It is intrinsically plausible that the Odyssey, which freely uses realistic details of many aspects of life on and beside the sea, was informed by real seafaring experience. This paper corroborates that hypothesis. The first part catalogues parallels between details of Odyssean and real-world seafaring. Odyssean type-scenes in particular echo real practice. The second part argues that three larger episodes have real-world parallels—the visit to the Lotos Eaters anticipates incidents of sailors deserting in friendly ports; the escape from Skylla and Charybdis demonstrates a safe course through a turbulent strait, and the encounter with Ino / Leukothea foreshadows the contemporary phenomenon of a sensed presence during a crisis. The pattern of coincidence between the Odyssey and the real world of seafaring constitutes a cumulative argument that suggests that those episodes in particular, and the poem as a whole, was informed by that world—a conclusion with consequences both for our understanding of the poem, and for our knowledge of the early Mediterranean maritime.

In one of his fragments, Empedocles addresses his protégé Pausanias, predicting or promising that he will learn pharmaka, a word that is usually understood to mean herbal ‘drugs' or ‘remedies’ for disease, an interpretation that in turn seems to have been encouraged by a modern understanding that Empedocles was an empirically minded medical doctor. An alternate interpretation is suggested, however, by the recently published Getty Hexameters which use the word pharmaka several times to refer to hexametrical incantations that will protect a group of houses or a city from danger. These hexameters, moreover, are inscribed on a lead tablet of late-classical date that most probably came from the Sicilian city of Selinus, a date and a provenance that put its composition in close proximity to Empedocles himself.

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.

This article analyses Euripides’ mythopoetics in what survives of the first quarter of his fragmentary Hypsipyle: prologue, parodos, and first episode. It examines Euripides’ innovation in joining two myths (the Seven Against Thebes and the story of Hypsipyle and the Argonauts) into one, and the representation of Hypsipyle herself. In her private moments, the thoughts that preoccupy her mind are focused on other-places and other-times, in vivid contrast to the naturalistically presented world of the present where, as a slave, she must interact with men. Euripides uses the language of serving (θɛραπɛύɛιν) and doing a ‘favour’ (χάρις), as well as the word ἐρῆμος (‘lonely,’ ‘deserted’) and homoeophonic language (e.g. Argo and Argos) to indicate that, in helping the Argives, Hypsipyle repeats typologically her hospitality to the Argonauts. There is a circularity in Hypsipyle's story that creates suspense, since by doing a favour for the Argive leader, she is reunited with the sons she bore to Argonauts’ leader, who themselves are sent to find her by their grandfather whom she saved; and by losing the infant in her care (Opheltes, later named Archemorus), she is reunited with her former infants. By the end of Hypsipyle's first conversation with Amphiaraus, Euripides has invented a theme of ‘parallel worlds’ that he will resolve at the play's end.

For a long time, the classical profession of the hetaira, or paid female companion, has eluded definition. The hetaira has often been described as a ‘courtesan’ and her work as a ‘form of prostitution’, yet these appellatives often conflict with depictions of the hetaira by classical authors. Accordingly, in this article I will argue that the hetaira was perceived by the Greeks as an elite entertainer whose service of companionship emphasized flirtation and intimacy with a cultivated woman instead of the sale of sex. In order to demonstrate this understanding of the hetaira, I will cite evidence from a wide range of classical writings, particularly legal orations, and will ultimately propose that, when used to indicate a professional, the classical Greek term hetaira should be translated as ‘entertainer’.

The clades Variana was a major Roman defeat, occurring over three days of fighting in AD 9. Three Roman legions and several units of auxiliaries were destroyed, and their commander, Publius Quinctilius Varus, died at the climax of the fighting. Suetonius said that the army paid the price for its general's temeritas and neglegentia, and many other commentators, both ancient and modern, have condemned Varus as a general ever since. This paper re-evaluates Varus’ competence as a general by re-examining the extensive literary and archaeological evidence for the clades, with reference to comparative literary evidence that shows how Roman generals usually reacted in comparable situations. It will be argued that Varus’ aggressive march towards a rumoured rebellion with a large baggage train, his re-organisation of the baggage train, his change of course westwards, and even his fatal advance into the defile at Kalkriese, were logical decisions in the context of standard Roman military responses to crisis. It is shown that Varus was hamstrung by intelligence and logistical limitations that were not peculiar to him but were systemic to the Roman army at the time. Varus’ generalship is thus contextualised as relatively competent, although uninspired.

This article examines the public image of the emperor Carausius, a Roman army officer who claimed authority over Britain and parts of Gaul between 286 and 293, in opposition to Diocletian and his Tetrarchic colleagues. Carausius’ coinage celebrated his fleet, his naval prowess, and his divine support from Neptune and Oceanus. These designs were created as part of a strategy to refashion Carausius’ humble background as a sailor into a statement of imperial suitability. However, Carausius’ claims were undermined by the orators who delivered speeches in praise of his Tetrarchic rivals, Maximian and Constantius, in the years 289, 291, and 297. Their panegyrics subverted Carausius’ naval experience and claim to control the Ocean, instead portraying him as a pirate, brigand, and threat to the people of Gaul. After the reconquest of Britain, the medallions and monuments of the Tetrarchic regime commemorated their own naval success and control over the Ocean, suppressing the claims of Carausius. The propaganda campaign against Carausius was driven by the fact that he was an emperor of undistinguished origin, who had risen up through the ranks of the army, just like the Tetrarchs themselves. The emperors wished to distance themselves from their former colleague in order to discourage further rebellion from within the officer corps.