It has become the accepted view that a certain group of ‘viri militares’ can be identified among the legates who governed the consular military provinces in the Roman empire. The question of these ‘specialist soldiers’ is relevant to the understanding of how appointments to military commands were made, and, more generally, to the political history of the empire. For it can be argued that ‘viri militares’ were important not only because they were responsible for the defence of the empire and could raise revolts with their armies, but also because, as a group, they were particularly influential with the emperor. And so Professor Sir Ronald Syme, to whose work we owe most for the concept of ‘viri militares’, speaks of a ‘paramount oligarchy’ that was ‘drawn in the main from the men who govern the armed provinces of Caesar’. Now, Syme recognized a wide variety of factors that might influence the selection of consular legates. However, his theory of ‘viri militares’ tends to be repeated without qualification as accepted doctrine, and in the hands of those who do not mark his caution lends itself to a rather schematic approach and mechanical solutions. This incurs the danger to which Syme himself has adverted: ‘Historians in all ages become liable through their profession to certain maladies or constraints. They cannot help making persons and events more logical than reality’.

‘Appellatus sum vicies et semel imperator.’ So the Res Gestae of Augustus declare (4,1), and they are echoed by two historical writers (Tacitus, Ann. i, 9, 2; Dio lii, 41, 4). The emperor received the last fourteen of these imperatorial acclamations after he acquired the title of Augustus (16 January 27 B.C.), and their dates have long been recognized to provide valuable clues towards constructing a full military narrative of his reign. In his commentary on the Res Gestae, Theodor Mommsen was able to identify the date and occasion of most of the salutations to the satisfaction of subsequent investigators. Nevertheless, both greater chronological precision and something more important may emerge from a new examination of all the evidence now available.

The pompa circensis, the solemn procession that marched to the Circus Maximus on the occasion of the ludi magni, was headed by the boys and young men of the state, those whose fathers had the census equester going on horseback and the others on foot. The object of the procession was, Dionysius says, depending on Fabius for his account, to show to strangers how numerous and powerful were the youths about to come to man's estate. The martial ceremony must have been a stirring preparation for the military service that in early times was the duty of every Roman citizen. There was further preparation for such service at Rome. Cicero tells us that in former times, for a year after the taking of the toga virilis, the young tiro was trained at Rome in exercitatio ludusque campestris. This preliminary training was restored for the young noble by Augustus who felt its importance as a preparation for the military service insisted upon for all who sought political preferment. Indeed, the old tirocinium, as Rostovtzeff has shown, seems to have been lengthened from one to two years.

Towards the close of the Epitaphios of Libanius on Julian we read:–

I have mentioned representations (of Julian); many cities have set him beside the images of the gods and honour him as they do the gods. Already a blessing has been besought of him in prayer, and it was not in vain. To such an extent has he literally ascended to the gods and received a share of their power from them themselves.

The statement that Julian was made synnaos theos, or something of the sort, has many precedents. On the other hand, the assertion that he had hearkened to prayer calls for special consideration.

The unique character of Roman law has been treated for centuries; hymns enough have been sung. My purpose is different: I restrict the problem to Roman classical law and therefore have intentionally added this adjective to the title. Roman private law—and I have only private law to consider here—is not the same throughout the thousand years of its history. Modern research distinguishes in the legislation of Justinian what belongs to the Byzantine epoch from what is genuinely classical. Secondly, we now know more about pre-classical law so that we are better able to contrast classical with archaic law. A third reason for a revision of our view is the developed study of the oriental, the cuneiform, law, and some new research in Greek law. Owing to this threefold progress we can try to sketch the unique character of Roman classical law in comparison with other laws. I discern three periods of Roman law: archaic (or pre-classical) up to 150 B.C., classical from 150 B.C. to A.D. 300, Byzantine (or post-classical) from A.D. 300 to 565. These are the usual periods, except that I carry back the classical period to 150 B.C. I know that there are transitions; but if we take the years 150 B.C. and A.D. 300, we shall roughly mark the turning points and have before us three distinct periods of Roman law.

In the study of social structure in the Roman world of the first and second centuries A.D. nothing is more important or more complex than the slave and freed-slave classes. Their numbers are indeterminately large and predominant in many urban and some rural areas. Most have a reasonable expectation of early manumission and enjoy a high rate of social advancement. But it is important to distinguish between the different social levels of the slave classes in general in order to isolate, if possible, those elements of exceptionally high mobility which are an example and incentive to the rest. Among the most important of these in the early Imperial period are the slaves and freedmen of the Emperor, the Familia Caesaris, itself comprising groups of differing legal and occupational status. By comparing different groups of Imperial slaves both with each other and with those of equivalent legal status outside the Familia Caesaris it is possible to illustrate the extent of social differentiation within the slave classes.

Reviewing Peter Sattler's Augustus und der Senat (1960), J. P. V. D. Balsdon remarked that the background to the events which marked the establishment of the principate is a field which has been ploughed, even deep ploughed times without number. This must be agreed, and the sceptical need go no further than Lothar Wickert's article s.v. princeps in Pauly's RE xxii, 2 (1953), esp. 2002–2004, to confirm the truth of the remark. Much of the ploughing however has been concerned with the question, ‘By what legal right did Octavian/Augustus govern before, during, and after the period in which he claimed to have “transferred the res publica into the discretionary power of the Senate and Roman people”?’ The interest of this particular question has somewhat declined recently, perhaps rightly so, in an age in which there is a score of Octavians in the world, governing by right of victory in a civil war, and the governed populations tolerate these rulers without constantly examining their constitutional credentials, because they have one all-important virtue—they have put a stop to civil war.

This paper makes two arguments. The first is that Trajan deliberately orchestrated the dedication of his Column on 12 May, the anniversary of the dedication of the Temple of Mars Ultor, to coincide with the beginning of a new war against Parthia in a.d. 113. The second is that although most modern commentators focus on the function of Mars Ultor as avenger of Caesar, the evidence of his actual invocation from the late first century b.c. through the third century a.d. more strongly supports another interpretation: as agent of vengeance against foreign enemies, and against Parthia/Persia in particular.

Ever since Augustine narrated an account of his mother's death at Ostia, social historians have tried to adduce the identity of the person who erected Monica's tombstone, a copy of which is preserved in a ninth-century codex. Three members of the gens Anicii, all of whom were Augustine's contemporaries, have become usual suspects in the secondary literature. Throughout these debates the epitaph itself, a fragment of which was found in 1945, is frequently cited but rarely treated as a primary text. This article presents a new study of that epigraph and proposes that it was erected much later than previously suspected.

Cumae was the first city founded by Greek colonists on the mainland of Italy. It attained pre-eminence for a time in the Bay of Naples and its influence was exercised over a wide area for more than 500 years. Yet the detailed phases of its long history are still very nebulous and patchy. References in ancient writers deal mainly with its contacts with the rising power of Rome. Little excavation has been carried out on the site (apart from the cemeteries) and the published information is mostly of a general nature, more suited to tourist appreciation than to that of serious students. Serious students do not lack interest in the problems presented by Cumae, but they may perhaps lack familiarity with its topography. Whatever its faults of scholarship may be, this present study is at least the product of eight years' residence and assiduous delving into the archaeology of the Cuma/Bacoli Peninsula.

The story of Cumae is naturally divisible into two stages; the Greek and the Roman. Most accounts begin with a discussion about the date of its foundation, and where the colonists came from. But it is not the date that interests us here in this enquiry; it is the reason why exploring sailormen not only visited here but chose Cumae as their trading station, when there were apparently more attractive sites at Misenum and other places round the Bay of Naples; to say nothing of all the sites they will presumably have passed by on their voyage from Greece.

Almost nothing is known of the provincial temple at Lugdunum beyond the bare fact of its existence within the federal sanctuary. For this information we are dependent upon the titles of the provincial sacerdotes, which at some undetermined period begin to define the high priesthood as ad templum; until then the priest had served ad aram: that is, at the celebrated altar dedicated by Drusus in 12 B.C. at the confluence of the Rhone and the Saône. Apparently the temple stood in the near vicinity of the altar, for inscriptions from the turn of the second century now give the priestly title as ad aram … apud templum … or a variant. But confirmation depends in the long run upon archaeological exploration, which has so far been precluded by the circumstance that the presumed site of the temple now lies beneath an area of dense habitation. The only other possible evidence is a medallion from the Rhone Valley that depicts games (a venatio) in progress around a central podium, bearing a small round temple, a larger gabled temple, and a column supporting a statue. Alföldi stresses the abstract nature of this composition and has suggested that the complex may represent provincial monuments at Lugdunum. If this identification is correct, the medallion would appear to confirm the existence of these structures under Hadrian or very shortly after.

For a space of forty years, from 98 to 138, few praefecti occur on named attestation. In fact only six : two registered in isolation, four in collegiate pairs. Apart from seasons of disturbance, the holders of this useful and necessary office tend to evade notice in written history.

It was not until 2 B.C. that Caesar Augustus appointed commanders of the Praetorian cohorts, so Cassius Dio states. The occasion might excite curiosity: perhaps after the grave crisis in the autumn. The historian adds no comment. He had previously put emphasis on the dangers inherent in a single prefect. Not perhaps clear at first—and Seius Strabo was in sole charge when Augustus died. Named associate with his parent by Tiberius Caesar, Aelius Seianus managed almost at once to have him sent away to be governor of Egypt.

Tacitus described tribunician power (tribunicia potestas, trib. pot. hereafter) as the title of the highest pinnacle (sc. of power) in the Roman world (summi fastigii vocabulum), and Augustus counted his years of trib. pot. from 23 B.C. So much may be stated with confidence and without dispute. In 23 B.C. however trib. pot. was introduced quietly, so quietly that the exact date of the law by which it was conferred (if it was conferred in 23 B.C.) is unknown; and the title itself made so little impact on contemporary opinion that the reaction of the common people of Rome, for whose protection Tacitus says Augustus took the power, was negative—so negative that they spent the next five years trying to re-elect Augustus to the consulate which he had resigned at or about the time that the era of trib. pot. began. We must conclude that the conferment of trib. pot. (if there was any ceremony at all in 23 B.C.) was not made the subject of a great celebration designed to win popular acclaim for this new institution (if it was a new one), nor was it immediately advertised widely as a new formula for the government of the Roman world.

There is scarcely a region of the Roman west which can claim, superficially, to be better known than southern Gaul. There can be no lover of antiquities who has not visited Arles or Nîmes, studied the arch of Orange or the Pont du Gard, devoted some interest to the monuments of Fréjus, the sculptures of Nîmes, or the mosaics of Vienne, not to mention the houses of Glanum or Vaison which have been recovered from the earth by the dedication of Henri Rolland and Canon Sautel. And yet many of these famous monuments have had to wait until very recent years before becoming the subject of detailed monographs: so, the trophy of the Alps, the arch of Orange, or the mausoleum of Glanum. Others, without having received exhaustive publication, have only in recent decades been properly dated (the amphitheatres of Arles and Nîmes) or adequately described: I am thinking of the Maison Carrée.

Building on recent scholarship concerning the ‘colonate of the late Roman Empire’, and focusing in particular upon the vocabulary used in the legal sources, this paper offers three propositions. First, the colonatus of the legislation was not a legal shorthand for the ‘colonate’ of modern historiographical debate. Second, the coloni of the legislation were not a discrete group of individuals subjected to a definable, articulated set of restrictions. Finally, it is not colonatus but rather the origo and the link it created between individuals and the land which is the key to the tax system of the late Roman Empire.

The decline of late Roman paganism could hardly be said to have been an under-studied subject in the past, nor one which currently lacks appeal among late Roman historians: indeed, one has the impression that it is often through this, and the broader question of the ‘conflict’ between paganism and Christianity in the fourth century, that students of Roman history have acquired their interest in the late imperial period. This is all for the best: at the same time, it may be that in this, as in other aspects of late Roman history, there is a danger of ‘over-familiarity’ in the interpretation of well-known evidence.

I. Introduction.—The dating of building materials at Pompeii presents a problem which is in several ways peculiar. Although more than half the city has by now been uncovered and has provided a wealth of epigraphic material almost without parallel among Italian towns, yet the number of buildings which it is possible to date from such evidence can be counted on one hand, since for the most part the inscriptions concern events which are too trivial, or persons who are too obscure, to offer any indication of their date. Furthermore, the procedure adopted in the past for excavating the town has precluded all but the most meagre help being given by pottery. Till a few years ago, Pompeian excavators for the most part stopped digging as soon as the uppermost (and latest) level had been reached, and earlier buildings, of which the foundations presumably survive under the later floors, were left unexplored. Hence, the pottery which is most useful for purposes of dating (that occurring in association with structural foundations) is not forthcoming. Pompeii, in fact, has been too much a show-piece for visitors, too little a site to be scientifically explored.

In Roman religious law the word sacer indicated that the object to which it was applied was the property of a deity, taken out of the region of the profanum by the action of the state, and passed on into that of the sacrum. We have an exact account of it which can be traced through Verrius Flaccus to a scholar apparently of the age of Cicero, Aelius Gallus. “Gallus Aelius ait sacrum esse, quodcunque more atque instituto civitatis consecratum sit, sive aedis sive ara sive signum sive pecunia sive quid aliud quod dis dedicatum atque consecratum sit: quod autem privati suae religionis causa aliquid earum rerum deo dedicent, id pontifices Romanos non existimare sacrum.” This very explicit passage makes it plain that the state, through its religious authorities, had appropriated the word, and fixed it to a definite meaning, at some period when there were already temples in which deities could dwell and enjoy the possession of their own property, made over to them by the state to do them honour and propitiate them.