In a much discussed passage Pindar uses the expression when speaking of early performances of the dithyramb. The passage was famous in antiquity and before the discovery of a papyrus fragment early in the Twentieth Century, we owed our knowledge of it chiefly to citations in Athenaeus. In discussing it, Athenaeus explains the words in the context of asigmatic odes, i.e. odes in which for the sake of euphony the letter sigma was avoided or omitted altogether. This explanation remains the most commonly accepted one, though scholars continue to puzzle over it, as it is hard to see why Pindar would use the word which means ‘false’ or ‘counterfeit’ in such a context. A more natural interpretation, and one which would, I believe, have been readily accepted had it not been for the comments of Athenaeus, is that in early dithyrambic performances the ‘s’ sound was in some way impure or unauthentic when compared with current practice. In what follows, I will re-open the discussion, arguing that Athenaeus misunderstood the passage or based his explanation on a tradition which obscured its true meaning. It will be necessary in the first place to examine evidence for the pronunciation of Greek sibilants and it is here that some light may be cast upon the discussion from a rather unexpected source—the adaptation of the Greek alphabet for writing down the Middle Iranian language of Bactria.

The careful definition and in some cases active re-definition of power and freedom is at the heart of the ethical and social program of Horace's first book of Epistles, as several critics and commentators have discerned. It is not the only thing happening in Epistles Book 1, but it is one of the more prominent, and one which has elicited a variety of scholarly responses. Some, taking their cue from Epistle 1.1, have interpreted the poet's concern with independence as a heartfelt expression of his desire for poetic freedom inspired by the changing circumstances of his life and social environment. Others have sought to identify the philosophical sources of Horace's ethical views, including his views on freedom and power.

The epigram is an amusing attack on a meretrix (‘prostitute’), with the ironic sobriquet Chione (‘Snow White’) who, though technically a virgin, in fact specialises in fellatio. To make the point that it is Chione's mouth, rather than her cunnus (‘cunt’), which is impure, Martial suggests that when bathing she should modestly cover that part which in her case is put to sexual use, that is, her mouth, by transferring her subligar (lit. ‘loin-cloth’) from her bottom half to her face. Although the meaning is clear and the piece looks uncomplicated enough, a discussion of the precise way in which the humour works, and second, of the underlying social customs, offers unexpected rewards.

Prudentius' account of the martyrdom of the young Spanish girl Eulalia in Peristephanon 3 is particularly interesting because not only does it consist of her defiance of an order to pay homage to the pagan gods but also a rejection of pressures to get married. If martyrdom constituted an act of rebellion against the conventions of pagan society, then female martyrdom was doubly so and the ways in which it was presented to a community in which Christianity was still struggling to establish its reputation is worthy of detailed examination. Prudentius was arguably the Christian poet most influenced by his pagan predecessors, making an active effort to compose poetry worthy of the great Latin poetic tradition. When examining the classical antecedents of Peristephanon 3, scholars have largely concentrated upon its Virgilian echoes, emphasising the heroic dimensions of Eulalia's conduct by comparing her to Virgilian ‘heroines’ (the Sibyl, Camilla and Dido) who challenge conventional female roles. Some critics have pointed to elements of an epithalamium within the poem but they have related this imagery to late antique epithalamia or to the Song of Songs rather than looking for antecedents within classical poetry.

Posterity has on the whole judged Thucydides not ungenerously over his failure to save Amphipolis in the winter of 424. Although some of those who have attempted to analyse the military circumstances of the loss, almost wholly from the historian’s own account, have found him culpable in some way, most scholars have preferred not to add their condemnation to that of the Athenian demos. Rather the majority have tended towards the non-committal or have celebrated what they have seen to be the author’s resolute determination, in his failure to present a palpable self-defence, not to be diverted from the primary aims of his work. Gomme even suggested reasons why Thucydides may actually have been in the right and why, by consequence, his exile may have been a perversion of justice. But in the end, of course, as Gomme and many others have realized, we simply do not have the evidence to judge with any certainty.

MS. plut. LII 8 in the Biblioteca Mediceo-Laurenziana in Firenze contains (ff. 1-80 r.) an anonymous epitome of Boccacio’s de genealogia deorum, ascribed by Bandini to Domizio Calderini, an anonymous work described by Bandini as de rerum inuentoribus etc. (ff. 81 r.-103 r.) and a commentary on the first three books, and part of the fourth, of the Punica of Silius Italicus. The whole MS. is written by one hand in a humanistic cursive script. The watermark of the paper used is a horn (huchet) surmounted by a cross, the nearest example in Briquet (1st ed.), checked by a tracing, being No. 7833 = Venice, 1460. The volume was written by 1473, for an annotation, in a hand different from that of the text, is found on f. 30 r. in the right-hand margin—1473. i. se. mar. furabitur nisi custodietur Turcum. P. VR.

The period in Parthian history between Mithradates II and Phraates 111 is one about which very little is known. Events in West Asia were in turmoil with Rome's involvement becoming ever larger, but Parthia took little or no part in the wars between Rome and the allies, Pontus and Armenia. The reason for Parthia's inactivity can only be guessed. After a summary of recent developments in the understanding of early Parthian history we will give a reconstruction of events in Parthia and her non-involvement in West Asian affairs between 90 and 70 B.C. This is only one combination of possible explanations for the several problems.

This article investigates the physical parameters of Athenian democracy. It explores the collective-action problems that these parameters caused and settles debates about them that R. G. Osborne famously provoked. Classical Athens was ten times larger than an average Greek state. Fourth-century Athenians were ten times more numerous. These parameters significantly contributed to the success of Athenian democracy. Athens could field more combatants than almost every other Greek state. With such huge manpower reserves individual Athenians had to fight only every few years. Nevertheless, this huge population also caused collective-action problems. Attica's farmers could not grow enough to feed them. The Athenians never had adequate personnel nor recordkeeping centrally to administer so many citizens over such a large territory. Yet they found effective means at home and abroad to overcome these collective-action problems.

A generation ago K.V. Sinclair published what is still the standard guide to medieval manuscripts held in Australia. The title defines the scope: Descriptive Catalogue of the Medieval Western Manuscripts in Australian Collections. The parameters are further delimited by date: included are MSS of the Xlth-XVIth centuries. Brim full with technical information, and perhaps as a result rather austere in presentation, this book is a testimony to Sinclair's perseverance: the completed manuscript was lost at the end of the 1950s, and he started again. One consequence of this setback is that the addenda to the main catalogue update a work that was largely finished over thirty years ago; yet even these additions were not able to take account of some items which came to Australia at the end of the 1950s.

In a recent article in this journal, Kathryn Welch and Hannah Mitchell examined a much debated question: to what extent did Roman commanders, and in particular Pompeius, model themselves on Alexander the Great?1 The opposing views on this question are best encapsulated by Peter Green on the one side, and Erich Gruen on the other.2 One piece of evidence used in this continuing debate is an aureus of Pompeius, but there are two disputes related to it: the date of its issue and the iconography of its obverse. Unfortunately, due to a lack of specific evidence the discussion trying to resolve these disputes often ends without a clear conclusion, and we are left with speculation and conjecture.

The reverse of the aureus shows a triumph, and the nub of the question about dating the coin is which triumph does it depict. The argument here is that the coin depicts Pompeius’ third triumph in 61 BC, when he celebrated his extensive conquests in the East. That date will help the argument that the personification on the obverse has Alexander overtones, as some scholars suggest. If that can be established, it will give some idea of Pompeius’ intentions in minting the coin: Pompeius was not only channelling Alexander, but also trying to imply that he had surpassed the Macedonian king’s achievements.

Some thirty-five years ago, Passerini discussed the career of this eminent Flavian senator, inspired, it would appear, by the discovery of an inscription revealing his hitherto unknown legateship of Spain; but the possibilities of this inscription were not fully explored. A re-evaluation of Clemens' career seems desirable.

In accordance with its notoriously rich plot, Phoenician Women explores diverse aspects of fear that affect, and are thematised by, various parties at different stages of the plot.1 Against the background of a virtually ‘irrational’ and inescapable divine necessity (treated as a source of dread in itself), Euripides presents the play’s central crisis as being largely determined by rational and controlled decision-making, within an array of moral disputes that enter the scene. The agents’ decision-making standardly comprises diverging, conflicting, or inconsistent attitudes towards fear and related emotions, such as shame (in both past and present).

The rhetoric of fear thus reflects and further highlights the characters’ conflicting viewpoints, as well as Euripides’ trademark tendency to toy with his audience’s expectations and assumptions about ethical values and what is ‘right’. This article argues that his approach is substantially different from the Aeschylean treatment of the same myth (Seven against Thebes). By offering a concrete and abstract treatment of the situational anxieties over war and familial feud, Euripides’ rhetoric of fear ultimately shifts the focus to the complexities and contradictions of human motivation.

A tension exists within the literary sources for early Rome, between the supposedly static nature of military authority, embodied by the grant of imperium which was allegedly shared both by archaic reges and republican magistrates, and the evidence for change within Rome’s military hierarchy, with the early republican army being commanded by a succession of different magistrates including the archaic praetores, the so-called ‘consular tribunes,’ and the finally the consuls and praetors of the mid-fourth century BC. The differences between the magistracies and the motivations driving the evolution of the system have caused confusion for both ancient and modern writers alike, with the usual debate being focused on the number of officials involved under each system and Rome’s expanding military and bureaucratic needs. The present study will argue that, far more than just varying in number, when viewed against the wider backdrop of Roman society during the period, the sources hint that the archaic praetores and consular tribunes might have exercised slightly different types of military authority – possibly distinguished by the designations imperium and potestas – which were unified under the office of the consulship of 367 BC.1 The changes in Rome’s military hierarchy during the fifth and fourth centuries BC may therefore not only indicate an expansion of Rome’s military command, as is usually argued, but also an evolution of military authority within Rome associated with the movement of power from the comitia curiata to the comitia centuriata.