9

Empire at Large: From the Death of Xerxes to Darius II

The reign of Xerxes, and especially his invasion of Greece in 480–479 BCE, has always been viewed as a watershed for Greek history as well as Achaemenid historiography – the former emphasizing a historical narrative and the latter studying the historical sequence. This is not surprising, because they both involve many of the same sources. The study of subsequent Achaemenid history typifies the methodological problem so prevalent in studying Xerxes’ invasion of Greece: a disproportionate reliance on Greek source material. Royal inscriptions become fewer, shorter, and more stylized. Economic and administrative archival materials from Near Eastern sources retain their paramount importance, but the material (with a few exceptions) is more sporadic and less richly detailed than the Persepolis Fortification tablets.

Palace Intrigue and the Assassination of Xerxes

A Babylonian tablet contains reference to Xerxes death: “on the 14th day of Abu, Xerxes’ son killed him.” The terse reference is to the point and relatively precise on the time of death – by our calendar sometime in late July or early August in 465 BCE.¹ For a narrative account, we must turn to the Classical tradition. Ctesias, Diodorus Siculus, and Justin all point to a plot hatched by one of Xerxes’ courtiers, a certain Artabanus (Artapanus in Ctesias), who was abetted by other high officials. No reason for the plot is given, although Justin relates a stereotyped view that Xerxes’ defeat in Greece – fifteen years earlier than his death – was somehow responsible for a serious decline in both Xerxes’ and the Empire’s fortunes, a view contradicted by more than 130 years of continued Persian rule.

Xerxes had (at least) three sons: Darius, Artaxerxes, and Hystaspes. Artabanus managed to convince Artaxerxes that Darius was responsible for the assassination. Darius was brought before Artaxerxes, who put Darius to death. Artaxerxes then foiled Artabanus’ plan to kill him as well; Artabanus was slain instead. Some scholars interpret the entire Artabanus story as an elaborate cover-up. After all, the Babylonian evidence states that Xerxes’ own son killed him. In such instances one may look to the ultimate winner for responsibility, in this case the next king, Artaxerxes. But with the record so confused, the truth cannot be ascertained.

Artaxerxes I’s inscriptions follow the previous patterns. An inscription on a silver drinking bowl lists the standard titles: great king, king of kings, and king of lands. The main emphasis is on descent within the Achaemenid line: Artaxerxes is the son of Xerxes, who was the son of Darius and, of course, an Achaemenid. Fragmentary trilingual inscriptions from Persepolis cite the same titles and, as one would expect, emphasize continuity in the building work at Persepolis. Artaxerxes finished a palace started by his father Xerxes (A¹Pa). This is not only filial piety but such works were expected of any king.

Ctesias recorded a challenge from the satrap of Bactria, “another Artapanus,” whom Artaxerxes defeated (Fragment 14 §35). It is unclear whether the phrase “another Artapanus” is to be understood as someone sharing the name of Xerxes’ assassin (as relayed in the Greek tradition) or whether the satrap styled himself as another usurper bearing that name. Diodorus notes that Hystapes was the satrap of Bactria; Ctesias lists Hystaspes as one of Xerxes’ sons but offers no information on his official role. If the rebellious satrap was indeed Artaxerxes’ brother, Hystaspes, it is unclear why Ctesias would not have identified him by name. The sporadic source material does not facilitate clear historical reconstruction here. In light of the violence that marred the transition, Artaxerxes I’s recitation of his Achaemenid descent in his own inscriptions may not have simply been rote, as per standard royal ideology, but perhaps necessary. It reinforced Artaxerxes’ credentials in the confused aftermath of Xerxes’ assassination.

Reign of Artaxerxes I

The major problem that confronted Artaxerxes I in his early reign was a revolt in Egypt, dating from 464 to 454 BCE. Diodorus attributes the Egyptian revolt to the chaos surrounding Xerxes’ death. The rebellion was led by one Inaros, a dynast from the western Delta in northern Egypt. A demotic inscription from the Kharga oasis region that dates to Inaros’ second regnal year labels him “Prince of the Rebels” – an odd designation suggesting that Inaros did not take, or was not granted, the standard royal titles. Other evidence demonstrates that Inaros’ claim was not accepted everywhere. An inscription by an Egyptian official from Koptos in the Wadi Hammamat (modern Qift) is dated to the fifth year of Artaxerxes, “King of Upper and Lower Egypt” (the standard royal title), that is, the year 461, while Inaros’ revolt was underway. The dedicator names his parents: a father with a Persian name and a mother with an Egyptian one, a signal of the acculturation of the elite in the provinces.

For narratives of the rebellion, we rely mainly on Diodorus, Thucydides’ brief account, and Ctesias. Thucydides labels Inaros the son of Psammetichus, which was also the name of the king defeated by Cambyses in 525 as well as of an earlier king (from the late seventh century) who reunified Egypt after expelling rulers from Nubia (the Sudan). The filiation here may be a manufactured one, similar to the various challengers during the crisis of 522, who assumed names and filiations from illustrious predecessors to increase their legitimacy. The revolt posed a significant challenge to Artaxerxes. Inaros secured territories in northern Egypt (the Delta region) and, for roughly five years beginning in 460 or 459, received help from an Athenian naval fleet of 200 ships that had been campaigning in Cyprus. With the help of this fleet, the rebels defeated the Persian force under Artaxerxes’ uncle Achaemenes, captured territory around the northern capital of Memphis, and besieged the defeated Persian forces in a stronghold called by the Egyptians the “White Wall” and by the Greeks the “White Castle.”

A new Persian force was gathered in Cilicia and Phoenicia under the command of Megabyzus, son of Zopyrus. This army broke the siege of the White Castle and put the rebel forces to flight. The Athenian naval force became trapped on an island calledProsopitis in the western Delta. By using canals to drain the river around the island, the Persian forces were able to storm the island on foot. According to both Diodorus (11.71.3–6 and 11.77.1–5) and Ctesias (Fragment 14 §36–38), the victorious Persians allowed the Athenians a safe withdrawal from the island and from Egypt. But Thucydides’ account differs. Thucydides refers to a momentous defeat in which most of the Athenian forces were destroyed. An Athenian relief force of fifty ships, unaware of the reverse in the rebels’ fortunes, was also wiped out on their arrival in the eastern Delta (1.109–110). Thucydides’ account is given greater credence. The specific impact on Athens in the 450s is difficult to track, but this defeat effectively brought an end to their ambitions on Persian territory beyond Ionia and the Aegean, with the exception of one ill-fated expedition against Cyprus in 451. Inaros was betrayed and impaled, which brought a formal end to the rebellion. Other rebels held out in the western Delta – in an area where it was difficult to maintain effective control – but Persian rule of Egypt was stabilized.

Ctesias’ account of this period focuses mainly on one member of the Persian nobility: Megabyzus, son of Zopyrus and grandson of Megabyzus who was one of the Seven against Bardiya in 522.² By the time Ctesias wrote (c. 400 BCE), only a few decades after Megabyzus’ life in the mid-fifth century, Megabyzus had become a legend in his own right, as he repeatedly proved his resilience and his nobility in the face of numerous challenges. Pained by suspicion that his wife Amytis, the daughter of Xerxes, was an adulterer, Megabyzus was nevertheless instrumental in saving Artaxerxes from Artabanus’ continued plotting after the assassination of Xerxes. Megabyzus was also instrumental in ending Inaros’ revolt by promising terms to the rebel Inaros and his Greek supporters. Yet Artaxerxes contravened Megabyzus’ promises and had Inaros put to death. Megabyzus’ distress at the King’s betrayal of his word caused him to withdraw to Syria, where he subsequently rebelled. Megabyzus defeated two armies sent against him, and only thereafter – and after much negotiation – came to terms with the King. The reconciliation was short-lived, however. During a lion hunt Megabyzus struck and killed a lion before the King – a grave offense – and Artaxerxes in his anger ordered Megabyzus beheaded. Megabyzus then fled into exile and only returned, in disguise, five years later, to once more be reconciled with the king and made a table companion (Ctesias Fragment 14 §40–43).

How to make sense of this account? Megabyzus’ revolt is not recorded in other sources. We thus have no sense of its length or magnitude. Ctesias’ allusions to armies in the hundreds of thousands follow typical exaggerations and are not credible. But if the general report of rebellion may be relied on – a question that remains in doubt – a revolt by a prominent noble, a descendant of one of the Seven, may have posed a threat to Achaemenid control.

Ezra and Nehemiah: Discontent in the Levant

The missions of the Hebrews Ezra and Nehemiah to Jerusalem, in the Persian province of Yehud (i.e., Judah), are sometimes read as evidence for a revolt in the Levant, but a number of methodological problems call that assumption into question. A mid-fifth-century date for these missions is subject to debate, partnered with questions about the sources’ reliability. Some scholars question not only the traditional composition dates of the biblical Books of Ezra and Nehemiah but also the historicity of the characters and situations portrayed therein, wondering for example, whether the circumstances portrayed are anachronistic projections into the fifth century BCE.³

The Book of Ezra begins with reference to a proclamation from Cyrus sometime after the conquest of Babylon in 539 BCE. Jewish exiles from Babylonia returned to Jerusalem and rebuilt the temple that had been sacked by the Babylonian king NebuchadnezzarII in 586. References in the Books of Haggai and Zechariah indicate that the temple was dedicated early in the reign of Darius I. Governors of Judah may be traced through most of the fifth century, but the social and religious context that precipitated Ezra’s mission is unclear.

Ezra, bearing a royal letter, was sent to Jerusalem under the imprimatur of King Artaxerxes in his seventh year (7.12–26). If this was Artaxerxes I, that year was 458, although some see the passage as referring to Artaxerxes II and thus date the mission to his seventh year, 398. The authenticity of this letter (the so-called “Artaxerxes Rescript”) is debated. It includes instructions to the royal treasurers of the province to provide Ezra silver and supplies with which to arrange proper sacrifices like those performed before the temple’s sack. Another component of Ezra’s mission was the charge to appoint judges and officials who would enforce “the laws of your god” (7.25–26). Most scholars take this to mean the Mosaic law code, even if they differ on the extent of its implementation. Did it apply only in Judah? Or did it apply to all Jews living in the satrapy of Trans-Euphrates? (That region was also called “Beyond the River” – the regions west of the Euphrates.) Ezra’s mission provides a compelling example of local autonomy under the aegis of the King’s law. The former could be granted as long as it did not contravene the latter.

Cyrus’ edict may contain echoes of a building inscription, one marking the reconstruction of the temple and including the repatriation of the original temple vessels plundered by Nebuchadnezzar (Ezra 1.7–11). The reasons for the exiles’ return and the attendant grants are unclear. Some modern works trumpet Achaemenid tolerance of other belief systems. Such tolerance may well have been actual practice, but it was contingent on submission to the central political authority. Some view Cyrus’ initial move in strategic terms. In returning the Jewish exiles to Jerusalem, Cyrus may have been establishing a base for operations against Egypt. Other motives could be postulated. In any event, one result of the return was a significant increase in the number of priests and the development of a citizen-temple community in Jerusalem, one that developed a quasi-independence from both the local provincial authority and the imperial one. At the risk of understatement, this led to problems.

Nehemiah held an official position within the Achaemenid hierarchy, that of governor (Hebrew pe), subordinate to the satrap who was probably based in Damascus. In 445, Nehemiah was dispatched to deal with a number of serious problems in Jerusalemand surrounding areas. The cause of these problems is not known, although if Ezra’s mission may be dated before Nehemiah’s, then some of the problems were likely related to the context of Ezra’s mission. Armed with several royal dispatches, Nehemiah was able to garner supplies for his own use and to implement major projects: a citadel and the fortification of the city walls (2.1–10). Nehemiah established a garrison, conducted a census, and supported efforts to restore the temple rituals. In 433, after twelve years, he returned to the King. During his mission Nehemiah was accompanied by one Pethahiah, identified as a royal commissioner. Nehemiah was clearly trusted, but an extra level of bureaucracy – in the person of Pethahiah – helped to ensure adherence to the King’s commands.

Unsurprisingly, the King’s commands involved maintaining the political and social order. Nehemiah’s establishment of fortifications at royal behest has generated a variety of interpretations in modern scholarship. Were these meant to reassert Persian control, in conjunction with a garrison, as perhaps a reaction to internal strife? Or were they reflective of the city’s increased size and status? It seems clear from the Book of Nehemiah that the people were immersed in a bitter internal conflict. What brought the province to such straits is never explained, although allusions to usury and a high level of indentured servitude imply a widening social gap. Internal instability, left unchecked, might magnify and spread. Nehemiah appears to have been chosen as the King’s agent to resolve these problems, but he encountered resistance from vested interests in the province.

When the social unrest manifest in the Book of Nehemiah is juxtaposed with the garbled accounts of a revolt by Megabyzus (see discussion earlier in this chapter), a correlation of the two is tempting, even reasonable. Yet there is no shortage of problems even beyond the chronological difficulties. The biblical material offers no indication of a widespread revolt, as Ctesias recounted. In light of the (relatively) rich documentation, this is surprising. It is no simple task to connect Megabyzus’ revolt to the internal squabbles between Judah and its immediate neighbors.

Revisiting the Northwestern Front: Persian-Greek Interchange

Given the continued Athenian success in the Aegean for several decades, and the thin historical record, it is easy to lose sight of the Persian threat. It was revealed occasionally by the activities and ambitions of the satraps in Asia Minor, especially at Sardis(Lydia) and Dascylium (Hellespontine Phrygia). How long did the question that must have dogged them after 479 BCE – “Are the Persians coming back?” – continue to do so?

In 451 the Athenians sent an expedition to Cyprus, the particulars and point of which remain unclear. Any long-term Athenian designs on the island seem unlikely, because Athens did not have the resources for sustained imperial pursuits. Perhaps we should simply attribute the campaign against Cyprus to the Delian League’s stated purpose, which was, according to Thucydides, to ravage the King’s territories (1.96) and thereby afflict some retribution for the Persian invasion of Greece. Thucydides’ account of the expedition (1.112) is here, as elsewhere for the years between 480–430, extremely terse. The Athenian Cimon won battles at sea and on land, but his death, together with supply problems, forced Athenian withdrawal. Diodorus’ account has more detail but is also more problematic: the Cypriot cities of Kition and Marion were taken, but the siege of Salamis was unsuccessful (12.3.2–4). Diodorus ties the end of the expedition not to logistical problems but to a peace treaty with Persia.

This treaty, called the Peace of Callias after the Athenian ambassador sent to Susa to negotiate it, is one of the most contentious historiographic problems for the mid-fifth century. Its date, its terms, and its very historicity are all questioned. The particulars of the treaty are mentioned in various late sources and preserved by Diodorus.

A treaty was made by the Athenians and their allies for peace with the Persians, the main points of which were the following: all the Greek cities throughout Asia were to be autonomous, and the satraps of the Persians were not to come closer to the sea than a three days’ journey, nor was any war vessel to sail within (the waters between) Phaselis and Cyaneae. If the King and the satraps keep these terms, the Athenians will not campaign into the territory that the King rules.

(12.4.5)

Phaselis was a coastal city in Lycia in southwestern Anatolia, and Cyaneae (or Kyaneai) at the northern end of the Bosporus, where it enters the Black Sea. Such markers would effectively have barred any Persian military ship from the entire Aegean Sea; the Hellespont, Propontis, and Bosporus; and anywhere west of the southernmost points of the Anatolian peninsula. On land, a stricture of three days journey from the coast included a lot of Persian territory, including Dascylium, the capital of Hellespontine Phrygia, within about 20 miles of the Propontis coast. To note that it was unlikely that the Persians would have made such concessions is an understatement.

It is difficult to make sense of the treaty’s terms as preserved by Diodorus. Our two main sources for fifth-century Greek history – Herodotus and Thucydides – are silent on the peace, which is startling. Herodotus does mention an Athenian embassy to Artaxerxes I, led by Callias (7.151) but makes no mention of any formal peace. Thucydides has nothing about an embassy of Callias or a Peace attributed to him. Arguments from silence are rarely compelling, but such a flagrant omission in both authors gives most modern scholars pause. A fourth-century BCE historian, Theopompous, in fact denies the historicity of the Peace altogether. Some modern scholars view the Peace as a patriotic fiction, one promulgated in the fourth century to recall the height of Athenian glory from a century earlier as a counter to the humiliating peace imposed on them by Artaxerxes II in 487/486 BCE (see pp. 186–187). Reduced Athenian ambitions in the eastern Mediterranean may have coincided with some agreement – or even an informal détente – if not simply from a scaling back of their ambitions.

The attitude of the King and his satraps is another matter. There are several instances of Persian activity that would contravene the terms of the peace given by Diodorus, the most significant of which is the active involvement of the satrap Pissouthnes of Sardis in a revolt by one of Athens’ most important allies, the island of Samos in the Aegean in 441–440 (Thuc. 1.115–117). After an Athenian intervention on their island, some Samians arranged an alliance with Pissouthnes. With his support, they gathered 700 mercenaries, returned to Samos, and took power. The Athenian garrison stationed there, along with its commanders, was delivered to Pissouthnes. The Athenians subsequently quelled the revolt, but what they did about their captured garrison is unknown. Through this episode and similar references in a number of Greek inscriptions, it is clear that Athenian-Persian tension (and, at times, outright conflict) persisted in the very zone that was supposedly declared off-limits by the Peace of Callias.

It is difficult to reconcile Pissouthnes’ active involvement in the Samian revolt with the formal Peace as described by Diodorus. Some scholars have ingeniously reconciled joint Athenian and Persian claims on much of western Anatolia by assuming that the city-states in question paid tribute not only to Athens – which is attested to varying degrees through the latter half of the fifth century – but also to the Persian satrap. In other words, a double tribute was paid by many city-states, faced with the reality that both parties – Persian satraps and Athens – had made claims and could compel payment. How this was justified, how it worked in practice, as well as the wider ramifications of such arrangements are impossible to track in the extant sources. Attempts to fit a formalized Peace of Callias into a persistent Athenian-Persian conflict in the eastern Aegean are bound to be problematic. In general, it is safe to assume that the King never relinquished his claim on his Ionian holdings, and that the satraps were given freedom – indeed, probably were expected – to contest Athenian inroads there at every opportunity.

There is, of course, no question that Persia had diplomatic relations with Athens and other frontier states. Here too, Greek sources provide a wealth of evidence. After Xerxes’ invasion, requests for submission of earth and water cease. Subsequently, Persian-Greek treaties usually were cast in Greek terms of philia (“friendship”), a fluid and wide-ranging concept that applied not only to interpersonal relationships but also to the diplomatic realm. One example of Persian diplomacy demonstrates their ingenuity. Sometime during the Egyptian revolt in the 450s BCE, a Persian mission was sent to Sparta (Thuc. 1.109). This embassy offered to fund a Spartan invasion of Athens. Of course, the Persians were well versed in Greek affairs – in this case the enmity between Athens and Sparta – and this mission reveals an attempt to create a strategic distraction: a Spartan invasion of Athens might have compelled the Athenian forces in Egypt to withdraw. But the Spartans rebuffed the offer. Later in Artaxerxes I’s reign, when tensions between Athens and Sparta (and their respective allies) came to a head – the outbreak of what we call the Peloponnesian War – both sides expressed hopes for alliances with Persia (compare Thuc. 1.82 and 2.7) to further their own ends in what became, for the Greeks, a long and destructive internecine war for hegemony in the Aegean. The Persians were prepared to exploit these divisions among rivals on their northwestern frontier in order to reconsolidate their holdings in Asia Minor.

Persian-Greek interchange occurred at many levels. The consistent back-and-forth of diplomats and their retinues, not to mention long-standing trading networks throughout the eastern Mediterranean and into the Near East, offered ample opportunity for cultural exchange. Especially from Athens there is abundant evidence that Persian influence left its mark on the literature, architecture, and culture of Classical Greece.⁴ Examples are many, and a prominent one is the famous building program of the Athenian general and statesman Pericles in the mid-fifth century. This was undertaken at the height of Athenian domination of the Aegean world, through its leadership of the Delian League. As a hegemon with imperial ambitions, Pericles and Athens’ other leaders had to look somewhere for models of imperial expression. The only true model was Persia.

Comparisons between the famous Parthenon of Athens and the Apadana at Persepolis yield interesting parallels. The original Parthenon on the acropolis was destroyed during Xerxes’ invasion; Pericles commissioned a new and improved model in the 440s. In particular, the procession on the Parthenon’s interior frieze – depicting a procession perhaps of the Panathenaic Festival, which under Pericles took on trappings of imperial grandeur through required tribute from Athens’ subjects – parallels the similar procession of the subject peoples portrayed on the Apadana. Of course, the Parthenon is a uniquely Athenian expression, but the metaphor and the meaning are quite similar. Another structure was the so-called Odeion, built under Pericles’ direction on the south slope of the acropolis. At its time, it was the largest covered building in the Greek world. The Odeion was modeled on the tent used by Xerxes during the invasion of Greece. Despite some scholarly uncertainties about its form, its “Persian look” is well-established. Debate continues about its function and the Athenians’ response to it in the midst of their city. Primarily, its value was symbolic. It was a visible manifestation of Athens’ status and glory, a monument to the victory that led to its own empire – one modeled, consciously or not, on their much larger rival to the east.⁵ That this and similar imperial expressions - in architecture, sculpture, modes of dress, drinking and tableware, especially (though not exclusively) cultivated by the elite – participated in a complex relationship, simultaneously one of loathing and admiration, is a well-studied phenomenon and one certainly not unique to Athens’ reception of objects and ideas Persian.

From Artaxerxes I to Darius II

Artaxerxes I died after a reign of forty-one years (465–424 BCE). There is no indication of a violent death, though the succession itself was violent. Ctesias’ Persica indicates that Artaxerxes I and his wife Damaspia, who is otherwise unknown, died on the same day. Their only son, Xerxes II, took the throne. He ruled only forty-five days before he, drunk and unconscious in the palace, was assassinated by his half brother Sogdianus and Sogdianus’ coconspirators Pharnacyas and Menostanes. Sogdianus was one of Artaxerxes I’s many sons by secondary wives and concubines, Menostanes a high-ranking military commander, and Phranacyas a palace eunuch. Another half brother, Ochus (Akkadian Umakush, the future Darius II), satrap of Hyrcania, immediately challenged Sogdianus.

Ochus managed to secure the allegiance of several high-ranking Persians, first and foremost Arbarios, who had been Sogdianus’ cavalry commander. Others who joined Ochus include Arshama (Arsames), satrap of Egypt, and a certain Artoxares who had been exiled to Armenia by Artaxerxes I because of Artoxares’ support for Megabyzus’ rebellion (see discussion earlier in this chapter). Relying on trickery instead of battle (at any rate, no battle is recorded) Ochus convinced Sogdianus, who had been ruling as king for six months, to give himself up. Sogdianus and his supporters were soaked in alcohol, then cast into a pit filled with glowing hot embers. Ochus took the throne name Darius, and thus became Darius II.

There is no record of either Xerxes II or Sogdianus as kings in Babylonian documentation, which immediately raises questions about the accounts of Ctesias and other Greek writers. But a number of the rival claimants’ supporters named by Ctesias are found in Babylonian documents, so his account is not entirely lacking in credibility. That neither Xerxes II nor Sogdianus is mentioned as king in Babylonian documents can be interpreted to mean that the reigns of these two were not formally recognized in Babyloniaand that they overlapped with the recognized reign of Darius II.

The Murashu Archive – Land Management Practices in Achaemenid Babylonia

One important component of the Babylonian documentation for this period is the Murashu archive. The Murashu were a family of businessmen with wide-ranging commercial interests involving the management of landed estates around the Babylonian city of Nippur. The archive consists of more than 700 tablets dating from the reigns of Artaxerxes I and Darius II (dating from 440 to 416 BCE). The Murashu and similar contractors managed estates, or farms, for their tenants, among whom were members of the highest levels of Persian administration. Darius II’s queen Parysatis, the satrap of Egypt (Arshama), and other notables are mentioned in texts from the archive. Some of the estates that the Murashu managed (especially larger ones that were gifts of the King) were state controlled, granted to various individuals for their use, and in some cases profit, in return for services to the King. The practice was not unique to Babylonia. The word “tenant” rather than “owner” is used to describe the grant-holder, because these estates were royal grants and thus, technically, still royal property.

These tenants turned over the management of the estates to managers like the Murashu. The tenants could draw farm produce or borrow money from the Murashu against future harvests. The Murashu in turn sublet the land to farmers, who did the actual agricultural work and were allowed to keep a percentage. Any surplus produce would be sold on the market for silver and credited to the tenant’s account for future use; from this the Murashu would also receive a percentage. The Murashu and similar firms also engaged in other economic activities, such as banking and tax collection.

Although the Murashu family’s type of land management business was commonplace, it stands out because of the size of their organization and the number of texts available for study. A further example is found in a small archive dating from 438–400 BCE, from Babylon, which catalogues the work of one Belshunu. He was at first a governor answerable to the satrap of Babylon and then apparently a satrap himself of the province Trans-Euphrates (“Beyond the River”), Syro-Palestine. This Belshunu has been identified with the Greek Belesys who was involved in the civil war between Darius II’s sons Artaxerxes II and Cyrus the Younger. Belshunu’s archive provides information about his private business activities as well as his public duties; one text relays Belshunu’s role in adjudicating a case of a temple theft in Dilbat, a city near Babylon.

These archives shed light not only on members of the elite. They are also critical sources for social history, for understanding how the Empire literally worked. How did the Empire obtain labor, military service, or other service from its subjects? The Murashu archive helps us understand how military obligations were fulfilled. These were arranged by what is called the haru-system. This system consisted of what are called “bow-lands” (or “bow-fiefs”) in the modern literature – Akkadian bt qashti in the singular, referring to a bow (qashtu) as a piece of military equipment. This was, in other words, a land-for-service system: grants of land were given by the crown in return for services on demand. These bow-lands were organized in groups, each of which had a supervisor. A complete definition is found in a seminal study based on analysis of the Murashu archive:

(T)he haru was in effect a small-scale fiscal district; the institution was a means of producing and extracting fees for the Achaemenid state. At the same time, it was a means of insuring and extending agricultural production, the basis from which state revenues were drawn. And, not least, it was a means of supporting a standing military reserve, a local garrison force, and cadres of state-controlled workers.⁶

This basic system included most socioeconomic groups. The amount of land granted to each person was commensurate with that person’s socioeconomic status and the amount of services expected in return. Bow-lands themselves may be traced back to the time of the Babylonian Nebuchadnezzar II and provide another example of continuity with the Neo-Babylonian period; in fact, at its most basic level the land-for-service system was centuries old. Precise records allowed careful regulating and accounting of these lands and their associated obligations. That such records do not provide us with narrative history is unfortunate, but these are the very kinds of records least likely to do so. Very helpfully, though, they do contradict the stereotypical picture of the Achaemenid Empire as a laissez-faire organization that persisted thanks to inertia.

Several of the main participants in the succession crisis after Artaxerxes I’s death had estates managed by the Murashu, and some of these appear also in Ctesias’ Persica, providing a fascinating confluence of Babylonian and Greek evidence. Arbarios, Sogdianus’ cavalry commander who joined Ochus’ rebellion, has been identified as the Arbareme who held the equerry’s estate in Babylonia. Artoxares, a prominent supporter of Ochus (Darius II), has been identified with the Artahsharu who was granted the estate of Sogdianus’ supporter Menostanes, who is the Manushtana of Murashu texts.⁷ Through these records we are able to discern critical information about the economic lives of these members of the nobility. In the case of Artoxares and Menostanes, the Murashu texts show us how Darius II punished his enemies and rewarded his supporters. A grant of land may be unsurprising in itself, but it is infrequent enough in Achaemenid history to permit us to track the King’s consolidation of power and the installation of his supporters in prominent positions, as described in Near Eastern sources.

Excursus: Achaemenid Throne Names

Ochus’ adoption of the throne name Darius (II) is the first, clearly attested use of a throne name by an Achaemenid ruler, but whether this was really the first instance is a matter of debate. The use of throne names is age-old but not always easy to track in extant sources. For example, in the Neo-Assyrian period, the designated heir to the throne was given a new name, his throne name, once he was formally declared crown prince. Was it different in the Achaemenid period?

Compounding the problem for the earliest kings is that the etymologies of the names of Cyrus and Cambyses are uncertain. Unlike the clearly Iranian names of Darius I and his successors, neither Cyrus’ nor Cambyses’ names are readily etymologized as Iranian. Many scholars are inclined to attribute an Elamite etymology to Cyrus’ name (“He who bestows care”), with the implication that Cambyses’ name may also be Elamite. The question of the linguistic heritage of Cyrus’ name persists as does the question of whether it was Cyrus’ birth name or throne name. Testimony from the Greek author Strabo indicates that Cyrus originally had an Iranian name: “There is also a river Cyrus, flowing through so-called ‘hollow’ Persis near Pasargadae, from which the king took his name, taking the name Cyrus in place of Agradates” (15.3.6).⁸ Is this report accurate? Where did Strabo get this information? Why do we find no comparable reference in earlier works that treat Cyrus so extensively, such as Herodotus or Xenophon? Intriguingly, Herodotus calls him Cyrus throughout his account, but he notes more than once in relaying stories of the young Cyrus that that was not yet his name (1.113–114). In light of earlier tradition, it would not be surprising if all Achaemenid kings took throne names upon succession or designation as crown prince, but this cannot be confirmed.

Darius II and Dynastic Continuity

As a throne name, “Darius” was a compelling choice. In taking this name, Ochus identified himself with one of the foremost kings of the Empire’s history. Ochus could not have done much more to solidify his dynastic credentials. In the context of the confusion and jockeying for position after Artaxerxes I’s death, it is notable that all claimants had one thing in common: direct descent from the Achaemenid line. According to Ctesias, Darius II was faced with another rival: his full brother Arsites, the son of Artaxerxes I and the Babylonian concubine Cosmartidene. Artyphios, the son of Megabyzus, rebelled as well. Both these threats were quelled, and both Arsites and Artyphios were thrown into burning embers. Ctesias records another revolt against Darius II, that of Pissouthnes, the satrap of Sardis. Details are sparse, and the chronology is wholly uncertain. As a consequence some scholars connect it to a revolt by Pissouthnes’ son Amorges, in the late 410s. Tissaphernes, a Persian who becomes prominent in the Greek sources for the next two decades, was instrumental in quelling the rebellion and as reward was given the satrapy of Lydia to govern (Fragment 15 §52–53).

The inscriptional record for Darius II is thin. Two copies of a building inscription come from Susa and contain the requisite titles (great king, king of kings), lineage (son of Artaxerxes), as well as the all-important favor of Ahuramazda. While formulaic, such proclamations contain some urgency in light of the contested succession. There were obviously other and, on the face of it, equally qualified Achaemenid claimants: sons of Artaxerxes by women other than his primary wife, Damaspia. On a gold tablet from Hamadan, the authenticity of which (like others from the same area) has been disputed, Darius II traced his lineage more explicitly, father to son, back to the important link with Darius I.

Opportunity on the Northwestern Front

Beginning in 431 BCE, much of the Aegean world was involved in the war between Athens and Sparta and their respective allies. Both sides appealed for Persian support throughout the war. One such occurrence dates to the end of Artaxerxes I’s reign: the Athenians at Eion on coastal Thrace captured a Persian named Artaphernes who was bearing a message from the King to the Spartans. The main point, as expressed by Thucydides, was that “… the King did not understand what they [i.e., the Spartans] wanted. For while many (Spartan) ambassadors had come, they never said the same thing.” (4.50) In other words, if the Spartans had specific proposals in mind, they should send men capable of making them. The Athenians decided to send ambassadors instead, but upon reaching Ephesus in western Asia Minor they learned that Artaxerxes had recently died, so they returned home. Because of the structure of Thucydides’ narrative, scholars thus thought for a long time that Artaxerxes died in the year 425/424; however, Babylonian documentation indicates that Artaxerxes’ death occurred in 424/423.⁹

Beginning in the late 420s, there is a gap in Persian-Greek political relations for roughly a decade. The war between Athens and Sparta was on hiatus but not over. A disastrous Athenian expedition against Sicily from 413 to 411 encouraged many of Athens’ subjects in Ionia to rebel, and Sparta and its allies took advantage as hostilities recommenced. Persia – mainly through its financial resources – then assumed a much larger role in the war. From the Persian perspective, order and stability in the Empire was an expectation: the northwestern territory of Yauna (Ionia) did not fit this expectation. With Athens reeling, the Persian satraps in Anatolia saw opportunities to reassert Persian authority in Ionia.

Pharnabazus in Hellespontine Phrygia and Tissaphernes in Lydia not only sought stability but also increase in their own prestige, and they occasionally were at odds in pursuing their own agendas. Both actively sought Spartan military aid to rid themselves of the Athenian presence in their territories but the Spartans initially chose to help only Tissaphernes. Thucydides notes (8.57) that Tissaphernes’ aim was to keep the two sides (Athens and Sparta) equal, with the hope that this might prevent them from interfering in his satrapy, which included Ionia.

Persian-Spartan coordination was ensured through a treaty negotiated between the King (through his representative Tissaphernes) and the Spartans and their allies. Thucydides preserves actually three treaties, which some scholars consider to be separate drafts, or stages, of the negotiations. An acknowledgement of Persian control of western Anatolia was paramount.¹⁰ The rest of the first agreement (Thuc. 8.18) is straightforward. Both parties would prevent Ionian cities from sending money to Athens; both parties would jointly wage war against Athens; neither would make peace with Athens unless both parties agree; and the Persians and Spartans would consider any rebels of their treaty partner as their own enemies. The second (8.36–37) and third versions (8.58) modify the first in diplomatic nuance and in logistics, which reflected changing conditions. For example, the insistence on stopping Athens’ collection of tribute is modified to emphasize that the Spartans would not collect tribute either – that was the Persian prerogative. The issue of pay for Spartan forces was a major one, reflected in these further modifications: Spartan forces operating in the King’s territory and for the King’s aims – that the Spartans did not view their involvement that way was another matter entirely – were to be supported by Persian money. Tissaphernes subsequently spent a great deal of effort trying to stall or circumvent these incredibly expensive obligations, which at least initially would have been from his own resources. His actions in delaying payment may be considered bad faith (a Spartan perspective) or good strategy (a Persian perspective).

The third treaty draft finds an echo in an interesting but fragmentary inscription from Xanthos in Lycia (southwestern Anatolia). Thucydides relates that the third treaty was made at Caunus, along the Lycian-Carian frontier, which is identified in the Xanthos inscriptions as the site of a treaty between Tissaphernes and the Spartans. The inscription is found on the side of a funerary pillar that celebrates the accomplishments of the dynast Kheriga (Greek Gergis) buried there. It has two versions in Lycian and a short summary in Greek. In the inscription Tissaphernes is called the son of Hydarnes. Hydarnes is not an uncommon name, but the temptation is strong to connect this Hydarnes with the family name of one of the Seven, thus linking Tissaphernes to a prominent family who supported Darius II’s rise. Hydarnes’ support was rewarded by marriages to Darius II’s children. Not all scholars accept this link for Tissaphernes, however.

Continued Spartan ambivalence about their negotiating partner Tissaphernes led them to consider cooperating with another satrap, Pharnabazus, in Dascylium. Athenian control of the strategic shipping route through the Hellespont, through which the city was supplied with much of its food, was slipping. Pharnabazus, like Tissaphernes, was prepared to exploit Athens’ difficulties. In 411, perhaps dissatisfied with Tissaphernes’ failure to pay them (Thuc. 8.80), the Spartans accepted Pharnabazus’ offer to fund a Spartan fleet operating in the Hellespont. Within two years, thanks to renewed Athenian success in the Hellespont, Pharnbazus was making terms with the Athenians instead.

The ebb and flow of Persian support between Sparta and Athens, on the part of two different satraps, make for a confusing historical period. One wonders how the King and his court officials interpreted the vacillating fortunes and negotiations – of which the King would have been informed – of his two satraps in western Asia Minor. One sign of Darius’ thoughts was the dispatch in 408 of his younger son Cyrus with special powers that superseded those of both satraps. This Cyrus is usually called “Cyrus the Younger” in modern texts to differentiate him from Cyrus the Great, the founder of the Empire. Xenophon, whose Hellenica becomes our main source for this period, uses the title karanos for Cyrus’ position, but it is unclear what exactly that term meant.¹¹Cyrus’ arrival proved crucial in the Greek conflict. His unwavering support for the Spartans was decisive in ensuring the Spartan victory over Athens in 404.