Diurpaneus, Decebalus, Dacewho? Dacian Kings and Late Antique Historians

Among many other things, I'm in the process of converting my MA thesis from so many moons ago into a monograph.  In this particular instance the topic is an old school military one:  troop movements and dispositions in Roman Moesia/s.  I've actually been working away on this for some time (2009 - immediately following the submission of the PhD), but other things have cropped up at various points, as they usually do.  Well, I'm making a push to get the thing done (or close to) by the end of the summer.  Much of the work's finished, and it's just a matter of tidying and updating, though there are a host of things I'll have to add.

The main topic that I've been grappling with today is what to do with a certain Diurpaneus, the esteemed Dacian king.  Okay, maybe not terribly esteemed, but a Dacian king nonetheless!  Well, perhaps he's not even that.  Perhaps he's just a manuscript typo from long ago.  The much more famous Dacian king is Decebalus, the famed foe of Trajan, one of Rome's greatest emperors.  Trajan fought him twice in the early 100s, and by the end of the second war the Dacians had been defeated so soundly that Decebalus committed suicide.  There's even an image of him from Trajan's column, just about to kill himself as the Romans close in (image from Wikipedia):

Of course, the sculptors didn't actually show the death itself, something (the moment of death or act of killing) Roman and Greek art, in my experience, tends to shy away from.  Rather interestingly, however, we know the name of the soldier, from the 7th Claudian Legion, who brought Decebalus' head to Trajan, Tiberius Claudius Maximus, because he boasted about it in an inscription from Philippi in Greece (Speidel 1970, Campbell 1994:  32-33).

Anyway, this same Decebalus is often equated with the aforementioned Diurpaneus (Fear 2010:  341, n. 340), whom Orosius (7.10.4) and Jordanes (Get. 13.77 - Dorpaneus) said led the Dacian army into Moesia in the 80s during the reign of Domitian.  Fair enough assumption, no?  Decebalus is much more famous, and could easily have lived well into his 50s or 60s, especially since he was a powerful king.  In other words, he could easily have fought against Rome in the 80s and again in the 100s.  At the same time, Diurpaneus, or Dorpaneus, looks a lot like Decebalus.  They both start with a D, have As, Es, and a P and B respectively, which could easily get conflated.  Plus, as we all know, late Roman historians, chroniclers in particular, were quacks who were generally prone to mistakes.  These are the reasons, so far as I can tell, that this usually happens.  But, is this right?

Orosius (7.10.3) says he gets his information from Tacitus, whose Annals and Histories, as they survive, don't include material beyond about 69 - the Agricola is another story.  Although we're all well aware now of the artistry (ie. rhetoric) of Tacitus, he's still usually considered to be one of the most reliable of Roman historians.  Could he have got this wrong?  Seems unlikely to me.  Plus, I see no reason to question Orosius on this point.  He essentially does what Evagrius (4.19) later did for Procopius:  he says something like, "Tacitus said this, and much better than I ever could, so I don't need to go into detail".  Why shouldn't we take Orosius at his word when we've got what seems to be independent confirmation in the account of Jordanes, who doesn't name Tacitus but who is likely using him as well?

Then there's the name.  To my mind Decebalus bears little resemblance to Diurpaneus.  Dorpaneus and Diurpaneus?  Sure - easy enough to see how a scribe could conflate those, but the other way around?  Moreover, if an unknowing medieval scribe was working late at night, hunched over a parchment at candle light painstakingly making a copy of, say, Jordanes' Getica and came across a peculiar and unfamiliar name, like Diurpaneus, and decided to "correct" what he read wouldn't it have made more sense to replace the Diurpaneus with Decebalus, than the other way around? 

Basically, what I'm saying is that Diurpaneus deserves some credit for being a successful Dacian king in the 80s.  The Dacians caused Domitian no small amount of trouble during the decade; for they slaughtered a Roman army or two.  The name shouldn't be conflated with Decebalus, a distinct and more famous king.  Finally, late Roman historians, and chroniclers in particular (see Scott 2012 - and Croke 2002 for that matter), deserve more credit, especially in the absence of independent evidence that suggest otherwise.

Classics in 30 Minutes or Less

Tomorrow morning (January 20th) I'm giving a lecture to high school students (aka, potential customers, er, UofW students) and possibly a few odd parents at the UofW on behalf of our department.  Why me?  I volunteered because I hadn't done it before and felt it was my turn to give it a go.  In other words, it's part of the job. 

The lecture itself is about 30 minutes (maybe closer to 25 with time left for questions and for the attendees to fill out a questionnaire).  The topic?  Well, Classics:  what it is, who are we, and what we do.


How do you fit the wide world of Classics into 25 minutes or less?  I'm not sure.  If you teach in a smaller (though growing) department like mine you tend to be something of a jack of all trades, ready and able to teach a host of different aspects of the subject.  On the other hand, the fact remains that there are always some areas you're much more comfortable with than others.  I tend to prefer Roman stuff to Greek stuff with some exceptions (I'll take Greek myth over Roman myth and Greek historiography over Latin, for example), and later Roman history to the earlier stuff, again with exceptions (love the Punic wars and Roman imperialism in the mid Republic). 

Still, if you're trying to be representative of the field certain things get sacrificed.  So, the late antique world gets the shaft, though I managed to squeeze in Justinian and Procopius.

The other problem is unity:  an introduction could easily descend into a random collection of widely disconnected facts, which doesn't do me and wouldn't do them any good. 

My solution, then, is to frame my lecture around the theme of a TV show, and "Ancients Behaving Badly" in particular.  I've taken a host of famous characters and persons from the Classical world and will share some of the "bad" things that they've done.  The individuals I've chosen are (among others) Zeus (cheating husband), Apollo (failing lover), Agamemnon (daughter killer), Achilles (ancient soldier par excellence), the tyrannicides (Aristogeiton and Harmodius - tyrants removed due to a love-triangle), Alexander (violent drunk), Ovid (shameful ladies' man), Caligula (horse lover), Nero (mother killer), the Pompeians (several individuals then - riotous and writers of obscene graffiti), Caracalla (brother killer), and Justinian (he of the floating head).

Is it the best list?  Perhaps not, and it's not likely to please everyone.  But, fingers crossed, it will please enough of them tomorrow.

Ancient Soldiers and Equipment from Bulgaria

Okay, so this post is less of a discussion of ancient stuff and more of a photo essay.  And by photo essay it's less of an essay and more of a collection or catalogue of photos.  

Here are some photos I took while in Bulgaria in early September (2012) for Limes XXII.  As you can see there's a mixture of cavalry masks (for cermonies, etc.), some tombstone friezes with soldiers (sans equipment), and a host of helmets and weapons, both Roman and otherwise (Greek?, etc.).  If I can ever think of anything useful to say (or something resembling something useful) then I'll discuss some of these and turn this into an actual essay of sorts.  It would help if I can find something about these about these.  Later, I'll also add some photos of fortifications.

I should also add that in May I'm planning on a trip to the UK.  I'll bring along a camera and if I make it to Vindolanda and Hadrian's Wall, as I hope to, I'll take more pictures and post them.  And then discuss.  Or maybe just describe.  Or just post.

Anyway, enjoy!

First, this lovely photo:  a student of mine (with a colleague in the background) found himself wearing some Roman military garb a few days ago and I snatched this picture of him with the menacing expression.  Really, all teaching should be experiential of this sort.  Why?

I think there's some sort of unsung rule that us academic historian/classicist/byzantinist types ought to steer clear of the reenactment business.  The serious work involves the pouring over of texts or the painstaking uncovering and collating of material remains.  Trying to recreate this stuff?  Poppycock! 

But some do try to keep an open mind.  Schwartz's book, Reinstating the Hoplite (2009  - http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2011/2011-02-23.html), incorporates some modern comparisons with Danish police.  Someone even experimented with what was feasible with battle exhortations - Hansen, the arch-nemesis of Pritchett in the battle exhortation debate, maybe (? I can't remember).   If you haven't given it a shot, however, I'll admit that it's hard to appreciate the value that reenactment (and the like) exercises can have. 

Well, when another (mature) student showed up in my colleague(Matt Gibbs)'s office with a trunk full of Roman armour and then set about dressing another student Andrew (above), our volunteer, certain things started to make a lot of sense about the practicalities of combat.

I'll confess that I've never really given much thought to Roman armour.  This despite the fact that I've spent no small amount of time taking a look at all sorts of sculptural friezes with well armoured Roman soldiers, including those famous ones on Trajan's Column (http://cheiron.mcmaster.ca/~trajan/).  Not all of those are armoured - and some have speculated that this has more to do with different types of soldiers than anything.  Though even with this things get muddled - are those not heavily armoured depicted necessarily auxiliaries?  What of those men standing around Trajan when he's giving an exhortation?  Are they auxiliaries?  If they are legionaries does this lend credence to the fictional speeches in historiography view?

Anyway, back to the issue at hand.  Quite a few soldiers on the column have the sort of equipment that Andrew's wearing above (lorica segmentata), and that we usually find on Roman soldiers in movies like Gladiator.  On Trajan's Column, some are fighting (the testudo scene for example), while others are marching (those crossing the boat-bridge).  Does this mean that we should assume that legionaries were always wearing this sort of stuff? 

Well, we could look for some comparative evidence from other sculptural friezes.  I took a bunch of photos of Roman soldiers from tombstone reliefs when I was at the most recent Limes Congress (XXII - http://www.limes2012.naim.bg/) in Ruse, Bulgaria.  Here are a couple of highlights:

I'd hoped that I had some with heavy armour on, but no dice.  The fact that these soldiers on the friezes that I took pictures of are on horseback, and that they hail from a provincial context, does suggest that these are auxiliaries.  So, these pictures are perhaps less helpful.

But, all's not lost, and here's where the reenactment business kicks in.  When I picked up the armour, whether the lorica or chainmail (which was also available), I was surprised - especially with the chainmail - at just how heavy it was.  The heaviness of the armour got me thinking about all those slaves that Roth argued, some time ago (Historia 1994), were attached to each legion (bringing the total from around 5200 soldiers on paper to close to 6600 men in each legion).  I was convinced anyway, but am even more so now.  Holding that armour - and trying to put the stuff on in the first place - made me realize just how much easier it is to have those slaves around.  The soldiers could have used that help to put the damn stuff on, and if they could swing it to carry their armour and equipment when marching great distances.  And, if your common legionary couldn't swing it I at least think that officers could have swung it. 

The firsthand (so to speak) experience also helps to illustrate the difficulty in orchestrating a major military campaign, and how impressive the Romans were for being able to do this with such success for so long.  It also strengthens my belief that Justinian's reconquest campaigns (discussed in an earlier blog) were, as I argued, fairly substantial efforts, despite the seemingly paltry numbers reported by Procopius.  The sixth century empire, for all its wealth up until the plague struck, lacked the logistical support of the army of the Principate and couldn't hope to carry on a major expedition 100s or 1000s of miles away from home anywhere near as effectively as its predecessor with anywhere near the same number of men and gear.  Rather, we should be impressed that they were able to carry it off in the first place, for all the trouble it caused them.

So, with this new-found appreciation for reenactment stuff (less useful when thinking about historiography and more useful when thinking about military stuff) I think I'll be taking a hard look at what some practical exercises can tell me about the Roman military that the textual, epigraphical, and papyrological material can't.  I'm also thinking that I need to get me a Roman legionary's battle-outfit!  But, I might still aim for that elusive Storm Trooper's costume first.

On Watching Troy

In my myth class, which I'm teaching for the fourth time this year, we usually watch a couple of myth-themed movies:  one in the first term, and another in the second.  Some I have shown more than once, such as the original "Clash of the Titans" or "O Brother Where Art Thou?"  Others just the one time, such as Disney's "Hercules".

Why show movies?  One of my primary motives is variety.  I love telling the stories of Zeus and the lot to a class, but I recognize that a little variety can help in the learning process.  We also have discussions, and there are always group presentations.  Taken together, I hope that this makes for a well-rounded experience.

Showing a movie also provides me with an opportunity to dapple into the "reception" side of Classics.  For I imagine that a good number of the students taking a class like myth have done so because they've watched on TV,  read a book, or have seen a movie that featured some of Classical myth's most famous figures.  So, why not discuss some of the ins and outs of engaging with the Classics in more recent times? 

In a similar vein, in a course that is for all intents and purposes about storytelling, it makes a lot of sense to me to explore, in a fun way, how a particular story has been retold in a host of different ways and in varied genres.  A number of the versions I tell are collated from the parts (often from different authors) that I feel make the best whole.  And, in some cases we're lucky to have multiple versions of individual stories, such as the murder of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus by Orestes and Electra:  the three tragic versions present very different Electras, and half the fun is exploring how the respective playwrights (Aeschylus, Euripides, Sophocles) tackled this fascinating and troubling story.

Of course, we don't just watch the movies; there is often an assignment of some sort, or material from the movies finds its way into a test or exam.  And, when we discuss them it's not just a matter of picking out the points where the filmmakers have changed parts of the "original" myth.  For one thing, there's no such thing as an "original myth".  Most, if not all, probably started as oral stories which were, at some point or other, written down.  Moreover, the version we have often came quite late, with the transformations of Ovid an obvious example - in this case late in comparison to Classical Athens.  No, we explore the good and the bad in the films.  We discuss the characterization of the key figures.  Where there are differences from the versions that we're more familiar with, we look at what purpose they serve.  Do they add in plot development or what? 

All in all, then, I think there is some value in watching these movies.  Which gets me back to the title:  On Watching Troy.  In the second term of this year, for my sins, I've decided to watch Troy.  Sin #1?  The movie's quite long.  Sin #2?  The movie's quite bad, or at least 54% on rottentomatoes.com bad.  The timing works:  we've spent a few weeks going over the Trojan War and so it should be fresh in everyone's mind.  Does that make up for the shit film?  Maybe not.  But, maybe I should be asking whether watching a bad film is really such a bad idea in the first place.  If we know what they've done wrong then we probably have a good idea about what would be right.  We know, then, what makes the story what it is and what we couldn't imagine it being without. 

Does this then make Troy a sensible choice?  Not sure yet, though we'll soon find out.