The History of the Diadochoi in Book XIX of Diodoros’ ›Bibliotheke‹: A Historical and Historiographical Commentary 3110741954, 9783110741957

Table of contents :
Preface
Contents
Introduction
Part I: Diodoros and His Work
1 Diodoros of Agyrion
2 The Bibliotheke
3 The Problem of the Sources
4 The Chronology of the Years 317–311
Part II: Commentary
§ 2.1 Chronographic Formula for the Year 317/6
§ 11 Olympias’ Return, the Deaths of Arrhidaios and Eurydike, and Olympias’ Revenge on the Antipatrids for the Death of Alexander
§ 12–13 Eumenes in Babylonia and the Crossing of the Tigris
§ 14 Eumenes’ Alliance with the Governors and Generals from the Upper Satrapies
§ 15 The Power Struggle of the Commanders of the Satrapal Alliance and the Alexander Tent
§ 16 The End of the Perdikkan Captives
§ 17–19 Antigonos’ Crossing into the Upper Satrapies and the First Skirmishing
§ 20 Rest, Recovery and Replenishment in Media
§ 21–24 The Struggle for Power in the Satrapal Coalition Surfaces Again
§ 25–26 The Prelude to the Battle of Paraitakene
§ 27–31 The Battle of Paraitakene
§ 32 The Aftermath of the Battle
§ 33–34 Keteus’ Widows Compete to Join Their Husband in Death
§ 35–36 Kassandros’ Return to Macedonia and the Struggle against Polyperchon and Olympias
§ 37–39 The Build Up to the Battle of Gabiene
§ 40–43 The Battle of Gabiene
§ 44 The Aftermath of the Battle
§ 45 The Flood of Rhodes
§ 46–48 The Establishment of Antigonos’ Supremacy in Asia
§ 49–51 The Defeat and Death of Olympias
§ 52–54 The Establishment of Kassandros’ Power in Europe
§ 55–57 Seleukos’ Flight and the Coalition against Antigonos
§ 58–60 Antigonos’ Preparations for the War and the Siege of Tyre
§ 61 Antigonos’ Propagandistic Proclamation at Tyre
§ 62 The Reaction of Ptolemaios
§ 63–64 The First Phase of the War in Europe and the Aegean
§ 66–69 The Second Year of the War
§ 73–75 The Third Year of the War
§ 77–78 Polemaios in Greece
§ 79 Ptolemaios’ Interventions in Kyrene and Cyprus, and the Raids on the Syrian and Kilikian Coasts
§ 80–84 The Battle of Gaza
§ 85–86 The Aftermath of the Battle
§ 87 Telesphoros’ Revolt in the Peloponnese
§ 88–89 Kassandros’ Operations in Epeiros and Illyria
§ 90–92 Seleukos’ Return to Babylon
§ 93 Ptolemaios’ Loss of Syria
§ 94–100.2 The Antigonid Campaigns against the Nabataians
§ 100.3–7 Demetrios’ Expedition in Babylonia
§ 105.1–4 The Peace of the Dynasts and the Deaths of Alexander IV and Rhoxane
Abbreviations
Bibliography
Appendix: Textual Variants
Index Graecitatis

Citation preview

Alexander Meeus The History of the Diadochoi in Book XIX of Diodoros’ Bibliotheke

Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte

Herausgegeben von Marcus Deufert, Heinz-Günther Nesselrath und Peter Scholz

Band 149

Alexander Meeus

The History of the Diadochoi in Book XIX of Diodoros’ Bibliotheke A Historical and Historiographical Commentary

Gedruckt mit freundlicher Unterstützung des Vereins zur Förderung des Historischen Instituts und des Antikensaals an der Universität Mannheim e.V.

ISBN 978-3-11-074195-7 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-074382-1 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-074386-9 ISSN 1862-1112 Library of Congress Control Number: 2021948836 Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.dnb.de abrufbar. © 2022 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Druck und Bindung: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

optimo magistro Hans Hauben

Preface This book is a revised and expanded version of the doctoral dissertation I defended at the University of Leuven in 2009. I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my supervisor, Hans Hauben, for everything he has taught me about ancient history, research methods, and writing clearly and concisely, as well as for his enormous intellectual honesty. His advice and meticulous criticism have been indispensable, and his critical reading of the manuscript has led to countless improvements. To the other members of the dissertation committee, Johannes Engels, Guido Schepens, Stefan Schorn, and Peter Van Nuffelen, I am also very grateful for their invaluable comments which have been extremely helpful in turning the thesis into a book. For reading parts of the manuscript at various stages my thanks go to Christoph Begass, Aude Cohen-Skalli, Tom Deneire, Bram Fauconnier, Lisa Irene Hau, Hubert Meeus, Sofie Remijsen, Brian Sheridan, Jan Tavernier, Dorothy Thompson, and Shane Wallace. Whenever I needed advice on philological matters, I could call on Willy Clarysse, Tom Deneire, Ilse De Vos, Erika Gielen, and especially Aude Cohen-Skalli, who always answered my questions about textual criticism both very swiftly and very thoroughly. Jan Bollansée has been equally generous with his time and his expertise in the field of ancient historiography, and so have Tom Boiy and Jan Tavernier for the many issues of Ancient Near Eastern history that confront the commentator of Diodoros’ XIXth book. Bart Van Beek, in turn, knew how to solve any computer problem. From the bibliography it will be clear how a large a debt I owe to the published work of several experts in Hellenistic history and historiography. The scholars from whose knowledge I have benefitted in conversations over the years are too numerous to mention, but those who have been particularly supportive of me deserve a special mention: Edward Anson, Elizabeth Carney, Hans-Joachim Gehrke, Waldemar Heckel, John Marincola, John Moles, Joseph Roisman, Robin Waterfield, and Pat Wheatley. I would like to extend my gratitude to the editors of Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte, Marcus Deufert, Heinz-Günther Nesselrath and Peter Scholz, not only for including the book in their series but also for their thorough reading of the manuscript and their many helpful suggestions and corrections. To Willard Paul Meaker and Michael Park I am indebted for correcting my English, and to Robin Mössinger and Leon Große-Stoltenberg for their help with the bibliography. Annika Müller assisted valuably with the checking of the proofs. For the excellent collaboration in the book’s production process I

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110743821-001

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Preface

would like to thank Benedikt Krüger at Walter De Gruyter and Katharina Ehlgen at Datagroup Deutschland. My doctoral research from 2005 to 2009 was generously funded by the University of Leuven’s Research Council, and a Leverhulme Visiting Fellowship at the University of Wales Trinity Saint David in Lampeter was very beneficial in allowing me to work on revising and expanding the thesis in 2010/11. Ever since I arrived at the University of Mannheim in September 2015, Christian Mann has been extremely supportive and provided the ideal work environment in which I could finish the book manuscript. I would also like to thank the Verein zur Förderung des Historischen Instituts und des Antikensaals an der Universität Mannheim e.V. for kindly subsidising part of the publication costs. I am very grateful to my parents, Hubert Meeus and Carla Vanvinckenroy, for their constant encouragement and support in academic and non-academic matters: they have literally been there whenever I needed it. Last but not least, the limited belief that tends to be awarded to prefatory topoi and the magnitude of my debt to her make it impossible adequately to express my gratitude to my wife, Melanie Meaker: nothing I can write could even begin to describe how much I owe to her in every other aspect of life and in finishing this book, which would never have happened without her.

Contents Introduction

1

Part I: Diodoros and His Work 

Diodoros of Agyrion

 . . .. .. .. .. . .

The Bibliotheke 9 Diodoros’ Conception of History 9 11 Diodoros’ Historical Method Diodoros and His Sources 12 The Organisation of the Material 26 27 Selection and Storyline The Elaboration of the Material 39 Language and Style 42 The Text of Book XIX 51

 . .. .. .. .. . .. .. ..

58 The Problem of the Sources The Lost Primary Authors 59 59 Hieronymos of Kardia Douris of Samos 64 Diyllos of Athens 66 66 Hekataios of Abdera Diodoros’ Sources for the History of the Diadochoi 69 Methodological Issues The Evidence of the Fragments 71 Indirect Evidence 77



The Chronology of the Years 317 – 311

7

69

91

Part II: Commentary § . § 

Chronographic Formula for the Year 317/6 109 Olympias’ Return, the Deaths of Arrhidaios and Eurydike, and Olympias’ Revenge on the Antipatrids for the Death of Alexander 109

X

§  –  §  §  §  §  –  §  §  –  §  –  §  –  §  §  –  §  –  §  –  §  –  §  §  §  –  §  –  §  –  §  –  §  –  §  §  §  –  §  –  §  –  §  –  §  §  –  §  –  §  §  – 

Contents

Eumenes in Babylonia and the Crossing of the Tigris 131 Eumenes’ Alliance with the Governors and Generals from the 151 Upper Satrapies The Power Struggle of the Commanders of the Satrapal Alliance and the Alexander Tent 167 176 The End of the Perdikkan Captives Antigonos’ Crossing into the Upper Satrapies and the First Skirmishing 183 Rest, Recovery and Replenishment in Media 202 The Struggle for Power in the Satrapal Coalition Surfaces 204 Again The Prelude to the Battle of Paraitakene 223 The Battle of Paraitakene 231 259 The Aftermath of the Battle Keteus’ Widows Compete to Join Their Husband in Death 260 Kassandros’ Return to Macedonia and the Struggle against 269 Polyperchon and Olympias The Build Up to the Battle of Gabiene 281 The Battle of Gabiene 290 306 The Aftermath of the Battle The Flood of Rhodes 314 The Establishment of Antigonos’ Supremacy in Asia 319 333 The Defeat and Death of Olympias The Establishment of Kassandros’ Power in Europe 344 Seleukos’ Flight and the Coalition against Antigonos 367 Antigonos’ Preparations for the War and the Siege of Tyre 391 Antigonos’ Propagandistic Proclamation at Tyre 401 The Reaction of Ptolemaios 407 The First Phase of the War in Europe and the Aegean 414 The Second Year of the War 421 The Third Year of the War 437 Polemaios in Greece 455 Ptolemaios’ Interventions in Kyrene and Cyprus, and the Raids on the Syrian and Kilikian Coasts 466 The Battle of Gaza 474 The Aftermath of the Battle 488 Telesphoros’ Revolt in the Peloponnese 499 Kassandros’ Operations in Epeiros and Illyria 501

Contents

§  –  §  §  – . § . –  § . – 

Seleukos’ Return to Babylon 504 520 Ptolemaios’ Loss of Syria The Antigonid Campaigns against the Nabataians 523 Demetrios’ Expedition in Babylonia 539 The Peace of the Dynasts and the Deaths of Alexander IV and 543 Rhoxane

Abbreviations Bibliography

550 552

Appendix: Textual Variants Index Graecitatis

620

618

XI

Introduction Diodoros of Sicily wrote a universal history in forty books entitled Bibliotheke in the first century BCE. Only fifteen books (I–V, XI–XX) have been preserved more or less intact. In books XVIII–XX Diodoros dealt mainly with the history of the Successors of Alexander the Great (Diadochoi) from 323 until 302 BCE. Constituting the only continuous account of the period which provides at least a certain amount of detail, Diodoros XVIII–XX is of utmost importance for the study of the Diadoch period since all contemporary histories are lost. It is all the more surprising, therefore, that only few studies about these books exist, except for the particular problems of the chronology of the narrative and of its sources. Because Diodoros is usually considered a compiler who hardly elaborates his sources, the need has apparently not been felt to study many other aspects of the text. The need for a commentary on Diodoros’ work has often been pointed out,¹ but few seem to have taken enough interest in the author to embark on the undertaking. Since Wesseling’s commentary accompanying the edition of 1745 no complete commentary on the extant parts of the Bibliotheke has been published.² Even commentaries on separate books were rather rare until recently: they now exist for book I, part of book II, book IV, books VI–VIII, book XIII, book XV, book XVI, book XVII, book XVIII, books XXIII–XXIV and book XXXI.³ Thus a commentary is available only for the part of Diodoros’ history of the Successors covered in book XVIII. The present work continues the analysis by offering a commentary on the narrative on the Diadochoi in book XIX.⁴ The chapters on Sicilian and Ital-

 E.g. Sacks 1990, 206; Pinzone 1998, esp. 451– 456; Alonso-Núñez 2002, 87 n. 72. Specifically for books XVIII–XX: e.g. Hauben 1975, x; Devine 1997, 284; Engels 2006b.  Cf. Rubincam 2018, 16. The edition of Diodoros in the Collection des Universités de France is almost complete now, and does contain ample notes, but not all volumes offer an equally dense coverage.  Burton 1972 (I); Boncquet 1987 (II 1– 34); Magnelli & Mariotta 2012 (IV); Cordiano 2012 (VIVIII); Ambaglio 2008b (XIII); Stylianou 1998 (XV); Sordi 1969 (XVI); McQueen 1995 (Greek and Macedonian affairs in XVI); Prandi 2013 (XVII); Landucci Gattinoni 2008 (XVIII); Scuderi 2017 (XXIII–XXIV); Gandini 2016 (XXXI).  Useful notes accompany the translations of Geer 1947, 1954; Bizière 1975; Goukowsky 1978a; Waterfield 2019; and for Veh 2005 in Rathmann 2005a. None of these amounts to a full commentary, however. The same goes for the recent Polish commentary by Mrozewicz (2019), which mostly consists of references to encyclopedia entries, general historical overviews and Rathmann’s notes. The commentary on books XIX and XX by Franca Landucci Gattinoni (Milano 2021) only appeared as this book was going to press and unfortunately could not be taken into account. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110743821-002

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Introduction

ian affairs will not be treated here, as they present a whole set of very different problems that require a detailed investigation of their own. Several approaches are possible when commenting on a historiographical text, as is apparent from the existing commentaries on Diodoros. Analysis of the reported events, Quellenforschung, textual criticism, and the study of Diodoros’ methods and interests are all relevant and cannot simply be separated from each other.⁵ Within this framework, of course, it remains to select the issues on which to comment, as it is not possible, or perhaps even desirable, to discuss every single question the text may raise for the reader who can approach it from several different angles. An obvious first criterion is that I have commented on all persons and institutions named in the text, as well as on all places except for passing references to particularly well-known ones. I also comment on what seemed to me the most important historical questions raised by the text and on anything which in my view might shed light on Diodoros’ historiographical practice. Obviously, any indications relevant to the question of Diodoros’ sources have been analysed, which seems particularly significant given the weight which has traditionally been attached to Diodorean Quellenforschung in studies on the Diadoch period. Of course, much of this is to a certain extent arbitrary in that it depends not only on the judgement of what is relevant but also on whether one notices a particular problem. Several recent studies, reacting to the extremely dismissive views about Diodoros held by earlier generations of scholars, have sometimes tended to downplay or ignore the obvious – and less obvious – shortcomings of Diodoros’ work.⁶ I thus wish to stress that my aim has not been to contribute to a rehabilitation, but rather to get a better understanding of a Hellenistic historian and of a vital source for ancient history. Also, in writing a commentary on an ancient text, one is perhaps particularly at risk of engaging in what Beloch has aptly described as ‘Buchstabenkultus’; I have tried to avoid this pitfall, but it will be up to the reader to judge in each individual instance whether the attempt has succeeded.⁷ In book XIX Diodoros treats the history of the Successors from the autumn of 317 until the autumn of 311. While he often is the only source for the events he describes, other versions are available for certain episodes. Plutarch also deals

 This is also the view advocated by Pinzone 1998, 451– 456.  E.g. Green 2006; Sulimani 2008; Muntz 2017.  Beloch 1927, 316. Cf. Rubincam 2001, 85: ‘Human linguistic habit is too flexible to be restricted by the fixed bounds of a dictionary definition’; Heckel 2009, 107: ‘Strict adherence to the text may, in fact, lead us into error. Philologists have, all too often, mistaken the correct reading or meaning of the text for the truthful or accurate representation of the facts. Diodorus is, after all, a secondary author…’.

Introduction

3

with the period in his lives of Eumenes and Demetrios, as does Nepos in his biography of the former. Justin’s epitome of Pompeius Trogus offers summary accounts of some of the events described in Diodoros XIX. Book IV of Polyainos’ Strategemata contains exempla from Macedonian history, several of which concern the campaigns narrated in Diodoros XIX. I have not used Orosius (III 23), however, since his account of the Diadoch Wars is completely based on Justin and therefore does not constitute independent testimony. For the chronology, Diodoros can be compared with chronographic sources such as the Marmor Parium (FGrHist 239) or the Babylonian Chronicle of the Successors (BCHP 3), though unfortunately in the latter most of the years 317– 311 fall within a lacuna. As a result of the large area across which the confrontations of the Successors in these years took place, a comparatively abundant body of documentary material is available, though it is highly disparate in nature and relevance. Cuneiform evidence offers important chronological information,⁸ as do the recently published Aramaic ostraca from Idoumaia.⁹ Several relevant Greek inscriptions are available, and coins and archaeological sources likewise contribute greatly to our knowledge of the period. The convergence between Diodoros’ account and such material is not always equally large, however. I have not attempted to provide the full bibliography for every issue discussed in the commentary, so as not to overload the text with references; a limitation to the most relevant and most recent references, which will lead to further bibliography in turn, seemed preferable. Likewise, I refer to the standard encyclopaedias of the classical world or the Encyclopaedia Iranica only for those entries that seemed especially pertinent or in cases where hardly any other literature is available, taking it as a matter of course that readers will turn to these reference works for further orientation concerning the realia in Diodoros’ text anyway. The manuscript of the dissertation on which this book is based was finished in October 2009, and it has unfortunately not been possible systematically to include all the literature published since: I apologize to those whose important contributions have been overlooked. Since the numbering may vary, it should be noted that I refer to Plutarch’s Lives in the edition of the Collection des Universités de France and to Arrian’s Events after Alexander in the Teubner edition. For Diodoros I use the fragment numbers of the Loeb edition, and have only added references to the Collection des Universités de France for fragments discussed at some length. The English

 See Anson 2007; Boiy 2007b; Boiy 2013.  A list of those from the period of the Diadochoi is provided by Porten & Yardeni 2014, xxxviii– xxxix.

4

Introduction

translations of Greek and Latin texts are taken from the Loeb Classical Library, unless stated otherwise; for Justin I used Yardley’s.¹⁰ All statistics concerning vocabulary are based on the online version of the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae. Whenever I refer to the whole of preserved ancient literature this means all texts from before 500 CE found in the TLG when the search was performed. All calculations of frequency are based on the word counts of individual works given by the TLG, which – for all sorts of reasons (e. g. duplicate fragments, questions of variant readings, recently discovered fragments)¹¹ – are rarely completely precise, but generally the numbers are large enough for such minor variations not to matter very much. If not stated otherwise, the numbers concern an author’s entire corpus, unless in the case of Plutarch, where I have usually only calculated the frequency for the Lives. New TLG options (e. g. N-grams and statistics) that were not available when the dissertation was being written have not been used systematically, but it is obvious that they greatly enhance the possibilities for the study of Diodoros’ vocabulary and will thus enable refining the conclusions reached here. For Greek names I have preferred direct transliteration rather than Latinized forms, except for Alexander the Great and his son, some ancient authors, and geographical names for which other forms are commonly used (e. g. Athens, Cyprus). That no absolute consistency can be achieved is inevitable.

 Yardley 1994.  For new fragments of Diodoros see Rance 2009; Corcella 2019. Cf. also Cohen-Skalli 2012a for VII fr. 18bis–18ter, X fr. 6bis CUF, which are obviously relevant for questions of language even when they do not offer new contents.

Part I: Diodoros and His Work

1 Diodoros of Agyrion For all his later fame and reputation,¹² precious little is known of the author of the Bibliotheke. That this is indeed the title he himself gave to his work is confirmed by the comment on Diodoros’ choice of title in Pliny’s preface to the Naturalis historia. ¹³ All we know of Diodoros is what he tells us himself or what can be deduced from his work. The brief Souda entry likewise seems to consist merely of a few basic facts gleaned from a reading of the Bibliotheke. ¹⁴ Diodoros was a Sicilian Greek from the small inland polis of Agyrion, proud of his native city and of his island. He learned Latin from his contacts with Romans in Sicily, and journeyed to Rome and to Alexandria; his claim to have travelled the most important regions of the oikoumene may or may not have included other destinations. His work professes geographical as well as chronological universality, covering the entire known world from creation down to the beginning of the Gallic war, which probably means 61 BCE. Along with a stay in Egypt at the beginning of the 180th Olympiad and some references to events in the 40s and 30s BCE, this is our only evidence for the chronology of Diodoros’ life and writings. The common assumption that he lived from ca. 90 to 30 BCE thus seems justified in all its vagueness, but there is much leeway at either end.¹⁵ The combination of datable contemporary events mentioned by Diodoros and his claim to have spent thirty years on his work (I 4.1), even if the latter is taken literally, does not allow for an exact date of composition to be established. There is no need to assume that his stay in Egypt was necessarily connected to or even fell within

 This reputation is most clear in Late Antiquity: Eus. PE I 6.9, II praef. 6; Ps.-Justin Martyr, Cohort. ad Graecos (ed. Morel) 10 C 1, 26 E 5; Malalas, Chron. I 13; Sacks 1990, 162– 163; Zecchini 1991; Bertrac 1993, cxxiii–cxliv; Goukowsky 2004; Cohen-Skalli 2012a, xlvii–lv. Of course, such superlatives as γνωριμώτατος or σοφώτατος must not be taken literally, but they are not meaningless either. See also already Pliny’s reference to Diodoros in the next footnote: the passage seems to suggest that Pliny expected his audience to know who he was talking about.  Plin. NH praef. 23. See most recently Cohen-Skalli 2015; Rathmann 2016, 128 – 142; Engels 2018.  Souda s.v. Diodoros (Δ1151): ‘Diodoros: Sicilian, historian. He wrote the Library; it is a history, both Roman and diverse, in 40 books. He lived in the times of Augustus Caesar and earlier’ (trans. Mayer, SOL). Perhaps the author of the Souda may even have had only an indirect knowledge of Diodoros’ work: see Rance 2009; Cohen-Skalli 2019, 178.  For a very thorough, but often speculative, discussion of Diodoros’ biography, see Rathmann 2016, 12– 117. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110743821-003

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1 Diodoros of Agyrion

the time of his historiographical activity.¹⁶ Neither do we know to what extent the references to contemporary events were part of the original composition rather than the last additions whilst revising a previous draft. The commonly accepted date of composition of ca. 60 – 30 BCE can thus likewise be only a very rough estimate.¹⁷ The Bibliotheke does not seem to display any particularly strong attachment to Rome,¹⁸ and if its author held positive opinions on some of its leaders at all, then perhaps Pompeius rather than Caesar. His praise of the latter appears suspiciously repetitive and mechanical even by Diodorean standards, and in political terms the choice of the terminal date reflects the apogee of Pompeius’ career rather than any significant connection to Caesar.¹⁹

 Some of Diodoros’ claims suggest otherwise, but they appear to be of doubtful credibility: see Peremans 1967; Desanges 1998; cf. infra, §2.2.1. The critique of their arguments by Sacks (1990, 85 – 86) relies too much on the argument from silence and fails to convince.  Westall 2018a, 2018b; contra Muntz 2017, esp. 215 – 247.  Cf. Atkinson 2000, 313; Rathmann 2016, 295 – 305; Cohen-Skalli 2018, who shows that Rome’s origins do not seem to have been important to Diodoros. On the other hand, one may wonder whether the significant point is rather that Roman origins were included at all, unlike for instance in Apollodoros’ Bibliotheke: cf. Fletcher 2008. Generally, Rome’s history is not treated in much detail until it becomes relevant as a power beyond Italy. However, see also Yarrow 2006, passim, who stresses Diodoros’ acceptance of the Roman empire and the many ways in which Rome is present in the work, and Muntz 2017 who likewise argues for the fundamental influence of the Roman context (though see the important criticism of Westall 2018b).  Atkinson 2000, 310 – 312; Goukowsky 2004; Westall 2018a; cf. Rathmann 2016, 283 – 292. Goukowsky (2004, 610 – 611) suggests that practical considerations may have determined the terminal date of the work: it also happens to be the point at which the chronicle of Kastor of Rhodes ended, so that Diodoros would no longer have had any chronological reference work on which he could base his annalistic account. He seems to overestimate Diodoros’ lack of control over his chronology, though: cf. infra, §2.2.2. Surely it cannot have been so difficult for Diodoros to order events of his own lifetime in Olympiads, archonships and consular years: he dates his own presence in Egypt to the 180th Olympiad (I 44.1), which is confirmed by an anecdote recounted at I 83.8 – 9 (cf. Westall 2018a, 123 n. 94).

2 The Bibliotheke 2.1 Diodoros’ Conception of History The one aspect of history that Diodoros stresses most strongly in his preface is its didactic and moral utility: to him history is not just a teacher for life, but the very best there is – ‘the metropolis of all philosophy so to speak’.²⁰ It is obvious throughout the Bibliotheke that this was not a mere rhetorical topos and that Diodoros puts the idea into practice consistently.²¹ The reader of the account of the Successors in Book XIX regularly encounters the moralizing teacher: at times very conspicuously and at times rather in the background, but he is always there.²² Furthermore, it is clear that the selection of material is strongly determined by Diodoros’ moral programme (cf. infra, §2.2.3). From the point of view of the modern historian, then, Diodoros does in many ways have ‘unfortunate historiographical objectives’,²³ but they are surely no sign of intellectual laziness or a profound historiographical failing.²⁴ Indeed, well into the eighteenth century moral didacticism was considered history’s highest function,²⁵ and Di-

 I 2.2: τῆς ὅλης φιλοσοφίας οἱονεὶ μητρόπολιν οὖσαν. For the idea of history as teacher, see I 1.1, 1.2, 1.4, 2.7 and the recent studies by Hau 2016, 75 – 79; Schorn 2018, 365 – 391; Durvye 2018b, 359 – 364; Meeus 2018a, 155 – 159 and forthcoming-b; Pitcher 2018, 316 – 319. Cf. also Rathmann 2016, 278 – 295, who does, however, overstate the lack of a practical dimension: a fundamental aspect of the practical lessons for statesmen concerned learning how to deal with vicissitudes of fortune (cf. e.g. Plb. I 1.2; D.Chr. 18.9; Hau 2016, 1– 2). I do not understand his contrast between ‘Politiker’ and ‘Entscheidungsträger’.  See e.g. Neubert 1890; Pavan 1961; Drews 1962; Sacks 1990, esp. 78 – 82; Wirth 1993, 26 – 31; Ambaglio 1995, 109 – 118; Hau 2016, 80 – 122. The occurrence of moralizing throughout the Bibliotheke need not mean, however, that Diodoros substantially reworked his sources, which he may well have chosen because of their moralizing tendencies: Drews 1962. That Diodoros added many of the moralizing passages himself is not as certain as recent scholarship seems to assume: see the fundamental study by Hau 2009; cf. Bosworth 1997, 216 – 220 for two instances where Diodoros adapted the moralizing found in his source but did not compose it from scratch. Cf. infra, §2.2.4 and 3.2 for the praise of Ptolemaios’ virtues in the account of the Successors which matches Diodoros’ own interests but was clearly taken from his main source.  Hau 2018, 297– 298.  Drews 1962, 392.  Pace Ambaglio 1995, 109, ‘(…) è pigrizia mentale e rinuncia a capire, è in ultima analisi la manifestazione e la coscienza di una debolezza storiografica profonda’.  In the present context it suffices to refer to Plb. I 1.2 (cf. Hau 2016, 25 – 26) and Tac. Ann. III 65 (cf. Meeus 2018a, 157– 158 with n. 36).

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odoros was appreciated as an historian by some of the greatest minds in early modern Europe.²⁶ For Diodoros history is much more than a storehouse of useful examples (cf. I 1.3 – 5, χρηματιστήριον), however. He knows full well that the historian is required to present the truth, not only because it reinforces the moral lessons, but also – it would appear – because it is an inherent quality of the genre.²⁷ Furthermore, Diodoros (esp. I 3.2, 3.8) considers chronology to be of central importance to historiography,²⁸ unlike Eunapios (F1 Blockley) who deems it irrelevant because it does not contribute to the moral function. While Eunapios’ criticism of chronological exactitude must not be overstated,²⁹ his claim that it is pointless to know in what time of the year a noble deed was done, contrasts sharply with Diodoros’ regular use of such seasonal markers as ‘when the dog star was rising’.³⁰ Diodoros is likewise very much concerned with narrative continuity and does not just offer a collection of miscellaneous examples or short biographies in which the historical setting is only of marginal relevance. As puzzling and unhistorical as certain aspects of Diodoros’ selection of material may thus appear, it is by no means devoid of historical spirit. Admittedly, the focus in his description of political and military events is often on virtue and vice,³¹ but we equally find much material that has no moral dimension and would conform to historicist understandings of historical relevance just as well.

 Cf. Meeus 2018a, 172 with n. 88. For Diodoros in early modern Europe, see e.g. Farrington 1937, 6 – 7; Hornblower 1981, 18 – 19; Pinzone 1998; further references in Hau et al. 2018, 3 n. 1.  At I 2.7 this inherent quality remains implicit, but at XX 43.7 Diodoros explicitly deplores that historiography can never perfectly live up to this ideal. For Diodoros’ views on historiographical truth, see Schorn 2018, 372– 376; Meeus 2018a, 159 – 161 and 2020b, 91– 103. Different perspectives are to be found in Rathmann 2016, 279 – 280 and 310, and Hau 2017, 233 – 244. See also Hau 2016, 243 and 275 – 276 on the relationship between truth and moralizing in ancient historiography.  Clarke 2008, 121– 139; Cohen-Skalli 2012b, esp. 427– 433. Cf. infra, §2.2.2, on the implications of the chronographic system for our understanding of Diodoros’ methods.  Breebaert 1979, 364– 368.  Cf. infra, 18.2 τῆς ὥρας… and 19.8 ἐνναταῖος on chronological markers in Diodoros. Contrast Eunapios F1 Blockley: ‘How, then, is it relevant to the purpose of history to know and be cognizant of the fact that the Greeks won the battle of Salamis when the dog star was rising’ (trans. Lake).  Hau 2008, 137– 140, 2013, 70, 2017, 243 – 244, 2020, 82– 88; Roisman 2018; Williams 2018.

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2.2 Diodoros’ Historical Method Diodoros is traditionally assumed to have been a slavish epitomator who rather mechanically copied a single source at a time, his own contribution being limited to the chronographic system (containing a great deal of mistakes) and some moralizing comments. The classical statement of this view is to be found in Schwartz’s article in the Realencyclopädie, which has remained very influential during almost the entire twentieth century.³² Even in the nineteenth century some had already argued that the work showed much more independence, but they were hardly heard, in spite of many sound and convincing arguments.³³ In 1955 Palm showed by means of a thorough analysis that, throughout the Bibliotheke, Diodoros has actually imposed his own language and style on the source material. This was a crucial step towards a partial rehabilitation, even though Palm still ruled out any independence of thought.³⁴ Shortly after Palm, however, Spoerri and Pavan argued that Diodoros did have his own ideas which are reflected in his work, while Drews showed that Diodoros might sometimes have used more than one source for the same period.³⁵ In an important series of articles Rubincam demonstrated Diodoros’ independence in the conception and the organization of his work.³⁶ These studies seem to have paved the way for works such as those of Sacks, Chamoux, Wirth and Ambaglio who went rather far in arguing that Diodoros was in all respects an independent author who was not as stupid as is generally thought.³⁷ They have found wide acceptance since many scholars nowadays take Diodoros’ independence largely for granted.³⁸ The latter tendency seems to have found its culmination point in an article by Sulimani who assumes that all references to sources in the Bibliotheke are primary citations by Diodoros, without even the least attempt to prove the point, and argues that Diodoros was an innovator when it comes to source-citations.³⁹

 Schwartz 1903; Schmid & Stählin 1920, 404 and 406.  Especially important is Neubert 1890; much of Bröcker 1879 also remains valuable.  Palm 1955.  Spoerri 1959; Pavan 1961; Drews 1962.  Rubincam 1987, 1989, 1998a, 1998b. Cf. also the many important Spanish studies collected in Lens Tuero 1994a.  Sacks 1990, 1994; Chamoux 1993; Wirth 1993; Ambaglio 1995, 2002.  E.g. Green 2006; Wiater 2006a; Sheridan 2010; Goukowsky 2016, xiii–xix; Muntz 2011 and 2017. Cf. Durvye 2018a, xxiii: ‘L’utilisation de plusieurs sources par Diodore n’est plus à démontrer’.  Sulimani 2008.

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Not everyone is equally convinced, however, as the traditional view has recently been reasserted in the strongest terms by Stylianou, or in a somewhat more moderate manner by Anson.⁴⁰ A most interesting development is found in the views of Ambaglio who has now joined the side of those who deny any serious independence and quality to the Bibliotheke, rejecting some of his own earlier arguments.⁴¹ In recent years a middle view has developed, which argues that Diodoros, while staying close to his sources, should not be considered a mindless compiler without any originality at all.⁴² Particularly important in this respect are several studies demonstrating that Diodoros wished to be seen as a critical historian who has consulted eyewitnesses and documents and has travelled widely. Yet, it remains debated to what extent such claims are to be taken literally.⁴³

2.2.1 Diodoros and His Sources The traditional view of Diodoros was mainly founded on the observation that whenever we can compare his work with what is left of his sources, he seems to follow a single source for long stretches of his narrative, and very closely at that. This is the case with the description of the areas around the Red Sea in book III, which can be compared with the fragments of Diodoros’ source Agatharchides transmitted by Photios.⁴⁴ It is also apparent in the fragments of books XXVIII–XXXII which go back to Polybios, of whose work fragments are preserved for the corresponding parts.⁴⁵ Unfortunately, we cannot compare any

 Stylianou 1998; Anson 2004, esp. 11– 19; cf. also Bleckmann 2010.  Ambaglio 2008a.  E.g. Hau 2009 and 2016; Cohen-Skalli 2014; Rathmann 2016; Rubincam 2018; Meeus 2018a.  Marincola 2007d, 26 – 28; Rathmann 2014, 59 – 80, 2016, esp. 200 – 227; Hau 2018, 283 – 285 argue against taking these claims literally. For different views, see Wiater 2006b; Cohen-Skalli 2014; Baumann 2020, 33 n. 20 and 82 n. 149.  See Palm 1955, 27– 55 for a detailed comparison of Diodoros and Agatharchides; cf. also Hau 2019.  See Reid 1969, 6 – 31: ‘First, [the analysis] confirms the correctness of the general view of Diodoros as writer who would, on occasion, draw all the facts of his narrative from a single source, when he found one that suited his needs; for there is no evidence that he used any other source than Polybios for the sections of the Bibliotheke discussed here. And second, it shows in some detail how he treated his source material. He had always to shorten it so as to fit the much smaller scale of his own work. In so doing, he took over some passages almost word for word, while summarizing others very briefly and carelessly. Nowhere, save in the one place where he was reproducing a quotation from another author which he found in Polybios (DS XXXI 10), did

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preserved parts of Diodoros with a fully extant text he certainly used. Several passages in the Bibliotheke strongly echo Thucydides,⁴⁶ and several scholars have argued that Diodoros used him directly.⁴⁷ However, an Oxyrhynchos papyrus (XIII 1610) which – because of very strong resemblances – may well be a fragment of Diodoros’ source for book XI, at certain points is closer to Thucydides than Diodoros, while the latter’s version nonetheless still contains Thucydidean echoes.⁴⁸ It is possible, therefore that Thucydides only reached Diodoros via an intermediary. The main argument against direct use of Thucydides is the structure of the narrative. While Thucydides and Diodoros write annalistically some of the passages in the Bibliotheke which echo Thucydides have clearly been rearranged to a biographical or geographical scheme, rather than an annalistic one.⁴⁹ Reid has argued convincingly that such rearrangement must be the result of an intermediary whose history was not organized according to annalistic principles, such as Ephoros.⁵⁰ Indirect use of even the most famous authors is also obvious in the case of Herodotos. At II 15 and II 32 Diodoros compares the accounts of Herodotos and Ktesias on the burial customs of the Ethiopians and on the history of the Assyrian and Median empires. In both cases, however, Diodoros attributes views to Herodotos which are not found in the corresponding parts of the Histories (III 24 and I 95 – 106). The most likely explanation is that he took over Ktesias’ polemics against Herodotos without checking Herodotos’ account, especially since in the former passage he states explicitly that Ktesias accused Herodotos of lying. The comparison of both versions must therefore already have been made by Ktesias himself, and Diodoros has simply adopted it.⁵¹ In spite of

he deliberately copy out a passage of any length verbatim’ (31). The latter passage is nonetheless telling, in that it also adopts Polybios’ commentary on the quotation in a way that would make it seem to be Diodoros’ own: cf. Drews 1962, 384 n. 7 and infra, 2.2.4.  E.g. Diod. XII 46.6 – 7 ~ Thuc. II 70.4; Diod. XII 62.6 – 7 ~ Thuc. IV 12.3; Diod. XII 67.3 – 5 ~ Thuc. IV 80.  Stahl 1884; Palm 1955, 60 – 62; Chamoux 1993, xxvi; Lévy 2001.  Reid 1969, 90 – 91; Rubincam 1976, 357 n. 2.  Compare e.g. Diod. XII 47.1– 52.2 with Thuc. II 69.1–III 1.1.  Reid 1969, 54– 55. Parmeggiani 2011 and Baron 2013 rightly argue that one cannot simply reconstruct lost works like those of Ephoros and Timaios on the basis of Diodoros: this is mostly due to the absence of direct evidence for these fragmentary works, however, and does not in itself constitute an argument against Diodoros’ extensive use of Ephoros or Timaios.  Boncquet 1987, 110 – 112 and 193 – 200; Eck 2003, xviii–xix and 138 n. 6; Ambaglio 2008a, 34.

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what many believe nowadays, then, there certainly are good reasons to assume that Diodoros did not necessarily make direct use of every author he cites.⁵² The presence of several doublets has often been taken as an argument for the use of different sources. A close analysis of minor repetitions in book XIX seems to suggest otherwise, though. At 34.8, just before ending his account of Asian affairs and switching over to Europe, Diodoros mentions two routes that were available to Antigonos in his pursuit of Eumenes: a longer and easier one, and a shorter one through difficult desert terrain (διὰ μὲν τῆς οἰκουμένης πορευομένῳ σταθμοὺς εἴκοσι πέντε, διὰ δὲ τῆς ἀνύδρου καὶ ἐρήμου σταθμοὺς ἐννέα). The relevance of the desert route at this point is unclear. One assumes Diodoros himself might have inserted the account of the European affairs at this point, but ends his Asian narrative somewhat too late in that he already takes some information from his source which belongs to the episode he would narrate after having dealt with events in Europe. At 37.2 he notes the difference between a journey διὰ τῆς οἰκουμένης χώρας and a march διὰ τῆς ἐρήμου καὶ ἀνύδρου again, in a context where it actually is relevant. The same seems to have happened at the end of book XVIII, where he is hastily trying to conclude his description of the Asian events of the last year of the book in chapter 73, while in fact anticipating matters he would treat in book XIX.⁵³ This shows that Diodoros himself has organized the division of the theatres of action within a given year,⁵⁴ but it also raises the question as to the degree of detail with which he had planned the structure of his narrative in advance.⁵⁵ Elsewhere in book XIX the same phenomenon is apparent when Diodoros changes from one theatre of action to another.⁵⁶ Apparently he did not go back to check what exactly he had already written when he ended the previous section on that particular theatre. Another instructive example is the similarity between XVIII 49.1– 3 and 54.1– 2. There is no need to assume two different sources as the cause of this latter doublet: there are many verbal echoes and Diodoros’ summarizing alone certainly sufficed to create the differences, especially as the second passage (XVIII

 Cf. supra n. 45 for the quotation of Demetrios Phaleron at XXXI 10 and Parker 2009 on the Kleitarchan origin of material that might appear to originate from other sources in book XVII. See also Rathmann 2016, 227– 238.  See below, 12.3 τὸν Τίγριν ποταμόν…  Cf. Simpson 1959a, 376.  A similar question is raised by the end of chapter 26: see below, 26.10 κατέβαινε… See also Meeus 2012 on the chronology of book XIX, and in general Rubincam 2018, 29 – 30.  See below, 49.1 περιστρατοπεδεύσας… Also compare the verbal echoes that occur before and after digressions that Diodoros may have inserted into narrative of his main source: see below, 53.3 συμβέβηκε…

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54.1– 2) is shorter than the first one (49.1– 3).⁵⁷ Apart from revealing a certain lack of planning or revision,⁵⁸ these chapters also show by their differences that Diodoros was not copying his sources literally. In isolation, of course, these examples could result from repetitions in Diodoros’ source,⁵⁹ where the distance between both parts of the story may have been greater, so that a certain amount of recapitulation would be appropriate. Similar doublets, however, occur in parts of the Bibliotheke going back to different sources, which strongly suggests that Diodoros himself is responsible for them.⁶⁰ At XV 7.2– 4, for instance, he takes up the story of Dionysios’ unsuccessful participation in the poetic contest at the Olympics, repeating much he had already recounted at XIV 109 (esp. 2– 3). In the earlier passage, however, the focus is on the events at Olympia, while the latter account is primarily concerned with Dionysios’ reaction upon hearing of the very negative reception his verses had received from the audience at the festival.⁶¹ Surely the almost literal repetition of what happened was unnecessary: a simple opening phrase like ‘Dionysios, on hearing of…’ would have been sufficient. Furthermore, the reaction of Dionysios had already been recounted briefly on the first occasion. Of course, given that Diodoros has started a new book, the repetition might be deliberate. That he would have used different sources in both passages is unlikely given the similarities and verbal echoes between them.⁶² Again, there are differences, both in wording and in selection, but none of these are mutually exclusive, and they

 E.g. XVIII 49.1 δεινὸν ἡγούμενος εἰ τὴν τοῦ πατρὸς ἡγεμονίαν ὁ μὴ προσήκων κατὰ γένος διαδέξεται – 54.1 αἰσχρὸν εἶναι διαλαμβάνων τὴν τοῦ πατρὸς ἀρχὴν ὑφ᾽ ἑτέρων διοικεῖσθαι; 49.2 εἰς ἀγρὸν βαδίσας μετὰ τῶν φίλων τούτοις τε διελέγετο … ἕκαστον δ᾽ αὐτῶν ἐκλαμβάνων κατ᾽ ἰδίαν προετρέπετο… – 54.2 τῶν μὲν φίλων οἷς ἐπίστευε κατ᾽ ἰδίαν προσδιαλεγόμενος; 49.3 ἀνύποπτον – 54.2 ἀνυπόπτως. Landucci Gattinoni (2008, 215 and 227– 228) argues for two different sources, but as she herself notes, both passages ‘sono consonanti nei contenuti, ma divergono nel modo di presentare i fatti’. I see no traces of the different tendencies she presumes (cf. Meeus 2009d), and in fact both chapters agree in the interpretation of events.  This need not mean that the text of the Bibliotheke we possess was unfinished and that further revisions were planned, as I 4.6 clearly implies that Diodoros considered the work finished. Rather than trying to explain away the infelicities of the work by its potentially unfinished state (thus e.g. Green 2006, 7– 9, 30, 35 and 37; Muntz 2017, 221– 224 and 246– 247), we should consider how many ancient works of literature appear unfinished to us: the standards for this technologically substantially more challenging process may have been rather different in the ancient world.  Ambaglio 2008b, 61 on XIII 36.2 (but note the verbal echo with 34.2; cf. infra, 53.3 συμβέβηκε); Parker 2018, 192 and 202– 205; Waterfield 2019, xxxvi.  Cf. Simpson 1959a, 376.  Cf. Stylianou 1998, 179, ad loc.  Cf. Lauffer 1959, 345 – 346; contra Vial 1977, x.

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only reveal that Diodoros was not copying literally. In the present state of the evidence, the Einquellentheorie still remains the most likely hypothesis concerning Diodoros’ working methods.⁶³ Scholars often contend that Diodoros openly admits that he was merely a compiler.⁶⁴ The first alleged indication is the title of the work, Βιβλιοθήκη or Βιβλιοθήκη ἱστορική, which is attested often enough to be certain.⁶⁵ The oldest testimonium, in Pliny’s preface, is very early and explicit (Plin. NH, praef. 25, quoted below). The view that the title indicates that Diodoros’ work is no more than a compilation has been expressed most strikingly by Giua, who contends that Diodoros thus describes his history as a compendium of ‘libri già scritti’.⁶⁶ However, such an interpretation does not seem to be in accordance with the way Diodoros presents his undertaking in his preface, making such high claims that Nock asserted that we are facing ‘the proem style of a small man with pretensions’⁶⁷. Whether or not Diodoros was ‘a small man’, Nock is right about the pretensions. Diodoros is quite explicit in trying to show that he has surpassed the works of all his predecessors (esp. I 3): summarizing roughly, one may say that he argues universal history is the most useful form of history, and that he has written a work that complies with the requirements of true universal history more than any other work ever produced. Consequently, it seems quite unlikely that Diodoros would have chosen a title which expresses that his history was merely a compilation of what had been written before. A much more plausible interpretation, therefore, is that the title Bibliotheke means that the work covers the whole of human history and that it contains all one needs to know about it.⁶⁸ This is clear from Diodoros’ own statement at I 3.7– 8:⁶⁹

 See also Bosworth 1997, 215 – 224; Pitcher 2009, 78; Bleckmann 2010; Rathmann 2014 and 2016, 156 – 270; Tuplin 2016, 122 – 123; Parker 2018, 189 n. 1. Book I offers a clear example of Diodoros’ working methods in combining a single main source with some insertions from other works and – mostly brief – additions of his own: see Murray 1970 (cf. infra, n. 248).  E.g. Schwartz 1903, 669; Fornara 1992, 384; Marincola 1997, 244 n. 134; Ambaglio 2008a, 13; more recently especially and in great detail Wiater 2006b and Cohen-Skalli 2015.  Engels 2018, 134– 138, who argues that Βιβλιοθήκη without the adjective ἱστορική must have been the original title.  Giua 1993, 172. The same view is held e.g. by Wachsmuth 1895, 94; Oldfather 1933, xvii; Abel 1937, 377; Hornblower 1981, 23 – 24; Marincola 1997, 243; Engels 1999, 216; Casevitz 2004a, 2 (‘le titre doit signifier “compilation d’ouvrages historiques”ʼ); Cuscunà 2005, 83 (‘[…] la Biblioteca, come dice il nome stesso, è un insieme di libri, un titulo che Diodoro sembra seguire molto alla lettera […]’); Wiater 2006b, 248 – 250; Christesen 2007, 282; Hau 2009, 193.  Nock 1959, 5.  Thus e.g. Van der Vliet 1977, 131; Cartledge 2004, 255 – 256; Smith & Trzaskoma 2007, xxx– xxxii.

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ἐξέσται γὰρ ἐκ ταύτης ἕκαστον πρὸς τὴν ἰδίαν ὑπόστασιν ἑτοίμως λαμβάνειν τὸ χρήσιμον, ὥσπερ ἐκ μεγάλης ἀρυόμενον πηγῆς. τοῖς μὲν γὰρ ἐπιβαλλομένοις διεξιέναι τὰς τῶν τοσούτων συγγραφέων ἱστορίας πρῶτον μὲν οὐ ῥᾴδιον εὐπορῆσαι τῶν εἰς τὴν χρείαν πιπτουσῶν βίβλων, ἔπειτα διὰ τὴν ἀνωμαλίαν καὶ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν συνταγμάτων δυσκατάληπτος γίνεται τελέως καὶ δυσέφικτος ἡ τῶν πεπραγμένων ἀνάληψις: ἡ δ᾽ ἐν μιᾶς συντάξεως περιγραφῇ πραγματεία τὸ τῶν πράξεων εἰρόμενον ἔχουσα τὴν μὲν ἀνάγνωσιν ἑτοίμην παρέχεται, τὴν δ᾽ ἀνάληψιν ἔχει παντελῶς εὐπαρακολούθητον. καθόλου δὲ τῶν ἄλλων τοσοῦτον ὑπερέχειν ταύτην ἡγητέον ὅσῳ χρησιμώτερόν ἐστι τὸ πᾶν τοῦ μέρους καὶ τὸ συνεχὲς τοῦ διερρηγμένου, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις τὸ διηκριβωμένον τοῖς χρόνοις τοῦ μηδὲ γινωσκομένου τίσιν ἐπράχθη καιροῖς. For from such a treatise every man will be able readily to take what is of use for his special purpose, drawing as it were from a great fountain. The reason for this is that, in the first place, it is not easy for those who propose to go through the writings of so many historians to procure the books which come to be needed, and, in the second place, that, because the works vary so widely and are so numerous, the recovery of past events becomes extremely difficult of comprehension and of attainment; whereas, on the other hand, the treatise which keeps within the limits of a single narrative and contains a connected account of events facilitates the reading and contains such recovery of the past in a form that is perfectly easy to follow. In general, a history of this nature must be held to surpass all others to the same degree as the whole is more useful than the part and continuity than discontinuity, and, again, as an event whose date has been accurately determined is more useful than one of which it is not known in what period it happened.

Thus, Diodoros claims that the Bibliotheke is like a great fountain from which all relevant historical knowledge can be drawn. Furthermore, not only does it contain everything one may wish to know, but because of its completeness the narrative is much more comprehensible than that of a work which deals only with a limited part of history. Diodoros clearly takes pride in having written the first work to deal with the whole of history, from the beginning to his own time.⁷⁰ He also notes the importance of the precise chronology he presents in his work, which is not particularly relevant here, but he was proud of that too. An important testimonium concerning Diodoros’ title is found in Pliny’s preface (24), as we have already noted:

 Canfora 1988, x, already noted the connection between I 3.8 and Diodoros’ title, though his interpretation does not seem wholly satisfactory to me; cf. also Marincola 1997, 242– 243 for discussion of the passage.  Chamoux 2001, 13: ‘Lorsqu’au milieu du Ier siècle av. notre ère Diodore de Sicile entreprend de rédiger une histoire universelle, il a conscience que l’ampleur de son dessein dépasse largement tout ce que les historiens grecs ont tenté de réaliser avant lui’. It should be noted, however, that the criterion of taking the narrative down to his own time is not quite fair to those universal historians who lived earlier.

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Inscriptionis apud Graecos mira felicitas: Κηρίον inscripsere, quod volebant intellegi favum, alii Κέρας ᾿Aμαλθείας, quod copiae cornu, ut vel lactis gallinacei sperare possis in volumine haustum; iam Ἴα, Μοῦσαι, Πανδέκται, Ἐγχειρίδια, Λειμών, Πίναξ, Σχεδίων: inscriptiones, propter quas vadimonium deseri possit; at cum intraveris, di deaeque, quam nihil in medio invenies! nostri graviores Antiquitatum, Exemplorum Artiumque, facetissimi Lucubrationum, puto quia Bibaculus erat et vocabatur. paulo minus asserit Varro in satiris suis Sesculixe et Flextabula. Apud Graecos desiit nugari Diodorus et Βιβλιοθήκης historiam suam inscripsit. There is marvellous neatness in the titles given to books among the Greeks. One they title Κηρίον, meaning Honeycomb; others called their work Κέρας ᾿Aμαλθείας, i. e. Horn of Plenty (so that you can hope to find a draught of hen’s milk in the volume), and again Violets, Muses, Hold-alls, Handbooks, Meadow, Tablet, Impromptu – titles that might tempt a man to forfeit his bail. But when you get inside them, good heavens, what a void you will find between the covers! Our authors being more serious use the titles Antiquities, Instances and Systems, the wittiest, Talks by Lamplight, I suppose because the author was a toper – indeed Tippler was his name. Varro makes a rather smaller claim in his Satires A Ulyssesand-a-half and Folding-tablet. Diodorus among the Greeks stopped playing with words and gave his history the title Library.

The interpretation of the passage is slightly complicated by the fact that the verb ‘nugari’ can mean two different things: ‘to lie’ or ‘to tell nonsense’.⁷¹ Scholars who assume that Diodoros’ title expresses that he was a mere compiler prefer the translation ‘to lie’. They thus interpret Pliny’s statement as meaning that Diodoros was the first to stop lying because he was so honest as to admit by the choice of his title that he was merely a compiler. However, this does not quite fit the context of the passage. Pliny’s point obviously is not that all these titles were untrue, but that they were ridiculous. He seems to mean, then, that Diodoros did not continue the practice of giving a work a ridiculous title, but simply chose the level-headed title Bibliotheke. ⁷² Furthermore, Pliny had just before discussed the problem of authors who copied literally from their predecessors without mentioning their sources (22– 23): Scito enim conferentem auctores me deprehendisse a iuratissimis et proximis veteres transcriptos ad verbum neque nominatos, non illa Vergiliana virtute, ut certarent, non Tulliana simplicitate, qui de re publica Platonis se comitem profitetur, in consolatione filiae Crantorem, inquit, sequor, item Panaetium de officiis, quae volumina ediscenda, non modo in

 See e.g. C.T. Lewis & C. Short, A Latin Dictionary, Oxford 1969, s.v. nugor: ‘to jest, trifle, play the fool, talk nonsense’; ‘to trick, cajole, cheat’.  It bears emphasis, as Marcus Deufert helpfully pointed out to me, that ‘nugari’ is contrasted with ‘nostri graviores’ in the previous sentence.

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manibus cotidie habenda, nosti. Obnoxii profecto animi et infelicis ingenii est deprehendi in furto malle quam mutuum reddere, cum praesertim sors fiat ex usura. For you must know that when collating authorities I have found that the most professedly reliable and modern writers have copied the old authors word for word, without acknowledgement, not in that glorious spirit of Virgil, for the purpose of rivalry, nor with the candour of Cicero who in his Republic declares himself a companion of Plato, and in his Consolation for his daughter’s death says ‘I follow Crantor’, and similarly as to Panaetius in his De officiis – volumes that you know to be worth having in one’s hands every day, nay even learning by heart. Surely it marks a mean spirit and an unfortunate disposition to prefer being detected in a theft to repaying a loan – especially as interest creates capital. (trans. adapted)

Given that he clearly denounces such practices, Pliny would probably not mention Diodoros in a positive context shortly after, if he considered him a plagiarist. Diodoros might have been balancing on a thin line, but at least according to ancient standards as Pliny saw them, it would seem that the Sicilian managed to remain on the right side of the line, and was not considered a mere copier who did not even mention his sources.⁷³ Otherwise, he would probably have given another example of a work with a normal title, which must have been readily available. For the same reason, Pliny’s preface might suggest that the Bibliotheke enjoyed some fame in the first century CE. Diodoros’ claim of replacing a whole library should also be seen in the context of the ancient historiographical tradition of authors simply continuing the work of a predecessor, like Xenophon who began his Hellenika simply with the words μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα, ‘thereafter’, to attach his work to Thucydides’. Likewise he ends the work with the remark ἐμοὶ μὲν δὴ μέχρι τούτου γραφέσθω· τὰ δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα ἴσως ἄλλῳ μελήσει.⁷⁴ Diodoros, on the other hand, explicitly chose not to write τὰ μετὰ Πολύβιον, as Poseidonios had done, and Strabo would do slightly later, but he began with the earliest beginnings of mankind and went all the way down to his own day. Diodoros strongly emphasizes this completeness in his prooimion.⁷⁵

 On these ancient standards, see Marincola 1997, 95 – 107, 2009, and 2014, 48 – 54; Meeus 2017a with further references; cf. infra, n. 337. In addition to the evidence adduced there, see esp. also Porph. In Harm. 4.24– 5.16, with which one may compare Diod. II 29.  X. HG I 1.1 and VII 5.27 (‘Thus far be it written by me; the events after these will perhaps be the concern of another’). On this practice, see Marincola 1997, 237– 241; Tuplin 2007a.  I 1.3, 3.1– 8. As also noted by Marincola 1997, 241: ‘An historian may attempt to continue a predecessor, but he may also try to portray himself as the culmination of the historiographical tradition, as one can clearly see in Diodorus’.

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Diodoros often mentions the starting- and ending-points of other historical works, such as:⁷⁶ XI 37.6: τῶν δὲ συγγραφέων Ἡρόδοτος ἀρξάμενος πρὸ τῶν Τρωικῶν χρόνων γέγραφε κοινὰς σχεδόν τι τὰς τῆς οἰκουμένης πράξεις ἐν βίβλοις ἐννέα, καταστρέφει δὲ τὴν σύνταξιν εἰς τὴν περὶ Μυκάλην μάχην τοῖς Ἕλλησι πρὸς τοὺς Πέρσας καὶ Σηστοῦ πολιορκίαν. And of the historians, Herodotus, beginning with the period prior to the Trojan War, has written in nine books a general history of practically all the events which occurred in the inhabited world, and brings his narrative to an end with the battle of the Greeks against the Persians at Mycale and the siege of Sestus. XII 37.2: Θουκυδίδης δὲ ὁ ᾿Aθηναῖος τὴν ἱστορίαν ἐντεῦθεν ἀρξάμενος ἔγραψε τὸν γενόμενον πόλεμον ᾿Aθηναίοις πρὸς Λακεδαιμονίους τὸν ὀνομασθέντα Πελοποννησιακόν. οὗτος μὲν οὖν ὁ πόλεμος διέμεινεν ἐπὶ ἔτη εἴκοσι ἑπτά, ὁ δὲ Θουκυδίδης ἔτη δύο πρὸς τοῖς εἴκοσι γέγραφεν ἐν βίβλοις ὀκτώ, ὡς δέ τινες διαιροῦσιν, ἐννέα Thucydides, the Athenian, commenced his history with this year, giving an account of the war between the Athenians and the Lacedaemonians, the war which has been called the Peloponnesian. This war lasted twenty-seven years, but Thucydides described twenty-two years in eight Books or, as others divide it, in nine. XII 71.2: τῶν δὲ συγγραφέων ᾿Aντίοχος ὁ Συρακόσιος τὴν τῶν Σικελικῶν ἱστορίαν εἰς τοῦτον τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν κατέστρεψεν, ἀρξάμενος ἀπὸ Κωκάλου τοῦ Σικανῶν βασιλέως, ἐν βίβλοις ἐννέα. Of the historians Antiochus of Syracuse concluded with this year his history of Sicily, which began with Cocalus, the king of the Sicani, and embraced nine Books. XIII 42.5: τῶν δὲ συγγραφέων Θουκυδίδης μὲν τὴν ἱστορίαν κατέστροφε, περιλαβὼν χρόνον ἐτῶν εἴκοσι καὶ δυοῖν ἐν βύβλοις ὀκτώ: τινὲς δὲ διαιροῦσιν εἰς ἐννέα: Ξενοφῶν δὲ καὶ Θεόπομπος ἀφ᾽ ὧν ἀπέλιπε Θουκυδίδης τὴν ἀρχὴν πεποίηνται, καὶ Ξενοφῶν μὲν περιέλαβε χρόνον ἐτῶν τεσσαράκοντα καὶ ὀκτώ, Θεόπομπος δὲ τὰς Ἑλληνικὰς πράξεις διελθὼν ἐπ᾽ ἔτη ἑπτακαίδεκα καταλήγει τὴν ἱστορίαν εἰς τὴν περὶ Κνίδον ναυμαχίαν ἐν βύβλοις δώδεκα. Of the historians, Thucydides ended his history, having included a period of twenty-two years in eight Books, although some divide it into nine; and Xenophon and Theopompus have begun at the point where Thucydides left off. Xenophon embraced a period of forty-eight years, and Theopompus set forth the facts of Greek history for seventeen years and brings his account to an end with the sea-battle of Cnidus in twelve Books.

 The other instances are: XIII 103.3 (Philistos), XIV 117.8 (Kallisthenes’ Hellenika), XV 37.3 (Hermias of Methymna), XV 60.6 (Douris) XV 89.3 (Xenophon, Anaximenes, Philistos), XV 94.4 (Athanas of Syracuse), XV 95.4 (Dionysodoros and Anaxis of Boiotia), XVI 3.8 (Theopompos’ Philippika), XVI 14.3 (Demophilos), XVI 14.4 (Kallisthenes’ Hellenika), XVI 14.5 (Diyllos), XVI 71.3 (the Sicilian books of Theopompos’ Philippika), XVI 76.5 (Ephoros) XVI 76.6 (Diyllos), XXI 5 (Diyllos and Psaon).

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Although some assume that these may be references to his sources, Volquardsen has shown irrefutably that Diodoros took such references, along with those to poets, philosophers and orators from his chronographic source.⁷⁷ However, I do not agree with Volquardsen that the references to authors of the latter genres are less precise because of Diodoros’ carelessness. Rather, he may have had some specific aim in mentioning the numbers of books and the starting- and ending-points of the historical works. By remarking throughout his work ‘this is where Herodotos/Thucydides/Kallisthenes/… begins and he ends in that particular year’, Diodoros stresses that he in a sense replaces and emulates all these authors who only dealt with limited periods and/or regions, while he treats the whole of human history.⁷⁸ Other claims in the preface likewise serve the purpose of Diodoros’ self-presentation as a serious historian (I 4.1): διόπερ ἡμεῖς ὁρῶντες ταύτην τὴν ὑπόθεσιν χρησιμωτάτην μὲν οὖσαν, πολλοῦ δὲ πόνου καὶ χρόνου προσδεομένην, τριάκοντα μὲν ἔτη περὶ αὐτὴν ἐπραγματεύθημεν, μετὰ δὲ πολλῆς κακοπαθείας καὶ κινδύνων ἐπήλθομεν πολλὴν τῆς τε ᾿Aσίας καὶ τῆς Εὐρώπης, ἵνα τῶν ἀναγκαιοτάτων καὶ πλείστων μερῶν αὐτόπται γενηθῶμεν: πολλὰ γὰρ παρὰ τὰς ἀγνοίας τῶν τόπων διήμαρτον οὐχ οἱ τυχόντες τῶν συγγραφέων, ἀλλά τινες καὶ τῶν τῇ δόξῃ πεπρωτευκότων. And so we, appreciating that an undertaking of this nature, while most useful, would yet require much labour and time, have been engaged upon it for thirty years, and with much hardship and many dangers we have visited a large portion of both Asia and Europe that we might see with our own eyes all the most important regions and as many others as possible; for many errors have been committed through ignorance of the sites, not only by the common run of historians, but even by some of the highest reputation.

It is not completely unjustified that this passage has often been interpreted to the detriment of its author. Diodoros’ knowledge of geography is often lacking, so that many have doubted his claim of having travelled.⁷⁹ His familiarity with

 Volquardsen 1868, 9 – 13. While Parmeggiani (2011, 357– 362) has rightly noted the flaws in Volquardsen’s argument (and that of his predecessor Cauer), these points are by no means so significant as to undermine the otherwise solidly demonstrated conclusion.  Marincola 1997, 243, gives a similar interpretation, but he claims that Diodoros in this way wanted to give the impression that his Library was a compilation based on careful sifting of a series of excellent sources. Diodoros’ actual claim seems to have been higher than that. Clarke 2008, 136 – 137, argues that the references to the starting- and ending-points of other historians also serve to support the chronographic framework. This may be true, but it does not seem to have been the primary purpose.  E.g. Fornara 1992, 387; Pitcher 2009, 21– 22. Admittedly, however, autopsy is no guarantee against errors, so that the errors alone cannot in themselves disprove autopsy. The argument

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Sicily, Rome and Egypt is clear from his work. Perhaps Diodoros also visited Asia, but the Bibliotheke shows no traces of any personal knowledge of the continent. What matters to the present demonstration is that Diodoros uses a typical historiographical topos, personal knowledge of the described regions, to assert his status as a serious historian.⁸⁰ Furthermore, the preface also claims the use of documents or of the Roman historical tradition (I 4.4):⁸¹ ἡμεῖς γὰρ ἐξ ᾿Aγυρίου τῆς Σικελίας ὄντες, καὶ διὰ τὴν ἐπιμιξίαν τοῖς ἐν τῇ νήσῳ πολλὴν ἐμπειρίαν τῆς Ῥωμαίων διαλέκτου περιπεποιημένοι, πάσας τὰς τῆς ἡγεμονίας ταύτης πράξεις ἀκριβῶς ἀνελάβομεν ἐκ τῶν παρ᾽ ἐκείνοις ὑπομνημάτων ἐκ πολλῶν χρόνων τετηρημένων. For since the city of our origin was Agyrium in Sicily, and by reason of our contact with the Romans in that island we had gained a wide acquaintance with their language, we have acquired an accurate knowledge of all the events connected with this empire from the records which have been carefully preserved among them over a long period of time.

Again Diodoros makes a high claim in order to present himself as a serious historian,⁸² which he likewise does in the next passage (I 4.5): πεποιήμεθα δὲ τὴν ἀρχὴν τῆς ἱστορίας ἀπὸ τῶν μυθολογουμένων παρ᾽ Ἕλλησί τε καὶ βαρβάροις, ἐξετάσαντες τὰ παρ᾽ ἑκάστοις ἱστορούμενα κατὰ τοὺς ἀρχαίους χρόνους, ἐφ᾽ ὅσον ἡμῖν δύναμις. Now we have begun our history with the legends of both Greeks and barbarians, after having first investigated to the best of our ability the accounts which each people records of its earliest times.

that Diodoros admits following Ktesias in book II where he makes the infamous mistake about the location of Niniveh (Sacks 1990, 161 n. 2; Green 2006, 29 n. 142) does not really solve the problem: had Diodoros’ had a better grasp of Asian geography, he might have corrected the error.  Schepens 2006, 96: ‘The disproportion between travel fact and travel fiction can perhaps, at this stage in the development of the genre be explained as a result of the author’s wish to fashion his historiographical persona in the light of Greek history’s most prestigious tradition’.  For these ὑπομνήματα as documents: see Sacks 1990, 118 n. 3. Cf. also III 38.1 on the archives in Alexandria: cf. Peremans 1967, Desanges 1998, Rathmann 2016, 92– 94; and most recently Quenouille 2019, 679 n. 30 with further references.  Ruschenbusch 1997 has attempted to show that Diodoros did not use Latin sources, but his argument fails to convince: see Oakley 2005, 492. Cf. in general also Oldfather 1933, xiii–xiv; Dubuisson 1979, 91– 92; Rochette 1997, 231; Langslow 2012, 100 – 101; Nesselrath 2013, 287– 288; Rathmann 2016, 27– 29. For an instance were Diodoros may have been influenced by the Latin authors of his day, see 81.2 ὁ μὲν ὄχλος…

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Diodoros adds some hedging with the phrase ἐφ᾽ ὅσον ἡμῖν δύναμις,⁸³ but it is quite a high claim to boast having investigated what each people records of its earliest times. He ends the prooimion with a discussion of his practices in dating the events (I 5.1– 2): τῶν δὲ χρόνων τούτων περιειλημμένων ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ πραγματείᾳ τοὺς μὲν πρὸ τῶν Τρωικῶν οὐ διοριζόμεθα βεβαίως διὰ τὸ μηδὲν παράπηγμα παρειληφέναι περὶ τούτων πιστευόμενον, ἀπὸ δὲ τῶν Τρωικῶν ἀκολούθως ᾿Aπολλοδώρῳ τῷ ᾿Aθηναίῳ τίθεμεν ὀγδοήκοντ᾽ ἔτη πρὸς τὴν κάθοδον τῶν Ἡρακλειδῶν, ἀπὸ δὲ ταύτης ἐπὶ τὴν πρώτην ὀλυμπιάδα δυσὶ λείποντα τῶν τριακοσίων καὶ τριάκοντα, συλλογιζόμενοι τοὺς χρόνους ἀπὸ τῶν ἐν Λακεδαίμονι βασιλευσάντων, ἀπὸ δὲ τῆς πρώτης ὀλυμπιάδος εἰς τὴν ἀρχὴν τοῦ Κελτικοῦ πολέμου, ἣν τελευτὴν πεποιήμεθα τῆς ἱστορίας, ἑπτακόσια καὶ τριάκοντα: ὥστε τὴν ὅλην πραγματείαν ἡμῶν τετταράκοντα βίβλων οὖσαν περιέχειν ἔτη δυσὶ λείποντα τῶν χιλίων ἑκατὸν τετταράκοντα χωρὶς τῶν χρόνων τῶν περιεχόντων τὰς πρὸ τῶν Τρωικῶν πράξεις. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν ἀκριβῶς προδιωρισάμεθα, βουλόμενοι τοὺς μὲν ἀναγινώσκοντας εἰς ἔννοιαν ἀγαγεῖν τῆς ὅλης προθέσεως, τοὺς δὲ διασκευάζειν εἰωθότας τὰς βίβλους ἀποτρέψαι τοῦ λυμαίνεσθαι τὰς ἀλλοτρίας πραγματείας. As for the periods included in this work, we do not attempt to fix with any strictness the limits of those before the Trojan War, because no trustworthy chronological table covering them has come into our hands: but from the Trojan War we follow Apollodorus of Athens in setting the interval from then to the Return of the Heracleidae as eighty years, from then to the First Olympiad three hundred and twenty-eight years, reckoning the dates by the reigns of the kings of Lacedaemon, and from the First Olympiad to the beginning of the Celtic war, which we have made the end of our history, seven hundred and thirty years; so that our whole treatise of forty Books embraces eleven hundred and thirty-eight years, exclusive of the periods which embrace the events before the Trojan War. We have given at the outset this precise outline, since we desire to inform our readers about the project as a whole, and at the same time to deter those who are accustomed to make their books by compilation, from mutilating works of which they are not the authors.

Diodoros again stresses the unity of his work and draws our attention once more to the fact that all events in his work are precisely dated, at least for the historical period (cf. I 3.8 above). Such methodological claims as I have discussed are not limited to the preface; they occur elsewhere in the work too (III 11.1– 3): περὶ δὲ τῶν συγγραφέων ἡμῖν διοριστέον, ὅτι πολλοὶ συγγεγράφασι περί τε τῆς Αἰγύπτου καὶ τῆς Αἰθιοπίας, ὧν οἱ μὲν ψευδεῖ φήμῃ πεπιστευκότες, οἱ δὲ παρ᾽ ἑαυτῶν πολλὰ τῆς ψυχαγωγίας ἕνεκα πεπλακότες, δικαίως ἂν ἀπιστοῖντο. ᾿Aγαθαρχίδης μὲν γὰρ ὁ Κνίδιος ἐν τῇ δευτέρᾳ βίβλῳ τῶν περὶ τὴν ᾿Aσίαν, καὶ ὁ τὰς γεωγραφίας συνταξάμενος ᾿Aρτεμίδωρος ὁ Ἐφέσιος κατὰ τὴν ὀγδόην βίβλον, καί τινες ἕτεροι τῶν ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ κατοικούντων, ἱστορηκότες τὰ πλεῖστα τῶν προειρημένων ἐν πᾶσι σχεδὸν ἐπιτυγχάνουσι. καὶ γὰρ ἡμεῖς καθ᾽ ὃν καιρὸν παρεβάλομεν εἰς Αἴγυπτον, πολλοῖς μὲν τῶν ἱερέων ἐνετύχομεν, οὐκ ὀλίγοις δὲ καὶ

 Cf. Meeus 2020b, 99 n. 54.

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πρεσβευταῖς ἀπὸ τῆς Αἰθιοπίας παροῦσιν εἰς λόγους ἀφικόμεθα· παρ᾽ ὧν ἀκριβῶς ἕκαστα πυθόμενοι, καὶ τοὺς λόγους τῶν ἱστορικῶν ἐξελέγξαντες, τοῖς μάλιστα συμφωνοῦσιν ἀκόλουθον τὴν ἀναγραφὴν πεποιήμεθα. Concerning the historians, we must distinguish among them, to the effect that many have composed works on both Egypt and Ethiopia, of whom some have given credence to false report and others have invented many tales out of their own minds for the delectation of their readers, and so may justly be distrusted. For example, Agatharchides of Cnidus in the second Book of his work on Asia, and the compiler of geographies, Artemidorus of Ephesus, in his eighth Book, and certain others whose homes were in Egypt, have recounted most of what I have set forth above and are, on the contrary, accurate in all they have written. Since, to bear witness ourselves, during the time of our visit to Egypt, we associated with many of its priests and conversed with not a few ambassadors from Ethiopia as well who were then in Egypt; and after inquiring carefully of them about each matter and testing the stories of the historians, we have composed our account so as to accord with the opinions on which they most fully agree.

Once more Diodoros claims thorough investigation and critical evaluation of written sources, conversation with eyewitnesses and personal knowledge of the places he discusses.⁸⁴ Although the passages in which he confronts two sources are rather rare, they likewise serve the purpose of fashioning himself as a serious and critical investigator (e.g. XIII 54.5, 60.5, 80.5, XIV 54.5 – 6). On other occasions Diodoros engages in explicit polemics with specific predecessors.⁸⁵ Without denying our author’s quest for historical truth, an important aim of such polemics is to present himself as a critical historian.⁸⁶ One may of course object that all of this is coincidental. If Diodoros always copied good historians, he would unconsciously create the image that he was a good historian by inadvertently taking over the methodological statements of his sources. However, the claim that he knew Latin because he came from Agyrion in Sicily (I 4.4) cannot be anything but Diodoros’ own. Furthermore, Walbank has argued conclusively that Diodoros’ attack against Timaios for claiming that the bull of Phalaris did not exist, is the Sicilian’s own creation based on his inade-

 For critical discussion, see Peremans 1967 and Desanges 1998. It is unclear to what extent Diodoros has really checked the stories of the historians he refers to.  E.g. I 37– 41, IV 1.1– 4, XIII 90.6. The fullest discussion of Diodoros’ use of polemics is Sacks 1990, 108 – 116, but he may be somewhat too optimistic in interpreting everything as the Sicilian’s own work. A briefer but more realistic analysis is found in Marincola 1997, 233 – 234.  This is clear from the superficiality of many of the polemical passages: cf. Walbank 1945 and now especially Rathmann 2016, 211– 218.

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quate recalling a similar critique of Timaios by Polybios.⁸⁷ The criticism of the reasons why other historians had excluded mythical times from their works (IV 1.1– 4) could in principle be another historians’ polemics against such authors, but even so it must remain Diodoros’ own choice to copy it as a preface to his own account of Greek myth. As Marincola rightly concluded, therefore, ‘despite his sometimes haphazard use of polemic, Diodorus has still used it to highlight those matters that he wishes the reader to see as his own contribution to the writing of history’.⁸⁸ Diodoros thus clearly presents himself as an independent historian.⁸⁹ Although this does not necessarily mean that he actually believed he was an independent historian, one gets the impression that he did.⁹⁰ The question whether he actually was one is a different matter, but one which requires much more consideration of the methods of ancient historians than scholars have usually given to it, especially regarding the expectation that an historian should combine multiple sources.⁹¹ At any rate, now that it is clear that Diodoros did not present himself as a compiler, the argument that ‘he says so himself’ can no longer be used by those who claim that the Sicilian limited himself to copying his sources. The following sections will discuss how Diodoros shaped his narrative in order to get a clearer understanding of his own historiographical activity and the spectrum of his personal interventions within the framework of his adherence to a single main source.

 Walbank 1945, 42: ‘His polemic against Timaeus is to be regarded as an example of unintelligent, but independent, source-criticism, largely inspired by his recollection of what Polybius had written in various parts of Book XII’.  Marincola 1997, 234.  Thus also e.g. Marincola 2007d, 26 – 28; Rathmann 2014, 59 – 80, 2016, esp. 200 – 227; Hau 2018, 283 – 285. Hornblower 1981, 26, on the other hand, after having pointed out the historian’s self-fashioning in the preface, concludes: ‘The proem, which presents the author as a serious historian, is therefore in conflict with the title of the book, which seems to announce a compilation’. Given the carefully crafted picture of himself as a serious historian, it seems more likely that Diodoros chose a title which is in accordance with his self-presentation. It should be clear, then, that Bibliotheke does not mean ‘compilation’. According to Clarke 2008, 122, ‘Diodorus is one of the most explicit historians on the nature of his task’. That makes it all the more telling that he does not present himself as a compiler.  Cf. Tarn 1948, II, 63: ‘It must be remembered that, in his own eyes, he was a historian, with all that that implied’.  Cf. supra, n. 73. I therefore agree neither with those who assume as a matter of course that Diodoros would have used all or at least many of the available sources (e.g. Green 2006, 37; Muntz 2017) nor with those who maintain that in basically sticking to a single source Diodoros was an exception (e.g. Pitcher 2009, 78).

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2.2.2 The Organisation of the Material That Diodoros had the idea of consciously presenting himself as a critical historian, has important logical consequences. After all, someone who had one idea may also have had two ideas, perhaps even three or more. Such a second idea is indeed easily found, as it must have been Diodoros’ own design to write a work which started with the earliest beginnings and treated all subsequent history down to his own day, and this for Greeks and non-Greeks. Whether he completely succeeded or not,⁹² at least it was Diodoros’ own plan.⁹³ A third idea for which Diodoros should be given some credit, is the chronographic framework by which he organized the Bibliotheke. Others before him had dated by Athenian archons, or by Olympiads, or by Roman consuls, or by other local magistrates.⁹⁴ Diodoros, however, decided that the only system appropriate to a work of the scope he had in mind, was to combine Olympiads, archons and consuls.⁹⁵ Surely this was not altogether a perfect solution, as the different new year dates made the Athenian archon year and the Roman consular year incompatible.⁹⁶ This may be one of Diodoros’ shortcomings, then, but it does show that he was capable of having independent thoughts. Furthermore, his consistent application of this system required Diodoros constantly to confront sources which did not necessarily use any of the same chronographic markers with his chronological table.⁹⁷ He must, therefore, also have been regularly obliged to re-order the material from his sources, such as

 His account of non-Greek peoples in the first three books stands somewhat apart from the rest of the work, and no real attempt seems to have been made to treat them alongside the history of Greeks and Romans (cf. I 9.5). Rubincam 1987, 316 – 317, wonders whether Diodoros could possibly have found the sources which would allow him to treat the history of these exotic peoples within his annalistic framework.  Rubincam 1987, 314– 315 and 1998b; Guelfucci 2001, 84– 85; Sheridan 2010. This is admitted even by some of those who deny Diodoros any further independence, as e.g. Van der Vliet 1977, 131: ‘Diodorus’ werk mag dan een compilatie van vroegere auteurs geweest zijn, een kritiekloos overschrijven van deze of gene en liefst zoveel mogelijk dezelfde bron, dat neemt niet weg dat de conceptie, de opzet en de indeling van het werk door hem zelf bedacht moeten zijn’.  See e.g. the recent studies of Christesen 2007 on Olympiad dating, and Clarke 2008, on Olympiads and other systems.  For a detailed analysis of Diodoros’ chronographic system, see Perl 1957, 4– 10. Clarke 2008, 121– 139 discusses the significance of Diodoros’ chronography within the development of such systems in ancient historiography.  Schmid & Stählin 1920, 404; Clarke 1999b, 12– 13.  Perl 1957, 10.

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for instance with Ephoros, who wrote κατὰ γένος rather than annalistically.⁹⁸ He faced a similar problem with his source for the history of the Diadochoi, which was apparently organized according to the campaigning year, from winter to winter.⁹⁹ The Athenian archon year, however, began in the summer, and it is obvious that with the first years of the history of the Diadochoi Diodoros had considerable problems in working out the correct chronology. From 315 onwards, however, he systematically equated the archon year with the campaigning season during which the particular archon took office.¹⁰⁰ Again, this was not an ideal solution, as it consistently places the events of the first half of the campaigning season under the wrong archon. Haphazard as the solution may be, though, it shows that Diodoros was capable of identifying a problem in his organization, of finding a solution for it, and of applying that solution in all subsequent instances. It is equally telling, however, that he has not gone back to correct the mess he made of the chronology of the years 323 – 316, and this should warn us against assuming that Diodoros would necessarily have eliminated all errors and inconsistencies from his work if he spotted them.¹⁰¹

2.2.3 Selection and Storyline These considerations on the organization of the work imply that Diodoros must have made some advance plan of the contents and structure of every book, as otherwise he would not have managed to fit in the whole work in the forty books he wanted to write.¹⁰² This means that he must have had some criteria of selection. Although he does not explicitly state in his introduction what these principles were, the preface does contain some indications. In his praise of the usefulness of history, he writes the following (I 2.1):¹⁰³ καθόλου δὲ διὰ τὴν ἐκ ταύτης ἐπ᾽ ἀγαθῷ μνήμην οἱ μὲν κτίσται πόλεων γενέσθαι προεκλήθησαν, οἱ δὲ νόμους εἰσηγήσασθαι περιέχοντας τῷ κοινῷ βίω τὴν ἀσφάλειαν, πολλοὶ δ᾽ ἐπιστήμας καὶ τέχνας ἐξευρεῖν ἐφιλοτιμήθησαν πρὸς εὐεργεσίαν τοῦ γένους τῶν ἀνθρώπων. ἐξ

 Schepens 1977, 116; Marincola 2007c, 172; Parmeggiani 2011, 156 – 160; Cohen-Skalli 2012a, xcii–xcvii; Rathmann 2016, 241– 254; Maier 2016.  Errington 1977, 480 – 481.  Meeus 2012.  Thus recently e.g. Sheridan 2014. Cf. supra, n. 58 on the question of planned revisions.  Rubincam 1987, 1998b.  The similarity to Isoc. 3.5 – 6 is striking, both in the activities listed there (πόλεις ᾠκίσαμεν καὶ νόμους ἐθέμεθα καὶ τέχνας εὕρομεν) and in the claim that the genre the very author is practicing is the cause (αἴτιόν ἐστι) of these benefactions to mankind.

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ἁπάντων δὲ συμπληρουμένης τῆς εὐδαιμονίας, ἀποδοτέον τῶν ἐπαίνων τὸ πρωτεῖον τῇ τούτων μάλιστ᾽ αἰτίᾳ ἱστορίᾳ. In general, then, it is because of that commemoration of goodly deeds which history accords men that some of them have been induced to become the founders of cities, that others have been led to introduce laws which encompass man’s social life with security, and that many have aspired to discover new sciences and arts in order to benefit the race of men. And since complete happiness can be attained only through the combination of all these activities, the foremost meed of praise must be awarded to that which more than any other thing is the cause of them, that is, to history.

Thus, one would expect Diodoros to discuss examples of the founders of cities, of lawgivers, and of those who made discoveries so as to inspire others to follow their example. It has often been pointed out that throughout his work Diodoros presents city-founders and inventors as benefactors of mankind.¹⁰⁴ However, no one seems to have investigated the issue of lawgivers, although there is strong evidence that Diodoros elaborated the theme throughout his work. The claim that lawgiving benefits the κοινὸς βίος as Diodoros states in the quote above, is found on several occasions in his work: I 75.1– 2: περὶ δὲ τὰς κρίσεις οὐ τὴν τυχοῦσαν ἐποιοῦντο σπουδήν, ἡγούμενοι τὰς ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις ἀποφάσεις μεγίστην ῥοπὴν τῷ κοινῷ βίῳ φέρειν (…) εἰ δ᾽ ὁ φόβος ὁ γινόμενος ἐκ τῶν κρίσεων τοῖς παρανομοῦσιν ἀνατρέποιτο χρήμασιν ἢ χάρισιν, ἐσομένην ἑώρων τοῦ κοινοῦ βίου σύγχυσιν. In their administration of justice the Egyptians also showed no merely casual interest, holding that the decisions of the courts exercise the greatest influence upon community life. (…) but if on the other hand, the fear which wrongdoers have of the judgements of the courts should be brought to naught by bribery or favour, they saw that the break-up of community life would follow. I 78.2: ἅμα μὲν τοῦ νομοθέτου δεινοτέραν τιμωρίαν ποιοῦντος τὴν ἀτιμίαν ἢ τὸν θάνατον, ἵνα τὸ μέγιστον τῶν κακῶν ἐθίσῃ πάντας κρίνειν τὴν αἰσχύνην, ἅμα δὲ τοὺς μὲν θανατωθέντας ἡγεῖτο μηδὲν ὠφελήσειν τὸν κοινὸν βίον, τοὺς δὲ ἀτιμωθέντας ἀγαθῶν πολλῶν αἰτίους ἔσεσθαι διὰ τὴν ἐπιθυμίαν τῆς παρρησίας. The lawgiver made disgrace a more terrible punishment than death, in order to accustom all the people to consider dishonour the greatest of evils, and he also believed that, while dead men would never be of value to society, men who had been disgraced would do many a good deed through their desire to regain freedom of speech. IV 1.5: ἐν ταύτῃ δὲ τὰ παρὰ τοῖς Ἕλλησιν ἱστορούμενα κατὰ τοὺς ἀρχαίους χρόνους περὶ τῶν ἐπιφανεστάτων ἡρώων τε καὶ ἡμιθέων καὶ καθόλου τῶν κατὰ πόλεμον ἀξιόλογόν τι

 Detailed discussions in Sacks 1990, 55 – 82; Wiater 2006a; Sulimani 2011; Muntz 2017. On Diodoros’ interest in city foundations in book XIX, see 52.2 ἔκτισε δὲ καὶ πόλιν…, 52.3 ταχὺ μεγάλην ἐπίδοσιν…, and 53.2 καὶ διὰ τὴν εὐεργεσίαν…

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κατειργασμένων, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ τῶν ἐν εἰρήνῃ τι χρήσιμον πρὸς τὸν κοινὸν βίον εὑρόντων ἢ νομοθετησάντων. In the present Book we shall set forth what the Greeks in their histories of the ancient periods tell about their most renowned heroes and demi-gods and, in general, about all who have performed any notable exploit in war, and likewise about such also as in time of peace have made some useful discovery or enacted some good law contributing to man’s social life. XIII 26.3: οὗτοι νόμους εὗρον, δι᾽ οὓς ὁ κοινὸς βίος ἐκ τῆς ἀγρίας καὶ ἀδίκου ζωῆς εἰς ἥμερον καὶ δικαίαν ἐλήλυθε συμβίωσιν. They it was who discovered laws, by the application of which the manner of men’s living has advanced from the savage and unjust existence to a civilized and just society.

Of course, the idea of law as the guarantee of an orderly and just society is not unique to Diodoros. It is found already in the Homeric epics (e.g. Od. IX 105 – 115), and in historians from Herodotos (e.g. IV 106) to Ammianus Marcellinus (e.g. XXXI 2)¹⁰⁵. However, the repeated connection with the κοινὸς βίος suggests that Diodoros himself at least rephrased the idea in this way, and the theme occurs in the Bibliotheke on many other occasions.¹⁰⁶ At I 93.4 the narrator explicitly intervenes in the first person to explain that in his view laws have to serve the betterment of society: κρατίστους δ᾽, οἶμαι, τῶν νόμων ἡγητέον οὐκ ἐξ ὧν εὐπορωτάτους, ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ ὧν ἐπιεικεστάτους τοῖς ἤθεσι καὶ πολιτικωτάτους συμβήσεται γενέσθαι τοὺς ἀνθρώπους. The best laws, in my opinion, must be held to be, not those by which men become most prosperous, but those by which they become more virtuous in character and best fitted for citizenship.

Diodoros’ historiographical interest in νομοθεσία is also revealed at XXX 15.1 (= fr. 19 CUF): ἅμα μὲν γὰρ τὰς ἐφ’ ἑκάτερα προαιρέσεις τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἐμφανεῖς κατασκευάζομεν καὶ τὸν οἰκεῖον λόγον ἑκατέροις ἀπονέμοντες προτρεπόμεθα τὰς τῶν ἀναγινωσκόντων ψυχὰς πρὸς τὸν τῶν καλῶν ζῆλον, ἅμα δὲ τὴν ἱστορίαν ἔγκαρπον καὶ πᾶσι χρησίμην ἐφ’ ὅσον

 Cf. the theoretical exposition by Polybios (VI 47.1– 4) which shows very clearly the typical set of ideas which must have made law and related matters very important for a moralizing historian like Diodoros.  The κοινὸς βίος clearly is a Diodorean theme: it also occurs at I 1.1, 8.8, 9.2, 13.5, 15.9, 20.3, 87.1, III 65.1, V 74.3, VIII 1.1, IX 10.4, X 12.1, XI 38.6, XVIII 59.6, XXVII 18.2, XXXI 15.1 XXXIV/XXXV 2.47. Cf. Sacks 1990, 11 n. 12 and index s.v. κοινὸς βίος; Holton 2018, 204; Meeus 2018a, 159 n. 39 with further references.

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ἡμῖν δυνατὸν κατασκευάζομεν διὰ τὸ τὰς ψιλῶς ἐχούσας ναυμαχίας καὶ παρατάξεις, ἔτι δὲ νομοθεσίας, μηδὲν διαφέρειν μύθων. We bring into clear view the principles, both good and bad, by which men live and act, and by rendering a proper account of each we direct the minds of our readers to the emulation of what is good; at the same time, to the best of our ability we make our history fruitful and useful to all men, since a bare narrative of naval battles, military engagements, and legislation too, is no better than so much fiction.

Certainly it is no coincidence that of all possible topics lawgiving is mentioned alongside the more obvious land and sea battles which were so central to ancient historiography. This statement is strongly reminiscent of the preface, where Diodoros positively compares the usefulness of history with other literary genres, singling out poetry and νομοθεσία: both are commendable genres in themselves, but only history combines the benefits they offer (I 2.7). In his account of Egypt in book I, eight and a half chapters are dedicated to the discussion of the Egyptian lawgivers (I 75.1– 80.2 and I 94– 95); in the Teubner text this takes up eleven pages out of a total of 151. Book XII, in turn, contains a long digression on the laws of Zaleukos and Charondas (XII 11.4– 21), which is the longest excursion in the extant parts of the work, taking up eleven and a half pages in the Teubner. Perhaps Diodoros had even made the effort to find a source other than his main authority Ephoros for the digression.¹⁰⁷ Diodoros states that it will be useful to include the account of the laws of Zaleukos and Charondas for the διόρθωσις of the reader (XII 11.4), just as he had claimed in his proem (I 1.4) that the lessons of history could lead to διόρθωσις.¹⁰⁸ That he actually thought that laws have the potential to inspire men to perform good deeds is clear from his explanation of the action of the tyrannicides Harmodios and Aristogeiton as being inspired by the laws of Solon (IX 1.4 = fr. 3 CUF): διὸ τῇ τούτου νομοθεσίᾳ καθοπλισθέντες τὰς ψυχὰς Ἁρμόδιος καὶ ᾿Aριστογείτων καταλύειν ἐπεχείρησαν τὴν τῶν Πεισιστρατιδῶν ἀρχήν. And it was because of this that Harmodius and Aristogeiton, their spirits equipped with the panoply of his legislation, made the attempt to destroy the rule of the Peisistratidae.

 Such at any rate is the opinion of e.g. Schwartz 1903, 685; Meister 1967, 54; Green 2006, 206 n. 84.  On the importance of this concept to Diodoros’ historiographical programme, see Meeus 2018a, 158 with n. 37. For the effect of lawgiving in improving behaviour, cf. infra, 33.3 κολάζοντες… At I 2.7, Diodoros does insist on the superiority of historiography over laws in this respect.

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Book XIII contains a shorter digression on the lawgiver Diokles which is concluded with the following words (XIII 35.5): ταῦτα μὲν οὖν ἀκριβέστερον εἰπεῖν προήχθην διὰ τὸ τοὺς πλείους τῶν συγγραφέων ὀλιγωρότερον περὶ αὐτοῦ διειλέχθαι. Now these qualities of Diocles I have been moved to set forth in considerable detail by reason of the fact that most historians have rather slighted him in their treatises.

Thus, Diodoros even criticizes other historians for not having paid due attention to lawgiving. Elsewhere he presents lawgiving as the greatest possible benefaction along with the invention of agriculture (V 5.2– 3, cf. I 14.3 – 4, V 68.3, XIII 26.3): οὐκ ἄξιον δὲ παραλιπεῖν τῆς θεοῦ ταύτης τὴν ὑπερβολὴν τῆς εἰς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους εὐεργεσίας: χωρὶς γὰρ τῆς εὑρέσεως τοῦ σίτου τήν τε κατεργασίαν αὐτοῦ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἐδίδαξε καὶ νόμους εἰσηγήσατο καθ᾽ οὓς δικαιοπραγεῖν εἰθίσθησαν, δι᾽ ἣν αἰτίαν φασὶν αὐτὴν θεσμοφόρον ἐπονομασθῆναι. τούτων δὲ τῶν εὑρημάτων οὐκ ἄν τις ἑτέραν εὐεργεσίαν εὕροι μείζονα: καὶ γὰρ τὸ ζῆν καὶ τὸ καλῶς ζῆν περιέχουσι. But we should not omit to mention the very great benefaction which Demeter conferred upon mankind; for beside the fact that she was the discoverer of corn, she also taught mankind how to prepare it for food and introduced laws by obedience to which men became accustomed to the practice of justice, this being the reason, we are told, why she has been given the epithet Thesmophoros or Lawgiver. Surely a benefaction greater than these discoveries of hers one could not find; for they embrace both living and living honourably.

Likewise, Pittakos of Mitylene is said to have been a man such as Lesbos would never produce again because of his lawgiving (IX 11). About the Law of the Twelve Tables, Diodoros says (XII 26.1):¹⁰⁹ ἡ δὲ γραφεῖσα νομοθεσία, βραχέως καὶ ἀπερίττως συγκειμένη, διέμεινε θαυμαζομένη μέχρι τῶν καθ᾽ ἡμᾶς καιρῶν. And the legislation as it was drawn up, couched in such brief and pithy language, has continued to be admired by men down to our own day.

By now it certainly seems a reasonable assumption that Diodoros himself was among the admirers of this legislation in his own day.¹¹⁰ Not only the theory of good lawgiving seems to have interested him, though, but the practice in

 For the stylistic brevity cf. also the comment on Diokles’ lawgiving at 35.4: ἔστι δὲ καὶ κατὰ τὴν λέξιν σύντομος (‘he is also concise in his style’).  Cf. XXXIII 7 (fr. 10 – 11 CUF) for the combination of justice, simplicity, and pithy language.

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law courts as well. If he could attach some moral conclusion to it, he eagerly described trials such as those of Tiribazos (XV 10 – 11, one of the few episodes of purely Persian history), Charidemos (XVII 30), or Phokion (XVIII 66 – 67). Diodoros’ special interest in laws is also evident in his long discussion of the origins of the Indian practice of sati (XIX 33 with comm. ad loc.). Several other passages could be adduced,¹¹¹ but those already discussed should suffice to show that Diodoros’ statements about the usefulness of lawgiving are not merely hollow phrases or ideas unthinkingly copied from his sources. On the contrary, they reveal Diodoros’ own interest in a particular topic, an interest which is announced in the proem and which is being pursued throughout the Bibliotheke. It is clear, then, that Diodoros was able to choose his material according to his own interests. Yet, identifying such interest in a particular topic often dealt with in digressions, even if occurring throughout the work, does not yet answer the question of how Diodoros’ selection process shaped the overall narrative.¹¹² The clearest indications of the relation between Diodoros’ selection process and his own interests, are to be found in those passages which are not essential to the narrative of political and military history on the universal scale of the Bibliotheke. Several such passages are to be found in book XIX. Chapter 16 deals with the fate of the Perdikkan officers captured in the battle of Kreton polis, which meant the end of a significant part of the Perdikkan faction. The battle itself, therefore, needed inclusion in any serious political history of the period, and Diodoros has given it due attention in book XVIII (44– 45). However, the story of the captives in XIX 16 can hardly be called a crucial episode in the history of the Successors. The battle of Kreton polis had in practice ended the careers of these men who only lived on for a few more years as prisoners. Diodoros included the story for a good reason, though: it was a story of extreme peripeteiai within a rather brief time span. The captives were able to seize control of the fortress, and for a short time they could at least hope to gain prominence again. An argument ensued among them about the right course to follow, however, and in the meantime enemy reinforcements arrived and their chances seriously diminished again. Then, one of them, Dokimos, found a way out which was not guarded, and it seemed that he was saved. He betrayed his friends, for whom all hope was now lost, but then he himself was also mistrusted by the enemy and placed under guard again. It is no coincidence that the story is included in Diodoros’ work in that form. What matters is not the outcome of the story or how that came

 E.g. I 22.1, 27.1, 71.1, 71.5, II 38.5, V 67.4– 5, 79.2, 82.4, XX 70.4.  Obviously it is an important question, cf. Bosworth 2003a, 194: ‘Selection was a part of the creative process’.

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about as such, but the quick succession of περιπέτειαι (see comm. ad loc.). Such vicissitudes were a central aspect of history for the ancient audience,¹¹³ and it is the kind of history Diodoros wrote. Other episodes in book XIX which are not essential to the political narrative are the ethnographic and geographical digressions in chapters 33 – 34, and 94 and 98. That chapter 98 is an almost literal repetition from II 48, shows to what extent it interested Diodoros. These chapters are clearly meant to teach the same kind of moral lessons about the organisation of society and admirable behaviour as much of the mythical material in books I–VI: the importance of laws, simplicity and moderation, and courage in the face of death. Often they combine this didactic purpose with the interest in παράδοξα.¹¹⁴ Chapter 45, on the flood of Rhodes, also conforms to the pattern: things happen παραδόξως (45.4), and just when it seemed that the city and its inhabitants would meet utter destruction, βοήθειά τις αὐτόματος ἐγένετο (45.6),¹¹⁵ which saved the city. Then follows the downfall of Peithon, who had developed high expectations only just before (46.3), and the story of his collaborators Meleagros and Menoitas, who try to bring about the revolution Peithon had planned. At first they gained some success, but only to be utterly defeated in the end (47). Peithon’s death, of course, was an important moment, but compared to the many significant events Diodoros only hints at or leaves unmentioned altogether,¹¹⁶ the Median revolt of Meleagros and Menoitas receives undue attention. The same holds true for book XVIII, where Diodoros takes a keen interest in the trial of Phokion and his associates. Of course, the inglorious end of leading men in a tumultuous gathering of the people constitutes the kind of μεταβολή to be treated in an ancient historical work. Combined with Diodoros’ special interest in law and related matters (cf. supra), one easily understands why he dedicated several chapters to these internal Athenian affairs. Another long digression on local matters in the same book is the story of Thibron’s adventures in Kyrene (19 – 21). The reason for its inclusion and its length are exactly the same as with XIX 16. Within a brief period of time, Thibron’s fortune changes several times, as Diodoros explicitly indicates with authorial comments carrying a strong moralizing tone. After Thibron’s affairs have prospered for a while, things go wrong and οὕτω δὲ τῶν πραγμάτων τῷ Θίβρωνι προχωρούντων ἡ τύχη ταχὺ μεταβα-

 Cf. explicitly Cic., Ad fam. V 12.4: ‘nihil est enim aptius ad delectationem lectoris quam temporum varietates fortunaeque vicissitudines’ (‘nothing is more suitable to the delight of the reader than changing times and reverses of fortune’); Marincola 2007d, 37– 47.  Cf. infra, 32.3 ἔνθα δή…  This Diodorean expression is always combined with unexpected reversals: cf. infra, ad loc.  Cf. Meeus 2013b, 85.

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λοῦσα ἐταπείνωσεν αὐτόν (20.1). However, his hopes rise again, but μετ᾽ ὀλίγον δὲ πάλιν αὐτὸν συνέβη περιπεσεῖν μεγάλοις ἐλαττώμασιν (20.6). Even this turn of the tables does not prove definitive, though: παραδόξως πάλιν ἐθάρρησε (21.3). Thibron becomes elated (περιχαρής) by the new success (21.4 and 5), but this is only the prelude to his ultimate downfall and capture. It is hardly possible to include more changes of fortune than Diodoros has done in these three chapters.¹¹⁷ Immediately following upon the affairs of Thibron, Diodoros relates the story of Laranda and Isauria at disproportionate length (XVIII 22), given that it is hardly a significant event within the history of the Successors. It is again a spectacular story, though, about the heroic death of the Isaurians who burned themselves and their city, thus bringing a tragic end to the existence of a polis that had been ‘prosperous for a great many years’.¹¹⁸ The description of Alexander’s funeral carriage likewise attracts much interest from Diodoros (XVIII 26 – 28.2). The iconography of the hearse’s ornaments is important to present-day historians, as it teaches us a great deal about Perdikkas’ view of Alexander and the empire, as well as about the propaganda value of the carriage.¹¹⁹ However, Diodoros himself explains that he included it because it was a famous and spectacular topic (26.2), and some ekphrasis from time to time of course increased the entertainment value of the work. The Baktrian revolt is not dealt with at the same length, but Diodoros’ treatment of it again makes immediately clear why he included the episode (XVIII 4.8 and 7.1– 9). The focus is not on the military events, but on the reversal of Peithon’s hopes. To set the scene, the protagonist is described as a former bodyguard of Alexander, as being φρονήματος δὲ πλήρη καὶ δυνάμενον στρατηγεῖν (7.3), and as μεγαλεπίβολος and intent on establishing his own dominion over the upper satrapies (7.4). At first, Peithon’s plan seems to work out, as he is able to defeat the Greek rebels and to make them return to their colonies (7.5 – 7). Diodoros notes that Peithon was very happy about the way things went, as everything seemed to go according to plan (7.8: περιχαρὴς ἦν, κατὰ νοῦν αὐτῷ προχωρούντων τῶν πραγμάτων, note the verbal echoes with the

 Arrian (Succ. F1.16 – 19) likewise treated these events in great detail and apparently with the same focus: F1.17, πολλαῖς μὲν μάχαις πολλαῖς δὲ ἐπιβουλαῖς ἄλλοτε μὲν κρατῶν ἐνίοτε δὲ ἡττώμενος (‘with many battles and many intrigues he was sometimes successful and sometimes defeated’).  On Diodoros’ interest in the destruction of cities, cf. infra 44.5 πλείστας γάρ…  See Elvira Barba 2000; Meeus 2007, 230.

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story of Thibron).¹²⁰ The Macedonian soldiers, however, in their desire for loot – and probably following an order of Perdikkas – unexpectedly fell on the Greeks (7.9: ἀπροσδοκήτως γὰρ αὐτοῖς ἐπιθέμενοι καὶ λαβόντες ἀφυλάκτους) and killed them all. Diodoros laconically concludes: ὁ μὲν οὖν Πείθων διαψευσθεὶς τῶν ἐλπίδων ἀπῆλθε μετὰ τῶν Μακεδόνων πρὸς τὸν Περδίκκαν (7.9). Then he ends his narrative of Asian affairs and turns his attention to Europe. Again, it would seem that for Diodoros the most important issue is not how the rebellion in the East was ended, but how Peithon’s hopes rose high after his victory and very soon afterwards were betrayed altogether.¹²¹ In book XX Diodoros pays more attention to Agathokles than to the Diadochoi. Perhaps he thought that the former topic had a better ratio between importance and μεταβολή. It is interesting, however, to consider which episodes of the history of the Successors from 310 – 302 are included. We are informed about the last failure of Polyperchon who goes from potential king-maker to local general in the Peloponnese, and the quick reversals of fortune of Herakles, who is very close to becoming king of Macedonia, and then gets killed (XX 20 and 28). There are the defections of Polemaios which at first give him hope of greater power, but then result in his death (XX 19 and 27). We also read about Ptolemaios who came very close to supreme power in 308 with his conquests in Asia Minor, the Aegean and Greece, as well as with Kleopatra’s decision to marry him, but then lost almost all of his newly gained assets even quicker than he had won them (XX 37). Diodoros likewise took a keen interest in the dramatic end of Nikokles of Paphos (XX 21). As we shall see below (section 3.2), it is important to note that the Antigonids do not play a central role in any of this. Antigonos and Demetrios only be-

 The only other occurrences of the phrase as a whole are Diod. XI 17.4 (κατὰ νοῦν αὐτῷ προκεχωρηκότος τοῦ στρατηγήματος, περιχαρὴς ἦν) and Plb. VIII 29.11 (περιχαρὴς γενόμενος ᾿Aννίβας ἐπὶ τῷ κατὰ νοῦν αὐτῷ προχωρεῖν τὴν πρᾶξιν…). Yet its separate elements occur not only in the Thibron episode but throughout the Bibliotheke: MD s.v. περιχαρής; infra, 52.1 κατὰ νοῦν…  This does not necessarily exclude the interpretation of Walsh (2009) who argues in an interesting article that the account of the Baktrian revolt serves as a prelude to the Lamian War, but I am far from convinced by his analysis for several other reasons. He does not actually prove that Diodoros disregarded the chronology with a clear purpose, or even that he was aware of the wrong chronological order. Especially Walsh’s case that the purpose of the distortion was as sophisticated as he contends, is questionable. I do not deny that Diodoros was capable of structuring his narrative, but here the main reason why he wrote what he did in the place he did, was probably to write a short and uninterrupted account of the whole revolt. Furthermore, Walsh only notes one single textual parallel between both episodes, while such echoes are to be found all over the Bibliotheke. Diodoros was no Tacitus, and it is not necessary to make him one in order to prove that he was an independent historian by ancient standards.

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come prominent again in 307, when they were finally able to wrest Athens from Kassandros by obtaining several successes in a few days (XX 46.1), and even receive divine honours. Next is the battle of Salamis with the events leading up to it and its consequences, undeniably one of the most dramatic and significant series of events in the period. Subsequently we get the attack on Egypt, where fortune seems to be shifting again: after his defeat at Salamis, Ptolemaios now repulses the previously victorious Antigonids (XX 73 – 76). Next Diodoros inserts an extensive treatment of the siege of Rhodes (XX 81– 88, 91– 100). He begins it by explaining at some length how Rhodes became the most successful of all Greek cities, which led to its becoming the most threatened one. It was a city which had been spared from plunderers for many years and now attracted many of ‘those who were accustomed to consider the misfortunes of men at war a means of enriching themselves’ (82.5). It was a story of alternating success and changing hopes, which by now cannot surprise us, and it also gave Diodoros another opportunity to describe extraordinary and spectacular constructions, thanks to the enormous siege engines of Demetrios. It contains many of Diodoros’ favourite formulae (e.g. γενομένης δὲ μάχης ἐπὶ πολὺν χρόνον ἰσχυρᾶς, 88.8; τῇ πολυχειρίᾳ τάχιον τῆς προσδοκίας ἁπάντων ἐπιτελουμένων, 92.1 [see below, §2.2.4]; τὸ παράδοξον τῆς τύχης, 93.7). After the siege of Rhodes the narrative builds up to one of the most spectacular μεταβολαί a historian could hope for: the almost complete collapse of a leading power in a single battle with the Antigonid defeat at Ipsos. It provided Diodoros with an excellent opportunity for moralizing and he seized it with both hands (XXI 1.4a, 1.1, 1.4b). Especially fragment 1.1 (fr. 2 CUF) is telling in this context: ᾿Aντίγονος ὁ βασιλεὺς ἐξ ἰδιώτου γενόμενος δυνάστης καὶ πλεῖστον ἰσχύσας τῶν καθ’ αὑτὸν βασιλέων οὐκ ἠρκέσθη ταῖς παρὰ τῆς τύχης δωρεαῖς, ἀλλ’ ἐπιβαλόμενος τὰς τῶν ἄλλων βασιλείας εἰς αὑτὸν ἀδίκως περιστῆσαι τὴν ἰδίαν ἀπέβαλεν ἀρχὴν ἅμα καὶ τοῦ ζῆν ἐστερήθη. King Antigonus, who rose from private station to high power and became the mightiest king of his day, was not content with the gifts of Fortune, but undertook to bring unjustly into his own hands the kingdoms of all the others; thus he lost his own dominion and was deprived of life as well.¹²²

Thus, it would seem that many passages in Diodoros’ account are selected mainly on the basis of their spectacular nature, and that this is also the guiding principle for Diodoros’ shaping of these episodes. Scholars usually maintain, howev-

 For Diodoros’ interest in the rags to riches story of rising ‘from private station to high power’, see Rood 2018, 39 – 43.

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er, that the focus of Diodoros XVIII–XX is determined by his source. The following claim by Anson is typical: Eumenes did not create a kingdom or a dynasty, and while a competent commander, defeating two generals in 320 who had led significant elements of the great Alexander’s army, he lost crucial battles to Antigonus in 319, and, again, in early 315. His career after Alexander’s death spanned less than eight years, and ended in defeat and death. Yet, Diodorus centers these years of his Asian narrative on Eumenes, and both Plutarch and Nepos composed biographies of the Cardian. Given Diodorus’s methodology, that author obviously was abbreviating a source who centered his history from 323 to 315 on Eumenes.¹²³

The source Anson suggests is of course Hieronymos of Kardia, a friend first of Eumenes and then of Antigonos and Demetrios (see below, §3.1.1). One of Anson’s claims is clearly not correct, however: the central figure of Diodoros’ narrative of the years 323 – 320 is not Eumenes, but Perdikkas. The latter was a tragic figure. After Alexander’s death he became the leading man in the empire. For a while, his affairs seemed to prosper and he could even dream of obtaining the kingship (XVIII 23). That was the moment when things started to go wrong, as his lust for power seemed so great that he soon had to face a coalition of almost all other important players intended to reduce his power to acceptable standards, if not to eliminate him. As it turned out, his undertaking failed and he lost everything, including his life (XVIII 33 – 36) – a most striking turn of fortune. Eumenes certainly plays an important role in the treatment of those years too, but he was one of Perdikkas’ main collaborators, and given his later prominence the attention was not undue. Furthermore, no character in the early years of the history of the Diadochoi experienced more or greater changes of fortune than Eumenes: after Perdikkas’ murder in 320, Eumenes was outlawed, and he was in dire straits when Antigonos besieged him for more than a year in an Anatolian fortress. He managed to trick his opponent into freeing him, and after that he was appointed royal general of Asia by Antigonos’ enemy Polyperchon who had in the meantime become regent. From a convicted outlaw, Eumenes now turned into one of the leading men of the empire, and Diodoros twice digresses to marvel at his changes of fortune (XVIII 53 and 59.4– 6). However, after an eventful campaign in the East Eumenes was definitively defeated by Antigonos (XIX 12– 34 and 37– 44). Thus, it is equally possible that not Eumenes himself, but his unexpected and dramatic turns of fortune are in fact the focus of Diodoros’ narrative of these years. Likewise, Plutarch and Nepos decided to

 Anson 2004, 32. For a similar argument to my own, see Rathmann 2016, 261– 262.

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write biographies of Eumenes not because there was a source which centred on his career, but because his career offered the material they wished to treat. This same interest in dramatic reversals explains why in XIX 11, 35 – 36 and 49 – 51 Diodoros focusses on Eurydike and Olympias: this is a story of two people rising to the highest power only to meet utter destruction very suddenly. Especially in chapter 11, in which Olympias’ cruel treatment of Eurydike is the prelude to her own similar downfall, the language of τύχη is very prominent, while chapters 35 – 36 reveal how much Diodoros’ focus is on the destruction of Olympias’ hopes rather than on a coherent account of the military developments.¹²⁴ Again, Seleukos, who is rarely prominent in the narrative, becomes the primary focus in 316 when he flees his satrapy (XIX 55 – 56) and on the occasion of his return in 311 (XIX 90 – 92). These events constituted respectively the lowest point in his career and the rapid restoration of his position among the leading men of his age. The role of the Antigonids in the narrative can be explained on the same account. After the defeat of Eumenes Antigonos became the most powerful man in Alexander’s empire. He and his son Demetrios were the first to assume the royal title in 306, but at the battle of Ipsos in 301 Antigonos fell and almost all Antigonid possessions were lost.¹²⁵ Demetrios’ further career likewise consisted of great reversals, which was one of the reasons why Plutarch wrote a biography about him. There was more to it of course: after all Diodoros’ work was a history, not just a story.¹²⁶ In this respect too, however, the focus on Perdikkas, Eumenes and Antigonos in many passages fitted the requirements of the narrative. Perdikkas was the central protagonist in the First War of the Successors, as his ambitions united many of the others in a coalition against him. Eumenes was the leading figure of the coalition which fought against Antigonos in Asia in 317.¹²⁷ He entertained contacts with Olympias and Polyperchon in Europe, thus connecting both theatres of action in the Second War of the Successors. In the Third War of the Successors Antigonos was the central figure against whom  I therefore do not think that these chapters reveal a particular interest in widows on Diodoros’ part, as Harders 2014, 360 – 361, suggests. Likewise, in the case of Phila, whose character and qualities Diodoros praises at 59.4– 5, he announces that he will write more about her at the point the kingship of her husband Demetrios meets its reversal and final judgment (59.6, μεταβολὴν καὶ κρίσιν ἐσχάτην); cf. also Plut. Demetr. 45.1.  Cf. Hornblower 1981, 213: ‘Antigonus, of course, was an object lesson in pride and reversal of fortune’.  Of course, this is not to say that the focus on reversals of fortune was not historiographically meaningful: see Meeus 2018c, 9 – 14; contra Vial 1975, xxi, and Meeus 2013b, 86 – 87, who interpret it merely in terms of literary effect. Cf. supra, n. 20.  See the commentary on 15.3, εἰς τὴν βασιλικήν…

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all others were allied. Antigonos furthermore was constantly operating in Europe and Asia since 315, and in that way too connected both theatres much more than anyone else. It was thus a logical choice to focus largely on these protagonists, and the attention they receive need not suggest any particular source. The principle of selection rather seems to have been that of Herodotos (I pr.): ἔργα μεγάλα τε καὶ θωμαστά.¹²⁸ Diodoros may have found such a treatment in his source, but in the end he is responsible for maintaining a similar narrative focus, as he selected and summarized. This is especially clear in book XX, where the history of the Diadochoi is often dealt with in a rather concise manner because Diodoros seems more interested in Agathokles.¹²⁹

2.2.4 The Elaboration of the Material Once it is established that Diodoros was capable of independently selecting the material that he deemed worth including, it should be investigated whether he slavishly copied this material or, if he did not, to what extent his treatment was creative. Although scholars often take common Diodorean words or phrases as evidence for his own additions to his sources,¹³⁰ the matter does not appear to be quite so straightforward. At XVIII 14.1, for instance, it is said that upon arriving in Egypt Ptolemaios treated the inhabitants fairly, τοῖς μὲν ἐγχωρίοις φιλανθρώπως προσεφέρετο. This is a characteristically Diodorean expression indeed, as 20 out of the 30 ancient attestations in the TLG occur in the Bibliotheke,¹³¹ and it has been suggested that Diodoros added this particular comment himself.¹³² From Justin’s account of Ptolemaios’ arrival in the satrapy, however, it is clear that the idea was already in their common source, since he writes ‘Aegyptios in-

 Cf. for the Bibliotheke in general Guelfucci 2001, 87– 88; Green 2006, 3 and 23; Caneva 2019, 189 – 190. Diodoros does not put forward this principle as such, but on several occasions he makes it clear that the great events are what he has to treat: e.g. I 37.2 …μέγιστος ὢν τῶν κατὰ τὴν οἰκουμένην, τινὲς μὲν τῶν συγγραφέων ἁπλῶς οὐκ ἐτόλμησαν οὐδὲν εἰπεῖν, καίπερ…; I 44.5 διόπερ τῶν ἀξίων ἱστορίας τὰ κυριώτατα συντόμως διεξιέναι πειρασόμεθα; IV 1.4 μέγισται πράξεις; XII 1.1 μάλιστα ταῖς μεγίσταις; XIII 96.4 μεγίστην τῶν ἱστορουμένων τυραννίδα (…) καὶ πολυχρονιωτάτην; XVIII 4.4 τὰ μέγιστα καὶ μνήμης ἄξια; cf. D.H. Pomp. 3.18 and 3.6.  Along with book XIV it is one of only two amongst the preserved historical books in which the history of the West is dominant: Sacks 1990, 16.  See e.g. Sacks 1990 and Sulimani 2011 among many others.  Cf. infra, 92.5 φιλανθρώπως…  Hornblower 1981, 55 – 56 with n. 116; Sulimani 2011, 91– 92 (‘independent work of Diodorus’); cf. infra, n. 319.

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signi moderatione in favorem sui sollicitaverat’ (XIII 6.19).¹³³ The observation that someone spoke as if uttering an oracle, while not quite as common, likewise seems to be typical of Diodoros.¹³⁴ Yet, in the one case where we can compare him with his source (XXXI 10.1 = fr. 14 CUF), Diodoros’ καθάπερ χρησμῳδῶν is revealed as a mere rephrasing of Polybios’ comment ὡσανεὶ θείῳ τινὶ στόματι (XXIX 21): Diodoros has added the oracular dimension that seems to have fascinated him, but the basic idea was already in his source.¹³⁵ Traces of creativity are – unfortunately for Diodoros – especially obvious on those occasions where they have resulted in some discrepancy in the narrative. In book XIX this is the case for instance at 26.10, where Diodoros, after having recounted how the armies of Antigonos and Eumenes met, proceeds with the following statement about Antigonos: ἐπειδὴ τὸ στρατόπεδον ἧκεν, ἅπαν ἐξέταξεν εἰς μάχην καὶ κατέβαινε συντεταγμένος ἐπὶ τοὺς πολεμίους καταπληκτικῶς (‘when the army arrived, he drew it all up for battle and marched down in awe-inspiring array against the enemy’). One thus gets the impression that the battle has begun. After this, however, Diodoros dedicates three whole chapters to the description of the array of both armies (27– 29), and only thereafter does he start the report of the actual battle (30.1), which as a result begins twice in Diodoros’ narrative. Although some might argue that Diodoros changed sources at this point, and failed to create an imperceptible splice, the vocabulary of the phrase suggests otherwise. The adverb καταπληκτικῶς is typical of Diodoros: 20 out 34 ancient attestations occur in the Bibliotheke, often in the context of an army advancing towards the enemy.¹³⁶ What seems to have happened, is that Diodoros used one of his favourite topoi in a haphazard manner.¹³⁷ Without realizing that he was about to create a discrepancy, he enthusiastically announced that Antigonos’ army advanced in a most frightening manner, although he was yet to describe its being deployed. A similar instance is found in the early chapters of book XI. In describing Xerxes’ preparations for the campaign against Greece in the 480s, Diodoros ex-

 That Diodoros and Justin have other pro-Ptolemaic passages in common further confirms this origin: cf. infra, nn. 326 – 327.  Cf. infra, 11.9 καθάπερ χρησμῳδῶν… See also below, 48.4 ὥστε…, 52.3 ταχὺ μεγάλην…, 81.6 παρακαλέσας…, 93.2 στρατοπεδεύειν… and προσπεσών… for other instances where the use of characteristically Diodorean phrases partially or completely appears to go back to his sources.  For the close dependence on Polybios in this passage, see also above, n. 45, and cf. infra, 67.2 ἦν δὲ περὶ αὐτήν… For Diodoros’ interest in oracles and divination, see 53.8 κατὰ τὸν γενόμενον… and 55.8 καταπλαγείς…  See comm. ad loc. for detailed discussion.  On this feature of Diodoros’ work, see also Hornblower 1981, 272.

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plicitly states that it took three years before everything was ready (XI 2.1). After this he discusses Xerxes’ reasons for the campaign and seems to return to the order of the day with the statement that everything had been prepared and that Xerxes assembled his army (2.3). Then, however, he states that men were sent out to dig a canal through the Athos peninsula and to bridge the Hellespont. It is clear from the parallel account in Herodotos (VII 22– 36) that in fact these logistical operations were part of the preparations that took three years. Diodoros, on the other hand, concludes the summary account of the construction works with the statement: οἱ μὲν οὖν πεμφθέντες ἐπὶ τὴν κατασκευὴν τῶν ἔργων ταχέως ἤνυον διὰ τὴν πολυχειρίαν τῶν ἐργαζομένων (2.4). This is almost a standardized formula which is found throughout the Bibliotheke. ¹³⁸ Furthermore, the word πολυχειρία is quite rare: there are only ninety attestations in ancient literature, twenty of which are found in Diodoros’ work, and no other author used the word even nearly as often as he. The obvious conclusion therefore is that we are again dealing with a discrepancy caused by Diodoros’ use of a stereotypical formula. The latter discrepancy is more problematic than the former, though, as it clearly misrepresents the facts: a logistical operation which took three years is described as having been finished quickly. In this case, of course, the reader who can compare Herodotos’ report to that of Diodoros is alarmed by the contradiction the Sicilian has created by the mention of the three-year preparation period. However, the historian studying the ancient world does not always have the luxury of parallel accounts. Often Diodoros is the only source, and it is not unlikely that he has misrepresented other facts in contexts where we have no control and where he did not create a discrepancy in his own narrative. This is particularly clear in the battle descriptions, most of which are to a certain extent written according to a fixed scheme with a great deal of stereotypical expressions.¹³⁹ Gray has argued that Diodoros’ work suffers from three principal weaknesses: careless and insensitive abbreviation, fictitious conventionalizing of the facts, and amplification of the facts.¹⁴⁰ The two instances discussed here, and many others analysed in the commentary unfortunately confirm that this picture is

 XI 40.2, XIII 86.1, XIV 58.3, XV 68.3, 93.3, XVII 40.5, 89.6, XVIII 70.7, XX 92.1.  Cf. infra, 18.5 ἄφνω… See also below, section 2.3.  Gray 1987. Cf. also Hornblower 1981, 272: ‘Diodorus made up his own clichés and applied them everywhere mechanically, even when they were actually inappropriate to the context’; Stylianou 1998, 15 – 17.

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to a large extent true.¹⁴¹ The corollary of this is that from the point of view of the modern historian using his work as a source for ancient events, Diodoros has in fact created a synthesis not even as good as its sources.¹⁴² We should therefore always be careful with the information Diodoros presents, and we must not attach too much weight to the literal implication of his wording.¹⁴³ It seems, therefore, that traditional scholarship was basically correct in detecting the many shortcomings of the Bibliotheke, though not in its explanation in terms of Diodoros’ mindlessness, and we should not lose sight of the fact that Diodoros’ ability to think and to elaborate on his sources has not necessarily enhanced the quality of his historical narrative. On the other hand, the many shortcomings cannot be used to deny that Diodoros was an independent historian, and in fact they often reveal his independence. Furthermore, when criticizing Diodoros we should also take into account that his work had a specific purpose, namely to present the whole of human history with a strong focus on moral utility in a single work of only forty books. This required him to make certain choices – choices which are not always the ones we would make, but which were entirely legitimate for historiographers in Antiquity.¹⁴⁴

2.3 Language and Style Diodoros’ style has not found much approval with modern scholars. Photios (Bibl. Cod. 70, 35a6 – 14), however, clearly appreciated it:

 See e.g. the commentary on 11.2 ὥρμησεν…, 23.3 ἀπέσταλτο…, 30.1 πρῶτοι… and χρήσασθαι…, 30.5 πολλῶν…, 30.10 ταχὺ δὲ διά…, 35.1 πυθόμενος…, 37.6 τοῖς περὶ Εὐμενῆ…, 38.3 προσέταξεν…, 38.6 ἐφ’ ἑκάτερα…, 42.4 κατεπλήξατο…, 43.1 ἑαυτῶν…, 50.4 ἐπεχείρησε…, 50.5 αὐτομόλου…, 50.7 ὑπόσπονδον…, 51.2 κατεγίνωσκον…, 54.4 τὴν Ἑρμιονίδα…, 58.1 αὐτῷ…, 59.5 ὃς δοκεῖ…, 68.3 καὶ τὴν πόλιν…, 73.9 τῶν πολεμίων…, 74.1 ἐξέπεμψε…, 75.8 συμβαλόντες…, 78.5 ὁ δὲ Πολεμαῖος… and συνεχεῖς προσβολάς…, 80.1, ἐφεδρεύων…, 85.5 μετεπέμπετό τε…, 91.3 τὴν ἄκραν…, 92.2 εἶχε δέ…, 92.4 προσκόπτοντες…, 92.5 ἔφυγε… and καί τινας…  Cf. Sacks 2018, 43: ‘that narrative is (at best) only as good as the historical sources he followed’, rather than simply the common assessment that he is only as good as his source (e.g. Green 1990, xix) which might imply that he is equally good.  Of course, not every occurrence of a Diodorean cliché necessarily implies exaggeration: see e.g. 15.5 μεγίστην…  Cf. Engels 1999, 216, Marincola 2007c, 178, and Rubincam 2018, 13 – 14, who point out that we have often criticized Diodoros or other ancient universal historians for not doing things they never aimed to do. For the purpose behind the stereotypical presentation of events and protagonists, see Hau 2016, 105; Meeus forthcoming-b.

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κέχρηται δὲ φράσει σαφεῖ τε καὶ ἀκόμψῳ καὶ ἱστορίᾳ μάλιστα πρεπούσῃ, καὶ μήτε τὰς (ὡς ἂν εἴποι τις) λίαν ὑπερηττικισμένας ἢ ἀρχαιοτρόπους διώκων συντάξεις, μήτε πρὸς τὴν καθωμιλημένην νεύων παντελῶς, ἀλλὰ τῷ μέσῳ τῶν λόγων χαρακτῆρι χαίρων, φεύγων τε τροπὰς καὶ τἄλλα, πλὴν τῶν παρ’ Ἕλλησι μυθολογουμένων θεῶν τε καὶ ἡρώων, ὅσα τὸ ποιητικὸν ἔθνος νέμεται. He uses a clear and unadorned language which is suited very well for the genre of history. He does not, one may say, seek after phrases which are hyperatticizing or archaic, but neither does he incline completely to language of daily use. He prefers the middle style, avoiding figures and the other features which are used in poetry, unless when he deals with the myths told by the Greeks about gods and heroes.

Although Photios – admittedly living more than 800 years after Diodoros – read much more ancient Greek literature than we shall ever be able to, his judgement is usually dismissed.¹⁴⁵ Thus, Stylianou for instance, writes: ‘In spite of Photius’ praise Diodorus’ is not an attractive style. The empty and inept rhetoric and the poverty of vocabulary are its most irritating characteristics. It is an almost formulaic way of writing’.¹⁴⁶ One may well wonder whether such an indeed almost formulaic style might not be a deliberate choice.¹⁴⁷ This question cannot be dealt with here, but especially from the very strict avoidance of hiatus, so typical of the authors of his time, it is clear that Diodoros constantly paid attention to his style.¹⁴⁸ It seems telling that Diodoros – apparently not being unknown in Pliny’s time, as we have seen – found an audience in a world where the success of a historical work to a large extent depended on the quality of the style.¹⁴⁹ As the aesthetic judgement of Diodoros’ style does not primarily concern us here, I  Admittedly, Photios’ general stylistic judgment has sometimes been doubted. See e.g. Bleckmann 2015, 232 n. 31: ‘Dass im Vergleich mit Thukydides bei Photios Autoren wie Cassius Dio, Dexippos und Agatharchides besser abschneiden, und zwar angeblich hinsichtlich ihrer Klarheit, mutet befremdlich an’; cf. ibid., 241 n. 72 with further references. Photios did, however, consider Thucydides superior in general, and these authors only surpassed the great master with respect to clarity. D.H. Th. 51 shows that Thucydides’ lack of clarity was already considered a problem in Antiquity.  Stylianou 1998, 15; cf. Schmitz 2011, 238, nuanced at 239.  Cf. Hau 2016, 105; Meeus forthcoming-b. Cf. also Rood 2018 on patterning in the Bibliotheke.  Cf. Palm 1955, 196 who concludes that Diodoros ‘auf die sprachliche Gestaltung ziemlich grosse Sorgfalt verwendet hat’. For Diodoros’ avoiding hiatus, see ibid. 28 and 205.  On the importance of style, see e.g. Walsh 1969, 27– 28; Wallace-Hadrill 1983, 19; Bosworth 1988b, 38; Baynham 1998, 16; Marincola 2009, 14. Though see also Plin. Ep. V 8: ‘For one reaps but a small reward from oratory and poetry, unless our eloquence is really first-class, while history seems to charm people in whatever style it is written. For men are naturally curious; they are delighted even by the baldest relation of facts, and so we see them carried away even by little stories and anecdotes’.

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shall not analyse the problem in detail, but it might be worth pointing out that scholars often ignore the historical context and fail to ask whether his style might not have come across as more elegant in Diodoros’ own days than in ours. Stylianou continues his description of Diodoros’ style with the following remark: ‘It might be worth noticing one or two characteristics of Diodorus’ poor, epitomator’s style. The heavy reliance on adverbs is one such’.¹⁵⁰ However, the phenomenon Stylianou singles out here is in fact typical of Hellenistic prose, and it is even more marked in the work of Polybios,¹⁵¹ whom one would probably not accuse of using a ‘poor, epitomator’s style’. Perhaps we should admit that we cannot in every instance understand or make a correct estimate of what was considered good or appropriate style in Antiquity. Modern judgements on Andokides seem to be a case in point: he belongs to the canon of the ten orators and will not have been included for being a bad orator. Nonetheless, scholars commonly have a rather low esteem of his stylistic qualities,¹⁵² and on the basis of the few preserved judgments it is often claimed that the ancient judgment was generally negative too.¹⁵³ Not all such ancient judgments are necessarily as negative as they are often taken to be, and all of them need to be nuanced by the fact that Andokides was considered part of the top ten. Furthermore, as Usher has noted, his style ‘may have been more influential than we can know’, and seems to have inspired Aischines and perhaps also Hypereides.¹⁵⁴ Since Palm’s seminal study few have doubted that Diodoros used his own style throughout the work, a style which is more than just a layer of thin veneer that cannot really cover the influence of his sources.¹⁵⁵ This is not unimportant,  Stylianou 1998, 16.  Palm 1955, esp. 124– 125, who does, admittedly judge Polybios’ use of adverbs more positively than Diodoros’. Cf. also Wackernagel 1924, 158 on prepositional adverbs; de Foucault 1972, 95 on adverbs of intensity.  Cf. Edwards 1995, 3 – 4 with references in n. 23: he himself judges more positively on the whole, but does identify a number of stylistic flaws that may not have been perceived as such in Antiquity.  E.g. Edwards 1995, 4; Roisman & Worthington 2015, 119 – 120, who state that ‘modern readers tend to be kinder than ancient critics to Andocides’ style’.  Usher 1999, 52– 53.  Palm 1955, 194– 195. A recent argument for the stylistic influence of the Hellenika Oyrhynchia on Diodoros reveals by its very choice of examples that Palm’s conclusion must basically be correct. Bleckmann 1998, 38 – 39, claims that such influence is still apparent in his narrative ‘in der gleichen Art und Weise, in der bei Diodor trotz der Brechung durch Ephoros auch Thukydides als Grundquelle bis in den Wortgebrauch durchscheint. So gebraucht Diodor ganz parallel zum Autor der Hell. Oxy. die Partikel μὲν οὖν in Formeln, die die kleinteiligen Episoden auf den verschiedenen Schauplätzen Griechenlands während eines Kriegsjahrs jeweils abschließen’. However, Diodoros does so throughout his work, also where the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia cannot

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even to the historian, as scholars have sometimes based wide-ranging conclusions on Diodoros’ use of particular words. The most striking example concerning the Diadochoi certainly is Rosen’s conclusion that the moment when Alexander’s empire definitely fell apart is revealed by Diodoros’ use of the words κοινοπραγία and συμμαχία.¹⁵⁶ Part of his argument concerned the distribution of the words κοινοπραγία/κοινοπραγεῖν throughout the Bibliotheke. As their frequency seemed higher in books XVIII–XX, Rosen concluded that they must have had a special significance in the history of the Successors and reflect the language of Hieronymos, although they occur from book XI (1.4) to book XXXVII (22a.1).¹⁵⁷ Their incidence in the Hellenistic books from XVIII onward may have been increased by the influence of Diodoros’ sources, including Hieronymos, but mere chance cannot be ruled out. I have attempted a detailed refutation of this argument elsewhere.¹⁵⁸ Another instance in which the alleged influence of Hieronymos’ language on Diodoros is clearly contradicted by a more encompassing analysis of the occurrences is τῆς στρατηγίας ὀρεγόμενον at 23.1 (cf. infra, ad loc.). Thus it is worth asking more generally whether – and if so, when and to what extent – the incidence of particular words or phrases in the Bibliotheke can be used to argue for influence of Diodoros’ sources. Hornblower, on the basis of Palm’s conclusions concerning the optative and relative clauses, admitted that occasionally a grammatical or syntactical usage is not found uniformly throughout the work, but it is impossible to relate this to changes of source. (…) In his use of constructions

have been his source (e.g. XI 3.9, 26.8, XVIII 9.4, XIX 11.9), and the same is true of Polybios (e.g. I 27.13, 35.10) (cf. Usher 1960, 364– 365). That Diodoros ‘in inflationä rer Weise bei der Erwä hnung von athenischen Strategen prä zisierend ὁ τῶν ᾿Aθηναίων στρατηγός hinzufügt’ is likewise not necessarily a feature taken from the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia: cf. e.g. XI 88.1, XII 4.1, 6.1, 48.1, XVI 34.3. Another example Bleckmann gives is the beginning of an action by having someone receive news (πυνθανόμενος). This too, is a feature found in all Greek historians, and indeed throughout the Bibliotheke. Two out of five parallels between Hell.Oxy. 15.1 and D.S. XIV 80.5 are proper names and the remaining three occur throughout the work; admittedly in this particular case the cumulative effect is strong, but here too Diodoros seems to have rewritten as much as he took over. Bleckmann (ibid. with n. 63) is aware of the methodological problem in his argument but seems to downplay it rather too much. At any rate, if these are the most telling examples that can be found, it would seem that Diodoros did indeed adopt his own vocabulary with some success, though perhaps to a slightly lesser extent than others: cf. Kloppenborg 2007.  Rosen 1968.  See MD s.v. and additionally XXI 1.2, XXX 9.1, XXXI 15a.4, XXXII 9c.1, XXXVII 22a.1. For the problems involved in studying the language of the fragmentary books, see Goukowsky 2015.  Meeus 2018b, 105 – 109; see also Bearzot 2018, 331– 332.

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as in his use of vocabulary and phrases it seems that Diodorus has a tendency to concentrate many instances within a short space of the text.¹⁵⁹

This conclusion has been confirmed by the present analysis of book XIX, and at least for words and phrases it would be an understatement to qualify it as an occasional tendency. As Palm has noted, Diodoros has an ‘ausgesprochene Neigung, im Ausdruck zu beharren’.¹⁶⁰ Examples abound.¹⁶¹ The transitional phrases between different parts of the narrative should obviously be attributed to Diodoros himself, as the same formulas are found throughout the work. The typical ἅμα δὲ τούτοις πραττομένοις, for instance, which is unique to Diodoros, is very frequent in books XI and XII (e.g. XI 14.1, 40.5, 59.1, 88.3, 91.4, XII 30.2, 32.3, 47.4, 52.1, 77.5), while it occurs only once in book XIII (59.1) and is wholly absent from book XIV. In book XV it becomes frequent again (e.g. 5.1, 13.1, 13.4).¹⁶² The same is true of the locution ἐπὶ δὲ τούτων after the chronographic formula starting a new year: it is extremely common in the Bibliotheke, but it does not occur in the second half of book XIII and not at all in book XIV. Likewise, the phrase ἡμεῖς δὲ διεληλυθότες τὰ κατὰ τὴν ᾿Aσίαν πραχθέντα μεταβιβάσομεν τὸν λόγον ἐπὶ τὴν Εὐρώπην καὶ τὰ συνεχῆ τῶν προειρημένων διέξιμεν at 49.1 conforms to one of the usual types of transitional formulas, but its distribution is again very uneven: it is to be found in books I–VI, XI– XII, and XVI–XX but not between XII 19.3 and XVI 5.1.¹⁶³ On the other hand, the formula τῶν δὲ κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν πράξεων τέλος ἐχουσῶν occurs several times in cluster from XIII 43.1 to XIV 12.1, and after that only once more, at XIX 73.1; this particular genitive absolute phrase appears to be virtually unique to Diodoros.¹⁶⁴ The account of a new year after the mention of the eponymous magistrates starts with the formula περὶ δὲ τούτους τοὺς χρόνους only in books XIII and XIV (XIII 38.1, 43.1, 68.1, 76.1, 80.1, XIV 19.2, 85.2, 103.1); κατὰ δὲ τούτους τοὺς χρόνους occurs in this context only in book XIV (3.2, 35.2, 94.2, 99.1) and then

 Hornblower 1981, 273.  Palm 1955, 69. One should bear in mind, however, that such clustering is not a uniquely Diodorean phenomenon: see e.g. Hornblower 1994, 17 n. 30 on Thucydides.  Apart from the ones discussed here, see also e.g. 12.4 διὰ τὸ τήν…, 15.5 ᾧ γάρ…, 16.1 διαφέροντες…, 17.7 εἰς φωνῆς…, 19.1 οὔσης δὲ τῆς…, 29.1 φυγομαχήσειν, 30.2 περιιππεύσαντες …, 46.1 καταλιπεῖν…, 52.2 τῶν Ὀλυνθίων…, 53.3 περὶ ὧν…, 58.5 καταπεφρονηκότως, 66.4 συνεχεῖς…, 67.1 ἀγαπωμένη…, 80.3 παροξυνόμενος…, 90.1 καιρόν…, 90.4 τὸν δὲ ᾿Aλέξανδρον…, 92.3 τῶν περὶ Νικάνορα…, 97.2 ἀμυνομένων…  See below, 16.1 ἅμα δὲ τούτοις πραττομένοις.  See below, 49.1 ἡμεῖς δὲ διεληλυθότες…  See below, 73.1 τῶν δὲ κατὰ τοῦτον…

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once more at XX 37.1.¹⁶⁵ Equally limited in spread is the incidence of ὕπατοι καθειστήκεσαν (XI 53.1, 65.1, 69.1, XII 65.1), although when taken together with the highly similar κατεστάθησαν ὕπατοι, the pattern of distribution becomes more even.¹⁶⁶ It is likewise interesting that transitional formulas containing the locution τοιαύτην ἔσχε τὴν κατάστασιν are only found in book XIX, but they occur both in the Sicilian history and in the narrative on the Successors.¹⁶⁷ The similar locution τῆς δὲ μάχης τοιοῦτο τὸ τέλος λαβούσης vel sim., which in preserved ancient literature is virtually unique to Diodoros and Dionysios of Halikarnassos, displays a similar incidence: this specific combination is only found at XIV 24.5, 60.4 and XIX 85.1. With other qualifiers than τοιοῦτο it occurs at Diod. XI 8.1, 80.6 and XIII 17.1. Even more striking is the distribution of τῆς δὲ ναυμαχίας τοιοῦτον τέλος λαβούσης, the only such phrase with ναυμαχία attested in ancient literature, which Diodoros used three times in book XIII (10.1, 40.5, 47.1) and after that only once more, namely at XX 52.6. At XIX 26.2 we read the expression χορηγῆσαι δαψιλῶς, which is also found at I 53.3, V 19.2, XVI 9.2, XIX 3.1 and 32.3. Thus, three out of six instances occur in book XIX, but three do not, and it seems impossible to relate the pattern to Diodoros’ sources: I, V, XVI and XIX all go back to different authorities. Furthermore, only two of the instances in book XIX (26.2, 32.3) belong to the history of the Diadochoi, while the first one (3.1) concerns Sicilian affairs. It would seem, then, that Diodoros coincidentally repeated the phrase three times at rather short intervals.¹⁶⁸

 In order to know whether these peculiarities of books XIII and XIV might reveal anything about the stages and chronology of the Bibliotheke’s composition more research is necessary. One might also consider cases like κοινοπραγία/κοινοπραγεῖν, occurring only once before book XV (at XI 1.4) and becoming quite common from book XV onwards; also cf. e.g. 24.1 τὸν ὄγκον…, 29.1 φυγομαχήσειν. In some cases, of course, there may be historical reasons for this, as e.g. at 29.7 λοξήν…  See below, 55.1 τοῦ δ’ ἔτους…  See below, 47.4 καὶ τὰ μὲν περί… Also compare e.g. the transitions containing the words ἑτερογενεῖς πράξεις, again a combination not attested in any other preserved ancient author, which is found only at XI 20.1, XVI 5.1 and XVI 65.1. Admittedly, all three of these could in theory go back to Ephoros, Diodoros’ main source for Classical history down to 340 BCE (cf. Diod. XVI 76.5 – 6 for the end of Ephoros’ history): cf. the occurrence of both the only other instance of the locution ἑτερογενῆ πρᾶξιν and a reference to Ephoros at I 9.5, although it is debated whether the latter passage is based on Ephoros against whom Diodoros polemicizes there (thus Schepens 1977, 106 – 107 with n. 67, and 116) or not (Parmeggiani 2011, 162 n. 21; Goukowsky 2015, 195 – 196; cf. Vannicelli 1987, 172– 173). On the transitional formulas in general, see Sulimani 2011, 138 – 146.  Admittedly, in this case it cannot be excluded that the influence of Diodoros’ source enhanced the effect: see below, 26.2 ἀκέραιος…

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The adjective ἐλαφρός occurs at I 87.2, III 14.2, IV 20.1, V 39.7, XVIII 46.5, XIX 29.1, 30.3, 30.4, 30.10, 84.7, while the noun ἐλαφρότης is used at XIX 30.1, 30.2 and XXXI 38.1. Thus, the large majority of the occurrences belongs to the narrative on the Successors. However, as the words are found from book I to book XXXI, we may rather be facing Diodoros’ typical lack of variation of vocabulary (especially within XIX 29 – 30). Similarly, almost half of the instances of the word ἐφεδρεύειν belong to the history of the Diadochoi (III 39.9, X 22.1, XIII 107.3, XIV 37.3, XV 3.1, 34.3, XVI 47.5, 48.3, XVII 11.1, 12.2, 33.2, XVIII 17.5, 25.6, 72.2, XIX 35.1, 43.4, 57.4, 71.4, 77.5, 80.1, 100.6, XX 47.5, 60.4, 61.3, 105.1, XXXIII 4.8). Again the explanation rather seems to be Diodoros’ apparent disinterest for variatio and the tendency for clustering, as the influence of the Diadoch source cannot explain the general distribution. When a frequent word like ἄπρακτος (49 instances in the whole work) is found particularly often in book XIX (29.1, 36.3, 51.5, 55.8, 57.2, 60.4, 75.6, 84.3, 84.4), the explanation must again be that it stuck in Diodoros’ mind for a while, which led to an uneven distribution. Clustering of the occurrences of the word is also apparent in other parts of the Bibliotheke (e.g. XIII 40.2 [twice], 46.1, 46.4, XV 27.3, 27.4, 29.6). The same is true of the typical phrase συνεχεῖς προσβολαί (e.g. XII 28.2, 37.2, 46.2, 55.5, 62.6, 72.3, 72.9, XIX 65.4, 66.4, 75.5, 78.5, 97.2). At 36.3 we find the phrase οὗ ταχὺ τὸ προσταχθὲν ποιήσαντος, which together with its variants occurs twenty-seven times in the work. Besides 36.3, six more instances are found in book XIX (43.5, 56.2, 38.4, 51.2, 105.3, 107.5), which is one fourth of the total. There is only one instance in book XVIII (8.4) and three in book XX (38.3, 72.2, 97.2). Three of these belong to the Sicilian narrative (XIX 107.5, XX 38.3, 72.2), though, so that only eight out of twenty-seven instances appear in the history of the Diadochoi, which cannot be explained by the influence of Diodoros’ source. It seems hazardous, therefore, to explain Diodoros’ use of a word or phrase which occurs throughout the Bibliotheke, albeit unevenly distributed, as a usage influenced by a particular source. On the other hand, some words, phrases or grammatical features which are almost or completely unique to book XIX may indeed reveal the influence of Diodoros’ source: e.g. the qualification of numbers with ὡς ἄν (18.3), the combination τὸν ὄγκον καὶ τὸ πρόσχημα (23.1), φορείῳ κομιζόμενος (24.6), ἄγημα (27.2), the plural ὅμηρα instead of ὅμηροι (24.2), ἐν ἐπικαμπίῳ/ἐπικάμπιον (27.5, 29.6, 40.3), οἱονεὶ στόμωμα (30.6), ἁφή (31.1), μεσονύκτιος (31.2), ἀχρεῖος εἰς (35.5), περιχαρακοῦν (36.1), φωναὶ δυσχερεῖς (41.3), ὁ φυόμενος πόλεμος (57.3), πλαγιοφύλαξ (82.2 and perhaps 29.5), ἀνδρωδῶς (96.1).¹⁶⁹ However, this is helpful only

 See comm. ad locc. for discussion. Cf. also e.g. ἰδιοπραγία/ἰδιοπραγεῖν in book XVIII (7.4,

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if the source can be identified with certainty, or if we could compare the data to the fragments of the possible sources, but unfortunately none of this is possible.¹⁷⁰ Furthermore, at least in the case of περὶ λύχνων ἁφάς at 31.1 and μεσονύκτιος at 31.2, we are facing not so much a case of stylistic influence as of the retention of concrete time indications, so that the question is rather one of Diodoros’ interest in precise time indications. The same goes for technical vocabulary in battle descriptions like ἄγημα, ἐπικάμπιον or πλαγιοφύλαξ or a place name like Ithome.¹⁷¹ Some instances of peripatetic phrasing in the description of the flood of Rhodes in chapter 45, though, seem to be due to Diodoros’ source and suggest a tentative identification with Agatharchides (cf. infra, ad loc.). Finally, we may note that book XIX is replete with Diodoros’ typical words or formulas. Apart from those already mentioned I cite at random e.g.: ἰδίους ταῖς εὐνοίαις κατεσκευάζειν/ποιεῖν/ἔχειν + direct object (11.1), τὴν εὐτυχίαν φέρειν ἀνθρωπίνως (11.4), (μεγάλης/μεγίστης) ἀποδοχῆς τυγχάνειν (14.5), διαφέρων ταῖς τόλμαις καὶ ταῖς εὐχειρίαις (16.1), παραδόξως (16.4), καταστρατηγεῖν (26.5), καταπληκτικῶς (26.10), τὸ σύσσημον αἴρειν (30.1), σημαίνουσιν οἱ σαλπιγκταὶ τὸ πολεμικόν (30.1), πάντων δὲ θαυμασάντων τὸ παράδοξον (38.3), διὰ τὸ παράδοξον καταπλαγέντες (38.5), συνάπτειν μάχην (42.1), πλεῖστον ἰσχύειν (51.6), πρὸς τοὺς ἠτυχηκότας ἔλεος (54.2), ταχὺ τοὺς ἔνδον καταπλήττεσθαι (73.3), καρτερὰ μάχη (83.4), μάχη ἰσχυρά (88.5), μετεωρίζεσθαι ταῖς ἐλπίσιν (90.1), πορείαν σύντομον ποιεῖν (93.2), ἀμυνομένων δὲ τῶν ἔνδον εὐρώστως (97.2).¹⁷² As we have seen above (2.2.4), however, not every occurrence of a typical word or phrase necessarily means that Diodoros added the idea himself. Indeed, time and again common Diodorean language is also found to a greater or lesser

9.2, 39.7, 42.2, 50.1, 52.8, 62.7, 64.6). Likewise, for μετακινῆσαι at XVIII 39.5 Arrian (Succ. F1.36) confirms that word was used in their common source, while one of only two other occurrences in the Bibliotheke (XX 93.6, XXVII 15.3) is also found in the narrative on the Successors. It should be noted, though, that this level of influence of the source’s language can also be observed for instance in Thucydides: Hornblower CT III, 273.  There are some further indications that τὸν ὄγκον καὶ τὸ πρόσχημα at 23.1 may be a trace from the source Diodoros shares with Plutarch’s Eumenes, but the matter is far from clear (cf. infra, ad loc.). Cf. also πάντα πειθαρχεῖν at 13.7 τὰς παρὰ τῶν βασιλέων…  For Ithome, cf. infra, 54.4 Ἰθώμης. Also see for instance the occurrence of ἰγνύς at XVIII 31.3 which is otherwise only found at III 26.2: that this is a detail Diodoros preserves from the battle description in his source is clear from Plut. Eum. 7.10.  See comm. ad locc. for discussion. Cf. also 23.1 τῆς στρατηγίας…, 24.1 λόγοις…, 29.7 λοξήν…, 30.10 ταχὺ δέ…, 30.10 ἀνεκαλοῦντο…, 34.5 κατέστρεψεν…, 36.3 οὗ ταχύ…, 66.4 συνεχεῖς…, 79.7 οὕτως…, 90.1 καιρόν…, 92.3 ἐπιπεσών…

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extent in other contemporary authors writing koine. ¹⁷³ Many features of it are attested for the first time in Polybios or at least they are very rare before Polybios and largely or completely disappear for about two hundred years after Plutarch to reappear again in the early fourth century CE.¹⁷⁴ However, since so little third century BCE prose has been preserved, it is impossible to know to what extent early Hellenistic authors like Hieronymos or Douris would have used a particular word or not.¹⁷⁵ On the other hand, if Diodoros used an intermediary source roughly contemporary to Polybios such as e.g. Agatharchides of Knidos (cf.

 See at random e.g. 11.2 ἐντραπέντες…, 11.4 τὴν εὐτυχίαν…, 12.4 διὰ τὸ τήν…, 13.4 ἀγωνιῶν…, 20.1 φιλανθρώπως…, 23.1 τῆς στρατηγίας… and τὸν ὄγκον…, 29.1 φυγομαχήσειν, 30.1 τὸ σύσσημον…, 33.1 λαμπρῶς…, 36.1 τὴν μὲν πόλιν…, 42.7 τοιοῦτον…, 46.3 μεγάλας…, 50.3 τὴν εὔνοιαν…, 52.1 κατὰ νοῦν…, 52.3 ταχὺ μεγάλην ἐπίδοσιν…, 56.4 διαφυλάττειν…, 66.4 συνεχεῖς προσβολὰς ἐποιοῦντο, 75.7 ἐνεργῶς…, 79.1 ἐνεργέστερον ἐπολιόρκουν, 79.3 ὥς ποτ’ ἔδοξεν…, 79.7 οὕτως…, 80.3 παροξυνόμενος…, 85.1 τῆς δὲ μάχης…, 85.4 τὰς μὲν πολιορκῶν…, 90.1 μεμετεωρισμένος… and καιρόν…, 91.2 τετραετῆ…, 97.3 οὔθ᾽ ὕδωρ ἔχουσιν… Cf. recently also Bearzot 2018.  See e.g. Palm 1955, 206 – 207 and Kim 2010, 473 – 475, 2017, 48 and 50 – 51, about the gradual transition to Atticism from Dionysios of Halikarnassos onwards and the survival of koine up to the time of Plutarch. Cf. also e.g. Wackernagel 1924, 158 on prepositional adverbs in Polybios, Diodoros and Plutarch that are no longer found in Arrian or Cassius Dio. On the other hand, he also discusses certain changes that already distinguish Diodoros and Dionysios, noting that ‘bekanntlich hat sich der Attizismus schon bei Ciceros Lebzeiten zum Worte gemeldet’ (ibid., 197). No such traces of Atticism seem to appear in Diodoros’ language, though. Cf. recently also e. g. Urso 2019, esp. 85 – 97, who sees a similarity between Polybios and Diodoros in the use of the concept of demagogy and a change in the Augustan era. For Dionysios, see also below, 11.4 τὴν εὐτυχίαν… On the question of the optative, see recently Langslow 2012, 87– 88.  Fragments of earlier historians cannot be used as definitive proof in such questions. For instance the earliest attestation of the adverb καταπληκτικῶς in a preserved author is to be found in Polybios (see e.g. I 27.3, II 32.6). The TLG lists two earlier instances, a fragment of Ktesias (FGrHist 688 F1b) and a fragment of Hekataios (FGrHist 264 F25), but in both instances the fragments are derived from Diodoros’ work, and the word clearly is typical of him, as he is responsible for almost two thirds of all ancient occurrences of it (cf. infra, 26.10 κατέβαινε…; on Diodoros and Hekataios, see also Langslow 2012, 106 n. 75). The only two instances listed for the period between Polybios and Diodoros, a fragment of Dionysios Skytobrachion (FGrHist 32 F14) and a fragment of Poseidonios (FGrHist 87 F118), are again taken from the Bibliotheke. For καταστρατηγεῖν two of the Poseidonian fragments (F124 and F194a Theiler) likewise come from the Bibliotheke, while for Kallisthenes (FGrHist 124) F26 and Phylarchos (FGrHist 81) F52, both quoted by Plutarch, the occurrence of the word is probably not part of the actual fragment. Fragments of Persaios, Aristodemos and Hermippos may pose similar problems, while the authenticity of Speusippos’ letter is debated. It is hard to tell therefore what to make of the fact that Diodoros provides the earliest directly transmitted and securely dated instances of the verb καταστρατηγεῖν. Its frequency in the Bibliotheke, however, is quite telling: cf. infra, 26.5 κατεστρατηγημένον.

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infra, §3.2.3), it is of course plausible enough that we may at times be confronted with the influence of his source, reinforcing certain features of his language that are typical of the last two centuries BCE. There does not seem to be any point in speculating further about this, however.¹⁷⁶

2.4 The Text of Book XIX Although historical commentaries often do not deal with textual criticism, it would seem obvious that no commentary can ignore such problems.¹⁷⁷ When one does not know the correct text – in as far as this can be achieved –¹⁷⁸, it seems pointless to comment on it. Five editions are still relevant for the study of book XIX.¹⁷⁹ The first one which was based on a wide-ranging collation of the manuscripts is Wesseling’s from 1745.¹⁸⁰ In the nineteenth century Dindorf produced four editions of the Bibliotheke, amongst which the second one has

 One such example may be the word ἀκονιτί, which occurs almost exclusively in the Hellenistic books (XIX–XX and XXIX–XXXI), and in the one instance in which we can compare, Diodoros did take it from his source, Polybios, in whose work it is much more frequent than in the Bibliotheke: see 42.2 ἀκονητί. For some aspects of Diodoros’ language we may ask whether we are dealing with imitation of the style of Polybios: see e.g. 30.10 ταχὺ δέ…  Cf. Westall 2009: ‘It may well be asked whether a commentary that omits questions of philological interest is of great use to anyone’.  Prestianni Giallombardo 1998, 503 contends that because of the size of Diodoros’ work and the complexity of its manuscript tradition ‘non solo il testo perfetto è un’utopia, ma forse è un’ utopia anche solo il testo’. This may be somewhat of an overstatement, but it certainly is true that no perfect text can be achieved. As Prestianni Giallombardo points out in a preliminary note, however, these comments were written before the work of Bertrac (1993) was available, and the latter has made a significant contribution to our knowledge of the tradition of the Bibliotheke. Nevertheless, the following comment of Prestianni Giallombardo (1998, 493) about all existing editions does at times also hold true for book XIX: ‘che l’apparato critico da essi approntato – compreso quello di Vogel e Fischer nell’edizione teubneriana, il più completo o, se si preferisce, il meno incompleto degli apparati oggi a disposizione – non può essere utilizzato che con riserva, e comunque mai ex silentio’; cf. also Radt 2015, 254.  For a detailed overview of the editions of the Bibliotheke, see Bertrac 1993, clii–clxiii.  I have used Wesseling’s text in the so-called Bipontina edition: Diodori Siculi Bibliothecae historicae libri qui supersunt e recensione Petri Wesselingii cum interpretatione latina Laur. Rhodomani atque annotationibus variorum integris indicibusque locupletissimis. Nova editio cum commentationibus III Chr. Gottl. Heynii et cum argumentis disputationibusque Ier. Nic. Eyringii, 11 vols., Biponti – Argentorati 1793 – 1807. Book XIX is to be found in vol. 8, published in year 8 of the French Revolutionary Calender [1799/1800].

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the most detailed critical apparatus.¹⁸¹ Early in the twentieth century book XIX was edited for the Teubner series by Fischer, whose apparatus remains indispensable despite its flaws.¹⁸² The Loeb edition by Geer is largely based on Fischer’s text, but does contain several new conjectures.¹⁸³ In 1975 Bizière published the most recent edition of book XIX, and the best one we have, in the Budé series.¹⁸⁴ The latter has been taken as the basis for the present commentary as Bizière provides the most conservative text; for the sake of clarity the lemmas are always taken from her edition, even where I disagree on the reading.¹⁸⁵ Besides these editions of the Greek text, several helpful translations are available.¹⁸⁶ The extant manuscripts contain mostly five or sometimes ten books, which in part explains the state of preservation of the work, only fifteen books having been preserved.¹⁸⁷ In all twentieth century editions of book XIX the Parisinus graecus 1665 (R) from the eleventh century has been deemed to be the codex optimus. ¹⁸⁸ The only other manuscript which is an independent witness for the whole text is the fifteenth century Laurentianus 70, 12 (F); for books XVII–XX the Excerpta constantiniana independently seem to belong to the same family as F, which confirms that this branch is at least as old as that of R.¹⁸⁹ All

 Diodori Bibliotheca historica, ex recensione et cum annotationibus L. Dindorfii, 5. vols., Lipsiae 1846 – 1848.  Diodori Bibliotheca historica, editionem primam curavit Imm. Bekker, alteram L. Dindorf, recognoverunt F. Vogel & C.T. Fischer, 5 vols., Lipsiae 1888 – 1906. Book XIX is edited in vol. 5 by Fischer. For its shortcomings, see above, n. 178.  Geer 1947, 1954.  Bizière 1975.  There is one exception: the mistaken spelling Κάσανδρος for Κάσσανδρος (cf. infra), but this will not cause any confusion. For the readings on which I disagree, see the appendix below.  The texts of Geer and Bizière are accompanied by respectively an English and a French translation, the Bipontina edition of Wesseling is paired with Rhodomann’s 1604 Latin translation. Apart from these translations I have also used Martino 1992, Veh 2005, Mavropoulos 2016 and Waterfield 2019; the latter includes a list of textual variants well worth considering.  How old the division in pentads is, is hard to tell: according to Bertrac 1993, cxxii–cxxiii, it is fairly recent, while Prestianni Giallombardo 1998, 487 with n. 5 holds that it occurred at a relatively early stage of the paradosis. Rubincam 1998b has argued that Diodoros originally planned his work in a hexad structure consisting of 42 books, but prematurely ended the work after book XL.  Fischer, op. cit., vol. IV, ix–xxviii; Bizière 1975, xxi–xxiii; cf. now also Durvye 2018a, cxi– cxii and cxxxix for book XX.  F contains books XI–XX, but it is an independent witness only for XVII–XX: Bizière 1975, xxi–xxii; Goukowsky 1976, liv–lvi; Bertrac 1993, ciii–civ and cxxxvi–cxxxvii.

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other codices apparently are apographs from these two and – with a single exception – their variants are never even reported in Bizière’s apparatus.¹⁹⁰ Goukowsky, however, argued in his introduction to book XVII that ‘il semble que F (et les Excerpta) d’une part et R d’autre part représentent deux traditions d’égale valeur et l’on ne doit pas sous-estimer, comme Fischer, l’importance du Laurentianus 70,12’.¹⁹¹ In an article offering corrections to the text of all the extant and some of the fragmentary books of the Bibliotheke Radt has likewise argued that Fischer underestimates the value of F,¹⁹² and this is true to almost the same extent for Bizière. Fischer went as far as to adopt obvious itacistic mistakes of R in his text, even when the correct form is found in F. Bizière usually does prefer F in these instances,¹⁹³ but two examples concerning the spelling of proper names show that the judgement on the respective value of the manuscripts still led to rather strange decisions, sometimes even in contradiction with her own principles. In the introduction she states: ‘Pour les noms propres, nous avons conservé l’orthographe de R, ou, en cas de faute de R, celle de F, chaque fois qu’il existait un parallèle ou qu’il n’y avait que très peu d’exemples de l’existence d’une forme différente’.¹⁹⁴ For Polemaios, whose name both manuscripts always give as Πτολεμαῖος, Bizière consistently corrects the name to Πολεμαῖος on the basis of IG II2 469 (e.g. 57.4, 68.5). Although the variant Πτολεμαῖος is likewise epigraphically attested (OGIS 5), Πολεμαῖος may well be the correct form of the name, so that Bizière’s practice seems justified.¹⁹⁵ The name Κάσσανδρος, on the other hand, is always written correctly in F, whereas R writes Κάσανδρος with the same consistency. The former orthography is confirmed not only by inscriptions, but even by Kassandros’ own coins.¹⁹⁶ Nonetheless, Bizière, like Fischer

 See Bizière 1975, xxi n. 1 about the reading Βυβλίαν at 58.3.  Goukowsky 1976, lv.  Radt 1993, 64– 68, esp. 65 (on XIX 7.3 and XIX 36.3), and 2015, 275 – 283.  Though see e.g. 20.1 τὴν ὑπερβολήν…, 26.1 τὴν Γαβηνήν, 30.4 ὑπωρίας, 54.4 ἐπὶ τὸν ἰσθμὸν Γερανίας, 60.3 Ζιβύτην…  Bizière 1975, xxii. Cf. Goukowsky 1978a, lxiii–lxiv, who at least admits that this practice is rather arbitrary: ‘Lorsqu’il y a eu choix, grande est la perplexité de l’éditeur moderne, confronté parfois à des leçons d’égale valeur. Dans ce cas, comme au livre XVII, j’ai accordé la préférence à R, sans me dissimuler ce que ce conservatisme a d’arbitraire (…)’.  The form Πολεμαῖος appears in I.Iasos 2 as well: see Hauben 1987b, 32 and Durvye 2018a, 180 n. 143; contra Billows 1990, 427 who assumes that both variants are correct.  For the inscriptions, see e.g. those listed by Tataki 1998, 338; for the coins Miller 1991; cf. Meyer 1965, 628 on the same phenomenon concerning the spelling of the name of the city of Kassandreia.

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and Goukowsky, has adopted the form Κάσανδρος in every instance (e.g. 11.1 and 35.1).¹⁹⁷ Thus, while Bizière corrects a name for which both manuscripts agree on a spelling that is also attested epigraphically, she deliberately accepts the wrong variant in a case where one of the manuscripts has the correct form which is confirmed by the official coinage. The only reason for this violation of her principle (‘en cas de faute de R, celle de F’), is obviously the undervaluing of F. An interesting instance of a different kind occurs at 82.4, where R has πλαγιοφυλάκους and F πλαγιοφύλακας. Fischer and Bizière prefer the former, probably because it is the lectio difficilior. Yet, since Diodoros never uses this Ionian form, F’s variant is more likely to be correct. On the other hand, it cannot quite be excluded that Diodoros was sometimes inconsistent in such grammatical matters: he seems to have used both the masculine and neuter forms of the noun ὅμηρος,¹⁹⁸ and uses the name of the city of Selinous both as a masculine and feminine noun.¹⁹⁹ In the latter two instances the manuscripts agree on the reading, but even so, corruption at an earlier stage of the tradition is not impossible, and on balance F’s πλαγιοφύλακας does seem preferable at 82.4. Of course, the orthography of names and questions of morphology are not the most pressing problems for historians, but they illustrate Bizière’s attitude towards the manuscripts, and there are historically and historiographically important instances where the almost absolute preference for R has likewise played its unwarranted part in the constitution of the text. For the student of Diodoros’ historiographical practices it is not immaterial that at 13.2 F gives the following text οὐ μὴν ἀλλ’ ὑπὸ τῆς πλύμμης ὑστέρουν ὑπάρχοντες ἐκπεπληγμένοι τὸ παράδοξον, while R only has ὑπὸ τῆς πλήμης. Surely R’s πλήμης is correct and the text of F is corrupt beyond restoration. Corrupt as it may be, though, it is more or less clear what the sentence means, and it demonstrably contains the remains of a typical Diodorean expression, which does not occur in the immediately surrounding text (see comm. ad loc.). There is no reason therefore to assume that it would be a mistaken repetition by the scribe. Nonetheless, all editors simply adopt the text of R, although the solution closest to the original text would certainly be †οὐ μὴν ἀλλ’† ὑπὸ τῆς πλήμης †ὑστέρουν ὑπάρχοντες ἐκπεπληγμένοι τὸ παράδοξον†.

 See also 57.4, ἵνα λύσῃ… for the choice to disregard F’s correct orthography ᾿Aμισός both at 57.4 and 60.2. At 88.3, on the other hand, she prefers F’s Κασσωπίαν to R’s Κασωπίαν. Durvye (2018a) in her edition of book XX does adopt F’s Κάσσανδρος.  See below, 24.2 ὥσπερ ὅμηρα…  See Wackernagel 1924, 34 on XIII 59.4 and 63.3. Cf. also Radt 2015, 267 on πράσσειν.

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One of the historically important examples is found at 28.1, where the number of the argyraspids is given as πλείους τρισχιλίων in R and as οὐ πλείους τρισχιλίων in F. Wesseling and Dindorf adopted the latter reading, but all twentieth century editions prefer the text of R. F’s οὐ πλείους τρισχιλίων seems more likely to be the correct reading, though (cf. infra, ad loc.). A second, and more complex example is found at 68.2. Here R reads ὁ δὲ Κάσανδρος παραγενόμενος εἰς Μακεδονίαν καὶ πυθόμενος πολεμεῖσθαι τὰς ἐν Καρίᾳ πόλεις ὅσαι συνεμάχουν τοῖς περὶ Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Σέλευκον, whereas in F we find ὁ δὲ Κάσσανδρος παραγενόμενος εἰς Μακεδονίαν καὶ πυθόμενος πολεμεῖσθαι τὰς ἐν Καρίᾳ πόλεις ὅσαι συνεμάχουν τοῖς περὶ Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Κάσσανδρον. All editors accept the text of R and prima facie with good reason, as that of F does not seem to make sense, mentioning Kassandros twice. What seems to have happened, though, is that confusion arose from the fact that the manuscripts consistently substitute Κάσανδρος(R)/Κάσσανδρος(F) for Ἄσανδρος, the satrap of Karia who is also epigraphically attested (cf. infra, 57.1 ἠξίουν Καππαδοκίαν…). In most instances this hardly constitutes a problem as it is clear from the context which individual is meant. However, when both Asandros and Kassandros appear in the same passage, there is every chance of confusion. The issue becomes more obvious when turning to a similar instance at 75.1– 2. Diodoros describes the conflict between Antigonos and Asandros, and states that the latter called on Πτολεμαῖος καὶ Κάσσανδρος for help, thus both F and R ante correctionem (though of course writing Κάσανδρος). The scribe of R later changed Κάσανδρος to Σέλευκος, which is accepted as the correct variant by all editors except Bizière. It is obvious why the scribe changed the name: he had written that Κάσανδρος sent messengers to Κάσανδρος, which cannot make sense. From his reading of the rest of the book he assumed that Seleukos must have been meant alongside Ptolemaios. It seems certain, though, that Κάσσανδρος is the correct reading. Given the distance between both occurrences of Κάσανδρος in 75.1– 2, the scribe did not immediately notice the seeming mistake, and altered it only later. At 68.2, Kassandros and Asandros occurred in the same sentence, so that the scribe immediately changed the second Κάσανδρος to Σέλευκος, while it seems rather more likely that here the correct reading in fact is Ἄσανδρος, as is suggested by F’s Κάσσανδρος (for a more detailed discussion the reader is referred to the commentary on 68.2, ὁ δὲ Κάσσανδρος…, and 75.2, πρὸς δὲ Πτολεμαῖον…). There are several other examples of passages where F is to be preferred to R, such as 48.1 where R offers the variant Παμπόλεμον, and F has the obviously correct form Τληπόλεμον.²⁰⁰

 Further instances are to be found in the list of textual variants in the appendix. See also

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A further problem worth noting is that there remain some instances where the received text is or may well be corrupt which are not noted in all editions. A clear instance is the κατέστησαν ὕπατοι at 55.1, which was accepted by Fischer, Geer and Bizière, but Wesseling’s emendation κατεστάθησαν ὕπατοι is obviously correct. The textus receptus of 29.5 has rightly bothered most editors, but suggestions as to how best to correct the readings καὶ ταύταις ἴσοι παράλληλοι(R)/ παραλλήλοις(F) differ; in this instance it seems to me that παράλληλοι/παραλλήλοις should be emended to πλαγιοφύλακες. At 22.2 the text is puzzling and while Waterfield’s recent conjecture is better than anything proposed so far, the paradosis may well be more fundamentally corrupt than we can tell.²⁰¹ Likewise, at 54.4 the unanimous manuscript reading ἐπὶ τὸν ἰσθμὸν Γερανείας (though with an itacistic mistake in R) is suspicious, but a satisfactory solution is difficult to achieve (see comm. ad loc.). I obviously make no pretence to having identified all such corrupt passages, and it is clear that more work on the text of Diodoros remains to be done.²⁰² Particularly vexing are those passages where the text offered by the manuscripts is grammatically correct and the contents make perfect sense in themselves, but present a historical problem. In the past, especially in the nineteenth century, scholars have often emended such passages simply because they thought for some – good or more often bad – reason that the received text was impossible. Several such instances are found in book XIX: see the commentary on 14.1 στρατηγὸς δέ…; 14.1 Φιλώταν…; 14.6 Πολέμων…; 29.2 τούς τε ἀσθίππους…; 57.1 ἠξίουν…; 69.3 περιτυχών…; 74.1 καὶ ἅμα γινώσκειν…; 85.4 τοὺς μὲν ἁλόντας…; 91.2 τετραετῆ… In none of these instances did I accept the emendation, and in fact only at 85.4 would I concede that it is at least likely, though even this case is far from certain. Some of these cases are more complicated than they may seem at first sight. At 14.6, for instance, where all editors emend the manuscript reading Πολέμων to Τληπόλεμος, a plausible historical explanation is available for the text as it stands. It is a speculative explanation, however, and corruption cannot be excluded, but the problem need not necessarily be with the name Πολέμων (see comm. ad loc.).

Radt 1993, 64 and 67 for two cases in books XVIII and XX. Of course, issues of accentuation like at 51.1 and 55.4 are not relevant in establishing the earliest text, because accents may only have been introduced at a relatively late stage of its transmission anyway. They do, however, have a bearing on the question of the linguistic quality of the respective manuscripts.  See below, 22.2 ἐπλήρωσε…  See also e.g. 27.2 βάθος…, 28.1 οἱ ἐκ τῶν ὑπασπιστῶν, 29.2 τοὺς ἐκ τῶν ἄνω…, 47.2 πυθόμενοι…, 55.8 καταπλαγείς…, 74.3 ᾿Aιακίδην…

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Even when leaving aside Philotas at 14.1 and Polemon at 14.6, where emendations have been proposed, the number of individuals only attested in Diodoros’ XIXth book – most of them only once – is strikingly high: Polykles (11.3), Nikanor (11.8), Eudamos (14.1), Androbazos (14.6), Antipatros (16.1), Philotas (16.1), Xenopeithes (16.1), Kephalon (27.4, possibly to be identified with Kebalon of 44.1), Lysanias (29.1), Keteus (33.1), Kallas (35.3, 36.6), Deinias (35.3, 88.6), Orontobates (46.4), Okranes (47.4), Euitos (48.2), Euagoras (48.2, possibly to be identified with Euagros of 92.4), Thespios (48.5), Molykkos (54.4), Agesilaos (57.4), Idomeneus (57.4), Asklepiodoros (60.2), Myrmidon (62.4), Dioskourides (62.7, 62.9, 68.4), Apollonides (63.1), Alexion (67.1), Aristoteles (68.3), Lykon (73.6), Pausanias (73.6), Agathon (75.2), Agis (79.2), Boiotos (85.2), Alexandros (88.3), Teukros (88.3), Mikythos (88.5), Esioneus (89.3), Nisos (89.3), Polyarchos (91.3), Diphilos (91.3), Athenaios (94– 96), Euteles (100.5).²⁰³ Apart from a few exceptions these men will not have belonged to the lower ranks. In fact many of them obviously were important men: e.g. Eurydike’s advisor Polykles; Kassandros’ brother Nikanor; the Indian prince Keteus; the leading Antigonid diplomats and courtiers Agesilaos, Idomeneus and Boiotos; the satraps Euitos, Euagoras and Orontobates; Antigonos’ nephew and leading admiral Dioskourides; Agis, a high Ptolemaic official; the Epeirote princes Alexandros, Teukros, Esioneus and Nisos. It is clear, then, that we should not be surprised when encountering an individual (or a toponym, an episode, …) not attested elsewhere, and certainly that emending the text to fit our expectations is unwarranted.²⁰⁴ It would seem that a conservative approach in the constitution of Diodoros’ text is therefore to be preferred.  The number would increase if we were to include for instance those who are only very tentatively identified with homonymous individuals from the time of Alexander (e.g. Atarrhias [36.2], Menoitas [47.1], Meleagros [47.1], Krateuas [50.7], Glaukias [52.4], Ariston [59.3], Theodotos [64.5], Perilaos [64.5]), those who occur once more in Diodoros’ Successor narrative outside of book XIX (e.g. Dionysios [XIX 68.3, XX 45], Themison [XIX 62.5, XX 50.4]), or those about whose careers only a single episode is attested, though in multiple sources, such as the leading Ptolemaic general Killes (XIX 93; Plut. Demetr. 6).  Examples of unwarranted emendations for merely historical reasons in other texts likewise abound: e.g. Boerma 1979, 124– 125 on Just. XIII 4.5, and ibid., 176 – 178 on the various unnecessary emendations to Just. XIII 6.10, where one may add that Diodoros’ usage (e.g. XVIII 49.4; XIX 11.2) adds support to the manuscript reading ‘Alexandri Magni filium’; Bosworth 1996b, 113 – 114 on Arr. Ind. 5.3; Heckel 1996, on Trogus Prol. XVIII; Rubincam 2001 on Thuc. IV 8.6. Cf. the remarks of Hornblower CT II, 17 on emending passages where Thucydides makes a false claim: ‘The better attitude, I suggest, is to agree to an emendation if it removes a difficulty, but never to forget that unless the text is disturbed we are carrying the emendation in deference to and in accordance with a hypothesis, a hypothesis that is about the rightness and truthfulness of Thucydides, a hypothesis which is usually good and sound but which is surely not necessarily and not automatically true in every instance’ (his emphasis).

3 The Problem of the Sources Since Diodoros – as usual –²⁰⁵ does not name his sources for the history of the Diadochoi, several attempts at identification have been made.²⁰⁶ However, all of these have been rather speculative because of the limited evidence: none of the contemporary or near contemporary historical works on the age of the Successors have survived the ravages of time, and very few fragments have been preserved. Several lost authors are known to have dealt with the period of the Successors: Hieronymos of Kardia, Douris of Samos, Diyllos of Athens, Demochares of Leukonoe (Athens), Nymphis of Herakleia Pontika, Philochoros of Athens, Marsyas of Pella, Psaon of Plataiai and Euphantos of Olynthos.²⁰⁷ The former three are usually taken into account as possible authorities of Diodoros, and indeed only the fragments of their works offer parallels to Diodoros’ work, albeit to a very limited extent.²⁰⁸ Some of the others, like Psaon and Marsyas, are not much more than names to us. Hekataios of Abdera, though not writing about the history of the Successors as such, did report on the affairs of Ptolemaios in his works on Egypt and on the Jews. The authenticity of the latter work is debated, but a convergence with Diodoros’ narrative appears significant regardless. I shall first briefly present what is known of Hieronymos, Douris, Diyllos, and Hekataios, and then attempt to analyse the problem of Diodoros’ sources.

 McQueen 1995, 9; Christesen 2007, 284; Baron 2013, 215 – 216. Book III is the exception in that Diodoros on several occasions (11.2, 52.3, 66.5) seems to have indicated his actual sources for particular sections of the narrative. In books XVIII–XXI the only authorities cited are Pythagoras (XVIII 1.1), Homer (XVIII 1.2, XIX 53.5) Solon (XIX 1.4) and Euripides (XX 14.6, 41.6); the polemical discussion of the historians of Agathokles (XXI 17) contains no actual citations and gives no indication about actual use. Cf. infra, nn. 208 and 285. Despite the current trend in Diodorean scholarship it is thus impossible to argue against the use of a particular source with the limited number of citations (contra e.g. Muntz 2011, 582– 584; Goukowsky 2015, 197– 199): the corollary would be that Diodoros did not use any source for the history of the Successors.  Seibert 1983, 1– 54 provides an excellent status quaestionis on the many problems of the literary sources for the Successors up to 1979.  Fontana 1960, 151– 160; Seibert 1969, 52– 63; Billows 1990, 329 – 340.  I do not consider the mention of Marsyas at XX 50.4 (FGrHist 135– 136 T 3) a reference to a source, but merely a mention of the fact that the man in question had also written history: cf. infra, n. 285. The mention of Psaon at XXI 5 (fr. 13 CUF) is not a reference to a source either, as it belongs to the notices about cultural history taken from the chronographic source: see above, §2.2.1.

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3.1 The Lost Primary Authors 3.1.1 Hieronymos of Kardia In a recent encyclopedia article Asheri concluded that: ‘Hieronymus is […] an excellent example of the modern ability of resurrecting a figure that in the Hellenic and Byzantine tradition was only a marginal one’.²⁰⁹ Indeed, Jacoby’s collection of the evidence contains only thirteen testimonia and eighteen fragments of Hieronymos (FGrHist 154). To the testimonia should now be added a recently published papyrus on Hellenistic historians, which unfortunately is so damaged that it hardly enhances our secure knowledge about Hieronymos.²¹⁰ Moreover, all fragments are very brief and most of them concern small details. Despite the meagre source basis Hieronymos has often been studied,²¹¹ which has seemed possible on the assumption that Diodoros’ narrative on the Diadochoi in book XVIII–XX is a reliable mirror of the work of the Kardian.²¹² The title of Hieronymos’ work is uncertain. Several variants are reported, but these probably are mere descriptions of the subject matter rather than mentions of the title: τὰ ἐπ᾽ ᾿Aλεξάνδρωι πραχθέντα (T1), αἱ τῶν Διαδόχων ἱστορίαι (T3), ἡ περὶ τῶν διαδόχων ἱστορία (F6), or ἡ περὶ τῶν ἐπιγόνων πραγματεία (F13).²¹³ Yet, on the basis of these different descriptions it is often held that the work was published in two parts, one on the Diadochoi and another on the Epigonoi, with the battle of Ipsos in 301 being the dividing point.²¹⁴ This seems most unlikely. The

 Asheri 2006, 360; cf. Knoepfler 2001a, 35 – 40, who likewise argues that it is difficult to arrive at certain conclusions about Hieronymos’ work.  P.Oxy. LXXI 4808. It should be noted that the extant part of the papyrus has only the last part of the author’s name: [ ]μοσ̣. The word Diadochoi seems certain, however, and the probable mention of Antigonos and Demetrios in the second column does suggest that the text indeed concerns Hieronymos: see Chrysanthou 2015, 29 – 31 and Schorn 2018, 398 – 401 with further references.  See esp. Reuß 1876; Nietzold 1905, 125 – 133; Jacoby 1913; Schubert 1914, 6 – 59; Brown 1947; Fontana 1960, 151– 235 passim; Rosen 1967a and 1979, 472– 477; Boerma 1979, 358 – 365; Hornblower 1981; Landucci Gattinoni 1981/2; Lehmann 1988b; Billows 1990, 390 – 392; Simonetti Agostinetti 1997; Knoepfler 2001a, 35 – 40; Panichi 2001; Anson 2004, 1– 11 and 21– 33; Roisman 2010.  See below, §3.2, for references and discussion of this highly problematic assumption.  Cf. Hornblower 1981, 76 – 80. A strong argument for not interpreting these descriptions as titles is Jos. AJ XII 5 referring to Agatharchides as ὁ τὰς τῶν διαδόχων πράξεις συγγραψάμενος.  Müller 1973, 7– 8, with further references; Hornblower 1981, 79; Billows 1990, 331. Josephus’ reference to Agatharchides as the author of the deeds of the Diadochoi (cf. previous note) suggests that such descriptions may rather focus on the part of a work that is relevant in the given context than on the work as a whole: this could be the reason why Dionysios (AR I 5.4) speaks of

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protagonists of the period 301– 281 were the same as in the years before Ipsos, except for Antigonos who fell in the battle. Furthermore, the assumption that Ipsos was a turning point in the ambitions of the Successors is highly questionable,²¹⁵ especially in terms of a presumed opposition between unitarists and separatists amongst the Successors.²¹⁶ One may wonder, moreover, whether it would have seemed a good idea to Hieronymos to end the first part of his work with an Antigonid defeat in which they lost almost everything, thus emphasizing the lowest ebb in the history of the Antigonid dynasty. If the work was published in two parts, other dates would seem more suitable,²¹⁷ but one can only speculate as it is not even certain that the work was not a unified whole. No number of books is attested for Hieronymos’ history, but the statement of Dionysios of Halikarnassos (De comp. verb. 4.30) that no one could read the work through to the end – though primarily a judgement on the style – suggests that it was rather long. It is usually thought to have started with Alexander’s death, and it ran at least until the death of Pyrrhos in 272, perhaps even beyond that date.²¹⁸ The one thing that is certain about Hieronymos is that he was not merely an eyewitness, but an important actor in many of the events he described in his history.²¹⁹ He first served under his friend and countryman Eumenes of Kardia as one of his most trusted diplomats (Diod. XVIII 42.1, 50.1; Plut. Eum. 12.2), and after the latter’s death he joined Antigonos (Diod. XIX 44.3). As he is said to have reached the age of 104 years ([Luc.] Macrob. 22), he had a particularly long – and apparently distinguished – career at the Antigonid court under Antigonos Monophthalmos, Demetrios, and Antigonos Gonatas.²²⁰ the Epigonoi in a context that must relate to Pyrrhos’ Italian campaigns, which consequently would tell us nothing about the title or subdivisions of Hieronymos’ work.  Meeus 2018b, esp. 103 – 109 and 116.  Gruen 1985; Meeus 2013a, 2014; Strootman 2014b.  Reuß 1876, 6 suggests the death of Seleukos in 281.  Reuß 1876, 7; Hornblower 1981, 87– 89 and 103; Billows 1990, 330; Primo 2006.  Bosworth (2002, 130 n. 120) remarks in the context of Hieronymos’ description of Paraitakene that ‘no writer in the ancient world had a more intimate experience of the actions he described’, because he first served with Eumenes and later with Antigonos. This seems to be an example of the exaggerated enthusiasm scholars display when Hieronymos is concerned. Polybios too was an important actor in events for a major part of his work, and he likewise had the possibility to look at them from both sides (Greek and Roman), as he points out himself – albeit perhaps with some exaggeration – (III 4.13): τῶν πλείστων μὴ μόνον αὐτόπτης, ἀλλ᾽ ὧν μὲν συνεργὸς ὧν δὲ καὶ χειριστὴς γεγονέναι (‘I not only witnessed most [events] but took part and directed some’).  For his career under the Antigonids, see the detailed discussion by Hornblower 1981, 11– 15; Billows 1990, 390 – 392. Whether or not the number 104 is correct, Hieronymos’ old age is confirmed by the long temporal distance between the beginning of his career and the end of his

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This prompts the question to what extent his work could have been unbiased. None of the fragments directly teaches us anything about Hieronymos’ attitude towards his masters, but two testimonia by Pausanias do: I 9.8: ὁ δὲ Ἱερώνυμος οὗτος ἔχει μὲν καὶ ἄλλως δόξαν πρὸς ἀπέχθειαν γράψαι τῶν βασιλέων πλὴν ᾿Aντιγόνου, τούτῳ δὲ οὐ δικαίως χαρίζεσθαι. But this Hieronymus has a reputation generally of being biased against all the kings except Antigonus, and of being unfairly partial towards him. I 13.9: διάφορα δὲ ὅμως ἐστὶ καὶ ταῦτα ὧν Ἱερώνυμος ὁ Καρδιανὸς ἔγραψεν· ἀνδρὶ γὰρ βασιλεῖ συνόντα ἀνάγκη πᾶσα ἐς χάριν συγγράφειν. εἰ δὲ καὶ Φίλιστος αἰτίαν δικαίαν εἴληφεν, ἐπελπίζων τὴν ἐν Συρακούσαις κάθοδον, ἀποκρύψασθαι τῶν Διονυσίου τὰ ἀνοσιώτατα, ἦ που πολλή γε Ἱερωνύμῳ συγγνώμη τὰ ἐς ἡδονὴν ᾿Aντιγόνου γράφειν. The account, however, given by Hieronymus the Cardian is different, for a man who associates with royalty cannot help being a partial historian. If Philistus was justified in suppressing the most wicked deeds of Dionysius, because he expected his return to Syracuse, surely Hieronymus may be fully forgiven for writing to please Antigonus.

Scholars usually dismiss these testimonia as typical gratuitous accusations of bias against a historian attached to a royal court,²²¹ or by arguing that Hieronymos’ freedom was limited only when writing about Antigonos Gonatas, but not in the case of Antigonos Monophthalmos and Demetrios.²²² However, in the first passage Pausanias is not simply making an allegation, but he claims that Hieronymos has a reputation for it, i. e. that this is a more or less widely held opinion.²²³ Of course, the Periegete may still be exaggerating out of hostility towards Hieronymos, but one wonders why he would have had such feelings. Furthermore, in the second testimonium Pausanias asserts that Hieronymos’ attitude is perfectly understandable and excusable. It would seem, therefore, that Pausanias was not hostile towards Hieronymos and had no reason to exaggerate the latter’s bias which is entirely commensurate to the importance of historiography at the early Hellenistic courts.²²⁴ There is an unfortunate gap in the Oxyrhynchos

historical work. P.Oxy. LXXI 4808, col. I, l. 14– 15 has been reconstructed as ‘he lived for over 90 years’.  E.g. Müller 1973, 12; Bizière 1975, xv n. 5 (‘Pausanias n’aime pas Hiéronymus’); Rosen 1979, 472– 473; Anson 2004, 24; cf. Hauben 1975, xv–xvi. Contra Landucci Gattinoni 1991, 90; Dillery 2015, 30 – 31.  Jacoby 1913, 1452– 1453; Brown 1947, 693 – 696; Adams 1974, 18 – 19; Bizière 1975, xvi.  Cf. Dillery 2015, 7. According to Müller 1973, 12, and Hornblower 1981, 247, the statement means that Pausanias only knew Hieronymos at second hand. Even if true, this does not alter the value of the claim: one need not have read an author to have heard about his reputation.  Cf. Dillery 2015, 30 – 31.

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papyrus on this point: it contains the words πρὸς χάριν which must concern the issue of bias, but these are preceded and followed by lacunae, so no conclusion can be drawn from them.²²⁵ One may contend that where there is smoke, there is fire, but even then it cannot be absolutely excluded that the author was struck by Hieronymos’ remarkable neutrality. Because of the obvious positive treatment of Eumenes in Diodoros XVIII–XIX it is generally assumed that Hieronymos – even in his description of the confrontation between Eumenes and Antigonos – did write in favour of his friend and countryman, in spite of his presumed neutrality towards the Antigonids.²²⁶ However, Hadley has recently argued that much of the praise actually goes back to a separate encomium of Eumenes.²²⁷ His argument in itself is not wholly convincing,²²⁸ but the suggestion is plausible enough: Xenophon had written an encomium of Agesilaos, apart from his Hellenika, and later on Polybios wrote a separate encomium of Philopoimen; a certain tradition in this respect may thus have existed. At any rate, it remains to be answered how the hypothetical encomium ended up being blended with the historical tradition if indeed it was ever produced at all.

 P.Oxy. LXXI 4808, col. I, l. 27. Chrysanthou 2015, 29 – 30, suggests that the papyrus did criticize Hieronymos’ partiality. Schorn 2018, 398 – 400, is right that its author’s overall judgment on Hieronymos clearly was positive, and suggests that this excludes the accusation of bias, too severe a flaw to be pardoned. It does not seem impossible, though, that Pausanias’ understanding (συγγνώμη) for the limitations on Hieronymos freedom was shared by others; Chares’ enmity against Parmenion after the latter’s as well as perhaps Alexander’s death (P.Oxy. LXXI 4808, col. I, l. 7– 9) need not be quite comparable to Hieronymos’ being favourably disposed towards his own patrons. Lucian (Hist.conscr. 39) seems to have agreed with Pausanias that historians connected to royal courts had little choice; on the tension between the duty towards impartiality and the moral obligations of patriotism and friendship in ancient historiography, cf. Meeus 2020b, 92– 93. The participle on l. 28 might be γ]ράψας just as well as συγγ]ράψας, and since the traces after πρὸς χάριν seem to suit an eta, the reconstruction [καίπερ πολλὰ] πρὸς χάριν ἢ̣ [ἀπέχθειαν γ]ράψας does not seem excluded to me (cf. Pausanias’ πρὸς ἀπέχθειαν and χαρίζεσθαι). Such a reconstruction would imply that the bias was compensated for to some extent by whatever exactly was stated in the first part of the sentence, so it is by no means impossible to reconcile a comment on bias with a positive overall judgment on Hieronymos. For the combination of πρὸς χάριν and the historian as judge, cf. Luc. Hist.conscr. 38.  Hornblower 1981, 196 – 211; Billows 1990, 333; Anson 2004, 2– 3.  Hadley 2001; accepted by Atkinson 2009, 226 – 227.  Cf. Anson 2004, 18 n. 117. Anson’s rebuttal, however, is almost solely based on two unproven assumptions, namely that Diodoros was incapable of editing his sources and that he made direct use of Hieronymos.

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The claim that Diodoros’ narrative disproves that Hieronymos was biased obviously is petitio principii which results in a circular argument²²⁹. Ignoring the context in which Hieronymos worked, one can claim that there is no problem in accepting that he was Diodoros’ sole source if he was unbiased, but then using Diodoros’ narrative to prove that the Kardian wrote a balanced and neutral history is unwarranted. At any rate, one basic principle seems obvious, as Landucci Gattinoni has pointed out, namely that Hieronymos at least could not write too negatively about Antigonos Monophthalmos.²³⁰ Nonetheless, even this principle has often been ignored. I do not mean to deny that Hieronymos could mention Antigonid flaws and failures, but it seems unlikely that he would have emphasized them to the extent we find at certain points in Diodoros’ narrative – especially in comparison with the praise meted out to some of the rival dynasts and when central aspects of royal legitimacy are concerned (cf. infra, §3.2.3). It is often assumed that Hieronymos’ account focussed especially on Eumenes and the Antigonids and tended to deal with the others only when they came into contact with these protagonists, because this seems to be the case with Diodoros’ narrative as well.²³¹ This view is not completely unproblematic, though.²³² Since the Antigonids seem to have kept detailed documentation for political purposes,²³³ Hieronymos may have had access to these records for his history as well, but he need not have limited himself to what was readily available. His work included a digression on Rome in his account of Pyrrhos’ Italian campaigns (F13), which shows that the Kardian was a historian who did at least some research, and not just the author of his own memoirs.²³⁴ This is important in two respects. First, Pyrrhos’ operations in Italy are not connected to the Antigonids, so it is clear that Hieronymos must have taken a broader view than the traditional hypothesis allows for. Secondly, if Hieronymos took the effort to gather information about Rome, it seems a fair assumption that he also tried to ob-

 Pace Jacoby 1913, 1543 – 1545; Bizière 1975, xvi; Rosen 1979, 473; Hornblower 1981, 248; BarKochva 1996, 72; Simonetti Agostinetti 1997.  Landucci Gattinoni 1991, 90. The point is not so much one of police state censorship (pace Hornblower 1981, 173) as of Hieronymos himself avoiding the impression of ingratitude and the loss of royal favour. It has been pointed out to me that Thucydides and Xenophon at times criticized Athens, but the situation of an – exiled – historian in relation to his hometown is fundamentally different from that of an author working at the court of a Hellenistic king.  E.g. Schwartz 1903, 684; Nietzold 1905, 126 – 132; Jacoby 1913, 1550; Brown 1947, 693; Rosen 1967a, 43; Westlake 1969, 309; Adams 1974, 15; Préaux 1978, I, 80; Hornblower 1981, 40; Anson 2004, 7.  See above, §2.1, and below, §3.2.  Polyaen. IV 6.2; Hammond 1988c, 130 – 131.  This point is rightly stressed by Knoepfler 2001a, 36.

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tain detailed knowledge on the actions of those Diadochoi who were the allies or enemies of his masters – at least to a higher extent than is apparent from Diodoros’ narrative. Indeed this seems to be an absolute requirement if Hieronymos was the serious and objective historian he is usually taken to be.²³⁵

3.1.2 Douris of Samos The second historian who seems to be a candidate for identification as Diodoros’ source, is Douris of Samos (FGrHist 76), perhaps a student of Theophrastos and tyrant of Samos.²³⁶ Douris is known to have written three historical works: a local history of Samos, a work on Agathokles of Sicily, and the Historiai or Makedonika which dealt with the eastern Mediterranean in the period 370 – 281 in at least twenty-three books. The latter thus contained the history of the Diadochoi. Although significantly more fragments (scil. 36: F1– 15 and 35 – 56) of Douris’ Makedonika are preserved than of Hieronymos’ history, little is known about the political tendencies of the work.²³⁷ On the basis of the fragments Douris is usually considered to have been an author who was more interested in gossip and sensational anecdotes than in serious history. However, as Billows pointed out, sixteen of the fragments stem from Athenaios’ Deipnosophistai and seven others from Plutarch’s Lives, both of which deal to a large extent with such anecdotal material. The fragments may therefore give a distorted picture of the actual work.²³⁸ Nonetheless, even Billows asserts that we do not get the impression that Douris was a serious and reliable historian. Despite his negative view on

 E.g. by Jacoby 1913; Rosen 1967a and 1979, 472– 477; Boerma 1979, 358 – 365; Hornblower 1981, passim; Lehmann 1988b; Billows 1990, 329 – 333; Hornblower 1994, 43; Simonetti Agostinetti 1997; Anson 2004, 1– 33; Bleckmann 2006, 132. Doubts about Hieronymos’ critical attitude have been expressed by Graf 1990, 51– 53. If the reading συνγρα[φεὺς καὶ ἀνὴρ] σ̣ [π]ουδαῖος̣ […] in P.Oxy. LXXI 4808 is correct, it might provide some justification for the view that Hieronymus was a serious historian: cf. Schorn 2018, 398 – 401. On the other hand, scholars often ignore the evidence for potential rhetorical exaggerations in Hieronymos’ work or explain them away: see comm. ad chapters 33 – 34, 41.2 οἱ νεώτατοι… and 49.4 ἔνιοι δέ…; cf. Ogden 2017, 284– 285, who rightly notes that the folkloric Seleukos tradition is unlikely to originate with Hieronymos, though.  On Douris, see especially Schwartz 1905; Schubert 1914, 60 – 106; Fontana 1960, 155 – 159; Okin 1974; Kebric 1977; Pédech 1989; Billows 1990, 333 – 336; Landucci Gattinoni 1997; Naas & Simon 2015; Luraghi 2017, 194– 201.  Seibert 1969, 38; Billows 1990, 335 – 336; Pownall 2013.  Billows 1990, 333 – 334. We face a similar problem with Douris’ younger contemporary Phylarchos: see Schepens 2005, 161.

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Douris, Billows very neatly describes one of the main problems in the Quellenforschung on the Diadochoi, namely that there has arisen among modern scholars a tendency to regard Hieronymos as unquestionably authoritative, and hence to refer information that one considers or wishes to be considered truthful to Hieronymos as source, while relegating facts one considers or wishes to be considered dubious to a different source, usually Douris, who is generally regarded as unreliable.²³⁹

Indeed, scholars have often even asserted that this is the actual method to be followed, thus e.g. Goukowsky: Pour l’historien moderne, la difficulté est de faire le départ entre les informations empruntées à Jérôme (source sérieuse) et celles qui proviennent de Douris de Samos (volontiers fantaisiste). Le découpage est souvent arbitraire.²⁴⁰

Rather than often, it would be more precise to state that it is virtually always arbitrary. And while Goukowsky at least admits the arbitrariness, most scholars use the principle without recognizing its arbitrary nature, even after Billows’ justified dismissal of it as wholly inadequate.²⁴¹ There is no reason whatsoever to assume that Douris, or any historian for that matter, was constantly lying, as that would only result in a work in which none of the information is credible. Even if Douris did want to spread lies and gossip, he might well have embedded them in a serious factual basis, especially given Cicero’s characterization of Douris as ‘homo in historia diligens’ (FGrHist 70 T6): since Cicero (Att. VI 1.8) is making excuses for an error of his own by pointing out that a similar mistake had been made by Douris, he will not lightly have chosen this example out of all the available possibilities. At any rate, given the limited number of fragments of the primary histories each reported fact should be judged on its own merits and without speculating on its provenance. The negative judgment of Douris is not universally shared, though. Mainly on the basis of Cicero’s judgement Beloch claims that Douris was a reliable source and is in fact the authority behind the solid military narrative of Diodoros XVIII–XX.²⁴² Furthermore, some of the fragments reveal that Douris developed a

 Billows 1990, 333.  Goukowsky 1972, 483 n. 38.  E.g. Bar-Kochva 1996, 72: ‘This information can be trusted. It was paraphrased with considerable accuracy by Diodorus from the work of Hieronymus of Cardia.’; Anson 2004, 129 n. 46: ‘In all likelihood this particular stratagem derives from Duris or a similar writer and is untrue’.  Beloch 1925, 479 – 480.

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serious and sound historiographical theory, as Strasburger has shown.²⁴³ It seems wise, then, to exclude any extreme stereotypical views on Douris from the analysis of Diodoros’ sources.

3.1.3 Diyllos of Athens Diyllos of Athens (FGrHist 73) is the third author who can be associated with Diodoros’ account of the Diadochoi on the basis of the fragments.²⁴⁴ Diyllos wrote a universal history in 26 books spanning the years 357/6 – 297, as a continuation of the work of Ephoros.²⁴⁵ We possess only six testimonia and four fragments, most of them brief and uninformative. Hardly anything, then, is known of him, but Plutarch (De Her. Mal. 26 = Mor. 862b) considered Diyllos a reputable historian, so that we may safely assume that he was read in Diodoros’ days too. Indeed, Diodoros deemed him worthy of mention in his notices on important works of history (XVI 14.5, XVI 76.6, XXI 5), which need not mean that he used him as a source, though.²⁴⁶

3.1.4 Hekataios of Abdera Hekataios of Abdera (FGrHist 264), a courtier of Ptolemaios I,²⁴⁷ was a philosopher and historian who composed several works that have been preserved only in fragments. He wrote extensively on Egypt in his Αἰγυπτιακά (F1– 6), composed an ethnographic account on the legendary Hyperboreians (F7– 14, F20) and – perhaps – produced a work on the Jews (F21– 24), but the authenticity of the latter is a highly controversial question. The fragments of the Aigyptiaka are all quite brief, so that our knowledge of the work depends largely on book I of Diodoros: despite recent doubts, the latter’s ultimate reliance on Hekataios for his

 Strasburger 1975, 78 – 82; Meeus 2020b, 100 – 102 with further references. Cf. also Fornara 1983, 124– 134, who seems to go somewhat beyond what the evidence allows, as Walbank 1990, 257– 259, pointed out.  See esp. Schubert 1914, 218 – 236; Schwan 1931; Fontana 1960, 153 – 155; Seibert 1969, 60 – 61; Billows 1990, 336 – 337.  Tuplin 2007a, 163 – 164; Luraghi 2017, 194– 195.  See above, §2.2.1. Billows 1990, 329, claims that the references may well mean that Diodoros at least read the work of Diyllos. Even if this would be the case, though, that does not necessarily mean he also used it.  Jos. Ap. I 183; cf. Diod. I 46.8; Souda s.v. ῾Εκαταῖος ᾽Αβδηρίτης (E359); Murray 1970, 143 – 144.

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account of Egypt seems securely established.²⁴⁸ It has been suggested that the Aigyptiaka was merely ethnographical in nature and did not have any specific political purpose,²⁴⁹ but given the importance of mythical origins in Greek politics and diplomacy this seems unlikely: it is hard not to read the claims that Osiris left his relative Herakles as general of Egypt (Diod. I 17.3) and installed his son Makedon as king of Macedonia (I 18.1, 20.3) in political terms. Furthermore, the political role of the Egyptian priests is highly prominent in the relevant parts of Diodoros’ book I and, while on the surface this is merely part of a utopian treatise on the ideal state, its pressing relevance to questions of policy in early Ptolemaic Egypt cannot be ignored.²⁵⁰ Finally, Hekataios presented a highly positive

 Murray 1970, esp. 144– 150; Burstein ad BNJ 264 F 25; Gruen 2017, 296 – 301 (with further references in n. 8); Nesselrath 2018, 271– 272; see also below, n. 250. Muntz (2011) is correct that the evidential basis in the fragments is thin, but it is more solid than for many other books of the Bibliotheke, and his own constant reliance on the argument from silence substantially weakens his criticism; furthermore, his discussion of Diod. I 28 – 29 (Muntz 2011, 589) ignores the similarities with Diod. XL 3.1– 2 = Hekataios (FGrHist 264) F6 (cf. Berthelot 2003, 102– 103). The cumulative evidence that Diodoros I 10 – 31 and 42– 98 go back to the work of Hekataios remains very strong. That the selection of material reflects Diodoros’ usual criteria and interests (Caneva 2019, 189 – 190), does not disprove its derivation from a single source. Against the argument from contradiction as evidence of multiple sources (Burton 1972, 2), see Pitcher 2018, 313; cf. supra, §2.2.1. Moreover, the Bibliotheke surely was not the only ancient work that contained contradictions, so that Diodoros may occasionally have taken over contradictory passages from one and the same source: cf. Parker 2018.  Gruen 2017, 301.  On the utopian dimension and the influence of Platonic political philosophy, see Nesselrath 2018. The theme of the subordination of the pharaoh to the priests is taken as evidence that Hekataios had no political purpose by Gruen (2017, 300 – 301) or that he cannot have been the main source of Diodoros’ book I by Caneva (2019). It should be noted, however, that Hekataios need not have agreed with all the priestly claims he reported (cf. Diod. I 29.5 – 6, probably echoing Hekataios). Moreover, a work showing the importance of the priests written by one of his courtiers need not have been contrary to Ptolemaios’ interests: after having executed Kleomenes of Naukratis (Paus. I 6.3; cf. Meeus 2015, 163 – 164), his predecessor as governor of Egypt who had financially exploited the priests ([Arist.] Oec. II 2.33 (1352a16 – 1352b25), he himself adopted a policy of collaboration with the priests. It is not unlikely, however, that debates about how to deal with the indigenous elites remained fierce and that many of Ptolemaios’ courtiers preferred the approach of Kleomenes: compare the persistent disagreements during the much better attested reign of Alexander (Bosworth 1980a, 7). In this context, a detailed account of the essential importance of the priests for the stability of the satrapy might have been a most welcome justification of Ptolemaios’ collaboration with the local elites, especially as everyone will have recognized the overstatement involved in the priests’ own claims (that this actually was the latter’s own perspective is shown by Murray 1970, 156). Caneva (2019, 198 – 199) is right that it is not obvious to relate the statement about the negative impact of the Macedonian conquest on Egyptian laws (Diod. I 95.6) to Hekataios’ Ptolemaic programme. Murray (1970, 146)

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image of Ptolemaios as a virtuous ruler. Admittedly, explicit praise of the satrap of Egypt is attested only in a fragment of the controversial work on the Jews (F21 = Jos. Ap. I 186), and the question of its authorship cannot be dealt with here;²⁵¹ suffice it to say that the arguments against authenticity are by no means decisive and often ignore the fact that the fragments have obviously been re-shaped by the apologetic purposes of the cover text authors. Moreover, a forger who strove to be convincing is likely to have included as much of a genuinely Hekataian perspective as he could. Even Pseudo-Hekataios, then, might on many points reflect what Hekataios of Abdera actually wrote, for instance in its pro-Ptolemaic tendencies.²⁵² While Hekataios, as far as we know, did not write a continuous account of the history of the Successors, it is clear that he treated many aspects of the reign of Ptolemaios, and such passages may directly or indirectly have served as a source for Diodoros.

takes this passage as one of a small number of Diodorean insertions from different sources, but this need not be the case. The presentation of Dareios at I 95.4– 5 suits Hekataios’ Platonic perspective very well: see Pl. Leg. III 695b–e. Furthermore, the claim about the negative impact of Macedonian rule might for instance have been a sneer at Kleomenes and an invitation to pursue a different policy, but again, Hekataios need not have agreed with it: its interpretation does after all depend on what one thinks of the quality of the ancient Egyptian laws (cf. Pl. Leg. V 747c–d). However this may be, it is clearly not a necessary assumption that I 95.6, even as it stands in Diodoros, must be incompatible with Hekataios’ Ptolemaic perspective. In addition, the closest echo of the passage in the Bibliotheke happens to occur at XL 3.8 about the impact of the Persian and Macedonian conquests on Jewish tradition, a passage explicitly attributed to Hekataios. Somewhat similar phrases occur at Diod. III 18.5, XX 36.1 and XX 110.1 and there is no real pattern, although four of the five passages may go back to Agatharchides. A Diodorean addition or elaboration cannot be excluded, but the closeness of the echo rather suggests the influence of Hekataios, the common source of both passages; Herodotos already has both the idea (III 82.5, cf. II 79.1), which seems quite traditional, and the phrase: Hdt. III 80.5 (νόμαιά τε κινέει πάτρια).  See the excellent brief overviews by Sterling 1992, 78 – 91 (in favour of authenticity) and Barclay 2007, 338 – 340 (against authenticity). Burstein ad BNJ 264 F 21, while tending towards rejecting Hekataian authorship, gives a good overview of the reasons why this case cannot be made conclusively. The detailed argument against authenticity by Bar-Kochva 1996 is marred by the abuse of the argument from silence and the puzzling assumption that an authentically Hekataian work cannot contain historical errors; on the question of Alexander, the Jews and the Samaritans (cf. Sterling 1992, 86 n. 120), see now also Köhler 2020. The additional arguments by Gruen 1998, 202– 206 do not take into account that Josephus may substantially have altered the perspective of the original, e.g. by leaving out important details about Greek divinatory practice, and that Hekataios need not have judged matters in the same positive way as Josephus did. Recent scholars who accept the work’s authenticity include Capponi 2011 and 2017, 343 – 347, Dillery 2015, 208 – 209 and Lane Fox 2015, 167.  On these tendencies, see Sterling 1992, 89 – 90. Cf. infra, §3.2.

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3.2 Diodoros’ Sources for the History of the Diadochoi 3.2.1 Methodological Issues The problem of identifying Diodoros’ sources for the history of the Diadochoi is most intricate, although one would not immediately get this impression when overviewing the relevant scholarship. Only rarely is the full extent of the problem acknowledged, e.g. by Kunz who asserted that ‘der Versuch, hier Quellen anzugeben, ist aussichtslos’.²⁵³ Nonetheless, there is a very broad consensus that Diodoros relied on Hieronymos alone, and probably directly, though perhaps with some – mostly minor – insertions from other sources.²⁵⁴ Some even go as far as to state that Hieronymos’ account ‘can be retrieved with satisfying fullness from Diodorus books 18 – 20’,²⁵⁵ and even in recent scholarship one still encounters the phrase ‘Diodorus-Hieronymus’ as if no substantial difference between the two accounts exists.²⁵⁶ A minority of scholars argue – usually with equal confidence – that Diodoros substantially combined several sources,²⁵⁷ or used an intermediary.²⁵⁸

 Kunz 1935, 18. Schwartz 1903, 684– 685, Seibert 1969, 64– 83, and Goukowsky 1978a likewise deem the problem insoluble. The latter, however, does consider Hieronymos the most likely candidate; cf. also Durvye 2018a, lxi–lxii.  See esp. Reuß 1876; Jacoby 1913; Nietzold 1905; Geer 1947, vii–viii; Fontana 1960, 151– 235; Rosen 1967a; Müller 1973, 4– 13; Bizière 1975, xv–xvii; Boerma 1979, 344– 355; Hornblower 1981; Merker 1988; Simonetti Agostinetti 1997; Bosworth 2002, 25 – 27; Anson 2004, 1– 33; Roisman 2010. Apart from these specific treatments of the problem this view is found in the following studies, a random selection of examples which can easily be multiplied: Geyer 1930, 178; Papastavrou 1936, 42; Tarn 1948, II, 63; Sweet 1951, 178; Rostovtzeff 1953, 1347; Fortina 1965, 130; Westlake 1969, 314; Bakhuizen 1970, 160; Adams 1974, 22– 23; Scullard 1974, 77; Bacigalupo Pareo 1975, 194; Errington 1977, 479; Strasburger 1977, 29; Hammond 1978, 133 and 1988a, 95; Préaux 1978, I, 80; Mehl 1980/1, 181– 182; Yardley & Heckel 1981, 308; Marasco 1982, 41 and passim; Ashton 1984, 155; Devine 1985b, 87; Winnicki 1989, 55; Sacks 1990, 41; Stein 1993, 148; Geiger 1995, 177; Syme 1995, 198; Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 286; Rives-Gal 1996, 263; Sonnabend 1996, 219 – 220; Garzilli 1997, 343; Dany 1999, 42; Carney 2000, 118; Funke 2000b, 110 and 112; Wiemer 2001, 219; Retsö 2003, 287; Rodriguez 2004, 114; Boiy 2007b, 17; Dixon 2007, 163; Szczurek 2008, 130 – 131; Alonso 2009, 289; Wheatley 2009b, 329; Schäfer 2011, 119; Lane Fox 2015, 167– 168; Gruen 2017, 311; Heitmann-Gordon 2017, 192 with n. 40; Muccioli 2017, 79 and 83; Raynor 2017, 264 with n. 85; Asirvatham 2018, 217; Frank 2018, 53 n. 28; Marciak 2018, 878; Shipley 2018, 6; Stoneman 2019, 146; Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 4– 5.  Hornblower 2006, 313.  Lane Fox 2015, 195; Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 5 and 184.  Unger 1878; Schwan 1931; Seibert 1969, 64– 83; Landucci Gattinoni 1981/2, 1984, 1991, 1997, 194– 204, 2005a, 2005b, 2008, xii–xxiv, 2013b; Billows 1990, 342– 343; Waterfield 2019, xxx.

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That Quellenforschung in the nineteenth century was a highly speculative enterprise in which hypotheses were usually built on other hypotheses is wellknown. That such an approach would not lead to any reliable solution was soon recognized, and in the early twentieth century both Nietzold and Schubert described the only sound method in the introductions to their studies of the source tradition on the history of the Successors.²⁵⁹ Nevertheless, both scholars still substantially belonged to the old school they attacked and applied its methods to a greater extent than they apparently realized. Indeed, throughout the twentieth century students of Diodoros’ sources for the Successors rarely addressed – not to say often conveniently ignored – the methodological issues. Even Hornblower, in the most thorough study of Hieronymos ever produced, did not start with a discussion of the appropriate method, and she ignored the crucial remark of Schubert that our judgement should be based only on the Minimalbestand of demonstrable convergences between the preserved authors and their sources if we want to avoid substituting a picture that is definitely wrong for one which is perhaps too limited.²⁶⁰ It seems useful, therefore, to start the analysis of Diodoros’ sources by restating two crucial methodological principles as formulated by Schepens and Billows: It is of the utmost importance that all Quellenkritik should take its starting point from the attested fragments and/or be carried out in the closest possible connection with the fragmentarily preserved evidence. Otherwise hermeneutic circles cannot be avoided, if we claim that a historian x is using a historian y because the narrative of x exhibits the characteristics of y, and if we also rely on narrative x to draw conclusions about y’s manner of writing.²⁶¹ One of the most common errors in Quellenforschung is to suppose that because the cumulative picture of a late writer seems to suggest a particular early source, one can therefore rightly attribute specific information in the late writer to that source. But the fact that a writer’s work gives overall an impression of having used a particular source clearly cannot logically prove that any particular piece of information is from that source, especially when the writer in question shows any indication of awareness or use of other sources. If one ar-

 Schwartz 1903, 684– 685; Vezin 1907, 6; Beloch 1927, 5; Bottin 1928; Simpson 1959a, 370; Smith 1961, 283 n. 1; Schachermeyr 1970, 107– 108; Rathmann 2014, 90 – 93.  Nietzold 1905, 9 – 11; Schubert 1914, 2– 3.  Schubert 1914, 2: ‘Zu richtigen Urteilen kann man nur gelangen, wenn man sich darauf beschränkt, den Minimalbestand der einzelnen Quellen festzustellen und in zweifelhaften Fällen ihnen lieber zu wenig zuweist als zu viel. Man riskiert dabei allerdings daß das Bild, das man von ihnen erhält, ein unvollständiges wird, aber andernfalls wird es sicher ein falsches’.  Schepens 1997, 167 n. 67. Cf. also Baron 2013, 13 – 14 for this problem in Diodorean Quellenforschung.

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gues from particular information that the writer in general used a specific source, and then argues back from the use of that source to attribute other particular information given by the writer to that source, one is clearly guilty of circular reasoning: one can argue from the particular to the general conclusion, but not from the general conclusion back to the particular again.²⁶²

It is hard to refute these methodological principles, but unfortunately they have often simply been ignored. Thus, after arguing for the unity of Diodoros’ narrative on the history of the Diadochoi and comparing the fragments of Hieronymos with Diodoros’ account, Hornblower concluded that ‘it is here taken as a principle of argument that there need be special grounds for doubting the derivation of any passage from Hieronymus’.²⁶³ In this she violates the second principle that one cannot argue back from the general to the particular. Furthermore, her application of the first methodological principle has been overly optimistic, and completely ignores the remarks Nietzold already made in this respect when criticizing the Quellenforscher of the nineteenth century, namely that mere agreement of fact cannot prove a source-relationship.²⁶⁴ Hornblower also – though implicitly – dismisses the important difference made for instance by Reid in her analysis of the relationship between Ephoros and Diodoros, between ‘fragments consistent with Diodoros, but showing no positive correspondence’ and ‘fragments that actually correspond with Diodoros in some particular’.²⁶⁵

3.2.2 The Evidence of the Fragments The first fragment of Hieronymos (FGrHist 154) relevant to our analysis is F2, which in fact can hardly be called a fragment. It only teaches us that Hieronymos’ work apparently included at least one description with literary merit: Athenaios (V 206de) quotes a list of authors famous for spectacular descriptions among whom is Ἱερώνυμος ἐπὶ τῇ κατασκευῇ τῆς ἁρμαμάξης ᾗ συνέβαινε κατακομισθῆναι τὸ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου σῶμα. We learn, then, that Hieronymos gave a probably rather elaborate description of Alexander’s funeral carriage, such as we also find in Diodoros XVIII 26 – 27. Hornblower contends that ‘prima facie this was the account [Diodorus] found in Hieronymus’. However, given the spectacular nature

 Billows 1990, 332.  Hornblower 1981, 62. On Hornblower’s method see also the excellent discussion by Lens Tuero 1994d.  Nietzold 1905, 9.  Reid 1969, 35.

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of the hearse, it would rather be surprising if any historian did not describe it, so that the fragment hardly constitutes strong evidence that Diodoros used Hieronymos, let alone that he used him directly. Furthermore, chapter 28 which reports the consequences of Ptolemaios hijacking Alexander’s body and is directly connected to the description of the carriage, contains a marked eulogy of Ptolemaios. Hornblower herself admits that the encomium is unlikely to stem from Hieronymos and concedes that this might mean that the description of the hearse derived from the same pro-Ptolemaic source. After discussing a number of likely candidates for the identification of this source (Ephippos or perhaps a Hellenistic rhetorical or periegetic writer like Kallixeinos), she rightly concludes: ‘whether the account of Diodorus represents that of Hieronymus himself, or of someone who used Hieronymus, or of a later “ekphrastic” writer who had seen the vehicle at Alexandria cannot be ascertained’. Nevertheless, immediately following the latter conclusion she goes on to claim that ‘the coincidence between Hieronymus fragment 2 and this passage of Diodorus tends to create an overwhelming prejudice in favour of the derivation of Diodorus (here) from Hieronymus’.²⁶⁶ Overwhelming does not seem an appropriate qualification, given the problem of the Ptolemaic tone of chapter 28 and the fact that several other writers may have written such a description. If we want to work from the Minimalbestand, fragment 2 is best left aside. Next are fragments 3 and 4, which deal with the campaign of Eumenes and Perdikkas against Ariarathes in Kappadokia. F3 is found in Appian (Mithr. 8) who quotes Hieronymos for the statement that Alexander had not conquered Kappadokia because he headed south in pursuit of Dareios before reaching the area. This contradicts the claim of Arrian (Anab. II 4.2) that Alexander conquered the whole of Kappadokia west of the Halys, which seems to be an obvious exaggeration. If the version Appian attributes to Hieronymos is therefore more in accordance with the facts,²⁶⁷ any agreement between Diodoros and Hieronymos need not be very telling. Yet, there are reasons for believing that Diodoros and Appian as well as the parallel account in Arrian (Succ. F1.11) do somehow go back to the same ultimate source: verbal echoes between the different versions are admittedly limited to names and a few words whose occurrence in this kind of military narrative is hardly surprising, but the structure of the accounts is very similar too. They share the same elements in the same order, namely that Ariarathes did not accept Macedonian rule, that Perdikkas defeated and captured him, that he subsequently hanged/crucified him, and finally that he gave the

 Hornblower 1981, 40 – 46.  Bosworth 1980b, 189 and 1996a, 156 – 157.

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area to Eumenes. Diodoros and Appian additionally share the information that Alexander had turned away from Kappadokia because of the pursuit of Dareios. Of course, this is mostly a series of facts in its logical order, but its significance is enhanced by Diodoros XXXI 19.4, where Ariarathes is said to have died in battle (᾿Aριαράθου πεσόντος τε ἐν τῇ μάχῃ): whether this actually is a variant tradition or a misleading summary by Photios, it shows at the very least that the episode could be told in a very different way. The claim that Ariarathes was captured in battle and then executed is also found in fragment 4, transmitted by Pseudo-Lucian (Macrob. 13), which draws attention to the one difference between F3 and Diodoros. Appian (Mithr. 8), after having quoted Hieronymos on Alexander and Kappadokia, states that Ariarathes was hung (Περδίκκας δέ … ᾿Aριαράθην … εἷλε καὶ ἐκρέμασε), while Diodoros and Pseudo-Lucian state that he was crucified (Diod. XVIII 16.3, [᾿Aριαράθην] … ἀνεσταύρωσε; [Luc.] Macrob. 13, ᾿Aριαράθης … ἀνεσκολοπίσθη).²⁶⁸ Hornblower dismisses the difference as ‘minor variations of language’. Perhaps so: ‘Buchstabenkultus’ is not more helpful in historiographical than in historical analysis. Since Arrian (Succ. F1.11) likewise has ἐκρέμασεν the variation is unlikely to result from Appian’s own choice of words, though. This raises the question whether Appian and Arrian or Diodoros and Pseudo-Lucian offer a closer reflection of Hieronymos’ original. Given that we are also dealing with the question whether Diodoros used Hieronymos directly, we cannot dismiss the divergence as readily, especially as his version aligns him with an author whose indirect use of Hieronymos seems clear.²⁶⁹ On the whole, then, F3 and F4 seem to suggest a connection between Hieronymos and Diodoros but cannot tell us anything about the nature of that relationship. The information that Alexander had not conquered Kappadokia is also appended to Eumenes’ receiving the satrapy of Kappadokia in the distribution of 323 (Diod. XVIII 3.1). Hornblower lays much weight on this observation, commenting that ‘the historical note on Cappadocia at XVIII 3.1 singles out Eumenes’ satrapy for especial mention: few in Diodorus’ list attract a comment of this kind’.²⁷⁰ She therefore concludes that Diodoros used a source with a particular interest in Eumenes, which ‘naturally suggests Hieronymus’. First of all, though, this is not a particularly striking parallel with Hieronymos F3 as in this case it really is no more than a mere agreement of fact. Secondly, it should be noted that few entries in the satrapy list required such additional information: Eu LSJ s.v. ἀνασκολοπίζω explicitly states that it is a synonym of ἀνασταυρόω, both words meaning ‘to crucify’, but s.v. κρεμάννυμι it only lists the meaning ‘to hang’.  Hornblower 1981, 246.  Hornblower 1981, 46 – 47.

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menes’ satrapy was the only one which had not yet been conquered, and Diodoros’ source deemed it necessary to point this out. That is not in itself remarkable. Furthermore, no one would argue that any of the other individuals about whom a historical note is made (Taxiles, Poros, and Oxyartes) are being especially singled out because Diodoros’ authority had a connection with them. Fragment 5 (Paradox. Flor. de aq. mir. 33), in turn, is a brief description of the Dead Sea which contains telling verbal echoes with Diodoros XIX: FGrHist 154, F5: Ἱερώνυμος ἱστόρησεν ἐν τῇ Ναβαταίων χώρᾳ τῶν ᾿Aράβων εἶναι λίμνην πικράν, ἐν ᾗ οὔτε ἰχθῦς οὔτε ἄλλο τι τῶν ἐνύδρων ζῴων γίνεσθαι. Diod. XIX 98.2: τὸ δ᾽ ὕδωρ ἔχει διάπικρον καὶ καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν δυσῶδες, ὥστε μήτ᾽ ἰχθὺν δύνασθαι τρέφειν μήτ᾽ ἄλλο τῶν καθ᾽ ὕδατος εἰωθότων ζῴων .

This accordance can hardly be coincidental and Hieronymos must be the ultimate source of Diodoros’ description of the Dead Sea.²⁷¹ Yet, the fragment is too brief to prove direct use, so that an intermediary source cannot be excluded on this basis. Hornblower notes that Diodoros (XIX 94– 100) deals with the Nabataians, who are also mentioned in Hieronymos’ fragment, and that in Diodoros (XIX 100.1) Hieronymos himself is sent to the Dead Sea by Antigonos.²⁷² These are not in themselves strong indications that Diodoros must have used the Kardian: the former is a mere accordance of fact, and the mention of Hieronymos as a historical agent does not mean that he was Diodoros’ source either (see below). Some have argued that direct use of Hieronymos in this passage is impossible, because at 98.1 Diodoros mentions ἡ σατραπεία τῆς Ἰδουμαίας, while Idoumaia cannot have been a satrapy before 198, long after Hieronymos’ death. This may be true, but we cannot attach too much weight to Diodoros’ terminology of institutions.²⁷³ The last fragment to be considered is fragment 16, from Strabo’s (VIII 6.21) description of the city of Korinthos. Because Diodoros (XX 103.2) in his account of Demetrios’ siege of Korinthos mentions two places, Sisyphion and Akrokorinthos, which likewise occur in Strabo’s description of the city, Hornblower argues that F16 ‘adds to the cumulative picture’, though the resemblance is slight.²⁷⁴ However, as she also admits, Strabo refers to Hieronymos together with other sources and he claims autopsy of the site (…ἐξ ὧν Ἱερώνυμός τε εἴρηκε καὶ Εὔδο-

 Ogden 2017, 285 n. 47 seems to downplay the verbal echo.  Hornblower 1981, 47.  For detailed discussion of these problems, see below on 95.2 τῆς Ἰδουμαίας…; 98.1 τῷ μὲν μήκει…  Hornblower 1981, 49.

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ξος καὶ ἄλλοι, καὶ αὐτοὶ δὲ εἴδομεν). Thus, the mention of these two places does not even necessarily have a parallel in Hieronymos, and even if it does, the parallel would hardly be telling. The evidence of F16, then, seems to be too slight to add anything at all to the picture, and as Brodersen pointed out in his review of Hornblower’s book, ‘schwache Argumenten werden m. E. durch ihre Kumulierung nicht stärker’.²⁷⁵ On the whole, the analysis of Hieronymos’ fragments can only be said to be disappointing: a mere three fragments – relating to only two points in the Bibliotheke – imply a connection, while two others concern matters also mentioned by Diodoros, and the rest cannot in any way be connected to Diodoros’ account. The Minimalbestand, then, consists of only two correspondences between Diodoros XVIII–XX and the fragments of Hieronymos. One of these two concerns a geographical digression rather than the main political and military narrative (F5 cf. XIX 98.2), and the other aligns Diodoros with a source that demonstrably did not make first-hand use of Hieronymos (F3/F4 cf. XVIII 16.1– 3). The situation for Douris is not better, though. The one point in Diodoros XVIII–XX which is in accordance with a fragment of Douris (FGrHist 76 F54) is a passing remark on the etymology of the name of the Median region Rhagai (XIX 44.4). Scholars disagree over the significance of the echo, and several possibilities have been suggested: direct use of Douris, indirect use of Douris (perhaps via Hieronymos), or independent use of Hieronymos by both Douris and Diodoros. Unless the latter option would be correct, these scenarios are not unimportant for the question of Diodoros’ sources because they all imply that Diodoros does not go back to the tradition of Hieronymos alone.²⁷⁶ Especially if Douris would have used Hieronymos, as some maintain,²⁷⁷ any element in Diodoros’ narrative which seems to point to Hieronymos may result from indirect use through Douris. Although in the end we can only speculate about the nature of the relationship between Diodoros and the Douris fragment, its very existence remains significant.

 Brodersen 1985, 221.  See comm. ad loc. for detailed discussion. It is interesting to note that in this case Hornblower 1981, 60 seems to apply a stricter method: ‘The supposed correspondence with a Duris fragment in the description of Rhagae at XIX 44.4– 5 is not convincing. Strabo’s citation of Duris agrees with Diodorus in content only, not in words’.  Köhler 1890, 587; Schubert 1914, 96 – 97; Billows 1990, 335. Contra Jacoby 1913, 1549, who claims that even the ‘frappante Koinzidenz zwischen XIX 44,4 und Duris’ is not sufficient to doubt the strong evidence for direct use of Hieronymos, whatever may be the explanation for the correspondence between Diodoros and Douris.

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Of Diyllos’ (FGrHist 73) four fragments, there is likewise one which corresponds with Diodoros XVIII–XX. Fragment 1 (Ath. IV 155a) deals with the funeral of Philippos III, Eurydike and Kynnane, which is described equally briefly by Diodoros (XIX 52.5). Apart from some elements present in one but not in the other, the texts are in complete agreement. Given that Diodoros and Athenaios were free to select those elements from Diyllos they deemed relevant, such silences cannot be used to argue against a common origin of both passages.²⁷⁸ On the other hand, given that both treatments are so brief, their strong correspondence is not very telling: that two very compressed summaries mentioning only the basic facts would resemble each other is only to be expected. The verbal echoes between both passages, furthermore, are of the kind which are simply the result of discussing the same subject.²⁷⁹ Thus, we cannot conclude much more than that Diyllos may or may not have been the source of Diod. XIX 52.5. Given that only four fragments of Diyllos are preserved one may consider it especially telling that there is a correspondence with Diodoros at all, but statistics on the basis of such small numbers are hardly significant. Finally, there is a potential convergence between Diodoros and a fragment Hekataios of Abdera. Describing the aftermath of the battle of Gaza, Diodoros (XIX 86.3) writes the following: ἦν γὰρ ὁ δυνάστης οὗτος καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν ἐπιεικὴς καὶ συγγνωμονικός, ἔτι δ᾽ εὐεργετικός. ὅπερ καὶ μάλιστ᾽ αὐτὸν ηὔξησε καὶ πολλοὺς ἐποίησεν ἐπιθυμεῖν κοινωνῆσαι τῆς φιλίας. For indeed, that prince was exceptionally gentle and forgiving and inclined toward deeds of kindness. It was this very thing that most increased his power and made many men desire to share his friendship.

According to Josephus, Hekataios of Abdera (FGrHist 264 F21) in the very same context of the situation after the battle of Gaza claimed that πολλοὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων πυνθανόμενοι τὴν ἠπιότητα καὶ φιλανθρωπίαν τοῦ Πτολεμαίου συναπαίρειν εἰς Αἴγυπτον αὐτῷ καὶ κοινωνεῖν τῶν πραγμάτων ἠβουλήθησαν Many of the inhabitants, hearing of Ptolemy’s kindliness and humanity, desired to accompany him to Egypt and to associate themselves with his realm.

 Contra e.g. Seibert 1969, 60. On the problems of using the argument from silence in Quellenforschung, see Brunt 1980; Lens Tuero 1994d, esp. 222– 223; Schepens 1997, 166 – 168; Meeus 2009d.  Cf. Nietzold 1905, 9 on ‘die verschiedene Bedeutung der wörtlichen Anklänge, die doch so oft von der Sachlage einfach gefordert wurden’.

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Although there are only two verbal echoes between this sentence and that of Diodoros (πολλοί – πολλούς; κοινωνεῖν – κοινωνῆσαι), the explanation’s similarity is striking: both authors claim that because of Ptolemaios’ kindness many people wished to join him. The fact that both statements concern the aftermath of the battle of Gaza makes it very likely that they ultimately are related.²⁸⁰ This seems to imply that the praise of Ptolemaios in Diodoros goes back to Hekataios, which would not be surprising since the latter was connected to the Ptolemaic court. Even if the doubts as to whether this fragment belongs to an authentic Hekataian work would prove to be justified, it is highly likely that the praise of Ptolemaios is a feature the forger has adopted from the genuine works of Hekataios to lend credibility to the attribution. Otherwise, the fragment would imply that Pseudo-Hekataios’ On the Jews is at the origin of the pro-Ptolemaic tradition found not only in Diodoros, but also in Trogus/Justin, Plutarch and the Souda (cf. Infra §3.2.3), which seems rather implausible. To sum up, there are a mere two correspondences between Hieronymos and Diodoros, and the other three authors have one fragment each which is echoed in the narrative on the Diadochoi in books XVIII–XX. One may consider one of the correspondences with Hieronymos (F5) slightly more telling because of the verbal echoes rendering the connection with Diodoros absolutely certain. Yet, it remains a fact that two brief parallels in the course of a text that is overall about two full Diodorean books in length is not much to go by, especially since one of them occurs in a digression. Of course, the problem is primarily that we do not have enough fragments, but that does not alter that the fact that they hardly offer evidence of the direct and virtually exclusive use of Hieronymos most scholars postulate. While Hieronymos definitely played some role in the tradition behind Diodoros’ account, the same is probably true for Hekataios, and perhaps even for Douris and Diyllos too. At any rate, the claim that there is no plausible alternative to direct and almost exclusive use of Hieronymos is clearly unfounded.²⁸¹

3.2.3 Indirect Evidence Since the analysis of the fragments has not brought us much closer to the solution of our problem,²⁸² we have to look for other indications, constantly bearing  Cf. infra, 86.3 ἦν γὰρ ὁ δυνάστης… for further discussion.  Pace Wiemer 2001, 219 n. 91.  Cf. Jacoby 1913, 1550: ‘So läßt sich aus den Fragmenten für die Frage nach Diodors Gewährsmann recht wenig gewinnen’.

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in mind the methodological principles quoted above, for the risk of circular argument is particularly great. A first element which is often used to support the Hieronymean dogma, is that Hieronymos is mentioned in Diodoros’ account on four occasions. However, he is not mentioned as Diodoros’ source, but only as an historical agent. The qualification of Hieronymos as ὁ τὰς τῶν διαδόχων ἱστορίας γεγραφώς vel sim. on all four occasions (XVIII 42.1, 50.4, XIX 44.3, 100.1),²⁸³ need not mean more than that Diodoros or his source knew that Hieronymos had written such a work, as Landucci Gattinoni has argued.²⁸⁴ Indeed Marsyas, fighting with Demetrios at Salamis, is described at XX 50.4 as ὁ τὰς Μακεδονικὰς πράξεις συνταξάμενος (the same verb is used at XIX 44.3 for Hieronymos), but few would argue that he was Diodoros’ source. On the contrary, in this case it is recognized that such a qualification need not mean that Diodoros was using the author as his source by the same scholars who attach much weight to the references to Hieronymos.²⁸⁵ The only sound conclusion, then, is to dismiss the mentions of Hieronymos as evidence for the identification of Diodoros’ source. A second argument often used is the focus of the narrative which seems to be especially on Eumenes and the Antigonids. I have already argued above (2.2.3) that the observation is not completely correct and that the focus of Diodoros’ account of the Diadochoi is determined by his own selection to such an extent that it seems hazardous to draw any conclusions about his source from it.²⁸⁶ Furthermore, it is not absolutely certain that Hieronymos’ work focussed on his patrons to such an extent, as is clear from his treatment of Pyrrhos’ campaigns against the Romans.²⁸⁷ To be sure, one cannot deny that Di Cf. Jos. Ap. I 213 – 214: Ἱερώνυμος γάρ, ὁ τὴν περὶ τῶν διαδόχων ἱστορίαν συγγεγραφώς.  Esp. Landucci Gattinoni 1981/2, 15 – 19 and 2008, xv; Durvye 2018a, lxi; cf. Ogden 2017, 285 n. 47. Contra e.g. Jacoby 1913, 1550; Fontana 1960, 168; Préaux 1978, I, 78; Hornblower 1981, 40; Hadley 2001, 3, repeating the typical claim that Diodoros provides ‘explicit references to th[is] source[…]’; Polański 2019, 8 even writes of the author’s sphragis in relation to XIX 100.1. In fact Diodoros merely refers to the existence of the historian.  See e.g. Jacoby 1913, 1550, who recognizes the problem, but denies that it renders the mentions of Hieronymos useless; Fontana 1960, 152 about Marsyas and 168 about Hieronymos. Exceptions are Schwartz 1903, 685, who takes the mention of Marsyas as an indication that Diodoros is unlikely to have relied on Hieronymos directly, and Rathmann 2014, 90, who assumes that Diodoros might have drawn on Marsyas; cf. also Goukowsky 2016, xviii with n. 67.  Cf. Winnicki 1989, 55. In book XIX the revolt in Kyrene against Ptolemaios in chapter 79 or the operations of Kassandros in northwestern Greece in chapters 88 – 89 are good examples of longer passages focussing on the other Successors in ways that do not involve the Antigonids and cannot be considered central events of the period compared to some of the matters Diodoros leaves out.  See above, §3.1.1.

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odoros’ source seems particularly well informed about Eumenes and the Antigonids, which is a further argument to ascribe some role in the source tradition to Hieronymos. Yet, we cannot conclude on this basis that he must necessarily have been Diodoros’ direct source if we wish to avoid a circular argument.²⁸⁸ Some scholars have turned the previous argument about Hieronymos’ focus the other way around, and concluded that he cannot have been sufficiently informed of what happened in those theatres of action where he was not present. This assumption has been used mainly to argue that Diodoros must have used Diyllos for his account of European affairs.²⁸⁹ Obviously this cannot make sense, as the consistent application of such a view would make it impossible to write any other kind of history than personal memoirs: historians always had to and did rely on eyewitnesses or written accounts for any event they did not see for themselves.²⁹⁰ Furthermore, the claim is likewise disproven by Hieronymos’ knowledge of Pyrrhos’ Italian campaign. A very wide-spread argument is that because of the high quality military narrative of Diodoros XVIII–XX the Sicilian must have used Hieronymos.²⁹¹ However, the assumption that the latter was a serious military historian is largely based on the narrative of Diodoros itself, so that this is an obvious circular argument.²⁹² Although it is a reasonable assumption that the amount of military detail in Diodoros’ account means that his source was an experienced military man, Hieronymos was not the only such individual around, and one cannot use the argument both ways. So even if it adds to the likelihood of Hieronymos having played some role in our source tradition, it does not prove any particular position within that tradition. The same goes for the many instances in which the argument that Diodoros’ narrative must go back to an eyewitness is used to prove that Hieronymos was his source: even when the claim that some aspect of the

 Cf. Bosworth 1992a, 57: ‘The extraordinarily rich and informative picture of Eumenes that we find in Diodorus must come from him. But Eumenes bulked large in other historical works devoted to the Successors, notably Duris of Samos.’  Esp. Schubert 1914, 218 – 236; Schwan 1931.  Historians in Antiquity were well aware of the problem: see e.g. Thuc. I 22.2; Eph. (FGrHist 70) F110; Plb. XII 4c.4.  E.g. Nietzold 1905, 13 – 17; Hornblower 1981, 37– 39; Anson 2004, 19 – 20.  Not all of the assumptions on which this claim is based, however, have been substantiated with sufficient evidence: see e.g. below, 18.2 τῆς ὥρας…, for astronomical pointers, and 19.8 ἐνναταῖος, for the number of precise time indications in the narrative. That the view of Hieronymos as a serious historian now gains support from the Oxyrhynchos papyrus strengthens the starting point of the argument somewhat (cf. supra, n. 235), but it does not substantially affect the conclusion, as it remains to be proven that Hieronymos is the only possible author of the kind of solid historical account that is behind Diodoros’ narrative.

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narrative goes back to an eyewitness is true,²⁹³ the very fact that Diodoros transmits the details in question prove that any other intermediary source could have done the same, so that this cannot be an argument for direct use of Hieronymos either.²⁹⁴ Given Pausanias’ statements about bias in Hieronymos,²⁹⁵ the presentation of the Diadochoi in Diodoros XVIII–XX is an important criterion for the identification of his source. It is perhaps on this point that the worst circular arguments are to be found in much of the scholarship on Diodoros’ sources. As I have already pointed out above (§3.1.1), it is often assumed that Hieronymos was not biased because Diodoros often criticizes Antigonos and praises his opponents.²⁹⁶ This view, however, can only be upheld when one ignores the propaganda of the Antigonid dynasty, the particulars of Diodoros XVIII–XX, and Landucci Gattinoni’s basic principle that Hieronymos at least cannot have given an unfavourable presentation of Antigonos Monophthalmos. Furthermore, the identification of the perceived tendencies in the narrative is not always unequivocal: the presentation of Peukestas, for instance, need not be as biased as many scholars claim, often reading too much negativity or judgment into the text whilst ignoring or explaining away the positive presentation at other points.²⁹⁷ Let us first analyse the presentation of Antigonos. Landucci Gattinoni has argued on several occasions that the presentation of Antigonos is often negative, and in fact too negative to stem from Hieronymos.²⁹⁸ Antigonos is often presented as overly ambitious and as a rebel against the Argead dynasty who aimed at personal rule over the whole empire.²⁹⁹ Bosworth remarks in this respect that ‘(…) it cannot be denied that Hieronymus repeatedly emphasized Antigonus’ ambitions and had no sympathy for them’.³⁰⁰ This statement is based, of course, on the view that we find a reliable reflection of Hieronymos’ ideas in Diodoros XVIII–XX. As we have seen, the evidence for this assumption is rather poor,

 For an instance in which it very probably is not, see below, 26.10 κατέβαινε…  Cf. infra, 17.3 θηρία…, introduction to chapters 27– 31 and to 33 – 34, for references and discussion; cf. also 23.3 ἡ δ’ ἐπιστολή… The eyewitness argument is recently used generally by Polański 2019, 7– 8.  See above, §3.1.1.  See esp. Simonetti Agostinetti 1997; cf. Brown 1947, 695; Wehrli 1968, 43; Westlake 1969, 313: ‘There is every reason to believe that his treatment of Antigonus and Demetrius was not wholly sympathetic’.  See below, 17.5 τὸ μὲν πρῶτον…  Esp. Landucci Gattinoni 1981/2 and 2008, xvi–xviii; cf. Ogden 2017, 285 n. 47.  XVIII 41.4– 5, 47.5, 50.1– 2 and 5, 54.4, 58.4, XIX 55.4– 6, 56.2; cf. also 44.2 διὰ τὴν πρὸς Ὀλυμπιάδα… with commentary ad loc.  Bosworth 2002, 197 n. 109.

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and we should now ask whether it is in any way likely that Hieronymos would have published such a presentation of Antigonos. As for the rule over the entire empire, scholars often hold that Hieronymos thought that this was impossible, and that a separatist attitude such as that of Ptolemaios was not only more realistic, but even preferable.³⁰¹ However, as already noted, there does not seem to have been any such opposition between unitarists and separatists: Hieronymos thus cannot have based his judgement on the Diadochoi on it.³⁰² The assumption that Hieronymos could have presented Antigonos as a rebel against the Argead dynasty is even more problematic, particularly if the constant stress on Eumenes’ loyalty to the royal house goes back to Hieronymos.³⁰³ What seems to be generally ignored in discussions of Diodoros’ sources is that all Hellenistic dynasties claimed to be the legitimate continuators of the Argead house. This is clearly evidenced for the Ptolemies³⁰⁴ and for Kassandros.³⁰⁵ For Lysimachos and the Seleukids, the evidence on the matter seems to be less clear,³⁰⁶ but their striking of Alexander tetradrachms or at least coins with Alexander’s portrait even after their assumption of the royal title clearly points in this direction.³⁰⁷ The evidence for the Antigonid claim to be not only continuators but descendants of the Argead dynasty is very strong.³⁰⁸ Two speeches before the  E.g. Jacoby 1913, 1554; Brown 1947, 693 – 694; Adams 1974, 18; Rosen 1979, 475. Note, however, that the exactly opposite perspective has likewise been attributed to Hieronymos: e.g. Mehl 1980/1, 195: ‘Hieronymos vertritt den Standpunkt der “Zentralregierung”, der um der Reichseinheit und um der Machtposition des gewählten oder auch selbsternannten Reichsverwesers willen die Selbständigkeits- und Machtausweitungsbestrebungen der Satrapen innerhalb des Alexanderreiches nicht anerkennt’.  Cf. supra, §3.1.1.  For the question of Eumenes’ loyalty to the royal house, see below 12.1 ἀξιῶν βοηθεῖν…  An inscription from Xanthos claims that the Ptolemies were related to the Dorians κατὰ τοὺς βασιλεῖς τοὺς ἀφ’ Ἡρακλέους ᾿Aργεάδας: SEG XXXVIII 1476, l. 40 – 42, 47– 49, 75 – 76 and 109 – 110 with the analysis of Bousquet 1988, 39 – 41; Satyros of Kallatis F*28–*29 Schorn. See also Errington 1976, 141– 145 and 154– 156; Walbank 1989, 185 and 2002, 130 – 131; Erskine 2002; Lianou 2010.  Müller 1973, 64; Le Bohec 1991, 32; Carney 2000, 157; Miron 2000, 49; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 81– 83.  See SEG XXXVIII 1476, l. 75 – 76 (though with the explicit mention of the Argeads of l. 40 – 42 and 47– 49), Rostovtzeff 1935, esp. 62– 66, Walbank 2002, 130 – 131 and Ogden 2017, 50 – 51 for the Seleukids; Hadley 1974 for both; Errington 1976, 156 – 157 for the Seleukids, and 162– 168 for Lysimachos; Lund 1992, 163 – 164 and passim for Lysimachos.  Meeus 2009a, 247– 248.  Edson 1934, 213 – 226; Errington 1976, 153 – 154; Le Bohec 1991, 32– 34; Carney 2000, 183; Walbank 2002, 132– 135; Nelson 2007, 243 – 244; Alonso Troncoso 2016; cf. also Miron 2000, 47: ‘The new dynasty [i. e., the Antigonids] did not break with the Macedonian traditions, quite the opposite. The more traditional, the more legitimate they were’.

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Macedonians, one by Antigonos and one by Demetrios, are reported in the historiographical tradition and – whatever their exact historicity – clearly show the Antigonid perspective: they presented themselves as the defenders of the Argead cause against the Antipatrids who are portrayed as the greatest enemies of the dynasty.³⁰⁹ Thus, by consistently presenting Antigonos as a rebel against the Argeads and highlighting the contrast with the dynastic loyalist Eumenes, Hieronymos would have denounced some of the central claims to legitimacy of the very dynasty he served. That there is a dynastic continuum from Antigonos Monophthalmos to Antigonos Gonatas is clear,³¹⁰ and it can therefore not be denied that the presentation of Monophthalmos would affect the position of Gonatas. One can go far in claiming that Hieronymos was free to write whatever he wanted, but that he would have published a history which undermined the legitimacy of his own paymasters is simply inconceivable. There are further striking features in the presentation of Antigonos Monophthalmos. At one point he jeopardises his entire undertaking by stubbornly refusing to make a deal with the Kossaians; many men perish and the atmosphere in the ranks becomes hostile towards their leader in a way strongly reminiscent of the situation of Perdikkas before his death.³¹¹ Furthermore, Diodoros reports two extensive accusations against Antigonos by other Successors in which he is called ὑπερήφανος, ‘overbearing’ or ‘arrogant’, which is the opposite of what is expected of a king, namely to be ἐπιεικής and φιλάνθρωπος.³¹² Rightly calling it ‘the worst possible vice of a king’, Hornblower offers a rather far-fetched and implausible explanation of this characterization of Antigonos: ‘this portrait was surely intended to contrast the terrifying old man with his splendid son

 Diod. XIX 61 with commentary ad loc.; Just. XVI 1.11– 17; Plut. Demetr. 37.2– 4; cf. Plb V 9 – 10; Liv. XXVII 30.9.  The most obvious confirmation is Gonatas’ progonoi-monument on Delos (cf. Hintzen-Bohlen 1990; Bringmann 2000, 79 – 80); cf. Liv. XXXI 44.4 for the damnatio memoriae of Philippos V and all his ancestors in Athens. On the importance of the ancestors in Hellenistic royal ideology, see also e.g. Gehrke 1982, 268 – 271; Lanciers 1987, 52 n. 2; Van Nuffelen 1998/9, 183; Thompson 2006, 96; Strootman 2014a, 96 – 97; Landucci Gattinoni 2009, 273 – 275.  See below, 19.8 πολλοὺς ἀποβαλών… and 20.1 ἐν αἰτίαις εἶχε…  XIX 56.2, XX 106.3; also see the Antigonid ambassadors at XVIII 52.4. For ὑπερηφανία in contemporary anti-Macedonian discourse, see Hyp. Epit. 20. Cf. in general also e.g. 85.3 ἀφέλοιτο… for Antigonos acting ‘contrary to all right’; the emphasis with which the Antigonid failure (see 94.2 χρήσιμον…) and their dishonesty and cowardice (see 96.1 οἱ δὲ Ναβαταῖοι…; 96.2 τῶν δὲ περὶ ᾿Aθήναιον…) are treated in the Nabataian episode; below in the present section, about Antigonos’ impious deeds at 48.4.

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in whom all now placed their hopes for the future’.³¹³ Again we are asked to believe that blackening his ancestry was considered an appropriate means to praise an Antigonid king. This is hardly likely. Furthermore, enough rival kings were available to contrast with the Antigonids if contrasting was Hieronymos’ aim,³¹⁴ and in these instances there was no need to report the accusations at all, let alone in these terms. That Hieronymos was indeed concerned to present Gonatas’ ancestry in the best possible light seems to be implied by the praise for the latter’s parents Demetrios and Phila, which is likely to go back to the Kardian.³¹⁵ The Hieronymean origin of such criticism becomes even more unlikely when we consider the presentation of Ptolemaios and Seleukos in Diodoros XVIII–XX. There are several, sometimes elaborate, eulogistic passages about Ptolemaios.³¹⁶ Again some have postulated that Hieronymos was free to write whatever he wanted and to praise whomever he liked, so that the assumption that he was the source for the whole narrative can be maintained largely unqualified.³¹⁷ Others have solved the problem by accepting the use of a Ptolemaic source for certain passages.³¹⁸ The use of this source is then considered to have been limited to just these few passages in which Ptolemaios is praised. It seems quite unlikely, though, that Diodoros would have made the effort of adducing another source merely to praise a king with whom he had no connection whatsoever. For this

 Hornblower 1981, 213 and 228. In fact Hornblower has eleven pages (ibid., 213 – 223) discussing the negative presentation of Antigonos’ portrayal in the sources, and still explains this as a feature of Hieronymos’ account.  At XVIII 73.1– 2 for instance, a positive judgement of Antigonos is followed by a mention of Ptolemaios’ unjust (ἀδίκως) occupation of Phoinikia, with Eumenes wishing to restore the kings to its possession. The earlier account of the annexation itself (XVIII 43) seems to present it in rather more positive terms. See comm. on 56.2 ὑπερήφανον γεγενημένον, for further discussion. For the importance of one’s ancestors’ reputation and ἀρετή, see Just. XVII 2.6; cf. generally e.g. Lys. 2.15; Arist. Pol. V 1.3, 8.2; [Arist.] Rh.Al. 35.5; Plb. V 64.6; Diod. XXI 21.12. For the enduring relevance of the ancestors’ actions, cf. [Arist.] Rh.Al. 35.6 – 11; Plb. V 67.6 – 8, XXVIII 20.6 – 8.  Cf. infra, 59.5 ὃς δοκεῖ… and κόρης οὔσης…; 81.4 ἦν δὲ καί…, ἔτι δὲ κεκοσμημένος… and πρᾳότης… The praise for Demetrios in chapter 81, however, occurs in a context which likewise contains clear pro-Ptolemaic and pro-Seleukid tendencies: see below, 81.5 πρὸς ἡγεμόνας…  XVIII 14.1, 28.6, 33.3, 34.2– 5, 36.1– 2, 39.5, XIX 55.5, 56.1, 86.2– 5, cf. XVII 103.6 – 7; Landucci Gattinoni 1991. Passages like XVIII 73.2 and XXI 1.5 judge less positively about Ptolemaios (cf. supra, n. 314).  Brown 1947, 695; Bizière 1975, xv–xvi; Simonetti Agostinetti 1997; Anson 2004, 24; Lane Fox 2015, 168; cf. Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 151.  The most popular solution: see e.g. Jacoby 1913, 1554– 1555 (though remaining careful); Schubert 1914, 184– 187; Geer 1947, viii; Seibert 1969, 64– 83; Hornblower 1981, 50 – 56; Hammond 1988a, 96.

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reason it is sometimes assumed that Diodoros himself is at least in part responsible for the eulogies of Ptolemaios.³¹⁹ Indeed, the vocabulary is often typical of Diodoros, but it likewise was the common vocabulary of Hellenistic royal ideology, and at least one of the words used to praise the satrap of Egypt (ἐκτενής) is not typical of Diodoros at all. Also, one wonders what reason he would have had for the encomiastic treatment of Ptolemaios.³²⁰ Most importantly, as we shall shortly see, the positive treatment of Ptolemaios is a common feature of most literary sources for the age of the Successors and cannot have originated with Diodoros. The picture of Seleukos in Diodoros XVIII–XX is likewise quite positive and in several instances seems to reflect Seleukid propaganda, including prophecies concerning Seleukos’ kingship. The narrative about the conflict between Antigonos and Seleukos in 316 seems to contrast the former as an unjust Agamemnon with the latter in the role of Achilleus who is being wronged; an accompanying Chaldaian prophecy about Antigonos’ destruction and Seleukos’ victory suggests that the latter is the one who enjoys divine favour.³²¹ Upon his return to Babylonia in 311 Seleukos is not only presented as favoured by the gods, but by Alexander – appearing to Seleukos in a dream – as well. Furthermore, the account of Seleukos’ successful re-conquest of his satrapy consistently stresses his popularity and leadership skills, whereas Antigonos appears to be deficient in both respects.³²² Again many scholars assume that such a perspective is not incompatible with Hieronymos,³²³ but this is difficult to maintain within the present holistic analysis of the presentation of the Diadochoi. The Hieronymean dogma requires us to believe that Hieronymos, writing at the court of Antigonos Gonatas, published a work in which he denounced the legitimacy of the Antigonid dynasty, praised one of their rivals with all the adjectives which applied to the good king, and supported the kingship of another rival by reporting propa-

 Hornblower 1981, 55 – 56; Winnicki 1991, 158; Bar-Kochva 1996, 73 – 74; Anson 2004, 24; cf. supra, n. 132. Jacoby 1913, 1555 rightly notes the weakness of the argument that because he himself had travelled to Egypt, Diodoros would have had a special affection for Ptolemaios. Interestingly, Diodoros presents the arrival in Egypt of Alexander (XVII 49.1, παρέλαβε πάσας τὰς ἐν αὐτῇ πόλεις χωρὶς κινδύνων) and Ptolemaios (XVIII 14.1, ἀκινδύνως παρέλαβε τὴν Αἴγυπτον) in rather similar terms, but given his formulaic style, this need not be significant at all; cf. also Meeus 2015, 163, on Ptolemaios’ arrival.  See below, 55.5 διεβεβόητο… for further discussion. This use of ἐκτενής is overlooked by Hornblower 1981, 55 – 56 and Lane Fox 2015, 167.  See below, 55.3 ἣν Μακεδόνες… and 55.7 συμβήσεται…  See below, 90.1 διὰ τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν…, 90.4 ἐν μὲν γὰρ Βραγχίδαις…, 91.1 οἱ πλείους…, 91.2 πᾶσι προσενήνεκτο…, 92.4 προσκόπτοντες…  For references and discussion, see the lemmas cited in n. 321– 322.

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gandistic prophecies. Too many passages are involved to explain them away as isolated instances of insertions by Diodoros which need not affect our view on the sources of the rest of the narrative. Furthermore, another issue seems to preclude such an interpretation, namely the unity of the tradition, which includes – but is by no means limited to – the positive image of Ptolemaios and Seleukos. It has often been pointed out that there are many significant echoes between Diodoros’ account and the other extant literary sources.³²⁴ Here we encounter another circular argument. Because of the assumption that Diodoros used Hieronymos, all such parallels in other authors are ascribed to Hieronymos as well, and often they are subsequently used again to confirm that Hieronymos must indeed have been Diodoros’ source. However, if Diodoros did not use Hieronymos or not only Hieronymos, many of those parallels might not go back to the Kardian either. Indeed, the exaggerated claim that in the battle of Gabiene most of the argyraspids were around seventy years of age, which is common to Diodoros and Plutarch, proves that at least one of the common assumptions about Hieronymos must be wrong: either he was not as free from rhetorical fancy and exaggeration as scholars tend to think, or his work is not the source that Diodoros and Plutarch share.³²⁵ We have already seen (above, §2.2.4) that the at first sight typically Diodorean claim that upon his arrival in Egypt Ptolemaios treated the locals kindly (XVIII 14.1) is also found in Justin (XIII 6.19). Likewise, Diodoros’ eulogy of Ptolemaios after the battle of Gaza is echoed in Justin (XV 1.7– 9) and Plutarch (Demetr. 5.4– 5). In general it is highly remarkable that Ptolemaios is the only one of the Successors who is consistently judged positively by Justin.³²⁶ It can hardly be a coincidence that in authors of such very different backgrounds as Diodoros and Trogus and/or Justin the very same Diadoch happens to be the one judged so positively, let alone in two cases at exactly the same point in the narrative

 E.g. Reuß 1876, 8 – 77; Nietzold 1905, 48 – 125; Hornblower 1981, 63 – 75, Anson 2004, 25 – 33; Bleckmann 2017. Apart from the examples discussed here, one may for instance compare the striking similarities between the accounts on the assumption of the royal title by the Successors: see Müller 1973, 95; Gruen 1985, 257; Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 130. Cf. also e.g. the commentary on 11.2 προσλαβόμενος…, ἐντραπέντες…, 11.5 παρανομήσασα …, 11.7 τοιγαροῦν…, 11.9 ἐν τοιούτοις…, 15.4 οἷόν τινος δημοκρατουμένης…, 24.3 πιστοτάτους…, 24.6 αὐτὸς δὲ φορίῳ…, 35.5 πλῆθος μέν…, 38.3 προσέταξεν…, 41.1 ἐπὶ τοὺς πατέρας…, οἱ νεώτατοι…, 46.1 ᾿Aντίγονος…, 48.1 τιμῆς…, 51.4 τῶν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου…, 51.5 οὐδεμίαν…, 81.1 καίπερ…, 81.4 ἦν δὲ καί…, 85.3 οὐ γὰρ περὶ τούτων…, 93.2 τούτῳ δέ…  Cf. supra, n. 235, and infra, 41.2 οἱ νεώτατοι… See also the problem with the Douris fragment at 44.4 ἣ ταύτην… and the issues discussed at 81.4 ἦν δὲ καί…  Borgna & Costa 2016, 125 – 130. Yet see also the digressions on Lysimachos and Seleukos at XV 3 – 4.

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with exactly the same observation. This must go back to their common source, as the use of Diodoros by Trogus – and Plutarch for that matter – seems very unlikely. Confirmation of this conclusion may be found in the phrase διαφερόντως τρόπου πραότητα καὶ φιλανθρωπίαν applied to Ptolemaios in the Souda (s.v. Δημήτριος [Δ431]), which cannot go back to Diodoros: this seems to suggest that there was an earlier account of the history of the Diadochoi which presented him in such a positive light and which has found its way into the accounts of Diodoros, Trogus/Justin and Plutarch.³²⁷ Furthermore, the negative picture of Antigonos is also found in Plutarch, and this may likewise be a feature of this common tradition that speaks against Hieronymos being its author.³²⁸ The convergence between Diodoros and a fragment of Hekataios of Abdera (FGrHist 264 F21) suggests that the latter may well be the ultimate source behind this pro-Ptolemaic tradition.³²⁹ The case for direct and exclusive use of Hieronymos, then, does not seem to be as strong as most scholars assume, and a different solution must be sought. Landucci Gattinoni, one of the few scholars to have developed a detailed argument against the Hieronymean dogma, has argued that Diodoros substantially combined two sources, namely Hieronymos and Douris.³³⁰ Yet, the evidence for Douris, as we have seen, is no better than that for Hieronymos. Furthermore, there are several problems with Landucci Gattinoni’s argument. First, she often seems to be finding political tendencies in the sources where there are none, as not every statement on an individual is to be interpreted as either deliberately negative or deliberately positive.³³¹ Secondly, she puts too much trust in the argu Köhler 1891, 208 – 209. Cf. Boerma 1979, 346, who all too readily assumes that Hieronymos is the only possible source these authors could have had in common. According to Landucci Gattinoni 2015, 22– 25, Diodoros and Justin generally rely on different traditions, but her conclusion is almost exclusively based on the argument from silence and completely ignores the many striking similarities between the two accounts. Yardley, Wheatley and Heckel 2011, 5 – 8 imply that Diodoros at least partially used different sources. They do not sufficiently take into account that Diodoros, Justin and Photios all had their own interests, and their discussion of Trogus’ sources likewise makes no mention of the echoes between Justin and Diodoros. Yet such echoes, many of which are very striking indeed, are much more telling than the differences, most of which could have originated in the process of the abbreviation and rewriting of the same source by different writers. For an example of Diodoros and Plutarch clearly sharing a common source despite seemingly major differences, see 24.2 ὥσπερ ὅμηρα… with 24.3 πιστοτάτους…; cf. also e.g. 38.4 κατενόησάν τινες…, 43.1 ἑαυτῶν…, 43.8 οἱ Μακεδόνες…, 44.2 ἐβουλεύετο…, ὁρῶν…  Cf. Hornblower 1981, 213 – 222.  Cf. supra, §3.1.4. For a more detailed discussion, see below, 86.3 ἦν γὰρ ὁ δυνάστης…  Esp. Landucci Gattinoni 1997, 194– 204 and 2008, xii–xxiv.  Cf. e.g. infra, 23.1 Πάντων δὲ κατά… See also e.g. Criscuolo 2001, 146 n. 16, who convincingly refutes Landucci Gattinoni’s interpretation of certain passages as critical of Ptolemaios. For

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ment from silence in order to show that two extant authors used a different source, usually Hieronymos and Douris. The third problem, and perhaps the most important one, is somewhat more complex. She rightly argues that passages which present Antigonos as a rebel against the Argead dynasty who wanted to establish personal dominion cannot go back to Hieronymos. However, two such passages are XVIII 41.4– 5 and XVIII 58.4, and these occur in parts of the narrative which Landucci Gattinoni attributes to Hieronymos on the basis of their comparatively detailed information on the affairs of Eumenes and Antigonos.³³² Thus, it is no adequate solution to assume that Diodoros simply switched sources from time to time: the two traditions are closely interwoven. In principle, of course, it is not impossible that Diodoros consistently blended several sources, but given what we know of his practice elsewhere this seems rather unlikely.³³³ Perhaps, then, it is more likely that Diodoros used an intermediary source whose author combined Hieronymos’ detailed knowledge on Eumenes and the Antigonids with his own negative presentation of Antigonos.³³⁴ Possible evidence for this reconstruction is also found at XIX 48.4, which deals with Antigonos’ punishment of the Silver Shields for their betrayal of Eumenes. The narrator concludes: αἱ γὰρ ἀσεβεῖς χρεῖαι τοῖς μὲν δυνάσταις διὰ τὴν ἐξουσίαν γίνονται λυσιτελεῖς, τοῖς δ᾽ ὑπακούσασιν ἰδιώταις μεγάλων κακῶν ὡς ἐπίπαν αἴτιαι καθίστανται. The only dynast involved in the passage is Antigonos, so that he must be the one who is said to benefit from an ἀσεβὴς χρεία. Surely, given the importance of eusebeia in the royal ideology of the time, Hieronymos cannot have used such words to describe his patron. On the other hand, this statement is also incompatible with Diodoros’ moral programme according to which even rulers cannot avoid their just punishment. Consequently, it is no plausible solution to assume that this represents Diodoros’ own input in the narrative. He must have taken it from his source, and the wording of the phrase, which is a fine isocolon, might suggest that he adopted it in exactly the same

similar problems with the identification of allegedly contradictory tendencies in book XVII, see Bosworth 1997.  Meeus 2009d. See also below, 81.5 πρὸς ἡγεμόνας…  Cf. supra, §2.2.1. Thornton 2019, 218 criticizes the very similar argument of Rathmann 2014 in the following terms: ‘nel quadro di un giudizio fortemente negativo delle capacità storiografiche di Diodoro, che non sarebbe stato in grado di scegliere e assemblare autonomamente le proprie fonti, si è riproposta la derivazione dei libri xviii–xx da una fonte intermedia’. It should be stressed, however, that my conclusion by no means implies a negative judgment on Diodoros’ methods when measured by ancient standards: cf. supra, n. 73 and infra, n. 337.  Hornblower 1981, 63 asserts that ‘the theory of an intermediary (…) solves no problems relating to the source criticism of Diodorus XVIII–XX’. It would seem that this statement can only be true if one ignores several problems.

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form in which he found it there. Perhaps he was struck by the elegant phrasing of a thought he knew was all too true, albeit in contradiction with his usually more naive moralism. However this may be, the sentence must come from his source, a source which cannot have been Hieronymos. On the other hand, the surrounding narrative again shows that the source was well-informed concerning Antigonos’ actions. We might, then, also be dealing with an intermediary between Hieronymos and Diodoros in this passage.³³⁵ A further argument in favour of the use of an intermediary source may be that Diodoros generally does not seem to have taken recourse to the various primary authorities, but used existing syntheses.³³⁶ Rather than using Herodotos, Thucydides, Xenophon and other contemporary accounts of classical Greek history, he relied on the work of Ephoros who had already combined these sources.³³⁷ Likewise, his account of Alexander’s campaigns in book XVII does not go back to any of the primary Alexander sources, but to Kleitarchos, of whom we now know that he wrote in the third century and used many of the older writers.³³⁸ That he may have done the same for the history of the Successors would thus not be surprising. The identification of the intermediary source can, of course, only be very speculative. The candidate put forward most often is Agatharchides of Knidos.³³⁹

 See commentary ad loc. for detailed discussion and references.  I owe this point to Guido Schepens. See now the detailed discussion on intermediary sources by Rathmann 2016, 225 – 238 and the observation of Bleckmann 2017 that Diodoros ‘über weitere Strecken auf bereits gegebene Syntheseleistungen zurückgreift’. A reference to such a synthetic source may be found at III 66.5 – 6, where Diodoros cites the Alexandrian scholar Dionysios Skytobrachion as his source, adding that the latter ‘cites the versions of the ancient writers, both the composers of myths and the poets’ (παρατιθεὶς τὰ ποιήματα τῶν ἀρχαίων, τῶν τε μυθολόγων καὶ τῶν ποιητῶν).  Cf. supra, §2.2.1; Bleckmann 2010; Tuplin 2016, 122 – 123. That Diodoros was not alone in doing so, has also been noted by Bleckmann (1998, 36 – 37) in the context of the tradition on the final years of the Peloponnesian War: ‘Daß der spä thellenistische Historiker seinen Bericht ü ber die Geschichte des griechischen Mutterlands in den letzten Jahren des Peloponnesischen Kriegs nicht selbst aus verschiedenen Quellen komponiert hat, sondern im großen und ganzen dem Tenor einer einzigen historiographischen Quelle verpflichtet ist, beweisen aber vor allem die zahlreichen Parallelen bei Plutarch, Nepos, Polyä n und der von Justin verfaßten Epitome der Geschichte des Pompeius Trogus. Insgesamt stellen diese spä ten Quellen, soweit sie nicht punktuell aus Xenophon selbst geschö pft haben – was insbesondere bei Plutarch immer wieder der Fall ist –, Zeugen einer geschlossenen Alternativtradition dar’.  Parker 2009; P.Oxy. LXXI 4808.  Schwartz 1903, 684– 685; Beloch 1927, 5; Bottin 1928; Simpson 1959a, 370; Rathmann 2014, 90 – 93; Durvye 2018a, xxiv. Those who believe that Trogus used an intermediary source tend to think of Timagenes: Yardley, Wheatley and Heckel 2011, 7– 8; cf. Landucci Gattinoni 2015. The

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He may have been Diodoros’ source for the description of the Dead Sea in book II, and can thus have been the authority on whom Diodoros relied again for his repetition of the passage in book XIX.³⁴⁰ Furthermore, Agatharchides dealt with the history of the Diadochoi and he knew Hieronymos, as is clear from one of his fragments ([FGrHist 86] F4). He worked in Alexandria, so that he would have had an obvious interest in transmitting the eulogies of Ptolemaios from the work of Hekataios.³⁴¹ Agatharchides, furthermore, seems to have been a serious historian who was capable of maintaining the quality of the military narrative which is still recognized in Diodoros XVIII–XX.³⁴² He may also have been responsible for the anachronistic material concerning Rhodes found in book XX. In his account of the siege of Rhodes Diodoros describes Rhodian policy in terms which cannot apply to the late fourth century, but rather seem to be inspired by the later importance of the island in the third and second centuries. Here too, the use of a second-century historian like Agatharchides, relying on Rhodian sources along with Hieronymos and perhaps others, might be the explanation.³⁴³ Again, this is mere speculation. Yet, some – admittedly thin – positive evidence for the use of Agatharchides can be found at least in the description of the Rhodian flood at XIX 45 (cf. infra, ad loc.). Other features that might point at Agatharchides in books XVIII–XXI include moralizing scenes in which the pity of the onlookers is mentioned,³⁴⁴ as well as a shared interest in the critique of histo-

evidence for this identification is far more limited and circumstantial than that for Agatharchides as the potential source of Diodoros, and it would seem to me that Diodoros and Trogus mostly used the same source. Timagenes was a contemporary of Diodoros, but that need rule out that he used him as a source, although there are no indications suggesting that he did.  Bottin 1928, 1325; Engels 1999, 215; cf. Mazza 2002.  Simpson 1959a, 370 n. 3. Josephus (AJ XII 6), quoting Agatharchides, calls Ptolemaios a χαλεπὸν δεσπότην, but this may well be Josephus’ own remodelling of his source (cf. C. Ap. I 210, δεσπότην πικρόν). Surely he will have had no sympathy for the king who had conquered Jerusalem on the Sabbath. On the other hand, Diod. III 12– 13 shows that Agatharchides had no problem describing the harsh treatment of prisoners of war by the Ptolemies. Furthermore, Diod. XXXII 4.4 seems to imply that a certain degree of πικρότης may have been acceptable or at least considered normal.  On the historiographical quality of his work, see e.g. Verdin 1990a.  Diod. XX 81.2– 3. Although some hold that it is not as anachronistic as one might think at first sight, it seems clear that a Rhodian source is behind this passage: Nietzold 1905, 40 – 46; Hauben 1977b, 319; Hornblower 1981, 56 – 60; Lehmann 1988a, 10 – 12; Billows 1990, 165 n. 5; Funke 1997, 36; Wiemer 2001, 222– 250. The Rhodian source may have been adduced by Diodoros himself, but again it seems closely interwoven with the Hieronymean tradition. The description of the flood of Rhodes in 315 at XIX 45 might also have been adduced by the intermediary source (cf. infra, ad loc.).  Cf. Hau 2016, 82– 83.

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riographical speeches in Diodoros’ preface to book XX (1– 2) and Agatharchides’ work On the Red Sea (5.21). The cumulative case for Agatharchides does not seem much weaker than that for Hieronymos, but it obviously remains a very tentative hypothesis. Overall, it must be stressed that we simply do not have very much to go by, so that the question of Diodoros’ sources for the history of the Diadochoi does indeed appear to be a problem that defies a clear solution.³⁴⁵

 Cf. Seibert 1983, 32 who specifically notes that the task of identifying Diodoros’ sources is ‘ganz schwierig, vielleicht sogar unlösbar (…), wenn der Historiker mehrere Quellen in späterer Verarbeitung durch eine Mittelquelle herangezogen hat’.

4 The Chronology of the Years 317 – 311 For the history of the Successors down to 311 there basically exist three conflicting chronological schemes. The central points of contention between the socalled high and low chronologies are the Triparadeisos conference (321 or 320), the deaths of Eumenes and Olympias (317/6 or 316/5), and the battle of Gaza (spring 312 or late 312). As they largely agree for the period from winter 320/19 until spring 318, a third possibility has arisen: the so-called eclectic chronologies.³⁴⁶ While these follow the low chronology down to the winter of 320/19, they subsequently agree with the high chronology until switching back to the low one at some point between the winter of 314/3 and the battle of Gaza. For the latter transition three varieties exist. The following table lists the dates of key events and points of divergence in the various systems: Table 1: Synopsis of chronological systems High³⁴⁷

Eclectic ³⁴⁸

Eclectic ³⁴⁹

Eclectic ³⁵⁰

Low³⁵¹

Triparadeisos











deaths of Eumenes and Olympias

/

/

/

/

/

fall of Tyre











Antigonid Aegean campaign under Dioskourides

autumn 

autumn 

autumn 

spring 

autumn 

Demetrios in Syria

autumn 

autumn 

autumn 

autumn 

autumn 

revolt in Kyrene

summer 

summer 

summer 

summer 

summer 

battle of Gaza

spring 

autumn 

autumn 

autumn 

autumn 

 This alternative was developed independently by Stylianou 1994 and Boiy 2006, 2007a, 2007b. For an overview of earlier scholarship, see Seibert 1983, 70 – 80; Boiy 2007b, 111– 117.  Beloch 1927, 235 – 249; Bosworth 1992b, 2002.  Boiy 2006, 2007a, 2007b; for 316 – 312 also Wheatley 1998a.  Meeus 2012; for 317– 312 also Smith 1961; for 313 – 312 also Hauben 1973.  Stylianou 1994.  Manni 1949; Errington 1970, 1977; Anson 1986, 2006a, 2006b, 2007, 2014, 116 – 121, 157– 161 and 2015, 206 – 212.

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The first two varieties of the eclectic chronology seem to be the most commonly accepted schemes in recent scholarship,³⁵² but especially Anson continues a vigorous defence of the low chronology.³⁵³ Since I have dealt with the problem in great detail elsewhere,³⁵⁴ there is no need to repeat the entire analysis here: in the meantime I have become less confident in the arguments about the compression of events or the seeming dearth of activities in certain phases of the Third Diadoch War, but this issue does not affect my conclusions about the chronology as a whole. The following discussion is therefore limited to new arguments on the central issues. Cumulatively they clearly favour the eclectic chronology. Two points originally seemed decisive to me, namely the four year duration of Seleukos’ first tenure as satrap and the date of Kassandros’ Nemean agonothesia, but Anson has rightly argued that they are not quite as conclusive.³⁵⁵ Diodoros’ passing reference to the fact that Seleukos had been satrap of Babylonia for four years before he was expelled by Antigonos (91.2) can be compatible with either chronology, depending on whether it is rounded up or down: Seleukos arrived in Babylon in November 320 and fled in either 316 or 315. Nevertheless, it is difficult to date the flight much earlier than the summer, so that the high date remains more plausible: the latter implies that a period of more than three and a half – perhaps almost four – years would have been rounded to the nearest number, whereas in the low chronology a period of more than four and a half years would not be rounded to the closest number. Since Diodoros might simply have left out the number of months rather than rounding the entire duration, both options are possible, but the occurrence of several very precise indications of time in his narrative of the Successors may speak in favour of rounding rather than simply ignoring the months.³⁵⁶ A recently published fragment of a Babylonian text mentions that Seleukos fled in year 1, an indication that seems to be followed by the beginning of the name Antigonos: the latter name may be the subject of the sentence rather than part of the dating formula, though, since year 1 of Antigonos would be too early. Either way, since there was no era in Bab-

 Apart from the references in n. 348 – 349, see e.g. Landucci Gattinoni 2008; Waterfield 2011; Roisman 2012a; Wallace 2014b; Wheatley 2015; Boehm 2018.  Anson 2014, 116 – 121, 157– 161 and 2015, 206 – 212. He is followed e.g. by Worthington 2016, King 2018 and McTavish 2019.  Meeus 2012.  Anson 2014, 118 and 157– 159.  See below, ad loc. Cf. infra, 11.5 βασιλέα… and generally also 19.8 ἐνναταῖος. Also compare e.g. XI 38.7, ἔτη ἕνδεκα καὶ μῆνας ὀκτώ; XVII 117.5, ἔτη δώδεκα καὶ μῆνας ἑπτά; XX 25.3, πέντε γὰρ ἔτη καὶ τοὺς ἴσους μῆνας; 29.1, ἔτη ἑξήκοντα καὶ μῆνας δέκα; 101.5, ἔτη εἴκοσι δύο καὶ μῆνας ἕξ; XXII 8.1, ἔτη δύο καὶ μῆνας τέσσαρας; XXV 6, ἔτη τέσσαρα καὶ μῆνας τέσσαρας.

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ylonia in which 315 was year 1, the only options are year 1 of Antigonos or of Alexander IV, and both can only work on the high chronology.³⁵⁷ This new fragment thus seems to rule out the low chronology, but as it is damaged and offers very little context, it might be hazardous to treat it as conclusive evidence. Kassandros’ presidency at the Nemean games is another central event in the debate because the bi-annual cycle of the games limits the dating options to either 315 or 313. Yet, the latter is difficult since the episode seems to belong to the same year as Antigonos’ proclamation at Tyre, which tends to be dated to 315 or 314.³⁵⁸ Anson, however, contends that at 63.3 – 64.1 Diodoros relates too many activities of Kassandros to fit the period between the beginning of the campaigning season and the Nemean festival: he therefore suggests that there must have been a winter break after the capture of Orchomenos at 63.5.³⁵⁹ Admittedly, a great deal of events need to be placed before the beginning of the Nemeia which probably took place at some point in the late summer. Yet, the respective duration of these events is unknown and several of them may have taken up less time than one would think. If Diodoros does not mislead us, Kassandros began his undertakings only after he had heard of the arrival of Aristodemos and the number of mercenaries the latter had recruited (63.3). It is not impossible, though, that Kassandros was immediately informed of Aristodemos’ arrival and started preparing but was ready to march south with his army only after he heard of Aristodemos’ successful levying of troops. At any rate, the latter need not have taken too long, as there probably remained a great many unemployed soldiers near Cape Tainaron.³⁶⁰ Kassandros might thus have left Macedonia around the middle rather than near the end of spring. Along the way he halted in Thebes to assist in constructing the walls of the polis he had re-founded during the previous year (63.4), with most of the work apparently being done by his Athenian allies. Kassandros himself need not necessarily have stayed very long, probably making a public relations appearance more than anything else.³⁶¹ The construction of a major Boiotian stronghold was only one of many priorities for Kassandros, and the project did not require his personal presence. We can only guess at the duration of the sieges of Kenchreai and two garrisons in the Korinthian chora, but the very fact that Kassandros seems to have limited his activities to the surrounding territory rather than attacking the city itself and its acropolis at Akrokorinthos suggests

 Van der Spek 2014, 341– 342.  Gullath 1982, 150 n. 5 suggested that a special edition of the festival took place in 314: while this would not be impossible in itself, there is no need for this hypothesis.  Anson 2014, 157– 159.  Mendels 1984, 166; Billows 1990, 372.  Cf. infra, 54.2 ᾿Aθηναῖοι… and 63.4 ἐνταῦθα…

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that he deliberately sought swift minor successes. Subsequently, he captured Orchomenos through treason from the inside, and the men who let him in may well have done so soon after the start of the siege: since they are characterized as opponents of Polyperchon’s son Alexandros, they seem to have acted out of pre-existing political motives rather than because they wished to end a protracted siege. When Kassandros subsequently arrived in Messene he decided not to invest Polyperchon’s garrison there, and he made his way back to Arkadia where he left Damis to besiege Megalopolis. The decision to preside over the Nemean games cannot have been taken overnight, so Kassandros knew he had a deadline for his return to the Argolid, which may explain his forgoing the planned intervention in Messene as well as his not taking charge of the siege of Megalopolis himself. Furthermore, while Diodoros often does not mention the winter breaks, they can usually be deduced from the structure of his narrative through changes of theatre: a winter break at Orchomenos in 63.5 thus seems unlikely. While in most cases the argument from gaps or compression cannot carry much weight either way, Anson’s reconstruction only pushes the problem down the timeline, and it would require an extremely slow rhythm of action for Kassandros between hearing the news of Aristodemos’ mercenary army in spring 314 and the Nemean games in summer 313. Most of the events Diodoros describes, however, imply haste and brevity rather than patience and long duration (ravaging Korinthian territory, not besieging the Messenian garrison, not staying at Megalopolis), and it seems only natural that Kassandros reacted relatively swiftly to Aristodemos’ deployment of a new enemy army in the Peloponnese. It thus seems more plausible that these events should be fitted into an action-packed 315 rather than in a highly leisurely period of more than a year in 314 and 313 in which Kassandros stayed away from Macedonia for a very long time. Likewise, the events narrated after the Nemean games at 64.2– 8 fit well into the autumn after the games. Thus, while the arguments concerning the duration of Seleukos’ first tenure in Babylonia and Kassandros’ Nemean agonothesia are not conclusive, fitting them into the framework of the high chronology is substantially easier than into that of the low chronology. A further argument for the high (or eclectic) chronology for the outbreak of the Third Diadoch War concerns the era of Antigonos, which in my view has not been correctly understood to date. For several years from 315 onwards Babylonian and Idoumaian documents are dated to the years of Antigonos,³⁶² while other parts of the empire retained the usual regnal years of Alexander IV. For

 See the lists in Boiy 2007b, 25 for Babylonia and Porten & Yardeni 2014, xxxix for Idumaia.

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some reason, however, Antigonos started his era in 315/4 with year 3 (henceforth Antig.03). The years Antig.01 and Antig.02, which do not appear in any contemporary documents but only in a later astronomical text, the Saros canon, are virtual years obtained by counting back from the introduction of the era in Antig.03.³⁶³ Not starting with year one was by no means unusual to the Babylonians because the last year of Dareios III, DarIII.05, had been followed not by year one of Alexander, but by AlexIII.07 since he had conquered Babylon in the seventh year after starting his reign in Macedonia.³⁶⁴ The question remains, however, why Antigonos started his era with his third year and what the epoch, the virtual year one in 317/6, represented. That his theoretical first year would have been the point when he took over Babylonia from Seleukos is unlikely because this can only have happened in the Babylonian years 316/5 (high/eclectic chronology) or 315/4 (low chronology), but definitely not 317/6. Moreover, in that case there would have been no reason for retrojecting the beginning of the era as Antigonos was in Babylon at the time of his take-over: Babylonian documents could then have been dated according to Antigonos’ era as soon as Seleukos had fled. And even if the decision to introduce the era would have been taken only later, there was no need to predate beyond the year in which Antigonos had actually taken over Babylon. Finally, since the era was not a specifically Babylonian one but was also used in Idoumaia,³⁶⁵ there was no reason for the starting point to have anything to do with Babylonia at all. One potential solution is to explain the era by means of the most common title of Antigonos in Babylonian dating formulas, rab uqu / lúGAL ERÍN.MEŠ, which tends to be translated as general and equated with the Greek title strategos. ³⁶⁶ The latter is a title we know Antigonos held since his appointment as strategos of Asia at the conference of Triparadeisos.³⁶⁷ This cannot be the year in which the era theoretically started, however, because Triparadeisos can now be securely dated to 320.³⁶⁸ The attempt of Anson to reconcile the theoretical beginning of the era with Antigonos’ generalship of Asia seems impeded by insurmountable difficulties.³⁶⁹ In his view, ‘the third year reference postdates the beginning of [Antigonos’] reign […] to 318/17, corresponding to Philip 7, this

      

Boiy 2001, 2009. Boiy 2011, 13. As Anson 2014, 120 – 121 now also accepts. Del Monte 1997, 17– 18; Van der Spek 2014, 329. Diod. XVIII 39.7, 40.1; Arr. Succ. F1.38. Anson 2002/3; Van der Spek 2014, 325 – 326. Anson 2014, 120 – 121.

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monarch’s true last year 317/16, and Alexander IV, 2’.³⁷⁰ The correspondences between the years listed here seem puzzling, as the theoretical epoch of Antigonos’ era was 317/6, and it is not clear why the beginning of Antigonos’ years as general should have been downdated from 320 to 317 either. The suggestion that Antigonos chose the time when he passed through Babylon in pursuit of Eumenes as his first year seems like special pleading.³⁷¹ Leaving aside the different possibilities for dating this event,³⁷² it is hardly a relevant starting point for Antigonos’ era: he only passed through the satrapy and did not accomplish any significant feat. Furthermore, when the era counts Antigonos’ years as general of Asia there is no reason whatsoever to connect the epoch specifically with Babylonia – let alone with such a trivial event as his passing through in pursuit of Eumenes. Had the era actually been introduced in 317, a case for such an insignificant event could perhaps be made, but a theoretically retrojected era will surely have begun with a more consequential starting point such as the actual time of Antigonos’ appointment as general of Asia. The most popular explanation for the base date of Antigonos’ era therefore seeks to find a consequential event in 317, and prima facie the obvious choice would be the death of Philippos III Arrhidaios and the succession by Alexander IV in that very year.³⁷³ However, both Egyptian and Babylonian documents continued dating according to the years of Philippos III down into 316, assigning him an eighth year, which was subsequently equated with the first year of Alexander IV.³⁷⁴ If Antigonos wished to be considered the Successor of Philippos or to relate to the end of the latter’s reign in some other way, the logical thing to do would be to equate his first year with the first year of Alexander IV. Yet, this is not what he did. By starting a year earlier than this, he encroached on Philippos’ actual last year. The virtual years Antig.01 and Antig.02 thus coincide with the years PhilIII.07 and PhilIII.08/AlexIV.01 respectively.³⁷⁵ It seems inconceivable, therefore, that the end of Arrhidaios’ reign was Antigonos’ starting point. First of all, Antigonos had no reason to cancel the last actual year of Philippos Arrhidaios, PhilIII.07. Secondly, and more importantly, he did not wish to deny the legitimacy of Alexander IV and excise the latter’s name from the king list. On the contrary, Antigonos was presenting himself as the champion of Alexander IV, il-

    Van  

Anson 2014, 120. Pace Anson 2014, 120. Cf. Boiy 2010. Grzybek 1993, 526 – 527; Huß 2001, 226 n. 14; Savalli-Lestrade 2010, 59; Boiy 2011, 18 n. 28; der Spek 2014, 329 – 330; Bennett 2018, 57. Cf. infra, 11.5 βασιλέα… Cf. Boiy 2007b, 98.

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legally locked up by Kassandros, and he had the latter declared an enemy of the state unless he would release the king. Indeed, at least one document seems to have contained the double date of Alexander IV and Antigonos,³⁷⁶ and after Seleukos’ recovery of Babylonia there was likewise no confusion over the continuation of the regnal years of Alexander IV with year 6, even though in some parts of the satrapy the years of Antigonos remained in use until the end of the Babylonian war in 309/8.³⁷⁷ Furthermore, coinage in Antigonos’ realm was still issued in the name of Alexander.³⁷⁸ Despite some doubtful actions,³⁷⁹ Antigonos was surely not openly and explicitly usurping royal power,³⁸⁰ and neither did the death of Arrhidaios constitute the point at which there was no longer a living male Argead to represent the unity of the empire:³⁸¹ the reign of Alexander IV was officially recognized throughout the empire, from Egypt to Baktria,³⁸² and he was not more or less of a mere figurehead than Arrhidaios. Moreover, even if Antigonos had started counting his Macedonian years at the actual time of the death of Arrhidaios in the autumn of 317,³⁸³ the normal procedure would have been for his first year in Babylonia to start on the 1st of Nisānu 316 (like AlexIV.01), as was the case with the Seleukid era, which in the Macedonian calendar started in the autumn of 312 and in the Babylonian calendar on the 1st of Nisānu 311. I therefore see only one possibility to explain both the actual starting point in 315 and the theoretical base date in 317: the new dating formula was introduced in the summer of 315 at the very moment when Antigonos laid claim to the regency.³⁸⁴ Since his claim was obviously asserted in opposition to Kassandros, the epoch of Antigonos’ era must have been the time when Eurydike had transferred the regency to Kassandros in 317.³⁸⁵ Indeed, what Antigonos wanted to obliterate was Kassandros’ regency, not the reign of Alexander IV. While Kassandros’ entitlement to the regency was based on Eurydike’s royal decision,

 AION Suppl. 77 87; Boiy 2007b, 26 – 27.  Boiy 2007b, 87– 88.  Kholod 2020, 234 n. 84 argues that this was Alexander III rather than Alexander IV, but it implies recognition of Argead sovereignty either way.  Cf. infra, 18.1 Σέλευκον…, 25.3 χώραν…  Pace Savalli-Lestrade 2010, 57.  Pace Grzybek 1993, 527.  Cf. Boiy 2007b, 84– 94; Depuydt 2008, 76 – 77.  Grzybek 1993, 527.  For Antigonos’ claim of the regency at Tyre in 315, see below, 61.3 ἐὰν μὴ πειθαρχῇ… A terminus ante quem for the era’s introduction is offered by an Idumaian ostracon of July 20, 315: Boiy 2007b, 90 – 91, 2011, 28; Porten & Yardeni 2008, 244.  See below, 11.1 τῆς βασιλείας…

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however, Antigonos’ only legal basis was the alliance with Polyperchon, the former regent who had been deposed when Eurydike appointed Kassandros. This also explains why Antigonos wished this claim to be inscribed in dating formulas throughout the empire, as it would be daily practical proof that he held the office for which his legal claim was very shaky indeed. That the era was in fact that of Antigonos as regent seems to be confirmed by his full Babylonian title, lú GAL.ERÍN KUR.KUR, which mirrors the royal title of Alexander and the Achaimenids, LUGAL KUR.KUR, ‘king of the lands’.³⁸⁶ Antigonos was thus not just any general nor even ‘general of Asia’, but the royal regent in charge of all the lands subject to the Argead king, the στρατηγὸς αὐτοκράτωρ.³⁸⁷ Unless Kassandros had received the regency in the Babylonian year 318/7, the fact that Antigonos’ first year in Babylon started on the 1st of Nisānu 317 implies predating rather than the postdating that was common in Babylonia.³⁸⁸ Yet, this need not be problematic as the same procedure of pre-dating was followed for the start of the Seleukid era. In the present instance, it may have been necessary because of the point from which Antigonos and Kassandros claimed to hold the regency in the Macedonian calendar. Unlike in Grzybek’s theory in which Antigonos’ era denied the rule of Alexander IV but not that of Arrhidaios, the overlap between the last year of Arrhidaios and Antigonos’ theoretical first year in the present interpretation is unproblematic: the first year of Antigonos’ regency existed besides rather than instead of the kings’ regnal years.³⁸⁹ Thus, there was neither a theoretical conflict between two sets of Babylonian regnal years nor a precedent that would speak against the predating of Antigonos’ era. Given that the beginning of the era was a hypothetical year one that was already in the past and did not interfere with any already existing regnal years, the predating need not have appeared questionable or problematic to the Babylonian scribes. Furthermore, it should be noted that the other options that could somehow be connected to the year 317/6 (Antigonos’ passing through in pursuit of Eumenes or the flight of Seleukos and the Antigonid take-over) likewise imply pre-dating, as they all happened later than the 1st of Nisānu 317. The fact that the era was already in use in Idoumaia in the summer of 315 can likewise be explained more easily within the framework of the high or eclectic chronologies: it seems hard to reconcile with the low chronology because in

 Del Monte 1997, 17– 21; Van der Spek 2014, 330.  For the title στρατηγὸς αὐτοκράτωρ, see Meeus 2009c, 298.  Cf. Boiy 2011, 12 n. 11.  As is revealed by the double date in AION Suppl. 77 87. A similar double system also occurs in some texts from the time of Ptolemaios’ rule as satrap in Egypt: Caneva 2016, 59 – 60 with n. 89.

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the latter scheme Antigonos only added Idoumaia to his realm in 314. Anson’s argument regarding the universal use of the Babylonian calendar to explain the change in Idoumaia a year before Antigonos’ arrival in the region seems rather implausible:³⁹⁰ calendar and era are two different matters, and I see no reason or evidence for the assumption that the Idoumaian scribes followed the era used in Babylon. To be sure, in the low chronology Antigonos was officially at peace with Ptolemaios in the summer of 315, but the flight of Seleukos (dated to the spring of 315 by Anson) will have caused tensions. Furthermore, Antigonos had no reason to claim the empire’s regency before the start of the Third Diadoch War, when he could no longer recognize Kassandros’ claim. If, on the other hand, one does not accept the connection between the regency and Antigonos’ era, another explanation for its epoch in 317 is required, but no convincing one has been put forward so far. In my view, therefore, the correct chronology for the Third Diadoch War remains the one labelled ‘Eclectic 2’ in the table above. The chronology of the events after the battle of Gaza remains highly controversial, and more than half a dozen competing reconstructions have been put forward.³⁹¹ The main question is how to reconcile the Greek and the Babylonian evidence.³⁹² In this respect I suggest returning to the original interpretation of this section of the chronicle as proposed by Beloch, which neatly meshes the Babylonian chronographic framework with the Greek narratives.³⁹³ This results in what many consider a highly compressed chronology.³⁹⁴ Yet, given what was at stake, the rapid succession of events need not surprise us, as one expects that both Seleukos and the Antigonids felt they had no time to waste, and the sources regularly stress the haste with which operations were executed.³⁹⁵ The Babylonian evidence reveals that Seleukos arrived in front of Babylon in April 311.³⁹⁶ He invested the citadel and seems to have captured it during the next month: the first document of 311 not including Antigonos’ name in the dating formula is dated to May 11 or 20.³⁹⁷ Furthermore, we know from the Diadochoi  Pace Anson 2014, 121.  Boiy 2007b, 124– 128 offers a critical overview of the various timetables that have been proposed.  Cf. Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 86 – 87.  Beloch 1927, 617; Momigliano 1932, 477– 478; Hauben 1973, 266.  Boiy 2007b, 127.  Cf. infra, 100.5 ἐπετέλει…; also Diod. XIX 92.1, ὥρμησεν κατὰ σπουδὴν ἀπαντήσων τοῖς πολεμίοις.  Van der Spek 2014, 327– 328 and 341, publishing a small fragment that may belong to the Diadochoi Chronicle (BCHP 3).  Boiy 2004, 126.

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Chronicle that Seleukos abolished the era of Antigonos before May 31 and claimed the title of lúGAL lúERÍN.MEŠ for himself, which presupposes that he was at the very least completely in control of the city of Babylon by that time.³⁹⁸ Since the palace fortress could not hold out for very long if the rest of the city was not on its side, there is nothing implausible about the relatively short duration of the siege.³⁹⁹ The first Antigonid counter-move we know of was made by the senior official who was nearby, Nikanor, the satrap of Media and general of the upper satrapies. Most scholars date his intervention to the autumn of 311,⁴⁰⁰ but that seems much too late: Nikanor would have had to take the blame if his tardiness facilitated the success of Seleukos, and if he allowed to latter to gain firm control of Babylonia, he would be cut off from reinforcements coming from the West. He is thus likely to have started assembling the troops from the neighbouring satrapies as soon as he heard of the siege of Babylon in April and will have launched his counter-offensive later that spring (92.1). Seleukos, who may only recently have captured the citadel when he heard the news of the imminent invasion, swiftly set out to check the enemy advance (92.1, κατὰ σπουδήν) and ambushed Nikanor’s army near the banks of the Tigris: the Antigonid troops defected in great numbers and Nikanor was forced to flee (92.2– 5). Seleukos will easily have covered the distance to the Tigris in a few days,⁴⁰¹ and arrived there some days before Nikanor, which reveals the quick succession of events. With Nikanor launching his campaign in late April or early May, the confrontation will have taken place at the end of May or the beginning of June at the latest. Seleukos lost no time in conquering Media, Susiana and adjacent areas which were bereft of defenders after his crushing victory near the Tigris.⁴⁰² Meanwhile Nikanor sent word to Antigonos who sent out Demetrios to recover Babylonia in a blitzkrieg operation (100.5, μετὰ σπουδῆς) in which he invested two citadels. It seems that these operations are mentioned in the Diadochoi Chronicle (BCHP 3, Rev. 6’–9’) and took place in July and August: Demetrios initially did not capture the palace but left his general Archelaos in charge, who seems to have had more success. Yet, Seleukos seems to have been able to turn the tables again soon after his return from the upper satrapies (BCHP 3, Rev. 7’–9’), and

 BCHP 3, rev. 3’–4’ with Van der Spek 2014, 328; cf. infra, 91.4 ὁ δὲ Σέλευκος…  Cf. infra, 91.4 ὁ δὲ Σέλευκος…  Boiy 2007b, 127– 128; Van der Spek 2014, 330; McTavish 2019, 70 – 74.  Between conquering the citadel and marching against Nikanor, Seleukos recruited additional soldiers (91.5), but since the overall size of his army remained small, this may not have taken up more than a week or two of his time.  Diodoros describes the conquest of these areas as ῥᾳδίως (92.5).

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after settling matters in Babylon he returned east to establish his control over Persis in September (BCHP 3, Rev. 9’–10’). After Demetrios had returned to the Mediterranean to join his father and reported of his failure to recover Babylonia in the late summer or early autumn, Antigonos decided to conclude peace with Kassandros, Lysimachos and Ptolemaios, so that he could focus on the war against Seleukos in the next campaigning season (100.7, 105.1). Seleukos seems to have returned to Babylonia by November, having made peace with the independent Kossaian tribe in the Zagros mountains (BCHP 3, Rev. 11’–12’). If this reconstruction is correct, my earlier argument that Diodoros consistently attempted to equate the campaigning season and the archon year from 315 onwards remains valid, although the winter campaign of the battle of Gaza seems to have confused him and the archonship of Simonides has been inserted too late.⁴⁰³ The chronology of book XIX can thus be schematically summarized as follows:

 See Meeus 2012.

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Table 2: Chronology of Diodoros XIX .

.

.

.

.

.

Demogenes (/) Europe . summer – autumn 

Asia  – . spring – summer 

Demokleides (/) Europe  – . autumn  – winter /  – . winter / – autumn 

Asia  – . summer – early autumn   – . autumn  – spring 

Praxiboulos (/) Europe . spring   – .. summer – autumn 

Asia  – . summer – autumn   – . spring  – autumn  . – . autumn 

Nikodoros (/) Europe  – . spring – autumn 

Asia . – . autumn 

Theophrastos (/) Europe . spring – autumn  . spring – autumn  . – . autumn  Polemon (/) Europe . – ,  spring – autumn  . summer  . summer – autumn   – . spring – autumn 

Asia . –  spring – summer 

Asia .,  spring – winter  . summer – autumn   – . autumn  – winter /  – . spring – autumn 

.

Simonides (/) Europe . autumn 

Asia . autumn 

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This results in the following chronology of the history of the Successors narrated by Diodoros in book XIX: Table 3: Chronology of the history of the Diadochoi in book XIX Europe

Asia

 late autumn

Peithon’s invasion of Parthyaia and his defeat by the coalition of upper satraps

winter

Eumenes in Babylonia, Antigonos in Mesopotamia

 spring

Eumenes in Susiana

summer

Kassandros invades Macedonia (I)

battle at the Koprates

autumn

Olympias’ return and the deaths of Arrhidaios and Eurydike Kassandros in the Peloponnese

Eumenes in Persis, Antigonos in Media

late autumn

Kassandros invades Macedonia (II)

battle of Paraitakene

early winter

Olympias besieged at Pydna

battle of Gabiene

 early winter spring

death of Eumenes end of the siege of Pydna death of Olympias

summer summer/ autumn

execution of Peithon Seleukos’ flight from Babylon

restoration of Thebes

winter

Antigonos in Kilikia

 early spring spring

ultimatum delivered to Antigonos Aristodemos in the Peloponnese

start of Antigonos’ shipbuilding Seleukos near the Phoinikian coast Polemaios in Kappadokia/Bithynia

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Table : Chronology of the history of the Diadochoi in book XIX (Continued) Europe late spring summer

Asia capture of Joppa and Gaza Polemaios in Ionia/Lydia

Kassandros presides over Nemea

start/intensification of siege of Tyre Seleukos and Menelaos on Cyprus Polemaios in Karia

autumn

Polykleitos defeats Perilaos

winter

negotiations at Ekregma

 spring

Aristodemos addresses Aitolians

summer

Alexion murders Alexandros Kassandros at Leukas Kassandros’ defeat of Glaukias

autumn

Kassandros sends aid to Karia Dioskourides in the Aegean Operations at Lemnos

late autumn

capture of Tyre

Polemaios’ defeat of Eupolemos Medeios’ defeat of the Pydnaian ships Demetrios in Syria/Antigonos crosses Tauros

 spring

Telesphoros’ arrival in Greece revolt of the West Pontic cities

summer negotiations on the Hellespont summer/ autumn

Lysimachos supresses revolt

autumn

siege of Oreos

late autumn

Medeios’ first return to Asia Death of Aiakides

winter

accession of Alketas in Epeiros

liberation of Miletos negotiations on the Hellespont

Medeios’ first voyage to Europe

 early spring

Medeios’ second voyage to Europe

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Table : Chronology of the history of the Diadochoi in book XIX (Continued) Europe spring

Asia

Polemaios and Medeios in Greece Telesphoros’ defection

early summer

revolt in Kyrene

summer

Medeios’ second return to Asia Kassandros in Macedonia Polemaios in the Peloponnese

Ptolemaios in Cyprus

autumn

Kassandros in Epeiros

Ptolemaic raids in Syria and Kilikia Antigonos on the Hellespont

early winter

battle of Gaza

 spring

Seleukos’ return to Babylon Demetrios’ defeat of Killes Campaigns against the Nabataians

summer

Seleukos’ defeat of Nikanor and conquest of Media and Susiana Demetrios’ invasion of Babylonia Seleukos’ return to defend Babylonia

autumn peace of the dynasts  deaths of Alexander IV and Rhoxane

Seleukos’ conquest of Persia peace of the dynasts

Part II: Commentary

§ 11 Olympias’ Return, the Deaths of Arrhidaios and Eurydike

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§ 2.1 Chronographic Formula for the Year 317/6 Ἐπ’ ἄρχοντος γὰρ ᾿Aθήνησι Δημογένους Ῥωμαῖοι μὲν κατέστησαν ὑπάτους Λεύκιον Πλώτιον καὶ Μάνιον Φούλβιον: Demogenes was archon in 317/6 (Samuel 1972, 210; Meritt 1977, 170; Dreyer 1999, 426). L. Plautius Venno and M. Folius Flaccinator were the consuls for Diodorus’ Roman year 316, which is 318 in the Varronian chronology (Broughton 1951, 154– 155). On the form of the more or less fixed formula Diodoros uses to introduce a new year, see Casevitz 2006b, 55 – 56. Diodoros was constantly struggling to fit the narrative he found in his sources into his chronological framework. The account of his source seems to have been organized according to the campaigning season, which started in early spring, while the Archon year started in July. As far as the history of the Successors is concerned, Diodoros begins the year more or less correctly with events of the second half of 317 in Europe. For Asia, he commences with the beginning of the campaigning year 317, thus equating the archon year with the campaigning year in which it started, which seems to have been what Diodoros tried to do throughout books XIX and XX (Geer 1947, x; Smith 1961; Meeus 2012).

§ 11 Olympias’ Return, the Deaths of Arrhidaios and Eurydike, and Olympias’ Revenge on the Antipatrids for the Death of Alexander In this chapter Diodoros continues where he had ended book XVIII. He seems to have left out much of what happened in Macedonia and Greece at this time, however, so that it is unclear how Eurydike had been able to seize control, and why exactly and under which circumstances Polyperchon had left for Epeiros. Diodoros mentions an incursion into Macedonia by Kassandros (XVIII 75.1) but does not provide any details. At the moment he picks up the narrative, Kassandros is no longer in Macedonia, and his whereabouts are uncertain, though probably he was already in the Peloponnese. The account of Olympias’ treatment of Arrhidaios and Eurydike and ruthless take-over in Macedonia is comparatively detailed and thus teaches us much about Diodoros’ historiographical interests. Furthermore, there are clear traces that much of the rhetorical elaboration of the passage is his own work and reflects his moral programme (cf. supra, Part I, §2.1, and below, 11.4 τὴν εὐτυχίαν…; 11.6 οὔτε τῆς κοινῆς…; 11.7 τοιγαροῦν…; 11.7 οὔτε δακρύσασα…; 11.9 καθάπερ χρησμῳδῶν…; Hau 2016, 83 – 86), which of course is not to deny that his source may have provided a similar treatment, as seems to be suggested by the correspondences with Justin and Pausanias. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110743821-004

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Part II: Commentary

Some have unconvincingly argued that this chapter does not originate from Diodoros’ main source for the history of the Successors. Schwan (1931) basically assumes that Hieronymos was not well informed about what happened in Greece and Macedonia, and therefore attributes every passage in XVIII–XX that deals with European affairs to Diyllos. That such a simplistic argument cannot work, has been shown in Part I (§3.1.1). According to Schubert (1914, 222) Eurydike’s claim to the throne (11.5) could not have been supported by Hieronymos, so he also argues that 11.4– 9 must come from Diyllos. However, the passage as it stands in Diodoros only states that Eurydike claimed that the βασιλεία belonged to her rather than to Olympias, but her claim is not endorsed. Consequently, there is no political tendency, and it is certainly an exaggeration to presume that Hieronymos could not have given a negative moral judgement on Olympias when he thought she deserved it. Carney (2006a, 127) also deems the moral judgements incompatible with Hieronymos’ political stance, and adds the argument of the style, concluding that this chapter is probably taken from Douris. However, these events are dramatic enough in themselves so that any historian might have rendered them in dramatic tones. Furthermore, there are – as so often – a few strikingly close parallels with Justin (see 11.2 προσλαβόμενος…, ἐντραπέντες…; 11.9 ἐν τοιούτοις…). In itself the existence of these parallels does not constitute an argument against the attribution to a source other than Hieronymos, but it would imply that he is not the origin of the united tradition, unless the different source itself goes back to Hieronymos and has stayed very close to him (cf. supra, Part I, §3.2.3, on the unified tradition). Pausanias I 11.3 – 4 likewise seems to go back to the same source (cf. 11.5 παρανομήσασα …; 11.7 τοιγαροῦν…).

11.1 Κατὰ γὰρ τὴν Μακεδονίαν: One of Diodoros’ characteristic ways of changing from one theatre of action to another (e.g. XI 27.2, 37.7, 90.3, XII 8.1, 9.1, XIII 6.8, 8.8, XIV 7.1, 10.1, XV 6.1, 12.1, XVI 5.1, 14.1, XVII 73.5, XVIII 3.2, 8.1, XIX 10.1, 12.1, XX 19.1, 38.1; cf. MD s.v. κατά [B][I]). The frequent repetition of this typical statement should not be seen as resulting from any lack of literary skill; it purposefully provides a clear structure to the work (cf. Chamoux 1993, xlv– xlvi; Ambaglio 1995, 31– 32; Moessner 2004, 196). The use of κατά as a synonym of ἐν is typical of Hellenistic prose (Palm 1955, 43). Εὐρυδίκη: On Adeia Eurydike, granddaughter of Philippos II and wife of Philippos III, see Berve 1926, II, no. 23; Carney 2000, 132– 137 and 2006a, 72– 73; Heckel 2006, 4– 6; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 194 with further references.

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τῆς βασιλείας προεστηκυῖα: We have no idea how exactly Eurydike managed to rid herself of Polyperchon’s influence (Carney 2000, 135), but she may somehow have managed to take advantage of his absence from Macedonia: it would seem that Polyperchon left Eurydike alone in Macedonia while he was in Greece (Hammond 1988a, 139; Meeus, forthcoming-a; contra Macurdy 1932a, 40 and 1932b, 258 and 261). That obviously was a huge mistake, as she had already given a clear demonstration of her capabilities at Triparadeisos (Carney 1987b, 498 – 499). Like on the latter occasion (Diod. XVIII 39.2; Arr. Succ. F1.31), she may also have used her influence with the army against the regent. The legal basis of Eurydike’s exercise of power is unclear (Hammond 1988a, 139); it might have been enough that she was the king’s wife (cf. Carney 1995, esp. 387– 388). Since she had conferred the regency on Kassandros (Just. XIV 5.3), it is unlikely that she ‘had assumed the administration of the regency’, as Geer translates τῆς βασιλείας προεστηκυῖα (cf. also Rosen 1967b, 102 who finds a reference to the προστασία here). Probably Hammond’s (1988, 139 n.2) more general ‘being at the head of the kingdom’, is a better translation of the phrase. Diodoros’ brief notice of Eurydike’s seizing power is remarkably neutral compared to Justin’s claim that she was ‘prompted by womanly jealousy and taking advantage of the illness of her husband, whose functions she was beginning to usurp’ (XIV 5.2). Since Bartels (2016) and Frank (2018) have argued that Justin and/or Trogus had their own agenda in their presentation of Hellenistic royal women, this need not necessarily mean that such a negative comment was in Diodoros’ source and deliberately left out by him (see, however, Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 197, who suggest that Justin was influenced by Hieronymos and/or Douris). The statements of Justin and Diodoros may be different in focus rather than contradicting each other about the facts, though see Carney 2016, 134. For Diodoros’ views on women, see recently e.g. Durvye 2010, Baumann 2020, 50 – 60 and Bosak-Schroeder 2020, 73 – 83; specifically for books XVIII-XX, Simonetti Agostinetti 1991; cf. infra, 34.5 κατέστρεψεν… and 67.2 ἦν δὲ περί… πυνθανομένη τὴν Ὀλυμπιάδα παρασκευάζεσθαι πρὸς τὴν κάθοδον: Cf. XVIII 65.1, ὁ δὲ Νικάνωρ ἀκούων ὅτι μέλλουσιν οἱ βασιλεῖς καὶ Πολυπέρχων κατάγειν εἰς Μακεδονίαν τὴν Ὀλυμπιάδα καὶ τοῦ τε παιδίου τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ἐκείνῃ παραδιδόναι καὶ τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν ἀποδοχὴν καὶ τιμὴν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου ζῶντος ἀποκαθιστάναι Ὀλυμπιάδι; Just. XIV 5.1 ‘ut Polyperconta a Graecia redire in Macedoniam cognouit et ab eo arcessitam Olympiada’. Unlike Justin, Diodoros does not mention Polyperchon at this point, but he does make his role clear at 11.2 (προσλαβόμενος…). On Olympias, Alexander the Great’s mother, see Berve 1926, II, no. 581; Seibert 1983, 215 – 216; Carney 2000, 62– 67, 85 – 88 and 119 – 123 and 2006a; Heckel

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2006, 181– 183. She had been residing in Epeiros since some point after 330, because of her quarrel with Antipatros: Heckel (2006, 182) lists the sources. Polyperchon had been prompting her to return to Macedonia for some time now, but she did not respond immediately (Diod. XVIII 49.4 and 57.2; Meeus, forthcoming-a). Why and when she eventually decided to join Polyperchon in Macedonia is unknown; Carney (2006a, 73) points out that a confrontation between Olympias and Eurydike had become inevitable, and that Olympias’ age would not have allowed her to hesitate too long. πρὸς μὲν Κάσσανδρον εἰς Πελοπόννησον ἀπέστειλε βιβλιαφόρον: Kassandros was a son of Antipatros, who had been in charge of the empire from summer 320 until spring 319. Before his death in 319 the old regent appointed Polyperchon as his successor, thus passing over his son Kassandros. The latter was infuriated at his father’s decision and claimed the regency for himself (Berve 1926, II, no. 414; Fortina 1965; Sandberger 1970, no. 42; Adams 1974; Seibert 1983, 210 – 212; Landucci Gattinoni 2003; Heckel 2006, 79 – 81). Kassandros, being an enemy of Polyperchon and Olympias, was the natural choice of ally for Eurydike. She had already tried to gain his favour by offering him the regency (Just. XIV 5.3; Adams 1974, 89), the prize for which he had started the war against Polyperchon in the first place. Palagia’s (2008, esp. 205 – 209) recent suggestion that Kassandros might well have been Eurydike’s brother-in-law seems unlikely (Heckel 2013b; Carney 2015, 153 n. 33). We cannot be sure of Kassandros’ exact location within the Peloponnese at the time (cf. Meeus, forthcoming-a). Neither do we know why Kassandros did not come to Eurydike’s aid: Carney’s (2000, 136) suggestion that Eurydike and Kassandros might not have trusted each other is plausible enough (cf. 11.3 εἰς ᾿Aμφίπολιν…). On the Peloponnese as one of the central theatres in the Diadoch Wars, see now Kralli 2017, 85 – 113; Shipley 2018, 44– 58. τῶν δὲ Μακεδόνων τοὺς πρακτικωτάτους ἀνακαλουμένη δωρεαῖς καὶ μεγάλαις ἐπαγγελίαις ἰδίους ταῖς εὐνοίαις κατεσκεύαζε: Eurydike will probably not have experienced too many difficulties in her attempt at winning over those who had been friends of Antipatros (Errington 1986, 118). On the ubiquitous practice of gift-giving to secure political loyalties in the age of the Successors, see e.g. Diod. XVIII 18.7, 33.4, 46.2, 50.4, 58.1, 60.2, 62.4, XIX 11.1, 15.5, 25.3, 46.1, 55.2, 64.8, 81.6, 86.1, 86.2, 97.4– 98.1, XX 27.3, 81.3, 113.3; Plut. Phoc. 30.2, Eum. 4.3, 8.7, 10.3, 14.1, Pyrrh. 5.3; Just. XIII 4.9; Arr. Succ. F1.26, 1.29; cf. already Rostovtzeff 1953, I 137 with nn. 7– 8, and more recently Carney 1996, 25, 2006a, 57; Corsaro 2001, esp. 233 – 237; Müller 2003, 250 – 252; Roisman 2003a, 206 – 209; Millett 2010, 499 – 500; Strootman 2014a, 152– 159; Holt 2016, 96 – 106; Heitmann-Gordon 2017, 189 – 190, 275 – 280 and passim; Meeus 2020a, 309 – 312; cf.

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Seibert 1991, 97 with n. 52. Bosworth (2002, 246 – 278) more generally deals with the need for the kings to share their wealth. The phrase ἰδίους ταῖς εὐνοίαις κατεσκευάζειν/ποιεῖν/ἔχειν + direct object is typical of Diodoros (see also XI 26.4, XIII 93.3, XV 8.4, 9.3; XVI 69.8, 89.2, XVII 24.2, XVIII 8.2, 40.4, 46.2; XXXVIII/XXXIX 8.1; cf. XIII 96.1, XIV 44.4 and XIX 46.1 without ταῖς εὐνοίαις; Palm 1955, 107); as far as I know the phrase is not found in any other author. Cf. infra, 24.1 εὔνουν… for the similar phrase εὔνουν κατεσκευάζειν.

11.2 Πολυπέρχων: Polyperchon was one of the veterans of Alexander’s expedition. He had been appointed regent by Antipatros before the latter’s death in 319 (Berve 1926, II, no. 654; Seibert 1983, 221– 222; Heckel 2006, 226 – 231 and 2016, 200 – 216; Paschidis 2008b; Carney 2014). However, Eurydike had him removed from office, replacing him with Kassandros (see above, 11.1 πυνθανομένη… and πρὸς μὲν Κάσσανδρον…). προσλαβόμενος Αἰακίδην τὸν Ἠπειρώτην: Aiakides, the king of the Molossians, was the son of Arybbas and the father of Pyrrhos (Sandberger 1970, no. 5; Funke 2000a, 191– 196; Heckel 2006, 5; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 203). For Epeiros and Molossia, see Hammond 1967; Funke 2000a, 2000b; Funke et al. 2004; E. Meyer 2013 and 2015; Pascual 2018a. On Diodoros’ use of the term Epeirotes, see Raynor 2017, 263 – 264, who argues for its being the historically accurate term at this point. Yet, Justin’s Molossians in a passage that most likely goes back to the same source suggests that this may be a coincidence. Given Polybios’ terminological inaccuracy concerning Messenia (Luraghi 2015b, 288), one may wonder whether such accuracy is even a realistic expectation to have of an ancient author. The involvement of foreign powers was a common feature in disputes over the Macedonian throne (Mitchell 2007, 66 – 68). If Olympias had been responsible for Aiakides’ return to Epeiros (see Carney 1987a, 57 with n. 59; cf. Greenwalt 2010b, 295 – 296), it is only natural that he supported her now that she aimed to gain power in Macedonia. Carney (2000, 140), rightly notes that the structure of the alliance is unclear, but her contention that all sources except Diodoros suggest that Olympias was in charge does not seem entirely justified. Justin’s wording (XIV 5.9: ‘Namque Olympias, mater Alexandri regis, cum ab Epiro in Macedoniam prosequente Aeacida, rege Molossorum, ueniret […]’) is too vague to allow any firm conclusions and likely is the result of Justin abbreviating what is ultimately the same source as Diodoros’. Of course, Olympias carried the

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most prestige, but Polyperchon and Aiakides are unlikely to have entrusted the command of the campaign to someone without military experience. Douris’ story in Athenaios (XIII 560 f) that Olympias marched rather like a bacchant, βακχικώτερον – if it is at all historical – may confirm that her role was primarily representative (cf. Carney 2010, 49 – 50). Thus, Diodoros’ statement that Polyperchon led the Macedonian army and received Aiakides into his alliance – obviously thanks to Olympias – seems the most likely version. Olympias did take control politically after the victory (see below, 11.4 Ὀλυμπιάς…). According to Pausanias (I 11.3), Aiakides was obedient to Olympias in all matters, but such, of course, is the typical judgement of ancient authors concerning the relationship between men and powerful women: cf. Just. XIV 5.4 on Kassandros and Eurydike, which is clearly a serious overstatement if there is any truth in it at all (contra Fortina 1965, 35 – 36, who does accept Justin’s claim at face value). κατήγαγεν Ὀλυμπιάδα μετὰ τοῦ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου παιδὸς ἐπὶ τὴν βασιλείαν: The son of Alexander the Great and Rhoxane, born a few months after his father’s death, was also called Alexander (Seibert 1983, 194– 195; Heckel 2006, 18 – 19). He was appointed joint king with Philippos III at Babylon in 323 (Arena 1999; Habicht 2006, 74– 85, and 291). This is a puzzling statement of Diodoros. Macurdy (1932b, 258 – 259 and 261) has shown that Alexander IV and his mother did not actually return from Epeiros with Olympias, but had probably stayed with Polyperchon in Macedonia and that κατάγειν ἐπὶ τὴν βασιλείαν means ‘to restore them to royal power’ rather than ‘to bring them back to their kingdom’ (contra Hammond 1988a, 139 – 140, who believes that Alexandros and Rhoxane were sent to Epeiros before Polyperchon’s Greek campaign of 317). Even then, however, problems remain if we take Diodoros literally, because as far as we know Alexander IV never lost his kingship. Goukowsky (1978b, 198) has argued that he was relegated to the position of designated heir at Triparadeisos, but there seems to be sufficient evidence that Alexander IV still held the royal title after 320 (Habicht 1973; Arena 1999, esp. 92– 97; Funke 2005, 47; Habicht 2006, 291, who points out the relevance of a recently published inscription from Messene dating to 319 – 317 which mentions τὼ βασιλέε [SEG XLIII 135, l. 10]). It is not impossible that Eurydike, when conferring the regency upon Kassandros, had decided to depose Alexander IV, but it is at least equally plausible that Diodoros’ wording is just clumsy. ἐν Εὐίοις τῆς Μακεδονίας: Since Wesseling (ad loc.) scholars generally identified this place with the Εὐία in Dassaretis of Ptol. Geog. III 13.32. However, Hammond (1988, 140 n. 2) assumes that Olympias and Aiakides came from Molossia, the heartland of the Epirote kingdom, and Justin XIV 5.9 says that the armies met at the border of Epeiros and Macedonia. Hammond therefore argues that this Euia should not be identified with that mentioned by Ptolemy, since Dassaretis

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lay much further to the north than the border between Molossia and Macedonia. In his view, the Euia meant here should be a region in Elimeia, as an inscription mentioning Euiestai has been found there, near the modern town of Kozani (SEG XIII 403; cf. also Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 99 – 101; Hatzopoulos & Paschidis 2004, 796; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 203; Carney 2016, 115 n. 23). It is indeed rather unlikely that Aiakides and Olympias would have passed through Dassaretis on their way to Macedonia, as that would have been an unnecessary and difficult detour, unless they did not come from Molossia, but rather from some northern part of Epeiros (cf. Girtzy 2001, 256 – 259 on the existence of a primitive road from Epeiros to Macedonia in the Classical period). μετὰ τῆς δυνάμεως: Eurydike does indeed seem to have been in command herself (Carney 2004, 185 – 186). Although exceptional, it would by no means be a unique case in Macedonian history of soldiers obeying a woman: e.g. Kynnane, Eurydike in Triparadeisos, Phila, Kratesipolis (see Carney 2004, 2010, 52 and 2016, 128 – 129, 134– 135; Loman 2004, 45 – 47; Martin 2013, 677). According to Douris (Ath. XIII 560 f), Eurydike showed up at Euia armed in the Macedonian fashion, which points to a military role. There is thus no need to conclude with O’Neil (1999a, 9) on the basis of the argument from silence that Eurydike probably never commanded troops, even if her mother had given her a military training. ὥρμησεν ἐπ᾽ αὐτήν: Diodoros’ wording seems to suggest that Eurydike happened to be in Euia and that Polyperchon decided to meet her there. His summary probably makes him imprecise here, because Justin’s version (XIV 5.9) that Eurydike marched west to prevent the invasion is much more likely than that implied by Diodoros’ narrative. ἐντραπέντες τὸ τῆς Ὀλυμπιάδος ἀξίωμα καὶ τῶν εὐεργεσιῶν ἀναμιμνησκόμενοι τῶν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου: Alexander III (the Great) was king of Macedonia from 336 – 323, during which period he conquered about half of the known world (the literature is enormous: see e.g. Bosworth 1988a; Heckel 2006, 10 – 18; Heckel & Tritle 2009; Nawotka 2010; Anson 2013a; Trampedach & Meeus 2020). Justin (XIV 5.10) gives more or less the same reason: ‘seu memoria mariti seu magnitudine filii et indignitate rei moti’. It would seem that Justin and Diodoros were using the same source here. Pace Carney (2000, 140) I see no reason why Justin’s phrase should be taken to mean that Philippos’ memory was the decisive factor. Royal presence on the battlefield had indeed always been important to the Macedonians (Just. VII.2.8 – 12; Hammond 1989a, 22; Carney 2001b, 84 n. 115 and 2015, 147). In Polyainos VIII 60 too, Alketas’ troops who had to face Kynnane, ‘upon seeing Philip’s daughter and Alexander’s sister, felt ashamed and changed their minds’ (ἰδόντες τὴν Φιλίππου θυγατέρα καὶ ἀδελφὴν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου, αἰδεσθέντες τὴν γνώμην μετεβάλοντο; trans. Wheeler).

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As a member of the royal house Olympias enjoyed no small prestige with the Macedonians: Carney 2000, 116 with n. 5 and 2015, 152– 156; Meeus 2009a, 240 – 241; cf. Müller 2013 for an excellent analysis of the factors that determined a royal woman’s prestige. Olympias’ ἀξίωμα in Macedonia is also mentioned in 51.3, where Kassandros fears its influence on the people (also in combination with the memory of Philippos and Alexander, as here: 51.4), and in 51.5, where the soldiers sent out to kill the queen are too intimidated by her ἀξίωμα to fulfil their mission. The statement at 51.6, μέγιστον τῶν καθ᾽ αὑτὴν ἐσχηκυῖα ἀξίωμα, need not be taken literally (see comm. ad loc.). Justin also notes Olympias’ prestige in XIII 6.12 and XIV 6.10. Nikanor, Kassandros’ garrison commander at Mounychia, was intimidated by Olympias’ status (XVIII 65.1). The story of the oath of Nora (Plut. Eum. 12.1– 4) is also quite telling in this respect, though its historicity has been doubted (Briant 1973a, 69 – 79; Bosworth 1992a, 66 – 67; Anson 2015, 146 – 154). According to Carney (2001, 85 and 2004, 187) the soldiers were inspired to leave Eurydike, the daughter of Amyntas, by a preference for the other branch of the royal family; Olympias’ closer connection with Alexander does indeed seems to have been the reason. The Dionysiac association (see 11.2 προσλαβόμενος…) might also have played a part (Macurdy 1932a, 41; Carney 2006a, 99). The phrase ἐντρέπεσθαι τὸ ἀξίωμα seems to be typically Hellenistic, but it is quite rare: apart from a single occurrence in Polybios (XXXIII 16.2), I have found three in Diodoros (see also XIII 26.2, XIX 11.6), one in Plutarch (Mul. virt. 15 = Mor. 253c), and one in Johannes Chrysostomos (Comm. in Job 19.3a). This makes the incidence in the present chapter of the Bibliotheke all the more striking, but there is no need to presume the influence of any particular source. μετεβάλοντο: In the age of the Successors the Macedonians went over from one party to another numerous times (Diod. XVIII 75.1, XIX 43.8, 50.1 and 50.3; Plut. Demetr. 23.1, 44.3, 44.5, 49.2; Plut. Pyrrh. 11.3, 12.6 – 7). In some other cases of desertion it is not clear whether Macedonians were involved, but they may well have been (Diod. XIX 26.1, 36.6, 68.6, 92.4, XX 75.2; Plut. Demetr. 29.4; Plut. Pyrrh. 26.3). Officers too sometimes changed sides (e.g. Diod. XVIII 40.8, XIX 64.5, XX 19.2, 27.3; Plut. Demetr. 46.4; Paus. I 8.1). For instances where the soldiers refused to defect, see XVIII 62.2, 62.5, 63.5, XIX 12.3, 13.2, 25.2– 3, XX 47.4. On the Macedonian soldiers during the early Wars of the Successors, see Roisman 2012a.

11.3 Φίλιππος μὲν οὖν ὁ βασιλεὺς εὐθὺς ἥλω μετὰ τῆς θεραπείας: Philippos III Arrhidaios was a son of Philippos II and half-brother of Alexander the Great. He was mentally or intellectually disabled, which is probably the reason why

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Alexander did not have him killed, unlike the other male Argeads who were potential contenders for the throne. Because no suitable candidate from the royal family was available, Arrhidaios was appointed joint king with Alexander’s as yet unborn son, Alexander IV, in 323, on which occasion he was renamed Philippos (Berve 1926, II, no. 781; Seibert 1983, 218 – 219; Greenwalt 1984; Carney 2001b; Heckel 2006, 52– 53). The term θεραπεία used to be understood as the terminus technicus for the Hellenistic court (Bickerman 1938, 36; Walbank 1957, ad Plb. IV 87.5). Both Polybios and Diodoros, however, seem to use the word to designate several different groups (for Polybios see Walbank, loc. cit.; Mauersberger, s.v. θεραπεία). It is not always possible to determine what Diodoros means in any particular instance, but sometimes he clearly refers to servants who had to take care of the king, as in I 70.2 and XVII 117.2. In other cases an entire army division seems to be involved, as in XVIII 27.1, while yet other instances seem to be references to the king’s actual bodyguard, such as I 57.7 and XXIX 32. Such flexibility cannot come as surprise, but since θεραπεία does not occur in the documentary sources with the meaning ‘court’, it is probably not a technical term anyway (Le Bohec 1987, 319 – 320; Völcker-Janssen 1993, 8 n. 4; Schmitt, ‘Hof 1’, LexHell, 458 with n. 2; Strootman 2014a, 39 and 119; see also Spawforth 2007a, 84 and 94). We do not know who served in the retinue of Arrhidaios on this occasion. Arrian (Succ. F1.38) states that Autodikos, son of Agathokles (Heckel 2006, 65), Amyntas, son of Alexander (ibid., 26 [Am. 11]), Ptolemaios, son of Ptolemaios (ibid., 238 [Pt. 7]), and Alexander, son of Polyperchon (see below, 35.1 ᾿Aλέξανδρος…) were appointed σωματοφύλακες τοῦ βασιλέως at Triparadeisos, and this king is usually assumed to have been Arrhidaios (Habicht 1973, 374; Burstein 1977, 224; Heckel 1980a, 249; Simonetti Agostinetti 1993, 85). Eurydike will certainly not have retained Polyperchon’s son amongst them, but the others might still have been in office at this time. It is unlikely that Arrhidaios was on the battlefield itself, but he must have been very near as he was captured immediately. Many of his military personnel were probably not with him because they were needed in the battle. μετὰ Πολυκλέους, ἑνὸς τῶν συμβούλων: On Polykles, of whom nothing else is known, see Heckel 1992, 199 and 2006, 225. It is not unusual for a Macedonian queen to have her own courtiers (Le Bohec 1993a, 240 – 241; Carney 2010, 52). Other known advisors of Eurydike are Asklepiodoros (Heckel 2006, 58) and Attalos (identified as the son of Andromenes by Heckel 2006, 63; contra Carney 2004, 186): see Arr. Succ. F1.33. If Polykles was the only one of Eurydike’s advisors accompanying her, this reveals the extreme difficulty of the situation; if he simply was the only one captured along with her, this may raise some questions about the loyalty of her entourage.

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εἰς ᾿Aμφίπολιν ἀποχωροῦσα: Amphipolis was a city on the Strymon river (at the time the eastern border between Macedonia and Thrace) which belonged to the kingdom since its capture by Philippos II in 357 (Papastavru 1936; Papazoglou 1988, 392– 397; Orth 1993, 15; Flensted-Jensen 2004a, 819 – 820). It is not clear why Eurydike wanted to flee to Amphipolis, especially if the town was already controlled by Aristonous (but see below, 35.4 ᾿Aριστόνουν…). To understand this phrase merely as meaning ‘in the direction of Amphipolis’ would not really make sense, because coming from Euia (depending on whether that was in Dassaretis or in Elemia) Pydna, Aigai or Pella would be the obvious places to mention for a flight in that direction, being the cities one had to pass on the shortest land-route from the inland regions to the Strymon valley. A possible explanation would be that she hoped for help from Asia or safety by going there herself (cf. Itinerarium Alexandri 7; Carney 2006a, 173 n. 84 on the usefulness of Amphipolis, with its harbour at Eion, for connections with Asia). In any case, it is striking that Eurydike did not choose to head south to join Kassandros, which might be an indication that the relationship between her and her newly appointed regent was not actually as good as one might think (cf. 11.1 πρὸς μὲν Κάσσανδρον…).

11.4 Ὀλυμπιὰς τῶν βασιλικῶν σωμάτων κυριεύσασα: Both Justin (XIV 5.10: ‘cuius [i. e. of Olympias] iussu …’) and Diodoros (XIX 11.4– 11.9, 35 – 36, 49 – 51) present Olympias as being in charge from now on until her death (cf. Errington 1986, 119; Simonetti Agostinetti 1991, 79 – 80; Carney 2006a, 74); little is heard of Polyperchon in this period. For σῶμα in the meaning of ‘person’, very often – but not necessarily – a captive, see Palm 1955, 189; Ducrey 1968, 26 – 29; Pritchett 1991, 182– 185; MD s.v. σῶμα (III). τὴν εὐτυχίαν οὐκ ἤνεγκεν ἀνθρωπίνως: This is a typical Diodorean expression (see also I 60.3, IV 74.2, X 13.1, 14.2, XI 26.1, XVII 39.1, XXVII 17.2 for literal parallels; cf. Neubert 1890, 24; Sacks 1990, 105; Camacho Rojo 1994c, 115; Hadley 1996, 141; Hau 2007, 36). It is not found in any other author in this form with εὐτυχία and ἀνθρωπίνως, although the idea that one has to bear τύχη is of course very common (e.g. Plb. I 1.2 with Walbank 1957, 19 and 39; D.Chr. 18.9 with Hau 2016, 2 and passim; Vogt-Spira 1992, 22 and 95). On the meaning of ἀνθρωπίνως, cf. Beroutsos 2005, 62 (ad 166); Hau 2008, 131 n. 25. Other, more or less similar, expressions for the same idea of behaving moderately when experiencing good fortune are manifold in the Bibliotheke: IX 33.3, X 23, XIII 19.5, 21.2, 27.6, XV 17.5, XXVII 1.2, XXVII 14, 17.3 (the present list only contains those lexically similar; numerous further examples are listed by Camacho Rojo 1994c, 115 – 116, and there are many more). Cf. also the similar phrase τὴν εὐτυ-

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χίαν ὥσπερ βαρὺ φορτίον φέρειν (XIII 30.1, XVII 38.6, XXIII 15.1). Close parallels for the present expression in other authors are rather rare. The closest one is Plb. XVIII 33.4, which has ἐπιτυχία instead of εὐτυχία: τὸ τὰς μὲν ἐν ταῖς ἐπιτυχίαις ἐξουσίας μὴ δύνασθαι φέρειν ἀνθρωπίνως. There are only a few other instances of φέρειν ἀνθρωπίνως, all Hellenistic or later, always in the context of accepting one’s lot: Men. Aspis 165 – 166 and 260 – 261; Men. fr. 874 K.-A. (PCG VI.2); D.H. AR VIII 49.6; Plut. Cons. ad Apoll. 1 and 32 (Mor. 102a and 118c). Given the small number of parallels, the literal repetition of the phrase throughout Diodoros’ work is telling, even if the idea itself is so common. For other similar phrases, see e.g. Plb. I 1.2 with Walbank 1957, ad loc. It might also be worth noting that no other pagan historian in Antiquity used the adverb ἀνθρωπίνως as often as Diodoros did (14 instances for a frequency of 0.0028 %); only Cassius Dio comes close with 6 instances for a frequency of 0.0010 – 0.0016 %. Counting adjective and adverb together likewise yields a substantially higher frequency in the Bibliotheke than in any preserved work of earlier historians. Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon hardly use the word; Polybios has 16 instances (freq. 0.0048 %), while Diodoros has 59 (freq. 0.0121 %). The highest frequency overall is to be found in Diodoros’ near contemporary Dionysios of Halikarnassos: 63 instances for a frequency of 0.0212 %.

11.5 ἐπὶ πολλὰς δ᾽ ἡμέρας: If Kassandros did indeed hear of the deaths of Arrhidaios and Eurydike at the same time he was informed of Olympias’ return, as Diodoros claims at 35.1, the interval must have been rather brief (cf. infra, 11.8 ἀνεῖλε…). Diodoros’ account of Kassandros’ return is gravely compressed, however, and perhaps he did receive these pieces of news at different times (see below, 35.1 πυθόμενος…). Nonetheless, Unger’s view (1889, 89) that Diodoros could mean a period of several months stretches the meaning too far. παρανομήσασα τοὺς ἠτυχηκότας: Cf. Paus. I 11.4, ἀνόσια μὲν ἐργασαμένης καὶ ἐς τὸν ᾿Aριδαίου θάνατον. No further details are known of Olympias’ treatment of Arrhidaios and Eurydike in the days before she decided to have them killed. Since Pausanias and Diodoros ultimately seem to go back to the same source, their accounts cannot mutually confirm each other. From the further course of events it is clear that she must have done something to upset many Macedonians and lose their support (cf. infra, on chapters 50 – 51). Killing rivals within the royal house in itself was a common affair in Macedonia, but the large scale executions of Kassandros’ supporters (cf. infra 11.8) were not, and this may have sufficed to undermine Olympias’ position. Whether or not the lawlessness and

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unholiness of which Diodoros and Pausanias speak included torture is thus unknown, but it cannot be ruled out either. According to Carney (1993, 46), it is misguided to call Olympias’ actions torture, but whatever it was, it is clear that more happened to Arrhidaios and Eurydike than our summary sources state explicitly (cf. next lemma). ἐπειδὴ παρὰ τοῖς Μακεδόσιν ἠδόξει διὰ τὸν πρὸς τοὺς πάσχοντας ἔλεον: This would imply that everyone in Macedonia knew what was going on (cf. infra, 11.9 ἐν τοιούτοις…); perhaps Olympias even advertised it to stress that she was taking over now. However this may be, it is hard to see why Olympias would have thought she could stop public indignation by killing the royal couple unless murder was considered to be less cruel than maltreatment. Carney (2006a, 76) claims that the people will have expected Olympias to kill Arrhidaios and Eurydike. Although such political violence was indeed quite normal in Macedonia at the time (Carney 1993, 38 – 39; cf. next lemma), the people need not have approved of it. It is thus not at all unlikely that Olympias’ brutality was instrumental in bringing about her downfall (cf. e.g. Adams 1997, 239), even if military factors evidently mattered too. Kassandros tried to keep his killing of Alexander IV and Rhoxane a secret (XIX 105.2) and was reluctant to have Olympias killed (XIX 51.2– 3), while Antigonos blamed others for the murder of Kleopatra in an attempt to appear uninvolved (XX 37.6). I thus see no reason to deny that such murders always caused public indignation and loss of support (cf. Meeus 2009a, 239 – 240). τὸν μὲν Φίλιππον προσέταξε Θρᾳξί τισιν ἐκκεντῆσαι: Olympias probably considered Arrhidaios’ co-rule as ‘a diminution of the rights of her grandson’, Alexander IV, which certainly was a sufficient reason for her to have him killed (Errington 1976, 147): regicide was a common affair in Macedonia (Carney 1983; Borza 1990, 240). She probably sent Thracians because Macedonians might have been reluctant to execute their own king, as happened with the squadron Kassandros later sent to murder her: when faced with a Macedonian royal woman, they could not kill her (XIX 51.4– 5). Anson (2004, 173 n. 78) assumes that in this way she wanted to keep the king’s death a secret to the Macedonians, but the people may well have been aware of the situation (see previous lemma). βασιλέα γεγενημένον ἓξ ἔτη καὶ μῆνας τέσσαρας: The Heidelberger Epitome (F2.2) gives exactly the same duration for the reign of Arrhidaios. Justin (XIV 5.10), less concerned for accuracy, simply has six years. Other sources have rounded up the number to 7 regnal years: Porphyrius ([FGrHist 260] F 2.1); Ptolemy’s Royal Canon. In another fragment Porphyrios ([FGrHist 260] F 3.2) assigns 8 years to Arrhidaios, but the specification that he died in the fourth year of the 115th Olympiad actually implies a 7 year reign. The cuneiform evidence is less straightforward: the Saros Canon and the Uruk king list attribute six years to Ar-

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rhidaios, but the Solar Saros, the Chronicle of the Diadochoi and a few other documents give him eight years. The latter number must be the consequence of posthumous dating (Boiy 2000, 118; Anson 2002/3, 377– 378 and 2005a). Hunger (ad loc.) notes that AD V, no. 2 V’ 12’, possibly records the death of Arrhidaios on 27 Kislîmu (26 December 317), which according to Depuydt (2008, 53 – 55) is almost certainly the actual day of the king’s death. All that is left on the tablet is the beginning of the king’s name, but it is indeed hard to imagine another event concerning Arrhidaios in December 317. Discussing the information from the diary, Van der Spek (ad BHCP 3 obv. I 32) states: ‘It may also be that the death of Philip became known only two months later in Babylonia, though it is not what the tablet actually says’. Given the lacuna, it is impossible to know what the tablet actually says, and we should not discard the possibility that if this entry in the diary is about Arrhidaios’ death, it lists the date on which the news reached Babylonia (Monerie 2014, 159). Beloch (1927, 104) correctly points out that a date for Philippos’ death very late in the year is unlikely to allow for the subsequent events during the autumn of 317: Olympias’ political purge and Kassandros’ return to Macedonia. On the Egyptian evidence, which dates Arrhidaios’ death to 316, see Skeat 1969, 27– 28. It is not certain whether the count of six years and four months had started at the time of Alexander’s death or at the time of the final settlement at Babylon (Bosworth 1992b, 56). At any rate, the information of Diodoros and the Heidelberger Epitome allows us to date Arrhidaios’ death to October or November 317 (see also Errington 1977, 482; Gullath & Schober 1986, 336 – 338; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 205 – 206). No one seems to accept Unger’s (1889, 88 – 92) strained and wholly unconvincing argument that Arrhidaios only died in the summer of 316 (cf. supra, ἐπὶ πολλάς…). τὴν δ᾽ Εὐρυδίκην παρρησιαζομένην καὶ βοῶσαν αὑτῇ μᾶλλον προσήκειν ἤπερ Ὀλυμπιάδι τὴν βασιλείαν ἔκρινε μείζονος ἀξιῶσαι τιμωρίας: That the βασιλεία is associated with Eurydike and Olympias is remarkable but makes perfect sense in a Macedonian context when no men were capable of ruling (Carney 1995, 377 and 2000, 37). Of course this does not mean that Olympias in every respect had the same status as an actual king (Roisman 2012b, 140 – 141). Carney (1993, 50 – 54; 2006a, 75) argues that Eurydike did not get a worse punishment than her husband, but that Olympias chose a gender-appropriate death for each of them, ‘ordering that Philip Arrhidaeus be stabbed, in keeping with the expectation that men die by the blade, and giving Adea Eurydice a choice of methods to commit suicide, thus ensuring her the private death suitable for a woman’. As she points out herself, though, this conclusion depends on the validity of the study of Greek tragedy by Loraux (1987) and its applicabil-

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ity to Macedonia (Carney 1993, 50 n. 56 and passim; cf. also Foley 1988, 599). One also wonders whether Diodoros or his source would not have been aware of the status of forced suicide by hanging if indeed it was the typical Greek way to kill a woman. And if he knew, why, then, would he call it the greater punishment? Was it because death by hanging might have been considered impure (Carney 1993, 51 n. 57)? Although the context is rather different, there are many interesting similarities in terms of events, evaluation and vocabulary in Plut. Mul. virt. 15 (Mor. 253b-d).

11.6 εἰσέπεμψεν οὖν αὐτῇ ξίφος καὶ βρόχον καὶ κώνειον καὶ συνέταξε τούτων ᾧ βούλοιτο καταχρήσασθαι πρὸς τὸν θάνατον: Aelian (VH 13.36) mentions exactly the same items, but in a different order: προσέπεμψε κώνειον καὶ βρόχον καὶ ξίφος. It is quite possible that his source for this passage was Diodoros (Zecchini 1991, 357– 358); if not, they may ultimately have relied on the same authority. Carney (1993, 42– 55) is correct to state that the account of the deaths of Arrhidaios and Eurydike might be historical, but that it is difficult to determine to what extent. There are no substantial arguments against its historicity, in spite of Brown’s judgement (1947, 689) that ‘the description of Eurydice’s death (…) is good theater, but suspect as history’ (cf. Carney 2006a, 84– 85: ‘The play-like, even epic, feel of the stories about the ends of these two royal women need not, however, render them entirely false’; ibid. 194 n. 8). Hornblower’s argument (1981, 121) against the historicity is based on a wrong interpretation of the passage: see below, 11.7 Εὐρυδίκη… Almost twenty years earlier Olympias had also forced Kleopatra, Philippos’ last wife, to hang herself (Just. IX 7.12 [Paus. VIII 7.5 provides a less likely version of her murder]; Carney 1993, 37– 41 and 2006a, 43 – 47). οὔτε τὸ προγεγενημένον ἀξίωμα τῆς παρανομουμένης ἐντραπεῖσα τὸ παράπαν: At XVII 38.1 Diodoros writes that Alexander restored Sisygambis to τὸ προγεγονὸς ἀξίωμα. A closer parallel for the context of not taking someone’s former status into account when deciding to kill him/her is Justin XIV 6.7 on Olympias’ own death: ‘Macedones sine respectu pristinae maiestatis occidendam decernunt’. Although these accounts do not concern the same event, Diodoros and Justin might have taken the remark from their common source. For a similar comment on respect for former ἀξίωμα as opposed to maltreatment after a victory, see Plut. Cleom. 30.1 (χρησάμενος τοῖς Λακεδαιμονίοις φιλανθρώπως, καὶ τὸ ἀξίωμα τῆς Σπάρτης οὐ προπηλακίσας οὐδ᾽ ἐνυβρίσας).

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οὔτε τῆς κοινῆς τύχης εἰς οἶκτον ἐλθοῦσα: It is clear throughout the Bibliotheke that pity is very important for Diodoros (Farrington 1937; Baumann 2016; Hau 2020, 95 – 99). The wording κοινὴ τύχη is only paralleled at XIV 46.4 and XVIII 67.4, but the theme is common in the Bibliotheke, especially in combination with pity (cf. also κοινὸς ἔλεος at XIII 27.4, XXVII 18.1, XXXI 3.1, XXXVI 15.2; Hau 2008, 138, 2009, 177, 2020, 97– 98; Holton 2018, esp. 194– 198).

11.7 τοιγαροῦν τῆς ὁμοίας μεταβολῆς τυχοῦσα τῆς ὠμότητος ἀξίαν ἔσχε τὴν τοῦ βίου καταστροφήν: Pausanias (I 11.4) also states that Olympias died the death she deserved because of her cruelty towards Arrhidaios and other Macedonians, in a passage rather resembling what we read here and probably taken from the same source: διὰ ταῦτα οὐκ ἀνάξια ὕστερον ὑπὸ Κασσάνδρου παθεῖν νομισθείσης (cf. supra, 11.5 παρανομήσασα…). Strikingly, Pausanias (IX 7.2) also states that Kassandros died the death he deserved for his killing of several Argeads, which may confirm that the theme was present in his source on the Successors: the οὐ μὴν οὐδὲ αὐτὸς χαίρων τὸν βίον κατέστρεψεν echoes Diodoros’ wording here; cf. also Just. XVII 2.3 about Lysimachos. At the same time, the elaboration of the passage seems to be Diodoros’ own work or at least reflects his own interests (cf. Carney 1993, 44; Camacho Rojo 1994c, 107; Hau 2016, 83 – 85). The idea that those who show no mercy will suffer the same fate as they inflicted on others is also found in XIV 46.4, XIV 112, XIX 103.5, and XXXI 3.1– 3, and it is typical of Diodoros’ moral programme. Furthermore, he is very fond of μεταβολή (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.3). It is important to note the focus of the present passage: Diodoros contrasts Olympias’ failure to behave with human decency when experiencing good fortune with Eurydike’s bravery at the lowest point in the cycle of fortune (see below: οὔτε δακρύσασα…). The mention of the fact that Olympias later also died a violent death when the tables had turned enhances the effect, but it is not Diodoros’ main point in the present chapter (pace Carney 1993, 43: ‘the narrative insists on placing Olympias’ various actions in the context of justification for her own murder’). Εὐρυδίκη μὲν γὰρ κατευξαμένη παρόντος τοῦ κομίσαντος τῶν ὁμοίων δωρεῶν Ὀλυμπιάδα τυχεῖν: The meaning of τοῦ κομίσαντος is problematic: Geer renders it as ‘the attendant’, but Bizière’s more precise ‘celui qui les avait apportés’ is preferable (cf. also e.g. Plut. Lys. 18.4). A parallel for this substantivized use of the aorist participle of κομίζειν is to be found at XV 91.1. On this interpretation, the presence of the κόμισας is only logical: Eurydike pronounces her wish immediately upon receiving the various means for committing suicide so that the man who has brought them can inform Olympias of her calling for

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revenge. There is no reason, then, why his presence should have been invented, as Hornblower (1981, 121) suggests in stating that ‘the rather dramatic account of Eurydice’s death probably derived from court gossip, and Hieronymus no doubt wished to give weight to a story which was hard to substantiate’. Probably the messenger did not come alone, so that there were several witnesses of the event, and even if he was alone, his information might have reached Diodoros’ source directly or indirectly. If Hieronymos, presuming that he is the source of the present passage, could not know this, what could he have known? Eurydike’s praying for Olympias to receive the same gifts closely echoes Diodoros’ description of the death of Phyton who was also executed unjustly, and faced his death equally courageously (XIV 112.3): οὐκ ἀγεννῶς ὑπέμενε τὴν ἐπὶ τῆς τελευτῆς τιμωρίαν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀκατάπληκτον τὴν ψυχὴν φυλάξας καὶ βοῶν ὅτι τὴν πόλιν οὐ βουληθεὶς προδοῦναι Διονυσίῳ τυγχάνει τῆς τιμωρίας, ἣν αὐτῷ τὸ δαιμόνιον ἐκείνῳ συντόμως ἐπιστήσει (‘[Phyton] endured his mortal punishment with no low-born spirit. Rather he preserved his spirit undaunted and cried out that he was punished because he would not betray the city to Dionysios, and that heaven would soon visit such punishment upon Dionysios himself’). Chamoux (1997, 160) calls the story of Phyton an ‘épisode pathétique, sur lequel Diodore s’est étendu avec une certaine complaisance’, yet it also suits his moral programme (cf. Hau 2016, 105 – 106 and 113). τὸν μὲν ἄνδρα περιέστειλεν, ἐπιμεληθεῖσα τῶν τραυμάτων ὥς ποθ᾽ ὁ καιρὸς συνεχώρει: At least for southern Greece we know that it was important that these burial rites were performed by the women of the family (Kurtz & Boardman 1971, 143 – 144), and in this particular instance, moreover, no one else was there to do it (cf. also Douris [FGrHist 76] F94). Whether we are facing ‘the fictionalized account in Diodoros of Adea Eurydice’s wifely devotion to her husband’s corpse in the last minutes of her own life’ (Carney 1995, 387– 388) is thus hard to tell. ἑαυτὴν δ᾽ ἀνακρεμάσασα τῇ ζώνῃ: Aelian (VH 13.36) states that she used the noose Olympias’ sent her (αἱρεῖται τὸν βρόχον), but probably he oversimplified in summarizing, as it is likely that Diodoros was his source or that they both go back to the same authority (see above, 11.6 εἰσέπεμψεν…). On the significance of women hanging themselves with their girdle, see Carney 1993, 51 n. 57. οὔτε δακρύσασα τὴν αὑτῆς τύχην οὔτε τῷ μεγέθει τῶν συμπτωμάτων ταπεινωθεῖσα: Diodoros enhances the tragic tone of the narrative and highlights the moral superiority of Eurydike by drawing a sharp contrast with Olympias’ cruelty, a contrast which is also stressed by the stylistic elaboration of the passage: οὔτε δακρύσασα τὴν αὑτῆς τύχην is clearly opposed to οὔτε τῆς κοινῆς τύχης εἰς οἶκτον ἐλθοῦσα, and οὔτε τῷ μεγέθει τῶν συμπτωμάτων ταπεινωθεῖσα contrasts with οὔτε τὸ προγεγενημένον ἀξίωμα τῆς παρανομουμένης ἐντραπεῖσα τὸ παράπαν. The chiastic ordering is quite common in the Bibliotheke (Palm 1955,

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142– 143). Four occurrences of the τυχ-root in eight lines (τύχης, τυχοῦσα, τυχεῖν, τύχην) is striking even for Diodoros and this seems to reflect a deliberate choice to stress the theme. Given that Diodoros usually does not copy literally but rewrites his sources in his own language (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.4 and 2.3), and that these themes fit his own moral programme very well, this stylistic elaboration constitutes a further argument for the view that Diodoros himself is to some extent responsible for the tone and the focus of this passage. At the time of Olympias’ own death, Diodoros likewise praises her serenity: cf. infra, 51.5 οὐδεμίαν ἀγεννῆ… On the courageous deaths of royal women, see also Carney 1995, 388 – 389. Δακρύειν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ τύχην is a rather rare expression in ancient Greek literature: Diodoros also uses it at XIII 41.5, cf. XVII 66.4; Aesop. 13 l. 4– 5, D. 18.287 and Max. Tyr. Dial. 12.7e are the only parallels I found; cf. also Luc. Herm. 71. For the theme of bearing misfortune – often imminent death – with dignity in the Bibliotheke, see XIII 102.2– 3, XIV 5.1– 3, 112.3 – 5, XVII 13.2– 3, XVIII 42.1, XIX 51.1, XXVI 14.2, XXXVII 20 – 21; cf. XIV 83.6, XVIII 51.4, 67.1– 2; XIX 42.5; cf. Hadley 1996, 145. Like here, such passages typically note the presence or absence of pity, the sentiment which was so central to Diodoros’ moral views, often with terms such as δακρύειν/δάκρυον, οἶκτος, ἔλεος/ἐλεεῖν. Among them, XVII 13.3 also shows some resemblance to the judgement on Olympias at 11.6: ἀλλ᾽ οὔτε τὸ τῆς ἀρετῆς πάθος ἠλεεῖτο παρὰ τοῖς πολεμίοις οὔτε τὸ τῆς ἡμέρας μῆκος ἤρκει πρὸς τὴν ὠμότητα τῆς τιμωρίας (…).

11.8 ἀνεῖλε μὲν τὸν Νικάνορα τὸν ἀδελφὸν τοῦ Κασσάνδρου: On Kassandros’ brother Nikanor, who is otherwise unknown, see Berve 1926, II, no. 553; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 71– 72; Heckel 2006, 176 – 177 [N 3]. Unfortunately Diodoros gives no further chronological information than τούτων διαφθαρέντων. According to Anson (2006a, 7; cf. Adams 1997, 238) ‘it is definite that there was an interval’ between the deaths of Arrhidaios and Eurydike and these events, but it seems more likely that Olympias did not want to lose time. If, as Dušanič (1965, 141) assumes, Nikanor was with Eurydike at the time of the battle, his murder could have followed immediately upon that of the royal couple. This seems to be confirmed by Diodoros’ later statement (35.1) that Kassandros received word of the events described in this paragraph together with the news of Olympias’ return and the deaths of Arrhidaios and Eurydike, although one must not place too much confidence in such Diodorean summaries: see below, 35.1 πυθόμενος…

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κατέστρεψε δὲ τὸν Ἰόλλου τάφον: Iollas or Iolaos (on the name, see Hoffmann 1906, 207– 208) was another brother of Kassandros (Berve 1926, II no. 386; Heckel 1992, 293 and 2006, 143 [I 1]; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 72). He had been Alexander’s cup-bearer, and some suspected him of having used this position to poison Alexander at the instigation of his father Antipatros (Arr. Anab. VII 27.2; Diod. XVII 118.1; Plut. Alex. 77.2; Curt. X 10.14 and 17; Just. XII 14.6 – 9; [Plut.] Dec. or. vit. 9 [Mor. 849 f]; LDM 89 and 96 – 100; see also below). Davidson (2007, 367– 368) points out that there is a possibly relevant mythological link if a descendant of Herakles was killed by a man named Iolaos. This link might have provided an extra argument for those accusing Iolaos of the murder, but it obviously does not prove anything about his actual involvement. In 322/1 Iolaos escorted his sister Nikaia to Asia in order to marry her off to Perdikkas (Arr. Succ. F1.21); nothing is known of him thereafter, so we have no idea when and how he died, or where he was buried. Plutarch (Alex. 77.2) claims that Olympias scattered abroad the ashes of Iolaos. Pace Carney (2006a, 76 – 77) this need not be a different version from Diodoros’: probably the latter’s wording is just somewhat vaguer. Such defiling of one’s remains was a serious offense (Rives-Gal 1996, 21; Carney, loc. cit.; cf. also ibid. 85 – 87), and apparently Olympias wanted to take revenge on the whole Antipatrid clan (cf. Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 71). The normal practice in the case of revenge is that one life is taken in return for one life (McHardy 2008, 9 – 10), but Olympias clearly was not content with the murder of Nikanor alone. In some societies the murder of a king had to be avenged by more than one death (McHardy, loc. cit.), and Curtius (VI 11.20, VIII 8.18 and 26) reports that it was a Macedonian custom that all the family members of someone involved in a plot against the king had to be executed. Errington (1983, 99 – 100) doubts the existence of this practice, but Curtius’ possibly unjustified use of the term ‘lex’ does not preclude that such a custom existed. Carney (2006a, 77) interprets Olympias’ action more generally in terms of ‘the same pattern of blood feud that was common in Macedonia and remains a feature of life in some parts of the Balkans to this day’ (cf. infra, 50.7 ὑπόσπονδον…), but also points out Curtius’ mention of this custom. μετερχομένη, καθάπερ ἔφησε, τὸν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου θάνατον: The story that Antipatros had instructed his son Iolaos to poison Alexander was wide-spread in Antiquity (cf. previous lemma). However, several sources reporting this version of Alexander’s death reject it (Plut. Alex. 77.5; Arr. Anab. VII 27.3) or indicate their disbelief of it (Curt. X 10.18, with Dempsie 1991 ad loc.), as Diodoros also seems to do here with the words καθάπερ ἔφησε. There is a large consensus among scholars that Alexander died of disease (e.g. Lane Fox 1973, 461– 471; Engels 1978b; Hammond 1980a, 277– 299 with n.

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130; Bosworth 1988a, 171– 173; Wirth 1989, 207 n. 67; O’Brien 1992, esp. 224; Borza & Reames-Zimmerman 2000, esp. 25; Chugg 2004, 16 – 24 and 2005; Rathmann 2005b, 10; Atkinson et al. 2009; Nawotka 2010, 375 – 377; Anson 2013a, 10). For the – in my view less convincing – arguments in favour of a poisoning plot, see Milns 1968, 256 – 258; Bosworth 1971. Some remain cautious: Green 1974, 476 – 477; Landucci Gattinoni 1984; Badian 2000, 76 – 77; Cartledge 2004, 191– 192; Rogers 2004, 277– 278; Engels 2006a, 68; Heckel 2007b; Atkinson 2009, 148 – 149; Schep et al. 2014; Mayor 2019; cf. Chuvin 2003 on the contamination of the historical tradition with fabrications from early on. It is much debated just when the accusation against Antipatros and his family was first voiced. According to Plutarch (Alex. 77.2) Olympias came up with the allegation only at this time, but Carney (2006a, 63) argues – on the basis of Curtius (X 10.18) – that the rumours of poisoning by the Antipatrids arose immediately upon Alexander’s death, possibly for the first time in Olympias’ public lament for Alexander. Curtius, however, does not claim that the charge was brought up soon, but that it was suppressed soon after its appearance (‘mox … extinxit’). Pseudo-Plutarch, in his Lives of the Ten Orators (Hypereides = Mor. 849 f), claims that Hypereides proposed to vote honours for Iolaos for his part in poisoning Alexander, and if the orator did indeed try to pass such a motion, it is clear that the rumours were current long before Olympias’ return to Macedonia (for an unconvincing argument that part of Hypereides’ decree honouring Iolaos has been found: Oikonomides 1987). The allegation of poisoning was also mentioned in Onesikritos’ history ([FGr 134] F37 = LDM 97), but I am not convinced by Heckel’s argument (2007b) that Onesikritos must have written in the first few years after Alexander’s death. In any case, it is not unlikely that such rumours surfaced very soon: see e.g. Dempsie (1991, 122 with n. 37, and 256) on how common the suspicion of poisoning was when an important person died, and specifically on Hellenistic kings, see Savalli-Lestrade 2003, esp. 73; Winder 2017; cf. Roisman 2006, esp. 151– 160 on the prevalence of conspiracy theories in ancient Athens. One is also reminded of the swiftly raised suspicions that Olympias and Alexander were involved in the death of Philippos (cf. Carney 2006b, esp. 32). On rumours upon the death of members of the royal family, see also below, 52.4 θεωρῆσαι… Whether or not Olympias believed that Alexander had been poisoned by the Antipatrids, the allegation was very useful for presenting political murder as revenge; cf. Carney 2000, 117: ‘revenge had a much better public image, even propaganda value, in antiquity than it has had in post-Christian times. The perpetrator of vengeance, therefore, might have been admired as a person committed to justice rather than condemned as a savage’. Wirth’s argument (1989, esp. 203 – 218) that Kassandros himself exploited his presumed involve-

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ment in the poisoning of Alexander for propagandistic purposes is far-fetched and utterly implausible: to dismiss the Macedonians’ regard for the Argeads would have been a capital error (see Goukowsky 1978b, 105 – 108; Bosworth 1986, 11; Koulakiotis 2006, 95; Meeus 2009a, 248). Moreover, Diodoros (XVII 118.2) states that Kassandros suppressed the rumours (cf. Curt. X 10.18). ἐπέλεξε δὲ καὶ τῶν Κασσάνδρου φίλων τοὺς ἐπιφανεστάτους ἑκατὸν Μακεδόνας, οὓς ἅπαντας ἀπέσφαξεν: Cf. Plut. Alex. 77.2; Paus. I 11.4; Just. XIV 6.1. Apparently, such purges of an enemy’s friends were normal in the age of the Successors (Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 325 n. 137; cf. Carney 2006a, 77). There is no evidence whatsoever for a trial nor any reason to assume that there would have been one (Anson 2008a, 141 with n. 44; contra Hammond 1988a, 140 n. 3).

11.9 ἐν τοιούτοις δὲ παρανομήμασι πληροῦσα τὸν ἑαυτῆς θυμὸν ταχὺ πολλοὺς τῶν Μακεδόνων ἐποίησε μισῆσαι τὴν ὠμότητα: Justin (XIV 6.1) writes almost exactly the same: ‘Sed nec Olympias diu regnauit. Nam cum principum passim caedes muliebri magis quam regio more fecisset, fauorem sui in odium uertit’, and other sources also mention Olympias’ cruelty upon her return: Paus. I 11.4 (who even claims that Olympias and Aiakides as a consequence lost support in Epeiros); Nep. Eum. 6.3; HE (FGrHist 155) F2.3. Carney (2006a, 75 – 79 and 81) argues that in spite of what the sources claim, Olympias’ violent actions were not the cause of her downfall, because the Diadochoi were equally brutal. She therefore attributes Olympias’ failure to a lack of military success. It is certainly true that the latter factor was as important for Olympias as for her male enemies, but we must not downplay the importance of political actions such as the purges or assume that as long as someone was successful on the battlefield the Macedonians did not care about what they did outside of it (cf. generally Trampedach & Meeus 2020). Like the Successors, Olympias had to make sure she maintained the goodwill of the Macedonian people, and her failure to do so – along with her, and even more so, Polyperchon’s defeats in war – made it easier for Kassandros to eliminate her. Murdering the royal couple may not have been a very popular action and surely killing a hundred leading Macedonians must have resulted in an outrage with large parts of the elite (see below, 51.1 προετρέψατο; cf. supra, 11.5 ἐπειδή…). ᾿Aντιπάτρου: Antipatros had served in prominent positions under both Philippos II and Alexander. He had been left behind as governor in Macedonia during the Asian expedition and a fierce struggle for power developed between him and

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Olympias, creating a bitter rivalry. After Alexander’s death Antipatros initially remained governor of Europe (323 – 320), before becoming regent of the entire empire in the last years of his life (320 – 319): Berve 1926, II, no. 94; Kanatsulis 1958/ 9 and 1968; Tataki 1998, 146; Heckel 2006, 34– 38 and 2016, 33 – 43. καθάπερ χρησμῳδῶν ἐπὶ τῆς τελευτῆς: It may not have required much imagination for Antipatros to see that Olympias or Eurydike might end up in power after his death, but Diodoros seems to have taken an interest in the idea of someone predicting the future on their deathbed: see also XVIII 1.1; cf. somewhat similarly XXXVII 19.3. Very similar phrases are to be found in the Bibliotheke at XIX 1.4 (ὥσπερ χρησμοῦ τινος), XXXI 10.1 (καθάπερ χρησμῳδῶν), XXXVII 9 (ὥσπερ τις θεοῦ χρησμός); cf. XV 33.2 (ἔδοξεν οὐκ ἀνθρωπίνην ἀπόφασιν, ἀλλὰ θεῖόν τινα χρησμὸν εἰρηκέναι with Camacho Rojo 1994c, 102). The expression is thus relatively common in Diodoros, especially since it generally seems quite rare: before Diodoros it only occurs twice in preserved texts (Isoc. 4.171; Lyc. 1.92; somewhat similarly Pl. Crat. 396d). Furthermore, it has been argued that the proem of book XVIII with its Pythagorean interpretation of Alexander’s deathbed prophecy is Diodoros’ own composition (Hornblower 1981, 90; contra Kunz 1935, 47– 48 and 89 – 90). He clearly admired Pythagoras and his philosophy: book X (3 – 11 and perhaps also 12) contains the fragments of a detailed account on Pythagoras and his philosophy, and there are several other mentions in the Bibliotheke (I 69.4, 96.2, 98.2, V 28.6, VIII 14.1, XII 9.4, 20.1, XV 39.2; cf. Drews 1962, 388; Wirth 1993, 16 – 17; Schorn 2014, 2018, 193 – 244). Few, if any, Hellenistic historians were Pythagoreans (Meißner 1992, 102– 103), but Pythagoreanism had become very popular again in late first century Rome (Joost-Gaugier 2006, 25 – 30), and this general popularity is not unlikely to have influenced Diodoros. Also, similes are frequent in Diodoros’ work (e.g. I 1.3, 2.2, 12.2, 72.3, 91.7, II 8.3, 12.2, 12.3, 21.7, 24.3, 30.6, 58.6, III 15.5 [twice], 16.4, 29.7, 35.3, 40.8, 44.5, IV 24.2, IX 10.1, X 19.3, XII 13.2, 36.2, XIII 58.2, 111.4, 112.2, XIV 1.3, 23.5, 30.2 [twice], 35.4, 51.5, 22.4, 82.4, 111.2, 112.1, XVI 79.3, XVII 34.9, 100.5, XVIII 25.2, 32.1, 61.3, XIX 15.4, 30.6, 34.4, 99.2, XX 63.2, XXVI 3.2, XXVIII 7.1, XXIX 6.1, XXX 17.1, 18.2, 22.1, XXXII 22.1), and some may have been the result of his own creativity (cf. Palm 1955, 33 on III 24.2, and below, 81.2 ὁ μὲν ὄχλος…). Xenophon’s similes of An. IV 8.20 – 21 appear in a more elaborate form at Diod. XIV 30.2 which, however, may or may not be due to Ephoros. The one at 15.4 seems to be taken from his source, though (cf. infra, 15.4 οἷον…); probably the same is true of 30.6 οἱονεί… On the other hand, the deathbed prophecy was a well-known theme thanks to the example from Homer which Diodoros cites at XVIII 1.1 (cf. Guillaumont 2006, 159 n. 303), and since both that passage and the present one belong to

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the books on the Successors, they might stem from Diodoros’ source for the period; although it may be just a coincidence, it is interesting to note that the idea also occurs at Justin VII 2.1, again in a narrative of Macedonian affairs (Perdikkas I’s prophecy concerning Aigai and the end of the kingdom). Moreover, in a passage where we can compare him with his source, XXXI 10.1 (= fr. 14 CUF), the καθάπερ χρησμῳδῶν is clearly just an adaptation of Polybios’ ὡσανεὶ θείῳ τινὶ στόματι (XXIX 21; cf. Reid 1969, 6 – 10 and Sacks 1990, 144 on the reliability of the Constantinian excerpts). Another simile in book XIX has likewise been taken over from Diodoros’ source: see below, 15.4 οἷόν τινος…; cf. generally Part I, §2.2.4. On similes in Hellenistic prose, cf. Langslow 2012, 105 – 109 (with reference to Diodoros at 108). It is thus difficult to conclude whether or not we are facing Diodorean originality, but there is no doubt that he was pursuing a personal interest here (cf. infra, 53.8 κατὰ τὸν γενόμενον… and 55.8 καταπλαγείς…). παρεκελεύσατο μηδέποτε συγχωρῆσαι γυναικὶ τῆς βασιλείας προστατῆσαι: Cf. Alexander’s utterance at Plut. Alex. 68.5: Μακεδόνας γὰρ οὐκ ἂν ὑπομεῖναι βασιλευομένους ὑπὸ γυναικός, and somewhat similarly also Arr. Succ. F1.31, μηδὲν αὐτὴν ἐπικοινωνεῖν τοῖς δημοσίοις ἀντέλεγον πράγμασιν. Miron (2000, esp. 35 – 36) seems to consider these words attributed to Alexander and Antipatros historical because it is plausible that someone would have said this in ancient Macedonia (cf. Macurdy 1932a, 39 and 45). Being plausible and being historical are two different things, though. According to Carney (1993, 44; 2006, 78 – 79 with n. 71), it was Kassandros who claimed in his propaganda that Antipatros had given such a warning. She also points out that both passages clearly aim to establish a norm that women should not rule in Macedonia (Carney 2000, 256 – 257 n. 28). Since women could and did represent the dynasty if the king was not capable of actually exercising power, either by nature or absence (Carney 1995, 2000, 2004, 2010), the statement attributed to Alexander is most likely apocryphal. Yet, this obviously does not mean that Antipatros’ is historical. Eumenes’ fake letter (Diod. XIX 23.2) seems to suggest that the Macedonians would not be opposed to Olympias being in power, and Polyainos (IV 8.3) even adds that the Macedonians spoke about the situation Eumenes presented μετὰ πολλῆς ἡδονῆς καὶ χαρᾶς. Kleopatra’s appointment as governor of Lydia (Arr. Succ. F25.2; Meeus 2009b, 78 – 79) and her previous activities in Molossia (Carney 2010, 52), though not in Macedonia itself, are also telling. In this instance Carney (1995, 374 n. 17) is probably right that προστατῆσαι is used in a more general sense of rule or domination and does not refer to an office (cf. O’Neil 1999a, 11; contra Hammond 1985, 160 and Anson 1992, 40).

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§ 12 – 13 Eumenes in Babylonia and the Crossing of the Tigris After the murder of Perdikkas in Egypt his associates had been condemned to death. Antigonos Monophthalmos was entrusted with the particular task of eliminating the Perdikkans in Asia, among whom was Eumenes. In spring 318 Eumenes was released from the stronghold of Nora, where he had been besieged for almost a year by Antigonos’ troops. He moved south to stay out of the hands of Antigonos, and to collect money from the royal treasury in Kilikia. The right to do so had been given to him by the regent Polyperchon, who wished to strengthen Antigonos’ Asian enemy after Kassandros had allied himself with Antigonos. Having stayed in Kilikia and Phoinikia for a while in order to get the money and to levy troops, Eumenes withdrew to Babylonia where he spent the winter of 318/7 (Schäfer 2002, 123 – 131; Bosworth 2002, 99 – 103; Anson 2015, 151– 174).

12.1 Εὐμενής: Eumenes, a Greek from Kardia on the Thracian Chersonesos, had been the secretary of Philippos and Alexander, until he received a cavalry command in 324. After Alexander’s death he became one of the main members of the Perdikkan faction, as a result of which he was sentenced to death and had been at war with Antigonos for three years now (cf. supra): see Berve 1926, II, no. 317; Seibert 1983, 207– 209; Heckel 1992, 346 – 347 and 2006, 120 – 121; Schäfer 2002; Anson 2015. τοὺς ἀργυράσπιδας Μακεδόνας: In 318 Polyperchon, trying to set up an alliance with Eumenes, ordered the argyraspids, or Silver Shields, to place themselves at the disposal of the Kardian, and they met him at Kyinda in Kilikia (Diod. XVIII 58.1). The identity of the unit has been disputed, but according to the now commonly held view, it is the same corps that was called hypaspistai under Alexander (Spendel 1915, 43 – 46; Tarn 1948, II, 151– 153; Bosworth 1980a, 8 n. 64 and 1988a, 270; Anson 1981, 1988b; Hammond 1984a, 51 with n. 4; Billows 1990, 101 n. 25; Heckel 1992, 307– 308 and 2013a, 165 – 166; Hatzopoulos 2001, 55; Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 241– 242; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 176 – 177 and 180; Baynham 2013, 111). For different views, see Berve 1926, I, 128; Lock 1977; Kalléris 1988, I, 108 – 109; Serrati 2013, 187. ᾿Aντιγένην: If the argyraspids are indeed Alexander’s hypaspists, Antigenes already commanded the unit under Alexander. Apparently he retained this command when he was awarded the satrapy of Susiana at Triparadeisos, perhaps because he needed Macedonian troops to guard the treasure at Susa. A less likely alternative (cf. Bosworth 2002, 100 n. 9; Potts 2016b, 34) has the argyraspids sent

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there later because Antigenes needed a reliable escort for transferring the royal treasure from Susa to Kyinda in Kilikia (Berve 1926, II, no. 83; Heckel 1982, 1992, 308 – 316, and 2006, 30 – 31; Tataki 1998, 149 – 150). παρεχείμασε μὲν τῆς Βαβυλωνίας ἐν ταῖς ὀνομαζομέναις Καρῶν κώμαις: This was the winter of 318/7. Although Hieronymos apparently divided his narrative in campaigning years marked by the armies going into winter quarters, Diodoros does not indicate them consistently (Meeus 2012), nor does he mention when Eumenes and his troops had gone into winter quarters: Eumenes’ latest movement he reports for the autumn of 318 is his departure from Phoinikia to Koile Syria (from where he planned to move into Babylonia), after which the events of the spring 317 are anticipated (XVIII 73.2; cf. infra, 12.3 τὸν Τίγριν…). Antigonos spent this winter in Mesopotamia (XIX 15.6). Other mentions of winter quarters in Diodoros XVIII–XX are the following: XVIII 40.1, XIX 34.8, 37.1, 38.1, 39.1– 2, 44.4, 46.1, 56.2, 68.5 – 6, 69.2, 77.7, 80.5, XX 28.4, 109.2 and 4, 111.3, 112.4, 113.3; XVIII 25.1 and XIX 89.2 mention the winter, not winter quarters. On the satrapy of Babylonia, see below 12.2 τῆς Βαβυλωνίας. The location of these Καρῶν κῶμαι is unknown. Most scholars identify them with the Κάραι κῶμαι which Alexander passed along the way from Susa or Opis to Ekbatana (Diod. XVII 110.3; see e.g. Orth 1993, 125 – 126; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.; Heller 2010, 343 and 400; Monerie 2014, 20 n. 18; Anson 2015, 174; Scolnic 2015), but others rightly reject the identification (Vezin 1907, 86 n. 1; Bosworth 2002, 108 n. 42; Potts 2018a, 2; cf. Jacobs 1994, 151). Alexander seems to have set out from Opis towards Ekbatana and crossed the Tigris before reaching the Κάραι κῶμαι. This would imply that Opis lay west of a branch of the Tigris (cf. Barrington Atlas, map 91 F4; Monerie 2019, 160), while the Κάραι κῶμαι were situated east of the river, likely several days removed from Opis: Diodoros only mentions the locations where Alexander halted to rest the army after two to six days of marching (cf. Engels 1978a, 154– 155: they had to take at least one day’s rest after 5 to 7 days of marching). The route probably was roughly the one from Opis to Apollonia on the map of Monerie 2019, 160. Whatever the exact identification, their being located at some distance east of the Tigris rules out that Alexander’s Κάραι κῶμαι can be the same as Eumenes’ Καρῶν κῶμαι, since it is most unlikely that Eumenes spent the winter of 318/7 east of that river. He wished to reach the upper satrapies as soon as possible and had hurried from Phoinikia through Syria into Mesopotamia, and then into Babylonia (Diod. XVIII 73.2 with Vezin 1907, 85 – 86). Identifying the location of his winter camp with the Κάραι κῶμαι would imply that he had already undertaken the difficult crossing of the Tigris (which was not fordable: see below, 12.5 συναγαγόντος…) in the late autumn of 318 and would nevertheless have gone back into Babylonia in early spring, having to cross the Tigris again, only to transfer his

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army across the river once more later that spring (cf. Vezin 1907, 86 n. 1; Potts 2018a, 2). Given the great number of events in 318/7 after Eumenes’ release from Nora, (cf. Boiy 2006, 78; Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 238 – 239), it must already have been late in the season when Eumenes arrived in Babylonia – even if the fleet was never built, as Landucci Gattinoni points out (contra Anson 2006a, 5 – 6); the time of the year is also likely to be the reason why Antigonos and Seleukos did not undertake any action against Eumenes until the next spring. We may well presume, then, that he let his men go into winter quarters upon his arrival in the north of Babylonia (cf. Grainger 1990a, 35), and did not have the time to go all the way to the east of the satrapy. Furthermore, Diodoros (XIX 12.3) claims that Eumenes only reached the Tigris later on, after having left his winter quarters. Having ruled out the place where Alexander had rested his army on his way from Opis to Ekbatana, we are not much closer to a positive identification, though. Most scholars assume that the Καρῶν κῶμαι must have been a Karian settlement (see Schäfer 2002, 131 n. 1 with further references; Kessler 2002, 246; Boiy 2004, 120 n. 53 and 2007b, 55 n. 122; Heller 2010, 343; Potts 2018a; Monerie 2019, 174), and we do indeed know of an Achaimenid settlement, or ḫaṭru, of Karians in the vicinity of Nippur (Stolper 1985, 73 and 79; Van der Spek 1986, 80 – 81 and 104– 105; Dandamayev 1992, 16 – 18; Tubach 1995, 102– 103; Waerzeggers 2006; Potts 2018a, 3 – 6; cf. Briant 1982a, 194– 197; Dandamaev & Lukonin 1989, 147– 152). The ḫaṭru near Nippur, however, is not the most likely location of Eumenes’ winter quarters because he would probably not have penetrated so far south into Babylonia without the permission of its satrap before the onset of winter (though Potts 2018a, 4 suggests that the canals around Nippur would have provided security). The same is true for the other two areas in Babylonia where Karian settlers are attested, Borsippa and Babylon itself (cf. Waerzeggers 2006, 1). Borsippa can also be ruled out on the further ground that the Karians there did not live in a separate community but had mingled with the rest of the population (Potts 2018a, 3), so that there would have been little reason to call this settlement Karian. There might have been other such settlements elsewhere in Babylonia (on the possibility of different ḫaṭrus with the same name: Stolper 1985, 79), but the assumption of such an unknown Karian settlement is not necessary: indeed, it is by no means certain that the name Καρῶν κῶμαι refers to Karians rather than phonetically reflecting a toponym containing the syllable -kar-. Preferring the latter option, Smith (1924, 132 n. 1) assumes an adaptation of the Babylonian name Bit-ka-a-[ri] which is mentioned in texts from Uruk. Tom Boiy suggested to me that another possibility would be the place Bitkarē near Borsippa, if Καρῶν κῶμαι was indeed such a corruption of a Babylonian toponym. Both Uruk and Borsippa would seem too far south, but many

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other options are conceivable. Besides any other reason for a toponym to include the syllable -kar-, one might conjecture a connection with the Akkadian word kāru, meaning port, or its plural kārun (cf. infra, on 79.6, Ποταμοὺς Καρῶν): for an overview of such place names see Yamada 2005, 58 – 61 (cf. ibid., 68 and 79 – 80, for the existence of groups of kārun). While the point of the similarity between the Greek word Καρῶν and the Akkadian kārun should not be pressed too far, it does not seem less attractive to me than assuming a Karian connection that would require the existence of an unknown Karian colony (for a similar problem, cf. infra, 79.6 Ποταμοὺς Καρῶν). In the end, the solution to the question where Eumenes spent the winter of 318/7 continues to elude us, but it would seem to me that the location is to be sought somewhere in the northwest of Babylonia, well away from the headquarters of the hostile satrap. Although this may roughly take us to the same area as the Κάραι through which Seleukos passed in the winter of 312/1 on his way to recovering his satrapy, there is no need to assume the identity of these two places either (cf. infra, 91.1 κατήντησεν). Σέλευκον: At least from 326 BCE onwards Seleukos commanded Alexander’s elite infantry guard, the ἄγημα of the hypaspists, and at Babylon he was appointed chiliarch, commander of the cavalry. He was one of the officers who killed Perdikkas in 320, and was rewarded with the satrapy of Babylonia at the conference of Triparadeisos (Berve 1926, II, no. 700; Bengtson 1975, 37– 61; Hauben 1975, no. 31; Mooren 1975, no. 2; Seibert 1983, 234– 238; Mehl 1986; Grainger 1990a; Heckel 1992, 253 – 257, and 2006, 246 – 248; Capdetrey 2007b; Monerie 2014, 161– 163; Ogden 2017, 11– 22). Πίθωνα: Peithon Krateua had been one of Alexander’s seven σωματοφύλακες at least from 325 onwards. After the king’s death, he became satrap of Media, a post which he still held at this time (Berve 1926, II, no. 621; Heckel 1992, 276 – 279, and 2006, 195 – 196 [P 3]). His eventual failure must not make us underestimate the important role he played in the Wars of the Successors (Meeus 2013a, 132; Heckel 2016, 238 n. 43). After having killed Philippos, the satrap of Parthyaia and replacing him with his own brother Eudamos, Peithon was faced by a coalition of the other governors from the upper satrapies, who feared that he would try to depose them too. Peithon was defeated and retreated to Media before fleeing to Babylonia (XIX 14.1– 3, with commentary ad loc.). ἀξιῶν βοηθεῖν τοῖς βασιλεῦσι καὶ μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ συναγωνίσασθαι πρὸς ᾿Aντίγονον: Given the clear, but often underestimated, popularity of the Argeads (Meeus 2009a; Carney 2015), it is not surprising that the Diadochoi used the argument of supporting the kings – most likely rather because of the propaganda effect than because of actual care for the dynastic cause, though. See also below, 61.4 αὐτοῦ…, for a clear affirmation of the weight of the argument.

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In 318 the regent Polyperchon appointed Eumenes as royal representative in Asia, ordering the Silver Shields to join him and giving him the right to draw on the royal treasures. According to the letter Diodoros quotes, Polyperchon chose Eumenes because the latter had always shown himself a most loyal supporter of the dynasty (XVIII 57.2– 4). In reality, of course, Polyperchon’s main aim was to strengthen Antigonos’ enemy in Asia, in order to avoid that Monophthalmos would cross to Europe. Furthermore, it is debated whether Eumenes actually was an Argead loyalist, or merely posed as such for the political benefits it would yield. The sources consistently portray him as showing genuine care for the dynasty (Diod. XVIII 53.2, 53.7, 57.4, 58.4, 73.2, XIX 24.1 and 2, 42.5, 44.2; Plut. Eum. 12.3 – 4; HE F3.1– 2), which used to be accepted uncritically by scholars: e.g. Droysen 1878, I, 198; Kaerst 1907, 1087– 1090; Vezin 1907, 126; Berve 1926, II, 158; Taeger 1957, 229; Cloché 1959, 121; Wehrli 1968, 40; Tarn 1969, 479 – 480). Yet, we cannot rule out that this is the propagandistic representation of what was mere expediency (Westlake 1969, 323 – 327; Will 1979, 53 – 54; Hornblower 1981, 134– 135, 159 – 163, and 169; Bosworth 1992a, 67 with n. 69; Anson 2015, 133). Green (1990, 17), on the other hand assumes that the modern scepticism on the matter is exaggerated, and that Eumenes was a true and loyal royalist (cf. Bengtson 1987, 38; Borza 1995, 243 – 244; Geiger 1995, 173; Carney 2000, 297 n. 83; Huß 2001, 140; Heckel 2006, 120; Borza & Palagia 2007, 108). In the present instance as well as several others it is remarkable that Eumenes’ loyalty is contrasted with an anti-Argead stance of Antigonos (cf. supra, Part I, §3.2.3). Antigonos Monophthalmos was one of the old Macedonian generals who had already served under Philippos. He was appointed satrap of Greater Phrygia by Alexander in 333, and he maintained this office throughout Alexander’s reign. Although in this function he did not belong to the king’s closest circle, he fulfilled a crucial role in securing Alexander’s communications in Asia Minor. Both in 323 and in 320 at Triparadeisos he was confirmed in his office, and at the latter occasion he was also appointed στρατηγός of Asia (Berve 1926, II, no. 87; Wehrli 1968, 29 – 135; Briant 1973b; Müller 1973, 17– 59, 78 – 93; Hauben 1975, no. 3; Engel, s.d.; Seibert 1983, 196 – 198; Billows 1990; Heckel 2006, 32– 34). Again, though not as explicitly as in some other instances, we see Antigonos being presented as a rebel against the kings. The sources stress Antigonos’ ambition to establish his own supreme power, no longer obeying the kings, soon after Triparadeisos (Diod. XVIII 41.4– 5, 47.5, 50.1– 2 and 5, 52.8, 54.4, 57.3, 58.4; Plut. Eum. 12.1; HE F3.2, cf. XVIII 63.4; Wheatley 2001, 154, and 2009a, 61; contra Cloché 1949, Wehrli 1968, 72– 73; Briant 1973b, 150 n. 4, and Billows 1990, 3 – 5 and passim, who assume that the sources anachronistically attribute such ambitions to Antigonos before 316, if he had them at all).

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12.2 τῆς Μηδίας: On the satrapy of Media in northern Iran, see Berve 1926, I, 264; Edson 1958, 168 n. 36; Eddy 1961, 96 – 97; Schober 1981, passim; Schottky 1989, passim; Orth 1993, 128; Capdetrey 2007a, 366; Hyland 2013, 120 – 121. Cf. infra, 20.3 τῆς δὲ χώρας… for the importance of its horses. τῆς Βαβυλωνίας: The satrapy of Babylonia in southern Mesopotamia was important because of its wealth and as the new base of Alexander’s fleet, see Schober 1981, passim; Orth 1993, 114– 115; Heller 2010, esp. 392– 398; Ogden 2017, 14 with further references. σατράπης: A satrap was the governor of a province (σατραπεία) in the Achaimenid empire, though in some instances the designation satrap is an honorary title rather an office (on the etymology, see Tavernier 2007, 34– 35 and 436 – 437). Alexander adopted the organization of the empire and the title of satrap along with it: Julien 1914; Lehmann-Haupt, ‘Satrap’, RE IIA.1 (1921), 82– 162; Berve 1926, I, 273 – 283; Bosworth 1988a, 229 – 240; Petit 1990; Jacobs 1994; Briant 1996, passim (cf. index s.v.); Klinkott 2005; Jacobs 2011; Capdetrey 2012a, 233 – 239; Khatchadourian 2016, 1– 24. καθ᾽ ὃν καιρὸν ἡ δευτέρα διαίρεσις ἐγενήθη τῶν σατραπειῶν ἐν Τριπαραδείσῳ: After the death of the regent Perdikkas in Egypt in 320, the Diadochoi reorganized the administration of the empire. Besides the appointment of a new regent, many satraps were replaced, deposing Perdikkan ones and rewarding men who had fought against him. Actually, Peithon had already been appointed satrap of Media at Babylon in 323, but Seleukos was indeed given his office at Triparadeisos, probably out of gratitude for his role in killing Perdikkas (Will 1979, 41; Mehl 1986, 32– 33; Billows 1990, 70; Grainger 1990a, 27– 28; Landucci Gattinoni 2007, 31– 32; Waterfield 2011, 66 – 68; Anson 2014, 70 – 71). On the redistribution of the satrapies, see Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 174– 180, esp. 177 for Seleukos and Peithon. Diodoros (XVIII 39.1) situates Triparadeisos in ἄνω Συρία, but its exact location is unknown (Schlumberger 1969; Ghadban 1987, 221 and 224– 227 [who both argue that it is not a specific place, but the whole region of the (northern) Beqaa]; Högemann 1992, 275; Orth 1993, 98 – 99; Rathmann 2005a, 363; Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 169). With Antipatros in or on his way to Kilikia, Antigonos in Cyprus and Ptolemy and the temporary regents Peithon and Arrhidaios in Egypt such a location of course made perfect sense. On the date in the late summer 320, which now seems firmly established, see Stylianou 1994, 71– 84; Anson 2002/3; Boiy 2007b, 134 and passim. οἱ δὲ περὶ Σέλευκον: It is usually assumed that οἱ περί + acc. nominis proprii is often used periphrastically, so that οἱ περὶ X = X himself, not including ‘those around him’ (detailed analysis by Radt 1980, 47– 56 and 1988; cf. e.g. KG, II.1,

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270; SD, II, 427; LSJ s.v. περί C I 2; Hamilton 1969, 211; de Foucault 1972, 113 – 115; Bizière 1975, xxiii n. 1; Chamoux 1993, lxxi; Georgiadou 1997, 97; Cohen-Skalli 2007, 232– 234; Pothecary 2011, 43). However, Traina (1956, 201– 202) expressed doubts as to whether such periphrastic usage is to be found in historians, and Dubuisson (1977), in the most thorough study of the problem, argued that periphrastic use is frequent when περί governs more than one object, but is not evidenced in Antiquity when there is only one object: i. e. while οἱ περὶ X καὶ Y may often mean X and Y alone, οἱ περὶ X never means X alone (cf. Durvye 2018a, 161 n. 58, 182 n. 149). Recently Gorman (2001 and 2003) contended that Dubuisson has created a false dichotomy and that no certain instances of periphrastic use are to be found in Strabo and Polybios, even when περί governs multiple objects. He concludes that because other interpretations are always possible, we should never assume periphrastic use in these two authors. Gorman’s approach is highly critical, and indeed successful to the extent that he shows that there are no certain examples in the two authors he studied. He is definitely correct that all too often periphrasis is assumed where literal usage is in fact more likely (a Diodorean case in point is ‘Eumenes and his army’ at XIX 26.5, pace Cohen-Skalli 2007, 234 n. 20). It is striking indeed that there are no instances where ambiguity is completely impossible, such as in Gorman’s hypothetical example of the death of one person being described as the death of οἱ περί that person. On the other hand, it may also be telling that in many instances it does not really matter whether only the individuals whose names are mentioned are meant or whether their entourage is included as well (e.g. when a Roman consul levies troops it is evident that the subordinates who are responsible for the actual levying are involved in the action, even if the consul’s name alone is mentioned). Possibly the usage expanded over time from such instances where the main individual was mentioned with the inclusion of his necessary associates in the οἱ περί-construction to definitely periphrastic use. Radt (2002) in his brief – and apparently rather hastily written – response to Gorman’s article on Strabo, expressed disagreement with the very critical approach of Dubuisson and Gorman. He lists several counter-examples, but the only one which could stand up to Gorman’s criticism is the practice of Theodoros Gaza in his translation of Cicero’s De senectute. Theodoros often translates the mention of X in Cicero as οἱ περὶ X (e.g. 15, 27, 29, 56). All cases could be placed in a separate category, though: they are all examples, so that a translation into English as ‘men such as X’ is very well possible. Even at 56, where Theodoros translates ‘Curius et ceteri senes’ as οἱ περὶ Κούριον καὶ ἕτεροι γέροντες, and where ἕτεροι γέροντες already indicates that Curius is just one example among many, the construction can be rendered into English as ‘men like Curius and other elders’. Theodoros wrote in the fifteenth century, but he was an admir-

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er of the style of Plutarch and other ancient authors (Jocelyn 1989, 96), so his late date need not necessarily imply that his usage was different. The same interpretation of οἱ περί indicating an example is also possible for two important instances in Diodoros: I 37.3: οἱ μὲν γὰρ περὶ τὸν Ἑλλάνικον καὶ Κάδμον, ἔτι δ᾽ Ἑκαταῖον, καὶ πάντες οἱ τοιοῦτοι, παλαιοὶ παντάπασιν ὄντες, εἰς τὰς μυθώδεις ἀποφάσεις ἀπέκλιναν. XX 37.4: διὰ τὴν ἐπιφάνειαν οὖν τοῦ γένους οἱ περὶ Κάσσανδρον καὶ Λυσίμαχον, ἔτι δὲ ᾿Aντίγονον καὶ Πτολεμαῖον καὶ καθόλου πάντες οἱ μετὰ τὴν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου τελευτὴν ἀξιολογώτατοι τῶν ἡγεμόνων ταύτην ἐμνήστευον.

Because of the explicit mention of πάντες οἱ τοιοῦτοι in the first passage it is not possible to argue that οἱ περί indicates other authors who follow the opinion of the named writers, as Gorman did for similar instances in Strabo (2001, 211– 213). Likewise, the mention of καθόλου πάντες οἱ μετὰ τὴν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου τελευτὴν ἀξιολογώτατοι τῶν ἡγεμόνων in the second instance precludes the interpretation of οἱ περί as ‘the other Diadochoi’. It would require special pleading to see any other group included there, e.g. the philoi of the diadochoi who served as messengers to Kleopatra or whoever else who could have been involved. Thus, in both sentences οἱ περί seems to be periphrastic; of course, we might be facing pleonastic phrases here, but such pleonastic usage suggests that the locution may – at the very least – have started to be perceived periphrastically (on pleonastic phrases in Diodoros, see Palm 1955, e.g. 37, 77, 97– 98, 145, 167 and 176 n. 1). Because of the possibility to interpret the phrase at I 37.3 and XX 37.4 as ‘men like’, unambiguous instances in Diodoros are extremely rare, but I have found one passage where the use of οἱ περί seems to be undoubtedly periphrastic, namely XVIII 25.4: οἱ δὲ περὶ τὸν Κρατερὸν καὶ ᾿Aντίπατρον διὰ τὸ παράδοξον τῆς προσαγγελίας καταπλαγέντες συνήδρευσαν μετὰ τῶν ἡγεμόνων. The phrase cannot include the entourage of Krateros and Antipatros, because the other leaders of the council are mentioned separately: if these leaders are not meant, it is hard to see who is. Indeed, although pleonastic usage cannot be definitively ruled out, here it seems that οἱ περὶ X καὶ Y simply means ‘X and Y’. The existence of one certain instance implies that there is no reason to exclude a priori that many of those where a different interpretation is possible, are periphrastic after all. In sum, periphrastic use is probably not as frequent as is usually assumed, but I think Radt (2002) rightly objects to Gorman’s approach by stating ‘daß es zwar sehr oft eine Ermessensfrage ist, ob man es mit einer reinen Periphrase (οἱ περὶ X = X) zu tun hat oder nicht, daß es aber andererseits auch nicht angeht, den periphrastischen Gebrauch möglichst weit einzuschränken

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(…)’. Since I would agree with Gorman that the dichotomy between applications of the phrase to single or to multipile individuals is unnecessary, this conclusion holds for οἱ περὶ X just as well as for οἱ περὶ X καὶ Y. In the present case, with the opinion of οἱ περὶ Σέλευκον being followed by a debate, periphrastic use is certainly possible: whilst others will have agreed with Seleukos from the start, it is not unlikely that he started the debate by giving his personal opinion that he was prepared to side with the kings, but would never cooperate with Eumenes. I see no reason to interpret the phrase as a reference to Seleukos and Peithon since the context of οἱ περὶ Σέλευκον καὶ Πίθωνα at 12.5 is a very different one (pace Dubuisson 1977, 93 – 94). οὗ Μακεδόνες συνελθόντες κατέγνωσαν θάνατον: Eumenes and the other Perdikkans were condemned to death in 320 after the First War of the Successors had ended with the defeat and murder of Perdikkas in Egypt (Diod. XVIII 37.2; Arr. Succ. F1.30; Plut. Eum. 8.3; Nep. Eum. 5.1; Just. XIV 1.1; Schäfer 2002, 95; Anson 2015, 125 – 126). On an earlier occasion Ptolemaios had used the same argument to try to convince the commanders of the Silver Shields not to side with the Kardian (Diod. XVIII 62.1). It has been argued that Seleukos’ use of the argument shows that Eumenes had not been granted a pardon when he was appointed royal general in Asia (Fontana 1960, 126; Westlake 1969, 328 – 329; Hornblower 1981, 161 with n. 240; Grainger 1990a, 37; Hadley 1996, 135 and 142, and 2001, 12; Anson 2004, 147 and 2008a, 144). However, Diodoros’ silence on a potential recision is obviously insignificant (Meeus 2013b, 88), and XVIII 60.1 does not mean that the sentence still existed, but only that the same soldiers who had pronounced it now served under Eumenes’ command. Furthermore, the choice of Seleukos and Peithon to join Antigonos rather than Eumenes was mainly inspired by their own political interests (Schober 1981, 80). Thus, it is more likely that the argument is used here because as allies of Kassandros they simply did not recognize Polyperchon’s rehabilitation of the Kardian (cf. Will 1979, 53, ‘Polyperchon et Eumène n’étant guère reconnus (…) chacun que par l’autre’; Billows 1990, 88 n. 14; O’Neil 1999b, 39). ἀξιοῦντες ἀφιστάναι τῆς ἡγεμονίας Εὐμενῆ: Similar requests by Ptolemaios and Antigonos had been sent to the argyraspids the year before, shortly after they had joined Eumenes (Diod. XVIII 62.1 and 63.2), and were repeated later on by Seleukos and Peithon themselves (XIX 13.1) and by Antigonos (XIX 25.2– 3) (cf. Anson 2004, 255). None of these attempts was successful, however. It is not immaterial in this respect that Seleukos was the former commander of the Silver Shields (cf. Hornblower 1981, 192; Bosworth 2002, 109): in 318 Antigonos had sent some of his Macedonians to the Silver Shields to make contact with τοῖς γνωριζομένοις καὶ πολίταις and entice them to defect from Eumenes (Diod. XVIII 62.4). If such links of familiarity and origin mattered, we should not under-

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estimate the possible importance of the connection between the troops and their former commander. Hornblower (loc. cit.), therefore, does not understand ‘why the regiment failed to respond to its old commander’. Mehl (1986, 48) assumes that they could be convinced ‘nur mit Geld’, but it is clear that there was another factor at play: the argyraspids remained loyal to the Kardian, because he had been appointed by the regent in the name of the kings (Diod. XVIII 62.2; Anson 1981, 119 – 120; Bosworth 2002, 101– 102; Meeus 2009a, 240 and 2020, 311 n. 121).

12.3 τὸν Τίγριν ποταμόν: On the Tigris, see Orth 1993, 138; Monerie 2019, 160 – 161. At XVIII 73.3 – 4 Diodoros narrates a very similar episode of Eumenes crossing a river, but he seems to locate it near the Euphrates. Perhaps this is a plain mistake (cf. Hornblower 1981, 113; Billows 1990, 88 n. 13). Bosworth (2002, 111 n. 50), on the other hand, suggests that at XVIII 73.3 Diodoros might have described the direction of Seleukos’ attack rather than its location, so that παρὰ τὸν Εὐφράτην ποταμόν need not be an error, but is simply ‘a misleading contraction’. The doublet need not mean that Diodoros used two different sources; probably it is the result of Diodoros ending one book and beginning another (Kaerst 1907, 1088; Bizière 1975, XVII n. 2; supra, Part I, §2.2.1; contra Unger 1878, 426 – 428). Errington (1977, 484 n. 27; cf. Bizière 1975, ad 13.2) rightly argues that the story at XVIII 73.3 – 4 must be an anticipating doublet of the present event, because here Diodoros explicitly places it after the winter, which means it must have happened in spring 317 (316 for Errington). We know that it must have been early spring, as Antigonos was still in Mesopotamia, where he had spent the winter (XIX 13.5; see also above, 12.1 παρεχείμασε…). Mehl (1986, 45 – 48) provides a reconstruction in which both episodes become separate events, but – in spite of his interesting argument – they are so similar that this is unlikely. Tubach (1995, 102– 103), on the other hand, assumes that the skirmishing and the diversion of the canal did happen at the Euphrates. His assumption is based on the error in Diodoros XVIII 73.3 and his identification of the Καρῶν κῶμαι with the fief of the Karians at Bannēšu, in the Dur-enlil district, near to the place where the Enlil-canal flowed out in the Euphrates, in the region of Nippur. He argues that it is easy to imagine that the episode of the diversion of the canal by Seleukos is to be situated here. Even if his identification of the Καρῶν κῶμαι is correct (but see above, 12.1 παρεχείμασε…), there were enough canals near the Tigris as well. Furthermore, Diodoros’ narrative makes it clear that after crossing the canal, Eumenes reached Susiana (see below, 13.6). Tubach (1995, 104 n. 45) further contends that Seleukos need not have negotiated with

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Eumenes to make him leave when the latter was already crossing the Tigris into Susiana. However, the aim of the negotiations was not just to make sure that Eumenes would leave, but to end the fighting and have him leave as soon as possible (τὴν ταχίστην). τῆς Βαβυλῶνος ἀπέχων σταδίους τριακοσίους: On the city of Babylon in the age of the Successors, see Boiy 2004, 117– 140. As far as we know Eumenes did not come from Babylon, and the text does not necessarily imply this (contra Tubach 1995, 103 n. 37); nor is there any reason to assume that this in any way gives an indication about the location of the Καρῶν κῶμαι (as Anson 2015, 174 seems to do). Indicating the distance to the nearest major city might have been a usual way (of Diodoros’ present source?) of indicating a location: at 17.3 a position near the Tigris (actually the Pasitigris) is located by giving the distance to Susa. 300 stades is about 55 km; Eumenes must thus have been somewhere in the vicinity of Opis (Bosworth 2002, 109 – 110). Σοῦσα: The capital city of the satrapy of Susiana, situated between the Choaspes and Koprates rivers (cf. infra, ad τοῖς βασιλικοῖς θησαυροῖς). On Susa in the Hellenistic period, see Le Rider 1965, 277– 296; Orth 1993, 136 – 137; Martinez-Se`ve 2002; Capdetrey 2007a, 364– 365; Plischke 2014, 105 – 107 and passim; Potts 2016a, passim and 2016b. τὰς ἐκ τῶν ἄνω σατραπειῶν δυνάμεις: The upper satrapies were the provinces east of the Tigris, but sometimes the region between Euphrates and Tigris was included as well (Schober 1981, 1– 2; Orth 1993, 109 – 110; Briant 1996, I, 765; Capdetrey 2007a, 267– 268; Rathmann 2007, 96; Engels 2017, 114– 117; Landucci Gattinoni 2019; see also below, 14.4 τῶν ἄνω σατραπῶν). It is clear from 13.7 that Eumenes did not yet know that the forces from the upper satrapies had already been assembled. Perhaps he hoped for their support because of the influence of Antigenes, the commander of the Silver Shields and satrap of Susiana, who had joined him at Kyinda (cf. supra, 12.1 τοὺς ἀργυράσπιδας…). Possibly he also thought that these men would for some reason be more inclined to obey the orders of the kings than the powerful satraps of western Asia (cf. Schäfer 2002, 133; cf. infra, 61.4 αὐτοῦ…). τοῖς βασιλικοῖς θησαυροῖς: Susa had been one of the capital cities of the Achaimenid Empire, which is why such an important treasure was stored there (Berve 1926, I, esp. 317; Olmstead 1948, 163 – 171; Cook 1983, 158 – 159; Dandamaev & Lukonin 1989, 206 – 209, esp. 208 – 209; Shahbazi 1990, 768 – 769; Briant 1996, I, 177– 180 and passim; Holt 2016, 75 – 77 and passim; Potts 2016b, 30 – 33; cf. Klinkott 2005, 401– 406; Capdetrey 2007a, 32). At XVIII 58.1 Diodoros only mentions Polyperchon giving Eumenes the right to draw on the funds in Kilikia, but he is selectively reporting the contents of the letter (Meeus 2013b, 88). Since Eumenes could get from those treasures ‘whatever additional money he requested for rais-

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ing mercenaries and other pressing needs’ and was στρατηγὸς τῆς ὅλης ᾿Aσίας αὐτοκράτωρ (Diod. XVIII 58.1), he was probably allowed to use the other royal treasuries as well. His right to use the treasury at Susa is confirmed at XIX 15.5. It is likely that the royal treasurer in Susa was serious about his loyalty to the dynasty owning the money he guarded (cf. infra, 18.1 ἀπειθοῦντος…). On the size of the treasure at Susa: XIX 48.7.

12.4 διὰ τὸ τὴν μὲν κατόπιν χώραν προνενομεῦσθαι: Since Eumenes spent the winter in Babylonia, he had been using the food supplies there for months (Anson 2004, 162; cf. Briant 1996, I, 385), while the new grain was not yet ready for harvesting so early in spring. Bosworth (2002, 109) assumes that Seleukos had also stripped the country of provisions, as the Persians had done to harm the Ten Thousand. On the shortage in Babylonia in this period, see also Van der Spek 2000, 303; Pirngruber 2017, 107– 122; cf. Monerie 2018, 128 – 173 who mostly focuses on the years 311– 308. There are no astronomical diaries for these years to inform us about the price of barley (Pirngruber 2017, 107); what used to be taken as a possible mention in the Chronicle of the Diadochoi (BCHP 3, Obv. 28 – 30) of measures by Seleukos to fix the price of grain at this time (Mehl 1986, 42– 44) may rather be a levy of silver according to newer readings (cf. Pirngruber 2017, 111 and 120 n. 72). For a recent overview of food supply problems in Antiquity, see Pazdera 2006, 43 – 83. The verb προνομεύειν is very rare in Diodoros. There are only three other instances, one in book XIX, at 25.2, and two elsewhere, in XIII 109.3 and XX 18.2. They all occur in combination with τὴν χώραν. XIII 109.3 and XX 18.2 both belong to the history of Sicily, as it happens twice concerning wars against Carthage. If both of those may come from the same source, which would then most likely be Timaios, they still do not explain the two occurrences in the history of the Successors, and it should be noted that the word seems to be typically Hellenistic. τὴν δὲ πέραν ἀκέραιον εἶναι καὶ δαψιλεῖς δύνασθαι παρέχεσθαι τροφὰς τῷ στρατοπέδῳ: Compare the description of the area at XIX 13.6. For such comments on the amount of food available to an army, see also below, 13.6 ὄρυζαν…, 21.2 πλήρης…, 26.2 ἀκέραιος… and 34.7 οὖσαν ἀκέραιον… They appear particularly frequently in book XIX, though see also e.g. XVII 53.3. This combination of an area being ἀκέραιος and being able to provide food for the army δαψιλῶς seems unique to book XIX: see also 26.2, 32.2 and 34.7.

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12.5 συναγαγόντος οὖν αὐτοῦ πλοῖα πανταχόθεν: Ships were needed because the Tigris was usually not wadeable (Arr. Anab. VII 7.3; Monerie 2019, 160 – 161). Alexander had forded the Tigris once, but it had been a difficult and hazardous venture (Diod. XVII 55.3 – 6); furthermore, that was at a different time of the year and at a point much higher up the stream (Geer 1947, 261 n. 4). Bosworth (2002, 110 n. 47) also points to the difficulties the Ten Thousand experienced in trying to cross the waters in Babylonia. At 13.3 Diodoros specifies that the boats used for the crossing were κοντωτὰ πλοῖα. These were light, shallow-draft vessels propelled by poles, but probably also equipped with sails (Casson 1971, 334; Bosworth, loc. cit.). Where exactly Eumenes got these boats from is unknown. Bosworth (2002, 110) seems to confuse them with the ships of Seleukos and Peithon, which had indeed been constructed by Alexander, but probably Eumenes had to buy, hire or commandeer them from the locals (cf. next lemma). ἔτι γὰρ τὰ σκάφη ταῦτα περιῆν ἐκ τῶν ὑπ᾽ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου ναυπηγηθέντων περὶ Βαβυλῶνα: It is often assumed that these were the ships Alexander had built in 323 for the Arabian campaign mentioned by Arrian Anab. VII 19.4 (e.g. Geer 1947, ad loc.; Bizière 1975, ad loc.; Schäfer 2002, 134 n. 15; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.). This may be true for the two triremes, but the other vessels were probably constructed by Alexander for crossing the Babylonian rivers (cf. Bosworth 2002, 110). The words τὰ σκάφη ταῦτα are ambiguous in that they can either refer to both the boats of Eumenes and those of Seleukos and Peithon, or to the latter only. One would expect the fleet Alexander constructed to have been controlled by Seleukos’ men and consequently inaccessible to Eumenes. Therefore, it is more likely that only the vessels of Seleukos and Peithon are meant by τὰ σκάφη ταῦτα.

13.1 πάλιν ἐπεχείρουν τοὺς Μακεδόνας πείθειν ἀποστῆσαι τὸν Εὐμενῆ τῆς στρατηγίας: See above, 12.2 ἀξιοῦντες… προάγειν: Geer’s translation ‘preferring’ catches the sense of the passage much better than Bizière’s ‘donner une promotion’, so that the remark ‘Normalement cette promotion est donnée par le roi ou son représentant’ (Bizière 1975, ad loc.) seems to miss the point. ἄνδρα ξένον: Scholars often assume that prejudice against Eumenes as a Greek is an important theme in the sources. There are not many passages, however, where his ethnicity is a disadvantage. The reason why Seleukos and Peithon use it here might well be that other arguments in previous attempts to make the argyraspids abandon Eumenes had proven ineffective, in which case his

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Greek origins obviously are not the main objection they had against Eumenes. Furthermore, they do not so much have a problem with Eumenes being a foreigner, as with him being a foreigner who killed many Macedonians (cf. next lemma). Eumenes’ ethnicity is pointed out in a similar context in Plutarch’s Eumenes (8.1) where, after the death of Krateros, it is said that a foreigner had used Macedonian weapons and hands to kill a leading Macedonian. At 18.2 Plutarch writes that the Silver Shields called Eumenes a Χερρονησίτης ὄλεθρος (‘a pest from the Chersonesus’), but one should understand that reproach in its context which explicitlty makes clear that ethnicity was not the problem (see below, 43.9 τὸν στρατηγόν…). At Diodoros XVIII 62.7 Antigenes compares the treatment he and Teutamos would receive from Antigonos and Eumenes respectively. He supposed that the former, once in power, would take away their satrapies from them and appoint his own friends in their place, while the latter, being a foreigner would never dare to advance his own interests and would treat them as his friends. Antigenes might well have been echoing Eumenes’ own arguments here: the Kardian regularly seems to have exploited his Greekness to conceal his ambitions by claiming that – as a Greek – he could not rightfully aspire to personal power. At Babylon in June 323, although he was on the side of the nobles, he stated that he should not interfere in the disagreement between the Macedonians. He then tried to prompt the infantrymen to make a compromise, exploiting his professed neutrality (Plut. Eum. 3.1– 3). In the debate over the leadership of the satrapal coalition in 317 (cf. infra, on chapter 15), he supposedly acknowledged that he could not hold the supreme command or aspire to the kingship because he was not Macedonian, only to come up with a stratagem to influence the decisions as much as possible while maintaining the unity of the coalition (Diod. XVIII 60.1– 3; Nepos. Eum. 7.1). Only one passage explicitly states that his ethnicity was the cause of Eumenes’ downfall, namely Nepos’ introduction to his Eumenes (1.2– 3) which is certainly the result of the latter’s own rhetoric (cf. Anselm 2004, 137– 140 on Nepos’ Eumenes). There is thus no reason to assume that it is a ‘romantic picture’ created by Hieronymos, as it is called by Anson (2004, 258; cf. Landucci Gattinoni 1979 and 2008, 237). Given the very limited ancient evidence for Eumenes’ ethnicity being a handicap, and the fact that it is explicitly mentioned as such only in Nepos’ introduction, it need not have been an important theme for Hieronymos. Surely the view that the latter was lamenting the discrimination he himself experienced as a Greek by stressing the same problem in Eumenes’ career (Westlake 1969, 321), is hardly compatible with the historian’s successful career under the Antigonids (Engel 1972b, 123 n. 13).

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The argument of being a foreigner is also used against Pyrrhos the Epeirote by Demetrios (Plut. Demetr. 44.6, Pyrrh. 11.8) and by Lysimachos (Plut. Pyrrh. 12.10). While Eumenes plays a much larger part in the extant sources on the age of the Successors than Pyrrhos, his nationality is not being used against him much more often than is the case for Pyrrhos. Demetrios’ use of the argument against Pyrrhos was completely unsuccessful, while it is not clear to what extent it mattered in Lysimachos’ case, as other factors were at play as well. Here too Seleukos and Peithon fail to convince the Macedonians with the argument of Eumenes’ ethnicity, and it is clear from subsequent events that the Macedonians in no way objected to their Kardian commander, but on the contrary loved and respected him (especially Plut. Eum. 14; Anson 2004, 252– 253 with n. 92). In 324 Alexander put Eumenes in charge of one of the divisions of the companion cavalry, and even these Macedonian aristocrats accepted his leadership (cf. Anson 2004, 244). In fact, Eumenes’ entire career tells against his Greekness being a handicap (ibid., 246 – 247), and other Greeks also played important roles in the age of the Successors (ibid., 251– 252). During the negotiations at Babylon after Alexander’s death, where Eumenes claimed he could not interfere, another Greek, Nearchos of Crete, actively engaged in the debates, striving for personal power (Curt. X 6.10 – 11; Meeus 2008, 47– 48). Furthermore, it is not unlikely that Lysimachos’ father was a Thessalian (Bengtson 1977, 569; Heckel 1992, 268; Lund 1992, 2– 3; contra Merker 1979 whose arguments fail to convince, however). It is clear, then, that Eumenes’ nationality did not hinder him, and that he even exploited it to his advantage at certain times: see the detailed and conclusive argument by Anson (1980; 2004, 191– 258, esp. 246 – 258), who rightly concludes that Eumenes’ failure was ‘due to ill luck, bad alliances, and one very capable opponent’ (cf. Schäfer 2002, 167; infra, 24.6 ἀφηγουμένου…, 25.4 τῶν δὲ Μακεδόνων…). After all, Antigonos fought against Eumenes not because the latter was a Greek, but initially because Eumenes was sentenced to death for siding with Perdikkas, and later because he wanted to win control of the whole of Asia; the Silver Shields did not betray him because he was a Greek, but because Antigonos had seized their baggage. If Eumenes had been a Macedonian, like Attalos, Alketas and the other Perdikkans (cf. infra, ad 16.1), Antigonos would also have fought against him, and the Silver Shields would still have preferred their own families over him (cf. infra, ad 43.8). Nonetheless, many scholars assume that it is an important theme in the sources, and even the cause of Eumenes’ ultimate downfall, because the Macedonians supposedly never really accepted serving under the command of a Greek (e.g. Green 1990, 17; Borza 1996, 133 – 135; Simonetti Agostinetti 1997, 224; O’Neil 2000, 132; Heckel 2006, 121; cf. Fraser 1996, 184 with n. 19). Errington (1978, 121–

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122) points out that Eumenes was unique among the Successors in experiencing the kind of leadership-issues he faced. This observation is correct, but the cause is not so much that Eumenes was the only Greek to reach such a level of power, but that he was the only one who led a coalition army with so many other satraps who coveted the supreme command. πλείστους Μακεδόνας ἀνῃρηκότα: Eumenes had fought against Macedonians in battles against Neoptolemos (Diod. XVIII 29.4– 5; Plut. Eum. 5.4– 6; Just. XIII 8.3 – 5; Arr. Succ. F1.27), Krateros (Diod. XVIII 30.5 – 32.2; Plut. Eum. 7.4– 12; Nep. Eum. 3.6 – 4.3; Just. XIII 8.6 – 8; Arr. Succ. F1.27) and Antigonos (Diod. XVIII 40.6 – 8; Plut. Eum. 9.3), and many had fallen in these confrontations. Cf. Plut. Eum. 8.1 and 18.1 (discussed in the previous lemma).

13.2 τινα διώρυγα παλαιάν: Cf. XVIII 33.2, διώρυγά τινα παλαιάν. The word διῶρυξ is by no means uncommon in Diodoros or indeed in Greek historiography, but the combination with παλαιά occurs only in his account on the Successors. Apart from Diodoros, Strabo (XI 2.11, XVI 4.23) is the only preserved ancient author to use the combination, though compare Arr. Anab. VII 21.6, τῇ πάλαι διώρυχι. On these Babylonian channels and their state in the early Hellenistic period, see Str. XVI 1.9 – 13; Arr. Anab. VII 21; in general, see Bagg 2012, 267– 270. ἀνέρρηξαν τὴν ἀρχὴν αὐτῆς: Perhaps Seleukos could open up the old canal thanks to the presence of a large workforce which was present every spring for the opening of the Pallukatu canal (Bosworth 2002, 110; cf. Briant 1972, 67 n. 1), but he might also simply have had his soldiers – perhaps in collaboration with local inhabitants – perform the task. The tactical use of diverting watercourses and similar actions were common in Greek warfare (e.g. X. HG V 2.4– 5; Diod. XI 77.2, XVIII 33.1; Luc. Hipp. 2; cf. Mehl 1986, 47 n. 55; Briant 1996, I, 386) as well as in Mesopotamia (Bagg 2014). A similar stratagem may be described in the Diadochoi Chronicle in the war over Babylonia in 311: BCHP 3, Rev. 7’–8’. ὑπὸ τῆς πλήμης: Such is the text of R, while the reading of F is οὐ μὴν ἀλλ’ ὑπὸ τῆς πλύμμης ὑστέρουν ὑπάρχοντες ἐκπεπληγμένοι τὸ παράδοξον. All editors only adopt the undoubtedly correct ὑπὸ τῆς πλήμης of R in the text, while the rest of the sentence is relegated to the apparatus. It is obviously very corrupt, which is probably why it has been left out in the branch of R, but the general sense of the passage is clear, so I consider it to be only a locus semi desperatus: those who were later in crossing the river became stuck and were panic-struck by the unexpected event. Furthermore, ἐκπεπληγμένοι τὸ παράδοξον is a typical Diodorean expression (see e.g. XIII 60.5, XXXII 11.2, and below, 38.5 διὰ τὸ παράδο-

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ξον…; cf. also 16.4 παραδόξως), and οὐ μὴν ἀλλά likewise occurs throughout his work (Palm 1995, 157). Thus, corrupt as it may be, there is no reason to delete it from the text. Apart from replacing F’s ὑπὸ τῆς πλύμμης with R’s ὑπὸ τῆς πλήμης, I do not see how the Greek is to be restored. Nonetheless, it seems preferable to edit not merely the text of R, but †οὐ μὴν ἀλλ’† ὑπὸ τῆς πλήμης †ὑστέρουν ὑπάρχοντες ἐκπεπληγμένοι τὸ παράδοξον†.

13.3 τὰ κοντωτὰ πλοῖα: Cf. supra, 12.5 συναγαγόντος…

13.4 ἀγωνιῶν ὑπὲρ τῆς ἀποσκευῆς: The ἀποσκευή contained not only the necessary provisions and equipment of the army, but also all possessions of the soldiers and even their wives and children. It is no surprise, then, that its protection was of crucial importance, as the soldiers usually did not want to fight when the ἀποσκευή had been seized by the enemy, and even were likely to change sides in order to recover the baggage (Holleaux 1926; Parke 1933, 207– 208; Griffith 1935, 40; Launey 1949 – 1950, 785 – 790; Rostovtzeff 1953, 145 – 146; Pritchett 1991, 173 – 174; Anson 2004, 188 and 253 – 254; Sabin 2007, 414; cf. infra, ad 43.7). The verb ἀγωνιᾶν occurs 31 times in the Bibliotheke, 15 of which in books XIX–XX (see MD s.v., where XIV 4.4 should be 44.4 and I 37.8, XI 5.5 and XIX 100.4 are missing; the fragments yield two further instances: XXXIV/V 27.1, XXXVII 5a). Since there are no instances in book XVIII, and those in XIX and XX belong both to the narrative on the Successors (apart from the present instance XIX 17.6, 21.1, 26.5, 77.5, 77.6, 100.4, XX 23.3, 83.2 96.5, 96.7) and the account of the West (XIX 2.3, XX 55.5, 60.2 66.4), it seems that clustering would be the explanation rather than the influence of any particular source (cf. supra, Part I, §2.3), especially since the first occurrence is to be found in the history of Agathokles, while the majority of instances belongs to the narrative on the Successors. For the combination with ὑπέρ rather than περί the highest incidence is likewise to be observed in book XIX (see also 2.3, 17.6, 21.1 and 77.5; further only I 73.8, XI 5.5, XIV 76.2): the pattern again suggests coincidental clustering rather than the influence of any particular source. On the other hand, the verb is typically Hellenistic, so that the combination of Diodoros’ tendency for clustering and his use of a Hellenistic source may have had a reinforcing effect. τῶν ἐγχωρίων: This is one of the many instances in which the Successors were dependent on the help of members of the indigenous population (cf. infra, 37.6 τοῖς περὶ Εὐμενῆ…). For the use of the words ἐγχώριος and βάρβαρος in the Bib-

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liotheke, see Anello 2005. According to Bizière (1975, xvii n. 1; Hornblower 1981, 178 n. 305) the subject peoples of the Macedonian empire are always referred to as ἐγχώριοι in Diodoros’ books on the Successors, βάρβαροι being used only to describe groups which had not been conquered, such as the Kossaioi, while in books XI, XV and XVII the peoples of the Persian empire are often called barbarians. This claim seems to be rather questionable. The uneven distribution of certain words throughout the Bibliotheke has been discussed in above (Part I, §2.3), and it has been shown that the greater concentration of a particular word in a specific part of Diodoros’ narrative is not necessarily the result of its use in the source for that section of the work. As with many other tendencies in Diodoros’ vocabulary, the spread of the words ἐγχώριος and βάρβαρος in books XVIII–XX is probably a coincidental result of what Palm (1955, 69) aptly called our author’s ‘ausgesprochene Neigung, im Ausdruck zu beharren’. The European tribes which were allied with the Macedonians are still called barbarians (XIX 49.4, 73.9), while the people of Pontos, who were not subject to the Macedonians, are also described as ἐγχώριοι in book XX (26.1). On the other hand, the Asians are often called ἐγχώριοι in the preceding books as well (e.g. XIV 29.1, 31.4, XVII 32.4, 81.3, 85.1, 90.7, 95.2, 96.4, 110.5, 115.5), as are the Libyans in the narrative on Agathokles (e.g. XX 38.2). Bizière’s observation requires that Diodoros would have understood such a fine distinction as that between the subject peoples and the unconquered ethnic groups in Asia and its reflection in the vocabulary of his source. For many scholars – probably including Bizière herself – that would certainly be too high a claim to make for Diodoros. Moreover, even those scholars who do not consider Diodoros to be a mindless compiler must admit that he can only have noticed such a nuance in his source’s choice of words were he to have scrutinized his authorities in the same way modern philologists do. That the author on whom Diodoros relied here would have commented on his use of this vocabulary is both theoretically possible and unlikely in practice. Thus, even if Diodoros’ source did show more respect for the conquered peoples in Asia than for the orientals who had remained free, and would therefore have termed the former ἐγχώριοι and the latter βάρβαροι, this would almost certainly not be reflected in the Bibliotheke. Bizière’s conclusion becomes even less likely if we consider that probably Diodoros used either more than one authority for his narrative on the Successors, or an intermediary source with even less reason to have an affectionate relation to the peoples of Asia conquered by the Macedonians. For the view on barbarians of (one of) his source(s), see also below, 49.4 ἔνιοι… In sum, because the use of ἐγχώριος for the Asian peoples in XVIII–XX is far from unique in the Bibliotheke and because Diodoros is unlikely to have pre-

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served such a distinction as Bizière presumes, her conclusion should probably be rejected.

13.5 βουλόμενοι τὴν ταχίστην αὐτοὺς ἐκ τῆς ἰδίας σατραπείας ἀπαλλάξαι: Probably to relieve his territory and its inhabitants from an army which would plunder the scarce food they could find: cf. supra, 12.4 διὰ τό…; Mehl 1986, 47– 48; Grainger 1990a, 39; Schäfer 2002, 135. ἀνοχῶν: On Diodoros’ use of the word ἀνοχαί (truce), see Gazzano 2007, 244– 245. πρὸς ᾿Aντίγονον: Seleukos may have called on Antigonos because he was afraid that Eumenes would come back with the armies from the upper satrapies (Schäfer 2002, 135). εἰς Μεσοποταμίαν: Antigonos was passing the winter of 318/7 in Mesopotamia: see also 15.6. In the books on the Successors Diodoros always uses the name Μεσοποταμία to indicate the satrapy, and not in its more general sense of the region between Euphrates and Tigris (Bosworth 2002, 233 n. 87; cf. infra, 91.1 κατήντησεν…). On the satrapy of Mesopotamia, see Schober 1981, passim; Orth 1993, 129.

13.6 Εὐμενὴς δὲ διαβὰς τὸν Τίγριν καὶ παραγενόμενος εἰς τὴν Σουσιανήν: This means that Eumenes had left Babylonia in the early spring of 317. Adherents of the low chronology assume that the fighting in Babylon in October 317 mentioned by the Chronicle of the Diadochoi is connected to the struggle between Seleukos and Eumenes (e.g. Bacigalupo Pareo 1975, 206 – 207; Mehl 1986, 46 – 49, Schäfer 2002, 133 – 134; Boiy 2004, 120 – 121; Anson 2004, 159 and 2006a, 1– 2), but this is by no means the only possible explanation (Boiy 2010; cf. Heller 2010, 422– 424; Pirngruber 2017, 111). Furthermore, most other evidence suggests that Eumenes was in Iran fighting Antigonos in the autumn of 317 (cf. Bosworth 2002, 109 n. 46). On the satrapy of Susiana (modern Khuzestan in western Iran), see Schober 1981, passim; Seibert 1985, 210; Plischke 2014, passim. εἰς τρία μέρη διεῖλε τὴν δύναμιν: Alexander likewise divided his army into smaller units when marching through regions where provisions were scarce (Engels 1978a, 36 with n. 55, and passim). σίτου σπάνιν: Susiana was a fertile region, however (Olmstead 1948, 164; Le Rider 1965, 271– 272; Carter & Stolper 1984, 105). Nearchos apparently described

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the voyage up the Pasitigris as going διὰ χώρης οἰκεομένης καὶ εὐδαίμονος (Arr. Ind. 42.5). Strabo (XV 3.11) states that Susiana yielded grain plentifully. The situation Eumenes faced can probably be explained by several factors. First of all, Jardé (1925, 35) argues that Strabo’s claim should be seen in the light of the tendency of Greek authors to exaggerate the fertility of faraway regions. Secondly, Eumenes arrived in Susiana in spring, i. e. in the last months or even weeks before the harvest period, which was often a period of shortage in communities that rely on subsistence agriculture (Engels 1978a, 27– 28 and 1980, 330). Van der Spek (2000, 296) assumes the previous grain harvest had failed. On provision problems of armies crossing alien territory, see Launey 1949 – 1950, II, 737. Pazdera (2006, 13 – 17) discusses Greek terminology for food shortages. ὄρυζαν δὲ καὶ σήσαμον καὶ φοίνικα διέδωκε τοῖς στρατιώταις, δαψιλῶς ἐχούσης τῆς χώρας τοὺς τοιούτους καρπούς: The abundance of these foods is consistent with the fertility of Susiana (cf. previous lemma). The cultivation of rice was possible in this region because of the plentiful rainfall (Ganji 1968; Frye 1983, 14; cf. Potts 1991). Throughout Antiquity rice was consumed only rarely in the lands west of the Euphrates (Rostovtzeff 1953, 1166; Garnsey 1999, 18 – 19), so the European and Anatolian soldiers in Eumenes’ army will not have been used to it. Sesame, on the other hand, was well-known to the Greeks at least from the late Archaic period (Steier, ‘Sesamon’, RE II.A2 [1923], 1850; Kraus 1968). There were two types of seeds, sown and harvested at different times of the year (Stol 2004, 853), which may also explain their abundance. Dates had also saved Alexander’s soldiers on their return from India, when grain and other food were lacking (Str. XV 2.5; Arr. Ind. 29.1). Since date palms were imported to Greece, the quality of the dates in Hellas was rather poor and hardly suitable for eating, but the dates in Mesopotamia were of superior quality (X. An. II 3.15; Thphr. HP II 2.10; on the date palms in this region, see A‘lam 1996). For the consumption of these foods by Macedonian soldiers, see also Karunanithy 2013, 178.

13.7 τὰς παρὰ τῶν βασιλέων ἐπιστολάς, ἐν αἷς ἦν γεγραμμένον πάντα πειθαρχεῖν Εὐμενεῖ: At XVIII 58.1 Diodoros only mentions Polyperchon’s orders to the generals and treasurers in Kilikia and to the commanders of the Silver Shields (cf. Plut. Eum. 13.2– 3), but given that Eumenes was στρατηγὸς τῆς ὅλης ᾿Aσίας αὐτοκράτωρ (Diod. XVIII 58.1), these orders must have applied to the satraps and the other commanders and troops in Asia as well. Clearly Diodoros’ report at XVIII 57.3 – 58.1 is incomplete (Meeus 2013b, 88). According to Hadley (1996, 143 n. 40), ‘Diodorus’ sole purpose in mentioning the royal letters

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at all in either occasion is clearly to remind the reader of the legal basis of Eumenes’ orders in 19.13.7 and of his appropriation in 19.15.4’. Such an interpretation seems like an example of looking for a tendency favourable to Eumenes everywhere. The royal letters are mentioned at 15.4 and especially here to explain why the officials in the upper satrapies would assist the Kardian. The phrase πάντα πειθαρχεῖν is found only three times in the Bibliotheke (also XVIII 29.2, XXIX 22), though cf. also ἅπαντα πειθαρχήσειν at I 27.2. The occurrence of two instances in the history of the Successors may be coincidental, as the phrase is attested only once before Diodoros (Men. Dysc. 370). On the other hand, the incidence of the verb πειθαρχεῖν in the Bibliotheke shows a substantial cluster in books XVIII–XX with 11 out 25 instances, ten of these belonging to the history of the Successors in books XVIII and XIX and one to the Sicilian narrative of book XX. Furthermore, books VII (12.2, 12.5) and XVII (65.4, 104.4) are the only other books with more than one attestation. δι᾽ ἑτέρας αἰτίας, ὑπὲρ ὧν ἀναγκαῖον προειπεῖν: In several instances Diodoros claims that it is ἀναγκαῖος to treat a specific matter (cf. Sulimani 2011, 141– 143). Often, as here, it concerns the causes of something (IV 45.1, XII 38.1, 50.3, 58.2, XVIII 8.1) or the preceding events which clarify the situation under review (II 4.1, IV 29.1, 60.1, 73.1, V 65.4, XI 67.1, XVII 5.3, XVIII 19.1, XIX 2.1; cf. IV 67.2, 71.1, 74.4, XI 34.1). In other cases, Diodoros states the necessity to deal with an issue because different opinions exist (I 56.6, V 6.1, XVII 117.5), or points out that there is no need to anticipate events (XVII 1.4). Compare also the passages with authorial comments on the necessity of certain elements of the narrative (IV 56.2, XIII 84.6, XVIII 5.5, XX 43.7), and the claims that something is οἰκεῖος (see below, 53.3 περὶ ὧν…), that a certain matter must not be left ἀνεπισήμαντον (see below, 98.1 ἧς τὴν φύσιν…), or that it is not good to omit (παραδραμεῖν) a certain issue from the narrative (see below, 17.6 ὅπερ…). On the importance of causality in Diodoros’ view of history, see Ambaglio 1995, 49 – 53, who quotes this passage among others to support his sound contention that ‘nell’insieme il livello teorico di elaborazione critica del tema non appare alto e gli accenni compaiono come enunciazioni programmatiche a raggio limitato o richiami meccanici a quanto già detto, spesso insomma con l’aspetto di formule di passaggio’ (51).

§ 14 Eumenes’ Alliance with the Governors and Generals from the Upper Satrapies The present chapter provides valuable but all too scanty information about the situation in the eastern part of the empire (cf. Schober 1981, 74– 82; Grainger

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1990a, 34– 35; Heckel 1992, 278; Wiesehöfer 1994, 50 – 51; Bosworth 2002, 103 – 108; Anson 2004, 162). We learn about an attempt by Peithon to gain control of the upper satrapies, and its first step, the killing of the satrap of Parthyaia. The other upper satraps joined in a coalition against Peithon and defeated him in battle, but we get no details. After that, Diodoros gives a list of the various contingents in the satrapal army, but this too raises as many questions as it answers, and scholars have suggested various emendations to the text to resolve some of the problems (see below, 14.1 στρατηγὸς δέ…, and Φιλώταν…, as well as 14.6 Τληπόλεμος…). Except for the transposition of Παρθυαίας in 14.1, none of these are necessary, though. We should rather be glad that the chapter at least adds a little to our knowledge, even though a great deal of uncertainty comes with it. There is no point in trying to adapt the evidence if it does not accord with what we think is certain, let alone what we think is necessary. The fact that many satraps came to the battle against Peithon in person shows how serious the situation was (cf. Wiesehöfer 1994, 51). Indeed, we should not underrate the threat he posed to the other upper satraps. Had he been able to take on Peukestas next and conquer Persis, he would have controlled all roads to the East and with access to Persian manpower he could raise an army that would probably outnumber any coalition of the remaining upper satraps. It was quintessential, then, for all satraps to cooperate and to put an end to Peithon’s ambitions as soon as possible. This explains why such a large coalition had been established, probably within a rather limited timespan. We must certainly not anticipate on matters by assuming that the war between Antigonos and Eumenes already was a pressing concern to the satraps late in 318. Peithon’s ultimate ambitions are unclear; at the very least he wanted to hold sway in the East, but we cannot exclude that he ultimately aimed for much more, possibly even supreme power over the entire empire (cf. Wheatley 2009a, 59; Meeus 2013a, 132; Heckel 2016, 238 n. 43). Precisely dating these events is impossible, though it is likely that they had unfolded not long before Eumenes showed up. After all, in the summer of 318 Antigenes had left his satrapy, Susiana, to meet Eumenes in Kilikia, taking the 3,000 Silver Shields with him (Diod. XVIII 59.3; Bosworth 1992a, 66). Royal order or not, it seems unlikely that he would depart from his satrapy at a time when one of his neighbours started to display aggressive imperialism to such an extent that even the satraps in India were alarmed. Therefore, the situation in the upper satrapies seems to have been calm in the summer of 318. Furthermore, at the time Eumenes sent messengers to the upper satraps – in the late summer of 318 at the earliest, possibly later – their armies had not been assembled yet, or, at any rate Eumenes did not know they had (XIX 13.7; Anson 2004, 162). Finally, since the coalition army was still assembled in the spring of 317,

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Peithon’s undertaking and his defeat seem to belong to some point in the period from the late autumn of 318 to the early spring of 317.

14.1 Πίθων σατράπης μὲν ἀπεδέδεικτο Μηδίας: See above, 12.1 Πίθωνα and 12.2 καθ᾽ ὃν καιρόν… στρατηγὸς δὲ τῶν ἄνω σατραπειῶν ἁπασῶν γενόμενος: It is unknown how Peithon had become general of the upper satrapies (on the region, see above, 12.3 τὰς ἐκ τῶν ἄνω…). Niese (1893, 259) suggested that Antigonos had appointed him to this position, while Beloch (1925, 91 and 92 n. 1; cf. Schur 1934, 149) argued for an appointment at Triparadeisos. Perhaps it is more likely, however, that he had usurped the title at the moment he started to enhance his power by invading Parthyaia (Berve, ’Peithon [4]’, RE XIX.1 [1937], 221; Bengtson 1964, I, 179; Schober 1981, 75 – 78; Billows 1990, 90 n. 16). At any rate, though, Bengtson and Schober (locc. citt.) seem to attach too much importance to Diodoros’ wording. The participle γενόμενος does not exclude that Diodoros was describing an official appointment; it is simply a vague expression which in itself does not allow any conclusions to be drawn from it. Schober (1981, 77) deems even this part of the sentence suspect (cf. next lemma), and argues that an emendation of γενόμενος into γενησόμενος would make more sense, as the text would then refer to Peithon’s ambitions rather than to a position he already held. However, the received text is sound, and our ignorance about events in the upper satrapies in this period should not incite us to tamper with the evidence, simply to make it less puzzling (cf. Bosworth 2002, 104 n. 27). Once he was in power in Asia Antigonos apparently picked up the idea of appointing a στρατηγὸς τῶν ἄνω σατραπειῶν, and he (re-?)instituted the office (see below, 46.1 καταλιπεῖν…). Φιλώταν μὲν τὸν προϋπάρχοντα Παρθυαίας στρατηγὸν ἀπέκτεινε: On the satrapy of Parthyaia, see Berve 1926, I, 264 Schober 1981, passim; Dobbins 1984, 74– 77; Seibert 1985, 212; Orth 1993, 131– 132; Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 84– 86. The passage is corrupt, but at least the reading in F (…γενόμενος Παρθυαίας Φιλώταν μὲν τὸν προϋπάρχοντα στρατηγὸν ἀπέκτεινε…) seems easy to emend, by simply transposing Παρθυαίας. It is not unlikely that the misplacing of the name of the satrapy was the only mistake in the archetype, which then troubled the creative scribe of the hyparchetype originating the branch of R,V and X – possibly R itself –, and led him to suppose that he could rectify the situation by changing Παρθυαίας to Παρθυαῖος and adding ὅς after it. He certainly found a way to make the sentence almost grammatically correct by changing a minimum number of letters, and probably he did not realize that he was producing pure nonsense by making Parthyaios become general of the upper satrapies

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at the time Peithon was appointed satrap of Media (contra Bizière 1975, xxi, who lists this very passage as an example illustrating that R contains several corrupt passages ‘que le copiste n’a manifestement pas voulu corriger’). Ever since Wesseling it tends to be assumed that Φιλώταν is a mistake for Φίλιππον, as a man with the latter name was appointed satrap of Parthyaia at Triparadeisos (Diod. XVIII 39.6; Arr. Succ. F1.35): e.g. Droysen 1878, I, 255; Niese 1893, 259; Beloch 1925, 111; Berve 1926, II, 154; Schober 1981, 74 n.1; Frye 1983, 149; Dobbins 1984, 77; Billows 1990, 90 n. 17; Heckel 1992, 278 and 2006, 195 with n. 528, and 214 [Ph. 10]; Wheatley 1997a, 62). However, some rightly hold that the satrap may have changed between 320 and the autumn of 318, and since Φιλώταν is the lectio difficilior it is unlikely to be a mistake for Φίλιππον here (Bizière 1975, ad loc.; Bosworth 2002, 105 – 106 with n. 32). Thus, Anson (2004, 161 n. 41) assumes that Philippos had died by the time Peithon tried to seize Parthyaia, and that the ‘effective control’ of the area had been passed on to Philotas, whose title was not satrap because he was not officially appointed by the kings. This is probably to make too much of the literal implication of Diodoros’ wording: he sometimes uses στρατηγός as a synonym of σατράπης (see below, 22.1 Πευκέστης…), and it is likely that this is also the case here. τὸν δὲ αὑτοῦ ἀδελφὸν Εὔδαμον: Peithon’s brother Eudamos is otherwise unknown (Berve 1926, II, no. 310; Heckel 2006, 120 [E. 1]). ἀντὶ τούτου κατέστησεν: Anyone other than the regent is unlikely to have had the right to install provincial governors (see below, 18.1 Σέλευκον…). Bengtson (1964, I, 179) compares this to Antigonos’ conduct as στρατηγὸς τῆς βασιλικῆς δυνάμεως, who also appointed his own friends as satraps.

14.2 οἱ λοιποὶ σατράπαι πάντες: Except for the obvious absence of Antigenes of Susiana who had travelled to Kyinda with the Silver Shields the year before, it should be noted that Diodoros’ overview (14.4– 8) does not list Poros, governor of the lands east of the Hydaspes, Peithon the son of Agenor (cf. infra, 56.4 καταστήσας…) of Gandhara nor Atropates of Media Atropatene (cf. Orth 1993, 128; Heckel 2006, 61– 62). All other satraps were indeed present or had dispatched troops. The absence of Poros, Peithon Agenoros, and Atropates often seems be overlooked (e.g. Schober 1981, 78, but see also 91– 92; Wiesehöfer 1994, 51; Schäfer 2002, 136, who claim that all regions except Susiana were represented). Poros’ absence is explained at 14.8: apparently he had been killed by Eudamos (not to be confused with Peithon’s brother of the same name), but the question as to what happened to his territory remains.

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Since Media Atropatene is not mentioned in the surviving sources for the satrapy distribution of Triparadeisos, some scholars assume that the province had already become independent by that time (discussion in Schottky 1989, 43 – 53). The suggestion that Media Atropatene had been reunited with Peithon’s Media (recently repeated by Klinkott 2000, 72 n. 15) cannot stand, as it is clear that Atropates remained in power (Eddy 1961, 96 – 97; Schottky, loc. cit.; Hyland 2013, 140). It would seem, then, that Atropates was already pursuing his independent policy and remained aloof from the Macedonian conflict in the upper satrapies. The organisation of the Indian satrapies under Alexander and the Successors does not emerge clearly from the sources, and has to be reconstructed from the various scattered indications (Schober 1981, 11– 26; Bosworth 1983; Dobbins 1984, 86 – 98; Orth 1993, 122– 124; Karttunen 1997, 254– 256). At this time Peithon Agenoros probably held the area of Gandhara, west of the Indus, for the most part the valley of modern day Peshawar in Pakistan (cf. Arr. Succ. F1.36; Schober 1981, 21 n.1). Between his confirmation as satrap at Triparadeisos and 316, when Antigonos appointed him as successor of Seleukos in Babylon, nothing is heard of him. At that time Diodoros (XIX 56.4) says that Peithon had come from India before being installed in Babylonia. How long before that moment he had come, is unknown, but he might well have remained in India in 318, when the coalition against his namesake was formed. The situation in the Indian lands was anything but stable (Schober 1981, 90 – 91; Karttunen 1997, 24– 25 and 254; Wheatley 2014, 504 – 506; cf. infra, 23.4 ἔλαθε…; 48.3 τῷ μὲν λόγῳ…), and maybe it was judged unwise that all Macedonians would go west to fight Peithon Krateua. Breloer (1941, 161) points out that this is likely to have been the reason why Eudamos came with rather few troops (see 14.8): they were needed in the Indian satrapies. Bosworth (1996b, 120) assumes that Peithon Agenoros and Eudamos did not collaborate when the latter left India with his elephants (see below, 14.8), because the former was an ally of Antigonos (cf. Bevan 1902, 294; Breloer 1941, 160; Mehl 1986, 158 – 159). However, when Eudamos left India he could not know that he would join Eumenes later on: the purpose of his mission was the war against Peithon Krateua who had aggressively shown his ambition to control the whole of the upper satrapies (pace Karttunen 1997, 256). As indicated above, our ignorance of these affairs should not lead us to underrate the significance of Peithon Krateua’s revolt. It was in the interest of both Peithon Agenoros and Eudamos to fight the satrap of Media as well as to stay present in India. They may therefore have shared the tasks, with one of them going west to fight the usurper and the other staying in India to safeguard Macedonian rule (see also below, 14.8 μεθ᾽ ἱππέων…).

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ὄντος τοῦ Πίθωνος κινητικοῦ καὶ μεγάλα ταῖς ἐπιβολαῖς περιβαλομένου: See also XVIII 7.4, where it is likewise claimed that Peithon was μεγαλεπίβολος and wanted to gain control of the upper satrapies, and XIX 46.1 where new plans to revolt are mentioned after Antigonos had defeated Eumenes and the satrapal alliance (cf. Wallace 2018, 79 – 89). He had also been one of the first to revolt against Perdikkas (XVIII 36.5). The characterization, then, seems to be rather apt, but some assume that it is in part an exaggeration by Hieronymos because Peithon was an enemy of Eumenes (Holt 1988, 90 n. 12, and Anson 2004, 240 n. 27). The wording, at least, might in part be Diodoros’ own: the phrase μεγάλα ταῖς ἐπιβολαῖς περιβάλλεσθαι seems to be a hapax and 8 out of 11 ancient attestations of the adjective μεγαλεπίβολος are Diodorean (cf. e.g. II 7.2, ἡ δὲ Σεμίραμις, οὖσα φύσει μεγαλεπίβολος καὶ φιλοτιμουμένη τῇ δόξῃ; XV 66.1, Ἐπαμεινώνδας δὲ φύσει μεγαλεπίβολος ὢν καὶ δόξης ὀρεγόμενος αἰωνίου); this is the only preserved occurrence of the adjective κινητικός in the Bibliotheke, though.

14.4 τῶν ἄνω σατραπῶν: Since Antigenes was all the way in the West and thus could not have joined the alliance, there is no need to take his absence from the following enumeration of troops as evidence that Susiana was not considered part of the Upper Satrapies, as Engels (2017, 116 n. 80) does. Diod. XVIII 39.6 lists Susiana among the Upper Satrapies, but admittedly does so along with Mesopotamia, Arbelitis and Babylonia, and thus clearly uses the wide definition of the upper satrapies (cf. supra, 12.3 τὰς ἐκ τῶν ἄνω…). There is thus no definitive proof either for or against the area’s belonging to the Upper Satrapies on the narrow definition. παρῆσαν οἱ παρ᾽ Εὐμενοῦς βιβλιαφόροι πρὸς ἑτοίμας τὰς δυνάμεις: See above, 13.7 τὰς παρὰ τῶν βασιλέων…, for Eumenes’ messengers. Billows (1990, 90 n. 18) points out that the coalition from the upper satrapies sided with Eumenes because Peithon and Seleukos had chosen the other camp. This seems more likely than the opposite view of Schober (1981, 79 – 80; cf. Wiesehöfer 1994, 52) who argues that Peithon and Seleukos had based their decision on the resolution of the upper satraps to join the Kardian. κοινῷ δόγματι: This is a problematic notion. Bizière (ad loc.) points out that a κοινὸν δόγμα is an official decision, and claims that it was taken by the army assembly (cf. Granier 1931, 82). Whether the army assembly had such power, is a controversial issue, however: see the overviews of Seibert (1983, 168 – 172) and King (2010), to which can be Hammond (1993) and Rzepka (2005) for the constitutionalist point of view that the assembly had certain powers by virtue of the law, and Borza (1993) and Roisman (2012b) for the opposite view. Not

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only do I agree with Errington (1978, esp. 115 – 123) and Anson (1991, esp. 236 – 247) that the assembly did not have any constitutional powers and that it was able to impose its will only in the brief period from Alexander’s death to Triparadeisos (though see Meeus 2013b, 89 – 90), but it should also be pointed out that there were only very few Macedonians in the army of the upper satraps, so one wonders whether it is relevant at all to assume that an assembly of troops had been called to decide on the matter. Most likely it simply means that the decision was made in a meeting of the leaders, as was also the case when Eumenes and his men joined the coalition. The adjective κοινός, then, merely expresses that the commanders of various separate bodies of troops were all involved: cf. infra, 15.1 συνήγαγον… On all other occasions in the Bibliotheke a κοινὸν δόγμα is likewise a decision taken by the leaders of the various parties of an alliance or by the members of a league: XI 16.1, 76.5, XV 49.3, XVII 4.1, 4.2 (cf. Heuß 1938, 178; Bosworth 1980b, 90). XIX 36.4 might be an exception (see below). Πευκέστης: Not much is known of Peukestas’ early career. In 324 he was appointed Alexander’s eighth σωματοφύλαξ (cf. next lemma) – an exceptional honour – because he had saved the king’s life at the Mallian town. Shortly thereafter he was installed as satrap of Persia, an office to which he was confirmed at Babylon and at Triparadeisos (Berve 1926, II, no. 634; Seibert 1983, 217– 218; Billows 1990, 417– 418; Wiesehöfer 1994, 50 – 56; Heckel 1992, 263 – 267, and 2006, 203 – 205 [P. 2]; Muccioli 2017). γεγενημένος ᾿Aλεξάνδρου σωματοφύλαξ καὶ προηγμένος ὑπὸ τοῦ βασιλέως δἰ ἀνδρείαν: This should be taken as a hendiadys, since Peukestas became bodyguard as a reward for his courageous action in saving Alexander’s life (Arr. Anab. VI 28.3, cf. VI 30.2). The term σωματοφύλαξ has several meanings; here it is one of the seven (or with Peukestas’ addition exceptionally eight) elite bodyguards of the Macedonian king. The σωματοφύλακες were the king’s closest confidants, and were responsible for his protection at court, during hunts, and originally also on the battlefield (Hammond 1991; Heckel 1992, 237 and passim, 2003, 206 – 208; Spawforth 2007a, 85; Weber 2009, 87 and 91– 93). The concept of προαγωγή/προάγειν is a typical feature of the relationship between a king and his friends, the latter constantly vying for the monarch’s favour or potentially deserting him when they felt insufficiently honoured (Seibert 1991, 98; Carney 1996, 25; Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 279 with n. 99). Being a σωματοφύλαξ was one of the greatest honours and, consequently, appointing someone as bodyguard was an excellent way for the king at once to honour him and to hold on to him (Hammond 1991, 409; Müller 2003, 249; Roisman 2003a, 297– 298). See also e.g. XIX 42.6, 64.8 and 87.1, as well as Just. XIII 4.10 about Ptolemaios with a phrase strikingly similar to the present one: ‘quem ex

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gregario milite Alexander uirtutis causa prouexerat’ (cf. Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 88 – 90; Borgna & Costa 2016, 125 – 130).

14.5 σατραπείαν δ᾽ εἶχεν ἔτη πλείονα τῆς Περσίδος: Peukestas was satrap of Persis since 324: see above, 14.4 Πευκέστης. He was thus in office longer than those who had only been appointed after Alexander’s death, but ἔτη πλείονα seems somewhat exaggerated. On the satrapy of Persis, the heartland of the Achaimenid empire, see Orth 1993, 133; Wiesehöfer 1994; Henkelman 2012; cf. for the age of the Successors also e.g. Plischke 2014, passim; Marest-Caffey 2016. μεγάλης ἀποδοχῆς ἐτύγχανε παρὰ τοῖς ἐγχωρίοις: Cf. also below, 48.5 τὸν Πευκέστην παρὰ τοῖς Πέρσαις μεγάλης ἀποδοχῆς τυγχάνοντα… On Peukestas’ relationships with the locals, see also the next lemmata, and below, 37.6 τοῖς περὶ Εὐμενῆ… (Μεγάλης/μεγίστης) ἀποδοχῆς τυγχάνειν is another typical Diodorean expression (I 3.1, II 46.2, III 59.2, IV 3.5, V 1.2, 7.6, XI 12.4, XII 20.1, XIII 38.2, XIV 102.3, XV 2.2, 7.4, XVI 14.1, XVII 2.4, XVIII 36.6, XIX 9.6, XXII 8.4, XXV 8.1, XXIX.18.1, 22.1, XXXI 15a.4, 27.6, XXXII 8.1, 9a.2, XXXIII 28b.3, XXXIV/V 38.1 and further examples in MD s.v. ἀποδοχή, and Palm 1955, 104; cf. also [μεγάλης] ἀποδοχῆς ἀξιοῦσθαι, e.g. I 51.4, II 60.3, IV 51.6, V 31.3, X 17.1, XXIX 34.1, XXXII 27.3, XXXVII 12.2, and other similar expressions: e.g. I 47.4, IV 53.6; XVI 20.6). The phrase is by no means unique to Diodoros, but 90 of the almost 300 ancient attestations of the word ἀποδοχή are to be found in the Bibliotheke. It occurs in other Hellenistic authors too (e.g. Aristeas 308; Plb. I 5.5), but not as frequently as in Diodoros (Reid 1969, 20). In discussing the style of Diodoros, Stylianou (1998, 16) claims that the Bibliotheke contains ‘countless (…) expressions [which] are so stereotyped that they are meaningless in themselves’. The present case undoubtedly is one of those envisaged. Since the phrase is also to be found in several honorary decrees (e.g. SEG LVI 1018 with Hamon, BÉ 2009, no. 412), texts with a far more repetitive style than the Bibliotheke, it seems anything but meaningless to me (cf. Meeus, forthcoming-b). Furthermore, Peukestas’ popularity is an important fact of history, as Antigonos noticed when he deposed him (Diod. XIX 48.5, Arr. VI 30.3; cf. infra, 17.6 προσήγαγεν…). Therefore, the judgement of Neubert (1890, 14) on Diodoros’ characterizations seems more to the point in this instance: ‘Man würde fehlgehen, wenn man in diesen kurzen Zusätzen Diodors nur leicht hingeworfene Bemerkungen erkennen wollte. Oft genug werden dieselben in Zusammenhang mit den kommenden Ereignissen gesetzt…’.

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δι’ ἃς αἰτίας φασὶ καὶ τὸν ᾿Aλέξανδρον αὐτῷ μόνῳ Μακεδόνων συγχωρῆσαι Περσικὴν φορεῖν στολήν: Arrian (Anab. VI 30.3) also states that Peukestas was the only Macedonian who adopted Persian dress, but does not mention that Alexander did not permit the others to do so (cf. Anab. VII 6.3, where it is said to have pleased Alexander). Both claims seem to be contradicted by other sources: - Plutarch, Alex. 31.5: Alexander gives land to the winner of a duel and grants him the right to wear the Persian costume (στολῇ Περσικῇ χρῆσθαι). - Plutarch, Alex. 47.9: ἐπεὶ δὲ καὶ τῶν φίλων ἑώρα τῶν μεγίστων Ἡφαιστίωνα μὲν ἐπαινοῦντα καὶ συμμετακοσμούμενον αὐτῷ, Κρατερὸν δὲ τοῖς πατρίοις ἐμμένοντα, δι᾽ ἐκείνου μὲν ἐχρημάτιζε τοῖς βαρβάροις, διὰ τούτου δὲ τοῖς Ἕλλησι καὶ τοῖς Μακεδόσι (‘Moreover, when he saw that among his chiefest friends Hephaestion approved his course and joined him in changing his mode of life, while Craterus clung fast to his native ways, he employed the former in his business with the barbarians, the latter in that with Greeks and Macedonians’). Although μετακοσμεῖν can simply mean ‘rearrange, modify’ (LSJ s.v.), here it most likely should be interpreted as ‘change one’s attire’, as in the Budé translation of Flacelière and Chambry: ‘Héphaestion l’approuvait et s’habillait comme lui’; cf. Cartledge 2004, 174. - Curtius’ claim (VI 6.7) that all cavalrymen were given Persian dress is probably a rhetorical exaggeration, in a clearly hostile and condemning context (cf. Hammond 1995, 202; Baynham 1998, 169 – 171. ME 2 is probably just imprecise in summarizing), based on the distribution of purple robes to the courtiers which also had a certain Persian flair (Just. XII 3.9; Diod. XVII 77.5; Wallace 2017, 11). It is accepted, however, by Hatzopoulos and Juhel (2009, 428 – 429), who identify the garb of the cavalryman depicted on the funerary stele of Nikanor, son of Herakleides, from Gephyra (Kilkis Archaeological Museum, inv. no. 2315) as such mixed Persian dress worn by Alexander’s companion cavalry. - Arrian (Succ. F12) describes Leonnatos’ behaviour as displaying a certain Persian luxuriousness (ἁβρότης Περσική) in his weaponry and lifestyle (δίαιτα) while Alexander was still alive and making himself look like a king after Alexander’s death, in a manner not very different from the Persian (οὐ πρόσω τοῦ Περσικοῦ τρόπου). Admittedly, in this case it is not quite clear whether Leonnatos adopted actual Persian attire during Alexander’s lifetime, and whether the royal character of his appearance was the only change after the latter’s death or whether it concerned the Persian appearances in general. At any rate, there seems to be no reason to assume that this is a fabrication by a hostile source, as Leonnatos’ role in the Successor era was so limited that no one really had any reason to conduct propaganda against him.

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Probably, then, Alexander only forbade the Macedonians to wear the full Persian costume (cf. Hamilton 1987, 475 – 476), which was more extravagant than his own mixed attire and might give the Asians the impression that the person wearing it was more important than the king himself (Stewart 1993, 352– 357, has collected all the ancient testimonia on Alexander’s change of attire; see also Yardley & Heckel 1997, 203 – 204). Bosworth (1980a, 12) assumes that the prohibition only held for satraps and was meant to prevent governors from becoming too popular in their provinces and creating personal power bases. Given Alexander’s policy of orientalization, it is indeed difficult to think of any other reason for such a ban, and it is likely that Alexander encouraged the Macedonians partially to adopt Persian dress (cf. the evidence discussed above; Olbrycht 2004, 282– 326). Bosworth (1980a), in rightfully rejecting the unfounded thesis of a true policy of fusion, seems to have gone somewhat too far in the other direction (cf. Hamilton 1987; Cartledge 2004, 177, 304 and passim; Olbrycht 2004; Lane Fox 2007, 277– 289; Spawforth 2007a; Gruen 2011, 65 – 75; Collins 2017; Mullen 2018; contra Wiemer 2007). Although most Macedonian nobles probably did not support Alexander’s orientalization policy (cf. recently Carney 1996, 37– 42; Heckel 2002, 86 and 2003, 215; Bosworth 2003a, 179; Brosius 2003, 176 – 177; Holt 2003, 17; Roisman 2003a, 292– 293), the number of those who did accept it seems generally to be underestimated (cf. Schachermeyr 1970, 23 – 24; Briant 1972, 60 – 61; Heckel 1992, 142– 143 and 263 – 265; Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 120 – 125; Wiesehöfer 1994, 45 and 50 – 56; Olbrycht 2008, 236; Meeus 2009a, 236 – 237, 2013b, 90 – 91, 2020a, 307– 309; Mileta 2014; Wallace 2017, 6 – 15; cf. infra, 22.2 ἔτι δὲ τῶν Περσῶν…). However, if Hieronymos did indeed present a negative picture of Peukestas (but cf. infra, 17.5 τὸ μὲν πρῶτον…), it is not impossible that Diodoros’ claim that only Peukestas was allowed to wear Persian costume is simply wrong. Perhaps Hieronymos depicted an act that earned Alexander’s commendation (Arr. Anab. VI 30.3, VII 6.3) as something that Alexander could only condone as an exception. The mention of Peukestas’ popularity with the natives does not suggest a negative tendency, though. χαρίζεσθαι βουλόμενον τοῖς Πέρσαις: Cf. Arr. Anab. VI 30.3, οἱ Πέρσαι ὡς τὰ παρὰ σφίσι πρὸ τῶν πατρίων πρεσβεύοντι ἔχαιρον. διὰ τούτου νομίζοντα κατὰ πάνθ’ ἕξειν τὸ ἔθνος ὑπήκοον: Cf. Arr. Anab. VII 23.3, πάντα Πευκέστᾳ ἐπείθοντο. εἶχε δὲ τότε Πέρσας τοξότας μὲν καὶ σφενδονήτας μυρίους: Both the bow and the sling were typical Elamite-Iranian weapons (cf. XIX 21.3; Bonfiglio 2012, 512 – 520; Potts 2020). Alexander had used Asian cavalrymen at least since 328/7, possibly even earlier (Griffith 1963; Badian 1965; Bosworth 1980a, 15 – 21 and 1988a, 271– 272; Hammond 1983 and 1996a, 103). The earliest attested

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oriental infantrymen are the thirty thousand Epigonoi, who are dealt with below (see next lemma). In Alexander’s final year, Peukestas had brought twenty thousand Persian foot soldiers, archers, and javelin men to Babylon; 1,000 Persians were added to the hypaspist corps, and several contingents with men from Asia Minor arrived as well (Arr. Anab. VII 23.1 and 3; Diod. XVII 110.1– 2; Milns 1976, 127– 129; Högemann 1985, 169 – 176; Hammond 1996a, 99 – 101). This means that at the time of Alexander’s death at least fifty-one thousand Asians were serving in the Macedonian army, if the numbers are not rounded up (as suspected e.g. by Bosworth 2002, 79). It is quite likely that they continued service under the Successors, who also levied additional oriental troops. Not only was Macedonia possibly faced with serious manpower problems since the later years of Alexander’s reign (Bosworth 1986 and 2002, 64– 97; Seibert 1986, 838 – 844; Adams 1996, 31– 32. Contra Hammond, 1989b, esp. 65 – 68; Badian 1994b, 261– 268; Billows 1995, 183 – 217), but the fact that all the Successors had their own armies simply meant that Macedonia and Greece could not supply enough men. The use of non-European troops in the Successor era is often attested (e.g. Plut. Eum. 4.2– 3, 7.1, 18.3; Diod. XVIII 45.3, 46.1– 2, 51.1, XIX 16.3, 17.6, 47.2, 80.4, 82.4, 91.5, 92.4, XX 113.3, and the use of oriental troops trained in Macedonian fashion which is discussed in the next lemma; Launey 1949 – 1950, 564– 565; Briant 1972, 49 – 69; Anson 1988a, 474– 475; Billows 1990, 310 – 311; Hammond 1990, 280 – 285 and 1996a, 104– 109; Schäfer 2002, 64– 65; Rodriguez 2004; Bosworth 2005, 686 – 687; Lane Fox 2007, 294; Meeus 2013b, 90 – 91; Olbrycht 2013, esp. 164– 170; Fischer-Bovet 2014a, 41 and passim; Aperghis 2020). On Persian troops in the later Seleukid army, see Engels 2017, 240 – 241 and 253 – 256. τοὺς δὲ εἰς τὴν Μακεδονικὴν τάξιν καθωπλισμένους παντοδαποὺς τρισχιλίους: Since the παντοδαποί are always listed separately from the Greek mercenaries when there are any such troops, it is clear that they were Asians (Billows 1990, 310 n. 38; Aperghis 2020, 5 – 6; cf. also Diod. XIX 16.3: ἐκ τῶν ἐγχωρίων ἄλλοι παντοδαποί). In 327 Alexander had ordered the training of thirty thousand Iranians to fight with Macedonian infantry equipment. These were the so-called Epigonoi who joined the army in 324 when Alexander was at Susa (Arr. Anab. VII 6.1; Diod. XVII 108.1– 2; Launey 1949 – 1950, 292– 293; Briant 1972, 52– 58; Milns 1976, 127; Bosworth 1980a, 17– 18 and 2006, 14– 15; Högemann 1985, 166 – 169; Hamilton 1987, 479 – 484; Hammond 1996a, 101– 102; Yardley & Heckel 1997, 208; Lane Fox 2007, 283; Olbrycht 2015). The Diadochoi likewise used soldiers from other ethnicities armed in Macedonian fashion quite often, but rarely do we get precise indications (see also Diod. XIX 27.6, 29.3, 40.3; Griffith 1935, 42 and 48 – 49; Launey 1949 – 1950, 94 – 95; Tubach 1995, 100 n. 16; Bosworth 2002, 80; Juhel 2018, 50 – 51; Aperghis 2020, 6).

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14.6 Τληπόλεμος δ᾽ ὁ Μακεδών, Καρμανίας σατράπης ἀποδεδειγμένος: Although all manuscripts have Πολέμων here, Wesseling (ad loc.) suggested that Τληπόλεμος was meant, because the latter was satrap of the region both before and after this date, and all subsequent editors have accepted his proposal (though Fischer only does so in the apparatus). After having served in Parthyaia alongside the native satrap Amminapes since 330, Tlepolemos was appointed satrap of Karmania in 325, and he was confirmed in his office in 323 and in 320. At the battle of Paraitakene Tlepolemos, as satrap, led the contingent from Karmania (XIX 28.3) and in 316 he still was its governor (XIX 48.1) (Berve 1926, II, no. 757; Heckel 2006, 268 – 269 and 2017, 42). Bosworth (2002, 122 n. 97), however, argues that the emendation is not necessary: while Tlepolemos is often mentioned in Diodoros XVIII and XIX, there is only one variant in the manuscripts, namely Παμπόλεμον in R at XIX 48.1 (an obvious uncial error; F correctly has Τληπόλεμον), so that it would be strange if Τληπόλεμος was corrupted to Πολέμων. He further notes that Polemon is the only satrap in the list of members of the satrapal alliance explicitly to be qualified as a Macedonian, and that the text implies that he was appointed only recently. Thus, he argues that the manuscript reading should be maintained and proposes an ingenious reconstruction to explain the different satrap in Karmania: Peukestas, the leader of the satrapal coalition in 318, replaced Tlepolemos with Polemon, one of his own men, but Eumenes, after having established himself as the most powerful leader in 317, annulled Peukestas’ decision. Diodoros would then have truncated the episode leaving only a few traces, i. e. the ethnic and the verb referring to his appointment (Bosworth 2002, 122– 123). Such a course of events is possible, but the claim that Polemon is presented as newly appointed seems hard to justify, since Diodoros uses ἀποδεδειγμένος on several occasions for appointments that are not – or not necessarily – recent (II 5.1, XIV 12.8, XVII 74.1, XVII 108.4, XVIII 22.1; cf. XVI 27.3). Furthermore, the qualification as Macedonian need not be significant, as it appears in our sources in a rather random fashion (cf. infra, 16.4 εἰς φυλακήν…). And even when it is significant, there might have been other reasons to mention that Polemon was a Macedonian, e.g. if he was not satrap of Karmania, but a general sent by Tlepolemos (cf. Androbazos), the satrap himself coming to the West only later, for the battle against Antigonos. Other evidence might support this reconstruction: see 28.3 τοὺς ἐκ Καρμανίας… In that case, the original text might have been something like Πολέμων δ᾽ ὁ Μακεδών, ὑπὸ τοῦ Καρμανίας σατράπου ἀποδεδειγμένος. It seems, then, that there are four possibilities, none of which can be decisively refuted or proven: 1) an error at an early stage of the paradosis

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2) a simple mistake of substituting names by Diodoros 3) Bosworth’s reconstruction of Polemon as temporary replacement of Tlepolemos 4) Diodoros mistakenly called Polemon satrap of Karmania while in fact he was sent by its satrap Tlepolemos who for some reason did not go west himself for the war against Peithon, but did so later because of the more serious threat posed by Antigonos. On the satrapy of Karmania, which was situated between Gedrosia and Persis, see Berve 1926, I, 263; Schober 1981, passim; Seibert 1985, 211; Orth 1993, 125. Σιβύρτιος μὲν τῆς ᾿Aραχωσίας ἡγούμενος: Nothing is known of Sibyrtios before 325, when he was appointed satrap of Arachosia to which Gedrosia was added soon therafter. He remained in charge of both regions in the satrapy distributions of Babylon and Triparadeisos (Berve 1926, II, no. 703; Billows 1990, 432– 433; Heckel 2006, 248 – 249 and now esp. 2017, showing that Arachosia, not Karmania, was his original satrapy). Gedrosia, which borders on the Indian Ocean (largely coinciding with the south of Pakistan), and Arachosia, to the north of Gedrosia, were situated just to the west of the satrapy Indike (Berve 1926, I, 266 and 273; Schober 1981, passim; Dobbins 1984, 80 – 82; Orth 1993, 111 and 120). ἱππεῖς δὲ δέκα πρὸς τοῖς ἑξακοσίοις: It is not without interest to note that the number is corrupt, especially given the probable divergence of the totals (see below, 14.8 οἱ δὲ πάντες…). R has δέκα πρὸς τοῖς ἑκατὸν ἕξ and F simply πρὸς τοῖς ἑκατὸν ἕξ, neither of which really makes sense. The emendation to ἑξακοσίοις (Reuß 1876, 82 n. 1) is based on 27.4, where Sibyrtios is said to have had 600 cavalrymen (but see also 23.4). ᾿Aνδρόβαζος δ᾽ ἐκ Παροπανισαδῶν: Androbazos is otherwise unknown. Even the name is not attested elsewhere, but the manuscripts do not present any variants (except for the case), so the spelling is likely to be correct. It must be an adaptation into Greek of a Persian name. Justi (1895, s.v.) assumes that the original name meant ‘erobernden Arm habend’. It is debated, however, whether Greek adaptations of Persian names ending in -βαζος are always derived from Old Persian *bāzu- (‘arm’) (Schmitt 2002a, 44– 45 and 2006, 125 – 126; Tavernier 2007, passim). It has been speculated that Androbazos was a son of Oxyartes (Schober 1981, 78; Schäfer 2002, 136 n. 26; Rathmann 2005a, 394), who did indeed have three sons, of whom only Itanes is known by name (Curt. VIII 4.21– 22; Arr. Anab. VII 6.5; Berve 1926, II, no. 392; Heckel 2006, 144). The satrapy of Paropanisadai is a relatively small area between Baktria in the north and Arachosia in the south, largely coinciding with the present-day Kabul valley

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(Berve 1926, I, 266 – 267; Eggermont 1975, 175 – 177; Schober 1981, 11– 12 and passim; Dobbins 1984, 82– 83; Orth 1993, 131). τοῦ Ὀξυάρτου κυριεύοντος τῆς σατραπείας: Oxyartes had been one of the supporters of Bessos, who claimed the Persian throne after Dareios’ death. After his submission to Alexander, the Macedonian married his daughter Rhoxane, which obviously enhanced Oxyartes’ prestige. In 325 Alexander installed him as satrap of Paropanisadae, and he was confirmed at Babylon and at Triparadeisos (Berve 1926, II, no. 587; Schmitt 2002b; Heckel 2006, 187– 188; Harders 2014, 349 and 365 – 366). ἱππέων δὲ τετρακοσίων: At 27.5 their number is 500 (cf. infra, ad loc.).

14.7 Στάσανδρος δ᾽ ὁ τῆς ᾿Aρίας καὶ Δραγγινῆς σατράπης: Stasandros was a Cypriot who was appointed satrap of Areia and Drangiana at Triparadeisos; apart from his presence in this campaign nothing else is known of him (Heckel 2006, 255; Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 178). The satrapy of Areia and Drangiana borders on Baktria in the north and on Parthyaia in the northeast; in the main it coincides with western Afghanistan on the modern map (Berve 1926, I, 265 – 266; Schober 1981, passim; Dobbins 1984, 77– 80; Orth 1993, 111– 112 and 117; Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 80; Wheatley 2014, 503 – 504). προσειληφὼς καὶ τοὺς ἐκ τῆς Βακτριανῆς: Baktria was governed by Stasandros’ fellow Cypriot Stasanor (Mendoza Sanahuja 2017). Heckel (2006, 255) assumes they entertained good relations, possibly even being relatives, and this might be the reason why Stasandros lead both contingents west, while Stasanor stayed to safeguard Macedonian authority in the area. On Baktria, the area between the Oxos river and the Hindu Kush in the northeast of the empire which formed a satrapy together with Sogdiane, see Berve 1926, I, 267– 268; Schober 1981, passim; Dobbins 1984, 83 – 86; Holt 1988, 11– 32; Orth 1993, 115 – 116; Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 103 – 105; Plischke 2014, 68 – 70 and passim.

14.8 ἐκ δὲ τῆς Ἰνδικῆς Εὔδαμος: Eudamos was appointed satrap of the Indian lands of Taxiles by Alexander in 324 after the previous satrap, Philippos son of Machatas, had been murdered. His province was the area between Indus and Hydaspes. Nothing is reported about him for the period between Alexander’s death and 317, except for the anecdote below on Poros’ death which is mentioned without any context (Berve 1926, II, no. 311; Heckel 2006, 120 [E 2]). On the Indian

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satrapies, see Berve 1926, I, 268 – 273; Schober 1981, 11– 26 and passim; Bosworth 1983; Dobbins 1984, 86 – 98; Orth 1993, 122– 124. μεθ᾽ ἱππέων μὲν πεντακοσίων, πεζῶν δὲ τριακοσίων: The rather low number of troops Eudamos had with him is probably to be explained by the need to leave a sufficient number of soldiers in India in order to safeguard Macedonian control there (Breloer 1941, 161; cf. supra, 14.2 οἱ λοιποί…). It is unlikely, therefore, that Eudamos’ march west meant the end of Macedonian presence in the Punjab (contra Errington & Curtis 2007, 38). In fact most of the contingents in the coalition are not very large, and it is likely that all satraps used only a limited part of their military potential for the present campaign (see below, 48.1 εὖ τὰ πρὸς τούς…). ἐλεφάντων δὲ ἑκατὸν εἴκοσι: The Macedonians had elephants since Alexander captured Dareios’ animals at Gaugamela, and they found many more of them during the Indian campaign. In the wars of the Successors they were widely deployed (Tarn 1930, 92– 100; Adcock 1957, 53 – 55; Scullard 1974, 76 – 100; Karttunen 1997, 194– 195; Bugh 2006a, 277– 279; Epplett 2007 209 – 222; Sabin 2007, 419 – 421). δολοφονήσας Πῶρον τὸν βασιλέα: Poros was the ruler of the western Indian kingdom of Paurava. After his defeat at the Hydaspes in 326 he became one of Alexander’s vassal kings in the area. He was allowed to retain his kingdom in 323 and in the settlement of Triparadeisos: Berve 1926, II, no. 683; Heckel 2006, 231– 232. Exactly when, how and why he was killed by Eudamos can only be guessed at. Any date between the summer of 320 (Triparadeisos) and the autumn of 318 (Eudamos’ march to the West) is possible; it need not have happened just before the coalition of the upper satraps was formed (contra Berve 1926, II, 345; Breloer 1941, 163; Bosworth 2002, 177; Holt 2003, 164; Heckel 2006, 232). As to the reason, Breloer’s (1941, 163) suggestion that Poros might have refused to send elephants to Eumenes cannot stand. Not only does he overestimate our knowledge of these years by assuming that Poros’ death was necessarily connected with events we know of, but it should also be pointed out again that Eudamos did not leave India to support Eumenes, but to fight Peithon Krateua. Others assume that Eudamos killed Poros to get hold of his elephants (Epplett 2007, 222), but this seems like a confusion of cause and effect, and there must have been other means for Eudamos to gain possession of elephants. It has been suggested that in fact Diodoros gives the wrong name and that it was Taxiles who had been killed by Eudamos and not Poros (Stein, ‘Taxiles’, RE V.A1 [1934], 80 – 81). Although, as Schober (1981, 91) remarks, the suggestion cannot be dismissed out of hand, the arguments are far from compelling (cf. Karttunen 1997, 256 n. 19). Poros and Taxiles have indeed been erroneously mixed up in the satrapy lists of Triparadeisos of Diodoros (XVIII 39.6) and Arrian (Succ.

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F1.36), but if this is a mistake in their common source on a point where both were mentioned, there is no reason to assume that it was a persistent error that also occurred in instances where only one of them is concerned. Even if no Macedonian troops were stationed in Poros’ satrapy he could have been killed by Eudamos. Given our scarce sources the argument that we know of no reason why Eudamos would have killed Poros, holds no force either. The number of elephants is an equally weak argument. Should we really believe that Poros could not have had 120 elephants at his disposal? The number of elephants he had in 326 is variously reported as 85 (Curt. VIII 13.6; ME 54), 130 (Diod. XVII 87.2 with Goukowsky 1976, ad loc.) and more than 200 (Arr. Anab. V 15.4). There is no reason why any of these numbers should represent the total amount of animals he possessed rather than the ones he brought to battle. All in all, then, there clearly are no real grounds for dismissing Diodoros’ claim that Eudamos murdered Poros. οἱ δὲ πάντες μετὰ τῶν σατραπῶν ἠθροίσθησαν πεζοὶ μὲν πλείους τῶν μυρίων ὀκτακισχιλίων ἑπτακοσίων, ἱππεῖς δὲ τετρακισχίλιοι ἑξακόσιοι: In fact, the totals of the troops Diodoros has just listed amount to only 18,500 infantrymen and more than 4,210 cavalrymen. Thus, more than 200 foot soldiers and at least about 400 riders are not accounted for. Bizière (1975, ad loc.) points to the corruption of the number for Sibyrtios’ horse (see above, 14.6 ἱππεῖς…), but the emendation is based on good evidence, and the corruption of the number of cavalrymen cannot be the reason for the divergence of the infantry total. Of course, Diodoros might simply have made a mistake in his calculations, but other explanations are possible as well. Anson (2004, 164 n. 51) suggests that ‘the total may reflect in some fashion the addition of the forces of Amphimachus, the satrap of Mesopotamia’ (cf. Fischer, apparatus ad loc.; Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 395; Geer 1947, ad loc.; Bizière 1975, ad loc.). The latter is usually assumed to have joined Eumenes when he passed through his satrapy (see below, 27.4 ᾿Aμφίμαχον…). However, he had 600 cavalrymen, so this cannot be the solution. Furthermore, if he was included, one may well wonder why Eumenes’ own troops were not mentioned as well. The total given is quite clearly that of the coalition against Peithon alone, without the addition of any troops coming with Eumenes. Another possibility is that Diodoros forgot to list a small contingent from one of the two satraps who have not been mentioned, namely Peithon Agenoros and Atropates (cf. supra, 14.2 οἱ λοιποί…), or some other small group (cf. Bosworth 2002, 106 – 107). Maybe some of the numbers are simply wrong: here the cavalry from Paropanisadai are said to have been 400 in number, while there are 500 of them at 27.5. The Karmanian contingent consists of 700 horsemen according to the present passage, but at 28.3 they are said to be 800 strong. Since there likewise are problems concerning the commander of the troops from Karmania, the

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numbers may actually be correct and another explanation might be necessary there (see below, on 28.3). That the captives from Peithon’s army had been incorporated in the satrapal army is also possible. However this may be, it is clear that Eumenes now had a considerable army as he already commanded 15,000 infantry and 3,300 cavalry of his own (XVIII 73.4).

§ 15 The Power Struggle of the Commanders of the Satrapal Alliance and the Alexander Tent When Eumenes joined the upper satraps, a power struggle ensued between him, being in command of the Silver Shields and his own army, and Peukestas who had been given the overall command of the coalition of satraps for the war against Peithon (above 14.4). Antigenes also intervened, but he probably did so on behalf of Eumenes (see below, 15.2 ᾿Aντιγένης…). Eumenes found a way to overcome the deadlock with his famous stratagem of the Alexander tent. It is generally agreed that he had come up with this stratagem when in Kyinda, so as to placate the Silver Shields and their commanders (e.g. Vezin 1907, 79 with n. 2; Picard 1954, 4; Errington 1976, 140; Bosworth 2002, 101; Schäfer 2002, 22– 23; Roisman 2012a, 183; Anson 2015, 165; Wallace 2017, 7– 8). This is indeed where Diodoros (XVIII 60.4– 61.3) and Plutarch (Eum. 13.5 – 8) seem to situate the story of the tent. In Nepos’ narrative (Eum. 7), on the other hand, Peukestas was present when Eumenes first introduced the idea, which implies that it originated in Susiana in 317. Diodoros too, in the present passage, gives no indication that the stratagem had been used before. Of course, such an argument from silence is not very strong: Diodoros might simply have failed to mention that the idea was not new on the present occasion, while Nepos may have deliberately presented the events in such a manner so as not to complicate his summary account of Eumenes’ life (cf. the introduction to his Pelopidas, 1.1). However, Hadley (1996, 133 – 136) has rightly pointed out that the motivation for Eumenes’ actions does not quite fit the context at Kyinda in 318. After all, the Silver Shields and their chief officers did accept Eumenes’ leadership – whether wholeheartedly or not – because he had been appointed by the kings, while his command was only disputed in Susiana in 317. Consequently, we should not exclude the possibility that the earlier descriptions of Diodoros and Plutarch stem from an anticipatory digression in their common source, which intended to illustrate Eumenes’ strategic acumen with several examples. Anson (2015, 165 n. 6) claims that ‘Diodorus’ earlier account (18.61) is replete with details fixing the location at Kyinda (the use of the royal treasury) and the

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chronology to 318’. Neither point is conclusive, though: there was also a royal treasury at Susa, and the only argument for the date of 318 is the point on which the story occurs in the narratives of Diodoros XVIII and Plutarch. Thus, if the narrative point at which the stratagem occurs in these authors is a digression rather than its actual chronological position, it cannot tell us anything about the date of the event. Furthermore, if the stratagem was not new in Susiana in 317, it would probably have been far less effective because the impression made by the surprise effect of its introduction would be gone.

15.1 ἐπεὶ δὲ παρεγενήθησαν εἰς τὴν Σουσιανὴν πρὸς τοὺς περὶ τὸν Εὐμενῆ: Cf. Plut. Eum. 13.9, Ἐπεὶ δὲ προϊοῦσιν αὐτοῖς εἰς τὴν ἄνω χώραν ὁ Πευκέστας μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων σατραπῶν ἀπήντησε φίλος ὢν καὶ συνεμείξαντο τὰς δυνάμεις. Grainger (1990a, 36) discusses the reasons why the upper satraps decided to move into Susiana after their victory over Peithon. His analysis is most interesting, but it cannot stand if this sentence in Diodoros is literally correct: in that case they only came εἰς τὴν Σουσιανήν because Eumenes had asked them to (cf. XVIII 73.4 and supra, 13.7 τὰς παρὰ τῶν…). συνήγαγον ἐκκλησίαν κοινήν: From the context it is clear that this was an assembly consisting solely of the commanders. Yet, according to many scholars this ἐκκλησία κοινή was an assembly of the army (Granier 1931, 79 – 81; Briant 1973b, 297; cf. Hammond 1988a, 192; Rzepka 2005). In a study of all instances of κοινὴ ἐκκλησία in Diodoros, Rzepka (2005) has argued that there are three possible meanings: assemblies of federal leagues, meetings of the members of an alliance, and ‘irregular meetings of a crowd in turmoil’. In his view the κοιναὶ ἐκκλησίαι of the Macedonians in Diodoros belong to the first category. This judgement is largely based on a discussion of inscriptional evidence from the Antigonid period, which is interpreted to suggest that Macedonia was organized much like a federal state. Even if one agrees with Rzepka’s conclusions on the organization of Macedonia, the retrojection of the situation in Antigonid times to the early years after Alexander is problematic: Macedonian kingship seems to have gone through a substantial evolution in the Successor era, which resulted in a much more institutionalized kingship under the Antigonids than had been the case under the Argeads (Carney 1991, 1995, 370 – 371, 2000, 7– 8 and 200; Greenwalt 2010a, 153 – 154; contra Mari 2020). However this may be, it is clearly irrelevant here: Diodoros sketches a debate among the leaders in which it is not even clear what procedure should be followed. Thus, it rather belongs to Rzepka’s second category, being a meeting of the alliance from the upper satrapies. It is clear, then, that Rzepka’s argument (2005, 126) that there is ‘a notable oppo-

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sition’ between this κοινὴ ἐκκλησία and the συνέδριον of 15.4 makes too much of Diodoros’ wording: in both instances the same group of people is involved, i. e. the satraps and generals. With the adjective κοινός Diodoros simply wants to stress that it was a gathering of the leaders of several distinct groups; cf. also the κοινῇ in 15.3, where the commanders are likewise gathering alone. The army assembly played no part whatsoever in the present decision-making process. ἐν ᾗ πολλὴν συνέβη γενέσθαι φιλοτιμίαν ὑπὲρ τῆς ἡγεμονίας: Cf. Plut. Eum. 13.10 – 11, who has added a strong moralizing tone. In principle Eumenes, the στρατηγὸς τῆς ὅλης ᾿Aσίας αὐτοκράτωρ (Diod. XVIII 58.1), should have been the uncontested commander (Granier 1931, 82; Bengtson 1964, I, 123 – 124; cf. Goukowsky 1978b, 98). Thus, Hammond (1988, 139) is somewhat too optimistic when he claims that thanks to Olympias’ prestige ‘her instructions to Peucestas and the satraps in the East were obeyed in general both by them and by their soldiers’. The loyalty to the royal house was strong enough to affect the choices of the soldiers, most of the lower officials, and even the minor satraps (61.4), but it seems to have had little effect against the ambitions of the leading men. διά τε τὸ πλῆθος τῶν συναγωνιζομένων: This is also one of the reasons why Peukestas later concedes to summoning 10,000 supplementary bowmen from his satrapy, although he was unwilling to do so when Eumenes and Antigenes first made their request (17.4– 6). On the importance of the size of an army for a commander’s claim to leadership, see Seibert 1991, 96; cf. generally also e.g. Hdt. VII 159 – 161. καὶ τὴν παρ᾽ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου προαγωγήν: For Peukestas’ προαγωγή under Alexander, see above, 14.4. Service with Alexander was clearly an important asset in the age of the Successors. While in some cases it might simply be proof of military experience (Diod. XIX 55.3, 56.1, 69.1, 81.5, 82.1, 90.3 – 4; Plut. Eum. 1.6; Plut. Demetr. 5.2) or first-hand knowledge of the terrain (Str. XI 14.12), several instances – such as the present one – show that it usually served to indicate status and to claim certain rights (Diod. XVIII 7.3, 48.4, XIX 46.2, 51.1; Just XIII 4.10, XVI 1.12, XXIV 4.10; Plut. Demetr. 44.4; Nep. Eum. 7.1; Plut. Pyrrh. 12.6; Moretti, ISE II no. 73, v. 7– 8; SEG XXI 310; Thphr. Char. 23.3; cf. Seibert 1969, 152– 156; Olshausen 1976, 471; Bosworth 1976a, 15 and 2000a, 15; Errington 1976, 159 – 162; Rosen 1979, 463; Billows 1995, 36; Meeus 2009a, 243 – 244; Wallace 2020). ISE II no. 73, v. 7– 8, provides an additional argument against Seibert’s conclusion that references to campaigning with Alexander are limited to Diodoros and thus might reflect that it was important only in the ‘persönliche Meinung des Quellenautors’ rather than in the reality of the times. There is no need to assume, as Goukowsky (1978b, 98) does, that this was the first time the argument of promotion by Alexander was used (cf. Just. XIII 2.12).

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15.2 ᾿Aντιγένης (…) ἔφη δεῖν δοθῆναι τὴν ἐξουσίαν τῆς αἱρέσεως τοῖς μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ Μακεδόσιν: Antigenes’ intervention was not necessarily inspired by personal ambition nor directed against Eumenes, as his men might well choose the Kardian: they and their commander thus far had had no problems with serving under his orders. Antigenes had ceded command to Eumenes in 318 because the kings had ordered him to, and that order still stood; this is not, of course, to say that he was entirely happy with his subordination to Eumenes. The argument seems to be directed against the claim of Peukestas that the number of his men should be the decisive factor (Hadley 1996, 134; Anson 2004 165 n. 52; cf. Niese 1893, 269 n. 3, Heckel 1982, 64– 65, and below, 21.1 Εὐμενής…, on the loyalty of Antigenes to the royal general Eumenes). συγκαταπεπολεμηκόσιν ᾿Aλεξάνδρῳ τὴν ᾿Aσίαν: The same argument concerning the role of the argyraspids in Alexander’s conquests is used at XIX 41.1, cf. Just. XIV 2.6; obviously, it is similar in content and purpose to the reference of the various Successors to their role under Alexander (cf. supra, 15.1 καὶ τὴν παρ᾽…). On the importance of the Silver Shields’ bond with Alexander, see Anson 1981, 119 – 120; Meeus 2009a, 239. This bond gives their claim an extra dimension which is lacking for the mercenaries for whom the conquest of Asia simply was proof of their military valour (Diod. XVIII 9.3). Military experience in itself also was something to boast of (Lendon 2005, 149 – 150). For the theme of the conquest of Asia in the self-presentation of Alexander’s veterans upon their return to Greece, see Wallace 2020. γεγονόσι διὰ τὰς ἀρετὰς ἀνικήτοις: Cf. XIX 28.1, 30.5 – 6, 41.2, 43.1; Plut. Eum. 16.4, 18.1; Nep. Eum. 8.2; Just. XIV 2.6 and 2.9; PSI XII 1284 for the ἀρετή and the invincibility of the argyraspids. The Silver Shields had been part of Perdikkas’ army during his failed attack against Egypt, but their corps had not actually been conquered there (Anson 1988b, 131– 132; contra Hammond 1978, 135, and Hornblower 1981, 190 – 193; cf. Bosworth 2002, 87 n. 80). At 81.5 Seleukos is likewise called unconquered, although he was with Perdikkas in Egypt as well. It would seem that the epithet could be awarded as long as the commander or the corps itself was not actually beaten. At XVIII 10.4 the Macedonian army in general is called ἀνίκητος. The qualification of people or armies as invincible also occurs outside of the books on the Successors: see esp. I 73.9, ἀνίκητοι ταῖς τόλμαις καὶ ταῖς ἐμπειρίαις ἀποβαίνουσιν, and XV 31.3, περιβόητος δ᾽ ἦν ἐπ᾽ ἀνδρείᾳ καὶ στρατηγικῇ συνέσει καὶ σχεδὸν ἀνίκητος γεγονὼς ἐν τοῖς ἐπάνω χρόνοις; also VIII 9.1, XV 1.4, 39.2, 56.3, XVII 16.2, 51.4, XXIX 20.1 XXXIII 21a1.

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15.3 σατράπας καὶ στρατηγούς: The mention of στρατηγοί can be understood in different ways, the most obvious one being that not all contingents from the satrapies were commanded by the satrap himself. The title στρατηγός was probably held by the leaders who were not satraps such as Androbazos and possibly also Polemon. Furthermore, στρατηγός might also have been the designation for the second in command in a satrapal army, like Keteus whom Diodoros gives that title (XIX 33.1). It may likewise be the position of the otherwise unknown Phaidimos who had lent Eumenes money (Plut. Eum. 16.3), when he had asked the σατράπαι καὶ στρατηγοί for it. Evidently, we need not necessarily assume institutional accuracy in Diodoros’ language, so that στρατηγός might here be a vague label. The generic description as τοὺς ἐν ταῖς ἄνω σατραπείαις ἡγεμόνας at 13.7 shows that such precision was no concern to him (cf. infra, 22.1 Πευκέστης… and 48.5 ὕπαρχον; in general Meeus 2009c, 289 n. 9). Consequently we cannot exclude a mere pleonasm either (though see Palm 1955, 145). εἰς τὴν βασιλικὴν αὐλὴν συνιόντας καθ᾽ ἡμέραν βουλεύεσθαι κοινῇ περὶ τῶν συμφερόντων: On this plan which, as all the sources stress, Eumenes used to enforce his will in a most subtle way, see above, and Diod. XVIII 60.4– 61.3; Plut. Eum. 13.5 – 8; Nep. Eum. 7; Polyaen. IV 8.2. It has often been dealt with by scholars (Vezin, 79 – 80; Errington 1976, 140 – 141; Mooren 1983, 238 – 239 with references to the older literature in n. 146; Schäfer 2002, 19 – 37; Anson 2004, 150 – 152; Meeus 2009a, 244; Waterfield 2011, 94; Wallace 2017, 7– 9). Bosworth’s (2002, 114) description of the result is very apt: ‘There was no supreme commander, but Eumenes had what amounted to a moral supremacy, and the Silver Shields responded to his commands. The decisions made in the field were in fact his’.

15.4 ἵστατο: The manuscript reading ἵστατο is entirely unproblematic, but Dindorf’s conjecture ἕστατο has been accepted by Fischer and Geer, who accordingly translates ‘had been set up’. Bizière and Waterfield, however, rightly favour the received text which the latter renders as ‘his practice was to set up’. Indeed it is clear from the context that the tent was being used for a longer period of time (cf. εἰώθεισαν further on in the sentence), although the army did not stay in a single location: it thus needed to be set up again whenever the army camped in a new location. ᾿Aλεξάνδρῳ τετελευτηκότι σκηνή: Alexander himself had used several lavish ceremonial tents (Spawforth 2007a, 94– 97 and 112– 120; Collins 2017), and Eumenes undoubtedly created a tent resembling those of Alexander. Diodoros

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(XVIII 61.1) informs us that he used the royal treasure which was rich in gold, so he certainly will not have had any problems in matching their splendour. The other objects probably were made for the occasion as well, because XVIII 61.1 suggests that the royal treasury was used for everything (ταχέως ἅπαντα κατεσκευάσθη τὰ πρὸς τὴν χρείαν, ὡς ἂν πολυχρύσου τῆς βασιλικῆς οὔσης γάζης). Some assume, on the contrary, that Eumenes used authentic objects which had belonged to Alexander (Borza 1995, 243 – 244; Borza & Palagia 2007, 108). It should be asked, however, how Eumenes would have gotten possession of Alexander’s actual regalia. One would expect these either to have been buried with the king or passed on to his successors. The assumption that they had been retained by the loyalist Eumenes (Borza, loc. cit.), is quite unlikely. θρόνος: The empty throne was an important symbol both in the Greek religious tradition (Picard 1954; Schäfer 2002, 32– 33) and in the representation of Macedonian monarchy (Thompson 2000, 378 – 379; Schäfer 2002, 33 – 36; Huguenot 2003, 46 – 47; Paspalas 2005, 86 – 88; Spawforth 2007a, 91; Palagia 2018). Schäfer (2002, 26 – 32) has recently argued that there was also an important oriental dimension to the establishment of the empty throne of Alexander, because of the great symbolic value of the throne in the cultures of the Near East (cf. Wallace 2017, 8 – 9). The appeal to the many Persians present may have been an additional advantage of setting up the throne, but this is unlikely to have been a primary consideration for Eumenes as it is questionable that many of them would have witnessed the ceremony (cf. Bosworth 2005, 685 – 686; Lane Fox 2007, 291; Roisman 2012a, 183). The exploitation of Alexander’s memory was probably directed towards the Macedonians in the first place (cf. Diod. XVIII 60 and Plut. Eum. 13), and it served the specific purpose of ending the leadership debate (Roisman 2012a, 183). It is thus plausible that Eumenes got his inspiration from the proposal of Ptolemaios at Babylon to govern the empire with a council of the leading men gathered around Alexander’s throne (Errington 1976, 140; Mooren 1983, 238 – 239; Bosworth 2002, 39 n. 40; Schäfer 2002, 34 and 36). This might also mean that the whole tent stratagem was intended first and foremost for the leaders of the army, and Diodoros (XVIII 61.3) does indeed seem to suggest that the goodwill of the soldiers was gained with other – though similar – actions. In spite of the links with the actions of Perdikkas and Ptolemaios’ proposal at Babylon, and pace Schäfer (2002, 36 – 37), it is highly unlikely that Eumenes propagated his aim to rule the empire by means of the ceremony. Not only would he have lost any credibility with the troops who believed he was a loyal supporter of the Argead dynasty, but it is also inconceivable that he could have ended the power struggle among the satraps by an act which made ‘seine auf eine hegemoniale Stellung in Asien gerichteten ambitionen unmißverständlich deutlich’. They had united against Peithon because he had displayed such hegemonic

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ambitions, and it was also one of their objections against Antigonos (cf. XVIII 62.7). πρὸς ᾧ θύοντες εἰώθεισαν συνεδρεύειν: The sacrifice before Alexander’s throne seems to suggest cultic worship, and in book XVIII (61.1) Diodoros literally says so: προσεκύνουν ὡς θεὸν τὸν ᾿Aλέξανδρον. Although some assume that this was not an actual cult of Alexander (Granier 1931, 79 n. 106 with further references) or minimize it to hero worship (Cerfaux & Tondriaux 1957, 148), the word προσκυνεῖν – if it accurately describes the situation – cannot be misunderstood: to the Greeks it was a gesture inappropriate before mortal men (Hdt. VII 136.1; X. An. III 2.13; Isoc. 4.151; Arr. Anab. IV 11.2– 3). When their king tried to introduce proskynesis in 327, the Macedonians had likewise made it perfectly clear that such a gesture was suitable for a god only, regardless of what Alexander’s intentions had been (Bosworth 1988a, 284– 287 and 1995, 68 – 90; Fredricksmeyer 2003, 274– 275; Roisman 2003a, 291; Vössing 2009, esp 142; I am not convinced by the difference Spawforth [2007a, 104– 106] wants to make between the reactions of Greeks and Macedonians). Many scholars thus interpret the ceremony as a deification of Alexander: Kaerst 1907, 1087– 1088; Launey 1949 – 1950, 945 – 947; Picard 1954, 7 and 9; Taeger 1957, 229 – 231; Goukowsky 1978b, 97; Bernard 1985, 87– 88; Bosworth 1996a, 112; Schäfer 2002, 22; Bosworth 2005, 685 – 686; Lane Fox 2007, 291; Vössing 2009, 154; Waterfield 2011, 94; Anson 2015, 166 – 167; Muccioli 2017, 82– 83. Mari (2008), however, has not included the episode in her discussion of Macedonian ruler cult. There is no need, then, to interpret the proskynesis performed here in Persian terms (pace Schäfer 2002, 31– 32). πάντων δὲ διασημαινομένων τὸ ῥηθὲν ὡς συμφερὸν εἰρημένον: Peukestas, however, did not relinquish his ambitions (see below, 17.5 – 6, 21.3, 22.3 and 23.1; cf. Goukowsky 1978b, 98 – 99). He only acquiesced because he felt he could not win, and this certainly was a better solution for him than having anyone else appointed as sole commander. Thus, the comparison with Ptolemaios’ proposal at Babylon discussed above (on θρόνος) does not only hold for Eumenes, but also for the others. At Babylon too, Ptolemaios’ proposition gained favour because there were many men who, whilst aiming individually at great power, preferred collegiate government when they realized that they were not yet in a position to gain supremacy (Curt. X 6.16; Mooren 1983, 233; Meeus 2008, 50). There seems to be no reason for rejecting Fischer’s emendation of the received text to ὡς συμφερόντως εἰρημένον, which Geer and Radt (2015, 278) have accepted, while Bizière does not even list it in the apparatus. The adverb συμφερόντως is also found at XI 71.1, XIV 102.3, XV 71.2, XVI 65.9, XVIII 69.3. For the combination of ὡς with adverb and participle, see III 9.4, 33.3, XV 11.2, XVI 21.4, XIX 25.7 (though here it has been suggested that καί is to be read for

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ὡς), XXXIII 20, XXXVIII/IX 9; cf. with copular verb and adjective at III 9.2, XIII 108.4, XVI 45.2, XVIII 18.4, XXXVII 22a. οἷόν τινος δημοκρατουμένης πόλεως: Such similes are common in the Bibliotheke (see above, 11.9 καθάπερ…), but in this instance Diodoros may well have adopted it from his source, as Plutarch (Eum. 13.11) also writes ὥσπερ ἐν ταῖς δημοκρατίαις in this context (cf. Hornblower 1981, 188; contra Geiger 1995, 185). Kaerst (1907, 1089) assumes, apparently on the basis of Plutarch’s wording (δημαγωγούμενον, ὄχλον), that he used ‘eine andere sekundäre Quelle’ than Diodoros, with an anti-democratic tendency, such as Douris (cf. also Bizière, ad loc.). The fact that both Diodoros and Plutarch have the same simile rather shows that they ultimately go back to the same source, and there is no reason why Plutarch could not himself be responsible for the tone of his narrative, if it really is as significant as Kaerst and Bizière think. While it is often impossible to judge whether Plutarch uses the word demagogue with a negative or neutral connotation, its negative sense tends to occur in the very same kind of context of flattery of the masses as in our passage: see Urso 2019, 97– 98, who studies the use of the term in post-classical Greek historians, and considers Eum. 13.11 a paradigmatically typical Plutarchan instance.

15.5 τῶν θησαυροφυλακούντων: The man in charge of the citadel at Susa was Xenophilos; we do not know who the treasurer was (see below, 18.1). ὅσον ἦν ἱκανὸν εἰς τὰς χρείας: Cf. XVIII 58.1: ὅσα ἂν αἰτήσῃ πρός τε τὰς ξενολογίας καὶ τὰς ἄλλας τὰς κατεπειγούσας χρείας. μόνῳ γὰρ τούτῳ διὰ τῶν ἐπιστολῶν οἱ βασιλεῖς συνετετάχεισαν διδόναι καθ᾽ ὅ τι ἂν αὐτὸς προαιρῆται: For these letters, see Diod. XVIII 58.1 and XIX 13.7 (with commentary ad loc.), and Plut. Eum. 13.2– 3. Hammond (1988, 141) argues that ‘the keepers of the royal treasuries in Cilicia and Media and at Susa had refused to issue money except on the order of “the kings”’, consistently maintaining the royalist cause. This is likely enough, but the evidence is not conclusive. We are only informed about the treasuries on the moments when Eumenes was there, and we have no clue as to what happened when he was not. That only Eumenes had legal access to the treasuries does not exclude the possibility that somewhere at some point someone else had unrightfully been given money. μισθοδοτήσας δὲ τοὺς Μακεδόνας εἰς ἓξ μῆνας: Overdue payments were detrimental to a general’s control of his troops (Launey 1949 – 1950, II, 735 – 737; Briant 1973a, 53 – 54; Préaux 1978, I, 306 – 308, and Hammond 1987; on payment in general, Milns 1987), and Eumenes could ill afford any disobedience by the

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soldiers given the current struggle for power among the hegemones and with Antigonos breathing down his neck. He made it clear to the troops that he was their paymaster and thus that he was the man they needed most (cf. Plut. Eum 8.9 – 11). Advance payments were not exceptional as a means to win the soldiers’ goodwill (cf. Launey 1949 – 1950, II, 733 – 734). τῷ μὲν λόγῳ πρὸς τὰς τῶν θηρίων δαπάνας, τῷ δ᾽ ἔργῳ διὰ τῆς δωρεᾶς ταύτης θεραπεύων τὸν ἄνδρα: The costs for the maintenance of the elephants undoubtedly were very high (cf. Bernard 1985, 92– 94; Bosworth 2002, 108 with n. 41 and 114), so that providing money for this crucial army division (cf. next lemma) was a sensible thing for Eumenes to do. Therefore, it is not necessary to look for an ulterior motive. However, some do assume that Diodoros correctly describes the gift as a bribe (Scullard 1974, 85; Dobbins 1984, 90; Anson 2004, 165 – 166). As so often, both may simultaneously be true. ᾧ γὰρ ἂν τῶν στασιαζόντων οὗτος προσθοῖτο: In the sense of ‘to side with’ προστιθέναι occurs from book XIV onwards, but it clusters very heavily in books XVIII–XX: see MD s.v. προστιθέναι (V). μεγίστην ἐποιεῖτο ῥοπήν, καταπληκτικῆς οὔσης τῆς τῶν θηρίων χρείας: Cf. Curt. IX 2.4, ‘praecipuum terrorem’. The psychological effect of inspiring fear into the enemy indeed was the main advantage of elephants in battle (Bosworth 2002, 167; Epplett 2007, 221; Sabin 2007, 421). Their mention in Eumenes’ fake letter (23.2) likewise testifies to the impression these animals made. Interestingly, then, we have a characteristically stereotypical feature of Diodorean style here that need not be the exaggeration that their generic nature would perhaps suggest (cf. Palm 1955, 167, ‘beinahe jede militärische Tätigkeit wirkt καταπληκτικῶς auf die Gegner’; see also below, 26.10 κατέβαινε…). For the importance of the elephant corps, cf. XIX 39.3, where it is called τὸ κράτιστον μέρος τῆς δυνάμεως, and Bernard 1985, 84– 85 and 86 – 87. It is not at all clear, though, whether they actually played a crucial role in the following battles at Paraitakene and Gabiene.

15.6 παραχειμάσας ἐν τῇ Μεσοποταμίᾳ: No exact location is given, but Vezin (1907, 91) and Anson (2004, 164 n. 49) argue that Antigonos could not have gotten further than the northwest of Mesopotamia before the onset of winter. On the mentions of winter quarters, obviously important chronological pointers, in the narrative of the Successors, see above, 12.1 παρεχείμασε… προσκατέγραφε στρατιώτας: Antigonos probably sent for reinforcements from his army in Asia Minor, as he had set out in 318 without his elephants and these were with him at the battles of Paraitakene and Gabiene (Billows

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1990, 91 n. 19; cf. Griffith 1935, 49). There is nothing unlikely, however, about his also recruiting locals in Mesopotamia for the light infantry while being forced to wait there (contra Griffith, loc. cit.). Obtaining reinforcements clearly was Antigonos’ aim in interrupting his march, and ‘solicitude to his men’s well-being’ does not appear as his concern here, especially since they had just been resting a whole winter.

§ 16 The End of the Perdikkan Captives At Triparadeisos Antigonos was appointed στρατηγός of Asia and given the task of eliminating the remaining factions of Perdikkans. In the summer of 319 he defeated Alketas and Attalos near Kreton polis in Pisidia. While Attalos and many other important men were taken captive (see below, on 16.1), Alketas managed to escape, but Antigonos soon defeated him and he took his own life. The important prisoners were apparently held under custody in a Phrygian or Pisidian fortress. This chapter describes their failed attempt to escape, and it is an excellent illustration of Diodoros’ methods and interests. It is the kind of story of peripeteiai he deemed so central to his project, although one can easily classify it as a ‘fait divers’ compared to the many crucial events that go unmentioned in the Bibliotheke (see above, Part I, §2.2.3): these men had already been defeated and ultimately nothing modified that situation. The affair belongs to the late autumn of 318 or to the spring of 317 (see below, first lemma). Simpson (1957b) has argued that part of the story is a deliberate misrepresentation to clear the name of Dokimos, but his case is far from conclusive (see below, 16.4 εἰς φυλακήν…). His explicitly pointing out the unexpected turn of events as παραδόξως (16.4) is just one of the elements typical of Diodoros in the episode. The whole chapter is replete with Diodorean rhetoric: the fortress is not just strong, it is strong καθ᾽ ὑπερβολήν (cf. Palm 1955, 52; MD s.v. ὑπερβολή); the protagonists are no ordinary military men, they are διαφέροντες ταῖς τόλμαις καὶ ταῖς εὐχειρίαις, and thanks to their extraordinary bravery they overcome a force 50 times as strong. They wonder whether they should await the μεταβολαί, and while a fierce debate ensues (16.3, γιγνομένης δὲ πλείονος ἀντιλογίας), they are surprised by the sudden arrival of new troops. Then comes Dokimos’ betrayal which deprives the other men of all hope, but διὰ τὰς ἀρετάς they still manage to withstand their numerically superior enemy for another year, before being definitively crushed. Here we see very clearly how the interests of the moralizing historian differ from those of the historicist and other modern schools; despite the simple style, one cannot deny that the chapter has a certain literary merit.

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16.1 ἅμα δὲ τούτοις πραττομένοις: This is a typical Diodorean way of changing from one theatre of action to another (e.g. IV 12.3, 35.1, XI 14.1, 40.5, 59.1, XII 30.2, 32.3, 47.4, 52.1, 77.5, XIII 59.1, XV 5.1, XVI 3.7, XVII 7.9, XVIII 16.1, XIX 10.3, 16.1, 62.1, 64.4, 65.7, XX 17.1, XXXI 5.1); the expression is unique to him, the only two other instances I could find in ancient and Byzantine literature being quotations from his work. Polybios does use the similar phrase ἅμα δὲ τοῖς προειρημένοις (III 19.6, V 95.1; differently at III 91.8), which in turn appears to be unique to his work. That ἅμα δὲ τούτοις πραττομένοις occurs only twice in Diodoros’ mythological books, while the 88 other instances belong to the historical books, shows that it is closely connected to Diodoros’ chronographic system. The alternative τούτων δὲ πραττομένων, is much less frequent (e.g. XII 26.2, XIII 5.1, 6.7, 65.1, 66.1, 72.1, XIV 11.1, XVI 25.1); unlike ἅμα δὲ τούτοις πραττομένοις it is not unique to Diodoros, but still rather rare outside of the Bibliotheke. Usually, the phrase merely means that an event belongs to the same year in Diodoros’ chronology (cf. infra, 17.2 περὶ δὲ τούτους…). It is thus not possible to date this otherwise unattested episode precisely, given the problems with Diodoros’ chronography. If the place in Diodoros’ narrative is a reliable indication, it must be situated sometime after Antigonos’ move into Babylonia in spring 317, but it cannot be excluded that his march into Mesopotamia in the late autumn of 318 is the campaign the prisoners hear about in the present chapter (ἀκούσαντες δὲ τοὺς περὶ τὸν ᾿Aντίγονον εἰς τὰς ἄνω σατραπείας ποιεῖσθαι τὴν πορείαν). Ἄτταλος: Attalos the son of Andromenes had served under Alexander as commander of an infantry battalion for several years. After Alexander’s death he joined the Perdikkans, being or becoming Perdikkas’ brother-in-law – the date of the marriage is unknown. During the First War of the Successors he commanded the fleet in the attack against Egypt. Upon receiving the news of Perdikkas’ death he fled to Phoinikia and later to Perdikkas’ brother Alketas in Asia Minor, where he was captured by Antigonos in the summer of 319 in the battle near Kreton polis (Berve 1926, II, no. 181; Hauben 1975, no. 7; Heckel 1978, 1992, 180 – 183 and 2006, 63 – 64 [A. 3]; Tataki 1998, 212). Πολέμων: Polemon was the youngest son of Andromenes, and thus a brother of Attalos. Not much is known of him, but he was at the battle near Kreton polis, having joined the Perdikkan side like his brother (Berve 1926, II, no. 644; Heckel 1992, 183 – 184 and 2006, 224– 225 [P. 3]; Tataki 1998, 212– 213). Δόκιμος: Dokimos’ origins are unknown, as are his whereabouts during the period before Alexander’s death. After Ptolemaios had hi-jacked Alexander’s funeral cortege on the way from Babylon to Damascus, Perdikkas sent out Dokimos to replace Archon as satrap of Babylonia. He too joined Alketas after Perdikkas’ death. He is usually identified with the man whose career in the service of Anti-

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gonos is attested for the period of 312– 302 (Berve 1926, II, no. 285; Simpson 1957b; Hornblower 1981, 125; Billows 1990, 382– 383; Jones 1992, 92– 95; Tataki 1998, 305; Heckel 2006, 115; Landucci Gattinoni 2007, 32 n. 14; Mitchell 2018, 14 with n. 10; contra Kaerst, ‘Dokimos [4], [5]’, RE V.1 [1903], 1274, and Geer 1947, ad XIX 75.3), but the identification is problematic to say the least (see below, 16.4 εἰς φυλακήν…). Bizière (1975, ad XIX 75.3) leaves both possibilities open. ᾿Aντίπατρος: Otherwise unknown (see Tataki 1998, 252). Φιλώτας: It is unclear who this man was. He might have been one of several individuals called Philotas who are attested during Alexander’s reign, but there are no indicators that identify him (Heckel 2006, 219 – 220 [P. 7]). οἱ μετὰ τῆς ᾿Aλκέτου δυνάμεως ἁλόντες ἡγεμόνες: For the capture of Attalos and the others in the battle of Kreton polis, see Diod. XVIII 45.3 with Landucci Gattinoni 2008, ad loc.; Syme 1995, 196 – 198. Polyainos (IV 6.7) presents a seemingly divergent account, but presumably it is simply a seriously abbreviated version based on the same source (Engel 1972a). Alketas was Perdikkas’ brother, and one of his main officers. He managed to escape from Kreton polis, and fled to Termessos, where he found ample support among the locals. In the end, however, he was betrayed and committed suicide to avoid being captured (Berve 1926, II, no. 45; Pekridou 1986, 121–124; Heckel 1992, 171– 175 and 2006, 8 – 9; Tataki 1998, 204). ἔν τινι φρουρίῳ καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν ὀχυρῷ: There were numerous such fortresses in southern Phrygia and Pisidia, as elsewhere in Asia Minor, including the famous one at Nora where Eumenes had been locked up for almost a year (Ramsay 1920, 110; Briant 1972, 39 – 40; Billows 1990, 280 – 281; cf. generally Capdetrey 2012b). The nearby presence of Stratonike (below, 16.4) suggests that the fortress might have been close to Antigonos’ capital of Kelainai. Ramsay’s conclusion (1920, 107– 112) that the Byzantine fort of Acroenos (Akroinon) is the only possible location seems to be somewhat too optimistic: with the limited amount of detail in Diodoros’ description one cannot categorically exclude any other rock-fortress in the region. ἔπεισάν τινας τῶν τηρούντων αὐτοὺς λῦσαι: Possibly they used the argument that they defended the just Argead cause while Antigonos was a rebel (cf. supra, 12.1 ἀξιῶν βοηθεῖν…); alternatively promises of monetary reward might have done the trick (cf. infra, 54.1 πείσας τοὺς Βοιωτούς). διαφέροντες δὲ ταῖς τόλμαις καὶ ταῖς εὐχειρίαις διὰ τὴν μετ᾽ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου στρατείαν: On the many references to campaigning with Alexander in the age of the Successors, see above, 15.1 καὶ τὴν παρ᾽… On the other hand, the remark that someone or something was διαφέρων/διάφορος at something is typical of Diodoros (e.g. I 65.2, II 4.5, III 10.1, 61.1, IV 26.3, VIII 7.1, XI 74.6, XV 16.2, XVI

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18.1, XVII 7.2, XVIII 13.6, XXXII 16.1, XXXVII 19.5; see esp. Neubert 1890, 11– 14: ‘In ihnen wird man die Hand Diodors, um nicht zu sagen, einen Hauch seines Geistes verspüren können’; Palm 1955, 101; Hornblower 1981, 277– 278; Stylianou 1998, 16; Meeus, forthcoming-b). On this expression with διαφέρειν, see also Jones 2007, 330 with n. 8 with further references. The combination of τόλμα and εὐχειρία also occurs at XIII 60.2, XIV 24.4, XIX 30.6 and 41.2. Furthermore, both characteristics are regularly mentioned alone or in combination with other qualities – or sometimes vices – people stand out for. Τόλμα (sometimes in a negative context): II 34.3, V 11.1, XI 87.4, XIII 37.2, 68.5, 70.1, XIV 12.9, 23.7, 103.5, XVI 32.2, 47.4, 65.3, 81.3, XVII 82.6, 84.3, XVIII 23.4, XX 23.6, XXII 1.3, XXIV 5.2, XXXI 19.1, XXXIV/V 25.1, XXXVII 5a1. Εὐχειρία: XV 70.1, XVI 79.6, XIX 43.1. As often, the distribution of εὐχειρία (4 out of 9 instances in book XIX) and that of the combination τόλμα and εὐχειρία (3 out of 5 instances in book XIX) might seem striking at first, but given that both also occur outside of the books on the Successors, the concentration in the present book is likely to be coincidental. Ξενοπείθη: Otherwise unknown (see Billows 1990, 439).

16.2 τοὺ δὲ φρουρίου σίτου τε πλῆθος καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδείων ἔχοντος: These fortresses were typically stocked with lavish provisions of food and firewood, as was also the case with Nora (Diod. XVIII 41.3; Plut. Eum. 11.1; cf. Strabo XII 3.38; Briant 1972, 39 – 40; Billows 1990, 281). καραδοκοῦντας τὴν παρ᾽ Εὐμενοῦς βοήθειαν: Before, however, they had refused to cooperate with Eumenes, which had made it much easier for Antigonos to defeat them (Schäfer 2002, 108 – 111; Anson 2004, 125 – 127; Dreyer 2007). It need not surprise us that they now opportunistically changed their minds and had reasons to hope that Eumenes actually would help out (cf. Meeus 2018b on the expediency that governed alliances amongst the Diadochoi). καιροτηροῦντας: The word is extremely rare in literary language. The only other attestations I found are: Diod. XIII 22.1 and Chrysostomos, In Samaritanam, ed. Migne vol. LXI, 743, l. 42; cf. καιροτηρησία at Aristeas 270. See LSJ s.v. καιροτηρέω for examples from the papyri.

16.3 γιγνομένης δὲ πλείονος ἀντιλογίας: Such a genitivus absolutus of the type πολλοῦ γιγνομένου + noun is not a very frequent phrase, but it does occur several times in the Bibliotheke (e.g. XI 22.3, 36.5, 61.6, 74.1, XIII 9.5, XVII 13.5, 89.1, XX

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34.3); cf. also the very frequent γενομένης καρτερὰς/ἰσχυρᾶς μάχης in battle descriptions (see below on 83.4 and 88.5). It is one of the many typical Diodorean elements in the story, but it might also be a Thucydidean reminiscence (V 76.3, γενομένης πολλῆς ἀντιλογίας). οὐκ ἔφασαν δυνήσεσθαι κακοπαθεῖν διὰ τὴν ἐν τοῖς δεσμοῖς γενομένην κακουχίαν: Cf. XVIII 60.3, διὰ τὴν συνέχειαν τῆς στρατείας μηκέτι δύνασθαι φέρειν τὰς κακοπαθείας καὶ πλάνας. ἔφθασαν ἐκ τῶν σύνεγγυς φρουρίων συνδραμόντες στρατιῶται: Well-organized communications existed between these fortresses (Briant 1996, I, 772).

16.4 παραδόξως: It is no surprise that Diodoros, who is extremely fond of μεταβολή and peripeteia, loves to point out the unexpected or extraordinary nature of events (Neubert 1890, 10; Palm 1955, 52, 156 – 157 and 195; Vial 1977, xx–xxi; Sacks 1990, 19; Chamoux 1993, lxxiii; Bosworth 1997, 220; Stylianou 1998, 4; Meeus 2018c, 9 – 12). He uses the word παραδόξως very often, much more so than any other ancient author, namely a 120 times (freq. 0.0247 %): e.g. I 10.3, II 4.4, III 23.3, IV 12.5, V 3.3, XI 26.3, XIII 46.2, XIV 80.3, XV 1.2, XVI 2.3, XVII 27.7, XVIII 28.6, XIX 4.5, XX 5.4, XXII 13.4, XXV 9.1, XXX 5.1, 8.1, XXXI 11.1, 32b1, 38.1, 45.1, XXXIII 14.1, XXXIV/V 2.25, 30c1, XXXVI 15.3, XXXVII 17.1, XL 5.1 (cf. also the very frequently used adjective: e.g. I 94.1, II 4.5, 14.2, III 18.7, 30.4, 33.7, IV 8.2, 77.9, VIII 10.3, IX 4.2, X 6.3, 20.3, XVIII 25.4, XIX 30.10, XXIV 1.5, XXIX 32.1). Polybios comes in second (cf. Frazier 2002), lagging far behind, however, with only 55 instances (freq.: 0.0166 %). Furthermore, there are some other adverbs expressing unexpectedness which likewise occur much more often in Diodoros’ work than in that of any other preserved ancient author: ἀνελπίστως (see below, 37.1), ἀπροσδοκήτως (see below, 37.2); cf. also θαυμαστός (see below, 58.3), and παράλογος (yet another word typical of Diodoros: e.g. V 20.4, XI 71.5, XV 76.1, XVII 66.2, XX 13.3, XXXI 43.1, XXXIV/V 2.4, XXXVI 2.3). The high frequency of παράδοξος and its synonyms in Diodoros’ works is no coincidence, and it shows that he certainly was putting his own stamp on his narrative. κατάβασίν τινα κατανοήσας ἀφύλακτον: Perhaps this way out was unknown to the besiegers or considered almost impossible: see Ramsay (1920, 109), who also claims that ‘it would be difficult to find anywhere a rock which does not offer more than one way of descent to an active, skilful, and desperate man, like Dokimos’. τὴν ᾿Aντιγόνου γυναῖκα Στρατονίκην: As far as we know, Stratonike, the mother of Demetrios, was Antigonos’ only wife (Macurdy 1932a, 62 and 64– 66; Wehrli 1968, 139; Billows 1990, 17 n. 5 and 29; Heckel 2006, 258). Here, Stratonike

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seems to be fulfilling the role of a Macedonian or Hellenistic queen (cf. Strootman 2014a, 151), which might suggest that by now Antigonos was already handling his affairs much like a king. Whereas such a conclusion might seem surprising, Wheatley (2001, 154) has pointed out that ‘it is almost certain that, in their own domains, the great Diadochs were treated and regarded as royalty as early as 322’, and the sources mention Antigonos’ royal ambitions as early as 319 (see above, 12.1 ἀξιῶν βοηθεῖν…, and cf. infra, ad 48.1; cf. also Carney 2000, 118 with n. 12). On the activities of Hellenistic queens, see also above, 11.2 μετὰ τῆς δυνάμεως, and below, 59.4 τάς τε ἀδελφάς… οὖσαν πλησίον τῶν τόπων: Probably Stratonike was staying at Antigonos’ residence in Kelainai, in which case the fortress was not far from the Phrygian capital (cf. Ramsay 1920, 109; Heckel 2006, 225 and 258; cf. supra, 16.1 ἔν τινι φρουρίῳ…). εἰς φυλακὴν παρεδόθη: This phrase is problematic. Geer translates it as ‘was handed over to a guard’, and Billows therefore (1990, 263) takes the passage as evidence that Stratonike had her own bodyguard. That she had such a guard, both for protection and for displaying her status is likely enough (cf. IG XII.6 30, l. 9 – 10 for Phila’s φυλακή), but the present passage does not provide the evidence for it. As φυλακή is also a current Hellenistic word for prison (LSJ s.v. φυλακή 5), Bizière’s rendering as ‘il fut emprisonné’ probably is correct (see e.g. Diod. XII 31.2, XV 8.5, XVII 32.2, XIX 44.2, 52.4, 91.4, Plb. I 70.5, D.H. XIII 2.1 for εἰς φυλακὴν παραδιδόναι, and Diod. XIX 11.4, 66.5, Plb. V 15.9, Plut. Caes. 14.11, Ev. Matt. 18.30 for comparable expressions; cf. also Bauschatz 2007 listing many occurrences in papyri). According to Simpson (1957b, 505; Hornblower 1981, 125 – 126), ‘the story in its present form is unconvincing. (…) The statement that he was placed under guard suggests that he was meant to share the fate of Attalus and the rest, yet it is known that he came to enjoy a leading position under Antigonus’. He argues, therefore, that Dokimos actually betrayed Attalos and the others, and was subsequently rewarded by Antigonos. To cover up his betrayal, however, he would afterwards have claimed that he was not believed and was taken prisoner, a version of the story picked up by Hieronymos – by then also in the service of Antigonos – who incorporated it into his history. However, Simpson does not address several problems for the credibility of the story he suggests Dokimos made up. The only way Dokimos could have entered into Antigonos’ service was to betray his friends. If Dokimos claimed he had not done so at first, he must have admitted betrayal at a later time, after a period of imprisonment. Thus, all Dokimos could do was to postpone the moment of his treachery. More importantly, the story is not as positive as Simpson would have it: rather

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than denying that Dokimos was disloyal to his friends, it seems to suggest that although he wanted to betray them, he was mistrusted by the enemy. Furthermore, the claim that ‘it is known that he came to enjoy a leading position under Antigonus’, is not correct. All that is known, is that a certain Dokimos served under Antigonos (Diod. XIX 75.3 – 5; XX 107.4; Paus I 8.1). There is no compelling reason to assume that we are dealing with one and the same man (cf. supra, 16.1 Δόκιμος), and the present story, implying as it does that Dokimos shared the fate of the other Perdikkans – on this point I agree with Simpson – rather seems to be an argument against identification. As Jones (1992, 92), who accepts Simpson’s interpretation, admits, the typical Macedonian name Dokimos ‘is not especially rare’. Moreover, there is no need to minimize the number of important individuals playing a role in these years. The present chapter alone mentions three otherwise unknown individuals (Antipatros, Philotas and Xenopeithes), and there might well have been another Dokimos, a friend of Antigonos, who is not attested before the period from 312 onwards, while the Perdikkan was now captured and done away with. Billows’ prosopography (1990, 361– 452) lists 118 men who are certainly attested as having served as courtiers, ambassadors or officers of Antigonos (excluding Dokimos, Antigonos’ sons, those whose activities under Antigonos are not explicitly attested, and those for whom no date can be established at all [no. 2, 10, 27, 29, 60, 62, 74, 92, 99]). Only for 33 (27,97 %) of these men are activities before 316 recorded; while in the group of those attested only later, 66 (55,93 % of the total) are mentioned only in 312 or later. Of course, some of these men entered Antigonid service only at a date after 317 (e.g. Nikodemos and Pyrrhos), but for many others it is clear that they occupied an important position in the Antigonid army or administration long before their first appearance in the sources (e.g. Boiotos, Euagoras, Euitos, Hegesippos, Idomeneus, and Pausanias), which serves as a strong reminder of the limitations of our evidence. Thus, if the Antigonid Dokimos is not to be identified with the Perdikkan, he would belong to the majority group of Antigonid officials, i. e. those not attested before 312: this certainly makes the identification much less compelling. That several former Perdikkans subsequently served Antigonos (cf. Billows 1990, 371) cannot in itself be a reason to argue that Dokimos must necessarily be one of them. Enough officers changed sides in the age of the Successors (see above, 11.2 μετεβάλοντο) so that the Antigonid Dokimos’ later defection to Lysimachos (Diod. XX 107.4; Paus I 8.1) need not mean that his career was ‘segnata da tradimenti e defezioni’ (pace Landucci Gattinoni 2007, 32 n. 14); the latter event might just as well have been his first time changing sides. The fact that the Perdikkan and the Antigonid official are described in a like manner as Μακεδόνα Δόκιμον τὸ ὄνομα (Arr. Succ. F 24.3) and ἀνὴρ Μακεδὼν Δόκιμος ὄνομα

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(Paus. I 8.1), can be a mere coincidence. The Macedonian origins of the friends and officers of the Diadochoi were considered important enough to be mentioned often, though apparently in a rather random fashion: e.g. XVIII 37.4, XIX 14.6, 93.2, XX 94.5, 98.1; Plut. Pyrrh. 16.12; Arr. Succ. F1.17; cf. Diod. XVIII 57.4.

§ 17 – 19 Antigonos’ Crossing into the Upper Satrapies and the First Skirmishing After he had received reinforcements, Antigonos moved into Babylonia and then crossed the Tigris to pursue Eumenes. He was forced to retreat into Media, however, after a defeat of his advance-guard near the Koprates. Choosing the shortest and coolest route north, he had to traverse the hostile territory of the Kossaioi who expected Antigonos to pay for his right of passage. The One-Eyed refused, however, and before reaching Media nine days later, he suffered serious losses in a Kossaian attack (Billows 1990, 91– 93; Bosworth 2002, 114– 120; Roisman 2012a, 203 – 204; Anson 2014, 103 – 105).

17.1 ἐπ᾽ ἄρχοντος δ᾽ ᾿Aθήνησι Δημοκλείδου Ῥωμαῖοι μὲν ὑπάτους κατέστησαν Γάϊον Ἰούνιον καὶ Κόϊντον Αἰμίλιον: Demokleides was the archon of 316/5 (Samuel 1972, 210; Meritt 1977, 170; Dreyer 1999, 426). Gaius Iunius Bubulcus Brutus and Quintus Aemilius Barbula were the consuls of the Varronian year 317, but in Diodoros’ Roman chronography – following the vulgate – this is 315 (Broughton 1951, 155). Diodoros’ chronology is completely garbled here (cf. already the sensible remarks of Droysen 1878, I, 264 n. 2). Under the archon year of 317/6 he narrated Asian affairs of spring 317, which actually belong to the archon year 318/7. While that could be explained on the account that it was his regular practice to equate the archon year with the campaigning year in which it begins (Meeus 2012), there seems to be no good reason to begin a new year only a few months later. At 18.2 (cf. 17.3) we learn that the events Diodoros describes in the following chapters begin about the time of the rising of Sirius, which occurred around the end of July (cf. infra, ad loc.). Maybe Diodoros was confused because he knew that this actually was the time the Athenian archon year started (cf. Bosworth 1992b, 73 – 74; infra, 17.2 ἐκ τῆς Μεσοποταμίας…), all the while failing to realize that he had yet to narrate Asian events of the archon year 317/6, and had related European affairs only for the first half of it. His narrative of the European events of this year (35 – 36) starts even earlier, beginning with Kassandros

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receiving word of Arrhidaios’ death which had occurred around November 317 (cf. 35.1). Other explanations are possible, of course. Smith (1961, 287– 288) suggests that Diodoros mistakenly thought he had completed a whole year in all theatres of action because he ends the episode on the Perdikkans by saying that the siege had lasted for an entire year. If, on the other hand, one accepts the low chronology, Diodoros would be correct in beginning the year 316/5 at this point (cf. Bacigalupo Pareo 1975, 210 and 212). However, given that the campaign of Eumenes and Antigonos in Iran belongs to the same year as the relatively precisely dated death of Arrhidaios in autumn 317, such a reconstruction cannot stand (Meeus 2012). ὀλυμπιὰς δ᾽ ὑπῆρχεν ἕκτη πρὸς ταῖς ἑκατὸν καὶ δέκα, καθ᾽ ἣν ἐνίκα στάδιον Δεινομένης Λάκων: On the system of dating with Olympiads, see Christesen 2007. It is typical to mention the winner of the stadion, the sprinting race over c. 180 m (192 m in Olympia), which was the oldest event, and thus the most suitable for long-term chronography. The name of the stadion winner helped to maintain the correct indication if the number should become corrupted in the course of transmission (Christesen 2007, 10 – 11 and 69 – 71). The 116th Olympiad fell in 316; the winner of the stadion that year was actually named Deinosthenes (Moretti 1957, no. 478; Hallof 2019).

17.2 περὶ δὲ τούτους τοὺς καιρούς: Cf. XIII 54.1. Since it comes immediately after the chronographic formula, this passage clearly shows that by such an expression Diodoros merely means ‘during this year’, and we can safely assume that the same goes for all similar expressions such as κατὰ δὲ τούτους τοὺς χρόνους (XIV 3.2, 35.2, 94.2, 99.1, XX 37.1), κατὰ δὲ τοῦτον τὸν καιρόν/χρόνον (XI 15.1, XII 72.7, XIX 62.7), περὶ δὲ τούτους τοὺς χρόνους (XIII 38.1, 43.1, 68.1, 76.1, 80.1), περὶ δὲ τοὺς αὐτοὺς χρόνους (XII 48.1, 50.1, 56.1, 82.3), ἅμα δὲ τούτοις πραττομένοις (see above, 16.1), τούτων δὲ πραχθέντων/πραττομένων (XI 76.4, XII 26.2, XIII 5.1, 6.7, 8.3, 36.5, 65.1, 66.1, 72.1). ἐκ τῆς Μεσοποταμίας ἀναζεύξας ἧκεν εἰς τὴν Βαβυλωνίαν: This is a reference to Antigonos leaving the satrapy of Mesopotamia, not to his winter quarters. At 15.6 we have been told that when spring came, Antigonos at first wanted to pursue Eumenes, but decided to wait for reinforcements because the latter had swelled his ranks having joined with the forces from the upper satrapies. After the messengers had travelled from Mesopotamia to his base in Phrygia, the troops had to prepare themselves for a long campaign, and a large body of troops will have taken some time before reaching Antigonos in the land of Eu-

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phrates and Tigris. After that, the whole army still had to march all the way to Babylonia. By the time Antigonos reached Seleukos and Peithon there, the start of summer likely was at hand, so that it was more or less the time when a new archon year began (contra Anson 1986, 209 n. 6). Whether consciously or not, Diodoros’ seasons are more or less correct here, which is confirmed by the mention of the heliacal rising of Sirius (see below, 18.2 τῆς ὥρας…); cf. infra, 55.8 καταπλαγείς… for his interest in astronomy and astrology. συνέθετο κοινοπραγίαν: It is clear that the partners in the alliance were not completely equal and that Antigonos, the general of Asia, was in charge: he installs Seleukos as satrap of Susiana (18.1), he decides how to cross the country of the Kossaioi (19.4 and 8), and he orders Peithon to gather horses and horsemen from his satrapy (20.2). Seleukos and Peithon did have leading roles in the campaign, however. The former was entrusted with the siege of the citadel of Susa (18.1), while the latter was given the command of the rest of the army when Antigonos went ahead of it with the cavalry in pursuit of Eumenes (26.7), and he commanded the left wing in the battles of Paraitakene (29.3) and Gabiene (40.1): cf. Grainger 1990a, 40 – 41; Anson 2004, 166; Capdetrey 2007b, 209 – 210. It is widely held that κοινοπραγία is the term for an official alliance in which at least one of the partners is not sovereign (Rosen 1968 recently e.g. Huß 2001, 108 n. 81; Schäfer 2002, 138 n. 33; Landucci Gattinoni 2005b, 168 n. 64; Malitz 2007, 29 with n. 72; cf. for further references Meeus 2018b, 119 n. 4), but it seems questionable whether the word really has such a technical meaning (Meeus 2018b, 105 – 109). Its distribution in the Bibliotheke is remarkable, but not necessarily significant (cf. supra, Part I, §2.3). προσλαβόμενος δὲ καὶ παρὰ τούτων στρατιώτας: These soldiers may have been both infantry and cavalry. The statement that Seleukos and Peithon only had cavalry (XIX 13.3) is not to be taken in absolute terms (pace Billows 1990, 91): it does not describe the total available to them, but rather the troops which were with them at that particular moment (which need not have been a large part of the total if Seleukos did not really aim to offer resistance against Eumenes’ crossing: thus Grainger 1990a, 39 – 40). Furthermore, they might have levied additional soldiers in the meantime, as there likely were sufficient manpower reserves in Babylonia (cf. Mehl 1986, 49). ἔζευξε πλοίοις τὸν Τίγριν ποταμόν: The practice of constructing a bridge with boats was typical of the Ancient Near East (cf. Baslez 1995, 85). The tactic might have been suggested by a local serving in Antigonos’ army, but the Macedonians will have known the practice themselves too, as it is not unlikely that they studied some history in preparing their campaigns (cf. Engels 1980, 328), and Alexander’s army had seen such bridges too.

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17.3 Ξενοφίλῳ: Xenophilos had been given the responsibility of the Susan citadel by Alexander in 331. Nothing is known of him in the period between his installation at Susa and the present events (Berve 1926, II, no. 578; Bosworth 1976b, 121– 123; Billows 1990, 439 – 440; Heckel 2006, 272). On his subsequent career, see also below, 18.1 and 48.6. For the treasury of Susa, see above, 12.3 τοῖς βασιλικοῖς… τὴν ἐν Σούσοις ἄκραν: On the citadel of Susa, see Briant 1996, I, 180 and 2010; Potts 2016b; cf. Klinkott 2005, 414– 418. τὸν Τίγριν ποταμόν: It is clear from the context that in fact the Pasitigris is meant (on which see below, 18.3 τὸν Πασιτίγριν), as Plutarch correctly writes (Eum. 14.3). Antigonos could cross the Tigris freely and only met with resistance from Eumenes’ troops stationed along a river after going to Susa, near the confluence of the Koprates and the Pasitigris (18.3), which must therefore be the river Diodoros meant (cf. Droysen 1878, I, 266 n. 1; Bizière 1975, ad loc.; Hornblower 1981, 109). At 18.4 Diodoros makes the same mistake, and he had already made it before, in book XVII (67.2), as Strabo (XV 3.4) also seems to have done. It would seem from Curtius (V 3.1, ‘Tigrim fluvium, Pasitigrim incolae vocant’), however, that it was not uncommon among Greeks and Romans to call the Pasitigris simply Tigris (cf. Bosworth 1987, 549 n. 27). The parallel passage in Curtius does reveal that in book XVII Diodoros was not interested in the correct name of the river either. ἀπέχοντα Σούσων ὁδὸν ἡμέρας: If the Pasitigris is indeed the modern river Karun (cf. infra, 18.3), Diodoros’ statement at XVII 67.2 that the distance was four days is more likely to be correct (Droysen 1878, I, 266 n. 1; Bizière 1975, ad loc.; Hornblower 1981, 109; Bosworth 2002, 115 n. 68). Οὐξίους: On this mountain tribe of the Zagros, famous for their vain resistance against Alexander, see Treidler, ‘Uxii’, RE IXA.2 (1967), 1313 – 1319; Bosworth 1980b, 321, and 1988a, 89; Briant 1982b, passim; Cook 1983, 184– 185; Henkelman 2011, 8 – 11; Potts 2016a, 343 – 346; Balatti 2017, 209 – 212. πλάτος μέν…: Diodoros had already described the Pasitigris at XVII 67.2. Given that here he mentions a feature of the river typical of the season in which these events are situated (περὶ κυνὸς ἀνατολάς), he is probably following his present authority and did not himself go back to the source of the earlier description (though see below, θηρία…). Therefore, he probably repeats himself without realizing it, although it can be a deliberate choice as well. This and similar repetitions can – but need not – be taken to mean that Diodoros’ source for the Successors did not deal with the period of Alexander (Reuß 1876, 114 with n. 1; Hornblower 1981, 33 – 34). τὴν Ἐρυθράν: In Antiquity the name Ἐρυθρὰ θάλασσα was used for the northwestern part of the Indian Ocean, including the modern Red Sea and the Persian

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Gulf (cf. e.g. Hdt. VI 20; see Treidler & Brentjes, ‘Erythra thalatta’, DNP IV [1998], 106 – 107; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.); as so often, the terminology was not fixed, and at XVII 67.2 Diodoros does call it τὴν κατὰ Πέρσας θάλασσαν. Since Antiquity the coastline of the Persian Gulf has receded: back then it lay more to the north, and the rivers which nowadays flow together in the Shatt al-Arab (Euphrates, Tigris, Karun), went directly to the sea, as the Bahmanshir branch of the Karun still does nowadays (cf. Hansman 1967, passim; Bosworth 1987, 558). Indeed, at XVII 67.2 Diodoros also claims that the Pasitigris emptied in the Persian Gulf. θαλάσσιον ἰχθὺν πολύν: Some of the fish in the Persian Gulf also live in the adjacent rivers and estuaries, namely the Milkfish (Chanos chanos) and the Bluetail mullet (Crenimugil buchanani): see Eagderi et al. 2019, 33 and 85. Cf. also next lemma for the Bull shark. θηρία τῶν πελαγίων, ἃ φαίνεται μάλιστα περὶ κυνὸς ἀνατολάς: This general remark was relevant to the present occasion (see below, 18.2 τῆς ὥρας…). The animals must have been sharks (Bizière 1975, ad loc.; Bosworth 2002, 116 n. 73), particularly Bull sharks, as these do indeed regularly swim down the rivers in the area in summer (Coad 2015, 221). Bosworth (loc. cit.) wonders whether this might be a piece of autopsy on Hieronymos’ part. This hypothesis is unnecessary, though: every source ultimately goes back to eyewitnesses and Hieronymos is not the only one who would have seen this. The same goes, for instance, for the statement that the depth of the Pasitigris equalled about the height of an elephant (pace Hornblower 1981, 120; Bosworth 2002, 116 n. 76) or for the description of Peukestas’ banquet (pace Schäfer 2002, 142). Furthermore, on this particular point general knowledge must have been involved since a mere eyewitness of the present episode had no way of knowing that sharks only enter the river in summer, unless of course they talked to the locals. For Pausanias (IV 34.2) the sharks of the Euphrates (θηρία ὅμοια τοῖς μάλιστα ἀνδροφάγα) seem to belong to common knowledge, although he does not seem to know that they migrate from the sea (cf. IV 34.3) – unless the latter point would imply that Pausanias was not actually referring to sharks.

17.4 ἀνέμενον τὴν τῶν πολεμίων ἔφοδον: Several explanations have been put forward for this rather passive strategy of the coalition. According to Vezin (1907, 93) Eumenes feared the instability of his alliance due to the ongoing struggle for the leadership, while Schäfer (2002, 138 – 139), rejecting that reason, suggests that their numerical inferiority was the cause. Bosworth (2002, 115 – 116), in turn, asserts that such a strategy was adopted because of the extreme heat in the region (on which see below, 18.1 οὔσης τῆς…). All of these factors might well have been

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at play, possibly along with yet other elements. Cf. Spence 1993, 111; Baslez 1995, 84– 86; Bagg 2014 on the strategic use of rivers.

17.5 τὸ μὲν πρῶτον οὐ προσεῖχεν αὐτοῖς, μεμψιμοιρῶν ἐπὶ τῷ μὴ τετευχέναι τῆς στρατηγίας: For the debate on the leadership of the coalition army, see 15.1– 4 with the commentary ad loc. Roisman (2010, 137) rightly notes that Hieronymos – assuming that he was the ultimate source of this passage – ‘could have hardly been privy’ to Peukestas’ motives, but perhaps he simply declared that he would only bring further troops if he would obtain the supreme command (cf. now also Wallace 2018, 74– 78; Hau 2018, 289 – 290). It is hard to see what other reason he could have had for not immediately agreeing to send troops, as he too wanted to stop Antigonos. Roisman’s argument that the socalled period of doubt may just have been the time for the reinforcements to arrive after being called upon is somewhat strange, as Diodoros states that once the decision was made all troops were immediately informed. This statement is often listed as one of several passages (15.1, 23.1, 38.1– 2, 42.2– 4, 43.5) illustrating that Hieronymos consciously presented a negative picture of Eumenes’ rival Peukestas (e.g. Westlake 1969, 314; Hornblower 1981, 155; Schäfer 2002, 156; Anson 2004, 9; Roisman 2010, 137). However, the present remark might well be a statement of fact, and this goes for most of the other ones as well, so that there is not really a negative tendency in Diodoros’ narrative (cf. Bosworth 1992a, 68). Indeed, in all these instances – except for the latter, which he does not treat – Anson (2004, 164– 165, 172, 183, 187) himself accepts the presentation of events, but one cannot have it both ways. At 23.1 Diodoros mentions Eumenes’ opinion on Peukestas’ motives, and it is the former who develops certain machinations as a response, but that is not Peukestas’ fault. If many of these passages display bias against Peukestas, then 23.1 must reflect the sources’ negative treatment of Eumenes (cf. infra, 23.1 πάντων…). Furthermore, the presentation of Peukestas at 14.4– 5 is very positive, which cannot be explained away in terms of ‘giving the credentials of all the former friends and bodyguards of Alexander’, as Hornblower (1981, 155) does: much more is written there than a mere indication of Peukestas’ credentials, and the echoes with the positive treatment in Arrian may not be limited to that passage (cf. supra, 14.5 δι’ ἃς αἰτίας…, χαρίζεσθαι…, διὰ τούτου… and infra, 21.3 κατοικοῦσι…). Goukowsky (1978b 99 n. 115) adds Plut. Eum. 15.8 and 16.9 to the list of passages displaying bias against Peukestas; these are indeed explicitly negative, especially the latter, but there is no guarantee that Plutarch’s text faithfully adopted Hieronymos’ interpretation in those passages, and Plutarch was more than capable of imposing his own in-

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terpretation on his Lives. He himself seems to be responsible for the negative picture of Antigenes in his Eumenes, which contradicts the presentation of Antigenes in Diodoros (cf. Heckel 1980b, 44 n. 7). καὶ τὴν σατραπείαν αὐτὸν ἀποβαλεῖν καὶ περὶ τοῦ σώματος κινδυνεῦσαι: Similar considerations move Antigenes and Teutamos to choose Eumenes’ side (Diod. XVIII 62.7). The fear of the loss of his satrapy later proved to be justified, but that for his life did not (see XIX 48.5); many others were executed, though (XIX 44.1). Antigonos might well have been aware of such fears, for at 25.3 (συγχωρήσειν…) it is said that he promised that the satraps would maintain their territories if they changed sides: also cf. infra, 23.4 παρήγαγεν…

17.6 τῆς στρατηγίας μᾶλλον τεύξεσθαι νομίζων ὡς πλείστους ἔχων στρατιώτας: See above, 15.1 διά τε τὸ πλῆθος… for the number of troops one supplied as an argument for the choice of the supreme commander. προσήγαγεν, καθάπερ ἠξίουν, τοξότας μυρίους: Peukestas never seems to have had problems levying troops from his satrapy, which testifies to his popularity with the natives (Wiesehöfer 1994, 51 n. 11 and 2011, 108; cf. Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 123; Lane Fox 2007, 294; supra, 14.5 μεγάλης ἀποδοχῆς…). See 21.3 on the manpower potential of Persis (cf. Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 396 – 397). It is likely that the local elite also collaborated in the organization of the banquet Peukestas was to hold later in Persepolis (22.1– 3; cf. Schäfer 2002, 142). τὸ παραγγελθὲν αὐθημερὸν ἤκουον: The word αὐθημερός also occurs at [Arist.] Mu. 398a34 – 35, where it is claimed that the Persian king knew what was going on anywhere in Asia on the same day thanks to an elaborate fire-signalling system (ὥστε τὸν βασιλέα γινώσκειν αὐθημερὸν πάντα τὰ ἐν τῇ ᾿Aσίᾳ καινουργούμενα). διὰ τὸ φιλοτεχνηθέν: On φιλοτεχνία and related words in Diodoros, see Casevitz (2006a, 188 – 189), who deems Diodoros’ interest in such matters characteristic. Hornblower (1981, 39), on the other hand, assumes that we are facing the result of Hieronymos’ interest in military matters. ὅπερ οὐ καλῶς ἔχει παραδραμεῖν: The same remark that it would not be good to omit (παραδραμεῖν) something is to be found at XIII 84.6, XV 88.1, XIX 98.1; cf. also above, 13.7 δι᾽ ἑτέρας…, on Diodoros’ remarks that something is ἀναγκαῖος for the narrative, and the comparable statements referred to there. Cf. Plb. X 43.1 (χρήσιμον εἶναί μοι δοκεῖ τὸ μὴ παραδραμεῖν) for a similar remark in the context of a digression on fire signals.

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17.7 τῆς γὰρ Περσίδος…: A similar claim is made by Xenophon about the Mossynoikoi (An. V 4.31), where he states that they shouted over distances of 80 stades (c. 5 km). The latter seems exaggerated, but the systems need not be completely impossible (pace Hornblower 1981, 151; Graf 1990, 51– 53). The Persians are known to have trained their voices, and heralds with powerful voices were used to communicate with people who were for instance on the other side of a river (Graf 1994, 168; Briant 1996, I, 383 – 384; cf. also Leiner 1982, 81; Anson 2004, 167 n. 61; Kuhrt 2007, 731– 733 and 755 – 756). Based on what is physically possible according to acoustic principles, Aschoff (1977, 454– 455) excludes that complete messages were communicated in this way. He suggests, however, that an alarm-code with so-called energetic vowels could be used (e.g. o-a-o-a-o), in which case the human voice is able to cover distances of about 1 km. Given the features of the terrain with deep valleys such as are mentioned by Diodoros it might even have been possible for one man to transmit the alarm over a few kilometres at once. Aschoff therefore concludes ‘daß es (…) durchaus denkbar ist, daß in der Satrapie Persis, dem Stammland der Perser, akustische Alarmsysteme benutzt wurden, wenn es darum ging, die wehrfähige Bevölkerung aufzubieten’. The distance of 300 km between Persepolis and the outposts of the province could then be covered by less than 300 men. Although this involves a great deal of manpower if the message had to be communicated in several directions, the system might indeed have been used, in spite of its difficult practicability. After all, one should consider that it was the fastest possible way of communicating, which is a most important advantage (cf. Plb. X 43). Furthermore, Diodoros’ mention of the terrain features shows that he was aware of the need of such geographical conditions for the system to be workable. An alternative explanation to that of Aschoff could be the use of a whistled language: Jan Tavernier has drawn my attention to Silbo Gomero, a language in which communication over more than a kilometre is common and extreme instances in which people were removed up to 8 km from each other have been observed (J. Meyer 2015, 35). If we are indeed to think of the latter option, Diodoros’ wording seems imprecise, but that can hardly be an argument against this interpretation. On methods of communication enabling the swift mobilisation of troops, see also Karunanithy 2013, 38. εἰς φωνῆς ἀκοήν: Cf. XIX 41.1, XX 33.1. These three instances of the phrase are the only occurrences in all of preserved Greek literature, which makes the cluster in books XIX–XX remarkable, but it should be noted that XX 33.1 concerns Sicilian affairs.

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18.1 Σέλευκον μὲν ἀπέδειξε τῆς χώρας σατράπην: It is unclear how Antigonos legitimized his power to do this. While it has been suggested that he was acting as strategos of Asia (Bizière 1975, ad loc.), Eumenes’ appointment to that post by Polyperchon and the kings (XVIII 58.1), must mean that Antigonos had been deposed. Thus, he was most likely acting on his own authority, as Anson has pointed out (2004, 168 n. 62; cf. Grainger 1990a, 42), unless he had been reinstated by Eurydike (thus Bengtson 1964, I, 110 – 111; Huß 2001, 135). Just like Seleukos (cf. supra) he may simply have denied the legality of Eumenes’ appointment. However this may be, there is no evidence that the στρατηγός of Asia was allowed to install satraps (cf. Huß 2001, 141), as satrapal appointments were always made by the regent in the name of the kings: Perdikkas in Babylon (Arr. Succ. F1a5; App. Syr. 52; Just. XIII 4.9; Dex. F8.7; cf. Meeus 2008, 68 – 69) as well as on the occasion of the replacement of Archon, the satrap of Babylonia, with Dokimos (Arr. Succ. F24.3), and Antipatros at Triparadeisos (Diod. XVIII 39.5; Arr. Succ. F1.34; IG II2 401, l. 7– 9, cf. infra, 55.3 ἣν Μακεδόνες…). This suggests that Antigonos was a rebel indeed (cf. Diod. XVIII 41.4), disobeying the central authority whilst entertaining larger ambitions than his position of satrap of Greater Phrygia or general of Asia allowed. He may already have done the same in Mesopotamia before leaving the satrapy in the spring of 317: this would be one possible explanation for the apparent replacement of Amphimachos with Blitor, of which we hear only after the facts and in passing (in App. Syr. 53) when the latter is being deposed for not having prevented Seleukos’ flight in 316 (thus Billows 1990, 378; cf. Heckel 2006, 339 n. 674). On the other hand, Antigonos had not replaced Peukestas when passing through Persis, although the latter had also joined Eumenes. There was no general policy of deposing Eumenes’ allies, then, and it is equally possible that Blitor had only been appointed in 316 with the reorganisation of the satrapies after the death of Eumenes (cf. infra, 48.1 μετὰ τῶν φίλων…). ἀπειθοῦντος Ξενοφίλου τοῦ θησαυροφύλακος: In fact, Xenophilos was the commander of the citadel rather than the treasurer (for the division of responsibilities, see Anson 2014, 48). When he was installed by Alexander in 331, Kallikrates was appointed as treasurer (Curt. V 2.16 – 17). The latter might still have been in office, but nothing further is known of him (Hauben 1970a, 16; Heckel 2006, 75). At any rate, the description of Xenophilos as treasurer may thus be wrong, so that there is no need to assume to he is to be identified with Xenokles, the otherwise unknown treasurer of Str. II 1.6 (pace Heckel 2006, 272; Roller 2018, 60): it is hardly surprising to have a treasurer who is attested only once (cf. Meeus 2013b, 85 – 86). Mehl (1986, 50 – 51) contends on the basis of XIX 48.6 that Seleukos and Xenophilos in the end concluded a treaty as peers

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(‘eine Eroberung oder Kapitulation der Zitadelle von Susa [muß] ausgeschlossen werden; nur ein für beide Seiten gleicher Vertrag kommt in Frage’), and that the commander of the garrison must, then, have put an end to his loyalty to Eumenes and the royalist cause. There can be no dispute about the latter conclusion, but I do not see why it is impossible that Xenophilos was forced to leave Eumenes’ camp. The phrase ἀπεσταλμένος ὑπὸ Σελεύκου πᾶν ποιῆσαι τὸ προσταττόμενον (48.6) does not suggest that Xenophilos and Seleukos were peers, and the present passage states quite clearly that Xenophilos did not simply abandon Eumenes’ cause (on his loyalty to the royal house, see Bosworth 2002, 114). It was probably only after the battle of Gabiene that Susa was taken. Bernard (1985, 88 n. 84) plausibly argues that Seleukos did not remain in Susiana after Antigonos’ defeat at the Koprates (see below), so that he probably only forced Xenophilos to surrender after Eumenes had been defeated (Billows 1990, 106; Grainger 1990a, 43). Potts (2016b, 36) connects arrowheads and spearheads of the Greek type found at the citadel of Susa with the present siege by Seleukos. οὔσης τῆς ὁδοῦ καυματώδους καὶ παντελῶς ἐπικινδύνου ξενικαῖς δυνάμεσι διελθεῖν: For roads which are καυματώδεις, see also 19.2 and 21.2. Strabo (XV 3.10), following an historian of Alexander, describes the scorching summer heat in Susiana: ‘At noon, the lizards and the snakes could not cross the streets in the city quickly enough to prevent their being burnt to death in the middle of the streets’. According to The Cambridge History of Iran the modern mean maximum temperature for July in the region is 47.3 °C, while the highest temperature recorded during the period of observation is 53 °C. Extreme maxima of more than 50° have been recorded at several stations in the region (Ganji 1968, 232– 233; Fisher 1971, 278; cf. Briant 1996, I, 199; Bosworth 2002, 115; Anson 2004, 168 n. 63; Baynham 2013, 112). The pairing of two adjectives with καὶ παντελῶς is typical of Diodoros (Palm 1955, 156). τὰς πορείας ἠναγκάζοντο νυκτὸς ποιεῖσθαι: Marching at night became much more common in the Hellenistic period, but its usual aim was secrecy (Roth 2007, 393). According to Bosworth (2002, 116 n. 74), this statement describes Antigonos’ entire journey through Susiana and not just the march from Susa to the Koprates, as the distance between both was only 60 stades (14 km) and could easily be covered in a single stage.

18.2 συχνούς: It is hard to tell what exactly this means, but it need not be an exaggeration (pace Billows 1990, 92 n. 20): see below, 19.8 πολλοὺς ἀποβαλών… τῆς ὥρας οὔσης περὶ κυνὸς ἀνατολάς: Indicating the season by means of the rising of Sirius seems to have been quite common (cf. Gundel, ‘Sirius’, RE IIIA.1

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[1927], 339 – 340). This is usually taken as being about the end of June (Billows 1990, 91; Bosworth 2002, 115; Rathmann 2005a, 396), but according to Errington (1977, 483), citing Ginzel’s Handbuch der mathematischen und technischen Chronologie, the heliacal rising of the Dog Star (Sirius) occurred ca. July 25 at this latitude (ca. 32°N), while Neugebauer (1929, I, 161) gives a date of July 18 for Babylon, and Bickerman (1980, 113) gives ca. July 23 for 34°N in 300 BCE (cf. Anson 2004, 166 n. 56). However, there is no point in trying to establish an exact date, as the visibility of the heliacal rising of the star is subject to circumstances (cf. Bickerman 1963, 22). Furthermore, Diodoros says that it was the season of the rising, which need not mean more than July-August (cf. the dates for Athens [38°N], July 28, and Rome [42°N], August 3, in the tables of Boll, ‘Fixsterne’, RE VI.2 [1909], 2427– 2430). Diodoros’ narrative on the Successors often mentions such astronomical phenomena to indicate the time of the year (XIX 17.3, 37.4, 56.5, XX 73.3 and 74.1), and this is usually explained as being typical of Hieronymos (e.g. Wheatley 1998a, 257). The practice is not unique to the history of the Diadochoi, though (e.g. I 19.1, 36.2, 36.7, 39.4, 41.4, II 35.2, 47.7, III 23.3, 31.2, 41.1, IV 84.2, XIII 8.7, 91.1, XIV 88.2, XVII 7.6, XIX 109.4, XX 69.3). Thus, the frequency of astronomical pointers in the narrative on the Successors is not as striking as one might think at first sight. The astronomical pointers are classified together with the seasonal referents by Anson (2004, 19 n. 119), but most of the latter are mentions of winter quarters which are part of the military narrative: they are usually not included in Diodoros’ text for chronological purposes, nor did they necessarily fulfil that function in his source. I do not deny that Diodoros’ source for the Successors is likely to have provided more seasonal referents than the average historian, but it is hard to determine to what extent he did so on the basis of Diodoros. Given that the latter has included many other astronomical pointers in his work, it is not impossible that he preferred to include them whenever he found them in his sources (cf. infra, 55.8 καταπλαγείς… for his interest in astronomy and astrology); if so, the six instances in the narrative on the Successors are not particularly telling.

18.3 τὸν Κοπράτην ποταμόν: The identification of this tributary of the Pasitigris has been much debated, due to uncertainty resulting from hydrographical changes since Antiquity, and the problem that there are more Susianian hydronyms than Susianian rivers in the classical sources. Potts (1999) convincingly argued that the Choaspes must be the same river as the Eulaios, the former name being derived from Old Persian, the latter from Elamite, and that it is the water-

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way which is now named Karkheh. Given that the Pasitigris must be the Karun, the Koprates is to be identified with the Ab-e-Diz (Dez) (Le Rider 1965, 266 – 267; Bosworth 1987, 550 – 556, and 2002, 114– 115; Orth 1993, 127). τὰ πρὸς τὴν διάβασιν παρεσκευάζετο: Plutarch (Eum. 14.3) claims that Antigonos tried to cross the Pasitigris, but it must have been the Koprates as Diodoros’ version correctly indicates. The One-Eyed had only just reached the Koprates, and Eumenes’ men crossed the Pasitigris to attack the isolated groups who had been the first to traverse the river. Obviously, Eumenes would not need to send his force across the Pasitigris to fight Antigonos’ soldiers if the latter had already crossed the Pasitigris themselves (cf. Anson 2004, 168 n. 64). τὸν Πασιτίγριν: The identification of the Pasitigris, or ‘Lesser Tigris’, has long been a vexing issue, but most likely it is the modern river Karun, which nowadays empties into the Shatt Al-Arab, but must have flowed into the Sea in Antiquity (Le Rider 1965, 266 – 267; Orth 1993, 132; Potts 1999; Bosworth 2002, 114– 115; cf. supra, τὸν Κοπράτην ποταμόν). ὡς ἂν τεττάρων πλέθρων: The use of ὡς ἄν instead of ὡς alone is typical of Hellenistic prose, and especially of Diodoros (see below, 48.1 τιμῆς…). Only in books XIX and XX (also at XIX 31.2, 38.2 [twice], 46.6, XX 51.1, 74.3), however, are numbers qualified by ὡς ἄν, so that here, then, we may be facing slight linguistic influence from Diodoros’ source for the history of the Diadochoi. Palm (1955, 100), however, notes that it is not very striking, as it conforms with the Sicilian’s general use of ὡς ἄν.

18.4 πλοῖα κοντωτά: On this kind of boat, see above, 12.5 συναγαγόντος… Bosworth (2002, 116 – 117) suggests that they also used inflated skins. τῶν κατασκόπων: For the scouts, see also XIX 25.1, 26.5, 32.3, 83.1. On the Macedonian intelligence system, see Engels 1980; Billows 1990, 316. τὸ ζεῦγμα τοῦ Τίγριδος: Bosworth (1987, 551– 552) identifies it with the bridge crossed by Alexander in 331.

18.5 ἄφνω δὲ προσπεσὼν τεθορυβημένοις τοὺς μὲν ἄλλους εὐθὺς ἐτρέψατο: This is very close to XVIII 72.8, ἄφνω τοῖς πολεμίοις τεθορυβημένοις εὐθὺς κατὰ τὸν πρῶτον ἐπίπλουν ἐτρέψαντο. The phrase ἄφνω προσπίπτειν vel sim. is to be found quite often in Diodoros (see also IV 10.5, 33.3, XIV 117.4, XV 65.2, 84.1, XVI 76.3, XVII 7.8, 12.1, 68.2, 84.2, XVIII 51.2, 72.8, XIX 92.3, 93.2, XX 54.2, XXXVI 4.5). That it is yet another of the Sicilian’s stereotypical expressions

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used in battle descriptions, is clear from the relative rarity of the expression in other works. There are 12 occurrences in Polyainos (I 10.1, 41.5, 45.2, II 24.1, III 1.2, 9.20, 9.24, V 32.1, 40.1, VI 25.1; cf. also VI 2.1), as opposed to the 17 of Diodoros, while the former’s subject matter evidently leads to the more frequent mention of such actions. It might not be a coincidence that Polybios comes in third as to the number of times the expression is used (8 times: I 53.3, III 43.9, 74.1, 95.8, IV 35.3, 36.5, 61.2, X 5.4; he might well have used it much more often, as 7 out of 8 come from the completely preserved books). Plutarch has fourteen instances (Thes. 13.3, Aem. 29.2, Alc. 37.4, Arist. 17.10, Crass. 9.9, Demetr. 6.3, Brut. 57.6, Arat. 8.5, 31.5, 36.2, Nic. 20.3, Phil. 5.1, Pomp. 48.1, Timol. 18.3); Xenophon (An. V 6.20, VI 2.17, 3.3) and Thucydides (III 3.3, 30.3; cf. also IV 25.9) three. In Appian there are six (Gall. 1[12], Pun. 91, Bell. Civ. I 6.45, 6.51, 8.69, 14.119). Dionysios of Halikarnassos (Ant. Rom. I 20.4) and Arrian (Anab. VI 18.1, 21.3) both use the phrase only once. Even if we take into account that other authors might simply have used a greater variety of expressions to describe such an event than Diodoros with his repetitive style, the frequency of occurrences in his work seems to be telling, especially given the stereotypical character his battle descriptions usually have. The chronological distribution could be taken to suggest that it was a typical Hellenistic phrase (cf. already Men. Asp. 46, ἄφνω γὰρ ἐπιπίπτουσιν), but it could also be a consequence of Polybios’ stylistic influence on Diodoros. As here and at XVIII 72.8, such a surprise attack typically causes θόρυβος (e.g. XI 10.1, 36.3, 80.4, XIII 77.5, 106.3, XVI 18.4, XVIII 45.2, 72.6) and puts the enemy to flight, as usually happens in the heat of a battle in the Bibliotheke (e.g. XI 20.5, 74.3, 80.5, XII 79.5, XIII 72.4, 78.2, XIII 106.5, 110.2, XIV 23.4, 84.1, XV 80.5, XVI 86.4, XVII 68.7, XVII 98.4, XVIII 30.6, XIX 30.4, 42.3, XX 60.7, 62.5, XXIV 1.3). The anonymous Dublin professor quoted by Farrington (1937, 8) rightly saw the flight of one party as a typical element of the Diodorean battle: ‘[Diodoros] had only one description for all battles, namely, trumpets, noise, brave deeds, numbers of dead, the inclination of Fortune to one side, and the flight of the other’ (cf. Reid 1969, 69 – 70 and 102– 106; Hornblower 1981, 38; Stylianou 1998, 15 – 16; Barber 1935, esp. 142– 144 ascribes these features to Ephoros without even mentioning that they occur throughout the Bibliotheke; cf. Gray 1987, 77– 82). φυγεῖν εἰς τὸν ποταμὸν πάντας κατηνάγκασε: The expression ἀναγκάζειν (vel sim.) φεύγειν occurs frequently in Diodoros’ work (I 59.2, 68.4, III 10.3, IV 12.7, 16.4, XI 12.6, 61.3, XII 70.2, 70.3, XIII 6.5, 13.6, 50.4, 73.4, 99.6, XIV 33.2, 60.4, 84.2, XV 15.3, 17.3, 34.5, 35.1, 40.5, 63.1, 93.6, XVI 12.5, 68.3, 86.4, XVII 21.4, 27.4, 59.8, XVIII 30.6, 53.4, XIX 43.1, 89.2, XX 15.4, 52.2, 60.7, XXIV 1.3); cf. previous lemma.

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18.7 οἱ δὲ ἄπειροι τοῦ κολυμβᾶν ὄντες: The inability to swim of most Macedonians had caused them problems on earlier occasions: cf. Diod. XVIII 35.6 with Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 155 – 156; Rathmann 2005a, 397; though see also XX 74.3 – 4, where it is implied that Antigonos’ men could swim. Yet, given the potential occurrence of shark attacks at the time of the year, the danger may not only have concerned those unable to swim (cf. Coad 2015, 221; I owe this point to Stefan Schorn). εἰς τετρακισχιλίους ὄντες: Plutarch (Eum. 14.3) gives the same number.

19.1 ἐπὶ πόλεως Βαδάκης: The exact location of Badake, which tends to be identified with the Elamite Madaktu, is unknown (Le Rider 1965, 268; Bizière 1975, ad loc.; Bosworth 1987, 554 with n. 43, and 2002, 118; Orth 1993, 115; Potts 2016a, 351). The common identification of Madaktu with modern Tepe Patak has been questioned by Potts (2005, esp. 169 – 171), who suggests that Tepe Senjar is a more likely candidate. τὸν Εὔλαιον ποταμόν: The Eulaios is the river on the banks of which Susa was located. Again, a precise identification is hampered by the hydrographic changes that have occurred over the course of time, but it seems quite certain that it is the modern Karkheh (Le Rider 1965, 263 – 267; Orth 1993, 118 – 119; Potts 1999, 2005; Bosworth 2002, 118 n. 80; cf. supra, 18.3 τὸν Κοπράτην ποταμόν). οὔσης δὲ τῆς ὁδοιπορίας: For ὁδοιπορία, another typical Diodorean word, see MD s.v. and Rance 2009, 99. The phrase τῆς ὁδοιπορίας οὔσης also occurs at XVI 84.5 and XIX 21.2; the only other potentially ancient attestation I have found is Ps.-Callisth. (rec. α) I 34.2. τὸ μέγεθος τῶν καυμάτων: Cf. supra, 18.1 οὔσης τῆς…

19.2 ἐν τῇ προειρημένῃ πόλει μείνας ἡμέρας τινὰς καὶ τὸ στρατόπεδον ἐκ τῆς κακοπαθίας ἀναλαβών: On the need of resting the army in general, see Engels 1978a, 154– 155. It is obvious that in these circumstances the need to halt was even greater, especially since morale must have been low after the setbacks suffered at the Koprates and in the land of the Kossaioi. Ἐκβάτανα τῆς Μηδικῆς: Ekbatana, modern Hamadan in Iran, was the capital of Media, and one of the residences of the Achaimenid kings (Olmstead 1948, 162; Orth 1993, 118; Briant 1996, I, 694, 758 – 761 and passim). According to Bosworth (2002, 117– 118) Peithon had been able more or less to force Antigonos to

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retreat to Media, but it is not impossible that both men agreed that it was the best thing to do. Media, being Peithon’s province, was their safest possible haven in the upper satrapies, and the region apparently had ample resources (20.1– 3). κατακτᾶσθαι τὰς ἄνω σατραπείας: Like 100.4 (ἀγωνιῶν ὁ ᾿Aντίγονος περὶ τῶν ἄνω σατραπειῶν) this statement shows that Antigonos must have coveted rule over the upper satrapies as well, despite the scholarly trend to limit the territorial ambitions of the One-Eyed to Western Asia and Greece simply because that is where most of his activities are to be situated: yet, the regions where the Successors operated were determined by considerations of military strategy rather than by their ambitions (cf. Meeus 2013b, 118 – 119; contra Goukowsky 1978b, 119 – 120 and 126; Billows 1990, 4, 106 and passim; Strootman 2014b, 317). The peace of 311 reveals clearly enough that Antigonos desired to control all of Asia (cf. infra, 105.1 οἱ περὶ Κάσσανδρον… and ᾿Aντίγονον…). The existence of the very same misunderstanding about Seleukid interests in the upper satrapies reveals the problem with the argument that makes actual interest dependent on attested activities (cf. Engels 2017, 213 – 214 with n. 3). οὐσῶν δ᾽ ὁδῶν δύο τῶν φερουσῶν εἰς Μηδίαν: One of these, as Bosworth (2002, 118) suggests, might well have been the modern road through the Zagros mountains, passing through Khorramabad, Borujerd and Malayer, which is the shortest route from Susa to Ekbatana (cf. Anson 2004, 170 n. 68). The other one implied an enormous detour: it was the route also taken by Alexander, following the royal road from Susa to Sardis into eastern Babylonia, where it crossed the main road from Babylon to Ekbatana, which he took for the remainder of the journey (see below, καλὴ καὶ βασιλική). ἑκατέρᾳ προσῆν τι δυσχερές: On the problems facing a commander when choosing the right marching route, see Engels 1980, 329 – 331. Κάλωνος: Manuscript R reads Κόλωνος, while at some point F’s original reading Κάλωνος was changed to Κόλωνος by a different hand. Κάλωνος is usually accepted as the more correct reading on the assumption that it is the region called Καλλωνῖτις by Polybios (V 54.7, with Walbank 1957 ad loc.) and Καλωνῖτις by Strabo (XVI 1.1). Isidoros of Charax (FGrHist 781 F2.3) calls it Χαλωνῖτις (see Welles ad XVII 110.4– 5; Bizière ad loc.; Goukowsky ad XVII 110.4; Seibert 1985, 24; Orth 1993, 124– 125; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.; Waterfield 2019, 531). This was a part of Media along the upper Diyālā, in modern terms the border region of Iran and Iraq near Khānaqīn. καλὴ καὶ βασιλική: As explained above (οὐσῶν…), this must mean that he took the royal road from Susa until he reached Opis, and then continued along the main road from there to Ekbatana. On the Persian system of royal roads, see Engels 1980, 331; Seibert 1985, 15 – 27; Graf 1994; Syme 1995, 3 – 23; Briant 1996, I,

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esp. 369 – 371 and 2012; Miller 1997, 114– 117; Klinkott 2005, 397– 401; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.; Brosius 2006, 53 – 57; Kuhrt 2007, 728 – 761 passim; Colburn 2013; cf. Lolos 2003, 143 – 145. The qualification as καλή should be understood in a relative sense, as the royal roads were mostly unpaved, which could cause problems especially in case of heavy rainfall, and implied that at crossroads or junctions it was not always clear which way to go (Engels 1980, 331; Briant 1996, I, 373 – 374); though see Colburn 2013, 36 – 41, and Henkelman 2017, 63 – 80. τῶν Κοσσαίων ἐθνῶν: The Kossaioi were nomads living in the Zagros mountains between Media and Susiana (cf. XVII 111.4; Plb. V 44.7; Str. XI 13.6, XVI 1.17); they had been defeated by Alexander (Diod. XVII 111.5 – 6; Arr. Anab. VII 15.2– 3; Polyaen. IV 3.31), but clearly this did not imply their definitive and complete submission to the Macedonians (Briant 1982b, esp. 62– 64, 67– 69 and 84, and 1996, I, 750 – 752; Billows 1990, 92; Bosworth 1996a, 146 and 2002, 118 – 119; Sisti & Zambrini 2004, 618 – 619; Heller 2010, 433 – 434; Heckel 2016, 237; Potts 2016a, 368 – 370; Balatti 2017, 227– 230).

19.3 αὐτόνομοι γὰρ ὄντες ἐκ παλαιῶν χρόνων κατοικοῦσιν ἐν σπηλαίοις, προσφέρονται δὲ βαλάνους καὶ μύκητας, ἔτι δὲ τεταριχευμένα κρέα τῶν ἀγρίων ζῴων: For a similar description of the same tribe, see XVII 11.4; cf. Arr. Anab. VII 15.1– 2, 23.1. On the stereotypes concerning people living in primitive, mountainous regions, see Briant 1982b, 12– 42; Isaac 2004, 406 – 410. Specifically on eating meat, see Shaw 1982/3 (cf. Hornblower 1981, 151), and on acorns Levine 1989, esp. 91– 92. The Kossaian consumption of acorns may well be a historical fact, though, as they apparently were still used as food in this region in the 19th century CE (Potts 2016a, 369 – 370 and 2018b). On the relationship between freedom and barbarian lifestyles, see also below on the Nabataians, esp. 94.6 φιλελεύθεροι…; cf. also Bosak-Schroeder 2020, 106 – 130 on the relationship between environment, autarky and freedom.

19.4 δωροδοκεῖν: Tribes like the Kossaioi entertained mutual relations with the Persian King by means of a ceremony in which the king annually gave gifts to the leaders of the tribe who in turn provided military contingents and thus submitted to the imperial power, a relationship which most Greeks and Macedonians, including Antigonos, apparently failed to understand (Briant 1982b, 81– 94 and 1996, I, 750 – 752; Aperghis 2004, 40 – 41; Henkelman 2011, 8 – 11).

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ἀγεννὲς ἡγεῖτο: Perhaps he thought he should not let a minor enemy extort him. It is quite likely, however, that imitatio Alexandri might also have been a factor determining the One-Eyed’s course of action (cf. in a different context Meeus 2020a, 306). Alexander had fought his way through the country of the Kossaioi, and one can easily imagine that Antigonos felt the need to measure up to the late king (Bosworth 2002, 119; cf. Anson 2004, 170 n. 71). Billows (1990, 92– 93), in his usual apologetic tone, asserts that a lack of money was the reason for Antigonos’ refusal to pay, rather than his pride (cf. Schäfer 2002, 139 n. 41). While it may well be true that Antigonos preferred to use his war chest economically, it is quite probable that he did not feel like acting in a way that might seem to suggest lack of military capability. Νεάρχῳ: Nearchos of Crete had settled in Amphipolis in the time of Philippos II, and he was one of Alexander’s so-called ‘boyhood friends’. He was installed as satrap of Lykia and Pamphylia, and it is possible that a good relationship with Antigonos, his neighbour in Phrygia, originated or developed at this time. Later he rejoined Alexander, and held the command of the fleet returning from India, for which he became most famous thanks to the account of the voyage he wrote. After Alexander’s death he tried to obtain a position of power, but apparently failing in his attempt, he attached himself to Antigonos (Berve 1926, II, 544; Billows 1990, 406 – 408; Heckel 1992, 228 – 234 and 2006, 171– 173). According to Wirth (1988, 246), Nearchos held a position ‘von augenscheinlich geringem Einfluß’ under Antigonos. Undoubtedly the limited sources are to blame for this. The commission as advisor of Demetrios he received in 314 surely was an important one (see below, 69.1 ἄνδρας…).

19.6 τόξοις: Cf. Strabo XI 13.6 and especially XVI 1.18: Κοσσαῖοι μὲν οὖν εἰσι τοξόται τὸ πλέον.

19.8 πολλοὺς ἀποβαλὼν καὶ τοῖς ὅλοις κινδυνεύσας: This comment does not present Antigonos in the best light, especially since the reader is reminded that the judgment of Peithon, the man Antigonos would later eliminate, was better – unless Antigonos’ realizing his mistake is meant to make things better. Billows (1990, 92 n. 20) argues that the sources consistently overstate Antigonos’ losses in the Iranian campaign because ‘Hieronymos, exaggerated the losses and suffering of Antigonos’s troops to glorify Eumenes by comparison’ (cf. Schäfer 2002, 139 n. 39). For this stage of the campaign his argument is convincingly re-

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futed by Bosworth (2002, 119 n. 87) and Anson (2004, 171 n. 73). To the latter’s reasoning one can also add the usual question whether Hieronymos would have glorified Eumenes to the detriment of his Antigonid patrons. One may thus doubt whether the present statement goes back to Hieronymos at all. See also below, 31.5 ἀνῃρέθησαν… and 43.1 ἑαυτῶν… ἐνναταῖος: The large number of precise time indications in books XVIII–XX is usually considered to be the result of Diodoros’ use of the account of a serious historian, who is identified as Hieronymos of Kardia (Reid 1969, 50; Anson 2004, 19 – 20). However, it remains to be demonstrated that such time indications are indeed exceptionally frequent in Diodoros’ narrative of the Successors. A full treatment of the question would require a more extensive analysis than a commentary can be expected to offer, but it is useful to point out at least some elements which should be part of the debate. I count 147 instances in the Bibliotheke where an exact number of days is indicated: I 72.2, 77.4, 77.7, 82.2, 85.2, 85.3; II 9.3, 20.4, 25.8, 48.8; III 14.3, 17.1, 34.7 (thrice); IV 48.6; V 4.7, 16.1, 21.3, 36.2; X 5.1; XI 20.3; XII 4.5, 16.1, 50.2, 61.1; XIII 12.6, 14.2, 19.2, 39.1, 39.3, 56.5, 95.3, 109.4; XIV 18.8, 20.4, 21.5, 21.6, 26.2, 27.4, 29.1 (thrice), 29.2 (thrice), 29.3, 30.3 (twice), 30.5 (twice), 30.7, 31.1, 61.4, 62.5, 71.3, 75.3, 103.2, 115.4; XV 67.1; XVI 11.3, 37.6, 68.4, 68.10, 84.5; XVII 11.1, 16.4, 28.2, 49.3, 49.5, 65.2, 67.1, 68.1, 75.1, 77.3, 78.4, 83.1, 85.6, 86.3, 89.6, 93.1, 93.2, 94.3, 106.1, 110.4 (thrice), 110.6, 111.6, 116.7, 118.3; XVIII 13.5; 22.2, 37.1, 40.2, 44.2, 47.3, 59.2; XIX 8.6, 17.6, 20.1, 21.2, 24.5, 25.2, 26.2, 37.1, 37.3, 37.5, 38.2, 55.2, 80.2, 94.9, 95.2 (twice), 95.3, 96.4, 98.3; XX 6.1, 16.4, 23.5, 41.2, 45.7, 73.3 (twice), 87.1, 88.1, 101.5; XXII 4.1, 8.2; XXIV 12.1 (twice); XXV 19.1; XXVIII 13.1; XXX 1.1; XXXI 8.10, 9.3, 11.1 (thrice), 23.1; XXXIV/ V 2.16, 28.2; XXXVI 2.2, 4.2, 5.1, 8.5, 13.3. Perhaps rather surprisingly, vague indications of a number of days (e.g. πολλαί, συχναί, τινές) are less frequent, although there still are a great deal of them, 95 instances on my count: I 41.7 (twice), 97.7; II 6.6, 60.2; III 16.4, 29.3, 40.7; IV 48.5; V 19.1, 20.3, 35.3; VI 1.4; VIII 22.1; X 7.2; XI 34.2, 79.4; XII 27.2, 27.5, 65.2; XIII 8.1, 10.1, 10.4, 48.8, 88.3; XIV 3.4, 30.5, 44.7, 45.2, 61.4, 90.4, 91.2, 108.2; XV 16.1, 32.2; XVI 49.2, 93.6; XVII 2.4, 18.1, 29.2, 32.2, 40.1, 65.2, 68.4; 75.1, 81.3, 92.1, 99.5, 116.5; XVIII 39.3, 46.5, 49.3, 53.7, 54.2, 64.2 (twice); XIX 2.4, 11.5, 19.2, 24.5, 39.6, 50.1, 64.7, 69.1, 74.6, 75.2, 75.6, 76.2, 92.2, 93.4, 96.4, 100.7, 110.4; XX 5.2, 18.1, 42.3, 46.1, 48.5, 63.1, 74.1, 76.4, 80.2, 83.4, 103.4, 110.5; XXII 4.1; XXIII 4.2, 9.4; XXIV 1.1; XXXIII 17.1; XXXVI 3.2, 4.4; XXXVII 5a.1; XXXVIII/IX 8.1; XL 5.1. Rubincam (2001, esp. 83 – 86; 2003; 2008) has rightly argued that the use of numbers in a Greek historian informs us about his historical method, and in this respect it seems telling that there are about 50 % more exact indications of a number of days than inexact ones in Diodoros’ work. Time spans described with a number of days are the most interesting to analyse, as they occur more

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frequently than those in hours or watches, and are less likely to be rounded than those expressed with a number of years (where several weeks or even months might be included or excluded to limit the statement to a number of years alone). Periods of 1 day have not been included in the count, because there is no real alternative in those cases. Instances where Diodoros first gives a number of days and then says ‘on the next day’ or on the ‘…th’ day only count as one instance: for the second part it does not matter whether he is precise or not, as it is clear from the number of preceding days what day the next is (e.g. III 17.1– 2, ἐφ᾽ ἡμέρας τέτταρας […] τῇ δὲ πέμπτῃ […]; X 5.1; XIV 115.4– 6; XVIII 22.4; XIX 25.2; XX 23.5; XXXI 8.10 – 12. Cf. ‘the last day’ in I 72.4). Similarly XIV 71.3 (πεμπταῖοι γὰρ ἢ τὸ πλεῖστον ἑκταῖοι…) only counts as one instance. XVII 110.5 is excluded as well, as the τινάς has been supplied by Kallenberg, while the original text might have had a number. Book XVII has the highest number of time spans expressed in days, 38 in total, as well as the highest number of precise ones, namely 26. It should be pointed out, furthermore, that there is a lacuna in the book, and that XVII 110.5 is not included for reasons mentioned above; on the other hand, it is an exceptionally long book. It is closely followed by book XIV with 25 precise indications on a total of 33. Book XVIII has 7 precise ones out fourteen, book XIX has 19 precise ones out of 36, and book XX has 10 precise ones out of 22. Book XIII has 8 precise ones out of 13. The number of instances for other books are lower (which is not very telling for the fragmentary books), and the obvious reason is that large parts of the narratives of books XIV, XVII and XVIII–XX deal with long military campaigns (the march of the 10,000, Alexander’s campaigns, and the wars of the Diadochoi). The highest relative number of precise indications is in book XIV: 75.75 % of the numbers of days are precise; the other percentages are 68.42 % for book XVII, 61.54 % for book XIII, 52.78 % for book XIX, 50 % for book XVIII, and 45.46 % for book XX. Books XI, XV and XX have more vague ones than precise ones. It is noteworthy that the number of time indications is not higher in the books on the Successors than in other books narrating a great deal of campaigning, and neither are there significantly fewer vague ones. Of course, these data are still very rough. One has to take into account the differences between Sicilian and Greek/Asiatic history, the length of each book etc. One also has to investigate on how many occasions Diodoros does not give the length of a journey in these books, taking into account that all figures might of course be somewhat distorted by unevenness in Diodoros’ practice or in the attention paid to certain episodes which he deemed especially interesting. Stylistic variation is unlikely to have been a big issue for Diodoros, but it should be investigated whether it may not play a part here after all. Although these statistics are very incomplete, then,

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they show that a full investigation of Diodoros’ time indications is required before one can claim that we are facing a characteristic of the narrative that proves direct use of a serious and well-informed historian like Hieronymos.

§ 20 Rest, Recovery and Replenishment in Media After the hardships and setbacks encountered on the way to Media, Antigonos took the time to rest his troops so as to let them recover and to regain their goodwill. He also replenished his ranks with new recruits, horses and draught animals (Bosworth 2002, 124; Anson 2014, 105). The description of the atmosphere in the army (20.1), like that of Antigonos mistake and stubbornness in the previous chapter, do not seem to suggest that Diodoros used a pro-Antigonid account here. It must have been late summer by now.

20.1 τὴν ὑπερβολὴν τῆς κακοπαθίας: The phrase is unique to Diodoros (see also V 38.1, XIX 80.2) since Poseidonios (FGrHist 87) F117 is taken from the Bibliotheke; though see also Alex.Aphr. Mantissa p. 185 Bruns. Radt (2015, 278) rightly points out that there is no need to prefer R’s κακοπαθίας over F’s correct κακοπαθείας. ἐν αἰτίαις εἶχε τὸν ᾿Aντίγονον, ὥστε φωνὰς προΐεσθαι δυσχερεῖς: Again a statement that does not suggest a pro-Antigonid source, as the situation could have been described rather less explicitly. Then again, this may of course be due to Diodoros’ summarizing. Bizière (1975, ad loc.) rightly notes the similar turbulence in Perdikkas’ army (XVIII 36.3 – 4) just before he was murdered to illustrate how dangerous the situation had become for Antigonos. ἡμέραις γὰρ τετταράκοντα: This means that by now it was late August or even early September, as Antigonos had arrived in Susiana in July (see above, 18.2 τῆς ὥρας…; cf. Bosworth 2002, 120). τρισὶ μεγάλοις ἀτυχήμασι: These were the journey through Susiana in the scorching heat (18.2), the failed crossing of the Koprates (18.4– 7), which Bosworth (2002, 117) describes as ‘one of the great disasters of the post-Alexander period’, and the battle with the Kossaioi (19.4– 8). φιλανθρώπως ὁμιλήσας τοῖς στρατιώταις: Antigonos seems to have acted only just in time. Billows (1990, 316 n. 1), on the other hand, argues that throughout the spring and summer of 317 we see the great care Antigonos took for the well-being of his men. In each of the instances he cites, however, the OneEyed was doing first and foremost what was in his own interest, namely increasing and securing the manpower he had. That this had some positive effects for

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the men themselves is obvious, but there is no reason to assume that in any of these instances the well-being of his men necessarily was what Antigonos really cared about. In fact the present situation reveals that Antigonos had to show himself as especially benevolent now because the troops felt that they were not being taken care of in the manner they should be. Certainly, then, this statement that he behaved φιλανθρώπως towards his men does not tell us anything about Antigonos’ character (cf. Heitmann-Gordon 2017, 275 – 277; pace Billows 1990, 12). At XIX 102.5, for instance, Agathokles’ kindly behaviour (φιλανθρώπως αὐτοῖς προσεφέρετο) is merely a ruse; cf. also XVII 5.6, where the dissimulation is explicitly indicated, though (ὡς ἐπί τινι φιλανθρωπίᾳ προσκαλεσάμενος). At XXI 17.4, Diodoros claims that the historian Kallias falsely presented the cruel tyrant Agathokles as excelling in φιλανθρωπία (cf. Berthelot 2003, 26). Φιλανθρωπία was an important concept to Diodoros. He used the word more often than any other extant ancient historian: 57 instances, freq. 0.0117 % (cf. Palm 1955, 108; de Romilly 1979, 249 – 256; Sacks 1990, 43 and passim and 1994, 216 – 217; Camacho Rojo 1994c, 115 – 116; Berthelot 2003, 17– 57 passim; Hau 2006, 90; Sulimani 2011, 82– 108; Gray 2013, 149 – 162; Holton 2018; Woznicka 2018, 233 – 241); Dionysios of Halikarnassos comes close with a frequency of 0.0101 % (30 instances). The adjective φιλάνθρωπος and the adverb φιλανθρώπως likewise occur quite often in the Bibliotheke (110 instances, freq. 0.0226 %), which in this respect is only surpassed by the Histories of Polybios (98 instances, freq. 0.0295 %), while Plutarch’s Lives are a close third (110 instances, freq. 0.0212 %). Most other historians use the word less often, so that, again, it would seem to be a typical Hellenistic word (note the importance of the concept in Hellenistic royal ideology: e.g. Walbank 1984a, 83; Schofield 1999, 742). The spread of the occurrences throughout the work is rather even. The phrase φιλανθρώπως ὁμιλεῖν is only used on three other occasions (XII 83.1, XVII 4.3, XIX 91.5), but similar expressions abound: φιλανθρώπως χρῆσθαι (XIV 9.8, XVI 49.7, XVIII 45.4, XIX 50.2, XX 17.1, 110.3), φιλανθρώπως προσφέρεσθαι (III 72.4, XII 3.3, XIV 44.3, 90.3, XV 1.3, 31.1, XVI 8.2, 67.1, XVII 22.5, XVIII 14.1, XIX 92.5, 102.5), or the same verbs in combination with ἐπιεικῶς (I 55.10, 60.3, II 28.7, III 54.5, 65.1, 65.7, IV 53.1, XI 26.1, 26.4, 50.8, 67.2, 70.3, XV 15.1, 61.2, XVIII 17.7, 18.8, 75.2, XXVII 15.3, XXVIII 3.1, XXXI 3.1, XXXII 4.1, 7.1, XXXIV/ V 2.33, 38.2).

20.2 Πίθωνα δ᾽ ἐξαπέστειλε κελεύσας περιελθεῖν πᾶσαν τὴν Μηδίαν: Apparently, then, the other upper satraps had not tried to seize Peithon’s satrapy after his

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flight from Media (cf. 14.1– 3). For the hierarchical relation between Antigonos and Peithon, see above, 17.2 συνέθετο κοινοπραγίαν. συνάγειν ὡς πλείστους ἱππεῖς τε καὶ πολεμιστὰς ἵππους: On the recruitment of riders and the gathering of horses, see also Plut. Eum. 4.3 and below, 91.5, συναγοράσας… ὑποζυγίων πλῆθος: For the use of draught animals and carts in military logistics, see Hammond 1980b, 256; Karunanithy 2013, 170 – 175 and passim.

20.3 τῆς δὲ χώρας ταύτης ἀεὶ τετραπόδων γεμούσης: Media was famous for its Nesaian horses, so called after the name of the plain where they were bred (see Tarn 1930, 78 – 81; Hanslik, ‘Νισαῖον πεδίον’, RE XVII.1 [1936], 712; Sidnell 2006, 86 – 87; Karunanithy 2013, 76 – 78; cf. Capdetrey 2007a, 139 – 140). We know from Arrian (Anab. VII 13.1; cf. Diod. XVII 110.6) that there were about 50,000 Nesaian horses in Alexander’s time, and Peithon must have had access to them, being satrap of Media. For their significance in the age of the Successors, see Plut. Pyrrh. 11.5; Souda s.v. Λεοννάτος. τῶν βασιλικῶν χρημάτων: Cf. supra, 19.2, on Ekbatana, one of the capitals of the Achaimenid Empire where a treasury was situated (see also Capdetrey 2007a, 32 n. 42). Rathmann (2005a, ad loc.) mistakenly assumes that the royal treasure of Susa is meant (for the correct interpretation, see e.g. Billows 1990, 93; Schäfer 2002, 139; Capdetrey 2007a, 366).

20.4 τοὺς δ᾽ ἵππους τοῖς ἀπολωλεκόσι διαδούς: Horses will have died in battles, but also from exhaustion, disease, dehydration and other hardships: cf. Karunanithy 2013, 71– 72 on horse casualty rates and causes in the army of Alexander.

§ 21 – 24 The Struggle for Power in the Satrapal Coalition Surfaces Again On seeing that Antigonos retreated into Media, Eumenes and the men who had come from the West along with him wanted to return to the sea, while the upper satraps wished to stay in Iran because they feared for their territories. In the end Eumenes gave in for sake of the unity of the coalition (21). However, both Antigonos’ absence and the disagreement on the right strategy seemed to stir up the power struggle within the alliance anew. The coalition force marched to Persia, where its satrap Peukestas lavishly feasted the army and sacrificed to the gods

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and Philippos and Alexander (22; Plut. Eum. 13.11, cf. 14.5 – 6; Polyaen. IV 8.3). His banquet was an attack on Eumenes’ position that was meant, among other things, to put an end to the Kardian’s monopoly on the cult of Alexander. Schäfer (2002, 143) contends that it neutralized the effect of the latter’s exploitation of Alexander’s memory, which seems to be a serious overstatement, though. Eumenes’ reaction does indeed show that the threat was serious, but that does not mean everything he had built up was now lost. One does not have to be ‘hilfslos’ in order to respond to an attack. However this may be, Eumenes countered Peukestas on several fronts. He circulated a fake letter, supposedly from the Armenian satrap Orontes, claiming that Polyperchon had won the war over Europe and was now on his way to Iran with the royal army. The stratagem had the intended effect, as many now considered Eumenes the main leader again because of his privileged relation with the regent and the kings (23.1– 3). Eumenes further scared his enemies by putting Peukestas’ friend Sibyrtios on trial (23.4), after which he tried to win over Peukestas and the other satraps (24.1– 3), while also soliciting the goodwill of the army by organizing his own sumptuous banquet (24.5) (see Bosworth 2002, 120 – 124; Roisman 2012a, 204– 211; Anson 2014, 125, 2015, 185 – 190; Muccioli 2017).

21.1 Εὐμενὴς μὲν γὰρ καὶ ᾿Aντιγένης: Since Antigenes also held a province in the upper satrapies, namely Susiana, it is noteworthy to see that he shared Eumenes’ view (cf. Schäfer 2002, 140). His satrapy had already fallen to Antigonos, and it would not have been surprising if he had wanted to stay in the East to recover his territory. His agreeing with Eumenes on this point, then, may be another argument for his loyalty to the royal general (cf. supra, 15.2 ᾿Aντιγένης…). Perhaps Antigenes’ stance was also influenced by the Macedonian soldiers’ lack of enthusiasm for staying in the East (Briant 1973a, 65). πάλιν ᾤοντο δεῖν ἐπὶ θάλατταν καταβαίνειν: The reasons are uncertain. Probably those who wanted to move west hoped to isolate Antigonos in the East, cutting him off from his allies and supplies (Anson 2004, 171). Bosworth (2002, 120), on the other hand, suggests that Eumenes could have gone to the West to establish his personal dominion there, e.g. in Syria, which he had wanted to conquer before (Diod. XVIII 73.2), because he did not need the troops of the upper satraps if he was in the West while Antigonos was in the East. However, if Eumenes had moved back to the coast, Monophthalmos would most likely have followed him, as he had come to the upper satrapies to fight it out with the Kardian. The latter was Antigonos’ greatest opponent in Asia and could not be given the chance to expand his power base with the possession of such an important region as Syria

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and Phoinikia (cf. Diod. XVIII 73.1). Eumenes would have been far outnumbered if he had gone west with his own army and Antigonos pursued him. Schäfer (2002, 140) rightly points that the least probable goal of the move west was the crossing over to Europe to help Polyperchon (contra Vezin 1907, 96 – 97). ἀγωνιῶντες ὑπὲρ τῶν ἰδίων: Their respective provinces constituted the power bases of the upper satraps, and it is evident that this was the main cause they were fighting for (cf. Peukestas’ considerations at 17.5 and the situation of Sibyrtios in 23.4; Plut. Eum. 13.10; Schober 1981, 81– 82; Wiesehöfer 1994, 52– 53; Anson 2004, 171).

21.2 Εὐμενὴς ὁρῶν ὅτι διαιρεθέντος τοῦ στρατοπέδου κατ᾽ ἰδίαν ἑκάτερον τῶν μερῶν οὐκ ἀξιόμαχόν ἐστι: Diodoros might well be giving the actual reason for Eumenes’ decision: as he had to face Antigonos anyway, he could better do it with a sizeable army that could match the latter’s forces. Bosworth (2002, 120 – 121), on the other hand, argues that the true reason was that Eumenes knew that the cause of the kings was weakening in Europe because of Kassandros’ recent successes. Staying in the upper satrapies would at least have given him the chance to exploit the power struggle among the satraps with Antigenes and Peukestas countering each other’s ambitions. However, it is quite likely that Antigenes was loyal to Eumenes (cf. supra, 21.1 Εὐμενής…), and that Antigonos would pursue Eumenes if he went west (cf. supra, 21.1 πάλιν…). Περσέπολιν τὸ βασίλειον: Persepolis was another of the Achaimenid capitals (Olmstead 1948, 172 – 184; Cook 1983, 158 – 166 and passim; Trümpelman 1988; Orth 1993, 133; Briant 1996, I, 180 – 182 and passim; Koch 2001; Brosius 2007, 50 – 52; Plischke 2014, 101– 104). Studies concentrate almost completely on the palace; not much is known of the city itself, which has not been excavated yet. The claim of Curtius (V 6.9 – 10; cf. Diod. XVII 71.3) that the whole city had been destroyed by Alexander is an obvious exaggeration: the Macedonians only burned part of the palace, whereas the city was plundered but probably remained completely or at least largely undamaged (Bosworth 1988a, 91– 94; Hammond 1992, 364 with n. 34). For the meaning of τὸ βασίλειον, see Morgan 2017, 33 – 34 and 59 n. 147. οὔσης τῆς ὁδοιπορίας ἡμερῶν εἴκοσι καὶ τεττάρων: On the route they took, see Bosworth 2002, 121 with further references, and Anson 2004, 171 n. 74. For the wording, cf. supra, 19.1 οὔσης δὲ τῆς… τῆς καλουμένης Κλίμακος: The Klimax (‘ladder’) was a pass leading into the western Zagros, so called because of ‘the abruptness and the succession of terraces which lead step-like from the plain to the high-lands’ (Potts 2016a, 16,

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quoting from Geology of Mesopotamia and its Border Lands by the British Intelligence Department; cf. Vezin 1907, 97 n. 2; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.). The name was also given to other such landscape formations (cf. Walbank 1957, 598; Syme 1995, 193 – 199). πλήρης τῶν ἐπετείων καρπῶν: On the natural riches of the region, see Briant 1996, I, 457. For such comments on the availability of food along a particular route, cf. supra, 12.4 τὴν δὲ πέραν… In the Bibliotheke the phrase πλήρης καρπῶν, which is generally quite rare, only occurs here and at XIX 26.2. The locution ἐπέτειοι καρποί – or indeed the word ἐπέτειος – is not found elsewhere in Diodoros.

21.3 παραδείσων φυτείας ποικίλας, ἔτι δὲ παντοδαπῶν δένδρων φυσικὰς συναγκίας καὶ ῥύσεις ὑδάτων: One of the main functions of these royal parks was the display of imperial power, which is why plants and trees from all over the empire were grown there. Elaborate waterworks were another aspect of the sumptuous appearance of the παράδεισοι, especially impressive, of course, in the more desertlike regions (X. Oec. 4.13; Briant 1996, I, 98 – 99, 244– 250, 456 – 458 and passim; Tuplin 1996, 80 – 131; Klinkott 2005, 418 – 420; Kuhrt 2007, 472 and 510 – 514). ἐκκαλούμενος αὐτῶν τὴν εὔνοιαν: Peukestas was still aspiring to the supreme command of the coalition army, as Diodoros already noted at 17.6 (cf. Briant 1996, I, 259), and his ambition was to become even more clear upon the arrival in Persepolis, his capital (below, §22). κατοικοῦσι δὲ ταύτην τὴν χώραν τῶν Περσῶν οἱ μαχιμώτατοι, πάντες ὄντες τοξόται καὶ σφενδονῆται: Cf. Arr. Anab. VII 23.1, ἦγε δὲ καὶ Κοσσαίων καὶ Ταπούρων οὐκ ὀλίγους, ὅτι καὶ ταῦτα ἔθνη τῶν προσχώρων τῇ Περσίδι μαχιμώτατα εἶναι ἐξηγγέλλετο; the echo is not particularly close in itself, but it may be interesting in combination with the other similarities between the descriptions of Peukestas’ relationship with the Persians in Diodoros and Arrian (cf. supra, 14.5 δι’ ἃς αἰτίας…, χαρίζεσθαι…, διὰ τούτου…). Admittedly, though, it is a widespread topos about people living in remote mountainous areas: Rood 2011, 155 n. 47. πολυανθρωπίᾳ τε πολὺ διαφέρειν συμβαίνει τὴν χώραν ταύτην τῶν ἄλλων σατραπειῶν: The Achaimenid kings had conducted a policy of encouraging the people in their homeland to procreate: Briant 1987, 21– 22, and 1996, I, 826.

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22.1 Πευκέστης μὲν, ὢν ταύτης τῆς χώρας στρατηγός: Peukestas is usually described as satrap (XIX 42.4; cf. 23.3, τοῖς σατράπαις; Plut. Eum. 13.9; Arr. Anab. VI 28.3, 30.2, VII 6.3) and his territory as a satrapy (XIX 14.5, 17.5, 48.5). Indeed, his actual title must have been satrap. Diodoros thus clearly uses στρατηγός as a synonym of σατράπης, which he also seems to have done at 14.1 (Φιλώταν…) as well as perhaps at 27.3 (Στάσανδρον…) and 100.5 (ὁ δὲ καθεσταμένος…). While such a usage, in accordance with Diodoros’ typical lack of precision when titles are concerned (cf. supra, 15.3 σατράπας…; infra, 48.5 ὕπαρχον), requires no specific explanation, it is possible that in the present instance the later historical evolution influenced our historian. In the Seleukid empire the title satrap was gradually replaced by the designation στρατηγός (Welles 1934, 64, 297 and 362; Bickerman 1938, 198 – 199; Bengtson 1964, II, 143 – 158; Grainger 1997, 814; Capdetrey 2007a, 283 – 294; Grabbe 2008a, 226 – 227; Errington 2008, 76). As it seems rather unlikely that Antipatros, Krateros and Lysimachos who were to govern the European parts of the empire, would be appointed satraps in 323, their title might well have been στρατηγός (cf. Antipatros’ position under Alexander: Bengtson 1964, I, 19 – 26; Meeus 2008, 62– 66 and 2009c). If so, the synonymity of σατράπης and στρατηγός may already go back to the era of the Successors (cf. Bengtson 1964, I, 170 – 171). The position of Polyperchon as στρατηγὸς τῆς Πελοποννήσου for instance (Diod. XIX 60.1) can also be considered as a kind of provincial command; cf. Errington 2008, 57– 58 on Asia Minor. It would seem that Diodoros and other ancient authors at times likewise used the word σατράπης when they meant στρατηγός (see below, 46.2 ὡς σατράπην…). θυσίαν ἐπετέλεσε μεγαλοπρεπῆ τοῖς θεοῖς καὶ ᾿Aλεξάνδρῳ καὶ Φιλίππῳ: It would seem that Peukestas wanted to put an end to Eumenes’ practical monopoly on the cult of Alexander (Schäfer 2002, 142 – 143; Anson 2015, 167 n. 8). The erection of altars for Alexander and Philippos (22.3) shows that they were both receiving divine honours on the present occasion (cf. Taeger 1957, 229; Mari 2008, 228 – 230). Probably Peukestas also celebrated Philippos’ memory to counter the impression that he did not care about Macedonian traditions (cf. Arr. Anab. VII 6.3). Hammond’s claim (1988, 125 – 126 and 141) that the present event shows that Alexander’s name also had great effect on the Persians appears doubtful. Wiesehöfer (1994, 53 – 54) suggests that Persian gods were included as well, which seems quite likely indeed, given Peukestas’ constant striving for obtaining the goodwill of the Persians (cf. also Schäfer 2002, 143, who produces a circular argument, however, in drawing conclusions about Peukestas’ policy towards the Persians from the assumption that their gods were included; contra Lane Fox 2007, 291). The sacrifice was a regular feature of Persian royal banquets (Vössing

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2004, 51 n. 1). Diodoros’ description seems similar to that of Alexander’s celebrations upon his arrival in Persepolis (see XVII 72.1: θυσίας τε μεγαλοπρεπεῖς τοῖς θεοῖς συνετέλεσεν καὶ τῶν φίλων λαμπρὰς ἑστιάσεις ἐποιήσατο; cf. also next lemma). On such relaxation in Alexander’s army, see Carney 1996, 26. τῶν ἄλλων τῶν εἰς εὐωχίαν καὶ πανήγυριν χρησίμων πλῆθος: The whole setting makes it clear that the lavish royal dining practices of Alexander, which were in turn inspired by the Achaimenid tradition, were the example Peukestas tried to emulate (see next lemma), but there may also have been a Macedonian tradition behind much of this (Mari 2018, 308 – 311). Cf. Spawforth (2007a, 99 – 101) on the increased magnificence of Alexander’s dinners since his adoption of Persian habits (cf. Lewis 1987; Miller 1997, 127; Vössing 2004, 38 – 51; Simpson 2005; Brosius 2007, 41– 44; Lenfant 2007 and 2009, 277– 298 and passim, on the luxury at the banquets of the Achaimenid kings). Apart from Achaimenid and Argead backgrounds, Homer may also have been on the mind of Greek and Macedonian participants – or at least the idea behind the following passage: in Il. IX 68 – 73 Agamemnon is the one to organize a banquet and feast the other Greek leaders because he is βασιλεύτατος. Also compare the famous dictum attributed to Aemilius Paullus by Polybios (XXX 14) that the man who is skilful at organizing great banquets is likewise a capable general (also at Diod. XXXI 8.13; Plut. Aem. 28.9; Liv. XLV 32.11).

22.2 ἐπλήρωσε δὲ τῆς τῶν πανηγυριζόντων θυσίας κύκλους τέτταρας ἐντὸς ἀλλήλων ὄντας καὶ περιεχομένους ὑφ᾽ ἑνὸς τοῦ μεγίστου: It is difficult to make sense of the beginning of the sentence: ‘he filled four concentric circles with the sacrifice for the celebrants’. What exactly would Diodoros have meant by filling the circles with the sacrifice and how should this statement fit in with the larger context? Wesseling, Fischer and Bizière maintain the manuscript reading and the latter translates ‘A l’occasion du sacrifice donné aux participants à la fête, il constitua quatre cercles concentriques’, but this seems rather forced. Rhodomann likewise seems to have struggled with the phrase, rendering it as ‘explevit autem hoc epulo festum commune celebrantium IV circos’. Martino’s ‘i partecipanti al raduno riempirono quattro cerchi disposti concentricamente’, on the other hand, is a smooth translation that reflects the meaning of the sentence well, but in defiance of its grammar. Geer, adopting a suggestion by Post, has emended θυσίας to παρουσιάς, which results in the English version ‘with the company of those participating he filled four circles’ (accepted by Veh and Mavropoulos). As it is based in part on the very common uncial error of confusing Ο and Θ (cf. e.g. XIX 33.3, where R has θυσιῶν and F οὐσιῶν: Bertrac 1993,

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cxxii), this has some palaeographical plausibility, although the disappearance of the prefix ΠΑΡ- would remain to be explained. Waterfield’s (2019, 531) recent suggestion that κλισίας should be read instead of θυσίας is palaeographically perhaps less satisfactory, but as to the contents it surely works better: he translates ‘he filled four concentric circles with the couching for the celebrants’ (cf. infra, διειλήφεισαν…, for the word κλισίας). The sentence remains somewhat odd, however, and one wonders whether there might be a more fundamental problem with the text. One very wild guess would be that originally Diodoros had something along the lines of πληρῶν δὲ τὰς τῶν πανηγυριζόντων θυσίας ἐπλήρωσε κύκλους τέτταρας, with the first πληρῶν being used in the sense of ‘to render’, ‘to supply’ or ‘to pay’ (cf. Plut. Eum. 14.5, καὶ κατ’ ἄνδρα διαδοὺς ἱερεῖον εἰς θυσίαν) and that the repetition of the verb at some point in the tradition caused confusion, perhaps after some other word had already disappeared in an earlier stage. Of course, such an hypothesis contains several presumptions, but other instances of such corruption in several stages, with a pre-existing error and an attempt at correction, occur elsewhere in book XIX: see e.g. above 13.2, ὑπὸ τῆς πλήμης, where a scribe has decided to solve what seemed a locus desperatus by jettisoning half a sentence, and perhaps also 14.1 Φιλώταν… where one scribe seems to have tried to correcting a pre-existing corruption by changing the case of one word and introducing a relative pronoun. Of course, in the present instance both the older corruption and the scribal correction must be at least one stage older since R and F already found the same text in their model. The seating arrangement in concentric circles is probably a Persian practice which had been adopted by Alexander (Briant 1996, I, 258 – 259 and 323; Spawforth 2007a, 103; Wiesehöfer 2011, 109; Muccioli 2017, 83; contra Lane Fox 2007, 291). The strong resemblance of the present scene to the arrangement of Alexander’s ceremonial tent for the Susa marriages cannot have been lost on those present who had experienced Alexander’s reign (Bosworth 1980a, 8 – 9 and 2002, 121– 122 and 256); cf. also the Opis banquet, Arr. VII 11.8 – 9. The seating order within these circles is highly significant; it serves to underline the comparative status of the participants. The presence of Persians in the inner circle, then, is a clear sign of Peukestas’ continuation of Alexander’s practices in closely cooperating with the Persian elite (cf. Wiesehöfer 1994, 53; Briant 1996, I, 259; Schäfer 2002, 142; Spawforth 2007a, 103 and passim). The participation of the entire army and the position of honour awarded to the men who had campaigned with Alexander obviously served to enhance Peukestas’ prestige with the troops and to gain the support of the Silver Shields (Bosworth, loc. cit.). οἵ τε μισθοφόροι καὶ συμμάχων τὸ πλῆθος: This group in any case includes all the non-Macedonian soldiers (Holleaux 1922, 207; Bizière 1975, ad loc.). Since τῶν ἑταίρων οἱ μετ᾽ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου στρατεύσαντες (probably the pezhetairoi,

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see next lemma) sat in the next circle, however, the hetairoi who had not been in Alexander’s army must have been seated in the outer circle. Unless they were Asian hetairoi, this means that there were Macedonians in this circle too. τῶν ἑταίρων οἱ μετ᾽ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου στρατεύσαντες: The ἑταῖροι are the elite Macedonian cavalry (Berve 1926, I, 104– 112; Tarn 1948, II, 154– 167; Hammond & Griffith 1979, 408 – 410; Hammond 1998). However, since the ἱππεῖς were in the next circle they cannot be meant, so that we are most likely facing the pezhetairoi (thus Vezin 1907, 98; Holleaux 1922, 207; Bizière 1975, ad loc.; Milns 1981, 350; Schäfer 2002, 141; Roisman 2012a, 206), a group which since 324 also included Persians (Arr. Anab. VII 11.3). The pezhetairoi are commonly assumed to be the Macedonian phalanx (e.g. Hammond 1978, 130 – 131; Hammond & Griffith 1979, 418 – 427 and 705 – 713; Bosworth 1988a, 259 and 2010; Hatzopoulos 2001, 72; Roisman 2003a, 298 – 299; Anson 2004, 226 – 230 and 2009a; Worthington 2008, 27; Heckel 2009, 105 – 108; King 2018, 109 – 110 and 121), although such a view is not without problems (see Goukowsky 1987, 240 – 243; Erskine 1989). τῶν τε δευτέρων ἡγεμόνων καὶ τῶν ἔξω τάξεως καὶ φίλων καὶ στρατηγῶν καὶ τῶν ἱππέων: Unless δεύτεροι would be used in the strict sense of only those of the second rank excluding lower ones, the group of δεύτεροι ἡγεμόνες consists of all lower officers of infantry and cavalry, except the hipparchs and possibly the chiliarchs (see below, οἵ τε στρατηγοί): chiliarchs (?), ilarchs, taxiarchs, pentakosiarchs, lochagoi, tetrarchai, dekadarchai (on the structure of command: Milns 1971, 194– 195; Hatzopoulos 2001, 38 – 39; Wrightson 2010). According to Holleaux (1922, 208 n. 3) these are only the commanders of the infantry, and he notes that Diodoros should have mentioned the ἰλάρχαι of the cavalry as well. Most likely they are included in the general term ἡγεμόνες, though (cf. Bickerman 1938, 64: ‘le mot ἡγεμών, “ chef ”, peut signifier chaque degré de la hiérarchie militaire’; Peremans, PP II, xxv). The interpretation of what follows is not completely straightforward, but whether they accept Madvig’s deletion of the first καί (thus Fischer and Geer) or not (thus Holleaux 1922, 207 and Bizière), most scholars distinguish three groups: the δεύτεροι ἡγεμόνες; the philoi and strategoi who are ἔξω τάξεως; the cavalry (translations of Geer, Bizière, Martino, Veh and Waterfield; Holleaux 1922, 208). If the received text is sound and the articles are an indication, this interpretation is surely preferable to the twofold distinction made in the translations of Rhodoman and Mavropoulos: the δεύτεροι ἡγεμόνες; the philoi, strategoi and horsemen who are ἔξω τάξεως. While τῶν δ᾽ ἱππέων οἱ μὲν ἔξω τάξεως ὄντες are mentioned at XIX 49.3, in the present passage the entire hetairoi cavalry must be meant: otherwise the hetairoi cavalry is not listed by Diodoros or, if they are the unit of the previous lemma, this would result in the puzzling conclusion that hetairoi who are ἔξω τάξεως are more important than the others, which seems to

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be contradicted by 49.3. Even on the first interpretation problems remain as to the meaning of ἔξω τάξεως: the στρατηγοὶ ἔξω τάξεως could be supernumeraries like heralds, paymasters, secretaries etc. (cf. Asclepiod. 2.9 with Hatzopoulos 2001, 76 – 77; Schäfer 2002, 141; Wrightson 2010, 72– 77) or officers not on active service (Holleaux 1922; Bengtson 1964, I, 170; Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 326; Van ’t Dack 1988, 65 – 84). Yet, the latter interpretation, based on documents from Ptolemaic Egypt, seems hard to square with an army on campaign like in this situation. In either case it is unclear why some philoi would be qualified as ἔξω τάξεως. If, on the other hand, one would take τῶν τε δευτέρων ἡγεμόνων καὶ τῶν ἔξω τάξεως as one group rather than relating τῶν ἔξω τάξεως to καὶ φίλων καὶ στρατηγῶν, one would have to assume that an article is missing both before φίλων and before στρατηγῶν, so this would not solve the problem either. Φίλοι, as Milns (1981, 350 and 1982, 124– 125) notes, was Diodoros’ normal word for the hetairoi of the Macedonian king, and now of the Diadochoi; on the question whether it was already established as a technical term in the age of the Successors, see Herman 1980/1, 111– 112. The friends who were ἔξω τάξεως might have been those who did not serve in the cavalry, but as doctors, engineers, diplomats etc. (cf. Hornblower 1981, 10; Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 321– 329), though some of those were such high-ranking courtiers that one would rather expect them in the inner circle. διειλήφεισαν τὰς κλισίας: It is unclear exactly how this should be interpreted; the combination of διαλαμβάνειν and κλισία does not seem to occur elsewhere in Greek literature. Perhaps Rhodomann’s rendering ‘tabernacula… sibi partiti fuerant’, ‘apportioned the beds’, is to be preferred (cf. X. Cyr. VII 3.1; Lys. 12.8); somewhat similar, especially when taking διαλαμβάνειν in the sense of ‘to take, receive’ (Montanari s.v. διαλαμβάνω 1 A), is ‘the couches were occupied’ of Waterfield 2019. Geer (1947), on the other hand, stresses the distributive aspect and translates it as ‘[each] occupied his own couch’; thus also Martino 1992, ‘avevano preso posto – ciascuno sul suo giaciglio’. In that case, however, it may also mean ‘on avait réparti les lits de banquets’ as Bizière 1975 has it (cf. LSJ s.v. διαλαμβάνω III.2). I wonder whether another possibility would be something like ‘shared the couches’ or ‘distributed the seating places’: κλισία can also mean ‘a place on a couch’ (LSJ s.v. κλισία II.2; cf. Artem. I 74: οἱ τοῖχοι τῶν κλινῶν διαλαμβανέσθωσαν). Such sharing of couches would have resembled the banquet of Attaginos described by Herodotos, at which each kline was shared by a Greek and a Persian. It surely would have made the huge feast logistically more easily manageable besides contributing to an atmosphere of unity. Schäfer (2002, 141– 142), however, argues that διειλήφεισαν must mean ‘they had entered’, on the basis of the literal meaning of διαλαμβάνειν, ‘to receive separately’, and that the κλισίαι consequently cannot be couches, but must be tents

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(cf. the translation of Veh 2005). I do not see how his translation follows from the meaning ‘to receive separately’. Furthermore, his interpretation ignores the fact that after Homer the word κλισία is only rarely used to indicate ‘tent’, and LSJ clearly considers it to be a poetic usage. Moreover, the remark that the circles were all separated by a sufficient distance, so that the guests would not bother each other and everyone had everything close at hand, suggests that the banquet was held in a single, large open space. There seems to be no problem with the assumption that the couches were made out of heaps of branches or leaves of the right kind covered with rugs (see LSJ s.v. φυλλάς: ‘heap, bed or litter of leaves’; cf. Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 326; Lane Fox 2007, 291; Theoc. Id. 21 v. 8 with Giangrande 1977, 501– 502). If these were the famous, luxurious Persian carpets, the eyewitness would have had just as much reason to mention them as when tents were involved. οἵ τε στρατηγοί: Apart from men like Androbazos who may have held the title στρατηγός, the satraps also belonged to this group, either because of the synonymous use of satrap and στρατηγός (cf. supra, 22.1 Πευκέστης…), or because they commanded the contingents from their provinces. The infantry chiliarchs might likewise have been included, since the hipparchs, who stand on the same level in the cavalry, were seated in this circle. οἱ τὰς ἱππαρχίας ἔχοντες: Holleaux (1922, 208 n. 1) compares this to οἱ τὰς ἡγεμονίας ἔχοντες at XVIII 61.2, and thus points out that in this context ἱππαρχία refers to the command of such a unit rather than the unit itself. Compare the juxtaposition of τοὶ στρα⟨τα⟩γοὶ καὶ ὁ ἵππ[αρχος] in Polyperchon’s treaty with Messene: SEG XLIII 135, l. 10 – 11. ἔτι δὲ τῶν Περσῶν οἱ μάλιστα τιμώμενοι: According to Briant (1996, I, 756) the old nobility of Persis is meant. Given Peukestas’ popularity in Persis, it is not surprising that he had good relations with the Persian nobility and seated their leading men in the inner circles. It is very interesting to see, though, that Peukestas did not think that the Macedonians in the other circles would be too offended by the presence of Persians in the most privileged circle. In general, the view that the reaction to Alexander’s orientalization policy after his death was one of almost complete dismissal might be somewhat overstated (cf. supra, 14.5 δι᾽ ἃς αἰτίας…).

22.3 βωμοὶ θεῶν καὶ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου καὶ Φιλίππου: It is interesting to note that five inscriptions roughly dated to the period of Alexander with the name of Greek gods (Zeus, Helios, Apollo, Artemis and Athena) in the genitive, most likely belonging to altars, have been found in Persepolis (I.Estremo Oriente, 241– 245). Of

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course, they are not necessarily related to Peukestas’ banquet (see Wiesehöfer 1994, 72– 73; Canali de Rossi ad loc. in I.Estremo Oriente; Merkelbach & Stauber 2005, 61; generally cf. infra, 77.4 τειχίσας… on Snodgrass’ concept of the positivist fallacy in classical archaeology).

23.1 πάντων δὲ κατὰ τρόπον ὑπηρετουμένων ἐπεσημαίνετο τὸ πλῆθος τὴν τοῦ Πευκέστου προθυμίαν καὶ φανερὸν ἦν ἐπιδεδωκὸς πολὺ πρὸς εὔνοιαν: Cf. Polyaen. IV 8.3. If the passages cited above (17.5 τὸ μὲν πρῶτον…) are reflecting Hieronymos’ negative treatment of Peukestas, then this might well be a sign of a positive tendency, but in fact none of them necessarily are the result of tendentious treatment. The next sentence, describing Eumenes’ reaction to Peukestas’ growing success, is of the same kind as those about the latter’s ambition which are supposed to reflect Hieronymos’ negative presentation of him. After all, here Eumenes has recourse to treacherous means to counter Peukestas’ honestly gained popularity. 23.4 also shows Eumenes preferring expediency over honesty, and it explicitly claims that he wanted to get rid of his rivals in a deceitful way. Should that be taken to mean, then, that Hieronymos is now being biased against Eumenes? πολιτεύεσθαι πρὸς τὸ πλῆθος: By τὸ πλῆθος Diodoros obviously means the soldiers. According to Bizière (1975, xvii n. 1), a specific use of πολιτεύεσθαι πρός τινα, unique to the narrative on the Successors, is to be observed in books XVIII–XX: ‘se conduire come il faut, accomplir son devoir à l’égard de quelqu’un’. Casevitz (1990, 32– 33), however, rightly notes that in fact it simply means ‘mener une politique favorable à quelqu’un’, which is a normal use of the verb. Cf. also Jones (2007, 330 with n. 8) on πολιτεύεσθαι in later Greek usage. τῆς στρατηγίας ὀρεγόμενον: Plutarch (Eum. 14.5) attributes the same motive to Peukestas (ἤλπιζεν εἶναι μέγιστος), without presenting it as Eumenes’ interpretation. According to Hornblower (1981, 165 – 170), ὀρέγεσθαι is a central concept in Hieronymos’ understanding of the Diadoch Wars. Yet, the verb rather seem quite typical of Diodoros. Amongst historians it is most frequent in Herodian who uses it five times (0,0102 %), but the next highest frequencies are to be found mostly in authors of late koine: Plutarch has 45 instances in the Lives (0,0087 %) and is closely followed by Diodoros, whose 40 instances yield a frequency of 0,0082 %. Then comes Appian (16 instances; 0,0068 %) and with the exception of Thucydides (10 instances; 0.0065 %) the next authors in the ranking are koine authors, namely Dionysios of Halikarnassos (17 instances; 0,0057 %) and Polybios (14 instances; 0,0042 %). The only other Diadoch source in which the verb is used, is Plutarch’s Pyrrhus (14.8, 14.14, 17.5, 20.8, 27.9, 29.5), but given the frequency of

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ὀρέγεσθαι in Plutarch, this cluster need not point to the influence of his source (though note the citation of Hieronymos just before the instance at 27.9). Furthermore, the combination with μεγάλων πραγμάτων (XV 50.6, XVIII 41.4, 60.1) is not attested before Diodoros and seems typical of late koine: D.H. AR XII 2.9, Jos. AJ VIII 9 (cf. πραγμάτων ὀρέγεσθαι at Ar. Rh. 1387b10; Plb. V 104.7; Diod. XI 88.6, XIX 70.4, XXXI 3.2; Jos. Vit. 70; Plut. Them. 23.3, Ant. 9.1). The phrase ὀρέγεσθαι βασιλείας/ἡγεμονίας is likewise particularly common in Diodoros (IV 61.9, XIV 1.1, XV 57.1, XVI 8.4, XVIII 23.3, XX 20.1, XXX 8.1, XXXII 4.4, 9c.1), and is attested only twice before (Isoc. 8.144; Hp. Ep. 17). For the joint occurrence of ὀρέγεσθαι and τὰ ὅλα (cf. Hornblower 1981, 166 – 167 on XVIII 23.3 and 36.6), see XIV 3.3, XVII 54.6, XXXII 4.4; the only earlier attestation that is somewhat similar I have found is Plb. V 104.7. Thus, while Diodoros is clearly following his source on the level of contents, the vocabulary seems to be his own late Hellenistic idiom. ψευδεῖς ἐπιστολάς: The stratagem is also described at Polyaen. IV 8.3. The use of false letters was not uncommon in Greek politics; several examples are known from the era of the Successors (e.g. Plut. Pyrrh. 6.2– 5; Just. XIV 1.11; Bosworth 2000b, 239; cf. Diod. XX 113.1– 2; Casevitz 2006a, 192). On the risks of the strategy, see Schäfer 2002, 145. Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel (2011, 168) suggest that Just. XIV 1.11 may also refer to the present episode. τὸν ὄγκον καὶ τὸ πρόσχημα: The combination of ὄγκος and πρόσχημα occurs only twice in the Bibliotheke, and the other passage happens to be in the next chapter, 24.1. This might just be the consequence of Diodoros’ ‘ausgesprochene Neigung, im Ausdruck zu beharren’ (Palm 1955, 69). However, given the fact that the word πρόσχημα is used only eight times in the whole work (also II 6.10, XVIII 42.2, XXX 18.1, XXXI 15.2, XXXIII 4a.1, XXXVII 25), and that ὄγκος in this sense is used only in book XVIII and XIX (also XVIII 50.1, 75.1), it may be a trace of Diodoros’ source, especially given the similarity – though in different contexts – of Diod. XVIII 50.1 (πλήρης ἦν ὄγκου καὶ φρονήματος), XVIII 75.2 (ὄγκου πλήρη καὶ πεφρονηματισμένον) and Plut. Eum. 4.2 (ὄγκῳ τινὶ καὶ φρονήματι κενῷ) and the combination of πρόσχημα, φρόνημα and ἰδιοπραγεῖν at Diod. XVIII 42.2; cf. also Arr. Succ. F12 and F27. Yet, the latter fragment of Arrian is to be compared to Anab. III 10.2 (cf. Bosworth 1980b, 296) and the only other ancient attestation of the phrase τὸν ὄγκον καὶ τὸ πρόσχημα likewise occurs in Plutarch (Crass. 7.3), so perhaps coincidence cannot be ruled out: Plutarch uses the combination of ὄγκος and φρόνημα more often than any other author and the occurrences earlier than the fourth century CE are virtually limited to later koine (Diod. XVIII 50.1; D.H. I 79.10; Ph. Quod omnis probus 130, cf. De ebrietate 128; Plut. Cam. 7.1, Per. 4.6, Cor. 13.4, Luc. 21.3, Lys. 18.2, Eum. 4.2, Alex. 48.3, Cat. Mi. 57.1, De ad. et am. 20 = Mor. 61e; D.C. LVII 6.3). Furthermore, the frequency

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of πρόσχημα in books I–XX = 0.0001 %, whereas in books XXI–XL it is 0.0006 %, and it is found only once before book XVIII: in as far as these numbers are representative the word may simply be more common the in Hellenistic books. Polybios does not seem to have used ὄγκος, and has ten attestations each of πρόσχημα (III 15.3, V 10.1, VI 33.12, VIII 11.6, IX 28.2, XI 5.4, XII 28.1, XVIII 55.4, XXVIII 18.1, XXX 18.2) and φρόνημα (II 4.6, 30.5, IV 62.4, 64.8, V 10.5, 83.5, 93.3, XV 14.6, XXI 38.7, XXXVIII 17.9). With 45 instances φρόνημα is quite frequent in Diodoros (MD s.v., to which can be added XXVII 15.3, XXX 23.1, XXXIV/V 2.29, XXXVII 10), but the distribution is uneven, displaying clusters in books XI (9 occurrences), in the first half of book XV (6 occurrences between XV 5.3 and 50.6) and the second half of book XVIII (5 occurrences between XVIII 42.1 and 60.1). Amongst the preserved books there no instances in books I, V, XIII and XIX. The word is current in all historians, though. Only Plutarch, Josephus and Cassius Dio stand out. That ὄγκος need not be negative is clear from Plut. Alex. 33.10, regardless of whether the word was chosen by Plutarch to represent the opinion of Kallisthenes (FGrHist 124 F37) or by the latter himself; cf. also τὸ ὑπέρογκον τοῦ φρονήματος and ὑπερφρονεῖν at Arr. Succ. F27 (Souda s.v. Περδίκκας [Π1040]) which show that ὄγκος and φρόνημα become problematic only when they are taken too far.

23.2 καὶ τὴν Μακεδονίας βασιλείαν κυρίως, ἀναιρεθέντος Κασσάνδρου: The information in the letter would have important implications, were it not that it was probably completely made up on the basis of what was expedient to Eumenes at this point. Badian (1964, 268) and Errington (1977, 483), however, conclude from this that Eumenes had knowledge of affairs in Macedonia, and knew of Olympias’ return, Arrhidaios’ death and Kassandros’ invasion in reaction to those events (cf. infra, 35.1), but not of the outcome of the invasion. The present episode belongs to the early autumn, as Antigonos arrived in Media about 40 days (20.1) after his crossing into Susiana, where he reached Susa about the time of the rising of Sirius (18.2), and Eumenes and the upper satraps completed their journey to Persepolis about 24 days after hearing that Antigonos was in Media (cf. also Bosworth 1992b, 62 n. 35). However, the death of Arrhidaios occurred in mid-autumn, so Errington argues that the letter can only have been written in the year following that of the murder of Arrhidaios. Therefore, Eumenes’ composition of the letter should, in his opinion, be dated to the early autumn of 316 rather than that of 317, and his death to the winter of 316/5. This is an

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important element in his chronological reconstruction, the so-called Low Chronology. Independently from each other Bosworth (1992b, 62– 64, 81), Stein (1993, 147– 149) and Stylianou (1994, 77– 79), have convincingly refuted the argument of Badian and Errington. Because it was a fake letter, Eumenes could make up whatever he wanted, as long as the contents were both plausible and of a nature that would enhance his own position. Through his contacts with Polyperchon and Olympias (Diod. XVIII 57– 58; Nep. Eum. 6), he must have known of the plans for the return of the queen. On this basis he could obviously make up a story in which Olympias had come back, and it is not far-fetched that Kassandros would react to that by invading Macedonia. Yet, if Polyperchon was to cross into Asia, the European front had to be safe, which required Eumenes to claim that Kassandros had been killed. Obviously, none of this needs to have been true. Furthermore, it is not as significant as Errington would have it that only Alexander IV is mentioned in the letter, because Diodoros only gives a brief summary (ὁ νοῦς τῶν γεγραμμένων) and not the complete text. It is clear from later mentions of the kings that Arrhidaios was thought still to have been alive (23.3, 24.1– 2 and 44.2). Moreover, Olympias was only asked to take care of Alexander IV, and not of Arrhidaios (cf. Meeus 2009c, 301), so that her assumption of the former’s guardianship does not teach us anything about the latter. The rupture between the kings, with Eurydike deposing Polyperchon from the regency could, furthermore, considerably weaken Eumenes’ position, so that he would certainly not have spread knowledge of these events among his men. Note that Errington does not claim that the soldiers already knew of these events too, so that Stein’s first argument (1993, 147) against Errington is irrelevant. Although he accepts that it is unlikely that the soldiers at this time knew of Arrhidaios’ death, Anson (2004, 172– 174; cf. Fontana 1960, 130 – 131; Stein 1993, 150; Schäfer 2002, 144), an adherent of the low chronology, does assume that Olympias’ return and the capture of Eurydike and Arrhidaios were known. However, it is hardly conceivable that the death of the king would not have been known in Iran eight to ten months after the event, even if it had been kept secret for a while (but probably it was known in Macedonia rather soon: see above, 11.5 τὸν μὲν Φίλιππον…); the dating formulas of documents cannot be used to determine the actual length of the king’s reign, as is also clear from the fact that the regnal years of Alexander IV remained in use after his death for around five years (see now the convenient overviews of Boiy 2007b, 84– 94; Depuydt 2008, 76 – 77, and below, 105.1 μέχρι ἄν…). It is a reasonable assumption that the Macedonians maintained the good communications between Europe and Asia which had existed in Alexander’s time (on which, see Borza 1995, 189 – 199), even if they were sometimes hindered by the wars of the Successors. The key to the problem

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is that as yet none of this had happened – or maybe only just, but it remained as yet unknown –, the news reported being as fake as the rest of the letter.

23.3 ἡ δ᾽ ἐπιστολὴ Συρίοις γεγραμμένη γράμμασιν: This means in Aramaic, a West Semitic language which was already in use as an international language for elite communication in the Neo-Babylonian empire and became even more widespread under the Achaimenids. It retained this status role throughout the Near East until the seventh century CE, when Arabic took over: see Greenfield 1985; Stolper 2005, 21; Creason 2008, esp. 108 – 109; Gzella 2010 and 2015; Olbrycht 2013, 176 – 178; Tavernier 2017, esp. 383 – 387. Some assume that Eumenes could write Aramaic or had someone on his staff who could, because of his former service as royal secretary (Schäfer 2002, 144 n. 64), which may or may not be true; one would assume that in any case all satraps had men who knew Aramaic on their staff, regardless of any function they had held before (cf. Hornblower 1981, 133; Rochette 1997a, 317, who, however, completely misunderstands the situation in assuming that the letter actually was sent by Orontes [see next lemma]; in general, see also De Luna 2003). Stein (1993, 148 n. 14) notes the verbal echo with Polyainos’ account (IV 8.3) ἐπιστολὴν (…) γεγραμμένην Συρίοις γράμμασι, but he also admits it is hardly striking. That the mention of the script should imply that both Diodoros and Polyainos used a detailed source is an unproven assumption, which is in fact rejected by Stein’s own assertation that the latter used an intermediary source. It is certainly not convincing that a detailed source can only be Hieronymos. ἀπέσταλτο παρὰ Ὀρόντου τοῦ σατραπείαν μὲν ἔχοντος ᾿Aρμενίας: As satrap of the province Orontes commanded the Armenian division at the battle of Gaugamela. He probably joined Alexander sometime after that, but this is the first time that he is heard of again, and it is unclear what his position had been in the meantime and even what the status of Armenia was within the empire (Berve 1926, II, no. 593; Schottky 1989, 85 – 94; Anson 1990; Orth 1993, 112; Hammond 1996b, 132– 133; Bosworth 2002, 122 n. 93; Heckel 2006, 185; Facella 2006, 137– 169). Diodoros states that the letter actually was sent by Orontes, which is disproved by the friendship or alliance between Orontes and Peukestas, the fact that the letter was fake, and most of all by Polyaen. IV 8.3, who literally writes that Orontes was not the true sender: ὡς παρὰ Ὀρόντου τοῦ σατράπου τῆς ᾿Aρμενίας (cf. Facella 2006, 158 n. 100; contra Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 193; Rochette 1997a, 317). Diodoros’ summarizing has led him into error here, unless he deemed it obvious that the alleged sender of a fake letter was, by definition, not its actual author.

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φίλου δὲ ὄντος Πευκέστῃ: It is usually assumed that they had become friends sometime between 331 and 324, as the connection is unlikely to have originated while Peukestas was in Persis (Bosworth 1980b, 315 – 316; Anson 1990, 126). Of course, Diodoros might just mean that they had set up some kind of alliance, which is more likely to have been done after 323. διὰ τῶν βασιλέων: Because he had been appointed royal general of Asia (XVIII 58.1), Eumenes had privileged access to Polyperchon and the kings. παρὰ τῶν ἀδικούντων: A highly euphemistic statement, as is clear from the subsequent episode: not the wrongdoers were envisaged, but Eumenes’ opponents. The phrasing might well be Diodoros’ own, however, and need not result from any bias.

23.4 παρήγαγεν εἰς κρίσιν Σιβύρτιον: We do not know what Sibyrtios was accused of. It has been suggested that he was probably charged for collusion with Antigonos, on the assumption that he might have been a friend of his (Bosworth 2002, 122), and even that this may well have been true (Anson 2004, 175). Of course, the assertion that Eumenes wanted to act against τοὺς ἀπειθοῦντας ἢ στρατηγίας ὀρεγομένους (i. e. against his opponents, regardless of any actual charges), might just be Diodoros’ interpretation or that of his source, but it is not inconceivable that Sibyrtios actually was an innocent party. Not everyone who later co-operated with Antigonos already was a friend of his at this time; one need only think of Hieronymos (cf. infra, on 44.3). Indeed Grainger (1990a, 42), although wrongly assuming that Sibyrtios himself had returned to his satrapy, plausibly suggests that at this point the satrap of Arachosia considered Antigonos a threat. Yet, there might simultaneously have been an even greater threat in his own satrapy (see next lemma). ἔλαθε δὲ αὐτὸν τῶν ἱππέων τινὰς ἀποστείλας εἰς ᾿Aραχώτας: The situation in the Far East of the empire was anything but stable, and it is not surprising that Sibyrtios tried to protect his satrapy (Schäfer 2002, 145 – 146; Wheatley 2014, 504 – 506). It seems rather unlikely that the threat posed to Macedonian power in Arachosia at this point was the expansion of Chandragupta’s empire (cf. recently Fauconnier 2015 on the rise of Chandragupta; pace Schober 1981, 92– 93 and Schäfer, loc. cit.). Sending a few cavalrymen will have achieved little in the face of a Mauryan invasion. Furthermore, Sibyrtios will hardly have been alone in responding to such an incursion. The mission more likely concerned some local problem. If Reuß’s emendation of 610 cavalry at 14.6 is correct, the number of men Sibyrtios sent must have been very small indeed, as the contingent still consisted of 600 men at Paraitakene (27.4).

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Eumenes might of course have argued that none of the satraps were to undertake such action without informing the others, so that the number of soldiers involved did not really matter, but it surely does seem to suggest that Sibyrtios was not guilty of a grave offence, if an offense it was. After all, technically there was no supreme commander to whom everyone was accountable: all, ostensibly, were peers in the Alexander tent. θανάτῳ περιέπεσεν ἂν ὑπὸ τοῦ πλήθους: Eumenes had just consolidated his position with the soldiers by means of the fake letter (contra O’Neil 1999b, 39 – 40), and he probably wanted to grant some authority to his decision by involving the men (cf. Anson 2008a, 147: ‘the responsibility would be shared’). There is no reason to assume that hearing capital trials traditionally was the role of the army (pace e.g. Hammond 1988a, 124), as has recently been demonstrated again by Anson (2008a; see also above, 14.4 κοινῷ δόγματι, on the role of the army assembly).

24.1 λόγοις φιλανθρώποις καὶ μεγάλαις ἐπαγγελίαις προσαγαγόμενος: λόγοι φιλάνθρωποι are used on several other occasions in the Bibliotheke to convince people or to win them over (XII 67.2, XIV 70.3, XV 28.4, 57.2, XVII 4.1, 5.1, XVIII 46.2 XIX 9.6, XXI 16.1). The only occurrence outside of Diodoros’ work is Jos. BJ IV 96 (though cf. e.g. Plb. XIII 7.3 – 5). The combination of λόγοι φιλάνθρωποι with (μεγάλαι) ἐπαγγελίαι is also to be found at XV 28.4 and XVII 4.1 (cf. XIII 96.1, XIX 9.6). The combination ἐπαγγελίαις προσάγεσθαι, which also occurs at XV 8.4, is unique to Diodoros among preserved ancient authors, and variations of it are rare and only to be found several centuries later. On φιλανθρωπία as an important concept in the Bibliotheke, see above, 20.1 φιλανθρώπως… For a similar usage of προσάγεσθαι, cf. infra, 85.4 τὰς μὲν πολιορκῶν… εὔνουν ἑαυτῷ καὶ πρόθυμον κατεσκεύασεν: Cf. XIII 42.3, εὔνους ἑαυτῷ κατεσκεύασεν; XV 31.1, τοιαύταις δ’ ὁμιλίαις καὶ εὐεργεσίαις χρησάμενοι εὐνουστέρους ἅπαντας τοὺς συμμάχους κατεσκεύασαν. In other authors the phrase εὔνουν κατεσκευάζειν is even more rare: Jos. AJ XII 398, Polyaen. VIII 23.30, Sopat.Rh. vol. VIII p. 110 ed. Walz are the only other certainly ancient attestations, along with three instances in the scholia on Demosthenes (Σor. 14.3, or. 21.260) and Aristophanes (ΣEq. 769) which in the end may also be ancient. Cf. supra 11.1, τῶν δὲ Μακεδόνων… for the similar phrase ἰδίους ταῖς εὐνοίαις κατεσκευάζειν. τὸ τοῖς βασιλεῦσι συναγωνίζεσθαι: Cf. supra, 12.1 ἀξιῶν βοηθεῖν…

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24.2 ὥσπερ ὅμηρα λαβεῖν τοῦ μὴ καταλείψειν αὐτόν: Plutarch (Eum. 13.12– 13) basically mentions the same motive though in a somewhat more dramatic form (with ἀνελεῖν rather than καταλείψειν). He places the anecdote much earlier, but his chronology is not to be preferred to that of Diodoros (Billows 1990, 94 n. 21; cf. Bosworth 1992a, 68 – 71 on the problems of Plutarch’s account). That Plutarch ultimately goes back to the same source is clear: see 24.3 πιστοτάτους… In plural ὅμηρος can have both masculine and neuter forms (see Roos 2005, 121– 124). It may be interesting to note that the only instances where Diodoros uses the neuter plural are to be found in the Successor narrative: here and at XIX 62.6 (but see 60.3, ὁμήρους). Of course, a mere coincidence or textual corruption cannot be excluded (cf. supra, Part I, §2.4). προσεποιήθη χρημάτων σπανίζειν: Cf. Plut. Eum. 13.12, ἐσκήψατο χρημάτων δεῖσθαι. It would be surprising if Eumenes really was in need of money, as he would probably have taken enough money from the treasury in Susa. Moreover, the Macedonians had already received their pay for six months while still at Susa (15.5), precisely to avoid financial problems. It would thus seem that Eumenes was only pretending to lack funds, exactly as Diodoros says (pace Anson 2004, 175 n. 86, and, implicitly, Schäfer 2002, 146). δανεῖσαι τοῖς βασιλεῦσι: The presentation of the loan to Eumenes as a loan ‘to the kings’ must be a contemporary perspective, but if Diodoros preserved it, any intermediary source could have done so as well. Thus, even if this is the spin of Hieronymos (cf. Roisman 2012a, 210), it does not prove that he is Diodoros’ direct source.

24.3 λαβὼν δὲ παρ᾽ ὧν ἐδόκει συμφέρειν ἡγεμόνων τετρακόσια τάλαντα: The fact that Eumenes was able to obtain the money shows that he was in the most powerful position now and controlled the satrapal coalition (Bosworth 2002, 123). We do not know who the commanders were from whom Eumenes received a loan. Plutarch (Eum. 16.3) only mentions two names: an otherwise unattested Phaidimos and Eudamos, the elephant master. τοὺς πρότερον ὑπόπτους ὄντας ἐπιβουλεύειν ἢ καταλείψειν: Plutarch (Eum. 13.12) writes of τῶν μάλιστα μισούντων αὐτόν. On being suspicious (ὕποπτος) of the other generals as a recurring theme in the history of the Diadochoi, see Heckel 2002. Roisman (2012a, 210) doubts the existence of such plots in the present instance, though.

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πιστοτάτους φύλακας ἔσχε τοῦ σώματος καὶ συναγωνιστάς: Cf. Plut. Eum. 13.13, ὥστε συνέβη τὸν ἀλλότριον πλοῦτον αὐτῷ φύλακα τοῦ σώματος ἔχειν, clearly from the same source.

24.5 θυσίαν ἐπετέλεσε τοῖς θεοῖς καὶ τὴν δύναμιν εὐωχήσας πολυτελῶς τὰ μὲν πλήθη πρὸς εὔνοιαν προεκαλέσατο: Compare Peukestas’ actions described at 21.3 and 22.1. The power struggle and the resulting competition for the goodwill of the troops was not quite over yet (Briant 1996, I, 259), even if Peukestas seemed to have been won over (24.1). If Eumenes now held such a banquet everyone will have been reminded of Peukestas’ earlier celebration, so we can assume that rather than to make the men forget about it (Schäfer 2002, 147), the Kardian’s aim was conspicuously to surpass the former occasion, and it seems justified to assume that he did everything possible to make this an even more lavish feast (cf. generally Roisman 2010, 142). Plutarch (Eum. 13.11) has turned the attempts to gain the goodwill of the troops by such means into flattery (τοὺς δὲ Μακεδόνας κολακεύοντες ἐκκεχυμένως καὶ καταχορηγοῦντες εἰς δεῖπνα καὶ θυσίας) and limits the use of these means to the other generals whilst also leaving the cause of Eumenes’ illness unmentioned. αὐτὸς δὲ κατὰ τὴν μέθην συμπεριενεχθεὶς τῶν παραληφθέντων τοῖς εἰς τὸ πίνειν ὁρμήσασιν ἐνέπεσεν εἰς ἀρρωστίαν: Although excessive drinking was a Macedonian tradition (Carney 2007; Worthington 2008, 9 – 11; Pownall 2010; Karunanithy 2013, 204– 205), Eumenes might specifically have been imitating Alexander in being highly excessive (Schäfer 2002, 147– 148). In Plutarch’s account (Eum. 14.6) Eumenes’ illness comes a few days after Peukestas’ banquet, but Diodoros’ more detailed narrative is certainly correct in placing it later. Bosworth (2002, 126) assumes that the way the Kardian handled his condition shows deliberate imitatio Alexandri, as his ‘illness would inevitably have evoked comparisons’: Alexander too had become ill immediately after a sacrifice and a symposium. There were rumours that Alexander had been poisoned and Peukestas was supposedly involved. The implication of all this would be that Peukestas could now be suspected to have tried to poison Eumenes, potentially undermining the soldiers’ trust in the former. Bosworth does not deny that Eumenes might have been ill, but he ‘suspects that such an adept propagandist would have capitalized on his illness’ (cf. also Roisman 2010, 142). This may well be true, but we should resist the temptation to read too much into the – not unlikely – event that someone, after many years of campaigning and a heavy night of drinking, fell ill. Also, it is unclear to what extent Peukestas really was considered to have been

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implicated in Alexander’s death by the Macedonians who had been there in Babylon in 323 and who did not need the Ephemerides to know what had happened.

24.6 ἀφηγουμένου Πευκέστου καὶ ᾿Aντιγένους: According to Plutarch (Eum. 14.7– 11) very soon, when they saw that Antigonos was approaching, the soldiers refused to continue without Eumenes in charge. Eumenes then had himself carried to the fore, so that the soldiers could see him. He even claims that the Kardian was then saluted in Macedonian. If there is any truth to Plutarch’s story, it confirms that Eumenes’ ethnicity was no problem at all for the Macedonians (cf. supra, 13.1 ἄνδρα ξένον). αὐτὸς δὲ φορίῳ κομιζόμενος ἐπηκολούθει τοῖς οὐραγοῦσιν, ὅπως μὴ διὰ τὸν θόρυβον καὶ τὴν στενοχωρίαν παρενοχλοῖτο: Cf. Plut. Eum. 14.6, ἐν φορείῳ κομιζόμενος ἔξω τοῦ στρατεύματος ἐν ἡσυχίᾳ. Though the phrase ἐν φορείῳ κομίζεσθαι is not uncommon in Plutarch (e.g. Pel. 30.11, Pyrrh. 18.8, Cic. 35.2, 47.2, 47.10, Ant. 58.11, Brut. 16.1, Arat. 33.6, 34.6), this is the only instance in Diodoros; the word φορεῖον occurs only once more, at XXXI 8.12. Given the other similarities with Plutarch in the surrounding text, Diodoros thus probably took the phrase from their common source. While F has the correct form φορείῳ, Fischer and Bizière once more prefer R’s itacistic mistake.

§ 25 – 26 The Prelude to the Battle of Paraitakene In the next two chapters Diodoros describes the manoeuvring in the build-up to the battle of Paraitakene. Antigonos unsuccessfully attempted once more to have Eumenes’ men desert him before the battle. After that both commanders tried to outgeneral each other, the objective being to reach Gabiene – a region rich in provisions – first. The situation would lead to the first of two major confrontations between Antigonos and Eumenes in Iran (Bosworth 2002, 127– 130; Roisman 2012a, 212– 215; Anson 2014, 125 – 126, 2015, 190 – 191).

25.1 παρεσκευάσαντο μὲν πρὸς τὸν κίνδυνον, διελύθησαν δὲ χωρὶς μάχης: The locution χωρὶς μάχης does not occur elsewhere in extant parts of the Bibliotheke; though cf. ἄνευ μάχης at XVI 59.4, XIX 93.2, XXIX 20.1. More often Diodoros writes χωρὶς κινδύνου (XI 46.5, XVII 86.1, XXIII 11.1) and especially χωρὶς κινδύ-

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νων (e.g. XI 77.4, XVI 53.2, 66.5, XVII 49.1, XIX 11.4). Because he had just used the word κίνδυνος, he might have written μάχη for the sake of variatio.

25.2 ποταμόν τινα καὶ χαράδραν: This is a typical feature of the region: see below, 26.3 ποταμούς… πρός τε τοὺς σατράπας: Just like the soldiers (cf. supra, 11.2, μετεβάλοντο) the Friends of a leader frequently changed sides during the unstable age of the Successors (Austin 1986, 463 with further references in n. 101; Hammond 1988a, 125), so Antigonos of course thought it well worth trying to get the satraps over to his side. ἀξιῶν Εὐμενεῖ μὲν μὴ προσέχειν, ἑαυτῷ δὲ πιστεύειν: Cf. the previous – and likewise unsuccessful – attempts by Antigonos and others discussed above, 12.2 ἀξιοῦντες…

25.3 συγχωρήσειν γὰρ ἔφη τοῖς μὲν σατράπαις ἔχειν τὰς ἰδίας σατραπείας: Of course, Antigonos could have come up with this idea anyway, but it is not impossible that he knew many satraps feared he would take away their territories (cf. supra, 17.5 καὶ τὴν σατραπείαν…). χώραν πολλὴν δώσειν: It would seem that, again, Antigonos is usurping a royal prerogative here (cf. supra, 18.1 Σέλευκον…), as only the king could distribute land and guarantee the rights of the recipients: cf. Alexander’s unambiguous phrasing in his edict about Priene, [τὴν] χ̣ώραγ̣ [γ]ι̣ νώσκω ἐμὴν εἶναι (I.Priene IK 1, l. 10 – 11, with Briant 1996, 430 – 431 and Faraguna 2020; cf. also Hammond 1988b, 388 – 390; Burstein 1999, 375; Briant 2006, 330 – 342; Anson 2008b, 23). Indeed, this royal capacity to distribute land was one of the foundations of the king’s legitimacy (Faraguna 1998, esp. 364– 365, 367– 368). Antigonos later claimed to be the official regent (61.3), but he could hardly do so as long as he was still allied to Kassandros, who had started the war to become regent. Unlike the soldiers themselves, Antigonos must have preferred this option to sending them home (see next lemma). It would give him Macedonian settlers to populate colonies in his territory, who would thus be constantly available for military service, and who shared an interest in Antigonos retaining his lands (cf. Billows 1990, 292– 305 and passim). τοὺς δὲ εἰς τὰς πατρίδας ἀποστελεῖν μετὰ τιμῆς καὶ δωρεῶν: Had they wanted to desert from Eumenes’ army, this might well have been the offer favoured by most Macedonians. After all, many of them had likely been in Asia

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for almost twenty years now (cf. infra 41.3 on the Silver Shields), and the prospect of going home with the booty they had amassed over the years as well as the reward from Antigonos cannot have been unattractive (cf. Briant 1973a, 65). Already after the death of Dareios, the Macedonians had wanted to go back to their motherland (Diod. XVII 74.3 – 4; Curt. VI 2.17). If they had objected to their return to Macedonia at Opis in 324 (but see Carney 1996, 40; Olbrycht 2008, 238 – 239), this was for reasons other than an unwillingness to go home (Bosworth 1988a, 159 – 160). For the gifts he offered the deserters, he might have been inspired by Alexander’s gifts to those returning to Macedonia in 324 (Arr. Anab. VII 12.1). Because Diodoros is neither a direct source nor an exact copy of one, the plural τὰς πατρίδας need not be significant, but it is interesting to note that the homeland of a Macedonian soldier is here considered to be his own city or tribe rather than Macedonia in general. It is striking that even this offer did not induce the men to desert Eumenes.

25.4 τῶν δὲ Μακεδόνων οὐ προσεχόντων τοῖς λόγοις, ἀλλὰ καὶ προσαπειλούντων τοῖς πρεσβευταῖς: The Macedonians’ constant and unwavering loyalty to Eumenes shows that his Greek origins did not cause as much resentment as is often thought (see above, 13.1 ἄνδρα ξένον); once more the significance of his appointment by the kings must be the reason for their support (Bosworth 2002, 129; cf. supra, 11.2 μετεβάλοντο and 12.2 ἀξιοῦντες…). λόγον εἶπε τὸν παραδεδομένον μὲν καὶ παλαιόν, οὐκ ἀνοίκειον δὲ τῆς περιστάσεως: On such use of fables, see Arist. Rh. II 20.5 – 8; cf. e.g. Aristoboulos (FGrHist 139 F 3) for a similar sort of animal fable told by Demosthenes in Athens after Alexander’s request for the extradition of the orators. The present fable and its origins are studied by Lens Tuero (1994b) and Van Dijk (1997, 280 – 283); see also Roisman (2012a, 214), who argues that the scene and the use of the fable reflect the elitist perspective of the account (cf. Hornblower 1981, 196 – 197; Hornblower 2004, 307– 308). On οὐκ ἀνοίκειον, cf. infra, 53.3 περὶ ὧν… Only Bizière (1975) follows the reading of R, τὸν παραδεδομένον μὲν καὶ παλαιόν, while all other rightly editors prefer the text of F and the Excerpta constantiniana, τῶν παραδεδομένων μὲν καὶ παλαιῶν. The only merit of the version of R seems to be that it could be considered the lectio difficilior, but this principle obviously is not an ironclad law. Furthermore, the agreement between F and the Excerpta probably is not insignificant (Goukowsky 1976, lv; cf. supra, Part I, §2.4, on Bizière’s underrating of the readings of F).

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The phrase ἀνοίκειος/οἰκεῖος τῆς περιστάσεως seems typically Hellenistic and especially Diodorean: apart from one instance in Polybios (XXXII 10.2) all ancient literary attestations of it are to be found in the Bibliotheke (see also XI 15.4, XX 34.3, XXXII 6.3); cf. XX 2.1, XXXI 10.2 for similar ideas. On imparting lessons for a particular περίστασις by means of narrating history, see I 1.1, 3.2 (cf. Plb. I 35.9 – 10); Diodoros does think that fictional stories and history can impart such lessons, but history does it better because it contains the truth (I 2.2; cf. Meeus 2018a, 159 – 160).

26.1 ἧκόν τινες ηὐτομοληκότες: On the importance of deserters for intelligence gathering, see Engels 1980, 332 and 333 – 334 with n. 41; cf. Billows 1990, 316 with n. 2. The reception of information from defectors is often attested: e.g. Diod. II 26.4, XIII 71.3, XIX 50.5, 68.6, XX 94.1; Plut. Demetr. 49.1; Curt. V 13.2. Gray (1987, 79), however, considers it part of a standard pattern of battle descriptions (cf. Men. Aspis 43) which makes it impossible to assess its historicity: cf. infra, 50.5 αὐτομόλου… for a clear example of the problem. περὶ δευτέραν φυλακήν: The night was divided in four parts, evidently varying in length with the seasons, which were often measured with a klepsydra (Pattenden 1987, 164 – 165; Krentz 2007, 166; Karunanithy 2013, 201– 202). For the use of the watches as a chronological indication in Diodoros’ narrative, see also III 48.1, XIII 47.2, 111.1, XIV 24.5, XV 84.1, XVII 56.1, XVIII 40.3, XIX 26.6, 32.2, 38.3, 93.2, 95.3, 95.5, 96.4, XX 96.4, 98.5. Clearly the usage is much more frequent in the history of the Successors than in other parts of the work, but the occurrences are by no means distributed evenly throughout the text of XVIII–XX: apart from two exceptions, they all belong to the description of the present campaign (XIX 26.1, 26.6, 32.2, 38.3), the Antigonid expeditions against the Nabataeans (XIX 95.3, 95.5, 96.4), and the siege of Rhodes (XX 96.4, 98.5). These are three pieces of military narrative where Diodoros’ account is comparatively detailed, but it is interesting to note that at least in one case it is often doubted whether Hieronymos was the source of the passage, i. e. the Rhodian siege (cf. infra, 81.4 ἦν δὲ καί…). τὴν Γαβηνήν: Gabiene was a region located between Susa and Media, which is to be situated in the plain of Isfahan, but its exact location is disputed (see Cook 1983, 35 with n. 28; Orth 1993, 119; Briant 1996, I, 757– 8; Bosworth 2002, 127– 129, who rightly notes that the widely accepted identification with the Gav Khuni is incompatible with a region said to be rich in provisions; Schäfer 2002, 155 n. 105; Anson 2004, 176; Henkelman 2008, 310 – 312; Potts 2016a, 367 and 375). While F reads Γαβιηνήν, R has Γαβηνήν. Wesseling and Dindorf followed F, but Fischer, Geer and Bizière – as usual – adopt the reading of R. Both variants

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are attested elsewhere too: Strabo (XVI 1.18: Γαβιανή) and Polyainos (IV 16.3: Γαβιηνή), support the former reading, Ptolemy (VI 2.13: Γάβηνα) and Plutarch (Eum. 15.4: the land of the Γαβηνοί) the latter. Bosworth (2002, 127 n. 113) asserts that ‘it is probable that there was no fixed form of the name in antiquity’. Whether that is true or not, it would seem that the correct reading for Diodoros’ text must be Γαβιηνήν. Not only because it is the lectio difficilior, but also because R has a strong tendency towards itacistic misspellings (cf. Radt 1993, 65), which makes it likely that the iota was dropped by its scribe as it was not markedly pronounced in the sequence -ιη-, as might have happened in the paradosis of Ptolemy and Plutarch as well.

26.2 τριῶν ἡμερῶν ὁδόν: This should not be taken to mean that the location of the battle at Paraitakene was 3 days distant from Gabiene, as Antigonos was already two watches behind when he started the pursuit of Eumenes (26.6) and at least one more watch will have passed before he caught up with him: the armies thus probably met at a distance of about 2 days from Gabiene. ἀκέραιος ἦν καὶ πλήρης καρπῶν καὶ χορτασμάτων καὶ καθόλου τῶν δυναμένων χορηγῆσαι τὰ ἐπιτήδεια μεγάλαις δυνάμεσι δαψιλῶς: Cf. supra, 12.4 τὴν δὲ πέραν… on similar descriptions of the land, which seem particularly common in book XIX. In this respect, it is instructive to analyse the incidence of the adverb δαψιλῶς and of the expression χορηγῆσαι δαψιλῶς. Although Phrynichos (Ecl. 284) considered it to be a proper Attic word, δαψιλῶς seems to have become frequent only from the fourth century CE onwards. Before that time it is attested only 101 times, 42 of which in the works of Galenos. Except for him, the only other authors before the fourth century CE who use the word more frequently than Diodoros are Aristeas (2 cases, freq. 0.0147 %) and Herodian (4 instances, freq. 0.0082 %). Only 22 instances date from before the first century CE, and almost half of those (9) are to be found in the Bibliotheke (freq. 0.0019 %: I 53.3, V 13.5, 14.1, 19.2, XVI 9.2, XIX 3.1, 13.6, 26.2, 32.3). It seems quite safe, then, to conclude that the word belongs to Diodoros’ own vocabulary. Nonetheless, its distribution is rather uneven: four out of nine instances are found in book XIX. One of those, however, occurs in the history of Agathokles, while three belong to the narrative on the Successors. Rather than reflecting the usage of his source, the spread is probably the result of Diodoros’ tendency often to repeat the same word: hence the clusters of occurrences in book V and in book XIX. The pattern of the spread of the adjective δαψιλής is comparable. Out of 51 instances 10 are found in book V, and 6 in book XIX. However, books I and II also have 6 occurrences while there are 7 in book III. The word is used twice in each of the books

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IV, XVIII and XX, and once in XII, XIV, XVI, XXIV and XXXVII. The adjective is found throughout the work, then, although the incidence is very uneven. Of the 9 cases in the narrative on the Successors, 5 belong to the same cluster as observed for the adverb (XIX 12.4, 20.1, 21.3, 22.3, 34.5). Thus, it would seem that Diodorean lack of variatio is the prime cause of the high frequency of the word in book XIX. A similar picture emerges from the study of the spread of the expression χορηγῆσαι δαψιλῶς, which is attested only 21 times in preserved ancient literature. Barring Hekataios (FGrHist 264) F25 and Timaios (FGrHist 566) F164, which are drawn from the Bibliotheke, it occurs only twice before Diodoros (Plb. III 68.8; Aristeas 303). He uses it six times, thus being responsible for more than 25 % of its ancient attestations. Between Diodoros and the fourth century CE, only one more instance is found (Hdn. III 14.4). Twelve further cases belong to the fourth and fifth centuries CE. It is safe to conclude, therefore, that the expression was part of Diodoros’ own vocabulary. The distribution in his work is very uneven, though: at first it occurs about once every five books (I 53.3, V 19.2, XVI 9.2), but then it is found three times in book XIX (3.1 on Agathokles; 26.2 and 32.3 on the Diadochoi). Again Diodoros’ tendency to repeat words and expressions at rather close intervals seems to be an important part of the explanation, but given the many features of the language of military food supplies that seem particular to book XIX, some influence of his source cannot be excluded (cf. supra, 12.4 τὴν δὲ πέραν… and 21.2 πλήρης…; Hornblower 1981, 267 and 273).

26.3 ποταμοὺς ἔχων καὶ χαράδρας δυσεξόδους: The so-called tangs, a typical feature of the terrain in the Zagros mountains and its foothills, resulting from specific geological and hydrographic circumstances (Oberlander 1968, 195 – 196; Fisher 1971, 269 – 270). τῶν μὲν μισθοφόρων τινὰς χρήμασι πείσας ἐξέπεμψεν ὡς αὐτομόλους: On soldiers sent out pretending to be deserters, see Engels 1980, 333 – 334 with n. 41. The reward for these men probably was no mean sum as the situation could become dangerous if they were found out. That also means that the stratagem could only be effective if the enemy was in no position immediately to check the information.

26.5 κατεστρατηγημένον: Diodoros is the earliest extant author to use the word καταστρατηγεῖν unless Speusippos’ letter to Philippos is authentic or at least

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a forgery older than the Bibliotheke. It also occurs in seven fragments of earlier writers (Kallisthenes, Persaios, Hermippos, Phylarchos and Poseidonios), but there the word may represent the usage of the cover texts (cf. supra, Part I, §2.3). Furthermore, no other preserved ancient author used the verb even nearly as often as Diodoros (32 instances, freq. 0.0066 %), except for Polyainos. However, the five instances in his Strategemata (freq. 0.0062 %) can hardly be considered frequent usage for a work that dealt with the subject of καταστρατηγεῖν. The word is only attested 107 times in ancient literature, so that Diodoros is responsible for a third of all occurrences. According to Casevitz (2006a, 192) these statistics show ‘le goût de l’auteur pour les détails pittoresques et les trouvailles particulières, inédites’, typical of the Hellenistic age. On the other hand, the idea of the commanders outgeneralling each other is a common theme in the sources on the Successors (cf. infra, 27.1 διαμιλλώμενοι…).

26.7 τὴν μὲν ἄλλην δύναμιν παραδοὺς Πίθωνι: As has been pointed out above (17.2 συνέθετο κοινοπραγίαν), the alliance between Antigonos, Seleukos and Peithon was not wholly equal, since Monophthalmos clearly was in charge. That Peithon served as Antigonos’ second in command, shows that his role is not to be underestimated and that he held a position higher than that of Antigonos’ most senior officers. This seems to be confirmed by his command of the left wing in the subsequent battle (29.3). Most likely Seleukos was also with Antigonos at the time (see 27.1 with comm. ad loc.), but probably Peithon was more powerful than his colleague from Babylonia (Grainger 1990a, 40). τὴν οὐραγίαν: On Diodoros’ use of this word, meaning ‘rear’ or ‘rear-guard’, see Devine 1985a, 76 n. 11.

26.8 τὴν δὲ στρατιὰν διέτασσον, ὡς αὐτίκα τῆς παρατάξεως γενησομένης: Cf. the very similar comment before Gabiene at 39.6, ἐξέταξαν ἀμφότεροι τὸ στρατόπεδον εἰς μάχην, ὡς περὶ τῶν ὅλων κρίσεως ἐσομένης. This need not be the influence of Diodoros’ source, however, as similar phrases occur in the context of battle arrays at XIV 50.2, XV 84.2, XVII 86.4.

26.10 ἐπειδὴ τὸ στρατόπεδον ἧκεν, ἅπαν ἐξέταξεν εἰς μάχην: Diodoros very often uses a formula like δια-/συν-/ἐκτάττειν τὴν δύναμιν εἰς μάχην (or τὸν στόλον εἰς

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ναυμαχίαν) when describing the battle array or when simply mentioning that the troops were deployed (e.g. XIII 39.3, 45.7, XIV 26.2, XVI 48.5, XVII 87.4, XIX 39.6, XIX 81.6, XX 10.6). See Alganza Roldán & Villena Ponsoda 1994, 235 – 236, for further examples of similar expressions. κατέβαινε συντεταγμένος ἐπὶ τοὺς πολεμίους καταπληκτικῶς: This is something of a Diodorean topos. The adverb καταπληκτικῶς occurs only 34 times in the preserved literature of Antiquity. 20 of these, or almost two thirds of the total, are to be found in the Bibliotheke (frequency: 0.0041 %), while Polybios is the only other extant author who seems to have used the adverb regularly (8 instances, freq. 0.0024 %). Καταπληκτικῶς, then, is a typical Diodorean word (cf. Palm 1955, 167 and 187; Chamoux 1993, lxxiv), as is the adjective καταπληκτικός for which the statistics are less spectacular, even if Diodoros still stands out clearly with 19 occurrences (freq. 0.0039 %) out of a total of about 130 ancient attestations, alongside Polybios who has the same frequency with 13 instances. The noun κατάπληξις is to be found 38 times (freq. 0.0078 %) in the Bibliotheke, which is more than 14 % of the total of about 260 ancient attestations. In this case it is Josephus who comes closest to Diodoros with 22 occurrences (freq. 0.0049 %). Moreover, in several instances καταπληκτικῶς is used in sentences which parallel the present one (XI 36.3, XV 32.4, XV 69.2, XVII 4.4, 33.1, XIX 84.1, XX 51.2, XX 83.1). All of them concern battle descriptions, often detailing the first move after waiting for the enemy or deploying the army. Thus, armies advanced καταπληκτικῶς on other occasions in Diodoros’ work, and it seems to have been one of his set rhetorical combinations. In the present instance confirmation of this is provided also by the fact that the remark is out of place. Diodoros next goes on to describe the battle array of both armies, after which he notes again and in almost the same words that Antigonos’ army descended against the enemy (29.7, τοῦτον δὲ τὸν τρόπον ἐκτάξας τὸ στρατόπεδον κατέβαινεν ἐπὶ τοὺς πολεμίους); the latter notice obviously stands at its logical place in the narrative whereas the present one is clumsily inserted. Diodoros, ignoring what he was to write next, apparently thought it was a good moment to use one of his topoi for battles (cf. also the previous lemma). Once more his independence is revealed by his faults. For Billows (1990, 95) Diodoros’ mention of ‘the awe-inspiring sight (…) [makes] it clear that his account derives from an eyewitness, obviously Hieronymus of Cardia’. In itself such reasoning is not very strong, as it would also mean that Homer was an eyewitness of the Trojan War. In the present instance the claim is demonstrably false, as the comment has clearly been inserted by Diodoros.

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§ 27 – 31 The Battle of Paraitakene By now it was late October or November 317 (Anson 2004, 181 n. 98 for the time of the year; Meeus 2012 for the date of the campaign in 317), and at Paraitakene Antigonos and Eumenes finally met for the great battle. Diodoros is the only source on the battle of Paraitakene, apart from Nepos’ brief remark (Eum. 8.1) that Antigonos and Eumenes fought ‘non acie instructa, sed in itinere’, which must be the result of the Roman’s faulty understanding or imprecise summarizing. Diodoros begins his account of the battle with the most detailed description of the deployment of the armies to be found in the Bibliotheke, running to three whole chapters. According to Alganza Roldán & Villena Ponsoda (1994, 230) Diodoros provides descriptions of battle arrays in some detail much more often than any of his predecessors. Antigonos’ battle plan resembled those of Alexander at the Granikos and at Gaugamela, and Devine (1985a, 81) assumes that it was doubtless consciously based on them. Eumenes’ arrangement also seems to have been inspired by Alexander (Bosworth 2002, 130). As far as we know, the encounter at Paraitakene was the first battle between Macedonians with elephants on both sides (Bosworth 2002, 130). It is also often said to be the first one where the generals were not just leaders of the fighting, but actually directed the battle, and also the first with a true reserve (Tarn 1930, 34– 35; Hornblower 1981, 38 – 39). The former claim is not substantiated by Diodoros’ account of the battle, though, and it seems both Antigonos and Eumenes were fighting in the front ranks like Alexander had done (Lane Fox 2011a, 8). In the case of the reserve unit, one may ask whether it is an actual innovation or rather a feature attested for the first time thanks to the unusually detailed description of the battle array Diodoros offers here: Hornblower (1981, 39) rightly notes that ‘it would be impossible to derive information of this kind from the military writing of Diodorus’ other books’. The battle has often been studied: e.g. Vezin 1907, 142– 145; Delbrück 1920, 240 – 242; Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 393 – 424; Scullard 1974, 86 – 90; Devine 1985a; Billows 1990, 95 – 98; Bosworth 2002, 130 – 141; Gaebel 2002, 213 – 216; Schäfer 2002, 149 – 153; Anson 2004, 177– 181; Sidnell 2006, 133 – 135; Roisman 2012a, 215 – 222, 2018; Wrightson 2019, 205 – 206. Lendon (2005, 143 – 152) looks at it from the point of view of the Hellenistic culture of war. Roisman (2018), on the other hand, focusses on Diodoros’ own interests and compares his account of this battle to those of Issos and Gabiene. The best diagram of the dispositions and movements is to be found in Billows 1990, 96 – 97; cf. Devine 1985a, 84– 85; Schäfer 2002, 151– 152. Delbrück (1920, 237– 238) assumes that the preserved descriptions of Hellenistic battles contain too many fictitious elements to be of much use, but his criticism is too severe. For Paraitakene (ibid., 240 – 242) his list of impossible el-

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ements is often determined by misunderstandings of the actual situation, usually as a result of Diodoros’ summarizing: several important aspects have been left unmentioned (see Droysen 1878, I, 283; cf. Vezin 1907, 142; Adcock 1957, 54– 55; Simpson 1959a, 375; Goukowsky 1972, 485 n. 42). Thus, Delbrück rejects the indications about the elephant screen on Eumenes’ left wing, because he did not see that the echeloned arrangement was most likely limited to the flank-guard, while the elephants in front of the wing stood in a straight line parallel to it (Devine 1985a, 77; below, 27.5 πρὸ δὲ τούτων…). There is no disparity, then, between Eumenes’ left, his centre, and his right wing. What exactly happened with the elephants is unclear, but the fact that the phalanx could not do anything as long as the elephant screen was in front of it does not make the deployment Diodoros describes impossible. In fact, it explains why Antigonos’ battle plan did not work out, and why Peithon was the first to act. Most likely the elephants had withdrawn at some point, because they had failed to achieve anything, as Bosworth (2002, 138) suggests. Diodoros has obviously created some problems by skipping the preliminary manoeuvring and starting straightaway with the actual fighting (see below, 30.1 πρῶτοι…), but that need not make what is left in his narrative untrustworthy. The whole situation resulted in Eumenes’ right wing being the most threatened at the time of Peithon’s attack, so that it was logical for the former to move some of his light cavalry from his left wing. The left still had sufficient protection from the elephant screen and the phalanx on all sides, which is probably why Antigonos’ right had to remain passive for so long. After the retreat of the elephants, Eumenes might have held his left back in such a way that Antigonos could not attack without creating an opening in his own battle-line. Only after such a gap in Eumenes’ array had opened up did it become safe for Antigonos to charge with his right (30.9). That Antigonos managed to set the situation straight with one-ninth of his army while the other eight-ninths were fleeing is remarkable, but several explanations are possible. While Billows (1990, 98) contends that Antigonos’ attack forced Eumenes’ phalanx to halt and about-face, Devine (1985a, 83 n. 87) argues that it was possible for Antigonos to rectify things at that moment thanks to his strong position on higher ground and the numerical superiority of his heavy infantry, as well as the better morale of his troops – I do not see on what evidence the latter assumption is based, though. Maybe Eumenes simply made a mistake in calling back his infantry and wanting to help Eudamos. Otherwise he could probably have destroyed the largest part of the enemy army, as Gaebel (2002, 215) suggests: ‘Had Eumenes left Eudamus to his fate, Antigonus might have found himself the leader of a cavalry detachment and little more’.

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What Diodoros states about Antigonos’ observations concerning Eumenes’ right wing is correct, but clumsily phrased. The short distance between both armies after the regrouping is striking, but not impossible (see below, 31.2 ἀντιπαραγουσῶν…). In sum, Delbrück acutely observed several problems in Diodoros’ battle narrative, but there seems to be a good explanation for every one of these, and our lack of understanding should not cause us to reject the precious information Diodoros did preserve (cf. Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 414). Gaebel (2002, 216) further notes that Delbrück’s analysis fails to take into account that ‘battles, once set in motion, are chaotic events (…)’. The outcome of the battle is noteworthy as well. Antigonos could claim to be the winner only because he occupied the battlefield while Eumenes was forced by his own troops to go back to the camp. The victory he obtained was largely a theoretical one: he buried his dead first, but he had suffered far more casualties and promptly withdrew from the area towards Media. In fact the Kardian had won: whereas Antigonos had only just avoided total catastrophe, Eumenes occupied Gabiene which had been the direct strategic aim of the battle (Vezin 1907, 109 – 110; Bosworth 2002, 140 – 141; Schäfer 2002, 153; Anson 2004, 181 n. 99). Because of the details Diodoros provides on the battle it is usually assumed that he is relying on an eyewitness, commonly identified as Hieronymos (e.g. Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 391; Scullard 1974, 86; Hornblower 1981, 121; Schäfer 2002, 149; Heckel 2007a, 409 n. 24; cf. also above, 26.10 κατέβαινε…).

27.1 σὺν τοῖς διὰ Πίθωνος καὶ Σελεύκου προσγεγενημένοις: Although Diodoros does not expressly say so, it seems safe to assume that this means that Seleukos was no longer in Susa, and had joined Antigonos (Bernard 1985, 88 n. 84; cf. Lib. Or. 11.81; see also above, 18.1 ἀπειθοῦντος…). πεζοὺς μὲν πλείους τῶν δισμυρίων ὀκτακισχιλίων: The different units in Antigonos’ phalanx listed at 29.1– 6 do indeed total 28,000, so that he was numerically very much superior to Eumenes’ heavy infantry, which consisted of only 17,000 men. Devine (1985a, 80), suggests that the presence of 6,000 soldiers of Alexander’s ‘Old Guard’, the Silver Shields and the men ‘from the hypaspists’, in the latter’s force made up for the weaker numbers. The course of the battle seems to suggest that his analysis is correct. Unlike for Eumenes’ army (see below, 28.4 πεζοί…), Antigonos’ light infantry is not included in the total, so that we do not how many he had. Devine (1985a, 81) gives an estimate of 10,000 on the unproven assumption that the rate of light-armed foot soldiers per elephant was the same in Antigonos’ army as in that of Eumenes.

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ἱππεῖς δ᾽ ὀκτακισχιλίους πεντακοσίους: If the enumeration of the separate units is reliable, Antigonos actually had around 10,500 cavalry. Devine (1985a, 81) therefore suggests that Diodoros’ calculations are wrong. Some, however, argue that the mistake is not to be found here, but at 29.2, in the number of Tarentines. This would seem to be confirmed by the fact that even after enlisting reinforcements in Media, Antigonos only had around 9,000 cavalry at Gabiene (40.1), while only fifty-four had fallen in the present battle. These numbers can only make sense if Antigonos had less than 9,000 horsemen before levying additional troops in Media. Anson (2004, 177 n. 92), on the other hand, suggests that Diodoros here took over a remark from his source on the strength of Antigonos’ cavalry before the previous addition of reinforcements in Media (20.1– 3), but it I do not see why Diodoros would have adopted that figure at this point. ἐλέφαντας δὲ ἑξήκοντα πέντε: Arrian (Succ. F1.43) states that Antigonos received 70 elephants from Antipatros before the latter returned to Europe in 319, while Diodoros writes on two occasions that Antigonos had only 30 elephants (XVIII 40.7 and XVIII 50.3). In the former instance the Sicilian might simply have listed the number of animals Antigonos had with him at that particular moment, but in the latter he is reviewing the totals of Antigonos’ army. The most economical solution is that on the second occasion Diodoros – or the intermediary source – gave the number on the basis of the earlier passage where Antigonos did indeed have only 30 elephants. Goukowsky (1972, 484 with n. 39), on the other hand, suggests that originally Antigonos had only thirty animals, Seleukos supplying an additional 35 pachyderms. If he did receive seventy elephants from Antipatros, the five missing ones need not necessarily have died in battle; maybe they had been left behind somewhere (cf. Vezin 1907, 92 n. 1). διαμιλλώμενοι καὶ περὶ τῆς ἐν τούτοις ἐμπειρίας πρὸς ἀλλήλους: On the commonplace of generals competing with each other through stratagems etc., see Lendon 2005, 145 – 146: ‘Generalship was an art, a techne, and a competitive one’ (cf. Hornblower 1981, 197– 200).

27.2 Εὔδαμον τὸν καταγαγόντα τοὺς ἐλέφαντας ἐξ Ἰνδῶν: On Eudamos, the elephant master, see above, 14.8 ἐκ δὲ τῆς Ἰνδικῆς… He apparently was in command of the left wing, as Eumenes seemed to trust him more than the other leaders of the coalition troops (Bosworth 2002, 131). τὸ περὶ αὐτὸν ἄγημα τῶν ἱππέων: The cavalry guard of the Macedonian king used to be called ἴλη βασιλική, but at some point halfway through Alexander’s reign it was renamed ἄγημα (Bar-Kochva 1976, 67– 68; Hammond & Griffith 1979, 409 and 411– 414; Bosworth 1980b, 300 and 1988a, 268; cf. Kalléris 1988,

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I, 80 – 81; Foulon 1996a, 56). A fragment from Arrian’s history of the Successors (F12) informs us of the earliest known agema of the Successors, belonging to Leonnatos, who died in 322; it is explicitly called τὸ τῶν ἑταίρων ἄγημα. The same text of Arrian teaches us that he tried to imitate Alexander’s appearances and displayed royal luxury, and he seems to have had royal ambitions (Goukowsky 1978b, 86 with nn. 8 and 9; Meeus 2007, 226). Antigonos and Eumenes also had their ἀγήματα (Billows 1990, 263; Anson 2004, 108 n. 110; Scheuble-Reiter 2014, 488 – 489), which are likewise interpreted as mirroring their great aspirations (e.g. Tarn 1948, II, 162– 163; Carney 2000, 118 with n. 12; cf. Anson 2009a, 89). While it is possible that the agema simply was the elite unit of any corps (cf. Juhel 2018, 115), the Successors also had other battalions in imitation of the Macedonian kings (see below, 28.1 οἱ ἐκ τῶν ὑπασπιστῶν; 28.3 τῶν Εὐμενοῦς παίδων). The establishment of such units fits in with the royal behaviour the Diadochoi displayed from early on (on which Hammond 1988a, 172; Samuel 1989, 25 – 26; Bosworth 2000b, 228 – 238; Carney 2000, 118 – 119 with n. 12; O’Neil 2000; Wheatley 2001, 153 – 154 and 2009a, 57– 61; see also below, 48.1 τιμῆς…; introduction to chapters 52– 54). One wonders, though, to what extent this could be true for Eudamos and for Peukestas and Antigenes, who likewise had ἀγήματα (28.3), and even more so for Eumenes who pretended to be an Argead loyalist (cf. supra, 15.4 θρόνος, on the problems for Eumenes with openly aiming to rule Alexander’s empire). Probably, then, the adoption of royal style had merely become an aspect of elite display, as Wallace (2017) has argued. On the other hand, we must of course not underestimate the ambitions of some of those who now appear as minor characters (cf. Meeus 2013a, 132). Devine (1985a, 76 n. 21) points out that Diodoros uses the word ἄγημα only 5 times, 4 of which occur in his description of the present battle. εἴλας: The ἴλη (squadron) was the basic tactical unit in the Macedonian cavalry (Spendel 1915, 7– 10; Geraci 1979, 8 – 9, with ample references to older literature; Hammond & Griffith 1979, 411– 414; Hatzopoulos 2001, 32 with n. 8 and 35 – 38; Scheuble-Reiter 2014). βάθος ἐχούσας ἱππέων πεντήκοντα: It seems inconceivable that the unit consisted of fifty rows. While Bizière (1975, ad loc.) maintained the received text, arguing that we are facing an exceptional disposition (accepted in Martino’s translation); Fischer likewise has the manuscript reading βάθος in his text, but notes in the apparatus that Reiske’s conjecture μῆκος is more likely. Geer also reports the latter solution in his apparatus but has adopted Post’s suggestion πλῆθος in his text. He is followed in this by Waterfield (2019, 531), who comments ‘reading πλῆθος (Post) for the certainly erroneous βάθος’, as well as Veh and Mavropoulos. It is indeed clear that something is wrong, but if βάθος is the word that needs to be corrected, μῆκος would surely be a better solution than πλῆθος for in the

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latter case there is no doubt that βάθος would be the lectio difficilior. Since βάθος fits the context perfectly, however, it seems far more likely to me that the number is wrong, perhaps though a confusion of ΙΠΠΕΩΝΔ′ or ΙΠΠΕΩΝΗ′ with ΙΠΠΕΩΝΝ′, so that a depth of 4 or 8 rows rather than 50 might be the correct reading. Alternatively, a slip of the eye may have duplicated the previous πεντήκοντα.

27.3 Στάσανδρον τὸν στρατηγόν: On Stasandros and his troops, see above 14.7, Στάσανδρος… Since their positions as satrap are mentioned in the case of Amphimachos (cf. next lemma) and Tlepolemos (28.3), στρατηγός is used either in its general meaning of commander or as a synonym of satrap (cf. supra, 22.1 Πευκέστης…).

27.4 ᾿Aμφίμαχον τὸν Μεσοποταμίας σατράπην: Amphimachos, appointed satrap of Mesopotamia at Triparadeisos, is a rather obscure character to us, as hardly anything is known of him. According to Arrian (Succ. F1.35) he was ὁ τοῦ βασιλέως ἀδελφός, which some scholars explain as a mistake, assuming that he was a brother of Arrhidaios the satrap of Hellespontine Phrygia and not of king Arrhidaios (e.g. Beloch 1927, 316; Simonetti Agostinetti 1993, 82; Heckel 2006, 22). Spectacular as such a claim from a testis unus might be, it is not impossible, and many scholars accept that Amphimachos was a son of king Arrhidaios’ mother Philine from before her marriage to Philippos II, and thus a half-brother of the king (Berve 1926, II, no. 66; Greenwalt 1984, 71; Ogden 1999, 38 n. 156; Carney 2000, 61 with n. 45; Bosworth 2002, 113; Meeus 2013b, 91– 92). It is generally assumed that Amphimachos joined Eumenes in the autumn of 318, when the latter passed through his satrapy (e.g. Droysen 1878, I, 262; Niese 1893, 258; Vezin 1907, 85; Beloch 1925, 112; Schober 1981, 79; Tubach 1995, 101; Schäfer 2002, 131– 132; Anson 2004, 158; Boiy 2004, 120). This may well be true, but there is no explanation as to why Amphimachos would have left his satrapy at this time. Even if he decided straightway to support Eumenes, he could have contented himself with providing troops, without having to leave his territory. It is quite possible, then, that Amphimachos only left Mesopotamia somewhat later, when Antigonos spent the winter there (15.6), and a conflict between both men ensued (cf. Bosworth 2002, 113 – 114 with n. 64). Nothing is heard of him after Paraitakene. τοὺς ἐξ ᾿Aραχωτῶν ἱππεῖς ἑξακοσίους, ὧν ἡγεῖτο πρότερον μὲν Σιβύρτιος: On Sibyrtios and his troops, see 14.6, and on his flight, see 23.4.

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Κεφάλων: Otherwise unknown, unless the text of XIX 44.1 should be emended to read Κεφάλωνα (see below, 44.1 Κελβανόν).

27.5 πεντακόσιοι μὲν ἐκ Παροπανισαδῶν: On the troops from Paropanisadai, see 14.6. There Androbazos is said to have had only 400 riders. Since the other numbers in the battle array are not rounded to 500 or 1000, the present number is unlikely to have been rounded up. Maybe the figure at 14.6 is a mistake, as the cavalry total in 14.8 is higher than the sum of the separate contingents (but see above, 14.8 οἱ δὲ πάντες…). Θρᾷκες ἐκ τῶν ἄνω κατοικιῶν: This is the only reference to Thracians settled in the upper satrapies, but there is no reason to doubt the information (Frye 1983, 149 – 150; cf. also Berve 1926, I, 135 and Milns 1981, 351; Capdetrey 2012b, 327 n. 47). For the ἄνω κατοικίαι, cf. infra 29.2 τοὺς ἐκ τῶν ἄνω… πρὸ δὲ τούτων ἁπάντων ἔταξεν ἐλέφαντας μὲν ἐν ἐπικαμπίῳ τετταράκοντα πέντε: Eumenes placed his strongest elephant division on the left wing because it held the position closest to the high ground on which Antigonos’ army was stationed (Devine 1985a, 76), and probably because it formed a screen both in front and on the flank of the wing (cf. next lemma). Thus, it is clear that Bosworth’s suggestion (2002, 132 with n. 128) to limit the number of animals of this corps to 35 cannot stand. The other elephant contingents are said to have consisted of 40 animals each (28.2 and 4), although the actual numbers probably were slightly lower (see below, 28.4 ἐλέφαντες…). If the division was equal, a corps of about 40 elephants was posted in front of every part of the battleline, and 5 were stationed in the flank-guard on the left. Bosworth (2002, 132– 133) argues that the right side was more in need of a flank-guard than the left, but Diodoros’ description does not mention or hint at any elephants along the right flank, and the left wing did not need the addition of a few hundred light cavalry, as all the light cavalry had been posted there anyway. Devine (1985a, 77) argues that in this sentence πρό should be understood as ‘next to’, since Griffith (1947, 79 n. 1) has shown that προτάττειν can mean both ‘to post in front of’ and ‘to post on the flank of’. This sense, he contends, emerges clearly from the combination with ἐν ἐπικαμπίῳ, which either means ‘in echelon’ or ‘in a curved line’. There was no use in deploying a unitary tactical formation in a curved line, because of the difficulty to manoeuvre and to coordinate attacks. However, posting an echeloned arrangement in front of the battle line does not make sense either, as it would easily be surrounded (cf. Delbrück 1920, 240). For Devine, the only sensible interpretation, therefore, seemed to be that the elephants and the infantry placed in between the animals were sta-

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tioned in echelon along the flank as a flank-guard. He assumes that it formed an angle of 45° with the main battle line. The Macedonian flank-guards at Gaugamela had likewise been drawn up in echelon. To confine the elephant screen to the flank seems unnecessary, however. Bosworth’s interpretation (2002, 132) that the elephant screen stood in front of the battle-line as well, and was angled back to guard the flank, is much more plausible. Indeed, the number of animals seems rather high for protecting the flanks alone (cf. already Scullard 1974, 87, who, however thought that the line was bent forward at the end instead of backward, and the diagram of Billows 1990, 96 – 97). The arrangement is also comparable to the deployment of Poros’ troops at the Hydaspes (Bosworth 2002, 133 n. 130).

27.6 οἱ ξένοι: The Hellenistic period is often considered the age of the mercenaries, and these already played a significant role in the armies of the Successors (Parke 1933, 206 – 226; Griffith 1935, esp. 33 – 56; Foulon 1996b, 317– 322; Chaniotis 2005a, 78 – 88 and passim; Bugh 2006a, 265 – 269; Lendon 2007, 498 – 508). οἱ καθωπλισμένοι μὲν εἰς τὰ Μακεδονικά, παντοδαποὶ δ᾽ ὄντες τοῖς ἔθνεσιν: See above, 14.5 τοὺς δὲ εἰς τὴν Μακεδονικήν…

28.1 οἱ Μακεδόνες ἀργυράσπιδες: See above, 12.1 τοὺς ἀργυράσπιδας Μακεδόνας. πλείους τρισχιλίων: Such is the reading of R, while F has οὐ πλείους τρισχιλίων which was adopted by earlier editors. Yet, Fischer (followed by Geer) and Bizière who prefer R to F in almost every instance, delete the negation because it is not in R. They generally undervalue the readings of F, however (cf. supra, Part I, §2.4), and they seem to do so here as well. The argyraspids were 3,000 in number, not more (Diod. XVIII 58.1 [τρισχιλίων], 59.3 [ὄντες περὶ τρισχιλίους], XIX 30.6 [τρισχίλιοι μὲν ὄντες]). Not only is οὐ πλείους the lectio difficilior for the passage, but litotes is also to be found abundantly in the Bibliotheke, so that it is likely to be the correct reading (cf. Tarn 1948, II, 151 n. 3). The combination οὐ πλείους occurs on several occasions to qualify a number of troops. While usually it has the obvious connotation that the army was rather small (e.g. XI 9.2, XII 70.4, XIV 39.6, XVIII 14.2, XIX 39.2, 90.1, XX 89.1), this is not always the case. At XVI 78.2 it is used of an army of almost 12,000 men, which can hardly be considered small by ancient standards. Furthermore, in XX 13.1 the οὐ πλείους χιλίων of the Carthaginians who fell, number five times as much as the enemy dead. Most importantly, at XX 22.4 a close parallel to the present usage is to

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be found: here the Ἕλληνες οὐ πλείους δισχιλίων can be considered as a comparatively small elite regiment in an army totalling more than 30,000 men. ἀνίκητοι δὲ καὶ διὰ τὰς ἀρετὰς πολὺν φόβον παρεχόμενοι τοῖς πολεμίοις: Cf. supra, 15.2 γεγονόσι… οἱ ἐκ τῶν ὑπασπιστῶν: The identity of this corps is debated. Under Alexander the hypaspists were 3,000 elite soldiers, who formed the core of the Macedonian heavy infantry as a standing army; this is the unit which had been called pezhetairoi under Philippos (Berve 1926, I, 125 – 126; Anson 1985a). However, here we cannot be facing Alexander’s hypaspists (on whom, see Milns 1971; Anson 1985a; Bosworth 1988a, 259 – 260 and 270), as those were now the argyraspids who stood next to them in Eumenes’ battle line (see above). Hammond (1978, 133 with n. 21, 1989b, 67– 68; followed by Hornblower 1981, 190 and Goukowsky 1987, 251) claims that οἱ ἐκ τῶν ὑπασπιστῶν must be the descendants of the original hypaspists. Whilst such an interpretation is linguistically possible, it is not very plausible. Most of Alexander’s hypaspists may well have had children when they left for Asia in 334, but that they had not taken their families along to Asia in 334 is clear from the fact that in the first year of the campaign the ‘neogamoi’ were sent home to spend the winter with their wives (Arr. Anab. I 24.1). Thus, it is hard to see how 3,000 of them could have come to be part of Eumenes’ army, as he had no access to Macedonian troops (cf. Anson 1988b, 132). Indeed, Hammond (1988a, 190) suggests they were ‘“descendants of the hypaspists” by mixed marriages’, in which case the argyraspids must have been among the 9,000 Macedonians who had taken Asian wives by 324 (Plut. Alex. 70.3; Arr. VII 4.8 gives their number as 10,000). They may well have done so, but it is doubtful whether many such marriages had taken place before 330, so that the offspring from the mixed unions were at most about 13 years of age at the present time. Even if some had taken Asian wives almost immediately upon their arrival in Asia, their children were at most 16 at the time. A corps which consisted completely of such boys is unlikely to have been given a prominent place among the heavy infantry. We should not forget that three years had been necessary for the training of the Epigonoi (see above, 14.5 τοὺς δὲ εἰς τὴν Μακεδονικήν…). The most plausible solution, therefore, is that Eumenes’ hypaspists were a corps of men whose origins are unknown to us; some may have been Macedonians, but while most were not, all were armed and trained in the Macedonian fashion (Launey 1949 – 1950, I, 298; Bosworth 2002, 83). The Successors all had units named after those of Alexander (Anson 2004, 108 n. 110 and 178 n. 94) like the agema (see above, 27.2 τὸ περὶ αὐτόν…), and the paides (see below, 28.3 τῶν Εὐμενοῦς παίδων); Antigonos (Polyaen. IV 6.8, with Billows 1990, 265), Kassandros (Polyaen. IV 11.2), and Alketas also had hypaspists (Diod. XVIII 45.3).

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The wording remains to be explained. Devine (1985a, 80) renders οἱ ἐκ τῶν ὑπασπιστῶν as ‘the men “from the hypaspists”’, but we cannot exclude that something is wrong with the text. The manuscripts actually read τοὺς rather than οἱ ἐκ τῶν ὑπασπιστῶν, which has been emended to the nominative by Geer, but more than that seems to be corrupt (pace Hammond 1978, 133 n. 21). Fischer (apparatus ad loc.) assumes there might be a lacuna, which is suggested by the surrounding manuscript variants and the divergence between the number of the separate units and the totals listed by Diodoros (see below, on 28.4). It is indeed quite likely that their geographic origin would have been specified (cf. XVII 57.4, 73.2, XIX 12.3, 14.7, 27.5, 29.2, 109.1). ἀφηγουμένων τούτων τε ἅμα καὶ τῶν ἀργυρασπίδων ᾿Aντιγένους καὶ Τευτάμου: Teutamos is only known as co-commander of the Silver Shields during their service with Eumenes; nothing is known of his career before he joined Eumenes in 318 and after the latter’s death early in 316 (Berve 1926, II, no. 744; Heckel 1992, 316 – 319 and 2006, 262). Possibly he also held some minor satrapy like Paraitakene (Diod. XVIII 62.7; Bosworth 1992a, 66 – 67; Heckel 1992, 317). Billows suggests that Teutamos’ association with the Silver Shields is a mistake, and that he only commanded Eumenes’ hypaspists (1990, 85 n. 8). Whereas this interpretation would explain the otherwise unclear relationship of Antigenes and Teutamos with the hypaspists, the sources mention the latter too often in connection with the Silver Shields to make it likely that it is an error (Heckel 1992, 317– 318 and 2006, 262 with n. 704). Antigenes and Teutamos are thought, therefore, to have shared the command of the argyraspids, the former being the senior officer (e.g. Lock 1977, 374; Bosworth 1992a, 67; Heckel 2006, 262).

28.3 τοὺς ἐκ Καρμανίας ὀκτακοσίους, ὧν Τληπόλεμος σατράπης ἡγεῖτο: At 14.6 the commander of the Karmanian contingent is called Πολέμων and he has only 700 cavalry. If that is not a mistake (see comm. ad loc.), it should probably be explained on the assumption that Tlepolemos at first sent out Polemon with 700 cavalry and later arrived himself with a hundred additional horsemen. τοὺς καλουμένους ἑταίρους ἐννακοσίους: On the hetairoi, or companion cavalry, see the literature cited above, 22.2 τῶν ἑταίρων… Bosworth (2002, 131 n. 125) assumes that this otherwise unattested unit of hetairoi is not to be identified with the hetairoi who had campaigned with Alexander of 22.2, and suggests they came from Kappadokia. Indeed, Eumenes is unlikely to have had 900 men from Alexander’s companion cavalry. However, those who did belong to his army may well have formed a contingent of original Macedonian hetairoi to which Asian cavalrymen were added. In this Eumenes would only be following

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Alexander’s example who had also admitted Asian troops in one of the hipparchies of the companions (Arr. Anab. VII 6.4; Brunt 1963, 43 – 45; Griffith 1963; Badian 1965; Hammond 1983; Bosworth 1988a, 272; Aperghis 2020, 6). τὸ Πευκέστου καὶ ᾿Aντιγένους ἄγημα: According to Bosworth (2002, 131) Peukestas and Antigenes were deliberately detached from their cavalry. This might be true for Peukestas, but we do not know his position in the battle-order, and perhaps he was posted here, along with his agema (cf. infra, 40.2 τῶν σατραπῶν…). Antigenes was a trusted officer, though (see, 15.2 ᾿Aντιγένης… and 21.1 Εὐμενής…), and it was only natural that he commanded the Silver Shields rather than his cavalry guard. According to Scheuble-Reiter (2014, 489), however, in the present instance the word ἄγημα is used in the general sense of unit. τὸ Εὐμενοῦς ἄγημα: On Eumenes’ agema, see also above 27.2 τὸ περὶ αὐτόν… According to Launey (1949 – 1950, I, 94 – 95) they were Macedonians, but it is more likely that the unit consisted of Asians (Bar-Kochva 1976, 68 with n. 50). Cf. also Just. XIV 1.14 with Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 169. τῶν Εὐμενοῦς παίδων: Most translators render this as ‘Eumenes’ slaves’ (Rhodomann; Geer 1947; Martino 1992; Veh 2005; Mauropoulos 2016), an interpretation followed in some studies (e.g. Devine 1985a, 79; Bosworth 2002, 131 n. 126; Gaebel 2002, 214). Bizière (1975) and Waterfield (2019), on the other hand, translate παῖδες as ‘pages’, the meaning which is apparently preferred by most scholars (Droysen 1889, 133; Spendel 1915, 15 – 17; Hammond 1990, 269 – 272, for the most detailed discussion; Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 323 – 324; Hatzopoulos 2001, 35 – 36; Anson 2004, 178 n. 94; Lendon 2005, 144; cf. Billows 1990, 264 n. 43). Indeed the βασιλικοὶ παῖδες or pages existed both under the Argeads (Hammond 1990; Heckel 1992, 237– 244; Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 295 – 296; Carney 2003a, 57– 59 and 2008; Heckel 2003, 205 – 206; King 2018, 114) and in the Hellenistic Successor states (Hammond 1990, 271– 272; Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 377; Strootman 2014a, 136 – 144), so the Diadochoi most likely had pages as well (XVIII 45.3, παῖδες of Alketas, XIX 29.5, of Antigonos, 90.1 and 91.4, of Seleukos: those of Alketas and Seleukos are juxtaposed with hypaspists and philoi respectively). Bosworth (2002, 131 n. 126) seems to suggest that here this meaning is excluded because such παῖδες are already present in Eumenes’ army at Plut. Eum. 3.11 describing 322. Indeed, it would be striking if Eumenes had pages at such an early date (late 323 or early 322). However, the Kardian was a satrap at the time, and it would seem that immediately after Alexander’s death the satraps established large retinues, consisting of several ‘personal units paralleling the traditional Macedonian military organization’ (Anson 1988b, 132– 133). Leonnatos, who died in 322, is known to have been followed even by an agema of companion cavalry (Arr. Succ. F12: εἵπετο καὶ τὸ τῶν ἑταίρων ἄγημα; cf.

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supra, 27.2 τὸ περὶ αὐτόν…). Surely, then, we should not preclude the possibility of pages in Eumenes’ entourage at the time. Although the pages are never mentioned in any of Alexander’s battles, it is not impossible that they may have participated at times (Curt. V 1.42, VIII 6.2– 6; Ael. VH XIV 48; Heckel 2003, 206 n. 40; cf. Carney 2008, 146 – 147 with n. 6 – 7). The numbers might rather point towards slaves, although we do not know how many paides served under Alexander (Carney 2008, 148 with n. 27), and it is not impossible that even at this early stage the Diadochoi honoured (and simultaneously bound) their friends by including all their sons of ephebic age in an honorary regiment. The argument that slaves were only armed in very exceptional circumstances (Hammond 1990, 270) is doubtful (Hunt 1998), but on balance pages might nevertheless be the most likely interpretation. For the battle of Gabiene, Polyainos (IV 6.13) mentions slaves (οἰκέται) who definitely did not participate in the battle, and another passage in which Diodoros seems to have substituted the word στρατιῶται for παῖδες would imply that the latter were an actual military unit if our author understood his source correctly (see below, 38.3 προσέταξεν…).

28.4 ἐπιλελεγμένους τοῖς τάχεσι καὶ ταῖς ῥώμαις ἱππεῖς: Cf. XVII 108.1, XVIII 27.5 and XIX 83.5, ἐπιλελεγμένοι for certain qualities; the alternative ἐπίλεκτος for certain qualities is also used (XI 7.2, XVI 17.3, XVII 19.4, 59.2, XIX 108.4). For excelling in τάχος and ῥώμη, see XXXIII 1.1 (cf. also IV 13.1, XIV 109.1 [τάχος] and e.g. I 17.6, II 39.2, III 12.5, IV 10.2, V 24.3, VIII 4.1, XI 84.4, XII 70.3, XV 88.3, XVI 44.3, XVII 45.4, XIX 43.1, XX 91.7, XXXII 16.1 [ῥώμη]). Cf. Alganza Roldán & Villena Ponsoda 1994, 236 – 238. πεζοὶ μὲν τρισμύριοι πεντακισχίλιοι: The sum of the units of foot soldiers in the description of Eumenes’ battle line is only 17,000. If this number is correct, the discrepancy can only be explained on the assumption that he had 18,000 light infantry posted between the elephants (Droysen 1878, I, 281 n. 2; Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 398 – 399; Devine 1985a, 77– 78 and 79; Bosworth 2002, 133 n. 131; Anson 2004, 178 n. 93). ἱππεῖς δὲ ἑξακισχίλιοι ἑκατόν: The actual total is 6,300, which Devine (1985a, 79) suspects to be ‘bad arithmetic on the part of either Diodorus or his source’, although he admits that it may also reflect the difference between the actual and nominal numbers of the cavalry units (cf. next lemma). Anson (2004, 178 n. 93), however, argues that Diodoros used the totals his source listed after the battle (cf. Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 426 on the elephants). Although this could work for the elephants, as we do not know how many of them – if any – were killed during the battle, it is unlikely that he lost about 200 cavalry: Diodoros

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claims that his horse suffered very few casualties (ὀλίγοι παντελῶς), so one would assume a lower number than the 54 dead of Antigonos’ cavalry. Furthermore, one would expect Diodoros’ source to give the totals before the battle, and after the battle it would be superfluous to mention the new totals when already having listed the losses in each army. Even if his source had done so, it is unnecessarily complex to assume that Diodoros would have moved those numbers ahead in his narrative. ἐλέφαντες δὲ ἑκατὸν τετταρεσκαίδεκα: Diodoros lists three contingents of elephants, one with 45 and two with 40 animals (27.5, 28.2, 28.4), which adds up to 125. The divergence may be the result of a difference between actual and nominal strengths, as the lower and non-rounded total is probably the correct number (Devine 1985a, 79; contra Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 400, and Scullard 1974, 86 – 87). While I do not see the point of attributing nominal strengths to ad hoc units of such low numbers, I cannot find a better explanation. Bosworth (2002, 132 n. 128) assumes that the elephant division on the left wing was only 35 strong, and that Diodoros misread it for 45, but that does not explain why the total would have been 114 rather than 115, and the elephant corps on the left probably was the strongest one (see above, 27.5 πρὸ δὲ τούτων…). On Anson’s interpretation and its problems, see the previous lemma.

29.1 ἐκ μετεώρων τόπων κατιδὼν τὴν τῶν πολεμίων τάξιν πρὸς ταύτην ἁρμοζόντως διεκόσμησε τὴν ἰδίαν δύναμιν: Antigonos had overtaken Eumenes’ rear-guard while it was descending from a hill, and drew up his army at that place (26.7), so that he did indeed occupy a higher position (cf. Devine 1985a, 75 – 76). Diodoros’ description is very clear on how Antigonos adapted his battle line to the way Eumenes had deployed his army: against Eumenes’ strongest wing he arrayed his light cavalry, ordering it to avoid the confrontation, while he deployed his heavy cavalry against Eumenes’ left wing. Some hold that the battlefield positions before the fight also made it impossible for Eumenes to see how Antigonos was deploying his army (Devine 1985a, 83 n. 82; Bosworth 2002, 130), but that is not necessarily true. For a similar situation at the battle of Orkynia, see Polyaen. IV 6.12 with Billows 1990, 76 – 77; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 172. According to Devine (1985a, 76) the view on Eumenes’ deployment was not the only advantage Antigonos had from his higher position: it also facilitated his attacks and his withdrawal. He even argues that it saved Antigonos from utter defeat. The high ground may also have allowed Antigonos a better view during the battle, but if the action was surrounded by clouds of dust as Devine himself

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suggests, one might wonder whether it was really possible to see much of what was going on. The phrase διακοσμεῖν τὴν ἰδίαν δύναμιν only occurs here and at XIX 82.4 (but cf. II 6.3 with ἐκτάττειν; XVI 86.1 for a similar usage of διακοσμεῖν). τοὺς ἐλαφροτάτους: The adjective ἐλαφρός also occurs at I 87.2, III 14.2, IV 20.1, V 39.7, XVIII 46.5, XIX 30.3, 30.4, 30.10, 84.7, and the noun ἐλαφρότης at XIX 30.1, 30.2 and XXXI 38.1. The distribution is striking: two out of three occurrences of the noun are to be found in book XIX, as are five out of ten instances where the adjective is used. That the words, which are not particularly rare nor very frequent, do appear from book I to book XXXVII, and the clustering of six instances in chapters 29 and 30, suggest that we are facing Diodoros’ typical lack of variatio rather than the influence of his source. φυγομαχήσειν: The verb φυγομαχεῖν is another typical Hellenistic word: the earliest of only 37 attestations stem from Polybios’ Histories, which is also the work with the highest frequency for the word (0.0024 %, 8 instances: III 90.10, 91.10, 107.6, IV 10.9, X 7.7, XI 16.5, XVIII 31.12, F ex incert. lib. 230). Diodoros has nine occurrences (freq. 0.0019 %: XV 55.2, XVII 27.2, XIX 29.1, 29.7, 40.4, 42.7, 82.4, XX 57.3, XXI 18.1), while Plutarch used φυγομαχεῖν twelve times (freq. 0.0023 %: Lyc. 16.5, Marc. 24.1, 25.3, Crass. 11.7, Artax. 7.3, Pomp. 67.3, Al. 32.4, Caes. 41.2, Luc. 14.6, Flam. 4.2, Philop. 13.1, Ag. et Cl. 48.10). Again there seems to be a strong concentration in book XIX. As with ἐλαφρός (see previous lemma) this need not necessarily be the result of the influence of his source. Several factors should be noted. The spread of φυγομαχεῖν is limited to a range of seven books, so that it might be that the word simply occurred only in the later part of Diodoros’ work (cf. Stylianou 1998, 396). The absence in the fragments of the later books cannot be telling, since they hardly include any battle descriptions (cf. Reid 1969, 17). Whereas five instances are to be found in the narrative on the Successors, four are not, which is a small difference in a small set of data. The resemblance between XV 55.2 and XIX 29.7 reveals that the word belonged to Diodoros’ own vocabulary (see below, 29.7 λοξήν…). Moreover, in book XIX some clustering is to be observed: 29.1– 29.7 and 40.4– 42.7. Consequently, it seems difficult to conclude much from these statistics, especially given that we are facing a typical Hellenistic word. ἐκ μεταβολῆς: Hit-and-run-tactics (see Devine 1985a, 79 n. 44; Meißner 2007, 212).

29.2 τούς τε ἐκ Μηδίας καὶ Παρθυαίας ἀφιπποτοξότας καὶ λογχοφόρους: Although their commander is not mentioned, these mounted archers and lancers

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from Media and Parthyaia must also have been troops supplied by Peithon (cf. Anson 2004, 163 n. 48). It is most likely that the unit consisted of Median natives (Eddy 1961, 96; Aperghis 2020, 6). The reading ἀφιπποτοξότας (R) is not unproblematic. That it is to be preferred over F’s ἐφιπποτοξότας is clear from the unanimous reading ἀφιπποτοξότας at 30.3. Dindorf, however, prefers the emendation ἀμφιπποτοξότας (cf. LSJ s.v.), a word which is also to be found at Plut. Reg. et imp. apophth. T. Quinct. 4 (Mor. 197d): yet the variant reading ἀφιπποτοξότας likewise occurs there. Cf. also the ἱπποτοξόται at XX 113.4. τοὺς ἀπὸ θαλάττης συναναβεβηκότας Ταραντίνους δισχιλίους καὶ διακοσίους: The name Tarentines designates a particular type of cavalry, but by the Hellenistic age it does not inform us about the origins of the men; in fact nothing is known of any connection with the city of Taras in southern Italy, but the tactics of the Tarentine cavalry may have originated there. Griffith (1935, 247) assumes the present unit had been recruited in western Asia Minor. The Tarentines were lancers who threw their javelins at the enemy form a distance, and sometimes they were armed with a sword and a shield as well (Spendel 1915, 26 – 28; Griffith 1935, 246 – 250; Launey 1949 – 1950, I, 601– 604; Walbank 1957, 529; Devine 1985a, 79 n. 48; Sekunda 1994, 178 – 179; Bugh 2006a, 273 – 275; Lendon 2007, 504; Fields 2008). It has been argued that 2,200 is a mistake for 200 (Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 405 – 406; Bosworth 2002, 134 n. 135; contra Billows 1990, 95 n. 22). Otherwise the Tarentines would be the largest cavalry unit in Antigonos’ army. Furthermore, there is a divergence between the sum of the different units and the cavalry total given by Diodoros of about 2,000 men, and the lower number given there is more likely to be correct (see above, 27.1 ἱππεῖς…). ταῖς εὐνοίαις: Cf. e.g. III 71.3, XVII 59.2 and 65.4 for similar remarks about the εὔνοια of troops towards their commander. On εὔνοια in the Bibliotheke, see also below, 50.3 τὴν εὔνοιαν…; Sacks 1990, 43 n. 82; Hau 2016, 107; Meeus forthcoming-b. τοὺς δὲ μετὰ Πίθωνος χιλίους πεντακοσίους: Probably this only was Peithon’s heavy cavalry, perhaps consisting for the most part of Median riders (Aperghis 2020, 6): he must have had other troops as well (cf. supra, τούς τε ἐκ Μηδίας…). Λυσανίου: Otherwise unknown. That he is to be identified with a Macedonian attested during Alexander’s Thracian campaign in 335 (Arr. Anab. I 2.1) is ‘at best only a possibility’ according to Billows (1990, 398; cf. Berve 1926, II, no. 479; Heckel 2006, 153: ‘remotely possible’). τούς τε ἀμφίππους ὀνομαζομένους: This is a vexing indication. The manuscripts have different readings: ἀσθίππους in R and ἀνθίππους in F. Both are hapax legomena, and all editors have followed Wesseling in emending to ἀμφίπ-

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πους, which is attested elsewhere (Ael. Tact. 2.4; Arr. Tact. 2.3). Hammond (1978; Goukowsky 1987, 251– 253), on the other hand, argues that R’s ἀσθίππους should be retained because R often preserves the better readings, because it is the lectio difficilior, and because we know of the existence of infantry battalions called ἀσθέταιροι (Arr. Anab. II 23.2, IV 23.1, V 22.6, VI 6.1, 2.3; Bosworth 1973; Goukowsky 1987, 243 – 248; Heckel 2009; Anson 2010a). Hammond further argues that the ἄσθιπποι were an elite Macedonian unit of heavy cavalry recruited from Upper Macedonia, which has been convincingly refuted by Milns (1981; cf. Devine 1985a, 80 n. 50; Bosworth 2002, 134 n. 134) who argues more plausibly that they were light cavalry, and thus no elite unit. Heckel (2009, 111) suggests that they might have had a shield, unlike the other cavalrymen. Whether they were Macedonians is quite impossible to determine. Milns further contends that, consequently, it is better to adopt Wesseling’s emendation. However, the issue of the nature of the unit and that of its name are two separate problems. That one of the manuscripts reads ἀσθίππους while ἀσθέταιροι also existed, might indeed be a mere coincidence (Milns 1981, 354), but not necessarily so. Although ἄσθιπποι is a hapax, the occurrence of the ἀσθ-prefix in the name of another formation greatly enhances the possibility that the reading of R is correct, even if the precedence of R over F is not the general rule Hammond takes it to be. I agree with Milns (1981, 347– 348) that none of the existing explanations for the meaning of the word ἀσθέταιροι are satisfactory, but even if we do not know what the ἀσθ-prefix means, it is possible that it was used in the names of several different units since it was used in at least one of them. As Heckel (2009, 112) remarks in his study on the ἀσθέταιροι, ‘etymology alone will not explain the meaning of the term’. Given the limitations of our sources, the existence of a battalion for which we have no further evidence and whose name is enigmatic cannot come as a real surprise. Moreover, Goukowsky (1987, 251) has pointed out that the entry ἄστιππος described as ἱππέων ἑβδομήκοντα in Hesychios’ lexicon might well be based on the present passage, assuming confusion between ω’ (ὀκτακόσιοι) and ο’ (ἑβδομήκοντα). Consequently, if ἀσθίππους is an error, it would be an ancient one, but more likely Hesychios simply confirms that the reading of R is correct. τοὺς ἐκ τῶν ἄνω κατοικούντων ὀκτακοσίους: Another enigmatic designation. The Θρᾷκες ἐκ τῶν ἄνω κατοικιῶν are most likely Thracians settled in the colonies in the upper satrapies (see above, 27.5). Here, however, we are not facing those from the κατοικίαι but those from the ones who live in the κατοικίαι, which, on a literal interpretation, must mean ‘those descended from the upcountry settlers’ (Hammond 1978, 133). On Hammond’s interpretation, they have to be the sons of settlers in up-country Macedonia, because in his view An-

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tigonos could not have recruited men from the upper satrapies, which were allied with Eumenes, but Antigonos did have access to troops from Media. Although cavalry from Upper Macedonia is indeed attested in Alexander’s time (Arr. Anab. I 2.5), Milns (1981) rightly rejected Hammond’s argument and indeed in a later publication Hammond (1988a, 190) himself seems to have changed his mind, calling them ‘the descendants of the settlers in the upper satrapies’. Again (see above, 28.2 οἱ ἐκ τῶν ὑπασπιστῶν), the problem is that the children of these settlers would be at most 16 years of age, unless these men had their European families join them in the East. The identity of the group remains unclear, therefore; perhaps we should just assume a clumsy phrasing by Diodoros or, more likely, yet another case of textual corruption. Fischer suggested adding Θρᾳκῶν, but though it is clear that some ethnic indication needs to be added, their origin is unknown; it is not impossible that in addition κατοικούντων is to be corrected to κατοικιῶν with Dindorf. Hammond (1978, 128 – 129) rightly points out that the numbers are always given in the end for all preceding units (cf. Devine 1985a, 80 n. 51). Thus, there were 800 asthippoi and settlers from the upper satrapies altogether, but we do not know how many of each. The translations of Geer, Bizière, Martino, Veh, Mavropoulos and Waterfield, then, are mistaken in applying the number only to the latter group, excluding the asthippoi.

29.3 ὧν ἁπάντων Πίθων εἶχε τὴν ἡγεμονίαν: On Peithon’s importance, see above, 26.7 τὴν μὲν ἄλλην… παντοδαποὶ δ᾽ εἰς τὰ Μακεδονικὰ καθωπλισμένοι: See above, 14.5 τοὺς δὲ εἰς τὴν Μακεδονικήν… Aperghis (2020, 6) suggests that these units had probably been recruited mostly in Media, Mesopotamia and Susiana. Μακεδόνες οὐ πολὺ ἐλάττους τῶν ὀκτακισχιλίων, οὓς ἔδωκεν ᾿Aντίπατρος: The only other information we have on Antipatros giving troops to Antigonos is a defective passage in Photius’ summary of Arrian (Succ. F1.43): πεζοὺς μὲν ἐπιτρέπει αὐτῶι Μακεδόνας ὀκτακισχιλίους καὶ πεντακοσίους καὶ ἱππέας τῶν ἑταίρων ἴσους. Whereas something is obviously wrong with the number of cavalrymen, since there never were as many as 8,500 hetairoi, the number of infantrymen probably is correct. The discrepancy of over 500 soldiers between the indications of Arrian and Diodoros is probably to be explained by losses suffered in battles Antigonos had fought in the meantime (Billows 1990, 72 n. 40; Bosworth 2002, 90 n. 99). καθ᾽ ὃν καιρὸν ἐπιμελητὴς ἀπεδείχθη τῆς βασιλείας: The ἐπιμελητὴς τῆς βασιλείας was the regent of the empire (cf. infra, 61.3 ἐὰν μή…). For Antipatros’

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appointment to the office at Triparadeisos, see Diod. XVIII 39.2; Arr. Succ. F1.31; HE F1.4; Nep. Eum. 5.1. In fact he did not give those troops at Triparadeisos, but about a half year later, before his return to Europe (Arr. Succ. F1.43).

29.4 ἐπὶ τοῦ δεξιοῦ κέρατος: The right wing was the position Alexander usually took in his battle lines, and the Diadochoi imitated his practice (Bosworth 2002, 147 n. 174). οἱ προσαγορευθέντες ἑταῖροι: For the hetairoi, the Macedonian companion cavalry, see above, 22.2 τῶν ἑταίρων… On Antigonos’ hetairoi, who probably were for the most part Macedonians, see Billows 1990, 262– 263; Bosworth 2002, 134. At least some of them had been given to him by Antipatros in 319 (see above, 29.3 Μακεδόνες…). Δημήτριον ἔχοντες ἡγεμόνα τὸν ᾿Aντιγόνου, τότε πρώτως μέλλοντα συναγωνίζεσθαι τῷ πατρί: Demetrios, later surnamed ‘Poliorketes’ (‘the Besieger’), was a son of Antigonos and Stratonike, who became his father’s right-hand man from ca. 314. Hardly anything is known of his earlier life. In 320 he married Antipatros’ daughter Phila who was much older than he – obviously for political reasons (Berve 1926, II, no. 257; Manni 1951; Wehrli 1968; Sandberger 1970, no. 30; Bengtson 1975, 63 – 90; Seibert 1983, 203 – 206; Billows 1990, 379 – 380; Wheatley 1997b, 1999; Heckel 2006, 109; Wheatley & Dunn 2020). The command of the hetairoi was the most prestigious one in Macedonia (Diod. XVIII 3.4).

29.5 τὸ ἄγημα τῶν ἱππέων τριακοσίων: The constitutio textus is debated at this point. Dindorf (followed by Radt 2015, 278 – 279) deleted ἱππέων, while Fischer, Geer and Bizière maintain the manuscript reading. Radt is right that the received text seems wrong, but his suggestion that ἱππέων is an interpolation inspired by τὸ Πευκέστου καὶ ᾿Aντιγένους ἄγημα, τριακοσίους ἔχον ἱππεῖς at 28.3 is unlikely. The grammar can be restored far more easily by adding ὄντων between ἱππέων and τριακοσίων, and its disappearence from the sentence at some stage of the transmission would hardly be surprising giving the succession of words ending in -ων. For this phrase in the Bibliotheke, see e.g. XVI 59.3, μετὰ τῶν μισθοφόρων, ὄντων ὀκτακισχιλίων, XVIII 19.2, καὶ τῶν στρατιωτῶν, ὄντων ἑπτακισχιλίων, and esp. XIX 27.2, τὸ περὶ αὐτὸν ἄγημα τῶν ἱππέων, ὄντων ἑκατὸν πεντήκοντα; cf. also e.g. XV 84.2. μεθ᾽ ὧν καὶ αὐτὸς ἐκινδύνευε: The regular position of the agema was with the general as it was his guard (see above, 27.2 τὸ περὶ αὐτόν…).

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ἐκ τῶν ἰδίων παίδων εἶλαι τρεῖς ὑπῆρχον τούτοις ἴσαι καὶ παράλληλοι: The manuscripts have καὶ ταύταις ἴσοι παράλληλοι(R)/παραλλήλοις(F) which all editors except Bizière retain, though with Dindorf’s minor correction of ἴσοι to ἴσαι. This results in the translation ‘there were three troops of his own slaves, and parallel to them were as many units’ (Geer). For all its elegant simplicity, Dindorf’s emendation is not quite satisfactory as to the sense it conveys since it is not said which kind of troops the parallel units consist of. Devine (1985a, 80) assumes that the ilai of pages were 50 strong, like those of Eumenes (28.3), so that there were 6 ilai, totalling 300 pages, but this would not explain why Diodoros did not simply list 6 ilai of pages: on the basis of Plb. I 26.11 on would namely assume that this means that they stood next to each other on the same line, in which case this phrasing is unnecessarily complicated. Bizière has therefore transposed the καί and emended ταύταις to τούτοις in addition to Dindorf’s correction, reading εἶλαι τρεῖς ὑπῆρχον τούτοις ἴσαι καὶ παράλληλοι and translating ‘en nombre égal et parallèlement à eux (…) il y avait trois escadrons de pages’; she is followed in this by Waterfield. Bizière’s emendation, though more drastic, seems preferable in that it gives both the kind of troops, their number and their disposition (cf. her comment ad loc.). Yet, the disposition remains rather vague and with παράλληλοι it consists of a word not found in this context in Diodoros (though admittedly it does occur in Polybios, cf. supra). Most importantly, in changing the καὶ ταύταις ἴσοι she has made three changes to a part of the sentence that in itself is perfectly fine, has parallels in the Bibliotheke (cf. XVII 19.2, καὶ Βακτριανοὶ τούτοις ἴσοι; XIX 27.5, πεντακόσιοι μὲν ἐκ Παροπανισαδῶν, οἱ δὲ τούτοις ἴσοι Θρᾷκες ἐκ τῶν ἄνω κατοικιῶν) and on which the manuscripts agree, while retaining the text of R at a point where the manuscripts disagree. Furthermore, for what it is worth, in preserved ancient texts the combination of ἴσος and παράλληλος is limited to mathematical and astronomical contexts, with the only partial exception of Plut. GC 7.2. It thus seems worth considering whether a less drastic solution is available, and the similarity to XIX 82.2, already noted by Bizière, suggests that there is. The latter passage, describing Demetrios’ dispositions at Gaza, goes as follows: πρόταγμα δὲ τρεῖς εἴλας ἱππέων ἔταξεν καὶ πλαγιοφύλακας τὰς ἴσας καὶ χωρὶς ἔξω τοῦ κέρατος ἀπολελυμένας τρεῖς Ταραντίνων (‘As an advanced guard he drew up three troops of cavalry and the same number as guards on the flank, and in addition to these and stationed separately outside the wing, three troops of Tarentines.’). On this basis, I would suggest that the παράλληλοι(R)/ παραλλήλοις(F) of the present passage should be emended to πλαγιοφύλακες, while otherwise retaining the received text. The grammar and satisfactory sense are thus restored with a single intervention: πρόταγμα δὲ τούτων ἐκ

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τῶν ἰδίων παίδων εἶλαι τρεῖς ὑπῆρχον καὶ ταύταις ἴσοι πλαγιοφύλακες, συναγωνιζομένων αὐτοῖς Ταραντίνων ἑκατόν (‘There were three units from his own pages as their advance guard and the same number on the flank, with a hundred Tarantines fighting alongside them’). A corruption of the highly unusual word πλαγιοφύλακες into the more common παραλλήλοις does not seem implausible. It is likely, furthermore, that a flank-guard is indeed meant here: this is the position sensibly given to the 100 Tarentines in Billows’ (1990, 96) diagram of the battle-line, and the three further ilai of pages might as well be placed next to them rather than behind the battle line as he has them now. For the combination of πρόταγμα and flank guard, see also 28.3: καὶ τούτων πρόταγμα τῶν Εὐμενοῦς παίδων εἴλας δύο, συνεστηκυίας ἑκατέρας ἐξ ἱππέων πεντήκοντα, καὶ πλαγίας φυλαττούσας ἔξω τοῦ κέρατος εἴλας τέσσαρας. συναγωνιζομένων αὐτοῖς Ταραντίνων ἑκατόν: Cf. the similar deployment of the Tarantines by Demetrios at Gaza at XIX 82.2.

29.6 περὶ δὲ τὸ κέρας πᾶν ἐξέταξε τοὺς κρατίστους τῶν ἐλεφάντων τριάκοντα, ποιήσας [δ᾽] ἐπικάμπιον: Antigonos thus used the same kind of flank-guard as Eumenes did. A curved line would probably not make sense here either, and it is safe to assume that he posted an echeloned formation along his right flank. Since he wanted to attack in an oblique battle line with the right flank leading, such a guard was certainly necessary (Devine 1985a, 80 – 81).

29.7 λοξὴν ποιήσας τὴν τάξιν: The same wording occurs at XV 55.2 and XVII 57.6; cf. XIX 82.4. The present instance shows a further similarity with XV 55.2 (see next lemma), while XVII 57.6 also echoes XIX 40.4 and 82.4 in the description of the wing which was to decide the battle (κρίνειν/κρίσις: see below, 82.4 τούτῳ…). This suggests that Diodoros was using his own vocabulary in these instances. Such an oblique battle line, with one wing confronting the enemy while the other was held back, was first used by Epaminondas at Leuktra (Devine 1985a, 81 n. 68; Alganza Roldán & Villena Ponsoda 1994, 240 – 241; Stylianou 1998, 396 – 397). Alexander had used it at Gaugamela in the same way Antigonos now did (Bosworth 2002, 135). διεγνωκὼς ᾧ μὲν φυγομαχεῖν, ᾧ δὲ διαγωνίζεσθαι: At XV 55.2, where the array was likewise λοξή, the same opposition φυγομαχεῖν – διαγωνίζεσθαι is found.

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30.1 τὸ σύσσημον ἤρθη: A typical element in Diodorean battles: see XI 21.5, XIII 45.8, 67.3, XIX, 41.3, XX 51.1, 98.8; Reid 1969, 69. The word σύσσημον is rather rare, and the phrase even more so. Outside of Diodoros’ work the latter is only found twice in a fragment of Ephoros (F216) quoted by Strabo (VI 3.3), and three times in the Septuagint version of Isaias (5.26, 49.22, 62.10). Those three are often quoted by Christian authors referring to or commenting on the passages in Isaias, but these cannot be considered independent occurrences of the phrase. We might, then, have some proof here that Ephoros did indeed influence Diodoros’ use of stereotypical elements in battle descriptions (cf. Busolt 1910, 248), but the evidence is far from compelling (Palm 1955, 191 n. 2). It may actually be Strabo’s wording, as the only other attested occurrences are all from late Hellenistic times. Furthermore, the context in which the phrase is used in the Ephoros fragment is slightly different from the typical Diodorean one. ἐσήμηναν δ᾽ οἱ σαλπιγκταὶ τὸ πολεμικόν: For the trumpet or bugle in Greek warfare, see most recently Nooter 2019, 235 – 243 with further references; specifically for the Macedonian army Wrightson 2010, 73 – 75. The present phrase is another typical Diodorean formula in battle descriptions: see also XI 22.2, XIII 45.8, 55.6, 77.5, XV 55.3, 85.3, XVII 11.3, 25.1, 26.5, 33.4, 58.1, 86.5, XIX 4.6, 6.5, 41.3, XX 7.4, 51.2; cf. XX 34.6. A Diodorean fragment recently published by Corcella (2019, fr. 8) may or may not be identical with XVII 11.3. Note that at XIII 45.8 and XIX 41.3 the phrase is likewise used in conjunction with τὸ σύσσημον αἴρειν, and the joint occurrence of the formulae is unique to Diodoros; cf. XI 21.5 – 22.2 and XX 51.1– 2. With the exception of Polyainos’ Strategemata the incidence of the phrase outside of the Bibliotheke is low: X. An. IV 3.29; Thphr. Char. 25.5; Phld. Mus. fr. 39, l. 41– 42 (=Diog.Bab.Stoic. SVF fr. 66); D.H. IX 11.1; Polyaen. II 23, 36, III 9.5, 13.3, IV 9.2; D.C. XLI 58.2; Ps.-Callisth. α I 41.4. There are some further occurrences without the trumpet(eer): Aen. Tact. 4.3; Plb. III 96.2, V 84.1, X 14.4; Phld. Mus. fr. 68, l. 45–fr.69, l. 1; D.H. VIII 84.1; Str. XV 1.62; Luc. Bacch. 4.8; Polyaen. VI 2.2, 38.5 (=Exc. 25.3) (twice), 38.6 (=Exc. 25.4). Without τὸ πολεμικόν, on the other hand, the phrase is quite common: apart from three occurrences in Diodoros (XIII 98.5, XIV 114.4, XVI 84.3) it is already found at Eur. Heracl. 830 – 831; Achaios TrGF I 20 fr. 37; And. 1.45; X. An. III 4.4, IV 2.1, 3.32, VI 5.25, VII 4.16; Aen. Tact. 9.1, 27.4; Arist. Mu. 399b; Plb. XIV 3.5, 3.6; LXX Num. 10:9, 2 Ch. 13:12, 2 Es. 18:14, Job 39:24, 39:25, Jerem. 4:5, 6:1, Ez. 33:6, cf. Ez. 33:3. There are also several instances after Diodoros, e.g. Chion Epist. 3.2; Jos. AJ VII 17, VIII 283, XII 307 410, BJ VI 68, cf. AJ X 213, 214; Plu. Fab. 12.5, Alc. 30.7, Pyrrh. 22.8, Lys. 11.2, Sull. 29.4.

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πρῶτοι δ᾽ οἱ μετὰ Πίθωνος ἱππεῖς: Although Droysen long ago pointed out that Diodoros simply omitted the first movements of the battle (see above, introduction to chapters 27– 31), it is often assumed that Peithon ignored Antigonos’ orders and immediately attacked instead of holding back his wing (Droysen 1889, 142 n. 1; Cloché 1959, 133; Devine 1985a, 82; Billows 1990, 95; Lendon 2005, 147). Bosworth (2002, 135 – 136), on the other hand, argues that ‘Eumenes’ left presented an unbroken barrier’: Antigonos’ advance was checked and he was unable to achieve anything there, while Eumenes pushed forward his right so that the fighting actually began on Antigonos’ left, which stood under the command of Peithon (cf. Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 416 – 417). Indeed, Antigonos entrusted Peithon with the left wing again at Gabiene (40.1), which does not suggest that he had completely ruined the battle plan at Paraitakene from that very position (Anson 2004, 179 n. 96). However, rather than assuming that Eumenes pushed forward his right wing, it would seem that his right flank simply was the only place where any action was possible, because it was the only place without an elephant screen on the side (cf. the reflections of Delbrück 1920, 240 – 241). Thus, Peithon started the outflanking manoeuvres at Eumenes’ right because nothing could be achieved against the latter’s left or centre. Anson (2004, 179 n. 96) rightly observes that Peithon was simply doing what he was ordered in harassing Eumenes’ right while avoiding frontal action. στερεὸν μὲν οὐδὲν οὐδ᾽ ἀξιόλογον ἔχοντες πρόφραγμα περὶ αὐτούς: The interpretation of this statement is not obvious. Geer translates ‘who had no stability or any advance-guard worth mentioning’. Devine (1985a, 82 n. 69) has criticized this translation as light cavalry actions did not require stability nor an advance-guard. In his view it is a description of the ground, because they did need advantageous terrain-features in order to operate successfully, unless they were supported by heavy infantry. These features were necessary to cover their moving forward, so that they could execute surprise-attacks, and to provide protection during their withdrawals. In set piece battles, however, such terrainfeatures were usually absent, as these were typically fought on open ground, so stressing the absence of such features here would be to state the obvious. Rather, since he was to hold back his wing, Peithon did not have an elephant screen comparable to that on the right flank (which consisted of τοὺς κρατίστους τῶν ἐλεφάντων τριάκοντα, 29.6) and most likely this is what Diodoros refers to (Bosworth 2002, 136 – 137; cf. the spread of the elephant screen in the diagram of Billows 1990, 96). Probably στερεόν and ἀξιόλογον together qualify πρόφραγμα, which is perhaps best captured in Bizière’s ‘pas de dispositif compact, ni même important, de couverture autour d’eux’, Veh’s ‘keine widerstandsfähige und nennenswerte Vorhut’ or Mavropoulos’ δεν είχαν κάποιο γερό ή αξιόλογο προκάλυμμα, which seem preferable to Rhodomann’s rather absolute

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‘nullum ante se praesidium’, and especially to Waterfield’s ‘they were in open formation and their front was more or less unprotected’: an open formation does not seem to make much sense in a pitched battle situation like this. ὑπερέχοντες δὲ τῶν ἀντιτεταγμένων τῷ τε πλήθει καὶ ταῖς ἐλαφρότησιν: For superiority of πλῆθος, see XIII 38.7, 40.1, XVI 35.5, XX 64.4, XXXVII 28.1, and for the opposite II 40.1, XII 79.6, XIII 39.3, XV 85.4. On ἐλαφρότης, see above, 29.1 τοὺς ἐλαφροτάτους. χρήσασθαι τοῖς ἰδίοις προτερήμασι: The word προτέρημα is typical of Hellenistic prose (cf. Chamoux 1993, lxxii). A TLG-search gives 198 occurrences in Antiquity, after the elimination of some double instances (fragments found in other ancient authors). Four of those fragments (two of Ktesias and two of Dionysios Skythobrachion) are drawn from the Bibliotheke, the text with the second highest frequency of the word προτέρημα (60 instances, freq.: 0.0123 %). A Timaian fragment is transmitted by Polybios, who has the highest frequency (0.0145 %), having used the word 48 times. Thus, Polybios and Diodoros together are responsible for more than half of the ancient attestations of the word. Polybios’ Historiai also provide us with the earliest direct attestation of the word, even though, of course, the occurrence in the verse quotation from Sopatros (F6) by Athenaios (IV 160e) might well transmit the actual wording. Evidently, Hieronymos, Douris, Diyllos or whoever was Diodoros’ source likewise were Hellenistic authors, so if προτέρημα was already as frequent in the third century, they might well have used it too. The combination, however, of a typical word with a problematic presentation of events strongly suggests Diodorean intervention. Therefore, I would conclude not only that Bosworth’s analysis (see above, πρῶτοι δ᾽…) provides the most plausible explanation for what happened on Antigonos’ left flank, but also that preceding scholarship has been given the wrong impression by Diodoros’ misleading – though strictly speaking not incorrect – presentation of the facts. For χρήσασθαι τῷ προτερήματι, see II 19.4, III 28.4, XIII 80.7, XIX 30.7, XX 90.4.

30.2 περιιππεύσαντες δὲ τὸ κέρας: This expression occurs also at XVII 59.5, XIX 42.3 and 83.4. Thus, Devine (1985a, 82 n. 71) notes that, with the exception of the first one, all instances come from Hieronymos. Of course, regardless of the identification of the source, this still means that 1 in 4 instances occur outside of the history of the Successors and one should also take into account that such a manoeuvre was not executed in every battle, which makes these statistics slightly less telling. μεγάλα δὲ βλάπτοντες τοὺς διὰ τὰ βάρη μήτ᾽ ἐκδιῶξαι δυναμένους μήτ᾽ ἀναχωρεῖν ὅταν καιρὸς παραγγείλῃ: Since Eumenes still had the same num-

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ber of elephants at Gabiene (40.4), the damage cannot have been as great as Diodoros would have it, unless he means that they were wounded rather than killed (contra Anson 2004, 178 n. 44, but see above, 28.4 ἱππεῖς…, on the problems with his interpretation).

30.4 ἐπὶ κέρας: On the basis of Arrian’s usage (Anab. II 8.2, III 14.1 and Tact. 26.1) Devine (1985a, 82 n. 74) translates this as ‘in column’, while Geer renders it as ‘in a flanking movement’. None of these, however, seem to fit the context as neatly as Bizière’s simple ‘à l’aile’. ὑπωρίας: Evidently F’s correct ὑπωρείας should have been adopted rather than the itacistic mistake of R: thus also at 30.8 and 30.10 (Radt 2015, 278 – 279).

30.5 ἐφ᾽ ἱκανὸν μὲν χρόνον: In the Bibliotheke battles usually last or are in a certain condition (e.g. fierce, undecided,…) ἐφ᾽ ἱκανὸν χρόνον (also at XIII 40.3, XVI 61.3, XIX 79.3), most often ἐπὶ πολὺν χρόνον (XI 7.2, 79.3, XII 80.8, XIII 46.2, 79.4, 80.6, 87.1, XIV 12.7, 82.8, XVI 4.6, 86.2, XIX 76.2, XX 38.5; cf. infra, 89.2 γενομένης…). For ἱκανός as a synonym of πολύς, see Palm 1955, 189; cf. e.g. Aristeas 21 and 275. πολλῶν πεσόντων παρ᾽ ἀμφοτέροις: Given the comparatively low casualty figures for Eumenes which Diodoros gives at the end (see below, 31.5 ἀνῃρέθησαν…) this is a strange remark, but the explanation can hardly come as a surprise: it is a Diodorean topos (III 71.4, XI 32.2, 36.4, 52.4, 76.2, 80.3, 91.3, XII 80.8, XIV 34.5, XVI 12.3, 86.2, XVII 11.5, XVIII 44.4, 71.1, XIX 42.6, 76.2, XX 22.5, XX 98.9; cf., with slight variations, II 34.2, XI 13.2, 80.6, XIII 8.1, 56.5, 79.4, XV 87.1, XVI 7.2, XVII 34.5, XVIII 34.5, XIX 72.4). This does not seem to be the only instance where Diodoros’ use of topoi causes a contradiction (see above, Part I, §2.2.4).

30.6 ταῖς μὲν ἡλικίαις ἤδη προεβεβήκεισαν: On the age of the Silver Shields, see below, 41.2 οἱ νεώτατοι… διέφερον ταῖς τόλμαις καὶ ταῖς εὐχειρίαις: Cf. supra, 16.1 διαφέροντες… οἱονεὶ στόμωμα καθειστήκεισαν πάσης τῆς δυνάμεως: As Bosworth (2002, 139 n. 151) notes, this is a well-known analogy: Ael. Tact. 13; Arr. Tact. 12.2. It is the only instance in the Bibliotheke of the word στόμωμα, which is attested only 75 times in Antiquity (25 of which in the works of Galenus), and only

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seven times before the first century CE. Hornblower (1981, 193) suggests the phrase is a reflection of Hieronymos’ original.

30.7 τὴν φάλαγγα πᾶσαν τετραμμένην: This is quite a sober statement, which clearly does not claim nor necessarily imply that it was the ‘kopfloser Rückzug’ which Schäfer (2002, 152 n. 95) deems exaggerated.

30.9 γενομένου διαστήματος ἐν τῇ τῶν πολεμίων τάξει: The gap in Eumenes’ battle-line opened up because of the argyraspids’ pursuit of the enemy (cf. Bosworth 2002, 139 – 140). The fact that Eumenes had moved some of his light cavalry away from the left wing will certainly have encouraged Antigonos to believe in the possibilities of an attack, while some advised him to retreat and help those fleeing. It is not impossible that Monophthalmos was still consciously imitating Alexander at this point, as Devine (1985a, 83) holds, but his main preoccupation must have been the moment itself, and probably he just seized the opportunity offered by the occasion.

30.10 ταχὺ δὲ διὰ τὸ παράδοξον τρεψάμενος τοὺς ἐναντίους: Cf. esp. XIII 72.4, ῥᾳδίως αὐτοὺς τρεψάμενος διὰ τὸ παράδοξον, but also XI 61.3, πάντας δὲ διὰ τὸ παράδοξον τῆς ἐπιθέσεως φεύγειν ἠνάγκασαν, and XXIX 32, ὥστε διὰ τὸ παράδοξον τῶν ἰδιωτῶν τοὺς μὲν φεύγειν (…), and Plb. XXVI 1a.2. The high frequency of παράδοξος and the importance of the concept in the Bibliotheke have been discussed above (16.4 παραδόξως). The incidence of the expression διὰ τὸ παράδοξον confirms the picture outlined there. It is attested 89 times in Antiquity, with 41 instances coming from the Bibliotheke, and 23 from Polybios’ Histories. Plutarch used it three times, and then there is a series of authors who wrote it once or twice. Diodoros, then, is responsible for around 47 % of all ancient occurrences. In spite of the limited evidence on Hellenistic prose, it seems that here we may well be facing Polybian imitation by Diodoros rather than just typical Hellenistic usage, as the expression is so rare outside of their works. See also below, 38.5 διὰ τὸ παράδοξον… Devine (1985a, 83 n. 82) concludes from this phrase that Eudamos and Eumenes were unable to see Antigonos’ movements, but we should be very careful not to make too much of Diodoros’ mention of τὸ παράδοξον in a typical rhetor-

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ical context like a battle description. Most likely he was abbreviating his source here, and he probably did so in his own words, possibly even with his own emphasis and interpretation which might be inspired rather by the preoccupations of his work than by the facts (cf. Roisman 2018; Williams 2018). ἀνεκαλοῦντο τῇ σάλπιγγι τοὺς διώκοντας: Just as Diodoros loved to begin his battles with the trumpet signal (see above, 30.1 ἐσήμηναν…), he was fond of ending them with the expression ἀνακαλεῖσθαι τῇ σάλπιγγι (XIII 79.4, 85.5, XIV 52.5, XV 34.2, 65.4, 87.2, 91.5, XVI 4.7, XVII 45.7, 68.3, 89.1, XVIII 32.2, 71.1, XIX 97.2, cf. XX 96.7). The phrase is rather rare, occurring only about 40 times in the preserved literature of Antiquity, mostly, of course, in historical works. No author uses it as often as Diodoros – Appian and Polybios coming closest with three instances each (see e.g. X. An. IV 4.22; Plb. X 13.11, 31.4, XV 14.3; App. Iber. 390, Lib. 63, Mithr. 145; Jos. AJ VII 17.7, XX 178; Plut. CG 3.7, De Is. et Os. 35 = Mor. 364 f).

31.1 ἤδη δὲ τῆς ὥρας οὔσης περὶ λύχνων ἁφάς: This may have been a typical moment in the rhythm of the day in an army camp (cf. Karunanithy 2013, 201– 202). The only other occurrence of the expression περὶ λύχνων ἁφάς in the Bibliotheke is also to be found book XIX, at 43.5. Although it does not seem to be very common in literary texts, it is attested from Herodotus (VII 215) to Libanios (Or. 64.5; see also e.g. D.H. AR VII 11.2, XI 33.4, 40.3; Philostr. VA VII 15), as are parallel expressions (e.g. Ath. XII 526c, μέχρι λύχνων ἁφῶν). Given that λύχνος occurs only once outside of book XIX, and that ἁφή does not, we might be facing a trace of Diodoros’ source, especially since he is not likely to have made up such a time indication; on the other hand, because of the comparative frequency in Dionysios we cannot exclude that it is a feature of late koine. φιλονεικίας: It is not impossible that the morale remained high (Devine 1985a, 83), as both sides did indeed have reasons to be partially optimistic and confident, Eumenes in routing the enemy left and centre, Antigonos in forcing the opposing left wing to flee.

31.2 ἀντιπαραγουσῶν ἀλλήλαις ὡς ἂν τέτταρσι πλέθροις: Devine (1985a, 83 n. 88) argues that in this context ἀντιπαράγειν should be taken to mean ‘deploy into line against’, in accordance with the common meaning of παράγειν in a tactical context, ‘wheel from column into line’. Bosworth (2002, with 140 n. 154), on the other hand, referring to Arr. Anab. V 17.1, argues that the passage must mean that both armies moved away from the foothills into the plain parallel to each

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other, probably both trying to outflank the enemy, which seems to be the more suitable interpretation. The rather short distance of only c. 120 m seems possible given the circumstance that both armies were exhausted, which made it less dangerous to be so close to each other (Devine, loc. cit.). Maybe they also did this because neither side wanted to give away too much terrain. ἡ μὲν ὥρα κατελάμβανεν μεσονύκτιος: The only other passage where Diodoros uses μεσονύκτιος also belongs to the narrative on the Successors (XX 48.6). Like περὶ λύχνων ἁφάς (see above, 31.1 ἤδη δὲ τῆς ὥρας…), it may reflect the usage of his source.

31.3 ἐπεχείρει ἀναζευγνύειν ἐπὶ τῶν νεκρῶν, σπεύδων κρατεῖν τῆς τούτων ἀναιρέσεως καὶ τὴν νίκην ἀναμφισβήτητον περιποιήσασθαι: Curtius (V 4.3) states that ‘it was an inherited usage that hardly any military duty was so sacred as that of burying the dead’. It was important throughout the Greek world, and the practice that the party which controlled the dead had won the battle, was traditional Greek custom (Pritchett 1985, 94– 259; Hammond 1989b, 57; Rives-Gal 1996, 18 and 21– 23; Schäfer 2002, 153 with n. 98; Lendon 2005, 152; Meißner 2007, 220 – 221; Krentz 2007, 173 – 175). οὐ προσεχόντων δὲ τῶν στρατιωτῶν: Plutarch (Eum. 15.4) and Nepos (Eum. 8.1– 2) also suggest the existence of insubordination issues in Eumenes’ army (Bosworth 2002, 142).

31.4 ἀμφισβητούντων πολλῶν τῆς στρατηγίας: On the struggle for the command in the coalition army, see 15.1– 5, 17.5 – 6, 22– 24.3 and 5 with commentary ad locc. χωρὶς δημαγωγίας: On Diodoros’ use of the word δημαγωγία, see Urso 2019.

31.5 ἀνῃρέθησαν δ᾽ ἐν τῇ μάχῃ: This is a puzzling indication. Some scholars assume that, as before (19.8 πολλοὺς ἀποβαλών…), Antigonid casualties have been exaggerated by Hieronymos out of partisanship for Eumenes (Devine 1985a, 86; Billows 1990, 92 n. 20). In the previous instances the losses Antigonos’ army suffered were plausible enough and they need not be doubted. In this case, however, the difference certainly is enormous: 3,700 infantry and 54 cavalry of Antigonos killed and more than 4,000 wounded, while Eumenes is said to have lost only 540 foot soldiers and a few horsemen, with more than 900 wound-

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ed. According to Devine (loc. cit.), the numbers for Eumenes’ army accord well with ‘the classic ratio of 1 dead : 2 wounded, familiar to us from the relatively reliable military statistics of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries’. The casualty figures for Antigonos present a much higher proportion of killed as to wounded, and, furthermore, ‘for a hard-fought battle that failed to produce a decisive result, the disproportion between the losses of victor and vanquished is rather too great’. These figures would suggest that Eumenes had completely routed Antigonos’ army while in fact the battle ended undecided, according to Devine. However, it is clear that the Antigonid left wing and centre had both been put to flight. Devine assumes that the loss of about 8,000 men for Antigonos is credible, but that Eumenes lost many more soldiers than Diodoros claims, maybe even as many as 5,000. Most scholars, however, do accept the figures (Hammond 1989b, 59; cf. BarKochva 1989, 50 n. 76; Bosworth 2002, 139 with n. 152; Schäfer 2002, 153; Anson 2004, 180). Hammond (loc. cit.) assumes that ‘the number of wounded on both sides at Paraetacene (Diod. xix 31.5) was probably ascertained by Hieronymus from Eumenes and then from Antigonus or from their Journals’. His argument in favour of accepting the numbers can be summarized as follows: casualty figures were always recorded minutely, so that adequate reinforcements could be called on, and lists of casualties were often even published, so that they could always be checked (but see Rubincam 1991, esp. 191). He further claims that losses in Greek hoplite fighting did not occur ‘face to face’, but when one side started fleeing in disorder and was pursued. Therefore, disproportionate figures are possible in battles where one of the combatants turned to disorderly flight. With the Macedonian phalanx of pikemen the casualty numbers were even lower in his view, so that when two Macedonian armies opposed each other the disproportion was no longer as big as before, although often still substantial (ibid., 62). Although the publication of casualty lists was not necessarily practised in Macedonia, Hammond’s conclusion seems to be correct. After all, if Hieronymos was Diodoros’ source for the battle, one may well wonder whether the historian could have exaggerated Antigonos’ losses and diminished those of Eumenes: he wrote his work while he was in Antigonid service and, moreover, at a time when Eumenes was long dead. Was Hieronymos really allowed to discredit the important military image (cf. Souda, s.v. βασιλεία, and e.g. Préaux 1978, I, 183 – 186; Gehrke 1982; Walbank 1984a, 66 and 81; Austin 1986, 457– 459; Baker 2003, 375 – 376; Virgilio 2003, 69 – 73; Chaniotis 2005a, 57– 62; Lendon 2007, 506 – 507) of his current masters to such an extent (cf. Bosworth 2002, 139 n. 152)? Of course, other sources could have distorted the figures for many reasons, but the numbers are credible. At Gabiene Antigonos only had 22,000 infantry, as opposed to the 28,000 he had deployed in the present battle. This seems to

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confirm that he had about 6,000 dead and heavily wounded men. Eumenes’ numbers at Gabiene still were more or less the same as at Paraitakene, his infantry even having increased with 1,700 men (40.4; Anson 2004, 180 n. 97).

§ 32 The Aftermath of the Battle Diodoros’ describes the aftermath of the battle of Paraitakene at greater length than is usual, offering some interesting details of daily life in a Macedonian army camp and the treatment of the wounded (cf. generally Karunanithy 2013, 168 – 170; 186 – 206). Again the resources of Media appear essential to Antigonos (Bosworth 2002, 141– 142).

32.1 εὔζωνον: On the meaning of εὔζωνος as carrying a minimum of impedimenta, see Bosworth 2002, 103 n. 21. τοὺς μὲν τραυματίας καὶ τὰ βαρύτατα τῆς ἀποσκευῆς: On the transport of wounded soldiers with wagons and draught animals, see Karunanithy 2013, 170. Combining the medical transport with the heavy baggage may thus have been common. παρακατασχὼν τὸν παρὰ τῶν πολεμίων ἥκοντα κήρυκα: Cf. Polyaen. IV 6.10.

32.2 τῆς δ᾽ ἡμέρας διελθούσης: Cf. XIII 56.3 and XVIII 22.8, τῆς νυκτὸς διελθούσης. It might be interesting to point out that this is an expression for which Diodoros does use great variation: ἡμέρας (ἐπι‐)γενομένης (X 20.3, XI 10.4, XVII 56.2, XX 50.5, 66.4, 75.5, 86.2, 97.1, 109.2), τῆς ἡμέρας δια/ὑποφωσκούσης (XIII 18.5, 111.2, XVIII 72.8), περικατα-/ἐπιλαβούσης ἡμέρας (XV 48.3, XVII 7.7, XX 98.8), διαφαινούσης τῆς ἡμέρας (XVI 18.3), ἅμ᾽ ἡμέρᾳ (XVII 50.5); cf. Palm 1955, 103 with further examples. Γαμάργων τῆς Μηδίας: Unknown location. Even the very name is problematic: the scribe of F first wrote Ταδάργων, which he then corrected to Γαμάργων, while at 37.1 R has Γαδαμάλοις and F Γαδαρμάλοις, corrected from Ταμάρλοις. At Polyaen. IV 6.11 we find Γαδαμάρτοις. It this seems clear that the correct form starts with Γαδαμαρ-. For attempts at identification, see Vezin 1907, 110 n. 2; Bosworth 2002, 141– 144; cf. Orth 1993, 120 with further references.

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32.3 ἔνθα δὴ συνέβη γενέσθαι πρᾶγμα παράδοξον καὶ πολὺ τῶν παρ᾽ Ἕλλησι νομίμων ἐξηλλαγμένον: The present episode must have appealed to Diodoros all the more since it combines his interest in lawgiving and his interest in παράδοξα (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.3, and infra, 33.3 κολάζοντες…). Here it is worth noting in particular the typical Diodorean formula ἴδιόν τι καὶ παράδοξον συνέβη γενέσθαι vel sim. (IV 20.2, 22.3, 30.4, V 26.1, 27.4, 33.5, XII 19.1, XV 91.2, XVI 66.3, XVII 7.5, 103.7, XVIII 35.2; cf. Neubert 1890, 10; Palm 1955, 195). It is typical of ancient ethnography to indulge in the description of customs which were very different from what the Greeks knew (cf. Pritchett 1993, 196 – 197 with further references; Dench 2007), Diodoros’ practice being no exception (see e.g. I 73.5, 80.4, 92.5, II 29.3, 29.5, III 53.1, XX 58.4). On the other hand, sometimes he also noted things to be found among Greeks as well (e.g. I 94.1, καθάπερ παρ᾽ Ἕλλησι, II 39.1, παραπλησίως τοῖς Ἕλλησι; cf. also III 56.1). On the reaction of the Greeks in this instance, see 34.6.

§ 33 – 34 Keteus’ Widows Compete to Join Their Husband in Death Once more Diodoros digresses at some length about an affair which can hardly be considered crucial to his narrative on the Successors, and again he does so because he has found a παράδοξον (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.3). Furthermore, Diodoros’ keen interest in lawgiving must have enhanced the appeal the passage had to him (see 33.3 κολάζοντες…; cf. Dench 2007, 493 for ‘case studies of exemplary behavior’ as one of the typical reasons for ethnographic digressions). Keteus, one of the Indian officers in Eumenes’ army, had fallen in the battle of Paraitakene, leaving behind two widows. According to Indian custom it was an honour for a widow to be burned together with the body of her late husband, although in practice the ritual was rarely performed and only among members of the warrior class and later also among Brahmins (Stein 1978, 253 – 254; Van den Bosch 1995; Sugirtharajah 2001, 6 – 7; Bosworth 2002, 179 – 180; cf. Fisch 1998, 250 but also ibid., 224; Stoneman 2019, 307); it is a practice that is to be found in several different cultures (Stein 1978, 253). The English name for the ritual of widow-burning, suttee, is derived from the Sanskrit word satī, meaning ‘virtuous/faithful wife’. Diodoros’ narrative of the event in Paraitakene in late 317 is historically very important, as it is the oldest attested instance of sati, the next one occurring several centuries later, which obviously is just a problem of sources (Van den Bosch 1995, 172; Fisch 1998, 221 and 228); whether the custom was already known to the Alexander historian Onesikritos is uncertain (cf. infra, 33.2 φιλοστοργεῖν…). His description of the ceremony appears to be fairly

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accurate, as it contains a great deal of information that can be checked in other well-informed sources (Fisch 1998, 222; Bosworth 2002, 180; Szczurek 2008, 124– 129), although it must of course be asked to what extent such accounts are completely independent from each other and from shared cultural/gender stereotypes (see esp. Sugirtharajah 2001; cf. van den Bosch 1995, 173; Banerjee 2003, 10 – 21 and passim). Whether Diodoros’ explanation of the origins of the custom is based on genuine Indian material is a more problematic issue (see below, 33.2 φιλοστοργεῖν…). On the representantion of Indian women in Greek and Latin authors, see also Vofchuk 1988. The sati episode has recently been analyzed at length by Bosworth (2002, 173 – 187; 2013, 78) who attributes it to Hieronymos, as the latter undoubtedly was an eyewitness to the event, whereas Lens Tuero (1994c, 29; cf. Hornblower 1981, 94 n. 71, who supposes Kleitarchos as intermediary) deems it possible that Diodoros also used Onesikritos for the explanation of the custom (but see below, 33.2 φιλοστοργεῖν…). Szczurek (2008) likewise argues that the factual chapter 34 is taken from Hieronymos, while the fantastic elements found in chapter 33 have been added from other sources, but he relies too much on the argument from silence, which is useless in Quellenforschung, and on some other doubtful assumptions (see below, 33.2 φιλοστοργεῖν…; 33.3 κολάζοντες…). Roisman (2010, 145 – 147) argues that Hieronymos wished to create a contrast between the honourable behaviour of the Indian widows and the self-interested Macedonian soldiers, but this may be to read too much into a digression which was interesting enough in itself, and which is related in its actual chronological position and at least to some extent owes its current form (including introduction and conclusion) to Diodoros (though cf. Infra, 34.7 ἀπὸ τῆς…); furthermore, this interpretation may be hard to square with the comment that some found the custom savage and cruel (34.6).

33.1 Κητεὺς γὰρ ὁ τῶν ἐκ τῆς Ἰνδικῆς ἀπηντηκότων στρατηγός: Otherwise unknown; he must have belonged to the contingent of Eudamos. Bosworth (2002, 176 – 177) argues that he was a prince of the Kathaians, which – according to Strabo (XV 1.30) – was a tribe in western India along the Akesines. The identification is based on Strabo’s statement (XV 1.30) that widow-burning was a custom peculiar to the Kathaians (Garzilli 1997, 218; Bosworth 2002, 176), but perhaps ἴδιον δὲ τῶν Καθαίων καὶ τοῦτο ἱστορεῖται is to be understood as in Jones’ Loeb translation, ‘A peculiar custom is related of the Cathæi’ (cf. also Str. VII 5.5 with Jones’ translation ‘The Dalmatians have the peculiar custom of…’). Indeed, at XV 1.62, following Aristoboulos, Strabo claims that the practice existed among several

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tribes, e.g. in Taxila. It should be noted, furthermore, that the Kathaioi were not a tribe, but a Vedic school (Garzilli 1997, 221, though cf. ibid., 224), so that there is no way of actually determining Keteus’ origins. Keteus is a Greek name (Bosworth 2002, 186), the original probably being a typical Indian name of the warrior class ending in –ketu, ‘banner’ (Karttunen 1997, 66 n. 283; Bosworth 2002, 186 n. 68 with further references). λαμπρῶς ἀγωνισάμενος: The expression λαμπρῶς ἀγωνίζεσθαι does not occur in extant Greek literature before Diodoros. Not only does Diodoros provide the earliest attestations of the phrase, he also surpasses all other authors in the frequency of its usage (cf. Palm 1955, 108; Vial 1977, XXI n. 6; Hau 2016, 105). Out of a total of 70 occurrences in Antiquity, 32 are to be found in Diodoros’ work (e.g. XI 32.2, XII 74.1, XIII 60.5, 65.2, XIV 12.7, XIV 23.6, XV 56.1, XVI 48.5, XX 23.6, XXXVII 22.1). Plutarch uses it 12 times, Dionysios of Halikarnassos 6 times, and Polyainos and Theodoretos both use it 4 times. Then comes Josephus with 3 instances, followed by several authors who used the expression only once or twice. In many of the Diodorean instances, as here, it is a laudatory remark about someone who fell (e.g. II 45.5, XI 8.5, XII 3.4, XIV 83.7, XV 15.3, 21.2, 34.5, XVII 63.4, XVIII 15.3, XXXI 19.2). ἀπέλιπε δὲ δύο γυναῖκας: On polygamy in ancient India, see Vofchuk 1988, 142– 143.

33.2 ὄντος δὲ παλαιοῦ νόμου παρὰ τοῖς Ἰνδοῖς: Although Diodoros considered this ancient law to be detrimental, he found the law that the Indians introduced to resolve the problem very effective (33.4), and he likewise expresses admiration for an ancient Indian law at II 39.5. φιλοστοργεῖν ἑτέρους: The same explanation of the origin of sati is reported by Strabo (XV 1.30) despite his doubts about its plausibility. It was likewise adopted by some Europeans who witnessed the practice in later times (Van den Bosch 1995, 173; Fisch 1998, 343; Banerjee 2003, 137– 173), but while the actual origins of sati are unclear, this most certainly is not the true reason behind it (Stein 1978; Van den Bosch, loc. cit.; Karttunen 1997, 66; cf. Szczurek 2008, 130). Before giving this explanation for the practice of sati among the Kathaians, Strabo quotes Onesikritos for another of their customs. This has led to assumptions that such reasoning originated with Onesikritos, who had cynic sympathies (Pearson 1960, 106; Yardley & Heckel 1981, 307; Kartunnen 1997, 66; Garzilli 1997, 217; Stoneman 2019, 306). Bosworth (2002, 175 – 176), however, rightly argued that there are no cynic elements in the explanation Diodoros and Strabo offer (pace Lens Tuero 1994c, 29 – 31), and that there is no reason to attribute

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Strabo’s entire account on the Kathaioi to Onesikritos. Moreover, a cynic like Onesikritos would not have had objections against the free choice of partners. Bosworth suggests that, like Diodoros, Strabo may well have relied on Hieronymos, whom he cited on other occasions (VIII 6.21, IX 5.22, X 4.3). Unlike here, at XVII 91.3 Diodoros claims that sati was instated after only one woman had killed her husband, rather than because of widespread murderous habits. Bosworth (2002, 178) argues, therefore, that Hieronymos expanded on earlier explanations, changing a single instance into the problem of an entire society. The free choice of partners was very strange to the Greeks, whose women had no right to choose their future husbands, and in practice men often had to accept the choice of their fathers too (Vérilhac & Vial 1998, 210 – 214). Yet, such free choice might not have been uncommon in the Indian warrior caste and so, as Bosworth suggests, this may well be an element that Diodoros’ ultimate source gleaned from his Indian informants (Bosworth 2002, 182– 183). He may be correct, but as the explanation of wives killing their husbands is made up (see below), its alleged background might well have been made up along with the rest of the reasoning. As Bosworth (2002, 183) also admits, there is no link between the poison stories and the free choice of partners in the Indian tradition (pace Fisch 1998, 343 – 344). His interpretation is based on the assumption that the Indian informants ‘may have mentioned’ several unconnected elements of their tradition, not necessarily having a bearing on the custom of sati, which the Greek historian then linked together in his personal explanation of the origins of widow-burning (cf. ibid., 186: ‘The separate themes are Indian, but the composite story and its negative moral charge are Greek’). Diodoros’ source seems to have been an eyewitness himself or to have had direct contact to such witnesses as he certainly had good information about the custom itself (see below, 33.3 τὴν δὲ μὴ βουλομένην… and χήραν…; 34.2 ἔγκυον…), but we do not know whether he was equally well-informed about its origins. Stories of wives killing their spouses are by no means unique to the Indian tradition: the – often adulterous – wife poisoning her husband was a topos known to both Greeks and Romans (see e.g. Santoro L’Hoir 2006, 47– 56 and 158 – 195), so that the accordance with Indian elements might be a mere coincidence. It would be reassuring to see that Hieronymos, or whoever the source may be, explained the origins of sati with recourse to facts obtained from knowledgeable Indian informants, but we should not exclude the possibility that, in the end, he only relied on his own inspiration: it is a fantastic story which need not have had any other source than its author’s fantasy. Bosworth (2002, 185 – 186) further argues that the self-chosen marriage of the famous female philosopher Hipparchia to her fellow-thinker Krates, might have been on Hieronymos’ mind when writing against the free choice of partners. Again, this is possible,

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but not necessary. Whoever came up with the explanation might just have been thinking of the problem of marital unions by mutual consent in general terms. For a somewhat similar explanation for the rarity of plots against the kings of Ethiopia, see III 7.2– 3. Unaware of the possibility that Diodoros’ explanation of the custom might be based on Indian information, Hornblower (1981, 94), who always argues against the potential presence of fanciful stories in Hieronymos’ work, was forced to assume that Diodoros himself looked back to the explanation he had mentioned in book XVII (91.3), and elaborated on it himself. The argument is not impossible, but it would imply that Diodoros significantly reworked his source material, a high claim to make, especially for Hornblower who usually denies Diodoros such independence.

33.3 κολάζοντες τὰς αἰτίας τῶν κακῶν οὐκ ἠδυνήθησαν ἀποτρέψαι τὰς ἄλλας τῶν ἀδικημάτων, νόμον ἔθεσαν…: This statement seems quite instructive with respect to Diodoros’ views on lawgiving and the reason why the theme was so important to him (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.3). On several occasions Diodoros asserts that history, by praising the righteous and denouncing the wicked, turns people away from the impulse towards evil (I 1.5 […] ἀποτρέπει τῆς ἐπὶ τὴν κακίαν ὁρμῆς, XV 1.1 […] ἀποτρέψειν τῆς ἐπὶ τὴν κακίαν ὁρμῆς, XXXI 15.1 […] τῶν πρὸς τὴν κακίαν ὁρμώντων ἀποτρέπονται, XXXVII 4 […] ἀποτρέπωνται τῆς ἐπὶ τὴν κακίαν ὁρμῆς, cf. XI 3.1 and I 5.2; Camacho Rojo 1994a, 67; Hau 2016, 75 – 79; Schorn 2018, 368 – 369 with n. 15; Meeus 2018a, 157– 158). In some other instances Diodoros notes that once a law established a certain punishment, it turned others away (ἀποτρέπειν) from their plans of committing the same wrongdoing (I 14.1, 78.3, XI 3.1, XII 16.2, cf. XVI 32.1). We can safely conclude that this is a typical Diodorean idea, and that his interest in lawgiving springs from the assumption that it has the same capacity as historiography to reform people who strayed from the righteous path. It might be interesting to note that Strabo (XV 1.30), who probably used the same source as Diodoros (cf. supra, 33.2 φιλοστοργεῖν…), had his doubts about the law which Diodoros praises (οὐ πιθανῶς μὲν οὖν ὁ νόμος, οὐδ᾽ ἡ αἰτία λέγεται). That seems to be Strabo’s own interpretation, but Diodoros too might have presented the affair in accordance with his own opinions. Szczurek (2008, 130) wonders whether the difference between the factual account in chapter 34 and the fanciful and moralizing explanation in chapter 33 might mean that Diodoros was using two different authorities. I do not see why one and the same source cannot be responsible for both an accurate de-

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scription of what he saw and a fantastic interpretation of the events, especially in ethnographic contexts (cf. Fornara 1983, 15). Szczurek (2008, 130 and 141) is only reluctantly prepared to acknowledge the possibility of Diodorean intervention. Given Diodoros’ views on the ability of laws to better human behaviour, one need not be so surprised as Szczurek (2008, 134) seems to be about the fact that ‘in Diodorus’ account (…) the women’s behaviour changed somehow automatically, just after the introduction of the concremation law’. τὴν δὲ μὴ βουλομένην τῷ δόγματι πειθαρχεῖν: This suggests that the women had a choice which at least seems to have been the case in theory (Van den Bosch 1995, 173, 177 and 188 – 189; Garzilli 1997, 213 – 214 and 348 – 349; but see Kooiman 1999, 632). Cf. Strabo XV 1.62: συγκατακαιομένας τὰς γυναῖκας τοῖς ἀνδράσιν ἀσμένας. Of course, in practice the alternative of widowhood until death was often so unattractive (Stein 1978, 255; Hatcher 2011, 13), that it may have had an effect on how free the choice really was, and the decision may also have been taken by her family rather than by the woman herself (Bosworth 2002, 180). Whether there have actually been many voluntary cases of sati is doubtful (Sugirtharajah 2001, 9). On female agency in Diodoros’ ethnography, see most recently Bosak-Schroeder 2020, 73 – 83. χήραν μὲν εἶναι διὰ τέλους: This too is likely to be correct. We lack material contemporary to the event, but the obligation is attested by the ancient legal Hindu text Mānava-Dharmaśāstra (Van den Bosch 1995, 174 and 184– 185; Bosworth 2002, 180; Szczurek 2008, 124– 125; Hatcher 2011, 13), which was composed probably toward the end of the period of ca. 200 BCE – 300 CE (Olivelle 2005, 20 – 25), but incorporates older traditions (Olivelle 2005, 41– 50).

34.1 ὡς ὑπὲρ ἀριστείου συμφιλοτιμούμεναι: Several other ancient authors also mention an ἀγών or ‘certamen’ between the wives of the deceased in order to be chosen as sati (Cic. Tusc. disp. V 78; Propert. III 13.19; Nic.Dam. [FGrHist 90 F124]; Val. Max. II 6.14; Hieron. Adv. Iovinian. I 44). According to Fisch (1998, 223) it is uncertain whether Diodoros’ source had Indian information about such a competition between widows, and he suggests that the presentation of events is based on Herodotos’ story (V 5) of the contest between Thracian widows to be buried together with their deceased husband (cf. Vofchuk 1988, 147). According to him, the number of wives who could join their husband in death was not limited, so that both could become satī. The latter observation is correct (Szczurek 2008, 125 n. 9 and 140 n. 52), but if even it was possible for both widows to follow Keteus in death, they might not have been willing or happy to share what they allegedly considered an honour. Their struggle is a central ele-

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ment in the story, and it was probably seen by the eyewitness to whom Diodoros eventually goes back, whether Hieronymos or not. The rest of the ritual’s description appears accurate, and the contest may thus well be real too. Furthermore, there is an Indian story of widows arguing over who is allowed to join their late husband on the pyre (Bosworth 2002, 181; cf. Karttunen 2002, 474). That it cannot be precisely dated, as Fisch (1998, 223) points out, does not necessarily matter. It shows that such a struggle among widows was plausible to the ancient Indians as well (pace Szczurek 2008, 139 – 140, who seems to forget that the occurrence of one individual instance in each tradition does result in a total of two, which at any rate is more than one, however one wants to look at it).

34.2 τῶν δὲ στρατηγῶν διακρινόντων: These are usually taken to be the Greek and Macedonian commanders (e.g. Bosworth 2002, 179 and 186), but perhaps the other Indian officers were meant, as Keteus himself is also described as στρατηγός (33.1). ἔγκυον εἶναι καὶ διὰ τοῦτο μὴ δύνασθαι χρήσασθαι τῷ νόμῳ: Sati was indeed forbidden for pregnant women (Van den Bosch 1995, 175 and 178 with n. 59; Karttunen 1997, 67; Garzilli 1997, 348 – 349; Szczurek 2008, 125).

34.3 καθαπερεί τινος συμφορᾶς μεγάλης προσηγγελμένης: This seems to be a deliberate echo of Herodotos’ description of the Thracian women who lost the competition for the burial with her common husband (Hdt. V 5 αἱ δὲ ἄλλαι συμφορὴν μεγάλην ποιεῦνται; Bosworth 2002, 179). On Diodoros’ use of similes, see above 11.9 καθάπερ… κεκοσμημένη δὲ διαπρεπῶς ὥσπερ εἴς τινα γάμον: Other accounts of sati confirm that the widow is dressed like a bride and wears lavish jewellery, and that it is in theory a happy affair, as the wife is joining her husband in the next world (Van den Bosch 1995, 178 – 179, 181 and 183; Szczurek 2008, 126 – 127 and 129).

34.4 περιαιρουμένη τὸν κόσμον ἑαυτῆς διεδίδου τοῖς οἰκείοις καὶ φίλοις: Distributing the jewellery (and other possessions) and publicly bidding loved ones farewell are also among the activities of the satī which are attested in Indian sources (Szczurek 2008, 126 – 127).

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ὁ δὲ κόσμος ἦν…: Such riches were a standard topos in Greek and Roman ethnography on Indian women (Vofchuk 1988, 141). Hornblower (1981, 44) argues that Hieronymos was fond of the description of artful objects.

34.5 κατέστρεψεν ἡρωικῶς τὸν βίον: Cf. Stein 1978, 253: ‘The practice apparently originated among warriors who probably also elaborated the mythology attached to it. The heroism of the sati (the sacrificed woman) was in fact equated with that of the warrior’. Yet, that Diodoros’ comment appears so fitting may be no more than coincidental, as it is a typical Diodorean expression (II 46.6, IV 28.4, 50.3, XII 3.4, 74.3, XV 33.6, XVII 45.6, XXXVI 10.3, or with other verbs at II 45.5, XV 79.2, 80.5; cf. also XII 29.3, XV 17.1, 55.5, XXXIV/V 2.21), which I found only once elsewhere (Plut. Ag. et Cl. 38.11, as it happens also of a woman). This comment, then, need not stem from Hieronymos, even if he may have expressed a similar appreciation (cf. Roisman 2010, 147). This is the only instance in the historical books where it is said of a woman that she died ἡρωικῶς, which seems to indicate a certain amount of admiration for the wife who bravely abided by the law and – in Diodoros’ view – truly considered it an honour to join her husband in death. In the mythographical books four women end their lives heroically, all in what is considered a manly fashion: with the exception of Iason’s mother Amphinome who is said to have performed an ἔπανδρον καὶ μνήμης ἀξίαν […] πρᾶξιν (IV 50.2), all are Amazons (II 45.5, 46.6, IV 28.4), who generally perform male roles (see II 45.1– 2). The view that a brave death in principle is the mark of a man is formulated more explicitly in the case of Olympias: see below, 51.5 οὐδεμίαν… Also compare X 24.2 (= fr. 51 CUF), where it is said – unfortunately without any further context – that ἀρετή is to be praised, κἂν ᾖ παρὰ γυναιξίν (see Cohen-Skalli 2012a, 396 n. 100; also note the text-critical problem).

34.6 ἡ μὲν γὰρ δύναμις ἐν τοῖς ὅπλοις πᾶσα: One hardly imagines an army of more than 40,000 men marching three times around a single two-person pyre – no matter how lavish. Again, it is not impossible that only the Indians are meant (cf. supra, 34.2 τῶν δὲ στρατηγῶν…). Indian sources mention the wife herself walking three times around the burning pyre (Szczurek 2008, 127– 128). Of course, the present occasion will have been exceptional in terms of its setting in such a large army camp, but the claim that the army walked around the pyre may just be dramatic embellishment by Diodoros or his source.

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οὐδεμίαν φωνὴν ἀγεννῆ προεμένη: This is strikingly similar to a remark in the description of Olympias’ attitude in the face of death at 51.5: οὐδεμίαν ἀγεννῆ καὶ γυναικείαν προεμένην ἀξίωσιν (cf. infra, ad loc.) The only other parallel in the Bibliotheke is the phrase ἧς ἀγεννεστέραν φωνὴν οὐ ῥᾴδιον εὑρεῖν at XXXI 15.2, which is copied literally from Polybios XXX 18.4. The closest parallels are to be found in Plutarch’s Lycurgus (18.8), φωνὴν ἀγεννῆ προεμένου, and Solon (7.4), φωνὰς ἀγεννεῖς ἀφιέντας; cf. Aem. 26.9, ἀνεβάλλετο φωνὰς ἀγεννεῖς καὶ δεήσεις. ἔνιοι τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἐπετίμων τοῖς νομίμοις ὡς ἀγρίοις οὖσι καὶ χαλεποῖς: Cf. Str. XV 1.62, τῶν δ᾽ ἐν Ταξίλοις νομίμων καινὰ καὶ ἀήθη. Thompson (2006, 107) notes: ‘Here, at least, we find some comment on the clash of custom and values [regarding the family in the Hellenistic world]. How common this may have been eludes us, though the question is surely worth asking’. The present situation was so exceptional, however, that indeed it can do no more than to suggest the question, and no conclusions can be based on it. Another instance of such a clash of customs concerning burial rites is of debated historicity. Porphyry (Abst. IV 21.4– 5) reports that Alexander’s governor Stasanor had tried to abolish the Bactrian custom of feeding old people to dogs and faced revolt as a result: that corpses were fed to the dogs is plausible enough (Simoons 1994, 242 with n. 323; Engels 2017, 219 – 220), but the claim that the Bactrians did this to their old people while still alive is an obvious exaggeration. Whether this means that the information about Stasanor’s measures against local burial practices is unhistorical or not is hard to tell. Engels (2017, 132 and 219 – 220) seems not necessarily to reject the gerontocide and definitely accepts the historicity of Stasanor’s intervention, as does Mendoza Sanahuja (2017, 50 – 51), who assumes that Stasanor intended to abolish practices that would shock Greek settlers so as to appease them and make them accept life in their new foreign environment (cf. Diod. XVIII 7.1 about the settlers who ‘longed for the Greek customs and manner of life’).

34.7 ἀπὸ τῆς τῶν τετελευτηκότων ταφῆς γενόμενος ἀνέζευξεν: This is a variation on a typical Diodorean formula, which is likewise followed by ἀνέζευξε at XVII 81.1 and XIX 58.1 (ἀπὸ δὲ τούτων γενόμενος ἀνέζευξεν; cf. other verbs of movement at II 14.4, XVII 73.1, 95.3, XX 80.3). Although this is one of only two such variations (cf. XX 40.1, ἀπὸ δὲ τῆς μάχης ταύτης γενόμενος), it is uncertain whether this is significant and reflects the presentation of Hieronymos, as Roisman (2010, 147) would have it (furthermore, the qualification ‘magnificent’ is absent here).

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ἐκ τῶν Παραιτάκων: This is Diodoros’ only reference to the name of the region where the battle was fought; cf. Nep. Eum. 8.1. Alexander had passed there too when he was on his way from Persepolis to Ekbatana (Arr. Anab. III 19.2; Curt. V 13.2), but its exact location is unknown. That it is not quite three days removed from Gabiene (26.2, though by the time of the battle, Eumenes had almost covered a day’s march: cf. 26.6 – 7) does not help much for precisely locating it, as Gabiene is not securely identified either (see above, on 26.1). It must have been somewhere to the north of Pasargadae, along the route to Ekbatana (Bosworth 1980b, 334); in any case to the northwest of Persepolis between Persis and the territory of the Kossaioi (Str. XVI 1.17, cf. XI 13.6; Anson 2004, 176 n. 88; cf. also Fraser 1996, 137 n. 64; Asheri 2007, 151; Yūsofnežād, EncIr, s.v. Farīdan; Potts 2016a, 375). εἰς τὴν Γαβηνήν: See above, 26.1 τὴν Γαβηνήν. οὖσαν ἀκέραιον καὶ δυναμένην πάντα δαψιλῆ ταῖς δυνάμεσι παρέχεσθαι: For the wording, cf. supra, 12.4 τὴν δὲ πέραν… and 26.2 ἀκέραιος…

34.8 διὰ μὲν τῆς οἰκουμένης πορευομένῳ σταθμοὺς εἴκοσι πέντε, διὰ δὲ τῆς ἀνύδρου καὶ ἐρήμου σταθμοὺς ἐννέα: For what this irrelevant comment tells us about Diodoros’ compositional practices, see above, Part I, §2.2.1; cf. infra, 37.2 διὰ τῆς ἐρήμου καὶ ἀνύδρου.

§ 35 – 36 Kassandros’ Return to Macedonia and the Struggle against Polyperchon and Olympias Diodoros now turns to Europe again, where immediately after Olympias’ takeover (11.1– 9) another dramatic change occurred: in a sort of Blitzkrieg operation Kassandros rushed back to Macedonia and in a short time span managed to undo just about everything Olympias had accomplished. It was an eventful campaign, the war being fought on several fronts (different places in Macedonia proper, Perrhaibia, the Voloustana and/or Petra passes, the border with Epeiros) most of which are only briefly mentioned without any view of the complete picture. It seems that Diodoros wanted to describe how things went wrong for Olympias everywhere, thereby taking up a task that could not be accomplished satisfactorily in only two chapters. That Olympias’ fortunes quickly went downhill is clear, while the military details are mostly enigmatic (cf. Carney 2000, 141– 142), but probably his lack of clarity about the army movements was hardly relevant to Diodoros. The last sentence of the account neatly sums up the central moral mes-

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sage he wished to convey (see below, 36.6 αἱ μὲν οὖν Ὀλυμπιάδος…). Unfortunately, no other source provides a more coherent picture (cf. Just. XIV 6.2– 4 and XVII 3.16 – 17; Paus. I 11.4; Anson 2014, 107– 108). In spite of the brevity of his account, it is clear that Justin ultimately went back to the same source (see below, 35.5 πλῆθος…). The identity of their common authority, however, cannot be determined. For many scholars the episode illustrates the incompetence of Polyperchon (e.g. Errington 1986, 121: ‘Polyperchons dilettantische Staatsführung’; Carney 2000, 141: ‘Polyperchon’s talent for failure’; cf. also Hornblower 1981, 224). Given that we are hardly informed about exactly what happened, this claim is hard to substantiate. Antipatros had judged Polyperchon to be up to the task (Diod. XVIII 48.4), and probably he was (cf. Plut. Pyrrh. 8.7; Douris [FGrHist 76] F12), had his opponents not been men of the calibre of Kassandros and Antigonos (cf. Fontana 1960, 116). Carney (2000, 142) claims that ‘whatever [Polyperchon and Olympias] planned failed, but is hard to discern any plan, however unsuccessful’. The first assertion is undoubtedly true; the second perhaps not. The plan probably was for Polyperchon to stop Kassandros’ advance in Perrhaibia, but the latter somehow managed to bypass the enemy with the main body of his troops, sending out a detachment to hold Polyperchon at bay, after which the roads into Macedonia lay wide open (see below, 35.3 τὰ στενά…). The date of these events is debated: Diodoros places them in the archon year 316/5, as does the Marmor Parium (FGrHist 239 B 14). In the low chronology that date is accepted (Manni 1949, 57; Fontana 1960, 116; Errington 1977, 495; Gullath & Schober 1986, 377; Billows 1990, 104– 105; Huß 2001, 138; Anson 2006a, 6 – 8), whereas the high chronology assumes that Diodoros and the Parian chronicle are mistaken (Beloch 1927, 239 – 241; Smith 1961, 284– 285; Bosworth 1992b, 72– 73, 81; Stylianou 1994, 73; Carney 2000, 296 n. 81; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 202). As I argued above (on 17.1, ἐπ᾽ ἄρχοντος…), Diodoros’ chronology is indeed unreliable here, because he inserted the archon year much too soon. The Marmor Parium, which also has its share of chronological errors (Anson 1986, 212 n. 25; Bosworth 1992b, 73 – 74), might be wrong as well (on Olympias’ death, see below, on 49 – 51). Moreover, it is universally agreed that the siege of Pydna belongs to the same winter as Eumenes’ death, which now seems securely dated to 317/6 (Meeus 2012; cf. supra, Part I, §4). The European events described in these chapters, moreover, are likely to have followed shortly after Arrhidaios’ death in the autumn of 317 (see above, 11.5 βασιλέα…), as Kassandros seems to have reacted immediately to the news (see below, 35.1 πυθόμενος…). A potential further indication may be that Olympias’ allies seem to have been widely scattered, suggesting that they may already have been in their winter quarters:

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since the autumn of 316 seems far too late, Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 202 argue that the events must thus have taken place in the autumn of 317.

35.1 Τεγέαν πολιορκῶν: Tegea was a city in southeastern Arkadia, situated near important roads to Sparta and Argos (Nielsen 2004a, 530 – 533; Maher 2017, 397– 398 and passim). In spite of what is often assumed this is not necessarily the location where Kassandros was when Eurydike called him to come to Macedonia to counter Polyperchon’s invasion with Olympias; we only know it was his location when the news arrived. On Kassandros’ operations in the Peloponnese, see also above, 11.1 πρὸς μὲν Κάσσανδρον… (cf. Adams 1993, on Kassandros’ relations with the Greek poleis in these years). As fortifications proliferated, much effort was invested in the development of siegecraft, and siege warfare became very important in the Hellenistic age, a development which was, of course, already underway earlier in the fourth century (see Tarn 1930, 101– 122; Adcock 1957, 59 – 62; Kern 1999, 197– 248; Baker 2003, 381; Bugh 2006a, 280 – 288; de Souza 2007, 447– 460; Meißner 2007, 203 – 209; Roth 2007, 393; Wheatley 2016). Macedonia’s highly specialized siege units and technology were strongly developed since the time of Philippos II (Meißner 2007, 205 – 206; Sekunda 2010, 451; Karunanithy 2013, 216 – 218). πυθόμενος τήν τε Ὀλυμπιάδος κάθοδον εἰς Μακεδονίαν καὶ τὴν Εὐρυδίκης καὶ Φιλίππου τοῦ βασιλέως ἀναίρεσιν, ἔτι δὲ τὰ περὶ τὸν Ἰόλλα τἀδελφοῦ τάφον συμβεβηκότα: Diodoros is abbreviating his source, and it is clear that his narrative is very compressed here, so that is difficult to conclude on this basis that Kassandros only now received all of this news at once (pace Adams 1974, 92 and 1984, 86). One may compare XVIII 12.1, where Antipatros asks Krateros for help ὡς ἐπύθετο τήν τε τοῦ βασιλέως ἐν Βαβυλῶνι τελευτὴν τήν τε τῶν σατραπειῶν διαίρεσιν, while both events are separated by around a month (Errington 1970, 54; Bosworth 2002, 55; Meeus 2008, 59 n. 94), and it is inconceivable that Antipatros was not informed of Alexander’s death as soon as possible. Furthermore, it is obvious from the context that the actual reason why Antipatros called for help was the uprising of the Greeks (Errington 1970, 59 n. 78; Meeus 2009b, 71). What we have at XVIII 12.1, then, is a combination of clumsy selection and compression, obscuring the original background of the events in Diodoros’ source. Something similar might well have happened here. After all, Diodoros’ mention of τήν τε Ὀλυμπιάδος κάθοδον may well represent the first message sent by Eurydike (11.1), to which Diodoros added other elements he knew. The deaths of Eurydike and Arrhidaios occurred several days after the battle (see above, 11.5 ἐπὶ πολλάς…), and it is most unlikely that Kassandros’ supporters

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would not have sent word of the encounter between Olympias and Eurydike, which had serious consequences for him (cf. XVIII 33.1 and 37.1, which imply that separate messengers were sent report on two subsequent battles). Thus, two previous messengers may have reached Kassandros before he heard of the deaths of Arrhidaios, Eurydike and Iolaos: one with Eurydike’s appeal for help and one bringing word of the battle. Of course, the interval between the arrivals of the different messages need not have been large, like at XVIII 12.1. It is therefore possible that Kassandros had already departed from the Peloponnese after one of the earlier couriers arrived, Diodoros only mentioning these events as the reason for his march to Macedonia because they were more spectacular. It is almost generally agreed that Kassandros moved immediately when he heard what had happened in the homeland, even by some adherents of the low chronology (e.g. Niese 1893, 251; Beloch 1925, 108; Cary 1951, 20; Adams 1984, 86; Errington 1986, 120; Billows 1990, 104; Bosworth 1992b, 62 and 81; Stylianou 1994, 73; Adams 1997, 239; Carney 2000, 141– 142 with n. 81; Boiy 2007b, 141; contra Hammond 1988a, 141, and Anson 2006a, 6 – 7). If he left in response to Eurydike’s first message, he can easily have reached Macedonia by December. πρὸς μὲν τοὺς Τεγεάτας διελύσατο: This seems to imply that Kassandros had the upper hand in the siege, as otherwise there would not have been a reason to come to terms (Adams 1974, 92). ἐφήδρευε: Ἐφεδρεύειν is a typically Hellenistic word, attested only thirteen times before Polybios. The incidence in the Bibliotheke is interesting, as eleven out of twenty-four occurrences are found in the narrative on the Successors (III 39.9, X 22.1, XIII 107.3, XIV 37.3, XV 3.1, 34.3, XVI 47.5, 48.3, XVII 11.1, 12.2, 33.2, XVIII 17.5, 25.6, 72.2, XIX 43.4, 57.4, 71.4, 77.5, 80.1, 100.6, XX 47.5, 60.4, 61.3, 105.1, XXXIII 4.8). Some clustering is evident in books XVI, XVII and XX (60.4, 61.3), and there rather seems to be a concentrated usage in XV–XX (including the Sicilian narrative in the latter book), than influence of any particular source. The spread is more or less comparable to that of κοινοπραγία (cf. supra, Part I, §2.3, and Meeus 2018b, 105 – 106). ᾿Aλέξανδρος ὁ Πολυπέρχοντος: Polyperchon’s son Alexandros first appears in our sources in 320 when he is appointed somatophylax of Philippos III (see above, 11.3 Φίλιππος…). Nothing more is heard of him until 318 when he arrived in Attica with an army, in the context of the war between his father and Kassandros, remaining there for some time. The present occasion is his next attested action (Berve 1926, II, no. 39; Heckel 1992, 283 and 2006, 20 [A. 6]). For his subsequent career see below, passim.

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35.2 Αἰτωλοὶ δὲ χαρίζεσθαι βουλόμενοι τῇ τε Ὀλυμπιάδι καὶ Πολυπέρχοντι: On the Aitolians, see Mendels 1984; Grainger 1999; Freitag et al. 2004; Funke 2015; Lasagni 2019, 123 – 180. Besides ingratiating themselves with Olympias and Polyperchon, the Aitolians probably also wished to protect their own position in central Greece by preventing Kassandros from gaining control in Macedonia: he already was so strong in Greece that any further expansion of his power would constitute a threat to the Aitolians, who would have found Polyperchon’s policy of freedom to be in their own interest (cf. Simpson 1958, 359; Grainger 1999, 71– 72; Mackil 2013, 93; Moreno Hernández & Pascual Valderrama 2013, 509). For the same reason, the Aitolians would join Antigonos in the Third Diadoch War (see below, 66.2 τοῦ κοινοῦ…). Mendels (1984, 157) argues that the good relations between Polyperchon and the Aitolians originated in the period when Polyperchon was installed as interim governor of Greece and Macedonia at the time Antipatros and Krateros crossed into Asia in 320. Furthermore, they seem to have been happy with Polyperchon’s policy of Greek freedom (Mendels 1984, 157– 159). On the present occasion, so Mendels (1984, 162– 163) asserts, the Aitolians only blocked Kassandros’ advance, maintaining the friendship with Polyperchon, but they did not attack his positions in Greece, so that they could change sides whenever it seemed expedient. The presence of Kassandros is supposed to have been in their interest, as he provided a certain balance, ensuring that Polyperchon and Olympias would not become too powerful in central Greece. All of this sounds very interesting in theory, but one wonders whether Kassandros would have interpreted the blocking of Thermopylai only as the low-key hostile act Mendels calls it (cf. Dany 1999, 40 n. 26). Moreover, Mendels also ignores the fact that we are hardly informed of events in Greece, so that the Aitolians may well have done more than simply occupying the crucial mountain pass. τὰ περὶ τὰς Πύλας στενὰ κατελάβοντο καὶ τῆς παρόδου τὸν Κάσσανδρον ἀπέκλεισαν: As the Thermopylai passes, on the border of Lokris and Thessaly, constituted the main land road from southern to northern Greece (Pritchett 1994, 243 – 293 passim; McInerney 1999, 333 – 336; TIB I, esp. 94 – 96 and 273 – 274), blocking them was a common strategy (for the early Hellenistic period, see e.g. Moreno Hernández & Pascual Valderrama 2013, 507– 509). The Aitolians did the same when Kassandros moved south again in 316 (see 53.1) and Kassandros did so in 302 to prevent Demetrios from marching to Thessaly (XX 110.2; Rose 2014, 200). παρασκευασάμενος δὲ πλοῖα καὶ σχεδίας: There were possibilities to circumvent the pass over land (Pritchett 1994, 243 – 293), but either they were unsuited for an army with elephants (see 35.7 for Kassandros’ elephants), or the Aitolians

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had rightly foreseen the need to prevent such a manoeuvre. The alternative chosen by Kassandros suggests that Euboia and East Lokris were on his side (Nankov 2009, 92). The verb παρασκευάζεσθαι need not mean that Kassandros constructed everything himself, as Tarn (1930, 46) seems to suggest: it might as well mean ‘to procure for oneself’ ‘to gather’ or ‘to prepare’ (see e.g. XVIII 32.3, XIX 37.2, XX 61.5; cf. Montanari s.v.; MD s.v.; Bosworth 2003b, 15 n. 15). Like the following year at Megara, he may have built the rafts for the elephants, while the soldiers used existing boats (see below, 54.3 κατασκευάσας…). He will have obtained the latter from neighbouring villages in Lokris and Euboia (Nankov 2009, 92– 93; Rose 2014, 200). It has been suggested that Kassandros will have sailed from some harbour in Lokris to Chalkis (Nankov 2009, 93; cf. Picard 1979, 257), but having no time to lose, he may rather have sailed directly to Larissa Kremaste: despite having to sail more slowly it may have been the more efficient option overall (cf. Diod. XX 110.2 with Rose 2014, 200). Whether Kassandros actually was the first ever to come up with this idea in order to circumvent the pass is impossible to know (pace Tarn 1930, 46; Nankov 2009, 91).

35.3 περὶ τὴν Περραιβίαν: Perrhaibia was a region between Thessaly and Macedonia which controlled the major land routes into Macedonia (Kip 1910, 111– 125; Stählin 1924, 5 – 39; Westlake 1935, 9 and 14– 15; Decourt et al. 2004, 676 – 677). On the basis of SEG LXIV 491, 495 and 496, which attest a sanctuary of Herakles Kynagidas in the area, Stamatopoulou (2013, 50 – 51) suggests that Perrhaibia was ‘was officially integrated into the Macedonian kingdom from the mid fourth century to 197 BC’. Κάλλαν: Kallas is also mentioned at 36.6, but he is otherwise unknown (Tataki 1998, 335). The identification with a man honoured at Ephesos in 322/1 proposed by Keil (1913, 242; Hauben 1972b, 57; Walser 2008, 326 – 327), can at best only be tentative (Shipley 1987, 171 n. 11). Δεινίας: Apart from his two mentions in Diodoros’ XIXth book, Deinias is unknown (see also XIX 88.6; Kirchner, ‘Deinias [1]’, RE IV.2 [1901], 2389 only lists the first passage). τὰ στενὰ προκαταληψόμενος: It is unclear which pass is meant here. Hammond (1988a, 141– 142) assumes that Polyperchon only held the Voloustana pass, so that the one Deinias occupied was the Petra pass. However incompetent one thinks Polyperchon was, this cannot make sense. Polyperchon and Olympias, or someone on their staff, must have known that Kassandros would exploit that situation if they defended only one of the passes, leaving the other completely unguarded. Polyperchon, rather than blocking the passes went further

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south into Perrhaibia, hoping to check Kassandros’ progress at an early stage. The latter, however, sending out Kallas to keep Polyperchon occupied in Thessaly, marched north himself and despatched a swift advance force under Deinias to secure the nearest pass before anyone else could (cf. Adams 1984, 87; Billows 1990, 104; Heckel 1992, 200; Huß 2001, 138 n. 325). On these passes, see TIB I, 91– 92; cf. Borza’s map (1990, 39). If the highly plausible emendation Azoros at 52.6 is correct, it is clear that Polyperchon was still some 25 km south of the Voloustana pass. ὑπ᾽ Ὀλυμπιάδος: It is striking that Olympias, having no military experience that we are aware of, sent out troops, but in the Macedonian context of the time, this was not impossible (cf. supra, 11.2 μετὰ τῆς δυνάμεως…). When Polyperchon headed south to check the enemy advance in Perrhaibia, Olympias was probably left in Macedonia under the assumption that Kassandros would not make it that far north. After Kassandros had outmanoeuvred Polyperchon (see previous lemma), though, Olympias had to act. Yet, it cannot be said that Polyperchon was on the side-line (pace Carney 2000, 142).

35.4 ᾿Aριστόνουν μὲν ἀπέδειξε στρατηγόν, κελεύσασα διαπολεμεῖν τοῖς περὶ Κάσσανδρον: Aristonous had been one of the somatophylakes of Alexander the Great, at least since 325, but he likely already held the position several years earlier. After Alexander’s death he joined the Perdikkan camp but, as commander of the expedition to Cyprus in the First War of the Successors, he was not in Egypt when the other Perdikkans were condemned to death and he seems to have been pardoned. This is the first time we hear of him after that (Berve 1926, II, no. 133; Heckel 1992, 275 – 276 and 2006, 50). For his end, see below, on chapters 50 and 51. It is not clear what Aristonous’ appointment as στρατηγός by Olympias should be taken to mean. Some suggest it implies that Polyperchon no longer held the office of στρατηγὸς τῆς Εὐρώπης (Huß 2001, 138 n. 327; cf. Carney 2000, 142). The wording describing Aristonous’ task is very similar to that of Antigonos at Triparadeisos (XVIII 39.7, στρατηγὸν δὲ τῆς βασιλικῆς δυνάμεως ἀπέδειξεν ᾿Aντίγονον, ᾧ προστεταγμένον ἦν καταπολεμῆσαι Εὐμενῆ τε καὶ ᾿Aλκέταν), but also that of Kallas (35.3, Κάλλαν μὲν ἀπέστειλε στρατηγὸν μετὰ δυνάμεως, προστάξας διαπολεμεῖν τοῖς μετὰ Πολυπέρχοντος), so that it can mean either a long-standing institutional position or a generic ad hoc command (cf. Bagnall 1976, 41– 42 on non-technical use of στρατηγός in Diodoros XVII–XX). Here it probably was the latter: the order to stop Kassandros from conquering Macedonia. Aristonous is later said to have hoped for support from Polyperchon

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(50.8), which would not suggest that the latter had been deposed. It would seem, however, that Aristonous was no match for Kassandros, as he was soon driven back all the way to Amphipolis (50.3, ᾿Aμφιπόλεως ἐκυρίευεν).

35.5 Πύδναν: Pydna was a Greek seaport town in the Pierian plain, along the southern border of Macedonia, which had been incorporated into the kingdom by Archelaos at the end of the fifth century (Edson 1949, 84– 85; Hammond 1984b, 31– 32; Papazoglou 1988, 106 – 108; Orth 1993, 17; Girtzy 2001, 92– 96; Hatzopoulos & Paschidis 2004, 806). Withdrawing to a stronghold must have seemed the safest solution to Olympias since Kassandros – against expectations – had invaded Macedonia, and with Polyperchon still fighting Kallas in Perrhaibia, the troops remaining in Macedonia were probably too small in number to defend her and the rest of the royal family. Pydna offered the particular advantage of allowing help to arrive via the sea thanks to its large harbour, as Diodoros notes at 35.6; Kassandros was also well aware of this, though, and besieged the city both on land and sea: 36.1. τὸν υἱὸν τὸν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου: On Alexander IV, see above, 11.2 κατήγαγεν… τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ Ῥωξάνην: Rhoxane was the daughter of the Baktrian noble Oxyartes (on whom, see above, 14.6 τοῦ Ὀξυάρτου…). Alexander had married her in 327, probably in an attempt to placate the locals. Apparently she was his first official wife, but later he also wedded the daughters of Dareios and Ochos, which must have diminished her influence. On Alexander’s death, Rhoxane seems to have worked in concert with Perdikkas, hoping to secure power through her, at the time, unborn child, the only heir to Alexander should it prove to be a boy (Berve 1926, II, no. 688; Ogden 1999, 43 – 44; Carney 2000, 106 – 107, 146 – 148 and passim, 2003b, 245 – 246; O’Neil 2002, 164– 168; Holt 2005, 86 – 91; Heckel 2006, 241– 242; Harders 2014). She is usually assumed to have played a mostly passive role, but dedications in her name at Athens might suggest otherwise (cf. Kosmetatou 2004). Θετταλονίκην τὴν Φιλίππου τοῦ ᾿Aμύντου θυγατέρα: Thessalonike was a daughter of Philippos II and Nikesipolis, and thus a half-sister of Alexander. Nothing is known of her earlier life. Since her mother died only a few weeks after her birth, she may have been raised in Olympias’ household (Berve 1926, II, no. 370; Macurdy 1932a, 52– 55; Tataki 1998, 327– 328; Carney 2000, 155 – 158 and passim; Heckel 2006, 265). Olympias probably took Thessalonike with her to prevent her falling into Kassandros’ hands, as she must have known he took an interest in marrying her (see below, 52.2 διὸ καὶ Θεσσαλονίκην…).

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Δηιδάμειάν τε τὴν Αἰακίδου θυγατέρα: Deidameia, the sister of Pyrrhos, probably was the oldest child of Aiakides of Epeiros. As a young girl she had been betrothed to Alexander IV (Plut. Pyrrh. 4.3). In 303 she married Demetrios Poliorketes (Sandberger 1970, no. 27). On Aiakides, see above, 11.2 προσλαβόμενος… τὰς ᾿Aττάλου θυγατέρας: We have no idea which Attalos is meant, nor how many daughters he had. Heckel (2006, 276 – 277) suggests the possibility of the daughters of Attalos, son of Andromenes (see above, 16.1 Ἄτταλος), from his marriage with Perdikkas’ sister Atalante, on the assumption that they had stayed with Rhoxane after the execution of their mother along with the other Perdikkans in Egypt. τῶν ἄλλων τῶν ἀξιολογωτάτων φίλων τοὺς συγγενεῖς: Cf. Just. XIV 6.3, ‘multaeque aliae principum matronae’. In naming only women rather than generally relatives Justin may be oversimplifying, but we obviously have no way of knowing which individuals were concerned. πλῆθος μὲν πολὺ σωμάτων, ἀχρείων δ’ εἰς πόλεμον τῶν πλείστων: Cf. Just. XIV 6.3, ‘speciosus magis quam utilis grex’, clearly from the same source, just like the rest of the description of Olympias’ companions, given the other similarities with Diodoros’ version. It is worth noting that the phrase ἀχρεῖος εἰς occurs only once more in Diodoros, also in the narrative on the Successors: XVIII 15.1, τὸν μὲν ἀχρεῖον εἰς παράταξιν ὄχλον. This might suggest that he has taken the locution from his source for the Successors, though cf. also XIV 22.4 and XVII 84.6. According to Hornblower (1981, 225) Hieronymos thought ‘Olympias spoiled her chances at the siege of Pydna because she filled the city with ladies-in-waiting instead of able bodied men’. It seems doubtful, however, that Hieronymos would have understood the situation in that sense, and it certainly is not what Olympias did. It is clear that she did take many soldiers with her as well, and even a contingent of elephants (see 49.2– 3 and 50.1). She had good reasons, furthermore, to take these ladies with her: some she wanted to protect from falling into Kassandros’ hands (cf. supra, on Thessalonike), while others might have served as hostages for the loyalty of their fathers. οὐδὲ γὰρ τροφῆς ἱκανὸν ἦν πλῆθος: Cf. 49.2, ταχὺ δὲ τῶν ἐπιτηδείων ἐξαναλωθέντων. This means that the siege need not have lasted for more than a few months before hunger started to set in (pace Anson 2006a, 8).

35.7 τῶν τ᾽ ἐξ ᾿Aμβρακίας ἱππέων: The definite article suggests that these horsemen may have been mentioned before in his source, but Diodoros himself has not preserved any other mention of this otherwise unknown unit which might have been provided by Aiakides. At 49.3, on the other hand, only τῶν δ᾽ ἱππέων

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οἱ μὲν ἔξω τάξεως ὄντες are mentioned without any further specification who they were. On Ambrakia, see Gehrke & Wirbelauer 2004, 354– 356; Lasagni 2019, 26 – 40. τῶν περὶ τὴν αὐλὴν εἰωθότων διατρίβειν στρατιωτῶν οἱ πλείους: At 49.3 (τῶν δ᾽ ἱππέων…) Diodoros mentions horsemen who do not seem to be the Ambrakiots and thus probably belong to this group, which will at least have consisted of the companion cavalry, then: this unit constituted both the elite cavalry and the king’s retinue (Hammond & Griffith 1979, 408 – 410; cf. supra, 22.2 τῶν ἑταίρων…). Polybios (IV 67.6, V 65.5) mentions οἱ ἱππεῖς οἱ περὶ τὴν αὐλήν in the time of Philippos V. τὴν προτέραν ἐμβολὴν εἰς Μακεδονίαν: Kassandros’ previous invasion of Macedonia is known only from another passing reference of Diodoros (XVIII 75.1, ἐστράτευσε δὲ καὶ εἰς Μακεδονίαν καὶ πολλοὺς ἔσχε τῶν ἐγχωρίων ἀφισταμένους πρὸς αὐτόν). The date of the operation is disputed: some assume that it should be assigned to the autumn of 317 (Manni 1949, 57; Bacigalupo Pareo 1975, 208; Errington 1977, 494 n. 54), but that would imply he was in or near Macedonia when the news of Olympias’ return became known, while he actually was in the Peloponnese (11.1). A date in the spring of 317 is more likely (Beloch 1927, 439; Bosworth 1992b, 71– 72). It is doubtful whether a full-scale battle between Kassandros and Polyperchon had occurred (Adams 1974, 93; contra Dušanič 1965, 140 – 141; cf. also Beloch 1927, 438), but we have no way of knowing what exactly happened.

36.1 τὴν μὲν πόλιν περιεχαράκωσεν…: For the practice of building palisades during sieges, see Karunanithy 2013, 194 (on sieges in general, cf. supra, 35.1 Τεγέαν…). On the area enclosed by Kassandros’ palisade at Pydna, see Hammond 1984b, 32 n. 5. The verb περιχαρακοῦν only occurs in the narrative on the Successors (also at XIX 68.1, 68.3, 75.5, XX 86.1). Being attested only once before Polybios (Aeschin. Ctes. 236), it seems to be a typical Hellenistic word (e.g. Plb. IV 56.8, XVI 30.1, D.H. AR III 31.6, XX 4.2), which is found only some 40 times in the extant ancient literature. Given that it is such a rare word, a coincidence cannot be excluded, but we might be facing a trace of Diodoros’ source. καὶ κατὰ γῆν καὶ κατὰ θάλασσαν: He thus thwarted Olympias’ hopes of getting help via the sea mentioned at 35.6. For Macedonian naval siege units, see Murray 2012, 85 – 128; Karunanithy 2013, 32.

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36.2 Αἰακίδην τὸν Ἠπειρωτῶν βασιλέα μετὰ δυνάμεως μέλλειν βοηθήσειν Ὀλυμπιάδι: On Aiakides’ support of Olympias, see above, 11.2 προσλαβόμενος… ᾿Aταρρίαν: An Atarrhias is attested as a hypaspist commander under Alexander, but he need not be the same man (Berve 1926, II, no. 178; Heckel 1992, 304 and 2006, 60).

36.3 οὗ ταχὺ τὸ προσταχθὲν ποιήσαντος: This is a typical Diodorean formula (II 8.2, XIII 72.5, XIV 104.3, XVII 12.4, 59.6, XIX 43.5, 56.2 [τὸ κελευσθέν], 107.5, XX 72.2, 97.2; cf. without the speed IV 55.2, 61.2, 67.4, IX 37.3, XIII 18.5, 67.2, 84.3, XIV 72.3, XV 8.5, 32.6, XVI 27.5, XVIII 8.4, XIX 38.4, 51.2, 105.3, XX 38.3; for comparable expressions, see e.g. XV 83.1). Seven out of 27 instances are found in book XIX, but again the incidence throughout the work suggests that it is the result of Diodoros’ habitual reuse of the same expressions at relatively short intervals, rather than influence of his source. ἀκουσίως ἐστράτευσεν ἐπὶ Μακεδονίας: Cf. Just. XVII 3.16, ‘adsiduis adversus Macedonas bellorum certaminibus populum fatigando offensam civium contraxit’. It is striking that the Epeirotes do not side with their countrywoman Olympias; Pausanias (I 11.4) – in an even more abbreviated context – speaks of τὸ Ὀλυμπιάδος ἔχθος. O’Neil (1999a, 12) only notes that ‘her leadership was also divisive in Epirus, arousing both support and opposition’, but he does not search an explanation. Funke (2000a, 193) suggests they were not prepared to risk the safety of their state for the fulfilment of Olympias’ personal ambitions. We do not know enough about Epeirote affairs of previous years, but perhaps the people had not been in favour of the installation on the throne of Aiakides, supported by Olympias, in the first place. Olympias’ violent actions in Macedonia and the bad military situation may also have influenced their attitude (cf. Carney 2006a, 105 – 106). Hammond (1967, 562) assumes that the Epeirotes had not been told by their king against whom they were marching, but one imagines that the possibilities were limited, so that the people could have known. Diodoros suggests that they did, and were unhappy with it from the start, Attarrhias’ occupation of the passes simply being the last straw (cf. Carney 2006a, 173 n. 86). Radt (1993, 65) notes that ἐπί + genitive after στρατεύειν, which is found in R and adopted by Fischer and Bizière, is ‘beispiellos’, so that F’s Μακεδονίαν clearly is the correct reading (cf. from around 200 instances at random e.g., I 68.1, II 4.1, III 73.4, IV 68.1, V 53.2, VIII 1.3, IX 25.1, X 23.1, XI 1.2, XII 78.2, XIII 64.5, XIV 7.6, XV 5.1, XVI 21.2, XVII 8.1, XVIII 29.1, XIX 78.3, XX 54.2). Radt has overlooked XXI 4.1, a fragment from the Excerpta Hoescheliana, where only one textual witness

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exists. There is no problem, however, in accepting that this might be a scribal mistake as Dindorf and Goukowsky do (cf. Goukowsky 2006, xx–xxvi on the mistakes in the Excerpta Hoescheliana; although many of them are palaeographically or phonetically explicable, some others are plain errors). Once more it is clear that Fischer and Bizière underestimate the value of F, even preferring mistaken readings of R.

36.4 οἱ δὲ χωρισθέντες τῶν Ἠπειρωτῶν εἰς τὰς πατρίδας κατεστασίασαν ἀπόντα τὸν βασιλέα καὶ κοινῷ δόγματι φυγὴν αὐτοῦ καταγνόντες: Cf. Just. XVII 3.17, ‘in exilium actus’; Plut. Pyrrh. 2.1, στασιάσαντες οἱ Μολοσσοὶ καὶ τὸν Αἰακίδην ἐκβαλόντες. Aiakides would return a few years later, however (see below, 74.3 Αἰακίδην…). In the Epeirote federal state the people had large constitutional powers, on which see Hammond 1967, 559 – 561; Cabanes 1976, 165 – 166 and passim; Funke 2000a, 190 – 196 and passim, and 2000b, 109 – 110. To banish the king by means of a federal decision seems to have been a novelty, though (E. Meyer 2015, 307). According to Funke (2000a, 142– 143), who – merely on the basis of the present passage of Diodoros – refers to κοινὰ δόγματα of the Epeirotes throughout her book, such an expulsion of a king by means of a κοινὸν δόγμα had happened earlier in the fourth century with Alketas. But that requires the rejection of Diodoros’ explicit statement that the present occasion was unprecedented (ὅπερ οὐδέποτε γενέσθαι συνέβη…), and the circumstances of the expulsion of Alketas are unclear. It is most hazardous to presume that it was the result of a κοινὸν δόγμα since that interpretation thus creates a contradiction with the very passage on which it is based. The banishment of Alketas may well have come about in a totally different way. I am likewise not convinced by Funke’s suggestion that in this context πατρίδες must also be a technical term. ἀφ᾽ οὗ Νεοπτόλεμος ὁ ᾿Aχιλλέως ἐβασίλευσε τῆς χώρας: The Epeirote kings claimed descent from Achilles’ son Neoptolemos (Funke 2000a, 19 – 101 for a detailed analysis). That Diodoros reports this mythical genealogy as if it were historical is unsurprising, as such use of myth in ancient Greek politics was common and seems to have been widely accepted: cf. infra, 53.2 πόλιν διωνομασμένην…

36.5 ἐπιμελητὴν ἅμα καὶ στρατηγὸν Λυκίσκον: Lykiskos is only known from this passage and chapters 67 and 88 below (Schoch, ‘Lykiskos [6]’, RE XIII.2 [1927], 2295 – 2296). His exact position is unclear; probably he acted as regent for Aia-

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kides’ minor successor Neoptolemos II in both the political and the military sphere (Bengtson 1964, I, 139 – 141; Schmitt 1969, 36; Hammond 1988a, 154; Funke 2000a, 193 n. 381). This means a serious reduction of Epeirote sovereignty (Funke 2000a, 196), and one wonders why they accepted this. Kassandros’ military successes in Macedonia might have been too overwhelming for them to think of resistance. According to Hammond (loc. cit.), the present passage shows that ἐπιμελητής was not a military office (contra Sinatti 1996, 102– 103), but the possibility of tautology cannot be excluded (cf. Meeus 2009c, 300 n. 51).

36.6 διέφθειρε τῶν μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ στρατιωτῶν τοὺς πλείστους χρήμασιν: On defections of the Macedonians, see above, 11.2, μετεβάλοντο. This is the only attested instance from the age of the Successors of Macedonians changing sides for money, but it is likely that there was more to it. As noted above, there often were several factors which simultaneously induced the men to desert (cf. Carney 2006a, 81). Polyperchon’s prestige had already been damaged because he had been unable to offer serious resistance on the occasion of Kassandros’ first invasion (Diod. XVIII 75.1), and the harsh actions of Olympias cannot have enhanced it (see above, 11.9 ἐν τοιούτοις…). Kassandros’ new success, simply leaving Polyperchon in Perrhaibia, while he himself entered Macedonia, must have diminished the soldiers’ trust in Polyperchon even more. Furthermore, Kassandros probably presented himself as the avenger of Arrhidaios and Eurydike (cf. Errington 1986, 119), so that the deserters did not actually leave the royal cause. In spite of their changing sides, Polyperchon still had a sufficient body of troops to resist Kallas from the stronghold of Azoros (see below, 52.6 Πολυπέρχων…). αἱ μὲν οὖν Ὀλυμπιάδος ἐλπίδες ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον ἐταπεινώθησαν: Here Diodoros neatly describes what these two chapters were about for him: after Olympias’ initial success she had become arrogant, and her downfall was imminent. Such peripeteiai constituted one of the main elements of Diodoros’ history, and it was an appealing situation for him when crucial historical episodes coincided with such a turn of events (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.3).

§ 37 – 39 The Build Up to the Battle of Gabiene Antigonos learned from spies or local allies that Eumenes’ troops were spending the winter in camps at great distance from each other, up to six days march apart (37.1). Wanting to exploit the situation – probably because he was eager to settle

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the matter and may have been numerically inferior (see 40.1 and 40.4) –, he planned to march through a desert which could bring him quickly and unnoticed to Eumenes’ army, in order to attack while it was still scattered among the villages and off guard (37.2). Because of the winter cold some of the soldiers, ignoring the prohibition, lit fires at night, which were spotted by locals living near the desert who informed Eumenes (37.5 – 6). The latter, by means of a stratagem, was able to successfully convey the impression that he had assembled his whole army (38.3), so that Antigonos called off the attack (38.5 – 6). Eumenes now had the time actually to bring his troops together, although the elephant corps apparently was slower than the others in leaving winter quarters and had thus come to be isolated. When Antigonos found this out, he tried to seize it (39.2), but Eumenes could save it just in time (39.6). It might be worth noting that all intelligence gathering we learn of in this passage is passive: several reports are brought to Antigonos or Eumenes by the locals who happened to have seen something (37.6, 38.4, 39.2). This does not only reveal the perhaps obvious fact that the peoples of Asia were not wholly indifferent to the wars the Macedonians and Greeks were fighting across their territories (cf. infra, 38.4 φίλων…), but it also makes one wonder why Antigonos and Eumenes were not more actively searching for intelligence – if it was not simply because of the time of the year. Of course, we know that they did have scouts (see above, 18.4 τῶν κατασκόπων), and perhaps it was just a coincidence that on these occasions the locals, constantly being present, were the first to spot the movements of the armies. This series of stratagems practised by two able generals clearly appealed to the ancient reader as it is one of the best documented episodes of the whole campaign. In Nepos’ short thirteen-chapter biography of Eumenes the story takes up two chapters (8 – 9), providing almost as much detail as Diodoros, except on the part concerning the elephants which Nepos has left out. Plutarch also dedicated almost an entire chapter to the episode in his Life of Eumenes (15.4– 13). Both stratagems are likewise included in Polyainos’ collection (IV 6.11 and 8.4). It may strike one as odd that both Plutarch (Eum. 15.4) and Nepos (Eum. 8.1– 2) claim that Eumenes’ troops were scattered over such a distance because of the insubordination of the men, who did not respect their commanders (cf. also Just. XIV 2.6 – 3.1), which inspires Nepos to a digression on the Roman army of his time (Eum. 8.2– 3), while Diodoros and Polyainos do not give a reason for the distribution of the troops. Such a silence, of course, cannot teach us anything about what was in the source(s) of the latter two (cf. Bosworth 2002, 142 n. 158): they may have left it out (cf. Brunt 1980; Lens Tuero 1994d, esp. 222– 223; Schepens 1997, 166 – 168; Meeus 2009d). Whereas Plutarch (Eum. 15.10) mentions that Eumenes sent out messengers to the scattered troops immediately upon hearing of Antigonos’ approach, Diodoros (39.1) only

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says so after Antigonos’ march had been stopped. Plutarch’s version undoubtedly is the correct one, but Diodoros’ divergence might just be the result of his own summarizing. A feature common to three versions (Diod. 38.1– 2, οἱ δὲ περὶ τὸν Πευκέστην; Plut. Eum. 15.8 – 9; Nep. Eum. 9.2) is the claim that upon hearing the news of Antigonos’ advance, the others panicked and wanted to retreat, while Eumenes kept his cool and proposed a countermeasure. The differences on the question who was to maintain the fires in Eumenes’ sham camp are equally uninstructive, especially given the strong verbal echoes which rather suggest a common source (see below, 38.3 προσέταξεν…). In sum, there are no differences which necessarily go back to different sources, though only for Polyainos and Diodoros is there some positive evidence that they ultimately relied on the same source (cf. Roisman 2010, 145).

37.1 ἐν Γαδαμάλοις τῆς Μηδίας: See above, 32.3 Γαμάργων… ἀνελπίστως: ᾿Aνελπίστως is a rather rare word that no preserved ancient author uses even nearly as often as Diodoros (36 instances, freq. 0.0074 %: e.g. I 31.4, III 65.3, X 4.6, XI 82.6, XX 35.4, XXIX 16.1, 20.1, XXXI 19.7, XXXII 23.1). Unsurprisingly Polybios comes second with 14 instances (freq. 0.0042 %). The statistics for the adjective are somewhat different, but Diodoros still scores high (Thuc. 16 instances, 0.0104 %; D.C. 25 instances, 0.0044– 0.0066 %; D.H. 15 instances, 0.0050 %; Diod. 23 instances, 0.0047 %; no other authors come close to these). On unexpected events in the Bibliotheke, see above, 16.4 παραδόξως, and Part I, §2.2.3. ἀπ᾽ ἀλλήλων ἀπέχειν ὁδὸν ἡμερῶν ἕξ: Plutarch (Eum. 15.4) gives the distance as a 1,000 stades, which is compatible with Diodoros’ indication: 1,000 stades equals about 180 km, which can indeed be covered in six marches of 30 km a day (cf. Karunanithy 2013, 183, on marching speed). Unlike Plutarch (Eum. 15.4) and Nepos (Eum. 8.1– 2), who attribute it to the insubordination of the troops (cf. supra), Diodoros gives no reason for this great distance. Bosworth (2002, 142) has plausibly argued that the distribution of the army over the entire region was not the result of indiscipline, but a logistical necessity (cf. Anson 2004, 182, who does also accept insubordination as the main cause, though).

37.2 μακράν: It would take twenty-five days of marching (34.8; cf. Nep. Eum. 8.4– 5). διὰ τῆς ἐρήμου καὶ ἀνύδρου: Cf. Nep. Eum. 8.5, ‘per loca deserta, quae nemo incolebat propter aquae inopiam’; Polyaen. IV 6.11, τὸ δὲ κάτω πεδίον ὁμαλὸν, ἄνυδρον, ἀοίκητον, οὐ βοτάνην ἔχον, οὐ δένδρον, οὐ φυτὸν, ἀσφαλτῶδες δὲ

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καὶ πλῆθον ἁλμυρίδος. Cook (1983, 186) suggested that the desert Antigonos wanted to cross was the Dasht-i Khavir (thus also Devine 1985b, 88; Schäfer 2002, 155 n. 107; Anson 2004, 182). Bosworth (2002, 143 – 144) argues that this is impossible, because it would mean that he had to come all the way from Parthyaia, which was too far from Gabiene for an army to cover the distance in nine days, and Diodoros explicitly says he came from Media (37.1). In Bosworth’s view the salt-plain due east of Gabiene, in the region between Isfahan and Na’in, is the area Diodoros describes here. ἀπροσδοκήτως: Yet another rare word no one seems to have used as often as Diodoros (29 instances, frequency 0.0060 %; e.g.: II 26.4, III 49.2, IV 50.4, XII 49.3, XIII 18.1, XIV 9.3, XXI 3.1). Plutarch uses the adverb 17 times, which obviously results in a much lower frequency in a corpus as voluminous as his. In some authors (e.g. Thuc. 13 instances, 0.0084 %; D.C. 32 instances, 0.0055 – 0.0084 %; D.H. 23 instances, 0.0077 %) the incidence of the adjective is higher than in Diodoros, but ἀπροσδόκητος still occurs comparatively frequently in the Bibliotheke (21 instances, 0.0043 %), and more often than in most other extant works. Cf. also above, 37.1 ἀνελπίστως, and 16.4 παραδόξως.

37.3 δέχ᾽ ἡμερῶν: Cf. Nep. Eum. 8.7, ‘dierum decem’; Polyaen. IV 6.11, δέκα ἡμερῶν. The distance is said to have been nine days at 34.8 (cf. Nep. Eum. 8.7, ‘fere decem’), so that Antigonos may have decided to err on the side of caution, unless it simply was the standard amount of food to be prepared in advance for longer journeys: cf. Karunanithy 2013, 178. τοῖς μὲν στρατιώταις παρήγγειλεν ἑτοίμους εἶναι πρὸς ἀνάζευξιν καὶ παρασκευάσασθαι δέχ᾽ ἡμερῶν ἄπυρα σιτία: Cf. 96.4, τούτοις μὲν παρήγγειλε φέρειν ἄπυρα σῖτα πλειόνων ἡμερῶν. The phrase ἄπυρα σιτία means food that does not need to be cooked (Philostr. Im. II 26.2), such as fruit and vegetables (Suda s.v. Ἄπυρα σῖτα [Α 3722], δι’ ὀπώρας καὶ λαχάνων; Karunanithy 2013, 178). Polyaen. IV 6.11 simply has σιτία rather than ἄπυρα σιτία, but otherwise gives a more detailed list also including 10,000 bags to be filled with water, barleycorns and sufficient fodder for the horses. Nepos (Eum. 8.7) likewise mentions the sacks and the fodder, but unlike Diodoros he writes of ‘cibaria cocta’. Karunanithy (2013, 178) suggests that pre-cooked food was taken along on this occasion, though that is not how the Souda seems to understand the terminology. Neither ἄπυρα σιτία nor ἄπυρα σῖτα are phrases attested before Diodoros. Interestingly enough, apart from X 7.2 the only further instance in the Bibliotheke is likewise found in book XIX, at 96.4, in a section that ultimately goes back to Hieronymos (cf. infra, ad loc.). Since the phrase is generally rare, however, we must

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perhaps not make too much of it. Except for Diod. X 7.2 and Philostr. Im. II 26.2, all instances belong to military contexts (see also Plut. Glor. Ath. 6 = Mor. 349a; Polyaen. IV 15.1; Suda s.v. Ἄπυρα σῖτα [Α 3722] is a paraphrase of Diodoros XIX 96.4), and it may perhaps have been a typical military term rather than typical of Hieronymos (although an origin in Hieronymos can perhaps not be excluded for the Polyainos passage). On the other hand, the combination of the phrase being unattested before Diodoros and the contradiction with Nepos might also mean that Diodoros himself is responsible for the use of the phrase here. In the end, we can only speculate. τῆς ὥρας οὔσης περὶ χειμερινὰς τροπάς: We have no idea how long the season of the solstice was, but the present events should probably be situated in late November or more likely December 317. Although ancient armies generally did not fight during winter, campaigns in this season were not as exceptional as one might think. Commanders had decided on many occasions to capitalize on the strategic advantages of a winter attack, as Antigonos now did (cf. Epplett 2003). For military relevance of the indication of the solstice, cf. Plb. IX 15.2.

37.5 διά τε τὸ ψῦχος: The highest recorded maximum temperature in the region in December is 10 °C, while the mean minimum temperature is -4 °C (Bosworth 2002, 144; cf. Anson 2004, 182 with n. 105). It is hardly surprising, then, that after five days of hardship the soldiers lit fires to make the freezing cold more bearable. Roth (2007, 392) cites the present episode as a typical instance of the lack of discipline in early Hellenistic armies, but the circumstances seem most exceptional.

37.6 τοῖς περὶ Εὐμενῆ καὶ Πευκέστην: Plutarch (Eum. 15.7) only mentions Peukestas. That he did not simply compress his original and immediately moved on to Peukestas’ reaction described by Diodoros at 38.1, seems to be confirmed by Polyaen. IV 8.4, where it is said that Peukestas warned Eumenes. In that case Diodoros’ may refer to the army as a whole, but this would nevertheless be lacking in precision. It is not impossible that Diodoros and Plutarch go back to the same source as their wording is very similar (ἔπεμψαν ἱππαστρίαις καμήλοις ἀγγέλους πρὸς Πευκέσταν – ἔπεμψαν τοὺς ἀπαγγελοῦντας αὐθημερὸν τοῖς περὶ Εὐμενῆ καὶ Πευκέστην, δόντες δρομάδας καμήλους); in Plutarch all words are essential elements of the story, but synonyms and alternative phrases were available to both authors. That these locals contacted Peukestas throws an interesting light

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on matters. Like the natives who later inform Peithon (see below, 38.4 φίλων…), these desert-dwellers were well-disposed towards the local satrap; with Eumenes they probably had no business (contra Schäfer 2002, 156 n. 114). Obviously, he might have been primarily inspired by self-interest, as were most Macedonians in their benevolent dealings with the indigenous peoples (e.g. XVIII 46.1 on Alketas, and XIX 91.2 on Seleukos [see below, ad loc.]), but we have here a clear further indication that Peukestas maintained good relations with the inhabitants of his satrapy (cf. supra, 14.5 μεγάλης… and δι᾽ ἃς αἰτίας…, 22.2 ἔτι δὲ τῶν Περσῶν…). δρομάδας καμήλους: Cf. Plut. Eum. 15.7 ἱππαστρίαις καμήλοι. Strabo (XV 2.10) and Curtius (VII 2.17– 18) also note the speed of the dromedaries (cf. Tarn 1930, 160 – 161; Goukowsky 1967; Karunanithy 2013, 173).

38.2 ὧν ὁρῶν τὴν ἀθυμίαν: Plutarch (Eum. 15.8) stresses the cowardice of Peukestas and the others. Bosworth (2002, 145), however, suggests that such behaviour is quite unlikely for a man with Peukestas’ previous record. The suggestion to withdraw might well have been a sound strategic choice rather than a panic reaction.

38.3 πάντων δὲ θαυμασάντων τὸ παράδοξον: A typical Diodorean expression (II 4.5, III 47.8, IV 9.7, 10.6, 76.6, VII 5.5 XII 62.6, XVI 26.3, XVII 47.6, 77.2, XVIII 59.4, XXXI 18.1; cf. XXXII 10.7. Outside of the Bibliotheke it occurs only rarely (e.g. Poseidonios [FGrHist 87], F36; Jos. AJ II 347, IX 60; Heliodoros II 29.2). προσέταξεν ἀκολουθεῖν ἑαυτῷ πάντας τοὺς ἡγεμόνας μετὰ τῶν ἰδίων στρατιωτῶν, ἔχοντας ἐν ἀγγείοις πλείοσι πῦρ: Cf. Polyaen. IV 8.4, τοὺς ἡγεμόνας ἐκέλευσε νύκτωρ μετὰ τῶν ἰδίων παίδων πῦρ ἐν ἀγγείοις ἔχοντας… Both sentences show a strong resemblance, and Diodoros’ use of τῶν ἰδίων στρατιωτῶν instead of Polyainos’ τῶν ἰδίων παίδων (which pace Krentz should not be translated as ‘their own children’, cf. supra, 28.3 τῶν Εὐμενοῦς παίδων) is hardly telling: Diodoros might have simplified the more precise version of his source. The descriptions of Polyainos and Diodoros contain several other verbal echoes, which shows that both ultimately go back to the same source (see next lemma and also e.g. Diod. ὥστε δοκεῖν εἶναι τοῖς ἐξ ἀποστήματος θεωροῦσιν ἀληθινὴν στρατοπεδείαν and Polyaen. ὡς τὴν μίμησιν ἀληθινῇ στρατοπεδείᾳ προσεοικέναι, the only attestations of the phrase ἀληθινὴ στρατοπεδεία). Cf. also Plut. Eum. 15.10, μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἡγεμόνων (…) ἐκέλευε πυρὰ πολλὰ καίειν ἐν διαστήμασιν ὥσπερ οἱ στρατοπεδεύοντες.

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τῆς μετεώρου χώρας: Cf. Polyaen. IV 8.4, τὰ μετέωρα τῆς χώρας. This is the only passage where Diodoros combines μετέωρος with χώρα rather than with τόπος (I 7.1, 7.5, 36.9, XIX 29.1, 45.7; cf. I 39.2), so that the resemblance with Polyainos’ – in what is generally a very rare phrase – probably is no coincidence. σημεῖα θέμενος περιέλαβεν ὡς ἂν ἑβδομήκοντα σταδίων περιφέρειαν: On marking out the perimeter of the camp, see Karunanithy 2013, 190 – 191; Chrysafis 2014, 361– 363. ὥστε δοκεῖν εἶναι τοῖς ἐξ ἀποστήματος θεωροῦσιν ἀληθινὴν στρατοπεδείαν: The conclusion that the number of fires reflects the size of an army was obvious and common (cf. e.g. Arr. Anab. IV 24.8 – 9; Chrysafis 2014, 361– 363). A similar stratagem was used by Philip V on two occasions (Liv. XXXI 38.10; Polyaen. IV 18.2) and by Appius Claudius in the campaign against Antiochos III in Greece (App. Syr. 16).

38.4 κατενόησάν τινες τὰ πυρὰ τῶν νεμομένων μὲν τὴν ἀπεναντίον ὀρεινήν: The claims of Plutarch (Eum. 15.11), Polyainos (IV 8.4) and Nepos (Eum. 9.5) that the fire was seen by Antigonos himself likely result from compression for the sake of summarizing; Nepos’ account (Eum. 9.1) likewise simplified the previous phase by having Eumenes himself see Antigonos’ fires. Antigonos must still have been several days distant (cf. Diod. 37.5 – 6; Nep. Eum. 9.1) from the location of Eumenes’ sham camp when the fires were spotted, and it is not unlikely that certain locals saw them before he did. Bosworth (2002, 145 n. 169), however, objects to Diodoros’ claim ‘that they saw the flames “from the mountains opposite”, in other words from the other side of the plain. That seems too far. The other sources state that Antigonus saw the fire himself’. On the other hand, he does accept that the news was brought to Antigonos by some locals. Indeed, Diodoros might have misunderstood the geographical details, but need not be wrong about the involvement of the herdsmen. φίλων δ᾽ ὄντων Πίθωνι τῷ Μηδίας σατράπῃ: Hardly anything is known of Peithon’s government in Media, but it is most interesting to note that he entertained close connections with indigenous peoples in the border region between Media and Persis, and no doubt all around his satrapy (see below, 47.2 τῶν μὴ βουλομένων…). Perhaps the natives in the area tried to exploit the rivalry between Peithon and Peukastes to their own benefit, as some seem to have befriended the former and others the latter. It is just another example of the important relationships with the locals the Diadochoi established from early on: Peukestas had done so in Persis already before Alexander’s death (see above, 14.5 μεγάλης ἀποδοχῆς…), Ptolemaios did so on his arrival in Egypt (Diod.

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XVIII 14.1; Just. XIII 6.18), good relations with the locals are also attested for Tlepolemos in Karmania and Stasanor in Baktria (see below, 48.1 εὖ τὰ πρὸς τούς…), in Babylonia Seleukos apparently conducted a similar policy (see below, 91.2 πᾶσι προσενήνεκτο…), as did Eumenes in Kappadokia (Briant 1972, 60 – 61), and – albeit from a different position – Alketas in Pisidia (XVIII 46.1– 2); cf. also the use of non-European troops (above, 14.5 εἶχε…). On the satrapy of Media, see above, 12.2 τῆς Μηδίας.

38.5 διὰ τὸ παράδοξον καταπλαγέντες: A typical Diodorean expression (IV 48.2, X 20.3, XIV 33.1, 72.3, XVI 19.2, 84.3, XVIII 25.5, XX 9.3, XX 42.2; cf. e.g. XIV 64.3, XVII 41.5, 59.6, XIX 13.2 XX 60.7) See also above, 30.10 ταχὺ δέ… For parallels in other authors, see e.g. Plb I 76.7, V 48.3; Phlegon (FGrHist 257) F36.

38.6 ἐφ᾽ ἑκάτερα μέρη τῆς οἰκουμένης χώρας: Fischer, followed by Geer, emended ἐφ᾽ ἑκάτερα to ἐπ᾽ ἀκέραια in order to try to make sense of the text. Bosworth (2002, 146 n. 146) rightly argues that the emendation is palaeographically unconvincing, and that Diodoros’ source probably described the inhabited area in the region as consisting of two parts. The Sicilian left out the description of the country, thus obscuring the meaning of the present phrase. Bosworth further points out the parallel wording at Diod. II 19.8 (ἐφ᾽ ἑκάτερα μέρη τῆς γεφύρας).

39.1 βαλόμενος δὲ χάρακα καὶ τάφρῳ βαθείᾳ τὴν παρεμβολὴν ὀχυρώσας: Scholars disagree as to how common it was for Greek armies in classical times to fortify their camps (Krentz 2007, 163 – 164). For the age of the Successors fortification of the camp is often attested (Droysen 1889, 139 n. 1; Karunanithy 2013, 194), although it probably became standard practice only in the third century (Sabin 2007, 404).

39.2 τοὺς δ᾽ ἐλέφαντας μέλλειν ἀναζευγνύειν ἐκ τῆς χειμασίας: Unexpectedly having to prepare the elephants for the march out of the winter camps must have been a great and time-consuming task, so the delay is understandable (Bos-

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worth 2002, 146), but one wonders why no additional protection was provided for such an important and vulnerable unit.

39.3 τὸ κράτιστον μέρος τῆς δυνάμεως: See above, 15.5 μεγίστην…

39.4 οἱ τῶν ἐλεφάντων ἡγεμόνες: The meaning of the phrase is unclear, as it may refer either to the mahouts or the commanders of the division (Vezin 1907, 148). This depends on whether Diodoros describes the decision to form a square or its execution – in the end of course hardly a significant problem. Goukowsky (1972, 485 n. 44), points out that Eudamos is also called ὁ τῶν ἐλεφάντων ἡγεμών (Plut. Eum. 16.8), but this parallel need not be conclusive evidence, as the present instance is a plural and at Arr. Anab. V 17.5 it definitely refers to the mahouts. At Plut. Pyrrh. 26.6 it is likewise hard to tell whether mahouts or unit commanders are meant. εἰς πλινθίον: The common tactical formation of a hollow square (Devine 1985b, 88; see also below, 43.5 οἱ Μακεδόνες…).

39.5 ἐπιπεσόντων δ᾽ αὐτοῖς τῶν πολεμίων παντὶ τῷ βάρει: Since he is said to have had 114 elephants at Paraitakene (28.4), a number he still had at Gabiene (40.4), it is unlikely that some of Eumenes’ elephants fell in the confrontation (pace Anson 2004, 178 n. 93).

39.6 ὡς περὶ τῶν ὅλων κρίσεως ἐσομένης: The final decision. The expression also occurs at XV 84.3, XVII 33.6, 56.1, XIX 72.6, XX 55.3, 110.5, all in similar contexts: either for the outcome of a battle, or for the effect of a decisive battle on the whole war (cf. e.g. Plb. VI 54.4, XXI 6.3; Plut. Ant. 8.3; Jos. AJ XV 161; App. Mithr. 31). For the meaning of τὰ ὅλα, see also below, 41.1 τοὺς μετά…

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§ 40 – 43 The Battle of Gabiene After Antigonos had reached Gabiene via a short detour and Eumenes’ troops had assembled, both commanders drew up their armies for a second attempt at a decisive battle. Diodoros does not go into the same detail on the disposition of the troops as in his account of Paraitakene (27– 29). According to Devine (1985b, 87), this was because he ‘lost interest in a line-up which was virtually identical with that at Paraitacene. As a “rhetorical”, rather than a “scientific” historian, Diodoros’ attention was in any case arrested by the paradoxical nature of Eumenes’ defeat…’ (cf. Anson 2004, 186; Rathmann 2016, 67). Unfortunate as this lack of detail is to the student of ancient tactics, we must not lose sight of Diodoros’ historiographical objectives when seeking an explanation. Of course, his focus even as a military historian was often more on the moral side of things (Roisman 2018; Williams 2018), but in his universal history, there simply was no space to discuss the deployment of the armies in such detail on every occasion anyway. Bosworth (2002, 148), on the other hand, contends that Hieronymos’ own account of the dispositions was less detailed, an assumption which cannot be substantiated. Diodoros’ summary of the actual fighting certainly left out a great deal of important military detail (Delbrück 1920, 242), but the course of the battle as he describes it is largely clear and makes sense. Antigonos obviously did not have the initial advantage: he may have been outnumbered in infantry and in elephants, and the morale of his men is likely to have been low because of the setbacks they had experienced in the previous battle and the difficult march through the desert (Bosworth 2002, 148). While Diodoros and Plutarch seem to have used the same source (see below, 41.1 ἐπὶ τοὺς πατέρας…, οἱ νεώτατοι…), there is no positive evidence for the identification of that source (but see below, 44.3 ὑπ’ ᾿Aντιγόνου…). Bosworth’s (1992a, 62) assumption that Plutarch used three different sources here cannot be substantiated, as those episodes that do not have a parallel in Diodoros clearly concern points where the latter has abbreviated the story. There are a great deal of modern studies of the battle of Gabiene (e.g. Vezin 1907, 145 – 147; Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 425 – 434; Scullard 1974, 90 – 94; Devine 1985b; Billows 1990, 100 – 103; Bosworth 2002, 147– 157; Schäfer 2002, 160 – 164; Anson 2004, 184– 188 and 2013b; Park 2009; Roisman 2012a, 224– 229 and 2018; Wrightson 2019, 207– 210; Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 41– 46). For the best diagrams of the dispositions and movements, see Park 2009 (see also Billows 1990, 100; cf. Devine 1985b, 94– 95; Schäfer 2002, 160 and 163).

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40.1 ᾿Aντίγονος μὲν οὖν…: As far as we can tell from the summary description Antigonos adopted largely the same disposition as at Paraitakene (29.1– 6). It is not clear what Demetrios’ command of the right wing means, as Antigonos himself stood on the right (cf. Devine 1985b, 88). ὁ δὲ πᾶς ἀριθμός…: At Paraitakene Antigonos had 28,000 foot, 8,500 horse and 65 elephants (27.1), losing about 3,700 infantrymen and 54 cavalrymen in the battle, with around 4,000 wounded (31.5). He seems to have been unable to reinforce his infantry, then, and many of the phalangites apparently had not yet recovered from their injuries. As we do not know how many of the wounded were horsemen, it is impossible to estimate the numbers of the Median cavalry reinforcements. As at Paraitakene (see above, 27.1 πεζοὺς μέν…), we do not know how much light infantry Antigonos had (cf. Bosworth 2002, 148 with n. 177). According to Devine (1985b, 89) the number of elephants is ‘suspect as it merely repeats the figure for Paraetacene (19.27.1), where some animals, which can hardly have been easy to replace at short notice, must have been lost’. Since the casualty figures for infantry and cavalry are taken into account, we should probably accept that all elephants had survived the previous battle. Eumenes did not lose any elephants either (see the numbers at 28.4 and 40.4), which is not really surprising if the elephants had not actually fought.

40.2 πυθόμενος: From his scouts (cf. supra, 18.4 τῶν κατασκόπων). For a similar action of the scouts and a similar reaction of the commanders, see 83.1. καὶ αὐτὸς ἀντετάξατο: Eumenes also adopted largely the same formation as at Paraitakene, but there is an important tactical difference compared to Antigonos’ approach in the previous battle (see 29.1), as he deployed his strongest wing against the strongest wing of the enemy. Lendon (2005, 153) assumes the dispositions were inspired by Eumenes’ desire to kill Antigonos in the battle as the Kardian had done in 320 with Neoptolemos, which he considers a crucial tactical mistake. Whatever Eumenes’ reasons for opposing Antigonos’ strongest wing with his own, Diodoros (42.5) describes the idea to kill Antigonos as a plan conceived on the spot to rectify a desperate situation (cf. Bosworth 2002, 154). The interpretation of Billows (1990, 101; cf. Anson 2004, 185) seems more plausible: Eumenes wanted to make sure that his weaker wing could not be routed by Antigonos as had happened at Paraitakene, and he could reasonably hope to win the battle if Antigonos’ right could be checked if not defeated, while the Silver Shields and his hypaspists would overcome the opposing phalanx.

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τῶν σατραπῶν τοὺς πλείστους ἐνταῦθα κατέστησεν μετὰ τῶν συναγωνιζομένων αὐτοῖς ἱππέων ἐπιλέκτων: It would be interesting to be able to compare with the previous battle, but we do not know who ‘most of the satraps’ were and neither do we know where all of them had been stationed at Paraitakene. Comparatively minor figures like Stasandros, Amphimachos and Kephalon had been on the weaker wing with their cavalry contingents (27.3 – 5), while Tlepolemos had fought on the other wing, with Eumenes (28.3). Unfortunately Peukestas’ position on the previous occasion is unknown, but he might have been with Eumenes as well, commanding his agema and that of Antigenes (see above, 28.3 τὸ Πευκέστου…). Antigenes and Teutamos, like before, were probably commanding the argyraspids and the hypaspists (28.1). The positions might have been largely the same in both battles, which is not a token of mistrust: pace Bosworth (2002, 149 – 150), who asserts that none of the satraps was trusted with the command of the right wing and that they were therefore posted together with Eumenes on the left, detached from the bulk of their troops. If Eudamos was not posted on the other wing this time, it is because the main elephant division was now deployed in front of the wing where Eumenes would fight. Furthermore, the satraps like Peukestas who had already proven their great military valour would obviously be deemed more useful on the leading wing than on the one which was to be held back; that Peukestas would be among the first to flee was unforeseen. Surely, there had been and still were tensions among the leaders of the coalition, but Plutarch’s account (Eum. 16.2– 3) of the satraps conspiring even before the battle to rid themselves of Eumenes once he had helped them to the victory, is not quite trustworthy (cf. Bosworth 2002, 143 n. 160; Schäfer 2002, 158; contra Anson 2004, 185 n. 113; see also below, 42.4 κατεπλήξατο…). One assumes that Eumenes, in the face of a pitched battle against Antigonos, could not let his tactics be determined too much by distrust; he had to take a certain risk, and array each commander – or at least most of them – in the place where he would be most effective. Μιθριδάτης ὁ ᾿Aριοβαρζάνου μὲν υἱός: Mithridates is usually be taken to be a member of the dynasty of Kios, and a descendant of Ariobarzanes, the famous satrap of Hellespontine Phrygia from the 360s, but it is debated which of the homonymous individuals from this family should be identified with the present Mithridates (Olshausen, ‘Pontos [2]: Das Königreich Pontos’, RE Suppl. XV [1978], 401; McGing 1986, 248 – 250; Primo 2008, 414 n. 14, 423 n. 31 and 424– 425; D’Agostini 2016, 86 – 91). Bosworth and Wheatley (1998), however, have recently argued convincingly that the territory of the dynasty actually was Mariandynia and Mysia, rather than just the small of town of Kios, that the Ariobarzanes in the family was not the well-known satrap, and that the man in Eumenes’ army was Mithridates Ktistes, the nephew of the Mithridates who ruled Mariandynia

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and Mysia at the time. Mithridates received the epithet Ktistes because he would later found the kingdom of Pontos. ἀπόγονος δ᾽ ἑνὸς τῶν ἑπτὰ Περσῶν τῶν συγκαθελόντων τὸν μάγον Σμέρδιν: The same ancestry is mentioned by Polybios (V 43.2; cf. LerougeCohen 2013; D’Agostini 2016, 86 – 87). The story of the Seven Persians killing the magus who usurped the throne by claiming to be Cyrus’ son Smerdis was well-known in Antiquity thanks to Herodotus (III 61– 79). ἀνδρείᾳ διαφέρων: Typical Diodorean formula (e.g. I 18.1, II 22.3, 24.1, III 9.4, IV 34.3, V 40.1, XII 43.2, XV 7.3, XVI 1.6, XVII 7.2, XVIII 13.6, XX 30.1, XXIX 26.1, XXXI 19.1, XXXVI 5.1, XL 3.3; cf. supra, 16.1 διαφέροντες…; Wirth 1993, 27; Meeus forthcoming-b).

40.3 ἐν ἐπικαμπίῳ: See above, 27.5 πρὸ δὲ τούτων… As at Paraitakene it is unlikely that the elephant screen on the left stood completely along the flank: probably it was posted in front of the battle line and bent backward at the end (Bosworth 2002, 148 – 149; contra Devine 1985b, 89 – 90). τῶν δὲ πεζῶν πρώτους μὲν ἔταξε τοὺς ὑπασπιστάς, εἶτα τοὺς ἀργυράσπιδας: For these units, see above, on 27.6 – 28.1.

40.4 Φίλιππον: Probably the same man who had fought with Eumenes against Krateros in 320, that is if]λιππω[ in PSI XII 1284, III l. 14 is to be restored accordingly. He is assumed to have joined Antigonos after the battle, and may or may not be the Philippos appointed as advisor to Demetrios in 314 (Berve 1926, II, 786; Wheatley 1997a, 62; Bosworth 2002, 148; Heckel 2006, 214 [P11]; cf. infra, 69.1 Φίλιππον). φυγομαχεῖν: See above, 29.1 φυγομαχήσειν. οἱ δὲ σύμπαντες…: At Paraitakene Eumenes is said to have had 35,000 infantry (28.4). Either that was a rounded number, or additional troops were levied from the surrounding satrapies after the previous battle. For the cavalry on the other hand, Diodoros now gives a lower number than at Paraitakene (28.4), although only a few horsemen are said to have fallen there. If the present number is not rounded, the casualties and wounded of Eumenes’ cavalry must have numbered around 100 men. Again Devine (1985b, 91) contends that the figure for the elephants is suspect, but there is no problem in accepting it (see above, 40.1 ὁ δὲ πᾶς ἀριθμός…).

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41.1 ἐπὶ τοὺς πατέρας, ὦ κακαὶ κεφαλαί: Cf. Plut. Eum. 16.8, ἐπὶ τοὺς πατέρας ἁμαρτάνετε, ὦ κακαὶ κεφαλαί. Whether Plutarch added the verb, or whether Diodoros or the scribe of the archetype left it out cannot be determined, but this is hardly an important issue. Only Geer has added ἁμαρτάνετε in Diodoros’ text, following a proposal by Wesseling, who himself, however, suggested that it could also be a deliberately elliptical sentence, and left both possibilities open. In Plutarch’s account the whole battalion of argyraspids is shouting the reproach to their younger countrymen, which is far less plausible than Diodoros’ version with a rider being sent out to the opposing Macedonians (Bosworth 2002, 151 with n. 185, calling Plutarch’s version ‘good rhetoric but bad history’). Also compare Perdikkas’ speech in Babylon at Justin XIII 3.9. τοὺς μετὰ Φιλίππου καὶ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου τὰ ὅλα κατειργασμένους: This is strong evidence that the Silver Shields were Alexander’s hypaspists (see above, 12.1 τοὺς ἀργυράσπιδας…). As Errington (1976, 158 – 159) notes, it is also a crucial passage for interpreting the meaning of τὰ ὅλα: nowhere is it clearer than here that it can mean the whole empire in a geographical sense (cf. Hornblower 1981, 167– 168, but see also above, 39.6 ὡς περί…). There is one exception to Errington’s further claim that in spite of modern usage the ancients never spoke of Alexander’s empire: App. Mithr. 8, τῆς ὑπὸ ᾿Aλεξάνδρῳ γενομένης γῆς. For the unity of Europe and Asia as a single empire, see Meeus 2008, 81; cf. infra, 56.2 ταῖς ἐλπίσι…

41.2 οἱ νεώτατοι μὲν περὶ τὰ ἑξήκοντα ἔτη, τῶν δ᾽ ἄλλων οἱ πλείους μὲν περὶ τὰ ἑβδομήκοντα, τινὲς δὲ καὶ πρεσβύτεροι: Cf. Plut. Eum. 16.7, πολλοὶ μὲν ἑβδομήκοντα ἔτη γεγονότες, νεώτερος δ’ οὐδεὶς ἑξηκονταετοῦς (also Just. XI 6.4– 6 on Alexander’s men). Obviously a questionable claim, it is nonetheless accepted by some scholars (e.g. Launey 1949 – 1950, 299; Lock 1977, 376; Hammond 1984a and 1989b, 62; Baynham 2013; Karunanithy 2013, 149), while most others reject it or at least express doubt (e.g. Spendel 1915, 48 – 49; Tarn 1948, II, 151 n. 4, Brunt 1963, 39; Bosworth 1980a, 19 – 20; Hornblower 1981, 193; Anson 1981, 119, 2004, 187 n. 118, 2009a, 95 – 96; Schäfer 2002, 161 n. 130; Green 2006, 31; Roisman 2012a, 178). Apart from the inherent unlikeliness of the assertion, the problem is that we hardly have any evidence on the age of Macedonian soldiers. In 324 Alexander sent home the soldiers who were too old to fight (Arr. Anab. VII 12.1; Plut. Alex. 71.2– 9; Diod. XVII 109.1; Just. XII 11.4), but the argyraspids probably were not among them (Bosworth 1980a, 19 – 20; Hammond 1984a; contra Yardley & Heckel 1997, 276; Baynham 2013, 114). Since it would be surprising if

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several men who were seventy in 317/6 had not been considered too old in 324, this casts serious doubt on the present claim. Furthermore, one wonders whether a unit of which most members were aged around seventy, would really be able to inflict such defeats on much younger soldiers as the argyraspids are said to have done at Paraitakene and Gabiene, even taking into account the effect of technique and experience which undoubtedly was of major importance (cf. Hammond 1984a, 52; Baynham 2013, 118). Anson (2004, 187 n. 118) accepts that many of the officers might have been in their sixties, but in his view the rest of the soldiers need not have been more than 45, as the battle of Gabiene was not even twenty years after Alexander’s crossing to Asia. However, since the Silver Shields are likely to have served already under Philippos, as they claimed themselves according to our sources, many of them might have been somewhat older than that, possibly in their early fifties. We must not forget that these were not the average fifty-year-olds, but elite soldiers who had never neglected bodily exercise and under those conditions it seems not impossible that they still made up for the loss of intrinsic physical ability by training and experience. Antigonos himself was already in his sixties at the time, and several of the Diadochoi themselves seem to have actively taken part in battles when they were around eighty (Bosworth 1980a, 19 – 20; Billows 1990, 10 and 184; Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 217– 218), but they certainly were exceptions and did not fight on foot. Devine (1985a, 78 n. 39) contends that many original members of the corps must have fallen by now (cf. Rostovtzeff 1953, I, 147– 148; Roisman 2012a, 178), but Hammond (1989b, 62) has argued that Macedonian heavy infantry usually suffered few casualties, especially on the victorious side, which seems to be confirmed by the numbers at Paraitakene and Gabiene (31.5, Eumenes lost 540 foot soldiers at Paraitakene, many of them probably light infantry; 43.1, the Silver Shields suffered no casualties at Gabiene). Surely some of them will have died during Alexander’s reign, if not in battle then from hardship or disease, but it is not unlikely that for the most part the unit still consisted of its original members. To sum up, it is most improbable that the majority of the argyraspids were seventy years of age, but – although it is always dangerous to use the method of Hekataios of Miletos – probably we can say that many of them were in their fifties. The latter possibility is indirectly supported by epigraphical evidence: two copies of the regulations for military service in Antigonid Macedonia, from Amphipolis and Kassandreia, inform us of the age prescriptions. In the copy from Amphipolis these are completely preserved (SEG XLIX 722 and 855; Hatzopoulos 2001, 153 – 160, 2 I. side B, l. 8 – 12):

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ἔστωσαν δὲ τῶν μὲν εἰς τὸ ἄγημα τασ[σομέ]|νων οἱ̣ π̣ρ̣εσβύτατοι ἐτῶν τεσσαράκοντα πέντε, ἐ[ὰν]| μή τινες κ̣ αὶ τ̣ ῶν μέχρι πεντήκοντα ἐτῶν κριθῶσ[ιν ἐ]|πιτήδειοι εἶναι παρέχεσθαι τὴν χρείαν ἐν ταύτηι τῆι τά|ξει, τῶν δὲ εἰς τοὺς πελταστὰς τριάκοντα πέντε. Of those recruited in the agema the oldest are to be forty-five years of age, unless some of those up to fifty years are judged to be fit to perform service in that unit. Of the peltasts (the oldest are to be) thirty-five.

It is clear, then, that the members of the elite heavy infantry corps whose experience and skill mattered a great deal could serve until a considerably later age than lightly equipped foot-soldiers for whom speed was more important. Consequently, soldiers in their forties might still be suited for service in the agema (Hatzopoulos 2001, 107). Given the extraordinary circumstances in the age of the Successors, some might have continued service slightly above that age but probably not until they were seventy. That both Diodoros and Plutarch have the same exaggeration means that they must – at least ultimately – go back to the same source (cf. also above, 41.1 ἐπὶ τοὺς πατέρας…), which poses a most interesting problem: either Hieronymos was not their common source, or he was not as free from rhetoric and exaggeration as many like to think. Thus, one of the common assumptions on the tradition for the history of the Successors cannot stand, but the question is of course which one. Some simply reject the possibility that the claim comes from Hieronymos, in order to save his reputation (Tarn 1948, II, 123 – 124 and 151 n. 4; Simpson 1959a, 376: ‘the foolish assertion […] cannot conceivably come from Hieronymus who was an eye-witness’). That would mean, of course, that the correspondence of Diodoros and Plutarch on the issue does not originate with Hieronymos, in which case the other similarities probably do not either. The statement on their age fits in with a whole series of remarks on the valour and the experience of the Silver Shields (see also XIX 15.2, 28.1, 30.5 – 6, 43.1), which probably stem from the same source (Kallenberg 1877, 211; Hornblower 1981, 193). In that case the whole narrative on the final campaign between Antigonos and Eumenes (XIX 12– 34 and 37– 48) is taken from a source other than Hieronymos. Given that we know Plutarch used Douris (Eum. 1.1), he might then be their common source – a conclusion few would want to accept. Indeed, most scholars therefore contend that Hieronymos did assert that most of the Silver Shields were around seventy (Hornblower 1981, 193; Hammond 1984a, 51; Bosworth 1992a, 62– 63 and 2003, 193 – 194; Green 2006, 31; Anson 2009a, 95 – 96; Roisman 2012a, 178; Baynham 2013, 111 and 113; Karunanithy 2013, 149). If so, Hieronymos cannot be considered the ever factual, accurate and non-rhetorical historian he is usually taken to be; it would be most surprising if this were the only exaggeration in his work (cf. Baynham 2013, 114; Schorn 2018, 401; infra, 49.4 ἔνιοι…). On

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balance, it is more likely that Hieronymos actually is the ultimate source of the passage given that on the whole the narrative of the Iranian campaign in book XIX seems to derive from his work, though probably indirectly (see above, Part I, §3.2). πάντες δὲ ταῖς ἐμπειρίαις καὶ ταῖς ῥώμαις ἀνυπόστατοι· τοσαύτη περὶ αὐτοὺς ἦν εὐχειρία καὶ τόλμα διὰ τὴν συνέχειαν τῶν κινδύνων: Cf. Plut. Eum. 16.7, ὥσπερ ἀθληταὶ πολέμων ἀήττητοι καὶ ἀπτῶτες εἰς ἐκεῖνο χρόνου. Diodoros adapted the statement from his source to his own vocabulary (cf. XVII 9.3, and supra, 16.1 διαφέροντες…). See also above, 15.2 γεγονόσι…, on the experience and valour of the argyraspids.

41.3 φωναὶ δυσχερεῖς: Cf. 20.1, φωνὰς προΐεσθαι δυσχερεῖς. The phrase does not occur elsewhere in the extant parts of the Bibliotheke, and I found only two other ancient instances (Basilius Caes., ed. Migne XXXI, 549, l. 38; Basilius Seleuc., ed. Migne XLI, 124, l. 22). It may, then, be a trace of Diodoros’ source. πρὸς συγγενεῖς καὶ πρεσβυτέρους διαμάχεσθαι: That the Macedonians had great respect for the older soldiers, was also apparent during the crisis at Babylon immediately after Alexander’s death (Curt. X 7.18 – 19); cf. also Diod. XVIII 48.4 and infra, 69.1 ἄνδρας… For the authority of the πρεσβύτερος in general, see e.g. Arist. Pol. I 5.2, and for their superiority in experience, Diod. I 1.5; Plb. VI 4.5. ἦρεν τὸ σύσσημον: Typical element of a battle description in the Bibliotheke (see above, 30.1 τὸ σύσσημον ἤρθη). τοὺς μὲν σαλπιγκτὰς τὸ πολεμικὸν σημαίνειν: Another typical element (see above, 30.1 ἐσήμηναν…).

42.1 συνῆψε δὲ μάχην: Although the expression is used throughout Antiquity, one may justly consider it typical of Diodoros, as 55 of a total ca. 150 ancient occurrences are found in his work (e.g. II 25.5, III 71.4, IV 16.2, V 51.2, VI 9.1, XI 18.5, XII 3.4, XIII 8.2, XIV 12.6, XV 20.2, XVI 3.6, XVII 7.10, XVIII 14.2, XIX 73.9, XX 60.5, XXI 1.4b). No other author uses it even nearly as often as Diodoros: Plutarch, a much more prolific author, has 28 instances, while Polyainos holds the third place with 9 occurrences. τὰ θηρία: Devine (1985b, 91) mistakenly assumes that the elephants on Eumenes’ left were not involved because the action was purely frontal. He seems

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to have overlooked that only part of the elephants were stationed along the flank, while most were arrayed in front of the line (see above, 40.3 ἐν ἐπικαμπίῳ). κονιορτόν: Cf. Plut. Eum. 16.10; Polyaen. IV 6.13. Unsurprisingly, clouds of dust caused mainly by the cavalry often diminished the visibility during ancient battles, a disadvantage often exploited for tactical and strategic purposes (Echols 1952, esp. 286: ‘Natural dust is as effective a smoke-screen as any chemical fog laid down by modern ship or plane’; Karunanithy 2013, 148 with n. 8).

42.2 ἐπὶ τὴν ἀποσκευὴν τῶν πολεμίων: Cf. Plut. Eum. 16.9 – 11; Polyaen. IV 6.13. On the importance of the baggage, see above, 13.4 ἀγωνιῶν…, and below, 43.7 παρὰ τοῖς πολεμίοις…; Devine (1985b, 91 n. 29): ‘the seizure of the enemy’s baggage to distract and demoralize him during battle became a standard procedure in the wars of the Successors’. As is well known, Antigonos’ stratagem was most successful (see 43.7– 9). Regardless of their original battlefield position, the attackers most likely were sent out from his right wing, riding around Eumenes’ left where the cloud of dust must have been at its densest (cf. Bosworth 2002, 153 – 154; contra Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 429 who argue the opposite way, namely that it follows from this that Eumenes’ right wing had also been forced to join battle; Billows 1990, 100; Schäfer 2002, 161). ἀκονητί: The sports-term ἀκονητί (or rather ἀκονιτί, cf. infra), literally meaning ‘without the dust’, describes a victory without a fight (Knab 1934, 11– 12; Moretti 1953, 16 – 17; Golden 2004, 6). The word is rather rare in Diodoros: the other instances are XV 51.4, XIX 104.4, XX 57.3, 78.1, XXIX 5.1, XXX 17.1, XXXI 1.1; usually he writes ἀκινδύνως (e.g. XV 33.1, XVI 52.7, XVIII 14.1, XIX 94.1) or χωρὶς κινδύνων (e.g. XI 77.4, XVI 66.5, XVII 49.2, XIX 11.4). The distribution of ἀκονιτί in the Bibliotheke is interesting, as it occurs only once in Diodoros’ pre-Hellenistic narrative, and is otherwise limited to books XIX–XX and XXIX–XXXI. This distribution may reflect the influence of Diodoros’ sources, as the word is rare before the mid fourth century but is likely to have been more common in Diodoros’ Hellenistic authorities, as it surely was in Polybios, in whose work the frequency is almost twice as high (0,0030 %) as in the Bibliotheke (0,0017 %). This influence is definitely present in the one instance where we can compare an occurrence in Diodoros with the text of Polybios: Plb. XXVIII 21.3 (ἀλλ’ εὐθέως αὐτόθεν ἀκονιτὶ παραχωρῆσαι βασιλείας τῆς ἐπιφανεστάτης καὶ μακαριωτάτης) ~ Diod. XXX 17 (αὐτόθεν καθάπερ ἀκονιτὶ παραχωρῆσαι βασιλείας μεγίστης καὶ μακαριωτάτης). For uses of the word ἀκονιτί by earlier historians and orators, see Wachter 1995, 161; Hornblower 2004, 48 – 50. Here Diodoros might might have chosen to use or retain it in order to create a word play with the cloud of dust: διὰ

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μὲν τὸν κονιορτὸν λήσεσθαι (…) ἀκονητὶ κρατῆσαι τῶν πολεμίων. According to Palm (1955, 31 and 158 – 159) word play is rare in Diodoros; he does not list the present example. Although Fischer, Geer and Bizière prefer R’s spelling ἀκονητί, there is no doubt that F’s ἀκονιτί was correctly adopted by Wesseling and Dindorf (cf. also XX 57.3); the word often seems to have caused the scribes trouble, though: see also XV 51.4 with apparatus ad loc.

42.4 συνάψας μάχην τοῖς ἀντιτεταγμένοις: Cf. supra, 42.1, συνῆψε… This must mean that he rode around the elephant screen, but it is unclear on which side he did so. While Billows’ diagram (1990, 100; cf. Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 430) shows a frontal attack on the right side of Eumenes left wing, where the elephant screen is assumed to have been less strong, Bosworth (2002, 153) supposes that Antigonos circled around the enemy flank. κατεπλήξατο Πευκέστην τὸν τῆς Περσίδος σατράπην: Cf. Plut. Eum. 16.9, τοῦ δὲ Πευκέστου παντάπασιν ἐκλελυμένως καὶ ἀγεννῶς ἀγωνισαμένου. Bosworth (2002, 154) notes: ‘Peucestas refused to engage (…). Both Diodoros and Plutarch speak of panic, and that must have been the version of Hieronymus (…) It was more probably an act of betrayal, nicely judged and timed’. He goes on to contend that Peukestas and the other satraps with him hoped Eumenes would thus be defeated, while their own phalanx would defeat Antigonos’ infantry, so that with some luck they could negotiate with Antigonos from a position of strength. That would be a dangerous plan, though. They had already learned at Paraitakene that a victory of the phalanx alone would not be enough, and if things went wrong, they could become Antigonos’ captives. With many of the satraps fearing for their lives if they fell into enemy hands (see above, 17.5 καὶ τὴν σατραπείαν…), they are unlikely to have taken the risk. If they had decided to betray Eumenes, they would better have done so before the battle. At that time, they could also bargain from an advantageous position with Antigonos if they could offer him the surrender of Eumenes. The negotiations, however, were only opened after the battle (Plut. Eum. 17.1– 2). Cf. supra, 17.5 καὶ τὴν σατραπείαν…, 23.4 παρήγαγεν… and 25.3 συγχωρήσειν… on the distrust of Antigonos amongst the satraps in the coalition. The problem is that we only have the most compressed of summaries. Indeed, Diodoros only mentions the charge of Antigonos’ cavalry and then immediately has Peukestas retreat (often accepted at face value, e.g. Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 430, but Antigonos’ attack can hardly be called ‘überraschend’). Yet, we do not know whether they instantly turned to flight,

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and if not, what happened in between. Plutarch’s account (Eum. 16.9, quoted above) does suggest that there was a fight before the withdrawal, claiming that the satrap of Persis fought in a cowardly manner. Given that immediate retreat is even more gutless, and that Plutarch deliberately presented a negative picture of Peukestas throughout by stressing his alleged cowardice (see above, 17.5 τὸ μὲν πρῶτον…), one would expect him to have said so if Peukestas at once fled from the battlefield. If Plutarch himself is responsible for the negative presentation of Peukestas in his Life of Eumenes, whether or not exaggerating a bias already present in his source, the statement at 16.9 cannot be used for the actual reconstruction of Hieronymos’ interpretation. Drawing conclusions about Hieronymos’ view on the basis of Diodoros’ wording is equally hazardous. Especially if he was substantially abbreviating his source, which is quite likely in the present case, he will have used his own language to say in a few words what was dealt with at greater length in the original. Indeed, καταπλήττεσθαι is a typical Diodorean word (MD, s.v.; Palm 1955, 187; Chamoux 1993, lxxiv; cf. supra, 26.10 κατέβαινε… and infra, 73.3 ταχύ…): we thus cannot automatically infer that the tendency of his source was the same. It seems almost impossible then, to reconstruct what exactly happened during this stage of the battle, or how the primary sources presented the events. μετὰ τῶν περὶ ἑαυτὸν ἱππέων: Probably only Peukestas’ own 150 strong agema was involved (cf. Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 430). Devine (1985b, 91) suggests that these probably were the 300 men from the ‘agema of Peukestas and Antigenes’ mentioned at 28.3 (cf. Schäfer 2002, 161 n. 134). There is no reason, though, why those should be considered a single unit.

42.5 τὸ δὲ τηροῦντα τὴν δεδομένην ὑπὸ τῶν βασιλέων πίστιν γενναίᾳ προαιρέσει συναποθανεῖν προκρίνας: Cf. supra, 12.1 ἀξιῶν βοηθεῖν…

42.6 πολλοὶ παρ᾽ ἀμφοτέρων ἔπιπτον: Cf. supra, 30.5 πολλῶν πεσόντων… τῶν ἐλεφάντων πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἀγωνιζομένων: Since the majority of the elephants on Eumenes’ left had not been posted along the flank, but in front of the wing (see above, 40.3 ἐν ἐπικαμπίῳ), they were immediately ready to engage. There is thus no need for the manoeuvre Devine (1985b, 92) presumes. πεσεῖν τῶν Εὐμενοῦς τὸν προηγούμενον, συμπλακέντα τῷ κρατίστῳ τῶν ἀντιτεταγμένων: Given the hyperbole in the rest of Diodoros’ description (the argyraspids attacking the entire enemy phalanx and killing 5,000 of them

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without losing a single man: see below, on 43.1), I would not conclude from the death of the strongest animal that a complete defeat of Eumenes’ elephant division followed (contra Devine 1985b, 93; Bosworth 2002, 155 is more cautious). Probably this was the most spectacular moment in the confrontation of the elephants, which is why it is all Diodoros has to say about it.

42.7 τοιοῦτον ἔσχε τὸ τέλος: This is a typically Hellenistic phrase, as the only attestations before Diodoros come from Polybios (I 63.4, 88.5, II 35.1, XV 15.1, 33.13). Diodoros uses it throughout the historical books (also XI 10.4, XII 55.10, XIII 48.8, 107.5, XIV 31.5, XV 34.3, 56.4, 86.1, XVI 22.2, XVII 36.6, 48.5, XIX 74.6). After that there are a mere two attestations in Josephus (AJ VIII 265, 388) and one in Plutarch (Artax. 30.1) with the next certain occurrence coming only in the fourth century CE.

43.1 πρὸς πᾶσαν τὴν τῶν ἐναντίων φάλαγγα: This, of course, is a ‘physical impossibility’ as Devine (1985b, 92) puts it. He suggests that actually the argyraspids defeated the immediately opposed enemy troops, so that a gap opened up in Antigonos’ phalanx. The internal right flank of the next unit thus becoming exposed, it was attacked by the argyraspids. Such an attack on the flank of a phalanx contingent which already faced a frontal assault, could not be checked. Bosworth (2002, 155 n. 199), on the other hand, assumes that all battalions kept largely the same pace, and that the other contingents in Eumenes’ phalanx exploited the confusion caused by the success of the Silver Shields, likewise driving back their opponents. For a detailed attempt at reconstruction of the infantry battle, see Park 2009, 34– 35. ταῖς εὐχειρίαις καὶ ῥώμαις ὑπερεῖχον: Cf. supra, 16.1 διαφέροντες… and 28.4 ἐπιλελεγμένους… ἑαυτῶν μὲν ἀποβαλεῖν μηθένα, τῶν δ᾽ ἐναντίων ἀνελεῖν μὲν ὑπὲρ τοὺς πεντακισχιλίους: Both Polyainos (IV 6.13) and Justin (XIV 3.5) also assert that there were 5,000 dead on Antigonos’ side. While the latter does not give any figure for Eumenes’ losses, the former writes they were 300. Bosworth (2002, 155 n. 200; cf. id. 1996a, 27) suggests that the numbers might indeed have been 300 and 5,000, with Diodoros’ claim meaning that none of the Silver Shields fell, the casualties belonging to other units. He also admits the possibility of rhetorical exaggeration, but considers the figures to be plausible because of fatigue and low morale in Antigonos’ army. According to Devine (1985b, 92; cf. Billows 1990, 92 n.

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20; contra Anson 2004 187 n. 119; Yardley, Heckel & Wheatley 2011, 183) the number of 5,000 dead for Antigonos is rather too high, whereas the Silver Shields must also have suffered significant losses. Hammond (1989b, 62) accepts Diodoros’ claim of zero casualties versus 5,000, as he assumes that it was normal that because of its fighting style a victorious Macedonian phalanx lost no men. Again, the question should be asked whether Hieronymos would have exaggerated the numbers, as Billows (loc. cit.) assumes, and whether he had a good reason to do so (see above, 19.8 πολλοὺς ἀποβαλών…, and 31.5 ἀνῃρέθησαν…), so that one might cautiously accept the numbers with the explanations of Bosworth and Hammond.

43.2 μάχῃ κρατήσας οὐ μόνον τὴν ἰδίαν ἀποσκευὴν σώσειν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν τῶν πολεμίων προσλήψεσθαι: Cf. Just. XIV 3.6, ‘quae melius vincendo possint reparare’. For the possibility of imitatio Alexandri in Eumenes’ attitude, see Bosworth 2002, 156; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 183.

43.3 ἐπί τινα τόπον: Geer emended to ἐπί τινα ποταμόν (on the basis of 43.5) which many scholars accept (e.g. Devine 1985b, 88; Bosworth 2002, 156 n. 202; Boffo 2005, 714). Although ἐπί τινα τόπον seems rather vague, it is not unparalleled (cf. Plb. II 31.2). The article before ποταμόν at 43.5 may, but need not imply that Diodoros had mentioned the river before (cf. supra, 35.7 τῶν τ᾽ ἐξ ᾿Aμβρακίας…; pace Bosworth, loc. cit.).

43.5 οἱ Μακεδόνες εἰς πλινθίον ἑαυτοὺς ποιήσαντες ἀσφαλῶς ἀπεχώρησαν: A tactical hollow square, formed to have a screen of sarisai against which no horse would charge on all sides of the battalion: this was the most effective way of securing a safe retreat (Devine 1985b, 88; Hammond 1989b, 62; Bosworth 2002, 157); cf. supra, 39.4 εἰς πλινθίον. ἐπὶ τὸν ποταμόν: Perhaps a branch of the Zayendeh Rud (Cook 1983, 235 n. 28; Devine 1985b, 88); Bosworth (2002, 147) suggests the Linjan Rud.

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43.6 οἱ μὲν οὖν σατράπαι τὴν ταχίστην ἔφησαν δεῖν ἀποχωρεῖν εἰς τὰς ἄνω σατραπείας: Again the upper satraps showed that their primary concern was the safety of their territories (cf. supra, on 21.1 ἀγωνιῶντες…; 23.4 παρήγαγεν… and ἔλαθε…). τῆς μὲν τῶν ἐναντίων φάλαγγος συντετριμμένης, τῆς δὲ τῶν ἱππέων δυνάμεως ἐφαμίλλου παρ᾽ ἀμφοτέροις οὔσης: Cf. Just. XIV 3.4– 5. These circumstances did indeed give Eumenes a fair chance to overcome the enemy, if only the satraps and the soldiers had been willing join battle again (Bosworth 2002, 157).

43.7 παρὰ τοῖς πολεμίοις ὄντων τέκνων καὶ γυναικῶν καὶ πολλῶν ἄλλων ἀναγκαίων σωμάτων: Cf. Just. XIV 3.6. The phrase ἀναγκαῖα σώματα usually refers to close relatives, as is shown by XIII 28.6 and D.H. A.R. VIII 25.4; cf. also Aeschin. 3.78, τὰ φίλτατα καὶ οἰκειότατα σώματα. Polyainos (IV 6.13), however, again offers more detail and adds concubines and slaves (τὴν ἀποσκευὴν, ἐν ᾗ γυναῖκες ἦσαν αὐτῶν καὶ τέκνα καὶ παλλακαὶ καὶ οἰκέται). Diodoros’ description, though not much briefer, is definitely less accurate – perhaps for the sake of creating a more dramatic tricolon; admittedly, the phrases in Polyainos and Diodoros do not belong to the same point in the narrative and thus need not reflect the very same wording in their common source. At any rate, the capture of the soldiers’ families is not to be underestimated: the men were in a situation comparable to Aristotle’s hypothetical scenario of a tyrant forcing someone to do a disgraceful thing whilst having their parents and children in his power (EN III 1, 1110a5 – 6). For Aristotle, it would be debatable whether someone in such a situation acts voluntarily or not, but many scholars summarize the situation with such grave understatements as ‘the decisive event of the war (…) [was] the capture of some baggage belonging to the 3,000 “Silver Shields”’ (Griffith 1935, 40, my italics); ‘The importance of possessions to these deracinated soldiers is perhaps best demonstrated by the ‘Silver Shields’ who handed over their general Eumenes to save their baggage’ (Errington 1978, 123 n. 159, my italics); ‘Het feit dat de Argyraspiden ondanks hun overwinning direct aan overlopen denken, bewijst dat het verschil in mentaliteit tussen een Macedonisch soldaat en een huursoldaat op dit moment klein is’ (Boerma 1979, 221); ‘(…) gli uomini di Eumene abbiano trovato conveniente vendere il loro comandante ad Antigono stesso pur di riavere i loro beni privati’ (Landucci Gattinoni 1979, 103, my italics); ‘The ease with which mercenaries might be induced to change sides, as happened to Eumenes at Gabiene in 316 B.C. (…)’(Trundle 2004, 35, my italics); ‘Perhaps not sur-

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prisingly in the changing fortunes of the period, family was sometimes more important to an army man than was his commander’ (Thompson 2006, 101, my italics); ‘in return for their property’ (Fields 2008, 54); ‘betrayed their commander Eumenes in order to preserve their baggage’ (Lane Fox 2011a, 17); ‘The argyraspids were now true mercenaries; the loyalty to their kings and country, and even to the memory of Alexander, was all bartered away for their possessions’ (Anson 2014, 114); ‘in return for their lost baggage, which was more important to them than anything else’ (Holt 2016, 144); cf. also Briant 1973a, 60; Bengtson 1987, 38; Konrad 1994, xxxii; Simonetti Agostinetti 1997, 225; Anson 2004, 224– 225. Most of these scholars see the event as a symptom that loyalty to royal house no longer mattered, but we surely cannot expect the argyraspids to consider their wives and children as just ‘some baggage’ or assume that they were only thinking of their possessions (cf. Polyaen. IV 6.13, διὰ τὸν ἔρωτα τῶν οἰκείων). Although they are echoing the more rhetorical ancient treatments (Plut. Eum. 17.7; cf. Just. XIV 3.6), it would seem that some, perhaps in attempting to observe a scholarly distance, do not consider what this meant to the men (cf. Roisman 2012a, 234– 236). Under all circumstances the capture of one’s family would probably convince anyone but the fiercest idealist, so that we can hardly conclude from the present event that the loyalty to the Argead dynasty was not significant (Bosworth 2002, 158: ‘Not surprisingly the ties of family and property triumphed over loyalty to the royal house’; cf. for more realistic interpretations also Hammond 1984a, 60 – 61; Lendon 2005, 152; Malitz 2007, 28; Meeus 2009a, 239 n. 27). It is clear from other occasions that this was the normal reaction to the capture of the baggage (Parke 1933, 207 n. 7), and the decision of the argyraspids need not have been unanimous (Roisman 2012a, 235). Furthermore, we should not forget that Antigonos also claimed that he was the true champion of the royal house (see 61.1– 2), despite the allegations in our sources (cf. supra, 12.1 ἀξιῶν βοηθεῖν…). Finally, as Roisman (2012a, 235), points out, the soldiers could not know that Eumenes would be put to death.

43.8 οἱ Μακεδόνες λάθρᾳ διαπρεσβευσάμενοι πρὸς ᾿Aντίγονον: Plutarch (Eum. 17.1) mentions Teutamos as the main initiator (οἱ περὶ τὸν Τεύταμον), which is not really surprising, as he had already been prepared to surrender Eumenes on an earlier occasion (Diod. XVIII 62.5). Justin (XIV 3.11), however, in a phrase echoing Diodoros’ λάθρᾳ, suggests that the leaders had no knowledge of the diplomatic overtures to Antigonos (‘ignaris … ducibus’). The difference need not reflect different source traditions, though (cf. Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 185): Justin’s version probably represents his own interpretation, which

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was either deliberate (thus Boerma 1979, 225) or merely the result of abbreviating. Obviously, not all commanders would be informed of the negotiations (Eumenes, Antigenes, and others who were loyal to the Kardian), but Teutamos’ involvement is plausible enough (cf. Boerma, loc. cit.).

43.9 τὸν στρατηγὸν ἐγκαταλιπόντες, τῆς ἰδίας ἀσφαλείας μόνον ἐφρόντισαν: In keeping with the historiographical aims of the various authors, the other sources provide a more detailed account than Diodoros does (see Plut. Eum. 17– 19; Nep. Eum. 10 – 12; Just. XIV 3.4– 4.21). His silence on the matter of Eumenes’ ethnicity therefore does not necessarily carry much weight, but it is interesting to see that he merely attributes the attitude of the Macedonians to the desire to save their personal interests. Furthermore, there is no trace of any ethnic prejudice in Justin’s account, nor even in that of Nepos, in whose introduction the theme of Eumenes’ Greekness is stressed most emphatically (1.2– 3). In fact the only tiny hint at his origins is to be found in Plutarch’s description of the reaction of the Silver Shields (Eum. 18.2): οὐ γὰρ εἶναι δεινόν εἰ Χερρονησίτης ὄλεθρος οἰμώξεται μυρίοις γυμνάσας πολέμοις Μακεδόνας, ἀλλ᾽ εἰ τῶν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου καὶ Φιλίππου στρατιωτῶν οἱ κράτιστοι τοσαῦτα καμόντες ἐν γήρᾳ στέρονται τῶν ἐπάθλων… (‘For it was not so dreadful a thing […] that that a pest from the Chersonesus should come to grief for having harassed Macedonians with infinite wars, as that the best of the soldiers of Philip and Alexander, after all their toils, should in their old age be robbed of their rewards…’). It is no surprise that men whose possessions as well as their wives and children had been seized by the enemy uttered such abusive remarks – and surely even more grave ones too. Furthermore, Eumenes’ nationality is explicitly said to be irrelevant, their only concern at the moment being their possessions and their families. In spite of what is often thought, Eumenes’ Greekness played no part in his downfall (see also above, 13.1 ἄνδρα ξένον). As Bosworth (2002, 158) points out, Eumenes was not the only one: they also surrendered their Macedonian commander Antigenes, as well as several other Macedonians (see below, on 44.1). While agreeing that defeat and not ethnicity was the cause of Eumenes’ failure, Billows (1990, 102 n. 26) adds another factor, based on the observation that Antigonos had already seized the Kardian’s baggage on an earlier occasion, likewise causing great dismay in Eumenes’ army (Diod. XVIII 44.8, Polyaen. IV 6.12). Eumenes, at Gabiene, once again took insufficient measures regarding the safety of the baggage train leading Billows to argue that ‘he did not understand the character and aspirations of his troops and so never managed to im-

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pose his authority on them in the way that men like Antigonos, Ptolemy and Seleukos did’.

§ 44 The Aftermath of the Battle After the battle Antigonos did away with his greatest enemies, while many other members of the opposing coalition could apparently be forgiven. Although he seemed reluctant to do so at first (which need not be an embellishment by Hieronymos, pace Billows 1990, 104 n. 29), he eventually decided that he could not risk sparing Eumenes’ life. There is no need to assume that the brevity of Diodoros’ account on Eumenes’ death in comparison to the longer accounts in Nepos, Plutarch and Justin in any way reflects a similar brevity in Hieronymos (pace Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 190): the former were writing biographies of Eumenes and thus obviously had a greater interest in the episode than Diodoros, who had already written extensively about Eumenes’ reversals of fortune and his relationships with his troops on two other occasions (XVIII 53 and 59.4– 6). At any rate, there is one extended verbal echo between the accounts of Diodoros and Plutarch (44.2 διὰ δὲ τὴν προγεγενημένην…). The chapter may, furthermore, contain two other clues concerning the source problem of Diodoros’ narrative on the Successors, both, however, pointing in different directions. The good treatment Hieronymos received at the hands of Antigonos, might reveal the former’s account behind Diodoros’ narrative (44.3 ὑπ’ ᾿Aντιγόνου…), while the next paragraph accords with a fragment of Douris (44.4 τὴν ἐπαρχίαν…).

44.1 ᾿Aντιγένην … καταθέμενος εἰς σειρὸν ζῶντα κατέκαυσεν: Several possible reasons why Antigonos inflicted such a cruel punishment on Antigenes have tentatively been suggested (e.g. Devine 1985b, 91; Hammond 1988a, 125; Billows 1990, 103 n. 27; Carney 2000, 117), but this is largely guess-work. Diodoros’ remark that he executed those who had been ἀλλοτρίως ἀεὶ πρὸς αὐτόν probably is a sufficient reason (cf. Heckel 1982, 64– 65; Bosworth 1992a, 70 and 2002, 158 n. 209; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 185). Εὔδαμον: Heckel (1980b, 44) suggests that Eudamos might have been put to death on the accusation of murdering Poros. Antigonos may indeed have sought grounds to have his enemies condemned, but we cannot exclude that he simply had them murdered.

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Κελβανόν: Such is the reading of R, while F has Κέβαλον. Wesseling followed F, but Fischer and Bizière unsurprisingly prefer the variant from R. However, no attested Greek or Macedonian name seems to resemble Κελβανός, whereas Κέβαλος could be a variant of or perhaps – admittedly – an error for the rare name Κεβαλῖνος (cf. e.g. Diod. XVII 79.4– 5; IG XI.2, 137, 145 and 154), the latter option being preferred by Dindorf (followed by Launey 1949 – 1950, 1179; cf. Tataki 1998, 339). According to Bosworth (2002, 159 n. 210), Κέβαλος is ‘a legitimate Macedonian name’ (it is the form accepted in LGPN IV, s.v. and by Hoffmann 1906, 209), but as it is never attested, he deems it best to leave the question open. Méndez Dosuna (2012, 144– 145) discusses a tablet from Dodona that may be written in Macedonian and contains the name Κεβάλιος. Alternatively, it has been suggested that the name in the present passage should be emended to Κεφάλωνα, identifying this man with the Kephalon mentioned at 27.4 (Vezin 1907, 124 n. 4; Heckel 1980b). Heckel’s argument that if we do not emend, one has to wonder why Antigonos would execute this man who has never been mentioned before, is not conclusive. Diodoros’ account of the history of the Successors is full of individuals who are mentioned only once, and it was not beyond our author to leave loose ends or to select his material in a haphazard manner (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.4 and §2.4). There are somewhat similar instances elsewhere in book XIX: amongst the leading men killed during the suppression of the revolt of Peithon’s friends in Media Diodoros mentions the Mede Okranes (cf. infra, 47.4 Ὀκράνης…) who is not attested elsewhere, and in the report of the battle of Gaza the otherwise unknown Boiotos is listed amongst the prominent victims (cf. infra, 85.2 Βοιωτός…). An interesting case in book XX (98.8) is the somewhat random mention of the deaths of Alkimos and Mantias in the siege of Rhodes: Plutarch’s parallel account (Demetr. 21.6) hints at how much more the source tradition originally related about Alkimos. Furthermore, as Bosworth (loc. cit.) points out, it would be a surprising coincidence if a normal Greek name like Κεφάλων were corrupted into a rare Macedonian name. The opposite, of course, would be less striking, so that if any correction is necessary at all, it might be the name at 27.4 that needs to be emended.

44.2 Εὐμενῆ δὲ παραδοὺς εἰς φυλακήν: Plutarch (Eum. 18.4– 19.1) and Nepos (Eum. 11– 12) provide more details on Eumenes’ days in prison. Cf. supra, 16.4 εἰς φυλακήν… on the phrase εἰς φυλακὴν παραδιδόναι. ἐβουλεύετο πῶς αὐτῷ χρηστέον εἴη: Cf. Plut. Eum. 18.6, βουλευόμενος δὲ περὶ αὐτοῦ πλείονας ἡμέρας. Nepos (Eum. 12.1), on the other hand, claims that Antigonos brought the matter before his council, which certainly is likely (cf. Sa-

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valli-Lestrade 1998, 324 n. 134, and Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 229, on the council of the Friends in the age of the Successors). Furthermore, Plutarch (Eum. 18.6) also adds that he heard the opinion of several others, with Demetrios and Nearchos pleading in favour of Eumenes, while everyone else wanted his death. In Nepos’ account (Eum. 12.3) Antigonos thought about what to do only after the meeting with his Friends (‘tamen usque ad septimum diem deliberandi sibi spatium reliquit’). At any rate it is clear that the army assembly played no part in the decision (O’Neil 1999b, 40; contra Granier 1931, 84– 85). None of the differences between the accounts have to be caused by anything else than the authors’ own summarizing and elaborating. Whereas Plutarch and Nepos quite clearly used the same source, Diodoros’ version is too brief to allow for any conclusions to be drawn from it in this respect. ἔσπευδε γὰρ ἔχειν μεθ᾽ αὑτοῦ στρατηγὸν ἀγαθὸν καὶ χάριτος ὑπόχρεων: Cf. Nep. Eum. 10.3, ‘ab nullo se plus adiuvari posse’. Antigonos’ reluctance to have Eumenes killed is also mentioned at Plut. Eum. 18.6 and Nep. Eum. 12.3. Engel (s.d., 46 – 47) argues that Antigonos’ doubts were not real, and that he simply wanted to gain the sympathy of Eumenes’ supporters, killing him after that so as not to alienate the Kardian’s opponents. All of this seems somewhat farfetched. διὰ τὴν πρὸς Ὀλυμπιάδα καὶ τοὺς βασιλεῖς φιλίαν: The reason Diodoros claims for Antigonos’ doubts is most striking, as it implies – again (see above, 12.1 ἀξιῶν βοηθεῖν…) – that Antigonos was fighting against the kings, a judgement which is in contradiction with Antigonos’ own propaganda (cf. infra, on 61.1– 3), and which is unlikely to have originated with Hieronymos (see above, Part I, §3.2). On the question of Eumenes’ loyalty to the kings, see above 12.1 ἀξιῶν βοηθεῖν… Stylianou (1994, 78) concludes from the plural βασιλεῖς that Arrhidaios’ death was not yet known in Iran. If that assumption holds true, and if the mention of Arrhidaios’ name in AD V, no. 2 V’ 12’, on December 26 records the moment his death became known in Babylon (see above, 11.5 βασιλέα…), Eumenes’ capture should probably be dated about the end of December or very early in January at the latest. σωθεὶς ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ περὶ Νῶρα τῆς Φρυγίας: Antigonos had besieged Eumenes at Nora for almost a year, when he set him free on the condition that he would join him. Eumenes promised to do so, but it quickly became clear that this was only a pretext to obtain his liberation; he showed no interest whatsoever in cooperating with Antigonos (see Anson 2015, 146 – 154 for a detailed analysis of the episode; cf. also Schäfer 2002, 118 – 120; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 173 – 175). On the location of Nora, see Yardley, Wheatley and Heckel 2011, 173 with further references; Anson 2015, 146 n. 25. Nepos (Eum. 5.3) likewise places it in

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Phrygia, while Plutarch (Eum. 10.1) situates it on the border of Lykaonia and Kappadokia (cf. Str. XII 2.6); the combination of Diod. XVIII 44.1 with 41.7 also seems to imply a location in Kappadokia. ὁρῶν δὲ καὶ τὴν τῶν Μακεδόνων ὁρμὴν ἀπαραίτητον οὖσαν πρὸς τὴν κατ᾽ Εὐμενοῦς τιμωρίαν: Cf. Nep. Eum. 12.3, ‘cum iam vereretur ne qua seditio exercitus oreretur’. These are not necessarily two different versions, but rather seem to be two slightly different interpretations of a common source (pace Huß 2001, 140 n. 350). ἀνεῖλε τὸν ἄνδρα: Again, Plutarch (Eum. 19.1) and Nepos (Eum. 12.3 – 4) provide much more detail than Diodoros does. It might seem striking that Diodoros would leave such an excellent opportunity for moralizing on the reversals of fortune, being great and many in the life Eumenes who now met such a tragic end. However, he had already written two digressions on the Kardian’s peripeteiai (XVIII 53 and 59.4– 6), and in keeping with the plan of his history, he seems to have thought that he had to go on with the narrative of subsequent events. Furthermore, another spectacular reversal which caught the attention of our author was at hand (see below, 44.5 πλείστας γάρ…). It would seem that Plutarch and Nepos are relying on the same source for the whole episode of Eumenes’ captivity and demise (see above, ἐβουλεύετο…). There is an interesting difference about the manner of Eumenes’ death between both accounts, though. While Nepos (Eum. 12.4) states that he was killed by his guards, without Antigonos knowing of it (‘insciente Antigono iugulatus est a custodibus’), Plutarch (Eum. 19.1) writes that someone was sent to slay him (εἰσπέμψαντες ἄνθρωπον ἀποσφάττουσιν αὐτόν). Admittedly, Plutarch does not say who sent the killer, and Antigonos alone cannot be meant by the plural participle, but one wonders who else would have taken the responsibility for dispatching someone with such an important task. Certainly the explicit exoneration of Antigonos in Nepos is no small detail. If it is not the result of the elaboration by Plutarch and Nepos (cf. Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 189), the difference between two otherwise parallel accounts would reveal the contamination of the source traditions and should inspire us with caution when drawing conclusions from the united tradition (cf. supra, Part I, §3.2.3). διὰ δὲ τὴν προγεγενημένην φιλίαν: Both Plutarch (Eum. 18.4) and Nepos (Eum. 12.3) also note the former friendship between Antigonos and Eumenes in their accounts of his captivity (cf. Billows 1990, 35), Plutarch even using literally the same words as Diodoros with the addition of a synonym: διὰ τὴν προγεγενημένην φιλίαν καὶ συνήθειαν. The three authors all mention it on a different point in the narrative, which need not be significant, though. Indeed, the phrase προγεγενημένη φιλία vel sim. is quite rare, as it is only found at Arist. EN 1165b35, Plb. X 37.7, and Diod. XIX 8.6: the correspondence between Diodoros

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and Plutarch is thus most unlikely to be a coincidence. That the only other instance in Diodoros happens to be in the Sicilian narrative of book XIX and precedes the present passage is remarkable, but need not disprove that Plutarch and Diodoros go back to the same source at this point. καύσας τὸ σῶμα καὶ καταθέμενος εἰς ἀγγεῖον τὰ ὀστᾶ πρὸς τοὺς οἰκείους ἀπέστειλεν: Compare the similar wording at XVIII 36.1, τὰ σώματα τῶν πρὸς αὐτὸν ἐκπεσόντων καύσας καὶ τῆς ἁρμοζούσης κηδείας ἀξιώσας ἀπέστειλε τὰ ὀστᾶ πρὸς τοὺς οἰκείους τε καὶ φίλους τῶν τετελευτηκότων; XXVI 16, ἀναλέξας δὲ τὰ τοῦ σώματος ὀστᾶ καὶ φιλανθρώπως περιστείλας ἀπέστειλεν εἰς τὸ τῶν Ῥωμαίων στρατόπεδον. The latter passage suggests that the two occurrences in the Successor narrative need not be significant. The phrase τὰ ὀστᾶ ἀποστέλλειν is generally rare, especially outside of Judaeo-Christian Texts, where I have only found it at Paus. IX 29.9. As far as the contents go, the present passage closely echoes the more detailed statements in Nepos (Eum. 13.4) and Plutarch (Eum. 19.2), but the latter’s vocabulary is quite different. Besides here and at XVIII 36.1, returning an enemy’s last remains as an act of goodwill is also mentioned at XIX 59.3; cf. Plut. Demetr. 53.2 with Rives-Gal 1996, 273; Alonso Troncoso 2009, 296 – 298. Also compare App. Syr. 63 (with Alonso Troncoso 2009, 293 – 294); Plut. Pyrrh. 34.9; Plb. V 10.4.

44.3 ὁ τὰς ἱστορίας συνταξάμενος Ἱερώνυμος ὁ Καρδιανός…: Hieronymos of Kardia was a fellow-countryman of Eumenes, and one of his most trusted friends. He had served him in the fields of war, as is revealed by the mention that he was wounded, and diplomacy. From this time on, he would fulfil the same functions for Antigonos, his son Demetrios and his grandson Antigonos Gonatas. Hieronymos is most famous, of course, for his history of the Diadochoi, which unfortunately did not survive the ravages of time, except for some very few and rather short quotations by later writers (Reuß 1876; Jacoby 1913; Berve 1926, II, no. 383; Brown 1947; Sandberger 1970, no. 38; Olshausen 1974, no. 1 and 69; Hornblower 1981; Billows 1990, 390 – 392; Knoepfler 2001a, 35 – 40; Asheri 2006; Heckel 2006, 139 – 140; Roisman 2010; see also above, Part I, §3.1.1). Taking over the Friends of a defeated enemy was not uncommon, as the Successors probably were willing to forgive some previous opposition if they saw the opportunity to gain an able collaborator (cf. e.g. 48.6 [Xenophilos] and 86.2 [Andronikos]; Billows 1990, 371; Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 279 n. 99 and 366; Meißner 2000, 14). For this very reason, the story probably does not reflect as badly on Hieronymos as Landucci Gattinoni (1981/2, 17) asserts. Hieronymos is not presented as a traitor and ancient readers need not have interpreted the event as such. Fur-

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thermore, the fact that none of the parallel accounts mentions Hieronymos is not as striking as she would have it. Plutarch and Nepos wrote biographies of Eumenes and cannot be expected to mention events which had no direct bearing on their protagonist. Justin focusses on the dramatic capture and surrender of Eumenes, and he too shows no interest whatsoever in the accompanying events. There is no reason, then, to doubt that the passage under discussion could derive from Hieronymos (cf. next lemma). However, there is no evidence that it does either. Some assume that Hieronymos paid excessive attention to his own role in the history of the Successors (Jacoby 1913, 1540; Beloch 1925, 478; Adams 1974, 18; Geiger 1995, 175 and 178; contra Knoepfler 2001a, 36), but it is difficult to make such a judgement on the basis of Diodoros’ summary, if Hieronymos was his source at all. Since Diodoros mentions that Hieronymos had written the history of the Diadochoi on all occasions where he features in the Bibliotheke, we cannot exclude that we are merely facing Diodoros’ interest in the career of a fellow historian (though cf. infra, 100.1 ἐπιμελητήν…). Hieronymos’ emphasis and Diodoros’ interest are not mutually exclusive, of course. The present locution to describe authors also occurs elsewhere in Diodoros: see esp. III 11.2, ὁ τὰς γεωγραφίας συνταξάμενος ᾿Aρτεμίδωρος ὁ Ἐφέσιος, III 66.5, Διονυσίῳ τῷ συνταξαμένῳ τὰς παλαιὰς μυθοποιίας, XX 50.4, Μαρσύας ὁ τὰς Μακεδονικὰς πράξεις συνταξάμενος; cf. I 46.8, 69.7, III 67.4, XIV 8.5 and infra, 100.1 ἐπιμελητήν… for similar phrases. The wording appears to be typical of Diodoros and is rare in other authors (Clem.Al. Strom. V 113.1 appears to be an exception). ὑπ’ ᾿Aντιγόνου ἐτύγχανε φιλανθρωπίας καὶ πίστεως: It is tempting, of course, to assume that the present passage goes back to Hieronymos (cf. Köhler 1890, 587; Brown 1947, 686; Rosen 1979, 473 with n. 64; Hornblower 1981, 205; Rathmann 2005a, 405). The stress on πίστις is sometimes considered a typical feature of Hieronymos’ work (Hornblower 1981, 204– 205; cf. Anson 2004, 9). The concept also occurs in inscriptions from the age of the Successors and later, though: IG II³.1 853, l. 13 – 14, ἐμ πίστε ὢν τῶι βα[σιλεῖ Δημητρί]ωι; IG II³.1 1292, l. 18 – 19, ἐν τεῖ πίστε[ι] μένοντας; Syll. 3 675, l. 11– 12, ἐν τεῖ Ῥωμαίων φιλίαι καὶ πίστει διατελοῦμεν ὑπάρχοντες; perhaps also IG II³.1 866, l. 6 – 7 [ἐμ πίστ]ει καὶ φιλίαι ὢν τ[οῦ βασιλέως Λυσιμάχου]; cf. Herman 1980/1, 106. Diodoros uses it just as well in the context of the collaborators of the Successors: see e.g. XVIII 54.2, XIX 52.4; cf. Arr. Succ. F 24.14. In general compare also e.g. XVI 16.3, πιστότατος δὲ τῶν φίλων τοῖς δυνάσταις γεγονώς, on Philistos and the Dionysioi.

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44.4 παρεχείμασεν: For the rest of the winter of 317/6. Antigonos had left his winter quarters in December (see 37.3) and now entered them again around the end of January or the beginning of February. Ἐκβατάνων, ἐν ᾗ τῆς χώρας ἐκείνης ἐστὶ τὰ βασίλεια: On Ekbatana, see above, 19.2 Ἐκβάτανα… τοὺς δὲ στρατιώτας ἐπιδιεῖλεν εἰς ἅπασαν τὴν σατραπείαν: Quite clearly this is just a reference to the distribution of soldiers in their winter quarters. There is thus no reason to connect this passage to the settlement of Macedonian colonists here (pace Tcherikover 1927, 159 and Billows 1990, 299 – 300; Cohen HS III, 209 – 210, seems to remain cautious). Strabo (XI 13.6) does indeed mention Macedonian settlements in the region, but these are all Seleukid; there is no need to emend this passage to include Herakleia (Radt, apparatus ad loc.), the founder of which cannot be identified anyway (Cohen HS III, 215 – 216). Billows (ibid.) additionally refers to Polyaen. IV 6.15, a passage which, however, belongs to a slightly later context (cf. infra, 48.3 τοὺς ταραχωδεστάτους) and concerns places that are hard to traverse or impassable (δύσβατα), scarcely the kind of places Antigonos would have chosen for the winter quarters of his troops. τὴν ἐπαρχίαν τὴν προσαγορευομένην Ῥάγας: The area around Rhagai, a city in northern Media (Orth 1993, 134; Cohen HS III, 209 – 210; Plischke 2014, 104– 105; Henkelman 2017, 132 n. 29). It is debated how we should understand the term ἐπαρχία in this context. The word was often used to denote a province, but this cannot apply to Rhagai, so that in the present context it might have a non-technical sense like ‘region’ (Grabbe 2008a, 227 with n. 6). It has been suggested, though, that the word could also refer to the official subdivisions of a province (Briant 1996, I, 758). ἣ ταύτην τὴν προσηγορίαν ἔσχεν ἀπὸ τῶν γενομένων περὶ αὐτὴν ἀτυχημάτων ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν χρόνοις: For Diodoros’ interest in the origin of names, see e.g. I 11.1, 15.6, 19.4, II 45.3, III 39.4, IV 2.4, V 11.4, VI 6.5, XII 9.2, XIV 59.2, XV, 54.2, XVI 41.1, XVII 7.4, XVIII 6.2, XX 55.4. He likewise took some interest in the topic of natural disasters (cf. infra, next lemma and chapter 45); in addition, Clarke (1999a, 256) connects this passage to the importance of temporal universality in the Bibliotheke. Douris, who also took a strong interest in etymology (see also F20, F27, F28, F59, F79, F80, F81, F82, F96), reports the same derivation of the name Rhagai ([FGrHist 76] F54 = Strabo I 3.19, who elsewhere [XI 9.1] attributes the information to Poseidonios [FGrHist 87 F87]). This has been used as an argument that Diodoros was relying on Douris here (Landucci Gattinoni 1997, 201 and 2005a, 182– 183). Unger’s attempt (1878, 375 – 376) to show that the differences between the present passage and the fragment of Douris are significant fails to convince: they might well just be differences in

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selection and emphasis by Strabo and Diodoros. Indeed, Jacoby (1913, 1549) calls it a ‘frappante Koinzidenz’, and it is clear that the two passages in Strabo and the present Diodorean one are closely related. The verbal echoes between Str. I 3.19 (ἀνατραπῆναι πόλεις συχνὰς καὶ κώμας) and XI 9.1 (πόλεις τε συχναὶ καὶ κῶμαι δισχίλιαι […] ἀνετράπησαν) show that Poseidonios ultimately relied on Douris: otherwise one would have to assume that Strabo coincidentally rephrased the two different fragments in very similar words, but the relevant vocabulary is not so common in Strabo as to make this assumption more likely than the shared origin in Douris. Admittedly, Poseidonios might have served as intermediary in the passage Strabo attributes to Douris, but since the two Strabo passages resemble Diodoros on different points, the origin of some of the wording in Douris’ seems more likely: after all, Diodoros’ source in the present context will have been Douris rather than Poseidonios. The echoes between Diodoros and Strabo are not very striking in themselves, but the occurrence of both the not particularly frequent combination of σεισμός and ὥστε (Str. I 3.19) and the rather rare ἀπὸ τῶν γενομένων (Str. XI 9.1) in our passage does appear significant in combination with the accordance in content: the etymology of Rhagai, the disappearance of many cities and the changes in the courses of rivers (though cf. also Diod. XXXVII 1.6, ὠνομάσθη Μαρσικὸς ἀπὸ τῶν ἀρχηγῶν γενομένων τῆς ἀποστάσεως Μαρσῶν). Nonetheless, the argument that Diodoros obtained the information on Rhagai directly from Douris is not compelling either. Hieronymos was there, and he might well have described the region (Hornblower 1981, 60), perhaps even being Douris’ source (Köhler 1890, 587; Schubert 1914, 96 – 97; Billows 1990, 335). Bosworth (2002, 171), on the other hand, suggests that Douris may have been Hieronymos’ source. All of this is speculation, of course (cf. Landucci Gattinoni 1997, 201 n. 202), and the possibilities must remain open. At any rate, the significance of a point of agreement between Douris and Diodoros cannot be underestimated. Even if just resulting from the use of Hieronymos by Douris or of Douris by Hieronymos, it implies that the parallels between extant authors on parts of the history of Diadochoi need not mean that they used the same source or that their common source was Hieronymos. In fact, such contamination almost rules out the possibility of determining the authority on which a particular part of a preserved narrative relies, especially if it was Douris who used Hieronymos. In that case anything which seems to be a characteristic of the latter might have reached Diodoros through the work of the former.

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44.5 πλείστας γὰρ ἔχουσα πόλεις τῶν ἐν ἐκείνοις τοῖς τόποις καὶ μάλιστ᾽ εὐδαιμονούσας τηλικούτους ἔσχε σεισμοὺς ὥστε καὶ τὰς πόλεις καὶ τοὺς ἐνοικοῦντας ἅπαντας ἀφανισθῆναι: Cf. Str. I 3.19 (FGrHist 76] F54) and XI 9.1 (FGrHist 87 F87). The theme of prosperous cities suddenly ceasing to exist seems to have fascinated the Greeks (cf. already Hdt. I 5.3 – 4), and Diodoros was no exception: such an end constituted an even more spectacular μεταβολή than the tragic death of a formerly successful human being, as the longer period of affluence made the turn of events even more impressive. See also XI 65.5, XIX 53.8 and XXXII 27.1 for comparable statements, and in general also cf. I 45.4– 46.5, XIII 62.3 – 4, XV 66.2– 6, XVII 8.3 – 14, XVII 70.6, XVIII 22.8, XXXII 4.3 – 5); XXXI 10, on the end of empires is of course similar. Cf. also the admiration for Nasica who insisted that Karthago should not be destructed (XXXIV/V 33). For Diodoros’ interest in the destruction of cities, cf. Williams 2018. For the treatment of earthquakes in the Bibliotheke, see Casevitz 2004b.

§ 45 The Flood of Rhodes This chapter deals exclusively with a flood that occurred in Rhodes. Whether and how it is connected to the history of the Successors is unclear, and its position in the narrative, interrupting the account of Antigonos’ stay in Media, is puzzling: Wiemer (2001, 219 – 222) argues in detail that this is a separate insertion by Diodoros (cf. Rathmann 2014, 89 n. 111; Goukowsky 2019, xxviii). Perhaps it is somehow connected to the digression on the earthquakes around Rhagai that immediately precedes, though no such connection is made explicit, and its position in the narrative may rather have been determined by the time of the year in which it took place (cf. infra, 45.2 ἐπέπεσε…). However this may be, Diodoros’ interest in huge natural disasters is clear elsewhere too (e.g. at XV 48 – 49; cf. I 37.2) and the chapter also displays his penchant for the unexpected (cf. infra, 45.6 βοήθειά τις…). For another digression potentially inserted by Diodoros himself, see below, 53.3 συμβέβηκε… The vocabulary of the chapter seems to suggest the use of a peripatetic source and there are some indications that specifically point to Agatharchides of Knidos, especially the phrase ἀπίστου τὸ μέγεθος in combination with χάλαζα (and perhaps ὄμβρος καταρρηγνύει) (45.2). For διὰ τὸ βάρος (45.2) the peripatetic origin is not as compelling, but it does enhance the overall impression, as seems to be the case with μνααῖαι too (45.2). Furthermore, in the Bibliotheke the word ἔγκλισις (45.3) otherwise only occurs in passages going back to Agatharchides, and a connection to the latter as well as to the Peripatos in general also

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seems possible for the phrase πάλιν εἰς τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν τάξιν ἀποκαθιστάναι (45.6). The Peripatetics obviously were not the only Greeks who talked about the weather, but as Pollux (I 116, VI 147) shows, the available vocabulary was varied enough for the present cases to be potentially telling. Cumulatively, then, it seems safe to say that there is a strong peripatetic slant to this chapter. Jacoby (ad FGrHist 533 F2) had already suggested that Agatharchides might be the source of the Rhodian material in Diodoros’ account of the Successors. For the peripatetic influences in the thought as well as in the style of Agatharchides, see Palm 1955, 27– 30 and Schorn 2018, 253 with further references. If this is correct, we may not be facing an insertion by Diodoros himself but rather a further argument for his use of Agatharchides as an intermediate source for the history of the Successors. A peripatetic connection cannot be excluded for Zenon of Rhodes, but none is attested. Unfortunately, no other source can confirm Diodoros’ account of the flood. No mention of the disaster is made when Rhodes next appears in the narrative at 57.4 and 58.5, and it seems that the Rhodians were able to participate in Antigonos’ massive shipbuilding programme the next year: Diodoros’ report of limited damage may thus be correct. Many scholars assume, however, that the flood was one of the reasons for the Rhodian decision to ally themselves with Antigonos in 315 (cf. Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 179 n. 3 with further references). Mørkholm (1991, 90) suggests a connection with a series of early Hellenistic Rhodian coins struck on a reduced Chian standard.

45.1 κατὰ δὲ τούτους τοὺς χρόνους συνέβη γενέσθαι περὶ τὴν Ῥοδίων πόλιν τὸν τρίτον κατακλυσμόν: Cf. XV 48.1, ἐπὶ δὲ τούτων κατὰ τὴν Πελοπόννησον ἐγένοντο σεισμοὶ μεγάλοι καὶ κατακλυσμοὶ χώρας καὶ πόλεων ἄπιστοι, introducing another digression on a natural disaster (also infra, 45.2 ἀπίστου…). Diodoros occasionally uses the formula κατὰ δὲ τούτους τοὺς χρόνους when starting a new archon year (XIV 3.2, 35.2, 94.2, 99.1, XX 37.1), and here too it seems to mean nothing more than ‘during this year’: cf. supra, 17.2 περὶ δὲ τούτους… For similar instances that, like the present one, do not occur at the very beginning of Diodoros’ account of a particular year, see XI 26.8, XII 26.4. The actual indication of the time of year during which the event took place follows in 45.2, ἔαρος ἀρχομένου.

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45.2 ἐπέπεσε μὲν ἔαρος ἀρχομένου, καταρραγέντων ἐξαίφνης μεγάλων ὄμβρων καὶ χαλάζης: For similar expressions, cf. XIX 106.3, ἀναχθέντος δ’ ἐκ τῆς Καρχηδόνος τοῦ στόλου παντὸς καὶ γενομένου πελαγίου χειμὼν ἐξαίφνης ἐπιπεσὼν ἑξήκοντα μὲν τριήρεις ἠφάνισε; XX 65.1, ἐξαίφνης πνεύματος ἐπιπεσόντος. Comparable indications of the time of the year occur for instance at I 41.7, XI 91.2, XIII 108.2, XV 41.4; cf. also Corcella 2019, 161 and XIX 50.1 and 79.1. As 46.1, about Antigonos in Media, likewise describes events in early spring, Diodoros does seem to have inserted the digression in the right season. The earliest datable attestation of the phrase ὄμβρος καταρρηγνύει vel sim. is in Polybios (XI 24.9), and the next securely dated author to use it is Diodoros (also II 27.1, IX 34.1, XII 72.4, XVI 80.1, XVII 49.4); [Arist.] Mu. 400a26 may or may not be earlier. Diodoros is the only author who has more than two attestations, and is responsible for 20 % of the preserved ancient occurrences (6 out of 30). ἀπίστου τὸ μέγεθος: Cf. XV 48.1 (quoted above, 45.1 κατὰ δὲ τούτους …) for the incredible dimension of a natural disaster. The phrase ἄπιστος τὸ μέγεθος/τῷ μεγέθει is quite rare before Diodoros (Arist. Mete. 348a27; Agatharch. Mar. Erythr. 35 and 47; perhaps [Arist.] Mir. 844a30; Agatharch. [FGrHist 86] F19). After Diodoros I have only found seven more instances, mostly in Plutarch (all from the Roman lives: Flam. 10.7, Mar. 8.8, Luc. 10.3). Diodoros is the author who uses the phrase most often (also I 41.7, 51.5, III 36.1, 41.2, 53.3, XIII 81.5, XIV 108.3, XVII 41.5, 106.6). That the distribution in the Bibliotheke is uneven is not remarkable in itself (cf. supra, Part I, §2.3), but in combination with the Agatharchides fragments, the cluster in the section based on that author in book III does become more telling. The potentially Agatharchidean origin is strengthened further by the combination with χάλαζα, as Diodoros is the only non-Aristotelian author to use the phrase: see Arist. Mete. 348a26 – 27 (χάλαζα γίγνεται πολλὴ καὶ τὸ μέγεθος ἄπιστος); Alex.Aphr. in Mete., ed. Hayduck p. 50; Phlp. in Mete., ed. Hayduck XIV.1 p. 124. In the Biblioteheke, moreover, it occurs twice: here and at I 41.7 which is explicitly indicated as a quotation from Agatharchides ([FGrHist 86] F19), so in book I the phrase may have been taken over from Diodoros’ peripatetic source, and the same may well be true in the present instance. μνααῖαι: It is unclear whether these are Rhodian or, for instance, Attic minai (according to Mørkholm 1991, 90, Rhodian coins on a reduced Chian standard were struck in the aftermath of the present flood). On the Rhodian standard one mina is 340 g, whereas an Attic mina is ca. 430 g. Reliable information about the size of hailstones appears to be rare, but with ‘the world’s heaviest fully authenticated hailstone’ known to Krause & Flood (1997, 40, quoting Meaden) weighing 758 g, Diodoros’ claim does not seem impossible; Krause & Flood (1997, 41) also report a hailstone of 1.02 kg in Bangladesh, and their heaviest European

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specimen is claimed to have weighed 972 g, whereas another one they do not wish to vouch for reportedly had a mass of 1.9 kg (ibid., 39). The word μναιαῖος is quite rare: in Diodoros it only occurs here and at XIX 109.2, whereas we find τετραμναῖος at III 16.5 in a passage that definitely goes back to Agatharchides (though Photios admittedly does not use the word in the corresponding passage) and διμναῖος at XVI 56.6. In other historians μναιαῖος and its composita seem equally rare: I have only found three instances in the sample range from μναιαῖος to δεκαμναῖος (Hdt. V 77.3, Plb. XIII 2.3 [twice]), though Xenophon has three instances in his technical and philosophical works (Eq.Mag. 1.16, Eq. 4.4; Lac. 7.5). Generally, those texts in which they are more common are concerned with engineering (e.g. Ph. Bel. 6, 7, 42 [six instances]; Hero Mechan. Frag. I 1), lexicography (e.g. Poll. IX 57 [twice], 96; Hsch. η515 [three instances], μ1590) or peripatetic science (e.g. Arist. Cael. 311b4 with several more instances in Simplikios’ commentary, Oec. 1347a23). διὰ τὸ βάρος: Before Aristotle, who has eighteen instances (e.g. HA 630b30, Mete. 341b12, 355b4– 5), this phrase occurs only twice: Aesop. Fab. 256 and X. Cyr. III 3.42, the former of which may derive from the collection edited by the peripatetic philosopher Demetrios of Phaleron (also cf. infra, 45.6 καὶ ταχύ…). There are several other peripatetic attestations, again including Agatharchides (Mar. Erythr. 27; also Thphr. Lass. fr. 7.13 Wimmer; Heraclid. Crit. [FGrHist 2022] 1.12). As with ἀπίστου τὸ μέγεθος, in the Bibliotheke the phrase is particularly frequent in the section going back to Agatharchides in book III (I 7.1, II 50.5, III 10.5, 14.1, 17.4, 28.3, IV 61.9, XIV 82.2, XVI 83.2, XVII 26.4, XVIII 71.5, XX 55.4, XXIX 21, XXXI 27a). It does not occur in the other authors of late koine like Dionysios, Josephus or Plutarch, whose language tends to be similar to that of Diodoros. There are, however, three instances in Polybios (I 51.6, III 55.5, 86.3), one of which is quite comparable to our passage as it concerns the weight of snow (III 55.5, διά τε τὸ βάρος καὶ διὰ τὸ πῆγμα τῆς προϋπαρχούσης χιόνος). It is not immediately clear what to make of this, but in combination with ἀπίστου τὸ μέγεθος the potential connection with Agatharchides appears a little stronger.

45.3 θεατροειδοῦς: Cf. XX 83.2, also on Rhodes. Dueck (2005a, 49 – 50) discusses this and other words to describe the shape of places in ancient geography (cf. Durvye 2018a, 246 n. 541). The echo with XX 83.2 may suggest that the same source has been used in both passages, but this need not be the case: the word is very rare overall and as a result comparatively frequent in Diodoros (also II 10.2, XVI 76.2). The only secure attestation older than the Bibliotheke is

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in the Letter of Aristeas (105) and after Diodoros there are four instances in Strabo (IV 1.4, IX 3.3, XIV 2.15, XVI 2.41) which are followed by only six further preserved ancient occurrences. Also compare the description of Alexandria as chlamys-shaped at XVII 52.3. τὰς ἐγκλίσεις τῶν ὑδάτων κατὰ τὸ πλεῖστον εἰς ἕνα τόπον ποιουμένης: All other occurrences of ἔγκλισις in Diodoros seem to go back to Agatharchides: this is certain for III 14.1 and 42.3 and it is likely that II 52.5 is at least indirectly Agatharchidean (cf. Eck 2003, xxxviii–xl). It is yet another word with a potential peripatetic connection, as it is rare before Aristotle but there are several instances in the Corpus Aristotelicum (e.g. Col. 792a22, GC 336b4, Mu. 396a9, Phgn. 808a13, Pol. 1330a39, Pr. 912a25) and Theophrastos (Ign. 55, CP II 19.5). Only a single instance each is found in Polybios (XXI 7.4) and in Strabo’s Geography (I 2.21); three occurrences in Dionysios of Halikarnassos have the technical sense from the field of grammar (Comp. 6, 25; Demosth. 52) and the fourth one describes a facial expression in terms of rhetorical theory (Demosth. 54). Wilhelm (1935, 250 – 251) is right that the sentence is difficult to understand and his suggestion to emend ἐγκλίσεις to the rare word ἐκκλύσεις is interesting, though the problem may lie elsewhere (for instance a missing preposition). τῶν δ᾽ ἐν τοῖς τείχεσιν ὀβελίσκων: For these drain grates in city walls, see Wilhelm 1935, 251– 253; Bizière 1975, ad loc.; Livadiotti 2012, 115.

45.6 βοήθειά τις αὐτόματος ἐγένετο: The phrase seems unique to Diodoros (cf. II 25.8, XXIV 12.2), since Ktesias (FGrHist 688) F1b, the only other ancient attestation, is taken from the Bibliotheke. Like here (45.4 παραδόξως), it seems related to the theme of unexpected reversals in the other instances too (II 25.8, μεταβολή; XXIV 12.2, παράδοξον). καὶ ταχὺ πάλιν ἕκαστος εἰς τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν τάξιν ἀποκατέστη: The meaning of ἕκαστος in this context is somewhat puzzling, but I 25.5 shows that the phrase can refer to people (as it is interpreted for instance in the translations of Geer, Bizière and Waterfield); Wilhelm’s (1935, 253 – 254) proposed correction ὁ πᾶς τόπος has some appeal because of the parallel with I 63.9 (πάλιν τὸ πᾶν ἔργον εἰς τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν ἀποκατεστάθη τάξιν), but the τόπος of Dionysos (45.4) is surely too remote in the text to be referred to here. The locution προϋπάρχουσα τάξις is attested only once before Diodoros (Plb. I 28.2), and the phrase εἰς τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν τάξιν, which is generally quite rare, does not occur in any surviving text older than the Bibliotheke. Diodoros is responsible for six of the eight ancient attestations (also Diod. I 25.5, 36.8, 63.9, III 40.9, XX 111.3; Ascl. Tact. 12.1; Ael. Tact. 32.1). The distribution in the Bibliotheke is un-

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remarkable in itself, though it is worth noting that I 36.8 very probably and III 40.9 definitely go back to Agatharchides. The combination πάλιν ἀποκαθιστάναι is mostly found in scientific and philosophical texts: the earliest certain attestations occur in Theophrastos (CP V 3.7, VI 7.6, HP VIII 7.4) and his contemporary Autolykos (De Sphaer. 1), while the vocabulary of Aisopos’ Fables (50 and 109) is hard to date, but the earliest known collection was edited by the peripatetic philosopher Demetrios of Phaleron (cf. also the dubious Aristotelian De Plantis 821a11– 12). There are three instances in Polybios (XI 30.5, XV 18.3, XXX 3.2). In Diodoros there is again an interesting distribution, as five of the thirteen instances occur in sections that very likely or certainly (I 32.6, II 48.8, 56.2, III 40.9, 62.7) go back to Agatharchides. Amongst the other ones (I 63.9, XII 40.3, XV 47.3, 81.3, XIX 98.1, XX 108.3, XXII 13.7), the passages from book XIX seem particularly significant as XIX 98.1 is a repetition of II 48.8, which potentially goes back to Agatharchides, and the present phrase is particularly similar in both content and wording to a passage for which Agatharchides certainly was the source: III 40.9, πάλιν ἐπελθοῦσαν ἐξαίσιον πλήμην ἀποκαταστῆσαι τὸν πόρον εἰς τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν τάξιν, likewise concerning a flood.

§ 46 – 48 The Establishment of Antigonos’ Supremacy in Asia With Eumenes removed, the road seemed open for Antigonos to establish his supremacy in Asia (Wehrli 1968, 40 – 43; Billows 1990, 105 – 106; Bosworth 2002, 159 – 168; Anson 2014, 125 – 126). He started by eliminating rivals and installing his own friends as satraps. Diodoros’ focus is on two stories of changing fortunes: Peithon’s downfall and the subsequent failure of his collaborators (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.3). After that he discusses Antigonos’ administrative reorganizations and moralizes on the fate of the argyraspids. In the latter passage (48.4, αἱ γὰρ ἀσεβεῖς…) we find an important indication against identifying Hieronymos as Diodoros’ direct source.

46.1 ᾿Aντίγονος δὲ χειμάζων ἐν τῇ Μηδίᾳ καὶ πυθόμενος Πίθωνα…: Cf. Polyaen. IV 6.14, ᾿Aντίγονος Πίθωνα σατράπην Μηδίας πυθόμενος… As is also clear from the next lemmata, Polyainos and Diodoros seem to be following the same source (also see below, 48.1 τιμῆς…). πολλοὺς τῶν ἐν τῇ χειμασίᾳ στρατιωτῶν ἐπαγγελίαις καὶ δωρεαῖς ἰδίους κατασκευάζειν: On this expression, see above, 11.1 τῶν δὲ Μακεδόνων…

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διανοεῖσθαι νεωτερίζειν: Cf. Polyaen. IV 6.14. Peithon’s ambition is constantly stressed (see above, 14.3 ὄντος τοῦ Πίθωνος…). It is quite likely, as Bosworth (2002, 160) submits, that Peithon was rightly claiming that Antigonos could not have won without him, a suggestion the latter probably did not appreciate very much given that he was not prepared to share his power. Bosworth further argues that the plans for a revolt are merely an inference from Peithon’s public actions, as it is only said that Antigonos heard of the plans, not that the satrap of Media had them. If Peithon wanted to rebel, it is indeed surprising that he would have acted so openly, and even more so that he naively went to Antigonos apparently without taking any precautions (Polyaen. IV 6.14 claims that Peithon came to take command of a large group of soldiers Antigonos promised him). Of course, it is difficult to judge the situation on the basis of our summary sources. προσποιηθεὶς δὲ ἀπιστεῖν τοῖς διαβάλλουσι: Cf. Polyaen. IV 6.14, ἀπιστεῖν τοῖς ἀγγέλλουσι προσεποιήσατο. καταλιπεῖν τῶν ἄνω σατραπειῶν στρατηγὸν Πίθωνα καὶ δύναμιν ἱκανὴν τὴν παρέξουσαν τὴν ἀσφάλειαν: This was the same function Peithon seems to have usurped the year before (see above, 14.1 στατηγός…). It was an astute idea to tempt him into coming to him by promising to confirm him in the office, although one wonders what such a ratification by Antigonos was worth and why it required Peithon to come in person: letters seemed sufficient when Eumenes was made general of Asia by Polyperchon (XVIII 57.3 – 58.1) and when Eurydike transferred the regency from the latter to Kassandros (Just. XIV 5.3). It would seem that Antigonos had been usurping royal prerogatives for a while now (see above, 25.3 χώραν…), and the victory over Eumenes only enhanced the idea that he could do whatever he wanted. At any rate, Antigonos was the most powerful player in Asia, and having his support must have seemed an attractive assurance to Peithon. Given that Antigonos assumed that Peithon would be so enthusiastic as to come to him immediately, the latter probably did not yet hold the function he desired officially. On the στρατηγός of the upper satrapies, see also below, 100.3 παρὰ Νικάνορος… The phrase ἀσφάλειαν παρέχειν is already attested in the fourth century (e.g. Isocr. Ep. 7.8; X. Cyr. IV 5.28) and occurs three times in Polybios (II 16.12, X 30.3, XXII 6.5), but it seems to be particularly frequent in Diodoros: see also I 67.9, V 12.1, VIII 4.1, XII 42.7, XV 65.1, 71.6, XVII 42.5, XVIII 62.2, XIX 7.3, 62.9, 64.5, 66.3, 94.6, 101.2, XX 15.6, 25.1, 62.1, 92.2, 107.3, 108.7, XXIV 1.9, XXXIII 4a.1. Within the Bibliotheke, in turn, books XVIII–XX contain 14 out of 23 instances, but only eight of these belong to the history of the Successors: once more, then, we appear to be facing the linguistic clustering characteristic of Diodoros rather than the influence of his source.

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46.2 ὡς σατράπην καταλειφθησόμενον: Although the title satrap was not strictly limited to provincial governors (see above, 12.2 σατράπης), the Macedonians are unlikely to have used it in any other sense. The enigmatic occurrence of the title satrap in this sentence should probably be attributed to mistaken use by Diodoros. Peithon already held the title of satrap, and he can hardly have been inspired to great expectations if Antigonos would simply confirm him in the office. Furthermore, above the new office of Peithon is called τῶν ἄνω σατραπειῶν στρατηγός. Diodoros sometimes used στρατηγός when he meant σατράπης, which was definitely correct in his own time, and possibly already in the age of the Successors (see above, 22.1 Πευκέστης…). He might somehow have thought that he could therefore use both terms interchangeably, so that he now wrote σατράπης in a context where it was certainly wrong: I do not see how there could have been an overall commander of all upper satrapies with the title of satrap. The same error of using satrap as a synonym of strategos was made by Pausanias (I 6.6), describing Ptolemaios’ brother Menelaos, the στρατηγός of Cyprus, as satrap, and possibly by Appian (Syr. 55 on Nikanor, cf. Billows 1990, 413, and below, 92.1 Νικάνορος…). It is less clear why Harpalos is called satrap at XVII 108.4 (cf. Van der Spek 2014, 325). καὶ παρ᾽ ᾿Aλεξάνδρῳ προαγωγῆς δι᾽ ἀρετὴν τετευχότα καὶ κατ᾽ ἐκεῖνον τὸν καιρὸν σατράπην μὲν ὄντα τῆς Μηδίας, πεπολιτευμένον δὲ πρὸς ἅπαν τὸ στρατόπεδον: Cf. the similar description of Peukestas who had also been one of Alexander’s σωματοφύλακες (supra, 14.4 γεγενημένος…), and XVIII 36.5 for Peithon’s ἀρετή. In other cases, the fact that they were satraps had not stopped Antigonos from eliminating his enemies (see 44.1, on Antigenes and Eudamos); what is probably meant is that Peithon had many supporters in his province (cf. supra, 38.4 φίλων…), which was a factor preventing removal (see below, 48.1 εὖ τὰ πρὸς τούς…). The fact that Peithon had many followers in the army as well (cf. 46.1 and 3) probably was the main reason why Antigonos had to be careful in choosing the right strategy to get rid of him.

46.3 μεγάλας ὑπογραφόντων ἐλπίδας: Cf. XXIX 11.1, ἀγαθὰς ἐλπίδας ὑπογραφούσα; and XIII 53.4, XVI 89.3, XVII 26.2, 30.5, XVIII 50.5, XIX 61.5, 71.1, XX 56.1, 94.5, XXVI 2.1, XXX 9.2, for μεγάλαι ἐλπίδες. The Hellenistic expression ὑπογράφειν ἐλπίδας is rather rare, the earliest attestation being in the letters of Epikouros (Ep. ad Menoeceum 134), then occurring four times in Polybios (V 36.1, 36.2, 62.2, XIV 7.3). After Diodoros it is found three times in the works of Philon (De

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confus. ling. 166, In Flacc. 124, Leg. 348), and after that only three more individual attestations occur before the fourth century CE.

46.4 κατηγορίαν ποιησάμενος ἐν τοῖς μετέχουσι τοῦ συνεδρίου ῥᾳδίως κατεδίκασε καὶ παραχρῆμα ἀπέκτεινεν: Polyainos (IV 6.14), on the other hand, writes ᾿Aντίγονος δὲ ἐς τὸ κοινὸν τῶν Μακεδόνων ἐσαγαγῶν Πίθωνα ἑλὼν τιμωρησάμενος ἀπέκτεινεν. The phrase τὸ κοινὸν τῶν Μακεδόνων has usually been taken to mean the army assembly (Rzepka 2005, 132– 133). Many scholars therefore assume that there were two stages in the process, first a condemnation in the council of Antigonos’ friends, which was then confirmed by the assembly (Granier 1931, 95 – 96; Simpson 1959a, 373; Briant 1973b, 155; Hammond 1988a, 192 n. 3; Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 281). Errington (1978, 120 n. 148) claims that Polyainos’ τὸ κοινὸν τῶν Μακεδόνων is not used elsewhere (but cf. Diod. XVIII 4.3, τὸ κοινὸν τῶν Μακεδόνων πλῆθος), and that its meaning is not clear. In his view Diodoros’ version is more specific. The context does indeed suggest that a trial before the army is rather unlikely. Given Peithon’s popularity with a large number of soldiers (46.1– 3), Antigonos probably did not risk involving the troops (cf. Bizière 1975, ad loc.). He probably wanted to hold some kind of trial, so that he could not be accused as easily of simply doing away with Peithon because of the wide support the latter enjoyed (cf. Engel s.d., 48 – 50). Apparently Macedonian kings had always been able to choose the legal procedure they wished to use (Borza 1990, 247; O’Neil 1999b, esp. 37 and 46; Carlier 2000, 265; Anson 2008a), so that Antigonos could likewise claim a certain freedom in that respect, there being no fixed system. If Diodoros’ summary has obscured the chronology, Antigonos might have called the soldiers together (46.5) before executing Peithon, first announcing the decision of the council to the men. If so, that might be the κοινόν Polyainos refers to. O’Neil (1999b, 40) prefers to leave the question open.

46.5 συναγαγὼν δὲ τὸ στρατόπεδον εἰς ἕνα τόπον: That Antigonos assembled all troops before appointing a successor to Peithon, suggests that he organized some sort of public proclamation meant first and foremost to demonstrate to those who had joined Peithon that he was securely in power so as to discourage them from any further rebellious thoughts. σατράπην μὲν ἀπέδειξε τῆς Μηδίας Ὀροντοβάτην Μῆδον: Nothing else is known of Orontobates, not even how long he remained in office (cf. infra, 92.1

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Νικάνορος…). Together with Aspeisias (see 55.1), Orontobates is one of the two native satraps appointed by Antigonos (Billows 1990, 413 – 414; Meeus 2013b, 90). In a sense Antigonos thus continued Alexander’s practice, although perhaps he just thought that a local was unlikely to develop ambitions like those of Peithon (Hyland 2013, 140; Olbrycht 2013, 167). Billows (1990, 306 – 308) argues that Antigonos’ policy resembled that of Alexander more than most Hellenistic rulers’; he may underestimate the native element in the Seleukid empire, though (Cf. Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 121– 125). στρατηγὸν δὲ Ἱππόστρατον: Hippostratos’ origins are unknown, but it has been suggested that he might have been a brother of Medeios of Larissa (Hauben 1975, 65). It is usually assumed that Diodoros is imprecise, and that Hippostratos was appointed στρατηγὸς τῶν ἄνω σατραπειῶν (Bengtson 1964, I, 181– 183; Schober 1981, 85 and 89 – 90; Billows 1990, 393). Bosworth (2002, 162), however, suggests that Hippostratos held the military command in Media, Orontobates only being responsible for the civil administration (cf. Hyland 2013, 140; Olbrycht 2013, 167).

46.6 οὔσης τῆς ἀναβάσεως ὡς ἂν εἴκοσιν ἡμερῶν εἰς τὸ βασίλειον: In his account of Alexander’s journey from Persepolis to Ekbatana Arrian (Anab. III 19.4) states that the Macedonians needed 12 days to reach Media, and after continuing their journey through the satrapy for an unknown number of days they were three days removed from Ekbatana. Arrian states that this was a particularly rapid journey in pursuit of Dareios, but along the way Alexander also needed to subdue the Paraitakai (Arr. Anab. III 19.2); furthermore, it is not certain that Alexander actually went all the way to Ekbatana (Bosworth 1980b, 335 – 336).

47.1 οἱ τοῦ Πίθωνος φίλοι καὶ μετεσχηκότες τῆς ἐπιβουλῆς: If Peithon had indeed planned a revolt, the involvement of his friends will have been the reason for their current actions, but if not, his friends probably tried to seize control of Media because they had to fear for their lives after Peithon’s execution (Bosworth 2002, 161– 162; cf. Olbrycht 2013, 167). Μελέαγρος: Nothing else is known of Meleagros, unless he is to be identified with the homonymous commander of a squadron of the Companion Cavalry at Gaugamela, in which case he must have been a member of the Macedonian nobility (Berve 1926, II, no. 495; Heckel 1992, 349 and 2006, 161). The name was not uncommon, however (Hoffmann 1906, 146 – 147).

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Μενοίτας: A Menoitas, son of Hegesandros, is attested with Alexander in Egypt. He might be the same man (Berve 1926, II, no. 510; Heckel 2006, 166). Since his death is not recorded below along with that of Meleagros (47.4), Heckel (loc. cit.) suggests that he might have escaped or joined Antigonos after having been captured.

47.2 τῶν μὴ βουλομένων συναφίστασθαι Μήδων: Some Medes participated in the revolt (cf. also 47.4 Ὀκράνης ὁ Μῆδος), which – if it was not simply a local power struggle – may again suggest that Peithon had entertained good relations with the natives (see above, 38.4 φίλων…; Hyland 2013, 140; Olbrycht 2013, 167). We have no idea of the number of Medes who joined the present revolt, but it is striking that the rebels even plundered Median territory, thus starting a kind of civil war as well as an uprising against Antigonos. πυθόμενοι στρατοπεδεύειν: This is the received text and is maintained by Bizière. Fischer, however, assumed that something was missing and on the basis of XIX 93.2 (cf. infra, ad loc. and 95.5, he restored the text as πυθόμενοι στρατοπεδεύειν, which is accepted by Geer (1947) and Waterfield (2019). Fischer may well be right that something is missing here, but with Diodoros one never knows for sure. It is thus hard to tell what if anything it would be: καταπεφρονηκότως is just one of several possibilities, and it is equally possible, for instance, that a location has disappeared from the text (cf. e.g. XVI 38.4, XIX 21.1, 77.5, 93.1).

47.4 Ὀκράνης ὁ Μῆδος: Otherwise unknown (Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.); even the name is not attested elsewhere. καὶ τὰ μὲν περὶ τοὺς ἀποστάντας ἐν Μηδίᾳ τοιαύτην ἔσχε τὴν κατάστασιν: Cf. XIX 72.2, καὶ τὰ μὲν περὶ Σικελίαν ἐν τούτοις τοῖς χρόνοις τοιαύτην ἔσχε τὴν κατάστασιν, a formula which does not occur elsewhere in the extant parts of the work, whereas the word κατάστασις is found throughout the Bibliotheke (XII 26.3 comes close to the present usage; further e.g. I 71.5, III 73.3, V 82.1, XI 10.2, XIII 12.1, XIV 3.3, XV 79.3, XVI 65.9, XX 31.2). Given that the transitional formulas most likely are Diodoros’ own work, and unless one would argue that the history of Sicily and of the Successors comes from the same source, it seems that – again – Diodoros’ tendency to repeat to same phrases at short intervals rather than his following his authorities is the cause of the fact that a particular expression only occurs in book XIX.

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48.1 τιμῆς μὲν ὑπὸ τῶν ἐγχωρίων ἠξιώθη βασιλικῆς ὡς ἂν κύριος ὢν ὁμολογουμένως τῆς ᾿Aσίας: Cf. Polyaen. IV 6.13, ᾿Aντίγονος δὲ ἁπάσης τῆς ᾿Aσίας βασιλεὺς ἀνηγορεύθη, obviously a simplified summary of what Diodoros says (Bengtson 1964, I, 111 n. 1). That the Persians did indeed honour Antigonos as their new lord is not impossible (cf. Bosworth 2002, 162), as the existence of an Argead king in Macedonia need not have been more than an immaterial technicality to them. There is other evidence that the royal title was informally used by the Diadochoi long before 306, and it is not unlikely that Antigonos was actually called king by the Persians after his victory over Eumenes (esp. Bosworth 2000b, 228 – 238; cf. Bizière 1975, 68 n. 1; Hammond 1988a, 172; Samuel 1989, 25 – 26; Carney 2000, 118 – 119 with n. 12; Wheatley 2001, 153 – 154 and 2009a, 57 and 61; though see Paschidis 2013). One might compare the present situation with what happened to Scipio Africanus in Spain, who was also offered the royal title by the locals, which he obviously could not accept, although he did behave like a king towards the natives who expected him to do so (Martin 1994, 299 – 301). Ritter’s view (1965, 101 n. 2) that Antigonos might have been acclaimed ἁπάσης τῆς ᾿Aσίας βασιλεύς by his troops is out of the question (cf. Müller 1973, 46 – 47, who is, however, seriously misguided in not recognizing the echo between Diodoros and Polyainos). The Macedonians would not have accepted a non-Argead as monarch at this time, let alone that they would themselves have hailed some such man king. For the same reason it is inconceivable that Antigonos assumed the title (contra Frye 1983, 149 n. 2). The view of Asia as a separate kingdom within the empire, furthermore, is a modern invention contradicted by the sources (Rathmann 2005b, 19 – 20 n. 53; Meeus 2008, 81). That Antigonos ‘proclaimed himself “Lord of Asia”’, as Adams (1997, 238 and 2006, 31; cf. Hammond 1988a, 147) contends, is likewise rather unlikely: he still professed loyalty to the Argead house (see below, on 61.1– 3) and in Babylonian documents of the time he is still called general (Bosworth 2002, 162 n. 221). Bosworth (2002, 162 n. 221) notes that the qualification added in Geer’s translation (‘as if he was the acknowledged lord of Asia’) is unnecessary. In Hellenistic prose it was common to add a superfluous ἄν after ὡς, and the phenomenon is also to be observed in Diodoros’ usage (Palm 1955, 99 – 100; cf. de Foucault 1972, 176; above, 18.3 ὡς ἄν…). Furthermore, rendering the Greek simply with ‘as the acknowledged master of Asia’ (Waterfield 2019) would seem to fit the context better and seems to have been Polyainos’ understanding too. The situation seems to be described aptly by Diodoros. The natives understandably were quick to pay their respects to the new master in their territory, and they did so in a manner familiar to them.

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μετὰ τῶν φίλων συνεδρεύσας ἐβουλεύετο περὶ τῶν σατραπειῶν: Although Antigonos – officially at least – did not accept the royal title the Persians seem to have offered him, his actions are those of a new king (cf. Gehrke 1982, 260; Bosworth 2002, 162– 163; Wallace 2017, 17; supra 18.1 Σέλευκον… and 25.3 χώραν… for earlier hints of his usurping royal power). He went on to install his own men as satraps, just like Alexander had done before him (but apparently unlike the Persian kings, who usually maintained the existing governors in office: Briant 1996, I, 588). It is the execution of a plan which seems to have been formed already in 319 (Diod. XVIII 50.5). Diodoros’ list of the reorganization is incomplete: Parthyaia is not mentioned, and – unless this had already occurred in 317 – the replacement of Amphimachos with Blitor in Mesopotamia is likewise omitted (Simpson 1959a, 373; but cf. supra, 18.1 Σέλευκον…). Given that Parthyaia and perhaps Mesopotamia are not mentioned, it seems difficult to attach too much weight to the fact that the Indian satrapies are not being discussed here, as some do when assuming that this means they were no longer under Macedonian control (e.g. Mehl 1986, 159; Holt 1988, 96; Billows 1990, 105; Kartunnen 1997, 256 – 257). Furthermore, Antigonos is unlikely to have taken a new decision about them as he did not even interfere in Baktria and Paropanisadai. Hammond (1988a, 147) contends that Antigonos should also have consulted the assembly of the Macedonians for his satrapal reorganization, but there does not seem to have been any such legal procedure (cf. infra, 55.3 ἣν Μακεδόνες…) and it is clear that Antigonos was no longer playing by the rules of the Argead kingdom anyway. Alexander certainly had not consulted the army when appointing his governors, and it is unlikely that the Diadochoi had ever felt the need to do so. Τληπόλεμον: Tlepolemos may have fled back to his satrapy immediately after the battle (Heckel 1980b, 44). Στασάνορα: Stasanor of Soloi in Cyprus, one of Alexander’s hetairoi, is assumed to have been a member of the local royal house of his hometown. In 330/29 he was installed as satrap, first of Areia, since 328/7 of Drangiane as well. While at Babylon his provincial command was confirmed, at Triparadeisos he was apparently reassigned to Baktria, replacing Philippos who was moved to Parthyaia. After this he is not mentioned in the sources again (Berve 1926, II, no. 719; Dobbins 1984, 77; Heckel 2006, 255; Mendoza Sanahuja 2017). οὐ γὰρ ῥᾴδιον ἦν τούτους δι᾽ ἐπιστολῆς ἐκβαλεῖν: The same is said of Poros and Taxiles at Triparadeisos: Diod. XVIII 39.6, οὐ γὰρ ἦν τούτους τοὺς βασιλεῖς μετακινῆσαι χωρὶς βασιλικῆς δυνάμεως καὶ ἡγεμόνος ἐπιφανοῦς; Arr. Succ. F1.36, ἐπεὶ μηδὲ ῥᾴδιον μετακινῆσαι αὐτοὺς ἐξ ᾽Αλεξάνδρου τε ἐπιτετραμμένους τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ δύναμιν ὶκανὴν ἔχοντας; cf. also the claims about Ptolemaios at Tripar-

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adeisos (Diod. XVIII 39.5; Arr. Succ. F1.36; HE F1.4, the latter adding Lysimachos) and infra, 48.2 χρόνου… εὖ τὰ πρὸς τοὺς ἐγχωρίους πεπολιτευμένους καὶ πολλοὺς ἔχοντας συναγωνιστάς: By ἐγχώριοι Diodoros must have meant the natives rather than Graeco-Macedonian settlers, who he would have called katoikountes vel sim. (Olbrycht 2013, 161; Mendoza Sanahuja 2017, 50 and 61). We can thus conclude that Tlepolemos and Stasanor belonged to the large group of satraps who entertained good relations with the natives (see above, 38.4 φίλων…). It has been argued that this is impossible in light of the native resistance reported by Porph. Abst. IV 21.4– 5 (Holt 1988, 96 n. 38; Engels 2017, 131– 132 and 219), but even if one accepts Porphyry’s information about Stasanor as basically historical – which it may well be – (cf. supra, 34.6 ἔνιοι…), its accuracy need not be beyond reproach: that Stasanor’s activity is situated in Baktria should in principle mean that the episode took place after Stasanor got appointed there in 320, but at that point he was no longer technically Alexander’s hyparchos. Perhaps, then, Porphyry got the area wrong or he did not mean that Stasanor was satrap at the time. At 48.5 strong native support is said to have been the very reason why Peukestas was removed, but of course the context was totally different as Antigonos was present in Persis with his army to enforce his will (cf. previous lemma and 48.2, where the problem is said to have been that it would be time-consuming and required a large army). The mention of the large number of συναγωνισταί of Tlepolemos and Stasanor shows that many of the satraps probably used only a fraction of their military potential for the war against Peithon in late 318 (14.1– 3).

48.2 τὴν ᾿Aρίαν: Areia and Drangiane constituted the satrapy of Stasandros (see above, 14.7 Στάσανδρος…). His fate is unknown; perhaps he had fallen in the battle or he might have been executed by Antigonos (cf. Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 186). Εὔιτον: Otherwise unknown (Billows 1990, 385). Εὐαγόραν: Euagoras is otherwise unknown, but he must have been a trusted Antigonid officer (Billows 1990, 384). He is often identified with the Euagros who later (92.4) appears as satrap of Persis (Niese 1893, 299; Hornblower 1981, 279; Mehl 1986, 109; Billows 1990, 384– 385; Bosworth 2002, 237 n. 104), although the identification is not necessary. We should remember how little we know of the the eastern satrapies in these years (cf. Schober 1981, 87 n. 1; Tubach 1995, 115 n. 104).

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Ὀξυάρτην δὲ τὸν Ῥωξάνης πατέρα: Cf. supra, 14.6 τοῦ Ὀξυάρτου… χρόνου πολλοῦ καὶ δυνάμεως ἁδρᾶς: Cf. XVIII 39.6, quoted above (48.1 οὐ γὰρ ῥᾴδιον…).

48.3 μετεπέμψατο δὲ καὶ Σιβύρτιον ἐξ ᾿Aραχωτῶν: That Antigonos summoned Sibyrtios to discuss the matter in person shows that a weighty issue was at stake, but it is unclear what exactly. Antigonos is unlikely to have ordered him to eliminate part of the Silver Shields (see the next lemmas), but the special instructions might somehow have concerned them and Sibyrtios probably was not to be patient with them. τοὺς ταραχωδεστάτους: In the account of Plutarch (Eum. 19.3) the Silver Shields are all entrusted to Sibyrtios. Polyainos (IV 6.15) seems to confirm Diodoros’ version in asserting that only 1,000 of them were sent away to Arachosia as a precaution against their untrustworthiness, but he adds that the others were also divided up and sent to remote places. Plutarch probably exaggerated for rhetorical effect (Bosworth 1992a, 83 n. 53). After all, the argyraspids were too valuable a fighting force to be simply disposed of (Bosworth 2002, 164 – 165). On the other hand, keeping them together was dangerous: they had already proven to be seditious on several occasions (Arr. Succ. F1.35 and 38; Diod. XIX 43.7; Just. XIV 4.11; Lock 1977, 337; Anson 2004, 254– 255), probably because they were highly conscious of their own value and their outstanding record. The mass execution of rebellious soldiers was not all that uncommon in the Hellenistic period: see e.g. the reports on the 600 soldiers of Kleandros in 324 (Curt. X 1.8), the 3,000 rebels in the upper satrapies (in 325 or 323 or perhaps even both: Diod. XVIII 7.5 – 9), 30 or 300 infantrymen executed by Perdikkas at Babylon in 323 (Diod. XVIII 4.7; Curt. X 9.15 – 19), 5,000 Illyrians killed by Lysimachos just out of fear that they would mutiny (Polyaen. IV 12.1), 3,000 Persian soldiers slaughtered by the Seleukid officer Cheiles (Polyaen. VII 39), and 4,000 rebellious Gauls left to die on an abandoned island by Ptolemaios II (Paus. I 7.2), the mercenaries of Hieron II of Syracuse (Plb. I 9.3 – 5); Antigonos had also considered the option regarding a group he feared would defect to Alketas, but according to Polyainos (IV 6.6) in the end decided against it because he deemed it cruel. Cf. next lemma for some instances from the Classical period. τῷ μὲν λόγῳ πρὸς τὰς ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ χρείας, τῷ δ᾽ ἔργῳ πρὸς ἀπώλειαν: An unlikely claim. As noted in the previous lemma, despite their age the Silver Shields were one of the best Macedonian units; simply doing away with them would be almost inconceivable (contra Anson 2004, 189). It is clear, furthermore, that there were military needs in the East (Schober 1981, 93): Sibyrtios had al-

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ready sent cavalrymen to his satrapy before Paraitakene (see above, 23.4 ἔλαθε…), and the Indian areas had been unstable for years (14.2 οἱ λοιποί…). What exactly was going on out there, is unclear, but it need not have been Chandragupta’s invasion (cf. Bosworth 1996b, 116: ‘the Indus lands were in disorder for some time before Chandragupta impinged upon them’ and supra, 23.4 ἔλαθε…; contra Schober 1981, 90 – 93; Bosworth 2002, 165; Schäfer 2002, 146 n. 72; Roisman 2012a, 16. Mehl 1986, 165 remains more cautious). Commanders are credited with similar goals at XI 6.3 and XII 67.3; in the latter instance Lévy (2001, 339) argues that this is Diodoros’ own interpretation. Regardless of whether his argument is convincing, it follows from the parallel accounts of Plutarch and Polyainos that such cannot be the case here.

48.4 ὥστε τῶν εἰς τὸν στρατηγὸν παρανομημάτων συντόμως αὐτοῖς ἐπιστῆναι τιμωρίαν: This idea is typical of Diodoros: see e.g. XI 89.5, XIV 112.3, XVII 30.5, XXIII 12.1, XXXIII/IV 2.5; cf. XVI 61.3 and the selection from the numerous further instances in the Bibliotheke listed by Anson 2004, 12 n. 84. Nevertheless, it seems that Diodoros was also inspired by his source here, as Plutarch (Eum. 19.3) writes οὐκ ἐπ᾽ ἄλλῳ τινὶ τὴν τιμωρίαν ἐποιήσατο τῶν προδόντων αὐτὸν ἡγεμόνων καὶ στρατιωτῶν τὸ δαιμόνιον (cf. also next lemma). Polyainos (IV 6.15), on the other hand, writes that Antigonos rewarded the Silver Shields for their surrendering Eumenes (ἐτίμησε δωρεαῖς). Both aspects are not incompatible, of course, but it is the kind of thing one would expect a moralizing source (either Diodoros or the authority he was relying on) to leave out. αἱ γὰρ ἀσεβεῖς χρεῖαι τοῖς μὲν δυνάσταις διὰ τὴν ἐξουσίαν γίνονται λυσιτελεῖς, τοῖς δ᾽ ὑπακούσασιν ἰδιώταις μεγάλων κακῶν ὡς ἐπίπαν αἴτιαι καθίστανται: Probably Diodoros means that the Silver Shields who betrayed Eumenes received their due punishment, while Antigonos who killed his former friend got away with it; alternatively, Antigonos’ desecration of the pledge he had made to the argyraspids when they joined his army (cf. 43.8 with Roisman 2012a, 16). Piety and impiety were relevant concepts in Diodoros’ moral programme (Wirth 1993, 18 – 19; Hau 2016, 88 – 91 and 95 – 97; Durvye 2018b, 360). Although at first sight it might be just another one of his moralizing statements following the typical remark on swift punishment, this is quite a surprising utterance from Diodoros. At XXVIII 4.1 we find the exact opposite idea: οὐ μόνον ἄν τις ἐπὶ τῶν ἰδιωτικῶν συμβολαίων εὕροι τοὺς πονηρευομένους ταῖς ἐκ τῶν νόμων ζημίαις περιπίπτοντας, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν βασιλέων τοὺς ἀδίκοις πράγμασιν ἐπιβαλλομένους παρὰ τοῦ δαιμονίου τιμωρίας τυγχάνοντας. ὥσπερ γὰρ τοῖς ἐν δημοκρατίᾳ πολι-

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τευομένοις ὁ νόμος, οὕτω τοῖς ἐν ἐξουσίαις ὁ θεὸς βραβευτὴς γίνεται τῶν πραττομένων, καὶ τοῖς μὲν τὴν ἀρετὴν μεταδιώξασιν οἰκεῖα τῆς ἀρετῆς ἔπαθλα ἐπιτίθησι, τοῖς δὲ τὴν πλεονεξίαν ἤ τινα ἄλλην κακίαν ἐπανελομένοις οὐκ εἰς μακρὰν τὴν προσήκουσαν ἐφίστησι τιμωρίαν. Not only, we may note, do those who wickedly violate private contracts fall foul of the law and its penalties, but even among kings all who engage in acts of injustice meet with retribution from on high. Just as the law is the arbiter of men’s deeds for the citizens of a democratic state, so is God the judge of men in positions of authority: to those who seek after virtue he grants rewards appropriate to their virtue, and for those who indulge in greed or any other vice he appoints prompt and fitting punishment.

It is clear from all parallels in the Bibliotheke that XXVIII 4.1 is the most typically Diodorean of these two passages (esp. XXXIV/V 28.2 οὕτως ἀνέκφευκτος ἡ τιμωρὸς δίκη μετέρχεται τὴν τῶν ἀσεβῶν τόλμαν; XXI 1.4a, οὐ μόνον τοῖς ἰδιώταις, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς μεγίστοις τῶν βασιλέων, XXV 1, οὐ μόνον τοῖς ἰδιώταις ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτοῖς συλλήβδην ἔθνεσι καὶ δήμοις καὶ βασιλεῦσι; cf. VIII 15.5; Hadley 1996, 137 n. 26; Hau 2007, 29; cf. also previous lemma). Diodoros must, then, have taken the present statement from his source, although this does not mean he was copying unthinkingly, as the wording of the sentence shows: both kola consist of exactly 26 syllables, which certainly was no accident. Possibly he literally adopted it from his source, but such Gorgian figures occur throughout the Bibliotheke (Palm 1955, 139 – 159), so that we cannot exclude that Diodoros himself produced the isocolon. In either case he must consciously have included the phrase in his work. Furthermore, the idea was not impossible for Diodoros, although it did not fit his moral programme: he does also hint at the possibility that a man in power might escape divine retribution at XIV 1– 2.2 (cf. also the astonishment at Egyptian kings ruling justly in everything: I 71.1), though adding that even if he would not get punished during his life, he will be after death, as history will disseminate his bad reputation (cf. I 1.5, I 2.2, IX 33.1, XV 1.1, XXXI 15.1, XXXVII 4; clearly one of history’s primary functions for Diodoros: Schorn 2018, esp. 368 – 369). Probably Diodoros was struck by the truth of the claim, maybe in combination with the artful form, and therefore forgot his naive moralism for once (cf. Goukowsky 1976, xxxvi n. 1); moreover, the ancients seem to have been somewhat less concerned with consistency than we are (cf. Sacks 1990, 122; Hau 2007, 29; Cohen-Skalli 2012a, 174– 175). Given that the passage is descriptive rather than prescriptive, Diodoros was not promoting the principle that kings could do whatever they thought fit, he merely noted that in practice they often got away with it. For another instance of Diodoros adopting a comment on the punishment of ἀσεβεία from his source, see XXV 5.1 and Plb. I 84.10. The conclusion that Diodoros found the sententia in his source might have important consequences. According to Isokrates (1.12– 13), eusebeia was the

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first characteristic required to gain a good reputation. Conversely, asebeia was not only one of the quintessential tyrannical vices (Luraghi 2015a, 76 – 78; cf. Diod. XXI 16.5 and 17.4), it was sometimes also considered a form of miasma, contagious religious pollution (Naiden 2016). Furthermore, the concept of asebeia was a central one in the contemporary Greek anti-Macedonian discourse, as Mari (2003; 2016, 158 – 161) has shown on the basis of the plentiful Athenian evidence (see also Martin 2009, esp. 225 – 226; Haake 2016). Philip and Alexander had presented themselves as defenders of eusebeia against asebeia in the Greek world (Bringmann 2000, 57– 63; Squillace 2011; Trampedach 2020; von den Hoff 2020; if authentic explicitly in Philip’s letter to Athens, [D.] 12.4), and piety was important in the self-presentation of the Successors too (Bringmann 2000, 53 – 57; Orth 2014; Meeus forthcoming-c). Such an explicit accusation of an ἀσεβὴς χρεία against Antigonos thus seems utterly incompatible with a Hieronymean origin (see also above, Part I, §3.2; contra Nietzold 1905, 130; Jacoby 1913, 1544, 1558; Engel 1972b, 124 with n. 19; Hornblower 1981, 156; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.; Lane Fox 2011a, 17; Roisman 2012a, 16 with n. 14; Polański 2019, 8; cf. Anson 2015, 203 n. 98). Given that in the near vicinity both traces which point to Hieronymos (43.3) and a similarity with Douris (44.4) are found, there are two possibilities: either Diodoros was using Hieronymos through an intermediary source which added the negative remark on Antigonos, or he was relying on Douris. The former alternative might gain some support from the occurrence of other anti-Antigonid statements in parts of the narrative which through their comparatively detailed treatment of Eumenes and Antigonos seem to come from Hieronymos (XVIII 41.4– 5, 58.4 with Meeus 2009d; cf. supra, Part I, §3.2). It is possible, of course, that Douris was the intermediary source, or that the latter relied on both Hieronymos and Douris. Plutarch’s parallel account (Eum. 19.3) also uses the word ἀσεβής in commenting on the τιμωρία the soldiers received – admittedly perhaps an obvious word in this context, but by no means the only option in the rich vocabulary for condemning vice. If the similarity does go back to a common source, it would indicate that Diodoros’ intermediary source was reworking Hieronymos. In Plutarch’s account, which generally tries to exculpate Antigonos much more than Diodoros’, the gods leave it to Antigonos to punish the ἀσέβεια of the Silver Shields, while in the Bibliotheke Antigonos is an accomplice to their impiety. Obviously Plutarch’s own remodelling of his sources might have played a part here, but it is likewise possible that he was relying directly on Hieronymos (cf. Bosworth 2002, 164), while Diodoros’ source slightly adapted Hieronymos so as to subtly involve Antigonos in the wickedness perpetrated against Eumenes. The latter reasoning remains highly speculative, of course.

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48.5 τὸν Πευκέστην παρὰ τοῖς Πέρσαις μεγάλης ἀποδοχῆς τυγχάνοντα τὸ μὲν πρῶτον παρείλετο τὴν σατραπείαν αὐτοῦ: The reaction of the locals to Peukestas’ deposition confirms his popularity (see also above, 14.5 μεγάλης ἀποδοχῆς…). A satrap who enjoyed such popular support in a strong satrapy like Persis obviously meant a constant threat to Antigonos’ power (Billows 1990, 106; Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 12), which again reveals how important a good relationship with the natives was (cf. Meeus 2013b, 90 – 91 and 2020a, 307– 309). Briant (1973b, 131) assumes that Peukestas was also deposed because of Antigonos’ grudge against those who had campaigned with Alexander, but that seems to be an overinterpretation of a statement Diodoros attributes to Seleukos (see below, 56.1 λέγων…). τῶν δὲ ἐγχωρίων ἀγανακτούντων: Probably their main concern would be that the new satrap was unlikely to be as well-disposed towards their culture and traditions and as willing to collaborate with them as Peukestas had been. According to Wiesehöfer (1994, 55 with n. 50) the Persians feared that they would become ‘eine Provinz unter vielen’. For native protests against Macedonian satrapal appointments, see also e.g. Arr. Ind. 36.8. Θεσπίου: Otherwise unknown (cf. Werba 1982, 194). The name is Greek and is probably some kind of corruption of a Persian form (Lane Fox 2007, 294). If the people were allowed to speak their mind in Macedonia (Adams 1986; Anson 2008a, 136), Antigonos either thought this did not apply to the Asians, or he simply denied anyone the right to oppose him. ᾿Aσκληπιόδωρον: This might be the same man as the Asklepiodoros installed as financial administrator of Babylonia by Alexander (Billows 1990, 376; but see Bosworth 2002, 163 n. 224). Nothing else is known of him. By 311 he had been replaced with Euagros for unknown reasons (see below, 92.4 τόν τε σατράπην…). ὕπαρχον: The literary sources on the Successors use the word ὕπαρχος as a synonym of satrap (as here and at Arr. Succ. F24.1; cf. in Diod. also e.g. II 5.1) and as a designation for the deputy-regent of the empire (Arr. Succ. F1.3) or lower-ranking officials subordinate to the satraps (Diod. XIX 58.1– 2; Arr. Succ. F1.5). This range of meanings is also to be observed in Herodotos (Corcella 2007, 507) and other Greek authors (Bosworth 1980b, 112; Boncquet 1987, 58 – 59; Jacobs 1994, 48 – 49; Briant 1996, II, 768 – 769). For this lack of terminological precision, see also above, 22.1 Πευκέστης… κενῶς μετεωρίσας ἐξήγαγεν ἐκ τῆς χώρας: Unfortunately we are not informed about Peukestas’ fate. He is often assumed to have been given some function in the west of the empire (75.5 εἰς δὲ Καῦνον…), but a position of great importance is unlikely if we may believe Diodoros’ claim.

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48.6 Ξενόφιλος ὁ κυριεύων τῶν ἐν Σούσοις χρημάτων, ἀπεσταλμένος ὑπὸ Σελεύκου πᾶν ποιῆσαι τὸ προσταττόμενον: Xenophilos had probably been forced to surrender after the defeat of Eumenes (see above, 18.1 ἀπειθοῦντος…). It is noteworthy, however, that he still seems to have had the power to refuse Antigonos access to the treasury despite Seleukos’ instructions for complete obedience to Antigonos.

48.7 τήν τε χρυσῆν ἀναδενδράδα: The golden vine, apparently an object of some fame in Antiquity, had been given to Dareios I by a wealthy Lydian; it is said to have decorated the royal bedroom (Hdt. VII 27; Ath. XII 514 f). Also compare XVII 35.4 on Persian luxury. μύρια καὶ πεντακισχίλια τάλαντα: Alexander had found 40,000 talents of gold and silver bullion and 9,000 talents of gold in Darics at Susa (Diod. XVII 66.1– 2; Bosworth 1980b, 316 – 317), and he deposited part of the treasure of Persepolis there as well (Diod. XVII 71.2). Probably a great deal of the Susan wealth was brought west for the costs of war etc.: at Triparadeisos Antigenes was instructed to transport the money from Susa, but we are not being told where he was to take it (Arr. Succ. F1.38).

§ 49 – 51 The Defeat and Death of Olympias Diodoros continues his account of the affairs in Macedonia. As in the previous European chapters (11, 35 – 36), he seems to focus mostly on the spectacular and the dramatic (the hardship of those besieged at Pydna, Kassandros’ attempts to do away with Olympias, and eventually her death), while important military events are left out. We do not learn anything about the situation of Polyperchon (it is hinted at later, in 52.6), and the brief mention of the fight between Aristonous, Olympias’ general in Macedonia, and Kassandros’ man Krateuas provides no context and seems to be contradicted just a few lines later (see 50.7 ὑπόσπονδον…). Diodoros notes the progress of the seasons during the blockade of Pydna (49.1, διὰ τοὺς χειμῶνας; 50.1, τοῦ δ᾽ ἔαρος ἀρχομένου), but there is no chronological framework for what follows. We do not know when the siege ended (through probably it did so rather soon: see 50.8 τὸν Εὐμενοῦς θάνατον ἀγνοῶν), and we have no idea of the amount of time elapsed between Olympias’ release from Pydna and her death, but it cannot have been much: at 52.4 we learn Olympias was dead before Kassandros had any news about Antigonos, which suggests

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that she died early in spring (Bacigalupo Pareo 1975, 211; Bosworth 1992b, 64; cf. Errington 1977, 495 – 496; Gullath & Schober 1986, 377; Anson 2006a, 4). The Marmor Parium ([FGrHist 239] B 14), however, dates her demise to the next archon year. Landucci Gattinoni (2003, 19) pointed out this may well mean that Olympias met her end only in the summer of 316, after the new Athenian archon had taken office (see also above, on 35 – 36). It is inconceivable, however, that by the summer the battle of Gabiene still was unknown. Both Diodoros and the Marmor Parium, then, place Olympias’ death an archon year too late, as it actually belongs to the spring of 316. Several similarities between Diodoros and Justin seem to suggest a common source (see below, 51.4 τῶν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου… and 51.5 οὐδεμίαν…). Justin’s ‘sine respectu pristinae maiestatis’ (XIV 6.7) also echoes Diodoros’ οὔτε τὸ προγεγενημένον ἀξίωμα τῆς παρανομουμένης ἐντραπεῖσα τὸ παράπαν at 11.6. Admittedly, Diodoros applies it to Eurydike’s death, whereas in Justin it concerns that of Olympias, but the other echoes suggest that it might be a trace of their source, especially as the importance of the Macedonians forgetting/recalling the benefactions of Philippos and Alexander is stressed by both authors on both occasions (see above, 11.2 ἐντραπέντες…; below, 51.4 τῶν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου…).

49.1 ἡμεῖς δὲ διεληλυθότες τὰ κατὰ τὴν ᾿Aσίαν πραχθέντα μεταβιβάσομεν τὸν λόγον ἐπὶ τὴν Εὐρώπην καὶ τὰ συνεχῆ τῶν προειρημένων διέξιμεν: One of Diodoros’ typical ways of introducing another theatre of action (I 29.6, 31.1, II 31.10, 42.4, III 23.1, 35.1, IV 1.7, 5.4, 7.4, 18.4, 25.4, 28.4, 54.1, 61.9, 63.1, 69.1, 72.1, 81.1, 83.1, 85.1, V 5.3, 7.1, 12.1, 16.1, 19.1, 21.1, 23.1, 24.1, 33.1, 35.1, 39.1, 41.1, 47.1, 50.1, 64.1, 81.1, 84.1, VI 1.11, XI 12.1, 20.1, 89.8, XII 19.3, XVI 5.1, 37.6, 64.3, XVII 5.1, 47.6, 63.5, XVIII 19.1, 53.1, 54.1, XIX 10.4, 63.1, 65.1, XX 21.3, 34.7, 37.7, 53.4, 101.1; cf. I 38.1, 69.1, II 48.1, III 14.6, V 25.1, XII 2.3, XV 95.4, XVI 8.7, 65.9, XVII 118.4, XVIII 75.3). Once more, the uneven and clustered incidence is obvious, especially in books IV and V, but pairs of instances at very close distance are also found in books I, XVIII, XIX and XX. On the other hand, the formula occurs only once in book XII and it is completely absent from books XIII–XV. Diodoros again appears to have been prone to repeating his own phrases at close distance with sometimes large intervals between such clusters, so that the distribution of a word/expression alone cannot be considered proof of the influence of his source. περιστρατοπεδεύσας δὲ τὴν πόλιν καὶ χάρακα βαλόμενος ἀπὸ θαλάττης εἰς θάλατταν: Almost literally repeated from 36.1, τὴν μὲν πόλιν περιεχαράκωσεν ἐκ θαλάττης εἰς θάλατταν. It would seem that Diodoros, who usually had to reorder

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the material of his sources to fit the organization of his own work, often had troubles deciding where to split up the narrative of his authority which regularly led to the duplication of some information (Simpson 1959a, 376 n. 25; cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.1).

49.2 ταχὺ δὲ τῶν ἐπιτηδείων ἐξαναλωθέντων τοσαύτην περὶ τοὺς ἔνδον κατεσκεύασεν ἔνδειαν ὥστ᾽ ἐκλυθῆναι τὸ παράπαν: Justin (XIV 6.5) laconically states that Olympias was ‘fame ferroque urgeretur’. Cf. supra, 35.5 οὐδὲ γὰρ τροφῆς… τῷ μὲν στρατιώτῃ σιτομετρεῖν χοίνικας πέντε τοῦ μηνός: The volume of the choinix differed regionally, but it was around one litre (Hultsch, ‘Χοῖνιξ’, RE III.2 [1899], 2356 – 2358). This was very little indeed, as a choinix of wheat was the normal daily ration (Hdt. VII 187.2; D.L. VIII 18; Ath. III 98e; O’Connor 2013).

49.3 τῶν δ᾽ ἱππέων οἱ μὲν ἔξω τάξεως ὄντες … σχεδὸν ἅπαντες ἐτελεύτησαν, οὐκ ὀλίγοι δὲ καὶ τῶν στρατιωτῶν…: That they were prepared to die and did not desert shows their strong attachment to the royal house. Presumably, then, these were Macedonians particularly loyal to Olympias who belonged to ‘the soldiers who usually resided at court’ rather than the mysterious Ambrakiot horsemen mentioned at 35.7 (see above, ad loc.). On the meaning of ἔξω τάξεως see above, 22.2 τῶν τε δευτέρων…

49.4 ἔνιοι δὲ τῶν βαρβάρων, τῆς φύσεως κατισχυούσης τὴν εὐλάβειαν, ἐσαρκοφάγουν ἀναλεγόμενοι τὰ σώματα τῶν ἀποθνησκόντων: The allegation of cannibalism during a siege was a topos in ancient literature (Cipriani 1986, 18 – 33; Garnsey 1988, 28 – 29 with n. 16; Hornblower CT I, 356; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.). That the barbarians are the ones who are said to have eaten their fellow soldiers is not surprising either, as anthropophagy was a symbol of a lack of civilization and barbarians were thus often accused of it (Malitz 1983, 393 n. 288; Wiedemann 1986; McGowan 1994; Bianchetti 2002, 310 – 314; Isaac 2004, 207– 211; Karttunen 2008, 21). In itself the occurrence of cannibalism has nothing implausible to it: ‘with starvation will come cannibalism’, even as it remains exceptional and unaccepted amongst the vast majority of those who are starving (Snyder 2011, 51). Whereas some do accept the cannibalism on the pres-

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ent occasion as a historical fact (e.g. Macurdy 1932a, 43; Adams 1974, 95; Hammond 1988a, 142), one should, however, be careful in assuming that the topos was true in every instance (cf. Garnsey 1988, 29 n. 16). After all, in the present case the besieged had only been locked up for a few months and there certainly was a way out, whereas anthropophagy must have been the very last resort. Furthermore, the barbarians – whoever they may have been – probably had the least strong attachment to Olympias’ cause, so it is most strange that they would have preferred eating human flesh to desertion. Cannibalism features only infrequently in Diodoros’ work. There are two other instances in the historical books: the first is in the march through the Gedrosian desert of Kyros the Great (XVII 81.1) and the second in the siege of Tauromenion during the Sicilian slave revolt in 132 (XXXIV/XXXV 2.20). Even in the ethnographic and mythographic books, cannibalism is mentioned only twice (I 14.1, V 32.3), and it does not seem to be an element Diodoros himself added to what he found in his sources (cf. Sulimani 2011, 58 – 59). One wonders what scholars who claim that Hieronymos was Diodoros’ sole and direct source and that he was free from rhetoric and moralizing would make of this passage, but the problem is generally neglected (e.g. by Hornblower 1981, 151).

50.1 τοῦ δ᾽ ἔαρος ἀρχομένου: As the siege followed on Kassandros’ return to Macedonia in late 317 (see above, on 35 – 36, and 35.1 πυθόμενος…), this was the spring of 316. παρεκάλουν αὐτοὺς ἀφεῖναι διὰ τὴν ἀπορίαν: It is again apparent that the troops did not simply want to desert (Carney 2006a, 81).

50.2 φιλανθρώπως χρησάμενος: For φιλανθρώπως χρῆσθαι, cf. supra, 20.1 φιλανθρώπως… Obviously this need not be a positive remark about Kassandros since it is clear that he acted out of self-interest, as is the case with Antigonos at 20.1. ἤλπιζε γὰρ παρὰ τούτων πυθομένους τοὺς Μακεδόνας τὴν Ὀλυμπιάδος ἀσθένειαν ἀπελπιεῖν αὐτῆς τὰ πράγματα: Apparently Olympias still had many supporters throughout the country at the time if Kassandros felt the need to spread the news of her hopeless situation by sending the deserters to the cities in order to make the people abandon her cause. Such support for the old queen is hardly surprising given the popularity of the Argead dynasty (cf. Meeus 2009a; Carney 2015). On the other hand, here we do see that military

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success played an important part in determining the loyalties during the age of the Successors – even the royal party could not afford continued failure –, but accomplishment in battle was not the only factor (cf. supra, 11.9 ἐν τοιούτοις…).

50.3 τὴν εὔνοιαν διεφύλαξαν: For this locution see also XVII 64.2, XVIII 47.3, 64.1. The passage in book XVII again suggests that the cluster need not go back to Diodoros’ source for the history of the Successors: it seems to be a common Hellenistic phrase (cf. Plb. XVIII 48.6, XXII 20.3, XXVIII 3.2; 2Macc. 15:30; Jos. AJ XV 368; Plut. An seni 6 = Mor. 787b) which is frequent in the epigraphic language of the time too (e.g. IG XII.6.1 no. 24, l. 11– 12; IG XII.6.1 66, l. 5 – 7; SEG XIII 327, ll. 33 – 34; SEG XXXVII 859 D, ll. 9 – 10; FdD III.1 288, col. II, l. 6; FdD III.1 480, l. 25; Hatzopoulos 1996a, II, no. 47, l. 12). In this respect it is also interesting to compare XVIII 56.1, βουλόμεθα διαφυλάττειν τὴν ἐκείνων προαίρεσιν καὶ πᾶσι φανερὰν ποιῆσαι τὴν ἡμετέραν εὔνοιαν ἣν ἔχοντες διατελοῦμεν πρὸς τοὺς Ἕλληνας from the rendering of Polyperchon’s diagramma, the whole of which strongly resembles the language and style of Hellenistic political documents (cf. Rosen 1967a, 64– 68). Cf. infra, 56.4 διαφυλάττειν… for a similar phrase, and generally Meeus forthcoming-b for the affinity between Diodoros’ language and that of Hellenistic decrees. Μόνιμος: Probably to be identified with Monimos, son of Pythion, mentioned at Ath. XIII 609c as a member of Olympias’ court (Droysen 1878, 246). ᾿Aμφιπόλεως: On Amphipolis see above, 11.3 εἰς ᾿Aμφίπολιν… Πέλλης: Pella was the capital of Macedonia since the late fifth century. Although it now lies about 30 kilometres inland, in Antiquity it was a seaport on the Thermaic Gulf (Petsas 1978; Papazoglou 1988, 135 – 139; Orth 1993, 17; Greenwalt 1999; Girtzy 2001, 111– 123; Siganidou & Lilimpaki-Akamati 2003; Lilimpaki-Akamati & Akamatis 2003; Hatzopoulos & Paschidis 2004, 805 – 806; Akamatis 2011).

50.4 ἐπεχείρησε πεντήρη ναῦν κατασπᾶν: The more detailed account of Polyainos (IV 11.3) informs us that the quinquereme had been sent by Polyperchon and reveals how misleading Diodoros’ summary is on this point, as the similarities are numerous enough to exclude the possibility that he used fundamentally different traditions (cf. next lemmas).

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50.5 αὐτομόλου δέ τινος: We know from Polyainos (IV 11.3) that a messenger had been captured. Diodoros’ account is not wrong on this point, but it goes to show how vague this stock phrase is in not distinguishing between voluntary desertion or the capture of an enemy messenger (cf. supra, 26.1 ἧκόν τινες…). The potential for confusion is all the greater here since Diodoros had only just mentioned τοὺς αὐτομολήσαντας who had abandoned Olympias in Pydna, and without the parallel account of Polyainos the reader might be induced to the misinterpret the present statement in light of that information. ἡ δ᾽ Ὀλυμπιὰς ἀπογνοῦσα τὰ καθ᾽ αὑτήν: Cf. Polyaen. IV 11.3, ἠθύμησε. From this point onward, though, Diodoros is more detailed than Polyainos, who is more interested in the stratagem itself than in its consequences. μόγις ἔπεισεν ὥστε μόνην ἐξαίρετον λαβεῖν τὴν τοῦ σώματος ἀσφάλειαν: Cf. Just. XIV 6.5, ‘pacta salute uictori se tradidit’. According to Carney (2006a, 82) ‘it is hard to believe that Olympias or anyone else doubted that Cassander would bring about her death, despite his guarantee for her safety. The surprise is what a comparatively difficult time he had in accomplishing this task.’ It would seem that, again, the popularity of the royal house is underestimated. If he killed Olympias, Kassandros risked losing the popular support he had only just secured. That is why, as Carney correctly points out, Kassandros did not immediately kill her, and tried to avoid personal responsibility for her death (cf. supra, 11.5 ἐπειδή…). It is also why Olympias probably did believe that her personal safety actually was guaranteed.

50.7 τὸν Κασσάνδρου στρατηγὸν Κρατεύαν: An inscription from Gambreion in Lydia (Syll. 3 302) mentions the activity of a Krateuas, who may or may not be the same individual, in 326/5 or 324/3 (Berve 1926, II, no. 447; Heckel 2006, 99 – 100; for the date of the inscription Boiy 2011, 12). From Arr. Succ. F1a.2 we learn that the father of the somatophylax Peithon who became satrap of Media was also named Krateuas, but again there are no arguments for an identification. Φυγόντα τῆς Βισαλτίας εἰς Βεδύνδια: The Bisaltia region lay west of the lower Strymon (Papazoglou 1988, 351– 355; Girtzy 2001, 225 – 227; Flensted-Jensen 2004a, 810; Liampi 2005, 33 – 39). The name Bedyndia is found only in R, while F reads Βέδην, attaching δια- to the following verb στρατοπεδεύσας; R’s περιστρατοπεδεύσας must be correct, however. No place by this name is known, but that the toponym Bedyndia is correct is widely accepted: see e.g. Papazoglou (1988, 364– 365 though see n. 89), who calls it a ‘forteresse’, and Corvisier (1991), who classifies it as a polismaton, whereas Liampi (2005, 52– 53) pre-

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fers to leave the question of its nature open. Wesseling (ad loc.) proposed to identify it with the Templum Bendidium mentioned by Livius (XXXVIII 41.1), but this is rejected by Niese (1893, 254). The word order appears strange, but it likewise occurs at IV 72.6, ἔφυγε τῆς νῦν Θετταλίας καλουμένης εἰς Φθίαν; the seemingly more natural order is found at XII 48.1, ἔφυγον εἰς Πάτρας τῆς ᾿Aχαΐας, and XV 7.4, φυγόντες εἰς Θουρίους τῆς Ἰταλίας. ὑπόσπονδον ἀφῆκε: This is strange as not much later Kassandros has Aristonous killed by the relatives of Krateuas because he was reluctant to take responsibility for the death of a man who had been held in high esteem by Alexander (51.1). One would expect therefore that he appealed to the family of Krateuas since they were somehow entitled to exact revenge (Edson 1970, 23 argues for the existence of blood feud in Macedonia; cf. supra, 11.8 κατέστρεψε…), which implies that Krateuas would have lost his life at the hands of Aristonous rather than having been released under a truce (cf. Adams 1983, 22; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.; contra Bosworth 1994, 65 n. 60; Carney 2006a, 84). The phrase ὑπόσπονδον ἀφιέναι occurs throughout the Bibliotheke (XI 84.8, XIII 104.8, 106.8, XIV 87.3, XVI 3.6, XIX 60.2, 63.4, 78.1, XX 56.3, 110.6, 111.3; at IV 71.6 its origin is explained). Perhaps like with Olympias there had been a promise personal safety which turned out to be insincere. Are we to assume that Diodoros – anxious to return to the main story – hastily stopped the episode here, using a stock phrase, without paying attention to what happened next because he did not realize it would be relevant later on? Or would that be too sloppy even for him?

50.8 τὸν Εὐμενοῦς θάνατον ἀγνοῶν: Apparently Aristonous hoped that Eumenes would send help or even come to their aid in person (Carney 2000, 143 with n. 85). This is a crucial chronological indication. It is the merit of Beloch (1927, 240) to have been the first to recognize that this must mean that the winter of Eumenes’ death was the same winter during which Olympias was besieged in Pydna. It also implies that the siege ended in the rather early spring, as the news of Gabiene would certainly be something that was reported in Macedonia as soon as possible.

51.1 περὶ τὸν ᾿Aριστόνουν ὑπάρχον ἀξίωμα διὰ τὴν παρ᾽ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου προαγωγήν: Cf. supra, 14.4 γεγενημένος… for προαγωγή by Alexander. ἐκ ποδῶν ποιεῖν: In as far as the accentuation of the manuscripts is anything to go by, Fischer and Bizière again adopt a mistaken reading of R (ἐκ ποδῶν), while

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F has the correct form ἐκποδών which Dindorf did accept, as Radt (1993, 65 – 66) pointed out. In the meaning of ‘to do away with’ ἐκ ποδῶν is never used. προετρέψατο: Justin (XIV 6.6) claims that Kassandros bribed the relatives of Olympias’ victims, but that might be a rhetorical exaggeration. One wonders whether they really would have needed to be convinced to take revenge (cf. supra, 11.8 κατέστρεψε… and 50.7 ὑπόσπονδον…, on the practice of retaliation in Macedonia), although the fact that they were opposing an Argead might have inspired them with some hesitancy. τοὺς οἰκείους τῶν ἀνῃρημένων ὑπ᾽ Ὀλυμπιάδος: Cf. Just. XIV 6.6 ‘parentes interfectorum’. If these only were the relatives of the 100 supporters of Kassandros, whom Olympias had killed (11.8), it was because there were no relatives of Arrhidaios to call on. It does not mean that Olympias was not charged with regicide for having killed the latter (pace Adams 1974, 97). ἐν κοινῇ τῶν Μακεδόνων ἐκκλησίᾳ: Cf. Just. XIV 6.6 ‘ad contionem vocato populo’. This is one of the passages often used to support the claim that the Macedonian people always played a role in capital cases (Granier 1931, 88 – 91; Hammond 1989a, 61– 62; Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 273 – 276). The problem, of course, is that we are facing a most unusual situation: surely there was no customary legal procedure for a private person, whatever office he could claim to hold, who wanted to do away with a royal woman (Roisman 2012b, 140). The present trial cannot, therefore, be taken as evidence against the view that the king or his representative could choose how to judge a case, which is more in accordance with the sources (cf. supra, 46.2 κατηγορίαν…). Kassandros appealed to the people because he could not risk personal responsibility for eliminating Olympias and needed a conviction by the people (Errington 1978, 118 – 119; Adams 1983, 22; Bosworth 1994, 65; O’Neil 1999b, 40 – 41; Carlier 2000, 265; Carney 2006a, 83; Anson 2008a, 139 – 140). κατηγορεῖν τῆς προειρημένης γυναικός: Cf. Just. XIV 6.6, ‘crudelitatem mulieris accusarent’.

51.2 κατεγίνωσκον αὐτῆς θάνατον: Cf. Just. XIV 6.7, ‘occidendam decernunt’. Bizière (1975, ad loc.; followed by Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 275 – 276) argues that the ‘imparfait inhabituel’ must mean that as yet there was no conviction; she translates the phrase as ‘demandèrent qu’elle fût condamnée à mort’. The sentence could not be passed, she contends, as Olympias had not been given the chance to defend herself yet (see below, 51.4 ἐν πᾶσι…). This is an interesting argument, but one wonders whether Bizière does not read too much in Diodoros’ wording. Kassandros knew very well that he should not give Olympias the oppor-

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tunity to address the people (Simonetti Agostinetti 1991, 80), so he would probably not have started the trial had a conviction in absentia been impossible. Perhaps the problem was simply that many did not accept the validity of the trial, but it is difficult to make complete sense of the course of events as Diodoros describes it, no doubt because he compressed his source too much. πέμψας τινὰς τῶν φίλων: Such secret missions typically are the task of the king’s Friends (Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 325 – 326 with n. 139).

51.3 ἅμα καὶ τὸ περὶ αὐτὴν ἀξίωμα καὶ τὸ τῶν Μακεδόνων εὐμετάβολον: On Olympias’ ἀξίωμα, see above, 11.2 ἐντραπέντες… Diodoros emphasizes the combination of both elements (ἅμα καί… καί…), which shows that at least in his view both belonged together, perhaps on the basis of the details in his source. The Macedonians were not prone to change sides in all circumstances, but their attachment to the Argeads meant that they were in the present context. Kassandros’ judged the situation correctly, as is revealed by the fact that the soldiers sent to kill Olympias were too impressed by her stature to execute the order. For the reaction of the people to the deaths of Hellenistic royal women, see Savalli-Lestrade 2015, 215 – 216.

51.4 ἐν πᾶσι Μακεδόσι: It is often assumed that Olympias contested the unrepresentative composition of Kassandros’ assembly (Beloch 1925, 109 n.1 [arguing even that she meant that the Macedonians in Asia had to be included]; Briant 1973b, 298; Errington 1978, 119; Hammond 1988a, 143; O’Neil 1999b, 41; Rzepka 2005, 127; Carney 2006a, 82 and 84; Anson 2008a, 145 – 146). This is ‘Buchstabenkultus’. It appears from the context that Olympias’ objection is that she had not had a chance to defend herself (Lévy 1978, 208 – 210; Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 273), since she well knew that the people would probably acquit her, as she was one of the last remaining Argeads. The staging of the assembly mentioned at 51.2 makes it clear that it did not just consist of Kassandros’ supporters, in which case the conviction would of course be a foregone conclusion. The relatives of Olympias’ victims were asked to present their case wearing their mourning garbs (Just. XIV 6.6), so as to appeal to the pity of the assembly and thus entice the people to condemn the royal woman, which would not be necessary if everyone present were automatically in favour of the conviction in order to please Kassandros. Carney (2006, 175 n. 99) rightly rejects the contention of Adams (1983, 22 n. 23) that Olympias, being a woman, simply had no right to address the court:

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Olympias clearly could do a great deal of things that were impossible for Athenian women. For a Macedonian royal woman addressing a large assembly of the army, see Arr. Succ. F1.33 on Euydike at Triparadeisos. τῶν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου καὶ Φιλίππου πρὸς ἅπαν ἔθνος εὐεργεσιῶν ἀναμιμνησκόμενον: Cf. Just. XIV 6.8, ‘inmemores prorsus quod per filium eius uirumque non solum uitam ipsi inter finitimos tutam habuissent, uerum etiam tantas opes imperiumque orbis quaesissent’. Philippos II, the father of Alexander, ruled Macedonia from 360 to 336 and by stabilizing and strengthening the state, he paved the way for his son’s success (Heckel 2006, 208 – 211 with further references; Worthington 2008; Anson 2008b; Müller 2010; King 2018, 70 – 106). The memory of Alexander and Philippos had indeed proven to be consequential on previous occasions (see above, 11.2 ἐντραπέντες…). Justin and Diodoros ultimately seem to have relied on the same authority here, even if they did not use the statement of their source in quite the same way.

51.5 εἰς τὴν βασιλικὴν οἰκίαν: It is not clear what exactly is meant here, but the passage seems to imply that Argeads had royal residences in several cities, if Diodoros does not just mean that any place where Olympias resided became royal by her very presence. At XVII 35.2, 47.3, XVIII 57.4 and XX 37.4 Diodoros uses the phrase in the sense of dynasty, but that does not seem possible here. On the terminology describing royal dwellings, see Morgan 2017, esp. 33. Justin (XIV 6.9) has her approach her attackers ‘dressed in her royal attire and leaning on two maidservants’, which likewise stresses the relevance of the royal setting (cf. Carney 2010, 50). καταιδεσθέντες τὸ περὶ αὐτὴν ἀξίωμα πάλιν ἀπεχώρησαν ἄπρακτοι: We are facing the normal reluctance of the Macedonians to kill any member of the royal family (see above, 11.5 ἐπειδή…). Carney (2006a, 84) asserts that ‘the Macedonians hesitated to kill Olympias because they hesitated to abolish the royal house’, but Alexander IV and Kleopatra were still alive, and they were more important to the survival of the dynasty. For the language, cf. Polyaen. VIII 52 on the man sent to kill Deidameia who was likewise overawed at the sight of her (αἰδεσθεὶς καὶ καταπλαγεὶς ἀνέστρεψεν). κατέσφαξαν τὴν βασίλισσαν: While Justin (XIV 6.11) has Olympias being killed with the sword, Pausanias (IX 7.2) states that she was stoned to death. The former seems to be more compatible with Diodoros’ account (cf. Carney 2006a, 85). Pace Carney (1993, 48) it is not certain that the relatives of Olympias’ victims were the only ones found willing to kill her. They did so voluntarily, and we only know

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that the two-hundred soldiers sent by Kassandros refused, not how other possible assassins would react. οὐδεμίαν ἀγεννῆ καὶ γυναικείαν προεμένην ἀξίωσιν: Cf. Just. XIV 6.11, ‘non refugientem gladium sed nec vulnera aut muliebriter vociferantem, sed virorum fortium more pro gloria veteris prosapiae morti succumbentem, ut Alexandrum posses etiam in moriente matre cognoscere’. As Carney (2006a, 84; cf. ead. 1993, 29 – 30 n.1 and 1995, 388 – 389) notes, ‘the notion that a high-born woman died a death worthy of her male kin is a recognizable classical topos’. The idea was not foreign to Diodoros (cf. esp. IV 50.2, and above, 34.5 κατέστρεψεν…), but the echo in Justin suggests that it was taken wholesale from their common source (cf. also above on chapters 49 – 51 and for the wording 34.6 οὐδεμίαν…). Justin does emphasise the point more strongly, but it is not clear whether this is because of Diodoros’ summarizing or Trogus/Justin’s elaborating on their source. Frank (2018, 46 – 50) argues for the latter option, but she does seem to downplay the significance of the agreement with Diodoros too much: as marked as the emphasis in Trogus/Justin is, it cannot be excluded that the source they shared also dwelled on the point. From XIX 59.6 (cf. infra, μηνύσει…) it is clear that Diodoros also described the noble death of Phila in a lost portion of his work.

51.6 Ὀλυμπιὰς μὲν οὖν … τοιαύτης καταστροφῆς ἔτυχε: A typical formula (II 20.2, XV 88.4, XVI 95.1, XVII 30.5, 117.5, 118.3, XVIII 36.7, XX 37.6, 42.5; cf. also Neubert 1890, 16 – 22), which not unique to Diodoros, however (see e.g. Plb. V 39.6; D.H. AR V 18.1; Jos. AJ XII 1). μέγιστον τῶν καθ᾽ αὑτὴν ἐσχηκυῖα ἀξίωμα: Cf. 11.2, 51.3 and 51.5, for Olympias’ ἀξίωμα. Such a claim is obviously not to be taken literally; to state that someone was the most distinguished individual of their age vel sim. was a typical form of praise thought in the rhetorical schools (see Neyrey 2005, 60 – 68 on ‘the rhetoric of uniqueness’; cf. Neubert 1890, 17– 18 for Diodoros’ usage). The claim is substantiated by Diodoros’ mention of Olympias’ most prestigious family tree. In books XVIII–XX women are often characterized by mentioning their important relatives (XVIII 23.1, XIX 35.5, 52.1, XX 37.3), but cf. already Thuc. VI 59.2 on Archedike and also e.g. the description of Philippos II at Diod. XVI 2.1. θυγάτηρ μὲν Νεοπτολέμου τοῦ βασιλέως τῶν Ἠπειρωτῶν: Not much is known about Neoptolemos I, who ruled Molossia from around 370. Sometime later, after a conflict with his brother Arybbas, he had to share the throne with him (Paus. I 11.3; Carney 2006a, 9). Funke (2000a, 160 – 161) for no good reason assumes that the joint rule was decided by the people, once again calling on

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the κοινὸν δόγμα of Diod. XIX 36.4 (see above, 36.4 οἱ δὲ χωρισθέντες…). He died around 360 (Funke 2000a, 162). ἀδελφὴ δὲ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου τοῦ στρατεύσαντος εἰς Ἰταλίαν: Olympias’ brother Alexander was placed on the throne of Epeiros with the support of Philippos II in 342. Six years later he married his niece Kleopatra, daughter of Philippos and Olympias. At the invitation of the Tarentines he intervened in the wars in southern Italy; though most successful at first, he fell in a battle in 331 (Berve 1926, II, no. 38; Heckel 2006, 10). ἔτι δὲ γυνὴ μὲν Φιλίππου τοῦ πλεῖστον ἰσχύσαντος τῶν πρὸ αὐτοῦ κατὰ τὴν Εὐρώπην δυναστευσάντων: See also the judgement on Philippos in XVI 95.1, μέγιστος γενόμενος τῶν καθ᾽ ἑαυτὸν ἐπὶ τῆς Εὐρώπης βασιλέων (cf. XVI 1.3 – 6; Neubert 1890, 22– 23). The phrase πλεῖστον ἰσχύειν is quite rare, and while it is attested only twice before Diodoros (S. fr. 955 Radt; Plb. IV 82.3), it occurs 15 times in the Bibliotheke, often in fairly close pairs of two (see also II 1.5, 44.2, XI 87.2, XIII 63.1, XV 23.3, 81.2, XVI 50.7, 67.1, XVII 116.1, 118.2, XIX 52.3, XX 81.3, XXI 1.1, XXXVII 10.2). Subsequent attestations follow the typical pattern: there are several instances until the early second century AD (e.g. Phld. Ir. 43.25 – 26; Ph. Vita Mosis I 49; Str. IV 1.5, XI 9.1; Jos. AJ VIII 46, XV 88; Plut. Per. 24.12, Phil. 8.5, Ages. 4.1, Pomp. 2.4, Ant. 77.7; D.Chr. Or. 75.9), but after that Cassius Dio (e.g. XLIII 16.2, XLV 45.5, LVII 18.6, LXVI 14.3) is the only author to use phrase regularly. The phrase is thus generally typical for the late Hellenistic and early Imperial period, but in Diodoros it is particularly frequent, and he is responsible for almost one third of the total of about fifty attestations in ancient literature. μήτηρ δὲ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου τοῦ πλεῖστα καὶ κάλλιστα κατεργασαμένου: Diodoros obviously admired Alexander’s exploits (Goukowsky 1976, xxxii–xliv; Prandi 2018a). The judgement strongly echoes XVII 117.5, πράξεις δὲ μεγίστας κατεργασάμενος οὐ μόνον τῶν πρὸ αὐτοῦ βασιλευσάντων, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν ὕστερον ἐσομένων μέχρι τοῦ καθ᾽ ἡμᾶς βίου (cf. also XVII 1.3 – 5, XX 81.3, XXXVII 1.4).

§ 52 – 54 The Establishment of Kassandros’ Power in Europe After having rid himself of Olympias, Kassandros undertook several highly symbolic actions. He married Thessalonike, daughter of Philippos II and half-sister of Alexander the Great, he founded the city of Kassandreia, and he held a funeral for Arrhidaios, Eurydike, and the latter’s mother Kynnane. Whereas the wedding might only have hinted at future ambitions, the funeral of the dead king may have presented Kassandros as the true successor of Arrhidaios on the throne, though officially he acted as regent, and the foundation of an eponymous city

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was an obvious royal act. To gain the goodwill of the Greeks, he also re-founded Thebes, which had been destroyed by one of his predecessors on the Macedonian throne, Alexander the Great. As yet, however, Kassandros could not claim the kingship: he did not deem his position to be strong enough, and he may have wanted to await how the Macedonians would react to Olympias’ death. Nevertheless, in the context of all these symbolic actions, the confinement of Alexander IV and Rhoxane revealed that he had plans do so in the near future. Unfortunately, no source informs us of the way these actions were explained to the Macedonians to avoid the accusation of usurpation: while Kassandros will surely have justified it all by means of his position as regent, it is clear from Antigonos’ response that different interpretations were possible too (61.1– 3). Strictly speaking Diodoros should have inserted a new archon before dealing with these events as they actually belong to the next campaigning season (316). Because his chronology is a year out of phase, however, through the premature archon change at 17.1 (see above, 17.1 ἐπ᾽ ἄρχοντος…), he now corrects his mistake by ignoring the new year. For Asian affairs, on the other hand, he only restores consistency under the archonship of Theophrastos (313/2, beginning in 73.1). It seems that Diodoros does not give a strictly chronological overview of Kassandros’ proceedings, but rather a thematically organized narrative concerning his royal ambitions. The only chronological indication is that Alexander IV and his mother were placed in detention before the news of Gabiene had reached Europe. A short fragment of Diyllos, which echoes an equally brief part of chapter 52, might suggest that at least the royal funeral was held only after the refoundation of Thebes (see below, 52.4 οὐδέν…and 52.5 ἔθαψεν…). The conciseness of the fragment prohibits any certainty on the relationship between Diyllos and Diodoros, but it cannot be excluded that he was the Sicilian’s source.

52.1 κατὰ νοῦν αὐτῷ τῶν πραγμάτων προχωρούντων: A typical Hellenistic expression, which features especially frequently in Diodoros’ language (II 18.6, V 20.1, XI 17.4, XIV 82.10, XV 30.2, XVIII 7.8, XIX 101.3, XX 110.3; cf. with other verbs, XIII 95.1, XIX 80.3, XX 20.3, 59.2, XXX 9.1; Palm 1955, 105). 14 out of 33 ancient attestations are found in the Bibliotheke. Before Polybius, who uses it twice (IV 36.7, XVIII 10.3), there are only one or three instances, depending on the date of the dubious letters of Plato (Thuc. IV 120.3; Plato, Epist. 317b, 339c); a fragment of Ktesias ([FGrHist 688] F1b) is taken from Diodoros’ work. After Diodoros, the phrase occurs in Dionysios of Halikarnassos (AR VIII 27.1, XX 8.1) and Josephus (AJ V 319, VII 132; BJ IV 622). The next attestations are from the fourth and fifth centuries CE. The distribution throughout the Bibliotheke is again uneven,

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as half of the occurrences are found in books XVIII–XX. Given that we are facing one of Diodoros’ stock phrases, though, the concentrated incidence need not result from the influence of his sources. περιελάμβανε ταῖς ἐλπίσι τὴν Μακεδόνων βασιλείαν: Diodoros (XVIII 23.3 and XX 37.4) gives the same reason for the attempted marriages of the Successors with Alexander’s full sister Kleopatra; cf. also infra 56.2 ταῖς ἐλπίσι… Most of the Successors are said to have such aims from early on (cf. also XVIII 58.3 – 4, XIX 56.4; Carney 2000, 118). The present chapter is the most complete catalogue of such proto-royal behaviour, but Kassandros certainly was not exceptional (see above, 27.2 τὸ περὶ αὐτόν…), although he was the first to found an eponymous city, and – as it happened – the only one actually to marry an Argead woman. On the much debated question whether the phrase Μακεδόνων βασιλεία reflects on official title implying an essential role for the population in the definition of the Macedonian state, see e.g. Errington 1974 and most recently Mari 2020, 202– 203 with further references; cf. also Kholod 2020, esp. 238 n. 100. Rosen (1968, 203) argues that Kassandros’ actions and the interpretation Diodoros gives, are an ‘Ausdruck der veränderten staatsrechtlichen Stellung der Diadochen’. In his view they now held their own territories as sovereign rulers. Whatever Kassandros may have thought about his position and that of Alexander IV, it is clear that the latter still was king of the whole empire, which he stayed until his death (see below, 105.1 μέχρι ἄν…). From a constitutional point of view nothing had changed yet. Here, of course, we are facing one of the most intricate problems of the period, one on which the sources hardly shed any light, namely how the Diadochoi reconciled their display of ambition with their professed loyalty to the Argead house. In marrying an Argead and claiming the regency (cf. supra, 11.1 πρὸς μὲν Κάσσανδρον…), Kassandros combined both solutions available to the Successors in this respect (cf. Meeus 2020a, 296; cf. infra, 61.3 ἐὰν μὴ πειθαρχῇ…). διὸ καὶ Θεσσαλονίκην ἔγημε, τὴν Φιλίππου μὲν θυγατέρα, ᾿Aλεξάνδρου δὲ ἀδελφὴν ὁμοπάτριον, σπεύδων οἰκεῖον αὑτὸν ἀποδεῖξαι τῆς βασιλικῆς συγγενείας: Cf. Just XIV 6.13; HE F2.4; Porph. (FGrHist 260) F3.2; Synkellos Ecl. chron. p. 320 (ed. Mosshammer). Thessalonike was a daughter of Philip II and his Thessalian wife Nikesipolis, and thus a half-sister of Alexander: Carney 2000, esp. 155 – 158. On the significance of her name, see Ager 2017, 175 – 176. Marrying a daughter of a previous king obviously was one of the best means to establish a claim to the throne (Miron 2000, 48 – 49; Anson 2009b, 282 – 283; Harders 2013, 45; Ager 2017, esp. 171– 172; cf. Adams 1983, 27, Ogden 1999, 54, and Carney 2000, 145 and 2015, 153 – 155 on this particular case), as Diodoros also states when discussing the importance of Kleopatra (XVIII 23.3 and XX 37.4). In spite of the attempts of all the Successors to marry Kleopatra, and Diodoros’

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explanation that the relation to the Argeads was crucial in all these instances, most scholars hold that a connection to the dynasty was not really one of the main aims of the Diadochoi (esp. Carney 1988a; contra O’Neil 2000 and Meeus 2009b with further references), which is a consequence of the general underestimation of the importance of the royal house (Meeus 2009a). It has been argued that Kassandros’ choice of Thessalonike instead of Kleopatra means that the memory of Philippos was more important than that of Alexander (Müller 1973, 63 – 64; Errington 1976, 151– 152 and 2008, 27; Bosworth 1986, 11; Wirth 1989, 206; Landucci Gattinoni 2009, 262– 263). Such a distinction, however, does not make sense as Kleopatra and Thessalonike did not represent two different branches of the royal family, and the Successors simply tried to create any possible connection with the dynasty, without any ideological preferences for one member or the other (Meeus 2009a). Moreover, the argument ignores that Kassandros probably had tried to marry Kleopatra first (Fortina 1965, 40; Seibert 1967, 21; Goukowsky 1978b, 106; Meeus 2009b, 85). There is no doubt that a large wedding festival was held for the purpose of Kassandros’ self-presentation (cf. Carney 2000, 203 – 207; Ager 2017, 167 and 169), as the spurious anecdote about the attendance of Speusippos at the very least shows the notoriety of the event (D.L. IV 1; Philostr. VA I 35.1; Tarán 1981, 179 – 180; Dillon 2003, 31– 32). One may compare Demetrios’ marriage to Deidameia at the Heraia in Argos (Plut. Demetr. 25.1– 2). According to Landucci Gattinoni (2009, 262), Diodoros at XIX 61.2 ‘stresses the fact that Philip’s daughter had been “compelled” to marry against her will’ (cf., more carefully, Carney 1988a, 388). However, Diodoros does not claim that it was a fact, and he does not stress it: he merely reports Antigonos’ claim, which cannot carry much weight as evidence, since it is part of propaganda directed against Kassandros. Carney (2000, 156) also assumes that Thessalonike was a ‘reluctant bride’, but on the other hand, we should not forget that the marriage made Thessalonike much more prominent than she would have been without it, and she might have realized this herself.

52.2 ἔκτισε δὲ καὶ πόλιν ἐπὶ τῆς Παλλήνης ὁμώνυμον αὐτοῦ Κασάνδρειαν: Cf. XIX 61.2; Liv. XLIV 11.2– 3; Paus. V 23.3; Str. VII fr. 25 and 27. Kassandreia was founded on the site of Poteidaia (cf. infra, τὴν Ποτίδαιαν) on the Isthmos of Pallene (modern day Kassandra), the westernmost prong of the Chalkidic peninsula (on Pallene: Zahrnt 1971, 211; Flensted-Jensen 2000, 125 – 131 and 2004a, 813; Winter 2006, 207– 209 and passim; Tsigarida 2011, 143 – 148; on Kassandreia: Zahrnt 1971, 112– 119; Papazoglou 1988, 424– 429; Orth 1993, 16; Cohen HS I,

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95 – 99; Winter 2006, 132– 143; Tsigarida 2011, 154– 155; cf. infra, next lemmata). The date of 316/5 for the foundation is confirmed by the Marmor Parium ([FGrHist 239] B14). Will (1979, 56) argues that the foundation of Kassandreia was also inspired by strategic considerations: Kassandros needed a seaport for his naval policy (cf. Braunert 1964, 99; Hauben 1978, 52). Boehm (2018, 127– 128), on the other hand, rather stresses economic interests. Justin XXIV 3.3 suggests that the city certainly had strategic importance. Yet, while an additional harbour might indeed have been useful, we should not forget that Kassandros already controlled several cities which could fulfil this function (especially Pella and Pydna). Had the recent siege of Pydna shown that it was necessary to control the Thermaic gulf from all sides? Perhaps, though, the maritime location was just one and not necessarily the prime consideration: Winter (2006, 23) suggests that Kassandros hoped to control the area more easily by concentrating the population in a small number of large poleis, also including Thessaloniki. As Girtzy (2001, 247– 251) shows, obviously there often were several reasons for the choice of a location. For city foundations and urbanistic expansion under Kassandros generally, see Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 95 – 110; Winter 2006, 23, 269 – 275 and 306; Tombrägel 2017, 125 – 131. While Philippos II and Alexander III may not have been the very first founders of eponymous cities in Greek history, earlier cases were rare and almost always connected to monarchs (Malkin 1985). At any rate, in the late fourth century the foundation of an eponymous city by a warlord in the new lands of the Macedonian kingdom was a clear expression of walking in the footsteps of Philippos and Alexander, and it seems hard to not to see this as a royal act in the context of the early Diadoch Wars (Errington 1978, 123; Billows 1995, 90; Carney 2000, 291 n. 12; O’Neil 2000, 123; Anson 2014, 127; Ferrario 2014, 303 – 304; Wallace 2017, 17; Meeus 2020a, 304 – 305; cf. in general also Giangiulio 2020). If Alexander did indeed found an Alexandropolis in Thrace four years before his accession to the throne, given his position as crown prince this was still fundamentally different from the foundation of Kassandreia (cf. Plut. Alex. 9.1). Nonroyal eponymous foundations of military colonies in late fourth and early third-century BCE Asia Minor may not have been incompatible with subordination to royal power (Chrubasik 2016, 29 – 33; Mitchell 2018), but these are very different kinds of foundations in a very different context (Meeus 2020a, 304– 305). Whether it made a difference in this respect that Kassandreia may have been founded as an independent Greek city rather than one directly subject to the Macedonian crown, I do not know, but this may have been a feature it shared with Philippoi (Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 160 – 165). All in all, it appears that Kassandros must thus have been walking a thin line between merely propagating his own power and actual usurpation (cf. Rives-Gal 1996, 266; Boehm 2018,

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35), although he may have taken his personal decisions about lands in the area granted to individuals by Philippos and Alexander only after his assumption of the royal title (Billows 1995, 133 – 135). To conclude from the propagandistic account of XIX 61.2– 3 that there was a general state of Macedonian indignation about Kassandreia’s foundation seems hazardous (cf. infra, ad loc.; pace Hatzopoulos 1988, 46). Although Kassandros probably was the first of the Successors to found an eponymous city, he was not the only one to do so before being king: Lysimacheia was founded in 309, several years before Lysimachos assumed the title (O’Neil 2000, 130). Although there is no evidence for this, it is often held that Thessaloniki was founded about the same time (Vickers 1972, 159; Carney 1988b, 136 and 2000, 158; Papazoglou 1988, 189; Borza 1990, 42; Cohen HS I, 101– 102; O’Neil 2000, 123; Girtzy 2001, 201; Palagia 2011, 484; but see Carney 1988a, 389 – 390 with n. 10; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 98); indeed, in as far as it is reliable, the Heidelberg Epitome (FGrHist 155 F2.4) states that Thessaloniki was established later. At any rate, the latter foundation could only reinforce the dynastic message and the claim for power, regardless of the exact date (cf. Ager 2017, 175 – 176). There is some evidence that Kassandros was conducting highly symbolical propaganda to promote his foundation: he had Lysippos design a special amphora for the occasion (Ath. XI 784c; Palagia 2000, 198; Badoud 2013, 92– 93). No doubt Kassandros had chosen him because he had been Alexander’s favourite sculptor (Stewart 1993, 25 – 28 and passim; cf. Mihalopoulos 2009, 279 – 280). Lykophron’s play Kassandreis may have dealt with the foundation of the city (Lightfoot 2002, 222), in which case it could be a commission by Kassandros (cf. Föllinger 2003, 243 n. 35) or otherwise a testimony to the impression the foundation had made on the contemporary world (though see Lowe 2013, 349 who rather thinks of third century events at Kassandreia; cf. Meyer 1965, 630). For Diodoros’ interest in city foundations, see I 2.1 and above, Part I, §2.2.3; cf. infra, 52.3 ταχὺ μεγάλην… and 53.2 καὶ διὰ τὴν εὐεργεσίαν… Amongst the eponymous cities of the Successors he also mentioned Lysimacheia (XX 29.1), Antigoneia and Seleukeia on the Orontes (XX 47.5 – 6), and the refoundation of Sikyon as Demetrias (XX 102.2– 3), as well as potentially others in book XXI. Although other historians surely shared his interest in this topic, it is clear that Diodoros at the very least pursues it fairly consistently. This suggests once again that his selection in the narrative on the Successors is driven by his own interests. συνῴκισε: Such synoikisms were a frequent practice in royal foundations (Hammond 1988b, 387– 388; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 98 with n. 17; Weber 2007a, 104– 107). On the synoikism of Kassandreia, see Papazoglou 1988, 424– 429; Hat-

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zopoulos 1996a, I, 120 – 121 and 199 – 200; Winter 2006, 23; Michels 2014, 127– 128 and 132; Boehm 2018, 35 – 38. τὴν Ποτίδαιαν: For the revival of Poteidaia as Kassandreia, see Str. VII fr. 25 and 27; Plin. NH II 150 and IV 36; Paus. V 23.3; Procop. Aed. IV 3.21 and Pers. II 4; Meyer 1965, 636. The Korinthian colony Poteidaia was one of the main poleis on Pallene (cf. Zahrnt 1971, map V). After its capture by Philippos II in 356 its territory was given to the Olynthians, but the city does not seem to have been destroyed, providing Kassandros with an ideal basis for his new foundation (Meyer 1965; Zahrnt 1971, 214– 218 with n. 298 and passim; Flensted-Jensen 2004a, 838 – 839). Zahrnt (1971, 112 – 119) has argued that, despite its location, Kassandreia actually was meant to be the ‘Nachfolgesiedlung Olynths’ (cf. Bresson 2016, 113), but this seems unlikely. Diodoros describes the foundation as the synoikism of Poteidaia and the surrounding places, from which he explicitly distinguishes the inclusion of the remaining Olynthians as a separate addition. All sources agree that Kassandreia was the former Poteidaia (Meyer 1965, 636), except for Diodoros’ description of Antigonos’ proclamation at Tyre, but in that context Olynthos is mentioned because Antigonos wished to present Kassandros’ actions in terms of the resurrection of two hostile cities destroyed by the Macedonians, Thebes and Olynthos: the parallelism was neat but disingenuous (cf. infra, 61.2 ὡς Ὀλυνθίους…). The gloss ἐν Κασσανδρείαι added to Archon of Olynthos rather than Kallikrates of Poteidaia in the Epidaurian thearodokoi list IG IV2.1 94 (l. 12– 14) might as well be interpreted in the very opposite way from Zahrnt’s (1971, 119): if it was clear to all that Poteidaia was now Kassandreia no such gloss was needed there, whereas the matter may have been less of obvious for Olynthos – or alternatively, Archon may just have happened to be the man who continued to serve as thearodokos after the foundation of Kassandreia whereas Kallikrates for some reason did not. ἔτι δὲ τῶν σύνεγγυς χωρίων οὐκ ὀλίγα: The word χωρίον should here be understood in the general of ‘place’ (cf. MD s.v. χωρίον), and translations such as ‘castelli’ (Martino), ‘bourgades’ (Bizière) or ‘villages’ (Waterfield) seem too narrow. The present instance seems to cover all sorts of settlements, as substantial poleis like Aphytis, Mende and Skione were also included in the synoikism: it seems to have comprised the entire Pallene peninsula as well as all the cities of the Chalkidian League south of Anthemous (Meyer 1965, 634; Zahrnt 1971, 117 and 119 – 120; Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 120 and 199 – 201; Tsiagrida 2011, 154; Badoud 2013, 90; Boehm 2018, 36 – 38). τῶν Ὀλυνθίων τοὺς διασωζομένους, ὄντας οὐκ ὀλίγους: Olynthos was a large polis on the Chalkidic penisula. Because it had broken its treaty with Philippos II by making peace with Athens, it was destroyed in 348 (Zahrnt 1971, 209 and passim; Flensted-Jensen 2004a, 834– 836). The present phrase and the num-

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ber of free Olynthians attested in the decades after 348 suggest that the well-attested tradition that the city’s entire population was sold into slavery may be exaggerated, although it is impossible to know even remotely what Diodoros’ ‘not being few in number’ should be taken to mean (Zahrnt 1971, 115 – 117; Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 197; Michels 2014, 127– 128). These free Olynthians may already have tried to convince Alexander to restore their city, but the evidence is limited: Plut. Alex. 53.1 with Hamilton 1969, ad loc. For the phrasing, which in this context appears unique to Diodoros, see also XIII 63.3 (τοὺς διασωζομένους τῶν Σελινουντίων); XIX 53.2 (τοὺς διασωζομένους τῶν Θηβαίων), 54.1 (τοῖς διασωζομένοις τῶν Θηβαίων); cf. XIV 78.4 (οἱ διασωζόμενοι τῶν ἐξηνδραποδισμένων κατὰ Σικελίαν πόλεων). For comparable phrases or different contexts, see e.g. Plb. X 37.5, XXII 17.4 and Gal. Libr.Propr., ed. Kühn vol. 19 p. 23 and p. 42. For the clustered occurrence in book XIX, cf. supra, Part I, §2.3.

52.3 πολλῆς δὲ χώρας προσορισθείσης τοῖς Κασανδρεῦσι καὶ ταύτης ἀγαθῆς: On the enormous size of the territory of Kassandreia, cf. supra 52.2 ἔτι δὲ τῶν σύνεγγυς… For land grants by Macedonian kings and the Successors: see above 25.3 χώραν… The difference between Antigonos in the latter passage and the present occasion is that Kassandros could claim to act as regent, although he may have reconfirmed the decisions once he became king: cf. supra 52.2 ἔκτισε… Some of the land granted to Kassandros’ collaborators may have remained royal rather than polis land, but its owners were nonetheless given Kassandreian citizenship: Bresson 2016, 112– 115; Boehm 2018, 38. ταχὺ μεγάλην ἐπίδοσιν ἔλαβεν ἡ πόλις καὶ πλεῖστον ἴσχυσε τῶν ἐν Μακεδονίᾳ: Unfortunately, very little archaeological evidence for the development of Hellenistic Kassandreia is available (Winter 2006, 132– 143; Tsigarida 2011, 154– 155). That Kassandreia was developed rapidly and soon flourished, is nonetheless clear, especially since Poteidaia had not been destroyed (Zahrnt 1971, 218 n. 298), and thus give the new city a running start. Yet, one may doubt whether it actually outshone Pella: the latter was the greatest polis of Macedonia in the mid fourth century, expanded substantially in the early Hellenistic period (Winter 2006, 269 – 271; Akamatis 2011, 393 – 396; Tombrägel 2017, 126 – 127 and 129), and may have remained the capital under Kassandros (Hatzopoulos BÉ 2008, no. 340). Diodoros’ present claim thus seems at least somewhat overstated, which may result from the rather haphazard use of a typical formula that stuck in his mind from 51.6, where it seems more appropriate. The language is typical of Diodoros, as we shall shortly see, and like here many of the instances

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reflect his enthusiasm about city foundations (cf. supra, 52.2 ἔκτισε δὲ καὶ πόλιν…; infra, 53.2 καὶ διὰ τὴν εὐεργεσίαν…): e.g. XIV 16.3, XVI 7.1, XVII 52.4; cf. also e.g. XV 76.2. In principle, then, Diodoros might well have introduced the statement himself without any basis in his source, but this seems unlikely, since in Diodoros’ time Thessaloniki was the most populous and most important city in Macedonia (Str. VII 7.4; cf. Antip.Thess. Anth. Pal. IX 428; Papazoglou 1988, 205 – 206). We thus rather seem to be facing an inadequate paraphrase of his source in which a typical Diodorean formula led to an inaccurate overstatement (cf. also XVI 7.1, where we seem to be facing Diodoros’ own intervention combined with Timaios’ praise for his own father as alleged founder of Tauromenion). Whoever was the author of the source Diodoros used here, it is unlikely to have been Hieronymos, as the Antigonids were anything but enthusiastic about Kassandros’ new foundation. The phrase πλεῖστον ἰσχύειν is quite rare, but it seems typical of the late Hellenistic and early Imperial periods and especially of Diodoros (cf. supra, 51.6 ἔτι δὲ γυνή …). The same holds true, though not quite as strikingly, for μεγάλην ἐπίδοσιν λαμβάνειν, which see also occurs at XIII 25.3, XVI 7.1, XX 81.3, XXXI 39.1. Again previous attestations are mainly Hellenistic (Isoc. 4.9, 6.4; [D.] 61.41; [Arist.] Rh.Al. 35.14; Plb. I 20.2, II 36.2, IV 55.3, V 90.3, X 8.8) and after Diodoros the phrase is not uncommon in authors of late koine (D.H. AR I 23.1, II 63.1, VI 34.3, VIII 60.2, Orat.Vett. II 16; Ph. Vita Mosis I 64; Str. VII 6.10; Jos. Vit. 8; Plut. Arat. 34.7; cf. [Philip II] Ep. 8.1) but becomes rarer again in the Second Sophistic; unlike Diodoros who only uses the phrase with λαμβάνειν, different verbs are sometimes found in some of these authors. Also compare variants like πολλὴν ἐπίδοσιν λαμβάνειν vel sim. (Diod. XI 50.3, 62.2, 68.6, 72.1, XII 1.4, 40.3, XIV 16.3, XVI 7.1, XVII 52.4), which are somewhat more common in the fourth century than the μεγάλη variant (e.g. Isoc. 8.127, 9.48, 10.68; D. 9.47; [D.] 61.46; Arist. Cat. 13a25 – 27), but likewise seem especially typical of koine (e.g. Plb. IV 1.4, XVI 21.10; D.H. I 16.2, II 47.1, III 59.3, XII 10.1, XIV 8.1, Th. 29 [rewriting Thuc. III 82.3 – 4]; Phld. Acad.Ind. Y.8; Str. V 1.1, VII 7.6, XI 12.2; Jos. AJ VIII 38; Plut. Mar. 34.4) and are far less frequent after Plutarch. The similarity of the vocabulary of 52.3 to D.H. AR I.23.1 (πολλῆς καὶ ἀγαθῆς χώρας – μεγάλην καὶ ταχεῖαν ἐπίδοσιν ἔλαβον) is interesting but perhaps no more than that.

52.4 ἵνα μηδεὶς ᾖ διάδοχος τῆς βασιλείας: Hammond (1988, 145 n. 1 and 167) argues that Kassandros actually placed the king and his mother at Amphipolis for safekeeping, and that the present passage shows strong Antigonid bias against Kassandros (cf. Adams 1974, 97). That seems to be a somewhat naive interpretation:

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the totality of his actions demonstrates clearly enough what Kassandros was aiming at (cf. Carney 2000, 145 and 300 n. 4). Surely, he himself will have tried to present the measure in a different light, maybe claiming to protect Alexander IV in this way (Goukowsky 1978b, 106), but a source need not have been biased to see the truth of it. That Kassandros was treating Alexander as ‘formally deposed’, as Simpson (1957c, 371) holds, is unlikely: Alexander still was the official king, as is clear from the dating formulas used in documents throughout the empire (see Boiy 2007b, 84– 94; Depuydt 2008, 76 – 77). Furthermore, the context suggests that Kassandros would not have risked such a measure. Some hold that the Macedonians seem to have accepted without protest the internment of Alexander IV (Adams 1974, 98 n. 2; Bosworth 1986, 11). However, we simply have no information whatsoever on the reactions, which Kassandros seems to have feared (cf. Carney 2006a, 108). Furthermore, the popular support Alexander was to receive later on (see below, 105.2 κατὰ τὴν Μακεδονίαν…), would not suggest that the Macedonians approved of his imprisonment. θεωρῆσαι βουλόμενος τοὺς τῶν πολλῶν λόγους, τίνες ἔσονται περὶ τῆς Ὀλυμπιάδος ἀναιρέσεως: If Kassandros was afraid of the reactions of the people to Olympias’ death, which is likely enough (see above, 11.5 ἐπειδή…), it is difficult to believe the tradition in Porphyrios ([FGrHist 260] F3.3) that he left her unburied. There we might indeed be facing a hostile – perhaps Antigonid – remark (Goukowsky 1978b, 106 with n. 8). On the circulation of popular opinions after the deaths of royals, cf. e.g. Plb. XV 25; supra, 11.8 μετερχομένη… οὐδὲν πεπυσμένος τῶν περὶ ᾿Aντίγονον: Apparently, then, we still are in early spring (cf. Bacigalupo Pareo 1975, 211; Bosworth 1992b, 64). Obviously, the arrangements for what will surely have been a sumptuous wedding festival (cf. supra, 52.1 διὸ καὶ Θεσσαλονίκην…), must have taken a while, as did the preparations for the foundation of Kassandreia. It would seem, therefore, that Diodoros in this chapter narrates a series of thematically connected events in non-chronological order. The present statement suggests that the imprisonment of Alexander IV and Rhoxane happened shortly after Olympias’ death, and thus before the royal marriage and the city-foundation. Perhaps, then, Diodoros’ source reversed the order of events to place the actions against the king and his mother more clearly in the context of Kassandros’ personal ambitions. If so, we might speculate that our author was relying on a historian hostile to Kassandros, possibly a pro-Antigonid author, as the presentation then resembled Antigonos’ accusations against Kassandros (cf. infra, on 61.1– 3). Γλαυκίαν τινὰ τῶν πιστευομένων: Glaukias is later also charged with the elimination of Alexander and Rhoxane (105.2), but nothing else is known of him. Possibly he is to be identified with the homonymous commander of an ile of the companion cavalry at Gaugamela (Arr. Anab. III 11.8; Berve 1926, II,

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no. 226; Heckel 2006, 126). The phrase τῶν πιστευομένων vel sim. to describe to describe a friend of a king is also attested epigraphically: see above, 44.3 ὑπ’ ᾿Aντιγόνου… τοὺς εἰωθότας παῖδας συντρέφεσθαι: These must have been the traditional pages or royal youths (Carney 2000, 298 n. 99; contra Hammond 1988a, 145 and 167; on the pages, see above, 28.3 τῶν Εὐμενοῦς παίδων).

52.5 βασιλικῶς ἤδη διεξάγων τὰ κατὰ τὴν ἀρχήν: The royal burial of a predecessor was a traditional means to profess dynastic continuity (Tarn 1969, 482; Rives-Gal 1996, 163 and passim; Meeus 2008, 68 n. 134 with further references; Mari 2008, 224– 225; Alonso Troncoso 2009; Strootman 2014a, 210 – 214; Carney 2016, 126 and 135; Wallace 2017, 16 – 17). Thus I can endorse only the latter half of the interpretation of Borza and Palagia (2007, 111) that the entombment of Arrhidaios and Eurydike ‘was a sign that the Old Order was finished, and that a new regime headed by Kassandros now ruled the Macedonians’. In marrying Thessalonike and giving a public burial to the late royal couple, Kassandros was indeed announcing his own rule, but as the legitimate continuator of the Old Order, perhaps attempting to strengthen his claim to the regency (cf. Meeus 2013a, 128 – 129). Κύνναν: Kynna or Kynnane, was a daughter of Philippos II and his Illyrian wife Audata/Eurydike (Berve 1926, II, 456; Bosworth 1980b, 67; Heckel 1983 – 1984 and 2006, 100 – 101; Carney 2000, 69 – 70 and 129 – 131; Bartels 2015). Whether the form of the name is a significant indication concerning Diodoros’ source, is doubtful (pace Yardley, Wheatley and Heckel 2011, 6, discussing the difference with the form Kynnane in Douris): our manuscripts are very unreliable when it comes to rare names, and with the relative ἥν immediately following upon the name it is not impossible that at some point a scribe confronted with the text ΚΥΝΝΑΝΗΝΗΝ committed a haplography or assumed that the double syllable ΗΝ had originated through a dittography by one of his predecessors. A somewhat similar problem can be observed in the – admittedly indirect – tradition of VII 9.3, where instead of διεδέξατο τὴν βασιλείαν ᾿Aναξίων we read διεδέξατο τὴν βασιλείαν Ἰξίων: at some point in the transmission the repetition of the syllable -αν- in the sequence ΒΑΣΙΛΕΙΑΝΑΝΑΞΙΩΝ has caused problems (Goukowsky 2015, 23). ἣν ἀνεῖλεν ᾿Aλκέτας: From her marriage with Philippos’ nephew Amyntas Kynnane begot Adeia, whom she wanted to marry to Arrhidaios in 322/1. Perdikkas, however, being opposed to the marriage which could limit his own power, instructed his brother Alketas to get rid of Kynnane. The indignation of the troops

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at the royal murder was so great that Perdikkas was forced to allow the marriage between Arrhidaios and Adeia (Arr. Succ. F1.22– 23). It may seem surprising that Kynnane had not been given a proper burial in the almost three year interval between Eurydike’s return to Europe early in 319 and her death in the autumn of 317 (cf. Rives-Gal 1996, 268). Yet, the practice of preserving the deceased’s remains for a later occasion when a proper burial was possible, does not seem to have been uncommon in these troubled times: cf. supra, 44.2 καύσας…; infra, 59.3 τῶν ὀστῶν…; Carney 2016, 129 n. 88. ἔθαψεν ἐν Αἰγαιαῖς, καθάπερ ἔθος ἦν τοῖς βασιλεῦσι: For Aigai as the traditional burial spot of the Argead kings, see Just. VII 2.2– 4. It is now almost generally agreed that the modern village Vergina is the location of ancient Aigai, and that part of the royal cemetery has been found there (e.g. Hatzopoulos 1996b; Rives-Gal 1996, 167; Hammond 1997; Borza 1999, 69 n. 41; Greenwalt 1999, 178 – 180; Girtzy 2001, 54– 60; Carney 2001a and 2016, 109 – 110; Borza & Palagia 2007, 81– 82; Seyer 2007, 173; Alonso 2009, 277 n. 3; contra Faklaris 1994; Touloumakos 2010). The same events are described by Athenaios (IV 155a) in a section on gladiatorial combats and the like, quoting Diyllos ([FGrHist 73] F1): Κάσανδρος ἐκ Βοιωτίας ἐπανιὼν καὶ θάψας τὸν βασιλέα καὶ τὴν βασίλισσαν ἐν Αἰγαίαις καὶ μετ᾽ αὐτῶν τὴν Κύνναν τὴν Εὐρυδίκης μητέρα καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις τιμήσας οἷς προσήκει καὶ μονομαχίας ἀγῶνα ἔθηκεν, εἰς ὃν κατέβησαν τέσσαρες τῶν στρατιωτῶν. When Cassander returned from Boeotia and held the funeral of the king and queen at Aegaeae, as well as of Cynna, the mother of Euryidice, he not only honoured them with all other fitting rites, but set up also a contest for single fighters which was entered by four of his soldiers.

Based on the correspondence between both passages it has often been argued that Diyllos is Diodoros’ source for these events (Unger 1878, 437– 440; Schubert 1914, 222; Schwan 1931, 145; Borza 1991, 39. Contra Reuß 1876, 118 Jacoby, FGrHist II C, 112; Seibert 1969, 60 [on the basis of an argument from silence]; Bizière 1975, ad loc.; Rives-Gal 1996, 263). As both Diodoros and Athenaios give only a most brief summary (pace Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 131, who speaks quite surprisingly of ‘dovizia di particolari’), it is a possibility that cannot be confirmed or refuted. Similarity of events can never constitute an argument for a common source, since all sources dealing with the episode could have told the same facts. Barring the proper names, there are only three verbal echoes: θάπτειν, ἀγών and the royal title. These are hardly telling when a royal burial and the subsequent funeral games are concerned. On the other hand, the elements present in one account and not in the other can easily be the result of the selection of the quoting writ-

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ers. Although Diodoros’ mention of Kassandros’ royal aspirations might seem incompatible with a source which was favourable to Kassandros, it need not originate with Hieronymos: Diyllos may also have given such an interpretation (pace Rives-Gal 1996, 263). After all, the significance of a royal burial will have been clear to everyone: cf. Rives-Gal 1996; Alonso Troncoso 2009; specifically for queens, see Savalli-Lestrade 2015, 216 – 218 and Carney 2016, esp. 124– 135. Reuß (1876, 118) argues that Athenaios’ ἐκ Βοιωτίας ἐπανιών means that these burials were held only after the refoundation of Thebes (cf. Droysen 1878, 249 n. 2; contra Unger 1878, 438 – 440). If Diodoros in chapter 52 records a thematically rather than chronologically grouped series of events to illustrate Kassandros’ royal behaviour, it might well be true that the royal funeral should be dated later than the Sicilian’s text suggests. At any rate, the organization of the festival must have taken some time (inviting prominent athletes and official guests who had to be available etc.), as did the preparation of the tombs. The latter might have included the design and the actual painting of the hunting frieze of Tomb II, which was clearly not done overnight (cf. Palagia 2000, 189 – 198; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 44– 56). It is not inconceivable, therefore, that Diodoros indeed narrates the episode out of its chronological context. Furthermore, given that a funeral normally was a family affair (Kurtz & Boardman 1971, 143), one might speculate that Kassandros first married Thessalonike in order to join the family. Unless both the marriage and the burials were held during the same festival, which seems unlikely, the funeral could only be conducted a while after the celebration of the wedding. ἐπιταφίοις ἀγῶσι: Cf. Ath. IV 155a, quoted in the previous lemma. Probably athletic, hippic and musical agones were held (Rives-Gal 1996, 270). Funeral Games had apparently been held for Alexander in Babylon (Arr. Anab. VII 14.10), and Ptolemaios organised agones when he buried Alexander in Egypt (XVIII 28.4). Those of Alexander for Hephaistion were not royal, but they are presented as an exceptional honour, though perhaps just because of their scale (Arr. Anab. VII 14.8 – 10; Mann 2020, 66, 70 and 75). On the abundant evidence for funeral games for historical individuals, see Roller 1981; Nielsen 2018, 17– 22; cf. also Isoc. 9.1 on Nikokles’ funeral games for Euagoras. It has been suggested that the chariot race depicted in the so-called tomb of the prince in Vergina is likewise a reference to funeral games (Palagia 2011, 484). According to Rives-Gal (loc. cit.) ‘ce sont les concours de combats singuliers (monomachiai) de soldats, qui ouvrirent la fête, qui ont frappé Diyllus (ou sa source) ce qui témoigne probablement de leur originalité’. This is a problematic statement in several respects. First of all, I do not see why the monomachiai are supposed to have opened the games. Secondly, we have no idea of how much attention Diyllos paid to that aspect, as it is simply the one Athenaios singles

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out because he is dealing with the topic of gladiatorial combats. Whether this means that Kassandros’ inclusion of them in the programme of his festival was a novelty or simply the first example known to Athenaios or to spring to his mind, cannot be determined. For the symbolic importance of monomachiai in the age of the Successors, see Meeus 2020a, 299 with further references.

52.6 Πολυπέρχων ἐτύγχανε μὲν πολιορκούμενος ἐν ᾿Aζώρῳ τῆς Περραιβίας: Apparently, then, Kallas was able to force Polyperchon to retreat into a stronghold, probably after the defection of many of the latter’s soldiers (cf. 36.6). The name of the place is variously reported as Ναξίῳ (R) and ᾿Aξιώρῳ (F) in the manuscripts. Wesseling emended to ᾿Aζώρῳ as a Perrhaibian town by the name Azoros is attested: Stählin 1924, 20 – 21; TIB I, 91– 92 and 131; Decourt et al. 2004, 721– 722. καὶ γὰρ ἐτύγχανεν οἰκείως ἔχων πρὸς τοῦτο τὸ ἔθνος: This may primarily have been the result of Aitolian opposition to whomever was the effective ruler of Macedonia at the time, in this case Kassandros (Simpson 1958, 359). Probably Polyperchon hoped to receive support for his cause from the Aitolians (Grainger 1999, 72– 73). On Polyperchon and the Aitolians, see also 35.2 Αἰτωλοί…

53.1 σπεύδων ᾿Aλέξανδρον τὸν Πολυπέρχοντος ἐκβαλεῖν ἐκ τῆς Πελοποννήσου: Polyperchon’s son Alexandros had probably been able to strengthen his position in the Peloponnese when Kassandros had rushed to Macedonia in the preceding autumn (cf. 35.1). τὰς δ᾽ ἐν Πύλαις παρόδους εὑρὼν ὑπ᾽ Αἰτωλῶν φυλαττομένας μόγις τούτους βιασάμενος παρῆλθεν εἰς τὴν Βοιωτίαν: On the Thermopylai pass, see above 35.2 τὰ περὶ τὰς Πύλας… The Aitolians had also blocked the pass in the autumn of 317 when Kassandros was on his way to invade Macedonia, wishing to prevent an increase in his power and protecting their own interests in central Greece (see above 35.2, Αἰτωλοὶ…). Given their failure to prevent Kassandros’ success on the previous occasion, the stakes were even higher now, because of the possibility of the annihilation of Polyperchon’s side and Kassandros’ complete control of Greece. On the previous occasion Kassandros had circumvented the pass by sea rather than forcing his way through: the different approach this time may be due to his forces being stronger and/or him being in less of a hurry to get through. The Aitolians would continue to oppose Kassandros and

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thus sided with Antigonos in the Third Diadoch War: see below, 66.2 τοῦ κοινοῦ…

53.2 μεταπεμψάμενος δὲ πανταχόθεν τοὺς διασωζομένους τῶν Θηβαίων: On the Theban exiles, see Gartland 2016a. For the phrasing, cf. supra 52.2 τῶν Ὀλυνθίων τοὺς διασωζομένους… ἐνεχείρει κατοικίζειν τὰς Θήβας: In 335 Alexander destroyed Thebes which had revolted against the Macedonian domination, to set a discouraging example for Greek cities who contemplated rebellion, and possibly also because the Thebans had been supporting a pretender, namely Amyntas Perdikka, as Worthington (2003) recently argued (see also Gullath 1982, 20 – 24 and 60 – 85; Bosworth 1988a, 32– 33 and 194 – 196; O’Brien 1992, 52– 55; Squillace 2004, 122– 130 and 2011, 315 – 318). πόλιν διωνομασμένην καὶ διὰ τὰς πράξεις καὶ διὰ τοὺς παραδεδομένους περὶ αὐτῆς μύθους: Cf. XV 50.6, ἥ τε πόλις τῶν Θηβαίων διὰ τῆς τῶν προγόνων ἐπιφανείας ἐν τοῖς ἡρωικοῖς χρόνοις φρονήματος ἦν πλήρης καὶ μεγάλων ὠρέγε̂ γὰρ ἡ πόλις αὕτη το πραγμάτων. Similarly for other cities: XII 75.6, on Argos, εἴχε μέγα ἀξίωμα διὰ τὰς παλαιὰς πράξεις· πρὸ γὰρ τῆς Ἡρακλειδῶν κατηλύσεως ἐκ τῆς ᾿Aργείας ὑπῆρξαν σχεδὸν ἅπαντες οἱ μέγιστοι τῶν βασιλέων; XXXIII 10 (fr. 14 CUF), on Knossos, προῆγεν δὲ αὐτοὺς ἐπὶ τὴν τῆς ἡγεμονίας φιλοτιμίαν τὸ παλαιὸν ἀξίωμα τῆς πόλεως καὶ τῶν προγόνων ἡ διαβεβοημένη δόξα κατὰ τοὺς ἡρωικοὺς χρόνους; cf. also XI 65.5 on Mykene, XII 59.4 on Trachis. It is interesting to note the difference Diodoros makes between the securely historical actions of the Thebans and the myths transmitted about the city, especially in light of the following digression about the history of Thebes which largely focusses on the mythical period. On Diodoros’ ambiguous relationship to such mythical material, see esp. I 2.2, 3.2, IV 1 and 8 with Hau 2017, 233 – 240; Meeus 2018a, 159 – 161; Ring 2018; Marincola 2019 (here esp. 82 n. 25). According to Justin (XI 3.11), the Theban myths had likewise been used as an argument in favour of destruction by several of Thebes’ enemies (cf. Yardley & Heckel 1997, 96), and it is not unlikely that the mythical background was relevant to Kassandros as well (cf. Hornblower 2015, 424– 431). For other references to Theban myth in a political context, see e.g. Plut. Lys. 27.6; Diod. XV 50.6, 53.4, and 79.5 – 6, cf. XIII 97.6 – 7 with Ambaglio 2008b, ad loc.; Steinbock 2013, 155 – 210. In general see e.g. Gehrke 1994 and Marincola 2014, 48 – 54, for the relevance of such myths in Greek political discourse. On Thebes’ famous reputation, see also Hornblower 2015, 430 – 431 who compares Diodoros’ statement to Lyc. 1195. Perhaps this

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was one of the reasons why Thebes was re-founded under its own name, unlike Poteidaia which was renamed by Kassandros (cf. Michels 2014, 127– 128). καὶ διὰ τὴν εὐεργεσίαν ταύτην τυχεῖν ἀθανάτου δόξης: Cf. 54.1, φιλοδοξῆσαι βουλόμενος. In book XVII (118.2) on the other hand, Diodoros claims that Kassandros restored the city because he was ἀλλοτριώτατα διακείμενον τοῖς ᾿Aλεξάνδρου πράγμασι, as does Pausanias, who explicitly gives it as his own opinion (IX 7.2, δοκεῖ δέ μοι τὰς Θήβας οἰκίσαι ὁ Κάσσανδρος κατὰ ἔχθος ᾿Aλεξάνδρου μάλιστα). Kassandros’ alleged hatred of Alexander is a product of Antigonid propaganda, however, and is clearly contradicted by his policies (Goukowsky 1978b, 108 – 111; Chamoux 1983, 64; Meeus 2009a, 249; cf. infra, 61.2 ὡς Ὀλυνθίους…). Furthermore, no one would argue that the refoundation of Poteidaia as Kassandreia was inspired by hostility to Philippos II. There is thus no need to assume that the restoration of Thebes actually was intended as an affront to Alexander (pace e.g. Will 1979, 52; Green 1990, 747 n. 38; Hornblower 2015, 424). The idea of ἀθάνατος δόξα (I 31.9, 56.1, VI 1.2, VIII 23.3, X 21.5, 34.6, XIII 20.3) and the motivation attributed to Kassandros might be typical of Diodoros (Semiramis founded Babylon φιλοτιμουμένη τῇ δόξῃ τὸν βεβασιλευκότα πρὸ αὐτῆς ὑπερθέσθαι, II 7.2; Epameinondas refounded Messene δόξης ὀρεγόμενος αἰωνίου, XV 66.1; Caesar’s φιλοδοξία at Korinthos, XXXII 27.3; Sacks 1990, 73 n. 88 and 78; cf. supra, 52.2 ἔκτισε…, 52.3 ταχὺ μεγάλην…). Yet, both ἀθάνατος δόξα (Isoc. 2.32, 6.109; Pl. Smp. 208d; D. 60.27; Hyp. 6.24; cf. also Plb. II 70.5, V 9.10) and the idea of such glory for a city founder were not at all alien to the fourth century BCE (cf. e.g. Thuc. V 11.1; Arist. Pol. 1310b31– 40) or to the world of Hellenistic kings (Bringmann 1993, esp. 16 – 17). Indeed, the foundation or re-foundation of a Greek city always was a most glorious deed (cf. Goukowsky 2004, 616), and it may well have been one of Kassandros’ actual aims: Plutarch (Praec. ger. reip. 17 = Mor. 814b) reports that the Athenians wore garlands when Kassandros re-founded Thebes (cf. Meeus 2020a, 315 with n. 148). Many Greek cities eagerly participated in the project (cf. infra, 54.2 συνεπελάβοντο…), and there is no doubt that Kassandros wanted to gain the goodwill of the Greeks (Droysen 1878, I, 322– 323; Adams 1974, 100 – 101; Cohen HS I, 24– 26; Bearzot 1995; Bosworth 2000b, 220; Squillace 2004, 127 n. 179; Mackil 2013, 93; Michels 2014, 127; cf. Plb. XXXVIII 2.14– 3.1). However, he surely had more direct political aims too, trying to gain control of a strategically important region in central Greece (Bringmann 2000, 134; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 110; O’Sullivan 2009, 251– 252; Mackil 2013, 93; Gartland 2016a, 161; Boehm 2018, 44– 46).

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53.3 συμβέβηκε δὲ τὴν πόλιν ταύτην πλείσταις καὶ μεγίσταις κεχρῆσθαι μεταβολαῖς, οὐκ ὀλιγάκις ἀνάστατον γεγενημένην: Cf. the rather similar digression about the history of Messene from the Trojan War until the time of its refoundation by Epameinondas at XV 66 (66.2, οὐκ ἀνοίκειον δ᾽ εἶναι νομίζω, πολλάκις τῆς Μεσσήνης ἁλούσης καὶ κατασκαφείσης, τὰ περὶ αὐτὴν ἀπ᾽ ἀρχῆς ὡς ἐν κεφαλαίοις παραδραμεῖν; 66.6, περὶ μὲν οὖν τὴν Μεσσήνην τοσαύτας καὶ τηλικαύτας συνέβη γενέσθαι μεταβολάς); also the digressions in Just. XVI 3.3 on Herakleia and XVIII 3.1 on Carthage. Although the mostly mythical material may seem irrelevant to the modern reader, it was clearly important to Kassandros (see above, 53.2, καὶ διὰ τοὺς παραδεδομένους…). It was quite normal to include both mythical and historical times in such excursions on the history of a city (see e.g. the one on Herakleia in Justin’s account of early Hellenistic history at XVI 3; cf. Saïd 2007, 79). That the historical period receives so little attention in the digression may have two reasons: the history of Thebes has been dealt with in the previous books, and, more importantly, most of the destructions Diodoros knows of belong to the mythic period. Some elements of the present account are also to be found in the mythographic books (e.g. IV 2.1, 66.4– 5), but overall Diodoros clearly does not draw on his own earlier Theban material here; the present account has more in common with Paus. IX 5 (cf. Gartland 2016b) and Apollod. III 3 – 4. According to Bosworth (2002, 170 – 173) the digression is the work of Hieronymos and looks ahead to Demetrios’ benevolent treatment of Thebes after its revolt against the Antigonids in 293 (cf. also Hornblower 2015, 428 – 431). Hieronymos is supposed to have focussed on the many times the city had been captured and destroyed in order to create a sharp contrast with the clemency of Demetrios who spared the city. Bosworth’s ingenious argument fails to convince, though. First of all, there is no reason whatsoever to assume a relation with the history of Thebes after 316 other than the scholarly quest for Hieronymos which hopes to regain some substance for a badly preserved author. The idea to write a digression on the μεταβολαί of Thebes at the point of its fourth refoundation can hardly be considered so striking as to need a special explanation or to be connected with any other events than the one Diodoros mentions. Hieronymos, if he was Diodoros’ source at all, states that Demetrios was mild in his treatment of the city at the proper place (XXI 14.2, ὁ βασιλεὺς Δημήτριος […] προσηνέχθη τοῖς Βοιωτοῖς μεγαλοψύχως), but if the excursion was meant to illustrate this, he could easily have written it at the actual point of Demetrios’ siege. Bosworth (2002, 171– 172) also notes that the digression and its context rather highlight the glory of Kassandros. Admittedly, at the time Hieronymos was writing, the Antipatrid dynasty no longer existed, so that he need not

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have had a reason to conceal their benefactions. If, however, the digression was meant to glorify Demetrios, it is a strange coincidence that as it stands one of his rivals gets all the praise, especially since Antigonid propaganda presented the refoundation of Thebes in a very different light, namely as an anti-Macedonian measure (cf. infra, 61.2 ὡς Ὀλυνθίους…). Such an interpretation is much closer to the motive Diodoros attributes to Kassandros in book XVII (118.2) than what we read here. Because of this, Landucci Gattinoni (2003, 110) rather suggests Douris as the source for the digression, but there is no positive evidence whatsoever for this identification Hieronymos might have had an interest in foundation legends (Bosworth 2002, 170 – 171, referring to F13 and 17, as well as the problematic Diod. XIX 44.4– 5 [see above]), but such interest was far from unique to him (cf. Jal 1987, 205; Clarke 1999a, 269 – 274). The explicit presentation of ‘[Thebes’] mythical past as a series of expulsions and resettlements’ (Bosworth 2002, 171), may be Diodoros’ own: cf. the digression on the history of Messene in book XV referenced above. Furthermore, the destruction of prosperous cities was a topic in which Diodoros seems to have taken keen interest (see above, 44.5 πλείστας γάρ…). Indeed, for these reasons it cannot be excluded that the digression was inserted by Diodoros himself from a source different from the one he used for the history of the Successors (cf. Tufano 2019, 79 n. 237). A further indication of this may be found in the unnecessary repetition of information after the digression that had already been stated before: compare 53.2, μεταπεμψάμενος … τοὺς διασωζομένους τῶν Θηβαίων ἐνεχείρει κατοικίζειν τὰς Θήβας – 54.1, ἀνέστησε τὴν πόλιν τοῖς διασωζομένοις τῶν Θηβαίων and 53.2 ὑπολαβὼν … τὴν εὐεργεσίαν ταύτην τυχεῖν ἀθανάτου δόξης – 54.1, φιλοδοξῆσαι βουλόμενος. This repetition with partial verbal echoes is reminiscent of smaller repetitions as well as larger doublets that originate from Diodoros’ re-organizing the material of his source (cf. supra, 49.1 περιστρατοπεδεύσας… and Part I, §2.2.1). This seems particularly clear in XIII 34– 36, where the repetitions between 34.2 and 36.2 may be caused by a digression (chapter 35) that Diodoros is likely to have inserted himself: this is suggested by the mention of Roman citizenship (35.3), the justification at the end of the digression (35.5) and the fact that Diodoros had already written about Diokles in chapter 33 (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.3 on Diodoros’ interest in lawgivers). We are not on solid ground, then, to argue that the digression is derived from Hieronymos and that its true aim is to praise anyone, let alone Demetrios. On the other hand, Ambaglio’s argument (1995, 25) that Diodoros cannot possibly have taken the Theban excursion from any source in its present form, ignores the expressly stated purpose of the historical overview, and goes too far in the opposite direction. Nietzold’s argument (1905, 39 – 40) that the digression cannot come

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from the same source as the decent military narrative in XVIII–XX is obviously misguided (cf. supra, on myth in historiographical digressions). It is best, then, to leave the question of the source for the digression open. περὶ ὧν οὐκ ἀνοίκειον ἐν κεφαλαίοις εἰπεῖν: Diodoros often claims that it is οὐκ ἀνοίκειον (I 77.1, II 44.3, 47.1, III 56.1, IV 25.2, 34.1, 85.2, V 24.1, 35.1, 60.1, XII 11.4, XIII 81.5, XV 44.1, 66.2, 74.1, XVII 71.3) or οἰκεῖον (I 6.1, II 32.1, III 49.1, 52.1, 62.1, IV 6.1, 7.1, 18.4, 40.1, 46.5, 57.1, 59.1, XII 38.1, XVIII 5.1, XXIII 15.1, XL 3.1) to deal with a certain topic in his work (Ambaglio 1995, 25; cf. supra, 13.7 δι᾽ ἑτέρας… on what is ἀναγκαῖος). There certainly were alternative ways of describing the problem of relevant and irrelevant material (e.g. I 37.1, XII 21.3), so that it is striking that the large majority of the instances belong to book IV, again revealing the clustering in Diodoros’ usage. In keeping with the scope of his work, the length of digressions has to be limited. Therefore Diodoros regularly notes that he will write about a subject ἐν κεφαλαίοις (I 6.1, 9.4, 29.6, 37.1, 69.2, III 52.3, 66.5, IV 7.1, 73.1, V 64.2, XV 66.2, 94.4, XL 3.1; cf. τὰ κυριώτατα: I 44.5, II 15.5). That such a summary account of the μεταβολαί of Thebes is considered fitting for inclusion in the Bibliotheke is no surprise, if we consider Diodoros’ interest in μεταβολή.

53.4 μετὰ γὰρ τὸν ἐπὶ Δευκαλίωνος κατακλυσμόν…: For the mythical tradition on the origins and early history of Thebes, see Kühr 2006a, 2006b, Gartland 2016b, and Tufano 2019 (here esp. 79 – 83) with further references.

53.5 καθάπερ καὶ ὁ ποιητής φησιν: The verse is Od. XI 263. It is also quoted by Pausanias (IX 5.7) in his overview of Theban mythical history. Homer is by far the author cited most often by Diodoros (Rathmann 2014, 70 with n. 57), but the quotations of Homer are not spread consistently throughout the Bibliotheke (I 1.2, 11.2, 12.2, 12.5, 12.10, 15.7, 19.4, 45.6, 96.6, II 56.7, III 2.3, 56.2, 66.3, 67.3, IV 2.4, 7.2, 32.2, 39.3, 49.7, 69.3 75.2, 85.6, 85.7, V 2.4, 28.4, 69.3, XVI 23.5, 56.7, XXXII 24.1; cf. XVIII 1.2). In itself the uneven distribution is not enough to prove that Diodoros in every instance quoted at second hand. The higher incidence in the mythographic books is understandable, and like all Greeks, Diodoros will have known parts of Homer by heart. The occurrence of five quotations of Homer in I 11– 19 might suggest that Diodoros enthusiastically started quoting the poet, but for some reason did not maintain the effort. The fact that Il. V 638 – 642 is found twice at close distance (IV 32.2 and 49.7) would not be an atyp-

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ical symptom of Diodoros’ own intervention (cf. IX 20.2 and XIX 1.4 for what is probably Diodoros’ own repetition of a quotation of Solon). On the other hand, at XXXII 24.1 he certainly found the Homeric verses in Polybios XXXVIII 22.2 (cf. also Diod. I 1.2 with Plb. XII 27.10), and since most historians cited Homer in their works (see e.g. recent studies of Vercruysse [1990] on Polybius; Dueck [2005b] on Strabo, ead. [2007] on all Greek historians and ead. [2009] on their Roman colleagues), Diodoros could of course have taken all references from his sources. The question must be left open until a full examination of Diodoros’ poetic citations has been carried out (Camacho Rojo et al. 1997 limited themselves to detailed analysis of a few instances). Amongst Diodoros’ potential sources for the history of the Successors, there is some evidence that Douris regularly quoted poetry (Baron 2017, 220), including Homer ([FGrHist 76] F15: Hom. Il. I 225, Od. XI 418; cf. also F89); he also wrote a work entitled Homeric Problems and several other works on poets and poetry. Yet, it obviously is not unlikely that Hieronymos, Diyllos and others likewise quoted Homer.

53.8 κατὰ τὸν γενόμενον ἐπὶ τῶν κοράκων χρησμόν: Diodoros seems to have had a particularly strong interest in oracles and regularly reports them in his work: Santangelo 2007; Dillon 2017, 7 and 39; cf. supra, 11.9 καθάπερ χρησμῳδῶν… and infra, 55.8 καταπλαγείς…

54.1 εἰκοστῷ δ᾽ ἔτει ὕστερον: Unfortunately, the chronological indication is not as unambiguous as one would wish. Errington (1977, 495; cf. Gullath 1982, 86 – 87) writes: ‘If we calculate this in “years of destruction”, the period from autumn 335 to autumn 315 is exactly covered by Diodoros’ phrase’. However, that is only one way of interpreting the number, and the twentieth year after the destruction could also be taken to mean 316, which is the more likely date (Beloch 1927, 239; Anson 1986, 210). When passing through Boiotia the next year, Kassandros helped the Thebans building their walls (63.3), and after that he presided over the Nemean games of 315 (see below, 64.1 θείς…). The refoundation of Thebes should therefore be situated in 316. φιλοδοξῆσαι βουλόμενος: Cf. supra, 53.2 καὶ διὰ τὴν εὐεργεσίαν… πείσας τοὺς Βοιωτούς: According to Strabo (IX 2.40), kings get their way through persuasion or force: ‘They are potent in leading the multitudes whither they wish, through persuasion or force (διὰ πειθοῦς ἢ βίας). (…) They persuade

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men, it is true, through kindly deeds, but they force them by means of arms (πείθουσι μὲν δὴ δι᾽ εὐεργεσιῶν, βιάζονται δὲ διὰ τῶν ὅπλων)’. The benefactions tend to concern monetary gifts or euergetic dedications (Meeus 2020a, 301 n. 61; cf. e.g. in general Bringmann 1993, 2000). See also below, 85.4 τὰς μὲν πολιορκῶν…, where the contrast between besieging and convincing shows that πείθειν is referring to diplomacy and benefactions; thus also e.g. XIV 25.5 and XIX 91.1 (for πείθειν in terms of actual persuasion, see also Carney 1996, 32). Kassandros’ military force will obviously have been at least a factor in the background (cf. Anson 2014, 141), but there is no need to assume that Diodoros does not refer to diplomacy here. According to Mackil (2013, 93), however, ‘Diodoros says, somewhat ominously, that Cassander persuaded the Boiotians’; cf. Gartland 2016a, 160 with n. 62.

54.2 συνεπελάβοντο δὲ καὶ τῶν Ἑλληνίδων πόλεων τοῦ συνοικισμοῦ πολλαί: Cf. Paus. IX 7.1, who likewise uses the verb συνεπελάβοντο and mentions the Athenians, Messenians and Megalopolitans. Pausanias correctly writes τὸν οἰκισμόν rather than Diodoros’ τοῦ συνοικισμοῦ, but one wonders whether this συν- might have been mistakenly added by a scribe because of the prefix of συνεπελάβοντο. The help the Thebans received not only from Greek cities, but also from several kings, is epigraphically attested (Syll. 3 337 + SEG LXIV 403; Holleaux 1938, 1– 40; Gullath 1982, 89 – 97; Chamoux 1983, 64; Buraselis 2014; Knoepfler, BÉ 2014, no. 204; Kalliontzis & Papazarkadas 2019). διά τε τὸν πρὸς τοὺς ἠτυχηκότας ἔλεον: Polybios (XXXVIII 2.14– 3.2) offers the same explanation: ἀλλὰ τότε πάντες ἠλέουν μὲν τοὺς Θηβαίους ὡς ἄδικα καὶ δεινὰ πεπονθότας (…) τοιγαροῦν βραχεῖ χρόνῳ τυχόντες ἐπικουρίας τινὸς αὖθις ᾤκουν τὴν πατρίδα μετ’ ἀσφαλείας (…); cf. also Arr. Anab. I 9.1. The phrase πρὸς τοὺς ἠτυχηκότας ἔλεος vel sim. appears to be typically Diodorean: cf. XIII 20.5, 23.1, XXVII 6.2, XXXIII 15.2. I have not found it in any earlier author, but there are a few comparable instances in later writers: e.g. Jos. AJ XVI 383; Plut. De tranq. an. 7 (Mor. 468d); App. BC III 12; Aristid. 11.35; and more loosely Ph. Rer. Div. 112, Vit. Mos. II 227, Decal. 69, Spec. Leg. IV 76. ᾿Aθηναῖοι μὲν γὰρ τὸ πολὺ μέρος τοῦ τείχους ἀνέστησαν: Cf. Paus. IX 7.1 who states that the Athenians were most eager to help (προθυμότατοι μὲν ἐγένοντο ᾿Aθηναῖοι). Their strong involvement is undoubtedly to be explained in part by the fact that Athens stood under the control of Kassandros through Demetrios of Phaleron (cf. supra, 53.2 καὶ διὰ τὴν εὐεργεσίαν… on the Athenian celebration of Thebes’ re-foundation). It would seem from Kassandros’ personal presence mentioned at 63.4 (cf. infra, 63.4 ἐνταῦθα…) that he made the construction of

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the walls into a publication relations event. When the works were finished is unknown: Pausanias (IX 7.4) states that the whole wall was rebuilt in Kassandros’ time, but that only gives us a terminus ante quem of 297 BCE.

54.3 ᾿Aλέξανδρον τὸν Πολυπέρχοντος διειληφότα τὸν Ἰσθμὸν φυλακαῖς: The Korinthian Isthmos is the narrow neck of land (ca. 6 km at the widest point) connecting the Peloponnese to the Mainland, which obviously made it easy to block the access to the peninsula (TIB I, 98 – 99, 110 and passim; Broneer, ‘Isthmus of Corinth’, PECS, 418 – 419; Legon 2004, 462). Μέγαρα: City of the Isthmos on the Saronic gulf, which controlled two important routes from the Peloponnese to mainland Greece, among which the road from Korinthos to Athens (TIB I, 98 – 99, 215 – 216; Legon 1981, 21– 40, and 2004, 462– 465; Freitag 2018, 98). On Megara in the age of the Successors, see Smith (2008, 106). κατασκευάσας σχεδίας ἐπὶ μὲν τούτων τοὺς ἐλέφαντας διεβίβασεν: The same tactic he had used the previous year to circumvent the blocked Thermopylai pass with his elephants: see above, 35.2 παρασκευασάμενος… In that passage, however, Diodoros did not make it explicit that the rafts were for the elephants, while the soldiers used boats, but it seems plausible enough that the procedure was the same on both occasions (cf. Nankov 2009, 95). Ἐπίδαυρον: Epidauros was a Peloponnesian city on the Thermaic Gulf (Tomlinson 1983; Piérart 2004, 606 – 608). Its support of Kassandros can be explained by the constant attempts of the Epidaurians to escape the influence of Argos, which was held by Polyperchon (Lambrinudakis 1980, 61). ἐν δὲ πλοίοις τὴν ἄλλην δύναμιν: That Kassandros could launch a sufficiently large fleet from Megara to transfer his entire invasion army suggests that Isokrates (8.117) was gravely exaggerating when he claimed that the Megarians had no harbours, even if he means no harbour to speak of (cf. Freitag 2018, 102: ‘probably an exaggeration’) – unless of course this harbour was built only after Isokrates’ reference. Only one of Megara’s several attested harbours lay on the Saronic gulf, namely Nisaia (Freitag 2018, 102). Given the vicinity of this harbour to Salamis, the operation was possible only thanks to Kassandros’ control of Athens (cf. Freitag 2018, 103 – 104). τὴν τῶν ᾿Aργείων πόλιν: Argos was the main city of the Argive plain (Tomlinson 1972, 15 – 34, 148 – 151; Piérart 2004, 602– 606; Landucci Gattinoni 2006, esp. 317– 325). It was one of the most important Peloponnesian towns, and as the alleged place of origin of the Argead dynasty it must have had an additional appeal to the Successors. Argos probably joined Polyperchon’s side after the edict of 319,

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when Polyperchon wrote to the Argives ‘ordering them to exile those who had been leaders of the governments in the time of Antipater’ (Diod. XVIII 57.1). On this occasion Kassandros probably reinstated an oligarchy (cf. infra, 63.1 ᾿Aπολλωνίδης…).

54.4 τὰς ἐν τῇ Μεσσήνῃ πόλεις: Messenia was the southwestern region of the Peloponnese (Luraghi 2015b, 285 – 286; Shipley 2018, 25). Apart from Ithome (see next lemma), ten poleis in the area are attested (Shipley 2004). The nature of the overarching political institutions that united these poleis is unclear, but some such organisation seems to have existed (Luraghi 2015b). Ἰθώμης: Ithome, later known as Messene, was founded in 369 by Epameinondas on the western slopes of Mount Ithome to limit Spartan power and quickly became the most important city in the area (Shipley 2004, 561– 564; Luraghi 2015b). Somewhere between 319 and 317 Polyperchon had installed a garrison in the city (see below, 64.1 παρελθὼν εἰς τὴν Μεσσηνίαν…). That Diodoros uses the name Ithome may suggest the use of a contemporary source (cf. Luraghi 2015b, 287), though not necessarily directly, as an intermediary source may have preserved the name just as well as Diodoros has. Rather than a sign of Diodoros’ concern for historically accurate terminology, this seems to be an indication of his faithfully copying his source. τὴν Ἑρμιονίδα δι᾽ ὁμολογίας παρέλαβεν: With Hermion (or Hermione) we are back in the southeastern Argolid (Smith 1873, I, 1057– 1058; Piérart 2004, 609 – 610; Shipley 2018, 15 – 16), so it would seem that Diodoros has left out a large part of Kassandros’ Peloponnesian operations (cf. Beloch 1927, 441). If no military action has been omitted, much diplomatic activity obviously went unrecorded – most likely both. τοῦ δ᾽ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου μὴ συγκαταβαίνοντος εἰς παράταξιν: This passage once again confronts us with the frustrating compression of Diodoros’ account, as it does not inform us of what Alexandros did do. What follows implies that he either abandoned his position at the Isthmos or that he still held it and Kassandros had to sail back to Megara in order to establish his garrison on the Isthmos (cf. next lemma). ἐπὶ τὸν ἰσθμὸν Γερανίας: In the Geraneia mountains between Korinthos and Megara several strategically important passes were situated which controlled the land routes from the Peloponnese into Central Greece and Attika (TIB I, 45, 98 and map; Smith 1873, II, 316 – 317; Philippson & Bölte, ‘Gerania’, RE VII.1 [1910], 1236 – 1239; Geer 1947, ad loc.; Engels 1990, 9; Hornblower CT I, 166 ad Thuc. I 105.3; Smith 2008, 5 – 7 and 84– 86). It has been suggested that

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the place called Gerania mentioned by Plin. NH IV 23 is meant here and that this in turn is to be identified with an excavated fort on Mount Lysi (Smith 2008, 29 – 31), which controlled the most commonly used route in the area (Engels 1990, 9; Smith 2008, 84). On the Isthmos, see also above, 54.3 ᾿Aλέξανδρον… While Fischer and Bizière retain R’s Γερανίας, an obvious itacistic mistake, F has the correct Γερανείας (cf. Bergler ad Alciphr. III 45.2 [Seiler 1853, 119]); cf. also XI 80.1 with apparatus ad loc. Unless one translates the phrase with Waterfield as ‘at the Gerania Isthmos’ the syntax appears puzzling, and no other ancient text seems to speak of the Geraneia Isthmos: the only somewhat comparable passage is Thuc. I 108.2 διὰ Γερανείας καὶ Ἰσθμοῦ, but it does not inspire confidence in our manuscript reading – although Fischer and Bizière had no problem with it. Dindorf’s solution of deleting τὸν ἰσθμόν is an easy way out, but it seems unacceptable. One option would be to add a preposition before Γερανείας: either Wesseling’s περί or Post’s πρός – the latter does not seem to be used in this way by Diodoros, though. This has the advantage of simplicity, but since ἀπολείπειν ἐπί governs the genitive (see esp. XVII 17.5 and XX 4.3; cf. MD s.v. ἀπολείπειν), le Paulmier’s ἐπὶ τῆς κατὰ τὸν ἰσθμὸν Γερανίας at present appears to be the most satisfactory solution. If indeed a specific place on Mount Lysi rather than the whole Geraneia range is meant, it would also best suit the text’s meaning. Μόλυκκον: Molykkos is otherwise unknown (Tataki 1998, 375; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.).

§ 55 – 57 Seleukos’ Flight and the Coalition against Antigonos In these intriguing chapters Diodoros recounts the flight of Seleukos from his satrapy after a dispute with Antigonos. The origins of the quarrel are obscure, as the sources provide few details, but it does not seem to have been a major issue; possibly Antigonos had even provoked the confrontation deliberately. Well aware of what had happened to Peithon (46.1– 4), Seleukos deemed it unsafe to stay in Babylon and sought refuge with Ptolemaios in Egypt. Antigonos’ unscrupulous lust for power is twice juxtaposed with the φιλανθρωπία of Ptolemaios (see below, 55.4 ἐῴκει…; 55.5 διεβεβόητο…; 56.1 φιλανθρωπίας…; Mehl 1986, 53 – 55). There may also be an implicit Homeric contrast between Antigonos in the role of an unfair Agamemnon and Seleukos as the wronged Achilleus (55.3 ἣν Μακεδόνες…), and we may even be facing part of a Seleukid legend that strongly resembles the Argead foundation myth (cf. Hdt. VIII 137– 139 with Ogden 2017, 71– 77, 88 – 89). Furthermore, a prophecy of the Chaldaians is reported predicting that Antigonos would fall in battle against Seleukos and be re-

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placed by him as master of Asia (55.7– 9). On the whole, then, the episode as it stands in Diodoros is unlikely to have been taken from Hieronymos, unless we should assume substantial Diodorean independence (see below, 55.5 διεβεβόητο…; 55.7 συμβήσεται…). Attempts to identify either Demodamas (Landucci Gattinoni 2013b, 32– 36) or Patrokles (Primo 2009, 72– 78, 176 – 178; Kosmin 2014, 294 n. 63) as the ultimate Seleukid source behind Diodoros’ narrative of these events are unconvincing (Ogden 2017, 284– 285, who rightly draws attention to the Ptolemaic perspective). While the parallel account in Appian shows many differences, there is no need to assume that he does not go back to the same source as Diodoros (pace Mehl 1986, 52– 55), and several verbal echoes and other striking similarities clearly suggest a common source (cf. infra, 55.2 αὐτοῦ…, 55.3 τοῦ δ᾽ ᾿Aντιγόνου…, 55.5 διανοούμενος…, 55.9 ὁμοίως…, 57.2 τοῦ δ᾽ ᾿Aντιγόνου…; Brodersen 1989, 105; Ogden 2017, 70). Together with XIX 90 – 92 and 100.3 – 7 these chapters constitute one of only three sections in the narrative on the Successors in books XVIII–XXI that focus specifically on Seleukos (cf. perhaps also XXI 1). Given Diodoros’ interest in peripeteiai, this is perhaps not surprising: from that perspective, these sections concern the most interesting episodes of his life, in which he loses almost everything and has to flee for his life (55 – 56) and only a few years later gains back everything he had and more in a brief span of time (90 – 92, 100.3 – 7): cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.3. That the flight of Seleukos belongs to the summer after Gabiene is generally agreed on. However, for the high chronology this is 316 (Beloch 1927, 240 – 241), whereas the low chronology dates it to 315 (Errington 1977, 486 – 487). Stylianou (1994, 83 – 84) rightly noted that Seleukos’ first period of government in Babylonia lasted four years, beginning in 320 and thus ending in 316 (see below, 91.2 τετραετῆ…). Furthermore, the events of the next summer, especially Kassandros’ presence at the Nemean games, are securely fixed to 315 (see below, 64.1 θείς…). We may therefore safely assume that Seleukos left Babylonia in the summer of 316. Although the low chronology seems to be supported by Diodoros’ archon date, it appears to be wrong: our author is a year ahead of the correct chronology because he inserted the previous archon a year too soon, which he will now compensate by including the Asian affairs of a period of almost two years (summer 316 – autumn 315) under the archon of 315/4 (see below, 55.1 τοῦ δ᾽ ἔτους…). For Seleukos’ flight, however, his chronology still is a year out of phase: Meeus 2012, esp. 82– 83.

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55.1 τοῦ δ᾽ ἔτους τούτου διεληλυθότος ᾿Aθήνησι μὲν ἦρχε Πραξίβουλος, ἐν Ῥώμῃ δὲ κατέστησαν ὕπατοι Σπόριος Ναύτιος καὶ Μάρκος Πόπλιος: Praxiboulos held the Athenian archonship in 315/4 (Samuel 1972, 210; Meritt 1977, 170; Dreyer 1999, 426). In the Varronian chronology Spurius Nautius Rutilus and Marcus Popillius Laenas were the consuls of 316, whereas in the vulgate reckoning used by Diodoros they were in office in 314 (Broughton 1951, 154– 155). According to Anson (1986, 209 n. 6; cf. supra, on 17.2 ἐκ τῆς Μεσοποταμίας…), Diodoros inserted the new archon year too early in his narrative of Asian affairs, as in his view all events of chapters 46 to 48 belong to the winter. However, the beginning of chapter 46 is indeed situated while Antigonos still was in winter quarters, but it is unlikely that the whole account belongs to that season. The arrival at Persepolis (48.1) probably has to be dated to the early spring and the activities there as well as those later at Susa certainly took some time, not to mention that the march between both cities required around a month (cf. 21.2: from the Pasitigris to Persepolis takes 24 days). Thus, if the summer had not started by the time Antigonos reached Babylon (55.2), it was at any rate very near (Errington 1977, 486; Van der Spek 2014, 326). As to the season, then, Diodoros introduced the new archon year only slightly too early, if at all. However, because he had inserted the previous archon a year too early (cf. supra, 17.1 ἐπ᾽ ἄρχοντος…), the present archonship is likewise a year out of phase. It seems that Diodoros had either become aware of the problem, though, or now corrects it simply through a happy coincidence, by not starting a new archon year after ending the campaigning year of 316. Under the archonship of Praxiboulos our author only briefly deals with Asian events of summer and autumn 316: winter already starts at the end of chapter 56 (see below, 56.5 διεμέρισε…). Then he immediately goes on with the spring, summer and autumn of 315, and only after that he inserts a new year. Thus, by including a time range of a year and a half under the present heading (early summer 316 to late 315), Diodoros brings his chronology more or less back into a state of accuracy. He does complicate matters, though, by anticipating the end of the siege of Tyre which he recounts immediately after stating that Antigonos started a blockade on the sea once he had the necessary ships. Whilst noting that fifteen months occurred in between, he does not indicate that he returns to 315 afterwards; as a result, his account becomes rather confusing, especially because he does not mention the winter of 315/4 (cf. Wheatley 1998a, 262– 263). Once it is recognized, however, this brief anticipatory digression is hardly troubling. In the European theatre, as we have seen (see above, on 52– 54), the chronology al-

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ready is correct, and Diodoros describes the events of 315 correctly equated with what happened in Asia in 315. Confirmation of the date may be found in a recently published fragment of a Babylonian astronomical diary, which mentions that Seleukos fled Babylon in year one (Van der Spek 2014, 340 – 341). The reading is uncertain, so that this year one may be either of Antigonos or Alexander IV. The former option is unlikely on chronological grounds, since it would imply that Seleukos must have fled from Babylon before 27 March 316, which seems too early (Van der Spek 2014, 341– 342). Furthermore, it seems out of the question that a text from the time of Seleukos would have used the hypothetical first year of Antigonos, which was never actually used in Babylon, rather than the first year of Alexander IV, which had actually been used at the time and which accords with the system used by Seleukos (pace Boiy 2009, 472). Either way, this text only allows for the high chronology, and is not contradicted by the introduction of Antigonos’ era in Babylon in 315: the latter did not represent the time of his take-over in Babylon but the point at which he de facto started claiming the regency (see below, 61.3 ἐὰν μὴ πειθαρχῇ…). The combination κατέστησαν ὕπατοι, while accepted by Bizière and hesitantly also by Fischer, is suspicious. It also occurs at XX 45.1, where Fischer and Durvye likewise accept it. MD s.v. καθιστάνειν A.IV.2.a, on the other hand, lists both XIX 55.1 and XX 45.1 under the active voice with double accusative, apparently assuming that the error consists of the case of the word ὕπατοι and of the names of the consuls; this is indeed the most common variant, as can be seen from his list of passages. Wesseling (ad loc.), however, suggests in both instances that κατέστησαν is an error for κατεστάθησαν, which is the most economical solution and also seems to be confirmed by XVII 49.1, where R reads κατεστάθησαν ὕπατοι, while F has κατέστησαν ὕπατοι. At 73.1 Diodoros likewise wrote κατεστάθησαν ὕπατοι, and given the fairly common clustering of the formulae, it is not unlikely that he used the same one here (see also XI 41.1, 81.1, 88.1, XIII 43.1, 80.1, XV 14.1, 82.1, 90.1, XVI 53.1, XVII 49.1, 74.1, XVIII 26.1, XIX 73.1; cf. XXXVII 2.6). For what it is worth, one may also note that the formula ᾿Aθήνησι μὲν ἦρχε is never combined with κατέστησαν ὑπάτους on the Roman side, whereas κατεστάθησαν ὕπατοι is combined far more often with τοῦ δ’ ἔτους τούτου διεληλυθότος ᾿Aθήνησι μὲν ἦρχε vel sim. than with the briefer ἐπ’ ἄρχοντος δ’ ᾿Aθήνησι: this too seems to make Wesseling’s view more likely than McDougall’s. All of this in turn suggests that the unique ἦσαν ὕπατοι at 66.1 might be a scribal correction of the same mistake. ἐπὶ δὲ τούτων: Diodoros uses this phrase more than a hundred times to start the account of a new archon year. I only list some examples: XI 1.2, 27.1, 38.1, 41., XII 3.1, 4.1, 5.2, 6.1, XIII 2.1, 7.1, 9.1, 34.1, XV 2.1, 8.1, 14.1, 15.1, XVI 2.1, 4.1,

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6.1, 9.1, XVII 2.1, 29.1, 40.1, 49.1, XVIII 2.1, 26.1, 44.1, 58.1, XIX 66.2, 73.1, 105.1, XX 27.1, 45.1, 73.1, 81.1. It is interesting to note that the phrase occurs in all books apart from XIV, and does not appear in the second half of book XIII either (cf. supra, Part I, §2.3). τῆς μὲν Σουσιανῆς ἀπέλιπε σατράπην ᾿Aσπίσαν, ἕνα τῶν ἐγχωρίων: After the execution of Antigenes, the previous satrap of Susiana (44.1), the province needed a new governor. Nothing further is known of Aspeisas, who probably was a Persian (Billows 1990, 376 – 377; Meeus 2013b, 90; Olbrycht 2013, 168). Alexander coins bearing the legend ΑΣΠΕΙΣΟΥ have been found which can be attributed to Aspeisas’ government at Susa (Mørkholm 1991, 58).

55.2 αὐτοῦ καταντήσαντος εἰς Βαβυλῶνα Σέλευκος ὁ τῆς χώρας σατράπης δωρεαῖς τε βασιλικαῖς ἐτίμησε τὸν ᾿Aντίγονον καὶ τὴν δύναμιν ἅπασαν εἱστίασεν: Cf. App. Syr. 53, ὁ ᾿Aντίγονος (…) ὑπεδέχθη λαμπρῶς ὑπὸ Σελεύκου σατραπεύοντος ἐν Βαβυλῶνι. The δωρεαὶ βασιλικαί can be understood as gifts fitting to be given to a king (Anson 2014, 126; cf. Ogden 2017, 84– 85, who tentatively identifies Antigonos as the royal figure in the episode). It is also possible, however, that Seleukos was behaving like the other Diadochoi, who were ‘playing the king in their own territories’ (the phrase is Wheatley’s [2009a, 63]; see above, 27.2 τὸ περὶ αὐτόν…). At XX 81.3 it is said that Rhodes τιμᾶσθαι μὲν ὑφ᾽ ἑκάστου βασιλικαῖς δωρεαῖς (‘was honoured by each [of the kings] with regal gifts’), not the recipient, then, but the giver being royal. At XVII 108.5 the same phrase is used when Harpalos offers gifts to the courtesan Pythionike, and as the context clearly describes how Harpalos started living a royal life, βασιλικός clearly applies to the donor. In Plut. Eum. 8.12, the δωρεὰ βασιλικωτάτη (purple kausia and chlamys) is likewise a gift a king gives to his subjects. In Dionysios of Halikarnassos, AR XIX 17.1, Pyrrhos is the giver of δωρεαὶ βασιλικαί. In the light of the importance of such banquets in the power struggle between Eumenes and Peukestas (see above, on 21– 24; 22.1 τῶν ἄλλων…, 22.2 ἐπλήρωσε…; 24.5 θυσίαν…), Seleukos’ feasting the whole army need not have been quite so innocent. The subsequent events also seem to suggest that in Antigonos’ opinion Seleukos was too ambitious.

55.3 τοῦ δ᾽ ᾿Aντιγόνου λόγους ἀπαιτοῦντος τῶν προσόδων: Cf. App. Syr. 53, ὁ ᾿Aντίγονος ᾔτει λογισμοὺς χρημάτων τε καὶ κτημάτων. However, in Appian’s version the conflict does not begin with Antigonos’ demand of the accounts: after

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Seleukos outrageously punished an officer without Antigonos knowing of it, Antigonos became angry and demanded the accounts (ὑβρίσαντος δέ τινα τῶν ἡγεμόνων τοῦ Σελεύκου, καὶ οὐ κοινώσαντος ᾿Aντιγόνῳ παρόντι, χαλεπήνας ὁ ᾿Aντίγονος …). The difference may be the result of Diodoros’ abbreviation process, of course, so that they need not have used different sources (cf. Brodersen 1989, 104– 105; contra Marasco 1982, 48 – 51; Mehl 1986, 52– 55; Landucci Gattinoni 2005b, 172– 173 and 2013b, 32). At any rate, Appian’s version is hardly more positive for Antigonos, as Antigonos seems to have become enraged over a comparatively minor issue. According to Huß (2001, 142) his demanding the accounts of Seleukos’ satrapy was a provocation, although he may have had the right to do so as general of Asia (cf. Van der Spek 2014, 326). ἣν Μακεδόνες αὐτῷ δεδώκασι διὰ τὰς γεγενημένας ἐξ αὐτοῦ χρείας ᾿Aλεξάνδρου ζῶντος: This is an interesting perspective, since the real reason why Seleukos obtained his satrapy rather seems to have been his involvement in the murder of Perdikkas; after all, he did not get his command right after Alexander’s death, but only after the end of the first regency. Under Alexander Seleukos had not played a particularly prominent role in comparison to several others who were not given any such important position (for Seleukos’ role under Alexander, cf. Heckel 1992, 253 – 257; Brice 2020). Whether coincidentally or not, one is reminded here of Achilleus’ statement in the Iliad about Agamemnon wanting to take away the prize for which he ‘toiled much and which the sons of the Achaians gave’ to him (Il. I 162, cf. I 276, I 392, XVI 56, XVIII 444). Given the heroic public persona Alexander had displayed and in which Achilleus was a central point of reference (Hölscher 2020), it would surely not be insignificant if Seleukos’ cast himself in the role of Achilleus opposing an unfair Agamemnon (the banquet held by Seleukos just before [55.2] may also have had a Homeric dimension: cf. supra, 22.1 τῶν ἄλλων…). Of course, this is only the report of Seleukos’ claim, but it is one more element that may speak against a proAntigonid source, which need not have included Seleukos’ claim about the deserved reward at all. Probably Seleukos’ assertion simply meant that Antigonos had no authority over him. Whether the phrase should be taken to mean that the army assembly confirmed the satrapal commands in Alexander’s empire in the time of the Successors – and before – is debated: Hammond (1988a, 127) and Hatzopoulos (1996a, I, 283) argue for the involvement of the assembly, Briant (1973, 256) and Bosworth (1993, 421– 422) against it. The inscriptional evidence for the involvement of ‘the Macedonians’ in satrapal appointments is difficult to interpret: the phrase τοῦ καθ[εσ]τῶτο[ς σατρά]που ὑπὸ βασιλ[έω]ς καὶ [᾿Aντιπ]άτρου καὶ τῶ[ν ἄ]λλων Μ[ακεδό]νων in IG II2 401 (l. 7– 10) may be considered quite secure thanks to the stoichedon arrangement, but it is unclear who these other Mace-

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donians were. Since the satrapal appointments at Babylon were a compromise amongst the Macedonian nobles (Meeus 2008, 68 – 76), the same may be true for Triparadeisos, and ‘the other Macedonians’ may rather be the royal council than the army assembly (Bosworth 1993, 422, who further argues that we need not think exclusively of appointments at Triparadeisos). The description of Thersippos as a friend of ‘the kings, the generals and the other Macedonians’ in OGIS 4 (l. 6 – 8) hardly proves that ‘the other Macedonians’ was ‘a technical term designating the Macedonian Commonalty’ (pace Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 283 n. 5) as the context is not necessarily technical and it is again not clear which Macedonians are meant: the point may rather be to stress Thersippos’ close connections to a great number of leading Macedonians. That these inscriptions are not Macedonian further increases the difficulties: few scholars would take the Athenian decrees IG II2 18, 103 and 105 as proof that Dionysios I officially was ‘archon of Sicily’. Thus, although Hatzopoulos (1996a, I, 283) accuses those who interpret IG II2 401 differently of being ‘inclined to juggle with the evidence’, keeping an open mind about the involvement of the assembly in the satrapal appointments rather seems to be sound historical method. Whatever its relevance, the above Homeric parallel might seem to continue here. As opposed to ‘the sons of the Achaians’ at Il. I 162, at IX 367– 368 Agamemnon is presented as the one who had given Briseis to Achilleus: the perspective clearly depends on the argument the speaker wishes to make (though cf. Ready 2007, 5 n. 7, quoting Seaford: ‘It seems that the right to redistribute belongs nominally to the people but in fact to the leader.’). Bosworth (2002, 212– 213) argues that Seleukos means that the satrapy was a personal possession in reward for his services with Alexander, which is assumed to have been especially insulting to Antigonos who had not been with the great conqueror for most of the campaign (cf. Grainger 1990a, 49). However, such an interpretation defines service with Alexander too narrowly: Antigonos had been satrap of Greater-Phrygia since 333, securing Alexander’s communications and winning a crucial battle against the Persian resistance (Briant 1973b, esp. 77– 80; Anson 1988a, 471– 475; Bosworth 1988a, 52, 231 and 233; Billows 1990, 41– 48; Heckel 1992, 52– 53). The importance of his role cannot be underestimated: had Asia Minor been lost, Alexander would have been cut off from Macedonia. No one could reasonably deny that a campaign of the scale of the conquest of the Persian empire was not won on the battlefields of the main front alone, and any military man will have recognized how crucial Antigonos’ χρεία had been. Furthermore, though not being in the presence of the king, Antigonos surely played a more significant role in Alexander’s conquest than Seleukos.

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55.4 τὰ Πίθωνι συμβάντα: On the execution of Peithon, see above, 46.1 διανοεῖσθαι…; 46.4 κατηγορίαν… περιδεὴς ἦν μήποτε προφάσεως λαβόμενος ὁ ᾿Aντίγονος ἀνελεῖν αὐτὸν ἐπιχειρήσῃ: Libanios (Or. 11.80) simply writes that Antigonos ἐβούλευε θάνατον in a passage clearly written from a pro-Seleukid perspective, as one would expect in an oration entitled Antiochikos. However, it is likely enough that if the tension between Seleukos and Antigonos was rising, murder was a solution Antigonos contemplated. The fates of Peithon (46.4) and Eumenes (44.2) show that if necessary Antigonos went as far as to eliminate people who had helped him or even former friends of his. According to Libanios (Or. 11.81), Seleukos was warned that he had to flee by Antigonos’ son Demetrios writing the counsel with his spear in the sand. The same story is told by Plutarch (Demetr. 5; cf. App. Mithr. 9) about Demetrios and Mithridates. Primo (2008) has recently argued that the version about Seleukos is the original one; thus also Ogden (2017, 92– 94), who rightly notes that Hieronymos is an unlikely source for the story (cf. also Lerouge-Cohen 2013, 111). ἐῴκει γὰρ τοὺς ἐν ἀξιώμασι τῶν ἀνδρῶν ὄντας καὶ δυναμένους πραγμάτων ἀντιλαμβάνεσθαι πάντας σπεύδειν ἐκ ποδῶν ἀπαλλάττειν: Cf. 56.1, where the view that Antigonos wanted to rid himself of all his rivals and gain control over the whole empire is presented as Seleukos’ analysis. Of course, in Diodoros’ source such might have been the case in the present instance as well, as the Sicilian need not have maintained the interpretation of his source in the exact same form. However, even if in his source it was said to have been Seleukos’ interpretation here too, it would be striking if Hieronymos was the one who repeated this twice, especially because in both cases Antigonos’ ruthless ambition is opposed to the attitude of Ptolemaios, widely known for his φιλανθρωπία, a cardinal royal virtue (see below, 55.5 διεβεβόητο…). Furthermore, the vaticinium concerning Seleukos’ victory bringing him dominion over the whole of Asia and Antigonos’ death, seems rather incompatible with an Antigonid work of history (see below, 55.7 συμβήσεται…). On ἐκ ποδῶν ἀπαλλάττειν, see above, 51.1 ἐκ ποδῶν…

55.5 ἐξεπήδησεν μετὰ πεντήκονθ᾽ ἱππέων: Perhaps these fifty men were mostly friends and paides, as Seleukos seems to have taken some of those with him (56.3, 90.1), although he also left part of them in the city (Capdetrey 2007b, 210 – 211; cf. infra, 91.4 τὰ φυλαττόμενα…). The first stage on his journey must have been Mesopotamia since Antigonos subsequently deposed its satrap Blitor

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for not having prevented Seleukos’ escape (App. Syr. 53; Mehl 1986, 62– 64; Ogden 2017, 88 – 89). It has been suggested that Blitor had been appointed satrap of Mesopotamia on Seleukos’ advocacy (Bosworth 2002, 213 n. 15; Heckel 2006, 339 n. 674). διανοούμενος εἰς Αἴγυπτον ἀποχωρεῖν πρὸς Πτολεμαῖον: Cf. App. Syr. 53, πρὸς Πτολεμαῖον ἐς Αἴγυπτον ὑπεχώρει. Seleukos’ flight is also mentioned in a small fragment of a Babylonian Text that perhaps belongs to the Diadochoi chronicle: Boiy 2007b, 76; Van der Spek 2014, 341– 342. Ptolemaios, who did not have a particularly prominent position at the start of the Asian campaign, was appointed σωματοφύλαξ in 330. He seems to have played a major role in the power struggle which ensued immediately after Alexander’s death, and was awarded the satrapy of Egypt. From that base he strove to develop his personal power at a steady pace (Berve 1926, II, no. 668; Volkmann 1959; Seibert 1969; Bengtson 1975, 10 – 35; Heckel 1992, 222– 227 and 2006, 235 – 238 [P 6]; Ellis 1994; Hölbl 1994, 14– 31; Huß 2001, 79 – 250; Caroli 2007; Meeus 2014; Worthington 2016; Howe 2018b; Thompson 2018). διεβεβόητο γὰρ ἡ τούτου χρηστότης καὶ τὸ πρὸς τοὺς καταφυγόντας ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸν ἐκτενὲς καὶ φιλάνθρωπον: The present phrase clearly juxtaposes Antigonos’ brutal and unscrupulous treatment of his friends and the kindness of Ptolemaios, which is said to have been known far beyond the borders of his satrapy (cf. infra on 86.3; also XVIII 28.5, οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἄνθρωποι διὰ τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς εὐχάριστον καὶ μεγαλόψυχον συνέτρεχον πάντοθεν εἰς τὴν ᾿Aλεξάνδρειαν; XIII 22.3, Kyros attracting allies from all over Asia through a similar reputation). The characteristics attributed to Ptolemaios are among the principal virtues of a Hellenistic king (Murray 1967, 353 – 356 and 2008, 24; Préaux 1978, I, 207; Hornblower 1981, 227 cf. 55 n. 118; Walbank 1984a, 83; Billows 1995, 58; Schofield 1999, 742), while Antigonos is said just before to have been ungrateful to a friend who had actively supported him. Diodoros’ narrative on the Successors contains a whole series of such passages which praise Ptolemaios, and he is the only Diadoch who is treated so positively by Diodoros (XVIII 14.1, 28.6, 33.3, XIX 56.1, 86.2– 5). Given the contrast with Antigonos, it is particularly difficult to attribute the present instance to Hieronymos. It is likely, therefore, that Diodoros was not relying on the Kardian for chapters 55 and 56 (Seibert 1969, 76; Mehl 1986, 54– 55, 68; Landucci Gattinoni 1991, 95; Rathmann 2014, 87– 89; Ogden 2017, 286; cf. supra, Part I, §3.2). The positive presentation is sometimes attributed to Diodoros’ own attitude towards Ptolemaios (Hornblower 1981, 55 – 56; Winnicki 1991, 158; Bar-Kochva 1996, 73 – 74; cf. Sacks 1990, 78 – 79). This view, however, does not take into account that the whole context of the present statement seems to be rather proPtolemaic/Seleukid (see below, next lemma; 55.7 συμβήσεται…; 56.1 φιλανθρω-

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πίας…), and indeed that it generally suits the characterisation of Antigonos in Diodoros (cf. esp. XVIII 50; Mehl 1986, 54). Furthermore, while φιλάνθρωπος is a typical Diodorean word he might have added (cf. supra, on 20.1 φιλανθρώπως…), ἐκτενής is not: it occurs only four times in the Bibliotheke (also at II 24.3, XXIX 4.1, XXXIV/V 2.39) and given his formulaic moralizing, it does not seem to represent Diodoros’ own stamp. Finally, it is clear that such praise of Ptolemaios is a general feature of our source tradition not limited to Diodoros alone (see above, Part I, §3.2). Although Mehl (1986, 68 – 69) accepts that we are ultimately facing a Ptolemaic source, he assumes that the portrait of Ptolemaios is accurate (cf. Rosen 1979, 470), which is obviously difficult to judge in the absence of truly neutral sources.

55.6 αὐτὸς μὲν μὴ συνηναγκάσθαι προσενεγκεῖν τὰς χεῖρας ἀνδρὶ φίλῳ καὶ συνηγωνισμένῳ προθύμως: If Antigonos really wanted to kill one of his friends for no good reason other than personal ambition, one wonders if a pro-Antigonid source would not pass over the plan in silence, even when he could claim that Antigonos was glad the problem had solved itself before the ultimate measure had to be put to use.

55.7 τῶν Χαλδαίων: Actually the Chaldaians were a tribe living in Babylonia, but at least since Herodotus the Greeks used the name to designate the famous Babylonian scholars and soothsayers (van der Spek 2003, 290 – 292; Boiy 2004, 296 – 303). συμβήσεται τήν τ᾽ ᾿Aσίαν πᾶσαν ὑποχείριον γενέσθαι καὶ αὐτὸν ᾿Aντίγονον ἐν τῇ πρὸς ἐκεῖνον παρατάξει καταστρέψειν τὸν βίον: That we are obviously facing vaticinia ex eventu emanating from third century Seleukid propaganda, or that it is most unlikely that an Antigonid historian would have recounted all these pro-Seleukid stories apparently does not occur to the scholar who is caught up in the quest for Hieronymos (cf. Nietzold 1905, 37– 39; Seibert 1969, 76; Billows 1990, 107 n. 33; Lens Tuero 1994e; Landucci Gattinoni 2013b; Ogden 2017). Scholarship on the present passage thus provides an example of a most striking outgrowth of the Hieronymean dogma. Hadley (1969, 144) asserts concerning this prophecy and two others from Diod. XIX 90, that the first of these logoi [i. e. the present one] dates from 316 B.C.; the second and third originated in 312 at the latest. We can be certain of these dates because Diodoros has used as

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his chief source Hieronymus of Cardia, who has been highly praised by ancient and modern historians as a reliable chronicler of his age.

Not only does Hadley take their mere occurrence in Diodoros’ account of the Successors as evidence that the prophecies concerning Seleukos were reported by Hieronymos, but he also assumes that they already circulated at the precise time at which they are mentioned in Diodoros’ narrative. Similarly, Hornblower (1981, 74) argues that Hieronymos had to report the Chaldaian prophecy because it was a historical one which had great psychological impact and therefore was historically important. Yet, even if the prophecy was actually uttered by the Chaldaians at this very moment, Hornblower ignores that Hieronymos certainly had the freedom to pass over in silence those elements which might reflect too negatively on his patron or too positively on the latter’s enemies. Whereas Mehl (1986, 64– 67) admits that the prophecy looks like a vaticinium ex eventu, he argues that the Chaldaians certainly warned Antigonos about the threat posed by Seleukos to gain his favour, but at the same also included the part on Seleukos’ future greatness in case he would return and become their master again. His argument is rightly rejected by Boiy (2004, 122). Rosen (1979, 473 with n. 64) even tries to rescue the vaticinium for Hieronymos on the assumption that it reflects the positive attitude of the historian towards the victims of Antigonos’ disregard for the regulations of the Triparadeisos settlement. His view is based on the mistaken supposition that Hieronymos would have defended a treaty which, like so many pacts amongst the Diadochoi, had turned into dead letter soon after it was concluded. There is no evidence whatsoever for the claim, and Hieronymos is unlikely to have done so if it required him to condemn the actions of his master, in this case even emphasizing unnecessarily that Antigonos would be defeated by Seleukos (cf. supra, Part I, §3.2). It seems difficult to avoid the conclusion that at least Diodoros’ direct source for these chapters cannot have been Hieronymos. Admittedly, it cannot be excluded that Diodoros himself added the part on the Chaldaian divination from a different source, since in his digression about the Babylonian sages in book II he promised to deal with their prophecy about Seleukos and its fulfilment at the appropriate time (II 31.2). As he repeats this announcement here (see below, 55.9 περὶ ἧς…), however, it would seem that what he actually means is a lost part of the work in book XXI after the battle of Ipsos, when the prophecy was fulfilled. At any rate, if the Chaldaian episode comes from a source other than Hieronymos, such is probably true for the whole of chapters 55 – 56, given their pro-Ptolemaic tone. Nonetheless, at least the selection and probably in part also the elaboration of the episode partially reflect Diodoros’ own interest in the Chaldaians (see next lemma).

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55.8 καταπλαγεὶς τὸ ἀξίωμα τῶν ἀνδρῶν: μεγάλη γάρ τις ἐμπειρία περὶ τούτου εἶναι δοκεῖ παρὰ τούτοις καὶ ἡ τήρησις τῶν ἄστρων ἀκριβεστάτη: Cf. II 29.2, πάντα τὸν τοῦ ζῆν χρόνον φιλοσοφοῦσι, μεγίστην δόξαν ἔχοντες ἐν ἀστρολογίᾳ; 29.4, μεγάλην ἕξιν περιποιοῦνται; 30.2, τῶν δ᾽ ἄστρων πολυχρονίους παρατηρήσεις πεποιημένοι, καὶ τὰς ἑκάστου κινήσεις τε καὶ δυνάμεις ἀκριβέστατα πάντων ἀνθρώπων ἐπεγνωκότες; 31.8, τοῦτο μέντοι γε διαβεβαιώσαιτ᾽ ἄν τις προσηκόντως ὅτι Χαλδαῖοι μεγίστην ἕξιν ἐν ἀστρολογίᾳ τῶν ἁπάντων ἀνθρώπων ἔχουσι καὶ διότι πλείστην ἐπιμέλειαν ἐποιήσαντο ταύτης τῆς θεωρίας. Alexander’s reaction to the Chaldaean prediction of his death is described in very similar terms (XVII 112.4): ὁ δ᾽ ᾿Aλέξανδρος ἀκούσας παρὰ τοῦ Νεάρχου τὴν τῶν Χαλδαίων πρόρρησιν κατεπλάγη καὶ μᾶλλον ἀεὶ τὴν ἀγχίνοιαν τῶν ἀνδρῶν καὶ δόξαν ἀναλογιζόμενος ἐταράττετο τὴν ψυχήν. When Alexander, accordingly, learned from Nearchus about the Chaldaeans’ prophecy, he was alarmed and more and more disturbed, the more he reflected upon the ability and high reputation of these people.

Diodoros devoted a long digression to the Chaldaians in book II (29 – 31) where they are positively compared to Greek scientists and philosophers (29.4– 6), and holds that they were considered to be always correct in foretelling the future. He likewise expresses his high regard for them on several other occasions (II 24.2, XV 50.3, XVII 112.2, [XXI 3]; cf. I 28.1, 81.6, II 9.4 [literally repeating part of I 28.1, cf. III 1.2], XVII 116.4). It would seem that Diodoros admired Chaldaian knowledge, and that in some of these passages he conveys at least in part his own ideas (Boncquet 1987, 170; Santangelo 2007, 121 with n. 17; Sacks 2018, 48 – 49; cf. Dempsie 1991, 252– 253 on views on the Chaldaians in the early Roman Empire); cf. supra, 53.8 κατὰ τὸν γενόμενον… for Diodoros’ interest in divination. Several passages suggest that Diodoros took an interest in astronomy too, for the sake of both astrology and chronology: e.g. I 1.3, 26.1– 5, 81.4, III 56.4– 5 and XII 36.2– 3. Something is obviously wrong with the received text, but the solution eludes us. Bizière’s περὶ τούτου is a convincingly elegant and simple emendation of the manuscript’s περὶ τούτους and accords well with Diodorean usage as well as maintaining the object of ἐμπειρία. Yet, the transposition of the conjunction, altering the paradosis’ καὶ παρὰ τούτοις ἡ τήρησις to παρὰ τούτοις καὶ ἡ τήρησις, whilst equally simple, does not fulfil the other criteria. Dindorf’s widely accepted solution καὶ παρατήρησις, on the other hand, perhaps jettisons the words τούτοις ἡ too readily since the people amongst whom this state of affairs holds need to be mentioned. There is no doubt indeed that παρατήρησις is correct

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(see I 9.6, 28.1, 69.5, 81.4, 94.3, II 9.4, 25.8, 30.1, 31.9, III 1.2, 60.3), but the reading τήρησις might just as well have originated from a close repetition of the letters ΠΑΡΑ. The original text may thus have been something along the lines of μεγάλη γάρ τις ἐμπειρία περὶ τούτου εἶναι δοκεῖ καὶ παρὰ τούτοις ἡ παρατήρησις τῶν ἄστρων ἀκριβεστάτη, although it should be noted that παρὰ τούτοις does not seem Diodorean and παρ’ αὐτοῖς is perhaps more likely (cf. III 1.2 τῆς παρ’ αὐτοῖς τῶν ἄστρων παρατηρήσεως; I 81.4 παρ’ Αἰγυπτίοις παρατηρήσεως τυγχάνουσιν αἱ τῶν ἄστρων τάξεις τε καὶ κινήσεις). The phrase παρὰ τούτοις τοῖς ἀνδράσιν as in IX 1.2 has the benefit of being attested in Diodoros but creates an unnecessary repetition of ἄνδρες (though cf. XXXII 8.1). Admittedly, παρ’ αὐτοῖς would then likewise be repeated a little further on in the text, but this does not appear problematic (cf. II 39.5, 56.7, 58.1– 2, IV 1.5, V 40.4, XI 25.2, 54.2– 3, XVII 91.4– 5 as well as e.g. Plb. VI 14.7 and 46.3). πολλὰς μυριάδας ἐτῶν: Cf. Diod. II 31.9, ἐτῶν γὰρ ἑπτὰ καὶ τετταράκοντα μυριάδας καὶ τρεῖς ἐπὶ ταύταις χιλιάδας εἰς τὴν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου διάβασιν γεγονέναι καταριθμοῦσιν, ἀφ᾽ ὅτου τὸ παλαιὸν ἤρξαντο τῶν ἄστρων τὰς παρατηρήσεις ποιεῖσθαι. That the antiquity of the Chaldaian tradition is important to Diodoros is particularly clear at II 29.1 and 29.2. It generally is a widespread topos, though: e.g. Arist. Cael. 292a; Simp. in Cael. II 12 = Kallisthenes (FGrHist 124) T3; Cic. Div. I 2, I 36; Procl. Comm. in Tim. vol. I, p. 100. δοκοῦσι δὲ καὶ ᾿Aλεξάνδρῳ προειπεῖν ὅτι παρελθὼν εἰς Βαβυλῶνα τελευτήσει: Cf. II 31.2: πεποιῆσθαι δέ φασι προρρήσεις ἄλλοις τε βασιλεῦσιν οὐκ ὀλίγοις καὶ τῷ καταπολεμήσαντι Δαρεῖον ᾿Aλεξάνδρῳ καὶ τοῖς μετὰ ταῦτα βασιλεύσασιν ᾿Aντιγόνῳ τε καὶ Σελεύκῳ τῷ Νικάτορι, ἐν ἅπασι δὲ τοῖς ῥηθεῖσιν εὐστοχηκέναι δοκοῦσιν. For the Chaldaean prediction of Alexander’s death, see XVII 112.2– 4 (quoted above); Arr. Anab. VII 17.1– 4; Just. XII 13; Plut. Alex. 73.1– 2. The prophecies concerning Alexander and Seleukos are also mentioned in Diodoros’ digression on the Chaldaians in book II (31.2), where he promises to deal with them at the appropriate time. For Alexander he did so 15 books later, and the renewal of his promise to deal with the fulfilment of the prophecy concerning Seleukos, suggests that he will not have forgotten to incorporate it in book XXI.

55.9 ὁμοίως δὲ τῇ περὶ ᾿Aλεξάνδρου προρρήσει συνέβη καὶ τὴν περὶ Σελεύκου τελεσθῆναι κατὰ τὰς τῶν ἀνδρῶν τούτων ἀποφάσεις: Cf. App. Syr. 56 καὶ τὰ σημεῖα ἐς τέλος ἀμφοῖν ἀπαντῆσαι, likewise concluding a discussion of omina about Alexander and Seleukos in Babylon.

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περὶ ἧς τὰ κατὰ μέρος ἐροῦμεν, ὅταν ἐπὶ τοὺς οἰκείους χρόνους ἐπιβαλώμεθα: The Bibliotheke contains many cross-references, most of them correct (cf. supra, 55.8 δοκοῦσι…), which reveals that Diodoros at least to a certain extent planned his work in advance (Neubert 1890, 8 with n. 32; Rubincam 1987, 317– 321, 1989, 1998a). The phrase ὅταν ἐπὶ τοὺς οἰκείους χρόνους ἐπιβαλώμεθα appears unique to Diodoros and is rare even in his work: the only parallel is ἐπειδὰν ἐπὶ τοὺς οἰκείους χρόνους ἐπιβάλωμεν at II 32.3 (a passage that is interestingly, but perhaps just coincidentally, close to the account of the Chaldaians in book II with the cross-reference at 31.2 that refers to the present passage).

56.1 φιλανθρωπίας τε πάσης ἐτύγχανε παρὰ Πτολεμαίῳ καὶ κατηγορίαν ἐποιεῖτο πικρὰν ᾿Aντιγόνου: Cf. Paus. I 6.4, ὑπεδέξατο Σέλευκον τὸν ᾿Aντιόχου. Ptolemaios probably had many reasons for his friendly reception of Seleukos: most of all it was not in his interest that Antigonos would become too strong (cf. Paus. I 6.4). It has also been suggested that he was grateful to Seleukos for his betrayal of Perdikkas during the invasion of Egypt in 320 (Mehl 1986, 68 – 69). Furthermore, he may have realized the propaganda value of magnanimously hosting the victim of Antigonos’ tyranny and usurpation (Waterfield 2011, 107). Although Seleukos’ making an accusation obviously need not imply that it is true (cf. next lemma) and Diodoros’ summary might have brought both elements closer together, a sharp contrast between Antigonos and Ptolemaios to the latter’s advantage is again apparent: that this would be based on a pro-Antigonid source is most unlikely (see also above, 55.5 διεβεβόητο…). λέγων ὅτι διέγνωκεν πάντας τοὺς ἐν ἀξιώμασιν ὄντας καὶ μάλιστα τοὺς ᾿Aλεξάνδρῳ συνεστρατευκότας ἐκβαλεῖν ἐκ τῶν σατραπειῶν: It is not unimportant to note that this is merely Seleukos’ point of view (cf. Wehrli 1968, 43), though at 55.4 the same allegation stems from the narrator himself. Taking Diodoros’ phrase literally, scholars often assume that Antigonos wanted to remove those who had campaigned with Alexander out of envy because he could not make the same honourable claim for himself (Seibert 1969, 152; Briant 1973b, 130 – 131; Rosen 1979, 466 n. 42; Bosworth 2002, 160 and 212– 213; Anson 2004, 57 n. 30). This is an oversimplification. As I have argued above (55.3 ἣν Μακεδόνες…), Antigonos played an equally important role in Alexander’s conquest: one would expect the Macedonian soldiers and their commanders at this time to have enough understanding of military matters to realize that solidifying conquests and guarding logistics was equally important as conquering new territory. This does not mean no one could have tried to use the irrational argument, but

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no source explicitly says so. Diodoros’ statement may imply merely that Antigonos wanted to remove all important men, and especially the most prestigious ones. This statement does not exclude Antigonos from those who had campaigned with Alexander; the contrast need not mean more than that Antigonos wanted to remove the others but obviously not himself.

56.2 πάντας γὰρ οὐδὲν ἠδικηκότας, ἀλλὰ καὶ χρείας πολλὰς καὶ μεγάλας ἐν τῇ φιλίᾳ παρεσχημένους ἀρετῆς ὑπομεμενηκέναι πρόστιμον: As far as we know, Peukestas had not wronged Antigonos in any way (see above, on 48.5), and Peithon might also have been innocent (see above, 46.1 διανοεῖσθαι…). For all we know, Seleukos too could hardly be considered guilty of anything but a very minor issue (see above, 55.3 τοῦ δ᾽ ᾿Aντιγόνου…). Although all of this is presented as Seleukos’ version of events, one would not expect the latter’s interpretation to be given such attention in a pro-Antigonid source. Of course, Hieronymos might have reported both views to show that Seleukos misrepresented the situation; if that would be true, Diodoros cannot be trusted at all as far as the tendency of his source goes, having left out a crucial element of the interpretation. It is equally – if not more – likely, though, that Diodoros was relying on a source which did not write from the Antigonid point of view, as the explicit praise of Ptolemaios suggests (see above, 55.5 διεβεβόητο…). ὑπερήφανον γεγενημένον: The word ὑπερήφανος and its cognates are found throughout the Bibliotheke (e.g. I 60.1, III 65.2, IV 13.3, 17.5, V 55.6, VI 6.4, VII 7.1, IX 2.4, X 14.1, XI 70.3, XII 20.3, XIII 21.3, XIV 76.2, XV 1.3, XVI 31.2, XVII 38.6, XVIII 59.6, XX 13.3, XXI 21.11, XXIII 21.1, XXIV 9.2, XXVI 14.1, XXVII 26.2, XXVIII 3.1, XXX 9.2), and they are obviously part of Diodoros’ own vocabulary. Nonetheless, it is striking that all three times a Successor is called ὑπερήφανος concern Antigonos (also at XVIII 52.4, XX 106.3). The word has a clear negative connotation (cf. Murray 1967, 356) and was part of the contemporary anti-Macedonian discourse (Hyp. Epit. 20: τὴν Μακεδόνων ὑπερηφανίαν), so that these statistics seem to suggest that Diodoros was not relying on an Antigonid historian, especially if he is assumed to have stayed close to his sources, changing the words but not the meaning. Although, as Billows (1990, 4 n. 9) rightly notes, all three instances are accusations by Antigonos’ enemies, Hieronymos may well have passed over such accusations in silence. Hornblower’s argument (1981, 227– 228) that Hieronymos wanted to create a contrast between Demetrios and his father by constantly portraying the latter as ὑπερήφανος, fails to convince: if Demetrios was to be contrasted to other kings, those will certainly not have been Antigonids – more than

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enough rival kings were available. We cannot be expected to believe that blackening his father would have been judged an appropriate manner to praise Demetrios. ταῖς ἐλπίσι περιειληφότα πᾶσαν τὴν Μακεδόνων βασιλείαν: Cf. supra 52.4, περιελάμβανε … By πᾶσαν τὴν Μακεδόνων βασιλείαν Alexander’s empire must be meant; Bizière’s translation as ‘toute la Macédoine’ is incorrect. The present statement thus confirms that Asia and Europe constituted a single Macedonian empire (cf. supra, 41.1 τοὺς μετὰ Φιλίππου…, 48.1 τιμῆς…; cf. e.g. Just. XXXVI 1.10, applying the labels ‘Macedonicum imperium’ and ‘Macedonum rex’ to the Seleukids – see Edson 1958). Since Diodoros only mentions αἱ ἐλπίδες to gain the kingdom – obviously referring to the future –, and then only as an accusation by Seleukos, this passage cannot be taken to mean that Antigonos ‘was claiming now to succeed Alexander IV as ruler of the kingdom, i. e. of all lands ruled by that Alexander and his father, Alexander the Great’, as Hammond (1988, 173) contends. The proclamation of Tyre (61.1– 3, see below) proves that Antigonos did no such thing: he even pretended to defend the rights of Alexander IV and the dynasty. Regardless of whether Antigonos had such universal ambition, it was what Seleukos had to claim in order to convince the others that they were all at risk (cf. Wehrli 1968, 43; Mehl 1986, 70).

56.3 ἐξέπεμψέ τινας τῶν φίλων εἰς τὴν Εὐρώπην, προστάξας πειρᾶσθαι τοῖς ὁμοίοις λόγοις ἐχθροὺς ᾿Aντιγόνου καταστῆσαι Κάσσανδρόν τε καὶ Λυσίμαχον: Appian (Syr. 53) likewise implies that Seleukos asked Kassandros and Lysimachos to join the coalition, while Pausanias (I 6.4) claims that Ptolemaios convinced the others; Justin (XV 1.4) is vague or even mistaken. Seibert (1969, 138) argues that Pausanias is wrong, and that ‘der Urheber der neue Koalition war also allein Seleukos’ (his emphasis). This is unlikely, however. Seleukos might have done his best to persuade Ptolemaios, if that would have been necessary (probably not, as Bevan 1902, 51, notes), but since he had no military means of his own, Seleukos could hardly have been the sole originator of the coalition (cf. infra, 57.1 πρέσβεις…). Volkmann (1959, 1612– 1613; cf. Huß 2001, 143) may be right that Ptolemaios and Seleukos cooperated to induce Kassandros and Lysimachos to form an alliance. Not much is known of Lysimachos’ career under Alexander; by 325 at the latest he was a member of the seven σωματοφύλακες. At Babylon he was appointed governor of Thrace, but we have no idea to what extent he influenced the debates. Until 313 the sources do not throw much light on his activities (Berve

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1926, II, no. 480; Saitta 1955; Heckel 1992, 267– 275 and 2006, 153 – 155; Landucci Gattinoni 1992; Lund 1992; Franco 1993; Delev 2004; Rozos 2005).

56.4 ὧν ταχὺ τὸ κελευσθὲν συντελεσάντων: A typical Diodorean expression (cf. supra, 36.3 οὗ ταχύ…). This is the only instance where τὸ κελευσθέν is used instead of τὸ προσταχθέν. διαφυλάττειν τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν φιλίαν: This refers to the coalition against Polyperchon (Billows 1990, 84 n. 7; Bosworth 2000b, 211). Within the preserved parts of the Bibliotheke the phrase διαφυλάττειν τὴν φιλίαν only occurs in book XIX (see also 91.3), and it is generally very rare in the literary sources: before Diodoros there are only two attestations: X. Cyr. VIII 1.2; Lyc. 1.135. The equally rare variant with the simplex, φυλάττειν τὴν φιλίαν, is found at XIII 32.5 and XIX 87.2. The occurrence in book XIII suggests that the cluster in book XIX need not be explained by the influence of Diodoros’ source. Its use in inscriptions shows that it belonged to the general vocabulary of Hellenistic politics already in the age of the Successors: e.g. Kotsidu 2000, no. 174[E], l. 16 – 17; cf. Milet I 3, 141, l. 7– 8; IG IX.12 1:169,A, l. 1– 2; SGDI II 2675, l. 7; SEG XVI 255, l. 7; SEG XXV 155, l. 4– 5; IosPE I2 402, l. 26 – 27. καταστήσας σατράπην Πίθωνα τὸν ἐκ τῆς Ἰνδικῆς καταβεβηκότα: Peithon, son of Agenor, is first attested during Alexander’s Indian campaign. In 326/5 he was installed as satrap of the lower Indus valley, but he was later moved to the area of Gandhara (cf. supra, 14.2 οἱ λοιποί… for the Indian satrapies). Nothing is known of the reason and the circumstances of his return from India (Berve 1926, II, no. 619; Billows 1990, 415 – 416; Heckel 2006, 196 – 197). It has been suggested that Antigonos entrusted him with the government of Mesopotamia as well (Billows 1990, 272), but the mere fact that no successor for Blitor is mentioned after his deposition need not mean that no satrap of Mesopotamia was appointed: Blitor’s own installation as satrap does not seem to have interested our preserved sources, and the same may well be true of his potential successor. That Antigonos called on him as one of Demetrios’ advisors in Syria in 314 need not imply that Peithon also governed Mesopotamia (pace Billows, loc. cit.): surely Peithon was chosen because of his experience and reliability, not just because he happened to be governing nearby Mesopotamia (cf. infra, 69.1 Πίθωνα… and ἄνδρας…) – especially since Diodoros (69.1) explicitly mentions on that occasion that Peithon had travelled to Syria from Babylon, not from the satrapy of Mesopotamia. μετὰ τῆς δυνάμεως ἀνέζευξεν: Obviously Diodoros means that Antigonos marched to Kilikia with the army (Bernard 1985, 85 n. 76). Otherwise the sentence

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would end with the words ἀνέζευξεν ἐπὶ τῆς Κιλικίας τὴν πορείαν ποιούμενος, obviously constituting a nonsensical tautology. Schober (1981, 91), however, mistakenly assumed that μετὰ τῆς δυνάμεως applied to Peithon. For μετὰ τῆς δυνάμεως ἀναζευγνύναι, see e.g. I 17.3, III 72.2, XII 68.5, XIX 59.1 (there are also many instances with synonymous verbs: e.g. I 55.2, II 16.1, XI 91.3). τῆς Κιλικίας: On Kilikia, a satrapy in southern Asia Minor, see TIB V, esp. 17– 31; Orth 1993, 44 with further references; Pilhofer 2015, 17– 20.

56.5 Μάλον: On Mallos, at or near modern Kiziltahta (about 50 km southeast of Tarsos), see TIB V.1, 337– 338; Orth 1993, 54. Ptolemaios’ attack and Demetrios defence of the place in the late autumn of 312 (79.6 – 80.2) may suggest that it was of great strategic importance to the Antigonids. Once more F may have the right reading, Μαλλόν, while Fischer and Bizière prefer R’s mistaken variant: cf. also 80.2 (though note the respective differences in their apparatus). διεμέρισε τὴν δύναμιν εἰς παραχειμασίαν μετὰ δύσιν Ὠρίωνος: The winter of 316/5 (see above, on 55 – 57; Wheatley 1998a, 262). The setting of Orion occurred in late November or early December (Bickerman 1980, 113). τὰ ἐν Κυΐνδοις χρήματα: At Kyinda in Kilikia a Macedonian royal treasury was situated which is attested several times during the period of the Successors (Simpson 1957a; Holt 2016, 143). While its wealth became famous (cf. Men. ap. Ath. XI 484c-d), its exact location is unknown, since Strabo (XIV 5.10) and the other sources (Malalas X 53; Souda s.vv. ᾿Aνάζαρβον [A1866], Διοκαισάρεια [Δ1154], Κύϊνδα [Κ2625]) provide conflicting information: the former situates it above Anchiale in western Kilikia, the latter identifies it with Anazarbos (modern Anavarza) in northeastern Kilika. It may therefore be preferable to leave the question open (Simpson 1957a, 503), although Bing (1973) seems absolutely convinced of the identification with Anchiale. Lane Fox (2015, 177 n. 79) has recently claimed that it definitely must have been Anazarbos, especially on the basis of the present passage, but I am not sure whether Diodoros’ text necessarily implies that Kyinda was close to Mallos rather than simply that both were situated in Kilikia. F’s intriguing textual variant Ἰσσῷ at XVIII 62.2 does rather point to eastern Kilikia if the original reading would for instance have been something along the lines of Kyinda near Issos, though Issos is still some 60 km removed from Anazarbos. χωρὶς [δὲ] τοῦ πίπτειν ἐκ τῶν προσόδων αὐτῷ τῶν κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν τάλαντα μύρια χίλια: This considerable sum was a substantial asset for Antigonos. The annual revenue of Ptolemaios II is attested as almost 14,800 talents and 1,500,000 artabae of grain (Mittag 2006, 86 – 87; Archibald 2013, 79 – 80), but

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even if Egypt were to provide such an income in 315 – which seems unlikely –, no other successor than Ptolemaios could match the funds available to Antigonos. Macedonia’s revenue at the time of Perseus is reported as only 200 talents (Plut. Aem. 28.4). According to Bresson (2016, 399 – 401), even the 14,800 talents of Ptolemaios II largely consisted of taxes paid in kind, but such would likewise be significant assets in the war as they could be used to feed the army and make donations to allies or potential allies. Cf. also Just. XIII 1.9 with Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 56 – 57.

57.1 προάγοντος δ᾽ εἰς τὴν ἄνω Συρίαν ᾿Aντιγόνου: ἄνω Συρία was the northern part of Syria; the exact borders are unknown (Bosworth 1974, 49 – 50; Stern 1974– 1984, I, 14; Landucci Gattinoni 1987; Orth 1993, 98). On the geography of Syria, see Grainger 1990b, 8 – 30. Antigonos moved out of his winter quarters, so that we must now be in spring 315 (contra Grainger 1990a, 55, who implausibly assumes the envoys arrived in October of the previous year, while Antigonos was passing through Syria on his way to Kilikia). The embassy must indeed have reached Antigonos while he was on his way from Kilikia to Phoinikia, very early in the campaigning season, because with a later date the subsequent events of summer and spring would become extremely compressed. The chronology of the first half of 315 can be reconstructed backwards since we know that around mid-summer 315, Alexandros seems to have been back in the Peloponnese (see below, 63.2 ἐπεκαλέσαντο…), which implies that he must have left Tyre in the early summer at the latest. Probably he did not stay long in Phoinikia (61.1), as he can only have arrived there rather late in the spring. Aristodemos must have reached the Peloponnese in the first half of the spring (60.1), then, which dates his dispatch to the very early spring of 315 (57.5). The embassy with the ultimatum must therefore have reached Antigonos in the first days of the spring (57.1). He had probably set out from Kilikia around the end of February/beginning of March. πρέσβεις παρά τε Πτολεμαίου καὶ Λυσιμάχου καὶ Κασσάνδρου: Justin (XV 1.2) likewise mentions only these three without Seleukos (cf. Paus. I 6.4). It has been suggested that only Ptolemaios, Lysimachos and Kassandros sent ambassadors because Seleukos could not act as Antigonos’ peer as he no longer held his satrapy (Mehl 1986, 70 n. 22; Brodersen 1989, 106 n. 9; cf. supra, 56.3 ἐξέπεμψε…). Also note that Seleukos is the only one for whom no territories beyond his original satrapy seem to be demanded: see below, Βαβυλωνίαν… ἠξίουν Καππαδοκίαν μὲν καὶ Λυκίαν Κασσάνδρῳ δοθῆναι: It has often been maintained that this passage contains one or even two textual errors. Some as-

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sume that not Kassandros, but Asandros is meant (Droysen 1878, II, 6 n. 1; Fischer, apparatus ad loc.; Bouché-Leclercq 1903, 43 n. 2; Stähelin 1919, 2300; Wirth 1989, 206 n. 57), because the former supposedly had no interests in Asian territories. Although the manuscripts of Diodoros XVIII–XX consistently read Kassandros, even where he is explicitly described as satrap of Karia (XVIII 3.1, 39.6, XIX 62.2, 75.1; Tataki [1998, 76] lists all inscriptions confirming that Asandros held Karia, to which should be added I.Nordkarien 151 and ibid., ‘Pidasa’ T4), that should not make us doubt passages where Kassandros is the logical individual to appear. There is no reason whatsoever to call into question that an alliance concluded by Ptolemaios, Lysimachos, Kassandros and Seleukos (the parties are confirmed by App. Syr. 53; Paus. I 6.4; Just. XV 1.2 and 4; cf. Wehrli 1968, 44) should ask that territories be given to these four men. As Aucello (1957, 395) rightly pointed out, Asandros joined the coalition only later (see 62.2), so that we should not presume a demand for him at the present time (cf. Seibert 1969, 159 – 160). Other scholars, admitting that it does not make sense to emend Kassandros into Asandros in this instance, have tried to solve the alleged problem by emending the name of the second satrapy (Lykia) into either Kilikia (Tarn 1969, 484; Gregory 1995, 23) or Lydia (Aucello 1957; Wehrli 1968, 44– 48; Mehl 1986, 71 n. 24; Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 110 – 111 with n. 236; Huß 2001, 144 with n. 385), because Kassandros could not lay claim to Lykia, which was part of Antigonos’ own satrapy. Such legalistic reasoning does not do justice to the politics of the period of the Successors, though. To me, it seems clear that the manuscript readings have to be maintained (thus also Fortina 1965, 47– 52; Seibert 1969, 156 – 163; Wörrle 1977, 48; Will 1979, 55 – 56; Buraselis 1982, 6 – 9; Billows 1990, 109, n. 36; Grainger 1990a, 55; Descat 1998, 175 – 176; Errington 2008, 29; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 220). It should be stressed that in fact there is no textual problem: all manuscripts have the same reading, and the received text is sound as it stands. Kassandros’ Asian ambitions are also apparent elsewhere (see below, 69.1 ᾿Aντίγονος…; cf. Will 1979, 56; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 220). Seibert (1969, 161– 163), on the other hand, argues that Kassandros had no ambition for dominion in Asia, but made these demands nonetheless, because he wanted to create buffer states against the development of Antigonos’ power (cf. Grainger 1990a, 55). However this may be, Descat (loc. cit.) has argued conclusively that the claims for Kassandros are not surprising at all, as his troops were in fact operating in Kappadokia (cf. infra, 57.4) and Lykia (which seems to be confirmed by numismatic evidence). Since it is unlikely that Antigonos would have ceded possession of Lykia which was officially part of his satrapy – as the proponents of the emendation rightly noted – and of great strategic importance (Meadows 2006,

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460), one wonders whether the coalition might in fact have wished deliberately to provoke Antigonos to start the war or to get a pretext for doing so themselves (Rosen 1967a, 78; Müller 1973, 32 n. 115; Grainger 1990a, 55; Lund 1992, 59; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 221). That does not mean that they did not actually wish to control those territories. I doubt whether it is really relevant to dwell on the question of the legal basis of the ultimatum (cf. Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 112; pace Cloché 1957, 132– 133; Wehrli 1968, 44– 48). Φρυγίαν δὲ τὴν ἐφ᾽ Ἑλλησπόντῳ Λυσιμάχῳ: Phrygia on the Hellespont was a neighbouring satrapy to Lysimachos’ Thrace on the other side of the Bosporos. Furthermore, it was a wealthier province than the one he already held, so that his interests in the territory are easily understandable (cf. Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 112; Lund 1992, 59). Although it has been argued that Lysimachos had no true Asian ambitions (Saitta 1955, 66 – 67), especially since he does not seem to have actively participated in the war before 313, this is not necessarily true. Lysimachos clearly displayed such ambitions later on, and the troubles securing his home base against the rebellious local dynast Seuthes sufficiently explain why he could not effectively engage in the coalition war (Lund 1992, 59). Συρίαν δὲ πᾶσαν Πτολεμαίῳ: Cf. XVIII 43.2, where Ptolemaios is said to have conquered τὴν δὲ Συρίαν ἅπασαν, the whole of Syria, or ἄνω and Κοίλη Συρία together. Stern (1974– 1984, I, 14), however, assumes that Συρία πᾶσα is an echo of the Semitic name from which Κοίλη Συρία is derived, and consequently means only Κοίλη Συρία. It seems more likely, however, that Συρία πᾶσα should simply be understood on its literal Greek meaning. The name Κοίλη Συρία was already in use in the age of the Diadochoi (Bosworth 1974, 49 – 50; Landucci Gattinoni 1987; Orth 1993, 88), and we should probably not assume that Macedonians and Greeks were still familiar with the etymology of the toponym or that the lost primary authors contemporary with the Diadoch Wars used the name Συρία πᾶσα in an obsolete sense that might cause confusion. Ptolemaios had conquered Syria in 319 (Diod. XVIII 43.1– 2; App. Syr. 52; Paus. I 6.4; Marmor Parium [FGrHist 239] B 12), and it is not surprising that he now claimed the area. According to Appian (Syr. 52) the reason for the invasion was that the land was well situated to defend Egypt and to attack Cyprus. This need not mean that Ptolemaios was merely interested in defensive imperialism; maybe it was only the first step towards acquiring ever more territory (cf. Meeus 2014; pace Will 1979, 160 – 161). Βαβυλωνίαν δὲ Σελεύκῳ: Whereas the ultimatum demanded territorial expansion for his three allies, for Seleukos himself it only stipulated that his own province was to be restituted, although he seems to have been the one who had participated most actively in the war against Eumenes and Polyperchon (Diod. XIX 12– 13, 18, 27.1; Lib. Or. 11.81), apart from Kassandros who had defeated Polyper-

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chon, of course. Once again he does not appear to be an equal partner in the coalition (cf. supra, πρέσβεις…). τῶν δὲ θησαυρῶν, οὓς παρέλαβεν μετὰ τὴν πρὸς Εὐμενῆ μάχην, ποιήσασθαι μερισμόν: Cf. Just. XV 1.2, ‘pecunia in praeda capta prouinciaeque diuiderentur’; App. Syr. 53, ἠξίουν τὴν ἐπίκτητον αὐτῷ γενομένην γῆν τε καὶ χρήματα πρός τε σφᾶς νείμασθαι … The amount of money Antigonos had gained was an enormous advantage in every respect: the arms race, relations with soldiers and philoi, benefactions to cities (cf. Serrati 2007, 482). His war chest greatly surpassed all others and they understandably wished to have a share of it themselves as well as Antigonos to have less. καὶ γὰρ αὐτοὺς κεκοινωνηκέναι τοῦ πολέμου: Cf. Antigonos’ answer at Justin XV 1.2, ‘Antigonus negauit se in eius belli praemia socios admissurum, in cuius periculum solus descenderit’. Pace Seibert (1969, 77) Diodoros’ source did not misrepresent the war against Eumenes as a common action, but simply mentioned the argument used by the coalition against Antigonos. It seems to be technically correct, furthermore, as Kassandros, Lysimachos and Ptolemaios had indeed been on the same side as Antigonos in the Second War of the Successors. Moreover, as Buraselis (1982, 5 n. 7) noted, it is clear from 85.3 that the war against Perdikkas was considered one and the same as the war against Eumenes and Polyperchon.

57.2 τοῦ δ᾽ ᾿Aντιγόνου τραχύτερον ἀποκριναμένου καὶ τὰ πρὸς πόλεμον εἰπόντος παρασκευάζεσθαι: Cf. App. Syr. 53, ἐπιχλευάσαντος δὲ αὐτοὺς τοῦ ᾿Aντιγόνου, οἱ μὲν ἐς πόλεμον καθίσταντο κοινόν, ὁ δὲ ἀντιπαρεσκευάζετο. For other instances of Antigonos answering harshly in a diplomatic context, see Diod. XX 82.3 and S. E. M. I 276 (κἀκείνου εἰκαιότερον ἀποκρινομένου) with Meeus 2015, 164 – 165; cf. also Diod. XVIII 52.4 on the harshness of the words (τὸ τῶν λόγων ὑπερήφανον) of Antigonid ambassadors to the satrap Arrhidaios, and Plut. Demetr. 42.1– 3 on Demetrios. This passage and XX 82.3 are the only ones where Diodoros uses τραχύς in this sense (MD s.v.), and one may wonder whether it is a coincidence that both concern answers of Antigonos; cf. Arr. Succ. F1.28, using the adjective in a negative characterization of Perdikkas. The phrase τραχέως ἀποκρίνεσθαι/ἀπαντᾶν is rather rare before the fourth century CE: apart from Diod. XIX 57.2 and XX 82.3, see Isoc. 1.31; Plut. Publ. 18.2, Phoc. 21.4, 30.3 (two occurrences amongst the fragments of Cassius Dio, books XII and XVII, may rather be due to Zonaras himself: VIII 18 and IX 14). οἱ μὲν περὶ Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Λυσίμαχον, ἔτι δὲ Κάσανδρον συμμαχίαν πρὸς ἀλλήλους ποιησάμενοι δυνάμεις τε συνῆγον καὶ παρασκευὰς ὅπλων τε καὶ

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βελῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν χρησίμων ἐποίουν: Cf. Just. XV 1.4, ‘Ptolomeus et Cassander inita cum Lysimacho et Seleuco societate bellum terra marique enixe instruunt’; App. Syr. 53, οἱ μὲν ἐς πόλεμον καθίσταντο κοινόν, ὁ δὲ ἀντιπαρεσκευάζετο. The significance of this moment has often been overestimated. According to Rosen (1968, 201– 203), this is the crucial moment which can be considered the end of Alexander’s empire, because the Diadochoi now supposedly concluded a συμμαχία for the first time, a treaty which implies the sovereignty of the partners, rather than a more informal κοινοπραγία in which at least one of the partners is not sovereign (see also Huß 2001, 145 n. 391; cf. Hauben 1977b, 321). Neither the argument about the distinction between συμμαχία and κοινοπραγία nor the claim that this particular alliance would have had any particular significance beyond the immediate circumstances are convincing to me: this was just one of many opportunistic alliances amongst the Successors and it carries no constitutional significance (Meeus 2018b).

57.3 τὸ μέγεθος τοῦ φυομένου πολέμου: Cf. 56.4 ἀρχὴ διαφορᾶς ἐφύετο καὶ μεγάλων πολέμων. Since Diodoros does not otherwise use φύεσθαι in this sense, we might be facing the influence of his source here.

57.4 ᾿Aγησίλαον: Nothing further is known of Agesilaos (Olshausen 1974, no. 62; Billows 1990, 364). Because he received such a weighty mission, Billows (loc. cit.) rightly argues that he ‘would have been a fairly senior man who had been with Antigonos for some time and enjoyed a high degree of trust’. Indeed, experience and age were important criteria for the selection of ambassadors, who were seldom very young (Mosley 1973, 46; Mooren 1979, 263 – 264; Piccirilli 2002, 28 – 31; Savalli-Lestrade 2017). τοὺς ἐν Κύπρῳ βασιλεῖς: The control of Cyprus, one of the largest Mediterranean islands, immediately became an important aim in the wars of the Successors because of its obvious strategic importance (‘ce “pistolet braqué au cœur de la Syrie”ʼ, as Will [1979, 67] put it; see also Hauben 1987a, esp. 214– 216; Cohen HS I, 35; Bekker-Nielsen 2000, 200 – 201; Balandier 2011 and 2014, esp. 187– 188). Ptolemaios had concluded an alliance with several Cypriot kings in 321, when his satrapy was threatened by Perdikkas: Nikokreon of Salamis, Pasikrates of Soloi, Nikokles of Paphos and Androkles of Amathous (Arr. Succ. F24.6; Mørkholm 1978, 144 and 146 – 147; Orth 1993, 74– 78; Mehl 1995, 99 – 100; Lane Fox 2015, 173 – 174; Van Oppen 2015, 460 – 461). Antigonos realized that his control of

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Syria would be very precarious and the projected siege of Tyre very difficult with the whole of Cyprus in Ptolemaic hands. On the Cypriot kingdoms in the Age of the Successors, see Orth 1993, 74– 78; Mehl 1995, 98 – 114; Destrooper 2014; Van Oppen 2015; Körner 2017, 279 – 285. Ῥόδον: Like Cyprus, Rhodes was also an island of great strategic importance, as it controlled the sea routes between the Aegean and the southeastern Mediterranean (Hauben 1977b, 316 – 339; Berthold 1984, 59 – 80; Orth 1993, 26; Wiemer 2002, 66 – 96). The Rhodians accepted Antigonos’ call, in spite of their alleged neutrality (see 58.5, and below, 61.5 παρὰ Ῥοδίων…). Ἰδομενέα: Idomeneus is otherwise unknown (Olshausen 1974, no. 70; Billows 1990, 394), but as with Agesilaos we may assume that ‘his standing in Antigonos’ service was clearly high’ (Billows, loc. cit.). Luraghi (2017, 196 – 197 n. 72) wonders whether he might be the writer Idomeneus of Lampsakos. Μοσχίωνα: A certain Moschion, son of Moirichos, of Thera is attested in a late fourth century inscription from Kalymnos (Segrè 1952, no. 8), and he is sometimes identified with the present Antigonid official (Segrè 1952, ad loc.; Olshausen 1974, no. 71; Billows 1990, 406). Nothing further is known of him. Πτολεμαῖον δὲ τὸν ἀδελφιδοῦν: Polemaios’ father Polemaios probably was a brother of Antigonos (see below, 68.5 τὴν ταφήν…). The name is variously reported as Ptolemaios and Polemaios, but the latter may have been the correct form (Hauben 1987b, 32). Polemaios is first attested in 319, already in the service of his uncle, at the siege of Nora. From 315 until 310 he acted as Antigonos’ right-hand man in Asia Minor, Greece and the Aegean, but after that he would defect first to Kassandros and then to Ptolemaios who had him killed soon after (Berve 1926, II, 643; Billows 1990, 426 – 430, cf. 425; Heckel 2006, 224; cf. infra, passim). ἵνα λύσῃ μὲν ᾿Aμισσοῦ τὴν πολιορκίαν καὶ τοὺς ὑπὸ Κασσάνδρου πεμφθέντας εἰς Καππαδοκίαν ἐκβάλῃ πάντας: Amisos lay on a strategic hill along the southern the Black Sea coast in Kappadokia and was situated at the head of important routes inland (Orth 1993, 30). Possibly Kassandros’ men had been operating there as part of the war against Eumenes, who is likely to have maintained some of his influence in his former satrapy after 320 (Niese 1893, 275 n. 2; Buraselis 1982, 7– 9; Billows 1990, 108 n. 35). It is also possible, however, that Kassandros had sent these troops in order to seize the territory claimed in the ultimatum of 315; after all, the war against Eumenes had finished more than a year before, and besieging Amisos was a sensible strategic move in preparation for an invasion of Kappadokia. Both here and at 60.2 Bizière prefers R’s spelling ᾿Aμισσός with double sigma, although F offers the correct orthography ᾿Aμισός that is confirmed by the city’s own coinage.

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ὅπως παραγενόμενος εἰς Ἑλλήσποντον ἐφεδρεύῃ τοῖς περὶ Κάσσανδρον, ἂν ἐπιχειρῇ διαβαίνειν ἐκ τῆς Εὐρώπης: Obviously several different strategic reasons might induce Kassandros to cross the Hellespont which do not necessarily imply that he entertained any plans to control Asian territory in the long run. However, given that Antigonos is later said to have feared Kassandros’ ambitions in Asia, it is quite likely that Kassandros did not just aim to hit Antigonos’ positions, but actually wanted to conquer them (see below, 69.1 ᾿Aντίγονος…).

57.5 ᾿Aριστόδημον δὲ τὸν Μιλήσιον εἰς Πελοπόννησον ἐξέπεμψεν: Aristodemos, son of Parthenios, of Miletos, already seems to have been one of Antigonos’ most trusted friends when he appears in the sources for the first time, bringing the news of Antipatros’ death to Antigonos in 319. He is not heard of again until now, playing a role of great significance in the Third War of the Successors. Aristodemos is most famous for his mission to announce the victory at Salamis to Antigonos (Olshausen 1974, no. 66 and 75; Billows 1990, 371– 374). His main destination on the present mission probably was cape Tainaron, the well-known Peloponnesian mercenary market (Griffith 1935, 260; Billows 1990, 113 n. 39; Bugh 2006a, 267; Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 247– 248). συνθέσθαι φιλίαν πρὸς ᾿Aλέξανδρον καὶ Πολυπέρχοντα καὶ ξενολογήσαντα τοὺς ἱκανοὺς διαπολεμεῖν Κασσάνδρῳ: Antigonos thus adopted a twofold strategy against Kassandros: blocking the Hellespont (see above, 57.4 ὅπως…), and keeping him occupied in Europe (cf. Huß 2001, 146).

§ 58 – 60 Antigonos’ Preparations for the War and the Siege of Tyre Antigonos understood very well that controlling the eastern Mediterranean waters would be crucial in the course of the ensuing war: the sea was the main line of communications between Ptolemaios and his European allies, and obviously also an important route for bringing the coalition troops to Asia to attack his possessions. He therefore wanted to get hold of Phoinikia which had both important ports and forests which provided shipbuilding timber in abundance. Except for Tyre where Ptolemaios’ garrison upheld a strong resistance, the region seems to have fallen to Antigonos quite easily.

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58.1 ἀνέζευξεν ἐπὶ Φοινίκην, σπεύδων ναυτικὴν δύναμιν συστήσασθαι: The control of the naval centre Phoinikia had already been crucial for the Persians, as the area had a long tradition in this respect and possessed ample resources of timber (Hauben 1970b, 1; Briant 1996, I, 64 and passim; cf. infra, 58.3 πλῆρες…). τοὺς μὲν πολεμίους τότε θαλαττοκρατεῖν ναῦς πολλὰς ἔχοντας: Especially Ptolemaios had a strong navy at his disposal since he held the entire Phoinikian fleet in Egypt (58.2). The exact number of ships he had is not known, but at least 200 are evidenced in this period (58.5 and 62.4; Hauben 1977b, 321– 322). Kassandros also had a naval force thanks to his control of cities like Athens and Pydna: although only 56 ships are attested (68.3, 69.3; Hauben 1978), the Athenian fleet probably was much larger than that (Green 2003, 2 n. 16). αὐτῷ δὲ τὸ παράπαν οὐδ᾽ ὀλίγας εἶναι: This should not be taken literally (pace Billows 1990, 110), as Antigonos must have had a rather substantial fleet at the Hellespont thanks to the victory over Kleitos in 318 (Buraselis 1982, 40; Wiemer 2002, 73 n. 65). What Diodoros means is that this fleet was no match for that of the enemy. If Antigonos managed to gain control of the sea, he could drive a geographical wedge between Ptolemaios and the European allies (Billows 1990, 111). πολιορκῆσαι διανοούμενος τὴν Τύρον: Tyre was one of the main cities on the Phoinikian coast (Orth 1993, 99). It had been garrisoned by Ptolemaios when he conquered Syria in 319 (cf. supra, 57.1 Συρίαν…). Unfortunately, Diodoros’ text is confused as to when the siege of Tyre started. Because the low chronological scheme does not allow for any delay, as the end of the siege would otherwise have to be situated impossibly late, Errington (1977, 496) claims that it started almost immediately upon Antigonos’ arrival at Tyre, perhaps even as early as March, and lasted fifteen months in total (thus also Huß 2001, 146 n. 410). Stylianou (1994, 76), on the other hand, assumes that 59.3 (αὐτὸς [sc. Antigonos] δ᾽ ἐπανελθὼν εἰς τὴν πρὸς Παλαιτύρῳ στρατοπεδείαν παρεσκευάζετο τὰ πρὸς τὴν πολιορκίαν) means that the siege had not yet begun when Antigonos returned from his conquests in the South, and thus places the start of the period of fifteen months in the summer of 315. All we know for sure is that at the present moment Antigonos put up his camp before the city with the intention to besiege it. Then he initiated his ambitious shipbuilding programme (58.1– 5), and sometime later Agesilaos returned with the report on the alliances with the Cypriot kings (59.1). Agesilaos had been sent to the island while Antigonos was in northern Syria (57.4), but his journey to the various poleis (cf. 59.1) on Cyprus will have taken some time as did the preparations for the shipbuilding. Diodoros’ narrative implies that Antigonos had gathered 8,000 workers and 1,000 carts (58.2) and that at least part of the felling of the trees and their transport to the coast had been carried out by the

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time Agesilaos arrived. This must have required a considerable amount of time, but it is difficult to estimate how much. After having been informed of the state of affairs in Cyprus, Antigonos heads south, but not without leaving part of his army at Tyre for the siege: τρισχιλίους μὲν στρατιώτας καὶ στρατηγὸν ᾿Aνδρόνικον κατέλιπεν ἐπὶ τῆς πολιορκίας (59.2). This might mean that the operations were already in progress, or that Andronikos was charged with starting them. However, to add to the confusion, Diodoros states that after the conquest of Ioppe and Gaza Antigonos made arrangements for the siege (59.3, quoted above). Does this mean that Antigonos made preparations to assume the command himself and to deploy more troops, or is it the actual beginning of the blockade? Given Diodoros’ tendency for narrating the same fact twice, it is hard to be sure. In fact, one wonders why Antigonos would have postponed the start of the operations, since he certainly knew from Alexander’s experiences that it could become a protracted enterprise. It is not impossible that he wanted to build some of the necessary ships first: besieging Tyre without a decent fleet might have seemed a waste of time, men and resources (cf. Hauben 1977b, 322 n. 71). Confirmation of this may be found in 61.5 where Diodoros states that after the proclamation of Tyre and the concluding of a treaty of cooperation with Alexandros and Polyperchon, he sent for the ships from Rhodes and prepared the ones constructed in his own shipyards. After that he sailed out to Tyre and by controlling the sea he prevented the city from being provisioned for a year and three months, so that it was finally forced to surrender because of famine (cf. Murray 2012, 100 – 101). On the other hand, Billows (1990, 112) has suggested that Seleukos’ activity off the Phoinikian coast during the early stages of the naval construction works was intended to supply Tyre, already being under siege, with provisions and perhaps even reinforcements. Furthermore, one would assume that Antigonos had already blockaded Tyre from land at that time in order to avoid guerrilla actions against his camp and his shipyards. Thus, the most likely solution is that the siege over the land started immediately upon Antigonos’ arrival, with the fifteen-month blockade at sea starting a few months later, after the conquest of Ioppe and Gaza. It seems more likely, therefore, that the siege began early in the campaigning season, perhaps even as early as March.

58.2 κατεκόμιζε τὴν ὕλην ἐπὶ θάλασσαν ἐκ τοῦ Λιβάνου: Alexander had likewise planned to use the cedar wood from the area for his own massive shipbuilding

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programme in 324: Curt. X 1.19; Bosworth 1988a, 152– 153. For the logistics involved, see Borza 1995, 89 with n. 18.

58.3 πλῆρες δ᾽ ἐστὶ ξύλων κεδρίνων καὶ κυπαριττίνων θαυμαστῶν τό τε κάλλος καὶ μέγεθος: Lebanon did indeed have abundant cedar forests providing timber which was very well suited for shipbuilding (Meiggs 1982, esp. 49 – 87; Amigues 2002, 227 and 231; Buchholz 2004, 89; cf. Thphr. HP V 7.1– 3). This obviously was one of the factors making control of the area desirable for the Successors (Meiggs 1982, 133; Cohen HS II, 32– 33). ἐκ τοῦ Ταύρου: The Tauros mountains were likewise covered with rich forests (Meiggs 1982, 50 and passim).

58.5 ἦν δὲ καὶ περὶ Ῥόδον ἄλλο: Although Diodoros does not mention the outcome of the mission to Rhodes at the beginning of the war, it is clear from the present passage that the Rhodians joined the alliance, as Wiemer (2002, 72– 73) argues; he also rightly notes that there is no need to assume that this assistance to the shipbuilding project is all their contribution consisted of – it is simply the only one relevant in this description of Antigonos’ construction programme. ἧκεν ἐξ Αἰγύπτου Σέλευκος μετὰ νεῶν ἑκατὸν κεκοσμημένων βασιλικῶς καὶ πλεουσῶν ἱκανῶς: Seleukos’ aim might have been to discourage Antigonos’ men, as Diodoros seems to indicate, but it is likely that he also brought provisions to Tyre, which was besieged over land, but not yet at sea (Billows 1990, 112). On Seleukos’ activities commanding Ptolemaic ships, see Hauben 1975, 83 – 90; Mehl 1986, 77– 82. Many of the ships were probably Phoinikian ones which Ptolemaios had taken to Egypt sometime before: see Lane Fox 2015, 175. If this is to be taken literally, it is surely remarkable that the ships were royally equipped at this early date (cf. Bosworth 2000b, 230 – 236 on Ptolemaios’ royal aspirations). As far as we can tell, Ptolemaios generally does not seem to have made much of his thalassocracy in his dynastic representation, though: at some point before the reduction of the coin standard he issued gold staters with the famous Alexander in elephant scalp obverse and an aphlaston on the reverse (Lorber 2018, no. 38). While Dahmen (2007, 12) dates these staters to 315, other scholars prefer a slightly later date (Bodzek 2014, 282– 284; Lorber 2018, I, 27). It has been suggested that the bronze coins with the head of Ptolemaios on the obverse and an aphlaston on the reverse (Lorber 2018, no. B108) date to the period 315 – 306 BCE (Destrooper 2014, 179), but since one would

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not expect Ptolemy’s own portrait to appear at such an early date, its attribution to the time of the reconquest of Cyprus in 294 appears far more likely (Bodzek 2014, 286 – 287; Lorber 2018, I, 34). Other silver (Lorber 2018, I, type IIIb) and bronze coins (Lorber 2018, II, series 2b) include the aphlaston as a symbol, but these are likewise small series that probably should be dated after 306 (Bodzek 2014, 284– 286; Lorber 2018, I, 28). καταπεφρονηκότως: This is typical Diodorean language: of 38 ancient attestations of καταπεφρονηκότως, 12 are to be found in the Bibliotheke (see also XIV 17.10, 101.3, XV 32.5, 36.2, XVIII 34.2, XIX 92.3, 93.2, 95.5, XXV 9.1, XXXI 15a.2; I have excluded XIX 47.2, as it is a doubtful emendation: cf. supra, ad loc.). Before Diodoros I have found only six instances (Isoc. 4.136, X. Mem. III 7.7, D. 17.29, Aeschin. 3.203, Lycurg. 1.68, Plb. III 16.2), and in most other authors after Diodoros who use it, there likewise is only a single instance. The cluster in book XIX is thus interesting, but seems insignificant (cf. supra, Part I, §2.3).

58.6 διαβεβαιούμενος ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ θερίᾳ ἀποπλεύσεσθαι ναυσὶ πεντακοσίαις: This was a very ambitious plan, but perhaps not impossible; most likely the ships he had at the Hellespont (62.7) are included in the number. Antigonos had 8,000 workers at five shipyards, whereas Philippos V had 100 vessels built in about six months’ time, undoubtedly by a much a lower number of craftsmen (Plb. V 109.3 – 4). On the other hand, Xerxes is said to have needed three years to construct 1,200 ships on at least 13 sites (Diod. XI 2.1 with Green 2006, ad loc.). During this summer only 240 ships are attested, so that Antigonos does not seem to have attained his projected goal. By 312 the number seems to have increased substantially, though, with between 340 and 390 Antigonid warships on active service (Billows 1990, 357– 358). Wheatley (1998a, 258) connects the significant increase in the volume of coin production from the mints of Sidon and Ake in 315 with Antigonos’ shipbuilding activities.

59.1 Νικοκρέων μὲν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων οἱ κράτιστοι βασιλεῖς: Nikokreon, son of Pnytagoras, succeeded to his father as king of Salamis in 332/1 (Berve 1926, II, 568; Bagnall 1976, 39 – 40; Heckel 2006, 179 – 180). He had been allied with Ptolemaios since 321, along with Pasikrates of Soloi, Nikokles of Paphos and Androkles of Amathous (Arr. Succ. F24.6; see also above, 57.3 τοὺς ἐν Κύπρῳ…). Seibert (1969, 143 – 144) argued that Ptolemaios had no active and successful Cyrpian policy, because he had not enhanced his number of allies on the island. Hauben

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(1977a, 265), however, rightly pointed out that Antigonos and Ptolemaios had been on the same side in the war of 321– 320, so that the Ptolemaic status-quo in Cyprus was not self-evident, and at any rate does not prove that Ptolemaios was not actively involved on the island (cf. App. Syr. 52). Whether the king of Amathous still belonged to the Ptolemaic alliance is unclear (see below, 62.6 τὸν ᾿Aμαθουσίων…). ὁ δὲ Κιτιεὺς καὶ Λαπίθιος, ἔτι δὲ Μαριεὺς καὶ Κερυνίτης τὴν πρὸς αὐτὸν φιλίαν συντέθεινται: Kition and Marion at any rate are no less powerful than the cities in the other camp, in spite of Diodoros’ assertion (Collombier 1993, 129). Ptolemaios would soon force Antigonos’ Cypriot allies to come over to his side, though (62.6; Mehl 1995, 101). On these cities, see Orth 1993, 74– 76. Although Bizière maintains the manuscript reading Μάριος, the correction Μαριεύς imposes itself (cf. Fischer’s apparatus with reference to XIX 62.6 and 79.4; also Arr. Succ. F24.6).

59.2 στρατηγὸν ᾿Aνδρόνικον κατέλιπεν ἐπὶ τῆς πολιορκίας: Andronikos of Olynthos had campaigned with Alexander (69.1), but nothing further is known of his career before the present moment (Berve 1926, II, no. 79; Mooren 1975, no. 3; Heckel 2006, 29 [A 2]), unless he is to be identified with Andronikos, son of Agerros, as Billows (1990, 367– 368) suggests. On his later career, see 69.1, 82.4 and 86.1– 2, though the common assumption that the latter passage involves the same individual is not quite certain: see below, 86.1 ᾿Aνδρόνικον… On the many Olynthians in the entourage of Macedonian rulers, see Zahrnt 1971, 116. τήν τ’ Ἰόππην: On Ioppe (mordern day Jaffa, south of Tel Aviv), a strategically important town and harbour (cf. D.S. I 31.2) on a seaside hill in southern Palestine, see Orth 1993, 87– 88; Grabbe 2008b, 34 and 47; Isaac 2014a. Γάζαν: Gaza was an important seaport in southern Palestine (Orth 1993, 86; Isaac 2014b). Its conquest provided Antigonos with a major strategic asset as he was now in Ptolemaios’ backyard. For Gaza’s strategic location, see e.g. Arr. Anab. II 26.1. τοὺς μὲν καταληφθέντας Πτολεμαίου στρατιώτας ἐπιδιεῖλεν εἰς τὰς ἰδίας τάξεις: It was a common practice in the age of the Successors to incorporate defeated enemy troops into one’s own ranks (Parke 1933, 208; Griffith 1935, 261– 262; Rostovtzeff 1953, I, 148; Hornblower 1981, 11 n. 36; Hammond 1988a, 163; Pritchett 1991, 307– 308; cf. infra, 85.4 τοὺς μέν…).

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59.3 ᾿Aρίστων: Two of Alexander’s hetairoi named Ariston are attested, and both have been tentatively identified with this man: an ilarch at Gaugamela (Berve 1926, II, no. 137; Billows 1990, 375; Heckel 2006, 48) and a Thessalian who attended Medeios’ banquet where Alexander became fatally ill (Berve 1926, II, no. 139; Heckel 2006, 48). Nothing further is known of him. τῶν ὀστῶν τῶν Κρατεροῦ: On Eumenes’ funerary rites for Krateros, see Souda, s.v. Κρατερός (Κ2335): ἐντίμως δὲ καὶ μεγαλοπρεπῶς τὸ σῶμα αὐτοῦ ἐκήδευσεν; Nep. Eum. 4.4: ‘amplo funere extulit ossaque in Macedoniam uxori eius ac liberis remisit’. Krateros was one of Alexander’s closest companions and most able generals. One of the principal infantry officers, he was regularly entrusted with independent commands. In the Babylon Settlement he was appointed governor of Macedonia and Greece alongside Antipatros. He fell in a battle against Eumenes during the First Diadoch War in 320 (Berve 1926, II, no. 446; Heckel 1992, 107– 133 and 2006, 95 – 99; Anson 2012; Ashton 2015). Heckel (2006, 99) contends that ‘Eumenes was almost certainly remorseful and treated Craterus’ body with respect’. This is likely to be true, but one wonders whether it would not have been more respectful to send the remains back to his family immediately. Krateros was immensely popular with the Macedonians (Plut. Eum. 6.2– 3, Demetr. 14.2; Souda, s.v. Κρατερός), and Eumenes, a good friend of Krateros (Nep. Eum. 4.4; Plut. Eum. 7.13), might somehow have tried to exploit his memory, as Antigonos probably did too. Plutarch (Demetr. 14.2) states that Phila was Demetrios’ most popular wife because she was the widow of Krateros (cf. next lemma). Antigonos got hold of Krateros’ bones after capturing Eumenes in the winter of 316. He could easily have sent the remains to his daughter-in-law long before the spring or summer of 315. One may speculate that he waited until Phila was with him and the army to give her back the bones in some public ceremony. Φίλᾳ τῇ πρότερον μὲν Κρατερῷ συνοικούσῃ, τότε δὲ Δημητρίῳ τῷ ᾿Aντιγόνου: Phila was the oldest daughter of Antipatros. In fact she had already married before her union to Krateros, namely with Balakros who was killed in battle in 324. After their successful cooperation in the Lamian War in 322/1, Antipatros gave his daughter in marriage to Krateros, who was planning his return to Asia. However, Krateros was soon killed in a confrontation with Eumenes in Kappadokia. In 320 Phila married her third husband in four years, the much younger Demetrios Poliorketes, to cement the alliance between Antipatros and Antigonos. She remained Demetrios’ wife – one of the many – until she committed suicide in 288, because of Demetrios’ disastrous loss of Macedonia (Berve 1926, II, 772; Macurdy 1932a, 58 – 69; Wehrli 1964; Tataki 1998, 444; Carney 2000, 164– 169; Heckel 2006, 207– 208; Harders 2013; Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 29 – 34 and passim).

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59.4 τάς τε ἀδελφὰς καὶ θυγατέρας τῶν ἀπόρων ἐξεδίδου τοῖς ἰδίοις δαπανήμασι: The same is attested for the Seleukid queen Laodike III in Iasos (I.Iasos 4, l. 20 – 25); in Hellenistic royal ideology traditional female roles often played an important part in the representation of queens (Vérilhac & Vial 1998, 164– 165; Van Nuffelen 1998/9, 183 – 184; Ma 2003, 182; Van Bremen 2003, 326 – 328; Barbantani 2005, 144; Le Bohec-Bouhet 2006, 188 – 190; Thompson 2006, 98). Kratesipolis is likewise said to have helped the poor (67.1). Once again, then, the typical practices of Hellenistic kingship are already to be observed in the age of the Successors, though unfortunately no precise date is given.

59.5 λέγεται: This use of λέγεται is substantially more common in the mythical books. There are other instances in the historical books, though, which usually likewise relate to the sphere of myth (e.g. XVII 7.5, 85.2) or anecdotes that might otherwise be considered fantastic, remarkable or particularly old (e.g. XIV 25.5, XVI 26.1 and 26.6, XIX 108.1). That an elite woman at the time was educated need not have been very surprising (cf. Pomeroy 1977), but Phila’s advising her father on the greatest questions (i. e. probably the affairs of state) while she was still a child will have appeared remarkable – especially in light of Antipatros’ alleged advice to the Macedonians never to let a woman take control of the affairs of the state (cf. supra, 11.9 παρεκελεύσατο…). ὃς δοκεῖ γεγονέναι φρονιμώτατος τῶν ἐν δυναστείαις γεγονότων κατὰ τὴν αὐτὴν ἡλικίαν: Evidently the phrase need not be taken literally (cf. supra, 51.6 μέγιστον…). The praise for Gonatas’ maternal grandfather Antipatros obviously is not incompatible with Hieronymos, especially since it is meant to enhance to praise for Gonatas’ mother Phila herself, acting as the wise adviser to the wisest man of her age while she was still a child (cf. next lemma). Attributing even more political acumen to Phila than to Antipatros himself would have suited Antigonid self-presentation very well. κόρης οὔσης ἔτι τῆς Φίλας: This comment seems to reflect a pattern common in ancient biographic narratives that seeks the signs of an individual’s later greatness in their childhood: see e.g. the mentions of a specific skill or quality displayed ἔτι παῖς ὤν vel sim. at X. An. I 9.2; Plut. Alex. 4.8; D.L. VII 31– 32, IX 34; Diod. XII 38.3; cf. Hom. Il. XI 710.

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59.6 μηνύσει δ᾽ ἀκριβέστερον τὸ τῆς γυναικὸς ἦθος προϊὼν ὁ λόγος καὶ τὰ πράγματα λαμβάνοντα μεταβολὴν καὶ κρίσιν ἐσχάτην τῆς περὶ Δημήτριον βασιλείας: This will have been dealt with in the lost book XXI. The topic of the changing fortunes of Demetrios which led his wife Phila to suicide certainly appealed to Diodoros, and the interest he takes in Phila suggests that he might have dwelt at some length on the episode (cf. supra 11.7 and 51.6 on the noble deaths of Eurydike and Olympias). It is known thanks to Plutarch’s life of Demetrios (45.1): see Savalli-Lestrade 2015, 190. On cross-references in the Bibliotheke, see above, 55.9 περὶ ἧς…

60.1 στρατιώτας ἤθροισεν ὀκτακισχιλίους ἐκ τῆς Πελοποννήσου: Aristodemos had been given a 1,000 talents (57.5). Mittag (2006, 88) notes that it seems quite expensive to levy only 8,000 mercenaries for that sum, and suggests ‘dass er [vielleicht] einen Teil der Summe in die eigene Tasche wandern ließ’. There is no reason, however, why the whole budget would have had to be spent at once. Furthermore, part of it might have been meant for gifts to Polyperchon and Alexandros. Πολυπέρχοντα μὲν στρατηγὸν ἀπέδειξε τῆς Πελοποννήσου: It is unclear what this implies for Polyperchon’s relationship with the Antigonid hierarchy. Bengtson (1964, I, 148) argues that in this position Polyperchon was subordinate to Aristodemos, whom he sees as στρατηγός of Greece. However, Diodoros’ phrase ὁ κατασταθεὶς ὑπ᾽ ᾿Aντιγόνου στρατηγός describing Aristodemos at 66.2, should probably not be taken in a technical sense. It is doubtful whether Polyperchon would have accepted the office if he was to obey Aristodemos. According to Huß (2001, 147), this was ‘ein grotesker Vorgang! Der Reichsfeldherr Asiens ernnante den Reichsverweser zum Oberbefehlshaber und Statthalter eines begrenzten Gebiets’. Whether Polyperchon admitted only now (Bengtson 1964, I, 88) that he had been deposed by Eurydike or not, since the death of Olympias and his military failure in Macedonia (see 36.6 and 52.6) he had no choice but to recognize it, and without a doubt Antigonos already considered himself the rightful regent (see below, 61.3 ἐὰν μὴ πειθαρχῇ…).

60.2 ᾿Aσκληπιοδώρου τοῦ Κασσάνδρου στρατηγοῦ: Several individuals by the name of Asklepiodoros are known under Alexander, but none of them can be se-

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curely identified with the general of Kassandros, who is otherwise unknown (Heckel 2006, 58).

60.3 Ζιβύτην τὸν βασιλέα τῶν Βιθυνῶν: Zipoites succeeded to the throne of Bithynia in 328/7. His father Bas had established the independence of the kingdom by defeating Alexander’s satrap of Hellespontine Phrygia, Kalas. From the present moment until Antigonos’ death in 301, Zipoites seems to have been a loyal ally (Berve 1926, II, no. 338; Habicht 1972; Billows 1990, 440 – 442; Fernoux 2004, 30 – 31; Heckel 2006, 273). While Fischer and Bizière adopt R’s reading Ζιβύτην, it is clear from all other attestations that the variant Ζιβοίτην found in F is closer to the correct form of the name (Wesseling, ad loc.; cf. the references to the sources in Habicht 1972, 448). On the Bithynian kingdom, see Orth 1993, 32. τήν τε τῶν ᾿Aστακηνῶν καὶ Χαλκηδονίων πόλιν: Chalkedon, opposite Byzantion on the other side of the Bosporos, was a strategically important seaport (Orth 1993, 40 – 41). The precise location of Astakos, southeast of Chalkedon, is unknown (Orth 1993, 32). ποιησάμενος δὲ συμμαχίαν πρός τε τὰς πόλεις ταύτας καὶ πρὸς τὸν Ζιβύτην, ἔτι δὲ λαβὼν ὁμήρους: It is debated whether the alliance implies that Zipoites had to recognize Antigonos’ sovereignty or not (Habicht 1972, 459; Billows 1990, 441).

60.4 Ἐρυθράς: Erythrai, on the coast of Asia Minor opposite Chios seems to have retained a certain amount of autonomy under Antigonos (Orth 1993, 34– 35). ἀπέπλευσεν ἄπρακτος: Cf. I.Erythrai Klazomenai 31, l. 22– 23 for Erythrai and Antigonos. According to Seibert (1969, 145), the general lack of success of Seleukos’ operations and the fact that the vessels assembled at the Hellespont could reach Antigonos apparently unhindered (62.7), reveal that the enemy was unable properly to exploit their naval superiority; he explains this by the lack of maritime experience of the Successors who had only fought land battles under Alexander (but see also below, 64.5 ἤκουσεν). The word ἄπρακτος, which occurs throughout the Bibliotheke (a total of 48 instances from book II to XXXVI), is very frequent in book XIX (also at 29.1, 36.3, 51.5, 55.8, 57.2, 75.6, 84.3, 84.4); again the clustered occurrence of vocabulary is evident (cf. also e.g. the following instances: XIII 40.2 [twice], 46.1, 46.4, XIV 71.3, 72.4, XV 27.3, 27.4, 29.6, 43.2, 44.4, XVI 4.4, 5.1; cf. supra, Part I, §2.3).

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§ 61 Antigonos’ Propagandistic Proclamation at Tyre Antigonos showed himself an excellent strategist in not limiting himself to military attacks. By making a proclamation which condemned Kassandros for his real and alleged actions against the royal house, he presented himself as the true champion of the Argead cause, by which he hoped not only to secure the loyalty of the upper satraps, as Diodoros states (61.4), but also of the mass of the Macedonians. Equally brilliant was the idea to stand up as the defender of Greek freedom, in order to win over the Greeks to his side. While it is difficult to be sure how accurately Diodoros reports Antigonos’ address to the assembly, his account surely fits perfectly with what we know otherwise of Antigonid propaganda: the idea of freedom for the Greeks is a constant in Antigonid self-presentation and their championing the Argead cause is likewise well-attested (Alonso Troncoso 2016). It is thus surprising that some have used Antigonos’ claims to retrieve factual information for instance about general Macedonian sentiments at the time (cf. supra, 52.2 ἔκτισε…), the details of Kassandros’ marriage to Thessalonike (cf. supra, 52.1 διὸ καὶ Θεσσαλονίκην…) or about the status of Kassandreia (cf. supra, 52.2 τὴν Ποτίδαιαν).

61.1 παραγενομένου πρὸς αὐτὸν ᾿Aλεξάνδρου τοῦ Πολυπέρχοντος: Alexandros arrived at Tyre in the late spring of 315 (see above, 57.1 προάγοντος…; contra Errington 1977, 497 proposing a date in the summer or possibly even later in 314, which is both a year too late, and too late in the year). τῶν τε στρατιωτῶν καὶ τῶν παρεπιδημούντων κοινὴν ἐκκλησίαν: Antigonos called an assembly to give additional authority to his decisions, and to gain the goodwill of his Macedonians by so strongly championing the Argead house, not because of any constitutional powers the army had (Errington 1978, 119 – 120; Billows 1990, 54; Anson 1991, 247 n. 66; O’Neil 1999b, 39; Huß 2001, 148 n. 428; cf. supra, 14.4 κοινῷ…, on the assembly, and Caneva 2016, 47– 59 on legitimating uses of the assembly under the Successors). The precise identity of the παρεπιδημοῦντες is debated. Obviously they were Macedonians (Hammond 1999, 485; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 102 n. 51; contra Adams 1974, 113), but most assume that the camp followers are meant (Simpson 1959b, 389; Briant 1973b, 300; Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 200 – 201; Rzepka 2005, 128 n. 25), while others argue for Macedonians settled in the region (Hammond 1993, 16) or the European delegation under Alexandros (Engel s.d., 121 n. 273). All of these alternatives seem possible, but the last one is the most likely as this makes the most sense out of their being mentioned at all; furthermore, it is the most common context

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in which the word features in Hellenistic historiography (cf. esp. Plb. XXVIII 19.2, XXXIII 15.2; Diod. XXXII 15.3). Carlier (2000, 261) suggests that it is the normal situation that ‘all the members of the community who happen to be nearby are convened’ to the assembly. κατηγόρησε Κασσάνδρου, προφερόμενος τήν τε Ὀλυμπιάδος ἀναίρεσιν καὶ τὰ συμβάντα περὶ Ῥωξάνην καὶ τὸν βασιλέα: Antigonos championing the Argead cause before the assembly was nothing less – and nothing more – than a brilliant propaganda move. The best way to secure the support of his soldiers was to present himself as the last true defender of the Argead house (Hammond 1988a, 148; Alonso Troncoso 2016). Similar arguments were presented to the Macedonian assembly with the very same aim by Demetrios in 294: Just. XVI 1.12– 17; cf. Plut. Demetr. 37.2– 4; Bosworth 2002, 251– 252; Carney 2015, 155 – 156. However, Antigonos himself seems to have held Kleopatra (XX 37.4– 6) as well as Herakles and Barsine (cf. Billows 1990, 140) in custody, and whereas all other Successors did not stop dating according to Argead regnal years before their own assumption of the title, documents dated to the years of Antigonos as general have been found in Idoumaia (Zadok 1997; Boiy 2007b, 90 – 91; Porten & Yardeni 2014, xxxix) and Babylonia (Boiy 2007b, 84– 89): though this dating formula was not intended to deny the authority of Alexander IV (cf. infra, 61.3 ἐὰν μὴ πειθαρχῇ…), his absence from it is nonetheless remarkable. Some have made much of the absence of accusations of crimes against Alexander the Great (esp. Bosworth 1986, 11– 12). But if anything is to be concluded from that observation, it is probably that Antigonos simply had no substantial allegations against Kassandros in this respect; it certainly does not show that Alexander’s memory was not important at the time (Meeus 2009a, esp. 245; Alonso Troncoso 2016).

61.2 ὡς Θεσσαλονίκην μὲν βιασάμενος ἔγημεν, φανερῶς δὲ ἐξιδιάζεται τὴν Μακεδόνων βασιλείαν: Whether Kassandros had actually forced Thessalonike we do not know: this is our only evidence alleging it, by no means an unbiased testimony (cf. supra, 52.2 διὸ καί…). The connection between marrying a royal woman and the ambition to become king is often made (also at XVIII 23.3 and XX 37.4). ὡς Ὀλυνθίους ὄντας πολεμιωτάτους Μακεδόνων κατῴκισεν εἰς τὴν ὁμώνυμον ἑαυτοῦ πόλιν καὶ Θήβας ἀνέστησε τὰς ὑπὸ Μακεδόνων κατασκαφείσας: In fact, the decision to destroy Thebes had been taken in a council with the Greek allies; technically Alexander did not want to be responsible for it, although few will have had any doubts as to whose idea it was (Bos-

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worth 1980b, 90; Gullath 1982, 84; Yardley & Heckel 1997, 94). Here, then, we have an interesting change of perspective, which shows clearly how Antigonos interpreted events in such a way as to be able to charge Kassandros of something which otherwise could hardly have been considered a crime. The same is true for the mention of Olynthos: while Kassandreia did incorporate remaining Olynthians in its population (see above, 52.2 τῶν Ὀλυνθίων…), it actually constituted a refoundation of Poteidaia (cf. supra, 52.2 τὴν Ποτίδαιαν). In fact, it rather seems that the foundation of Kassandreia meant the definitive abandonment of Olynthos (Meyer 1965, 634 with further references). Antigonos’ spin in terms of Kassandros’ revival of two cities hostile to Macedonia was undoubtedly rhetorically effective, but hardly an accurate presentation of events. A further potential reason for the mention of Olynthos, as suggested by Hatzopoulos (1996a, I, 200 – 201), was that some of Antigonos’ soldiers owned land there granted to them after the city’s capture by Philippos II and may now have worried about the security of their possessions. Much has been made of the fact that the foundation of Thessaloniki was not part of Antigonos’ accusations (Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 201; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 102): regardless of the question of the completeness of Diodoros’ report, it is not even certain that the city had already been founded by 315 (see above, 52.2 ἔκτισε…).

61.3 συναγανακτούντων δὲ τῶν ὄχλων: Antigonos will not have had much trouble convincing the Macedonians, as his presentation of events was carefully crafted to appeal to the men, their loyalty to the royal house being the main factor (cf. Olympias’ confidence and Kassandros’ fear on the subject of her appearance in an assembly at 51.4, and below, 61.4 αὐτοῦ…). Also compare Perdikkas’ use of an army assembly to cancel Alexander’s last plans, so as not to appear to be detracting from Alexander’s glory: Diod. XVIII 4.1– 6. τὸν Κάσσανδρον ἐψηφίσατο πολέμιον εἶναι, ἐὰν μὴ τάς τε πόλεις καθέλῃ καὶ τὸν βασιλέα καὶ τὴν μητέρα τὴν Ῥωξάνην προαγαγὼν ἐκ τῆς φυλακῆς ἀποδῷ τοῖς Μακεδόσι: Of course Antigonos did not really expect that Kassandros would destroy those cities, nor even that he would release Alexander IV and Rhoxane: the statement was simply meant to declare Kassandros an enemy in such a way that he could not clear himself. As Billows (1990, 114) pointed out, the proclamation should be understood as a counter-move to the ultimatum of the coalition. Through his rejection of the ultimatum Antigonos had in a way become the aggressor; the dogma of his assembly gave him the basis to blame Kassandros for the conflict (cf. Beloch 1925, 120; Rosen 1967a, 80; Adams 1974, 114).

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ἐὰν μὴ πειθαρχῇ τῷ καθεσταμένῳ στρατηγῷ καὶ τῆς βασιλείας παρειληφότι τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ᾿Aντιγόνῳ: Cf. the very similar statement of Demetrios before the Macedonian assembly in 294 according to Justin (XVI 1.13): ‘liberorum deinde Alexandri ministrum et ad persequendos defectores ducem extitisse’. The ἐπιμέλεια τῆς βασιλείας at the very least entailed the de facto regency of the empire, perhaps also the guardianship of the minor king, but the terminology of the sources is inconsistent and its meaning is debated (Anson 2009b, 284; Meeus 2009c, 287– 302; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 79; Buraselis 2017). On what grounds Antigonos claimed the regency is unclear. Many believe there was a formal cession of rights by Polyperchon (Droysen 1878, II, 12 n. 2; Granier 1931, 93; Rosen 1967a, 79; Billows 1990, 114– 115; Anson 2014, 133 – 134; Alonso Troncoso 2016, 106), while others assume that Antigonos had the regency conferred to him by the assembly on the present occasion (Simpson 1957c; Bengtson 1964, 115 – 116; Huß 2001, 148 – 149). The truth is that we do not know, and actually it may not be very relevant. Since Eumenes’ appointment as strategos of Asia in 318 and the transfer of the regency to Kassandros in 317 it is likely that each of these offices was respectively being claimed by two men, each of them supported by some of the other Diadochoi: while there was no longer a rival claimant to the generalship of Asia after the death of Eumenes, the present assertion of Antigonos’ regency is all the more pointed because it implies a direct denial of Kassandros’ claim. At any rate, constitutional legitimacy had become vague, and the Successors might not have worried too much about legal niceties (cf. Fontana 1960, 116 ‘in realtà non ci sono diritti da difendere ma solo ambizioni a soddisfare’; Carney 2006a, 78 and 86). Whatever the nature of the procedure was, the claim to the regency was highly important, as Antigonos needed the office not only to undermine Kassandros, but even more importantly to resolve the paradox that he was fighting to establish his own power whilst posing as the champion of the royal house: the latter stance is also clear from his desire to convince the Macedonians in the Upper Satrapies of his loyalty to the Argead dynasty (61.4; cf. Meeus 2020a, 296 on the paradox). Antigonos’ claim to the regency seems to have been officially expressed in the dating formulas of documents from the areas under his control (cf. supra, Part I, §4). εἶναι δὲ καὶ τοὺς Ἕλληνας ἅπαντας ἐλευθέρους, ἀφρουρήτους, αὐτονόμους: Freedom and autonomy were fundamental for a Greek polis and the claim to be liberating or defending the freedom of all poleis was in use as a propaganda weapon since the fifth century. The topic is too large to be dealt with here. The main point in the present context, as Diodoros also notes (61.4: τοὺς μὲν γὰρ Ἕλληνας ὑπελάμβανε διὰ τὴν ἐλπίδα τῆς ἐλευθερίας προθύμους ἕξειν συναγωνιστὰς εἰς τὸν πόλεμον), is that such proclamations were inspired by self-interest, aiming to win the support of the Greek cities and to deprive op-

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ponents of such backing (there is a vast body of literature on the subject: see e.g. Heuß 1938; Cloché 1948; Simpson 1959b; Braunert 1964, 86 – 87; Wehrli 1968, 103 – 129; Will 1979, 56 – 58; Lanciers 1987, 54– 64; Halfmann 1989; Billows 1990, 197– 236; Lund 1992, 115 – 118; Stylianou 1994, 51– 67; Dixon 2007; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 223). As in the rest of the declaration, Kassandros was the main target: his refoundation of Thebes may have enhanced the goodwill he enjoyed amongst the Greeks substantially, but he did have many garrisons all over Greece (cf. Boehm 2018, 45 – 46; supra, 53.2 καὶ διὰ τὴν εὐεργεσίαν…). It was essentially the same strategy Polyperchon had adopted against Kassandros with his edict on the restoration of the democracies in 319/8, although he had not gone as far in professing freedom for the poleis (Diod. XVIII 55.2– 3, οὕτως γὰρ ἂν μάλιστα τὸν μὲν Κάσανδρον ταπεινώσειν, ἑαυτοῖς δὲ μεγάλην δόξαν καὶ πολλὰς συμμαχίας ἀξιολόγους περιποιήσειν; Adams 1974, 114; Hammond 1988a, 149; Billows 1990, 198 – 199). The proclamation does not mean, however, that there would be no Antigonid garrisons in Greece (see below, 66.3 καταλιπών… and τοῖς Αἰγιεῦσι…, as well XX 19.3 – 4, 27.1, perhaps 37.1; a different case maybe XX 103.3, though this depends on the reliability of the claim that the Korinthians themselves wanted the garrison). Indeed, the view that Olynthos and Thebes must not be re-built because they had been destroyed by the Macedonians (61.2), although their citizens still identified themselves as members of these poleis, shows that Antigonos’ primary concern was not Greek freedom but Antigonid power and influence. Given these obviously opportunistic reasons, I doubt whether it makes sense to describe Antigonos as ‘philhellene’ on the basis of his practice (Lund 1992, 116; pace Billows 1990, 236; Cargill 1995, 46): in the end this question is not very relevant of course, as we shall never know Antigonos’ true complete motivation, but it may be preferable to leave it unanswered. Being ungarrisoned often appears as a crucial aspect of freedom (see e.g. XV 38.2, XX 99.3; Plb. IV 25.6 – 7 [with Walbank 1957, ad loc.], 84.5, XVIII 46.5; D.H. AR III 60.2). Although it seems rather rare in inscriptions from the age of the Successors (I.Iasos 2, l. 7, 30, 50 and 55 [Ptolemaios and Iasos]; I.Ilion 45, l. 8 [Ilion and the Seleukids]), Sacks (1994, 228 – 229) plausibly argues that it is not a word that Diodoros would have inserted himself.

61.4 αὐτοῦ φανερῶς τὸν ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν πόλεμον ἀναδεχομένου πάντας μεταπεσεῖσθαι ταῖς γνώμαις καὶ τοῖς παραγγελλομένοις ἑτοίμως ὑπακούσεσθαι: Cf. Just XV 1.3, ‘ut honestum adversus socios bellum suscipere videretur, divulgat se Olympiadis mortem a Cassandro interfectae ulcisci velle et Alexandri, regis sui, filium cum matre obsidione Amphipolitana liberare’. It is apparent on

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many occasions that the loyalty to the kings is a crucial factor in securing the support of the Macedonians (most clearly in XVIII 62.2; cf. supra, 12.1 ἀξιῶν βοηθεῖν…; Hammond 1988a, 148; Meeus 2009a). This is a most important – but often neglected – affirmation that the Macedonians of Asia did not adopt a different attitude towards the royal house than those in the motherland (cf. Errington 2008, 31; contra Briant 1973a, 61– 79). To see that even the satraps in these areas, rather than developing their provinces as independent, personal fiefdoms, were mainly driven by loyalty to the Argead dynasty is telling (pace Carney 2015, 151 who suggests that there may have been widespread contempt for Argead rule amongst the Macedonian elite). For the satraps’ distrust of Antigonos, see above, 17.5 καὶ τὴν σατραπείαν…, 23.4 παρήγαγεν… and 25.3 συγχωρήσειν…

61.5 παρὰ Ῥοδίων μεταπεμψάμενος ναῦς: These were ships of the Rhodian state, rather than the vessels from Antigonos’ shipyards which were still under construction (Hauben 1977b, 327). Consequently, the Rhodians do not appear to have been as consistently neutral in the wars of the Diadochoi as they liked to think themselves (see also Billows 1990, 165 n. 5; Wiemer 2002, 72; cf. already Nietzold 1905, 43), even if one assumes that the shipbuilding on the island only was ‘eine Privatsache der rhodischen Armateurs, denen der Staat ihren Verdienst nicht hinderte’ as Droysen (1878, II, 154) suggests. θαλαττοκρατῶν δὲ καὶ διακωλύων σῖτον εἰσάγεσθαι προσεκαρτέρησε μὲν ἐνιαυτὸν καὶ τρεῖς μῆνας: It is often held that the whole siege lasted a year and three months (Niese 1893, 283 n. 6; Errington 1977, 496 n. 59; Hauben 1977b, 322 n. 71; Billows 1990, 116; Stylianou 1994, 76; Huß 2001, 149). Unless the siege started only now (but see above, 58.1 πολιορκῆσαι…), this is certainly not what Diodoros says. Of course, we should always be careful in equating the literal meaning of what Diodoros writes with the actual course of events, but in the present instance there does not seem to be any confusion. Probably the siege over land lasted somewhat longer, the period of a year and three months being only the blockade at sea (cf. Murray 2012, 100 – 101). Given that it was summer by now (see above, 61.1 παραγενομένου…), the siege must have lasted until very late in the campaigning season of 314. τοῖς μὲν παρὰ Πτολεμαίου στρατιώταις συνεχώρησεν ἀπελθεῖν ἔχουσι τὰ ἑαυτῶν: Antigonos will have wanted to repay Ptolemaios for his kindness in releasing the Antigonid admiral Perilaos and some others in the winter of 315/4 (see below, 64.8 τὸν δὲ Περίλαον…). Such magnanimity was part of the euergetic image of the king (Gehrke 1982, 263), and it was practised by the Diadochoi on several occasions (Diod. XIX 64.8, 85.3; Plut. Demetr. 6.3 and 17.1; cf. also Plut.

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Demetr. 50.1, describing Seleukos’ delight at the opportunity to display his kindness towards Demetrios). However, it seems to have been a more common practice for the victor to enlist the captive soldiers in his own army (see above, 59.2 τοὺς μέν…; at 73.10 we find a combination of both).

§ 62 The Reaction of Ptolemaios Ptolemaios, that other great master of propaganda, immediately realized that he could not let Antigonos alone pose as the liberator of the Greeks and issued a declaration to the effect that he was equally concerned about Greek freedom (Meeus 2014, 285 – 286). He also sent a large expeditionary force to Cyprus, in order to remove the island from Antigonid control. Diodoros further describes how both sides prepared for the crucial operations in the Aegean (Anson 2014, 138 – 139).

62.1 ἅμα δὲ τούτοις πραττομένοις: Cf. supra, 16.1 ἅμα δέ… Errington (1977, 497) argues that τούτοις ‘must refer to the later stages of the siege of Tyre’ (summer/autumn 314), and finds confirmation of this in Menelaos’ despatch to Cyprus. There is no point in taking Diodoros’ phrase literally, however, as it is merely a generic formula meaning ‘in the same year’ (see above, 17.2 περὶ δὲ τούτους…), which can therefore be at any time during the period Diodoros treats under a single archon, in this case from summer 316 until autumn 314 (315 – 313 for Errington). As to the mission of Menelaos, Errington’s reasoning is correct, but his conclusion is wrong, because he misdates Kassandros’ presence at the Nemean games. This was not the festival of 313, but certainly that of 315 (see Part I, §4, and below, 64.1 θείς…). Polykleitos’ arrival in the Peloponnese (64.4) in the same year therefore belongs to 315 as well. The latter was sent out from Cyprus by Seleukos and Menelaos, so that he must have left for the Peloponnese in 315 as well, not in 313. Thus, the events in chapter 62 are contemporary with the earlier stages of the siege of Tyre, rather than the later ones. περὶ τῆς τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἐλευθερίας ἔγραψε καὶ αὐτὸς τὰ παραπλήσια, βουλόμενος εἰδέναι τοὺς Ἕλληνας ὅτι φροντίζει τῆς αὐτονομίας αὐτῶν οὐχ ἧττον ᾿Aντιγόνου: Ptolemaios’ hastening to profess that he too was the champion of Greek freedom is easily explained by the reason Diodoros provides. That this could seriously damage the interests of his ally Kassandros, who had garrisons in many Greek cities, does not only prove that Ptolemaios looked farther than the immediate future (Will 1979, 56), but it also reveals once more that a

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treaty by no means had an absolute significance for the Successors (cf. Adams 1974, 115 for the present instance). Treaties were concluded out of expedience and the same opportunism usually ensured that they would be broken as soon as one of the parties deemed the alliance harmful to his personal interests (Meeus 2018b). Nonetheless, for the time being Ptolemaios seems to have refrained from direct actions against Kassandros (Heuß 1938, 150; Simpson 1959b, 390), and he even sent out Polykleitos to support him in the Peloponnese (62.5, 64.5; contra Gullath 1982, 150 n. 3). This should not mean, though, that Ptolemaios only proclaimed the freedom of the Greeks in his own territories, as Manni (1951, 104– 105) argued in an attempt to save both the effectiveness of Ptolemaios’ declaration and the correct legal relationship between the satrap of Egypt and Kassandros. Such legalistic approaches can only hamper our understanding of the actual – mostly opportunistic and anarchic – actions and alliances of the Successors. Ptolemaios can hardly be said to have been cooperating with Kassandros on anything but those matters which were in his own personal interest (cf. Simpson 1954, 27). The Athena Promachos which appeared on the reverse of Ptolemaios’ coinage around 315 has sometimes been taken as an expression of his championing Greek liberty (Lanciers 1987, 55 with further references in n. 17; Bernhardt 2014, 66; contra Lorber 2018, I, 59 with n. 478). The date of Ptolemaios’ proclamation is unknown: the winter of 314/3 (315/4 in our chronology) has been suggested (Errington 1977, 497 and Huß 2001, 150), but the reaction might have come much sooner than that.

62.2 οὐ γὰρ μικρὰν ῥοπὴν ὁρῶντες οὖσαν ἑκάτεροι προσλαβέσθαι τὴν τῶν Ἑλλήνων εὔνοιαν διημιλλῶντο πρὸς ἀλλήλους περὶ τῆς εἰς τούτους εὐεργεσίας: Cf. XX 37.2, ἐπεβάλετο μὲν οὖν καὶ τὰς ἄλλας Ἑλληνίδας πόλεις Πτολεμαῖος ἐλευθεροῦν, μεγάλην προσθήκην ἡγούμενος ἔσεσθαι τοῖς ἰδίοις πράγμασι τὴν τῶν Ἑλλήνων εὔνοιαν. According to Billows (1990, 189) the advantage of good relations with the Greek cities was twofold: Antigonos hoped that many Greeks would take service with him – Greek cities being the main source of manpower –, and he wanted to weaken Kassandros’ position in Greece (cf. previous lemma; Rostovtzeff 1953, I, 138 – 143; Davies 2002, 6 – 7; Boehm 2018, 104). The same applied to Ptolemaios, of course, although in 315 it was more important for him to diminish Greek support for Antigonos than for Kassandros. προσελάβετο δ᾽ εἰς τὴν συμμαχίαν καὶ τὸν τῆς Καρίας σατράπην Ἄσανδρον: Asandros, son of Agathon, of Beroia was appointed satrap of Karia in 323 and confirmed in the office at Triparadeisos (Berve 1926, II,

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no. 164; Tataki 1998, 76 – 77; Heckel 2006, 57; Capdetrey 2012a; Blümel, ad I.Nordkarien 151 l. 2). According to Marcellesi (2004, 81), Asandros was allied to Ptolemaios in a subordinate position, but that is not necessarily true: at the time both men were satraps and thus at least technically they were peers (cf. Meeus 2013a, 132). On the basis of Diodoros’ wording it has been argued that Asandros only entered into an alliance with Ptolemaios (Seibert 1969, 159 – 160; Huß 2001, 150 n. 439), not with the other members of the coalition. Whether such was the legal situation or not is less relevant than that it implied that Asandros was at least indirectly associated with Kassandros and Lysimachos as well, and perhaps Diodoros simply means that Ptolemaios was the one to induce Asandros to join the coalition. In the winter of 314/313 Asandros went to Athens (IG II2 450/AIUK 2 [BSA] no. 1), which may mean that he had also concluded an alliance with Kassandros; Billows (1990, 116), on the other hand, suggests that Asandros went to Athens in order to negotiate an alliance with Kassandros. While there, he provided the Athenians with ships and soldiers (IG II2 450, l. 18 – 21) but unfortunately their purpose is lost in a lacuna. On the satrapy of Karia in southwestern Asia Minor, see Orth 1993, 42– 43; Capdetrey 2012a; LaBuff 2015, 33 – 35. It was of obvious strategic importance for the war: it controlled the access to the Aegean from the Southeast and Rhodes is in immediate proximity (Huß 2001, 150; cf. Hauben 1977b, 322 for Rhodes).

62.3 προαπεσταλκὼς δὲ τοῖς ἐν Κύπρῳ βασιλεῦσι στρατιώτας τρισχιλίους ἐξέπεμψε τότε δύναμιν ἁδράν: Ptolemaios had to try to control the whole island because the enemy was on his doorstep in southern Palestine, and his best chance of bringing Antigonos’ Syrian bases in trouble was through the control of Cyprus (cf. the attack in 312, described at XIX 79.6). It was a sound decision to send such a large contingent (62.4) there (Huß 2001, 150 – 151). τοὺς ἐναντιοπραγοῦντας: The word ἐναντιοπραγεῖν seems to be unique to Diodoros (also at III 65.3, IV 49.3, XV 59.4): no other extant ancient author seems to have used it (for the Byzantine age the TLG does list one attestation of the verb and one of the related noun ἐναντιοπραγία); cf. Bearzot 2018, 332.

62.4 Μυρμιδόνα μὲν οὖν τὸν ᾿Aθηναῖον: Myrmidon of Athens is otherwise unknown (PP VI 15223; cf. Bugh 2006a, 269). O’Neil (2006, 23) seems to have overlooked him in his analysis of the ethnic origins of Ptolemaic officials.

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Πολύκλειτον: Polykleitos is only known from these chapters of Diodoros (see also 64.4– 8), and from the dedication of a golden laurel crown at Delos before 279 first recorded in IG XI.2, 161B, l. 86 – 87 (PP V 13784; Hauben 1975, no. 30). Except for the name there are no arguments for the identification of Polykleitos with the homonymous companion and historian of Alexander (Hauben 1975, 80; Heckel 2006, 225). τῶν δὲ πάντων στρατηγὸν Μενέλαον τὸν ἀδελφόν: Ptolemaios’ brother Menelaos is attested only once before, in an anecdote on the luxurious habits of Alexander’s courtiers (Ath. XII 539d), if both individuals are to be identified (Berve 1926, II, no. 505; PP III 5196 and VI 14537; Heckel 2006, 164; Markou 2013). He seems to have served on Cyprus from 310 to 306 as well, but it is not clear with what title. That he was already installed as στρατηγός of Cyprus on the present occasion is unlikely; rather, he was merely the commander of the expedition (Bagnall 1976, 40 – 42; see also below, 79.5 τῆς μὲν Κύπρου…). According to Grainger (1990a, 63 – 64) Menelaos lacked the essential military skills, and Seleukos had to do all the fighting, which supposedly had the additional advantage that the latter ‘would thus acquire the odium pertaining to a conqueror and then sail off, leaving Menelaos with clean hands to rule the island’. This interpretation is questionable on several counts. That the people of Cyprus were so naive as not to connect Seleukos’ actions with Menelaos is most unlikely. Furthermore, as the latter apparently was not installed as governor of the island until after the death of Nikokreon (Bagnall, loc. cit.), such a division of tasks cannot have taken place. If Menelaos was only fit for administrative work, Ptolemaios would probably have found a much more suitable job for him in Egypt proper. Governing Cyprus, moreover, was not merely a civil duty (see e.g. XX 47.3 – 4). One also wonders why Menelaos would have been given the supreme command on the present occasion if he were no military man.

62.5 Πολύκλειτον μετὰ πεντήκοντα νεῶν πλεῖν εἰς Πελοπόννησον: Whether this was done without Kassandros’ knowledge so that Ptolemaios could test the climate after his proclamation of Greek freedom is unclear (Adams 1974, 118; cf. Gullath 1982, 150 n. 3). Dixon’s assumption (2007, 172) that Ptolemaios in this way wanted to show the sincerity of his proclamation, is hardly likely as Polykleitos was to fight for Kassandros and against the liberators (64.5). At least at this stage of the war the cooperation between the anti-Antigonid allies might have been greater than is usually assumed (e.g. Winnicki 1989, 58: ‘von gemeinsamen Aktionen war nichts zu hören gewesen’). We know from IG II3.1 985 that Thymochares was sent to Cyprus with an Athenian fleet, no doubt on Kassan-

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dros’ instructions and probably together with a number of the latter’s vessels (Hauben 1975, 102 with n. 7; Habicht 1995, 71; contra Bayliss 2006, who dates Thymochares’ expedition to 321/0), so that it does not seem far-fetched to assume that the decision to send Polykleitos from Cyprus to the Peloponnese to fight against Alexandros was a measure which should be seen in the context of concerted actions of the coalition. βοηθήσοντας τοῖς περὶ τὸν Ἄσανδρον πολεμουμένοις ὑπὸ Πολεμαίου τοῦ στρατηγοῦ: The mission does not seem to have been successful, as the Ptolemaic allies in Karia appear to be in great difficulties the next year (68.2; Billows 1990, 119).

62.6 οἱ περὶ Σέλευκον Κερυνίαν μὲν καὶ Λάπιθον ἐξεπολιόρκησαν, Στασίοικον δὲ τὸν βασιλέα τῶν Μαριέων προσαγαγόμενοι: All but one of Antigonos’ Cypriot allies are now on Ptolemaios’ side (cf. supra, 59.1 ὁ δὲ Κιτιεύς…). Probably Diodoros is summarizing the operations of two campaigning seasons (Hauben 1977b, 324). On Stasioikos, see Destrooper 2014, 174– 175. τὸν ᾿Aμαθουσίων δυνάστην ἠνάγκασαν ὅμηρα δοῦναι: The king of Amathous was Androkles (Hellman & Hermary 1980, 263). According to Collombier (1993, 132), he had adopted ‘une politique pragmatique et une attitude attentiste’ and did not conclude an alliance with Antigonos although he did not favour the Ptolemaic side. However this may be, there seem to have been some doubts concerning his loyalty at the present time (cf. Mehl 1995, 101; Huß 2001, 147 n. 414).

62.7 ἐξ Ἑλλησπόντου: As Hauben (1977b, 324) argues, the contingents of Themison and Dioskourides had probably assembled at the Hellespont, the ships coming from allied cities like Herakleia and Kalchedon and the Ionian poleis (cf. 60.2– 4). It is likely, though, that the ships Antigonos had captured in the sea battle against Kleitos (XVIII 72.8) were also part of this fleet (Buraselis 1982, 42 n. 14b). When they arrived is unclear. Θεμίσωνος ναυαρχοῦντος: Themison of Samos is attested only twice (see also XX 50.4, a mere mention of his position in the battle order Salamis in 306), in both instances in his function of Antigonid naval officer. This may but need not mean that he was not part of the circle of Antigonos’ main officers (Hauben 1975, no. 34, cf. no. 39; Billows 1990, 436), though cf. infra, 85.2 Βοιωτός…

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Διοσκουρίδης: Not much is known of Antigonos’ nephew Dioskourides – possibly a brother of Polemaios –, but his later mission in the Aegean (see below, 62.9 τῶν δ᾽ ἄλλων…; cf. 68.4) proves that he was one of the most trusted Antigonid naval officers. As nothing further is known of him, it is assumed that he might have died young or fallen out of favour with Antigonos (Hauben 1975, no. 10; Billows 1990, 381– 382), but we cannot exclude that the limitations of the sources are to blame; any rate Dioskourides no longer commanded the fleet after that mission, as Medeios seems to have taken over (cf. 69.3).

62.8 προϋπῆρχον δ᾽ αὐτῷ κατηρτισμέναι ναῦς τῶν ἐν Φοινίκῃ ναυπηγηθεισῶν αἱ πρῶται συντελεσθεῖσαι: The verb προϋπῆρχον seems to mean that he had the newly built ships before the arrival of those coming from the Hellespont: the present statement is thus compatible with 61.5 without being a repetition of the same information on the Rhodian and the newly constructed ships (pace Hauben 1977b, 324– 325 with n. 84). Different Rhodian contingents may be meant in both passages: as the construction works went on, new vessels could be sent, or we are rather facing first a contingent of actual Rhodian ships and then the first group of new vessels from the shipyard on the island (cf. infra, 64.5 ταῖς ἀπὸ Ῥόδου…). Even if the present passage does not reiterate 61.5, it would remain possible that Dioskourides arrived relatively early during the siege. τούτων δ᾽ ἦσαν τετρήρεις μὲν ἐννενήκοντα πεντήρεις δὲ δέκα, ἐννήρεις δὲ τρεῖς, δεκήρεις δὲ δέκα, ἄφρακτοι δὲ τριάκοντα: What the numbers in the names of the ships exactly mean is unclear. The τριήρης probably consisted of three superimposed banks of rowers, but obviously that explanation cannot be applied to ships like an ἐννήρης, let alone to those with even higher numbers attested later (culminating in the ‘forty’ of Ptolemaios IV). On the other hand, the maximum practicable number of rowers to an oar is eight. Most likely, then, both systems should be combined: superimposed banks of multiplerower sweeps (see Casson 1971, esp. 97– 100, cf. ibid. 137– 140 on the naval arms race; Morrison et al. 2000, esp. 3 – 24, 48; Murray 2012; I did not have access to Tilley 2001). On ἄφρακτοι, or open galleys (as opposed to the kataphraktoi with the numbers), see Casson 1971, passim.

62.9 τῶν δ᾽ ἄλλων ναύαρχον καταστήσας Διοσκουρίδην τὸν ἀδελφιδοῦν: On Dioskourides, see above, 62.7 Διοσκουρίδης. As Diodoros is anticipating events of

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the next archon year (314/3, Nikodoros) here, the chronology is unclear. Stylianou (1994, 75 – 76) argued that Dioskourides was despatched only in the spring of 313, because at the time the siege of Tyre ended, autumn had already set in (see above, 61.5 θαλαττοκρατῶν…). He therefore assumes that Dioskourides’ mission is unlikely to have begun before the start of the next sailing season. However, it is clear from Dioskourides’ activity at Lemnos (68.3 – 4) that he was in the Aegean late in 314. The liberation of Lemnos by the Antigonid fleet is the last European event Diodoros deals with under the archonship of Nikodoros, which in his narrative is equated with the campaigning year 314. Consequently, Dioskourides was at Lemnos at the end of 314, which implies he was sent out as soon as his ships were no longer needed at Tyre. τοῖς τε συμμάχοις παρεχόμενον τὴν ἀσφάλειαν: The allies may have needed protection against piracy (thus Hauben 1975, 28) or against attempts of the coalition to force them to defect (cf. 68.3 – 4, Dioskourides’ intervention on Lemnos). At 66.3 the phrase τοὺς παρεξομένους τῷ φρουρίῳ τὴν ἀσφάλειαν clearly refers to security from conquest by the enemy. O’Sullivan (2009, 281) notes that the Athenians answered Antigonos’ claim by likewise professing to make the sea safe: παρεσκεύασεν ἀσφάλειαν τοῖς πλέουσι τὴν θάλατταν (IG II3.1 985, l. 12– 13), which does indeed concern some form of piracy, but also the capture of a polis. It may be too far-fetched to speculate that Hieronymos’ work had been published not long before this decree was passed in the Athenian assembly in 259/8. Perhaps it was simply a common Antigonid claim. τῶν νήσων τὰς μήπω μετεχούσας τῆς συμμαχίας προσαγόμενον: The symmachia is probably a general reference to Antigonos and all his allies in the third Diadoch War (cf. 57.3), like at 77.7 (μετέχειν τῆς συμμαχίας, about the Byzantines) and at 78.3 (εἰς τὴν συμμαχίαν προσλαβόμενος, about Erertia and Karystos); cf. 66.2 for a case concerning the opposing συμμαχία. I thus do not see how the wording here would be a specific reference to the League of the Islanders (pace Merker 1970, 141 n. 2). According to Billows (1990, 118 n. 45), the islands that were already allied to Antigonos included Rhodes (see above, 57.4 Ῥόδον; 61.5 παρὰ Ῥοδίων…), Samos, and Chios, so that in principle all other islands could be meant here, not just the members of the league. Yet, it is widely accepted that the present operation by Dioskourides entailed the foundation of the league (Hauben 1975, 28, 1977b, 324 and 2014, 253; Buraselis 1982, 41– 43 and 64; Billows 1990, 118 n. 45; Huß 2001, 149 n. 435 with further references; Anson 2014, 139; Mari 2016, 169 – 170 with n. 56; Constantakopoulou 2017, 35). Meadows (2013) forcefully denies any such connection with the Nesiotic League and argues that Dioskourides’ mission was connected to the Karian campaign and only concerned the islands near the coast of Asia Minor. Not all of his arguments are equally convincing, however (cf. Constantakopoulou 2017, 34– 35). On

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balance, it seems that our evidence is quite simply insufficient to make definitive pronouncements about the foundation of the Nesiotic League, let alone about any potential connection to Dioskourides’ expedition.

§ 63 – 64 The First Phase of the War in Europe and the Aegean Now that Polyperchon’s son Alexandros had the support of Aristodemos and 8,000 additional mercenaries (60.1), Kassandros was hard-pressed for control of the Peloponnese. He seems to have been able to capture several cities, after which he presided over the Nemean games. Since the Nemea were held only in odd years, this is an important chronological pointer. Aristodemos’ arrival cannot possibly be dated to 313, so that only the festival of 315 can be meant (see below, 64.1 θείς…). It is clear from Diodoros’ account in these chapters and the following ones how intensely the Third Diadoch War was fought in Greece and how much the mainland Greeks suffered from it (cf. also Anson 2014, 135 – 138).

63.1 ᾿Aπολλωνίδης γὰρ ὁ ταχθεὶς ὑπὸ Κασσάνδρου στρατηγὸς ἐπὶ τῆς ᾿Aργείων πόλεως: Apollonides is otherwise unknown (Bengtson 1964 I, 135; Landucci Gattinoni 2006, 322 n. 51). Kassandros had probably installed an oligarchy in Argos in 316 (cf. supra, 54.3 τὴν τῶν ᾿Aργείων…). τῆς τῶν Στυμφαλίων πόλεως: Stymphalos was a fortified city of northeastern Arkadia (Nielsen 2004a, 529 – 530; Maher 2017, 329 – 345 and passim).

63.2 ἐπεκαλέσαντο τὸν Πολυπέρχοντος ᾿Aλέξανδρον: When Aristodemos came to Europe offering an alliance with Antigonos early in the campaigning season (60.1), Alexandros probably left for Syria immediately, returning to the Peloponnese by the late summer. These events therefore seem to belong to the late summer of 315.

63.4 ἐνταῦθα δὲ συνεπιλαβόμενος τοῖς Θηβαίοις τῆς τῶν τειχῶν οἰκοδομίας: Earlier Diodoros had said that the Athenians were the ones who helped most with the reconstruction of the walls (see above, 54.2 ᾿Aθηναῖοι…), and there is

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no need to assume that Kassandros himself did more than a brief acte de présence at this point. Κεγχρεὰς ἐκπολιορκήσας: Kenchreai was the eastern port of Korinthos, lying on the Saronic gulf and communicating with the Aegean and the East; it seems to have been fortified since the early fifth century (Scranton, ‘Kenchreai’, PECS, 446). τῶν Κορινθίων: Korinthos, controlling the Isthmos from the Peloponnesian side, obviously was a strategically important location (Salmon 1984; Legon 2004, 465 – 468). Philippos V called it one of the three fetters of Greece, along with Chalkis and Demetrias: these three fortresses were crucial to the control of the country (Plb. XVIII 11.5 – 7; also cf. infra, 77.4 Χαλκιδεῖς…). Dixon (2007) has argued that Korinthos also had a strong symbolical appeal to the Diadochoi as it was the historical centre for proclamations of Greek freedom. On the history of the city in the age of the Successors, see now the detailed account of Dixon 2014, 46 – 79. δύο φρούρια κατὰ κράτος ἑλών: Probably these were just forts (thus e.g. Huß 2001, 151), but it seems that Diodoros also uses the word φρούριον in the sense of polis (Nielsen 2002).

63.5 τῇ τῶν Ὀρχομενίων πόλει: Orchomenos in Arkadia, northwest of Mantineia, dominated the surrounding plains from a high hill (936 m), and lay along the road from Sparta to Korinthos and Sikyon, so that the location was strategically significant for the control of the central Peloponnese (Vlad Borelli, ‘Orchomenos’, PECS, 653 – 654; Nielsen 2004a, 523 – 525; Maher 2017, 255 – 269 and passim).

64.1 παρελθὼν εἰς τὴν Μεσσηνίαν καὶ καταλαβὼν φρουρουμένην ὑπὸ Πολυπέρχοντος τὴν πόλιν: On the city of Messene, see above, 54.4 Ἰθώμης. The installation of the garrison by Polyperchon is epigraphically attested in a recently published inscription from the years 319 – 317 (SEG XLIII 135, cf. SEG LI 456; Kolde 2003, 259). παρελθὼν δ᾽ εἰς ᾿Aρκαδίαν Δάμιν μὲν ἐπιμελητὴν τῆς πόλεως ἀπέλιπεν: Damis of Megalopolis had served with Alexander (Diod. XVIII 71.2), but nothing of his actual role in the campaign is known. Probably he had already been installed as governor of the city by Antipatros (Berve 1926, II, no. 240; Heckel 2006, 102). Whereas the manuscripts simply read ἐπιμελητὴν τῆς πόλεως which does not really make sense, Niese (1893, 280 n. 2) has rightly noted that

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Megalopolis has to be meant, because that city was in Arkadia and because we know of Damis’ previous activity there when the city was besieged by Polyperchon (XVIII 71.2). As the central city in Arkadia, Megalopolis was of obvious strategic importance for controlling of the area: Nielsen 2004a, 520 – 522; Maher 2017, 231– 243 and passim; Tombrägel 2017, 26 – 30 and 35. θεὶς τὸν τῶν Νεμέων ἀγῶνα: The Nemean games were held in the Argive month of Panamos, of which the precise calendrical position is unknown: either mid or late summer. Since Kassandros had extensively campaigned in the Peloponnese before the festival, and seems to have returned to Macedonia immediately after the games, a date in late summer is more likely. This is also the time preferred by scholars who have recently investigated the position of Panamos in the Argive calendar (see Perlman 1989; Lambert 2002; Strasser 2007, 334 n. 29). Given that the Nemea were held biennially in odd years, in principle two years are possible for the present festival: 315 or 313. Traditionally the former date was accepted (Beloch 1927, 242), which is impossible in Errington’s chronology, though, because he dates Antigonos’ return from the upper satrapies after the time of the Nemea of 315, and the present events obviously occurred only after that. Thus, Errington (1977, 497) dates Kassandros’ Nemean games to the summer of 313. Stylianou (1994, 83; cf. Wheatley 1998a, 265 – 266) has rightly pointed out, however, that Errington in this way created an inconsistency which seems to prove that his chronology is wrong. The arrival of Aristodemos in the Peloponnese (60.1) is situated in 314 in the low chronology (Errington 1977, 497), but obviously the presence of Aristodemos and the Nemean festival presided over by Kassandros belong to the same year (cf. 63.3). Aristodemos’ Peloponnesian mission cannot be moved down to 313, because it is contemporary with the first year of Antigonos’ blockade of Tyre, which, in turn, is fixed to the year after Seleukos’ flight from Babylon. As the siege of Tyre started in 315 (high chronology) or 314 (low chronology), and there were no Nemea in 314, the festival of 315 is the only possibility. Gullath (1982, 150 n. 5), as far as I know the only proponent of the low chronology to have noticed the problem, tried to explain it away with the argument that Kassandros either organized a special edition of the festival in 314, or that Diodoros has completely garbled the chronology, the games belonging in fact to Kassandros’ presence at Argos during the previous Peloponnesian campaign (54.3). The latter operations, however, are to be dated to 316 (see above, on 52– 54), so that Gullath’s second solution only moves the problem. The assumption that an exceptional festival was held in 314 is not in itself completely impossible (cf. Demetrios’ initiation at Eleusis [Plut. Demetr. 26] and the examples listed by Wheatley 1998a, 266 n. 49), but it is certainly unnecessary as it requires us

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to accept a far-fetched solution while there is no problem in accepting that Diodoros correctly placed the event in 315 (cf. supra, Part I, §4). Presiding over the Nemea, one of the four main panhellenic festivals, was an excellent occasion for royal display reaching an audience of representatives of almost all Greek cities at once: even if most spectators may have been local – as coin finds in the stadium have been taken to imply (Knapp 2001, 233) –, official theoroi from many Greek states would have been present (Miller 1988; cf. Strasser 2007, 342– 343). Furthermore, their missions would perhaps be discussed in the assembly afterwards as may be suggested by the Athenian decree honouring Lapyris (IG II3.1 375). The political importance of presiding at the games is clear from X. HG VI 4.30 and D. 19.128 (cf. also e.g. Liv. XLV 32.8 – 33.5; Jos. BJ I 426 – 427), and from the struggles between states for the control of the sanctuaries and their games (Hornblower 2004, 263 – 266; yet, in the case of the early Hellenistic, and perhaps even the classical, Nemea several scholars have argued for a peaceful and consented relationship between Kleonai and Argos, perhaps under Macedonian pressure, though: Strasser 2007; Nielsen 2018, 224– 226). Antigonos Doson is also known to have held the Nemea, and Polybios (II 70.4– 5) comments on the importance of this interaction between Antigonos and the Greeks. Amongst the Successors Ptolemaios took charge of the Isthmia during his Greek campaign (Suda s.v. Δημήτριος), and Demetrios did so at the Heraia in Argos (Plut. Demetr. 25.2) and at the Pythia (Plut. Demetr. 40.7– 8); cf. also Plut. Phoc. 31.3 on Nikanor in Athens. According to Plutarch (Demetr. 25.2), Demetrios used his agonothesia at the Heraia also as the occasion for his wedding with Deidimeia, which underlines how important such agonothesia was as an opportunity for royal display (cf. supra on, 52.1 διὸ καὶ Θεσσαλονίκην… for the significance of royal weddings); Ptolemaios may have issued a series of coins specifically related to his presiding over the Isthmia (Lorber 2018, I, 33). For a detailed study of royal agonothesia, see Begass (forthcoming). On the general importance of the games to the Successors and later Hellenistic rulers, see e.g. Hornblower 2004, 265 – 266; Adams 2007; Remijsen 2009; Buraselis 2013; Kralli 2013; Wallace 2014b, 242 – 243; Mari 2016, 168 – 174; Howe 2018a, 175; Mann 2018; Meeus 2020a, 302– 304; Scharff forthcoming. At XXXI 16.3 Diodoros mentions the admiration a king gained from the organisation of lavish games. Although it has often been claimed that the Nemean games were far less prestigious than the other festivals of the so-called big four (e.g. Hornblower CT II, 483; Strasser 2007, 329), Nielsen (2018, 169 – 229) has shown conclusively that the festival was of equal rank with the Isthmia, and, while obviously less prestigious than the penteteric festivals at Olympia and Delphi, by far outshone all festivals that did not belong to the crown games (for the latter designation in the age of the Successors, see IG IV2.1 68, l. 72– 73). Lichtenberger (2013, 186) re-

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fers to the present passage for the claim that Kassandros presided over the games in 317 and 315, but this seems to be a mistake on the basis of a somewhat misleadingly phrased statement by Miller (2001, 92). Although it is clear that in this period the games were held at the actual sanctuary of Zeus at Nemea rather than in Argos, it is widely agreed that at this point the polis of Argos was in charge of the festival, whatever one thinks of the situation in preceding decades (Perlman 2000, 133 – 149; Miller 2001, 1 and 93; Strasser 2007). The Argives might not have been all too happy with Kassandros’ agonothesia, though, given the way the city had just suffered from the power struggle in the Peloponnese (Bosworth 2000b, 222: ‘to add insult to injury’); for an instance of a negative reaction to such Macedonian royal agonothesia at the Pythia, see D. 9.32 with Martin 2009, 226 – 227. It has been suggested that Kassandros used the occasion to issue a declaration in response to Antigonos’ proclamation at Tyre (Adams 1974, 117 n. 2).

64.3 Πρεπέλαον: This is the first time Kassandros’ general Prepelaos is attested; his last appearance in the sources is from 287 (Olshausen 1974, no. 4; Tataki 1998, 414). All occurrences of the name are generally assumed to refer to one and the same individual, a view which Rathmann (2006) has recently rejected, arguing for the existence of two Prepelaoi in the age of the Successors. Whereas Prepelaos is called Κασσάνδρου στρατηγός at XX 103.1, he is described as τοῦ Λυσιμάχου στρατηγοῦ at XX 111.3. This need not be a problem: we learn in XX 107.1 that when Lysimachos crossed to Asia, Kassandros had provided a contingent of troops under an unnamed στρατηγός (διόπερ ὁ Κάσανδρος Λυσιμάχῳ μὲν παρέδωκε μέρος τοῦ στρατοπέδου καὶ στρατηγὸν συνεξέπεμψεν), who is then assumed to have been Prepelaos. Rathmann’s claim that Diodoros only adds such appositions as at XX 103.1 and 111.3 if there was a good reason, for instance in order to distinguish two homonymous individuals, is demonstrably false: see e.g. the unnecessary description of Peukestas as τὸν τῆς Περσίδος σατράπην at XIX 42.6, and, at a distance of only six (!) words, XVIII 37.2, Ἄτταλος ὁ τοῦ στόλου τὴν ἡγεμονίαν παρειληφώς, and 37.3, Ἄτταλος ὁ τοῦ στόλου τὴν ἡγεμονίαν ἔχων, as well as again at 41.7, Ἄτταλον τὸν τοῦ στόλου παντὸς κυριεύοντα, although no other Attalos occurs in book XVIII (cf. also Stylianou 1998, 17). That Prepelaos is first called στρατηγός of Kassandros and later of Lysimachos is at most misleading, but not wrong, if he is the anonymous general of XX 107.1. After all, at that point he was serving in Asia under the direct command of Lysimachos, even though he belonged to Kassandros’ staff. Such vagueness can hardly surprise the reader of the Bibliotheke. Furthermore, he seems to have

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acted as negotiator of both Kassandros and Lysimachos for the peace of 311 (Hauben 1987b, 34). Given that the name Prepelaos seems to be rather rare (Tataki, loc. cit. lists only three known individuals bearing the name; cf. LGPN IV, s.v. Πρεπέλαος), the identification certainly is likely, although absolute certainty evidently is impossible.

64.5 Παμφυλίας: On Pamphylia, the region of southern Asia Minor between Lykia and Kilikia, which belonged to Antigonos’ satrapy of Greater Phrygia, see Orth 1993, 56 – 57. On the Strategic importance of the Lykian and Pamphylian coast, see Meadows 2006, 460 – 461. ᾿Aφροδισιάδα τῆς Κιλικίας: On Kilikian Aphrodisias, a seaport at cape Zephyrion near Tarsos, see Orth 1993, 31. ἤκουσεν: This is an interesting example of the potential consequences of Diodoros’ summarizing. In the opinion of Seibert (1969, 145), always eager to find traces of incompetence in Ptolemaic affairs, ‘der Erfolg des Polykleitos war nur ein Zufall und fand keine Wiederholung’ (also cf. supra, 60.4 ἀπέπλευσεν…). Whether it was a mere coincidence obviously depends on what exactly lies behind Diodoros’ ἤκουσεν; decent intelligence gathering and planning cannot be dismissed out of hand. That it was unrepeated can hardly be stated with certainty given the lack of detail of our sources. At any rate, as Hauben (1975, 81) pointed out, it is the mark of the skilful commander to be able to make the most of any situation chance offers. For a radically different interpretation of the Ptolemaic maritime operations, see Bosworth 2002, 215: ‘The naval intervention was spectacularly successful’. Θεόδοτος μὲν ὁ ᾿Aντιγόνου ναύαρχος: This is the only attestation of Theodotos, who may or may not be identical with the homonymous hypaspist attested under Alexander (Berve 1926, II, no. 361; Hauben 1975, no. 35; Billows 1990, 436; Heckel 2006, 263 – 264). ἐκ Πατάρων τῆς Λυκίας: Patara, about 11 km south of Xanthos, was the main port of Lykia, and as such of great strategic importance throughout the Hellenistic age as it was situated at the crossroads of shipping routes in the area of Rhodes, Karia, Ionia and Cyprus (Orth 1993, 57; Beyer-Rotthoff 1993, 221; Cohen HS I, 50; TIB VIII.1, 289). ταῖς ἀπὸ Ῥόδου ναυσίν, ἐχούσαις ἀπὸ Καρίας πληρώματα: These were not proper Rhodian ships, but the vessels from Antigonos’ shipyards on the island, which is why they were manned by Karians rather than Rhodians (Hauben 1977b, 326 – 327). However, the contingent need not have consisted of all boats

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constructed there: a previous flotilla may already have been sent out (see above, 62.8 προϋπῆρχον…; contra Hauben, loc. cit.). Περίλαος: Perilaos is possibly identical with the homonymous hetairos of Alexander who served as ambassador between the phalanx and the nobles at Babylon in 323. No further activities of this individual in the period of the Successors are known (Berve 1926, II, 630; Billows 1990, 416; Rathmann 2005b, 41; Heckel 2006, 202 – 203).

64.8 Πηλούσιον: Pelousion (Tell el-Farama) lay at the mouth of the eastern branch of the Nile delta, and was the last Egyptian city in the Northeast, for which reason an important border fortress was in place there, east of the river (Orth 1993, 104– 105; Verreth 2006, I, 830 – 831). δωρεαῖς μεγάλαις: Examples of kings rewarding their friends with lavish gifts abound (Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 326 met n. 140, lists several instances from the period of the Diadochoi; cf. supra, 11.1 τῶν δὲ Μακεδόνων…). πολὺ μᾶλλον προῆγεν: On the central role of προαγωγή/προάγειν in the relationship between a king and his friends, see above, 14.4 γεγενημένος… τὸν δὲ Περίλαον καὶ τῶν ἄλλων αἰχμαλώτων τινὰς ἀπέλυσεν: It would seem that this was a diplomatic measure with an eye to the forthcoming negotiations (the same is true with the captives at Gaza: see below, 85.3 τήν τε ἁλοῦσαν…). Billows (1990, 36) cites the present episode as evidence that the enmity between Antigonos and Ptolemaios has often been exaggerated, but one can hardly base general conclusions on the passage ignoring the context. This will have been Antigonos’ inspiration for setting free the Ptolemaic soldiers captured at Tyre (see above, 61.5 τοῖς μὲν παρά…). Ἔκρηγμα: Ekregma is the outlet to the Mediterranean of lake Serbonis in the Sinai, a barren region of marshlands and quicksand (Verreth 2006, I, 110 – 111). Verreth (2006, I, 39 and 111) assumes that the location lay on the border of the respective possessions of Ptolemaios and Antigonos, which is of course possible, although I am not sure whether a frontier had been defined. Probably the Sinai was a kind of no man’s land, Ptolemaios’ control extending northeast until Pelousion, and that of Antigonos south until Gaza (Grainger 1990a, 67). Both parties could claim (part of) the desert if they wanted, but practical control of it was not possible. συνελθὼν εἰς λόγους ᾿Aντιγόνῳ πάλιν ἀπῆλθεν, οὐ συγχωροῦντος ᾿Aντιγόνου τὰ ἀξιούμενα: Whereas after his successes in Cyprus and at Aphrodisias Ptolemaios may have hoped that Antigonos would be prepared to make concessions (Huß 2001, 152), the latter also had much to gain from an understanding

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with Ptolemaios – which probably explains why they met in person. Probably he hoped to have Ptolemaios abandon his allies so that he could concentrate on the European front (cf. Simpson 1954, 27); the later negotiations with Kassandros had the same aim (see below, 75.6 τῷ δὲ Κασσάνδρῳ…). The defeat of Perilaos’ fleet might have made him realize that he had been too bold in accepting a war on two fronts. Why the negotiations failed is unclear, but one may well assume that Ptolemaios at least demanded possession of southern Syria, which Antigonos obviously was not prepared to grant. A second claim must have been the restoration of Babylonia to Seleukos, likewise an issue on which Antigonos does not seem to have been prepared to make concessions. Various dates for the diplomatic encounter between Ptolemaios and Antigonos have been suggested, most of them incompatible with Diodoros’ chronology. Whereas Seibert (1969, 176) and Hammond (1988a, 152) place the negotiations in 315, Manni (1951, 8) and Wehrli (1968, 49) date them to the spring of 314, as Simpson (1954, 25) seems to do as well. Billows (1990, 113), in turn, suggests that they took place in mid 313, while Errington (1977, 497) places them late in 313, and Grainger (1990a, 69 – 70) even proposes a date shortly before the revolt in Cyrene (which he correctly dates to summer 312!). Wheatley (2009b, 330 n. 30) claims that all previously proposed dates are unlikely but does not offer his own solution. However, it is clear from its position in Diodoros’ narrative that the meeting belongs to 315, probably in the early winter. In the summer of 315 Polykleitos was sent out to the Peloponnese, where he arrived shortly after Kassandros had convinced Polyperchon’s son Alexandros to join him. The whole of the Peloponnese was now in coalition hands, and Polykleitos’ fleet was no longer of use in Europe (64.4– 5). He sailed to Asia where he probably arrived late in the autumn and defeated the Antigonid fleet of Perilaos. After this encounter Ptolemaios and Antigonos will have met at Ekregma.

§ 66 – 69 The Second Year of the War Since 315 Diodoros seems to have been consistently applying his system of inserting the new archon at the start of the campaigning season during which he took office, and he carries on doing so correctly: chapters 66 – 68.4 deal with events in Europe from spring 314 to autumn 314. In the Asian theatre Diodoros in fact only recounts the very last events of 314, because the earlier part of the year was largely taken up by Antigonos siege of Tyre, the outcome of which he had appended to his account of its beginning. At the end of chapter 69, the winter quarters of 314/3 are mentioned (see also Meeus 2012).

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66.1 τοῦ δ᾽ ἔτους τούτου διελθόντος ᾿Aθήνησι μὲν ἦρχε Νικόδωρος, ἐν Ῥώμῃ δ᾽ ἦσαν ὕπατοι Λεύκιος Παπείριος τὸ τέταρτον καὶ Κόϊντος Πόπλιος τὸ δεύτερον: The year of the archon Nikodoros is 314/3 (Samuel 1972, 210; Meritt 1977, 170; Dreyer 1999, 426). In Diodoros’ Roman chronology, the vulgate, L. Papirius Cursor and Q. Publilius Philo were the consuls of 313; in the Varronian chronology their term of office belongs to 315 (Broughton 1951, I, 156). In spite of Diodoros’ statement this was the fourth consulship for Publilius Philo as well, not the second one (Stein, ‘Publilius [11]’, RE XXIII.2 [1959], 1912). Casevitz (2006b, 56 with n. 7) points out that Diodoros here notes for the first time that a consul was in office more than once, as is the case also at XIX 77.1 and XX 27.1. He therefore asks ‘Est-ce la source utilisée par Diodore qui se fait plus précise ou Diodore a-t-il changé de source?’. A third possibility would be that Diodoros changed his practice, now taking over information he had read in his source on previous occasions too, but without incorporating it in his work. It seems likely that he used one and the same consul list for the whole of his work. Since the phrase ἦσαν ὕπατοι does not occur elsewhere in Diodoros’ chronographic formulas, I wonder whether it might be a scribal correction for a corrupt κατέστησαν ὕπατοι: the latter occurs at 55.1 and XX 45.1, but is to be corrected to κατεστάθησαν ὕπατοι (see above, 55.1 τοῦ δ᾽ ἔτους…).

66.2 τοῦ κοινοῦ τῶν Αἰτωλῶν: The Aitolian koinon met twice a year, in spring and in autumn (Grainger 1999, 171). Some assume that Aristodemos attended the meeting in the autumn of 313 (Errington 1977, 497– 498; Mendels 1984, 168; Grainger 1999, 75 – 76). There are no secure independent pointers, but as it would seem that Diodoros’ European affairs under the archonship of Nikodoros (314/3) are those of the campaigning season 314 – his standard practice from now on (cf. Meeus 2012) –, an earlier date seems preferable. In my opinion, therefore, Aristodemos addressed the Aitolian koinon in the spring of 314 (thus also Fortina 1965, 67; while Simpson 1958, 359 and Boiy 2007b, 144 also date it to 314, they do not specify the season; Gullath 1982, 150 – 151 with n. 1, who follows the low chronology, suggests the autumn of 314). Obviously the Aitolians were happy to cooperate with Antigonos in diminishing Kassandros’ influence in Greece (cf. Mackil 2013, 93). As yet they did not conclude a formal alliance with Antigonos, but Aristodemos was given the right to levy Aitolian mercenaries (Simpson 1958, 359; Mendels 1984, 107– 108; Dany 1999, 41 with n. 29; Grainger 1999, 75; contra Mackil 2013, 93). Not much later an alliance was concluded, though, after Kassandros had inflicted serious damage on Aitolian territory (74.3 – 6;

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75.6). Dany’s claim (1999, 41 n. 28) that it is apparent from this passage that the league had a democratic structure, is somewhat optimistic, as the Aitolian ἐκκλησία met only twice a year and could thus hardly be an effective governing body (Grainger 1999, 182– 183; Lasagni 2019, 159 – 160). πολιορκοῦντας τὴν Κυλλήνην: Kyllene was the base of the fleet of Elis, which seems to have been fortified since 400 BCE at the latest (Roy 2004, 499). In Shipley’s (2018, 20) words it was ‘more of a beach anchorage’ than a fully developed harbour. On Kyllene, see also 87.3.

66.3 καταλιπὼν δ᾽ ἐνταῦθα τοὺς παρεξομένους τῷ φρουρίῳ τὴν ἀσφάλειαν: This, then, is as far as Antigonos’ proclamation of freedom goes (see also below, 78.2 ὥστε…). Although he could claim that the garrison was necessary for the security of the town, as Diodoros writes, it could not be said to be ungarrisoned despite what Antigonos had promised at Tyre. One may wonder whether the ἀσφάλεια is Hieronymos’ perspective (cf. Dany 1999, 42), but this should not be pushed too far. In itself, the claim of leaving a garrison in order to protect a city does not seem to have been uncommon (Chaniotis 2005a, 70). The wording may be due to Diodoros himself: cf. supra, 46.1 καταλιπεῖν… Πάτρας μὲν ἠλευθέρωσε: Patrai was a city of northern Achaia, on the Gulf of Patrai (Freitag 1999, 285 – 296; Morgan & Hall 2004, 483 – 484). Possession of harbour cities like Patrai and Aigion was crucial to enable communications if the enemy controlled the Peloponnesian land routes (Freitag 1999, 271– 272). Αἴγιον δὲ ἐκπολιορκήσας: Aigion lies around 45 km east of Patrai, on the Gulf of Korinthos (Freitag 1999, 268 – 274; Morgan & Hall 2004, 480; cf. previous lemma). It was Achaia’s only harbour offering sheltered anchorage at the time (Shipley 2018, 20). τοῖς Αἰγιεῦσι κατὰ δόγμα τὴν ἐλευθερίαν βουλόμενος ἀποκαταστῆσαι διὰ ταύτην τὴν περίστασιν ἐκωλύθη: This is a remarkable passage. What follows is only half an explanation at best, and the implication would seem that after the massacre inflicted on the town by Aristodemos’ troops the city’s loyalty to the Antigonids could no longer be taken for granted (cf. Kralli 2017, 95). While this may be due to Diodoros’ haphazard summarizing (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.4), it is also possible that we are facing a reflection of the difficulties the Antigonid historian Hieronymos had in justifying that the proclamation of Tyre was ignored yet again.

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66.4 Δυμαῖοι: Dyme, the westernmost of the twelve Achaian cities, lay near the river Larisos which marked the border between Achaia and Elis (Freitag 1999, 300 – 308; Morgan & Hall 2004, 481). Nothing else is known of the destruction of the city nor of its restoration, but at least by 280 everything seems to have been normal again (Plb. II 41.11– 12). συνεχεῖς προσβολὰς ἐποιοῦντο: The expression συνεχεῖς προσβολαί is typical of Diodoros: it is found throughout the historical books, but the incidence is very uneven (XI 76.1, XII 28.2, 37.2, 46.2, 55.5, 62.6, 72.3, 72.9, XIII 76.5, XIV 30.6, 48.5, XV 33.5, XVI 8.2, 53.2, 72.3, XVII 22.1, 24.4, 28.2, XVIII 69.1, XIX 65.4, 75.5, 78.5, 97.2, XX 17.3, XXII 10.6, XXIII 18.4, XXIX 23.1, XXXVI 4.5). Note, as so often, the clustering of the occurrences, especially in books XII, XVII and XIX. The phrase is rare outside of the Bibliotheke, and except for a few instances in the fourth and fifth centuries CE, all attestations belong the period of ca. 150 BCE to 100 CE (Plb. IV 65.3; D.H. AR IV 50.3, V 58.1, X 24.5; Jos. BJ V 307). The theme of constant attacks, mostly in relays, in fact is one of Diodoros favourite topoi for the description of sieges, often also expressed with ἐκ διαδοχῆς, which does not occur in book XIX (e.g. XV 26.4, τὰς προσβολὰς ἐκ διαδοχῆς ἐποιοῦντο; XVIII 13.1, προσβολὰς καθ᾽ ἡμέραν τοῖς τείχεσιν ἐκ διαδοχῆς ἐποιεῖτο; Sinclair 1966; Bosworth 1988b, 12; Whitby 2007, 58).

66.6 καταπεπληγμένοι τὸ μέγεθος τῆς συμφορᾶς: The phrase is also found at IV 38.3, Δηιάνειρα δὲ τὸ μέγεθος τῆς Ἡρακλέους συμφορᾶς καταπεπληγμένη, and XV 15.4, οἱ δὲ Φοίνικες καταπλαγέντες τὸ μέγεθος τῆς συμφορᾶς; cf. IV 11.2, 55.1, V 59.4, XI 57.2, 78.4, XIII 57.1, XV 48.3, 58.4, XVI 20.1, 81.3.

67.1 ἐκ Σικυῶνος: Sikyon lay in the rich coastal plain along the Korinthian Gulf, around 25 km northwest of Korinthos. In 303 Demetrios moved it further inland, on higher ground, for an even stronger position and renamed it Demetrias; the exact location of the original site is unknown. Sikyon controlled the road from Mantineia to Korinthos (Griffin 1982; Orth 1993, 18 – 19; Cohen HS I, 126; Freitag 1999, 227– 249; Legon 2004, 468 – 470; Lolos 2011). The Macedonian garrison in Sikyon is also attested epigraphically (IG II2 448). Whether Sikyon was Alexandros’ ‘Amtssitz’, as Freitag (1999, 241) contends, is unknown. ᾿Aλεξίωνος τοῦ Σικυωνίου καί τινων ἄλλων προσποιουμένων εἶναι φίλων: Alexion is otherwise unknown. According to Griffin (1982, 77) he and his accom-

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plices were anti-Macedonian democrats. If such were indeed the people Alexandros thought were his friends, he was particularly badly informed of internal affairs at Sikyon. Alexion may well have had other, less honourable, reasons to kill Alexandros than the freedom and democracy of his state (Paschidis 2008a, 229 – 230). Κρατησίπολις: Nothing is known of the earlier life of Alexandros’ wife Kratesipolis. It has been argued that she took the name Kratesipolis only on the present occasion (Hoffmann 1906, 219; Heckel 1981, 85), but there seems to be no problem in accepting that she was given the name at her birth (Macurdy 1929, 277– 279; Carney 2000, 266 n. 138). She continued to play a role in Peloponnesian politics until at least 303 when Demetrios campaigned there, but nothing is known of her after that (Macurdy 1929; Carney 2004, 187– 188; Wheatley 2004; Dixon 2014, 55 – 57; Heckel 2016, 214– 216). For women as military leaders see above, 11.2 μετὰ τῆς δυνάμεως. ἀγαπωμένη διαφερόντως ὑπὸ τῶν στρατιωτῶν διὰ τὰς εὐεργεσίας: The rare combination ἀγαπώμενος διαφερόντως is far more common in Diodoros (also IV 61.5, XVIII 53.6) than in any other author, as he offers half of all ancient attestations (Plb. V 56.1; Plut. Per. 7.4; Greg.Naz. Epist. 170.2). That two of the Diodorean instances occur in the history of the Successors thus seems to be a mere coincidence. The same goes for ἀγαπώμενος διὰ τὰς εὐεργεσίας, which occurs only twice elsewhere: Plb. V 11.6 and Diod. XVII 103.7. The only other instance in the Bibliotheke describes Ptolemaios, but Diodoros probably did not use the same source in book XVII and in XVIII–XXI. διετέλει γὰρ βοηθοῦσα τοῖς ἀτυχοῦσι καὶ πολλοὺς τῶν ἀπόρων ὑπολαμβάνουσα: The same kind of what was apparently considered typically female activity in the army is also reported concerning Demetrios’ wife Phila (see above, 59.4 τάς τε ἀδελφάς…).

67.2 ἦν δὲ περὶ αὐτὴν καὶ σύνεσις πραγματικὴ καὶ τόλμα μείζων ἢ κατὰ γυναῖκα: Cf. XXXI 31.1, πάνυ γὰρ εὐφυὲς ἐγένετο καὶ τοῦτο τὸ πρόσωπον εἰς ὠμότητα καὶ παρανομίαν πλείονα ἢ κατὰ γυναῖκα; Plb. XXXII 5.14; Arr. Succ. F1.40; Hdn. V 8.1; D.C. LXII 2.2. It might be tempting to attach much weight to the occurrence of the rare phrase μείζων vel sim. ἢ κατὰ γυναῖκα in the narratives on the Successors of both Arrian and Diodoros. At XXXI 31.1, the only other complete parallel in the Bibliotheke, Diodoros has clearly adopted the phrase from his source, Polybios. However, since the expression μείζων ἢ κατά is also found elsewhere in Diodoros’ Bibliotheke (II 31.3, V 40.3, XVI 11.2, XVII 66.3, XIX 2.6, XXXI 10.2 – though the latter is again taken from Polybios [XXIX 21.9])

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and the phrase ἢ κατὰ γυναῖκα likewise occurs in the letters of Photios (Ep. 55) who transmits the fragment of Arrian, the observation need not be telling. The characterization of such bravery as atypical of women is quite common in ancient literature (Carney 1993, 29 n. 1; cf. supra, 34.5 κατέστρεψεν…). συλλαβοῦσα δὲ περὶ τριάκοντα τὸν ἀριθμὸν ἀνεσταύρωσεν: Perhaps Kratesipolis thus wished to show that she was a force to be reckoned with: in demonstrating that she was not less capable of revenge and violence than any man, she might have attempted to intimidate those who, like the Sikyonians, ‘scorned her because of her husband’s death’ (τῶν γὰρ Σικυωνίων καταφρονησάντων αὐτῆς διὰ τὴν τοῦ ἀνδρὸς τελευτήν): Meeus 2020a, 306 – 307. One is reminded of the revenge of Pheretime at Hdt. IV 202, who likewise needed to take revenge and needed to prove that she was to be taken seriously in the world of war and politics. For revenge in the Wars of the Successors, see also above, 11.8 κατέστρεψε… and μετερχομένη…

67.3 πόλεμον δ᾽ ἔχοντας ὅμορον πρὸς ᾿Aκαρνᾶνας: On Akranania, see Gehrke 1994– 1995; id. & Wirbelauer 2004; Freitag 2015; Lasagni 2018, 159 – 171. This border war must have involved the capture of Oiniadai (see below, 67.4 Οἰνιάδαι…), but it is not quite clear whether that was the only real action of note in a simmering war, or whether there was frequent fighting. Grainger (1999, 75 – 76; cf. Dany 1999, 42 n. 31) suggests that Diodoros is possibly misleading here, as the hostilities might in fact belong to the larger conflict going on in Greece at the time. At least the Aitolians, indeed, are known to have taken part in the war between Kassandros and Polyperchon since 317, if not earlier (see above, 35.2 Αἰτωλοί…), but there is nothing unlikely about a longstanding (cf. 67.4, ἐκ παλαιῶν χρόνων) local border conflict between Aitolians and Akarnanians. τὸν καλούμενον Καμπύλον ποταμόν: No exact identification of the river Kampylos is possible; several possibilities such as the Karpenisiotis, the Megdovas and the Zervas have been put forward (von Geisau, ‘Kampylos’, RE X.2 [1919], 1844; Berktold 1996, 119 – 120; Dany 1999, 43 n. 33; Lasagni 2019, 180).

67.4 συναγαγὼν δὲ τοὺς ᾿Aκαρνᾶνας εἰς κοινὴν ἐκκλησίαν: Whether this was the official assembly of the Akarnanian League is uncertain: Lasagni 2019, 79 – 80. On the federal organisation of the league, see Freitag 2015; Pascual 2018b; Lasagni 2018, 159 – 171 and 2019, 77– 122.

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ἐκ τῶν ἀνοχύρων καὶ μικρῶν χωρίων: Reiske’s emendation οχύρων is quite plausible indeed as it seems to be required by the context, and it has been accepted by all subsequent editors. Some scholars have expressed doubts as to the necessity of the conjecture (Gehrke & Wirbelauer 2004, 358 and Lasagni 2019, 102 n. 64), but fortified places need not be excluded by the adjective ἀνώχυρος (cf. infra, Δεριεῖς…). The correct from, however, must have been Dindorf’s ἀνωχύρων. To the best of my knowledge the variant ἀνόχυρος is never attested as unanimous manuscript reading: see Diod. XIII 108.9, XVIII 24.2 and XIX 74.4, where the preference for F’s ἀνοχύρους of both Fischer and Bizière is puzzling. The emendation οχύρου at XX 102.2 is accepted by all editors since Dindorf, and obviously with good reason (though again ω would be required). Perhaps the reading ὀχυρός at both XX 102.2 and here is the result of an earlier corruption of ἀνώχυρος to ἀνόχυρος or quite simply of the word’s extreme rarity as opposed to the fairly common ὀχυρός. For the orthography ἀνώχυρος, see also IG XII.4 99, l. 7; Tituli Camirenses 110, l. 21. πεισθέντων δὲ τῶν ᾿Aκαρνάνων: Although Diodoros presents the matter as if all Akarnanians are concerned, it is clear from the following enumeration that only those living near the Aitolian border participated in the synoikisms; much of the region had in fact already been urbanized in the classical period (Dany 1999, 44– 45 with n. 38; cf. Berktold 1996, 120; Freitag 2015, 75). οἱ πλεῖστοι μὲν εἰς Στράτον πόλιν συνῴκησαν, ὀχυρωτάτην οὖσαν καὶ μεγίστην: Stratos, on the west bank of the upper reaches of the Acheloos, already was the largest Akarnanian city, and it served as capital of the Akarnanian league (Dany 1999, 45 – 46; Gehrke & Wirbelauer 2004, 372; Lasagni 2018, 165 – 171). Οἰνιάδαι δὲ καί τινες ἄλλοι συνῆλθον ἐπὶ Σαυρίαν: Oiniadai had been captured by the Aitolians, who expelled the population, an act which was condemned by Alexander’s exiles decree (Diod. XVIII 8.6; Plut. Alex. 49.15). Whereas it is usually assumed that Diodoros refers to the people of Oiniadai abandoning their city on the present occasion (see esp. Freitag 1994, 222– 223 and 1999, 33), Dany (1999, 46) has argued convincingly that the city had not yet been restored to the Akarnanians by this time and that the Oiniadai of this passage must be the people previously ousted by the Aitolians (contra Gehrke & Wirbelauer 2004, 368 who accept the traditional view). Otherwise there is no reason why they would not have stayed in Oiniadai which was well fortified. Given that Antipatros and Kassandros had ended their campaign against the Aitolians prematurely (Diod. XVIII 25.4), there is indeed no reason whatsoever to assume that the Macedonians had enforced the restitution of Oiniadai (contra Bosworth 2003b, 19). The location of Sauria, which is not attested elsewhere, is unknown, but nowa-

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days there seems to be a consensus that it should be situated near modern day Rigani (Berktold 1996, 120; Dany 1999, 46 n. 44; Gehrke & Wirbelauer 2004, 353). Δεριεῖς δὲ μεθ’ ἑτέρων εἰς ᾿Aγρίνιον: Agrinion lay east of the Acheloos near or in Aitolian territory; its exact location is unknown (Berktold 1996, 120; Freitag et al. 2004, 382). Grainger (1999, 76; cf. Dany 1999, 37) argues that it had been captured from the Aitolians by Kassandros only just before. The manuscript reading Δεριεῖς has been doubted on the assumption that the better known ᾿Aγριεῖς had to be meant, but Costanzi (1920, 343 – 346) has argued convincingly that the received text makes perfect sense as it is confirmed by inscriptions mentioning Δεριεῖς (IG IX.12 1.3 A, l. 23; IG IV.12 96, l. 61 and 65). Whether the Derieis constituted a polis or an ethnos is debated, but the former option seems more likely. Skourtou in central Akarnania is a popular candidate for its identification (Dany 1999, 47; Gehrke & Wirbelauer 2004, 358; Lasagni 2019, 102 n. 63 – 64), which need not be contradicted by the potential reading ἀνωχύρων above: cf. Diod. XIII 108.9 for a city with walls qualified as ἀνώχυρος.

67.5 ἀπολιπὼν στρατηγὸν Λυκίσκον μετὰ τῶν ἱκανῶν στρατιωτῶν τούτῳ μὲν παρήγγειλε βοηθεῖν ᾿Aκαρνᾶσιν: Cf. 88.2, Λυκίσκος ὁ τεταγμένος ἐπὶ τῆς ᾿Aκαρνανίας στρατηγός. According to Hammond (1988a, 154) Lykiskos had left Epeiros (cf. supra, 36.5 ἐπιμελητήν…) as Neoptolemos II had come of age and could manage the affairs of state himself. Bengtson (1964, I, 141; cf. Funke 2000a, 196), on the other hand, argues that Lykiskos still held his command in Epeiros as well, which would explain why Philippos and not Lykiskos is found operating as Kassandros’ general in Akarnania during the next year (see below, 74.3 Φίλιππος…). Dany (1999, 48) argues that the appointment of a στρατηγός for Akarnania means that the region now stood under Macedonian sovereignty, which is possible, but perhaps he was just there to help the Akarnanians fight the Aitolians, as Diodoros states. αὐτὸς δὲ μετὰ δυνάμεως παρελθὼν ἐπὶ Λευκάδος τὴν πόλιν διὰ πρεσβείας προσηγάγετο: The city of Leukas was situated on the homonymous island which lay off the Akarnanian coast, north of Ithaka in the Ionian Sea (Gehrke & Wirbelauer 2004, 364). Apparently Kassandros left a general here as well: 88.5, Λύσανδρος ᾿Aθηναῖος ὁ κατασταθεὶς ἐπὶ τῆς Λευκάδος ὑπὸ Κασσάνδρου. That Kassandros personally conducted the campaign in western and northwestern Greece shows its importance (Hammond 1988a, 154– 155). I do not see on what basis Dany (1999, 50 n. 59) argues that the general of Leukas was subordinate to Lykiskos, implying that for the first time Leukas was attached administratively to Akarnania.

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67.6 ᾿Aπολλωνίαν: The strategically important city of Apollonia lay near the mouth of the Aous river in southern Illyria (Hirschfeld, ‘Apollonia [1]’, RE II.1 [1895], 111– 113; Wilkes & Fischer-Hansen 2004, 328 – 329; Lasagni 2019, 50 – 61). The city seems to have been a long-standing enemy of Kassandros: O’Sullivan 2009, 246. τὴν Ἰλλυρίδα: Relations between the Macedonians and the Illyrians, their western neighbours, had been tense at least since the early fourth century (Errington 1986, 35 – 36; Greenwalt 2010b). Adams (1974, 120) assumes that the Illyrian dynast Glaukias (see below, παρετάξατο…) had been causing troubles on Macedonia’s western border, and that Kassandros’ action was necessary both for the security of Macedonia and to maintain internal support (cf. Hammond 1988a, 154; Anson 2014, 136), whereas Greenwalt (2010b, 296) suggests that Kassandros intended to gain control of the Epeirote monarchy. τὸν Ἕβρον ποταμόν: The only Hebros we know of was a Thracian river, which is obviously impossible in the present context. Hammond (1988, 154 with n. 3) therefore concludes that Diodoros made a mistake, and suggests that the Genousos, flowing in the Ionian Sea about halfway between Apollonia and Epidamnos, must be meant. Heckel (2006, 125), however, does accept that the confrontation took place near a river Hebros, which implies that we are facing an unidentified Illyrian river by that name, as Geer (1954, ad loc.) and Bizière (1975, ad loc.) also assume. παρετάξατο πρὸς Γλαυκίαν τὸν Ἰλλυριῶν βασιλέα: Glaukias was king of the Taulantians, a tribe of the hinterland of Apollonia and Epidamnos in western Illyria. He had joined the Illyrian uprising of 335 which was put down by Alexander, but he seems to have exploited the instability after 323 to try and expand his power again (Berve 1926, II, no; 227; Sandberger 1970, no. 34; Heckel 2006, 125; Greenwalt 2010b, 296). According to Geer (1954, ad loc.) Justin (XV 2.1– 2) gives a different version of the same episode, but except for the fact that Justin’s story about the ‘Abderitae’ belongs to the same campaign and that a treaty was made, I do not see any similarities whatsoever, so that he must be dealing with a different episode altogether. The accounts of Diodoros and Justin are complimentary, then, rather than mutually exclusive. The present battle is likely to have taken place later than Glaukias’ siege of Apollonia described at 70.7 as Kassandros seems to have forced Glaukias to retreat to the north and leave Apollonia in peace (cf. Greenwalt 2010b, 297, though given the compressed nature of Diodoros’ account the argument from silence cannot prove anything; contra Anson 2014, 137).

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67.7 τὴν δὲ τῶν Ἐπιδαμνίων πόλιν: Epidamnos, later Dyrrhachion (Durazzo), was an important trading city in Illyria, which was also of strategic significance for the control of the area (Philippson, ‘Dyrrhachion’, RE V.2 [1905], 1882– 1887; Wilkes & Fischer-Hansen 2004, 330 – 331; Lasagni 2019, 41– 49). Probably Polyainos’ stratagem (IV 11.4) about Kassandros’ capture of Epidamnos relates to the present occasion (O’Sullivan 2009, 246 with n. 11; Greenwalt 2010b, 296 – 297).

68.1 περιχαρακώσαντες Αγρίνιον ἐπολιόρκουν: On the siege of Agrinion, see Mendels 1984, 169 – 170; Mackil 2013, 94 n. 19, who suggests a potential connection with IG IX.12.1 462. As Meißner (2007, 206) notes, the ability to start sieges was mostly limited to major powers like the kings or powerful leagues.

68.2 ὁ δὲ Κάσσανδρος παραγενόμενος εἰς Μακεδονίαν καὶ πυθόμενος πολεμεῖσθαι τὰς ἐν Καρίᾳ πόλεις ὅσαι συνεμάχουν τοῖς περὶ Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Σέλευκον: The manuscripts are in disagreement: while the reading of R is Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Σέλευκον, F has Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Κάσσανδρον, which in itself obviously cannot make sense. However, given that the manuscripts always have Κάσ(σ)ανδρος for Ἄσανδρος (see above, 57.1 ἠξίουν…), it is quite possible that Asandros is meant. The only other occasion on which Ptolemaios and Seleukos are mentioned together is the battle of Gaza, where they did indeed exercise joint command (81.5, 83.1, 83.4, 85.3). At present, however, Seleukos might well have been campaigning in the Aegean with the fleet, in which case he was not with Ptolemaios. Furthermore, it would be more precise to write of the allies of Ptolemaios and Asandros in Karia (see 62.2), than of those of Ptolemaios and Seleukos; if the scribe of F has substituted Κάσσανδρον for Σέλευκον, he would thus – in accordance with his habit of writing Κάσσανδρον for Ἄσανδρον – have produced a more accurate text than the original one. That seems to be an unlikely coincidence, so that Κάσσανδρον clearly is the equivalent of a lectio difficilior here. Confirmation that F provides the better variant is to be found in the manuscript readings of 75.2. There R gives Κάσανδρον and F Κάσσανδρον, which in R is changed to Σέλευκον by the scribe (m 1). In this instance too, Κάσσανδρον seems to be the correct reading, rather than Σέλευκον, as is accepted by Bizière (see below, 75.2 πρὸς δὲ Πτολεμαῖον…). The scribe of R, then, twice replaced Κάσανδρον with Σέλευκον. The reason why he did so is obvious: because of the consistent corruption of Asandros’ name to Κάσ(σ)ανδρος, the scribe of R must have

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thought that the text of his source did not make sense, with Kassandros sending envoys to Kassandros. The correct reading should thus be Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Ἄσανδρον. The mistake in R, however, as it has been adopted by all editors, has led to unwarranted historical interpretations. Descat (1998, 182), for instance, writes: ‘Nous constatons précisément que Ptolémée s’allie alors aux cités de Carie, cités qui sont aussi alliées à Séleucos et à Cassandre (Diod. XIX 68.2)’. Certainly this passage can no longer be used as evidence for an alliance between Seleukos and the Karian cities, an alliance for the conclusion of which I moreover do not see any possible historical context.

68.3 Δημήτριον τὸν Φαληρέα: The peripatetic philosopher Demetrios of Phaleron had already been elected στρατηγός several times since 325/4, before he was installed as governor of Athens by Kassandros in 317 (PA 3455; Berve 1926, II, no. 259; Davies 1971, no. 3455; Mooren 1975, no. 7; Habicht 1995, 62– 75 and passim; Dreyer 1999, 180 – 184; Tracy 2000; Haake 2007, 60 – 82 and passim; Paschidis 2008a, 58 – 63; O’Sullivan 2009; Faraguna 2016). Διονύσιον τὸν φρουροῦντα τὴν Μουνυχίαν: Dionysios, presumably a Macedonian, had probably been appointed phrourarch of the Mounychia hill in Peiraieus after the execution of Nikanor in 317. He held the fortress until it was captured by Demetrios Poliorketes in 307 (Diod. XX 45; see Kirchner, ‘Dionysios [48]’, RE V.1 [1903], 911; Kortenbeutel, ‘Phrurarchos’, RE XX.1 [1941], 775 – 776). Nothing further is known of him. προστάττων εἴκοσι ναῦς εἰς Λῆμνον ἐκπέμψαι: On the island of Lemnos, see Reger 2004, 756 – 757; Ficuciello 2013. Why the intervention on Lemnos was so important is unclear. Billows (1990, 119) suggests that the main aim of the Athenian mission to Lemnos was to distract Dioskourides, so that he would not intercept the fleet bringing the soldiers to Karia. This might be part of the explanation, but probably both parties were for some reason especially concerned about the control of the northern Aegean and the Hellespont at the time. After all, for the deception to work, Dioskourides had to consider Lemnos his priority over Karia. Furthermore, the fact that Seleukos came to support the expedition in Lemnos suggests that more than a diversionary action was at stake. Since Antigonos believed that Kassandros had set his eyes on Asia (see below, 69.1 ᾿Aντίγονος…), it is not impossible that Kassandros was planning to send troops to northern Asia Minor as well. Alternatively, Kassandros and the Athenians simply were concerned about the control of Lemnos in general. That these events belong to the archon year 314/3 is clear from the fact that Thymochares was the Athenian naval commander in 315/4 and 313/2, rather than Aristotoles who was admiral on

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the present occasion (Osborne 1974, 169 n. 5; see also Hauben 1975, 19 and 101– 105, for the dates of Thymochares, contra Bayliss 2006; cf. next lemma). As inscriptions from the Lemnian city of Hephaistia (IG XII.8 18 and 19) are dated to the year of the Athenian archon Nikodoros (314/3), Lemnos still stood under Athenian control when the new archon took office, which confirms Diodoros’ date late in the campaigning season (Merker 1970, 141 n. 2; Osborne, loc. cit.). Although both the epigraphical evidence from the island and the end of the siege of Tyre allow for a date of the events at Lemnos in the second half of 313, because they only provide a terminus post quem (see e.g. Buraselis 1982, 44 n. 24), such a chronology is incompatible with Diodoros’ narrative, which places them in the autumn of 314. ναύαρχον ἐπ᾽ αὐτῶν ᾿Aριστοτέλη: Aristoteles, the commander of the Athenian fleet in 314/3, is otherwise unknown (PA 2054; Hauben 1975, no. 6). Ναύαρχος might be used in a general sense here, his actual title may have been στρατηγὸς ἐπὶ τὸ ναυτικόν (Hauben 1975, 19; cf. for this title IG II3.1 857, l. 24 with references ad loc., IG II3.1 985, l. 5 and 15). τοὺς Λημνίους ἔπειθεν ἀποστῆναι τῶν περὶ ᾿Aντίγονον: This implies that Lemnos had recently changed sides, but we do not know when or how they managed to free themselves from Athenian control (Cargill 1995, 46 – 47; O’Sullivan 2009, 258). καὶ τὴν πόλιν περιχαρακώσας ἐπολιόρκει: There were two poleis on Lemnos, Myrina and Hephaistia (Reger 2004, 757– 758). Which one is meant we do not know; Hauben (1975, 18) assumes that it was Myrina.

68.4 ἀπέπλευσεν εἰς Κῶν: Given the situation in Karia, the island of Kos was strategically important, as it lay in front of the Karian coast opposite Halikarnassos (on Hellenistic Kos, see Sherwin-White 1978, esp. 82– 92 for the age of the Successors; Höghammar 2004; Habicht 2007). Whereas some hold that Kos was Seleukos’ base of operations (Sherwin-White 1978, 82; Grainger 1990a, 69; Huß 2001, 173 n. 609), it is also possible that after anchoring at Kos he sailed on to Egypt (Hauben 1975, 87).

68.5 τὴν δύναμιν εἰς παραχειμασίαν διῃρηκέναι: This was the winter of 314/3 (Wheatley 1998a, 263 with n. 31 and 266). Antigonos’ winter quarters for this year are also attested (see below, 69.2 διεῖλε…).

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τὴν ταφὴν τοῦ πατρός: Polemaios’ father was likewise named Polemaios (I.Iasos 2, l. 10). Billows (1990, 425; cf. Heckel 2006, 234) identifies him with the Ptolemaios, son of Philippos, who is attested leading a squadron of the hypaspists and a unit of the companion cavalry over the Granikos river in 334 (Arr. Anab. I 14.6; Berve 1926, II, no. 671), and who might have been the man left as στρατηγός of Karia in 334 (Arr. Anab. I 23.6). If this is correct, Polemaios’ father must have been a brother of Antigonos, likewise a son of Philippos. Nothing is known of him after that. Billows (1990, 426) suggests that he had retired from active military service, only aiding his son as advisor. He might have died of old age, then, but this obviously remains speculative: the actions of so many leading individuals from the age of the Successors are unknown. Εὐπόλεμον: Eupolemos, son of Potalos, later also served Kassandros as general in Greece (77.6), but he is best known for his activities in Karia which are attested in several inscriptions and through his coinage (Mastrocinque 1979, 19 – 23; Buraselis 1982, 12– 22; Seibert 1983, 209 – 210; Billows 1989 and 1995, 93 – 94; Gregory 1995, 24– 26; Descat 1998; Tataki 1998, 314; Corsaro 2001, 239 – 240; Fabiani 2009; Capdetrey 2012a, 239 – 244). Whereas it is usually assumed that Eupolemos ruled as an independent dynast in Karia in the late fourth or early third century, Descat (1998) has plausibly argued that his activities in Karia are limited to the present campaign. Κάπριμα τῆς Καρίας: Despite the long list of known indigenous Karian toponyms, Kaprima is not attested elsewhere (Blümel 1998, 169), and its location is unknown. It has been suggested that it was a place near the later Laodikeia on the Lykos (Descat 1998, 179).

69.1 ᾿Aντίγονος δ᾽ ὁρῶν τὸν Κάσσανδρον ἀντεχόμενον τῆς ᾿Aσίας: It is almost generally assumed that Kassandros had no ambitions of ruling territories outside Europe (Stähelin 1919, 2300; Adams 1974, 103 and 105; Buraselis 1982, 4– 5; Chamoux 1983, 66; Errington 1986, 121; Heckel 1986, 458; Wirth 1989, 206 n. 57; Stewart 1993, 278; Huß 2001, 139 and 141 n. 352; Landucci Gattinoni 2010, 117. Contra: Will 1979, 56; Ellis 1994, 46; Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 220). This view seems to be based on three elements. The first, the observation that Kassandros never campaigned outside of Europe, is largely correct, even if it ignores that he did send troops to Asia on several occasions (see above, 57.4 ἵνα λύσῃ…; also e.g. XIX 68.2, XX 107.1). Of course, in all these instances Kassandros was probably helping his allies and trying to limit Antigonid power, but we should not forget that he was occupied almost constantly by the war against Polyperchon and the Antigonids in Europe: he could not start any campaigns in Asia without a high

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risk of losing his home base. This element is inconclusive, then. The second one in fact is no more than an assumption, namely that all Successors except Perdikkas and Antigonos were separatists. It is so deeply-rooted in modern scholarship that even Lund (1992, 51– 52), who rightly noted that hindsight seemed to be the main reason for the view that there were separatists among the Diadochoi, accepted that Kassandros might have been an exception and did have limited territorial ambitions. However, the alleged opposition between separatists and unitarists seems rather questionable (Gruen 1985; Meeus 2007, 2013a; Strootman 2014b). The third element often used to deny that Kassandros might have had any ambitions in Asia, is that he is thought to have conducted a policy of continuity with Philippos while denigrating Alexander’s memory. This view too, is not supported by the sources (Meeus 2009a and 2009b). There is no reason, then, to deny that Kassandros had ambitions in Asia, as Antigonos seemed to think (cf. Aucello 1957, 389; Rosen 1967a, 77; Will 1979, 55 – 56). Hammond’s interpretation (1988a, 146) that Kassandros ‘wanted to establish the right of Alexander IV to rule also over Asia’, although rightly recognizing that he did not limit his interests to Europe, seems naive. Δημήτριον μὲν τὸν υἱὸν ἀπέλιπεν ἐν τῇ Συρίᾳ, προστάξας ἐνεδρεύειν τοὺς περὶ Πτολεμαῖον, οὓς ὑπώπτευεν ἐκ τῆς Αἰγύπτου προάξειν μετὰ δυνάμεως ἐπὶ Συρίας: Cf. infra, 80.1; App. Syr. 54, Δημήτριον τὸν υἱὸν (…) ἐν Γάζῃ μετὰ τοῦ στρατοῦ καταλείπει πρὸς τὰς ὁρμὰς Πτολεμαίου τὰς ἀπ᾽ Αἰγύπτου. Plut. Demetr. 5.2 seriously misrepresents the situation in claiming that Antigonos sent out Demetrios from Phrygia to Syria in response to Ptolemaios’ raids of 312: Demetrios was simply stationed in Syria in 314 when Antigonos left the region after the capture of Tyre (see Hauben 1973, 259 n. 18; Billows 1990, 124 n. 56; Wheatley 2009b, 326 – 327 with n. 13). Grainger (1990a, 68 – 69) argues that Antigonos made a crucial strategic error in not trying to conquer Egypt, leaving the Ptolemaic danger in his rear. While Egypt was conquerable, Grainger contends, so many different generals were operating in Greece that a decisive breakthrough in Europe could not be expected to be immediately forthcoming. Yet, conquering Egypt probably was not as easy as Grainger suggests: see FischerBovet 2014b, 210 – 217. Νέαρχόν τε τὸν Κρῆτα: Nearchos appears to have been the most prominent amongst Demetrios’ advisors: he had held an important independent command under Alexander, married a high-ranking Persian woman at Susa, and played a part in the debates over Alexander’s succession in 323: see above, 19.4 Νεάρχῳ. Πίθωνα τὸν ᾿Aγήνορος, ὃς κατεβεβήκει πρότερον ὀλίγαις ἡμέραις ἐκ Βαβυλῶνος: On Peithon Agenoros, see above, 56.4 καταστήσας… Billows (1990, 415 – 416) assumes that Peithon brought a regiment of troops from Babylonia and Mesopotamia, and remained in office as governor of these provinces

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during the campaign in Syria. This is possible, of course, but we should not attach too much weight to the fact that no other satrap is attested for these years. That Peithon had only recently been appointed at Babylon likewise does not preclude that he was now replaced. Antigonos may not have foreseen the need for the present mission at the time he appointed Peithon in Babylonia, and probably selected him for the present task because of his skills and experience. ᾿Aνδρόνικόν τε τὸν Ὀλύνθιον: On Andronikos, see above, 59.2 στρατηγόν… Φίλιππον: As the name Philippos was very common in the time of Alexander (Berve 1926, II, no. 778 – 790; Tataki 1998, 446 – 447; Heckel 2006, 208 – 215), it is not clear with whom we should identify the present individual. Even after eliminating all Philippoi who are obviously impossible, at least six and perhaps as many as eight individuals remain to be considered (Berve’s nos. 775, 778, 779, 782, 785, 789; 783 and 784 are possibly to be identified with 778 or the already deceased 780; see Wheatley 1997a, 62 with nn. 8 – 12). Providing a detailed analysis, Wheatley (1997a, 62– 64) concludes that Philippos, son of Balakros (no. 778) (thus also Billows 1990, 421– 423), and Philippos, son of Menelaos (no. 779), are the most likely candidates. Tataki (1998, 447, no. 25) rather thinks of Berve’s no. 785, the man appointed satrap of Baktria and Sogdiana in 323. Whether or not he is the Philippos who served with Eumenes at Gabiene (Wheatley 1997a, 62; Heckel 2006, 214 [P11]) seems impossible to tell (cf. supra, on 40.4, Φίλιππον). I do not see why it should be tempting to identify the advisor of Demetrios with Philippos ὁ μηχανικός (no. 789): Demetrios surely had many engineers on his staff (cf. Whitehead 2015, 91), and there is no need why one of these four men should be the one to have inspired his interest in siege engines (pace Whitehead 2015, 76): cf. Heckel 2006, 215 (P14), ‘Identification [of the engineer] with any other known Philip is at best tenuous’. Given his old age the common identification with the Antigonid officer at Diod. XX 107.5 (e.g. Billows 1990, 421– 423; Wheatley 1997a, 62; Tataki 1998, 447; Whitehead 2015, 76) is not quite certain either (Heckel 2006, 214 [P11]). ἄνδρας πρεσβυτέρους καὶ συνεστρατευκότας ᾿Aλεξάνδρῳ πᾶσαν τὴν στρατείαν: This qualification (cf. Arr. Anab. VII 11.6; supra, 15.1 καὶ τὴν παρ᾽… and 41.3 πρὸς συγγενεῖς…) in combination with the fact that Peithon was called from Babylon for the task, suggests that it was an important one (contra Wirth 1988, 246), which is hardly a surprise given that these men were to be the closest advisors of Antigonos’ son for an admittedly defensive but no less important mission. Opinions differ on the question whether all four men are being described as fairly old (Heckel 1992, 206; Wheatley 1997a, 62) or the latter two as older than the former two (Whitehead 2015, 76). To be sure, the structure of Diodoros’ sentence might seem to suggest the latter option, but since Nearchos had also accompanied Alexander on his entire campaign, it is more likely that the apposi-

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tion applies to all four of them. How old they were at this point is unknown, but Heckel (1992, 207 and 2006, 171) is surely right that we must not assume that Nearchos and Alexander the Great were of the same age. For another use of πρεσβύτερος to qualify someone as fairly old in the history of the Successors, see Douris (FGrHist 76) F12. ὡς ἂν γεγονὼς ἔτη δύο πρὸς τοῖς εἴκοσιν: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 5.2, δύο καὶ εἴκοσιν ἐτῶν ὄντα; App. Syr. 54, ἀμφὶ δύο καὶ εἴκοσιν ἔτη γεγονότα. This is an important chronological indication which has only recently been recognized as such. Wheatley (2009b, 326 – 328) has pointed out that since Demetrios died in 282, aged 54, the beginning of his command in Syria at age 22 belongs to late 314. On the low chronology, dating the present events to 313, Demetrios death would have to be downdated to 281, which seems impossible; moving his death to 283 would place the present event in 315, which certainly is impossible.

69.2 παραγενόμενος δ᾽ εἰς Κελαινὰς τῆς Φρυγίας: Kelainai in Phrygia was Antigonos’ capital since his days as satrap under Alexander. Being one of the main cities of inland Asia Minor, Kelainai was particularly suited as the centre of his Anatolian realm, as it lay at the crossing of the road from Ephesos to Tarsos and the route from the Bosporos via Synnada to Pamphylia (Billows 1990, 241– 242 and passim; Orth 1993, 44; Cohen HS I, 281– 282; Ivantchik et al. 2016). διεῖλε τὸ στρατόπεδον εἰς χειμασίαν: The winter of 314/3, the same as attested above (68.5 τὴν δύναμιν…) for Polemaios’ winter quarters (Wheatley 1998a, 262– 263).

69.3 Μηδίου ναυαρχοῦντος: Medeios, son of Oxythemis, of Larissa in Thessaly, belonging to a local noble family, had campaigned with Alexander. Being close to the king, he was the organizer of the famous last banquet where Alexander fell ill. In the First Diadoch War he served with Perdikkas, subsequently joining Antigonos (Berve 1926, II, 521; Hauben 1975, no. 23; Billows 1990, 400 – 401; Bernard 1997, 133 – 135; Heckel 2006, 158; Meeus 2017b). Medeios was called to Asia Minor with an eye to the events of the next campaigning year, most likely those in Karia (Hauben 1975, 62). Antigonos may have hoped to frighten Asandros in order to induce him to accept a diplomatic solution. If that would not work, the fleet could immediately be sent out to attack Asandros’ cities (see 75.2). περιτυχὼν ταῖς Πυδναίων ναυσίν, οὔσαις τριάκοντα ἕξ: Probably the Pydnaian fleet had sailed to Asia to bring Kassandros’ troops to Karia (68.2; Stähelin

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1919, 2302; Hauben 1978, 53 – 54; Buraselis 1982, 35). Why they were at sea at the present moment is unclear; perhaps they were on their way home (Hauben 1978, 54). Buraselis (1982, 35) argues that the present episode mainly illustrates Kassandros’ naval weakness and lack of any substantial shipbuilding programme: the Pydnaian squadron surely was relatively small, but its defeat at the hands of the powerful Antigonid navy under Medeios need not mean that it consisted merely of transport vessels not properly equipped for fighting. Since Niese (1893, 286 n. 2) scholars have often asserted that Πυδναίων must be a mistake, assuming that Ptolemaic or Athenian ships were meant. However, Hauben (1978, 48 – 53, with further references to those holding the opposite view) has argued convincingly that there is no need to doubt that Pydna could send out a fleet of 36 vessels, and that the ships are unlikely to have been of Ptolemaic or Athenian provenance. However, according to Huß (2001, 154 n. 467) the description as ‘ships of the Pydnaians’ still remains ‘anstößig […], da die Pydnaier keine über eine eigene Flotte verfügende politische Einheit bildeten – wie etwa die Bürger der griechischen und auch der phoinikischen Städte’. Regardless of the truth of Huß’ claim on the political status of Pydna (see Hatzopoulos 1996a, I, 130 – 131 for evidence that at least under the Antigonids Pydna could act as a fully autonomous city, and ibid., 470 for the possibility under the Argeads), there is no need to interpret Diodoros’ wording in a constitutional sense. Such ‘Buchstabenkultus’ is rarely helpful in interpreting Diodoros, especially if it involves arbitrary rejection of the sources. Hatzopoulos (2001, 27) argues that the manuscript reading is now also confirmed by the inscription with the regulations for military service from Kassandreia (SEG XLIX 722, l. 11). Since the cities which are to supply the naval equipment are not explicitly mentioned (ἐξ ὧν εἴθισται τόπων), this is only a circumstantial argument, even if it is likely that Pydna was included.

§ 73 – 75 The Third Year of the War With the third year of the war (313/2) Diodoros’ account becomes ever less detailed, as he quickly switches from one theatre to the next, starting new episodes without offering much context and ending them before the action is complete (cf. Bosworth 2003b, 16). On the other hand, this is the first time he pays attention to Lysimachos’ role in the war (cf. Mihailov 1970; Delev 2003), which obviously need not mean that the latter had remained passive until now (cf. Lund 1992, 53; contra Anson 2014, 141). Despite major Antigonid successes in Karia and in the Peloponnese, the victories of Kassandros in northwestern Greece and Lysimachos in Thrace incited Antigonos to discuss peace terms with Kassan-

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dros. That Antigonos was willing to negotiate suggests that he was under pressure in more ways than we know of. Unfortunately Diodoros does not inform us about the Ptolemaic actions during this year, apart from the indirect passing reference that they received envoys from Asandros, but it is more than likely that at the very least Ptolemaios’ fleet was attacking Antigonid positions. The low chronology must assume at this point that the order of events in Diodoros is completely mixed up (Billows 1990, 122 n. 52), but it rather seems that our historian is still very much in control of his material and actually offers a very helpful chronological framework for the high chronology by equating the archon year and the campaigning season (Meeus 2012).

73.1 Τῶν δὲ κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν πράξεων τέλος ἐχουσῶν ᾿Aθήνησι μὲν παρέλαβε τὴν ἀρχὴν Θεόφραστος, ἐν Ῥώμῃ δ’ ὕπατοι κατεστάθησαν Μάρκος Πόπλιος καὶ Γάιος Σουλπίκιος: Theophrastos was the Athenian archon of 313/2 (Samuel 1972, 210; Meritt 1977, 170; Dreyer 1999, 426). The consuls of the vulgate year 312 were M. Poetelius Libo and C. Sulpicius Longus; in the Varronian chronology their term of office belongs to 314. In every instance where a Poetelius held the consulship, the Bibliotheke’s manuscripts read Πόπλιος (also at XII 24.1, XVI 9.1, 72.1, XVII 113.1; Perl 1957, 44). At XVI 9.1 the form Πετίλιος is found in a single manuscript, from which Bröcker (1879, 47) concludes that Diodoros had in fact correctly written Poetelius in every instance, the name later being corrupted to Πόπλιος in all passages. This would seem too optimistic an argument. At most we can say that Diodoros is likely to have given the correct name at XVI 9.1, but the others might also be his error or that of his source. As Diodoros’ chronological framework is wholly consistent for his narrative of the Successors since 315, the chronology is no problem: he inserts a new archon at the beginning of the campaigning season during which he took office, although he does make a mistake of a whole year after the battle of Gaza. It therefore becomes relatively easy to establish the chronology which can be deduced from Diodoros’ account for each theatre of action. Precisely determining the season is not always possible of course; events I date to the summer for instance, may belong to the early autumn and vice versa, but the general outline is clear. At first sight some confusion may arise from the double treatment of Europe in chapters 73 and 74. The former runs from spring to autumn in the Black Sea region, while the latter describes the events from spring to autumn in Greece. 75.1– 6 deals with events in Asia from spring to late summer, and as the fleet which had been operating in Karia is then sent over to Europe, the chapter continues (75.6 – 8) with the events of the autumn in central Greece. The point

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of transition are the failed negotiations between Antigonos and Kassandros on the Hellespont (75.6). Billows (1990, 122 n. 52) has to argue for a most complicated confusion of Diodoros in order to make his chronology work: in his view ‘Diodorus got ahead of himself chronologically’ because the events at the Black Sea went on from 313 into 312. His claim that the Milesian stephanephoroi list proves that the Karian campaign in chapter 75 belongs to the beginning of 312 overstates the inscription’s contribution (see below, 75.4 τὴν φρουρουμένην…). The formula τῶν δὲ κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν πράξεων τέλος ἐχουσῶν occurs several times in books XIII and XIV: XIII 43.1, 54.1, 76.1, 80.1, XIV 12.1. This is the only other instance. At XIII 54.1 and 80.1, it is also combined with ᾿Aθήνησι μὲν παρέλαβε τὴν ἀρχήν, a phrase which only occurs once more in a different combination: XIV 90.1, τοῦ δὲ ἔτους τούτου διεληλυθότος ᾿Aθήνησι μὲν παρέλαβε τὴν ἀρχὴν Δημόστρατος. Καλλαντιανοὶ κατοικοῦντες ἐν τοῖς ἐν ἀριστερᾷ μέρεσι τοῦ Πόντου: Kallatis was a Greek colony on the western shore of the Black Sea, lying ca. 43 km south of Tomis (Adamesteanu, ‘Kallatis’, PECS, 431– 432; Orth 1993, 16; Avram et al. 2004, 933 – 934; Avram 2007). For ample discussions of the historical and political context in the West Pontic region, see Lund 1992, 33 – 40; Nawotka 1997, 30 – 34. τῆς αὐτονομίας ἀντείχοντο: It is not impossible that Antigonos had induced these cities to revolt in order to weaken Lysimachos’ control of the region, so that he would find less resistance in case of a future crossing to Europe (Saitta 1955, 109 – 114; Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 114– 115; Delev 2000, 386). However, one rather gets the impression from Diodoros’ – admittedly compressed – narrative that Antigonos only reacted to the events by sending help (73.6; Nawotka 1997, 34). Burstein (1986, 19 n. 5) assumes there was an epistates of Lysimachos in the city, which may be true, but there is no evidence for it, and the Kallatians might have felt that a garrison alone sufficed to harm their autonomy (Lund 1992, 35 – 39; cf. supra, 61.3 εἶναι…).

73.2 τήν τε τῶν Ἰστριανῶν πόλιν καὶ τὰς ἄλλας τὰς πλησιοχώρους: Istros or Histria lay on the western Black Sea coast around 90 km north of Kallatis, near modern day Istria, south of the Donau delta (Avram et al. 2004, 932– 933). The other nearby towns certainly included Odessos (73.3), and, if Diodoros’ phrase is to be taken to mean that at least all actual poleis in the region joined the revolt, Bizone and Dionysopolis as well, since these lay between Kallatis and Odessos, and Tomis too, lying between Istros and Kallatis (Delev 2000, 386; cf. Avram et al. 2004, 931– 941 for the places in the region which are attested as poleis).

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Cities south of the Haimos, like Apollonia and Mesambria, probably did not participate as Lysimachos immediately seems to have crossed the Haimos mountains, marching to Odessos. τῶν τε Θρᾳκῶν καὶ Σκυθῶν τοὺς ὁμοροῦντας: Diodoros makes it quite clear that the Thracians participating in the revolt lived in the region. Lund (1992, 28 – 29) argues therefore that they were the tribe of the Terizoi. A fortified Thracian settlement excavated at Cape Kaliakra on the Black Sea coast identified as Tirizis is assumed to have been their place of residence. Delev (2000, 386), however, assumes that Tirizis may already have stood under Lysimachos’ control by 313 (cf. Strabo VII 11.6). Jordanov (1990, 42) suggests that the Getic dynasts were among the locals joining the revolt.

73.3 τὸν Αἷμον ὑπερβαλών: The Haimos is a mountain range in modern day Bulgaria stretching east-west from the Black Sea (just north of Nesebar, ancient Mesambria) to the Serbian border (Oberhummer, ‘Haimos [5]’, RE VII.2 [1912], 2221– 2226). πλησίον τῆς Ὀδησσοῦ: Odessos (modern day Varna in Bulgaria), was the first polis north of the Haimos mountains on the Black Sea shore (Avram et al. 2004, 936). ταχὺ τοὺς ἔνδον κατεπλήξατο: A typical element in Diodoros’ siege descriptions (see especially II 6.8, οἱ δ᾽ ἔνδον ἐπὶ τῇ καταλήψει τῆς ἄκρας καταπλαγέντες, XIV 14.3, τῷ φόβῳ καταπλῆξαι τοὺς ἔνδον, XX 107.4, καταπληξάμενος τοὺς ἔνδον, but also XII 68.3, XIV 62.2, 62.4, XVIII 19.4, 51.2, XX 83.1, XXXI 45.1; cf. XV 65.4, XVI 33.2, 52.9, XVII 24.4, 33.1; for Diodoros’ fondness of the verb καταπλήττεσθαι, see MD, s.v.; Palm 1955, 187; Chamoux 1993, lxxiv; cf. supra, 26.10 κατέβαινε…; 42.4 κατεπλήξατο…).

73.4 τῷ παραπλησίῳ τρόπῳ τοὺς Ἰστριανοὺς ἀνακτησάμενος: Lund (1992, 40) suggests that the late fourth-century destruction of the Istrian fortifications might be the result of Lysimachos’ capture of the city.

73.5 τὴν δὲ τῶν Καλλαντιανῶν πόλιν περιστρατοπεδεύσας συνεστήσατο πολιορκίαν: The siege of Kallatis is also mentioned at XX 25.1, though not in a precise chronological context: Diodoros lists the benefactions of the Spartokid

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king Eumelos, which included his taking care of 1,000 displaced Kallatians who had fled from their besieged city, and allowing them to settle at Psoa (on this settlement, see Orth 1993, 72). This has been taken to mean that by 309, the year of Eumelos’ accession, the city still was under siege (Droysen 1878, II, 29; Geyer, ‘Lysimachos [1]’, RE XIV.1 [1928], 4; Billows 1990, 122; Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 123 – 124; Delev 2000, 386; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.) or had been blockaded again (Beloch 1925, 125 n. 2; Saitta 1955, 115 – 116; Jordanov 1990, 42; Lund 1992, 42; Bosworth 2002, 271). It does not seem impossible, however, that Eumelos had offered his hospitality to the Kallatians before he had assumed the kingship and settled them at Psoa either at that point or only after his accession; the passage certainly does not necessarily imply that Kallatis was being besieged in 309.

73.6 δύο δυνάμεις ἀπέσταλκεν ᾿Aντίγονος ἐπὶ βοήθειαν τοῖς Καλλαντιανοῖς: Probably Antigonos hoped to seize the opportunity to invade Macedonia or at least to lay the foundations for such an invasion by securing the route via Thrace (Hammond 1988a, 156 – 157; Lund 1992, 28 and 41). Some date the outbreak of the revolt to the summer of 313 and assume that the Antigonid troops arrived in the summer of 312 (Errington 1977, 499; Billows 1990, 122 n. 52; Jordanov 1990, 42; Lund 1992, 40). If the structure of Diodoros’ narrative is reliable, it seems more likely that the beginning of the uprising has to be dated to sometime in the spring of 313 and the arrival of Pausanias and Lykon to the autumn of the same year. The presence of Antigonos’ armies and his interference in the region seems to have left some traces in the archaeological record. Ştefan (1977) argues that a funerary text engraved on a late fourth century kantharos for a certain Naukasamas who seems to have been a soldier (the dedication on the cup was made by σύσσιτοι, usually members of a military association), concerned a man who served in Antigonos’ fleet, since the name of the individual is Phoinikian (see also Hornblower 1981, 117– 118; Billows 1990, 446 – 447; Jordanov 1990, 41). The hoards from the Pontic region contain large amounts of coins struck between the mid-320’s and ca. 310 in the mints of Asia Minor and Phoinikia, an observation which scholars likewise associate with these events; possibly the money was sent by Antigonos as financial support for the revolt (Jordanov 1990, 41; Lund 1992, 41; Nawotka 1997, 34 n. 126). Λύκων ὁ στρατηγός: Lykon is not attested elsewhere (Hauben 1975, no. 21; Billows 1990, 398). Hauben (loc. cit.) suggests that identification with Lykos, a general of Lysimachos attested in the third century (Polyaen. V 19), is possible, while also admitting that it is difficult to be certain. Whereas Billows (loc. cit.) notes

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that ‘the ultimate fate, success or failure, of Lykon and his fleet is not recorded’, Hauben (1975, 57) might be correct in concluding from Diodoros’ statement ἀποτυχὼν ταύτης τῆς ἐπιβολῆς (74.1), that the whole operation failed. Παυσανίας: Pausanias is otherwise unknown, but Billows (1990, 414– 415) argues that he must have ranked fairly high in the Antigonid hierarchy as he was given an independent command over a substantial body of troops. τὸ καλούμενον Ἱερόν: Bizière refers to the sanctuary of Artemis mentioned by Ptolemy (Geog. V 1.2), but there were several other sanctuaries in the region which could be considered, for instance the Ἱερόν of Zeus Ourios on the Asiatic side of the Bosporos suggested by Huß (2001, 155 n. 475), if any actual sanctuary is meant: the qualification τὸ καλούμενον suggests that we are facing a toponym – it may or may not refer to a sanctuary. On the problems of identifying the location, see also Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 116 n. 266.

73.8 Σεύθην τὸν βασιλέα τῶν Θρᾳκῶν ἀφεστηκότα πρὸς ᾿Aντίγονον: Seuthes, the king of the Odrysian Thracians, already appeared to be a reluctant ally of the Macedonians around 330 when he tried to forge an alliance with Athens (Berve 1926, II, no. 702; Lund 1992, 22– 24 and passim; Heckel 2006, 248). In Alexander’s later years Seuthes had established a position of de facto autonomy (Kabakčiev 2000, 18 – 19; cf. Delev 2000, 384– 386; Bosworth 2002, 269), and he immediately offered fierce resistance against Lysimachos upon the latter’s arrival in the area (Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 102– 104; Lund 1992, 22– 28). By the present time there seems to have existed some sort of treaty between them, as Seuthes is said to have defected to Antigonos, which would imply that he had been allied with Lysimachos before (Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 103 – 104; Lund 1992, 27– 28). In bringing Seuthes over to his side, Antigonos again showed how diplomacy and military operations are to be used in concert in an effective strategy (cf. Errington 1986, 130), but Lysimachos had the better of him this time; even the best strategy can fail.

73.9 συνάψας δ᾽ αὐτῷ μάχην ἐφ᾽ ἱκανὸν χρόνον: Stereotypical Diodorean presentation of a battle (see above, 42.1 συνῆψε…; 30.5 ἐφ᾽ ἱκανόν…). τῶν πολεμίων ἀνελὼν παμπληθεῖς ἐβιάσατο τοὺς βαρβάρους: Yet, the victory cannot have been as crushing as Diodoros’ wording seems to imply. As Bosworth (2002, 271) notes, Seuthes and his successors remained in power even after the defeat, they continued to strike their own coins and their capital Seu-

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thopolis continued to flourish. For παμπληθής in Diodorean battles, see also IV 33.5, XIII 65.2, 114.2, XVII 61.3, XXIII 15.4.

74.1 ἐξέπεμψε Τελεσφόρον εἰς Πελοπόννησον, δοὺς αὐτῷ πεντήκοντα ναῦς καὶ στρατιώτας τοὺς ἱκανούς: Telesphoros, possibly a nephew of Antigonos (Wallace 2014b, 238 n. 29), is not attested before the present episode. We know of his activities in the years 313 – 312 (see also 75.7– 8 and 87), and an anecdote in Diogenes Laertios (V 79) concerning the aftermath of the fall of Athens in 307 most likely refers to the same individual (Hauben 1975, no. 33; Billows 1990, 435 – 436). Although Telesphoros’ primary aim was the liberation of the Peloponnesian cities, his operations were not strictly limited to that region (75.5; Hauben 1975, 97 n. 5; contra Bengtson 1964, I, 150). Niese (1893, 287, ‘zu erwägen…’) suggested that the fifty ships of Telesphoros may have been the same as the fifty ships said to have been sent to the Peloponnese at 62.9, which has become a certainty for Beloch (1925, 122 n. 3, ‘natürlich […] identisch’; Bengtson 1964, I, 149 n. 3). Billows (1990, 117 n. 44), on the other hand, dismisses the possibility on chronological grounds: he argues that the fifty ships of 62.9 were sent at the end of the siege of Tyre, whereas Telesphoros was dispatched only a year later, after Antigonos had moved to Asia Minor and the failure of Pausanias against Lysimachos. This is indeed what Diodoros’ wording implies (ὁ δ᾽ ᾿Aντίγονος ἀποτυχὼν ταύτης τῆς ἐπιβολῆς ἐξέπεμψε Τελεσφόρον εἰς Πελοπόννησον). However, if my analysis of the structure of book XIX is correct, Telesphoros’ arrival in the Peloponnese belongs to the spring of 313, whereas the division of the fleet with 50 ships sent to the Peloponnese at 62.9 belongs to the autumn of 314. Diodoros’ transitional phrase between chapters 73 and 74 would then be rather misleading, but that is hardly a surprising observation (cf. infra). If the fifty ships reserved for the Peloponnesian mission in the autumn of 314 at 62.9 for some reason could not or did not cross to Europe before the beginning of the next sailing season – e.g. because there was no point in starting the Peloponnesian campaign at the very end of the year –, the fleet would be identical indeed. Whereas absolute certainty might be slightly optimistic, there is a strong possibility that the vessels mentioned at 62.9 are those of Telesphoros (cf. Stylianou 1998, 16, on ἐξέπεμψε). A further, albeit speculative, argument for the identification of the ships might be found in Telesphoros’ later revolt. In the spring of 312 Polemaios was also sent to Greece, with a fleet of 150 ships and a land army of 5,000 infantry and 500 cavalry (77.2). Telesphoros, anything but happy with another nephew of Antigonos receiving a more important command than his, defected from Anti-

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gonos and set out to establish an independent position. At 62.9 the fleet is divided in two uneven parts: except for the 50 ships going to the Peloponnese with an unmentioned admiral, Antigonos’ nephew Dioskourides received 190 ships for operations in the Aegean. If Telesphoros was the commander of the fifty ships of 62.9, Polemaios’ mission was in fact the second time that he felt put behind in favour of someone with the same relationship to Antigonos as his (cf. Hauben 1975, 95; Wallace 2014b, 238 – 239). τὰς πόλεις ἐλευθεροῦν ἐνετείλατο· τοῦτο γὰρ πράξας ἤλπιζε πίστιν κατασκευάζειν παρὰ τοῖς Ἕλλησιν ὅτι πρὸς ἀλήθειαν φροντίζει τῆς αὐτονομίας αὐτῶν: In itself this is a neutral comment about what Antigonos wished the Greeks to believe and it does not say anything about his honesty or lack thereof, as is reflected very well in Geer’s translation: ‘he hoped by doing this to establish among the Greeks the belief that he truly was concerned for their independence’ – a belief that may or may not have been justified. Rosen (1979, 474 with n. 73) concludes from this phrase (and parallel ones: see below, 78.2 ὥστε…) that Hieronymos praised Antigonos for his policy of liberating the Greek cities. While it seems to be a logical and plausible assumption that Hieronymos did so, there is no evidence whatsoever that the latter was Diodoros’ source for the present passage. Nor do I see any necessary trace of praise here. Furthermore, on such an interpretation the mention of Ptolemaios’ claim that Antigonos violated the freedom clause of the peace of 311 (XX 19.3) is difficult to explain. According to Wallace (2018, 99) the problem with passages such as the present one disappears when one considers Antigonos to be committed to the policy of Greek freedom regardless of the principle: ‘Antigonos is presented as genuinely committed to a political policy that benefitted both him and the Greek cities, not altruistically enamoured of the principle behind that policy’. As a description of the Realpolitik of the times, this is certainly correct, but it may be rather minimalistic as an interpretation of what Antigonos wanted the Greeks to believe; it surely is not a sufficient basis to attribute the statement to Hieronymos. καὶ ἅμα γινώσκειν ὑπέλαβε τὰ Κασσάνδρου πράγματα: In light of the negotiations between Antigonos and Kassandros later that year, the received text makes perfect sense and is rightly maintained by Fischer and Bizière. I neither see any need for emending γινώσκειν to ταπεινώσειν (Dindorf) or τιτρώσκειν (Reiske, followed by Waterfield) nor for reading ὑπέβαλε instead of ὑπέλαβε (Geer, adopting a suggestion by Post).

74.2 πλὴν Σικυῶνος καὶ Κορίνθου· ἐν ταύταις γὰρ Πολυπέρχων διέτριβεν δυνάμεις ἁδρὰς ἔχων: Polyperchon’s position at the time is somewhat enigmatic. We

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have no idea what he had done during the previous two years: he is last attested in the spring of 315, when Kassandros unsuccessfully attempted to turn him away from the alliance with Antigonos (63.3). In the meantime (autumn 315) Polyperchon’s son Alexandros did join Kassandros, but we are not informed of his father’s role in the affair (64.3). He might have followed his son into the other camp, as there does not seem to be any tension between Polyperchon and Alexandros’ widow Kratesipolis, who is known to have held Sikyon and Korinthos both before and after the present time (67.2, XX 37.1). In 309, though, Polyperchon is again opposed to Kassandros, but only to change sides once more shortly after (XX 28). It has been argued that he retired at the time Alexandros went over to Kassandros, because he could not bring himself to serve the latter, while allowing his son to make the best deal. The murder of Alexandros’ is then assumed to have been the cause for Polyperchon to come out of his retirement to re-establish his independence (Beloch 1927, 443; Heckel 1992, 202). This would explain why Kratesipolis is not mentioned at the present time, although she clearly was in charge before (cf. supra, 67.1 Κρατησίπολις), but on the other hand one wonders whether she would simply have handed over the command to Polyperchon. That Polyperchon remained a relevant factor is clear from his mention in Antigonos’ letter to Skepsis (OGIS 5 = RC 1, l. 39 – 40).

74.3 Φίλιππος ὑπὸ Κασσάνδρου πεμφθεὶς στρατηγὸς εἰς τὸν πρὸς Αἰτωλοὺς πόλεμον: The general Philippos was one of Kassandros’ brothers (Paus. I 11.4) and had belonged to the circle of Alexander’s pages. After the present campaign he is never attested again. (Berve 1926, II, no. 777; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 72– 73; Heckel 2006, 213 [P 8]); this need not mean that he died soon afterwards (pace Gregory 1995, 27). At 67.5 we learned that Kassandros left (ἀπολιπών) Lykiskos as στρατηγός to help the Akarnanians against the Aitolians, and at 88.2 Lykiskos is mentioned again as ὁ τεταγμένος ἐπὶ τῆς ᾿Aκαρνανίας στρατηγὸς ὑπὸ Κασσάνδρου. The problem of the relationship between the respective positions of Lykiskos and Philippos is often ignored (e.g. Sandberger 1970, 19; Errington 1986, 125 – 126; Hammond 1988a, 155). Whereas Geer (1954, ad 88.2) assumes that Lykiskos had been replaced by Philippos for some time, Landucci Gattinoni (1992, 117 n. 271) asserts that the use of two different sources is the explanation for the apparent contradiction. That Diodoros mistakenly called Lykiskos Philippos seems to be excluded, as Philippos’ participation in the campaign is confirmed by Pausanias (I 11.4); a substitution of Lykiskos for Philippos in the other chapters is most unlikely as one would not expect a common name to be replaced with a less common one. The most likely explanation is that Lykis-

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kos, who was responsible for both Epeiros and Akarnania (see above, 67.5 ἀπολιπών…), could not be in two places at the same time (Bengtson 1964, I, 141; Funke 2000a, 195). That Diodoros first speaks of ἀπολείπειν and now of πέμπειν might indicate that we are simply facing two separate commands, but perhaps this is ‘Buchstabenkultus’. Probably, then, Kassandros sent Philippos to deal with the Aitolians as Lykiskos was somehow occupied elsewhere. We should not forget how little we know of an eventful period with many simultaneous theatres of action. Αἰακίδην τὸν Ἠπειρώτην εἰς τὴν βασιλείαν κατεληλυθότα: Aiakides had been banished from his kingdom by his subjects in early 316 (see above, 36.3 ἀκουσίως…; 36.4 οἱ δὲ χωρισθέντες …), but Pausanias states that he found pardon after some time (I 11.4, εὑρομένου δὲ ἀνὰ χρόνον παρὰ τούτων συγγνώμην). Funke (2000a, 196 – 197) argues that they got tired of the limited autonomy they enjoyed under Lykiskos, ἐπιμελητὴς καὶ στρατηγός of Kassandros, and deemed recalling Aiakides the best way to restore the independence of their state. It seems likewise possible, though, that there were two different parties in Epeiros, one which opposed Aiakides and another one which backed him, his supporters now having somehow found the right opportunity to call him back. Such also seems to be Hammond’s view (1988a, 155), who writes of a coup d’état by Aiakides (cf. also Meyer 2013, 124). Pausanias’ account (I 11.4, ἠναντιοῦτο Κάσσανδρος μὴ κατελθεῖν ἐς Ἤπειρον) suggests that Aiakides was restored to his kingship but had not physically returned to his kingdom, though perhaps his extremely compressed narrative is misleading in this respect. Although Wesseling does not appear to have had any problem with the received text, Reiske’s conjecture κατεληλυθότα seems to be universally accepted. However, in light of D.S. II 60.3 (τὸ μὲν πρῶτον εἰς τὴν Περσίδα διελθεῖν, ὕστερον δὲ εἰς τὴν Ἑλλάδα διασωθῆναι) and Jos. BJ VII 287 (πύργοι […] ἐξ ὧν ἦν εἰς οἰκήματα διελθεῖν περὶ πᾶν τὸ τεῖχος ἔνδον ᾠκοδομημένα) the reading διεληλυθότα of the manuscripts seems entirely unproblematic. Admittedly, in both passages the context is somewhat different, but at D.S. II 60.3 τὸ μὲν πρῶτον… ὕστερον δὲ… shows that the first stage is considered as a journey in and of itself which ended in Persia rather than a crossing of the country. In the Josephus passage διελθεῖν εἰς likewise concerns the point of arrival, the οἰκήματα, rather than the area through which one passes, the towers. For διέρχεσθαι εἰς in different contexts in Diodoros, see MD s.v. πρὶν ἢ συμμίξαι τὴν τῶν Αἰτωλῶν δύναμιν: No source mentions an alliance between Aiakides and the Aitolians, but this is the clear implication of Diodoros’ text, and they were of course natural allies when opposed to Macedonia (cf. Bosworth 2003b, 19 n. 46).

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74.4 εὑρὼν δὲ τοὺς Ἠπειρώτας ἑτοίμους εἰς μάχην: Pausanias (I 11.4) situates the battle near Oiniadai (πρὸς Οἰνιάδαις). ἐξ ἐφόδου συνῆψεν εἰς χεῖρας: Cf. supra, 42.1 συνῆψε… The combination with ἐξ ἐφόδου is also found at IV 48.4. For εἰς χεῖρας συνάπτειν, see XV 55.4, 83.4, XX 12.2; also with (συν‐)ἔρχεσθαι/συμπλέκεσθαι/… e.g. XIV 52.4, XV 86.1, 86.5, 91.4, XVII 25.2, 26.2, 46.2, 98.2. Note the clusters at XV 83.4, 86.1, 86.5, 91.4, and XVII 25.2, 26.2. Cf. also ἐκ χειρός (e.g. XI 7.2, XIV 23.3, XVII 24.2).

74.5 πολλοὺς ἀνεῖλεν, ἐν οἷς ἦν καὶ Αἰακίδης ὁ βασιλεύς: Pausanias (I 11.4) states that Aiakides died shortly after the battle: Αἰακίδην μὲν τρωθέντα κατέλαβε μετ᾽ οὐ πολὺ τὸ χρεών. Aiakides was succeeded by Alketas (see below, 88.1 ᾿Aλκέτᾳ…).

74.6 ὥστε τὰς ἀνοχύρους πόλεις ἐκλιπεῖν, εἰς δὲ τὰ δυσβατώτατα τῶν ὀρῶν συμφυγεῖν μετὰ τέκνων καὶ γυναικῶν: The same had happened in 321 when, after the Lamian war, Antipatros and Krateros were determined to fight it out with the Aitolians (Diod. XVIII 25.1; Mendels 1984, 171). Interestingly enough, both Fischer and Bizière adopt F’s ἀνοχύρους although R’s ἀνωχύρους clearly is the correct variant (cf. supra, 67.4 ἐκ τῶν ἀνοχύρων…).

75.1 τὰς δ᾽ Ἑλληνίδας πόλεις αὐτονόμους ἀφήσει: This clause was always included in the treaties the Antigonids made with their rivals, in order to underscore their commitment to the policy of Greek freedom: see also 105.1 (cf. infra, ad loc.) with OGIS 5, l. 53 – 65, Diod. XX 111.2, and perhaps also Souda s.v. Δημήτριος (Δ 431 Adler) with Meeus 2018b, 110 – 111. LaBuff (2015, 34) argues that this policy of freeing the Greek cities had important consequences for the unity of Karia and established status differences between Greeks and non-Greeks that had not existed in Karia before the Macedonian conquest. On the meaning of the term Ἑλληνὶς πόλις, see Cohen HS III, 360 – 377 and for the present context surely esp. 362– 363 on the traditional Greek poleis rather than the rest of the discussion which deals with new foundations. For the phrasing compare XX 19.3 ἐλευθέρας ἀφεῖσθαι τὰς Ἑλληνίδας πόλεις which describes the peace of 311. The parallel is hardly remarkable, though, since the phrase occurs throughout the

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Bibliotheke (e.g. III 55.4, IV 31.8, XIV 34.1, XVI 3.3, XX 107.2, XXXI 8.3, 8.4, 8.6) and was generally used (e.g. Thuc. I 39.3; And. 3.13; Isoc. 4.176; X. HG I 6.15, III 2.12; Hyp. Athenog. 6; ΣArist. Rhet. 1373b18; D. 6.14; Plb. IV 27.5, XVIII 44.4, 47.6).

75.2 ᾿Aγάθωνα τὸν ἀδελφόν: This episode constitutes all we know of Agathon. Asandros’ father was likewise named Agathon (IG II2 450), so that the present individual might have been an older brother of the satrap. πρὸς δὲ Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Κάσσανδρον διαπρεσβευσάμενος: F simply gives this reading, as R initially did as well, but the latter’s scribe then changed it to Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Σέλευκον. Whilst Bizière adopts the text of R ante correctionem and F, all previous editors preferred R post correctionem and assumed that Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Σέλευκον is correct (likewise accepted in most studies on the period: e.g. Seibert 1969, 77; Adams 1974, 123; Mastrocinque 1979, 24; Hammond 1988a, 158; Billows 1990, 120 – 121; Habicht 1995, 72; Huß 2001, 155 – 156; Bosworth 2002, 215 n. 25; Marcellesi 2004, 76 n. 627. Contra Niese 1893, 288, who prefers the reading of F). However, it seems clear to me that Bizière is right in assuming that Kassandros is meant. Asandros needed all the help he could get, so we need not doubt that he appealed to both Ptolemaios and Kassandros. Seleukos, however, had no military means of his own, so that no messengers had to be sent to him. Furthermore, one can readily understand how the systematic corruption of Ἄσανδρος to Κάσανδρος (combined with his consistent habit of writing Κάσσανδρος with a single sigma), led the scribe of R to believe that his text did not make sense. After all, before he changed καὶ Κάσανδρον to καὶ Σέλευκον, he had written that Κάσανδρος sent messengers to Πτολεμαῖος καὶ Κάσανδρος. It seems highly likely, therefore that R’s Σέλευκον at 68.2, is likewise a conjecture of the scribe, though it is less obvious because there he immediately wrote Σέλευκον. The reason why the scribe immediately wrote Seleukos at 68.2 is that there both occurrences of Κάσανδρος in his source occurred in the same sentence whereas here the distance is greater, so that he did not notice the seeming problem straight away. Wesseling (ad loc.; cf. Droysen 1878, II, 29) suggested that Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Σέλευκον καὶ Κάσσανδρον might have been the correct reading. This would not be impossible in itself, but it presumes that this was the reading in R’s model or there would have been no reason why he would have written Κάσανδρον in the first place. If so, one wonders, however, why the scribe would change καὶ Κάσανδρον to καὶ Σέλευκον, rather than simply adding the latter’s name. It would thus seem that R’s model only had two names, and that the former explanation is more economic and more plausible than Wesseling’s. At least this pas-

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sage, therefore, does not warrant Seibert’s argument (1969, 77) that Seleukos is presented as having been more prominent than Ptolemaios in Diodoros’ XIXth book (see also below, 80.3 παροξυνόμενος…).

75.3 τοῦ μὲν στόλου ναύαρχον ἀποδείξας Μήδιον: On Medeios, see above, 69.3 Μηδίου… Medeios had probably spent the winter at Ephesos with his fleet, after his victory against the Pydnaian ships at the end of the previous campaigning season (69.3; Hauben 1978, 47– 48). Hauben (1975, 127; cf. id. 1972a, 60 n. 52) argues on the basis of this passage and 77.2 (Μήδιον ἐπιστήσας ναύαρχον), as well as several others mentioning the appointment of an admiral, that the commanders of the fleet had to be reinstated for every mission they received. Whereas this is certainly possible, I am not sure whether we should attach so much weight to Diodoros’ wording: perhaps he did not care too much about the institutional implications of his vocabulary. τοῦ δὲ στρατοπέδου καταστήσας στρατηγὸν Δόκιμον: Dokimos is usually identified with an officer of the same name who had served under Perdikkas. As I have argued above (16.1 Δόκιμος; 16.4 εἰς φυλακήν…), the identification has its problems, and we might actually be facing a different individual here. Jones (1992; Huß 2001, 156 n. 480) connects the Milesian harbour mentioned by Chariton (III 2.11, the only attestation) as ὁ λιμὴν ὁ Δοκίμου λεγόμενος with the present episode, assuming that Dokimos was in charge of harbour construction works after the liberation of the city; less likely alternatives, so Jones claims, are that Dokimos later built the harbour when he founded Dokimeion or when he served as governor of Phrygia under Lysimachos. His argument is attractive but also highly speculative. Other explanations are certainly possible, and the fact that a Milesian by the name Dokimos was stephanephoros in 69/8 (Kawerau & Rehm 1914, no. 125, l. 28) suggests that the name of the harbour might be connected to a member of the local ruling class. Jones (1992, 95 – 96), on the other hand, assumes that the stephanephoros was a descendant of the present Dokimos, but does not connect him or his family in any other way to the name of the harbour. No certainty can be achieved concerning this matter.

75.4 τὴν πόλιν τῶν Μιλησίων: Miletos was an important harbour city in Karia in western Asia Minor, situated on a small peninsula opposite the mouth of the Maiandros river (Rostovtzeff 1953, 1354 n. 43; Orth 1993, 54– 55; Greaves 2002, 1– 38; Marcellesi 2004, esp. 75 – 81; Rubinstein 2004, 1082– 1088), which was of

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great strategic importance in the wars of the Successors (Meijering 2015, 239 – 240). Probably the city already received a Macedonian garrison under Alexander (Bosworth 1988a, 46 and 250); it was also home to one of Alexander’s mints in Asia Minor (Marcellesi 2004). τὴν φρουρουμένην ἄκραν ἐκπολιορκήσαντες εἰς αὐτονομίαν ἀποκατέστησαν τὸ πολίτευμα: The liberation of the city is also attested through the Milesian list of stephanephoroi under the year of Hippomachos, which ran from March 313 to March 312 (Kawerau & Rehm 1914, no. 123, l. 2– 4): Ἱππόμαχος Θήρωνος⋮ ἐπὶ τούτου ἡ πόλις ἐλευθέρα καὶ αὐτόνομος ἐγένετο ὑπὸ ᾿Aντιγόνου καὶ ἡ δημοκρατία ἀπεδόθη. At the same time, however, it has been suggested that during the age of the Successors Miletos was not allowed to mint civic coinage or was too weakened by the production of royal coinage to do so, which may suggest that some direct or indirect limitations on its sovereignty were in place (Marcellesi 2004, 166 – 167). Obviously, with its date between March 313 and March 312 the stephanephoroi list can offer only a rough confirmation of Diodoros’ chronology. Nonetheless, adherents of both the high chronology (esp. Wheatley 1998a, 273 – 276) and the low chronology (esp. Billows 1990, 121 n. 51 and 122 n. 52; cf. Anson 2006b, 230) have claimed that the list supports their particular reconstruction. In fact, all the list proves is that February 312 is the latest possible date for the Karian campaign. The actual date must be some point in 313, to which all events recounted under the archonship of Theophrastos belong (Meeus 2012). Being more precise is difficult: given the preceding events, the liberation is unlikely to have occurred very early in the campaigning season, but everything depends on the length of the siege of the Milesian garrison. Beloch’s suggestion (1927, 102) that the city was freed in the summer of 313 will not be far off the mark, as Medeios sailed to Europe later this year (75.7), which probably means that the operations in Karia had been finished (Wheatley 1998a, 275 – 276).

75.5 Τράλλεις: Tralleis was a city in northern Karia, due east of Magnesia on the Maiandros (Bean 1971, 177– 179; Orth 1993, 68; Flensted-Jensen 2004b, 1135). It was a place of some strategic importance, as it lay along the Royal Road from Ephesos to Kelainai (Antigonos’ headquarters), but given the wideness of the Maiandros valley it can hardly have formed an obstacle which could not be circumvented, as Hauben (1978, 48) notes. εἰς δὲ Καῦνον παρελθών: Kaunos was an important seaport on the southwestern Karian coast (Bean 1971, 139 – 151; Robert 1984, 499 – 532; Orth 1993, 43; Marek 2006, esp. 79 – 104; TIB VIII.1, 289). Instead of δὲ Καῦνον F gives an enigmatic

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variant, πεύκανον, which does not seem to make much sense. Some Byzantine Etymologia, all clearly going back to the same source, list it as a form derived from πεύκη, ‘pine’ (Etymologicum Genuinum, β 280 is the oldest occurrence, from the ninth century CE), but it is not attested outside of the etymological works. Dionysios the Periegete mentions an Indian tribe called Πευκαλεῖς, sometimes called Πευκανεῖς (see Eusthatius’ commentary, GGM II, p. 403, 1143 and the Paraphrasis, ibid., p. 424, 1141– 1151), but that too is not attested elsewhere and is unlikely to have influenced our scribe. Since Peukestas was promised a position by Antigonos upon his removal from Persis in 316 (see above, 48.5 κενῶς…), and is mentioned in a treaty between Eupolemos and Theangela (Schmitt 1969, no. 429, l. 13; Momigliano 1931, for the identification) it has been assumed that Peukestas was active in Karia at the time. From this the conclusion has been drawn that Peukestas originally was mentioned at this point in Diodoros’ text (Billows 1990, 418). While the suggestion is attractive, it is not entirely unproblematic. Admittedly, it would not be a unique instance of F providing a corrupt reading which is in fact closer to the original than the seemingly correct text of R (see above, 13.2 ὑπὸ τῆς πλήμης; 68.2 ὁ δὲ Κάσσανδρος…; cf. 14.1 Φιλώταν…). However, F reads πεύκανον not πευκαυνον. While in the latter case some corruption of Πευκέστης and Καῦνον might have been more plausible, in the former it might just be a misreading where the υ has been misplaced. After all, if F’s πεύκανον would be closer to the original text, the common ancestor of R and F might likewise have had this reading, which would mean that the Καῦνον of R is a scribal conjecture of a quite different nature than those at 68.2 (ὁ δὲ Κάσσανδρος…) and 75.2 (πρὸς δὲ Πτολεμαῖον…). Although Kaunos may well have been known to him, especially as the city still existed in Byzantine times, the copyist of R did not show as much understanding of geography when he changed Παρθυαίας to Παρθυαῖος at 14.1. Perhaps, then, we should not exclude a blatant and inexplicable but rather banal error of the scribe of F. At any rate, it is by no means a necessary inference that Peukestas must originally have been mentioned at this point in Diodoros’ text. τὴν Ἰασὸν πόλιν: Iasos was a Karian harbour city on the Gulf of Bargylia (Blümel, in I.Iasos II, esp. 143 – 155; Orth 1993, 38; Flensted-Jensen 2004b, 1117– 1119; Fabiani 2015).

75.6 πρεσβευτῶν παρ᾽ Αἰτωλῶν καὶ Βοιωτῶν: The Aitolians had supported the Antigonid cause in Greece against Kassandros since the spring of 314 (see above, 66.2 τοῦ κοινοῦ…), but apparently without concluding a formal alliance. After

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their defeat at the hands of Philippos (74.5), however, they decided that such a coalition would be in their best interests (Simpson 1958, 359 – 360). The Boiotians, too, can have been none too pleased with Kassandros’ growing power in Greece, and they might have felt that he had re-established Thebes primarily to serve as a stronghold for his own purposes (Stähelin 1919, 2303). Furthermore, when the city was restored the Boiotians had to return the Theban land they had received at the time of its destruction, which will have stirred up ill-will (Gullath 1982, 89; cf. supra, 54.2 συνεπελάβοντο…); that Thebes was not destroyed again after Kassandros lost control need not mean that the other Boiotians accepted Kassandros’ actions (pace Gullath 1982, 153 – 154 and 158; cf. infra, 77.4 παρὰ μὲν τοῦ κοινοῦ… on the interval before Thebes’ re-admission into the League). Probably the Aitolians and the Boiotians had also concluded an alliance amongst themselves (Mendels 1984, 171 and 173 – 174; Grainger 1999, 79 n. 66, who is rightly cautious about Mendels’ attempt to place IG IX2.1 170 in this context, though; cf. Lasagni 2019, 167 n. 126 with further references). While they are comparatively rarely mentioned in the literary sources, we know from the epigraphical material that such embassies to the (proto‐)royal courts were highly common: Billows 1990, 252 n. 27 for Antigonos, and generally Paschidis 2008a. τῷ δὲ Κασσάνδρῳ συνελθὼν εἰς λόγους ὑπὲρ εἰρήνης περὶ τὸν Ἑλλήσποντον ἀπῆλθεν ἄπρακτος: These negotiations are also mentioned in Antigonos’ letter to the Skepsians (OGIS 5, l. 5 – 8 = Welles 1934, no. 1). The wording in the inscription shows that the correct way to translate Diodoros’ statement is Bizière’s ‘il entra, d’autre part, près de l’Hellespont, en pourparlers avec Cassandre au sujet de la paix’ rather than Geer’s ‘he entered into negotiations with Cassander about peace in the Hellespontine region’: ἕως δὲ συνωμολογ|[εῖτο ἐπὶ τ]ούτοις τὴν ἔντευξιν ἐπὶ τοῦ Ἑλλη[σ|πόντου] ἐπ[ο]ιούμεθα· καὶ εἰ μὴ κωλυταί τι|[νες ἐγέ]νοντο, τότε ἂν συνετελέσθη ταῦτα· As long as there was agreement on this [i. e. the freedom of the Greeks] we participated in the conference on the Hellespont, and if certain men had not interfered the matter would then have been settled. (Trans. Welles)

Antigonos’ claim in the letter that the freedom of the Greeks was his principal concern obviously is propaganda (Simpson 1954, 26), but it is a matter he always made sure to include in his treaties (cf. supra, 75.1 τὰς δ᾽ Ἑλληνίδας πόλεις…). Undoubtedly, his real aim on this occasion was to induce Kassandros to abandon his allies in order to be safe on the European front, as he had tried with Ptolemaios on the southern front in 315 (Simpson 1954, 27– 28; Adams 1974, 124; see above, 64.8 συνελθών…).

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What exactly made the negotiations break down is unclear, as is the identity of the mysterious κωλυταί τινες of the inscription. Several solutions have been proposed for the latter problem: Tarn (1969, 486) suggested that Ptolemaios must be meant, whereas others have thought of Lysimachos (Saitta 1955, 69; Lund 1992, 60 with n. 30; Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 117– 118; cf. Manni 1951, 11 n. 34) or the friends of Kassandros or those of Antigonos (Dittenberger, OGIS, ad loc.; Adams 1974, 125 – 126). Simpson (1954, 28 – 29), however, plausibly argued that the alleged meddlers need not be any specific group or individual and might not be more than a convenient means for Antigonos to explain why he had failed to make the most of the peace negotiations. The true problem rather seems to have been that Antigonos asked too much (ibid., 28), and Kassandros may have done the same. The interpretations offered in his letter to Skepsis most of all provide several ‘striking examples of dissembling, even of hypocrisy, on [Antigonos’] part’, though the facts are probably largely accurate (ibid., 30). In 311 Antigonos would reach his goal of concluding a separate peace with his European allies, as is clear from the same letter (OGIS 5, l. 26 – 31; Simpson 1954, 26), but after Gaza his position was not as strong as in 313, and he had to make concessions he had not been prepared to make on the earlier occasion. While Errington (1977, 498; Huß 2001, 498) dates the negotiations between Antigonos and Kassandros to 312, because he has likewise placed the intervention at Kallatis in that year, it is clear from Diodoros’ chronology that both events belong to 313. οὐ δυναμένων αὐτῶν οὐδαμῶς συμφωνῆσαι: In his own account of the matter in the letter to Skepsians, Antigonos claimed that initially there was some agreement (συνωμολογ[εῖτο], OGIS 5, l. 5 – 6), but that the consensus was somehow sabotaged (see previous lemma). The difference may, but need not, be an indication against a pro-Antigonid source, as we do not know how Diodoros’ authority had phrased it.

75.7 ἀναζεύξας οὖν μετὰ τριάκοντα νεῶν εἰς Ὠρεὸν ἐπολιόρκει τὴν πόλιν: Oreos (originally Histiaia), one of four independent poleis on Euboia in the late fourth century, lay on the north coast of the island, facing Thessaly and controlling the narrows leading to the North Euboian Gulf (Jacobson, ‘Histiaia’, PECS, 396; Reber et al. 2004, 656 – 658). Kassandros’ principal aim in besieging the city was probably to secure the sea route around Thermopylai, and there is no need to assume that the city had concluded an alliance with Antigonos (Adams 1974, 126; Picard 1979, 258).

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ἐνεργῶς δ’ αὐτοῦ ταῖς προσβολαῖς χρωμένου: The phrase ἐνεργῶς χρᾶσθαι is unique to Polybios (I 48.1, II 54.7, III 17.8, IV 63.2, XI 12.6, XVI 2.7, XXVII 15.13, XXX 16.2, XXXI 1.3) and Diodoros (XVII 58.4, 112.5, XXIII 11.1) among preserved authors. That it is more common in Polybios than in Diodoros and is limited to the Hellenistic books of the latter’s work may suggest influence of Diodoros’ source, but it might as well be coincidental: ἐνεργής and ἐνεργός generally seem to cluster in books XVIII–XX and especially book XVII which on its own has a quarter of all occurrences. Μήδιος δ᾽ ἐκ τῆς ᾿Aσίας ἔχων ναῦς ἑκατόν: Since Medeios had operated in Karia earlier this year (75.3), the present events probably belong to the late summer or more likely the early autumn of 313 (cf. Hauben 1973, 258; contra Paschidis 2008a, 75: ‘the first half of 313’).

75.8 παραγενομένης βοηθείας ἐξ ᾿Aθηνῶν: Athens stood under Kassandros’ control since 317 (cf. supra, 68.3 Δημήτριον…). While other Athenian naval interventions in the Third Diadoch War clearly involved Athens’ own interests (cf. supra, 68.3 προστάττων…), this is less evident in the case of Oreos, which reveals the extent to which Athens was in Kassandros’ power (O’Sullivan 2009, 285). At the same time, the honorary decree for Phaidros of Sphettos (IG II3.1 985, l. 13 – 18), whose father Thymochares served as commander of the Athenian fleet on this occasion, reveals that Thymochares negotiated an exception for the Athenian sailors, relieving them of the obligation to partake in the siege works (l. 16 – 18, τῶν συμμάχων μόνους ᾿Aθηναίους ἀλειτουργήτους εἶναι τῶν ἔργων τῶν πρὸς τὴν πολιορκίαν). Kassandros must thus also have realized how much he needed the Athenian naval support against the superior Antigonid fleet (cf. Buraselis 1982, 35; Paschidis 2008a, 76). The size of the Athenian squadron is unknown, but it is unlikely to have been very large (Buraselis 1982, 35 – 36 with n. 82). συμβαλόντες δ᾽ αὐτοῖς μίαν μὲν κατέδυσαν, τρεῖς δ᾽ αὐτάνδρους ἔλαβον: These numbers seem to suggest a smaller confrontation after the fleet of Medeios had left, rather than an engagement with 120 Antigonid ships (cf. also the previous lemma on the size of the Athenian squadron). Geyer (1930, 178) notes that Diodoros is unclear about Medeios’ whereabouts, but although we are not explicitly informed, it is obvious that by the time the Athenian ships arrived, the admiral had already returned to Asia, as Antigonos sent him to Europe again with Polemaios at the beginning of the next campaigning season (77.2; Hauben 1973, 258, Buraselis 1982, 35 – 36, and Billows 1990, 122 n. 53). Gullath (1982, 154 n. 3) wrongly assumes on the basis of the low chronology that the siege of Oreos

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cannot have started in the autumn of 313, and that Medeios therefore cannot have had the time for his return journey to Asia. The problem, of course, is that the winter of 313/2 is not explicitly mentioned in Diodoros’ narrative, but his archon dates prove that the siege lasted over that very winter and until Polemaios’ arrival from Asia (77.4; Hauben 1973, 256 – 260; cf. Smith 1961, 288 – 290). There is thus no need to assume that the Athenian squadron mentioned by Diodoros was not the same as that of Thymochares mentioned in the Phaidros decree (cf. previous lemma; pace Paschidis 2008a, 75 – 76 with n. 4): it is unclear whether the account in the decree implies that the Athenians left again after this action, or what their having been ἀλειτουργήτους would otherwise mean. Paschidis (loc. cit.) is right that recalling Medeios’ fleet did not make strategic sense in terms of the situation at Oreos, but as is shown by his decision in the next year to call back Medeios from Chalkis, Antigonos was very much concerned with the bigger picture and wished his fleet to be wherever it best suited the overall strategy (cf. infra, 77.5 μετεπέμψατο…).

§ 77 – 78 Polemaios in Greece With the defeat of Asandros, Antigonos had apparently suppressed most resistance in Asia, and he concentrated on Europe for the next campaigning season. He sent Polemaios and Medeios to Greece with a substantial land army and a large fleet to attack Kassandros’ positions (77.2). The mission was very successful, as Polemaios managed to free almost all cities from Kassandros’ garrisons except Athens and possibly Megalopolis (see below, 78.5 τῶν Ὀπουντίων…). As Diodoros’ chronology is reliable here, the low chronology should be followed for these events (see below, 77.1 τοῦ δ᾽ ἔτους…; Meeus 2012).

77.1 τοῦ δ᾽ ἔτους τούτου διελθόντος ᾿Aθήνησι μὲν ἦρχε Πολέμων, ἐν Ῥώμῃ δ᾽ ὑπῆρχον ὕπατοι Λεύκιος Παπείριος τὸ πέμπτον καὶ Γάϊος Ἰούνιος: Polemon held the archonship in 312/1 (Samuel 1972, 210; Meritt 1977, 170; Dreyer 1999, 426). The Roman consuls of 311 (vulgate reckoning) were L. Papirius Cursor and C. Iunius Bubulcus Brutus; the Varronian chronology situates them in 313 (Broughton 1951, 158). Diodoros adheres to his principle of beginning a new archon year at the start of the campaigning season (Anson 2006b, 231; Meeus 2012). Thus, chapter 77 deals with European affairs from spring 312 to autumn 312, as the winter is explicitly indicated at 77.7. Chapter 78 returns to earlier events in 312, but it is hard to establish a precise date. Since Kassandros immediately reacted to the

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events in Epeiros and seems to have arrived there at some point in autumn (cf. 89.1), 78.1 should probably be situated in the late summer. Given the preceding operations in central Greece, 78.2 is likely to describe events of the summer as well, which is confirmed by 79.1, τῆς δ᾽ αὐτῆς θερίας. It would seem that 78 runs to the end of the campaigning season in Europe, though, as Polemaios’ movements recounted there hardly can all be fitted in the summer. Asian affairs of the first half of 312 apparently have been left undiscussed: chapter 79 runs from summer to autumn, whilst the next one deals with autumn and early winter (see 80.5). Because Demetrios recalls his troops from their camps for a winter campaign, Diodoros got confused, though, and seems to have forgotten to insert a new archon before the events in chapter 90, which treats the beginning of the campaigning season of 311. Because Diodoros mentions the winter both for Asia and Europe (77.7 and 80.5; 89.2), however, the sequence is easily understood, and there is no confusion. ἐνίκα στάδιον Παρμενίων Μιτυληναῖος: Eusebios (Chron., ed. Schoene, p. 203) gives the name of the winner of the stadion in the 117th Olympiad (312) as Parmenides. Nothing further is known of him (Moretti 1957, no. 482).

77.2 ἐπὶ δὲ τούτων τῶν χρόνων: This is the only instance of Diodoros starting the year with this phrase and indeed its only occurrence in ancient Greek literature. More common are περὶ δὲ τούτους τοὺς χρόνους (XIII 38.1, 43.1, 68.1, 76.1, 80.1, XIV 19.2, 85.2, 103.1) or κατὰ δὲ τούτους τοὺς χρόνους (XIV 3.2, 35.2, 94.2, 99.1, XX 37.1) or simply ἐπὶ δὲ τούτων (cf. supra, 55.1). Interestingly enough, F offers a different reading, namely ἐπὶ δὲ τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον, but since this is likewise an unattested phrase, it is impossible to say which one is correct. ᾿Aντίγονος ἀπέστειλεν εἰς τὴν Ἑλλάδα στρατηγὸν Πτολεμαῖον τοὺς Ἕλληνας ἐλευθερώσοντα: This decision will have been partially inspired by the embassy from the Aitolians and Boiotians (cf. supra, 75.6 πρεσβευτῶν…). Yet, it also seems that Antigonos was not satisfied with the lack of progress in the war in Greece under Aristodemos and hoped to obtain a breakthrough against Kassandros by sending more troops. Of course, he could afford a stronger focus on Europe after the success in Asia of the previous year: with Asandros gone and Karia under his control, less soldiers might have been necessary there (cf. Boehm 2018, 50), although the 5,000 infantrymen and 500 horsemen sent to Greece do not constitute a particularly large force. The decision might have been taken in the late autumn of 313 since Medeios seems to have been called back to transport Polemaios and his army to Europe (Buraselis 1982, 35; Billows 1990, 123). It is interesting to note that Antigonos’ goal is simply described as freeing the Greeks,

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while at the beginning of Telesphoros mission it was said that Antigonos hoped ‘to establish among the Greeks the belief that he truly was concerned for their independence’ (74.1; cf. supra, ad loc.).

77.3 ἐποιήσατο δὲ καὶ πρὸς Ῥοδίους συμμαχίαν καὶ προσελάβετο παρ᾽ αὐτῶν ναῦς ἐξηρτισμένας πρὸς τὸν πόλεμον δέκα: This notice is rather puzzling, as it would seem that Antigonos had been allied with the Rhodians since the start of the Third Diadoch war: see above 58.5 ἦν δὲ καί…; 61.5 παρὰ Ῥοδίων…; 64.7 ταῖς ἀπὸ Ῥόδου…; cf. 62.7. It is of course possible that these previous actions were part of some sort of less formal collaboration while an actual treaty was only concluded now. Wiemer (2002, 75 – 76) has argued that Rhodes wished to adhere to a policy of neutrality which it abandoned only after Antigonos gained control of Karia: with Monophthalmos controlling the territory bordering on the Rhodian Peraia the island state surely had more compelling reasons to maintain good relations with him. Another possibility is that the present alliance was a specific one concluded by Polemaios for this particular mission, as it seems clear from the context that the Rhodian ships participated in Polemaios’ expedition (Hauben 1977b, 323). Yet, it cannot be ruled out that Diodoros’ phrasing is wrong or misleading. The phrase Θηβαίους δ’ εἰς τὴν αὑτοῦ συμμαχίαν κατέστησεν at 77.6 suggests that such statements in Diodoros need not mean that a new alliance was concluded, as there can be no doubt that the Thebans already were allied to Kassandros since the time of the city’s re-foundation: it probably just means that he was joined by a Theban contingent, and the same may well be true in the present instance with the Rhodian flotilla joining Polemaios. πρὸς τὴν τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἐλευθέρωσιν: Whether this should be taken to mean that the Rhodians explicitly confined the alliance with Antigonos to actions for the freedom of the Greeks excluding the possibility of any operations against Ptolemaios is unclear (Seibert 1969, 227– 228; Hauben 1977b, 327 but see also 323; Wiemer 2002, 76). The mention of the noble aim might be a trace of an Antigonid or Rhodian source, unless Diodoros has obscured that his authority only presented it as an alleged goal.

77.4 μετὰ παντὸς τοῦ στόλου καταπλεύσας τῆς Βοιωτίας εἰς τὸν Βαθὺν καλούμενον λιμένα: There is no need to doubt Diodoros’ claim about the arrival of the entire fleet. Gullath’s (1982, 154 n. 3 and 4) argument to the contrary is based on her misdating the siege of Oreos (see above, 75.8 συμβαλόντες…), as a result of

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which she assumes that the dispatch of Medeios in 77.2 is merely a repetition of that in 75.7, in spite of the different number of ships (respectively 150 and 100). She asserts therefore that Medeios went to Oreos with 100 ships while Polemaios sailed to Bathys with the remaining 50. Given that we are in fact facing two different missions of Medeios, there is no problem with the whole fleet arriving at Bathys. On Bathys, the Harbour of Aulis on the Boiotian coast, which was also the location of Demetrios’ landing in Greece in 304, see Oberhummer, ‘Aulis [1]’, RE II.2 (1896), 2409 – 2410; Bakhuizen 1970, 155. παρὰ μὲν τοῦ κοινοῦ τῶν Βοιωτῶν προσελάβετο στρατιώτας πεζοὺς μὲν δισχιλίους διακοσίους, ἱππεῖς δὲ χιλίους τριακοσίους: Cf. supra, 75.6 πρεσβευτῶν… on the alliance between Antigonos and the Boiotians. The Boiotian League, which seems to have originated in the Archaic age, continued to exist after Chaironeia, although Philippos II reformed its constitution to limit Theban power (Gullath 1982, 7– 19; Buck 1993; Mackil 2014; Beck & Gantner 2015). While the league survived Thebes’ destruction in 335 (Gullath 1982, 20 – 59), there have been some doubts about the consequences of Alexander’s exiles decree in 324 (Beck & Gantner 2015, 151): it seems that by now the koinon had found a way to respect the autonomy of its members (Ma 2016, 40), however, and thus it was not abolished (cf. Gartland 2016a, 156 – 157). Although Thebes may have desired to be included from the moment of its re-foundation (Paus. IX 3.6), it was reintegrated in the Boiotian League only in 287 or shortly after (Knoepfler 2001b; Mackil 2013, 94– 95; also cf. supra, 54.2 συνεπελάβοντο…). Despite its diminished power the Boiotian League remained an important regional player (Holleaux 1938, 61) and the present contingent was a significant addition to Polemaios’ forces (Paschidis 2008a, 312 n. 2). It might well have been the corps of Peisis of Thespiai, which is known epigraphically from the base of the statue the soldiers dedicated to their commander in Delphoi (Moretti, ISE II no. 71; Gullath 1982, 155 n. 1 and 159 with n. 2; Paschidis 2008a, 312). μετεπέμψατο δὲ καὶ τὰς ἐξ Ὠρεοῦ ναῦς: Calling on the fleet from Oreos was a calculated move by Polemaios, knowing that Kassandros would immediately understand the danger for Chalkis and would bring his forces there, which seems to have happened. Polemaios could adopt such a bold strategy as his fleet must have been greatly superior in numbers (more than 160 vessels) to that of Kassandros (cf. Billows 1990, 123). Geyer (1930, 178) argues that Diodoros’ narrative is unclear as it gives the impression that Kassandros only raised the siege of Oreos when Chalkis was threatened by Polemaios, although the latter had already called the fleet to Boiotia before. However, Diodoros could not describe the action of Polemaios and Kassandros’ reaction at the exact same time. τειχίσας τὸν Σαλγανέα: Salganeus was a location in northeastern Boiotia, north of the Euripos bridge. In a detailed study of the remains of the fortifica-

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tions in the Drosia plain, Bakhuizen (1970, 104– 130) has argued that these are the ones built by Polemaios and that Diodoros’ τειχίσας refers to the long wall which runs from the Euripos to Mt. Messapion (cf. Orth 1993, 18). In his view, Salganeus must therefore have been the ancient name of the plain. Picard (1979, 256), on the other hand, rightly rejected Bakhuizen’s interpretation on the account that the goal of the long wall, cutting off the plain from the rest of Boiotia, obviously was to prevent that an enemy could reach Chalkis via the shortest cross-over from Boiotia (cf. Gullath 1982, 155 n. 2; Gehrke 1986, 88 and 99; Billows 1990, 123 n. 54). Bakhuizen (1970, 109) himself recognized the aim of the wall, but claimed that it served Polemaios’ purpose. That cannot be correct, though: Boiotia stood on Polemaios’ side, and he cannot have had any reason to cut off his allies from easy access to Chalkis (Picard, loc. cit.; Gehrke, loc. cit.). In Bakhuizen’s analysis we thus seem to be facing a typical instance of what Snodgrass (1987, 37– 38) has called the positivist fallacy in classical archaeology (cf. infra, 95.1 ἐπί τινος πέτρας); for the vast chasm between literary and archaeological sources for early Hellenistic Macedonian history, cf. Tombrägel 2017, 129 – 131. Gehrke (1986) has shown that Salganeus actually was a place in the northwest of the Drosia plain, on the foothills of Mt. Massapion which was still called Solganiko in the early nineteenth century. Χαλκιδεῖς, οἵπερ μόνοι τῶν Εὐβοέων ὑπὸ τῶν πολεμίων ἐφρουροῦντο: Chalkis lay on the western coast in central Euboia, at the point where the Euripos was at its narrowest and therefore very close to Boiotia (Bakhuizen 1985; Reber et al. 2004, 647– 649). The place was of foremost strategic importance (cf. 78.2, ἐπίκαιρος γὰρ ἡ πόλις ἐστὶ τοῖς βουλομένοις ἔχειν ὁρμητήριον πρὸς τὸ διαπολεμεῖν περὶ τῶν ὅλων; Picard 1979, esp. 214– 215, 258, 276 and 281), which is why Philippos II installed a garrison there in 338 (Brunt 1969); it was one of the so-called fetters of Greece of Philippos V (see above, 63.4 τῶν Κορινθίων). For Euboia in the Age of the Successors, see Geyer 1930; Wallace 1956, 19 and 25 – 33; Bakhuizen 1970, 105 – 130; Picard 1979, 252– 267; Landucci Gattinoni 2013a; Knoepfler 2015, 167– 168. 744

77.5 ἀγωνιῶν ὑπὲρ τῆς Χαλκίδος: See the previous lemma on the strategic importance of Chalkis, and also above, 35.2 παρασκευασάμενος… on its potential importance for Kassandros’ access to southern Greece. τὴν Ὠρεοῦ πολιορκίαν ἔλυσεν: Evidently the siege had continued over the winter of 313/2, as Diodoros’ narrative clearly indicates, though not in full force (Hauben 1973, 258; contra Bakhuizen 1970, 160 and Paschidis 2008a, 75,

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dating the whole siege to 313; Errington 1977, 498, Gullath 1982, 154 n. 3 and Billows 1990, 121– 122, dating it completely to 312). μετεπέμψατο τὸν Μήδιον εἰς τὴν ᾿Aσίαν μετὰ τοῦ στόλου: Like the previous autumn at Oreos (cf. supra, 75.8 συμβαλόντες…) Medeios’ fleet could have made the difference on this front, but Antigonos preferred to deploy his main fleet for whatever operation was most decisive for the war as a whole. According to Hammond (1988, 159) calling the fleet back to Asia was a ‘fatal error’. This seems to be an overstatement. From hindsight the fleet was useless in Asia because the Byzantines refused to support the crossing, but given Polemaios’ subsequent successes even without Medeios and his ships, it is clear that the fleet was by no means indispensable for the operations in Europe. Had Antigonos managed to cross to Europe, recalling Medeios would certainly have been called masterly move. Even now, it seems to have had at least partially the expected effect: as Wheatley (1998a, 266 n. 54) notes, the mere threat of a large-scale invasion of Europe put Kassandros under unbearable pressure which forced him to abandon Euboia, leaving only a minimal defence force under Pleistarchos. εὐθὺς δὲ καὶ τὰς δυνάμεις ἀναλαβὼν προῆγεν ἐφ᾽ Ἑλλησπόντῳ κατὰ τάχος, ὡς διαβησόμενος εἰς Μακεδονίαν: Billows (1990, 123) contends that it is doubtful whether Antigonos really wanted to cross because it was already late in the year. However, he will certainly not have let slip the opportunity to get hold of Macedonia. The mention of the approach of winter might mean that it was too late to embark on a completely new undertaking, but not necessarily to complete one already started (cf. Hauben 1973, 259 with n. 17). We need not doubt that Antigonos would have traversed the Bosporos if the Byzantines had been willing to support him. He had called back Medeios and his fleet to Asia, which he will have done only if he was determined actually to use it. Otherwise he would better have left it in Europe to attempt the complete destruction of Kassandros’ positions in Greece. Ἑλλησπόντῳ is the reading of R, whereas F has Ἑλλησπόντου. As usual, Fischer and Bizière preferred R, although previous editors had rightly adopted F’s variant: as Radt (1993, 66) pointed out, the dative cannot be correct here. ἢ τῇ βασιλείᾳ βοηθῶν: If this does not simply mean that Macedonia was a kingdom – as yet still under Alexander IV –, it is certainly no unique case of the territory of a Successor being called βασιλεία at such an early date (e.g. Diod. XVIII 21.9; Paus. I 6.3; Bizière 1974, 373; Collins 1997, 443 n. 24).

77.6 Πλείσταρχον: Pleistarchos was a younger brother of Kassandros, who is not attested before the present moment, and immediately disappears from the sources

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again until 304 or 303. After Ipsos he governed Karia (Berve 1926, II, no. 641; Gregory 1995; Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 73 and passim; Heckel 2006, 224). Ὠρωπὸν μὲν κατὰ κράτος εἷλε: Oropos lay on the Euripos opposite Eretria, in the border region between Attika and Boiotia. It was strategically important because of the short cross-over to Euboia, and because the road from Oropos via Dekeleia to Athens formed one of the main Athenian lines of supply (Eliot, ‘Oropos’, PECS, 656; Hansen 2004, 448 – 449; Paschidis 2008a, 303). Kassandros’ control of the city did not last long, however, as Polemaios liberated the city in the same year: see 78.3. καταλιπὼν ἐπὶ τῆς Ἑλλάδος στρατηγὸν Εὐπόλεμον: For Eupolemos, see above, 68.5 Εὐπόλεμον.

77.7 διεπρεσβεύσατο πρὸς Βυζαντίους: Byzantion, on the European side of the Bosporos, was a wealthy, powerful and strategically important place, as is clearly revealed by the fact that Antigonos did not cross because the Byzantines did not support him (Merle 1916, 52; MacDonald, ‘Byzantium’, PECS, 177; Loukopoulou & Łaitar 2004, 915 – 918; Archibald 2013, 237– 245). In 318 Byzantion had supplied Antigonos with additional ships for his battle against Kleitos (Diod. XVIII 72.6; Polyaen. IV 6.8), but at that time Lysimachos and Antigonos were on the same side, so that the Byzantines risked less in supporting the latter (cf. Russell 2017, 93 – 94). Their refusal on the present occasion, like the Rhodian attempts to remain neutral, show that at least the larger cities had by no means become utterly powerless in the face of the Macedonian empire, especially since they could pit the competing Diadochoi against each other. On the respective interests of the Byzantines and the Macedonians in maintaining good relations towards each other, see Prandi 2018b. τῆς χειμερινῆς ὥρας συγκλειούσης διέδωκε τοὺς στρατιώτας κατὰ πόλιν εἰς τὴν χειμασίαν: There has been considerable debate over this winter, which is dated either to 313/2 (Beloch 1927, 243; Seibert 1969, 147 n. 28; Bakhuizen 1970, 160; Wheatley 1998a, 263 – 264; Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.; Boiy 2007b, 144– 145) or 312/1 (Smith 1961, 289 with n. 20; Hauben 1973, 258 – 260; Errington 1977, 498; Billows 1990, 123 – 124; Anson 2006b, 233; Stylianou 1994, 76, reaches the same conclusion by a mistaken argument). There is no reason, though, to assume that Diodoros’ archon date at 77.1 is wrong (contra Wheatley, loc. cit., 2003, 273 with n. 26, and 2009b, 328), so that we need not doubt that it was the winter of 312/1. The same winter is mentioned at 80.5 and 89.2. Wheatley (1998a, 263 – 265) has problems with this chronology because at the end of the winter Antigonos seems to have been at Kelainai (XIX 93.4; Plut. Demetr. 6.3), and he apparently

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takes this passage to mean that Antigonos actually spent the winter at the Hellespont, but that is unnecessary (Meeus 2012, 87 n. 58). Antigonos may have gone to Kelainai immediately after realizing that his European invasion would come to nothing or at any other point in early winter.

78.1 Κορκυραῖοι: Korkyra was an important polis on the island of the same name, off the coast of Epeiros in the Ionian Sea, which controlled access to Adriatic Sea (Gehrke & Wirbelauer 2004, 361– 363; Intrieri 2011; Lasagni 2019, 12– 26). The Korkyraians do not seem to have appreciated Kassandros being on their doorstep and seized the opportunity offered by his troubles in central Greece to attack his positions in the northwest. Ἐπίδαμνον δὲ Γλαυκίᾳ τῷ τῶν Ἰλλυριῶν βασιλεῖ παρέδωκαν: Glaukias had already attempted establish his influence in the area in 314 but was prevented from achieving his goal by the intervention of Kassandros (cf. supra, 67.6 παρετάξατο…). Adams (1974, 129 – 130 with n. 1) asserts that ‘it is hard to believe that having liberated Epidamnus from at least a civilized king, the Corcyraeans would turn it over to Glaukias’. However, we hardly know enough of the context to the judge situation in the region, and the Korkyraians might have judged it wise to maintain a certain balance, as Glaukias could be a useful ally if Kassandros would return to regain his recently acquired possessions.

78.2 ὥστε γενέσθαι φανερὸν ὡς πρὸς ἀλήθειαν ᾿Aντίγονος ἐλευθεροῦν προῄρηται τοὺς Ἕλληνας: IG II2 469, l. 2– 3 of ca. 305 BCE mentions [τὴν τ]οῦ Εὐρίπου φυλακήν installed by Polemaios, but it is unclear when he took this measure. Perhaps the Euripos was garrisoned only later, when Polemaios revolted against Antigonos and joined Kassandros (Bakhuizen 1970, 128 – 129; Picard 1979, 259). To be sure, Polemaios is reported to have installed garrisons in Hellespontine Phrygia upon defecting from Antigonos (Diod. XX 19.2), and he may have done the same in Greece (though IG XII.9 192 has no bearing on the matter: see Knoepfler 2014 contra Bakhuizen 1970, 122 and 129). On the other hand, Antigonos’ policy of freedom was not as strict as he would have it, and he had garrisons in other places too (see above, 61.3 εἶναι δὲ καί… and 66.3 καταλιπών…). Thus, it can perhaps not be ruled out that Polemaios installed the garrison on the present occasion and that the inscription presents a case of re-interpretation in hindsight by selective presentation of the facts (cf. Wallace 2014a for a case of such re-interpretation in an Athenian decree). If the unknown honorand of IG II2 469

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([…]ότιμος; Billows 1990, 443) was one of Polemaios’ men who had joined the defection to Kassandros, Antigonos probably would not have maintained him as an officer in Greece (cf. Billows 1990, 424– 425 on Phoinix). Thus, while there is no definitive proof for either option, I would not exclude the possibility that Polemaios freed Chalkis from Kassandros by removing the garrison from the Akropolis fortress, but did install one at the Euripos fortress on the Karabaka hill because the city’s strategic importance was too great. Technically this could be presented as a liberation because the city was ungarrisoned, although the Euboians did also consider this hill part of their territory (Bakhuizen 1985, 48; Lund 1992, 117). Hornblower (1981, 37) argues that the passage does not necessarily stem from a different source than 62.2, where it is said that the policy of liberation was merely a ploy to gain the support of the Greek cities, even if being seemingly contradictory. In fact, we cannot even be sure how Diodoros’ authority presented the episode under discussion: his wording might well have deformed the interpretation of his source. As I am not convinced, though, that the present claim is absolutely positive about Antigonos’ sincerity, it might simply be in accordance with 62.2: if it was decided not to garrison Chalkis in order to show goodwill, this may imply that Antigonos did not consider it an intrinsically obvious measure to leave the city ungarrisoned. Regardless of the question of the identification of the source, this passage does not necessarily reveal that Hieronymos consistently praises ‘den Antigonos, der allein, später mit seinem Sohn Demetrios zusammen, stets als Verteidiger der “wahren Freiheit und Autonomie” der Städte auftrat’, as Rosen (1979, 474) claims. For his other two passages, XVIII 52.1– 3 and XIX 74.1, such an interpretation is possible, but not necessarily for the present one, and it is striking that Rosen does not even mention 62.2, which exposes the mere self-interest behind the liberation policy, or indeed XX 19.3 (cf. supra, 74.1, τὰς πόλεις ἐλευθεροῦν…). ἐπίκαιρος γὰρ ἡ πόλις ἐστὶ τοῖς βουλομένοις ἔχειν ὁρμητήριον πρὸς τὸ διαπολεμεῖν περὶ τῶν ὅλων: See above, 77.4 Χαλκιδεῖς…, for the strategic importance of Chalkis. Droysen (1878, II, 33 n. 3) argues that ‘das ἐστὶ [sic] bezeugt, wie Diodor seine Quelle wörtlich anfürht; für Hieronymos, nicht für Diodors Zeit hatte Chalkis diese Bedeutung’ (thus also Hornblower 1981, 28 n. 38). This seems to be another symptom of the quest for Hieronymos to the detriment of Diodoros. Sacks (1990, 92 n. 31), however, rightly notes that the wording might describe Chalkis’ potential importance, and thus need not be anachronistic. Indeed, in a temporary state of peace a city does not lose its strategically important location but only the need to exploit it; in any future war in Greece that might take place after Diodoros wrote these words Chalkis would still have the potential to be of crucial importance. Furthermore, although its fortifications may par-

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tially have been dismantled after the Achaian War, Chalkis’ strategic importance was still apparent in the First Mithridatic War (cf. Picard 1979, 293 – 294), which probably fell within Diodoros’ lifetime. Hornblower (loc. cit.) lists further examples of anachronisms originating from Diodoros’ literally adopting statements from his sources, some of which are likewise correctly rejected by Sacks (loc. cit.).

78.3 ἐκπολιορκήσας Ὠρωπὸν παρέδωκε τοῖς Βοιωτοῖς: Oropos had only been conquered by Kassandros earlier in the same year (77.6). The present liberation may be reflected in three honorary decrees for Macedonians that can approximately be dated to this time: I.Oropos 4– 6; Paschidis 2008a, 303 – 304. τοὺς Κασσάνδρου στρατιώτας ὑποχειρίους ἔλαβε: We are not informed of the fates of Pleistarchos and Eupolemos. They may have managed to escape as they are still attested in Kassandros’ service on later occasions, but Adams (1974, 130) assumes that they were likewise captured. This is not impossible, of course, as such important prisoners regularly seem to have been released (see above, 61.5 τοῖς μὲν παρά…), but it must remain mere speculation. The soldiers might have been enlisted in Polemaios’ own ranks (cf. supra, 59.2 τοὺς μέν…). Ἐρετριεῖς καὶ Καρυστίους: Eretria, along with Chalkis the main Euboian city, lay on the west coast of the island, around 20 km southeast of Chalkis (Reber et al. 2004, 651– 654); Karystos lay on the southern shore of Euboia (Reber et al. 2004, 658 – 659; for its international relations in the early Hellenistic period, see Chidiroglou 2017, 329 – 330). This means that all four independent Euboian poleis were now in Antigonid hands (Picard 1979, 258 – 259). It seems that the Euboian koinon did not exist at the time and that the Euboian poleis all pursued their own independent policies (cf. Knoepfler 2015, 167– 168; contra Wallace 1956, 25). Although some scholars still entertain the possibility, it is out of the question that IG XII.9 192 is to be connected to the present occasion, as is rightly noted by Knoepfler (2014, 75).

78.4 οἱ δ᾽ ᾿Aθηναῖοι τὸ μὲν πρῶτον λάθρᾳ διεπέμποντο πρὸς ᾿Aντίγονον ἀξιοῦντες ἐλευθερῶσαι τὴν πόλιν: Since Athens stood under Kassandros’ control this cannot have been an official decision of the ekklesia. We are rather facing the private initiative of some citizens (Habicht 1995, 73; cf. Billows 1990, 24; Huß 2001, 158).

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πρεσβείας ἀποστέλλειν πρὸς ᾿Aντίγονον περὶ συμμαχίας: We are not informed of the further proceedings, but obviously the negotiations, if there ever actually were any, produced no results (Billows 1990, 124 n. 55). According to Hammond (1988, 98 n. 2) ‘the lack of continuity between 19. 78. 4 and 20. 45’ reveals Diodoros’ use of two different sources: while the present passage is allegedly based on Diyllos, at XX 45 Diodoros is supposed to have been drawing on Hieronymos. This is a rather arbitrary judgement, and surely the process of Diodoros’ selection and abbreviation can sufficiently explain why we do not hear from the relations between Athens and the Antigonids again until Demetrios’ invasion of 307 (cf. infra, 78.5 συνεχεῖς… and supra, Part I, §2.2.4).

78.5 ὁ δὲ Πολεμαῖος ἀναζεύξας ἐκ τῆς ᾿Aττικῆς εἰς τὴν Βοιωτίαν: Diodoros’ abbreviation of his source once more obscures events, as we have no idea why Polemaios suddenly left Attika. Simpson (1955 and 1959, 376) suggests two possibilities: either the country-side garrisons had chased the Antigonid general, or he was bribed by Demetrios of Phaleron. On the basis of Polemaios’ later betrayal of Antigonos and immediately afterwards also of Kassandros, Simpson contends that the latter is the more likely alternative. All of this is highly speculative, though. τήν τε Καδμείαν εἷλε καὶ τὴν φρουρὰν ἐκβαλών: The Kadmeia, the citadel of Thebes, housed one of Kassandros’ main garrisons in central Greece (Gullath 1982, 88 and 101– 104). Thebes was now nominally free, but it had to wait almost three more decades before it was reintegrated in the Boiotian League (cf. supra, 77.4 παρὰ μὲν τοῦ κοινοῦ…). πορευθεὶς εἰς τὴν Φωκίδα καὶ τὰς μὲν πλείους τῶν πόλεων προσαγόμενος ἐξέβαλε πανταχόθεν τὰς Κασσάνδρου φρουράς: Phokis was a region in central Greece north of Boiotia, bordering on East Lokris to the east, and on West Lokris and Aitolia to the west (Oulhen 2004). How many garrisons Kassandros had in the region is unknown; probably most cities were won over by diplomacy. ἐπῆλθε δὲ καὶ τὴν Λοκρίδα: East Lokris is meant, which is obvious from the geography as it lies on the eastern coast of Greece and thus between Phokis and Euboia (Nielsen 2004b; Nankov 2009, 9 – 70; Pascual & Papakonstantinou 2013, 1– 5, with the map on p. 4); this is further confirmed by the mention of Opous (see next lemma). τῶν Ὀπουντίων τὰ Κασσάνδρου φρονούντων: Opous was the main city of East Lokris (cf. Str. IX 4.2), lying probably on the location of modern day Atalanti (Nielsen 2004b, 670; cf. Pascual, in id. & Papakonstantinou 2013, 502– 503, and Moreno Hernández & Pascual Valderrama 2013, 515 for its hegemony in the re-

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gion). Whether the good relationship with Kassandros goes back to the time of Antipatros or whether it was the result of an alliance made with Kassandros himself is unclear (cf. Nankov 2009, 96 and 130 – 132), but since the Lokrians fought against Macedonia in the Lamian War (Diod. XVIII 11.1), it is not at all unlikely that Antipatros installed an oligarchy there (cf. XVIII 18.8). Diodoros does not mention the fate of Opous, but probably Polemaios captured it (Gullath 1982, 159 with n. 2), which means that Kassandros had now lost all his Greek garrisons except those in Attika and perhaps Megalopolis (Adams 1974, 131; Billows 1990, 124). In all probability, however, Diod. XX 28.4 implies that in 309 he controlled Opous again (Nankov 2009, 97 and 132; Moreno Hernández & Pascual Valderrama 2013, 510; cf. Durvye 2018a, 199 n. 226). συνεχεῖς προσβολὰς ἐποιεῖτο: This is Diodoros at his worst, from a modern perspective at any rate, ending the episode with one of his stock phrases (see above, 66.4 συνεχεῖς…), rather than informing us of the outcome of the siege (cf. Meeus 2013b, 87). The stock phrase probably cannot tell us much about the actual course of the siege (pace Bakhuizen 1970, 116 n. 33; Nankov 2009, 96).

§ 79 Ptolemaios’ Interventions in Kyrene and Cyprus, and the Raids on the Syrian and Kilikian Coasts We are seldom informed of Ptolemaios’ activities, possibly in part because he was spending much of his time organizing his satrapy (cf. infra, 85.4 τοὺς μὲν ἁλόντας…; Lianou 2014; Thompson 2018) and preparing the operation in Syria that was executed in late 312 (Mehl 1986, 86 – 88), while he sent out Seleukos and his officers campaigning. Yet, even the latter’s activities during the previous year have been passed over in silence by Diodoros. More importantly, perhaps, Ptolemaios’ history in these years offered little in terms of the peripeteiai that tend to capture Diodoros’ attention. In the summer of 312 he re-appears in Diodoros’ narrative when facing rebellions in Kyrene and Cyprus. As with the European events of chapters 77– 78, from now on the low chronology is to be followed (see below, 79.1 τῆς δ᾽ αὐτῆς…). The affairs in Kyrene have no bearing on the war with Antigonos, and since Cyprus had been brought under Ptolemaic control by Seleukos, the actions against the Cypriots are only indirectly linked to the struggle against Antigonos. The view that Diodoros only recounts the actions of the other Diadochoi when they are directly related to Antigonid affairs therefore does not apply to most of this chapter.

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79.1 τῆς δ᾽ αὐτῆς θερίας: In the low chronology this is correctly interpreted as the summer of 312 (Errington 1977, 499; Anson 2006b, 233 with n. 59), whereas adherents of the high chronology for the Third Diadoch War date it to 313 (Wheatley 1998a, 264 and 2009b, 328; Boiy 2007b, 144; cf. also the literature cited above on the date of the winter of 77.7, τῆς χειμερινῆς…). As we are in the archonship of Polemon (312/1), and Diodoros’ system is consistent by now (cf. supra, 77.1 τοῦ δ᾽ ἔτους…), the low chronology appears correct at this point. Given that operations in Cyprus and Kilikia were undertaken after the revolt at Kyrene, the latter probably belongs to the early summer (Billows 1990, 124). All manuscripts read θερίας but (pace Bizière) there seems no reason to retain this reading (Radt 1993, 66). Κυρηναῖοι μὲν ἀποστάντες Πτολεμαίου τὴν ἄκραν περιεστρατοπέδευσαν, ὡς αὐτίκα μάλα τὴν φρουρὰν ἐκβαλοῦντες: Kyrene belonged to Ptolemaios’ realm since 321 or 320, when he had intervened in a local conflict (Diod. XVIII 19 – 21; Arr. Succ. F1.16 – 19). It is often assumed that Antigonos had induced the Kyrenaians to revolt (e.g. Tarn 1969, 486; Grainger 1990a, 69; Huß 2001, 159), but there is no evidence for this claim. Although some scholars have connected the famous diagramma of Kyrene (SEG IX 1 = XVIII 726) to the present event (Taeger 1929, 455; Ehrenberg 1930, esp. 335), it is likely to belong to the time the city first came in Ptolemaic hands, as is almost generally accepted nowadays (Laronde 1987, 85 – 117; Hölbl 1994, 15; Criscuolo 2001, 145 – 153; Huß 2001, 100 with n. 31; Poddighe 2002, 98 n. 134; Bencivenni 2003, 130 – 133; Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 120). Lane Fox (2015, 173), on the other hand, rules out 321– 320 but prefers 308/7 over the present occasion. Some have connected the coinage with the legend ΚΥΡΑΝΑ ΔΑΜΩ to the present revolt (Ehrenberg 1930, 333 – 335; Mørkholm 1980), while the coinage with the legend ΚΥΡΑΝΑΙΩΝ ΠΤΟΛΕΜΑΙΩ might be related to its suppression (Lorber 2018, I, 33). ἐκ τῆς ᾿Aλεξανδρείας: As Alexandria was still in the early stages of its development when Ptolemaios arrived in Egypt (cf. Howe 2014; Łukaszewicz 2014; Meeus 2015), he made Memphis his capital and it is unknown when he moved to Alexandria. As Diodoros mistakenly substituted Alexandria for Memphis at XVIII 28.3, we cannot use his statements as conclusive evidence. Probably the move to Alexandria had already taken place by now and, as the Satrap stela shows, in any case by 312/1 at the latest (Fraser 1972, I, 7 with n. 28; Hölbl 1994, 27– 28; Schäfer 2011, 83 – 98; Howe 2014, 79 – 81; Lane Fox 2015, 171– 172). Whether the legend ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΕΙΟΝ ΠΤΟΛΕΜΑΙΟΥ appearing on coins around this time (Lorber 2018, no. 41) has any bearing on the question seems doubtful (Meeus 2014, 283; Lorber 2018, 26 with n. 267; cf. also Le Rider 2003, 263 –

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264, who does, however, assume that Ptolemaios resided in Alexandria since his arrival in the satrapy). παρακαλούντων παύσασθαι τῆς φιλοτιμίας: F’s πολιορκίας is an interesting variant (cf. Jos. AJ VII 290, XIII 124, BJ V 370), but R’s φιλοτιμίας clearly is the lectio difficilior and is supported by XII 72.5, παύσασθαι τῆς πρὸς ἀλλήλους φιλοτιμίας (cf. D.H. AR III 13.3 and X 8.5). τούτους μὲν ἀπέκτειναν: Because of the importance of diplomacy in interstate relations such a serious provocation as the murder of envoys was rather rare, though far from unique (Kienast, ‘Presbeia’, RE Suppl. XIII [1973], 544– 546; Mosley 1973, 83; Habicht 2001, 10 – 11; Piccirilli 2002, 17– 19; Gazzano 2006, 113 – 115). ἐνεργέστερον ἐπολιόρκουν: Among preserved ancient texts the phrase is unique to the Bibliotheke. In its present form this is the only instance, but the variant ἐνεργῶς πολιορκεῖν occurs at XII 28.3, XV 8.1, XVII 78.3, XVIII 22.2 and XX 55.3. Similar phrases like τὴν πολιορκίαν ἐνεργεστάτην ἐποιεῖτο (XVII 22.3), συνεστήσατο πολιορκίαν ἐνεργὸν καὶ καταπληκτικήν (XVII 24.3), ἐνεργῆ πολιορκίαν συνεστήσατο (XVII 85.6), which are (probably coincidentally) limited to book XVII, do have some parallels in Polybios (I 42.10, III 17.4, 17.8) and Josephus (BJ II 392). The phrase thus appears to be typically Hellenistic, but is especially popular with Diodoros.

79.2 ἀπέστειλεν Ἄγιν στρατηγόν: Agis (PP II 2146) is not otherwise attested. From the fact that he could arrange the affairs of the city as he deemed fit (see below, 79.3 ὥς ποτ’…), it would seem that he held a fairly high position in the Ptolemaic hierarchy. ναύαρχον ἐπιστήσας Ἐπαινετόν: It is likely that this man is to be identified with Epainetos, son of Silanos, a Macedonian who won the four-horse chariot race at the Lykaia in Arkadia at some point in the late fourth century. He might be a brother of Ophellas, the phrourarch of Kyrene (PP V 13763, VI 17207; Hauben 1975, no. 11).

79.3 ὥς ποτ’ ἔδοξεν αὐτῷ συμφέρειν: This seems to suggest that the king’s generals could take important decisions on their own, although the present instance obviously need not reflect a general rule. Menelaos and Seleukos seem to have had a certain degree of independent power to make decisions in the conference on Cyprus (62.4– 5; Grainger 1990a, 63); yet, they cannot be taken to be universally representative as they constituted the very top of the hierarchy. XX 19.2 im-

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plies that Polemaios could apparently install satraps (so e.g. Geer 1954; Billows 1990, 424), but this too might have been an exceptional case, if the ἐπιστάτης Phoinix was as a satrap at all. It might be relevant to note that Hellenistic decrees often present actions of kings’ generals as personal initiatives while in fact they acted on royal orders (Shear 1978, 19; cf. Herman 1980/1 and SavalliLestrade 1998, 279, on the habit to obscure the hierarchic relationship between king and friend). Aristodemos’ mission to Polyperchon and Alexandros, and the latter’s subsequent journey to Antigonos, might suggest that at least such alliances could not be officially arranged by the friends, even on the king’s orders (Hauben 1987b, 32 n. 14). It should also be noted that the phrase ὥς ποτ’ ἔδοξεν συμφέρειν is typically Hellenistic and especially Diodorean: see also I 68.5, II 21.7, XV 67.4, XVI 82.6, cf. XIV 27.2; Plb. I 33.5, cf. XXXVI 9.13. It is not found outside of the works of Polybios and Diodoros, apart from fragments taken from the Bibliotheke (Ktesias [FGrHist 668] F1b; Hekataios [FGrHist 264] F25).

79.4 Πυγμαλίωνα δὲ εὑρὼν διαπρεσβευόμενον πρὸς ᾿Aντίγονον ἀνεῖλε: Pygmalion, or Poumaiathon, had ruled in Kition since 362 (Lemaire 2006, 429 – 430). Archaeological evidence seems to suggest that Ptolemaios even destroyed certain sanctuaries in Kition (Collombier 1993, 133 – 134). It is clear that, much like the Successors themselves, the Cypriote kings understood very well how to enhance their own position by exploiting the conflicts between the Successors (cf. also the similar situation in XX 21.1). Their unreliability combined with the strategic importance of Cyprus, however, led to the abolishment of the independent kingdoms (cf. next lemma). That Poumaiathon was killed in 312 rather than 313 is – besides the event’s position in Diodoros’ narrative – also apparent from the starting date of the era of Kition: this most likely began after the death of the last king, probably in the fall of 312, although the possibilities 311 or 310 for the first year of the era cannot be excluded (Hauben 1973, 261– 263; Mehl 1995, 102 with n. 20; cf. Stylianou 1991, 82– 83). Πράξιππον δὲ τὸν τῆς Λαπιθίας βασιλέα καὶ τὸν τῆς Κερυνίας δυνάστην ὑποπτεύσας ἀλλοτρίως ἔχειν συνέλαβε … Στασιοίκου τοῦ Μαριέως: On the kings of Cyprus, cf. supra, 57.4 τοὺς ἐν Κύπρῳ… What exactly happened to Stasioikos is unclear, as there seems to be a lacuna in the text; some hold that he was executed (Mehl 1995, 102), while others assume that he was merely arrested, like the kings of Kerynia and Lapethos (Daszewski 1987, 174; Collombier 1993, 132). While it is usually held that the kingdoms of Kition, Marion, Lapethos and Keryneia were all abolished at this time (Jones 1971, 368; Collombier 1993, 132; Mehl 1995, 102), Stylianou (1991) has convincingly argued that this was

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not the case for the latter two, which seem to have existed for a few more years, probably until 306. In an interesting analysis of the causes of the disappearance of the Cypriot kingdoms, Mehl (2004) has argued that the interplay of three reasons explains why these monarchies which had survived several previous empires were abolished so soon under the Diadochoi. The first cause is that earlier empires were land-based, as opposed to the Hellenistic empires, which were land- and seabased, so that Cyprus no longer lay on the border of the realm. The change from indirect rule of the border regions in the empires of the Ancient Near East to the much stronger central control of the Hellenistic states is the second reason. Mehl’s third cause is the Cypriot political culture in which expansionist kings had often conquered the dominions of their neighbours, which revealed that it was no problem for kingdoms to disappear. While I agree with the first and second factors, for the third one I would substitute another cause, which admittedly is touched on by Mehl (2004, 20 – 21): in the previous empires the Cypriot kings simply had to obey a single distant king, whereas now they had to choose sides for one Successor and against another one. Their frequent display of fickle loyalty soon became too much for Ptolemaios who came up with a highly effective but drastic solution. By 294 at the latest, but possibly already as early as 306, all Cypriot monarchies had disappeared (Collombier 1993, 127– 141; Iacovou 2006, 315 – 317). τὴν μὲν πόλιν κατέσκαψε: This claim does not seem to be borne out by the recent excavations: Balandier 2014, 182 n. 18 and 188 with n. 46, who further suggests that complete destruction may also be contradicted by the rapid growth of Marion’s later refoundation as Arsinoe. τοὺς δ᾽ ἐνοικοῦντας μετήγαγεν εἰς Πάφον: A connection with the recent foundation of Nea Paphos has been suggested (Gesche 1974, 112 n. 3), though possibly to Ptolemaios’ own benefit rather than that of Nikokles: Daszewski (1987, esp. 175) has argued that Ptolemaios needed the people of Marion to speed up the development of his naval base at Nea Paphos (cf. Balandier, loc. cit.). Bekker-Nielsen (2000), however, dates the foundation of Nea Paphos to a later time, in relation to the Ptolemaic reconquest of Paphos in 294. Collombier (1993, 137 with n. 69) argues that although the people were moved to Paphos, the territory was given to Nikokreon of Salamis (cf. also next lemma).

79.5 τῆς μὲν Κύπρου κατέστησε στρατηγὸν Νικοκρέοντα: Although some hold that Menelaos was appointed to this function in 315, it is likely that Nikokreon was the first Ptolemaic governor of Cyprus, if not necessarily with the title στρα-

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τηγός (Bagnall 1976, 38 – 42; Collombier 1993, 137– 138; cf. supra, 62.4 τῶν δὲ πάντων…). He seems to have been replaced by Ptolemaios’ brother Menelaos soon, though (XX 21.1). The Marmor Parium ([FGrHist 239] B 17) lists Nikokreon’s death in 311/0; it is doubtful whether this should be connected to the story of Nikokles of Paphos in Diod. XX 21 (Gesche 1974; Will 1979, 72; Collombier 1993, 138 – 140; Mehl 1995, 105 – 106).

79.6 ἐκπλεύσας ἐπὶ Συρίας τῆς ἄνω καλουμένης: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 5.2, ἐκ Κύπρου διαβάντα πορθεῖν Συρίαν καὶ τὰς πόλεις ἀπάγειν καὶ βιάζεσθαι. On ἄνω Συρία, northern Syria, see above, 57.1 προάγοντος… Ποσείδιον: Posideion has been identified with modern day Ras el-Bassit in Syria thanks to the find of a coin and a locally produced amphora stamp (Courbin 1978, 1986; Elayi 1992, 327); note, however, that Le Rider (1986, 402) remains rightly careful about the amount of certainty offered by a single coin – albeit a bronze one belonging to what seems to have been a small series. If the identification is correct, our Posideion was a harbour city some 25 km south of the Orontes near Laodikeia, mentioned by Strabo (XVI 2.8 and 12) as a πολίχνη, a small town (Spuler 1953; Orth 1993, 94; Lane Fox 2008, 80 – 82; TIB XV, 1585 – 1586). In the Gourob papyrus, if one accepts that it presents events in Syria rather than Kilikia, this very same Posideion is described as a φρούριον (col. II, l. 20; cf. Spuler 1953; Beaudry 2013, 258). Whether it is also to be identified with the Posideion of Hdt. III 91.1 (Spuler 1953; Marinoni 1973/4, 251– 252; Asheri 2007, 485), depends on the accuracy of Herodotus’ phrase ἐπ᾽ οὔροισι τοῖσι Κιλίκων τε καὶ Συρίων (‘on the Cilician and Syrian border’). Lane Fox (2008, 79 – 80) takes Herodotos’ wording to mean exactly on the border, i. e. near modern-day Iskenderun, in which case his Posideion is indeed too far north to be the same place as the one that was attacked by Ptolemaios. Yet, Leuze (1935, 257 and 259) rather interprets it as ‘in dem Gebiet, wo Kiliker und Syrier sich berühren’ and suggests that Herodotus simply mentioned ‘der erste ansehnliche Ort’ one would pass when travelling down the coast from Kilikia (thus also Shalit 1954, 66; Elayi 1987, 255; Rainey 2001, 57; Beaudry 2013, 258; cf. Spuler 1953). Lane Fox (2008, 79 – 80) is right, of course, that the name Posideion was a common one for coastal sites (cf. RE XXII.1, s.v. Poseidion [1– 15], 421– 426), and one cannot simply assume that Herodotos must have meant the Posideion near the later Laodikeia. Posideion/Ras el-Bassit was the nearest Syrian harbour when sailing from Northern Cyprus (Winnicki 1989, 58 n. 13). Furthermore, it may have had an active mint at the time of Ptolemaios’ attack (Courbin 1986, 206;

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Le Rider 1986, 401– 402; Lemaire 2006, 407), which would be one of the reasons why the place seemed worth plundering. According to Radt (1993, 57) the correct spelling is Ποσίδειον, which is found in R post correctionem (m. 2), while R ante correctionem has Ποσείδιον and F reads Ποσίδιον. Fischer and Bizière, however, adopt the variant of R ante correctionem. Ποταμοὺς Καρῶν: The toponym Ποταμοὶ Καρῶν is not attested elsewhere. It has been suggested that the place is to be identified with the city Ὕδατος ποταμοί mentioned by Strabo (XVI 2.8) as the earlier name of Seleukeia in Pieria (Niese 1893, 294 n. 3; Woolley 1938, 28 n. 27; Billows 1990, 299). Orth (1993, 94), however, prefers to leave the matter open (cf. Marinoni 1973/4, 253 – 255; Cohen HS II, 128). The mere fact that both places have similar names and are attested only once is a very slender basis for identification, given how little we know of the smaller settlements in the region. Indeed, there now seems to be a more likely possibility. The suggestion that Potamoi Karon is to be identified with Al Mina (Elayi 1987, 263 – 264), has been taken up by Lane Fox (2008, 106 – 107): he has found further support for the identification in an inscription of Tiglath-pileser III from Iran published in 1994 which lists his Syrian conquests: one of the places mentioned in Tiglath-pileser’s list is ‘Aḫta, bīt-kāri [‘trading post’] on the seashore’, which – it has been argued – might have been called Kār-Adad in Assyrian. This Aḫta alias Kār-Adad has in turn been identified with Al Mina (Zadok 1996, Na’aman 2007, 44, Lane Fox 2008, 105 – 106 and Dezső & Vér 2013, 352; contra Boardman 2002, 328 and Rollinger 2011, 272 n. 31). According to Lane Fox, it must also be Diodoros’ Potamoi Karon (cautiously accepted by Pamir 2013, 181– 182; Vacek 2020, 1175 does not commit himself). There is much to be said for this theory since it combines all aspects of our site: a coastal site by a river mouth (hence ποταμοί) with a reason to be called Καρῶν. Impressive as the cumulative effect is, though, the limited evidence for the respective individual identifications on which the chain relies make it difficult to be certain – all the more so since it has been suggested that other places in the area may likewise have been called kāru, ‘quay’, ‘harbour’ or ‘trading post’ (Yamada 2005, 68; Dezső & Vér 2013, 352; Rollinger 2017, 276). Lane Fox (2008, 106) further argues that the late fourth century BCE destruction of Al Mina was the result of this very attack by Ptolemaios, rather than of its inhabitants being removed to the newly founded Seleukeia, as Woolley (1938, 26 – 28) had argued (cf. Courbin 1986, 206 – 207). No such destruction by Ptolemaios can be deduced from Diodoros’ text, however, and historically it is very unlikely: see next lemma. At any rate, if Al Mina is indeed our city, it would seem that Ptolemaios found a relatively prosperous place to plunder (Woolley 1938, 26). Perhaps the altogether different possibility that we are dealing with a Karian settle-

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ment rather than a kāru cannot be ruled out (Marinoni 1973/4; Billows 1990, 299), but no such settlement is attested, and the place name need not necessarily refer to Karians (cf. supra, 12.1 παρεχείμασε… for a similar problem regarding the etymology of the Καρῶν κῶμαι in Babylonia). Lane Fox (2008, 106 n. 11) suggests that the reading ποταμόν in F may well be correct, but it is more likely to be a scribal error since the correction to ποταμούς – either by the scribe himself (Bizière’s apparatus) or a second hand (Fischer’s apparatus) – suggests that F’s model likewise had the plural. As Marinoni (1973/4, 254– 255) rightly argues, there surely is no reason to emend the text just because Ποταμοὶ Καρῶν is not attested elsewhere. ἐκπολιορκήσας διήρπασεν: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 5.1, τὰς πόλεις ἀπάγειν καὶ βιάζεσθαι. Although διαρπάζω can mean to destroy (e.g. XX 23.3), often it simply means to seize valuables as booty: e.g. XIII 73.3, 1112.4, XVI 75.4, XVII 102.5, XX 3.3 (a strategy similar to the present one), 57.6. At XVI 38.5 (τὴν δὲ πόλιν ἑλὼν κατὰ κράτος διήρπασε καὶ κατέσκαψεν) and XIX 88.6 (ἐκπολιορκήσας καὶ διαρπάσας κατέσκαψε) the verb κατασκάπτω is added to convey the destruction after plundering. Plutarch’s wording does not seem to imply destruction either. It is rather doubtful that Ptolelmaios took the time to destroy the cities (pace Spuler 1953; Marinoni 1973/4, 254; Lane Fox 2008, 106). Diodoros says that he immediately (ἑτοίμως) sailed to Kilikia, and he probably only took as much time as he needed to plunder the riches after he had already lost time with the sieges. This seems to have been a swift action with the aim of obtaining loot and provoking Demetrios to move north (cf. also infra, 79.7 οὕτως…). Even in the case of Marion, where an actual destruction is mentioned (79.4, τὴν μὲν πόλιν κατέσκαψε), Diodoros may exaggerate the extent of the damage. πλεύσας ἐπὶ Κιλικίας: Kilikia bordered on Syria, but sailing through the bay was quicker than going around it over the land routes and would thus cost less time, making a surprise attack easier. Antigonos controlled the satrapy since the end of 316 (cf. XIX 56.4). Rodriguez (2004, 114) seems to misunderstand the nature of this operation, as he writes that Ptolemaios had sent an expeditionary force to Kilikia which had to be called back for the campaign at Gaza; his mistake seems to originate in part from the assumption that the operations in northern Syria and Kilikia belong to 313. It is clear, though, that we are simply facing raids of an army landing in the region, obtaining as much plunder as they can in a short time, and leaving immediately after that: upon hearing of the invasion Demetrios hastened to Kilikia with forced marches, only to find that the enemy had already left (80.1– 2). Consequently, there were no Ptolemaic troops left in Kilikia to call back for the battle of Gaza. Μάλον: On Mallos, see above, 56.5 Μάλον…

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79.7 οὕτως ἐκκαλούμενος αὐτῶν τὰς προθυμίας εἰς τοὺς ἐπιφερομένους κινδύνους: The phrase ἐκκαλεῖν (εἰς) τὴν προθυμίαν also occurs at XIV 18.6, 42.1, XVIII 19.5, XIX 81.4, XX 84.4. Thus, 4 out of 6 instances are found in the narrative on the Diadochoi. Given the instances in book XIV, one should probably think rather of clustering than of the influence of Diodoros’ source on the Successors; Diodoros provides the earliest attestation and outside of the Bibliotheke the locution is very rare: Onos. 33.5; Arr. Epict. III 7.28; Johannes Chrysostomos In Act. Apost., ed. Migne vol. LX p. 253. Furthermore XX 84.4 concerns the siege of Rhodes, the description of which is usually assumed to have been based on a different source than the rest of the history of the Diadochoi (cf. infra, 81.4 ἦν δὲ καί…). For other similar phrases in Diodoros, cf. XIV 53.3, 56.6, XVI 13.1, 18.3, XVII 9.1, 21.6. While the phrase might in principle have been written by Diodoros without any basis in his source, Mehl (1986, 86 – 87) has rightly argued that Ptolemaios actually was preparing a forthcoming campaign. Diodoros makes it very clear that he had seized a considerable amount of booty on his campaigns in Syria and Kilikia, and possibly also with the sack of Marion, so that Seibert (1969, 79), seems to exaggerate again (cf. infra, 80.3 παροξυνόμενος…) when he writes: ‘die Schlußfolgerung muß wie Hohn und Spott klingen, daß Ptolemaios mit solch läppischen Unternehmungen seine Soldaten bereitwilliger für künftige Gefahren machen wollte’. Huß (2001, 160) even assumes that loot was the main aim of Ptolemaios’ operations in Syria and Kilikia. On the importance of plunder not only as a means of income but also to enhance morale in Macedonian and Hellenistic armies, see e.g. Austin 1986; Millett 2010, 490 and 497– 500; Roisman 2012a, index s.v. ‘plunder’; Archibald 2013, 78 – 79. A further aim may of course have been to make Demetrios move north rather than guarding the border between Egypt and Palestine, although the way Diodoros presents it, it does seem like the decision to attack the Antigonid positions in Koile Syria was taken only after Demetrios had rushed towards Kilikia.

§ 80 – 84 The Battle of Gaza On their return to Egypt Seleukos successfully convinced Ptolemaios that now was the right time to attack Demetrios in Syria. The morale of the troops was high (cf. 79.7), and Demetrios had lost his best horses in the failed attempt to aid Mallos (80.2; Devine 1989, 30). What seemed to be Demetrios’ greatest asset, that he had 43 elephants while the enemy had none, turned out to be the cause of his defeat. Ptolemaios had astutely planned to neutralize the ani-

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mals by special units who laid out spiked chains as a kind of minefield (Devine 1989, 33) on the path of the attacking elephants. The strategy worked: the elephants were halted and even captured, which caused Demetrios’ cavalry to flee (84.5), and the infantry to surrender (85.3). The victory was a true turning point in the history of the Diadochoi, as it allowed Seleukos to return to his satrapy, thus opening up a new eastern front for the Antigonids in Asia (pace Winnicki 1989, 5: ‘in sich kein bahnbrechendes Moment’). Whereas the encounter traditionally tended to be dated to the spring of 312, it has now become almost generally accepted that the battle was fought in the late autumn or early winter of the same year (see below, 80.5 μεταπεμψάμενος…). The battle of Gaza has often been analysed (e.g. Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 435 – 446; Cloché 1959, 162– 164; Seibert 1969, 164 – 175; Kertész 1974; Scullard 1974, 95 – 97; Billows 1990, 124– 128; Gaebel 2002, 221– 222; Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 63 – 72; for a diagram of the battlefield dispositions, see Billows 1990, 125). Diodoros’ account is far more detailed than the other preserved ones, but there are many clear traces that they all ultimately go back to the same source (esp. 81.1 καίπερ…, 81.4 ἦν δὲ καί…; cf., in the battle’s aftermath, 85.3 οὐ γὰρ περὶ τούτων… and chapter 93). Furthermore, it once again seems that Diodoros’ source had already combined earlier narratives containing rival tendencies (cf. supra, Part I, §3.2.3; infra, 81.5 πρὸς ἡγεμόνας…).

80.1 Δημήτριος δὲ ὁ ᾿Aντιγόνου διέτριβεν ἀεὶ περὶ Κοίλην Συρίαν: See above, 69.3 Δημήτριον… Koile Syria is a designation for the southern Levant (Shalit 1954; Sartre 1988; Cohen HS II, 37– 41; Lane Fox 2008, 378 – 379). ἐφεδρεύων ταῖς τῶν Αἰγυπτίων δυνάμεσιν: Cf. App. Syr. 54, Δημήτριον τὸν υἱὸν (…) ἐν Γάζῃ μετὰ τοῦ στρατοῦ καταλείπει πρὸς τὰς ὁρμὰς Πτολεμαίου τὰς ἀπ᾽ Αἰγύπτου. The verb ἐφεδρεύειν can mean ‘lay in wait watching for an opportunity to attack’ (cf. Meeus 2014, 298 n. 128), but here the meaning is defensive: this is clear from Diodoros’ description of Antigonos’ reason for leaving Demetrios in Syria with an army at 69.1 as well as from Appian’s wording. In writing ταῖς τῶν Αἰγυπτίων δυνάμεσιν, the armies of the Egyptians, Diodoros is clearly summarizing sloppily, as the army of the Macedonians in Egypt is meant – though it did include Egyptian soldiers; this is the only time he makes this particular careless mistake in the history of the Successors, but Paus. X 10.2 likewise refers to Ptolemaios as τὸν Αἰγύπτιον twice.

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80.2 ἀποβεβληκὼς τῶν ἵππων τοὺς πλείους κατὰ τὴν ὁδοιπορίαν: Demetrios may have lost as many as 600 horses: he had obtained 5,000 horsemen from Antigonos in 314 (69.1), and only deployed 4,400 cavalrymen in the battle of Gaza (Scheuble-Reiter 2014, 481 n. 30). Of course, depending on how difficult it would have been to gather new horses, he might already have lost some of those 600 on earlier occasions (on horse casualties, see above, 20.4, τοὺς δ᾽ ἵππους…, and on the procurement of horses, above 20.2, συνάγειν…, and below, 91.5, συναγοράσας…). διέτεινε γὰρ ἓξ ἡμέραις ἀπὸ Μάλου σταθμοὺς εἴκοσι καὶ τέσσαρας: This indication of the distance is hard to interpret, as the σταθμός was not a uniform measure, and we do not know where Demetrios’ headquarters were (Bizière, ad loc.; pace Devine 1989, 30). Geer (1954) emended ἀπό to ἐπί, but as Diodoros states that Demetrios quickly returned to his camp, it is not unlikely that he does indeed describe the consequences of the latter journey – perhaps worsened because they had already gone to Mallos in a forced march –, which is also suggested by the sequence of the narrative.

80.3 κατὰ νοῦν αὐτῷ τῶν πραγμάτων ἀπηντηκότων: Cf. supra, 52.1 κατὰ νοῦν… παροξυνόμενος ὑπὸ Σελεύκου: The verb παροξύνειν is quite common in the Bibliotheke, though mostly in the sense of ‘to provoke’, ‘to incense’: I 67.3, III 37.3, IV 34.5, 34.7, IV 70.3 (thrice), X 11.1, XI 28.3, 77.6, 83.1, XII 5.2, 30.5, 42.6, 55.8, 56.4, 72.3, 72.7, 78.2, 80.7, 82.5, XIII 5.2, 87.5, 91.3, 92.1, 94.4 (twice), 102.5, XIV 7.2, XV 36.3, 50.5, 58.1, 58.4, 71.2, 72.2, 77.3, 95.3, XVI 21.4, 31.2, 39.1, 40.5, 42.6, 49.5, 50.2, 54.2, 82.2, 93.8, XVII 8.2, 14.3, 28.2, 83.7, 85.2, 91.2, 100.2, 109.2, XVIII 2.3, XIX 6.5, 25.5, 79.2, 108.3, XX 42.3, XXI 16.4, XXIX 16, XXXI 15a.2, XXXVII 13.2. Yet, the meaning relevant here, ‘to spur on’, ‘to incite’, does also occur, though in some instances it is a matter of interpretation whether they belong to this category rather than to the other one: XI 11.5, 54.4, 57.4, XIII 5.4, 8.8, 70.3, XVI 32.3, XXIII 14.1, XXXIII 5.4, XXXVI 15.1. As usual in Diodoros, several clusters can be observed for both meanings. The present instance is the only one in books XVIII–XXI with the meaning ‘to spur on’, but it is particularly similar to the usage in XIII 5.4, 8.8, 70.3. Furthermore, the verb is particularly common in Diodoros and early imperial authors: Josephus (0.0219 % [BJ, AJ]) and Plutarch (0.0218 %) are far ahead of all other historians, but Diodoros (0.0158 %) is much closer to them than any other historian writing before 300 CE, including Cassius Dio (0.0073 – 0.0110 %), Herodian (0.0082 %), and Polybios (0.0078 %). In the present instance Dionysios of Halikarnassos (0.0024 %) is clos-

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er to the classical historians Thoukydides (0.0033 %) and Xenophon (0.0016 % [HG, An.]), as are Appian (0.0030 %) and Arrian (0.0027 %). It is clear, then, that the word is typical of Diodoros’ time, so that the phrasing may well be his own. I would thus be most hesitant to attach too much weight to this choice of words. Seibert (1969, 78, cf. 144– 145 and 170), however, claims that in this passage Ptolemaios appears again as ‘cunctator’, while ‘Seleukos kommt das Verdienst zu, die Initiative zu der Schlacht bei Gaza, und damit zum Sieg über Demetrios gegeben zu haben’. The latter claim is true, but it does not imply that Ptolemaios was a ‘cunctator’. Seibert, who has an unwarrantedly negative view of Ptolemaios’ abilities throughout his book (cf. Hauben 1977a), does not seem to take the context into account. To be sure, the attack against Syria was in the interest of both men: Ptolemaios could reconquer the territory he had acquired in 319 and claimed in 315, while Seleukos could clear the way for his return to Babylonia (Bosworth 2002, 215 – 216). Ptolemaios, however, had just ended successful campaigns in Kyrene, Cyprus, and Syria and Kilikia, and could rightly feel that he had done enough for the year and send his troops into winter quarters; there was no need for him to embark on a winter campaign for which the soldiers might not have been too enthusiastic (Winnicki 1989, 56 n. 5). Seleukos, on the other hand, wanted to return to his satrapy as soon as possible and thought the moment was right, Antigonos being in Phrygia and Demetrios’ morale just having been lowered. Both men took the appropriate stance from their own perspective. After some particularly bold years in the beginning of his satrapal rule, Ptolemaios does indeed seem to have been prudent on all occasions; yet, this does not seem to have been a bad strategy and might be the reason why he was the only who managed to found a dynasty without ever having lost his territory in more than forty years. The extreme vigour with which Perdikkas and Antigonos constantly undertook aggressive new steps certainly did not prove to be the royal road to success. Furthermore, it is clear that Ptolemaios was already making preparations for a large scale invasion of Syria, and that he had his own military objectives in the region: Seleukos thus only seems to have influenced the moment at which the actual operation started, as Mehl (1986, 86 – 87) rightly argued (cf. Winnicki 1989, 56 – 58).

80.4 ὧν ἦσαν οἱ μὲν Μακεδόνες: Ptolemaios had probably received a considerable contingent of Macedonian troops in 320, after his defeat of Perdikkas’ army (Bosworth 2002, 88; though see Roisman 2012a, 110).

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Αἰγυπτίων δὲ πλῆθος: It is often held that this Egyptian participation in the army was an exception, largely on the basis of Polybios’ description of the battle of Raphia, suggesting it was the first time Egyptians fought in the Ptolemaic army (esp. V 107.1, cf. V 65.8 – 9, 82.6), and the lack of sources for Egyptian involvement in the army (e.g. Kertész 1974, 232– 233; Huß 1976, 59; Winnicki 1989, 60 n. 20; Hölbl 1994, 114; Stephens 2003, 240 n. 7; Von Reden 2007, 22). One wonders, however, whether Ptolemaios simply discharged his native troops after the battle of Gaza. They certainly would have been useful in his subsequent campaigns, and it would be surprising if he did not deploy them again after the energy which must have been invested in their mobilisation and training (cf. Mehl 1986, 86; Hammond 1996a, 107). Indeed, Rodriguez (2004) has argued convincingly that the absence of Egyptian soldiers in the sources cannot be used as evidence for their absence from the army (cf. already Peremans 1951, 218: ‘On admettra volontiers (…) que, tant à l’armée qu’à la flotte, les Égyptiens ont dû être plus actifs que nos textes le font supposer’, though on the whole he assumed their role was ‘peu important’; now also Fischer-Bovet 2014a, 161– 164 and passim). The novelty at Raphia was not the use of Egyptians in the army, but that Egyptians served in the phalanx rather than the light infantry (Kertész 1974, 233; Lloyd 2002, 121 and 131; Rodriguez 2004, 118; cf. Bevan 1968, 165). The number of Egyptian soldiers is unknown, but from Diodoros’ qualification πλῆθος, and the apparent numerical superiority of Ptolemaios and Seleukos (81.1 and 5), it is generally agreed on that the 18,000 infantrymen mentioned by Diodoros exclude the Egyptians (Griffith 1935, 109; Cloché 1959, 162; Volkmann 1959, 1615; Peremans 1983, 95 – 96; Devine 1989, 33; Winnicki 1989, 60 n. 20; Huß 2001, 161 n. 519; Rodriguez 2004, 116). Seibert (1969, 166 – 167) is probably right, though, in arguing that the Egyptians were part of the 18,000 strong infantry: this would still be superior to Demetrios’ army consisting only of around 17,500 men, while Ptolemaios’ total strength was 22,000.

80.5 περὶ τὴν παλαιὰν Γάζαν τῆς Συρίας: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 5.3, περὶ πόλιν Γάζαν; Porphyrios (FGrHist/BNJ 260 F32.4) likewise writes ‘Old Gaza’. Old Gaza lay around 13 km south of Gaza (on which cf. supra, 59.2 Γάζαν). Justin (XV 1.6) locates the battle near Gamala, which may be the Γήμαλα of 2 Sam. 8:13 in the Septuaginta and which can be located in the region of Old Gaza (see Abel 1935, 570 – 575 for a detailed discussion; Devine 1989, 31; Winnicki 1989, 60). That the prologi of Trogus mention Gaza might indicate an error or textual corruption in Justin’s text (Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 282), but since Gaza was such a famous

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place and Gamala potentially makes sense, it is also possible that Trogus had ‘Gamala near Gaza’ and Justin simply retained the specific location. μεταπεμψάμενος πανταχόθεν τοὺς ἐκ τῆς χειμασίας στρατιώτας: This seasonal indication has often been taken as evidence that the battle of Gaza was fought in the spring of 312, the normal time to call the soldiers from their winter quarters (Beloch 1927, 243; Cloché 1959, 162; Volkmann 1959, 1615; Bevan 1968, 25; Wehrli 1968, 143; Schober 1981, 97 n. 1 [combining this with the low chronology for preceding events]; Bosworth 2002, 225 – 228; Porten & Yardeni 2008, 246). Manni (1949, 58 – 59) was the first to suggest that the battle in fact took place in the autumn of 312, though on the basis of a disputable interpretation of the Babylonian Chronicle of the Diadochoi. More importantly, especially in view of our reconstruction of Diodoros’ chronology, a date in spring 312 (archon year 313/2) is not in accordance with the order of Diodoros’ narrative or with the archon date in the other chronographic sources, which all date the battle to 312/1 (Marmor Parium [FGrHist 239] B16; Castor [FGrHist 250] F 12; Porph. [FGrHist 260] F 32.4). This was the basis for Smith’s now widely accepted argument that the armies met near Gaza in the autumn of 312 after Demetrios’ troops had already gone into their winter quarters (Smith 1961, 288 – 290; Hauben 1973, 256 – 260; Errington 1977, 499; Winnicki 1989, 59 – 60; Stylianou 1994, 76; Huß 2001, 160; Anson 2006b, 228 – 229 with n. 23). Wheatley (1998a, 264– 265), though accepting the late date for Gaza, leaves the question of the winter quarters in Diodoros open because he rejects his archon dates. Obviously, there is no problem in accepting that Diodoros mentions the winter of 312/1 three times (77.7, 80.5 and 89.2), as the winter of 317/6 has been mentioned six times (34.8, 37.1, 38.1, 39.1– 2, 44.4, 46.1). The dated coinage of Sidon has been used to corroborate the date late in 312. It contains Ptolemaic issues for year 22, which ran from November 312 to OctoberNovember 311. Since Ptolemaios controlled Phoinikia only for a very short time after the battle (see 93.7), it is unlikely that he still held Sidon after November 312 if the battle was fought in early spring (Hauben 1973, 263 – 265; Wheatley 1998a, 259 – 261 and 2003; Anson 2006b, 228). It should be noted, however, we do not know when the new year started in Sidon. The above argument holds force if the common assumption that the Sidonian minting year coincides with the Macedonian year is correct, but that is not absolutely certain (Bosworth 2002, 229 n. 79; cf. Hauben 1973, 263 n. 31). The chronology of the events after Gaza also favours the dating of the battle to the end of 312, as Seleukos cannot have been in Babylon before April 311. Since he obviously left for his satrapy shortly after the battle of Gaza and it is inconceivable that the journey to Babylon would have taken him almost a year, dating Gaza to the spring of 312 cannot work (see now the detailed analysis by Boiy 2007b, 115 – 117 and 124– 128).

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The Aramaic ostraca from Idoumaia, on the other hand, provide ambiguous evidence. Porten & Yardeni (2014, xxxix) list the following relevant ostraca from the years 312– 311: 1. No. A141.2, 25.iii.5 Alexander = July 5, 312 2. No. A111.1, 18.iv.6 Antigonos = July 27, 312 3. No. A300.1.49, 5.ix.[5] Alexander = December 10, 312 4. No. A80.2, 20.xi.5 Alexander = February 22, 311 5. No. A3.39, 20.xi.5 Alexander = February 22, 311 On the common interpretation that Alexander dates imply Ptolemaic control of the area, a most unlikely alternation of Ptolemaic and Antigonid rule and a duration of Ptolemaic tenure hard to reconcile with the literary sources would have to be assumed – unless dating according to Antigonos’ years as regent was not universally and consistently applied or not incompatible with the regnal years of Alexander IV. Alternatively, some of the Alexander text may rather refer to Alexander III (cf. Meeus 2012, 88 n. 61). A precise date for the battle of Gaza is difficult to determine. Wheatley (2003, 274 with n. 32) asserts that October is possible and that it cannot have been later than November (cf. Yardley, Wheatley & Heckel 2011, 227– 227). Such an early moment is possible only in Wheatley’s chronology which dates the Ptolemaic campaign in Cyprus and the raids on Syria and Kilikia to 313. However, since these rather belong to the second half of 312 (cf. supra, 79.1 τῆς δ᾽ αὐτῆς…), it would seem that the battle of Gaza was probably fought in December or early January (cf. Billows 1990, 136: ‘presumably not earlier than the middle of December’).

81.1 καίπερ νέος ὢν παντελῶς καὶ τηλικαύτην μάχην μέλλων ἀγωνίζεσθαι χωρὶς τοῦ πατρός: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 5.2– 3, δύο καὶ εἴκοσιν ἐτῶν ὄντα καὶ στρατείας τότε πρῶτον αὐτοτελῶς ἐπὶ πράγμασι μεγάλοις ἁπτόμενον. οἷα δὲ νέος καὶ ἄπειρος… See also below, 81.5 πρὸς ἡγεμόνας…, where the parallel with Plutarch continues.

81.2 ὁ μὲν ὄχλος ἀνεβόησε μιᾷ φωνῇ: The crowd shouting with a single voice is a recurrent scene in the Bibliotheke, mostly expressed by means of μιᾷ φωνῇ (XI 9.3, 26.2, 92.4, XVI 79.3, XVII 33.5, 106.7, XL 5a.1), but some variants (XVI 10.3, XVII 106.7) do occur (Neubert 1890, 10 – 11; Palm 1955, 104). The idea of a mass speaking with a single voice is found in some earlier authors (e.g. Aristoph. Eq. 670; Pl.

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Leg. I 634e), but not in any preserved historian before Diodoros, while later historians do sometimes use it (D.H. AR IV 67.2, 84.2; Jos. AJ XI 7.5; Plut. Tim. 38.6, cf. Them. 13.4). The image also appears to have been quite popular among Diodoros’ Roman contemporaries (Cic. De Orat. I 46, Pis. 7, Phil. 14.4, 14.16, Balb. 12; Liv. IX 43.20, XXIV 39.3, XXXIV 37.4, XXXVII 24.7, XXXIX 49.9), so one may wonder whether Diodoros might in this respect have been influenced by his time in Rome (cf. the Catilinarian narrative at XL 5a).

81.3 αἱ τῆς βασιλείας ἐλπίδες εἰς τὴν τούτου διαδοχὴν ἦγον ἅμα τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ τὴν τῶν ὄχλων εὔνοιαν: This is one of the many instances where the Diadochoi are considered royalty or display obvious kingly behaviour before the actual assumption of the title (cf. supra, 27.2 τὸ περὶ αὐτόν…, 48.1 τιμῆς…, 58.5 ἧκεν…, 77.5 ἢ τῇ βασιλείᾳ…, with the literature cited there; Huß 2001, 169 with n. 582– 584; Bosworth 2002, 278 n. 121). The regal characterization of Demetrios is also found in 81.4 (ὅπλοις βασιλικοῖς), 85.3 (βασιλικὴν ἀποσκευήν) and 97.3 (βασιλεῦ Δημήτριε); cf. 93.4 (φαίνεσθαι βασιλείας ἄξιον). Seibert (1969, 171) argues that this is an error stemming from a secondary author other than the source of the rest of the battle. By this logic, the secondary author would have to be the intermediary source for several parts of the narrative, given the other instances of the premature application of the royal title in Diodoros XVIII–XXI.

81.4 ἦν δὲ καὶ τῷ κάλλει καὶ τῷ μεγέθει διάφορος: Cf. XX 92.3, ἦν δὲ καὶ κατὰ τὸ μέγεθος τοῦ σώματος καὶ κατὰ τὸ κάλλος ἡρωικὸν ἀποφαίνων ἀξίωμα, which is part of a more elaborate description of Demetrios’ character and appearance (cf. also next lemma). The passage from book XX belongs to the narrative on the siege of Rhodes, which is usually assumed to have been based on a Rhodian source, rather than on Hieronymos (Nietzold 1905, 40 – 46; Hauben 1977b, 319; Hornblower 1981, 56 – 60; Lehmann 1988a, 10 – 12; Billows 1990, 165 n. 5; Funke 1997, 36; Wiemer 2001, 222– 250; Lane Fox 2015, 167– 168; Wheatley 2016, 45 – 49). The latter also shows strong parallels, though, with the description of Demetrios in Plutarch’s Life (cf. next lemma and especially the comparison between Demetrios’ behaviour in war and peace and the likening to Dionysos at Diod. XX 92.4 and Plut. Demetr. 2.3; Hornblower 1981, 227), which must ultimately go back to the same source as the present passage and the one in book XX. Plutarch’s description is often suggested to have been based on Hieronymos (Sweet 1951, 179; Hornblower 1981, 69; Tatum 1996, 141; Bosworth 2002, 278 n.

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121; cf. Meeus 2020a, 298 – 299). Of course, there is no problem in assuming that the Rhodian author used Hieronymos’ description of Demetrios at Gaza to add colour to his account of the siege, so that all three passages may indeed ultimately go back to the Kardian (cf. Hornblower 1981, 59). If so, however, it is apparent once again that the echoes between the extant sources cannot in themselves be considered proof of direct use of Hieronymos. The source tradition on the history of the Diadochoi, therefore, may well be more complicated than the communis opinio holds. The description of Demetrios attributes the typical characteristics of a king to him (Tatum 1996, 141; cf. Plb. IV 77.1– 3 on Philippos V, with Gehrke 1982, 273), so that we cannot be sure to what extent it is based on reality, although we may safely assume that the Diadochoi who managed to found a dynasty actually were charismatic figures. ἔτι δὲ κεκοσμημένος ὅπλοις βασιλικοῖς εἶχε πολλὴν ὑπεροχὴν καὶ κατάπληξιν: Cf. XX 92.3, εὐπρέπειαν κεκοσμημένην ὑπεροχῇ βασιλικῇ; Plut. Demetr. 2.2, τὸ γὰρ αὐτὸ χάριν καὶ βάρος καὶ φόβον καὶ ὥραν εἶχε. See previous lemma for discussion. πρᾳότης τις ἦν περὶ αὐτόν, ἁρμόζουσα νέῳ βασιλεῖ: Πρᾳότης was one of the typical Hellenistic royal virtues (Murray 1967, 356; Hornblower 1981, 227; Billows 1995, 58; Schofield 1999, 742). Unlike in Polybios, both πρᾳότης and the adjective πρᾷος are very rare in Diodoros (see respectively also XI 67.3 and I 19.5, 34.3, 36.3, XVI 5.1, XXXIV/V 2.33, 22; also cf. MD s.v. πραύνειν). In the other sources on the Successors they are likewise rare (Plut. Phoc. 31.3, Pyrrh. 8.8, cf. Eum. 21.1; Arr. Succ. F26), although Plutarch generally does use these words quite often. It is thus likely that we are facing another trace of Diodoros’ source here (cf. previous lemmata; Hornblower 1981, 227). ὥστε καὶ τοὺς ἐκτὸς τάξεως συνδραμεῖν ἐπὶ τὴν ἀκρόασιν: These probably were the non-fighting members of the army like doctors, engineers etc., and perhaps also the camp followers: cf. supra, 22.2 τῶν τε δευτέρων…

81.5 πρὸς ἡγεμόνας σχεδὸν μεγίστους, Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Σέλευκον· οὗτοι γὰρ πάντας τοὺς πολέμους ᾿Aλεξάνδρῳ συστρατευσάμενοι καὶ πολλάκις καθ᾽ αὑτοὺς δυνάμεων ἡγησάμενοι μέχρι τῶν καιρῶν τούτων ὑπῆρχον ἀνίκητοι: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 5.3, ἀνδρὶ συμπεσὼν ἐκ τῆς ᾿Aλεξάνδρου παλαίστρας ἠθληκότι πολλοὺς καὶ μεγάλους καθ᾽ αὑτὸν ἀγῶνας; generally also Diod. XVIII 53.3. There appears to be a marked pro-Seleukid/pro-Ptolemaic tone in Diodoros’ description of the battle and its aftermath (Landucci Gattinoni 2005b, 174; see also below, 86.3 ἦν γάρ…). On the other hand, the present statement is mostly a contrast between a young general who was to fight his very first battle as su-

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preme commander and his highly experienced adversaries: this is a fairly accurate estimate of the situation, and the σχεδόν surely adds nuance to the statement (also cf. Nep. Eum. 3.3, ‘viri cum claritate tum usu belli praestantes’). Furthermore, it cannot be said that Demetrios receives a bad press in these chapters (see above, 81.4 ἦν δὲ καί…), and others suggest that Hieronymos must clearly be the source as the larger amount of detail on Demetrios’ deployment compared to that of Ptolemaios and Seleukos might result from the presence of the historian in the Antigonid army (Jacoby 1913, 1551; Devine 1989, 29 and 33; cf. Seibert 1969, 169). The actual fighting certainly is not described from Demetrios’ point of view, though. It would seem that here we have yet another indication of the blending of two different traditions in Diodoros’ narrative on the Diadochoi (see above, Part I, §3.2.3). Of course, we also need to take Diodoros’ summarizing into account: Winnicki 1989, 55 with n. 3. Seibert (1969, 170) asserts that Diodoros’ source mentioned both Ptolemaios and Seleukos (also at 83.1, 83.4, 85.3) ‘da er den Lagiden allein eines solchen Sieges nicht für fähig hielt’. Yet, there is no evidence that any ancient author held such a negative view on Ptolemaios, especially in the case of Diodoros’ source (see below, 86.3 ἦν γάρ…). The present passage is clearly positive, and it is more likely that both Ptolemaios and Seleukos were mentioned because both of them played an important part in the battle (cf. Mehl 1986, 88 – 89). On Seibert’s interpretation of Ptolemaios’ alleged incompetence, see also above, 59.1 Νικοκρέων… and 80.3 παροξυνόμενος…

81.6 παρακαλέσας τὰ πλήθη τοῖς οἰκείοις λόγοις: Diodoros was opposed to the excessive inclusion of speeches in historiography (XX 1– 2; see below, 97.3 τῶν βαρβάρων…), and he often contented himself with noting simply that the speaker uttered οἰκεῖοι λόγοι (XI 15.4, XII 83.1, XIII 92.6, 98.1, XV 54.4, 74.5, 78.4, XVI 4.3, 18.3, 78.2, XVII 2.2, 33.1, 56.4, 74.3, XVIII 30.2, 63.5, XX 7.2, XXXII 6.3; cf. XI 50.6, XXIII 12, ἁρμόζοντες λόγοι; cf. e.g. Plb XV 10.1, παρακαλῶν τὰς δυνάμεις βραχέως μέν, οἰκείως δὲ τῆς ὑποκειμένης περιστάσεως, and his theoretical insistence at XII 25i.5 that speeches should always contain only what is fitting for the occasion: τὸ δὲ τοὺς ἁρμόζοντας καὶ καιρίους ἀεὶ λαμβάνειν). That the phrase is typical of Diodoros need not mean that he inserted the idea himself: compare XVII 74.3 with the ‘apta oratione’ in the parallel account of Curtius (VI 2.20) (in general, see above, Part I, §2.2.4). Whether generals held actual speeches before battles such as we often find in ancient works of history has recently become the subject of much debate, since Hansen (1993; 1998) argued that ‘whenever more reliable information is

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available, [the battle exhortation] takes the form either of a few apophthegms that could be shouted by the general as he traversed the line or of a speech made to the officers only who passed it on to the soldiers’ (ibid., 179; accepted e.g. by Bosworth 2002, 152 n. 187). Hansen’s thesis has been vigorously attacked by Pritchett (1994, 27– 109; 2002, 1– 80), who lists the present instance as one of many examples supporting his argument (1994, 94). Yet, since Diodoros explicitly mentions the deployment of the troops after Demetrios’ address, it is possible that he gave a longer speech for the soldiers in an assembly: Hansen (1993, 166 – 167) did not deny this, so that Demetrios’ words at Gaza may not have any actual bearing on the issue and further scrutiny of Pritchett’s other examples seems necessary. Although the debate involves crucial questions about the nature of ancient historiography (Clark 1995, 375: ‘The very credibility of the historians is at stake’), it cannot be dealt with here (see also e.g. Ehrhardt 1995; Hornblower CT II, esp. 82– 83 and III 183; Marincola 2001, 83 n. 102 and 2007a, 128 – 129; Anson 2010b; Lendon 2017, 145 – 154).

82.1 τοὺς περὶ αὐτὸν ἱππεῖς ἐπιλέκτους διακοσίους: This was his personal guard, possibly an ἄγημα, as the Macedonian royal guard was called (Bar-Kochva 1976, 237 n. 52). ἐν οἷς ἦσαν οἵ τε ἄλλοι φίλοι πάντες: We should not take πάντες literally here: at least Andronikos certainly fought on the other wing (82.4), and the commanders of some of the other units might have been Demetrios’ φίλοι as well. For those who did not command any units it was normal that they fought in the company of the dynast (Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 324– 325 with n. 135). Πίθων: On Peithon Agenoros, see above, 56.4 καταστήσας…

82.2 πρόταγμα δὲ τρεῖς εἴλας ἱππέων ἔταξεν καὶ πλαγιοφυλάκους τὰς ἴσας: Compare the similar disposition in the battle of Paraitakene at 29.5. For ilai, cf. supra, 27.2 εἴλας. These ilai probably consisted of the standard number of 50 men (Devine 1989, 31 n. 12). While Fischer and Bizière in their usual preference for the readings of R maintain its πλαγιοφυλάκους, Diodoros is unlikely to have used this Ionian form which does not occur elsewhere in the Bibliotheke. It thus seems more likely that F’s πλαγιοφύλακας, though lectio facilior, is the correct reading. However, cf. also supra, Part I, §2.4, and 24.2 ὥσπερ ὅμηρα…, on morphological variants. Ταραντίνων: Cf. supra, 29.2 τοὺς ἀπὸ θαλάττης…

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82.3 τῶν ἱππέων τοὺς καλουμένους μὲν ἑταίρους: Cf. supra, 22.2 τῶν ἑταίρων… πρὸ παντὸς δὲ τοῦ κέρατος ἔστησε τῶν ἐλεφάντων τριάκοντα: It has been argued that the elephant screen did not stand in front of the whole wing, but that on the left end the πρόταγμα of cavalrymen (82.2) stood in front of the array next to the elephants (Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 440; Seibert 1969, 168). Πέρσαι: Cf. supra, 14.5 εἶχε δὲ τότε…

82.4 τοὺς λοιποὺς ἱππεῖς χιλίους πεντακοσίους: Devine (1989, 34 with n. 35) considers it a tactical mistake of Demetrios to post so many horses on the wing he planned to hold back that he gave up his cavalry superiority on the striking wing. From hindsight this is certainly correct, but the decisions have to be made before the battle, and until the last moment Ptolemaios and Seleukos had arrayed their strongest wing opposite Andronikos. Had the latter been unable to avoid the confrontation, as had happened to Peithon at Paraitakene (see above, 30.1 πρῶτοι δ᾽…), the strength of his contingent would have been most useful in trying to hold out against the enemy until reinforcements arrived (cf. Seibert 1969, 173; Billows 1990, 127: ‘this, if unoriginal, was a sound battle plan’). ᾿Aνδρόνικος: On Andronikos, one of the four senior advisors left with Demetrios in Syria in 314 (69.1), see above, 59.2 στρατηγόν… If he is also the same individual as the phrourarch of 86.1, as is usually assumed, he had left his garrison to join the battle (though see below, ad loc.). τούτῳ δ᾽ ἦν συντεταγμένον λοξὴν φυλάττειν τὴν στάσιν καὶ φυγομαχεῖν, καραδοκοῦντα τὴν δι᾽ αὐτοῦ γινομένην κρίσιν: Cf. XVII 57.6, αὐτὸς δὲ τοῦ δεξιοῦ μέρους ἡγούμενος καὶ λοξὴν τὴν τάξιν ποιούμενος δι᾽ ἑαυτοῦ τὴν ὅλην κρίσιν τοῦ κινδύνου ποιεῖσθαι διεγνώκει; XIX 40.4, τούτῳ δὲ διεκελεύσατο φυγομαχεῖν καὶ τὴν ἀπὸ θατέρου μέρους κρίσιν ἀποθεωρεῖν; see also XV 86.4, XVIII 30.5, XX 50.3. This seems to be Diodoros’ own vocabulary (see above, 29.1 φυγομαχήσειν; 29.7 λοξήν…). Δημήτριος μὲν οὖν διεκόσμησε τὴν ἰδίαν δύναμιν τὸν τρόπον τοῦτον: Cf. 29.1, πρὸς ταύτην ἁρμοζόντως διεκόσμησε τὴν ἰδίαν δύναμιν (see above, 29.1 ἐκ μετεώρων…). Diodoros does not list the totals of Demetrios’ army, but they can be deduced reasonably accurately from the detailed enumeration of the various contingents. He had 4,400 cavalry (2,900 on the left wing [82.1– 3] and 1,500 on the right [82.4]), 11,000 heavy infantry (82.4), 2,150 light infantry (1,500 between the 30 elephants on the left [82.3] and 650 between the remaining 13 elephants if the same elephant-soldier ratio was applied), and 43 elephants (Devine 1989, 32– 33). This means that since he had been posted in Syria in

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late 314 (69.1) Demetrios had lost 600 cavalry, probably in part due to the loss of the horses in the Mallos campaign (80.2). He had apparently also lost 2,000 of his mercenaries, or maybe they had been placed on garrison duty somewhere after Ptolemaios’ raids (79.6 – 7). The unit of 2,000 Macedonians, on the other hand, was still intact, the number of Lykians and Pamphylians had doubled from 500 to 1,000, and all 43 elephants had survived (Devine, loc. cit.).

83.1 μαθόντες δὲ παρὰ τῶν κατασκόπων: Cf. supra, 40.2 πυθόμενος, where the role of the scouts and the reaction of the commanders are similar. For the scouts, see above, 18.4 τῶν κατασκόπων. ἔταξαν δὲ ἐπὶ τοῦ κέρατος τούτου τῶν ἱππέων τοὺς κρατίστους τρισχιλίους: The proportion of horsemen on the wing which was to lead the attack in the Ptolemaic army (3,000/4,000 = 75 %) was much higher than in Demetrios’ army (2,900/4,400 = 66 %). This indicates was that Ptolemaios was less concerned with the strength of the wing that was to avoid battle, and thus that the plan was more offensive (pace Seibert 1969, 172). Admittedly Ptolemaios and Seleukos had the advantage of knowing that Demetrios was going to hold back his right wing, but that does not alter the offensive nature of the deployment. That a defensive screen to halt the elephants was posted in front of the striking wing was only a theoretical obstacle, as the course of the battle revealed: once the respective προτάγματα started the confrontation, Ptolemaios and Seleukos rode around their screen to attack the enemy flank.

83.2 χάρακα σεσιδηρωμένον καὶ δεδεμένον ἁλύσεσιν, ὃν παρεσκευάσαντο πρὸς τὴν τῶν ἐλεφάντων ἔφοδον: This resembles Damis’ tactics against Polyperchon’s elephants at the siege of Megalopolis in 318, neutralizing the animals by burying frames with sharp nails in shallow trenches (XVIII 71.3 – 6). While the precise method used by Ptolemaios and Seleukos is slightly different, the principle obviously is the same. How exactly we should picture these pikes is unclear. Some assume that nails may have been driven through planks which were linked up by chains so as to keep the spikes upright (Kahnes & Kromayer 1924– 1931, 441– 442; Geer 1954, ad loc.; Volkmann 1959, 1615; Seibert 1969, 169; Kertész 1974, 236; Scullard 1974, 95), but this might not have been necessary (cf. Devine 1989, 33 with n. 30). Devine (loc. cit.) argues that the device was laid out unnoticed by the enemy because of the clouds of dust caused by the light infantry being arrayed in front of it.

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83.3 τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ἐπ᾽ ἄκρων τῶν κεράτων ἱππομαχία συνέστη τῶν προτεταγμένων ἱππέων: Demetrios had a πρόταγμα of three ilai on his left wing, probably 150 cavalrymen in total (see above, 82.2 πρόταγμα…). The advance-guard of Ptolemaios and Seleukos is not mentioned in Diodoros’ brief summary of their array.

83.4 τῶν περὶ Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Σέλευκον περιιππευσάντων τὸ κέρας: The precise nature of the manoeuvre is not wholly clear from Diodoros’ narrative, but it is obvious that Ptolemaios and Seleukos somehow had to wheel round the enemy πρόταγμα and attack the flank-guards (πλαγιοφύλακες, 82.2; thus Seibert 1969, 173) or even tried to ride around the flank-guards as well (Scullard 1974, 96). συνέστη καρτερὰ μάχη διὰ τὰς ἑκατέρων προθυμίας: Cf. e.g. III 54.7, IV 16.2, XI 7.1, XII 6.2, XIII 51.4, XIV 33.2, XV 13.3, XVI 4.6, XVII 103.3, XVIII 14.3, XIX 76.2, XX 87.3, 89.2. Of around 130 attestations of the phrase καρτερὰ μάχη in ancient literature 35 are to be found in Diodoros’ work (cf. Palm 1955, 102; Reid 1969, 69 – 70). The expression, already occurring in Herodotus (I 76.4, II 63.3, III 11.3; cf. VI 101.8, VIII 12.2, IX 62.2, 70.2), is also used with some frequency by Dionysios of Halikarnassos (12 instances), Josephus (16 instances), and Arrian (15 instances), but none of them really comes close to Diodoros. The difference is even more striking when considering the statistics for the synonymous ἰσχυρὰ μάχη (see below, 88.5 γενομένης…). Whether the phrase was still felt to be a specifically Homeric echo at the time, as Bosworth (1988b, 43 – 44) asserts in the case of Arrian, is uncertain. If so, Diodoros’ excessive use of it might reveal something about his literary aspirations.

83.5 τούτων τε τὰ πλεῖστα συνέτριψαν: Probably the spears were shattered in close combat, as Diodoros states (Gaebel 2002, 221 with n. 58), rather than thrown at the enemy (pace Seibert 1969, 173). The description is rather reminiscent of Plut. Eum. 7.5 γενομένης δὲ τῆς πρώτης συρράξεως βαρείας καὶ τῶν δοράτων ταχὺ συντριβέντων, τοῦ δὲ ἀγῶνος ἐν τοῖς ξίφεσιν ὄντος (cf. Alex. 16.6). But cf. already e.g. Hdt. VII 224.1: δόρατα μέν νυν τοῖσι πλέοσι αὐτῶν τηνικαῦτα ἤδη ἐτύγχανε κατεηγότα, οἳ δὲ τοῖσι ξίφεσι διεργάζοντο τοὺς Πέρσας. τὴν ἀπὸ τοῦ ξίφους μάχην: Cf. V 29.1, XV 86.2 XVII 100.7; Palm 1955, 108.

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οἵ τε ἡγεμόνες αὐτοὶ πρὸ πάντων κινδυνεύοντες: Hellenistic kings were honour-bound to fight in the front ranks (Lendon 2005, 147– 149; cf. Hölscher 2020, 37 for Alexander’s example). θεατὰς ἔχοντες τῆς ἀνδρείας τοὺς συναγωνιζομένους στρατηγούς: Cf. XI 7.1, τῶν μὲν βαρβάρων θεατὴν ἐχόντων τῆς ἀρετῆς τὸν βασιλέα; XVII 59.3, οὗτοι δὲ θεατὴν ἔχοντες τῆς ἰδίας ἀνδραγαθίας τὸν βασιλέα; Palm 1955, 102.

84.1 ἐπὶ πολὺν δὲ χρόνον τῆς ἱππομαχίας οὔσης ἐφαμίλλου: That both sides were evenly matched for a long time is a typical pattern of Diodoros’ battles (e.g. XV 55.5, 86.4, XVI 35.9, 86.2, XVII 33.6, XVIII 7.6, XX 48.5, cf. XXXIV/XXXV 6.2; for ἐπὶ πολὺν δὲ χρόνον see above, 30.5 ἐφ᾽ ἱκανόν…). It is usually followed by a dramatic turn of the tables, such as is the case here with the neutralization of the elephant contingent (cf. Vial 1977, xx; Stylianou 1998, 16). προῆγεν καταπληκτικῶς: Cf. supra, 26.10 κατέβαινε… for this typical Diodorean phrase.

§ 85 – 86 The Aftermath of the Battle Ptolemaios’ victory enabled him to reconquer Koile Syria, which may also be reflected in the Idoumaian ostraca (cf. supra, 80.5 μεταπεμψάμενος…). Whether this was also the time at which he captured Jerusalem is unknown (Capponi 2011, 252; Lane Fox 2015, 171); at any rate, the possibility cannot be dismissed on the basis of the silence of Diodoros nor that of Hieronymos (pace Bar-Kochva 1996, 76 – 77; the silence of Hieronymos is deduced from Josephus’ claim at C. Ap. I 213 – 214 that the latter did not mention the Jews at all). Diodoros, Plutarch and Trogus all seem to have been using the same source (see esp. 85.3 οὐ γὰρ περὶ τούτων…), which is particularly noteworthy given the marked pro-Ptolemaic tone of these chapters. There is a potential indication here that the ultimate source of Diodoros, and perhaps also the rest of this tradition, ultimately goes back in part to Hekataios of Abdera (86.3 ἦν γὰρ ὁ δυνάστης…). The structure of these chapters to some extent seems to follow an associative train of thought, and it is difficult to reconstruct the exact chronological order of events. Diodoros first deals with the burial of the dead and the fate of the captives after which he mentions the beginning of Ptolemaios’ campaign in Phoinikia. Subsequently he reports the flight to the north of Demetrios, who no longer had a sufficiently strong army. Then Diodoros turns his attention to Ptolemaios again, briefly narrating his first successes before offering more detail about his

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conflict with the phrourarch of Tyre, Andronikos. Up to this point the account may, but need not, be strictly chronological. Then follows a digression on Ptolemaios’ kindness inspired by his forgiving treatment of Andronikos which includes both his reception of Seleukos in 316 and his giving him troops for his return ‘on this occasion’ (διὸ καὶ τότε): it seems hazardous to assume that this must mean that Seleukos only returned to Babylon after the capture of Tyre, especially since Diodoros narrates Seleukos’ campaign at a separate point in his narrative (pace Bosworth 2002, 230; Scolnic 2015, 105; McTavish 2019, 67). Gaining control of the countryside may have been a fairly straightforward and swift undertaking. Yet, we do not know how long it took to win over Sidon and the other places south of Tyre that Ptolemaios undoubtedly needed to control before moving on to besiege the latter city (cf. infra, 85.4 τὰς μὲν πολιορκῶν…). The duration of the siege of Tyre is likewise unknown, but the city was not easy to conquer and the revolt of Andronikos’ soldiers (86.2) need not have occurred soon. Diodoros refers to both Ptolemaios and Seleukos during the battle and in its immediate aftermath (81.5, 83.1, 83.4, 85.3), but after the burial of the dead Seleukos is no longer mentioned. Especially since Diodoros also writes of Ptolemaios alone in chapter 84, it is difficult to be certain whether he observed strict accuracy in mentioning only the latter or both commanders together. If he did, Seleukos left at some point between the burial of the dead and the conquest of southern Phoinikia. Whether or not the sources stating that he left after the battle are accurate, it is very likely that Seleukos did not lose any time and set out to reconquer his satrapy before the Antigonids could recover from the defeat (cf. infra, 90.1 μετὰ τὴν γενομένην…).

85.1 τῆς δὲ μάχης τοιοῦτο τὸ τέλος λαβούσης: The phrase ἡ μάχη … τέλος ἔλαβε appears to be typical of late Hellenistic prose. The present variant with τοιοῦτο also occurs at XIV 24.5, 60.4 and in D.H. AR V 17.1; with other qualifiers it is found at Diod. XI 8.1, 80.6, XIII 17.1 and D.H. AR III 65.3, VI 13.1, 94.3, VIII 89.2, IX 9.4. Apart from Diodoros and Dionysios I have found only a single attestation: Johannes Chrysostomos Adv. Judaeos, ed. Migne vol. XLVIII p. 883. The related locution τῆς δὲ ναυμαχίας τοιοῦτον τέλος λαβούσης seems to be unique to Diodoros (XIII 10.1, 40.5, 47.1, XX 52.6). Combined with other nouns there are two attestations of τοιοῦτον λαμβάνειν τέλος before Diodoros: Aristox. Harm., ed. da Rios p. 48; Plb. IV 52.10. The more common locution is τοιοῦτον ἔσχε τὸ τέλος: cf. supra, 42.7 τοιοῦτον… Once more the typical Diodorean clustering is to be observed (cf. supra, Part I, §2.3).

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Ἄζωτον: Azotos was a town on the coast of Palestine between Ioppe and Gaza (Negev, ‘Azotus’, PECS, 133; Grabbe 2008b, 37; Isaac 2014c). σπεύδων ἐκ παντὸς τρόπου τῆς ἐπιβαλλούσης κηδείας ἀξιῶσαι τοὺς τετελευτηκότας: For the importance of the burial of one’s dead, see above, 31.3 ἐπεχείρει…

85.2 Βοιωτὸς πολὺν χρόνον συνεζηκὼς ᾿Aντιγόνῳ τῷ πατρὶ καὶ μετεσχηκὼς παντὸς ἀπορρήτου: Boiotos is another of those important collaborators and friends of the Diadochoi only known from a single passing reference in the sources (Billows 1990, 378). Given the large number of important individuals attested only once in our literary sources in general as well as in Diodoros XIX in particular (cf. supra, Part I, §2.4, and 44.1 Κελβανόν), there is no need to assume that the man was merely a close personal friend of Antigonos who did not have any political or military functions (pace Billows 1990, 250). A tentative identification of Boiotos as Macedonian is common (Billows 1990, 378; Tataki 1998, 282; LGPN IV, s.v. Βοιωτός), but the name is not attested in the region until the late Hellenistic period; though this may of course be due to chance, it is very well possible that the present individual was not Macedonian at all.

85.3 ἔπεσον μὲν πλείους τῶν πεντακοσίων, ὧν ἦσαν οἱ πλείους ἱππεῖς τῶν ἐπιφανῶν ἀνδρῶν: Plutarch (Demetr. 5.3) claims that there were 5,000 dead, either because of a mistake (Billows 1990, 128 n. 60), textual corruption (Huß 2001, 161 n. 528) or exaggeration (Bosworth 2002, 216 n. 29). It seems clear that he was using the same source in this episode, so it is unlikely to have been independent information. ἑάλωσαν δ᾽ ὑπὲρ ὀκτακισχιλίους: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 5.3, ὀκτακισχιλίων ἁλόντων. Probably these mostly were the men of the mercenary phalanx who will have surrendered as soon as their cavalry fled (Seibert 1969, 174). τήν τε ἁλοῦσαν βασιλικὴν ἀποσκευὴν καὶ τῶν αἰχμαλώτων τοὺς περὶ τὴν αὐλὴν εἰωθότας διατρίβειν χωρὶς λύτρων ἀπέστειλαν πρὸς Δημήτριον: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 5.4, ἀπέβαλε δὲ καὶ σκηνὴν καὶ χρήματα καὶ ὅλως σύμπασαν τὴν περὶ τὸ σῶμα θεραπείαν. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν αὐτῷ Πτολεμαῖος ἀπέπεμψε μετὰ τῶν φίλων; Just. XV 1.8, ‘et amicos Demetrii non solum cum suis rebus, uerum etiam additis insuper muneribus dimisit et ipsius Demetrii priuatum omne instrumentum ac familiam reddidit’. On such magnanimity, see above, 64.8 τὸν δὲ Περίλαον… and 61.5 τοῖς μὲν παρά… According to Huß (2001, 162

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n. 531) the mention of Seleukos is not relevant here; ‘der “eigentliche” Herr des Geschehens war nur Ptolemaios’. Note that once more the adjective βασιλικός is applied to Demetrios (cf. supra, 81.4 αἱ τῆς βασιλείας…). οὐ γὰρ περὶ τούτων ἔφασαν διαφέρεσθαι πρὸς ᾿Aντίγονον, ἀλλ’…: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 5.4, εὐγνώμονα καὶ φιλάνθρωπον ἀνειπὼν λόγον, ὡς οὐ περὶ πάντων ἅμα, περὶ δόξης δὲ καὶ ἀρχῆς πολεμητέον ἐστὶν αὐτοῖς. It would seem that Plutarch was relying on the same source as Diodoros (cf. also previous lemma) but preferred to stress personal ambition rather than the dry facts as the cause of the war. Justin (XV 1.7– 9) is very close to Diodoros in also stating that Antigonos’ refusal to share the spoils of previous wars was the cause of their opposition, but he describes Ptolemaios in terms very similar to those of Plutarch: ‘In quo proelio maior Ptolomei moderationis gloria quam ipsius uictoriae fuit (…) non se propter praedam, sed propter dignitatem inisse bellum, indignatum quod Antigonus deuictis diuersae factionis ducibus solus communis uictonae praemia corripuisset’. Justin too, then, seems to have relied on the same source, as the alternative that Plutarch would have used Trogus, Justin’s original, for Greek history is unlikely. This must mean that Ptolemaios’ φιλανθρωπία was part of their common source. Given the unity of the tradition, the consequences of this observation for the question of the sources are great, though difficult to assess. It is not impossible that on this one occasion Hieronymos described Ptolemaios’ gesture towards his master Demetrios as φιλάνθρωπος, the latter praying to the gods quickly to get the chance to repay the kindness (Plut. Demetr. 5.5). Soon Demetrios did indeed get the occasion, when defeating Killes who had been sent out by Ptolemaios to chase the Antigonids from Syria completely (Plut. Demetr. 6.3). Plutarch notes that Demetrios was pleased with his victory, not because of what he had won, but because of what he could give back: τῆς νίκης οὐ τὸν πλοῦτον οὕτως οὐδὲ τὴν δόξαν ὡς τὴν διάλυσιν τοῦ φιλανθρωπεύματος ἐκείνου καὶ τὴν χάριν ἠγάπησεν (Demetr. 6.4). Surely we should not go as far as to deny that Hieronymos could write that Ptolemaios performed a philanthropic deed towards Demetrios which was soon compensated by the latter. The words of the family of φιλανθρωπία are hardly so specific, though, as to mean that all mentions of Ptolemaios’ display of the virtue must be derived from the author who was the source of Plutarch and Justin on the present occasion. Therefore, this issue need not necessarily have a bearing on the unity of the tradition. On the other hand, of course, it is equally possible that all mentions of Ptolemaic φιλανθρωπία do stem from the same authority, but – as argued above (Part I, §3.2) – this source is unlikely to have been Hieronymos. In that case, we would have another indication that the united tradition does not go back to Hieronymos, at least not directly. The other anti-Antigonid (85.3

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ἀφέλοιτο…) and pro-Ptolemaic (86.3 ἦν γὰρ ὁ δυνάστης…) elements in these chapters of the Bibliotheke may support the latter conclusion, but it would seem that no certainty can be achieved concerning the source of the present passage. ὅτι τοῦ πολέμου γενομένου κοινοῦ πρότερον μὲν πρὸς Περδίκκαν, ὕστερον δὲ πρὸς Εὐμενῆ τὰ μέρη τῆς δορικτήτου χώρας οὐκ ἀποδοίη τοῖς φίλοις: The war against Antigonos had indeed begun with an ultimatum demanding that Antigonos give parts of Asia to Kassandros, Lysimachos and Ptolemaios, and restore Babylonia to Seleukos (57.1). Again the paradox is apparent that while maintaining the loyalty to the royal house and the unity of the empire, the Diadochoi consider the territories Antigonos controlled after the wars against Eumenes and Perdikkas as spoils conquered by the spear (cf. Meeus 2020a, 296). We need not attach strict legal consequences to the wording of the claim, though. It merely represents the only way the other Diadochoi could pretend to have any right to control the territories they demanded. The argument was that de facto large parts of Asia had come under the control of Antigonos in the wars against Perdikkas and Eumenes and that all who had been part of the coalition were entitled to receive some of these spoils. We are merely dealing with an opportunistic attempt to achieve territorial expansion by the only possible justification in the given circumstances, not with a well-founded description of the legal situation. For the concept of δορίκτητος χώρα as justification of the possession of a particular territory in Hellenistic interstate relations, see Mehl 1980/1; Billows 1995, 25 – 28 and passim; Zahrnt 1996, 142; Chaniotis 2004, 2005b; Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 196 – 197; Plischke 2014, 318 – 320. ἀφέλοιτο τὴν σατραπείαν τῆς Βαβυλωνίας Σελεύκου παρὰ πάντα τὰ δίκαια: This statement is rather unlikely to stem from an Antigonid source (Seibert 1969, 79). Of course, that Antigonos unlawfully expelled Seleukos is simply an accusation by the latter and Ptolemaios, but again it seems to be an argument we would rather expect Hieronymos to omit, as it was difficult to deny. Furthermore, the lavish praise for Ptolemaios in chapter 86 likewise suggests that we are dealing with a passage based on a source other than Hieronymos (see below, 86.3 ἦν γὰρ ὁ δυνάστης…).

85.4 τοὺς μὲν ἁλόντας στρατιώτας ἀποστείλας εἰς Αἴγυπτον προσέταξεν ἐπὶ τὰς ναυαρχίας διελεῖν: All manuscripts read ναυαρχίας, for which Wesseling suggested νομαρχίας, a proposal accepted by all editors except Bizière. The emendation has large implications as it would mean that the klerouchic system (on which, see Préaux 1939, 463 – 477; Uebel 1968; Bagnall 1984; Manning 2003,

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passim; Serrati 2007, 472– 475; Stefanou 2013; cf. Lane Fox 2015, 171) already existed by 312 or that a first step towards its establishment was now taken. The present passage is indeed often cited as such, sometimes even without noting the emendation (Préaux 1939, 466 n. 4; Kertész 1974, 237; Bosworth 1980b, 276; Billows 1990, 128; Rowlandson 2008, 47 n. 25; Scheuble-Reiter 2014, 495; Fischer-Bovet 2014a, 53 with n. 16); Stefanou (2013, 122) remains cautious. Of course, the office nomarches did exist in Egypt at the time ([Arist.] Oec. 1351a16, 1352a10 – 19, 1353a6; Arr. Anab. III 5.2– 4; Van ’t Dack 1988, 277– 278; Huß 2001, 222), but that need not mean that land was already distributed to soldiers throughout these regions. In itself, the early existence of the klerouchic system would not be surprising: given the Macedonian origin of the practice it did not need to be invented by Ptolemaios (Bresson 2016, 114). Yet, the present instance would be somewhat different to the extent that the beneficiaries were prisoners of war. The practice of giving a κλῆρος to prisoners of war is attested in the later third century (Rostovtzeff 1953, III, 1365 – 1366; Stefanou 2013, 122 n. 24), but that does not prove that this would already have been done at the time of Gaza. Moreover, it is always a questionable practice to emend passages which are grammatically correct and the contents of which make perfect sense simply to fit our expectations – especially since the proposed emendation is a word not attested in ancient literature. Bengtson (1964, III, 17 n. 1) refers to Van Groningen (1933, 166 – 167) for the claim that ‘die Verschreibung von νομαρχία zu ναυαρχία auch sonst gelegentlich bezeugt [ist]’. However, in the passage of [Arist.] Oec. that Van Groningen discusses (II 1353a), no manuscript provides the reading ναυάρχοις, which is the text given by the Aldina (followed by some later editors) apparently based on the variant νοάρχαις in the Marcianus 200, whereas all other manuscripts have νομάρχαις. Clearly that is a totally different situation from the present one, where all manuscripts agree on the reading ναυαρχία. The existence of the klerouchic system in 306 is often deduced from the behaviour of the captives after the battle of Salamis who were enlisted in Demetrios’ ranks but immediately fled to Ptolemaios’ brother Menelaos because their baggage was still in Egypt (XX 47.4, διὰ τὸ τὰς ἀποσκευὰς ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ καταλελοιπέναι παρὰ Πτολεμαίῳ; see e.g. Turner 1984, 124; Thompson 2003, 108; Rowlandson 2008, 47 n. 25). Even if this would mean that they had land in Egypt, which is of course possible, it does not in itself prove that νομαρχία is the correct reading here. On the other hand, of course, it is quite likely that Ptolemaios was already organizing his satrapy by this time and that he had already introduced the klerouchic system in its basic form, but the evidence has yet to be found.

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Bizière (1975, ad loc.) argues that it is not impossible that the prisoners were incorporated in the navy, given the shortage of rowers at the time (referring to Casson 1971, 104). Huß (2001, 162 n. 532), on the other hand, accepts Wesseling’s conjecture but assumes that they had to work as state slaves. For the incorporation of captive soldiers in one’s own ranks, see above, 59.2 τοὺς μέν… τὰς μὲν πολιορκῶν, τὰς δὲ πειθοῖ προσαγόμενος: There will surely have been a garrison at Ioppe (cf. XIX 59.2), and this group of cities might further include Akko and Samaria (cf. XIX 93.7). The convincing was probably done by means of benefactions: cf. supra, 54.1, πείσας… The phrase πειθοῖ προσάγεσθαι seems to be typical of late Hellenistic and early Imperial prose and especially of Diodoros: out of a total of only 16 ancient attestations, six are to be found in the Bibliotheke (see also XV 19.1, XVII 3.6, 91.2, XVIII 52.8, XXV 10.2); cf. also XIV 98.2, πειθοῖ προσλαβόμενος, a phrase not attested elsewhere. The only preserved instance of πειθοῖ προσάγεσθαι older than Diodoros is Plb. II 38.7, and Plutarch is the only author besides Diodoros who uses the phrase more than once (Sert. 4.9, Cat. Mi. 54.3; cf. Luc. 30.4). The context, both in Diodoros and in others, is usually similar to the present one, namely of using persuasion for some and violence for others. Of course, similar phrases do sometimes occur in other authors, e.g. X. Ag. I 20: ἐπεμέλετο οὐ μόνον τοῦ βίᾳ χειροῦσθαι τοὺς ἐναντίους, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦ πρᾳότητι προσάγεσθαι.

85.5 Τρίπολιν τῆς Φοινίκης: Tripolis was a relatively recent foundation on the Phoinikian coast, lying between Byblos and Arados (Jones 1971, 230 – 231). Since Demetrios bade the troops in Kilikia to come south, he apparently planned to stay in Phoinikia. However, it would seem that he soon changed his mind, as we learn at 93.1 that he had retreated to Kilikia. Probably Ptolemaios came too close as his conquest of the Phoinikian cities gradually took him further north (Winnicki 1989, 61 with n. 6; Bosworth 2002, 216 n. 30). μετεπέμπετό τε τοὺς ἐκ Κιλικίας στρατιώτας καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ὅσοι παρεφύλαττον ἢ πόλεις ἢ φρούρια μακρὰν ἀφεστῶτα τῶν πολεμίων: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 5.6 on Demetrios’ preparations. Either here or at 93.1 Diodoros must be summarizing inaccurately, or subsequent movements of Demetrios have been left out, since in the latter passage it is said that Demetrios himself had gone to Kilikia.

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86.1 Σιδῶνα μὲν προσηγάγετο: Ptolemaios’ possession of Sidon is confirmed by the Ptolemaic coin types issued in the city during the year running from November 312 to October-November 311 (see above, 80.5 μεταπεμψάμενος…). ᾿Aνδρόνικον τὸν φρούραρχον: This man is usually identified with Andronikos of Olynthos, a senior Antigonid officer and one Demetrios’ senior advisors since 314 (See above, 59.2 στρατηγόν…). Since the latter had been one of the leading officers in Antigonos’ siege of Tyre, he did of course know the city and its defences very well. On the other hand, one wonders how effectively the positions of garrison commander at Tyre and close advisor to Demetrios could be combined. The appointment of a high-ranking philos to command the garrison of a city as important as Tyre would not be puzzling (cf. Heckel 2007a, 403 n. 6), but whether the phrourarch of Tyre would have left the city to fight at Gaza (cf. supra, 82.4) is perhaps more questionable. One might refer to Kassandros’ sending his phrourarch of Mounychia to the Hellespont with the fleet (Diod. XVIII 72.3), but at the time Kassandros himself was present in Athens and may have lacked qualified naval personnel, so that the situation cannot be considered typical (cf. Hauben 1975, 74 with n. 4). Of course, there is no guarantee that Diodoros has used the correct title here or that phrourarchos is to be understood in such a technical sense at all. That such a prominent Antigonid official would subsequently join Ptolemaios is remarkable, but not unheard of (cf. infra, 86.2 δοὺς δωρεάς…). On balance, the identification is surely possible, but some questions remain, especially since Andronikos is not an uncommon name.

86.2 ἐλοιδόρησε φορτικῶς τὸν Πτολεμαῖον: Cf. XX 103.5, on Strombichos, Kassandros’ garrison commander at Arkadian Orchomenos, who refused to surrender the city to Demetrios: πολλὰ λοιδοροῦντος ἀπὸ τοῦ τείχους βλασφήμως. οὐ μὴν ὅ γε Πτολεμαῖος ἐμνησικάκησεν: This is a quality of a good ruler according to Diodoros, as he argues in XXXII 4.4 that the Romans were able to build their empire, among other things, οὐδενὶ μνησικακήσαντες πικρότερον τοῦ δέοντος. That XXXII 2 and 4 reflect Diodoros’ own views has been argued especially by Sacks (1990, 44– 46) and Eckstein (1995, 225 – 229; cf. Guelfucci 2001, 99 – 100; Ferrary 2003, 22 n. 30). Hau (2006) shows that it is impossible to achieve complete certainty concerning the authorship of the ideas expressed at XXXII 2 and 4, but that Diodoros at least rephrased them if he took them from Polybios; cf. next lemma. δοὺς δωρεὰς εἶχε περὶ αὑτόν, ἕνα τῶν φίλων ποιησάμενος καὶ προάγων ἐντίμως: For the practice of taking over friends of the enemy, see above, 44.3

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ὁ τὰς ἱστορίας… While not impossible, it is perhaps unlikely that Andronikos would have returned to the Antigonid camp after having been a Ptolemaic φίλος, as suggested by Paschidis (2013, 124 with n. 9). Bizière (1975, ad loc.) argues that it would be ‘abusif’ to conclude from the contrast between Ptolemaios’ kind treatment of Andronikos and Demetrios’ crucifying Strombichos upon capturing Orchomenos (cf. previous lemma) that Diodoros was not relying on Hieronymos. This is certainly true, but one wonders whether the excessive praise for Ptolemaios’ magnanimity is compatible with an Antigonid historian (cf. next lemma). That Hieronymos created a deliberate contrast between Ptolemaios at Tyre and Demetrios at Orchomenos, as Hornblower (1981, 229) seems to suggest is most implausible. Also compare Kyros’ treatment of Kroisos after his capture as an exemplum of the proper behaviour of a ruler at XIII 22.2.

86.3 ἦν γὰρ ὁ δυνάστης οὗτος καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν ἐπιεικὴς καὶ συγγνωμονικός, ἔτι δ᾽ εὐεργετικός. ὅπερ καὶ μάλιστ᾽ αὐτὸν ηὔξησε καὶ πολλοὺς ἐποίησεν ἐπιθυμεῖν κοινωνῆσαι τῆς φιλίας: This statement strongly resembles the eulogy of Ptolemaios at XVIII 28.5 – 6, where it is also said that because of Ptolemaios’ qualities people from all sides wanted to join him, and even that he enjoyed the grace of the gods: οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἄνθρωποι διὰ τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς εὐχάριστον καὶ μεγαλόψυχον συνέτρεχον πάντοθεν εἰς τὴν ᾿Aλεξάνδρειαν καὶ προθύμως ἑαυτοὺς εἰς τὴν στρατείαν παρείχοντο, καίπερ τῆς βασιλικῆς δυνάμεως μελλούσης πολεμεῖν πρὸς Πτολεμαῖον, καὶ κινδύνων προδήλων καὶ μεγάλων ὄντων ὅμως ἅπαντες τὴν τούτου σωτηρίαν τοῖς ἰδίοις κινδύνοις ἑκουσίως περιεποιήσαντο: οἱ δὲ θεοὶ διὰ τὴν ἀρετὴν καὶ εἰς πάντας τοὺς φίλους ἐπιείκειαν ἐκ τῶν μεγίστων κινδύνων παραδόξως αὐτὸν διέσωσαν. For men, because of his graciousness and nobility of heart, came together eagerly from all sides to Alexandria and gladly enrolled for the campaign, although the army of the kings was about to fight against that of Ptolemy; and, even though the risks were manifest and great, yet all of them willingly took upon themselves at their personal risk the preservation of Ptolemy’s safety. The gods also saved him unexpectedly from the greatest dangers on account of his courage and his honest treatment of all his friends.

Both passages seem to stem from the same source, which can hardly have been Hieronymos. It has been argued that Diodoros himself is responsible for the eulogistic treatment of Ptolemaios, but especially in 55.5 (διεβεβόητο…) this seems particularly unlikely, and it is quite possible that Diodoros relies on the same source here (see next lemma). An important, but highly problematic clue about the identification of this source is to be found in Josephus’ Contra Apionem

§ 85 – 86 The Aftermath of the Battle

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(I 186): he attributes to Hekataios of Abdera (FGrHist 264 F 21) the claim that after the battle of Gaza πολλοὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων πυνθανόμενοι τὴν ἠπιότητα καὶ φιλανθρωπίαν τοῦ Πτολεμαίου συναπαίρειν εἰς Αἴγυπτον αὐτῷ καὶ κοινωνεῖν τῶν πραγμάτων ἠβουλήθησαν (‘many of the inhabitants, hearing of Ptolemy’s kindliness and humanity, desired to accompany him to Egypt and to associate themselves with his realm’). Although there are only two verbal echoes between this sentence and that of Diodoros (πολλοί – πολλούς; κοινωνεῖν – κοινωνῆσαι), the similarity in content and structure is striking: both authors claim that because of Ptolemy’s kindness many people wished to join him. The fact that both statements concern the aftermath of the battle of Gaza makes it very likely that are they ultimately related (Capponi 2011, 189). This seems to imply that the praise of Ptolemaios in Diodoros goes back to Hekataios, which would not be surprising since the latter was connected to the Ptolemaic court. The authenticity of the Hekataios fragment is debated, however. It is impossible to go into that highly intricate debate here, but even if the current passage would be PseudoHekataios, that need not be a problem, for Pseudo-Hekataios may well have taken this judgment from the actual work of Hekataios – a strategy that would make sense for any forger (cf. supra, Part I, §3.1.4). In general one may wonder whether Diodoros would have gone out of his way to praise a single ruler with whom he had no connection whatsoever. Given that the praise for Ptolemaios is embedded very well in the preceding and subsequent narrative, we should accept that Diodoros was a much more independent writer than is usually assumed, if the commending of Ptolemaios were his own work. If Drews (1962) is correct that whenever possible Diodoros chose sources with moralizing judgements, he might deliberately have picked a source which gave such an interpretation of the present event (cf. Reid 1969, 31: ‘On the whole, the passages he took over with the least change seem to embody moral judgements of some kind on the character or fate of states of individuals’; see also Hau 2009 for Diodoros’ dependence on his sources for his moralizing). That does not exclude, though, that Diodoros himself elaborated what he found in his source to fit his own moral programme. Sacks (1990, 43 n. 84) has argued that the present passage fits Diodoros’ view that φιλανθρωπία and ἐπιείκεια are crucial concepts in understanding the rise and fall of empires (cf. also de Romilly 1979, 249 – 256; Hau 2006; Sulimani 2011, 82 – 108; Gray 2013, 149 – 162; Holton 2018, 203 – 205; Woznicka 2018, 233 – 241). There are indeed some parallels with the most explicit expression of the idea in the fragments from the beginning of book XXXII. At XXXII 2 we read that those who have established an empire πρὸς αὔξησιν δὲ μεγάλην ἄγουσιν ἐπιεικείᾳ καὶ φιλανθρωπίᾳ, and at XXXII 4.4 of the Romans and their empire that πρὸς αὔξησιν δὲ μεγί-

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στην ἤγαγον ἐπιεικέστατα χρώμενοι τοῖς καταπολεμηθεῖσιν, which echoes the present ἐπιεικὴς (…) ὅπερ καὶ μάλιστ᾽ αὐτὸν ηὔξησε. The other consequence of Ptolemaios’ virtues, πολλοὺς ἐποίησεν ἐπιθυμεῖν κοινωνῆσαι τῆς φιλίας, is echoed – though in a different context – by the statement that Alexander of Macedonia ἐπιεικέστατα χρώμενος τοῖς αἰχμαλώτοις (…) τοὺς κατὰ τὴν ᾿Aσίαν οἰκοῦντας ἐπιθυμητὰς ἔσχε τῆς ἰδίας ἀρχῆς (XXXII 4.3). Cf. also Aristeas 207 prescribing such behaviour for the king, typically concluding καὶ γὰρ ὁ θεὸς τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἅπαντας ἐπιεικείᾳ ἄγει. The importance of Ptolemaios’ συγγνώμη to Diodoros is clear especially from XXXI 3, where he argues at length that forgiveness is to be preferred to punishment (XXXI 3.1, συγγνώμη τιμωρίας αἱρετωτέρα, literally repeated at IX 12.3 and XXI 9, cf. 14.3 and XXXII 27.3; Sacks 1990, 104; Wirth 1993, 27; Camacho Rojo 1994c, 113; Holton 2018, 203 – 204). We need not wonder, then, why Diodoros paid so much attention to the episode, but that does not mean he composed it himself. Cf. Plb. V 11.5 – 6 on the importance of royal forgiveness, and V 10.2– 5 on obtaining supporters through kindness.

86.4 τὸν Σέλευκον ἐκ τῆς Βαβυλωνίας ἐκπεσόντα φιλοτίμως ὑπεδέξατο: The same positive judgment is found in the account of Seleukos’ arrival (see above, 55.4 ἐῴκει…; 55.5 διεβεβόητο…; 56.1 φιλανθρωπίας…). Diodoros might have been using the same source for both passages, then.

86.5 τότε παρακαλοῦντος αὐτὸν Σελεύκου δοῦναι στρατιώτας τοὺς ἀναβησομένους εἰς Βαβυλῶνα: Cf. Lib. Or. 11.82, ἐπεσπάσατο Πτολεμαῖον εἰς τὸ κατάγειν αὐτὸν καὶ λαβὼν ἱππέας καὶ πεζούς; App. Syr. 54, Πτολεμαῖος δ’ αὐτίκα τὸν Σέλευκον ἐς τὴν Βαβυλῶνα πέμπει, τὴν ἀρχὴν ἀναληψόμενον; Marmor Parium (FGrHist 239) B 16, Σέλευκον ἀπέστειλεν εἰς Βαβυλῶνα. There is no need to assume that the phrasing of these passages implies the existence of two different source traditions, one simply having Ptolemaios send Seleukos back, while the other has Seleukos asking for it: the longer narratives simply offer more detail (Winnicki 1989, 57; contra Seibert 1969, 148 – 150). προθύμως ὡμολόγησε καὶ προσεπηγγείλατο πάντα συμπράξειν: See 90.1 for details. Of course, Seleukos’ return to Babylon was also of interest to Ptolemaios as it would open a new front for Antigonos, who would then have to divide his attention not only between Europe and Syria, but also had to fight in the East (Mehl 1986, 90 – 91; Winnicki 1989, 58).

§ 87 Telesphoros’ Revolt in the Peloponnese

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μέχρι ἀνακτήσαιτο τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν σατραπείαν: Although some presume that Ptolemaios would not have left his friend Seleukos out of the peace treaty of 311 (see below, 105.1 οἱ περὶ Κάσσανδρον…), the present passage may explain why Ptolemaios need not have insisted on including Seleukos, because at that time the latter had already reconquered his satrapy. Of course, Ptolemaios did not have much room for negotiation anyway since Kassandros and Lysimachos had already concluded peace with Antigonos (Simpson 1954, 27 and 30). On the other hand, it is possible that Ptolemaios sent help to Seleukos in 310/9 (Arr. Ind. 43.4– 5; Billows 1990, 139 with n. 7), but by then the situation had already changed again. Indeed in 301 Seleukos still considered Ptolemaios a friend despite the conflict over the possession of Koile Syria: Diod. XXI 1.5.

§ 87 Telesphoros’ Revolt in the Peloponnese Disenchanted because Polemaios was given a more important command than his own, another nephew of Antigonos, Telesphoros, who had already been campaigning in Greece since the spring of 313, sold his ships and decided to become his own man. Beloch (1925, 132) has argued that he saw his chance after Demetrios’ defeat at Gaza, which he dated to the spring of 312 (cf. supra, 80.5 μεταπεμψάμενος…). Hauben (1975, 96) admits that such a scenario would be possible even if the battle of Gaza was fought at the end of 312 (cf. Billows 1990, 131, who dates the rebellion to the winter of 312/1), but rightly suggests that Telesphoros is more likely to have awaited a favourable situation in Europe, i. e. a moment when Polemaios was occupied in central Greece. At any rate, Diodoros’ chronology shows that the present events belong to the campaigning season of 312, while events which only happened after news of the encounter at Gaza had become known in Greece would have to be fitted into the next campaigning year. As Telesphoros’ actions and Polemaios’ reaction will have taken some time, the revolt is unlikely to have started late in the year. In principle, of course, it is possible that this is the point in the narrative where Diodoros should have inserted the archonship of Polemon, which he starts much too late. However, it is clear that the events in chapters 88 and 89 still belong to 312. At 88.1 Diodoros picks up his account of the affairs of northern Greece with Alketas coming to the throne in Epeiros after the death of Aiakides. The latter had been killed at the end of 313 (74.5), so that events following on Alketas’ assumption of the kingship most likely belong to early 312. The new campaigning year therefore begins after the winter mentioned at 89.2. Polemaios was engaged in central Greece since his arrival in Europe, probably around mid-spring. It would seem from Diodoros’ – admittedly compressed

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– report that Telesphoros reacted to the news almost immediately, which places his revolt probably in the spring or summer of 312. As Wallace (2014b, 239 – 240) has pointed out, this would mean that the revolt and the occupation of Elis probably took place not long before the Olympic Games and thus posed a major public relations problem for the Antigonids in Greece (cf. Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 109 n. 33).

87.1 ἐπειδὴ Πολεμαῖον ἑώρα μᾶλλον ἑαυτοῦ προαγόμενον: On the importance of προαγωγή by the ruler, for which the courtiers were constantly vying, see above, 14.4 γεγενημένος… When Polemaios seemed to enjoy Antigonos’ preference, Telesphoros felt particularly slighted because both men were nephews of Antigonos and could thus be expected to be equally favoured. Furthermore, this might have been the second time Telesphoros had to accept that Antigonos gave a more important command to one of his other nephews (see above, 74.1 ἐξέπεμψε…).

87.2 παρελθὼν γὰρ εἰς Ἦλιν: Elis lay on the banks of the Peneios in the northwestern Peloponnese (Roy 2004, 494– 498; Shipley 2018, 21). ἐσύλησεν δὲ καὶ τὸ ἱερὸν τὸ κατὰ τὴν Ὀλυμπίαν: Given that the Olympic games were to be held in the summer of 312, Telesphoros probably wished to make a strong and conspicuous statement: see Wallace 2014b, esp. 239 – 240. This would be an excellent occasion for Diodoros to reiterate his claim that those who escaped punishment during their lifetime would still receive their due when the historian defamed them for eternity (cf. supra, 48.4 αἱ γὰρ ἀσεβεῖς…). Given Hau’s (2009) demonstration that Diodoros usually did not insert moralizing comments where his source had none, this need not be too surprising.

87.3 προδότης τῆς πρὸς ᾿Aντίγονον φιλίας: This is a very explicit judgment. According to Rosen (1979, 473), the present episode illustrates that ‘wo sich allerdings Satrapen gegen Antigonos als den in Triparadeisos gewählten Strategen erheben, sind sie Verräter’ in Hieronymos of Kardia’s view. However, it is the only example he gives, and it is completely irrelevant. Not only is it an important difference that Telesphoros was a general of Antigonos rather than a satrap, but we should also note that Antigonos had not been given authority over Europe at Tri-

§ 88 – 89 Kassandros’ Operations in Epeiros and Illyria

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paradeisos. Telesphoros was thus rebelling against the man who illegally tried to gain control of Greece, not against the στρατηγός of Asia – though Antigonos did claim to be the rightful regent of the empire (61.3 ἐὰν μὴ πειθαρχῇ…). Rosen’s whole argument that respect for the four main Reichsreglungen is the basis for Hieronymos’ judgement of individuals seems to be unwarranted. παρῆλθεν εἰς Πελοπόννησον μετὰ δυνάμεως: Geagan (1968, 381– 384) connects the very fragmentary inscription SEG XXV 357, which lists some contingents of troops, to the present campaign, because Aegean islands are mentioned (Keos and Delos), and Ptolemaios never campaigned in Greece when he controlled the Nesiotic League. However, only (parts of) ten words are preserved, none of them very specific. Surely the fact that Polemaios had πεζοὺς μὲν πεντακισχιλίους (77.2) and the occurrence of πεντακισχιλί[ους] and πεζούς – not necessarily belonging together – in the inscription, is hardly as striking as Geagan would have it. J. & L. Robert (1969, no. 236) rightly comment that ‘rien n’est claire’. τὸν Τελεσφόρον πείσας: Since Telesphoros is still attested in Antigonid service in 307, Polemaios must have effected a reconciliation, but the rehabilitated rebel may have lost his command (Hauben 1975, 96; Billows 1990, 131 and 435 – 436; Wallace 2014b, 239). παρέλαβεν τὴν Κυλλήνην: For Kyllene, the harbour of Elis, see above, 66.2 πολιορκοῦντας…

§ 88 – 89 Kassandros’ Operations in Epeiros and Illyria For his last change of theatre in 312 Diodoros turns to northern Greece to describe Kassandros’ struggles for the control of Epeiros and Illyria (cf. Greenwalt 2010b, 296 – 297; Meyer 2013, 124– 125). It seems hazardous to conclude from the absence of evidence that Kassandros abandoned his interest in these areas after the present failure (pace Greenwalt 2010b, 297). Previous events in this region have been dealt with by Diodoros in a very haphazard manner at 67.5 – 7, 70.7– 8 (as part of the Sicilian narrative), 74.3 – 6 and 78.1, and the fact that he does not discuss subsequent events at all is probably due only to the increasingly compressed nature of his account on the Diadochoi as Agathokles takes precedence in book XX. Although the earlier involvement of the Aitolians, Antigonid allies, in these campaigns was certainly connected to the war with Antigonos, chapters 88 and 89 cannot be said to describe Kassandros’ affairs at a point at which he came into contact with Antigonos. The claim of adherents of the Hieronyman dogma that the other Diadochoi are only mentioned when they came into contact with Antigonos (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.3 and 3.2), does not apply to the present episode. These chapters seem to go back to an author who thought

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that the history of Kassandros was relevant in its own right. Obviously this does not teach us anything about the identity of Diodoros’ source, as even Hieronymos might have taken an interest in Kassandros’ affairs if his aim was to give a thorough account of the history of the Diadochoi.

88.1 ᾿Aλκέτᾳ τὴν βασιλείαν παρέδωκαν: Cf. Paus. I 11.5, Ἠπειρῶται δὲ ᾿Aλκέταν ἐπὶ βασιλείᾳ κατεδέξαντο. Alketas was an older brother of Aiakides (Funke 2000a, 190 n. 369 and 197– 198; Meyer 2013, 123 – 124). Funke (loc. cit.) again assumes that the Epeirotes issued a κοινὸν δόγμα for the installation of Alketas as king. There is no evidence, though (cf. supra, 36.4 οἱ δὲ χωρισθέντες …). On the whole, it seems unlikely that Alketas enjoyed wide popular support (cf. 88.4; Carney 2006a, 106 – 107; Meyer 2013, 124). ὃς ἦν πεφυγαδευμένος μὲν ὑπὸ ᾿Aρρυβίλου τοῦ πατρός: Cf. Paus. I 11.5, ἀκρατῆ δὲ ἄλλως θυμοῦ καὶ δι᾽ αὐτὸ ἐξελασθέντα ὑπὸ τοῦ πατρός; Meyer 2013, 123 – 124. Arybbas, the uncle of Olympias, was king of the Molossians from ca. 360 until sometime before 342 (Errington 1975; Carney 2006a, passim; Heckel 2006, 56; Meyer 2013, 118 – 119).

88.2 Λυκίσκος ὁ τεταγμένος ἐπὶ τῆς ᾿Aκαρνανίας στρατηγός: See above, 67.5 ἀπολιπών…

88.3 περὶ Κασσωπίαν πόλιν: Kassopa (modern day Kamarina) was situated in the Kassopia region in southwestern Epeiros (Biers 1976; Funke et al. 2004, 346). τοὺς μὲν υἱοὺς ᾿Aλέξανδρον καὶ Τεῦκρον: The present episode constitutes all we know of Alexandros and Teukros (Kaerst, ‘Alexandros [19]’, RE I.1 [1893], 1437; Berve, ‘Teukros [3]’, RE VA.1 [1934], 1131).

88.4 εἰς Εὐρυμενὰς πόλιν Ἠπειρωτικήν: The location of this city is unknown (Funke et al. 2004, 345; cf. E. Meyer 2015, 302; Lasagni 2018, 177). According to Hammond (1967, 526 – 527 and 1988a, 155) it should be identified with the site of Kastritsa in the Ioaninna plain. As Cabanes (1976, 123) points out, there are several other possibilities, but no certainty can be achieved.

§ 88 – 89 Kassandros’ Operations in Epeiros and Illyria

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88.5 γενομένης οὖν μάχης ἰσχυρᾶς: Cf. e.g. II 6.3, III 71.4, IV 49.6, XI 80.2, XII 80.8, XIII 8.1, XIV 51.3, XV 16.3, XVI 16.1, XVII 84.3, XVIII 40.8, XIX 72.4, XX 22.5. 36 out of around 75 ancient attestations of the phrase come from Diodoros’ work (cf. Palm 1955, 102 and 203 n. 1). The synonymous phrase καρτερὰ μάχη likewise occurs frequently in the Bibliotheke (see above, 83.4 συνέστη…). Cf. also III 71.4, XI 79.3, XII 70.2, XV 16.3, XVI 35.5, XX 56.2 where παράταξις is used instead of μάχη. Μίκυθος ὁ στρατηγός: This is the only attestation of Mikythos (Becher, ‘Mikythos [3]’, RE XV.2 [1932], 1563). Λύσανδρος ᾿Aθηναῖος ὁ κατασταθεὶς ἐπὶ τῆς Λευκάδος ὑπὸ Κασσάνδρου: Lysandros (PA 9281) is otherwise unknown. See above, 67.5 αὐτὸς δέ…, for Kassandros’ conquest of Leukas.

88.6 Δεινίου: On Deinias, see above, 35.3 Δεινίας.

89.1 τὴν φρουρὰν ἐκβαλόντες τὴν αὐτοῦ προσέθεντο τοῖς Ἰλλυριοῖς: Kassandros had captured Apollonia in 314 (67.6), but the city had been freed by the Korkyraians in 313 (78.1).

89.2 γενομένης δὲ καρτερᾶς μάχης ἐπὶ πολὺν χρόνον: Cf. supra, 83.4 συνέστη…, and 88.5 γενομένης… The combination with ἐπὶ πολὺν χρόνον likewise occurs at XIII 51.4 (cf. supra, 30.5 ἐφ᾽ ἱκανόν…). τὴν δὲ χειμερινὴν ὥραν θεωρῶν ἐπανῆλθεν εἰς Μακεδονίαν: Although it is universally recognized that this winter must be that of 312/1 (cf. supra, on chapter 87), it is debated whether it can be the same winter as that of 77.7. Bakhuizen (1970, 160 – 161; Wheatley 1998a, 267) contends that it is inconceivable that Kassandros campaigned in Epeiros while Antigonos was on the Hellespont preparing an invasion of Europe (77.5 – 7). He finds alleged confirmation of this in the assumption that Diodoros wrongly has the siege of Oreos continue into the next campaigning season. Both of Bakhuizen’s arguments have been convincingly rejected by Hauben (1973, 258 – 260). First of all, there is no need to assume that Diodoros’ chronology for the siege of Oreos is wrong or to deny that the operations could have continued over the winter (cf. supra, 77.5 τὴν Ὠρεοῦ…). Secondly, Hauben has also shown that by this time Antigonos’ plan had already failed

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because Byzantion did not support him. He has argued, furthermore, that Kassandros did not leave Macedonia undefended, that he deemed a swift intervention in the West necessary, and that he could also count on Lysimachos to stop a possible invasion.

89.3 αὐτόν τε κατέσφαξαν: Cf. Paus. I 11.5, νύκτωρ αὐτόν τε καὶ τοὺς παῖδας ἐπαναστάντες ἔκτειναν. Alketas and his sons were murdered in 307 or 306 (Funke 2000a, 198). δύο τῶν υἱῶν παῖδας ὄντας τὴν ἡλικίαν Ἠσιονέα καὶ Νίσον: Esioneus and Nisos are not otherwise attested (Kroll, ‘Nisos [4]’, RE XVII.1 [1936], 760).

§ 90 – 92 Seleukos’ Return to Babylon Along with chapters 55 – 56 which deal with Seleukos’ flight from Babylon, this narrative on his recovery of his satrapy (continued at 100.3 – 7) is one of only three sections in what is preserved of Diodoros’ account on the Successors that focus on him. While both episodes obviously needed to be included because of the importance of the events, it would also seem that our author was fascinated by Seleukos’ changing fortunes (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.3). Diodoros describes how Seleukos encouraged his men by telling them of the signs of his future kingship he had received from an oracle and in a dream (90.4), and by treating them well (90.5). This renders it rather unlikely that he was relying on Hieronymos (see below, 90.4 ἐν μὲν γὰρ Βραγχίδαις…). Likewise, the statement that the soldiers of Nikanor, the general of the upper satrapies, deserted because of unspecified orders of Antigonos does not suggest the use of an Antigonid historian (92.4 προσκόπτοντες…), and neither does the repeated reference to the greater popularity of Seleukos with the local population (see below, 90.1 διὰ τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν…, 91.1 οἱ πλείους…, 91.2 πᾶσι προσενήνεκτο…). At this point Diodoros should have inserted the next archon if he wished to maintain his system of equating the archon year with the campaigning season. He seems to have been confused by the fact that the operations in Syria continued over the winter (Smith 1961, 289 – 290). Almost all events of 311 are therefore narrated under the archon of 312. When the start of Simonides’ year (311/0) is finally noted (105.1), the peace treaty between Antigonos, Kassandros, Lysimachos and Ptolemaios is all that remains to be narrated. The campaigning year begins with Seleukos’ successful return to Babylon which can be dated independently thanks to the available cuneiform evidence showing that he arrived in his satra-

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py in April 311 and was in control of the city of Babylon by the end of May (Van der Spek 2014, 327– 328 and 340 – 342; McTavish 2019, 67– 68). Yet, the chronology of events after Seleukos’ arrival remains debated, and many diverging reconstructions have been put forward (see the overview in Boiy 2007b, 124– 128).

90.1 μετὰ τὴν γενομένην ἧτταν Δημητρίῳ περὶ Γάζαν τῆς Συρίας: Such transitional phrases are often imprecise (cf. e.g. supra, 74.1 ἐξέπεμψε…). Yet, the Marmor Parium also suggests an immediate departure after the battle (FGrHist 239 B 16, Πτολεμαῖος Δημήτριον ἐνίκα ἐν Γάζει καὶ Σέλευκον ἀπέστειλεν εἰς Βαβυλῶνα) as does Appian (Syr. 54, Πτολεμαῖος δ’ αὐτίκα τὸν Σέλευκον ἐς τὴν Βαβυλῶνα πέμπει), but these accounts are too compressed to have much evidentiary value in themselves. Nevertheless, there is a great likelihood that they are correct: Seleukos, who had encouraged Ptolemaios to attack Demetrios at the very end of the campaigning season rather than waiting until the next spring, may not have postponed his return to Babylon until Ptolemaios would control Tyre at some unknown point in the future. The Antigonids were in a state of turmoil because of the major defeat in the late winter and Seleukos will have been only too willing to exploit this strategic advantage rather than waiting for the Antigonids to recover from the setback. See also above, on §85 – 86. πεζοὺς μὲν οὐ πλείους τῶν ὀκτακοσίων, ἱππεῖς δὲ περὶ διακοσίους: Libanios (Or. 11.82) likewise states that Ptolemaios gave Seleukos 1,000 foot soldiers and horsemen, while Appian (Syr. 54) gives slightly higher numbers, 1,000 infantry and 300 cavalry, which are probably rounded up (Bosworth 2002, 231 n. 80). Brodersen (1989, 109) rightly notes that these differences in numbers do not prove the use of different sources (contra Marasco 1982, 51). The suggestion that the difference can be explained by Appian’s potential inclusion of Seleukos’ own men is unlikely since Appian writes that all of them were given by Ptolemaios, and for all we know Seleukos only had fifty men of his own (pace Grainger 1990a, 73 – 74). Although this was a very small army, the undertaking was possible because Seleukos marched in the depths of winter through a region with very few enemy garrisons, and, if Peithon had indeed remained in office (but see above, 69.1 Πίθωνα…), against a province the satrap of which had just died (Mehl 1986, 89 – 90; Billows 1990, 129; Grainger 1990a, 73 – 74; Boiy 2004, 126). The troops which Seleukos received, moreover, apparently were highly skilled and experienced veterans of Alexander’s campaigns (90.3; Hammond 1988a, 190 n. 2; Bosworth 2002, 233 – 234). Furthermore, as Grainger (1990a, 80) points out, Seleukos will have been prepared to take a risk in order to regain his satrapy after having had to serve another satrap for more than four years.

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μεμετεωρισμένος ταῖς ἐλπίσιν: A typical Diodorean expression (cf. Palm 1955, 168). 15 out of 25 ancient attestations are found in the Bibliotheke (XIII 2.2, 38.4, 45.10, 46.3, 92.2, XIV 21.6, XVI 11.5, XVII 29.3, XVIII 47.5, XX 8.5, 33.2, XXXI 32a1, XXXIV/V 2.17). It is interesting to note the clustering in book XIII. Before Diodoros the phrase only occurs in a fragment of Theopompos ([FGrHist 115] F328, quoted by Plut. Dem. 18.1, which is the only occurrence of the expression in Plutarch), and once in Polybios (XXX1.4); a fragment of Poseidonios ([FGrHist 87] F108a), is taken from the Bibliotheke. Then there is one instance in Chariton (VIII 5.10) and 6 in the fourth and fifth centuries CE. μετὰ τῶν φίλων καὶ τῶν ἰδίων παίδων: Some of them had apparently accompanied him on his flight in 316 (cf. supra, 55.5 ἐξεπήδησεν…). On the paides, see above, 28.3 τῶν Εὐμενοῦς παίδων. Grainger (1990a, 73) and Mileta (2014, 436), on the other hand, write of slaves rather than paides. διὰ τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν εὔνοιαν: During his first period as satrap of Babylonia (320 – 316), Seleukos had taken care to gain the goodwill of the population (see below, 91.2 πᾶσι προσενήνεκτο…). καιρὸν οἰκεῖον ταῖς ἰδίαις ἐπιβολαῖς: The same turn of phrase occurs at XVIII 46.5, XX 43.1 as well as at XX 10.2 without ἴδιος. It is striking, of course, that all four instances appear in books XVIII–XX, but we should note that the latter two belong to the Sicilian narrative. Furthermore, ἴδια ἐπιβολή or ἴδιαι ἐπιβολαί are found throughout the work (also at V 37.3, XI 54.4, XIII 92.1, XIV 13.3, XVII 94.3, XVIII 23.3, 50.5, XX 7.1, XXX 21.3, XXXIII 5.6; Corcella 2019, 168), and 13 of only 30 ancient attestations of this expression have been written by Diodoros. Καιρὸς οἰκεῖος usually means the proper place in an author’s narrative and it is evidenced since Aristotle (e.g. Arist. Mete. 358b; Thphr. CP V 12.1; Plb. I 36.4, V 12.8, XVIII 36.1; Diod. II 31.3, IV 55.3, V 75.4; D.H. AR II 26.6, 67.5, III 67.5, VII 65.2), but it is also used in the sense of the right moment in time (e.g. Plb. III 8.9, IV 11.9, XII 25b3, XXIX 19.7; Diod. XV 20.1, XVII 5.1, XIX 101.2; D.H. AR IV 38.2, VIII 2.4, 11.2, 84.1; Strabo XVI 1.19). Overall, καιρὸς οἰκεῖος is rather rare before the fourth century CE, and Diodoros uses it more often than any other Classical or Hellenistic author. The combination of all these elements suggests that the spread of καιρὸς οἰκεῖος ταῖς ἰδίαις ἐπιβολαῖς came about coincidentally, rather than under the influence of Diodoros’ source.

90.2 καὶ δυνάμεις ὑπάρχουσιν ἕτοιμοι μεγάλαι καὶ χορηγίαι λαμπραὶ καὶ συμμάχων πλῆθος: This seems to be a general description of Antigonos’ power rather than of the situation in Babylonia proper; the army in the province can hardly have been so impressive.

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90.4 ἐν μὲν γὰρ Βραγχίδαις αὐτοῦ χρηστηριαζομένου τὸν θεὸν προσαγορεῦσαι Σέλευκον βασιλέα: The Branchidai were the priests of Apollo’s oracle at Didyma, between Panormos and Patmos south of Miletos. Sometimes the sanctuary was also called Branchidai after the priestly family (Fontenrose 1988; Oesterheld 2008. For Didyma and the Seleukids, see Günther 1971, 69 – 71; Bearzot 1984; Fontenrose 1988, passim; Bringmann 2000, 81– 84; Mittag 2006, 111 with n. 73). Appian (Syr. 56 cf. 63) recounts another prophecy of the Didymaian oracle concerning Seleukos, namely that he was not to hurry back to Macedonia because Asia would be much better for him. It is unclear when Seleukos would have consulted the oracle at Didyma (Ogden 2017, 56; Nudell 2018, 51– 52; Nawotka 2019, 268 – 269) and it is impossible to determine whether or not these oracles are authentic (Engels 2017, 470 – 472 with further references; Nawotka 2019, 267– 269). At any rate, the more relevant point is the use that Seleukos made of the present prophecy to impress his men, perhaps also in imitation of Alexander’s charismatic use of mantic practices (Meeus 2020a, 297– 298; cf. Trampedach 2020). The relationship between the Seleukids and Didyma has been the focus of much attention in recent years (Meijering 2015; Ogden 2017, esp. 56 – 58; Nudell 2018; Nawotka 2019). A series of inscriptions from the early years of the third century BCE provide a terminus ante quem for the beginning of the interaction between the dynasty and the sanctuary (I.Didyma 424, 479 and 480); its initiator may have been Seleukos’ Milesian courtier Demodamas, who played a central role in the relations between Didyma and the early Seleukids (Robert 1984, 467– 472). Yet, it is clear that the latter were fully aware of the importance of displaying their piety to Apollo at Didyma in a lavish manner themselves, not least from the involvement of several members of the royal house – the king, the queen and the crown-prince (cf. Meijering 2015; supra, 48.4 αἱ γὰρ ἀσεβεῖς… on the piety of the Successors). The propagation of Apollo as ancestor of the Seleukid house may have started only under Antiochos I (Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 25 – 27), but it is clear that Apollo did already play a role in the dynastic ideology during the reign of his father (Nawotka 2017, 2019 and Ogden 2017, 277– 278 with further references). That Seleukos is said to have received the present oracle predicting his kingship at Didyma is all the more relevant given the connection between Alexander and Didyma. Regardless of whether the latter connection was real or was only invented by Seleukos, as Nudell 2018 argues, it underscores the relevance of Alexander to the Successors’ self-presentation (cf. next lemma for Seleukos and Alexander). I cannot go into the matter in detail here, but Nudell seems to underestimate the significance of Kallisthenes’ mention of the oracle at Didyma (FGrHist 124 F 14a): unless Strabo’s attribution to

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Kallisthenes is wrong, this is a contemporary reference that raises the question why Kallisthenes would have deemed Didyma relevant at all if its association with Alexander were a later invention. Although Hadley (1968) argues that this passage goes back to Hieronymos (cf. Rosen 1979, 473 with n. 64; Nudell 2018, 52– 53), it is quite unlikely that the Kardian would have recounted these stories which undoubtedly stem from Seleukid propaganda, unless, of course, he wanted to explain the Antigonid defeat in Asia by presenting Seleukos’ success as the will of the gods. One may wonder, though, whether Hieronymos would have thought it a good idea to suggest that the Seleukids enjoyed more divine favour than the Antigonids. And not only the gods are said to have been on Seleukos’ side, but even Alexander. It is most unlikely that Hieronymos presented any dynast other than an Antigonid as the true successor of Alexander (cf. supra, Part I, §3.2). Furthermore, Seleukos is also praised for the way he behaved towards his men (90.5) which adds up to the encomiastic impression the passage makes (cf. Marasco 1982, 29, 69 – 72; Bearzot 1984, 4 and 6; Brodersen 1989, 132– 133; Primo 2009, 186 – 188; Landucci Gattinoni 2013b, 34– 36; Kosmin 2014, 94 – 100; Scolnic 2015, 106 – 108; Ogden 2017, 285 – 286). τὸν δὲ ᾿Aλέξανδρον καθ᾽ ὕπνον ἐπιστάντα φανερῶς διασημᾶναι περὶ τῆς ἐσομένης ἡγεμονίας, ἧς δεῖ τυχεῖν αὐτὸν προϊόντος τοῦ χρόνου: Dreams of Alexander predicting victory or kinship seem to have featured rather often in the propaganda of the Diadochoi (Diod. XVIII 60.4– 6; Plut. Eum. 6.8 – 9; Plut. Demetr. 29.2; Plut. Pyrrh. 11.4; Weber 1999, 13 – 18; Näf 2004, 68; Meeus 2009a, 244). For the importance of Alexander to the royal legitimation of Seleukos, see recently e.g. Erickson 2013; Nawotka 2017; Ogden 2017, passim). Cf. also infra, 91.1 οἱ πλείους… on potential echoes between Alexander’s arrival in Babylon and that of Seleukos. The expression προϊόντος τοῦ χρόνου occurs only three times in the extant parts of the Bibliotheke (also at VIII 4.1; XIX 71.2). Since the other instance from book XIX belongs to the Sicilian narrative, influence of Diodoros’ sources cannot be the sole cause of the distribution. Once more, then, coincidence and clustering are factors to be reckoned with in explaining the spread of particular words and phrases in Diodoros’ work.

90.5 πάντα γίνεται τὰ καλὰ καὶ παρ᾽ ἀνθρώποις θαυμαζόμενα διὰ πόνων καὶ κινδύνων: Compare App. Syr. 58, which clearly emanates from Seleukid propaganda and describes the army as εὐπειθέστατος ὤν σοι (sc. to Seleukos) πρὸς κινδύνους καὶ πόνους. The theme of toil and danger seems to have been an as-

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pect of early Hellenistic royal representation: cf. SEG XXV 149, l. 7 (κίνδυνον καὶ πόν[ον]); Poseidippos 36AB, v. 4; Call. Del. 187 (βασιλῆος ἀέθλια πολλὰ καμόντος); Müller 2015, 150 and 154; Meeus 2020a, 299 – 300. Cf. also generally e.g. D. 18.97 and Hyp. 6.26.

91.1 κατήντησεν εἰς Μεσοποταμίαν, τῶν ἐν Κάρραις κατῳκισμένων Μακεδόνων…: Traditionally this location has been identified with the city of Karrhai in northwestern Mesopotamia on the assumption that Seleukos travelled east via the regular northern route over Damaskos and Palmyra (e.g. Geer 1954, ad loc.; Bizière 1975, ad loc.; Mehl 1986, 91 n. 73; Billows 1990, 137). Winnicki (1989, 76 – 84), however, has argued that Seleukos in fact headed south from Gaza to Petra and crossed the desert, marching via Dumatha to Babylonia (cf. also Scolnic 2015). Κάρραι, in his view, was not the well-known Mesopotamian city, but the Κάραι/Καρῶν κῶμαι in Babylonia (on which, see above, 12.1 παρεχείμασε…, where it is shown that the Κάραι κῶμαι and the Καρῶν κῶμαι are unlikely to be the same place). This interpretation has been refuted conclusively by Bosworth (2002, 231– 233; cf. Tubach 1995, 111 n. 78). Seleukos is unlikely to have crossed the desert with 800 infantrymen and 200 cavalrymen, as the transport of water and provisions would have required an enormous logistical operation, which is hardly feasible under the given circumstances. Furthermore, Diodoros explicitly states that Seleukos entered Babylonia coming from Mesopotamia, a statement which cannot make sense unless he meant the province – where Karrhai was situated – rather than the land between Tigris and Euphrates in general. That Seleukos took the long way around also seems confirmed by the fact that he only reached Babylon in April 311 (cf. infra, 91.4), some four months after the battle of Gaza, although he seems to have embarked on his campaign in the immediate aftermath of the battle (see above, on chapters 85 – 86, and 90.1 μετὰ τὴν γενομένην…). Hadley (1974, 54) assumes these Macedonians were the soldiers of the garrison at Karrhai, whereas Billows (1990, 295 – 296) argues they had been settled there by Antigonos in an attempt to ‘introduce a Greco-Macedonian population element [into the cities of inner Asia] and turn them into Hellenic poleis’. While the wording of Billows’ assumption seems somewhat optimistic, it is not unlikely that Antigonos installed Macedonian settlers in certain Asian cities. According to Bosworth (2002, 234– 235), they were part of the dispersed contingents of Silver Shields (cf. supra, 48.3 τοὺς ταραχωδεστάτους), which is an attractive suggestion though it remains speculative.

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οἱ πλείους τῶν ἐγχωρίων ἀπήντων καὶ προστιθέμενοι πᾶν ἔφασαν αὐτῷ τὸ δοκοῦν συμπράξειν: Cf. App. Syr. 54, προθύμως αὐτὸν ἅμα τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἐκδεχομένων. This is reminiscent of Alexander’s arrival in Babylon, which Diodoros (XVII 61.4) describes as follows: τῶν δ᾽ ἐγχωρίων προθύμως ὑποδεξαμένων αὐτὸν καὶ κατὰ τὰς ἐπισταθμίας λαμπρῶς ἑστιώντων τοὺς Μακεδόνας (‘here the people received him gladly, and furnishing them billets feasted the Macedonians lavishly’); cf. Arr. Anab. III 16.3, καὶ οἱ Βαβυλώνιοι πανδημεὶ ἀπήντων αὐτῷ ξὺν ἱερεῦσί τε σφῶν καὶ ἄρχουσι, δῶρά τε ὡς ἕκαστοι φέροντες καὶ τὴν πόλιν ἐνδιδόντες καὶ τὴν ἄκραν καὶ τὰ χρήματα (‘the Babylonians came to meet him in mass, with their priests and rulers, each section of the inhabitants bringing gifts and offering surrender of the city, the citadel and the treasure’); Curt. V 1.19, ‘Magna pars Babyloniorum constiterat in muris avida cognoscendi novum regem, plures obviam egressi sunt’ (‘a great part of the Babylonians had taken their places on the walls in the eagerness to become acquainted with the new king, still more had gone out to meet him’) with further details immediately following in 1.20 – 24. Given the generally eulogistic tone of the narrative of Seleukos’ return to Babylon and the earlier references to Alexander (cf. supra, 90.4 ἐν μὲν γὰρ Βραγχίδαις…; τὸν δὲ ᾿Aλέξανδρον…), it is not impossible that the parallel with Alexander’s arrival was deliberate and more fully developed in the original. There also seems a contrast with Antigonos here, who is implied not to have treated the Babylonians with the same goodwill (cf. the contrast between Ptolemaios and Antigonos at 55 – 56). Bosworth (2002, 235) suggests that the Antigonid war effort may have been a heavy burden on the Babylonians. On Seleukos’ relationship with the natives, see below, 91.2 πᾶσι προσενήνεκτο…

91.2 τετραετῆ γὰρ χρόνον: Time indications of the form number-ετὴς χρόνος are relatively common in the Bibliotheke: II 2.1, 47.6, III 17.3, 65.8, IV 54.1, 58.5, VII 5.2, XI 1.5, 2.1, 38.7, 55.2, 87.1, XIV 92.4, 117.8, XV 9.2, XVII 80.2, 94.1, XX 90.2, XXIV 14.1, XXIX 25.1, XXX 21.2, XXXI 9.5, XXXII 11.1. This appears to be typical of Diodoros. Before him I have found only two instances of the combination in Greek literature: Hdt. I 199, II 2. After Diodoros several instances are attested in historians, however, especially in his nearest contemporaries, Dionysios of Halikarnassos and Josephus: D.H. AR I 71.2, 76.3, II 67.1, III 34.4, 38.3, 58.1, VIII 73.3, cf. II 68.4; Jos. AJ II 74, V 271, XV 341; Plut. Pyrrh. 26.1; App. Syr. 255; D.C. LXIX 8.1.2, LXXIV 12.1. With 0.0047 % Diodoros clearly has the highest frequency; he is followed by Dionysios with 0.0027 % (AR +fragments) and Herodotos with 0.0011 %, while the other listed authors all remain well below 0.001 %.

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A similar pattern emerges for the formation number-ετής in other combinations, which Diodoros uses at II 55.3, IV 63.2, 85.7, XI 37.6, 86.1, XII 7.1, 26.3, 28.4, 74.5, XV 9.2, 66.3, 66.4, XVI 11.2, XIX 2.6, XXXII 16.1. For other historians, see e.g. Hdt. I 113, 136, IV 187; X. HG V 2.3; Plb. IV 24.1, IX 1.1, XV 11.6; D.H. AR I 58.2, II 15.2, III 57.1, IV 6.4, VI 21.2; Jos. AJ I 184, X 48, XIV 371, XV 29, XVI 86, BJ I 437; Plut. Lyc. 16.4, 16.6, Num. 12.2, Sol. 25.6, Dem. 4.3, Eum. 16.7, Arat. 2.2; Arr. Ind. 9.1, Cyn. 24.3; App. Pun. 500, Ill. 50, Syr. 236, 352, Mithr. 280, 583, BC I 13, II 2, IV 1; D.C. LII 20.1, LV 9.3, LXXII 1.2; Hdn. VII 4.1. When considering only AR and the fragments, Dionysios is the historian with the highest frequency for all number-ετής formations overall (both those combined with χρόνος and others) with 0.0087 %, though for his entire œuvre it is only 0.0060 %. In Diodoros the overall frequency is 0.0078 %. Only Appian has a comparable frequency with 0.0064 %; then follow Herodotos (0.0032 %), Arrian (0.0027 %), Plutarch (0.0023 %), Josephus (0.0022 %), Herodian (0.0020 %), Cassius Dio (0.0012– 0.0018 %). Polybios (0.0009 %) is closer to Xenophon (0.0008 % for HG + An., 0.0003 % for the entire œuvre) than to the Hellenistic and imperial authors. The formation, and especially the combination with χρόνος thus seems to be typical of late Hellenistic and early Imperial Greek (cf. RGDA 14; Str. III 4.13, XI 4.3, XV 1.57), particularly in prose; it is not uncommon in early poetry, however, and in some parts of the Septuagint the incidence is quite high too. For earlier prose instances see apart from those already listed e.g. Lys. 11.2; Pl. Alc. 1 127d9, R. 615a; Is. 12.10; Aeschin. 2.172; Arist. Ath. Pol. 3.2, HA 545a9, GA 745a33; Thphr. CP IV 6.1, HP II 6.3, 6.7, III 12.8, as well as several instances in the Hippocratic corpus – most of which seem to concern the field of biology and medicine (esp. Hp., Arist., Thphr.). Diodoros is not just the author who uses the combination with χρόνος more often than anyone else, he is also the only historian in whose work this combination is more frequent than other uses of number-ετής formations. It is thus not unlikely that the wording at this point is his own, although that need not mean that he is wrong or less precise than his source; though see the problematic instance at XI 55.2 where ostracism is said to have been connected to a five year banishment (πενταετῆ χρόνον, perhaps because of Syracusan petalism at XI 87.1?). The phrase is used both for periods of exactly the stated number of years (cf. II 47.6, XI 55.2, 87.1) or for amounts that have obviously been rounded (e.g. XI 38.7, XVII 80.2, XX 90.2). The latter undoubtedly is the case in the present passage too, but the question is how much the number would have been rounded up or down since the information is potentially of great significance for the chronology of the period: four years seem to fit neither the high nor the low chronology.

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In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when philologists often took the liberty to emend ancient texts as they deemed fit, several alleged corrections of the number were suggested: ἐννεαετῆ, ἑξαετῆ or πενταετῆ (see Fischer’s apparatus). Later scholars rather assumed that Diodoros’ τετραετής could be taken to mean five years (Beloch 1927, 240; Errington 1977, 486 – 487) or that Seleukos only arrived in Babylonia during the year after Triparadeisos (Bosworth 1992a, 78). Stylianou (1994, 83 – 84) was the first to recognize that we could simply accept the four-year time span if Triparadeisos is dated to 320 and Seleukos’ flight to 316, as is the case in the eclectic chronologies. We know from the Chronicle of the Successors that Seleukos arrived in his satrapy on 14 November 320 (BCHP 3, Obv. 24– 25; Van der Spek 2014, 326), i. e. in the same year as Perdikkas’ death and the Triparadeisos conference (BCHP 3, obv. 23 – 24): since Seleukos’ flight took place in summer, this was indeed almost four years after his arrival if the flight is dated to 316 (cf. supra, Part I, §4; Meeus 2012). In order to uphold the low chronology, Anson (2014, 118) has recently suggested that Seleukos’ flight is to be dated to the spring, so that Diodoros would either have rounded up 3,5 years or rounded down 4,5 years. However, it is difficult to date the flight to such an early point in the year: in Diodoros’ chronology of Antigonos’ movements it is the last event before he reaches Kilikia in late November, while other events precede it in the same year (Errington 1977, 486). The implication that Seleukos’ flight is to be dated to the summer is clear, so that the number of months since the anniversary of his arrival in the satrapy in November is more likely to be at least seven or eight rather than six or less. Although the present passage is not as decisive as I once considered it to be (Meeus 2012, 77– 78), it still seems to fit in more easily with the high chronology, as four years may rather be the rounded version of 3 years and 7 or more months than of 4 years and 7 or more months (though see also above, Part I, §4, with n. 356). πᾶσι προσενήνεκτο καλῶς, ἐκκαλούμενος τὴν εὔνοιαν τοῦ πλήθους καὶ πόρρωθεν προπαρασκευαζόμενος τοὺς συμπράξοντας: By now it can no longer come as a surprise that Seleukos had conducted a favourable policy towards the natives of Babylonia, given that we have already seen that Peukestas, Ptolemaios, Peithon, Tlepolemos, Stasanor, Eumenes and Alketas behaved in a similar manner towards the natives in other parts of Alexander’s empire (see above, 38.4 φίλων…). Diodoros explicitly states that Seleukos acted out of self-interest, as was the case with Alketas in Pisidia (XVIII 46.1– 2), and – undoubtedly – also with all the others including Alexander himself. For this reason he may have changed his policy once he was securely in control of the area and no longer depended as strongly on local support in Babylonia: cf. Str. XVI 1.5 and App. Syr. 57– 58 on the foundation of Seleukeia on the Tigris (though see Van der

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Spek 2006, 272 for some nuance; cf. generally Meeus 2020a, 305 n. 85). On Seleukos’ relationship with the Babylonians, see e.g. Grainger 1990a, 73; SherwinWhite & Kuhrt 1993, 10; Olbrycht 2013, 169; Mileta 2014, 436 – 438; Vǎdan 2017; Jursa 2020.

91.3 Πολύαρχος, τεταγμένος ἐπί τινος διοικήσεως: Polyarchos is otherwise unknown (Billows 1990, 430). What Diodoros means with a διοίκησις is not clear: it could be either a military command (cf. e.g. Men. Perikeir. 160) or an administrative one (cf. e.g. [Arist.], Oec. 1348b4 Douris [FGrHist 76] F10), or both: that Polyarchos brought a 1,000 soldiers suggests that he did at any rate have military authority. Boiy (2004, 125) calls him a ‘district commander’. Bertrand and Gruenais (1981, 69) assume that Diodoros had not understood his source or that his source itself was too vague about Polyarchos’ task. According to Bengtson (1964 I, 137) Polyarchos was left in charge of Babylonia when Peithon went to Syria in 314 (on which cf. supra, 69.1 Πίθωνα…), although it is hard to see how that would have led to the vague expression Diodoros offers here. Cf. infra, 92.5 περί τε τῶν… τὴν ἄκραν: Since Babylonia is completely flat, this indication is rather puzzling: probably the palace complex of Nebuchadnezzar is meant, since especially the so-called ‘Nordburg’ of Nebukadnezzar was a very elevated structure (Schachermeyr 1970, 72; Heller 2010, 363 – 364; Van der Spek 2014, 327; McTavish 2019, 68). According to Diodoros II 8.6 the palace contained an akropolis: τρίτον ἐνδοτέρω περίβολον, ὃς περιεῖχεν ἀκρόπολιν (cf. Boncquet 1987, 86 – 87, rightly identifying this as the main palace complex, though on the basis of an understanding of Babylon’s topography that has since been proven incorrect: cf. Boiy 2004, 66). Compare also τὴν ἀκρόπολιν at II 10.1 (with Eck 2003, ad loc.) and τὴν μὲν ἄκραν at XVII 64.5 which Curt. V 1.43 describes as ‘arx’, clearly a part of the palace complex (cf. V 1.31); similarly Arr. Anab. III 16.3, τὴν ἄκραν. This would also seem to be confirmed by the Babylonian Diadochoi Chronicle: see below, 91.4 ὁ δὲ Σέλευκος…. Further on in his narrative, however, Diodoros mentions several akropoleis in Babylon: see below, 100.7 πολιορκεῖν… At any rate, Diodoros’ summary suffers from carelessness as the last geographical indication that was given was Seleukos’ arrival in the satrapy of Babylonia after having traversed Mesopotamia, and it is not stated that Seleukos had now reached the city of Babylon, unless it was evident to Diodoros and his audience that a citadel in Babylonia must have been that of Babylon. The latter interpretation is put forward by Boncquet (1987, 71) for II 7.2, where Diodoros likewise starts his description of Babylon without introducing the name of the city,

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simply having mentioned that Semiramis founded a city in Babylonia; yet Boncquet does also consider the possibility of Diodoros rashly abbreviating his source. ἧς φύλαξ ἀπεδέδεικτο Δίφιλος: This is the only attestation of Diphilos (Billows 1990, 382). He may have been appointed to this position in the summer of 316, after Seleukos’ flight (Van der Spek 2014, 327). On the nature of the command, see also Heller 2010, 399.

91.4 ὁ δὲ Σέλευκος συστησάμενος πολιορκίαν καὶ κατὰ κράτος ἑλὼν τὴν ἄκραν: The Babylonian evidence reveals that Seleukos arrived in front of Babylon in April 311 (Van der Spek 2014, 327– 328 and 341). The siege might already have been over in May, as the first document of 311 not including Antigonos’ name in the dating formula is dated to May 11 or 20 (Boiy 2004, 126). Furthermore, we know from the Diadochoi Chronicle that Seleukos abolished the era of Antigonos before May 31 and claimed the title of lúGAL lúERÍN.MEŠ for himself (BCHP 3, Rev. 3’–4’; Van der Spek 2014, 328). Such a short duration for the operation surely seems compatible with Diodoros’ admittedly compressed account, and can be explained by the amount of local support Seleukos received. While the palace had been heavily fortified in Persian times (Schachermeyr 1970, 57– 58), it could not hold out for very long if the rest of the city was not on its side (Bosworth 1988a, 86). Furthermore, it would make Seleukos’ claim of the title lúGAL lúERÍN.MEŠ, general of Asia or – in my view – regent, far less premature: according to Van der Spek (2014, 330), this was ‘a bold step indeed as he had not even captured the entire city of Babylon’, but that problem disappears if the siege of the citadel was completed by this time (for the interpretation of the Babylonian title of Antigonos and Seleukos as regent rather than general of Asia, see above 61.3 ἐὰν μὴ πειθαρχῇ…). Many scholars argue on the basis of the Diadochoi Chronicle that Seleukos’ siege must at least have lasted until August (BCHP 3, Rev. 6’–9’; Boiy 2007b, 127– 128; Van der Spek 2014, 330; McTavish 2019, 68; Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 88 – 89). However, the events in August might rather be a different siege, related to Demetrios’ attempt to re-conquer Babylonia (Beloch 1927, 617; Momigliano 1932, 477– 478; Hauben 1973, 266; cf. infra, 100.7 πολιορκεῖν…). Kosmin (2018, 31) discusses the significance of Seleukos’ arrival in Babylon at the time of the new year’s festival celebrated in Nisānu. This point was later used as the official beginning of the Seleukid era (Savalli-Lestrade 2010, 58; Ogden 2017, 15; Kosmin 2018, 19 – 44). Thanks to the citadel’s capture Seleukos might have controlled most of Babylonia, but his situation remained precarious

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as he still had only around 3,500 soldiers, which was nothing compared to the Antigonid army (92.2; Tubach 1995, 113). Billows (1990, 353 – 354) estimates the total number of soldiers at Antigonos’ disposal in 306 at around 110,000, and at least the potential number will have been more or less the same at the present time. τὰ φυλαττόμενα σώματα τῶν φίλων καὶ τῶν παίδων, ὅσοι παρεδόθησαν εἰς φυλακὴν παρ᾽ ᾿Aντιγόνου μετὰ τὴν ἐκ Βαβυλῶνος εἰς Αἴγυπτον ἀποχώρησιν: At 90.1 Diodoros seems to imply that Seleukos had some of his friends and paides with him in Egypt (cf. supra, ad loc.), and those may have been amongst the fifty unidentified riders of 55.5 (cf. supra, ad loc.). That part of the friends and paides had remained in Babylonia appears unsurprising since Seleukos also had to leave his family behind: he will have wanted them to be protected by trusted guards. Only Libanios (Or. 11.82) reports that Apame had been left behind in Babylon: none of our historiographical sources show any interest in this fact, which seems plausible enough, though (cf. Mehl 1986, 64). Some take the paides of the present passage to be Seleukos’ children (Mehl 1986, 94– 95; Ogden 2017, 14 n. 37), but this seems unlikely given the fixed combination φίλοι καὶ παῖδες in the narrative of Seleukos’ flight and the references to παῖδες elsewhere in Diodoros’ account of the Successors (cf. supra, 90.1 μετὰ τῶν φίλων…; Capdetrey 2007b, 210 n. 71).

91.5 συναγοράσας ἵππους ἀνεδίδου τοῖς δυναμένοις χρᾶσθαι: Cf. Plut. Eum. 4.3 on Eumenes in Kappadokia: τῶν μὲν ἐγχωρίων τοῖς ἱππεύειν δυναμένοις ἀνεισφορίας διδοὺς καὶ ἀτελείας,τῶν δὲ περὶ αὑτὸν οἷς μάλιστα ἐπίστευεν ὠνητοὺς διανέμων ἵππους. The phrase τοῖς δυναμένοις χρᾶσθαι simply refers to those amongst the soldiers who knew how handle horses and ride well (cf. e.g. X. Smp. 2.10 and esp. Plut. Alex. 6.2, οἷον ἵππον ἀπολλύουσι, δι’ ἀπειρίαν καὶ μαλακίαν χρήσασθαι μὴ δυνάμενοι). Although πωλοδάμναι are attested later in the stud farm of the Seleukid army at Apameia of Syria (Str. XVI 2.10), there is no reason to assume that on the present occasion the horses Seleukos had bought were first given to professional horse breakers (pace Karunanithy 2013, 73). πᾶσι δὲ φιλανθρώπως ὁμιλῶν καὶ καθιστὰς εἰς ἀγαθὰς ἐλπίδας ἑτοίμους εἶχε καὶ προθύμους ἐν πάσῃ περιστάσει τοὺς συγκινδυνεύοντας: Cf. XVIII 28.5 – 6, 33.3 – 4, 33.5, XIX 24.1, XXVIII 15.1. Seleukos thus acts as a good leader should and in so doing gains the loyalty of his troops. In itself this need not necessarily be a positive judgment, as is clear from the case of Perdikkas at XVIII 33.5, but given the great success he obtains the passage is quite reminiscent of the praise of Ptolemaios at XVIII 28.5 – 6 and 33.3 – 4.

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92.1 Νικάνορος δὲ τοῦ περὶ Μηδίαν στρατηγοῦ: Appian (Syr. 55) mistakenly calls him Nikator. The name Nikanor was quite frequent among Macedonians of this period, which makes it difficult to reconstruct the career of the present individual. Probably he was the man who had been sent out by Antigonos to arrest Eumenes (Plut. Eum. 17.5). Heckel (2006, 178 [N 12]) suggests that he might be identical with Nikanor son of Balakros (ibid. 177 [N 4]), whereas Billows (1990, 409 – 410) identifies him with the individual who was appointed satrap of Kappadokia in 320. All of them might have been one and the same individual (Heckel 2007a, 408 – 409). At 100.3 Nikanor is called στρατηγὸς τῆς τε Μηδίας καὶ τῶν ἄνω σατραπειῶν (though see the commentary ad loc. for a textual problem): apparently he combined the offices of satrap of Media and general of the upper satrapies. Billows (1990, 413 – 414), on the other hand, suggests that he only was general of the upper satrapies, claiming that Appian’s description (Syr. 55) of Nikanor as τὸν ὑπ᾽ ᾿Aντιγόνου Μηδίας σατραπεύειν ἀπολελειμμένον might be a mistake. This is possible, as ancient authors sometimes seem to have used the term satrap instead of στρατηγός (cf. supra, 46.2 ὡς σατράπην…). However, it might be the present phrase of Diodoros which is misleading, as he sometimes used στρατηγός instead of σατράπης (see above, 22.1 Πευκέστης…). In that case both Appian and Diodoros call him satrap of Media. That Nikanor combined both functions (satrap of Media and general of the upper satrapies), as Peithon had done before, therefore seems to be the conclusion which best fits the evidence. The composition of his army with troops from Media, Persis and the neighbouring areas also suggests that he had the authority over all of the upper satrapies. As Seleukos only arrived in Babylon in April 311 and the siege of the citadel seems to have occupied him at least until May (cf. previous lemma), the battle against Nikanor should probably be dated to mid to late June rather than to September: the Antigonid troops in the area will surely not have waited for more than four months to react (cf. supra, Part I, §4; contra Boiy 2007b, 127). τῶν σύνεγγυς τόπων: These probably were the same areas that Seleukos would subsequently conquer and about which Diodoros is equally vague: Susiana and perhaps Parthia and Karmania as well (Tubach 1995, 114– 115; cf. infra 92.5, ῥᾳδίως προσηγάγετο…). στρατιώτας πεζοὺς μὲν πλείους τῶν μυρίων, ἱππεῖς δὲ περὶ ἑπτακισχιλίους: It is clear that most of these troops were natives (Eddy 1961, 96; Aperghis 2020, 6 – 7; cf. supra, 14.5 εἶχε…).

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92.2 εἶχε δέ…: Although Diodoros does not make it explicit, it is clear from the context that the subject of the sentence is Seleukos; this may be a sign of Diodoros’ summarizing rather hastily at this point.

92.3 κατεστρατοπέδευσε πρός τινι βασιλικῷ σταθμῷ: Tubach (1995, 117– 128) argues that this must have been the station known as Bēt̠ Nīqāṭ ōr, and that it took its name from the present event. ἐπιγενομένης δὲ νυκτός: Surprise attacks at night were by no means uncommon, so that Wheatley (2002, 44 n. 24) rightly leaves the question whether this is the same battle of Polyaen. IV 9.1 unanswered. For the wording, cf. supra, 32.2 τῆς δ᾽ ἡμέρας… on the phrase ἡμέρας ἐπιγενομένης. τῶν περὶ Νικάνορα καταπεφρονηκότως καὶ ῥᾳθύμως ἐχόντων τὰ περὶ τὰς φυλακάς: The expression ῥᾳθύμως ἐχόντων τὰ περὶ τὰς φυλακάς occurs at XVI 11.5, 18.5, 68.5, XIX 95.3; cf. II 18.8, III 55.1, XIV 116.5, XXX 10.1 with (παρα‐)ῥᾳθυμεῖν, and XII 49.2 with ἀμελῶς, a word which occurs only once in the preserved parts of the Bibliotheke. The spread of the phrase seems to be rather uneven, though there are 27 books between the first and the last occurrence; especially the concentration in book XVI is worth noting. However, the phrase ῥᾳθύμως ἔχειν is very rare before Diodoros, and no earlier author has more than one preserved attestation (Isoc. 12.17; [D.] 26.15(?); [Arist.] Rh.Al. 36.43; Din. 2.25; Plb. IV 7.6). The words of the family of ῥᾳθυμία (verb, noun, adjective/adverb) likewise show a very uneven incidence in the Bibliotheke (also at II 18.8, 21.2, 23.1, 26.4, III 55.1, V 40.4, VII 12.8, XI 69.4, XIV 9.1, 14.5, 88.2, 116.5, XVI 11.5, 19.1, 68.5, XVII 79.3, 79.6, XVIII 9.2, XIX 37.3, 95.3, 95.7, 96.2, XXIV 3.1, XXX 10.1 [twice], XXXIII 9.1, XXXIV/V 38.1, XXXVI 12.1). The clustering is clear especially in books II, XIV, XVI, XVII and XIX; the word is completely absent from books I, IV, XII–XIII, XV, XVIII and XX. The pattern cannot be explained by the mere influence of Diodoros’ sources: the high concentrations are found in parts of the work for which he certainly used different authorities, while for books XII–XIII, XV he used the same sources as for book XIV, and for books XVIII and XX he relied on the same works as for book XIX. Once more, then, it is apparent that there is no certain relationship between the occurrence of a certain word in limited parts of the work and the influence of his sources on Diodoros. For καταπεφρονηκότως, cf. infra, 93.2 στρατοπεδεύειν… Bizière accepts the manuscript reading καταπεφρονηκότων rather than Stephanus’ emendation καταπεφρονηκότως, but that seems unwarranted as the adverb is what one would expect on the basis of common Diodorean usage.

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ἐπιπεσὼν ὁ Σέλευκος ἄφνω πολλὴν ταραχὴν καὶ κατάπληξιν κατεσκεύασε: Cf. III 50.4, θαυμαστὴν κατάπληξιν καὶ ταραχὴν παρασκευάζουσι. Otherwise I have only found the combination of κατάπληξις and ταραχή only at Chariton VIII 3.5. For ταραχὴν κατασκευάζειν the only other attestations are Plb. III 19.6 and Orib. Coll.Med. VIII 9.1. The phrase κατάπληξιν κατασκευάζειν does not seem to occur elsewhere, though compare ἐς κατάπληξιν σκευάζεσθαι at App. Pun. 121 and Syr. 33. The verb παρασκευάζειν of III 50.3 does not otherwise occur in any of these combinations. For ἐπιπίπτειν ἄφνω, cf. supra, 18.5 ἄφνω…

92.4 συναψάντων γὰρ μάχην: Cf. supra, 42.1 συνῆψε… τόν τε σατράπην αὐτῶν Εὔαγρον: Euagros is otherwise unknown. Whether he is to be identified with the Euagoras who was appointed satrap of Areia in 316 is uncertain (see above, 48.2 Εὐαγόραν), and neither do we know what happened to his predecessor Asklepiodoros (see above, 48.5 ᾿Aσκληπιόδωρον). προσκόπτοντες τοῖς ὑπ᾽ ᾿Aντιγόνου προσταττομένοις: Most editors prefer the emendation πραττομένοις over the manuscript readings προσταττομένοις (R) or προστεταγμένοις (F), but Bizière is surely right in maintaining one of the latter. The emendation does not make the text substantially less vague, and the passive participle of προστάσσειν is common throughout the Bibliotheke. It is unclear what these orders of Antigonos were, and how they inspired the men to defect. Bosworth (2002, 236) suggests that ‘widespread dissatisfaction with Antigonus’ imperial ambitions among the garrison forces of Asia’, but given the manuscript readings something more concrete may be meant: McTavish (2019, 74), suggests that it was the deposition of Peukestas as satrap of Persis. At any rate, the statement may hint at Diodoros’ going back to a different source than Hieronymos here. Although our author might have obscured the precise causal relationship indicated in his source, I do not see why an Antigonid historian would have connected the desertion of Nikanor’s men on this occasion to orders given by Antigonos rather than passing over in silence any such connection. This is not to say that Hieronymos could not have criticized his masters, but the present statement seems to imply too much of a negative contrast between Antigonos the consistently popular Seleukos of these chapters, who embodies all the ideal leadership skills that Antigonos seems to lack (on such contrasts in the sources on the Diadochoi, see Meeus forthcoming-c).

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92.5 ἔφυγε μετὰ τῶν φίλων διὰ τῆς ἐρήμου: It is unclear to where Nikanor fled, but most scholars assume that it was Media; in a subsequent battle he was killed by Seleukos himself (McTavish 2019, 72– 73 with n. 61). That Diodoros does not mention this second, and perhaps also important, confrontation (McTavish 2019, 66 and 72 n. 61) is not necessarily significant (cf. Meeus 2013b, 88; supra, Part I, §2.2.4). φιλανθρώπως πᾶσι προσφερόμενος: Cf. supra, 91.1– 2 οἱ πλείους… and πᾶσι προσενήνεκτο… for Seleukos relationships with the indigenous population in Babylonia. Specifically for Persis, see Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 74– 79, cf. 29 – 30; Marest-Caffey 2016. The phrase φιλανθρώπως προσφέρεσθαι is typically Diodorean (also III 72.4, XI 67.2, XII 3.3, XIII 75.4, XIV 44.3, 90.3, XV 1.3, 31.1, XVI 8.2, 8.5, 67.1, XVII 22.5, 102.3, XVIII 14.1, 18.4, 40.4, XIX 102.5, XX 113.3, XXX 23.2). With the exception of Lucian, other authors using the phrase belong to the later koine stage or to the fourth century CE, but none of them uses it as often as Diodoros (D.H. AR V 4.9; Onos. 38.1; Plut. Per. 20.1, Mar. 8.2, Cat. Mi. 21.10, De Her. mal. 22 = Mor. 860c; Luc. Phal. 1.10; Jul. Or. 1.34 (41b), 1.39 (48c); Didymus Caecus Frag. in Psalm. p. 83 ed. Mühlenberg). For similar locutions, cf. supra, 20.1 φιλανθρώπως… ῥᾳδίως προσηγάγετο τήν τε Σουσιανὴν καὶ Μηδίαν καί τινας τῶν σύνεγγυς τόπων: This frustratingly vague phrase is difficult to interpret, and we do not get much help from the corresponding passage in Plutarch (Demetr. 7.2– 4), τὰ συνοροῦντα τοῖς Ἰνδοῖς ἔθνη καὶ τὰς περὶ Καύκασον ἐπαρχίας προσαξόμενος, which uses the same verb but different place names. Both authors seem to be paraphrasing a reference to the upper satrapies in very different ways, but for all its vagueness Diodoros’ version seems more accurate (pace Bosworth 2002, 237– 238). Appian (Syr. 54) is even more vague: καὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν μετ᾽ οὐ πολὺ ἐς μέγα προήγαγεν. The inclusion of Persis may be suggested by 92.1, ἔκ τε Μηδίας καὶ Περσίδος καὶ τῶν σύνεγγυς τόπων, and one may also think of the area around the Persian Gulf mentioned later at 100.6 (Sherwin-White & Kuhrt 1993, 11). Further possibilities include Parthyaia and Areia (Bosworth 2002, 237; McTavish 2019, 74). περί τε τῶν διῳκημένων: This phrase poses problems of basic understanding and has been translated in rather different ways. Translations taking διοικεῖν in the widespread Hellenistic sense of ‘to govern’, like Bizière’s ‘des mesures qu’il avait prises’, Martino’s ‘i provvedimenti amministrativi da lui presi’, Mavroupoulos’ ‘τις ρυθμίσεις που έκανε’ and Watefield’s ‘the measures he had taken’, do not quite seem to fit the context. Rhodomann’s ‘de rebus a se gestis’, vague as it may be, is closer to the mark, but it seems that Geer’s more specific ‘about his achievements’ is the best alternative. The use of διοικεῖν in this context is possi-

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bly related to the expression τὸν πόλεμον διοικεῖν vel sim. (cf. e.g. XIII 36.3, XV 23.3, 92.3, XVII 29.2, XXIX 26.1) or to the apparently rather general sense of the word at [Arist.], Oec. 1346a27 where it seems to mean ‘to do’ or ‘to achieve’ (cf. also [Arist.], Oec. 1350b4). Also compare for instance the use of διοικεῖν in RC 1, l. 17, 23, 26, and 40.

§ 93 Ptolemaios’ Loss of Syria Ptolemaios did not manage to stay in control of Syria for a long time. At the beginning of the campaigning year, after Seleukos had left for Babylon, the satrap of Egypt sent out his general Killes with an army to chase Demetrios from Syria. However, after Demetrios defeated Killes, Ptolemaios deemed it safer to evacuate Syria. Although the summaries of Diodoros and Plutarch are quite different, overall their accounts are so similar that they clearly go back to a common source: in themselves none of these passages is very striking, but the cumulative effect seems quite strong (cf. esp. 93.1 στρατοπεδεύειν…; 93.2 τούτῳ δέ… and προσπεσών…; 93.4 ἐχάρη).

93.1 ἐκ Κιλικίας ἀνεστραφέναι καὶ στρατοπεδεύειν περὶ τὴν ἄνω Συρίαν: The implication that Demetrios himself had retreated to Kilikia seems to be in contradiction with Diodoros’ description of the situation after the battle of Gaza: see above, 85.5 μετεπέμπετό τε… προεχειρίσατο τῶν περὶ αὑτὸν φίλων Κίλλην τὸν Μακεδόνα: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 6.2, ἀφῖκτο Κίλλης, Πτολεμαίου στρατηγός. This episode is all we know of Killes’ career, but he will have had a fairly high position in the Ptolemaic hierarchy as he was entrusted with such an important command (PP II 2164, VI 14609; Mooren 1975, no. 4).

93.2 τούτῳ δὲ δοὺς δύναμιν ἱκανὴν προσέταξεν ἐκδιῶξαι τὸν Δημήτριον τὸ παράπαν ἐκ τῆς Συρίας ἢ περικαταλαβόντα συντρῖψαι: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 6.2, μετὰ λαμπρᾶς δυνάμεως, ὡς ἐξελάσων Συρίας Δημήτριον ἁπάσης. The phrase δοὺς δύναμιν ἱκανήν, while not otherwise occurring in the Bibliotheke in exactly the same form, merely seems to be a variant of a typical Diodorean formula (esp. XV 22.2 δύναμιν ἱκανὴν παραδόντες; cf. e.g. XI 20.5, XII 67.1, XIII 64.2, XIV 44.3, XVIII 43.2, XXXVIII/IX 16 for δύναμιν ἱκανήν; XI 91.2, XII 73.2, XV 82.3, 95.3, XVIII

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29.1, XX 31.4 for δοὺς δύναμιν vel sim.). Plutarch’s phrasing seems unique to him (also Cat. Min. 54.3); while it is not clear whether the adjective λαμπρός is necessarily used in a positive sense (cf. Luc. 7.4), in this instance it probably is, as it is obviously based on the same source as Diodoros’ statement. The army may thus have been large, but we must not attach too much significance to the literal meanings of the adjectives (pace Mehl 1986, 88 n. 68). στρατοπεδεύειν καταπεφρονηκότως: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 6.2, τῷ προηττῆσθαι καταφρονούμενον. The adverb καταπεφρονηκότως is typical of Diodoros (cf. supra 58.5, καταπεφρονηκότως), but the echo in Plutarch suggests that some form of καταφρονεῖν may already have been in his source. That the phrase recurs at 95.5 as στρατοπεδευσάντων καταπεφρονηκότως is probably due to Diodoros’ tendency towards repetitiveness (cf. also 92.3 τῶν περὶ Νικάνορα…). It is generally very rare in Greek literature, and I have otherwise only found it at App. BC I 6, μάλα καταφρονητικῶς ἀπὸ σταδίων τριῶν παρεστρατοπέδευε. For the use of the verb καταφρονεῖν in this context, though, see Plb. III 90.3 with Vogt-Spira 1992, 79 n. 21. περὶ Μυοῦντα: The location of Myous is unknown (Orth 1993, 90 – 91). πορείαν σύντομον ἐποιήσατο: This is Diodorean idiom (see also II 13.5, XI 2.4, XVII 19.1, 32.4, XVIII 43.2, XX 108.2). While πορείαν ποιεῖν is common enough, the combination with σύντομος vel sim. is not found elsewhere, except in a potential fragment of Ktesias ([FGrHist 688] F1b) transmitted in the Bibliotheke. προσπεσὼν δὲ τοῖς πολεμίοις ἑωθινῆς φυλακῆς ἄφνω: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 6.3, ὁ δ᾽ ἐξαίφνης ἐπιπεσών. As with καταπεφρονηκότως above (93.1) we are facing the combination of a typical Diodorean formula (cf. supra, 18.5 ἄφνω…) with the influence of his source.

93.3 ἔγραψε δὲ καὶ πρὸς τὸν πατέρα: Cf. Plut. 6.4, ἔγραψε τῷ πατρί. Plutarch, mostly interested in his protagonist’s character, only states that Demetrios asked whether he could release Killes and the other Ptolemaic philoi back to reciprocate Ptolemaios’ kindness after Gaza.

93.4 ὁ δ᾽ ᾿Aντίγονος ἐτύγχανε μὲν ὢν ἐν Κελαιναῖς τῆς Φρυγίας: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 6.5. Apparently Antigonos had spent the winter of 312/1 at his headquarters in Kelainai (Smith 1961, 289 n. 23; Hauben 1973, 259; Wheatley 1998a, 264, who in n. 41 mistakenly argues against Hauben [loc. cit.] that it cannot have been

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the winter that began at 77.7, though). On Kelainai, see above, 69.2 παραγενόμενος…). ἐχάρη: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 6.5, χαίροντα τῇ νίκῃ. This is of course only the briefest of echoes. Yet, since it is not a mere description of the events, but a comment on Antigonos’ emotional state, the convergence between both texts does seem telling. φαίνεσθαι βασιλείας ἄξιον: An implicit but obvious reference to the importance of victory to Hellenistic kingship: see Gehrke 1982, and specifically on this passage Müller 1973, 48 – 49, who does, however, mistranslate it since there is no explicit mention of victory. αὐτὸς δὲ τὴν δύναμιν ἀναλαβὼν ἀνέζευξεν ἐκ τῆς Φρυγίας καὶ τὸν Ταῦρον ὑπερβαλὼν ὀλίγαις ἡμέραις συνέμιξε τοῖς περὶ τὸν Δημήτριον: The swiftness of the journey shows that spring must have started by now as it requires the snow in the Tauros mountains to have melted already (Billows 1990, 129; McTavish 2019, 67).

93.6 τόπων ὀχυρότητι: The naturally strong defensive position of Egypt is a theme which recurs throughout the Bibliotheke (e.g. I 30, XV 42.4, XX 74.3), and Lens Tuero & Campos Daroca (1993) have argued that this constitutes one of Diodoros’ own contributions to the work. The problem with their argument is that most elements in Diodoros’ descriptions of Egypt comply to the lessons of the rhetorical schools about the description of countries, as they have shown themselves. It is difficult, therefore, to deny that he may have found the same characteristics of the country in the different sources he used – all the more so since we are facing a tradition that started with Herodotos (cf. Fischer-Bovet 2014b, 211). Surely the statement at XVI 46.5 that he had already discussed the nature of the Barathra lake in book I and that there was no need to repeat it, shows that Diodoros remained aware of his earlier discussion of Egyptian geography, but it does not necessarily prove that he repeated the indications on the natural defences of Egypt independently of his sources.

93.7 κατέσκαψε τὰς ἀξιολογωτάτας τῶν κεκρατημένων πόλεων: The plundering of the Phoinikian cities is also mentioned in the Satrap Stela (Bosworth 2002, 241– 242; Schäfer 2011, 116 – 123). One might argue that by sacking the region Ptolemaios gave up his claims to it and recognized it as enemy territory (Bosworth 2002, 242), but it seems more plausible that Ptolemaios in the first

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place wanted to gain the Phoinikian riches and avoid that Antigonos would get hold of them; the Nabataian campaign reveals that Antigonos was in need of plunder too (see below, 94.1 κρίνας…). Ptolemaios’ actions in 301 show very well that he had not given up the plan of controlling Syria and Phoinikia (Diod. XX 113.1; Will 1979, 80). The view that he ‘[reaffirmed] the suzerainty of Antigonos […] to apply pressure and to neutralize Seleukos’ newly won dominance in the east’, because he felt that ‘his protégé had been a good deal too successful’ (Bosworth, loc. cit.), is not only unlikely in itself, but it ignores the chronology of events. By the time Ptolemaios evacuated Syria, Seleukos had at best only just reconquered his satrapy. Seleukos’ victory over Nikanor cannot be dated earlier than mid-June of 311 (see above, Part I, §4, and 92.1 Νικάνορος…), and the letters he sent boasting his successes (92.5) will not have arrived before the beginning of July. Ptolemaios’ evacuation of Syria, on the other hand, should probably be dated to the early spring of 311. After all, the Antigonids will not have initiated their campaigns against the Nabataians, likewise in spring 311, before they were firmly in control of Syria. Ἄκην: Ake (modern day Akko in northern Israel) was a city on the Phoinikian coast south of Tyre (Orth 1993, 79; Grabbe 2008b, 28). Ἰόππην: On Ioppe, see above, 59.2 τήν τ’ Ἰόππην. Σαμάρειαν: Samareia was a city in central Israel (Orth 1993, 95). Γάζαν: On Gaza see above, 59.2 Γάζαν.

§ 94 – 100.2 The Antigonid Campaigns against the Nabataians Diodoros provides a relatively long account of the Antigonid operations against the Nabataian Arabs in the summer of 311 which seem to have been inspired primarily by economic motives (cf. infra, 94.1 κρίνας…). Especially given the unsuccessful nature of the operations, this remained a rather inconsequential episode in the history of the Diadochoi, but it satisfied Diodoros’ interest in ethnography, wonders of nature, and moralizing. Ultimately, the source of these chapters must have been Hieronymos, as is revealed by the similarity with one of his fragments; Gruen (2017, 311) places the digression in the context of ‘intellectual forays into foreign nations’ which he considers typical of the ‘era of diadochic expansion’. The fragment is too brief to show whether Hieronymos has been used directly (see below, 98.1 τῷ μὲν μήκει…). Furthermore, other elements of the narrative seem to imply a negative standpoint towards the Antigonids, which seems incompatible with direct use of Hieronymos (see below, 94.2 χρήσιμον…; 96.1 οἱ δὲ Ναβαταῖοι…; 96.2 τῶν δὲ περὶ ᾿Aθήναιον…). Although the information on the Nabataeans and on the Antigonid campaign found here is often accepted as

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very reliable (e.g. Abel 1937; Hornblower 1981, esp. 146) but much of it appears questionable (Graf 1990, esp. 51– 53; Bosworth 2002, 188 – 193). In as far as the description of Nabataian customs is concerned, this need not be very problematic for the overall credibility of Hieronymos since other rules seem to have applied to ethnographic digressions than to contemporary Greek history, and the present account clearly stands in the tradition of Herodotean ethnography (cf. Hornblower 1981, 144). If, however, not only the reasons for Hieronymos’ failure (Bosworth 2002, 188 – 189) but other aspects of the military narrative have been fundamentally distorted, as has recently been argued by Patrich (2015), the problem becomes more substantial (cf. infra, 95.1 ἐπί τινος πέτρας). For a literary analysis of Diodoros’ account of the Nabataians in book II and here, and of the reasons for the repetition, see now Baumann 2020, 115 – 142.

94.1 τῶν ᾿Aράβων τῶν καλουμένων Ναβαταίων: The Nabataians are an Arab tribe of whose history nothing is known before the confrontation with the Antigonids. As a result, their origins remain equally unknown, although some proposals with various degrees of plausibility have been made (Wenning 2013, 7– 8 offers a convenient overview). Retsö (2003) discusses what their being identified as Arabs entails, but see the criticism of Gzella (2015, 238 – 239 with n. 760). Since we hardly have any Nabataian texts before the first century BCE, the verification of Diodoros’ presentation relies mostly on archaeological evidence: as a result, with progressing archaeological research Diodoros’ account of Nabataian culture appears ever less reliable (the evidence is collected and discussed by Hackl et al. 2003, 439 – 453; Graf 2013). That we are indeed dealing with the Nabataians is beyond doubt, although Retsö (2003, 287– 288) has argued against this. He points out that the customs of the tribe as described by Diodoros are too different from the description by a certain Athenodoros on which Strabo (XVI 4.26) relied, and that even an evolution of almost 300 years cannot account for them. Obviously, the problem disappears when it is accepted that Diodoros’ description consists for a large part of ethnographical topoi typically applied in digressions about barbarian peoples without necessarily being true (see below, 94.2 χρήσιμον…). Retsö suggests a different solution, based on the fact that the manuscripts are in disagreement. While R has Ναβαταίων, F has νομάδων. According to Retsö, Diodoros has independently written the introduction to the digression and claimed that the Arabs were called Nabataians on the basis of his reading of Poseidonios:

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The identification of Nabataeans with Arabs was current in the first century BC and Diodorus follows the terminology of his time. But it seems that having finished his introduction to Hieronymus’ account, slavishly following the terminology of his own time, he proceeded mechanically to copy Hieronymus’ text without bothering about the inconsistencies. The inconsistency between the introduction and the following paragraph led a later copyist to replace nomádes with nabataîoi, since the paragraph according to the introduction, dealt with them. F’s nomádes is lectio difficilior, since it goes against common opinion about the ethnic conditions in antiquity as well as in Byzantine times but fits quite well into the picture emerging from an unprejudiced reading of the source material.

This cannot stand. F originally has the variant νομάδες throughout, including in the present instance, while R consistently has Ναβαταῖοι: if Diodoros had actually written Ναβαταῖοι at this point and νομάδες in what follows, Retsö would further have to assume that in the present instance the scribe of F had replaced his alleged lectio facilior with a more far-fetched alternative. This creates an unnecessarily complicated series of hypothetical corruptions in both branches of the transmission to arrive at the fairly common situation that one branch consistently offers one reading and the other branch consistently offers another. Furthermore, the corrector of F changed νομάδες to Ναβαταῖοι in all instances, which makes it quite unlikely that the reading Ναβαταῖοι in chapters 95 – 100 would be a correction by the scribe of R. Contrary to what Retsö maintains, moreover, νομάδες cannot be considered the lectio difficilior. Not only is it the more vague variant, it is surely less likely that a scribe would assume that Nomads is a mistake for Nabataians than the other way around: for the words Νομάς/νομάς and νομαδικός the TLG yields 1,582 hits, whereas for Ναβατηνή, Ναβαταία, Ναβαταῖοι, Ναβατικός the combined number of occurrences in the TLG is only 131. On the basis of the description of the nomadic habits of the people, the scribe must have thought that νομάδες were meant rather than the Ναβαταῖοι: if he knew them at all, he probably did not know them as nomads. Moreover, the fragment of Hieronymos (FGrHist 154 F 5) describing the Dead Sea places it in the land of the Nabataian Arabs. Final confirmation is offered by Plutarch (Demetr. 7.1) who likewise speaks of τῶν ᾿Aράβων τοὺς καλουμένους Ναβαταίους. Thus, it is clear that the source tradition on the Diadochoi called the Arabs against whom the Antigonids campaigned Nabataians. κρίνας γὰρ τὸ ἔθνος τοῦτο τῶν ἑαυτοῦ πραγμάτων ἀλλότριον εἶναι: Why Antigonos would have considered the Nabataians hostile to his interests is unclear. Several possibilities have been put forward, some even more speculative than others. Mehl (1986, 111– 112) suggests that the Nabataians may have supported Ptolemaios, perhaps in supporting communications between Ptolemaios and Seleukos, or that Antigonos was preparing a campaign against Egypt, and that economic reasons might also have been involved. The latter reason is

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most often accepted (Billows 1990, 288; Tubach 1995, 114 n. 93; Ma 2003, 183; Retsö 2003, 288). As Bosworth (2002, 197– 198) points out, the first expedition, that of Athenaios, is clearly described as a raid with no other aim than plunder, perhaps intended in the first place to capture camels which were needed for an invasion of Egypt (ibid., 204– 205; cf. Diod. XX 73.3), and which were also useful for Antigonos’ logistical needs (cf. XIX 55.1). The second one, under Demetrios, seems to have had the same aim (96.2), combined with the desire to punish the Nabataians for the annihilation of Athenaios’ contingent (96.4). Indeed, Antigonos order to Athenaios is ἐπιθέσθαι τοῖς βαρβάροις ἄφνω καὶ τὴν λείαν πᾶσαν ἀποτεμέσθαι (94.1). When they are informed of Demetrios’ arrival, the Nabataians send their cattle into the desert (97.1), and Demetrios is explicitly said to have noticed the absence of the herds upon his arrival (97.2, τὴν λείαν καταλαβὼν ἀπηλλαγμένην). Bizière (1975) translates λεία as ‘petit bétail’ throughout the passage, but that is perhaps too restrictive. From Pritchett’s (1991, 77– 86) detailed study of the meaning of λεία, ‘a general word for booty, (…) frequently applied to livestock, cattle’, it is clear that larger animals were often included just as well. In the present instance it seems more likely that all animals are meant, perhaps especially the camels (cf. Plut. Demetr. 7.1, λείαν τε λαβὼν πολλὴν καὶ καμήλους; generally Karunanithy 2013, 174 on Alexander’s collecting animals for transport and consumption). For smaller animals the Antigonids need not specifically have targeted the Nabataians (on the importance of camels, see Henkelman 2017, 55 – 63). The third expedition, commanded by Hieronymos, was sent out to collect the asphalt of the Dead Sea. All of these are economic motives indeed, though obviously resulting from the need to finance the enormous war effort. Whether the reasons for the Antigonid campaign Diodoros found in his source were equally vague is impossible to tell (pace Bosworth 2002, 190). τῶν αὑτοῦ φίλων ᾿Aθήναιον: Athenaios is only known from the present episode (Billows 1990, 377). His expedition is sometimes thought to have inspired a passage in Menander’s Aspis (Treu 1976; cf. Vogt-Spira 1992, 79 n. 21; Beroutsos 2005, 16 – 17).

94.2 χρήσιμον δ᾽ ἐστὶ τῶν ἀγνοούντων ἕνεκα διελθεῖν τὰ νόμιμα τῶν ᾿Aράβων τούτων: Cf. V 32.1, χρήσιμον δ᾽ ἐστὶ διορίσαι τὸ παρὰ πολλοῖς ἀγνοούμενον; XI 3.1, χρήσιμον δὲ διορίσαι τῶν Ἑλλήνων τοὺς τὰ τῶν βαρβάρων ἑλομένους, ἵνα τυγχάνοντες ὀνείδους ἀποτρέπωσι ταῖς βλασφημίαις τοὺς προδότας ἂν γενομένους τῆς κοινῆς ἐλευθερίας. More often, however, Diodoros claims that it is necessary (ἀναγκαῖος) to deal with a particular matter (see above, 13.7 δι᾽ ἑτέρας…), or that it is fitting (οἰκεῖος) to do so (see above, 53.3 συμβέβηκε…).

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The description of the Nabataian customs is in part a repetition from II 48.1– 5, as is the description of the dead sea (XIX 98 and II 48.7– 9). Several such repetitions occur in Diodoros’ work (Krumbholz 1889; Rubincam 2018), but it seems difficult to draw general conclusions about them except that Diodoros must have had a particular interest in the topics in question (cf. Baumann 2020, 133 – 142 on the present repetition). Scholars have often speculated about the sources of this passage and its parallel in book II. The description of the Dead Sea must ultimately go back to Hieronymos, but several scenarios are possible. Some assume that Diodoros relied directly on Hieronymos in book XIX and thus must have drawn on the latter’s work in book II as well (Hornblower 1981, 62– 63; Eck 2003, xxxviii), while others hold that Diodoros was using Agatharchides both here and in book II (Bottin 1928, 1325; Engels 1999, 215; Rathmann 2014, 92). Yet others argue for Poseidonios as the source of Diodoros’ Arabian ethnography in book II and here (Lens Tuero 1994f, 119 – 120). That Diodoros used Agatharchides in book II and based his account in book XIX directly on Hieronymos seems unlikely, as the differences between both passages are very minor (see below, 98.1 τῷ μὲν μήκει…). For the potential use of Agatharchides in the history of the Successors, see also above, Part I, §3.2.3, and the commentary on chapter 45 (with a particularly relevant passage for the present context at 45.6: καὶ ταχύ…). Diodoros’ description of the Nabataians is often accepted at face value (e.g. Abel 1937, 376 – 380; Negev 1976). Scholars have sometimes been troubled, though, by the contradictions between Diodoros’ accounts in books II and XIX as well as with a text of Strabo (XVI 4.26). Although Strabo used a source from the first century, while Diodoros’ account may ultimately go back to the fourth century, the time difference alone cannot explain the divergences (Dijkstra 1995, 298 – 301). The problem largely disappears, though, once it is recognized that especially in book XIX Diodoros offers a stylized literary account replete with the usual topoi on nomadic peoples. Bosworth (2002, 190 – 193) has rightly argued that Diodoros – or rather his source (which he identifies as Hieronymos) – gives a carefully crafted picture meant to present the Nabataians as the ‘ne plus ultra of nomadic culture’. Indeed, a great deal of the elements in Diodoros’ description of the Nabataians are the characteristics usually attributed to barbaric peoples in remote lands: they live in a most inhospitable barren country, they do not have houses, they do not practice any form of agriculture, they do not consume wine, they drink milk, and they eat flesh (Shaw 1982/3; contra Hornblower 1981, 145 – 146, who argues for the truthfulness of Hieronymos’ account). Another matter, however, is the question of the exact purpose of the presentation of Nabataian culture as the epitome of nomadism. The most plausible interpretation – at least partially – is that of Bosworth (2002, 187– 189), who points

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at Hieronymos’ own role in the affair which was a series of failures for the Antigonids. This, in fact, is the one episode where we have some tangible evidence that Hieronymos was Diodoros’ source (see below, 98.1 τῷ μὲν μήκει…). It is not an unlikely suggestion therefore that the presentation of the Nabataians as a people which cannot be conquered (cf. τὰ νόμιμα […], οἷς χρώμενοι δοκοῦσι τὴν ἐλευθερίαν διαφυλάττειν), serves as an explanation for the unsuccessful Antigonid operations, including the one of which Hieronymos was in charge: if it was impossible to overcome these desert nomads, Hieronymos cannot be blamed for his defeat at their hands. Although this might well be a sufficient explanation, scholars – including Bosworth – have usually gone a step further, assuming that a deeper message should be found in Diodoros’ account of the Nabataians (Bosworth 2002, 190 – 208; cf. Corsaro 1998, 435 – 436). Bosworth argues at length that Hieronymos in this way wanted to denounce aggressive imperialism and thus the policies of Antigonos and Demetrios. Yet, it seems unlikely that Hieronymos would have intended such a denunciation (see above, Part I, §3.2). Even less likely is Bosworth’s continuation of his demonstration concerning Hieronymos’ role in the affair, namely that in order to explain his own failure at the Dead Sea as inevitable, the Kardian turned a successful operation of Demetrios into a complete failure. Diodoros (97– 98.1) reports that the Nabataians, who had sent their flocks into the desert, were not impressed by Demetrios’ attack and already convinced him that it was useless to attack them after a single day of besieging their stronghold. Demetrios then concluded a treaty with the Arabs, exchanged gifts, and left their territory without having achieved anything. Plutarch (Demetr. 7.1), on the other hand, claims that the Nabataians were intimidated by Demetrios, and that the latter managed to capture a flock of 700 camels. The first question, of course, is whether Diodoros and Plutarch must have used a different source, as Bosworth (2002, 204– 207) contends. This would not seem to be absolutely necessary. That the Arabs are more impressed in Plutarch’s account, might be his own exaggeration. The capture of Nabataian livestock would seem to be in contradiction with Diodoros’ account, but if Demetrios seized the herds after the treaty had been concluded, it could be fitted into his report as well. After all, there is no reason why Demetrios should have respected the agreement with the Arabs, as the Diadochoi never even respected the coalitions concluded amongst themselves (cf. Meeus 2018b). It would mean that there are some haphazard silences and unclarities in Diodoros’ account, but that is far from impossible in itself. However, according to Diodoros, Antigonos rebuked his son for the treaty with the Nabataians, and apart from the discovery of the asphalt of the Dead Sea, Antigonos does not seem pleased with Demetrios’

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achievements. On the whole, then, it is certainly difficult to accept that Plutarch and Diodoros used the same source, but we cannot be absolutely certain. If Plutarch and Diodoros did use different sources, it is most unlikely that the latter’s version is that of Hieronymos (cf. Wehrli 1968, 144– 145 arguing that Plutarch used Hieronymos). Bosworth (2002, 206 – 207) contends that ‘it is certainly arguable that Demetrius was longer campaigning in Nabataean territory than Diodorus (and Hieronymus) would have us believe, and was much more successful. Hieronymus’ account minimized the success of Demetrius, and implied that the treaty he made actually encouraged Nabataean aggression (…)’. But are we really to believe that the Kardian downplayed Demetrios’ achievement to such an extent? He might – at most – have passed over Demetrios’ success in silence, but would he have distorted the facts so as deliberately to present Demetrios as less successful than he actually was? A more plausible solution would be that Diodoros was using an intermediary source which either combined Hieronymos with another tradition or for some reason made its own adaptations to the account of the Kardian. Others have argued that Hieronymos crafted the Nabataian digression in such a way as to give a subtle warning to Antigonos Gonatas that people do not like to be deprived of their freedom, and that he should not go too far in limiting the freedom of the Greek cities (Hornblower 1981, 177– 178; Hornblower 2006, 313 – 314). Surely Hieronymos could have included such a hidden message in his work, but one wonders why he would have presented the Nabataian way of life as the complete antithesis of Greek civilization if the episode somehow was to convey the idea of the freedom of the Greeks.

94.3 νόμος δ᾽ ἐστὶν αὐτοῖς μήτε σῖτον σπείρειν μήτε φυτεύειν μηδὲν φυτὸν καρποφόρον μήτε οἴνῳ χρᾶσθαι μήτε οἰκίαν κατασκευάζειν: These are features necessary to the civilized life of the Greeks, and as a result their absence is a widespread topos of the discourse on barbarians: Pl. R. 372a; Just. XLIII 4.1– 2; Arr. (FGrHist 156) F72. Cf. also Hdt. IV 46.3, 97.3 (with Corcella 2007, 615 and 650) on the Scythians, although the latter do drink wine (Hdt. IV 66; Corcella 2007, 630). On the role of diet and agriculture in Diodoros’ ethnography, see BosakSchroeder 2020, 99 – 105.

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94.4 καμήλους: On the connection between nomadism and dromedaries, see Högemann 1985, 34– 35. For the importance of the animals for Nabataian trade, see Studer & Schneider 2008, 581– 582. τὸν ἀριθμὸν ὄντες οὐ πολὺ πλείους τῶν μυρίων: As it is later said that the Nabataians who attacked the Macedonian camp were 8,000 in number, it would seem that the number of 10,000 merely represents the population active in the military (Dijkstra 1995, 298).

94.6 φιλελεύθεροι δέ εἰσι διαφερόντως: Cf. II 1.5 – 6 (ἔστι δὲ καὶ καθόλου τοῦτο τὸ ἔθνος φιλελεύθερον καὶ κατ’ οὐδένα τρόπον προσδεχόμενον ἔπηλυν ἡγεμόνα·…) with Eck 2003, 5 n. 5 ad loc. For the relationship between freedom and barbarian lifestyles, cf. supra, 19.3 αὐτόνομοι… on the Kossaioi. ἀγγεῖα κατὰ γῆς ὀρυκτὰ κεκονιαμένα: On these cisterns, see esp. Bagg 2006, and more recently Plischke 2014, 85 – 86.

95.1 ἐπί τινος πέτρας: Cf. II 48.6, ἔστι δ᾽ ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ τῶν Ναβαταίων καὶ πέτρα καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν ὀχυρά, μίαν ἀνάβασιν ἔχουσα, δι᾽ ἧς κατ᾽ ὀλίγους ἀναβαίνοντες ἀποτίθενται τὰς ἀποσκευάς. The identification of the rock is problematic, and scholarship on this passage provides an excellent example of the tendency in studies of historical geography described by Gehrke (1986, 83): ‘Immer wieder liefert auf diesem Gebiet die Forschung Beispiele für unbegründete Zuweisungen und Identifizierungen. Insbesondere scheint auf der einen Seite geradezu der Zwang zu herrschen, jeden in der Literatur bezeugten Ort zu lokalisieren – wie dürftig auch immer die archäologischen Hinweise darauf sein mögen. Andererseits ist die Verlockung offensichtlich übermächtig, einen Fundkomplex (…) mit einem in unseren Texten überlieferten und prima facie passenden Namen zu versehen’ (cf. supra, 77.4 τειχίσας…). Already in Wesseling’s commentary (ad XIX 95.1) we find the identification with the famous city of Petra in Jordan: ‘Erat in regione urbs Petra, totius Nabataeae metropolis (…) Fors ergo ἐπί τῆς Πέτρας fuit olim’. His suggestion that the text might have been corrupted shows very well just how strong the desire for identification can be. For Abel (1937, 380 – 385) too there was no doubt that Diodoros’ rock was to be found in the famous city, and he even identified one particular rock as if Diodoros had written ‘a rock in Petra’, namely Umm el-Biyara. The identification with Petra seems to have become almost generally accepted among Classicists (Shatzman 1991, 98

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n. 3, with further references; Orth 1993, 93; Bosworth 2002, 199; Eck 2003, 184 n. 5; Hackl et al. 2003, 71; Roller 2018, 932). However, there are a great deal of rock fortresses in the region, and there is no indication that Petra might be concerned (Patrich 2015, 478 with further references, lists the different proposals for the rock’s identification). On the contrary, the distance between the rock and the Dead Sea, given as 300 stades (c. 54 km) at 98.1 in the context of Demetrios’ attack, suggests that Petra is too far south to be the rock in question. It has therefore been suggested that it is to be situated somewhere in the region of Es-Sela, some 30 km north of Shobak along the royal road (Wenning 2008, 540). Bosworth (2002, 202– 203) argues that the problem could be resolved on the assumption that Athenaios and Demetrios attacked different places (thus also Patrich 2015). He argues that Diodoros believed both rocks to have been the same, while in fact they were not. In his view the first rock, attacked by Athenaios, was Umm el-Biyara in Petra, while Demetrios’ operation was directed against a rock near Es-Sela. Though this reconstruction is possible in principle, the easier solution that both events concern one and the same rock near Es-Sela might well be preferable – all the more so since it is not clear whether the Nabataians already were active in the region of Petra in the late fourth century BCE (cf. Knodell et al. 2017, 668 – 669 for the earliest evidence). Patrich (2015) has argued that the Nabataian use of the rock fortresses as described by Diodoros is unhistorical; it would have serious implications for the reliability of Hieronymos if we are facing a fundamental distortion of the historical facts to explain the Antigonid failure. That the reliance on these fortresses was primarily an Edomite phenomenon obviously does not mean that it cannot have been Nabataian too, though. The absence of substantial archaeological evidence is a weightier argument, but it depends on the amount of available excavation material for the as yet uncertainly identified rock or rocks Diodoros refers to.

95.2 τῆς Ἰδουμαίας ἐπαρχίας: Idoumaia was a region in the southern Levant, between the Dead Sea and the Negev (Grabbe 2008b, 48 and 178 – 180; Briant 2009, 152– 155; Levin 2015; Marciak 2018). At 98.1, Idoumaia is called a satrapy, if τῆς Ἰδουμαίας is not a scribal gloss of F in that passage, as R omits the name of the satrapy. Especially the latter indication has been considered problematic, because Idoumaia could only have become a satrapy in 198, which would mean that Diodoros was not using Hieronymos directly here, at least on the – in my view justified – assumption that our author did not make any such changes to his sources (Beloch 1927, 5; Bottin 1928, 1324; Rathmann 2014, 92; though see Ja-

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coby 1913, 1555). As we have seen, however, ἐπαρχία could be used in the nontechnical sense of region (see above, 44.4 τὴν ἐπαρχίαν…), and it would not seem impossible that Diodoros used σατραπεία in the same sense (cf. supra, 46.2 ὡς σατράπην… for mistaken use of satrap; see also Hornblower 1981, 47– 49): the present indication thus need not necessarily be understood in administrative terms (cf. Levin 2015, 189). σταδίους δισχιλίους καὶ διακοσίους: This is almost 400 km, a distance which seems rather large, especially when compared to the distance of 300 stades (around 54 km) between the Nabataian rock and the Dead Sea (98.1). Furthermore, no army as large as Athenaios’ could have crossed such a distance in the desert in three days and three nights. Abel (1937, 387 n. 1) suggested that the figure of 2,200 stadia was actually applied to some other distance in Diodoros’ source, such as that between Damaskos and the rock, while Bosworth (2002, 199 n. 120) assumes that it was the distance from the Mediterranean to the rock. Hornblower (1981, 148 n. 184), on the other hand, assumes that the number is corrupt; Patrich (2015, 479 – 480) suggests that 220 was the correct number but it seems rather low given the duration of Athenaios’ journey.

95.3 οὐ πλείω χρόνον φυλακῆς: Fischer and Geer adopt Kallenberg’s addition of ἑωθινῆς after φυλακῆς. It is not necessary, though: there is no problem in accepting that Athenaios stayed no longer than the duration of a single watch (cf. Bosworth 2002, 198 n. 114). ῥᾳθύμως ἔχοντες τὰ περὶ τὰς φυλακάς: Cf. supra, 92.3 τῶν περὶ Νικάνορα… Often Diodoros presents such negligence as caused by arrogance resulting from recent success (also at III 55.1 and XVI 18.5).

95.6 ταῖς γὰρ εὐτυχίαις εἴωθεν ὡς ἐπίπαν ἀκολουθεῖν ῥᾳθυμία καὶ καταφρόνησις: This seems to be a typical Diodorean theme (Camacho Rojo 1994c, 107; cf. previous lemma), and Bosworth (2002, 200) assumes that Diodoros added the moralizing (though cf. supra, 93.2 στρατοπεδεύειν…).

96.1 οἱ δὲ Ναβαταῖοι τοὺς πολεμίους κολάσαντες ἀνδρωδῶς: Diodoros seems to be making a contrast between Athenaios and his 4,600 soldiers cowardly attacking a group of women, children and elders during the night, and the Nabataians

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who take revenge ἀνδρωδῶς, attacking an army. The word ἀνδρώδης does not occur elsewhere in the Bibliotheke, although it is a typical Hellenistic word (e.g. Plb. I 14.3, 31.8, III 18.2, 19.3, 106.11, 107.8, IV 80.5, V 83.6; II Macc. 14.43; D.H. AR VII 9.5). It would seem, then, that ἀνδρώδης did not belong to Diodoros’ own vocabulary, and that he has taken over the word from his source. If this is correct, we certainly have an additional argument against direct use of Hieronymos. The Kardian is unlikely to have presented Antigonid campaigns in such a negative light. πρὸς δ᾽ ᾿Aντίγονον ἐπιστολὴν γράψαντες Συρίοις γράμμασι: This means written in Aramaic (cf. supra, 23.3 ἡ δ᾽ ἐπιστολή…). For Nabataian use of Aramaic, see recently Avner 2015, 406 – 407; Gzella 2015, 238 – 246. Aramaic was also used by the Idoumaians settled in the area (Levin 2015, 199), so it made sense for the Nabataians to do so as well.

96.2 τῶν δὲ περὶ ᾿Aθήναιον κατήγορει, φάσκων παρὰ τὰς δεδομένας ἐντολὰς ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ πεποιῆσθαι τὴν ἐπίθεσιν: At 94.1 the order is explicitly said to have been given by Antigonos: προεχειρίσατο τῶν αὑτοῦ φίλων ᾿Aθήναιον (…) συνέταξεν ἐπιθέσθαι τοῖς βαρβάροις ἄφνω καὶ τὴν λείαν πᾶσαν ἀποτεμέσθαι. Not only, then, does Antigonos lie, but he blackens the image of one of his friends. Whether or not being truthful was an important royal virtue (Gorteman 1958, 262– 265; Howe 2018a; Meeus forthcoming-c), one wonders whether Hieronymos would pay so much attention to Antigonos’ dishonesty and disloyalty towards a friend. This point should not be pressed too far, though, because it was obvious ‘that in military operations what is achieved openly and by force is much less than what is done by stratagem (μετὰ δόλου) and the use of opportunity’, as Polybios (IX 12.2) says. Nonetheless, the mention of the dishonesty adds up to the picture of a standpoint that does not seem pro-Antigonid.

97.2 προσβολὰς συνεχεῖς ἐποιεῖτο τῷ χωρίῳ: Typical Diodorean formula: cf. supra, 66.4 συνεχεῖς… ἀμυνομένων δὲ τῶν ἔνδον εὐρώστως: Another typical Diodorean formula: cf. XII 37.1, ἀμυνομένων δὲ τῶν ἔνδον εὐρώστως; XX 45.6, ἀμυνομένων δὲ τῶν ἔνδον ἀπὸ τῶν τειχῶν εὐρώστως; XX 48.3, ἀμυνομένων δὲ καὶ τῶν ἔνδον εὐρώστως. The locution ἀμύνεσθαι εὐρώστως also occurs at XI 75.4, XIII 67.5, XV 5.5, 27.1, XVI 74.3, XVII 45.5, XVIII 13.2, XX 86.3. For οἱ ἔνδον, see above, 73.3 ταχύ… The clustering of the present phrase between XIX 97 and XX 48 thus

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seems due to chance rather than to the influence of Diodoros’ source for the history of the Successors. Plut. Eum. 7.1 and Demetr. 22.1 (esp. in combination with Diod. XX 86.3) might suggest otherwise, but it should be noted that Plutarch is the only other ancient author who uses the phrase ἀμύνεσθαι εὐρώστως more than once, though admittedly only in the Hellenistic Lives (also Cleom. 6.4, Arat. 22.7, 27.3). The only ancient attestation of ἀμύνεσθαι εὐρώστως outside of Diodoros and Plutarch is Arr. Anab. I 20.7 (Polyaen. III 11.4 is only vaguely similar). περιγινομένων ῥᾳδίως: Cf. III 22.1, 35.3, IX 30.1. The expression seems to be quite rare: apart from the four instances in the Bibliotheke, there are four in Johannes Chrysostomos, two each in Thucydides and Kyrillos of Alexandria, and nine more authors use it only once. Thus, Diodoros is responsible for almost 20 % of the ancient attestations. ἀνεκαλέσατο τῇ σάλπιγγι τοὺς στρατιώτας: Cf. supra, 30.10 ἀνεκαλοῦντο…

97.3 τῶν βαρβάρων τις ἀνεβόησεν…: In the preface to book XX Diodoros criticises historians who adorn their works with too many, and inappropriate, speeches (XX 1– 2.2). He does not, however, ban speeches completely from historiography, as they can add ποικιλία, but they should only be used when appropriate (Achilli 2012; Goukowsky 2016, viii–x; Baron 2018; Pausch 2018; Durvye 2018a, xviii– xxi). On the other hand, he claims that it would be wrong not to include a speech if it would increase the reader’s understanding (XX 2.1– 2). One such case is when the speech is required for the sake of resolving the confusion (χάριν τοῦ λῦσαι τὴν ἀλογίαν) caused by the unexpected ending of an event (ὅτε παρὰ προσδοκίαν τοῦ τέλους ἐκβάντος). That obviously applies to the present instance: without the reasons the Nabataian adduces in his speech it would be incomprehensible that Demetrios did not attack them. Thus, although it is usually denied that Diodoros himself could be responsible for the theoretical reflections on speeches in historiography (e.g. Fornara 1983, 147), in book XIX his practice fits the theory very well as there is only one speech and it complies with Diodoros’ principles. Furthermore, some of the central ideas of the speech accord with the views on the development of humanity put forward in the beginning of the Bibliotheke (I 8), although such a conception admittedly seems to have been fairly widespread: cf. Spoerri 1959, 152– 156. That the speech is the construct of a Greek historiographer is obvious. The Nabataian would not compare his own lifestyle with that of animals (97.4, θηριώδη παντελῶς). Furthermore, the speech is replete with the usual topoi of the noble savage addressing the overly imperialistic king (Lens Tuero 1994 f;

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Mazza 2002); much the same is said by the Thracian king Dromichaites to Lysimachos (XXI 12.6). Lens Tuero (1994g) argues that both speeches must go back to the same source, which cannot have been Hieronymos because the latter was hostile to Lysimachos. He suggests that Poseidonios is a plausible candidate. However, it seems more likely that Diodoros was simply following his source for the history of the Successors. The stereotypical nature of the ideas makes speculation of who this could (not) have been rather pointless. Diodoros himself or any of his possible sources may have expressed such thoughts (cf. e.g. Curt. VII 8.12– 30, a much longer speech with strikingly similar ideas by a Scythian addressing Alexander, which is analyzed by Ballesteros-Pastor 2003). For the uselessness or even impossibility of a war against poor or nomadic barbarians, see already Hdt. I 71 (with Asheri 2007, 132) and IV 46 (with Corcella 2007, 615); cf. next lemma. See also Bosak-Schroeder 2020, 106 – 130 on the relationship between environment, autarky and freedom. οὔθ᾽ ὕδωρ ἔχουσιν οὔτε σῖτον οὔτε οἶνον οὔτ’ ἄλλο τι ἁπλῶς οὐδὲν τῶν παρ’ ὑμῖν εἰς τὴν χρείαν ἀνηκόντων: Cf. supra, 94.3, νόμος… for the combination of these features of sedentary life. The ultimate model for this speech is of course the speech of the Scythian king Idanthyrsos to Dareios in Herodotos (IV 127; cf. Hartog 1988, 55 – 60; Braund 2004), and the very same topos occurs in Boudica’s speech at D.C. LXII 5.5. Cf. also the previous lemma. On the other hand, rather than as a mere topos, the phrase can be taken as an expression of all the fundamental needs of a sedentary population relying on subsistence farming, and as such the combination also occurs in a non-Greek context of the southern Levant in the Hebrew Bible: see Nehemiah 5:3 – 5 and 5:11 (cf. LXX 2Esdras 20:38), where the situation of the Jews is furthermore observed by their Samartian, Ammonite, Arab and other neighbours. Provided that the Nabataians did not have a strongly developed agriculture or for strategic reasons wished to present themselves as such, this is thus a statement a Nabataian could potentially have made to Demetrios – which of course by no means implies that he actually did. The phrase τὸ εἰς/πρὸς τὴν χρείαν ἀνῆκον seems to be typical of the later Hellenistic period: apart from this passage there are two occurrences in Polybios (IX 20.6, XVI 20.3) and three further ones in Diodoros (II 36.2, III 18.6, XXXI 9.2), but I have not found it in any other author. Very similar expressions occur at Plb. II 15.4 and D.S. II 36.4, III 50.2, V 40.3, XIV 115.4, XVII 52.5, XXXI 9.2. Even in general the use of ἀνήκειν εἰς/πρός in this sense is hardly to be found in other authors before Galen, especially compared to the high incidence in Polybios (I 57.5, II 39.11, 70.5, III 55.9, IV 24.5, VI 5.2, 12.4, 16.3, 56.2, VIII 12.8, XI 4.6, XVIII 14.8, XXI 23.9) and Diodoros (I 4.2, 36.10, 60.6, 70.8, II 13.3, 46.1, III 10.6, 42.5, IV 41.2, 46.5, V 19.4, 33.4, XI 39.1, 41.2, XII 26.4, XVI 60.3, 92.3, XVII 16.4, 17.3, 75.1, 110.5, XVIII

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22.2, 51.1, XXII 9.5, XXXVII 3.4). The only instances before Polybios concern Attic speeches of potentially doubtful authenticity: D. 60.3, 60.6; Din. 1.60. Immediately after Diodoros there are some instances in Dionysios of Halikarnassos (D.H. AR V 29.2, 69.2) and Josephus (AJ IV 198, XVIII 264), but their respective frequencies of 0.0007 % (AR, fragments) and 0.0004 % (AJ, BJ) are nowhere close to those of Polybios (0.0048 %) and Diodoros (0.0072 %); Plutarch does not seem to use ἀνήκειν in this way at all. Diodoros may thus be responsible for the phrasing, but he will surely have found the idea in his source.

98.1 ὁ μὲν οὖν Δημήτριος λαβὼν ὁμήρους καὶ τὰς ὁμολογηθείσας δωρεὰς ἀνέζευξεν ἀπὸ τῆς πέτρας: As has already been noted above, in Diodoros’ account Demetrios’ campaign against the Nabataians was less successful than in Plutarch’s (Demetr. 7.1) version. The latter states that Demetrios intimidated the Arabs and seized 700 camels, while the former suggests that Demetrios achieved nothing at all. That Hieronymos would deliberately have downplayed Demetrios’ achievement is most unlikely (see above, 94.2 χρήσιμον…). τῆς ᾿Aσφαλτίτιδος λίμνης: The Dead Sea is likewise called ‘asphalt lake’ by Josephus (e.g. BJ IV, 476, AJ IV 85) and Pliny (NH V 72). The ancients knew both liquid and solid asphalt, which seems to have been what we nowadays call petroleum. They only had access to what could be found on the surface and had no distillation techniques, so that the asphalt had to be used largely in the form in which it was found (Vandorpe 2002, 300 – 302; Baker 2019, 53 – 55). Diodoros seems to offer an accurate description of the Dead Sea in Antiquity and of the observed geological phenomena (Hornblower 1981, 148 – 149). ἧς τὴν φύσιν οὐκ ἄξιον παραδραμεῖν ἀνεπισήμαντον: Cf. Jos. BJ IV 476, ἄξιον δὲ ἀφηγήσασθαι καὶ τὴν φύσιν τῆς ᾿Aσφαλτίτιδος λίμνης. For Diodoros’ wording, cf. supra, 13.7 δι᾽ ἑτέρας… Landucci Gattinoni (1981/2, 18 – 19) argues that the present statement proves that Diodoros changed sources at this point, but obviously a typical formula like this could also be used to mark out a digression adopted from his source along with the surrounding narrative. The silence on the bitumen gathering in 94– 97 is hardly a telling indication of anything; there is no reason why it would have had to be mentioned in these chapters. κατὰ μέσην τὴν σατραπείαν τῆς Ἰδουμαίας: Cf. supra, 95.2 τῆς Ἰδουμαίας… τῷ μὲν μήκει παρεκτείνουσα…: This description of the Dead Sea is an almost exactly identical repetition from II 48.7– 9, so that rather than listing all parallels it seems easier simply to quote both passages and indicate the few differences there are:

§ 94 – 100.2 The Antigonid Campaigns against the Nabataians

II . –  (from Eck ) αὕτη δ᾽ ἔχει τὸ μὲν μῆκος σταδίων ὡς πεντακοσίων, τὸ δὲ πλάτος ὡς ἑξήκοντα, τὸ δ᾽ ὕδωρ δυσῶδες καὶ διάπικρον, ὥστε μὴ δύνασθαι μήτ᾽ ἰχθῦν τρέφειν μήτ᾽ ἄλλο τῶν καθ᾽ ὕδατος εἰωθότων ζῴων εἶναι. ἐμβαλλόντων δ᾽ εἰς αὐτὴν ποταμῶν μεγάλων τῇ γλυκύτητι διαφόρων τούτων μὲν περιγίνεται κατὰ τὴν δυσωδίαν, ἐξ αὑτῆς δὲ μέσης κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν ἐκφυσᾷ ἀσφάλτου μέγεθος ποτὲ μὲν μεῖζον ἢ τρίπλεθρον, ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτε δυοῖν πλέθρων· ἐφ᾽ ᾧ δὴ συνήθως οἱ περιοικοῦντες βάρβαροι τὸ μὲν μεῖζον καλοῦσι ταῦρον, τὸ δ᾽ ἔλαττον μόσχον ἐπονομάζουσιν. . ἐπιπλεούσης δὲ τῆς ἀσφάλτου πελαγίας ὁ τόπος φαίνεται τοῖς [μὲν] ἐξ ἀποστήματος θεωροῦσιν οἱονεὶ νῆσος. τὴν δ᾽ ἔκπτωσιν τῆς ἀσφάλτου συμβαίνει φανερὰν γίνεσθαι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις πρὸ ἡμερῶν εἴκοσι δύο· κύκλῳ γὰρ τῆς λίμνης ἐπὶ πολλοὺς σταδίους ὀσμὴ προσπίπτει μετὰ πνεύματος, καὶ πᾶς ὁ περὶ τὸν τόπον ἄργυρός τε καὶ χρυσὸς καὶ χαλκὸς ἀποβάλλει τὴν ἰδιότητα τοῦ χρώματος. ἀλλ᾽ αὕτη μὲν ἀποκαθίσταται πάλιν ἐπειδὰν ἀναφυσηθῆναι συμβῇ πᾶσαν τὴν ἄσφαλτον· ὁ δὲ πλησίον τόπος ἔμπυρος ὢν καὶ δυσώδης ποιεῖ τὰ σώματα τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐπίνοσα καὶ παντελῶς ὀλιγοχρόνια. . ἀγαθὴ δ᾽ ἐστὶ φοινικόφυτος ὅσην αὐτῆς συμβαίνει ποταμοῖς διειλῆφθαι χρησίμοις ἢ πηγαῖς δυναμέναις ἀρδεύειν. γίνεται δὲ περὶ τοὺς τόπους τούτους ἐν αὐλῶνί τινι καὶ τὸ καλούμενον βάλσαμον, ἐξ οὗ πρόσοδον λαμπρὰν λαμβάνουσιν, οὐδαμοῦ μὲν τῆς ἄλλης οἰκουμένης εὑρισκομένου τοῦ φυτοῦ τούτου, τῆς δ᾽ ἐξ αὐτοῦ χρείας εἰς φάρμακα τοῖς ἰατροῖς καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν εὐθετούσης.

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XIX . –  τῷ μὲν μήκει παρεκτείνουσα σταδίους μάλιστά πως πεντακοσίους, τῷ δὲ πλάτει περὶ ἑξήκοντα. . τὸ δ᾽ ὕδωρ ἔχει διάπικρον καὶ καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν δυσῶδες, ὥστε μήτ᾽ ἰχθὺν δύνασθαι τρέφειν μήτ᾽ ἄλλο τῶν καθ᾽ ὕδατος εἰωθότων ζῴων *, ἐμβαλλόντων δ᾽ εἰς αὐτὴν ποταμῶν μεγάλων τῇ γλυκύτητι διαφόρων τούτων μὲν περιγίνεται κατὰ τὴν δυσωδίαν, ἐξ αὑτῆς δὲ μέσης ἐκφυσᾷ κατ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν ἀσφάλτου στερεᾶς μέγεθος ποτὲ μὲν μεῖζον ἢ τρίπλεθρον, ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτ᾽ οὐ πολὺ λειπόμενον πλέθρου· ἐφ᾽ ᾧ δὴ συνήθως οἱ περιοικοῦντες βάρβαροι τὸ μὲν μεῖζον καλοῦσι ταῦρον, τὸ δὲ ἔλαττον μόσχον. ἐπιπλεούσης δὲ τῆς ἀσφάλτου πελαγίας ὁ τόπος φαίνεται τοῖς ἐξ ἀποστήματος θεωροῦσιν οἱονεί τις νῆσος. . τὴν δ᾽ ἔκπτωσιν φανερὰν συμβαίνει γίνεσθαι πρὸ ἡμερῶν εἴκοσι· κύκλῳ γὰρ τῆς λίμνης ἐπὶ πολλοὺς σταδίους ὀσμὴ τῆς ἀσφάλτου προσπίπτει * πνεύματος μοχθηροῦ καὶ πᾶς ὁ περὶ τὸν τόπον ἄργυρος καὶ χρυσὸς καὶ χαλκὸς ἀποβάλλει τὴν ἰδιότητα τοῦ χρώματος. ἀλλ᾽ αὕτη μὲν ἀποκαθίσταται πάλιν ἐπειδὰν ἀναφυσηθῆναι συμβῇ πᾶσαν τὴν ἄσφαλτον· ὁ δὲ πλησίον τόπος ἔμπυρος ὢν καὶ δυσώδης ποιεῖ τὰ σώματα τῶν περιοικούντων ἐπίνοσα καὶ παντελῶς ὀλιγοχρόνια. . ἀγαθὴ δ᾽ ἐστὶ φοινικόφυτος ὅσην αὐτῆς συμβαίνει διειλῆφθαι ποταμοῖς χρησίμοις ἢ πηγαῖς δυναμέναις ἀρδεύειν. γίνεται δὲ περὶ τοὺς τόπους τούτους ἐν αὐλῶνί τινι καὶ τὸ καλούμενον βάλσαμον, ἐξ οὗ πρόσοδον ἁδρὰν εἶναι συμβαίνει, οὐδαμοῦ μὲν τῆς ἄλλης οἰκουμένης εὑρισκομένου τοῦ φυτοῦ, τῆς δ᾽ ἐξ αὐτοῦ χρείας εἰς φάρμακα τοῖς ἰατροῖς καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν εὐθετούσης. *added on the basis of II 

Clearly there are only very minor differences between both passages: some variations in the word order, syntax, or in the choice of synonyms (II 48.8 ἀνθρώπων/XIX 98.3 περιοικούντων; II 48.9 λαμπράν/XIX 98.4 ἁδράν, though the former may be corrupt), as well as a few words that are present in one version but not in the other (II 48.8 τοῖς ἀνθρώποις; XIX 98.2 καθ᾽ ὑπερβολήν and

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στερεᾶς, 98.3 τῆς ἀσφάλτου and μοχθηροῦ). More interesting, perhaps, is the difference between ἐξ οὗ πρόσοδον λαμπρὰν λαμβάνουσιν at II 48.9 and ἐξ οὗ πρόσοδον ἁδρὰν εἶναι συμβαίνει at XIX 98.4. At II 48.6 Diodoros introduced his description of the lake with the words λίμνη τε μεγάλη φέρουσα πολλὴν ἄσφαλτον, ἐξ ἧς λαμβάνουσιν οὐκ ὀλίγας προσόδους: it seems that with πρόσοδον λαμπρὰν λαμβάνουσιν we are facing another example of Diodoros’ ‘ausgesprochene Neigung, im Ausdruck zu beharren’, as Palm (1955, 69) called it. Only two differences affect the meaning, and – perhaps not coincidentally – both concern numbers: II 48.7 ποτὲ μὲν μεῖζον ἢ τρίπλεθρον, ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτε δυοῖν πλέθρων/XIX 98.2 ποτὲ μὲν μεῖζον ἢ τρίπλεθρον, ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτ᾽ οὐ πολὺ λειπόμενον πλέθρου; II 48.8 πρὸ ἡμερῶν εἴκοσι δύο/XIX 98.3 πρὸ ἡμερῶν εἴκοσι. The latter instance is an obvious case of rounding: the more precise figure twenty-two at II 48.8 is rounded down to twenty at XIX 98.3. In the former instance the difference is at first sight more fundamental. However, it can be explained if his source wrote ‘about a plethron’ which Diodoros rounded up to two – perhaps because of the preceding τρίπλεθρον – in book II, while he interpreted it as ‘a little less than a plethron’ in book XIX. If this explanation is correct, the difference would prove that Diodoros twice relied on his source, rather than going back to his own earlier description. It cannot be excluded that he used Agatharchides in book II and Hieronymos in book XIX, as is clear from the passages where Ephorus is the intermediary between Thucydides and Diodoros discussed above (cf. supra, Part I, §2.2.1). However, the differences are very minor for a rather long passage, so that it seems more likely that Diodoros relied directly on the same source in both instances. It is impossible to identify this direct source, though. Ultimately the description goes back to Hieronymos, as is revealed by a fragment of the Kardian ([FGrHist 154] F5): Ἱερώνυμος ἱστόρησεν ἐν τῇ Ναβαταίων χώρᾳ τῶν ᾿Aράβων εἶναι λίμνην πικράν, ἐν ᾗ οὔτε ἰχθῦς οὔτε ἄλλο τι τῶν ἐνύδρων ζῴων γίνεσθαι, ἀσφάλτου δὲ πλίνθους ἐξ αὐτῆς αἴρεσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν ἐπιχωρίων. This is strongly echoed in Diodoros’ τὸ δ᾽ ὕδωρ ἔχει διάπικρον καὶ καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν δυσῶδες, ὥστε μήτ᾽ ἰχθὺν δύνασθαι τρέφειν μήτ᾽ ἄλλο τῶν καθ᾽ ὕδατος εἰωθότων ζῴων in our passage and at II 48.7. One sentence, of course, is not sufficient to prove that the whole passage directly goes back to Hieronymos.

99.1 τὴν δ᾽ ἐκπίπτουσαν ἄσφαλτον…: The bitumen collecting is also described by Strabo (XVI 2.42) and Josephus (BJ IV 478 – 480). Shahar (2004, 245 – 246) argues that Strabo used Hieronymos either directly or through Diodoros, while Josephus based his account on Strabo. However, it is also possible that both Diodoros and

§ 100.3 – 7 Demetrios’ Expedition in Babylonia

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Strabo go back to Agatharchides, as is clearly the case with their common use of the latter’s work On the Red Sea (Diod. III 12– 148; Str. XVI 4.5 – 20), although in Strabo’s case Agatharchides seems to have reached him through an intermediary source, Artemidoros of Ephesos. On Bitumen collection, see Hammond 1959; Baker 2019, 53 – 55.

100.1 ἐπιμελητὴν ἔταξεν Ἱερώνυμον τὸν τὰς ἱστορίας συγγράψαντα: Josephus (Ap. I 213 – 214) states that Ἱερώνυμος γὰρ ὁ τὴν περὶ τῶν διαδόχων ἱστορίαν συγγεγραφώς (…), φίλος δ᾽ ὢν ᾿Aντιγόνου τοῦ βασιλέως τὴν Συρίαν ἐπετρόπευεν. While Diodoros suggests that Hieronymos was responsible only for the collection of the asphalt, Josephus describes him as governor of Syria. At any rate, the difference ἐπιμελητής/ἐπιτροπεύειν is not significant, as the terms ἐπιμελητής and ἐπίτροπος are used interchangeably in our sources for the Diadochoi (Meeus 2009c, 287– 302). On the whole, it seems that Josephus provides an imprecise generalization (cf. Bosworth 2002, 189 n. 77), though scholars often assume that Hieronymos might have been governor of Syria (Hornblower 1981, 13; Billows 1990, 391). Given that both Diodoros and Josephus describe Hieronymos in this context as ‘the author of the history of the Diadochoi’, one may wonder whether there was an intermediary source describing the Kardian in these terms, but this should not be pressed too far, as the phrasing may not be untypical of Diodoros: see XIII 91.4 Φίλιστος ὁ τὰς ἱστορίας ὕστερον συγγράψας, XV 76.4 Ξενοφῶν τε ὁ τὰς ἱστορίας συγγραψάμενος, XVI 7.1 Τιμαίου μὲν τοῦ τὰς ἱστορίας συγγράψαντος; cf. VII 5.4 Φάβιος ὁ τὰς Ῥωμαίων πράξεις ἀναγράψας, XVIII 42.1 Ἱερώνυμος ὁ τὰς τῶν διαδόχων ἱστορίας γεγραφώς, XVIII 50.4 Ἱερώνυμον μὲν τὸν τὰς ἱστορίας γράψαντα, and supra, 44.3 ὁ τὰς ἱστορίας…. Similar usages occur e.g. at Str. XII 4.8, XIII 3.5, 3.6, 4.3; Jos. AJ XII 5; D.L. X 26; Epiphanius Ancoratus 59.2. The only attestation that may be earlier than the Bibliotheke, though, is Antig. Mir. 1.1 (Τίμαιος ὁ τὰς Σικελικὰς ἱστορίας συγγεγραφώς), which makes it less likely that the descriptions of Hieronymos – at least as far as the language is concerned – go back to Diodoros’ source for the Successors.

§ 100.3 – 7 Demetrios’ Expedition in Babylonia The brevity of Diodoros’ account makes it difficult to place Demetrios’ campaign in context, all the more so since Plutarch (Demetr. 7.2– 4) and the fragmentary Diadochoi Chronicle (BCHP 3) likewise offer only unconnected bits of information, while the Greek sources are completely silent on the subsequent Babyloni-

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an wars of 310 – 308 BCE. As a result, widely differing equivalencies between the events described in the respective sources and a great number of different chronological reconstructions have been proposed (Boiy 2007b, 124– 128, provides a convenient critical overview; cf. now also Van der Spek 2014; McTavish 2019; Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 85 – 102). It seems to me that all of Plutarch (Demetr. 7.2– 4) relates to the same campaign as described by Diodoros at this point (Wheatley 2002, 40 n. 4 and Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 87; contra Van der Spek 2014, 333 and McTavish 2019, 76), although it seems to be followed immediately by a leap of one or perhaps even two years with the rescue of Halikarnassos (cf. Hauben 2014, 236 and 247). Diodoros and Plutarch agree on the absence of Seleukos who was campaigning in the upper satrapies as well as on the premature end of Demetrios’ campaign: he managed to conquer only one of the two Seleukid garrisons and left his general Archelaos in charge of besieging the other one, before rushing back to the Mediterranean according to the orders he had received from his father at the beginning of his campaign. The Antigonids seem to have underestimated Seleukos twice, apparently hoping at first that they could leave the matter to Nikanor and subsequently that a brief expedition under Demetrios would suffice (cf. Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 95). This brief campaign can be fitted in the incompletely preserved lines Rev. 5’–9’ of BCHP 3, which would resolve the apparent problem that Demetrios’ attack is not mentioned in the chronicle (cf. Van der Spek 2014, 331– 332) as well as the general difficulties of reconciling the Greek and the Babylonian sources (cf. Wheatley & Dunn 2020, 87, ‘the near-impossible task of splicing Demetrius’ expedition into the correct spot in the Babylonian Chronicle text’). The war was continued over the course of the next two years, with Antigonos personally campaigning in Babylonia (Wheatley 2002).

100.3 παρὰ Νικάνορος τοῦ στρατηγοῦ τῆς τε Μηδίας καὶ τῶν ἄλλων σατραπειῶν: On Nikanor’s position, see above 92.1 Νικάνορος… The manuscripts simply read τῆς τε Μηδίας καὶ τῶν ἄλλων σατραπειῶν. Bizière has accepted Bengtson’s (1964 I, 183 n. 3) suggestion to add ἄνω after ἄλλων so as to avoid ‘sachlich[e] Inkonsequenz’ because Media also belonged to the upper satrapies. The phrase καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι ἄνω σατραπεῖαι does not occur either in Diodoros or elsewhere, however: even when one province is mentioned along with the others, the latter are simply listed as καὶ αἱ ἄνω σατραπεῖαι: see XVII 64.2 and XX 47.5 (cf. Ph. Vit. Mos. I 34). Since at XVIII 7.4 the manuscripts differ in reading καὶ τῶν ἄνω σατραπειῶν (F) and καὶ τῶν ἄλλων σατραπειῶν (R) in a case where only the former can be correct, it seems that we are facing a typical uncial

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error (cf. Goukowsky 1978a, xliii). Dindorf’s correction of ἄλλων to ἄνω, based on the knowledge of Diodoros’ text and its transmission, is thus more likely to be correct than Bengtson’s addition, which can only work on the unlikely assumption that a word must have disappeared in all of the relevant passages; the same mistake seems to have occurred at XVII 73.2 (where Goukowsky adopts the manuscript reading but translates Dindorf’s version). περί τε τῆς ἀναβάσεως τῆς Σελεύκου καὶ τῶν γεγονότων περὶ αὐτὸν ἀτυχημάτων: For R’s ἀτυχημάτων F reads εὐτυχημάτων. Both Fischer and Bizière follow R, although the former notes in his apparatus that this would also require emending αὐτὸν to αὑτὸν since Seleukos had been successful and the misfortunes could only be those of Nikanor. Since both manuscripts agree on the spiritus, however, it is more likely that the family of R originally also read εὐτυχημάτων, as Radt (2015, 280) argues. This is also the reading preferred by Dindorf and Wesseling. While the phrase is slightly more common in the case of misfortunes, Diodoros also uses it in positive contexts (cf. XXXII 27.1, τῆς περὶ αὐτὴν γεγενημένης εὐδαιμονίας τε καὶ δόξης).

100.4 ἀγωνιῶν ὁ ᾿Aντίγονος περὶ τῶν ἄνω σατραπειῶν: For Antigonos’ interest in the upper satrapies, see above, 19.2 κατακτᾶσθαι… ἐξέπεμψε Δημήτριον τὸν υἱόν: Demetrios’ campaign in Babylonia should probably be dated to the summer of 311, immediately after Antigonos received the news of Nikanor’s defeat (cf. supra, Part I, §4).

100.5 Δαμασκοῦ τῆς Συρίας: Damaskos is a city in Syria, along the road to Mesopotamia via Palmyra (Orth 1993, 85). ἐπετέλει μετὰ σπουδῆς: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 7.3, περάσας ἄφνω τὸν Εὐφράτην εἰς τὴν Βαβυλωνίαν παρεισπεσὼν ἔφθη. Demetrios’ haste was ordered by Antigonos (cf. 100.4, συντόμως) and is also clear at 100.7, where it is said that he only besieged the second citadel for some days (ἡμέρας τινάς) before returning to the West as time was running out (ἐπειδὴ χρόνου προσεδεῖτο and τοῦ χρόνου συντρέχοντος ἐν ᾧ συντεταγμένον ἦν τὴν ἄφοδον αὐτῷ ποιήσασθαι). ὁ δὲ καθεσταμένος ὑπὸ Σελεύκου τῆς Βαβυλωνίας στρατηγὸς Πατροκλῆς: A long career under Seleukos and Antiochos I is attested for Patrokles, who also wrote a geographical work on the Kaspian Sea (Gisinger, ‘Patrokles [5]’, RE XVIII.2 [1949], 2263 – 2273; Primo 2009, 72 – 78, 186 – 188; Landucci Gattinoni 2013b; Kosmin 2014, 67– 76). The nature of his present appointment is unclear.

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Bengtson (1964 I, 190) takes it to be a specific appointment for defence against Antigonid attacks, whereas Van der Spek (2014, 336 – 337) argues for an institutionalized and more permanent command over the entire satrapy. While the latter may overstate the extent to which we can rely on Diodoros’ wording, his interpretation is the more likely one, especially if his hypothesis that Patrokles’ appointment was mentioned in the Diadochoi Chronicle (BCHP 3, Rev. 8’–9’) is correct (cf. Kosmin 2014, 294 n. 60). In that case we would also have a fairly precise date between July 29 and August 27 for the appointment. Combined with the occasional use of στρατηγός as a synonym of satrap (cf. supra, 22.1 Πευκέστης…) this may mean that Patrokles was appointed satrap of Babylonia (cf. Kosmin 2014, 67; Plischke 2014, 46). I do not see why Primo (2009, 72– 73) finds the present account so detailed that it must reflect Patrokles’ local knowledge (against the notion of Patrokles as Diodoros’ source, see also above, introduction to chapters 55 – 57). πρὸς Εὐτελῆ: Euteles is otherwise unknown. He must have been Seleukos’ governor of Susiana (Rathmann 2005a, ad loc.). Although the words πρὸς Εὐτελῆ are omitted in F, there is no reason to reject them (Fischer, apparatus ad loc.). τὴν Ἐρυθρὰν θάλατταν: The Persian Gulf: cf. supra, 17.3 τὴν Ἐρυθράν.

100.6 πρὸς Σέλευκον εἰς Μηδίαν: Plutarch (Demetr. 7.2) likewise has Seleukos campaigning in the upper satrapies, though his paraphrase of his source misleadingly implies that he was somewhere further east (cf. supra, 92.5 ῥᾳδίως…).

100.7 τὴν πόλιν ἐκλελειμμένην εὗρεν: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 7.3, ἐλπίζων Δημήτριος ἔρημον εὑρήσειν τὴν Μεσοποταμίαν. πολιορκεῖν ἐπεχείρει τὰς ἀκροπόλεις. ὧν τὴν ἑτέραν…: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 7.3, καὶ τῆς ἑτέρας ἄκρας – δύο γαρ ἦσαν –… It is unclear which two places are meant by this. Schachermeyr (1970, 54 n. 104 and 72) identifies them as the so-called Nordburg and Südburg of the royal palace of Nebuchadnezzar II, but, though divided by the Imgur Enlil wall, these were interconnected structures and may rather have been considered a single akropolis. It is therefore quite likely that Diodoros was referring to the royal palace and at least one other structure, such as the temple complex with its ziqqurat or the so-called summer residence of Nebuchadnezzar II in the north of the city (Van der Spek 2014, 331 with n. 21; Monerie 2019, 176). Compare the map of Babylon in DNP II, 385 – 386 (where the summer residence has mistakenly been marked no. 13, cf. the correc-

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tion in Boiy 2004, 65); cf. supra, 91.3 τὴν ἄκραν. If the identification of the present operations with the sieges of the palace described in the Babylonian Diadochoi Chronicle (BCHP 3, rev. 6’–8’) is correct, it would seem that Demetrios’ attempt took place in late July 311, and that Archelaos succeeded in conquering the citadel in August before Seleukos’ return during the same month. Most scholars connect these events the chronicle lists for August with the siege Seleukos undertook immediately upon his return in spring, but in my view the latter blockade must have been completed before Seleukos’ proclamation of his own era as regent (cf. supra, 91.4 ὁ δὲ Σέλευκος…). ᾿Aρχέλαον μὲν ἕνα τῶν φίλων ἀπέλιπε στρατηγὸν ἐπὶ τῆς πολιορκίας: Unless this individual is to be identified with the Archelaos who was left in charge of Tyre by Perdikkas in 321, he is not attested elsewhere in the Greek sources (Billows 1990, 371; Landucci Gattinoni 2008, 164). He may be the Ariskilamu appointed satrap of Babylonia by Antigonos in 309BCE according to BCHP 3, Rev. 28’ (cf. Monerie 2014, 131– 132); since the latter appointment and the present one are two years apart, there is no contradiction between Diodoros and the Babylonian chronicle (Wheatley 2002, 43 n. 20; pace Van der Spek 2014, 333 n. 26 and McTavish 2019, 76). μετὰ τῆς λοιπῆς δυνάμεως τὴν ἐπὶ θάλασσαν κατάβασιν ἐποιεῖτο: Cf. Plut. Demetr. 7.4, ἐπανῆλθεν ἐπὶ θάλασσαν.

§ 105.1 – 4 The Peace of the Dynasts and the Deaths of Alexander IV and Rhoxane After Antigonos heard of Nikanor’s defeat near the Tigris, he started to worry over his possession of the upper satrapies (cf. supra, 100.4). The East was his priority now, and in order to avoid a war on two or three fronts, he concluded peace with Kassandros, Lysimachos and Ptolemaios in the autumn of 311 (for convenient bibliographic overviews on the peace, see Schmitt 1969, 44; Seibert 1983, 123 – 127). The question of the regency, claimed by both Antigonos and Kassandros, seems to have been left open, and the treaty only recognized their respective authority over Asia or Europe (cf. Landucci Gattinoni 2010, 117). Diodoros’ account of the peace treaty, though obviously only a summary, accords reasonably well with Antigonos’ presentation in the letter to Skepsis (RC 1; Rosen 1967a, 82– 84), and the differences in focus can easily be explained in terms of Antigonos’ propagandistic purposes (Simpson 1954). Diodoros appends an account of the murders of Alexander IV and Rhoxane, which probably belong to 310 or 309.

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105.1 ἐπ᾽ ἄρχοντος δ᾽ ᾿Aθήνησι Σιμωνίδου Ῥωμαῖοι μὲν ὑπάτους κατέστησαν Μάρκον Οὐαλλέριον καὶ Πόπλιον Δέκιον: The Athenian archon Simonides was in office in the year 311/0 (Samuel 1972, 210; Meritt 1977, 170; Dreyer 1999, 426). M. Valerius Maximus and P. Decius Mus held the consulship in the vulgate year 310, which is 312 in the Varronian chronology (Broughton 1951, 159). As has already been argued above, Diodoros introduces the new archon much too late, especially given his system of equating the archon year with the campaigning season (see above, on 90 – 92; Meeus 2012). The correct point to have started the archon year in his scheme would have been 90.1. At 89.2 the winter of 312/ 1 is mentioned, and Seleukos’ return to Babylon at 90.1 belongs to the early spring of 311. Because he is ahead of his chronology, Diodoros has only one event from the history of the Successors to report under this archon, namely the peace of the dynasts. However, he also includes an anticipatory digression on Kassandros’ murders of Alexander IV and Rhoxane. The treaty was probably concluded in the autumn of 311, as seems to be suggested by its position in Diodoros narrative – despite the mistaken archon date. Furthermore, it seems that Antigonos wanted peace in the West, so that he could concentrate fully on the problems in the upper satrapies caused by Seleukos’ return (Simpson 1954, 29). It should, therefore, be dated after Antigonos had received the news of Nikanor’s defeat near the Tigris, which occurred in the early summer of 311 (cf. supra, 92.1 Νικάνορος…), and probably also after the failure of Demetrios rushed intervention in August (cf. supra, on 100.3 – 7). οἱ περὶ Κάσσανδρον καὶ Πτολεμαῖον καὶ Λυσίμαχον διαλύσεις ἐποιήσαντο πρὸς ᾿Aντίγονον καὶ συνθήκας ἔγραψαν: Diodoros clearly presents the treaty as an agreement with four parties: Kassandros, Ptolemaios, Lysimachos and Antigonos. It has been much debated whether Seleukos was included in the peace or not. Many scholars assumed that because the coalition of 315 had demanded that Babylonia be restored to Seleukos (57.1), his allies would not have recognized Antigonos’ sovereignty over the whole of Asia (on which, see below, ᾿Aντίγονον…), thus ignoring Seleukos’ possession of Babylonia. Even after the discovery of Antigonos’ letter to Skepsis reporting the peace treaty of 311 (OGIS 5/RC 1), which likewise did not mention Seleukos, many continued to maintain that he must nonetheless have been included. Beloch (1925, 133 – 134 n. 1) tried to resolve the issue by denouncing ‘Buchstabenkultus’ once more: ‘Natürlich gibt es immer Leute, denen der Buchstabe höher steht als die Sache, sogar, wenn es sich um Diodor handelt’. However, it would seem that Beloch in this matter replaced the ‘Buchstabenkultus’ with ‘Staatsrechtkultus’. It is clear throughout the history of the Diadochoi that treaties were concluded only with an eye to the immediate future and to instant ben-

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efit, and that they were broken as soon as someone deemed the relationship no longer useful (cf. infra, οὐ μὴν ἐνέμειναν…). Thus, there is no reason at all why Kassandros, Lysimachos and Ptolemaios should have insisted on the inclusion of Seleukos. Furthermore, according to Diodoros (see above, 86.5 μέχρι ἀνακτήσαιτο…), Ptolemaios had promised to help Seleukos until the latter would recover his satrapy, so that he no longer needed to do so when negotiating the peace: the treaty was concluded only after Seleukos’ success in Babylonia and the upper satrapies, quite probably even after Seleukos’ letters boasting of his successes were received (see above, 93.7 κατέσκαψε…). Simpson (1954, 29 – 31) has argued conclusively that Seleukos was no party in the peace treaty (thus also Cloché 1957, 134– 139; Errington 1986, 131; Hammond 1988a, 161; Billows 1990, 133 with n. 66). From the letter to Skepsis we learn that Antigonos had in fact concluded peace with Kassandros and Lysimachos first (OGIS 5, l. 9 – 29), while Ptolemaios joined the treaty only later (OGIS 5, l. 30 – 53). This is in accordance with Antigonos’ aim since 315 of trying to break the alliance by separate agreements: it had been his purpose at Ekregma in 315 (see above, 64.8 συνελθών…) and on the Hellespont in 313 (see above, 75.6 τῷ δὲ Κασσάνδρῳ…). He finally seems to have reached this goal, without a doubt because he was willing to make concessions to Kassandros and Lysimachos that he would not have considered before the defeat at Gaza: after the latter setback Antigonos’ main priority became having his hands free to deal with Seleukos. Furthermore, Van der Spek (2014, 329) has recently argued that upon his return to Babylon, Seleukos claimed the title of ‘general of Asia’, a position in which Antigonos was confirmed by the present treaty: this means not only that Seleukos cannot have been included in the treaty, but also that its stipulations were much more hostile to Seleukos than one might think at first sight. In itself, the argument might still work if Seleukos claimed the regency rather than the generalship of Asia (cf. supra, Part I, §4), as this would likewise imply the refusal to accept the treaty. While the claim was made prior to the treaty, Seleukos seems to have upheld it afterwards too (McTavish 2019, 69). Κάσσανδρον μὲν εἶναι στρατηγὸν τῆς Εὐρώπης: This was less than he had asked in the ultimatum, and although the latter had been meant as a provocation, Kassandros does seem to have had ambitions in Asia (cf. supra, 69.1 ᾿Aντίγονος…). Hammond (1988a, 161), however, contends that the treaty constitutes a significant improvement for Kassandros, as he had to fight for the possession of Greece in 315, while his rule was now officially recognized. It would soon become apparent, though, that neither Antigonos nor Ptolemaios had given up the idea of controlling Greece (Diod. XX 19.2, Antigonos’ general Polemaios was still operating in the Peloponnese; XX 37.1– 2 with Hauben 2014 for Ptolemaios’ campaign). Furthermore, Kratesipolis maintained her garrisons in Sikyon and Korin-

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thos (Diod. XX 37.1) and Polyperchon, though deliberately isolated by the treaty, remained a competitor too (OGIS 5, l. 37– 40; Diod. XX 20). μέχρι ἂν ᾿Aλέξανδρος ὁ ἐκ Ῥωξάνης εἰς ἡλικίαν ἔλθῃ: Alexander IV, born soon after the death of his father, was twelve years old by now. According to Le Bohec (1993b), Macedonian kings came of age when they were between eighteen and twenty years, probably at twenty. Although some maintain that this clause only applies to Kassandros (e.g. Braunert 1964, 83 – 85; Wirth 1989, 218; Errington 2008, 34), it is clear that all parts of the empire still stood under Argead rule (Hammond 1988a, 161– 162; Landucci Gattinoni 2010, 277 n. 34; cf. infra, 105.3 οἱ περὶ Κάσσανδρον…). The Heidelberger Epitome ([FGrHist 155] F1.6) asserts that Alexandros was heir to the whole kingdom, and Babylonian and Egyptian documents were still dated according to the regnal years of Alexander IV after this treaty, indicating that he was still considered king of those areas too (see Boiy 2007b, 84– 92; Depuydt 2008, 76 – 77). Thus, the unity of the realm was maintained and the conclusion of Braunert (loc. cit.) that the division of the empire in three separate parts (Europe, Asia and Egypt) was now ‘völkerrechtlich fixiert’ is unwarranted. Neither is there any reason to assume that in spite of the recognition of Alexander IV the treaty signalled the de facto break-up of the empire (Meeus 2018b; contra e.g. Wehrli 1968, 73; Will 1979, 63; Mileta 2012, 319). As has been pointed out above, we should not attach any constitutional significance to the treaties of the Successors: alliances were made and broken as was expedient. They were only valid for the limited time during which all partners believed that the agreement served their own interests (see above, previous two lemmas, and Meeus 2018b; below, οὐ μὴν ἐνέμειναν…). Cary (1951, 29) rightly states that ‘the belligerents had not renounced their ambitions or abated their fears, but merely sought a breathing space to prepare for the next round’. Consequently, Billows’ (1990, 4) assertion that Antigonos did not aim at universal rule because he recognized the sovereignty of the other parties to the treaty of 311, cannot stand either. All Antigonos did was preventing that he had to fight on other fronts while campaigning against Seleukos in the East. The time limit on the power of the Successors set by the present clause of the treaty has often been considered to imply a de facto death warrant for the underage king (cf. infra, 105.2 κατὰ τὴν Μακεδονίαν…). Πτολεμαῖον δὲ τῆς Αἰγύπτου καὶ τῶν συνοριζουσῶν ταύτῃ πόλεων κατά τε τὴν Λιβύην καὶ τὴν ᾿Aραβίαν: With the defeat of Killes, Ptolemaios lost most of the advantages gained through the victory at Gaza, though the recognition of his claim to Arabia seems a minor success given the recent Antigonid campaigns against the Nabataians. For Libya this is a recognition of the arrangement at Triparadeisos: see Arr. Succ. F1.34: Αἴγυπτον μὲν γὰρ καὶ Λιβύην καὶ τὴν

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ἐπέκεινα ταύτης τὴν πολλὴν καὶ ὅ τι περ ἂν πρὸς τούτοις δόριον ἐπικτήσηται πρὸς δυομένου ἡλίου Πτολεμαίου εἶναι (cf. Huss 2001, 102 n. 40). ᾿Aντίγονον δὲ ἀφηγεῖσθαι τῆς ᾿Aσίας πάσης: Surely the whole of Asia must mean just what it says. Some have suggested that only the territories west of the Euphrates are meant (e.g. Schuol 2000, 264), but this is unwarranted, as Seleukos was not included in the treaty (see above, οἱ περὶ Κάσσανδρον…). Buraselis’ (1982, 11– 21) argument that Kassandros was given Karia cannot stand either. τοὺς δὲ Ἕλληνας αὐτονόμους εἶναι: In the letter to Skepsis (OGIS 5) Antigonos makes much of his efforts to secure the freedom of the Greeks. It is indeed likely that he had insisted on including such a clause in the present treaty, in accordance with his proclamation at Tyre in 315 (see above, 61.3 εἶναι…); it seems to have been a stipulation of all Antigonid peace treaties (cf. supra, 75.1 τὰς δ᾽ Ἑλληνίδας…). Of course, his programme of Greek freedom will have remained inspired by self-interest, rather than by some more noble goal (see above, 62.2 οὐ γὰρ μικράν…). οὐ μὴν ἐνέμεινάν γε ταῖς ὁμολογίαις ταύταις, ἀλλ᾽ ἕκαστος αὐτῶν προφάσεις εὐλόγους ποριζόμενος πλεονεκτεῖν ἐπειρᾶτο: This is true for the entire age of the Diadochoi, which has been aptly described by Wheatley (1998b, 20) as ‘characterised by an ever-shifting pattern of alliances, treaties and betrayals’, and it is interesting to note that Plutarch (Pyrrh. 12.7) already offered the same interpretation of the period. For a detailed analysis of this issue, see Meeus 2018b.

105.2 κατὰ τὴν Μακεδονίαν λόγους ὑπό τινων διαδιδομένους ὅτι καθήκει προάγειν ἐκ τῆς φυλακῆς τὸν παῖδα καὶ τὴν πατρῴαν βασιλείαν παραδοῦναι: Dynastic loyalty in Macedonia remained strong: Carney 2015, 152– 154. According to Bengtson (1987, 42) the Macedonians would never have accepted a half-Asian king, but the present episode clearly shows that the loyalty to the Argead clan was stronger than any resentment of Asians there may have been. Since they were able to frighten Kassandros with their suggestion, the τινές will not have been a small minority, or at least they must have propagated an idea which was popular with broader parts of the population (cf. Meeus 2009a, 241). Since Alexander IV was 12 or 13 years old by the time of his death, it would take several more years before he reached the required age (cf. supra, 105.1 μέχρι…), but the people may have thought that it was dangerous to wait much longer in giving him the throne. They would soon be proven correct as Kassandros’ reaction was to have the boy and his mother killed. Many schol-

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ars assume that the murder of Alexander IV might secretly have been agreed in the peace treaty of 311 (Errington 1976, 149 n. 4 and 1986, 131; Adams 2006, 32) or at least that in practice the treaty was a death warrant for the young king (Cary 1951, 29; Rosen 1968, 205 – 206; Tarn 1969, 489; Will 1979, 65; Huss 2001, 167; Mileta 2012, 320; Hauben 2014, 237). Carney (2000, 145), however, has rightly noted that Alexander IV would also have been killed without the peace treaty: the direct cause rather seems to have been the popular support for his kingship which was being voiced in Macedonia at the time. There is some debate on the date of Alexander’s death. Because his regnal years continued posthumously the documentary evidence cannot provide the answer. A terminus ante quem seems to be offered by the death of Alexander’s other half-Asian son, Herakles, in 309 or 308 (Wheatley 1998b, 17 n. 23 and 18 n. 26; contra Wacholder 1984 and Hammond 1988a, 165 – 166). Polyperchon attempted to install him on the throne to destabilize Kassandros’ position (Diod. XX 28.1), and this can only have happened after Alexander IV was dead: otherwise there would have been no reason to come up with a pretender who had no better claim to the kingship than Alexander IV. The latter was probably killed in 310 or 309, then. Γλαυκίᾳ τῷ προεστηκότι τῆς τοῦ παιδὸς φυλακῆς: On Glaukias, see above, 52.4 Γλαυκίαν… τὴν μὲν Ῥωξάνην καὶ τὸν βασιλέα κατασφάξαι: Paus. IX 7.2 claims that they were poisoned. κρύψαι τὰ σώματα, τὸ δὲ γεγονὸς μηδενὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀπαγγεῖλαι: From Polyperchon’s attempt to install Herakles on the throne mentioned above (on κατὰ τὴν Μακεδονίαν…), it would seem that by 309 or 308 the news was generally known (Landucci Gattinoni 2003, 129).

105.3 οἱ περὶ Κάσσανδρον καὶ Λυσίμαχον καὶ Πτολεμαῖον, ἔτι δ᾽ ᾿Aντίγονον ἀπηλλάγησαν τῶν ἀπὸ τοῦ βασιλέως προσδοκωμένων φόβων: This confirms that all were subject to Alexander IV in the peace treaty, as Hammond (1988a, 162) pointed out (cf. supra, 105.1 μέχρι…).

105.4 ἕκαστος τῶν κρατούντων ἐθνῶν ἢ πόλεων βασιλικὰς εἶχεν ἐλπίδας καὶ τὴν ὑφ᾽ ἑαυτὸν τεταγμένην χώραν εἶχεν ὡσανεί τινα βασιλείαν δορίκτητον: Taken literally this statement might seem somewhat problematic, which is probably why Bizière (1975) translated it as ‘chacun pouvait envisager de devenir roi

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des peuples et des cités qu’il dominait et le territoire placé sous leur autorité était pour eux comme un royaume conquis par la lance’ (my italics). Probably it is just a rhetorical exaggeration, and we should not lay too much weight on the mention ἢ πόλεων, which merely serves to enhance the dramatic effect of the sentence – unless Diodoros wished to include men like Agathokles of Syracuse. Of course, the death of Alexander IV had no implications for local rulers who held a single city, but it is an alternative way of saying ‘all over the world’, which is more dramatic than just naming the five men who were actually concerned (Antigonos, Kassandros, Lysimachos, Ptolemaios and Seleukos). Consequently, the phrase should be translated literally to do full justice to Diodoros’ rhetorical statement, as Geer (1954) does: ‘each of those who had rule over nations or cities entertained hopes of royal power and held the territory that had been placed under his authority as if it were a kingdom won by the spear’ (thus already Rhodomann: ‘unusquisque deinceps gentes aut urbes in potestate habens, spes regias alebat […]’). Gruen (1985, 254) calls Diodoros’ analysis ‘anticipatory and conjectural’, because the Diadochoi only assumed the royal title several years later. Yet, our author does not claim that they already considered themselves officially kings. Furthermore, they seem to have displayed their royal ambitions long before the assumption of the title, indeed even before the death of Alexander IV (see above, 27.2 τὸ περὶ αὐτόν…; 48.1 τιμῆς…; 52.2 ἔκτισε…). One should ask, moreover, what the importance of the royal title was, as Argead kings before Alexander do not seem to have used it officially (Errington 1974; Anson 1985b, 304 with n. 14; Badian 1993, 135 – 139 and 1994a, 389 – 390, who duly notes that there is no evidence on the practice in Macedonia itself, only for Greece; Carney 1995, 370 – 371; Borza 1999, 12– 15; Mitchell 2007, 63; Muccioli 2013, 38 – 39; Kholod 2020; contra Hammond 1988b, 390; Mari 2020). If so, for the Macedonians kingship could be conceived without necessarily requiring a title, and the situation must have been unclear in the years between the death of Alexander IV and the proclamation of the Diadochoi.

Abbreviations For Journals I have used the abbreviations of L’année philologique. Editions of inscriptions and papyri are those of the Checklist of Editions of Greek Inscriptions and the Checklist of Editions of Greek, Latin, Demotic, and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca, and Tablets. Other abbreviations are listed below: AD

H. Hunger & A.J. Sachs, Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylonia (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-Historische Klasse. Denkschriften), Wien 1988–. BCHP I. Finkel & R.J. van der Spek, Babylonian Chronicles of the Hellenistic Period, https://www.livius.org/sources/about/mesopotamian-chronicles/ [last visited 30/07/2021]. BNJ Brill’s New Jacoby, ed. Ian Worthington, Brill Online. Cohen HS G.M. Cohen, The Hellenistic Settlements in…, 3 vols., Berkeley 1995 – 2013. CUF Collection des Universités de France, publiée sous le patronage de l’Association Guillaume Budé. Dindorf Diodori Bibliotheca historica, ex recensione et cum annotationibus L. Dindorfii, 5. vols., Lipsiae 1846–1848. DNP Der Neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike, edd. H. Cancik et al., 16 vols., Stuttgart 1996 – 2003. FGrHist F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, Berlin 1923–. Fischer Diodori Bibliotheca historica, vol. V, post I. Bekker et L. Dindorf recognovit C.T. Fischer (Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana), Stutgardiae 1935 (= 1906). GGM K. Müller, Geographi Graeci minores, 2 vols., Paris 1861 (= Hildesheim 1965). HE Heidelberger Epitome (FGrHist 155) Hornblower CT S. Hornblower, A Commentary on Thucydides, 3 vols., Oxford 1991 – 2008. KG R. Kühner & B. Gerth, Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache, 2 vols., Hannover 1890 – 19043. LDM Liber de Morte Testamentumque Alexandri (part of ME) LexHell H.H. Schmitt & E. Vogt (edd.), Lexikon des Hellenismus, Wiesbaden 2005. LGPN Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, edd. P.M. Fraser & E. Matthews, Oxford 1987–. LSJ H.G. Liddell, R. Scott & H. Stuart Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon, Oxford 19969. Mauersberger A. Mauersberger et al., Polybios-Lexikon, Berlin 1956 – 2004. MD J.I. MacDougall, Lexicon in Diodorum Siculum, Hildesheim 1983. ME Metz Epitome, ed. P. Thomas, Incerti auctoris epitoma rerum gestarum Alexandri cum libro de morte testamentoque Alexandri (Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana), Leipzig 1966. PA J. Kirchner, Prosopographia Attica, 2 vols., Berlin 1901 – 1903 (= 1966). PECS R. Stillwell et al. (edd.), The Princeton Encyclopedia of Classical Sites, Princeton 1976. PP W. Peremans et al., Prosopographia Ptolemaica (Studia Hellenistica), 10 vols., Leuven 1950 – 2002.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110743821-005

Abbreviations

RE Rhodomann

SD TLG Wesseling

551

Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, G. Wissowa et al. (edd.), 80 vols., Stuttgart 1893 – 1980. Diodori Siculi Bibliothecae historicae libri qui supersunt e recensione Petri Wesselingii cum interpretatione latina Laur. Rhodomani atque annotationibus variorum integris indicibusque locupletissimis. Nova editio cum commentationibus III Chr. Gottl. Heynii et cum argumentis disputationibusque Ier. Nic. Eyringii, 11 vols., Biponti - Argentorati 1793–1807. E. Schwyzer & A. Derbunner, Griechische Grammatik (Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft, II. Abteilung, I), 3 vols., München 19663. Thesaurus Linguae Graecae, http://www.tlg.uci.edu/ [last visited 31/09/ 2021]. Diodori Siculi Bibliothecae historicae libri qui supersunt e recensione Petri Wesselingii cum interpretatione latina Laur. Rhodomani atque annotationibus variorum integris indicibusque locupletissimis. Nova editio cum commentationibus III Chr. Gottl. Heynii et cum argumentis disputationibusque Ier. Nic. Eyringii, 11 vols., Biponti - Argentorati 1793–1807.

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Appendix: Textual Variants The left column gives the text of Bizière’s edition; the right column gives the reading I prefer. Table 4: Textual variants .

ὑπὸ τῆς πλήμης (R; edd.)

†οὐ μὴν ἀλλ’† ὑπὸ τῆς πλήμης †ὑστέρουν ὑπάρχοντες ἐκπεπληγμένοι τὸ παράδοξον† (Meeus, cf. F)

.

Τληπόλεμος (Wesseling)

Πολέμων (codd.)

.

συμφερόν (codd.)

συμφερόντως (Fischer)

.

κακοπαθίας (R) (bis)

κακοπαθείας (F) (bis)

.

φορίῳ (R)

φορείῳ (F)

.

τὸν παραδεδομένον μὲν καὶ παλ- τῶν παραδεδομένων μὲν καὶ παλαιῶν (F; Exc.) αιόν (R)

.

Γαβηνήν (R)

Γαβιηνήν (F)

.

πλείους τρισχιλίων (R)

οὐ πλείους τρισχιλίων (F)

.

ἀμφίππους (edd.)

ἀσθίππους (R)

.

τῶν ἱππέων τριακοσίων (codd.)

τῶν ἱππέων, τριακοσίων (Meeus)

.

τούτοις ἴσαι καὶ παράλληλοι (Bizière)

καὶ ταύταις ἴσοι πλαγιοφύλακες (Meeus, cf. codd., cf. XIX .)

.

ὑπωρίας (R)

ὑπωρείας (F) (item ., .)

.

Γαβηνήν (R)

Γαβιηνήν (F)

.

Μακεδονίας (R)

Μακεδονίαν (F)

.

ἀκονητί (R)

ἀκονιτί (F)

.

Κελβανόν (R)

Κέβαλον (F)

.

ἐκ ποδῶν (R)

ἐκποδών (F)

.

ἐπὶ τὸν ἰσθμὸν Γερανίας (codd. – ἐπὶ τῆς κατὰ τὸν ἰσθμὸν Γερανείας (Le Paulmier; cf. F) Γερανίας R : Γερανείας F)

.

κατέστησαν (codd.)

κατεστάθησαν (Wesseling)

.

ἐκ ποδῶν (R)

ἐκποδών (F)

.

᾿Aμισσοῦ (R)

᾿Aμισοῦ (F) (item .)

.

Μάριος (codd.)

Μαριεύς (Gronovius)

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110743821-007

Appendix: Textual Variants

.

Ζιβύτην (R)

Ζιβοίτην (F)

.

ἀνοχύρων (Reiske)

ἀνωχύρων (Dindorf)

.

Σέλευκον (R)

Ἄσανδρον (Meeus, cf. F)

.

κατεληλυθότα (Reiske; edd.)

διεληλυθότα (codd.)

.

ἀνοχύρους (F)

ἀνωχύρους (R)

.

Ἑλλησπόντῳ (R)

Ἑλλησπόντου (F)

.

πλαγιοφυλάκους (R)

πλαγιοφύλακας (F)

.

καταπεφρονηκότων (codd.)

καταπεφρονηκότως (Estienne)

. ἄλλων σατραπειῶν (Bengtson)

ἄνω σατραπειῶν (Dindorf)

. ἀτυχημάτων (R)

εὐτυχημάτων (F)

619

F = Laurentianus 70, 12 (saec. XV) R = Parisinus graecus 1665 (saec. XI) Exc. = Excerpta constantiniana codd. = codices edd. = editores

Some cases of orthographic variants or errors have not been included in the list: e.g. Κάσσανδρος (F semper) for Κάσανδρος (R semper), because it is ubiquitous, or those instances where all manuscripts share the mistake (cf. supra, Part I, §2.4).

Index Graecitatis ἀγαπώμενος: 425 ἀγεννής: 343, see also φωνή ἄγημα: 48 – 49, 234 – 235, 239, 241, 292, 484 ἀγωνιᾶν: 147 ἀδικεῖν: 219 ἀδίκημα: 264 ἄδικος/-ως: 29, 36, 93314, 329 ἀθάνατος δόξα: 359 Αἰγύπτιος: 475, 478 αἴτιος: 27103 ἀκονιτί: 51176, 298 – 299 ἄκρα/ἀκρόπολις: 513, 542 – 543 ἅμα δὲ τούτοις πραττομένοις: 46, 177, 184, 407 ἀμυνομένων τῶν ἔνδον εὐρώστως: 49, 533 – 534 ἄμφιπποι: 245 – 246 ἀμφιπποτοξότης: 244 – 245 ἀναγκάζειν φεύγειν: 195, 225 ἀναγκαῖος: 151, see also σῶμα ἀναζευγνύναι: 268; μετὰ τῆς δυνάμεως: 383 – 384 ἀνακαλεῖσθαι τῇ σάλπιγγι: 256 ἀνασκολοπίζειν: 73 ἀνασταυροῦν: 73 ἀνατολή: see περί ἀνδρεία: 293, 488 ἀνδρωδῶς: 48, 532 – 533 ἀνελπίστως: 180, 283 ἀνεπισήμαντος: 151 ἀνήκειν εἰς/πρός: 535 – 536; τὸ εἰς/πρὸς τὴν χρείαν ἀνῆκον: 535 ἀνθρωπίνως: 49, 118 – 119 ἀνίκητος: 170 ἀνοίκειος: see οἰκεῖος ἀνοχαί: 149 ἀντιπαράγειν: 256 – 257 ἄνω σατραπεῖαι: 141, 153, 171, 197, 320, 323, 516, 540 – 541 ἀνώχυρος: 427, 428, 447 ἄξιος: 123, 536; ἱστορίας: 39128; μνήμης: 39128, 267 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110743821-008

ἀξιοῦσθαι: see μέγας ἀξίωμα: 116, 122, 124, 334, 343, 358, 481 ἀπειθεῖν: 219 ἀπιστεῖν: 320 ἄπιστος τὸ μέγεθος: 314, 316, 317 ἀποδεικνύειν: 162; ναύαρχον: 449 ἀποδοχή: see μέγας ἀπολείπειν: 367, 446 ἀποσκευή: 147, 259, 298, 303, 490, 493 ἀποτρέπειν τῶν ἀδικημάτων/τῆς ἐπὶ τὴν κακίαν ὁρμῆς: 264 ἄπρακτος: 48, 400 ἀπροσδοκήτως: 35, 180, 284 ἄπυρα σιτία: 284 – 285 ᾿Aργεάδαι: 81304 ἀργυράσπιδες: 131, 240, 294 ἀρετή: 93314, 170, 176 – 177, 267, 321, 488 ἀσεβής: 87, 329 – 331 ἀσθέταιροι: 246 ἄσθιπποι: 245 – 246, 247 ἀσφάλειαν παρέχειν: 320, 413, 423 ἀτυχεῖν: 364 ἀτύχημα: 541 αὐθημερός: 189, 285 αὐλή: see περί αὐτόματος see βοήθειά τις… αὐτομολεῖν/αὐτόμολος: 226, 338 ἁφή: see περί ἀφιέναι: αὐτόνομον/ἐλεύθερον: 447 – 448; ὑπόσπονδον: 339 ἀφιπποτοξότης: 244 – 245 ἄφνω ἐπι-/προσπίπτειν: 194 – 195, 518, 521 ἀφρούρητος: 405 ἀχρεῖος εἰς: 48, 277 βάθος: 235 – 236 βάρβαρος: 147 – 149, 335 – 336 βασιλεία: 110, 114, 121, 215, 460, 481, 522, 547 – 549; Μακεδόνων: 346, 382; see also ἐπιμέλεια…, ἐπιμελητής…, προΐστασθαι… βασίλειον: 206

Index Graecitatis

βασιλεύς: 81304, 114, 150 – 151, 209, 219, 221, 308, 325, 329 – 330, 344, 481, 482 βασιλικός: 394, 481, 490 – 491; οἰκία: 342; δωρεαί: 371 βιβλιοθήκη: 16 – 21, 2589 βίος see κοινός βοήθειά τις αὐτόματος: 33, 318 γένος: see κατά γράφειν: 62225, 78, 521, 539, cf. συγγράφειν γυνή: 130, 267, 303, 425 – 426 δακρύειν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ τύχην/δάκρυον: 124 – 125 δαψιλής: 227 – 228 δαψιλῶς: 47, 142, 227 – 228; χορηγῆσαι: 47, 227 – 228 δεσπότης: 89341 δημαγωγεῖν/δημαγωγία: 50174, 174, 257 δημοκρατεῖσθαι/δημοκρατία: 174 διὰ τὸ βάρος: 314, 317 διαγωνίζεσθαι: 250 διαλαμβάνειν τὰς κλισίας: 212 – 213 διαρπάζειν: 473 διασωζόμενος: 350 διαφέρειν: 49, 86, 176, 178 – 179, 293, 425 διαφυλάττειν: see εὔνοια, φιλία διεξιέναι (διέξειμι): 46, 334 διέρχεσθαι: 46, 334, 370, 439, 446, see also ἡμέρα διοικεῖν/διοίκησις: 513, 519 – 520 διόρθωσις: 30 διῶρυξ παλαιά: 146 δορίκτητος: 492, 548 – 549 δύναμις: 23, 229 – 230; διακοσμεῖν/ἐκτάττειν τὴν ἰδίαν δ.: 244; ἱκανή: 520 – 521 ἔαρ: 315 – 316 ἔγκλισις: 314, 318 ἐγχώριος: 39, 147 – 149, 161, 327, 510 εἷς: see φωνή εἰς: τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν τάξιν: 315, 318 – 319; φωνῆς ἀκοήν: 190 ἐκ: μεταβολῆς: 244; οἱ ἐκ τῶν ὑπασπιστῶν: 239 – 240 ἐκκαλεῖν (εἰς) τὴν προθυμίαν: 474 ἐκκλησία: see κοινός

621

ἐκποδών: 339 – 340 ἐκτάττειν: see δύναμις, μάχη ἐκτενής: 84, 375 – 376 ἐλαφρός/ἐλαφρότης: 48, 244 ἔλεος: 123, 125; πρὸς τοὺς ἠτυχηκότας: 49, 364 ἐλπίς: 35, 281, 346, 382, 404, 481, 515, 548 – 549, see also ἀνελπίστως, μετεωρίζεσθαι, ὑπογράφειν ἐν κεφαλαίοις: 362 ἐναντιοπραγεῖν: 409 ἔνδον, οἱ: see ἀμυνομένων…, καταπλήττεσθαι, ταχύς ἐνεργής/-ός/-ῶς: 454; πολιορκεῖν: 468; χρᾶσθαι: 454 ἐντρέπεσθαι τὸ ἀξίωμα: 116 ἐνιαυτός: see τῶν δὲ κατά… ἐξαίφνης: 316 ἔξω: see τάξις ἐπαγγελία: see προσάγεσθαι; μεγάλη: 220 ἐπαρχία: 312, 531 – 532 ἐπέτειος: 207 ἐπί: ἀπολείπεσθαι: 367; τούτων: 46, 370 – 371, 456; τούτων τῶν χρόνων: 456; ἱκανὸν χρόνον: 254; κέρας: 254; πολὺν χρόνον: 36, 254, 488, 503; τινα τόπον: 302; τοὺς οἰκείους χρόνους ἐπιβάλλεσθαι: 380; στρατεύειν: 279 ἐπίδοσιν λαμβάνειν: 352 ἐπιείκεια: 497 – 498 ἐπιεικής/ἐπιεικῶς: 82, 203, 497 – 498; ὁμιλεῖν/προσφέρεσθαι/χρῆσθαι: 203 ἐπικάμπιον/ἐν ἐπικαμπίῳ: 48 – 49, 237, 250, 293 ἐπίλεκτος: 242 ἐπιλελεγμένοι: 242 ἐπιμέλεια τῆς βασιλείας: 404 ἐπιμελητής: 280 – 281, 539; τῆς βασιλείας: 247 – 248 ἐπιτροπεύειν/ἐπίτροπος: 539 ἑταῖρος: 210 – 211, 235, 240 – 242, 248 ἑτερογενής: 47167 εὔζωνος: 259 εὔνοια: 245, 408; διαφυλάττειν: 337; see also ἴδιος εὔνουν κατεσκευάζειν: 220 εὐρώστως: see ἀμυνομένων…

622

Index Graecitatis

εὐτύχημα: 541 εὐτυχία: 49, 118 – 119, 532 εὐχειρία: 49, 176, 179, 297 ἐφεδρεύειν: 48, 272, 475 ἡγεμών: 171, 211; δεύτερος: 211 – 212; τῶν ἐλεφάντων: 289 ἡμέρα: 200 – 201; τῆς δ᾽ ἡμέρας διελθούσης: 259 ἡρωικῶς τὸν βίον καταστρέφειν: 267 θαυμάζειν: see παράδοξος θαυμαστός: 180 θεατής: 488 θεατροειδής: 317 – 318 θεραπεία: 117, 490 θηρίον: 187 θυσία: 208 – 210, 222 ἰγνύς: 49171 ἰδιοπραγία/ἰδιοπραγεῖν: 48169, 215 ἴδιος: ἐπιβολή: 506; ταῖς εὐνοίαις κατεσκευάζειν/ποιεῖν/ἔχειν: 49, 113 ἱκανός: 254 ἱππαρχία: 213 ἱππεῖς: 211 – 212, 277 – 278 ἴσος: 249 – 250 ἰσχύειν see πολύς ἰσχυρός see μάχη καθάπερ 126, 129 – 130, 260, 298, 374; χρησμῳδῶν: 40, 129 – 130 καθαπερεί: 266 καιρός: see οἰκεῖος, περί καιροτηρεῖν: 179 κάλλος: 481 Καλλωνῖτις: 197 καλός: 197 – 198 Κάρραι: 509 καρτερός: see μάχη Καρῶν κῶμαι: 132 – 134, 140, 141, 473, 509 κατά: 110; γένος: 27; νοῦν αὐτῷ τῶν πραγμάτων προχωρούντων/ἀπηντηκότων: 34, 35120, 345 – 346; τοῦτον τὸν καιρόν/ χρόνον: 184; τούτους τοὺς χρόνους: 46,184, 315, 456; ὑπερβολήν: 176, 537 – 538

κατάγειν ἐπὶ τὴν βασιλείαν: 114 καταναγκάζειν: see ἀναγκάζειν… καταπεφρονηκότως: 324, 395, 517, 521 καταπληκτικός/-ῶς: 40, 49, 50175, 175, 230, 468 κατάπληξις: 230; κατασκευάζειν: 518 καταπλήττεσθαι: 300; τὸ μέγεθος τῆς συμφορᾶς: 424; see also ταχύς κατασκάπτειν: 470, 473 κατάστασις: see τοιαύτην… καταστρατηγεῖν: 49, 50175, 228 – 229 καταφρονεῖν: 521, see also καταπεφρονηκότως καταφρόνησις: 532 κατοικία: 237, 246 – 247 καυματώδης: 192 κελεύειν: 279, 383 κέρας: 254; περιιππεύειν: 253, 487 κίνδυνος: 508 – 509, see also χωρίς κινητικός: 156 κλισία: 210, 212 – 213 κοινὸν τῶν Μακεδόνων: 322 κοινοπραγεῖν: 45, 47165 κοινοπραγία: 45, 47165, 184, 272, 389 κοινός: 157; βίος: 28 – 29; δόγμα: 156 – 157, 280, 343 – 344, 502; ἐκκλησία: 168 – 169, 426; ἔλεος: 123; τύχη: 123, 124 κοινωνεῖν: 77, 497 – 498 κομίζειν: 123; φορείῳ κομίζεσθαι: 48, 223 κονιορτός: 298 – 299 Κοπράτην: 193 – 194 κρεμαννύναι: 73 κρίσις: 250, 289, 485 λαμπρός/-ῶς: 520 – 521, 537 – 538; ἀγωνίζεσθαι: 262 λέγεται: 398 λεία: 526 λόγος: μεταβιβάσομεν τὸν λ. ἐπί: 46, 334; see also οἰκεῖος, φιλάνθρωπος λοιδορεῖν: 495 λοξός: 47165, 250, 485 λύχνος: see περί Μακεδονικός: 161 Μακεδών: 162, 182 – 183, 372 – 373, see also βασιλεία, κοινόν

Index Graecitatis

μάχη: 268; ἄνευ: 223 – 224; δια-/συν-/ἐκτάττειν τὴν δύναμιν εἰς: 229 – 230; ἡ ἀπὸ τοῦ ξίφους: 487; ἰσχυρά: 36, 49, 179 – 180, 487, 503; καρτερά: 49, 179 – 180, 487, 503; τῆς δὲ μ. τοιοῦτο τὸ τέλος λαβούσης: 47, 489; χωρίς: 223 – 224; see also συνάπτειν μάχιμος: 207 μεγαλεπίβολος: 34, 156 μέγας: 39128; πράγματα: 215; ἐπίδοσιν λαμβάνειν: 352; ἀποδοχῆς τυγχάνειν/ἀξιοῦσθαι: 49, 158; μείζων ἢ κατά: 425 μέγεθος: 481, see also ἄπιστος, καταπλήττεσθαι μείς: 92356, 120 – 121, 406 μὲν οὖν: 44155 μεσονύκτιος: 48 – 49, 257 Μεσοποταμίαν: 149, 509 μεταβάλλειν: 33 – 34 μεταβολή: 33 – 36, 38124, 123, 176, 318, 360, 362, 399, see also ἐκ μετακινεῖν: 49169 μετεωρίζεσθαι ταῖς ἐλπίσιν: 49, 506 μετέωρος: 287 μνααῖος, διμνααῖος etc.: 314, 317 μνησικακεῖν: 495 Ναβαταῖοι: 524 – 525 ναυαρχία: 492 – 494 ναύαρχος: 432, see also ἀποδεικνύειν ναυμαχία: 29 – 30; ἐκτάττειν τὸν στόλον εἰς: 229 – 230; τῆς δὲ ν. τοιοῦτον τέλος λαβούσης: 47, 489 νομάδες: 524 – 525 νομαρχία: 492 – 494 νομοθεσία: 29 – 31 νόμος: 27103 νοῦς: τῶν γεγραμμένων: 217; see also κατά ὄγκος: 48, 49170, 215 – 216 ὁδοιπορία: 196 οἰκεῖος: 151, 226, 310, 362, 526; καιρός: 506; λόγος: 225 (οὐκ ἀνοίκειος), 483; χρόνοι: 380; οἰκεῖος/ἀνοίκειος τῆς περιστάσεως: 226; see also ἐπί οἶκτος: 123 – 125 οἱονεὶ στόμωμα: 48, 254 – 255

623

ὅλος: see τὰ ὅλα ὄμβρος καταρρηγνύει: 314, 316 ὁμιλεῖν: 203 ὅμηρος: 48, 54, 221 ὀρέγεσθαι: 45, 215; βασιλείας/ἡγεμονίας/ στρατηγίας: 45, 215, 219; μεγάλων πραγμάτων: 215 οὐραγία: 229 παῖδες: 239, 241 – 242, 286, 354, 506, 515 πάλιν: 34; ἀποκαθιστάναι: 315, 319, 537 παντοδαπός: 161, 247 παράδοξος/-ως: 33 – 34, 36, 49, 176, 180, 260, 318; διὰ τὸ π.: 49, 255 – 256, 288; ἐκπεπληγμένοι τὸ π.: 54, 146 – 147; θαυμάζειν τὸ π.: 49, 286 παραδραμεῖν: 189 παραλαμβάνειν: 84319,439 παράλογος: 180 παρασκευάζεσθαι: 274 παρατήρησις: 378 – 379 παρατρέχειν: see παραδραμεῖν παρεπιδημεῖν: 401 – 402 παροξύνειν: 476 – 477 Πασιτίγρις: 186 πατρίς: 225 παύεσθαι τῆς φιλοτιμίας: 468 πειθαρχεῖν: 49170, 151 πείθειν/πειθώ: 363 – 364, 494 περί: 147; οἱ περί + acc. nominis proprii: 136 – 139; κυνὸς ἀνατολάς: 186, 187, 192 – 193; λύχνων ἁφάς: 48 – 49, 256 – 257; τὴν αὐλήν: 278; τοὺς αὐτοὺς χρόνους: 184; τούτου: 378; τούτους τοὺς καιρούς: 184; τούτους τοὺς χρόνους: 46, 184, 456 περιπέτεια: 32 – 33 περίστασις: 226 περιχαρακοῦν: 48, 278 περιχαρής: 34, 35120 Περσικός: 159 πικρός: 89341, 380, 495 πίστις/πιστεύειν: 311, 353 – 354 πλαγιοφύλαξ: 48 – 49, 54, 56, 249 – 250, 484 πλῆθος: 214, 235, 253, 478, 506 πλήρης: (τῶν ἐπετείων) καρπῶν: 207; ὄγκου: 215; φρονήματος: 34, 215

624

Index Graecitatis

πληροῦν: 210 πολεμικόν: 49, 251 πόλις: 27103, 549 πολιτεύεσθαι πρός τινα: 214 πολύς: 77, 200, 351 – 352, 497 – 498, 538; ἐπίδοσιν λαμβάνειν: 352; ἔτη πλείονα: 158; πλείους/οὐ πλείους: 55, 238 – 239; πλεῖστον ἰσχύειν: 49, 344, 352; πολλοῦ γιγνομένου + noun: 179 – 180; πολλῶν πεσόντων παρ᾽ ἀμφοτέροις: 254; see also ἐπί πολυχειρία: 36, 41 πόνος: 509 – 509 πορείαν σύντομον ποιεῖν: 49, 521 Ποσίδειον: 471 – 472 Ποταμοὶ Καρῶν: 134, 472 – 473 πρᾶγμα see μέγας, προχωρούντων… πρᾳότης: 86, 482, 506 πρεσβύτερος: 297, 435 – 436 προάγειν: 143, 157, 500 προαγωγή: 157, 169, 321 προγεγενημένος: 122, 124, 306, 309, 334 πρόγονοι: 82310, 358 προϊόντος τοῦ χρόνου: 508 προΐστασθαι τῆς βασιλείας: 111 προνομεύειν: 142 πρὸς χάριν: 61 – 62 προσάγεσθαι: ἐπαγγελίαις: 220; πειθοῖ: 494 προσβολή: see συνεχεῖς… προσκυνεῖν: 173 προστασία: 111, 130 προστάσσειν: 192, 518, see also ταχύς προστατεῖν: 130 προσφέρεσθαι 39, 203, 519 πρόσχημα: 48, 49170, 215 – 216 πρόταγμα: 250, 485 – 487 προτάσσειν: 237, 487 προτέρημα: 253 πρόφραγμα: 252 προχωρούντων τῶν πραγμάτων: 34 – 35, see also κατά πυνθάνεσθαι: 45155, 111, 271, 319, 325, 430 ῥᾳδίως: 101402; περιγιγνέσθαι: 534 ῥᾳθυμία: 517, 532 ῥᾳθύμως ἔχων τὰ περὶ τὰς φυλακάς: 517 ῥώμη: 242, 297

σαλπιγκτής: see σημαίνουσιν… σάλπιγξ: see ἀνακαλεῖσθαι σατραπεία: 74, 171, 531 – 532, see also ἄνω σατραπεῖαι σατράπης: 136, 154, 171, 208, 213, 321, 516, 542 σημαίνουσιν οἱ σαλπιγκταὶ τὸ πολεμικόν: 49, 251 σπουδαῖος: 64235 σπουδή: 100, 541 στόμωμα: see οἱονεί στρατηγία: see ὀρέγεσθαι στρατηγός: 45155, 95 – 96, 98, 153, 154, 171, 208, 211 – 212, 213, 236, 266, 275, 280 – 281, 321, 323, 399, 404, 410, 418, 428, 445, 470 – 471, 516, 542, 543, 545 – 546; αὐτοκράτωρ: 98, 142, 150, 169 στρατιώτης: 286 συγγνώμη: 62225, 446, 498 συγγράφειν: 59213, 62225, 539 συγγραφεύς: 20 – 21, 64235 συμμαχία: 45, 389, 413, 457 συμφερόντως: 173 συμφορά: 424 συνάπτειν: εἰς χεῖρας : 447; μάχην: 49, 297 συνέδριον: 169 συνεχεῖς προσβολαί: 48, 424, 466 συντάσσειν: 78, 311, see also μάχη Συρία: ἄνω: 136, 385, 387; Κοίλη: 387, 475; πᾶσα: 387 Σύρια γράμματα: 218, 533 σύσσημον: 49, 251; αἴρειν 49, 251 συχνός: 192, 201 σῶμα: 118, 310, 397, 481, 490, 515; ἀναγκαῖον: 303; see also φύλαξ… σωματοφύλαξ: 117, 157, 321, cf. also φύλαξ… τὰ ὅλα: 215, 229, 289, 294 τάξις: ἐκτός/ἔξω: 211 – 212, 335, 482; προϋπάρχουσα: 315, 318 – 319 ταπεινοῦν: 33 – 34, 124 – 125, 281 ταραχή: 518 τάχος: 242 ταχύς: ταχὺ τὸ προσταχθὲν/τὸ κελευσθὲν ποιεῖν/συντελεῖν: 48, 279, 383; ταχὺ τοὺς ἔνδον καταπλήττεσθαι: 49, 440

Index Graecitatis

τέλος: ἔχειν: 46, 301, 439; λαμβάνειν: 47, 489 τέχνη: 27103 Τίγρις: 186, 194 τιμωρία: 329 – 331, 498 τις: 200, 338, 530 – 531, 547; ἐπί τινα τόπον: 302 τοιαύτην ἔσχε τὴν κατάστασιν: 47, 324 τοιοῦτον ἔσχε τὸ τέλος: 301, 489 τόλμα: 49, 176, 179, 297 τόπος: 318, see also τις; μετέωρος: 287; σύνεγγυς: 516, 519 τούτων δὲ πραττομένων/πραχθέντων: 177, 184 τραχύς: 388 τυγχάνειν: see μέγας τύχη 33 – 34, 36, 38, 118, 123 – 125 τῶν δὲ κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν πράξεων τέλος ἐχουσῶν: 46, 439 ὕπαρχος: 332 ὑπασπιστής: 131, 239 – 240, 241, 294 ὕπατοι ἦσαν/καθειστήκεσαν/κατεστάθησαν: 47, 56, 370, 422 ὑπέρ: 147 ὑπερβολή: 202, see also κατά ὑπερηφανία: 82312, 381 ὑπερήφανος: 82, 381, 388 ὑπογράφειν ἐλπίδας: 321 – 322 ὑπόμνημα: 2281 ὕποπτος: 221 ὑπόσπονδον: see ἀφιέναι φάναι: 126, 374 φεύγειν: 195, 255, 338 – 339 φιλανθρωπία: 86, 203, 311, 367, 374, 491, 497 – 498 φιλάνθρωπος/-ως: 39, 82, 202 – 203, 375 – 376, 491, 519; λόγοι: 220; ὁμιλεῖν/προσ-

625

φέρεσθαι/χρῆσθαι: 39, 203, 336, 515, 519 φιλελεύθερον: 530 φιλία: 309 – 310, 498; διαφυλάττειν: 383 φιλοδοξία: 359 φίλος: 211 – 212, 241, 484, 495 – 496, 506, 515 φιλοτεχνεῖν: 189 φορεῖον: 48, 223 φρόνημα: 34, 215 – 216 φρούραρχος: 495 φυγομαχεῖν 47165, 244, 250, 485 φύεσθαι: 48, 389 φυλακή: 181, 226, 532; εἰς φ. παραδιδόναι: 181 φύλαξ τοῦ σώματος: 222 φωνή: ἀγεννής: 268; δυσχερεῖς: 48, 297; μιᾷ φωνῇ: 480 – 481; see also εἰς χάλαζα: 314, 316 χαλεπός/χαλεπαίνειν: 89341, 372 χαρίζεσθαι: 62225 χάρις: see πρὸς χάριν χρῆσθαι: 203 χρήσιμος: 526 χρησμός: 129, 363 χρησμῳδεῖν: see καθάπερ χρόνος: τετραετής vel sim.: 510 – 511; see also ἐπί, κατά, οἰκεῖος, περί, προϊόντος χωρίον: 350 χωρίς: κινδύνου/-ων: 84319, 223 – 224, 298; see also μάχη ὥρα: 192 – 193, 256, 257, 285 ὡς: 173 – 174, 229; ὡς ἄν: 48, 194, 325; ὥς ποτ’ ἔδοξεν συμφέρειν: 469 ὥσπερ: 129