3
Patrick Wheatley
The line it is drawn, the curse it is cast
The slow one now will later be fast
As the present now will later be past
The order is rapidly fadin’
And the first one now will later be last
For the times they are a-changin
Bob Dylan
Alexander’s death at about 4.30 in the afternoon of June 11, 3231 resounded across the empire that he had captured in eleven short years from the Persian kings.2 There was no heir, and no obvious successor. A constitutional crisis ensued among the Macedonians, with no hope of an untroubled transmission of power. Within months, two major revolts against the Macedonian hegemony would erupt in opposite corners of the empire: Greek mercenaries garrisoned in Bactria would attempt to march back to Europe, and the Athenians tried again to shake off the Macedonian yoke from Greece in the revolt which became known as the Lamian War.3 Within twelve more years, the marshals fought themselves to a fruitless standstill in three successive so-called Diadoch Wars and by 306, two essential energies had materialized, which sought diametrically opposite outcomes for Alexander’s stolen domains. The ambitions of the Antigonids were always centripetal – to reestablish a centralized hegemony over the Greco-Persian possessions – but the ambitions of Ptolemy Soter, Cassander, Lysimachus, and Seleucus were centrifugal: to carve themselves significant gobbets of the so-called “great carcass.” The metaphor is apt, and was used by Plutarch (Demetr. 30.1) in his description of the situation after the great battle of Ipsus in 301. Moreover, it is as suitable for modern analysis as it was for the ancient writers. There were inevitable irruptions by brilliant and talented individuals, such as Demetrius the Besieger, and at least two of the kingdoms would fail to survive, but by the time four decades had passed after the fateful afternoon of June 11, 323, the Greco-Persian world would settle into reformed geopolitical parameters, and would have to face threatening new movements of Celtic peoples from the depths of Europe.
This transitional forty-year period is without doubt one of the most curious and fascinating in ancient history. It is marked by the utter chaos of the historiographical tradition, the chronography, the prosopography, and the received historical narrative, and yet it is crucial to our understanding of all the succeeding major events, including the rise and dominance of the Roman republic, and the cultural ramifications for the modern world of the ensuing religious developments in the Near East.4 Within the parameters of the present essay, it is not possible to cover satisfactorily all aspects of the events of these years; I shall therefore discuss in some detail four critical thematic facets of the decades following Alexander’s demise. These will include some explication of the source tradition which preserves the history of the period; scrutiny of the centralist/separatist dichotomy among the Successors, which naturally links to an analysis of the conceptual evolution of the kingship or basileia in the Macedonian dominated world; and, finally, some brief remarks on the extraordinary and pernicious chronographic difficulties that bedevil study of the Diadochi.
First, the source tradition. The Alexandro-centric nature of both the primary and secondary Classical sources tends to cast a shadow over the documentation of the Diadochi, and the one contemporary writer and participant who did cover the aftermath in detail, Hieronymus of Cardia, is lost.5However, Hieronymus is generally acknowledged to be the foundation for what literary accounts we do have for the Successors, in particular books 18–20 of the first-century Diodorus Siculus, the most complete extant account of the years 323–301. The difficulties in supplementing this work are quickly evident when it is revealed that historians must turn to Plutarch’s relevant Parallel Lives, such works as Polyaenus’ Stratagems, and the generalized or largely lost epitomes of Pompeius Trogus (by Justin), and Arrian’s Events after Alexander (by Photius and Dexippus). A number of minor works contain snippets and fragments: Nepos, Appian, Athenaeus, Pausanias; and, of the Alexander sources, book 10 of Curtius contains the most detail on the settlement at Babylon and the weeks after June 11, 323.6
This quite varied, but desperately fragmentary and incomplete corpus may be supplemented by material from other genres, especially coinage and epigraphy. One of the results of Alexander’s anabasis was the creation of an international fiscus covering the Greco-Persian world, and Alexander-type coinage continued to be minted posthumously for some two centuries after his death.7 Thus a very large body of primary source material is available for historical analysis though, unfortunately, the disciplines of numismatics and ancient history are not as closely allied as is desirable, and coinage is not as regularly integrated into historical reconstruction as it might be. Epigraphic evidence is also extant wherever Greek cities are founded, and this, too, may be mined for historical data. It is particularly valuable in the spheres of the large Greek mainland poleis, such as Athens, and for the period after 301, when the continuous narrative of Diodorus cuts off, and literary sources become extremely sparse.
So much for the Classical sources, but to these may be added an alternative tradition: Babylonian cuneiform texts, including chronicles, astronomical diaries, and economic texts. These primary documents, the Babylonian equivalent of original Greek sources, are of incalculable value to Classicists and Assyriologists alike. The key text is Chronicle 10, the so-called Babylonian Chronicle of the Diadochi.8 This cryptic document has fueled massive ongoing controversy among scholars and generally defied precise integration with the Classical sources. However, though these texts are extremely significant, they must be interpreted with an awareness of their narcissistic nature: events are recorded from an entirely Babylonian domestic perspective, with little thought for the wider historical picture (a criticism that can also at times be leveled against the Classical sources). Therefore, while they do provide precise dates, and even times, for some nodal events, there are often difficulties in meshing these events with other types of source material. Babylonian astronomical diaries are also critical in dating (and sometimes timing) vital events, such as the death of Alexander (see n. 1 above), and the sheer precision of these documents from a distance of well over two millennia is awe-inspiring to the modern researcher.9
So we have a chaotic source tradition to record one of the most chaotic and poorly understood periods in ancient history. Nevertheless, certain themes obtrude. One of these is the overarching tension between centralist and separatist ambitions among Alexander’s marshals, which informs events down to 281, but especially impacts on the actions of these individuals up to the great battle of Ipsus in spring, 301. This tension was always inevitable in the event of Alexander’s untimely death because of his failure to secure the succession, and was immediately evident in the settlement at Babylon in the weeks after June 11. Perdiccas, who received the chiliarchy after Hephaestion’s death in 324, is the first marshal to manifest centrist tendencies.10 However, he appears to have lacked the confidence to make an overt bid for sole power, and although initially he emerged dominant, one of his first acts, the distribution of the satrapies, supplied the seeds for his later undoing.11 Perdiccas continued to focus on establishing and deposing satraps, provoking the so-called First Diadoch War, until he overreached himself at the Pelusiac branch of the Nile in 321 or 320 (the chronology is disputed), and was assassinated by his lieutenants.12 Thus ensued the second conference in two years to settle the power hierarchy of the empire, this time at Triparadeisus in northern Syria. At this venue the power-broker was the aging Antipater, Alexander’s regent in Macedonia during the anabasis. Antipater was aided by the surprise emergence of the marshal who would become the greatest centralist figure among the Diadochi: Antigonus Monophthalmus (“The One-Eyed”). Antipater’s preeminence was short-lived, as the last epitomized fragments of Arrian’s Events after Alexander describe his humiliation in the winter of 320/19 by the Perdiccan general, Eumenes of Cardia, and his return to Macedonia after April 1, 319.13
From this point on, it becomes clear that Antigonus’ ambitions were dynastic: to dominate the Macedonian dominions and reforge them into a single political entity under the rule of his family. His sons, Demetrius (later Poliorcetes, “The Besieger of Cities”) and Philip, were adolescents, and his grandson, the future Antigonus Gonatas, was born in 319.14 He first set about eradicating the remnants of the Perdiccan faction in Anatolia, and thus began the Second Diadoch War. This conflict was to last for three full years, and though Antigonus had swift success against Attalus, Alcetas, Polemon, and Docimus, and the alliance between Arrhidaeus, the satrap of Hellespontine Phrygia, and the Macedonian admiral Cleitus the White, he was confounded by the stubbornness and wiles of Eumenes. Moreover, the matter of the relative allegiance to the royal house of the warring marshals became critical. Perceived loyalty to the two cipher-kings, the mentally challenged Philip III Arrhidaeus and the child Alexander IV, had become a deciding factor in gaining the commitment of the Macedonian soldiery. The kings, whether physically present or not, became cards in the hands of the marshals, and they were at first, ironically, best exploited (remotely) by the Greek Eumenes.15 The epic running campaign of 318–317 across Babylonia to Iran is chronicled in great detail by Diodorus, drawing on the eyewitness reports of Hieronymus, who was present at the critical battles of the Coprates river and Paraetacene, and was wounded and captured by Antigonus after the deciding engagement of Gabiene in January 316.16 At this juncture, Antigonus, like Perdiccas before him, had achieved preeminence among the marshals, and was already regarded as a king in the Iranian satrapies.17 The illusion was soon shattered. Before a year was out, in a pattern which was to be repeated regularly for the next three decades, Antigonus received an ultimatum from the other great Diadochi.18 Cassander, Lysimachus, and Ptolemy, urged on by the fugitive Seleucus, demanded shares of the spoils from the Second Diadoch War: Antigonus’ scorn signaled the immediate commencement of the Third Diadoch War. Now the notional centralist–separatist tension became geographically manifest. The Antigonid possessions included the heartlands of the empire: Anatolia, the Levant, and all satrapies east. But they were encircled by Ptolemy to the south, Cassander to the west, and Lysimachus to the northwest. The Antigonid strategic equation would seem simple: isolate each opponent, and crush them one by one. In practice, it proved impossible. The five marshals had fought each other to exhaustion by late 311, and the only real winner was Seleucus, who had successfully retaken his satrapy of Babylonia in the aftermath of the battle of Gaza in late 312.19 The other protagonists agreed to an intermission in the famous Peace of the Dynasts in late 311 or early 310, from which Seleucus appears to have been excluded.20 But the peace was a chimaera. It is doubtful whether any of the signatories intended using the lull for anything but rearming and remobilizing. In a remarkable campaign largely hidden from the classical sources, Antigonus waged a separate war, this time unsuccessfully, against Seleucus in Babylonia,21 and Ptolemy commenced an offensive in Cilicia, Caria, and the Peloponnese. The defeat of Antigonus seems to have satisfied the Coalition, and the Diadochi in the west returned to petty bickering among themselves. However, it is arguably from this point that Seleucus, who had originally been the catalyst for the alliance against the unifying energy of Antigonus, entered onto the path of centralism himself. He appears to have spent much of 308–302 coalescing the satrapies east of Babylonia into the nucleus of the future Seleucid empire, and he reappeared on the scene in the west once again in 302 with stunning effect.22 His centralist drive reached its apogee in the campaign against Lysimachus in 282, and just as he appeared to be on the threshold of realizing the old Perdiccan and Antigonid dream, he himself was eliminated through the treachery of Ptolemy Ceraunus later in 281.23
In the mean time, returning from Babylonia in 309 or 308, Antigonus prepared his next offensive. This time, in mid 307, he deployed his energetic son, Demetrius, to lead an expeditionary force against Athens.24 Demetrius easily ended the decadelong hegemony over the city of Cassander’s agent, Demetrius of Phalerum, bringing the charisma of Macedonian nobility to subvert the ideals of Greek democracy. While the sources revel in the astonishing Athenian sycophancy to Demetrius, then and later from 304 to 302, a greater Antigonid strategic purpose may be discerned. Monophthalmus had been building himself a capital city in northern Syria,25 and it seems he had envisaged his reformation of the empire based on twin capitals: Antigoneia-on-the-Orontes, and Athens, no doubt ruled by himself and Demetrius respectively. These would serve as long as necessary as bastions against Cassander and Lysimachus in Europe, and Seleucus and Ptolemy in Asia, though it is certain that the Antigonids always intended to totally eradicate their rivals. Seleucus in 309–308, Ptolemy in 306, and Cassander in 302 knew this beyond doubt,26 and the hard-line attitude carried the seeds which always undid Antigonid centralist ambitions. As soon as the other Diadochi perceived any serious Antigonid strategic build-up of resources and munitions, they united to negate it,27 and incidentally to reify the original satrapy distributions of Babylon and Triparadeisus.
While it may appear that all hope of reunification for Alexander’s empire was shattered at Ipsus in 301, even the resulting rearrangement in the status quo was insufficient to quench the centralist flame. Demetrius’ fortunes were kept alive by the bickering and maneuvering of the victors, especially Ptolemy and Seleucus, and fortune delivered him the kingdom of Macedonia in 294. The restless Demetrius, irrevocably infected by his father’s grand ambition, and his own desire to be another Alexander, was found rearming Macedonia for a second anabasis by 289. The Diadochi reverted to pattern. Ptolemy, Lysimachus, and Seleucus induced a new player, Pyrrhus, king of Molossia, to join in ousting Demetrius, and the Antigonid dream was extinguished.
We have already observed the ultimate fling of centralist Diadoch energies in the form of Seleucus’ victory over Lysimachus at Corupedium in early 281, and for a brief few months the Achaemenid–Macedonian empire was as close to reunification as it would ever come. But this dream also was swiftly shattered by the dagger of Ptolemy Ceraunus at Cardia, and a new energy quickly supervened: the Celtic invasions from the north. The old Diadoch drive to repair the Humpty Dumpty of their empire dissipated in the pyrrhic offensive in Italy to awaken Rome, the final nemesis of Macedonian hegemony, and a two-century-long stalemate between the Seleucid and Ptolemaic empires.28
It is arguable that Alexander the Great saw to it in his own lifetime that he was the tallest among tall poppies, and that in the event of his premature death, there would inevitably be a leadership vacuum. The attrition rate among the great marshals and satraps was always likely to be high, given the propensity of the Macedonian court to conspiracy, coupled with the king’s increasing paranoia as the reign progressed. It was unlucky for the continuity of the empire that the Successors at Babylon were either too indecisive (Perdiccas), or intentionally separatist (Ptolemy, Peithon). But the marshals with the charisma and power to keep the empire together (Antipater, Craterus, Antigonus) were all absent. Later, some of the marshals may have aspired to primacy (Leonnatus in 322, Peithon in 318, perhaps even the foreigner Eumenes), but aside from Antigonus, the next generation of Diadochi – Cassander, Lysimachus, and Seleucus – were content to consolidate their splinter kingdoms. Perhaps there was a fleeting phantasm of preeminence: Ptolemy in 310, Seleucus in 282, but the reality of a united – and expanding – Macedonian empire died with Alexander.
The Successors’ desires to unite or divide the Macedonian conquests pivot on their conceptions of basileia. Alexander was an autocrat, very young at his accession, and cultivated his personal myth of aniketos: invincibility. Though reason would suggest to his marshals that his reckless disregard for human life – including his own – could end his reign peremptorily, only Antipater and Parmenion seem to have been concerned for the succession.29 His death far from Europe, whether the result of conspiracy or not, launched the Macedonian nation into uncharted waters. The hereditary field of candidates for the kingship was even slimmer than usual, and those with a real or imagined link (Leonnatus, Craterus, Ptolemy) with the Argead house eyed their chances. But this was a time in which military expertise was of paramount importance to a ruler,30 and in this regard, the circumstances were little different from those surrounding Philip II’s accession. Perdiccas had military seniority and preeminence in Babylon, and, despite some indecisiveness, emerged dominant. The lesson was clear, though, and the great marshals proceeded to adapt their game to the evolving rules.
Leonnatus was possibly the first. His successful rescue of Antipater in the Lamian War, terminating in a way reminiscent of the unfortunate Cyrus the Younger, was likely the first step toward a claim to the throne predicated on both traditional pillars: legitimacy and military prowess. Antipater’s luck held – as always – and Leonnatus was defeated and killed in battle against the Greeks, leaving Antipater his largely intact army, but no unwelcome rivalry for primacy, and releasing the old regent from the siege at Lamia.31
Craterus, we are told, also gave himself royal airs,32 but delayed acting on the second stage of his orders from Alexander, tarrying in Cilicia for a considerable time.33 He finally moved when an appeal for aid against the Greeks came from Antipater, and he reached a ready accommodation with the latter.34 Diodorus informs us in two dislocated passages that, having concluded the Lamian War hostilities, Craterus was preparing to return to Asia (D.S. 18.18.7–8). But curiously, he is next found on a winter campaign against the Aetolians, when Antigonus and his son Demetrius arrive with the news of Perdiccas’ designs on the royal title (D.S. 18.25). Thus began the First Diadoch War, fought overtly for the basileia. Perdiccas’ fate has been recorded, and the reason for his murder is unequivocal in the sources: his defeat at the Fort of Camels in Egypt sparked mutiny among his senior officers. Perdiccas’ regal aspirations, and his life, were truncated.35
The attrition among the great marshals continued, and by late 319, Antigonus was the sole survivor of the senior generals from Philip II’s generation. The sources record that it was at this point that he began aspiring to the kingship.36 As we have already observed, he was treated as royalty in Persia after his victory over Eumenes in 316; even before that, in 322/1, he is noted for his dynamism, intelligence, and daring,37 and after Triparadeisus, his ambitious nature was clearly discerned by Antipater.38 The scope of his vision was obvious to the other marshals during the Second Diadoch War, but the setbacks of the years 312–309 perhaps dampened his hopes. With the removal of the last of Alexander’s heirs between 310 and 308, however, the way was cleared for the appropriation of the royal title, and Diodorus clearly states that, from this point on, the dynasts “entertained hopes of royal power” and ruled their territories as “spear-won” kingdoms (D.S. 19.105.4). But nothing overt was attempted while some balance prevailed in the power dynamics between the Diadochs, and the catalyst was, inevitably, military. In June 306, Demetrius inflicted a shattering naval defeat on Ptolemy at Salamis in Cyprus, and in the aftermath Antigonus finally published his intentions by declaring himself and his son to be kings.39 A startling domino effect was initiated. Within two years, Ptolemy, Seleucus, Lysimachus, Cassander, and even Agathocles in Sicily, and perhaps Dionysius of Heraclea Pontica, followed suit and arrogated the royal title.
The pattern is clear. While no individual dynast had any advantage and the status quo was maintained, the kingship remained in abeyance, but once a single dynast could force a military victory, political dominance followed immediately, and the basileia itself was snatched, like the geographical territories, as a “spear-won” right. The response of both the defeated dynast and the onlookers is also informative. Ptolemy recouped some of his prestige by his second successful defense of Egypt, this time against an ill-judged Antigonid invasion in autumn of 306,40 and then, perhaps still in damage control, took the royal title himself late in 305.41 The setbacks Demetrius suffered early in his famous siege of Rhodes would have provided an excellent backdrop for the maneuver, as Ptolemy provided considerable support for the Rhodians throughout their year-long ordeal.42 Notably, late in the siege, a certain Rhodian captain named Damophilus sent seized purple clothing belonging to Demetrius directly to Ptolemy as being “proper for a king” (D.S. 20.93.4; cf. Plu. Demetr. 22.1), probably indicating that the latter took the title before the siege was over, and this may be confirmed by the order of events in the Parian Marble (FGrH 239 F B23). According to most of our sources, Seleucus also appears to have promoted himself to royal status around the same time,43 and indeed, cuneiform texts in Babylonia begin to be dated to “Seleucus, King” from 305/4 onwards.44 Seleucid coinage also began to bear the legend BAΣIΛEΩΣ ΣEΛEYKOY at some point after 305.45
Cassander, however, was once thought to have been the exception. Plutarch (Demetr. 18.2) claims that Cassander did not employ the royal title in his correspondence, although he was accorded it by the other dynasts. His name is usually last on the list of royal title claimants (D.S. 20.53.4; Nep.Eum. 13.3), and is not specifically named by Appian or the Heidelberg Epitome. But other evidence indicates that Cassander arrogated the title as eagerly as anyone. Certainly, he was entertaining royal ambitions and assuming regal prerogatives from at least 316,46 and the title Basileus Makedonon Kassandros appears on an inscription which may date to the foundation of Cassandria.47 A statue base from Dium with the same caption is also extant, and bronze coinage was produced with the legend BAΣIΛEΩΣ KAΣΣANΔPOY.48 However, none of the evidence can be dated securely, and Cassander must have moved as carefully toward a public statement as his peers. He may have been idiosyncratic in his use of the royal style, or have been curbed by local political considerations and sensibilities (especially as news of the royal murders leaked out). A reasonable interpretation, on the basis of the evidence, and of the historical context, would be that Cassander began using the title openly by mid 304, perhaps a little after Ptolemy, and at about the same time Demetrius abandoned his siege of Rhodes.49
In the light of his close association with Cassander,50 the above conclusions may be applied equally well to Lysimachus, who is likely to have taken the title at approximately the same time and in the same context as his neighbor.51 Soon after this BAΣIΛEΩΣ ΛY began appearing on his coinage from Lysimacheia.52 In addition, news of events in the east also inspired Agathocles, the tyrant of Syracuse, to adopt the royal style,53 and it is possible that Dionysius, the tyrant of Heraclea Pontica, also took the title (so Memnon,FGrH 434 F4.6), although this raises chronographic difficulties, as Diodorus (20.77.1; cf. 16.88.5) reports that he died in 306/5.54
It would seem, therefore, that the Diadochi observed a decent period of mourning between the extinction of the Argead house and their arrogation of the basileia, but nothing could be more misleading. Although Justin asserts that they had “all refrained from adopting the trappings of royalty” (15.2.13), numerous examples of the royal style or title being attributed to, or used by, the Successors prior to 306 appear in the ancient literature. Craterus, Leonnatus, Perdiccas, Eumenes, Seleucus, Antigonus, Demetrius, Ptolemy, and Cassander all appear to display anachronistic regal pretensions, or are referred to with royal terminology between 322 and 306.55 The only hint of reticence with regard to the royal regalia comes in the cases of Cassander and Agathocles.56
From this we might conclude that aspirations to primacy among the Diadochi were always endemic, perhaps ebbing and flowing with the quirky fortunes of these individuals. Achievement of the dream was always stymied prior to 309 by the existence of Alexander’s legitimate heirs, and after that year by military stalemate. But it is abundantly evident from the ancient sources that this did not prevent the dynasts from playing the king in their own territories, and among their own companions. However, to take the next logical step, a clear military advantage had to be achieved. This was done by Demetrius at Salamis in 306, and a watershed public assertion followed.
The Antigonids were therefore the first, but how did they conceive their kingship? Did they see themselves as sole heirs to Alexander’s empire, with the brief to achieve its reunification under their own rule, or did they in reality partake of the same schismatic tendencies generally attributed to the other dynasts?57 Certainly, the spirit of Alexander seems to have devolved more fully on the Antigonids than on their rivals: nearly forty years after his death, Demetrius was again constructing an armada to invade Asia, and yet another coalition of his opponents was needed to suppress him. However, in 306 the Antigonids were certainly not close to reuniting Alexander’s empire or controlling Macedonia itself, even if they did consider that their self-proclaimed dynasty entitled them to inherit the Argead mantle. Like their rivals, they clearly regarded themselves as kings of the territory they already held, and of any more they could conquer, and had done so for some time.58 But by their very nature, and because of the power vacuum left by Alexander, the Successors ruled kingdoms built on opportunity, and were engaged in a continual struggle for ascendancy over one another. That the Antigonid domain – whatever parameters its architects envisaged for it – would no longer be Eurocentric is evident in that the process of constructing a new Asian capital had already begun. The strategic central siting of this foundation may in itself be proof of Antigonid intentions, for an empire of this scope would need to be ruled from the hub, not the periphery.59 The celerity with which they sought to eliminate Ptolemy later in the year is also significant, but, again, whether this was a purely opportunistic response or part of a master plan is impossible to tell. At least one source specifically asserts that Antigonus’ ambitions extended to the reformation of Alexander’s empire,60 but after 306 the old man had abandoned the territory east of Syria at least, and seems to have been settling into semi-retirement.61
However, if the father’s dream had faded by 305, the torch had certainly been taken up by the son, and indeed, because of his vicissitudes, Demetrius provides the best case study for the evolution of a king in early Hellenistic times. It is likely that the evergreen son of Antigonus always harbored the ambition to be another Alexander, and indeed, he would become arguably the most fervent Alexander impersonator among the Diadochi. He had been born in the year that Alexander had ascended the throne, and raised in the years of his anabasis. The initial struggles of the marshals had formed the backdrop of his adolescence, and he had grown to manhood just as his father had risen to bestride the wreckage of the empire.62 From this point on, his own expectation had been to overtake his rivals, and, it seems, even to reach for the highest office. In 306, for the first time, the royal title was deployed as a weapon in the contest. Its effectiveness is readily apparent, in that the other dynasts were forced to follow suit. But for Demetrius, I would argue that the title meant more than the ratification of his claim to suzerainty over a geographical realm. In reality, his power and achievements were not comparable in scope to Alexander’s, nor would they ever be. However, his assumption of the kingship multiplied his potential exponentially. It must surely be acknowledged in historical retrospect that Demetrius had the will, resources, and desire to reunite the empire, and the royal title provided the vehicle for the enterprise. The crucial factor in the milieu of the Successors, however, was not so much whether he desired to achieve this feat, but whether he would be given the opportunity to do so. Time would also test his aptitude for the task, and find it wanting.
One further aspect of the kingship, as Demetrius and Antigonus conceived it in 306, was that it not only had territorial implications, but was the statement of a personal evolution.63 The Antigonids were widely regarded as kings, had exhibited the prerequisite royal attributes, and were demonstrably preeminent among their peers. All that was lacking was the official act of appointment and recognition, and the charade described by Plutarch (Demetr. 17) in the aftermath of the battle of Salamis supplied it. Demetrius’ case supports the notion of “personal monarchy”: he retained the style of “king” for the rest of his life, even though his roller-coaster fortunes meant that at various stages (such as after Ipsus in 301) he held only minimal territory, and in fact “ruled” a thalassocracy from his flagship.64 Even later, in 285 at the end of his career, and with only small forces at his disposal, he retained his royal status, and was still regarded as a king by Seleucus, who ordered his generals to provide him with “royal maintenance,” and termed him “the most violent of the kings, and the most given to grand designs” (Plu. Demetr. 47.4). At the final confrontation, Demetrius’ troops went over to Seleucus, hailing him as king, as if transferring Demetrius’ title to the latter (Plu. Demetr. 49.4).
Nevertheless, Seleucus entertained the captive Demetrius with regal trappings and magnificence, and eventually consigned him to a gilded royal captivity (Plu. Demetr. 50.1–2, 8–9). Although he died shamefully in captivity, having apparently abdicated to clear the way for the accession of his son,65 Plutarch describes his funeral as that of a king, with the funerary vase adorned with royal purple and a diadem.66 From the moment when Demetrius received his first diadema in 306, and the letter from his father addressing him as basileus, the process was complete and apparently irreversible. The title, like a university degree, was personal, and could not be revoked. Demetrius ended his life as an “unemployed” king, but the reality of his vocation was never diminished by the occasional absence of a kingdom to rule. From 306 onward, whatever his circumstance, he lived and died a king.
Finally, it must be noted that the chronology of the Diadoch period is an especially vexatious problem which persists to the deaths of the first-generation Successors. The problem is rooted in the ancient source tradition and it is highly likely that the ancient writers themselves were confused – this, at any rate, is certainly evident from the narrative of Diodorus.67 Moreover, coinage and epigraphy, which are especially useful in establishing chronographic frameworks for the period, often fail to mesh with the literary tradition. Essentially, two schools of thought regarding the chronology of the Successors have evolved over the last eighty years. These reflect the progressive construction since 1949 of two separate chronographic schemes for the period 322–310, conveniently labeled the “High” chronology, and the “Low” chronology. Most scholars who concern themselves with such matters espouse either one scheme or the other, often with considerable tenacity.68
The feasibility of two separate chronographic schemes for the years after Alexander is remarkable, and merits some scrutiny. Essentially, the pattern of events tends to form itself into “bubbles,” which center on the three separate so-called Diadoch Wars fought from 322 to 311. Within these “bubbles” are contained certain mutable nodal events, around which scholars are polarized. Curiously, by interpretation of the sources alone, these nodal events can be persuasively dated and arranged to fit either chronographic scheme. As a result, two perfectly feasible parallel historical reconstructions can be generated which do little or no violence to the source tradition. The nodal events in question with their “High” and “Low” chronology dating are as follows:
First Diadoch War
The deaths of Craterus and Perdiccas and the conference at Triparadeisus
(“High”: 321; “Low”: 320).
Second Diadoch War
The battle of Gabiene and death of Eumenes; the siege of Pydna and death of Olympias (“High”: winter 317/16; “Low”: winter 316/15).
Third Diadoch War
The death of Eumenes and flight of Seleucus to Egypt (as for Second Diadoch War); the battle of Gaza (“High”: spring 312; “Low”: autumn 312); the return of Seleucus to Babylonia (“High”: summer 312; “Low”: spring 311).
The problem is all the more vexing in that we have a number of reliable fixed points for the period, beginning with the battle of Crannon (August 322) and ending with Ptolemy’s control of Phoenicia and Palestine by February 22, 311, and a good number of these pegs are agreed on by scholars of either persuasion. Moreover (and this is pernicious), for most of the years 319 and 318, both chronologies overlap and are in complete agreement,69 and in theory one might wonder how the problem persists. If the events from the historical narrative are integrated into the framework of the chronological fixed points, a scheme should emerge. Not so, unfortunately. Where the so-called nodal events impinge on the historical narrative, agreement is impossible, and one may enter an almost science-fiction-like world of parallel timelines. To further compound the problem, the nature of the separate “bubble” chronographic structure enables scholars to take a limited “mix and match” option in espousing the two chronological schemes. It is, for instance, possible to accept the “Low” scheme for the First Diadoch War to 320, then the “High” chronology through the consensus years of 319 and 318 through to 312, where one could accept a “Low” date for the battle of Gaza. Equally, one might accept the “High” scheme for the First Diadoch War and follow the “Low” scheme through to 311. These possibilities, however, do have some historical limitations. The Second and Third Diadoch Wars hinge around certain nodal events (the deaths of Eumenes and Olympias), and must therefore comprise a unit: if the “Low” chronology is accepted for the Second Diadoch War, it must also be imposed on the Third Diadoch War, and vice versa. Similarly, there would seem to be no room for a “High” date for Gaza in the “Low” chronology, as the timelines become too compressed, and lose feasibility.70 Finally, it is notable that, in their efforts to resolve the issues, researchers regularly introduce minor refinements of their own into the equations, and put forward small subvariants within the greater chronographic schemes. The result is a veritable Gordian Knot, of both modern scholarship and ancient historiography.
The source of the dilemma lies in the fact that, while in modern thought the conflicts during the period are generally segregated, there was actually only one Diadoch War. The fighting was in reality continuous, with the seeds of one war igniting – usually immediately – the next conflagration. Thus it is always moot to discern at which point in time one war ends and the next begins. The settlement at
Triparadeisus, whether in 321 or 320, while ending the First Diadoch War, contained the imperatives which immediately began the Second Diadoch War. The victory of Antigonus and the aftermath of this war instantly sparked the Third Diadoch War, which was ended – in name at least – by the Peace of the Dynasts late in 311 or early in 310. There is, therefore, a blending of these events, which defies the imposition of chronological specificity. The problem is aggravated by the need to synchronize events in several far-flung geographical areas, notably in Asia or Europe, but with numerous substrands requiring precise integration. If one concentrates on tracing the movements of a particular group of characters, or events in one geographical region, it is easy enough to map out a feasible itinerary, but this is only ever done at the expense of precipitating other characters or regions into utter chaos: the so-called “butterfly effect” comes into play.
Clearly, what is needed is a synthesis: a chronographic scheme built around fixed and ineluctable points, which takes into account the potential activities of all the actors and meshes the parallel events of Europe and Asia in relation to each other, while – and this is paramount – maintaining the integrity of the rich primary and secondary source traditions. Is this achievable? The sheer volume and variety of source material suggests that it should be possible, and new discoveries that settle the matter may be hoped for,71 yet the key to this puzzle continues to elude researchers.
Scholars who propose to enter the field of study of the Diadochi must swiftly become cognizant of several dire problems. The primary sources must be assimilated and sifted according to their idiosyncrasies; the matter of the dichotomic centralist/separatist ambitions of the marshals must be probed; the way in which the dynasts conceived the basileia must be understood; and perhaps most crucial of all, a bizarre chronographic and chronological labyrinth must be negotiated. When these critical matters are digested, then true inquiry into this most remarkable of historical milieux may be commenced.
1 The date of Alexander–s death, which until recently had veered back and forth in scholarship between June 10 and 13, has finally been fixed by the testimony of a contemporary Babylonian Astronomical document (Diary I, pp. 206–7, No. -322 B Obv. 8–; for full discussion, assembling the chronographic evidence from several traditions, see Depuydt 1997.
2 I thank my colleagues Jon Hall and John Walsh for help and encouragement while writing this essay.
3 On the Bactrian revolts: D.S. 17.99.5–6; 18.4–8; cf. Babylonian Astronomical Diary I, p. 211, No. -322 D Obv. 22. On the Lamian War: Arr. Succ. 1.9; D.S. 17.111; 18.8–19; Plu. Dem. 27; Phoc. 23–8; Hyp. Epit. 10–20; Just. 13.5; Paus. 1.25.3–5, 29.13; Str. 9.5.10; Polyaen. 4.4.2; Plb. 9.29.2; with Mathieu 1929; Lepore 1955; Errington 1975; Ashton 1983, 1984; Lehmann 1988; Morrison 1987; Schmitt 1992; Bosworth 2003a.
4 Useful modern treatments of the period include Tarn 1913: 1–138 (aging, but still very helpful); Hammond–Walbank 95–258; Bosworth 1988a: 174–81; 2002; Green 1990: 1–134; Heckel 1992; Habicht 1997: 36–97; Shipley 2000: 33–47; Huss 2001: 79–262; Chamoux 2003: 39–54.
5 On Hieronymus, see Brown 1947; Hornblower 1981; Bosworth 2002: 169–209; Anson 2004: 2–11.
6 For a recent, lucid, essay on the source tradition for the Diadochi, see Bosworth 2002: 19–28.
7 On the Alexander-type coinage of the Successors, see Newell 1927; Bellinger 1963: 81–130; M0rkholm 1991: 55–96; Price 1991; Houghton and Lorber 2002.
8 First published by S. Smith in 1924, but now updated in several languages and editions: Grayson 1975; Glassner 1993; Del Monte 1997: 183–94.
9 More recently the work of J. Lendering and certain Assyriologists such as T. Boiy, R. J. van der Spek, and the ongoing Babylonian Chronicles of the Hellenistic Period (BCHP) project, has helped bridge the gap between Classical and Near Eastern scholars.
10 He also received Alexander–s ring from the dying king: Curt. 10.5.4; cf. 10.6.4. On the chiliarchy, see Collins 2001.
11 By rewarding his rivals with plum satrapies (Just. 13.4.9), Perdiccas made his own quest for supreme power intrinsically far more difficult. On the satrapy distribution, see Curt. 10.10.1–4; D.S. 18.3.1–3; Just. 13.4.9–25; Arr. Succ. 1.5–7; cf. Dexippus, FGrH100 F8 §§2–6; Heid. Epit. 1; Liber de Morte 115–22; cf. Oros. 3.23.7–13; Paus. 1.6.2; with Julien 1914; Lehmann-Haupt, RE 2R. ii (1921). 82–188, s.v. "satrap"; Berve i. 253–84; Leuze 1935; Heckel 1988: 108–9; Klinkott 2000.
12 Installation of Eumenes: D.S. 18.16.1–3, 22.1; Arr. Succ. 1.11; Just. 13.6.1–3; Plu. Eum. 3.12–13; App. Mith. 8; with Schäfer 2002: 60–6; Anson 2004: 65–79. Deposition of Antigonus: D.S. 18.23.3–4, 25.3; Arr. Succ. 1.24; Just. 13.6.8; with Billows 1990: 59–60. Campaign against Ptolemy: D.S. 18.29.1, 33.1–36.5; Arr. Succ. 1.28–9; Just. 13.8.1–2; Plu. Eum. 8.2–3; Polyaen. 4.19; Front. Strat. 4.7.20. See, in general, Briant 1973a; Hauben 1977; Billows 1990: 64–71; Heckel 1992: 154–63; Heckel 199–202; Anson 2004: 77–116.
13 Precision is enabled by a juxtaposition of three diverse ancient references: D.S. 18.40.1; Arr. Succ. F1.45 (cf. Göteborg Palimpsest 73v.11–12); Babylonian Chronicle 10, Obv. 7’–8’ (= BCHP 3. 26–7).
14 He died an octogenarian in 239: [Lucian], Macrob. 11; Porphyry, FGrH 260 F3[12]; with Tarn 1913: 15; Hammond–Walbank 313, 581–2; Bosworth 1994b: 61.
15 With a mixture of genuine and forged correspondence: Plu. Eum. 13.1–4; D.S. 19.23.3; Polyaen. 4.8.3; with Bosworth 1992b: 69–71; 2002: 122–4; Anson 2004: 142–9, 172–5.
16 D.S. 19.44.3. On the battle of Gabiene, see the accounts of Billows 1990: 99–105; Bosworth 2002: 146–60; Schafer 2002: 155–64; Anson 2004: 184–8. The chronology is hotly disputed: see, for instance, Anson 2006; contra Bosworth 1992a.
17 D.S. 19.48.1; 55.2; Polyaen. 4.6.13; but see Bosworth 2002: 162.
18 D.S. 19.57.1; App. Syr. 53; Just. 15.1.2; with Aucello 1957; Grainger 1990: 55–6.
19 D.S. 19.90.1; App. Syr. 54; Mehl 1986: 89–120; Grainger 1990: 72–81; Bosworth 2002: 216–17, 230–40. Scholars have reached no agreement about the timing of the battle of Gaza; for an overview of the situation with some new evidence, see Wheatley 2003;contra Bosworth 2002: 217–30.
20 On the Peace, see OGIS 5; D.S. 19.105.1; with Simpson 1952; Landucci Gattinoni 1985; Billows 1990: 132–6; Grainger 1990: 85–7; Lund 1992: 60–2.
21 For a reconstruction from the vestigial source tradition, see Wheatley 2002.
22 For the progress of Seleucus in the east from 308 to 302, see Schober 1981: 140–93; Mehl 1986: 134–214; Grainger 1990: 95–119. Seleucus reappeared in Anatolia in late 302 for the battle of Ipsus the following spring (D.S. 20.113.4; Just. 15.4.1), bringing with him the resource which proved decisive in the battle: 480 elephants for which he had surrendered his claims on the far eastern and Indian satrapies to Chandragupta, founder of the Mauryan dynasty (Just. 15.4.12–21; Plu. Alex. 62.4; App. Syr. 55; Str. 15.2.9, 16.2.10). On the campaign of Ipsus see Plu. Demetr. 28–30;Pyrrh. 4.4–5; D.S. 20.111–13, 21.1.4; Just. 15.2.15–17; 15.4.21–2; [Lucian], Macrob. 11 (= Hieronymus, FGrH 154 F 8); App. Syr. 55; Plb. 5.67.8; Nepos, de Regibus 3.2; cf. Trogus, Prol. 15; Lib. Or. 11.84; Oros. 3.23.46; with Bar-Kochva 1976: 105–10; Billows 1990: 173–85.
23 Mehl 1986: 318–22; Hammond–Walbank 239–44; Grainger 1990: 189–91; Landucci Gattinoni 1992: 214–21; Lund 1992: 205–6; Franco 1993: 63–4; Habicht 1997: 66–72.
24 Plu. Demetr. 8–10; D.S. 20.45–46.4; Polyaen. 4.7.6; with Billows 1990: 148–51.
25 The exact location of Antigoneia, some 7.3 km from Antioch (Lib. Or. 11.85 says 40 stadia), and apparently inland (Dio. 40.29.1) is today uncertain, but it was probably situated in a defensible position between the modern lake Amik and the rivers Asi (Orontes) and Kara Su, perhaps 31 km from the river mouth today; for detailed topography, see esp. Downey 1961: 60–61; also Billows 1990: 297.
26 On these campaigns, see respectively Wheatley 2002; Hauben 1975–6; Billows 1990: 173–4.
27 This occurred in 315 (D.S. 19.57.1; Just. 15.1.2; App. Syr. 53), and 302 (D.S. 20.106). Even as late as 289 the other Diadochi perceived Demetrius’ grand preparations with alarm, and forestalled them with a broad alliance: Plu. Demetr. 43.3–44; Pyrrh. 10–12; Just. 16.2.1–3.
28 On the events from 301 to 280, see the treatments of, for instance, Tarn 1913: 10–138; Hammond- Walbank 199–249; Green 1990: 119–34; Grainger 1990: 114–91; Lund 1992: 80–206; Shipley 2000; Huss 2001: 198–212.
29 D.S. 17.16.2; with Baynham 1998b.
30 Suda s.v. "basileia" (2); translations: Austin, no. 37; Sherwin-White and Kuhrt 1993: 119–20; with Rostovtzeff 1941: iii. 1346–7.
31 D.S. 18.14.4–15.7; Arr. Succ. 1.9. Just. 13.5.14–16, digesting Pompeius Trogus’ source, is especially trenchant: "[Antipater] was nevertheless glad at Leonnatus’ death, congratulating himself on the simul¬taneous removal of his rival and acquisition of the latter’s forces."
32 Suda s.v. "Krateros" (= Arr. Succ. F19); with Ashton 1992; Bosworth 2002: 10–11, 31, cf. 276, 278.
33 Badian 1961: 41; Bosworth 1988b: 207–11; 2002: 31.
34 D.S. 18.16.4; Arr. Succ. 1.12; Plu. Phoc. 26.1; with Goralski 1989: 87–8; Heckel 98. Bosworth is cautionary regarding the ready rapprochement between the two great marshals (2002: 10–11).
35 D.S. 18.36.5; Just. 13.8.10; Arr. Succ. 1.28; with Heckel 202.
36 D.S. 18.50.2; 58.4; Plu. Eum. 12.1–2; Heid. Epit., FGrH 155 F3.2; with Bosworth 2000a: 237–8.
37 D.S. 18.23.3–4: praktikos, sunesis, tolma.
38 D.S. 18.39.7; cf. Cassander’s suspicions of Antigonus at Arr. Succ. 1.43.
39 Battle of Salamis: D.S. 20.49–52; Just. 15.2.6–9; Plu. Demetr. 16–17.1; Polyaen. 4.7.7; Paus. 1.6.6; App. Syr. 54; Parian Marble, FGrH 239 F B21; with Wheatley 2001. Declaration of kingship: Plu. Demetr. 17.2–18.7; D.S. 20.53.1–2; App. Syr. 54; Nepos, de Regibus 3.1; Heid. Epit., FGrH155 F1.7.
40 D.S. 20.73–6; Plu. Demetr. 19.1–3; Paus. 1.6.6; with Seibert 1969: 207–24; Hauben 1975–6; Huss 2001: 185–91.
41 D.S. 20.53.3; Just. 15.2.11; Plu. Demetr. 18.2; App. Syr. 54; P. Köln vi, no. 247; Heid. Epit., FGrH 155 F1.7; Parian Marble, FGrH 239 F B23; Porphyry, FGrH 260 F2.2, 9; Syncellus, Chron. 321; with Gruen 1985: 257–8; Huss 2001: 190–1. Significantly, Justin and Appian indicate that Ptolemy received the title by acclamation from his army.
42 D.S. 20.81.4, 84.1, 88.9, 94.3, 96.1–2, 99.2–3, 100.3–4; see also Seibert 1969: 225–30; with Gruen 1985: 257–8.
43 D.S. 20.53.4; Nep. Eum. 13.3; App. Syr. 55; Heid. Epit., FGrH 155 F1.7; Justin omits him altogether. Plutarch inserts the rider that Seleucus now began affecting royal trappings in his dealings with Greeks (Demetr. 18.3); likely a confirmation that he was already using the title among his eastern subjects.
44 For the chronographic technicalities, with earlier bibliography, see Boiy 2000; 2002a; 2002b. In general: Mehl 1986: 147–55; Grainger 1990: 109–13.
45 See Houghton and Lorber 2002: 35–6, 77–8, and passim.
46 Syncellus, Chron. 320; D.S. 19.52.5; cf. Just. 14.6.13. On Cassander and the kingship, see now Landucci Gattinoni 2003: 124–37.
47 SIG 332; so Errington 1974: 23–5; Landucci Gattinoni 2003: 137.
48 Statue base: SEG xxxiv. 620; see Hammond–Walbank 174. Coinage: Errington 1974: 25; Hammond- Walbank 174, pl. If; M0rkholm 1991: 59–60, 79, pl. V. 71–2; Ehrhardt 1973; Miller 1991; Landucci Gattinoni 2003: 136–7.
49 D.S. 20.100.2; with Ritter 1965: 107, where the grateful Rhodians erect statues of King Cassander and King Lysimachus after the siege.
50 D.S. 20.106.2–3; 18.72.9; 19.77.7; Just. 15.2.12, 17; with Lund 1992: 55–7, 66–70; but cf. Plu. Demetr. 31.3–4.
51 So Landucci Gattinoni 1992: 133 (who proposes spring 304); Lund 1992: 156–7 (summer 304). Billows 1990: 156 asserts that Lysimachus certainly followed Cassander’s lead in this, rather than vice versa.
52 See Thompson 1968; Hadley 1974: 55; Landucci Gattinoni 1992: 45–50; Mørkholm 1991: 60–1, 81–2, pl. V. 78–9; and, in general, Ritter 1965: 105–8; Landucci Gattinoni 1992: 129–34; Lund 1992: 153–61; cf. Just. 15.3.13–14.
53 D.S. 20.54.1; 19.9.7; Plu. Demetr. 25.7; Mor. 823c-d; Phylarchus, FGrH 81 F31 = Athen. 6.261b.
54 It is possible that Dionysius either died later than is generally thought, or from an earlier stage was "king" in the minor key (cf. Porphyry, FGrH 260 F41), in the same manner as the local dynasts of Phoenicia and Cyprus. The matter of Dionysius’ kingship has not been resolved satisfactorily; for dis¬cussion, see Berve ii. 144–5, no. 276; Burstein 1976: 77; Gruen 1985: 268–9 n. 44; Billows 1990: 66–7, 113, 380–1.
55 Craterus: Suda s.v. (= Arr. Succ. F19 [Roos]); Leonnatus: Suda s.v. (= Arr. Succ. F12 [Roos]); Perdiccas: D.S. 18.23.3, 25.3; Eumenes: Plu. Eum. 8.12; cf. Athen. 12.539–60; Seleucus: Plu. Demetr. 18.3; D.S. 19.90.4, 92.5; Antigonus: D.S. 19.48.1, 55.2; Polyaen. 4.6.13; D.S. 18.58.4, 20.73.1; Heid. Epit., FGrH 155 F3.2; Demetrius: D.S. 19.81.3–4, 85.3, 93.4, 97.3; Ptolemy: D.S. 18.21.9, 20.27.1; Plu. Demetr. 17.6 (with Bosworth 2000a: 228–41); and Cassander: D.S. 19.52.1–5; see also Errington 1974: 23–5.
56 Plu. Demetr. 18.4; D.S. 19.9.7, 20.54.1; and cf. Perdiccas: Curt. 10.6.16–20.
57 For early bibliography, see Seibert 1983: 136–40. For some useful recent discussions of Hellenistic kingship, see Gruen 1985: 253; Austin 1986; Lund 1992: 155–65; Sherwin-White and Kuhrt 1993: 114–40; Billows 1995; Bosworth 2002: 246–78.
58 Ptolemy certainly regarded Egypt as his "prize of war" after repelling Antigonus and Demetrius in November 306: D.S. 20.76.7; cf. D.S. 19.105.3–4.
59 D.S. 20.47.5 spells out the purpose and strategic advantages of Antigoneia’s position; see further n. 24 above.
60 P. Köln VI, no. 247, col. I, ll. 18–27; with Lehmann 1988; Billows 1990: 351–2; Bosworth 2000. See also Plu. Demetr. 15.3; Eum. 12.1; D.S. 18.50.2.
61 Plu. Demetr. 19.3 states that after the Egyptian expedition Antigonus increasingly delegated the running of the kingdom to Demetrius, being himself to some degree incapacitated by age, obesity, and perhaps illness as well; see Plu. Mor. 182b with Billows 1990: 161. See also Polman 1974: 175.
62 On Demetrius’ early life, see Wheatley 1999.
63 Billows 1990: 158–60 is persuasive in stating this case. For earlier bibliography with some cautionary discussion, see Sherwin-White and Kuhrt 1993: 118–120 and n. 1. See also Errington 1974, whose analysis from epigraphy supports the investiture of supreme power and prerogative in the person of the Macedonian monarch, rather than in his status vis-à-vis his territory or subjects.
64 Plu. Demetr. 45.4 records the sole occasion on which he relinquished his royal status. This occurred in the winter of 288/7, following his deposition from the throne of Macedonia and the resulting suicide of Phila, which evidently plunged him into deep depression. Plu. Demetr. 46.1, however, relates how he rebounded from this nadir, and resumed his royal career and trappings. For the date, see Wheatley 1997: 21–2; also Tarn 1913: 97.
65 Plu. Demetr. 51.1; cf. Mor. 183c. For discussion of this apparent abdication, see Wheatley 1997: 27. Demetrius’ situation by this time was analogous to Alexander IV’s after 316, when Cassander divested him of his royal trappings and incarcerated him in Amphipolis for the remainder of his life (D.S. 19.52.4; cf. 105.2). Both kings retained their royal titles in captivity, but in real terms their status was disregarded.
66 Plu. Demetr. 53.4; Macurdy 1932: 68.
67 See, for instance, the analysis of book 19 in Wheatley 1998: 261–8.
68 For a convenient summary of the earlier scholarship, see Bosworth 1992c: 55 n. 1. Significant treat¬ments since then include Bosworth 1992b; 2002: 279–84; Wheatley 1995, 1998, 2003; Boiy 2000, 2002a, 2002b; Anson 2002–3, 2005a, 2006. For an overview of the problem, representing an assortment of scholarly opinions, see now the essays of Wheatley, Anson, Boiy, and Dreyer in Heckel et al. 2007.
69 Finally recognized, in a most lucid synthesis, by Boiy 2007b.
70 But see Schober 1981: 97 n. 1.
71 Though such material often complicates rather than simplifies. This has been vividly illustrated in the lively recent discussions (not all yet published) of the newly collated Aramaean ostraca from Idumaea, as well as the increasing corpus of numismatic evidence from the Levant. For representative discussions, see Eph’al and Naveh 1996; Wheatley 2003; Anson 2005a; Porten and Yardeni, forthcoming.