prominent Domitii in Prusias ad Hypium, e.g. M. Domitius Valerianus (PIR2 D 168) who attained a suffect consulship under Gordian III. 53 Fernoux 2004, 416‑445 (equestrians), 446‑477 (senators) 54 To judge from its place in his cursus, Piso’s term as logistês postdates the thirtyyear term of Matidianus Pollio (see below), which would have ended c. 190. 55 IK 27.47; PIR2 C 961; Fernoux 2004, 429‑431. 56 Fernoux 2004, 430. 57 PIR2 C 960; for his career, see Fernoux 2004, 471. 58 PIR2 A 1559 59 IK 13.627 = IK 40.T2. The name of Commodus in line 13 was subsequently erased during his period of memoria damnata from 193 to 195. Cf. also ILS 8858. 60 Of course, we need not take the round number thirty to mean that Pollio held both offices for exactly 30 years. It could well be that he was customs collector for about thirty years and that “during the same time” (kata to auto), i.e. while a customs collector, he also served as logistês. See also Deininger 1965, 61; 151; De Laet 1949, 276. 61 For Pollio’s family background and biography, see Pflaum 1960 no. 193; Campanile 1993, 347; Campanile 1994, 67‑68; Fernoux 2004, 418‑419. 62 He served as archiereus there for a five-day period, in the course of which he gave a series of shows with wild “African animals”; IK 13.627, Carter 2004, 47‑48. 63 Tacitus, Annals 15.33; Cassius Dion 62.26 (with the additional information that Asklepiodotos was a Nikaian and that he was rehabilitated by Galba); PIR2 C 486. 64 IK 9.85. 65 IK 9.25-28; Şahin 1978, 12‑14. 66 For the date, see Şahin’s comments to IK 9.25. 67 IK 9.51-52; Şahin 1978, 14‑15. 68 Şahin 1978, 14; Merkelbach 1987, 16.

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69 I have followed the emendation of the first line proposed by Şahin (IK 7.4) though there is not quite enough space for the kai in line 1 if the inscription – as it seems – was intended to be symmetrical. 70 Şahin 1978, 16‑17 and IK 9.116 (Nikaia); Fernoux 2004, 527 (Nikomedia). The latter appears more likely, given the absence of other inscriptional evidence for an imperial cult at Nikaia before the third century. 71 Against the interpretation of Fernoux (2004, 352), if a sebastophant is subordinary to an archiereus, then it would be meaningless for Cassius Chrestos to give both titles on his sarcophagus, unless they referred to different cults. 72 E.g., Şahin 1978, 17: “es bestand sicher ein enges Verwandtschaftsverhältnis … [Asklepiodotos] könnte der Vater oder ein Bruder des Cassius Chrestus gewesen sein”; less emphatically Fernoux 2004, 487, “peut-être un fils ou un frère”. 73 There is no good evidence that M. Cassius Agrippa (Fernoux 2004, 441, no. 20) and [? Cas]sius Agrippa (Fernoux 2004, 461‑462, no. 35), nor M. Cassius Nikadas (IK 10.1065; 1071) were related to the Cassii of Nikaia. 74 The cognomen Cocceianus is only found in late sources. For Cassius Dion’s possible family relationship to Dion of Prusa, Millar 1964, 11. 75 Photios, Bibl. 71 (35b).

7. A Political Biography: Dion Chrysostomos

Family background For no other local politician of the Roman world do we possess anything approaching the amount of detail at our disposal concerning the life and career of Dion “Chrysostomos”, the golden-mouthed rhetor of the second sophistic in Prusa. For better or for worse, almost all this information comes from Dion himself, in the nearly eighty speeches that have survived down to the present day, Apart from that, scattered information is found in the letters of Pliny, in the Lives of the Sophists by Philostratos and in a Byzantine literary history, the Bibliothêke of Photios. By birth, Dion was a third-generation, possibly a fifth-generation, Prusan. His maternal grandfather was a Roman citizen and a wealthy benefactor of the city, spending, if we are to believe Dion, “all that he had inherited from his father and grandfather, until he had nothing left; then acquired a second fortune by learning and from imperial favour”.1 He was a friend of “the emperor”.2 Of the paternal grandfather we know nothing, of his father very little. When Dion mentions his parents together, the father is always mentioned in the inferior position.3 His mother had clearly married below her own status level, and while her family possessed the Roman franchise, the father was almost certainly a peregrinus.4 Since the maternal grandfather received his Roman citizenship from Claudius, the name of Dion’s mother was Claudia. According to Photios, the father’s first name was Pasikrates.5 As the son of a citizen mother and a peregrine father, Dion himself was born a peregrinus. If he received his citizenship from Vespasian or Titus, his name will have been (Titus?6) Flavius Dion; the additional cognomen Cocceianus may have been taken later  – it is attested only in Pliny’s correspondence with Trajan7  – to advertise his friendship with the emperor Nerva. Dion’s rural property included vineyards in the farming belt surrounding Prusa and herds of cattle.8 Within the city, he owned a town house (presumably inherited from his father) and a row of workshops that he rented out.9 Since the workshops were in the part of the city “near the hot springs” (epi tôn thermôn) we may take it that Dion’s family residence was also located in this attractive suburban area. We are furthermore informed by Dion himself that his father’s fortune was “said to be large, but small in value” and combined with the information

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that “four hundred thousand [drachmas] were in outstanding debts” without security (asphaleia),10 the conclusion must be that Dion’s father, among his other business activities, was a moneylender of the more speculative sort, offering loans without security at correspondingly high rates. There is no other way to explain how Dion could expect his audience to accept his claim that an inheritance of 400,000 drachmas (equal to 1.6 million HS, four times the equestrian property qualification) was “not large”, even if it had to be divided among Pasikrates’ heirs. The sums originally lent by Dion’s father were no doubt much smaller, but with the rapid accretion of compound interest, the nominal value of the bad debts would soon reach an extravagant level; their real worth was of course far less, as his audience would appreciate. The picture of Dion’s background that emerges from the scattered autobiographical material may be summarised as follows. Claudia came from one of the city’s leading families; Pasikrates was a parvenu who made a considerable fortune for himself by letting houses and lending money rather than by the traditional upper-class occupation of farming. Like Matidianus Pollio (above, p. 109), Pasikrates married upwards and into an established family of Roman citizens. His son Dion grew up in a wealthy suburb near the hot springs, among families that perhaps included some of his father’s debtors. We may imagine that Pasikrates was charismatic, a risk-taker and something of an optimist in economic matters, qualities often found in businessmen and certainly found in his son. His family background could have posed a problem for young Dion. Social climbers are rarely held in high esteem by those already at the top, and money-lenders tend to be feared rather than respected by their neighbours. As the son of an arriviste, the relationship of the young Dion to his contemporaries was perhaps not an easy one. It may be significant that as far as we know, Dion did not find his wife among the upper class of Prusa. Nonetheless, when Pasikrates died and the estate passed into the hands of his children,11 Dion made a determined attempt to fill his rôle as a member of Prusa’s municipal élite. He ran for public office and undertook several liturgies, even some of the more onerous ones.12 In public and possibly also in private, he identified himself with the ideology of Prusa’s landowning class. This comes out very clearly in the earliest of his extant municipal orations, addressed to the ekklêsia during a grain shortage in Prusa. The choice of arguments reflects the traditional patronising arrogance of the wealthy squire: I am not nearly as rich as you think; I have already borne my share of the burden on earlier occasions; the high grain price is not unreasonable and there are other cities where it is always that high; true need leads to wisdom (sophrosynê).13

From imperial favour to exile Not long after, Dion left his hometown for Rome. Of his life in the capital we know comparatively little.14 He studied with the Stoic philosopher Mu-

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sonius Rufus and moved in the highest circles of society where he made the acquaintance of the later emperor Nerva, the emperor Titus and the latter’s cousin, T. Flavius Sabinus. Early in the reign of Domitian, Flavius Sabinus fell from grace and was executed. His friend Dion was brought down with him but escaped with a sentence of relegatio and interdictio certorum locorum. This, the mildest form of exile, banned him from Rome and his native province but left him otherwise free to travel.15 The thirteenth oration of Dion is devoted to his exile, and here, he relates how in the course of his wanderings he visited the oracle at Delphi. Encouraged by Apollon, he turned away from the sophistic activities of his youth and followed the vocation of an itinerant philosopher.16 Most modern scholars reject the story of Dion’s philosophical conversion as fictional and with it, the division of his work into a “sophistic” and a “philosophical” phase. But assuming that Dion made this story up, he may have been motivated by a self-awareness that his outlook had changed over time and a perceived need to justify the difference in between his earlier and later writings. Given his traumatic experiences in Rome and during fifteen years of exile, it is not surprising that he should have reached a different perception of the human condition, even if this was not the fruit of a divinely inspired conversion. One field where a clear difference between the pre-exilic and the post-exilic Dion is clearly visible is in his attitude to local politics. When Dion returns to Prusa, he no longer identifies himself with the municipal elite and makes no attempt to win a place for himself in the political agôn; on the contrary, he assumes the role of the philosopher-advisor and, apart from heading an embassy to Rome, does not undertake any municipal office. Why? The banal explanation would be that on his return to Prusa, Dion could not resume his place in the city’s political class because he did not have sufficient funds to undertake liturgies. Indeed, in a later speech, he complains that his property had been ruined, his land seized and his slaves allowed to escape during his exile.17 Yet his sister was living in Prusa and would surely have kept an eye on the family property,18 and Dion makes no mention of his personal financial troubles until, some years after his return, he is challenged to meet his pollicitatio for a building project. It seems more likely that to Dion, the meeting with Roman high society had been an eye-opener, revealing that the exalted status that the magnates of Prusa enjoyed, and to which his father had aspired, counted for very little in the wider context of the Empire. The estate of a millionaire like Pasikrates was impressive in its own right and even when compared with an Italian multi-millionaire like the younger Pliny (whose total assets perhaps amounted to 10 million HS) – but it was puny compared with the enormous fortunes amassed by Seneca or by Claudius’ freedman secretary, Pallas. Wealth on this scale was not accumulated through farming or moneylending, but by exploiting the favour of the emperor. Dion’s self-confidence was matched by his ambition, and he may well have dreamed of creating a fortune of his own

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“by imperial favour” as his grandfather had done. When the fall of Flavius Sabinus destroyed these hopes, Dion’s reaction followed the classic Aesopian pattern: he renounced what he could not attain, and chose the persona of a wandering philosopher for himself. In this sense, there may be some substance to the story of Dion’s “conversion” – and it would not be unlike Dion to transform the tale of his failure at Rome into a narrative of divine inspiration at Delphi.

Return When Domitian died in September 96, Dion’s relegatio was revoked. The Prusans gave him a warm welcome, as can be seen from his forty-fourth oration, given some time after his return and probably in the spring or summer of 97.19 Dion opens with a quotation from Homer, “nothing is sweeter than one’s native land”,20 and goes on to praise his fellow-citizens and express his gratitude for the honours they have proposed As far as we can judge from this and his later orations,21 Dion never made any attempt to stand for public office or undertake municipal liturgies in Prusa. Of course, the junior liturgies – e.g., gymnasiarch or agoranomos – would hardly be relevant for someone of his age and social standing (and in any case, he may have filled some of these before his exile).22 One would have imagined, however, that the post of agonothete, with its opportunities for public display and oratory, might have appealed to him. Even more surprisingly, for all his efforts to transcend the stifling confines of small-town politics, there is no evidence that he was active within the koinon. He did, however, assume a task for which he – philosopher, rhetor, cosmopolite and friend of the emperor  – was singularly qualified: leading a municipal embassy to Rome. The forty-fourth oration was presumably held after Dion had been nominated as head of the delegation, and it ends with Dion’s reading of a letter from the emperor (unfortunately not preserved) which served to document his close ties with Nerva. Dion also found time to visit Nikomedia and Nikaia. The visit to Nikomedia was prompted by the city’s offer of an honorary citizenship and in his speech of acceptance (Or. 38), Dion shares some of the insights gained in Rome with his audience. The Leitmotif of the speech is the need for concord, homonoia, between the Nikomedians and the neighbouring city of Nikaia. It may seem odd that in return for the distinction they have offered him, Dion should harangue an audience of his honorary fellow-citizens in this manner. But homonoia and its opposite, stasis, were favourite themes in Greek political philosophy generally and in the work of Dion, so the example offered by Nikomedia and Nikaia was too good to pass up. The two cities had been engaged in competition for titles and formal “primacy” – proteia – since Octavian established the imperial cult in Bithynia, and this rivalry had increased under the Flavians. On its coinage, Nikomedia now also claimed the title “first city”

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Fig. 27. Seated statue of a philosopher, Bursa Museum (author’s photo).

which the Nikaians had previously reserved for themselves.23 At great length, Dion explains how the inability of Nikaia and Nikomedia to cooperate leaves them open to exploitation by unscrupulous persons, criminals24 and grasping governors who bribe the cities with empty titles25 and go unpunished since the cities cannot agree to prosecute them.26 Indeed, Dion tells his audience, this childish love of titles is derided by leading Romans who look down on what they call “Greek diseases” (hellênika hamartêmata).27 Dion’s solution to the problem at hand – the question of proteia – is that both cities should be “first”. Predictably, it failed to gain the sympathy of his hearers and from the evidence of the coinage, it appears that the Nikomedians insisted on claiming exclusive proteia for themselves. Because Dion’s thirty-ninth oration, supposedly held in Nikaia, also deals with concord, it is generally taken to be contemporaneous with the thirtyeighth, though it makes no direct mention of a conflict with Nikomedia (unlike the Nikomedian oration, where references to Nikaia abound) and it is primarily concerned with internal concord and its benefits. Perhaps the Nikai­ans had recently gone through a period of civil conflict; it is not clear whether Dion’s detailed exposition of the many benefits of homonoia is intended as a veiled warning to those who would stir up discord, or whether it is merely a rhetorical showpiece on a familiar theme. Apart from Dion’s concluding invocation of the founding deities,28 there are few specific references to Nikaia, and

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some of the arguments are also found in the thirty-fourth oration addressed to the people of Tarsos.29 The oration is uncharacteristically brief, and Dion apologizes for abbreviating his presentation because his health and his voice are failing him.30 In both cities, Dion strikes the pose of the teacher – to be more precise, the lecturer. He makes few attempts to be pedagogic or maieutic, apart from a sprinkling of biological and historical parallels to bolster his preconceived arguments. The patronising attitude of his early oration 46 resurfaces in orations 38 and 39, but the speaker is no longer the condescending squire addressing his social inferiors, rather a teacher or father lecturing his pupils or children. Occasionally, he employs the first person plural for rhetorical effect, so that the Nikomedians may understand that Dion considers himself one of them: “if we gain the primacy, then what?”31 But otherwise the Nikomedians are generally, and the Nikaians exclusively, addressed in the second person. In Nikaia, Dion complained that he was falling ill; it may have been the same illness that led him to postpone his departure for Rome as leader of the Prusan delegation to the emperor. By the time he was ready to leave, word had arrived that a new emperor had ascended the throne.

Success abroad The news of Nerva’s death must have come as a severe blow to Dion. While their relationship may never have been quite as close as he was later to claim,32 we have no reason to doubt that Dion had known Nerva at Rome in the seventies. The successor was a different matter. Despite Dion’s insistence on the philanthrôpia kai spoudê shown him by Trajan33 and the extravagantly tall story found in Philostratos34 (and nowhere else) about that emperor’s affection for Dion, there is little real evidence for a personal relationship between the two and no indication that their contact antedated Trajan’s accession.35 Unlike Nerva, who was some ten years older than Dion and pursued a political career at Rome (he was consul ordinarius for 71) during Dion’s time in the capital, Trajan was some fifteen years Dion’s junior and followed a military career, reaching the quaestorship in 78 (possibly later) and becoming praetor in 84, by which time Dion had been exiled from Rome. Nerva’s adoption of Trajan came as a surprise to most political observers36 and no doubt to Dion as well. A few months after news of the adoption reached Bithynia, Nerva was dead, and the new emperor was an unknown quantity. Furthermore, at his accession in January 98, Trajan was at Cologne – more than 2,000 kilometres from Prusa – and did not enter the capital until late in the following year. Late in 99 or, more likely, early in 100, Dion and his Prusan delegation finally met up with Trajan. Dion, however, had put the intervening period to good use composing four orations “on kingship” to present before the emperor.37 Ambassadors were usually drawn from the top echelons of provincial

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society38 and Dion’s readiness to accept the leadership of an embassy reveals where he saw himself in the social hierarchy of Prusa: marked out for higher tasks than the mundane liturgies of the traditional municipal cursus. In a person of good family and established reputation such as Dion’s near-contemporary Cassius Chrestos of Nikaia (above, p. 112), such an attitude might be accepted. In a recently returned exile whose father was a moneylender, it may well have raised some eyebrows among the better families of Prusa who already found Dion’s behaviour a size too large for his status. While biding their time for the moment, they were ready to launch a smear campaign when opportunity presented itself. In the event, Dion’s voyage to Rome39 was a considerable success. The flattery of the Orations on kingship may have played their part; in addition, Trajan was eager to present his rule as a break with the Domitianic past: since Dion had been one of that emperor’s victims, Trajan could be relied on to accommodate him up to a point, but no further. Prusa was granted the extension of the city council that the city had asked for, and likewise its own assizes, but not eleutheria, “freedom” from taxes and full independence for the city. This had been a Prusan pipe-dream since the days of Dion’s grandfather, no doubt revived in the sixties by Nero’s grant of eleutheria to the cities of Achaia – a concession that was soon reversed by the economical Vespasian. For that was the crux of the matter: a responsible emperor could not grant immunity from taxation left and right without endangering the financial stability of the empire, and there was no obvious reason why Prusa – founded by Rome’s arch-enemy Hannibal – should be singled out for this privilege among hundreds of other Greek poleis.

Opposition at home When Dion returned to Prusa late in 100 or early in 101, he might have expected a warm welcome and the gratitude of his fellow-citizens for the concessions he had achieved for Prusa; but that was not what he found. On the contrary, he faced severe public criticism on several counts: his conduct of the embassy to Rome and the handling of a building project in Prusa. From a lengthy speech (Or. 40) given shortly after his return and devoted to refuting the attacks of his opponents, we get a fairly precise impression of their nature.40 The first, and in a sense the most damaging, set of accusations was that Dion had neglected his duties as leader of the delegation, that the emperor had not been pleased to see him – a clear counter-challenge to Dion’s own claim of friendship with Trajan – and that in consequence, Prusa had failed to obtain the same concessions as other cities, notably Smyrna.41 That Dion returns to this subject in a later speech (Or. 45) bears witness to the success of his opponents’ smear campaign and the efficacy of informal weapons in the political arena.

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The second point of attack concerns a building project that Dion has initiated, apparently before leaving Prusa for Rome. As it involves a colonnade and is on a sufficiently large scale to require the permission of the governor,42 the overall ambition may have been to provide Prusa with a colonnaded main street that would place it on a level with other major cities of the East.43 Dion obtained the necessary permission from the governor and solicited contributions from leading members of the community.44 These would be in the nature of pollicitationes or hyposchêseis, i.e. formal undertakings to make a financial contribution. His project for the embellishment of the city centre inevitably involved demolishing existing buildings, some of which – so his detractors now claim – had historical or sentimental value.45 The third accusation concerns the extension of the city’s council with a hundred new members. There seems to have been a concern on the part of Dion’s opponents that he would seize the chance to fill the vacant seats with his friends and allies, presumably of a more democratic orientation than the established oligarchs. That Dion refutes this allegation in some detail46 indicates that his fellow-citizens had taken it seriously. Dion’s opponents in Prusa had obviously taken advantage of his absence to foment opposition against him and against his projects. But who were those opponents, and why did they disapprove so strongly of his initiatives? In his political speeches, Dion does not identify his adversaries by name, but his oblique references to “certain persons” scattered throughout his orations (and supplemented by gestures, glances and postures, which the written text fails to capture) left his hearers in no doubt who was the intended target. In the fortieth oration, Dion informs us that his opponents attempted to “prevent anyone making a contribution” to the proposed building project.47 Most of the potential contributors are to be found among Prusa’s propertied élite; and since they would hardly yield to pressure from their social inferiors, the opposition to Dion’s project must come from their equals or superiors – in other words, from Prusa’s wealthy upper class, corresponding to the évergétes of Veyne and the Honoratioren of Quass. Several of Dion’s other clues point in the same direction. In the forty-fifth oration (held some time later, but devoted to the same topics as the fortieth) Dion laments that “leading and highly honoured” citizens of Prusa should be so unambitious on the city’s behalf48 and later in the same speech, prophesies that “certain persons” who are at present veiling their hostility towards him behind “mild and ambiguous” words will eventually attempt to block (kôlyein) his project.49 What had Dion done to alienate the honoratiores of Prusa? The charge that Dion neglected his duties as ambassador can be discounted; it is merely an instrument in a smear campaign. The other two issues, his building project and his alleged attempt to manipulate the composition of the boulê are related in one respect: they both challenge the traditional monopoly of municipal decision-making held by the Honoratiorenschicht, the “benefactors” and litur-

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gists of Prusa. The energetic Dion had immersed himself profoundly in the details of the construction project, measuring the site and selecting suitable building materials in the quarries behind Prusa.50 He had solicited contributions (in the form of pollicitationes) from the wealthy citizens and he had approached the Roman governor on behalf of the city.51 He had, in short, filled all the functions of the traditional civic benefactor. Once the sensibilities of the bouleutic class had been ruffled, it is easy to understand that the addition of a hundred extra members to Prusa’s council was seen as another threat to elite dominance. As the boulê was essentially recruited “from the top down”, the new members would necessarily be drawn from a lower social and economic class than the incumbents. This was only natural and would under other circumstances have been an acceptable price for the benefits – financially and in terms of prestige – of extending the city council. Conflicts arose either because the motives for the extension were called into question or because the rivalry between the contenders for the vacant seats degenerated into factionalist politics. The latter explanation is the one given by Dion – trying to place himself in the best possible light – who blames the disturbance on political “clubs” (hetaireiai). To avoid being associated with any party, he says, Dion absented himself from Prusa during the last days of the council elections.52 If we accept his version of the events, there was no substance to the allegation that Dion was trying to manipulate the composition of the council, but the fears upon which it was based were real enough.53 As for the charge that he was destroying historic landmarks, Dion reduces this to the question of an old smithy; while some may claim that it had sentimental value, according to Dion it was an eyesore, and when the governor visited the city, the citizens were ashamed that he should see such an old and dilapidated a building in the centre of the city.54

Homonoia with Apameia No doubt Dion was, in his own view, acting from the best motives, and he had clearly not anticipated the hostile reaction to his initiatives. Otherwise he would not have gone on to present an ambitious scheme for a union with the neighbouring city of Apameia, camouflaged under his pet theme of homonoia. During his absence in Rome, there had been a conflict between the Apameians and the Prusans.55 This matter is in the process of being settled to everyone’s satisfaction when Dion now proposes to carry the process one step further, ostensibly towards “concord” but effectively towards a synoikism. The exact nature of this project may have been elaborated in the last part of oration 40, which is lost. In oration 45 he looks back on the failure of his initiative and states clearly that his vision was a synoikism of the region’s cities, including Apameia, with Prusa as its centre.56 The timing of the proposal for homonoia with Apameia was not ideal and

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apparently Dion’s intervention was provoked by a motion laid before the assembly by one of the archons.57 Dion’s suggestion was unlikely to please his critics among the councillors, for not only did it once again place Dion at the centre of attention, it also meant that the bouleutic elite, having just agreed to share their power with an additional hundred Prusans, should now welcome another hundred or more Apameians into their circle, and possibly a number of Kians as well.58 If the original size of Prusa’s council was two hundred, the original members could soon find themselves a minority within the bouleutic elite. Apameia was a colonia, the only Roman colony in all of Bithynia, and to judge from their dealings with Pliny, its leaders were highly conscious of the privileges that colonial status entailed, even vis-à-vis a Roman governor.59 From their point of view, what would the Apameians stand to gain from a synoikism with the larger but lower-ranking city of Prusa? Dion’s forty-first oration, devoted to this subject and held in Apameia, fails to provide any answers. The speech is short, no more than 14 chapters, of which the first ten are devoted to an encomium of Apameia and a detailed description of Dion’s family connection with the city;60 the last four to a very general exposition of the virtues of homonoia. We find the same asymmetry that was observed in Dion’s speeches on homonoia between Nikomedia and Nikaia. In the fortieth oration, as in the Nikomedian, Dion expounded the comparative advantage of both cities: for Prusa, access to the sea; for Apameia, to Prusan timber resources.61 The Apameian oration is nearly as short as its Nikaian counterpart. Both confine themselves to lofty and abstract matters and avoid discussing mundane realities. Even the Prusan timber, allegedly so attractive to the Apameians, gets no mention at all.62 Neither the Nikomedian/Nikaian nor the Prusan/Apameian orations on homonoia show signs of long or profound preparation. In both cases, their composition was prompted by a specific event: in the first, the grant of Nikomedian citizenship to Dion; in the second, the archon’s motion in the Prusan assembly. As Salmeri notes,63 the images and examples used are not particularly original; Dion or any other competent rhetorician could at short notice work this material into a passable oration on a familiar subject such as homonoia. Speaking retrospectively a short time later, Dion – not often given to self-deprecation – acknowledges that others may call his vision a “childish or foolish … desire”.64 The word “desire” (erôs) is used deliberately and echoed a little further on where Dion compares his repeated speeches in favour of synoikism to the talk of lovers (erôntes).65 The apologetic implication is obvious and would be immediately understood by his hearers: Dion’s proposal for a Prusan-Apameian synoikism may have been impulsive and reckless, but it was heartfelt, and the audience should bear with him because he was motivated by love of the patris, just as one must excuse lovers for sometimes speaking impulsively and without due deliberation. There is no reason to suspect Dion of insincerity. No doubt he regrets

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Fig. 28. Prusan notable of the Roman period. Bursa Museum (author’s photo).

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having launched the synoikism project at an unpropitious time and is sorry for the antagonism that it provoked, coming on the heels of the extension of the boulê; on the other hand he does not explicitly renounce it and seems convinced that it represents the way forward for Prusa and Apameia.66 His problem is that his outlook is so different from that of his audience: he views Prusa and Bithynia in their imperial context, while his listeners are content to view their city in isolation. As Dion correctly sees it, petty poleis like Prusa, Kios or Apameia will never achieve greatness on their own. To his Prusan audience, such arguments made little sense. The place of their city in the imperial scheme of things was not important to them and the mere idea that cities could be fused into larger units was difficult to grasp. In the first book of his Politics, Aristotle introduced the concept of the polis by ascending stages of natural social organisation: marriage, the household, the village, the polis.67 To the average middle-class thinker, the many points in common between households and poleis were more obvious than the subtle differences distinguishing them from each other. In the world-view of Dion’s audience, the Prusan polis was not really that different from a household, and just as no householder would want his house amalgamated with his neighbour’s, why should anyone want his ancestral polis united with that of the neighbouring Apameians?

Stasis and katharsis at Prusa After the supernumerary councillors had been appointed, Dion’s synoikism project had been shelved and the rumours of his failure as an ambassador been forgotten or laid to rest, the controversial building project still remained. It was moving forward at a slow pace, and evidently Dion’s detractors were still exploiting the sentimental value of the “smithy of so-and-so” that Dion had caused to be torn down.68 The central theme of oration 47 is Dion’s refutation of those who criticise his handling of the colonnade project,69 but inevitably, there are a number of digressions en route. The style of the piece shifts between heavy irony and despondent disillusion; the latter may partly be rhetorical effect but also a genuine reflection of Dion’s disappointment with the unenthusiastic reaction of his fellow-citizens. He notes that some of the greatest Greek intellectuals – Zenon, Kleanthes, Chrysippos, Pythagoras, Homer – chose to live far from their native cities.70 Sokrates on the other hand chose to remain among the Athenians, but earned no gratitude from them;71 Aristotle used his influence at court to have Stageira resettled after its destruction by Philip, but later came to regret it.72 Despite the depressed and disappointed tone of this passage, Dion’s choice of examples is proof that his professional self-esteem is intact. It would be useful to know something about Dion’s domestic affairs at this stage in his life. Presumably the sister’s death and Dion’s inheritance have improved his financial situation, although – in typically Dionian fashion – he

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insists that her estate has brought him no benefits.73 His main sources of income would be his estates and teaching fees. Though the teaching income of a Prusan sophist was not comparable to that of the most popular professors in Smyrna, Ephesos or Athens,74 Dion did collect an audience of pupils during this period, two of whom (Polemo and Favorinus) rose to later prominence in their own right.75 Certainly Dion’s financial situation has improved somewhat, for whereas his earlier speeches stressed his financial difficulties,76 he now offers to pay more than his share of the promised contributions; he also hints at the possibility of asking the Roman governor to enforce the pollicitationes of those who are not meeting their obligations.77 The negative undertone of the speech reflects not only Dion’s own state of mind but a deteriorating political climate in Prusa during these years. Underlying tensions unknown to us had been sprung by the controversy surrounding the appointment of the hundred extra councillors. In oration 45, Dion had expressed his apprehension that the process would lead to division or factionalism within the city,78 and his fears turned out to be well founded. Within a few years, the political discourse at Prusa had become so polarised and violent that the governor suspended the meetings of the ekklêsia. It was unusual for governors to intervene in a city’s self-government in this way; it was also a serious blow to the Hellenic self-perception of the Prusans. A governor would hardly have taken this measure unless conditions in Prusa had deteriorated to the point where there was a perceived risk of stasis. Fortunately, Prusa was eventually allowed to resume the meetings of the ekklêsia. In what was apparently the first assembly meeting after the ban had been lifted, Dion expresses the gratitude of the citizens to the governor, Varenus Rufus,79 and a general sense of elation and optimism. The meeting is described as a purification rite80 giving the Prusans an opportunity to cleanse themselves of the past and its civic discord. This of course provides an occasion, which Dion cannot pass up, for a long digression on concord. If the Prusans will bury their past differences and strive for homonoia, the future of their city is bright. The general optimism even extends to the building project, which is nearly finished and will soon be completed.81

Reconciliation What was Dion’s position in the conflict that divided the Prusans so violently? As part of a polemic against his opponents in another matter, he publicly speculates that “certain people” want him out of the way so that he cannot again help the common people (ho dêmos) or those who are unjustly accused.82 Given his political record since the time of his exile, it should not surprise us to find Dion posing as the champion of the dêmos, nor that his opponents had branded him a “tyrant” (in the classic sense of the word: an ambitious politician using the masses as an instrument to seize absolute power).83 Dion’s relations with the bouleutic elite were evidently still strained, and for some

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time he absented himself from the meetings of the boulê.84 In a speech given when he resumed his place in the council, preserved as oration 50, Dion takes pains to distance himself from his recent democratic views and point out that he has never been a member of a party (hetaireia).85 A large part of the oration is given over to an encomium of the boulê, garnished with parallels from the history of Athens and Sparta. In return, the council proposes to nominate Dion as one of next year’s archons, an offer he politely refuses.86 Dion has several sound reasons for seeking a rapprochement with the council at this time. For one thing, his son has won a place on the boulê and the father does not want his own conflicts to affect the son’s career.87 The colonnade project, which has infested Dion’s political life for nearly a decade, has been completed – at least we hear no more of it.88 Thirdly, Dion has found a new and potentially powerful ally: the governor Varenus Rufus. Perhaps he hopes that Varenus, taking the imperial rather than the local view, will support his project for federating the scattered Bithynian cities into larger communities. Once again, Dion’s political plans go off course. His son dies within a few years, and his close relationship with Varenus turns into a serious liability. In the course of his term as governor, Varenus Rufus had alienated numerous members of the provincial elite, and some of these later alleged that they had been unjustly persecuted by the governor. When his term expired, he was called to account in a suit de repetundis, but the province withdrew the charges before the case had been heard (see also p. 86). In his forty-third oration, Dion defends himself in the Prusan assembly at a time when accusations have already been brought against Varenus, but the case has not yet reached a hearing at Rome. The charges brought against Dion by his adversaries include his “having misled a bad governor” to persecute the people of Bithynia without cause, forcing some of them into exile and driving others to suicide; worse, “even now” (nyn) he continues to cooperate with the governor, who is attempting to gain the upper hand over the cities and inhabitants (poleis kai dêmous) of the province. Unfortunately, the rest of the speech, containing Dion’s refutation of the charges, is not preserved. Dion’s love of hyperbolê as a rhetorical device is matched by his opponents, and it is difficult to extrapolate the exact accusations brought against Dion from his long and somewhat generalised list of his opponents’ grievances. Two charges are clearly stated, however. With good cause or without it, Varenus sentenced some leading citizens of Bithynia et Pontus to relegation, and some of those condemned had committed suicide instead of going into exile. Exile was no unusual punishment; it had been employed by one of Varenus’ predecessors and would once more be imposed by his successor.89 Second, Dion “even now” (nyn) continues to cooperate with the governor. That Varenus was “misled” on to this course by Dion may be imputing a too active rôle,90 but Dion was not adverse to the idea of using the governor (or the threat of intervention by the governor) for his own purposes91 and may well have agreed with the policies of Varenus in the early phase of his proconsulate.

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Whether Dion continued to do so at the time when oration 43 was held, and whether he felt bound by his former friendship with Varenus, is less clear;92 based on his experience at the fall of Flavius Sabinus, it would be entirely understandable if he chose to abandon Varenus Rufus rather than risk being dragged down with him.

Flavius Archippos No orations have been preserved from Dion’s last years in Prusan politics. He continued to be active in municipal life and as a builder. This brought him into conflict with another of the philosophers in Prusa, Flavius Archippos. Though it had no direct impact on Dion’s political career, the story deserves retelling for the light that it sheds on informal social relations and the way in which provincials might instrumentalise the power of Rome for their own petty purposes. Among Dion’s many adversaries, Flavius Archippos is one of the few that can be named, and though he is never mentioned by Dion, a good deal of his biography is known from the letters of Pliny. Archippos was a contemporary of Dion’s or perhaps slightly younger, and like Dion, he was born a peregrine. In his early years, he was indicted for forgery, found guilty in the governor’s court and sentenced to hard work in the mines (damnatus in metallum).93 Archippos either escaped (as his detractors later claimed) or was released, and through the favour of Domitian obtained not only the Roman citizenship but a grant enabling him to acquire a farm of his own near Prusa.94 He first appears in the correspondence of Pliny on account of having claimed exemption, as a philosopher, from jury service; this prompted some citizens to revive his old conviction for forgery and claim that Archippos had never served his full prison term. Their spokeswoman was a lady of good family, Furia Prima,95 who signed her name to a petition directed to the emperor. Pliny wisely forwarded the whole file, including Furia’s petition and the copious documentation provided by the ex-forger Archippos, to Trajan for consideration.96 The emperor instructed Pliny to take no further action in the matter,97 and Archippos was still at large some time later, when he once more appears before Pliny, this time in the role of plaintiff.98 Pliny was concluding one of his periodic visits to Prusa99 when one Claudius Eumolpos, acting on behalf of Flavius Archippos, lodged a formal complaint against Dion. At a meeting of the boulê – of which Archippos must thus have been a member – Dion had asked the city to assume financial responsibility for a building project (opus). It is not clear whether Dion had undertaken the construction on behalf of the city or whether this was a private building project of Dion’s that he now wanted the city to take over.100 Through Eumolpos, Flavius Archippos is laying two charges before the governor: first, that Dion has refused to open his accounts for inspection by the city and is suspected of dishonest conduct; second, he has set up a statue

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of the emperor in the building although it also contains the tombs of Dion’s wife and son. On behalf of Archippos, Eumolpos formally requested that the governor should hold a judicial inquiry (postulavit ut cognoscerem pro tribunali).101 We have no other clues to the nature of the building, identified by Pliny simply as a work, opus, that Dion wishes to transfer to the city.102 It included a library and a small court surrounded by colonnades, a description that might fit a small gymnasium or school (perhaps built to house Dion’s lecture classes) as well as a sumptous private house. It might even be the ancestral residence, rebuilt by the now childless Dion to serve as a library and a memento of his loyalty to the emperor. The second charge was in theory lethal, but in practice trivial. Placing an emperor’s image in conjunction with a private burial could be construed as a serious act of desecration, detrimental to the imperial maiestas. Some previous emperors had been notorious for the frequency and severity of maiestas trials, but there had been none since the early years of Trajan’s reign, a fact of which both Pliny and Dion were well aware. Perhaps because he thought the question could be settled summarily, Pliny acceded to the request of Archippos and Eumolpos and offered to hold an inquiry at once, but as Eumolpos needed time to prepare his case, it was agreed to have it at Nikaia (presumably the next stage on the governor’s circuit). At Ni­kaia, however, the plaintiffs requested yet another adjournement, while Dion, as defendant, wanted his case heard. After a great deal of talking on both sides – etiam de causa, as Pliny sarcastically remarks, “some of it even of relevance to the case” – the governor adjourned the case sine die to consult the emperor for advice. As in the previous case concerning Archippos, this required both sides to submit written petitions that Pliny could forward to Rome. Dion immediately agreed, but Eumolpos declared that he would confine himself to the question of the building accounts; for the second charge, he had merely been acting on the instructions (mandata) of Archippos. Archippos then volunteered to write the second petition himself. After several days, Pliny had received Dion’s submission but nothing from the plaintiffs. He sent Dion’s statement to Trajan with a covering letter in which he describes the building in question. Trajan’s statue is in a library, while the burials are in a different part of the complex, in a courtyard surrounded by a colonnade. Trajan’s reply is short and to the point. No action is to be taken on the maiestas charge, and Dion must open his account books for inspection, “which he has not refused to do and cannot refuse” (aut recuset … aut debeat recusare).103 This last sentence is our only clue to the contents of Dion’s submission, which has not been preserved. From a purely legalistic perspective, the behaviour of the chief characters may seem inexplicable, but when informal relations and social standing are included in the equation, their actions are easier to understand.

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First, Dion. In an earlier speech he had made an oblique but sarcastic attack at people who failed to account for a public work.104 On his own statement, he was not fond of appearing in court;105 unlike Eumolpos, who keeps asking for adjournments, Dion wants to get the case over with; since he did not refuse to open his accounts, he presumably had nothing to hide. There is no plausible reason why Dion should turn down a request for an audit, except that the request was made by Archippos – a social inferior, a competing philosopher, a protegé of the emperor at whose hands Dion had suffered, and a convicted forger to boot – in the full public view of the boulê. To accede then and there involved an intolerable loss of “face”, an acknowledgment that for the moment, Archippos was one up and Dion was one down. From what we know of Dion from his municipal speeches, we would not be surprised if he was provoked, nor that he should assume his familiar pose: “I am a personal friend of the emperor, touch me if you dare”. Dion’s refusal was an open challenge to the standing of Archippos, whose counter-claim (made not in the boulê, but before the governor) is that this self-stated imperial intimate is in fact an enemy of the emperor, guilty of maiestas. In the heat of the moment, Flavius Archippos and Claudius Eumolpos apparently, somewhat naïvely, believed that they might obtain a conviction on a maiestas charge; given time for closer reflection, their interest soon cooled. Dion, of course, would immediately have seen through their counter-charge, realising that under the new regime, a maiestas charge was at best an empty gesture and that with luck, it might even be exploited to make its originators look ridiculous. Eumolpos (who, unlike Archippos, may have been a trained lawyer) was the first to withdraw from what he evidently considered to be a hopeless case and leave it to Archippos, who likewise failed to follow his charge up with a written submission. Interestingly, the pair also failed to pursue their claim that Dion would not produce his accounts for inspection. Which brings us to Pliny. Like Dion, he would be well aware that maiestas prosecutions were a thing of the past; in his Panegyric to Trajan, held shortly after the emperor’s accession, he said so himself.106 The question of the building accounts was more delicate. On the one hand, Pliny was concerned about urban finances and had a duty to see that building accounts were properly audited; on the other hand, his attempts to enforce general rules in the case of the imperial freedman Maximus (see above, p. 64)107 had revealed that he could not always count on imperial backing where Trajan’s personal friends were involved. How far should Pliny go in this case – in other words, just how close an amicus principis was Dion? As we know, Dion was an energetic name-dropper, reminding his fellow-citizens how he enjoyed the emperor’s affection (agapê),108 friendship and interest (philanthrôpia kai spoudiê).109 In the less formal environment of the agora or his lecture-hall, he may have gone further; after all, the extravagant anecdote of Dion riding in Trajan’s golden chariot, found in the Lives of the Sophists110 is unlikely to have been invented

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by Philostratos; it must come from one of Dion’s pupils, and thus ultimately be based on a story told by Dion himself. Unsure what to do, Pliny decides to consult the emperor. He cannot ask Trajan openly whether Dion, like Maximus, is so close an intimate of the emperor that he is de facto above the law; but the charge of maiestas (which by definition involves the emperor himself) provides a convenient pretext for consultation on both issues. When the answer arrives, Pliny finds himself reprimanded (“My dear Pliny…”) for raising the issue of the maiestas charge, but this is a small price to pay for the clear guidance of Trajan on the other matter: Dion must produce his accounts for inspection.

Resignation and utopianism The last years of Dion’s life were not happy. The loss of his son, on whose career he had evidently set his hopes, must have been a serious blow. His wife probably also died in the first decade of the second century.111 Dion had at least one other son or daughter112 but we hear nothing of the others; probably none of his children survived him. Looking back on the years that had passed since his return from exile, his finest hour in civic politics had also been the first, when as leader of the Prusan delegation to Rome, he had proved himself as the city’s spokesman and friend of the emperor. But his subsequent participation in municipal life had been plagued by snide afterthe-fact criticism of his embassy and his building project, and the situation had been aggravated first by Dion’s attempts to pose as a champion of the dêmos, then by his alliance with Varenus Rufus. As we have seen, he went out of his way to seek reconciliation with the boulê, not least for the benefit of his son, but he still had enemies in Prusa – as the Flavius Archippos affair revealed all too clearly. The seventh, or Euboian, oration was composed towards the end of Dion’s political life.113 It was not written for a municipal assembly and does not conform to the normal pattern of a political speech, yet in a certain sense it may be read as the political testament of Dion. The structure of the Euboian oration is symmetrical, its first half taking the form of a narrative, the second a philosophical discussion of traditional moral and political problems: the nature of the good life, urban unemployment, virtuous and unworthy occupations, etc.114 These general precepts, however, are of limited interest for a study of Dion’s view of local politics; for that we must turn to the first part of the speech. The I-narrator relates how he sailed from Chios towards the Greek mainland in a small boat but was wrecked on the coast of Euboia. Without anyone to guide him, he wandered aimlessly along the shore until he met with a hunter who invited him to share his dinner. En route, the hunter tells the story of how he and his brother came to settle in the marginal lands of Euboia, living simply but happily off the fruits of the land, which their families have

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planted with grain, vines and olives. The hunter’s brother has never visited the city, but the hunter has been there twice, once as a boy and again more recently. The story that he tells the shipwrecked traveller about his visit to the city115 forms a separate tale within the larger narrative. The hunter relates how he came to the city and found himself in the ekklêsia, which was assembled in the city’s theatre. He is intimidated by the aggressive speeches and the volume of noise in the assembly, and one of the speakers accuses him of being a parasite, living off public land but paying no taxes nor performing any public duties. He and his family are free from taxes and liturgies (ateleis kai aleitourgêtoi), behaving “as though they were benefactors of the city” (hôsper euergetai tês poleôs).116 While the first speaker is haranguing the poor hunter in this manner, “another” (allos) man comes forward and argues that tilling waste land is no crime; in fact, the hunter deserves the praise of his fellow citizens.117 Much good land is lying untilled, the second speaker points out; in any case, the real villains are not those who reclaim the bush, but rather those who are ploughing the gymnasion and pasturing cattle in the agora, whose sheep are grazing around the bouleutêrion. When visitors visit the city, the speaker continues, “they either laugh at it or pity it”.118 The hunter counters the accusations of the first speaker to the best of his ability, and while he is talking, a third townsman rises from his seat to speak. He and his neighbour had been shipwrecked on the same shore two years ago, and saved by the very same hunter and his family who housed and fed

Fig. 29. The theatre of Nikaia. Theatres were often used for ekklêsia meetings, as in Acts and in the seventh oration of Dion Chrysostomos (Jesper Majbom Madsen).

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them, even giving one of them the youngest daughter’s tunic to keep him warm.119 The hunter is thus revealed to be a benefactor. Prompted by the second (allos) speaker, the assembly now votes him the free use of his farm without taxes or duties, and various gifts in addition.120 The tale-within-a-tale comes to an end and the narrative returns to the main storyline. While listening to the hunter’s story, Dion has now reached the farm, where he is treated to a simple, yet sumptuous dinner and introduced to the daughter of the house and her fiancée. At Dion’s prompting, the wedding takes place two days later and provides the speaker with the cue for a final encomium on the simple lifestyle and sincere family relationship of the hunter and his kin, explicitly contrasted to the empty artificiality, “promises and deceptions, contracts and agreements” that accompany wedding ceremonies in the city.121 The story possesses many of the hallmarks of fictional narrative: the utopian setting, the blushing young lovers, the stylised characters, the clear division into episodes, the coup de théatre in the assembly (taking place, indeed, in the city’s theatre).122 Some have read it as a description of actual events that can be located in time (Dion’s exile) and space (the city of Karystos),123 but we should be wary of accepting this carefully constructed tale-within-a-tale as a piece of Dionian reportage. It’s not, and it doesn’t even attempt to be; a brief comparison with the Borysthenic oration, which purports to report a real visit to a real place (the city of Olbia) reveals important differences. On the other hand, when setting the stage for his story, constructing a fictional city complete with inhabitants, Dion would naturally draw on his own experience of places and people; so Dion’s unnamed Euboian city will be no further from contemporary reality than Stephen Leacock’s Mariposa from real-life Orillia. The city described by the hunter124 could be inspired either by a port visited by Dion in the course of his travels, or by the city of the Phaiakeans in the Odyssey,125 which it resembles in having a strong surrounding wall and a natural harbour. Of conditions inside the walls, the hunter tells us little; it is from the “second” speaker in the debate that we learn that civic buildings are in disrepair and the public spaces being farmed or grazed126 (the huntsman, who has only once before visited a city, of course would not notice this: to him, cattle and crops were not out of place intra muros).127 This second speaker is the “good” orator who takes it upon himself to defend the hunter, not for the hunter’s own sake, but on general principles. In fact, he talks very little about the huntsman but a great deal about the common interests of the city and how they are best served by allowing the poor man his plot of land. The same theme – that poor “men willing to work with their hands” should be given the chance to support their families in respectable occupations – is taken up again in the second half of the speech, with a direct reference back to the story of the hunter.128 There can be no doubt that the hero of the piece, the loquacious “second” speaker who treats the assembly

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to a reasoned philosophical exposition of a policy that will be in everyone’s best interest, is Dion’s alter ego. It is significant, however, that in the end the audience is not swayed by the logic and eloquence of the second speaker, but by the unexpected appearance of the “third” speaker. The third speaker is introduced only for the purpose of the final dénouement, and unlike the “second” speaker, whose manner and appearance are described in positive terms by the huntsman,129 there is no attempt whatever at characterising the “third”.130 This leaves the “first” speaker. He is hostile to the huntsman from the moment he sets eyes on him, and his opening speech contains elements that are immediately recognizable to the reader of Dion’s municipal orations. The hunter’s paraphrase of the “first” speaker’s aggressive address is closely reminiscent of the way in which, in the municipal orations, Dion paraphrases the arguments of his political antagonists.131 The “first” speaker is characterized by arrogance, selfishness, lack of self-control and a violent temperament – in one word, hybris. The extravagance of the “first” speaker’s accusations – for instance, that the huntsman and his family are wreckers and lure passing ships to destruction with lights on the shore – again stamp him in our eyes: a thoroughly nasty character, a specimen of the “traitors and informers (prodotai kai sykophantai) who stop at nothing to harm their fellow citizens” that according to Dion have infested the Greek cities since the time of Epaminondas, if not earlier.132 Two other features of the “first” speaker’s address deserve to be noted. He is very exact about figures and income – “a thousand plethra of the best land, from which you could get three Attic choinikes of grain per head”.133 This attention to petty detail contrasts with the “second” speaker, who discusses only general principles; and with Dion himself, in whose municipal orations (save for oration 44, dating to his pre-exilic period) exact figures are rare. (We are, for instance, never told the total cost of Dion’s colonnade, nor the sum of the outstanding contributions towards it.) One furthermore notes the “first” speaker’s remark that the huntsman and his family “live free from taxes and liturgies as though they were euergetai”.134 The speaker’s implicit assumption that euergetai are entitled to privileges as well as, or in exchange for, duties marks a break with the unwritten social contract that underlies the liturgical system, and with the proud traditions of classical Greece. It combines with the unseemly interest in financial details to mark the “first” speaker as avaricious and out to secure something in return, not unconditionally generous as a true euergetes should be. Dion’s arrow is not aimed at the bouleutic class as a whole, but at those who do not live up to the norms and traditions of that class (as defined by Dion). If it is accepted that the “second” speaker, overflowing with sound advice and sophrosynê, is the alter ego of Dion, then the “first” speaker is a personification of his adversaries in Prusan political life. This fits well with what we are told of these adversaries: they belonged to the bouleutic class, they were

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hostile towards good people (i.e., Dion), they were selfish and reluctant to contribute to the public good (i.e., Dion’s building project). The character of the “first” speaker may be based on one specific person whom Dion remembers as a bête noire of Prusan political life, or it may be a more general attack at the honoratiores as a class. In any case, one cannot escape the impresssion that the Euboian oration is at one and the same time the political testament of Dion and a resigned retrospective view of his own life. The scene in the ekklêsia compresses the hopes and frustrations of Dion’s political career into one short exchange between the “first” (bad) and the “second” (good) speaker, just as the idyllic image of the hunter’s nuclear family household no doubt reflects Dion’s longing for the family life that he himself had once known and his plans that were dashed by the death of his children. Notes 1 Dion, Or. 46.3. 2 This unnamed emperor must be Claudius. Dion takes a dim view of Nero and would hardly boast of his ancestor’s close association with Caligula. Or. 41.6 implies that the grandfather did not receive the Roman franchise until after the birth of Dion’s mother. The grandfather acquired a “second fortune” bv imperial bequest; such generosity would be more typical of Claudius than of the notoriously parsimonious Tiberius. 3 Or. 41.6: Dion’s grandfather and mother received Roman citizenship from the emperor, his father through the favour of the Apameians. Or. 44.3: Dion’s father was honoured by the Prusans; his mother was likewise honoured but additionally received “a statue and a shrine”. 4 Sherwin-White (1966, 676), followed by Moles (1978, 86) and Salmeri (1982, 18 n. 49; 2000, 66‑67 and 89) conclude that Dion’s father was a peregrinus, against the earlier view of Arnim that he was a Roman citizen. At some point in his life, however, Pasikrates received the Roman franchise, since this would presumably be a precondition for Apameian citizenship (Or. 41.6; 10; Raggi 2004). 5 Photios, Bibliothêke 209 (165a).. 6 Attempts to identify the fragmentary inscription IK 39.33 as the epitaph of Dion or his son are not convincing. 7 Ep. 10.81‑82. 8 Dion, Or. 46.8. 9 Dion, Or. 46.13; 46.9. 10 Dion, Or. 46.5. For loans at very high interest rates, cf., e.g., the rate of 48 % p.a. charged by Brutus on a loan to the city of Salamis, Cicero Att. 6.1. In Pliny’s time, the normal rate in Bithynia was 12 % p.a. (Ep. 10.54). 11 Dion had a sister who died c. 105 and at least two brothers. 12 In Or. 46.6, Dion claims to have performed the “greatest liturgies” (megistas leitourgeias), more than any other in the city. Though Dion was fond of hyperbole, he would hardly expect to get away with such an extravagant claim if it did not contain some substance of truth, especially as his having performed previous liturgies is crucial to the success of his later argument (46.14) 13 Or. 46.5‑11.

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14 For a useful survey of the available evidence and Stand der Forschung, see Moles 2005, esp. 120‑121. 15 Stini 2006, 301. 16 Or. 13.9‑12. 17 Or. 45.10. 18 Arnim 1898, 319 hypothesizes that, as “nach dem Tode der Bruder kein nähere Verwandter vorhanden war, der die Vormundschaft über Dios Kinder und die Verwaltung seines Vermögens übernehmen konnte”, the city had appointed an administrator of Dion’s property. It is not clear, however, that his children would need a guardian, and in Or. 47.21 Dion implies that his sister administered part of his property (or perhaps of their joint inheritance?). 19 The attempt of Jones (1978, 139) to date Or. 44 to c. AD 101 and thus later than Or. 38‑41 is unconvincing and rejected by Salmeri (1982, 30). According to Jones, the assizes, larger council, freedom etc. mentioned in 44.11 suggest a date after Dion’s embassy to Rome; but a) the reference to eleutheria follows naturally from the mention of Dion’s grandfather in 44.5, b) it would not be typical of Dion to downplay his own achievements, c) if Or. 44 was given shortly before the projected departure date of Dion’s embassy, the city would naturally have drawn up a “wish list” of privileges; this is probably it. Oration 44 ends with Dion’s reading of a letter from the emperor, and since this reading is mentioned as a fait accompli in 40.5, Or. 44 must antedate Or. 40. 20 Od. 9.34, quoted at 44.1. 21 Vielmetti (1941, 97) takes the archon mentioned in the closing lines of Or. 48 as a veiled reference to Dion himself; it would, however, be uncharacteristic of Dion to downplay his achievements in this manner, and even more to describe himself as apeiros, “inexperienced”. Cuvigny (comm. ad Or. 48, p. 162) assumes that apeiros merely means “not having held the office before”. Arnim (1898, 390) more plausiby interprets this somewhat condescending expression as referring to Dion’s son, but there is no other evidence that Dion junior had reached an archontate by this time. 22 Cf. Or. 44.6. 23 Robert 1977, 3‑4. 24 Or. 38.42. 25 Or. 38.37. 26 Or. 38.36. 27 Or. 38.38. 28 Or. 39.8. 29 The citizens as a ship’s crew with their leader as captain, cf. Or. 39.6 and 34.16; the city as a body, cf. Or. 39.5 and 34.22. 30 Or. 39.7‑8. 31 Or. 38.26. 32 Or. 45.2. 33 Or. 45.3. 34 VS 487. 35 C.P. Jones’ assumption (1978, 52) that Dion was “making or renewing” an acquaintance with Trajan on the Rhine or Danube border in 99 is pure speculation; the same applies to the claim that Trajan took Dion with him from Rome to Dacia “to secure a favourable account of the war in Dio’s history” (1978, 53). 36 Eck 2002 216, 223-224.

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37 Cf. Jones 1978, 116‑121. 38 Ziethen 1994, 16‑22. 39 Jones (1978, 52‑53; 138‑139) proposes an alternative and highly complicated chronology for the early post-exilic period, claiming that Dion made two visits to Rome within this short period. For a refutation, Sheppard 1984, 160‑161. 40 Two other short speeches (Or. 42 and 51) should probably also be dated to this period, but provide no additional information on the questions dealt with here. 41 Or. 40.13‑14, cf. 45.3. 42 Or. 45.15. 43 Dion refers in a general way to the achievements of four important cities: Tarsos, Smyrna, Ephesos and Antioch on the Orontes (40.11). Antioch and Tarsos are mentioned again at 47.16‑17, along with Nikomedia, Athens and Sparta, as well as the colonnades of Rome. The Antiochene colonnade and its urban context are described in greater detail than the others, so presumably Dion’s project was meant to emulate the colonnades of Antioch. 44 Or. 45.15‑16. 45 Or. 40.8. 46 Or. 45.8. 47 Or. 40.12. 48 Or. 45.6. 49 Or. 45.15. 50 Or. 40.6‑8. 51 Or. 45.15. 52 Or. 45.9‑10. 53 Cf. Appian’s description of the reaction of the senatorial élite at Rome to the proposal of M. Livius Drusus to double the number of senators (91 BC), Civil Wars 1.35. 54 Or. 40.9. Dion’s claim is not entirely unfounded; Pliny, when he visited Prusa, found several old and dilapidated buildings in the city, cf. Ep. 10.23; 10.70. 55 Or. 40.17. The nature of the conflict is not known; Jones (1978, 91) basing himself on Or. 40.30 hypothesizes that it may have been a boundary dispute. 56 Or 45.12‑13. This could be Dionian rationalisation after the fact, but finds some support in the reference in the earlier oration to common festivals and spectacles (40.29), implying a synoikism. The phrasing of 45.12, relating how Dion wished to equip “the city” (singular) with “harbours and shipyards” leaves no doubt that a fusion into one political unit is meant. 57 Or. 40.20. The subject of the motion is not specified but from the context, it must have been linked with the formal declaration of friendship (philia) with Apameia (cf. 40.17) after the previous conflict, possibly a motion to ratify the terms reached by arbitration between the cities. 58 The size of Apameia’s council is not known. As a Roman colony, its councillors may have numbered one hundred (the usual figure for colonies in the west) – possibly more, but hardly less. 59 Pliny Ep. 10.47. 60 For a discussion of Dion’s possible family ties to Apameia, see Arnim 1898, 360‑361. 61 Or. 40.30.

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62 The reference to Apameia’s interest in Prusan timber may merely have been thrown in by Dion to impress his Prusan audience. Given the cost relationship between sea and land transport and the problems of transporting large timbers, it was probably more attractive for Apameia to obtain her timber by water from the Marmaran shores than overland from the hinterland of Prusa. 63 Salmeri 1982, 94. 64 Or. 45.13. 65 Or. 45.14. 66 Cf. the hedge at Or. 45.15: “If the opportunity should ever arise…” 67 Politics 1252a24‑1253a17. 68 Or. 47.11. 69 Or. 47.18‑20. 70 Or. 47.2; 5. One notes the contrast – obvious to Dion’s readers, though not to his listeners – with the opening paragraph of Or. 44 where Dion quotes Homer to the effect that no place is sweeter than one’s patris. 71 Or. 47.7. 72 Or. 47.9. 73 Or. 47.21. 74 Cf. Anderson 1993, 24‑25. 75 In Or. 12, Dion claims that he takes no pupils (cf. also 35.10), but as Charidemos, the subject of Or. 30, had clearly been a pupil of Dion, “I do not take” (ou  … lambanô) in Or. 12.13 must mean “at the present time”. Since they are unlikely to have accompanied Dion on his wanderings and were too young to have known him in Rome before his exile, we should place Favorinus’ and Polemo’s acquaintance with Dion later in the first decade of the new century. Favorinus, a native of Arelate in southern Gaul, may have met Dion in Rome during the latter’s embassy to Trajan and joined him in Prusa some time after the date of Or. 12, which can on internal evidence be dated to the immediate post-exilic period. 76 Most recently Or. 45.11. 77 Or. 47.19. 78 Or. 45.8. 79 Or. 48.1‑2. Vielmetti (1941) read the apologetic mention of an “unexperienced” archon as a reference to Dion himself, thus assuming that Dion was receiving the governor as the leading archon of Prusa. It would be unlike Dion, however, to downplay his own qualifications in this manner, and there is no other evidence that he ever held an archontate. On another, occasion he refused precisely this honour; see Or. 49. 80 Or. 48.17. 81 Or. 48.11. 82 Or. 43.7. 83 Or. 47.24‑25. 84 Or. 50.10. 85 Or. 50.3. 86 Or. 49. 87 Or. 50.10. 88 The claim that Dion has “raised [Prusa] to the level of the leading cities” (Or. 43.1) presumably refers to the completion of the building project. 89 Plin. Ep. 10.56.

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90 Dion has certainly not functioned as delator, since he makes the point that only once has he appeared in the courtroom, and then he was speaking for the defense, 43.6‑7. 91 Or. 45.8‑9, 47.19. 92 According to Jones’ reconstruction of events (Jones 1978, 102) Dion “had certain of his enemies exiled” through his influence with the governor; when Varenus was summoned for trial, Dion stood by his friend and ally, collecting evidence in his favour and eventually engineering the “shift of votes in the provincial council” that led to the abandonment of the case. He further assumes that the departure to which Dion alludes at 43.8 is a journey to Rome, where he intends to support Varenus’ case. However, the use of tyrannêsas at 43.11 suggests that Dion is trying to distance himself from Varenus. Against Jones’ interpretation it should also be noted that a) Dion is not otherwise known to have taken a part in politics at the provincial level; would he possess the necessary influence to have the charges against Varenus dropped? b) there is no indication whatever in Pliny, Ep. 10.81‑82 that Pliny and Dion were previously acquainted, as they would certainly be if Dion had been present in Rome during Varenus’ case. 93 Pliny, Ep. 10.58. The governor was Velius Paulus, and the events would have taken place around or shortly after AD 80. The nature of the punishment indicates that Archippos at this time was not yet a Roman citizen, contra Sherwin-White 1966, 641. 94 Ep. 10.58. 95 The gens Furia ranked among the oldest and most prestigious patrician clans of Rome. A number of Furii are attested in Asia Minor, but nothing more is known of this Furia or her relationship to other members of the family. The assumption of Sherwin-White (1966, 675) that she belonged to the “côterie” of Dion is pure speculation. 96 Ep. 10.58‑59. 97 Ep. 10.60. 98 Ep. 10.81. 99 According to Sherwin-White (1966, 639; 675) the events related in Ep. 10.58‑59 and 10.81 took place during the same visit of the governor to Prusa. Pliny, however, makes no link between the two cases, though their protagonist (Archippos) is the same person. Further, the question of Archippos’ legal standing would surely have to be resolved before Pliny could deal with his complaint against Dion? And while in 10.58 it is clearly stated that Pliny is in Prusa to enroll jurors, in 10.81, though dealing with a legal problem, he makes no mention of his own judicial function, merely that he is is Prusa “on public business” (negotiis publicis). 100 Pliny’s phrase curam egerit suggests that Dion had been acting on behalf of the city throughout, but the following statement that Dion’s wife and son were buried in the same building (in eodem) points to the private nature of the original project. Had Dion used public money or property to bury his relatives, Archippos and Eumolpos would surely have seized on this rather than the far-fetched accusation of maiestas that was to follow. Perhaps the transfer of the building was in the nature of a partial gift, Dion receiving a sum of money in return to cover some of the costs involved. 101 Ep. 10.81.2. 102 Cf. Sherwin-White 1966, 675‑676. Some commentators, e.g. Jones (1978, 114) have tried to identify the opus of Dion with the colonnade mentioned in Or. 40, 45, 47

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1 03 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 1 12 113 114 1 15 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 1 23 124 125

1 26 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134

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and 48, but this is plainly impossible; for one thing, the colonnade was already nearing completion in the proconsulate of Varenus, for another, the inclusion of two burials indicates that this second opus was outside the pomerium (most likely on the suburban property of Dion’s family), whereas the colonnade was intended to beautify the city centre. Ep. 10.82 Or. 47.19. Or. 43.7. Pan. 42.1. Ep. 10.27‑28. Or. 45.2 Or. 45.3 VS 488. It is remarkable that while Dion often discusses relations within the family in a general sense (cf. Hawley 2000), we never hear about his wife; not even her name is known. Or. 41.6: Apameia is the patris of his children (plural). Or. 7.1: the speaker is presbys, “old”. Since the two halves differ in style as well as content, it appears that the second half originally formed a separate oration, later re-used by Dion as a sequel to his Euboian tale. Or. 7.22‑63. Or. 7.28. Or. 7.33. Or. 7.38‑39. Or. 7.54‑58. Or. 7.60‑62 Or. 7.80. For a discussion of the relationship between genre and reality in Or. 7, see Reuter 1932; Ma 2001; Bertrand 1992. Jones 1978, 56; 58; less categorically, Anderson 1993, 70. Or. 7.22. Od. 6.262‑273. The two stories share other features as well, e.g. the shipwrecked narrator, the confrontation in the council/assembly etc. For other examples of the Odyssey as inspiration for writers of the Second Sophistic, cf. Anderson 1993, 75‑77; for other literary parallels to the framing narrative of the Euboicus, cf. Reuter 1932, 13‑15. Or. 7.38‑39. Cf. Ma 2001, 109. Or. 7.126. Or. 7.33. Or. 7.53. E.g., Or. 40.8, 47.18. Or. 43.7. Or. 7.29. Or. 7.28.

8. The Bithynian Cities under the Later Empire

Antonines and Severans When the tenth book of Pliny’s letters closes shortly after AD 110, so does our window into the urban life of Roman Bithynia. For the remainder of the century, our main sources are inscriptions and scattered references in historical works. The second century has traditionally been associated with peace and stability and even if today’s historians do not share Gibbon’s unreserved enthusiasm for the “golden age” of the Antonines, it may well have been a time of quiet prosperity for the cities of Bithynia. The paucity of references in the literary sources is in itself an indication that Bithynia was not drawn into the major political and military conflicts of the time. With the accession of the philhellene Hadrian, the Greek East received more imperial attention than it had enjoyed under Hadrian. The chief beneficiary was Athens, but Hadrian also took an active interest in Bithynia, visiting the region in the aftermath of an earthquake in 120 that caused widespread destruction in Nikomedia and Nikaia. In both cities, reconstruction took place, apparently with imperial support (fig. 30). Hadrian’s attention to naval defense and conditions on the Bithynian coast is also attested by the Periplous of Arrian, compiled shortly after 130 on the basis of an inspection trip to the ports and bases of the Black Sea. Little is known of life in Bithynia under the later Antonines, but after the murder of Commodus on the last day of 192, Bithynia once again found itself in the spotlight. Commodus’ successor, Pertinax, ruled for three months before he was killed by members of the Praetorian guard in Rome. When the eastern armies learned of Pertinax’ death, the imperial legate of Syria, Pescennius Niger, was proclaimed emperor in Antioch and immediately mustered his forces for a showdown with Septimius Severus, the imperial candidate of the Danubian legions. Most of the cities in the eastern provinces, among them Byzantion and Nikaia, chose to support Pescennius Niger. Nikomedia, however, sided with Septimius Severus. It proved a fortunate choice. Niger gained the upper hand in the early stages of the conflict, but his commander Asellius Aemilianus was killed in the siege of Kyzikos before the end of the year. In early 194, Niger himself led his army against the Severan forces among the hills on the southern shore of Lake Askanios. It was a narrow victory for

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Fig. 30. Hadrian’s generosity towards the stricken cities of Bithynia was publicized on this imperial sesterce from the mint of Rome. The reverse shows the grateful tychê of the city (with a mural crown) kneeling before the emperor, restitutor Nicomediae. RIC 961 (Leu Numismatik AG).

the Severans, but Niger succeeded in bringing his defeated forces to safety within the walls of Nikaia. Looking back on events from the perspective of a Nikaian but also that of a loyal servant of the Severan dynasty, the preserved version of Cassius Dion’s narrative is brief and somewhat circumspect, noting merely that the battle took place between Kios and Nikaia, and that the troops of Niger found refuge “in the city”.1 Herodian is more explicit, and his version of events is worth quoting at length: When news of Severus’ victory spread, its immediate effect was to cause an outbreak of civil strife and factional politics (stasis kai diaphoros) in the cities of all the eastern provinces, not really because of partisanship for or against one of the warring emperors so much as jealous inter-city rivalry and because of the slaughter and destruction of their compatriots. This continual inter-city struggle and the desire to ruin a rival who seems to have grown too powerful is a long-standing weakness of the Greeks and sapped the strength of Greece. But as their organization grew feebler and were mutually destructive, they fell victims to Macedonian domination and Roman enslavement. This same disease of jealous envy has been transmitted to the cities that have prospered up to the present day. Straight after the battle of Kyzikos the city of Nikomedia in Bithynia went over to Severus and sent envoys to him, welcoming his army and offering their full co-operation. The people of Nikaia by contrast, because of their rivalry with Nikomedia, joined the other side by opening their gates to Niger’s army and taking in any fugitives that came their way as well as the garrison that Niger sent for Bithynia. The

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two cities were like army camps and provided the bases from which forces clashed.2 Though scholars are generally sceptic of Herodian’s value as a historical source, his narrative of the conflict, including its morale, has been accepted and retold by modern scholars such as Robert (1977), Merkelbach (1987) and Marek (2003).3 Precisely because of its moral nature, however, it should be approached with some caution. Herodian is not retelling the story of Nikaia and Nikomedia merely for its own sake, but to illustrate the nature of the “Greek malady” and its consequences: their jealousy of other cities leads the Greeks to stasis and subjection at the hands of others. (Later in his narrative of the civil war, he quotes the parallel examples of Laodikeia and Antioch, Tyre and Berytos to illustrate the same point.4) The theme itself – homonoia versus stasis – is not particularly original, and we have met it more than once in the orations of Dion. Herodian himself was a teenager at the time of the battle, and while we do not know what sources he had at his disposal, they did not include any first-hand account of the deliberations taking place within the walls of Nikaia. The historian has reconstructed the motives of the protagonists ex eventu and in the light of his own historical theory about the all-pervading nature of the “Greek malady”. Leaving the moral and theoretical aspects aside and concentrating on the chronology of events, a somewhat different picture emerges. According to Herodian’s account, the sequence was as follows. 1. Severus defeats the forces of Niger at Kyzikos; 2. the news of Severus’ victory leads to conflict and stasis within “all” the Greek cities; 3. the Nikomedians send ambassadors to Severus; 4. in response, the Nikaians “welcome the army of Niger” which has fled from Kyzikos and is now being reinforced with fresh troops. On this chronology, the fatal decision of the Nikaians may not have been as unanimous, nor as irrational, as Herodian and his modern followers would have us believe. Since mid-April, there had been three contenders for the imperial throne (the third, Clodius Albinus, was still in Britain and thus of no relevance to the situation in Bithynia). The Severan victory at Kyzikos took place in the second half of 193, possibly as late as December.5 Either the Bithynian cities had been sitting on the fence for months, without taking sides in the conflict – which on the face of it seems unlikely – or more probably, and consistent with Herodian’s narrative, they had sided with the majority of Asian cities and opted for Pescennius Niger, whose forces controlled most of Asia Minor at a time when Severus’ army was still only a distant threat. As Herodian informs us, the Severan victory at Kyzikos disrupted the complacent attitude “among all the peoples” (i.e. those who had so far supported Niger).6 They were divided as to what course to take: some advocated a change of allegiance, others loyalty to Niger. The stakes were high and conflicts sometimes erupted into violence and stasis.7

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Still according to Herodian, “immediately after (euthys meta) the events of Kyzikos” the Nikomedians decided to throw in their lot with Severus, “welcoming his army” and promising to furnish everything he required.8 Such demonstrative goodwill towards Severus implies that until this moment, the Nikomedians had not been among his supporters. At the same time, Niger’s defeated forces were retreating eastwards from Kyzikos to link up with reinforcements sent up “to guard Bithynia.” In this situation, the Nikaians opted for the side of Pescennius Niger. Their choice is not difficult to understand, and while the traditional rivalry with Nikomedia may have played a role, it is irrelevant to any serious analysis of their motives. The Nikaians, having been on the side of Niger until then, may have been divided in their counsels (as Herodian tells us that “all” the eastern cities were); but everyone would now be aware that a battle-hardened army complete with siege equipment was encamped on the road from Kyzikos, and that Niger was bringing fresh troops up from the south. In this situation, defection from Niger’s side would be suicidal. The citizens of Nikaia could never hope to defend their five-kilometre perimeter – not the massive walls of the later third century, but the lighter structure erected in the Flavian period and repaired under Hadrian – against a trained force of legionaries with scaling ladders and battering rams. Had the Nikaians not opened their city to Niger, he would have taken it. After the final victory, Cassius Dion tells us in general terms that “Severus rewarded his supporters and punished his opponents” and “exacted four times the amount that any individuals or peoples had given to Niger”;9 in that case, Nikaia and its citizens paid dearly for their decision to support Niger. The erasure of the the historical titles of Nikaia – metropolis, neôkoros, first city – from the inscription over the eastern gate was presumably part of Severus’ punishment: though he did not strip Nikaia of its leading status – that had been lost for more than a century  – he humiliated its citizens by removing the references to Nikaia’s former rank. The names of Trajan and Hadrian (which the Severan dynasty claimed among its ancestors) as well as the founding gods, Dionysos and Herakles, were left untouched.

Nikomedia’s imperial century A few years earlier, Nikaia had issued a coin with the reverse legend basileu­ ontos Kommodou ho kosmos eutychei, “under the rule of Commodus the world is happy”; now it was the turn of Nikomedia to strike an issue announcing that “under the rule of Severus the world is happy”.10 Since its rebuilding by Hadrian, the city had been calling itself Hadrianê, and now the epithet Severianê was added in honour of its second benefactor. In return for its support of Severus at a crucial moment, Nikomedia enjoyed a positive relationship with the new dynasty, symbolically expressed by the establishment of additional imperial cults (Severus, later also Elagabal) and

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games in honour of the imperial house. Possibly the temple to Commodus, out of use since 193, was re-used for the cult of Severus. More surprising at first sight is the generous treatment of Nikaia. Punished in 194 for its support of Niger, it was soon granted the right to hold games in honour of the new emperor (Seouêreia) and his sons (Seouêreia philadelpheia).11 In the reign of Commodus, Nikaia had established games in honour of the emperor12 – thus Severus, who from 195 onwards claimed to be the adopted son of Marcus Aurelius and divi Commodi frater, was bound by the norms of family loyalty to continue the Kommodeia in honour of his dead “brother”. Sentimental considerations apart, there were good reasons for the close relationship between the Nikomedians and the ruling dynasty. Roman emperors needed to keep an eye on the situation on the Parthian frontier (and another eye on the powerful Syrian army, which had provided more than one pretender for the imperial throne). Where previous emperors had usually gone by sea to and from the East, the Severans showed a preference for the overland route through Anatolia, and Nikomedia offered a convenient staging point and temporary headquarters. In 214/215, Caracalla wintered in Nikomedia and found the city so congenial that he stayed long enough to celebrate his birthday (on April 4) before resuming his journey.13 Four years later, Elagabal spent the winter in Nikomedia, allowing time for the snows to clear before continuing overland through the Balkans to Rome.14 For a provincial city, the presence of an emperor was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it offered the chance to meet the emperor and his chief deputies at close hand, to obtain privileges for the city or imperial appointments for oneself and one’s relatives. On the other hand, by the unwritten laws of hospitality, the city was expected to house and feed their visitors. A difficult and demanding task, especially if the visit was a prolonged one or the emperor was travelling with an army. In such situations, the city naturally looked to its richest citizens to bear the burden, either alone or jointly. Among the many benefactions performed by the rich Ephesian sophist Flavius Damianos, one of the most generous was to feed the army of Lucius Verus “returning from the Parthian victory”.15 Within Bithynia itself, an inscription records how a wealthy Nikaian, Fl. Severianus Asklepiodotos, received and “accompanied” Caracalla during the latter’s passage on the way from Nikomedia to Antioch in April 215; three years later, he did the same for Elagabal. In return, he received an imperial priesthood and the right to wear the purple. Caracalla in particular could be a demanding guest, as Cassius Dion writes: Then there were the provisions that we were required to furnish in great quantities on all occasions, and this without receiving any remuneration and sometimes actually at additional cost to ourselves all of which supplies he either bestowed upon the soldiers

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Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia or else peddled out; and there were the gifts which he demanded from the wealthy citizens and from the various communities … But apart from all these burdens, we were also compelled to build at our own expense all sorts of houses for him whenever he set out from Rome, and costly lodgings in the middle of even the very shortest journeys; yet he not only never lived in them, but in some cases was not destined even to see them. Moreover, we constructed amphitheatres and race-courses wherever he spent the winter or expected to spend it, all without receiving any contribution from him and they were all promptly demolished, the sole reason for their being built in the first place being, apparently, that we might become impoverished.16

Allowing for some exaggeration on the part of Cassius Dion, the description tallies with the inscription in honour of Flavius Asklepiodotos (fig. 31), who arranged both gladiatorial games and wild beast hunts during Caracalla’s visit to Nikaia.17 If supplies were not forthcoming on a voluntary basis, the emperors might resort to requisitions; Caracalla’s freedman Theocritus was notorious for his brutality in this respect: travelling to and fro for the purpose of securing provisions and then hawking them at retail, and he put many people to death in connexion with this business as well as for other reasons.18 Cassius Dion, himself a member of the elite, complains that provisions were furnished “without remuneration”; but for the man in the street, it mattered little whether the emperor paid for army provisions or not. Even if he did, the presence of a large army would increase demand for foodstuffs and drive prices beyond the means of average consumers, as when Julian assembled his army at Antioch in the latter half of 362. Despite the efforts of the emperor to bring supplies from outside at his own expense, the presence of the army aggravated an already existing grain shortage, leading to price rises and bread riots in the city.19 In this respect, a port like Nikomedia – which could be supplied by sea if need arose – was better suited as a staging point for an army than an inland city like Nikaia, and this may explain its rôle as a winter base under the Severans and its subsequent rise to the status of an imperial residence. Once the facilities for accomodating the emperor and the army had been established, they could be re-used on later occasions. According to the hostile account of Cassius Dion, amphitheatres and circuses erected for Caracalla’s visits “were all promptly demolished”, but this was evidently not always the case. Nikomedia possessed a large bath complex, later known as the “Antonine baths”. It was probably here that the sophist Libanios – then at the height of his popularity – gave lectures in the 340s, for lack of a larger auditorium in

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Fig. 31. The biography of Flavius Severianus Asklepiodotos, a rich notable of Nikaia in the early third century, records how he “accompanied” Caracalla during the latter’s visits to Nikaia. When Caracalla was murdered and suffered memoria damnata, the emperor’s name was erased from the inscription. Iznik Museum (author’s photo).

the city;20 shortly afterwards, the baths were destroyed in the earthquake of 358.21 Two hundred years later, Prokopios records Justinian’s restoration of the Antonine baths in Nikomedia, which “because of their immense size” no one had expected to see rebuilt.22 A structure of this size, requiring some time to plan and build, would hardly be erected merely for a winter sojourn. Had he lived, Caracalla presumably intended to return to Nikomedia and make it his residence from time to time, and he may have aimed to match the Thermae Antonini at Rome, begun under his father in 206 and nearing completion by 214. No parts of the Antonine baths remain standing in Nikomedia, but their Roman homonym gives an idea of the size and grandeur that may have been intended. As for their location, it was clearly in the lower part of the city,23 probably somewhere between the citadel and the agora. Of other structures built under the Severans, little is known. We may take it for granted than Nikomedia had an amphitheatre, at least one theatre and a circus. If the emperor intended to stay in the city for longer periods, we may also take it that Nikomedia possessed a palace. From the evidence of coin images and titles, we know that by the reign of Elabagal, the city was tris neôkoros, home to no less than three imperial temples (fig. 7).24 For most of the third century, emperors were preoccupied with events elsewhere and visits to Nikomedia intermittent,25 but with the accession of

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Diokletian in 284, the city became a permanent imperial residence. Under the Tetrarchy, it was one of the four imperial capitals. The continuous presence of the senior Augustus, the highest-ranking of the four tetrarchs, naturally stimulated urban development which was spurred on by the monumental ambitions of the emperor himself. The rhetor Lactantius, who came to Nikomedia at the end of the third century and observed events at first hand, describes the building activities of Diokletian: In addition, his unlimited desire to build led to requisitions of artisans, artists, wagons and everything required for a building project throughout the provinces. Basilicas here, a circus there, a mint or arms factory; here a house for his wife, there one for his daughter. A great part of the town was torn down straight away … Thus he raged without pause in his eagerness to make Nikomedia the equal of Rome.26 The requisitions and taxes of which Lactantius complains may well have been resented, but there will have been a more positive side to Diokletian’s activities: the immense building site created jobs, stimulated the local economy and attracted immigrants to the region. By the early fourth century, Nikomedia was the fifth largest city of the Empire.27 There is no doubt that by the end of Diokletian’s reign, Nikomedia was a magnificent city; both Ammianus and Libanios, who had known it before its destruction by earthquake in 358, are vociferous in their laments. It is indeed a sad fact that seismic activity has obliterated almost every vestige of the city that Diokletian strove to make “the equal of Rome”. For an impression of Nikomedia in its glory, one must go to other residences of the Tetrarchs. In the western capital of Trier, the visitor can still get an impression of the sheer size of a late imperial city, while the retirement palace of Diokletian at Split gives some idea of the residence he built in Nikomedia. Following the abdication of Diokletian in 305, three other emperors made Nikomedia their residence: Maximinus Daia (305‑313), Licinius (313‑324) and Constantine the Great (324‑325). In 312, the presbyter Lukianos was brought to Nikomedia from Antioch to be tried before Maximinus, who had him executed.28 The following year, Maximinus was defeated by Licinius, who entered Nikomedia in triumph and made it the capital of his eastern part of the empire for more than a decade. Relations between Licinius and his western colleague Constantine were strained, and in 324, the conflict came to a head; Licinius was defeated, forced to abdicate and exiled to Thessaloniki. In the autumn of the same year, Constantine the Great entered Nikomedia for the first time. He remained in Nikomedia over the winter, travelled to Nikaia for the ecumenical council in May-June 325 and returned to Nikomedia to celebrate his vicennalia – a year early – at the end of July. By that time, however, Constantine had already chosen Byzantion as the site for the

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new city that was to bear his name. When the summer drew to a close and Constantine departed for the west, Nikomedia’s time as an imperial capital came to an end.

Change and crisis in third century Bithynia Traditionally, ancient historians have tended to view the third century as a period of violence and disorder, a distressing contrast to the golden years of the the adoptive emperors. Recent scholarship has revised this view; not every change that took place during the third century was a change for the worse, and some of the period’s long-term problems had their roots in the second century. Furthermore, individual perceptions of events and trends will have been very different, depending on where one lived and to what social class one belonged. The senatorial class suffered most, as in the course of the century, its traditional monopoly on leading political and administrative positions was steadily eroded. The accession of the equestrian Macrinus in 217 revealed that it was now possible for non-senators to reach the throne; the reforms of Gallienus at the mid-century excluded senators from military commands, the traditional way to glory and personal prestige. By the late third century, the senate saw itself reduced to the governing council of a city that was in theory still the imperial capital but rarely visited by the emperor. A basic problem of the empire was the difficulty of raising sufficient funds to pay the army. Since cutbacks in army pay were politically impossible, few financial policy options remained open. The simplest and most effective was to debase the coinage. Coins were called in, melted down and recoined to a lighter weight standard or with a higher proportion of base metal. In the short term, this boosted the state’s spending power; in the longer term, it led to inflation. Inflation meant rising cash prices for primary products, benefiting small farmers and urban landowners with large rural properties, who found it easier to pay taxes and debts in cash. Conversely, artisans and urban dwellers relying on the market for their food supplies suffered; so did urban capital-owners and moneylenders. The cities were among the losers. Over the centuries, they had built up funds and endowments to cover specific items of urban expenditure (e.g., the oil fund of Prusa). Some of this capital will have been invested in land, but much would be in the form of cash lent out to citizens at interest. As primary prices rose, the interest no longer sufficed to cover the cost of oil, grain or other items. As before, cities looked to their richest citizens to contribute or undertake liturgies; thus archai developed into mixed liturgies, mixed liturgies into full ones, and the demand for wealthy and civic-spirited citizens grew at the same time that economic conditions favoured a flight of capital to the countryside. A further problem was that as the value of the imperial “silver” coinage declined, so did that of the local bronze coinage, to the point where

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the real metal value of the bronze coins was nearly equal to their nominal value. The local mints, which had been a source of urban revenue for centuries, became uneconomical and were closed down. The situation was not improved by the absence of effective central leadership. The fall of Macrinus led to the reinstatement of the Severan dynasty, first under Elagabal, then Alexander, who held the throne until he was murdered in 235. A semblance of stability returned under Valerian and Gallienus (253‑268) and after the accession of Diokletian in 284, the imperial power reasserted itself throughout the empire. By this time, the senate had ceased to play any role in provincial administration and all territories (including Italy itself) were governed by imperial appointees. Under the terms of Diokletian’s reorganisation, the empire was governed by four emperors (the tetrarchs), each with his own residential city and “imperial” administration. The provinces were subdivided and grouped under a new administrative unit, the dioikesis (see below p. 160). While the emperors of the third century were struggling to pay their armies, suppress internal rebellions and defend the eastern borders, new problems appeared on the northern horizon of Bithynia. A group of Germanic tribes collectively known as Goths had broken up from their homelands in present-day Poland and moved southwards into the Ukraine and the eastern Balkans. In 255, Gothic raiders travelled down the eastern shore of the Black Sea and attacked Trapezunt; the following year, a larger force crossed the Thracian Bosporos and marched along the Marmaran shore, raiding as they went along.29 Among the cities that suffered were Chalkedon, Nikomedia, Nikaia and Prusa, along with Apameia and Kios. Zosimos, writing c. AD 500 but basing himself on the work of earlier historians, relates how the Goths … took Chalkedon without opposition, and got possession of an abundance of money, arms, and provisions. From thence they marched to Nikomedia, a great city, famous for its wealth. Though, hearing of their approach, its citizens had escaped with all the possessions they could carry with them, the barbarians were astonished at the amount of valuables they found there. […] They plundered Nikaia, Kios, Apameia, and Prusa in the same manner. Then they proceeded towards Kyzikos, but the Rhyndakos was so swollen by the heavy rains that they could not cross it and had to return the way they came. On their way back, they set fire to Nikomedia and Nikaia.30 An army led by the senior emperor, Valerian, marched northwards through Cappadocia to intercept the Gothic raiders. The military resources of the Empire were overstretched and before reaching Bithynia, Valerian turned back to deal with a Persian attack on the eastern frontier where, four years later, he was captured. It was the first time that a Roman emperior had fallen into

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enemy hands. The shock, combined with lack of confidence in Valerian’s son and co-emperor Gallienus, led the eastern armies to acclaim Macrianus and Quietus as emperors. Their rule lasted for slightly over a year. Macrianus moved westward into the Balkans, where he was defeated by the forces of Gallienus; when the news became known, Quietus took refuge in Syrian Emesa, where he was killed. By the end of 261, Gallienus had re-established the rule of his dynasty in Roman Asia Minor. In 268 he was murdered and in 269, his successor Claudius won a victory over the Goths in the central Balkans and henceforth styled himself Gothicus maximus. Two years later, Aurelian took the decision to evacuate Dacia; this created a buffer zone for Gothic expansion and settlement. It was to be over a century before the “Gothic problem” again became a serious threat. To judge from the account of Zosimos, the Gothic raiders of the mid-third century were looking for quick plunder; they had neither the technology nor the time required to undertake protracted sieges, instead they targeted undefended or weakly fortified cities whose leading inhabitants, as in the case of Nikomedia, chose to flee rather than attempt to defend their walls. In response to the Gothic raids, Bithynian cities were refortified. Some walls were erected in haste and using whatever came to hand, as in Prusias ad Hypium, others bear the mark of systematic, large-scale planning, as in Nikaia, where the 5‑kilometre circuit constructed under the Flavians and repaired under Hadrian was once more rebuilt, this time on a much more massive scale (fig. 32).

Fig. 32. Despite later reconstructions and repair work, the still standing third century walls of Nikaia give a good impression of the defences of a late Roman city (author’s photo).

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Fig. 33. The Flavian south gate of Nikaia was reconstructed on the same pattern, though not to the same scale or quality, as the east and north gates (author’s photo).

The Flavian/Hadrianic perimeter had been designed for ostentation rather than defense. Its gates were embellished with statues in niches to either side of the archway and perhaps over the gate as well.31 As part of the refortification project, towers were added at the gates. The new walls were much higher than their predecessors. At the north and east gates, a new superstructure was added over the gate itself to accommodate a portcullis that could be lowered through a slot cut through the vault of the arched gateway and into the side walls of the gate (figs. 15‑17).32 The south and west gates were rebuilt on the same general model, though not to the same architectural standard, as the Flavian gates (fig.  33), re-using blocks from the older gates, and later provided with building inscriptions in honour of the emperor Claudius Gothicus – who, on this basis, has been credited as the initiator of the third-century walls. A coin issue of Gallienus, however, bears a reverse image (fig. 34a) showing the walls of Nikaia with statues in place on either side of the gates. The provincial coins of Gallienus are notoriously difficult to date, but the abbreviated imperial formula on the obverse was used on Nikaian issues from 256 onwards.33 Coins of Valerian,34 Macrianus (fig. 34b) and Quietus35 bear a reverse image showing the gates without flanking statues, but with a crossbar and a vertical hanger in the gateway arch, presumably representing the lower edge of the raised portcullis. It appears that as a response to the Gothic threat, the city was refortified

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Fig. 34. Left: Nikaian coin of Gallienus (AD 253‑268) showing the new walls of Nikaia, with large towers flanking the gates. Two statues to the right and left of the archway. Similar to RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 846 (Numismatik Lanz, Munich). Right: Nikaian coin from the brief reign of Macrianus (AD 260‑261) showing a similar bird’s eye view of Nikaia. The niches flanking the gate are now empty and a portcullis is suspended in the arch of the gate. SNG Aulock 733, similar to RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 867 (Classical Numismatic Group).

from 257 onwards. At first, the walls were raised and towers added. Later, the north and east gates were modified and fitted with a portcullis each. This work had been completed before the capture of Valerian by the Persians in June 260. There was no shortage of funds for the project; as Weiser notes, despite the devastations of 256, Nikaia was able to hold athletic games in 260.36 Work on the south and west gates dragged on, however, since both carried building inscriptions in honour of Claudius Gothicus (268‑270). Alone of the four gates, the western or “sea” gate had not been moved when the walls were extended in the first century AD, and part of the Hellenistic structure may have been standing. The south gate, on the other hand, had been built as part of the first-century extension. For whatever reason, not only the west gate but also the south gate were completely rebuilt, though spoils from the Flavian gate were used to construct the new south gate, which was fitted with a portcullis similar to that of the east and north gates. We may take it that the west gate was constructed in a similar manner. Subsequently, repairs and modifications were required from time to time, to deal with damage due to enemy attacks or earthquakes; they were still taking place as late as the thirteenth century.37

Reorganisation, Christianity and a new imperial capital Having seized power in 284, Diokletian undertook a sweeping reform of the empire’s government structure. Four emperors were to rule jointly over an empire divided into large units known as dioceses, each of which was again subdivided into provinces. The number of provinces was more than doubled, each province being correspondingly smaller. The system of joint government by four emperors was soon abandoned by the successors who had been entrusted with maintaining it, but the structure of dioceses and province remained, and so did the quadripartite division of the empire into four territorial units, each administered by a “praetorian prefect” appointed

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by the emperor, but drawn from the senatorial class. The city remained the basic unit of administration, and to counter the tendency of urban elites to shirk their – increasingly onerous – administrative duties, membership of the boulê was made compulsory and hereditary. By the time he left Nikomedia in 325, Constantine had already laid plans for his new imperial capital at Byzantion on the Bosporos, and in May of 330 the new city, Constantinople, was officially dedicated. While Nikomedia remained the seat of the vicarius of the dioecesis Pontica as well as the capital of the much-reduced provincia Bithynia, this was no compensation for the loss of an imperial residence.38 Over the preceding forty years, the spending and consumption generated by the emperor, his extensive entourage and ambitious building projects had acted as a powerful stimulus to economic activity within the city, and many urban projects and tasks that in other municipalities were paid for by liturgists or out of public funds had no doubt been financed by the fiscus. Now the city coffers had to provide for the maintenance of the monumental baths and other public buildings erected by the third-century emperors. Of course, the emperor was not far away – Constantinople was an easy journey from Nikomedia, by sea or by land. But this geographical advantage was shared with the other cities of Bithynia, not least Nikaia. As mentioned earlier, two important highways ran from Bithynia into central Anatolia. With its position near the western end of the northern route, the port of Nikomedia had provided a convenient landfall for traders, administrators and emperors coming from Rome. Going to take up his duties as governor, this was the route taken by Pliny the younger. But from the new capital on the Bosporos, it was equally convenient to cross the Sea of Marmara to Drepanon (mod. Altinova, east of Yalova) and go on by road across the hills to Nikaia, then by the southern route into Anatolia. To facilitate travel on this route, Justinian later built a new bridge over a seasonal watercourse west of Nikaia (fig. 35). The town of Drepanon itself prospered thanks to an association with Lukianos, the martyr of 312, and a somewhat more dubious claim to be the birthplace of Constantine’s mother, Helena.39 In the fourth century, Nikaia scored further points at the expense of its rival, hosting the ecumenical council convened by Constantine in 325; then under Valens and Valentinian once again achieving the rank of honorary metropolis,40 almost (but not quite) on a par with Nikomedia. It is in itself symptomatic that the name of Nikaia became a household word across the Christian world for its association with the “Nicene creed” of 325. Imperial support for Christianity after 312 shifted the balance of political power and social influence in the Bithynian cities. The status of the bouleutic elite had been eroded and a liturgy was no longer an honour to be sought, but a burden to be avoided. The church assumed new euergetic roles for itself, and its influence in the cities rose to rival that of the secular authorities, or sometimes exceed it; especially in cases where churchmen managed to combine high

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Fig. 35. Prokopios writes that “To the west of [Nikaia] and very close to it … a bridge had been built by the men of earlier times, which, as time went on, was quite unable to withstand the impact of the stream. … But the Emperor Justinian had another bridge built there” (Buildings, 5.3). Justinian’s bridge is still standing a few kilometres west of Nikaia, though no longer used by traffic (Jesper Majbom Madsen).

ecclesiastical office with political influence, as Basil of Kaisareia and some of his contemporaries. Even if their economic and social basis had changed, life went on in Bithynia’s cities, and the proximity of the new imperial capital will have functioned as a cultural stimulus. At the mid-century, Nikomedia was still an attractive place to live and work; Libanios counted his five years in Nikomedia from 344 to 349 among the happiest of his life41 and in the Monody on Nikomedia, he describes the magnificent townscape that had been destroyed in the earthquake of 358. (In addition to his own fond recollections, however, Libanios’ Monody was clearly inspired by the similar monody on Smyrna by Aelius Aristides in the mid-second century; thus we should be wary of taking every detail of Libanios’ description at face value).42 The historian Ammianus Marcellinus graphically described the horrors of the earthquake of 358 and the great fire that followed; when another quake struck Nikomedia in 362, he dryly notes that the remainder of the city was destroyed, reliqua Nicomediae collapsa est.43 From his choice of words it appears that little reconstruction had taken place; the stimulus to economic activity created by the imperial court and its incessant building projects was absent

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and in its absence, the city was unable to maintain itself economically, let alone cope with the massive task of rebuilding itself after the earthquake. To make matters worse, at the mid-fourth century the imperial administration had taken direct control of urban finances, which in effect meant confiscating most of the property, revenues, endowments and taxation rights of the individual cities.44 From their remaining resources, Nikomedia’s shrinking population could not maintain the architectural legacy of its imperial century, and fourth-century emperors had other demands on their attention. All ambitions of restoring the monuments of Nikomedia were abandoned, and the great baths were to lie in ruins for the next two centuries. Notes 1 Cassius Dion 74.4‑6. 2 Herodian 3.2.7‑9, C.R. Whittaker’s translation (Loeb). 3 Robert 1977, 24 (“par haine l’une de l’autre”); Merkelbach 1987 (“Der nachbarliche Hass überwog jede vernünftige Überlegung”); Marek 2003, 71 (“kindische Sticheleien”). 4 Herodian 3.3.3. 5 Harrer 1920, 160 6 Herodian 3.2.7. 7 It was not the first time that political conflict had led to stasis at Nikaia; Dion’s Or. 39 implies that this was also the case shortly after AD 100. 8 Herodian 3.2.9. 9 Cassius Dion 74.8. 10 Robert 1977, 31. 11 Robert 1977, 30: RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 355‑356; 359‑360. 12 Robert 1977, 21; 32‑35. RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 302; 305‑306; 310; 316. 13 Cassius Dion 77.19; Halfmann 1986, 224. 14 Halfmann 1986, 231. 15 IK 17.3080. 16 Cassius Dion 77.9 (translation Earnest Cary). 17 IK 9.60; see also, p. 103-104. 18 Cassius Dion, 77.21 (translation Earnest Cary). 19 Ammianus 22.12‑14; Matthews 1989, 409‑411. 20 Libanios, Autobiography, 55. 21 Libanios, Or. 61. 22 Prokopios, Buildings 5.2‑3. To impress by the standards of sixth-century Constantinople, the “Antonine Baths” of Nikomedia was clearly a complex of some size, its construction requiring advance planning. For this reason alone, the baths are more likely to be the work of Caracalla than of the teenage emperor Elagabal who had ascended the throne less than three months previously. From the great baths at Rome, begun by his father c. 206 and nearing completion by 214, Caracalla would have skilled architects and technicians at his disposal. 23 As Libanios (Autobiography, 55) tells us, the complex included large swimmingbaths requiring a water supply; considering the difficulties of the Nikomedians with their aqueduct recorded by Pliny a century earlier (Ep. 10.37) they would not be able to bring a water supply in at a high level. We may take it that the

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33 34 35 36 37 38

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high-lying parts of the city were supplied by wells or with water carried from fountains in the lower quarters. For a possible reconstruction of the temple precint of Nikomedia, see Bosch 1935, 217. Weiser (1983, 75‑76) hypothesizes that Valerian may have visited the province in 256 on the occasion of the Nikaian games, but positive proof is lacking. Lactantius, De mortibus 7. The daughter in question is Galeria Valeria, Augusta and wife of the emperor Galerius. Libanios, Or. 8; Lichtenstein 1903, 8. Eusebios, HE 8.13.2; 9.6.3 Zosimos, HN 1.32‑35; Marek 2003, 94. Zosimos, HN 1.35. Højte 2005, 36‑37 As noted by Schneider and Karnapp (1938), the rough character of the stonework at the north and east gates reveals that the slot for the portcullis is a secondary feature, cut when the arch was already in place. It would be interesting to know how the gates were closed before the portcullis was installed; according to Herodian (3.2.9), by the late second century the gates of Nikaia could be closed for defense. The south gate was dismantled and reconstructed in the third century, with a slot for the portcullis. Presumably the west gate, which is not preserved, was rebuilt in a manner similar to the south gate. Bosch 1935, 61; Weiser 1983, 81. Weiser 1983, 89 n. 23 and pl. 27, 24‑25. Macrianus (RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 867‑868); Quietus (RGMG 1.3 Nikaia 872‑873), also see fig. 34b. Weiser 1983, 88. Schneider & Karnapp 1938, 43. Though the new province of Bithynia was much smaller than the pre-Diokletianic double province of Bithynia et Pontus, this was to some degree compensated by the refocusing of imperial administration on diocesan and provincial capitals rather than individual poleis. As argued by J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz (2001, 12; 38‑39) this gave the capital cities a significant competitive advantage over their neighbours. Chr.Pasch. 527 (Dindorf) for the year AD 327. Two centuries later, Prokopios recorded how Justinian provided Helenopolis – as Drepanon was now called – with an improved water supply, a second bath complex, and “churches and a palace and stoas and lodgings for the magistrates, and in other respects he gave it the appearance of a prosperous city” (Buildings 5.2; translated by H.B. Dewing). Foss 1996, 12‑13. Libanios, Autobiography 51‑53. Libanios, Or. 61; for Libanios’ emulation of Aristides, Or. 18, see Anderson 1993, 321. Ammianus, 17.7.1‑8 (earthquake of 358); 22.13.5 (earthquake of 362). Liebeschuetz 2001, 175‑178.

9. Conclusions: Urban Life and Local Politics

The combination of two important literary sources: the Orations of Dion and the Letters of Pliny, provide a unique in-depth view of local politics in Prusa. They also reveal how little we know about local politics and politicians in general. If we had to reconstruct the biography of Dion from an inscription, even a fairly detailed one like that in honour of Flavius Severianus Asklepiodotos (fig. 31) or M. Domitius Paulianus Falco (fig. 21), we would have known nothing about the informal and personal aspects of his political life – his conflicts with the Prusan gentry, the negative rumours circulated by his opponents, the difficulty of enforcing pollicitationes, Dion’s ill-starred alliance with the governor, or his personal feud with Flavius Archippos. For the many other Bithynian grandees and politicians whose formal achievements are all that is known to us, the effects are visible at the formal level, but not their underlying causes. What we can do is to combine the insights we have gained from a detailed study of Dion’s career with what we know of other local politicians to produce some generalizations and informed guesses about the informal aspect of Prusan politics. We may also draw on some general social and historical theories and hold them up against our observations in Roman Bithynia. It may also be useful to make some diachronic comparisons, for in some respects ancient small-town politics were not that different from later periods: in Prusa, a reader of Hardy or Leacock will find much to remind her of Casterbridge or Mariposa. This chapter will attempt to identify some possible underlying factors and motives of Bithynian local politics.

Honour One of the most influential theories of social behaviour in premodern societies is the “honour-shame” model elaborated in the early postwar period by scholars who argued that in an agonistic face-to-face environment, social control is maintained by the constant threat of losing “face” or “honour”; thus the punishment for transgressing social norms is public and external (“shame”) rather than private and internal (“guilt”). As an ideal type, “shame society” was taken to represent an earlier evolutionary stage different from, or in the more extreme view, antithetical to, western “guilt-society”.1 Some would place the transition from “shame” to “guilt” culture as early as late Archaic

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Greece, others claimed to find remnants of the shame-culture in the twentieth century – in the Mediterranean world, the Middle East, in Japan. A key concept in this analysis is philotimia, literally “love of honour”, which is taken to be a characteristic of rural “Mediterranean” societies. J.G. Peristiany describes it thus, using the dichotomy between honour and honesty to illustrate his point: The punctiliousness of honour must be referred to the code of an exclusive and agonistic microsociety; that of honesty to an inclusive, egalitarian macrosociety. Duty, in the first instance, is to those with whom one shares honour. In the second, the unGreek macrosociety, one’s duty is to all fellow citizens, or even further, to fellow humans.2 The chief attraction of the honour-shame model is its ability to explain a number of striking features of modern Mediterranean rural society; as a closer reading of the above quotation reveals, however, this approach leads into the trap of orientalism, i.e. viewing the world through a dichotomistic prism dividing “western” and “modern” from “non-western”, where “non-western” social organization is implicitly assumed to be primitive, pre-rational, even pre-ethical. (Honesty is “un-Greek”; presumably, dishonesty is “Greek”?). A further problem is that anthropological studies of contemporary honourshame cultures generally focus on rural communities; indeed, many honourshame theorists stress the difference in outlook between village and city.3 That a similar cultural divide existed in the ancient world is clearly brought out by Pausanias (above, p. 45), Basil of Kaisareia (p. 46-47) and Dion of Prusa (p. 136-137). Nonetheless, Peristiany’s distinction between the importance of “honour” and “honesty” is valid for ancient Prusa: it is at the core of the conflict between Dion and Archippos over Dion’s building accounts (above, p. 133-135). Dion could easily enough have proven his honesty by submitting his books for inspection as requested, but in the specific situation, it was more important for him to demonstrate his honour by refusing to bow to the request of Archippos.

Giving and receiving Another approach stresses the reciprocal relationship between the governing class and the governed, the principle of do ut des, something given and something received in return. A classic example of this money-for-power transaction is the liturgy of the classic polis. Its counterpart in the more stratified society of Rome is clientilistic interaction between wealthy patrons and their followers. Roman patron-client relationships have been described in numerous studies, e.g. Gelzer (1912) and Scullard (1951). The model has also

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been applied by anthropologists to some contemporary societies, such as modern Sicily. Money plays an important role in patronage, and it was one of the characteristics of the fully developed Republican clientage system that the large cash outlays required to establish a power base at the commencement of a political career were often recouped – by fair means or foul – in its later stages. Though in many respects a provincial city is a small-scale version of the urbs, the patron-client model as we know it in Rome does not in every respect offer a convincing interpretation of Bithynian local politics. If political success depended on generosity and the distribution of largesse in return for political support, one would expect offices with a potential for liturgistic expenditure – such as agonothete or gymnasiarch – to figure prominently in the political cursus. Yet the office of agoranome is the typical entry-level magistracy of a municipal career. There is no denying that some agoranomoi won popular support on a large scale by using their personal fortunes to provide grain or other staples in times of shortage; but with terms of office as short as four months, it was not every agoranome that could demonstrate euergetism by saving his city from a food shortage (and the fact that such euergetism is singled out for mention in the inscriptions indicates that it lay beyond what was normally expected of an agoranome). Other agoranomoi in the Greek world financed building or renovation projects in the market place but again, not every office-holder would find a place to build or embellish a public market building. On this question, the honour-shame approach, with its emphasis on philotimia, offers a more convincing interpretation: The agoranomos was a public figure, present in the town centre on every market day. His tasks included maintaining order, overseeing prices and settling disputes; these gave him a chance to demonstrate such virtues as leadership, helpfulness, strictness, impartiality, and the ability to deal with people; in short, to demonstrate that he possessed the qualities required of a coming political leader, a future archon. Pythias, the ambitious agoranome of Hypata (p. 76 above), is keen to demonstrate that he is at once helpful (to his friend), severe (to unscrupulous traders), patriotic (concerned for the reputation of his city) and capable of decisive action (inflicting punishment on Lucius’ fish) – an “honourable” man in every respect. For good measure, his harangue of the fishmonger gives the bystanders a glimpse of his potential as public speaker. Two other arguments against a too facile application of the classical patronclient model are first, the near absence of clientilistic vocabulary from the works of Dion – even in his very negative picture of life in the Euboian city; second, that unlike conditions in Rome or at the imperial level, small-town politics offered few chances of recouping one’s initial investment. It was notoriously easy for an imperial governor or army commander to enrich himself in the provinces, but the career of a Bithynian grandee would rarely take him outside the borders of his province and there would thus be no third party at whose expense he could regain what he had spent on his voters.

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A caste society? Another approach to the relation between governing and governed citizens is offered by Paul Veyne, who sees a more one-sided relationship between patrons/benefactors and their clients/cities. As a declared non-Marxist, Veyne rejects the notion that liturgists and euergetai are driven by the prospect of later gain; their actions are governed by an aristocratic ethos combining the obligation to be generous with the right to govern. Where the patron-client model assumes a reciprocal relationship, Veyne’s model sees no overt tradeoff between individuals, yet tacitly assumes that the euergetic class receives something, enjoys some privileges in return for its generosity; if not, resources for future gift-giving would soon be exhausted. Likewise, the privileged group must be closed to outsiders or social climbers, if its privileged character is to be maintained. In Veyne’s interpretation, the société à ordres was essentially a caste society, and membership of the elite was hereditary and closed. From time to time, a succesful parvenu might obtain access to the charmed circle through the patronage of established elite members or princely favour, but such chances – to use the metaphor of Veyne – were as unpredictable, and as rare, as a winning lottery ticket.4 While this may hold true for other periods, it does not give a true picture of early Imperial Rome, where a significant number of succesful social climbers are recorded. While some owed their rapid advancement to “princely favour” (Agrippa, Seianus, Flavius Archippos, Dion of Prusa) or a lucky chance – Veyne’s “lottery ticket” – there were others who worked their way upwards by stages. From an unpromising start as a deserter from Pompey’s army, T. Flavius Petro established himself as a debt collector; his son Flavius Sabinus became a publicanus in Asia and an equestrian, while his grandson – albeit with some difficulty – won an aedileship and a place in the Senate. This family history happens to be known to us because the grandson in question eventually became the emperor Vespasian, but many similar cases will have gone unrecorded.5 Nor should one forget that the rather optimistic Veynean view of a class of benefactors motivated by aristocratic ideals is based entirely on sources produced by this same class for the purpose of self-representation. A useful corrective, not discussed by Veyne, is provided by the accusations of the aggressive “first” speaker in the Euboian assembly that the hunter and his family neither pay taxes nor perform liturgies, behaving as though they were benefactors of the city.6 It seems that the euergetic class of our Euboian city does get something in return for its euergetism. Whatever the purpose of the remark  – introduced into the narrative to characterize the speaker or prepare the ground for the coup de théatre that is to follow – it presupposes that it was normal for euergetai to enjoy fiscal privileges, and that this is known to Dion’s listeners.

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A compartmentalized agôn Friedemann Quass’ concept of a Honoratorenschicht owes much to Veyne7 in that the Hellenistic roots of the urban elites are taken to be aristocratic and hereditary, but basing himself on a much wider range of sources, Quass demonstrates a higher degree of social mobility in the Hellenistic and especially the Roman period than envisaged by Veyne. Fernoux (2004) takes the analysis one step further, with a greater sensitivity to divisions within the urban upper classes.8 These divisions are crucial to understanding the provincial career patterns studied in chapter 6. Bithynian urban society was stratified into social compartments, yet it was not a caste society. It was possible for a social climber to move from the lower end of his compartment to the higher; from here, the next generation could attempt to cross the line of social demarcation and start their ascent through a new compartment. The stepping-stone was often an advantageous marriage: Flavius Sabinus the equestrian publicanus married the sister of a senator; Pasikrates the peregrine money-lender of Prusa married the daughter of a Roman citizen. The social anabasis of the Flavii of Reate is neatly paralleled, at a slightly lower level, by the Augiani of Prusias ad Hypium: the father-in-law of Augianus was a phylarch, his son-in-law became an urban councillor and an archon; in the third generation, Augianus junior entered the equestrian order.9 Given this compartmentalisation of local careers and ambitions, the social and political agôn could be played out without endangering the stability and cohesion of the community. The division into levels was more detailed and more subtle than the formal structure imposed by the census; it was based on unwritten social codes and thus in the last analysis unenforceable. Ambitious pattern-breakers like Dion of Prusa might cross invisible boundaries, but were sure to feel the force of the establishment’s condemnation. Fernoux sees the subdivision (“hiérarchisation”) of the notables as the result of three successive patterns of government imposed first by the Bithynian kings, then by the Republic (74‑27 BC) and finally by the Empire.10 While the overall priorities implicit in the Lex Pompeia obviously reflected the timocratic preferences of the late Republic in general and the optimates in particular,11 it is not clear how the subtle internal divisions within the class of “notables” serve the interests of one external régime or the other. As these norms furthermore appear to be self-imposed rather than based on laws enacted by their royal or Roman masters, unwritten norms are more likely to be an expression of the notables’ own desire to maintain a social status quo and limit the scope for political and financial manoeuvres, to avoid attracting the unfavourable attention of the ruling power if the city’s finances or its political discourse got out of hand. The negative consequences of both eventualities are well attested in the case of Prusa.12 Even at the inter-urban level, the agôn was held in check. To Dion, to

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Herodian and many modern scholars, the incessant rivalry between neighbouring cities is a typically Greek weakness. In our region, the classic example is the agôn of Nikaia and Nikomedia, who for centuries struggled over the title of “first city”, over the imperial cult and after the advent of Christianity, over the borders of their dioceses. In his thirty-eighth oration, Dion castigates his fellow-Greeks for their irrational squabbling over empty titles and meaningless symbols.13 One can only agree with Dion. Yet the positive side of the picture is that titles and symbols were all that was fought over, a clear contrast with the mutually destructive inter-city conflicts of an earlier age described for us in Xenophon’s Hellenika. As a re-reading of Herodian’s account of the events of 196 reveals, the cities of Roman Bithynia did not jeopardize the future of their communities or the lives of their citizens for the sake of urban rivalry; the Nikaians simply had no choice but to remain with Pescennius Niger, while Nikomedia very sensibly shifted its allegiance to the victor of Kyzikos.

Status Status, the individual’s place within the social hierarchy, is defined by the interplay of a number of factors, among which “honour” or “face” is among the most important. A claim to status is established, inter alia, by “correct” or “virtuous” behaviour (e.g., generosity, magnanimity, equanimity); by education and paideia (speaking well, knowing one’s classics); by family and marriage connections (respectable descent, successful sons) and by relations of friendship and clientage with powerful persons (the governor, the emperor). On the other hand, two factors that play an important role in today’s social agôn are conspicuously absent. One is wealth. While there is no doubt that being wealthy was socially preferable to being poor, wealth as such is rarely singled out for comment by our sources, apart from the indirect statement that so-and-so belonged to the bouleutic, the equestrian or the senatorial order. Furthermore, it is never quantified: a person does not boast that he owns a certain amount of property,14 but that he has given this or that amount. Another is acquaintance with famous persons. In the post-renaissance world, intimacy with actors, artists, intellectuals and other celebrities has been a mark of status, sought after by the wealthy and powerful. In the Roman world, the social standing of performers was low and the friendship of an actor or gladiator was not sought for its status value. Association with intellectuals was a different matter. Numerous Roman aristocrats or emperors posed as friends or – more often – patrons of writers or philosophers, but perhaps the value of the relationship was primarily as evidence of their paideia or their generosity.15 In the opposite direction, familiarity with the emperor was an important status indicator and a tool in the hands of ambitious career-builders. The

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importance of “closeness to the monarch” – Königsnähe – is a familiar phenomenon in the Carolingian world,16 in absolutist Europe as well as in some not-so-absolute monarchies, such as England. Familiarity with the ruling house might bring wealth and social advancement (as it did for Dion, for Dion’s grandfather and for Flavius Archippos, to take just three examples). In a conflict situation, having – or claiming – the friendship of the emperor could be a decisive factor, as we saw in the case of Pliny and the freedman procurator Maximus. Intimacy or acquaintance with the ruler could be used to bolster one’s position in the local community (as in the case of Dion); even an ephemeral acquaintance with an emperor passing through a village gave a special status to the person who was chosen to papapompein the imperial visitor.

The koinon The role of the koinon in this connection is not clear from our sources, but it may have been more significant than scholars have tended to assume. Deininger (1965) and others have focused on the political functions of the koina, but its social aspects deserve to be more thoroughly explored. For instance, from the evidence of Bithynian careers, it would appear that the koinon provided an alternative avenue allowing members of the equestrian order to bypass the traditional urban liturgies and move directly into politics at the regional level. According to the dominant scholarly tradition (Brunt 1961, Deininger 1965, Ameling in IK 27) province, koinon and imperial cult all formed part of one system of interaction between province and emperor. The provincial governor ruled on behalf of the emperor; his actions were checked by the threat of repetundae proceedings, which were instituted by the koinon, and the leader(s) of the koinon also served as priests of the imperial cult. This study has shown that in Bithynia, there is precious little evidence for a direct link between the koinon and repetundae proceedings, while Frie­sen (1999a-b) has demonstrated that “koinarch” and archiereus are not synonymous but indicate two different persons; indeed, different functions. While Bithyniarchs typically have extensive administrative and political experience (either from a long urban cursus including the three A’s or from serving as imperial logistês of a city) it is rare for an archiereus to come to the job with an extensive cursus behind him. Instead of a one-track interaction between province and emperor, we should perhaps see governor, koinon, koinarchate and imperial cult as parallel institutions only loosely connected and coordinated – for instance, governor’s provinces and koina are not geographically contiguous. The province and the governor were imperial instruments of top-down administration. Koina and their associated cult served different purposes, creating and maintaining reciprocal goodwill between the provincial élite and the emperor, and

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their geographical organisation reflects the traditional spatial structure of elite power – in Asia, the four leading cities; in Bithynia et Pontus, the preRoman kingdoms  – rather than the structure of provincial administration. The functions of the archiereus were religious and ceremonial in nature, but the position of Bithyniarch in addition required both administrative experience and a certain social standing. The task of the archiereus was to maintain a symbolic link between the provincial populace and the emperor in his function as head of state and pater patriae; we may imagine that the Bithyniarch served to maintain a direct liaison between the provincial equestrian elite and the emperor in his function as supreme administrator, bypassing the provincial governor. As late as the reign of Alexander Severus, the Bithynian koinon corresponded directly with the emperor about the repressive practices of the local governor.17

Mutual recognition The Hegelian concept of “recognition” has recently been taken up by social philosophers who see it as a key to the interpretation of relations at the interpersonal level (Axel Honneth) as well as the political level (Francis Fuku­ yama). Honneth views the social agôn as a “struggle for recognition” (Kampf um Anerkennung); the pursuit of immaterial (“honour”) as well as material (wealth) status markers is a symptom of this desire to be “recognized” – that is, recognized by another person. While wealth, paideia and correct behaviour can exist in a social vacuum, recognition cannot; like clientage, it is a reciprocal relationship requiring two persons and to be valid, recognition must be offered freely and willingly by the “other” whom we ourselves would recognize. Indeed, much of Dion’s post-exilic career can be described as a Kampf um Anerkennung. In Or. 44, the recently returned Dion stressed that being a local politician is as important as being a philosopher, but the unenthusiastic response of the Prusan bouleutic class led to a hostile rejection on Dion’s part, a reaction familiar to any observer of human psychology (and to any reader of Aesop). Posing as a friend of the dêmos was not a sufficient substitute, and his attempt to win the attention of the governor proved disastrous. In orations 49‑50, Dion attempts to return to his original position – perhaps more tactically than heartfelt – and win the acceptance of the bouleutic class. Finally, in Or. 7, looking back with the clarity that comes of hindsight and reflection, Dion concludes that recognition within the family is more important than status within the city. The reciprocal character of the Kampf um Anerkennung comes out equally clearly in the rivalry between Nikomedia and Nikaia. Both are prosperous towns, both enjoy status in the eyes of outsiders, yet that is not enough; their continuous emulation of each other in titles and coinage reveals that what is important is not status in the eyes of the world at large, but in the eyes of each other. “First” is an empty title, asks Dion, why is it so important to the Niko-

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medians that others do not share it? The answer is that only by renouncing the title would the Nikaians recognize that Nikomedia was the “first” city. The applicability of recognition theory to the study of ancient urban life has some interesting implications for our view of the ancient world in general. In so far as he focuses on the individual’s desire for acceptance and status in the eyes of others, Honneth is not far from the honour-shame theorists. A decisive difference between recognition theory and honour-shame theory, however, is the place they claim for themselves in the evolutionary scheme: whereas Dodds and Peristiany interpreted the emphasis on “honour” as a remnant of a primitive stage of social evolution predating the “guilt-society”, Honneth and Fukuyama see the “struggle for recognition” (Kampf um Anerkennung) as a characteristic of modern society. Perhaps ancient local politics were, after all, not that different from today’s?

Politics and the polis It is characteristic of many modern democracies that at their lower levels, the “political” and ideological aspects play a lesser role in the decision-making process, while pragmatic considerations and personal relations play a proportionately greater rôle. Parties that would not be able to form a coalition at the national level may form alliances in the city or county council; parties with a strong ideological commitment will seek pragmatic solutions to the problems encountered at the regional or municipal level. The perceived ability or popularity of a mayoral candidate may take precedence over class interest and ideological orientation. The limited competences and resources of local councils also sets limits to innovative or revolutionary policies. How “political” were the urban politics of Prusa? Salmeri argues first, that class interests were a constant fact of political life in ancient cities, secondly, that class conflict took the form of clashes between the boulê (representing the interests of the propertied élite) and the ekklêsia (representing the have-nots), and that stasis and riot should be seen not as “gratuitous events but … rather as a virtual continuation and transformation of the ordinary political strife”.18 While few would wish to question the first premise of Salmeri, his second point is open to debate. Certainly there were class interests in ancient urban society, which found expression both within the political system and sometimes transgressed its boundaries, erupting into antagonistic civil violence. But it does not follow that the two institutions, council and assembly, represent the two classes. Rather it would seem that as long as the conflict kept within the bounds of ordinary political life, the boulê and the ekklêsia both served as its venue, while the opposing interest were represented by factions (hetaireiai) within the group of councillors or citizens.19 The basic ideological divide in the ancient Greek world was between “oligarchs” and “democrats”. In the classical period, when the poleis could

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still pursue independent military and foreign policies, the dominance of one party or the other was often correlated with a preference for Sparta or Athens, and a shift of power at the urban level might lead to a reorientation of foreign policy or changes in the city’s constitution, sometimes with disastrous results. By the Roman period, poleis could no longer wage war or enter military alliances, nor change their constitutions without the approval of the Roman governor, but the oligarchic-democratic divide remained, and forms the background to several of Dion’s speeches. Thanks to the census, the boulê would be dominated by the larger property-owners and presumably be more sympathetic to oligarchic viewpoints than the ekklêsia.20 Salmeri points to the period of civil strife at Prusa in the early second century leading to the temporary ban on assembly meetings (above, p. 131) as an example of violent conflict between the two opposing class interests, represented by boulê and ekklêsia.21 The governor’s decision to suspend the ekklêsia, however, argues against the notion that these two bodies represented opposing sides in a class conflict. If the governor wished to be perceived as an impartial outsider reestablishing homonoia between the opposing parties, he would not impose sanctions against only one of them. A more convincing motive for the governor’s decision is that the conflicts within the ekklêsia had reached a point where suspension was the only way to reimpose order. Similarly, in Dion’s seventh oration, the fictional conflict is played out between the opposing parties within the ekklêsia. This contains some of the most “political” urban speeches in Dion’s preserved oeuvre, dealing as they do with the application of general principles to a specific situation; but they are of course fictional. The speeches that were actually held are less ideological in content, though Dion sometimes invokes the oligarchic-democratic dichotomy (posing variously as the champion of the dêmos or a member of the bouleutic oligarchy) he more often appeals to basic values such as moderation, stability and above all homonoia. Nor did political events at the imperial level seem to have left a strong mark on Prusan life. In September 96, the emperor Domitian was murdered and replaced by the elderly senator Nerva; at Nerva’s death in early 98, the purple passed to Trajan. Not everyone was pleased with Domitian’s downfall, nor with Nerva’s choice of Trajan as his successor, and the period was marked by plots and counterplots at Rome, bitter rivalries and the settling of old scores.22 Surprisingly, these are not reflected in our picture of life in Prusa under Trajan’s reign. The Prusan philosopher Flavius Archippos had been a protégé of Domitian, his colleague Dion was s self-professed friend of Nerva and Trajan; but there is no evidence that one belonged to a “Domitianic”, the other to a “Trajanic” faction, nor that Archippos’ Domitianic connection was held against him by Pliny, or used against him by Dion. In Prusa, as no doubt in hundreds of other small towns across the Roman empire (and in countless small towns of today), local politics were made by local politicians whose actions and decisions were more often dictated by personal and

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parochial pride, social ambition and bonds of loyalty and marriage than by abstract political ideas. Notes 1 Dodds 1951, 28‑30; Peristiany 1966; for a more moderate interpretation, Pitt-Rivers 1966. 2 Peristiany 1966, 189‑190. 3 Cf. Peristiany’s description of an expatriate’s return to his Cypriot village: 1966, 178. 4 Veyne 1973, 314. 5 Suetonius, Vesp. 1‑2. 6 Or. 7.28. 7 Quass 1993, 14‑15. 8 Fernoux 2004, 19. 9 IK 27.6; Fernoux 2004, 434; cf. above, p. 103. 10 Fernoux 2004, 19. 11 Fernoux 2004, 129‑146. 12 Pliny, Ep. 10.17a; Dion, Or. 48.1. 13 Dion, Or. 38.38. 14 When Dion gives us the size of his father’s nominal fortune (Or. 46.5) he is not boasting, but deprecating its size. 15 For a discussion of this unequal relationship, see Konstan 1997, 137‑145. 16 McKitterick 2001, 34‑35. 17 Dig. 49.1.25. 18 Salmeri 2000, 74. 19 Dion, Or. 45.7‑10. 20 Cf. Or. 51. 21 Salmeri 2000, 73‑75. 22 Eck 2002, 223‑225.

Appendix The Dates of Dion’s Municipal Orations1

Or. no.

Held in

Themes

Dating evidence

46

Prusa

Famine in Prusa, attempt to burn down Dion’s house

Pasikrates has recently died, Dion has a small child: early, pre-exilic

442

Prusa

Dion’s return to Prusa. Honours voted him by the city. A letter from the emperor. A journey to Rome is planned.

Post-exilic, letter must be from Nerva (96‑98). Oration probably held in summer of 97, departure for Rome was later postponed due to Dion’s illness.

383

Nikomedia

Homonoia with Nikaia. Homonoia is natural and advantageous.

39

Nikaia

Internal homonoia. Homonoia is natural and advantageous.

42

Prusa

Opening section of a longer oration.

51

Prusa

Accuses previous speaker of insincerity.

40

Prusa

In defense of Dion’s building project. Reply to his critics concerning the embassy to Rome. Homonoia with Apameia.

Dion has returned from his embassy, Trajan is emperor (98‑117), Dion has “held many speeches in this place”. Building work has commenced.

41

Apameia

Homonoia with Prusa.

Thematically related to no. 40, but presumably later.

Thematically related to no. 38; Dion is ill.

178

Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia 45

Prusa

Attack on Dion’s critics, defense of building project. Election of new councillors.

Nerva is dead, the results of Dion’s embassy have been implemented, the building project is underway. Dion’s plans for a closer union with Apameia (Or. 40‑41) are referred to in the past tense.

47

Prusa

A philosopher is not respected in his hometown. Detailed defense of the building project and reply to accusations of sacrilege and tyranny.

Building project is partially completed, but sponsors are unwilling to pay their part.

48

Prusa

Reopening of the ekklêsia. Financing the building project. The importance of homonoia. Election of agoranomes.

Thanks offered to Varenus (procos. 105‑106). Building project nearly completed.

504

Prusa, Council

Eulogy of the council, enumeration of Dion’s past deeds

Dion’s son is alive and politically active.

49

Prusa, Council

Refusal of an archontate.

43

Prusa

Reply to charges of atheism, populism and collaboration with a wicked governor.

Repetundae suit against Varenus is in preparation: 106‑107. Dion has “raised the city”, presumably meaning that his building project is now completed.

unknown

Idyllic depiction of life in the country, where money and politics play no part, compared to the strife and articifiality of urban life

The speaker is presbys. The critical view of urban politics may reflect Dion’s own experience.

7

Notes 1 Except for Or. 7, 44 and 49, the sequence follows that of Jones (1978). For an overview of the various chronological sequences proposed for Dion’s orations, see Cuvigny’s translation of Dion, Introduction, p. 12 n. 1. 2 Jones (1978, 139) is alone in placing this speech after Dion’s return from his embassy to Trajan.

Appendix The Dates of Dion’s Municipal Orations

179

3 The chronological relationship of Or. 38‑39 cannot be extrapolated from their text; 39 might conceivably be earlier than 38. As both Photios (nos. 21‑22) and the Corpus (nos. 38‑39) place the Nikomedian oration before the Nikaian, most commentators have likewise been content to assume that 38 is earlier. Cuvigny follows Sheppard (1984, 165‑166) in placing no. 38 before Dion’s exile, broadly contemporaneous with no. 46, with which it shares some stylistic characteristics. As far as the content is concerned – the corruption of Roman governors, the vanity of official titles (“even if you abandon all your titles, you abandon nothing real”) – no. 38 is far more likely to be a product of Dion’s experiences at Rome and in exile than the work of a young man intent on making a name for himself in the imperial capital. 4 In the chronology of Sheppard (1984, 167; 172‑173) Or. 49‑50 is placed immediately after Or. 47 and 45. Sheppard assumes that Dion served as archon during the proconsulate of Varenus Rufus; thus his refusal of an archontate in Or. 49 must be earlier. The theory of Dion’s archontate rests, however, entirely on Vielmetti’s subtle reading of Or. 48 (Vielmetti 1941, 97).

Abbreviations

AJPh AthM BAR CIL DnP EA FGrH FIRA GRBS Hellenica IK ILS IKourion Inschr. Askl. IPriene NPNF OGIS P&P PIR2 P. Oxy. RGMG

SEG TAM

American Journal of Philology Mitteilungen des Deutschen ärchäologischen Instituts, Athenische Abteilung British Archaeological Reports Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum Der neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike Epigraphica Anatolica F. Jacoby, Fragmente der griechischen Historiker Fontes Iuris Romani Anteiustiniani. Florence 1940‑1943. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies. Hellenica. Recueil d’épigraphie, de numismatique et d’antiquités grecques, publié par L. Robert. Limoges, 1940‑ Inschriften Griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae T.B. Mitford, The inscriptions of Kourion. Philadelphia 1971. Die Inschriften des Asklepieions (Altertumer von Pergamon 8.3). Berlin 1969. F. Hiller von Gaertringen, Inschriften von Priene A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church. Oxford and New York. Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae I-II.Leipzig 1903‑1905. Past and Present Prosopographia Imperii Romani, 2. Auflage, 1933‑ The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Recueil general des monnaies grecques d’Asie Mineure, 1.1‑1.4; commencé par W.H. Waddington, continué et completé par E. Babelon et Théodore Reinach (Subsidia Epigraphica, 5). Paris 1925, reprinted Hildesheim 1976. Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum Tituli Asiae Minoris

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Geographical Index

Achaia 65‑66, 125 Actium 21 Aegean Sea 67, 85 Africa 88 n. 27 Alexandria (Egypt) 94 n. 187 Alexandria Troas (mod. Dalyanköy) 90 n. 83 Amaseia (mod Amasya) 33 Amastris (mod. Amasra) 84 Ankyra (mod. Ankara) 33, 78 Antioch (mod. Antakya) 93 n. 149, 142 n. 43, 147, 149, 151‑152 Apameia (mod. Mudanya) 80, 83, 88 n. 28, 98, 109, 127‑128, 130, 142 nn. 57‑58; 60, 143 n. 62, 145 n. 112, 156, 177 Apameia in Syria 101‑102 Aquitania 88 n. 27 Armenia 22 Asia 17, 27, 78, 82‑85, 94 n. 185, 97, 109, 115 n. 19 Askanios, Lake 33, 106, 147 Astakos 26, 28 n. 1 Athens 68‑69, 74‑75, 81, 93 n. 140, 131‑132, 142 n. 43, 174 Baetica 19 Basilinopolis 15 Berytos (mod. Beirut) 149 Black Sea 23‑24, 37, 75, 156 Boiotia 45 Borysthenes (Olbia) 59 n. 29, 75, 138 Bosporos 26, 51, 156, 160 Britain 149 Bulgaria 89 n. 42 Byzantion 18, 147, 154, 160, see also Constantinople Cappadocia 27, 45‑46, 92 n. 129, 156 Carthage 22 Çekirge 25 Chalkedon (mod. Kadiköy) 15, 33, 51, 77, 156

Chios 136 Cilicia 63, 95 n. 198, 114 Cologne 124 Comum (mod. Como) 45, 67 Constantinople 18, 34, 51, 53, 160, 162 n. 22 Corinth 74 Crete 87 Cyprus 40, 88 n. 27 Cyrenaica 86 Dacia 141 n. 35, 157 Dalmatia 114 Danube 141 n. 35, 147 Delphi 47, 74, 121‑122 Drepanon (nr.  mod. Yalova) 160, 163 n. 39 Egypt 17, 65 Emesa (mod. Homs) 157 Ephesos 69, 72, 78, 82, 84, 97, 109, 131 Euboia 136 Gallia Cisalpina 62 Gaul 98 Greece 13, 91 n. 97, 148 Halikarnassos (mod. Bodrum) 75 Helenopolis (Drepanon) 163 n. 39 Hellespont 26, 73 Hypata 76, 167 Italy 34 Izmit, see Nikomedia Izmit, Gulf of 23, 33 Iznik, see Nikaia Kaisareia (mod. Kayseri) 34, 46, 87 n. 16 Karystos 138 Kayacık 101 Keramet 106 Kios (Prusias ad Mare, mod. Gemlik) 33, 42, 78, 105‑106, 116 n. 39, 128, 130, 148, 156 Klaudioupolis (mod. Mut) 80, 93 n. 147, 94 n. 183, 100‑101

198

Indices

Konuralp, see Prusias ad Hypium Kourion 40 Kyzikos (mod. Balkiz) 28, 92 n. 140, 147‑149, 156 Laodikeia 149 Laurentum 45 Lesbos 85, 94 n. 171 Lycia-Pamphylia 114 Macedonia 26 Marmara, Sea of 24, 143 n. 62, 156 Massagetes 46 Miletos (mod. Balat) 21 Mysia 28 Nemea 74 Nikaia (mod. Iznik) 15, 18‑19, 21‑24, 26, 31‑33, 42, 43 n. 5, 47, 49, 51, 53‑55, 57 n. 12, 58 nn. 14; 22, 59 nn. 30; 35; 41, 66, 68, 71‑73, 75, 78, 81‑86, 87 n. 23, 90 nn. 73; 80, 91 nn. 89; 91; 99; 106; 108, 92 n. 139, 93 n. 158, 99, 103‑104, 109‑114, 115 n. 4, 116 n. 39, 117 nn. 70; 73, 122‑125, 128, 147‑153, 156‑161, 162 n. 7, 172‑173, 177 Nikomedia (mod. Izmit) 15, 18‑19, 21, 23‑28, 29 nn. 22; 24, 31‑34, 42, 43 n. 5, 47, 50‑52, 57 n. 12, 58 n. 14, 66, 68, 72, 75, 81‑83, 86, 87 n. 23, 90 nn. 69; 72, 91 n. 89, 92 n. 139, 94 n. 183, 99, 101, 104‑106, 108‑110, 112, 115 nn. 34; 36, 117 n. 70, 122‑123, 128, 142 n. 43, 147‑154, 156‑157, 160‑161, 162 n. 22, 172‑173, 177 Olbia (Borysthenes) 59 n. 29, 75, 138 Olympia 74 Olympos 24, 53 Orillia 138 Oxyrhynchus (mod. el-Bahnasa, Egypt) 17 Pannonia Superior 114 Panopeus 45, 57 n. 1 Paphlagonia 27, 64 Parion (mod. Kemer) 73 Parthicopolis 89 n. 42 Pergamon (mod. Bergama) 26‑27, 82, 85 Piraeus 75 Podandus (mod. Pozanti) 46 Poland 156

Pompeii 16 Pompeiopolis 33 Pontos 27‑28, 32, 85, 94 n. 181 Pozanti, see Podandus Prusa 15, 17‑19, 21‑26, 31‑33, 37, 39, 51‑53, 66‑67, 70‑72, 75, 81, 84, 89 n. 45, 90 nn. 74; 86, 91 nn. 89; 106; 108, 92 nn. 134; 139, 99, 102‑106, 109, 115 n. 37, 119‑122, 124‑128, 130‑131, 133‑134, 143 nn. 62; 75; 79; 88,155‑156, 156, 165, 172, 174, 177‑178 Prusias ad Hypium (mod. Konuralp) 40, 51, 73, 78, 80, 85, 89 n. 44, 91 nn. 91; 95; 106, 92 nn. 116; 130, 93 n. 147, 94 n. 183, 99, 101‑103, 105, 107‑108, 157, 169 Prusias ad Mare 33, 42; see also Kios Reate (mod. Rieti) 169 Rhine 141 n. 35 Rhodes 26 Rome 17, 26, 34, 37, 62, 68, 77, 79, 81, 91 n. 97, 95 n. 198, 108, 120‑122, 124‑126, 132, 141 n. 35, 142 nn. 43; 53, 144 n. 92, 147, 162 n. 22 Salona, see Split Sardinia 66, 88 n. 32 Scythia 46 Sicily 62 Sinope (mod. Sinop) 32 Smyrna (mod. Izmir) 15, 17, 125, 131, 142 n. 43 Spain 102, 115 n. 13 Sparta 15, 132, 142 n. 43, 174 Split 31, 154 Stageira 130 Syria 57 n. 11, 65, 101‑102, 147 Tarsos 95 n. 198, 124, 142 n. 43 Tegea 91 n. 110 Thessaloniki 154 Thessaly 76 Thrace 97‑98 Tralleis 85, 91 nn. 109; 111 Trapezunt (mod. Trabzon) 156 Trier 31, 154 Troy 21 Tyre 149 Ukraine 156

Index of Persons

Adak, M. 59 n. 35 Aelius Aurelianus Theodotus, T. 47 Aelius Thimotheos, P. 155 n. 36 Aelius Lamia, L. 114 n. 2 Aurelius Vernicianus 101‑102, 102 fig. 18 Aesop 172 Aesquilinus 116 n. 38 Agrippa, M. Vipsanius 168 Alexander Severus 114, 156, 172 Alexander the Great 21 Ameling, W. 44 n. 27, 83, 86, 87 n. 6, 88 n. 35, 89 nn. 44; 46, 92 n. 116, 93 nn. 143; 146, 94 nn. 184; 190, 116 nn. 50‑51 Ammianus Marcellinus 34, 154, 161 Anastasios, bishop of Nikaia 15 Anderson, G. 143 nn. 74; 125, 163 n. 42 Antigonos Monophtalmos 21 Antinoos 100 Antiochos III 22 Antoninus Pius 29 n. 24, 57 n. 6, 66 Antoninus, Ulpius Titius Aelianus 105 Apollon 121 Appian 33, 142 n. 53 Apuleius 75‑77 Aristides, Aelius 29 n. 22, 79, 115 n. 19, 161, 163 n. 42 Aristotle 13‑14, 16, 22‑24, 75, 130 Arnim, H. von 38, 43 n. 17, 44 n. 23, 140 n. 4, 141 nn. 18; 21, 142 n. 60 Arrian of Nikomedia 21‑22, 108, 147 Arsinoë III 94 n. 187 Artaxias 22 Artemis 57 n. 13 Asellius Aemilianus 147 Athenaios 25 Attalos III 27 Attilius 114 n. 2 Augianus Philetanus 169

Augustus (Octavian) 65, 82, 86, 105, 122 Aurelius Alexander, M. 84 Aurelius Asklepiodotianos Asklepiades, M. 115 n. 33 Aurelius Augianus Philetianus, M. 101, 103 Aurelius Marcianus 78, 106, 116 n 39 Aurelius Mindius Matidianus Pollio, M. 58 n. 22, 72, 84, 109, 116 nn. 54, 60‑61, 120 Aurelius Philippianus Iason, M. 92 n. 116 Aurelius Spoudasis Nikeeus 81 Badian, E. 87 n. 10 Bagnall, R. 87 n. 3, 94 nn. 186‑187; 188 Balbus, L. Mindius 57 n. 11 Basil the Great, bishop of Kaisareia 34‑35, 46‑47, 51, 87 n. 16, 161, 166 Bassus, Julius 86, 95 n. 194 Bertrand, J.-M. 145 n. 122 Bosch, C. 42, 57 n. 11, 58 n. 15, 87 n. 23, 163 n. 24 Bost-Pouderon, C. 38, 95 n. 198 Bowman, A.K. 19 Bradbury, S. 43 n. 5 Braund, D. 92 n. 128 Brunt, P.A. 94 n. 191, 95 n. 196, 171 Brutus, M. Iunius 34, 43 n. 4, 82, 140 n. 10 Cadius Rufus, L. 48, 95 n. 194 Caesar, Julius 27 Caligula 140 n. 2 Campanile, M.D. 85, 94 n. 182, 116 n. 61 Caracalla 104, 115 n. 31, 151‑153, 162 n. 22 Carter, M. 116 n. 52 Cassius Agrippa, M. 117 n. 73 Cassius Apronianus 114

200

Indices

Cassius Asklepiodotos, C. 109‑110, 114, 116 n. 63, 117 n. 72 Cassius Chrestos, C. 56, 112‑114, 113 figs. 25‑26, 117 nn. 71‑72, 125 Cassius Dion, L. 34, 58 n. 15, 82, 93 n. 157, 108, 114, 115 n. 31, 117 n. 74, 148, 150‑152 Cassius Nikadas, M. 117 n. 73 Cassius Philiskos, C. 32, 110‑112, 110 fig. 22, 111 figs. 23‑24, 114 Charidemos 143 n. 75 Chrestos, grammateus tou dêmou 107 Christiansen, E. 44 n. 32 Chrysippos 130 Cicero, M. Tullius 17, 34, 37, 62‑64, 97, 114 n. 2 Cicero, Q. Tullius 17, 34 Claudia, mother of Dion 119‑120, 140 n. 3 Claudius 119, 121, 140 n. 2 Claudius II Gothicus 53, 157‑159 Claudius Eumolpos 133‑135 Claudius Piso, Ti. 85, 105, 108‑109, 116 n. 54 Claudius Quintianus, Ti. 112 Claudius Tertullianus Sanctus, Ti. 116 n. 39 Clodius Albinus 149 Coles, R.A. 19, 43 n. 19 Commodus 24, 28 n. 5, 29 n. 24, 47, 109, 116 n. 59, 147, 150‑151 Constantine the Great 154‑155, 160 Corsten, T. 28 n. 8, 97, 114 n. 1, 115 nn. 6; 10, 116 n. 47 Courtonne, Y. 57 n. 3 Cuvigny, M. 17, 141 n. 21, 178 n. 1, 179 n. 3 Dalman, K.O. 55 Deininger, J. 83, 85‑86, 93 nn. 160‑161; 163; 165; 167; 169, 94 nn. 171; 184; 189, 95 n. 198, 116 n. 60, 171 De Laet, S. 90 n. 69, 116 n. 60 De Ruyt, C. 91 n. 110 Dimitriev, S. 41 Diokletian 31, 40, 52, 106, 154, 156, 159 Dion Cassius, see Cassius Dion

Dion Chrysostomos 15, 17, 37‑39, 43 n. 12, 44 n. 24, 45, 47‑48, 51, 58 nn. 18; 22, 59 n. 29, 63‑64, 67, 71‑72, 86, 88 n. 41, 89 n. 60, 90 n. 86, 100‑101, 117 n. 74, 119‑128, 130‑139, 140 n. 6, 141 nn. 18‑19; 20, 142 nn. 39; 54; 56, 149, 165‑172, 174, 175 n. 14, 177 Dionysos 22‑23, 48, 150 Dodds, E.R. 173, 175 n. 1 Dölger, F.J. 44 n. 29 Domitian 29 n. 24, 88 n. 30, 121‑122, 133, 174 Domitius, son of Aster 102 Domitius Iulianus, M. 116 n. 38 Domitius Paulianus Falco, M. 107, 115 n. 33, 165 Domitius Paulianus Falco, T. 107, 107 fig. 21 Domitius Stratokles, M. 107 Domitius Valerianus, M. 116 n. 52 Doonan, O. 43 n. 1 Dörner, F.K. 52, 59 n. 32 Dräger, M. 58 n. 18 Drusus, M. Livius 142 n. 53 Eck, W. 141 n. 36, 175 n. 22 Egnatius Rufus, L. 114 n. 2 Ehrenberg, V. 93 n. 93 Elagabal 47, 104, 150‑151, 153, 156, 162 n. 22 Eunomios, bishop of Nikomedia 15 Favorinus 38, 131, 143 n. 75 Fernoux, H.-L. 44 n. 28, 58 n. 14, 73, 84‑85, 87 n. 6, 89 n. 52, 91 n. 93, 92 nn. 118; 124; 132, 93 nn. 143; 170, 94 n. 172, 97, 99, 109, 114 n. 1, 115 nn. 3; 6‑7; 9; 12; 14; 17; 26‑28; 32; 35, 116 nn. 44; 50; 54‑57; 61, 117 nn. 70‑71, 169, 175 nn. 8; 10‑11 Flavius, T. 84 Flavius Archippos 67, 115 n. 19, 133‑136, 165‑166, 168, 171, 174 Flavius Damianos, T. 71, 78, 151 Flavius Dion, see Dion Chrysostomos Flavius Hipparchos 88 n. 30 Flavius Petro, T. 168 Flavius Phidiskos, T. 103

Index of Persons Flavius Sabinus, father of Vespasian 90 n. 66, 168‑169 Flavius Sabinus, T. 121‑122, 133 Flavius Severianus Asklepiodotos 75, 103‑104, 151‑153, 153 fig. 31, 165 Flavius Silôn, T. 38, 78, 103‑104, 104 fig. 19 Foss, S. 19, 163 n. 40 France, J. 90 n. 69 Friesen, S.J. 84‑85, 93 n. 159, 94 nn. 171; 185, 171 Fronto, M. Cornelius 37 Fukuyama, F. 172 Furia Prima 133 Gaius, jurist 62, 87 n. 8 Gaius, oikonomikos 92 n. 126 Galba 88 n. 27, 109, 116 n. 63 Galeria Valeria 163 n. 26 Galerius 163 n. 26 Gallienus 23, 42, 53, 58 n. 16, 155‑159, 159 fig. 34a Gauthier, P. 89 n. 55 Gelzer, M. 166 Germanicus 57 n. 11, 65, 87 n. 23 Geta 23, 28 n. 5 Gibbon, E. 147 Gordian III 42, 116 n. 52 Gregory of Nazianzos 34 Gregory of Nyssa 34, 43 n. 6, 92 n. 129 Guinea Diaz, P. 89 n. 44, 115 n. 30 Hadrian 25, 42, 51, 55, 63‑65, 99‑100, 147‑148, 150, 157 Hägg, T. 43 nn. 16; 22 Halfmann, H. 162 n. 13 Hannestad, N. 44 n. 31 Hannibal 22, 25‑26, 125 Hardy, T. 165 Harrer, G. 162 n. 5 Harries, J. 57 n. 9 Hawley, R. 144 n. 111 Helena, mother of Constantine 160 Herakles 22, 48, 150 Herodes Atticus 71 Herodian 34, 148‑150, 170 Hippodamos 23‑24 Højte, J.M. 28 n. 1, 163 n. 31 Homer 130, 143 n. 70

201

Honneth, A. 172‑173 Hostilius Ascanius, C. 115 n. 4 Jones, A.H.M. 93 n. 154 Jones, C.P. 17, 89 n. 45, 90 n. 69, 95 n. 198, 141 nn. 19; 35, 142 nn. 37; 39; 55, 178 nn. 1‑2 Julian 34, 152 Julianus, P. Domitius 115 n. 33 Julius Gavinius Sacerdos, M. 103 Julius Piso 88 n. 29 Junius C(h)ilo, M. 95 n. 194 Justinian 160, 163 n. 39 Karnapp, W. 163 n. 32 Kleanthes 130 Konstan, D. 175 n. 15 Körte, A. 59 n. 37 Kraft, K. 28 n. 11, 42, 44 nn. 33‑35, 163 n. 33 Krasser, H. 88 n. 26 Kroisos 22 Kyros 22 Lactantius 34, 154 Laenius, M. 114 n. 2 Largus, Julius 74 Laum, B. 90 n. 68, 91 n. 109 Leacock, S. 138, 165 Lenski, N. 90 n. 71 Leschhorn, W. 28 n. 1 Libanios 15, 24, 34‑35, 43 n. 5, 51, 58 n. 25, 89 n. 43, 152, 154, 161, 162 n. 23, 163 n. 42 Lichtenstein, A. 163 n. 27 Licinius 154 Liebenam, W. 89 n. 43 Liebeschuetz, J.M.W.G 93 n. 149, 163 nn. 38; 44 Link, S. 19 Lintott, A. 87 n. 8, 89 n. 63, 90 nn. 64; 67 Longus, [Ca]tilius 115 n. 11 Lucius 75‑76, 167 Lucius Verus 151 Lucullus, L. Licinius 28 Lukianos 154, 160 Lysimachos 21 Ma, J. 145 nn. 122; 127

202

Indices

Macrianus 53, 157‑159, 159 fig. 39b, 163 n. 35 Macrinus 155‑156 Madsen, J.M. 115 n. 8 Maecenas 82 Magie, D. 89 n. 58 Marcianus, jurist 90 n. 77 Marcus Antonius 82 Marcus Aurelius 43 n. 7, 151, 169 Marek, C. 28 n. 1, 43 n. 3, 93 nn. 142; 146‑147; 155; 167, 94 nn. 175; 181, 115 n. 20, 162 n. 3, 163 n. 29 Markiane 102 Marshall, A.J. 87 n. 8 Martin, D.G. 94 n. 173 Martinianus 46, 87 n. 16 Matthews, J. 162 n. 19 Maximinus Daia 154 Maximus 64, 135‑136, 171 McKitterick, R. 175 n. 16 Merkelbach, R. 58 n. 22, 112, 116 n. 68, 149, 162 n. 3 Meyer, E. 61, 87 n. 1 Millar, F. 43 n. 15, 117 n. 74 Mitchell, S. 29 n. 23 Mithradates VI 26‑28, 53 Mithras 73 Modestinus, jurist 71, 83 Moles, J. 43 n. 4, 93 n. 156, 140 n. 4, 141 n. 14 Mommsen, T. 61, 88 n. 34 Mouritsen, F. 19 Mucius Scaevola Pontifex, Q. 64 Musonius Rufus 120‑121 Nero 65‑66, 91 n. 97, 110, 125, 140 n. 2 Nerva 119, 121‑122, 124, 174, 177 Nielsen, I. 29 n. 29 Nikomedes I 21, 25‑26 Nikomedes II Epiphanes 27, 52 Nikomedes III 27 Nikomedes IV 27‑28 Odysseus 14, 138 Oliver, J. 89 n. 43 Paetus Thrasea 94 n. 189 Pallas, M. Antonius 121 Papianus, T. Ulpius Aelianus, jurist 105‑106, 108

Paquius Scaeva, P. 88 n. 27 Pasikrates, father of Dion 119‑120, 140 nn. 3‑4, 169, 177 Paul, apostle 84 Paulus, jurist 90 n. 77 Paulus Orosius 53 Pausanias 45‑46, 88 n. 32, 166 Peristiany, J.G. 166, 173, 175 nn. 1‑3 Pertinax 147 Pescennius Niger 147‑151, 170 Pflaum, H.-G. 116 n. 61 Philammon 94 n. 187 Philip II 130 Philip the Arab 24, 29 n. 24 Philostratos 90 n. 83, 119, 124, 136 Photios 37, 43 nn. 16; 22, 119, 179 n. 3 Pinnius 114 n. 2 Pitt-Rivers, J. 175 n. 1 Plancius Varus, M. 56, 59 n. 35, 112 Pliny, the Elder 22 Pliny, the Younger 17, 34‑37, 43 nn. 8; 9; 12, 45, 62, 64, 66‑68, 71‑72, 74, 86, 88 nn. 26‑30, 01 nn. 106; 114‑115, 101, 119, 121, 133‑136, 147, 160, 162 n. 23, 165, 171, 174 Plutarch 34 Polemo 131, 143 n. 75 Poliôn, Timetianos 104 Polybios 94 n. 187 Pompey the Great 16, 62, 67, 87 n. 8 Pomponios 71 Priapos 73 Price, M.J. 29 n. 24, 44 n. 36 Priscus, Marius 43 n. 10 Prokopios, historian 153, 161, 163 n. 39 Prokopios, usurper 51 Prusias I 21‑23, 23 fig. 2, 26, 28 n. 5 Prusias II 27, 52 Pupius, Cn. 114 n. 2 Pythagoras 130 Pythias 73, 76‑77, 167 Quass, F. 44 n. 26, 69, 89 nn. 53; 56‑57; 59, 90 n. 76, 91 nn. 96; 98; 105; 107, 92 nn. 116; 122; 132; 135‑138, 93 n. 140, 126, 169, 175 n. 7 Quietus 53, 157‑158, 163 n. 35

Index of Persons Quintus, son of Quintus 102 Raggi, A. 140 n. 4 Ramsay, W.M. 94 n. 185 Rémy, B. 57 n. 11, 87 n. 24 Reuter, D. 145 nn. 122; 125 Richardson, J.R. 115 n. 13 Robert, L. 25, 29 n. 26, 48, 58 nn. 17; 20; 22, 91 n. 90, 92 n. 116, 141 n. 23, 162 nn. 3; 10‑12 Robinson, O.F. 87 n. 9 Rupilius, P. 114 n. 2 Sabinius, Statius 35 Sacerdos, son of Menander 115 n. 37 Şahin, S. 28 n. 1, 29 n. 20, 58 n. 22, 91 nn. 99; 104, 112, 115 n. 22, 116 nn. 65‑68, 117 nn. 69‑70; 72 Salmeri, G. 88 n. 41, 128, 140 n. 4, 141 n. 19, 143 n. 63, 173‑174, 175 nn. 18; 21 Saoteros 47, 58 n. 15 Schamp, J. 43 n. 16 Schneider, A.M. 55, 163 nn. 32; 37 Scullard, H.H. 166 Seianus, L. Aelius 168 Seneca, L. Annaeus 16, 121 Septimius Severus 47, 109, 147‑151 Sheppard, A.R. 142 n. 39, 179 n. 4 Sherwin-White, A.N. 35, 43 nn. 9; 13, 87 n. 8, 91 n. 106, 140 n. 4 Sokrates, philosopher 14, 130 Sokrates Chrestos 27‑28 Soranus 109 Stephen of Byzantion 21‑22, 29 n. 24 Stini, F. 141 n. 15 Strabon 21‑22, 49, 53, 84‑85 Suetonius 16, 27, 34, 90 n. 66 Sulla, L. Cornelius 57 n. 1 Synesios 37 Tacitus 16, 34, 36, 43 n. 8, 65, 82, 86, 87 n. 23, 88 n. 30, 114 Talbert, R. 87 nn. 19; 21; 22; 25, 88 n. 31

203

Tarquinius Priscus 86, 95 n. 194 Terentius Hispon, P 114 n. 2 Theocritus 152 Tiberius 65, 140 n. 2 Titus 119, 121 Torraca, L. 93 n. 156 Trajan 15, 17, 34, 37, 43 nn. 7; 12, 64‑66, 88 nn. 26‑30, 89 n. 46, 91 n. 106, 99, 103‑104, 119, 124‑125, 133‑136, 141 n. 35, 143 n. 75, 150, 174, 177 Trell, B.L. 29 n. 24, 44 n. 36 Ulpian, jurist 68, 71, 89 n. 46 Ulpius Titius Calpurnianus Fado 105 Valens 51, 160 Valentinian 160 Valerian 42, fig. 7, 48, 156‑159, 163 n. 25 Valerian II 42 fig. 7 Valerius Flaccus, L. 27 Van Dam, R. 57 n. 3 Varenus Rufus 86, 95 n. 194, 131‑133, 135, 145 n. 102, 178, 179 n. 4 Vedius Cornelianus Strato, P. 115 n. 5 Verres, C. 62 Vespasian 65, 55, 90 n. 66, 92 n. 127, 112, 115 n. 13, 119, 168 Veyne, P. 69, 89 nn. 51; 54, 126, 168‑169, 175 n. 4 Vielmetti, C. 19, 141 n. 21, 143 n. 79, 179 n. 4 Vitruvius 29 n. 15, 72, 90 n. 84 Weiler, G. 90 n. 68 Weiser,W. 159, 163 nn. 25; 33‑34; 36 Weiss, P. 83, 90 n. 71, 92 nn. 123; 126 Xenophon 14, 170 Zenon 130 Zeus 27 Ziethen, G. 142 n. 38 Zipoites 21 Zosimos 156‑157

Index Locorum

Ammianus Marcellinus 17.7.1‑8: 161, 163 n. 43 22.13.5: 161, 163 n. 43 31.14: 59 n. 31 Appian Bellum civile 1.35: 142 n. 53 Bellum Mithridaticum 77: 29 n. 32, 33‑34 Apuleius Metamorphoses 1.25‑26: 73, 75‑77, 91 n. 112, 167 Aristides Hieroi logoi 4.81: 79, 92 n. 128 Orationes 18: 163 n. 42 18.6: 29 n. 22 Aristophanes Acharnenses: 91 n. 102 Vespae: 91 n. 102 Aristoteles Athenaiôn politeia 51.1‑4: 75, 91 n. 103 Politica 1252a24‑1253a17: 143 n. 67 1253a1: 13, 19 n. 1 1296a7: 14, 19 n. 4 1327a11‑1331b23: 23, 28 n. 12 1330a34: 28 n. 13 1330b8: 28 n. 14 1330b32: 29 nn. 16‑18 1331a30: 29 n. 19 Arrian of Nikomedia FGrHist 15.6.29: 22, 28 n. 4

Athenaios 2.43a: 29 n. 27 Basil of Kaisareia (“the Great”) Epistulae: 34 74: 46‑47, 57 n.3‑5, 87 n. 16 Bible Proverbs 22.1: 19 n. 2 Matthew 11.19: 90 n. 64 Mark 2.16: 90 n. 64 Luke 5.30: 90 n. 64 15.1: 90 n. 64 Acts 19: 92 n. 125 19.31: 93 n. 164 19.35: 57 n. 13 Bordeaux itinerary, see Itinerarium Burdigalense Brutus Epistulae: 34, 43 n. 4 59: 93 n. 156 Cassius Dion 51.20.5‑9: 82, 93 n. 151 52.35: 93 n. 153 60.33: 95 n. 194 62.26: 116 n. 63 72.12: 58 n. 15 74.4‑6: 162 n. 1 74.8: 150, 162 n. 9 77.9: 151‑152, 162 n. 16 77.19: 162 n. 13 77.21: 152, 162 n. 18

Index Locorum Chronikon Paschale: 53: 475 (Dindorf): 51, 59 n. 30 527 (Dindorf): 163 n. 39 Cicero: 34, 63 De lege agraria 2.40: 114 n. 2 Ep ad Atticum 5.21.11‑13: 87 n. 11 6.1: 140 n. 10 6.1.6‑7: 87 n. 11 6.1.15: 87 n. 10 Ep. ad familiares 97 13.9: 114 n. 2 13.47: 114 n. 2 13.61‑63: 114 n. 2 13.65: 114 n. 2 Ep. ad Quintum fratrem 1.1.: 17 1.1.37‑38: 19 n. 13 In Verrem: 62 Codex Theodosianus 1.4.3: 87 n. 2 Codex Vindobonensis 326, see Tabula Peutingeriana Corpus Juris Civilis: 40 Codex Iustiniani 1.54.3: 116 n. 42 Digesta 27.1.6.14: 83, 93 n. 162 49.1.25: 175 n. 17 50.2.1‑2: 89 n. 47: 50.3.1: 44 n. 24, 89 n. 46; nn. 48‑49 50.8.6: 90 n. 68 50.12: 71, 90 nn. 75‑77 Dion Cassius, see Cassius Dion Dion Chrysostomos Orationes 1‑4: 125 4: 38 7: 43 n. 16, 45‑46, 57 n. 2, 136‑140, 145 n. 122; n. 125, 172, 178, 178 n. 1

205

7.1: 145 n. 113 7.22: 58 n. 28, 145 n. 124 7.22‑63: 145 n. 115 7.28: 145 n. 116; n. 134, 175 n. 6 7.29: 145 n. 133 7.33: 145 n. 117, 145 n. 129 7.38‑39: 145 n. 118; n. 126 7.53: 145 n. 130 7.54‑58: 145 n. 119 7.60‑62: 145 n. 120 7.80: 145 n. 121 7.126: 145 n. 128 12.13: 143 n. 75 13.9‑12: 141 n. 16 20.1: 89 n. 60 32.67: 43 n. 21 33.57: 43 n. 21 34: 124 34.9: 87 n. 14, 95 n. 198 34.16: 141 n. 29 34.22: 141 n. 29 34.42: 95 n. 198 35: 38 35.10: 143 n. 75 35.15: 57 n. 8 36: 38 36.6: 59 n. 29 37: 38 38: 122‑124, 177, 179 n. 3 38‑41: 43 n. 16, 141 n. 19 38.23‑39: 58 n. 18 38.24: 47, 57 n. 7 38.26: 141 n. 31 38.32: 90 n. 69 38.33: 95 n. 198 38.36: 95 nn. 197‑198, 141 n. 26 38.37: 141 n. 25 38.38: 87 n. 14, 141 n. 27, 175 n. 13 38.39: 58 n. 21‑22 38.42: 141 n. 24 39: 88 n. 41, 123‑124, 162 n. 7, 177, 179 n. 3 39.4: 87 n. 14, 95 n. 198 39.5: 141 n. 29 39.6: 141 n. 29 39.7‑8: 141 n. 30 39.8: 141 n. 28

206

Indices

40: 125‑128, 130, 141 n. 19, 144 n. 102, 177 40.5: 141 n. 19 40.6‑8: 142 n. 50 40.8: 142 n. 45, 145 n. 131 40.9: 19 n. 9, 142 n. 54 40.11: 142 n. 43 40.12: 142 n. 47 40.13: 19 n. 9, 142 n. 41 40.14: 142 n. 41 40.17: 142 n. 55, n. 57 40.20: 142 n. 57 40.29: 142 n. 56 40.30: 142 n. 55; n. 61 41: 128, 130, 177 41.6: 140 nn. 3‑4, 145 n. 112 42: 142 n. 40, 177 43: 132, 178 43.1: 143 n. 88 43.6‑7: 144 n. 90 43.7: 143 n. 82, 145 n. 105; n. 132 43.8: 144 n. 92 43.10: 19 n. 16 43.11: 19 n. 16, 144 n. 92 43.12: 19 n. 16 43.13 (lost): 19 n. 16 44: 39, 122, 141 n. 19, 172, 177, 178 nn. 1‑2 44.1: 141 n. 20, 143 n. 70 44.3: 140 n. 3 44.5: 141 n. 19 44.6: 141 n. 22 44.9: 28 n. 9 44.11: 141 n. 19 45: 125, 127, 144 n. 102, 178, 179 n. 4 45.2: 141 n. 32, 145 n. 108 45.3: 43 n. 12, 87 n. 17, 141 n. 33, 142 n. 41, 145 n. 109 45.6: 90 n. 86, 142 n. 48 45.7: 89 n. 42 45.7‑10: 175 n. 19 45.8: 87 n. 18, 142 n. 46, 143 n. 78, 144 n. 91 45.9: 142 n. 52, 144 n. 91 45.10: 141 n. 17, 142 n. 52 45.11: 143 n. 76 45.12: 142 n. 56

45.13: 142 n. 56,143 n. 64 45.14: 143 n. 65 45.15: 142 n. 42; n. 49, 143 n. 66 45.15‑16: 142 n. 44; n. 51 46: 91 n. 106, 120, 124, 177, 179 n. 3 46.3: 140 n. 1 46.5: 140 n. 10, 175 n. 14 46.5‑11: 140 n. 13 46.6: 140 n. 12 46.8: 91 n. 106, 140 n. 8 46.9: 140 n. 9 46.13: 140 n. 9 46.14: 87 n. 13, 91 n. 108, 140 n. 12 47: 130‑131, 144 n. 102, 178, 179 n. 4 47.2: 143 n. 70 47.5: 143 n. 70 47.7: 143 n. 71 47.9: 143 n. 72 47.11: 143 n. 68 47.16‑17: 58 n. 26, 142 n. 43 47.17: 58 n. 25 47.18: 145 n. 131 47.18‑20: 143 n. 69 47.19: 90 n. 78, 143 n. 77, 144 n. 91, 145 n. 104 47.21: 141 n. 18, 143 n. 73 47.24‑25: 143 n. 83 48: 39, 131, 145 n. 102, 178, 179 n. 4 48.1: 175 n. 12 48.1‑2: 143 n. 79 48.11: 90 n. 74; n. 78, 143 n. 81 48.17: 141 n. 29, 143 n. 80 49: 39, 44 n. 25, 88 n. 40, 143 n. 86, 172, 178, 178 n. 1, 179 n. 4 49.1‑13: 44 n. 25 49.14‑15: 44 n. 25 50: 132, 172, 178, 179 n. 4 50.1: 88 n. 38, 100, 115 n. 18 50.3: 143 n. 85 50.10: 143 n. 84, 143 n. 87 51: 142 n. 40, 175 n. 20, 177 64: 38 Eusebios 8.13.2: 163 n. 28

Index Locorum Expositio totius mundi et gentium 49: 49, 58 n. 24 Fontes iuris romani anteiustiniani 1.170‑175: 62, 87 n. 5 1.409‑414: 95 n. 195 Gaius Institutiones: 62, 87 n. 8 Gregory of Nazianz Epistulae: 34

Libanios Epistulae: 34 Orationes 1 (Autobiography): 162‑163 1.51‑53: 163 n. 41 1.55: 162 n. 20; n. 23 2.33: 89 n. 42 8: 163 n. 27 61 (Monody on Nikomedia): 161, 162 n. 21, 163 n. 42 61.7: 24, 29 n. 21 61.17: 24, 29 n. 21, 58 n. 25

Gregory of Nyssa Epistulae: 34 14: 34, 43 n. 6 15: 92 n. 129

Notitia Galliarum: 57 n. 9

Herodian 3.2.7‑9: 148‑150, 162 n. 2; n. 6; n. 8; 163 n. 32, 170 3.3.3: 162 n. 4

Pausanias 7.17.3: 88 n. 32 10.4.1: 45, 57 n. 1

Historia Augusta: 34 Commodus: 58 n. 15 Homer Odyssey 6.262‑273: 138, 145 n. 125 9.34: 141 n. 20 9.174‑176: 14, 19 n. 3 Itinerarium Antonini 139‑143: 33, 43 n. 2 Itinerarium Burdigalense 571‑575: 33, 43 n. 2 Julian Epistulae: 34 Lactantius De mortibus persecutorum 7: 154, 163 n. 26

207

Orosius 6.2.23: 53, 59 n. 33

Philostratos Vitae Sophistarum 487: 141 n. 34 488: 145 n. 110 548: 90 n. 83 Photios: 43 n. 22 71 (35b): 117 n. 75 209 (165a): 140 n. 5 Pliny the elder Historia naturalis 3.30: 115 n. 13 5.148: 22, 28 n. 6 Pliny the younger Epistulae: 34‑37, 62, 1.19: 88 n. 36 2.11: 43 n. 10; n. 12; n. 14 2.12: 43 n. 10 3.18: 43 n. 14 4.9: 95 n. 194 4.10: 35 5.7: 90 n. 68

208

Indices

5.20: 95 n. 194 6.5: 95 n. 194 6.13: 95 n. 194 6.16: 43 n. 8 6.20: 43 n. 8 6.29: 95 n. 194 7.6: 94 n. 192 7.10: 95 n. 194 7.18: 90 n. 68 9.5: 19 n. 13 10.1‑14: 36 10.3a: 43 n. 10 10.3b: 36 10.7: 36 10.9: 36 10.10‑11: 115 n. 16 10.13: 88 n. 26 10.17a: 90 n. 87, 175 n. 12 10.17b: 90 n. 82 10.18: 43 n. 7 10.19‑20: 90 n. 71 10.23: 90 n. 70, 142 n. 54 10.24‑25: 91 n. 106 10.27‑28: 64, 87 n. 15, 145 n. 107 10.31‑32: 90 n. 71 10.34: 19 n. 8, 43 n. 7, 10.37: 90 n. 72; n. 81, 162 n. 23 10.38: 90 n. 73 10.39: 90 nn. 79‑80 10.41: 29 n. 25 10.43: 91 n. 113 10.44: 43 n. 7, 91 n. 113 10.47: 142 n. 59 10.48: 88 n. 28 10.50: 43 n. 7 10.51: 43 n. 11 10.54: 87 n. 12, 140 n. 10 10.56: 143 n. 89 10.58: 115 n. 19, 144 nn. 93‑94, 144 n. 99 10.58‑59: 133, 144 n. 96, 144 n. 99 10.60: 144 n. 97 10.66: 43 n. 7 10.70: 142 n. 54 10.75: 90 n. 68, 91 n. 98 10.79: 67, 87 n. 4, 88 n. 33; n. 39, 91 nn. 114‑115 10.80: 43 n. 7

10.81: 88 n. 30, 133‑135, 140 n. 7, 144 n. 92; nn. 98‑102 10.82: 134‑136, 140 n. 7, 144 n. 92, 145 n. 103 10.93: 43 n. 7 10.109: 87 n. 7 10.110: 88 n. 29 10.111: 88 n. 29 10.112: 88 n. 37 10.113: 89 n. 50 10.114: 87 n. 4 10.118‑119: 91 n. 97 Panegyricus 42.1: 145 n. 106 Plutarch: 34 Lykourgos 13.5: 19 n. 7 Moralia 639E: 91 n. 97 Sulla 16.4: 57 n. 1 Polybios 15.25.12: 94 n. 187 Prokopios Aedificia 5.2: 153, 162 n. 22, 163 n. 39 5.3: 153, 161 fig. 35,162 n. 22. Ptolemy Geographia 5.1: 28 n. 3 Sallust Bellum Jugurthinum 86: 19 n. 6 Seneca Apocolocyntosis: 16 Ep. ad Lucilium 83.12‑14: 19 n. 11 Stephen of Byzantion Ethnika: 29 n. 24

Index Locorum 474 (Meineke): 28 n. 1 537 (Meineke): 28 n. 4 Strabon 11.14.6: 28 n. 7 12.4.3: 28 n. 4 12.4.7: 22, 28 n. 1, 49, 57 n. 10, 58 n. 23, 59 n. 34 14.1.42: 94 n. 184 Suda: 37 Suetonius: 16 Divus Julius 27, 29 nn. 30‑31 Tiberius 42: 19 n. 11 Nero 25: 91 n. 97 Vespasian 1: 90 n. 66 1‑2: 168, 175 n. 5 23: 92 n. 127 Titus 7: 19 n. 11 Synesios: 37 Tabula Peutingeriana 33 fig. 6, 51 Tacitus: 16 Agricola 19: 89 n. 62 Annales: 1.74: 94 n. 193 2.54: 65, 87 n. 23 4.37: 82, 93 n. 152 12.22: 95 n. 194 14.46: 95 n. 194 15.21‑22: 94 n. 189 15.33: 116 n. 63 Vitruvius De architectura: 1.4: 29 n. 15 10.1‑2: 72, 90 n. 84

209

Xenophon Hellenika: 170 Memorabilia 4.6.14: 15, 19 n. 5 Zosimos 1.32‑35: 156‑157, 163 nn. 29‑30 Inscriptions CIL 5.5262: 90 n. 68 IK 7.4: 112‑114, 113 fig. 26, 117 n. 69 9.21‑30: 28 n. 10 9.25‑28: 59 n. 42, 112, 113 fig. 25, 116 nn. 65‑66. 9.29‑30: 48, 59 n. 36 9.34: 115 n. 4 9.51‑52: 116 n. 67 9.57: 91 n. 91 9.60: 58 n. 14, 75, 91 n. 105, 103‑104, 115 n. 30, 152, 153 fig. 31, 162 n. 17 9.61: 91 n. 91; n. 94, 92 n. 139 9.64: 58 n. 14 9.65: 92 n. 139 9.85: 110‑112, 110‑111 figs. 22‑24, 116 n. 64. 9.116: 58 n. 14, 117 n. 70 9.554: 81, 93 n. 144 10.73: 93 n. 169 10.726: 92 n. 119, 116 n. 39 10.1065: 117 n. 73 10.1071: 117 n. 73 10.1209: 91 n. 89, 92 n. 139 13.627: 58 n. 22, 91 n. 88, 93 n. 166, 109, 116 n. 54; n. 59; n. 62 17.3080: 162 n. 15 25.6: 73, 91 n. 90 26.7: 115 n. 9 27.1‑6: 93 n. 141 27.2: 115 n. 24 27.3: 92 n. 117, 94 n. 178 27.4: 89 n. 59, 92 n. 117 27.5: 94 n. 183 27.6: 115 n. 28, 175 n. 9

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Indices

27.7: 107‑108, 107 fig. 21, 115 n. 33, 116 n. 49; n. 51 27.8: 91 n. 106 27.9: 58 n. 27, 91 n. 106, 92 n. 116, 94 nn. 178‑179; n. 181 27.10: 92 n. 117; n. 120, 92 n. 130, 94 n. 178 27.11: 91 n. 106, 115 n. 33 27.17: 92 n. 117; n. 120, 94 n. 174, 105‑106, 116 n. 40; nn. 44‑45 27.19: 115 n. 33 27.20: 103, 115 n. 26 27.29: 94 n. 174 27.38: 91 n. 91, 115 n. 25, 116 n. 48 27.37: 92 n. 117 27.46: 94 n. 183 27.47: 108‑109, 116 nn. 54‑55 27.50: 103, 115 n. 26 27.51: 94 n. 178, 116 n. 39 27.53: 94 n. 174, 116 n. 38 27.54: 105, 116 n. 41, 108, 29.7: 92 n. 119, 106, 116 n. 46, 116 n. 39 29.12: 116 n. 38 29.16: 91 n. 101 31.16: 94 n. 180 36.146: 91 n. 111 39.1a: 90 n. 85 39.3: 43 n. 20, 92 n. 121, 103; 115 n. 29, 130 fig. 19 39.5: 91 n. 89, 92 n. 134 39.13: 91 n. 100, 93 n. 168, 105, 106 fig. 20, 116 n. 43 39.16: 115 n. 23 39.18: 115 n. 19 39.19: 91 n. 89, 92 n. 134 39.21: 93 n. 150 39.24: 92 n. 139, 115 n. 37 39.33: 140 n. 6 40.1042: 92 n. 139 IKourion 127‑145: 44 n. 30 ILS 915: 88 n. 27 2927: 90 n. 68 8858: 116 n. 59

Inschriften des Asklepieions 151: 94 n. 176, 116 n. 38 IPriene 106: 93 n. 154 Marek (1993) 19: 94 n. 181 95: 84, 93 n. 167, 94 n. 174 OGIS 531: 84, 93 n. 167, 94 n. 174 549: 92 n. 118 SEG 51 (2001) 1709: 59 n. 35 TAM 4.1.25: 57 n. 6 4.1.33: 94 n. 177; n. 183, 115 n. 36 4.1.34: 57 n. 6 4.1.42: 91 n. 89, 93 n. 148, 115 nn. 33‑34 4.1.60: 81, 93 n. 145 4.1.70: 115 n. 5 4.1.258: 101, 102 fig. 18, 115 n. 22 4.1.262: 75, 91 n. 104 4.1.329: 101, 115 n. 21 Coins RGMG 1.2 Commune Bithyniae 44: 42 fig. 7 1.3 Nikaia 30: 48, 58 n. 17 1.3 Nikaia 54: 28 n. 10 1.3 Nikaia 55: 28 n. 10 1.3 Nikaia 61: 58 n. 19 1.3 Nikaia 165: 24 fig. 3 1.3 Nikaia 302: 150, 162 n. 12 1.3 Nikaia 305‑306: 150, 162 n. 12 1.3 Nikaia 310: 150, 162 n. 12 1.3 Nikaia 316: 150, 162 n. 12 1.3 Nikaia 355‑356: 150, 162 n. 11 1.3 Nikaia 359‑360: 150, 162 n. 11 1.3 Nikaia 826 similis: 23 fig. 2 1.3 Nikaia 846: 158‑159, 159 fig. 34 1.3 Nikaia 867: 163 n. 35

Index Locorum 1.3 Nikaia 867 similis: 158‑159, 159 fig. 34 1.3 Nikaia 868: 163 n. 35 1.3 Nikaia 872: 163 n. 35 1.3 Nikaia 873: 163 n. 35 1.3 Nikomedia 14‑17: 57 n. 11 1.3 Nikomedia 33: 29 n. 24 1.3 Nikomedia 74: 29 n. 24 1.3 Nikomedia 75: 29 n. 24 1.3 Nikomedia 138: 29 n. 24 1.3 Nikomedia 387: 24 fig. 3, 29 n. 24, 47 1.3 Nikomedia 405‑421: 58 n. 16 1.3 Nikomedia 407: 42 fig. 7, 48, 153 1.3 Nikomedia 414: 58 n. 16

1.4 Prusa: 48: 28 n. 5 1.4 Prusa: 116: 23 fig. 2, 28 n. 5 RIC 961: 147‑148, 148 fig. 30 SNG Aulock: 733: 158‑159, 159 fig. 34 860: 42 fig. 7, 48, 153 Papyri P.Oxy.: 17 2407: 43 n. 18

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