In RA 1972, 57–72 (‘Herakles, Peisistratos and Sons’) I tried to demonstrate that the exceptional popularity of Herakles in Athenian art of the Peisistratan period was due to some degree of deliberate identification between tyrant and hero, both appearing as special protégés of the goddess Athena, and that this association was mirrored by certain changes and innovations in the iconographic tradition of Herakles as represented on Athenian, and only Athenian, works of art of those years. The most explicit association was expressed in Peisistratos' return to Athens after his second exile, in a chariot accompanied by a mock Athena (Hdt. i, 60). This episode was mirrored by or inspired a change in the usual iconography of Herakles' Introduction to Olympus by Athena, on foot, to a version in which the hero is shown with the goddess in a chariot. Taken with other evidence of Athenian interest in the hero, their priority in accepting him as a god and promotion of his worship, which can plausibly be attributed to this same time, and a number of other scenes which seemed likely to reflect some political rather than purely narrative interest, the case appeared to the writer strong, though circumstantial, and in the total absence of any indications in surviving literary sources it was not possible to judge, except in the light of common sense, which parts of the case were strongest, which better discarded.

The unusual proportions of the architrave and frieze of the pronaos and opisthodomos of the second temple of Hera (‘Poseidon’) at Paestum have long been known, and the design has been variously used as evidence for the original form of the Doric frieze and for the unsophisticated design methods of Greek architects. Full measurements of this entablature, on which to base explanations of its design, have not, however, been available. By the kindness of Prof. M. Napoli, Superintendent of Antiquities for the province of Salerno, I was enabled to take some of the necessary measurements in August 1973, and the first aim of this paper is to make them public. Standing on the abaci of the two antae and the two columns of the opisthodomos, I was able to measure the architrave and frieze which they carried, but the next course, the epikranitis, was unfortunately just beyond my reach; my rough measurement made its height 0·30 m, agreeing with that given by KP 29, fig. 28 for the corresponding moulded course behind the pteron frieze, which carried the other end of the ceiling beams. The dimensions of the various elements of the frieze and architrave of the opisthodomos are given in Fig. 1.

A lead sling bullet inscribed with the name of Tissaphernes forms the subject of the present article. Like other such missiles, the bullet is almond-shaped; it is 36 mm. long, 22 mm. thick, and weighs 40·423 g. (Plate Va). It was reportedly found at Julia Gordus (the modern Gördes) in Lydia and is now in a private collection. As far as I can determine, the object is unique. By its inscription, it raises questions of some historical interest and illustrates the major changes in the technology of Greek warfare in the period after the Peloponnesian War.

Sling bullets were called in Greek μολυβδίς or μολύβδαινα from the material or σφϵνδόνη from the weapon. They were projected from a sling, σφϵνδόνη, by a slinger, σφϵνδονήτης. The sling, originally a weapon of hunters and shepherds, has a long history. It was known to the Egyptians, Assyrians, Phoenicians, and Etruscans; everyone is familiar with the story of its use by David against Goliath.

In the following pages I shall interpret epigrams which so far have outwitted the critics. For the sake of brevity, I assume the reader to have looked up the reassessment of the relevant problem as given in Gow-Page, Hell. Epigr. or Garl. of Phil., before proceeding to read what I have written.

1. First of all, let us examine a piece by Nicias, A.P. VII, 200 (=Gow-Page, Hell. Epigr. 2767 ff.):

Most academic disciplines are bedevilled with perennial cruces which seem destined to sprout up generation after generation to vex the ingenuity of their practitioners. The science of nautical archaeology is no exception. It is, however, doubtful whether any of its problems can vie in this respect with that of the ancient trireme. The arrangement of the oars, date of introduction, inventor and many other difficulties have been for decades—sometimes for centuries—the subjects of bitterest controversy. In these discussions the evidence of Herodotus of Halicarnassus, the earliest surviving Greek historian, has played an all-important role, in particular an extremely interesting passage which occurs in his account of Ancient Egypt in Book ii.

When he had desisted from the canal Necho turned his attention to military campaigns and triremes were constructed, some for the Mediterranean and others in the Red Sea for operations in the Erythrian Ocean. The slipways of the latter are still to be seen. And these ships he put to use when the need arose, (ii 159, 1–2)

It is now twenty years since A. R. W. Harrison remarked in this Journal ‘For students of Athenian private and public law it is a painful, but undeniable fact that there is still grave uncertainty as to the precise methods by which statutes, one of the most important sources of law, were made at the most formative period of the history of the system from the middle of the fifth century B.C. onwards.’ His own article is entitled ‘Law-making at Athens at the end of the fifth century B.C.’ and is concerned primarily with establishing that an important change was made in or soon after the year 403/2. That was the date at which a new procedure for making laws (nomoi) was introduced, which Harrison calls ‘the fourth-century procedure of nomothesia’, involving officials called νομοθέται. Before then there was no procedural difference between making a nomos and making a psephisma. References to nomothetai in texts before 403 are irrelevant. In 403 the decree of Teisamenos laid down a procedure for review and amendment of laws, involving two distinct bodies of nomothetai; but that was a procedure for one particular occasion. The regular procedure was instituted shortly afterwards, and was to some extent modelled on the procedure of the Teisamenos decree.

The purpose of this paper is to re-examine Herodotus' Samian narrative and to attempt to analyse the nature of its sources. In the light of this analysis I shall try to explain some of the peculiarities of the accounts of the reign of Polykrates, the career of Maiandrios and the part played by the Samians in the battles of Lade and Mykale. It will be argued that, in view of his sources, he could neither have over-emphasised the wealth and power of Polykrates nor transferred facts belonging to his predecessor to Polykrates himself, and that, consequently, we should adopt a longer chronology for Polykrates than some recent discussions have suggested and follow Herodotus' chronological implications rather than Thucydides' synchronism in book i 13.6 of the reign of Polykrates with that of Cambyses of Persia (530–522 B.C.). Herodotus' narratives of Lade and Mykale become more comprehensible if they are examined in relation to his sources.

There can be no doubt that Herodotus' Samian material was obtained at first hand on a visit or visits to Samos which lasted for a considerable time. His knowledge of Samian proper names, references to the work of Samian artists and offerings in the Heraion, his disproportionately long account in Book iii of Samian internal politics and his generally favourable attitude to the Samians all point to this conclusion.

The discovery and publication two decades ago of the Roman-Aetolian treaty of 212/11 has helped to place Polybius' reliability as a source under close scrutiny. As a result, his account of the confrontation between the Aetolians and Flamininus at Tempe, in 197, may not stand the test of a comparison. Yet in order to use the preserved inscription as a control for this specific event, Polybius' general feelings concerning Aetolian responsibility for the consequent Syrian War must also be considered. Historians have hitherto assumed that if Polybius is demonstrably antagonistic towards his northern neighbours when recording affairs of the third century, he must be equally so for those of the second century. A close examination of Polybius, however, will reveal substantial reasons for doubting such an assumption.

For events of the third century, where he is most completely preserved, Polybius is indeed prejudiced against the Aetolians. He unleashes his venom both when following Aratus' Ὑπομνήματα to 220 and afterwards when employing various sources. To Polybius, the Aetolians are violent and aggressive in spirit (iv 3.5), cruel (iv 18.7–9), impious (iv 62.2), haughty (iv 64.8), inhuman (iv 67.3–4), and cowardly (iv 79.1). They are also natural revolutionaries (xiii 1.2), spendthrifts (xiii 1.1), and liars (iv 29.4–5). Though at times Polybius considers their behaviour scandalous (iv 27.1–8), he admits that the Greeks have become quite inured to it (iv 16.1–2). The most grievous faults of the Aetolians, however, are their desire for aggrandizement and lust for booty.

The study of the relationships between artistic personalities is considered by some a futile self-indulgence in irrelevant art-history. Beazley's lexicographical work provided a prosopographical, and therefore also chronological, framework for the use of the evidence provided by Attic vase-painting. Additions and further refinements are necessary, as Liddell and Scott Supplements are necessary. But the investigation of relationships between artists, such as the exploration of teacher-pupil connexions, is frequently believed to provide no more than a sterile piece of information of narrow interest. This view is, I think, wrong, for an investigation of this type can also shed light on problems of a wider interest at three levels.

Firstly, the understanding of the groupings of artists by workshops, and of the relationships between workshops, is relevant to the study of Athenian social and economic history, since vase-manufacture was one of Athens' most important craft-industries. The study of the ‘Origins’ of an artist, with which I will be concerned here, can sometimes—especially if these origins are complex—throw some light on the early phases of the career-struct ure of Attic vase-painters. Thus it could also provide an example, of however limited validity, of the early structure of a classical Athenian craft-apprenticeship.

Editions of Aristophanes need illustrations. By this I do not mean illustrations of theatrical antiquities in the shape of terracottas, vases, etc., that help us to visualise the appearance of the actors and the Greek theatre. Such a visualisation is, I think, proper in dealing with drama, but there are in Aristophanes two other visual aspects. There is first a wealth of vocabulary that refers to objects that the audience of his day would have seen in the theatre in the form of properties. One need only mention such things as Dicaeopolis' chopping board (τὸ ἐπίξηνον τοδί, Ach. 366), Strepsiades' whirl (διὰ τουτονί τὸν δῖνον, Nub. 1473), Prometheus' parasol (τοντί τὸ σκιάδϵιον, Av. 1508), and the pots and pans in Ecclesiazusae (τὰ σκϵυάρια ταυτὶ, Ecc. 753). These properties can be thought of as naturalistically made or fantastically exaggerated. The second group of words comes in the form of mental pictures—images, however weak, that the mention of an object will raise. Much of the richness of effect and of a play's texture is conveyed by these two groups of words, the immediacy of the comic situation is sharpened by the visual and mental images. Old Comedy more than most Greek literature is rooted in contemporary life, and one is anchored in late fifth century Athens as much by the impedimenta as by the political jests.

In the opening paragraphs of Plato's Parmenides (126A–128E) we learn of a work by Zeno which could be read comfortably at a single sitting. As we know from the surviving fragments, it was full of extraordinarily compressed material. So we could hazard the guess that it could not have taken more than an hour or so to read, since the reading was to be a preliminary to extended discussion. Such a length would match that of the earliest works of scientific prose which have survived intact: the Hippocratic treatises. On Ancient Medicine is about 5,000 words; On Airs, Waters, Places about 6,800. A work of even 5,000 words would have contained the originals of all of Zeno's arguments of which we know and many more besides. From the way the book is talked about here we get the impression that it contained the whole of Zeno's oeuvre. The references are to a single work written when Zeno was still ‘very young’ (say, twenty or a little more). Zeno is made to say it had been ‘stolen’ from him (i.e. put into circulation by unauthorised third parties) before he had made up his mind to publish. If he had put out other works thereafter we would expect some reference to them to drive home his point that the pugnacious temper of that youthful work should not be thought to represent his present outlook. Diogenes Laertius (9, 26) speaks of βιβλία, but in a context which gives no indication that he is following a reliable source. The four titles listed by Suidas (a very late source, perhaps of the tenth century A.D.) inspire no confidence.

In August 1968 the Athens Centre of Ekistics (ACE) launched a large-scale study of settlements within the territories of city-states in ancient Greece. The aim of the project is ‘to come to a better understanding of the problems of human settlements by the study of their past’, their evolution through time and their relationships with total space (physical, economic, cultural), so that solutions may be offered ‘to many of the problems related to human settlements, from which humanity is at present suffering’. A method is being employed which synthesises the researches of archaeologists and historians with the work of architect-planners and topographers in an attempt to test by sample studies the validity of eight hypotheses about ancient settlements which have been advanced by C. A. Doxiadis on the basis of ‘general ekistic experience’. Doxiadis, an architect and planner of wide experience and considerable insight, has formulated the inter-disciplinary scientific study of human settlements and called it Ekistics. His hypotheses about ancient settlements are given at length in the first annual report on the Ancient Greek Settlements Project, but they may be summarised as follows.

In his reconstruction of the campaign of Marathon, Prof. N. G. L. Hammond postulates that the Persian fleet accomplished its hurried voyage from Marathon to Phaleron after the battle in a time of 9 hours, and in theory could perhaps have done it in 8 (JHS 1968, p. 43). This very fast time (9 hours for 58 sea miles = 6½ knots; 8 hours = 7), necessary if the fleet is to arrive in Phaleron in time to confront the Athenians on the same day as the battle (sic Plut. Aristeides, v, 5; but cf. Mor. 350 E), is justified by two arguments: (1) the wind blowing at the time was a north-easter, providing ‘the fastest conditions for sailing’; and (2), the Phoenician galleys in the Persian fleet were faster than Greeks, making figures based on Greek performance irrelevant.

(1) A strong north-easter is indeed very probable. During the summer and until mid-September (i.e., there is a strong probability that Marathon is covered, whichever date one prefers for it) the etesian winds (nowadays known as the meltemi) are blowing in the Aegean. These winds are of great strength and regularity, blowing only by daytime, and more or less from the North (Dem. iv 31; viii 14; Arist. Meteo, ii 361–2; A. R. Burn, Persia and the Greeks, p. 388). But the conditions they offer are not favourable for fast sailing from Marathon to Phaleron. Off the east coast of Attica a very choppy sea builds up. The seas come rolling down from the North, and in the funnel-shaped Thorikos Channel, between Makronissi and the mainland, build up to some really heavy weather between Lavrion and Sounion, particularly in the afternoon. This would delay the war galleys. Little is known about Phoenician war vessels, but they appear to have been triremes of some sort—light craft that can make good speed only in calm water. Far from a ‘following sea’ being favourable, a trireme would not give of its best in a sea of any kind, coming from any direction.

Diomedes, king of the Bistones, a war-like people of Thrace, owned man-eating horses, which Herakles had to subdue: according to Apollodoros (ii 5.8) this was his eighth labour. Neither the number nor the order of Herakles' labours is certain; our earliest evidence for a canonical twelve is the metopal decoration of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia (470–457 B.C.). The second metope from the south corner of the eastern end of the temple is badly preserved, but enough remains to make it clear that Herakles was here represented standing in front of a single horse, subduing it in much the same manner as he does the Cretan Bull on the west end of the Temple. Earlier, in the sixth century, Bathykles had represented Herakles ‘subduing Diomedes’ on the ‘throne’ at Amyklae (Pausanias iii 8.12), but of this nothing remains.

Until the publication in 1961 of a papyrus with more than fifty new verses of a poem by Pindar, our earliest literary evidence for Herakles' encounter with Diomedes was the Alcestis of Euripides (438 B.C.): Herakles comes to the palace of Thessalian Admetus, on his way to the Bistones (ll. 482 ff.). The new poem, which probably antedates the Alcestis by several decades, begins, as preserved, with a brief mention of Herakles' theft of Geryon's cattle and the moral implications of his deed.

In an appendix to their article ‘Lute-Players in Greek Art’ (JHS lxxxv [1965], 62–71) R. A. Higgins and R. P. Winnington-Ingram included useful material on the shape of the kithara, with a list of representations that attempt to show the depth and shape of the back of the kithara sound-box. The list includes a mid-sixth-century metope from Delphi, back views from late fifth-century to late fourth-century coins, Hellenistic terra-cottas, and a back view on a late second- or early first-century relief, Athens National Museum 1966. These more-or-less three-dimensional objects show us a characteristic of the kithara that may affect the possibilities of playing technique, one that cannot be guessed by looking at the many front-view paintings: the back of the kithara soundbox bulges out at the top, tapering toward the base; and in examples from the fifth century and later, it rises to a vertical ridge running down the centre of the back.

To this group of objects should be added one more important item from the fifth century: the back view of a kithara which is part of the Parthenon frieze of the Panathenaic procession (447–432 B.C.).

In an article entitled ‘The Career of Erasistratus of Ceos’ in Rendiconti del Istituto Lombardo (Classe di Lettere e Scienze Morali e Storiche, 103, 1969, pp. 518–37, abbreviated as RL) and more briefly in his three-volume work on Ptolemaic Alexandria (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1972, Vol. 1 pp. 347 ff. and relevant notes in Vol. 2 pp. 503 ff., abbreviated as PA I and PA II), P. M. Fraser has recently re-examined the evidence concerning the life and work of the important third-century B.C. physician, anatomist and physiologist Erasistratus of Ceos. Fraser's analysis of the testimonies for the various Chrysippi is valuable; his insistence that there are no good grounds for rejecting the story, told in several ancient writers, that Erasistratus cured King Antiochus is not misplaced, and the conclusion that at some stage, at least, Erasistratus worked at Antioch should surely be accepted.

Mentior at si quid, merdis caput inquiner albis corvorum, atque in me veniat mictum atque cacatum Iulius et fragilis Pediatia furque Voranus.

Horace, Satires I, viii, 37–9.

The years following the liberation of Greece from Turkish rule in 1833 witnessed what was perhaps the greatest display of industry on the Athenian Acropolis since the Periclean building programme. In 1837 the Greek Archaeological Society was founded for the purpose of carrying out a systematic if unscientific excavation of the Acropolis down to the classical level. The excavators sought first to clear the area of the Turkish buildings and accumulated débris which cluttered the surface, and then to work on the partial restoration of the ancient buildings: the Parthenon, the Propylaea and the Erechtheum.

A marble fragment of a draped female figure came to the University of Oxford as part of the James Dawkins collection of marbles, presented by his brother Henry sometime between the owner's death in 1759 and the publication of Marmora Oxoniensia in 1763 (Plates XX a–d). The collection was formed during Dawkins's expedition to Palmyra with Robert Wood between 1750 and 1753. Of the other seven sculptures in it, three came from Attica, one from Caria, one from Cyzicus and two are of unknown provenance. Our statue seems to have received little attention since Michaelis saw it. It is now mounted on a limestone base bearing the number 63.

Coan possession of chora in Cyprus is attested, in the Imperial period, by a dedication in honour of a Roman governor of Cyprus, who had retrieved for the Coans their land. The text of the inscription was first made known by R. Herzog in 1928, and was later published, without commentary, by G. Patriarca in 1932. It is one of a number of documents in which Roman authority is exercised in settlement of a controversia agrorum in Greek provincial cities. It merits further attention because of the startling revelation of Coan ownership of land in Cyprus. For convenience the text is reproduced here:

All I hope to do in this note is to reinforce Lesky's protest against ‘the attitude of mind shown by many modern scholars, who refuse to admit that there is a Prometheus problem at all, and pass over in silence so many arguments which deserve the most careful attention’. One reason why the majority of scholars are so sanguine about the peculiarities of Prometheus Desmotes is that they take it for granted that the surviving play was the first of a trilogy, and that the remainder of the trilogy would somehow or other have resolved some or most or all of the problems of the surviving part. It is assumed that the second play was, as the titles apparently proclaim, Prometheus Luomenos: the chief exception to this view is W. Schmid, the much reviled but scarcely refuted champion of the bastardy of Prom. Desm., who argued that the surviving play was written in the third quarter of the fifth century by an imitator of Aeschylus. Next it is usually supposed that Prometheus Purphoros (a title in the catalogue in M, twice cited elsewhere) was the third play—though there have been more respectable exceptions to that step. The fourth Prometheus title (twice cited by Pollux), Prometheus Purkaeus, is very plausibly taken to be the satyr play of 472 B.C., called simply Προυηθεύς in the hypothesis to Pers. Despite this, no-one seems to have questioned the easy assumption that the other three Prometheus titles are evidence for the connected trilogy. I shall offer here a neglected reason for thinking that, on the contrary, the titles are evidence that the Prometheus plays were not produced together. The argument is pedantic, even irritating, but it is nonetheless coherent and hard to contradict.