Alexander the Great and Propaganda

Alexander the Great and Propaganda explores the use of propaganda –

whether literature, coinage, or iconography – in the court of Alexander
the Great, as well as those of his Successors, demonstrating that it was as
integral to Hellenistic courts as it was to Imperial Rome.
This volume brings together ten essays from leading international scholars
in Alexander studies. There is currently no equivalent collection which has a
specialist focus of themes or issues relating to the use of propaganda in the
courts of Alexander or his Successors.
This book will be an invaluable resource for students and scholars of
Alexander studies, as well as those studying the use of propaganda across the
ancient world, and to the more general reader with an interest in Alexander
the Great and his reign.

John Walsh is Assistant Professor in the School of Languages and Literatures

(Classical Studies), University of Guelph, Canada.

Elizabeth Baynham is Senior Lecturer in the School of Humanities and

Social Science at the University of Newcastle, Australia.
Alexander the Great
and Propaganda

Edited by John Walsh

and Elizabeth Baynham
First published 2021
by Routledge
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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Walsh, John, editor. | Baynham, Elizabeth, 1958– editor.
Title: Alexander the Great and propaganda / edited by John Walsh
and Elizabeth Baynham.
Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2021. |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020045590 (print) | LCCN 2020045591 (ebook) |
ISBN 9781138079106 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367723699
(paperback) | ISBN 9781315114408 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Alexander, the Great, 356 B.C.–323 B.C.—Influence. |
Propaganda, Greek. | Greece—Politics and government—To 146
B.C. | Greece—History—Macedonian Expansion, 359–323 B.C. |
Greece—History—Macedonian Hegemony, 323–281 B.C.
Classification: LCC DF234.3 .A44 2021 (print) | LCC DF234.3
(ebook) | DDC 938/.07092—dc23
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ISBN: 978-1-138-07910-6 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-0-367-72369-9 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-11440-8 (ebk)

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Contents

List of figures vii

List of contributors viii
Acknowledgements ix
List of abbreviations xi

1 “Selling Alexander”: the concept and use of “propaganda”

in the age of Alexander 1
E L I Z A B E TH B AYN H A M

2 Alexander the Great: A life lived as legend 14

E DWA R D M . A N SO N

3 Ptolemaic propaganda in Alexander’s visit to Ammon 33

F R A N C E S P OWN A L L

4 The “pursuit” of kings: imitatio Alexandri in Arrian’s Darius

and Bessos “Chase scenes” 54
TI M OTH Y H OWE

5 The bias of Hieronymus: a source critical analysis

of Diodorus 18.8–18 71
J O H N WA L S H

6 At the court of Antigonus Gonatas, the heir of two dynasties 94

F R A N CA L A N DUCCI

7 Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? Persia and the Macedonians 107

SA B I N E M Ü L L ER
vi Contents

8 The man who would be king: Alexander between Gaugamela

and Persepolis 129
H U G H B OWDE N

9 Desertions and the rise and fall of rulers in Hellenistic

Macedonia 150
J O S E P H RO I SMA N

10 Coinage as propaganda: Alexander and his Successors 162

PAT W H E AT L E Y AN D CH ARL OTTE DUN N

Index 199
Figures

10.1 Silver tetradrachm of Alexander III, struck c. 336–323 bc 166

10.2 Gold stater of Alexander III, Amphipolis mint,
struck c. 330–320 bc 168
10.3 Silver ‘medallion’ of 5 shekels or decadrachm of
Alexander III, local mint in Babylon, struck c. 325–323 bc 171
10.4 Silver tetradrachm of Ptolemy I Soter, as satrap,
Alexandria mint, struck c. 311/310–305 bc 174
10.5 Gold stater of Ptolemy I Soter, Cyrene mint,
struck c. 299–294 bc 175
10.6 Silver tetradrachm of Lysimachus, Lysimachia mint,
struck 297/296–282/281 bc 177
10.7 Silver tetradrachm of Seleucus I Nicator, Sardes mint,
struck c. 282–281 bc 179
10.8 Silver tetradrachm of Demetrius I Poliorcetes,
Amphipolis mint, struck c. 289–288 bc 181
Contributors

Edward M. Anson is Professor of History at the University of Arkansas at

Little Rock, United States of America.
Elizabeth Baynham is Senior Lecturer in the School of Humanities and
Social Science at the University of Newcastle, Australia.
Hugh Bowden is Professor of Ancient History at King’s College London,
United Kingdom.
Charlotte Dunn is Lecturer in Classics at the University of Tasmania,
Australia.
Timothy Howe is Professor of History and Ancient Studies at St Olaf Col-
lege, United States of America.
Franca Landucci is Professor of Ancient History in the Department of His-
torical Sciences, Catholic University of the Sacred Heart, Italy.
Sabine Müller is Professor Dr in the Seminar für Alte Geschichte, Philipps
Universität, Marburg, Germany.
Frances Pownall is Professor in History and Classics at the University of
Alberta, Canada.
Joseph Roisman is Adjunct Professorial Lecturer in History at the American
University, Washington DC, United States of America.
John Walsh is Assistant Professor, in the School of Languages and Litera-
tures (Classical Studies), University of Guelph, Canada.
Pat Wheatley is Associate Professor in Classics at the University of Otago,
New Zealand.
Acknowledgements

This book has been a long time in production – perhaps far too long. As
noted in Chapter 1, it originated from a conference held by the Australasian
Society for Classical Studies (ASCS) in 2013, as well as a special conference
on Alexander the Great to celebrate a major exhibition of the Alexander
collection from the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg. The Alexander
conference attracted leading scholars from all over the world; it was also
an informal celebration of my late partner Brian Bosworth’s seventieth
birthday – on what would turn out to be his last chance to personally greet
his friends and colleagues from all over the world.
I have many people to acknowledge: first and foremost, Associate Pro-
fessor Ken Sheedy and Dr Blanche Menadier of Macquarie University for
their wonderful organisation of a highly successful conference, especially
in securing funding for international visitors, as well as Dr John Valance,
former principal of Sydney Grammar School, who generously offered the
world-class facilities of the School as a venue. I would also like to thank Pro-
fessor Emeritus Hugh Craig and the University of Newcastle for additional
funding towards the Alexander conference and keynote speaker Professor
Robin Lane Fox, who offered initiative and insight with inimitable panache.
The contributors to this volume – whom I like to think of playfully as
members of a global ‘Alexander family’ (along with many others) – have not
only offered their expertise in wonderfully articulate and engaging chapters
but also been very patient and supportive of the journey this volume has
undertaken; so Ed, Tim, Frances, Franca, Hugh, Sabine, Yossi, John, Pat,
and Charlotte – I am very grateful to you all for your support and patience.
I am grateful to Michael Greenwood, Lizzi Risch, Balaji Karuppanan and
the team at Taylor and Francis for their commitment to the project, profes-
sionalism and help in its production. Finally, to my co-editor John Walsh –
who has been a tower of strength and who needs to be thanked twice – and
his assistants Chelsea Hartlen, Hannah Hodgson, and Shane Hubbard, I
could not have done this book without you.
Liz Baynham
Newcastle, Australia
2020
x Acknowledgements

I echo the sentiments of gratitude to those who contributed their time and
work to this volume expressed so eloquently by my co-editor. Liz is right –
except where she exaggerates my own role – in acknowledging that this
volume is the product of the patient efforts and dedication of many tal-
ented hands. To say it was an honour for me to be involved would be an
understatement. The authors included herein are my scholarly heroes, but
amongst even this group, Brian Bosworth was a degree apart. His was a gen-
erational intellect, and his work demonstrated the very keenest of insights.
Seemingly intractable problems gave way to his meticulous analysis, and
his vast, nearly limitless, imagination was apropos for a scholar of the great
Alexander himself. He exceeded, however, the frequent subject of his study
in humility and grace; for he was, truly, a gentleman scholar. Having beneft-
ted from his generosity and guidance, I will remain forever indebted to his
memory. In the same way, I want to thank Liz for her courage and resilience.
Many mourned Brian: as colleagues, friends, admirers, and students, we
marked the passing of a great scholar. She mourned the passing of a man.
Her commitment to the completion of this work inspired me throughout,
and so I hope it will stand as a work of devotion and the truest affection – an
enduring scholar’s monument of words and ideas.
John Walsh
Guelph, Ontario, Canada
2020
Abbreviations

The most frequently used abbreviations of important works are listed here.
In other cases, references to ancient sources and general reference works
follow the standard conventions of the Oxford Classical Dictionary (rev.
4th edn, 2012); citations of journal titles conform to L’Année Philologique.

General and reference works

Astronomical Diaries, vol. 1 Sachs and H. Hunger, Astronomical Diaries
and Related Texts from Babylon, Volume 1:
Diaries from 652 B.C. to 262 B.C. (Vienna
1988)
Berve, Alexanderreich H. Berve, Das Alexanderreich auf
Prosopographischer Grundlage, vols 1–2
(Munich 1926)
BNJ I. Worthington (ed.), Brill’s New Jacoby
(2006–)
CGC Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes
du Musée du Caire (Cairo. 1901–)
DNa (Inscription) a (of) D(arius I) (from)
N(aqsh-I Rustam)
DNb (Inscription) b (of) D(arius I) (from)
N(aqsh-I Rustam)
DPe (Inscription) e (of) D(arius I) (from)
P(ersepolis)
DSf (Inscription) f (of) D(arius I) (from) S(usa)
DSm (Inscription) m (of) D(arius I) (from) S(usa)
DNP Der Neue Pauly
FGrH F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen
Historiker (Berlin and Leiden 1923–)
Heidelberg Epit. Epitome Heidelbergensis historiae
Diadochorum
Hell. Oxy. Hellenica Oxyrhynchia
xii Abbreviations

IG/IG2 Inscriptiones Graecae (1st edn Berlin 1873–;

2nd edn Berlin 1913–)
LDM Liber de Morte Alexandri Magni
Testamentumque
POxy. Oxyrhynchus Papyri (1898–)
Suda Greek Lexicon formerly known as Suidas

Ancient sources
Ael. VH Aelianus Varia Historia Aelian
Aeschin. Aeschines
Apollod. Bibl. Apollodorus Mythographus Bibliotheca
App. Syr. Appian Συριακή
Arist. Rh. Aristotle Rhetorica
Arr. Anab. Arrian Anabasis
Arr. Ind. Arrian Indica
Arr. Succ. Arrian Successors
Athen. Athenaeus
Cic. Brut. Cicero Brutus (or De Claris Oratoribus)
Cic. Off. Cicero Off.
Cic. Fam. Cicero Epistulae ad familiares
Curt. Q. Curtius Rufus
Dem. Demosthenes
Din. Dinarchus
Dio./Dio. Cass. Dio Cassius
Diod./Diod. Sic. Diodorus Siculus
Diog. Laert. Diogenes Laertius
Dion. Halic. Antiq. Rom. Dionysius Halicarnassensis Antiquitates
Romanae
Dion. Halic. Comp. Dionysius Halicarnassensis De
compositione verborum
Eur. Heracl. Euripides Heraclidae
Hdt. Herodotus
Hom. Il. Homer Iliad
Hom. Od. Homer Odyssey
Hor. Ars P. Horace Ars poetica
Hyp. Hyperides
Isoc. It. Alex. Isocrates Itinerarium Alexandri
Just. Epit. Justinus, Epitome (of Trogus)
Lib. Or. Libanius Orationes
Lucian Cal. Calumniae non temere credendum
Lucian Macr. Lucian Macrobii
Nep. Ages. Cornelius Nepos Agesilaus
Nep. Eum. Cornelius Nepos Eumenes
 Abbreviations xiii

Nep. Phocion Cornelius Nepos Phocion

Oros. Orosius
Ov. Her. Ovid Heroides
Paus. Pausanias
Pindar Pyth. Pindar Pythian Odes
Pl. Leg. Plato Leges
Plin. HN Plato Naturalis historia
Plut. Alex. Plutarch Alexander
Plut. Eum. Plutarch Eumenes
Plut. Ages. Plutarch Agesilaus
Plut. Demetr. Plutarch Demetrius
Plut. Dem. Plutarch Demosthenes
Plut. Dion Plutarch Dion
Plut. Lys. Plutarch Lysander
Plut. Mor. Plutarch Moralia
Plut. Phoc. Plutarch Phocion
Plut. Pytth. Plutarch Pyrrhus
Plut. Themist. Plutarch Themistocles
Polyaen. Polyaenus
Polyb. Polybius
Porph. Porphyry
Ps. Callisth. Pseudo-Callisthenes
Soph. Trach. Sophocles Trachiniae
Stob. Stobaeus
Str./Strab. Strabo
Suet. Aug. Suetonius Divus Augustus
Trogus Prol. Pompeius Trogus, Prolegomena
Val. Max. Valerius Maximus
Xen. Ages. Xenophon Agesilaus
Xen. An. Xenophon Anabasis
Xen. Cyr. Xenophon Cyropaedia
Xen. Hell. Xenophon Hellenica
Chapter 1

“Selling Alexander”
The concept and use of “propaganda”
in the age of Alexander
Elizabeth Baynham

In a cartoon strip of Hägar the Horrible (a Viking chieftain and good family
man, created by the late Dik Browne), a concerned courtier tells his king:
“Sire! Hägar is telling the Press lies about you! When should I send the
guards to arrest him?” To which the king replies: “When he starts telling
the truth!”1
Of course, “truth” – as Pontius Pilate glibly asked Jesus (John 18.38) and
“lies” are both difficult to define – elusive, changeable, and fluid concepts.
However, inherent in Hägar the Horrible’s gentle humour is the truism that
whoever rules will also control the dissemination of carefully selected, per-
suasive information or messages to a mass audience – what the “propaga-
tor” may indeed call “truth”, but what others may term “propaganda”.
From an ancient perspective, that definition of propaganda – if I may give
some examples of monuments and inscriptions which have been described
as such – could include Darius’ proclamation of himself as the rightful king
and recipient of Ahura Mazda’s special favour on the Behistun Inscription,
the Athenians’ promotion of their special connection with Athena on the
Parthenon, and Augustus’ claim to have transferred the Res Publica from his
potestas (power) to the Senate and the People of Rome in the Res Gestae.2
Within our own time, we may think of Leni Riefenstahl’s spectacular (and
chilling) films Triumph des Willens and Olympia, both of which promoted
not only youth, athleticism, physical fitness, ritual, and military discipline
but also the Third Reich.3
However, propaganda does not have to be exclusively associated with a
totalitarian regime, nor government of any kind, nor with a time of crisis
like a war. Most forms of advertising – from electioneering campaigns of
political parties, to selling products or services of any kind – share common
features with propaganda. They are both directed at the many, and they both
convey selected information. In the twenty-first century, a range of powerful
multimedia can disseminate such messages: radio, newspapers, cinema, and
television, along with the Internet, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat,
as well as mobile phone apps. In the ancient world, the available ways of
spreading ideas included iconography, inscriptions, architecture, coinage,
2 Elizabeth Baynham

and literature and oral communication; but there are also questions con-
cerning not only the distribution of information but also its regulation and
audience response.
The term “propaganda” derives from Catholic Church terminology from
the early medieval period but did not become a popular usage until the
twentieth century. The earliest sense of the word was neutral, meaning to
promote or spread an idea or information; however, “propaganda” gradu-
ally assumed a more pejorative and “deceitful” sense, as well as a distinct
association with a particular ideology, or perspective.4 Today, both the
theory and phenomenon of propaganda are widely investigated given its
relevance to the disciplines of Sociology, Political Science, Media and Com-
munication, History, and Law, to name a few. Not only is the modern bib-
liography substantial, but there are also entire specialist academic research
centres devoted to its study.5
As one scholar has recently noted, “propaganda” was used in every soci-
ety since human civilization began by those who governed the community.6
However, given the limited technology of the ancient world, many academ-
ics have expressed doubt as to whether “propaganda” could exist at all, at
least by any usual understanding of the term.7
It is true that the ancient Greeks and Romans did not use the word “pro-
paganda” themselves any more than a Classical Athenian would have spoken
of a “politician” or “policy”. The Greek word rhetor – which derives from
rhesis (a speech) – was the usual term in Classical Athens for an orator or a
politician who regularly spoke in the courts or the Assembly. Rhetor carries
the inherent sense of being able to “persuade” an audience by using the tools
of compelling speech – such as argument, sentiment, theatricality, and prag-
matism.8 Yet despite the scepticism of some scholars, “propaganda” – along
with “politician”, “imperialism”, and many other terms that have a modern
association – is freely and widely applied in modern scholarship.
So, how appropriate is usage of the term “propaganda” for the ancient
world? This seems largely to depend on individual perspectives; for many
modern scholars it is both recognizable and ubiquitous. Yet, in its original
context, how “deliberate” or “conscious” was its application? We may also
ask what the role of the audience was in ancient societies – who “receives”
propaganda, and how do they respond? This is harder to determine; for a
start, we are not always sure who that audience was.
For example, the great rock inscription of Darius I has been called one of
the “earliest examples of propaganda”.9 Darius was not the first king from
Iran to proclaim his triumph carved into living rock; there was the earlier
precedent of the Lullubian reliefs, among other inscriptions.10 But the Behis-
tun relief commemorated one of the most spectacular (and suspect) coups
d’état in history – a story which was also recounted by the so-called “Father
of History”, Herodotus (3.68–87).11
 “Selling Alexander” 3

In the inscription, Darius uses authoritative and dignified language. He

presents himself as a liberator of his people, a freedom fighter, who, with
the favour of the Achaemenids’ supreme God, Ahura Mazda, unmasks and
destroys an impostor (or impostors) who had seized the throne. Yet the text
of the inscription was carved in three languages on a limestone cliff face
over 100 metres above the valley floor, so that not only was the writing
quite unreadable by any traveller but even the detail of the tableau’s massive
sculptures would be hard to see. Given the inaccessible setting, why would
Darius have undertaken such expense and effort? One suggestion is that the
inscription and its sculptures were the Great King’s proclamation to Ahura
Mazda and the elements – from “one Master of Truth” as Darius would
claim for himself (as Briant observed), to the God of Truth and Light.12
However, Darius did not forget his human audience. He had the inscrip-
tion’s content circulated in multiple languages throughout the Persian
Empire, as he notes himself in the text; we also have surviving fragments of
the text on a papyrus from Elephantine, Egypt in Aramaic.13 No doubt, the
extent of audience reception would depend on the levels of literacy through-
out the satrapies, but the principle was very clear. Darius was publicly con-
veying to his subjects the achievements, aspirations, and expectations of
their Great King – and in the language of a particular province so as to
maximize its dissemination.
Darius also included two inscriptions on his tomb at Naqsh-e Rostam; one
was a statement of his achievements; the other was a projection of an ideal
king and how he fitted the template (on Darius’ tomb, see Chapter 7).14
Likewise, the Parthenon (erected 448–c. 435 bc) and its lavish iconogra-
phy were a strident celebration of the goddess Athena and her patronage of
the Athenian demos.15 Built from fine Pentelic marble, the temple was the
largest and most extravagant construction of its day, and the exhibitionist
statement of a rich and confident polis. As Pausanias noted (1.5), the iconog-
raphy of the pediments was dedicated to Athena. The sculptures themselves
are damaged and incomplete, but they depicted two stories central to Athe-
na’s mythology: her birth, adult and fully armed from the head of her father,
Zeus, and her contest with Poseidon over mastery of Attica. Although the
meaning of the Parthenon frieze’s iconography is uncertain and interpreta-
tions of the sculptures vary considerably, the most common view is that the
frieze depicts the preparations for the Great Panathenaic festival in which
a new robe was presented to the goddess every four years. Significantly, the
Parthenon frieze appears to show not only the Olympian divinities but also
human beings, presumably the Athenians themselves, thereby proclaiming
their connection with the goddess – and by implication, her favour.16
The emperor Augustus offers another parallel. As we noted earlier, he
disseminated a written text in Latin and Greek of his achievements, the Res
Gestae, not long before his death in ad 14 (according to the text [RG 35] he
4 Elizabeth Baynham

was 75 at the time of writing).17 Like Darius I and the Athenians, Augustus
also claims special connection with a divinity – in his case, via his ancestry –
and he emphasizes his pietas in terms of the numbers of temples to the gods
that he has either restored or built (RG 19–21). Elsewhere, Augustus as well
as Tiberius and his immediate and later Imperial successors showed them-
selves as masters of visual propaganda, not only in terms of public architec-
ture and statuary but also on cameos18 and in coinage.19 For example, the
famous extant marble cuirass statue of Augustus from Prima Porta was a
copy of an earlier bronze which was perhaps originally commissioned by the
Senate or Tiberius. The statue celebrates one of the emperor’s most signifi-
cant diplomatic achievements: the return, in 20 bc, of the Roman standards
lost by Crassus at the disaster of Carrhae in 53 bc. The dramatic scene holds
pride of place in the centre of the statue’s breastplate, where a Parthian king
hands over the eagle to a Roman officer – variously interpreted as Romu-
lus, Mars Ultor, or Tiberius.20 So, while details of interpretation of all these
respective monuments may vary, all three examples have one aspect in com-
mon; Darius I, the Athenian demos, and Augustus were all proclaiming their
power and their worthiness to rule.
This collection of essays has its origins in a conference which was held in
Sydney in January 2013 under the aegis of the annual Australasian Society
for Classical Studies (ASCS) and in conjunction with the Australian Muse-
um’s Exhibition of Alexander the Great antiquities and paraphernalia once
owned by Catherine the Great, and now housed in the State Hermitage
Museum in St Petersburg.21 Informally, the Alexander conference delegates
also celebrated the seventieth birthday of the late Brian Bosworth in what
would turn out to be his last meeting with local and international colleagues.
The investigation of “propaganda” also featured quite prominently in
Bosworth’s scholarship throughout his career, beginning with one of his
most influential articles (CQ, 1971) – which addressed the tortuous and
biased strands of tradition on the death of Alexander the Great – and ending
with a chapter in Private and Public Lies (2010), an edited collection that
focuses on exploring boundaries between state powers and individual rights
in the Graeco–Roman world.22
Alexander the Great offers a particularly robust example for the study of
propaganda. The literary, iconographical, and numismatic tradition is rich,
albeit derivative (at least in the case of the former), and problematic. It is
clear from our Graeco–Roman sources23 that Alexander displayed prefer-
ences for the work of certain painters, gem carvers, and sculptors; some
even go so far as to suggest a formal edict by the king (Hor. Epist. 2.1,
232–44; cf. Cic. Epist ad fam. 5.12.7; Apuleius, Florida 7) to the effect that
his portrait was only to be painted by Apelles, and cast in bronze by the
sculptor Lysippus.24 At the very least, this tradition suggests that Alexander
was conscious of his visual image, its duration, and the capacity of certain
artists to express his wishes. However, both the authenticity of this “edict”
 “Selling Alexander” 5

and how far Alexander was able to enforce it are unknown; also what is
less clear is what he wanted the message to be – although Apuleius claims
that Alexander desired a homogeneous promotion of “martial energy, kingly
disposition, youthful freshness, and nobility of forehead”.
There are some other clues. For example, Apelles’ painting of Alexander
wielding the thunderbolt is mentioned by several sources,25 but as Apelles’
work has not survived, it would be difficult to say whether the imagery had
been chosen by Alexander himself, or whether it was a literary fabrication in
an earlier account which in turn passed into the secondary tradition.
However, the imagery of the king wielding the thunderbolt along with the
legend Aniketos (“Unconquered”) appears on the so-called Porus medal-
lions which are thought to have been issued around 324 bc and which (on
the reverse) reference Alexander’s battle against Porus on the Hydaspes in
326 bc.26 Although there is a scholarly dispute over the origin of the coins,
in some ways it is immaterial as to whether these were minted by Alexander
himself or by his satraps or even minted by Seleucus.27 The propaganda is
striking; either Alexander himself or someone else with his approval or one
of his Successors was proclaiming not only the king’s invincibility but also
his association with his divine “father” Zeus; effectively, he was wielding
Zeus’ power on Earth. This motif also supports the idea of Alexander and
a circle of skilled court flatterers actively cultivating the creation of belief in
the king’s divinity28 as well as Alexander creating and living his own legend
(on which, see Chapter 2).
Alexander’s entourage also included highly specialized experts – scientists,
engineers, and technicians, along with philosophers and intellectuals. In par-
ticular, the latter were selected staff. Although the evidence on their duties
is sparse, they probably included instructing the paides basilikoi – or elite
group of “royal youths” (often called “pages”) in modern literature – as
certainly Callisthenes appears to have done – as well as counselling the king
or acting as a spokesman for him at banquets – like Anaxarchus in the ill-
fated banquet (or series of banquets) in 327 bc in which Alexander tried to
persuade his aristocratic Macedonian hetairoi – his Companions and officers –
to offer him the Persian protocol of respect – proskynesis.29
Callisthenes is described by our ancient sources as a philosopher and
historian who had been raised in Aristotle’s house and was related to him
by blood.30 We do not know the circumstances of how Callisthenes was
invited to join the expedition of Alexander. No doubt, the family connec-
tion with Aristotle (Plut. Alex. 55. 5; cf. 52.3), who was the former tutor of
Alexander, helped, but Callisthenes was a prolific writer in his own right,
and the author of several histories of Greece. We also do not know how
Callisthenes’ Deeds of Alexander was published – whether instalments were
sent back to Greece as Alexander’s expedition progressed – in which case
we have no information about who was receiving the work or how – or to
whom – it was disseminated. As Callisthenes died (or was executed) as a
6 Elizabeth Baynham

result of the so-called “Pages’ Conspiracy” in 327, his history of Alexan-

der was unfinished, but whatever remained of it was preserved – at least
enough to be quoted by writers including Polybius, Strabo, and Plutarch in
subsequent centuries. Although there is considerable evidence that Callis-
thenes may have been killed because of his association with Hermolaus and
the group of paides basilikoi – or “royal youths” – who had conspired to
assassinate Alexander31 as well as for his opposition to Alexander’s unsuc-
cessful attempt to introduce proskynesis, his history had already promoted
a message that was not inconsistent with the Porus medallions: namely, the
king’s divine paternity and his association with Zeus. According to Callis-
thenes’ history (Plut. Alex. 33 = FGrH 124. F. 36), prior to the battle against
Darius at Gaugamela, Alexander prayed to Zeus as his son in front of his
soldiers for his “father” to defend and strengthen them; likewise, Strabo
(17.1.43 = FGrH 124 F. 14a) cites Callisthenes as an authority for the oracle
of Zeus Ammon confirming Alexander’s descent from the god.
Three themes pervade the current investigation: first, the dominance of
Alexander’s general, Ptolemy Soter, the later Pharaoh of Egypt, and one of
the most important historians of the eyewitness tradition, in both the histo-
riographical (see especially Chapters 3–5) and iconographical media (Chap-
ter 10).
The second theme is the complexity and sophistication of ancient authors’
manipulating propaganda within Alexander historiography (see Chapters
3–8) while the third theme examines the role of the audience for whom the
propaganda is intended (Chapters 2, 7–10). The composition of the audi-
ence would also depend on the time frame of the source – and given that all
of the contemporary and near-contemporary historiographical tradition is
lost, the presentation of the king is inevitably skewed by cultural biases of
the Graeco–Roman Imperial period.
Anson (Chapter 2), as well as Wheatley and Dunn (Chapter 10) argue
that Alexander deliberately created his own image through literature, art,
and coinage; however, Howe (Chapter 4) and Pownall (Chapter 3) – as we
shall see – make strong cases for Ptolemy’s conscious manipulation of the
dissemination of information.
The second chapter of this collection by Edward Anson, “Alexander the
Great: A Life Lived as Legend”, sets the scene. He argues that Alexander, far
from being merely a contrived construction of later and derivative Roman
authors, effectively set his own bar, largely creating his own image and the
propaganda to publicize it.
Alexander’s own deeds were outstanding – for the first time in Western
culture, a king and his army actually traversed continents and conquered
numerous people, bending thousands of others to his will. He not only emu-
lated but also surpassed Heracles, the great, universal hero for Greeks and
Macedonians. It was not surprising that he sought immortality and either he
 “Selling Alexander” 7

believed he descended from divinity or that he was divine. Alexander did not
need anyone else to “sell him” – so to speak – he sold himself.
Conversely, Ptolemy Soter commands Alexander historiography and coin-
age like a colossus.32 But, as Ptolemy’s original history is lost, there is another
layer of reception between Ptolemy’s text and the modern audience – namely,
the derivative Alexander historiographical tradition, particularly Arrian.
Timothy Howe’s perceptive chapter shows how Arrian cleverly reinforces
Ptolemy’s own propaganda and self-promotion as the worthy successor to
Alexander in the destruction of the Achaemenid pretender, Bessus. In the
first part of his chapter, Howe also demonstrates the theory and “mechan-
ics” of historical narrative, especially the thorny questions of historicity and
fictionality. Howe argues that the narrative techniques of ancient histori-
ography inevitably tended towards the propagandistic as ancient writers
attempted to report historical events experientially by fictionalizing tools
like speech and “focalization” (the representation of perceptions, expec-
tations, intentions, and motives) in order to portray historical material in
a way that would fit the author’s particular agenda and perspective. This
does not mean that ancient historians fabricated their accounts but were
rather aiming at how their audience would experience the presentation of
the information they had selected.
As noted earlier, Alexander promoted his divine filiation with Zeus
through coinage and painting. An important aspect of this is the episode of
the king’s visit to the oracle of Zeus Ammon at Siwah, in 331 bc in which
the Egyptian god Ammon (Zeus’ equivalent to the Greeks) supposedly rec-
ognized Alexander as his son. As Frances Pownall observes in her chap-
ter, this was not only one of the most significant components of the king’s
propaganda, but it was also critical for Ptolemy I as well, who needed to
legitimize his own dynastic rule. In particular, Pownall revisits two of Ptol-
emy’s variants in his own version of the story in Arrian’s text – namely that
Alexander’s expedition was guided by two hissing snakes (Anab. 3. 3. 5)
and Alexander’s return. According to Ptolemy (Anab. 3. 4. 5), the king went
back to Egypt via a longer route through the desert to Memphis, instead
of along the Mediterranean coast. As Pownall demonstrates, this ancient
pharaonic city was key to validating Ptolemy’s regime even more than build-
ing the ostentatious all-weather harbour of Alexandria.
However, Ptolemy was not the only historian of Alexander’s era who seems
to have manipulated historical tradition in his favour. Like Ptolemy’s own
history, the work of Hieronymus of Cardia is not extant. But, Hieronymus’
work appears to have been the main source for Diodorus Books 18–20 of
his universal history – and indeed the basis for much of the source tradition
on the Diadochoi. Hieronymus was hardly an unbiased historian, and the
idea that he promoted Antigonids – who were his patrons – is well known.
Nevertheless, John Walsh, in a penetrating examination of Hieronymus’
8 Elizabeth Baynham

account of the battle of Lamia, shows how Hieronymus, over the course of
his long life (one of the few centenarians whom we hear of from the ancient
world),33 also consistently maintained his animosity towards Antipater him-
self and not just Cassander and his murderous offspring. Walsh argues that
Hieronymus distorted the history of the engagement in order to discredit
Alexander’s regent. However, this raises a paradox, as Antigonus Gonatus
(319–239 bc) was also a grandson of Antipater through his mother, Phila.
This family connection is brought out in Chapter 6. The potential for
dynasties to create and promote a particular kind of image is thoughtfully
highlighted by Franca Landucci. She also throws the spotlight on the Anti-
gonid dynasty, revisiting the deliberate cultivation of Antigonus Gonatas,
the heir to two great families (the Antigonids and the Antipatrids), as a
“philosopher king” by poets, philosophers, and intellectuals. This had been
William Tarn’s focus in his classic study on Gonatas; Landucci shows that
the king’s promotion of the ideology of himself as an enlightened ruler was
to validate the utmost legitimacy from the Macedonian and Greek perspec-
tive. The irony was the Chremonidean War, which starkly presented a very
different reality of the monarchy.
So far, the commentary on Chapters 1–6 has identified various historio-
graphical and historical aspects of propaganda in the era of Alexander and
the Successors. However, we also need to ask why was there any need “to
sell” anything or “persuade” anyone at all?
In Chapter 7, Sabine Müller, in her fascinating discussion, raises another
facet of Alexander – the king as a tourist. Although Alexander’s sacking of
Persepolis and notorious arson of the royal palace were to resonate through
history, he very likely visited the tombs of the Achaemenid kings at Naqsh-e
Rostam, about 12 kilometres from the royal palace. We have no direct evi-
dence that he went there, but as Müller points out, the place was neither
inaccessible nor the trip inconvenient. Alexander also showed considerable
respect for the founder of the Achaemenid empire, Cyrus the Great, and
his reverence was probably not solely motivated by a need to reconcile his
Persian subjects. The king would have known Xenophon and his treatise on
Cyrus as a model leader. Moreover, someone in Alexander’s entourage did
see the tombs or at the very least was interested enough to quote a transla-
tion of one of the inscriptions from the burial place of Darius I. That man
was Onesicritus, one of the eyewitness historians of the expedition.
Müller reminds us that the Argead dynasty and the Persian aristocracy –
far from being two alien cultures – historically had enjoyed far closer
relations than the Panhellenic propaganda disseminated not only by pro-
Macedonian Greeks back home, but also by Alexander’s staff (including
Callisthenes himself) would allow.
The Argead affinity with the Achaemenid court is explored further by
Hugh Bowman in Chapter 8. In particular, Bowman examines Alexander’s
presentation of himself after the battle of Gaugamela, especially in relation
 “Selling Alexander” 9

to two important cities in the Achaemenid Empire: Susa and Babylon. As

Bowman points out, both these capitals were more important for the king
than Persepolis; it is also likely that he participated in enthroning rituals and
adopted Achaemenid protocols when he took the cities. Bowman suggests that
Alexander’s officers may not have been averse to the creature comforts of
empire; after all, there is no evidence that Parmenio rejected Alexander’s gift
of the house which had formerly belonged to Bagoas, Darius’ vizier.
No doubt, our extant Alexander historiography presents Macedonians
harbouring a hostility towards the Persians, which is coloured with pro-
jected Roman prejudices. But, we also cannot deny the undercurrent of anti-
Persian feeling that was evident among the king’s Western followers. This
tension was to surface many times, expressed not only by high-ranking offi-
cers like Cleitus or aristocratic young men like Hermolaus but also by the
men of the phalanx.
In Chapter 9, Joseph Roisman addresses the issue of what happens when
propaganda fails. He examines the phenomenon of desertion, and asks the
question why some Hellenistic rulers lost the support of their soldiers – was
it because of a lack of material benefits or promises that failed to deliver – or
violation of an “unwritten” agreement? Roisman demonstrates that some-
times Macedonians could switch sides simply because they found the alter-
native more frightening or simply more appealing. They may have appeared
to have accepted the new ruler’s propaganda for a while but would change
sides in the right circumstances – as happened when Demetrius Poliorce-
tes’ troops deserted him for Pyrrhus. In this case, Pyrrhus’ reputation as a
just and fair ruler, in contrast with increasing public “poor” perceptions of
Demetrius, did much to sway the loyalty of his own troops against him.
Chapter 10, the concluding study of this volume, by Charlotte Dunn and
Pat Wheatley, returns to the important medium of iconography – in this
case numismatics. Coinage is a critical visual source because it is immediate,
unlike most Alexander iconography which has survived only through later
copies. Coinage also – potentially at least – reaches the widest audience, and
its recipients do not have to be literate in order to receive its message.
Dunn and Wheatley consider how and why Philip II, Alexander the
Great, and the Successors used coinage to promote positive propaganda
about themselves. While this question has been asked by others, Dunn and
Wheatley bring subtle perspectives and fresh insights to what Hugh Bow-
man elsewhere rightly terms “well-trodden ground”. For example, it was
not just the choice of images that governed how rulers could exploit coin-
age for self-aggrandizement. Alexander changed the weight of his coins and
increased their value, and, as Dunn and Wheatley note, while this may not
be “propaganda” per se, it was certainly manipulation. Thus, they demon-
strate, as a result of Alexander’s successful campaigns, his own coinage was
soon able to surpass the previously dominant currency in the Greek world,
the ubiquitous Athenian silver owls.
10 Elizabeth Baynham

In conclusion, all nine essays explore different facets of the themes out-
lined in this chapter, bringing fresh insights to the ever-complex era of
Alexander.

Notes
1 Hägar by Browne, Daily Telegraph. Com. Au, January 7, 2019.
2 RG 34; see P. A. Brunt and J. M. Moore, Res Gestae Divi Augusti (Oxford,
1967); also A. E. Cooley, Res Gestae Divi Augusti: Text, Translation and Com-
mentary (Cambridge, 2009).
3 There is considerable bibliography on Leni Riefenstahl, one of the most con-
troversial filmmakers of the twentieth century, and the question of whether
Olympia, a documentary which celebrated the 1936 Berlin Olympic Games, in
particular was Nazi propaganda. In general, see David Hinton, The Films of Leni
Riefenstahl (Lanham, MD, 2000) and Cooper C. Graham, Leni Riefenstahl and
Olympia (Lanham, MD and London, 1986).
4 See Viorel Tutui, “Some Reflections Concerning the Problem of Defining Propa-
ganda”. Argumentum: Journal of the Seminar of Discursive Logic, Argumenta-
tion Theory and Rhetoric 15.2 (2017), 110–25, especially 112–13. Cf. Jacques
Ellul, Propaganda: The Formation of Men’s Attitudes (New York, 1973).
5 Historically, we may note the famous IPA or the Institute For Propaganda
Analysis, a multi-disciplinary centre based in New York which operated in
the 1930s and early 1940s and was aimed at encouraging public awareness of
“tainted propaganda”; see Michael J. Sproule, Propaganda and Democracy: The
American Experience of Media and Mass Persuasion (Cambridge, 1997). For
an example of a current academic focus group, see the Centre For the History
of War, Media and Society, University of Kent, UK: https://research.kent.ac.uk/
war-media-and-society/
6 See Tutui (see n.4), 112.
7 Scholarly debate on the use of the term “propaganda” in relation to the ancient
world is recently summarized with bibliography by Corey Ellithorpe, Circulat-
ing Imperial Ideology: Coins as Propaganda in the Roman World (Dissertation;
University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, 2017), xxvi with n.6.
8 For a general discussion on the meaning of rhetor and the role of rhetores, see
David Stockton, The Classical Athenian Democracy (Oxford, 1990), p. 118 with
n.1; for other terms for political activists, see R. K. Sinclair, Democracy and Par-
ticipation in Athens (Cambridge, 1988), 136–37 with n.4.
9 See D. Brendan Nagle and Stanley M. Burstein, The Ancient World: Readings in
Social and Cultural History (Upper Saddle River, NJ, 2009), 133.
10 Anubani, a king of Lullubum in the Zagros, had an inscription carved in Akka-
dian on a rock at Sar-i Pul-i Zohab (ancient Padir) in about 2300 bc; cf. I. M.
Diakoneff in I. Gershevitch (ed.) The Cambridge History of Iran, Vol. II (Cam-
bridge, 1985), 38–39; on the similarity in content of Anubani’s inscription to
Darius’ Behistun monument, see D. T. Potts, The Archaeology of Elam: Forma-
tion and Transformation of an Ancient Iranian State (Cambridge, 1999), 318.
11 On the “suspicious” aspects of the accounts of Darius’ accession, see J. M. Bal-
cer, Herodotus and Bisitun: Problems in Ancient Persian Historiography (Stutt-
gart, 1987), E. J. Bickerman and H. Tadmor, “Darius I, Pseudo-Smerdis and the
Magi”. Athenaeum 56 (1978), 239–61; M. A. Dandamaev, A Political History of
the Achaemenid Empire (Leiden, 1989), 83–135; see also Pierre Briant’s insight-
ful analysis, From Cyrus to Alexander (Winona Lake, IN, 2002), 107–38.
 “Selling Alexander” 11

12 See Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, 126–27.

13 See A. L. Oppenheim in CAH Iran, Vol. II, 543, n.4; cf. 559.
14 On Darius’ inscriptions, see From Cyrus to Alexander, 172–83.
15 As Mary Everly remarked in her review of Jenifer Neils (BMCR [2002] 06.14),
the Parthenon has become a “scholarly industry”; however, on the monument
and its decoration in general, see John Boardman, The Parthenon and Its Sculp-
tures (Austin, TX, 1985).
16 On the Parthenon frieze, see J. Neils, The Parthenon Frieze (Cambridge, 2001);
more controversial are the interpretations of Joan Breton Connelly; see “Par-
thenos and Parthenoi: A Mythological Interpretation of the Parthenon Frieze”.
American Journal of Archaeology 100 (1996), 53–80; more recently, The Parthe-
non Enigma (New York, 2014).
17 See n.2.
18 See Julia Claire Fischer, The Iconography of Large Imperial Cameos (Ohio, 2014).
19 On propaganda in Roman imperial coinage, see recently C. Ellithorpe, Circulat-
ing Imperial Ideology, with Ellithorpe, xxvi, n.7.
20 On the Prima Porta cuirass statue, see Paul Zanker and Alan Shapiro (trans.),
The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus (Ann Arbor, 1990), 188–92; Erika
Simon, Der Augustus Von Prima Porta (Dorn, 1959); “Altes und Neues Zur
Statue des Augustus von Primaporta”. In G. Binder (ed.) Saeculum Augustum,
Vol. III (Darmstadt, 1991), 204–33.
21 See Alexander the Great, 2000 Years of Treasures, Catalogue of the Exhibition
(Australian Museum and the State Hermitage Museum, 2012). The Alexander
Exhibition also coincided with the Australasian Society for Classical Studies
annual conference convened by Associate Professor Ken. Sheedy and Dr Blanche
Menadier (2013, Macquarie University).
22 A. B. Bosworth, “The Death of Alexander the Great: Rumour and Propaganda”.
Classical Quarterly 21 (1971), 112–36; “Truth and Falsehood in Early Helle-
nistic Propaganda”. In Andrew J. Turner et al. (eds.) Private and Public Lies
(Leiden, 2010), 39–50.
23 The ancient sources are offered in both Greek and Latin texts with English trans-
lation by Andrew Stewart; see Faces of Power (Berkeley, 1993), 360–416.
24 Cf. Val Max. 8.1, ext. 2; Pliny NH 7.125; Plut. Alex. 4.1; Mor. 335A; Arrian,
Anab. 1.16.4, with A. B. Bosworth, HCA i (1980), 126; see also Stewart, Faces of
Power, 360–64.
25 Cic. In Verr. 4.60. 135; Pliny, NH 35. 92; Plut. Mor. 335A; Mor. 360D; Alex.
4.1; Stewart, Faces of Power, 363–64.
26 On the propaganda of the Porus coins, see A. B. Bosworth, Alexander and the
East (Oxford, 1996), 6–9; for discussion of the various types and weights of the
coins as well as their authenticity, including the gold medallion first published
by Bopearachchi and Flandrin in 2005, see Michael E. Habicht et al., “The So-
Called Porus Medallions of Alexander the Great – Crucial Historical Numis-
matic Objects or Clever Forgeries”. Journal of the Numismatic Association of
Australia 29 (2018/19), 24–50; cf. Frank L. Holt, Alexander the Great and Mys-
tery of the Elephant Medallions (Berkeley, 2003).
27 On the suggestion that Seleucus I had minted the Porus medallions, see G. K.
Jenkins and Harald Küthmann, Münzen der Griechen (Munich, 1972), 273; cf.
Habicht et al. (see n.26, p. 25) who note that the dating of the Babylonian hoard
contradicts this interpretation.
28 Bosworth, Alexander and the East, 98–132.
29 On Callisthenes’ opposition to proskynesis; see Arrian, Anab. 4. 10.5–11.9;
Plut. Alex. 54.3; Curt. 8. 5.13–19; on Anaxarchus, see Berve, ii. 33–35, no. 70;
12 Elizabeth Baynham

Waldemar Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great (London,
2006), 27.
30 On Callisthenes, cf. Berve, ii. 191–99, no. 408; Heckel, Who’s Who, 76–77; Lio-
nel Pearson, The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great (London, 1960), 22–49.
31 On the so-called “Pages’ Conspiracy” and Callisthenes’ alleged association with
it, see Arrian, Anab. 4.12.7, 14.1; Plut. Alex. 55. 3–5; Curt. 8. 6. 24–25, 27.
32 See recently, Timothy Howe (ed.), Ptolemy I Soter: A Self Made Man (Oxford, 2018);
also Ian Worthington, Ptolemy I: King and Pharaoh of Egypt (Oxford, 2016).
33 Hieronymus supposedly reached the age of 104; cf. FGrH 86 F 4 = Pseud. Luc.
Macrob 22; see Heckel, Who’s Who, 139–40; for the traditions on his life and
their authenticity, see Jane Hornblower, Hieronymus of Cardia (Oxford, 1981),
5–6, 15–16.

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Stuttgart, 1987.
Berve, H. Das Alexanderreich. 2 vols. Repr. New Hampshire, 1988.
Bickerman, E. J. and H. Tadmor. “Darius I, Pseudo-Smerdis and the Magi”. Ath-
enaeum 56 (1978), 239–61.
Boardman, John. The Parthenon and Its Sculptures. Austin, TX, 1985.
Bosworth, A. B. Alexander and the East. Oxford, 1996.
Bosworth, A. B. “The Death of Alexander the Great: Rumour and Propaganda”.
Classical Quarterly 21 (1971), 112–36.
Bosworth, A. B. A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander. Vol. 1.
Oxford, 1980.
Bosworth, A. B. “Truth and Falsehood in Early Hellenistic Propaganda.” In Andrew
J. Turner et al. (eds.) Private and Public Lies. Leiden, 2010, 39–50.
Briant, Pierre. From Cyrus to Alexander. Winona Lake, IN, 2002.
Brunt, P. A. and J. M. Moore. Res Gestae Divi Augusti. Oxford, 1967.
Connelly, Joan Breton. The Parthenon Enigma. New York, 2014.
Connelly, Joan Breton. “Parthenos and Parthenoi: A Mythological Interpretation of
the Parthenon Frieze”. American Journal of Archaeology 100 (1996), 53–80.
Cooley, A. E. Res Gestae Divi Augusti: Text, Translation and Commentary. Cam-
bridge, 2009.
Dandamaev, M. A. A Political History of the Achaemenid Empire. Leiden, 1989.
Diakoneff, I. M. “Media”. In I. Gershevitch (ed.) The Cambridge History of Iran.
Vol. II, Cambridge, 1985, 36–39.
Ellithorpe, Corey. Circulating Imperial Ideology: Coins as Propaganda in the Roman
World. Diss; Univ. North Carolina, Chapel Hill, 2017.
Everly, Mary.“Review of The Parthenon Frieze by Jenifer Neils”. BMCR 06.14 2002.
Fischer, Julia Clair. Private Propaganda the Iconography of Large Imperial Cameos.
Columbus, OH, 2014.
Graham, Cooper C. Leni Riefenstahl and Olympia. Lanham, MD, 1986.
Habicht, Michael E., Andrew M. Chugg, Elena Varotto and Francesco M. Galassi.
“The So-Called Porus Medallions of Alexander the Great – Crucial Historical
Numismatic Objects or Clever Forgeries”. Journal of the Numismatic Association
of Australia 29 (2018/19), 24–50.
 “Selling Alexander” 13

Heckel, Waldemar. Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great. London, 2006.
Hinton, David. The Films of Leni Riefenstahl. Lanham, MD, 2000.
Holt, Frank L. Alexander the Great and Mystery of the Elephant Medallions. Berke-
ley, 2003.
Hornblower, Jane. Hieronymus of Cardia. Oxford, 1981.
Howe, Timothy (ed.). Ptolemy I Soter: A Self Made Man. Oxford, 2018.
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1973.
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Nagle, Brendan D. and Stanley M. Burstein. The Ancient World: Readings in Social
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529–87.
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Iranian State. Cambridge, 1999.
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Chapter 2

Alexander the Great

A life lived as legend
Edward M. Anson

That Alexander, especially in those sources collectively often referred to as

the Vulgate, is presented with a ‘largely contrived’ image that already has
the elements that will be expanded in the Alexander Romance cannot be
denied, but that it is the contrivance of the later Roman authors.1 I do not
believe this is the case. It is my contention that this particular image arose
from Alexander himself. Nor was it just for the public, but rather was truly
a self-image to Alexander, the true Alexander. Moreover, Alexander did not
wish to be like one of his heroes. He wished to use them as models for heroic
behaviour and their achievements as goals to be exceeded. They were to be
benchmarks. It was an evolving and complex image he wished to project in
life to demonstrate that he was not an ordinary man. It was complex in that
it was a combination of a number of base beliefs that changed little over time
and his desire to project himself in ways that would be receptive to whoever
was his current audience and evolving in his view of his exceptionality, an
image enhanced by every success.
That he wished to control his image can hardly be doubted given his
employment of an historian, Callisthenes (Arr., Anab. 4.10.1–2), whose
work apparently continued until his death in 329 bc. (Str., 11.14.13); a per-
sonal sculptor, Lysippus (Plut. Alex. 4.1–2); a painter, Apelles (Cic., Ad fam.
5.12.7); and an engraver, Pyrgoteles (Plin., HN 7.125, 37.8). He created
many cities named Alexandria scattered throughout his conquests, which
were to echo his name throughout the ages.2 He founded two cities named
Nicaea to emphasise his victories and a city named Bucephala to honour his
horse.3 Even as a 16-year-old, he founded Alexandropolis in Thrace (Plut.,
Alex. 9.1), demonstrating that even at this early age he was already con-
cerned with establishing his importance.
The image Alexander wished to convey is clear in the sources. Alexan-
der is reported to have envied Achilles ‘for having Homer to proclaim his
fame to posterity’ (Arr., Anab. 1.12.1), and Callisthenes, Alexander’s faux
Homer, declared that Alexander’s fame depended on him and that even
the king’s share in divinity also depended on Callisthenes’ history (Arr.,
Anab. 4.10.1–2). Such a statement had to be based on the known desires
 Alexander the Great 15

of Alexander himself. Everything Alexander did was about Alexander. He

stayed in Europe just long enough to secure his back before leaving for Asia;
he was not interested in supplying his homeland with an heir prior to his
departure as suggested by his principal advisors. Perhaps the strongest evi-
dence of his self-image was that he was not creating a Macedonian empire
with its rather provincial capital of Pella. Alexander was creating Alexan-
der’s empire with its capital in the then greatest city in the ancient world,
Babylon: a city he believed was truly worthy of himself (Str. 15.3.9–10;
Diod. 17.108.4). He was the son of a mortal father who was hailed as ‘the
greatest king in Europe’ (Diod. 16.95.1) and later also proclaimed the son
of the greatest of the Greek gods Zeus, engaging like his ancestor Heracles
in a kind of dual paternity.4 Alexander was not just a legend in his own time
but also a legend in his own mind.
This is not to say that Alexander did not enhance this base image as
a Homeric hero with political expedient corollaries. His adoption of his
father’s ‘War of Revenge’ being a case in point.5 It energised the Greek world
but, given that Alexander once having conquered the Persian heartland
gave up his war of revenge most readily and began a rapprochement with
his former enemies, suggests it was simply a means to an end.6 In the pro-
claimed campaign of revenge against the Persians, references to the Trojan
War and to Achilles would play well with his troops. Agesilaus had likewise
attempted to associate his invasion of Asia Minor with the expedition to
Troy by offering sacrifice at Aulis, emulating the departure of the Trojan
expedition, but was thwarted by the Boeotians (Xen., Hell. 3.4.3–4). While
Alexander’s image evolved over time with his multiple successes, these were
more enhancements than new directions. His image was based initially on
the examples of his two proclaimed ancestors Achilles and Heracles (Plut.,
Alex. 2.1; Curt. 4.6.29). As Aristotle (Rhet. 2.15) states, ‘noble birth is a
heritage of honour from one’s ancestors’. Over time these early images paled
before Alexander’s ultimate vision of himself not just as the descendant of
these Greek heroes but as the son of Zeus in his own right, and later still as
a living god, but all proceeded from Alexander’s belief in his special status
as superior to all other mortals.
While this self-image was ever evolving, aspects of the earliest exemplars
remained throughout. Alexander started life in the rarefied air of the heroic
ideals of personal achievement, honour, and glory.7 These standards required
that one ‘always be the best, and preeminent above all others’ (Hom., Il.
11.783–84), especially in warfare. This moral and martial excellence, the
so-called aretê, was how Alexander wished to measure his life. Alexander’s
favourite line supposedly came from the Iliad (Plut., Mor. 331C): ‘Both things
is he: both a goodly king and a mighty warrior’ (Hom., Il. 3.179). When his
father Philip suffered a thigh wound from a spear in battle with the Tribal-
lians and complained of his lameness, Alexander is recorded as commenting,
‘Father, be of good cheer and go on your way rejoicing, that at each step you
16 Edward M. Anson

may recall your valour’ (Plut., Mor. 331C). Achilles was certainly important
in Alexander’s earliest presentation of himself,8 as seen in his pleasure as a
boy of being called ‘Achilles’ and his father being called ‘Peleus’ by his tutor,
Lysimachus (Plut., Alex. 5.8), but especially with respect to the aspect of the
mighty warrior, this imaging continued into adulthood. On the Hyphasis,
he supposedly declared that he had never given a command ‘without first
exposing myself to the risks involved, and I have often protected your line
with my own shield’ (Curt. 9.2.29).9 It was Achilles’ qualities that Alexander
wished to emulate. Certainly, on occasion, he did wish to convey his asso-
ciation with his supposed famous ancestor. Having arrived in Asia, he paid
homage at the tomb of Achilles at Troy.10 Given Alexander’s own emphasis
on Achilles, ancient and modern writers may indeed have associated certain
of Alexander’s later actions as his attempts to emulate Achilles where it is
possible such emulation only existed in the eyes of the beholders, ancient
and modern.11 Such an example would be the comparison of Alexander’s
actions battling the Indus with those of Achilles and the Scamander (Diod.
17.97.1; Curt. 9.4.8–14). However, Alexander’s assumption of certain of
Achilles’ attributes would explain his behaviour.
His relationship with Hephaestion was modelled on that of Achilles and
Patroclus with the same sexual ambiguity as in the latter. At Troy, he associ-
ated Hephaestion with the sacrifice. Alexander sacrificed to Achilles and Hep-
haestion to Patroclus (Arr., Anab. 1.12.1; Ael., VH 12.7). Consequently, his
reaction to the death of his ‘second self’ (Arr., Anab. 7.14; Diod. 17.114–15)
elicited a response both emotional and proper as per the model of Achil-
les. After his capture of Gaza, when the injured commander of that citadel
Batis is brought before him and refuses to be a supplicant, Alexander has
thongs or rings placed through the still living man’s ankles and has him
dragged around the city (Curt. 4.6.28–29; FGrH 142 F-5). The perceived
insolence of Batis would have made the punishment received seem appropri-
ate, using as a precedent, in a modified way, Hector’s treatment at the hands
of Achilles. The major modification was that, unlike Hector, Batis was very
much alive when he was dragged around Gaza: brutal and certainly inhu-
mane but not out of Alexander’s character.12
Waldemar Heckel, while arguing that this association in the sources of
Achilles and Alexander is the creation of our sources, accepts those pas-
sages associating Alexander and Heracles as mostly authentic.13 I would
concur with his conclusions regarding Heracles but would argue that these
in no way invalidate the comparisons with Achilles. Heracles had long been
associated with the Macedonian monarchy, and his image is found on the
coinage of Macedonian monarchs at least as early as Archelaus.14 Alexander
is referenced as offering sacrifices and libations to Heracles on a number of
occasions,15 but it was not only in official acts that Alexander invoked the
name of the hero. It is also recorded that Alexander claimed that Heracles
appeared to him in a dream during the siege of Tyre inviting him into the
 Alexander the Great 17

city.16 Curtius notes that this dream, when interpreted by Aristander, was
a sign of ultimate victory likely played well with the troops. Alexander, as
was also the case with his association with Achilles, was not attempting to
become the incarnation of Heracles. After all, Alexander did not go around
in a lion skin, nor had Alexander competed at Olympia, as had Heracles
(Paus. 5. 8. 4), nor had he in homage visited Pylos (Apollod. 1.9.9; 2.7.2),
Elis,17 Nemea,18 or Crete.19 He was in competition with the hero, not trying
to become him. Only Ephippus of Olynthus, in his On the Deaths [or Funer-
als] of Alexander and Hephaestion, might be seen to suggest otherwise. He
describes Alexander as appearing at banquets dressed as Ammon, Hermes,
and Artemis (FGrH 126 F-5). Nowhere else is Alexander portrayed as dress-
ing up as these deities. From the surviving fragments, it is clear this was a
work hostile to the memory of the Conqueror and should be discounted as
likely attempting to satirise Alexander’s adoption of certain articles of Per-
sian attire after his conquest of the Persian heartland.20
Curtius (3.10.5; 9.4.21; cf. Just. 14.2.9) proclaims that Alexander desired
to ‘traverse the bounds set by Heracles’. He was ever in search of ways to
exceed his ancestor (Arr., Anab. 3.3.2), but always in what Lowell Edmunds
has called ‘pious envy’.21 Alexander’s desire to conquer the Rock of Aornus
was made greater by the knowledge that Heracles had failed in its capture.22
On the Hyphasis, Alexander is reported as having complained that his sol-
diers were breaking ‘the palm branch with which I shall rival Hercules and
Father Liber’ (Curt. 9.2.29). Father Liber or Dionysus was another deity
Alexander sought to surpass. His contest with this deity became manifest
when Alexander entered India, a nation that tradition held was conquered
by Dionysus. Alexander was pleased to learn that he had surpassed that
god’s penetration into India (Arr., Anab. 5.2.1; cf. 7.10.6; 7.20.1). His
march across the Gedrosian desert, and, perhaps, even his desire to conquer
India were the result of his attempting to succeed where the great heroes of
Asia, Cyrus, and Semiramus had failed (Arr., Anab. 6.24.3; Str. 15.1.5).
Alexander’s self-image never was one that was purely mortal. Alexander
was, as noted, believed to be related to the god Heracles. Moreover, as king
of Macedonia, he was seen as the chief intermediary between the Macedo-
nian people and their gods. The sacral nature of the monarchy also helps
account for the success of the Argead family, and later the Antigonid, in
monopolising the kingship. The king obtained the favour of the gods for
his people (Just. 7.2.9–12; 9.4.1). There was no professional priesthood;
the monarch made the sacrifices23 and conducted the sacred festivals.24
This religious aura carried over into the ceremonies performed for a dead
king. On the death of a monarch a lustration was carried out (Just. 13.4.7;
cf. Curt. 10.9.11–12), funeral games and sacrifices were held,25 and the
body was laid to rest in the royal tombs at Aegae.26 Thereafter, sacrifices
were made to the dead king.27 Alexander’s father Philip, while alive, even
had his image appear in a procession of the 12 Olympian deities (Diod.
18 Edward M. Anson

16.92.5, 95.1). Philip was also apparently worshipped in Eresus and Ephe-
sus in some form prior to his death. At Eresus, on the island of Lesbos,
altars to ‘Zeus Philippios’ were established,28 likely, in 33629 in recognition
of Philip’s aid in the overthrow of the tyranny favoured by the Persians that
had previously dominated the city, and a statue of Philip was also placed in
the temple of Artemis in Ephesus (Arr., Anab. 1.17.11),30 likely in the same
year. The precise meaning of these honours is much debated.31 However, the
procession in Macedonia and any knowledge of such activities in Eresus
and Ephesus would have had an influence on Alexander. As Fredricksmeyer
has shown, it was not only the gods with whom Alexander competed for
glory but also his father.32 Moreover, Alexander did not curtail his flatterers’
allusions to his divinity, apparently welcoming their exuberance. Curtius
(8.5.7–8) records that he rewarded them when they publicly proclaimed
‘that Heracles, Father Liber, and Castor and Pollux would make way before
the new divinity’. It is to be remembered that Callisthenes said his history
would gain for Alexander a share in divinity (Arr., Anab. 4.10.2).
The interplay of self-image and propaganda is most clearly seen in Alex-
ander’s ability to manipulate events to achieve this image in the minds of
others. This is seen in two related aspects of this self-image relating to his
military prowess and to his flirtation with divinity. Alexander wanted to be
viewed as invincible. This had been proclaimed supposedly by the Delphic
Oracle even before he left for Asia (Plut., Alex. 14.4–5; Diod. 17.93.4). This
seeming proclamation from Apollo was seen as being endorsed by Zeus on
three subsequent occasions. At Gordium, Alexander solved the famous Gord-
ian knot which was then hailed as a prophetic endorsement by Zeus for
his campaign.33 Here there was no oracle but a task to perform. Alexander
could have avoided it, but his ‘pothos’, an overweening desire, led him to the
acropolis where the wagon and its famous knot awaited him (Arr., Anab.
2.3.1). The yoke was tied with an elaborate knot about which it was proph-
esied that whoever could undo it would rule Asia. Not succeeding in untying
the knot, Alexander either sliced through it with a sword or loosened the pin
(Arr., Anab. 2.3.6–8; Curt. 3.1.14–18).34 That evening a convenient thun-
derstorm was taken by Alexander and his companions as a sign that the king
had indeed successfully fulfilled the task (Arr., Anab. 2.3.8). Later, the Oracle
of Zeus/Ammon at Siwah, as reported by Callisthenes, among other state-
ments declared Alexander to be invincible.35 At Gaugamela, in the battle
that ultimately sealed the fate of Persia, Alexander is reported to have called
on Zeus ‘that if he was his father to defend and strengthen the Greeks’. In
Plutarch’s account (Alex. 33.1–2), an eagle appeared over Alexander’s head
and then flew at the Persian battle lines. To these were likely later added
the various omens supposedly seen at the time of his birth. Plutarch (Alex.
3.4–5) records that at Ephesus the temple of Artemis burned down indicat-
ing to the Persian priests that ‘a great calamity was about to befall Asia’, and
that Philip on the day he captured Potidaea was brought three messages: his
 Alexander the Great 19

general Parmenion had defeated the Illyrians, his horse had won at Olympia,
and Alexander had been born. The diviners (mantes) proclaimed to Philip
that a son born in the midst of such portends would always be victorious
(Plut., Alex. 3.5). With time, all of these events, which may have occurred
at different times, came in the popular mind to be connected to Alexander’s
birth. Omens and ‘overwhelming desire’ were indications from the gods of,
at the least, divine protection and support. These were to be seen or heard
and interpreted by others and not the result of any insistence by Alexander.
All was to be seen as spontaneous affirmations from the gods. That he went
from victory to victory affirmed what he believed was divine support. These
successes also strengthened his belief in his own divine nature.
Outside of the Greek mainland, the acceptance of this connection to the
divine was more readily received. The examples of Eresus and Ephesus with
respect to his father are cases in point. Moreover, other claims for hero
status during the lifetime of the recipient also appear. ‘Altars were erected
and sacrifice offered as to a god’ to Lysander by a number of island cit-
ies, specifically Samos, at the conclusion of the Peloponnesian War (Plut.,
Lys. 18.3–4); Agesilaus is recorded as refusing similar honours offered
by the Thasians (Plut., Ages. 25; Mor. 210D)36; and Dion in the middle of
the fourth century bc received ‘heroic honours’ from the Syracusans (Diod.
16.20.6; Plut., Dion). In particular, the altars associated with Lysander do
not admit for any other sort of explanation other than the ritual of worship.
Then there is also Egypt and Asia where kings are not, as in Macedonia,
leaders of companions, hetairoi, the first among aristocratic equals, or on
a lesser scale the companion of his pezhetairoi, the phalanx soldiers. Alex-
ander was after Issus already styling himself as the King of Asia.37 While
the monarchs of Egypt and Asia may have had limitations on their ‘divine’
status, their connections to the divine world were intimate. While prevail-
ing opinion claims that pharaoh was ‘divine while performing the duties
of kingship, and human at other times’,38 this would have been a rather
nuanced position. The status of the Great King of Persia is murkier still. Two
recent studies have suggested that the belief that the Persian king was not
divine may not be entirely correct.39
The best example of the interplay of personal belief, the need for sponta-
neous acceptance by others, and the manipulation of events to achieve this
acceptance is found in Alexander’s actions in Egypt. Early in 331 bc, Alex-
ander journeyed 300 miles across the Libyan Desert to the oasis of Siwah
to consult the oracle of Zeus/Ammon. While the Persian offensive in the
Aegean had collapsed (Arr., Anab. 3.2.3–7), removing that obstacle to the
security of his current conquests and serious Persian interference in Greece,
Darius was still unconquered in the East gathering his forces to renew the
struggle. Yet, with the Persian Empire still very much intact and prepar-
ing for future battle, Alexander still chose to journey from Lake Mariout
(Curt. 4.7.9) in Egypt to the oracular site and back again, a round trip of
20 Edward M. Anson

approximately 450 miles (cf. Arr., Anab. 3.3.3), or between three weeks and
a month’s journey.
The oracle of Zeus/Ammon was an offshoot of the worship of Amon-Ra
in Thebes, which at some subsequent time, perhaps in the sixth century bc,
established a branch of the Theban cult in the Libyan desert at Siwah.40
While in origin an Egyptian foundation, it very early came to be seen by
the Greeks as an oracle of Zeus.41 By the middle of the fifth century, Zeus
Ammon of Siwah had already appeared in an ode of Pindar’s (Pyth. 4.29;
cf. Paus. 9.16.1), and Ammon and Zeus were equated in a long discourse by
Herodotus (1.46; 2.32, 52–56). Certainly, by the fifth century, the oracle in
the Libyan desert was ranked by Greeks with those at Dodona and Delphi.42
Our sources report that this desire (pothos) to consult the oracle arose
suddenly.43 Even though these authors list many reasons for Alexander’s
wish to consult the oracle: Siwah’s noted veracity, competition with the
mythical heroes, Perseus and Heracles, who had supposedly visited the
oracle, inquiry into his father Philip’s murder, questions regarding which
gods should be especially honoured with sacrifices, queries concerning the
success of his expedition, consultation concerning the foundation of Alex-
andria, and inquiries into his birth.44 Despite this myriad of reasons offered
for this journey, all of which may have played some role, there was really
only one that predominated, and that is the last listed. Alexander went to
Siwah to inquire of this specific oracle because he wanted to be absolutely
certain of the response to the question regarding his origins. He wished to
be proclaimed a son of Zeus by one of the three dominant oracles in the
Greek world (Arr., Anab. 3.3.2; Curt. 4.7.8).45 It was the knowledge that
his divine parentage would be verified that drew Alexander into the desert.
While it is debated by scholars and unclear in the sources what questions
were ultimately asked by Alexander and what responses were actually given,
it is apparent that the priest of Ammon initially greeted the king as ‘son
of Zeus’,46 and that throughout the proceedings this divine parentage was
repeatedly emphasised.47 It is true, however, that the actual responses of
the oracle were given to Alexander in private, but it was revealed by Cal-
listhenes that he had been told he was the son of Zeus (Callisthenes, FGrH
124 F14a=Str. 17.1.43). The modern arguments claiming that the question
concerning his divine father was never asked of the oracle may well be true.
What would be the point of asking, if from the very greeting the oracle had
confirmed the relationship with striking clarity? As noted, in a similar fash-
ion the Delphic oracle had labelled Alexander as ‘invincible’. In any case,
when Arrian (Anab. 3.4.5) reports that Alexander received ‘the answer his
heart desired’, there can be little doubt that the answer concerned his birth.
Callisthenes’ account (Str., 17.1.43=FGrH 124 F-14) presents the entire epi-
sode in a mythic form. Alexander sets off in the footsteps of these great
heroes, sudden rain quenches his thirst, serpents guide him when lost,48 and
the entire episode concludes with the priest hailing Alexander as the son of
 Alexander the Great 21

Zeus. As Callisthenes proclaimed, in Egypt Alexander does gain a ‘share of

divinity’ (Arr., Anab. 4.10.2).
With respect to the other purposes for the journey listed by the sources,
there was nothing in them that would have singled out Siwah for special
attention.49 While the Libyan oracle was one of the three most prominent
oracular centres in the Greek world, its reputation for infallibility was cer-
tainly no greater than that of the oracles at Dodona or Delphi. Plato in his
Laws (5.738C) states that whatever religious practice has been sanctioned
by Delphi, Dodona, or Siwah must not be altered. Nor did Siwah possess
special provenance in the area of hero worship. It was not historically asso-
ciated with either Macedonia or with the Macedonian royal family. Indeed,
while it was regularly consulted by Greeks, there is no evidence that any
Macedonian ever consulted the oracle prior to Alexander.
While Alexander’s overwhelming desire to travel to Siwah may have
been seen by him as a divine inspiration, it was also the practical realisa-
tion that the result of such a visit would be the acknowledgement of his
divine parentage at the least. The desert oracle, because of Alexander’s posi-
tion as an Egyptian pharaoh, would, therefore, address him with the titles
associated with this office. Even though he may never have been officially
enthroned according to the full Egyptian rites,50 and of the literary sources
only Pseudo-Callisthenes (1.34.2) records that Alexander was so coronated,
he was given every title associated with the divine nature of pharaoh. In
inscriptions discovered in Luxor in Thebes, Alexander is described as ‘the
perfect god’, ‘Horus’, ‘the beloved of Ammon’, ‘lord of crowns’, but most
typically as the ‘son of Amon-Ra’ or the ‘son of Ra’.51 He is also in the
iconography depicted as being enthroned.52 As noted earlier, while the pre-
vailing current opinion is that the Egyptian pharaoh was only divine when
performing the duties of kingship, it is doubtful that the average Egyptian or
a newly arrived Macedonian would have been cognizant of this distinction.
These titles were given by the priests and represent their acceptance of Alex-
ander as the pharaoh.53 In Babylon, as in Egypt, he received the standard
titles associated with kingship: ‘Alexander, king of the world’, ‘Alexander,
king of all countries’.54 In both Egypt and Babylonia, the Macedonian king
was hailed as a liberator.
In any translation of the initial Egyptian greetings or ceremonials into
Greek, Ammon or Zeus would have been used for Amon-Ra or Ra. As noted
earlier, in the Greek world this identification was commonplace. Person-
ally, Alexander may have seen this situation as a divine summons for him
to travel to Siwah and have the oracle proclaim what the Egyptian priests
were stating. While later in his campaign, claims of Zeus/Ammon sonship
gave rise to overt hostility on the part of his Macedonians, at this point
with the battle to contest Asia with Darius still in the future, any indica-
tion of divine support and promise of victory would be greatly welcomed
by the rank-and-file. The pronouncement of the oracle would carry great
22 Edward M. Anson

weight with his troops, whereas proclamations by foreign religious authori-

ties would not. As an Egyptian oracle, its priest had to acknowledge Alex-
ander, the new pharaoh, as at the very least ‘Son of Ammon’, regardless of
any Greek sensibilities possessed by the oracular authorities. That Ammon
had never apparently acknowledged any other Greek as a god or the child
of a deity is immaterial. There had never been a previous Greek who was the
pharaoh of Egypt. Justin (11.11.6) even suggests collusion between Alexan-
der and the Siwah priests, stating that Alexander sent men ahead to bribe
the priests to give him the responses he wished. Given the status of the
oracle and the unique circumstances, such actions were not necessary. On
his return, representatives from the oracles at Didyma and Erythrae arrived
also proclaiming that he was the son of Zeus (Str. 17.1.43).55
The results of Alexander’s visit to Siwah may have gone well beyond his
desire to be recognised as the son of Ammon/Zeus. Ernst Badian states,
‘Among the mysteries communicated to Alexander by his divine “father” at
Siwah there must have been an explicit promise that (at whatever time and
in whatever form) he would become a god in his lifetime’.56 This assump-
tion would explain a number of Alexander’s later actions. In the summer of
327, almost four years after his great victory at Gaugamela confirming his
conquest of the Persian Empire and his occupation of the Persian heartland,
Alexander attempted to introduce proskynesis into his court ceremony,57 a
form of submission which could involve a bowing or full prostration (Hdts.
1.134.1).58
Alexander’s success at Gaugamela and the occupation of Persia followed
by the death of Darius caused outward changes in both the stated purpose
of the expedition and also in Alexander’s outward manifestation of his sin-
gular nature. With respect to the expedition, it would no longer be a war
of revenge, but one of pure conquest.59 Moreover, the reception by his new
Persian subjects presented Alexander with a whole new cultural reality. His
desire to continue his conquests made the Persians more than just a sub-
ject population. He was in need of their manpower and their administra-
tive skills. They were then to be partnered with the Macedonians and the
Greeks.60 Alexander therefore needed to appeal to them in traditional ways.
Proskynesis was one way to accommodate Persian court ceremonial prac-
tice. While this was not worship in a clear sense, there existed a ‘great inti-
macy’ between king and god in Persian belief.61 The King of Persia was then
treated far differently in practice by his subjects than the King of Macedonia
traditionally was by his. The Macedonian king, while having the duties of a
chief priest, was also seen especially by the Macedonian aristocracy as their
near equal.62 Alexander attempted to introduce proskynesis into his court,
where it pleased the Persians but led to serious opposition from his Mace-
donians and the practice was abandoned.63 Alexander’s own historian, the
very one who had proclaimed that he would be responsible for the king
gaining a share in divinity when it came to the actual practice of performing
 Alexander the Great 23

what in Greek eyes appeared as worship, baulked (Arr., Anab. 4.10.3). Cal-
listhenes’ relationship with Alexander never recovered, and later, on charges
of treason related to other matters, Callisthenes was executed, leaving his
history unfinished (Arr., Anab. 4.14.1). While there may have been many rea-
sons for the attempt to introduce proskynesis,64 all of the sources are clear
that granting Alexander godlike honours was at the centre of this attempt
to introduce the practice (Arr., Anab. 4.10.6, 11.2–3: Curt. 8.5.5). In a pre-
liminary discussion in Alexander’s court where his flatterers attempted to
justify proskynesis, it was noted that it would be more just to recognise
Alexander during his lifetime as a god (theos) because his achievements
were greater than those of Heracles or Dionysus (Arr., Anab. 4.10.6). Peter
Green observes that in the later Hellenistic period honours usually reserved
for the gods became extravagant recognition for the living.65 ‘Sacrifices,
sacred enclosures, tombs, statues, prostration (proskynesis), hymns, altars,
and other such divine appanages are all, as Aristotle [Rhet. 5.9] specifically
states, simply marks of honour the gesture itself, not its recipient (whether
god or man), is the important thing’, that is transcendent mortals were sim-
ply sharing some of the gods’ divine prerogatives. Certainly, after Alexan-
der’s death, this was very clearly the case. It is most unlikely that Alexander
believed himself to be a god in the sense of escaping death, being able to
alter his form, or producing miracles. It was his exceptionalism, his per-
sonal association with Zeus, and his superhuman achievements that were
to be honoured. He was so beyond all other mortals and heroes that the
only appropriate way for him to be honoured was as a god. This, however,
proved to be a hard sell to the Macedonians whose traditional king was one
of them, not some demigod.
The final chapter in Alexander’s creation of his own legend was his desire
to be recognised as a god in Greece proper. While knowledge of Alexander’s
desire to be honoured as a divinity was known and debated in the Greek
world likely since the king’s return from India, as Brian Bosworth states that
the ‘catalyst’ for the final stage of Alexander’s transformation from Macedo-
nian king to godlike ruler was the death of his lifelong companion Hephaes-
tion.66 Alexander first questioned the oracle at Siwah whether his former
companion should receive the sacrifices worthy of a god, but the oracle said
only those suitable for a hero (Arr., Anab. 7.14.7, 23.6; Plut., Alex. 72.1–3).67
Hephaestion’s funeral was to be magnificent (Arr., Anab. 7.14.8, 10; Diod.
17.114.4, 115.1) and the worship extravagant, with sacred precincts, offer-
ings, festivals, and temples (Lucian Cal. 17). Diodorus (17.115.6) states that
Hephaestion was to be worshipped as ‘theos paredros’. This phrase can best
be translated as ‘associate god’. This phrase ‘associate god’ can be taken to
mean a synnaos, a temple sharer. The obvious sharer would be Alexander.
This was not an infrequent occurrence in which the ‘hero’ shared the pre-
cinct with the god, forming a sort of partnership, and, on occasion sharing
in the sacrifice.68 Bosworth accepts the coordination of the cults, arguing,
24 Edward M. Anson

‘It is neither impossible nor improbable that when Alexander sent formal
letters requesting (or demanding) a hero cult for Hephaestion, he also sug-
gested that recognition of his own divinity would be welcome and appropri-
ate’.69 It is possible that such recognition had already taken place in various
of the Greek cities. Most of the evidence, however, for the existence of these
cults can only be securely dated to the period after Alexander’s death.70
The evidence, sparse and unreliable as it is, still does suggest that Alexan-
der likely did request that cult be initiated for him through surrogates, and
it was the worship suitable for a god.71 An incident late in his life bolsters
this belief. According to Aristobulus (Str. 16.1.11; Arr., Anab. 7.20.1), Alex-
ander attacked the Arabs in part because he had learned that they only wor-
shipped two gods and he believed that they would worship him as a third
if he conquered them and then restored their independence. Here, as with
respect to Ammon, Alexander wanted his special status recognised sponta-
neously, not ordered and enforced. This may be behind his abandonment of
proskynesis with respect to his Macedonians. Our sources say that it was
discussed, and Alexander approved of the attempt to begin the practice,
but it was to appear as if the initiation by his courtiers was of their own
accord. He did not summon the Macedonians and order them to prostrate
themselves before him.
That Alexander had an image of himself cannot be denied, and the out-
lines of that image are clear. He wanted to be seen as a great warrior, invin-
cible, unconquerable, the son of Zeus, and as a god himself on earth. While
our lost sources and those that survive have shaped their narratives, these
presentations and the later Romance itself followed the path that Alexander
himself created. Where Heracles was seen as a great benefactor of the Greek
nation for his feats, Alexander had defeated the great nemesis of Persia.
Where Achilles had won glory in the siege of but a single city, Alexander
had subdued dozens of them and spread Greek culture as far as the Indus
River valley. He was in his own mind and in the eyes of his contemporaries
a man who transcended his mortality by his achievements: not just beloved
of the gods but the proclaimed son of the greatest god of all, Zeus. That he
sought the recognition of divinity in his lifetime can hardly be doubted. As
Isocrates (5.5) proclaimed in reference to Philip, whoever conquered the
Persian Empire, there would be nothing left to do but to become a god. That
the Alexander Romance saw his achievements inflate to mythical status was
the culmination of the legend begun by the Conqueror himself.

Notes
1 See D. Spencer, The Roman Alexander (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2002);
D. Spencer, ‘Roman Alexanders: Epistemology and Identity’, in Alexander the
Great: A New History, ed. Heckel and L. A. Tritle (Malden, MA and Oxford:
Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), 251; and J. Maitland, ‘MHNIN AEIΔE ΘΕΑ: Alexander
the Great and the Anger of Achilles’, in East and West in the World Empire of
 Alexander the Great 25

Alexander: Essays in Honour of Brian Bosworth, ed. P. Wheatley and E. Bayn-

ham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 1–20.
2 See E. Anson, Alexander the Great: Themes and Issues (London, New Delhi,
New York, and Sydney: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013), 134–36.
3 Arr., Anab. 4.22. 6; 5.19.4; Diod. 17.95.5; and Curt. 9.3.23.
4 Apollod. 2.4.8–9; Ovid, Her. 9.44; cf. Hom., Odys. 8.601–6; and Eurip., Heracl.
148–49, 339–47; A. B. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History
of Alexander, vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), 271 and A. B. Bosworth,
Conquest and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great (Cambridge, New
York, and Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 283. In the summer
of 324, Alexander was still calling Philip his father (Arr., Anab. 7.9.2). There
is little evidence to suggest that Alexander ever repudiated Philip as his mortal
father (Kraft 1971: 65). At Opis in the summer of 324, the sources present him
as extolling the accomplishments ‘of his father Philip’ (Arr., Anab. 7.9.2; cf. Curt.
10.2.12; and Diod. 17.109).
5 On the use of this particular theme by both Philip II and Alexander III, see
G. Squillace, ‘Consensus Strategies under Philip and Alexander’, in Philip II and
Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, ed. E. Carney and
D. Ogden (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 76–80 and G. Squillace,
Βασιλεῖς ἢ τύραννοι, Filippo II e Alessandro Magno tra opposizione e consenso
(Rubbettino: Soveria Mannelli, 2004), 60–71, 130–38.
6 Anson, 153–57.
7 E. A. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander and Philip: Emulation and Resentment’, Classi-
cal Journal 85 (1990): 300–15; J. Roisman, ‘Honor in Alexander’s Campaign’, in
Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, ed. J. Roisman (Leiden and Boston:
Brill, 2003), 279–321; and Anson, 83–86.
8 See in particular, W. Ameling, ‘Alexander und Achilleus: Ein Bestandsaufnahme’,
in Zu Alexander d. gr. Festschrift G. Wirth zum 60. Geburtstag am 9. 12. 86, ed.
W. Will (Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert, 1988): 657–92; and A. Stewart, Faces
of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and
Oxford: University of California Press, 1993), 78–95.
9 Even if he never said this, it was true in actuality. The question of the trust to
put in speeches has long been debated. I prefer to treat each speech on its own
merits, and, while recognising these are at least partially rhetorical exercises by
their respective authors, ‘the general content, not the specific language, should be
accepted unless it can be shown to be inaccurate’ (Anson, 5).
10 Arr., Anab. 1.12.1; Ael., VH 12.7; Diod. 17.17.3; and Plut., Alex. 15.4. The
propaganda involved in these actions has long been recognized. See H. U. Instin-
sky, Alexander der Grosse am Hellespont (Godesberg: H. Küpper, 1949) and
Ameling.
11 J. Maitland and W. Heckel, ‘Alexander, Achilles, and Heracles: Between Myth
and History’, in East and West in the World Empire of Alexander: Essays in
Honour of Brian Bosworth, ed. P. Wheatley and E. Baynham (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2015), 24–25. Plutarch declares that Alexander ‘was more mag-
nanimous than Achilles; for Achilles gave back the body of Hector for a small
ransom, but Alexander buried Darius at great expense’ (Mor. 343B). It is doubt-
ful that Alexander would have made this particular distinction.
12 For the historicity of this episode, see Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 68.
13 W. Heckel, ‘Alexander, Achilles, and Heracles: Between Myth and History’, in
East and West in the World Empire of Alexander: Essays in Honour of Brian
Bosworth, ed. P. Wheatley and E. Baynham (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2015), 25–32. There is little evidence to regard these as fabrications. Heckel
references a fragment from Constantius Prophyrogenitus, on Hor., AP 357 =
26 Edward M. Anson

FGrH 153 F10a to make his point (Heckel, 26n13). The poet Choerilus of Iasus
wrote an epic poem in which he cast Alexander in the role of Achilles. Alexander
supposed he would rather be Homer’s Thersites than Choerilus’ Achilles. The
passage is a reflection on the quality of the work, not directly on the comparison
between Achilles and Alexander. Curtius (8.5.8) condemns Alexander’s flatterers
and their corrupting influence and includes Choerilus in this number. He also in
this passage condemns Choerilus’ poetry as ‘execrable’. Yet, according to Curtius
they were all given ‘preferential treatment’ by the king.
14 B. V. Head, A Catalogue of Greek Coins in the British Museum. Macedonia, Etc,
vol. 5 (London: The British Museum, 1879), 163, 165–66. The coins are both of
a bearded and a youthful Heracles.
15 (Danube) Arr., Anab. 1.4.5; (Hellespont) Arr., Anab. 1.11.7; (Issus) Curt. 3.8.22,
12.27; (Tyre) Arr., Anab. 2.24.5; 3.6.1; Curt. 4.8.16; and Diod. 17.46.6; and
(Hydaspes) Arr., Anab. 6.3.2.
16 Arr., Anab. 2.18.1–2; Plut., Alex. 24.3; and Curt. 4.2.17.
17 Paus. 5.1.9, 10.9; 9.11.6 and Apollod., Bibl. 2.7.1.
18 Paus. 3.18.15; 5.10.9, 11.5, 25.7, 26.7; 6.5.5 and Apollod., Bibl. 2.4.11–12.
19 Apollod., Bibl. 2.5.7 and Paus. 1.27.10; 5.10.9. While Heracles journeyed to
Dodona (Soph., Trach. 46–48, 77–84, 155–58, 165, 169), there is no record
of Alexander doing likewise. However, he certainly was in a position to do so
on numerous occasions and an argument from silence is not, in this case, very
compelling.
20 A. J. S. Spawforth, ‘The Pamphleteer Ephippus, King Alexander and the Persian
Royal Hunt’, Histos 6 (2012): 169–207 and R. Lane Fox, Alexander the Great
(New York: Penguin, 1973), 447.
21 L. Edmunds, ‘The Religiosity of Alexander’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Stud-
ies 12 (1971): 374.
22 Arr., Anab. 4.28.1; Curt. 8.11.2; cf. 9.2.29; and Diod. 17.85.2.
23 Arr., Anab. 3.16.9; 5.3.6; 6.3.2; 7.25.2; Plut. Alex. 23.2; Diod. 17.16.3, 18.1;
Polyb. 5.14.8, 24.8–9; and Livy 40.22.7.
24 Arr., Anab. 1.11.1; Dem. 19.192; Diod. 16.91.4; Athen. 13.572D-E; and Polyb.
10.26.1.
25 Diod. 18.28.4; 19.52.5; Just. 9.7.11; 11.2.1; and Athen. 4.155A.
26 The burial of Alexander III was the notable exception (Diod. 18.28.2–4).
27 Just. 9.7.11; 11.2.1; cf. Diod. 18.28.4; N. G. L. Hammond, A History of Mace-
donia. Vol. 1. Historical Geography and Prehistory (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1972), 64–67; and N. G. L. Hammond and T. G. Griffith, A History of Macedo-
nia. Vol. 2. 550–336 B. C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), 157.
28 M. N. Tod, A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions. Vol. 2. From 403 to 323
B. C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1948), 191, lines 5–6; A. J. Heisserer, Alexander
the Great and the Greeks of Asia Minor (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press,
1980), 38, line 5; and P. J. Rhodes and R. Osborne, Greek Historical Inscriptions
404–323 BC (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 408, line 5.
29 J. B. Lott, ‘Alexander, and the Two Tyrannies at Eresos of “IG” XII.2.526’, Phoe-
nix 50 (1996): 26–40.
30 Bosworth, A Historical Commentary, 133.
31 C. Habicht, Gottmenschentum und griechische Städte (Munich: C. H. Beck,
1970), 14–16; E. Badian, ‘Alexander the Great Between Two Thrones and
Heaven: Variations on an Old Theme’, in Subject and Ruler: The Cult of the Rul-
ing Power in Classical Antiquity, ed. A. Small (Ann Arbor: University of Michi-
gan Press, 1996), 13; and E. A. Fredricksmeyer (1979), 39–61; Lott, 32.
32 Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander and Philip: Emulation and Resentment’, 309–14.
 Alexander the Great 27

33 Arr., Anab. 2.3.4–8; Curt. 3.1.14–18; Just. 11.7.4, 15–16; Plut., Alex. 18.2–4;
and FGrH 135/6. F-4. Fredricksmeyer argues for the acceptance of the tradition
that the Phrygians had migrated from Macedonia and for Alexander’s knowl-
edge of this connection (1961, 160–68). His argument for the general acceptance
of the veracity of this connection in Alexander’s time would make the fulfillment
of the prophecy doubly significant for Alexander.
34 While Edmunds argues that Alexander lacked confidence in his ability and
needed the assurance of oracles and divine signs that his expedition would be
successful, the incident at Gordium, however, required a very self-assured indi-
vidual to attempt it: L. Edmunds, ‘The Religiosity of Alexander’, Greek, Roman
and Byzantine Studies 12 (1971): 379.
35 Diod. 17.51.1–2; Curt. 4.7.27–28; and Just. 11.11.10; cf. Str. 17.1.43.
36 Flower (1988), 123–34.
37 E. A. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander the Great and the Kingship of Asia’, in Alexan-
der the Great in Fact and Fiction, ed. A. B. Bosworth and E. J. Baynham (Oxford
and New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 136–66.
38 J. Malek, ‘Review of Ancient Egyptian Kingship, by D. O’Connor and D. P. Sil-
verman’, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 83 (1997), 227.
39 F. Almagor, ‘The Political and the Divine in Achaemenid Royal Inscriptions’, in
Ancient Historiography on War & Empire, ed. T. Howe, S. Müller, and R. Stone-
man (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2017), 26–47 and J. Wieshöfer, ‘Cyrus the Great
and the Sacrifices for a Dead King’, in Ancient Historiography on War & Empire,
ed. T. Howe, S. Müller, and R. Stoneman (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2017), 55–60.
40 On the history of the oracle, see C. J. Classen, ‘The Libyan God Ammon in Greece
before 331 B.C.’, Historia 8 (1959): 349–55 and H. W. Parke, The Oracles of
Zeus: Dodona, Olympia, Ammon (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
1987), 194–95.
41 Parke, 203–37 and P. A. Brunt, Arrian. Anabasis of Alexander, Books I–IV, with
English Translation by P. A. Brunt (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
1976), 474–75.
42 Parke, 109–17.
43 Bloedow argues that visiting the oracle was the reason Alexander entered Egypt
(‘Egypt in Alexander’s Scheme of Things’, Quaderni urbinati di cultura classica
77 (2004): 75–99). This is unlikely. The sources insist the desire only arose after
Alexander entered Egypt.
44 Arr., Anab. 3.3.1–2; Curt. 4.7.8; Plut., Alex. 27.6–7; Diod. 17.51; and Str.
17.1.43.
45 Bloedow, 95–99.
46 Plut. Alex. 27.5–9; Curt. 4.7.25; Diod. 17.51.1–2; and Str. 17.1.43. Plutarch
(Alex. 27.9) comments that ‘some say’ that the priest attempted to address Alex-
ander as ‘my son’ but because of his faulty Greek actually said ‘son of Zeus’, but
it is unlikely that a priest associated with an oracle of such prominence in the
Greek world did not know Greek. But regardless, even if this had been the case,
Alexander would have taken the error as being initiated by the god, in short a
favourable response (cf. Plut. Alex. 14.6–7 and Diod. 17.93.4).
47 Str. 17.1.43; Curt. 4.7.27; Diod. 17.51.1–2; and Just. 11.11.2–8.
48 Arrian quotes Ptolemy as reporting that the guides were serpents (Anab. 3.3.5);
Curtius mentions crows (4.7.15).
49 For these other purposes, including emulating the journeys of Heracles and Per-
seus, see Anson, 98–101.
50 S. M. Burstein, ‘Pharaoh Alexander: A Scholarly Myth’, Ancient Society 22
(1991): 139–45; A. J. Collins, ‘The Transformation of Alexander’s Court: The
28 Edward M. Anson

Kingship, Royal Insignia and Eastern Court Personnel of Alexander the Great’
(PhD dissertation, Dunedin, NZ: University of Otago, 2008), 46–59. Contra:
A. T. Olmstead, History of the Persian Empire (Chicago and London: Univer-
sity of Chicago Press, 1959), 512; W. Will, Alexander der Grosse (Stuttgart:
W. Kohlhammer, 1986), 83; B. Menu, ‘Le tombeau de Pétosiris (4). Le souverain
de l’Égypte’, Bulletin de l’Institut franĉais d’archéologie orientale de Caire 98
(1998): 262; and E. A. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander’s Religion and Divinity’, in
Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, ed. J. Roisman (Leiden: Brill Aca-
demic Publishers, 2003), 258.
51 M. Abd el-Rasiq, Die Darstellungen und Texte des Sanktuars Alexanders des
Grossen im Tempel von Luxor (Mainz: P. von Zabern, 1984), 11, 14, 16, 22, 45;
C. F. Lepsius, Denkmaeler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien nach den Zeichnungen
der von Seiner Majestät dem Koenige von Preussen, Friedrich Wilhelm IV., nach
diesen Ländern gesendeten, und in den Jahren 1842–1845 ausgeführten wissen-
schaftlichen Expedition auf Befehl Seiner Majestät, Vol. 3 (Geneva: Éditions de
Belles-Lettres, 1972) Pls. 32, 82–83; Abteilung IV, pls. 3–5; and J. von Becker-
ath, Hankbuch der ägyptischen Königsnamen (Munich and Berlin: Deutscher
Kunsverlag, 1984), 232–33.
52 Derchain proclaims this particular piece of iconography to be a temple propa-
ganda, which may very well be true, but still indicative of titles used to address:
Alexander P. Derchain, ‘Pharaoh dans le temple ou l’illusion sacerdotale’, in Les
moyens d’expression du pouvoir dans les societies anciennes, ed. M. Broze, P. J.
Dehon, P. Talon, and E. Warmenhol (Leuven: Peeters, 1996), 91–99.
53 Burstein, 141.
54 A. Sachs and H. Hunger, Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylon.
Vol. 1. Diaries from 652 B.C. to 263 B.C. (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1988), 179, 181.
55 Bosworth believes that Didyma and Erythrae heard of ‘Alexander’s claims’
before he left for Siwah and, in consequence, issued their oracles ‘spontaneously’
(Conquest and Empire, 282). However, see Anson for the claim that the impetus
for these proclamations was the result of Alexander’s realisation of the implica-
tions of being Pharaoh of Egypt and the sending of ambassadors to the two lesser
oracles with hints of an appropriate response (p. 107).
56 Badian, 66.
57 Arr. 4.9.9, 10.5–12.6; Curt. 8.5.5–24; and Plut., Alex. 54.2–6.
58 R. N. Frye, ‘Gestures of Deference to Royalty in Ancient Iran’, Iranica Antiqua 9
(1972): 102–07.
59 On the change in the invasion’s purpose, see Anson, 153–58.
60 Anson, 156–57, 174–75.
61 Almagor, 27–43; Wieshöfer, 58.
62 See Anson, 24–26.
63 Arr., Anab. 4.9.9, 10.5–12.6; Curt. 8.5.5–24; and Plut., Alex. 54.2–6.
64 For example, to coordinate court ceremony. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander’s Religion
and Divinity’, 274–75. The opposition may not have been occurred because it was
seen as bestowing divine honors, but rather that the ceremony was regarded as
servile and worthy only of a ‘barbarian’: Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 284.
65 Green (1990), 402.
66 Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 288. The sources: Arr., Anab. 7.14.1: Plut.,
Alex. 72.2; Diod. 17.110.7–8; and Just. 12.12.11.
67 In the Greek world, there were three main religious statuses: mortal, god,
and hero – not always very distinct statuses, however. Heroes have, with
some accuracy, been described as an intermediary stage between the other
 Alexander the Great 29

two: the intersection of mortal and immortal, man and god (Kearns), with
the divine status a reward given after death (Anson, 87–89). See E. Kearns,
The Heroes of Attica (London: Institute of Classical Studies, University of
London, 1989), 125.
68 Ferguson and Nock (1944), 144.
69 Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 288.
70 For a full review of the various opinions on whether Alexander was worshipped
in his lifetime, see Anson, 115–20.
71 See Ael., VH 2.19, 5.12; Din. 1.94; Athen. 6.251B; Hyp. 5, frag. 7, 6 frag. 20–22;
Plut., Mor. 219E; Polyb. 12.12B; and Val., Max. 7.2.13.

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Chapter 3

Ptolemaic propaganda in
Alexander’s visit to Ammon
Frances Pownall

Alexander’s pilgrimage to the Libyan shrine of Siwah, in which the Egyptian

deity Ammon, equated by the Greeks with Zeus as early as Pindar (Pyth.
4.17),1 is alleged to have acknowledged his paternity of the young conqueror,
appears in the accounts of all of the extant ancient sources on Alexander,2
and is one of the most discussed episodes in modern scholarship.3 Ammon’s
pronouncement of Alexander’s divine filiation was an important component
of his propaganda,4 and therefore it is not surprising that Callisthenes, who
accompanied Alexander on his expedition as official court historian and
almost certainly provided a version of his consultation of the oracle that
was endorsed by the young king himself, is generally agreed to have been
the ultimate source for the Siwah episode in the later tradition.5 Alexander’s
use of the Siwah expedition for propagandistic purposes ultimately set the
stage for his successor in Egypt, Ptolemy I, to modify the existing tradition
of the episode in order to legitimize his own dynastic rule. As has often been
noted, the figure of Alexander loomed large in the development of Ptolemy’s
ideology,6 and therefore we should be on the hunt for specific Ptolemaic
propaganda behind any details in which his narrative differs from that of
the other Alexander historians.7
Ptolemy’s distinctive spin on the Siwah episode can be discerned from
Arrian’s narrative of Alexander’s visit to the oracle of Ammon (Arr., Anab.
3–4), in the course of which he indicates explicitly two details on which his
two principal sources, Ptolemy and Aristobulus,8 disagree. The first occurs
during the march of Alexander’s lost and weary troops through the feature-
less desert in a sandstorm on the way to Siwah, where Ptolemy substitutes
snake guides for the crows of Callisthenes and Aristobulus:

Ptolemy the son of Lagus says that two snakes proceeded in front of
the army emitting a sound, and Alexander ordered his guides to follow
them, trusting the divinity, and they led the way to the oracle and back
again. (6) But Aristobulus – and the accounts of most authorities are in
line with his version – says that two crows flew in front of the army, and
that they became Alexander’s guides.9
34 Frances Pownall

The interpretation of the crows as offering divine guidance, and thereby

confrming Alexander’s divine favour, originates in Callisthenes10 and was
transmitted to subsequent authorities by Aristobulus, as Arrian’s language
reveals.11 Ptolemy’s variant of snake guides is unique and was probably
invented by him, as Daniel Ogden has convincingly argued, both to confrm
the identity of Ammon with Alexander’s siring snake, and also to legitimize
his own dynastic claim to Egypt, where the snake played an important role
in mythology and cult practice, as well as royal ideology.12
In this light, I would like to re-examine Ptolemy’s other variant, which
Brian Bosworth identified as ‘one of the most annoying cruces of Alexan-
der’s reign’,13 that Alexander marched back to Egypt via the longer and
more difficult desert route to Memphis, instead of returning along the Medi-
terranean coast along the same route by which he had come, as Aristobulus
states:

Then Alexander marvelled at the place and consulted the god. And
when he had heard what his heart desired, as he said, he marched back
towards Egypt, by the same route (i.e., via Paraetonium; cf. Arr., Anab.
3.3.3) according to Aristobulus, but by a different route straight to
Memphis, according to Ptolemy the son of Lagus.14

As I shall argue, this divergence, like Ptolemy’s substitution of crows for

snakes, has its roots in Ptolemaic propaganda and should not simply be
dismissed as an error by Ptolemy15 or a mistaken inference by Arrian from
Ptolemy’s narrative.16
Like the snake guides, this variant on Alexander’s return journey to Egypt
is unique to Ptolemy. The route through the desert (unlike the less difficult
coastal one) would have formed a close parallel to Herodotus’ version of
Cambyses’ attempted invasion of the sanctuary at Siwah (after his conquest
of Memphis),17 which failed disastrously when his huge army was swal-
lowed up by a mysterious sandstorm (Hdt. 3.25.3. – 26),18 and it is very
unlikely that the Alexander historians would have missed an opportunity
to play up the greatness of Alexander in contrast to one of his Persian pre-
decessors. Thus, it is safe to say that the arduous desert return route via
Memphis occurs only in Ptolemy, and we can turn our attention as to what
might have motivated him to invent such a tradition.19
It is certain that Ptolemy, ‘a true master of propaganda’, as he has recently
been described,20 would have had a specific purpose in doing so. Timo-
thy Howe has recently argued that Ptolemy’s variant on Alexander’s return
journey was deliberate. He suggests that Ptolemy altered Alexander’s route
in order to separate the foundation of Alexandria from the consultation of
the oracle, ‘because a god-like, prescient Alexander should not need advice
on how to plan his most famous city’.21 By providing a heroic backstory
(i.e. Alexander’s successful march through the desert) for the founding of
 Ptolemaic propaganda in the king’s visit to Siwah 35

Alexandria, Ptolemy intended to create a mythology for his new capital

that went far beyond anything intended by Alexander himself, for whom
Alexandria was merely a military fort on a par with the many others that he
founded in the course of his campaigns.22
The general premise that the glorious capital city and cultural centre of
Alexandria was the creation of the early Ptolemies, rather than that of Alex-
ander himself, is very convincing. But I wonder to what extent the mythol-
ogy surrounding the foundation of Alexandria in the context of Alexander’s
consultation of Ammon is anachronistic, particularly as it is unclear whether
the city achieved its real political and cultural importance under Ptolemy I
Soter, or in the reign of his son Ptolemy II Philadelphus,23 who proved to be
equally adept at propaganda as his father.24 Furthermore, it is important to
note that Ptolemy’s variant on Alexander’s return route from his consultation
of Zeus–Ammon has important implications on the timing of the foundation
of Alexandria. Arrian (Anab. 3.1.5; cf. It. Alex. 48) and Plutarch (Alex. 26.2)
date the foundation of the city before Alexander’s pilgrimage to Siwah, almost
certainly on the authority of Ptolemy (although neither source says so explic-
itly), while the so-called Vulgate historians date it afterwards.25 Although it
is generally assumed that the timing of the foundation of Alexandria in the
Vulgate historians derives from Aristobulus, Arrian does not indicate that he
diverges from Ptolemy on this point, nor does the foundation of Alexandria
appear in any of the extant fragments.26 It is more likely that it was Cleit-
archus who created a secondary tradition found in the Vulgate historians that
the conqueror founded the city after his consultation of the oracle at Siwah.27
The romanticized tradition that Alexander’s builders marked out the circuit
of the city wall with barley after running out of chalk, an incident which
was interpreted as prophesying Alexandria’s later prosperity, almost certainly
comes from Cleitarchus, particularly as Arrian (Anab. 3.2.1–2) introduces
the episode in such a way as to suggest that he did not derive it from his
usual sources (i.e. Ptolemy and Aristobulus).28 As Boris Dreyer has noted,
Cleitarchus’ account elaborates the panegyric of Callisthenes’ account but
goes further by creating a direct association between Ammon and Alexan-
dria, thereby giving divine justification to the Ptolemies and their rule from
Alexandria.29 Although the floruit for Cleitarchus has conventionally been
identified as the last decade of the fourth century,30 it has been argued on
literary and source-critical grounds that Cleitarchus was writing in Alexan-
dria under Ptolemy II, therefore well into the third century.31 The arguments
for a post-Ptolemy I date for Cleitarchus have been vindicated by the recent
publication of a papyrus fragment which indicates that he served as the tutor
of Ptolemy IV Philopator.32 Although this new ‘low’ dating has not been uni-
versally accepted,33 the combination of this evidence suggests that Cleitarchus
was still active as late as the middle of the third century.
It seems therefore that the desire to legitimize Ptolemaic rule based at Alex-
andria by associating the foundation of the city with Alexander’s consultation
36 Frances Pownall

of the oracle of Ammon was a preoccupation of Ptolemy II Philadelphus,

and not necessarily that of his father, Ptolemy I Soter. It is also important
to remember that the original seat of Ptolemy’s satrapy in Egypt was the
ancient capital of the pharaohs at Memphis. There is some controversy
about the date of Ptolemy’s transfer of the satrapal seat from Memphis to
Alexandria, but it seems clear that Ptolemy’s transformation of Alexandria
into a suitably impressive capital heated up (in tandem with his empire-
building efforts) only after 311, which is the date of the Satrap Stele (CGC
22182), our earliest reference to Alexandria (described as a fortress) as the
site of his residence.34 Furthermore, the date of the composition of Ptolemy’s
history remains obscure. Although the traditional view has been that he
would not have had time to have written his history until the end of his long
and busy life (the ‘low’ chronology),35 Ptolemy’s self-aggrandizement in the
extant fragments and emphasis on his close association with Alexander sug-
gest that he composed it early in his reign (the ‘high’ chronology), when the
need to legitimize his power was the greatest.36
The most convincing evidence that Ptolemy I did not intend to connect
the foundation of Alexandria with Alexander’s consultation of Ammon is
that his variant takes Alexander back to Egypt via Memphis. Therefore, it
stands to reason that Memphis itself, Ptolemy’s original satrapal seat, rather
than his future capital of Alexandria, is the target of the legitimizing propa-
ganda that he wished to promulgate in his history. It is no coincidence that
after hijacking the body of Alexander from the funeral cortège that was
conveying it back to the traditional royal burial grounds of the Argeads at
Aegae,37 Ptolemy chose to bury his illustrious predecessor at Memphis,38
and not at Siwah, where the sources claim that Alexander had expressed
the desire to be interred.39 Burial of the king conferred legitimacy upon the
burier according to Macedonian custom40 and was also a practice of Phara-
onic Egypt.41 It is surely no coincidence that Alexander’s fictitious will in
the Liber de Morte, a pamphlet almost certainly emanating from Ptolemy’s
court around 309/8,42 stipulates that Ptolemy was to convey Alexander’s
body to Egypt, where the Egyptian priests were to perform the burial.43
With this masterful stroke of propaganda, Ptolemy both avoided the sticky
question of precisely where in Egypt Alexander wished to be buried and
legitimized his snatching of Alexander’s body.
It was only later that Alexander’s remains were transferred to Alexan-
dria and housed within the palace in what became the royal burial district
(where he was eventually joined by the Ptolemies) and famously viewed by
the victorious Octavian after Actium who, according to Cassius Dio, actu-
ally touched the embalmed body and accidentally broke off a part of the
conqueror’s nose.44 The problem is, however, that the sources do not make
it clear when exactly the transfer of Alexander’s remains from Memphis to
Alexandria took place.45 It presumably did not occur until Ptolemy was less
concerned with the establishment of legitimacy and was beginning to focus
 Ptolemaic propaganda in the king’s visit to Siwah 37

his attention upon the creation of a new dynasty centred in Alexandra,46

which suggests a date later in his reign. Interestingly, at least one source
attributes the transfer not to Ptolemy I Soter, but to Ptolemy II Philadelphus,
whose role in associating Alexander with Alexandria and thereby legitimat-
ing the Ptolemaic dynasty has been mentioned earlier.47
All that we know for a fact of Ptolemy Soter’s own intentions remains
that he originally buried Alexander at Memphis. Therefore, it stands to rea-
son that the connection that he was trying to forge with his alteration of
Alexander’s return route from Siwah was not between Alexander’s consulta-
tion with Ammon and Alexandria, but rather Memphis. Burying Alexander
in Memphis, the ancient capital of the pharaohs and the seat of his satrapy,
afforded Ptolemy legitimacy not only to a Macedonian and Greek audience
but to an Egyptian one as well. Ludwig Koenen has remarked upon the
‘Janus-like character’ of Ptolemaic kingship, in which the Ptolemies treaded
a ‘sometimes-uneasy’ balance between their Macedonian and Greek subjects
on the one hand and their Egyptian subjects on the other.48 Unlike Alexan-
der, whose sojourn in Egypt was necessarily brief, Ptolemy had plenty of
time to solidify and maintain relationships with the ruling elite. In particu-
lar, he developed close ties with the Egyptian priesthood at Memphis (the
ancient religious capital of Egypt), who were key figures in ensuring the
success of his rule and promoting the Ptolemaic agenda.49
It is as part of this agenda that we find Ptolemy tweaking the tradi-
tion of Alexander’s famous visit to the oracle at Siwah in another way.
In Callisthenes’ account of Alexander’s pilgrimage to Siwah, the young
king is confirmed as the son of Zeus (FGrH 124 F 14a), whereas in
Arrian’s account (Anab. 3.3.2; 3.4.5), based upon Ptolemy, Alexander’s
divine parent is Ammon,50 a switch which reflects Ptolemy’s dual audi-
ence, composed not only of Greeks and Macedonians in Egypt but also
of the powerful Egyptian priesthood. This shift of Alexander’s divine par-
entage is also reflected in Ptolemy’s coinage. One of his earliest reforms
as satrap of Egypt was to impose from his mint at Memphis the use of
Alexander’s coinage, issued during the last decade of the conqueror’s life,
which portrayed a youthful Heracles sporting his trademark lion skin on
the obverse, and Zeus enthroned with eagle and sceptre on the reverse.51 In
320/19,52 however, Ptolemy replaced the head of Heracles with the deified
Alexander in an elephant headdress and (although it was almost obscured
by the elephant scalp) the ram’s horn of Ammon.53 Significantly, Ptolemy
was the first of the Successors to modify Alexander’s coinage which, as
Catharine Lorber remarks, ‘must have appeared universal and immutable
to contemporaries’.54 The ram’s horn, of course, evoked Alexander’s visit
to Siwah and Zeus–Ammon’s declaration of his divine filiation to Ptol-
emy’s Greek and Macedonian subjects. But it is important to recognize that
the horns of Ammon also emphatically place Alexander and by extension
Ptolemy himself into a tradition of representations of the pharaoh which
38 Frances Pownall

was common in the New Kingdom, expressing the ritual unification of the
pharaoh with the sun-god Amon-Re.
Similarly, the elephant headdress served as a reference to Alexander’s con-
quest of India to Ptolemy’s Greek and Macedonian subjects, while for his
Egyptian subjects it recalled the Asian empire of the New Kingdom pha-
raoh Thutmose III, who celebrated his success in his Syrian campaigns with
an elephant hunt.55 Ptolemy maintained Alexander’s image on his coinage
throughout most of his lengthy reign, long after his assumption of the royal
title, placing his own portrait on his coinage (once again the first of the Suc-
cessors to do so) only in the 290s, although his image shared attributes such
as the diadem and Zeus’ aegis with the deified Alexander, who continued
to appear on coins (albeit ones of lesser value).56 Perhaps by this time, the
elderly Ptolemy was beginning to think of the future, and it was no longer a
question of using the image of Alexander to legitimize his royal power, but
rather one of appropriating the conqueror’s divine status for himself and his
dynasty.
It was in Ptolemy’s interests to contribute to the apotheosis of Alexander
in more tangible ways also, as always with an eye to legitimizing his rule
to both his Graeco-Macedonian and his native Egyptian subjects. The most
obvious example is his establishment of a state-run ruler cult as compared
to Alexander,57 which served not only to catapult his illustrious predecessor
into the ranks of the gods but also to set a precedent for himself and his Suc-
cessors eventually to receive the same honour. The eponymous priest of this
new cult, who oversaw the worship of the deified Alexander with traditional
Greek ritual, became the most important priest in the kingdom, as is attested
by the appearance of his name directly after that of the king in dating for-
mulae in both Greek and demotic documents, as well as in the hieroglyphic
versions of decrees made by the priests.58 Naturally, the Priest of Alexander
was a member of the Greek or Macedonian elite,59 rather than an Egyptian,
which suggests that Ptolemy was rather more successful at making the idea
of the divinity of Alexander palatable to the Greeks and Macedonians than
Alexander himself ever was. Nevertheless, it was crucial for Ptolemy’s legiti-
macy in the eyes of his Egyptian subjects to embed himself into traditional
Egyptian religious practice and pharaonic customs as much as possible.60
When Ptolemy himself died, this process was carried to its logical conclusion
by his son Philadelphus, who deified his father (presumably in accordance
with his wishes) and instituted a dynastic cult, into which the current royal
couple were inducted as living gods, setting a precedent followed by all of
the subsequent Ptolemies.61 Although the dynastic cult of the Ptolemies, like
its predecessor the ruler cult of the deified Alexander, followed Greek tradi-
tions and was aimed at the Greek-speaking elements of the population, it
combined with traditional pharaonic rituals and in the third century led to
the worship of the Ptolemies alongside Egyptian deities by their native sub-
jects.62 This validation of the Ptolemaic monarchy through divine worship
 Ptolemaic propaganda in the king’s visit to Siwah 39

by both their Graeco–Macedonian and Egyptian subjects is the inevitable

consequence of Ptolemy I’s establishment of the ruler cult as compared to
Alexander, and ongoing efforts to legitimize his rule through a close associa-
tion with Alexander.
Driven by the imperative of appeasing the dual elements of his subject
population, Ptolemy not only emphasized his connection with Alexander
but also went beyond Alexander’s own legitimation strategies, carrying
them to their natural conclusions. In addition to the ruler cult that pro-
claimed the divinity of Alexander at a very visible ritual level, Ptolemy seems
to have appropriated and extended Alexander’s symbolic role as the pharaoh
of Egypt. It is widely asserted in modern scholarship that during his sojourn
in Egypt, Alexander was formally crowned pharaoh at Memphis by the
high priests of Ptah in accordance with Egyptian tradition.63 This communis
opinio, however, has been challenged by Stanley Burstein,64 who observes
that the only ancient source to mention Alexander’s alleged coronation is the
Alexander Romance,65 a work composed in Ptolemaic Egypt that evinces
traces of a nationalist agenda.66 Nevertheless, while Alexander may or may
not have concerned himself with the ‘trappings and traditional titles of the
pharaoh’,67 it was quite a different matter for the Egyptian elite, for whom
the religious legitimacy of the pharaoh was necessary not only to attend to
the ritual duties required of the king but also to maintain the cosmic order
of the universe.68 The pharaoh was considered not only to be the son of Re
but also to be divine himself as the incarnation of the god Amon-Re through
a ceremony held at his coronation and annually renewed at the optet fes-
tival.69 There is no doubt that Alexander was recognized by the Egyptian
priesthood as a legitimate king, as is demonstrated by the spurt of temple
construction and renovation undertaken in his name that occurred in the
years following his departure from Egypt;70 the dedicatory inscriptions of
these building works include full pharaonic titulary for Alexander as the son
of Re.71 The emphasis in these inscriptions on the renewal of monuments
served to legitimize Alexander’s rule in the eyes of his native population by
linking him with the greatest pharaohs of the New Kingdom and suggest-
ing that he was righting the wrongs inflicted by the Persian usurpers upon
traditional Egyptian religion.72
After Alexander’s death, Ptolemy I, while still ruling as satrap in Egypt,
continued to enhance Alexander’s programme of restoration as an integral
part of his own propaganda, for he had at least as much to gain as the Egyp-
tian priesthood from the formalization (retrospective or not) of Alexander’s
position as the pharaoh. While Alexander’s heirs were still alive, Ptolemy
could not do so in his own name, but dedicatory inscriptions recorded under
the name of Philip III Arrhidaeus continue to include the royal titles and
emphasize the king’s restoration of the temples of the traditional Egyptian
gods.73 By 311 bc (on the significance of this date, see previous discussion),
however, Ptolemy was ready to appropriate for himself the role previously
40 Frances Pownall

played by Alexander and his brother Arrhidaeus.74 On the Satrap Stele,

although Alexander’s young son Alexander IV (Arrhidaeus now having been
dead since five years) is recognized with the standard royal titles as the son
of Re, Ptolemy is identified as ruler of Egypt (‘a great prince in Egypt’)
and is described (using epithets of a traditional type)75 in grandiose terms,
culminating with the claim that he is the one responsible for restoring ‘the
sacred images of the gods which were found within Asia, together with all
the ritual implements and all the sacred scrolls of the temples of Upper and
Lower Egypt’.76 This kind of language in itself suggests that Ptolemy took
a far more active role in overseeing the contents of such decrees attesting
to the concern of the Macedonian rulers for native Egyptian religion than
Alexander himself did in the dedications issued in his name.77 The legiti-
macy of Ptolemy’s own rule in the eyes of his native Egyptian subjects rested
upon the religious legitimacy of his predecessor, an issue he addressed very
early on, with remarkable foresight, long before he officially proclaimed
himself basileus in 306/578 and celebrated his own formal coronation as the
pharaoh at Memphis.79
As Ptolemy’s hijacking of Alexander’s funeral cortège in 321 shows, very
early on in his own rule he was indeed already planning his illustrious pre-
decessor’s apotheosis. Burial in the ancient Egyptian capital of Memphis
was an integral part of his vision, for it confirmed Alexander’s formal status
as the pharaoh (whatever Alexander himself may or may not have done),
endorsing him as the incarnation of Amon-Re in the eyes of his Egyptian
subjects, and also legitimized Ptolemy as his (albeit at this stage de facto)
successor as the agent responsible for his burial. Alexander Meeus has
observed that the scholarly consensus that Ptolemy’s goal in seizing Alexan-
der’s body was to substantiate his claim to rule Egypt is anachronistic, for
‘at a time when most people must still have considered Alexander’s realm
one united empire, it would have been ridiculous to use the most powerful
political symbol there was to legitimize one’s rule over such a small portion
of it’.80 Nevertheless, establishing the divinity of Alexander according to
the traditional Egyptian conception of the pharaoh and laying the ground
for the legitimacy of his own succession (symbolized by the burial of his
predecessor in accordance with Macedonian and Egyptian customs) would
have been important goals for Ptolemy even at this early stage, regardless of
whether he intended to surpass all of his rivals and rule one united empire or
found a dynasty in one powerful and wealthy region of Alexander’s former
empire. Propaganda, after all, can easily be modified and manipulated to
suit the circumstances.
Returning, then, to Ptolemy’s variants in his narrative of the visit to Siwah,
I have argued that his assertion that Alexander returned from the Ammon
shrine via Memphis, like his substitution of snake guides for the ravens of
Callisthenes and Aristobulus, is both deliberate and significant and origi-
nates in Ptolemaic propaganda. The Memphis variant offers an illustration
 Ptolemaic propaganda in the king’s visit to Siwah 41

that has previously been overlooked of the way in which Ptolemy adopted
and reconfigured Alexander’s image and ideology as part of his own royal
programme in the ancient land of the pharaohs. The city of Memphis con-
ferred legitimacy upon Alexander (and thereby Ptolemy also), particularly
to the native population of Egypt, in a way that the new city of Alexandria
could not. By emphasizing the close association between Alexander and
Memphis, Ptolemy was able to bridge the gap between pharaonic Egypt and
his role as the legitimate successor to the Argead monarchy in Egypt. Just
as the oracle at Siwah confirmed Alexander as the son of Zeus–Ammon to
Ptolemy’s Graeco–Macedonian subjects, a formal coronation at the ancient
pharaonic capital of Memphis confirmed him as the son of Amon to his
Egyptian subjects. How better to reinforce this syncretism than to associate
Memphis directly with the tradition of Alexander’s pilgrimage to Siwah?

Notes
1 On the assimilation of Zeus and Ammon, see A. B. Bosworth, ‘Alexander and
Ammon’, in Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Pre-
history, ed. K. H. Kinzl (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1977), 52.
2 Str. 17.1.43 (= Callisthenes FGrH 124 F 14a); Diod. Sic. 17.49–51; Curt. 4.7.5–
32; Arr., Anab. 3.3–4; Plut., Alex. 26.6–27.5 (= Callisthenes FGrH 124 F 14ab);
and Just., Epit. 11.11; It. Alex. 21–22.1.
3 Recent contributions include E. M. Anson, ‘Alexander and Siwah’, Ancient World
34 (2003): 117–30; T. Howe, ‘The Diadochi, Invented Tradition, and Alexander’s
Expedition to Siwah’, in After Alexander: The Time of the Diadochi (323–281
BC), ed. V. Alonso Troncoso and E. M. Anson, 57–70 (Oxford and Oakville, CT:
Oxbow Books, 2013); Bowden, ‘Alexander in Egypt: Considering the Egyptian
Evidence’, in Alexander in Africa, ed. P. Bosman, 38–55 (Pretoria: Unisa Press,
2014); A. Collins, ‘Alexander’s Visit to Siwah: A New Analysis’, Phoenix 68
(2014): 62–77; and D. Ogden, ‘Alexander and Africa (332–331 bc and Beyond):
The Facts, the Traditions and the Problems’, in Bosman, Alexander in Africa,
9–14 (all with earlier bibliography).
4 On Alexander’s use of the Siwah episode to negotiate legitimacy on multiple
levels with his Macedonian army, his Greek allies, and the Egyptian elite, see
Bowden (‘Alexander in Egypt) and S. Caneva, From Alexander to the Theoi Adel-
phoi: Foundation and Legitimation of a Dynasty (Leuven: Peeters, 2016), 14–28.
5 See M. Zahrnt, ‘Von Siwa bis Persepolis: Überlegungen zur Arbeitsweise des Kal-
listhenes’, Ancient Society 36 (2006): esp. 151–58; A. Collins, ‘Callisthenes on
Olympias and Alexander’s Divine Birth’, Ancient History Bulletin 26 (2012):
1–14; Bowden, 43–51; F. Pownall, ‘Aristoboulos of Kassandreia (139)’, in Brill’s
New Jacoby, ed. I. Worthington (Leiden: Brill, 2013); and L. O’Sullivan, ‘Callis-
thenes and Alexander the Invincible God’, in East and West in the World Empire
of Alexander, ed. P. Wheatley and E. Baynham, 35–52 (Oxford: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 2015). As Caneva observes, the ‘dry style’ of Callisthenes’ narrative
of the oracle’s acknowledgement of Alexander’s divine filiation transmitted by
Strabo and Plutarch (see note 2) distinguishes his contribution from the roman-
ticized overlay of the later sources (From Alexander, 12).
6 See J. Bingen, Hellenistic Egypt: Monarchy, Society, Economy, Culture (Berke-
ley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2007), 15–30; S. Stephens,
42 Frances Pownall

‘Ptolemaic Alexandria’, in A Companion to Hellenistic Literature, ed. J. J. Clauss

and M. Cuypers (Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 49–51; A. B.
Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom: The Case of Egypt’, in Creating
a Hellenistic World, ed. A. Erskine and L. Llewellyn-Jones (Swansea: Classical
Press of Wales, 2011), 92; Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’, 73–74; H. P. Colburn,
‘Memories of the Second Persian Period in Egypt’, in Political Memory in and
After the Persian Empire, ed. J. M. Silverman and C. Waerzeggers (Atlanta: SBL
Press, 2015), 168–69; S. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien (Berlin:
Trafo, 2014), 78–90; and Caneva, From Alexander, 29–79. But cf. M. Lianou,
who has argued that the early Ptolemies looked farther back into Argead mon-
archy as a source of dynastic legitimation: M. Lianou, ‘The Role of the Argeadai
in the Legitimation of the Ptolemaic Dynasty: Rhetoric and Practice’, in Philip II
and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, ed. E. Carney and
D. Ogden, 123–33 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010).
7 On Ptolemy’s shaping of his narrative of Alexander’s campaign to legitimize his
own dynastic claims, see A. B. Bosworth, Alexander and the East: The Tragedy of
Triumph (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 41–53; T. Howe, ‘Alexander in India:
Ptolemy as Near Eastern Historiographer’, in Macedonian Legacies: Studies in
Ancient History and Culture in Honor of Eugene N. Borza, ed. T. Howe and
J. Reames, 215–33 (Claremont, CA: Regina Books, 2008); T. Howe, ‘Introduc-
ing Ptolemy: Alexander and the Persian Gates’, in The Many Faces of War in
the Ancient World, ed. W. Heckel, S. Müller, and G. Wrightson, 166–95 (New-
castle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2015); see also ‘The “pursuit
of kings” imitation Alexandri in Arrian’s Darius and Bessos “chase scenes”’ in
this volume; pace J. Roisman, who argues that Ptolemy did not intend his history
as propaganda: J. Roisman, ‘Ptolemy and his Rivals in his History of Alexander’,
Classical Quarterly 34 (1984): 373–85.
8 Arr., Anab. pref. 1–2 = Ptolemy FGrH 138 T 1 and Aristobulus FGrH 139 T 6;
cf. Arr., Anab. 7.15.6 = Ptolemy FGrH 138 F 29 and Aristobulus FGrH 139 F 53.
9 Arr., Anab. 3.3.5–6 = Ptolemy FGrH 138 F 8 and Aristobulus FGrH 139 F 14:
∏τολεμαῖος μὲν δὴ ὁ Λάγου λέγει δράκοντας δύο ἰέναι πρὸ τοῦ στρατεύματος φωνὴν
ἱέντας, καὶ τούτοις ᾽Αλέξανδρον κελεῦσαι ἕπεσθαι τοὺς ἡγεμόνας πιστεύσαντας
τῶι θείῳ, τοὺς δὲ ἡγήσασθαι τὴν ὁδὸν τήν τε ἐς τὸ μαντεῖον καὶ ὀπίσω αὖθις·
᾽Αριστόβουλος δὲ – καὶ ὁ πλείων λόγος ταύτῃ κατέχει – κόρακας δύο προπετομένους
πρὸ τῆς στρατιᾶς, τούτους γενέσθαι ᾽Αλεξάνδρωι τοὺς ἡγεμόνας.
10 Callisthenes FGrH 124 F 14a (= Strabo 17.1.43) and F 14 b (= Plut. Alex. 27.1–3).
11 Cf. Pownall, ‘Aristoboulos of Kassandreia (139)’: Commentary on F 13–15.
12 D. Ogden, ‘Alexander’s Snake Sire’, in Alexander & His Successors: Essays From
the Antipodes, ed. P. Wheatley and R. Hannah, 136–78. (Claremont, CA: Regina
Books, 2009); cf. S. R. Asirvatham, ‘Olympias’ Snake and Callisthenes’ Stand:
Religion and Politics in Plutarch’s Life of Alexander’, in Between Magic and
Religion: Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient Mediterranean Religion and Soci-
ety, ed. S. Asirvatham, C. Pache and J. Watrous (Lanham, MD: Rowman and
Littlefield Publishers, 2001), 103.
13 A. B. Bosworth, ‘Errors in Arrian’, Classical Quarterly 26 (1976): 136.
14 Arr. Anab. 3.4.5 = Ptolemy FGrH 138 F 9 and Aristobulus FGrH 139 F 15:
ἐνταῦθα ᾽Αλέξανδρος τόν τε χῶρον ἐθαύμασε καὶ τῶι θεῷ ἐχρήσατο. καὶ ἀκούσας ὅσα
αὐτῷ πρὸς θυμοῦ ἦν, ὡς ἔλεγεν, ἀνέζευξεν ἐπ᾽ Αἰγύπτου, ὡς μὲν ᾽Αριστόβουλος λέγει,
τὴν αὐτὴν ὀπίσω ὁδόν, ὡς δὲ ∏τολεμαῖος ὁ Λάγου, ἄλλην εὐθείαν ὡς ἐπὶ Μέμφιν.
15 So, C. B. Welles, ‘The Discovery of Serapis and the Foundation of Alexandria’,
Historia 11 (1962): 278–81 and E. N. Borza, ‘Alexander and the Return from
Siwah’, Historia 16, no. 3 (1967): 369.
 Ptolemaic propaganda in the king’s visit to Siwah 43

16 So, Bosworth, ‘Errors in Arrian’, 136–38; cf. A. B. Bosworth, A Historical Com-

mentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1980), 263, 274.
17 Bosworth,‘Errors in Arrian’, 136–37 and Howe,‘Founding Alexandria’, 78–79 (cf.
Howe, ‘Ptolemy 138’, in Worthington, Brill’s New Jacoby: Commentary on F 9).
18 Cf. Plut., Alex. 26.12. The miraculous annihilation of Cambyses’ army which
prevented it from capturing Siwah was probably circulated by the authorities
at the sanctuary itself; cf. a similar miracle that was alleged to have protected
Delphi during Xerxes’ invasion (Hdt. 8.36). It is possible that Herodotus’
account derives from Egyptian narratives designed to portray Cambyses as
an unsuccessful and therefore illegitimate ruler; J. Dillery, ‘Cambyses and
the Egyptian Chaosbeschreibung Tradition’, Classical Quarterly 55 (2005):
387–406.
19 Pace S. Müller, who argues that Ptolemy preserves an authentic tradition: S. Mül-
ler ‘Kambyses II., Alexander und Siwah: Die ökonomisch-geopolitisch Dimen-
sion’, in Diwan: Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East
and the Eastern Mediterranean, ed. C. Binder, H. Börm and A. Luther, 223–45
(Duisburg: Wellem Verlag, 2016).
20 A. Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image in the Age of the Successors’, in Alexander the
Great: A New History, ed. W. Heckel and L. A. Tritle (Malden, MA and Oxford:
Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), 245. Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien,
78: ‘Meister der Manipulation’.
21 Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’, 78.
22 Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’; cf. M. Lianou, ‘Ptolemy I and the Economics of
Consolidation’, in The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenis-
tic Kingdoms (323–276 B.C.), ed. H. Hauben and A. Meeus (Leuven: Peeters,
2014), 385–86 and V. Grieb, who argues that the foundation narrative is a lit-
erary construction by the later sources (‘Zur Gründung von Alexandreia: Die
Quellen im Kontext des spätklassichen Urbanismus der südöstlichen Ägäiswelt
und der nautischen Bedingungen im östlichen Mittelmeerraum’, in Alexander the
Great and Egypt: History, Art, Tradition, ed. V. Grieb, A. Wojciechowska and K.
Nawotka (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2014), esp. 187–201).
23 P. Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), esp. 1:36;
A. Łukaszewicz, ‘Sur les pas de Ptolémée Ier: Quelques remarques concernant la
ville d’Alexandrie’, in Hauben and Meeus, The Age of the Successors, 189–205; cf.
A. Erskine, who comments that the Alexandria of Ptolemy I ‘was more likely to
have resembled a gigantic building site than a prestigious capital city’ (‘Life After
Death: Alexandria and the Body of Alexander’, Greece and Rome 49 (2002):
165). On Ptolemy II’s deliberate positioning of Alexandria as the military, cul-
tural, and economic centre of an empire, see C. Marquaille, ‘The Foreign Policy
of Ptolemy II’, in Ptolemy Philadelphus and His World, ed. P. McKechnie and P.
Guillaume, 39–64 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2008).
24 See esp. R. A. Hazzard, Imagination of a Monarchy: Studies in Ptolemaic Propa-
ganda (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2000).
25 Diod. Sic. 17.52.1; Curt. 4.8.1; and Just., Epit. 11.11.13.
26 As noted by Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’, 77n23.
27 On Cleitarchus as a source, whether direct or indirect, for Diodorus, Curtius,
and Justin, see, for example, J. R. Hamilton, ‘Cleitarchus and Diodorus 17’, in
Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory, ed.
K. H. Kinzl, 126–46 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1977); A. B. Bosworth, From
Arrian to Alexander: Studies in Historical Interpretation (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1988), 8–13; Bosworth, A Historical Commentary, 29–30; E. Baynham,
44 Frances Pownall

Alexander the Great: The Unique History of Quintus Curtius (Ann Arbor: Uni-
versity of Michigan Press, 1998), 74–82; B. Dreyer, ‘Jener hat Alexander-Bild, das
er verdient: The Changing Perceptions of Alexander in Ancient Historiography’,
in Wheatley and Hannah, Alexander & His Successors, 63–67; and J. Atkinson,
Curtius Rufus: Histories of Alexander the Great, Book 10, trans. J.C. Yardley
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 19–21.
28 D. Ogden, ‘Alexander and Africa (332–331 bc and Beyond): The Facts, the Tradi-
tions and the Problems’, in Bosman, Alexander in Africa, 7–8. In Arrian’s (ratio-
nalized) version (3.2.2), the seer Aristander of Telmessus makes the prophecy
solely on the use of the barley (cf. Strabo 17.1.6). The other sources add in
the sudden appearance of a flock of birds whose devouring of the barley gives
added emphasis to the omen: Curt. 4.8.6; Val. Max. 1.4. ext. 1; Plut., Alex. 26.8–
10; and It. Alex. 49. This too was probably a detail originally in Cleitarchus’
account: Bosworth, A Historical Commentary, 265–66.
29 B. Dreyer, ‘Heroes, Cults, and Divinity’, in Heckel and Tritle, Alexander the
Great, 221–22 and ‘Jener hat Alexander-Bild’, 66–67.
30 E. Badian, ‘The Date of Clitarchus’, Proceedings of the African Classical Associa-
tion 8 (1965): 5–11; L. Prandi, Fortuna e realtà dell’opera di Clitarco (Stuttgart:
Steiner, 1996), 66–71; E. Baynham, ‘The Ancient Evidence for Alexander the
Great’, in Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, ed. J. Roisman (Leiden:
Brill, 2003), 10–11; and A. Zambrini, ‘The Historians of Alexander the Great’, in
A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, ed. J. Marincola (Malden,
MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007), 316–17.
31 So, Hazzard, 7–17; V. Parker, ‘Source-Critical Reflections on Cleitarchus’ Work’, in
Wheatley and Hannah, Alexander & His Successors 28–55; and S. Caneva, ‘Il coro
del re. Capo e comprimari nella storiografia e nell’epos fra IV e III A.C.’, Quaderni
di Storia 77 (2013): 194–99.
32 POxy 4808 = Kleitarchos BNJ 137 T 1b. Cf. C. S. Chrysanthou, ‘POxy LXXI
4808: Bios, Character, and Literary Criticism’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und
Epigraphik 193 (2015): 26–29n13.
33 L. Prandi, ‘New Evidence for the Dating of Cleitarchus (POxy LXXI.4808)?’,
Histos 6 (2012): 15–26; cf. L. Prandi, ‘Kleitarchos of Alexandria (137)’, in
Worthington, Brill’s New Jacoby: Commentary to T 1b and Biographical Essay.
34 On the transfer of the capital from Memphis to Alexandria, see, for example,
Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’, 80–81; M. Lianou, ‘Ptolemy I and the Economics
of Consolidation’, in Hauben and Meeus, The Age of the Successors, 386–87;
and I. Worthington, Ptolemy I: King and Pharaoh of Egypt (Oxford and New
York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 124–25. On Ptolemy’s aggressive territo-
rial ambitions after 311, see A. Meeus, ‘The Territorial Ambitions of Ptolemy I’,
in Hauben and Meeus, The Age of the Successors, esp. 289–93.
35 L. Pearson, The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great (New York: American
Philological Association, 1960), 193; W. M. Ellis, Ptolemy of Egypt (London and
New York: Routledge, 1994), 15–19; Zambrini, ‘The Historians of Alexander
the Great’, 217–18; Worthington, Ptolemy I, 216–19; and W. Heckel, ‘Ptolemy:
A Man of his Own Making’, in Ptolemy I Soter: A Self-Made Man, ed. T. Howe,
1–19 (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2018).
36 E. Badian, Review of The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great by L. Pearson,
Gnomon 33 (1961): 665 and ‘Alexander the Great, 1948–67’, Classical World
65 (1971): 39–40: sometime between Ptolemy’s hijacking of Alexander’s corpse
and 308; R. M. Errington, ‘Bias in Ptolemy’s History of Alexander’, Classical
Quarterly 19 (1969): 241–42, followed by Bosworth, A Historical Commen-
tary, 22–23: shortly after Perdiccas’ unsuccessful invasion of Egypt; and Howe
 Ptolemaic propaganda in the king’s visit to Siwah 45

‘Ptolemy 138’: Biographical Essay: around 311, when Ptolemy was beginning to
focus his attention upon Egypt.
37 Arrian FGrH 156 F 9.25; Diod. Sic. 28.2–5; Strabo 17.1.8; Paus. 1.6.3; and Ael.,
VH 12.64.
38 So Marmor Parium FGrH 239 B 1; Paus. 1.6.3; Curt. 10.10.20; and Ps. Callisth.
3.34.5; the other sources (Strabo, Diodorus, and Aelian) conflate Alexander’s
original burial at Memphis with his permanent resting place at Alexandria (cf.
Ogden, ‘Alexander and Africa’, 22).
39 Diod. Sic. 18.3.5 and 28.3; Curt. 10.5.4; and Justin 12.15.7 and 13.4.6. Ogden
observes that the embalming of Alexander’s body (Curt. 10.10.13) corrobo-
rates the contention that it was his desire to be buried at Siwah (‘Alexander and
Africa’, 21n86).
40 On the symbolic significance of Ptolemy’s burying of Alexander, see, for
example, Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria, 1.15–17; Erskine, ‘Life After Death’,
171–76; Lianou, ‘The Role of the Argeadai’, 127–28; Meeus, ‘Territorial Ambi-
tions’, 273–77; Caneva, From Alexander, 35–42; and Worthington, Ptolemy I,
93–95, 129–33.
41 Lianou, ‘The Role of the Argeadai’, 127–28; C. C. Lorber,‘The Currency Reforms
and Intentions of Ptolemy I Soter’, in Howe, Ptolemy I Soter, 60–87.
42 So, A. B. Bosworth, ‘Ptolemy and the Will of Alexander’, in Alexander the Great
in Fact and Fiction, ed. A. B. Bosworth and E. J. Baynham, 207–41 (Oxford and
New York: Oxford University Press, 2000); cf. Howe, ‘Founding Alexandria’,
79–80 and Meeus, ‘Territorial Ambitions’, 293.
43 LDM 108, 119.
44 Dio 51.16.5; cf. Suet. Aug. 18, who claims that Octavian snubbed the Ptol-
emies, stating that he had come to see a king. On the (eventual) incorporation
of Alexander’s tomb within the royal palace, see Strabo 17.1.8 with Erskine,
‘Life After Death’, 164–67; Ogden, ‘Alexander and Africa’, 22–24; Caneva,
From Alexander, 41–47; and Worthington, Ptolemy I, 132. Caneva comments:
‘The architectural organization of the royal district grew up around Alexander’s
body, as the durability of monarchic power results from a process of metapho-
rization, through which legitimacy was transferred from the biological body
of the founder king to the institutional body of the Ptolemaic kingdom’ (From
Alexander, 47).
45 Curtius (10.10.20) asserts only that Ptolemy transferred the body from Memphis
to Alexandria ‘after a few years’ (paucis post annis), a phrase vague enough to
encompass any period of his reign.
46 So, F. De Polignac, ‘The Shadow of Alexander’, in Alexandria, Third Century
BC: The Knowledge of the World in a Single City, ed. C. Jacob and F. de Polig-
nac, trans. C. Clement. (Alexandria: Hapocrates Pub., 2000), 39–40 and Howe,
‘Founding Alexandria’, 80–81.
47 Paus. 1.7.1; cf. W. S. Greenwalt, ‘Argaeus, Ptolemy II, and Alexander’s Corpse’,
Ancient History Bulletin 2 (1988): 41n7: ‘it would have made sense for Ptolemy
II to move Alexander’s remains in order to sanctify the internment of Ptolemy I,
so that the power of Alexander’s presence could consecrate the first transmission
of royal power between the two Ptolemies’.
48 L. Koenen, ‘The Ptolemaic King as Religious Figure’, in Images and Ideologies:
Self-Definition in the Hellenistic World, ed. A. Bulloch, E. S. Gruen, A. A. Long
and A. F. Stewart (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 25; cf. J. G.
Manning, The Last Pharaohs: Egypt Under the Ptolemies, 305–30 B.C. (Prince-
ton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2010), 91–96 and Worthington,
Ptolemy I, 186–87. The relationship was not always an easy one, as is attested
46 Frances Pownall

by the β recension of the Alexander Romance at 3.34.1 in which an oracular

voice demands that Alexander’s body be removed from Memphis and buried in
Alexandria, apparently in service to an Egyptian nationalist agenda; see J. Dil-
lery, ‘Alexander’s Tomb at “Rhacotis”: Ps. Callisth. 3.34.5 and the Oracle of the
Potter’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 148 (2004): 253–58.
49 G. Hölbl, A History of the Ptolemaic Empire, trans. T. Saavedra (London and
New York: Routledge, 2001), 80–81; Manning, 91–93; Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to
Hellenistic Kingdom’, 94; D. J. Thompson, Memphis Under the Ptolemies, 2nd
ed. (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2012), 99–143; and
S. Müller, ‘The Female Element of the Political Self-Fashioning of the Diadochi:
Ptolemy, Seleucus, Lysimachus, and their Iranian Wives’, in Alonso Troncoso and
Anson, After Alexander, 204–06.
50 Cf. Howe, ‘The Diadochi’, 63.
51 Colburn, ‘Memories’, 169; Lorber, ‘the imposition of Alexander’s coinage was a
symbolic expression of Macedonian authority in Egypt’ (‘The Currency Reforms
and Intentions of Ptolemy I Soter’).
52 On the date, see C. C. Lorber, who suggests that the issuing of the new coinage
may be connected with Ptolemy’s seizure of Alexander’s remains (‘A Revised
Chronology for the Coinage of Ptolemy I’, Numismatic Chronicle 165 (2005):
62); cf. A. Stewart, Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 233.
53 K. Dahmen, The Legend of Alexander the Great on Greek and Roman Coins
(London and New York: Routledge, 2007), 10–11, 112–14; Colburn, ‘Memo-
ries’, 169; Lorber, ‘The Currency Reforms and Intentions of Ptolemy I Soter’ In
Howe, Ptolemy I Soter, 60–87.
54 Lorber, ‘The Currency Reforms and Intentions of Ptolemy I Soter’, in Howe,
Ptolemy I Soter, 60–87.
55 C. C. Lorber, ‘An Egyptian Interpretation of Alexander’s Elephant Headdress’,
American Journal of Numismatics 24 (2012): 21–31.
56 Lorber, ‘The Currency Reforms and Intentions of Ptolemy I Soter’, in Howe,
Ptolemy I Soter, 60–87.
57 Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria, 1: 215–26; Koenen, 46–69; and Hölbl, 92–94.
58 Hölbl, 94.
59 Hölbl, 94.
60 Cf. Manning, 91–96.
61 Hölbl, 94–95 and C. Johnson, ‘OGIS and the Divinization of the Ptolemies’,
Historia 51 (2012): 112–13.
62 Hölbl, 94–95; Johnson, 112–13; Manning, 92–96; and Thompson, 117–26. On
possible reasons why Alexander, himself, was not incorporated into the Egyptian
dynastic cult under the later Ptolemies, see G. R. Dumke, ‘The Dead Alexander and
the Egyptians: Archaeology of a Void’, in Grieb, Wojciechowska and Nawotka,
Alexander the Great and Egypt, 337–46.
63 A survey of the scholarship can be found in A. Collins, ‘The Divinity of Alex-
ander in Egypt: A Reassessment’, in Wheatley and Hannah, Alexander & His
Successors, 179–81. It is important to note, however, that if we do accept the
historicity of Alexander’s formal coronation, it took place during his second visit
to Memphis (i.e. after his pilgrimage to Siwah) and not during this first visit, as is
generally assumed. See A. Wojciechowska and K. Nawotka, ‘Alexander in Egypt:
Chronology’, in Grieb, Wojciechowska and Nawotka, Alexander the Great and
Egypt, 53–54 and S. Pfeiffer, ‘Alexander der Große in Ägypten: Überlegungen
zur Frage seiner pharaonischen Legitimation’, in Grieb, Wojciechowska and
Nawotka, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 105.
 Ptolemaic propaganda in the king’s visit to Siwah 47

64 S. M. Burstein, ‘Pharaoh Alexander: A Scholarly Myth’, Ancient Society 22

(1999): 139–45; cf. Collins, ‘The Divinity of Alexander’.
65 Ps. Callis. 1.34.2–3, both α and β recensions; ‘a source of dubious historical reli-
ability’ according to Lloyd, who nevertheless accepts the tradition of Alexander’s
coronation as the pharaoh at Memphis (‘nothing is more likely’) (‘From Satrapy
to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 88).
66 See note 48 and Collins, ‘The Divinity of Alexander’,183–85.
67 Sheedy and Ockinga, ‘The Crowned Ram’s Head’, 232–33.
68 Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 88: ‘It is, however, beyond dispute
that he was treated by the Egyptian elite as a Pharaoh in the fullest sense’. Cf.
Ogden, ‘Alexander and Africa’, 3 and Bowden, ‘Alexander in Egypt’.
69 See, for example, A. Collins, ‘The Divinity of the Pharaoh in Greek Sources’,
Classical Quarterly 64 (2014): 841, with previous bibliography.
70 The most important of these are the temple of Amon and Horus at the Bhariya
Oasis, the restoration of the shrine housing Amon’s barque at Luxor, and the
renovations of the temple of Amon at Karnak. See D. Schäfer, ‘Alexander der
Große: Pharao und Priester’, in Ägypten unter fremden Herrschen zwischen per-
sischer Satrapie und römischer Provinz, ed. S. Pfeiffer, 54–74. (Frankfurt: Ver-
lag Antike, 2007); Collins, ‘The Divinity of Alexander’, 200–03; Lloyd, ‘From
Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 88–89; Lorber, ‘An Egyptian Interpretation’,
25–26; Wojciechowska and Nawotka 2014: 51–52; Sheedy and Ockinga, ‘The
Crowned Ram’s Head’, 232–36; and Caneva, From Alexander, 20–22.
71 On the significance of Alexander’s Egyptian titles on these monuments as con-
firming his religious legitimacy, see F. Bosch-Puche, ‘Alexander the Great’s Egyp-
tian Names in the Barque Shrine at Luxor Temple’, in Grieb, Wojciechowska and
Nawotka, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 55–83; F. Bosch-Puche, ‘The Egyptian
Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, I: Horus, Two Ladies, Golden Horus, and
Throne Names’, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 99 (2013): 131–54; F. Bosch-
Puche, ‘The Egyptian Royal Titulary of Alexander the Great, II: Personal Names,
Empty Cartouches, Final Remarks, and Appendix’, Journal of Egyptian Archae-
ology 100 (2014): 89–109; and F. Bosch-Puche and J. Moje,‘Alexander the Great’s
Name in Contemporary Demotic Sources’, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 101
(2015): 340–48. Cf., however, I. A. Ladynin who observes that some of Alexan-
der’s royal titles may be early Ptolemaic imitations: I. A. Ladynin, ‘Defence and
Offence in the Egyptian Royal Titles of Alexander the Great’, in The Religious
Aspects of War in the Ancient Near East, Greece, and Rome, ed. K. Ulanowski
(Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2016), 258–59.
72 Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 89 and Sheedy and Ockinga, ‘The
Crowned Ram’s Head’, 236–37.
73 Esp. the inscription on the renovated sanctuary of Amon at Karnak; Lloyd,
‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 89–90 and Sheedy and Ockinga, ‘The
Crowned Ram’s Head’, 236–37.
74 On Ptolemy’s ‘decentralization’ (while still formally satrap) of the building
programme undertaken in the name of Alexander and his immediate succes-
sor Arrhidaeus, see I. A. Ladynin, ‘The Argeadai Building Program in Egypt
in the Framework of Dynasties’ XXIX–XXX Temple Building’, in Grieb,
Wojciechowska and Nawotka, Alexander the Great and Egypt, 221–40.
75 Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 91; cf. Colburn, ‘Memories’, 173–
80 and Sheedy and Ockinga, ‘The Crowned Ram’s Head’, 237–38.
76 Colburn, ‘Memories’, 175.
77 Cf. Lloyd, ‘From Satrapy to Hellenistic Kingdom’, 88–89: ‘All such texts mean
is that the building works were carried out during Alexander’s reign, and he
48 Frances Pownall

probably had no knowledge of them and was probably not in any sense an
initiator’.
78 On the date, see Worthington, Ptolemy I, 160–62.
79 Although the first explicit evidence for a traditional coronation ceremony is
that of Ptolemy V on the Rosetta Stone, it is generally accepted that this was
a practice begun by Ptolemy I and continued by his successors: Hölbl, 21–22;
Manning, 94–95; and A. Meeus, ‘What We Do Not Know About the Age of the
Diadochi about the Age of the Diadochi: The Methodological Consequences of
the Gaps in the Evidence’, in Alonso Troncoso and Anson, After Alexander, 88
and Worthington, Ptolemy I, 162. On the date, see Hölbl, 21–22.
80 Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image’, 243; cf. Meeus, ‘Territorial Ambitions’;
H. Hauben, ‘Ptolemy’s Grand Tour’, in Hauben and Meeus, The Age of Succes-
sors, 235–61; R. Lane Fox, ‘King Ptolemy: Centre and Periphery’, in Wheatley
and Baynham, East and West, 172 (rejecting the traditional view of Ptolemy
as an ‘isolationist’); and Worthington, Ptolemy I, 4 (‘Ptolemy had the same
imperialistic goals as the other Successors’). Cf., however, Anson, who argues
that Ptolemy’s ultimate goal from the very beginning was the dissolution of
Alexander’s empire (‘Ptolemy and the Destruction of the First Regency’, in
Howe, Ptolemy I Soter, 20–34).

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Chapter 4

The “pursuit” of kings

Imitatio Alexandri in Arrian’s Darius
and Bessos “Chase scenes”
Timothy Howe

In 329 bce, Alexander the Great’s last rival for the Persian throne, Artaxerxes
V,1 more commonly known as Bessos, satrap of Bactria, was run to ground
and eventually captured, thus ending any formal resistance to Alexander’s
assumption of the Achaemenid throne. In Arrian’s account of the pursuit
(and singularly in Arrian’s account derived from Ptolemy’s lost History), it is
Ptolemy who hunts down Bessos and brings him to Alexander.2 Apart from
the insertion of Ptolemy into the narrative, which has been widely studied,3
Arrian’s version of the Bessos pursuit is also noteworthy for its intratextual-
ity with his earlier passage in which Alexander pursues and nearly captures
Darius alive.4 While scholars have adopted a variety of innovative and effec-
tive methodologies for dealing with the different versions of Bessos’ capture,
including Ptolemy’s role and its place in his History,5 most have viewed
Arrian (and Ptolemy’s) narrative in such “Alexander-centered” ways – that
is, what Alexander did or did not do, what Alexander intended, or did not
intend, and how this capture “fit” (or did not) Alexander’s grand strategy
and Ptolemy’s presentation thereof – that they have downplayed the extent
to which Arrian’s presentation of Bessos’ capture, as we now have it, is an
intentional literary construct and consequently a product of post-Alexander
literary propaganda for a post-Alexander audience.6 This paper interrogates
this focus by analyzing how the Bessos story might fit in Arrian’s (and espe-
cially Ptolemy’s) wider narrative goals as an imitatio Alexandri.7 Seen in
this light, the salient questions then become: to what extent are portions
of Ptolemy’s capture of Bessos part of a narrative arc in Arrian’s (and per-
haps Ptolemy’s) account that deploys an intratextual literary emulation of
Alexander (imitatio Alexandri) to comment on the nature of monarchy and
legitimate succession, specifically the comparison of Bessos and Ptolemy to
their respective kings Darius and Alexander.

Narrative mechanics
Historical narratives, both ancient and modern, are tricky, being much more
complex than reports of “just the facts.”8 Indeed, the borderline between
 The “pursuit” of kings 55

fiction and non-fiction and between historicity and fictionality in historiog-

raphy is quite permeable.9 To be sure, the general question of heuristic pos-
sibility in historiographic narrative (i.e., “how does the narrator know what
he is narrating”) almost naturally implies conjecture, interpretation and
reconstruction of actions, motivations, and attitudes. For this reason, his-
toriography inevitably becomes infused with fictionality from the moment
it is presented as connected historical narrative, for however informed he
or she might be, the author can never truly know what motivated his or her
subjects or what they thought, felt, or intended.10 As Grethlein (2013) has
shown, ancient historiographers knew this quite well and thus consciously
exploited such fictionalizing techniques as invented speech,11 focalization12
(the representation of perceptions, expectations, intentions and motives),
and inter- and intratextuality,13 to name the most common, in order to situ-
ate readers in the past and enable them to experience that past as if they were
present while it unfolded. Through such fictionalizing “experiential” narra-
tive, the readers could relive and “own” decisions and actions linking events
and individuals and in so doing reach the telos, or the end, as the author
intended, an end that was not even visible or meaningful to the historical
participants at the time but a dynamic product of the author and the read-
ers’ hindsight, experience and judgement.14 An end that, in fact, unfolded
only in the author’s mind as he wrote the narrative and then in the readers’
when they read it.
The goal of such fictionalizing narration was not so much to construct
a character or to reconstruct an historical person, but rather to teach read-
ers something about past behavior and its relevance to current reality, to
make the past present for readers and allow them to re-create past deci-
sions and experience their repercussions to current realities – their telos –
in controlled and predictable ways.15 Inter- and intratextuality, as well as
the related narrative device of imitatio,16 are some of the most powerful
ways to re-present and interrogate the past in this fashion since they embed
the other fictionalizing tools like focalization and speech. As De Temmer-
man (2016, 21–22) puts it, “intertextual references inevitably work towards
creating a literary construct that goes beyond factual representation of the
historical persons or events documented in the narrative.” In this sense,
“characters are depicted not only by what they do, say or think but also
by implicit or explicit association with and dissociation from other figures”
(De Temmerman 2016, 20).17 That is, inter- and intratextuality deeply con-
textualize the narrative and allow the reader to intuit connections between
events and characters in a seemingly natural fashion. To put it another way,
narrative techniques (and their embedded fictionalizations such as focal-
ization and invented speech) that interrogate, destabilize or challenge the
historical events they report allow audiences not only to experience history
on a deeply meaningful level but also to reach guided insights about how
decisions shape actions, policies and systems in contexts that are currently
56 Timothy Howe

relevant, what Grethlein (2013, 1–26) calls “futures past.” Thus, ancient
historiography tended toward the propagandistic rather than bias neutral
or what might today be termed “factual.”18 Perhaps we might put it this
way: the sources upon which we modern scholars must rely attempted to
report real events experientially, by means of fictionalizing tools, in order
to draw internally satisfying (and culturally relevant) conclusions about the
character and motives of the individuals involved in those events.19 To be
clear, I am not suggesting that Arrian, Ptolemy or any of the other Alexander
historians invented their accounts, but merely that they were predisposed to
preserve, highlight and, in fictionalized ways, re-present historical material
that fit particular agendas and historical perspectives.
While narrative mechanics certainly complicated the works of the Hel-
lenistic, “first generation” Alexander authors such as Ptolemy, Aristoboulos,
Nearchos, Chares and Kallisthenes, they had an even more destabilizing, dis-
tributive effect on later Roman-era historiographers like Arrian, who relied
on those Hellenistic authors as sources.20 Consequently, the segmentary
composition of the Alexander narratives (i.e. Arrian crafting his narrative
by reading Aristoboulos and Ptolemy and so on) was especially conducive to
the omission of some historical (or pseudo-historical) material, the absorp-
tion of previous narratological fictionalizations (“experiences”), the sub-
ordination of historicity to internal consistency, and, in the case of Arrian,
the wish to exclude or unmask the fabulous and incredulous.21 Nonethe-
less, even though Arrian and his Roman literary colleagues preserved much
content and even some rhetorical tone and bias that was present in their
Hellenistic sources, we should not assume that the Roman Alexander nar-
ratives are simply a facsimile of the lost originals. Roman historiographers
were literary stylists in their own rights, with their own literary purposes,
audiences, and interests.22 As A. B. Bosworth explains,

the nature of the game was to operate with the material at one’s dis-
posal, identifying and criticizing falsehood and bias, combining details
from several sources into a composite picture not paralleled in any sin-
gle source, but not adding invention of one’s own.
(Bosworth 2003, 194)

Accordingly, then, the surviving Roman-era accounts of Alexander’s cam-

paigns must be seen as complicated pastiches of experiences and histori-
cal contexts, with some original Hellenistic content (both fctionalized and
historical) preserved, other content interpolated and synthesized from mul-
tiple sources, and the rest fctionalized by the Roman author himself and
offered to contemporary readers so they might experience “what is likely to
have been said and done” in ways that could help them contextualize cur-
rent issues and problems. What is clear, however, is that the Roman authors
did not invent the backbone of their historical accounts. They worked
 The “pursuit” of kings 57

with evidence and themes that already existed in their own sources in their
efforts to excerpt and format historical content in new and meaningful
ways. As literary artists with their own authorial agendas, Arrian and his
historiographic colleagues sifted through sources, chose what information
to put into their books, and, fnally, chose how the reader should experience
that information.23 Most importantly for our purposes here, though, the
Hellenistic- and Roman-era authors used all their rhetorical skills to sway a
reader into accepting certain “truths” so they might better understand their
own worlds.24 All too often, the Macedonians served as a distorted mir-
ror for such “truths” when Romans (and, later, Greeks like Diodoros and
Plutarch living in a Roman world) sought to mine the past for that peculiar
content against which they might weigh the moral implications of contem-
porary decisions, policies, and rulers.25 As Justin’s epitome of Trogus puts
it, “I omitted what did not make pleasurable reading or serve to provide a
moral” (praef. 4, translation Yardley 1994).
This need for historical material to serve as a message for contemporary
audiences is central to understanding why certain Hellenistic source mate-
rial has survived in later accounts. Roman authors grounded their narra-
tives in audience education, what Justin calls in his preface “providing a
moral.”26 And since this type of research prized the authentic experience over
the invented, Roman authors did not seek to greatly alter the content they
received beyond the narrative techniques discussed earlier.27 Thus, Arrian
and his colleagues transmitted to their audiences synthesized, focalized,
and recontextualized content that had itself been synthesized, focalized, and
recontextualized for ideological and propagandistic purposes by “first gen-
eration” authors like Ptolemy.
For our purposes, Ptolemy is especially interesting because he alone of
Alexander’s Successors wrote an Alexander History, and, perhaps no sur-
prise, he played a starring role in that narrative in order to underscore
his military prowess and kingly qualities.28 I think Bosworth (1996, 45)
describes Ptolemy’s agenda best:

Even if there was no obvious malice or intention to misrepresent, it was

inevitable that [writers] would stress the actions in which they were
prominent or had direct experience, downplay the success of people
they disliked, and interpret the events of the period according to their
interests at the time of writing (31–2). . . . The achievements of oth-
ers are not ignored, but they are used to underscore the outstanding
contribution of the narrator, who is invariably in the right place at the
right time

As I have argued elsewhere, concerning Alexander’s battles at the Persian

Gates in 330 bc and the Siege of the Indian Rock of Aornus in 326, Ptolemy
used all of the tools of narrative discussed earlier – focalization, invented
58 Timothy Howe

speech and inter- and intratextuality – to have the reader experience Ptolemy’s
reality as Alexander’s most trusted general.29 And all of this self-promotion –
propaganda, if you will – served as raw material, as backbone, for Arrian’s
narrative of Alexander’s campaigns as he re-presented those experiences in
ways that were relevant to his second-century ce Roman readers.30

The pursuits
At this point, it is useful to go slowly through Arrian’s account of Ptolemy’s
hunt for Bessos and compare it to Alexander’s pursuit of Darius, so we can
understand how Arrian (and his source Ptolemy) uses imitatio Alexandri to
place the reader in Ptolemy’s sandals.

After crossing the river Oxos, Alexander moved quickly so that he might
find Bessos and his army. At this time men came to him from Spitamenes
and Dataphernes reporting that if a small force under a commander
were sent to them, Spitamenes and Dataphernes would take hold of
Bessos and hand him over to Alexander. In fact, Bessos had already
been placed under guard. (7) On hearing this, Alexander sent Ptolemy
son of Lagos ahead with orders to move quickly against Spitamenes
and Dataphernes. Ptolemy was to take with him three squadrons of
the Companion Cavalry, all the mounted javelin men, the battalion of
Philotas, one chiliarchy of the hypaspists, all the Agrianians and half
the bowmen. Following his orders, Ptolemy covered in four days what
was usually a ten-days’ march and reached the camp where Spitamenes
and his barbarians had camped the day before. (30.1) There, Ptolemy
learned that Spitamenes and Dataphernes were not firmly committed
to the surrender of Bessos. Accordingly, he left his infantry with orders
to follow him in formation and himself rode ahead with the cavalry,
coming to a village where Bessos resided with only a few of his soldiers.
(2) Spitamenes and his men had already departed, ashamed to be per-
sonally involved in the surrender of Bessos. Ptolemy surrounded the vil-
lage with his cavalry – there was some type of wall around it and gates
in the wall – and sent a herald to report to the barbarians in the village
that they would be released unharmed if they turned Bessos over to
him. These men then let Ptolemy’s soldiers into the village. (3) Ptolemy
seized Bessos and left again. After this Ptolemy sent ahead to Alexan-
der to ask how he should bring Bessos into the king’s sight. Alexander
told him to fasten the man, naked, in a wooden collar and bring him
like that, setting him on the right side of the road along which Alexan-
der and the army would be going. Ptolemy did as instructed. (4) When
Alexander noticed Bessos he halted his chariot and asked him why he
had taken Darius in the first place and bore him around in irons and
later murdered him, for Darius was his king and at the same time his
 The “pursuit” of kings 59

relative and master. Bessos said that he was not alone in choosing this
course of action. He had worked together with men who were close to
Darius, so that he might be spared punishment by Alexander. (5) Alex-
ander ordered him to be flogged for this and further instructed a herald
to call out during the punishment those very acts for which Alexander
condemned Bessos when he had questioned him. After being tortured in
this manner, Bessos was sent to Baktra for execution. So Ptolemy wrote
about Bessos. But Aristoboulos (139 F 24) says that Spitamenes, Data-
phernes, and their followers brought Bessos to Ptolemy and handed him
over to Alexander, bound naked in a collar.
(Arrian Anab. 3.29. 6–30. 5 = Ptolemy BNJ 138 F 14)

Notice the narrative mechanics used by Arrian (and presumably, his para-
phrased source Ptolemy) that allow the reader to experience the chase and
the decisions made by the main players. Focalization through verbs of per-
ception is everywhere: Alexander “heard” (ἤκουσεν) that Bessos had been
placed under guard and for that reason decided to send Ptolemy ahead; Ptol-
emy “learned” (ἔμαθε) that Spitamenes and Dataphernes were unwilling to
surrender Bessos; and Alexander “noticed” (ἰδὼν) Bessos collared by the side
of the road. Speech is also embedded: Ptolemy “asked” (ἤρετο) Alexander
how to treat Bessos once he had taken him captive; Alexander “instructed”
(ἐκέλευσε) Ptolemy how to treat Bessos; Alexander “asked” (ἤρετο) Bessos
why he had imprisoned Darius (initiating an intratextual reference to the
previous section in Book Three where Alexander himself unsuccessfully pur-
sued Darius); and Bessos “said” (ἔφη) that he had not acted alone and then
only in self-defense because he feared punishment by Alexander. All of this
vividly invites the reader to experience Ptolemy’s astounding pursuit and
triumph, to “hear” Alexander and Ptolemy’s conversations, to be present
for Alexander’s interrogation of Bessos, to “own” Bessos’ fear of punish-
ment, and in these ways to internalize the process by which Alexander chose
Ptolemy for this job. Consequently, we are led to the telos: (1) Alexander
picked Ptolemy because he was the best man for this pursuit; and (2) Bessos
brought this end on himself for his treatment of Darius and his own coward-
ice.31 Moreover, Arrian is keen to point out that Ptolemy acts only in ways
that Alexander approves – he takes care to query Alexander on how best
to treat Bessos once he has captured him, a clear contrast to the liberties
Bessos takes with Darius’ person in an earlier Alexander–Darius “chase scene,”
where we turn next.
If we follow the intratextual cue to Alexander’s pursuit of Darius, we
notice similar focalized techniques, similar vocabulary, and similar narrative
structure:

At that point Alexander took the Companions cavalry and the mounted
scouts and the mercenary horse under Erygios, and the Macedonian
60 Timothy Howe

phalanx, save those detailed to guard the treasure, and the archers and
Agrianes, and began his pursuit of Darius. By reason of the speed of his
march many of his troops were left behind, worn out, and many horses
died, but Alexander went on undeterred and reached Rhagai in eleven
days . . . (21.2) On learning this [i.e. Darius’ arrest by Bessos and Bar-
saentes] Alexander pressed on faster than ever, with only the Compan-
ions, the mounted scouts, and the strongest and lightest of the infantry
who had been carefully selected for the task. He did not even wait for
Koinos and his men to return from their foraging, but appointed Krate-
ros (3) to command those left behind and ordered him to follow, but
not by forced marches. His own men had nothing but their arms and
two days’ rations. Traveling all night and the next day until noon, he
rested his troops a short time and then again hurried on all night and
at dawn reached the camp from which Bagistanes had come. (4) But
Alexander did not catch the enemy. He learned that Darius had indeed
been imprisoned in a closed wagon and that Bessos had been given the
sovereignty in place of Darius and had been saluted as leader by the
Bactrian cavalry and all the other Persians who had fled with Darius
except Artabazos and his sons and the Greek mercenaries. These, Alex-
ander learned, remained faithful to Darius, but being unable to prevent
what had occurred, had turned off the main road and were making
for the hills themselves, refusing to participate in the actions of Bessos
and his followers. (5) Those who had seized Darius had decided that if
they should learn that Alexander was pursuing them they would give
up Darius to Alexander and make good terms for themselves. Should
they learn that Alexander had turned back they would collect as large
an army as they could and join in preserving their empire. Bessos was in
command for the time being both from his family relationship to Darius
and because the event took place in his satrapy.
(6) Hearing this, Alexander decided he must pursue with the utmost
vigor. Already his men and horses were growing exhausted from this
continued exertion, yet Alexander pressed on . . . [Alexander cuts his
forces down even further and puts his best infantry on fast horses] (9)
Alexander then himself started off at dusk, and led on his troops at
full speed; during the night he traversed some four hundred stades, and
just at dawn broke he came upon the Persians marching at ease and
without arms, so that only a few of them turned to hinder his passage,
but the greater part, as soon as they saw Alexander himself, not want-
ing to come to close quarters, ran off. Those who turned to fight, once
they lost a few of their number, also fled. (10) Bessos and his immediate
followers took Darius with them for a while in the closed wagon, but
when Alexander was almost upon them, Nabarzanes and Barsaentes
wounded Darius and left him where he was, themselves escaping with
 The “pursuit” of kings 61

six hundred horsemen. Darius died of his wounds soon after, before
Alexander had seen him.
(Arr. Anab. 3.20.1–2, 3.21.2–10)

As with his account of Ptolemy’s pursuit of Bessos, Arrian deploys multiple

verbs of perception to situate the readers in the narrative and allow them to
experience Alexander “hearing” (ἀκούσαντι) of Darius’ capture and Bessos’
treachery against his king. Thus, we enter the heads of Darius’ captors as
they “decide” (γνώμην δὲ πεποιῆσθαι) what to do if Alexander pursues them;
we, the audience, weigh the rebels’ options and see that Bessos, Nabarzanes,
and Barseantes do not want to fght Alexander in a fair battle. Unlike Arta-
bazos (Darius’ brother) and his sons (Darius’ nephews), who are Darius’
legitimate and loyal family, Bessos, his close relative is a false, bumbling
coward who is not even able (or willing) to kill his king outright in his
single-minded concern for his own safety and advancement. Artabazos is
juxtaposed with Bessos here to give the themes of family, duty, and loyalty
extra bite, for Bessos has abused his family connections and offcial position
as satrap to “usurp the power of Darius” (Βήσσῳ δὲ ἀντὶ Δαρείου εἶναι τὸ
κράτος). The audience is meant to ponder this and then contrast it with
the legitimate power that Alexander “gives” to his facsimile Ptolemy, whom
Alexander appoints to pursue Bessos. Notice that like Alexander, we the
audience are also robbed of seeing Darius alive at the end of this chase (πρὶν
ὀφθῆναι Ἀλεξάνδρῳ). Consequently, we share Alexander’s disappointment,
Darius’ ignominy, and Bessos’ treachery; by this narrative we are primed to
seek to avenge Darius and so can take justifable satisfaction when, a few
paragraphs later, Ptolemy brings Bessos to justice. By stressing loyalty and
royal authority in these passages, Arrian sets up a comparison between royal
power properly bestowed on a worthy successor and royal power usurped
by a cowardly incompetent.
Through these two intratextual passages, Arrian (and probably Ptolemy)
invite the reader to compare Bessos and Ptolemy (the royal successors), Bessos
and Darius (the pursued), and Alexander and Ptolemy (the pursuers). But
these comparisons have moved beyond intratextual allusion to outright imi-
tation:32 as he pursues Bessos Ptolemy becomes Alexander.33 When hunting
Darius, Alexander chose the Companions and the mounted scouts, the mer-
cenary horse under Erygios, the Macedonian phalanx, except those detailed
to guard the treasure, and the archers and Agrianes (Αὐτὸς δὲ ἀναλαβὼν τήν
τε ἵππον τῶν ἑταίρων καὶ τοὺς προδρόμους καὶ τοὺς μισθοφόρους ἱππέας, ὧν
Ἐριγύϊος ἡγεῖτο, καὶ τὴν φάλαγγα τὴν Μακεδονικὴν ἔξω τῶν ἐπὶ τοῖς χρήμασι
ταχθέντων καὶ τοὺς τοξότας καὶ τοὺς Ἀγριᾶνας). To capture Bessos, Alexan-
der orders Ptolemy to take with him those same units, Companions, the
javelin-men, the Macedonian phalanx that had belonged to Philotas, 1,000
of the hypaspists, all of the Agrianians, and half of the archers (∏τολεμαῖον
62 Timothy Howe

δὲ τὸν Λάγου ἀποστέλλει τῶν τε ἑταίρων ἱππαρχίας τρεῖς ἄγοντα καὶ τοὺς
ἱππακοντιστὰς ξύμπαντας, πεζῶν δὲ τήν τε Φιλώτα τάξιν καὶ τῶν ὑπασπιστῶν
χιλιαρχίαν μίαν καὶ τοὺς ̓Αγριᾶνας πάντας καὶ τῶν τοξοτῶν τοὺς ἡμίσεας). It has
long been known that many of these units, such as the Agrianes, the “royal”
hypaspists, and the archers, are Alexander’s own special troops, who fight
only with him.34 In a sense, Arrian and Ptolemy are presenting Alexander as
choosing Ptolemy to “succeed” him as commander of the king’s special units,
the Agrianes, archers, hypaspists, and Companions. Significantly, no other
commanders in Arrian’s account of Alexander’s campaign, save Ptolemy
and Alexander, lead these special forces. But along with Alexander’s troops,
Ptolemy has also acquired Alexander’s legendary speed.35 In fact, others
are warned off from moving at such a dangerous rate: Alexander ordered
Krateros to command those left behind and not to follow at a forced march
(τοῖς δὲ ὑπολειπομένοις ἐπιστήσας Κρατερὸν προστάττει <ἕπεσθαι> μὴ μακρὰς
ὁδοὺς ἄγοντα), while Alexander himself traverses 400 stades in one night
(διελθὼν δὲ τῆς νυκτὸς σταδίους ἐς τετρακοσίους). And yet, Ptolemy is allowed
“Alexander-speed”, covering in four days what was usually a ten-days’
march (∏τολεμαῖος ἤιει ὡς ἐτέτακτο καὶ διελθὼν ἐν ἡμέραις τέτταρσι σταθμοὺς
δέκα). As with the special troops, Ptolemy is the only commander in Arrian’s
Anabasis, who is ever portrayed as having this Alexander-speed. Finally, in
addition to speed, Ptolemy and Alexander also have a single-minded fixa-
tion on the goal. As with Alexander when he sought Darius, Ptolemy leaves
behind his slower forces to follow at an orderly pace, so he, like Alexander,
can rachet up to super-speed and capture Bessos before he can escape or
marshal an effective resistance. Throughout this passage, Arrian (and Ptol-
emy) present Ptolemy as an “Alexander,” having succeeded Alexander to
possess his military units, his speed, and his single-minded focus on the goal.
Ptolemy also seems to have taken on Alexander’s “success.”36
When Ptolemy arrives in time to trap Bessos in a walled village, Bessos’
remaining guards are cowed by Ptolemy’s seeming “Alexander-ness” – his
speed and military prowess – and agree to open the village gates and sur-
render Bessos. By comparison, in Arrian’s account of Alexander’s pursuit
of Darius, Bessos and Company wound their captive and run off, leaving
Darius to die before Alexander can reach him, thus robbing Alexander of
his goal. Of course, this is not Alexander’s failure but rather the result of
Bessos’ treachery and the fickleness of fortune, but it is significant that Ptol-
emy’s pursuit of his “king” ends on a superior note. Ptolemy’s power impels
Bessos’ captors to surrender their captive, while Alexander’s power frightens
Darius’ captors into fleeing and killing their hostage. Is Alexander simply
too awesome for the world of mortals?
This theme of Ptolemy “succeeding” Alexander continues to develop in
both Arrian’s narrative and the Ptolemy fragments which Arrian preserves.
When Ptolemy has an independent command next, in 326 against the Indian
hill tribes in the Swat Valley, he is again leading the Companions, Agrianes,
 The “pursuit” of kings 63

and special troops (F 18 = Arr. Anab. 4.24.1–25.4).37 Here, as with the pur-
suit of Bessos discussed earlier, Ptolemy highlights that Alexander gave him
command of the king’s own special troops, but then moves to a new subject,
seeming criticism of Alexander’s command decisions. Ptolemy and Arrian
point out that Alexander’s assessment of the enemy numbers was inaccurate
and that this assessment resulted in Macedonian losses. Consequently, Alex-
ander has failed in his objective because of his own error (or hubris). But all
is not lost, Ptolemy, as Ptolemy and Arrian tell us, had assessed the enemy
strength correctly and as a result was able to save the day when Alexander
finally put his trust in him and gave him command. The reader is left to
draw this obvious conclusion: if only Alexander had listened to Ptolemy in
the first place, the battle against the massed Indian forces would have gone
better and Macedonians would not have died. In light of the Alexander
imitation, we have witnessed thus far in Arrian and Ptolemy’s narratives, it
might seem curious that Ptolemy and Arrian choose to highlight Alexander’s
mistake. But, for the sake of argument, I would like to suggest that Ptolemy
brings up Alexander’s miscalculation in order to allow Ptolemy to save the
day and in so doing win over Alexander’s unquestioning support. This is a
chance to show that even Alexander is not infallible and that his confidence
and unprecedented success can lead to error. But not to worry: Alexan-
der is also fortunate, much more fortunate than other kings (i.e. Darius),
because Alexander has a loyal general like Ptolemy to get things right and
bring about victory despite the king’s own miscalculation. The message is
that Alexander achieves his victory through the aid of loyal subordinates
like Ptolemy; if he were acting alone he would fail, just like Darius, who
died alone and abandoned by his disloyal and cowardly subordinates, failed.
Through his actions against the Indians, Ptolemy has demonstrated that he is
a better resource to Alexander than even Alexander’s own mind. From here
on out, Alexander gives Ptolemy increasingly important roles and allows
Ptolemy to make his own command decisions, without hesitancy or ques-
tion (e.g., BNJ 138 F 35). Thus, even though Ptolemy disagreed with Alex-
ander, even though Alexander doubted Ptolemy’s assessment of the enemy
(Arr. Anab. 4.24.8–9), Ptolemy was the only commander in the Macedonian
army loyal enough – and brave enough – to point out Alexander’s oversight.
Throughout Arrian and Ptolemy’s narratives, Ptolemy’s loyalty is presented
as undaunted, unshakable, and ultimately the reason behind Alexander’s
success.38

Conclusions
In all of the passages discussed here, both Arrian and Ptolemy take pains to
underscore the fact Alexander has chosen Ptolemy to act as his proxy and
that Alexander approves of Ptolemy’s actions and trusts him more than any
other commander in his army. The conclusion we are expected to draw is
64 Timothy Howe

that Ptolemy is a second Alexander; he serves Alexander’s interests better

even than Alexander might do himself, as we saw in the Swat Valley. More-
over, the fact that Ptolemy’s pursuit of Bessos so closely imitates Alexander’s
pursuit of Darius invites the reader to weigh Bessos “the Successor” against
Ptolemy who competently succeeded Alexander. Arrian and Ptolemy are
using Bessos to illustrate “a bad succession” and perhaps even “bad king-
ship,” in much the same way as Briant (2003) has shown Arrian (and Ptol-
emy) elsewhere use Darius in comparison with Alexander. And while we can
only speculate as to why this theme appealed to Arrian and his audience
enough that he would preserve Ptolemy’s self-promotion, it seems likely that
themes of legitimate succession and loyalty would resonate in a Rome grap-
pling with Hadrian’s succession to Trajan, the conqueror of Parthia. Per-
haps we readers are meant to draw parallels between Bessos and Antigonos,
Cassander, Eumenes, and Lysimachos and as well as Roman successors like
Caligula, Nero, and Domitian.
In the end, all of this narratological analysis suggests that when it comes
to the pursuit and capture of Bessos, the so-called Vulgate sources (Curtius
and Diodoros) provide a cleaner account. Yet, even though the Vulgate is
less contaminated by Ptolemaic propaganda, it too has its own narrato-
logical issues, for that is the problem with historical narratives – they are
narratives – and grasping truth in the narrative bathtub of historiography is
more difficult than grasping the soap (and nowhere near as clean).

Notes
1 Who “said” he was king of Asia (Arr. 3.25.3). For a discussion of Bessos’ legiti-
macy and the nature of his claims and how they have been received, see Howe
(2015c).
2 Arr. Anab. 3.29.7–30.5 (Ptolemy BNJ 138 F 14). The other accounts are Diod.
17.83.7–9, Curt. 7.5.19–16, 36–40, and Aristoboulos BNJ 139 F 24. Curtius
and Diodoros make no mention of Ptolemy and instead credit Persian leaders
for Bessos’ capture and surrender. In Aristoboulos’ brief account, as reported by
Arrian, the Persian leaders do all of the work: “But Aristoboulos (BNJ 139 F 24)
says that Spitamenes, Dataphernes, and their followers brought Bessos to Ptol-
emy and handed him over to Alexander, bound naked in a collar. Ἀριστόβουλος
δὲ (BNJ 139 F 24) τοὺς ἀμφὶ Σπιταμένην τε καὶ Δαταφέρνην ∏τολεμαίωι ἀγαγεῖν
Βῆσσον καὶ παραδοῦναι Ἀλεξάνδρωι γυμνὸν ἐν κλοιῶι δήσαντας.”
3 See Howe 2018, commentary on F 14, for the relevant bibliography.
4 Arr, Anab. 3.20.1–2, 3.21.2–10. Cf. Curt. 5.12.18–13.25, 6.2.17; Diod. 17.73.2–4;
Justin 11.15.1–15; Plut. Alex. 42.6–43; Polyaen. 4.3.25; Ael. NA 6.25.
5 Howe 2018, commentary on F 14.
6 For example, Worthington (2016, 46), who downplays any propaganda on Ptol-
emy’s part here, arguing that Alexander chose Ptolemy because he was the best
man for the job in terms of military skills and general trustworthiness.
7 See Baynham (2003, 2009); Spencer (2002, 2009), and Grethlein (2013, 92–130)
for the ways in which the Roman-era sources “re”-present the Alexander story
to contemporary audiences in new and culturally relevant ways. Cf. Welch and
Mitchell 2013.
 The “pursuit” of kings 65

8 Ancient: Munn (2017); modern: Tamm (2014).

9 Whitmarsh (2003, 193); Grethlein (2013); De Temmerman (2016, 4).
10 The most famous examples of this are speeches (Wiseman 1993, 132–35; Hen-
derson 2003, 24–25).
11 Grethlein (2013, 38), “Speeches embed in the action not only factual informa-
tion, but also interpretive elements.” See also John Marincola (2007, 119), who
argues that historiographers use speech to characterize “the speaker, by indicat-
ing his or her frame of mind and disposition. . . . Speeches indicated the reasons
and rationale of the historical characters, why they did what they did and with
what aims, goals, and expectations.” “Thus, elements of both fidelity and inven-
tion are present” (121).
12 Grethlein (2013, 33–36) argues that focalization in particular pulls the reader
deep into the world of the action as it is experienced by the historical agents.
In a very real sense, the reader perceives and gives voice to important pieces of
information.
13 Grethlein (2013, 58–60, 161–62).
14 Grethlein is clear that all the authors discussed in his survey employ elements
of both experiential and teleological narratives, but that each one falls closer to
one end of the scale or the other. Accordingly, he splits the book into two main
pieces. Part I (27–181) Experience: Making the Past Present offers case studies
of Thucydides, Xenophon, Plutarch’s Alexander, and Tacitus as authors whose
works fall on the experiential end of the scale. Part II (183–310) Teleology: The
Power of Retrospect examines Herodotus, Polybius, and Sallust. Arrian seems
to fit this trend, and though he leans more toward a teleological view, the death
of Alexander, and his triumph over Persia, he also has experiential intentions.
The impact of that triumph and the changes it brings to the Macedonians are thor-
oughly interrogated, perhaps to help Arrian’s contemporary Romans come to
terms with Trajan and Hadrian’s different reactions to their own Eastern Ene-
mies. For a recent analysis of how Trajan and Hadrian affect the historiography
of the Second Sophistic, see Frank (2017); Catarine (2017); Asirvatham (2018).
15 So White (1978); cf. Raaflaub (2010). See Grethlein (2013, 2015) for a recent
discussion and bibliography.
16 Hau (2014).
17 See also Margolin (1996, 115–27).
18 See Marincola (1999); Raaflaub (2010); Grethlein (2013, 1–26); De Temmerman
(2016, 9–10).
19 See Nicolai (2007) and Munn (2017), for a review of the relevant bibliography.
20 For the Roman-era writers, earlier Hellenistic narratives were simply raw data to
be mined, manipulated, and knit together in a meaningful, relevant, and, above
all, literarily satisfying way for their Roman audiences to “experience.” (Marin-
cola 1999; Bosworth 2003; Baynham 2003, 2009; Spencer 2002, 2009; Howe
2015b). For the aims and methods of specific authors see the following. Dio-
doros: Goukowsky (1977, ix–xxiii; 2016, vii–xix). Trogus: Lane Fox (1986);
Alonso-Núñez (1987); Yardley (2003); Frank (2018). Plutarch: Pelling (1980);
Duff (1999); Frank (2017). Curtius: Atkinson (1994, 25–28) and Baynham
(1998, 57, esp. n. 3, 77–85). Arrian vol. I (1980, 16–34; Bosworth (1994); Howe
(2015a).
21 Anab. praef; Howe (2018, commentary on T 1. For recent treatments of the
Alexander sources’ inherent segmentation see Howe (2015a, 2015b).
22 See Woodman (1988); Marincola (1999); Howe (2015b). See also Drews (1962;
Pelling (1980; Alonso-Núñez (1987; Sacks (1990, chapters 1 and 2); Shrimpton
(1991, 128–29; Ambaglio (1995; Duff (1999, chapter 1, 2011); Lefèvre 2002;
Yardley 2010; Goukowsky (2016, vii–xix). For Diodoros in particular it is no
66 Timothy Howe

longer accepted (e.g., Hammond 1937) that whenever he names no source in

books 11 through 16 of the Bibliotheke, he is automatically reproducing Epho-
ros. See Pownall (2004, 118), for a recent assessment. For Trogus, the issue in
compounded further by the fact that we do not have his original text, only Jus-
tin’s epitome; see Yardley (2003); Frank (2018).
23 For example, Stadter (1978); Bosworth (1994); Howe (2015b).
24 For discussions of “Roman” historiographic methods see, for example, Wood-
man (1988), 70–116; Kraus and Woodman (1997, 5–6). Such careful winnowing
of evidence seems to have been in play during the late 300s as well; for example,
Pownall (2004, 1–36). See Grethlein (2013, 92–130), for how this may have
shaped Plutarch’s presentation of Alexander.
25 See Frank 2018 for a recent analysis.
26 For the role of paideia, moral education, in the writing of the Roman histo-
rians, especially those like Arrian and Plutarch from the so-called Second
Sophistic, see, for example, Anderson (2009, esp. 211ff.); Asirvatham (2018). For
Trogus, especially the moralising perspectives he shares with his contemporary
historiographer Livy, see Yardley (2003, 20–78); Frank (2018).
27 For the Roman-era literary masters, synthesis, attribution, and “truth” were the
way to literary reputation. See Kraus and Woodman (1997); Marincola (1999);
Bosworth (2003, 167); De Temmerman (2016); cf. Hau (2016).
28 In order to attract and keep loyal his Macedonian and Greek soldiers; see Müller
(2014, 176–77) and Errington (1969, 233–42); cf. Worthington (2016, 213–19),
who rejects the notion that Ptolemy used his narrative for the purpose of self-
propaganda, arguing that Ptolemy’s history is accurate, measured, and restrained.
29 Howe (2015b, 2018 commentary F 18, F 35).
30 Howe (2018) commentary on T 1.
31 It is a common topos in the Alexander narrative to have Persians be the causes of
their own downfall. Almagor (2011, esp. 14–15).
32 See Hau (2014) for a discussion of the use of imitatio in Greek historiography.
33 By Arrian’s time it has become quite common for Roman emperors to imitate
Alexander; Tisé (2002). Indeed, Asirvatham (2017, 487) suggests that Arrian
wrote his history of Alexander as a response to such Roman imperial imitation
of the Macedonian conqueror. If that is the case, I find it noteworthy that Arrian
incorporated the earlier Ptolemaic imitation in his “Roman” response: Hellenis-
tic imitatio Alexandri deployed in such a way that the audience can experience
and engage contemporary Roman imitatio Alexandri.
34 Almost the same units were with Alexander when he went after Satibarzanes
(Arr. 3.25.6). For the Agrianians, hypaspists, and the archers as Alexander’s per-
sonal troops, see Ptolemy BNJ 138 F 3 and Arr. Anab. 1.1.11; 1.8.3–4; 2.8.3;
3.11.9; 3.17.2; 3.29.7; 4.3.2; 4.30.2. Howe 2018, commentary F 3.
35 The locus classicus is Arr. Anab 1.7.4–6, Alexander’s lightning march south and
surprise appearance at Thebes in 335. For example Arr. Anab. 1.6; 2.10.3–5;
3.18.10–12. Chaplin (2011, 621, n. 14), observes that speed is the norm for
Alexander in Arrian.
36 Aristoboulos BNJ 139 F 24 (Pownall, 2013), however, tells a different tale, report-
ing that Spitamenes’ and Dataphernes’s men brought Bessos to Ptolemy. In Aris-
toboulos’ account, all of the important actions, the seizure, and the punishment
are done by order of Spitamenes and Dataphernes, not Ptolemy; Pownall 2013,
commentary F 24. Heckel (2018, 18) offers an innovative, though unprovable,
argument that the text as we have it is corrupted – ∏τολεμαίωι should be removed –
since there is little point in Arrian’s contrasting Aristoboulos’ report with that of
Ptolemy’s, which he says he does when those two do not agree (Arr. Anab. proem.
1). In this interpretation, Aristoboulos would then make no mention of Ptolemy.
 The “pursuit” of kings 67

Cf. Seibert (1969, 13) and Bosworth (1980, 377), who argue that “Aristobulus
seems to have an independent version, giving Ptolemy a role in the arrest but a
relatively minor one. Spitamenes and his associates presented Bessus to the king;
Ptolemy merely led the convoy which escorted them to the king.” If Heckel is
right about Aristoboulos, then the imitatio is Ptolemy’s alone. For the sake of
argument, I propose that Arrian has chosen to keep Ptolemy’s because it helps
to interrogate the imperial imitatio Alexandri of his own day. Thus, we can ten-
tatively suggest that Alexander’s pursuit of Darius, as reported in Arrian Anab.
3.20.1–2, 3.21.2–10, should be considered a fragment of Ptolemy in the same
way Jacoby identified F 34 and F 35 as deriving from Ptolemy’s lost History, that
is by context and content.
37 Bosworth (1996, 163–64); Howe (2018, commentary F 18).
38 As Bosworth (1996, 164) puts it “the note of scepticism does not undermine
Ptolemy’s credit. Rather it underscores the enormous number of defenders whose
refuge he had discovered.”

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Chapter 5

The bias of Hieronymus

A source critical analysis of
Diodorus 18.8–18
John Walsh

Literary and source critical studies in Diodorus Siculus

In compiling and writing the Bibliotheke, Diodorus Siculus is generally
believed to have relied on a single main source for each book of his his-
tory, sometimes supplemented with the use of minor sources.1 Hieronymus
of Cardia is widely acknowledged to have been Diodorus’ main source for
Books 18–20 and, except the Sicilian sections, Hieronymus of Cardia was
regarded as the only source he used.2 The idea that Diodorus used the inter-
mediary source Agatharchides of Cnidus was held by K. J. Beloch,3 but this
has been convincingly refuted by I. L. Merkur and J. Hornblower.4 Today,
it is generally believed that Diodorus used Hieronymus in a much more
idiosyncratic way than previously thought and that he may have consulted
other sources as well.5 J. Hornblower has concluded that Diodorus used
an Alexandrian author with a pro-Ptolemy bias6 and a ‘Rhodian’ source in
Books 19 and 20.7 F. Landucci Gattinoni has taken an even more radical
view, arguing that Hieronymus of Cardia was not the major source of Dio-
dorus’ books on the Diadochoi and that Diodorus may also have used Duris
of Samos.8 This opinion, however, remains the minority view and has not
won general acceptance.9 We may say confidently, however, that Diodorus
followed Hieronymus closely and relied on his accounts extensively: as a
result, his work retains much of Hieronymus’ bias.10 The transmitted history
of the Lamian War (18.8–18) offers an excellent opportunity to investigate
the influence of these partialities.

The conflicting source tradition

Diodorus’ reliance on Hieronymus of Cardia as his foundational source for
Book 18 highlights the possible routes by which Hieronymus’ biases, espe-
cially his disdain for Antipater, may have informed Diodorus’ account. In
particular, Diodorus’ unbecoming portrayal of Antipater during the con-
duct of the Lamian War is clearly influenced by Hieronymus’ personal views
and by the extent to which the latter employed Athenian sources.11 There
72 John Walsh

is, moreover, evidence of an historical tradition supporting the view that

Antipater won the war through his military skill, rather than simply ben-
efiting from an Athenian loss. While, in a strictly military sense, the naval
campaign was the most important theatre of the war, the siege at Lamia is
the key to understanding the value of the Macedonian victory.12 The bellig-
erent Athenians may well have been the architects of their own destruction
in the sense that they initiated the war, but it was undoubtedly Antipater’s
strategic superiority that delivered a Macedonian victory. Polybius seems
to confirm the existence of this conflicting pro-Antipater tradition. A good
deal of scholarly attention and effort has been directed at explaining what
appears to be Polybius mistakenly mentioning Antipater’s victory at Lamia.
When discussing the war at 9.29.2, Polybius refers to ‘Antipater after his
victory over the Greeks at Lamia’. Walbank, in his commentary to Polybius,
goes to great lengths to explain that Polybius was confusing the Macedonian
victory at Crannon with Lamia, dismissing as Polybius’ error a distance of
50 miles and the passing of a year.13
However, perhaps the more parsimonious solution is that Polybius was
right, that Antipater was victorious at Lamia and that this passing statement
represents an alternative convention. Although Polybius’ statement seems
entirely at odds with the modern view of the events in Greece after Alexan-
der’s death and has required some scholarly explanation to bring it into line
with received opinion, he was not alone in making this supposed mistake.
We find something very similar in Pausanias. Pausanias adopts the stan-
dard position at first and writes at 1.1.3: ‘this Leosthenes leading the united
Athenians and Greeks defeated the Macedonians in Boeotia and again out-
side Thermopylae, pushed them into Lamia by Oeta, and barricaded them
within’.
But later, at 1.8.3, he states:

‘Here also is Demosthenes, whom the Athenians forced into exile in

Calauria, the island off Troezen, and then, when they had taken him
back, banished again after the blow at Lamia (μετὰ τὴν ἐν Λαμίᾳ πληγήν)’.

Pausanias revisits the Lamian War in Book 7, where his language is stronger
still. At 7.10.4, he tells us of a Greek defeat for which their miscalculation
is clearly to blame: ἐπεὶ δὲ τὸ ἐν Λαμίᾳ πταῖσμα ἐγένετο Ἕλλησιν. Antipater,
according to Pausanias, was eager to wage war in Asia, so we can appreci-
ate how this concern precipitated his decision to avoid pitched battles with
the Athenians and their allies.14 Pausanias’ account confrms the divided
nature of Athenian politics – even casting Demades as a ‘traitor’. Moreover,
we fnd that, by Pausanias’ reckoning, the defeat at Lamia was more signif-
cant than Chaeronea, despite the cost of only 200 Greek lives. In the Oxy-
rhynchus Papyrus, we fnd evidence confrming that, by the second or third
century, the relationship between the misfortune at Lamia and Hyperides’
 The bias of Hieronymus 73

death at the conclusion of the war had become frmly established. Lamia,
and not Crannon, appears to be the decisive event.15 So there seems to be
some degree of confict in the ancient tradition surrounding the Lamian War,
even within a single source like Pausanias.

Diodorus Siculus’ rhetoric and the bias of

Hieronymus
It is now broadly accepted that Diodorus chose to adapt one major source
for each book of his history and that he revised these adaptations with
intermittent reference to other less prominent sources.16 For Books 18–20,
Hieronymus of Cardia served as Diodorus’ main source and the model for
its composition – indeed, it is Diodorus’ only source aside from the Sicilian
excerpts.17 Beyond Diodorus’ reliance on this source for form and content,
it is clear that he also reiterated many of Hieronymus’ statements and views.
It is therefore almost certain that Diodorus applied the same reproductive
method to his biases.
Hieronymus was adept at maintaining the favour of his many benefac-
tors and lived until the age of 104 in the service of several patrons.18 The
first of these, Antigonus, had pardoned him after his war with Eumenes.19
Hieronymus then benefitted from the patronage of Antigonus’ son, Deme-
trius the Besieger, followed by Antigonus Gonatas. The longevity of these
client–patron relationships is no doubt owed in part to Hieronymus’ ability
to enhance the reputation of his patrons while simultaneously minimising
the significance of the other Diadochoi. Where Antipater is concerned, we
must also keep in mind the influence of the animosity that endured between
both his descendants and those of Antigonus.20 Hieronymus’ derogation of
Antipater’s competence and military aptitude makes sense in light of the for-
mer’s installation as a client of the Antigonids and the death of Alexander.
There were presumably several traditions in antiquity that offered different
views on Antipater. It seems that Diodorus did not question the Hellenic and
Atheno-centric tradition or its relegation of Antipater to the role of acces-
sory. This perspective, steeped in Hieronymus’ biases, informs our modern
perception of him to an inordinate degree.
The final narrative is the result of two forces: Hieronymus’s suppression
of Antipater’s significance and Diodorus’ desire to produce a captivating
history. Diodorus produced an erudite and stimulating chronicle populated
by characters who exemplified heroic and moral greatness. His version sig-
nificantly improved upon that of Hieronymus which was, according to Dio-
nysius, a laborious and uninspiring read.21 Diodorus’ needed the leader of
the Athenian revolt to be distinguished beyond all others; thus, he accepted
an account that elevated Leosthenes’ heroism and marginalised Antipater.
Hieronymus achieved this effect by emphasising the Lamian siege – a choice
that may have been motivated by his desire to draw attention to Antipater’s
74 John Walsh

least successful military campaign.22 For Diodorus, stretching the truth was a
perfectly acceptable means to achieving his end – the production of a scintil-
lating history. He did not hesitate to embellish, and it appears that he accepted
Hieronymus’ suppression of a key military actor with little reservation.
Diodorus’ Lamian narrative is the result of this editorial process. In his
account, Athens and Greater Greece had nearly achieved liberation when
Leosthenes bested the famed Macedonian Antipater. This iteration takes a
moral tone and suggests that the Athenians suffered their loss at the hands
of a higher power – Fortune.23 This lends the narrative an overwhelming
sense of justice in the form of divine retribution: the Athenians failed to
bear in mind the fate of Thebes, and so they were punished for their trans-
gressions. The presence of such heavy moral criticism requires that modern
historians approach the source with caution. Once Diodorus’ moral and
rhetorical layer is meticulously peeled away, the core of the work, Hiero-
nymus’ narrative, is revealed. Pausanias (1.9.8) quite explicitly states that
Hieronymus was biased toward Antigonus Gonatus above all other kings:
‘Hieronymus has a reputation generally of being biased against all the kings
except Antigonus, and of being unfairly partial towards him.’24
Pausanias continues and proposes that Hieronymus’ resentment of Lysi-
machus informed his work as well:

Possibly Hieronymus had grudges against Lysimachus, particularly his

destruction of the city of Cardia and the foundation in its place of Lysi-
machea on the isthmus of the Thracian Chersonese.25

We should consider the possibility that Hieronymus’s portrayal of Antipater

originated from a similar personal grudge, borne of his experiences, and
those of Eumenes, during the siege of Nora in 320. After Antigonus defeated
Eumenes, the latter retreated to Nora. There, Eumenes saw nearly a sixth of
his 600 men fall as he and his troops endured a brutal siege (Diod. 18.53.7).
Hieronymus became involved in the summer of 319 when Eumenes sent him
to Antipater to discuss terms of surrender (Diod. 18.42.1). The tenor of these
negotiations likely infuenced Hieronymus’ disposition towards Antipater.26
Eumenes’ own hatred of Antipater may have informed the remainder of
Hieronymus’ opinion (Plut. Eum. 5.7),27 and Hieronymus may, therefore,
have emphasised the siege of Lamia to stress the worst elements of this event
and Antipater himself.
It is helpful to compare Diodorus’ account of the two sieges, informed
as they are by Hieronymus. In particular, Diodorus minimises the desperate
conditions that characterised Eumenes’ occupation of Nora (18.41.1) but
underscores Antipater’s arrival at Lamia with a deep sense of urgency.28
Likewise, Diodorus highlights the weakness of Antipater’s position when he
offered to negotiate while he was beset at Lamia (Diod. 18.18.3) but paints
a far more complimentary image of Eumenes’ position at Nora (Diod.
 The bias of Hieronymus 75

18.41.7). Perhaps Hieronymus’ personal knowledge of Eumenes’ retreat to

Nora and his negotiations with Antipater served as a model for his account
of Antipater in his treatment of the Lamian siege. In 320, Eumenes was run-
ning for his life after his defeat by Antigonus and the desertion of his soldiers
to the same. (18.41.1). Antipater experiences a parallel betrayal when the
Thessalians abandon him. Diodorus suggests that food shortages (18.42.5)
were prevalent at Nora and that they led, in part, to the death of 100 men:
these shortages may have inspired Hieronymus’ uncharitable interpretation
of Antipater’s position at Lamia (18.13.4). These criticisms are apparent
throughout the sections of Diodorus’ text in which he makes unfavourable
and needlessly critical remarks about Antipater and his strategy. The most
judicious assessment is that the original author of this condemnation of
Antipater was Hieronymus, who was committed to diminishing Antipater’s
military aptitude and his role in the war despite his history of distinguished
accomplishments under Philip and Alexander.

Critical source analysis of the Lamian narrative

18. 8–14
In Diodorus’ account of the Lamian War (18.8–18), which is derived from
Hieronymus, the final Macedonian victory seems to come as a surprise, a
result that at first appears chiefly due to the role and influence of Fortune
(Diod. 18.13.4). It seems that Hieronymus said very little that was positive
about Antipater and took every opportunity to use suggestion and innuendo
to detract from his victory. A more critical reading of Diodorus is required
to see beneath Hieronymus’ fierce bias and judgemental language. However,
it seems quite possible that Diodorus has adapted his source’s version of the
narrative, manipulating the bias of Hieronymus to his own advantage, in
order to emphasise the rather unexpected conclusion of the war. This is con-
sistent with the rhetorical practice of his time and typical of the technique
of declamation popular in the first century at Rome.
A careful review of Diodorus can establish the bias of Hieronymus. I
propose here to examine 15 instances of bias in Diodorus’ narrative of the
events of the Lamian War, which can be plausibly derived from Hieronymus.
All of them are examples of deliberately negative remarks about Antipater.

18.8.1
In Europe, the Rhodians drove out their Macedonian garrison and freed their
city, and the Athenians began what is called the Lamian War against Antipater.

The characterisation of the conflict as a war ‘against Antipater’ πρὸς

Ἀντίπατρον πόλεμον by definition portrays him in a passive role militar-
ily and also emphasises his personal role in agitating hostilities. This is
76 John Walsh

a unique reference to the war and does not appear in any other ancient
source; it is also unique in Diodorus’ own work. The choice of words makes
him appear both weak and colours the interpretation of the first half of the
war.29

18.9.2
As a resource for the war they had the sum of money left by Harpalus, the
story of which we told in full in the preceding Book, and likewise the mer-
cenaries who, some eight thousand in number, had been dismissed from
service by the satraps and were waiting near Taenarum in the Pelopon-
nesus. They therefore gave secret instructions about these to Leosthenes
the Athenian, ordering him at first to enrol them as if acting on his own
responsibility without authority from the city, in order that Antipater,
regarding Leosthenes with contempt, might be less energetic in his prepa-
rations, and the Athenians, on the other hand, might gain leisure and
time for preparing some of the things necessary for the war. Accordingly
Leosthenes had very quietly hired the troops mentioned above and, con-
trary to general belief, had secured a considerable number of men ready
for action; for these men, who had campaigned throughout Asia for a long
time and had taken part in many great conflicts, had become masters of
warfare.

There is a complete distortion of the essential natures of the two main par-
ticipants here. The commonly held belief that Leosthenes was a man whose
abilities were not highly regarded is manipulated to reveal a weakness in
Antipater: that he was so naïve as to be fooled into inaction by the simple
ruse of putting a man of little distinction (Leosthenes) in charge of the Greek
army. The implication is thus that Antipater was not very astute. This is a
typical example of innuendo as well as an attempt to call into question Anti-
pater’s judgement and vigour in preparing for the war.

18.9.5
After Leosthenes had distributed their pay to the mercenaries and had
fully armed those who lacked armour, he went to Aetolia to arrange for
common action. When the Aetolians listened to him gladly and gave him
seven thousand soldiers, he sent to the Locrians and the Phocians and the
other neighbouring peoples and urged them to assert their freedom and
rid Greece of the Macedonian despotism.

The language is highly emotive. ‘Macedonian despotism’ is an obvious

attack on Antipater, given that Alexander had died at this point. It should be
clear from the distribution of the allies Diodorus later describes (18.11.1–3)
 The bias of Hieronymus 77

that Macedonia, and Antipater in particular, were seen in a far more positive
light by many poleis than this statement would suggest. The Athenian refusal
to support Agis was itself the result of the lenient treatment Athens received
from Macedon (Diod. 17.62.6).

18.10.5
Nevertheless, as the ambassadors made the circuit of the cities and roused
them for war with their accustomed eloquence, most of the Greeks joined
the alliance, some by national groups and some by cities.

Before providing a detailed list of the poleis and peoples joining the Athe-
nian and Aetolian cause, we find the grandiose and completely unsupported
claim that ‘most of the Greeks joined the alliance’. Certainly, this overstate-
ment is designed to make the list that follows appear more impressive and
to disguise that the alliance is, in fact, not representative of the majority of
Greece. It seems that Diodorus’ source has gone to great effort to make what
is essentially an Athenian and Aetolian war appear Hellenic.

18.11.1–3
Of the rest of the Greeks, some were well disposed toward the Macedo-
nians, others remained neutral. The Aetolians in full force were the first to
join the alliance, as has been said, and after them all the Thessalians except
those from Pelinnaeum, the Oetaeans except the inhabitants of Heraclea,
the Achaeans of Phthiotis except the people of Thebae, the Melians except
those of Lamia, then in succession all the Dorians, the Locrians, and the
Phocians, also the Aenianians, the Alyzaeans, and the Dolopians, and in
addition the Athamanians, the Leucadians, and those of the Molossians
who were subject to Aryptaeus. The last named, after making a hollow
alliance, later treacherously co-operated with the Macedonians. A few of
the Illyrians and of the Thracians joined the alliance because of their hatred
of the Macedonians. Next, the Carystians from Euboea undertook a share
in the war, and finally, of the peoples of the Peloponnesus, the Argives, the
Sicyonians, the Eleans, the Messenians, and those who dwell on Actê. Now
those of the Greeks who joined the alliance were as I have listed them.
Athens sent citizen soldiers to Leosthenes as reinforcements, five thou-
sand foot and five hundred horse, and also two thousand mercenaries.
These were to go through Boeotia, but it happened that the Boeotians
were hostile to the Athenians for some such reason as the following. After
Alexander had razed Thebes, he had given the land to the neighbouring
Boeotians. They, having portioned out the property of the unfortunate
people, were receiving a large income from the land. Therefore, since they
knew that the Athenians, if they were successful in the war, would restore
both fatherland and fields to the Thebans, they were inclined toward the
Macedonians.
78 John Walsh

The description of the distribution of the allies is an opportunity Hierony-

mus uses to good effect to slander Antipater. In contrast to what appears to
be one of Leosthenes’ greatest qualities – his broad personal appeal and abil-
ity to forge a pan-Hellenic alliance – the narrative is constructed to highlight
Antipater’s deficiency in this regard. The verb ἀποκλίνω ‘turn away’ with the
often-implied additional sense of ‘to something worse’ characterises Anti-
pater’s allies in a negative way. It taints his ability to acquire allies by the
slight pejorative sense of the verb. The description goes further to suggest
that any Greeks who did side with Antipater were, in fact, neutral, when
their lack of support should be seen as pro-Macedonian in this instance.
Again, we could hardly consider the Athenian absenteeism from Agis’ revolt
an act of neutrality. When it is clear that Antipater has been successful in
enticing an ally to his cause, even one as unlikely as Aryptaeus/Arybbas,30
there is every evidence of the insidious hand of Hieronymus in Diodorus’
words (18.11.1). It seems no achievement of Antipater can be recorded
untarnished. Aryptaeus is accused of making a ‘hollow alliance’ ὕπουλον
συμμαχίαν and being ‘treacherous’. This, of course, is designed as much to
discredit Antipater as Aryptaeus himself. We find next that ‘a few Illyrians
and Thracians’ joined the alliance. The fact that they are described as being
‘a few’ is no hindrance to the author’s bias. He makes a special mention of
their ‘hatred of the Macedonians’. So, even when, as here, the majority of the
Illyrians and Thracians do not join the fight against Antipater, Hieronymus
takes the opportunity to make Antipater appear to be disliked. We would
expect the Illyrians and the Thracians to join the alliance. Thus, what should
be a positive remark about Antipater by an unbiased source (that Antipater
managed to secure the cooperation of the majority of two of Macedon’s
habitually bitter enemies to limit the scope of a potential Hellenic revolt) is
twisted into this critical remark.

18.11.5
While the Boeotians were in camp near Plataea, Leosthenes, taking part of
his own forces, came into Boeotia. Drawing up his own men along with
the Athenians against the inhabitants, he defeated the latter in battle and,
after erecting a trophy, hurried back to Thermopylae. For there, where he
had spent some time in occupying the passes in advance of the enemy, he
intended to meet the Macedonian forces.

Much is made here of Leosthenes’ battle in Boeotia in an effort to exagger-

ate and distort the interpretation of Antipater’s arrival in Lamia. This rather
meaningless battle in Boeotia is meant to serve – along with the description
of his fortification and occupation of Thermopylae – as some sort of counter-
point to the description of Antipater’s army and initial movements. It seems
 The bias of Hieronymus 79

Hieronymus is attempting to overshadow the main affair with Leosthenes’

minor and dubious achievement. In precisely the same way, the value of the
indecisive Greek victory (18.15.4) is exaggerated within a reasonable under-
standing of the broader strategic context.

18.12.1
When Antipater, who had been left by Alexander as general of Europe,
heard of the death of the king in Babylon and of the distribution of the
satrapies, he sent into Cilicia to Craterus, asking him to come to his aid
as soon as possible (for the latter, having been previously dispatched to
Cilicia, was going to bring back to Macedonia the Macedonians who had
been mustered out of service, being more than ten thousand in number).
He also sent to Philotas, who had received Hellespontine Phrygia as his
satrapy, asking him likewise for aid and promising to give him one of his
own daughters in marriage.

The language here is designed to make Antipater appear desperate, ‘asking

him [Craterus] to come to his aid as soon as possible’. This request, how-
ever, precedes his knowledge of the Athenian-led revolt and in no way sug-
gests that he was being forced to take action by the Athenians, although the
deliberate intent to draw this connection for the reader is surely on display.

18.12.2–3
As soon, however, as he learned of the movement concerted against him
by the Greeks, he left Sippas as general of Macedonia, giving him a suf-
ficient army and bidding him enlist as many men as possible, while he
himself, taking thirteen thousand Macedonians and six hundred horse-
men (for Macedonia was short of citizen soldiers because of the number
of those who had been sent to Asia as replacements for the army), set
out from Macedonia to Thessaly, accompanied by the entire fleet which
Alexander had sent to convoy a sum of money from the royal treasury to
Macedonia, being in all one hundred and ten triremes. At first the Thes-
salians were allies of Antipater and sent out to him many good horse-
men; but later, won over by the Athenians, they rode off to Leosthenes
and, arrayed with the Athenians, fought for the liberty of the Greeks.

The description of Antipater’s army is in stark contrast to the praise

Leosthenes and his army received (cf. 18.9.2–4). Here it is by omission
that Hieronymus attacks Antipater and understates the quality of the army
with which he takes the field. Missing is the hyperbole that accompanied
the description of Leosthenes’ forces. Antipater’s army appears rather
80 John Walsh

unremarkable. The language may well reflect Hieronymus’ service with

Eumenes at Gabiene and may be adapted from reference to the Argyraspi-
des.31 It appears that Hieronymus has borrowed some of the language he
uses to exaggerate the Athenian strength from his own experience, just as
he may have allowed his experience at Nora to influence his depiction of
Antipater’s position at Lamia.
The departure of the Thessalian cavalry has been exploited to make
Antipater appear unable to maintain his coalition. The implication here
is that Antipater was unable to build an alliance: it is used deliberately
as a cynical attempt to cast doubt on his leadership and to contrast
him with the supposedly dynamic Leosthenes. However, a more careful
analysis of strategy is in order. If Antipater had made directly for Thes-
saly and Lamia with the intention of occupying the city fortress (and
had anticipated a siege by the Athenians and their allies), then what
benefit would cavalry have been to him? His own force disposition con-
firms his intention, as it is recorded that he left with 13,000 infantry
and 600 horsemen (Diod. 18.12.2). This was foremost an infantry army
moving south with a small flanking cavalry detachment, with the sole
intention of occupying a prepared and fortified position at Lamia. He
had no intention, at this point, of fighting in the open, and this was an
army purposely assembled to withstand a siege. The addition of Thes-
salian cavalry would only have burdened his resources and threatened
his ability to survive the siege, while providing him with little tacti-
cal force-multiplying effect. Hieronymus’ attempt to criticise Antipater
does not stand up under the weight of the evidence. The use of emotive
propaganda (‘fought for the liberty of the Greeks’) is designed to dis-
tract the reader from the reality of the situation. After Lamia, the Greek
strategy hinged on exploiting the supposed advantage the Thessalian
cavalry represented (Diod. 18.15.2–3, 17.2). They were initially success-
ful against Leonnatus, but after his death were immediately rendered
useless by the manoeuvre of the Macedonian phalanx (Diod. 18.15.4).
Antipater continued to exploit the inability of the Greek alliance to
cooperate and easily negated any apparent value of the Thessalian cav-
alry (Diod. 18.15.6–7). At Crannon, Antipater easily had the better of
the Thessalians (Diod. 18.17.3–6).

18.12.4
Now that this great force had been added to the Athenians, the Greeks,
who far outnumbered the Macedonians, were successful. Antipater was
defeated in battle, and subsequently, since he neither dared to engage in
battle nor was able to return in safety to Macedonia, he took refuge in
Lamia. He kept his troops in this city and strengthened its walls, besides
 The bias of Hieronymus 81

preparing arms, engines, and food, while anxiously waiting for his allies
from Asia.

Here is perhaps the most damning example of Hieronymus’ distortion of the

events. Hieronymus is pushing the bounds of credibility here. All the evidence
we have considered suggests he has completely misrepresented the relative
positions in the war. If Antipater was really seeking ‘refuge in Lamia’ and
was ‘defeated in battle’ and neither ‘dared to engage in battle nor was able to
return in safety to Macedonia’, why then does Leosthenes immediately fortify
a camp with a deep ditch upon his arrival (18.13.1)? Logic dictates this action
would be unnecessary if he were faced with an enemy, as he allegedly was,
who did not dare to fight. This is not an attempt to circumvallate Antipater.
Diodorus is explicit that this takes place much later (18.13.3), only after
Leosthenes has been unsuccessful in every attempt to take the city. Leosthenes
is adopting a defensive stance in the face of a supposedly defeated army. We
must accept either alternative: that Leosthenes is so naïve that he has failed to
appreciate that he is in the more powerful position or, more reasonably, that
Antipater is not beaten and weakened, and that Leosthenes wished to protect
himself from a very dangerous Antipater. Either alternative does not flatter
the Athenian and demands that we recognise Hieronymus’ deliberate attempt
to confuse the situation. Of the two, Antipater, within the fortified walls of
Lamia, with weapons and food (18.12.4, 13.2) is in the far superior position.

18.13.1
Leosthenes, when he had come near Lamia with all his forces, fortified
a camp with a deep ditch and a palisade. At first he would draw up his
forces, approach the city, and challenge the Macedonians to battle; then,
as the latter did not dare risk an encounter, he made daily attacks on the
walls with relays of soldiers.

The narrative that focuses on the siege reveals much of Hieronymus’ effort to
assign as much responsibility as possible to Fate for Antipater’s victory and
to distract the reader from the brilliance of his strategy. Again at 18.13.1,
Antipater is described in unflattering terms: ‘the latter [Antipater] did not
dare risk an encounter’. Here, his strategic caution is portrayed as coward-
ice. Through specious reasoning, the assumption is that his refusal to fight
implies weakness. Compare this description of motivation with the far more
positive and apologetic description of the Greek refusal to fight later in the
war (Diod. 18.15.7). Antipater’s refusal is due to the fear that results from
a weak position, while the caution of Antiphilus credits his sophistication.
82 John Walsh

18.13.2
As the Macedonians defended themselves stoutly, many of the Greeks
who pushed on rashly were killed; for the besieged, since there was a
considerable force in the city and an abundance of all sorts of missiles,
and the wall, moreover, had been constructed at great expense, easily had
the better of the fighting.

The Greek casualties are the result of their rash charges προπετῶς, and
this subtle turn of phrase detracts again from the quality of Antipater’s
defensive posture. The implication is that the enthusiasm of the Greeks and
their fervour to free their homeland lead them to waste their lives rashly. It
is as a result of their recklessness and is here used to minimise the force of
the preceding statement (‘the Macedonians defended themselves stoutly’)
that the Greeks are killed. Hieronymus cannot completely fabricate his
account or it would have lost any claim to seriousness and believability.
He follows a positive remark, in this case, of the Macedonian fighting (still
notably defensive, however) with a remark intended to disarm its potency.
This again demonstrates his ongoing attempts to obscure the agency of
Antipater.

18.13.3
Leosthenes, giving up hope of capturing the city by storm, shut off all
the supplies that were going into it, thinking that he would easily reduce
by hunger the forces besieged in the city. He also built a wall and dug
a deep, wide ditch, thereby cutting off all escape for the beleaguered
troops.

Although it is clear that Antipater and his men are faring extremely well: ‘the
Macedonians defended themselves stoutly’ (18.13.2) and that ‘they easily
had the better of the fighting’ (18.13.2), Hieronymus continues to try and
force his interpretation on historical truth and neutralise any statement that
concedes that there was a Macedonian success. As mentioned earlier, where
he attributes the Athenian casualties to their zealous charges in order to over-
shadow the admittedly ‘stout’ defence of Antipater’s men, here he likewise
follows praise with misleading criticism. Although Antipater’s forces are
described as ‘easily’ having ‘the better of the fighting’, Leosthenes’ efforts
are described in an almost comically positive manner:

thinking he [Leosthenes] would easily reduce by hunger the forces in the

city. He also built a wall and dug a deep, wide ditch, thereby cutting off
all escape for the beleaguered [πολιορκουμένους] troops.
 The bias of Hieronymus 83

This is certainly an exaggeration. Hieronymus’ bias here is striking. There

is no evidence that Antipater and his men were suffering privation. As the
stated purpose of the ditch was to cut off supplies – the obvious impli-
cation being that Lamia remained well supplied during Leosthenes’ early
efforts – the additional statement (‘thereby cutting off all escape’) must refect
the partiality of Hieronymus. Hieronymus has inserted this additional pur-
pose to imply that Antipater and his men wanted to fee the city when we
have no convincing evidence to suggest this to be true. Hieronymus refers
to the Macedonians within the city as ‘besieged’ πολιορκούμενοι before the
construction of this ditch. This is certainly pushing the limits of the lan-
guage in order to characterise Antipater as vulnerable. Even when this ditch,
designed as it was to intercede supplies, was constructed, the affair was
hardly a siege by the standards of the day.

18.13.4
Our best evidence regarding Leosthenes’ shift in tactical focus is the immedi-
ate withdrawal of the Aetolians following the construction of this ditch. Of
course, an effort is made to lessen the dire implications that accompany their
departure. Regardless, Diodorus preserves this statement:

Antipater and his men, however, were nearly exhausted and the city was
in danger of being taken because of the anticipated famine when chance
gave the Macedonians an unexpected turn of good fortune.

Indeed, the use of παράδοξον (unexpected) provokes the reader to make

a comparison at this moment with Leosthenes’ paradoxically great force
described earlier. We see again that Diodorus’ narrative is layered for rhe-
torical effect. While on the surface he allows Hieronymus’ heavily biased
narrative to develop as his reader expects, he has created a structural sub-
text that challenges and calls into question the inherent assumptions about
the war and its major participants. He allows Hieronymus’ narrative to
function as the adversary to his structured rhetorical dismissal of the major
theses of this narrative: Leosthenes ‘and Greek superiority and success and
the Hellenic nature of the war’.

18.13.5
For when Antipater made an attack on the men who were digging the
moat and a struggle ensued, Leosthenes, coming to aid his men, was
struck on the head by a stone and at once fell and was carried to camp
in a swoon. On the third day he died and was buried with the honours
of a hero because of the glory he had gained in war. The Athenian people
caused the funeral oration to be delivered by Hypereides, foremost of
84 John Walsh

the orators in eloquence and in hostility toward the Macedonians; for at

that time Demosthenes, the chief of the orators of Athens, was in exile,
convicted of having taken some of the money of Harpalus. In place of
Leosthenes, Antiphilus was made general, a man outstanding in military
genius and courage.

At the moment, Leosthenes took action that posed a genuine threat to Anti-
pater, and he and his forces promptly left the safety of the city and killed
Leosthenes. If they were indeed so weak and dared not to fight when they
arrived and, according to this narrative, were on the point of starvation and
in a worse position than at the beginning of the siege, how is it that they
‘dared’ to leave Lamia and kill Leosthenes? We should conclude that, despite
the desperate attempt to convince us otherwise, Antipater and his men were
in no danger at all. The next we hear of Lamia (18.15.1) where the Greeks
have abandoned their efforts. It is to this shift in the narrative setting that we
now turn to conclude Diodorus’ own purpose in the narrative.
Diodorus uses his digression in 18.14 to draw attention to the analysis
in which he wants the reader to engage. In discussing Lysimachus in Thrace
(18.14.2–4), he has the following account:

Lysimachus, when he entered the Thracian region and found that

the king of that country, Seuthes, had taken the field with twenty
thousand infantry and eight thousand cavalry, was not frightened
by the size of the army. And although he had in all no more than four
thousand foot soldiers and only two thousand horsemen, he joined
battle with the barbarians. In truth, he was superior to them in the
quality of his troops though inferior in numbers, and the battle was
a stubborn one. After losing many of his own men but killing many
times that number, he returned to his camp with but a doubtful claim
to victory. Therefore for the moment the forces of both sides with-
drew from the locality and busied themselves with greater prepara-
tions for the final conflict.

The use of the digression here emphasises the thematic argument of the nar-
rative that has reached its climax with the death of Leosthenes at the siege of
Lamia. Stated here explicitly is the thesis previously only hinted at through
Diodorus’ subtle rhetorical construction. Lysimachus’ lack of fear compels
us to readdress, in light of his victory, Antipater’s reluctance to fght. We are
reminded that an army superior in terms of quality need not fear a numeri-
cally larger opponent. However, the digression also draws attention to the
doubtful nature of some victories and the importance of recognising victory
and defeat in terms of the ultimate outcome. In this way, the digression sum-
marises the Lamian narrative to this point and anticipates the remainder.
 The bias of Hieronymus 85

Leosthenes’ apparent victories – uncertain in the initial phase of the war –

will not be suffcient to sustain the Greeks in the fnal confict.
Notably, Diodorus does not revisit this matter with Seuthes. The digres-
sion has fulfilled its intended narrative purpose: to emphasise that which has
come before and to again seed the reader’s imagination to understand that
which will come. Diodorus is not as concerned with the historical details
of Seuthes but rather the power of the affair to illuminate the thematic rev-
elation of his main narrative to this point. This, then, is where Diodorus’
digression leads us. We can challenge the superficial treatment of his source
Hieronymus, and re-evaluate the Lamian narrative to discover that he has
been leading us to the conclusion, which he supports along the way, that
appearances can deceive, and in this case, the apparent victories of the
Greeks are hollow. He has drawn us into an analysis of paradox through his
language (18.9.4; 13.4), and we see that results, like motives, can disguise
more profound meanings beneath their first appearance. It would seem that
Diodorus has manipulated his sources with far more acumen than previ-
ously realised, and although Hieronymus has done his best to discredit his
patron’s rival, Antipater’s competence and military skill is easily demon-
strated by a brief review of his career before the Lamian War. The war for
the common freedom of the Greeks lost for 500 casualties. Surely, Poly-
bius is not mistaking Antipater’s masterstroke and victory at Lamia for this
insipid battle.

Conclusion
In any final analysis of the Lamian War, Antipater emerged from a conflict
in which he apparently escaped by the narrowest of margins with an army
three times the size of the original one. He had almost no casualties to speak
of, and one of his key rivals, Leonnatus, was conveniently killed by the
Greeks. Craterus, another rival, was neutralised and both their armies were
under his control. The Greek states were divided, defeated, and leaderless.
He had dealt with each city–state on an individual basis in the peace settle-
ment, which had severely undercut the pan-Hellenic rhetoric that justified
the war.
Antipater, for instance, had made easy terms with the Thessalians (Diod.
18.17.7; cf. Plut. Mor. 846e) and installed sympathetic oligarchies in the
Peloponnese with city garrisons (Diod. 18.18.8, 55.2, 57.1, 69.3). The dis-
patch of Phocion and Demades from Athens to make peace with Antipater
demonstrates Antipater allowed a faction at Athens to gain prominence.32
This was probably what the anti-Macedonian faction at Athens had envi-
sioned for themselves: a negotiated settlement that would see them put in
power by Antipater. This was why they wanted to escalate the war to involve
as much of Greece as possible since they would to force Antipater to turn
control of Athens over to them in order to stabilise the region. With Athens
86 John Walsh

settled, Antipater concentrated on pacifying the Aetolians (Diod. 18.25–5).

All of these policies were characteristic of Antipater’s strategy of separat-
ing opponents and coming to peace with each one in turn. Thus, Antipater
quickly settled with the Aetolians when he was faced with new threats from
the East.33 He himself was possibly in the strongest position of all the Diad-
ochoi in the contest for control of Alexander’s empire. Justin (13.6.5–6)
confirms that Antipater was adept at manipulating affairs after Alexander’s
death to his best interest and that his political actions were often misunder-
stood by his opponents. This was a comprehensive victory for Antipater.
This study was attempted to examine the Lamian War by taking into
account the fact that the main surviving account in Diodorus is the deriva-
tive product of a severely biased source, Hieronymus of Cardia. To change
the perspective, we have examined the beginning of the Lamian War, in
which Antipater, having isolated Athens and Aetolia politically through the
Exiles’ Decree, occupied the fortress city of Lamia and forced the Greeks
into a hopeless and ruinous siege. Having killed the ineffective Athenian
general Leosthenes in battle, Antipater, reinforced by the armies of Leon-
natus and Craterus, easily defeated the Athenian Antiphilus at Crannon and
curtailed Athenian democracy. It is certain that beneath Diodorus’ account,
enough evidence remains uncorrupted so we can build up a more realistic
and useful picture of Antipater and the Lamian War. It is important to see
the broader ambitions of Antipater at work in this war and his political
position after the death of Alexander.

Notes
1 E. Schwartz, RE 5.1 (1903), s.v. ‘Diodorus’, 663–704; R. H. Drews, ‘Historio-
graphical Objectives and Procedures of Diodorus Siculus’ (PhD dissertation,
Johns Hopkins University, 1960); and R. H. Drews, ‘Diodorus and His Sources’,
American Journal of Philology 81 (1962): 383–92. All translations of Diodorus
Siculus are drawn from: Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, Volume IX: Books
18–19.65 trans. Russel M. Geer. Loeb Classical Library 377 (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press), 1947.
2 Schwartz, 684–85; R. H. Simpson, ‘Abbreviation of Hieronymus in Diodorus’,
American Journal of Philology 80, no. 4 (1959): 370–79; I. L. Merkur, ‘Diodorus
Siculus and Hieronymus of Cardia’, Ancient History Bulletin 2, no. 4 (1988):
90–93; J. Seibert, Das Zeitalter der Diadochen (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche
Buchgesellschaft, 1983), 27–36; and J. Hornblower, Hieronymus of Cardia
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981), 18–39.
3 K. J. Beloch, Griechische Geschichte, Vol. 4, Part 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 2012), 4–5.
4 Merkur, 90–93 and Hornblower, 62–63.
5 Hornblower, 18–75; P. Goukowsky, Diodore de Sicile, Bibliothèque historique,
Collection des universités de France, Tome XIII, Livre XVIII (Paris: Les Belles
Lettres, 1978), xx–xxiv; K. Meister,Die griechische Geschichtsschreibung,Von den
Anfängen bis zum Ende des Hellenismus (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhamer, 1990), 124–
26; A. B. Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander: Politics, Warfare, and Propaganda
 The bias of Hieronymus 87

under the Successors (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2002),
26–27; and R. A. Hadley, ‘A Possible Lost Source for the Career of Eumenes of
Kardia’, Historia 50, no. 1 (2001): 3–33. Hadley argues that Diodorus also used
a panegyrical life of Eumenes.
6 See R. L. Fox, ‘King Ptolemy: Centre and Periphery’, in East and West in the
World Empire of Alexander, eds. Pat Wheatley and Elizabeth Baynham (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2015), 167–68.
7 Hornblower, 49–62.
8 F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Ieronimo di Cardia e la storia dei Diadochi’, Invigilata
Lucernis 3/4 (1981–82): 13–26 and F. Landucci Gattinoni, Diodoro Siculo: Bib-
lioteca storica: libro XVIII: commento storico, Storia, Ricerche (Milan: V & P,
2008), xii–xxiv. This argument is based on the contention that various passages
in Diodorus that are critical of Antigonus Monophthalmus could not have been
written by Hieronymus. However, it is perfectly possible that Hieronymus made
minor criticisms of Antigonus Monophthalmus under Gonatas, particularly
when the methods and policies of the grandfather and grandson were different.
See Hornblower, 170–71 and T. S. Brown, ‘Hieronymus of Cardia’, American
Historical Review 52, no. 4 (1947): 695:
In reading accounts derived from Hieronymus, it should always be kept in
mind that he wrote in defense of a policy formulated by a ruling king, the results
of which could not yet be seen; and that he uses that policy as a standard by
reference to which he approves or condemns the previous acts of the Diado-
choi. Perhaps in this way some of the passages in Diodorus Siculus, for which a
‘Ptolemaic’ source has been suggested, may find a simpler explanation in Hiero-
nymus’ natural sympathy with a policy that closely resembled that of his own
royal patron.
See also Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander, 25n66.
9 N. G. L. Hammond has argued that Diodorus used Diyllus of Athens (FGrH 73)
in Books 18 to 20 for affairs in Greece, in addition to Hieronymus. See N. G.
L. Hammond and F. W. Walbank, A History of Macedonia, Volume 3, 336–167
B.C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), 98 and N. G. L. Hammond, Three Histo-
rians of Alexander the Great: The So-Called Vulgate Authors, Diodorus, Justin,
and Curtius (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 73–74. A similar
view was taken by R. Schubert, Die Quellen zur Geschichte der Diadochen-
zeit (Leipzig: 1914), 243–45 and W. Schwahn, ‘Diyllos’, Philologus 86 (1931):
145–68, but this has not won general acceptance either. The idea that Diodorus
used an ‘Athenian’ source in Book 18 was also held by P. Treves, ‘Per la critica
e l’analisi del libro XVI di Diodoro’, Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di
Pisa 2, no. 6 (1937): 255–79. The view that Diodorus consulted an Athenian
source for Book 18 is being examined by Brian Sheridan. I would like to express
my gratitude to Mr Sheridan for discussing his views on this matter by personal
correspondence. On lost historians who covered the Lamian War, see Appendix
A below.
10 See Hornblower, 263–81 with the criticisms of A. B. Bosworth, Review of Hiero-
nymus of Cardia, by J. Hornblower, The Journal of Hellenic Studies 103 (1983):
209–10.
11 On Hieronymus’ bias, see J. Roisman, Alexander’s Veterans and the Early Wars
of the Successors (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2012), 9–30. For Hierony-
mus’ use of Athenian records, see K. Rosen, ‘Political Documents in Hieronymus
of Cardia (323–302 bc)’, Acta Classica 10 (1967): 41–94, esp. pp. 44–45, 54–60,
73–76, 86–89 and 92–93.
12 Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander, 14.
88 John Walsh

13 F. W. Walbank, A Historical Commentary on Polybius I–III, Vol. 2 (Oxford:

Clarendon Press, 1967), 167.
14 Antipater’s war against Agis III, nearly a decade earlier, may have informed
his conservative strategy here. In the single battle at Megalopolis, the Mace-
donian casualty rate was 8.8 per cent. By contrast, following the siege at
Lamia at the Battle of Crannon in 322, the Macedonians suffered a 0.3 per
cent casualty rate. Dayton (2003 [2007]) 82 demonstrates that in battles
between Greek armies from 357 to 197 this was a particularly low-sustained
casualty rate.
15 POxy 1800, Fr. 8, Col. ii, lines 22–33. The fragment appears partially to preserve
a biography of Hyperides. Cf. Plut., X Orat. Vit. 849f, Phoc. 23. Here the account
of his death in Macedonia is preserved. Cf. Plut., X Orat. Vit. 849b. But, critically,
it is the events at Lamia (l.23), and not Crannon, that are the cause of his death.
The tradition of the demand for the surrender of the ten orators is confirmed in
the Suda (s.v. Ἀντίπατρος, A 2704). However, the Suda mistakenly lists 11 names.
See Cooper (1993), 130–35.
16 Schwartz, 663–704; Drews, ‘Historiographical Objectives’; and Drews, ‘Dio-
dorus and His Sources’.
17 Schwartz, 684–85; Simpson, 370–79; Merkur, 90–93; Seibert, 27–36; and Horn-
blower, 18–39. Some have argued that Diodorus used an intermediary source,
which Beloch thought was Agatharchides of Cnidus (pp. 4–5), but see Merkur
(pp. 90–93) and Hornblower (pp. 62–63) for a convincing refutation of this
thesis.
18 See C. Muntz, Diodorus Siculus and the World of the Late Roman Republic
(Oxford: Oxford Press, 2017).
19 Lucian, Macrobii, 22; Plut., Demetr. 39; Diod. Sic. 18.42.1, 50.4, 19.44.3,
100.1–3 09; and Dion. Halic., Antiq. Rom. 1.6.1, 7.1.
20 Plut., Demetr. 35–7 and Pyrrh. 6–8.
21 Dion. Halic., De compositione verborum 4.108–112 = FGrH 154, T 12:
τοιγάρτοι τοιαύτας συντάξεις κατέλιπον οἵας οὐδεὶς ὑπομένει μέχρι κορωνίδος
διελθεῖν, Φύλαρχον λέγω καὶ Δοῦριν καὶ ∏ολύβιον καὶ Ψάωνα καὶ τὸν Καλλατιανὸν
Δημήτριον Ἱερώνυμόν τε καὶ Ἀντίγονον καὶ Ἡρακλείδην καὶ Ἡγησιάνακτα καὶ
ἄλλους μυρίους. Not only Hieronymus, but also Duris of Samos, another
important source for Diodorus, is criticised for his inaccessible style. Polybius,
an important source for his Roman material, is similarly critiqued. See Kunz
(1935) 73–82 and K. Sacks, Diodorus Siculus and the First Century (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1990), 9–11. This may suggest the possibility that
Diodorus’ work was conceived in response to a growing public dissatisfaction
with the genre of historical literature as a whole. Perhaps the growing influence
of an oral literary culture, popularised by the rhetorical influences of Greek
education at Rome, began to create the demand for a more didactic and moral
tone in historical writing. For a discussion of Greek education on the develop-
ment of literature and rhetoric at Rome, see E. J. Kenney (ed.), Cambridge His-
tory of Classical Literature, Vol. 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1982), 5–10.
22 Although the Lamian War was certainly a crucial event in the history of Athens,
Dexippus’ decision to avoid characterising the war as a Hellenic struggle for
freedom forces us to call into question Hieronymus’ motives. Where Diodorus
may have later found the perfect canvas for moral rhetoric, Hieronymus cer-
tainly exploited the war in order to best slander Antipater. See G. Martin, ‘Anti-
pater After the Lamian War: New Readings in Vat. Gr. 73 (Dexippus Fr. 33)’,
Classical Quarterly 55, no. 1 (2005): 301–5.
 The bias of Hieronymus 89

23 See Sacks, 36–41 and 132–37 for a discussion of the role of Fortune in the Bib-
liotheke and the attempts of scholars to definitively link Diodorus’ narrative use
of tuvch with a particular school of philosophy.
24 See also Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Ieronimo di Cardia’ and S. Panichi, ‘Ieronimo di
Cardia, Alessandro e gli Antigonidi’, Studi ellenistici 13 (2001): 155–66.
25 Plutarch notes (Demetr. 20; 25; 31; 44) Lysimachus’ hatred of Demetrius. Lysi-
machus attempted to procure the death of Demetrius in 284 after he had been
captured by Seleucus (Plut., Demetr. 51 and Diod. 21.20.1–2). We should assume
that this would exacerbate Hieronymus’ hostility and bias. H. Hauben illustrates
that Demetrius’ relationships with his contemporaries were frequently strained
and dominated by rivalry and jealousy: ‘Royal Toast in 302 B.C.’, Ancient Soci-
ety 5 (1974): 105–19.
26 E. M. Anson, Eumenes of Cardia: A Greek among Macedonians (Boston and
Leiden: Brill, 2004), 134–35. Anson argues that Hieronymus never reached
Antipater but was probably captured by Antigonus after he left Nora. At Diod.
18.50.4, Hieronymus is found in the entourage of Antigonus after the death
of Antipater. Nevertheless, being sent to Antipater to seek terms would surely
have cemented his resentment of Antipater. On Diodorus’ narrative of the events
at Nora, Eumenes, and the mutability of Fate, see R. A. Hadley, ‘Diodoros
18.60.1–3: A Case of Remodelled Source Materials’, Ancient History Bulletin
10, no. 3–4 (1996): 140–41. Hadley similarly advances the thesis that given the
opportunity for moralising, the work may represent Diodorus’ own voice more
than that of his source. Diodorus notes also that these negotiations were referred
to Antipater, and it may also be the case that Diodorus’ frequent reference to
Fortune in reference to Nora and Eumenes (18.41.7, 42.1, 53.1, 53.3, 53.7) is
designed to provoke the comparison by the reader.
27 The statement of Justin (14.2.4) that Antipater did in fact send aid to Eumenes is
no doubt an error: Anson. 134n62.
28 Compare the use of ὃ προσηγορεύετο Νῶρα (18.41.1–2) with κατέφυγεν εἰς πόλιν
Λάμιαν (Diod. 18.12.4).
29 See also Justin (12.5.8).
30 The Aryptaeus of Diod. 18.11.1 is widely identified with Arybbas, the king of
Epirus driven out by Philip II. See F. Reuss, ‘König Arybbas von Epeiros’, Rhein-
isches Museum für Philologie 36 (1881):168–74; Goukowsky, 19, with apparatus;
and Hammond and Walbank, A History of Macedonia, 119.
31 Cf. Diod. 19.41.1–2; Plut., Eum. 16.4; and Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexan-
der, 151.
32 Diod. 18.18; Plut., Phoc. 26; Paus. 7.10.4; Nep. Phocion 2. Demades and Pho-
cion were the perfect ambassadors. Demades was self-interested and notoriously
corrupt (Diod. 18.18.2; cf. Plut., Phoc. 26.2; Suda s.v. ‘Demades’) and was
probably used by Antipater to propose the motion that Demosthenes be put to
death. Antipater also persecuted the anti-Macedonian faction at Athens (Arr.
Succ. 1.13; Plut., Phoc. 27; Plut., DE 28–9; Plut., Mor. 849b–c; Paus. 1.8.3;
25.5). Phocion, by contrast, had credibility with the Athenians. Although he had
opposed the war from the beginning, his patriotism was on full display when he
defeated Micion (Plut., Phoc. 25.1–4). He had remained untainted by Harpalus’
arrival (Plut., Phoc. 21.3–4). Menyllus, a Macedonian and friend of Phocion
(Plut., Phoc. 18.1), was installed as the φρούραρχος at Munychia in the peace
settlement (Diod. 18.18.5; Plut., Phoc. 28.1). This Menyllus was replaced by
Nicanor after Antipater’s death in 319 (Plut., Phoc. 31.1). They were both instru-
ments of Antipater.
33 Diod. 18.25.5; cf. Arr. Succ. 1.24; and Just. 13.6.9.
90 John Walsh

Bibliography
Anson, E. M. Eumenes of Cardia: A Greek among Macedonians. Boston and Leiden:
Brill, 2004.
Beloch, K. J. Griechische Geschichte. Vol. 4. Part 2. Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 2012.
Bosworth, A. B. The Legacy of Alexander: Politics, Warfare, and Propaganda under
the Successors. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.
———. ‘Review of Hieronymus of Cardia, by J. Hornblower’. The Journal of Hel-
lenic Studies 103 (1983): 209–10.
Brown, T. S. ‘Hieronymus of Cardia’. American Historical Review 52, no. 4 (1947):
684–96.
Cooper, C. ‘A Note on Antipater’s Demand of Hyperides and Demosthenes’. AHB 7,
no. 3/4 (1993): 130–35.
Dayton, J. ‘The Athletes of War’. AJAH 2, no. 2 (2003 [2007]): 17–97.
Diodorus Siculus. Library of History, Volume IX: Books 18–19.65. Translated by
Russel M. Geer. Loeb Classical Library 377. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1947.
Drews, R. H. ‘Diodorus and His Sources’. American Journal of Philology 81 (1962):
383–92.
———. ‘Historiographical Objectives and Procedures of Diodorus Siculus’. PhD
diss., Johns Hopkins University, 1960.
Fox, R. L. ‘King Ptolemy: Centre and Periphery’. In East and West in the World
Empire of Alexander, edited by Pat Wheatley and Elizabeth Baynham, 167–68.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015.
Goukowsky, P. Diodore de Sicile. Bibliothèque historique, Collection des universités
de France. Tome XIII. Livre XVIII. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1978.
Hadley, R. A. ‘Diodoros 18.60.1–3: A Case of Remodelled Source Materials’. Ancient
History Bulletin 10, no. 3–4 (1996): 131–47.
———. ‘A Possible Lost Source for the Career of Eumenes of Kardia’. Historia 50,
no. 1 (2001): 3–33.
Hammond, N. G. L. Three Historians of Alexander the Great: The So-Called Vulgate
Authors, Diodorus, Justin, and Curtius. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1983.
Hammond, N. G. L. and F. W. Walbank. A History of Macedonia. Vol. 3. Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1988.
Hauben, H. ‘A Royal Toast in 302 B.C.’. Ancient Society 5 (1974): 105–17.
Hornblower, J. Hieronymus of Cardia. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981.
Kenney, E. J., ed. Cambridge History of Classical Literature. Vol. 7. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1982.
Kunz, M. ‘Zur Beurteilung der Prooemien in Diodors historischer Bibliothek’. Diss.,
Zurich, 1935.
Landucci Gattinoni, F. Diodoro Siculo: Biblioteca storica: libro XVIII: commento
storico. Storia. Ricerche. Milan: V & P, 2008.
———. ‘Ieronimo di Cardia e la storia dei Diadochi’. Invigilata Lucernis 3/4 (1981–
82): 13–26.
Martin, G. ‘Antipater After the Lamian War: New Readings in Vat. Gr. 73 (Dexippus
Fr. 33)’. Classical Quarterly 55, no. 1 (2005): 301–05.
 The bias of Hieronymus 91

Meister, K. Die griechische Geschichtsschreibung. Von den Anfängen bis zum Ende
des Hellenismus. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1990.
Merkur, I. L. ‘Diodorus Siculus and Hieronymus of Cardia’. The Ancient History
Bulletin 2, no. 4 (1988): 90–93.
Muntz, C, Diodorus Siculus and the World of the Late Roman Republic. Oxford:
Oxford Press, 2017. https://books.scholarsportal.info/en/xml/chapter?id=/ebooks/
ebooks3/oso/2017-02-28/1/9780190498726-Muntz&chapterId=acprof-9780
190498726-chapter-1.
Panichi, S. ‘Ieronimo di Cardia, Alessandro e gli Antigonidi’. Studi ellenistici 13
(2001): 155–66.
Reuss, F. ‘König Arybbas von Epeiros’. Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 36
(1881): 168–74.
Roisman, J. Alexander’s Veterans and the Early Wars of the Successors. Austin: Uni-
versity of Texas Press, 2012.
Rosen, K. ‘Political Documents in Hieronymus of Cardia (323–302 bc)’. Acta Clas-
sica 10 (1967): 41–94.
Sacks, K. Diodorus Siculus and the First Century. Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1990.
Schubert, R. Die Quellen zur Geschichte der Diadochenzeit. Leipzig: Dieterich’schen
Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1914.
Schwahn, W. ‘Diyllos’. Philologus 86 (1931): 145–68.
Schwartz, E. RE 5.1 (1903), s.v. ‘Diodorus (38)’, 663–704.
Seibert, J. Das Zeitalter der Diadochen. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesell-
schaft, 1983.
Simpson, R. H. ‘Abbreviation of Hieronymus in Diodorus’. American Journal of
Philology 80, no. 4 (1959): 370–79.
Treves, P. ‘Per la critica e l’analisi del libro XVI di Diodoro’. Annali della Scuola
Normale Superiore di Pisa 2, no. 6 (1937): 255–79.
Walbank, F. W. A Historical Commentary on Polybius I–III. Vol. 2. Oxford: Claren-
don Press, 1967.
Appendix A
Lost historians who treated
the Lamian War

Various theories have been put forward explaining the sources of Diodorus
Siculus in Books 18 and 19 of his universal history. For convenience, I have
listed here all the known fragmentary historians who wrote on the Lamian
War down to the time of Diodorus. The historians can be divided into two
groups: (1) those who wrote specific treatises on Diadoch history and (2) those
who wrote Hellenika or universal histories.

Diadoch historians
(1) Nymphis of Heraclea, On Alexander and the Diadochoi FGrH 432;
(2) Euphantus of Olynthus (c. 300?), Histories, FGrH 74;
(3) Hieronymus of Cardia (wrote in the 260s), FGrH 154;

Universal historians
(1) Diyllus of Athens, Histories (written c. 300; covered the period from
370?/357–297 bc; Diyllus continued Ephorus’ universal history),
FGrH 73;
(2) Demochares of Athens (lived c. 350–271 bc), Histories (probably cov-
ered 323 – ? 289; written before 271/0), FGrH 75;
(3) Duris of Samos (c. 350 – after 281 bc), Histories or Makedonika
(covered the period 371 – ? 281 bc), FGrH 76;
(4) Neanthes of Cyzicus (lived fourth to third century bc?), Hellenika (cov-
ered mythical times – ?; written 200 bc), FGrH 84;
(5) Heraclides of Lembos (second century?), Histories (covered the Trojan
war – third century bc?), epitome of Satyrus’ Lives, epitome of Sotion’s
Diadochai, epitome of Aristotle’s Politeia, FHG 3, 167–171;
(6) Agatharchides of Cnidus (fl. 145–132), History of Asia and Europe
(this probably covered the ancient orient – ?169; written c. 150),
FGrH 86;
(7) C. Sulpicius Galba (first century bc), Histories? (covered mythical times –
at least 76 bc), FGrH 92;
 The bias of Hieronymus 93

(8) Timagenes of Alexandria, On Kings (mythical times – Caesar; written

after 55 bc), FGrH 88;
(9) Pompeius Trogus (after 10 bc; ? 6 ad), Philippic History;
(10) Bion (second/first century bc?), Mousai (covered ancient orient – ?),
FGrH 89.
Chapter 6

At the court of Antigonus

Gonatas, the heir of two
dynasties *
Franca Landucci

The most famous political and cultural ‘portrait’ of Antigonus Gonatas

survives in a memorable anecdote preserved in the works of Aelian where
we read that the Macedonian king seeing that one of his sons, who goes
unnamed, behaved himself contemptuously and severely towards his sub-
jects, reminded him that their monarchic power was a ‘glorious form of
servitude’ (ἔνδοξος δουλεία).1 This well-known aphorism seems to re-echo
the theme of a ‘philanthropic’ monarchy of a Stoic nature to which, accord-
ing to modern scholars,2 Gonatas wanted to refer after the ‘behavioural’
excesses of his father Demetrius so diffusely exposed in Plutarch’s biography
of Poliorcetes.3 In the same line seems to fall another aphorism that Stobaeus
in his Antologium4 attributes to Antigonus: in this aphorism, the king speaks
about the diadem, the symbol of sovereignty and as such frequently immor-
talised in the iconography of rulers.5 According to Stobaeus, Antigonus thus
addressed an old woman who called him blessed by fate: ‘if you knew all the
troubles that clung to this rag (showing her the diadem), you would never
stoop to pick it up if it lay on a dunghill’.6
If Stobaeus limits himself to few yet vivid words to emphasise Antigonus’s
detachment from power, Aelian not only introduces the aforementioned aph-
orism with a broader reflection on the figure of the king, whom he describes
as ‘popular and lenient’ and characterised by mildness and humanity,7 but
also concludes the passage so as to render an even more positive, if possible,
representation of Antigonus:

Antigonus’s remark to his son is very mild and humane. A person who
thinks otherwise seems to me not to know what makes a king or a poli-
tician, but to have lived instead under tyranny.8

In this atmosphere of rarefed composure, Antigonus emerges as the para-

digm of the philosopher-king, always intent upon his duties, utterly indif-
ferent (or even hostile) to outward forms of sovereignty and very far from
the stereotype of the autocrat vested with a power ‘absolutely irresponsible’,
typical of many Hellenistic monarchs, the behaviour of whom is generally
 The court of Antigonus Gonatas 95

ferociously censured by Polybius.9 Polybius arrives to affrm without minc-

ing words that ‘it was the nature of monarchy to hate equality, and to
endeavour to have everybody, or at least as many as possible, subject and
obedient’.10 The target of this particularly ferce attack is above all Philip
V, the grandson of Antigonus Gonatas and a dangerous antagonist of the
Romans between the end of the third century bc and the beginning of the
second;11 nor are Polybius’s hints at Gonatas friendlier, despite being few
and rather synthetic, and always exclusively related to the history of the
Achaean League before the age of Philip V.12
But, apart from the testimony of Polybius, in modern historical memory
Antigonus Gonatas embodies a model of sovereignty grounded in philoso-
phy, and this is so especially since such a characterisation is the fil rouge of
the well-known monograph by W.W. Tarn which, precisely 100 years after
its publication, still is the essential reference for anyone intent on approach-
ing the reign of Antigonus II.13 The two most famous (and quoted) chapters
of Tarn’s Antigonos are indeed those devoted, respectively, to the ‘teach-
ers’ of the king and to the ‘circle of intellectuals’ gathered at the court of
Pella.14 As has been justly emphasised,15 the hypothesis of the dependence of
Gonatas’s political activity on a philosophical framework was considered so
concrete by Tarn as to lead him to compare Antigonus II with the Emperor
Marcus Aurelius,16 the philosopher–-emperor par excellence, a comparison
later reproposed by scholars such as Pohlenz and Schneider.17
At the basis of Tarn’s considerations on the importance that Antigonus
attributed to culture and philosophy lies the adherence to an erudite tradi-
tion, datable to the Roman Imperial and Late Ancient ages, which much
insists on the cultural aspects of the biography of the king, overlooking (and
often ignoring) its event-related features; this also due to the fact that this
erudite tradition was largely shaped to praise the intellectuals believed of
having been part of Gonatas’s circle. Tarn’s interest in this kind of literature,
generally considered ‘minor’ by the moderns, was undoubtedly increased by
the hopeless lack of historiographical sources worthy of such a name on the
life of Gonatas who, born in 319, died in 239, at the age of 80, after reigning
for over 30 years.18
In effect, apart from some concise hints in Polybius who, in the first two
books of his Histories, summarises the events occurring between 264 and
220 bc – the year that he considers the true starting point of his work – the
only historiographical text that ‘covers’ all the age of Antigonus II is the
Epitome of the Philippic Histories compiled in the third century ad by Mar-
cus Junianius Justinus, indeed a summary of the Philippic Histories written
by Pompeius Trogus, a Roman citizen of Celtic origin, in the Augustan age.
Unfortunately, the books of Diodorus Siculus’s Historical Library dedicated
to the events after 302 went lost.19
Particularly relevant information on Antigonus derives from Plutarch
who deals with events more or less directly related to the former in some,
96 Franca Landucci

sporadic, passages of the Moralia and above all in the Lives of Demetrius,
Pyrrhus and Aratus – respectively, Gonatas’s father, one of the most danger-
ous opponents of the early years of Gonatas’s reign and a stubborn antago-
nist of his last years of rule. Unlike Justinus, who is actually interested only
in the event-related aspects of Antigonus’s actions, Plutarch is instead par-
ticularly intent on outlining the ‘moral’ behaviours of the king in the various
phases of his life. In the Life of Demetrius, it is especially noteworthy the
enhancement of Antigonus’s family background, and chiefly of his mother
Phila, daughter of Antipater, whom the biographer of Chaeronea seems to
consider essential to shaping a positive image of the personality of her son,
in order to overshadow the negative sides of the personality of his father,
Demetrius Poliorcetes. Indeed, for Plutarch, Poliorcetes is a negative para-
digm, officially ‘encoded’ at the opening of the Life of Demetrius, that in
the economy of the Parallel Lives tandems Mark Antony in furnishing an
example of ‘deterrent lives, that is two models not to be imitated, but to
beware of ’.20
In the face of the negativity of Antigonus’s paternal model, Plutarch high-
lights the positivity of his maternal model, thus fully aligning himself with
the rest of tradition that unanimously recognises the talents of Phila,21 cel-
ebrated as a noble and virtuous woman. Indeed, Diodorus, in a passage
which clearly re-echoes Duris of Samos,22 reports that Phila’s father, Anti-
pater, the wisest among the rulers of the time, would consult her in regard
to the most serious political and institutional affairs.
All in all, however, the fact remains that in historiographical tradition,
Phila is par excellence the daughter of Antipater, so much so that Plutarch,23
when describing Demetrius’s accession to the throne of Macedonia after he
had eliminated Cassander’s heirs,24 explicitly states that the Macedonians
turned in favour of Poliorcetes as he was husband to Phila and they still
held in high regard the moderation of her father, the old Antipater, whose
legacy could be continued by the young Antigonus, Phila’s son to Deme-
trius, whom the latter officially considered his heir.25 With respect to the
positive hints at Antipater’s moderation, it seems to me that they should
be read as praising the old-Macedonian features of Antipater’s personality
that, passed on to his grandson Antigonus Gonatas, could grant him the
favour of being accepted to the throne even by the most conservative Mace-
donians disappointed by the excesses that had been typical of Poliorcetes’s
basileia.26
Given the strongly pro-Gonatas tone of these passages from Plutarch,
their source, which exalts the traditional moderation of Antipater while
being direly hostile to his direct heirs, that is Cassander and his sons,27 is to
be identified as Hieronymus of Cardia, who, as well-known, wrote his His-
tory of the Diadochi in old age at the court of Antigonus Gonatas, by then
king of Macedonia, after having faithfully served his ancestors, namely his
grandfather Antigonus the One-Eyed and his father Demetrius Poliorcetes.28
 The court of Antigonus Gonatas 97

Sic stantibus rebus, it can be assumed that Hieronymus, as a wise court

historian, would voice the desiderata of the king, who wanted to present
himself to his subjects as the official heir to Antigonus’s clan along his
father’s line, yet, presented himself along his mother’s line, as the one who,
thanks to Phila’s name and fame, preserved those features of ‘Macedonian-
ness’ typical of the generation of Philip II and certainly shared by his mater-
nal grandfather Antipater. Among the objectives of the historiography of
Hieronymus, one can thus include that of recomposing (and transcending)
in the figure of Gonatas the wrenching conflict that for decades had opposed
the Antipatrids to the Antigonids, in the long-lasting and often bloody clash
between Cassander, son of Antipater, and Demetrius, son of Antigonus. As
king of Macedonia, Antigonus II endorsed what good had been done by his
grandparents’ generation, while the mistakes, excesses and crimes commit-
ted by the middle-generation family members, namely his father Demetrius
and his maternal uncle Cassander, were permanently deleted.
Thus, because of the propagandistic importance of his historiographical
production, Hieronymus stands out as one of the leading figures of that ‘cir-
cle of intellectuals’ whose members, as pointed out by Tarn, were essential
parts of Antigonos’ Macedonia, so profoundly tied to the king that, as Tarn
argues, ‘we do not connect them with any other place’.29 Many are the names
mentioned by Tarn in a list which to this day is still considered the canon for
the reconstruction of the cultural interests of Gonatas’s court. Here, along-
side a historian like Hieronymus lived poets, scholars and philosophers,
whose works went lost in the wreckage of Hellenistic age literature; with a
single conspicuous exception, however, that of Aratus of Soli, author of the
Phaenomena, a short didactic poem in two books preserved also in several
Latin translations.30 Besides a brief note in Pausanias,31 the permanence of
Aratus at the court of Antigonus is reported by the late-ancient erudite tra-
dition which, in this respect, is compact and coherent: both his entry in the
Suda32 and the four Vitae prior to the Phaenomena33 agree in emphasising
that Aratus stayed at Pella until his death. Most remarkably, an explicit ref-
erence to the existence of a ‘circle of intellectuals’ at the court of Antigonus
is made precisely in the first Vita Arati.34
Along with the historian Hieronymus of Cardia and the poet Aratus of
Soli, at least two other poets, Antagoras of Rhodes and Alexander Aetolus,35
are mentioned, who seem to have resided, at least for some time, at the court
of Antigonus. The ruler’s fame as a ‘wise king’, so thoroughly reconstructed
by Tarn, is however indissolubly tied to information about his friendship
with some of the most important philosophers of his time which, despite
being often anecdotal in nature, abounds in the Lives of the Philosophers by
Diogenes Laertius, the ultimate source of a very rich, yet unfortunately lost,
corpus of Hellenistic doxographic production.36
Many were the philosophers who, as documented by Diogenes, had con-
tacts with Gonatas in various ways, regardless of their possible presence at
98 Franca Landucci

Pella. About Euphant of Olynthus and Menedemus of Eretria, for example,

we are told that they were somehow involved in the education of the young
prince and that they remained his trusted advisors after his accession to the
throne;37 as for other philosophers, such as Timon of Phlius, Arcesilaus of
Pitane and Bion of Borysthenes,38 we know that they had ties with Gonatas
after he became king, and we are informed about some more or less signifi-
cant episodes relative to their relations with him.
According to Diogenes, however, the most influential acquaintance of
Antigonus’s was Zeno of Citium, the founder of the Stoic school of philoso-
phy: indeed, whenever the king went to Athens, he would attend the les-
sons of the philosopher and wished to have him at his court. In this regard,
Diogenes reports an exchange of correspondence between the two, in which
Zeno, despite declining the king’s invitation to Pella on account of his old
age, offered to send him two of his disciples – whom Diogenes himself iden-
tifies as Perseus of Citium and Philonides of Thebes – so as to meet his
requests.39
Without entering the long-lasting, heatedly debated issue of the authen-
ticity of such a correspondence,40 it is in any case manifest that the erudite
tradition of the Hellenistic age, preserved to us by Diogenes, intended to
emphasise the reverence and respect shown by Antigonus towards Zeno,
who is said to have been granted the honour of being buried at the Kera-
meikos by the Athenians just at the request of the king.41 Explicit references
to the importance of the bond between Antigonus and Zeno, although the
latter remained physically detached from the Macedonian court, are also
found in the works of Aelian, who in two different passages42 mentions
Gonatas’s friendship with the founder of Stoicism, the school of philosophy
to which the king inclined even after Zeno’s death.
Diogenes in effect also records Antigonus’s contacts with Cleanthes, the
successor to Zeno as the chief of the Stoà, and with Perseus, sent to Pella
by Zeno himself, who remained at the court not only as a collaborator of
the king but also as a preceptor to his son Alcyoneus.43 Thus, erudite tradi-
tion strongly insists on Antigonus’s interest in philosophy and specifically in
Stoicism, an interest which would induce the king even to bear patiently the
reproaches that the philosophers would address to him: in Diogenes,44 for
example, Menedemus of Eretria, questioned by Gonatas on the advisability
of going to a revel, is said to have urged the king not to forget his rank, while
in the works of Aelian45 Zeno is reported to have harshly rebuked Antigo-
nus for his inclination to drink.
These rebukes against the king have been assumed by Tarn to derive
from a tradition hostile to Gonatas, alternative to that which highlights
his interest in philosophy. In my opinion, instead, the fact that the erudite
tradition unanimously emphasises that the king would humbly accept the
philosophers’ reproaches proves that such tradition too derives from a
 The court of Antigonus Gonatas 99

pro-Antigonus strand that portrays the king of Macedonia not as a perfect

man, which would have sounded totally unrealistic, but as a man capable of
restraining the most ‘barbarian’ impulses of his Macedonian origins.
We are therefore confronted here with the attempt to shape the image
of a very balanced ruler in which his attachment to philosophy is central
while pre-existing family ties are put aside. In this way, tradition avoids,
on the one hand, demonising the past, marked by the lingering memory of
Poliorcetes, while prefiguring, on the other, a bright dynastic future to a
monarchy then conceived and presented as a ‘glorious form of servitude’ to
one’s subjects and not as autocratic and self-referential ‘tyrannical’ power.
Thus, Antigonus succeeded in presenting himself not only, and not as
much, as the heir of two pre-existing dynasties, the Antipatrids and the Anti-
gonids, but rather as the founder of a new dynasty that in the ideology of the
‘philosopher-king’ had its foundations and its firmest legitimacy in the eyes
of both Macedonians and Greeks.
All this, of course, was in principle. In reality, it cannot be forgotten that
the same Antigonus, while showing respect and reverence towards philoso-
phy in general and towards Stoicism in particular by venerating as a master
Zeno of Citium – who in Athens founded and directed his philosophical
school until death, was manu militari imposing his power over the Attic city
that he defeated in the so-called Chremonidean War.46 As well-known, this
war, the last one between Athenians and Macedonians, was named after
Chremonides, the Athenian citizen who issued the decree by which the Athe-
nians joined the anti-Macedonian coalition promoted by the Spartan king
Areus I with the explicit support of Ptolemy II Philadelphus king of Egypt.47
In the decree, which never mentions Gonatas explicitly, nothing, however,
remains of the image of the ‘philosopher-king’. On the contrary, Antigonus
is therein only alluded to as the ruler who, for his savagery, proved wholly
unable to understand the Hellenic ideal of freedom, the protection of which
the Athenians had always considered imperative.48

Notes
* English translations are from Loeb Classical Library editions.
1 Aelian. VH 2.20: ὁ Ἀντίγονος οὗτος ὁρῶν τὸν υἱὸν τοῖς ὑπηκόοις χρώμενον
βιαιότερόν τε καὶ θρασύτερον ‘οὐκ οἶσθα’, εἶπεν, ‘ὦ παῖ, τὴν βασιλείαν ἡμῶν ἔνδοξον
εἶναι δουλείαν;’. In general, on Aelian as a historical source, see most recently
L. Prandi, Memorie storiche dei Greci in Claudio Eliano (Rome: L’Erma di
Bretschneider, 2005) which, on 73 and 110, recalls the aphorism attributed to
Antigonus Gonatas.
2 See S. Cioccolo, ‘Enigmi dell’ἦθος: Antigono II Gonata in Plutarco e altrove’,
Studi ellenistici 3 (1990): 135–90; B. Virgilio, ‘Storiografia e regalità ellenistica’,
in Storiografia e regalità nel mondo greco: colloquio interdisciplinare cattedre
di storia della storiografia greca e storia greca, Chieti, 17–18 gennaio 2002, ed.
E. Luppino Manes, 303–30 (Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso, 2003) in particular,
100 Franca Landucci

327–29 (see also Id., Lancia, diadema e porpora. Il re e la regalità ellenistica,

Studi Ellenistici 14 (Pise-Rome: 2003), 67–69. On this issue, see most recently
F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Politica e ideologia in età ellenistica’, Politica antica 1
(2011): 89–105, in particular 98–99.
3 On Plutarch’s Demetrius, see most recently O. Andrei, ‘Introduzione’, in Plu-
tarch, Vite parallele. Demetrio e Antonio, trans. and eds. O. Andrei and R. Scud-
eri (Milan: BUR Biblioteca Univ. Rozzoli, 1989), 35–116. On Demetrius, besides
the ‘by now dated’ monograph study by C. Wehrli, Antigone et Démètrios (PhD
diss., Université de Genève, 1968), several essays have been published among
which, see most recently, for example, P. Wheatley, ‘Young Demetrius Poliorce-
tes’, AHB 13 (1999): 1–13; Id., ‘The Lifespan of Demetrius Poliorcetes’, Historia
46 (1997): 19–27; Id. ‘Three Missing Years in the Life of Demetrius the Besieger:
310–308 B.C.’, JAC 16 (2001): 9–19; J. Thonemann, ‘The Tragic King: Deme-
trios Poliorketes and the City of Athens’, in Imaginary Kings: Royal Images in
the Ancient Near East, Greece and Rome, eds. O. Hekster and R. Fowler, 63–86
(Stuttgart: Steiner, 2005); A. B. Kuhn, ‘Ritual Change during the Reign of Deme-
trius Poliorcetes’, in Ritual and Communication in the Graeco-Roman World,
Kernos Suppléments 16, ed. E. Stavrianopoulou, 265–81 (Liège: University Press
of Liège, 2006); and L. O’Sullivan, ‘“Le Roi Soleil”: Demetrius Poliorcetes and
the Dawn of the Sun-King’, Antichthon 42 (2008): 78–99.
4 On Stobaeus and his works, see G. Reydams-Schils, ed., Thinking Through
Excerpts: Studies on Stobaeus (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011).
5 On the meaning and usage of the diadem, see the by now classical reflections
by R. R. R. Smith, Hellenistic Royal Portraits, Oxford Monographs on Classical
Archaeology (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), 34–38. For an explicit reference
to the ‘weight’ of the diadem, see another famous saying, attributed by Plutarch,
Mor. (An seni respublica gerenda sit) 790 a-b, to Seleucus Nicator: the latter,
according to Plutarch, would constantly repeat that ‘if people knew what a task
it was merely to read and write so many letters, they would not even pick up a
crown that had been thrown away’ (τὸν γοῦν Σέλευκον ἑκάστοτε λέγειν ἔφασαν, εἰ
γνοῖεν οἱ πολλοὶ τὸ γράφειν μόνον ἐπιστολὰς τοσαύτας καὶ ἀναγινώσκειν ὡς ἐργῶδές
ἐστιν, ἐρριμμένον οὐκ ἂν ἀνελέσθαι διάδημα).
6 Stobaeus IV 8, 20: Ἀντίγονος πρός τινα μακαρίζουσαν αὐτὸν γραῦν ‘εἰ ᾔδεις’ ἔφη
‘ὦ μῆτερ, ὅσων κακῶν μεστόν ἐστι τουτὶ τὸ ῥάκος’ δείξας τὸ διάδημα ‘οὐκ ἂν ἐπὶ
κοπρίας αὐτὸ κείμενον ἐβάστασας’.
7 Aelian. VH II 20: Ἀντίγονόν φασι τὸν βασιλέα δημοτικὸν καὶ πρᾶον γενέσθαι. καὶ
ὅτῳ μὲν σχολὴ τὰ κατ’ αὐτὸν εἰδέναι καὶ αὐτὰ ἕκαστα ἐξετάζειν ὑπὲρ τοῦ ἀνδρός,
εἴσεται ἑτέρωθεν· εἰρήσεται δ’ οὖν αὐτοῦ καὶ πάνυ πρᾶον καὶ ἄτυφον ὃ μέλλω λέγειν.
8 Ibid.: καὶ τὰ μὲν τοῦ Ἀντιγόνου πρὸς τὸν παῖδα πάνυ ἡμέρως ἔχει καὶ φιλανθρώπως·
ὅτῳ δὲ οὐ δοκεῖ ταύτῃ, ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνός γε οὐ δοκεῖ μοι βασιλικὸν ἄνδρα εἰδέναι οὐδὲ
πολιτικόν, τυραννικῷ δὲ συμβιῶσαι μᾶλλον.
9 See in particular Polyb. 27.10.1–2: εἰ γάρ τις ἐπιστήσας αὐτοὺς ἤρετο μετὰ
παρρησίας εἰ βούλοιντ’ ἂν εἰς ἕνα πεσεῖν τὴν τηλικαύτην ὑπεροχὴν καὶ λαβεῖν
μοναρχικῆς πεῖραν ἐξουσίας, ἀνυπευθύνου κατὰ πάντα τρόπον, ταχέως ἂν αὐτοὺς
ὑπολαμβάνω συννοήσαντας παλινῳδίαν ποιῆσαι καὶ μεταπεσεῖν εἰς τοὐναντίον. (If
anyone had secured the attention of the multitude, and asked them frankly if
they really would wish to see the supreme power in so absolute a form fall into
the hands of a single man and to experience the rule of an absolutely irrespon-
sible monarch, I fancy they would very soon have come to their senses and,
changing their tune, have undergone a complete revulsion of feeling).
10 Polybius 21.22. 8: (οἱ Ῥόδιοι ἔφασαν) [ . . . ] φύσει πᾶσαν μοναρχίαν τὸ μὲν ἴσον
ἐχθαίρειν, ζητεῖν δὲ πάντας, εἰ δὲ μή γ’ ὡς πλείστους, ὑπηκόους εἶναι σφίσι καὶ
πειθαρχεῖν. ([the Rhodians said that . . . ] every monarchy by its nature hated
 The court of Antigonus Gonatas 101

equality and strove to make all men or at least as many as possible subject and
obedient to it.)
For an analysis of the terminology employed by Polybius to describe tyranni-
cal regimes, see Ed. Lévy, ‘La tyrannie et son vocabulaire chez Polybe’, Ktèma 21
(1996): 43–54.
11 On Polybius and Philip V, see most recently M. D’Agostini, ‘Filippo V e la Storia
Romana di Appiano’, Aevum 85 (2011): 99–121.
12 It is specially noteworthy that, in tracing a brief historical account of the relations
between Greeks and Macedonians, Polybius, when speaking of the early Helle-
nistic age, twice combines (albeit in different contexts), in a single reference with
evident unappreciative tones, the names of Cassander, Demetrius and Antigo-
nus Gonatas: see Polyb. 2.41.10: κατὰ δὲ τοὺς ὑστέρους μὲν τῶν κατ’ Ἀλέξανδρον
καιρῶν [. . .] οἱ Ἕλληνες εἰς τοιαύτην διαφορὰν καὶ καχεξίαν ἐνέπεσον, καὶ μάλιστα
διὰ τῶν ἐκ Μακεδονίας βασιλέων, ἐν ᾗ συνέβη πάσας τὰς πόλεις χωρισθείσας ἀφ’
αὑτῶν ἐναντίως τὸ συμφέρον ἄγειν ἀλλήλαις. ἐξ οὗ συνέπεσε τὰς μὲν ἐμφρούρους
αὐτῶν γενέσθαι διά τε Δημητρίου καὶ Κασσάνδρου καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα δι’ Ἀντιγόνου τοῦ
Γονατᾶ, τὰς δὲ καὶ τυραννεῖσθαι· πλείστους γὰρ δὴ μονάρχους οὗτος ἐμφυτεῦσαι
δοκεῖ τοῖς Ἕλλησι (after the time of Alexander [. . .] the Greeks fell, chiefly thanks
to the kings of Macedon, into such a state of discord and ill feeling that all the
cities separated from the League and began to act against each others’ inter-
ests. The consequence was that some of them were garrisoned by Demetrius and
Cassander and afterwards by Antigonus Gonatas, and some even had tyrants
imposed on them by the latter, who planted more monarchs in Greece than any
other king); 9.29.5–6: τά γε μὴν Κασσάνδρῳ καὶ Δημητρίῳ πεπραγμένα, σὺν δὲ
τούτοις Ἀντιγόνῳ τῷ Γονατᾷ, τίς οὐκ οἶδε; διὰ γὰρ τὸ προσφάτως αὐτὰ γεγονέναι
τελέως ἐναργῆ συμβαίνει τὴν γνῶσιν αὐτῶν ὑπάρχειν. ὧν οἱ μὲν φρουρὰς εἰσάγοντες
εἰς τὰς πόλεις, οἱ δὲ τυράννους ἐμφυτεύοντες οὐδεμίαν πόλιν ἄμοιρον ἐποίησαν τοῦ
τῆς δουλείας ὀνόματος (and who is ignorant of the actions of Cassander, Deme-
trius, and Antigonus Gonatas, all so recent that the memory of them is quite
vivid? Some of them by introducing garrisons to cities and others by planting
tyrannies left no city with the right to call itself unenslaved).
13 W. W. Tarn, Antigonos Gonatas, 1913 (Reprint, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969).
Totally inadequate to a thorough analysis of Antigonus II is the concise, even too
concise, monograph by J. J. Gabbert, Antigonus II Gonatas. A Political Biogra-
phy (London; New York: Routledge, 1997), more useful, above all, for a biblio-
graphic update with respect to Tarn’s monumental study.
14 See Tarn, Antigonos Gonatas, 15–36 (‘The Teachers of Antigonos’); 223–56
(‘Antigonos and His Circle’).
15 Cioccolo, Enigmi dell’ἦθος, 136, note 4.
16 Tarn, Antigonos Gonatas, 4: ‘Antigonos Gonatas was the one monarch before
Marcus Aurelius whom philosophy could definitely claim as her own, and to
whom she could and did look to translate into fact what she envisaged as
theory’.
17 M. Pohlenz, Griechische Freiheit (Heidelberg: Quelle and Meyer, 1955), 147;
C. Schneider, Kulturgeschichte des Hellenismus, Vol. 2 (München: C. H. Beck,
1967), 972.
18 References in Gabbert, Antigonus II Gonatas, 1.
19 F. Landucci Gattinoni, L’ellenismo (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2010), 11–14.
20 See Andrei, ‘Introduzione’, 37.
21 On Phila, see E. Donnelly Carney, Women and Monarchy in Macedonia (Nor-
man: University of Oklahoma Press, 2000), 165–69; F. Landucci Gattinoni, L’arte
del potere: Vita e opere di Cassandro di Macedonia. Historia: Enzelschriften 171.
Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2003), 58–62; W. Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age
102 Franca Landucci

of Alexander the Great: Prosopography of Alexander’s Empire (Oxford: Wiley-

Blackwell, 2006), 207–08.
22 Diod. 19.59. 3–6. On the relation Duris–Diodorus, especially on the characteri-
sation of Antipater, see F. Landucci Gattinoni, Duride di Samo (Rome: L’Erma di
Bretschneider, 1997), 189–204.
23 On the conquest of the reign of Macedonia by Demetrius, see F. Landucci Gat-
tinoni, Lisimaco di Tracia nella prospettiva del primo ellenismo (Milan: Jaca
Book, 1992), 174–82.
24 On these issues, see Landucci Gattinoni, L’arte del potere, 82–87.
25 See Plut. Demetr. 37. 4.
26 On Antigonus Gonatas’s wish to distance himself from the ‘theatrical excesses’ of
his father, see Virgilio, Lancia, diadema e porpora, 67–68 (on Poliorcetes’s the-
atrality, see in particular the still fully acceptable comments by A. Mastrocinque,
‘Demetrio tragodoumenos’, Athenaeum 67 (1979): 260–76.
27 See Landucci Gattinoni, L’arte del potere, 82–87.
28 On Hieronymus’s partiality to Gonatas, see Paus. 1. 9.8; 13.9; on this subject,
see F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Ieronimo e la storia dei Diadochi, Invigilate Lucernis
3–4 (1981–2): 13–26; in the same line of thought S. Panichi, ‘Ieronimo di Cardia,
Alessandro e gli Antigonidi’, Studi ellenistici 13 (2001): 155–66. For more recent
remarks on Hieronymus reaffirming what I have already expressed elsewhere,
see F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Il cortigiano’, in Lo storico antico. Mestieri e figure
sociali. Atti del Convegno Internazionale (Roma, 8–10 novembre 2007), Prag-
meteiai 17, ed. G. Zecchini, 97–114 (Bari: Edipuglia, 2010), with ample discus-
sion of bibliography.
29 Tarn, Antigonos Gonatas, 225.
30 Ample and diversified bibliography is available on Aratus and his poem: for
an initial survey, see Ch. Fakas, Der hellenistische Hesiod: Arats ‘Phainom-
ena’ und die Tradition der antiken Lehrepik (Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag,
2001); J. Dehon, ‘Aratos et ses traducteurs latins: de la simple transposition à
l’adaptation inventive’, RBPh 81 (2003): 93–115; E. Mazzotti, ‘L’Esiodo elle-
nistico’, QUCC 81 (2005): 135–41; and Aratus, Phaenomena, trans. and ed. A.
Poochigian (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010).
31 Paus. 1.2.3, where, about the poets living at the courts of kings, we read that
‘Antigonus, ruler of Macedonia, had (at his court) Antagoras of Rhodes and
Aratus of Soli’ (συνῆσαν [. . .] Ἀντιγόνῳ Μακεδόνων ἄρχοντι Ἀνταγόρας Ῥόδιος καὶ
Σολεὺς Ἄρατος).
32 Suid. A 3745 see Aratos. On the importance of the Suda in historical and his-
toriographical contexts, see the essays in G. Zecchini, ed., Il lessico Suda e la
memoria del passato a Bisanzio. Atti della giornata di studio (Milano 29 aprile
1998) (Bari: Edipuglia, 1999). In particular on bio-bibliographical entries, with
ample reference bibliography, see in the above cited volume: M. Giangiulio,
‘Storici greci di età arcaica e classica’, 89–99 and F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Storici
greci da Eforo agli autori del tardo ellenismo’, 101–12. On the ‘need to interpret
the entries of the Suda in the context of ancient erudition based on cataloguing
practices, with particular reference first of all to the impressive work by Hesy-
chius of Miletus, into which flows, in the Justinianean age, a complex strand
originated from the Pinakes by Callimachus and that in its turn mediates this
tradition with Byzantine culture culminating in the Suda’, see Giangiulio, cit., 90
and notes 2–3.
33 Aratus, Scholia in Aratum vetera, ed. J. Martin (Stuttgart: Vieweg+Teubner Ver-
lag, 1974), 6–21.
34 Vita Arati, 7–8 Martin: γέγονε δὲ ὁ Ἄρατος κατὰ Ἀντίγονον τὸν τῆς Μακεδονίας
βασιλέα, ὃς ἐπεκαλεῖτο Γονατᾶς. ἦν δὲ υἱὸς Δημητρίου τοῦ ∏ολιορκητοῦ καὶ γυναῖκα
 The court of Antigonus Gonatas 103

εἶχε Φίλαν τὴν Σελεύκου καὶ Στρατονίκης θυγατέρα. δὲ φιλόλογος γενόμενος, καὶ
περὶ ποιητικὴν ἐσπουδακὼς περὶ πολλοῦ ἐποιήσατο πολλοὺς μὲν καὶ ἄλλους τῶν
πεπαιδευμένων ἔχειν παρ’ αὑτῷ καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸν Ἄρατον.
35 On Antagoras, about whom bibliographic references are few and episodic in
nature, see A. Lai, ‘Un aneddoto su Antagora di Rodi e l’εὔστροφον ὄμμα βοός nel
proemio della “Corona” di Meleagro’, QUCC 56 (1997): 119–24. Vaster bibli-
ography exists on Alexander Aetolus: remarkable are two works by E. Magnelli,
namely the edition of his fragments (E. Magnelli, ed., Alexandri Aetoli testimo-
nia et fragmenta, Studi e Testi 15 (Florence: Università degli Studi di Firenze,
Dipartimento di Scienze dell’ Antichità ‘Girogio Pasquali’, 1999)), and a brief yet
penetrating synthesis on his personality (E. Magnelli, ‘Alessandro Etolo poeta
“di provincial” (o i limiti del callimachismo)’, in La letteratura ellenistica: prob-
lemi e prospettive di ricercar: atti del Colloquio internazionale, Università di
Roma Tor Vergata, 29–30 aprile 1997, ed. R. Pretagostini (Rome: Quasar, 2000),
113–26).
36 Ample bibliography is available on Diogenes Laertius: for an initial, synthetic
approach, see J. Meje, ‘Diogenes Laertius and the Transmission of Greek Phi-
losophy’, ANRW 2, no. 36.5 (1992): 3556–602 and Id., ‘Biography and Doxog-
raphy: Four Crucial Questions Raised by Diogenes Laertios’, in Die griechische
Biographie in hellenistischer Zeit, ed. M. Erler and S. Schorn, 431–22 (Berlin;
New York: De Gruyter, 2007). For a series of accurate scientific contributions
of a philosophical nature, see G. Giannantoni, ed., Diogene Laerzio storico del
pensiero antico. Atti del Convegno internazionale tenutosi a Napoli e Amalfi dal
30 sett. Al 3 ott. 1985, Elenchos: rivista di studi sul penserio antico 7 (Napoli:
Bibliopolis, 1986).
37 On the ties between Antigonus and Euphant, see Diog. Laert. 2.110. On his
work perì basileías, which was dedicated to Antigonus, see Virgilio, Storiografia
e regalità ellenistica, 312–13 (see also Id., Lancia, diadema e porpora, 51 and
78); on ties between Antigonus and Menedemus, see 2.141–144. On Diogenes
Laertius’s Life of Menedemus, see D. Knoepfler, La Vie de Ménédème d’Erétrie
de Diogène Laërce, Contribution à l’histoire et à la critique du texte des Vies des
philosophes (Basel: Friedrich Reinhardt Verlag, 1991).
38 On Timon of Phlius, see Diog. Laert. 9.109–110; on Arcesilaus of Pitane, see
Diog. Laert. 4.39 and 42; on Bion of Borysthenes, see Diog. Laert. 4.54.
39 Diog. Laert. 7.6–9. On Zeno bibliography abounds; for an initial approach, see
besides the recent synthesis by B. Inwood in DNP 12.2, s.v. Zenon (2) (Stuttgart,
2002), 744–48, also the several essays in Th. Scaltsas and A. S. Mason, eds., The
Philosophy of Zeno: Zeno of Citium and His Legacy (Larnaca: The Municipality
of Larnaca, 2002).
40 The authenticity of these letters is a very controversial issue for modern scholars:
for a status quaestionis until the first half of the twentieth century, see A. Grilli,
‘Zenone e Antigono II’, RFIC 91 (1963): 287–301, who believes in the authentic-
ity of the letters, as also re-affirmed more recently in Id., ‘Διαστροφή in Persio’,
in Festschrift für R. Muth zum 65. Geburtstag am 1. Januar 1981 dargebracht
von Freunden und Kollegen, eds. P. Haendel and W. Meid (Innsbruck: Verl. der
Sprachwiss., 1983), 145–49, in particular 148, note 11. Among those who con-
sider the correspondence between Antigonus and Zeno a fictional exchange of
letters: M. Isnardi Parente, ‘La politica della Stoà antica’, Sandalion 3 (1980):
67–98, in particular 70, note 10; T. Dorandi, ‘Estratti biografici su Zenone di
Cizio nell’opera filodemea “Gli Stoici” (PHerc. 155 e 339)’, in La regione sot-
terrata dal Vesuvio, Studi e prospettive (Napoli: Bibliopolis, 1982), 443–54, in
particular 449.
41 Diog. Laert. 7.15.
104 Franca Landucci

42 Aelian, VH 7.14: πολλὰ δὲ καὶ Ζήνων ὑπὲρ Ἀθηναίων ἐπολιτεύσατο πρὸς Ἀντίγονον.
οὐδὲν γὰρ διοίσει εἴτε τις διὰ γνώμης ὤνησέ τινας εἴτε δι’ ὅπλων (Zeno conducted a
good deal of business with Antigonus on behalf of the Athenians. It does not make
any difference whether a man serves others in battle or with his good judgement);
12.25: ἀπήλαυσε [. . .] Ἀντίγονος Ζήνωνος (Antigonus gained from Zeno).
43 On Cleanthes and his Hymn to Zeus, see most recently E. Asmis, ‘Myth and
Philosophy in Cleanthes’ “Hymn to Zeus”’, GRBS 47 (2007): 413–29. Bollan-
sée, J. ‘Persaios of Kition, or the Failure of the Wise Man as General’, in Politics,
Administration and Society in the Hellenistic and Roman World, ed. L. Mooren,
15–28 (Leuven: Peeters, 2000).
44 Diog. Laert. 2.127–128.
45 Aelian, VH 2.26.
46 On the so-called Chremonidean War, see most recently Ch. Habicht, ‘Athens
after the Chremonidean War: Some Second Thoughts’, in The Macedonians in
Athens, 322–229 B.C.: Proceedings of an International Conference held at the
University of Athens, May 24–26, 2001. Edited by O. Palagia and S. V. Tracy
(Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2003), 533–39.
47 The so-called Decree of Chremonides (IG II2 687), our key source on the Chre-
monidean War, has often been debated by the moderns (specific bibliography in
Cioccolo, Enigmi dell’ἦθος, 187n154, updated information in A. Primo, ‘Una tra-
dizione filoantigonide sulla guerra cremonidea: Ieronimo di Cardia ed Eufanto
di Olinto?’ Mediterraneo Antico 11 (2008): 533–39); still fundamental are the
observations in F. Sartori, ‘Cremonide, un dissidio fra politica e filosofia’, in Mis-
cellanea di studi alessandrini in memoria di Augusto Rostagni, 117–51 (Torino:
Bottega d’Erasmo, 1963).
48 See in particular, IG II2 687, lines 8–13, with manifest hints at the freedom of the
Greeks.

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Chapter 7

Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam?

Persia and the Macedonians
Sabine Müller

μέμνηται δ᾽ Ὀνησίκριτος καὶ τὸ ἐπὶ τοῦ Δαρείου τάφῳ γράμμα τόδε ‘φίλος ἦν
τοῖς φίλοις: ἱππεὺς καὶ τοξότης ἄριστος ἐγενόμην: κυνηγῶν ἐκράτουν: πάντα
ποιεῖν ἠδυνάμην’.
Onesicritus mentions also this inscription on the tomb of Darius: ‘I was a
friend to my friends, I was the first of horsemen and archers, I excelled as
hunter, I could do everything’.1

Onesicritus, erudite participant of the Persian campaign,2 is the only Alexan-

der historiographer mentioning Darius I’s tomb at Naqsh-e Rostam explic-
itly. Diodorus just describes in general ‘the so-called royal hill in which were
the graves of the kings’.3 In scholarship, too, Onesicritus’ information did
not receive much attention.4 This is either because he is often disregarded
as a storyteller or because the surviving fragments of his work focus on
the Indian campaign, not on the Persian heartland. However, in this case,
Onesicritus is done wrong. His information is valuable, obviously coming
from a reliable informant regarding the text of Darius’ epitaph. The Greek
translation Onesicritus quotes is an authentic short version summarising the
‘essentials’ of the Old Persian text of DNb:

Saith Darius the King: By the favour of Ahuramazda I am of such a sort

that I am a friend to right, I am not a friend to wrong . . . I am not a
friend to the man who is a Lie-Follower. . . . The man who cooperates,
him according to his cooperative actions, him thus do I reward. . . . This
indeed is my activity: inasmuch as my body has the strength, as a battle
fighter I am a good battle fighter . . . As a horseman I am a good horse-
man. As a bowman I am a good bowman both afoot and on horseback.
As a spearman I am a good spearman both afoot and on horseback . . .
by the favour of Ahuramazda what has been done by me; I have done
with these skills which Ahuramazda has bestowed upon me.5
108 Sabine Müller

This authentic echo in Onesicritus’ report is even more remarkable, given

the general treatment of inscriptions of Eastern monarchs in Greek histo-
riography. Such references are mostly literary devices serving to stress the
report’s veracity, the author’s intense research, or his experience as an eye-
witness. The inscriptions cited are frequently lacking authentic features
while instead being formed by traditional Greek stereotypes regarding the
East.6 This is also true for other inscriptions of Eastern kings cited by Alex-
ander historiographers such as Aristobulus’ version of Cyrus’ epitaph or the
inscription of the monument of the Greek artifcial fgure of the hedonistic
Assyrian king Sardanapalus near Anchiale.7 However, Onesicritus seems to
have been special regarding his treatment of Persian royal inscriptions any-
way: his version of Cyrus’ epitaph differs remarkably from that preserved
by Aristobulus. While the latter obviously quoted a Macedonian forgery,8
Onesicritus’ variant might be at least close to the original epitaph, probably
also a forgery, but by Darius I.9
Judging from Onesicritus’ treatment of Cyrus’ epitaph, his reference to
the inscription of Darius’ tomb deserves attention. His informant may have
been a Persian guide who perhaps might have shown not only Onesicritus
but also Alexander and other members of his entourage around at Naqsh-e
Rostam. In the four months of Alexander’s stay in Persepolis in 330,10 in any
case, he had the chance to visit the Achaemenid tombs as they were situated
not far away from the terrace of the palace.11 Alexander must have resided
there until he ordered to plunder and raid the palace and burn parts of it
down.12 Unfortunately, the fragmented character of Onesicritus’ reference
to Darius’ epitaph covers up its genuine context. However, the quotation
of the Greek shortened version of the inscription at Naqsh-e Rostam might
hint at the possibility that Alexander visited the historical burial site of the
earlier Achaemenids.13
Taking Onesicritus’ interest in Darius’ epitaph as a starting point, this
chapter aims to analyse the political relations between Macedonia and the
Achaemenid Empire from the first known contacts to the conquests under
Alexander III. It will show that the idea of two worlds apart, completely
strange to each other, is a misleading literary device shaped in accordance
with well-known stereotypes concerning Persians, non-Persians, and their
relations that are coloured by panhellenic ideas. Therefore, the paper will
attempt to distinguish the historical Alexander and his Persian policy from
the artificial figures of the literary Alexander created in accordance with
the respective author’s intentions, literary role models, and socio-cultural
contexts. This difference might also explain the fact that, granted that Alex-
ander took the opportunity to visit Naqsh-e Rostam, nothing is heard about
it explicitly – in contrast to his care for Cyrus’ tomb at Pasargadae that
received the Alexander historiographers’ attention.
Regarding the history of the Argead relations with Persia, Philip’s and
Alexander’s claim to wage war against Persia in order to avenge the injuries
 Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? 109

inflicted on the Greeks by Xerxes’ troops was nothing but a piece of panhel-
lenic propaganda.14 The avenger theme that mostly included the ambition to
‘liberate’ the Ionian Greeks was a prophasis of war prevalent in the fourth
century bc.15 Actually, the relations between the Argeads and the Achaeme-
nids had once been close. About 513/10 bc, when Darius I campaigned
against the so-called European Scythians, his general Megabazus subjected
Thracian areas to Persia.16 In this context, the Persians also became inter-
ested in Thrace’s neighbour, Macedonia.17 Amyntas I accepted Persian over-
lordship by giving earth and water to Darius’ ambassadors, either on Persian
demand or on his own account.18 As Marek Jan Olbrycht stated, ever since
then, Macedonians and Iranians were no strangers anymore.19 The pros-
pect of becoming associated with the leading political power in the Aegean,
a worldwide empire, was certainly promising for a local dynast such as
Amyntas. Being in the position of a primus inter pares, his power of action
was limited by the influential Macedonian families.20 The Persian connec-
tion distinguished him and his family remarkably from the leading circles.
Thus, the marital bond between the Argead house and a high-ranking Per-
sian family that probably immediately followed the surrender must have
been a stroke of luck for Amyntas: his daughter Gygaea married Bubares,21
perhaps even a member of the Achaemenid house.22
The Persian dominion over Macedonia that was located at the Achaeme-
nid Empire’s periphery is mostly regarded as light.23 There is no evidence for
any Persian interference in Macedonia’s monarchical structure, administra-
tion, or trade.24 Importantly, the Argead Empire became no satrapy.25 Mace-
donia’s short-lived secession from Achaemenid control during the Ionian
revolt was probably triggered by the secession of neighbouring Thrace. The
vicinity probably made it difficult to ignore the Thracian example with-
out coming under pressure.26 Presumably, the leading Macedonian families
were more eager than the Argead ruler to get rid of the Persian control. The
Macedonian nobles might have seen the chance to reduce their ruler’s influ-
ence by depriving him of his Achaemenid backup.27 The secession might
have taken place during the beginning or early years of the rule of Amyntas’
son and successor Alexander I. Due to his new, still unconsolidated rule, he
was in no position to resist. However, after Darius’ general Mardonius had
restored Persian authority in Thrace and Macedonia in 492,28 Alexander
proved to be willing to cooperate with the Persians and profit from the alli-
ance in order to improve his own situation.29 The first traces of an Argead
public image, employment of new methods of royal representation, and
dynastic self-fashioning date back to the time of Alexander’s reign under
Persian control.
Comparably, hoping for a backup by the Persians, the Aleuad family from
Thessalian Larisa took sides with Xerxes.30 Alexander I proved to be Xerxes’
loyal ally during the preparation and realisation of his Greek campaign.31
Xerxes’ stay in Macedonia in 480 will have tightened the relation between
110 Sabine Müller

the two rulers.32 Alexander I may have learnt a lot from his Persian guest
about court and visualisation of monarchy, strategies of representation, and
association of his power with a certain amount of display and ceremony in
order to distinguish himself from nobility. As Anthony Spawforth empha-
sised, the Persian court was an inevitable model for the Argead court.33
Thus, the three decades of Persian dominance will have influenced Mace-
donian culture, especially ruler, court, and nobility. However, it is unclear
to what extent.34 At least, the numismatic evidence sheds light on lessons
Alexander I learned from his Persian ally.
Argead coinage started with Alexander, obviously in the time when the
Macedonians helped Xerxes to prepare logistically his invasion of Greece in
480.35 Therefore, Alexander had to establish a monetary infrastructure with
small coinage to enable his workers and soldiers to make their daily liv-
ing.36 The earliest Argead coins introduce the so-called ‘Macedonian rider’
in arms on the obverse.37 The image mirrors Thracian, Chalcidean, and Per-
sian numismatic sources of inspiration.38 However, most significantly, in his
clenched right fist, the rider holds the very distinctive weapon of a Persian
akinakes,39 a short sword suspended from a belt on the wearer’s right side.40
A golden or ornate akinakes could be given by the Great King as a sign of
favour and status to deserving satraps or allies.41 Thus, Alexander’s coins
show a Macedonian rider equipped with a weapon symbolising his high
rank within the Persian Empire indicating that he or his empire, reign, or the
Argead house – whatever the rider stands for – has this powerful ally. Times
got rough again when Xerxes’ troops were defeated in Greece. Alexander
had to save his empire. He transformed into a ‘natural born Greek’ and
friend of his alleged fellow countrymen, proved the claim of his Greekness
at the Olympian Games, and ordered the – now inconvenient – akinakes to
be removed from his coins.42
There is a gap in the sources between Alexander I after Plataea and the
time of Philip II when contacts between Macedonia and Persia are men-
tioned again.43 Probably, the contact had never been completely broken.
When after the defeat at Plataea, the Persians left northern Greece the Athe-
nians were quick to take their place. In consequence, conditions changed for
the Argeads. Under the reign of Alexander I’s son and successor, Perdiccas
II, Athens posed a constant threat to Argead autonomy, policy, and free-
dom of actions. Surrounded by Athenian foundations, allies, and members
of the Athenian Naval Confederacy, Perdiccas II tried to save Macedonia’s
autonomy by either establishing alliances against Athens or trying to come
to terms with the Athenians when his block of alliances fell apart.44 It seems
that for the Argeads, the trouble did not start with the Persian presence in
northern Greece but with the Athenians showing up.
Alexander III grew up at a court to which Persian envoys came and where
for about seven years after the so-called Great Satrap’s Revolt, the Persian
satrap Artabazus lived at Pella with his family, including Alexander’s later
 Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? 111

girlfriend, Barsine.45 There was much time and opportunity to get informa-
tion about the Achaemenid court and traditions. In any case, to Alexander
and the Macedonian courtly circles, the Persian culture could not have been
that alien.46 This is the view from outside the Greek and Roman empire. The
Persian and Macedonian Empire were not two worlds apart, foreign to each
other. Arrian’s information that there once existed a philia kai symmachia
between Philip II and Artaxerxes III (before 341/40) might not have been
that implausible.47 There is no evidence for any tensions between Macedo-
nia and Persia until Philip extended his empire to eastern Thrace defeating
Cersobleptes. Artaxerxes III, under whom the Persian Empire was consol-
idated,48 was disturbed by the Macedonian ambitions to go further east
besieging Byzantium and Perinthus in 341/40:49

τῆς γὰρ τοῦ βασιλέως αὐξήσεως διαβεβοημένης κατὰ τὴν Ἀσίαν ὁ βασιλεὺς
ὑφορώμενος τὴν τοῦ Φιλίππου δύναμιν ἔγραψε πρὸς τοὺς ἐπὶ θαλάττῃ
σατράπας βοηθεῖν ∏ερινθίοις παντὶ σθένει.

Philip’s growth in power had been reported in Asia, and the Persian king,
viewing this power with alarm, wrote to his satraps on the coast to give all
possible assistance to the Perinthians.50
Artaxerxes will have been worried for two main reasons: first, Philip’s
ambitions regarding the Hellespontine sphere threatened the well-established
Persian–Greek balance of power in the Aegean.51 Second, Artaxerxes will
have feared that the resourceful satrapies in Asia might become Philip’s
source of revenue serving to finance further wars to consolidate the Mace-
donian conquests.52 In consequence, Macedonia’s swift and surely unex-
pected rise made Philip a new enemy of Persia. This enmity came suddenly.
Before, because of their peripheral position and limited sphere of action,
the Argeads had posed no threat to Persia. However, during the last stage
of Philip’s reign and the start of Alexander’s rule, for the first time, active
hostile Persian actions against Macedonia in Greece are attested.
The contemporary Attic orators shed light on the Persian attempts to
subsidise revolts against the Macedonian hegemony in Greece in order to
make the Macedonians draw back from Persia by keeping them busy in
Europe. Demosthenes formed part of the Athenian political faction speaking
in favour of anti-Macedonian cooperation with the Great King ‘for even his
interests are not unaffected if we prevent Philip from subduing the whole
country’.53 In his Fourth Philippic, Demosthenes connects Athens’ fate with
that of Persia: ‘Philip is much more dangerous to the king if he has attacked
us first, for if we are left to our own resources, and anything happens to us,
he will soon be marching confidently against the king.’54 The contemporary
Pseudo-Demosthenic Letter to Philip and Answer to Philip’s Letter mention
Athenian–Persian negotiations for a defensive alliance (epimachia) against
Philip.55 When after Philip’s death, his successor Alexander and leading
112 Sabine Müller

generals carried on the war, according to Aeschines, the Persian king ‘sent,
not at the Athenian request, but of his own accord, 300 talents to the demos,
which they were wise enough to refuse’.56 Reportedly, Demosthenes kept the
money posing as the Great King’s confidant.57
Dinarchus implies that Darius sent the money shortly before the Theban
revolt in 335 bc and that Demosthenes agreed to support the Thebans.58
However, Thebes was let down, defeated, and destroyed.59 Aeschines drops
the information that the diplomatic Persian–Athenian exchange did not
cease until the eve of the battle of Issus in 333.60 Notably, this time sched-
ule corresponds with the imprisonment of Alexander Lyncestes who was
accused of having conspired with Darius.61 Thus, the Persian leading circles
seem to have tried to mobilise potential stepping stones for the Macedo-
nians in Greece as well as in the Macedonian camp. However, they failed
in convincing any Greek or Macedonian majority to cooperate. After the
Macedonian victory in Cilicia, Darius seems to have dropped the plan to stir
up revolts in Greece and focused on resistance in his own empire.62
In 324, during the last stage of Alexander’s reign, according to Hyperides,
the prospect of an Athenian insurrection with help from Asia occurred again.
In his speech against Demosthenes, who was accused of having accepted
bribes by Harpalus, Hyperides claims that the Athenians could have got
help against the Macedonian dominion from ‘the satraps who were willing
to join forces with us, each with money and troops, not merely revolting
from him, but also . . .’.63 Whatever the lacuna contained, Hyperides points
to the prospect of a widespread revolt kicked off by Harpalus’ money and
mercenaries. According to him, Demosthenes was guilty of preventing this
cooperation. It is not clear whether this is more than rhetorical exaggeration.
In any case, the Lamian War illustrated that there was potential to revolt.64
There is wide consensus that Alexander went far beyond his father’s aims
in Asia.65 Philip will have intended to establish Macedonian control over
the Ionian cities and resourceful satrapies in Asia Minor to the effect of
being in possession of a regular income. He needed this in order to finance
his future wars necessary to consolidate his conquests. Alexander was faced
with different circumstances regarding his personal power base, standing,
and freedom of action in the Macedonian political structures. To free him-
self from the control of Philip’s influential old guard and promote his own
trusted men,66 he had to expand wider, win more victories, and acquire
more booty to be able to reward his trusted men and keep them loyal. Thus,
due to internal policies, the campaign Alexander inherited from his father
had a new dynamic.
In order to consolidate the Macedonian conquests in Asia, Alexander had
to cooperate with the leading indigenous circles. Therefore, he adopted the
running system of the Achaemenid administration.67 After Issus, he acted as
the new protector of the Persians and treated the captured Achaemenid fam-
ily respectfully by posing as their new patron.68 After the assassination of
 Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? 113

Darius III, he styled himself as his legitimate successor by burying him hon-
ourably and claiming to take vengeance for him by punishing his murderer
Bessus.69 Alexander also kept on minting Darius III’s coins for a while.70
Additionally, Alexander honoured the Persian Empire’s founder Cyrus II.
The special status of a founder figure in the collective memory of an empire’s
inhabitants will have been familiar to Alexander because of the comparable
symbolic importance of the Argead founder figure(s).71 Alexander publicly
followed in Cyrus’ footsteps by honouring his tomb on his (probably two)
visits at Pasargadae.
Strabo might have referred to Alexander’s policy of acknowledging the
Persian founder figure’s historical importance and creating an artificial con-
nection with him by calling Alexander philokyros.72 Thanks to Xenophon’s
Cyropaedia, in Greek literary tradition, Cyrus was known as a wise, mod-
erate, and just ruler.73 Alexander will have thought Cyrus to be a fitting
role model popular with Persians, Greeks, and Macedonians. However, as a
politician, Alexander was not in need of Xenophon’s Cyropaedia to pursue
this kind of appeasement policy: ‘The idea that Alexander the Great led
his forces with a spear in one hand and Greek literature in the other . . . is
simply not tenable.’74 In fact, the association of Alexander with Xenophon’s
Cyrus was literary artifice by the Alexander historiographers. Alexander
tried to push his expansion as far as the eastern limits of the reign of Darius
I, while in the Alexander historiography, it was claimed that he was emulat-
ing Cyrus in India.75
Alexander introduced Persians into his army and court.76 He also attempted
to integrate the Macedonians into the Persian family networks by the mass
marriages in Susa in 324. Thus, he aimed at neutralising the threats of Per-
sian interfamily connections that bonded the nobles throughout the empire
while simultaneously creating an illusion of political continuity under for-
eign rule.77 Furthermore, Alexander tried to create a new royal representa-
tion in accordance with the requirements of his multicultural empire by
adopting elements of Achaemenid etiquette, ceremonial, court (such as the
office of eisangeleus),78 and regency style.79 However, he abstained from
growing a long beard, characteristic for a Great King. All these approaches
to the Achaemenid ruling tradition were necessary steps in order to con-
solidate Alexander’s conquests, and not proofs for his love for the Persian
culture.80
Often, regarding his Persian policy, the historical Alexander differs from
the images of the literary Alexander. The sources are biased due to tradi-
tional clichés concerning the Persians stemming from the time of the Per-
sian Wars, refreshed by panhellenic propaganda of the fourth century.81
Significantly, the Alexander historiographers carried on their panhellenic
colouring regarding the later stages of the Macedonian war, even after the
dismissal of the Greek troops in the summer of 330 bc officially mark-
ing the accomplishment of the (alleged) panhellenic mission.82 Marc van
114 Sabine Müller

de Mieroop points to the difference between fiction and fact: ‘In classical
sources, Alexander’s conquest is portrayed as a liberation from oppressive
Persian rule. . . . This is to a great extent Macedonian propaganda, however,
and most people probably saw little difference between the old and new
regimes.’83 In order to illustrate the tendencies of the primary Alexander
historiographers, a short look at their respective images of Alexander and
his attitude towards the Persians will follow. Against this background, the
question why next to nothing is heard about his possible visit to Darius’
tomb can be reassessed.
In accordance with the panhellenic message serving to legitimise the cam-
paign to the Greek public, the official court historiographer Callisthenes
seems to have depicted his Macedonian protagonist as the Greeks’ divinely
chosen liberator from the Persian yoke and avenger seeking satisfaction for
the offences Xerxes’ Persians had committed against them.84 Hence, Cal-
listhenes styled him carefully as a counterpart of Persian kings with a bad
reputation in Greek literary tradition. Alexander’s Egyptian campaign gave
him the chance to use the Herodotean portrait of Cambyses II in Egypt as a
foil. Drawing upon anti-Persian slander by disgruntled Egyptian priests and
Ammonians, Herodotus depicted the Persian king as a raving loony mur-
dering the holy Apis and trying to burn the oracle of Ammon before being
stopped by divine intervention.85 His literary Macedonian counter-image
Alexander sacrificed to Apis and was guided to the oracle by divine help.86
Particularly, Callisthenes depicted Alexander as the counterpart of Xerxes,
the ultimate bogeyman in the Greek collective memory. Alexander’s way to
Asia Minor is styled as the opposite of Xerxes’ march to Greece: Alexander
acted piously when Xerxes approved of one of his governors committing
sacrilege or when Xerxes acted insane himself.87 However, sometimes, liter-
ary artifice corresponds to the actual policy: a significant act of the histori-
cal Alexander in accordance with the literary theme of being an anti-Xerxes
was the fire at the palace of Persepolis; the archaeological documentation
has shown that the flames destroyed mainly those parts of the building that
had originally been identifiable as constructions of Xerxes.88
As mentioned before, Xenophon’s Cyropaedia served the Alexander his-
toriographers as another source of inspiration. By borrowing from his ‘for-
mulaic scenes’,89 they intended to provide their readers with elements and
the image of a conquering hero familiar to them. This concerns especially
Alexander’s personal virtues (moderation, eagerness to learn, ambitiousness,
energy), treatment of friends (generosity, exceeding care, healing ambitions),
soldiers (comradeship) and captured noble women (chastity, clemency, mag-
nanimity), conduct as a commander (modesty, courage, braveness, divine
mission), and a start into the war with meagre resources. Among the second-
ary authors, this literary device of modelling Alexander upon Xenophon’s
Cyrus particularly applies to Plutarch who, as a moral philosopher, will
have appreciated the moral tone of Xenophon.90 As for the primary Alex-
ander historiographers, obviously Diogenes Laertius was right in reporting
 Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? 115

that Onesicritus’ literary model regarding his history of Alexander was

Xenophon’s Cyropaedia upon which he patterned his own portrait of an
educated conqueror uniting a multitude of different peoples.91
Also, Callisthenes borrowed from the Cyropaedia depicting Alexander
as the new Cyrus who mastered himself and did not lay hands or even eyes
upon Statira, the captured wife of Darius, as the new Panthia, the most
beautiful woman in Asia.92 Another clear reference to Xenophon concerns a
famous sign of Zeus’ favour combined with a prayer by the respective ruler:
an eagle appeared flying ahead of Cyrus when he set out into war to Media
and over Alexander’s head flying straight against the enemy at the battle of
Gaugamela.93
The fragments of Ptolemy’s history of Alexander work suggest that he
focused on Alexander as the philosophical, brave, and virtuous panhellenic
warrior king against the evil Persian foes, thereby neglecting the debated
aspect of his Persian policy and adoption of Achaemenid traditions.94 Aris-
tobulus seems to have duly followed the official version spread in the camp
glorifying Alexander and elaborating stories about miraculous signs and
divine predestination.95 In addition, he painted Xerxes’ portrait even blacker
by claiming that the king destroyed the tomb and temple of Babylon’s main
deity, Marduk.96 This savage act is not confirmed by earlier Greek authori-
ties such as Herodotus. Probably, this was invented in the time of Alexander
in order to glorify his building activities regarding the sanctuary. These are
attested by cuneiform documents.97 While he will have financed some repa-
rations, the Alexander historiographers credit him with the whole rebuild-
ing of Marduk’s temple.
Nearchus seems to have followed the official guidelines closely. Regard-
ing the march through the Gedrosian desert, he refers to the piece of propa-
ganda that Alexander successfully emulated Cyrus by crossing the desert.98
Chares tended to paint an apologetic and idealised picture of Alexander.
Exemplarily, he wrote about an unhistorical duel Alexander allegedly fought
against Darius at Issus.99 While Chares showed interest in Persian ‘folklore’,
he adopts traditional Greek clichès on the decadent luxury of the Persian
kings and the addiction of Eastern ‘barbarians’ to luxury and alcohol.100 He
did so in order to glorify Alexander and his deeds, thereby certainly also
idealising his own portrait as a loyal follower of such a courageous civilising
ruler. Cleitarchus is another case of Alexander historiographers elaborating
the panhellenic avenger theme even after 330 when the Greek troops were
sent home.101 Continuously, he depicted Alexander’s campaigns in accor-
dance with the panhellenic propaganda. Thus, perhaps, it is not surprising
that he is credited with a special interest in the Persian Wars of the fifth
century bc.102 It may have provided him with the ideological frame for his
history on Alexander and clichés about the Persians he frequently used.103
Viewed against the background of these literary images of Alexander in
the primary Alexander historiography, it is not surprising that Alexander’s
possible visit to Naqsh-e Rostam is not mentioned in the sources and only
116 Sabine Müller

hinted at indirectly by Onesicritus. As Xerxes’ father and known for having

started the war that his son inherited, Darius I was a problematic figure in the
Greek cultural memory. True to the panhellenic colouring of their reports,
the Alexander historiographers seem to have remembered Darius primarily
as that: the aggressor.104 The circumstance that Alexander’s Argead ances-
tors in Darius’ and Xerxes’ times profited from their connection with the
Achaemenids had become inconvenient already after Plataea and did not
suit the war propaganda of Philip II and Alexander. Therefore, a visit to the
tomb of Darius would have been counterproductive to Alexander’s previous
panhellenic posture and also unsuitable for the Alexander historiographers
indulging in panhellenic themes. To make things worse, Xerxes’ tomb was
situated next to that of his father at Naqsh-e Rostam. Only the Greek Alex-
ander Romance mentions that Alexander came across the tomb of Xerxes
where, of course, he had to save poor Greek victims of Persian cruelty from
getting mutilated by the enemies’ hands.105 Visiting the tomb of Darius (and
Xerxes) might have been an interesting part of a sightseeing tour in Fars.
However, Alexander will have taken care that it was not integrated into the
official report and not become widely known. Predominantly, the Alexander
historiographers had no need to mention it anyway. Such a visit was not in
accordance with their literary images of Alexander. In the case of Naqsh-e
Rostam, however, Onesicritus seems to have done it his way. The reason is
unknown, but perhaps, this time, he was motivated by a genuine interest in
Persian history beyond Greek clichés.

Notes
Acknowledgements: I would like to thank Liz Baynham, Johannes Heinrichs, and
Anneli Purchase for their kind support.
1 Strab. 15.3.8. Trans. H.C. Hamilton/W. Falconer.
2 Erudite: Diog. Laert. 6.84; Strab. 15.1.63–65; Plut. Alex. 65.1–2. Naval offi-
cer: Strab. 15.2.4–5; Plut. Alex. 66.2; Arr. An. 6.2.3; and Plin. NH 6.96. On
Onesicritus see S. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien (Berlin: Trafo,
2014), 58–65; S. Müller, ‘Onesikritos und das Achaimenidenreich’, Anabasis 2
(2012): 45–66; M. Winiarczyk, ‘Das Werk Die Erziehung Alexanders des One-
sikritos von Astypalaia (FGrHist 134 F 1–39), Forschungsstand (1832–2005)
und Interpretationsversuch’, Eos 94 (2007): 197–250; and E. Baynham, ‘The
Ancient Evidence for Alexander the Great’, in Brill’s Companion to Alexander
the Great, (ed.) J. Roisman (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2003), 8.
3 Diod. 17.71.7.
4 Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 63–65; S. Müller, ‘Die frühen
Perserkönige im kulturellen Gedächtnis der Makedonen und in der Propa-
ganda Alexanders d. Gr.’, Gymnasium 118 (2011): 121–22; and J. Seibert,
‘Alexander der Große an den Gräbern der Perserkönige’, in Von Sachsen
bis Jerusalem, (eds.) H. Seibert and G. Thoma (Munich: Herbert Utz Verlag,
2004), 19–21.
5 DNb §§ 8a-I 5–49. Trans. R.G. Kent.
6 Cf. f.e. Hdt. 1.187.5; 3.88.2.
 Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? 117

7 Cyrus: Plut. Alex. 69.2–3; Strab. 15.3.7; and Arr. An. 6.29.8. Cf. J. Heinrichs,
‘“Asiens König”, Die Inschriften des Kyrosgrabs und das achaimenidische
Reichsverständnis’, in Zu Alexander d. Gr. FS G. Wirth, (eds.) W. Will and
J. Heinrichs, vol. 2 (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1987), 512–39. Sardanapalus: Arr.
An. 2.5.3–4; Strab. 14.5.9; Athen. 12.529 D-530 B. Cf. A. B. Bosworth, A His-
torical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1980), 193–94: While the reports come from Aristobulus, he
supposes that it might originate with Callisthenes.
8 Especially telling regarding Aristobulus’ version is that Cyrus is called the ‘king
of Asia’, a title in accordance with Greek perceptions but in contradiction to
the Eastern ideology of the Persian king’s universal rule: Arr. An. 6.29.8; Strab.
15.3.7. Cf. Heinrichs, ‘“Asiens König”’, 511. See also D. Stronach, ‘Of Cyrus,
Darius and Alexander: A New Look at the Epitaphs of Cyrus the Great’, in
Variatio delectat: Iran und der Westen, (ed.) R. Dittmann (Münster: Ugarit,
2000), 681–702.
9 Strab. 15.3.7. Cf. Heinrichs, ‘“Asiens König”’, 539–40. Darius I tried to style
Cyrus II as an ‘Achaemenid’ in order to underline his own (in fact debated)
membership of Cyrus’ family.
10 Arr. An. 3.18.10.
11 Cf. Seibert, ‘Alexander der Große’, 15–21.
12 Strab. 15.3.6; Arr. An. 3.18.11–12; Plut. Alex. 38.1–4; Curt. 5.7.10–12; and
Diod. 17.72.
13 Analogically, Onesicritus will have mentioned Cyrus’ epitaph when he wrote
about Alexander’s visit to his grave: Strab. 15.3.7.
14 Polyb. 3.6.3–14: frankly labelling this theme as a pretext (prophasis); Diod.
16.89.3 17.4.9. Cf. I. Worthington, Philip II of Macedon (Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 2008), 160–63. On the panhellenic theme, see also Just. 11.2.5;
Curt. 3.10.8–9; 5.6.1; and Plut. Alex. 16.8. Cf. G. Squillace, ‘Consensus Strate-
gies under Philip and Alexander: The Revenge Theme’, in Philip II and Alexan-
der the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, (eds.) E. D. Carney and
D. Ogden (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); W. Heckel, ‘Alexander’s
Conquest of Asia’, in Alexander the Great, A New History, (eds.) W. Heckel
and L. A. Tritle (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), 36–38; and M. Flower, ‘Alex-
ander the Great and Panhellenism’, in Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction,
(eds.) A. B. Bosworth and E. Baynham, 96–135 (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2000). See also M. Brosius, ‘Why Persia became the Enemy of Macedon’,
AchHist 13 (2003): 237: ‘The enmity towards Persia was created because of
Persian involvement in Greek affairs. Philip’s real enemy was Greece’.
15 Cf. Agesilaus II in Asia Minor in 396–394 bc: Xen. Hell. 3.4.5. However, by
the King’s Peace, Artaxerxes II reinstalled Persian control over the Ionian cities
(Xen. Hell. 5.1.31).
16 Hdt. 4.89. Cf. J. Wiesehöfer, Das frühe Persien. Geschichte eines antiken Welt-
reichs (Munich: Beck, 1999), 30.
17 Hdt. 5.1–2. Cf. Z. H. Archibald, The Odrysian Kingdom of Thrace: Orpheus
Unmasked (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 81–82, 85–87.
18 Hdt. 5.18.1 and Just. 7.3. Cf. M. J. Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, in Black-
well’s Companion to Ancient Macedonia, (eds.) J. Roisman and I. Worthing-
ton (Oxford and Malden: Wiley-Backwell, 2010), 343–44 and M. Zahrnt, ‘Der
Mardonioszug des Jahres 492 v. Chr. und seine historische Einordnung’, Chiron
22 (1992): 245–46.
19 Cf. Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 343.
20 Cf. N. G. L. Hammond and G. T. Griffith, A History of Macedonia, vol. 2
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), 99 and M. Zahrnt, ‘Die Entwicklung
118 Sabine Müller

des makedonischen Reiches bis zu den Perserkriegen’, Chiron 14 (1984): 361.

According to Herodotus (8.136.19), thanks to his Persian relations, Alexander
I was appointed Persian ambassador by Mardonius during Xerxes’ campaign.
21 Hdt. 5.21–22; 8.136.1; Just. 7.8.9. Cf. E. D. Carney, ‘The Argead Marriage
Policy’, in The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives, (eds.) S. Müller,
T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017), 140,
143. The date of the marriage is a matter of debate, see M. Zahrnt, ‘Der Mar-
donioszug’, 245–246n19; Brosius, 230. However, predominantly, it is seen as a
consequence of the Macedonian subjection following immediately, cf. S. Mül-
ler, Die Argeaden, Geschichte Makedoniens bis zum Zeitalter Alexanders des
Großen (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2016), 117–18; Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and
Persia’, 343; N. G. L. Hammond, The Macedonian State, The Origins, Insti-
tutions and History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 42; E. Badian,
‘Herodotus on Alexander I of Macedon: A Study in Some Subtle Silence’, in
Greek Historiography, (ed.) S. Hornblower (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1994), 109, 112; and E. N. Borza, In the Shadow of Olympus: The Emergence
of Macedon (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990), 103n15.
22 Cf. Badian, 110–12, 116: Bubares was the son of the Persian general Megaba-
zus (Hdt. 7.22.2).
23 Cf. I. K. Xydopoulos, ‘Anthemus and Hippias: The Policy of Amyntas I’, Illi-
nois Classical Studies 37 (2012): 24–27; Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’,
343; J. Heinrichs and S. Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol auf Münzen
Alexanders I. von Makedonien’, ZPE 167 (2008): 289–90; Hammond, The
Macedonian State, 42–43; and Hammond and Griffith, A History of Macedo-
nia, 59.
24 Cf. Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, ZPE 167 (2008): 288;
Borza, In the Shadow of Olympus, 41–42. Particularly in 483/2, when Mace-
donia was under Persian control, Athens received a lot of timber that will have
come from Macedonia.
25 Cf. M. Zahrnt, ‘Early History of Thrace to the Murder of Kotys I (360 bce)’, in
A Companion to Ancient Thrace, (eds.) J. Valeva, E. Nankov and D. Graninger
(Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2015), 38 (‘a vassal’); M. Zahrnt, ‘Herodot und die
makedonischen Könige’, in Herodot und das persische Weltreich, (eds.) R. Roll-
inger, B. Truschnegg and J. Wiesehofer (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 765;
Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 343; Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches
Statussymbol’, 289–90; and Borza, In the Shadow of Olympus, 293. Contra
Hammond and Griffith, A History of Macedonia, 58–59.
26 Cf. M. Zahrnt, ‘Herodot und die makedonischen Könige’, 765–67; Wiesehöfer,
Das frühe Persien, 30; G. Wirth 1985, 20.
27 Cf. Müller, ‘Die frühen Perserkönige’, 111–12. Hammond and Griffith suppose
that he entered the throne in 495: A History of Macedonia, 104.
28 Hdt. 7.108.1.
29 Cf. Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 293–95.
30 Cf. C. Morgan, Early Greek States beyond the Polis (London and New York:
Routledge, 2013), 87 and M. Sordi, ‘Larissa e la dinastia Alevade’, Aevum 70
(1996): 41–42.
31 Hdt. 7.25.2; 7.143.3; 7.185.2; 8.34; 9.31.5; 8.126.2; 9.89.4.
32 Cf. Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 291.
33 Cf. A. Spawforth, ‘The Court of Alexander the Great between Europe and Asia’,
in The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, (ed.) A. Spawforth
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 92.
34 There are various suggestions about the Persian influence on the Macedo-
nian court prior to Alexander III. See J. Wiesehöfer, ‘The Persian Impact on
 Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? 119

Macedonia’, in The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives, (eds.) S. Mül-

ler, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017),
59–62; S. Müller Perdikkas II. – Retter Makedoniens (Berlin: Frank & Timme,
2017), 79n449; and D. Kienast, Philipp II. von Makedonien und das Reich der
Achaimeniden (Munich: Fink, 1973).
35 Cf. J. Heinrichs, ‘Coins and Constructions. Origins and Developments of Ach-
aemenid Coinage under Alexander I’, in The History of the Argeads – New Per-
spectives, (eds.) S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger (Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz, 2017), 91–95.
36 Hdt. 7.25.2. Cf. Heinrichs, ‘Coins and Constructions’, 90; Heinrichs and Mül-
ler, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 287; and Brosius, 230.
37 Cf. Heinrichs and Müller,‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 295–304 and O. Picard,
‘Numismatique et iconographie: Le chevalier macédonien’, Bulletin de Corre-
spondence Hellénique Suppl. 14 (1986): 67–76. He wears a cap that might be
a petasos or a kausia.
38 Cf. Heinrichs, ‘Coins and Constructions’, 80–88. The image of the rider is
inspired by the Persian example set by Darius I depicting images of the warrior
king equipped with various weapons styled as the protector of his empire on his
coins.
39 Cf. Heinrichs, ‘Coins and Constructions’, 80, 84; Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein
persisches Statussymbol’, 292–95.
40 Hdt. 3.118.2; 7.54.2–3; Xen. an. 1.2.27; Curt. 3.3.18; Dem. 24.129; and Anax-
imenes BNJ 72 F 15.
41 Hdt. 8.120 (Xerxes) and Xen. an. 1.2.27; 1.8.29.
42 Hdt. 9.44–46; 5.18.2–20.5; Just. 7.3; and Plut. Arist. 15.2. Cf. Heinrichs, ‘Coins
and Constructions’, 85–86; S. Müller, Die Argeaden. Geschichte Makedoniens
bis zum Zeitalter Alexanders des Großen (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2016), 129–
34; and Heinrichs and Müller, ‘Ein persisches Statussymbol’, 291.
43 Diod. 16.52.3 and Plut. Alex. 5.1.
44 Cf. Müller, Perdikkas II, 125–224.
45 Diod. 16.52.3. On the so-called Great Satrap’s Revolt, see M. Weiskopf, The
So-Called ‘Great Satrap’s Revolt’, 366–360 BC (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1989).
46 Cf. Wiesehöfer, Das frühe Persien, 40: Alexander was extremely well acquainted
with the essentials of Persian kingship.
47 Arr. an. 2.14.1–2. However, problematically, he refers to a letter written by
Darius III to Alexander. On their diplomatic exchange, see E. Baynham, Alexan-
der the Great: The Unique History of Quintus Curtius (Ann Arbor: University
of Michigan Press, 1998), 150–55. While its authenticity is uncertain, the his-
torical kernel, namely the alliance, might have been trustworthy. Cf. Olbrycht,
‘Macedonia and Persia’, 350.
48 Cf. Wiesehöfer, Das frühe Persien, 38.
49 Diod. 16.75.1–2; Paus. 1.29.10; and [Dem.] 11.5. Cf. Müller,‘Die frühen Perserkö-
nige’, 110–11; Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 350–51; and I. Worthington,
Philip II of Macedon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008) 131–32.
50 Diod. 16.75.1–4. Trans. C.H. Oldfather. Cf. [Dem.] 11.5.
51 Dem. 9.71. Cf. Brosius, 233–34 and Wirth, Der Kampfverband des Proteas.
Spekulationen zu den Begleitumständen der Laufbahn Alexanders (Amster-
dam: Hakkert, 1989), 31–42.
52 Early in the fourth century, Sparta, steered by Lysander and Agesilaus II, had
sent troops to plunder and raid the resourceful satrapies in Asia Minor in order
to acquire booty to finance the wars necessary in order to consolidate the Spar-
tan hegemony: Nep. Ages. 3.1–2; Hell. Oxy. 14.1–16.2; 24.1–25–4. Cf. Xen.
Ages. 1.34 and Plut. Ages. 19.3 on the rich booty.
120 Sabine Müller

53 Dem. 9.71. In 10.31, Demosthenes emphasised that the Persian king’s trusted
men, presumably the Thracians, are Philip’s enemies and that his agent who was
privy to all of Philip’s schemes against the Persian king has been kidnapped,
perhaps referring to Hermeias of Atarneus. See also [Dem.] 11.4–6. Cf. Plut.
Demosth. 20,5. Allegedly, when coming to Sardis, Alexander discovered letters
written by Demosthenes and Persian documents mentioning the money Dem-
osthenes had received from the satraps to stir up a revolt in Greece and prevent
Philip from crossing over to Asia. The historicity of this information is doubted
by I. Worthington, Demosthenes of Athens and the Fall of Classical Greece
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 224.
54 Dem. 10.33. Thus, he urged the Athenians to send an embassy to the Great
King, thereby forgetting about the traditional prejudice against him as a ‘bar-
barian’ and foe of all of the Greeks: Dem. 10.33–34. Cf. Dem. 9.51–52: The
Great King used to be hated by the Greeks but was now well disposed to them,
in particular to the Athenians.
55 [Dem.] 11.4–6 and [Dem.] 12.6–7. Probably, the letters were written by Anax-
imenes of Lampsacus: BNJ 72 F11a, F 41. Cf. P. Ceccarelli, Ancient Greek Let-
ter Writing: A Cultural History (600 BC–150 BC) (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2013), 166–67; Squillace 2010, 114; and L. Pearson, The Lost Histories
of Alexander the Great (New York: American Philological Association, 1960),
245. Contra Worthington arguing in favor of genuine writings: Demosthenes of
Athens, 230–31.
56 Aeschin. 3.239. Cf. Din. 1.10; Hyp. 5.17; and Diod. 17.7.2. Aeschines claims
that first, the Persian king believed to be free from the danger of the Macedo-
nian invasion and ‘not long before Alexander crossed over into Asia’, and wrote
a rude letter to the Athenians demanding that they stop asking him for gold:
Aeschin. 3.238–239. Cf. Diod. 17.7.1: Darius wanted to turn the close war
back upon Macedonia but was relieved of his fear when Philip died. In any case,
it is hardly believable that the diplomatic exchange remained a secret undiscov-
ered by the Macedonian leading circles. Cf. G. Wirth, Hypereides, Lykurg und
die autonomia der Athener, Ein Versuch zum Verständnis einiger Reden der
Alexanderzeit (Wien: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1999), 76.
57 Aeschin. 3.164. Cf. Wirth, Hypereides, Lykurg und die autonomia der Athener,
75. He doubts the authenticity of the number of 300 talents (75n208).
58 Din. 1.18–22. 32. Cf. Wirth, Hypereides, Lykurg und die autonomia der
Athener, 75. See also Hyp. 5.25 and Plut. Dem. 23.2. On the Theban revolt:
Just. 11.3.3–8; Diod. 17.8.5–14.4; and Plut. Alex. 11; Hyp. 6.17.
59 According to later accusations against Demosthenes, he kept the money for
himself. Cf. Din. 1.10; 1.18–22: The Arcadians were ready to help the Thebans
for the prize of ten talents but Demosthenes did not give it to them. Cf. Aeschin.
3.239–240 (70 talents); 3.259; Hyp. 5.17; Diod. 17.4.8.
60 Aeschin. 3.132. 164.
61 Arr. An. 1.25.1–3; Diod. 17.32.1–2; Just. 11.7.1–3; and Curt. 7.1.6. Cf. E.
Baynham, Alexander the Great, 180–81.
62 Cf. C. Nylander, ‘Darius III – the Coward King. Point and Counterpoint’, in
Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth, (eds.) J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen Due
and B. Poulsen (Rome2: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997), 149. Mirrored by Curt.
4.16.15.
63 Hyp. 5.col. 18.
64 Hyp. 6. Cf. O. Schmitt, Der Lamische Krieg (Bonn: Habelt, 1992).
65 Cf. Müller, Die Argeaden, 268; Worthington, Philip II of Macedon, 170; G.
Wirth 1985, 148–50; G. L. Cawkwell, Philip of Macedon (London: Faber &
Faber, 1978), 177.
 Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? 121

66 On the old guard and new men, see W. Heckel, The Marshals of Alexander’s
Empire (London and New York: Routledge2, 2016).
67 Cf. P. Briant, Alexander the Great and his Empire: A Short Introduction
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), 69–71; M. van de Mieroop, A
History of the Ancient Near East (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007),
300; B. Jacobs, Die Satrapienverwaltung im Perserreich zur Zeit Dareios’ III
(Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1994).
68 Protector of the Persians: Arr. An. 2.14.7–8. Captured royal family: Diod.
17.38.1–3; Curt. 3.12.21–26; 4.10.18–19; Plut. Alex. 21.5; 30.3; and Just.
11.9.15–16; 11.12.6–8. Cf. A. B. Bosworth, Conquest and Empire: The Reign
of Alexander the Great (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988).
69 Arr. An. 4.7.3–4 and Curt. 7.5.43. Cf. W. Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age of
Alexander the Great (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006), 72 and B. Jacobs, ‘Der
Tod des Bessos’, Acta praehistorica et archaeologica 24 (1992): 183.
70 Cf. M. J. Price, ‘Alexander’s Policy on Coinage’, in Alexander the Great: Real-
ity and Myth, (eds.) J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen Due and B. Poulsen (Rome2:
L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997), 174.
71 Cf. E. Koulakiotis, ‘The Hellenic Impact on Macedonia’, in The History of
the Argeads – New Perspectives, (eds.) S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R.
Rollinger, 199–213 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017); Müller, Die Argeaden,
85–104.
72 Strab. 11.11.4. Cf. Curt. 7.6.20. On Alexander imitating/honoring Cyrus: Curt.
7.3.1–2 (Cyropolis); Diod. 17.81.1; Arr. An. 3.27.4–5; Just. 12.5.9 (honors the
Scythians whose ancestors were benefactors of Cyrus); Arr. An. 6.24.1–3; Ind.
1.3–4; 9.10; and Strab. 15.1.5–6; 15.2.5 (Cyrus’ Indian conquests).
73 Cf. J. Wiesehöfer, Das antike Persien von 550 v. Chr. bis 650 n. Chr. (Düsseldorf
and Zürich3: Patmos, 2005), 150; Seibert, ‘Alexander der Große’, 14; P. Briant,
‘History and Ideology: The Greeks and “Persian Decadence”’, in Greeks and
Barbarians, (ed.) T. Harrison (London: Routledge, 2002), 193–94. Additionally,
Pl. Leg. 694 A-695 B will have had an impact. A. Kuhrt stresses that this view
and constructed contrast between Cyrus II and Xerxes was mainly a Greek
perspective the inhabitants of the Persian Empire did not necessarily share: ‘Der
“gute” und der “schlechte” König – Kyros und Xerxes. A Footnote’, in Diwan.
Untersuchungen zu Geschichte und Kultur des Nahen Ostens und des östlichen
Mittelmeerraums im Altertum. FS J. Wiesehöfer, (eds.) C. Binder, H. Börm and
A. Luther (Duisburg: Wellem, 2016), 127–32.
74 Cf. K. McGroarty, ‘Did Alexander the Great read Xenophon?’, Hermathena: A
Trinity College Dublin Review 181 (2006): 15–16. Contra B. Burliga, ‘Xeno-
phon’s Cyrus, Alexander philokyros. How Carefully did Alexander the Great
Study the Cyropaedia?’, Miscellanea Anthropologica et Sociologica 15 (2014):
134–46 whose suggestions that the Cyropaedia formed part of Aristotle’s
‘school curriculum’ at Mieza and was at the base of Alexander’s Persian policy
are highly speculative. The arguments of C. Kegerreis that refer to the Cyropae-
dia by Callisthenes and Marsyas of Pella and Onesicritus confirm Alexander’s
political imitation of Xenophon’s Cyrus for they knew him and his favourite
role models well and wanted to flatter him are similarly speculative and not
convincing: ‘The Cyropaedia among Alexander’s Lost Historians’, The Ancient
World 46 (2015): 134–61.
75 Arr. An. 6.24.1–3; Ind. 1.3–4; 9.10; and Strab. 15.1.5–6; 15.2.5. Cf. T. Howe
and S. Müller, ‘Mission Accomplished: Alexander at the Hyphasis’, The Ancient
History Bulletin 26 (2012): 24–42; Briant, Alexander the Great and his Empire,
38. On Darius I’s conquests in India: Hdt. 4.44; DPe, § 2, l. 17–18; DSm § 2,
L. 10; DNa § 3, l. 25; and DSf § 3, l. 40: Hiduš.
122 Sabine Müller

76 Court ranks: Curt. 6.2.11; 7.5.40 and Diod. 17.77.4–5 (erroneous). Army:
Arr. An. 7.8.2–3 and Diod. 17.108.2–3. Cf. M. J. Olbrycht, ‘Curtius Rufus,
the Macedonian Mutiny at Opis and Alexander’s Iranian Policy in 324 bc’,
in The Children of Herodotus, (ed.) J. Pigón, 231–52 (Cambridge: Cambridge
Scholars Publishing, 2011) and M. J. Olbrycht, ‘The Military Reforms of Alex-
ander the Great During His Campaign in Iran, Afghanistan and Central Asia’,
in Miscellanea Eurasiatica Cracoviensia, (eds.) C. Galewicz, J. Pstrusińska and
L. Sudyka, 309–21 (Krakow: Krakow University Press, 2007).
77 Arr. An. 7.4.4–8; Just. 12.10.9; Plut. Alex. 70.3; Diod. 17.107.6; Curt. 10.3.12;
and Athen. 12.538b–539a. Cf. Müller, Die Argeaden, 303; Briant, Alexander
the Great and his Empire, 128–29: ‘a veritable pact of governing’; and W. Heckel,
The Conquests of Alexander the Great (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2008), 51: a ‘blueprint for political stability’, 137–41.
78 Plut. Alex. 46.2. Cf. D. Lenfant (ed.), Les Perses vus par les Grecs (Paris: Colin,
2011), 88; Spawforth, 94; and Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the
Great, 83. The office of edeatros (Athen. 4.171b-c) may be another example.
See in general Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 158.
79 Cf. Müller, Die Argeaden, 297–99; Bowden 2013; and Spawforth.
80 Cf. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary.
81 Cf. Müller, ‘Die frühen Perserkönige’, 129–30 and M. Böhme, ‘Das Perserbild
in den Fragmenten der Alexanderhistoriker’, in Studien zur antiken Geschichts-
schreibung, (ed.) M. Rathmann (Bonn: Habelt, 2009), 177–80.
82 Cf. Müller, ‘Die frühen Perserkönige’, 121–30. Cf. f.e. Arr. An. 3.19.5–6. See
Baynham, ‘The Ancient Evidence for Alexander the Great’, 3–29.
83 Cf. van de Mieroop, 300. Therefore, P. Briant called Alexander ‘the last of the
Achaemenids’: From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire
(Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2002), 876.
84 Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 44–58; Böhme, 163–67;
Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great, 76–77; Baynham, ‘The
Ancient Evidence for Alexander the Great’, 6–7; Flower, ‘Alexander the Great
and Panhellenism’, 105; A. M. Devine, ‘Alexander’s Propaganda Machine: Cal-
listhenes as the Ultimate Source for Arrian’, in Ventures into Greek History,
(ed.) I. Worthington (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 89–102; and
Bosworth, Conquest and Empire, 92. F.e. Plut. Alex. 17.3–4.
85 Hdt. 3.25.3–26.3; 3.27.1; 3.29.1–2. Allegedly, Cambyses ordered 50,000 of his
men to enslave the Ammonians and burn their oracle. But on their way, they
disappeared having been buried in masses of sand.
86 Callisthenes’ version was echoed by Ptolemy and Aristobulus. Desert trip:
Strab. 17.1.43; Arr. An. 3.3.3–6; Ael. VH 2.48; Plut. Alex. 27.2–3; Apis: Arr.
An. 3.1.4–5.
87 Route: Hdt. 7.108–112 vs. Arr. An. 1.11.3–5. Aim: Liberating the people
instead of subjecting them (Hdt. 7.9a-b); Elaeus: Hdt. 7.33; 9.116 vs. Arr. An.
1.11.5; Hellespont and sacrifices: Hdt. 7.34–35; 7.54.2 vs. Arr. An. 1.11.6–7
(Alexander was protected by Poseidon and the Nereids while Xerxes’ hybris
was punished); Ilium: Hdt. 7.43.1 vs. Arr. an. 1.11.7–8; Plut. Alex. 15.4.
88 Cf. R. Stoneman, Xerxes: A Persian Life (New Haven and London: Yale Univer-
sity Press, 2015), 166–70; R. Boucharlat, ‘Le destin des résidences et site perses
d’Iran dans la seconde moitié du IVe siècle avant J.-C’, in La transition entre
l’empire achéménide et les royaumes hellénistiques, (eds.) P. Briant and F. Joan-
nès (Paris: Editions de Boccard, 2006), 457; Wiesehöfer, Das antike Persien,
150; Brosius, 228; and H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, ‘Alexander and Persepolis’,
in Alexander the Great: Reality and Myth, (ed.) J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen
Due and B. Poulsen (Rome2: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1997), 181–82, 184–85
 Alexander at Naqsh-e Rostam? 123

(pointing out that propaganda has to be distinguished from political reasons:

Alexander may have proclaimed that he destructed Xerxes’ heritage. But in
fact, he did not want to leave behind items (treasures, throne, throne hall) that
could have been used to propagate political power by an anti-king). The dam-
age was done in particular to the Apadana and Xerxes’ Hadiš. On the thorough
pillaging of the treasury, see the excavation report: E. F. Schmidt, The Treasury
of Persepolis and Other Discoveries in the Homeland of the Achaemenians
(Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1939), 55, 71.
89 V. Gray, Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes: Reading the Reflections (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2011), 182.
90 Personal virtues: Xen. Cyr. 1.2.1; 1.6.8; 1.5.13; 8.2.1–2; cf. Plut. Alex. 5.3;
7.3–5; 8.1–2; 34.1–3; 41.1; 42.2; 45.3; Mor. 179d. Treatment of friends: Xen.
Cyr. 2.3.12; 8.2.1–8; 8.2.22–25; 8.3.37; cf. Plut. Alex. 8.1; 8.4; 34.1–3; 41.4;
Mor. 181e; 179e. Treatment of soldiers: sharing their hardships: Xen. Cyr.
1.2.1; 1.6.25; 1.5.13; cf. Plut. Alex. 42.2–6; 45.3; care for constant training of
soldiers (Xen. Cyr. 1.6.17; 3.3.8; cf. Plut. Alex. 31.2) and his own (Xen. Cyr.
5.3.59; cf. Plut. Alex. 23.2; most rewards for bravest soldiers: Xen. Cyr. 8.3.5;
cf. Plut. Alex. 24.1–2. Treatment of captured noble women: Xen. Cyr. 4.6.11;
5.1.2–17; cf. Plut. Alex. 21.4–5; 22.2; Mor. 522a. Commandership: no trickery
against enemies (Xen. Cyr. 1.6.29; 3.3.9; Plut. Alex. 16.2–3. Start with nearly
nothing: Xen. Cyr. 1.1.4; 1.6.9; 2.4.9; cf. Plut. Alex. 11.1; 15.1–3; Mor. 342d.
91 Diog. Laert. 6.84. Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 61–62. On
this image of Cyrus see Gray, Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes, 180–82.
92 The most beautiful women of Asia: Xen. Cyr. 4.6.11; 5.1.2–17; cf. Arr. An.
2.12.5; 4.19.6; Plut. Alex. 21.4–5; 22.2; and Mor. 522a. Cyrus forbade people
to speak about Statira’s beauty (Xen. Cyr. 5.1.7–8). So did Alexander: Plut.
Alex. 22.3. When Statira died, Alexander mourned for her as if she had been
one of his relatives and gave her a sumptuous burial just as Cyrus had done
for Panthia: Xen. Cyr. 7.3.12; cf. Plut. Alex. 30.1; Curt. 4.10.23–24; and Just.
11.12. Cf. Baynham, Alexander the Great, 60; Bosworth, A Historical Com-
mentary, 221.
93 Xen. Cyr. 2.1.1; cf. Plut. Alex. 33.1–2.
94 Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 79–82; Böhme, 179–80; A. B.
Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander the Great: Politics, Warfare and Propa-
ganda under the Successors (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 246–48.
95 Cf. N. G. L. Hammond, Three Historians of Alexander the Great: The So-
Called Vulgate Authors, Diodorus, Justin and Curtius (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1983), 104–05.
96 Arr. An. 3.16.4–5; 7.17.1–2; and Strab. 16.1.5. Cf. Hdt. 1.183.3.
97 Cf. A. Kuhrt, The Ancient Near East c. 3000–330 B.C., II (London and New
York: Routledge, 1995), 126–27.
98 Arr. An. 6.24.1–3; Ind. 1.3.4; and Strab. 15.1.5–6; 15.2.5. Cf. Müller, Alexan-
der, Makedonien und Persien, 67–68.
99 BNJ 125 F 6. Cf. the contradictory evidence: Arr. An. 2.11.4.
100 Persian ‘folklore’: BNJ 125 F 5. Clichés: BNJ 125 F 2 (Persian king’s try-
phe), F 17, F 19a (Indians love wine). Cf. Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und
Persien, 72.
101 So did Callisthenes, see, for example, his report on the massacre of the Branchi-
dae: Strab. 17.1.43 and Curt. 7.5.28–35. On Cleitarchus see Plin. NH 3.57–58.
Cf. A. Zambrini, ‘The Historians of Alexander the Great’, in A Companion to
Greek and Roman Historiography, (ed.) J. Marincola, vol. 1 (Oxford: Wiley-
Blackwell, 2007), 216; Baynham, ‘The Ancient Evidence for Alexander the
Great’, 20–21; G. Wirth, Der Brand von Persepolis. Folgerungen zur Geschichte
124 Sabine Müller

Alexanders des Großen (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1993), 202; and Hammond,

Three Historians of Alexander the Great, 84.
102 Plut. Themist. 27.1; Cic. Brut. 42.
103 Cf. Heckel, The Conquests of Alexander the Great, 7.
104 Cf. Curt. 3.10.8; 4.1.11. He is also used as a foil for Alexander’s deeds: Alexan-
der is depicted as being more successful than Darius against the Scythians (Arr.
An. 4.4.3; 4.15.1–5; Curt. 7.9.17–19; cf. Hdt. 4.83–143). Regarding the Indian
campaign, significantly, Alexander is not depicted as following in his footsteps
but as emulating Cyrus II.
105 Ps.-Call. 2.18. Obviously, the reader is invited to imagine that these poor men
were prisoners taken by Xerxes during his Greek campaign – about 150 years
before.

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Zürich3: Patmos, 2005.
———. Das frühe Persien. Geschichte eines antiken Weltreichs. Munich: Beck, 1999.
———. ‘The Persian Impact on Macedonia’. In The History of the Argeads – New
Perspectives, edited by S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger, 57–64.
Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017.
Winiarczyk, M. ‘Das Werk Die Erziehung Alexanders des Onesikritos von Astyp-
alaia (FGrHist 134 F 1–39). Forschungsstand (1832–2005) und Interpretations-
versuch’. Eos 94 (2007): 197–250.
Wirth, G. Der Brand von Persepolis. Folgerungen zur Geschichte Alexanders des
Großen. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1993.
———. Hypereides, Lykurg und die autonomia der Athener. Ein Versuch zum Ver-
ständnis einiger Reden der Alexanderzeit. Wien: Österreichische Akademie der
Wissenschaften, 1999.
———. Der Kampfverband des Proteas. Spekulationen zu den Begleitumständen der
Laufbahn Alexanders. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1989.
128 Sabine Müller

———. Philip II. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1985.

Worthington, I. Demosthenes of Athens and the Fall of Classical Greece. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2012.
———. Philip II of Macedon. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.
Xydopoulos, I. K. ‘Anthemus and Hippias: The Policy of Amyntas I’. Illinois Classi-
cal Studies 37 (2012): 21–37.
Zahrnt, M. ‘Early History of Thrace to the Murder of Kotys I (360 bce)’. In A
Companion to Ancient Thrace, edited by J. Valeva, E. Nankov and D. Graninger,
35–47. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2015.
———. ‘Die Entwicklung des makedonischen Reiches bis zu den Perserkriegen’. Chi-
ron 14 (1984): 325–68.
———. ‘Hellas unter persischem Druck? Die griechisch-persischen Beziehungen in
der Zeit vom Abschluss des Königfriedens bis zur Gründung des Korinthischen
Bundes’. Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 65 (1983): 249–306.
———. ‘Herodot und die makedonischen Könige’. In Herodot und das persische
Weltreich, edited by R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg and J. Wiesehofer, 761–77. Wies-
baden: Harrassowitz, 2011.
———. ‘Der Mardonioszug des Jahres 492 v. Chr. und seine historische Einordnung’.
Chiron 22 (1992): 237–79.
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Chapter 8

The man who would be king

Alexander between Gaugamela
and Persepolis
Hugh Bowden

Despite major developments in our understanding of the Achaemenid Per-

sian empire and its relationship with the political communities on its western
borders,1 the scholarly depiction of the interaction between the two at the
time of Alexander the Great has continued to be characterised by the presen-
tation of an opposition between West and East, in which an entirely Euro-
pean Alexander takes on the profoundly oriental Persian empire, defeating
it, but at the same time being corrupted by its luxury and effeminacy. This
characterisation of Alexander’s career has its roots in the surviving ancient
narratives, all of which were written under the Roman empire and which
can be seen to reflect the attitudes of the Roman audiences for which they
were written. These attitudes were reflected and reinforced in Roman mor-
alistic writings and also in political propaganda, both of which presented the
idea of kingship, and eastern kingship in particular, as the subject of great
suspicion. This suspicion of eastern kingship distorted the way in which
Alexander’s actions were interpreted and has made it difficult to make sense
of some of his actions. In this chapter, I will re-examine two episodes in Alex-
ander’s career usually dated to the late autumn of 331 bc and the summer of
330 bc: his behaviour in the throne room at Susa and his supposed adoption
of Persian dress in Hyrcania. I will show that reading these two episodes
through the lens of a fundamental dichotomy between West and East, as
has usually been done, leads to an impoverishment of our understanding of
Alexander’s kingship. For reasons that should become clear, I will treat the
episodes in reverse chronological order.

Persian dress
In 34 bc, Mark Antony held a great meeting in the Gymnasium in Alexan-
dria. We have two accounts of this event that differ in their precise details
but tell the same basic story.2 Cleopatra, Caesarion, and Cleopatra’s children
by Antony were presented to the people, and Antony distributed the prov-
inces in the eastern part of the Roman empire to them. The title ‘King of
Kings’ was awarded to Caesarion, according to Cassius Dio, or to Antony’s
130 Hugh Bowden

sons Alexander and Ptolemy, according to Plutarch.3 The two boys were
about 6 and 2 years old at this point. Information about Antony’s action
was reported to Rome and was recognised there as a great opportunity for
propaganda against Antony, which was seized upon by Octavian. Plutarch’s
account has details not found in Dio, and it is worth examining more closely:

Antony was hated also for the distribution which he made to his chil-
dren in Alexandria, which came across as theatrical, excessive and anti-
Roman. He filled the Gymnasium with a mass of people and placed two
thrones of gold on a silver dais, one for himself and one for Cleopatra,
along with lower thrones for his children.4 Then first he declared Cleopa-
tra Queen of Egypt, Cyprus, Libya5 and Coele Syria, ruling alongside
Caesarion, who was considered to have been the son of the previous
Caesar, who had left Cleopatra pregnant. Next he proclaimed his own
sons by Cleopatra as Kings of Kings,6 and assigned to Alexander Arme-
nia, Media and Parthia, once he had subdued it, and to Ptolemy Phoeni-
cia, Syria and Cilicia. At the same time he brought forward Alexander
dressed in Median costume, wearing a tiara and an upright kitara, and
Ptolemy in boots, short cloak (chlanis) and kausia with diadema around
it. This latter was the costume of the kings who succeeded Alexander,
and the former that of Median and Armenian kings. And when the boys
had saluted their parents, one was given a bodyguard of Armenians,
and the other of Macedonians. Cleopatra then and subsequently when
in public wore a robe sacred to Isis, and was addressed as the New Isis.7

Plutarch adds that Octavian reported this information to the senate and
denounced Antony to the people for these actions.8 The element of this
account to which I want to draw attention is the dressing of the 5-year-old
Alexander Helios in Median costume. Whether this actually took place or
was part of Octavian’s propaganda campaign is not important for our pur-
poses. The point is that the story was circulating within the Roman empire
in the later 30s bc, at the time when our earliest surviving narrative account
of the career of Alexander the Great, Book 17 of Diodorus Siculus’ Library
of History, was being composed, and the account of it we are considering
was written by Plutarch, the author of two more works about Alexander,
Life of Alexander and the essay On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander.
I will argue that we cannot ignore the Roman attitudes to oriental dress
when we examine the question of Alexander’s adoption of Persian practices.
Although the argument will move beyond the issue of Alexander’s adoption
of Persian dress, that is the best place to start.
All the surviving narrative accounts of Alexander’s campaigns refer to his
adoption of oriental dress, although they differ in some details.9 This has
led to a consensus among modern commentators that this was a deliberate
decision of Alexander, enacted at a particular time and place: the time was
 The man who would be king 131

330 bc and the location Parthia.10 The assumption is that such a specific
decision was reported by an earlier historian, presumed to be Cleitarchus,
since the accounts of Diodorus, Curtius, and Justin are similar.11 However,
this assumption may be challenged, if we look at the accounts in more detail.
While there are inconsistencies between the surviving accounts about the
precise date and place for Alexander’s adoption of Persian dress, there is
significant agreement about the narrative context, which is one of Alexan-
der’s loss of self-control and him succumbing to the allure of the east. Dio-
dorus’ account is all set in Hyrcania and starts with the story of the visit of
Thalestris, the queen of the Amazons, to Alexander.12 He follows this story
with the statement that ‘as it seemed to Alexander that he had achieved his
objective, and held the kingdom without opposition, he began to emulate
Persian luxury and the extravagance of the kings of Asia’.13 He goes on to
refer to the introduction of Asian ushers (rhabdouchoi) and the employment
of elite Persians as bodyguards (doryphoroi) before turning to the matter of
clothing. As well as adopting his own (restricted) Persian clothing, Diodorus
describes Alexander distributing purple cloaks and horse harnesses to his
companions. Next comes the reference to Alexander adding 365 concubines
to his retinue, who would parade before him every night.14 Finally, Dio-
dorus then notes that Alexander was concerned about Macedonian disap-
proval but used gifts to silence protestors.15
The parallel part of Curtius’ account also begins in Hyrcania with the
arrival of Narbazanes, who had plotted with Bessus to kill Darius, and who
now brought great gifts to Alexander, including the eunuch boy Bagoas,
as a result of which Alexander pardoned him.16 There follows the story
of Thalestris, told with more emphasis on physical attractiveness and less
on mutual moral admiration than in Diodorus’ account.17 At this point,
Alexander moves to Parthia, where Curtius states that he ‘openly set loose
his desires, and swapped self-control and moderation, eminent virtues in all
times of highest fortune, for arrogance and licentiousness’.18 He goes on to
describe Alexander demanding that his companions should prostrate them-
selves in his presence, adopt Persian dress and with it ‘insolence of spirit’.19
He mentions Alexander using Darius’ signet ring for correspondence in
Asia, and his own for letters to Europe, and requiring others to wear Persian
dress, and then mentions the 365 concubines, with added reference to their
accompanying ‘flocks of eunuchs’.20 Curtius notes that this was particularly
disliked by Philip’s veterans and that Alexander tried to buy them off with
gifts.21
Justin’s briefer account begins with Alexander in Parthia announcing that
he does not intend to return to Macedonia and inspiring his soldiers to con-
quer Hyrcania.22 There then follows an account of the visit of the Amazon
queen (named by Justin as Thalestris or Minithya)23 and then Alexander
adopting Persian dress, requiring his companions to do the same in order to
avoid hostility to the move. There is then reference to Alexander spending
132 Hugh Bowden

time with the royal concubines and holding great banquets. Justin refers to
general hostility to these changes from his army24 and says that Alexander
reduced this by allowing his soldiers to marry local women and that he also
started to train the children of these relationships as soldiers who would be
the Epigoni.25 He then suggests that Alexander had Parmenion and Philotas
executed because he was angry about the opposition to the changes.26
Plutarch refers to these same elements, but significantly in a different
order. He describes Alexander returning from Hyrcania to Parthia and there
deciding to adopt Persian dress, explaining this either as an attempt to adapt
to local practices or as a first step towards prostration.27 He mentions that
the Macedonians were offended, but tolerated the practice, because of Alex-
ander’s continuing military prowess.28 The visit of the (unnamed) Amazon
queen is described next, with a discussion which earlier historians either do
or do not mention.29 This is followed by Alexander marching back to Hyr-
cania and announcing to his troops his intention not to leave Asia.30 He then
describes the training of local boys to be soldiers in the context of describ-
ing Alexander’s aim of bringing Macedonian and Asian customs together,
before mentioning Alexander’s marriage to Roxane as a love-match.31
Arrian refers to Alexander’s adoption of Persian dress after describing
him ordering the mutilation of Bessus.32 Both actions are presented with
disapproval. The moralising introduction to the topic does not say anything
at all about when or where Alexander started to wear Persian clothing: the
text does not in any way imply that it should be associated chronologically
with the execution of Bessus. Nor does Arrian associate the event with the
visit of the Amazon queen or Alexander’s use of courtesans, neither of which
he mentions at all. The mutilation of Bessus and the adoption of Persian
dress are placed at the start of a sequence of stories that show Alexander in a
bad light. This sequence is what Bosworth has called the ‘Great Digression’
and is placed at the very centre of Arrian’s work.33 It allows Arrian to focus
his criticisms of Alexander in one place and present a more positive image
throughout the rest of the work.34 One of the features of the digression is
that it takes events out of their usual chronological sequence, as Arrian indi-
cates.35 We, therefore, have no evidence from Arrian for any specific policy
decision by Alexander to start wearing Persian costume. This suggests the
likelihood that Arrian had not read about such a policy decision in his prin-
ciple sources, Ptolemy and Aristobulus.
Precisely what Alexander wore is not consistently described. Arrian states
that Alexander adopted ‘Median dress’, including the Persian kitaris (‘a floppy
hat with long ear-flaps, or a cowl, of uncertain construction, characteristi-
cally Scythian, Persian or Thracian’).36 Curtius mentions a diadema (‘a band
or fillet of cloth or metal, encircling the head and tied at the nape’) of purple
and white37 and Persian clothing (vestem Persicam) not otherwise explained.38
Justin similarly refers to ‘the dress of Persian kings, and the diadema which
Macedonian kings were not previously accustomed to wear’.39
 The man who would be king 133

Diodorus and Plutarch go into more detail. Both writers indicate that
Alexander only adopted some items of eastern dress: he did not adopt the
anaxyrides (‘Persian and Median trousers, sometimes leather, cut full and
baggy and usually patterned’)40 or the kandys (‘a Median or Persian coat –
sometimes leather – with ornamental sleeves’),41 and Plutarch adds that he
did not wear the tiara (‘a high turban headdress, associated by the Romans
with the east and royalty’).42 Plutarch makes the same point in his essay
On the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander and attributes this information
to Eratosthenes.43 Strabo indicates that Eratosthenes discussed Alexander’s
positive attitude to ‘barbarians’ at the end of his Geographica, and it is most
likely that this is where Plutarch found this information.44 Eratosthenes was
writing in the second half of the third century, that is about a century after
Alexander,45 and it is not clear from where he will have got his information.
It is also very unlikely that Eratosthenes provided any information about the
circumstances in which Alexander adopted Persian dress. Plutarch appears
to have been uncertain how to interpret Alexander’s dress. In On the Fortune
or the Virtue of Alexander, he suggests that Alexander did not like Median
dress, considered Persian dress much simpler,46 and wore a costume that
mixed Persian and Macedonian elements, citing Eratosthenes as his author-
ity for this. In the Life, he says that the costume was ‘in the middle, mixing
Persian and Median, not as puffed-up as the latter, but more imposing than
the former’.47 Attempts to draw distinctions between Persian and Median
dress need to be treated with caution. Strabo gives an account of the trans-
mission of customs of dress from the Medes to the Persians, and later the
Armenians, and suggests that after the Persians had overthrown the Medes
they adopted the dress of the people they had conquered, wearing Median
clothing that was intended for cold northerly regions even in the warmer
south.48 This would imply that Arrian’s indiscriminate use of ‘Median’ and
‘Persian’ was consistent with Roman understanding of these things.
What is common to all the surviving narratives is an association between
Alexander’s adoption of Persian dress and him being corrupted or his cor-
ruption by oriental luxury. This is most explicit in the Latin sources but is a
factor in all of them. In the ‘vulgate’ sources, it is particularly associated with
feminisation and arguably emasculation: the decision is presented between
the visit of the Amazon queen and the acquisition of Darius’ concubines,
and for Curtius the concubines are clearly associated with the presence of
eunuchs in Alexander’s retinue.49 It was common to characterise easterners
as soft and effeminate and that their dress was inevitably part of this.50 The
connection between the visit of the Amazon queen and Alexander’s orien-
talising explains why the stories about the adoption of Persian dress are
located in the region of Hyrcania and Parthia on the northern borders of
the Achaemenid empire near the Caspian Sea. The Amazons were associated
with the area immediately to the north of here, beyond the borders of exist-
ing empires, and therefore beyond the borders of the known world.51 The
134 Hugh Bowden

depiction of Alexander’s imagined two weeks of dalliance with the Amazon

queen is similar to the later interlude at Nysa, a city traditionally associated
with Dionysus, where Alexander and his men are depicted succumbing to
Bacchic abandon.52 The other place (Parthia) associated with Alexander’s
act of orientalising had an additional significance for the readers of the sur-
viving narratives about Alexander, as the place of origin of the rulers of the
Persian empire in their own time.
What this analysis of the narrative texts suggests is that the evidence for
a deliberate policy decision by Alexander to adopt Persian dress in the sum-
mer of 330 bc in Parthia or Hyrcania is less certain than has been assumed.
The identification of the place where it is supposed to have been enacted,
Hyrcania or Parthia, results from its association with the fictional story of
the Amazon queen’s visit to Alexander. The time follows from awareness
of when Alexander reached that area. Our evidence for exactly what form
of dress Alexander wore is also limited: only Eratosthenes, writing a cen-
tury after the events, provides explicit detail, and he is not followed by all
writers. Especially given that no support for the idea of a specific moment
of adoption of Persian dress can be found in the works of Arrian, and that
Arrian does not offer support for the description of its form provided by
Eratosthenes, this evidence is decidedly weak. There is no doubt that Alex-
ander did wear Persian royal dress, but, as we will see, he may well have
done so earlier than the surviving ancient accounts suggest.
Other than in the passages just discussed, there is relatively little mention
of Alexander’s companions or soldiers objecting to his adoption of Persian
dress.53 As evidence that there was continuing opposition to it throughout his
reign, scholars point to Arrian’s statement that this was a cause of discontent
at the ‘Mutiny at Opis’: ‘his wearing of Persian dress, his equipping of the sons
of easterners in Macedonian style, and the introduction of foreign horsemen
into the Companion units had already frequently angered them’.54 However,
none of the other narratives mentions this as a cause of concern at Opis.55
Arrian says this before putting a speech into Alexander’s mouth, a version of
which is also given by Curtius,56 which gives a different impression. In the
speech, Alexander emphasises the wealth and luxury that the Macedonian
soldiers now enjoy.57 In Curtius’ account, Alexander makes the point even
more clearly, by addressing the eastern soldiers and praising them for being
less corrupted by luxury than his Macedonian troops.58 It is likely that the two
speeches draw on a common original, but it would not be safe to assume
that this original reflected anything of what Alexander may have said at the
time.59 In the speeches, Alexander contrasts his own frugality with the sol-
diers’ excessive spending of their booty. Plutarch presents a similar contrast,
this time between Alexander and his companions, naming Hagnon of Teios,
Leonnatus, and Philotas, who all are said to have gone to absurd lengths in
pursuit of pleasure and contrasting them with Alexander’s strenuous engage-
ment in military activities and hunting.60 Plutarch claims that in spite of this,
 The man who would be king 135

Alexander’s friends, ‘as a result of their wealth and sense of self-importance

wished to live in luxury and idleness, and found his wandering and campaign-
ing oppressive, and little by little came to slander and speak badly of him’.61
Plutarch indicates that much of this wealth came in the form of gifts from
Alexander himself; one example of which is the gift of the house of Bagoas
in Babylon to Parmenion, which was said to have contained clothing worth
a thousand talents.62 It is difficult to see how these accounts of Alexander’s
companions and common soldiers enjoying great wealth from booty and pos-
sessions including clothing can be made compatible with claims that these
same men objected to Alexander adopting Persian dress himself.
Indeed, Plutarch tells a story, on the authority of Eratosthenes, about
Alexander rewarding a camp-follower with the gift of 12 villages, which
presumably gave him an income that raised him to high status and the right
to wear Persian dress.63 Here, wearing Persian dress is presented as a privi-
lege and a sign that the wearer is of high status. If we are to find the reason
why the Alexander historians present Alexander’s wearing of Persian dress
as a problem, we need to look nearer to the time the surviving narratives
were written. We have seen at the beginning of this chapter that Octavian
circulated the story of Mark Antony dressing his son Alexander Helios in
eastern dress as a way of damaging Antony’s reputation, suggesting that
Antony was abandoning his allegiance to Rome and Roman ways.64 Another
negative example of a ruler adopting foreign dress was Caligula. The elder
Seneca criticised him for forcing Persian servitude onto free Roman citizens,
referring to his making senators prostrate themselves in front of him, a prac-
tice explicitly rescinded by Claudius.65 On the basis of Suetonius’ account,
his public attire might be described as ‘Eastern, regal and effeminate’.66 The
Alexander historians are likely to be presenting contemporary concerns in
their accounts, assuming that the attitudes of their own day could be read
back onto Alexander’s time.

The Persian throne

Introducing his account of Alexander’s adoption of Persian dress Diodorus
says:

Considering that he had been successful in his undertaking, and held

the kingdom without opposition, Alexander began to have a desire for
Persian luxury and the extravagant lifestyle of Asian kings.67

Plutarch speaks in similar terms of Alexander’s position immediately after

his victory at Gaugamela:

The battle having had this outcome, it was considered that the rule
of the Persians had been entirely dissolved, and Alexander, publicly
136 Hugh Bowden

proclaimed king of Asia, sacrificed to the gods in magnificent style and

presented his friends with wealth and estates and governorships.68

Plutarch goes on to describe the favours Alexander granted to the Greeks,

then his journey through Babylonia (without any mention of his entry into
Babylon itself), and then his taking of Susa and Persepolis.69 He ends this
section by retelling an anecdote about how, when Alexander, in the throne
room in Persepolis, ‘sat for the frst time beneath the golden canopy on the
royal throne’, Demaratus of Corinth burst into tears because he was fortu-
nate to see Alexander seated on the throne of Darius.70
None of the surviving narratives explicitly states that Alexander was
ever formally crowned as king in any of the Asian or African territories
he conquered. Because of this, it is the predominant view among modern
scholars that he was never formally crowned as either ‘king of Asia’ or as
ruler of the Persian empire. Arguments have been made for the possibil-
ity of a coronation in Egypt and in Babylon, and it is clear that he was
acknowledged formally as legitimate king in both these places, whether or
not there was an actual ceremony of coronation.71 On the other hand, the
suggestion that he was ever formally recognised as Persian king has found
little favour. The argument from silence is reinforced by the belief, based
on Plutarch’s Life of Artaxerxes,72 that a Persian coronation would have
to have taken place at Pasargadae, and nothing is said about any ceremo-
nies taking place there when Alexander visited.73 However, Plutarch’s text
cannot bear too much weight: he describes a rite of passage associated
with the figure of Cyrus, but such evidence as there is suggests that Cyrus
himself and his successor Cambyses were crowned in Babylon. The rituals
Plutarch describes have been characterised as ‘more like a royal initiation
ritual than a full-blown public coronation’.74 It has also been suggested
that in going to Pasargadae, Artaxerxes may have been reviving a practice
that had been changed from the reign of Darius, who had created a new
shrine at Naqsh-e Rostam.75 The possibility of alternative locations for a
coronation of Achaemenid kings, and Alexander, cannot be ruled out.76 A
further key reason given for rejecting the idea of a coronation in the Per-
sian heartlands is the assumption that Alexander did not adopt any form
of Persian practices until the summer of 330 when he was in Hyrcania.77
However, as we have seen, there is good reason to question that assump-
tion. Given this, it will be fruitful to re-examine some of the events follow-
ing the moment when, according to Plutarch, Alexander claimed to have
taken control of Darius III’s empire.
The most significant event to consider is the story about Alexander’s visit
to the throneroom at Susa, which is described by Curtius and Diodorus
in very similar ways, although Diodorus offers more moralising. Curtius’
account is as follows:
 The man who would be king 137

Then he sat on the royal throne, which was much too high for his frame.
So, since his feet did not reach the top step, one of the royal pages
put a table under his feet. And when the king saw one of the eunuchs
who had belonged to Darius weeping, he demanded to know the reason
for his sorrow. He explained that Darius used to eat from it, and that
he could not bear to see his sacred table reduced to a dishonourable
use without tears. At that the king was struck with shame for having
offended against the gods of hospitality, and was on the point of order-
ing it to be taken away when Philotas said, ‘You should not do that, my
king, but accept this as an omen, that the table from which your enemy
ate his banquets has been placed beneath your feet.78

As it is presented to us, this is a fairly typical anecdote revealing reversal

in fortune and presenting Alexander’s short stature as the trigger for an
unsought omen. There can be little doubt that it has been shaped deliber-
ately to bring out a moral.79 As we will see, there are problems with taking
the story at face value, and one of these concerns the table that is at the
centre of the story.
Another story about Alexander, told by Polyaenus, describes him in an
unspecified Persian royal palace:

In the palace of the Persian monarch Alexander read a bill of fare for
the king’s lunch and dinner, that was engraved on a column of bronze:
on which were also other regulations, which Cyrus had directed. It ran
thus: [there follows a list of quantities of food]. All, that is here enumer-
ated, was distributed among the forces that attended him. In lunch, and
dinner, and in largesses, the above was the king’s daily expenditure.80

Athenaeus describes the rituals and practices of Persian royal dining, attrib-
uting it to Heracleides of Cumae, which also emphasises the way in which
the king provides food for many in the palace from his table, as part of a
practice referred to as the king’s dinner.81 These accounts are supported by
Achaemenid evidence. On the basis of Elamite documents from the Perse-
polis Fortifcation Tablets that refer to food ‘consumed before the King’,82 it
can be concluded that:

the evidence from the Fortification tablets agrees quite well with what
the classical sources, [notably Heraclides (apud Ath. 4.145e–f) and
Polyaenus (Strat. 4.3.32),] tell us about the institution known as the
King’s Table (Heraclides: to deipnon to basileôs kaloumenon). Food
and drinks prepared for the royal dinner not only fed the king, his fam-
ily and his immediate entourage, but was also redistributed, via the
king’s table, to courtiers, personnel and, notably, the king’s guard, who
138 Hugh Bowden

dined at a different location (Heraclides), but within the king’s vicinity

or ‘before the king’ as the Persepolis scribes would say.
It becomes evident that the Persepolis administrators, like the Greek
historiographers, thought of the king’s table as an institution, as a com-
plex organisation with its own rules and hierarchy, with very specific
needs and demands, and with its own administrators.83

The ‘king’s table’, or Darius’ table, as it is referred to by Diodorus and

Curtius, was therefore important as an institution that allowed the king to
display his power and his benefcence, rather than as simply a piece of fur-
niture. How this notion of the ‘king’s table’ fed into the story of Alexander
in the throne room is not clear. It does, however, provide a reason to be cau-
tious about taking the story at face value.
The Susa story is similar in a number of ways to another story involving
the royal throne, set in Babylon near the end of Alexander’s life, and told by
Diodorus, Plutarch, and Arrian.84 In this story, while Alexander is otherwise
engaged, a freed prisoner sat on his throne, wearing the diadem and royal
robes. Once he was discovered, on the advice of the Babylonian manteis, he
was taken away and executed. In Arrian’s version, there were eunuchs stand-
ing around the throne, who tore their clothing and beat their breasts and
faces when they saw what had happened. All three authors explicitly present
this story as a portent, indicating the imminence of Alexander’s death, and
Arrian indicates that this is how Aristobulus reported it.85 It is now recog-
nised that behind the story lies an event known from ancient near eastern
documents, a substitute kingship ritual, where the king abdicates temporar-
ily in the face of bad omens, and a prisoner is made king until the danger is
passed; the prisoner is then executed.86 Aristobulus, writing several decades
after the event, may either have misremembered what actually happened or
adapted it to make it meaningful to Greek readers.
There are numerous examples in the Alexander narratives of near eastern
rituals being either misunderstood or retold to make more sense to a Greek
(or Roman) audience. As well as the substitute kingship ritual mentioned
earlier, there is the functioning of the procession oracle at Siwah, some details
of which survive in the accounts of Diodorus and Curtius.87 The stories
about proskynesis could also be considered part of the same phenomenon.88
As a description of an actual event, the Susa story cannot be taken at face
value. First of all, the story emphasises that it was Alexander’s unusually
small stature that made the footstool necessary, but in Achaemenid reliefs,
Persian kings are conventionally depicted with a footstool, when they are on
the throne.89 Second, the idea that Persian kings dined in the throne room is
not supported by any evidence: there were different rooms set aside for this
purpose, as Athenaeus makes clear.90 There is further evidence that Alex-
ander’s appearance in the throne room was more than a casual visit: in On
the Fortune or the Virtue of Alexander the Great, Plutarch tells the story
 The man who would be king 139

of Demaratus of Corinth (see previous discussion) but sets it in Susa rather

than Persepolis.91 This means that we have two anecdotes set in the throne
room at Susa: one about Demaratus provided by Plutarch, and one about
the eunuchs provided by Diodorus and Curtius. The Demaratus story loses
much of its point if what he saw was not Alexander formally enthroned.
This should encourage us to consider the probability that in the same
way as with the Babylonian story, the account of Alexander’s visit to the
throne room in Susa had its origins in a near eastern ritual. There are clear
similarities between the two stories, both in their elements (the throne, the
weeping eunuch) and their function in the surviving narratives as portents.
They neatly mirror each other, with the Susa story marking the beginning
of Alexander’s time as ruler over the Persian empire and the Babylon one
marking its end. The most plausible ritual in the context would be a corona-
tion ceremony.92
There is more evidence from earlier in Alexander’s career that suggests
that he and his companions would have expected him to take part in such
rituals. Plutarch describes two incidents from Alexander’s childhood which
involved interaction with members of the elite of the Achaemenid empire:
he is supposed to have entertained a Persian embassy in Philip’s absence and
to have negotiated a marriage agreement with Pixodarus, satrap of Caria.93
Whatever the status of these particular stories,94 they act as a reminder that
the kingdom of Macedon was involved in diplomatic relations with the
powers to its east in the reign of Philip, and probably earlier, as it had been
in the period before 479.95 When he reached Susa, Alexander was greeted
by the satrap, Abulites, and his son, who must have arranged his entry into
the city itself and whom he left as satrap when he left, indicating that their
relationship remained positive.96 This repeated the pattern at the previous
Achaemenid royal centre, Babylon, where the satrap had also welcomed
Alexander and retained his position.97 These accounts obscure the role that
diplomatic negotiations will have played in the arrangements: to get the
population to come out en masse to meet Alexander and bring him gifts, as
happened at Alexander’s entry into Babylon, will have taken considerable
planning.98 The accounts, as most ancient historiographies do, also obscure
the role in all these encounters that interpreters and other court functionar-
ies must have played.99
Given that, by the time he arrived at Susa, Alexander will have been
extremely familiar with the diplomatic formalities necessary in any nego-
tiations between rival forces and that he will have been advised by very
knowledgeable courtiers from all sides, it is difficult to accept that Alex-
ander’s actions in the throne room at Susa will have been anything other
than deliberate. If he sat on the king’s throne, it must have been in cir-
cumstances where he was formally acknowledged as entitled to do so by
those present, as the Demaratus anecdote implies. And if there was a formal
ceremony involved, it would follow that Alexander would have participated
140 Hugh Bowden

in it in an appropriate manner, which would have included wearing appro-

priate apparel. Clothing is central to the ritual at Pasargadae described by
Plutarch.100 The idea that Alexander might have begun to wear Persian
royal dress without there being any formal ceremony underestimates the
importance of the rituals by which royal legitimacy is established.101 As has
already been established, there is considerable uncertainty about what Ach-
aemenid coronation rituals may have involved. Nonetheless, it seems likely
that while he was in Susa, Alexander took part in a ceremony in the throne
room and that he would have worn a form of Persian royal dress at that
time. It follows from this that Alexander was beginning to present himself
using symbols of Achaemenid monarchy from at least the time immediately
after the Battle of Gaugamela, if not earlier: in which case he was doing so
before the death of Darius and before his arrival in Hyrcania.
There is one action of Alexander that might appear to contradict the view
that he was already presenting himself as the next ruler of the Achaemenid
empire (or king of Asia) before the summer of 330, and that is the destruc-
tion of Persepolis. There is not enough space here to go over this much-
debated issue in any detail. It is clear that there are a number of reasons
why the treatment of Persepolis might have been different from that of the
other Persian royal centres, of which two can be noted. Alexander reached
it after overcoming determined military resistance, and it would have been
difficult to prevent his soldiers from looting the place, as the sources suggest
that they did.102 But there also needed to be an action to mark the end of the
Hellenic campaign against the Persian king:

At Persepolis, it was his turn (not Xerxes’) to bring about ‘ground zero’,
the result of his own destruction in the symbolic heart of Achaemenid
rule. Drink and a woman may have helped the occasion along, but the
burning of the Achaemenid palace was not random ‘hooliganism’: it
was the culmination of Alexander’s publicity as a ‘punisher’ of Persian
sacrilege.103

In other words, this was an occasion where Alexander’s own propaganda

needs took priority over other considerations.

Conclusion
The image of Alexander the Great as the young Macedonian king who first
conquered the Persian empire and then was corrupted by it was attractive
to Roman writers. Cicero associated the turning point with Alexander’s
assumption of (eastern) kingship: ‘Let me remind you that even Aristotle’s
pupil, whose temperament and self-control were of the best, became proud,
cruel and intemperate once he was addressed as king’,104 and it was a theme
of Roman moralistic writing.105 It shaped the way in which the surviving
 The man who would be king 141

ancient narratives of Alexander’s campaigns were written. In later periods,

emphasising the ‘westernness’ of Alexander was important for authors
depicting Alexander as a model for Europeans to emulate.106 It would be
fair to say that the image of Alexander was being used for propaganda pur-
poses in all the histories written about him. And this propaganda has had its
effect on modern historiography. Historians have underestimated the extent
to which Alexander would have been familiar with, and would have made
use of, eastern practices in the period before 330 bc, and have overestimated
the extent to which this will have been a cause of concern to Alexander’s
Macedonian contemporaries.107 There is no good reason to suppose that
Alexander was seduced by the attractions of Persian luxury after the death
of Darius or that he had to make a difficult decision about his clothing to
satisfy the competing expectations of Macedonians and Persians. Alexander,
his court, and his army would have been familiar with the different customs
of the different peoples of Asia and would have been surrounded by inter-
preters and other officials who would have been able to advise on protocol.
Alexander’s military victories were accompanied by diplomatic activities
about which the surviving narratives are largely silent, but which were as
important for the success of his campaign. Alexander took part in ritual
activity in all the places through which he passed on campaign, and this will
have included wearing whatever clothing was deemed appropriate. This may
not have suited the narrative needs of his historians, from the Roman period
onwards, but it suited his own.

Notes
1 On Persia: Pierre Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian
Empire (Winona Lake: Eisenbruans, 2002) and Pierre Briant, Kings, Countries,
Peoples: Selected Studies on the Achaemenid Empire (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner
Verlag, 2017); on Persian relations with Macedonia: for example, Marek Jan
Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, in A Companion to Ancient Macedonia, eds.
Joseph Roisman and Ian Worthington (Abingdon: Routledge, 2010), 342–68.
2 Plut., Ant. 54.3–6; Dio 49.41.1–4. The differences may in part be explained by
confusion over names: Caesarion was Ptolemy (XV) Philopator, and Antony’s
children were Alexander Helios, Cleopatra Selene, and Ptolemy Philadelphus.
Dio and Plutarch may have made different assumptions about which Ptolemy
and which Cleopatra were to receive which titles and provinces. On the histo-
ricity of the event, see: E. W. Gray, ‘The Crisis in Rome at the Beginning of 32
bc’, Proceedings of the African Classical Association 13 (1975): 16–17; Plu-
tarch and C. B. R. Pelling, Life of Antony (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1988), 249–52; Kathryn Welch, ‘“Maiestas regia” and the Donations of
Alexandria’, Mediterranean Archaeology 19/20 (2006/7): 189–92; and Pierre
Renucci, Marc Antoine: un destin inachevé entre César et Cléopâtre (Paris: Per-
rin, 2015), 450–56.
3 Dio 49.41.1 and Plut., Ant. 54.4.
4 Dio 49.41.1 has Cleopatra and her children sitting at Antony’s side.
5 Dio 49.41.3 allocates Libya around Cyrenaica to Cleopatra Selene.
142 Hugh Bowden

6 Dio 49.41.1 says that this title was given to Caesarion, and Cleopatra was
declared Queen of Kings. This latter is supported by coinage of Antony of 32
bce with the words on the reverse, Cleopatra Regina Regum Filiorum Regum:
Michael H. Crawford, Roman Republican Coinage, 2 vols (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1974), 1:539, no. 543.
7 Plut., Ant. 54.3–6.
8 Plut., Ant. 55.1.
9 Diod. 17.77.4–5; Curt. 6.6.4; Plut., Alex. 45; Arr. 4.7.4–5; and Just. 12.3.8–9.
10 For example, Andrew W. Collins, ‘The Royal Costume and Insignia of Alex-
ander the Great’, American Journal of Philology 133, no. 3 (2012): 373: ‘The
beginning of Alexander’s use of Persian dress can be dated to 330 bce. Plutarch
(Alex. 45.3–4) reported that the king adopted barbarian costume in that year
and noted that this was only in the presence of easterners or his companions at
first but later when he was riding and giving audiences’; Marek Jan Olbrycht,
‘Parthia, Bactria and India: the Iranian policies of Alexander of Macedonia
(330–323)’, in With Alexander in India and Central Asia: Moving East and
Back to West, eds. Claudia Antonetti and Paolo Biagi (Oxford: Oxbow Books,
2017), 197: ‘The new Alexander’s program, proclaimed in Parthia, involved the
ruler’s adoption of the Iranian dress and Achaemenid insignia, Iranian court
ceremonies, and other innovations’.
11 For example, Hans-Werner Ritter, Diadem und Königsherrschaft (Munich and
Berlin: C.H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1965), 42. But see J. E. Atkinson,
A Commentary on Q. Curtius Rufus’ Historiae Alexandri Magni Books 5 to
7.2 (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1994), 201: ‘In many details Curtius and D. S. differ:
a common source need not be assumed’.
12 Diod. 17.77.1–3: the account shows Alexander in a positive light.
13 Diod. 17.77.4.
14 Diod. 17.77.6.
15 Diod. 17.77.7–78.1.
16 Curt. 6.5.23.
17 Curt. 6.5.24–32.
18 Curt. 6.6.1.
19 superbiamque habitus animi insolentia sequebatatur: Curt. 6.6.5.
20 spadonum greges: Curt. 6.6.8.
21 Curt. 6.6.9–11.
22 Just. 12.3.2–3.
23 Just. 12.3.5.
24 Just. 12.4.1.
25 Just. 12.4.2–11.
26 Just. 12.5.1–3.
27 Plut., Alex. 45.1.
28 Plut., Alex. 45.3–4. Plutarch mentions briefly here a campaign reported in
more detail by Arrian (4.4) before he discusses Alexander’s adoption of Persian
practices.
29 Plut., Alex. 46.
30 Plut., Alex. 47.1–2.
31 Plut., Alex. 47.3–4.
32 Arr. 4.7.3–4.
33 P. A. Brunt, Arrian, History of Alexander and Indica, 2 vols (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1976–83), 1:532–534; A. B. Bosworth A Historical
Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, Books iv-v. Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1995.45–47.
 The man who would be king 143

34 So the adoption of Persian dress is referred to again in the ‘obituary’ of Alexan-

der at the end of the work, where it is given a more positive gloss: Arr. 7.29.4.
35 Cf. Arr. 4.8.1, 4.14.4.
36 Thus Liza Cleland, Glenys Davies and Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones, eds., Greek and
Roman Dress from A to Z (London: Routledge, 2007), 104. Bosworth notes
that ‘The word is used synonymously with tiara to designate the royal head-
dress of the Persian kings’ (A Historical Commentary, 50).
37 Cleland, Davies and Llewellyn-Jones, 47. See the exhaustive discussion in Lich-
tenberger et al., Das Diadem des hellenistischen Herrscher: Übernahme, Trans-
formation oder Neuschöpfung eines Herrschaftszeichens? (Bonn: Habelt, 2012)
with Marek Jan Olbrycht, ‘The Diadem in the Achaemenid and Hellenistic Peri-
ods’, Anabasis: Studia Classica et Orientalia 5 (2015): 177–87. See also Joseph
Wiesehöfer, ‘The Persian Impact on Macedonia: Three Case Studies’, in The
History of the Argeads: New Perspectives, eds. Sabine Müller et al. (Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz, 2017), 60–61.
38 Curt. 6.6.4.
39 Just. 12.3.8.
40 Cleland, Davies and Llewellyn-Jones, 6.
41 Cleland, Davies and Llewellyn-Jones, 102.
42 Cleland, Davies and Llewellyn-Jones, 190. See n. 36.
43 Plut., Mor. 330a.
44 Strab. 1.4.9. For a more cautious assessment, see Frances Pownall, ‘Eratosthe-
nes of Cyrene (241)’, in Brill’s New Jacoby, ed. Ian Worthington (Leiden: Brill,
2009).
45 Peter M. Fraser dates Eratosthenes’ position as Librarian at Alexandria to 245–
204/1 (Ptolemaic Alexandria [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972], 1331–33).
46 πολλῷ εὐτελεστέραν: Plut., Mor. 329f.
47 Plut., Alex. 45.2. J. R. Hamilton rightly defends the apparent inconsistency
between the two texts (Plutarch Alexander: A Commentary [Oxford: Claren-
don, 1969], 121–22).
48 Strab. 11.13.9.
49 Curt. 6.5.23, 6.6.8.
50 Benjamin Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2006).
51 Hdt. (4.116) locates them three days east of the Tanais and three days north
of Lake Maeotis; Arr. (4.15.4) has Pharasmanes, the king of Chorasmia, claim
that his kingdom bordered the land of the Amazons. Hamilton suggests that
Plutarch considered the meeting to have taken place beyond the Jaxartes, which
puts them in the same general area (p. 123).
52 Curt. 8.10.13–18; Arr. 5.2.5–7; and Just. 12.7.6–8. Justin follows his account
with another story of Alexander encountering a powerful queen, Cleophis, and
impregnating her (12.7.9–11).
53 Arrian (4.8.4) mentions Cleitus’ dislike of Alexander’s move to a more ‘bar-
baric’ style (ἐς τὸ βαρβαρικώτερον), but this is immediately after the passage
discussed previously.
54 Arr. 7.8.2. For example, Simon Hornblower, A Commentary on Thucydides.
Vol. I: Books I–III (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 216.
55 Diod. 17.108; Curt. 10.2.12–14; Plut., Alex. 71.1–5; and Justin. 12.11.5–6. We
may note that Diodorus, Arrian, and Justin all refer to the soldier’s objection to
Alexander’s supposed claims to be the son of Ammon at this point.
56 Curt. 10.2.15–29.
57 Arr. 7.9–10, esp. 7.9.9.
144 Hugh Bowden

58 Curt. 10.3.7–14.
59 For a summary of views on the sources for Arrian’s account, see Francesco
Sisti, Arriano, Anabasi di Alessandro, 2 vols (Milan: Mondadori, 2004), 2:597.
It would not follow that any speech was taken from the same source as the
narrative events. For a contrary view: W. W. Tarn, Alexander the Great, 2 vols
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1948), 2:290–96.
60 Plut., Alex. 40.
61 Plut., Alex. 41.1.
62 Plut., Alex. 39.6.
63 Plut., Alex. 31.5.
64 Plut., Ant. 54.5–6.
65 Sen., Ben. 2.12.1–2 and Dio. 60.5.4.
66 Hurley 1993, 186. Suet., Cal. 52.
67 17.77.4.
68 Plut., Alex. 34.1.
69 Plut., Alex. 34–37.
70 Plut., Alex. 37.4.
71 Egypt and Babylon: Hugh Bowden, ‘Alexander in Egypt: Considering the Egyp-
tian Evidence’, in Alexander in Africa, ed. Philip Bosman (Pretoria: Classical
Association of South Africa, 2014), 40–43; Ernst Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander
the Great and the Kingdom of Asia’, in Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction,
eds. A. B. Bosworth and Elizabeth Baynham (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2000), 146–47. Egypt: Stefan Pfeiffer, ‘Alexander der Große in Ägypten: Über-
legungen zur Frage seiner pharaonischen Legitimation’, in Alexander the Great
and Egypt: History, Art Tradition, eds. Volker Grieb, Krzysztof Nawotka and
Agnieszka Wojciechowska (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014), 89–106; Donata
Schäfer, ‘Pharao Alexander “der Große” in Ägypten – eine Bewertung’, in
Alexander the Great and Egypt: History, Art, Tradition, eds. Volker Grieb,
Krzysztof Nawotka and Agnieszka Wojciechowska (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz,
2014), 159–63.
72 Plut., Artox. 3.1–2.
73 Arr. 3.18.10, 6.29.
74 Lindsay Allen, The Persian Empire (London: The British Museum Press, 2005), 84.
75 Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, ‘The Zendan and the Ka‘bah’, in Kunst, Kultur
und Geschichte der Achämenidenzeit und ihr Fortleben, eds. Heidemarie Koch
and David Neil Mackenzie (Berlin: Dietrich Reimer, 1983), 151.
76 Carsten Binder,‘Krönngszeremoniell der Achaimeniden’, in Der Achämenidenhof/
The Achaemenid Court, eds. Bruno Jacobs and Robert Rollinger (Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz, 2010), esp. 478–79 where she concludes: ‘Allerdings gibt es, eben
abgesehen von unserer Notiz bei Plutarch, keinen weiteren Hinweis auf Pas-
argadai als Krönungsort, weder in der indigenen Überlieferung noch in den
griechischen Quellen. Von einer Krönung des Kyros dort wissen wir nichts, so
dass wir auch nicht einfach von einer Tradition ausgehen können. Unsere spärli-
chen indigenen Textzeugnisse deuten lediglich auf ein Krönungszeremoniell
des Kyros und des Kambyses in Babylon hin. Dass Pasargadai der Krönung-
sort der Achaimeniden sei, ist lediglich eine plausible Hypothese, die aber nicht
belegbar ist’.
77 For example, Olbrycht, ‘Macedonia and Persia’, 354 and A. B. Bosworth, ‘Alex-
ander and the Iranians’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 100 (1980): 5.
78 Curt. 5.2.13–15. Cf. Diod. 17.66.3–7. One detail needs some commentary. Cur-
tius says that Alexander’s feet did not reach the primum (or summum) gradum,
which must refer to the platform on which the throne sat. Diodorus uses the
 The man who would be king 145

word ὑποβάθρον, and this is always translated as ‘footstool’ – with the result
that the episode becomes more complicated. To quote one modern account:
‘One of the pages, with considerable presence of mind, snatched away the foot-
stool and substituted a table’ (Peter Green, Alexander of Macedon, 356–323
BC: A Historical Biography [Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974], 307). But a
ὑποβάθρον is anything that goes under a chair or couch, and here surely it refers
to the same thing as Curtius’ gradus.
79 Elizabeth Baynam, Alexander the Great: The Unique History of Quintus Cur-
tius (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1998), 120.
80 Polyaen., Strat. 4.3.32.
81 Ath. 4.145b-146a. On both passages, see also Pierre Briant, From Cyrus to
Alexander, 286–97.
HAL
82 EŠŠANA tibba makka. Wouter F. M. Henkelman, ‘“Consumed before the
King”: The Table of Darius, that of Irdabama and Irtaštuna, and that of his
Satrap, Karkiš’, in Der Achämenidenhof/ The Achaemenid Court, eds. Bruno
Jacobs and Robert Rollinger (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2010), 667–775.
83 Henkelman, 684–86.
84 Diod. 17.116.2–4; Plut., Alex. 73.3–74.1; and Arr. 7.24.2–3. The text of Cur-
tius is lacunose at this point.
85 Diod. 17.116.2 and Plut., Alex. 73.3 use the noun σημεῖον, and Arrian the verb
σημαίνω.
86 R. J. Van der Spek,‘Darius III, Alexander the Great and Babylonian Scholarship’,
in A Persian Perspective: Essays in Memory of Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg,
eds. Wouter F. M. Henkelman and Amélie Kuhrt (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 339 and
K. A. D. Smelik, ‘The “omina mortis” in the Histories of Alexander the Great’,
Talanta 10/11 (1978/9): 92–111.
87 Diod. 17.50.6–7 and Curt. 4.7.23–24. Bowden, ‘Alexander in Egypt’, 43–51.
88 Hugh Bowden, ‘On Kissing and Making Up: Court Protocol and Historiogra-
phy in Alexander the Great’s “Experiment with Proskynesis”’, Bulletin of the
Institute of Classical Studies 56 (2013), esp. 62.
89 See, for example, Maria Brosius, ‘The Royal Audience Scene Reconsidered’,
in The World of Achaemenid Persia: History, Art and Society in Iran and the
Ancient Near East, eds. John Curtis and St John Simpson (London: I. B. Taurus,
2010), 143 (fig. 13.2) and 144 (fig. 13.3) and Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander,
218–19 (figs. 20–22).
90 Athen. 4.145b-c; cf. Maria Brosius, ‘Court and Court Ceremonies in Achaeme-
nid Persia’, in The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, ed. Antony
J. S. Spawforth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 41–44 and
Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander, 308.
91 Plut., Mor. 329d.
92 Montgomery 1969 (rejected by Robin Lane Fox, Alexander the Great [London:
Allen Lane, 1973], 528; cf. Robin Lane Fox, ‘Alexander the Great: “Last of the
Achaemenids”?’, in Persian Responses: Political and Cultural Interaction with(in)
the Achaemenid Empire, ed. C. Tuplin [Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2007],
276); Paul Goukowsky, Essai sur les origines du mythe d’Alexandre (336–270
av. J.C.), 2 vols (Nancy: Université de Nancy, 1978–81), 1:31, 257n31; and Fritz
Schachermeyr, Alexander der Grosse: Das Problem seiner Persönlichkeit und
seines Wirkens (Vienna: Verlag Österreich, 1973), 284.
93 Plut., Alex. 5.1, 10.1–2.
94 Hamilton doubts the first, but accepts the second (pp. 13 and 25).
95 Hdt. 5.17–21, 8.136; Sabine Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien
(Berlin: Trafo, 2014), 154–59; and Sabine Müller, Die Argeaden: Geschichte
146 Hugh Bowden

Makedoniens bis zum Zeitalter Alexander des Großen (Paderborn: Verlag Fer-
dinand Schöningh, 2016), 111–29.
96 Diod. 17.66.5; Curt. 5.2.8–12, 17; and Arr. 3.16.9.
97 Curt. 5.1.17, 44. cf. Diod. 17.64.4 and Arr. 3.16.3–5.
98 Amélie Kuhrt, ‘Alexander and Babylon’, Achaemenid History 5 (1990): 126:
‘Babylon’s apparently instant and peaceful surrender to Alexander in fact rep-
resents the final outcome of complex negotiations forced on the citizens by an
unenviable situation.’
99 For examples of interpreters in communication between Achaemenid leaders
and Greeks see Xen., Anab. 1.2.17, 1.8.12 (Cyrus the Younger’s interpreter
Pigres). See further T. Harrison, ‘Herodotus’ Conception of Foreign Languages’,
Histos 2 (1998): esp. 13.
100 Plut., Artax. 3.2.
101 This may be how Plutarch (Alex. 45.2) imagined it, when he says that Alexan-
der wore Persian dress initially at home (κατ᾽ οἶκον) and later when out hunting
and giving audiences (χρηματίζων). How far he is basing this on reliable infor-
mation is not clear. As we have noted, Diodorus (17.77.4–5) offers a differ-
ent gradual sequence, starting with introduction of Asiatic ushers (ῥαβδοῦχοι),
which Antony J. S. Spawforth interprets as having happened earlier than 330,
then including elite Persians as bodyguards, and then the wearing of his version
of Persian royal dress (‘The Court of Alexander the Great between Europe and
Asia’, in The Court and Court Society in Ancient Monarchies, ed. Antony J. S.
Spawforth [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007], 93–94).
102 Resistance: Curt. 5.3.17–4.34; Plut., Alex. 37.1–2; and Arr. 3.18.1–10. Plunder:
Diod. 17.70 and Curt. 5.6.1–8. Cf. Pierre Briant, Alexander the Great and His
Empire (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), 110–11.
103 Lane Fox, ‘Alexander the Great’, 276.
104 Cic., ad Att. 299.3.
105 For example, Val. Max. 9.5. ext.1.
106 Pierre Briant, The First European: A History of Alexander in the Age of Empire
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2017), esp. 305–39.
107 Müller, Alexander, Makedonien und Persien, 158–59: ‘Als die makedonischen
Truppen unter Alexander III. Persien einnahmen, war ihre eigene Kultur daher
schon seit längerer eit persisch beeinflusst. So fremd, wie die Quellen es darstel-
len, können den makedonischen höfischen Kreisen die achaimenidischen Tradi-
tionen nicht gewesen sein. Alexander und die makedonischen Offiziere werden
einiges an Wissen mitgebracht haben; vieles wird ihnen in Persien vertrauter
vorgekommen sein als den Griechen und Römern, die später über den Zug
schrieben und von ihren eigenen Maßstäben ausgingen’.

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———. ‘The Royal Audience Scene Reconsidered’. In The World of Achaemenid
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 The man who would be king 149

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Chapter 9

Desertions and the rise and

fall of rulers in Hellenistic
Macedonia
Joseph Roisman

In a paper entitled ‘Hellenistic Kings, War, and the Economy’, M.M. Austin
proposed a thesis that has become highly influential among Hellenistic his-
torians. According to this scholar, Hellenistic monarchy originated in, and
survived by, the king’s military prowess and his ability to reward his subjects
(including troops) materially. Conversely, failure in these areas could cost the
king his army’s loyalty and possibly his kingdom. To quote:

a king was expected to deliver the goods, above all to his followers.
Hence the economic rapacity of the kings, consumers of wealth on an
unending scale; they had to be prosperous and successful [military too],
otherwise their following might melt away and their power crumble.1

Brian Bosworth has challenged this view. He argued that Hellenistic mon-
archs such as Lysimachus and Demetrius retained their rule and legitimacy in
spite of their military defeats. He also suggests that what led troops and citi-
zens to abandon their ruler was his failure to uphold a ‘social contract’ that
required him to provide moral and material services such as being accessible
to his subjects, sharing his wealth with them (as Austin also believed), and
resembling Philip and Alexander in bravery, heroism, and mystique.2 This
chapter aims to expand the critique of Austin’s view by showing that, when
the Macedonians abandoned their kings (or queens), they were not neces-
sarily or chiefly motivated by disappointment with the latter’s performance
as commanders and providers, or moved by the wish to punish them for
some failure, including an alleged violation of an unwritten agreement with
the king. Defections might be due to the appeal of the opposing leader,
who was not always a greater benefactor and general. At times, desertion
was the Macedonians’ only choice. This chapter argues against a necessary
link between loyalty and the ruler’s military activity and gainful rapacious-
ness. What follows are cases of desertion that serve to illustrate the point.
The first attested Hellenistic royalty to have lost the support of the Mace-
donians was Eurydice-Adea, the wife of the incompetent Philip III. In 317,
Eurydice allied herself with Cassander against a coalition of Polyperchon,
 Rulers in Hellenistic Macedonia 151

Olympias, and their Epirote supporters. Polyperchon marched with his

army and Olympias into Macedonia in order to restore Olympias and Alex-
ander IV to the kingship. When his forces faced Eurydice’s army in Euia,
Macedonia, the Macedonians left Eurydice for Olympias, who arrested and
then executed the royal couple. Diodorus says that the Macedonians’ deser-
tion was due to Olympias’s reputation (axiôma) and the memory of Alex-
ander’s benefactions (19.11.1–4). Justin attributes to the Macedonians the
complementary or alternative motives of memories of Olympias’s husband,
Philip II; the greatness of her son, Alexander; and the indignities she had
suffered. The nature of the insults is unclear, but they might have to do with
her forced retreat to Epirus following her quarrels with Antipater and his
son or even to Eurydice’s attempt to prevent Olympias from re-entering
Macedonia (Just. 14.5.8–10; cf. 14.6.8). Scholars supplemented the sources
with additional explanations of the Macedonians’ defection, such as the dif-
ference in the quality of military leadership on the two sides and Olympias’s
advantage over Eurydice in legitimacy and Argead affiliation – a charisma
that she used to persuade the Macedonians to avoid a civil war.3 We may
not need, however, to go beyond the ancient accounts. The Macedonians
might have compared and contrasted the alternatives, but the sources sug-
gest that what attracted them to Olympias were not her opponents’ defi-
ciencies but her own qualities, namely, her prestige and her association with
(idealised) recollections of better days and better rulers. The only suggested
complaint against Eurydice was that Olympias was humiliated: insult and
injustice were common grievances against rulers and justified opposition
to them.4 Yet, it takes special pleading to make it a cardinal cause of the
desertion. The evidence also precludes the possibility that the Macedonians
left Eurydice and Philip because they were disappointed with them militarily
or materialistically or in protest. On the contrary, Diodorus says that before
the showdown with Olympias, Eurydice courted the most enterprising of
the Macedonians with gifts and big offers.5 Eurydice, to quote Austin’s vivid
description, delivered ‘the goods’ but nevertheless lost the throne.
The tables were turned on Olympias some months later when the Mace-
donians left her for Cassander (317/6). This time the desertions were the
result of Cassander’s military and diplomatic successes and the failures of
Olympias’s allies and generals, which appear to have left the Macedonians
little choice. Diodorus, who is the only source to report on the desertions,
tells that Olympias’s mainstay of Epirote support, king Aeacides, came to
help her at the head of a mutinous army rife with desertions. After losing
a battle against Cassander’s general, he was banished from his kingdom.
When the Epirotes made an alliance with Cassander and received a regent
from him, the Macedonians despaired of Olympias’s cause and changed
sides. Another desertion occurred when Callias, Cassander’s general, used
money to entice many of Polyperchon’s troops on the Thessalian border
to desert. It is unclear, however, how many Macedonians were among the
152 Joseph Roisman

deserters. Finally, towards the end of Cassander’s siege of Olympias in the

city of Pydna, starvation and other difficulties led many of her soldiers to
obtain their release from her and to join Cassander (Diod. 19.36.2–6, 50.1;
cf. Paus. 1.11.3).
Although military losses led to the desertions, there is nothing to indicate
that the Macedonians blamed Olympias for their misfortune; she certainly
could not be held personally responsible for the defeats. Diodorus also sug-
gests that the Macedonians remained loyal to her until Cassander’s military
advantage overwhelmed them. Even after Olympias surrendered, Cassander
distrusted the Macedonians to condemn her, and the troops he originally
sent to kill her refused to do so. Cassander, it appears, won the minds of
the Macedonians but not their hearts. It is true that Olympias’s killing of
Philip III, Eurydice, and many of Cassander’s supporters made her hateful –
on this all sources agree. It is even possible that some Macedonians used
the memory of her victims to justify their defection to themselves and oth-
ers.6 Yet, Diodorus never links the resentment of Olympias’s atrocities to
the Macedonians’ desertions, while the authors that describe her executions
fail to mention the desertions. The Macedonians stayed loyal to Olympias
because of all the reasons that made her attractive in the first place, but then,
realistically, they switched sides to the undisputedly stronger party.7
In 294, Demetrius Poliorcetes seized the Macedonian throne after killing
its occupier, Alexander V. The two main sources for the affair are Justin
and Plutarch, who tell that Cassander’s sons, Antipater the Younger and
Alexander (V), fought each other over their father’s inheritance. Alexander
invited both Pyrrhus of Epirus and Demetrius, then in Greece, to come to
his help. Pyrrhus arrived first, demanded and received territories in return
for his alliance, and caused Antipater to seek help from his father-in-law,
king Lysimachus. Lysimachus (or Pyrrhus) affected a reconciliation between
the brothers, so when Demetrius arrived in Macedonia, Alexander tried to
get rid of him. In response, Demetrius killed Alexander in Larissa and seized
the Macedonian throne. The Macedonians accepted Demetrius’s claim to the
throne, and their easy transfer of loyalty to him deserves an explanation.8
The sources are only partially helpful in this regard. Plutarch claims that
the killing of Alexander was in self-defence, but Justin describes it as treach-
ery. They also disagree about the identity of Demetrius’s audience that heard
his justification of his action and on their reasons for acknowledging his
claim to the throne. According to Justin, Demetrius defended the murder in
the Macedonian army assembly, while in the works of Plutarch he was first
acknowledged by Alexander’s men in Larissa and then by the rest of the
Macedonians.9 In addition, what Justin describes as Demetrius’s arguments
in defence of his action is given by Plutarch as the Macedonians’ reasons
for taking him as a king. Thus, Demetrius based his claim to the monar-
chy on his greater experience and age and his status as a truer heir to the
Argead dynasty. His father, Antigonus Monophthalmus, provided services
 Rulers in Hellenistic Macedonia 153

and showed loyalty to Philip and Alexander, while the Antipatrid house
pursued a vendetta against the Argeads. Their persecution of this dynasty
deserved to be punished, and, indeed, Philip and Alexander would have pre-
ferred the avenger Demetrius on their throne. Conversely, Demetrius’s mar-
riage to Antipater’s daughter and his paternity of her son linked him to the
Antipatrid dynasty (Plut., Demetr. 36–37; Just. 16.1.10–18).
Demetrius’s justification of the killing was a product of Antigonid pro-
paganda, with him as its chief promulgator.10 He aimed not only to legiti-
mise his assumption of power, delegitimise the Antipatrid monarchy, but
also to court its supporters. Yet there were surely Macedonians who could
not fail to notice how much he resembled Cassander, the alleged villain in
his speech. Both he and Cassander were married and had children from a
princess of the royal family they destroyed, and, more significantly, both
occupied the throne whose previous occupants they had killed. These dis-
turbing similarities explain why Demetrius had to account for his crime
to the Macedonian public. But why did the Macedonians accept his justi-
fication without real protest or opposition?11 Some must have wanted to
believe that legitimacy and justice were on his side. A similar popular desire
to expunge a leader’s criminal act was in play after Alexander’s killing of
Clitus, when the people and their ruler had to (re)establish their relationship
on the premise that what the king did was legal and right (Curt. 8.2.12).
Demetrius’s audience was also likely receptive to his claim to be the avenger
and heir to Philip and Alexander.12 Many Macedonians, however, were sim-
ply fearful of Demetrius. The killing of their king and his entourage left
them leaderless, and Plutarch states that before Demetrius arrived at the
Macedonian camp, the troops spent a night of confusion and trepidation
(Demtr. 37). Joining Demetrius, then, was a matter of survival. Plutarch
also adds that Alexander’s men hated his brother Antipater, who had killed
his mother for favouring Alexander, and that they had no better choice than
Demetrius. As in the war between Olympias and Cassander, necessity and
lack of a better alternative rather than military or economic loss explained
the Macedonians’ change of loyalties. About six years later (288), Deme-
trius’s troops deserted him to a coalition of neighbouring monarchs, and he
lost his kingdom. Plutarch’s biographies of Demetrius and Pyrrhus provide
a detailed account of the events (Plut., Demetr. 44; Pyrrh. 11–12).
Demetrius’s preparations for a large expedition into Asia united every
other Hellenistic king against him: Ptolemy, Seleucus, Lysimachus, and Pyr-
rhus. Ptolemy sailed with a fleet to the Aegean, and Lysimachus and
Pyrrhus invaded and raided Macedonia from Thrace and Epirus, respec-
tively. Demetrius marched against Lysimachus first, but the news of Pyr-
rhus’s occupation of Beroea and other territories in lower Macedonia made
Demetrius’s soldiers distraught, mutinous, and critical of him. According
to Plutarch, they demanded to return to their homes although they really
wished to join Lysimachus. Demetrius decided to confront Pyrrhus in the
154 Joseph Roisman

belief that Lysimachus, with his Macedonian background and his fame
as Alexander’s companion, would appeal more to the Macedonians than
the alien (Epirote) Pyrrhus. When the army came closer to Pyrrhus’s camp,
however, the soldiers’ dissatisfaction grew stronger, independently or at the
instigation of men from Beroea and Pyrrhus’s agents disguised as Macedo-
nians. The troops began deserting to Pyrrhus, at first clandestinely and in
small groups and then in droves and openly, throwing Demetrius’s camp
into complete disorder. Plutarch explains that the soldiers preferred Pyrrhus
because of his invincible image (which made him look kinglier) and because
of his kind and amiable treatment of subjects, troops, and prisoners of war.
The biographer also mentions complaints about Demetrius’s oppressiveness
(barytês). Some soldiers approached Demetrius and advised him to escape,
saying that the Macedonians had had enough of fighting to support his
hedonistic luxuriousness. The king took their advice and fled the country.
The soldiers turned to looting and destroying the royal tent until Pyrrhus
arrived at the scene and restored order effortlessly. Soon, Lysimachus came
and demanded the division of Macedonia between them, and Pyrrhus con-
sented because of his distrust of the Macedonians.13
To what extent did the Macedonians desert Demetrius because of their
disappointment with him as a king and commander? Plutarch makes it
clear that the first insurrections in the army occurred after reports of the
invasions and the plundering of the land (Plut., Demetr. 44; Pyrr. 11). It is
unlikely that the Macedonians blamed Demetrius for either, but they cursed
and were angry with him, probably because they held him responsible for
failing to protect their homes from the enemy. If this is true, what Plutarch
reports as the troops’ pretended desire to go home was, in fact, an authentic
wish to leave so they could defend their families and properties with arms
or by joining the camp of the invader. In spite of Lysimachus’s nationalistic
appeal and propaganda, however, no desertion to him is reported.14 The
reason could be that Demetrius prudently took the army away from him,
but it is also possible that the troops’ eagerness to join Lysimachus was
not as strong as Demetrius feared and Lysimachus hoped. If Pausanias’s
report of a victory won by Demetrius against Lysimachus at Amphipolis
is credible, the soldiers had an incentive to stick with a winning general.15
But whether or not Demetrius’s worry about Lysimachus’s appeal was justi-
fied, his fear of desertion and disloyalty accounted for his decision to march
against Pyrrhus. That the troops followed him there shows that it took more
than military distress and even economic hardships to affect mass disloyalty.
This changed when Demetrius pitched his camp near Pyrrhus’s.
Demetrius, like Lysimachus, hoped to mobilise the Macedonians behind
him with the help of ethnic-difference propaganda that contrasted his Mace-
donian identity with that of the Epirote’s.16 Pyrrhus countered by using
Macedonian agents, real or imposters, whose identity validated his mes-
sage and neutralised the negative impact of his alien origin. The change in
 Rulers in Hellenistic Macedonia 155

the scale of desertion from small to mass departure indicated his success.
Yet, nationalistic sentiments went only so far as demonstrated by the many
Macedonians who joined Pyrrhus. Moreover, it is telling that the message
of Pyrrhus’s agents focused more on his virtues than on Demetrius’s fail-
ings, and indeed it would be inaccurate to make Demetrius’s character and
performance chiefly responsible for the loss of his kingship. His faults were
undeniable. He alienated the Macedonians with his overbearing manners,
and they complained that they fought so that he could lead an extravagant
life (Plut., Demetr. 42, 44; cf. Cic., De Off. 2.26). Hellenistic kings were
expected to respect and benefit their people, and the troops’ looting and
especially tearing the royal tent apart after Demetrius’s escape suggests that
their destructive orgy was mingled with a protest against his lifestyle. Schol-
ars have added other reasons for his unpopularity, such as his arrogant,
Asian-style despotism; his earlier military failure in Aetolia; his exacting
preparations for an unpopular Asian campaign; and his refusal to be acces-
sible and share profits with the people.17 It is worth noting that Demetrius
could offset his lack of success in Aetolia with boasts of past and greater
victories. There is also no evidence that the Macedonians opposed or com-
plained about his Asian campaign, which the memory of Alexander’s suc-
cess in the same continent would have made appealing. The sources also
say nothing about protests that the profits of his campaigns went only into
his pockets. Plutarch reports Demetrius’s refusal to hear petitions from the
Macedonians, but he also tells that after being remonstrated about it, he
corrected himself and granted audience to many (Plut., Demetr. 42). This
is not to deny that resentment towards Demetrius and his leadership style
contributed to his loss of the crown. However, the Macedonians’ desertion
of him was inseparable from, or subsidiary to, their wish to follow a king
whom they preferred for who he was. Indeed, our sources suggest that Pyr-
rhus was attractive to the Macedonians primarily because of his own mer-
its.18 While the Macedonians may have judged Demetrius less kingly and
considerate than Pyrrhus, the Epirote’s main appeal was not comparative
but intrinsic: his military prowess and renown that included his victory over
Demetrius’s general in Aetolia (as mentioned earlier), his alleged kindness
to persons under his power, his Macedonian friends, and, undoubtedly, the
fact that his forces already occupied parts of Macedonia.19 Similarly, Pyr-
rhus agreed to share Macedonia with Lysimachus for a variety of strategic
and political reasons, but if suspecting the Macedonians’ loyalty was one of
them, it was not because he did them any wrong. I suggest that the Mace-
donians liked the alternative before they disliked Demetrius and that their
dissatisfaction with him did not fully account for their desertion.
Pyrrhus’s distrust of the Macedonians proved to be prescient. In 285, Lysi-
machus invaded Macedonia, and, in addition to other gains, he succeeded in
capturing the provisions of Pyrrhus’s army, which was encamped in Edessa.
Lysimachus proceeded to ‘corrupt’ leading Macedonians with letters and
156 Joseph Roisman

meetings in which he rebuked them for driving Alexander’s friends away

and for choosing an alien for a master, a man whose ancestors used to be
the Macedonians’ slaves. When many were persuaded, Pyrrhus took himself
and his men out to Epirus.20
There is nothing in the ancient accounts to suggest that the Macedo-
nians abandoned Pyrrhus because he mistreated them or because of their
ingrained shiftiness, as some have argued. Pausanias says that Lysimachus
prevailed in the war against Pyrrhus, and Hammond deduced from Pyr-
rhus’s presence in the western city of Edessa that he must have been defeated
on the way there.21 Yet, we hear of no accusations against Pyrrhus for his
lacklustre performance against Lysimachus, which Lysimachus’s propa-
ganda ignored, instead charging the Macedonians with choosing Pyrrhus
as their master (Plut., Pyrrh. 12). Lysimachus and Demetrius used Pyrrhus’s
ethnicity against him, but as Demetrius’s experience had shown, this quality
was insufficient to antagonise the Macedonians against the Epirote.22 Lysi-
machus succeeded where Demetrius failed because his ‘nationalistic’ claim
was backed by Alexander’s companionship and by his military superior-
ity and gains against his opponent. No less important, his accusation that
the leading Macedonians had expelled him from his native land sounded
like a threat that might have scared the elite and the masses into joining
him. In short, royal failure only played a limited role in the desertions from
Pyrrhus.23
In 274, Pyrrhus returned to Macedonia for a raiding campaign that
evolved into a renewed quest for kingship. The reigning king was Demetri-
us’s son, Antigonus Gonatas, who apparently failed more than once to check
Pyrrhus’s advance. Pyrrhus’s capture of Macedonian cities led to a defection
of 2,000 Macedonian troops. In a subsequent battle, he defeated Antigonus’s
Gauls and captured his elephants and then advanced towards the Macedo-
nian phalanx, which was fearful, confused, and showed no sign of offering
battle. Pyrrhus, as we have seen, liked to work through local agents and
negotiated the phalanx’ surrender and transition to his camp through its
generals and officers. Antigonus retreated to coastal towns, while Pyrrhus
took over the Macedonian capital Aegae (see later).24
The Macedonians who defected to Pyrrhus were probably moved more
by his military success and reputation than by the wish to punish Antigonus
Gonatas for his defeats. They appreciated a victorious king, even when he
defeated their army (Plut., Demetr. 41), and the 2,000 Macedonian troops
who joined him at the outset may also have sought to protect their fami-
lies and possessions by means of desertion. Later, the Macedonian phalanx
and their leaders had no desire to fight a losing battle and suffer the fate
of the Gauls in Antigonus’s army. We are told that Pyrrhus called Antigo-
nus shameless for not taking off his royal robe and wearing a commoner’s
clothes (Plut., Pyrrh. 26). It was an attempt to delegitimise and humiliate a
rival to the throne, which did not work because Antigonus was away and well
 Rulers in Hellenistic Macedonia 157

protected. More significantly, the call to resign came from Pyrrhus but not
the Macedonians, who were actually upset with their old/new ruler. Pyrrhus
installed a Gallic garrison at Aegae, which robbed the royal tombs nearby
and scattered the bones of their occupants. He did nothing about this per-
ceived outrage (he clearly needed the Gauls’ services). The Macedonians
harshly criticised the king, and the philosopher Teles remarked, perhaps in
reference to the pillage, that it was better for a king to be poor than to rob
graves.25 Pyrrhus, who behaved in Macedonia as both a conqueror and legit-
imate ruler, complicated, thus, the view of royal rapaciousness as a means
of sustaining one’s rule. He left not long after to the Peloponnese, where
he found his death. It was claimed that he was hurt by the Macedonians’
refusal to join his expedition and by their support of Antigonus Gonatas.26
In fact, apart from protesting, neither form of Macedonian opposition, or
desertion, is attested by the sources.
In sum, our discussion of Macedonians who deserted their king suggests a
desire for self-preservation rather than a dislike of the ruler for his failures.
In some cases, they simply followed a leader whom they found attractive
or scary.27 Thus, using Macedonia as a test case for the formula that links
the rise and fall of Hellenistic rulers to their ability to produce military
success and economic profits shows the limitation of such an explanation.
Moreover, of all the cases of Macedonians turning away from their rulers
discussed here, none shows a connection between disloyalty and a lead-
er’s failure to reward his or her people economically. At least in Hellenistic
Macedonia, there was no simple correlation between poor economic and
military performance and loss of popular allegiance.

Notes
1 M. M. Austin, ‘Hellenistic Kings, War, and the Economy’, Classical Quarterly 36,
no. 2 (1986): 463. For royal rapacious imperialism, see, for example, ‘“Men to
Whose Rapacity Neither Sea Nor Mountain Sets a Limit”. The Aims of the Diad-
ochs’, in The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms
(323–276 B.C.). Studia Hellenistica 53, ed. H. Hauben and A. Meeus (Leuven:
Peeters, 2014), 307–22.
2 A. B. Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander the Great: Politics, Warfare and Pro-
paganda under the Successors (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 246–78,
followed by E. D. Carney, ‘Dynastic Loyalty and Dynastic Collapse in Macedo-
nia’, in East and West in the World Empire of Alexander: Essays in Honour of
Brian Bosworth, ed. P. Wheatley and E. Baynham (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2015), 161.
3 Respectively, W. L. Adams, ‘Antipater and Cassander: Generalship on Restricted
Resources in the Fourth Century’, Ancient World 10 (1984): 86; F. Landucci
Gattinoni, L’arte del potere; Vita e opere di Cassandro di Macedonia (Stuttgart:
Steiner, 2003), 43; and E. D. Carney, Olympias: Mother of Alexander the Great
(New York: Routledge, 2006), 69, cf. 171n51. For Olympias’s and Eurydice’s
competing regencies, see E. M. Anson, Alexander’s Heirs: The Age of the Suc-
cessors (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014) 105–6. Carney discusses the roots
158 Joseph Roisman

and ways of strengthening popular loyalty to the Argeads, but the present case is
of a split within the dynasty (‘Dynastic Loyalty’). Athenaeus’s citation of Duris
on the confrontation between the queens omits Duris’s likely report on the deser-
tion: Athen. 13.560F = BNJ 76 F 52.
4 See J. Roisman, ‘Royal Power, Law and Justice in Ancient Macedonia’, Ancient
History Bulletin 26, no. 3–4 (2012): 139–41.
5 Diod. 19.11.1. Crisis situations encouraged giving presents to people of rank in
the hope of gaining their support: see, for example, Diod. 18. 33.2–4, 36.4.
6 Resentment of Olympias: Diod. 19.11.5–9; Just. 14.6.1; and Paus. 1.11.4.
7 See also E. D. Carney, ‘Olympias and the Image of the Virago’, Phoenix 47, no. 1
(1993): 48. Carney explains Olympias’s downfall as due exclusively to military
defeats (Olympias, 75–82).
8 Our description attempts to reconcile the different accounts of the events: Plut.,
Demetr. 36–37; Pyrrhus 6–7; Just. 16.1.1–18; Eusebius 231; and Anson, Alex-
ander’s Heirs, 177–78. Diod. 21.7, (cf. Paus. 9.7.3), states that Demetrius also
murdered Antipater, Alexander’s brother, while Pausanias (9.7.3) tells that Alex-
ander, assisted by Demetrius, dethroned Antipater. Justin 16.2.4 and Eusebius
232 ‘credit’ Lysimachus with the Antipater’s murder, which, in any case, must
have happened later. For the Macedonian dual monarchy, see E. D. Carney, ‘The
Curious Death of the Antipatrid Dynasty’, Ancient Macedonia 6 (1999): 209–16.
9 R. M. Errington, ‘The Nature of the Macedonian State under the Monarchy’,
Chiron 8 (1978): 127 and R. M. Errington, A History of Macedonia (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1990), 150, followed by Walbank in Hammond
and Walbank 1988, 3:217–218, identify Demetrius’s audience with the Crown
Council, based on procedural or power politics considerations. If so, missing
from the council were Alexander’s friends whom Demetrius had killed with the
king: Plutarch Demetr. 36.
10 See N. G. L. Hammond and F. W. Walbank, A History of Macedonia, vol. 3
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), 216–17; Errington, A History, 150; and espe-
cially F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Cassander’s Wife and Heirs’, in Alexander & His
Successors: Essays from the Antipodes, ed. P. Wheatley and R. Hannah (Clare-
mont, CA: Regina Books, 2009), 264–71 and F. Landucci Gattinoni, ‘Cas-
sander and the Argeads’, in The History of the Argeads, ed. S. Müller, T. Howe,
H. Bowden and R. Rollinger (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 2017), 275–78.
11 Justin’s (16.1.18) statement that Demetrius’s speech ‘calmed down the people’
(mitigato populo) implies some disquiet.
12 See Carney, ‘Curious Death’, 213–14. Landucci Gattinoni suggests that Deme-
trius based his legitimacy on imitatio Alexandri (‘Cassander’).
13 Plut., Demetr. 44; Pyrrh. 11–12; Just. 16.2.1–3, and Orosius 3.223.54–55 sug-
gest that Pyrrhus bribed or defeated Demetrius’s army, but Plutarch’s account is
preferable.
14 Pace H. S. Lund, Lysimachus: A Study in Early Hellenistic Kingship (London:
Routledge, 1992), 99; cf. J. Champion, Pyrrhus of Epirus (Barnsley: Pen &
Sword Military, 2009), 36. Plut., Demetr. 44 is somewhat unclear as to whether
the soldiers left Demetrius or only demanded to be let go, but Pyrrhus 11 con-
firms the latter interpretation, stating that Demetrius moved away from Lysima-
chus lest they desert him.
15 Paus. 1.10.2; cf. Polyaen. 4.12.2. For a summary of views for and against the his-
toricity of Demetrius’s victory up to the 1950s, see P. Garoufalias, Pyrrhus King
of Epirus (London: Stacey International, 1979), 279–80n83. F. Landucci Gat-
tinoni dates the victory to before the invasion (Lisimaco di Tracia. Un sovrano
nella prospettiva del primo ellenismo (Milan: Jaca Book, 1992), 178). Lund,
however, has doubts about the event (Lysimachus, 15–17).
 Rulers in Hellenistic Macedonia 159

16 Lysimachus’s father was actually a Thessalian and a naturalised Macedonian

(W. Heckel Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great (Malden, MA: Wiley-
Blackwell, 2006), 153), but Lysimachus was an insider in comparison to Pyrrhus.
17 Despotism: P. Lévèque, Pyrrhos (Paris: A. de Boccard, 1957), 154–55 and
C. Wehrli, Antigone et Démétrios (Geneva: Libraire Droz, 1968), 169–71, 187.
Aetolia: Hammond and Walbank, 3:229. Asian campaign: Garoufalias, Pyrrhus,
46 and Wehrli, 183. Inaccessible and selfish: Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander
the Great, 256–58 and Champion, Pyrrhus of Epirus, 36.
18 Both Demetrius and Pyrrhus tried to impress the public with Alexander-related
credentials: Demetrius with his Alexander-like invasion of Asia, and Pyrrhus
with his victorious record and a dream in which Alexander promised him aid
(Plut., Demetr. 41, 44 and Pyrr. 11). For additional Antigonid links to Alexan-
der, see G. Weber, ‘Herrscher, Hof und Dichter. Aspekte der Legitimierung und
Repräsetation hellenistischer Könige am Beispiel der erste Antigoniden’, Historia
44 (1995): 283–316.
19 Pyrrhus’s merits and advantages: Plut., Demtr. 44 (where the Macedonians’
attraction to Pyrrhus precedes their wish to leave Demetrius for any other ruler)
and Pyrrh. 11. Lévèque adds the motive of the Macedonians’ prior acquaintance
with Pyrrhus, who had been in the region before (Pyrrhos, 154–55n6).
20 Plut., Pyrrh. 12 and Paus. 1.10.2, whose accounts are complementary. Date:
Lévèque, Pyrrhos, 168.
21 The Macedonians’ habitual disloyalty: Garoufalias, Pyrrhus, 51, 125. Lysima-
chus’s campaign: Pausanias 1.10.2 and Hammond and Walbank, 3:234.
22 Pace G. Wylie, ‘Pyrrhus Polemistes’, Latomus 58 (1999): 304, whose statement
that the Macedonians were tired of being ruled by the alien Epirote, and that the
army openly mutinies has no corroborative evidence.
23 Lund, using earlier suggestions, adds that the Macedonians desired reunification
(Lysimachus, 105).
24 Plut., Pyrrh. 26; Just. 25.3.1–8 (who also mentions Antigonus’s defeat to Pyr-
rhus’s son); and Paus. 1.13.2; cf. Diod. 22.11.1.
25 Plut., Pyrrhus 26; Diod. 22.12; Teles: Teletis Reliquiae (O. Hense, 2nd ed. Tübin-
gen, 1909) 43; W. W. Tarn, Antigonos Gonatas (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1913),
237; and Lévèque, Pyrrhos, 569.
26 F. W. Walbank, A Historical Commentary on Polybius (Oxford: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 1957–79), 3:261–63.
27 Justin reports desertions from Antigonus Gonatas’s army to Pyrrhus’s son, Alex-
ander, in 262/1, but scholars reject his account: Just. 26.2.8–12, and see Tarn,
303–4; H. Heinen, Untersuchungen zur hellenistischen Geschichte des 3. Jahr-
hunderts v. Chr. (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1972), 176; Walbank 1984, 239n38; and
Hammond and Walbank, 3:285, nn4, 6.

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Fourth Century’. Ancient World 10 (1984): 79–88.
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Blackwell, 2014.
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no. 2 (1986): 450–66.
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ganda under the Successors. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.
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Carney, E. D. ‘The Curious Death of the Antipatrid Dynasty’. Ancient Macedonia 6

(1999): 209–16.
———. ‘Dynastic Loyalty and Dynastic Collapse in Macedonia’. In East and West
in the World Empire of Alexander: Essays in Honour of Brian Bosworth, edited
by P. Wheatley and E. Baynham, 147–62. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2015.
———. ‘Olympias and the Image of the Virago’. Phoenix 47, no. 1 (1993): 29–55.
———. Olympias: Mother of Alexander the Great. New York: Routledge, 2006.
Champion, J. Pyrrhus of Epirus. Barnsley: Pen & Sword Military, 2009.
Errington, R. M. A History of Macedonia. Berkeley: University of California Press,
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———. ‘The Nature of the Macedonian State under the Monarchy’. Chiron 8 (1978):
77–133.
Garoufalias, P. Pyrrhus King of Epirus. London: Stacey International, 1979.
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———. ‘Cassander and the Argeads’. In The History of the Argeads, edited by
S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden and R. Rollinger, 269–79. Wiesbaden: Steiner,
2017.
———. ‘Cassander and the Legacy of Philip II and Alexander III in Diodorus’
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———. ‘Cassander’s Wife and Heirs’. In Alexander & His Successors: Essays from
the Antipodes, edited by P. Wheatley and R. Hannah, 261–75. Claremont, CA:
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———. Lisimaco di Tracia. Un sovrano nella prospettiva del primo ellenismo. Milan:
Jaca Book, 1992.
Lévèque, P. Pyrrhos, Paris: A. de Boccard, 1957.
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———. ‘Royal Power, Law and Justice in Ancient Macedonia’. Ancient History Bul-
letin 26, no. 3–4 (2012): 131–48.
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H. Hauben and A. Meeus, 307–22. Leuven: Peeters, 2014.
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versity Press, 1957–79.
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———. ‘Monarchies and Monarchic Ideas’. In Cambridge Ancient History. 2nd ed.,
edited by F. W. Walbank, A. E. Astin, M. W. Fredriksen, and R. M. Ogilvie, 7.1:
62–100. Cambridge: University Press, 1984.
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tion hellenistischer Könige am Beispiel der erste Antigoniden’. Historia 44 (1995):
283–316.
Wehrli, C. Antigone et Démétrios. Geneva: Libraire Droz, 1968.
Wylie, G. ‘Pyrrhus Polemistes’. Latomus 58 (1999): 298–313.
Chapter 10

Coinage as propaganda
Alexander and his Successors
Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

The coinage of Alexander the Great primarily served a practical economic

purpose, as might be expected of any currency in circulation, both ancient
and modern. Armies had to be paid, and ambitious campaigns required
financing. But this functionality aside, coins remain an indispensable form of
evidence for the study of history for what they can reveal about the issuing
authorities’ policies and ambitions. One of the most interesting aspects of
coinage is how a ruler might employ it as a tool to convey important aspects
of their leadership they wish to promote, essentially using coinage as a form
of propaganda. Due to their portable nature and the fact that coins have the
potential to circulate widely and reach a varied audience, these objects are
especially suited to this task.
The term ‘propaganda’ often has particularly negative connotations. It
usually describes a political use of deliberately misleading and biased infor-
mation promulgated for the benefit of a political party. In the present con-
text, the term is used more in the sense of presenting a carefully cultivated
public royal image. Alexander was well aware of how to present such an
image and took steps to ensure that he could exert as much control as pos-
sible over how he was perceived by his subjects.1 Coinage is just one of the
tools Alexander employed towards these ends, and his approach here is con-
sistent with his actions and policies across other mediums, which could be
employed similarly towards the creation and maintenance of an ideal royal
persona. This was achieved most obviously through artistic formats such
as sculptures or paintings but was complimentary to Alexander’s behav-
iour, affectations, and public acts, all of which were deliberately intended
to invoke positive ideas about Alexander as a leader. A study of Alexander’s
numismatic policy forms part of this story and is especially interesting as it
reflects Alexander’s position and political intentions, with certain changes
corresponding to developments in his status and ambitions as his reign pro-
gressed. This chapter aims to discuss some of the ways in which Alexan-
der used coinage in order to promote associations that were useful to the
image of his kingship, as well as the general ways in which the control and
 Coinage as propaganda 163

manipulation of money could be yet another extension of authority, espe-

cially in the case of royal power.
The first example of this currency manipulation under Alexander’s reign
comes not from changing the images on the Macedonian coins but, rather,
from adhering to them. We find that Alexander initially continued to mint
the coin types of his father Philip II after his accession and, in fact, did
so for the first few years of his kingship.2 This was not simply because it
was convenient but because striking the previous king’s coinage was a way
in which a new ruler could attempt to demonstrate a degree of stability
and continuity on from the previous reign if it was advantageous to do
so.3 Maintaining Philip II’s types during this time promoted the important
notion that there had been a smooth transition of power and would have
provided a currency to Alexander’s subjects and in particular, the army, that
was familiar and already perceived as reliable. This was most important
during the first turbulent years of his reign, for although there was no real
contest for the accession to the Macedonian throne in 336 bc, a new ruler
was always a vulnerable one.4 Continuing the same types was, very simply,
a way to ensure they would be accepted, both as currency and perhaps on
an ideological level as well.5 Such an action also corresponds with what the
sources tell us about Alexander’s behaviour following the death of Philip
II. Diodorus (17.2.2), for example, states that ‘[Alexander] declared that
the king was changed only in the name and that the state would be run on
principles no less effective than those of his father’s administration’. Clearly,
adherence to the policies of the previous reign was something that was con-
sidered desirable and important to promote, and maintaining the same coin
types would have contributed to this concept.6
The significance of this act is further evident in the numismatic policies of
Alexander’s Successors, as they also continued their former king’s coin types
after his death. In fact, while seeking to promote their loyalty to the Argead
dynasty, some even returned to the coin types of Philip II for a brief time.7 The
need to convey stability during the transition from one reign to the next was
even more important for the Successors, due to the situation caused by Alexan-
der’s untimely death and subsequent difficulties concerning the accession.8 Fur-
thermore, as ambitions grew among the generals and men who came to power
during this time, such concepts became very significant as these men derived
their authority not from hereditary right and royal blood, but specifically from
a claimed personal connection to Alexander.9 Tellingly, most of those who even-
tually claimed royal title and became kings still continued to issue Alexander
coin types even as they introduced personal designs and, in some cases, portraits
into their coinage.10 Some, like Antigonus Monophthalmus, only minted the
Alexander coin types during his reign, perhaps seeing this as ultimately convey-
ing a more important message than what might be told through the use of per-
sonal coin types. Further discussion concerning the numismatic policies of the
164 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

Successors will take place later in the chapter, especially because their personal
approach to coinage and how they developed it for their own purposes reveal
a lot about the deliberate nature of these numismatic policies and how they
interpreted what Alexander himself had tried to do.
It could be argued that, in Alexander’s case, continuing the coin types
of Philip II was simply a practical exercise, and indeed this may have been
a consideration. In general, it appears that the kingdom of Macedonia
adhered steadfastly to tradition, and there are multiple examples found in
the sources demonstrating that Alexander faced resistance and criticism
for deviating too far from the acceptable behaviour and role of a Macedo-
nian king.11 It would be understandable, then, to find that there were few
immediate changes made to the standard numismatic practice. However,
the fact that Alexander began to implement changes and created new coin
types at an obvious and symbolic point in his reign, perhaps after defeating
Darius III in 333 bc, offers evidence towards this being a deliberate policy
as well. It was only after this achievement that Alexander, at last, was in a
position where he was able to issue coin types of his own and find this to
be a beneficial undertaking.12 Confirmed in his position as Great King and
victorious conqueror, Alexander could at last choose types that conveyed
messages more significant for his own reign.13
Before discussing the new devices that were chosen for the Macedonian
coinage, it is also worth mentioning one other notable reform to Alexander’s
currency. Alexander changed the weight content of his new silver coinage
so that it was struck on a different standard to what had previously been
employed by the Macedonian kings. This new weight of 17.2 grams (for
a silver tetradrachm) matched the Attic standard, whereas, previously, the
equivalent Macedonian coin weight had been lighter at 14.45 grams.14 Dur-
ing this time period, the bullion value of coinage was supposed to more or
less equal its nominal value, but Alexander’s reforms to the coin weights
were advantageous nonetheless, due to the fact that coinage struck on the
Attic weight standard could be used more widely and was accepted in a
large number of the Greek states.15 It is also thought that the heavier coins
were preferred by Alexander’s army and especially by mercenaries who
expected to be paid on this higher weight standard, as opposed to other
less reliable and erratic coinage.16 The other dominant currency of the time
was the ubiquitous Athenian Owl, which had a large circulation and was
a familiar coinage that found ready acceptance within the Greek world.
Due to the weight standard change and Alexander’s successful campaign, his
own currency was soon able to surpass them as the leading currency of the
day. Although this is not propaganda in a traditional sense, this can certainly
be seen as a deliberate act of policy and indicates the way in which a ruler
might impose their will through the manipulation of their currency.
The coins of Alexander feature his name in the genitive case,
ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΟΥ, but never the title Basileus, a convention that only appears
 Coinage as propaganda 165

under the Successors.17 They later adopted this practice for their own coin-
age as well, so that we find legends referring to kings Lysimachus, Ptolemy,
and Seleucus. There were probably a few reasons behind the development
towards the inclusion of the royal title by the Successors, especially where the
title was used alongside their own names. This must have been because they
had more of a need to assert their newly acquired royal authority, whereas,
for Alexander and the prior Macedonian kings, born to a recognised royal
dynasty, there was no additional need to assert to an audience that it was
the king under whose authority a coin had been struck. It is possible that
their intention with using the royal title alongside Alexander’s name was
also intended to represent, for those who supported him, Alexander IV as a
legitimate heir.18 The use of Alexander the Great’s name, however, without
any other identifier on his lifetime coinage is still significant, as it provided
an obvious connection between the image portrayed and the issuer of the
coin. It perhaps also provided a visual connection between the device used
and the name of the king as the guarantor of the quality and uniformity of
the coin itself, indicating that it would be reliable legal tender wherever his
authority extended.19
Alexander struck coinage in gold, silver, and bronze denominations, and
of these, the silver and gold are the most important and significant for the
purposes of this discussion. The bronze denominations tended to circulate
more locally and were not struck with the same frequency and regularity as
the gold and silver types. They were also subject to a larger variety of changes
and different types.20 The more important gold and silver types, however,
were more consistent and conveyed important messages that accorded very
well with Alexander’s political intentions as well as his public image.

Silver
Alexander’s silver coinage was most commonly minted in the denomina-
tions of tetradrachm and drachm. Examples of silver coinage struck in other
denominations also exist, although these are fairly rare.21 The device found
on the silver is perhaps the most well-recognised coin of Alexander’s reign.
Referred to as the Heracles type, these coins feature a profile of a young
Heracles wearing his lion skin headdress on the obverse, and on the reverse
they have a figure of Zeus seated on a throne, holding an eagle. This par-
ticular Heracles design was not actually an invention of Alexander’s, as the
Argead dynasty had long maintained an association with Heracles and this
image had appeared on the coinage of several previous Macedonian rul-
ers.22 For example, we find images of Heracles on the coinage of Archelaus
I (413–399), Amyntas III (393–370), Perdiccas III (365–359), and Philip
II (359–336 bc). The traditional type, therefore, was simply adopted for a
new denomination during Alexander’s reign.23 For Alexander, however, the
image came to be particularly apt. Not only did he claim to be descended
166 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

Figure 10.1 Silver tetradrachm of Alexander III, struck c. 336–323 BC. Head of Heracles on
obverse, Zeus seated on reverse, legend reads ‘of Alexander’.
Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=17398

from Heracles, but the hero was also thought to have previously carried
out the conquest of the East, and thus made for an excellent patron of the
Asiatic campaign.
Furthermore, Heracles appears to have been an important figure in Mace-
donia’s neighbouring regions, which required subjugation at the outset of
Alexander’s reign. Diodorus even reports that Alexander used his connec-
tion to the hero in order to win over some neighbouring tribes in 335–334
bc: ‘First he dealt with the Thessalians, reminding them of his ancient rela-
tionship to them through Heracles. . . . Next he won over the neighbouring
tribes similarly.’24
Evidence suggests that Alexander deliberately cultivated an association
with a number of important Greek heroes, including Heracles, and we find
references in the sources to Alexander deliberately trying to equal and outdo
Heracles’s own achievements.25 Although some of these references may be
anecdotal, it is clear that, nonetheless, Alexander came to be closely associ-
ated with this hero in particular. In fact, this association is so strong that
there has been considerable debate as to whether the portrait of Heracles
was actually intended as a cryptic royal portrait of Alexander himself. In
this, as Bellinger notes, there are two important and distinctive questions,
whether the authority intended for his recognisable likeness to be depicted,
or whether that, regardless of the intention of the king and the die engravers,
the portrait was believed to be of Alexander by his subjects.26
With regards to this question, there is considerable variation in facial
features across the different issues of the Heracles coinage, both in coins
 Coinage as propaganda 167

minted during Alexander’s lifetime and posthumously, as well as there is

variation in the facial features of those later coins minted by the Succes-
sors that were deliberately rendered as portraits of Alexander. To further
compound the issue, we hear from Plutarch (Alex. 4.1–7) that there was
variation found across lifetime portraits in other media, even those created
by Alexander’s two officially sanctioned artists, Lysippus and Apelles, mak-
ing it difficult to establish which specific features depicted resembled those
of the living Alexander. As a result, it is difficult to draw any firm conclu-
sions based on a stylistic comparison of the facial features alone. There has
been some support for the argument that later during Alexander’s reign, a
conscious decision was made to change the Heracles portrait so that it more
resembled Alexander, based on the stylistic differences across different dies.
In general, however, it is usually accepted now that the Heracles on Alexan-
der’s silver coin was not intended to be a portrait of the king.27
While there may not have been a definite portrait of Alexander in the
guise of Heracles during his own lifetime, the longstanding connection
between Heracles and the Argead royal family and the fact that Heracles
came up to be such a prominent figure during Alexander’s campaign would
have ensured that the king and hero were readily associated.28 For the pur-
poses of propaganda, it perhaps did not matter whether the image depicted
on the silver types truly reflected or was intended to be an identifiable por-
trait of the king, as such an image still conveyed a personal connection
with the much-admired Greek hero. Alongside Alexander’s name on the
reverse, there could be no ambiguity concerning whom the coin and the
hero were to be associated with.
The reverse of the silver denominations also features a suitable image for
a coin of the Macedonian king. In addition to ruling Olympus, Zeus was
considered to be the traditional prototype of royal authority, and, perhaps
most importantly for these purposes, he was the patron of the Macedonian
army.29 As one of the chief motivations behind minting coinage during this
time was to finance military campaigns and to pay armies and mercenaries,
we can consider perhaps then that the army was the main audience con-
sidered for whatever messages were intended by the coins. Thus, a patron
of the army was an appropriate choice. As might be expected, Alexander
honoured this god in particular, and he was one of the three deities whom
Alexander built altars for upon arriving at the site of Troy at the outset of
his campaign (Arr. Anab. 1.11.7).30
There is still some question, however, concerning the origins of this image.
It is uncertain if this image of a seated Zeus with sceptre and eagle was cop-
ied from a specific cult statue or prototype, or if it was intended to represent
a particular incarnation of this deity.31 Generally, it is accepted that this was
an image of Zeus, and most probably a Greek or Macedonian viewer would
interpret the design in this way as well.32 There are arguments, however, that
this image was in fact modelled on a contemporary Persian type, the image
168 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

of the Semitic god Ba’al of Tarsus.33 If this can be accepted, then it is pos-
sible that Alexander chose a device that appealed to two different audiences,
and certainly, the image of a deified male ruler-figure would have been easy
for the inhabitants of the various districts of the empire to identify with their
local deities and accept as their own.34 This was, therefore, another appro-
priately chosen design which had a traditional precedent, yet conveniently
could also be accepted by a great many people as Alexander’s empire grew.
Such a device may have been chosen so that Alexander was able to not only
express continuity with Persian rule for his new subjects in locations such
as Cilicia and Phoenicia but also demonstrate the traditional Hellenic piety
that was so important for his own Macedonian army.35

Gold
Alexander also struck gold staters, and although other denominations exist,
these are quite rare.36 The device found on the gold coinage is a head of
Athena wearing a Corinthian-crested helmet on the obverse and features
a winged Nike holding a mast and spear on the reverse. These types are
particularly interesting as they do not have an earlier Macedonian prec-
edent, unlike the Heracles type. This has led to considerable discussion as to
what message is intended by this design choice, and the interpretation of the
designs on Alexander’s gold coinage is not without controversy.
In a general way, Athena would have been appropriate for depiction on
the gold currency, especially given her associations with war and her role
as a patroness of heroes. Like many gods and goddesses, Athena received

Figure 10.2 Gold stater of Alexander III, Amphipolis mint, struck c. 330–320 BC. Helmeted
head of Athena on obverse, Nike standing on reverse, legend reads ‘of Alexander’.
Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=30392
 Coinage as propaganda 169

honours from Alexander during his campaign, and, like the image of Zeus,
this deity too would have had wide appeal, especially throughout Alexan-
der’s Greek possessions. However, it is possible that the Athena depicted
here is a specific incarnation of this deity, and there has been much discus-
sion as to which form of the deity this might be. Some have argued that the
image may be that of Athena Ilias, based on the theory that it was not until
after visiting Ilium that Alexander began to strike his own gold coinage.
The deity Athena Ilias is usually depicted with fairly distinctive features,
however, which makes this incarnation of the goddess a bad match for the
particular Athena found on Alexander’s coinage, although it is true that
Alexander honoured this deity.37 In fact, the site of Ilium was treated with
particular importance at the outset of the campaign and played a significant
role in Alexander’s early propaganda. Alexander is said to have honoured
Ilium with the status of city and made much of the connections between the
epic Trojan War and his own campaign.38
Evidence also supports an Athenian model for the obverse of the gold,
and often this form is thought to be that of Athena Promachus. This has
been concluded based on the design’s similarity to images of Athena Proma-
chus found on vases and later bronze coins where the representation is more
explicitly known to be that of Promachus.39 Pheidias’ heroic bronze statue
stood on the Acropolis between the Erechtheium and the Propylaea and,
according to Pausanias (1.28.2), was a dedication from the spoils of the Per-
sians defeated at Marathon. As such, this model fits especially well with the
official motive of revenge against the Persians that was touted for the great
campaign.40 Perhaps most significant of all for the interpretation of this fig-
ure is the fact that this portrait appears to closely imitate the Athena found
on contemporary Corinthian coins.41 It would make sense for Alexander to
have chosen a coin that celebrated his status as the hegemon of the League
of Corinth, again providing an image for the coinage that was relevant to a
great number of individuals and to the promotion of Alexander as the leader
of the Greeks.
The notion that Alexander was trying to link his campaign to a previous
great victory over the Persians is also supported by the reverse image of the
gold coinage. On the reverse, again the use of Nike at first glance is an obvi-
ous choice, naturally for associations with victory, although, similarly to
the head of Athena, this device was not previously connected to any Mace-
donian coinage. This particular form of Nike, furthermore, holds a stylis,
a cruciform staff resembling a kind of flagpole, which is thought to sym-
bolise naval victory.42 The naval connotations are at first curious, as Alex-
ander himself actually had no fleet at his accession and, furthermore, later
famously disbanded his fleet during the early stages of the campaign (Arr.
Anab. 1.20.1; Diod. 17.22.5–23.3). It is not clear which particular naval
victory is actually being referred to here, but given Alexander’s campaign
theme and the image of Athena with a Corinthian helmet on the obverse,
170 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

there has been some suggestion that the Nike type was intended to recall the
great Athenian naval victory over Persia at Salamis that had taken place in
480 bc. This ties in well with Alexander’s other efforts to link his campaign
with famous Greek victories over Persia in the early fifth century bc.43
Overall, the images chosen for both the silver and gold types are appro-
priate images that had a wide variety of connotations and meanings for a
number of different audiences. They were well chosen and especially rele-
vant to Macedonians but did not have to be subjected to changes or adapted
for other audiences even as time progressed. Significantly, in terms of pro-
paganda, we can see a concerted effort to appeal to the Macedonians and
Greeks with traditional imagery and to promote the campaign with images
that call to mind specific Greek victories and something of a united Hellenic
force against a common enemy. For the right audience, the dual nature of
some of the images perhaps also made the conqueror and his coins more
acceptable, by circulating the idea that Alexander was the legitimate succes-
sor to the Achaemenid kingship of Asia.44

The Elephant coinage

It is worth offering some discussion on a much more unusual issue of coin-
age, referred to as the Porus types or Porus medallions, or sometimes the
Elephant medallions. These coins or medallions, as they may well be, were
discovered in Afghanistan in 1887, with a further seven pieces later uncov-
ered in Iraq in 1973. They are notable in that they feature very different
designs as compared to those found on Alexander’s other coinage. In this
set, there was a type, depicting a battle scene, with a Greek horseman rear-
ing against a war elephant carrying a warrior and mahout, as well as tet-
radrachms that feature Indian archers and elephants.
The dating of this coinage has been the subject of much debate. It must
belong to the late 320s bc, but it is difficult to establish whether they were
actually struck during Alexander’s lifetime or instead shortly after his death
in 323 bc.45 In fact, there are some arguments that they may not even have
been minted under Alexander’s authority, as they appear to have been struck
on a varying weight standard which is very uncharacteristic of Alexander’s
own coinage or, indeed, of any official coinage minted by Greek kings and
cities. These medallions are also unusual in that they do not appear to have
come from a large mint or to have been distributed as a regular circulating
currency.46 However, this does not necessarily diminish the propaganda value
of such coins.47 If they were struck by Alexander, they could be seen as a pos-
sible victory issue, although Dahmen gives reasons why this is improbable,
especially as Alexander’s name is absent from these issues and the defeated
subjects are not really displayed in a manner that highlights their defeat.48
However, the battle scene must certainly be evoking Alexander’s battle
with the Indian king Porus and the Macedonian victory at the Hydaspes
 Coinage as propaganda 171

Figure 10.3 Silver ‘medallion’ of 5 shekels or decadrachm of Alexander III, local mint in Babylon,
struck c. 325–323 BC. Solider (likely intended to represent Alexander) on horse
advancing against an elephant with mahout on obverse. On reverse, possible
representation of Alexander, wearing military attire, holding thunderbolt, holding
spear with his left hand, and crowned with wreath by flying Nike.
Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=222422

in 326 bc. The image of a cavalryman, identified as a Macedonian by his

Phrygian-style helmet and characteristic long lance (or sarissa), is thought to
be a depiction of Alexander himself. The reverse is particularly interesting as
well; it shows another Macedonian horseman or possibly the same one, this
time standing and being crowned by a winged Victory, and still wearing his
distinctive helmet. This figure also appears to be carrying what could either
be a sarissa or a royal sceptre in his left hand, and, more importantly, in
his right hand he holds the thunderbolt of Zeus. It has been proposed that
this figure is intended to be a deliberate depiction of Alexander and, most
importantly, an Alexander holding divine attributes. Those who make this
argument have pointed out that the choice of the thunderbolt would have
represented Alexander’s ancestor Zeus and that the design on the helmet
was meant to represent the distinctive white plumage which Plutarch (Alex.
16.7; 32.8–11) tells us the king wore on either side of his helmet. The stand-
ing figure mounted on the elephant and brandishing a spear on the obverse
has been identified as Porus because of the figure’s height. Porus is described
in almost all primary sources as extremely tall, sometimes as tall as 2.1
metres or 7 feet tall, and the height of the figure as it is rendered on the
elephant would certainly tally with those measurements. On some examples
of the medallion, it is even possible to discern the foot of the rider behind
the elephant about halfway up its leg, adding further emphasis to the height
172 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

of this man, although once again, we cannot confirm this was intentionally
done to show that the rider was Porus, as this could be simply the stylistic
choice of the engraver.
If we take the date of the issue as being before Alexander’s death and
accept that it is Alexander himself featured on the reverse, then this series of
coins represents a fairly remarkable numismatic development. It would be
not only the sole surviving depiction of Alexander the Great produced dur-
ing his lifetime but also among the earliest known images of an identified
living person on coins. If correct, then these designs demonstrate once again
that coins could be used as a form of propaganda to continue advertising a
leader’s success and status to his subjects. Perhaps even more significantly,
they appear to correspond with how Alexander’s ambitions and propaganda
message had developed by this time. Considering Alexander’s push to have
himself recognised as a divine individual during the latter part of his reign,
this does not seem completely implausible, and there are multiple examples
from the sources that demonstrate Alexander’s growing desire to be rec-
ognised as a divine being while alive. Given the resistance he faced from
the older, more traditional Macedonians, who were uncomfortable with the
idea that a king might claim to be divine or even to be a living god, it is
possible that, initially, Alexander chose to trial such imagery on a very small
issue of coinage. A small sample issue of coinage that was only intended to
circulate locally and was directly connected with a recent victory may have
been a way to help justify such lofty claims. It also demonstrates a clear
understanding, once again, of how coins could be used as a medium for
transmitting important ideas about the ruling authority which issued them.

The coinage of the successors

Alexander’s numismatic policies, such as adhering to the coinage of his father
prior to choosing types that were beneficial to his own kingship image, set
the standard for the men who came to power after his death. Those who
found themselves in leadership positions after Alexander’s death followed
the same pattern and also continued to mint the coinage of their predeces-
sor. The reasoning behind this was very similar to Alexander’s own policy
immediately after Philip’s death. It was practical, and it was another way to
show continuity during a particularly unstable transfer of power. For the
Successors, however, there were other motivations as well, especially as they
derived their positions of authority through their personal connections with
Alexander himself and, furthermore, were concerned with the appearance
of a unified empire maintained on behalf of the Argead kings, at least in the
first years following 323 bc. We find that their numismatic policies reflect
their changing positions and ambitions very clearly and that as their ambi-
tions grew, there are corresponding changes to their coinage. The Alexan-
der coin types came to be replaced by new designs, and this development
 Coinage as propaganda 173

continued until some of the Successors had their own names added to their
coins and, in some cases, even chose to depict their portraits, which was
a significant development in Hellenistic coinage. The following paragraph
offers a general survey of some of the most important developments among
the Successors’ coins.
It should be noted that approaches to coinage varied among Alexander’s
Successors. Soon after his death, some chose to mint not only Alexander’s
Heracles types but also Philip II’s coins featuring a laureate head of Apollo
as well. These were resumed in c. 323/2–317 bc on behalf of Philip III Arrhi-
daeus, perhaps under the authority of Perdiccas. This was undoubtedly a
display of loyalty intended to demonstrate his support of the new kings,49
and it appears that Arrhidaeus’ name (under the dynastic name Philip) was
the first to replace Alexander on coins.50 The minting of the familiar coins
of the Argead rulers represented, at least on the surface, continuity for the
Argead dynasty.51 This was particularly true in Macedonia itself, where the
Heracles types were continued under Antipater and later struck by his son
Cassander as well.52 The sources hint that there may have been a level of
animosity between Cassander and Alexander during his lifetime. This did
not, however, prevent him from taking advantage of the positive associ-
ations with this coin type and continuing to mint Alexander’s coin types
throughout his own reign.53 In fact, the mints in Macedonia continued to
produce these Alexander coin types even after Cassander’s death in 297 bc,
right up until Demetrius Poliorcetes was declared the king of Macedonia in
294 bc.54 For a ruler whose ambitions mainly lay within the kingdom of
Macedonia itself, there was perhaps less of a need or opportunity to vary
from the traditional types.
After the deaths of Philip III Arrhidaeus in 317 bc and Alexander IV in
310 bc, there were more obvious and dramatic changes to the coin types
issued.55 Under the Successors, Alexander’s portrait was for the first time
represented on coinage. With so much emphasis placed on having a close
relationship with Alexander and using this as a marker of legitimacy during
the early years of the Successors’ rise to power, it is not surprising that this
development should occur. The style of these portraits is still fairly dramatic
and unrealistic, which until c. 278 bc remained a dominant trend for the
first generation of Hellenistic kings.56 However, although these images may
not have truly reflected the appearance of the former king, for the sub-
jects of these kingdoms, this would have become the most immediate and
familiar image they associated with him.57 One of the most notable features
of Alexander’s portrait under the Successors was the promotion of overtly
divine symbols and Alexander’s status as a god or a hero through these
symbols. There was a complex relationship between the way the portrait of
Alexander was constructed and the ruler who issued the coin, and although
Alexander had campaigned to have himself recognised as a divine being
while alive, or at the very least awarded divine honours, this promotion of
174 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

Alexander as divine was more for the benefit of his Successors themselves.58
It did not necessarily stem from an admiration of Alexander or the accep-
tance of his claims to divinity, but because it was in the interests of those
who now claimed power that they had received their authority from Alex-
ander as a god.
Ptolemy was the first to change drastically Alexander’s coin types for his
own designs. This may have become his prerogative prior to the others, as
his position in Egypt was more firmly established from an earlier stage.59
Ptolemy too was a master of propaganda and was able to cultivate aspects
of Alexander’s image that were useful to his own political ventures.60 In
c. 322–318 bc, Ptolemy struck a new coin type which featured Alexander
wearing an elephant scalp, with Ammon’s horn, and included the legend
ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ on some issues, with others reading simply ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΟΥ.
Later issues from c. 314–313 bc onwards were redesigned to show Alex-
ander’s anastole, as well as a mitra. The new design of these coins also
depicted Alexander wearing the aegis of Zeus. These symbols were all famil-
iar, recognisable insignia from the Greek pantheon and together formed
a type of symbolic code.61 The aegis and horn were of course associated
with Zeus and Zeus–Ammon, both important deities (or incarnations of the
same deity) given a prominent focus during Alexander’s campaign.62 The
forehead band, known as a mitra, was associated with Dionysus who was
another deity both important to the Macedonians and whom Alexander had
been compared with during his lifetime.63

Figure 10.4 Silver tetradrachm of Ptolemy I Soter, as satrap, Alexandria mint, struck c.
311/310–305 BC. Diademed and deified head of Alexander with elephant
skin headdress on obverse, Athena advancing on reverse, legend reads ‘of
Alexander’.
Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=235466
 Coinage as propaganda 175

Many different interpretations have been suggested as to the meaning of

the elephant scalp. It has been seen as some sort of Dionysian attribute, a
representation of India, Africa, or simply a general symbol to illustrate Alex-
ander’s power and the extension of his empire in the East.64 While the elephant
scalp may have represented Alexander’s Indian victory and his association
with Dionysus, evidence suggests that Alexander was not explicitly com-
pared with Dionysus until c. 329 bc, and this god was not as commonly
associated with Alexander’s campaign as figures like Achilles or Heracles.65
Additionally, Ptolemy himself had very little to do with the East and was
focused instead on securing Egypt, an ambition that is apparent as early
as 323 bc. As such, it would be unusual if Ptolemy chose an image for
his coins with the intention of highlighting the Indian victory.66 Ptolemy’s
interests lay in minting coins that would be to his own advantage, not neces-
sarily coinage that would benefit the memory of Alexander or that would
promote the unity of the empire, a pretence that was gradually discarded
as time went on.67 As such, for Ptolemy, the elephant scalp was probably a
development along from the Heracles coins of Alexander’s own reign and
represented Alexander’s victories in general, just as the lion scalp was sym-
bolic of all of Heracles’ achievements.68 Visually, the design equated Alex-
ander with Heracles, in terms of both their heroic status and as the founders
of important royal lines or empires.69 Through circulating this image and its
familiar associations, Ptolemy was able to promote Alexander as a type of
heroic predecessor on whose authority he established his kingdom in Egypt,

Figure 10.5 Gold stater of Ptolemy I Soter, Cyrene mint, struck c. 299–294 BC. Diademed
head of Ptolemy wearing aegis on obverse, Alexander holding thunderbolt in
elephant quadriga on reverse, legend reads ‘of King Ptolemy’.
Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=371569
176 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

just as Heracles had been for Alexander.70 Ptolemy eventually adopted this
iconography for his own portraits, providing a visual transition from Alex-
ander receiving the divine insignia from the gods, through to Ptolemy receiv-
ing such associations from Alexander.
Ptolemy was one of the first to place his own image on coinage, a devel-
opment which may have taken place around 299 bc. The first coin por-
traits of Ptolemy appeared on the obverse of his coins, which featured the
image of what is thought to be Alexander in an elephant quadriga on the
reverse.71 The figure of Alexander appears either naked or draped in a
cloak, holding a thunderbolt and sceptre.72 Ptolemy had originally retained
the Zeus reverse of Alexander’s coin types, before replacing this with an
image of Athena Alkidemos on select issues.73 His new coins, therefore,
reflect a particularly significant change, as traditionally throughout the
classical age the obverse had been reserved for deities, and so a portrait
of a living person on the obverse was something of an innovation.74 Ptol-
emy’s portrait shows a somewhat more naturalistic image, though still in
the same dramatic style as Alexander’s portrait, with an upwards glance
and wide distended eye. The distended eye itself was important and was
usually interpreted as a sign of divinity or at least divine inspiration.75 His
portrait was depicted with the aegis of Zeus, and although it was Ptol-
emy himself who had introduced the aegis to Alexander’s imagery, visually
this development seems to imply that he himself had received it from his
predecessor, once again helping to give weight to his claim to kingship.76
Ptolemy is also depicted wearing the diadem in order to indicate his newly
acquired royal title. This is declared on the reverse of the coin as well by the
legend ∏ΤΟΛΕΜΑΙΟΥ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ, which is found on these issues.77 Bos-
worth notes that this title covers as much space on the coin’s surface as the
figure of Alexander himself, creating a strong connection between the two
kings.78 Another coin usually attributed to Ptolemy shows his portrait on
the obverse, with a new design on the reverse: an image of an eagle stand-
ing on a thunderbolt, accompanied by Ptolemy’s royal title.79 This appears
to mark the final step, a movement away from associations with Alexander
and his imagery to a set of coins that represented the Ptolemaic dynasty in
its own right. Once Ptolemy had securely established his own kingdom in
Egypt and his family as the ruling monarchs, he finally had no more need
to use Alexander’s image as propaganda to promote his cause. By the next
generation, this development was completed on the coinage of Ptolemy II
Philadelphus, which featured the portraits of Ptolemy and his wife Berenice
I on the reverse, both wearing diadems and represented as divine rulers
with the legend ΘΕΩΝ.80
Lysimachus was given the satrapy of Thrace at the Babylonian settlement
in 323 bc and ruled it for nearly 40 years.81 It is thought that he received
his coinage from Cassander in the early years of his reign, which must have
been of the Alexander coin type. After the battle of Ipsus in 301 bc, his
 Coinage as propaganda 177

newly captured mints in Asia Minor also continued to produce the Heracles
coinage. Some of these demonstrate small developments, and later issues
carried Lysimachus’ name and royal title, along with a lion’s forepart as the
personal symbol of the king.82 By 305/4 bc, Lysimachus established a new
mint in Lysimachia, the capital city he had founded in Thrace, after which
new types were struck. These coins featured the diademed head of Alexan-
der, adorned with the horns of Ammon on the obverse. These distinctive
horns were chosen to serve the symbolic purpose of indicating Alexander’s
divine parentage, as well as indicating his deified status, which by now had
been accepted. In this portrait, Alexander’s eye is also rendered as unnatu-
rally wide and distended, again making use of an artistic device commonly
employed to express divinity.83 The reverse image also changed to feature a
seated figure of Athena with Nike, with the addition of the title ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ
ΛΥΣΙΜΑΧΟΥ. Just like the other Diadochoi, Lysimachus established him-
self as a king and promoted the legitimacy of this new status through his
former relationship to Alexander, and so it may be significant that he chose
to represent Alexander on his coins in place of one of the established gods
of the Olympian pantheon. This was perhaps a decision made in order to
demonstrate that it was Alexander specifically who sanctioned Lysimachus’
rule.84 The diadem featured on these coin types was of course also signifi-
cant, being the official emblem of Hellenistic kingship under the Successors.
This, combined with Lysimachus’ royal title on the reverse, may have been
intended to suggest that Lysimachus had somehow received the diadem and
title from Alexander himself, in the same way that the portraits of Ptolemy
had borrowed the diadem and aegis.85

Figure 10.6 Silver tetradrachm of Lysimachus, Lysimachia mint, struck 297/296–282/281

BC. Diademed and deified head of Alexander with horns of Zeus–Ammon on
obverse, Athena seated on reverse. Legend reads ‘of King Lysimachus’.
Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=132363
178 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

Another of the Successors, Seleucus, took control of Babylon after the defeat
of Perdiccas in 321/20 bc, and he too eventually established his own coin
types that reflected specific ideas that he wished to promote. Once again, we
find an example of how a numismatic policy might closely parallel a leader’s
position and political aims.86 From 315 bc, Seleucus issued coinage very simi-
lar to that of the other Successors, featuring the typical Alexander Heracles
coins, first in Alexander’s name and later replacing this with his own name
and title on the reverse as ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΣΕΛΕΥΚΟΥ.87 A few minor changes
were made to the Alexander coin type under Seleucus, including the use of an
image of Nike on the reverse instead of the eagle, although generally Seleucus’
coins closely resembled the familiar types of the former king. The motivation
for continuing these types must have been similar to that of the other Suc-
cessors, although there was perhaps some personal significance derived from
the type: it appears that the Seleucids claimed some level of kinship with the
Argeads and Heracles as well. This is hinted at by Libanius, who states:

soon the city was built [Antioch], and soon thereafter it was filled with
those who came down to it from Ione [Iopolis], Argives, Cretans and
descendants of Heracles, who had, I believe, a relationship with Seleu-
cus via the ancient Temenus.
(Lib. Or. 11.91)88

Again we see evidence of a Hellenistic ruler attempting to use the connec-

tions and royal image established by Alexander to his own advantage. For
this particular dynasty, the Heracles coins may have had an additional level
of meaning due to their own promoted connection to this hero as well.
By 291 bc, however, Seleucus discontinued these coins and turned to
minting other designs.89 Like Ptolemy, Seleucus minted coins featuring
Alexander’s portrait wearing the elephant scalp, though without the aegis,
Ammon’s horn, and mitra. While the elephant scalp on these designs carried
associations similar to those of Ptolemy’s coins, Seleucus’ designs were per-
haps also intended as a way of commemorating his victories in the East.90
Another important feature of these new types were the gods who were
depicted on the reverses. Seleucus’ coins feature the traditional images of a
bearded Zeus and, on some issues, Athena. Both of these gods were by this
time closely associated with Alexander’s campaign, but were also, of course,
traditional Olympians and connected to Macedonia and were particularly
important to Seleucus’ own self-presentation and propaganda.91 Perhaps
more significantly, Seleucid coinage often featured the symbol of an anchor,
which appeared on the reverse in an upside-down configuration, alongside
a seated figure of Zeus bearing the eagle. Seleucus was regularly associ-
ated with this symbol throughout his lifetime, and multiple anecdotes have
been preserved which make reference to it or otherwise tell of the symbol’s
origins.92 Many of these stories were connected to Seleucus’ kingship, and
 Coinage as propaganda 179

Figure 10.7 Silver tetradrachm of Seleucus I Nicator, Sardes mint, struck c. 282–281 BC.
Head of Heracles on obverse, Zeus seated on reverse, legend reads ‘of King
Seleucus.’
Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=357742

it seems that Seleucus used an anchor as his signet ring as well. As the leg-
end grew, some ancient authors even claimed that he had an anchor-shaped
birthmark, which was allegedly passed on to the subsequent generations of
the Seleucid dynasty (Just. 15.4.5–6; 15.4.9). There was also a story that
Seleucus had chanced upon an anchor on a beach, and the anchor sym-
bol featured prominently in the stories which concerned Seleucus’ divine
conception, where it was claimed that his mother Laodice was visited by
the god Apollo (App. Syr. 56.285–7). This is significant, as it demonstrates
a conscious effort on behalf of Seleucus or perhaps his followers to pro-
mote this self-made king as a special individual who, like Alexander, had an
important divine parent and whose right to rule was indicated by numerous
special omens demonstrating that this was divinely predetermined. Despite
the design’s close association with Seleucus, it has previously been argued
that the symbol actually first appeared on the coinage of Antigonus Mon-
ophthalmus on coin types minted at Aradus on the Syrian coast, possibly
as early as c. 316 bc.93 If this theory is to be accepted, then perhaps Seleu-
cus adopted the anchor symbol when he gained control over the former
Antigonid territory in 301 bc, after which it developed a special meaning
for Seleucus specifically.94 Regardless of whether Antigonus had used this
device on coinage first, the anchor became very closely tied to Seleucus and
his dynasty, and the symbol found on the coinage may therefore have served
as a reference to the growing mythos surrounding the king.
180 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

It is also possible that Seleucus’ portrait appeared on coins during his lifetime
on coin types issued after 300 bc. These coins feature a helmeted hero, wearing
a panther skin and adorned with a bull’s ear and horns.95 It is thought perhaps
more likely that this represents Seleucus, especially as the other portraits of
Alexander which are depicted on the Seleucus coins are readily identifiable.96
Although these symbols were not associated with Alexander, it is possible that
in choosing this design, Seleucus was following the precedent set by the numis-
matic portraits of Alexander portrayed on coins of the other Successors. These
symbols may indicate that Seleucus cultivated similar associations to the gods
and heroes just as Alexander had done, and so the panther skin in this context
could have been intended as a reference to Dionysus, as well as Seleucus’ vic-
tory in India. Bulls were also associated with Dionysus, and horns had by now
featured on the posthumous portraits of Alexander as an indicator of divine
status.97 In this way, Seleucus’ coin types could have highlighted the similarity
between the two great men as well as could have been used for recalling the
god’s legendary conquest of the East.98 Perhaps the greatest significance stems
from the fact that the portrait was rendered in a style intended for depicting a
hero or a divinity, not a mortal man, something that could apply equally to the
presentation of Alexander under the Successors or Seleucus himself as he made
that transition towards being recognised as a divine ruler.
Antigonus Monophthalmus was unique in that he continued to mint
Alexander’s coin types, even after he had claimed royal title in 306 bc.99
There may be a number of reasons behind this decision.100 Antigonus was
part of an older generation and had in fact originally served under Philip
II. During Alexander’s reign, he had been left behind to manage the satrapy
of Phrygia in 333 bc and, as such, could not claim the same close personal
association with Alexander as the other Successors did, so he was unable to
exploit Alexander’s image in the same way. By continuing to mint the tra-
ditional Heracles coins, Antigonus made use of the positive associations
that these coin types would have conveyed and perhaps sent the message to
his subjects and followers and, in particular, to the army that he was loyal
to Alexander and the legitimate Argead kings. It may also have helped to
emphasise the fact that he still valued the traditional aspects of Macedonian
rule. It was a way of highlighting his prestige by emphasising service with
Alexander, rather than his own personal achievements.
In contrast, Antigonus’ son Demetrius Poliorcetes adopted a very dif-
ferent policy. After Antigonus’ death at the battle of Ipsus in 301 bc,
the Antigonid coins were changed to new types almost immediately.101
Demetrius’ designs were completely his own, struck in two main types,
a Nike and Poseidon coin, and one which featured Demetrius’ own life-
time portrait. Similar to the other examples we have seen, Demetrius’
portrait showed the king with a royal diadem and divine insignia. These
portrait coins also portrayed Poseidon on the reverse, a deity of particular
importance to the Besieger. The Nike and Poseidon coin types emerged
 Coinage as propaganda 181

first and were struck in the silver denominations. The obverse showed
a winged figure of Nike carrying a trumpet (salpinx) in one hand, and a
signal mast (stylis) in the other. The figure was depicted alighting on the
forecastle of a defeated galley, with a broken prow ornament (stolos). The
reverse of these tetradrachms had a nude figure of Poseidon, along with
the legend ΔΗΜΗΤΡΙΟΥ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ.102 This imagery represents a great
departure from the previous coinage of the Antigonids, and these designs
were no doubt chosen because of their personal significance to Demetrius.
The naval elements depicted on Demetrius’ new coinage were probably
chosen in commemoration of his great sea victory at Salamis in 306 bc
(Diod. 20.49–52), as well as perhaps to indicate Demetrius’ new status
as a chiefly naval power. If this interpretation is correct, then this would
be an appropriate image, especially when considering Demetrius’ circum-
stances, as he would have wanted to repair his public image and reputa-
tion after the failure at Ipsus. Using an image on his first personal coinage
type, which celebrated one of his most significant victories, would have
advertised to his followers a powerful message about his royal status and
his intentions to achieve further successes of this kind.103
The emergence of Demetrius’ portrait on his coin types in c. 300–298
bc is particularly significant. Indeed, he may have been among the first to
do this.104 The likeness on these coins shows a young, idealised image of
Demetrius, rendered in a dramatic style similar to the portraits of Alexan-
der found on the coins of the other Successors. This is seen especially with

Figure 10.8 Silver tetradrachm of Demetrius I Poliorcetes, Amphipolis mint, struck c. 289–
288 BC. Diademed and deified head of Demetrius on obverse, Poseidon on
reverse, legend reads ‘of King Demetrius’.
Source: Image credit to CNG: www.cngcoins.com/Coin.aspx?CoinID=77914
182 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

the depiction of the diadem and the distinctive curled hairstyle so often
associated with Alexander. It may be that Demetrius attempted to associ-
ate himself with the former king, and so the use of features like the curled
hair and wide-eyed, upwards gaze may have been intended to help visu-
ally link the two kings with one another.105 The depiction of the diadem
was particularly significant as it represented the most official claim the
Diadochoi had to kingship, and for Demetrius, in particular, this would
have been an important sentiment to convey. He was too young to have
participated in the anabasis and thus lacked that personal connection to
Alexander himself, and often his hold over the royal title was, at best,
tenuous. Demetrius was also depicted with bull’s horns, and, as with the
other coin portraits of the time, this aspect represented divinity. Demetrius
too cultivated a connection to the divine, and the literary evidence records
that, at least within Athens, he was recognised as such.106 It is thought
that in this case, these horns were intended to represent either Dionysus
or Poseidon, both deities who were associated with the Besieger.107 Given
Demetrius’ emphasis on his naval victories and the figure of Poseidon on
the reverses of his personal types, Poseidon is perhaps the more probable
candidate.
Alexander’s Successors made extensive and sophisticated use of coinage
for political purposes. While the individual Diadochoi may have differed in
what they wished to portray in their propaganda and the exact way they
went about doing so, it is clear that all recognised the value of coins as por-
table, everyday objects that could be circulated throughout their territories
and transmit their message to a wide audience. Coins proved to be an excel-
lent way to both promote and reinforce the important ideas the Diadochoi
demonstrated in their other propaganda, such as their loyalty to the Argeads
and legitimate kings and their relationship with Alexander. Of course, some
of the later coin types also had features which were intended to reinforce a
dynast’s own claims to kingship and right to rule. Even those like Demetrius
and Antigonus, who did not exploit Alexander’s image in the same way as
some of the other Successors, still used Alexander as a model on which to
base their leadership, and the importance of coinage as propaganda is cer-
tainly reflected in their chosen coin designs.

Notes
1 There are many examples of this to be found throughout the sources, but per-
haps the clearest one is the assertion that Alexander only allowed a few spe-
cific artists (Lysippus, Apelles, and Pyrgoteles) to render his portrait in artistic
media, which allowed him to maintain a high degree of control over how his
image was represented to his subjects, see, for example: Plut., Alex. 4; Pliny,
NH 7.125; J. J. Pollitt, Art in the Hellenistic Age (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1986), 22; A. Stewart, Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and
Hellenistic Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 36–38;
 Coinage as propaganda 183

and B. Kiilerich, ‘The Public Image of Alexander the Great’, in Alexander the
Great: Reality and Myth, ed. J. Carlsen, B. Due, O. Steen and B. Poulsen (Rome:
L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1993), 86–87.
2 Philip II r. 359–336 bc; see also P. Thonemann, The Hellenistic World: Using
Coins as Sources (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2015), 10.
3 Philip II was remembered nostalgically, and given the resistance Alexander later
faced for implying anything that could be conceived to dishonour Philip (most
notably the adoption of various Persian customs and Alexander’s inclination
to claim that he was in fact the son of Zeus–Ammon), it must have been espe-
cially important to demonstrate that Macedonia continued to be ruled in the
same tradition as under his father. Numerous references made by the army sug-
gest continued loyalty to Philip’s memory and resistance to the changes made
by Alexander during his rule. See, for example: Arr., Anab. 7.8.2–3; Diod.,
17.108.2–3; Just., 12.11.5–6; Plut., Alex. 50.6; Curt. 6.11.23–6; 8.1.42–3; and
8.7.13–14 (stating that one of the conspirators against Alexander, Hermolaus,
accused the king of rejecting Philip; see S. Müller, ‘Demetrios Poliorketes, Aph-
rodite und Athen’, Gymnasium 117 (2010): 30, 32n71).
Later, when Demetrius Poliorcetes took Macedonia from the Antipatrids, we
are told that the Macedonians were happy to see a total regime change away
from this dynasty (Plut., Demetr. 37.3; Just. 16.1.17; A. Meeus, ‘Alexander’s
Image in the Age of the Successors’, in Heckel and Tritle, Alexander the Great,
246), again something which corresponds with changes to the numismatic pol-
icy previously established within Macedonia. Although Demetrius continued to
strike some Alexander coin types, his own designs soon superseded them within
the kingdom.
4 M. J. Price, Coins of the Macedonians (London: Published for the Trustees
of the British Museum by British Museum Publications, 1974), 18; E. D.
Carney, ‘Hunting and the Macedonian Elite: Sharing the Rivalry of the Chase
(Arrian 4.13.1)’, in The Hellenistic World: New Perspectives, ed. D. Ogden
(Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2002), 60; and K. A. Sheedy, Alexander
and the Hellenistic Kingdoms: Coins, Image and the Creation of Identity. The
Westmoreland Collection (Sydney: Australian Centre for Ancient Numismatic
Studies, 2007), 40–41.
5 Thonemann, 11.
6 Alonso Troncoso, ‘Some Remarks on the Funerals of the Kings: From Philip II
to the Diadochoi’, in Alexander and His Successors: Essays from the Antipodes,
ed. P. Wheatley and R. Hannah (Claremont, CA: Regina Books, 2009), 279.
7 For example, a Philip II coin featuring the laurate head of Apollo was resumed
on behalf of Philip III Arrhidaeus c. 323/2–317 bc, perhaps under the authority
of Perdiccas. The intention was to support the accession of a legitimate ruler
and to appeal to the Macedonian army which was particularly invested in hav-
ing an Argead king: Curt. 3.6.17; 10.7.15; Sheedy, 40; and E. Baynham, ‘Con-
tinuity and Ambition: The Posthumous Philip II Gold Staters from Colophon/
Magnesia’, in Sheedy, Alexander and the Hellenistic Kingdoms, 25.
8 Stewart, 94–95, 263. Sources for Alexander’s death: Arr., Anab. 7.24–8; Diod.
17.117.5–118.2; 19.11.8; Curt. 10.5.1–6; 10.10.5; 10.10.9–20; Plut., Alex.
73–77.5; Just. 12.13.3–16.1; LM 112; Ps. Callisth. l. 3.31–33; and Val. Max.
1.7 ext. 2; with, inter alia, W. Heckel, The Last Days and Testament of Alexan-
der the Great: A Prosopographic Study (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1988); Heckel, ‘The
Earliest Evidence for the Plot to Poison Alexander’, in Alexander’s Empire:
Formulation to Decay, ed. W. Heckel, L. A. Tritle, and P. V. Wheatley (Clare-
mont, CA: Regina Books, 2007); L. Depuydt, ‘The Time of Death of Alexander
184 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

the Great: 11 June 323 B.C. (-322), ca. 4:00–5:00 PM’, Die Welt des Orients
28 (1997): 117–35; A. B. Bosworth, ‘Ptolemy and the Will of Alexander’, in
Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, ed. A. B. Bosworth and E. Baynham,
207–41 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000); E. Baynham, ‘A Baleful Birth
in Babylon: The Significance of the Prodigy in the Liber de Morte – An Investi-
gation of Genre’, in Bosworth and Baynham, Alexander the Great in Fact and
Fiction, 242–62; E. Borza and J. Reames-Zimmerman, ‘Some New Thoughts on
the Death of Alexander the Great’, Ancient World 31 (2000): 22–30; L. Schep,
‘The Death of Alexander the Great: Reconsidering Poison’, in Wheatley and
Hannah, Alexander and His Successors, 227–36; and K. Hall, ‘Did Alexan-
der the Great Die from Guillain-Barré Syndrome?’, Ancient History Bulletin
32.3–4 (2018): 106–28.
9 This is made clear by the way in which this connection to Alexander was fre-
quently exploited after his death. It was prestigious and advantageous to have
any sort of connection to the former king, and officers who had served under
Alexander were much sought after and held in the highest esteem: cf. Diod.
19.51.1; 19.69.1; 19.82.1; 20.40.1; see J. Roisman, ‘Ptolemy and His Rivals
in His History of Alexander’, Classical Quarterly 34 (1984): 373 and R. A.
Billows, Kings & Colonists: Aspects of Macedonian Imperialism (Leiden: Brill,
1995), 34.
Another example of this is seen in 311, when Seleucus intended to reclaim
Babylonia and enter the war as an equal among the other Successors. He there-
fore reminded his men that they had campaigned with Alexander in order to
encourage them and used a dream of Alexander to show that the omens were
favourable for his own leadership: Diod 19.90.3–4; with Stewart, 265, 313;
D. Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus: Kingship, Narrative and Mythmaking in the
Ancient World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 64–66. Simi-
larly, when Demetrius took control of Macedonia in 294 bc, he made a speech
that highlighted his father’s services to Philip II and Alexander, indicating the
importance of the connection and loyalty to the Argead dynasty: Just. 16.1.12;
cf. Plut., Demetr. 37.3 and A. B. Bosworth, The Legacy of Alexander: Politics,
Warfare and Propaganda under the Successors (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2002), 251.
10 Thonemann, 18.
11 See n. 3.
12 Stewart, 93; Sheedy, 42–43; and see Thonemann for the phenomenon of ‘post-
humous’ coinages (pp. 10–11). The new coinage types may have been intro-
duced alongside Alexander’s public declaration of his sovereignty, as preserved
in Arr., Anab. 2.14.4–9; cf. Diod. 17.39.1; Just. 11.12.1–2; Plut., Alex. 29.7–8;
and Curt. 4.1.7–10; 2.25.1–3, although there have also been arguments against
this claim that Alexander struck no coinage in his own name before 333; see,
for example, O. H. Zervos and M. J. Price, ‘The Earliest Coins of Alexander the
Great’, Numismatic Chronicle 142 (1982): 190. The gold and silver coinage may
have been introduced at different dates, and Zervos and Price suggest that the
new gold types were issued between 332 and 331 bc, or else earlier, perhaps
even prior to the launch of the Asiatic campaign in 334 (‘The Earliest Coins’,
175); cf. Thonemann, 11. Finally, it is worth noting that even seemingly small
stylistic conventions found on the coinage of Philip II are later disregarded by
Alexander for his own types, making them truly distinctive from the coinage of
the previous reign: Zervos and Price, ‘The Earliest Coins’, 172n24, 174.
13 It should be noted that although these new gold types were introduced, Philip
II’s gold continued to be struck down to c. 315 bc as well: G. le Rider, Alexander
 Coinage as propaganda 185

the Great: Coinages, Finances, and Policy, trans. W. E. Higgins (Philadelphia:

American Philosophical Society, 2007), 37–43, 107–08; and Thonemann, 11.
14 Zervos and Price, ‘The Earliest Coins’, 181. Drachms on the Attic standard
weighed 4.3g. The gold weight standard remained the same as that Philip II had
used (8.6 grams), which was in itself based on that of the Chalcidian League.
15 See A. R. Bellinger, who notes how this would have inevitably caused problems
in covering the cost of manufacturing (Essays on the Coinage of Alexander the
Great (New York: The American Numismatic Society, 1963), 1–2). The most
probable way to counteract this would have been for the mint to reduce the
weight of each coin, although they could not have allowed a huge discrep-
ancy between the nominal value and intrinsic value. Nonetheless, it is easy to
understand why mercenaries, for example, might want to be paid on a heavier
standard and would need to be accommodated by ambitious commanders.
On ancient Greek weight standards, see J. R. Melville Jones, A Dictionary of
Ancient Greek Coins (London: Seaby, 1986), 240–42.
16 E. A. Fredricksmeyer, ‘Alexander, Zeus Ammon, and the Conquest of Asia’,
Transactions of the American Philological Association 121 (1991): 204; Stew-
art, 94; Carmen Arnold-Biucchi, Alexander’s Coins and Alexander’s Image
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Art Museums, 2006), 33; and Melville
Jones, ‘The Coinage of Alexander and his Successors: A “Common Hellenic
Coinage”?’, in Sheedy, Alexander and the Hellenistic Kingdoms, 30.
17 In c. 329 bc, the title ‘BASILEWS' was added and adopted by many of the
mints. The Successors later used their names as well as their titles, a practice
which was then continued by their descendants, see further below (endnotes 27,
67, 100, and 107), O. Mørkholm, Early Hellenistic Coinage: From the Acces-
sion of Alexander to the Peace of Apamea (336–188 BC) (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1991), 29.
18 Coins minted on behalf of Philip III Arrhidaeus, for example, frequently have
both his name and title as well: M. J. Price, The Coinage in the Name of Alex-
ander the Great and Philip Arrhidaeus, 2 vols. (London and Zurich: Swiss
Numismatic Society in association with British Museum Press, 1991), ii Pl.
CXVI–CXX.
19 Bellinger, 1.
20 The most common form of this more localised coinage was a head of Heracles
similar to that on the silver, with Alexander’s name on the reverse and either a
bow and case, or a club, bow, and quiver, Bellinger, 21.
21 L. Müller, B. V. Head and Baron A. von Prokesch-Osten, The Coins of Alexan-
der the Great, ed. Al. N. Oikonomides (Chicago: Ares, 1981), xvii–xviii. Other
denominations do exist including decadrachms, didrachms, triobols, and obols. It
appears that these less common denominations originate from the Eastern mints.
22 On the Argead connection to Heracles, see Plut., Alex. 2; Diod. 17.1.5. The royal
family claimed descent through Caranus, although this name is not listed in
Herodotus’ account of Alexander I’s genealogy, which begins instead with Per-
diccas I, Hdt. 8.137 ff. Alexander I had advanced the association between his
dynasty and Heracles from an early stage, and this was later exploited by Alex-
ander the Great. For Alexander I and Heracles, see, for example: Hdt. 5.22;
8.137–39; E. Borza, ‘Athenians, Macedonians and the Origins of the Mace-
donian Royal House’, in Studies in Attic Epigraphy, History and Topography,
Presented to Eugene Vanderpool (Princeton, NJ: American School of Classical
Studies at Athens, 1982), 11n17; J. R. Hamilton, Plutarch Alexander: A Com-
mentary, 2nd ed. (1969; repr., Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999), 2; R. Fleischer,
‘True Ancestors and False Ancestor in Hellenistic Ruler’s Portraiture’, in Images
186 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

of Ancestors, ed. J. M. Højte (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2002), 61; and
Carney, 60.
23 Bellinger, 11.
24 Diod. 17.4.1–2. Alternatively, Just. 11.3.1–2 states that Alexander won over the
Thessalians through Philip’s previous support and his connection to them
through the Aeacid line of Olympias. See J. F. C. Fuller, The Generalship of
Alexander the Great (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1960), 28–29.
25 For example, Arr., Anab. 3.1 notes that Alexander desired to visit the oracle of
Ammon particularly because Perseus and Heracles had previously consulted it
and is even said to have settled Mallus on the grounds that it was a colony of
Argos, and ‘he himself claimed to be descended from the Argive Heracleidae’
(Arr., Anab. 2.5.9). Alexander also wished to take the rock of Aornus in 326 bc
because there was a story that it had been unsuccessfully besieged by Heracles.
Although Arrian states that he does not believe the myth is true, he claims that
it did influence Alexander’s decision to undertake the assault: Arr., Anab. 4.28;
with A. B. Bosworth, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexan-
der, vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), 198 and A. B. Bosworth, Conquest
and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1988), 282.
26 Bellinger, 11. On Alexander’s notional affinity with Heracles, see Heckel, ‘Alex-
ander, Achilles, and Heracles: Between Myth and History’, in East and West in
the World Empire of Alexander, ed. P. V. Wheatley and E. J. Baynham, 21–33.
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015).
27 That the portrait was always intended to be Alexander: E. M. Cousinéry, Voy-
age dans la Macédoine, vol. 1 (Paris: Imprimerie Royale, 1831); G. Kleiner,
Alexanders Reichmünzen. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1949); and K. Lange,
‘Zur Frage des Bildnis gehaltes bei Köpfen auf Münzen Philips II und Alex-
anders III, des Großen, von Makedonien’, in Wissenschaftliche Abhandlun-
gen des deutschen Numismatikertages in Göttingen, 1951, ed. E. Boehringer,
27–33 (Göttingen: Musterschmidt, 1959). That it was never intended as a royal
portrait: J. Echkel, Doctrina Numorum Veterum, part 1, vol. 2 (Vienna: Vin-
dobonae Volke, 1839); F. Imhoof-Blumer, Portraitköpfe auf antiken Münzen
hellenischer und hellenisierter Völker (Leipzig: Teubner, 1885); and T. Schreiber,
Studien über das Bildnis Alexanders des Großen (Leipzig: Teubner, 1903). That
the portrait may have changed over the course of Alexander’s reign to more
closely resemble the king, either on the king’s authority or on the initiative of
the die-engravers: E. Q. Visconti, Iconographie grecque, vol. 2 (Paris: Didot,
1811); L. Müller, Numismatique d’Alexandre le Grand, (Copenhagen, 1855);
G. F. Hill, Historical Greek Coins, (London: Constable & Co., 1910); E. T.
Newell, Royal Greek Coin Portraits (New York: W. Raymond Inc., 1937); and
E. Sjöqvist, ‘Alexander-Heracles: A Preliminary Note’, Bulletin of the Museum
of Fine Arts 51, no. 284 (1953): 30–33. For a summary of the older scholarship
and arguments see Bellinger, 11–16. It has generally been accepted now that
the Heracles image lacks the particular personal characteristics of portraiture,
but this does not of course exclude a strong association between Alexander and
Heracles: Price, Coinage in the Name of Alexander, 33; Mørkholm, 27; Sheedy,
14; and Thonemann, 12.
28 One of the ‘elephant medallions’, or Porus coins, appears to show an image of
Alexander on the reverse; see F. L. Holt, Alexander the Great and the Mystery
of the Elephant Medallions, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003):
126–28. O. Bopearachchi and P. Flandrin have suggested that a coin found in
a hoard in Bactria shows Alexander’s portrait with an elephant skin headdress,
predating those of the Successors (Le Portrait d’Alexandre le Grand. Historie
 Coinage as propaganda 187

D’une Découverte Pour l’Humanité (Monaco: Éditions de Rocher, 2005), 186–

93), although the authenticity of this coin has been debated; cf. W. Fischer-
Bossert’s review (Review of Le Portrait d’Alexandre le Grand: Histoire d’une
Découverte pour l’Humanité, by O. Bopearachchi and P. Flandrin, ANS Maga-
zine 5.2 (2006): 62–65). Stewart argues that Ptolemy’s coin featuring Alexander
wearing an elephant scalp should be taken to infer that the Heracles image was
not considered a representation of Alexander (pp. 158–59n3). B. R. Brown
argues that since Heracles was the declared ancestor of the Macedonian royal
family, in Macedonian coinage his image always referred to the reigning king
(Royal Portraits in Sculpture and Coins: Pyrrhos and the Successors of Alexan-
der the Great (New York: Lang, 1995), 25).
29 As would be expected, Alexander had paid homage to both Zeus and Heracles
on multiple occasions during his reign (Arr., Anab. 1.4.5; Diod. 17.16.3), and
both deities had featured prominently at the outset of the campaign. See also
Zervos and Price, ‘The Earliest Coins’, 190.
30 Alongside altars for Athena and Heracles. Plutarch only speaks of sacrifices
to Athena specifically but notes that Alexander also poured ‘libations to the
heroes of the Greek army’ (Plut., Alex. 15.7–8, trans. Duff). See Bosworth, A
Historical Commentary, 101.
31 There are a number of variants in this design across the types stuck at different
mints, perhaps suggesting that there was no one single prototype or form of
Zeus intended. See Zervos and Price, ‘The Earliest Coins’, 190.
32 Badian, ‘The Deification of Alexander the Great’, in Ancient Macedonian Stud-
ies in Honor of Charles F. Edson, ed. H. J. Dell, 27–71 (Thessalonica: Institute
for Balkan Studies, 1981) and Thonemann, 13.
33 This image appears on the coins minted by the Persian satrap Mazaeus in Cili-
cia: H. A. Troxell, Studies in the Macedonian Coinage of Alexander the Great
(New York: American Numismatic Society, 1997), 87–89; O. Casabonne, La
Cilicie à l’époque achéménide (Paris: De Boccard, 2004), 207–36; Arnold-
Biucchi, 53; and Thonemann, 13. See also the discussion of Zervos and Price,
‘The Earliest Coins’, 169–70.
34 Bellinger, 18.
35 Thonemann, 13.
36 Müller, Head, and von Prokesch-Osten, xvii. Distaters, as well as half, quarter,
and eighth staters, also exist. These also have a head of Athena, although there
is slightly more variation on the reverses, including types with a club and bow,
as well as a fulmen.
37 Bellinger, 4.
38 At the beginning of the campaign, Alexander had sacrificed to Protesilaus,
the first Greek to disembark and be killed in the Trojan war: Arr., Anab.
1.11.5–7; cf. Hom., Il. 2.701. Alexander was also the first to disembark from
the ship, throwing his spear in order to demonstrate that he had received
Asia from the gods as ‘spear won land’: Diod. 17.17.2; Just. 11.5.10. We are
also told that during this time, a prophecy from Athena was communicated
to Alexander, predicting victory during a cavalry battle: Diod. 17.17.6; Stew-
art, 233; and G. Squillace, ‘Consensus Strategies under Philip and Alexander:
The Revenge Theme’, in Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son,
Lives and Afterlives, ed. D. Carney and D. Ogden (Oxford: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 2010), 77.
After making his sacrifice to Athena, some sources claim that Alexander then
visited the tomb of Achilles, anointing it with oil and crowning it with a wreath
and conducting a race with his companions. These actions suggest that the hon-
ouring of Troy was a protracted, public affair and that Alexander made much
188 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

of the opportunity to connect his campaign closely with the epic Trojan war:
Plut., Alex. 5.8–9. For other sources concerning Alexander’s actions at Troy,
see, for example: Plut., Mor. 59B, 331D; Arr., Anab. 1.12.1; Ael., VH. 7.8; 12.7;
with Stewart, 80–81n35 and Heckel, ‘Alexander, Achilles, and Heracles’. This
highly symbolic arrival on the shores of Asia is referred to as ‘un bel effort de
mise en scene’ by G. Courtieu, ‘La visite d’Alexandre le Grand à Ilion/Troie’,
GAIA 8 (2004): 124. Such actions demonstrate a clear awareness on the part of
Philip and Alexander of how to promote the campaign to their best advantage.
39 Bellinger, 5.
40 Polyb. 3.6.12–13 states that Philip knew the Persians had an inferior military
and was tempted by the potential riches that could be gained through victory
over them. He therefore had to put forward an excuse (πρόφασις) for the cam-
paign in order to gain the support of Greece, and this pretext was continued by
Alexander; cf. Squillace, 76n54. On the Panhellenic theme of the campaign, see:
Arr., Anab. 1.16.7; Plut., Alex.16.17–18; and Ael., VH. 13.11. Alexander was
named ‘στρατηγὸς αὐτοκράτωρ’ of Greece: Diod. 17.4.9; Bosworth, A Historical
Commentary, 47; and M. Flower, ‘Alexander the Great and Panhellenism’, in
Bosworth and Baynham, Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, 98.
41 A third possibility has been suggested that the figure might represent Athena
Parthenus instead: see Bellinger, 3; cf. E. Poddighe, ‘Alexander and the Greeks:
The Corinthian League’, in Heckel and Tritle, Alexander the Great, 99–120 and
Thonemann, 11–12.
42 Melville Jones, Ancient Greek Coins, 2–3, 218–19; V. Sergueenkova, ‘The Stylis
on the Gold of Alexander the Great’, Numismatica e Antichità Classiche 35
(2006): 165–78 and Thonemann, 11–12.
43 Thonemann, 12.
44 P. Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Winona
Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2002), 817–71; R. J. Lane Fox, ‘Alexander the Great:
Coinage Last of the Achaemenids?’, in Persian Responses: Political and Cultural
Interaction With(in) the Achaemenid Empire, ed. C. Tuplin, 267–311 (Swansea:
Classical Press of Wales, 2007); and Thonemann, 13.
45 K. Dahmen, The Legend of Alexander the Great on Greek and Roman Coins
(New York: Routledge, 2007), 6. On this, see, in particular, Holt with a survey
of earlier research.
46 This is suggested by the irregular denominations and erratic weights of the
coins. They also bear signs of hurried, poorly supervised minting as they have
irregular edges and blemishes. These medallions were probably localised within
the actual army which had defeated Porus. See Holt, 109, 140–41, 143.
47 Holt, 140.
48 Dahmen, The Legend of Alexander the Great, 7–8.
49 The rank and file of the Macedonian army remained particularly loyal to the
Argead dynasty after Alexander’s death and demanded an Argead king. See Curt.
3.6.17; 10.7.15; Baynham, ‘Continuity and Ambition’, 25–26; and Sheedy, 40.
50 Sheedy, 43. He was declared King by the army under the name Philip in 323
bc; see Curt. 10.7.1–7; Diod. 18.2.2,4; Just. 13.2.6–8, 3.1, 4.2; Arr., Succ. 1.1;
Paus. 1.6.2; and App., Syr. 52 [261].
51 Baynham, ‘Continuity and Ambition’, 26.
52 Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image’, 247.
53 See also Stewart, 264. That this was Cassander’s policy is demonstrated by the
fact that he also took steps to associate himself closely with the Argead family.
He married Alexander’s half-sister Thessalonice, daughter of Philip II, and two
of his sons were given Argead names, Philip and Alexander. Admittedly, these
were very common Macedonian names, but by this time they must have been
 Coinage as propaganda 189

especially associated with the famous members of that dynasty. On Cassander’s

political actions and attempts to associate himself with the Argeads, see, for
example, Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image’, 248–50.
54 Plut., Demetr. 37; with Stewart, 264.
55 Arrhidaeus: Diod. 19.11.4–5; Just. 14.5.10; Oros. 3.23.30; and Paus. 1.11.4.
Alexander IV: Diod. 19.105.2–4 and Just. 15.2.3; cf. Trogus, Prol. 15. See
Brown, 12 and P. Wheatley, ‘The Date of Polyperchon’s Invasion of Macedonia
and Murder of Heracles’, Antichthon 32 (1998): 12–23.
56 Brown, 1–2, 9. The small images on coins stylistically followed those of large
art and are somewhat similar to those portraits of Alexander found in sculpture
and other artistic media.
57 R. R. R. Smith, Hellenistic Royal Portraits (New York: Oxford University Press,
1988), 1; Brown, 1; and Sheedy, 11–12.
58 Sheedy, 16.
59 Brown, 15; Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image’, 248. On Ptolemaic coinage, see now
the definitive C. Lorber, Coins of the Ptolemaic Empire, 2 vols. (New York:
American Numismatic Society, 2018).
60 On the progressive stages of Ptolemy’s currency reforms, see now the nuanced
treatment of C. Lorber, ‘The Currency Reforms and Character of Ptolemy I
Soter’, in Ptolemy I Soter: A Self-Made Man, ed. T. Howe, 60–87 (Oxford:
Oxbow Books, 2018); cf. Stewart, 242.
61 Stewart, 231–33; Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 67–70.
62 Zeus and Zeus–Ammon are sometimes argued to be separate deities, but it
appears that for Alexander and his contemporaries, Ammon at Siwah was con-
sidered to be a Greek god and the local manifestation of Zeus and had been
identified as such for some time: cf. Pindar, Pyth. 4.16; frag. 36; A. B. Bosworth,
‘Alexander and Ammon’, in Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient
History and Prehistory, ed. K. H. Kinzl, 51–75 (Berlin and New York: Walter
de Gruyter, 1977); and Fredricksmeyer, 199–200.
63 The mitra was depicted as sitting below the hairline, unlike the diadem which
sat above the hairline. It is the diadem which is usually depicted on the portraits
of the Successors; see Stewart, 233; K. Dahmen, ‘Alexander und das Diadem – Die
archäologische und numismatische Perspektive’, in Das Diadem Der Hellenist-
ischen Herrscher, ed. A. Lichtenberger, K. Martin, H.-H. Nieswandt and D. Salz-
mann, 281–92 (Bonn: Habelt, 2012).
64 Stewart, 233n13; cf. in general Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 67–70.
65 The first instance connecting Alexander with Dionysus occurs in 329 bc while
pursuing the Saca cavalry force over the borders of Sogdiana. There Alexander
and his men found a set of stone monuments, said to mark the extent of Dionysus’
travels in the East. Thus it was said that Alexander had now surpassed the god
himself: Curt. 7.9.15; with Bosworth, Alexander and the East: the Triumph of
Tragedy (New York: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1996): 141–46. Notably, however,
Dionysus is not included in the list of gods Ephippus claims Alexander emulated:
Ephippus ap. Athen. 12.537e (FGrH 126 F 5 = BNJ 126); with Stewart, 234–35.
66 Stewart, 234–35.
67 Ptolemy has traditionally been thought to have had ‘separatist’ ambitions from
an early stage. Among other evidence, this is indicated by the way in which
Ptolemy reduced the weight of his coin issues as early as 310 bc. His coins
went from the standard maintained in many other parts of the empire, c. 17.2g,
down to c. 14.3g by 290 bc. This served to create a specific coin standard used
in Ptolemy’s kingdom alone. He also taxed all foreign coin entering his domain
and imposed the exchange of Attic tetradrachms for his own lighter types, so
that he was making a profit. See Mørkholm, 9–10; S. Kremydi, ‘Coins and
190 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

Finance’, in Brill’s Companion to Ancient Macedon, ed. R. J. Lane Fox (Leiden:

Brill, 2011), 170; and Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 74–77.
On the ‘separatist’ vs ‘centralist’ paradigm through which the Diadochoi
period has traditionally been analysed, see Wheatley, ‘The Diadochi, or Succes-
sors to Alexander’, in Heckel and Tritle, Alexander the Great, 55–59; and the
counter-theories of Lund, Lysimachus: A Study in Early Hellenistic Kingship,
(London: Routledge, 1992), 51–52; R. Strootmann, ‘“Men to whose rapacity nei-
ther sea nor mountain sets a limit”: The Aims of the Diadochs’, in Hauben and
Meeus, The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic Kingdoms
(323–276 BC), 307–22; A. Meeus, ‘The Territorial Ambitions of Ptolemy I’, in
Hauben and Meeus, The Age of the Successors and the Creation of the Hellenistic
Kingdoms (323–276 BC), 263–306; and now for a restatement of orthodoxy, E.
Anson, ‘Ptolemy and the Destruction of the First Regency’, in Howe, Ptolemy I
Soter, 20–35; cf. the remarks of Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 67–70, 81–82.
68 Stewart, 235–36; A. B. Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot: Ptolemy, Alexander and
the Elephants’, in Sheedy, Alexander and the Hellenistic Kingdoms, 20.
69 Alexander’s individual facial characteristics, as they were depicted in portrai-
ture, would not have been easily recognisable. Instead, it has been suggested that
many would have recognised Alexander’s portrait on the basis of its Heracles-
style associations or other divine symbols; see Brown, 24–25; Bosworth, ‘Rider
in the Chariot’, 20.
70 Stewart, 236, also notes the significance of the theoretical size of an elephant’s
scalp – only a being of superhuman size such as a god would have been able to
wear it.
71 Thonemann, 19. It is usually thought that these coins were created somewhat
earlier, around 305 bc: see for instance Sheedy, 114–15, but cf. now Lorber,
‘Currency Reforms’, 77–79. Notably, there are strong stylistic similarities
between these coins and the Porus decadrachms minted by Alexander, which
may have influenced the Ptolemaic designs. On the regalia, see Holt, 118–23.
72 J. N. Svoronos sees the figure as simply a heroic nude wearing the aegis (Die
Münzen der Ptolemäer, 4 vols. (Athens: Sakellarios, 1904), ii 19). Stewart inter-
prets the figure similarly (Faces of Power, 233–37, 260, 435); see also Bosworth,
‘Rider in the Chariot’, 17. This iconography already had a precedent in Apelles’
painting of Alexander with the thunderbolt (Plut., Alex. 4.1; Mor. 335A, 360D;
and Pliny, NH 35.36.92), which was commissioned during his lifetime and
placed on display in the temple of Artemis. It is probable then that such a sym-
bol would be readily associated with Alexander and the identity of the figure on
the reverse would be easily recognisable: Stewart, 99 and Sheedy, 114–15.
73 Sheedy, 110 and Lorber, ‘Currency Reforms’, 70–74. This figure of a striding
Athena was most probably introduced a little before Ptolemy’s victory over
Demetrius at Gaza in autumn 312 bc, as it appears on a dated Sidonian tet-
radrachm from the following minting year. On that issue, see P. Wheatley, ‘The
Year 22 Tetradrachms of Sidon and the Date of the Battle of Gaza’, Zeitschrift
für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 144 (2003): 268–76.
74 M. M. Austin, The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest:
A Selection of Ancient Sources in Translation (Cambridge and New York: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2006), 14.
75 Brown, 16.
76 Alexander’s image on the reverse also appears to be wearing a diadem: Brown,
16 and Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot’, 19.
77 Generally, the diadem is thought to have been a band of flat white cloth, worn
around the head and bound with a reef knot, the ends of which were left hanging
 Coinage as propaganda 191

free; see Smith, 34 and B. Virgilio, Lancia, diadema e porpora: Il re e la regalità

ellenistica (Pisa: Giardini editori e stampatori in Pisa, 2003). There has been
much discussion over the origins and meaning of the Hellenistic diadem. How-
ever, it does seem that its significance increased following Alexander’s death, as a
way in which to visually connect the later kings with Alexander’s kingship. The
diadem was also sometimes associated specifically with Dionysus. See especially
Smith, 34–38 and the definitive Dahmen, ‘Alexander und das Diadem’.
78 Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot’, 19.
79 Sheedy, 118. This coin type is also attributed to Ptolemy II Philadelphus, but the
eagle had a special significance for Ptolemy I as well, appearing in stories which
suggested he was the son of Zeus. For example, a rumour is preserved in Aelian
(F 285, perhaps originating during Ptolemy’s lifetime), where Ptolemy is said to
have been exposed at birth but rescued by an eagle, clearly intended to connect
him with Zeus.
80 Sheedy, 121.
81 Lysimachus was born c. 362 bc and possibly was already a somatophylax for
Philip II, although later traditions appear to have made him a coeval of Alexan-
der, which in itself may have been an attempt to link him more closely with Alex-
ander. On Lysimachus see, for example: Just. 15.3; App., Syr. 64; F. Landucci
Gattinoni, Lysimaco di Tracia: un sovrano nella prospettiva del primo ellenismo
(Milan: Jaca Books, 1992); W. Heckel, Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander
the Great (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006), 153–55; and Lund. For his
satrapy in Thrace, see Curt. 10.10.4; Diod. 18.3.2; Arr., Succ. 1.7; Dexippus,
FGrH 100 F 8 §3 = BNJ 100; Just. 13.4.16; Paus. 1.9.5; Liber de Morte 111. For
his coinage, see M. Thompson, ‘The Mints of Lysimachus’, in Essays on Greek
Coinage Presented to Stanley Robinson, ed. C. M. Kraay and G. K. Jenkins,
163–82 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968); C. A. Marinescu, ‘Making and Spend-
ing Money along the Bosporus: The Lysimachi Coinages Minted by Byzantium
and Chalcedon’ (PhD diss., Columbia University, 1996); and Sheedy, 127–49.
82 Sheedy, 128.
83 These portraits are stylistically related and are referred to as being in the dra-
matic style: high relief, with light and shadow for extreme contrast; see Brown,
11–13, 21.
84 Lund, 163–64.
85 App., Syr. 64 and Just. 15.3.
86 On Seleucid coinage, see the comprehensive treatment of A. Houghton and
C. Lorber, Seleucid Coins: A Comprehensive Catalogue, 2 vols. (New York:
American Numismatic Society, 2002); for discussion of the symbols found on
Seleucus’ coins and their relation to the legends and stories concerning the
Seleucids, see especially Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 270 ff.
87 On the iconography on the Seleucid coinage, see in particular Houghton and
Lorber, 5–9.
88 A. Mehl, Seleukos Nikator und sein Reich (Leuven: Peeters, 1986), 6–12; Ogden,
Alexander the Great: Myth, Genesis and Sexuality (Exeter: University of Exeter
Press, 2011), 95; and see now Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 50–53n102, 104.
89 Sheedy, 93–95.
90 They may have been intended to celebrate Seleucus’ acquisition of 500 ele-
phants from the Indian king Chandragupta: App., Syr. 55.281–2; Just. 15.4.11–
21; Plut., Alex. 62.4, 9; Mor. 542D; Oros. 3.23.44–46; and Strabo 15.1.10
C689; 15.2.9 C724 = Eratosthenes F III B 23. These elephants played a decisive
role in the battle of Ipsus in 301 bc, as did Seleucus himself. See Bosworth,
‘Rider in the Chariot’, 21 and, on Ipsus, J. C. Yardley, P. V. Wheatley and W.
192 Pat Wheatley and Charlotte Dunn

Heckel, Justin: Epitome of the Philippic History of Pompeius Trogus, vol. 2,

Books 13–15: The Successors to Alexander the Great (Oxford: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 2011), 297–301 and see now Wheatley and Dunn 2020.
91 Seleucus, despite the location of his domains, still seems to have retained a cer-
tain ‘Macedonian’ focus, as evident from the fact that many of the cities estab-
lished in the Seleucid kingdom were named after Macedonian cities. Depicting
traditional Macedonian deities on his coins, therefore, must have been an
appropriate choice. See Bosworth, ‘Rider in the Chariot’, 22.
92 For discussion see, for example: R. A. Hadley, ‘Deified Kingship and Propa-
ganda Coinage in the Early Hellenistic Age: 323–280 B.C.’ (PhD diss., Uni-
versity of Pennsylvania, 1964); Hadley, ‘Royal Propaganda of Seleucus I and
Lysimachus’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 94 (1974): 50–65; G. Marasco, Appi-
ano e la storia dei Seleucidi fino all’ascesa al trono di Antioco III (Florence:
Università degli studi di Firenze, Istituto di filologia classica ‘Giorgio Pasquali’,
1982), 77–79; Mehl, 97–101; K. Broderson, Appians Abriss der Seleuckidenge-
schichte (Syriake 45,232–70–70,369): Text und Kommentar, Münchener Arbe-
iten zur alten Geschichte Band 1 (Munich: Maris, 1989), 136–40; Houghton
and Lorber, 5–6; and Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 44–50, 272–74.
93 Houghton and Lorber date the anchor coin types to c. 311 bc (p. 6). If indeed
Antigonus also used the anchor on his coins, Seleucus may have borrowed this
iconography; see the discussion in Ogden, Alexander the Great, 100–01; and
cf. Ogden, now rejecting the position and accepting that the inauguration of the
anchor symbol belongs to 311 bc, when Seleucus had full control of Northern
Syria (The Legend of Seleucus, 49–50). Ogden, does, however, suggest that the
symbols on Seleucus’ coins had other origins and did not predate the development
of the legends associated with these symbols (The Legend of Seleucus, 273–74).
Hadley, on the other hand, argued that the imagery must have been contextu-
alisable by its intended audience (‘Royal Propaganda’, 57–58), and so Seleucus’
connection to this symbol should already have been established. Others also take
this view: C. Bearzot, ‘A proposito di alcuni prodigi relative a Seleuco I Nicatore’,
Giornale filologico Ferrarese 6 (1983): 11–13; P. Goukowsky, Essai sur les origins
du mythe d’Alexandre, 2 vols. (Nancy: Université de Nancy, 1978), 1:127–28; L.
Capdetrey, Le pouvoir séleucide: Territoire, administration, finances d’un royaume
hellénistique (312–129 avant J.-C.) (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes,
2007), 38–39; and see the comments of Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 271–72.
94 E. T. Newell, The Coinage of the Western Seleucid Mints from Seleucis I to
Antiochus III (New York: American Numismatic Society, 1941), 192–93n4;
Broderson, 138–39; Ogden, Alexander the Great, 100; and Ogden, The Legend
of Seleucus, 48–50n93.
95 Various interpretations have been suggested, including that it might be a youth-
ful Seleucus made to resemble Alexander, with the panther skin reinforcing
his connection to India, a portrait of Alexander as Dionysus, or else a general
male hero: Hadley, ‘Royal Propaganda’, 52–53; O. D. Hoover, Coins of the
Seleucid Empire (New York: American Numismatic Society, 2007); Houghton
and Lorber, 6; and Ogden, The Legend of Seleucus, 271. There was certainly
an established precedent for divinised lifetime portraits by this time, even if
Seleucus himself was not fully recognised as divine until after 281 bc. See also
Hadley, ‘Deified Kingship’, 47; and Sheedy, 96.
96 Houghton and Lorber, 6–7.
97 Seleucus was later portrayed with bull’s horns for a statue erected in Antioch,
as well as on posthumous portrait coins minted by Antiochus I: Libanius, Or.
11.93; Houghton and Lorber, 6n20.
 Coinage as propaganda 193

98 Houghton and Lorber, 6.

99 Sources for the assumption of the kingship: Plut., Demetr. 17.2–18.7; Diod.
20.53.1–2; App., Syr. 54.275–7; Just. 15.2.10–14; Heidelberg Epit., FGrH 155
F 1.7; Oros. 3.23.40; Nep., Eum. 13.2–3; de Regibus 3.1; I Maccabees 1.7–9;
Parian Marble, FGrH 239 F B23 = BNJ 239; Porph., FGrH 260 F 2.2, 9 = BNJ
100; and Syncellus, Chron. 32–1, 329. For a survey of the literature: J. Seib-
ert, Das Zeitalter der Diadochen (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftl. Buchges, 1983),
136–40; cf. Yardley, Wheatley and Heckel, 241–49.
100 E. T. Newell, The Coinages of Demetrius Poliorcetes (London: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 1927), 14–15; Billows, Kings & Colonists, 292; Mørkholm, 77;
Stewart, 264–65; and Brown, 17, 29. Alexander-type issues which also bear
Antigonus’ name are thought to be either modern forgeries or else much later
issues belonging to the reign of Antigonus II Gonatas; see Stewart, 264.
101 Demetrius did continue to issue the Alexander coin types, however, and these
will have played an important role in financing his planned Asian campaign
in 289 bc (Plut., Demetr. 43.3). Ultimately, even Demetrius saw the value in
continuing to maintain at least some Alexander coinage. See Stewart, 264 and
Meeus, ‘Alexander’s Image’, 246–47. On the coinage of Demetrius in general
Newell (Coinages of Demetrius Pliorcetes) remains the benchmark.
102 Newell, Coinages of Demetrius Poliorcetes, 24–25.
103 Newell, Coinages of Demetrius Poliorcetes, 33.
104 Kremydi, 171.
105 This is hinted at by Plut., Demetr. 41.5, in the context of praising Pyrrhus of
Epirus. He remarks that the Epirote king’s victory over Demetrius prompted the
Macedonians to claim that Pyrrhus alone had displayed Alexander’s courage,
while the rest of the kings (especially Demetrius) only copied Alexander superfi-
cially, as though they were actors on a stage. Such comments appear to indicate
that the Successors did indeed try to present themselves as ‘Alexanders’ and were
not always successful. On Alexander’s appearance, see Plut., Alex. 4.1–4 with
Stewart, 341–58.
106 Antigonus and Demetrius had been subjects of deification at Athens in 307 bc,
when the Athenians officially recognised them as ‘Saviour-Gods’ (Plut., Demetr.
10.4), and the ithyphallic hymn composed in 290 suggests that the promotion
of Demetrius’ divinity was accepted (Demochares, FGrH 75 F 2; Duris, FGrH
76 F 13; and Athen. 6.253b-f). He was also lodged in the back room of the
Parthenon during his stay in 304–302 (Plut. Demetr. 23.5). On Demetrius, see
Wheatley and Dunn 2020.
107 This could also have referred to a superhuman power in general, instead of an
attribute of a specific deity; cf. Mørkholm, 27; Lund, 161–62; Brown, 18; and
K. Ehling, ‘Stierdionysos oder Sohn des Poseidon: Zu den Hörnern des Demetrios
Poliorketes’, Göttinger Forum für Altertumswissenschaft 3 (2000): 153–60.

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Index
Abulites (satrap of Babylon) 139
Achaean League 95
Achaeans (of Phthiotis) 77
Achaemenids (Persian royal house) 108,
109, 112–16, 129, 133, 136–40, 170
Achilles (Greek hero) 15, 16, 24, 175
Actê 77
Aeacides (king of Epirus) 151
Aegae 17, 36, 156–7
aegis (goat skin cloak) 174, 176–8
Aelian (Claudis Aelianus, historian)
94, 98
Aenianians 77
Aeschines (Athenian politician) 112
Aetolia 86, 155
Aetolians 76, 77, 86
Afghanistan 170
Agartharchides of Cnidus (historian) 71
Agesilaus II (Spartan king) 15, 19
Agis III (Spartan king) 77, 78
Agrianians 58, 60–2
Ahura Mazda (Persian supreme god) 1,
3, 107
akinakes (Persian short sword) 110
Alcyoneus (son of Antigonus II) 98
Aleuads (Thessalian family) 109
Alexander I (Macedonian king) 109–10
Alexander III (King of Macedon: “the
Great”): adoption of Persian dress
17, 129–35, 140–1; awareness of
public image 4–5, 14, 162, 172;
coinage of 9, 162, 163–72; coin
portraiture of 173–4, 176–7; death
of 79; divinity of 19, 20, 21, 22–4,
171–2, 176–8; dressing as gods
17; emulation of gods 17–18, 180;
entourage of 5; generosity of 135;
gold staters of 168–70; imitation of
heroes 14, 16, 17, 166, 176, 180;
kingship of 21, 129, 136, 138, 140–1,
150, 164; panhellenic crusade of 109,
116, 140; policy towards Persians
108, 111–13, 131–2, 135–41;
pothos of 18, 20; promotion of
Trojan War 169; pursuit of Bessus
58–64; silver coinage of 165–8; visits
to Achaemenid tombs 108, 113–14;
Western reception of 140–1; youth of
110–11, 139
Alexander IV (son of Alexander the
Great, Successor king) 40, 151, 165,
173
Alexander V (son of Cassander) 152
Alexander Aetolus (Greek poet) 97
Alexander Helios (son of Cleopatra VII
and Mark Antony) 130, 135
Alexander Lyncestis (son of Aëropus) 112
Alexander Romance 21, 24, 39, 116
Alexander “Vulgate” 14, 35, 64
Alexandria (city foundation in Egypt) 7,
34, 35, 36, 41, 129
Alexandropolis (city foundation in
Thrace) 14
Alyzaeans 77
Amazon queen see Thalestris (or
Miniytha) (Amazon queen)
Ammon (Egyptian god) 17, 20, 21, 22,
24, 33, 34, 37, 114, 174, 177–8
Amon-Re 39, 40
Amyntas I (Macedonian king) 109
Amyntas III (Macedonian king) 165
anastole (cow lick) 174
Anaxarchus (courtier of Alexander) 5
anaxyrides (Persian trousers) 133
Anchiale 107
anchor (coinage symbol) 178–9
200 Index
Antagoras of Rhodes (Greek poet) 97
Antigonids (Hellenistic dynasty) 17, 73
Antigonus (or Antigonos) I
Monopthalmus (Successor king to
Alexander) 64, 73, 75, 152, 163, 178;
coinage of 178–80, 182
Antigonus II Gonatas 8, 73, 74, 96,
98, 156–7; as philosopher king 94,
95, 99
Antioch 178
Antipater (Alexander’s regent) 8, 71–5,
76, 78, 79–86, 96
Antipater the Younger (son of
Cassander) 152–3
Antiphilus (Athenian general) 81, 84, 86
Antonius (Marcus Antonius, Mark
Antony) 96, 129–30, 135
Aornus (rock fortress) 17, 57
Apelles (Greek painter) 4, 5, 14, 167
Apis (sacred bull of Egypt) 114
Apollo 173, 179
Aradus 179
Aratus of Sicyon (Greek statesman) 96
Aratus of Soli (Greek poet) 97
Arcesilaus of Pitane (Greek
philosopher) 98
Archelaus I (Macedonian king) 16, 165
Areus I (Spartan king) 99
Argeads (Macedonian royal house) 17,
36, 108–12, 116, 151–3, 178; coinage
of 110, 163, 165, 172
Argives 77, 178
Argyraspids (“Silver Shields”,
Alexander’s elite troops) 80
Aristander (Alexander’s seer) 17
Aristobulus of Cassandreia (historian
of Alexander) 24, 33, 34, 40, 56, 59,
108, 132, 138
Aristotle (philosopher, tutor of
Alexander) 5, 15, 23, 140
Armenia 130
Arrian (L. Flavius Arrianus): on
Alexander’s adoption of Persian
dress 134; on the foundation of
Alexandria 35; “Great Digression”
of 132; intratextuality of 54;
literary originality of 56; narrative
construction of 56, 57; on Persian/
Macedonian relations 111;
promotion of Ptolemaic propaganda
7, 34, 54, 61–4; substitute king ritual
138; use of imitatio Alexandri 58
Artabazus (or Artabazos) (Persian
satrap) 60–1, 110
Artaxerxes II (Persian king) 136
Artaxerxes III Ochos (Persian king) 111
Artaxerxes V see Bessus (or Bessos)
(satrap of Bactria)
Artemis 17, 18
Aryptaeus (Arybbas) 77, 78
Athamanians 77
Athena 1, 3, 168, 178
Athena Alkidemos 176
Athenaeus of Naucratis (sympotic
author) 137–8
Athena Ilias 169
Athena Promachus 169
Athenian Acropolis 169
Athenian Naval Confederacy 110
Athenian Owl 164
Athenians 72, 73, 75, 76, 77, 79, 98,
99, 110
Athens 74, 86, 99, 111; coinage of 9, 164
Augustus (first Roman emperor) 1, 3–4,
36, 130, 135
Aulis 15
Aurelius (Marcus Aurelius, Roman
emperor) 95
Australian Museum 4
Australian Society for Classical Studies
(ASCS) 4
Ba’al (Semitic god) 168
Babylon 8, 15, 21, 79, 115, 135–9, 178
Babylon Settlement 176
Bactria 54, 60
Bagoas (Persian vizier) 9, 135
Bagistanes (Babylonian noble) 60
Barsaentes (Persian satrap) 60–1
Barsine (daughter of Artabazus) 111
Batis (governor of Gaza) 16
Behistun inscription 1–3
Beroea 153–4
Bessus (or Bessos) (satrap of Bactria) 7,
54, 58–63, 113, 131–2
Bion of Borysthenes (Greek
philosopher) 98
Boeotia 77–8
Boeotians 77–8
Browne, Dik (cartoonist) 1
Bubares (Persian noble) 109
Bucephala (city foundation in India) 14
Bucephalas (Alexander’s horse) 14
Byzantium 111

Caesar (Gaius Julius) 130
Caesarion (son of Cleopatra VII) 129–30
Caligula (Gaius: Roman emperor) 64,
135
Callias (Cassander’s general) 151
Callisthenes (Kallisthenes) of Olynthus
(historian of Alexander) 5–6, 8, 14,
18, 20, 21, 22–3, 33, 34, 37, 40, 56,
114–15
Cambyses II (Persian king) 34, 114, 136
Cardia 74
Carrhae 4
Carystians 77
Caspian Sea 133
Cassander (Successor king of Alexander)
8, 64, 96, 150–3, 173, 176
Cassius Dio (historian) 129
Castor and Pollux (twin sons of Zeus) 18
Catherine II (Empress of Russia; “the
Great”) 4
Cersobleptes (Thracian king) 111
Chaeronea 96; battle of 72
Chares (historian of Alexander) 56, 115
Chersonese 74
Chremonidean War 8, 99
Chremonides 99
Cicero (Marcus Tullius: Roman
statesman) 140
Cilicia 79, 112, 130, 168
Claudius I (Tiberius Claudius: Roman
emperor) 135
Cleanthes of Assos (Greek
philosopher) 98
Cleitarchus of Alexandria (historian
of Alexander): date of 35;
promotion of panhellenic crusade
115; theme of Alexander’s moral
deterioration 130
Cleopatra VII (Ptolemaic queen)
129–30
Clitus (or Cleitus) (general of
Alexander) 9, 153
Coele Syria 130
Coenus (or Koinos) (Macedonian
officer) 60; “Companions” see
hetairoi (Macedonian “Companion”
aristocrats)
coinage: Attic weight of 164; coinage of
the Successors 173–82; continuity of
163–5; Elephant coinage (see Porus
(Indian king), so-called medallions
of); as propaganda 162, 182
Index 201
Corinth: coinage of 169; League of 169
Crannon, battle of 72, 73, 80, 86
Crassus, Marcus Licinius (Roman
politician) 4
Craterus (general of Alexander) 79,
85–6
Cretans 178
Crete 17
Curtius (Quintus Curtius Rufus) 17, 64,
131, 134; on Alexander’s rewarding
of flatterers 18; on Darius’ throne at
Susa 136–8
Cyprus 130
Cyrus II (founder of Persian empire:
“the Great”) 8, 17, 108, 136–7; as
role model for Alexander 113–15
Darius I (Persian king) 1, 2–3, 116,
136; campaign against Scythians 109;
tomb at Naqsh-e Rostam 3, 8, 107–8,
114
Darius III (Persian king) 19, 21, 22, 54,
58, 59, 60, 61, 112–13, 133, 136–8,
164; coinage of 113; comparison
with Alexander 63–4
Dataphernes (Persian noble) 58, 59
Delphi, oracle of 20, 21
Demades (Athenian politician) 72
Demaratus of Corinth (friend of Philip II)
136, 139
Demetrius Poliorcetes (Successor king
of Alexander) 9, 73, 94, 96, 98, 150,
154, 156, 173; coinage of 180–2; loss
of popularity of 155; propaganda of
152–3, 181–2
Demosthenes (Athenian politician) 72,
84, 111–12
diadem (coinage symbol) 174–7, 180–2
Dinarchus (Athenian politician) 112
Diodorus Siculus (historian) 57, 64,
83–6, 95, 107, 130–1, 136, 163,
166; on Alexander’s Persian dress
133, 135; nature of his work 73, 74;
on Olympias 151–2; sources of 71;
theme of tyche (Fortune) in 74; use of
Hieronymus of Cardia 7, 71, 73; on
the worship of Hephaestion 23
Diogenes Laertius (Greek doxographer)
97–8, 114
Dion of Syracuse 19
Dionysus 17, 18, 23, 134, 174–5, 180,
182
202 Index

Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Greek Heracles (Greek hero) 6, 15–18, 20, 23,

historian) 73 37, 175–6, 178
Dodona, oracle of 20, 21 Heracles type (coins) 165–8, 173, 175,
Dolopians 77 178, 180
Dorians 77 Heraclides (Heracleides) of Cumae 137
Duris of Samos (historian) 96 Hermes 17
Hermolaus (page of Alexander) 6, 8, 9
eagle (coinage symbol) 165, 167, 176, Herodotus of Halicarnassus (historian)
178 114–15
Eleans 77 hetairoi (Macedonian “Companion”
Elephantine (Egypt) 3 aristocrats) 19, 59, 62, 134
elephant scalp (coinage symbol) 174–5, Hieronymus of Cardia (historian)
178 7–8, 71; bias of 71, 73, 75, 78–83,
Elis 17 86, 96; patrons of 73, 85, 96;
Ephesus 17, 18, 19 propaganda of 80, 97; service with
Ephippus of Olynthus (pamphleteer) 17 Eumenes 80
Epigoni (“inheritors”) 132 historiographical narrative “mechanics”
Epirus 151, 153, 156 55–7
Eratosthenes of Cyrene (Greek Homer 14
mathematician) 133–5 Horus (Egyptian god) 21
Erectheium (Athenian temple) 169 Hydaspes 170
Eresus 17, 19 Hyperides (Athenian politician) 72, 83,
Erigyius (or Erigyios) (Macedonian 112
officer) 59, 61 Hyphasis 16, 17
Euboea 77 Hyrcania 129, 131, 133–4, 136, 140
Euia 151
Eumenes (Alexander’s secretary) 64, Illyrians 19, 77–8
73–5, 80 imitatio Alexandri (imitation of
Euphant of Oynthus (Antigonus Alexander) 54
Gonatas’ tutor) 98 India 17, 23, 38, 113
Eurydice-Adea (wife of Philip III Indus 16, 24
Arridaeus) 150–2 intertextuality, theory of 55
Exiles’ Decree 86 Ione 178
Ionians 109
Fars 116 Ipsus, battle of 176, 180–1
Father Liber see Dionysus Iraq 170
Isis (Egyptian goddess) 130
Gabiene, battle of 80 Issus, battle of 19, 112
Gaugamela, battle of 6, 8, 18, 22, 115,
130, 135, 140 Justin (Marcus Junianius Justinus,
Gauls 156–7 epitomist) 95, 131; on Antipater 86;
Gaza 16 on collusion of Siwah priests 22; on
Gedrosian desert 17, 115 the murder of Alexander V 152; on
Gordian knot 18; Elephantine 3 Olympias 151; preface of 57

Hadrian (Roman emperor) 64 kandys (Persian coat) 133

Hagnon of Teios 134
Harpalus (Alexander’s boyhood friend
and treasurer) 76, 84, 112
Hephaestion (general and friend of
Alexander) 16, 23
Heraclea 77
King’s Table (Persian) 137–8
kitaris (Persian headdress) 130, 132
Lake Mariout 19
Lamia 77–8, 86; siege of 8, 72–5, 80,
81, 83–4

Lamian War 71, 75, 85, 86, 112
Laodice (mother of Selecus) 179
Larisa 109, 152
Leonnatus (Alexander’s bodyguard)
85–6, 134
Leosthenes (Athenian general) 72, 73,
74, 76, 78–84
Leucadians 77
Libanius of Antioch (Greek rhetorician)
178
Libya 130
Locrians 77
Luxor 21
Lysander (Spartan commander) 19
Lysimachaea 177
Lysimachus (Alexander’s tutor) 15
Lysimachus (or Lysimachos) (Successor
king of Alexander) 64, 74, 84, 150,
152–6; coinage of 165, 176–7
Lysippus (Greek sculptor) 4, 14, 167
Marathon, battle of 169
Mardonius (Persian general) 109
Marduk (Babylonian god) 115
Mars Ultor 4
Medes 133
Media 115, 130
Megabazus (Persian general) 109
Memphis 7, 34, 36, 37, 39, 41
Menedemus of Eretria (Antigonus
Gonatas’ tutor) 98
Messenians 77
Minithya see Thalestris (or Miniytha)
(Amazon queen)
mitra (headdress) 174, 178
Molossians 77
Nabarzanes (Persian satrap) 60–1, 131
Naqsh-e Rostam 107–8, 115–16, 136
Nearchus (Nearchos) of Crete
(historian of Alexander) 56, 115
Nemea 17
Nicaea (city foundation in India) 14
Nike (Victory) 168–71, 178, 180–1
Nora, siege of 74–5, 80
numismatics see coinage
Nysa 134
Octavian see Augustus (first Roman
emperor)
Oeta 72
Oetaeans 77
Index 203
Olympia 17, 19
Olympian Games 110
Olympias (mother of Alexander) 151–2
Olympus (mountain) 167
Onesicritus of Astypalaea (historian of
Alexander) 8, 107–8, 115–16
Opis 134
Oxos 58
Oxyrhynchus Papyrus 72
Paraetonium 34
Parmenio (general of Alexander) 9, 132
Parthenon (Athenian temple) 3
Parthia 64, 130–1, 133–4
Pasargadae 108, 112, 136, 140
Patroclus (friend of Achilles) 16
Pausanias (Greek travel writer) 72, 74,
97, 156, 169
Peleus (father of Achilles) 15
Pelinnaeum 77
Pella (Macedonian capital) 15, 97–8, 110
Perdiccas (Macedonian officer,
Alexander’s chiliarch) 173, 178
Perdiccas II (Macedonian king) 110
Perdiccas III (Macedonian king) 165
Perinthus 111
Persepolis (Persian city) 8, 9, 108, 114,
130, 136
Perseus (Greek hero) 20
Perseus of Citium (Greek philosopher) 98
Persian Gates, battle of 57
pezhetairoi (Macedonian infantry
soldiers) 19
Pheidias (Greek sculptor) 169
Phila (Antipater’s daughter) 8, 96–7
Philip II (Macedonian king, father of
Alexander the Great) 15, 17, 18,
24, 75, 108, 110, 116, 139, 150,
180; alliance with Persian king 111;
coinage of 163–5, 172–3; as enemy
of Persia 111; heroic honours for 18
Philip III Arrhidaeus (Successor king of
Alexander) 39, 173; coinage of 173
Philip V (grandson of Antigonus
Gonatus) 95
Philonides of Thebes 98
Philotas (general of Alexander) 58, 61,
132, 134
Philotas (satrap) 79
Phocians 77
Phocion (Athenian general) 85
Phoenicia 168
204 Index
Phthiotis (Thessaly) 77
Phyrgia 79, 180
Pindar 20, 33
Pixodarus (satrap of Caria) 139
Plataea 78; battle of 110
Plutarch of Chaeronea 57; on Alexander’s
armour 171; on Alexander’s birth
18–19; on Alexander’s generosity
135; on Alexander’s Persian dress
133; on Alexander’s portraiture 167;
on Antigonus Gonatas 95–6; on
Antonius’ honours for Cleopatra VII
130; appreciation of Xenophon 114;
on foundation of Alexandria 35; on
luxury of Alexander’s marshals 134–5;
on the murder of Alexander V 152–3;
on Persian enthronement rituals 140;
use of Callisthenes 6
Polyaenus (military writer) 137
Polybius (historian) 6, 72, 85, 95
Polyperchon (regent of Macedonia)
150–1
Pontius Pilate 1
Porus (Indian king) 5, 170–1; so-called
medallions of 5, 6, 170–2
Poseidon 3, 180–2
Potidaea 18
propaganda: against Antonius 129–30;
in ancient historiography 55–6;
definitions of 1–2, 162; panhellenic
113, 115; propriety as a term used
for the ancient world 2
Propylaea (Athenian monument) 169
proskynesis (Persian ceremony) 5–6,
22–3, 24, 138
Pseudo-Callisthenes see Alexander
Romance
Pseudo-Demosthenes 111
Ptolemy I Soter (historian, Successor
king of Alexander) 6, 7, 132, 153,
178; coinage of 37–8, 165, 174–6;
connection with Alexander 38, 175–6;
coronation of 40; history of 57, 115;
legitimization of rule 33, 34, 35, 36,
37, 40, 175; pharaoh of Egypt 39;
role in capturing Bessus 54–63; self-
promotion of 57–8, 61–4, 176; state
cult of 38; theft of Alexander’s body
36, 40
Ptolemy II Philadelphus 35, 37, 38, 99;
coinage of 176
Ptolemy IV Philopator 35
Ptolemy Philadelphus (son of Cleopatra
VII and Mark Antony) 130
Pydna 152
Pylos 17
Pyrgoteles (gem carver) 14
Pyrrhus (king of Epirus) 9, 96, 152–7
Rhagai (city in Media) 60
Rhodians 75
Riefenstahl, Leni (film director) 1
Romans 95, 129, 133, 140
Rome 75, 135
Romulus (founder of Rome) 4
Roxane (Alexander’s wife) 132
Salamis 181
Sardanapalus (Assyrian king) 108
sarissa (Macedonian lance) 171
Satrap Stele 39
Scamander 16
Seleucus I Nicator (Successor king of
Alexander) 5, 153; coinage of 165,
178–80; connection with Alexander
178; portraits of 180
Semiramis (Babylonian queen) 17
Seneca the Younger (Annaeus Seneca)
135
Seuthes (Thracian king) 84–5
Sicyonians 77
Sippas (Macedonian general) 79
Spitamenes (Bactrian rebel) 58, 59
State Hermitage Museum (St
Petersburg, Russia) 4
Statira (wife of Darius III) 115
Stobaeus (anthologist) 94
Stoic/Stoicism 94, 98
Strabo (geographer) 6, 113, 133
stylis (staff) 169
Suetonius (Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus:
Roman biographer) 135
Susa 8, 113, 129, 136, 138–9
Swat Valley 62, 64
Syracusans 19
Syria 130
Taenarum 76
Tarsus 168
Teles (Cynic philosopher) 157
Temenus of Argos (ancestor of Argead
dynasty) 178
Thalestris (or Miniytha) (Amazon
queen) 131, 133–4

Thebae (Thessaly) 77
Thebans 112
Thebes (Boeotia) 77, 112
Thermopylae 72, 78
Thessalians 75, 77, 79, 80, 85, 166
Thrace 84, 109, 111, 153, 176
Thracians 77–8
Thutmose III (Egyptian pharaoh) 38
tiara (royal headdress) 130, 133
Tiberius (Roman emperor) 4
Timon of Phlius (Greek philosopher) 98
Trajan (Roman emperor) 64
Triballians 15
Trogus (Pompeius Trogus) 95
Index 205
Trojan War 169
Troy 15, 16, 167
Tyre 16
Xenophon (historian) 112–15
Xerxes (Persian king) 109, 110, 114–16,
140
Zeno of Citium (Greek philosopher) 98
Zeus 3, 5, 6, 7, 15, 18, 20, 21, 23, 24, 33,
38, 115, 167, 169, 171, 174, 176, 178
Zeus Ammon, oracle at Siwah 6, 7, 18,
19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37,
41, 138